Edith at Work

Discovery Channel -- and thus Disney -- is midwifing the donation of a park surface to Oakland so that the installation of the surface can be filmed for a TV special on (I think) "green" things. (I *think* some aspect of the product is made of recycled material.) But the prep work has to be paid for by Oakland, and the prep work, including field design, had to be done oh maybe 24 times faster than usual to fit the production schedule.

A certain Edith played a key role -- I would, of course, naturally claim *the* key role. We dropped by the site last week as the contractor was finishing up installing the aggregate base for the artificial turf. I couldn't resist.

I Was Not the Featured Speaker .... Oh *Now* I Am.

Prof. Goodwin's remarks in precis: Oh the freedom of a tenured full professor.

By the way, all experienced public speakers have little tricks, little ways of thinking about the audience to put themselves at ease. Here is mine.

Blogging and Tenure

A post from Daniel Drezner several years ago:

So Friday was a pretty bad day....

This Friday was a less-than-great day for two reasons.

First, the Red Sox got swept in the playoffs.

(snip)

The political science department voted to deny me tenure. Next year at this time, I will no longer be residing in Hyde Park or teaching at the University of Chicago.

[Wait a minute, you can’t leave it at that. What happened? What the hell happened? Why didn’t you get tenure? Was it your failure to anchor yourself within a clearly established theoretical paradigm? A lack of respect from peers in your IPE subfield? Too much output? A declining respect of your subfield by your tenured colleagues? The departmental turn away from mainstream political science scholarship? Your political orientation? Jealousy of your public intellectual status? WAS IT THE FRIGGIN’ BLOG??!!--ed.] My answers in order: I dunno, perhaps, probably not, maybe, I guess so, a little, could be, I seriously doubt it, and who the hell knows? Any decent social scientist must allow for multiple causes, so it’s not necessarily an either/or question. At the moment, I simply lack the data to confirm or deny any explanation. I may garner more information in the days and weeks that follow, but the fact that I was genuinely surprised at the outcome suggests that my ex ante intelligence gathering was piss-poor.

[So what will you do now?--ed.] Look for gainful employment to start in June 2006 – a fact that will no doubt amuse readers who have disagreed with my take on the effect of offshore outsourcing on job creation. At least I have some lead time.

[How are you feeling? Are you bitter at the U of C?--ed.] I’ve felt better. And -- duh -- yeah. That said, I will miss the students. The undergrads have been wonderful, and the grad students have been razor-sharp. At the moment, my biggest regret about all this is the knowledge that I’ve taught my last class at the university.

[Speaking of regrets, let’s go back to the blog.... er… any regrets?--ed.] The very first words I wrote on this blog were: "I shouldn't be doing this. I'll be going up for tenure soon." This is a theme that I’ve touched on several times since then. The point is, I can’t say I didn’t go into this with my eyes open.

That said, if one assumes that the opportunity cost of blogging (e.g., better or more scholarship) was the difference between tenure and no tenure – an unclear assertion at best – then it’s a tough call. From a strict cost-benefit analysis, one could argue that the doors that blogging opened could have been deferred for a few years in return for the annuity of a tenured position at Chicago. That said, if I did things only for the money, I never would have entered the academy in the first place. And I’ve enjoyed the psychic rewards of blogging way too much to regret my choice.

[Just this week you said, "The academic job market, as I've witnessed it, is a globally rational but locally capricious system." Still believe that?--ed.] Well, I’d posit that the second half of the hypothesis has received another data point of empirical support. We’ll see how the first half holds up as the job market proceeds.

Blogging may be slower than usual for the next couple of days.

From the Chronicle of Higher Education, more by him on the question of whether or not blogging can derail your career.

Another essay, this one asserting that some blogging academics have been tenured, though others, fearful, have chosen to be anonymous.

It's a GoogleFest. More thoughts from someone who is not Daniel Drezner on tenure and blogging.

Something I Hadn't Thought About. It's Like a Joke Unless It Isn't.

Al's Morning Meeting

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 9, 2008

Should Hybrid Cars Make Noise to Protect the Blind?

Two congressmen say they will introduce legislation today to require hybrid cars to emit some kind of noise that blind pedestrians could hear.

A Student Dies

A couple former students let me know that Dee-Jade Chock just died from the cancer she had been fighting for 12 years. She was 29. It would be better to say she lived with cancer. I didn't know her well enough to praise her with the thoroughness I would like, but everything I know about her is good stuff, solid stuff, the stuff of everlasting grief for those who were close to her in her life and will now be close to her in absence. That is the way it works.

I met her when she was a student in my News Media class, which disappeared (I think) because of the ramshackle way in which I taught it. I liked teaching it because then I knew everyone going through the department on the media side.

Dee missed the midterm, and she came to office to explain why. I had cancer surgery, she said. That's why I missed the test.

She said it matter-of-factly. I had surgery would have worked just as well. I had no sense she was angling for sympathy or extra consideration or anything. Cancer was what she had. No stigma in that. Cancer was war, and this was school, and she drew the line.

I thought to myself: This child may be exceptional. If that was me, I'd play my disease one way or the other, probably for a little sympathy or a little drama, making a joke to underline my bravery, asking for praise by not seeming to.

She just said: I had cancer surgery. When can I make up the test?

I watched her out of the corner of my eye from then on. It turned out in the copy editing class that she already knew Quark Xpress -- I didn't but faked it anyway -- and was a good tutor, so I brought her back after graduation occasionally to do weekend workshops when I taught editing because she was so gracious and efficient.

Sometimes she talked about chemo, commentary minus complaint. Sometimes I got one of those "big" emails to her friends and acquaintances explaining how something that had shown some promise hadn't kept working, but now she was trying something else.

I will not give up, she wrote. There's always something new. On one of those tutoring trips to USF her boyfriend drove her up from the Peninsula and then came back to pick her up. He was wearing his pajamas when he dropped her off. That seemed to me just the right note, the substance of the kind of ease and companionship that outlives anything, including ....

Well, it does, doesn't it? After that I referred to him as Pajama Boy, which seemed to make her smile. They got married last year.

That was the only advice I ever gave her, gave it without solicitation after the last terrifying email I got from her: Get married. I mean, marry Pajama Boy. Leave as much as you can behind you. Leave your touch on as many people as possible.

Of course, I didn't need to tell her that. I was telling myself. That's what some people do. They remind you of what you already know. Why do we forget?

So Now This Piece Matters?

Nothing seems to live for more than a day without commentary; the contemporary version of “if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, did it make a sound” is “if an article gets written and no one blogs it, does anyone care?”

Here's the piece. Just the usual despair about print, this from the magazine side.

Feeble

We saw the A's today, oh boy, the second this week. They lost both games 2-1.

I'm looking for a comparison:

The A's couldn't hit their _______ with their _______. So far all my analogies are needlessly vulgar, and I don't see how that will help the A's. We want to sting, not to wound.

Later: I put the feature writing class on the job.

The baseball team couldn't hit a beach ball with a boat oar. (Nick Peterson)

The baseball team couldn't hit their taste-buds with their tongue. (Cameron McKee)

The baseball team couldn't hit the water even if they fell out of a canoe. (Lester Jeff Banatao, who says it's a cliche. Which will do when it comes to baseball.)

The A's couldn't hit a deer with a van. (Maria Dinzeo)

Shamrocking

Went to the Zuni Cafe tonight for E.'s birthday. I like the Zuni Cafe. Nice choice of beast flesh, those beasts respected in the loving preparation of their flesh. I had the pork chop. E. had the bunny.

After the meal, lined up for the toilet. Guy behind me was a very pleasant fellow, a tourist from Ireland. He said that some of his party had the chicken for two, which -- according to the menu -- you need to allow an hour for the slow cooking in the wood-fired oven.

I said that's a long time. He said not so if you are having the champagne and the cocktails, not long at all.

He also said he was impressed with how cheap the meal was -- if you are an Irish tourist with a charge card full of Euros. The wheel turns Americanos, the wheel turns.

The Book Party

A Quiet Pleasure

She Makes the Living. I Strive to Make the Living Worthwhile.

She brings home the bacon. She fries it up in a pan.

Talking with Friends

A young friend recently got a tenure-track job here after a couple years as a term appointment during which he won the college-wide service award. This year he was nominated for the college-wide top teacher award. He is not only liked but well liked, and deserving of it all.

I'm talking with a mutual friend about this, and MF says, "He's doing so well do you think there's a chance he might be able to move on to a better program?"

I said no I don't think he looks at it that way, that we're a teaching school, and I talked about all the reasons this is a very good job for a certain kind of person, one for whom -- how nice for once to say this without irony -- it really is about the kids. Our young friend loves to teach. Whether or not he loves to inspire or if it's simply a byproduct of which he is unaware, I don't know.

My wife, the estimable E., was listening in. Later she said, "Don't you think that was a subtle dig at you?"

And I said: Oh. Maybe. At this stage of life, you have to hit me with a shovel.

A Busy Weekend

Went into work with E. yesterday and will go in today again after we drop by our godson's birthday party. (He is also named E. Hmmmmm.)

A cable channel is going to film the installation of artificial turf -- the turf donated, perhaps because the cable channel is willing to film it; one thing seems to depend on the other -- at a city park, and (from my point of view) E. is the key player among the city bureaucracy in making it happen.

Others may disagree if they wish.

It's all tentative still. Anyway, she's on this seven days a week. No one else seems to be in the building when we go in on weekends, but it's a very large building. I sit in a conference room and keep an eye on things. I've go her back, ya know. I also grade, and my damn flu woes of the past -- lord, lord: past two months -- have put me behind in grading, so there's plenty to do.

Thank god for my feature writing class. They are all competent enough as writers and reporters that I am mostly praising and tweaking, which is happy work. But the reporting class (most of whom didn't know what they were getting into; why isn't it fun?) are fighting the fight that never ends against the demands of listening, seeing, thinking, getting nosy, getting pushy and then boiling it all down into a summary lead.

It certainly was neither my strength or my joy as a journalist, the old summary lead. Yet I think it is what I need to teach them, and I will do it even at the cost of mutual misery.

A small bravery but mine own.

Visiting with the Externals

Individual visit with the Exters went swimmingly. I dared to be dull, a great silence settled on the room and I sank beneath the radar.

I should write a how-to book.

Quite Fascinating But I Don't Think I'll Take it to Class

Brother Peter Moore directed me to this.

Get the F out

Washington Post TV writer Lisa Moraes has been pushed over the edge by her paper's inane self-censorship. This time they've forbidden the F-word. Not "fuck" — "F." The letter F. Really.

Moraes today attempts to write about an episode of 30 Rock revolving around a fake reality show called MILF Island. See if you can detect her displeasure at the rules imposed on her.

On the April 10 episode of "30 Rock," the staff of the late-night show "TGS" has become obsessed with a new reality hit called "MIL[letter that's been deemed too naughty for The Washington Post when it follows M, I and L] Island."

For the uninitiated: MIL[WaPo Scarlet Letter] stands for Mothers I'd Like to [have sex with].

In this episode of "30 Rock" -- which NBC says also is titled "MIL[WaPo Banned Letter] Island" -- network bigwig Jack (Alec Baldwin) is watching the riveting finale of this reality-series hit, pitting the final two contestants, Debra vs. Deborah, when he is blindsided by a blind item in a newspaper gossip column. In it, a network staffer calls him a "Class A moron" and adds, "That guy can eat my poo."

Yes, it really says "poo" -- I have not been compelled to use "poo" by the WaPo Decency Police.

Tomorrow the Outside Reviewers Arrive to Review the Media Studies Department

We greet them with smiles, with singing, with small gifts. We say, "Welcome, stranger. Abide with us awhile. What we have is yours. That includes our opinions."

And those opinions will fall about their heads like blossoms in spring as when one walks through a beautiful orchard.

And then they will say: "May we suggest some changes."

And we will say: "Oh yeah. Change is good."

Why We Blog

I twigged the Professor of Pop about his blogging because, as a tenured *full* professor, in that armor as a blogger he goes where he wants and damned be him who first cries hold! enough!! I asked him if there is any Kryptonite out there, anything he fears as he blogs. He said only the face of a bad writer in the "mirror that is the blog." And I replied:

From the poet W.B. Yeats in his old age. Section III is the money shot. I'll cut the middle, which refers obliquely to his themes and triumphs.

The Circus Animals' Desertion

I

I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last, being but a broken man,
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals were all on show,
Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot,
Lion and woman and the Lord knows what.

- snip -

III

Those masterful images because complete
Grew in pure mind, but out of what began?
A mound of refuse or the sweepings of a street,
Old kettles, old bottles, and a broken can,
Old iron, old bones, old rags, that raving slut
Who keeps the till. Now that my ladder's gone,
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

We are so damn cool.

I Am ... At a Loss ... for Words

Thank you Atrios, dba Eschaton.

The Bathroom Petition

There is a story behind this. A fire was set in the bathroom. The bathroom was closed. The rumor was circulated -- note the passive voice; I should say that colleagues passed on the rumor that seemed to come from no one in particular -- that the bathroom would not be reopened because the whole floor is moving to Kalmanovitz Hall in two months, and the floor will be renovated.

I was moved to action. I fashioned a video petition. I was ready to collect signatures. The morning after the vid was done, I discovered the bathroom was.... Well, not tanned, fit and ready. More like scrubbed, bright and ready. But I'm not one to waste a video.

An Email from India

heat and dust . . . . and SO many stories to tell. D. (a bit) better (for now) but still hightailing it home via London/Mumbai today. In Varanasi now, on the goddess Ganges, and yes we witnessed it all, from the dank back alleys to the cremations at the ghats (no boat rides or swimming, thank you), not to mention the cute kid who, when he sussed-out we were from CA, shouted "Goldie Hawn" with a big smile. Many minutes of broken English later, we figured out he had a picture of her with his family on the wall of his father's shop when she visited here several years back and would we like to come see it. Otherwise, Indian cities (and attempts to walk or plow through the streets in auto-rickshaws) are like "Escape from NY" meet "Toon-Town" (in Dolby). On the 'quieter' streets, all sadness is ancient. The truth doesn't care what we think of it. That, to me, sums up the faith that allows . . .that enables these folks to get up every morn and carry on (and carry on they do!). We have NO problems, but if I may put all lessons in perspective aside for a moment, a big salad and a hot bath in London are greatly anticipated, as well as a home-return and closer proximity to loved ones. Even David admits we haven't yet completely 'done' India but, at least for the time being, it has 'done' us. Namaste, D & J

I Tried to Say This to My Wife Last Night But Stumbled. So Thank You Atrios dba Eschaton

Atrios:

Aside from disparate treatment of left and right and black and white in our mainstream discourse, there's also a difference in the basic narrative provided. The narrative from the Right - and its representatives in the conservative religious community - is of an America which was once the garden of Eden, until its tragic fall at the hands of (feminists, liberals, civil rights movement, whatever), and they wish to bring the country back to its former state. Thus they can hate the America that is while dreaming of the perfect America that was. Thus there's no conflict between their unquestioned patriotism and their hatred of the country, as their patriotism is for the True America that was, not its current corrupted incarnation.

While the mirror image rhetoric from the Left is about a country which was flawed, often tragically so, but which has the capacity for improvement. Be disgusted with the country as it was and is, while hoping for an evolution to a better country.

Brother Moore Gets Flirty Spam

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March 17, 2008 12:18 PM

See the Sad Old Men

Our Friend Exhibits Her Oils

I Go Back. I Take More. (None Dare Call It Treason)

• Damn You Rich!

By Devilstower

on Election 2008

Damn you rich! You already have your compensation.

Damn you who are well-fed! You will know hunger.

Damn you who laugh now! You will weep and grieve.

Damn you when everybody speaks well of you!

A rant from a radical preacher? Without a doubt. Someone on the Obama campaign? Well, Sen. Obama says so. That's the Scholars Translation of Luke 6:24-26, and the speaker is Jesus of Nazareth.

The King James Version, the first part of Luke 6:24 reads "But woe unto you that are rich!" That comes off as quaint and a lot less shocking to modern ears -- not the kind of preaching that nets you space on Fox News. But Jesus meant his words to be shocking. He meant them to strike against the status quo and shake up the comfortable.

I Go to Daily Kos. I Take What I Want. (Call Me Genghis)

The Wright Stuff

By Scout Finch

on Barack Obama

Without weighing in on whether or not the content of Reverend Jeremiah Wright's sermons should be denounced by Barack Obama, I do find one aspect of this story quite troubling. We have now seen more sermons from Barack Obama's minister in 48 hours than we ever did of Mike Huckabee ---- and Mike Huckabee was a presidential candidate for 14 long months. Why is it acceptable to scour every last sermon given by Wright, but only weeks ago we weren't allowed to see or read Mike Huckabee's sermons? In fact, not only was it totally ignored by the traditional media, but the few times the question of Huckabee's sermons was raised, it was brushed aside as inappropriate.

Why the hypocrisy? After all, Mike Huckabee was an evangelical Southern Baptist minister who's entire campaign was based on the fact that he was the Christian candidate. Are we to believe that he didn't rail against the US government over abortion in previous sermons? Or homosexuality? We know what he had to say about AIDS victims. I don't imagine one gets to be the be president of the Arkansas Baptist Convention without passionate fire and brimstone sermons as part of his repertoire.

So, I find it curious that the traditional media now has its white hot focus on Barack Obama's religion and a few select words by Reverend Jeremiah Wright. After all, Huckabee made his career as an actual preacher. Why the change of heart in the last few weeks? Why does Obama have to be held responsible for every word spoken during Wright's passionate sermons - while Huckabee is allowed a free ride and never questioned about his own words? From his own mouth?

Well, it's fair game now. If Huckabee reappears as a VP contender or decides to get in the race in 2012, I think we can safely point to this as justification for wanting to see Huckabee's past - in his own words.

I Go to Daily Kos. I Take What I Want. (Call Me Genghis)

The Wright Stuff

By Scout Finch

on Barack Obama

Without weighing in on whether or not the content of Reverend Jeremiah Wright's sermons should be denounced by Barack Obama, I do find one aspect of this story quite troubling. We have now seen more sermons from Barack Obama's minister in 48 hours than we ever did of Mike Huckabee ---- and Mike Huckabee was a presidential candidate for 14 long months. Why is it acceptable to scour every last sermon given by Wright, but only weeks ago we weren't allowed to see or read Mike Huckabee's sermons? In fact, not only was it totally ignored by the traditional media, but the few times the question of Huckabee's sermons was raised, it was brushed aside as inappropriate.

Why the hypocrisy? After all, Mike Huckabee was an evangelical Southern Baptist minister who's entire campaign was based on the fact that he was the Christian candidate. Are we to believe that he didn't rail against the US government over abortion in previous sermons? Or homosexuality? We know what he had to say about AIDS victims. I don't imagine one gets to be the be president of the Arkansas Baptist Convention without passionate fire and brimstone sermons as part of his repertoire.

So, I find it curious that the traditional media now has its white hot focus on Barack Obama's religion and a few select words by Reverend Jeremiah Wright. After all, Huckabee made his career as an actual preacher. Why the change of heart in the last few weeks? Why does Obama have to be held responsible for every word spoken during Wright's passionate sermons - while Huckabee is allowed a free ride and never questioned about his own words? From his own mouth?

Well, it's fair game now. If Huckabee reappears as a VP contender or decides to get in the race in 2012, I think we can safely point to this as justification for wanting to see Huckabee's past - in his own words.

One True Thing

If You Like Discussions of 'Off the Record'

Go to the Poynter Institute Letters Forum -- which has moved on, so you have to search for "whole topic."

Yeah: Me, Miss Baby and Big Pat Doing This Soon

Big Pat a-birding goes. If I had a tough clear style like that, I'd be better off.

But you play what you got as well as you can. Now the good news is that when Miss Baby finally quits tying knots in the crazy quilt she calls a job, she (inveterate birder that she was), Big Pat (crazed as all new converts are) and me (along for the ride, glad for the company, dumb but happy) will be out there, and afterwards I'll throw the multi-syllables like a bag lady assailing the pigeons with stale bread.

Off the Record

Those of you who have been following the resignation of the Obama advisor after a British journalist failed to follow her instruction that her "monster" comment was off the record might have missed the journalist's interview with Hunter Tucker Carlson in which he praised the supine attitude of beltway journalists toward commands from their betters.

A friend sent this message:


http://www.salon.com/opinion/greenwald/2008/03/08/carlson/



Scroll all the way -- there is a lot of cool stuff here.



We were taught that nothing is off the record unless agreed upon ahead of time.


Were we wrong?

To which I replied:

Carlson: full of shit. American beltway reporters: all too often conduits for misinformation and objects of manipulation. Now, the interesting ethical dilemma is how often allow sources to speak anonymous, which concession to high ethics is often the only way to get important information before the public.

But letting folk who have been interviewed time and again play the "oh by the way don't quote me" game: bullshit. Now, Jessica Mitford the muckraker wrote about an interview in which a source said he did not want to be quoted, and she said something to the effect, "Well, restate it if you are unhappy with how it sounded." He did, and she said, "No. I will use both." My *only* criticism of the Scotsman's reporters is that the highest ethical act would have been to say immediately, "No, I will be using that. Perhaps, you'd like to elaborate." Letting people think you won't use something could be seen as dishonest, though perhaps the Scotsman's reporter assumed the Yank should have known the quote was fair game and that she understood that silence in response to her request did not mean it would be acceded to.

One last point: When you are quoting inexperienced folk who have never been interviewed, I think you proceed with compassion. You really might "hurt" them with no good reason. At minimum, if *they* announced in mid-interview that something is off the record, you stop and say it isn't and then go over the rules again. Oh. Off the record is supposed to mean you are supposed to behave as if you have never heard what is OTR, that you can't repeat it later on to get confirmation. OTR is not the same as "not for attribution."

Editor's Note:

Buckminister replies: Then OTR in the press is the same as in real life. Someone tells you something, and no one else (and I mean no one else) ever knows about it. Thought as much. Thanks for the clarification. I was surprised by the smarmy one's attack on The Scotsman journo, it was ruthless & efficient and he "won". She was rattled. And, like me, rather surprised! I'd *never* heard of anyone arguing that you could invoke OTR retroactively! A child can see that this means that nothing is ever really *on* the record...

Come See the Noise

If I understand it correctly, this video was placed on YouTube by the St. Petersburg Times to attract young people to its website that does traditional print analysis of political claims. I do not interpret this to mean that young journalists need to know how to do this sort of thing. This is marketing, I think. But it is certainly interesting. Look at the video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O80WRuLNp4g


Then, look at the site:

http://www.politifact.com


The site has bells and whistles, but it’s print based.

I got all this From the website News Videographer

The guys at the St. Petersburg Times also have some great ideas we can steal.

Politifact.com is the kind of site that makes politics accessible and interesting to lots of people. Especially young people, we thought. So a few of us on the editorial side started brainstorming ways to get the word out in a more viral way — that is, ways that would be easy for people to share with each other …

Yes, we made this video for YouTube specifically. We also seeded it on over a dozen other video sites, such as Crackle (where it was featured as their top political video for some time), Yahoo!, MySpace and MetaCafe. It has appeared on our main site, tampabay.com and is still linked off the Politifact.com home page.

So far the video has been viewed more than 200,000 times on YouTube. Unfortunately, we can’t track how many of the viewers then clicked to our site. We did see a week-over-week spike in Politifact.com traffic of 67% when the Gimme the Truth video was featured on YouTube’s homepage. Of course, it was also the week we hosted a GOP debate in our hometown and we were doing a lot of other promotion of the site. That said, I’m thrilled with the response and consider it a successful marketing effort.

Saturday Near the Park with George

Something Republican This Way Comes

Just a Little Something We are Doing Over at My Feature Writing Class

Kitty Gets a Reward

Back from the Vet

Vet appreciated the video since, he said, take a cat to the vet and it either cringes or "slinks around." He did x-rays. He thinks kitty has arthritis of the spine or -- less likely -- a tumor. The x-rays will be sent to a radiologist, so a more definitive judgment is coming soon.

He talked about surgery, but that ain't happening, not on a 16-year-old cat. A series of shots into the spine is another possibility. If kitty keeps limping, that is probably what we will do.

Kitty (and His Diagnostic Video) Go to the Vet

Friends Afar

J. writes:

Subject: six word novels from India

Baby slips through train loo. Lives!

India drivers HEAVILY invested in reincarnation.

Tried everything? Fly in your pajamas!

Many old hippies, still 'just looking'.

In Puri now, on NE Bay of Bengal coast. D. dragging me to Calcutta on Tues, variously been described as the cultural center of India, or 6 mill people living on 1 meter of garbage. All in all, tho, all is well. No dehli-belly, we've found peanut butter, the sea is nearby (at least for now), and even the 'serenity' of squat toilets in the privacy of one's own bathroom. Missing friends tho, among the squawkers, gawkers, and hawkers. The rest is silence, beautiful guileless smiles, lots of great photos, and mystery menus with lots of ghee. Namaste

The Brave

Yesterday we went for a drive in the hills above San Jose. We drove along the west edge of the Calaveras Reservoir -- which in its bucolic beauty you would not imagine to be close to our urban bubble -- and started down toward habitation.. The road had some twists and humps, and I spotted there on ahead....

I spotted something, a silhouette coming into view and then disappearing. I knew what it looked like, but since I doubted that's what it was I said nothing. Eydie wondered if it was a cow. As we got closer, I kept discounting what it seemed to be, but finally there was no denying that what we saw was....

A wild turkey in full display, wings down, tail feathers spread, neck back.

Then we saw why. His harem of a dozen hen turkeys had apparently wandered down the steep bank on the right side of the road to sample the grass up against the fence on the left side of the road. Our tom got (I guess) the idea that loitering so close to a country road was unwise, and he decided to "man up," challenging and (hopefully) discouraging what might come their way.

I suppose. He was certainly strutting and posturing. We stopped and got out the camera, the one with the dead batteries in it.

I put on our hazard blinkers, and we sat there for a while looking at the turkeys. Then a car approached from the opposite direction. It stopped, but perhaps its appearance was too much for the females. One by one they scampered back up the bank on the right, at which point the tom furled and left the road, last man out, no female turkey left behind.

You are Entering the Middle of the Conversation

Michael Robertson wrote:


I didn’t look at the video, but it illustrates one of my
concerns. If online video is just flash, dash and eye candy, it
trivializes and does not illuminate. Obviously, “home movie”
quality might also repel reader/viewers. *But challenging network
TV by becoming network TV – I don’t see the point.*


And Trader Horn wrote back:


Michael,

No doubt the internet will serve as an ad hoc TiVo, but that's not what the internet's really about. And homemade video is nice and new, but that's not what it's about in the long run. And those of us who hate to shop can buy anything, anytime, but that's not what it's all about. And Porn has done really well, but it's a specialty (albeit huge, according to the numbers), but that's not even what it's really, really about. Social networking will be there, I think, but it's not the complete real deal, either. I keep running across the question, "If creativity is so rare, why is there so much on the internet?"

Good question!

I just came upon this recently, and in my opinion, this is what the internet was born to do:

(MUSIC: Thus Sprach Zarathushtra)

http://www.ted.com/

There's some great stuff here. I think it's the future. What do you think?

And so I wrote back:


I have yet to get my head around just what the Internet will prove to be about! What I am most concerned about is newsgathering and news dissemination. Newspapers are mass communication with all the distortions and limitations of that top-down model, but at least the economy of scale professionalized newsgathering (with all the distortions and limitations and self deception of *that* job model). Any amateur is now a journalist -- and I gladly grant them the term. Any aggregator is a now a gatekeeper and a publisher. I am curious (and, because I am old, all curiosity devolves into worry) about whether the internet "opportunity" will produce underfunded amateur journalism that will be cherry-picked by those who like what they see/hear to the exclusion of that which they do not like to see/hear.

Of course, maybe this will all be just like an episode of The Transformers. The parts will shift and the "new machine" will look different, but the practical result will be the same. People will acquire about as many facts and come to about as many informed decisions. The ambitious will triangulate and seek out a variety of sources, and the incurious and the ideologically rigid will be no worse off. As your presentation of Ted suggests, there are now more delicious items on the buffet right in front of us, many of them prepared by amateur chefs motivated by altruism or the creative impulse. But isn't there something called Gresham's Law: Good money drives out bad? If I knew exactly that that means, my question would be more useful!!!

I always come back to the same place. I worry about people getting paid for good work, for pursuing a vocation, not just an an avocation. The glory of old-style newspaper was the daily grind, of doing the story you did not care about because someone thought a few readers might care about it even if you, the newsworker, did not. I worry about the new online news media ethics achieving the mediocrity -- which is better than nothing -- of the sad old news media ethics. I worry for the sake of worry. Yet clearly the new models are a wonderful opportunity. But so was the opposable thumb.

News Exercise 17: Can You Find Three Things Wrong with this Story?

Back at Work

The best drug is the sound of my own voice. Unfortunately, my hearing is still somewhat affected, so Lord knows what I agreed to when it was whispered (so I perceived) from the back of the room. The class neither wept nor fled, and I take comfort from that.

Our Fantasy Baseball League is Gearing Up for Its 25th Season

Actually, I'm commissioner, but as often as I've won my pride is Satanic.

The Tests are Back

It's not pneumonia. It's not bacterial. It's a virus. It's back to work on Wednesday. Actually, it's back to work right now. Paper follows you home like a lost dog.

The Return of the King

We spent another happy four hours at Kaiser today working on my malady. Last night I was the Ella Fitzgerald of respiratory distress, one long scat of coughs and wheezes. E., who is proactive and will keep me alive longer than my cheap veneer of macho entitles, called the Kaiser advice nurse at 1 a.m.. Various actions were performed, including leaning over the stove, breathing the steam from boiling salt water and sipping -- 15 minutes; don't hurry -- honey and hot water.

This got me through the night. At 6:15, when Kaiser starts scheduling Sunday appointments, E. called another advice nurse (I think) and bullied her (so it seemed to me) into giving me an appointment today. Oakland was full up, so we drove into SF, to the Kaiser cluster not that far from USF.

I had the nicest little doctor who apologized for reading my medical history from her computer while standing up, for (she said) she was just too short for the stool. She did a variety of things -- including by implication and in the nicest way possible disagreeing with the doctor I saw Wednesday.

So, today: Some tests (results tomorrow), some new medicine, the suggestion I stay home for a couple more days -- unless it turns out that I do have pneumonia in which case Katy, bar the door (and hang a black wreath on it).

But she does not think I have pneumonia. What I have is a textbook case of getting old. I probably have some variety of the flu. It hits you harder when you are older and your immune system weakens.

She was cheerful. She said I was the fifth teacher who had come in today, and her day was only half over. It was like I filled out a epidemiological flush for her. She'd had a preschool teacher, a three public school teachers (grammar and high) and now college level.

She was pleased. After she retires, she thinks she'll volunteer and go to Africa and help the poor, though (she said) there are plenty of people to help here, so maybe she won't have to go that far.

Barry White Meets Matthew Arnold Meets a Bad Cold

Love-love to my love-love (with coughing).

If It's Good Enough for Romanesko to Lead With, It's Good Enough for Me

More Romenesko Unsubscribe from Romenesko Poynteronline Romenesko FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 2008 Strib sports pages get a boost from erectile dysfunction ads MinnPost.com Monday's Star Tribune's sports section was 100% sponsored by erectile dysfunction potions. "And not just any ED elixirs -- no, these are the special kinds, so mysterious in the ways of the herb that the Food and Drug Administration does not evaluate them," writes David Brauer. "It's probably logical that as legitimate advertisers drift away, bottom feeders will increasingly share the page with professional journalism." Posted at 11:32:03 AM E-mail this item | Add Your Comments | QuickLink this item: A138269

Well, This is Fun

Tonight I have a slight temperature and am feeling wan. If I miss time next week, the semester will go to hell, it really will. As a teacher, I'm a bit of a dervish, a magician who locks himself in the water tank and swallows the key. Nothing I say makes sense until it all comes together at the last minute. (I'm an artist.)

Fever. Fever.

My mood is sour. Watched about 20 minutes of the Sarah Silverman movie and decided a little bit of her effrontery goes a long way. Perhaps, at this moment I just don't need any reminders that we are all hypocrites, that irony and cool and disdain have run so thoroughly amuck that the frontiers of outrage are way way out there where the stars grow cold and the leaves of the judgment book unfold.

We are in real time now. Where did that last line come from? I Google and discover a poem that, as a teenager, I tried to memorize so I could recite it to you, MP, but never did. Which (I think) was just as well.

I will now recite it to my wife.

1.
From the desert I come to thee
On a stallion shod with fire,
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand
And the midnight hears my cry,
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.

2.
Look from thy window and see
My passion and my pain.
I lie on the sands below
And I faint in thy disdain,
Let the night winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh
And melt thee to hear the vow
Of a love that shall not die
Of a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars grow old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.

3.
My steps are nightly driven
By the fever in my breast
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart
And open thy chamber door
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.

The Walls of Jericho

E. and I have watched a few movies during our lying in -- which I know once referred to pregnancy but I believe in repurposing vocab.

We do not go to many movies, partly because E. works long hours and then spends an hour or more on the phone talking her sister (the caregiver) and her mother (the care-eater) through the end of their day.

Also, she hates violent movies, and her notion of violence is broad. She screams at spring snakes out of cans.

But sick in bed we have watched a few movies on cable. We saw "Dreamgirls": That was thoroughly enjoyable, although I'm not sure the music was actually good, only that it reminded you of good music. We saw "Night at the Museum," which strived for sophomoric but fell back in freshmanic: no real genius in the slapstick, no real cleverness in the jokes.

Last night we watched "It Happened One Night" on Turner Classic Movies, a classic that neither of us had seen, though we had seen the famous excepts -- the hitchhiking, the absent t-shirt. What a fascinating bit of U.S. history, as Clark Gable bullied and intimidated rich and spoiled Claudette Colbert into her right role as dependent woman and democratic citizen.

It reminded us of our dads' idea of how a man should be treated, though my dad did a better job of accepting that other model from comedies of the time, that man ruled outside the home but woman ruled inside and any husbandly assertion of power in that context was just bluster, and comic.

Where did I read -- maybe in the Sunday NY Times? -- that the new slacker sex comedies are built around men in the 30s who behave like teenagers but who get the love anyhow, the moment the women (who are far more driven, more competent) understand hat an ineffectual sweet-tempered slug is all you can hope for in America in the 21st Century.

We don't know if that characterization of modern chick comedy is true. We don't go to many movies.

I was startled at how wideset Colbert's eyes are. I think I once read that black and white loved broad flat faces that hold the light. All I know is that another centimeter and Colbert would have looked like a flounder.

I Gots My Drug

Sawbones said, "You bleeding idiot. Hacking for a week is a virus. Hacking for three weeks -- with wheezing! with wakeful nights! -- is a bacteria bacterium. Take these."

Then, he threw some pills at me, some of which lodged in the various folds and crevices of my flowing garb.

And he said: "Man, why you doing this? Why you pushing on toward the dream when you should be curled up by the fire. If the revolution needs a point guard, let it bring someone off the bench."

And then he caught himself and thought.

"I know you," he said. "Oh, I know you. It's about the children, isn't it?"

And I said yeah and blushed. It's always about the children, man. Got to be.

And then he took his tongs and prodded me out the door.

Mein Kampf

Brother Greg Pabst sent me a link to a book review in which this sentence appeared:

The strain to affect some semblance of scholarly detachment seems to have cramped his gleefully polemical style.

Oh Shucks

Three more hours at Kaiser with E. today. A new antibiotic has her feeling somewhat better, but now *I'm* feeling lousier -- after being very determined to feel better -- so I guess I'll go in to K. tomorrow.

All my life I've heard about this "walking pneumonia" that people discover they have after wandering around for days like a zombie -- but not a go-getter, who's-up-for-some-brains? zombie but more like an underachieving teenage dropout slacker zombie who just wants to be left alone.

Please.

Just off the phone. Back to Kaiser tomorrow but this time the appointment will be for me. Walking pneumonia? I think *not*, but it's good to be sure.

And a Little Child Shall Lead Them. If a Little Child is Unavailable, How About the Don Rickles of El Cerrito?

Brother Bob Wieder explains how to solve a nomination deadlock at the Democratic convention. I kept looking for the irony but I couldn't find any.

Full Disclosure

I misspoke. Eydie's temp continues above 100 F. Miss Baby is *ill.* However, once it dropped to just a little above 100 F, she dragged herself out of bed and started pushing paper.

I am in awe. In bed. Lying down. In awe.

"You sure you don't have a temperature?" she asks occasionally, the 'then why are you still lying down?' left unsaid. It's hard to be just a little sick around a fallen hero, a stalwart, one of the indefatigables. So I got up and went out and got her some orange juice, fresh-squeezed, the Thing Itself.

She just passed by, shufflin' but truckin'. Think a Roadrunner who goes, "Beep beep. (Cough cough.)"

There Will Be No Film at Eleven

Miss Baby just got up and cut off her Kaiser ER id bracelet from yesterday morning. She came home from K. and went to bed in the clothes she was wearing – she just took those off, too.

When I came to bed last night, I asked her if she wanted to take that nice little brown pant suit off, she said no, that it was stretchy. But today she is better though she sounds like she’s gargling with gravel. Temp is gone, too.

And here's something completely different. This is an example of what I want the feature writing kids to do for their restaurant review. My thinking is that they need to do multimedia and then start worrying about doing good multimedia.

Three Hours at the Emergency Room at Kaiser This Morning

Very irritated with Kaiser for fouling up Eydie's same-day appointment and shunting her off to the ER. But once there, they did take her in at once and check her out -- Xrays and such -- and send her home with various medicines. Her temp hit 103 and she was coughing up bloody phlegm -- if you've read this far you are necessarily a Friend of the Blog and thus of all who sail in her and *want* the details in case there's anything you can do, not to mention passing on info to those at the back of the crowd.

At the moment, no, we don't need anything, but keep your operators standing by. I'm sick, but she's SICK. Thus, we burn off a three-day weekend, in bed but not in a nice way.

Granny Powah

Former student Katie Crozier's Republican grandmother loves her some Obama!

This is promising.

My Wife Just Said, "Why Didn't You Take Notes?"

Valentine's Day din-din at Mezze on Lakeshore in Oakland. One of their special deals with a so-called "wine flight," which is three 3-ounce pops with the three main courses -- but not with dessert because (I suppose) there's a prejudice against ports et al.

What a fine meal: five out of six with our only doubt the duck breast, which was just a little undercooked. Our waitperson -- personable; full-figured -- was running as fast as she could but the wines did not arrive at positively the time of maximum efficiency in relation to the the courses themselves.

I could, as the young people so imprecisely say, have cared less.

There was hand-holding and such, and at one point I said that Old Long Love is like living in a time warp. It's all there at once and forever, the good and the bad, and if there's more good than bad the math works and joy ensues.

Anyway, we had a nice long good time, though after four cups of coffee when we were offered the check, we said "What about the dessert?"

Actually, after asking for dessert, I said, "We are in love but not that much in love." My wife said a dozen funnier things, but this is all I can remember.

Cue "Dover Beach":

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night.

P.S. I tipped 20 percent-plus, as happiness will. Matthew Arnold would have tipped so.

So Much Irony in What I Write. Where's the Beef? At Least, Where Are the Nutritious Vegetables?

Brother Daugherty and I were talking about irony and how it consumes itself.

Yes, I live on -- make that, I make a living on -- irony. Every once in awhile I’ll write a column irony free, I enjoy those the most. Irony wears out, does not make a full meal. It’s like most blogging; irony is commenting on something else, on someone else’s thoughts. Gets predictable after awhile.

Patrick

It gets stale, Pat, but it's easy. If anyone doesn't get it, you laugh at their lack of intellectual sophistication, their lack of a refined sense of humor, their lack of an appreciation for your graceful postmodern despair. As I told the kids in feature writing about food reviews -- in fact, about any kind or review -- it is easy to make fun. It is hard to explain why something is good. It opens you up for everyone to see. Sometimes approval is an exercise in pretension but just as often disapproval is a fine public display of your comprehensive ignorance.

Ah, but when you scoff, and scoff at everything: It's a world view. It's gritty. Thank God you have the stones to see things are they really are. (Which does not make you sad, of course, not you; it makes you laugh.)

An attitude of habitual contempt is really quite sentimental. It's like rhyme in poetry. It's so easy to go where it leads you. It's too easy.

Something Else about Those Older Faculty: They Were Stupid about Money. (Not to Mention the Randy Old Bastards Who've Started Second Families)

Heard in passing:

Universities should "stress greater education for younger faculty to invest earlier and plan better so that they will want to retire at an earlier age."

From Romanesko without Comment

Update: "I used a word I shouldn't have," writes Halperin

Time.com | Boston Phoenix | Horse's Mouth
"The fact that I was conveying other people's words is no excuse for my lapse in judgment. It won't happen again," promises Mark Halperin. || Earlier: "Does Time really want its staffers using the word 'pussy' in their guest appearances?" asks Adam Reilly. || Greg Sargent: MSNBC's David Shuster won't be fired for his "pimped out" remark.

Posted at 3:42:15 PM

E-mail this item | Add Your Comments

Oh okay, I'll comment. I sympathesize. We do live in an age of brash and vulgar talk, and it may be that as opportunities for "true macho" diminish-- the trail-blazing, bear-wrestling, fisticuffs, anything above and beyond crossing against the light -- men feel the need to strut their street talk, as a weightlifter might puff his synthetic muscles, throwing the shadow of virility against the wall in the absence of the virility itself.

This episode reminds me that I need to shut up myself more often than not, particularly in class when I work to remind the kids that I was not always as they see me now, not always a juiceless college professor, not always a poor wretch chained to the wall in the deepest dungeon of the ivory tower, not always a...a...,

Well, not to put too fine a point on it but from a certain point of view: I was not always a pussy.

Now I've embarrassed myself all over again.

The Kids Ate their Oreos Like Barbarians, in Great Smacking Bites, No Disassembly

Today in feature writing we prepped for the restaurant review by bringing in food to sniff, caress, taste and then practice upon, finding verbal equivalents for our sensory experiences. Kids brought sushi, raspberries, jelly beans, sour sticks(?), cheese, Oreos, chocolate kisses, donut holes and (bless Matt's heart) homemade salsa.

We don't cook, one kid said. We don't have kitchens.

My lady wife contributed a champagne cake, which was somewhat slumped to the side and prone to collapse because it was a first effort and -- contrary to her good judgment -- she followed the recipe exactly, the insane proportions of which doomed the presentation if not the taste.

Explicit aim was to loosen the youth up, to encourage wordplay and to show off my own lightning wit. (As it turned out, the sky of my mind was cloudless. So it goes.)

Kids did good. Kids made me smile a lot. The witticism that I decided to steal present to a wider audience was the comment -- okay, John Usher said it -- that the tastiness of Jarlsberg cheese, falling as it does just short of bland, made it a "gateway cheese."

One second you're munching like a mouse, next second someone is saying, "Do the blue, man, do the blue."

An Exercise for Basic Reporting

Here's the background: I decided to video a short speech to create a class writing exercise on the theory that students like variety (I'd done a phony press conference in the flesh already this semester) and that they like net video and would respond to the fact I am at least marginally net literate.

I found some blog comments by former SPJ president Christine Tatum that I thought made a good faux speech not only because of the content -- oh that Eff word -- but also because the more important stuff comes toward the end rather than the beginning, and one of my goals in basic reporting is that you do not let chronology dictate how you present information.

If I had been asked to write about what Tatum wrote about, I would probably have had a different emphasis, more "yes but" about the students' rights in this matter and how we should revere Free Speech. I was not thoroughly brought around to her point of view when I read her comments. But when I heard myself -- clumsily, stumblingly -- say what she wrote, I was persuaded, at least moved toward her emphasis.

Is this a lesson about the power of the voice to persuade, of facial expression to urge, of the magnetism of the flesh. Or is it just self-love, just affection for that crazy hairstyle?

Editor's Note: Yes, some of my older readers will be reminded of the Big Giant Head from that underrated sitcom, Third Rock from the Sun.

Mad Dog (That Froth! Those Lips!)

I have to admit that I rather enjoy lecturing when I am enfeebled by a cold but simultaneously rekindled by much coffee, many aspirin, those funny little Chinese pills my wife swears by and the body's natural pushback when your head is melting down through your nasal passages.

One is somehow elevated in mood, almost giddy, filled with little jokes, some sotto voce, many incomprehensible. It is at those moments that one wishes one actually were a campus icon and a living treasure, and thus the little weirdnesses would be -- distilled by time and blended with nostalgia -- something for the youth to savor later on, when they look back on college days as an escape from the gray world of the life as a salaryperson.

"The old boy was fun -- in his way," they might say. Or write. Today one of the things I talked about was the various ways in their writing to pause for emphasis.

"I disliked him," she said. "That's why I shot him."

The placement of the attribution is proper because it quickly identifies the speaker. It also is a kind of dramatic pause setting up the kicker at the end as an actor would punch a line. A dash can do the same I told them. And, indeed, sometimes one might even write:

"I disliked him." She paused. "That's why I shot him."

But did she really pause, I mean, more than a period's worth? Everything about feature writing is temptation. That's why I loved it so because I was vain about my honesty and strong in my love of La Fact Juste.

Of course, that's why I was merely a very good feature writer rather than a great one.

coff coff

Heavy cold today, which is a lousy ailment for a college teacher. When you only teach two days a week, how in good conscience can you take a day off unless you are immobile and/or rife with infection? Short answer is you can't. You wheeze a little, get light headed as the illness interacts with the adrenaline that naturally arises as you lecture and let the class out 15 minutes early.

Meanwhile, I'm working on McCain nicknames. I think Gimli works. He's also rather Puckish.

Those with Long Memories Recall the Last Leaf Contest

Guess when the last leaf falls and win a prize! But who could have guessed that the last leaf was a mutant and would hang on for weeks after its last comrade had given up? Finally, though, by chance or nature's changing course undone, it sank a toe into Lethe's stream and thought and stepped and....

The winner, the one who came closest to picking the day of surrender? Jennifer in Dubai. I don't know Jennifer. (Don't *know* Dubai, not to put too fine a point on it.) But here's something for her, something of the kind I might like if I were in Dubai and far from home, even with my winnings heavy in my pocket.

Global Bleeding

HC and BO make nice for the next few months, deftly underlining their slight but actual differences in tactics, strategies and principles. They split the remaining delegates, but they sort it out at the convention with good judgment and good sportsmanship, and one of them runs with Bill Richardson, and that's that.

But if they hack and hew at one another and finish the campaign with the delegates still split but oh so much blood spilt viz. Jake LaMotta and Randy (Tex) Cobb, then the crowd will turn away, draw a curtain over the carnage, and we end up with:

Al Gore.

My mantra is: play nice. It's not about you.

The Betting Fool

Refreshingly Honest (A Beaujolais Moment)

I told my wife I would vote for Hillary yesterday out of respect for and deference to my wife, and my wife said that was ridiculous and unacceptable, though she was going to vote for Hillary, in part because she sees very little substantive difference between the policy ideas of H. and Obama but also because of the enormous empathy she feels with a middle-aged woman who has received at least some of the criticism she has received just because she is a middle-aged woman.

(Saying I'd vote for H. and voting for O. No.)

Thus, I voted for Obama not because I felt he is superior on policy or more likely to achieve the implementation of his policies but because I felt down in my gut that he was riding a wave and was going to get the nomination, and the quicker somebody clinches, the better for the Dems.

But my gut was wrong. Now, my gut tells me that Obama has crested, and at the end of the day Hillary will have more delegates, though with all those Super Delegates out there, who knows what that will mean?

I suppose the analogy is that, like the groundhog, my gut should go underground for the next six weeks, and let nature take its course, for all my Malcolm Gladwell "blinks" so far have been consistently wrong.

Rough Cut: How We Got to Super Bowl

A Super Bowl Sunday Establishing Shot

You click. You see. This is where we watched.

Binge Drinking: From kidshealth.com

Chet has known Dave since they were in elementary school together, but lately their friendship has been strained. Dave's drinking on weekends has turned him into a completely different person. Dave used to get good grades and play sports, but since he started drinking he hasn't been finishing assignments and he has quit the soccer team.

When Chet saw Dave pound five beers in 30 minutes at two different parties, he realized how serious Dave's problem was. He knows what Dave is doing: binge drinking.

What Is Binge Drinking?

Binge drinking used to mean drinking heavily over several days. Now, however, the term refers to the heavy consumption of alcohol over a short period of time (just as binge eating means a specific period of uncontrolled overeating).

Today the generally accepted definition of binge drinking in the United States is the consumption of five or more drinks in a row by men — or four or more drinks in a row by women — at least once in the previous 2 weeks. Heavy binge drinking includes three or more such episodes in 2 weeks.

Why Do People Binge Drink?

Liquor stores, bars, and alcoholic beverage companies make drinking seem attractive and fun. It's easy for a high school student to get caught up in a social scene with lots of peer pressure. Inevitably, one of the biggest areas of peer pressure is drinking.

Other reasons why people drink include:

• They're curious — they want to know what it's like to drink alcohol.
• They believe that it will make them feel good, not realizing it could just as easily make them sick and hung-over.
• They may look at alcohol as a way to reduce stress, even though it can end up creating more stress.
• They want to feel older.

Coming Soon to This Space

A video account of our drive to Pt. Molate to view the Super Bowl.

Super Bowl Drinking Report

Five beers in five hours, none after the middle of the second quarter. I was sober to the point of dull and drove my comrades safely home with style and mastery,

The 'Rogue Columnist' Sums Up Why the Newspaper Went South for the Winter and Never Came Back

Just so well said.

He begins:

Mary McCarthy said famously of Lillian Hellman: “Every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the’.”

It’s tempting to say the same about the many diagnoses of what ails the newspaper world. We hear endlessly that the troubles are a result of the Internet, new technology, “people don’t read anymore,” and, my favorite, “people don’t have as much time as they used to.” As if there was once a 36-hour day, or people who once worked 12-hour shifts while raising large families had this abundance of time.

Why We Don't Go to the Flora Restaurant in Berkeley Oakland

Brother Peter Moore wrote at his blog that he came home from the Flora Restaurant in Berkeley Oakland without eating and I asked why:


Took BART down to try the place. Sit at the bar, have a drink, have a bite.
So it was pretty crowded and the hostess says "Well, I don't have anything and it's an hour and a half wait for a table but the bar is first come, first served." I say, "OK, I'll wait for a seat at the bar."
I'm waiting like ten, fifteen minutes.
A guy, seems like a regular or even an owner/investor comes up to the hostess and says, "That guy who stopped at my table owns half of downtown Oakland. He and his wife really need a table. You should do what you have to to seat them." They had come in after me.
Another ten minutes.
Another couple comes in and is greeted effusively by a waitress who introduces them to the hostess. "These are my really good friends."
Another five minutes.
I see a couple at the bar getting their check. I stand behind them. As they leave the guy tells me to be sure to order the appetizer special. I sit down. The waitress runs over,
"You can't sit here."
"I was told it was open seating at the bar."
She goes to get the hostess.
"I'm really sorry, I should have been clearer. I seat this part of the bar because it faces the kitchen."
At which point the bartender comes up and hands me a menu and says, "What would you like?"
The hostess insists that I can't sit there. A little back and forth but it's clear they're not going to let me sit there.
I stand and leave the restaurant.
I take BART home.
I call the restaurant.
"Hello, I don't mean to be a dick but I'm the guy who you just chased out of the restaurant. And I don't think you handled that very well. I know that you had the guy who owns 'half of downtown Oakland' and his wife and the other waitresses good friends, but I think you could have done that better"
"I'm sorry I didn't make it clear but I do seat that part of the bar."
"You've already insulted me, don't insult my intelligence. The bartender didn't seem to think I couldn't sit there"
Deep breath, "You're right sir. I could have done that better. I'm really sorry. You know the pressure I was under."
"Yes, but you could have handled it better."
"You're right, I could have. I am very sorry sir."
"That's OK. Just wanted to hear you say it.

I will never go to Flora restaurant again. Ever.

Squeezing the Twinkle

Just showing off a phrase that came to me in an exchange of emails with Brother Goodwin about the temptation to overwrite, to tart up stale content with just so much goddamn cleverness, all twee and arch and fey and rogueish and knowing and contempo so on.

So what I wrote was that I needed to start "squeezing the twinkle" out of what I write, an effort that will apparently begin tomorrow.

Not the Way I Remembered It

from Emily Dickinson

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

Can a Designated Driver Have Anything to Drink?

I ask the question because I may be the DD for our Super Bowl jaunt to Pt. Molate tomorrow. The answer would seem to be yes, at least in terms of having a legal blood alcohol level -- if one is honest about how much one is drinking and owns a functioning watch.

Here's a link to a calculator that should give an approximate blood alcohol level.

But if a cop stops you I'm told you're asked if you have had anything to drink, and that having had a drink hours before may in some way prejudice what happens next. I've never been stopped. How would I know? It may be that the comrades will insist on a DD who commits to drinking nothing.

I take that bullet for you, comrades.

P.S. A friend writes at once:


I ran your calculator: male, 230 pounds, 5 beers in one hour. Comes up .07 something. Which is legal. And unbelievable. That would put me over, even in my prime.

This is a police state trap!

We Continue to Mourn the Loss of our Google Link to the Word 'Protractor'

Today the name reverts to its original.

So Maybe Blogging is a Kind of Loud and Gaudy Cowardice?

Brother Andrew Goodwin over at the Professor of Pop leads me to Sarah Boxer's essay on blogging in the New York Review of Books. I thank him and honor it because it is a smart essay and it reinforces things I already think -- though perhaps presenting better them than I -- and it suggests to me things I had not thought.

Also, people, it is in the New York Review of Books, which gives it cachet, and I can now use my having read it as a blunt instrument of conversation in certain situations among certain people from whom I want either admiration or envy though I will settle for hate, if that is all that is left on the table.

She concludes:

Blog writing is id writing—grandiose, dreamy, private, free-associative, infantile, sexy, petty, dirty. Whether bloggers tell the truth or really are who they claim to be is another matter, but WTF. They are what they write. And you can't fake that. ;-)

And why do I fall somewhat short in those areas? Boxer is right that it's the scabrous and the indignant that draw attention, particularly for those bloggers who really don't know all that much. She implies (don't think she actually spells it out) that many of these blogs-as- fulmination-and-aerial-circus are anonymous. ( Let me tell you, Mitt Romney: That really does let the dogs out.)

When I began this blog, I said who I was and what I was: a man with a name, a teacher at a Jesuit university towards which I feel some responsiblity and a surprising amount of respect.

Is it clear enough that I draw back from embarrassing my employers? Or that I try to draw back?

(I rather think in some ways I am an embarrassment, but only in the most benign and boyish way, and that I expect the university to endure.)

In some ways, I am rather pleased that I am little read. If that were not so, I would have to write down the recipes and stay open six days a week and keep regular hours if you know what I mean, though as a blogger (as Boxer points out) I don't give a damn if you don't.

Oooops. Forgive me, Father, for I have blogged.

Here's a Coincidence. Lolsecretz.com Closes Down.

Here's the part I love, near the end of the announcement. Look at the members of this panel.



If you're interested in keeping up with us, you can do so in a few ways. First, we'll be attending ROFLCon at Harvard University in Cambridge, MA, on April 25-27, 2008. We'll be speakers on the "Lolpanel" along with the creators of I Can Has Cheezburger, LolTrek, LolBible, and other LOLers... for more information, including how to attend, please visit http://www.roflcon.org.

Here's the first part of their farewell. It's brave to walk away when the run is done. It's a proud thing to do.

We all knew this day would come eventually, but even still, it's bittersweet to write this post today. After a lot of thinking and talking and intense brainstorming over enchiladas and hemming and hawing... we've decided to draw this chapter of lolsecretz.com's life to a close. Part of us would love to continue making and receiving secretz forEVAR, to see what new hilarity we can fashion out of inscrutable kittycat memes, and to see how you, our wonderful readerz, can exceed the boundaries of our own imaginations and make us laugh over and over again.

But mostly we want to preserve the spirit out of which lolsecretz was originally born - one of doubled-over laughter and playful manipulation of themes generated on these crazy Intrenetz; a feeling that we were creating something fresh, unique, and extraordinarily (and inexplicably) funny; a witty jab at things that we love but feel deserved to be parodied. Fact is, we've become just as repetitive as PostSecret at this point, and that means it's time to go. We honestly never, ever expected lolsecretz to become the hit that it did; at the peak of the site's popularity, it was seeing thousands upon thousands of hits per day; we got attention from numerous media websites that we read (!); and there's even been talk of a book deal...So we had our 15 minz, and now we feel it's time to move on.

For the Last Six Weeks, Anyone Who Was Linked to One of My Old Posts by Google as They Searched for 'Protractor' Saw This

You see, I simply changed the old post.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

The Man Who Invented the Protractor is Running for President

Here is his hot new video, "The Last Leaf: Director's Cut."

And here is his latest commercial, "A Dog Called Hope."

Here is his first campaign commercial.

After a Long and Hectic Day, the Restful Night and the Morning After

It's quiet here at the blog this morning. I think there's an Emily Dickinson poem with a great line about "the stillness after," but I can't find it with a quick Google.

Fact is that there won't be so many visitors to the blog now. For several months anyone who Googled "protractor" would see three images of a protractor, and one of those images linked to this blog for no good reason. I only changed the name of the blog because of the links, so don't misunderstand the pattern of cause and effect.

But today, after a month in which for the first time I had more than 4,000 visits, the third of those three protractor images does not link here.

So now another phrase comes to mind: first the forgetting, then the letting go. That sounds like Dickinson. But I can't find it.

Anyway, all is quiet on the Western Front.

P.S. I'll just borrow this from Wikipedia, with all the hesitation and and uncertainty that implies:

The 1929 English translation by Arthur Wesley Wheen gives the title as All Quiet on the Western Front. The literal translation is "Nothing New in the West" (Im Westen nichts Neues), with "West" being the war front; this was a routine dispatch used by the German Army.