The Bracket Racket

Few four letter words have received as much media attention in the past few years as J-O-B-S. The U.S. went from an unemployment rate of around 5% in 2007, to a little over 10% at the end of 2009. That 5% difference represents millions of people filling out unemployment forms and scrambling for their personal or family's financial security.
We've been lucky at our house. Both my wife and I have kept our jobs, although my career in radio is a bit like that scene in the movie 300 where the Persian messengers stood on the edge of the bottomless pit; say one wrong thing to the Spartan king, and whoopsie daisy, off you go. Yet, while some semblance of job security has been in place at our place, the focus on jobs has caused me to look around at who has them and what they're doing. One gleaming gem emerged.
This unturned stone showed itself as we begin year number 3 of the wonderful world of orthodontic care. Now, you are likely wondering why we've been subjected to this financial lash for an atypical 3 years, instead of the usual 1 - 2. I know you're wondering it, because so are we! Seems the first orthodontist received his teeth-straightening degree from a community college in Kazakhstan. At the end of the two year, multi-thousand dollar process for our eldest cherub, her pearly whites were a bit like hair implants. From a distance all looked well. Not so much up close. That debacle of time and coin brings us to ortho guy number 2, who seems to have a real tooth degree and a real depth of knowledge, which all adds up to a real hefty bill that is twice as high as that from Mr. Kazakhstan Kook. But we're promised that in another two years and the price of a liver on the black market, she'll have the smile of a movie star. My cynical nature is imagining Austin Powers' smile from the first film.
This tale of woe (ever wonder if when proctologists tell a story it's called a "woe of tail?") brings us to the job gem of being an orthodontist. Observation #1: they have lots of diplomas. At least our second guy did. Observation #2: they might just have the easiest job in the world next to being the maid for clean freak Howard Hughes. I'm not sure what orthodontists do, but I can tell you what they don't do. They don't put in spacers, brackets or wires. They don't remove spacers, brackets or wires. They don't do the molds. They don't do the icky, funky cleaning. They don't help fit the retainer. They don't hold the children down as wire cutters enter their mouths to cut the 12 gauge wire that is embedded into their cheeks. They don't extract teeth because that's what the regular dentist does. And evidently they don't worry about paying their mortgage.
Rarely, unless it's from a Charlton Heston movie, have I seen so much work done by others yet the benefits reaped by so few. While being one of the "technicians" might be a good paying, stable job, they truly do all of the work. And it's not pretty work either. Have you ever looked into the mouth of a teenager? Think the New Orleans Superdome one week after Katrina. As the techs spend their days bent over into squirming, malodorous mouths, the Brains of the operation occasionally stroll by, nod approvingly, them amble back to the nether reaches of the office. Yes, yes, I know, the Brains have to come up with the plan for treatment. But for most of the chil'rens, isn't that kind of like following the protocol for a headache? Aspirin, aspirin, aspirin. My caps off to the techs.
Yet there is another important job position at the Brace Place. That of the accountant. Like the unemployment rate, they've taken an important 10% of our family's economy.

I'm Not Wearing Those Tights

Like the other gazillion people on the planet, we at the Parker house have had a great time watching the Olympics over the past few weeks. In fact, the amount of time we've spent watching the coverage has been about equal to the amount of time it takes me to make a "30 Minute" Rachael Ray recipe, which is to say a long, long time. From the sad beginnings of these games, to the gossipy intrigue between Vonn and Mancuso, it's been an event to remember. But remembrances aren't the only things I'll have. I've actually learned a few things over the past few weeks. First, bobsledding is just about the most boring 45 seconds in the winter games. Any activity that involves one individual just sitting in the back and hiding while hoping the guy upfront doesn't flip the ship, well, that's just ... boring. Plus, it's pretty much the same zip down the ice over and over and over. Having them dodge obstacles, or at least switch places while in motion, would seem far more interesting from a spectators point of view. Also, I have come to the conclusion that almost no one south of the Mason Dixon line, certainly no one with a twang in their voice, will ever win a medal in the Winter Olympics. We in the South don't play hockey, ice skate, ice dance (good Lord), cross country ski, and we certainly don't curl anything over 12 ounces. Partially this is due to the fact that we have more humidity than snow, and also that most of these sports involve tights, leggings or spandex of some sort. That's an problem due to the fact that these are not items you will typically find in the Cabellas or Bass Pro Shop catalogs. Now, I will give a nod to that biathlon race where you ski then stop and shoot stuff. I think that resonates with a good many fellers who have stomped their way through early December snow on the way to their tree stand.
While I actually enjoy watching the cold games more than I do the warm ones, it's a fair summation to say that the Summer Olympics better represent what most humans actually do in the realm of exercising or surviving. For instance, it can safely be said that most of us at one time or another have either ran, swam or thrown something. On the other hand, how many of you have worn a poofy, leotard thingy that resembles an eviscerated black swan while dancing around on skates to the music of Wagner? I didn't think so.
Regardless of which sports by which we're enamored, one truism exists for all the athletes themselves: they work their butts off for what likely will be no more than a trip to the Olympic Village (or Willage as some of them foreigners say). Yes, that would be fun, given the fact that many of the athletes are attractive, in great shape, and are in their virile 20s. But I'm not so sure that being able to spend 8 hours at the opening ceremonies is worth spending 800 hours of training on ice or snow in boots, skis or skates in the hopes of meeting Lindsey Vonn. So I tip my beanie to all of the athletes who have given us great memories, great inspiration, and more great fodder to make fun of ice dancing.

Famous First Words

I'm hoping this inaugural Parker's Post will foremost be interesting to the writer, for if it's not, what's the use. Let's hope we'll both find use in this by the end of the 500 characters.
I was recently reading how much the avenue to being famous has changed in the past decade. Used to be, if you were famous you either created something that we all either loved or made fun of, reached some high ranking post, had some talent that most mortals didn't, or shot somebody famous. Those were the days. Now, it's a bit easier to reach the stratospheric levels of name recognition. All you have to do is be a regular Joe or Jane who does something crazy that can easily be viewed by hundreds of thousands of people on Youtube, or get on a reality show that's based on doing something crazy. Is it fair or right that Paris Hilton or the current wacky lackluster singer on American Idol has more name recognition than the team of scientists who broke the code for polio? Of course not, at least on the plane of intellectual thought. But the difference lies in the purpose. A contestant on Survivor is in it for the face time as much as the million dollars. The polio folks: the love of science, humanity and tenure. Me? Considering I don't have test tubes or beakers, or a million dollars, well, I'll be making my own reality show appearance here. It's the new media megaphone: keep talking, posting, tweeting, texting or blogging and finally someone will think you're famous.