Cleaning out my news story files

Prada – Made in Italy by imported Chinese workers (LA Times)

Excerpt:

Thousands of Tuscan factories that produce the region’s fabled leather goods are now operated and staffed by Chinese. Though located in one of Italy’s most picturesque and tourist-frequented regions, many of the factories are nothing more than sweatshops with deplorable conditions and virtually indentured workers.

Chinese laborers have become such an integral cog in the high-fashion wheel that large Chinatowns have sprung up here and in Florence. Signs in Chinese, Italian and sometimes English advertise prontomoda (ready-to-wear). At the main public hospital in Prato, the maternity ward on a recent morning was a cacophony of 40 squalling babies, 15 of them Chinese. “Mi chiamo Zhong Ti,” one of the crib tags said — “My name is Zhong Ti.”

My thoughts: Made in USA doesn’t always mean what it says either. Sometimes it means made in Saipan or by imported workers in LA.

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Sweatshop Shrimp Made in Thailand/Bangladesh

Excerpt:

Interviews with workers showed arduous conditions including “long hours, low pay, abusive employers, informal work, unsafe and unhealthy working conditions, and the vulnerability of migrant workers.” (Bangkok Post)

My thoughts: Like the garment industry, but with unpredictable seas.

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Big denim factory opens in Nicaragua

Excerpt:

Certain statements contained in this press release may constitute “forward looking statements” within the meaning of the United States Private Securities Litigation Reform Act of 1995. These statements may relate to, among other things, ITG’s future plans, revenue, earnings, outlook, expectations and strategies, and are based on management’s current beliefs. Forward looking statements involve a number of risks and uncertainties, including changes to the facts or assumptions underlying these statements (from Joshua Berman).

My thoughts: The above excerpt concludes the press release. I would prefer the include their “we made most of this crap up” statement at the beginning so I can not waste my time.

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Happiness author writes about servant

Excerpt:

One spring, puberty arrived, and suddenly I was the “father” of a hormonal Indian teenager. Once, while I was out of town, Kailash and a few friends rented porn movies and a VCR. I was appalled but also secretly pleased by his initiative. Whenever I asked Kailash about his aspirations, he demurred. “Whatever you want me to do, sir,” he would say. “As you wish.” (NY TIMES)

My thoughts: I’ve been falling asleep to Eric Weiner’s Geography of Bliss for a few months now. To be fair, it keeps me up on occasion. It’s a worldwide quest to find the happiest place on Earth. It’s worth a read.

Cheesy Press Release

For some reason I started getting travel-related press releases by email and mail.

Yesterday I received a packet with a map encouraging me to take a road trip to visit “116 tasty points of interest across America’s Dairyland” – Wisconsin. The following sentence says it all:

“The possibilities for fun are endless, including information about specialty cheese shops and cheesemaking facilities, where you can meet many of the nation’s most awarded cheesemakers, tour their “workshops” and sample some of Wisconsin’s best products.”

Among the things that I include on my endless possibilities of fun list are NOT “information about specialty cheese shops” or “cheesemaking facilities” or “cheesemakers.”

Even though I will never visit one of Wisconsin’s 116 tasty points of interest, I would like to encourage the Milk Marketing board to continue to send me their PR’s because I really do appreciate their effort. Plus I learned a fun fact: there is a Colby Wis. Who knew?

Wal-Mart saving the world one funny light bulb at a time

Yep, that Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart’s CEO Lee Scott:

Companies should create businesses that focus on building products and services for the poor. “Such a system would have a twin mission: making profits and also improving lives for those who don’t fully benefit from market forces,” he plans to say….
In particular, he said, he’s troubled that advances in technology, health care and education tend to help the rich and bypass the poor. “The rate of improvement for the third that is better off is pretty rapid,” he said. “The part that’s unsatisfactory is for the bottom third — two billion of six billion.”

In the next three years, we would like to build a very different system. We believe that there should be one framework of social and environmental standards for all major global retailers. And there should be one third party auditing system for everyone.

You can read more about Wal-Mart saving the world on salon.com and in this NY Times story.

Here’s an excerpt from Where am I Wearing? about a buddy recalling the W-A-L-M-A-R-T cheer he had to do each day before his shift:

John told me, “There are a lot of things that I have done in my life that I have tried to forget and having to shake my ass in that cheer is one of them.”

U.S. Passports Made in Thailand via the Netherlands

In terms of the previous post, if there is anyone that should be a red, white, and blue consumer, it’s the United States Government. I’m not sure how many hundreds of millions, if not billons, of dollars they spend per year protecting farmers and American jobs, yet they turn around and do something as stupid as outsourcing the production of our passports to save a few bucks.

Apparently there are security issues too.

Your tax dollars at work.

Victoria’s Secret: a non-pervs quest to buy his girlfriend underwear

I wrote this piece last year and read it for Annie before I gave her the gift I bought. It’s about the lengths we’ll go to buy a gift for loved ones. It’s about not being a perv. It’s about shopping for the most comfortable and non-sexy bra and panties in the World at Victoria’s Secret.

Merry Christmas,

Kelsey

VICTORIA’S SECRET
by Kelsey Timmerman

For most of my life I’ve pretended that Victoria didn’t exist and that her secret meant nothing to me.

Countless times I passed her store, without so much as a look. Even if I wasn’t shopping with my mom or my girlfriend Annie, I vowed not to scan her windows. Why? Because, I wasn’t a perve.

It’s surprising how developed ones peripheral vision can become. Through mine I saw a pink palace of plush carpet. Everything seemed as soft as a cloud – the lace, the fabric, the cleavage. Inside, leggy, buxom young ladies spoke with accents as they advised hot young co-eds on the wonders of the Wonder Bra. And, oh, the changing rooms. What delicate little rooms of privacy they must be.

With a little imagination my peripheral vision was at least 20/20. Damn near X-ray.

It’s the Wednesday afternoon before Christmas. It happens fast, like a decision to itch your elbow. One moment I’m feigning interest in the candle store across the hall while and now I’m walking towards her. Face to face with Victoria.

I’m going in.

Table after table of underwear. Walls lined with bras. If I had died at the age of 13, this is where I would have gone. And, in turn, if I would have gone here at the age of 13, I would have died. My chest is tight and rises and falls with a shudder, each breath shorter than the last. I need help. I need to get in and get out as quickly as possible.

I find her folding underwear. She’s wearing an earpiece to get updates on urgent stock issues regarding nighties. She has dark hair, dark eyes, and an air of holiday retail disgust. She’s a little heavy, and not very leggy or buxom. I picture her in her underwear. I picture the guy who just walked in with the Yankees cap turned backwards in his underwear. In an underwater store it’s hard not to picture everybody in their underwear.

“I need help,” I say.

“What can I do for you?” She stops folding.

“I want to buy my girlfriend the most comfortable underwear you have,” I say. To be honest, I feel a little stupid saying underwear in public to a complete stranger. I ponder using undergarment or skivvies or anything that sounds more prudish.

“Here are some of our more comfortable bras.” She says as she motions to the wall of bras. Cupped and hanging perfectly as if being modeled by some invisible babes.

I nod.

“Does she wear these?” She points. Then she motions to her own chest. “They cup higher. Or these that are a little lower?”

“Whatever is the most comfortable.” I emphasize comfort too inform her that I’m not like those other guys that come in looking for a little nylon and spandex to sculpt their ladies and leave their secret treasures secret, but just barely so. The perverts.

“What size is she?”

I stare at her searching. I’ve snuck a peak or two at Annie’s bras lying on the bathroom floor. Most are faded and worn to the point where the tags are unreadable. But just yesterday I saw one of her newer ones, no less than five years old. Every guy wants to know his ladies digits.

“What color?”

“White.” White is not sexy. It’s everyday. Red or black would be selfish – like I was dressing her up for me. This isn’t about me. She buys her underwear in packs of 5 at Wal-Mart. I want to treat her to something special that she wouldn’t buy for herself.

“How much is it?” I say.

“$45.”

I act like I’m not doing any conversions. That $45 dollars does not equal hours’ worth of work. That $45 couldn’t buy me enough underwear to last three years or enough pizza to last a week. $45 Dollars!

“Okay.” I say.

She hands me the bra.

I’m holding a bra. I’ve never held a bra in the privacy of my own home and now here I am at the mall holding one.

“How about panties to match?”

“Sure.” Panties! Panties! Aren’t panties underwear. I wish she would call them underwear.

“What kind does she wear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess something like those.” I point with the hand not holding the bra. The bra holding hand isn’t going anywhere. It is frozen.

“Well unless your girlfriend is an 85-year-old grandma she doesn’t wear those,” she says.

“Here, she probably wears something like this – the string bikini bottoms.”

Pardon me for not knowing my undergarments, but for a moment I think that string bikini equals thong. I am on the verge of hanging myself with the bra. And then she holds up non-thong underwear. Thank God.

“Yeah, something like that would work,” I say, hoping she will hand them to me so I can run for the counter.

She doesn’t. “Now, seamed or seamless?”

“I guess seamless. They sound more comfortable. Besides,” I point to the table of seamed bottoms, “those look like the ones she gets in Wal-Mart by the bundle. Really, is there any difference…?” I continue on down this path completely and unintentionally devaluing this woman’s position as an undergarment salesperson before I finally realize that I should just shut it.

“This table is all seamless,” she says.

She starts to look through the neatly folded piles of panties, when she is interrupted, “Excuse me. I’m about a size 6. What would that be?” The woman is in her 40’s and appears to be calm as can be, as if she spent everyday searching out the perfect pair of underwear while 27-year-old me looks on.

I picture her in her underwear. I can’t help myself. I’m completely not attracted to this lady. Actually, she’s pissing me off. Who does she think she is trying to steal my sales rep (whatever her name is – I won’t read the name tag for fear that she thinks I’m trying to check out her chest)?

They continue on to talk about sizes and cuts.

I don’t hear them. I’ve got bigger problems. The realization has set in: I have to touch panties. The search for a medium begins. Ever so gently I pick through the stack.

Minutes or days go by, when the sales rep says, “You may want to consider these boy cut panties.”

Miss Size Six says, “I always wanted to try a pair of those.”

“Are they comfortable?” I ask.

“Yep, just like the bikinis. You can barely tell they are there. The main difference is that a little bit of butt cheek hangs out the bottom.”

She motions with her hand to where they hit her butt cheek. I picture her in boy cut panties. I picture Miss Size Six in boy cut panties. Hell, I picture me in boy cut panties.

“The boys,” she nods at me, “really like that.”

“Well which ones are more comfortable?” I ask.

“They’re the same. It all depends if you want to buy them for you or her.”

The torture! Deep down I hope that the pink of my surroundings disguises the flush in my face.

“I’ll just go with those.” I point to the bikinis.

“What color?”

I hem-haw around as if it doesn’t really matter to me. Color doesn’t really matter to us guys who just want to treat their ladies to overpriced seamless undergarments. Why would we care? Only pervs care.

“Here’s a white pair to match the top.”

Now I’m holding panties and a bra. I leave the two women talking about butt-check-hanging-outage and how much is sexy and how much is just too much.

If I wanted, I could crush up both garments and shove them into my pocket. They would take up next to no room, yet the check out girl feels the need to put them in a stiff pink bag with “Victoria’s Secret” written in big, sexy cursive. As quick as I can, I stuff the bag into another bag.

I bound out of the store. I don’t look back. Once again, I pretend Victoria’s Secret doesn’t exist.

Disney would like to Welcome you to these United States

Welcome to the USA, where, according to this bit of propaganda commissioned by the State Department and produced by Disney, everybody smiles. But really, what’s wrong with that?

I’ve heard more negative comments about this video than good ones.

The main issue tends to be that Horseshoe Falls of Niagara Falls, which appears for about a second, is pictured and it belongs to Canada. The shot is from the Canadian side overlooking the falls with the USA in the background. The only thing more ridiculous than owning a waterfall is owning half a waterfall.

Yes, the particular half pictured is owned by Canada, but seeing how this is Tourist propaganda and Niagara Falls is a popular destination for tourists in the USA, what’s the big deal? Somewhere in the falls is an imaginary political line. Don’t you see it? What if the film showed a fella jet-skiing on Lake Erie and the shot just happened to be taken as he crossed the imaginary political divide between Canada’s Lake Erie and the USA’s Lake Erie? The only difference there would be that nobody would be pitchin’ a fit.

Like a commercial or advertorial, this is propaganda. “Show the real America!” say the opponents of the video. I suppose they want pictures of our homeless, dead beat dads and abusive moms, of our military invading and bombing places, of politicians stripping civil liberties, of race riots, of slavery, Hurricane Katrina’s aftermath, etc.

Again, this is a tourist video. Settle down. What’s wrong with showing smiling Americans? What’s wrong with being proud of what’s great about our country? Life in the USA is not perfect, but we’ve got it pretty darn good compared to a lot of places. We’ve got a lot to smile about. And, if you are sitting in your apartment/home/dorm, viewing this YouTube video and you aren’t worrying about where your next meal is going to come from or if the water you just drank will give you a lethal case of diarrhea, you probably should just shut up.

I was ready to view this video with cynicism, but it won me over. The diversity of our people, landscape, and culture is almost untouched. Our politics, people, and history aren’t perfect, but it sure looks like a nice place to visit.

I hear Canada is lovely, too.

Will Run for Orphans

Don’t know about you, but I would pay NOT to run a marathon. I got an email the other day from a fella that’s running the NYC marathon while collecting money for one of my favorite charities, Casa Guatemala. (Note: If donating to orphans doesn’t do it for you, support this guy for his name alone – Egbert. How cool is that? It’s as if he finally escaped Dilbert’s strip and Dogbert’s rule. Keep on running Egbert. Keep on running.)

Dear friends,

What do the New York City Marathon and Casa Guatemala have in common? Well, they’re both sponsored by ING (my employer). About 4 years ago ING granted me a sabbatical to volunteer in Casa Guatemala, an orphanage located on the banks of the Río Dulce near the Caribbean coast. Casa Guatemala was founded about 25 years ago by Angie Galdamez who has grown the organization to what it is today. It started out as a small orphanage for babies in Guatemala City and now entails the orphanage in Río Dulce that cares for the health, nutrition and education of 250 children. Please visit www.casa-guatemala.org for much more on the activities of the Casa and to get a visual impression of what the Casa looks like.

I worked as an ‘Orientador’ , or caretaker, and together with two other volunteers I was responsible for a group of up to 25 boys between the age of 5-10 years old. We would wake the children up in the morning (5am !), get them ready for breakfast and then school, be there for them during the school breaks and after school. Help them out with any homework and read them bed time stories before going to sleep at around 8pm. One of us would always spend the night in the dorm with the boys in case one of them would have to go the toilet or have the occasional nightmare (no electricity after 8.30pm, so pitch dark!). Not always easy to divide your attention over so many kids at the same time. At times it has been challenging, but ultimately a very rewarding and unforgettable experience. See https://picasaweb.google.com/egbert.voerman/CasaGuatemala for some pics of my time in the Casa.

On November 4th I will be participating in the New York Marathon for the third time and of course I will try to beat my time of last year. However my main goal this year is to raise money for Casa Guatemala. Together with 10 colleagues (from 6 different countries) who are also running in the NYC Marathon we are aiming to raise enough money to cover one year of school supplies, textbooks and other educational materials. Your tax deductible donation*, be it $10 or $1,000, will go a long way against that goal. And the fact that ING will match the first $2,000 raised be each runner** will make your donation all the more effective.

Making a donation is easy. Just visit https://secure.groundspring.org/dn/index.php?aid=21070 . The donation form is pretty self explanatory, it even allows you to allocate your donation to more than one runner. You can also donate on behalf of somebody else (for example your company) Please note that we have partnered with Groundspring.org, a non-profit organization facilitating on-line donations with any of the major credit cards using a secured connection, so your online donation will be save ! The campaign runs until Monday November 12th,

Do you want to know how I am doing during the marathon or if and in what time I make it to the finish line? Athlete Alert will send email or sms alerts to the first 5 persons donating $50 or more !

Thanks very much in advance for considering making a donation towards the education of the Children of Casa Guatemala.

Best, Egbert

*for tax residents in the US, Canada, UK and Spain
**matching policy differs per location

A thousand words

Today seems like the first day of fall. The breeze is cool and the leaves seemed to have turned color overnight. I wish I was hiking! I wish I was here…

Believe it or not: A hitchhiker in Indiana

My hitchhiker’s karma is drastically unbalanced. I’ve received somewhere between 80-100 rides and I’ve given three, counting the one I gave yesterday.

Normally the hitchhikers we get in these parts of the world look like they’ve been thumbing rides since Vietnam. This fella didn’t. He had a laptop bag, wheeled-luggage, and was wearing an aircast.

I drove by amazed that there was someone standing beside the road to Farmland. That’s right – the city is named Farmland. You might catch a friendly farmer on the way to look at his crops, but chances are you’re not going to get a ride of any distance. It’s a doldrums for hitchin’.

I thought about all of the times I stood alongside a road – mostly in New Zealand, but other times in Hawaii, Australia, Romania, and Bosnia – in the rain and watched car after car pass. It’s the kind of thing that can really make a day crummy and have you lose faith in humanity.

I stopped.

Kenneth is from Alaska. He was visiting his brother in Greenville, Ohio. His brother’s wife is a nut and stole his pain pills he was taking for his torn ACL (tore it working on his bro’s roof). Once the pain pills were done, she stole his wallet. He had enough and was off to Minnesota via Chicago – penniless. A buddy he made in Iraq that saved his life lives in Chicago.

Kenneth has had some bad luck. He drove over an IED in Iraq. He lost a kidney and several feet of intestines. He doesn’t approve of the war in Iraq, but thinks our fight in Afghanistan is worthwhile. I tell him I’m a writer and he tells me he’s thinking about making his journal from Iraq into a book.

Kenneth has had some good luck. His brother – the good one, not the one in Greenville – is a procrastinator. In 2001, he made Kenneth’s family late to the airport. They were off to Cancun, but missed their flight. United 93. Kenneth says that every person on that flight was a hero. That plane was heading for the Whitehouse.

In Minnesota, Kenneth will get his long-time girlfriend and mother of his twin girls and head back to Cordova, Alaska, where he has a home with a back porch overlooking the ocean 50 feet below.

Kenneth says that in Alaska if a police officer sees three cars pass a hitchhiker, the fourth car will get a ticket. The elements and the wildlife of Alaska can be lethal.

Speaking of wildlife, Kenneth has had some close calls.

There are two pods of Orca near where he lives. Kenneth has known the dominant male of the “M-pod” since the whale was not much bigger than my truck. This particular killer whale has swum close enough for Kenneth to pet him from his kayak.

One time Kenneth was riding his motorbike down the highway when a moose stepped out. He drove right between the moose’s legs. The moose’s belly scraped some paint off of his helmet. He was riding one of those low profile “crotch rockets.”

Kenneth makes a living long line fishing. He knows the names of glaciers and has seen them recede some 30 miles. He thinks Hong Kong is a fun city and Japan is a good time, too. When I tell him that I taught SCUBA in Key West for awhile he tell me he has a relative that teaches SCUBA on Marathon Key. When I tell him I did a lot of hitchhiking in New Zealand he tells me that he has family there.

He might rejoin the military. After all, he does have one kidney left.

I buy him a taquito at Taco Bell and leave him at a truck stop. Maybe he can catch a ride to Ft. Wayne or, if he’s lucky, all the way to Chicago. The truckers might take some convincing: A hitchhiker in rural Indiana?

It’s almost unbelievable.

Note: “Sorry I’m late, honey, I picked up a hitchhiker” is not a good excuse to be late for dinner.

Kelsay scores touchdown for Bills

If you are watching Monday Night Football on ESPN, you saw the Bills defensive lineman Kelsay intercept a pass and score a touchdown. Annie and I saw the Bills’ throwback jersey he is wearing being made during our factory visit in Perry.

During the tour I was secretly hoping they would give me a Kelsay jersey because it was manly and almost had my name on it. See, most of the things that have, or almost have, my name on them are usually pink. In fact, sometimes I even get registered for conferences as Countess Kelsey.

Go Bills! I’m sure the citizens of Perry are rooting for you. And if you could please double up Terrell Owens because if he scores over 19 fantasy points “The Gods of War” my fantasy team will drop to 2-2 on the season.