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May 13th, 2008
09:18 am - make sure he a thug and intelligent too Some life lessons, smuggled in the form of weekend anecdotes:
Learn Enough Dance to Dance to Funk / Soul; Everything Else is Wasted. Well, okay, and the bare minimum of dance required to get married in the States. But so few places bust out any sort of swing worth swingin' to, and salsa can only be found in seedy gin joints with knife artists in sharkskin suits. But if you're ever in Central Square on a Friday night - like I was for Rachel R's birthday - stop by the Cantab and listen to Diane Blue and the Fatback Band lay down the oldest and greatest. "Dancing in September," "Knock on Wood," and maybe even a little James Brown for you. Really - all you need.
Pick a Party and Stick With It. I left Rachel's celebration midway through to see if anyone had camped out at 90's Night in Allston. Had I called ahead I could have saved myself the trip - the cool kids had been crowded out by the BU kids. After waiting in line for a minute and confirming the situation with Matthew, I returned to Cambridge and closed out the night at the Cantab. I probably missed a lot of prime dancing thanks to my indecision and I will regret it until the day I die.
You Build a Surprise Party with 90% Discipline and 10% Innovation. I went to a surprise party with Kym from work on Saturday evening. Kym's friend Allie had been planning this for about a month and had gone above and beyond to keep everything quiet. But it takes more than just secrecy to get a surprise party going. So, that afternoon, she recruited Kym's landlord, who called Kym and told her that a burst pipe had flooded her closet. She hurried home and found us waiting.
Never Drink On An Empty Stomach. Seriously! Never! What did you think would happen? And no, two plates of tortilla chips and a bowl of creamy dip do not count! And no, a single slice of a pulled pork quesadilla does not count! How old are you? Have you learned nothing? Seriously! It's like I can't even look at you!
(Read more) Current Music: Nas - "Made You Look"
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May 12th, 2008
08:42 am - there's no one in here but the fighters This weekend media blow drew the black marble:
Battlestar Galactica: I have been greatly impressed by the depth of writing this season. You can always count on BSG to throw in plot twists and sudden traumatic developments. That doesn't take much in the way of skill. But the last couple of episodes - particularly "Escape Velocity" and "Faith" - have really floored me. Little details, like the offhand mention of the "Mithras cult" in the former or the understated symbolism with Anders in the latter, show me that the writers know what they're doing.
The Office: Back up to speed in a strong way. I'm pretty happy with them. "... and then you said, Pam, Pam, Pam, and then you sneezed in my tea, but you said not to worry because it was just allergies."
30 Rock: I think the shortened season hurt these guys more than anyone else I watch regularly. The last few episodes I saw seemed rushed and heavy on exposition. The penultimate episode - with the mystery sandwich shop, and Floyd's random visits - felt so weak I worried that I'd recorded the wrong show. But the season finale won me over again. "There's not actually a leak. We've done a study."
Redbelt: So a David Mamet movie about jiu-jitsu instructors draws me in like black tar heroin, and I fulfilled my obligation this weekend. (Read more - no spoilers!)
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May 9th, 2008
08:40 am - there's one more kid that'll never go to school Allergies have returned with a vengeance. A heavy medical cocktail - two snoots of Nasonex, 10 mg of Zyrtec and some prescription eye drops - have staved off the worst of it so far. This morning, I merely felt severely congested and only one eye looked red enough to merit suspicions of a drug test. Which I would have passed, thank you. Winners don’t use, because users don’t win.
The weather gizmo on my desktop says yesterday’s high was 78. Today’s: 58. New England - the cradle of our nation, folks!
Several people have asked what I think of the economy in the past week or so. I don’t have any insight that you couldn’t draw from reading any major paper. Things grow worse. Once I get some money to move around I intend to invest in a mix of ETFs from Vanguard. But you shouldn’t necessarily take my advice on where to put money. How the economy’s doing and how I’m doing don’t always go hand in hand - and that’s presuming I even get the first part right.
Plus, my ideas change constantly. I used to want to save up enough to buy my own place. But then someone (either Julian Sanchez or Will Wilkinson) made the point that young, single people rarely improve their lot by buying a house. Once you get tied to a significant investment of real estate, you can’t pack up and move on a month’s notice. Now’s the time I should be chasing job opportunities, crazy projects or hot blondes with a passion for Chandler novels, 70s movies and straight whiskey. Call the difference between my rent and a mortgage (less interest deductions) a flexibility premium. I’m happy to pay.
My point: listen to me if you like, but don’t follow me out onto the lake.
A rare end-week media blow: (The Handmaid's Tale)
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May 8th, 2008
09:01 am - rulers make bad lovers Another look into the writing process:
My writing style tends to imitate whoever I've read most recently. This process smooths out over time, and if I read a lot of different styles in rapid succession, such that I'm no longer a total slave. Picture a blank canvas: you start with red strokes, fear the final product will have too much red in it, then add in more colors until the final product looks rich and real. Then you tear it off the easel, hide it in your closet behind the winter coats, and go play Bejeweled instead. Anyhow, take a look at the twenty-one books I've read so far this year, then try to guess what my writing sounds like as a result. Bonus points if your answer incorporates needless French expressions (e.g., melange, fait accompli, pret-a-porter, mise-en-scene, and so forth).
(Read more)
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May 7th, 2008
09:47 am - I think his name was Chips Ahoy Links for breakfast:
Jesus Made Me Puke: Matt Taibbi of Rolling Stone goes undercover at a Texas megachurch's "Encounter Weekend." The text speaks for itself:"Let me ask you a question," he said. "Why do alcoholics give birth to alcoholics? Why do the fatherless give birth to the fatherless?" He paused. "There are some people out there who will tell you it's genetics. It's in our genes, they say. Well, I tell you, it's not genetics. It's a generational curse!"
Fortenberry then started in on a rant against science and against scientific explanations for cycles of sin. "Take homosexuals," he said. "Every single homosexual is a sexual-abuse victim. They are not born. They are created — by pedophiles."
The crowd swallowed that one whole. One thing about this world: Once a preacher says it, it's true. No one is going to look up anything the preacher says, cross-check his facts, raise an eyebrow at something that might sound a little off. Some weeks later, I would be at a Sunday service in which Pastor John Hagee himself would assert that the Bible predicts that Jesus Christ is going to return to Earth bearing a "rod of iron" to discipline the ACLU. It goes without saying that the ACLU was not mentioned in the passage in Ezekiel he was citing — but the audience ate it up anyway. When they're away from the cameras, the preachers feel even less obligated to shackle themselves to facts of any kind. That's because they know that their audience doesn't give a shit. So long as you're telling them what they want to hear, there's no danger; your crowd will angrily dismiss any alternative explanations anyway as demonic subversion.
A team of twenty of the world's leading scientists wouldn't be able to convince so much as one person in this crowd that homosexuals are not created by pedophiles. Hillary Clinton Rejects Science, Reasoning:STEPHANOPOULOS: Can you name one economist, a credible economist who supports the [gas tax] suspension?
CLINTON: Well, you know, George, I think we've been for the last seven years seeing a tremendous amount of government power and elite opinion basically behind policies that haven't worked well for the middle class and hard-working Americans. From the moment I started this campaign, I've said that I am absolutely determined that we're going to reverse the trends that have been going on in our government and in our political system, because what I have seen is that the rich have gotten richer. A vast majority -- I think something like 90 percent -- of the wealth gains over the last seven years have gone to the top 10 percent of wage earners in America.
STEPHANOPOULOS: But can you name an economist who thinks this makes sense?
CLINTON: Well, I'll tell you what, I'm not going to put my lot in with economists. Couple this with her support for the autism/vaccination link and we finally have the pure Anti-Science candidate that this country has been aching for since its inception.
(I kid, of course - none of them are that great)
Bridging the gap between mathematics and civil liberties, Radley Balko talks about the problem of DNA databases. Knowing that a test has a 99.9996% (or whatever) accuracy rate does not tell you all you need to know - you also need to know the actual incidence of what's being tested for within the population. Few people know that. Hell, I still need to remind myself from time to time. Bayes' Theorem in action.Let’s say the U.S. adopts a Great Britain policy on collecting DNA–basically a move toward, at some point in the future, having DNA on file for everyone in the country. Well now the 1 in 1.1 million odds against the suspect in the L.A. Times case are being run against a database of 380 million people. The numbers say that you’re going to pull up about 345 matches in the U.S. alone. In the California case, the database is obviously much smaller than the entire U.S. population, and only one of those 345 people showed up from the 330,000-person FBI DNA database–the (admittedly unsympathetic) subject of the article. But any of the other 344 potential matches in the U.S. (or the 2,200 matches worldwide) could have committed the crime. They just weren’t in the database. To put it another way: if I run an anabolic steroids test with 99% accuracy in a nursing home with 400 residents, I'm going to get at least 4 positive results. Does this mean that 4 octogenarians shoot themselves in the butt with parabolan every morning? Probably not.
Finally, for all my cheerleading about globalization, it helps to have a saner mind like IOZ put me right once in a while:So, you know, on one hand "there were once nation-states," but now there are "dynamos like India and China," which are, what, anarchoprimitive agricollectives? The idea that some sort of stateless transnational borderless economic singularity is swiftly ripping away borders like stagehands rip up gaff tape on load-out is plain kooky. I am of course for the free movement of labor and capital. Call me the next time you hit Charles de Gaulle, or Beijing Capital International Airport for that fucking matter, without a passport. I'm just saying. (Comment)
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May 6th, 2008
09:08 am - every little piece of your life will mean something to someone # Waiting in line for a scrip at the Target Pharmacy, I glanced down the aisle and saw a sign for Insolence Aids. Useful little niche, I thought. Use Dr. Fulghum's Patented Mollifying Tonic for Ages 3 to 13. Same great formula for over one hundred years. Guaranteed to cut back-sass, pouting and tantrums by fifty percent. Then I realized I'd conflated the words Incontinence Aids and Insoles in a hasty skimming, a mistake I can't be the first to have made.
# I went to a co-worker's party in Brighton on Friday night. Folks I never saw played Beirut (which I always clarify as "beer pong," because I don't know that everyone uses that name) in the kitchen, while I sat in on several heated discussions to the rules of Asshole in the living room. We watched the Celtics lose Game 6 ("you've got to go for the percentage shots," I kept yelling at the TV). I danced to an amateur DJ's relatively small 90s crate and smoked a clove cigarette outside. Good times.
# I have a variety of exciting new bruises on my forearms from jiu-jitsu on Saturday. One's about the size of a White Castle slider; the second, maybe a silver dollar. Another student got nicked in the temple with the point of a wooden knife. It bled worse than it turned out to be but, if the divot below my right index knuckle indicates anything, he'll have an exciting new scar in about a week. Look out, ladies!
# I attended a Kentucky Derby party on Saturday! I don't know if I made myself a mint julep, but I combined bourbon, ice, seltzer, syrup and mint leaves in a combination I found tasty. Gentlemen lounged around in suits and ascots; ladies preened and cooed under floppy sun hats. I missed the entirety of the actual race due to the smallness of the living room, but had an excellent time regardless. I hope to see everyone involved again some time soon.
# Allow me to confess some petty larcenies: (Read more)
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May 5th, 2008
08:33 am - he was turned to steel in the great magnetic field This week's media blow incorporates the latest in Stark repulsor technology.
Iron Man: Dude. Iron Man. Dude. Iron Man.
Dude.
Jon Favreau directed perhaps the best superhero movie I've ever seen (short of The Incredibles). I suspect he pulled this off because he made a priority of making a good movie first, and a superhero movie second. Favreau wandered through the same minefield that every superhero movie does but emerged unscathed. Let's take a look:
(Spoiler-free review)
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May 2nd, 2008
08:43 am - pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by For this week's Friday Feedback, I want Songs That Tire You After The First Forty-Five Seconds:
My top picks:
Enter Sandman - Metallica. That mildly dissonant riff, followed by the pounding drums after a few measures, really ramps up my adrenaline. Then the song becomes, well, the foundation of every metal song for the next 20 years, and I lose interest. Bonus points: James Hetfield may be a cool motherfucker, but in this video he's everything that's wrong with the 80s. "Say a prayer / just for once / or I'll tow your truck / from the Arby's parking lotttttt-TA!"
Sweet Child of Mine - Guns 'n Roses. Really? Can you get that excited to hear Axl Rose sing? Really? Admit it - this song coasts off of enthusiasm after Slash rocks us all the way out in the first minute. It never really reaches those heights again until the "Where do we go-wo" part near the end.
Hot'lanta - Allman Brothers Band. Starts off really strong, then descends into the unidentifiable mish-mash of every jam session. Better than the Grateful Dead, at least.
Now that I've made my half-assed attempts at music criticism, I'd like to hear yours. What songs never live up to the promise of their first few seconds? List a song that's not even worth downloading off iTunes so long as there's a free sample. Take your shot.
(Comments - and videos - at the site)
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May 1st, 2008
08:47 am - shaolin shadowboxing and the wu-tang sword style I give you an entire post about jiu-jitsu:
# For as much work as I do on grappling, throwing and joint locks, I definitely need to drill old-fashioned stand up boxing. Tuesday night's class proved that, even if a decent boxer only landed one jab in four on me, he could drive me across a room thanks to my piss-poor defense. I need to work parrying, shuffling or fading without moving backward. I can't think of a better way to do this other than to get someone I trust, stand them exactly two feet away from me, verify that they can touch but not pound my skull with a jab at full extension, and say, "Just go until I say stop."
# One of the students in our Tuesday night class got in a fight over the weekend. I won't go into details (per the student, "an investigation is pending"), but the circumstances reminded me of how much the classroom environment differs from a real street fight. I hope that I'd acquit myself well. I know that when the adrenaline's pumping I react aggressively, not passively, and I know that I can take a hit and keep moving. Because of those two factors - not because of any fancy techniques - I trust I'd do okay. But I want more than trust.
# I still have rugburn on the back of my wrists this morning. Now before you go making any snide comments, I got it from a grappling drill on the rug-covered mats at our school. So I got rugburn from a two-hundred and fifty pound man mounting me and pinning my hands to the ground. There. Try and find something lewd in that; I dare you.
# Finally got my hand X-rayed yesterday, since the jammed finger I got on March 12th has still been bothering me on occasion. The diagnosis: broken! "I had to zoom it 8x," the doctor said, pointing at my X-ray. "See this tiny line here?" Apparently the ligament around one of my joints has a bit of a crack, and the capsule that protects those ligaments has swelled as a result. I still have full range of motion, but it could take six months for the swelling to entirely disappear. "I get more martial artists coming in here six weeks after their injury," the doctor said.
(Comment)
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April 30th, 2008
09:50 am - for a moment this good time would never end; you and me, you and me "Free Tibet" flags made in China (BBC)Police in southern China have discovered a factory manufacturing Free Tibet flags, media reports say.
The factory in Guangdong had been completing overseas orders for the flag of the Tibetan government-in-exile.
Workers said they thought they were just making colourful flags and did not realise their meaning.
But then some of them saw TV images of protesters holding the emblem and they alerted the authorities, according to Hong Kong's Ming Pao newspaper. I never limit myself to one meaning when I can encompass two or more, so take away the following from this story:
- Globalization commands a lot of power;
- You can find irony anywhere if you know where to look, and;
- Propaganda permeates the civilized mind in ways outsiders can't comprehend. The police didn't uproot this factory in an undercover sting - workers voluntarily turned themselves and their employer in. Tibet never did anything to harm these guys, but they so thoroughly believe the Chinese government's gospel of Tibet As Guerilla Radical that they went out of their way to make the State's job easier. Fortunately, in the free and enlightened West we don't have that problem.
Speaking of, how goes the campaign to nuke Iran, Senator Clinton?
Got it - thanks!
Meanwhile, black males took a bump down to Junior-Level Citizenship in New York on Monday, when three NYPD detectives were acquitted of killing an unarmed black man whom they "feared" might be threatening them. Fifty shots it took, which places the 18- to 35-year-old Black Male somewhere between a charging African Rhino and Wolverine of the X-Men in the Scared White Guy Hierarchy of Indestructability. Remember, black people: you don't have an inherent right to life as such while in the city of New York. You exist on the sufferance of every paranoid cop.
Kai Wright talks a little more about the Sean Bell shooting here, and also sheds some light on the mystery of New York's falling crime rate over the last decade. If you believe that Giuliani's "broken windows" theory of Better Living through Petty Harassment reeks of bullshit - as I always have - then the drop in crime looks like a mystery. But Wright points out the following:[B]lacks accounted for 66 percent of those killed by New York City police between 2000 and 2007 (New York is a perennial leader in police fatalities, averaging 12 a year over those years). And while the violent crime rate plunged to historically low levels in that time period, the number of people killed by police has not budged—indeed, the number of cop bullets fired has skyrocketed. And it's happened with impunity. Out of 88 fatal shootings, including at least 12 in which victims were unarmed, in only one instance was an officer convicted of criminal wrongdoing. So Giuliani didn't reduce violence so much as outsource it to the NYPD. Juking the numbers, if you will.
(Read more) Current Music: Dave Matthews Band - "Stay (Wasting Time)"
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April 29th, 2008
12:06 pm - medals on a wooden mantle, next to a handsome face # After buying Fraley dinner and drinks on Friday, we retired to Katie's house in Davis Square. Melissa and Christine gave him a lactose-free crepe to blow out for his birthday wish. Then we all read the latest Cosmo for "Ten Secret Ways to Blow Please Your Man." I should warn you: they're no longer secret. I've read them.
# I've been playing a lot of Diplomacy online lately, either on Facebook or on PHPDiplomacy. The Facebook game sloppily ports the latter, so I greatly prefer PHPDiplo. I haven't played for long enough to see whether my skills have atrophied, although twenty-four hours will reveal the outcome of my latest ambitious move (France attacking England and Italy simultaneously, with Germany's aid). So we'll see. If you want to play me on Facebook or on PHP, let me know and I'll set something up. If you have any love of game theory or European history, or just a general ill-defined distrust of fellow humans, you owe it to yourself to try.
# Out of nowhere, and unbidden by man nor beast, I finally came to terms with the ending of the Bale/Crowe remake of 3:10 to Yuma while driving to work yesterday:
(Read more) (WARNING: probably spoils some aspects of 3:10 to Yuma)
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April 28th, 2008
03:03 pm - fly me high through the starry skies, maybe to an astral plane Roger Zelazny, Nine Princes in Amber:There is Shadow and there is Substance, and this is the root of all things. Of Substance, there is only Amber, the real city, upon the real Earth, which contains everything. Of Shadow, there is an infinitude of things. Every possibility exists somewhere as a Shadow of the real. [...]
If one is a prince or princess of the blood, then one may walk, crossing through Shadows, forcing one's environment to change as one passes, until it is finally in precisely the shape one desires it, and there stop. Wikipedia.org:On the October 3, 2006 edition of Jimmy Kimmel Live, [Dax] Shepard declared that he is a Libertarian and opposed the War in Iraq. JustJared:New couple Kristen Bell and Dax Shepard ring in the new year together, sharing a passionate kiss on the beach in Miami, Florida on Tuesday.
Damn it! So close!
(Originally posted on the other site) Current Music: REO Speedwagon - "Dreamweaver"
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09:28 am - when the crowd gets loud it can burn up the roof or make the walls all fall down This media blow stacks the tracks and cuts the wax that split the facts and rock the racks.
Atmosphere: If you haven't already checked out the hippest cat on the underground scene, I can sum up the best parts of Slug and Ant's live act with the following. Ten minutes before the end of his sadly shortened set (all-ages show, early curfew), Slug grabbed the mic and said, "All right, instead of doing that fake ass pretentious encore shit, I'm just gonna sing two more songs, then I'm out." I HAVE FOUND THE LAST REAL MC.
Even if you don't know every track he raps on, you can't help but bob along with Slug's delivery - lyrical but not too clever for his own good, rhythmic but not predictable. As big a fan as I am, I probably only knew about half the songs they played - When Life Gives You Lemons You Paint That Shit Gold had only dropped on Tuesday, and apparently more people liked God Loves Ugly than I did. Still, I'd change nothing but the curfew.
Johnny Cash - "Hurt": I saw the first 30 seconds of this video on YouTube, back when it made the rounds, and thought, "Oh, it's just like the original song, only slower" and shut it off. For whatever reason I came back to it the other day and listened the whole way through.
Wow. I was so wrong it's fucking embarrassing. I could not have been any more wrong and still been speaking in the English language.
If you have never seen it before, watch it alone or with a trusted friend: (video at the blog)
The Editors: Pretty good. Indie without being slowcore or atonal. They have the same symphonic bombast as Arcade Fire and the same lead singer who can sing but has clearly never had voice lessons as Interpol. I listened to An End Has A Start and liked it; you could probably talk me into listening to others.
David Gray: On a whim I picked up his Greatest Hits the other day. Maybe my musical tastes have mellowed with age - I don't know if this guy would have made the same impression on me contemporaneously as he does now. Though I remember liking "Babylon" at the time. Good, chill pop music. "Shine" has been wrecking my face pretty continuously for about a week or so now.
(Read more)
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April 25th, 2008
08:49 am - believe in me, I'm with the high command Guys (and I mean Thoreau over at Unqualified Offerings and Brad Hicks of Livejournal). Seriously.
Thoreau[Philippe] Sands reports that the military commissions act of 2006 may increase the likelihood of a future foreign war-crimes prosecution for those in the torture chain-of-command. Sands glosses a European prosecutor saying that "it would make it much easier for investigators outside the U.S. to argue that possible war crimes would never be addressed in their home country." HicksSo I'm hoping that those of us who'd like to see almost the entire top ranks of the Bush administration brought up on charges somewhere, ideally at Nuremberg or The Hague but at the very least in front of a US federal court, on war crimes and crimes against humanity charges, not just liberal activists but some very serious and non-partisan constitutional scholars, I'm hoping that we manage to keep the pressure on [Ashcroft] about this. No member of the Bush Administration, from the Commander-in-Chief down to Harriet Myers, will ever stand trial before a war crimes tribunal. Not one of them. Not ever. Thinking otherwise comes from a foolish urge.
The very notion of a war crime itself dates back only eleven decades, if that. You can pin the origin of the concept to the first Hague convention of 1899, but the principles then established only got a test run following the first World War. So you don't have to look through centuries of precedent to find some obscure decision - a fairly superficial reading of Twentieth Century history will get you up to speed.
I don't mean to say that the human race didn't have a notion of "war atrocities" before 1917. Every king, commander and warlord had a deeply ingrained sense of things that Just Were Not Done. But people did them anyway. The first example that leaps to my mind: in the Battle of Agincourt, lord Ysambert d'Agincourt attacked the rear baggage train of King Henry V, slaughtering the unarmed peasants and page boys guarding it. Shakespeare's Henry V depicts this rather tragically, and the melodramatic grief and vengeance that Hal suffers at seeing the carnage. But Shakespeare, partisan and patriot, omits Henry's next order: to slaughter all French prisoners in retribution. If either side revisited these incidents after, they did so at the signing of the new treaty in 1415, not before any sort of court.
We have understood implicitly, for centuries, something that Robert McNamara only recently made explicit in the Errol Morris documentary Fog of War:[Curtis] LeMay said if we lost the war that we would have all been prosecuted as war criminals. And I think he's right. He, and I'd say I, were behaving as war criminals. LeMay recognized that what he was doing would be thought immoral if his side has lost. But what makes it immoral if you lose and not immoral if you win? Let me make clear what Thoreau and Brad get wrong: no one will ever prosecute the victors.
Empirical data alone backs that up. If the U.S. did not stand trial at Nuremburg for Tokyo, or Dresden, or Manzanar, or Hiroshima, then nothing that the Bush Administration has done will get them called on the carpet.
But even without a century of precedent we can figure this one out from our armchairs. Say that President Bush and his employees knowingly violated tenets of the Geneva Convention. Who will charge them? Who will issue the summons? Who will force them to attend? What sanctions will be levied should they fail to appear? America has no challenger on the world stage when it comes to military might. The U.S. Government can not be compelled; they do the compelling.
"Okay, Professor," you say, "my long-dormant fantasy of Cheney in shackles before Spencer Tracy can never come to pass. But what about a federal prosecution? Couldn't a U.S. prosecutor charge Ashcroft or Rumsfeld or Gonzales or their subordinates?"
(Again, this will never happen ...") Current Music: Mike and the Mechanics
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April 24th, 2008
09:06 am - (passion) to play through pain, to love the game (passion) to break the chain, to blaze the flame I lived immediately adjacent to the Boston Marathon route for 3 years at Boston College without once seeing it. The Marathon literally ran past my front door - both at Castle Greyskull and Sketchy-Six - and I couldn’t be bothered to watch. This year I remedied that.
I caught the 86 at about quarter to ten, taking it from Union Square to three blocks shy of Chestnut Hill Ave. At that point the driver kicked us off, so I walked the rest of the way. I saw the men’s wheelchair competition speed by as I walked downhill and snuck aboard an empty C Line train.
J. (whom I work with) had a keg of Magic Hat and french toast in the oven when I arrived at her place, just behind the St. Mary’s T stop. More friends and coworkers trickled in over the next hour. We stepped out briefly to watch the two leading female runners - Russian Alevtina Biktimirova and Final Fantasy villain Dire Tune - sprint past, then returned indoors for breakfast.
The bulk of the pack hit our stretch by about noon, so we filed into the street to cheer them on. A weird, friendly anarchy prevails on Marathon Monday. Cops lined the street, but so long as you keep your beverage in a red SOLO cup they’d never bother you. The spectators cheered total strangers, urging them to stay strong until the finish, but mercilessly booed girls who darted across the street in drunken packs, clotting up the Marathon’s main artery.
Anyone can cheer on an athlete, but being inches away from marathoners gives you the opportunity to cheer and be recognized. I would yell wild sports cliches at every runner I saw, calling them out by what they wore. “Yeah, Dana Farber!” I cried, for a team that ran for the titular cancer institute. “One more mile! You got it!” Watching them tilt their heads wearily and raise their hand in a salute made my afternoon.
“Come on, Children’s! Come on, Tufts! Keep it moving.”
“That’s it, Mass General! One mile! Gimme one mile!”
“It’s actually a mile point two,” someone corrected me, at one point. Probably an MIT grad.
But the high point of the day came when an older guy, already well tanned from the gorgeous day, hit my stretch walking and left it running. “One more mile,” I screamed at him. “Come on! Give me one more! You’re almost there!” I’d like to believe I made the difference for that one guy.
I got a bit of a sunburn but I can’t complain.
(Comment)
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April 23rd, 2008
08:36 am - I am not afraid to keep on living An observation:
I intend to "boycott" the Beijing Summer Olympics, in the same way I "boycotted" the 2006 Turin Winter Olympics, the 2004 Athens Olympics, the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics, and the 1998 Nagano Olympics, and NASCAR racing, and most professional basketball, and all hockey on the professional level, and Pirates/Brewers games, and strongman competitions unless it's Saturday afternoon and I've got nothing to do for at least four hours and really there's nothing else good on, not Shawshank, not Trading Places, nothing.
To be serious for a moment (but just one): were the Olympics that much of a ratings draw that we can call any form of boycott meaningful? Beijing sits twelve hours ahead of the East Coast of the U.S. - their early games will start just as you're finishing dinner, the late games will end just as the clubs let out. Would anyone in the U.S. really have had the fortitude to watch the Olympics live in the absence of a boycott? Or were you just going to get your Olympiad coverage from CNN and ESPN recaps, which you're going to do anyway - thus making any form of boycott silly?
Then again, China remains perhaps one of the most despicable tyrannies in the modern world, except (to paraphrase Churchill) for all the others. So I suppose a mild objection to a nation's censorship trumps none at all.
(Read more) Current Music: My Chemical Romance - "Famous Last Words"
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April 22nd, 2008
11:47 am - though you’re dead and gone believe me, your memory will carry on After work on Friday I met up with Rachel, RJ, Colby, Jason and Jess, Mark and his boy Ben and some other folks in Davis Square. I ate a hot dog while the rest of them slurped down ice cream.
Colby: Have you eaten six hot dogs? Me: In my lifetime, or ... Colby: For the contest. If you eat six hot dogs in 90 minutes you get your picture on the wall. Me: I think I'd like the five years that'll take off my life, so ... no. RJ: You could just wait until winter then go into hibernation. Jason: We should enter a grizzly bear in the contest. Man, that'd be awesome. Me: 'Um, excuse me sir, I hate to be rude but my manager's making me ask. You're not, um, a bear, are you?' Bear: GRROOOOOAAR! Me: 'Right, right, okay.'
(Read more) Current Music: My Chemical Romance
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April 21st, 2008
09:28 am - fuck the police, straight from the underground This media blow logged your IP address.
Little Brother (by Cory Doctorow): A bold, seditious and action-packed young adult novel. Marcus Yarrow's a teenage hacker living in San Francisco who wants nothing more than to cut class, IM his friends on his school-issued laptop (without the school's spyware monitoring him) and play in online scavenger hunts. But when terrorists bomb the Bay Bridge, his subversive habits get him scooped up by a Homeland Security dragnet and locked away in a "detention facility." When he's finally released, he wants nothing more than to create a secure network he and his pals can communicate on - and to find out why DHS won't let one of his friends go. His encrypted network quickly turns into a way to humiliate Homeland Security, however - making 17-year-old Marcus Yarrow an enemy of the state.
Set maybe a year into the future, the San Francisco of Little Brother bristles with foreign but recognizable technology (XBoxes given away free in a Microsoft PR stunt, gait-recognition software, etc). The villains - school administrators, DHS interrogators, cops - speak in language that you might read today in any mainstream media outlet. After the Bay Bridge attack, civilians blithely accept the false dichotomy between privacy and security, grumbling but consenting to random frisking, showing ID when asked, and the like.
Doctorow lays the juvenile slang on a little thick in the first few pages of the book. Bear with it - like the first five minutes of Juno, the author needs to work it out of the system before getting to the actual meat of the story. It gets better, I promise. And if you can squint a little at how conveniently Marcus knows everything he needs to to make his case (a 17-year-old script kiddie reads Jane Jacobs? really?), you'll be educated on some of the truly scary ways the U.S. has become less free. I'm already pretty paranoid, and it opened my eyes.
Doctorow doesn't sacrifice plot for diatribe, though - the action moves at a steady and suspenseful pace. In addition to fighting the DHS, Marcus cares about all the things 17-year-olds care about: losing touch with his friends, making out with girls, cool alternative music, where to get the best burritos, etc. Even if the language comes out a little awkward at times, you know where the kid comes from.
"Don't trust anyone over twenty-five" resounds throughout the book: more than a touch ironic, given the novel's 36-year-old author. But if this novel moves anyone, it'll move the kids who haven't been inured by the banality of evil yet. I hope a copy of this book finds its way into the hands of someone who hates being told what to do, who fears the way the country's going and who doesn't think the solution is to vote in "more and better Democrats." If they do find this book, they'll find how easy it is to hack corporate and government surveillance, how important it is to stand up and get arrested for what you believe in, and - if we're lucky - they'll join a long list of heroes whose neighbors called them criminals at the time.
Meanwhile, I just hope I'm still young enough.
Happy Patriot's Day, everyone. I'm leaving comments on here because I know some people are more likely to talk here then there.
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April 18th, 2008
08:37 am - white people - do the humpty hump, just watch me do the humpty hump As a helpful service to our readers, I give you a list of Ten Hip Hop Songs White People Can Sing At Karaoke, No Problem:
(10) In Da Club (radio edit) - 50 Cent. To sanitize this club anthem for radio airplay, Dr. Dre surgically removed all references to "n---as" and most references to drugs. This makes for the occasional awkward stretch (50 sees Xzibit in the cut and observes a moment of silence) but no one will hear it over the tinny blare of most karaoke speakers. You can also earn some instant street cred by changing it up for the original hardcore lyrics if you know them, while still avoiding anything racist.
(9) Regulators - Warren G and Nate Dogg. This song celebrates two elements of street culture which white people have no problem appropriating - carrying unlicensed firearms and picking up women for one-night stands. Plus, it boasts that smooth Michael McDonald hook. Michael McDonald resonates with Caucasians on a genetic level, meaning this song will bring any crowd to its feet.
(8.) Poison - Bell Biv Devoe. Most people don't actually know this song as well as they think they do, as illustrated by the mumbles you hear about midway through verse two. But everyone recognizes the drum break. And everyone knows never to trust a big butt and a smile; big butts are Serious Business.
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April 17th, 2008
08:59 am - just like witches at black masses Does anyone else find it odd that we refer to activating a hyperlink in HTML, or an icon on a graphical desktop, as "clicking"? That we call the action by the noise the input device makes? I find it weird - not offensive, mind you, just deeply odd - that that evolved the way it did. I would never say, "Hey, could you go vreet-vreet this on the copier for me?" Or "Yeah, just hummmmmmmmmmmmm-BEEP-BEEP it in the microwave for thirty seconds on High."
Everything else in the graphical metaphor we call an Operating System has a real world analog. Your "desktop" at home might have a stack of "folders" on it, which you could open to discover "documents" or close and arrange in "files." But clicking doesn't connect to any other real world behavior. I don't push in on the spine of a book before taking it off the shelf. File clerks of a century past weren't tapping twice on the cover of an account ledger before opening it, unless they had the palsy.
While the mood strikes me: I hate the word "blog." I remember first seeing it a few years ago and praying it wouldn't catch on. The word just sits there on the screen, stiff and ugly - the clumsy bl blend, the dissonant og on the end of it. If a two-year-old child kept mispronouncing "weblog," that's the noise I'd expect. To hear it coming from a supposedly literate adult irks me.
"Click" I just find weird, but "blog" turns my stomach.
And as long as I have you here: should I pronounce .gif like the peanut butter or like the space hippo? Does anyone else pronounce the word "MMORPG" so it rhymes with a certain Black Sabbath song? Why does it take longer to abbreviate "World Wide Web" than to say it? And why do all those kids on my block keep listening to that loud garbage music? You know the kind I mean.
My point: stop letting engineers name things.
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April 16th, 2008
09:50 am - so much to say, so much to say, so much to say, so much to say Link dumps in lieu of content:
#: Actual inflation up at least 6.9 percent in the past year. Most inflation statistics that you read in the news report core inflation - inflation that excludes changes in the price of oil or food. But if inflation comes from an increase in the money supply relative to the demand for dollars, then we'd want to look extra closely at any industry the U.S. subsidizes - any stops along the trough where the feds pour more money in. And the U.S. subsidizes domestic food production, to the point that American corn sells on the international markets below cost, and wheat sells at nearly half cost. And the price of oil today certainly reflects decisions that the Commander-in-Chief makes in regards to certain Middle Eastern provinces. So if you have an argument for why I should pay more attention to core inflation than bottom-line inflation, I'd love to hear it.
(This article explains inflation in better detail than I can)
(Read more) Current Music: Dave Matthews Band
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April 15th, 2008
09:21 am - well I've got friends in low places Joe (a/k/a Big Daddy Hookup) had some extra pavilion seats for the Sox' first game of the season against the Yankees. I quickly pounced on two of them. Wanting to share the tickets with the person who'd most appreciate them, I immediately thought of Victoria (a/k/a Tessie) and called her up.
How fun can a baseball game be with driving rain, sub-40 temperatures and a Sox loss? A hell of a good time, I say. Amanda (a/k/a Sarah Connor, Attorney at Law) and Joe recounted their trip to Tokyo to see the Sox play. Apparently the legendarily disciplined Japanese cheering section has now been introduced to the phrase "Yankees Suck." That kind of gunboat diplomacy I can get behind.
And, of course, pavilion seats afford you a nice, unobstructed view of the players you're yelling at.
"That's some Gold Glove fielding right there, A-Rod," I yelled, off his early game error that left a runner on first. Later, after a neatly fielded double play: "You're still not very good!"
Giambi, starting the season with a masterful .050 average, homered one off the recovering Timlin. "Nice work, juicer," I yelled. "Almost at .100! You'll get there!"
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April 14th, 2008
09:13 am - I'm taking the cure so I can be quiet whenever I want You might think that; the media blow couldn't possibly comment.
The Wire: ... ha ha, just kidding, see all last week.
Franny and Zooey: Remarkably well written. I don't care much for Salinger's brand of inoffensive, Western-flavored Orientalism, but I can't help but admire his style. Another exhibit in my case that a story's subject matters far less than its style; "what's the book about?" is the wrong question to ask. Could any writer other than Salinger pull off a story which takes place in a bathroom, a living room, and a bedroom and has nothing but conversation?
A History of Violence: A little stiff, but what do you expect from a movie adapted from a comic book? William Hurt got a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his spot here, with good cause I feel. Maria Bello surprised me. Viggo Mortensen gave the natural and nuanced performance we've come to expect from him, as well as a glimpse of his junk. A bit gory in spots.
Mind Performance Hacks: An early contender for the best non-fiction book I've read in this year's fifty. Born-agains must feel this way while reading the Bible, though I know I could pick a better metaphor: this book is an instruction manual for thinking. It teaches better ways to memorize lists, to organize your thoughts, ways to get better sleep, how to focus through meditation (not transcendental hippie shit, just clearing your thoughts), how to inspire yourself creatively, etc. I've already found four or five things worth putting to immediate use and will be turning back often for more.
House of Cards: The premier story of political intrigue, brooking no challenger. The late Ian Richardson plays Francis Urquhart, chief whip of the Conservatives in the days after Thatcher stepped down. Passed over for a plum promotion, he stealthily puts into motion a series of events that will unseat the Prime Minister, shake up the Party, and may just leave him a spot at the top. I've already seen it once before, but I got it for myself as a birthday present and it continues to sweeten on a second viewing.
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April 11th, 2008
09:18 am - there ain't no back in the day. ain't no nostalgia. By Season 5, we’ve assembled quite a cast. We’ve got the cops - street level, detectives and command - all angling for position. We’ve got the dealers, all the way from the twelve-year-olds counting the stash to the masterminds dealing with supply. We’ve got politicians. We’ve got folks we picked up along the way, from the ports and the schools. It’s no longer just a TV show - it’s a real live city we’ve assembled.
Let’s start tearing it down, one brick at a time.
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April 10th, 2008
09:01 am - you want it to be one way. but it's the other way. Season Four was the hardest for me. I think it’s fantastic television - the writers, actors and directors are all at the top of their game - but S4’s like a wound I don’t want to touch. You can tolerate folks on the street rising and falling; it’s all in the Game, after all. But the kids didn’t make this world. They got born into it. And the absolute failure of public schools to save kids from the Game kills me.
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April 9th, 2008
12:13 pm - get out of town (get out of town!) I had a powerful craving for beach just now. That specific sensory combination of dazzling sun, salty air and soft sand (not rocks) between my toes. And fried food from a boardwalk cafe. And used paperbacks.
Someone hook me up. Not now, obviously, but some time this year. I’m dyin’.
(Also seen here) Current Music: "Fletch" Soundtrack
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08:44 am - well, get on with it, motherf-- Season Three’s my favorite of the entire run. We meet a broad cast of new and interesting characters. We return to the same setting of Season One. We have just enough history on all of these characters that we can start fucking with expectations. And, interestingly enough, the show begins to engage in a sort of meta-dialogue with the audience, which I’ll elaborate on beneath the cut.
If S1 was about losing the War on Drugs, S3 is about counting the casualties.
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April 8th, 2008
12:55 pm Two things:
(1) I put a non-Wire update on Periscope Depth.
(2) The Nerds on Sports March Madness Tournament enters its final round!
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09:43 am - it's all in the game, though In Season Two, The Wire proves that its success wasn't a flash in the pan. The show broadens its scope from the decay of America's inner cities to the decay of America's industries - in this case, the port of Baltimore. S2 also follows some of the original cast of S1, proving that the writers create original and organic characters, not just stock types in dramatic situations.
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April 7th, 2008
09:31 am - all the pieces matter If The Wire, the greatest show which the medium of television has yet to produce, was ever just about the War on Drugs, that moment’s past. The Wire is about the power of institutions to destroy human lives. In Season One, it was “the game” - cops chasing dealers, dealers chasing each other. But that focus changed over time, to American industry (S2), city politics (S3), public schools (S4) and print media (S5). We never lost anyone along the way, either - faces from the early seasons keep popping up in the late ones, if you know where to look. But in all this time we never had any real villains. That’s because an institution doesn’t need a villain to make it a terror. An institution is not one thousand people all conspiring to do evil. An institution is one million people with no incentive to do good.
Short of a documentary, there has never been a more real look at the American urban landscape than in this series. The writers aren’t just residents of Baltimore or experts on it - they’re beat cops and ex-reporters who know the city inside and out. Many of the cast come direct from the streets themselves. The show avoids tidy resolutions, pigeonholing and - to a surprising extent - moralizing.
There is no quick fix. People routinely find themselves at the head of the table with nothing to serve - they have the power they’ve craved for so long and find themselves powerless. One scapegoat or kingpin gets taken down, only for his subordinates to begin scheming at his wake. The City, and the infrastructure that prop it up, are bigger than any one person.
While you can’t tie all of it back to the War on Drugs, most of it springs from that hole. The rise in paramilitary tactics in urban police work. The illegal economy that takes over the lives of black and Hispanic youth. The corresponding rise in violence. We’re now seeing multi-generational cycles of poverty, where crack addicts give birth to poor children who end up hustling, slinging or robbing to survive. Like the generation of young men killed in Europe during the World Wars, we have two to four generations of men and women who will never get out of the trap of crime, drugs and death.
And this is my city it’s happening to. This is my city that got destroyed by the War on Drugs. Take the casualties you see in a given season of The Wire - not just the bodies, but the folks who succumb to cynicism and start shooting up, or cutting corners, or lying to shine themselves up - and multiply that by ten thousand. That’s my home town. And odds are, if you live on one of the coasts of the U.S., that it’s your city, too. And there’s no way to fix it.
This week is a special The Wire retrospective here at Periscope Depth. Every day I’ll give my thoughts on one of the five seasons, starting with Season One. Spoilers below the cut.
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