When the phone rings, you never expect it to be the representatives of a major syndicated game show. Not that we were complaining when, nearly a year after our audition, the representatives from "Jeopardy!" called to tell us we were going to appear during the final week of the 1999-2000 season. A couple of weeks later, we were winging our way to LA.
On the plane to California, we sat next to an extremely attractive woman. From Sweden, no less! Why did stuff like this never happen to us when we were single? Here we were, with this awesome icebreaker, too. At least, we thought it was an awesome icebreaker. Turns out being a contestant on an American trivia show is less of an aphrodisiac to the Nordic set than we might have thought. (There is a certain sub-culture of Alex Trebek mustache fetsihists among the youth of Albania, but that's a whole 'nother thing.) Still, it did give us something to chat about during the five-hour flight.
"By the way," we asked as we deplaned at LAX, "I know I should know this, but what is the capital of Sweden."
"Stockholm."
"Right." Hey, you never knew what might come in handy during "Final Jeopardy!"
*****************************************
"Jeopardy!" taped two days a week, Tuesdays and Wednesdays, five shows each day. We showed up on Tuesday and met up with other prospective contestants from all over the nation. One woman had attended the previous week's tapings, and she told us about the current champion, Doug from Toledo. Doug had finished the previous "week's" tapings as a two-day champion. "He's really good," the woman informed us. How good? His two-day total was almost $40,000. These were back in the days when a typical champion might finish the day with about $10,000, so an average daily winning of $20,000 was intimidating to say the least. Immediately, the day's prospective challengers did the game-show math: He'd already won twice, he could only win three more times, and the show would tape a total five episodes that day. The lucky contestants would appear in the fourth or fifth show to be taped that day.
Future contestants sit in a special section of the audience while the show is taped. You sit in this "bullpen" until your name is called. The first of the day's tapings was about to begin, and our name was not called. At the time, we felt a little disappointed: Sure Doug from Toledo had amassed an impressive total, but was he really THAT tough? Adrenaline rushed through our veins, but we would have to wait. We felt frustrated.
After the first few minutes of the game, we felt relieved. Doug from Cleveland was a buzzsaw. The other two contestants didn't stand a chance. By the time "Final Jeopardy" came along, Doug had an insurmountable, ridiculous, humiliating lead. When the producers called the names of the next two sacrificial lambs, every prospective contestant was praying not to hear his own name called. We did not hear our own name called. Game two went much the same as game one. As the credits rolled, everyone in the bullpen looked around nervously. We knew two of us were about to be fed to the dragon. Two final victims would have their "Jeopardy!" dreams ignominiously snuffed out, and then the rest of us would stand a chance on a theoretically more-level playing field. We closed our eyes and hoped not to have our name called.
"Would the Solipsist please report to make-up. Solipsist to make-up. Solipsist, you're up!"
(with apologies to ACOS: TO BE CONTINUED)
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Certain Kind of Fame Eludes Us
Some kids we went to school with dreamt of becoming Michael Jordan when they grew up. For those who dreamt of world domination through music, it was Bono. Kids who thought more about saving the world. . . .well, they wanted to be Bono, too. The Solipsist wanted to grow up to be Frank Spangenberg.
Some of you are nodding your heads in recognition. OK, one of you is nodding your head in recognition.
Frank Spangenberg was a New York City policeman. His bigger claim to fame was the most ridiculous handlebar moustache this side of the OK Corral. And his biggest claim to fame was holding the record for prize-money won on "Jeopardy!" Now this was back when champions had to "retire" after five wins, so Spangenberg's record-setting total was a relatively modest sum-- just over $102,000. But our admiration had little to do with the money; it was the relative ease with which Frank dispatched the competition. He was one of the first of those players who just never seemed to come close to being threatened by the competition. We wanted to follow in his footsteps.
We got our chance in the spring of 1999. "Jeopardy!" held a contestant search in New York. We went down to a fancy Midtown hotel. There, several hundred aspiring contestants milled about, waiting to be called in to take the test.
Yes, the test. It is a point of pride among Jeopardy! afficionados that the contestants actually have to be able to compete intellectually--which probably accounts for the relative unattractiveness of contestants when compared to those of other game shows. Anyone who looks good in a wetsuit can sign up to be locked in a piranha-filled tank. It takes brains to answer questions about French philosophy and things that start with the letter 'B'.
The test consists of 50 "Jeopardy!" style clues (which you do not have to answer in the form of a question). The producers don't tell you how many questions you have to get right (we suspect they just take the top 30 scorers from each group). If you make it past the test, you have an "audition." The screeners assured us that it really didn't matter whether we got the answers right--we only had to be natural and look as though we wouldn't panic on a live TV set. We did our best to remain calm and smile winningly, and, after answering a couple of questions (incorrectly, as we recall), we were thanked for coming in and told that the show would be in touch if and when they wanted us to fly out to LA for a taping. This was in May 1999.
By February 2000, we had completely forgotten this audition.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Image from oddchange.com
Some of you are nodding your heads in recognition. OK, one of you is nodding your head in recognition.
Frank Spangenberg was a New York City policeman. His bigger claim to fame was the most ridiculous handlebar moustache this side of the OK Corral. And his biggest claim to fame was holding the record for prize-money won on "Jeopardy!" Now this was back when champions had to "retire" after five wins, so Spangenberg's record-setting total was a relatively modest sum-- just over $102,000. But our admiration had little to do with the money; it was the relative ease with which Frank dispatched the competition. He was one of the first of those players who just never seemed to come close to being threatened by the competition. We wanted to follow in his footsteps.
We got our chance in the spring of 1999. "Jeopardy!" held a contestant search in New York. We went down to a fancy Midtown hotel. There, several hundred aspiring contestants milled about, waiting to be called in to take the test.
Yes, the test. It is a point of pride among Jeopardy! afficionados that the contestants actually have to be able to compete intellectually--which probably accounts for the relative unattractiveness of contestants when compared to those of other game shows. Anyone who looks good in a wetsuit can sign up to be locked in a piranha-filled tank. It takes brains to answer questions about French philosophy and things that start with the letter 'B'.
The test consists of 50 "Jeopardy!" style clues (which you do not have to answer in the form of a question). The producers don't tell you how many questions you have to get right (we suspect they just take the top 30 scorers from each group). If you make it past the test, you have an "audition." The screeners assured us that it really didn't matter whether we got the answers right--we only had to be natural and look as though we wouldn't panic on a live TV set. We did our best to remain calm and smile winningly, and, after answering a couple of questions (incorrectly, as we recall), we were thanked for coming in and told that the show would be in touch if and when they wanted us to fly out to LA for a taping. This was in May 1999.
By February 2000, we had completely forgotten this audition.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Image from oddchange.com
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Price Is Right
A pack of cigarettes in New York City? $8.75.
A late model Trabant? 3 pairs of Levis.
Your life? Priceless.
Or, if you believe the Environmental Protection Agency, $9.1 million. At least, that was the proposed value last year. And lest you think that price too low, consider that during the Bush Administration, the number was $6.8 million.
What accounts for the 33% inflation rate? Has there been a sudden plunge in the supply of life? Something else we can blame on the abortion-rights crowd no doubt.
Government agencies monetize life--or, to be more accurate, "lives"--as part of their rule-making process. When agencies consider new regulations, they conduct cost-benefit analyses. If anticipated costs to industry are greater than the value to public health or safety, say, then the regulation may not be adopted. In order to measure the public value, the agency may look at the number of lives saved. And in order to measure comparative value, then, these lives must be priced.
Take the EPA's price of $9.1 million. Let's say the agency wants to require industries to install better waste filtration systems. Their scientists expect that these better systems would save 100 lives and cost the affected industries $500 million. In this case, the rule should pass because the value of lives saved ($910 million) is greater than industry's cost. On the other hand, if the fix would cost $1 billion, the rule should not be adopted.
Unless, of course, we're mispricing life. Businesses certainly think that's what's happening. Of course, they think the EPA is holding life too dear. You can't really blame big business for doubting the numbers. After all, the Food and Drug Administration only asks for $7.9 million per person. The Transportation Department sets the price at an even $6 million. (Wonder if Steve Austin worked for them? He was an astronaut. . . .That's like transportation. Where were we?)
Is a "life" even the right metric? Shouldn't years of life lost or gained provide a better way to measure the imapct of rules and regulations? How can there be a generic value for the continued existence of . . .anybody? Does a newborn baby have the same "present value" as a 70-year-old? What if the 70-year-old is Dick Cheney? What if it's a 70-year-old Canadian?!? You can see where this can get tricky.
In the meantime, if you ever have to sell yourself to the highest bidder, we suggest you peddle your wares over at the EPA. You'll never get top dollar from those cheapskates in other agencies. Heck, the Department of Education won't even cover the price of parts!
Solipsistography
"As U.S. Agencies Put More Value on a Life, Businesses Fret"
A late model Trabant? 3 pairs of Levis.
Your life? Priceless.
Or, if you believe the Environmental Protection Agency, $9.1 million. At least, that was the proposed value last year. And lest you think that price too low, consider that during the Bush Administration, the number was $6.8 million.
What accounts for the 33% inflation rate? Has there been a sudden plunge in the supply of life? Something else we can blame on the abortion-rights crowd no doubt.
Government agencies monetize life--or, to be more accurate, "lives"--as part of their rule-making process. When agencies consider new regulations, they conduct cost-benefit analyses. If anticipated costs to industry are greater than the value to public health or safety, say, then the regulation may not be adopted. In order to measure the public value, the agency may look at the number of lives saved. And in order to measure comparative value, then, these lives must be priced.
Take the EPA's price of $9.1 million. Let's say the agency wants to require industries to install better waste filtration systems. Their scientists expect that these better systems would save 100 lives and cost the affected industries $500 million. In this case, the rule should pass because the value of lives saved ($910 million) is greater than industry's cost. On the other hand, if the fix would cost $1 billion, the rule should not be adopted.
Unless, of course, we're mispricing life. Businesses certainly think that's what's happening. Of course, they think the EPA is holding life too dear. You can't really blame big business for doubting the numbers. After all, the Food and Drug Administration only asks for $7.9 million per person. The Transportation Department sets the price at an even $6 million. (Wonder if Steve Austin worked for them? He was an astronaut. . . .That's like transportation. Where were we?)
Is a "life" even the right metric? Shouldn't years of life lost or gained provide a better way to measure the imapct of rules and regulations? How can there be a generic value for the continued existence of . . .anybody? Does a newborn baby have the same "present value" as a 70-year-old? What if the 70-year-old is Dick Cheney? What if it's a 70-year-old Canadian?!? You can see where this can get tricky.
In the meantime, if you ever have to sell yourself to the highest bidder, we suggest you peddle your wares over at the EPA. You'll never get top dollar from those cheapskates in other agencies. Heck, the Department of Education won't even cover the price of parts!
Solipsistography
"As U.S. Agencies Put More Value on a Life, Businesses Fret"
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
For Middle-Eastern Youth Rebellions, Zinc May Be Most Effective Cure
A consortium of leading Middle Eastern political theorists and virologists has concluded that zinc may hold the key to suppressing a regional epidemic of youthful political activism. While not ready to proclaim the discovery of a cure for the common discontent of the body politic, researchers are confident that healthy doses of zinc reduce the length and severity of civil disobedience.
A sweeping review of the socio-politico-medical research shows that Middle-Eastern autocrats may have alternatives to the standard therapeutic arsenal of secret police, armed goons, and secret detention centers. "We've found that zinc, administered in large enough doses, tends to minimize the virulence of political discontent in even the most radical members of the civilian population." said Dr. Hami Rachid Rabinowitz of the Center for Political Epidemiology at the University of the Sand in Djibouti.
When asked about the recommended dosage, Dr. Rabinowitz explained, "The recommended daily allowance of zinc for a typical adult is 15 milligrams. We have found that stubborn pockets of insurgency can effectively be snuffed out with a simple doubling of that amount to 30 milligrams. It's particularly effective when delivered by water cannon."
(Disclaimer: The Solipsist is still a little muzzy-headed from the TheraFlu. We may have gotten some of our facts jumbled.)
Solipsistography
"For Cold Virus, Zinc May Edge Out Even Chicken Soup"
A sweeping review of the socio-politico-medical research shows that Middle-Eastern autocrats may have alternatives to the standard therapeutic arsenal of secret police, armed goons, and secret detention centers. "We've found that zinc, administered in large enough doses, tends to minimize the virulence of political discontent in even the most radical members of the civilian population." said Dr. Hami Rachid Rabinowitz of the Center for Political Epidemiology at the University of the Sand in Djibouti.
When asked about the recommended dosage, Dr. Rabinowitz explained, "The recommended daily allowance of zinc for a typical adult is 15 milligrams. We have found that stubborn pockets of insurgency can effectively be snuffed out with a simple doubling of that amount to 30 milligrams. It's particularly effective when delivered by water cannon."
(Disclaimer: The Solipsist is still a little muzzy-headed from the TheraFlu. We may have gotten some of our facts jumbled.)
Solipsistography
"For Cold Virus, Zinc May Edge Out Even Chicken Soup"
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Silence of the Judge
Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas has not spoken during an oral argument in five years. Not a peep. No questions. No comments. Not so much as a "Gesundheit!" when, two years ago, then-Solicitor General Elena Kagan sneezed during her presentation. He has occasionally appeared to turn and whisper something to fellow Justice Stephen Breyer, but Breyer has confirmed that those were actually neck spasms.
Somebody needs to remind Thomas that participation counts for ten percent of his final grade.
In fairness, Thomas's silence is more than outweighed by fellow paleo-conservative Antonin Scalia's verbosity. Perhaps Thomas is simpy playing Teller to Scalia's Penn only much less funny--and nowhere near as good at gory magic tricks.
Supreme Court Justices receive lifetime tenure to essentially work for maybe six months a year. What do the American people ask for in return? Not much. Judicial acumen. An occasional overturned election. And some penetrating legal discourse. We're not getting our money's worth with Thomas!
Ah, well. . . . Better to keep one's mouth shut and be thought a fool. . . .
Solipsistography
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