I'll come right out and say that the last thing I want to read in the media, mere days after pleading not guilty to a very serious crime, is this..."One of the co-defendants in the Michael Vick federal dogfighting case pleaded guilty on Monday and pledged to fully cooperate with prosecutors." Maybe it's a combination of crap and shit. Hows about shrap! Any lawyers or justice officials out there with input?
T.
The other night X asks me, “Are you reading a book on the history of numbers?” What’s the appropriate response to that kind of question? Being as there’s a large book on the coffee table titled The Universal History of Numbers: From Prehistory to the Invention of the Computer, I figured the best answer would be a resounding and truthful yes. I think after making my proclamation I noted a barely audible tsk blended with the sound of wonderment, covered with a dash of dork, and an aftertaste of oak. She looked at me sideways while heading towards the bathroom to ready for bed. I quickly pointed out (protested?), realizing that I might be losing romantic status in her eyes, that I was also reading Wizard: The Life and Times of Nikola Tesla, Biography of a Genius. Clearly, this was a relationship disaster averted.
Love to all.
t
“What fresh calamity is this? Bell goes second ball for a dismal quacker, missing a pacy in-dipper and being trapped bang in front. England 's lead is just four runs - this could all be over this evening.”
That, my friends, is a commentary from the BBC on today’s action (day four of five) at the second nPower cricket test at Trent Bridge, England. For those not following the summer tests, the first ended in a draw as weather and bad light denied an England victory. The Indian bowlers are dominating this test and the England batters are struggling. With more than a full day to go the Indians should wrap this up in short order. A quick, Americanized, Chris Berman, translation of the above:
“Unbelievable, isn’t it? Ian ‘Alexander Graham’ Bell , taking only his second pitch in the box, is OUT for no runs! Zaheer ‘Wrath of’ Khan rings him up with a fireball that broke in on Bell as he stepped in front of the plate for a mighty swing. BANG! The ball unbelievably hits him, and the zebra sends him packing. Tea may be done but India is still steaming ahead. England leads by a hair but they’ll need oven mitts to manage the Indians…they are boiling hot! Warm up the sheets for England …this’ll be over in time for a short story before bed.”
Of course, flowing cricket description is a thing of beauty. Go ahead and practice the former, skip that latter.
Yours googly,
T
The Eleven stepped out of from the administrative/hibernation den this morning and was smacked in the face with 92% humidity. That kind of number would certainly qualify for Dean’s List…what’s that figure to? an A? The transition from a do-ably moderate cave to the swamp presents issues for those, like me, that just love the heat. Additional baggage was included in our march to the Metro, more to come on that little story.
The trip out west was uneventful in the main but full of trivial questions that fill my head. As an example: on my flight home from Reno I was on Southwest via Las Vegas and on to Chicago Midway. The plane out of Reno was full and as we pulled to the gate at McCarran to disgorge all but 48 passengers carrying through to the Windy City, the Southwest flight attendant gives the following announcement:
“As we arrive at the gate please remain in your seats if you are continuing to Chicago in order to allow the Las Vegas passengers to de-board. Once all the Vegas passengers have exited, please remain in your seats until we have counted onward passengers and given the correct count to the gate attendant. After we finish the count we’ll make an announcement so you can move to another seat if you wish.”
Pretty straightforward, right? My lifetime of training (and listening with my ears) has told me that Southwest does the counting and moving this way for a reason. Thousands of flights and an efficient arrival/departure record certainly vouch for their procedures. My theory, important as this is, is that the attendants don’t want to be attempting a count while the following are ongoing: idiots moving all over the cabin or, idiots moving slowly all over the cabin. Sit in your damn seat and let them count so they can begin boarding passengers and get me to Chicago! This is a ‘greater plan’ than Don and Betty from Des Moines can possibly understand. And speaking of Don and Betty…they were in the window and center seats of my aisle on the flight to Las Vegas. Don’s hell-bent for leather to move from his window seat to another window seat in some other aisle after we land. The Vegas passengers aren’t yet off the jet before Don’s up-and-at ’em trying to pitch Betty’s train case over the seats in front of us so he can evacuate our row, immediately! I, of course, sit tight awaiting the last of the Vegas exits and the promised announcement. Trust me, I want to move to the window seat in the front row so I’ll have more legroom…this isn’t me just being difficult, not really. Don’s got his big head on a swivel, snapping back and forth, eyeing the back of the jet, while nudging Betty and telling her to get up and move, “that’s the last passenger…go go go” he says to the bewildered Betty (she can see that I’m clearly not moving). Don reminds me of those paratrooper jumpmasters in WWII movies, the guys at the plane exit screaming “MOVE MOVE MOVE!” Don is a real mental giant. After the Vegas gamblers do manage to actually finish the exodus (by the way, Don was wrong…they weren’t done) the attendant announces, “Please remain in your seats as we will count passengers from the rear of the jet.” This is too much for Donbo, he screams in a nearly crushed whisper, “Goddamnit Betty! What does it matter if two of us are on one side of the plane or the other side of the plane…get up! Two is two.” He’s right there, I think, two is two. Betty starts to half-rise while pitching a glance at the aisle dam that is I. In a very gentle tone I say, “Oh, are you getting off here in Vegas?” Betty is flummoxed, “No, we want to move seats” she says. “Oh,” I say “I think they want us to stay in our seats until they finish the count.” She sits back down and looks at the exasperated Don with a face that conveys the fact that I must be someone who not only listens with my ears…but actually follows directions. Mere moments later the attendant passes our row, counting people, on her way to the front of the jet where she announces that the count is complete and we are free to move seats. I almost take an extra few seconds unbuckling my seatbelt just to see if I can get Don’s head to explode…I don’t. I amble up to the front row while Don and Betty run like rats on a covert death mission to another row nowhere near me. I didn’t see Don and Betty in Chicago but I’ll guess that Don was in a Weaver stance over the baggage claim screaming about incoming baggage…INCOMING BAGGAGE! “Betty, get the fucking bag…the bag! Get the suitcase!”
X is applying for judicial clerkships next month. All of her application packages were due at the G’town Law Center this morning. Remember the manila envelopes? That’s just the beginning. Here’s the ten-step process to completing judicial clerkship packages on a peaceful Sunday:
1. X gets her journal assignment / soon-to-be writing sample in order. There’s cursing from the couch as her octogenarian laptop signals power issues…like not staying on. We use our four eyes and four hands to stare into space and push various buttons, repeatedly, like this: push button, computer doesn’t work. Push button, computer doesn’t work. Push button, computer doesn’t work. “Clearly we’ll need to get out to a store quickly and drop a hundred dollars on a new cord and battery,” we say, “clearly.” We eventually jiggle the cord, find it loose, and try to ignore our impeccable troubleshooting technique.
2. While X types away I get her list of 96 judges who’ll be graced with the perfect, summertime, manila envelopes. 96! I’m off to surf the G’town Web site to confirm what each judge wants: transcripts, writing samples, letter(s) of recommendation, references, daisies, a new lot in life, a better secretary, blah blah blah. Each judge, with names either hyphenated or full of initials and middle names, is compiled on a legal pad (what are the odds?). Checkmarks are made for each item. Checks tallied and retallied. All the numbers appear good. Transferred to Excel spreadsheet for sorting (that’s me!).
3. Copies made of law school and undergraduate transcripts. Why does a judge need an undergraduate transcript? I would think that Dean’s List at G’town Law would pretty much cover the academic stuff. I would think that admission to G’town Law covers the undergraduate stuff. Does Judge Roy Bean think he knows more about admissions? Sure he does. “Did she take any courses in Psychology or Sociology in college? She did? As an undergraduate? I’ll have her!”
4. Writing sample is ready to print. X asks me how many judges want writing samples. I reply, while giggling…89. Hmmm…math….11 pages to 89 judges; that’s a lot, or something like 1000 pages. Our printer isn’t quite ready for that so we send the file (and $100) to Kinko’s for printing and collating; seven pm pickup. Onward!
5. Oh baby, 96 cover letters to manage. If you’ve never done a mail merge using MicroSoft Office you don’t know what you’re missing; it’s a bitch to sort but great in the end…like marriage, but backwards. Each letter needs to be checked to make sure the enclosed material list is correct (they don’t all want the same stuff), the “I’d love to work in New England” is added to the appropriate judges, and they all need to be printed on nice resume paper to match the resumes. P.S. make sure to include that you’re a third-year law student on your cover letter…the printer won’t catch that. P.P.S. we need to get more resume paper.
6. 10 x 13 manila envelopes can’t be printed at our house or on the industrial-strength printers at Kinko’s. They do this just to piss us off.
7. Off to Kinko’s to pick up 1,000 pages of writing sample. It’s 6pm and they haven’t even started because they can’t work ‘the computer’. Don’t even ask. They finally get started on the sample, one guy tries to figure out how to print the envelopes or some labels, and we head off to Staples for resume paper, labels (in case he can’t figure it out), and any other spare bits we might need. Staples closes at 6pm. Office Depot closes at 6pm. We go to Target. Mission accomplished. Back to Kinko’s. Printing done. No luck on the envelopes.
8. Pick up pizza and beer.
9. Reprint cover letters, X is now a third-year law student. Another mail merge to get the labels printed for envelopes. She types more stuff, prints more stuff, whilst I put all the labels on envelopes. Cover letters and envelopes alphabetized. Stacks laid out, people and beer at table.
10. Envelopes stuffed and number of recommendations handwritten on back (the law center adds those). 96 packages stuffed into a perfectly sized tote for the morning transport. It’s 10:30 pm and the mission is complete: two people, 12 hours.
I volunteered to carry the tote to the train this morning…I’m like that. Remember the 92% humidity? I do.
More later.
T
I’m off on a jet plane tomorrow morning for four days of work in northern Nevada . I managed a flight via Chicago (ATA and Southwest) instead of the normally required march through Phoenix; if you’ve done PHX you’ll know how much more relaxing it is to make a run west by passing through the Windy City .
Here’s a quandary for the office gerbils out there: when did the manila envelope become the brown envelope? We’re not talking dark brown but something more like a lightish brown blended into the old manila color. The reason I ask? Well, X is gathering materials for clerking applications (I’ll be printing, packaging and S.W.A.K. next weekend) and the requirements put forth, in cap and bold letters, that all submissions to judges be enclosed in 10 x 13 stick-and-seal MANILA envelopes. As a neighborhood elder, I remember the day when a manila envelope was simple enough to pick out – it was manila. Now the Staples folk don’t say manila but instead have given the nom de guerre as brown. Can we package everything up in these brown impostors? Do the old, grumpy judges immediately call upon aides, paralegals, and personal assistants to decry the just-off hue of law student submission packages? I’m telling you…they are manila, even if some politically correct manager at a global office supply store decided to label them as brown way back in 1999. Update update. The Eleven stopped by Office Depot this afternoon so see if they stocked the 10 x 13 easy seal MANILA envelopes. I'm starting to feel like we might be on a snipe hunt ("Here's your bag and your whuppin' stick!"). We've cornered the 10 x 13 white and the 10 x 13 Tyvek models...but no manila. I have a sneaking suspicion that the next requirement for this application process will be to use ink drawn only from the blood of the golden lion tamarind printed on 53-weight paper produced from the pulp of coastal Oregon Pinus ponderosa. Christ. Law students. Judges. Lawyers. Do you think I’m overreacting? Fine, you can come by and convince X that’s it’s just a color…
Kt is also traveling this week so X and Corey will be left to their own devices for three or four days. The last few times this has occurred the commune on North Park became a beer drinking, pizza eating frat house. The very last time it happened the two ambled over to Willow for dinner and ate so much they couldn’t eat anything else for days. X will have to make her own coffee, breakfast sandwich, and walk to the Metro all alone; Corey will no doubt knock out a few boxes of Lucky Charms and a gallon of milk. It does take a village...
L told me she isolated herself for 4 hours yesterday and finished the newest Harry Potter. From our discussion I’d guess she’d rate it at 3 ½ stars; it apparently falls somewhere between third and sixth favorite of the series. She has her methods.
We attempted to hook up a wireless router for the printer this evening. Like that son-of-a-bitch will work.
Love to all.
T.
The organization that runs the Ultimate leagues in the D.C. area has access to about ten different sets of fields all across the greater metro area. Since I have often found myself, in my first season, trying to sort the fields, figure best transport, and building timelines for arrival, I decided to use the Google to build a more effective mousetrap. I think the product turned out quite well as a saved map (hybrid with roads AND satellites) that everyone can access: all the fields with nearest Metro stops, some basic directions, and field tips for players. Making widgets, making widgets. I make the widgets. I’m still old and the after-game party on Park Dr. still involves much moaning, groaning, and rolling on and off furniture.
This just in…no, it’s not the Onion.
WASHINGTON (Reuters) -- Hasbro Inc. will recall about 1 million Easy-Bake Ovens because children could get their hands caught in the front opening and suffer burns, the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission said Thursday.
A voluntary recall for the ovens was first issued in February so a repair kit could be provided to address the issue. But since then, there have been 249 reports of children getting their hands caught, 77 reports of burns and one girl had a finger partially amputated, the CPSC said.
I certainly have sympathy for the amputated finger, I wouldn’t want that for anyone’s child. The 77 burns and 249 stuck hands (out of 1 million?) don’t seem too catastrophic. Isn’t this a classic case of children learning? How do we get children to not touch a hot burner or oven? I prefer the ‘say no’ method but I know there are parents out there that may lean towards the ‘get burned once and you’ll think twice’ mentality. Look at the opening on this oven…
…it’s a little hole that should be inaccessible because the safety device/cake spatula is in the way. Why are you putting your hand in there? I know…kids. Are these bad boys still powered by 50W light bulbs? Do you let your kid touch a light bulb? Shall we recall all the lamps in America? If your kid is jamming his paw into any random opening with glowing light emanating from within, you’ve got more issues than the Hasbro Easy-Bake. When did they change the name from E-Z Bake? Should we recall fences? Don’t kids get their heads caught in fences?
I've become a little disenchanted with Andrew Sullivan's blog. The facts: we're similar on the political spectrum even if it seems that his conservative ideals and my liberal ideals couldn't possible align. I'm sure that both of us have been slow on the uptake on any number or issues across the board. He was way behind in the Iraq/Bush idiocy and I'm behind on the early 80s conservatism for which he stands tall. My disenchantment is mirrored by his/my entries...too many links to other ideas and blogs. I think he's off vacationing, yet still blogging nonstop, and maybe he won't mind the challenge put forth: one week, Monday-Sunday with no links to full-blown stories; simply commentary on those stories. I'm cool with inclusion of reader e-mails since they are perfectly acceptable as fodder for thought, even if I have none. I'm just tired of endless links even if they provide quality entertainment. What I want, as much as my trolling for those quality links, is to read the bits that run through his mind.
I'll be expecting a call soon while I begin lining up serious and flippant commentaries.
T.
p.s. I saw my second unicycle guy again today. He was about 1/4 mile from the mall and teetering back-and-forth while allegedly riding home. It seemed so much work; it seemed I was hypmo-tized...
I can’t help it.
With that out in the open, I’ll let you know that this is as much sport entry as a pop culture entry, sort of. Having spent the 1995-2003 period of my life in England I’m well-versed in the rise of the Spice Girls and Beckham. Let’s get Victoria out of the way first. She’s the least talented of the 'group', she never seemed to be singing (her singing skills clearly the equal of mine), and was generally the least likely to ‘do much’ for me. She’s always been a mannequin that simply posed and appeared to be nothing more than a somewhat pretty face. Hasn’t she become angular? These days she’s got a surreal habit of wearing dresses that somehow manage to defy gravity as they display her assets; it’s circus like – sideshow circus like.
The real question posed through the sport pages and radio talk is whether or not Beckham will change the MLS and American soccer. He will. The most basic assumption is that if Pele, Beckenbauer, Best, and Cruijff couldn’t save the NASL in the late 70s and early 80s than there’s no way Mr. Hairboy will make any headway. Considering that Pele, Best, and Beckenbauer generally top the list of the best players the world has ever seen we should be able to end the discussion right now. Even on his best day Beckham is more one-trick soccer pony than complete player. Have once attended a NASL game in 1980 at the Seattle Kingdome (Cosmos v. Sounders) and having lived through the birth of ESPN and the 24-hour sports coverage in America, I can tell you that this immigration is an entirely different happening. I don’t think the NASL could even usurp the Bulgarian Soccer League on late-night ESPN in 1978. There’s no time to research the television contract secured by the NASL a quarter century ago but I’ll guess it was limited and low profile…I don't even remember seeing it on TV, ever. In fact, all I can remember of the NASL days on TV was Kyle Rote Jr. (he of the legendary Tampa Bay Bandits) excelling at SuperStars on ABC every Saturday afternoon. The NASL was more an idea than a happening.
What we’ve got today is a million channels, a soccer league that’s doing fairly well, and a population that’s gagging for celeb/sport personalities. More people will see Beckham play in the U.S. than the combined total of the 70s/80s imported European stars. For at least a year he’ll be the pre-eminent star of MLS and one of the leading sport figures in America – he’s as close as you can get to importing an American(-made) superstar. The reason we’re seeing so many youngsters caught up in the mania is because it’s been since at least 1994 (the U.S.-hosted World Cup) that soccer playing kids have had a recognizable icon (Coby Jones, Alexi Lalas, Tony Meola, etc. It's always the hair, isn't it?) Now they have that recognizable and very wealthy icon. Even though more U.S. players are in the upper echelons of European football, even though the U.S. team is certainly a top 25 squad, the majority of the most talented kids (and soccer players are the most talented) didn't have that ‘hundred million dollar’ player to look to…until now. I think the fact that he’s the most recognizable player in the world, not the best, is what will bring the greatest success.
As the MLS begins to grasp the concept of big money salaries, and applies it to the best American players and quality European players, we’ll see an influx of greater talent across the board. Nothing in athletics is more important than money and any player that says otherwise is either under indictment or just stupid. As an aside; has anyone seen the NHL lately? Didn't think so. Since the NHL is apparently occupying the sport channels in third-tier cable packages maybe there's room for the MLS to fill a void.
We’ll see.
T.
(photo: Steven Klein/W Magazine)
Right. It's a weekend and a post's a'coming around the end of this line.......
My team had an Ultimate game at the reflecting pool Friday night. There are three fields on the south side of the pool between the WWII and Lincoln Memorial. The walk in the early evening from the Smithsonian Metro stop along the monuments is quite nice. Playing with the pool and Washington Monument in clear view is excellent. I think at one point I told one of my teammates to run a post pattern toward the Washington Momument; disc to be delivered forewith. I don't remember what came of that gameplan.
On Saturday the Eleven headed out for errands and ended up at a tailor just up the road in Arlington. X had a half-dozen lower half kits that required alterations and Kt had tip-typed a message to her mothers group in the area - this shop was the recommendation: Reed's Custom Tailors. We waited a moment or two for a customer to clear the stage for an epic performance that needed only opera music to bring in the crowd. It starts with X pulling skirts and trousers from the plastic bag and beginning a far too long explanation that she needs them taken in, lengthened, or both. About four garments in the tailor begins to rub his temples and just loudly enough to be heard saying "I'll need you to try them on..." I pulled up a chair, got my glass of champagne, put my quarters in to the opera glass holder, and got ready for a show. I'm not sure we need to know anything X said (bar one exchange) so I'll just hit you with various quotes from the tailor:
"Why don't you buy clothes that fit?"
"I can do that. Turn. Good? Come back, you can't get that skirt off."
"How high do you them brought up? Do you have shoes?"
"They don't make 2 1/2 inch heels."
"It can't be done without shoes."
"These are grandma's shoes."
"Is that a hook? Can you hook it? You see, if it's not hooked I won't know if it's too tight"
"Do the hook first then the zipper. You'll ruin the zipper."
"Did you wash these [linen trousers]?"
"Yes. Linen shrinks."
"Yes, if you wash them again they will shrink again."
"I can't just take in the waist, it won't look good."
And the coup de grace - X had a pair of cuffed linen trousers, the same shrunk linen covered above, that she wanted lengthened. She says to the tailor, as she's holding them on the counter, "I want these as long as you make them. They don't have to cuffed." He starts to rip the seam while she's off to change into her white ever-twisting skirt (the one with the hook). When she pops out moments later and walks over to the counter he shows her the (rather obvious) problem with her request: the trousers, sans seam, actually has nine inches of extra material. This finding, which he knew to be coming, is met with this little nugget:
"Good. You want the pants six inches longer?"
It couldn't have been a more sardonic statement. I was fighting off the laughter.
What we've clearly stumbled into is a tailor of excellent ability with a dash of "I'll do this if I must but I'l be sure you know just how silly I think you are" mentality. He's perfect for X but we're not sure everyone would survive. Brilliant.
A quick dinner review from Saturday: spanikopita, tzatziki, gigantes, seafood omelette, and braised chicked. It got ravaged.
Another Monday at the end of the tunnel.
T.
I was just about to walk into Ballston Mall on my way home yesterday when a guy riding a unicycle on sidewalk shot (?) by me. Everyone surely remembers my insightful entry on unicycles earlier this year. Remember? Here it is. I hadn’t seen a unicycle, beyond an occasional circus visit, in the twenty years prior to that guy carrying one on the bus. Now I’ve seen two in less than a year? The world is going to hell. This guy, though clearly an ‘independent soul’, was fully kitted-out with helmet and knee/shin pads – safety first I often say, and for that he gets the benefit of the doubt.
I stopped by the Deli across from my office this morning to get an egg-and-cheese bagel, since we’ve no eggs or bagels at home, and the customer in front of me was wrapping up his order for a dozen bagels. I’m going to assume this purchase was intended for either his officemates or some visitors that were arriving for a cubicle tour or PowerPoint presentation carnival. He ended up with some poppy seed bagels, a few with everything, some onion bagels, etc. The ordered bagels were bagged up when the woman at the counter comes at him with a real mystery of a question…and this conversation follows:
Bagel Bagger: “Do you need cream cheese?”
Silly Man: “Do you have flavored?”
Bagel Bagger: “We have plain and vegetable. We also have lox.”
Silly Man: “Umm. Well. Hmm. No thanks.”
What? I know that his hemming and hawing wasn’t because he was wondering whether or not there was some ratty old cream cheese left in the common ‘fridge at work. I think he was actually debating if bagels require cream cheese. He’s an idiot. Picture this encounter back at the Data Intronix, Inc. conference room.
Co-worker #1: “Hey bagels. Awesome dude…up top! [hands slap over the conference table] I didn’t get breakfast this morning. I’m effing hungry”
Idiot Man: “Yeah, grabbed ‘em at Chutzpah deli on the way in bro’.”
Co-worker #2: “Nice. Where’s the cream cheese?”
Idiot Man: “Didn’t get any. Who needs cream cheese for bagels? I thought we could just try to gag down some dry and crusty bread hunks. Man up dude! Up top! [nothing]
Co-worker #1: “Simon! You are such an idiot.”
I can guarantee you that if you ever come over to the house for bagels there’ll be complimentary cream cheese. This falls under the similar belief that if I’m making you shrimp risotto there will be tons and tons of monstrous shrimp overflowing from your entrée. You won’t spend time digging around trying to find little shreds of cheap, frozen shrimp. If you go to Simon’s house you’ll no doubt find a splash of shrimp juice on top of some Uncle Ben’s three-minute rice.
Sorry Simon.
It’s Friday.
T.
I’ve already received one RSVP for my dinner party: apparently I intended to invite Burt Rutan and not his brother, Dick; Burt designs and Dick flys. I’m told that the Queen and Julie would prefer to have Burt sitting in-betwixt them. You know, I intended to entertain Julie. I’ve also been chastised by X for having couples sitting together, some type of party violation – it’s my party, I can do whatever I want.
I got an e-mail from the Old Crow Medicine Show yesterday that linked to a new video for I Hear Them All – the best song from their last album. You can hop over and watch if you please, noting in particular the otherworldly beauty of Critter Fuqua’s sideburns…trust me, you’ll know which one is Critter. The new video and the sounds of the boys singing led me to the below video from the Ryman in Nashville. They sound great on CD but nothing can replicate the live shows…at least until last year’s show at the 9:30. A few things to bear in mind: the filming gets much more stable at the song progresses, the sound isn’t perfect but you’ll get the idea, and you can hear them sing the lyrics over the crowd…that was a problem at the 9:30. This is music. And finally, for Ketch – please go back to the unplugged fiddle.
Thanks
T.
X had a soirée last evening in the city’s suburbs. I sat at home and finished viewing the second season of the series Rescue Me. A socially-driven comparison of our respective events would be embarrassing - she thinks of Rescue Me as nothing more than a soap opera for guys. I think of it as an evening drama for guys that’s filled with lots of profanity, sex, firefighting, strange hallucinations, violence, addictions, and completely flawed characters. I’ll guess that none of those terms could be used to describe her evening of catered food and wine. Actually, there are probably flawed characters populating the beltway ‘burbs. I get the impression that the topics of conversation lean a bit too much toward vacation destinations, some USA Today shallow topics (my term), and the generally inane subject matter of hard-charging people. The problem here is that you’ve got a group having dinner and drinks that's too much like a game of soccer with 9 year-old players. If you’ve ever seen one of these games you’ll recognize the analogy. If not, picture two teams of kids 'playing' soccer yet all of the players are constantly glommed together in an amoeba-like pile of yelling amateurs. There’s no spacing between players and they all seem to be trying to do the same thing: either kick the ball or kick the other kid in the shins. Eventually, the ball acccidentally pops out of the nucleus and one kid takes a run at the poor goalie sitting down and playing in the dirt in front of their net. The dinner party idea often turns into that Saturday morning little league soccer game – you might think you have two teams, or at least more than one, when in fact you have only one big old group of chuckleheads moving about in a cloud of dust and confusion. The one interesting and different person at the table is like that goalie…they’ll eventually get to play but it’s purely by accident.
I’m having a dinner party and inviting eight guests. I thought about inviting ten but I’ve got no interest in cooking for that many people and, quite frankly, probably don’t have enough people I’m interested in inviting. Here’s the opening salvo for a seating chart for my gala.
Fire away.
T.
Here’s a little morality test in two parts that I pawned off on the WonderTwins while walking to the Metro this morning - they nattered about it away all the way to the station...monkeys. I heard it while listening to This American Life on the pod while commuting home yesterday. This portion of the show was actually borrowed from another NPR program called RadioLab. Anyway…
The only information you get is what you get; don’t ask any more questions.
1. You’re approaching a railroad track and see five railway workers working on said track. A train is approaching, they can’t hear it, can’t see it, and won’t react to its approach. You can’t yell or otherwise signal the workers. When the train gets to them it will run them down and kill all five. You also see that there's a lever that will switch the train to another track prior to running down the five workers. You notice that this other track has only one worker on it and he can neither hear nor see the train; he won’t move. Same same. Would you pull the lever or not?
2. Same setup to start with: five workers on the track, train coming, etc., except there isn’t another track, a switch, or the solo worker. This time you are standing on an overpass above the track with another person, a largish person. In order to stop the train you could maybe, possibly, just give old Big Bones a nudge off the overpass. He hits the track, gets flattened, and stops the train from moving on and hitting the five workers down the track. Would you push him?
Based on the segment these questions have been posed to hundreds of thousands of random people and the findings are eerie. For the first question nearly 90% say they would pull the lever and kill one in order to save five. For the second question, nearly 90% wouldn’t push anyone in order to save the five. I think X decided that fate was fate and she wouldn’t pull the lever in the first and clearly wouldn’t push in the second. I’m not so sure about Kt. She wanted to know things like how old were they, was her little boy Q. one of the workers, do they have children, are they cute, what’s the weather like, why can’t she scream at all of them, could she send a little dog over to warn them, how many people are on the train, did I have something for her to eat, and on and on. I don’t think she would make a timely decision in either case – five die in one, five die in the other.
There was a neuro-scientist/philosopher who took on the premise behind the answers by scanning brains just as people were posed the question and answered. For the first problem there were all types of synapses as the brain quickly processed the choice; the brain clearly believing there was a choice. For the second, the brain barely fired at all; it wasn’t actually a choice if it involved pushing someone, at least as far as the brain was concerned. His opinion is that our morality may not be based on what mom and dad told us, and probably aren’t as refined as we think. He puts forth the idea that maybe we learn the ethics and codes from our animal side and that the act of ‘pushing’ someone into harm’s way is something that no one, even an animal, would contemplate. X pooh-poohed that whole idea...she does that sometimes.
Have a mind stretch.
T
Hear ye, hear ye. Metro employees are hardcore when it comes to allowing the visiting kids into the tunnels before 9:30am on weekdays. My dad tried to get the Rosslyn station master to let him slip through before 9:30 last Thursday. The fifty-one (L and I = LI) was meeting at the Rosslyn Metro near his hotel en route to our Washington Monument appointment. I can picture the station agent simply laughing at his Metro day pass and mumbling something about injury and death to day pass holders whilst chuckling to himself.
The turista flock that descends on D.C. in the summer is no competition (simply food) for the Monday-Friday commuters. It all came to the fore on Friday morning as we swapped from Orange to Red line trains at Metro Center. Anyone who’s been a rail commuter in any city understands the pas de deux performed with fellow commuters (consider yourself to be one person with the ‘fellow commuters’ as the second in this deux). The sight of Ohio tourists bumbling through Metro Center post-9:30 is maddening. They can’t work the escalators, the stairs, or the seats on the train. They can’t figure out why there’s a picture of just how you insert the paper ticket in the machine. There’s much staring about the station, staring at gates, memorizing of maps, and securing of the wide-eyed progeny sporting various university logos from the greater Big 10 and Big 12 flyover regions. If we allowed the Buckeyes into the station during the commute we’d have something similar to Pamplona and that running of the bulls that I love so much – goring, stomping, and killing. I can see the opening of the story on the news wire:
Washington D.C. (AP) The Metro’s meanest commuters lived up to their fearsome reputation, goring two and crushing at least seven people as thousands of lost tourists stood about the narrow platforms Monday in Washington’s annual running of the commuters.
The first of five commuter runs in the weeklong Fourth of July tourist festival involved the suited and business casual '16th and K' commuters, renowned as the most violent fighting commuters in the MetroPlex..
As they charged down the 50-meter route from the New Carrollton train to the Shady Grove train, two of them fell after encountering a lost family from Oklahoma and, appearing to lose their way, turned on the crowd of tourists. Two people from Nebraska were gored
"People stumble and fall in front of you but you have to just keep running, jump, knock them out of the way. It brings back old football days," said John Turner, 38, a homicide detective and Metro commuter from Anacostia.
Maybe not.
Love to all.
T.
I have a stern brace of parking lot rules – one is an effect on my driving, the second an effect on others. First, if I’m droning down a parking aisle and I see tail lights, I stop. This isn’t directly related to the second rule (don’t read ahead), and it has nothing to do with me actually having feelings for people, it simply seems in the best interest of me, mankind, and the car I’m driving to not attempt to squirt behind someone attempting a back out. I generally believe it helps my karma to defer to those backing and/or parking throughout the world. By my accounts only about 10% of drivers seem to follow my lead. The second (and more irritating if broken rule) is this: you cannot stop in a parking lot to wait for a space unless the white reverse lights are shining as you approach the soon-to-be vacant space. (Have I brought this up before?) Just because you see a family walking towards their Nina Totenberg-edition Hummer 2 doesn’t mean you can park your ride in the middle of the aisle hoping to get the space once two adults, two youngsters, one infant, four bags of groceries, a stroller, three dogs, and three new storage boxes are loaded up. I know you think it might be okay to just wait it out but please try to remember that I’m about to kill you (p.s. the sign that reads 'compact car' means a car, not a minivan, truck or SUV). What makes it all a perfect little scene for me is when three or four people violate the first rule while the Hummer Family is trying to back out whilst your crappy Vanagon is blocking the aisle. Simple rules. Please play along.
Do we need reporting from Pamplona on the running of the bulls? I think in the early days of 24-hour CNN it was ‘funny’ to watch people getting gored and trampled by bulls simply because it was some sort of real-time news. That was about 25 years ago and I’ve decided I no longer need to know, in headlines, that two idiots were injured on the second day of the running. What? It can’t be. People hurt? Bulls chasing people…that’s so funny!
Laurel and dad were here over the last five days and we had a wonderful time. We managed to survive the weather and fill Laurel’s requirement for Smithsonian and monument visits: the Washington Monument, Air and Space, National Gallery of Art, Natural History Museum, Library of Congress, a walk around the Capitol, lunch at the Museum of the American Indian, and the Spy Museum. We also snuck down to Rosslyn on the Fourth to see the fireworks across the Potomac. The forecast for yesterday was about 100 degrees so I convinced L. to skip the Zoo this trip and instead go swimming at the huge pool on base – excellent work on my part. Everyone has made it home safe and sound.
I’ll consider clearing up the reasoning behind the Metro limiting all day passes to travel after 9:30am.
T.
The reason I often miss various celebratory ‘events’ is because I tend to rebel against the masses. A prime example is the national fireworks display over the Mall tomorrow night, in fact, any fireworks display on Independence Day. (If you must know, New Year’s Eve fits neatly into the same box of my junky, non-participatory behavior.) On most Fourths of July I momentarily think of planning an outing somewhere to watch the rockets’ red glare. As it is, once those moments pass, often filled with traffic signs warning of horrible traffic jams or tips on commuting to a people-infested strip of grass, I recognize the error of my ways and decide to settle in at home with a book, movie, or long dinner. It’s not that I don’t like fireworks but the people always seem to be in the way. This year Laurel will be here, and every eleven-year old wants to see a massive display of fireworks, so I’ve planned on lawnchairing on the Virginia side of the Potomac tomorrow ev’n. The reports tell me it’s an excellent view, there will be fewer traffic issues, and we can bypass the mass of humanity on the Mall. I’m sure that with a sweet picnic and our comfy chairs it’ll be a lovely evening. I’ll use tomorrow night's participation to claim exemption from New Year’s and Fourth celebrations until 2010. Don't even ask me.
Addendum: Corey’s boss has invited everyone over to the house for dogs, burgers, and swimming for the Fourth. This is interesting. There are claims of “a great bridge for watching fireworks” and, “maybe we can get into the building and watch from the upper floors” being bandied about. Well…well. This development adds something to the mix: more people. That rarely bodes well in my experience. Think about planning to go out for dinner, or traveling, and remember just how much easier it always ends up being when more people are trying to decide what to do next; feel free to cringe at those memories.
I’ll start a pro/con list this evening.
Feel free to sleep in tomorrow.
T.
Generals are strange birds. The single-page interview in this week’s Sunday New York Times Magazine is with Wesley Clark. I always assume that military men, through and through, are most likely to be deeply embedded and in favor of the current armed operation – that image has change drastically over the last three years as various retired honchos speak up. One of Clark’s questions dealt with the Global War on Terrorism and its impact on the World. He points out that when we try to amass the threat of terrorism against the behemoth of the Cold War (with the implications of each confrontation) we are conflating the religious intensity and horrors involved in terrorism in a desire to grant the confrontation a greater import. (Okay, I added a bit to what I think is his thought process…he only got one line answers to each question published in article...I’ve got endless space.) His idea seems to come from the math that 200 million Russians, and a government with a capability to destroy the globe, was a far greater threat to this country than 50,000 hardcore religious extremists and their current methods of attack. As of today, even though the threat is real and the results of terrorism frightening, we seem to live as if the experience comes from the same cache of fears we carried post-WWII through the late 80s – a belief that our way of life was constantly under attack, we needed to stay vigilant, or be at the ready to dive under the school desk. Maybe it’s time we take a long look at the world situation and decide exactly how threatened we are; how much of our daily lives have changed in the last six years due to terrorism? I put forth that it’s a change of miniscule proportion. There’s certainly not representative of a fear of hemispheres being blasted into oblivion and cities melting away. Maybe the focus of the lens can be drawn in on the threats that can be reached, contained, and disarmed. Is it really a global war? Enough of that; I’ll ponder it.
T.
