Can't Believe I'm Doing This

I am now going to do something that I fear imperils my soul: I am going to help the New York Yankees.

Last night, Alex Rodriguez, an admitted steroid user and all-around questionable character, hit the 660th home run of his Major League career.  This ties him with Willie Mays, an indisputably better player and human being, for fourth place on the all-time home-run list.  Whatever.  As Mays himself indicated in a congratulatory message to Rodriguez, records are made to be broken, milestones are made to be passed.

In this story, though, there is an interesting subplot--one that, for a longtime Yankee hater such as YNSHC, is somewhat delicious to observe.  Years ago, when Rodriguez signed his current contract with the Yankees, he was promised large financial bonuses for reaching certain historic numbers.  One of these was, in fact, 660 home runs.  So now, after Rodriguez has served a year's suspension from baseball for violating the league's substance abuse rules, the Yankees have studiously avoided referring to the Mays-tying homer as a milestone--or, as much as they could, referring to it at all.  They will do whatever they can to avoid shelling out a $6-million bonus to Rodriguez.  Rodriguez himself is not really talking about the situation, either.

No one wants to see Rodriguez get this money, but many would also like to see the Yankees fork it over.  Personally, I think if this matter goes to arbitration, the Yankees will lose: They signed a contract, Rodriguez is--like it or not--a player in good standing with the league right now, they have o pay up.  But it seems to me that there's a good, face-saving solution for everyone.

Rodriguez certainly doesn't need the money--his base salary for just this year is something like $25 million.  At the same time, the Yankees can certainly afford to pay: $6-million dollars is couch-cushion money to the Evil Empire from the Bronx.  So both sides should just step up and state that they have reached an agreement to donate the milestone bonus to charity--maybe building little league ballparks or supporting anti-drug programs.  Everybody gets great publicity, a worthwhile cause gets supported, and somebody gets a nice tax write-off to boot.

You're welcome, Yankees.  Now rot in hell.

Smoke Signals, Maybe?

Today I received the following e-mail:

          "Solipsist:

            "I need to find a way to communicate with you that I have completed the following..."

Followed by a list of several tasks that I had asked this person to complete.

So now I just need to find a way to communicate with this person that e-mail is a form of communication.

Well?

Over the last year, seemingly every week has featured a new instance of extreme police brutality, resulting in the death of an unarmed man.  The fact that all the victims were black has only aggravated the underlying outrage, adding a grimy layer of institutional racism to what was at best an ugly situation indicating a need for better training for--and perhaps screening of--those who would serve as police officers in our communities.  But I've been struck by something: In nearly every news article written about these killings--from Michael Brown (Ferguson, MO) to Eric Garner (Staten Island) to Freddie Gray (Baltimore)--we see some variation of the following disclaimer:

"Because no nationwide database of police killings exists, it is impossible to draw definitive conclusions about the actions of the officers in this case."

Fair enough, but doesn't this suggest it might be time to start compiling such a database?

Crack Is Wack

"Trivia Crack" is ridiculously easy. I mean, "Wheel of Fortune" easy--strike that, "Trivia Crack" makes "Wheel of Fortune" look like "Jeopardy!" And it makes "Jeopardy!" look like the Bar exam--if the Bar exam were written in ancient Finno-Ugric. What I'm saying is, it doesn't exactly tax one's mental capacity.

It does, however, kind of restore one's faith in humanity...or at any rate, it restores one's faith in humanity's faith in humanity. Because, think about it: You're playing this trivia game on a mobile device, which, by definition, is web-enabled. So, if you find yourself stumped by questions like, "Who wrote 'The Raven' and 'The Tell-Tale Heart'?" (actual question) or "Which of these is NOT a style of dance? Merengue, Salsa, Tango, Bogota" (actual question), then all you need to do is tap the "Chrome" icon or ask Siri. Yet presumably, people don't do this--or at least people playing the game are trusting that their competitors won't do this; otherwise, they wouldn't play the game, right?

So thank you, "Trivia Crack." You've proven that people will trust other people to allow themselves to look clueless rather than cheat on a meaningless game. Faith in humanity, restored.

Ignorance Is. . . Something.

A recent psychological study suggested a positive correlation between IQ and anxiety: The smarter you are, the more you worry.

This hardly qualifies as earth-shaking news. I've always thought that, if you're not worrying, you're not paying attention. I find myself thinking about this now, though, as I wrestle with vague feelings of non-specific dread. I imagine this is largely a function of it being Sunday: The imminence of a new work-week often engenders a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach, a leaden fuzziness in the brain, a slight ringing in the ears. . . . Y'know, now that I write this, I hope this is just anxiety; otherwise, I probably have some kind of tumor.

But seriously, folks.

The funny thing is, this dread has occurred throughout my life, regardless of what was going on. I remember during the early '90's, watching "In Living Color" on Sunday nights, laughing but also struggling with an awareness that this was pretty much the last bit of enjoyment I was going to experience before having to drag myself out of bed less than twelve hours later to begin another stressful week of college classes and student-teaching and just, y'know, life.  Back then, I would tell myself that this dread would pass--that once I got through the trials of those days, things would get better.

And they have gotten better. I mean, I basically like my job. I like my co-workers. And some days I even get the opportunity to go home feeling like I've had a positive impact on the world around me.  And yet the dread persists.  Ignorance may be bliss, but isn't it stupid to keep subjecting myself to dread for no particular reason?

Zen and the Art of Successful Auditions

A lot of the actors I know, whatever their relative level of experience or talent, hate auditioning. They find it stressful. Which I suppose it is. I myself, though, have always rather enjoyed the experience. It's fun to get up onstage and do a monologue or some cold reading from a script. I mean, it's acting! And acting is fun! Why else would anyone do it? And I'm convinced that my comparatively successful track record--I tend to get cast in the plays I try out for--has as much to do with the fact that I basically have fun at auditions as it does with whatever relative reserves of talent or experience I possess. The formula is something like this: Auditioning = fun. Fun = relaxed. Relaxed = natural. Natural = cast-able.

I offer this advice not so much to other actors, who I suspect already know this on an intellectual level, even if they might mutter, "Easier said than done." Rather, I offer this to anyone who faces an "audition" of his own, be it in the form of interviewing for a dream job or asking out that cute co-worker: Don't focus on the outcome. Enjoy the process. Worst case scenario: You'll have some fun doing something that could lead to something wonderful. Best case scenario, you have the fun and the wonderful thing, too.

A Modest Proposal

Much has been written about the attempts on the part of Major League Baseball to speed up the pace of play. A countdown clock now looms over the outfield of every ballpark, ticking away the seconds between innings. Pitchers and hitters are also on the clock, as they face fines for wandering around the mound or leaving the batter's box between pitches. No crackdowns on excessive scratching or spitting yet, unless these activities occur during walks around the mound or require leaving the batter's box. Stay tuned.

I would like to make a modest proposal, though, that would speed up the games AND likely increase the number of runs scored--a lack of offense in the post-steroid era being another major concern of MLB. I would like to propose that a manager be allowed a maximum of one pitching change per inning. A starter could be pulled at any time, but, once a reliever is brought in, that reliever MUST finish the inning. If he gets shelled, he gets shelled. This would also get rid of those frankly annoying instances of a manager bringing in a righty to face a right-handed batter, and then pulling that pitcher if the next hitter is a lefty. Obviously, exceptions would have to be made in the case of an injury, but otherwise, this would clearly shave significant minutes off of most games--and/or allow fans to see more runs scored if a fresh arm can't be brought in to bail out someone who just doesn't have it on a given night. And frankly, this would be a better solution than the introduction of timers into a fundamentally timeless sport.