Midweek Update

I don’t know what it is about this week.  For some reason, every time I glance at a news source, I see absurdity and irony.  And sadness too, yes, plenty of that; but in the spirit of reporting the Happy News, I’ll skip over those parts.

So, here in Boston we have – rather, had, until this week, a low-buck bus company called Fung Wah.  This company has been in the news with increasing frequency for at least the past year.  None of the news has been good.  It seems they were able to offer standard Boston-to-New York runs for a mere $15 because they kept their costs low.  Very low.  The buses have crashed, broken down, failed inspections, you name it, repeatedly for as long as I can recall. 

Everybody loves a bargain.  Earlier this week, the company’s extreme thrift caught up with it when it was discovered that three quarters of the buses in the fleet had cracked frames.  They had repeatedly failed safety inspections, yet were still on the road. Now the Department of Transportation has stepped in and grounded the entire fleet. 

But wait, there’s more: 

It seems a Fung Wah bus broke down near Hartford, CT.  The company called in a tow service, which hooked the bus to a giant tow truck and drove away.  Only problem was, they hadn’t properly attached the hook.  They managed to tow the bus into the middle of the highway, whereupon its bumper broke off, leaving the bus sitting there, blocking traffic, without lights, while the tow truck drove away, towing a bumper.

The geniuses in the cab were unaware that the bus wasn’t still behind their truck until they were stopped by police, three exits further down the road.  Upon pulling them over, the police observed that they were somewhat incoherent.  It turned out that both crew members were suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning. 

You just can’t make this stuff up.

In other news this week, a $5 million class action suit was filed against Anheuser-Busch, alleging that they have been watering down Budweiser beer.  Is that even possible?  Perhaps the tested containers had been confused with bottled water that had somehow been tainted with trace amounts of beer?  I just can’t wrap my brain around this.

A few days ago, I endured a seemingly endless radio news story about the proper nomenclature for addressing a retired pope.  The official verdict seems to have settled on “"pope emeritus Benedict XVI" or "Roman Pontiff emeritus Benedict XVI."  Or, to his close friends, “His Holiness.”   I find all of these rather ponderous and difficult to remember.  How about something more intuitive, like The Holy Diddler?

Marissa Mayer, CEO of Yahoo, has come out full force against Yahoo employees “working at home.”  Yes, the head of a technology company has banned a practice that virtually all other technology companies tout as the ultimate workplace perk – and from which several have profited handsomely.  I can’t quite figure this one out.  The primary reason cited was the notion that employees will benefit from being “physically together.” 

That would be the approx. 14,000 people that Yahoo employs worldwide.  Yahoo had better plan for one hell of a big addition to their building in Sunnyvale. 

I’m not suggesting that “working at home” is a universally good thing.  Clearly it would not work well in some industries, or with some employees (read: those likely to run up billable hours in the hot tub) but c’mon, a freakin’ technology company?  This is akin to Starbucks subjecting its employees to random bloodstream-caffeine tests, and firing those who have consumed the evil bean.  It runs just a bit counter to the corporate mission.

Having celebrated New Years’ Day with a partial sigh of relief for having survived, sort of, the “Fiscal Cliff,” we now face The Sequester.  I’ve given up on trying to follow the particulars.  The perpetual brinksmanship in Washington has led me to lose interest.  I have Brinksmanship Fatigue. 

The paradox here is that there are (presumably) real financial ramifications that may directly affect me, indeed, affect all of us; but I have become detached.  It’s like watching the Poker Channel on an old, black-and-white TV with bad reception and rabbit ears, while stoned and wearing someone else’s eyeglasses.  They’re playing for real stakes, using my money, but it’s so far away, so surreal that I just can’t bring myself to care.  So go ahead and duke it out, Elected Drama Queens, just let me know how badly I’ve been screwed when you’re done.  This time.

All for now.  I'll be in touch, so you stay in touch.  Or however that goes.  Good luck, and good night.