All Apologies--Well, Maybe Not "All"

First off, the Solipsist would once again like to heartily beseech the forgiveness of his (very) private army of loyalists for his inexcusable lapse yesterday.  And this is NOT just because Mayor Bloomberg has inexplicably failed to contact him.  The Solipsist has realized he was wrong to stomp all over the hearts of those who have given him so much.

(However, Mayor Bloomberg?  This blogger is still available for service.  Just say the word.  And send the jet.)

Speaking of which, does anyone else find it amusing that the "Google Ad" appearing on "The Solipsist" today (and, indeed, which has appeared several days over the last week) is for a private charter jet service?  This can't just be coincidence, can it?  One assumes that some algorithm at Google headquarters sifts through Blogger sites, looking for keywords, and then places ads accordingly.  So, as long as the Solipsist keeps going on and on about private jets, we can expect this ad (or its ilk) to continue.

Private jets, private jets, private jets!

There, that oughta hold 'em.

Can the Solipsist make OTHER ads appear, simply by mentioning things?

Pepsi Cola!

BMW!

Huggies!

Edward Gibbons' Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire!

What other powers of invocation might Your Not So Humble Correspondent access?  Let's see:

Tahitian vacation!

15,000 square foot mansion!

Assorted meats and cheeses!

Hmmm. . . .well, nothing yet, but YNSHC will keep you posted.

Dear Mayor Bloomberg:

       "Aides to Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg hopscotch around the world on two Falcon 900 private jets, where wine and sushi are served.

        "They stay at the Four Seasons in London (about $400 a night), the Intercontinental in Paris ($320) and the King David in Jerusalem ($345).  Room service?  The mayor pays for it all.  Even the laundry."

                                  The New York Times, February 6, 2009

Dear Mayor Bloomberg:

Dear, dear, DEAREST Mayor Bloomberg:

The Solipsist would like to humbly offer his services to your re-election campaign for mayor of New York.

Although new to the arena of big-city politics, the Solipsist believes he can be of great use to you.  The Solipsist has his virtual finger on the virtual pulse of Blogger.com.  Why, it's only a matter of time before he's listed in "Blogs of Note."  (In fact, were he hired for your campaign, he is fairly certain it would vault him into this stratospheric position post-haste.)

And yet, while his readership is elite, he is also a tribune of the masses.  See, for example, his blistering post (2/1/09) attacking the self-absorbed Masters of the Universe who ignore the privations of the general public and blow millions on private Falcon Jets!

Uh-oh.

Make that, please pay no attention to the Solipsist's snarky comments about self-absorbed Masters of the Universe who ignore the privations of the general public and blow millions on private Falcon Jets!  The Solipsist doesn't know what he was thinking!  (But, y'know, if you want to read my blog, take the poll, leave a comment. . . .)

Anyway, as a once-and-ever New Yorker, the Solipsist has been searching for the perfect opportunity to take him home.  Your campaign surely provides such an opportunity.  It combines the Solipsist's love of public service with his love of bathing in yak's milk.  The Solipsist is all about serving the public, especially if it allows him the chance to maintain the lifestyle to which he would like to become accustomed.

The Solipsist will happily provide his resume and references upon request.  Any time.  Seriously, just ask. . . . 

Really, Mayor Bloomberg, the Solipsist needs this!  He's living in a hole!  He's surrounded by taskmasters who chain him to a keyboard and force him to type type type out opinion after opinion.  For God's sake!  There have been posts about Blackberries and Ricardo Montalban!  The Solipsist can't take it any more!

Please, Mayor Bloomberg.  The Solipsist would love to fly in a private jet.  He'll sit in the back and be quiet.  Just hire me, Mayor Bloomberg!  Take me away from this drudgery!

Respectfully yours,

The Solipsist.

(PS: In case he doesn't hear from Michael Bloomberg, the Solipsist would like to ask his loyal readers and the people looking over his shoulder to ignore the above post.  He loves you all.  Truly!)

God Out of the Machine

In classical Greek theater, when a problem was intractable but a solution was nonetheless needed, playwrights would fall back upon a trusty device: They would have a god swoop in and set everything right. This technique is known as deus ex machina--literally, "god from the machine"--so called because the actor playing the god du jour (Apollo, Zeus, whoever) would be lowered onto the stage by means of a mechanical device.

Presumably satisfactory to an audience of Athenians accustomed to such divine manifestations in their daily lives (what were those guys smoking?), this dramatic technique has fallen into disfavor. It's at best the stuff of fairy tales: The rich uncle no one's ever met before suddenly dies, leaving our heroes millions of dollars and allowing them to stave off foreclosure; a lightning bolt strikes down the killer, just as he's about to finish off the damsel in distress. In its most amusing form, it's an "Infinite Improbability Drive" from The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, saving Arthur Dent from imminent death as he's shot out of one spacecraft only to be miraculously picked up by another. But more often. as Annie Wilkes, the psychotic fan in "Misery" might put it, it's cheating. And then she'd smash your foot with a sledgehammer. And who wants that?

But what would Annie Wilkes think of the modern antithesis of the deus ex machina? This would be the device where the gods, rather than helping our protagonists, are more mischievously inclined. In these days of relative technological superiority (compared to the ancient Greeks, anyway), our dramatists often need to contort themselves in order NOT to have the heroes escape too easily.

How many times have you seen a "Star Trek" episode wherein the transporters are non-functional due to an "ion storm"? Now, heaven knows ion storms are a pain in the collective posterior: If the Solipsist had a nickel for every time he's been late to work because of an ion storm. . . . Still, it seems to happen all too conveniently for dramatic purposes.

Closer to home, and perhaps more reasonably, think about how many times Mulder and/or Scully (and/or just about anyone in a slasher movie) is unable to get a cell phone signal. Now, this is certainly something that does happen in the real world, but is there something about the proximity of serial killers or unexplained phenomena that plays havoc with cell phones? Does nobody in Hollywood subscribe to Verizon?

The worst example of this sort of thing ("deus ex mocking-us"?) is when someone is fleeing some horror and inexplicably trips. This is especially delicious if the character happens to be some sort of gymnast or otherwise athletically inclined person. The presence of danger not only knocks out cellphones but apparently messes with people's equilibrium as well.

So is it not just as much of a cheat to have conveniently scheduled pitfalls crop up as it is to have a god out of the machine to save us? If writers need gods to spice up their plotlines, for good or for ill, well, God help them then. And God help their readers!

Blackberry Raspberry

"Sent via Blackberry."

This is apparently the closing du jour.  Nowadays, the Solipsist often opens an e-mail from Friend of Solipsist and others with the above-mentioned tag at the end.  Isn't it bad enough that we have product placement in everything from "The Office" to the classroom?  Do we need it at the end of our e-mails?

Since when has it become important for the mode of message delivery to call attention to itself?  In olden times, did users of carrier pigeons feel the need to explicitly identify the messengers: "This note transported via Mr. Pidgles"?  Did Cherokee signalmen have to puff out a disclaimer at the end of their communiques: "This smoke signal generated via the waving of an Acme Indian Blanket"?

What are the corporate chieftains at Blackberry worried about?  Sure, without that message at the end, one might assume that the message was tapped out on a laptop or texted from a standard cell-phone (So 2008!).  But what would be the harm in that?  Is Blackberry that insecure that they feel the need constantly to remind people of their existence?

Is there some distinction in the quality of messages typed on a Blackberry?  If so, the Solipsist has yet to discover it.  If anything, it would seem that such messages would be shorter than others, unless one has a passion for typing on a teeny tiny typewriter.

Fun fact: Did you know that typing the word typewriter uses only keys in the top row of a "qwerty" keyboard?  Let's see Blackberries top that!

This post sent via good old-fashioned desktop!  So there!

Congratulations!

Congratulations to Eric Holder, THE FIRST AFRICAN-AMERICAN ATTORNEY GENERAL IN OUR COUNTRY'S HISTORY.

Sort of anticlimactic, huh?

For Presidential Consideration

The Solipsist would hereby like to offer himself as a candidate for a cabinet office of President Obama's choice. His qualifications are as follows:

The Solipsist. . .

Has always filed his tax returns on time.

Has boring tax returns.

Has never served as a lobbyist.

Has seldom spent time in lobbies.

Has never worked for/been solicited by/shared a "special moment" with/googled any of the following:
--The National Rifle Association
--Planned Parenthood
--Greenpeace
--NAMBLA
--The Minnesota Vikings
--The Spongebob Squarepants Appreciation Society (aka, NAMBLA).

Has never used any of the following:
--Crack cocaine
--Steroids
--Viagra
--A loofa

Promises to toe the administration's line on any and all topics associated with his cabinet post, even if they're downright silly.

Make that, "ESPECIALLY if they're downright silly."

Has very straight teeth.

Smells nice.

Works and plays well with others.

Enjoys making lists.

The Solipsist is available for confirmation hearings immediately. His good friend Bernie Madoff has offered to fly him out to Washington on his private jet.

Oops.

Darn it!

Let Them Fly Jets!

So, the game turned out to be better than most people were expecting, huh?  It looked like the Cardinals would actually pull it out there before order was restored.  The commercials weren't too bad, either: No instant classics, but no appallingly bad taste, either.  The Solipsist liked the Denny's commercial featuring the wiseguys trying to plan a hit while an overeager waitress spray-painted a whipped-cream smiley face on pancakes.  But since this was promoting a "free breakfast" giveaway for this Tuesday, one suspects that this commercial will not get a lot of airplay.  And Bruce was, of course, Bruce.  Who could ask for anything more?

Well, apparently, the folks at Citigroup could ask for more, in the form of $42 million corporate jet.  (How's THAT for a segue?)  This is relatively old news, but William Garvey, an apologist for the private-jet industry, had an op-ed in today's paper.  He explained that corporate jets should not be considered extravagances: They allow businessmen to be more productive, you see.  With a private jet, dealmakers can swoop into town ahead of their competitors to seal deals, and they can make productive use of flight time by going over that PowerPoint presentation one more time.  The Solipsist is sure that this was the sole reason for Citigroup's purchase.  Harvey did make some good points about the private-jet industry providing lots of juicy American jobs; of course, this would have been more convincing had Citigroup not been purchasing a jet from a French company (Falcon).

The Solipsist would, however, like to go on record as saying that all the fuss being made over the jet is somewhat disproportionate.  Assuming a bailout package of, say, $20 billion, even a $50 million dollar outlay for a jet represents a one-quarter of one percent share of the total package.  Of course, companies SHOULDN'T be spending such money in such seemingly frivolous ways, but considering the relative smallness of the outlay and the perhaps reasonable logic of William Harvey, one could almost make a case for it.

The Solipsist will not do that, however.

Because this all goes back to the power of symbols (discussed in last Sunday's post--1/25/09). Reality is not always the point.  The world and the country face problems--problems that will not be dispelled easily.  The country may well claw its way out of its economic malaise, but it will take time.  In the meantime, every effort must be made to show the people--US--that the powers-that-be get it.  When Marie Antoinette said "Let them eat cake," it was less a callous statement of contempt and more a sign that she just didn't understand what was going on.  And this lack of understanding led to revolution.

The Sans-Culottes may not be sharpening their swords in the streets of Chicago just yet, but beware.  Corporate jets start to look like a whole lot of cake to hungry eyes.