I’ve never been a fan of Black Friday. (Sarcasm sign) I’ve got an idea! Let’s wait in front of a trashy Walmart for 6 hours so we can be the first in line to buy the crap products that Walmart couldn’t sell without pricing them below cost. Sure, we’re completely oblivious to the fact that it’s a piece of junk and will break in a year, but who cares, we need to be first in line to buy it! (putting down the sarcasm sign).

I’ve worked the other side before. I remember a $20 piece of junk Kodak digital camera that Circuit City had on black Friday. It was a VGA camera – 0.2 megapixels – being offered when 2 megapixel cameras could be had for a very reasonable $100. Still, the allure of a $20 turd turned shoppers rabid – blind to the fact that for a mere $20 more, they could quadruple their value with a more quality unit.

Worse, they tried to haggle the price of the $20 turd! (sarcasm sign) You can be damn sure I woke up today looking forward to being shoved and sworn at just so I could provide you with a $20 turd that after you unsuccessfully haggled for, you’ll return in less than a week because you’ll realize that $20 doesn’t buy you a very nice turd. Ahh, but you were so busy with your 4 AM black friday shopping frenzy that you failed to notice the “non-returnable, no refunds” sign.

Sadly, things only get worse every year:

NEW YORK – A Wal-Mart worker was killed Friday when “out-of-control” shoppers desperate for bargains broke down the doors at a 5 a.m. sale. Other workers were trampled as they tried to rescue the man, and customers shouted angrily and kept shopping when store officials said they were closing because of the death, police and witnesses said.

At least four other people, including a woman who was eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals for observation or minor injuries, and the store in Valley Stream on Long Island closed for several hours before reopening.

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Shoppers stepped over the man on the ground and streamed into the store. When told to leave, they complained that they had been in line since Thursday morning.

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Nassau police said about 2,000 people were gathered outside the store doors at the mall about 20 miles east of Manhattan. The impatient crowd knocked the man, identified by police as Jdimytai Damour of Queens, to the ground as he opened the doors, leaving a metal portion of the frame crumpled like an accordion.

“This crowd was out of control,” said Nassau police spokesman Lt. Michael Fleming. He described the scene as “utter chaos.”

Dozens of store employees trying to fight their way out to help Damour were also getting trampled by the crowd, Fleming said.

Items on sale at the store included a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798, a Bissel Compact Upright Vacuum for $28, a Samsung 10.2 megapixel digital camera for $69 and DVDs such as “The Incredible Hulk” for $9.

Damour, 34, was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead about 6 a.m., police said. The exact cause of death has not been determined.

A 28-year-old pregnant woman was taken to a hospital, where she and the baby were reported to be OK, said police Sgt. Anthony Repalone.

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Police said criminal charges were possible in the case, but Fleming said it would be difficult to identify individual shoppers. Authorities were reviewing surveillance video.

Wal-Mart Stores Inc., based in Bentonville, Ark., called the incident a “tragic situation” and said the employee came from a temporary agency and was doing maintenance work at the store.

“The safety and security of our customers and associates is our top priority,” said Dan Fogleman, a company spokesman. “At this point, facts are still being assembled and we are working closely with the Nassau County Police as they investigate what occurred.”

Kimberly Cribbs, who witnessed the stampede, said shoppers were acting like “savages.”

“When they were saying they had to leave, that an employee got killed, people were yelling ‘I’ve been on line since yesterday morning,’” she said. “They kept shopping.”

Shoppers around the country line up early outside stores on the day after Thanksgiving in the annual bargain-hunting ritual known as Black Friday. It got that name because it has historically been the day when stores broke into profitability for the full year.

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Knocking down doors, trampling a person to death, throwing a pregnant lady to the ground. For what? A $400 TV so you can sit on your fat asses eating cheetos while watching the news showing you ending a person’s life? What the fuck is wrong with you people?

And don’t think you’re off the hook Wal-Mart. You’re just as responsible as your trashy customers.

The Hole in the Wall Gang Camp opened in Connecticut in 1988 to provide a summer camping experience—fishing, tie-dye, ghost stories, s’mores—for seriously ill children. By 1989, when I started working there as a counselor, virtually everyone on staff would tell some version of the same story: Paul Newman, who had founded the camp when it became clear his little salad-dressing lark was accidentally going to earn him millions, stops by for one of his not-infrequent visits. He plops down at a table in the dining hall next to some kid with leukemia, or HIV, or sickle cell anemia, and starts to eat lunch. One version of the story has the kid look from the picture of Newman on the Newman’s Own lemonade carton to Newman himself, then back to the carton and back to Newman again before asking, “Are you lost?” Another version: The kid looks steadily at him and demands, “Are you really Paul Human?”

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Newman loved those stories. He loved to talk about the little kids who had no clue who he was, this friendly old guy who kept showing up at camp to take them fishing. While their counselors stammered, star-struck, the campers indulged Newman the way they’d have indulged a particularly friendly hospital blood technician. It took me years to understand why Newman loved being at the Hole in the Wall Gang Camp. It was for precisely the same reason these kids did. When the campers showed up, they became regular kids, despite the catheters and wheelchairs and prosthetic legs. And when Newman showed up, he was a regular guy with blue eyes, despite the Oscar and the racecars and the burgeoning marinara empire. The most striking thing about Paul Newman was that a man who could have blasted through his life demanding “Have you any idea who I am?” invariably wanted to hang out with folks—often little ones—who neither knew nor cared.

For his part, Newman put it all down to luck. In his 1992 introduction to our book about the camp, he tried to explain what impelled him to create the Hole in the Wall: “I wanted, I think, to acknowledge Luck: the chance of it, the benevolence of it in my life, and the brutality of it in the lives of others; made especially savage for children because they may not be allowed the good fortune of a lifetime to correct it.” Married to Joanne Woodward, his second wife, for 50 years this winter, Newman always looked at her like something he’d pulled out of a Christmas stocking. He looked at his daughters that way, too. It was like, all these years later, he couldn’t quite believe he got to keep them.

Of course, it wasn’t all luck. He lost his son, Scott, to a drug overdose in 1978, so in 1980, he founded the Scott Newman Center, which works to prevent substance abuse. When he first began to donate 100 percent of the proceeds from his food company, Newman’s Own, to charity, critics accused him of grandiosity. Grandiose? Tell that to the recipients of the quarter-billion dollars he’s given away since the company’s creation in 1982. First Paul Newman made fresh, healthy food cool, then he and his daughter Nell made organic food cool. Then he went and made corporate giving cool by establishing the Committee Encouraging Corporate Philanthropy. And all this was back in the ’90s, before Lance Armstrong bracelets and organic juice boxes.

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But Newman never stopped believing he was a regular guy who’d simply been blessed, and well beyond what was fair. So he just kept on paying it forward. He appreciated great ideas for doing good in the world—he collected them the way other people collect their own press clippings—and he didn’t care where they came from. Whether you were a college kid, a pediatric oncologist, or a Hollywood tycoon, if you had a nutty plan to make life better for someone, he’d write the check himself or hook you up with somebody who would.

Today there are 11 camps modeled on the Hole in the Wall all around the world, and seven more in the works, including a camp in Hungary and one opening next year in the Middle East. Each summer of the four I spent at Newman’s flagship Connecticut camp was a living lesson in how one man can change everything. Terrified parents would deliver their wan, weary kid at the start of the session with warnings and cautions and lists of things not to be attempted. They’d return 10 days later to find the same kid, tanned and bruisey, halfway up a tree or canon-balling into the deep end of the pool. Their wigs or prosthetic arms—props of years spent trying to fit in—were forgotten in the duffel under the bed. Shame, stigma, fear, worry, all vaporized by a few days of being ordinary. In an era in which nearly everyone feels entitled to celebrity and fortune, Newman was always suspicious of both. He used his fame to give away his fortune, and he did that from some unspoken Zen-like conviction that neither had ever really belonged to him in the first place.

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Hollywood legend holds that Paul Newman is and will always be larger-than-life, and it’s true. Nominated for 10 Oscars, he won one. He was Fast Eddie, Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy. And then there were Those Eyes. But anyone who ever met Paul Newman will probably tell you that he was, in life, a pretty regular-sized guy: A guy with five beautiful daughters and a wonder of a wife, and a rambling country house in Connecticut where he screened movies out in the barn. He was a guy who went out of his way to ensure that everyone else—the thousands of campers, counselors, and volunteers at his camps, the friends he involved in his charities, and the millions of Americans who bought his popcorn—could feel like they were the real star.

Though his passing is sad, the life he lived should be celebrated.

Come 2009, Polaroid Corporation will cease production of their instant film, first developed in the 1930s. Polaroid will be closing factories in Massachusetts, Mexico, and the Netherlands, eliminating 450 jobs. The Polaroid Corporation plans to shift focus to new ventures such as portable printers for cell phones and digital cameras, televisions, and DVD players.

Polaroid’s newest venture, a sleek portable photo printer, is the size of a deck cards and boasts the ability to print full color images on business card size print while using no ink. This is possible using thermal printing technology developed and licensed from Zink Imaging, which was founded by private investors who bought technologies from Polaroid as it was coming out of it’s 2001 bankruptcy.

Down from a peak employee count of 21,000, Polaroid will continue to exist with a skeleton crew of 150 employees in the Boston suburb of Waltham.

The picture says it all.