Scat Cat: Mascot for American Democracy

If the US needed further evidence of the absurdity of our stance on gay rights, we have only to look to South Africa. That's right, South Africa, lately of Apartheid, is ahead of the US on gay rights. See in South Africa, seriously SOUTH FRICKIN' AFRICA, gay couples are allowed to marry. You know where that's not the case, hmm let me think....here.

When you are lagging behind South Africa in the provision of human rights, you really have to start wondering. You think if Bulgaria had a stronger Navy than ours we might want to think things over. You imagine that if Mongolia had a more robust computer industry than we did, that might suggest the need for change. But we're cool with lagging behind South Africa in the provision of basic rights to our citizens. Sigh.

With the recent election results--Democratic dominance and the continued support for anti-gay measures--I'm left thinking that the lyrics from Opposites Attract have seeped into the collective moral conscience of this country.

"I take-2 steps forward
I take-2 steps back"

And now for something largely different.

So I figured after a pretty heavy, or at least long post (2600 words!) I needed a sillier one to follow it. In examining my stat tracker, which is a great distraction for me, I discovered that at least one person in the world came to my website after trying to search for mannequin repair. Try it yourself, go to google and enter the search string: how to repair manequins

Bam, there I am (well second, but still).

UPDATE:
Wow, Google is amazingly quick in its self corrections. I'm already removed from the list of top sites related to manequin (sp, I know) repair. Alas. I'll have to hang my random search hat on some other peg. Who knows maybe "bocce ball dishwasher counting" or "ultimate shark dance excitement" Only google and random inquiries will determine where I rank

Flat Aaron

A few weeks ago while walking on the Mall, Neil, Ann, Brian and I encountered a Flat Stanley. He was laminated, rolled up into a tight tube and wedged in between the openings in a makeshift gate surrounding some DC grass restoration -- a most futile effort, to be sure. Ann noticed him first, and she and I, having each read the books knew immediately what he was. We debated whether or not to take the character and send him off to others, thereby making use of the great skill and most relevant trait of Flat Stanley--namely his capacity to travel and visit places and people.

In the books, Stanley is literally flat. He is bi-dimensional (or at least nearly so). His character is not flat, though. He is a kid, he has traits, he is imbued with enough energy to be capable of moving along a plot, no matter how simple.

Flash forward (or backward depending on whether you accept my previous Stanley anecdote as a point of temporal reference or whether you prefer to use this moment as your guidepost) to earlier today. While waiting to fly standby to Pittsburgh so as to fly to Baltimore and then eventually to get to work, I dropped 5 dollars on a New Yorker. I have to admit that as a liberal elitist, I'm something of a sham. I've never really read the New Yorker. I tend to find the cartoons unfunny, or at least only as funny as a well trod pun. That is, I recongize within it the effort at, and elements of humor but it does little to stir in my merriment. But, today I decided I should get the New Yorker. I should pretend to be erudite and well read, and maybe like with so many other things in my life, the act of pretending might make it so. I trudged through some letters to the editor, and movie reviews. I read bits and pieces of articles which promised to help me in my quest to be cool, in that tweed jacket and brandy snifter way. Or at least in the Volvo driving, best-Lithuanian-restaurant-knowing, kid going to Bryn Mawr way. All in all my first few hours with the magazine were well spent and I found myself thinking quite seriously about ordering a subscription. There was no shortage of postcards with which to indulge this impulse, and so I vowed to mail the post card when I arrived in Pittsburgh.

The love, affection and "if only you gave it a chance" appreciation that I feel for Cleveland has never extended to its Pennsylvania doppleganger. I have little love for Pittsburgh, though honestly I have no real experience with the city. They field a team against whom I routinely root (Steelers) and, really that's about the extent to which I consider the city. We landed there around 11:30 and I dutifully sought out the Post Office. It was staffed by a man whom I can only imagine was trying to win some sort of Milton from Office Space look-a-like contest. In the course of walking to the Post Office I passed two separate TGI Fridays and two Wok 'n Roll "restaurants." First off, Wok 'n Roll is just a horrible name. It's offensive to both concepts which it inelegantly mashes together. Neither food nor music deserve the slight they receive at the hands of this waste of space. But why the Pittsburgh airport needs two of these is beyond me. Out of curiosity, I investigate a nearby map, and find that not only do the fine residents and visitors to the city of Pittsburgh need Wok 'n Roll, but they four of them. Because God forbid one ever be more than 350 feet from a depressed high school drop out wearing velour making awful asian food.

I also have to say that the Pittsburgh airport is really estatic about its own existence. Signs everywhere inform you "There was a farm...That became an airport"
I keep wanting the banners to become imbued with musical abilities: "There was a farm became an airport, A-i-r-POR-T. With a whoosh whoosh here and a TSA there." This celebration of the conversion from farm to a shoddy midwestern airport is beyond me. And to use the passive voice, "became an airport" it's like the airport sprouted up because of some natural process. It's like they watered the field with airplane fuel and magically a runway blossomed.

But I digress. After getting some food (from Au Bon Pain) I settled in to read more of the New Yorker and wait out the layover. Another confession, and one that fits well with what I've already said about the New Yorker. I know nothing about Gertrude Stein. Honestly, nothing. I routinely get her confused with Gloria Steinem. That's how little I know. It's embarrasing and clearly stands in the way of my goal of erudition. But lo and behold, the New Yorker serves up a bountiful feast of Gertrude Stein, a really frickin' long essay. The premise of the essay, by Janet Malcolm is an investigation of her lover (news to me, sorta knew she was gay, no clue the woman was famous) Alice B. Toklas. Judging from the writing, and certainly confirmed by the photos Alice was not a looker. A friend (a friend!) describes her a looking witch-like. So you get the sense that she might have some insecurities living with this 20th Century icon, and having friends call her ugly. It'd get to me, I figure.

While reading this article I'm sitting in the a-ergonomically designed chairs that all airports get from the airport version of Costco. These long rows of chairs with faux-leather pouches that offer little support and less comfort. Directly behind me is some sort of college field trip cum conference. These kids (and they're finally now young enough relative to my age that the term seems apt) are, I later learn, from Towson State and are by even the most generous measures vapid. One guy, the "funny one" is regaling his friends with stories of how dumb he is. And saying, "Sometimes I think I'm the definition of stupid." But you know, people who say that really don't believe they are dumb. They want for someone to either laugh, thereby ensuring that everyone knows it is a joke, or for someone to counter this assertion and offer even faint praise. In this kid's case, he gets laughter. The less reassuring of the two remedies, but I wonder if it's not the one his friends' believe he most deserves.

I tune out their conversation and return to Stein. Turns out, in what has to be a pretty cool idea, that Stein wrote an autobiography of Toklas that is mostly made up and mostly about how great Stein is. How is that for self-absorbed. You make someone else's life a measure of how amazing you are. Their only purpose is to reflect back the rays of your sun like radiance. In transitioning into the discussion of Stein's approach to biography the author of the article offers this great little paragraph on the way that minor literary characters exist within their works.

The minor characters of biography, like their counterparts in fiction, are less tenderly treated than major characters. The writer uses them to advance his narrative and carelessly drops them when they have performed their function...Unlike the flat characters of fiction (as E. M. Forster called them), who have no existence outside the novel they were invented to ornament, the flat characters of biography are actual, three-dimensional people. But the biographer is writing a life, not lives, and, to keep himself on course, must cultivate a kind of narcissism on behalf of his subject that blinds him to the full humanity of anyone else. As he turns the bracing storylessness of human life into the flaccid narrativity of biography, he cannot worry about the people who never asked to be dragged into his shaky enterprise.

It's a tremendous paragraph and sets off in my all kinds of terrible and amazing thoughts. I start to think about the many random people whose names I neither know, or barely remember who populate the stories on this blog, or the memories I cherish. How many people are there who are flat characters in my life. With what arrogance do I assume that they are simply minor characters, people whose only reason for being as far as I can ascertain is to stimulate some comment, some thought, some emotion in me. In 27 years how many people have I only seen as part of my story, not independent agents in their own. And, even worse, can I help but see others this way? For how many people have I been, will I be, a flat character. For how many people will my entire existence be like a rock thrown into a pond--important only in its capacity to create a ripple, and then be absorbed into nothingness, with only that momentary disruption to record its existence. (A little weighty, I grant you, but rest assured I wasn't nearly as sad or despondent as these recollections might suggest)

It's about this time that the guy behind me starts to talk about losing money at the Casino. Apparently they went to Canada and did some gambling and he's bragging about how he lost money. This is a softer version of the game he played earlier. He is trying to mask what is, and must be, an unpleasant thing--losing money--beneath a veneer of boastful disinterest. "Ha, I lost money, but that's okay." Now I realize, odds are (awful pun, I know) he doesn't really care too much about the loss. But it fits with what comes next. As I next pick up the strand of their conversation he's talking about his "pride" (his word) in breaking the stick with which he was "spanked "(his word, mine would be beaten). He talks about how it's great that he was strong enough that the stick broke over his legs when he was being "punished" (his word again, beaten would be mine). He's laughing and joking with these friends and he tells them that when his Dad would spank him he'd instruct the son to make a diamond on the bed. Now I can't see what he's doing with his hands, but I'm certain he's forming a little diamond with them. And then his Dad says for him to "put your nose in the diamond." Giving an unobstructed shot at his kid's ass. The guy keeps joking and says, his Dad was funny because he'd fake a blow, so the child would tense in anticipation and then as soon as his kid stopped then he'd spank him. Everyone is enjoying the story, finding it funny. Finally the kid (who was a child when spanked, and is still today) says that he's really glad he was spanked as a kid. He's glad because "I have all these funny stories."

I don't know this guy. I only know the back of his head, his meaty shoulders, his pierced ear and his military style buzz cut. He could be a Nobel Prize winner in 3 years or a Subway manager. All I know about him are three anecdotes. All I know, comes from these stories and my guess that he spends a lot of his life doing just what I've heard, trying to avoid dealing with actually unpleasant thoughts and experiences (losing money, wondering about your intelligence, being hit) by pretending they are a badge of honor, by immunizing himself from them by celebrating them. And as I listen to him I realize he's only ever going to be a flat character in my life. He's a person who I will write about, whom I will imbue with some extrapolated characteristics, some conjecture and some literary license. I know then, as I know for certain now, that his story will interweave with mine only a little, only this once. That he's going to be a flat character in this blog, maybe a little more well rounded than some, but flat all the same. That I'll write about that intersection but in the end I'll do so in part to celebrate and congratulate myself on being able to write, to see connections. I'll perform the Passover Miracle, I'll take something round and complex and full of energy and flatten it for the sake of speed and expediency and convenience. And none of this is to say I should do otherwise. The fullness of our lives are defined in opposition to those we never or barely know, it is how we know what is our story and what is not.

So I come back to the idea of the Flat Stanley. The great gift of being able to be anywhere, everywhere that comes with being flat, can only occur when you are simply a tangent to the life of a full person. A flat character, a person who simply moves the plot of our life along must lose their agency, at least in our eyes. They are primarily relevant in that they affect in us a reaction.

I left Pittsburgh and made my way back to DC. Worked for a few hours and was readying myself to head home when started an instant message conversation with Jen. Fairly normal conversation until we started to talk about our different understandings of the status of our friendship. We came to realize we had different expectations. I wanted us to be friends in a way similar to how we had been before and she did not. She felt it was wrong to force that to be the case, that breaking up is a sign that we are not meant to be close. I realized in the conversation that she is right, and that much of the stress I feel about that relationship has been made worse by trying to recreate a friendship that feels forced, or at least presumptious.

I realize that no person is fully multi-dimensional in another's story, that we are all flat, just to differeing degrees. And so today, in many ways I went from being, at least in my own mind, a real full character in her story to a Flat Aaron. And that she is now a Flat Jen. Not to say I'm as flat to her as the guy in the airport is to me, but just that in her story I'm a rounded past and a flat present. I'm a point in time, or a line connecting two different moments, but not a full multi-dimensional character. It's not that we won't be friends, or won't chat, or that we dislike one another--not at all. It's just a realization of the transition, we're no longer the full deep characters who drive a biography we're the flat characters. I'm saddened to lose the depth and fullness, to feel in some ways (irrationally, really) rejected again, but like Stanley there is something very freeing in flatness. I think in many ways I've been searching off and on for the permission to flatten her, and be flat myself. I've wanted to be free of the burden of mattering in her story, and free of the burden of giving depth to her role within my own.

I'm blessed to be full-bodied in the stories of my many friends and family, people like my parents and Jess, Mark and Kadie, Brian and JKD,Liz and Libby, Paul and Stacy, Neil and Aaron, Dave and and and etc. And while this blog is often the story of my life, and certainly the story of my view of my life, I like to think my story has room for, and really requires, the fullness and richness of the lives of my many friends and family--people whom I love and who make my autobiography one well worth living, even if it's not always one worth writing.

Stephen: 10lbs of Pretense in a 5lb bag

So while wandering around Wikipedia I found out that Stephen from Season One of Top Chef has his own web site. I eagerly went there, hoping for something that could capture the incredible pretension and self-absorption of his television personna, or a site which would refute that personna.

If you've watched the show, you probably already know which of those two options is confirmed by the site. Yup, he's just as pretentious as you would imagine. It's wonderful.

The opening page features this quotation: "The quintessential epicurean experience is achieved through a balance of the senses and the harmonious marriage of food and wine." Is that true? Sure, I imagine it is. Is it something that only a pretentious, absurd man would feature as the opening page of his food site--you betcha. All this said, in the interest of full disclosure, Stephen was my pick for a good portion of season 1. I loved his presentation and thought he was just too funny not to root for. Someone that arrogant, that annoying, that cocksure. He was like the anal retentive version of Santino.

This season is shaping up to be even better. Marcel is playing a fine variation of Stephen. He's confident, prone to really strange choices for instance making avocado and bacon ice cream for children. It's hard to imagine the thought process that occurs in a chef's head whereby he decides that a) avocado and bacon belong as ice cream flavors or b) that even if they're acceptable flavors that children will want to eat them. This is reminiscent of Stephen lecturing kids at the Boys and Girls Club about the proper French pronuciation of his food, "gafrette." Marcel is also fantastic because he looks like the Top Chef version of Buddy (Syndrome) from the Incredibles.


Seriously, that's disconcerting. I do wonder whether Marcel will try to kill a fat chef whom he once idolized. I can only hope.

A game where principles are at stake

Again I'm reminded, we're not the first people to face faulty politics, nor are we the first to remedy that. A little reminder from TJ.

"A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt......If the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at stake. (italics mine)"

--Thomas Jefferson, 1798, after the passage of the Sedition Act

Bill O'Reilly, Dumber than Chance

Bill O'reilly so rarely makes sense that it's hard to believe he's not trying to fail.  It's like when you take a standardized test and try to score highly and get worse than 25%...you almost have to be trying to fuck it up. I mean, random chance suggests that you would score 25%. To do worse than chance puts you in the same part of the Bell Curve as ferns, ginger ale, and the bumper from a 1987 Chevy Blazer. We're talking stupid. So I have to believe that since he, unlike those other nouns, has the power of speech, and occasionally the power of correct syntatic phrasing that he must be trying to fail; he must be willfully moronic. Witness this latest quotation:



"I think the Iraqis have got to step up and at least try to fight for their democracy, instead of being this crazy country of Shiia against Sunni — I don't ever want to hear Shiia and Sunni again." 

Yes, that has to be the solution ...  Iraqi's just have to stop caring about their faith and history and cultures.  Geez...if those things aren't worth giving up they don't deserve democracy.

Sign of the Times

You know how in Batman the police can shine the Bat Sign into the night sky and call forth the help of the Caped Crusader. Yeah, well apparently someone in the Democratic party loaded the light with the Bat-Shit-Crazy Sign and sure enough out popped Tom Vilsack, announcing his run for President. That may not be fair, Tom Vilsack isn't really insane, he's much more inane..

Two days after a Democratic victory that seems to me to have vindicated the notion of standing for prinicple and speaking from the heart to the voters--Tom decides it's his chance to run. Let me be clear, I don't think Vilsack is a bad man, or anything like that. But he is, in my estimation, achingly boring, and uninspiring--painfully uninteresting. This is a man whom I have described as unable to win an election at his own family reunion. He just doesn't inspire much energy, even from people who are seemingly obligated to like him.

But I guess the Inane Sign is shining bright these days. I'm waiting for Evan Bayh to answer the call to duty. Hell if we leave the light up long enough maybe we can get Dick Gephardt to run again.

...and baby I love you Beep beep, beep beep yeah.

After her stint as the adopted staffer for Mary Jo Kilroy (whose daughter Mark informs me went to Oberlin) Jess drove my car to DC. Which means, that the sad white Saturn and I are again reunited. I'm not really one for anthropomorphizing cars. I did, when pressed, name my car. It's Norman. It's a white car, that's none too flashy and certainly servicable. Norman seemed a fitting name.

Now begins the process of registration, emissions checking, etc. Soon I'll have a car that's completely legal in the eyes of the DC government. It'll be nice. To celebrate, I'm going to drive to a frisbee tournament--just the Clique A tournament. But still, no ride requests for Aaron. I'm going to drive others (I hope). I'm excited about being able to get to Virginia and Maryland, to go hiking, to go to Ikea, to go to friends' homes. I think this first trip to a tournament is going to be great. I like to think of it as Norman's Conquest...over bothering friends for rides.

I'm in shock

I feel like I'm an example of many Democrats. I have spent part of today waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Osama to endorse Sherrod Brown, waiting for some magical horrible twist of the knife. But it's not there. Things just keep getting better. The Secretary of Defense who has so horribly managed this war, and whose myriad failures have cost thousands of American lives and hundreds of thousands of Iraqi lives, to say nothing of our status among the ethical nations of the world, he is retiring. Conrad Burns, he of the secret plan to win the war, is done. And from what I have read, after the canvass is completed the race will be certified--meaning we're likely to win in Virginia as well. So we'll have just won the House and the Senate and seen the resignation of Donald Rumsfeld. To say nothing of the many Governorships and State Houses we retook. It's a pretty amazing day. We have a chance to start changing things. A chance to really make concrete improvements in people's lives. I'm thrilled that the first piece of legislation is going to be the minimum wage. That's perfect. It's common sense, it helps those with lower incomes and will start the ball rolling. Great choice.

One final thought. I know that Rahm Emanuel is going to claim credit for all of this, or at least try to, but Howard Dean's 50 state strategy deserves a ton of credit. Dean decided, as with his presidential bid, that voters in all states were worth fighting for. This energy, this approach meant that we were poised to make gains in states where we're rarely dominant. I cannot help but think that gains in Indiana are related to a belief that it's worth it to fight everywhere. But no region better exemplifies this than the West. Idaho, Wyoming and Montana had close races at all levels. That the Republicans had to pour money into Wyoming and Idaho means that money couldn't be used to turn the tide against Tester or Allen, or against numerous House winners. Howard Dean's belief in fighting everywhere meant that when the wave hit we had people ready to ride it everywhere. His approach meant that Republicans could not take for granted previously safe seats, and while they have a lot of money, it's not infinite. Forcing the GOP to make choices with its resources meant we were able to protect our leads in key states and key races. He was right in '03. He was right in '04. He was right in '05. And boy is he ever right today.

I Kneed More Data.

Last week I installed a daily hit tracker for this site. I wanted to be able to see how many hits I was getting per day, how long people spent on the site, where visitors were coming from...generally I just wanted access to more random numbers in my daily life. It's a bit humbling to realize that most of the hits I get in a day are from people who want little to nothing to do with my site. There are people who get there by clicking on a google image result for Benny Hihnn, or something like that.

The tracker tells me the google search criteria that brings in various visitors. So far the strongest search terms that bring people to my site...at least for today are: "brayton ejected for kneeing." Apparently people searching for information about a the Raiders' football player (Brayton) who kneed Jerramy Stevens in the nuts...are taken to my site. This boggles the mind. Why I'm the number one site on the Internet for "brayton ejected for kneeing" is really startling. But I guess it's somewhat funny. Maybe there will be a rash of people who come upon this blog trying to learn about NFL-related gonadal violence...and stay for my vain attempts at wittiness. Though judging from the length of stay for those visitors...(less than 2 seconds usually) I'm doubtful.

Even Better

In some ways, Democratic performance at the State level trumps success nationally.  Democrats became the Governors of New York, Ohio and Massachussets (the 3rd, 7th and 12th most populous states in America).  Even better Democrats made huge gains in State Senates and Legislatures around the country.  These local races are the incubators for the next generation of Democratic leaders.  These local races inspire energy, and swell the ranks of volunteers.  Far too often political commentators focus on coat-tails, the notion that top of the ticket races will bring along lower offices.  But I think it's often the energy of lower races that propel victories.  Democrats made huge gains in Minnesota, retaking the House by a huge margin (85 to 49) and expanded control of the Senate 44 to 23.  We took chambers in Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, and Oregon.

It's not the easiest way to break down the information, but go to the DLCC and switch between 2005 and 2006.  You can see the country changing.  As those state houses get a lot less red our future get a lot rosier.

Well Hot Damn!

Well shit. It wasn't just a small reorganization in the House, this was Martha Stewart on Meth.  We're talking cleaning like you see for OCD Jews before Passover.  It's pretty outstanding.  Apparently all it takes is 6 years of ferocious, unrepentingly corrupt leadership with a horrifically mismanaged war and a constant desecration of the basic values and rules that govern civil society for folks to get upset.  But, you know, better late than never. 

Sadly, the races with which I had any personal connection whatsover went Republican.  Made calls for Christine Jennings through the DCCC...she lost.  Rooted on Judy Dutcher (for whom I worked in 2002, and whom I know a little, and like a lot) and Mark Hatch--lost to Pawlenty.  Tony Knowles in Alaska, for whom Jess and several friends worked in 04, lost.  Mary Jo Kilroy for whom Jesseca bused out to Ohio, slept but 8 hours in 4 days and basically sweated blood--lost. I think the key is that I should try and make calls for Jeb Bush, or John McCain. 

You know how some actors are refered to as box-office poison for their ability to kill an otherwise profitable movie. I'm ballot-box poison.  My support is a sign for other voters to steer clear of a candidate.  Oh well.

PS.  In unrelated but similarly important news of change:  Brittany Spears is getting rid of K-Fed.  I'd like to be the first to attempt this awful joke... I guess She Was K-Fed Up.

My contribution

Along with Justin Timberlake I'm working to bring sexy back. My contribution, the logistics. If we're going to be transporting all this sexy we need to have someone doing the planning. I've gone ahead and rented a U-haul in which to transport the sexy, and I've gotten some Mapquest directions. I think we're ready to bring sexy back.

Turns out I'm dumber than a kindergartner

In preparation for tomorrow's election, and corresponding election night party I went to the store to get some food coloring. The theory being that we'll have dyed red and blue drinks. Blue drinks for celebration and red drinks as commiseration. So I went to the store and sought out the hand staining, sink discoloring monsters they call food dye. I wanted a simple little 4 pack with the basic colors. Failing that I bought red food coloring, green food coloring and yellow food coloring. I figured this is simple I'll mix the yellow and the green and bam! I'll have blue.

I get home and try batch after batch of yellow and green mixtures. And oddly enough none of them has even the slightest hint of blue. We're talking about more than a few attempts at this, varying proportions, mixing patterns. All to no avail. Then only after about 10 trials did I realize... yellow and blue make green. And while colors are many things they are not good representations of the commutative property. And even then...I didn't get that property right. Many, I am struggling today. Thankfully there isn't any paste around for me to dine upon. Geez.

Who is Mike Jones

Over/Under on number of days before every alternative weekly headlines its story about the Haggard daliances with a prostitute named Mike Jones with the following:  Who is Mike Jones?

I'd say in the next 2 days there will be 10 headlines like that, not including my own. Predictions?


Do we think that this Mike Jones calls out his own name during sex?

It's go time

The Bush administration posted Iraqi documents in the hopes of bolstering its case against Saddam Hussein.

According to the NY Times article:

Last March, the federal government set up a Web site to make public a vast archive of Iraqi documents captured during the war. The Bush administration did so under pressure from Congressional Republicans who had said they hoped to "leverage the Internet" to find new evidence of the prewar dangers posed by Saddam Hussein.

But in recent weeks, the site has posted some documents that weapons experts say are a danger themselves: detailed accounts of Iraq's secret nuclear research before the 1991 Persian Gulf war. The documents, the experts say, constitute a basic guide to building an atom bomb.[Italics mine]

This crass political move was designed to demonstrate just how heroic the GOP was in capturing Hussein and just how much safer we are because of it.  These documents were supposed to show just how close things were to being really awful.  Except, here's the problem part of the information posted was essentially instructions on how to build atomic bombs.  That's right, we cannot tell you about any of our secret plans to spy on Americans, cannot release records on anything in the Administration for fear of helping the terrorists.  But it's completely cool to post a DIY Atomic Bomb link.  I wonder if the folks from MAKEblog are working with the Administration to make this feasible. 

In the end I think the only logical conclusion based on previous Bush actions, is to assume that the 101 Keyboard Kommandos are gearing up for their true test, the true reason that all these Conservatives have been jockeying for war from their Dorito stained Aeron chairs--- it's time to invade the Internets.  We already know that the Internets have recently had access to the plans for creating atomic weapons.  The Internets have long harbored conversations between terrorists and MoveOn members. The Internets have been a vehicle for tempting high ranking Republican leaders to try and have sex with young boys. It was bad enough when Trekkie Monster revealed the true use of the Internets (For Porn!). But now the Internets are really more of an Internest filled with terrorists, hedonists and bomb-maker-ists. I believe the course of action is clear. We invade. I suggest that odd groups go left. I also think the President should check on troop levels, and consult with the Generals about whether we have sufficient dots. It's quite possible we need more dots.

More straight guys: Anti-gay Republican leadership or Cher concert?

With the recent revelations about Ted Haggard (he of the gay prostitution and meth addiction) and the Florida gubernatorial candidate and Foley, and others, I've decided that until further evidence is presented, I'm assuming everyone who is virulently and unrepentingly anti-gay is likely closeted.  Whether they're actually gay or just bi-sexual or curious or whatever, I have to assume that they're not being honest.  It's just become too ridiculous.  Trying to identify the straight political homophobe is now like trying to pickout the straight guy at a Cher concert, and you know what, I'm not going to play that game anymore.


Does this mean that when Ted Haggard visits Rick Santorum that Santorum's puppy will be kenneled? How do these people square their intense and unstinting hatred for gays with the fact that they really really want to think about sex with men, or in the case of a rising proportion...do seem to have sex with men. At some point the cognitive dissonance must just tear you apart. There has to be a moment when external hatred reaches some homeostasis with internal hatred and fear. I honestly feel sorry for the repression and self-denial and self-loathing that must define these mens' lives every day. However, that does not excuse their infliction of that loathing on others. Certain Conservatives are fond of saying, Hate the sin, love the sinner. But that expression comes from a place of moral certainty, or moral and religious superiority, a condescension that suggests that the sayer is able to avoid this sin and therefore is in a position to forgive. But what if, as seems the case, the one offering to "forgive" you is guilty of the same, it rings hollow. The Christian Right has come to power through anger, division and sanctimonious self-congratulations. That it may fall apart because the righteousness it so mightly pretends to own is a cover for its own predilictions and hypocritical desires is as they might say "reaping the whirlwind."

Watch Out Mid-Atlantic Region

So in my quest to avoid recreating photos like this I've been working out.  When I was young my parents were convinced I'd be a cross country runner. I'd run non stop all day long, just a bundle of boundless, un-tireable (It's a word now) energy.  And then I stopped being like that.  I have what I can only fairly assume is relatively poor cardiovascular fitness, at least in relation to the others who play ultimate.  So I've been trying to work out at the gym and really run for long distances.  Yesterday was the first day it actually felt good.  I started out running a very slow first mile, 9:30-9:40 or so, and then ran a half mile at 9 minutes, then I cranked it up to 7:30 pace and ran for another 2 miles.  All told I ran 3.6 miles in about 30 minutes.  Again, nothing earthshattering.  No great marathoner am I.  But it's the longest sustained run I've ever completed and I felt strong throughout.  It looks like this trainging stuff is working.  So if I can continue to add strength and power to my legs and core, and build up some stamina...who knows, I might turn out to be a decent player sooner rather than later.  The first test, PADA Mosh, comes this weekend.  Unfortunately I woke up this morning with a chest cold and I'm phlegm-y like Brueghal.  Though I guess that's more Flem-ish, but you get the idea.

Something worth doing

If you don't have a lot of time these next couple of days, or live far enough from a Democratic HQ to make travel difficult, fear not--technology has a solution.  Go here.

I'm going to be at PADA Mosh this weekend, but I'm hoping to bring my laptop and make some calls from the Hotel.  I figure they'll have wireless.  And besides, I can make a few calls tonight while watching football. The system is pretty solid, reminds me a lot of the autodialers I used with Wellstone in 2002.

Wow.

So I'm sure I'm well behind the times on this, but I just found out that I can blog via email.  I have a special email address set up through blogger to which I can send posts.  I just write up a little post, much like (exactly like) this one and email it off.  And then in a matter of seconds there's a new post.  God bless Google and its myriad ways of integrating its software to my life.  Or is it that I'm integrating my life to its software. Either way, it's an exciting new day for WIMM.

Study Indicates Real Home Field Advantage

A study out of Britain finds that there is a demonstrable and significant advantage given to home teams by referees w/r/t to red and yellow cards. This is true even when controlling for a really staggering number of variables.

Apparently, for sports fans, it's not just in our heads the refs really do favor the home teams. I'd love to see brain scans of referees looking at fouls without context, and then with people cheering for one side or the other. Ie, give refs a video of two teams playing, help them with cheers and boos to know which team is home and which is away and then show them the clips. Then simply flip the color of the jerseys for the control. See if it's reproducable in the lab, and also see what parts of the brain, and what stress reactions there are in the body. Finally it'd be interesting to see how quickly the decisions are made. Does a call going against the home team take longer to process and make. Is there an internal delay that slows this down? Man, I wish I had the time and money to study all the random things I find interesting.

Keith Olbermann--The Last Good Writer On TV

Keith Olbermann was always my favorite ESPN anchor, and now he has become my favorite political journalist. Honest, angry, eloquent he is all the things I once believed journalism was meant to be. There are few writers today who are willing to be overtly eloquent, to write at a level above the 8th grade. It's seen as showboating and elitist, but as a person who adores this style, I am grateful for Keith Olbermann. He's what I wish I were.

Sadly he may be the last of this kind. A fierce and passionate writer and speaker, he often restores my faith in the power of words and speech. Would that these reassurances were less needed.



And part two

100% Funny.

Wonderful.

Someone Cue up Rockapella

Thanks in part to seeing a link from Mike Degnan I started playing around with Flickrs new mapping feature. The tool lets you geocode your photos. It uses GoogleMaps open source and with that you can select a point on the map and link your photo to that spot. It's really pretty spiffy. You can be as accurate as you want. For instance my photos of Lake 22 are linked to the particular side of the lake where I took them.

It then gives you this nice little map indicating where you've taken photos. And then to make it even cooler you can search your photos and anyone in Flickr's photos. For instance let's say I want to find all the photos of Ultimate in the US. I can search for ultimate and I can find collections in NJ (Wildwood) in Vancouver (Furious) etc. It's all pretty sweet. It's like a photogallery version of Where in the World is Carmen San Diego.

My map

UPDATE:
Another super cool feature, you can enter a location and see all the photos from that area. So you can put in Westerville Ohio and see everyone's photos from that place. Or Topeka Kansas or wherever. How fantastic is that.

Of Fractions and Factions

So one of the truisms of my childhood is that "Knowing is half the battle." Various members of the military services told me this, often after saving a child who had gone swimming too soon after eating, or who had inadvertantly set fire to his sisters bedspread with napalm. You know stuff like that. Then the GI Joe hero, who was as we all know, a "Real American" would counsel the wayward child about why you shouldn't do dangerous thing XY or Z. This after an episode in which people shot at one another with laser guns that appear to have the lethality of the gun they use for price checks. But I digress.

So I, and nearly everyone in my age cohort knows that knowing is half the battle. However, it was only today that I realized this helps to explain just why we've been struggling in Iraq. The neo-cons were not fans of GI Joe. They didn't and still don't believe that intelligence (either in its CIA or IQ forms) matters. Hell, they wouldn't have to be GI Joe fans, they could have read Sun Tzu the ancient Chinese general. "Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories." See there's that word "know" again.

So we find ourselves commiting too few troops to a country where we don't know the culture, didn't know the politics, and still don't know what we hope to achieve--apart from electoral success; sadly Republican electoral success not Iraqi.

But then I got to thinking, if knowing is half the battle, we're starting out in an awful hole, but we're tough we've got great weaponry. We can win a full battle despite that kind of deficit. Then I remembered the words of the great General Woody Allen (you remember Bananas, clearly he must know something) who once said that "80% of life is showing up." So that further taxes our plan, because not only do we not know what we're doing, we don't have enough people there to not know effectively. I'm not really good with fractions, in fact I'm as good with fractions as the neo-cons are with identifying the rival factions. If my math is right we should only be fighting 10% of the battle. (1/2 of 20%).

I like those odds. Now if only Roadblock could have come into the White House just as young George and Dick were about to send troops into battle, and explain in strangely compelling yet overly simplistic terms why that was invasion was a bad idea, and how to make diplomatic allies using things you can find around your house. Instead he was out somewhere making sure that little Timmy didn't open a Swiss army knife incorrectly. Fucking Roadblock.


UPDATE:
Maybe the administration did watch GI Joe. In the episode where Scarlett gives the "Now you Know" tip she explains that "You can learn to water ski if you keep trying" And when he fails to water ski she tells him:"That's because you quit trying... You'll never win if you give in." See if you cut and run, you'll never be able to water ski. Or win the hearts and minds of a divided and complex nation. Same skill set really.

UPDATE II
Man, GI Joe is filled with mixed lessons. While Scarlett says that you'll never win if you give in, Lady Jaye explains that: "There's nothing chicken about being smart. If you stop and think there's almost always a better way." Ahh, the revealed wisdom of GI Joe. See George and Dick, you wouldn't have been chicken, you'd have been smart. Oh, and avoided thousands of deaths, a billions of wasted money. That too.

I saw this spoof ad, "Congressman, call me," posted on Daily Kos (I think). Usually these sorts of spoofs are pretty bad, and beat one joke into the ground. This is really pretty solid stuff. It gets the timing and pacing down of the Harold Ford ad and really works with that. A little heavy on the Mark Foley stuff, but still, it's nice to see some people can make funny parodies, given that SNL has abdicated that role.

Photos Galore!

I'm going to write a post-party recap, soon. But until then, I'll share a bunch of photos from the evening.

It was a great time. Singing, dancing, drinking, general silliness. Various groups of friends got along swimmingly. All in all you could hardly ask for a better time.

Again, I will post more later, but till then enjoy the photos. Be sure to check out JJ's photos, he has nearly 5 times as many posted I as do. A must see for participating in the voting below.

In the comments feel free to vote on the following things

1. Best costume (you may vote even if you didn't attend)
2. Costume that best fit the person wearing it (ie, the costume that seems the best extension of the person it covers)
3. Costume you wish you came up with.
4. Costume or photo most likely to end the wearer's hope of a political career.

Sour Caroline

Aaron, and the assembled guests of this year's Halloween Party offer a stirring rendition of the Neil Diamond "classic."



Shockingly, I'm not drunk here. I am just that attrocious a singer.

My voice never seemed so bad
So bad, so bad, so bad!
I'm inclined to think it never should...
Be heard.

UPDATE
Apparently, at least according to Liz this video is not without a bit of controversy. Like the Zapruder film and the film of Big Foot this is important both for what it captures but also for the debate it can inspire. Is the really awful voice mine? Liz believes that the videographer, JJ may be drowning out my similarly bad voice with his own? Could this be true? Am I really Pavorati-esque and this video captures errant notes from another source. Or am I really that loud and that off-key. You make the call.

What am I to make of this interaction

Yesterday as I left my office to go grab lunch and otherwise empty sidewalk was suddenly occupied by a well-bearded man (I'm guessing at least two years of effort) wearing a fairly nice seater, riding a bike with one hand and in the other flailingly pointing an expensive digital camera and seemingly random sights. As I approached the corner, I paused to allow him to pass without risking a collision. He turned to no one in particular--I'm fairly certain he wasn't talking to me--and said, "Of course they should go, only a truly passive-aggressive person could engineer such a meeting." As he said this I noticed another woman walking toward him. I'm not sure if he was talking to me, or about me. Though he rode on and made lazy circles in the driveway of the parking garage snapping unfocused (in all senses of that word) photographs. Then he shakily pedaled back the direction from which he had come, and continued to take photographs.

What on Earth am I to make of this? Art installation? Crazy guy? Eccentric? Highly functioning schziophrenic?

Comcast Update

While our server is being rebooted and refitted and hell, maybe recycled, I figured I'd take a second to update the status of our Comcast woes. After talking with someone in Corporate Marketing, a person with a direct line (always a good sign when a person answers the telephone with their name instead of the company's name) my woes are no more. Our heroine in this case, Tracy, sorted things out. We're only being charged for the service we initially signed up for and are, I must say, quite pleased with the resolution of the matter. I'm still annoyed at the process I had to endure to get here. But, I have to give credit to Tracy and others in the organization for working through the byzantine org chart that must confound them daily to get something done. Kudos.

The crazy on this one goes to 11

In response to the Michael J Fox ad where he talks to the voters of Missouri about the importance of stem cell research for finding cures for many diseases, a group opposed to such research have put out a new ad. Apparently they're recruiting religious folks with some connection (sometimes) to Missouri to explain why it's a bad idea. And focus on the fact that science can't promise you a solution quickly. Yes, that's exactly the point, if it's going to take years to solve the problem, not acting today will not hasten the solution. It's not like God has sent a memo to the scientists promising them a cure in X years, and if we just wait till then we can save all this money on research. To say nothing of the fact that I cannot fathom an honest reason why any of these people care about this issue. Fox, suffers from Parkinsons. This seems to me a person invested. Why does Kurt Warner care? Oh right because he's incredibly religious and we're supposed to believe that somehow these embryos which are not life now, are being killed because they're being prevented from sitting around and not being life later. To me it's so painfully Ludditic that it makes me wonder whether or not the Amish look down upon them. Do you figure they say, "Man, I fear zippers, but Holy Shit Ephraim, that guy is the intellectual heir to Lucy."

And is it me or does it look like Kurt Warner is being interviewed in either a church basement turned comedy club, or a mimimum security prison. Really, you make an ad with all these "celebrities" and choose to film it in front of a background that makes the Westerville North AV Club Greatest Hits look like Crouching Tiger? That's certainly a strange choice.

Another thought, why on earth do I care what Patricia Heaton thinks. Newsflash, just because You Loved Raymond doesn't mean I care. First the notion that anyone, let alone everyone loved him is faulty. So let's not pretend you get to speak for, or in any way share a single opinion held in common by "everyone." Okay.

Mike Sweeney weighs in on this. I'm sorry if you don't have the requiste sense to quit any sport that forces you to play for the Kansas City Royals, then you have lost my respect. If you don't immediately start honing your bocce ball skills, and searching out strange Guinness records that you can achieve the very moment you are assigned to play for that team, you are definitionally lacking the basic sense to make let alone share anything resembling an informed judgement. You have to imagine that continuing to play for the Royals may well be one of the diseases for which stem-cell research promises a cure. Come on Mike, you're shooting yourself in the foot here. Also, and I realize this is, as so much of this rant is, largelry unrelated to the ad...but seriously, how are you going to be a DH and only hit 8 home runs. I'm taking political advice from a religious zealot batting .258 with 8 home runs. Has anyone contacted Sid Bream to see what he thinks?

Finally and most skull crushingly, neuron-assailingly, viewer-as-dog-with head-tilted-and-a-blank-expression-inducingly there is Jim Caveziel. I don't know of anything that Jim Caviezel has done apart from star as Jesus for Mel Gibson's flog-a-thon. And I'm sure for the target audience he's a good fit. "Hey, if Jesus is against this, then it's gotta be bad." Fair enough. But the ad starts with Caveziel speaking to the viewer in Aramaic. Are you fucking kidding me? Is there some huge enclave of long suffering speakers of Aramaic tucked into the Ozarks?

Is this some new faddish term created by Frank Luntz. Is this like Soccer Moms, and NASCAR Dads? Aramaic Advocates. Is this really a voting bloc that's not motivated. And if so, is there really any question of how they're voting? My head hurts just contemplating the moronic ideas that were rejected so that this little gem of idiocy could live out its life. I only wish that this idea might have been sacrificed to science instead of growing up to be what I can only, and too generously describe as full-on nuts.

Comcast Customer Service Model

I've spent a decent portion of that past 3 weeks on the phone with various representatives of Comcast. Without rehashing a story that I can now tell in my sleep, having presented it to everyone in Comcast, and potentially a fairly sizabel portion of the shareholders, Jess and I continue to be screwed over. We're being charged an amount I can only assume is comensurate with a package of channels that would include one that, like Clarence in It's a Wonderful Life, details the world that would exist were you not born. Maybe another channel that accurately predicts PowerBall numbers. Whatever the array of channels that Comcast believes is justified by these charges does not and has never appeared on our television. Sadly the package for which we did contractually agree to pay, does not exist in their world. Amazing that.

So needless to say it's been a lot of frustrating calls. These calls are made all the more frustrating by the endless litany of options, press one for this, press two for that. It's a fucking choose your own adventure book, except without a plot. It's like a giant senior art installation by some lame no talent conceptual artist who hates me. So I press and I press and I press and I follow endless decision trees only to talk with a person imbued with very little capacity to focus on the matter at hand or aid me in gaining any resolution to it. Each of the people with whom I have spoken has just enough information or authority to be tantalizingly close to solving the problem. And yet each is formally and permanently unable to acutally do something. Somewhere, the people who wrote the telephone flow chart must have also written the Comcast org chart. I can only assume that it's an org chart that they borrowed from Al Qaeda. How else can you explain a system whereby everyone has just enough information to carry out their minute task, and yet no one, in the entire organization understands the roles and responsibilities or even the field in which the others works. It's perfect, when we find that Comcast has Channels of Mass Destruction the entire organization will have impenetrable plausible deniability. And at that time, at that very moment, I just hope I'm able to be watching the Food Network. I'm doubtful of that.

Who Let the Dogs Out

Since when were puppies such a key feature of political ads. It's odd. I can think right now of three ads I've seen that feature puppies this cycle alone. And that's without even searching for them. I mean I guess there is the grandaddy of them all, the Nixon Checkers Speech but this year there have been a profusion of ads predicated upon candidates like and treatment of puppies. Seriously, someone call up Arby's and tell them to give Baha Men the afternoon off because this political season it's all about: Who Loves the Dogs Most, Woof, Woof.

Dick DeVos

The best is this anti-Dick DeVos Ad

Michael Steele
There's a Michael Steele ad about puppies.According to the ad he loves puppies. And a DSCC ad in response.

Harold Ford
And now in response to the awful ad against Harold Ford (about which I blogged below) there's a Ford ad where he invokes the threat of injury to the canine class. Amazing stuff.

You'll note that no one invokes attacking a cat as a sign of evil. I hear it polls very well to be a cat kicker.

====
UPDATE. I checked for legislative score cards from the ASPCA. Turns out Ben Cardin (Steele's opponent) scored a 83% from the Humane Society of America in the most recent scorecard I could find, and that Harold Ford was only at 50% agreement. No information on Dick DeVos, or Michael Steele

October 25

Today is the fourth anniversary of the plane crash that killed Paul Wellstone, Sheila Wellstone, Marcia Wellstone, Tom Lapic, Will McLaughlin and Mary McEvoy as well as the two pilots. Some were friends and coworkers of mine, people with whom I shared jokes, work, and laughter. Many were and are sources of inspiration. And, especially for Paul and Sheila these weren't just people whom one deems inspirational because they've died. Paul would be no less an inspiration to me were he sitting in St. Paul doing a crossword puzzle. He was an inspiration in his life, not just a man elevated to that status by an untimely death.

It's always a bit of a tough day for me. I remember where I was, what I was doing, the momements that came after and it's a natural day for me to think of where my life is and where it's heading. For the past four years it's been a vaguely religious holiday, not in the sense that I elevate those people or that moment to something beyond the regular, but rather that I take the day to think about my life, to think about my choices, to think about fate and fortune and my friends. It's a day on which to be thankful, contemplative, and most of all a day on which to rededicate myself to action on issues of justice and democracy. It's a day to remember what's worth fighting for.

It's a day, though not the only day, when I choose to reread Tom Harkin's speech from Paul's memorial. I've excerpted parts here below. If anyone wants the full speech I can email it or post it in the comments.

He was my best friend in the Senate.

But, in truth, Paul Wellstone was one of those rare souls who so many saw as their best friend. He had a powerful authenticity that made a miner in the Iron Range know he was as important to Paul as the President of the United States.

He never had to proclaim his decency. It shone forth in great acts of political courage and small acts of human kindness. He never had to say he cared.
...
The hard-working folks he cared about most didn’t have lobbyists or influence. But they had Paul Wellstone. And he truly was their best friend.
...
Paul may have talked a lot, but he meant every word. He showed the way to lead is by following your conscience.

And when injustice was proposed, or unfairness was advancing, or selfishness was on the march, Paul would go into battle and he did not care if he was the only one. He may have suffered from a bad back, but he had a spine of steel.

Everyone called him Paul. Not just his colleagues, but staff and citizens alike. He wouldn’t have it any other way. No one ever wore the title of “Senator” better – or used it less.
...
Paul was the soul of the Senate. Sometimes he cast votes that even some of his friends disagreed with on war or on welfare. But when he did, he was the mirror in which we, his colleagues, looked at ourselves and searched our own hearts.
...
Paul Wellstone didn’t just dare to imagine a better America – he helped build it.

Because of what he did, family farmers will have a better future. Because of what he demanded, mental illness will someday soon be treated equally in our health care system. And because of who he married – and because of Sheila’s passionate charge – more women and children will find safe harbor from the scourge of domestic abuse.

Paul was a hopeful man. Green was his color. The color of springtime. The color of hope. And the color of that bus he climbed aboard 12 years ago as he set out on his way to a better America. But Paul never meant it to be a solo voyage. He wanted us all on board. Now we must continue Paul’s journey for justice.

So tonight, I ask you: Will you stand up and join together and board that bus?

For Paul Wellstone, will you stand up and keep fighting for better wages for those who mop our floors and clean our bathrooms; for those who take care of our elderly, nurse the sick, teach our kids, and reach out to the homeless?

For Sheila, will you stand up and keep fighting for our families so women and children will be safe from domestic abuse?

For Paul, will you stand up and keep fighting for cleaner air and cleaner water – to protect the environment for our children and our future? For Paul, will you stand up and keep fighting for peace, understanding, and an end to exploitation of women and children around the world? For Paul, will you stand up and keep fighting to end discrimination based on race, gender, religion, ethnicity and sexual orientation? For Paul, will you stand up and keep fighting for the poor, the homeless, those left on the roadside of life?

Let’s get on that green bus together. Let’s keep moving to a better America. Let’s stand up and keep fighting – and keep saying yes. For justice. For hope. For life.
For Paul.

Pontius Pilates

I met Liz today for a mid-day pilates class. In the past I've jokingly derided the class as being for girls and teased her about it. Mostly I was afraid that I'd go and be in really awful shape and embarass myself.

I went today and was surprised by a few things. 1) My "core" is pretty strong. I have decent abs. They're relatively strong and seem to do the job. 2) It's odd to have someone barking out commands for which you have literally no idea the context or meaning. I was told to suck, and tuck, and swivel, and elongate, and who knows what else. Steve the teacher was enthusiastic and kind of like a good gym teacher. Gruff, but he cared about making sure people did things right. It was nice. It also reminded me that it's the first time I've ever taken an athletic class, or dance class. I cannot make my body look like someone else's without a lot of thought. So not only was I contending with foreign words and largely foreign movements, I was fighting my basic prediliction to fuck up anything requiring rhythm and spacing. I breathed at incorrect times, I rocked up when I should have gone back. I move right instead of left. I was a man with two left feet and three right arms. It was like playing twister in a foreign language with a brutal case of AD/HD. That said, it was quite a bit of fun, and I'm sure I'll be sore tomorrow.

Part of the reason I broke down and went is the constant hectoring from Liz, but more of it is related to my goal of getting rid of my tummy. As I said, I'm really quite strong in the core. None of the sit-upish movements were hard. I can crunch like Big Foot driving through a peanut brittle factory. And yet I have this little tummy. Reminds me of what small boys have, a rounded little belly--though mine is covered in hair, which makes it exactly 100% less cute. I'm not by any objective means overweight, or out of shape, but I'm in a strange shape. I have no arms or legs or chest, and yet and semi-strong. And then I have this tummy, this silly little bulge. It's quite odd. So I'll see what pilates has to offer me in this regard. I'll bend and twist and turn and caper and maybe I'll end up with a six-pack, if not, I'm sure I'll end up amusing my classmates. Nothing so funny as a hairly gangly man trying to pose and rock and suck in his belly.

Know when to run

So Kenny Rogers is by all observable evidence a big cheater-head. Granted, he's cheating in a time-honored way. In baseball cheating by doctoring the ball is common and it's given a tsk-tsk and ignored. But that's because people are rarely caught, and certainly even less frequently caught, uh..."mud handed," in the World Series.

Now, according to nearly everyone the substance on Kenny Rogers' hand is pine tar. It's useful for getting a better grip on the ball, and allows a pitcher to generate a little more velocity because of a tighter spin on the ball.

Rogers' claims that it was a patch of mud. Just simple mud that happened to be there and you know he never noticed it. Surely that explains the matter. I mean I was a pitcher in little league and many were the times when I'd be shocked to find out that I was wearing boxing gloves while pitching. Or I'd look down and realize I was holding a parasol. Things like that happened basically every start. Because how on earth could a pitcher be expected to know what was on his hand. They're rarely used in the performance of the duty, and surely in a game as important as home start in the World Series, Kenny Rogers wouldn't be focused on details such as his pitching hand. Instead I'm sure he was calculating the bond rating for the City of Boise, or crafting a rebuke to Nietzsche's notion of the ubermensch. You know things like that. But mud, or pine tar on his hands, never.

And then there is the little matter of the fact that he's had the same mud on the same hand in the same place for at least three starts-- including his last two. I have to strongly caution Kenny Rogers to avoid all contact with dirt. I suggest placing his hand in the case used by David Duchovny in Zoolander.

I guess there is another explanation, one that's so obvious that it's sad. Maybe the Detroit Tigers have been tragically skimping on their dugout budget and have a terrible shortage of toilet paper. I guess that's another explanation. I wonder if we'll hear that one. I wonder if Moises Alou can offer insight on these matters.

Ain't No Valley Low Enough

The RNC attacks Harold Ford. It's an emerging strategy. The RNC or similar committees release ads that are so offensive, so salacious, so ridiculous that the media covers the ads, gives them free air time. The media then has two talking heads on and tries to present the ads as a balanced news story. With one person arguing for logic, decency and truth and the other simply saying, "Well, it makes you wonder what kind of a person, so and so is." Then the reporter says, "Well, I guess it'll be up to the voter's to decide. And now for a check on your local commute..."



I wonder what it would be like if other news were covered like this.

REPORTER: A recent claim by Mr Williamson that what many call his "dog" is really a 140 million year old Apatosaurus has certainly inspired some lively discussion and worried the town of Oak Grove. Here to debate this matter are two experts. First Ellen Anderson, a person with eyes and an IQ capable of processing the information transmitted by their functioning rods and cones, and formulating into coherent mostly-syntactically correct English the observations they inspire. And on the other side a potted plant. However it should be noted the potted plant does have a Post-It note with the words, "sure it is, I mean look at him," written in crayon.

REPORTER: Ms. Anderson you claim that Mr. Williamson's pet, is a "dog." While he maintains that it is in point of fact an ancient dinosaur. What evidence can you muster to prove him wrong?

SANE PERSON: Well, let's see. Um, I looked at the dog. And it sure looks like a dog. In fact it looks exactly like a standard poodle. Oh, and I know that when I went to school we learned that the dinosaurs were extinct. And then just to be sure I wasn't misremembering I went online and looked up information about dinosaurs and sure enough, yup extinct. I did however learn that it's now an Apatosaurus and not a Brontosaurus, but either way, his dog isn't really what you'd call a dinosaur. It's more an eye-sore.

REPORTER: Interesting, and yet, Mr. Williamson has made the claim. And we've done some research about it. According to The Center for Being Clinically and Irredeemably Bat-Shit-Howl-at-the-Moon-Crazy, "Six out of toenail claims of dog-dinosaur transubstantiations are real by both objective and reactive as well as subtractive measures and additionally a still larger popcorn out of fishing lure percent of people who fail to see dinosaurs do so because they lack the unicorn gene which allows them to see in an extra dimension. Now to our other expert, a potted plant.

PLANT: (silence)

REPORTER: Let me see if I understand, you're saying, or rather sporting a Post-It that says, "sure it is, I mean look at him." Well clearly it's an assertion that has both sides very excited. I guess we'll have to leave it up to you to decide. There's just no way for us as a news organization to ever identify and publish objective truth. It's only through a back and forth debate between two opponents given equal credit and creedence that truth can ever surface.

How come?

How come, "It goes without saying" never actually results in "it went unsaid?"

Some geeky data analysis

So I took some time after work to analyze the various responses to the Color-Song challenge. Incidently, David G pulled out a remarkable 41 songs. Now, did he stick to the 5 minute limit, I don't know. He's an honorable guy, I figure it's unlikely he violated the rules.

So a couple of fun pieces of data from these songs and my little analysis:

Top 10 Most Commonly Listed Songs
Yellow submarine (13)
Paint it black (9)
Orange crush (8)
Purple haze (8)
purple rain (8)
Blue suede shoes (8)
Back in Black (7)
Mellow Yellow (6)
Yellow -Cold Play (5)
Yellow Ledbetter (5)

I also took a little bit of time to analyze the overlap between various people's lists. For instance the people with whom I overlap the most are: Michelle (9), David (9), Melissa (9)and ABJ (8). It makes sense that Michelle, Melissa and David would overlap a lot with me as they had the three highest scores, and therefor have the greatest likelihood of overlapping. But ABJ scored 19 which is in the middle tier. The mean being 21.4, and the median being between 19 and 22...making the mean and median pretty close. I guess being friends all these years, and living together Sophmore year might explain the overlap between ABJ and me--hell we even overlap initials, and sisters' names.

More fun facts
Of the 147 individuals songs listed 11 of them also included the word "eye." For those of you keeping track of the relative popularities of eye colors w/r/t song titles: Blue (5), Brown (2), green, red, black, and mixed all get one.

Another interesting thing to note is that certain colors are far more likely to inspire songs, or at least ones that we can remember. As you might imgagine Blue and Black lead the way, by a good margin. Here is a silly little bar chart indicating the number of songs for each color.

ROY G. BIV

Libby and I were chatting today and she mentioned that a friend made her a mix cd comprised (composed?) exclusively of songs with colors in the title. I shot back a couple of guesses as to the mix contents, turns out I didn't get a single one correct. Which means that there must be a lot of songs with colors in the name. So here's a little challenge for each of you. Open an email browser or word document. Give yourself 5 minutes and no other resources, and see how many songs with a color in the title you can come up with. In cases where there are several songs with same title indicate the artist. Then copy those songs and post them in the comments. I'm trusting everyone will be on the honor system and not spend extra time researching, asking for help or thinking about it. And I certainly trust that no one will read the comments before they make their list. It'll be be interesting to see which of my friends has the best range of both song recall, and color recall.

I'm betting on Brian or JKD. I think one of them might break 35. Then I'm betting on JJ, if he reads this, I'd figure he gets 30.

For what it's worth, in five minutes I came up with 24 (though I think some are likely no good). I think some of them may be erroneous. It's much harder than I would have expected.

If anyone gets above 30, you can color me impressed.

Negative.

I don't know that I'm particularly well versed in science. I think I have a passing understanding of some of the ideas. So I'm really dubious of this product. The product, Enviga is marketed by Coke and billed as being not low calorie, not no calorie, but negative calorie. The implication being that drinking this soda increases metabolic action and so three cans a day will burn between 60-100 calories.

I have a couple of problems with this. My first concern is scientific/semantic.
The claim that this beverage has negative calories, suggests that this product unlike any other concept I know of can possess the absence of something. Bread doesn't have negative cholesterol, rather it doesn't have cholesterol. You cannot state it affirmatively. It's the absence of a real thing, not the presence of a fake one.

Secondly, the name Enviga is just misleading. I assume it's supposed to be pronounced like envigorate, but as a friend of Silberman points out, that's exactly wrong, because given that calories are energy, this product will “help you lose energy!”

That's right, it's the opposite of RedBull. It's a Lethargic Drink. It's Lazy-ade.

Like Green Vegetables

So I'll admit that for most people making calls for political campaigns is not a hobby. It's not a recreational activity. It's something you do because it's good for the country. It's the equivalent of eating leafy green vegetables. You do it because experts tell you it will help you lead a better life.

Well I went to the DCCC (D-trip, if you're cool) last night and I piled on the veggies. Several of us decided that as DC residents we have to do something, and calling for candidates in other states is a good start. Now usually I'm a Senate snob, but with the Foley stuff, and the general momentum I think is spreading around the country more and more House races are in play than ever before. And thankfully a certain someone had the foresight to structure the DNC to focus on 50 states. Who could that be? Oh, right Howard Dean. How about that. So smart. So now that we have competitive races popping up like mushrooms on the shit of 6 years of Republican control---we need to get the volunteer army up and moving. There are new races being added to the list of competitive ones every day. We're making progress. But like good teams, good campaigns know that the best time to push harder is when your opponent is weakened. We need to capitalize on this energy and make it stick, otherwise the next two years will be even more awful than the past two.

All of which is to say...if you have free time go here and sign up to call. The calls are easy, the staff is well prepared (I say this with more than a little prior experience). Several friends and I are going this Tuesday. It's important stuff. If you don't live in DC, I'm sure there is a place near you that needs your help. If ever there was a time to become a band-wagon progressive it's now. Come aboard, volunteer, get yourself a button. Get invited to the victory party--but first make some calls and ensure it's a victory party.

Apparently in Iowa he Warner-ed out his welcome.

So even before he declared his bid for the Presidency Mark Warner is undeclaring. Man, that's a crummy exploratory committee. When you have to send a search party out for the exploratory committee, that's bad. Here's the thing, when you form one of these committees, you gotta get Marco Polo not Chris Columbus. Get someone who can do some real exploring, not wandering around.

But Mark Warner not running doesn't seem that bad to me. He's got a ton of cash he can spread around to other Prez candidates, or other races. He's still in the running for VP and he may well run in 2008 to fill the seat then vacated by John Warner. So that means we have a well funded, rational guy who decides to run for Senate. That's a fine thing. And it makes Virginia a more purple state for the Democratic Presidential nominee. These are all good things. In the end it looks like no one loses in this deal.

Maximus Ridiculous

While chatting with Shamik about his incredible desire to heckle a friend's email I wrote: On my command, unleash heckle. A sort of oblique reference to Russell Crowe in Gladiator: On my command, unleash hell.

So after Shamik admits it's a reference with which he is unfamiliar I decide to translate it for the MIT-inclined: On my command prompt, unleash DOS.

My pride at coming up with this little joke reminds me of a fitting Modest Mouse lyric, one that seems to apply to the situation-- "You should be ashamed to be so proud of what you've done."

The challenges of fitness.

"The trouble with jogging is that, by the time you realize you're not in shape for it, it's too far to walk back." Franklin P Jones

As though additional distractions were needed

As though I needed additional distractions, Rob just sent me a link to a website where you can play tons (250) of old Nintendo games. I played a little ExciteBike. Turns out it's far harder than I remember. And I'm quite bad at it. I guess it's a challenge to overcome.

I can see both my childhood and my workday flashing before my eyes. Sad, really.

I was always pretty bad at video games. I'm sure I'll still stink at TecmoBowl. I'll be bad at DoubleDragon. Though maybe I'll have retained my skills at MegaMan II. That and BaseballStars are the only games I was ever any good at. We shall see.

Hair today...gone tomorrow

So while trimming my beard this morning, I accidently went from taking 1/8th of an inch off to having just 1/8th of an inch left. Basically I was using my electic razor to clean up some stray hairs, and slipped up and lost a patch of beard about 1 inch wide by 2 inches long. This prompted my "decision" to shave the beard off. This means I again look like I'm twelve years old. Coupled with my new childish haircut I look awful. But what can you do. So I'll go barefaced for a while, and probably before too much longer I'll neglect the facial hair and it will grow into a might roaring torrent of beardly excess. But for now I'll accept getting carded and asked whether I'm in Cub Scouts and how my Tee-ball team did this season.

Alas.

Limbo in Limbo

The Pope just "abolished" (strange choice of words) the concept of limbo. Now unbaptised babies don't go to hell. Like dogs, all babies go to heaven, which is great, I'm all for it.

Pope Benedict XVI, after deliberation by Vatican theologians, is abolishing the concept of Limbo that put the souls of unbaptized infants at risk.

While it was never a formal part of the church's doctrine, the existence of Limbo was taught until recently to Catholics around the world, The Times of London said. Limbo was described in Britain as "a place of rest where the souls of the just who died before Christ were detained."

So this begs a couple of questions in my mind.

1. What does the church believes happens to all those good souls who lived before Christ. They used to be stuck in limbo. Is the church saying they never were? Is the church saying that now that the Pope has made this decree that they're all rushing up to Heaven? Won't that make it tough for St. Peter to sort through everyone. Do they get a handstamp for re-entry in the event the next Pope re-establishes limbo?

2. So all babies go to heaven. Doesn't that erase original sin? When do babies start sinning now? Is it the first time they spit up on mommy's new cashmere sweater right before she and daddy go to the Opera? Is it the first time they pee on the person changing their diaper? How about when they start singing the Wiggles?

3. Limbo a concept based on no tangible evidence, a notion created through faith is now overturned. How does that argument work? It's amazing to just decide that something based on faith doesn't exist. What evidence do you use to argue that something that never had evidence in the first place is no longer true. Turns out our belief that God has a beard is wrong. Now we believe that God must have a goatee and an eyebrow ring. Why? Um, because it was revealed through careful reading of ancient scriptures, and our local tattoo artist screwed up my girlfriend's tat and that's what the God looks like on her lower back.


UPDATE

4. From Liz's friend Paige:

And Liz, before I read the article, I had this great image of the pope standing next to a limbo line screaming, "No! No! I prohibit you from seeing how low you can go!"

I wanted to make a joke about that kind of limbo and just couldn't. This is perfect.

Regionals

I'll try to write more about Regionals. It was an amazing weekend, filled with emotion, laughter, highs and lows. It was everything I love about this sport and the people who play it. These two photos from the weekend seem to best encapsulate why I love the sport.

The first is Chris Shulze making an amazing catch over, under, around the through defenders. He eventually comes down with this score. He's an incredible athlete, and a really swell teammate. It's nice to have him around, to be sure.



The second photo, also from the game against Hooray is of me hugging Liz. Those who know me will appreciate the image. It's the emotion, the friendship, the concern and the love of your teammates--that's the fundamental part of the game for me. That spirit, that community, it means everything. I think this photo captures that feeling pretty well.

Not okay.

This is not okay.

It's not immoral, I can't go that far. But wrong, oh yeah, it's wrong.

Chocolate and sausage do not go together. Sure, Austrians might disagree, but they too are wrong.