The headline on the online version of The New York Times reads, "Stressing Youth, Marco Rubio Joins 2016 Presidential Field."
I don't know about the youth of America, but it certainly stresses me.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
Monday, April 13, 2015
Meet the Mets...Later
Does it make sense to record sporting events? I ask this question as I sit here, typing, with the Mets game on--a Mets game that I assume ended several hours ago. I recorded the game because I like the Mets and, living in the Bay Area, I don't get to see them with any regularity. So, on those occasions when they ARE on national TV, I feel almost obligated to watch them--which generally means recording the games, as the games usually start (or in the case of day games like today's, start and end) while I'm at work. But does it make sense?
I mean, I fast forward through the commercials. But when I do that, I think, y'know, I could also fast forward to move more quickly from one batter to the next. But if I'm going to do that, I could pretty much just skip to "interesting" moments: Maybe I could keep speeding through until I see runners on base. But if I do that, why not just skip to the end to see who wins? Or just go to Nymets.com and check the score? Because if I watch the whole game and they actually lost, am I not just setting myself up for disappointment? Leaving aside for the moment the reasonable question of whether being a Mets fan is, by definition, setting myself up for disappointment? Is watching a recorded sporting event really nothing more than a sort of magical thinking?
I mean, I fast forward through the commercials. But when I do that, I think, y'know, I could also fast forward to move more quickly from one batter to the next. But if I'm going to do that, I could pretty much just skip to "interesting" moments: Maybe I could keep speeding through until I see runners on base. But if I do that, why not just skip to the end to see who wins? Or just go to Nymets.com and check the score? Because if I watch the whole game and they actually lost, am I not just setting myself up for disappointment? Leaving aside for the moment the reasonable question of whether being a Mets fan is, by definition, setting myself up for disappointment? Is watching a recorded sporting event really nothing more than a sort of magical thinking?
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Breaking News
Out of my undying sense of journalistic responsibility, I feel compelled to report that Hillary Clinton has formally announced her candidacy for . . . Hold on, let me check my notes. . . Ah! President. She's running for president.
Of the United States, that is.
I know that some of my followers get their news exclusively from The Solipsist, and I wanted to make sure that none of you ends up looking like an idiot at a cocktail party, pooh-poohing the notion of Hillary's candidacy.
Incidentally, you shouldn't pooh-pooh ANYTHING at a cocktail party. Or anywhere else, for that matter. That's just gross.
Do people even HAVE cocktail parties anymore? I mean, I hear "cocktail party," and I get an image of, like, George Sanders and Bette Davis in evening dress, exchanging witticisms. And I don't even know who those people ARE!
Where was I?
Oh, yes, Hillary. You know, the ignorantsia at places like Fox News like to bash Hillary by saying, among other things, that she's "obsessed" with the presidency, that she sees it as some sort of entitlement. To which I think the only logical reply is, "Yes. And?" Of course, she's obsessed and feels entitled! I mean, think about the chutzpah it takes for someone to think that they are actually qualified to BE president. That alone is a sign of some kind of insanity, be the candidate Democrat or Republican. If you're NOT obsessed and DON'T feel entitled, you've picked the wrong way to spend the next year and a half.
Of the United States, that is.
I know that some of my followers get their news exclusively from The Solipsist, and I wanted to make sure that none of you ends up looking like an idiot at a cocktail party, pooh-poohing the notion of Hillary's candidacy.
Incidentally, you shouldn't pooh-pooh ANYTHING at a cocktail party. Or anywhere else, for that matter. That's just gross.
Do people even HAVE cocktail parties anymore? I mean, I hear "cocktail party," and I get an image of, like, George Sanders and Bette Davis in evening dress, exchanging witticisms. And I don't even know who those people ARE!
Where was I?
Oh, yes, Hillary. You know, the ignorantsia at places like Fox News like to bash Hillary by saying, among other things, that she's "obsessed" with the presidency, that she sees it as some sort of entitlement. To which I think the only logical reply is, "Yes. And?" Of course, she's obsessed and feels entitled! I mean, think about the chutzpah it takes for someone to think that they are actually qualified to BE president. That alone is a sign of some kind of insanity, be the candidate Democrat or Republican. If you're NOT obsessed and DON'T feel entitled, you've picked the wrong way to spend the next year and a half.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Fly the Kosher Skies
Long-time Sloppists have noticed that I haven't posted regularly in a long time. I had considered this a mere personal failing: a source of disappointment in myself, to be sure, but a victimless crime at worst. Last night, I realized I was wrong. I came face to face with the face of Solipsist Nation abandoned: a reader--perhaps my ONLY reader--who had come to rely on YNSHC to bring a little joy into his apparently insufficiently joyous life, and whom I had so cavalierly abandoned out of some sense of entitlement--entitlement to rest, to relaxation, to the right to plunge myself into a beer-fueled alcoholic stupor on a regular basis! Who did I think I was?!? So, to this Fanatical Follower of Solipsist, I simply say, I shall strive to do better.
Speaking of entitlement, I've spent the last day or so pondering this story in yesterday's paper, about a semi-common occurrence on airplanes. Apparently, some ultra-Orthodox Jews refuse to sit next to women on airplanes, for fear that they may accidentally come into contact with members of the opposite sex. Despite the fact that a prominent Orthodox rabbi has given dispensation for whatever incidental contact might occur, a number of Hasidim feel they would rather not chance it. As you can imagine, though, problems arise when women refuse to relocate to accommodate the--let's face it--medieval strictures of their fellow travelers.
Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that I proposed a simple solution: If the idea of potentially finding himself seated next to a woman so fills a Hasidic gentleman with fear, then all he needs to do to avoid the situation is purchase an extra seat on the plane. This comment of mine generated a number of comments--tongues more or less planted in cheeks--about the unlikelihood of Jews ponying up the cash for two seats (it should be noted that these comments all came from fellow Jews). But the point, of course, is social not financial. If these folks want to avail themselves of the conveniences of modern society (like airplanes), then they are simply going to have to accept the conventions of modern society (like the fundamental equality of the sexes--and let's not get started on THAT; that's a topic for another day).
Ultimately, I don't really have a problem with the Orthodox desire to maintain a separation of the sexes: If that's what they believe, that's what they believe. The issue I find offensive is that the airlines and/or the other passengers should go out of their way to accommodate them. I wouldn't have an issue with a Hasidic gentleman going up to another passenger--and for all I know, this happens--and saying politely something to the effect of, "Excuse me, Sir/Madam, I'm seated over in ___, but the seat next to me is occupied by a lady, and my religion prevents me from sitting next to her. I was wondering if you would be willing to trade seats with me?"
I'm sure he'd find a taker. Hell, what does the Hasid-proximate lady look like? Maybe I'll trade seats. After all, I'm single now. Think of the possibilities!
"What was that all about?"
"Oh, his religion forbids him from sitting next to beautiful women."
"Really?"
"Well, strictly speaking, his religion prevents him from sitting next to any women. I threw in the beautiful part."
"Oh, Solipsist!"
Cha-ching! Mile-high-club! I love Judaism!
Speaking of entitlement, I've spent the last day or so pondering this story in yesterday's paper, about a semi-common occurrence on airplanes. Apparently, some ultra-Orthodox Jews refuse to sit next to women on airplanes, for fear that they may accidentally come into contact with members of the opposite sex. Despite the fact that a prominent Orthodox rabbi has given dispensation for whatever incidental contact might occur, a number of Hasidim feel they would rather not chance it. As you can imagine, though, problems arise when women refuse to relocate to accommodate the--let's face it--medieval strictures of their fellow travelers.
Those of you who follow me on Facebook know that I proposed a simple solution: If the idea of potentially finding himself seated next to a woman so fills a Hasidic gentleman with fear, then all he needs to do to avoid the situation is purchase an extra seat on the plane. This comment of mine generated a number of comments--tongues more or less planted in cheeks--about the unlikelihood of Jews ponying up the cash for two seats (it should be noted that these comments all came from fellow Jews). But the point, of course, is social not financial. If these folks want to avail themselves of the conveniences of modern society (like airplanes), then they are simply going to have to accept the conventions of modern society (like the fundamental equality of the sexes--and let's not get started on THAT; that's a topic for another day).
Ultimately, I don't really have a problem with the Orthodox desire to maintain a separation of the sexes: If that's what they believe, that's what they believe. The issue I find offensive is that the airlines and/or the other passengers should go out of their way to accommodate them. I wouldn't have an issue with a Hasidic gentleman going up to another passenger--and for all I know, this happens--and saying politely something to the effect of, "Excuse me, Sir/Madam, I'm seated over in ___, but the seat next to me is occupied by a lady, and my religion prevents me from sitting next to her. I was wondering if you would be willing to trade seats with me?"
I'm sure he'd find a taker. Hell, what does the Hasid-proximate lady look like? Maybe I'll trade seats. After all, I'm single now. Think of the possibilities!
"What was that all about?"
"Oh, his religion forbids him from sitting next to beautiful women."
"Really?"
"Well, strictly speaking, his religion prevents him from sitting next to any women. I threw in the beautiful part."
"Oh, Solipsist!"
Cha-ching! Mile-high-club! I love Judaism!
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Margins
Super Bowl Seven-Squared quantified the previously unquantifiable. To wit, the difference between monumental genius and sublime idiocy. Turns out, it's about three inches.
The Seattle Seahawks' final play of the 2015 Super Bowl was surely a high (low?) point in the annals of sports ignominy. If you missed the game. . . what are you? Some kind of communist?!?
For the rest, you will recall that the Seahawks, down by four points with about 30 seconds to play, found themselves at the Patriots' one-yard line in a second-and-goal situation. Anyone following the game at all knew what was coming next: Marshawn Lynch, arguably the best running back in the NFL, a nigh unstoppable tank of a man, would tear through the defense for the go-ahead touchdown. A no-brainer. Instead, however, the next play saw quarterback Russell Wilson drop back and throw a pass that was intercepted by previously unheralded New England defender Malcolm Butler. Game over. Patriots win.
In the 48 hours or so since that play, Seahawks coach Pete Carroll has come under fire for his inexplicable decision to have Wilson throw the ball in that situation. Considering the stakes--the end of the road for Seattle's quest for back-to-back championships--this play has justly been called one of the worst--if not the absolute worst--ever called. But let's be clear about one thing: The only reason the coach is being vilified is because the play didn't work.
I think the call was a mistake, too, but let's be fair: Russell Wilson didn't make a terrible throw. The ball was actually thrown right to the hands of the intended receiver, Jerome Kearse. Sure the ball was a scooch too far for the receiver to grasp firmly, but if Wilson throws the ball even another two or three inches to the right, Kearse probably makes the catch, and sheer momentum carries him into the end-zone for the winning score. In this alternate universe, Pete Carroll becomes, if not "brilliant," at least "gutsy": We would then be reading about how Carroll outfoxed the Patriots, who were almost definitely expecting a Lynch run. And the contrarian viewpoints would belong to the handful of people who lamented the fact that an "idiotic" call somehow worked out.
In fact, Carroll could (although he hasn't, exactly) even now defend himself by saying that the sheer "stupidity" of the call was designed to catch the defense off guard. If everybody "knows" you're going to employ a certain strategy, then shouldn't that, theoretically, be the one strategy you shouldn't employ?
As I say, I think Carroll made a mistake; he should have stuck with the conventional game plan. Predictable or not, in that situation, you play the percentages. If you lose the game because the Patriots somehow manage to stop Lynch three times at the goal line, you tip your hat to the defense. Which, I guess, is what we're doing anyway: Butler made a spectacular play. But keep in mind that this Platonic ideal of a moronic play was only a fingertip away from being an example of sheer genius.
The Seattle Seahawks' final play of the 2015 Super Bowl was surely a high (low?) point in the annals of sports ignominy. If you missed the game. . . what are you? Some kind of communist?!?
For the rest, you will recall that the Seahawks, down by four points with about 30 seconds to play, found themselves at the Patriots' one-yard line in a second-and-goal situation. Anyone following the game at all knew what was coming next: Marshawn Lynch, arguably the best running back in the NFL, a nigh unstoppable tank of a man, would tear through the defense for the go-ahead touchdown. A no-brainer. Instead, however, the next play saw quarterback Russell Wilson drop back and throw a pass that was intercepted by previously unheralded New England defender Malcolm Butler. Game over. Patriots win.
In the 48 hours or so since that play, Seahawks coach Pete Carroll has come under fire for his inexplicable decision to have Wilson throw the ball in that situation. Considering the stakes--the end of the road for Seattle's quest for back-to-back championships--this play has justly been called one of the worst--if not the absolute worst--ever called. But let's be clear about one thing: The only reason the coach is being vilified is because the play didn't work.
I think the call was a mistake, too, but let's be fair: Russell Wilson didn't make a terrible throw. The ball was actually thrown right to the hands of the intended receiver, Jerome Kearse. Sure the ball was a scooch too far for the receiver to grasp firmly, but if Wilson throws the ball even another two or three inches to the right, Kearse probably makes the catch, and sheer momentum carries him into the end-zone for the winning score. In this alternate universe, Pete Carroll becomes, if not "brilliant," at least "gutsy": We would then be reading about how Carroll outfoxed the Patriots, who were almost definitely expecting a Lynch run. And the contrarian viewpoints would belong to the handful of people who lamented the fact that an "idiotic" call somehow worked out.
In fact, Carroll could (although he hasn't, exactly) even now defend himself by saying that the sheer "stupidity" of the call was designed to catch the defense off guard. If everybody "knows" you're going to employ a certain strategy, then shouldn't that, theoretically, be the one strategy you shouldn't employ?
As I say, I think Carroll made a mistake; he should have stuck with the conventional game plan. Predictable or not, in that situation, you play the percentages. If you lose the game because the Patriots somehow manage to stop Lynch three times at the goal line, you tip your hat to the defense. Which, I guess, is what we're doing anyway: Butler made a spectacular play. But keep in mind that this Platonic ideal of a moronic play was only a fingertip away from being an example of sheer genius.
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Country Music Legend Kenny Rogers Killed in Most Ironic Murder Ever
NASHVILLE--Police confirmed that multiple Grammy-Award winning recording artist Kenny Rogers has died after what started as a friendly poker game turned violent. Nashville detective Arthur Logan, speaking in front of the crime scene, shook his head and said, "It's amazing. You would think if anyone would have known when to fold 'em, it would have been" Rogers.
Witnesses reported that Rogers was shot twice in the chest by another player who had been consistently losing hands throughout the night. "Kenny was just getting ready to call it a night," reported Rogers associate Glenn Tisdale. "He was just walking away." Tisdale added, after a moment's reflection, "Guess he shoulda run."
The shooter has been identified as Richard "Duff" McElroy, 57, a local hardware salesman with no police record. As he was being taken into custody, McElroy could be heard shouting, "You gotta understand! Kenny was counting his money--while he was SITTING AT THE TABLE! You just don't do that! You NEVER do that!"
Another Rogers associate, who requested anonymity, concurred. "I can't excuse what this guy did, but he has a point. Everyone knows that there'll be plenty of time to count your money when the dealing's done."
Rogers, who was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2013, was remembered by his fellow artists with a mixture of respect and bewilderment. Dolly Parton, with whom Rogers collaborated on the 1983 hit "Islands in the Stream," tweeted: "Crushed to hear about death of #KennyRogers. But come on!"
Witnesses reported that Rogers was shot twice in the chest by another player who had been consistently losing hands throughout the night. "Kenny was just getting ready to call it a night," reported Rogers associate Glenn Tisdale. "He was just walking away." Tisdale added, after a moment's reflection, "Guess he shoulda run."
The shooter has been identified as Richard "Duff" McElroy, 57, a local hardware salesman with no police record. As he was being taken into custody, McElroy could be heard shouting, "You gotta understand! Kenny was counting his money--while he was SITTING AT THE TABLE! You just don't do that! You NEVER do that!"
Another Rogers associate, who requested anonymity, concurred. "I can't excuse what this guy did, but he has a point. Everyone knows that there'll be plenty of time to count your money when the dealing's done."
Rogers, who was inducted into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 2013, was remembered by his fellow artists with a mixture of respect and bewilderment. Dolly Parton, with whom Rogers collaborated on the 1983 hit "Islands in the Stream," tweeted: "Crushed to hear about death of #KennyRogers. But come on!"
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
And Then There's Tom Petty. . .
As Martin Mull might have said, "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture." Despite an overabundance of music criticism, music itself remains stubbornly impervious to prosaic interpretation--like nine-year-old-resisting-bedtime stubborn. One can read about literature or movies or plays and experience some semblance of the emotional response generated by the work under discussion. Many times I (and I suspect you, too) have read a plot summary or other critical report and thought, "Man, that sounds awesome! I need to read/see THAT!" But music? Descriptions of instrumentation and comparisons to other pieces of music get you only so far. Music has to be experienced in order to be. . .well, experienced.
Fear not, though, Sloppists. I have devised a handy-dandy ranking scale to help you when trying to decide whether a piece of music or a particular performer is worth your time and effort. No longer do you need to feel inadequate about your paltry knowledge of music theory, your limited musical vocabulary, your inability to distinguish a tenor sax from a set of bongos (although that last one is really pathetic and you should do something about it). Because to make your life easier, all you really need to do is place each piece of music into one of the following four categories:
THE INFALLIBLES. These are those whose every product is pure gold--or at least worth your lunch money. They come out with something new? You buy it. And you can feel fairly confident that you won't be disappointed. These are your Springsteens, your U2s, your Elvis Costellos. You love them! (Either that, or you're wrong. Sorry, that's just how it works.) Other personal Infallibles--if you're looking for a last-minute Christmas gift for your favorite blogger (just sayin')--include Radiohead, Aimee Mann, Bright Eyes. Go get 'em.
THE GREATEST HITS CLUB. You hear these folks on the radio all the time, and you like pretty much everything you hear, but you don't particularly feel like you need to hear more. In other words, get yourself a "Greatest Hits" collection or two, and you'll probably have about everything you need. A number of classic rock bands fall neatly into this category: The Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who. (In case you're wondering, The Beatles are closer to Infallible.) Great bands all, to be sure, but does anyone really need to hear the B-side of "Honky-Tonk Women"? What? "You Can't Always Get What You Want"? Seriously?!? OK, bad example, but you get the point.
THE FREE CONCERT TICKET ARMY. OK, you don't really care one way or the other about these bands. They're fine. They play well, sound good. They probably even have one or two songs that you find yourself bopping along to on your morning drive. But while you're more than willing to download those one or two earworms to your iTunes, you wouldn't bother with a whole album. Still, if somebody came up to you and said, "Hey, Solipsist, I have an extra ticket to a ___________ concert, you wanna go?," you would--after explaining that you are NOT the Solipsist, no matter how great the resemblance--say, "Sure, why not. Beats organizing my sock drawer." These include a lot of current bands (who, admittedly, might graduate to the Greatest Hits Club over time): The Black Keys, for one, being a good example. I would put Los Lobos in this category, too, but God only knows what trouble that would get me into.
And then, finally, there are THE UNLISTENABLES. This category includes Tom Petty. That is all.
Fear not, though, Sloppists. I have devised a handy-dandy ranking scale to help you when trying to decide whether a piece of music or a particular performer is worth your time and effort. No longer do you need to feel inadequate about your paltry knowledge of music theory, your limited musical vocabulary, your inability to distinguish a tenor sax from a set of bongos (although that last one is really pathetic and you should do something about it). Because to make your life easier, all you really need to do is place each piece of music into one of the following four categories:
THE INFALLIBLES. These are those whose every product is pure gold--or at least worth your lunch money. They come out with something new? You buy it. And you can feel fairly confident that you won't be disappointed. These are your Springsteens, your U2s, your Elvis Costellos. You love them! (Either that, or you're wrong. Sorry, that's just how it works.) Other personal Infallibles--if you're looking for a last-minute Christmas gift for your favorite blogger (just sayin')--include Radiohead, Aimee Mann, Bright Eyes. Go get 'em.
THE GREATEST HITS CLUB. You hear these folks on the radio all the time, and you like pretty much everything you hear, but you don't particularly feel like you need to hear more. In other words, get yourself a "Greatest Hits" collection or two, and you'll probably have about everything you need. A number of classic rock bands fall neatly into this category: The Stones, Led Zeppelin, The Who. (In case you're wondering, The Beatles are closer to Infallible.) Great bands all, to be sure, but does anyone really need to hear the B-side of "Honky-Tonk Women"? What? "You Can't Always Get What You Want"? Seriously?!? OK, bad example, but you get the point.
THE FREE CONCERT TICKET ARMY. OK, you don't really care one way or the other about these bands. They're fine. They play well, sound good. They probably even have one or two songs that you find yourself bopping along to on your morning drive. But while you're more than willing to download those one or two earworms to your iTunes, you wouldn't bother with a whole album. Still, if somebody came up to you and said, "Hey, Solipsist, I have an extra ticket to a ___________ concert, you wanna go?," you would--after explaining that you are NOT the Solipsist, no matter how great the resemblance--say, "Sure, why not. Beats organizing my sock drawer." These include a lot of current bands (who, admittedly, might graduate to the Greatest Hits Club over time): The Black Keys, for one, being a good example. I would put Los Lobos in this category, too, but God only knows what trouble that would get me into.
And then, finally, there are THE UNLISTENABLES. This category includes Tom Petty. That is all.
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