The Bush legacy (Aug. 06 Manistee News Advocate)

What will the Bush legacy be? How will he be remembered? First off, he will be remembered as a president who served during a time of extreme crisis; September 11, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the fight to strengthen our country’s defenses against the threat of terrorism.But will the president share the same fate as president Johnson -- being forever linked with the escalation of an unpopular war with an unclear exit strategy? If his father was remembered for “read my lips, no new taxes”, George W. will be remembered for the failed attempt to find those much talked about and endlessly debated WMD’s, and for standing on the deck of an aircraft carrier and declaring combat operations in Iraq “over”. Whether or not the president and his administration purposely used weapons of mass destruction as a reason for the Iraq invasion -- knowing that the intelligence wasn’t correct, is the big question; one for which I don’t have the answer. Whether Bush had planned to invade Iraq before 9/11 happened in order to seek some type of closure for Bush Sr.’s gulf war is also a point of contention. Unfortunately, the truth of these accusations is difficult to determine, and I will leave that to speculation.Why we entered the war and how we entered it are no longer issues we should waste our time debating. Now that we have a protracted war in Iraq, with casualties and deaths to our soldiers growing daily, the only questions we should be asking are: how long will this war take, what is the strategy for our eventual withdrawal, and how will we know when we’ve won?The administration’s answer that setting a withdrawal date or schedule of specific troop reductions would only show weakness to the enemy is not sufficient. The U.S. could develop an exit strategy without jeopardizing our troops. I think our military leaders are intelligent and experienced enough to develop a suitable plan. If we truly believe that all nations have the right to a democratic government and sovereign rule, it seems like we would want to leave the Iraqi people to rule as they see fit and to settle their own problems now that we have deposed their dictator and freed them to proceed with a new democratic government. So, besides the war, what legacy will G.W. leave? I did a Google search for “Bush accomplishments” and got zero hits, but I’ll see if I can piece a couple of things together on my own. (Dave accuses me of plagiarizing my material off of the Internet, anyway.)Even though I’m not a huge fan of the war, Sadam Hussein was captured and is facing trial. The world is surely a better place because of this. Also, two-thirds of al-Qaeda leaders have been captured or killed.Through diplomatic negotiations, nuclear weapons programs have been disabled in Libya, and talks continue with North Korea. So far, so good.Here’s where it gets tricky. Bush has instituted the USA PATRIOT Act, which allows federal law enforcement to better share information, track terrorists, disrupt terrorist cells, and to seize assets. The new Department of Homeland Security supplements such legislation by enabling coasts and borders to be patrolled with a closer eye. In theory, this is great.However, I tend to agree with some of the experts, who say that the USA PATRIOT ACT is taking away honest citizens' rights. The current administration is walking a very thin line when it comes to the protection of private citizens versus the rights to privacy of these same citizens.Add to this the debate over illegal wire-tapping, and the CIA leak scandal, and Bush’s security record reads like a page out of George Orwell’s 1984.Now, just so Dave doesn’t accuse me of being a bleeding-heart liberal, I would like to add that I voted for George Bush Sr. in 1988, and I worked for the Republicans in the state house for a couple of years as well. I mention these items only because I want to point out that I judge a president not by his party, but by his politics, and his record. Judging by his record, George W. Bush will be remembered as a war president, and nothing else -- except maybe “the Decider.”

Competition (July 06 News Advocate)

Human beings have a natural, genetically pre-wired need for competition. And like any other human need, such as hunger or thirst, this need must be fulfilled in order for humans to feel whole. This is why I found myself in a triathlon in Interlochen a few weeks ago. I had never competed in one, but was convinced by my wife to do so. She had always dreamed of being a “triathlete,” and I went along for the ride.After all, I couldn’t let her have bragging rights over me if I didn’t do it, too.For those of you who aren’t familiar with this multi-sport event, you swim, then bike, then run a pre-determined distance. The olympic distances are a 1500 meter (just under one mile) swim, then a 40 Kilometer (24.8 mile) bike, finishing with a 10K (6.2 mile) run. The race we participated in was a shorter version, called a “sprint,” which comprised of a 500-meter swim, a 20K bike, and a 5K run. Although it was shorter, it was just as brutal for those of us who aren’t in olympic shape.The entire course took almost two hours to complete.In 90 degree heat.I had to ask myself why we did this... Because we need to compete.Nothing feels better than accomplishing something, especially when pitted against our fellow man (or woman.) Human beings competed for millions of years for food, shelter, mates, and just about everything else. Competition is part of our genetic survival code.That is why it feels good to compete, whether or not we win or lose -- it’s in our blood. My 7 year old son is extremely competitive. This is not something we taught him. He came that way.As a father and a coach for more than one of his teams, I’ve learned that one of the hardest things to teach children is the fine balance between competitiveness and bad sportsmanship.Despite that, this is an extremely important lesson to teach; and I think at times, we shortcut it as parents and coaches, or avoid it altogether. My son has played in leagues where they keep score, and leagues where they don’t keep score. He enjoys the ones where they keep score much more -- as do most of his teammates. Even in the leagues where we tell the kids we aren’t keeping score, they do it anyway. Young athletes enjoy measuring themselves against others, just like their full-grown counterparts. Sometimes I wonder if we’re de-emphasizing competitiveness too much with our children.I agree, at a young age, its important for kids to learn the game, without the pressure of worrying whether they are scoring or not. Unfortunately, parents have ruined it for their kids over the last 10 years or so. There have been too many instances of parents being injured or even killed over children’s sporting events.And who hasn’t witnessed the “ugly parent,” who yells at his own child, or the opposing team, coaches, or officials during a game. It’s an ugly thing to see, and children don’t need to be exposed to this type of behavior. But have we gone too far in trying to shelter kids? What do we teach our children when we tell them that keeping score isn’t important? They know from watching television that there’s a winner and a loser in every game. There is an age at which kids can handle losing a game, and its good for them to learn that they won’t always end up on top in life. Its not just a cliche’ -- more can be learned from losing than winning. The difference between this lesson being a constructive or a destructive one for a child is in how the subject is broached by parents, coaches, and officials. Children’s sports can still be fun and rewarding for children when they are allowed to experience the joy of victory, as well as the agony of defeat. I think we’ve forgotten that its possible to still teach sportsmanship while keeping a tally of who performed better on a particular day.It’s a more realistic way to instruct children about sports -- and life, for that matter. Studies suggest that participation in sports can be very beneficial, fostering responsible social behaviors, greater academic success, and an appreciation of personal health and fitness. Participating on a team can also give children an important sense of belonging.Sports are opportunities for youth to learn; they provide a “practice field” for life. Learning to work as part of a team teaches children social skills that will help them in their growth into adults, not just as athletes. For youth, participating in sports develops teamwork, leadership, self-confidence,self-discipline, and coping skills. Sports also teach a respect for authority.The most important part of athletics is participation. That’s why I didn’t care if I won my age group in the Interlochen triathlon. I was there to participate, and just to see if I could finish -- even though I finished near the bottom of the heap. We don’t always give our children the credit they deserve. They’re smart enough to know right from wrong. We just need to guide them properly. If we show our kids that we are most proud of them for their participation, they don’t care whether or not they win or lose, and they’re better off in the long run.Cean Burgeson can be reached at: cburgeson@pioneergroup.net

Defending the Clinton legacy (July 06 Manistee News Advocate)

Even six years after he left office, people still enjoy bashing Bill Clinton. He doesn’t hold a public office anymore, so it’s difficult to understand why he’s still so hotly debated. The most common complaint about Mr. Clinton is one I know Dave will bring up; that he lied to the American public about the Monica Lewinsky affair, so how do we know he wasn’t lying about anything else? Unfortunately, because of this feeling, this episode will haunt Bill’s legacy forever. I have to point out that just because he lied about an issue which was personally embarrassing and of a private nature, this does not mean that he was untruthful in his capacity as the commander in chief. Unfortunately, the media was successful in making a personal issue a public one. Because of this political fiasco, Americans have forgotten Clinton’s political record, which is very unfortunate, as it was quite impressive. # The longest economic expansion in American history -- a record 115 months of growth. # More than 22 million new jobs were created in less than eight years -- the most ever under a single administration, and more than were created in the previous twelve years.# The Lowest unemployment rate in 30 years -- from 7 percent in 1993 to just 4.0 percent in November 2000. # The lowest crime rate in 26 years -- because of President Clinton’s comprehensive anti-crime strategy of tough penalties, more police, and smart prevention, as well as common sense gun safety laws, the overall crime rate declined for 8 consecutive years, the longest continuous drop on record.# The Family and Medical Leave Act was created for 20 million Americans -- over 20 million Americans have taken unpaid leave to care for a newborn child or sick family member.# The smallest welfare rolls in 32 years -- the President signed landmark bipartisan welfare reform legislation in 1996. Since then, caseloads have been cut in half, and millions of parents have joined the workforce. # Paid off $360 billion of the national debt -- between 1998-2000, the national debt was reduced by $363 billion — the largest three-year debt pay-down in American history.# Converted the largest budget deficit in American history to the largest surplus -- thanks in large part to the 1993 Deficit Reduction Act, the 1997 Balanced Budget Act, and President Clinton’s call to save the surplus for debt reduction, Social Security, and Medicare solvency. If the Lewinsky affair was completely erased from the record books, we would be left only with this record. This list is far from complete, and is still remarkable. I challenge Republicans to debate this political legacy, rather than focus on the former president’s private life. And for the record, Dave, despite my defense of the man, I too am angry with and disappointed in President Clinton for besmirching his record so foolishly -- just not enough to forget all of the good political works he accomplished while he was in office.

Don't say 'have a nice day' unless you mean it (July 06 Manistee News Advocate)

Who first came up with “have a nice day?” And did anyone ever actually mean it? It’s an expression that has been passed down for generations now, and I’m not sure anyone knows where exactly it started.When I worked in the service industry, I never used this phrase, because I don’t think it is very sincere. We usually hear these four words as we leave a cashier at the grocery store, gas station or other similar business. We often hear it from complete strangers when we’re on the phone, as well.Generally, the amount of enthusiasm and care given to uttering it are considerably dispassionate. On the other end of the spectrum, the fake enthusiasm given to saying it are enough to cause nausea.It has become the mandatory period to any conversation where one participant of the exchange is a member of the general public, and the other, a customer.Does the guy working behind the counter at the gas station really care if I have a nice day or not? He doesn’t even look up at me when he says it, and the amount of excitement in his voice is on par with saying something like “enjoy your root canal as much as I did mine.”I haven’t ever found myself pulling into the service station in a bad mood, paid for my gas, and miraculously turned my attitude around after being asked to “have a nice day” by a complete stranger.“Why, thank you very much, young man! I think I will just go out and have a nice day! That was all I needed!”Okay, that was a little too sarcastic, I know.But why do we say it? What is it adding to the human experience? I advocate that we discontinue this worn tradition and instead replace it with a genuine, sincere conversation between customers and the businesses that they patronize. Or, as a service employee, if you choose not to engage the customer in any type of joyless banter, feel free not to do so. The lack of a conversation is better than a canned corporate sentiment doled out with the most minimal of intensity. Now, I’m not being pessimistic, or disparaging to anyone in particular. Once in a while, someone bids me a good day and I think they actually do wish me some good will. There are some actually genuine folks out there asking me to have that nicest of days -- but that is the choice of the person doing the talking -- they shouldn’t feel obligated to do so because of tradition or some ridiculous company policy.I think we need to free service industry workers from feeling that they have to wish me good will. If you are waiting on me, folks, you’re off the hook. Don’t go too far the other way, though, you still have to be pleasant.If someone leaves a bad tip, or is difficult, these hard working, often low paid service workers aren’t allowed to say “have a bad day,” so why force anyone to say the opposite if they don’t want to? When I was a waiter, (for what seemed like an eternity), there were many times that I held my tongue when people snapped their fingers at me, or treated me with a level of condescension previously reserved for bottom-feeding members of the lowest echelon of society. I found that in those situations, it was better to just not say anything at all, lest I say something I might regret. I surely didn’t want any of these bad eggs to have anything resembling a nice day after they left my company. I actually wished for quite the opposite.Why not just cast away the catch-phrase “have a nice day” forever? Blot it out of the public consciousness. Pretend it never existed. It may even feel liberating for us all, who knows?And while we’re at it, lets do away with asking each other “how are you doing today?”, when calling complete strangers on the phone. Nothing tips me off to a telemarketer more quickly than picking up the phone, hearing my first name pronounced “clean”, and then being asked how I am doing today by an unrecognized voice from some telemarketing warehouse in Idaho. He doesn’t care how I’m doing. Its just something that’s written on his little telemarketing script. Sometimes I just say “horrible, I just lost my job, my dog was hit by a car, and I found out I have cancer. How is your day going?”He lied when he pretended to care how I’m doing, so I’m just returning the favor. So, if you don’t mean it, lets do each other a favor and just skip all of the fake sentimentalities, especially “have a nice day.” Wish me a nice life, or a nice month, or something more original, instead.Cean Burgeson can contacted during one of his nice days at: cburgeson@pioneergroup.net

What we could learn from socialism (July 06 News Advocate)

On my recent trip to Norway, I was introduced to what is referred to as “social democracy.” From what I can gather, this means paying higher taxes in exchange for a larger range of benefits from the government. Upon hearing this idea, many Americans get scared. No politician in our country attempts to win an election by touting the need for higher taxes. I admit, I don’t like going out of pocket any more than I have to as far as Uncle Sam is concerned, but I wonder if we might pause for a moment and examine the benefits of a political system designed solely for the welfare of its citizens.The first thing that people think of when socialism is mentioned is the concept of “socialized medicine.” U.S. politicians describe a system like this as one in which access to doctors is strictly controlled and there are long lines to receive treatment or medications. In my queries of several Norwegian citizens, this doesn’t seem to be the case. None of the folks I spoke to voiced these concerns, and one of the people I interviewed was a cancer survivor who says that she received excellent care -- with no delays -- and was very happy with the way in which her disease was treated. Persons who fall ill in Norway are guaranteed medical treatment. The health service is a cornerstone of the Norwegian welfare state. Universal access to quality public health care is the Norwegian authorities’ goal. As a basic principle, health services are distributed according to need – not according to ability to pay.All of the programs under control of the Norwegian government appear to a tourist such as myself to be well administered and orderly. The public transportation was excellent, the buildings and streets were clean and well maintained, and there were walking/running/biking paths everywhere. Norway’s citizens must use these paths too, as we didn’t see a single obese person while we were there. The inhabitants I met all seemed to be happy, healthy, and content. They should be; they are far less stressed than Americans. They generally end their work day between 3 and 4 o’clock, they don’t have to pay for a college education, and they are guaranteed health and welfare benefits.Residents of Norway have a right to economic assistance and other forms of community support during illness, old age or unemployment. About 35 percent of the state’s budget is spent on the Norwegian health and social welfare system. The retirement age in Norway is 67. For the rest of their lives, retired Norwegians receive an old age pension from the National Insurance Fund. All Norwegian residents are guaranteed a minimum pension, and they receive about half their previous salaries. When pregnant, women who have been employed for at least six of the last ten months are entitled to a maternity leave with full pay. The mother can choose between 42 weeks of leave with full pay or 52 weeks with 78 percent pay. Four weeks of the leave must be taken by the father (the paternity quota). Once the children arrive and the parents return to work, the government compensates them for a portion of the funds they use for daycare, and even rewards those who don’t choose to use daycare.I tried very hard to find a drawback to socialized democracy, and I could only find one area which was a bit trickier than in our own system. There apparently was a problem with alcoholism in Norway a while back, and as a result they have a zero tolerance policy in regards to drinking and driving. As a result, you cannot purchase beer after 8 p.m. on weekdays, 6 p.m. on Saturday, and no alcohol is sold on Sundays. We have states and counties like this in the U.S., so this isn’t an entirely alien idea, and quite honestly, is limiting drinking and/or driving ever a bad idea?So why does the idea of modern socialism really scare us so much? In Norway they have free elections, a political system with several parties, (to our two), and a free press. There are state television stations, but also several commercial stations. I heard American music on the radio, and they didn’t even edit out the bad words. There are newspapers which support the mainstream as well as radical views, and the state appears to let them go about their business without intervention.I’ll tell you why I think we get so scared of this “radically different” idea of government. First off, we don’t want to increase our taxes; but if we are receiving so much more in return, why not? That leads to our second fear -- bigger government. I don’t want to live in a world where big brother controls my every move, but didn’t we elect our politicians under the guise that they would create a government that would take care of the needs of its citizenry? While no system is perfect, and I’m sure Norway’s isn’t, it’s certainly possible to extract a few of their ideas for use under our own democratic system without substantially changing the level of freedom we as Americans demand. As we stand on the brink of a social security and health-care crisis in this country, I think it would behoove our governing bodies to think outside the box a little and examine systems in use around the world that seem to be working a little better than our own.Cean Burgeson can be reached at cburgeson@pioneergroup.net

How to beat the high cost of driving (June 06 News Advocate)

Why is everyone so upset about rising gasoline prices? We've seen it coming for years. It’s not like we were taken by surprise. What we should really be upset about is why we care about high gas prices, or more specifically, why we've become so reliant on gasoline. Overcoming high gasoline prices can be accomplished through cultural, rather than economic changes. Unfortunately, we live in a society where we find it necessary to seek happiness by consuming as much as possible, and by owning lots of toys. How often do you drive by a huge house that requires millions of cubic feet of natural gas to heat, there’s a sport utility vehicle and a luxury sedan in the driveway, a large boat on a trailer in the backyard, and Lord-only-knows-what assortment of jet skis, quad-runners, snowmobiles, and other fun gas-powered gadgets are jammed into the shed and garage? These same people probably have a home in the suburbs and another one up north near the lake that they motor to every weekend, pulling all of their gas-hogging toys on trailers behind them. Do we really need all of this stuff? Is the path to happiness found by zooming around a lake or in the woods? Yeah, I enjoy zooming around sometimes, too – but in moderation. I also have other hobbies that aren't powered by fossil fuels at all, believe it or not. Our parents and grandparents didn't have all of that junk and they still managed to entertain themselves somehow. Lets roll back the hands of time to pre-World War II America. They had things called streetcars in major cities that provided public transportation and folks rode them instead of using their gas-guzzling cars. People used busses and taxis, too. This is no longer the case. Currently, the U.S. passenger automobile fleet accounts for one tenth of the world's petroleum consumption. Long-distance travel was a whole different animal back then, too. Americans took trains and Greyhound busses when they wanted to get somewhere. It was a less glamorous way to travel than in the mini-van with the DVD player setup for the kiddies, but it used less gas. People also walked places or rode bicycles more, and when they did use their cars, they shopped in their own neighborhoods instead of driving 30 miles so they could go to some big-box or chain-store. Americans have the wrong idea about rising petroleum prices. They need to look at the total amount of money they’re spending on gasoline, rather than the per unit price. If we all changed our behavior and our cultural habits just a little bit, we wouldn't sweat rising prices so much. Instead of waiting for the government or the oil companies or the auto companies to fix the problem with sanctions or new technologies, let’s fix the situation ourselves. Ride your bike to work, take public transportation, shop closer to home, take one fewer long car trip this summer, and walk somewhere instead of driving when you can. Simple economic theory tells us If we decreased the demand for gasoline, the price would surely lower on its own. Perhaps this gas crisis is just what we need to get everyone to change their habits for the better. You won't hear me complaining, even if the prices go over four dollars a gallon, because I can control how much money I spend on gas overall, and everyone else can, too.

Don't call this dad Mr. Mom (4-9-06 Detroit Free Press)

When I meet somebody new, one of the first questions I am invariably asked is “what do you do for a living?” I used to tell people that I was a stay at home dad for my six year old son and one year old daughter. This usually prompts the response, “Oh, a Mr. Mom, eh?” I bite my tongue at this point, because I want to say, “No, my children have a mother. I’m still their Dad. We don’t call their mother Mrs. Dad, so why should I be called Mr. Mom?” But instead of getting into an argument, I simply nod and smile.

These same people may also think to themselves that I’m either a: a burned-out result of the business rat-race, or b: a liberal new-aged hippie type. Neither of these answers could be more false. The simple truth is that we needed daycare for our newly adopted daughter and the prospect of spending $8,000 or so a year for both kids to be raised by someone else for several hours per week was a distasteful idea for my wife and me. Her recent promotion and health insurance benefits were sufficient for us to make it on and I had the opportunity to start my own communications business out of the home, so I made the leap and quit my job.

Now I start out conversations by telling new acquaintances that I run my own business out of the house and also stay at home with our children. I don’t know why I feel embarrassed sometimes to be a stay at home parent, and I’m guilty that I do. Why is a male stay at home parent such an alien idea in the 21st century? If my wife was staying at home, no one would tell her that she’s leaving a huge gap in her resume and it’ll be harder to get back into the workforce when the time comes. No one would think she must be having a rough stretch career wise or a mid-life crisis. When a woman chooses to stay home to raise her children, the response is always, “Great! I admire you for that. I wish I could’ve done that.”

On a daily basis, I proudly join the mommies at the kids’ school parties, I carpool to hockey practices, perform the drop offs at daycare, school, and karate, and drag the kids to their doctor and dentist appointments. I bake cookies for the school bake sale, trade recipes with the other parents, and make sure the homework is done, dinners are made and the permission slips are filled out. I have my own daddy flair that I perform my duties with, though. My daughter doesn’t always have bows in her hair and wears jeans more often than skirts. I chauffer my son in the minivan with Green Day blaring instead of “The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round” and the reward for good marks at school are a game of NHL 2006 on the Xbox. I don’t try to change who I am; I incorporate it into my current role as key parental unit.

I realize I’m not the first to do what I’m doing, and I feel a kinship with other stay at home Dads. As such, I feel an obligation to break the mold of traditional husband/wife roles and to pave the way for stay at home parents who aren’t judged by their genders, but rather by their convictions to do what is right for their families. So next time you meet a guy who tells you he’s a stay at home parent, tell him “Great! I admire you for that. I wish I could’ve done that,” because if you ever get the chance to be more active in parenting your children by staying at home, you’ll never regret the decision to do so.

Family Secret (short story)

The steady pit-pat of the rain drops on the window were the only sound in the room where Felicia sat and waited. She watched the raindrops run down the window, merging together and splitting apart again, bumping into other raindrops and creating long trails as they ran down and pooled at the bottom of the window pane. Felicia waited for a man she believed was her father. He didn’t know that she was here. Well, actually he knew she was here, but he didn’t know the real reason.

During the previous week Felicia had come home from college for a surprise visit, dropped her schoolbag by the front door and made her way up the warped wooden stairs that led to the second floor of the drafty farmhouse where she lived with her mother and her adopted dad. Her mother wasn’t home from work yet and her father slept during the day. He was a corrections officer at the local prison and had worked the midnight shift for the last fifteen years. As usual for this time of day, the house was quiet except for the slow monotonous tick of the grandfather clock on the wall at the bottom of the stairs.

Felicia crept up the stairs, carefully stepping on the stairs that wouldn’t creak, lest she make a sound that would wake her father, a notoriously light sleeper and grumpy cuss when he was awakened during the middle of the day. Ten years of living in this old farmhouse had taught her which steps had a creak to them and which ones you could step to the left or right side of to avoid making a sound. Why her father hadn’t fixed the creaky stairs years earlier had been a mystery to her. Her parents were always complaining about being short of cash and their inability to make the necessary repairs to the old house but it seemed like it would be relatively inexpensive to buy a few wood screws.

She went up to her room and tossed her coat on the bed. The room hadn’t changed at all since she moved out when she left for college. Her mother kept it neat but apparently hadn’t dusted in a while. Mom was a straightener, but not a real cleaner, per se. Felicia ran her finger across the desk like an inspecting drill sergeant and it left a long streak. The objects on the desk had similar layers of dust on them as well. Felicia paused for a minute when she glanced at the face of the top drawer. There were distinct fingerprints on the dusty surface. Fearing the worst, she thrust the drawer open and pulled out the drawer’s main content—her diary. This spiral notebook was only the most recent edition of her diary. Beneath it laid the other old and faded notebooks she had filled to capacity with her most secret and personal thoughts going back for almost ten years. She hadn’t brought the diary with her to college, though. Her time there was taken up with homework, parties, and the usual assorted activities that filled time at most Midwestern public universities. Felicia decided that the journal was kind of a kid’s pastime, so she had left it in the drawer when she went away. She would still write in it when she came home for the weekends. It was cathartic to get the stray thoughts out of her mind and onto paper. She considered it her own personal therapy.

When she saw the smudges in the dust, Felicia immediately knew what had happened. Her mother, although possessing a good heart, was a bit of a flake and a nosy snoop. Slightly alcoholic, self involved, with a flair for the dramatic—these were all traits of her mother Lorena. I guarantee that she read the journal, Felicia thought. Infuriated, Felicia waited until Lorena came home to confront her about the journal. She made a cup of Oolong tea and sipped it quietly while she sat at the faded wooden table in the kitchen, the journal in front of her. The grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs continued to tick its rhythmic mantra. Upstairs, her father slept, oblivious to the family drama unveiling itself one floor below him. She sat in silence for almost forty five minutes until she heard her mother’s pickup truck roll up the long two- track they called their driveway. Lorena bolted in through the kitchen door and her eyes fell immediately to her daughter and the journal. “Hi Honey!” she blurted cheerily, playing off the obvious fact that her crime had been detected.

Felicia shifted in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her in an irritated posture. “I know you read my journal, mother.”

Lorena paused for a moment, probably contemplating whether or not to try and lie her way out of it or whether she should just face the music. In the end, she always seemed to hold to the idea that she was the mother and she could do whatever she wanted to do because she was entitled to do so. “I’m your mother and you shouldn’t have any secrets from me. I was worried that something was wrong with you so I read your diary to see what was going on.”
Felicia rolled her eyes in her trademark way; the left eye rolled to center and the other back into her head. “Mom! That is such bullshit! You read it because you’re nosy. Nothings wrong with me except that I have a freak for a Mom who doesn’t allow me to have any privacy.”
Lorena pulled up one of the worn old wooden chairs and sat down. The chair had a broken rung and the varnish was peeled off of the seat from years of hard use. It had been Lorena’s family table when she was little and now wasn’t even worth using as a hand me down, but still it sat in the little farmhouse kitchen, sad and broken. If the table could talk, it could recount three generations of family discussions, arguments, and holiday meals. Today’s discussion would be one of the most amazing in the collection of this table’s family tales.

Lorena pulled out a Marlboro Light 100 and lit it as part of a nervous habit ritual she had been performing for the roughly 30 years since she started smoking. She would chain smoke now to alleviate the stress of the current discussion. Taking one giant hit off of the cigarette, she exhaled a large plume of blue smoke into the air and began to speak in a somber tone. “I read what you put in your diary about a family secret.” Felicia’s anger grew as she realized the extent to which her mother must have gone back through the previous year’s journals to find this recurring entry. “And I think its time that I finally tell you that you’re right. There is a secret.”

The tone of her mother’s voice concerned Felicia; she sat up on the edge of her chair. “What is it mom?”

Lorena took another long pull off of the 100 and blew the smoke down towards the table top this time. The smoke bounced off of the table in different directions and floated upwards. In the sunlight that streaked in through the open window, the smoke hung and danced, combining with the usual dust that blew in from the dry farm field every time the door was opened. Lorena flicked an ash into an old stamped metal ashtray, then set the cigarette on its side, and reached across the table to take both of Felicia’s hands in hers. “It’s about your dad.”
Felicia was confused. “What’s wrong with dad? Is he sick? Are you getting a divorce?”

“It’s about your real dad.”

“Brian? Is something wrong with him? I didn’t even think you talked to him anymore.” Lorena had married Brian when she found out she was pregnant. They were married for 2 tumultuous years before Lorena decided one day to pack up her young daughter and leave him for good. Marriages made under such circumstances rarely worked out, and this was no exception. They parted amicably, but Brian was a rather free spirit, and although he made his best efforts to keep in contact with his daughter, his gypsy ways kept him roaming the country, stopping for a few months here and there, working odd jobs and having his own personal adventures. Growing up, Felicia had the prerequisite visits with Brian, but they were always awkward and strange to her. She didn’t look forward to them at all. Brian would roar up on his Harley with a spare helmet for Felicia and spirit her away for the weekend to stay at a different house every time. She barely knew him and he would often scold her for her shyness. Her real father for the last ten years had been her mother’s second husband, Frank. Frank adopted her when she was sixteen, and she had always thought of him as her true father. He had been a nurturing and caring dad, treating her no differently than if she was his own biological child.

“That’s what I’m talking about, honey. Brian isn’t your real father.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I thought that’s why you got married.”

“He married me because I was pregnant, yes, but not because he was the father. Your real father’s name is Daniel Chittle. We dated for a few years when we were teenagers. We loved each other very much. He was going to college at Michigan State University studying Fisheries and Wildlife. He wanted to work for the Department of Natural Resources when he graduated. He did a couple of summer internships there. He wasn’t ready to be a father, so we parted ways before you were born.”

Felicia sat almost motionless with an expression on her face that was both stunned and angry. She felt betrayed. Why had this secret been kept from her for all of these years? What purpose could it serve to make her think another man was her real father? “Mom…who else knows about this?”

Lorena snuffed out her cigarette and continued to crush and smush it into the bottom of the ashtray well beyond the point when the cigarette was extinguished. She appeared to be thinking about how to frame the remainder of the answers to her daughter’s questions. There was a long silence as she fumbled for the cigarette pack again, discovered it to be empty, and then rumpled it in her fist. “Everyone in the family knew. Your aunts and uncles, your grandparents, some close family friends.”

Felicia’s mother had never been able to keep a secret. It didn’t surprise Felicia in the least that everyone knew, and it hurt her very deeply that everyone knew but her. “I don’t understand this. I can’t believe everybody was keeping this secret and you’re just now telling me!” Felicia rose and started for the door at an angry pace.

“I was waiting for the right time!” Lorena followed her daughter towards the door. When Felicia realized this, she spun and faced her mother, a look of rage crossing her normally serene face.

“Let me go. I don’t want to talk to you right now!” Lorena grabbed her arm in an attempt to stop Felicia’s escape. “I MEAN IT MOTHER!” Felicia pulled away and darted out the door, slamming it behind her. No doubt this had awakened her father and he wouldn’t be happy. She flew down the stairs and out to her rusty Pontiac 6000, slamming this door as well when she climbed into the driver’s seat. She whipped the car in reverse, hot, salty, tears now flowing down her face freely. As she spun the heap around to drive away, she saw her mother in the rear view mirror standing on the steps, her face in her hands, sobbing.

This was the last time that Felicia had spoken to her mother, over a week before. She talked with her father, Frank, on the phone. She felt no ill will towards him over the matter. Frank had always been subject to Lorena’s strong will. When his wife had her mind set about something like this family secret, Frank had no power to go against her wishes. He told Felicia that many times he’d urged Lorena to spill the beans to his daughter, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. He thought about speaking with Felicia about it himself, but in the end he felt that this was something she needed to hear from her mother, no matter how wrong he felt it was to keep her in the dark all these years. As usual, Frank knew all the right things to say and made her feel better. Since Frank and Lorena had gotten married, he had always acted as the referee when the two fought, and usually took Felicia’s side afterwards. The two were kindred spirits when it came to battles with mom.

As she hung up the phone that night, Felicia started to laugh at the absurdity of it all. She had three dads. The first one, who she thought was her real dad, Brian; then her adopted dad, Frank; and this new guy, the biological dad, Dan. I could be one of those people on Oprah, she thought. Her anger had now turned into curiosity. She wasn’t really all that angry at her mother anymore, but she would continue to punish her with silence for a while longer to get back at her for reading the diary in the first place.

The questions kept piling up in her mind. Who was this mystery man she was tied to by genetics only? What was he like? Did he ever think about her? Then there was the question that weighed the most heavily on her mind—would he want to meet me?

Felicia wasn’t one to take news like this and just file it away. By her nature, she wanted to act on it, so the next morning she went to work a little early. She had a paid internship working in the offices of the state capitol as a clerk. That day she was the first to report to her cubicle on the 6th floor of the Wilson Plaza Building. She felt like a detective as she performed her research. Just like Nancy Drew, Felicia thought. First she went online and checked the alumni directory for Michigan State University. There was no record for a Daniel Chittle. It just means he hasn’t paid his dues. Thinking that he may have stayed local after graduating from college, she looked at all the phone books for the surrounding cities, but found no Daniel Chittle. She googled the name, but only came up with hits for Chittle or Daniel separately.

Undaunted, she pulled out the large, bound edition of the Michigan State Government Directory. Looks like I’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. She riffled through the pages until she arrived at the D’s. Running her finger down the page, she came across the entry she was seeking. Using her pencil to punch the digits on her phone, she dialed the main office of the Department of Natural Resources. It was a long shot, she admitted, but she had to start somewhere. The officious sounding women at the other end answered on the third ring. “DNR, Judy speaking.”

“Hi Judy, this is Felicia Sorensen calling from the Governor’s office.”

She could hear Judy straighten up a bit and her voice brightened in tone. “Yes, Felicia, how can I help you?”

“We’re trying to locate someone in your department, the name is Daniel Chittle. Can you help me?”

“Sure, I can pull up the employment database here, Felicia.”

Felicia heard mad typing on the other end of the line. After about three minutes, the silence on the line was broken. “We have a Daniel Chittle who runs the ranger office at the Green Mountain State Park. Would you like his contact information?”

Felicia was stunned. She couldn’t believe she had hit pay-dirt on her first call.
“Ms. Sorensen, are you still there?”

Felicia snapped back to reality. “Yes, I’ll take that information.” As she wrote down the address and phone number, she could hardly contain herself. The emotions were difficult to describe. She was excited, but nervous, and quite frankly scared out of her mind at the prospect of meeting this man. Her next phone call was to her dad, Frank. It was his day off, so she wouldn’t be waking him. He was probably bow hunting in the back acreage of the farm today and would be having a lumberjack’s breakfast in the old farmhouse kitchen before he went out for the day. Sure enough, she caught him there.

He was concerned about Felicia’s plan. “Honey, I don’t think I approve of you going down there. We don’t know this man. We aren’t sure how he’ll react. What if he rejects you on the spot? You’d be devastated.”

“Dad, this is something I have to do. Maybe I could bring a friend with me.”

There was a contemplative silence. “I’ll go with you. I’ll stay in the car. I don’t have to meet him or even see him, but if you have any trouble, I’ll be there for you—for moral support if nothing else.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that, I know how hard this probably is for you too.”
Her dad’s voice softened to the soothing parental tone that always put Felicia at ease. “I want to help you, honey. Don’t you worry about me at all. We can do this together. Call me when you have it set up and I’ll take the time off of work. I love you. Talk to you later.”

She hung up the phone and heaved a huge sigh. Now Felicia had to steel herself for the big call. As she pressed the numbers on the phone, her mind began to race. She could hardly focus her thoughts as the line at the Green Mountain State Park DNR office rang. After 6 rings, Felicia was about to hang up when a nice sounding woman answered. “Green Mountain State Park! Sorry for the wait, I was out at the front desk helping someone,” the woman exclaimed breathlessly.

Somehow, Felicia managed to compose herself and put on a professional demeanor. “Hi, my name is Felicia Sorensen and I’m a student at Michigan State University in Fisheries and Wildlife.” This was a complete lie. Felicia was a Political Science major and new virtually nothing about fish or wildlife. “I looked up Daniel Chittle in the alumni directory and I’d like to interview him for a paper I’m writing for class. Would that be possible?”

“Sure, hon. Let me look at his schedule. Hmmm. Can you make it Thursday at about noon? You can catch him at his lunch hour in the office. He spends most of the day out in the park.”

“Uhh, great, I’ll be there, thanks.” Felicia hung up the phone without saying goodbye. The woman on the other end must have thought her to be rude or just another scatterbrained college kid. At the moment, she indeed felt very scatterbrained.

On the 2 hour car ride to Green Mountain, Felicia had some time to think. She and Frank didn’t exchange many words. He knew she was deep in thought. Frank just gripped the wheel at ten and two and stared silently down the road. His old Ford F150 ground its way down the wet highway, rain pelting the windshield, the wipers whining as they made each pass. These were the only sounds heard in the car for most of the trip.

To Felicia, the pieces of her puzzling life now made much more sense. She had always felt that when she walked into the room at family gatherings that her aunts and uncles suddenly clammed up, like folks always do when you catch them talking about you. After a while, she dismissed it as childish paranoia. Now, she realized that at each family gathering, whether it was Thanksgiving, Christmas, a cousins’ birthday or a wedding, somebody in the family probably brought the subject up. I wonder if Lorena has told her yet? When is she going to tell her?

There were plenty of other times during her childhood that Felicia could think back to when her relatives were coy and cagey during discussions about her father, or rather the man she thought was her father. Her grandmother had always told her there was a big secret that she would tell her someday. Unfortunately, she died before she could live up to the promise. This was one of the entries that Felicia had made in her journal—one of the entries that her mother had undoubtedly read. Thinking about the lies that were told for all those years made her anger flare towards these people. The secret was like their private joke, one that she wasn’t in on. She hated them all a little for that.

Now Felicia knew why she never quite felt like she fit in with the family. She didn’t exactly look like her mother, and her head of naturally long, curly, dark hair was a family anomaly. She knew now that she must have gotten this from her biological father’s side of the family. The questions began to stream into her head again. How many other traits did she get from him? Did she have any stepbrothers or sisters? Were her real grandparents still alive? Did they even know about her? Did they think about her? Did her biological dad ever think about her? How could this whole other family exist all these years and never attempt to contact her? Thinking about this last question scared her. Maybe he didn’t want to think about her, hoped that she would never surface so he could continue to block her out of his memory; out of his life. Perhaps he wished she had never existed.

Sitting in the ranger’s office, Felicia continued to watch the raindrops on the window as if she was in a trance, all of these thoughts running through her mind like a movie playing itself on a continuous loop. She shuddered with a start when the nice woman came through the door and broke the silence.

“I just heard from Dan on the radio. He’s sorry about being late. He’ll be here in a minute.”

“Thanks,” Felicia said weakly. The nice woman left the door open and went back to her business, leaving Felicia alone again in the room. At the thought of actually meeting Dan, she suddenly had a strong urge to get up and leave. She would escape this dusty old field office and run out to the car where her dad Frank, her real dad as far as she was concerned, sat reading the newspaper awaiting her return. As she rose from her seat, a man entered the room. She sat quickly back down. She had to gut it out now.

“Sorry I’m late. I had a fire to put out. Well, not a real fire, but you know what I mean. In the park business, we try not to joke about that.”

He was in his late forties, with dark hair like hers. He had deep blue eyes, and was a fairly attractive man for his age. Fearing that he would see that she was staring, she looked away and stared again out the window. He was oblivious, and sat down at his desk. He pulled open a drawer and from it withdrew a large brown sack. He began to place the items from the sack on the desk as he spoke. “I’m afraid we’ll have to talk while I eat, I don’t get much time away from the park. So, you’re a student at M.S.U., eh?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Felicia could at least answer this question truthfully.

“So what’s your paper about? How can I help you?”
Felicia swallowed hard. All of the sudden her mouth was dry and her palms were cold and wet. She willed up the courage to get out of the chair, walk to the door, and shut it. When she did this, a puzzled look came across Dan’s face; the look then turned to worry as Felicia began to cry. She plopped herself back down in the chair.

“What’s wrong? Are you in some kind of trouble? If it’s about your paper, I’ll help you.” Dan began to feel uncomfortable and had no idea what to do at this point. Who was this crazy girl in his office?

“I’m not here to do a paper. I’m not a Fisheries and Wildlife student. I’m a Poli Sci student,” she squeezed out between sobs.

Dan became more desperate now, unsure of how to handle the situation. “Well, we can still talk about M.S.U. Where do you live? I used to be in a frater…”

“I’m your daughter.”

“What?”

“I’m your daughter, Dan. My name is Felicia Sorensen.”

“When is your birthday?”

“March 3rd. I’m twenty years old.”

“Your mother’s name?”

“Lorena Burrows at the time.”

“Oh, my God!” Dan bolted up, knocking over his thermos. Hot coffee soaked his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and ran along the table until it pooled under a sheath of papers on the corner of the desk. He paid no attention to the mess as he rushed to hug Felicia. They both held each other and cried. This was the reception that Felicia had hoped for, but it didn’t feel like she thought it would. Now that she had met her father, what was she supposed to do? She already had two other dads in her life. At this stage, was there room for one more? If he didn’t make the effort to stay in her life for the last twenty years, did she really want him in hers? The family secret was a secret no longer, but the effects of it were going to continue to be felt for years to come.

Rawley's Rule Number Seven (short story)

The hard breathing that can only result from deep sleep was the only sound that could be heard in the darkness, until a dirty yellow light clicked on, providing an eerie glow to the room. The source of the yellow light was a circa 1970’s glass table lamb with a shade stained from years of cigarette smoke and dust. It’s easy to see now that this is a cheap motel room, right down to the peeling wallpaper. The hand which earlier turned on the lamp grasps the bedcovers and quickly draws them back to reveal a beautiful naked woman. She slithers out of the bed and slinks her way to the bathroom. The sleep breathing sound stops, snorts, and then continues as the man in the bed rolls over to escape the bright piercing light that is now coming from the bathroom.

The attractive woman pulls back her hair, looks in the mirror, and then produces a hair tie which she uses to wrangle her hair into a neat pony tail. “Rawley, this time it’ll be 2,000 EC’s.”

The man in the bed stirs, and then rolls over to face her. “I’ll authorize a transfer from my account right now. Out of curiosity, why did it go up?”

“New rates for the new fiscal year which started in September.” The woman splashed water on her face and patted it dry with a paper-thin motel room towel.

“This corporate branding of the call girl trade is getting a little out of hand.” Rawley fumbled for his PDA on the night stand, then pulled out the stylus and whacked a few buttons. “There, the authorization is complete. You sure you don’t have more time to stick around? The Red Wings game is on and I’ve got this room for the whole night.”

“I have other appointments still this evening, hon. Sorry. I’m free next Thursday, though. I know there’s a game on that night. We can watch that after we finish for a period or two if you like.”

Rawley sat up and rubbed his eyes. His middle aged paunch hung over striped boxer shorts. “Naw, I’ve gotta work late that night. We’ve got a new band playing over at the casino and they need a sound technician to work their board. Maybe another time.”

“Alright then, you know how to get a hold of me. I’m outta here, baby.” The woman emerged from the bathroom fully dressed with her coat and overnight bag. She was about twenty-three, slim, athletic, attractive, and well put together. This clearly wasn’t the type of girl that Rawley Hayes would be able to score on his own.

She closed the door with a quick slam and Rawley was left to fend for himself. He glanced at his watch, and then exhaled sourly. Guess I’ll go home to the wife.

Rawley wasn’t a bad man. It all started out rather innocently. After eleven years of marriage, his sex life had gotten a little stale. Hell, it had gotten A LOT stale. His wife Gina’s idea of regular sexual activity was of the once per month variety and after eleven years of fidelity, Rawley was about ready to burst. At first naughty magazines were enough for him to get his fix. He had quite a collection stashed under the workbench in the basement. But after a while, they weren’t enough. Rawley sold them on eBay and made a nice sum of money for the pristine copies of Playboy, Penthouse, and Hustler.

Then he moved on to internet porn. There were thousands of sites providing services to men like him in search of some adult entertainment. It was fun and stimulating for a while, but this activity too, lost its appeal eventually. Even the new interactive holographic internet porn left much to be desired. The technology required far too much imagination to make it seem real. The women looked like ghosts and the entire experience was creepy for Rawley.

Then old Raw started collecting videos. This was the best solution to his problems so far, and it wasn’t hard for him to find time to watch because his wife often worked long hours and the kids were in bed by 8:30. This was his “me time”. He used a credit card for his secret purchases that Gina didn’t know about so she wouldn’t discover his obsession. She never went into his workshop and certainly never opened the door which led to their well pump. Rawley had turned this room into his personal porno library. He had constructed neat little wooden shelves which lined the entire closet. All of his “material”, as he called it, was alphabetized and categorized by type. He even had a rating system. The spines of the videos and DVD’s were marked with gold stars according to how well he liked each one, with a five star being the best.

This sex fix lasted the longest. It was almost a year this time before Rawley started to feel like he needed more. All of this porn, unfortunately, made him yearn for more sexual stimulation. His wife was still on the monthly plan despite his constant pleadings and protests. She had nixed the idea of counseling and continued to insist that nothing was wrong with their sex life or their marriage. As far as Rawley was concerned, at this point he was left with little choice.

This is where Rawley was left with the first taste of his moral dilemma. He truly loved his wife and his family. He enjoyed his house, the minivan, the family vacations to the beach and Disneyworld, and the new riding mower he had gotten for Father’s Day last year. Everything in his life was great, except for his incompatibility with his wife sexually. He didn’t want any of this to change, and he also didn’t ever want to hurt his wife. Rawley thought long and hard about what constituted cheating. If I think about other women, even daydream about them, it couldn’t ever hurt my wife since she would never know as long as I don’t tell her. The same was true for regular dreams at night. No harm, no foul, thought Rawley. Even though “lusting in his heart” as Jimmy Carter put it, was technically a sin according to the bible, he wasn’t very religious and didn’t subscribe to this doctrine. This was new territory he was charting here, and there wasn’t a rulebook which had all the answers. Rawley decided he would make up his own rulebook.

He first determined that he could think about and dream about other women all he wanted. This was rule number one of his personal guidelines on sexual fair play for the 21st century. Then he began to contemplate his now regular habit of looking at other women naked. If he didn’t actually touch them or even meet them, there was no harm. Rule number two: pictures and movies of naked women are okay. He then expanded this rule. If it was okay to see women naked when he wasn’t involved in an actual sex act, then it was similarly okay to watch others participate in sex acts. Rule three: porno films and internet viewing of sex was okay.

This got Rawley to contemplate further. Why is it only okay for me to see women I don’t personally know naked? It was more exciting to see a woman he knew naked than some stranger on a video screen or a computer monitor. It made everything seem more real if you actually knew the person. Rawley had always flirted with a girl at work named Sara who worked as a slot representative, filling the one armed bandits with huge bags of coins and doling out hand paid jackpots to the casino winners. This workplace flirting was innocent and harmless, and Gina had even made remarks to Rawley that Sara was his “work wife” since they had so much in common and they hung out together on all of their breaks. Rawley created rule number four: flirting that didn’t lead to anything was okay. Later that day, as Rawley was firing off an email to Sara with the latest dumb blonde joke that was making the internet circuit, he added a short P.S. to his message. Have you ever had any nude pictures taken of yourself?

Rawley awaited the reply with uncontainable nervousness. What if she gets mad? What if she sues me for sexual harassment? What if she gets pissed off and tells my wife? After what seemed like hours, the reply came back. Why, do you want to see them? This is when the email attachments started flying back and forth with his pictures and her pictures, and with each missive one of them tried to trump the other with the level of risqué ness. Then, one day, it happened. One incredibly seductive photo came with the message; meet me at the Carriage Inn on Parkdale after work if you want to see the real thing.

Rawley had to go back to his home-made rule book to figure out how to handle this. If I just look, but don’t touch, it’s no different than if I’m just looking at the photos on my computer. It’s just like when I go to the strip club. Gina isn’t crazy about the idea of my going to Cheetahs on a Friday night, but she still allows me to do it. This is no different than that. Rule number five was now in the little blue notebook he had purchased at Wal-Mart when he came up with the idea of setting up his guidelines: Seeing live nude women without actually touching them is fair game. Rawley met up with Sara that night as planned and explained his rules to her. They didn’t seem to bother her. She met him for a couple of weeks of looking without touching each other until one day she came up with an idea. Rule number six was born: It was okay to pleasure yourself in the company of another woman as long as you didn’t touch her. Rawley figured that this was no different than taking care of himself while he watched internet or video pornography.

After a few months of these co-masturbation interludes, Sara again became tired of the game. Rawley also had to admit that their meetings weren’t as exciting as they used to be. He thought about oral sex. After all, the president himself had disqualified this as sexual intercourse. After agonizing over the situation for several days, Rawley decided that oral sex, by its nature, was still sex, and therefore, was still cheating.

Gina wasn’t happy with this revelation and although they continued to be friends, they remained nothing more than that; just friends. The meetings at the Carriage Inn on Parkdale ended, and Rawley was again left with a yearning in his life for sexual fulfillment. There had to be an answer, something that he hadn’t yet thought about. That’s when he met Devin Wylie.

One a normal Thursday evening, in an attempt to take care of his now aching libido with a new issue of Hustler, Rawley saw an ad in the back of the magazine which promised “Guilt free sex with gorgeous partners. Solve the moral dilemma of infidelity. Call 1-866-noguilt.” Rawley was strangely intrigued but also incredibly skeptical. He had tried the blow up dolls and other mechanical pleasure devices advertised in the back of these magazines before and was less than satisfied with the results. The promises in this particular ad were too good to pass up, however, so he called the number.

The pleasant woman who answered the phone took his information, and then asked for an authorization to run his credit and financials. Rawley began to get nervous. “What do you need that information for, may I ask?”

“Sir,” the woman on the other end said officiously, “our service is of the highest quality and therefore is expensive. Mr. Wylie doesn’t waste his time meeting with potential clients who cannot afford our service. I’m sure that you understand.”

“Of course, of course. I had to ask, you know.” He transmitted the data via his PDA by beaming it into the receptacle on his phone. “You should have it now.”

“Yes, its here.” There was a pause while she tapped a series of computer keys. “Everything seems to be in order. Mr. Wylie will meet you tonight at 6pm at The Bungalow on Eighth Street.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Excellent.” An audible click was heard and the line was dead. Rawley could hardly contain his excitement.

He showed up for the meeting early and sat at the bar. After his second white Russian, Mr. Devin Wylie finally arrived. He wore a dark suit, coat, tie, and hat. His starched white shirt was the only article of clothing he wore which wasn’t black, Rawley observed. He looked like an FBI agent from an old black and white film from the 1940’s.

“You are Mr. Hayes I presume?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

The man in black carefully placed a bright pink data card in front of Rawley. “On this disk you will find our inventory. Find a partner you like and call the number listed under the picture to arrange a meeting.”

Rawley swigged the last spit of his drink and slammed the glass down on the bar. “Well, before we go any further, I have a couple of questions. How can this be guilt free and without infidelity? I need to know—“

Wiley cut him off. “Find what you want, make the call, arrange the meeting. Everything will become clear once you meet your partner. Please trust me. What we are doing is highly illegal, and we have to take safeguards, you must understand.”

“Well at least have a drink with me. I’ll get you one.” Rawley turned to the bartender to get his attention. He turned back to Wiley. “What do you—“. But Wiley was gone. Rawley shrugged, took out his PDA, and placed the data card into it. There were pages upon pages of pictures of beautiful prospective partners with detailed information about all of them under their pictures. Each also had their own phone number.

It was just like the phone sex ads that he used to call. Rawley hadn’t made a rule specifically for the phone sex, but he figured it was covered by the existing set of rules somewhere. He didn’t call the chat lines very often anymore, after Gina had seen the strange listing on one of the phone bills and questioned it. The e-brochure, while very convincing, held no additional information which could answer Rawley’s questions. He had to pick a girl, call the number and arrange an appointment. Then, as Wiley said, everything will become clear.

He scrolled through the thousands of women and came upon one that reminded him of his first college girlfriend, a nymphomaniac that had always kept him satisfied. Rawley remembered that their breakup had been devastating to him. This was the last woman he had ever been with before he met Gina. The girl’s name on the brochure was listed as Erin. There was no last name given. Every girl in the grid had a unique and unduplicated name. It was almost like picking out a brand of automobile.

He called the number the next day and made the appointment with Erin herself. She sound extremely sexy, and although she was obviously an excellent actress, she genuinely sounded excited to meet with Rawley. He made Erin aware on the phone that he wasn’t sure whether or not he was going to go through with the whole thing, but he was intrigued enough to meet with her so he could get the answers to all of his questions. How can this not be cheating? How could it possibly be guilt free? It certainly wasn’t legal according to Mr. Wiley, so how can it possibly be morally correct?

Rawley showed up for his meeting at his favorite hotel room where he had his liaisons with Sara. It seemed like just as good a place as any to him. Erin arrived right on time. She was twice as gorgeous in person as she appeared to be in the e-brochure. She sat on the bed in her red Lycra skirt and tossed her overnight bag next to the bed. “Shall we get down to business?” she purred.

“I have a few questions for you first.” Rawley stood over her like a police interrogator. “How can I have sex with you without cheating on my wife? Will we be having actual intercourse?”

Erin smiled and looked Rawley directly in the eyes. She had an heir of confidence about her. “Well, darling, for starters, let me ask you a question. Have you ever used a sex toy or other device to get yourself off?”

Rawley was taken back by her directness but then remembered where he was and what he might be about to do. “Well, yes, I have.”

“Did you consider this cheating on your wife?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, this is the same thing.”

Rawley stood still with his arms folded in front of him and furrowed his brow. “What the hell are you saying?”

Erin’s smile was even wider now. “Human sexual intercourse by definition takes place between two human beings, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, I’m not human.”

Rawley shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “What?”

Erin pulled up her blouse to reveal her extremely firm abdomen. She took her thumb and her forefinger and plunged them into her sexy slit of a bellybutton, then twisted them. Just below her breasts, a small door opened. Rawley’s jaw dropped. He was staring at mass of circuitry and wiring. “You’re a damned android! I thought they were decades away from creating anything like you! This is amazing! My God!” Rawley stood in front of her, stunned.

“So you see, it can’t be cheating because I’m not even human, Rawley. Shall we get on with it now?”

Rawley’s mind went back to the rulebook. It made sense. It wasn’t the biological, physical act of sex that was morally wrong as much as it was the emotional betrayal that was committed by engaging in such a personal act with another person. Erin wasn’t another person. She couldn’t feel attachment or love. She was no threat to Gina’s marital relationship because she couldn’t have a relationship. She didn’t even want to have a relationship with anyone. She only wanted what she was programmed to want and that was to pleasure men. It was the perfect setup, the answer he had been waiting for all of these years.

Later that night Erin left him completely satisfied for the first time since he had married Gina. After she made her exit, Rawley took out his blue binder to record the final rule. In his best handwriting he inked it in. Number seven: It wasn’t cheating on your wife if your partner was an android.

Turning Point (Short Short Story)

Josh awoke with a start and bolted upright, bathed in a cold sweat. Confused and disoriented, he looked around the room franticly. His mind raced as sweat trickled down his nose and large drops fell onto the already dampened bedcover. He mopped his brow with his shirtsleeve. Where the hell am I? What time is it? Is it day or night? As consciousness took hold of him, his mind slowly began to regain some focus, but he was in that half awake/half dream state where everything seems surreal. He continued to scan the room with his eyes. Is that a figure in the corner? What the hell is that? Did it just move? Josh thrust his hand over to his nightstand and swept it across the cluttered surface until his fingers wrapped around a small object. Reaching back behind his head, he hurled it towards the shadowy form and at the same time switched on the lamp with his other hand. Instantly the room was bathed in light. No mysterious figure awaited him in the corner, but on the floor, beneath the dent on the wall it created, laid the broken pieces of his cell phone. Josh exhaled slowly and sunk his head back down into the sweat-soaked pillow; the rush of adrenaline now over; a momentary feeling of relief came over him.

His mind began to clear. He was in his bedroom—back in his bedroom actually. It was Saturday night, or…maybe early Sunday morning? This wasn’t the first time Josh had woken up this way. Every few months Josh awoke in a similar fashion. First there was confusion, then realization. They had taken him again, used him for whatever fiendish purpose they had, and plopped him back into bed when they were done.

That was almost two years ago. As usual, he didn’t tell his family or friends about the encounter. Who the hell would believe him, anyway? The countless kooks who showed up on Maury Povich and Sally Jesse Raphael played a large part in discrediting people like him who were legitimate targets of them. This had been happening since he was six years old. Of course as a child it seemed more like a nightmare than an actual occurrence. He would awaken in the middle of the night in a trance-like state in his room, awash in a green glow of hard bright light. Paralyzed with fear, able to only move his eyes, he darted them around the room in an attempt to locate the invaders. Then they would appear, as if materializing out of the walls. They looked just like they had been portrayed in the movies and on TV. Pale skin, large bulbous eyes, slits for a nose, with a wiry body shape. When he got a little older, Josh started calling them “The Grays” like Mulder on The X-Files.

The routine was always the same. After being taken, he would awake early the next morning in the pitch dark, his mind racing and his breath coming in large gasps, as if he had just emerged from a pool of deep murky water after a near-drowning. His young mind, unable to process what had happened, pushed the episodes far into his subconscious where the bad dreams about the boogey man and other similar beasties were stored.

There were reprieves, however. Sometimes the visits would stop for a year or two--but never for more than two years. After long lapses such as these it almost started to feel to Josh as if the abductions had never happened at all. Perhaps they were a recurring nightmare or those sleep disorders he saw on the Learning Channel where people feel like they are paralyzed and have strange dreams while their eyes are wide open. His mind had either found a way to push the memories aside or worse yet--they had a way of making the memories fade. Unlike E.T. or Close Encounters of the Third Kind, the experiences weren’t at all interesting or life-changing. They were absolutely terrifying. No matter how many times it happened, no matter how regular these encounters where, they never became any less frightening. The Grays, with their emotionless black eyes, their strange metallic instruments moving across his body and the odd electronic devices humming and clicking were sheer torture. They performed their brutish tasks with cold, uncaring, soullessness as if they were dissecting a frog or grasshopper in eighth grade science class.

Josh spent all of his free time researching the phenomenon. He belonged to all the web groups and encounter groups and psychological studies. In the meetings they talked and commiserated. They cried and they prayed and they tried to make sense of it all. About 9 out of 10 people in the groups were nut-cases or delusional psychotics, but there were the occasional others like himself who were genuine abductees. Despite all of the counseling, regressive hypnosis, and psycho-babble he endured over the years, none of it had healed the pain he felt from the encounters or the violation he lived with every day of his life.

It was out of pure frustration and desperation that Josh got the idea. In all of his intensive research, there was one approach to the phenomenon he had never encountered. All of the victims of these violations were passive participants. In the groups they blathered on about how helpless and weak they felt and how powerless they were. Josh had a flash of inspiration. Who said it had to be that way? It was during one of the “down” periods that Josh made this revelation. They hadn’t bothered him in months. He often wondered why they took these breaks. Were they off examining other subjects? Did they take vacations? Maybe their mode of travel took one or two years from wherever they came from.

So he began to train. First there was the hours of karate at the Parkdale Community Center taught by an ex-Marine Drill Sergeant who insisted everyone call him “Stubbs”. Stubbs had two fingers blown off by shrapnel in the first Gulf War and wore the nickname like a badge of honor. With Stubbs’ help, Josh achieved the black belt more quickly than any of the other students. Next, Josh started weight training at the fancy new gym down at the Meadowbrook strip mall. Gary the slightly effeminate body-builder and professional trainer helped him to “blast his quads” and “pump up his pecs”. For further protection, he procured a Glock 9mm handgun from the dirty little gun shop that was the front of Gus Deter’s Mason Street house and joined the Oakland gun club. Three nights a week at the range for target practice with the club plus a combat handgun class sponsored by the Oakland County chapter of the NRA made him sharp with the pistol. The instructor, Nick Logan, was a real Michigan Militia type. He had a small one bedroom home on forty acres of wooded land that he built himself. He used windmills to generate his own electricity and lived “off the grid” as he used to say. Nick had his own Ham radio station and he would broadcast his opinions of the “gov’ment” and “how they were coming to take all our freedoms.” If Nick had a listener-ship of more than 6 people the “gov’ment” would probably have come and paid him a visit to discuss his revolutionary ideas, or maybe why he hadn’t paid his taxes in almost ten years (because taxes were unconstitutional, don’t you know). Of course, the focus of the classes was how to stop intruders from assaulting you in your own home. If old Nick only knew exactly what kind of intruders Josh was preparing to repel…

Now, after months of intense training, Josh was lean, steely, and coiled like a spring—ready and aching for an encounter with Them. They had never been away for more than 24 months, and he knew the time was coming soon. It had been just over 23 months. This time, Josh was ready for them. He examined his past abduction experiences carefully, piecing them together from his journal entries, and he formulated a plan. Josh determined that there was always a period of time, maybe 20-30 seconds, between when he awoke bathed in the green light and when the whole body paralysis actually started. He remembered that he could still move his arms and legs as the paralysis slowly spread from the center of his body out to his limbs. If he fought against the paralysis during this short interval with his newly strengthened muscles and increased mental toughness, if he could reach the pistol under the pillow, maybe he had a chance to take out a couple of the little gray bastards and scare them away for good. As Josh finally drifted off to sleep that night, he repeated the mantra to himself, “not this time, not this time.”

The Daughter I've Never Met--Part II (Manistee News Advocate)

The Fourteen Month Journey Home

The caregiver handed us our baby daughter and she cried. She cried almost constantly for two days. My wife and I took turns trying to soothe her. Nothing really worked. She would stop for a bit, then some unknown word, sound, or sight would set her off and she would cry again. There was nothing we could do. She wasn’t sick. She didn’t need to be changed. She wasn’t hungry. She was extremely sad—sad because all of the sudden everything in her life was entirely different.

You see, she wasn’t at a caregiver’s house while we went to a movie or out to dinner; she was there for 14 months. This woman wasn’t her babysitter, she was her foster mother. The little girl we were handed was our brand new daughter, Ariana Xian, born Xian Cheng on June 24th, 2004 in Xiagon City in the Wuhan Province of the People’s Republic of China. We didn’t know her foster mother’s name and we weren’t allowed to meet her. The woman who handed her off to us days earlier was only a worker from the Xiagon City Social Welfare Institute where her foster Mom had dropped her off that morning.

So, here she was with strange new people who didn’t look, sound, or even smell like her foster parent. She hadn’t even ever seen people who looked like us. The entire scene was chaos. There were fifteen other families just like us receiving babies in the hot, crowded, and now emotionally charged room. Fifteen other baby girls as confused and unhappy as she was, all crying and looking around for their foster mothers and getting more and more upset as they realized they weren’t anywhere to be found.

Nighttime those first few days was the worst. During the day we could distract her and play with her and feed her to keep her occupied but at night when it was time to go to bed she would miss her “mama” the most. It was scary to go to bed in the strange hotel room and wake up in the same unfamiliar place. The word Mama means the same thing in this Chinese province of China as it does in English. When she was tired, upset, or hurt she would cry for her mama—her foster mama. We couldn’t even utter the word in reference to my wife Tiana lest we run the risk of upsetting her. We called my wife “mommy” instead. This word was different enough that she wouldn’t go into a mournful fit of crying when she heard it.

As the days passed the mourning subsided and she became more comfortable with us. She still was reserved and only occasionally showed us a genuine smile or laugh. Her true affections were reserved for the mother she would never see again. Chinese adoptions are closed and there is no way for children and foster mothers to reunite once the adoptions with the new families are complete. Most provinces have strict rules regarding this.

Sometimes the foster moms break the rules, though, as we found out. Several families, like us, sent disposable cameras to the orphanages months before our journey to have them passed on to the foster moms. We did this in the hope that we could get some pictures of our daughters in their foster setting. When we picked up our daughters, these cameras were given back to us. Most of us found pictures of our daughters outside the orphanage or in staged settings sitting or playing with toys. One camera had the golden picture—a brave foster mother had lined up all the other foster mothers from our orphanage and they took a group picture with their respective children in their arms. Our girls were matched up with their foster moms. A part of the puzzle that made up our daughter’s former lives was now in place.

Staring at the face of the woman who cared for our daughter for over a year stirred up many emotions. Would our daughter ever love us as much as she loved this woman? How does this mother feel after having given up her foster daughter only days ago? How difficult this whole situation must be for her. These little girls who we fell in love with after only a few days must have been so loved by the women who cared for them for the entire first year of their lives. Sadly, we would never be able to repay the foster mothers for their love, care, kindness, and for the wonderful daughters they had nurtured for us.

After some consideration, we decided that there was one way we could repay these women. We made a vow to raise Ariana to the best of our ability and to give her every opportunity to succeed in life by loving and nurturing her every day of her life. To help us in our cause we gave her a fantastic big brother to play with, a nice home to live in, and an extended family that adores her. We’ve pledged to make a new life for her in America while helping her to also honor the part of her that is and will always be Chinese by keeping Chinese culture and traditions a part of her life. We plan to send pictures of her and updates on her progress to her orphanage in Xiagon City and we hope that these packages will make their way to her foster Mom. Maybe in this small way we can help to alleviate her pain over the loss of her foster daughter. Possibly we can make her feel good about the jumpstart to a new life she gave to a little girl left by a mother who couldn’t care for her at the age of only two days old. What a fantastic personal sacrifice she has made and will probably continue to make with other foster daughters. How often I’ve wondered if I could make the same sacrifice.

We’ve been back in the states for over a week now and Ariana is finally adjusting to the 12 hour time difference along with the rest of us. When she cries for her mama now she actually means my wife, Tiana. We are learning to respond to her Chinese words and she is in turn learning some English. Ari is gaining weight, learning to walk better each day, and exploring her new world here in Manistee with great enthusiasm. She laughs and smiles and has bonded with us fully already. We thank God for her every day and pray for her foster mother and all the other foster mothers and yet unclaimed daughters still living in China. It’s been a long 14th month journey from the day we turned in our first batch of adoption paperwork to today when we at last have our new baby girl in our arms. The whole process was physically and emotionally exhausting but we wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world; Ariana is finally home.

Tips for Successful Electronic Casino Marketing (Sept. 05 Casino Enterprise Management)

A successful casino marketing strategy obviously relies on many different variables. Advertising, special events, promotions, and direct mail are most often used to attract guests and increase gaming revenue. In order to impart the marketing message to the widest audience possible and to assure the maximum exposure to the message, it is very important to use as many marketing channels as possible. This is where electronic marketing communications enters the picture.

Marketing communications for many years has typically been in the form of advertising through direct mail, television, radio, billboards and print media. Over the last few years, technology in the area of electronic communications has been advancing steadily and now there is a wealth of new methods for communicating marketing messages to prospective casino players.

The Road Sign
Once only seen on the Vegas strip, Atlantic City, or in sporting venues, these signs are now seen at tribal and corporate casinos across the country. The static or monochromatic signs of the past are slowly fading away and now full color high resolution video displays are often the norm. These moving billboards produced by companies such as Daktronics can display graphics, text, images, animations, and pre-recorded video clips as well as live video. The sequences which run on these screens can be scheduled down to the minute you want them to run and are easy to administer remotely from any location on a regular PC equipped with the sign software and hardware. By purchasing an animation and video editing program, sophisticated eye catching sequences can be created by in-house casino staff members or existing commercial footage can be converted and used for the display.

The uses of this medium are varied; advertisements of upcoming promotions, special events and entertainment, giveaways, and live or pre-recorded video feeds of special events such as slot tournaments and entertainment acts. What’s important to note when employing this type of dynamic billboard is that it is a highly visible message center and the information needs to be updated on a regular basis. It’s also key that the messages placed on the sign only run in short sequences and the amount of text is kept to a minimum as most people only have a few seconds to read them as they drive past. Sequences which need to have more impact or are of higher importance can be scheduled to run more often than less important ones, making this a flexible form of advertising which can be administered quite easily in-house.

The Video Distribution System
The size and clarity of these displays (normally plasma or LCD screens) make them an eye-catching way to impart your casino marketing messages. Information regarding promotions, giveaways, special events and other advertisements for your resort can be shown 24/7 to guests in high-traffic areas as they wait in line for a slot machine, at the players club, or at the cage. These networks are simple to set up and can be supplied with material from a desktop PC or server running a simple presentation program like Microsoft PowerPoint. Another reliable way to send video to these channels is through the use of a video server such as the Firefly by Visual Circuits. They are essentially a large hard drive that digitized video is stored on. These systems have one to four different channels of output and the video can be scheduled and changed as needed. The systems are easy to use and feature a web interface for making changes to the server. Internal Marketing or I.T. staff can change the content on either of these broadcast systems and the network is scalable to any size you desire should your property grow. The same content can also be piped over a video distribution system feeding traditional television sets on the casino floor, in retail and restaurant outlets, and in other high traffic areas of the resort. Placing these monitors in areas where lines naturally develop grabs a captive audience and reinforces the marketing message.

If your property has a hotel, this same video can be piped into guest rooms on an open channel or channels. Commercial televisions are highly customizable now, and can be set to always display the in-house channel when they are first turned on. If your property had a video on demand system such as Lodgenet or Nstreams, you also have the opportunity to add customized content to one or two of their channels and this information can be customized and updated for promotions and special casino events as well.

Another great way to use in-house displays is by broadcasting live video. For a relatively low cost, you can install small remotely controlled cameras in a stage lounge area or in different areas of the casino floor. They can be powered, controlled, and their video signals can be transmitted back to a video distribution system using a single cat 5e wire. Uses for these live feeds could be broadcasts of poker and slot tournaments, large scale promotional events, or entertainers performing on stage. Remote hand-held cameras can also be hooked up to this network for more flexibility and switched video can be sent back to the distribution system. Another way this remote camera network can come in handy is for videotaping promotions that require documentation for gaming compliance reasons or for insured promotions that require videotaping as part of their contract.

One important pitfall to avoid with a video distribution system on the floor is the improper use of the network. You want to build in the flexibility to show a variety of channels which you may obtain from either the local cable or satellite company so you can broadcast important sporting or news events. What you don’t want to do is allow this free advertising medium to be wasted by having the displays tuned to CNN or ESPN all the time. There must be an understanding among the different casino departments that the televisions and plasmas are there for imparting the casino’s messages, not necessarily for the entertainment of the guests and staff.

There are several ways to avoid this problem. One way is to zone the televisions so that control of individual sets and the channels they display is controlled from a central location such as the machine room in the I.T. department. Another way is to lock out all the channels on the individual sets with a master remote except those in-house channels you wish to display. Whichever method you choose, it’s important to keep tabs on what’s playing in the resort just as you would track outside media such as television and radio commercials.

The Audio Distribution System
Most casinos have the typical piped-in music playing over tinny overhead speakers. It serves as background noise and really doesn’t add much to the overall experience. Building a comprehensive audio distribution system is a good way to add to the guests’ experience and provide another channel for providing marketing messages. Change the music selections daily and have themed days with appropriate music. The wide selections of music available from local cable and satellite providers allow a casino property to tailor the music played to the specific promotion or event being hosting on a particular day.

Don’t scrimp on speakers. Use high quality speakers from a company such as JBL and make sure that coverage and the volume of different zones sounds even as guests walk between zones. Group the speakers so you can control different areas of the casino separately and they can be adjusted for different levels of traffic, background noise, and noise from the games on the floor. It’s even possible to create a system which will self-adjust the volume levels based on the level of background noise so the speakers’ volume does not overpower small crowds or fade to inaudible levels in large crowds. Have a variety of different tuners that can send separate music selections to different parts of the casino or resort. That way it’s possible to have a separate musical selection playing in each different restaurant or common area depending on the needs of that particular casino venue.

As a back-up, think about investing in an MP3 server. This can be a standard PC with a large hard drive and a good sound card which hooks directly into the audio distribution system. It serves two purposes. The first purpose is to provide music if the satellite or cable provider is down. The second purpose is to provide customized music for special events and promotions. For example, if your property is having a particular country star appear that weekend in the amphitheater, play his music the day of the concert. Caution must be exercised, though. Make sure that your licensing is up to date with the appropriate music licensing agencies ASCAP, BMI, and SEASAC and don’t play MP3’s that were downloaded from the internet; only use those which were actually ripped from a CD that was purchased through an appropriate vendor.

Another common feature of the audio distribution system is paging. Informational announcements from the players club and pages for guests are a necessary part of this system. Make sure there are hard wired microphones in the player’s clubs, wireless microphones for use out on the floor during promotions and special events, and phone paging for areas that these microphones won’t cover. Make sure that paging can be heard in all of the outlets and hallways for big giveaways so people don’t miss hearing their name being called for a drawing. This will give guests the flexibility to continue gaming, eat meals, or visit a retail venue while waiting to hear drawing results and will also keep congestion in the drawing area down.

Also consider having pre-recorded announcements play over the audio distribution system. This could mean running radio ads or actually recording special audio segments and messages to play specifically on the casino floor speakers. It’s also fun to have employees read live scripted messages at different intervals throughout the day detailing promotions or other information. Most importantly, pack as much information on this system as possible so guests are up to date and informed of all of the casino current events.

Control of the audio system doesn’t have to rely solely in the hands of the Information Technology staff. A control system such as Crestron can be used with touch-panels strategically placed around the resort and in the casino outlets. This type of password protected control system allows key employees the ability to change music sources and volume levels on the fly without chasing down technical staff.

The Web
Every casino has a web page but the quality and amount of useful information that are imparted by each page vary greatly. The first key to a good casino website is to have a main page where surfers are pointed to which has dynamic and up to date information that is both important and relevant. This is where the most recent promotions, special events, and other information such as upcoming entertainment should reside. Also on this page should be links to all the other pages of the website which a guest might want to use to find information such as sections for gaming, hotel, dining, and group sales. If the information is not useful and never changes, people will stop visiting the site.

Pack as much information as possible on the web-site. Rates for the hotel, prices of meals in the dining outlets, lists of the most recent slot machines and table games on the floor, rules for poker tournaments, and gaming guides are all fantastic pieces of information to have online. This will alleviate the number of calls coming into the PBX and to marketing staff from patrons looking for information and will also serve as one more medium to get marketing messages out to the world. People prefer to get their information via the web because it’s more immediate and time saving so take advantage of this fact.

One way to add value to the web experience for your guests is to put some type of exclusive web offer on the main page such as a coupon which is redeemable only online. This will help drive traffic to the site. Avoid having flashy animations and videos on the site and keep the graphics sizes to their minimum. Although all of these items look fancy, they can slow download times of the page drastically. It’s important to remember that there are still people using dial-up modems out there to access the internet.

On-hold Messaging
On hold music is a standard part of any PBX based phone system. Guests often have to wait on hold during busy periods. This is another opportunity to broadcast your marketing messages to a captive audience. It’s easy to digitize radio ads and copy them to a device which will play them periodically over the on-hold music. You can also record customized messages and place them on this system as well. Some companies will even record and update the messages in return for a small monthly fee.

Another way of getting the message out via the phone system is to have staff members update their outgoing voicemail messages with a short marketing blurb of the day. Keep these short and update them daily to maximize their effectiveness. The phone system is another weapon in the marketing arsenal that often gets overlooked, so maximize its potential.

Content and Collateral
Re-use existing material to save money. One radio ad can play not only on several radio stations, but also on your in-house audio system and your on hold music. A television ad can play on television stations, the in-room hotel channel, on the road sign and on the plasma display network. The digitized audio and video can also play on your website, but be careful of the file sizes. Similarly, graphics created for buck-slips and print ads can be reused on the web, road sign, and video distribution network. Re-using collateral marketing materials as much as possible drives down the cost per message delivered and helps to keep advertising expenses down. It also assures that the messages all have a similar theme and style giving the marketing campaign thematic continuity.

Cooperation between Information Technology and the Marketing Department
One last point which cannot be stressed enough is that cooperation between the technical and content creation staff is critical. All of these new methods of marketing communications are technically complex and need regular administration to operate properly. It’s important to have a good relationship between the Information Technology and Marketing departments at the casino property. Regular communications internally between the two groups need to be maintained to assure that the content on the different marketing channels is correct and up to date and the internal systems need to be maintained regularly to achieve a high level of “up-time” guaranteeing that messages are not lost to potential receivers.

The line between content and delivery mediums in the casino industry is merging so that marketing directors and managers are required to become more technically savvy and I.T. professionals are required to think more like marketing staff people to achieve the goal of successful marketing communications for the property as a whole. Look for new ways to get the message out there and use as many different methods as possible to reach your target audience. Chances are that if you have an idea for getting the message to your audience, a communications technology exists that can get it there.

Cean Burgeson is the Communications Administrator at Little River Casino Resort in Manistee Michigan. He holds a Master of Arts in Telecommunication from Michigan State University and has worked in Washington DC and Los Angeles in the broadcast and entertainment industries.