Persistent Chauvinism

The double standard applied to female athletes is an indicator of how little progress has been made in the realm of gender equality. I was very happy to see Danica Patrick finally get an Indy Car win. Auto sport seems like one area where the inherent physical differences between men and women could be evened out, and the sexes could compete head to head. Patrick has been criticized as not being a serious contender, because she isn't afraid to capitalize on the fact that she is an attractive woman when pursuing endorsement deals and marketing her racing career.

Why wouldn't the same criticism be levelled at David Beckham flopping around in his underwear? Or Michael Jordan, for that matter? In spite of all that has happened in the last 100 years, if you are an attractive woman, it is assumed that the only contribution you can make is as window dressing. If you do anything that isn't part of the regular program for a beauty pageant, you're tagged as either butch or an amusing novelty. It seems like most men are stil uncomfortable with the idea of a woman who would pursue anything more than a husband to make babies with.

Whooosh

A whole month since I last wrote in my blaargh, and look at how much has changed. Okay, so I guess not that much has changed. (N.B. why does the blogger text editor tell me okay is a misspelling? Are you really supposed to spell it OK? OK; it doesn't treat that as a misspelling. That's crazy, but I guess technically it's correct.)

This whole early start to Daylight Saving Time is messing me up. I have a hard enough time saying "Daylight Saving Time" and not "Daylight Savings Time." Now I have to deal with it being at the beginning of March. It's too cold to be light out at 7:30 p.m. The only consolation is that I can feel the warmth of the sun a little more now than I could a month ago.

Another sign of spring was the big, fat gray and white feral cat sitting in my back yard the other morning. I don't know where they go or what they do, but you don't see them around from December to March. In the summer they come out almost every morning and sun themselves on the little patch of grass in our yard, or sit up on the fence and try to catch the birds flying in and out of the garage. I think this particular cat is getting fed, because he was almost chubby, not as scrawny and grubby looking as the other strays I see. Maybe he's my harbinger of spring.

No KO

The debate tonight was what my father always described as "like kissing your sister." Not quite the real thing. We are getting down to the wire, and one of these candidates is going to be in the fight of his or her life (it's nice to be able to type that) in a matter of weeks. But tonight was a tame shadow of what the final election will be like.

The real fight will be on before Memorial Day, but the Democrats are still not sure who their horse will be. I think the nominating process is going to end with more of a whimper than a bang. If Hillary makes a comeback (and the Clinton machine is capable of comebacks) there could be an exciting horse race, but it will be over quick. If Obama stays on his roll, we will see the end come a little sooner and less dramatically. The best part is that regardless of who gets the nomination, the fact that the race lasted a little longer actually benefited the Democrats. Nobody is really interested in John McCain right now - he is probably happy for the ink he got from the Times today.

Evacuation Day is Coming

You Are 88% Massachusetts

Wicked pissa! Now go down to Dunkies and celebrate.

How Massachusetts Are You?

One of the questions in this quiz is about Evacuation Day. If you look in the archives of this blaaaahhrrgg you will see that I am not only familiar with, but an enthusiastic celebrant of, Evacuation Day. In fact, I was just reading a book review in today's Globe of a biography of Henry Knox, the key participant in the events leading up to Evacuation Day (along with Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys) and I thought, "that book would make a wonderful Evacuation Day gift."

I noticed that a few other people who took this quiz mentioned that they probably missed out on being 100% Massachusetts because of their dislike of Dunkin Donuts coffee. I think this is a mistake on the part of the quiz's authors. Nobody from Massachusetts actually LIKES Dunkin Donuts coffee, but they drink it anyway because the horrendous taste it leaves in your mouth keeps you wide awake through the morning traffic on 93 or the Expressway.

My Wife Calls it a "Wide On"

That’s the expression she uses to describe female sexual “excitement.” Men get a hard on, women get a wide on. As in, “Boy, he had a hard on for that Lexus coupe,” or “That Fendi bag really gave her a wide on.” And right now, Ann Coulter has a wide on for the prospect of a Hillary Clinton presidency that you can’t imagine. She’s either going commando or changing her skivvies every ten minutes. (Personally, I hope it’s the latter, because the prospect of Ann Coulter going commando is repulsive – even more repulsive than she is under normal circumstances).

The last eight years have been pretty desperate ones for Fraulein Coulter. What’s a woman to do when the ruling administration is to the right of the Duke of Windsor and John Birch? She’s had to stoop to the level of the Joe Goebbels Handbook of Political Propaganda just to get anywhere near the front page of CNN.com. Not like the late 90s. Those were the days: ferried about in chauffeur driven limousines, four or five appearances a day, that bony face squawking out of every TV and radio in the land. And people actually listened to what she had to say then, too.

Just think, Ann, what another Clinton presidency could mean for you. A target you could slander at will, without fear of alienating your right-wing buddies. You and Rush could have a field day, what with a Democratic administration and Democratic majorities in the House and Senate – EVERYTHING would be their fault. Hell, you’ll even be able to blame them for the weather. So keep right on saying that you’d vote for Satan before you’d vote for McCain. Based on your past history, you probably won’t even vote in the right precinct anyway.

This Just In...

Getting a PhD does not entitle you to show up at my office looking like you just rolled off the back of a Northern Pacific freight car, expecting me to treat you like the mayor, Albert Einstein and the Prince of Wales all rolled into one person.

Just thought you should know.

Stunner

I just checked CNN and haven't had time to get the details, but my initial euphoria at the news of Mitt Romney's "suspension" of his presidential campaign turned to vile, bitter hatred when I read the reason he gave. Am I mistaken, or is he essentially saying that if you don't vote Republican, you are a terrorist or supporter of terrorism? This is the most asinine, arrogant, repugnant thing I have ever heard from any Republican. This is worse than when everyone was falling all over them selves calling that racist prick Strom Thurmond a great guy after he passed away.

I wouldn't be surprised if McCain offered him the Veep spot or a choice ambassadorship to bail out now. You know the Repugnicans are in trouble when they have to gang up like a bunch of thugs to win an election. (But when do they not act like thugs?) Ugh. I should be happy, but I am just disgusted.

I went to the POLL and I CAUCUSED.

Well, I couldn't really caucus, since it's a primary. So I voted. But, I bumped into some friends who are neighbors, and we talked about politics, so that's like caucusing.

I am really nervous about this whole election year. I was supporting Edwards, and I think he dropped out too soon, which makes me think that either things weren't so rosy for him and Elizabeth in their private life, or some kind of deal was cut. The Clinton's make me nervous because they're shrewd, ruthless political animals, but I also have a lot of confidence in them because they're shrewd, ruthless political animals. The viral Obama music video/ad aggravated me more than it inspired me, because it is the kind of emotional-appeal demagoguery that makes me irate when the Republicans do it. It's the same thing as just showing the candidate in front of a flag with a caption reading "Americans are Great! Vote for me if you agree!"

The prospect of a McCain or Romney presidency really scares me, though. I think the Republicans are still attached to the concept of Manifest Destiny: "America is a world leader because she is mighty and powerful, and she is mighty and powerful because she deserves to be. Anyone who opposes this point of view doesn't just have a different opinion, they are wrong and dangerous. America's dominance and security are more important than things like free speech and civil liberties." I am afraid the transition from republic to empire has gone too far to be reversed.

Well, at least I still get to go to the polls and caucus.

Good Night Nurse.

You won't see much written about sports in this blog. I was the kind of kid you'd find at the bottom of a pile of jocks, and I preferred books and science-fiction movies to tossing the ole pigskin or hitting the batting cages. I grew up believing that being a Bruins fan and a Red Sox fan was just what you did when you were from Boston, whether you understood what they were playing or not. I liked Fred Lynn, Carlton Fisk, Bobby Orr, Terry O'Reilly and Gil Gilbert (the goalie, not the keyboard player for New Order - although I like her, too). Nobody really remembers Gilbert. He used to come so far out of the net he was like a third defenseman.

Anyway, I was saying that I don't pay much attention to sports. So why am I up at 11:24 on the night the Patriot's had their "perfect" season ruined by Eli Manning, some guy named "Plasticon" or something, and the fact that Matt Light had his head up his ass? I don't really know. This was the first football game I've watched from beginning to end in a long time. And I actually found myself smiling when it became apparent that the Patriots might not (in fact would not) win. I have always liked underdogs. I only wish I had put some money on the hunch I had.

It's all in how you say it.

I just wanted to start the month out by reminding everyone - it's not February, it's FABruary!!

That is all.

Prognostication

So Edwards, who I liked because of his union position and his potential to have a good working relationship with Congress, is out of the race. I think Obama has a sincere desire to do good things for the middle class but might try to do too much at once and get off on the wrong foot with Congress, and Clinton has the machinery to get things running smoothly, although she's likely to show the same bias to the connected and well-to-do that was a hallmark of her husband's administration. I'm leaning towards Obama, but would put my money on Clinton if I were a betting man.

Giuliani has imploded, Romney is staying just this side of competent, and McCain is on an upswing. Huckabee is not going much farther, and most likely won't survive Super Tuesday. Maybe he'll stay in the race for the sole purpose of winning some delegates that he can pledge to his favorite. Two scenarios scare me. McCain getting nominated is frightening because I know there are Democrats that will vote for him. Romney is a little less scary because I don't think he'll hold his own in the general election, but if he does, and somehow gets elected president, he will probably go down in history as the next Herbert Hoover. That is, if Romney is elected, his plans for the economy will probably just exacerbate the problem.

The possibility that either party might actually have to go all the way to the convention to select a nominee is getting slimmer. I, for one, would find that fascinating. It's something no one in my generation can even recall. Sitting in front of the television until all hours, on a hot summer night, waiting for the 137th ballot. Hearing the roll call of the states' delegations as they declare for one or another candidate. Maybe a dark horse? Did somebody say "Al Gore?" The rumor mills and the smoke-filled back rooms. "I heard Mayor Bloomberg was on a train from NYC to St. Paul." As bad as it is for "democracy," the history buff in me gets a chill just thinking about it.

Anyway, it's not likely to happen. After next Tuesday, I'm thinking it will be McCain versus Clinton. A long, bitter and dirty general campaign. A late night/early morning wait for returns. Some surprises (McCain gets Michigan and Ohio, but Clinton actually pulls some of the Solid South back to the Democratic Party). Then, in all likelihood, a one-term presidency for whoever wins. George Bush has made such a mess of things that Solomon himself couldn't straighten it out in four years, and whoever "wins" this election is going to pay for that.

I am resplendent in divergence

I am pretty sure that there was not another straight man at the gym today whose iPod shuffled from "Hot Rockin'" by Judas Priest to "Do You Really Want to Hurt Me" by Culture Club. I laughed out loud and the woman on the stationary bike next to the elliptical machine I was on gave me a funny look.

Judas Priest is (obviously) great workout music. The Point of Entry album is also great pop music. I got really snobby about "heavy metal" when I was in high school, because I was a highly evolved Mod who listened to post-punk and not that knuckle-dragging Neanderthal music made by big-haired loonies in make-up and denim. GobShiteWankerBollocks!!

Now that I go back and listen to it, a lot of that stuff -- especially the English metal like Iron Maiden and Motorhead -- was great music. Those bands were paying more attention to the songs than they get credit for.

Nancy Boy

I have a confession. I like lattes. In particular, I like Starbucks' lattes. I like other places' lattes, too. I used to go down the street from where I lived and get them at a place called Java Jo's, and they were excellent. I'm not that picky. In fact, I think I proved I was a latte slut when I actually drank (and enjoyed) a Dunkin Donuts latte. It's the steamed milk. I can't resist foamy drinks.

My ex-girlfriend from many years back was an espresso fiend. She was the first person I ever met that made her own espresso, in one of those stove-top pots. But she would "steam" her milk by putting it in a small saucepan on the stove and whisking it with a wire whisk. Not quite a latte, but still, it was foamy milk. I wasn't a big coffee fan at the time. That probably had something to do with all the reefer I was smoking. I mean, it doesn't make much sense to drink something to wake yourself up when you just smoked yourself off to la-la land, right?

Then, she got a fancy espresso making machine. I think I might have even gotten it for her as a present. But the thing made horrible espresso. It was more like drip-percolated coffee. However, the little nozzle attachment did a wonderful job steaming milk. So the espresso maker became a fancy milk steamer, and she kept making espresso in the stove-top pot.

I got attached to coffee after I gave up the cheeba. My favorite cup of coffee is the one I make every morning in my stove-top percolator. It isn't an espresso maker, but a regular coffee pot. It's like the toy coffee pot I had with my GI Joe mess-kit. And I use half-and-half in my morning coffee. But later in the day, if I'm feeling naughty, I go to the Starbucks in the student center and get a Tall or a Grande. Then I mince back to my office and giggle like a schoolgirl while I try not to get foamy milk on my upper lip.

Resolutions

In 2008 I will turn 41 years old, and will in no way be able to duck adulthood any longer. As such, I make the following resolutions in the interest of becoming a responsible, productive member of society:

• I will endeavor to convince the English to stop spelling "orangutan" with a hyphen.
• I will use the indefinite article "an" before all words beginning with the letter "h."
  
• I will never end a sentence with a preposition.
  
• I will lose ten pounds by exhaling twice as often as I inhale.
  
• I will always tip exactly fifteen percent of the bill (before taxes).
  
• I will learn to sign my name with my left hand.

Several years ago I resolved to double my weight, and then lose it all, in the course of the year. I didn't succeed. I am much more sanguine this time.

One Thing I Can Never Confess

Sometimes I wonder why I stopped making music. I don't know.

Now I Get It

I keep hearing "Ikea this" and "Ikea that" and I think, what the hell. It's just another store. People are such suckers. But, boy, I am as much a sucker as the rest of them. From the meatballs to the self-service furniture bins, I am a convert. For less than $250 we treated ourselves to an early Christmas. We came home with a Poang armchair and an area rug for the living room, four DVD bins, and lunch (actually, we ate lunch there). I put the chair together in the time it took me to make a cup of tea, and it is comfortably cushioning my ass right now.

The missus and I were joking about the "socialism for capitalists" approach. The restaurant has signs that explain why you need to bus your own table. You see, if you take care of some things yourself, and everyone pitches in, then you can pay less money for your lunch. And if you go and get your own furniture off the shelf, we can charge you less for that, too. Cooperation can actually bring the price down.

We also had the brilliant idea of combination grown-up/kids birthday parties at Ikea. Imagine if little Susie was invited to her BFF's party at Ikea? The kids can go play in Smålland and the grown-ups can take a lap through the store, then everyone can have meatballs, chicken fingers and mac and cheese for lunch. And you can finish the day up busing your own tables. Now that's something to be thankful for, comrades.

Five Things That Aren't About Me

I've often thought of doing one of those "100 Things About Me" posts, but I just don't think I'm that interesting. And I hate the way most people fill them out:
87. I like dogs.
88. Except my sister's dog.
89. Which isn't to say I don't like my sister.
90. It's just that her dog smells.
91. Like, really bad.
You get the point.

So, instead, I thought of five things I think are important to remember. Aphorisms, if you will.
1. The satisfaction you get out of something is in direct proportion to the effort you put into it.
2. "Talent" is the ability to find enjoyment in something difficult.
3. God (if there is one) doesn't want us to answer only to God; God wants us to take care of each other.
4. It's "its" if it belongs to it, but it's "it's" if it is.
5. Laugh and the world laughs with you, but fart and you sleep on the couch.

That's it. Have a great day.

An Indulgence on this Rainy Day

I would like to post something, but I haven't got any news to relate, I haven't had any particularly aggravating episodes recently, and I've only heard one good joke, which I cannot (and would not) reproduce here because it is insulting to every branch of my heritage. Furthermore, I am trying to spend more time at work actually working, and less in idle distraction. So, I am reproducing a wonderful short essay by one of my favorite writers. Follow the instructions below carefully, and the world will at once become a more sane and comforting place. (I stole the essay from www.booksatoz.com).

A Nice Cup of Tea
By George Orwell
Evening Standard, 12 January 1946.


If you look up 'tea' in the first cookery book that comes to hand you will probably find that it is unmentioned; or at most you will find a few lines of sketchy instructions which give no ruling on several of the most important points.

This is curious, not only because tea is one of the main stays of civilization in this country, as well as in Eire, Australia and New Zealand, but because the best manner of making it is the subject of violent disputes.

When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find no fewer than eleven outstanding points. On perhaps two of them there would be pretty general agreement, but at least four others are acutely controversial. Here are my own eleven rules, every one of which I regard as golden:

* First of all, one should use Indian or Ceylonese tea. China tea has virtues which are not to be despised nowadays — it is economical, and one can drink it without milk — but there is not much stimulation in it. One does not feel wiser, braver or more optimistic after drinking it. Anyone who has used that comforting phrase 'a nice cup of tea' invariably means Indian tea.

* Secondly, tea should be made in small quantities — that is, in a teapot. Tea out of an urn is always tasteless, while army tea, made in a cauldron, tastes of grease and whitewash. The teapot should be made of china or earthenware. Silver or Britanniaware teapots produce inferior tea and enamel pots are worse; though curiously enough a pewter teapot (a rarity nowadays) is not so bad.

* Thirdly, the pot should be warmed beforehand. This is better done by placing it on the hob than by the usual method of swilling it out with hot water.

* Fourthly, the tea should be strong. For a pot holding a quart, if you are going to fill it nearly to the brim, six heaped teaspoons would be about right. In a time of rationing, this is not an idea that can be realized on every day of the week, but I maintain that one strong cup of tea is better than twenty weak ones. All true tea lovers not only like their tea strong, but like it a little stronger with each year that passes — a fact which is recognized in the extra ration issued to old-age pensioners.

* Fifthly, the tea should be put straight into the pot. No strainers, muslin bags or other devices to imprison the tea. In some countries teapots are fitted with little dangling baskets under the spout to catch the stray leaves, which are supposed to be harmful. Actually one can swallow tea-leaves in considerable quantities without ill effect, and if the tea is not loose in the pot it never infuses properly.

* Sixthly, one should take the teapot to the kettle and not the other way about. The water should be actually boiling at the moment of impact, which means that one should keep it on the flame while one pours. Some people add that one should only use water that has been freshly brought to the boil, but I have never noticed that it makes any difference.

* Seventhly, after making the tea, one should stir it, or better, give the pot a good shake, afterwards allowing the leaves to settle.

* Eighthly, one should drink out of a good breakfast cup — that is, the cylindrical type of cup, not the flat, shallow type. The breakfast cup holds more, and with the other kind one's tea is always half cold before one has well started on it.

* Ninthly, one should pour the cream off the milk before using it for tea. Milk that is too creamy always gives tea a sickly taste.

* Tenthly, one should pour tea into the cup first. This is one of the most controversial points of all; indeed in every family in Britain there are probably two schools of thought on the subject. The milk-first school can bring forward some fairly strong arguments, but I maintain that my own argument is unanswerable. This is that, by putting the tea in first and stirring as one pours, one can exactly regulate the amount of milk whereas one is liable to put in too much milk if one does it the other way round.

* Lastly, tea — unless one is drinking it in the Russian style — should be drunk without sugar. I know very well that I am in a minority here. But still, how can you call yourself a true tealover if you destroy the flavour of your tea by putting sugar in it? It would be equally reasonable to put in pepper or salt. Tea is meant to be bitter, just as beer is meant to be bitter. If you sweeten it, you are no longer tasting the tea, you are merely tasting the sugar; you could make a very similar drink by dissolving sugar in plain hot water.

Some people would answer that they don't like tea in itself, that they only drink it in order to be warmed and stimulated, and they need sugar to take the taste away. To those misguided people I would say: Try drinking tea without sugar for, say, a fortnight and it is very unlikely that you will ever want to ruin your tea by sweetening it again.

These are not the only controversial points to arise in connexion with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilized the whole business has become. There is also the mysterious social etiquette surrounding the teapot (why is it considered vulgar to drink out of your saucer, for instance?) and much might be written about the subsidiary uses of tealeaves, such as telling fortunes, predicting the arrival of visitors, feeding rabbits, healing burns and sweeping the carpet. It is worth paying attention to such details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling, so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one's ration the twenty good, strong cups of that two ounces, properly handled, ought to represent.

(taken from The Collected Essays, Journalism and Letters of George Orwell, Volume 3, 1943-45, Penguin ISBN, 0-14-00-3153-7)

Psycho Thriller, q'est-ce que c'est?

Tonight I tried to get my "spooky" on by taking the missus to see Thirty Days of Night (N.B. I can't bring myself to type 30 Days of Night because you don't use numerals at the beginning of a sentence. Did you know N.B. is Latin for nota bene? That translates to "not important.") Anyway, I guess when it comes to horror films, I have a problem with the willing suspension of disbelief. Blood and guts stuff just does not creep me out. I was the kind of kid who would poke at road kill with a stick, and I was first in line to get my dissecting frog. I got an A+ in that. I once made the annual trip to the abattoir my grandfather brought his pigs to, and I was let down that we didn't get to go inside. I thought it was going to be like when my Dad brought us to the automatic car wash, where we walked alongside the car as it went through. In goes the pig, out comes the sausage, and every step in between. I don't particularly want to inflict harm on anything, but I am certainly not going to have nightmares about a simulated beheading.

I've always been more receptive to psychological thrills. Things that are out of place and unusual; things that should seem safe, but in unsafe settings. Like waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of a child's voice when you know there are no children in the house. The Blair Witch Project was the big fright several years back, but most of that was hysteria. Sobbing and screaming and "oh my God you guys I'm so scared" doesn't do anything but annoy me. But the one thing that totally wigged me in that movie (and even thinking about it now sends a chill up my scalp) was the scene toward the end when they were in the house and the lights were going on and off and the camera was flying all over the place. The chaos was just more of the same, but then for one brief moment you see one of the "film makers" just standing there, facing the wall, kind of slumped over. It was a real subtle tie-in to the back story about the house they were in, and the subtlety and evocativeness worked perfectly.

Thirty Days was like that. Lots of blood and guts, but almost too much chaos to be scary. Lisa and I agreed that when it did work was when it was subtle and evocative. One of our favorite creepy scenes was at the very beginning of the film. The "messenger" character is crossing the frozen tundra, with a large ship off in the distance. The shot pans out as he makes his way to the town, across the ice. That sense of misplacement, of the contradiction of there being nothing unusual about a man walking across the snow, but not this man in this snow, made the scene spooky. But then I get back to that suspension of disbelief thing. The premise of the film is that the town gets completely shut off from the rest of the world for 30 days because the sun goes down. Half the population makes a mad dash for the highway and the airport as the sun is setting for a month. But, uhm, the sun goes down every night here in Boston, and the last time I checked, planes fly in and out of Logan all night long. Airports and planes have these things called "lights." And then when Josh "not Keanu Reeves" Hartnett makes his "we live here because we're the only ones who can" speech it was feeling a little too Northern Exposure meets Buffy for my tastes.

Barney Frank Frank Frank, Barney Frank Frank Frank

I don't know why that sounds so funny to me. It sounds like something I would chant with Scurvyann and the missus.

Friday night there was a dinner for the political science department at my school. It is the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of the department; kind of an independence day celebration, since the poli sci department was originally part of the history and government department. To us academics that's significant, since history is usually considered part of the humanities, while poli sci is a social science. But that isn't particularly interesting, and it is only peripherally related to Barney Frank.

Congressman Frank was the keynote speaker at the dinner. I was surprised by how...well...frank he was. At one point he was talking about the perception that politicians are really sneaky about raising money. He said, "You know, now that I'm committee chair, especially of a money committee," (Frank is chair of the financial services committee)"here's my fund raising pitch:" {holds out left hand}.

Another excellent point he made was the intrinsically political nature of Congress. In reference to the Terry Schiavo case, he said, "If you want a problem solved without politics getting involved, don't refer it to 535 politicians."

Most of his comments, though, were about the positive aspects of partisanship. The parties in America do have a purpose. They connect people to their government. The parties are how the average citizen gets involved, and people who participate in local parties are part of an intelligent, informed debate. On the other hand, people who do nothing but listen to talk radio or read political blogs that reinforce their own opinions don't do much of anything. In fact, they probably don't even vote. If all the people who listen to Howie and Rush and read the Huffington Post and the Daily Kos got off their asses and out from behind their monitors and attended a town Democratic or Republican meeting there would be no doubt whose hands the government was in.