A "present" from Stacy

Stacy sent me this link.

I present it here for your amusement. I'm one tall elf, that's all I can say.

Infinity Goes Up on Trial

Over the past month or so I've been thinking more and more about art. I've been feeling more and more comfortable with the questions that art poses and helps me ask. In the last month, with Brian's help I've started roughing out a play. Will it ever be completed? Will it suck? Will it be of any external value? I don't know. But there is something about giving myself permission to explore, to find, and to fail. The process of writing, the process of trying to craft words for others, is hard, and rewarding and revealing.

Right on the heels of starting to write and think about this play, I talked with Ann and one thing led to another... and now we're working on a dance piece together. I'm writing the text, and helping with some of the choreography and ideas. She's helping with the text and coming up with all the movements. Here I am thinking creatively about large social issues and the minutia of life. Art is this amazing lens through which you're allowed to ask questions of any size. It helps me to think about these questions and these ideas, and allows me to crudely (I'll freely admit) offer answers.

Again, I have no real reason to believe that what I'll create will be important, or powerful, or even judged a success. But for me so much of the best part of life is the asking of questions, the debating of ideals, the exploration of divergent thought. Art, like my closest friends, is the source of further ideas to understand. It's a means by which to engage others in conversation, to plant a small flag in the stream of discourse and say this is what I think and thought and hope to express.

That's powerful.

I'm reminded of one of my favorite Dylan lyrics:

"Inside the museum, infinity goes up on trial."

I think that captures the power of art for me. Inside museums you can place everything, existence on trial. You can evaluate, examine and debate the greatest things. Things beyond measure and beyond scale are still within the scope of art. In fact art is one of the few ways to critique and comment on things we consider beyond our grasp, beyond words. I used to believe that I was entirely without artistic gift. And lord knows, the output I've generated thus far on these two projects will do little to dispell this idea. But the act of trying, the act of thinking is intoxicating. And if in the end the process creates something that forces another person to think, to ponder, to wonder about their own life, I'll be thrilled beyond measure. I'll be infinitely grateful.

God bless intelligent design

Lest I be misunderstood, I mean to sanctify the brilliant of intelligent design, not Intelligent Design. Paul and I were talking about art and the home. For a while now I've been really excited by Target's approach to housewares. Granted, the Michael Graves designs do little to nothing for me, and sometimes do a few things to my stomach. They're overly cute and sometimes feel irrelevant, but they carve out an important space for art in the home. Why should inexpensive products be seemingly free of design? Why should a toaster that you buy at Wal-Mart be as generic and industrial and boring as possible? I have long applauded Target for commisioning products that are both functional and aesthetically interesting. It aggrivates me to think that only the wealthy should be able to outfit their homes with pieces that feel well crafted and designed. That's part of why I love Target and Ikea. These are stores that sell inexpensive but artful housewares, and furniture. I have this notion that surrounding yourself with objects that you feel contain some energy, some idea beyond simple utility lifts your thoughts to something more grand than just getting by. A product that browns your bread, but does so while looking aesthetically pleasing may be just the role model one needs for thinking about their own life. Why shouldn't I allow myself to think loftier thoughts, why shouldn't I make a place in my own day for something more than just getting by. I realize this is a little grandiose, but I'm a firm believer in the idea that there's real value in art, real value in being able to live in and among objects that remind us that there is more to life than simply moving from A to B.

Bring me a photo of a pigeon and a shrubbery.

The Communications Director for Montana's Congressman Denny Rehberg was busted for trying to solicit hackers to break into TCU and change his undergraduate grades.

The best part of the entire story is reading the emails between the parties. The web site Attrition.org posted the entire back and forth. The site hosts pretended to be hackers and carried on the conversation with Todd Shriber for 22 emails. My favorite email is where they demand that he send them a photo of a pigeon:
"1. A picture of a squirrel or pigeon on your campus. One close-up, one with background that shows buildings, a sign, or something to indicate you are standing on the campus."

Eventually Shriber, after borrowing a friend's camera responds:
"I hope these work, there's no pigeons, but some of other birds and a couple with a squirrel."

I only wish they'd demanded a shrubbery from him.

It really is in my head

A new study concludes that variability in motions like swinging a golf club or pitching, etc are largely due to variability in the brain. The brain does not draw up the same plan for motion each time. While training can give the brain clues and tools to solve the problem in a similar fashion, it's still not perfect. Sounds like we're built to adapt to situations, which I'm sure has served us well...you know in not getting eaten by large carnivores. But dammit, I want my forehand to be the same everytime. Though I guess given that the defense is not the same eachtime, and my level of fatigue changes, and the receiver changes and the wind changes and the condition of the disc changes, it's probably reasonable to have a brain that computes those variables each time, instead of just generating a generic "forehand to cutter" algorithm.

Unknown to Mankind.

"I vow that I will attack this endeavor with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind."

Who said this?

A) Robert Gates, the incoming Secretary of Defense, charged with fixing the giant cluster fuck that is Iraq
B) Rudolph Giuliani, former Mayor of NYC and presumptive candidate for President.
C) Jim Harbaugh, former NFL quarterback and newly appointed coach at Stanford
D) Shakira, songstress whose new CD has required 3 complete remixes and will likely require an additional 25 hours of studio time to complete.

The answer is C. That's right, Jim Harbaugh promises to attack with an enthusiam unknown to mankind. He will give 110%. And not just metaphorically. He's serious. That's the level of enthusiasm he's bringing to the Standford job. Imagine if he had the job at a place that had won in recent memory.

Does Harbaugh remind anyone else of Smoove B, from the The Onion. I believe that Smoove B is also going to attack the act of lovemaking with an enthusiasm and gentle caress unknown to mankind. Or womankind. It will be electric.

Can Harbaugh make the following claim, as Smoove does: "I am capable of bringing you to a state of freakstasy that no other man could ever bring you to. You can try to find this level of sexual satisfaction with some other man, but know that if you break from Smoove, I cannot guarantee that I will still be single when you realize that only I can satisfy all your senses."

Some Questions about the Ansar

Beware morons bearing advice. Yesterday I found myself waiting for my doctor (yes, the same one who has been failing to aid me lo these many months) to write me a prescription for my medicine. His accent is often so thick and his face so uncommunicative that I struggle to understand what he's cajoling me about. He asked if "I knew the Ansar." This struck me as some sort of trick question. So I told him what dosage of what medicine I have been taking. He attempted, though failed, to clarify by saying, "No, the Ansar. The machine." Confused, more than usual, I waited for him to mount up and take a third go at the windmill of basic communication. After some gestures and his full focus on using multiple words to explain the concept in his mind, I began to understand. Well somewhat. He was talking about a great new machine he bought. The machine, I came to learn, cost him $30,000. It was called Ansar. Having satisfied himself that I understood that he owned a machine that was called Ansar he set about trying to explain why one would use this machine.

He promptly explained that there are two parts to the nervous system, the sympathetic and the wait, what is the other one. Oh, right, the parasympathetic one. He told me that the sympathetic is engaged in action, and worry. That it controls focus and depression. While the parasympathetic controls headaches. Now, I'm highly dubious of these claims. Sadly, if he told me I was on fire I might get a second opinion before stopping, dropping and rolling.

I asked what this machine does. It measures whether or not your parasympathetic or sympathetic is stronger and determines if they are in balance. Then it tells him what medicines to prescribe. Then he will know for sure what and what dosages to give me for any problems I might have. I asked whether the diagnosis for say, depression or other conditions would include any discussion of how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking. He calmly and somewhat dismissively said no, that this was better. That the Ansar system would be more accurate.

He then thrust a very phony looking pamphlet into my hand, and reiterated again and again that if I wanted to try the machine he could arrange that. Apparently he needs to pay off his $30,000 investment.

It was appaling to me to think that this machine is supposed to be able to in 30 minutes diagnose any and all problems. That depression is solely a physical condition. That biorhythms and the balance between your various nervous systems will accurately predict the condition, medication and dosage. I guess I'm unwilling to accept that level of analytical expertise from a computer, to say nothing of one hawked by a man unable to identify my various body parts.

I went to the ANSAR web site, looking for any information. Any major journal that has reviewed this favorably. I have to admit I'm largely baffled by the site. If other more trained observers what to help me decode it, I'd love the assistance. From what I can tell, it seems a bit of an overstatement. My favorite statement is

"A balance between the two branches of your ANS is essential for good health. In fact, most illnesses and injuries cause or result from an imbalance between these two branches. An imbalance in your ANS can tell your doctor many things about how healthy you are, as well as what can be done to keep you as healthy as possible.

Am I wrong, doesn't this sound like Homer's great quote about beer. "Beer the cause of and solution to all life's problems." So this imbalance can either be the cause or a symptom of a problem. Without investigating through conversation and medical history how does one know whether you're viewing symptom or cause? Can an over exercise of the parasympathetic lead to more than one problem?

Maybe I'm too skeptical, but when presented by my awful doctor, penicillin would seem risky and worthless.

Best of Where is My Mind 2006: The Third Quarter

These are the sections, sentences and sentiments that I found most interesting and most worthy of reprinting from July, August and September. Again, if you have others you think are more interesting, witty, or worthy, let me know in the comments.

July:

Bed Bath and Beyond Gets a Letter from Amnesty International

We spent what I believe I consider a Geneva convention violating 45 minutes in the towel section of BBB. Now, contrary to sexist stereotypes this was not because Jess was fretting and fussing. Though there was some of that. A good bit of that. The primary reason we spent 45 minutes there is because BBB seems to hate us. We picked out towels we liked, then tried to find another towel to match it. Nope. Sold out. Sold out of this kind of towel throughout the metro area. Picked another towel. Nope, no good. Another. Nope doesn't match the shower curtain. And so on.

Sorry, this was a lame blogging month. There is this notion that great suffering leads to great art. I neither pretend to have suffered greatly nor to have created great art. For me there seems to be little rhyme or reason to the strong or weak posts. Sometimes when I'm lonely and sad, I write well. Other times those emotions damn up any desire to express myself. Just a thought.

August:

Rock as Lullaby, Brilliant or Bogus.

Is it introducing kids to amazing songs that parents can tolerate and planting a seed for good musical taste. Or is it bastardizing music and potentially ruining their ability to appreciate Led Zeppelin's raucus bad-assity.

Stepping stone or barrier. Put another way is this Fisher Price my first cd collection or is it like Gerber pureed sushi--a bastardization of something great.

Yikes, another month with little redeeming writing. It's a wonder that any of you maintained interest in this blog over the summer. My apologies. Yeesh.

September:

Geographic place or state of existence

We [Amb. Grey] flowed through defenses like Sherman going through Georgia.
...
Then Sunday we have BRDM practice, followed by a scrimmage, followed by a BBQ out in Stirling, which I believe is still technically within the boundaries of the state of Virginia, though I'm not sure, it feels like it's more a metaphysical place, the place you reach when you drive west out of DC and cannot fathom driving any further to see friend or foe and are ready to turn around...that's when you get to Stirling. Sadly, it's never any closer than that.

We're in the way...

For Person (people) of the Year, Time Magazine absolved itself entirely of the burden of judgement, originality or insight by selecting "You." Not you individually, rather this is you plural, or y'all, if you'd rather. That's right, everyone is man or woman of the year. We're each so powerful and influential that we're a dominant influence on the world. Our impact on one another through our use of the Internet makes us incredibly important.

So Time tells us that we are each exceptional. Everyone gets a trophy. I fully intend to update my resume to include my selection as Time's Man of the Year for 2006. I don't know if it'll give me a competitive advantage, since everyone won. As they say in The Incredibles, "if everyone is special, no body is special."

This cover does fit with the times. Americans seem to exist in a balance between two arrogant notions: 1) That we ourselves are exceptional and that technological and cultural evolution has resulted in our own times and capacity being unique and the nearest approach to perfection. 2) Yet simultaneously we are convinced that greatness is really something from another age reflected upon us from afar. Oh, how we wish we'd lived through Kennedy. Oh, to be at Woodstock. Would that we stormed the beaches of Normandy. To be the Greatest Generation. If only our school were Old.

That we believe we understand the best that human kind can be or has been, seems more than a little arrogant. The Bush administration explaining that the Iraqi war is unlike any other, that the War on Terror is harder than any other war. This desire for exceptionalism, even in suffering is perverse. By what honest assesment does a person judge his own time the "most" anything.

We are a nation that loves the superlative. We revel in hyperbole. I designed a t-shirt a few months back that says: Worst. Hyperbole. Ever. It seems more fitting than before. We want to be alive during exceptional moments, and if this requires us to elevate the normal course of human events to those that are the most, the hardest, the best, the Platonic ideal of whatever, then we seem willing to do so.

I don't know that I can fully articulate my frustration. The intense desire we have to feel exceptional mixed with our equally strong instinct to judge ourselves as a failure against the lofty achievements of those who came before. You know, maybe I'm engaging in exactly the same kind of behavior as those from other generations. Maybe we all have roles to fill.

Thinking about this, I was reminded of a lyric from the Silver Jews.

"The stars don't shine upon us. We're in the way of their light."

A great many things in the universe are entirely unconcerned with us. The sun didn't seek you out to glorify you in your selection as person of the year. You, we, were in the way of its light. And had a lesser or greater person stood where you were, the sun would have struck them as well. It doesn't play favorites. The universe, is in that regard perfectly democratic.

Best of Where is My Mind 2006: The Second Quarter

Continuing on the idea from the last post, here are a collection of the best parts of this blog from April through June

April:

In search of muscles

In other news of progress, all this going to the gym seems to be having some sort of effect on the shape and capacity of my muscles. Namely they are more bulbous...it's like they're getting larger. And a corresponding discovery seems to be that they can exert more force. Strange things, both. No complaints. Just strange to look at myself in the mirror and wonder whose arms I'm seeing.

~ED NOTE: Slim pickings for April, sorry then. Sorry now.

May:

Captain Awesome Spikes in Clique League

The other telling instance from the game came on game point. One of their players fell and caught the disc, and thinking he was in the endzone sprinted around, spiked the disc and began screaming and gesturing like he'd won the World Championship of Greatness and the Nobel Prize for Awesomeness in the Field of Coolness. Several problems:

1) COORDINATION He fell down while catching the disc, no layout, no jump. Dude was barely able to manage the dual tasks of motion and catching without great failure.

2) COMPETITION He caught the winning score in a quarterfinal game in clique B league, in Washington DC. A quarter final game in a secondary level league, in a tertiary or worse level region. To further illustrate the arrogance, think of the clip of Jordan celebrating his game winning shot over Craig Ehlo. But instead of it being the NBA playoffs, imagine if you acted like that when you beat your friends playing miniature golf in 7th grade.

Aaron on Fox's claim that American Idol has the most sophisticated voting system in existence

It's a show, and not a very important one at that. They're determining who will get signed to a record contract. Time was that these things were settled by young aspiring singers sleeping with producers or sealed over a line of coke. It's not some great holy process. You'd think American Idol was the new version of the conclave. Instead of white smoke it's text messages from pimply teens and disturbing karaoke fans. The process doesn't have to be perfect--you're picking a singer, not a pope or a president.

June:

All I really want is grills!

Grills, all I really want is grills
And at dinner it's grills
Cause for the cooking it's grills

I like the way that they look
And it's great to use 'em to cook
And I can always make them hot
Piling brickettes in one spot

I bought one just the other day
Mockin' A-Leav to my dismay

Best of Where is My Mind 2006: The First Quarter

As a kid I really found New Years exciting. We would go to a friends house and there would be neighbors and kids and I'd stay up late. There would be games, and I could try to impress the grownups with just how smart I was, and how good I could be at games. Then I'd retire downstairs to be humbled by my peers at Nintendo and ping-pong. One of the other great parts about New Years as a child, and even now, is that it forces upon people a kind of short term nostalgia. It brings out the top 100 songs of the year, the 10 best highlights on SportsCenter, the 50 most important news stories, the 5 best books, etc. As a person who likes to categorize and count things, and one who likes to be reminded of things I already vaguely know, this time of year is great. So instead of offering a top ten movie list (I don't think I saw more than 5-6 movies anyway) or something like that. I'm going to selfishly and arrogantly recap my favorite lines from this blog. Not entire posts, but the sections and sentences of which I am most proud. If you have other sentences or sections that you think I'm ignoring, something you find particularly fun -- 1st I'm flattered and 2nd you should post it in the comments.

So here, in short (a rarity for me) is the best of this blog-- January - March.

January:

Aaron whines about the time spent waiting for food during restaurant week.

You'd think, with the time we had to wait they were inventing a new country from which to have a cuisine. So first they had to find land, cultivate a culture. get invaded. Retake the country. Develop a national identity. Find and sow local crops. Build a cuisine. Export said cuisine to DC...and then make and serve our food. I feel like an entire Jared Diamond book about the rise and fall of Spanish food could have been written in the time it took to actually get our food. But then again, I think maybe I'm being a little overdramatic. Like I said, it felt like a long time.

The injured ankle prevents further injury--to Aaron's pride

Later in the party some of the more rhythmically competent attendees began to shake: "groove things" and "what your momma gave yous" and generally proceed to "get down." Someone came over and asked if I'd add my awkwardness to the assembled appendages and asses. I slyly reached for my left pant leg. Sorry can't.

I think I may start bringing the air cast to parties when I'm healthy. God bless you AirCast. You protect my ankles and my pride.

February:

Of toddlers, dancers and skaters

he last time I went ice skating was as a senior in college. To describe my efforts that evening as ice skating is much like comparing a toddler who pulls himself up to stand using the coffee table to Martha Graham. In each case the participant is wholly overmatched by gravity, entirely without grace, barely stable, and eager to celebrate even the most basic level of proficiency--which in due course returns them to their humbled normative status. Oh and there's also a good chance that in each case their failure has made their pants wet.

March:

Taxes and guessing games

You fill out your taxes trying to get the right answer. But all along there is a predetermined answer, that you're supposed to arrive at. So it's a little annoying. It's like if the electric company asked you to estimate how much your bill should be and then had the power to punish you for getting it wrong.

As you can see some months engender better stuff, apparently March was mainly uninspiring.

New Rocky Movie

So I have really no sense at all what happens in the latest Rocky movie. But given the age of the character, to say nothing of the age of the actor, I have to imagine some changes.

A few thoughts:

In the latest Rocky, I believe he fights his toughest enemy, incontinence. This struggle makes it harder for the ring announcer to, in good faith, declare that he wants a good clean fight. But it does help to discourage hitting below the belt.

In this edition, he's fighting the Social Security Administration.

The new Rocky features our Philly hero fighting for the Early Bird Special at 15 minutes past 9, in clear violation of Denny's policy.

Rocky producers are able to subsidize the newest entry in the franchise through product placement. Rocky's trademark raw egg shake is replaced with Ensure.

Instead of training by sparring with a side of beef, Rocky spends the first 20 minutes of his comeback complaining to the Cracker Barrell waitress about the portions on his side order of corned beef hash.

Of men and pigeons.

In my neighborhood, about 4 blocks from my home there is a 7-11. In the space of these four blocks my area changes from wealthy and white to a much more mixed neighborhood. Mixed in terms of racial and socio-economic terms. The 7-11 is usually patrolled by a crew of 10-15 guys looking for day work, or looking for a wall against which to lean while they watch women and the hours pass them by. On the front of the 7-11 is a sign that informs these men,in Spanish and English, that they are not to loiter. But they do, and from what I can gather no one really cares. None of the ever evolving cast seems terribly inclined to do much more than hang out there and chat about the day and the days gone by.

This 7-11 is right next to what the neighbors seem willing to pretend is a park. A more fair description might be an area of grass surrounded by a fence. But park is more appealling, and requires few keystrokes and words, so a park it is. It's safe to say the men who hang around outside the 7-11 have severely limited means. But it's rare to see one of them without a loaf of bread. The bread is never for their consumption, rather it's torn and tossed to the birds. A mighy flock or phalanx of birds pass their day in the park. These men with little of their own buy bread and corn meal to feed the birds.

Something about this situation struck me as poetic on the bus ride this morning. Here are men with little control over their world. They congregate in a single place to reduce the isolation of too much time, too little structure and far too little control. By seeking a spot and one another they enforce their will on the world in a small but no doubt meaningful way. Similarly using some of their limited income to help another creature must reclaim what all men want--a sense of being able to serve the world. They may or may not receive aid from the government or charities, I have no idea. But I imagine that from time to time each man has needed the aid and comfort and support of strangers to get by. And to be able to afford to give that aid and comfort and help to another, even if it's a lowly pigeon must be freeing. Like the pigeons these men congregate and cluster only to be deemed a nuissance and scattered around, with little concern for their well being, for their needs. I imagine, there is an appeal to being able to provide for another, to care for something else. I may not have much, I can imagine the monologue going, but I can help these birds. I'm able to control this. I'm able to bring order and aid into the life of this creature. I think that power, that control, that agency must be an innate human desire. It's why I'm glad there's a little park by the 7-11. Everyone deserves the right to repay the aid they've been given. Everyone deserves the right to feel like they have something to offer another in this world.

Movies reenacted with stationery

Because, really, why shouldn't you try to re-enact movies using only stationery.

http://www.stationerymovies.com/

I ended up guessing 14 of the 20 movies. I would love to hear from others how they do. Maybe email me to help me fill in the missing 6.

UPDATE

I got another one, I'm up to 15.

Just a few stray thoughts

Just a few stray thoughts on the Wyden healthcare plan.

From what I understand previous attempts at universal healthcare were torpedoed because they raised (or were twisted so as to raise) the specter of people being forced into purely socialized medicine, deprived on any choice as to their doctor. While it may not accurately describe the actual practice of medicine these days, I think there is a great appeal for many in the notion of a family doctor, a neighborly person who cares for the entire family for generations. The power of this image is powerful. Just as I wrote earlier that efficiency is viewed with a nearly religious zeal in the U.S. so too is choice. Given the power and appeal of choice in nearly all aspects of politics it makes little sense to propose policies which would limit choice. This is the brilliance of the Wyden plan, instead of ensuring quality care by constricting choice, it expands choice while guaranteeing that all options meet a basic level of care. Everyone has choice and agency, but the options from which they may choose all provide a fair and fitting level of services, this prevents people from being duped or suffering for lack of information and acumen. I'm struggling for a fitting analogy. It's a little like the difference between the government bowling for you and the government setting up bumpers. Few people want the government to make decisions for them, but ensuring that the suite of options available all meet a certain appropriate standard seems right. Think of FDA certification of meats. I don't need the FDA as my shopping buddy telling me what to get, I'd rather know that I can select from options each of which will be safe and appropriate.

People seem to, in all things, like choice. It's a nearly elemental desire. So instead of fighting against that desire the Wyden plan embraces that desire. Instead of fighting against the relentless tide, Wyden uses that energy like a surfer. Takes the desire for choice and agency and makes that the appeal of the plan, makes that the momentum that carries people forward.

In the end it's hard to argue with a proposal that gives Americans that tools necessary to care for themselves, and their children. It's hard to be against legislation that takes as its highest goal making it affordable for Americans to live longer, healthier lives. Think of the additional progress and prosperity that can be generated by an America where men and women can work and strive without fear of crippling healthcare costs. There's no way to calculate that economic benefit, because somethings really do transcend monetary measure.

On the Internet nobody knows you're a rank amateur

There's a famous New Yorker cartoon with the tag line: "On the Internet nobody knows you're a dog."

Well turns out they don't know you're a rank amateur either. Yesterday I wrote about Wyden's new healthcare plan. Today I find out that my blog is linked to from Stand Tall for America, which I have to figure is his "campaign" site. Or something like that. The list of bloggers referenced includes David Sirota and Ezra Klein, ie, real writers. And then me. It's just more than a little funny to think of people stumbling by this place expecting trenchant analysis (which, I myself stumble into, I guess) and finding some combination of rants, raves and ridiculous nothings. It's fun, though. Even as I realize it's the product of Technorati or some other crawler, it's somewhat flattering to think my words warrant republication and broadcast by someone. It's like those rare moments when a friend tells me, "I always remember you saying 'INSERT HERE.'" The idea that something I've said or written is worthy of commiting to memory or passing along to another person is still strange to me, but almost intoxicatingly pleasant. It's appealing to think that every so often what I think or say is of value to others, and not just as a way of self-congratulations and self-expression.

We'd have the whole country, in a (healthcare) plan. We'd have the whole country in a (healthcare) plan.

I've been reading a few articles today talking about Sen Ron Wyden (D-OR) and his new healthcare plan. First off, it's been said before and by far more eloquent and passionate people, but it's still shocking to me that we don't have universal healthcare. Beyond the moral reasons (of which there are many) it just seems inefficient to have so many people getting sick and missing work. If the highest value in American political life is efficiency, it's just outlandish that healthcare is run as it is. To have car companies adding 1,500 to the cost of a car to pay for insuring their employees seems wrong. So this new plan, as I understand it would force employers to end their current plans. The money the invested in these plans in 2006 would be paid directly to workers who would have to use that extra money to buy into any of a number of health insurance plans each of which are at least as good as that which Congress gives itself. Sounds like doctors would not be socialized, just the health insurance. Folks who lose their jobs would get coverage, etc. So employers are psyched because they don't have to budget for the rising cost of healthcare, and get out of that business. I can't imagine that the CEO of GM is really eager to have a whole division whose jobs it is to administer a healthcare plan. Workers get portable healthinsurance with a minimum level of coverage that's really good (= to Congress). I'm excited. For the first time in a while it looks like there might be a real comprehensive society changing bill that could pass. If it did this would be the most dramatic and powerful social legislation passed in my lifetime. It's not Medicare or Social Security. But it's something. And for millions of Americans it could be a life changing effort, something that makes it so that living with pain, living with illness, allowing children to suffer from easily treated illness--that these are no longer acceptable.

The Sound of Silence

Neil has a great post on the latest bullshit from the music industry. Trying to ban sites that share tablature to songs. The argument being that some artists occassionally publish sheet music, and by figuring out how to play the songs before the artist tells you how to play it (in a format that a great many guitarists can't decipher) you are stealing from them.

Neil's take:

Apparently, my being able to freely download the chords and lyrics to "hey jude" and "enter sandman" is why Paul McCartney and Lars Ulrich live in abject squalor. Or maybe it's playing songs on the guitar, alone in my apartment, that's forced them into homelessness? And what if I transcribe the tab myself, listening to the music? that must also be a crime. Or if I listen to music, and say to myself 'Oh, it goes A E Dm'?

I have to wonder, is humming the song to yourself also illegal. Or even worse, what if you get a song stuck in your head? If so does writing a catchy song count as an artist aiding and abetting me in the commision of a crime? How about if a friend and I talk about a song and then start singing it, I believe in that case it's peer-to-peer sharing of illegally downloaded/remembered music. Campfire sing-a-longs are clearly destorying the music industry and its ability to make money. Whoever owns Kumbiyah is owed a shit load of royalties, all those fucking hippy theives trying to steal from poor record companies.

A final word from Neil and Jeff Tweedy

Playing a song yourself is just another way to experience it, to make it a part of you -- does that really need to be litigated to death?

And if the whole world's singing your song,
and all of your paintings have been hung
Just remember, what was yours, is everyone's from now on

-- Jeff Tweedy

Best Peripheral Ever

A USB "dog" that has its way with your laptop.

A few words of wisdom from Dan Rather

An intellectual snob is someone who can listen to the William Tell Overture and not think of the Lone Ranger.

Americans will put up with anything provided it doesn't block traffic.

Fury.

Sometimes you just need to listen to Metallica's "One." Right now, it's shaping up to be a day like that.

UPDATE

And sometimes, when your boss chastizes you for tapping your toes too loudly to One, you have to listen to Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes, and just try to mellow the fuck out. This is one of those moments. Fury abating. Urge to dance rising, urge to punch walls falling.

New blogger features

So now with Blogger Beta, I can include labels to my posts. I don't really know how to categorize my posts. Do we have any people who want to be Linneaus of this blog? And sort of taxonomy for my posts?

If I don't die or worse...

Man, of late I'm tired all the time. It's tiresome being this tired.
As Doug Martsch says, "If I don't die or worse, I'm going to need a nap."

To sleep perchance to not be so fricking tired.

Everyone's gotta hate on the transfatty acids.

Do you think a trans fat is just fat that has a different gender identity than its sex might indicate. And if so, why does everyone have to hate on it. I'm about embracing any and all fat identities.

Make it work

According to no less an authority than People magazine Tim Gunn may not be returning for the next season of Project Runway. Listen here, Bravo. I don't watch this show, and endure ridicule from others to see Nina Garcia and Michael Kors. Not hardly. I want my weekly dose of Tim Gunn. He's like the Buddist monk of reality television. Dispensing caring wisdom and random advice in strange measured ways.

So Bravo, repeat after me, and Tim Gunn. Make it work!

Light a Candle

Bristoll Meyers Squid...um Squibb, is pledging to donate a dollar to AIDS work if you go to their site and light a virtual candle. Certainly worth the 15 seconds it takes.

I believe this will be the only time I favorably link to a pharmaceutical company.

I'd be a neanderthal.

So well before I learned about the advantages that specialized work provided early humans, I myself was considering what I want to be doing. My talents have long veered toward the more general. I'd have been a neanderthal, not a proto-human. Jack of all trades, master of a few. Something like that. After prolonged and careful consideration, I'm still not sure what I should be when I grow up. Hell I'm not sure what I should be when I turn 30. To say nothing of my myopic sense of what comes after that.

I'll probably write more on this later, given that when I consider "Where is my mind?" that answer is routinely thinking about work. If you have any insight into what I should do for a living I'd be flattered and deeply grateful for any suggestions and insights. I feel a little like I'm trying to view a pointilist painting from 3 inches away. I can see all the dots, but have no real sense of the picture they create. So some outside perspective would be great.

I'll leave you (and me) with some thoughts on work from John Cusak:

I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that.

"Women's Work" Helped Humans Beat out Neanderthals

A new study talks about the advantage that having tasks that were divided by gender offered early humans. As opposed to their chief rivals, neanderthals, humans had parts of the economy that were generally performed by women. These tasks were absolutely essential to our progress, things like making more weather proof clothes, milling etc. According to the study neanderthal women worked at the same chores as men, meaning that failure in hunting was a much riskier thing. There was little room for error because all the members of the society were doing the same thing, and were not really specializing.

Of course neither the study nor I argue that there have to be women's roles or men's roles today. But it's interesting to read that by dividing up the chores and allowing for a more diverse economy our ancestors were able to thrive. I fear that it'll be used to argue for a "woman's place" or things like that. But the simple notion that by diversifying we were able to survive, that's just fascinating to me.

BCS (They are right about the first and last letters)

So everyone with a pulse, maybe even some of the computers used to sort out the BCS recognize it's messed up. It's hopelessly unable to answer anything about football, except the question: How can the NCAA ensure that college football's national championship is less legitimate than a Don King fight? If you answered the BCS give yourself some Ibuprofen, because I figure it's given you a headache thinking about the level of ineptitude necessary to maintain such a system.

There is now some controversy (shocking, I know) about the fact that Jim Tressel, the OSU coach didn't vote in the latest Top 25 poll. Michigan fans are irate that he didn't vote for them. Florida fans would have been irate that he voted for a team from his conference. Essentially it's a no win situation. Frankly I think as a protest vote he should have picked Duke or maybe NYU. Granted NYU doesn't have a football program, but why should a little pure silliness stop the BCS process.

A friend did send me this great USA Today link that let's you see how all the coaches voted and the poll history of each of the teams. This much is clear, if you are ranked highly at the start of the season you're going to have to screw up a lot to lose that luster. For instance check out USC or Notre Dame. Each have lost two games and are still up in the top 8. How is that possible? Because the BCS is designed to fail. It's designed to create discussion, and maximize conference profit. It sets as a tertiary or quarternary goal correctly ascertaining the relative strengths of NCAA Division 1-A football programs. Sadly there must be no other means of determining the relative abilities of athletic teams. Otherwise the wise men of the NCAA would have long ago found it. Right? Clearly.

God-Schmod, I want my monkey man.

Stalin sought to cross breed men with apes to form super soldiers.

Well, how about that.

Best Image of the Weekend

While waiting for my car to be repaired this weekend (another long-ish story) Jess and I walked around Georgetown. We passed a little be-freckled white kid of about 12 years wearing a white t-shirt with the following message in block print across the front: "Listen to Bob Marley."

We both burst out laughing. It's not a statement, it's not a shirt that says I listen to Bob Marley, it's a commad. You must LISTEN TO BOB MARLEY. And there is this implied sense that this kid has seen the light and he's become a little evangelical missionary for the Who Shot the Sheriff Church of White Guys Who Love Bob Marley. Bob Bless you little guy. Keeping Fighting You Buffalo,(NY) Soldier.

After some searching I found the shirt online (his was white with black letter, but you get the idea)

And here I thought that little hole in box was the only way to carve them up.

There is an artist who makes these great sculptures out of crayons. They're really really exquisite.


I particularly like the spiraling patterns.

The Long and Short of It

A new study just published finds that differences in languages may influence perception of rhythm. Americans presented with a series of tones perceived a different rhythmic pattern than Japanese participants. For English speakers the repeating long and short tones became a short-long rhythmic pattern, while just the opposite held for the Japanese--they heard the pattern as long-short.

Researchers think this is because in Japanese major long words precede smaller modifiers, whereas in English words like a, an, the usually come before the noun (or more important and more stressed word).

How cool is that, the languages we speak alter our perception of rhythm. There is something about science's capacity to amaze me that makes it infinitely appealing. That every day there is some new incredible truth to be learned, some new way of understanding why, why, and how we are. I'm in awe.

This is not winter.

Currently, on December 1st at 11:27am it is 67 degrees in Washington, DC. That's preposterous. It's honestly unacceptable. I need some chill in the air. I'm wearing a polo shirt and I'm warm. This is in December. Frickin' DC.

Out of idle curiosity I checked weather.com's average temperature for the days that I'd consider Winter, roughly November through March. DC has a total of 9 days that have ever recorded a temperature below zero, or at least there are 9 days ever that have a lowest temperature below zero.

I wondered just how different this was from Minneapolis. For the city of Minneapolis there is no single day between November 16 and March 31st that has a lowest recorded temperature above zero. Each and every day has a lowest temp in the negatives, including some days where it reached negative 40 degrees.

There are times when I really miss the sense of personal superiority I felt living in Minnesota. There is something great about knowing that you're living and thriving in a place where it's -10. It's great to feel tougher than most of the world. I read somewhere that 98% of all people in the world live in places warmer than Minneapolis. I'm in the top 2% of crazies/tough guys. It was nice. You don't get that same sensation when you live in a city where the average high in December is 48 degrees. Something about that doesn't suggest enduring the harsh frontier. It suggests weather that makes a sweater descriptive both of the clothing and the reaction that clothing brings upon your body.

===
UPDATE
Apparently a storm with an eye and sustained winds of between 39-73mph is a tropical storm. By which definition, DC is predicted to experience winds equivalent to those of a tropical storm later today, which is only fitting given that it is so warm and muggy here. I guess I'm living in the Tropic of Columbia.

Spray on Condom

German scientists are working to develop a spray on condom.

"It's a bit like a car wash."

As Neil says, "Something tells me people might have some aversion to spraypainting
their genitals with rubber. But maybe I'll proven wrong!"

Or as Marshall remarked, "I'm sorry, but I've never taken an irreplaceable car through a car wash, so I can't really relate."

I guess a car wash is better than the imagery I first thought of: a laminating machine. I had this image of some strange machinery that shrink wraps the relevant equipment.

In other news, I'm sure upon hearing about this product, Jay Leno opened a bottle of champagne. He'll beat this to death with 3 weeks of bad material about it.