Senior Moments

As the NCAA basketball season winds down, and March marches inexorably toward madness, many colleges are hosting "Senior Nights" at ball games.  These games, typically the final home game of the regular season, offer fans the chance to honor and bid farewell to those players who will soon be graduating.  But these days, virtually all of the best players--those destined for NBA superstardom--leave college as underclassmen; many are "one and done" players, serving their obligatory (since an NBA rule change) freshman-year sentence in relatively luxurious serfdom at a major university, before declaring for the draft and reaping millions come June.  So, if you think about it--and I do--those seniors everyone is bidding adieu are almost inevitably not stars, not frontline players, not likely to grace the cover of Sports Illustrated or the back pages of your local tabloids any time soon.  They are talented, to be sure, but not quite talented enough to rise to the top tier of their field.  One cannot help but wonder--and perhaps worry a little--about how these young men and women will fare once they depart the cozy confines of their university gymnasia, as highly educated (we can only hope!) members of the common herd.

On the radio this morning, I heard a commercial for a well-known gecko-ridden auto insurance company, in which a prospective customer's "conscience" exhorted him to switch to this particular insurance company, on the grounds that doing so would save the consumer significant amounts of cash.  This is wrong!, I thought: The job of the conscience is to help us discern right from wrong, to provide us with moral and ethical guidance, not to serve as some sort of mental financial consultant.  The conscience is the Jiminy Cricket to our Pinocchio, the Watson to our Sherlock--or Wilson to our House, if you prefer.  Let our left brains sort through the minutiae of dollars and sense, but leave us our consciences to help us navigate the rocky shoals of soul-endangering temptation!  Do not cheapen this precious characteristic which may, it is no exaggeration to say, be the very thing that separates humanity from the baser inhabitants of our fallen world!  And then, in a flash, it hit me:  I am probably thinking much too hard about this.

The Solipsist Picks the Oscars (Yes, I Know!)

Sorry, sorry, sorry.  I know I'm a little late, but I didn't want to leave Solipsist Nation without its annual Oscar picks.  As usual, I have seen none of the nominate movies.  Nevertheless, through a combination of careful review of critical responses to the nominations, a statistical analysis of domestic and international box office results, and a cursory reading of this morning's paper, I am confident in my ability to predict winners.  To wit:

BEST PICTURE: Despite the overwhelmingly critical response to "American Hustle" and the popularity of "Gravity," I have to go with "Twelve Years a Slave," Steve McQueen's (no relation) epic tale of, I'm guessing, a guy who was a slave for twelve years.

BEST ACTOR: Matthew McConaughey (or, as John Travolta would say, Michael Mozaleen) deserves to win this award, as he is currently the best actor on television in what is currently the best show on television, "True Detective."  So I'm picking him.

BEST ACTRESS: Based on the fact that Cate Blanchett (Clark Brazent) has clearly garnered more votes than any of the other nominees, I suspect that she will beat out contenders like Amy Adams (Ahmed Ajams) and Meryl Streep (Marcel Speerce)--the latter of whom was not even IN a movie this year, but, you know, she's Meryl Streep, and, by law, she must be nominated.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Despite winning the award last night, Lupita Nyong'o (Louisa Reynzo--and you know you're in trouble when your Travoltafied name sounds MORE normal than your real one) will, I think, ultimately lose to June Squibb (Jude Smoith). This is my "upset special."

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: Finally, Jared Leto (Jed Lopeez), having been named "Best Supporting Actor" last night, will win the award.  Next year, Leto will win "Best Actress"--have you seen that guy?  He's beautiful!

Put on a Friendly Face

The other day, a student spoke about how "unwelcoming" a college could be.  She spoke of being made to feel like a nuisance when she sought help from college staff members.  Then someone else--an administrator, this time--talked about how he once, as a sort of experiment, decided to stand in line at the Admissions counter to get a sense of what the experience was like.  He described being struck by the preponderance of signage advising people what they couldn't do: "Please end all cell phone conversations before speaking to the clerical staff"; "Do not place anything on the counter"; "Please do not tease or feed the financial aid representatives."  I kid about that last one, but you get the idea.

The student then went on to describe how, from her point of view, so much of the communication she experienced at the college took this kind of negative or domineering tone:  the typical class syllabus, for example.  Now, a syllabus is, essentially, a contract between an instructor and his class.  It outlines what the course will cover, as well as the expectations for both students and faculty.  As such, the syllabus must be fairly extensive and formal.  And this formality can certainly be intimidating: "Assignments must be handed in on the dates indicated. No late assignments will be accepted, and students will receive a grade of '0' for any assignment not handed in": "All written assignments must follow MLA format.  Any papers that fail to adhere to MLA format will receive a failing grade": "Students who miss more than six hours of class will be dropped from the class."

Again, as a quasi-legal document, the course syllabus must serve its contractual obligation and clearly delineate the rules and expectations.  But what the student said got me thinking about why (or whether) an official document had to be so draconian sounding.  What would a "softer" syllabus sound like?  "In order for me [i.e., the instructor] to give you helpful feedback on your work, you need to make sure that you hand work in on time.  Unfortunately, due to the limited time we have over the course of the semester, I cannot accept late work"; "In this class, you will learn how to document sources properly using MLA format.  After you learn these techniques, you will need to apply them to your formal written assignments for this--and other--classes"; "We cover a lot of information in our class meetings, so, if you miss more than six hours of class, you will not be able to do all the necessary work to achieve a passing grade.  In that event, I may drop you from the class so that you do not receive a failing grade."

A difference without a distinction?  Possibly.  Still, it pays for an organization to think about the minor variations possible in the ways it interacts with its clientele. Small gestures in the service of better presentation may make a big difference to the customer.

Olympic Musings.

Every Olympics brings new events.  Often, these are merely old events with the addition of a new gender category, e.g., men's rhythmic gymnastics, or with an added element of synchronicity, e.g., synchronized pole-vaulting.  I'm kidding about that last one.  I think.  OK, maybe not.

Anyway, this year's Sochi Olympics feature the debut of women's ski-jumping.  To which I must ask, Why wasn't this a thing already?  Were women somehow more susceptible to the effects of gravity--or would it be "less"--I'm not even sure where the concern would lie.  I can't imagine that women would have any greater or lesser difficulty in hurtling through the air than men.  What took so long?

And then, there is also the question of why some sports need to be divided by gender.  Sure, I can understand why women don't compete directly against men in sports like hockey or wrestling--not that that wouldn't be fun.  But do we really need to have separate men's and women's teams for curling?  Couldn't we just get the best men and the best women to compete together in what is, after all, a truly idiotic sport?

Can I Sell Pay-Per-View Tickets to Michael Sam Vs. Richie Incognito?

Reading the ongoing coverage of the scandal in the Miami Dolphins locker room, I find myself struggling to maintain a politically correct attitude.  For those of you unfamiliar with the situation, you really need to read the papers more.  But here's what happened:

Last October, Jonathan Martin, an offensive tackle for the Dolphins, abruptly left the team, claiming that ongoing taunting by his teammates, chief among them Richie Incognito, had become intolerable. Incognito was subsequently suspended indefinitely from the team, and, when Martin's accusations went public, a spate of handwringing about the bullying, homophobic culture in NFL locker rooms ensued. Yesterday, a report commissioned by the NFL described the situation as a "classic case of bullying."

Now, let me stipulate: From everything I have read and seen, it seems Richie Incognito is a class-A schmuck, an asshole of epic proportions, and someone who could benefit from nothing so much as a swift punch to the face.  That being said, am I alone in wishing that, rather than leaving the team, Jonathan Martin had administered said swift punch?

And while Incognito and others certainly are bullies, I'm not completely convinced that Martin was bullied.  Because, look: What do people say to bullies when trying to get them to change their obnoxious ways: "Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"  Well, when it comes to Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin, that is exactly what Incognito did!  Jonathan Martin, for all his apparent sensitivity, was hardly defenseless: He was no 98-pound weakling--much less a place-kicker!  He was, in fact, quite literally the same size as his tormentor: 6'5" and 312 pounds, compared to Incognito's 6'3 and 319.  If Martin had, in response to Incognito's torments, reared back and clocked Incognito, does anyone doubt that the bullying would very likely have stopped?  Moreover, the bullying of other people in the locker room, including an assistant trainer who was certainly less able to defend himself than Martin, might have diminished as well.

Should someone have to put up with incessant taunting at one's workplace?  No.  But Jonathan Martin chose to accept a generous salary to play a sport that is inherently violent and filled with players not exactly known for their emotional maturity.  I don't excuse Richie Incognito's behavior, and I think it would be great if NFL locker rooms were less hostile places to work.  But in addition to sensitivity training for the more Neanderthal members of the NFL family, a great way for the culture to change would be for everybody to remember the standard advice--or at least what used to be the standard advice--about dealing with bullies: If you stand up to a bully, he will often back down.

And if Michael Sam--the NFL prospect who just came out as gay--finds himself in a locker room with Richie Incognito, is there anyone who thinks Sam will back down or leave the team in the face of homophobic taunts?

Zoo Story

Everybody's ganging up on the Copenhagen Zoo!  It's not fair, really.  Just because zoo officials butchered an adorable giraffe named Marius and fed him to the lions--I mean, is that any reason to get all indignant?  Be honest: Who hasn't wanted to kill a giraffe?  Or, for that matter, who hasn't watched Les Miserables and wanted to kill someone named Marius?  And it's not like the zoo had much choice: As they explained, Marius, while perfectly healthy, shared too many genetic attributes with his fellow zoo-mates, so the only way for the zoo to prevent potentially harmful inbreeding was to blow the poor fellow's brains out with a bolt gun!  What else could they do?!?

Well, OK, the COULD have given him to one of the other zoos that offered to take him in. . . . Or, I suppose they could have just neutered him. . . . Or just kept him separated from the other giraffes if it came to that. . . . So, yes, they could have done all kinds of things other than kill him.  But where would be the fun in that?

Because, let's face it, people basically go to zoos for the same reason they go to NASCAR races: the potential for bloodshed.  Who hasn't stood at the railing of, say, the polar bear exhibit, just waiting for an unwary seal to wander into the enclosure?  Who hasn't wished to see the Bengal tiger go to town in the lemur habitat?  Not me, that's for sure.

Indeed, I think Copenhagen might be on to something: The notion of a petting zoo is, let's face it, hopelessly passé.  But a killing zoo? I'm thinking there could be a giant roulette wheel at the front entrance, with all the resident animals on it.  Every morning, I spin of the wheel would determine that day's victim--uh, featured performer.  Today an eland, tomorrow a hippo, and the day after that, a giant sloth!  And why should the zookeepers have all the fun?  Visitors could get in on the action for a small extra charge.  How much would you pay to drop a toaster into the dolphin tank?  Or play Whac-a-Mole with actual moles?!?

So kudos to the Copenhagen Zoo for showing us all the future in zoological entrepreneurship!  And on behalf of the psychoanalytic industry, may I also thank the zoo for the uptick in revenue that will no doubt occur from all those children seeking therapy after watching Marius' demise!