Posts filed under ‘Walt Trizna’
FILTERING THE NEWS
FILTERING THE NEWS
An observation:
It’s sad in this day and age that the news you receive depends on who owns the source.
And for many the news they hear is the news they want to hear.
THE TRUMP NAME AND THE SACKLER’S
THE TRUMP NAME AND THE SACKLER’S
The name Trump may someday go down the same road as the name Sackler has journeyed. For those not familiar with the Sackler name or remember about its past, here is a reminder.
The Sackler family owned Purdue Pharma, the company which made OxyContin the compound containing oxycodone and primarily responsible for the opioid epidemic.
When Purdue Pharma sent out their sales force to contact doctors with the intent to secure sales of their product they were told to tell doctors that this was an excellent compound for dealing with pain. The sales force was also told to tell doctors that there was no chance of addiction with the use of this medication. And as they say, “The rest is history”.
The Sackler family was known for contributing vast amounts of money to charities and various other organizations. And because of their donations the name Sackler appeared on the walls of buildings and was connected with many well-known organizations. When the Sackler’s involvement with the opioid epidemic became known their name began disappearing from walls and any association with organizations to which they had made massive contributions. The name Sackler doomed anyone unfortunate enough to bear it even, those with no connection to Purdue Pharma, ruining the careers of innocent family members.
Now lets look at the name Trump and draw some comparisons. The name Trump has become prominent in appearing in society due to Trump being president and his massive ego. There is talk with possibly adding his name to Penn Station and other familiar sites. We have already seen the name Trump added to the Kenedy Center along with the president’s hand in running the organization and how successful that has been.
The Sackler name appeared because of the contributions the family made. The Trump name appears because the president wants it to. But because of the president’s actions in handling the responsibility of the office of President the name Trump may suffer the same fate as the name Sackler. I am not the only one who has given the future of the name Trump some thought.
An excellent piece appeared in the opinion section in the Sunday New York Times on 2/15/2026 written by Michelle Cottle entitled Trump Is Slapping His Name on Everything, It Won’t Last. Time will tell how long the name Trump will last on public display and respected with honor.
For those interested in learning more about the Sackler family I suggest the read Empire of Pain written by Patrick Radden Keefe to see how history deals with a name gone wrong.
SNOW: A POEM FOR THE TIMES
SNOW: A POEM FOR THE TIMES
For those familiar with my blog I’m sure they expected to see this poem again with the major snowstorm we have just seen and are still experiencing.
Snow is a poem I post every time there is a significant snowfall. I feel this current storm merits its posting.
This poem was inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Bells.
SNOW
See the delicate snowflakes fall,
Falling, falling, falling.
Whitening the earth, awaiting below,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the mounds of glittering white,
Building, building, building.
As they hide the ground from our sight,
Building, building, building.
See the ceaseless falling snow,
Falling, falling, falling.
Will it stop, no one quite knows,
Falling, falling, falling.
See the drifts accumulate,
Building, building, building.
My longing for spring will no longer wait,
Building, building, building.
SEE THE DAMNED WHITE BLANKET GROW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
MY CAR, MY LAWN, ALL I KNOW,
HIDING, HIDING, HIDING.
SEE MY MADNESS, MY URGE TO KILL,
GROWING, GROWING, GROWING,
CROSS MY PATH, AND I’LL DO YOU ILL,
SMILING, SMILING, SMILING.
THOSE AMAZING WATER BEARS AND THE KIDNEY
THOSE AMAZING WATER BEARS AND THE KIDNEY
It has been a while since I first ran across a reference to water bears (Tardigrades). They are the most bizarre creatures I have ever seen. When I saw them I immediately knew a story would follow. That story is now in progress.
The reason for this post is an interesting relationship I reasoned between water bears and the kidney.
Water bears are virtually indestructible. They have survived a trip into space. So what you may say, so have many other organisms. The reason their survival was so unique was that they were on the OUTSIDE of the spacecraft. They are thought to possibly be a good model to study cancer. The reason being that to increase in size they increase their cell size as opposed to cell division, a process leading to some forms of cancer.
Here is where the tie to kidneys comes in.
I began my career in research at Albert Einstein College of Medicine and the first project I was involved in was the study of kidney hypertrophy. When you remove the kidney of an animal, including us, the remaining kidney grows in size. The increase is not due to cell division but due to an increase in cell size. This work began in 1974. It appears that some progress has been made in understanding the mechanism and is far more complicated than our approach was in 1974. We weren’t even close. To give you an idea of what our knowledge of cell function was around the time I was in graduate school, and a new structure had been identified on the surface of cells. They were calling it a ‘receptor’. I was to begin my research career about four years later.
I thought the growth of water bears and kidney hypertrophy are an interesting duplication in cell biology.
For those curious about this most unusual creature, the water bear, I have included a link to a documentary about them.
WHO IS BEHIND THE MASK?
WHO IS BEHIND THE MASK?
I’m sure most of you have heard about individuals impersonating police officers. I have never heard of someone trying to impersonate an ICE agent. Not yet.
How many of us would have a clue as to how exactly an ICE agent should look unless we are unfortunate enough to live in a city where they have set up shop.
I know that they dress in camouflage looking like they are ready for combat with some writing on their back. I don’t know of any other way to identify an ICE agent but I’m sure there must be some. At least I hope so. But I feel all aspects of their outfits would not be difficult to reproduce. Plus, if you had never seen an ICE agent up close how could you tell the genuine from the fake?
Then there are the masks. Their masks hide their true identities.
Our president says that the areas where the agents are dispatched are full of rapists and dangerous criminals.
Let me paint a scenario for you.
You see a small group of men, masked, who appear to you to be ICE agents. They are leading a resisting, attractive, young Hispanic woman to an unmarked van. Would you take any action? People have been shot and killed for taking action when masked men, acting in ways not usually seen on their streets. The question is who is behind those masks?
As then van drives away you will never know.
ICE AND DEATH THREATS
ICE AND DEATH THREATS
Originally this post was going to concern ICE agents and masks but a recent piece on the news generated thoughts I needed to share. My next post will consider ICE agents and the use of masks.
The news I heard concerned the increase of death threats against ICE agents. I think making death threats under any circumstances is wrong. But I want to take a look at what situations are generating enough anger to spawn death threats.
Under the current use of ICE people, for the most part, feel helpless in bringing about change. Protests are having some effect, but the attitude of the administration and the agents is manufacturing enough anger to result in death threats.
ICE agents have killed two people. Both were non-Hispanic and citizens. The administration, beginning with the president and on down, have lied about the circumstances involved in the shootings. Kristi Noem, head of Homeland Security, lied about the incidents. Stephen Miller aggressively lied about the incidents.
ICE agents have been told that they have full immunity in everything they do. Agents have broken car windows and kicked down doors in pursuit of illegal immigrants when there were no criminals present. Children have been detained along with their non-criminal parents. People attending hearings with the hope of obtaining legal status have been arrested. The action of ICE agents stirring up anger goes on and on.
The mission of ICE agents was to eliminate criminal illegal immigrants from society. No city has a problem with this mission. But the mission has become warped going down paths of unneeded violence against innocent people. This is the cause of the increase of death threats. If ICE agents began acting like agents of the law instead of thugs I think the volume of death threats would greatly diminish.
A VALENTINE’S GIFT: A STORY OF UNDYING LOVE
A VALENTINE’S GIFT: A STORY OF UNDYING LOVE
Jim Reed sat in a desolate park in a seedy section of the city and pulled the collar of his badly worn coat up as the North wind howled, he sipped from the bottle concealed in the brown paper bag and, with each sip, a grimace spread across his face while momentary warmth filled his empty belly.
“That god damned day is coming,” he thought. He did not have a calendar for a calendar needed a wall on which to hang and his watch was gone, long gone to a pawnshop. Jim kept track of the date and headlines the world produced from the newspaper machines along the sidewalk.
He drank rapidly; trying to prevent his mind from wandering to the day he lost his future, his purpose, that Valentine’s Day five years ago. But he could not prevent his numbed mind from reviewing his life and recalling the day his reason for being was erased.
* * *
While in college, Jim developed a drinking problem, and it lingered after graduation. He found a job as an accountant, worked hard during the day and drank hard during the night.
A friend from work wanted to fix Jim up with a girl. A date was arranged, a Dutch-treat dinner. Jim arrived at the Italian restaurant early, sat at the bar drinking red wine when a stunning woman with long black hair walked in searching for someone. She approached Jim and said, “I’m Debbie Wilson, could you be Jim Reed?”
Jim could not believe that this woman was his blind date. He gulped down his wine, took her hand, and headed for the restaurant area. He drank less than he usually did on a date and just enjoyed talking to Debbie. Before he knew it, they had spent two hours over dinner, and he was sober. He wanted to pay for dinner, but Debbie demanded to pay her own way. She smiled and said, “Next time you can treat.” This brought a grin to Jim’s face. Debbie paid her part of the bill, and as the cashier placed the change in her hand, Debbie exclaimed, “What’s this?” She looked down at the dirty white penny in her hand.
“That’s a steel penny,” Jim explained. “One year, during World War II, pennies were made of a composite in order to save copper in order to make shell castings.”
Debbie’s eyes brightened as she said, “This is going to be my lucky penny. It’s so unusual.”
Their relationship grew into love, and six months later they were married. They bought a small house and soon Debbie was pregnant. Jim’s life had a hope he had never imagined as he watched Debbie grow with their child.
They found a hospital providing a room for natural birth but had the facilities to cope with any problems that might occur. One day, as Debbie was preparing a special dinner to celebrate a special day, her water broke. Jim rushed her to the hospital thinking, “By the time this Valentine’s Day is over, I’ll have two loves, not one.”
After they entered the hospital, a nurse took Debbie’s blood pressure and immediately had her rushed to the emergency room. Debbie’s eyes reflected the fear Jim felt as he sat at her bedside. When Debbie began to convulse, Jim was escorted to the waiting room.
Hours later their obstetrician entered the waiting room and sat next to Jim. The doctor’s eyes never left the floor. In a soft voice he told Jim, “I’m sorry but your wife is gone, we lost the baby girl too. If you will come with me, I’ll take you to your wife.”
Jim felt horror, shock and helplessness all at once. On shaky legs he followed the doctor and soon found himself standing next to a bed and staring down at Debbie’s pretty face. She seemed so much at peace while Jim was in such torment.
The next few days were a blur; Jim drank himself into numbness while friends and family expressed their regrets. Jim stayed numb for five years, never cried over his loss, keeping the grief tied up inside. He stayed numb as he was fired and eventually lost his house. He had been homeless for two years now and just didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything.
* * *
Jim left the park and made his way into the city. He mumbled, “That god damned day is here,” as he sat on the grate of an office building immersed in the steam, trying to stay warm. The hour was late and the street was strangely deserted. Steam created an odd glow around the streetlamps. Through the mist, a woman holding a small baby approached him.
“You look so sad. You deserve a better life,” she said.
Jim yelled, “Get the hell away from me,” but the woman wouldn’t budge. She just stood before Jim as her eyes filled with tears.
“Your life needs to turn around, I’d like to help you,” she repeated this as she placed a small cloth sack before Jim. As she turned to leave she said something strange, “We love you.”
Jim watched through the mist as the women departed; saw the figure of the woman recede into the distance, melting into the mist.
Jim sat there, drinking from his bag and lifted the small cloth sack. He opened it and spilled its contents into his hand. He sat there looking at the single dirty white penny. He lifted the paper bag to his lips and then tossed it away as tears coursed his face.
THE END
THE OLYMPICS AND AI
THE OLYMPICS AND AI
What is the definition of a sport?
I once had a friend who said for an event to be considered a sport there had to be either a score or time involved. I will include two more criteria, distance and accuracy. For distance consider the shotput or similar events. For accuracy consider archery and again similar events.
If only events which involved the above four criteria many Olympic events in both the summer and winter Olympics, true crowd pleasers, would have to be eliminated. Summer Olympics would not see any gymnastics. Winter Olympics would lack figure skating. In such events as these the winners are determined by opinion. But in those events where winners are determined by opinion AI could provide a remedy to make judging more valid.
To determine the merits of judging in the above events opinion could be replaced by concrete criteria if AI is involved. Here is my thinking.
To determine the winners of opinion-oriented events a committee of representatives from prominent countries which are usually present in the competition along with past winners of that competition. In this way there would be no politics involved, which has been a problem in the past.
A method could be developed where each member of the group can produce what they consider to be, in their mind, the perfect performance. All those results could then be fed into a computer to determine the ultimate performance for the event. When the event was to take place a series of cameras could be set up to record the athlete’s performance from various angles and this could be matched up to the ultimate performance determined by the panel.
It seems to me that this would eliminate any prejudice or inexperience of a judge and determine a winner beyond any shadow of a doubt.
What do you think?
This is my speculation on how AI could be used as a method of judging some Olympic events. I am sure a vast improvement can be made on the subject. This is merely an attempt to start the thought process going.
TRUMP’S TRUTH SOCIAL ACCOUNT: WHO CAN POST?
TRUMP’S TRUTH SOCIAL ACCOUNT: WHO CAN POST?
This post is appearing sooner than my next post usually would. I felt it was necessary to make it after what was reported recently concerning the disgusting post made on Truth Social about the Obamas.
Trump says he had nothing to do with the post. That someone working for him made the post without his knowledge.
Whenever there is a post on Truth Social and released as news I always assumed it was made by Trump. Now we are told that there are others with the ability to make posts which can be considered news. Posts where what is said could be considered opinions and action of the president.
To me this gives the ability for some unknown individual to create posts without the president’s knowledge. Posts which could have critical results. Post expressing thoughts on the economy, discussing international concerns and even start a war.
From now on it will be impossible to know for sure that each post on Truth Social, where posts are assumed to be made by Trump, are indeed made by him. From now on these posts deemed to be newsworthy should include the name of the author.
DOGS’ TALE: A LOVE STORY, CONTINUED
DOGS’ TALES (CONTINUED)
I had a similar experience when I was a kid, but it was not so drastic. My Auntie Zushia took my cousin Dolores a.k.a. D.O. and I to a pet shop and introduced us to the owner Henry. I have always loved pet shops. His shop had a few rows of tanks full of tropical fish. I love the smell of a room full of fish tanks, the humid tropical smell they give off. Henry also had some Spits puppies. They were light tan in color and D.O. and I each picked one out. They named D.O.’s dog Skippy and they had him for years and years. I don’t know if we ever named mine for we had him for less than a week, he would snap at everyone. So back to Henry’s pet shop we went to return the dog. Sadly, I read years later that Henry had been killed during a robbery at his pet shop. He was a gentle man who loved animals and loved sharing his knowledge of them with whoever ventured into his store.
Now back to Pook, the dog I knew in my youth and was with my family after I became a man. My sister Shirley had a friend in grade school whose dog had a litter and Shirley was offered one of the pups. My dad was as bad as I am when it comes to animals, no is not an option. We named him Spoofy but usually called him Pook. He moved into our house and slept in a little alcove behind our kitchen stove. He was a little black furry ball. We went through the usual aggravation of house training, but he finally got the idea down. A few months after we adopted him we were set to go on summer vacation, but Pook was not allowed to come along. Another friend of Shirley’s offered to take care of him while we were away, so we were set.
When we arrived home from our vacation Pook was returned to us, and he was a mess. Pook was not super – intelligent as a pup, but what pup is? During his stay with Shirley’s friend he tried to jump off the second-floor porch and the try was successful, but the landing was not, causing an injury to one of his front paws. It was swollen and he couldn’t put much weight on it. This injury did not help his appetite so along with his leg injury he had a touch of malnutrition. My father took him to the vet expecting to have him put to sleep, but Pook came back home. The vet said he thought he would be okay, to give him some time and see how he did. Pook did stop his limp after a while, but that area of his leg was permanently enlarged and always somewhat tender.
He grew to be a medium-sized longhaired black dog with his tail curling up over his back. I would defy anyone to determine his breed, for as they say these days he was truly an eclectic dog. He grew to love us and we loved him. He protected us. If a man who was not a family member he would growl, a low growl that would not stop, that could not be stopped. No matter where you put him the growl would continue, from other rooms, from behind closed doors.
He loved and tolerated us. He had to tolerate my sisters more than the rest of the family for they would dress him up and even put him in a carriage. He would sit perfectly still as the girls adorned him in either their clothes or something from their larger dolls but he would get a look in his eyes, as if to say, can you believe what I have to go through. His eyes told the true level of enjoyment he was experiencing.
Pook was with us for a long time and made the move with the family from Christie Street to Somme Street, from our days of cold water to our days of hot water. I recall especially cold winter nights on Somme Street. He would be sound asleep and, since we had no back yard where he could ‘freshen up’, he had to be walked. I remember countless nights when I would have to walk him before I could go to sleep. The night was like ice. I would say,”Pook, you have to go out!” I would have to say this a few times while nudging him. Finally, aroused from his slumber I was treated to a low throaty growl, but I finally had his attention. A little more nudging and coaxing on my part and a little more growling on his part and he would stiffly get up and be nice enough to accompany me on my walk through the cold night.
Pook was with us for a long time. He was with us through my high school years, college years, four years in the service and three years into my career. As I went through the various stages of my life, I would come home for vacation and Pook’s all black face became more and more gray. I was living in Miami and my brother and sister Judy along with her daughter were visiting me when I got the call. My mother said Pook had had a stroke and, after a few days, it was clear there was no hope. My father had to take Pook in and they put him to sleep. My mother said that my father cried. I think we all cried a little with the news; Pook was with us for so long. It was hard to remember when he wasn’t part of the family and now he was gone.
Pook was a great eclectic dog. He shared our cold and our hot water days, gave love and accepted love back. And as far as I know, my brother still carries a picture of him in his wallet.
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