We flipped on the iPod this morning, hit "Shuffle," and what do you suppose was the first song to come on? That's right: "New Year's Day." THE IPOD KNOWS! We may have to rethink our resistance to dressing it (or should we say, "him"?) up for Halloween.
********************************************************
So we're looking for a resolution for the new year. We've done well over the past two years. Two years ago, we resolved to start a blog that afflict the powerless and give comfort to the powerful.
(DIGRESSION: That's right. Hey, you comfort the powerful, they may actually give you stuff. Screw the meek! EOD)
What can we say? Done and done.
Last year, we resolved to exercise regularly, and we stuck with that, too. After a year of nearly daily exercise, we have dropped a little over thirty pounds. We've gone from a Body Mass Index of "Seriously, Dude" to the more moderate, "Suck in the gut and you look almost human." We'd like to get below the Mendoza Line (baseball reference, look it up) but not enough to make it a full-fledged, resolution-level goal.
So what now? We suppose we could quit smoking. First, we'd have to START smoking, though. If we're going to go that way, we'd rather start drinking beer again so we could give that up. Certainly tastes better than cigarettes.
Any suggestions, Nation? (Anonymous, we ask you to refrain from any obvious comments about foreswearing cats: That's just not going to happen.)
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Friday, December 31, 2010
From the Get a Life Files
We know we've discussed Facebook's "Family Feud" application, and we don't mean to start a trend or anything, but this morning we were playing ACOS's "Fast Money" round, and we got the question: "Name something you would dress up your iPod as for Halloween."
Has it come to this? Do people actually "dress up" their iPods? People who dress up their pets are pathetic enough.
But dressing up your iPod? What does that even mean?!?
Frankly, we had no idea. We typed in "pumpkin," which seemed reasonable enough, but found out that "pumpkin" was "already answered." Seems great minds and cousins think alike. Well, OK, we tried "skeleton." When the answers were revealed, we saw that ACOS's answer (pumpkin) received 0 points. So did "skeleton." The number one answer? "Ghost."
A napkin with eyeholes cut in it, maybe?
We hereby resolve in 2011 never to dress up our iPods. We do, however, think our cell phone would look adorable as Strawberry Shortcake.
Has it come to this? Do people actually "dress up" their iPods? People who dress up their pets are pathetic enough.
But dressing up your iPod? What does that even mean?!?
Frankly, we had no idea. We typed in "pumpkin," which seemed reasonable enough, but found out that "pumpkin" was "already answered." Seems great minds and cousins think alike. Well, OK, we tried "skeleton." When the answers were revealed, we saw that ACOS's answer (pumpkin) received 0 points. So did "skeleton." The number one answer? "Ghost."
A napkin with eyeholes cut in it, maybe?
We hereby resolve in 2011 never to dress up our iPods. We do, however, think our cell phone would look adorable as Strawberry Shortcake.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Maybe If We Had Video of the Birth with Volcanos in the Background. . . .
Hawaii's governor, Neil Abercrombie, is trying to debunk, once and for all, arguments of the "birthers"--conspiracy theorists unworthy of capitalization who insist that President Obama was not born in the United States and is thus ineligible to be president.
(DIGRESSION: We can almost sympathize with the "birthers"; we had doubts as to George W. Bush's presidential legitimacy based on a similarly tenuous premise: that he had received fewer VOTES than his opponent from those born in the United States. Oh, wait: That was actually true. EOD)
Barack Obama, of course, has provided a copy of his birth certificate--an official copy--which presumably was considered sufficient proof of his citizenship to allow him to get a passport or a social security card or, y'know, a JOB at various points in his life. Still "birthers" want to see the official "long form" of the birth certificate, which is not considered a public document in Hawaii. Governor Abercrombie has taken it upon himself to initiate discussions with the appropriate agencies in Hawaii to have them release this document, thus refuting, once and for all, this most specious of arguments.
Governor, we feel your pain, and, for what it's worth, we applaud your passion on this issue. But, seriously, why bother? Do you think for a second that, if and when you are able to publish this information, the "birthers" will back down? Do you really envision any scenario in which these folks acknowledge their mistake much less apologize? When you release the birth certificate, they will no doubt simply claim that this is a manufactured document--that you yourself are in cahoots--CAHOOTS!--with this illegitimate administration.
That's the beauty of a conspiracy theory: Any proof offered against it is just greater proof that the conspiracy exists.
(DIGRESSION: We can almost sympathize with the "birthers"; we had doubts as to George W. Bush's presidential legitimacy based on a similarly tenuous premise: that he had received fewer VOTES than his opponent from those born in the United States. Oh, wait: That was actually true. EOD)
Barack Obama, of course, has provided a copy of his birth certificate--an official copy--which presumably was considered sufficient proof of his citizenship to allow him to get a passport or a social security card or, y'know, a JOB at various points in his life. Still "birthers" want to see the official "long form" of the birth certificate, which is not considered a public document in Hawaii. Governor Abercrombie has taken it upon himself to initiate discussions with the appropriate agencies in Hawaii to have them release this document, thus refuting, once and for all, this most specious of arguments.
Governor, we feel your pain, and, for what it's worth, we applaud your passion on this issue. But, seriously, why bother? Do you think for a second that, if and when you are able to publish this information, the "birthers" will back down? Do you really envision any scenario in which these folks acknowledge their mistake much less apologize? When you release the birth certificate, they will no doubt simply claim that this is a manufactured document--that you yourself are in cahoots--CAHOOTS!--with this illegitimate administration.
That's the beauty of a conspiracy theory: Any proof offered against it is just greater proof that the conspiracy exists.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
First, Do No Harm. But If You DO Harm, Make Sure You Get Paid
We read an article a few days ago about psychiatric hospitals in New York suing indigent patients to recoup costs of treatment after those patients come into money.
In and of itself, we see no problem with this: We do not advocate withholding treatment from anyone because of an inability to pay; indeed, hospital budgets take into account a certain amount of charitable--i.e., unremunerated--services. At the same time, though, doctors and hospitals have a right to receive payment for services rendered. If people receive expensive medical services at no cost because they cannot pay, fine, but these same people have an ethical obligation to pay what they can and, if they receive some kind of financial windfall, they should repay the institution that served them in their time of need.
Here's the catch, though: The windfalls that the patients receive are often damages awards.
From lawsuits.
Against the psychiatric institutions themselves.
Thus, for example, a patient who successfully sued a hospital for negligent care that led to severe pain, suffering, and life-threatening infections, was subsequently sued by the hospital for $1.7 million dollars to reimburse for the costs of care.
We can't help but admire the sheer gall of these lawsuits, but we are troubled by the disturbing fact that judges tend to side with the healthcare providers. Think about the implication: If a hospital wants to recoup costs of indigent care, all it needs to do is to arrange an "accident." The bigger the damages award, the bigger the hospital's ultimate payday.
In and of itself, we see no problem with this: We do not advocate withholding treatment from anyone because of an inability to pay; indeed, hospital budgets take into account a certain amount of charitable--i.e., unremunerated--services. At the same time, though, doctors and hospitals have a right to receive payment for services rendered. If people receive expensive medical services at no cost because they cannot pay, fine, but these same people have an ethical obligation to pay what they can and, if they receive some kind of financial windfall, they should repay the institution that served them in their time of need.
Here's the catch, though: The windfalls that the patients receive are often damages awards.
From lawsuits.
Against the psychiatric institutions themselves.
Thus, for example, a patient who successfully sued a hospital for negligent care that led to severe pain, suffering, and life-threatening infections, was subsequently sued by the hospital for $1.7 million dollars to reimburse for the costs of care.
We can't help but admire the sheer gall of these lawsuits, but we are troubled by the disturbing fact that judges tend to side with the healthcare providers. Think about the implication: If a hospital wants to recoup costs of indigent care, all it needs to do is to arrange an "accident." The bigger the damages award, the bigger the hospital's ultimate payday.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Snow Report
The whiter the weather, the purpler the prose. We don't know what it is about snowfall that forces reporters to channel their inner Hemingway, but invariably, in the wake of a snowstorm, you get passages like this:
About that last one, if a reporter must wax poetic, doesn't he or she also have a responsibility not to mix metaphors?
"New York was a city of apocalyptic silence in the morning. The choreography of traffic, commuter trains and pedestrian hordes was missing. In its place, a plow scraped by now and then and a car or two churned past on deserted thoroughfares. Cabs were a myth. Side streets were impassable, and people muffled to the eyes slogged over huge drifts and mountains of curbside snow, trying to keep their footing.We understand the reporter probably needed to fill a certain number of column inches, and how much can one really stretch out, "It snowed a lot." But, still. "Apocalyptic silence"? "Choreography of traffic"? "Winds that had howled like banshees moderated through the day to cello velocities"?
"By late morning, the sun broke through and the skies cleared to pristine blue. Winds that had howled like banshees moderated through the day to cello velocities, and Central Park was a child’s dream of winter, with sledders, skiers and strollers out in the drifts, cutting trails to nowhere."
About that last one, if a reporter must wax poetic, doesn't he or she also have a responsibility not to mix metaphors?
Monday, December 27, 2010
Well Begun and All Done: War and Peace
The book: War and Peace
The author: Seriously?
Opening line: "'En bien, mon prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now merely estates, the private estates of the Buonaparte family.'"
Closing line: "While they were away Pierre, Natasha (now a countess in her own right), Marya and her nephew Coco, the old Count Rostov and his wife and Sonya also stayed on at Otradnoe for the whole summer and the winter of 1813 until Nikolai and Andrei could finally return."
Yes, Nation, the Solipsist just read War and Peace. To answer your next question: Because it was there.
As a supposedly literate type, the Solipsist has always felt somewhat ashamed at the gaps in his literary experience. So occasionally he takes it upon himself to fill one of these gaps. Think of it as a public service: We read the classics so you don't have to. We can proudly report that we have read many of the great unreadables: Remembrance of Things Past; Moby-Dick (yes, the whole thing--honestly, the first 100 pages and the last 50 are terrific--it's those 700 pages about penguins in the middle that kill you); a heap of Dickens; and now War and Peace.
The problem comes when one tries to comment on the thing: What is one supposed to add to the discussion? We feel pressure to come up with some statement of awe--to explain to our assembled masses just why this novel is considered the greatest literary masterpiece of, like, ever. We're not really sure. Let's put it this way: We're glad we read it, but it's never going to make our top-ten list of un-put-downable prose.
Of course, the novel is impressive. What strikes us is Tolstoy's ability to create a truly multi-dimensional character. Take Pierre (aka, Petya, aka Bezukhov, aka Count Bezukhov--you have to get used to characters having multiple names). When we first see him, through the eyes of a St. Petersburg socialite, he seems somewhat buffoonish; when we see him through the eyes of Prince Andrei, a friend, he appears likable; by the end of the novel, he has attained a certain nobility--in more than just title. In this respect, Tolstoy's characters are among the most realistic you will find in any books.
We can appreciate, too, the work and thought that go into a novel like this, dealing with the most profound of issues. For us, Tolstoy's major philosophical point, at least in terms of war and peace, is best expressed by one of the generals, Kutuzov: "He did not know how things stood, but he knew, as old people wise in life know, that time would do everything--everything would happen of itself. And of themselves is the best way for historical events to happen." Throughout the novel, the author intersperses historical analyses, debunking any sort of "great man" theory of military success: The retrospective laurels heaped upon winners of great victories are merely attempts by later generations to rationalize the workings of fate. Battles are won and lost not because of brilliant planning, but because of the nearly random and unpredictable actions of thousands of individuals.
At the same time, Tolstoy the author revels in his own ability to dictate the outcomes of his characters' lives. If "war" is an instrument of fate, then "peace," in the form of romantic and family dramas, is the instrument of the novelist. By the end of the novel, all the major characters have been satisfactorily paired off--we find this out, indeed, in the very last line when we read, as an aside, that Natasha is "now a countess." Perhaps the overall message is that war is ultimately a chaotic, unpredictable affair, but peace and happiness require careful planning.
The author: Seriously?
Opening line: "'En bien, mon prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now merely estates, the private estates of the Buonaparte family.'"
Closing line: "While they were away Pierre, Natasha (now a countess in her own right), Marya and her nephew Coco, the old Count Rostov and his wife and Sonya also stayed on at Otradnoe for the whole summer and the winter of 1813 until Nikolai and Andrei could finally return."
Yes, Nation, the Solipsist just read War and Peace. To answer your next question: Because it was there.
As a supposedly literate type, the Solipsist has always felt somewhat ashamed at the gaps in his literary experience. So occasionally he takes it upon himself to fill one of these gaps. Think of it as a public service: We read the classics so you don't have to. We can proudly report that we have read many of the great unreadables: Remembrance of Things Past; Moby-Dick (yes, the whole thing--honestly, the first 100 pages and the last 50 are terrific--it's those 700 pages about penguins in the middle that kill you); a heap of Dickens; and now War and Peace.
The problem comes when one tries to comment on the thing: What is one supposed to add to the discussion? We feel pressure to come up with some statement of awe--to explain to our assembled masses just why this novel is considered the greatest literary masterpiece of, like, ever. We're not really sure. Let's put it this way: We're glad we read it, but it's never going to make our top-ten list of un-put-downable prose.
Of course, the novel is impressive. What strikes us is Tolstoy's ability to create a truly multi-dimensional character. Take Pierre (aka, Petya, aka Bezukhov, aka Count Bezukhov--you have to get used to characters having multiple names). When we first see him, through the eyes of a St. Petersburg socialite, he seems somewhat buffoonish; when we see him through the eyes of Prince Andrei, a friend, he appears likable; by the end of the novel, he has attained a certain nobility--in more than just title. In this respect, Tolstoy's characters are among the most realistic you will find in any books.
We can appreciate, too, the work and thought that go into a novel like this, dealing with the most profound of issues. For us, Tolstoy's major philosophical point, at least in terms of war and peace, is best expressed by one of the generals, Kutuzov: "He did not know how things stood, but he knew, as old people wise in life know, that time would do everything--everything would happen of itself. And of themselves is the best way for historical events to happen." Throughout the novel, the author intersperses historical analyses, debunking any sort of "great man" theory of military success: The retrospective laurels heaped upon winners of great victories are merely attempts by later generations to rationalize the workings of fate. Battles are won and lost not because of brilliant planning, but because of the nearly random and unpredictable actions of thousands of individuals.
At the same time, Tolstoy the author revels in his own ability to dictate the outcomes of his characters' lives. If "war" is an instrument of fate, then "peace," in the form of romantic and family dramas, is the instrument of the novelist. By the end of the novel, all the major characters have been satisfactorily paired off--we find this out, indeed, in the very last line when we read, as an aside, that Natasha is "now a countess." Perhaps the overall message is that war is ultimately a chaotic, unpredictable affair, but peace and happiness require careful planning.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Christmas Bonus
Well, technically, we suppose this would be a Boxing Day Bonus. We said we'd be back tomorrow, but we had a moment and thought we'd share this:
On the road today, we passed a store called, "Food and Gas." Let's hear it for truth in advertising!
On the road today, we passed a store called, "Food and Gas." Let's hear it for truth in advertising!
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