Clarification

Yesterday's post, about "Stars in Danger: The High Dive," received a comment from the ever-perceptive "Anonymous," who pointed out that, according to Entertainment Weekly, the name of the show is actually "Celebrity Diving."  Allow me to clarify: "Celebrity Diving" is an ABC show, premiering in March, in which B-list celebrities will learn the basics of Olympic-style diving; "Stars in Danger: The High Dive" is a Fox show, premiering in February, in which B-list celebrities will learn the basics of Olympic-style diving no I am not making this up.  Because you can never have too many programs about has-beens and never-weres falling into water, that's why.

Hope that clears things up.  Happy New Year, everyone!

Goin' Down

I'm a little worn out from yesterday's post, so I just thought I would bring this to everyone's attention.  In early 2013, Fox will present a show wherein non-Olympians will learn the proper techniques for going off the 10-meter diving board.  The cast will feature such semi-famous people as Antonio Sabato, Jr., football player Terrell Owens, and assorted other real housewives and Jersey Shore denizens.  The show is called "Stars in Danger: The High Dive," which sounds a touch hyperbolic to me.  I don't see how any of these people qualifies as a "star."

Three Cheers for Cancer (A Longish Post)

I saw this posted on Facebook yesterday.  A compelling point.  Had I too quickly condemned handgun enthusiast?

I engaged in a moment of soul-searching.  Then, I rebooted my capacity for rational thought and realized that the above statements are complete and utter bullshit.  No surprise, really. The source of the image--"The Republican Revolution"--is a proud Tea Party organization.  You remember the Tea Party, right?  Those are the folks who continue to insist in the face of all evidence to the contrary (and no evidence in support) that President Obama is a Kenyan-born, crypto-Islamofascist just waiting for the opportunity to impose Sharia law on the real Americans of Peoria.  Ludicrous!

Everyone KNOWS Obama was born in Indonesia!

Sigh.

Lest anyone come across this image and take the statement seriously, let's take a few moments to reflect:

First, consider the utter implausibility of the numbers: 1,100 murders prevented every DAY (their emphasis) by handguns.  According to the Department of Justice, for the last several years, the number of homicides in American has hovered around 15,000.  If the Republican Revolution's number is accurate, then, in the absence of guns, we could expect around 400,000 additional murders each year.  This would translate into a homicide rate of approximately 1 per 750 people--or over 133 per 100,000.  To put that into context, the deadliest country, in terms of homicide rate, is Honduras, whose rate is just over 82 per 100,000 people.  I find it difficult to believe the United States population is inherently 60% more murderous than that of Honduras.  But perhaps that's the gun enthusiasts' argument: Honduras is significantly more dangerous than the United States BECAUSE so many fewer people have guns: Honduras comes in 88th in per capita gun ownership (6.2), whereas the US is number 1 (88.8).

(DIGRESSION: THE US HAS ALMOST 90 GUNS FOR EVERY PERSON?!?! HONDURAS HAS MORE THAN SIX?!?!? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE WORLD?!?!?!?!?!?!?  EOD)

Ultimately, we must guess at the basis for the Republican Revolution's argument.  Certainly there is no actual data to support it.  I went to the Department of Justice website, the ostensible source of the data cited.  For starters, it should be noted that there is no "National Crime Victims Survey"; there IS a "National Crime VICTIMIZATION Survey."  A small point, perhaps, but when trying to establish credibility, it would behoove one to correctly state at least the TITLE of one's source.  Unsurprisingly, I could find no measurement of "number of murders prevented"--whether because of gun possession or for any other reason.

Because how COULD there be such a measurement?  How can one quantify something that DOESN'T happen?  Even a theoretically cut and dried instance of murder-prevention-by-handgun doesn't withstand scrutiny.  Imagine: a gun-wielding miscreant confronts a little old lady, proclaiming his intention to murder her in cold blood.  Fortunately, an armed good samaritan overhears the threat and, brandishing his own weapon, frightens off the potential killer.  Surely, this is a clear instance of a homicide prevented by gun ownership?

Well, no, it isn't.  We don't know that the miscreant would have followed through on his threat.  We don't know if his gun would have jammed or if, had he shot, the wounds would prove fatal.  Certainly, we can all breathe a sigh of relief that no harm befalls either the old lady or her rescuer, and we could (and should) thank the civic-minded good samaritan.  But from a statistical perspective, even so clear a case of self-defense is of questionable value; and how many such "prevented homicides" are even THIS obvious?

Another way of thinking about this: If, as mentioned above, approximately 15,000 people are murdered in the United States each year, this translates into a rate of a little less than 5 per 100,000 people (given a population of about 300 million).  We could also say that the NON-HOMICIDE rate is about 99,995 of 100,000: Of every 100,000 people, 99,995 are NOT murdered each year!  Presumably, gun ownership saves some of these people, but other factors contribute as well: running away, not being targeted by a potential killer, even death by natural causes.

In 2010, over 500,000 people died from cancer in the United States (600 per 100,000 people)--or more than 1,100 people per day!  Thus, CANCER is a more effective preventer of homicide than handguns!  Yay, Cancer!

Look, statistics can be manipulated to support any political or ideological viewpoint.  The bottom line, though, is that approximately 30,000 people are killed with firearms in the United States each year (that includes suicides and accidents in addition to homicide), a fact that arises not through statistical manipulation but through physics and human biology.  When the gun lobby wants to address reality with reality, I and many others will be more than happy to listen.

A Senator's Lot Is Not a Happy One

Pity United States senators.  They had to cut short their Christmas vacations to return to Washington at the behest of President Obama and their caucus leadership.  They face the real possibility of having to work through New Year's Eve!  And for what? The possibility of rescuing the nation from financial disaster?  For THAT they have to miss "Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve with Ryan Seacrest"?!?

(DIGRESSION: How can it be "Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve" if (A) it's "with Ryan Seacrest" and (B) Dick Clark is somewhat dead?  Has Dick Clark, in death, become the James Patterson of New Year's festivities?  EOD)

You still don't feel bad for the senate?  Well, what if I pointed out to you that senators receive NO COMPENSATION!  Well, OK, they make a token salary of $174,000 per year.  Plus, I guess, whatever income they have from their private investments.  And, yes, sure, they have the prospect of any number of lucrative post-congressional careers.  And, OK, I guess if you want to be technical, there are probably some non-financial rewards to serving in this highly exclusive prestigious institution that sets the course of national policy and quite literally makes history on a regular basis, but still: We're talking CHRISTMAS VACATION!!!  Senator Charles Schumer (D-NY), how do you feel about having to cut short Christmas?

“'I didn’t realize how much I didn’t want to be here until I got here,' said Mr. Schumer, who had taken the red eye from San Francisco, where he had arrived only days earlier to visit his daughter."

AND HE'S JEWISH!

Adding insult to injury, the senators have had to return to Washington to do nothing in particular, as there is no specific legislation to vote on.  Senator Harry Reid is waiting for the White House to propose a solution to the imminent arrival of the "fiscal cliff," which I frankly don't understand, but from everything I've heard will lead directly to the zombie apocalypse and/or commence the 1,000 year reign of Gondrok, Dark Lord of Chaos.  Or something.

Where was I?

Ah, yes, Reid is waiting for Obama, who needs assurances from Sen. Mitch McConnell that Republicans won't simply filibuster any proposal, and everybody needs assurances from Speaker of the House John Boehner that, IF the senate passes legislation, the Republicans in the House of Representatives won't just screw everybody over like they did last week.  So, in other words, the senators are angry because they have nothing to do, but none of them will do anything unless and until they know that nobody will undo whatever they decide to. . .do.

As of last month, the job being done by Congress met with the approval of 18% of Americans.  Who ARE those people?

Dubious Moments in Marketing

I saw a TV ad this morning for the WaxVac, a product that helps one remove wax and other nasty particulates from one's ears.  Now, I welcome any innovation in orifice-maintenance technology.  (NOTE TO SELF: Patent "SnotBot" immediately!)  I was troubled, though, by the commercial: The acting is completely over the top, particularly the moment when the man shrieks in pain while attempting to clean his ears the old-fashioned way:

A note to dude and anyone else in a similar situation: If you cause yourself extreme pain while swabbing your ear with a Q-Tip, you are doing it wrong.

Paging Sam Roth

When we first moved into our current place of residence, we received a phone call from someone looking for "Sam Roth," who I am not.  (For the record, neither is WOS.)  Over the next few days, we continued occasionally to get calls for Sam, so we drew the logical conclusion that Sam either occupied these premises we did, or at least he had this same phone number.  We explained to callers that Sam Roth was not at this number anymore, and that we had no knowledge of what Sam's new number was--indeed, we had no knowledge of Sam.  Eventually, the calls subsided.

Here's the thing, though: The calls never completely stopped.  Indeed, just this morning I got a phone call from someone looking for Sam Roth--or for "Lisa" (Sam's wife? Daughter? Pet ocelot?). What makes the situation strange--not to say disturbing--is that these aren't impersonal calls, as from some out-of-date marketing list.  I get the impression that these are people with some personal connection to Sam (and/or Lisa).  At the same time, though, how close can these folks be?  They're still calling a number that Sam Roth hasn't had in at least four years!

Does it occur to them that, if they haven't spoken to Sam in such a long time--and weren't given his new number--that Sam doesn't WANT to talk to them?  Of course, maybe they HAVE been in touch with Sam, and he's giving them his old number intentionally so as to cut off further communication!  In which case, I would just like to say:

Sam! Cut it out! It's getting annoying!

It's Christmas Time. Be Afraid.

At or around Christmas, DOS always takes time out from his "busy" schedule to compose a Christmas Fable, which he then sends out to All and Sundry--or at least to All: DOS and Sundry haven't been on speaking terms since the cheese-grater incident.  This year's fable was typical, only more so.  DOS assumed I would not share this year's fable--which he prefaced with "I've never been so ashamed"--with Solipsist Nation, as I've done in the past.  I saw this as a dare, and I've never been one to back down from a dare!

Plus, it's Christmas!  I don't feel like actually writing anything.

Without further ado, then, I present DOS's Christmas Fable, 2012:

A Whale of a Tale Of a Fable

Call me… Maybe,…..not Moby.
I signed on to the Pee-Nutt as a whaler. Which was unfortunate, because it was a cargo ship that carried only Tuna.
I promised to keep that fact private or, as we musicians say, “piano”.
This made me a piano tuna.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Anyway,
The only other crew was made up of slaves (or, “Bought Men”, as we called them) and  Jews who, while not slaves, were, indeed, “Kept” men in that they were the “property” of the captain’s wife who used them at her pleasure.
The events I will tell you of, happened right around the Passover holidays.
The Jews wanted to celebrate, but the captain, jealous of the attention his wife gave to them, would only allow it. if they gave up the one thing that mattered most to them; dinghy ( that’s “Ding”- EE) racing in their rowboats.
Henceforth, only the slaves could use the boats.
Reluctantly, the Jews agreed
And so, to this day, that fateful holiday is recorded as:
Bought Men and Row Ban: The Kept Crew Seder.

BUT, I DIGRESS
“No! No!”, said Gress, “Don’t Die!!!!!!”
“But I must!”
“No! No! You have so much to live for! It’s Christmas (See, I got to it)!
We NEEEEED you!
You’re the Spirit that holds the gum to our fake beards; You’re the Angle on top of the tree, we tilt when it won’t fit in low ceiling-ed rooms; you’re Seasonal Affective Disorder, Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the knowledge we gain from denims ( Sad, Madd, and Dungarees to Know… look it up under “Byron”).
“But I must, “ said I “For I am under a curse.”
“Is it Mayan?”
“No, you nit, it’s not yours! Why must everything be about you!?”
“Then…”
“Many years ago, when my name wasn’t “Maybe”, but Fersher,  I was engaged to a girl.  Not, however, just any girl, but the daughter of Santa Claus. Her name was “Morality”.

“Morality Claus?”
“Exactly”
“And?”
“And. I violated my Morality Claus!”
“You mean…?”
“YES! I kissed her under the Mistletoe… before CHRISTMAS EVE!”
“Bounder!”
“Um, no, I only kissed her!”
“Go on!”
“Well, because of that, I was placed under a curse. Doomed to wander the Earth; sail on ships (see: above) and Die, Gress, every Christmas Eve, until the late actress Rue McLanihan is witness to bad weather in my presence (Just go with it! It’s late) And that can never happen, now!”
“Don’t be so sure!”
“What! Who said that?”
“I did! I am the ghost of Christmas Future, played by the Emmy-winning Ghost Of… you, guessed it!... Rue McLanihan!
 And I brought with me the Ghost of Christmas Present played by Tony-Award winning actor/lyricist Adolph Green author of such hits as On The Town, Wonderful Town, Singin’ In The Rain, and others, too numerous to mention!”
“Thank you, Rue. But you left out one important thing that is vital to this particular story.”
“What’s that ‘Dolph?”
“Well, for about 10 minutes in the late 1930s, I was a semi-member of the Communist Party!”
“And why is that important, ‘Dolph?”
“Because, thanks to that lapse in my youth, I am going to set Maybe free of his curse!”
“And how will you do that, ‘Dolph?”
“Why, my sweet, by noticing that it is precipitating, quite fiercely out there, and thus fulfilling the terms of lifting the curse!”
But, ‘Dolph, are you sure?”
(OKAY, folks, Here it comes!!!!!!!!!!!)
“Rue, ‘Dolph, the Red, knows, Rain, dear!”
and they lived happily, and curse-free, ever after.

Petitions and Remembrances

I am outraged by the petition posted on the White House's official website, seeking the deportation of television host Piers Morgan.  The petition was started by gun enthusiasts after Morgan vehemently expressed his support for strengthened gun control laws in the wake of the Sandy Hook Elementary shootings. 

To be clear, I heartily support the petitioners' cause: What right-thinking American DOESN'T want Piers Morgan deported?  But I am outraged that I now find myself agreeing with sociopathic gun nuts.

Incidentally, do these petitioners, who claim Morgan's anti-gun comments represent a "hostile attack against the U.S. Constitution," recognize the irony of defending the Bill of Rights by punishing someone for exercising his freedom of speech?  Or do they just assume that the Second Amendment trumps the first because. . . .because. . . I don't know, because two is bigger than one?

******************
On a somewhat more reverent note, I was saddened to read of the death of Jack Klugman at the age of 90.

When I was a child, one of my favorite afternoon pastimes was watching reruns of "The Odd Couple" (7:00 on channel 11)--a perfectly written, perfectly cast show that retains its charm even forty years after its original airing.
Klugman, of course, played one-half of the titular couple, the slovenly Oscar Madison, perpetually at odds with his best friend and roommate, the persnickety neat-freak Felix Unger (Tony Randall).  While both characters were well-written, Oscar was clearly the one viewers were meant to identify with: His Everyman enthusiasms (sports, gambling, beer) more accessible to most people than Felix's upper-class tastes.  The only thing "unrealistic" about Oscar was his extreme slovenliness--and after spending a year with my sophomore roommate in college, I realized that even that was more plausible than I had originally thought.
Klugman had numerous other roles, including the title role in "Quincy, M.E."--basically "CSI" without all the DNA sequencing.  But Oscar Madison is the role for which he will be most remembered.  And frankly, that's not a bad thing at all.

Who Goes There?

"Anonymous" is one of my biggest fans.  Not the hacker collective responsible for making Guy Fawkes masks fashionable, a different "Anonymous."  (Or, maybe it is.  How the Hell should I know? It's "Anonymous"!)  Many days I open my e-mail to find that "Anonymous" has left a new comment on the previous day's post.

In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion who "Anonymous" is--at least the majority of the time.  Over the last several months, though, something strange has been happening.  I check my e-mail and see the familiar message alerting me to a newly posted comment from my most stalwart fan.  When I sign on to this blog, though, no comments--from "Anonymous" or anyone else--appear.  It's just as well, really, because the content of these "Anonymous" comments is. . . Well, here, for example are a couple of comments--copied verbatim--ostensibly left but not actually appearing on the "Solipsist":

"Properly, the submit is in fact this most up to date theme within this windows registry linked issue.
I personally participate in your data and may thirstily
look forward to your own arriving improvements.
Just declaring cheers will not just be adequate,
for any unparalleled lucidity in your crafting. I will at
once seize the rss to settle up to date with almost any updates.
Stop by my web-site. . . "

"Great try out Gregory. Consult a few of your mates which love gizmos.
I’m confident they could aid.
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The comments end with a link to some other website (which I will not deign to reprint here), frequently a site selling remedies for erectile dysfunction or genital warts.

NO! OK?!?

Obviously, these comments are some kind of spam; perhaps FOS with his wealth of all-things-computer-related can shed light on this particular marketing ploy.  But I guess I should applaud Google's spam filters for blocking these questionable comments, while at the same time allowing the more innocuous comments of the TRUE "Anonymous" (who despite his snarky attitude does possess command of basic syntax) to go through.

Appositively Sneaky

WARNING! GRAMMAR-NERD POST!

An appositive is a word or phrase that directly follows the noun it modifies.  As a rhetorical device, an appositive allows a writer to condense clauses into shorter phrases, thus adding a touch of sophistication to what could otherwise be flat, boring prose.  Consider, for example, the following:

Wombats are adorable.  Wombats carry leprosy.

If I want to combine those two independent clauses, I have a few options.  I can make one compound sentence, either with a coordinating conjunction:

Wombats are adorable, BUT they carry leprosy.

Or with a semi-colon:

Wombats are adorable; they carry leprosy.  (I would probably add a conjunctive adverb there--"however," most likely.)

I can make the two clauses into one complex sentence by turning one of the independent clauses into either an adverb clause:

Although wombats are adorable, they carry leprosy.

Or an adjective clause:

Wombats, which are adorable, carry leprosy.

All of these options are grammatically correct and perfectly acceptable (except, perhaps, to zoologists and wombats).  But if I want to "zazz" things up a bit, I could also combine these clauses by means of an appositive:

Wombats--adorable creatures--carry leprosy.

Or, depending on which aspect of the wombat I wish to emphasize:

Wombats--virulent leprosy carriers--are adorable.

(NOTE: The use of dashes is a stylistic preference; I could just as well use commas or parentheses to set off the appositive.)

The point is that the appositive allows me to add a bit of extra information without writing a whole 'nother clause.

Today's New York Times, in an article about the ongoing budgetary squabbles on Capitol Hill, featured an interesting appositive:

"By Friday, both the House and the Senate had closed for the Christmas break, and soon after his statement Mr. Obama left with his family for their annual holiday trip to Hawaii, his native state."

Catch that?  "His [Obama's] native state" is an appositive modifying "Hawaii."  When I saw that, I couldn't help wondering why it was there.  Strictly speaking, it isn't necessary--no appositive is, of course; almost by definition, the information an appositive conveys is "bonus" information.  In this case, the sentence could simply end after "Hawaii," with no significant loss of meaning.

Conceivably, the Times' editors felt it necessary to provide additional information to assuage readers prone to indignation: How DARE the President go on vacation when the nation's economic future hangs in the balance!  Except, this appositive doesn't offer such consolation.  That objection has already been blunted by the preceding information: that Congress has already adjourned for the holidays and that President Obama is not jetting off on some spur-of-the-moment getaway but is, rather, leaving for an "annual holiday trip."

On the other hand, maybe the editors felt that ending the sentence after Hawaii might give the impression that the Obamas were enjoying too luxurious a getaway for their "annual holiday trip"--that, in a time of economic strife, Barack and the girls should, I don't know, spend Christmas in a soup kitchen pretending to wash dishes.  I think that's what the Paul Ryan family is doing.  Maybe.

I, however, think something else is at work here.  I can't help but think the editors saw an irresistible opportunity to ruffle the feathers of inveterate Birthers, those small-minded sore losers who still can't accept the fact that President Obama was, in fact, born in Hawaii.  (See, I can dash off a decent appositive, too.)

Well, Times editors, if that WAS your intention--if, at this solemn time of year when we should all seek peace and harmony with our fellow man, you just couldn't pass up a chance to tweak these poor benighted fools--well, all I can say is: Good for you!  Appositively!

Does Wayne LaPierre TRULY Speak for the NRA?

A few months ago, during the dog days of election season, I posted about my despair at the continuing offenses of the Republican Party. I mentioned that, up to that moment, I was willing to give my fellow citizens who happened to support the GOP the benefit of the doubt: I had assumed that the vast majority of Republicans were basically good and decent folk who shared a worldview with which I disagreed.  But with the seemingly constant drumbeat of Republican offenses to common decency--from talk of "legitimate rape" to expressions of contempt for 47% of the American public--I questioned the good intentions of those who would willingly allow such people to speak for them.

I now ask the same question of NRA members.

In the wake of last week's atrocity in Newtown, CT, the leadership of the National Rifle Association was conspicuously silent.  A curious nation wondered if the NRA was engaging in some long-overdue soul-searching, perhaps reconsidering its knee-jerk response to any suggestion of increasing restrictions (however minimal or easonable) on the right of private citizens to own guns.  Maybe some good could come of this tragedy if the premier firearm advocacy organization could be convinced to join a productive conversation about increasing public safety.

We should have known better.

Today, NRA Vice-President Wayne LaPierre broke the group's silence at a news conference.  The official NRA response to Newtown calls not for new restrictions on guns, but for the stationing of armed police officers at every school.  LaPierre went on to blame Hollywood and the makers of violent video games for the senseless violence displayed at Sandy Hook Elementary, along with the government's failure to adequately enforce existing gun laws or to create a national registry of the mentally ill.

Does Wayne LaPierre listen to the words that come out of his own mouth?

The NRA's raison d'etre is to defend gun owners' (theoretical) Second Amendment rights against governmental overreach.  Yet here is LaPierre, stating that the solution to gun violence is to garrison armed governmental representatives at our children's schools (not to mention creating a national database of the mentally ill).  By the NRA's logic, wouldn't the presence of armed governmental forces at a school turn Adam Lanza into something of a liberator?  And since when is the NRA in favor of national registries?

I've also had it with the NRA's disingenuous claims that if the government would only enforce existing gun laws, it would prevent psychopaths from building themselves arsenals.  Does it escape the notice of LaPierre and others like him that most of these mass slaughters are carried out with legally obtained weapons?  When the NRA whines that increased gun restrictions only keep law-abiding citizens from having guns, we should point out that keeping "law-abiding citizens" like Adam Lanza, James Holmes (Aurora, Colorado), Jared Loughner (Tucson, Arizona), Dylan Klebold (Columbine), etc., etc., etc. from having guns sounds like a pretty good idea!  Seems to me it's the "law-abiding citizens" we mostly have to worry about.  The NRA can talk all it wants about keeping high-powered weapons out of the hands of gangbangers, and I'm all for that, too.  At the same time, it seems like gangbangers mostly want to use their guns on other gangbangers--not on random strangers at malls, movie theaters, or elementary schools.

The NRA has millions of members.  I'm sure some of them agree with every word LaPierre spews.  But I don't believe that a majority of NRA members--most of whom are probably decent people who like to hunt or who own one or two guns for self-protection--actually support his views.  Maybe I'm wrong about that.  I hope not.  The time has come, though, for the rank and file of the National Rifle Association to make their voices heard.  Repudiate Wayne LaPierre.  Vote him out.  You are either reasonable people who care about, and are willing to work constructively with, your fellow citizens to improve everyone's safety, or you are the followers of a socioopathic demagogue.  You cannot have it both ways.

The Last "Solipsist"?

I suppose I should use today's post to settle accounts, what with it being the LAST "Solipsist" ever and all.  I don't really have anyone to settle accounts WITH, though--except maybe Canadians.  I don't really think this whole Mayan Apocalypse is going to happen; from what I can tell, the end of the Mayan calendar means the end of the world in the same way that the end of the calendar hanging next to your refrigerator means the end of the world.  Still, if there's any bright spot to the potential end of everything, it's that if I go, then those maple-sucking beaver-lovers go down with me!

Hm.  I guess I DO have some accounts to settle.

A Brief Post

I'm bushed today.  Hope to have a lengthier post tomorrow.  Suffice to say, giving haircuts to guinea pigs is not half as much fun as it sounds.

Not to Beat a Dead Horse, But. . . .

. . . I'm just tired.  Really, really tired.  It all just hit me today when I saw Sarah Palin's relatively benign (for her) comments on the Sandy Hook Elementary School shootings.  Essentially, like Mike Huckabee before her, she insinuated that the shootings could be attributed to the fact that Americans have lost focus on what's truly important--the main thing that's truly important being, apparently, God.

For the record, I am an agnostic: I don't know whether God exists or not.  I feel reasonably certain that if there is some supreme being, He takes little to no interest in what's going on here on earth.

(EDITORIAL NOTE: I use "He" for simplicity's sake; I capitalize because I'm a slave to convention.)

That being said, I don't begrudge anybody else his or her belief in God.  I'm certainly not about to argue it: As I say, I don't know.  I'm a fairly logical sort of guy, and belief in God is, in the most literal sense, irrational: It must be taken on faith.  And that's cool!  If your faith helps you live a better life and provides you with solace in the face of tragedy, more power to you--or, to it, as the case may be.  But I cannot abide self-righteous proselytizers who blame society's ills on insufficient fealty to God-as-they-see-Him.

For one thing, the idea that God has been "systematically removed" from public schools, as Mike "This-Guy-Was-Once-Considered-a-Legitimate-Presidential-Candidate?!?" Huckabee proclaimed, is ludicrous.  Isn't one of the tenets of faith that "God is everywhere"?  More to the point, while courts have declared prayer in public schools unconstitutional, nothing stops individual children or teachers from praying quietly--by and for themselves--while they are in school. I suspect every time a teacher gives a test, quite a bit of praying occurs.  On a more serious note, I imagine many people at Sandy Hook Elementary were praying on Friday.  Which brings me to my second and more profound problem with the Gospel According to Huckabee.

Think this through to its logical conclusion:  If these children were slaughtered because of laws restricting officially-sanctioned prayer in public schools, then that means the God we are all supposed to pray to is some kind of petty-minded, insecure narcissist who will allow children and their devoted teachers to be massacred simply because we have failed to give Him his "props."  I don't know about you, but I don't think that kind of God is much worth worshipping.

Don't even get me started on those who claim this whole thing could have been avoided if teachers--who a few months ago were gleefully derided as lazy moochers leaching off the public teat--had just been armed!

During the 2008 campaign, then-candidate Obama caught much flak for saying that certain people "cling to guns or religion. . . as a way to explain their frustrations."  Quod erat demonstrandum.

Cy No More

This past season, R. A. Dickey provided the best story for the New York Mets--and possibly for all of Major League Baseball.  At the age of 37, the journeyman pitcher led the National League in strikeouts and complete games, finished second in the ERA race, won 20 games (for a team that won only 74), and, finally, was awarded the National League Cy Young Award.

So naturally the Mets traded him.

From a business perspective, the Mets probably did the right thing.  As dominant as Dickey was this past year, there's no guarantee he will repeat this type of performance.  Dickey is a knuckleballer--the first knuckleballer to win the Cy Young--and while he seems to have mastered this pitch, the pitch itself is notoriously "unmasterable."  What makes the knuckleball so hard to hit--its utter unpredictability--is also what makes it hard to catch and, indeed, to throw: Even the pitcher has only  a rough idea where the ball is actually going to end up.  Dickey could easily be a dominating pitcher for the next several years, but he could also easily lose control of the pitch.  So, yes, the Mets made the right choice, trading him at the height of his value and receiving some solid prospects from the Toronto Blue Jays.

The trade still sucks, though.  In an otherwise dismal season, R. A. Dickey gave Mets fans something to cheer.  And he's the kind of athlete you can't help but root for.  Unlike some freak of nature with a 100-mile-an-hour fastball or other God-given talent, Dickey struggled to stay in the game by mastering a pitch that very few before him had mastered.  Perhaps more importantly, in this day of ever-falling sports idols, he provides the kind of role model we all wish our celebrities to be.  He works hard, speaks softly, and was even willing to give the Mets a "discount" for them to re-sign him.  And he writes!  Not just about baseball, either: He wrote a series of articles for the New York Times about a mountain-climbing expedition to Kilimanjaro!  WHY DID THEY TRADE THIS GUY?!?!

I know, I know: The nature of the business.  Still disappointing.

Anyway, I wish R. A. Dickey the best of luck.  I hope if/when he comes back to New York, he pitches a no-hitter.  Preferably against the Yankees, but if against the Mets, it'll serve 'em right.

Manatee Break

The last couple of days have been pretty heavy, what with the Sandy Hook shootings (rough year for people named "Sandy"; sorry WOFOS), ongoing budgetary stalemates, and the growing likelihood that the Mets will trade R. A. Dickey.  Time to change the subject.

I am, of course, no creationist, but it occurs to me that fundamentalist Christians have taken the wrong approach in trying to disprove evolution.  No need to posit ludicrous theories about the age of the planet being younger than certain cave-paintings and arrowheads found thereon.  In order to throw a monkey wrench into Darwinian theorizing, one need look no further than the manatee.  Survival of the fittest?  These things aren't fitter than ANYTHING!

By the way, from a Republican/Tea Party/Willful Embracer of Ignorance standpoint, this is a win-win: Manatees are often found near Florida.  So, if Marco Rubio needs to explain away his recent, um, questionable remarks about the true age of the Earth, he can always claim to have been distracted by thoughts of the utter incompatibility of manatees with natural selection.  You're welcome, GOP.

Wanted: G-Street

The leaders of the National Rifle Association hold, shall we say, absolutist views on gun ownership.  To listen to their public statements one would think Americans face a stark choice: Either guns of all shapes, sizes, and capacity for inflicting mass carnage must be readily available with minimal restrictions to anybody who wants them, or Americans might as well just surrender now to the dictator who will inevitably--perhaps instantaneously--arise once we sheepishly disarm.

I can't be the only one who sees this as a false choice, right?

I suspect a sizable majority of Americans--including, probably, a majority of gun owners and possibly even NRA members--subscribes neither to the extreme position outlined above nor to its polar opposite, what we might call gun-control absolutism or abolitionism.  I include myself in this majority.  Though no fan of firearms, I would not, even if elected to some Godlike position (late-night comedy show host?), advocate a complete ban on handguns.  I don't object, say, to a law-abiding citizen having a handgun for self-defense or to a hunter owning a rifle.

A majority of Americans could presumably reach agreement on a few sensible reforms that, while not eliminating the possibility of mass shootings, would make them more unlikely.  Most people, for example, would probably agree that guns and gun ownership should be regulated at least as stringently as cars and driving: People should have to pass a test before being given a gun license; guns should be registered and a state and/or national database of gun owners created; registered gun owners should be held responsible for any damage done with their guns, etc.  (I thank a Facebook friend, Andrew Pollack, for some of these suggestions.)  The specifics of a more sensible gun policy could be worked out, but most reasonable people could accept this as a starting point for a discussion.

So, here's my question to gun owners: Why do you continue to let the NRA speak for you?  American Jews who support the idea of Israel's peaceful coexistence with other Mideast countries formed J-Street--a "Pro-Israel, Pro-Peace" lobbying group--when they realized that AIPAC, the predominant Jewish lobbying group in Washington, was never going to moderate its emphatically right-wing ideology.  Why can't gun owners who favor sensible reforms that will truly help keep the public safe--I KNOW you're out there!--break away from the dead-enders (in every sense of the word) at the NRA?

OK, Here We Go. . . .

One cause of the Republican's shellacking in last month's elections was the inability (or unwillingness) of numerous conservative neanderthals to understand that rape is a crime, and that a pregnancy conceived as a result of this crime might be considered something other than a divine blessing.  That's what happens, though, when people hold an absolutist worldview: Abortion is only and always wrong, so any logically consistent argument supporting this worldview, no matter how repugnant, must be right.  One can almost admire folks like Todd Akin and Richard Mourdock for their steadfastness and see something almost tragic (though hardly unwelcome) in their self-inflicted political deathblows.

One wishes some similarly logically-consistent gun-rights advocate would make the obvious comment in the wake of today's Connecticut elementary-school massacre: Those bullets that killed twenty children?  God-given early-Christmas gifts for kids lucky enough to live (briefly) in a country that protects the right to bear arms!  Imagine the backlash!

Of course, no NRA spokesman or (presumably) member would so blatantly blame the innocent victims of this horrific assault.  And yet, within hours of this morning's shootings, many gun-apologists predictably engaged in something only slightly less offensive, opining defensively that if only--If only!--teachers at Sandy Hook Elementary had been armed, this tragedy would have been prevented (or at least minimized).

See, everybody?  It's not the fault of Adam Lanza, the obviously deranged young man who apparently killed all these children, as well as some school personnel, his own mother, and, ultimately, himself.  The fault lies with those irresponsibile schoolteachers who failed to take full advantage of their constitutional freedoms and thereby failed in their duty to protect their young charges!  Why, they're practically as guilty as Lanza!  They ought to be arrested!  Well, the ones who survived anyway.

What gets me about this particular knee-jerk reaction to gun violence is its fundamental illogic.  The argument seems to be that, if we strengthen gun-control laws, we will effectively be unilaterally disarming--that law-abiding people will no longer be able to arm themselves against lunatics with guns.  The problem, of course, is that law-abiding people are NOT consistently arming themselves now.  So unless the NRA is advocating a law requiring gun ownership--they're not, are they?--this argument rings hollow at best, heartless at worst.

I keep waiting, though so far in vain, for the event that will trigger the backlash.  Maybe Sandy Hook will be it.  Maybe this will finally convince people that the NRA should not have a stranglehold on our politics.  I'm not optimistic.

Why Has No One Thought of This?

This morning I watched Mark, our resident computer genius, dusting a keyboard.  Did he envision this as one of his responsibilities when he was in . . .let's say, computer college.  Then it struck me: All mid- and large-size institutions--say, those with more than 50 employees--need a "Beneath My Pay-Grade" Guy--a guy to walk around and handle all those menial tasks that aren't really anybody's responsibility, but that nevetheless need to be done.  Dusting keyboards, changing lightbulbs, cleaning my office.

What the heck, let's have an "Above My Pay-Grade" position, too!

Again: Consistency is ALL I Ask!

I am not one of those Facebook kvetches: those insufferable types who rant and rave every time Zuckerberg takes any action to increase the profitability of his product.  The way I see it, if I suffer minor incovenience because of a few changes to a free service that I am not obligated to use, I have no real right to complain.

Yet apparently I am a Yahoo! kvetch.  I was taken aback today when I logged into my Yahoo! mail and saw changes to the interface.  All of a sudden, for example, there are no checkboxes next to messages in my inbox.  Or rather, there ARE, but they only appear when I "mouse over" them.  The "Sign Out" button is now hidden.  And when I tried to attach a link to an e-mail, someone punched me in the face!  (Which may not, strictly speaking, have had anything to do with Yahoo!)

Maybe I'm just upset because I've had Yahoo! longer: I've had my Yahoo! address for about fifteen years now.  But I think it's more than that: I think that Facebook is still, to me, something of a "game"--a hangout. Changes to Facebook are like renovations to a bar or restaurant: As long as the food (or the friends) don't change, who really cares what the wallpaper looks like?  Yahoo!, though, is more of an ingrained part of my existence.  When unexpected changes happen, I feel disturbingly umoored.

Yes, Yes: Too Soon

Two weeks ago, Kansas City Chiefs linebacker Jovan Belcher horrified the NFL--and society in general--when he committed suicide in front of his coach shortly after he murdered his girlfriend.  A few days later, the hapless Chiefs, who had one win to that point in the season, notched an inspiring victory over the Carolina Panthers at Arrowhead Stadium.

Last week, Jerry Brown, a practice-squad linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys was killed when his teammate, driving under the influence, crashed the car in which Brown was a passenger.  A day later, the Cowboys defeated the Cincinnati Bengals in an emotion-filled game.

Right now, if I'm a mid-level defensive player for a team in desperate need of an inspirational win, I'm being EXTRA careful and watching my back.  Tampa Bay Buccaneer Najee Goode?  I'm talking to you!

Consistency Is All I Ask

I've been kind of half-watching "Revolution," this NBC series about a post-apocalyptic America: A mysterious blackout permanently shuts down all electricity, all over the world.   Fifteen years after the blackout, a megalomaniacal dictator is trying to solidify his control over the population, and an intrepid band of rebels is seeking to thwart him--hence the title.  It features Giancarlo Esposito, whom I'll watch in just about anything--well, anything in which he plays a deadeyed killer (sorry "Once Upon a Time"), and that's pretty much the show's saving grace.  Otherwise, it's neither great nor awful--solidly "meh."

I do, however, have a pet peeve with this show and, frankly, with any number of TV shows and movies of its ilk.  The main male character of "Revolution," Miles Matheson (Billy Burke), is a former general in the dictator's army, who has abandoned his former leader and is now working with the rebels.  The very first episode establishes Miles as a virtual combat superhero: He pretty much singlehandedly dispatches about twenty other soldiers using nothing but a sword and his hand-to-hand combat skills.  Unrealistic?  Sure, but I'm OK with that.  I just engage in a bit of time-honored willing suspension of disbelief and accept the fact that Miles Matheson is this unstoppable, kickass killing machine.  Only, in subsequent episodes, when the writer or director presumably needs to fill a minute or so, Miles often has trouble fighting off just one enemy.  What gives?

If writers expect viewers (or readers) to willingly suspend disbelief, then they have an obligation to be consistent.  A superfighter can't fend off a small army one day, only to struggle against a virtual Redshirt the next.  The former fight is exciting; the latter is just an insult to our intelligence.

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central

(Background: I subscribe to a number of periodicals, and I'm a bit. . . behind in my reading.)

SOL (flipping through the sections of today's New York Times): Hm.

WOS: What?

SOL: Uh. . . nothing.

WOS: What?

SOL: Well. . . Don't judge me, OK?

WOS: OK.

SOL: This is today's New York Times Magazine. (I hold up the magazine, which features a picture of Keira Knightley on the cover.) It's their Hollywood issue: They do this every December.

WOS: OK, so?

SOL: Well, this  (holding up a copy of the New York Times Magazine with Brad Pitt on the cover) is the next magazine I have to read.

WOS: But. . .that says "Hollywood Issue," too.

SOL: I know.

WOS: But TODAY's magazine is the Hollywood issue. . .

SOL: Yes.

WOS: So this other one is from. .  .a year ago?

SOL: Yes.

WOS: And you haven't read it yet?

SOL: I said don't judge me!

WOS: You really have to get caught up with this!  You need to stop reading books!  And student papers!

SOL: I know.

WOS: I mean, what'd going to happen when you're 92 and lying on your death bed and you still have, like, a year's worth of magazines to read?

SOL: Well, I guess that just means. . . I can't die!

WOS: No, I don't think that's what it means. . .

SOL: YES!  As long as I haven't caught up with my magazine reading, I can never die!

WOS: But. . .

SOL: It's the magazine rack of Dorian Gray!!!

(Pause.)

WOS: . . . What?

In Russia, Home Phones E.T.!

I was thinking of doing a "Trendwatch" but too many of today's trending topics were depressing: Brooke Mueller (whoever she is) hospitalized; a 7-year-old girl by the not-ironic-at-all-name of Heaven shot and killed in Chicago.  Even the superficially good news of a family receiving $109 million is tarnished by the fact that the money comes as restitution for the family's mother being electrocuted. We can only cross our fingers and hope that she was not a very nice person.

It's too difficult to make jokes about these things. Or rather, it's too hard to make jokes about these things and not be barraged with hate mail.

Still, I was struck by the number-one trending story, given all the news and pseudo-news filling the airwaves: a tidbit about Russian Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev joking about extraterrestrials living in Russia.  He even referenced the "Men in Black" films.  Is this story so popular because people think Medvedev was joking about joking?  Or are people just surprised that a Russian is attempting humor?  Given that the former Soviet Union has never fully recovered from Yakov Smirnoff, I must confess being a bit surprised myself.

Circular Reasoning the Drain

Spent hours today reading student essays. After awhile, one's head begins to spin, one's resistance weakens, and one starts seriously to ponder whether, "One of the challenges faced by people living in poverty is that they don't have any money," is tautology or brilliance.

Must sleep now.

Accelerate This!

My college offers several composition classes, but just three of them comprise the bulk of writing instruction offered at the institution: ENGL139, ENGL142B, and ENGL1A.  The first two are "basic skills"--or what is often called "remedial" or "developmental" in nature; the third is what is traditionally known as "freshman comp."  Statistics show that students who enter the college at the ENGL139 level (or lower) rarely progress through ENGL1A (much less graduate or transfer). 

Reasons vary.  Obviously, students who matriculate in need of basic skills remediation face extra academic hurdles.  But beyond that, these students are also frequently juggling any number of responsibilities: school, work, family.  Even when successful in 139, they must seriously consider whether they can afford--in senses monetary as well as personal--to continue to 142B.  This same calculation must then be made before registering for 1A.  With so many potential "dropping out" points, a college education presents students with a seemingly endless minefield.  As disappointing as the percentage of completers is (something less than 30%), it's knd of amazing that as many students make it through as actually do.

As a result of the numbers and the challenges, many educators have begun to worship at the church of "acceleration."  As the word implies, the concept calls for students to be pushed through the system faster.  In math, for example, basic-skills level students--who in the past may have needed to take as many as four different classes BEFORE reaching a transferable-level math class--are now sometimes given the opportunity to enroll in a special program that will in one year--or maybe even one semester-- prepare them to take college-level statistics.  At my school, we English teachers are considering ways to move students more quickly through the composition sequence.
As we've been thinking about how to do this, though, I've wondered what, exactly, the difference is between all the different writing levels we currently offer.  Certainly, requirements are different.  In the 139 classes (the ones I usually teach), students are expected to master the "standard" five-paragraph essay.

In 142B, students are exposed to different rhetorical modes and, by the end, expected to write somewhat longer (4-5 pages) essays in which they present an argument, incorporating opposing viewpoints and, perhaps, light research.  In 1A, students must produce a research essay, as well as demonstrate the ability to produce sustained arguments incorporating a variety of rhetorical modes.  Mastery of the conventions of Standard Written English is also expected.

OK.  But what, exactly, is the difference?  In math, one cannot do algebra unless one has mastered the multiplication tables.  But what's to stop an ENGL139 instructor from "imposing" a 142B--or even 1A--curriculum on his class?  Well, aside from the tyranny of the course outline, that is.  In other words, is there any fundamental reason that, instead of being taught the "standard" five paragraph essay, a basic-skills student couldn't be taught to write a piece of argumentation?  Or even a research paper?  I can't really think of one.  I suppose we'll find out in the coming months.

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central

WOS (Apropos of. . . Well, probably whatever I was doing at the moment): You're an idiot.

SOL: I'm NOT an idiot!  I'm brilliant!

WOS: No.  You're not brilliant.  You're the opposite.

SOL: I'm NOT the opposite!  I'm. . .  I'm. . . . Hey, what's the opposite of opposite?

WOS: You got yourself into this one. You can get yourself out.

It's a Barbie World (A Brief Post)

Cheers! to Mattel for shattering gender stereotypes with its introduction of a construction-themed "Barbie" set.

Jeers! for their inclusion of a wolf-whistling Ken doll in a hardhat exposing himself (such as he can) to Barbie.

I don't know what they were thinking!

Advice for New Teachers: Be Careful What You Ask For; You Might Just Have to Read It

How does one learn to write?  Not by taking writing classes, that's for damn sure.

No, people learn to write primarily by reading.  When I took my first college writing class, I was amazed when people thought I wrote well.  I had no idea why.  I was only doing what felt right.  And I knew what felt right because of extensive exposure to the written word: I've always enjoyed reading and was raised in a household that encouraged this enthusiasm.  The same cannot be said of many of my students. I realized a few years back that any attempt to improve students' writing skills would flounder unless, at the same time, these students were being exposed to well-written, edited prose.  How could they produce good writing if they didn't know what good writing looked and sounded like?

I devised a simple assignment: In all my writing classes, regardless of level, students must every day select a piece of published writing.  The source doesn't matter: newspapers, magazines, novels, textbooks--any prose is acceptable.  From this piece, they must select a paragraph or so--about 150 words--and hand copy it.  That's all.  Just copy it out, on lined paper, exactly.  Simple enough, right?
By doing this, students read a little bit every day.  More importantly, though, this slow, deliberate hand-copying forces students to pay attention to what a writer does; to the way a sentence flows; to the choices made in the construction of any piece of writing.  I encourage students to write comments on these entries, particularly when they notice something "strange": "You can start a sentence with 'And'?"  "Why isn't this word capitalized?"  What does this '--' mean?"

Of course, there are some conditions, the most important being that students must copy the writing EXACTLY: For each entry, I "allow" three mistakes--misspellings, dropped words, punctuation errors, whatever. If an entry has more than three mistakes, a student receives no credit for it.  How will I know if there are mistakes?  Well, I explain, if an entry from a professionally edited, published piece of writing has, say, five spelling errors, I'm going to assume the mistakes belong to the student.  If the student shows me the original piece, and if, in fact, the errors appear in the original, I will gladly give the student credit--and then tell him/her never to use that source again.

The one drawback to this assignment, though, is that I must actually READ the various entries.  Oftentimes, students will simply copy out pieces from the newspaper, which is fine, and occasionally I'll get Dickens or Austen--or if I'm really lucky Vonnegut or Stephen King.  But I also get more of the "Twilight" Saga than I had ever hoped to read.  I get automotive repair manuals.  One semester, I had a student copy out long sections of a treatise on maritime insurance.  I've had one student who spent the entire semester copying out the autobiography of Donna Summer, and another who has copied out selection after selection from Seventeen magazine.

It's OK though.  The students still get exposure to professional writing.  And I learn how to put together an outfit that's both appropriate for school AND fun and flirty.

Mens Perversa in Corpore Sano

Sunday mornings are for The New York Times, but it's a bit jarring when the first stories one reads feature a steady stream of murder, rape, drug abuse, and robbery sprees.  Even more jarring is the fact that I always begin with the sports section.

I am constantly justifying my enthusiasm for sports, unshared by many in my extended circle of friends and family, many of whom are musical-theatre snobs or pseudo-intellectuals or both.  They look down on sports as the preserve of insufficiently evolved alpha males (and a few alpha females), undeserving of the attention (and certainly the money) lavished upon it.  I counter with an argument that sports (and maybe politics) provide the only dependable sources of actual narrative excitement.  Each game provides a classic plot: beginning, middle, and end.  And whereas movies and television shows, no matter how well done, are fundamentally predictable--except "Breaking Bad," but I digress--sports constantly surprise.  No matter how heavily favored one team is, the games still must be played, and the underdogs occasionally triumph.

So it's depressing when the front page of the Sunday sports pages are dominated by stories of a Kansas City Chiefs linebacker killing himself after shooting his girlfriend to death; of the prevalence of Adderall as a new performance-enhancer of choice among NFL players; of a quartet of Rugers University basketball players busted for a series of dormitory robberies.  In what passes for an "uplifting" story, Kathy Redmond, has devoted her life to combating the culture of sexual abuse that exists among collegiate athletes--a commitment she developed in response to her own rape at the hands of a Nebraska football player in the early 90's.

I'm not likely to abandon an enthusiasm for sports any time soon.  But the constant drumbeat of crime and depravity is disheartening.  True, I'm not a child, and I have no need of athletic heroes to look up to, but wouldn't it be nice to know that at least a FEW of these guys were worthy of such admiration?  That some are blessed with gifts of character to match their obvious physical gifts?

I'm sure some are.  It's sad, though, when reading about, say, Robert Griffin III--by all accounts a delightful human being as well as a spectacular athlete--to find oneself wondering how long it'll be before we discover he's running a child-prostitution ring in Malaysia.  Many times bitten, many times shy.

Wait for It. . . .

Online retailers have taken to changing prices frequently--perhaps, hourly--because why should airline passengers have all the fun of finding out they paid twice as much as someone who bought the same product five minutes after they did?

An article in today's Times reports on this practice, adopted by Wal-Mart, Target, Amazon, and other retailers.  Companies monitor each others' prices and then immediately adjust their own to undercut their competitors, sometimes by as little as two cents.  Obviously, some consumers reap significant benefits--to the extent that saving two cents on "Mario Kart" can be considered "significant"--but retailers may face a backlash from those customers irked at being gouged--to the extent that charging an extra two cents on "Mario Kart" can be considered "gouging."

Couldn't this seriously backfire on the retailers?  Once buyers get wind of this practice--i.e., now--won't they start trying to game the system?  Right now, these stores are just competing for the sake of being able to say that they provide the lowest price.  But if I'm in the market for a Bodum wok--whatever that is--and I know retailers are just going to keep lowering the price--why wouldn't I just sit back and wait?

People may not be able to do that with airline tickets: When people have to go somewhere at a certain time, then they pretty much have to accept whatever price is being offered.  But when it comes to plain old retail products?  Why buy now if the price is just going to keep coming down?  If enough people do this, prices will get so low that Wal-Mart'll just start giving stuff away--or even paying people to take it!

Octopussy's Garden

James Bond movie or Beatles song?
(A completely pointless quiz)

From Russia With Love
Back in the USSR
Die Another Day
Devil in Her Heart
Goldeneye
Blackbird
Tomorrow Never Knows
Quantum of Solace
Across the Universe
Diamonds Are Forever
You Only Live Twice
Happiness Is a Warm Gun
The Inner Light
Golden Slumbers
The World Is Not Enough
The Living Daylights
For Yor Eyes Only
Matchbox
Never Say Never Again
Not a Second Time

I Read the News Today Oy Vey

Necessity is the mother of invention.  Invention's father?  Nobody knows.  Necessity's a bit of a whore.

Let me start over.

Necessity is the mother of invention.  LACK of necessity, though, births newsworthy nonsense.  No less than three of today's front-page stories in the New York Times revolved around things less necessary than mackerel-sized biking shorts.

For starters, senators ranging from the once-respectable John McCain to the I-once-thought-reasonable Susan Collins continue to wax apoplectic over UN Ambassador Susan Rice's "gaffes" in the wake of the terrorist attack on the US consulate in Benghazi.  The fact that these "gaffes," shared on several Sunday morning news programs, consisted of intelligence-approved talking points--talking points initially requested by a congressman, no less!--makes no difference to these watchdogs of American safety, who are convinced--convinced, I say!--that Rice's performance in this matter makes her an utterly unacceptable candidate for Secretary of State, which is why they have made clear that they are unlikely to support her for nomination to this position for which she has not, in fact, been nominated!

Well, pre-emptive nominee-bashing is never out of style.  Let's see what else is in the news.

Ah, the University of Tennessee has fired its head football coach, Derek "Say-This-Name-With-a-Straight-Face" Dooley.  Fair enough.  The team has staggered to a disappointing 1-7 record, and the university has to fire the coach since it can't fire the players (but just wait 'til they see their P.E. grades!).  Here's the thing, though: Dooley has a contract, so the university must pay him about $5 million for the privilege of being fired!  Throw in money owed to his coaching staff, who will likely also be let go, and the total amount the school will shell out comes to about $18 million.  In case you're wondering where the money will come from, well, don't worry: It's going to be taken from money earmarked for scholarships--academic scholarships, by the way, not athletic scholarships--'cause, you know, why would UT cut funding for the athletic department, what with its dysfunctional 1-7 football team bringing such pride to the university.

Meantime, in military news, the world's most advanced military jet, the F-35 joint strike fighter, under development seemingly for the last 400 years at a cost of billions upon billions of dollars, may fall victim to budget cutting by Congress.  I don't believe it, though.  Considering the United States can already pretty much overwhelm any competing military force the sheer unnecessariness of the F-35 makes it the perfect emblem of today's misplaced priorities.  I'll take a dozen!

Halfway Educational

Today I learned about the "51% Law," a California state law which requires school districts to spend at least 50% of their budgets on instruction (strictly speaking, it's the 50% Law, but we want to be on the safe side).  My first thought: That's all?  My second thought: This is a PROBLEM for some school districts?

Including mine, apparently.

To be fair, some of the things schools provide--like counselors and tutors, for example--which seem directly related to student success and even, in the case of tutors at least, instruction-related, don't "count" towards this 50% threshold.  Still, though, it raises questions.  I hate to provide fodder for right-wing critics, but the fact that this law exists would seem to open schools up to a reasonable query:  What the hell are they spending money on?!?

To which, of course, there are any number of reasonable answers.  In addition to the aforementioned counselors and tutors, there are admissions personnel, librarians, secretaries, lab technicians, etc., etc., etc.  And while it's reasonable that a school spend at least half its budget on direct instructional services, we should also recognize that no college could function without substantial contributions from these "ancillary" personnel.

It does make one wonder, though, in this age of rampant privatization, and the ongoing Randian celebration of all-things-capitalist, about the ratio of instruction to "other" at for-profit educational providers.  I hope that some kind of 50% Law is keeping these folks honest as well.

Multitudes

OK, look, I know I just did this whole spiel the other day about writer's block and whether it's better to write something even when one has nothing to say or just to skip a day at the risk of losing what few followers I have.  So I feel kind of bad about taking this time to tell you that I am not writing a "real" post this evening.  Do I contradict myself?  Then I contradict myself!  I am large!  I contain multitudes!  And a fair amount of undigested pie!  But that's another story.

At any rate, I'm not posting NOT because I have nothing to say, but rather because I have no time in which to say it.  Believe me, I have LOTS to say about. . . .well, you'll just have to wait and see.  Suffice to say, though, that a certain Cate Blanchett is going to have a LOT of explaining to do!

'Til tomorrow!

Oooh, Shiny

Something about standing in line makes people willing to watch anything.  Probably the fact that they're standing in line.

I have occasion, periodically, to go to a pharmacy located in a Kaiser Permanente Medical Center.  I usually go after work, late afternoon, and the overhead television is invariably tuned to a local PBS station showing children's programming.  Obviously, this is meant to entertain all the kids, except there never ARE any.  Kids, that is.  Nevertheless, the queueing masses always stare transfixed at the adventures of Daniel Striped Tiger or the Cat in the Hat (who today was dressed as a manatee for some reason that I was unable to ascertain--I'm usually listening to my iPod, and the closed-captioning leaves much to be desired).

I'm glad to see Daniel Striped Tiger getting work, though.  I was worried about him.  After Mr. Rogers' death, many of his co-stars struggled to land new jobs.  Sure, Anna Platypus landed a position at the Consumer Affairs Bureau, and Donkey Hodie had some minor success as a monologist, but Prince Tuesday had to move back in with his parents, and the less said about Purple Panda, the better
.
Where was I?  Oh yeah.

People never complain.  People never ask that the channel be changed.  Presumably, such a request would constitute an admission of defeat--an acknowledgment that one will be forced to wait long enough to make it worthwhile to watch something one would want to watch.

But NOT watching doesn't seem to be an option, either.  Little though I may care about the continuing adventures of Elmo or Curious George, I cannot look away.  I guess people never outgrow the ability to be transfixed by the shiny or the colorful.  No wonder this country is going to Hell.

Ruminations on Writer's Block

DOS chastised me today for a recent spate of "non-posts": those days when it's all I can do to muster the will to post a "Sorry" or a link to a video of kittens playing with ducklings. His advice: If I have nothing to write about, just don't write.  Let a day go by.  See if anyone notices.  And, if anyone DOES complain, plead ignorant indignation: "What do you mean, no post?  I certainly wrote something.  If my post didn't show up on your internet, take it up with your service provider!  And, no, I will NOT supply a back issue!"

Believe me, I've considered it.  What stops me, frankly, is fear.  Inertia beckons.  Succumb to laziness once, what's to stop one from succumbing again?  Harper Lee took a day off after finishing To Kill a Mockingbird; now, fifty-plus years later, we're still waiting for Mockingbird's Revenge!

I don't call what I've "got" writer's block: I've always thought that a somewhat precious notion.  Self-indulgent writers trying to dignify laziness with pseudo-psychological diagnoses.  I always tell my students--and I stand by this--that, if they have nothing to write about, then they're not paying attention.  There are any number of potential topics: One need only pick a newspaper or magazine article at random and riff for a couple of hundred words.  If someone said, "Hey, Solipsist, give me 500 words on '[INSERT TOPIC HERE],'" I know I could fulfill the order.  (Quantity, not quality, guaranteed.)

The problem is more writer's apathy.  I don't care enough about any topic to expend energy on it, a feeling compounded by a sense that I have nothing new to add.  What insight do I have to offer on the latest turmoil in the Middle East or Notre Dame's chances in the BCS Championship?  Gloating over Republican misery, while enjoyable, gets old, too.

These things are cyclical.  Tomorrow or the next day--or a week and a half from now--I will see something in the paper or experience something at work that will stir my creative juices.  Just as I go through extended dry periods, I also experience weeks where virtually everything provides a trove of blogworthy material.  But if I don't force myself to plow through the fallow periods, I won't be ready to go when the floodgates open.

So, DOS, take the good with the bad with the pointless.  Even a Hall-of-Famer gets a base hit only about thirty percent of the time.  That doesn't stop him from taking every at bat.

More Musings

I'm thinking I need to get me one of them Nobel Peace Prizes.  You know they come with, like, a million dollars!  True, I haven't done much for the cause of world peace, but neither had President Obama when he won his.  Maybe if I stop capping on Canada.  It'll be hard, but I think I might be able to do it.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Coo

It's not every day that one sees a headline like "Code Found on Pigeon Baffles British Cryptographers"--at least, outside of "The Onion."  Just when I was deserately searching for something to write about, too.

A group of codebreakers at Britain's Government Communications Headquarters have declared themselves thoroughly stymied--or as I like to think the Brits would say, "Right-snoggered, Mate!"--by a coded message found tied to the leg of carrier-pigeon--or EX-carrier pigeon, as Monty Python might put it--in the chimney of a 17th-century home in the village of Bletchingley--like that's a real place:  "[P]igeon specialists"--apparently there are such things--"said they believed it may have been flying home from British units in France at around the time of the D-Day Normandy landings in 1944."

The cryptographers speculate the code may be based on a "onetime pad," which, as readers of Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon know, is effectively unbreakable: The method calls for a random series of letter-substitutions that can be decoded only with a pad belonging to both the sender and recipient.  Once the message is transmitted, the pad is destroyed.

Considering that the message went awry nearly 70 years ago, and that the good-guys won World War II even without whatever bit of intelligence was to have been conveyed by our feathered friend, I guess the message probably couldn't have been TOO important.  But I think this whole incident teaches us something about the wisdom of entrusting important deliveries to things apt to get stuck in chimneys--just something to think about as you write those letters to Santa.

Alternatively, maybe someone's just screwing with a bunch of British cryptographers.

A Grim Roulette

On this, the most beloved of holidays, I would like to wish a happy Thanksgiving to those intrepid souls embodying those most American of American values: those people who have been camping out since at least yesterday afternoon in front of Best Buy.

I counted five tents yesterday.

Let's do some back-of-the-envelope math.  There are about 1,100 Best Buy stores in the US.  I live in a California Bay Area town about 20 miles north of Oakland--in other words, a well-populated area, but not a major Metropolis--so let's assume that "my" Best Buy represents an "average" store: This would mean that, across the country, some 5,000 people are celebrating Thanksgiving by bivouacking in parking lots.  And of course this considers only Best Buy.  Throw in all the Wal-Marts (nearly 4,000 US stores), Targets (1,700), and K-Marts (about 1,200), and assume similarly zealous consumers, and we can add another 35,000 folks sleeping out across the country.  Let's toss in another 10,000 people at various smaller venues, and we can not-unreasonably project that around 50,000 people are currently camped out, awaiting the start of spectacular "door-buster" sales.

50,000 people, OK?

Now, as a matter of probability, it is not unreasonable to assume that at least one of these 50,000 people will be dead within a week.  Understand, I am not wishing death on these folks: That would be redundant.  Nevertheless, assuming that at least one of these people will die, and even assuming that this one person began camping out "only" 24 hours before the start of sales, then this person will have willingly spent 24 of his or her final 168 hours on this planet waiting in line for the privilege of further enriching multi-millionaires.

So Happy Thanksgiving, stalwart consumers!  You're wasting your life.

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central

SOL: You know that feeling?  When, like, you're eating something?  Like a burrito, maybe, or a big piece of steak?  And you're in the middle of chewing a big piece of the steak or the burrito or, I don't know, the lamb chop?  And all of a sudden, you have to sneeze?  And so, you start chewing really really fast, because you need to swallow the food before the sneeze comes, otherwise you'll end up sneezing out your food?  And you can't just. . .JUST barely swallow it either, y'know?  You have to get the food all the way down your throat, because if you only get it just past your tongue, you end up sneezing out the chewed-up food--which, if you think about it, is much worse than just sneezing out the food you're still chewing.  You know that feeling?

WOS: No.

SOL: Oh. . . Me neither.

(Yawn)

Too tired to write.  Here's a video of kittens playing with ducklings:

News Notes

An article in today's Times reports that a substantial portion of the investor class is cashing out stocks earlier than they might otherwise have done because they worry what will happen when President Obama and congressional Republicans reach an agreement on increasing taxes.  (Yeah, I said that with a straight face.)  Large investors can reap millions in extra profits if they sell stock or other assets now, before higher rates kick in.

This behavior is, or course, eminently rational.  It may even redound to the benefit of the economy: True, the government will collect less revenue than if the assets were sold after taxes were raised; at the same time, though, there is no guarantee that taxes WILL be raised or that the assets would have been sold if they were subject to higher tax.  In other words, this mild market panic may result in a short-term windfall to the public coffers.

Two things struck me about the article.  First, a quote from John Moorin, an investor who recently sold approximately $650,000 worth of stock: "I love these companies [whose stock I'm selling], but I’m so scared that now all of the sudden I’m going to get taxed at such a rate with them that they won’t be worth anything."

The current capital gains tax rate is 15%.  Now, I'm no accountant, but I think that means--assuming the $650,000 was ALL profit (which is not, mathematically speaking, possible)--that Moorin would "net" a little over $550,000 after taxes.  Next year, under one proposed change to the tax code, the capital gains tax rate could increase to 20%, meaning Moorin would "only" net $520,000 after taxes.  Sure, $30,000 is nothing to sneeze at, but I think the fact that an apparently seasoned investor considers $520,000 to be "nothing" says something about warped values.

Another thing: Not once but tTwice the article referred to the fact that capital gains taxes may be raised to help pay for "President Obama's health care law" (emphasis added).

A note to the Times' editors: It is NOT "the President's" health care law: It is a law that was proposed by the President, and then debated, revised, and ultimately passed by Congress.  References to the Affordable Care Act as "the President's" law are the kind of thing I'd expect to hear on Fox News, where the editorial staff takes the position that President Obama is the dictatorial love-child of Vladimir Lenin and Hitler.  The New York Times should know better.

The Lazy Scholar's Friend (and I Don't Mean Wikipedia)

Writer Evgeny Morozov has a problem with autocomplete, the feature of Google and other sites that utilizes an algorithm to "guess" what you're looking for before you finish typing, and then fills in the rest of the word(s) for you.  In today's Times, Morozov specifically laments the "prudishness" of Google's algorithm, which refuses, for example, to autocomplete such potentially controversial terms as "Lolita" or "Swastika." (I must say though, I'm intrigued by the fact that the censoring mechanism apparently looks not only for pornography but also for intolerance.  Not sure whether this is good or bad, but it is intriguing.)

I, too, have a problem with autocomplete, not so much because of its selectivity as because of other shortcomings.  First, there are unintended consequences, such as the accidental e-mail (alluded to in today's column by Frank Bruni).  Fans of "The Newsroom" will recall MacKenzie McHale (Emily Mortimer) e-mailing Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) about her intention to come clean about secrets from their past, only to discover that--thanks to autocomplete--she has accidentally sent this e-mail to approximately 100,000 people.  By the way, that's also EXACTLY how WOS discovered my secret crush on Janeane Garofalo. (But I SWEAR it's only because it's fun to say "Garofalo"!)

The other problem I have with autocomplete is that it encourages laziness.  Maybe it's just because I'm a fairly fast typist, but generally I can finish typing whatever word or words I want to search for in about the same amount of time as it takes autocomplete to make suggestions.  For example, say I want to Google the President.  Autocomplete fills in "Obama" as soon as one types the letters "Ob."  But by the time "Obama" appears in the pull-down list, I've already struck the "a" and am well on my way to "m."  And even if you're not that quick, how lazy do you have to be to consider typing three extra letters onerous?  If it's worth searching for, it's worth typing.  Let your fingers do the Googling!

Just Another Day at Solipsist Central

(A follow-up to yesterday's post)

November 16, 2012

SOL (On phone): Hey, I'm heading out.  I'm going to stop by the grocery store on the way home.  We need milk and stuff. . .
WOS: OK.
SOL: Um. . . Listen, I have something to tell you.
WOS: What?
SOL: Well. . . have you seen the news today?
WOS: No.  Why?
SOL: OK. . . . Um. . . Well, maybe you'd better sit down.
WOS: What happened?!?
SOL: Well. . .OK, Hostess is going out of business. . .
WOS: Yeah, so?
SOL: So. . . Y'know. . . No more Twinkies.
WOS: WHAT?!?
SOL: I know.
WOS: No!
SOL: I'm sorry.  I know this comes as a shock, but--
WOS: No. This-- This is bad!
SOL: Well, there's nothing we can do about it.
WOS: OK, you need to go to the store and get ALL the Twinkies!!!
SOL: Well, I'm not--
WOS: Yes. You. Are.

(A few minutes later.  I get into my car.  My cell phone rings.)
SOL: Yes?
WOS: OK, here's what you do: You buy up all the Twinkies, all the Ho-Ho's, all the cupcakes.  We store them on the shelves in the pantry, then we SELL them on eBay for a fortune!
SOL: Um. . .
WOS: Pretty good, huh?
SOL: You're just gonna eat them, aren't you?
WOS: Yeah, probably.
SOL: Bye.
WOS: OK, BUT DON'T FORGET TO BUY LOTS OF--
(I hang up.)

(A few minutes later.  I am walking through the parking lot to the supermarket.  My cell phone rings.)
SOL: Hi.
WOS: Did you just try to call me?
SOL: No.
WOS: I was on the other line, and somebody called.  I thought maybe it was you.
SOL: Nope.
WOS: OK.  (Pause) So. . .
SOL: I'm NOT buying up the whole supply of Twinkies!
WOS: COME ON, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!  TWIIIIIIN-KIIEEEES!!!!
(I hang up.)

(I am walking through the store.  I am in the bread aisle.  I think we need bread. I call.)
SOL: Hey, do we need bread?
WOS: Um, yeah.  (Pause.)
SOL: (Sigh) Go ahead.
WOS: Have you gotten the Twinkies yet?
SOL: You need to let this go.
WOS: I CAN'T LET IT GO.
SOL: I'll get you some Twinkies.  As long as they haven't already been cleaned out. . .
WOS: Don't even joke!

(A few minutes later, I call home again.)
SOL: (Struggling not to laugh hysterically)  OK, you're going to think I'm kidding, but I'm not.
WOS: What?
SOL: ALL the Twinkies are gone!  All that's left are the chocolate-filled ones, and a few boxes of cupcakes!
WOS: WHAT ABOUT HO-HO'S?!?
SOL: Nope.  But here's the best part: There's a woman here whose ENTIRE SHOPPING CART is filled with Hostess products!
(WOS and I both start laughing hysterically!)
WOS: Well, wait, that's not cool!  You need to confront her!
SOL: I'm not going anywhere near her! I'm just going to consider myself lucky if I make it back to my car with the two boxes of cupcakes I've managed to snag!
WOS: Yeah, you better move fast!
SOL: This place is scarier than a Staten Island gas station!
WOS: Can we go to Target tomorrow?
SOL: Only if you acquire weapons.

Twinkie the Kid Shrugged

See what happens when you elect Democrats?  For over seventy-five years, Twinkies have expanded the waistlines and decayed the teeth of sugar-addicts the world over.  Along with cockroaches, Twinkies were presumed capable of surviving a nuclear apocalypse!  But they couldn't survive the prospect of a second Obama term.  Not one week after the President's re-election, the apparently emboldened Twinkie-making proletariat at Hostess Brands went on strike.  Unwilling to meet the workers' radical demands--presumably including frills like living wages and decent working conditions--Hostess today announced a suspension of operations.  The Twinkie, my friends, is dead!

It's not like we weren't warned.  The job creators told us what would happen if we re-elected Obama.  We all yawned when Papa John's CEO threatened to raise the price of pizza and/or reduce his workforce--mainly because we wouldn't eat his crappy pizza if he paid us.  But now, with the bigwigs at Hostess going all John Galt on us, well. . . shit just got real!

Laugh all you want, but I have seen what the future has in store.  At my college's bookstore, you know what's being sold as "snacks"?  Pickles!  Individually wrapped pickles floating in pouches filled with some kind of gelatinous brine!  Suddenly Ho-Ho's don't sound so disgusting anymore, do they?
OK, maybe they do.  I'll admit, Twinkies vs. gelatinous pouch-pickles is something of a Sophie's Choice.  But at least it WAS a choice.  We've gone from Sophie's to Hobson's!  The creeping socialism feared by so many encroaches ever-so-much further on our beloved American freedoms!  Today Twinkies, tomorrow freedom to assemble!  Or, y'know, maybe Go-gurt, who knows?

Presents Perfect

Mitt Romney has caught substantial flak lately for comments made on a conference call to supporters.  During this chat, he blamed his recent electoral drubbing in part on "gifts" that President Obama had offered to such traditional Democratic supporters as African-Americans, Hispanics, and younger voters.  These comments were greeted with the predictable howls of outrage.

(DIGRESSION: Unbeknownst to Romney, a New York Times reporter had been invited by one of the conference-call participants to listen in on the conversation.  You would think Mittens would have learned by now never to say anything controversial during "supporters-only" affairs.  Indeed, for all our sakes, maybe he could just stop saying anything.  Ever.  EOD)

Lost amidst all the indignation is an important point: Romney is absolutely right.  President Obama DID win re-election largely because he shamelessly bestowed "gifts" upon the aforementioned constituencies.  What kind of gifts?  Well, a reliable liberal such as myself would say these "gifts" were such things as forgiveness of college loans, ensured access to contraception, and, of course, healthcare reform.  But of course, these are just liberal talking points; I'm sure Romney was referring to more obvious pandering on the part of the President.  So let's see what he meant by "gifts":

“With regards to the young people, for instance, a forgiveness of college loan interest was a big gift,” Mr. Romney said.

Hm.  OK.  Go on.

“Free contraceptives were very big with young, college-aged women. And then, finally, Obamacare also made a difference for them, because as you know, anybody now 26 years of age and younger was now going to be part of their parents’ plan, and that was a big gift to young people."

Sigh.  OK, I get the point.  I-- What's that?

"You can imagine for somebody making $25,000 or $30,000 or $35,000 a year, being told you’re now going to get free health care, particularly if you don’t have it, getting free health care worth, what, $10,000 per family, in perpetuity — I mean, this is huge.”

Yeah, I mean, dangle shiny healthcare in front of a bunch of poor folks--how could Mitt have competed with that?!?  In retrospect, his counter-offer--REVOCATION of said healthcare--may not have been the game-changer he had been counting on.  Look, Mitt, it's one thing to get mad at President Obama for playing Santa Claus, but nobody told you that you had to play the Grinch!

So, what Mitt Romney considers "gifts" are things that most people--apparently including Mitt Romney--would consider policy initiatives, initiatives that any politician would pursue to satisfy his constituents.  Only a churl would point out that Romney intended to bestow similar gifts--tax breaks, deregulation--upon HIS supporters if HE had won. 

In other words, in making these comments, Mitt Romney is guilty of nothing more sinister than a firm grasp of of electoral politics.  If only he had a better grasp of math.  He might then realize that the sheer number of people who appreciate Obama's gifts is substantially larger than that of the gazillionaires who would have appreciated Romney's.

Everything New Is Old Again

"As the nation’s largest banks stay stingy with credit and a growing portion of the population has no bank at all, major retailers are stepping into the void. Customers can now withdraw cash at an A.T.M. with a prepaid card from Walmart, take out a loan at Home Depot for a kitchen renovation or kick-start a new venture with a small-business loan from Sam’s Club. This year, Walmart even started to test selling a life insurance policy." ("On the New Shopping List: Milk, Bread, Eggs, and a Mortgage")

How many aspiring bankers dreamt of working at Costco? How many finance majors compete for those super-selective summer internships at PetSmart?

Everything old is new again. In days of yore, local barbers tended to their communities' medical needs, offering therapeutic bleedings alongside more traditional tonsorial services. Perhaps all this crossover retailing will inspire a return of such time-honored traditions: Come in for a wash and cut, and, while you sit 'neath the hair dryer, have your appendix removed by the onsite surgical staff.

Meanwhile, traditional financial institutions will react as you might expect. I look forward to the Bank of America creperie: The special rooty-tooty-fresh-and-variable-interest-rate breakfast platter will be delicious.