Home > Duluth.Talk > Archives > 2006 > May
May 2006
Welcome. If you’re legal
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Let’s talk about immigration.
Unless you are a Native American, you are descended from immigrants. The reason that people immigrate to the U.S. is because of the wonderful opportunities offered to those who are willing to work hard. Too, there are some countries out there (more than we should tolerate) who oppress their own people, who kill, torture and maim their own citizens because of differing values, attitudes, beliefs and creeds.
No country enjoys more freedom, no country is more just than the United States. People from foreign lands admire us and to want to take a part of what we, and those before us, have created. We are far from perfect, but we are the best of the rest. I don’t think anybody would argue with that.
And yes, immigrants have built our country. They worked in our mines, they built our railroads, our houses, our city buildings and our highways. Immigrants were and are instrumental in creating our culture. China and India have existed as a culture and society for well over 5,000 years, longer than anything in Western Civilization. Egypt, the Middle East, they are the cradle of Western Civilization. Cultures and countries have existed in Europe going back 2,500 years.
America is 230 years old. Nothing in our culture is inherently American. Our music and dance finds its roots in African culture. Art comes from Europe and from Native Americans. Our cuisine is a hodgepodge of everything. The Melting Pot absorbed the best of everything, cooked it all together, and created what we now know as American culture. Our culture is bold, it is brash, it is hopeful, and it has a chip on its shoulder. Just like its citizens.
The common theme to all of this is that immigrants have given to America as much as they have taken. They became Americans. They learned to speak English. They abided by and helped to create our laws. They may have congregated in communities united by a shared heritage (Little Italy, Chinatown), but they paid their taxes to the United States, which fund Social Security, Medicare, schools and roads. Immigrants fought for the United States in times of war, and they built the United States in times of peace.
The greatest thing about America is its sense of fair play. It is our highest ideal. Oftentimes, we (more our government than our citizens, I think) fall short of this ideal, but we always aspire to it.
The issue of immigration today is whether or not those who come into our country are willing to hold up their end of the bargain. If they enter this country illegally, then they start off by cheating. And Americans, no matter what, do NOT accept cheaters. Nothing makes us angrier than a cheat. Illegal immigrants take advantage of services to which they do not contribute. Medicine, schools, housing. By entering this country illegally and by advancing themselves accordingly, they violate our sense of fair play. It’s that simple.
THIS is the issue. Not how many come, not from whence they come, but HOW they come. Set up your drycleaners, nail salons, restaurants, import companies. Whatever it is that you want to do to succeed and make life better for you and your children. By all means do so. Hispanic, Asian, African, European, it doesn’t matter. Welcome to America, and good luck to you.
But do it legally. Give back to this country that which you take. If you can’t do that, go home. If you won’t go home, we’ll make you go home. If an immigrant comes illegally, then they don’t get what America is about. They will never be able to make the contributions necessary to what makes America as great as it is because they cannot fundamentally understand it. If the very reason that you are here is because you broke the law, then you have no business being here.
It’s that simple.
What do you think?
Permalink | Comments (35) | Post your comment | Categories: Bill Allen
Should employees, kids be spanked?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Recently a California jury awarded $1.7 million to a woman who was paddled on her rear-end during team-building exercises conducted by the company she worked for.
According to the Associated Press, a 12-person jury equally divided between men and women, found that Janet Orlando, 53, of Fresno, who worked for Alarm One, Inc., a home security company had suffered both sexual harassment and sexual battery, from the 2004 spanking she received in front of her peers.
Sales teams at the company were asked to compete with one another and the losers suffered several humiliations, including being spanked with signs from their competitors.
Many people may find it humorous or abhorrent that an employer would spank their employees’ under any circumstance. However, many people still think that spanking their children is okay.
Some proponents of spanking their offspring cite that the Bible says to “spare the rod and spoil the child” and use this as the basis for justifying corporal punishment.
The Reverend Arthur Allen Jr. of the Atlanta based House of Prayer preferred serving jail time rather than to renege on his strong belief that the children of his congregation should receive corporal punishment, administered by Allen.
However, there are those equally opposed to hitting children under any circumstance. They cite numerous psychological studies that purport that hitting children only teaches them that violence is okay. Moreover, they believe that spanking children reinforces that physical dominance against those smaller and weaker is desirable.
Many opponents of spanking believe that instead of spanking, that children should be taught how to control their emotions and make wise choices for their lives.
The Center for Effective Discipline, based in Columbus, Ohio, features on its home page ( www.stophitting.com) a poignant quote by the late pediatrician and best-selling author Dr. Benjamin Spock:
“If we are ever to turn toward a kindlier society and a safer world, a revulsion against the physical punishment of children would be a good place to start.”
When I was growing up, my mother did spank my brothers and me on occasion — and we all survived. However, I think that my mother used spanking not because she enjoyed beating us; but because — like many parents of her generation — spanking was mostly all that they had in their parental tool box to address any unruly behavior of their children.
If my mother had been aware of “time out” and “groundings” and other methods to redirect misbehavior, she would have preferred (for her sake and ours) alternative methods of correction. Like many people often say, “you do better, when you know better.”
Our homes and workplaces are the two pillars of most people’s lives. I think that these places should be free of physical and emotional violence.
For me, there can never be any justification for hitting in the workplace.
Moreover, I think today’s parents should focus more on modeling good behavior for their children; than on spanking.
Do you think there any situations that may require hitting someone in the workplace?
Should parents ever spank misbehaving children?
Permalink | Comments (13) | Categories: Beni Dakar
Why are we true to our Gwinnett teams?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Football is king in the Deep South. Those who have been here awhile accept this as gospel. Friday and Saturday nights demand a community presence.
Valdosta, Lowndes County, Bainbridge, Warner-Robins, La Grange, Redan, Southwest De Kalb. Furman Bisher has been writing about these schools for years. They were the power-house schools of my day, and even today they command respect. And a small, but blossoming, community in Gwinnett was growing as well with pride.
When the rest of the state was talking about some hick named Hershel Walker, we in Gwinnett County were bragging about the exploits of George Rogers, a Duluth graduate who had a successful career at South Carolina and later with the New Orleans Saints. (An aside here, but don’t be surprised if we aren’t saying some of the same things about Alex Hunt, another DHS man, in six or seven years).
In my day, we talked about Central Gwinnett, Parkview, Norcross, Berkmar and Buford. Duluth had 16 members in its marching band, and some upstart school called Brookwood was getting its butt kicked on a regular basis.
Today, Gwinnett County sports are the toast of the state. Not only football, but also baseball, basketball, soccer, all sports. Gwinnett has come a long way since my day.
High schools, especially in Gwinnett, bring neighbors together. Many of us are not from here, traveling to this alien land called The South, wild-eyed and lost, trying to figure out which roads they are on, numbed by traffic, overwhelmed by the growth and the bustling potential of the county . High schools are what natives and transplants have in common.
High schools in Gwinnett provide the soil in which the transplant can establish roots. They meet friends for life. They are exposed to and become accustomed to the magic of the South and Gwinnett. Though the county lacks an overall identity (congested roads notwithstanding), high schools remain a nerve center for community affairs. Not only do we talk about sports, we talk about music, drama, and scholastics and we do so with pride.
I know whereof I speak. I am an alumnus of Norcross High School. I have seen and experienced the fruit yielded when transplanted roots grow and strengthen.
Some of us went to college, some of us joined the military, some of us went to vocational schools, and some of us went on the road to follow the Grateful Dead.
The one thing that we all have in common — what makes us neighbors instead of acquaintances — is our high school as the embodiment of our sense of community. Strangers in the house next door become our neighbors, and those neighbors will become our friends. My friends from high school are today among my closest and dearest friends. They are, in many ways, family.
A coworker and I go back and forth every year when our alma maters meet (my Blue Devils will whip his Parkview Possums – er, Panthers). We were in high school over 20 years ago, and we still anticipate and enjoy this annual ritual today.
Through all of the changes that Gwinnett has been through and continues to experience, there will always be the Wolves, Panthers, Wildcats, Broncos, Patriots and Black Nights.
And, yes, Blue Devils.
So what do you think? Why are high school teams so important to Gwinnett?
Permalink | Comments (9) | Categories: Bill Allen
Could Gwinnett exist without immigrants?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
The immigration issue is perhaps the most salient domestic issue that America has faced in decades. Not since the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement has the country been torn apart over how we treat people who live within our borders.
How America responds to the immigration issue is of paramount importance — not just for the undocumented workers who provide much of the hard physical labor that most Americans would rather not perform, but how we think, feel, and respond to those who seek economic opportunity in America will no doubt help define how the world and future generations view us.
The hard truth is that America could not exist without immigrants. Throughout our nation’s history both the voluntary and the involuntary immigrants (African slaves) helped build and characterize this great nation.
Here in Gwinnett, we owe much of our strong economic infrastructure and success to the recent wave of immigrants who have made the county their home.
To illustrate, let me provide this personal account from a recent Saturday:
I went to pick up some special-ordered silk blouses and jewelry from a couple from India who have an import/export business. Then I went to retrieve some slacks that I had altered from a seamstress from Korea, and then to a beauty supply store where I purchased cosmetics and earrings from the Vietnamese proprietors.
From there I went for a manicure and pedicure — again at a Vietnamese-owned business. Afterwards, I purchased gasoline from a man who said he was from Ethiopia. The most ironic thing is that I bought my dinner from Latin-American restaurateurs —- who featured a soul food menu. Before I went in for the evening, I purchased wine and spirits for weekend entertaining from a liquor store owned by Koreans.
Moreover, the labor to build my home was done by Mexicans. The landscaping to keep my community looking beautiful is performed by mostly Mexican labor. The special lighting in my home and much of my furniture comes from Asian vendors. Even the blue crabs that I enjoy steaming up Maryland-style and serving to guests, I can only find at the Asian-themed markets.
The truth is that Gwinnett County, like much of America, is dependent on immigrant business initiative and immigrant labor.
Ironically, in America’s recent history we have experienced more difficulty with welcoming immigrants from our own doorstep than those from far away. Just think about how we have looked through jaundiced eyes at immigrants from Haiti and now how we view those from Mexico and other parts of Latin America.
Immigrants add far more to the economy than they take. Without immigrants, Gwinnett would likely still be a sleepy suburban community. With immigrants, Gwinnett is an exciting mixture of cultures — and has the labor force and small business people to further build the county.
Could the Gwinnett County we know exist without immigrants? I don’t think so.
What do you think?
Permalink | Comments (200) | Categories: Beni Dakar
When a virus eats your computer
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I’ve had such a difficult time with my computer this month that I feel weary, like an explorer who has just made an arduous trek through a dense jungle in uncharted territory.
It started when my hard drive crashed. I was in Jacksonville that weekend. I came home, went to catch up on e-mail, and the computer was turned off. It’s never off. My first thought was that there had been a power surge (that happens in my condo when a dust mite sneezes), and that the computer just hiccupped.
I pushed the power button. The computer’s reaction resembled that of a cartoon character that had just been run over by a train. It sat up, looked around wildly, saying, “Where’d they go?! Where’d they go?!” Then, with a gargantuan gasp… THUD. It was dead.
I called my buddy Kevin. He’s a lawyer by trade, but he’s also schooled and certified in computer service and repair. I mostly resist technology; I almost have a phobia about it. Kevin says I am the only man in North America who doesn’t have a cell phone, and he may be right.
Kevin and I (well - Kevin) built this computer about two years ago, so I turned it back over to the creator to be healed. Of course, he had a brand new 160 gigabyte hard drive lying around in his basement (doesn’t everybody?). And, of course he was able to pull a lot of files from my old hard drive. However, I lost a lot of programs.
Kevin explained to me what happened and why it happened with the matter-of-fact delivery of a neurosurgeon. I will spare you the painful details, good reader, and sum it up by saying it “got fried.” He took the software CDs that I had and loaded them onto the new hard drive. Windows XP. No problem. Antivirus. No problem. Drivers. No problem. Stuff from the old hard drive. Turned the computer on, and I heard the whirring and beeps with which I am now so familiar, my mad scientist voice saying, “It’s alive! ALIVE!”
I had a Barney Fife-like smugness, like he gets when a problem is resolved and life in Mayberry goes on, even though Andy did all the work. I had gone from panic to despair to confidence, and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Though Kevin was the healer of record, he taught me enough about what he was doing that I felt like a trusted colleague and consultant. I went back home and plugged in my computer. My games were accessible, I was again connected to the information superhighway, and life was good.
Two weeks later I was playing gin on the Internet with this guy from England, and my antivirus software started scanning my email. But my email program wasn’t open. Wait a minute…I was SENDING email. One, two, three, four…17 emails it was scanning at one time. My computer began to groan under the strain of running so many functions, and my gut wrenched as I was hurled back into reality: I had a virus.
A Trojan program, to be exact. My antivirus software popped up a message identifying the intruder. Didn’t stop it, but it knew what it was. No problem, I thought. I’ll get an update, run a scan, remove the program. Such was my confidence and smugness regarding my newfound computer knowledge. I smirked arrogantly as I watched my antivirus program identify, quarantine and delete the invader. Reboot the computer, and….
It was still there.
I did a search at the antivirus software’s Website. AbWiz.F was the name of the virus. They knew of it. This virus embeds itself deep in the computer, and it tricks the antivirus software into thinking that it can get rid of the virus. So when everything is removed, the virus sees that it’s all clear, and it makes 50 more copies of itself. Insidious. The Website has a patch for this and that makes the playing field level.
I had to restart my computer in Safe Mode and execute the program. Safe Mode? What’s that? Oh, yeah! The TV commercial with the kid and the two cops. Press the F8 key during boot-up and enter Safe Mode. Got it!
I was so proud of myself. HAH! I understood! This technology stuff isn’t so bad after all. I did as I was instructed, ran the patch, and the virus was gone. I am a computer guru!
Two days later I was on a sports Website reading some NFL draft hype, and this message popped on the bottom of my computer: “Your firewall has been disabled. Click here to enable your firewall.” Without a second thought, I robotically moved my mouse, clicked and continued reading.
It was like walking into a swarm of mosquitoes. Pop-ups flashed across my screen like fireworks. I was directed to an adult Website, then another, and another. I turned off my cable modem, cleared my screen. Ran my virus scan. Ran my patch. Everything was gone.
But it wasn’t gone. In fact, it’s still there. Now, I am only able to get to one Website on my home computer.
Interestingly enough, the Website sells anti-spyware software. This virus has taken over my computer to direct me to a Website to by anti-spyware software.
Oh, the irony…
Permalink | Comments (5) | Categories: Bill Allen
Can May-December marriages be happy?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
A little more than a year ago, quaint Duluth made international headlines as the whole world waited with bated breath to find out what happened to Duluth jogger Jennifer Wilbanks.
Just days before she was to have a lavish wedding, Wilbanks disappeared. It was later learned that her supposed kidnapping was a hoax and she was found unharmed in New Mexico. Because of her pre-nuptial flight, Wilbanks was called the “Runaway Bride.” Moreover, Duluth earned the dubious distinction of being the setting of one of the zaniest bride stories ever.
Although the Wilbanks fiasco will probably always be associated with our beloved hamlet, we can take comfort in knowing that Duluth has no monopoly of wacky bride stories.
According to an Associated Press story, on May 1 in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, a 33-year-old man married a 104-year-old -woman.
According to the report: The groom, Muhamad Noor Che Musa, is said to be an ex-army serviceman and the bride Wook Kundor claims that this is her 21st marriage. There is no report on what happened to her other 20 husbands.
Muhamad was quoted saying that he did not marry Wook for her money since she is poor. He also claims that since he has taken up with his bride who is seven decades older than himself that he has finally found peace and stability previously unknown. The couple reportedly said that their mutual friendship had turned to love.
This story inspired me to think about how much of an age gap that I would be comfortable with in a potential mate. At age 45, I think that I can go comfortably ten years up or down, but for certain two decades of difference would be a challenge for me.
I cannot imagine what I would have in common with a 25-year-old-man, save that I could be a ‘Sugar Mama’ for a young man with a serious Oedipus complex who wants to exchange his ‘personal’ services for an extended adolescence and free rent in my home.
Conversely, a gentleman age 65 would be more of an older avuncular-like figure for me. I would be concerned about physical compatibility, nursing an ill husband or becoming a middle-aged widow.
When it comes to seeking out love and companionship is age really just a number? Or can someone really be too young or too old to consider for dating and/or marriage?
Permalink | Comments (30) | Categories: Beni Dakar
Do you suffer from Traffic Light Dysfunction (TLD)?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Traffic is the bane of my existence.
Computers are a close second, but at least I know a couple of people who can help me fix my computer problems. I don’t know anyone who can help me fix my traffic problems. My list of woes and frustrations seem endless. Traffic lights, however, are at the top of my list.
There are 16 traffic lights in the eight-mile stretch between my house and my office. And every one of them is timed so that they are red when I approach them. Not red about to turn green, but red having just been green.
My average commute time for this eight mile drive is between 30 to 40 minutes. If there is an accident along the way, 1 1/2 hours is not uncommon. There are days when it takes me as long to make the eight-mile commute north from my house to the office as it did for me to drive 23 miles south to Midtown when I worked there.
Fortunately, I only have to make two left turns on my way to the office. More than that, and my commute could easily be an hour. The left-turn lights are timed so that four, maybe five cars can make the turn. That’s it.
The one turning left onto Pleasant Hill from Peachtree Industrial is the worst. It’s one of those traffic lights that has the camera monitoring the intersection. So, people turning left do so very slowly, not wanting to be captured by the mounted revenue-gaining device that officials call a camera. (For the record, I’m not buying the safety line. But that’s a blog for another time.).
That means even fewer cars can go through the intersection. And, because people are more aware of the camera, they often slam on their brakes as they approach the intersection, creating an even more dangerous situation. The result is traffic backed up for at least a quarter of a mile, a back-up of people just wanting to turn left.
I’ve been talking to my coworkers about this for the past week, and the conversations have become quite animated. The traffic light for the people turning left onto Sugarloaf for those westbound on Old Peachtree Road allows two, maybe three cars to turn. Any traffic light on 141/Medlock Bridge/Peachtree Parkway/name-du jour seems biased to give more time to the side that has less traffic flow. North Berkeley Lake and Buford Highway causes a back-up on North Berkeley back to Peachtree Industrial. Other candidates: Any traffic light on Pleasant Hill Road or Buford Highway. Hwy. 20 and Suwanee Dam.
The worst traffic light may be at Peachtree Industrial and McGinnis Ferry. My girlfriend used to live up there, about a quarter of a mile east of Peachtree Industrial on McGinnis Ferry. She went out of town for business one week, and I agreed to look in on her dog while she was gone. I left her apartment at 8:35 a.m. By 9, I still had not reached Peachtree Industrial. And I was less than a quarter of a mile away. If patience is a virtue, there must be some saints on the roads up there. If there was a dictionary definition of “traffic incompetence,” this intersection would be the picture that accompanies the definition.
The problem with these poorly timed lights is that the situation causes people to cheat. They speed. They tailgate. They cut through shopping centers to get around the intersection. They cut in front of people and they often block through lanes of traffic when doing so. Sometimes, it’s like watching a Christmas sale at Wal-Mart.
While there are some who do this anyway, there are more people who wouldn’t normally cheat but who do so because of the frustration created by the Traffic Light Dysfunction (TLD). We can officially call this a psychological disorder, I think.
I think of all the gas that’s being wasted. I think of the vehicle emissions that permeate the environment by those who idle while they suffer through TLD. I think of all the pleasant moods that get flushed down the gutters of the surface roads on which they impatiently wait. And I wonder how much better traffic would flow around here if our elected officials would stop cozying up to the developers, closely examine this quality-of-life issue and actually do something about alleviating the concerns of their constituents.
These are only a fraction (I’m sure) of the bad intersections in Gwinnett. There is much more to say about traffic in Gwinnett, and I will say more in upcoming weeks. I’m starting here. This is my plea, my call to the silent sufferers of our traffic miasma. I wield my pen to stir the populace.
Which intersections give you headaches? What other problems have you witnessed as a result? Let’s talk about this. Let our voices arise above the rumbling of diesel engines and overly loud stereos as we wait for the light to change.
Permalink | Comments (30) | Categories: Bill Allen
Should I have paid for chocolate cream pie?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
One recent beautiful Saturday afternoon after a day filled with chores, errands and shopping, I treated myself to dinner at a local cafeteria-style restaurant.
Moving through the line, I made minor culinary decisions about whether I felt like a green leaf or fruit salad; whether I wanted carved roast beef or baked chicken; and whether mashed potatoes or macaroni and cheese would delight my palate.
Finally, I got to the dessert portion of the line and, after salivating over the array of cakes, pies and puddings for what seemed like a pleasant eternity in a sugar factory — I chose a piece of chocolate cream pie.
I had no idea that choosing a dessert would engage me in a minor moral dilemma.
At the end of the line, a person issues a guest check, but you do not actually pay for your meal until you are ready to leave the restaurant. The woman who gave me mine was not particularly friendly and she barely made eye contact.
I did not think much about it, except that maybe she was tired or had limited English skills that might make her hesitant even to engage in the smallest of small talk. The woman gave me a weak cursory smile and handed me my guest check.
When I got to the table, I noticed that she had not charged me for the pie.
I thought for a nanosecond: She wasn’t really friendly so I should keep the pie without paying — as compensation for weak customer service.
But that thought quickly faded: Even if no else knew or cared that I could get away without paying for the pie, I knew—and that was sufficient for me.
I summoned the woman who clears the trays in the dining area and pointed out the error. She never said a word, but took my guest check from me and had the pie added to my bill.
Then, while waiting in line to pay, an older woman in front of me explained to the cashier that she had not been charged for her beverage.
The cashier, unlike the lady who cleared the trays away in the dining room, made a really big deal about this woman’s honesty and rewarded her by not charging her for the beverage. Then she asked the manager if she could give this honest soul a gift check for a free meal on her next visit. This customer almost floated out of the restaurant on a cloud of righteousness.
The cashier, manager, and the other honest customer did not know that I too had an item omitted from my guest check. I never even had the urge to mention to them that I had asked for my bill to be adjusted to reflect the price of the pie. I was satisfied with knowing that I had not sold out my values for $2.79.
Would I have been a ‘bad’ person if I had eaten the pie without paying? Is there any price that makes it worthwhile to sell out your morals?
Permalink | Comments (28) | Categories: Beni Dakar
Got road name daze in Gwinnett?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
I was having coffee with my Russian friend the other day. “I hate driving here,” she said. “I keep getting lost.”
“What do you mean?”
My friend was going to the Mall of Georgia and got directions to take Highway 120 to Peachtree Industrial, turn right, go to Ga. 20, turn right, and there would be the Mall of Georgia on the left.
Simple enough, she thought.
She got on 120, but pretty soon she noticed it was Duluth Highway. She didn’t want to go to Duluth, she wanted to go to Buford, so she stopped and asked for directions to the 120. You are on 120, they said.
But it says Duluth Highway, she said. Don’t worry, they told her. It’s the same thing.
So she took Duluth Highway until it became Lawrenceville Street and she passed a hospital and the road said McClure Bridge. But she didn’t turn and soon she was on Pleasant Hill.
She stopped for directions, and they said she should have turned right in downtown Duluth.
But the first guy had told her 120 and Duluth Highway were the same, she told them, and she hadn’t turned anywhere.
They are the same, these direction-givers said. But 120 goes to the right when you get into Duluth. Didn’t she see the sign?
No, my friend said, a big SUV was in front of her and she couldn’t see ahead.
They told her she was close to Peachtree Industrial, so she took Pleasant Hill to Peachtree Industrial and went right.
She saw a sign that said she was coming to 120, but where 120 was supposed to be, the sign said that it was State Bridge Road.
She went on Peachtree Industrial and looked for 20. But soon she was on McEver. Where was this Peachtree Industrial? When she stopped to ask for directions, they said McEver and Peachtree Industrial were the same.
Then where, she wanted to know, was this 20? They told her it was about a half-mile back. She turned around but didn’t see 20. She saw Nelson Brogdon Boulevard. She stopped again and asked about 20.
You’re on 20, they told her.
But it says Nelson Brogdon, she said.
Don’t worry, they told her. It’s the same.
So she continued on Nelson Brogdon and saw a sign that said Buford Drive.
She was learning now, she told me, so she didn’t stop. She just kept driving.
And sure enough, there was the Mall of Georgia on the left.
My friend says she’d hate to be a map maker in this state. It is one of the only places she knows where you don’t have to turn to be on a different road.
Why didn’t you just take the interstate?, I asked her. Wouldn’t it have been easier?
“Oh no,” she said. ” People drive crazy on the interstate. Besides, I was afraid that I would get lost.”
This is not the first time that I have heard this complaint. Some Irish relatives were in town several years ago to attend my cousin’s wedding, and all of them said much the same thing (they were trying to get from the airport to the hotel off Holcomb Bridge Road, then to the reception).
American visitors from out of town have had the same problem. I know people who have lived here almost as long as I have, and they refuse to go downtown because they can’t figure out where they are and how to get where they are going.
If you’ve tried Mapquest, you won’t find it to be much help unless you have some intimate knowledge of the local terrain. What’s happened to you and how do you get directions?
Permalink | Comments (29) | Categories: Bill Allen
Should you bet on winning the lottery?
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
In April, Duluth resident and retired police officer James Walker Jr., 62, traded a few bucks for a Gold Rush instant lottery ticket, at a Citgo station on Buford Highway, not far from where he lives. The exchange turned out to be pretty favorable for Walker, who won an instant cool one-million smackaroos.
In seconds, Walker acquired the kind of wealth that is usually manifested by a lifetime of hard work, sacrifice and savvy financial decisions. Walker reportedly spends at least $20 each week on lottery tickets and had predicted that he would win the lottery some day.
Then on Monday, Daniel Snoke of Lawrenceville was presented a $2.5 million check from the Gold Rush Game with a ticket he bought Friday at a Duluth Publix.
Holy Moly Batman!
Those are the words of vicarious glee I let out when I read about Georgia’s newest millionaires. My mind danced with delight at the prospect of instant affluence and the allure of a self-indulgent lifestyle that money can buy.
For a full five minutes, I savored a fantasy life as rich as Walker (and now Snoke) presumably have — thinking about how I would invest, save, share and spend my million bucks.
Finally, however, the reality and the joy of my own life enabled to me rejoin the world as I experience it — and inspired me to think critically about the lottery.
I am not a lottery aficionado, but I do play occasionally. I am most likely to play while traveling (I might have out-of-towner’s luck) or when the Power Ball jackpot is extremely high.
I probably play three or four times a year and spend a grand total of about $10 — and although I would welcome winning the lottery as much as the next player (and I know that someone has to win), I also am fully aware that the odds of me finding an escape hatch in a flash from the middle-classes to upper-class is a long-shot.
Although I am glad for Walker’s stroke of luck, I am troubled by the fact that so many are spending their hard-earned money on what is essentially a pipe dream.
The average person has more chance of being struck by lightning than buying a winning $1 million-instant lottery ticket.
What about the other salt-of-the-earth folk who are spending at least $20 each week on lottery tickets? Wouldn’t it be much better odds for them to put an extra $20 each week into their 401-K (some employers match funds) or even under their pillow? If you saved $20 each week for 52 weeks, you have an assured $1040 at the end of the year.
Is it better to save the cash that you might otherwise spend on the lottery and have a guaranteed “small fortune” each year or to take a chance that you too may have a quick big payoff like Walker and Snoke?
Which is the better bet? Or do you bet at all?
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Bill Allen
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Bill Allen is Northern by birth and Southern by the grace of God, having lived almost all of his life in Gwinnett County. A technical writer working for a company in Duluth, Bill enjoys lying about his golf score, pursuing all things trivial, professional wrestling, all sports Atlanta and Gwinnett, Xbox, and good friends.
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