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NEW YORK (AP) — Jessica Simpson's daughter has the news all spelled out: "Big Sis."
Simpson on Tuesday tweeted a photo of her baby daughter Maxwell playing in the sand, the words "Big Sis" spelled out.
The 32-year-old old singer and personality has been rumored to be expecting again. The tweet appears to confirm the rumors.
"Merry Christmas from my family to yours" is the picture's caption. Simpson used a tweet on Halloween in 2011 to announce she was pregnant with Maxwell. She is engaged to Eric Johnson and gave birth to Maxwell in May.
One possible complication regarding her pregnancy: She is a spokeswoman for Weight Watchers.
Andrew Scrivani for The New York Times
Mushrooms and spinach together is always a match made in heaven. I use a mix of wild and regular white or cremini mushrooms for this, but don’t hesitate to make it if regular mushrooms are all that is available.
1/2 ounce (about 1/2 cup) dried porcini mushrooms
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/2 medium onion or 2 shallots, chopped
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound mixed regular and wild mushrooms or 1 pound regular white or cremini mushrooms, trimmed and cut in thick slices (or torn into smaller pieces, depending on the type of mushroom)
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup fruity red wine, such as a Côtes du Rhone or Côtes du Luberon
2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme or a combination of thyme and rosemary
6 ounces baby spinach or 12 ounces bunch spinach (1 bunch), stemmed and thoroughly cleaned
3/4 pound penne
Freshly grated Parmesan to taste
1. Place the dried mushrooms in a Pyrex measuring cup and pour on 2 cups boiling water. Let soak 30 minutes, while you prepare the other ingredients. Place a strainer over a bowl, line it with cheesecloth or paper towels, and drain the mushrooms. Squeeze the mushrooms over the strainer to extract all the flavorful juices. Then rinse the mushrooms, away from the bowl with the soaking liquid, until they are free of sand. Squeeze dry and set aside. If very large, chop coarsely. Measure out 1 cup of the soaking liquid and set aside.
2. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy, nonstick skillet over medium heat and add the onion or shallots. Cook, stirring often, until tender, about 5 minutes. Turn up the heat to medium-high and add the fresh mushrooms. Cook, stirring often, until they begin to soften and sweat, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and salt to taste, stir together for about 30 seconds, then add the reconstituted dried mushrooms and the wine and turn the heat to high. Cook, stirring, until the liquid boils down and glazes the mushrooms. Add the herbs and the mushroom soaking liquid. Bring to a simmer, add salt to taste, and cook over medium-high heat, stirring often, until the mushrooms are thoroughly tender and fragrant. Turn off the heat, stir in some freshly ground pepper, taste and adjust salt.
3. Bring a large pot of water to a boil and salt generously. Fill a bowl with ice water. Add the spinach to the boiling water and blanch for 20 seconds only. Remove with a skimmer and transfer to the ice water, then drain and squeeze out water. Chop coarsely and add to the mushrooms. Reheat gently over low heat.
4. Bring the water back to a boil and cook the pasta al dente following the timing suggestions on the package. If there is not much broth in the pan with the mushrooms and spinach, add a ladleful of pasta water. Drain the pasta, toss with the mushrooms and spinach, add Parmesan to taste, and serve at once.
Yield: Serves 4
Advance preparation: The mushroom ragout will keep for 3 or 4 days in the refrigerator and tastes even better the day after you make it.
Nutritional information per serving: 437 calories; 9 grams fat; 1 gram saturated fat; 2 grams polyunsaturated fat; 5 grams monounsaturated fat; 0 milligrams cholesterol; 73 grams carbohydrates; 5 grams dietary fiber; 48 milligrams sodium (does not include salt to taste or Parmesan); 17 grams protein
Up Next: Spinach Gnocchi
Martha Rose Shulman is the author of “The Very Best of Recipes for Health.”
You'd be hard pressed to find a company that talks more about its "people-centric" management culture than Barry-Wehmiller, a privately owned manufacturer of industrial equipment.
Barry-Wehmiller, which has $1.5 billion in annual sales, says it's all about fostering "personal growth" among its 7,000 employees, whom it calls "team members." Its "Guiding Principles of Leadership" include the imperative to "treat people superbly and compensate them fairly." (Italics are theirs.)
The chief yogi of this philosophy is Chairman and Chief Executive Bob Chapman, who gives talks about the "crisis of leadership" in corporate America, lamenting that "over 130 million people in our workforce go home every day feeling they work for a company that doesn't care about them." With a catch in his throat and possibly a tear in his eye, he told one audience in May about the "awesome responsibility" he shoulders for "the lives that are influenced by my leadership."
Hey, Bob? Tell it to the 111 steelworkers you're laying off in Southern California so you can transfer their jobs to a lower-paid workforce in Ohio (with the help of a "job creating" tax break from the latter state).
These workers — excuse me, "team members" — are employed by Barry-Wehmiller's Pneumatic Scale Angelus plant in Vernon. When they reported to work Nov. 2, they were handed a five-paragraph statement advising them that the company had decided to shut the plant by Jan. 1. Only a few weeks earlier, the company had staged a ceremony at the plant in recognition of its record sales.
The notice said the workers would be paid through the end of the year, but to avoid "personal injury to you or harm to equipment or products ... because of this distraction," they should go home and stay home. In the meantime, the company would negotiate the "tentative closing decision" with their representatives from the United Steel Workers union. USW officials have told me it's clear that the decision is anything but tentative.
The 60-day notice, which is required by state law whenever a big layoff is in the offing, was signed by the company's director of "people and culture development." "That notice was the first anyone heard of their plans," says Douglas Marshall, 71, who retired last year after 23 years as a machinist at Angelus.
You may never have heard of Angelus, so here's some background on what used to be one of California's most community-oriented businesses.
Founded by Henry L. Guenther in 1910 as the Angelus Sanitary Can Machine Co., the firm produced "can seamers." These machines fuse the lids of metal cans to their bodies. Angelus' models, which were the gold standard in the packaging industry, can be found in bottling plants all over the world. Hoist a can of Coke or a cold beer, and the chances are roughly 4 in 5 that it was produced on an Angelus machine.
"They were the Rolls-Royce of machines," says Gil Salazar, who spent 43 years in the industry — the last five as a field representative for Angelus — before retiring this month. "The Angelus people were craftsmen, which is something the United States doesn't have anymore."
After Guenther and his wife, Pearl, died in the 1950s, control of Angelus passed to a nonprofit foundation she had established. Its profits every year went into the Henry L. Guenther Foundation's coffers and out to dozens of worthy Los Angeles charities, chiefly health and medical institutions.
In 2007, pressured by the IRS to comply with rules forbidding ownership of a profit-making company by a nonprofit, the foundation sold Angelus to Barry-Wehmiller for $84 million, according to a foundation tax filing. Since then, the foundation has had no involvement with Angelus. But it has continued to make millions of dollars in donations every year: The Salk Institute, St. John's Health Center in Santa Monica, Mercy Hospital in San Diego and the Braille Institute in Los Angeles all ranked among its top beneficiaries in 2011.
Barry-Wehmiller, for its part, promptly applied its "people-centric" policies at Angelus, former employees told me. Non-union managers got their holidays pared back, their pensions frozen and their healthcare premiums jacked up.
"They let us know that was what they were looking to do with the union workers too," recalls Chuck Johnson, a USW shop steward at the plant for more than 20 years. A layoff hit 33 members of the Angelus local last year. Chapman made occasional appearances at the plant but never spoke with the unionized employees, Johnson says.
I called Chapman at Barry-Wehmiller's headquarters in suburban St. Louis so he could help me reconcile his words and his actions. But neither he nor anyone else from the firm called me back, apparently content to let his logorrhea do the talking.
And talk he does. His appearance in May at an Illinois event affiliated with the TED organization seemed to be typical. (TED is a lecture series allowing self-styled visionaries and CEO types to put their personal awesomeness on display, but the results can be hit-or-miss.) Chapman's TED talk was vaguely spiritual, filled with the buzz of sincerity and the buzzwords of self-actualization — "We've been paying people for their hands for years, and they would have given us their heads and their hearts for free if we had just known how to ask them and say, 'Thank you for sharing.'" Etc., etc.
There do seem to be Barry-Wehmiller locations where its Guiding Principals of Leadership hold sway. A USW analysis called the firm "paternalistic" and acknowledged it treats employees with "a lot of respect and kindness." A United Auto Workers representative in Green Bay, Wis., told me the 330 UAW workers at the firm's large printing-equipment plant there enjoy excellent relations with management, not least because in taking over the plant, Barry-Wehmiller kept it from folding.
"As a workplace, we should be envied," UAW local President Pat Vesser said.
That hasn't been the experience at Angelus. When the foundation sold the factory it had a healthy order backlog and plenty of overtime. But soon after the 2007 takeover, the employees in Los Angeles, where the average hourly wage was about $25, saw that their work was being shifted to a non-union plant in Ohio, where the wage was $16 to $18, according to the USW.
The company even cadged a five-year, $760,000 tax credit from a state development fund in Ohio for promising to add 75 jobs there — a hint of how a smart company may be playing the job-creation game for profit while actually cutting employment.
The average age of the Angelus workforce is 54, and the average worker has been there for decades. But there's no sign that any economic development agencies in California, Los Angeles County or Vernon stepped up to try to save the more than 100 jobs at stake. Could they have helped? Who knows. The Angelus workers say Vernon owns the lease on the factory, but there doesn't seem to have been an effort by the city to cut the rent.
Barry-Wehmiller has firmly turned away USW proposals to keep the Vernon plant running, says Steve Bjornbak, 56, a 38-year veteran of Angelus and the USW local's president. He suspects the company plans to revive limited operations with lower-wage employees in California later, "after they've dissolved the union." There will be talks after the first of the year over severance, healthcare and retirement benefits for the laid-off workforce.
No one disputes that Barry-Wehmiller is perfectly within its rights to find the cheapest way to manufacture whatever it wishes, wherever it wishes. But its actions at Angelus don't exactly measure up to Bob Chapman's saccharine prattle about running one of those organizations that "truly care about the impact they make on the lives of the people that join them."
"This is all about people's lives," Chapman told his TED audience. Right you are, Bob.
Michael Hiltzik's column appears Sundays and Wednesdays. Reach him at mhiltzik@latimes.com, read past columns at latimes.com/hiltzik, check out facebook.com/hiltzik and follow @latimeshiltzik on Twitter.
To expand service, cellular phone companies are turning to a higher power.
They're not increasing the wattage of their transmitters. They're looking for churches near residential areas willing to let them hide cell sites in steeples, belfries and crosses.
Wireless companies are hunting for new sites as they scramble to close gaps in phone reception and expand their networks to meet the explosion of smartphones and tablets. Conventional cellphone towers in neighborhoods are often opposed as eyesores, and sometimes banned. Churches offer an alternative.
Not so fast, some worshipers and residents near churches say.
Cell tower opponents contend there is a potential radiation danger to children and neighbors from cellular transmitters, an assertion that the wireless industry says is false.
The cellphone trade group CTIA says that emissions from the industry's towers are "thousands of times less than the FCC's limits for safe exposure," and it cites reports from the Federal Communications Commission asserting that no evidence links cancer to wireless devices or, according to the National Cancer Institute, to radio-frequency energy.
But in 2011, the World Health Organization's International Agency for Research on Cancer classified radio-frequency electromagnetic fields as possibly carcinogenic to humans, bolstering fears raised by tower opponents.
Earlier this year, parents in Burbank protested when plans were announced to install a T-Mobile cell site at the Little White Chapel. Twelve antennas were to be placed in the church's steeple and other equipment installed on the first floor of the sanctuary.
In May, the Burbank City Council unanimously declined to approve the Planning Board's OK of the project, which was based on a 2011 ordinance allowing antennas on institutional buildings such as churches and schools.
In Tujunga, parents and others, citing aesthetic grounds, have protested plans for a Metro PCS cell tower disguised as a pine tree at Our Lady of Lourdes School.
Verizon had better luck in October when the Camarillo Planning Commission approved a conditional use permit for a dozen cellular antennas inside a 53-foot church steeple and cross at Trinity Presbyterian Church.
The idea is not new. In 1997, Nextel Communications sought to place a tower on the playground of Holy Redeemer School in Montrose but stopped its plans after parents complained.
But the trend may be accelerating: A recent survey by California Watch, an investigative reporting group, noted that no one keeps track how many churches in California have cell sites but found that some congregations actively market themselves.
The Canyon Creek Presbyterian Church in San Ramon sought out wireless providers when it was constructing a building six years ago and eventually struck a deal with T-Mobile that brings $25,000 to $30,000 a year to the church.
While the church lost part of its property tax exemption because of the cell site, it still comes out financially ahead.
Churches with cell sites say they welcome the income from working out lease deals with wireless companies. It can total as much as $4,000 a month.
The Green Hills Baptist Church in La Habra first leased space to Pac Bell about 20 years ago, said Pastor Bob Gallina. These days the nine or so T-Mobile transmitters that are attached to an outdoor cross bring in about $20,000 annually, he said.
Legal experts say ministers and other church leaders should read the fine print closely when considering a carrier's offer. "Often church people are entirely too trusting," said John W. Pestle, a Tucson-area lawyer who frequently advises property owners who are considering hosting cell sites.
Long-term leases can stymie a church that needs to physically expand in the future, Pestle said. And because wireless companies prefer to keep lease amounts confidential, churches may have difficulty comparing rates.
Until now, the growth in cell sites tucked in steeples, bell towers and in crosses has been modest; only a couple of hundred of the 5,000 new sites built in the U.S. this year were in churches, said Ken Schmidt, president of the consulting firm Steel in the Air based in Ft. Myers, Fla.
But that could change as wireless companies ramp up service. Schmidt said AT&T has announced plans to add 10,000 additional macro cell sites on tall towers and 40,000 smaller, shorter-range sites on existing buildings.
That means churches with tall towers and steeples close to neighborhoods will be sought out by the wireless industry.
Carriers may pass the collection plate among customers to pay for the new cell sites.
bob.pool@latimes.com
Celebrities on Monday reacted to the death of "Odd Couple" star Jack Klugman, who died Monday at age 90. Here are samples of sentiments expressed on Twitter:
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"R.I.P. Jack Klugman, Oscar, Quincy a man whose career spanned almost 50 years. I first saw him on the Twilight Zone. Cool guy wonderful actor." — Whoopi Goldberg.
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"You made my whole family laugh together." — Actor Jon Favreau, of "Swingers," ''Iron Man" and other films.
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"I worked with Jack Klugman several years ago. He was a wonderful man and supremely talented actor. He will be missed" — Actor Max Greenfield, of the "New Girl" on Fox.
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"So sorry to hear that Jack Klugman passed away. I learned a lot, watching him on television" — Dan Schneider, creator of Nickelodeon TV shows "iCarly," ''Drake and Josh" ''Good Burger," ''Drake & Josh."
How in the world did something as innocuous as the sugary pink polio vaccine turn into a flash point between Islamic militants and Western “crusaders,” flaring into a confrontation so ugly that teenage girls — whose only “offense” is that they are protecting children — are gunned down in the streets?
Nine vaccine workers were killed in Pakistan last week in a terrorist campaign that brought the work of 225,000 vaccinators to a standstill. Suspicion fell immediately on factions of the Pakistani Taliban that have threatened vaccinators in the past, accusing them of being American spies.
Polio eradication officials have promised to regroup and try again. But first they must persuade the killers to stop shooting workers and even guarantee safe passage.
That has been done before, notably in Afghanistan in 2007, when Mullah Muhammad Omar, spiritual head of the Afghan Taliban, signed a letter of protection for vaccination teams. But in Pakistan, the killers may be breakaway groups following no one’s rules.
Vaccination efforts are also under threat in other Muslim regions, although not this violently yet.
In Nigeria, another polio-endemic country, the new Islamic militant group Boko Haram has publicly opposed it, although the only killings that the news media have linked to polio were those of two police officers escorting vaccine workers. Boko Haram has killed police officers on other missions, unrelated to polio vaccinations.
In Mali, extremists took over half of the country in May, declaring an Islamic state. Vaccination is not an issue yet, but Mali had polio cases as recently as mid-2011, and the virus sometimes circulates undetected.
Resistance to polio vaccine springs from a combination of fear, often in marginalized ethnic groups, and brutal historical facts that make that fear seem justified. Unless it is countered, and quickly, the backlash threatens the effort to eradicate polio in the three countries where it remains endemic: Pakistan, Afghanistan and Nigeria.
In 1988, long before donors began delivering mosquito nets, measles shots, AIDS pills, condoms, deworming drugs and other Western medical goods to the world’s most remote villages, Rotary International dedicated itself to wiping out polio, and trained teams to deliver the vaccine.
But remote villages are often ruled by chiefs or warlords who are suspicious not only of Western modernity, but of their own governments.
The Nigerian government is currently dominated by Christian Yorubas. More than a decade ago, when word came from the capital that all children must swallow pink drops to protect them against paralysis, Muslim Hausas in the far-off north could be forgiven for reacting the way the fundamentalist Americans of the John Birch Society did in the 1960s when the government in far-off Washington decreed that, for the sake of children’s teeth, all drinking water should have fluoride.
The northerners already had grievances. In 1996, the drug company Pfizer tested its new antibiotic, Trovan, during a meningitis outbreak there. Eleven children died. Although Pfizer still says it was not to blame, the trial had irregularities, and last year the company began making payments to victims.
Other rumors also spring from real events.
In Pakistan, resistance to vaccination, low over all, is concentrated in Pashtun territory along the Afghan border and in Pashtun slums in large cities. Pashtuns are the dominant tribe in Afghanistan but a minority in Pakistan among Punjabis, Sindhis, Baluchis and other ethnic groups. Many are Afghan refugees and are often poor and dismissed as medieval and lawless.
Pakistan’s government is friendly with the United States while the Pashtuns’ territory in border areas has been heavily hit by American Taliban-hunting drones, which sometimes kill whole families.
So, when the Central Intelligence Agency admitted sponsoring a hepatitis vaccination campaign as a ruse to get into a compound in Pakistan to confirm that Osama bin Laden was there, and the White House said it had contemplated wiping out the residence with a drone missile, it was not far-fetched for Taliban leaders to assume that other vaccinators worked for the drone pilots.
Even in friendly areas, the vaccine teams have protocols that look plenty suspicious. If a stranger knocked on a door in Brooklyn, asked how many children under age 5 were at home, offered to medicate them, and then scribbled in chalk on the door how many had accepted and how many refused — well, a parent might worry.
In modern medical surveys — though not necessarily on polio campaigns — teams carry GPS devices so they can find houses again. Drones use GPS coordinates.
The warlords of Waziristan made the connection specific, barring all vaccination there until Predator drones disappeared from the skies.
Dr. Bruce Aylward, a Canadian who is chief of polio eradication for the World Health Organization, expressed his frustration at the time, saying, “They know we don’t have any control over drone strikes.”
The campaign went on elsewhere in Pakistan — until last week.
The fight against polio has been hampered by rumors that the vaccine contains pork or the virus that causes AIDS, or is a plot to sterilize Muslim girls. Even the craziest-sounding rumors have roots in reality.
The AIDS rumor is a direct descendant of Edward Hooper’s 1999 book, “The River,” which posited the theory — since discredited — that H.I.V. emerged when an early polio vaccine supposedly grown in chimpanzee kidney cells contaminated with the simian immunodeficiency virus was tested in the Belgian Congo.
The sterilization claim was allegedly first made on a Nigerian radio station by a Muslim doctor upset that he had been passed over for a government job. The “proof” was supposed to be lab tests showing it contained estrogen, a birth control hormone.
The vaccine virus is grown in a broth of live cells; fetal calf cells are typical. They may be treated with a minute amount of a digestive enzyme, trypsin — one source of which is pig pancreas, which could account for the pork rumor.
In theory, a polio eradicator explained, if a good enough lab tested the vaccine used at the time the rumor started, it might have detected estrogen from the calf’s mother, but it would have been far less estrogen than is in mother’s milk, which is not accused of sterilizing anyone. The trypsin is supposed to be washed out.
In any case, polio vaccine is now bought only from Muslim countries like Indonesia, and Muslim scholars have ruled it halal — the Islamic equivalent of kosher.
Reviving the campaign will mean quelling many rumors. It may also require adding other medical “inducements,” like deworming medicine, mosquito nets or vitamin A, whose immediate benefits are usually more obvious.
But changing mind-sets will be a crucial step, said Dr. Aylward, who likened the shootings of the girls to those of the schoolchildren in Newtown, Conn.
More police involvement — what he called a “bunkerized approach” — would not solve either America’s problem or Pakistan’s, he argued. Instead, average citizens in both countries needed to rise up, reject the twisted thinking of the killers and “generate an understanding in the community that this kind of behavior is not acceptable.”
A Silicon Valley executive whose previous venture was synonymous with Internet piracy has found a way to play nice with Hollywood.
BitTorrent Inc. co-founder Ashwin Navin is working with television networks and consumer electronics companies on a new technology called Samba that aims to deliver enhanced viewing on Internet-connected "smart TVs."
Navin said his experiences with BitTorrent and the backlash engendered by the file-sharing pioneer spurred his decision to work in collaboration with the entertainment industry — instead of pursing a path of business disruption.
"You can get a lot of great press, you can get all the bloggers and social media folks really excited with statements like, 'I'm here to kill cable,'" said Navin, 35. "But that doesn't actually work. It's not productive,
because cable and subscription television is subsidizing and paying for the programming we love."
Navin's San Francisco company, Flingo, draws from the same body of academic research for Samba that underlies the U.S. Department of Homeland Security's face recognition technology to teach smart TVs to "see" the images flickering on the screen.
Like an infant opening her eyes for the first time, the software is trained to recognize actors' faces and objects on the screen. It uses these visual cues to identify a show in real time by comparing it with a database of hundreds of channels of content.
Once Samba determines what a viewer is watching, it delivers contextually relevant content, such as casting information or social media conversations, directly to the TV — as well as to other screens in the room. The software synchronizes the devices automatically, via the Internet, so the consumer doesn't need to download a special application. The supplemental material is available through a Web browser running on a tablet, smartphone or the TV itself.
"From a consumer point of view, [Flingo's] doing a nice job of stitching these things together based around a TV-centric experience," said Paul Gray, television research director for NPD DisplaySearch. "And not trying to be a PC in your living room — which is the big danger."
Flingo is one of several companies seeking to serve as the technological glue that connects the living room TV with the smartphones, tablets or laptop computers that millions of consumers have in their hands, along with their TV remote controls. One Nielsen study found that 86% of tablet owners and 84% of smartphone users said they check these screens while they watch TV. Television networks have been grappling with the intrusion of these small screens, which compete with the TV for viewers' attention.
"If we can find ways to connect those screens, we can deepen the engagement with the show, we can remind people that they are watching TV," said Hardie Tankersley, Fox's vice president of platforms and innovation. "Being able to match the ads that you're seeing on your laptop with the ads that are running on TV — that has tremendous potential for brands, who advertise both on TV and the Web. To be able to synchronize up is really powerful."
Companies such as Zeebox, Yahoo Inc.'s IntoNow and Shazam Entertainment Ltd. offer smartphone and tablet applications that identify TV shows and deliver supplementary content to this second, smaller screen — including cast lists, a plot synopsis and interactive features such as polling.
Flingo's Navin is placing his bet on a different screen: the TV. Announcements of partnerships with device makers are expected next month at the Consumer Electronics Show in Las Vegas.
Smart TVs are moving from a novelty to the mainstream, with shipments expected to grow 15% worldwide this year, according to NPD DisplaySearch. Some 43 million of these devices — TVs that connect to the Internet and provide access to services such as YouTube, Netflix or Hulu — are expected to ship globally this year. That number is projected to reach 95 million by 2016.
This momentum is less obvious in North America, where Internet-connected TVs have been slower to catch on than other parts of the world, Gray said. That's because purchases are linked to media consumption habits. In China, for example, consumers watch free Internet content — and favor TVs with built-in browsers, which make it easier to watch streaming video. Similarly, in Western Europe, where half the households receive TV programming via over-the-air signals, broadcasters provide past episodes free online for consumers to do catch-up viewing. That's helped spur demand for Internet-connected TVs, Gray said.
Navin launched Flingo in 2008, creating smart TV applications for networks including A&E, Fox, History Channel, Lifetime, Showtime and TMZ, as well as websites such as Revision3, Funny or Die and College Humor. As a result of this development work, the company has built relationships with more than a dozen major consumer electronics manufacturers, among them LG Electronics, Samsung Electronics Co., Sony Corp. and Vizio Inc. It claims to have published more smart TV apps than any other company in the world — available on more than 15 million devices in 118 countries.
That may position it to take serious advantage of smart TV growth in the U.S.
"The smart TV is the last great unmined consumer platform," said billionaire entrepreneur Mark Cuban, who saw a demonstration of Flingo at the CES trade show last year and is an investor in the company.
dawn.chmielewski@latimes.com
BAKER — The temperature hit 114 degrees in July, but most folks passing by the "World's Tallest Thermometer" in this Mojave Desert pit stop never knew it.
Once a shimmering beacon of light to Las Vegas-bound drivers heading up Interstate 15 with fat wallets and paper-thin dreams, Baker's 13-story thermometer marks California's last-stop oasis of bathrooms and burger joints before the Nevada state line.
Now it's an eyesore. The pinkish roadside oddity has been on the blink for years. The string of ovals that lighted up in 10-degree increments, the top one also giving the exact temperature, are black and lifeless. The gift shop below is padlocked, its shelves stripped bare.
"It's totally disappointing,'' said Brad Roach, 27, of Los Alamos, N.M., who pulled off the highway on an L.A.-to-Vegas road trip with friends to get a closer look. "It's kind of like the biggest ball of twine," he said, referring to another storied American roadside attraction. "If you're diving by, you have to stop and see it. But there's nothing here.''
The thermometer's demise now serves as a billboard for a town on the brink. A chain link fence surrounds Baker's prized Starbucks — which closed its doors four years ago. Two of the town's three motels are shut. The Royal Hawaiian, which in the best of times aspired to two stars, peeks sadly out onto Baker Boulevard with smashed windows and graffiti-splattered walls.
Part of the blame belongs to the merciless Mojave Desert, where bleached 2-by-4s and cinder blocks are all that remains of gas stations, diners and other ventures that turned to dust along the highways. Part of the decline can be blamed on the recession, which depleted the conga line of vehicles heading to and from Las Vegas that sustains life in this tiny town of 735 on the edge of Death Valley.
Tough times are nothing new in this desert town, born more than century ago as a railroad station serving the borax mines in Death Valley. It was wiped off the map by floods in the '30s and saw its rails pulled up and shipped overseas during World War II. There still isn't a single stoplight in town.
Still, its people persevere. "There's always been work in Baker, but now, instead of one job, people are working two or three,'' said Ronda Tremblay, superintendent of the Baker Valley United School District, which has fewer than 190 students.
Baker has no bank or supermarket, no drugstore or health clinic — those are an hour's drive away, in Barstow.
But some hold out hope for the town and, not surprisingly in these parts, it could come from an unusual place: a spaceship.
The owner of Alien Fresh Jerky, one of the more popular stops on Baker's main drag, has plans to build a three-story, disc-shaped "UFO Hotel." Still in the permitting process, it would tower over the tiny markets, gas stations and restaurants on Baker's main drag. Plans call for a gift shop, cafe and 30-plus rooms. Outside, there would be a pool in the shape of an alien's noggin for guests to take a dip in on hot summer days.
"Forty percent of Americans believe in UFOs. Those are my customers," Luis Ramallo said. "No one has ever seen anything like it.''
A wacky dream? Perhaps. But Ramallo, an electrician who emigrated from Argentina in 1988, has parlayed on those before with great success. His beef jerky store started as a tiny, roadside stand outside of Nevada's Area 51, the top secret U.S. Air Force base that has morphed into the Bethlehem of UFO theology. After Ramallo's oddball enterprise became a hit, he relocated to Baker.
Now his store, on good days, has a line snaking out the door, Ramallo said. He expects even more business once the spaceship hotel opens, which he hopes will be in the next year or two.
"This will be the new big attraction in Baker,'' Ramallo said. "I don't want them to fix the thermometer. I want them to tear it down. It's gone from good to bad to ugly.''
The 134-foot-high thermometer was the brainchild of local businessman Willis Herron, who plunked down $700,000 to build the giant monolith in 1991 next to his Bun Boy Restaurant. The thermometer's 4,900 bulbs glowed so bright that Herron, who lived across the street, had to close his window shades at night.
"For 25 years I've had this dream of putting up the world's tallest thermometer, because people pulling off the freeway in the heat of summer are always making remarks like: 'Whew! It's hotter 'n hell. How hot is it anyway?'" Herron, who died years ago, told the Times in 1991.
The tower's height commemorated the 134-degree record temperature set in nearby Death Valley in 1913.
Shortly after it was finished, the thermometer snapped in two after being buffeted by 70-mph winds. Two years later, the rebuilt thermometer again twisted and swayed as gusts whipped through the valley, popping out light bulbs. The problem was solved when a work crew poured concrete inside the steel tower, anchoring it against the harsh desert wind.
Herron sold the Bun Boy and the giant thermometer to business partner Larry Dabour, owner of the Mad Greek restaurant, another Baker institution. It changed hands again in 2005 when Dabour "liberated" himself from the thermometer, Bun Boy and some other enterprises he owned.
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