First, I'm working on a long piece that I couldn't stop myself from writing. Unfortunately, it is a complex subject and more than I could get done this afternoon. I will get it posted as soon as possible.
Second, I just have to take a moment and talk about Sen. Larry Craig.
I have read a number of items concerning this nearly nonscandal (had this come out a month from now, he probably would have been able to get a way with it), and there is one point that I would like to put a slightly different spin on. It seems to be generally assumed that Sen Craig must be a closet homosexual in order for him to go poncing about men's restrooms looking for a bit of anonymous fun, however, I think that current researches into sexual habits and the attitudes toward sex exhibited by many of our citizens shows this assumption to be outdated.
When Sen. Craig says that he is not gay, he should be believed. (I'm not, by the way, excusing his abysmal record in the area of gay rights. His opinions there are as foolish and thoughtless as his habit of reaching under men's room stalls looking for whatever might find him.) To people of this ilk, the gender of their "partner" (and I use the term loosely, because the idea of two people being partners hits an existential wall when you're talking about a glory hole) is meaningless. The experience is the whole point.
People like Sen. Craig are, to my mind, simply obsessed with trying to drown the pain of their lives in the pursuit of an orgasm. The other participants in the act are more object than subject, a means to an end, if you'll pardon the expression. Love and humanity and compassion are irrelevant and almost quaint. They get caught up in the fantasies of pornography and become convinced that what they do is reasonable and not immoral. They are the great rationalizers, people who convince themselves that it is not adultery if intercourse never occurs or if they pay for it. They are sad and deluded people. But not necessarily gay.
Friday, August 31, 2007
I'm Sorry
Lately I haven't felt much like blogging. There doesn't seem to be much point.
In fact, this morning, I had intended to write one of my lengthy political essays, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it once I was faced with the blank screen. It's not the thoughts involved; I think I have some interesting points to make. It is simply that I've begun to question the value of spending hours--and my best posts take me all day--writing essays that few will read and fewer care about.
The situation is not really as bathetic as that last sentence might indicate. In terms of mood, I'm doing better than I can ever remember, thanks mostly to this great mood elevator called a multi-vitamin. Apparently my lifelong struggle with depression was a vitamin deficiency. Go figure.
In fact, it has been in the time that my mood has improved that my blog productivity has slacked off. I now find that I'd rather spend my writing time working on the novel or writing something that might be published someplace for--I don't know--money than I would in pontificating on social questions that my bloviating will never affect.
Were my platform more elevated, had I an audience big enough to bring my opinions to the ears of those who control us, perhaps blogging would be worth the time and trouble.
I will not be deleting this blog, and I don't know that I won't pop off from time-to-time. What I am describing is the situation at this moment, and moments have a way of morphing on us. Today's truth is tomorrow's delusion and tomorrow's delusion is next week's pleasant memory.
In fact, this morning, I had intended to write one of my lengthy political essays, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it once I was faced with the blank screen. It's not the thoughts involved; I think I have some interesting points to make. It is simply that I've begun to question the value of spending hours--and my best posts take me all day--writing essays that few will read and fewer care about.
The situation is not really as bathetic as that last sentence might indicate. In terms of mood, I'm doing better than I can ever remember, thanks mostly to this great mood elevator called a multi-vitamin. Apparently my lifelong struggle with depression was a vitamin deficiency. Go figure.
In fact, it has been in the time that my mood has improved that my blog productivity has slacked off. I now find that I'd rather spend my writing time working on the novel or writing something that might be published someplace for--I don't know--money than I would in pontificating on social questions that my bloviating will never affect.
Were my platform more elevated, had I an audience big enough to bring my opinions to the ears of those who control us, perhaps blogging would be worth the time and trouble.
I will not be deleting this blog, and I don't know that I won't pop off from time-to-time. What I am describing is the situation at this moment, and moments have a way of morphing on us. Today's truth is tomorrow's delusion and tomorrow's delusion is next week's pleasant memory.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Michael Drayton, Detective Guy Blog Redux
I have revived the Drayton novel blog in a cynical attempt at increasing its marketability. And just the fact that I used the word "marketability" makes me want to go take a shower.
Anyway, in the future, for all your Michael Drayton, Detective guy news, head back to the Michael Drayton, Detective Guy blog. It's free, and, who knows, it might even increase your marketability.
Anyway, in the future, for all your Michael Drayton, Detective guy news, head back to the Michael Drayton, Detective Guy blog. It's free, and, who knows, it might even increase your marketability.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Just in Case You Miss the Sopranos
This is my favorite piece from the demo for the Next in the Series radio show.
It's All Thanks to Tidiness
I found the following cartoon I had drawn while clearing off my desk this morning:
You just never know what you'll find.
You just never know what you'll find.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
Everything You Know Is Wrong
More Firesign Theatre courtesy of Youtube. It's stealing, but at least I'm stealing from somebody I like.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Debating Debating
As the number of preprimary presidential debates has risen into the low hundreds, I've been thinking about the utility of this fairly recent and television friendly institution.
The problem with the debates is this: They are stupid. And pointless. And not debates. They are joint press conferences, and uninformative ones at that. The candidates easily sidestep saying anything that means anything and instead stick to the fricking talking points that dominate current American politics. This goes for all debates involving candidates from either party or both together.
The format is such that, even when a candidate slips up and says something that might give a glimmer of what they actually think, the other candidates and the moderators are so focused on their scripts that they can't do anything to explore the implications of the slip up. For example, in the second debate between Mr Bush and Mr Kerry in the last general election, the town hall-style one, Mr Bush was asked what Supreme Court decisions he thought had been decided correctly. Well, this question fell clearly outside what he had rehearsed, and, since he knows nothing of history or law, he was left grasping for the name of a case. The one he came up with was Dred Scott.
Now, for those who have forgotten their junior high school history class, Dred Scott v. Sandford was an important Supreme Court decision that occurred just before the Civil War. Dred Scott was a slave who sued to obtain his freedom based on tenures spent living in free states. The Supreme Court found that black people had no rights to citizenship according to the Constitution and found that Scott was not a man with standing to sue, but a piece of property without it.
This is the decision that Mr Bush thought was well-decided.
The amazing thing to me was that no one called him on it. Kerry, instead of jumping on that like a hamster on a pellet, ignored it. Bob Schieffer ignored it. The papers ignored. Everyone ignored it. Here he was, saying, by extension, that he thought slavery was a good thing and no one said anything. How could they? It wasn't in the script.
What I would rather see is a series of discussions. Match up candidates in a round robin of discussions. Make them sit across a table from one another and make them say things. Instead of asking questions, which can be phrased in prejudicial and misleading ways, offer topics. Iraq. Healthcare. The budget. Trade policy. Cuba. Whatever. Make 'em slug it out.
(Just for the record, true debates do not feature questions being asked of individuals. They start with resolutions, such as "Resolved: The national speed limit should be lowered to 55," not "What would you think of the death penalty if your wife was brutally raped and murdered?" These things aren't really debates.)
In order to have a discussion, you have to have an exchange of ideas. One person has to listen to the other. Since you can never tell what direction a conversation is going to go in, the answers can't be prepared in advance and memorized. And when the other person says that he thinks that Dred Scott was a good decision, you can take his measure, look him in the eye, and say, "Do you really?"
The problem with the debates is this: They are stupid. And pointless. And not debates. They are joint press conferences, and uninformative ones at that. The candidates easily sidestep saying anything that means anything and instead stick to the fricking talking points that dominate current American politics. This goes for all debates involving candidates from either party or both together.
The format is such that, even when a candidate slips up and says something that might give a glimmer of what they actually think, the other candidates and the moderators are so focused on their scripts that they can't do anything to explore the implications of the slip up. For example, in the second debate between Mr Bush and Mr Kerry in the last general election, the town hall-style one, Mr Bush was asked what Supreme Court decisions he thought had been decided correctly. Well, this question fell clearly outside what he had rehearsed, and, since he knows nothing of history or law, he was left grasping for the name of a case. The one he came up with was Dred Scott.
Now, for those who have forgotten their junior high school history class, Dred Scott v. Sandford was an important Supreme Court decision that occurred just before the Civil War. Dred Scott was a slave who sued to obtain his freedom based on tenures spent living in free states. The Supreme Court found that black people had no rights to citizenship according to the Constitution and found that Scott was not a man with standing to sue, but a piece of property without it.
This is the decision that Mr Bush thought was well-decided.
The amazing thing to me was that no one called him on it. Kerry, instead of jumping on that like a hamster on a pellet, ignored it. Bob Schieffer ignored it. The papers ignored. Everyone ignored it. Here he was, saying, by extension, that he thought slavery was a good thing and no one said anything. How could they? It wasn't in the script.
What I would rather see is a series of discussions. Match up candidates in a round robin of discussions. Make them sit across a table from one another and make them say things. Instead of asking questions, which can be phrased in prejudicial and misleading ways, offer topics. Iraq. Healthcare. The budget. Trade policy. Cuba. Whatever. Make 'em slug it out.
(Just for the record, true debates do not feature questions being asked of individuals. They start with resolutions, such as "Resolved: The national speed limit should be lowered to 55," not "What would you think of the death penalty if your wife was brutally raped and murdered?" These things aren't really debates.)
In order to have a discussion, you have to have an exchange of ideas. One person has to listen to the other. Since you can never tell what direction a conversation is going to go in, the answers can't be prepared in advance and memorized. And when the other person says that he thinks that Dred Scott was a good decision, you can take his measure, look him in the eye, and say, "Do you really?"
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Coffee, Coffee Everywhere
Again I've commented on a post of Stanley Fish's--a critique of Starbuck's and other such emporia--in The New York Times Select pages. It came out so good that I couldn't help but post it here. Sorry.
As I've let this controversy sit for a couple of days, I've had to modify my initial support for this column (#12). The fallacy of Mr Fish's argument is that he forgets that, even during the good old days, the consumer was always responsible for his own cream and sugar. (Except, of course, at Dunkin Donuts. In Rhode Island, for example, ordering a "coffee regular" gets one a cup that has already had a few splashes of cream and several shovelsful of sugar added. That's livin'.)
The legitimate point he raises concerns the shifting of labor in many venues of the American economy from the vendor ("May I help you?") to the consumer ("It's on aisle five.").
I'm no fan of the modern coffee shop. (My wife vehemently disagrees with me on this.) I agree with Professor Fish concerning the waiting--no matter how simple the beverage--with no comfortable area in which to wait. It would be a fascinating experiment to set up a camera in a Starbucks and document the intricate fandangoes people go through while waiting for their brew. It usually begins somewhere near the ill-defined slot in the counter where the drinks are delivered and ends somewhere near the Mens Room door.
He's also correct when it comes to the tiny counter with the myriad of substances with which one is supposed improve a drink a team of baristas has already labored on with an effort that would have done Sisyphus proud. For anyone with any manners or any sense that other beings exist in the world, it can be a test of patience. For anyone else, it must be like digging for the puck in the corner at a hockey game.
The ultimate thing that I have against Starbucks and many other such outlets has to do with the coffee itself. It's bitter. So bitter that it needs all these other ministrations just to make it drinkable. When all's said and done, give me Dunkin Donuts's coffee every time.
As I've let this controversy sit for a couple of days, I've had to modify my initial support for this column (#12). The fallacy of Mr Fish's argument is that he forgets that, even during the good old days, the consumer was always responsible for his own cream and sugar. (Except, of course, at Dunkin Donuts. In Rhode Island, for example, ordering a "coffee regular" gets one a cup that has already had a few splashes of cream and several shovelsful of sugar added. That's livin'.)
The legitimate point he raises concerns the shifting of labor in many venues of the American economy from the vendor ("May I help you?") to the consumer ("It's on aisle five.").
I'm no fan of the modern coffee shop. (My wife vehemently disagrees with me on this.) I agree with Professor Fish concerning the waiting--no matter how simple the beverage--with no comfortable area in which to wait. It would be a fascinating experiment to set up a camera in a Starbucks and document the intricate fandangoes people go through while waiting for their brew. It usually begins somewhere near the ill-defined slot in the counter where the drinks are delivered and ends somewhere near the Mens Room door.
He's also correct when it comes to the tiny counter with the myriad of substances with which one is supposed improve a drink a team of baristas has already labored on with an effort that would have done Sisyphus proud. For anyone with any manners or any sense that other beings exist in the world, it can be a test of patience. For anyone else, it must be like digging for the puck in the corner at a hockey game.
The ultimate thing that I have against Starbucks and many other such outlets has to do with the coffee itself. It's bitter. So bitter that it needs all these other ministrations just to make it drinkable. When all's said and done, give me Dunkin Donuts's coffee every time.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Drayton Update
I should have posted this about a week ago, but I've finished revising Chapter 13.
In other news, the university I work at is sponsoring a novel writing contest, and I think I'm going to submit. It's not a big deal, and the deadline isn't for months yet, so I should be able to revise the remaining chapters in the meantime.
In regards to that, I am brushing up the first several chapters quickly since the opening salvo in the contest is a 30-to-50 page chunk. I think I'm improving it, making it less jokey and more in Drayton's true voice.
Of course, the rewriting never stops, not until some publisher makes you.
After I finish this brush-up, I'll start on Chapter 14.
I might actually end up adding a chapter. I'm not 100 percent sure yet, but I had an interesting idea. It's just a question of whether or not it really belongs or if it's something I'm trying to force. We'll see.
In other news, the university I work at is sponsoring a novel writing contest, and I think I'm going to submit. It's not a big deal, and the deadline isn't for months yet, so I should be able to revise the remaining chapters in the meantime.
In regards to that, I am brushing up the first several chapters quickly since the opening salvo in the contest is a 30-to-50 page chunk. I think I'm improving it, making it less jokey and more in Drayton's true voice.
Of course, the rewriting never stops, not until some publisher makes you.
After I finish this brush-up, I'll start on Chapter 14.
I might actually end up adding a chapter. I'm not 100 percent sure yet, but I had an interesting idea. It's just a question of whether or not it really belongs or if it's something I'm trying to force. We'll see.
Ain't It the Truth?
While watching Malcolm in the Middle over the weekend, we were treated to the episode ("Reese Joins the Army, Part 2") in which Hal gets put on trial for conspiracy to commit fraud at the company he had been employed by for many years. He is, of course, only a patsy, framed because he was unwilling to frame others.
He is saved from prison when Malcolm, who is a mathematics prodigy, realizes that every date that the prosecution has given for some allegedly nefarious incident engineered by Hal falls on a Friday. It turns out that Hal hadn't been to work on a Friday in 15 years.
And now to the point of this post. Once on the stand, as Hal starts to give his testimony, he says the following:
You know those nature shows where a wasp paralyzes a caterpillar, then injects it full of larvae? It stays alive for weeks, completely aware, feeling every little bite as the larvae devour it from the inside. I sat in a cubicle every day envying that caterpillar--'cause at least he got to be on TV. I hated that job. I was a crappy employee.
This is at once, to me, one of the funniest and truest things ever said on TV. I know I've lived it, to varying degrees, in the many jobs I've had over the years.
Some people are lucky. They make their living in ways that they love. I've found this to be almost unerringly true of engineers, for example. These are people who do what they do because they love it. If they don't like their job, it's the employer's fault, not theirs.
Most of us, however, make do. We get what jobs we can in order to make some money, no more, no less. As we've turned our colleges and universities and grad schools increasingly into trade schools, this has become more and more true for the so-called professions, as well. Most lawyers and, sadly, doctors today got in those lines of work simply because they were ways of making a comfortable living, not out of a desire to serve the community or a feeling of being called to it. If you take a quick gander at our current legal and medical industries, you can see how helpful that is.
I was lucky in feeling my call. However, I wasted many opportunities I had to pursue that calling through my own foolishness and pride and by putting earning a dollar too much ahead of following my own path. I've also envied the caterpillar.
Now, I'm not quitting my job or advocating that anyone else do so without the proper preparation. I am trying to get back on the path, one I diverged from many decades ago, and trying to do it in such a way that I do not ruin my family and bring more misery than peace. I don't know whether I'll ever make it. I just know that it is worth the trying.
He is saved from prison when Malcolm, who is a mathematics prodigy, realizes that every date that the prosecution has given for some allegedly nefarious incident engineered by Hal falls on a Friday. It turns out that Hal hadn't been to work on a Friday in 15 years.
And now to the point of this post. Once on the stand, as Hal starts to give his testimony, he says the following:
You know those nature shows where a wasp paralyzes a caterpillar, then injects it full of larvae? It stays alive for weeks, completely aware, feeling every little bite as the larvae devour it from the inside. I sat in a cubicle every day envying that caterpillar--'cause at least he got to be on TV. I hated that job. I was a crappy employee.
This is at once, to me, one of the funniest and truest things ever said on TV. I know I've lived it, to varying degrees, in the many jobs I've had over the years.
Some people are lucky. They make their living in ways that they love. I've found this to be almost unerringly true of engineers, for example. These are people who do what they do because they love it. If they don't like their job, it's the employer's fault, not theirs.
Most of us, however, make do. We get what jobs we can in order to make some money, no more, no less. As we've turned our colleges and universities and grad schools increasingly into trade schools, this has become more and more true for the so-called professions, as well. Most lawyers and, sadly, doctors today got in those lines of work simply because they were ways of making a comfortable living, not out of a desire to serve the community or a feeling of being called to it. If you take a quick gander at our current legal and medical industries, you can see how helpful that is.
I was lucky in feeling my call. However, I wasted many opportunities I had to pursue that calling through my own foolishness and pride and by putting earning a dollar too much ahead of following my own path. I've also envied the caterpillar.
Now, I'm not quitting my job or advocating that anyone else do so without the proper preparation. I am trying to get back on the path, one I diverged from many decades ago, and trying to do it in such a way that I do not ruin my family and bring more misery than peace. I don't know whether I'll ever make it. I just know that it is worth the trying.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
The Wholeflaffer Curve
I was reading the post on The Social Atom today, and he presented the following graph, which was taken from The Wall Street Journal:
This is a representation of the Laffer Curve, sacred idea to every supply-side economist. Their idea is that taxes after some mystical point become a drag on the economy and actually inhibit the collection of tax revenue by limiting growth. As you can see on the above example, plotting points on this curve is more of an art form--somewhat akin to seeing an archer in the nighttime sky--than it is a science.
After reading Mark Buchanan's post and agreeing with him on it, and having artistic proclivities, I have taken the liberty of reconnecting the dots. I have named the result The Wholeflaffer Curve after Art Wholeflaffer, a character from The Firesign Theatre's Everything You Know Is Wrong, and renowned for being the best damned nudist trailer park manager in the Southwest.
It actually looks more like the Outer Banks of North Carolina than a curve to me, but let's see what you think:
This is a representation of the Laffer Curve, sacred idea to every supply-side economist. Their idea is that taxes after some mystical point become a drag on the economy and actually inhibit the collection of tax revenue by limiting growth. As you can see on the above example, plotting points on this curve is more of an art form--somewhat akin to seeing an archer in the nighttime sky--than it is a science.
After reading Mark Buchanan's post and agreeing with him on it, and having artistic proclivities, I have taken the liberty of reconnecting the dots. I have named the result The Wholeflaffer Curve after Art Wholeflaffer, a character from The Firesign Theatre's Everything You Know Is Wrong, and renowned for being the best damned nudist trailer park manager in the Southwest.
It actually looks more like the Outer Banks of North Carolina than a curve to me, but let's see what you think:
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Conspiracy Undone!
One of my many comments--posted as Len C--the one I posted here as "Cassamas v. Cavett," has been added to the comments on The New York Times website. On the one hand, I'm disappointed. I kind of enjoy being the rebel and outsider, but that's okay. I can deal with acceptance in my own skewed way.
Monday, July 30, 2007
One Last Post on Fat
I've tried commenting on the Dick Cavett blog again, this time using an alias and sending it from an email address that does not have my name on it. If that one goes through, but the other three get blocked, we can begin to believe that I got myself blackballed on the Dick Cavett blog. And how hysterical is that? I'm almost honored.
Anyway, here is the post:
Fat is a cultural issue. It is a social issue. It is an economic issue, and it is a class issue.
The well-to-do, people like our host, tend to be thinner than the poor these days. This is a complete flip of historic reality in which girth was a sign of wealth, and gout was strictly a rich man's disease. We can still see this in so-called Third World countries. Obesity is unknown among the poor and is the special property of the ruling classes.
Here in the United States and the other industrialized nations, the equation has gotten reversed thanks to the economics of food. The poor in America eat diets that are rich in fat and soaked in high fructose corn syrup because those foods are cheaper than fresh local produce and range-fed meats.
The poor are also more likely to partake of fast food, which is extremely cheap and almost completely lacking in nutritive value. It is, however, fatty and likely to be drenched in high fructose corn syrup.
Check out the current attempts to get a decent food bill out of the Congress as we speak for more information on these subjects.
Finally, to draw conclusions about any person's character based on a physical quality, whether it is height, skin color, hair style, or weight is, by definition, prejudice. It is not some noble cause to be applauded.
Weight is not a moral issue. It is a health issue and a personal issue. It is a subtle and complex issue that cannot be easily reduced to simple answers. However, if you really would like to see a slimmer America, I suggest that, rather than tossing insults at your fat fellow citizens, you urge your Senators and Representatives to reform the Food Bill now pending in both houses.
Anyway, here is the post:
Fat is a cultural issue. It is a social issue. It is an economic issue, and it is a class issue.
The well-to-do, people like our host, tend to be thinner than the poor these days. This is a complete flip of historic reality in which girth was a sign of wealth, and gout was strictly a rich man's disease. We can still see this in so-called Third World countries. Obesity is unknown among the poor and is the special property of the ruling classes.
Here in the United States and the other industrialized nations, the equation has gotten reversed thanks to the economics of food. The poor in America eat diets that are rich in fat and soaked in high fructose corn syrup because those foods are cheaper than fresh local produce and range-fed meats.
The poor are also more likely to partake of fast food, which is extremely cheap and almost completely lacking in nutritive value. It is, however, fatty and likely to be drenched in high fructose corn syrup.
Check out the current attempts to get a decent food bill out of the Congress as we speak for more information on these subjects.
Finally, to draw conclusions about any person's character based on a physical quality, whether it is height, skin color, hair style, or weight is, by definition, prejudice. It is not some noble cause to be applauded.
Weight is not a moral issue. It is a health issue and a personal issue. It is a subtle and complex issue that cannot be easily reduced to simple answers. However, if you really would like to see a slimmer America, I suggest that, rather than tossing insults at your fat fellow citizens, you urge your Senators and Representatives to reform the Food Bill now pending in both houses.
Cavett Watch 2007
Judging from the tenor of an additional 126 comments posted on Dick's Cavett's blog on the NYT this morning, the comments I tried to post were most likely lost in the great gaping maw of technology. I have tried again with both the item I posted here last Friday and with a smaller contribution. It posits my theory that those who commented (like Dick himself) that they do not remember there being fat people in America in some unspecified earlier time were suffering from having the opposite of photographic memory, a condition I call having a photogenic memory.
There have always been fat people. If you don't believe me, just take a gander at the paintings of Peter Paul Reubens.
At any rate, I'm just waiting on the next round of comments to be posted before I start seeing the rancid tangles of conspiracy in this. I'll keep you posted.
There have always been fat people. If you don't believe me, just take a gander at the paintings of Peter Paul Reubens.
At any rate, I'm just waiting on the next round of comments to be posted before I start seeing the rancid tangles of conspiracy in this. I'll keep you posted.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Cassamas v. Cavett
Yesterday, in his Times Select column, Dick Cavett wrote a piece about the fattening of America. There have been a number of comments posted so far--almost 200 of them. The two comments I submitted, however, are not among them. (I don't normally post links to these "columns" because Times Select is a subscription service. You can, however, get a two-week free trial fi you would like to see the entire blog post I am referring to.)
The following is my third attempt at posting a censor-friendly comment. I will update later to let everyone know whether I passed muster or not.
First, let us not be too quick to applaud Mr Cavett's courage and bravery. Writing a series of fat jokes is hardly akin to being a Freedom Rider. It took neither courage nor cowardice to pen his post. It merely took some sort of writing instrument (perhaps even a pen if he has a secretary to do his word processing) and Internet access. Let's keep at least that much perspective on this, shall we?
Next, let's look at some elements of the post itself.
First, Mr Cavett, ever the joke writer, cannot help himself from using such phrases as "heavily larded," "gross poundage," "all but literally fill the screen," "a herd of heifers," "someone the size of the Hindenburg," and others, and while the use of these phrases may or may not have been predicated by some inherent bias on his part, they do not indicate any sort of sympathy or genuine human interest in those he derides. In fact, it would be easy enough to take his post and change every occurrence of the word "fat" with "short" and the other phrases with such replacements as "shrimp," "squirt," "midget," and "strictly from Munchkinland" and arrive at a diatribe that is just as hurtful, just in another direction.
Were Mr Cavett's object really the promotion of public health, this litany of jabs and jibes would be unnecessary.
When he discusses the alleged preponderance of fat people on such shows as Judge Judy and (God help us) The Jerry Springer Show, he seems to take this as proof of some kind of fat guy conspiracy. He does not consider the fact that these shows only exist so that the average viewer can jeer at the participants and feel themselves to be their social superiors. That fat people appear on these shows isn't the confirmation of their acceptance, but is evidence of the clear-cut bias that American society has against this segment of its population.
The same can be said of the comedians (and are obese comedians really that plentiful?) who are all just looking for a hook for their acts and none of whom has had the wit to find something different. And, oh yes, there have long been fat comedians. Oliver Hardy, Fatty Arbuckle, Jackie Gleason,and "Fat" Jack Leonard are four who pop effortlessly to mind. Let us put to rest the notion that fat people never existed until after the Vietnam War.
Now, the assumption that all people who are overweight got that way from sloth and gluttony is a canard. The causes are many and various and the cures, therefore, cannot be a simplistic as "turn off the TV" or "get some will power." As has been pointed out quite eloquently before in these comments, contributing factors involve the manner in which we live, the manner in which we eat, the frenetic pace of society, the poor quality of the food most readily available, as well as genetics, thyroid health, and--apparently--who your friends are. Let us not attempt to apply simplistic solutions to complex problems. That's never worked in the past and it won't work now.
It should also be noted that there is often a correspondence between poverty and weight. Poor people eat the cheapest (which also happens to be the worst in terms of nutrition) food. Well-to-do people can afford organic whole-grain high fiber zero trans fat everything, but poor people can't. They also can't afford health club memberships and personal trainers. They cannot take long lunches that include a workout because not being on the job means not getting paid.
And meanwhile, the food bill is being twisted into the usual fistful of government handouts to the wealthiest farmers. Maybe Mr Cavett should try writing about that sometime.
And just for the record, I am 5'9" and 235 lbs. According to the official charts, I am 60 lbs overweight, although I always thought that I looked best and felt best at around 190. In my adult life, I have weighed as little as 125 and as much as 250. I would've made a good extra on The Sopranos, but, unfortunately, that ship has sailed.
There is a tendency in this country of ours to equate thinness with virtue and wealth with wisdom. Neither is true. President Bush is both thin and wealthy, but neither virtuous nor wise.
My point, at the end of the day, is this: If obesity in America is the problem that it has become the commonplace to suppose, we need to put away the insults and the bias and the easy answers. Although there is a level of personal responsibility involved, fat, as a phenomenon, will not go away until we have reformed how we raise and process our food and how we live our lives.
The following is my third attempt at posting a censor-friendly comment. I will update later to let everyone know whether I passed muster or not.
First, let us not be too quick to applaud Mr Cavett's courage and bravery. Writing a series of fat jokes is hardly akin to being a Freedom Rider. It took neither courage nor cowardice to pen his post. It merely took some sort of writing instrument (perhaps even a pen if he has a secretary to do his word processing) and Internet access. Let's keep at least that much perspective on this, shall we?
Next, let's look at some elements of the post itself.
First, Mr Cavett, ever the joke writer, cannot help himself from using such phrases as "heavily larded," "gross poundage," "all but literally fill the screen," "a herd of heifers," "someone the size of the Hindenburg," and others, and while the use of these phrases may or may not have been predicated by some inherent bias on his part, they do not indicate any sort of sympathy or genuine human interest in those he derides. In fact, it would be easy enough to take his post and change every occurrence of the word "fat" with "short" and the other phrases with such replacements as "shrimp," "squirt," "midget," and "strictly from Munchkinland" and arrive at a diatribe that is just as hurtful, just in another direction.
Were Mr Cavett's object really the promotion of public health, this litany of jabs and jibes would be unnecessary.
When he discusses the alleged preponderance of fat people on such shows as Judge Judy and (God help us) The Jerry Springer Show, he seems to take this as proof of some kind of fat guy conspiracy. He does not consider the fact that these shows only exist so that the average viewer can jeer at the participants and feel themselves to be their social superiors. That fat people appear on these shows isn't the confirmation of their acceptance, but is evidence of the clear-cut bias that American society has against this segment of its population.
The same can be said of the comedians (and are obese comedians really that plentiful?) who are all just looking for a hook for their acts and none of whom has had the wit to find something different. And, oh yes, there have long been fat comedians. Oliver Hardy, Fatty Arbuckle, Jackie Gleason,and "Fat" Jack Leonard are four who pop effortlessly to mind. Let us put to rest the notion that fat people never existed until after the Vietnam War.
Now, the assumption that all people who are overweight got that way from sloth and gluttony is a canard. The causes are many and various and the cures, therefore, cannot be a simplistic as "turn off the TV" or "get some will power." As has been pointed out quite eloquently before in these comments, contributing factors involve the manner in which we live, the manner in which we eat, the frenetic pace of society, the poor quality of the food most readily available, as well as genetics, thyroid health, and--apparently--who your friends are. Let us not attempt to apply simplistic solutions to complex problems. That's never worked in the past and it won't work now.
It should also be noted that there is often a correspondence between poverty and weight. Poor people eat the cheapest (which also happens to be the worst in terms of nutrition) food. Well-to-do people can afford organic whole-grain high fiber zero trans fat everything, but poor people can't. They also can't afford health club memberships and personal trainers. They cannot take long lunches that include a workout because not being on the job means not getting paid.
And meanwhile, the food bill is being twisted into the usual fistful of government handouts to the wealthiest farmers. Maybe Mr Cavett should try writing about that sometime.
And just for the record, I am 5'9" and 235 lbs. According to the official charts, I am 60 lbs overweight, although I always thought that I looked best and felt best at around 190. In my adult life, I have weighed as little as 125 and as much as 250. I would've made a good extra on The Sopranos, but, unfortunately, that ship has sailed.
There is a tendency in this country of ours to equate thinness with virtue and wealth with wisdom. Neither is true. President Bush is both thin and wealthy, but neither virtuous nor wise.
My point, at the end of the day, is this: If obesity in America is the problem that it has become the commonplace to suppose, we need to put away the insults and the bias and the easy answers. Although there is a level of personal responsibility involved, fat, as a phenomenon, will not go away until we have reformed how we raise and process our food and how we live our lives.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Go-Go Gonzalez
After his performance before the Senate Judiciary Committee the other day, it has become painfully obvious that Presidential Stooge and Attorney General, Alberto Gonzalez, needs to be impeached. He should then be indicted, tried, convicted, and forced to go door-to-door across the nation so that each and every voter has the chance to slap him across the face. That's just what kind of a worm this guy has turned out to be.
Impeaching Gonzalez should be an achievable goal. He's ticked off almost as many Republicans as Democrats, and he has clearly broken any number of laws in his toadistic obedience to his Emper--I mean--President. He could be presented as a sacrificial lamb, a whipping boy to punish in the stead of Bad King George and his minion, Evil Dick. One impeachment might scare the rest of them straight, although it probably won't. Still, it's worth a try and couldn't happen to a more deserving guy.
Of course, I still don't understand why no Democratic candidate for President hasn't made the eventual investigation, indictment, and imprisonment of the current administration as a major plank in their platform. I mean, at least Mike Gravel or Dennis Kucinich should sign on to this notion, especially since neither has as good a chance of getting elected as I do. The candidates with a snowball's proverbial chance of nomination ought to buy into this plan, but they won't. Maybe if I could get the endorsement of enough focus groups they might.
Cowards.
Impeaching Gonzalez should be an achievable goal. He's ticked off almost as many Republicans as Democrats, and he has clearly broken any number of laws in his toadistic obedience to his Emper--I mean--President. He could be presented as a sacrificial lamb, a whipping boy to punish in the stead of Bad King George and his minion, Evil Dick. One impeachment might scare the rest of them straight, although it probably won't. Still, it's worth a try and couldn't happen to a more deserving guy.
Of course, I still don't understand why no Democratic candidate for President hasn't made the eventual investigation, indictment, and imprisonment of the current administration as a major plank in their platform. I mean, at least Mike Gravel or Dennis Kucinich should sign on to this notion, especially since neither has as good a chance of getting elected as I do. The candidates with a snowball's proverbial chance of nomination ought to buy into this plan, but they won't. Maybe if I could get the endorsement of enough focus groups they might.
Cowards.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
President Dick
President Bush transferred the powers of the presidency to Vice President Dick Cheney on Saturday just before being sedated for a screening to detect colon cancer--Associated Press, 7/21/07
Okay. We only have a couple of hours here, and that's not much of a window. There's things that we need to get done and done fast. First, of course, is the imposition of martial law. I want that proclamation on my desk in ten minutes for signing. Then I want the Constitution. One of the originals. I'm going to switch the descriptions of the President and Vice President by making one of those doubleheaded arrow things. Or should I just scratch out "Vice" in one and add it in the other? I'll make a classified decision on that by the time you bring it to me. And get me a Sharpie or some kind of indelible pen. I don't want some terrorist doing the same thing to me later on.
We need to send a few brigades over to Capitol Hill to arrest all the Democrats and Independents up there. Except Lieberman. He'll do what he's told. If the Army won't do it, send the CIA. They know how to play ball, but they won't tell you because it's classified.
When they're through probing the President, send him off on a bike ride or down to his ranch in Texas. He'll never know the difference. Give him a microrecorder or a banana or something and tell him that all he has to do is talk into that and everything he wants done will be so. That'll keep him happy and out-of-the-way.
Let's drop some nuclear bombs while we have the chance. The targets are all marked with big red Xs on this globe. Iran, of course, and France. The United Nations, Micronesia, the Isle of Wight. All of your terrorist hotbeds. Let Putin know after our boys are in the air. He might want to knock off a couple of places, too.
Now, let's go. I've got two-and-a-half hours and whole world to remake. But first things first. Somebody go find me an undisclosed location.
Okay. We only have a couple of hours here, and that's not much of a window. There's things that we need to get done and done fast. First, of course, is the imposition of martial law. I want that proclamation on my desk in ten minutes for signing. Then I want the Constitution. One of the originals. I'm going to switch the descriptions of the President and Vice President by making one of those doubleheaded arrow things. Or should I just scratch out "Vice" in one and add it in the other? I'll make a classified decision on that by the time you bring it to me. And get me a Sharpie or some kind of indelible pen. I don't want some terrorist doing the same thing to me later on.
We need to send a few brigades over to Capitol Hill to arrest all the Democrats and Independents up there. Except Lieberman. He'll do what he's told. If the Army won't do it, send the CIA. They know how to play ball, but they won't tell you because it's classified.
When they're through probing the President, send him off on a bike ride or down to his ranch in Texas. He'll never know the difference. Give him a microrecorder or a banana or something and tell him that all he has to do is talk into that and everything he wants done will be so. That'll keep him happy and out-of-the-way.
Let's drop some nuclear bombs while we have the chance. The targets are all marked with big red Xs on this globe. Iran, of course, and France. The United Nations, Micronesia, the Isle of Wight. All of your terrorist hotbeds. Let Putin know after our boys are in the air. He might want to knock off a couple of places, too.
Now, let's go. I've got two-and-a-half hours and whole world to remake. But first things first. Somebody go find me an undisclosed location.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Life in the Fast Lane
Apparently, his time was more valuable than mine. And also more valuable than the time of the dozens of other drivers he swerved and swooped around and cut off in an attempt to get someplace quicker than obeying the traffic laws and simple decorum would allow. He was in a Jeep, and he was in a rush.
This was this morning, but it could have been any morning. There is always the risk, especially during the morning commute, that some dimwit will speed along the turn-only lane just so that he can merge in at the intersection, preferably at a high rate of speed. These are the proud, the few, the impatient. More likely to cause and participate in accidents, they live life on the edge, and force the rest of us to as well.
However, as I gave him the finger while he waited to cut through a parking lot so as to avoid the inconvenience of a turn lane, I realized that I should not have blamed him. I, the one giving the finger to a total stranger based on a minute amount of information, was just as culpable as he. And we are both victims. Victims of the triumph of the horseless carriage.
According to Marshall McLuhan (and I seem to recall that he was quoting someone else), "We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us." Although it is now popular to nod our heads sagaciously and and furrow our brows over the pollution caused by cars, we rarely think about the other effects that driving cars have on our lives.
I think I'll start from the macro and work my way down to the micro level.
The War in Iraq would not have happened if not for our dependence on our cars. Although the desire to assure permanent access to the world's second largest oil fields may not have been the only catalyst of the cataclysm, it cannot be denied as a contributing factor. Dependence on oil, as was demonstrated by the oil embargoes of the '70s, makes us economically vulnerable to the whims of other nations, the ones where all the dinosaurs went to die.
Dependence on oil also encourages other sorts of environmental depredation, such as the attempts to allow drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve. The demand at the pumps fuels the need for further exploration, which feeds demand at the pumps, which causes more exploration.
And then, of course, there's the smog, a gift that we share with all, even ourselves.
There are subtler effects, though. Cars change the ambit of our lives and the structure and designs of our cities and towns. They encourage development that is spread out and a concept of distances that is measured in minutes rather than miles. Supermarkets and megamarts depend on people driving to them and shopping less frequently, but for more items. Our merchants become big and faceless corporations rather than local businesses. WalMart could not exist without the automobile.
As a result, our country is less wooded than it might be because trees eat up valuable real estate that can be turned into shopping centers and business parks and housing developments and parking lots and parking decks and cul-de-sacs and turn-only lanes. Flora and fauna become little more than decorations or pests, things to be controlled or eradicated, all of which has its own cascade of consequences.
On a more personal level, driving leads to an existential separation between us. The person in the other car becomes a part of that object rather than another person with a life and hopes and disappointments. He (or she, although gender really ceases to exist in this context) is just the thing you are giving the finger to or the object you are cutting around because it has become an obstacle to your pursuit of nowhere. A pedestrian lifestyle works differently and allows us a chance to see each other as human. Annoying maybe, but human.
The availability of speed that comes from driving gets addictive. The goal becomes making time rather than experiencing life. We dive in a headlong rush from activity to activity and wonder where a day went, a week went, a year went, a life went. Doing things quickly becomes more important than doing them well. Savoring, whether it is a meal, a face, or a moment, becomes too slow an activity. We rush from home to work, from work to lunch, from lunch to work, from work to store, from store to home so that we can zonk out in front of the TV. We live the life of a light switch, either on or off, existing rather than living.
I'm as caught up in it as anyone else. I'd love to do away with at least one car, but there's the boy to get from school and the meal to buy at the store and the errand to run before something closes. There is the convenience of being able to get places in hours that once would have taken days.
I don't expect things to change much. Perhaps we'll figure out cleaner ways of running our cars, but I doubt that, as a society, we will abandon them. There are no signs that civic planning is moving in any sort of direction to encourage walking over driving, and it is not in the interests of corporate America to having you do otherwise. It's just something to be aware of. Especially when you're giving some stranger the finger.
This was this morning, but it could have been any morning. There is always the risk, especially during the morning commute, that some dimwit will speed along the turn-only lane just so that he can merge in at the intersection, preferably at a high rate of speed. These are the proud, the few, the impatient. More likely to cause and participate in accidents, they live life on the edge, and force the rest of us to as well.
However, as I gave him the finger while he waited to cut through a parking lot so as to avoid the inconvenience of a turn lane, I realized that I should not have blamed him. I, the one giving the finger to a total stranger based on a minute amount of information, was just as culpable as he. And we are both victims. Victims of the triumph of the horseless carriage.
According to Marshall McLuhan (and I seem to recall that he was quoting someone else), "We shape our tools and thereafter our tools shape us." Although it is now popular to nod our heads sagaciously and and furrow our brows over the pollution caused by cars, we rarely think about the other effects that driving cars have on our lives.
I think I'll start from the macro and work my way down to the micro level.
The War in Iraq would not have happened if not for our dependence on our cars. Although the desire to assure permanent access to the world's second largest oil fields may not have been the only catalyst of the cataclysm, it cannot be denied as a contributing factor. Dependence on oil, as was demonstrated by the oil embargoes of the '70s, makes us economically vulnerable to the whims of other nations, the ones where all the dinosaurs went to die.
Dependence on oil also encourages other sorts of environmental depredation, such as the attempts to allow drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve. The demand at the pumps fuels the need for further exploration, which feeds demand at the pumps, which causes more exploration.
And then, of course, there's the smog, a gift that we share with all, even ourselves.
There are subtler effects, though. Cars change the ambit of our lives and the structure and designs of our cities and towns. They encourage development that is spread out and a concept of distances that is measured in minutes rather than miles. Supermarkets and megamarts depend on people driving to them and shopping less frequently, but for more items. Our merchants become big and faceless corporations rather than local businesses. WalMart could not exist without the automobile.
As a result, our country is less wooded than it might be because trees eat up valuable real estate that can be turned into shopping centers and business parks and housing developments and parking lots and parking decks and cul-de-sacs and turn-only lanes. Flora and fauna become little more than decorations or pests, things to be controlled or eradicated, all of which has its own cascade of consequences.
On a more personal level, driving leads to an existential separation between us. The person in the other car becomes a part of that object rather than another person with a life and hopes and disappointments. He (or she, although gender really ceases to exist in this context) is just the thing you are giving the finger to or the object you are cutting around because it has become an obstacle to your pursuit of nowhere. A pedestrian lifestyle works differently and allows us a chance to see each other as human. Annoying maybe, but human.
The availability of speed that comes from driving gets addictive. The goal becomes making time rather than experiencing life. We dive in a headlong rush from activity to activity and wonder where a day went, a week went, a year went, a life went. Doing things quickly becomes more important than doing them well. Savoring, whether it is a meal, a face, or a moment, becomes too slow an activity. We rush from home to work, from work to lunch, from lunch to work, from work to store, from store to home so that we can zonk out in front of the TV. We live the life of a light switch, either on or off, existing rather than living.
I'm as caught up in it as anyone else. I'd love to do away with at least one car, but there's the boy to get from school and the meal to buy at the store and the errand to run before something closes. There is the convenience of being able to get places in hours that once would have taken days.
I don't expect things to change much. Perhaps we'll figure out cleaner ways of running our cars, but I doubt that, as a society, we will abandon them. There are no signs that civic planning is moving in any sort of direction to encourage walking over driving, and it is not in the interests of corporate America to having you do otherwise. It's just something to be aware of. Especially when you're giving some stranger the finger.
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