Source Material

The Queen has been out on her annual fall trek through the thrift stores hunting clothing and other apparel for our upcoming trip (hopefully Haweewee if it doesn't get blown off the map by the hurricane currently spinning up in the Pacific). So, she sends me a text at the office with the a photo of the following t-shirt:

She allowed as how it was the perfect shirt for me...since I typically refuse to accept much of anything without critically assessing the facts and source material.

I can't help it. I come by my flaw honestly as I was trained that way by a wise, old, Jesuit priest turned history professor in my history methodology class. The man had to be in his 70s at least at the time, and that was...more than a few years ago. Let's just say, if that man is still creeping around this old mud ball, I'm shooting him in the head on general principle. You can't be too careful to prevent a zombie outbreak.

God will sort it out.

Anyspeculation, there was a point to this post. I'm sure of it.

Oh yes...critical assessment of facts and source material.

That old Jesuit had all us wannabe history majors do a project (a research paper really) the main point of which was an annotated bibliography. He didn't really care what the subject of the paper was as long as the bibliography was annotated with a critical assessment of the source material including whether it was primary, secondary, tertiary, etc. He also wanted us to take it a step further and assess whether the source material exhibited any bias (this came back to bite me in the butt with my African history professor, but that's a story for another time).

Fast forward mumble, mumble years, and that is one the lessons that has stuck with me to this day. Unfortunately, I think this lesson has been lost on an entire generation (or more) of people.

Case on point. The other night, I come home from work to find two, brand new, freshly purchased boxes of Cheerios (M&M's preferred breakfast cereal) on a pile of stuff being gathered for donation. I queried The Queen as to the reason suspecting something was afoot.

The Queen informed me that my father-in-law, Opa, had told her that he had read an article somewhere that claimed Cheerios contained dangerous levels of a particular pesticide residue. Opa is one of those people for whom a little information is a dangerous thing (no, seriously, he's never met an internet scare of conspiracy theory that he hasn't latched onto). He really should not be let loose with an internet connection without a minder.

This revelation, as one would expect, caused my eyebrows to raise and set off my facial tics just a touch.

I set about investigating the claim du juor. Opa was questioned regarding the source of the Cheerios Challenge. After much fumbling about the dustier corners of his memory, we were able to tease out the source of the pesticide proposition. It was a news article from the Detroit Free Press linked to from the Natural News website referring to a study done by a group called Environmental Working Group.

Now we were getting somewhere. I start doing my due diligence on EWG. EWG claims to be a non-profit, non-partisan organization dedicated to protecting human health and the environment. A laudable goal to be sure. Funding is primarily from grants and individuals. Notable names among the donor list is the Walton Family Foundation (think Sam Walton of Wal-Mart fame) and The Turner Foundation (Ted Turner - CNN Founder). They also have corporate partnerships with many of the bigger names in organic foods.

Nothing about this is particularly alarming. It's not like George Soros or the Koch Brothers are involved. Having said that, did I mention EWG has a lobbying arm? Silly me. That must have slipped my mind. And regarding what issues do they lobby? Environmental, agricultural, food, toxic chemicals, etc.

So, they are environmental advocates. Again, nothing particularly wrong with that, but it could color their findings on certain topics or influence their reporting of facts. We'll get back to that in a minute.

I tracked down the article EWG posted about glysophate levels in foods. Glysophate, for the uninitiated, is the evil active ingredient in RoundUp (created by the nefarious mega corporation Monsanto...yes, I'm being a tad tongue in cheek). It seems that EWG commissioned a laboratory study of glysophate levels in common breakfast cereals. The article published by EWG reporting the results of the lab study started with a link to a recent California jury verdict in which Monsanto was ordered to pay $289 million to a plaintiff dying of cancer allegedly caused by exposure to glysophate. They then get into a discussion of the levels of glysophate in food allowed by the California Office of Environmental Health Hazard Assessment (1.1 milligrams per day for a 154 pound average person), the EPA (not specifically noted by referenced to be 60 times higher than the CA state allowable level) and the EWG's calculated "one in a million" cancer risk of 0.01 milligrams per day.

The original article I read did not "show their work" on the math, but it seems to have been corrected as they now report that a person would have to eat a 60 gram serving of food exceeding 160 parts per billion glysophate concentration to reach their calculated risk level of 0.01 millgrams per day (which, by the way, is 110 times lower than the  level the state of California says is too much which in turn is 60 times lower than what the EPA says is too much). So, just to put a bow on the math, EWG is saying that the safe level of glysophate in foods SHOULD be 6600 times lower than the level currently allowed by the EPA. They don't make a convincing case for why the level should be 6600 times lower than the EPA or 110 times lower than the state of California. Instead, they seem content to make the argument that it is a chemical linked to cancer and is therefore bad in any quantity.

For the record, I'm not volunteering to drink or otherwise consume 1.056 million parts per billion (that's 160 parts per billion times 6600) concentrations of glysophate in my daily Cheerios; and, truthfully, EWG may not be wrong in their conclusion. I just take issue with the manner in which they are presenting their information.

Back to the report on the study results. First off, the article currently on their website has been drastically revised from the version I read a few days ago, and I really wish I had a screen capture or PDF copy of the original to compare and contrast. The current version shows that EWG took samples of 45 conventional breakfast cereals and 16 organic breakfast cereals and tested them for glysophate concentration. They then report the test results in concentration parts per billion for each sample. All fine and dandy so far. Where things really went off the rails in the original article was that samples results were grouped according to which ones had unsafe levels (color coded in red...for contrast I'm sure). The thing that really bugged me in the original was that  they did not make it clear that the table of results categorized each product according to EWG's much lower concentration level.

To clarify further, the report starts out talking about concentration levels in milligrams per weight before  shifting to parts per billion in the lab results table. The revised article does now provide a brief conversion from milligrams per serving to parts per billions, but the original article did not.

Even in the revised article, if someone is not reading carefully, they might miss that critical distinction. The skeptic in me suspects that was EWG's intent in order to advocate for a new, lower standard for safe concentration levels.

Another, in my opinion, glaring omission from EWG's article is the results of other scientific testing on glysophate, a discussion of the MSDS sheet on the chemical, etc. For instance, it took me literally seconds to find out that the WHO and UN studies on glysophate determined that mammal animal models suggest that concentrations as high as 2000 milligrams per kilogram of  body weight was not associated with genotoxic effects. There's more detail out there than I'm willing to transcribe or cut and paste here. Bottom line is that you would probably have to ingest enough to drown yourself before you'd be at a legitimate risk of getting cancer, and you'd probably puke it up before you got close to those dosage levels.

After I pointed out these little details, the Cheerios mysteriously reappeared in the pantry.

Now, this is just one little drop of questionable information in a practical galactic ocean of information floating around the internet. Why should you care? Well, the president attacks CNN almost daily accusing them of being fake news. Fox News claims to be fair & balanced. Alex Jones gets banned from social media for making wild claims reported as news. For every EWG, there is a company or interest group lobbying for the opposite position. And let's not forget all those companies out there trying to make a buck selling snake oil and legitimate products.

Everyone, it seems, is publishing information at the speed of light. The incredible quantity of information being published everyday makes it impossible to fact check it all. That is why it is so incredibly important to learn to critically assess source material.

So, the next time you hear someone ranting about the latest scandal, conspiracy theory, social justice melt down...etc. Take a step back and dig into the source material with a critical eye. I'd bet that, more often than not, you'll find discrepancies in the reporting that will be most illuminating.

Update

Not much to report on the job search front. At last count, I've put out 20 or 21 job applications and received 5 formal rejections. In addition, I am working with several recruiters and a couple of people in my extended business associate network. The brightest possibilities are a recruiter with an AVP position in Dallas and a business associate with a yet to be defined possibility in Fort Worth. The AVP position is with a company where I still know several people including one of the VPs. It's a good company, and I can see myself being happy in the role. I am reportedly one of three candidates currently under consideration, but it is a nationwide search and there is no indication of when they will be moving to interview stage.

The other deal, despite being somewhat nebulous and undefined at the moment, has some advantages as well. Hopefully, one or more dominoes will start falling soon.

In other news, The Queen and I were forced to file third degree felony theft charges against someone yesterday for the first time in our lives. I can't go into details yet, but the short of it is that we were the victims of a con artist. There are aspects of the situation that would make your blood boil were I to share. "Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord"....but, let's just say I'd be happy to arrange a meeting.

Lots of lessons learned and relearned out of this experience. In this digital age, the information is out there. You just have to know where to look, how to look and take the time to be thorough. Don't do business with anyone you haven't thoroughly vetted. Big deals (if you can't afford to lose, it's a big deal) should include a background check especially if things don't pass the smell test.

As I told The Queen last night, it's easy to spot evil when it's walking down the street shooting people left and right. It's real hard to spot it when it sits down, siddles up next to you and smiles.

Abraham Lincoln said it even better: "You can fool all of the people some of the time...." This was our time.

We are resigned to the fact that we will likely never see our property again or the money that was promised (if we do, that's a bonus). Our goal is to simply insure that the thief can't do this again to anyone else. There are two other felony theft cases pending against him which we really wish we had found before we entered into an agreement with him (we would have found it if we had searched for Stephen instead of Steve). He's currently under a deferred adjudication order in another county for theft charges there. He's also being sued in civil court by someone else for circumstances nearly identical to ours (I'm in contact with that attorney trying to convince them to file criminal charges as well).

If you are in the Dallas/Fort Worth area and want to know who to avoid, send me an email. I'll be happy to share the name, court case references, etc.

The New Foster Midgets

As of today, it has been two weeks since The Queen and I were charged with taking in two new tricycle motors*. I thought I would take a brief respite from my workday to give you their story.

It was a bright and sunshiney (not to mention freaking hot – temps were in the high 80s low 90s) Friday afternoon. I had just arrived in the lobby of the building where I work to await The Queen’s arrival in her chariot to whisk me away to faraway retail establishments for purpose of selecting new clothes for work when, at around 5:30, my iLeash rang. It was The Queen.

The Queen said, “I just got a call from Robin (who is the director of our foster parent/adoption agency), and she has an eight month old girl and a four year old boy that need a home right away. What do you think?”

After all we have been through over the last couple of months with M&M’s situation, “What Do You Think?” is a loaded question to be perfectly honest. However, in a moment of blissful insanity, I didn’t bother to think. I said, “Tell her to bring ‘em on.” Sometimes, you just have to lead with your chin. Which would explain why my jaw is occasionally very sore.

So, further shopping plans were abandoned like a campaign promise after the election returns are in, and we hurried home to meet the new minions. I should point out here that “hurried” is a relative term when applied to Dallas traffic on a Friday afternoon when combined with The Queen’s luck with navigation. She has won the Magellan Award for Creative Navigation on more than one occasion; however, that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say for now, that The Queen was a wee bit flustered by the call, missed her turn(s) and had to backtrack her way to my office.

We made it home just about a half hour ahead of the CPS caseworker (a different one from the one handling M&M’s case) which gave us just enough time to do a hasty, whirlwind tour of cleaning and straightening through the house. As you may recall, the heat pump at the castle was most thoroughly and totally dead at this point, and the thermostat in the house read a (un)breezy 89 degrees inside. We chose to wait for the kiddos outside where it was a little more bearable.

CPS arrived (in three separate cars no less – why, I have no idea – our tax dollars at work) at around 7:00, and we met our new feral house monkeys. The four year old boy, who I will henceforth refer to as Mini Me because he reminds me a lot of myself at his age, was very shy at first. He clutched a bag of Wendy’s chicken nuggets and fries in one hand and a soda in the other. He didn’t want to look anyone in the eye, and didn’t say anything.

His little eight month old sister (half sister actually as we later found out), however, had plenty to say. At full volume no less. She came out of the car in her car seat screaming bloody murder which I’m sure included several not so kind words and thinly veiled threats in her version of baby speak. I would like to refer to her as SCREAMER!!!!!11!!!!! in honor of the cute little killing machines with handy dandy saw blades from the scifi movie of the same name starring Peter Weller (better known for his role as Robocop); however, that is probably an insult to cute little mechanized killing machines and doesn’t do her vocal skills justice. To say that this little girl is the polar opposite of M&M is an understatement (not that it is her fault). So, I will call her Little Miss Cobra instead (after the A.C. Cobra designed by the recently departed Carroll Shelby – ‘cause both go from zero to loud in nothing flat…and there might be other reasons too…like a shared name and the fact that she strikes quick…or not).

The kids arrived with a large bin full of clothing. Most of which turned out to belong to Little Miss Cobra. A second bin arrived a few days later after their first supervised visit with mom at CPS which had mostly Mini Me’s clothing in it.

We were told initially that momma had been on the run from CPS for three months, that dad was in jail and that CPS finally caught up to them at a hotel. We were also told that Little Miss Cobra was born positive for prescription medications and had had to go through eight weeks of Methadone treatment when she was a newborn. Most of that has turned out to be more or less true as far as we have been able to determine.

The Queen has met momma, dad/stepdad and grandma. The story that has unfolded is that Mini Me’s dad is in jail for reasons still unknown. Momma hooked up with dad/stepdad not long after Mini Me’s dad went into the pokie and has been the father figure for most of his short life thus far. As is the way of things, momma got pregnant 17 months or so ago. However, while she was pregnant, she was addicted to the pain killers she had been taking due to a back injury. I’m not clear on whether the back injury came before or after she got pregnant. That is what got her onto CPS’ radar in the first place.

CPS apparently allowed momma to take Little Miss Cobra home without a fuss. I assume due to the fact that the drugs were not recreational pharmaceuticals. All was apparently happy and joy for about five months until someone (grandma we think) called CPS on momma. The reason for CPS’ reinvolvement remain unclear as of this writing, but momma said she was scared for her kids going into foster care which is why she ran and tried to hide in hotels for three months. They finally tracked her down at a Budget Inn & Suites and took the kids.

The Queen reports that momma seems like a nice person (which, coming from The Queen, is a pretty good endorsement), is sincerely distraught about losing her kids and very much wants them back. The Queen counseled her to do exactly what CPS tells her to do, and she will get them back.

The kids appear to be in overall decent health. There are some obvious nutritional issues that had to be dealt with right away. I previously mentioned Mini Me’s request for a sippy cup of soda. The dentist took one look at his mouth and immediately referred him out to a pediatric orthodontist for major work to repair his severely eroded teeth. He is not looking forward to going under the knife so to speak. We have had to guide his food and drink choices (would you like apple juice or water?) instead of giving him free reign with the kids’ menu. Little Miss Cobra has some allergies which necessitate that she have a certain type of pre-mixed formula. She is eating baby foods and some solids (she has a thing for Cantalope we discovered last night).

Personality and behavior wise, Mini Me warmed up after a little bit. We had a little defiance the first night over bath time which is to be expected in a four year old. He found out the hard way that trying to hide in the closet while whining doesn’t impress us. He’s been caught red handed in an outright lie. The incident would have been cute were it not for the seriousness of the issue:

Me: [walking into the kitchen to throw something away only to discover the Candyland game box in the trash can] Honey, did you intend to throw away the Candyland box?

The Queen: No, why?

Me: Mini Me, come with me please. [we walk into the kitchen and I show him the trash can contents] Did you throw that away?

Mini Me: Uh uh.

Me: You mean “no, sir”. Are you sure you didn’t throw that away?

Mini Me: [nodding his head vigorously]

Me: I don’t think you are telling the truth. [The Queen] didn’t do it, and I wasn’t here to do it. That leaves you. Did you throw it away?

Mini Me: [nodding his head and turning away]

He got a very simple but firm explanation of just how important the truth is in our house and why that is important. So far, we’ve not had a repeat.

Aside from that and some ongoing training in politeness that is required for many children his age, Mini Me is a really good kid. He is extremely helpful with and loving towards his sister. He loves to play and laugh. I’ve enjoyed having a boy to torment (counting ribs is always a hoot). He misses his mom dearly, and he really does not like the CPS lady. She’s “mean”. I can see why he would think that. She did take him away from momma. He seems to grasp that The Queen and I are not the enemy which is helpful.

Little Miss Cobra, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. I’ve mentioned the SCREAMING. It really is piercing…it literally interferes with rational thought. She despises being on her back for any reason…which makes changing diapers a challenge. She and I fought tooth and nail for probably 30 or 45 minutes over a nasty, poopy diaper change on the first Saturday we had them (which, as you will recall, was when we still had no AC in the house). After the first fifteen minutes, I had to relocate us from the hot, stuffy bathroom where I had been trying to change her to the living room floor because a) there was no air circulating in the bathroom and it felt like a sauna, b) we were both hot and sweaty and I feared losing my grip on a slippery infant who is thrashing around while trying to roll over on the bathroom counter we use as our changing table and generally escape my grasp, c) did I mention how loud and piercing her SCREAMING can be?, d) especially in a hot, stuffy, 80 square foot bathroom with lots of reflective surfaces, and e) it seemed like a good idea at the time. This hatred of all things reclined extends to her car seat making trips in the car an absolute joy until we can get her to pass out.

Fortunately, all with Little Miss Cobra is not negative. She does like to be held (upright, not reclined). She is crawling and pulling up. She will walk with assistance for short distances meaning we will have a toddler on our hands sooner than we originally expected. She has what I think is an adorable habit when she gets tired. If you are holding her near night, night time (and she is not SCREAMING), she will fall asleep on your chest after head butting you several times in the chest to find the most comfortable spot. She will do the same thing in her crib if she is not already sound asleep when you put her in.

The Queen and I seem to be adjusting to the new circumstances fairly well. After our experience with M&M, we have held back a little emotionally with these two. We still care for them as we would for any child, but we are not allowing ourselves to become bonded in the same way we did with M&M. Part of that is due to the fact that the kids already have a strong bond with their momma and we don’t want to interfere with that. Part of it is for our own emotional protection. The Queen and I discussed the issue of adopting these two briefly amongst ourselves, and we both agree that we would if they became available. However, we’ve not mentioned it since, and we probably won’t even think about it again until after there is confirmation that momma’s rights will be terminated and there are no other viable family members (which is too early to tell right now).

At this point, we have no idea how long they will be with us. There was mention of an aunt who might take them; however, she has to get a job and an apartment before that can happen. As far as we are concerned right now, they are with us until they aren’t.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some ribs to go count.

* A term for small children shamelessly stolen from conservative radio talk show host, Neil Boortz.

Why Do We Need Middlemen?

The Queen of All Things in the Realm of Domestic Tranquility and I are huge science fiction fans. We’re not huge fans in the “dress up as Klingons or Hans Solo/Princess Leia and go to conventions where other weirdoes gather” vein, but huge fans none the less. There are limits to how far one should go in your efforts to be a nerd. We draw the line at including favorite lines from movies and TV shows in our daily conversations. Actually, I swipe a foot through that line in the sand once in a while and actually read the books upon which our favorite movies and TV shows are based. Unfortunately, I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to book to screen conversions. I get really annoyed when Hollywood trashes a perfectly good story in favor of some sort of “artistic vision” that a director had in a moment of weakness, egomaniacal pretentiousness or alcoholic stupor. I still can’t watch Starship Troopers without cringing. Don’t get me started. Robert Heinlein must be spinning in his grave.

(Step away from the soapbox. It’ll be okay. You’ll always have the book. I promise.)

One thing I have discovered in my forays across the line in the sand is that I am really fascinated with the social insight of science fiction. I am also amazed by the fact that literary critics and English professors seem to be only recently catching on to this. I mean really. Good writing is like any other art form that stands the test of time. Art imitates life; and, sometimes, life imitates art. Can someone please explain to me why the works of Isaac Asimov or Robert Heinlein are any less relevant as social commentary than the works of Henry David Thoreau or Ralph Waldo Emerson? I challenge you to pick up any science fiction novel, take a look at the copyright date and then read the book. Odds are good that understanding the times in which it was written will reveal a wealth of social context and commentary in the book. For instance, Joe Haldeman’s Forever War makes a lot more sense when you understand that it was written in the middle of the sexual revolution and the Vietnam War. Ditto for Heinlein’s Starship Troopers written in the era of McCarthyism, the Korean War, etc.

One of my favorite sci-fi TV shows was a little, short lived thing called Firefly. I believe it ran as a summer replacement series on Fox a few years ago. I enjoyed the show immensely, and was very disappointed that it didn't get a longer run. Fortunately, they were able to do a feature length movie called Serenity to wrap up some of the loose ends. In one of the episodes, there is a little exchange between characters about why they were going through middlemen to sell stolen goods instead of selling the items themselves to maximize profit. One of the characters replied with a line something along the lines of: "One third of the universe is middlemen, and they don't take too kindly to being cut out of the middle."

When you start thinking about it, one third of the population really is a middleman. You buy your cars from a dealership instead of direct from the manufacturer. You buy your houses through an agent instead of directly from the seller or builder. You get your groceries from a store instead of direct from the farmer. You get insured through an agent or a broker (although some companies have started direct writing programs).

What started me thinking about this was a discussion I had with a mediator not too long ago. For those that aren’t familiar with the tragic comedy that is the litigation world, a mediator is a (supposedly) impartial third party (Hey, look! A middleman.) who aids opposing parties in a lawsuit in resolving their case. The Texas Legislature calls it “Alternative Dispute Resolution”. Mediators are usually former attorneys who got sick and tired of the rat race that is personal injury litigation and decided to become intermediaries for others still stuck in the rat race.

Anyway, back to our story. I have spent the last 18 years working in the insurance industry the last 14 of which I’ve spent as a claims adjuster handling complex, high exposure and litigated injury claims. So, I go to mediation at least a couple of times a month. Sometimes I go a couple of times a week. On this particular occasion, I was at a mediation trying to settle a case as a favor to a co-worker when this mediator was asking me why people in the claims business (and me in particular), needed mediators (and her in particular) in the first place.

First, I found it interesting that a middleman would ask one of their customers why they needed a middleman. To me, that’s sort of like a grocery store manager asking their customers why they don’t milk their own cows or brew their own beer. After some thought and setting aside my natural tendency to issue snarky replies, I answered that I thought it was because we have developed a culture of distrust. Nobody seems to be able to trust anyone anymore. Given all the scandals reported in the news, it’s not surprising. This minister is going to be “called home to Jesus unless you send me all your money.” That politician got caught with $90,000 in cold hard cash in their freezer. Some Nigerian wants to send me millions of dollars and all he needs is the routing numbers for my bank account and a small earnest fee to show my good faith. In small bills, of course.

Take buying a house for instance. My great grandfather bought a house in Austin, TX back in the late 1960’s or early 1970’s with nothing more formal than a handshake. A sweaty palmed handshake I’m sure, but a handshake none the less. I’m not even sure they checked to see if the fingers of his other hand were crossed. Compare that with the inch and a half worth of paperwork involved when I refinanced my house a year ago. The Queen and I had to sign a piece of paper affirming that our signatures confirmed that we were the people our identification verification forms said we were not to mention the form that we had to sign swearing under oath that we were not members of a terrorist organization or that the home would be used for nefarious purposes. Apparently, you can lie about your income and the fact you actually do have a job that earns enough income to pay for this tremendously expensive asset that you cannot afford, but they are going to make certain that you’ve certified on pain of death that you are who your driver’s license says you are. Next time I buy a house, I may just sign all the documents “P.T. Barnum” to see if anyone notices.

Seriously, though, does anyone else see the absurdity of what we’ve come to as a society? We’ve gotten to the point where we don’t even trust ourselves anymore much less our friends, family and neighbors. So, what do we do? We go get middlemen. We abdicate our own common sense, experience and personal responsibility to someone else do in the hope that they will do what’s right for us. For a nominal fee. In small bills, of course.