Making Ends Meet

Honesty is such a lonely word
Everyone is so untrue
Honesty is hardly ever heard
And mostly what I need from you

A movie marathon weekend! I saw Me, You, and Everyone We Know yesterday, and today Happy Endings today. Both are ensemble pieces, meaning there are many actors, and several storylines going on.

If Me, You, and Everyone We Know is about love, and the various permutations of love, be it adult love or youthful love, or fate or what have you, then Happy Endings is about honesty, or really, the lack of honesty.

Happy Endings boasts a much more recognizable cast than Me, You, where I recognized basically no one. There's Lisa Kudrow, Tom Arnold, and Laura Dern that I did recognize, then Jason Ritter (son of the late John Ritter) and Maggie Gyllenhaal (brother of Jake) who I'd heard of.

There are at least three stories going on. First, there's Lisa Kudrow, who works at an abortion clinic, giving advice to women who are seeking abortions. Initially, you are told she had an abortion. This was due to an affair with her stepbrother. Except, as it turns out, she did not. She gave up her son. A filmmaker named Nicky apparently knows her son, and wants to make a documentary about her looking for the son. Kudrow's character meanwhile is dating a Mexican (at least, I think they're dating).

Maggie Gyllenhaal who resembles young Annette Benning does a karaoke song, in fact, Honesty by Billy Joel, and is so impressive that Otis, a closeted teen who's the drummer of a band, wants her to sing for the group, when their singer had to leave due to drug rehabilitation. Otis's dad is fairly wealthy, and they live in a nice house, and seems to believe his son is gay, but wishes it weren't so.

Otis works at a restaurant with Charley, who was the one that was seduced by Mamie (Kudrow). He has a video of Charley when, for some reason, he had stuff on his clothing, and had to wear only his briefs. He jerks off to this video. Charley, meanwhile, helps to run the restaurant, and is gay, and his lover is Gil. They are friends with two lesbians, who have a son Max. Charley comes to believe that Max is really Gil's son, even though her parents claim Gil is not the father (they had tried, then given up, and gotten sperm at a sperm bank).

Lies abound everywhere. Charley lies to Diane and Pam to try to find out whether Max is really Gil's son or not. He tells Pam that Gil has a fatal hereditary disease. Mamie lies about having had an abortion. Javier lies about his wife, that he met, so he could stay in the US. Nicky hides the truth about how he knows Mamie's son. Otis hides his sexuality from his father. Jude (Gyllenhaal) lies to both Otis and his father. She wants money, and blackmails Otis so she can seduce the father. Gil hasn't told the entire truth to Charley.

Happy Endings also borrows an idea from Y Tu Mama Tambien, which I find to be a brilliant film.

Nominally a road trip with two male best friends in Mexico and a Spanish wife who's not getting along with her husband, it tracks the journey from a wealthy part of Mexico, into the rural parts, where poverty and police seem to rule. The two male leads want to have sex with the beautiful Spanish senorita (what is the Spanish word for a married woman anyway)?

The trip really is about a moment in time, when things seem perfect, and yet, even that perfect moment is temporary. Through the journey, you discover that the two teen friends have cheated by having sex with their respective girlfriends. When the Spanish woman has sex with one teen, the other is jealous, and she evens it up by having sex with the other. In the end, the two males realize (in a menage a trois) that really they love each other more than the girls they sleep with.

Yet, this too is an illusion. The Spanish woman, you see, is dying. She will live only a short while longer, on a beach that is named Heaven's Mouth. It is heavenly, but you are swallowed by it. The fisherman who live there, eventually becomes bankrupt. The pigs that run wild, are eventually killed. She eventually dies. The two friends eventually drift apart. It is this one trip, with this one woman, that culminates in a brief moment of happiness that disappears that makes this film work so well.

Throughout, you realize the brevity of the moment. The omniscient narrator tells you what happens to the characters seen, in the future. Knowing their fate makes it all the more poignant what they are going through.

Similarly Happy Endings uses text, like huge subtitles, to introduce characters, and give them background. This could be seen as laziness, on the part of the screenwriter, but it is interesting, and perhaps it the new way to do voiceover.

More than halfway through, these stories don't seem destined to interlock at all. They seem like separate stories, and you wonder, how can they possibly resolve all of it?

At this point, they seem to follow Adaptation which had a deliciously clever way to deal with the ending. Adapation tells the story of Charlie, who is played by Nick Cage, and is supposed to be Charlie Kaufman, the real screenplay writer (who penned Being John Malkovich). Struggling with the story, Kaufman attends a writing seminar where he learns about writing screenplays. They talk about how to write screenplays for action pix, following standard formulas. In the meanwhile, the film, which was about the adaptation of The Orchid Thief begins evolving into an action pic, following the same ideas given by the writing guru (played by Brian Cox) who utters the line "Heaven help you if you use voiceover". The film uses plenty of voice over.

Happy Endings runs its course, and then what? Time for happy endings. There's one contrivance after the next. First, Otis reveals that Jude is a golddigger, and eventually gets kicked out by Otis's dad. There's a scene where Mamie's car is hit by Frank's car, and he wants to make amends. They marry. Charley's urologist wants to date Charley, and does. Otis's bandmate Alvin, turns out to be gay, and they fall in love. Javier, who had married a woman just because she was willing to do it and get paid for it, falls in love with her, and they have kids.

Do these people really deserve the happy endings they're getting? It reminds me a little of Parenthood. Everyone wants happy endings, and even though I don't find people particularly pathetic nor particularly unhappy, there is a lack of trust and honesty everywhere, even if it seems justifiable. Although I liked what happened to everyone, it's probably because I like seeing happy endings too.

It just seemed like the screenplay writer just got stuck trying to decide what to do with these characters, and finally, wrote a happy ending.

Except for one person. Jude plays perhaps the most cynical character. She seems genuine and honest, but she knows what she wants, and proceeds methodically to get it, and so she lies. She's portrayed as fairly heartless. Late in the film, she's prepared to have an abortion, why? Because she's not entirely sure if it's Frank's son or Otis's son, and doesn't want to get off on the wrong foot. And when she talks to Lisa Kudrow who is counseling her on the matter, she tells her how to do her job, and , I swear, she's Annette Bening. The resemblance is uncanny.

In the end, she sings another Billy Joel song, Just the Way You Are. It too is an excellent rendition, far more heartfelt than Billy Joel himself, and serves as a bookend to her rendition of Honesty. And yet, who is Jude anyway? Why does she do what she does? Jude doesn't get the happy ending, though it's more vague than negative.

Overall, the film is well-acted, especially by Gyllenhaal and Kudrow. I'll have to say I enjoyed it for its ability to deal with issues of relationships. It is another, in a long line of films, that parades non-traditional relationships. Surely, some wholesome parental group affiliated with some church has to complain about a woman who seduces son and father, gay relationships, near incestuous relationships, and just general lying. Yet, it's so common to see this in film, that I accept it as it is, except that I can't exactly accept the ending. Perhaps the filmmaker knows that too, and is slyly winking giving us the title, and the ending, that we seem to want.

Pomp and Circumstance

I went to a wedding on Saturday. I was prepared to know almost nobody there except the groom, and the person I was supposed to take along, a fellow colleague during my teaching days. She calls an hour before I'm supposed to pick her up saying she doesn't think she can make it. I had spent around $100 getting ready for weddings.

I tell you, I hate getting ready for weddings. I need my suit, shirt, tie, in order. However, typically, once the wedding is over, I throw the suit, shirt, tie in some corner, unforgotten, until the next one rolls along. Needless to say, it gets wrinkled and/or lost. Worse still, when I bought my last suit, I had just lost 30 pounds, of which I've regained about 20 of it back, due to eating, and lack of activity at work. An enlightened employee should really have exercise stuff at work, to break up the inactivity.

Religion, for many people, seeks to be part of a person's everyday life. If a demonination could, they'd ask its members to come every day. In effect, that's what happens in Islam, where the faithful must pray five times a day. They are constantly reminded of the importance of religion in their lives. There are those for whom religion is a once a week thing. Sure, they believe in its tenets the rest of the week, but they're made that much more aware of religion once a week.

For the more secular, who've possibly strayed from the church, there's still something important about having a wedding in a church. Given the importance of a wedding, ie., a commitment of a man and woman (or these days, between two consenting adults), it's not surprising that a church would want to make this one of the centerpieces of the religion. Even in places where Christianity or any Judeo-Christian-Islam is not practice, weddings often have a strong tie to religion. When communism sought to break the stranglehold of religion, they had to find ways of making marriage less religious.

These days, a couple seeking marriage through a church has to go through consultation. Part of this, I'm sure, is the result of the high divorce rate in the United States. Many couples go through the motions needed to keep the religious figure performing the marriage happy. It's an odd sort of agreement. On the one hand, I have to believe the religious figure is not so simple-minded as to believe that the couple will take religion and religious dictates all that seriously, and yet, they're not prepared to push the secular away from religion by saying they are not "good enough" to be married.

Sure, there are those that are plenty faithful, to which this consultation has meaning, and perhaps even those who are not religious may find that the process has them thinking about religion.

Personally, I want to be invited to a wedding that is based out of Star Trek or Star Wars, where people where Klingon finery, and some Klingon cleric can give vows in Klingon. I understand that it would be completely silly, but I'm not sure it's that far removed from what happens in a traditional wedding. People want the traditional weddings because they're full of ceremony. It gives the wedding some kind of formality. This is even true of those who don't want too religious of a wedding.

Interestingly enough, I was at a wedding last year, which was a Jewish wedding (though only one of them was Jewish, and the ceremony was held at a restaurant, closed down for the wedding). Jewish weddings tend to be more fun. There's dancing, but more of a group dancing, rather than the male/female dancing. This involves running in circles. moving in and out of circles, and carrying the bride, groom, and parents of the bride and groom, in a chair held by several strong people. In general, there's quite a bit of festivity, and because the dances have no romantic overtones, they're far more exciting for all, even little kids.

This wedding was held in an Episcopal church. I know very little about the Episcopal church. It was an offshoot of Catholicism. One of the Henry's, I believe, wanted an annulment of his marriage (the one with six wives), and the Pope didn't want to give it to him, so he broke off from the Catholic Church, created the Church of England, and made himself head of that church. Other than the Pope (which is a big deal, I suppose), the Episcopals are generally pretty close to Catholics, following many of the ceremonies. I suspect, however, there's no Latin used, although the Catholic Church has apparently not had Latin services in a while either, because many people found it difficult to learn and follow.

Since the bride's family generally arranges the marriage, I assume that the choice of church was her family's. Many of the members in attendance seem to be religious, at least, half by a rough count.

The ceremony felt fairly lengthy. Most weddings in the US are quick. The entire ceremony lasts about an hour. In India, on the other hand, and some other Asian countries, celebrations can last days, with bits of ceremony throughout.

The most interesting ceremony I went to was a hybrid ceremony that was part Vietnamese and part American (he was Catholic, but the ceremony didn't seem overly Catholic). I went to the engagement ceremony. In this ceremony, the groom to be brings between 3 and 5 male friends. These can be siblings or friends or close relatives. They bring gifts to the house of the bride to be. There are two of every gift.

Once we reach the house, several males from her family receive the gifts, and we are admitted in the house. Typically, the groom-to-be's father then asks the bride-to-be's father for the daughter's hand in marriage. This is done in a tea ceremony of sorts. There's a time factor too. For good luck, the entire engagement ceremony must be completed by noon. Fortunately, it only takes about half an hour to run. At that point, the bride-to-be's family serves food, and then once that is complete, the bride-to-be's family returns half the gifts (the reason to have two of every gift---very Noah's Ark).

Apparently, there was a similar ceremony for the wedding itself, though by that point, the groom could invite closer friends who could not make an engagement ceremony.

This wedding was more religious than previous weddings that I had attended. In particular, there were hymns, prayers, all culminating in bread and "wine" being given to baptized individuals, which is referred to as communion or the Eucharist, and involves giving bread, which represents the body of Jesus, and wine (which is usually grape juice, I believe) which represents his blood.

There's also a cuteness factor, as the flower girl and some youthful kid comes along just ahead of the bridesmaids. There were four bridesmaids, and I believe eight groomsman. The bridesmaids were dressed in red, the groomsman had red vests.
The bride is often dressed up quite a bit for the wedding making her nigh well unrecognizable. Usually glasses are removed, lipstick applied liberally, and hair worn up.

Given that the wedding was practically a religious ceremony, I'd like to see one that is more removed from such a ceremony. I attended one where friends of the bride and groom related stories about the bride and groom, and where a friend sang Ave Maria, which was actually, rather moving. If I recall, the religious overtones, while not missing, were at least, mild. Were I involved in a wedding, I'd like to do something far less ceremonial, and a little more fun.

The reception was held immediately after the service, within the church. This being a Christian church, that meant no alcohol. Instead, there were smoothies (rather tasty), a fountain of chocolate, for fondues, and a serve-yourself food. This seems to be common. The Jewish wedding I went to last year also did this, though nearly every other wedding I've been to has had a sitdown dinner. Sitdown dinners have one additional logistical hurdle that a serve-yourself lunch does not. Seating people.
The couple must decide who should sit with whom, although, if memory serves, I just sat somewhere for the Jewish wedding I attended.

I found that I knew pretty much no one except the groom. As anyone who's attended a wedding knows, the wedding is not really for the bride and groom, it's for their guests. Thus, the happy couple must spend a few minutes talking to everyone, much in the same way, the Queen talks to her subjects. They can spend only a few minutes talking to everyone, often people they barely know, but occasionally, to people they know well.

I talked to one other person the whole time, other than the bride and groom, for more than a minute. I talked a little to the bride's brother, who sang and played a song, and seemed moderately swishy, if you get my drift. He mistook me for someone else, and so we didn't talk much after that. After two or so hours of not mingling around, I had my cake and left. That was probably good for another reason. There was so many snack foods, I would have blimped up like Jabba.

As it was, I was nibbling on fruit, salmon on tiny pieces of bread, some spinach cream dip, smoothies, coffees, etc. Even though it wasn't a proper meal, there was enough food to be had. A jazz band played some tunes in the meanwhile.

One of the better ideas for a wedding was one I attended late last summer. The bride's parents hosted a dinner at a favorite Pennsylvania Dutch restaurant, which basically meant German-American food. Apparently, the German is so different that Reiner, a roommate of DaveHo, the guy having the wedding, found it quaint. It probably bore as much to German as American English does to say Scottish English. The dinner is focused around food, and as long as there are people you know nearby, it's not an unpleasant experience. This is were invitations have to be managed carefully. I've been to one other wedding where I knew very few people, but happen to get along well with one other guy who also came by himself.

Anyway, once I decided that there wasn't enough people to really talk to, and had my fill of food, I decided to exit.
So I briefly talked to bride and groom, and headed out.

After leaving, I went to meet up with my housemate who was shopping at a Trader Joe's. On the way there, I listened to NPR, about the Aristocrats. Apparently, this is one of the most offensive jokes told, and every comedian has their version. The brainchild of Penn Gillette (who is a magician with Teller) and someone else, it involves asking various comedians to tell this joke, and to comment on it as well. Penn says that one of the more surprising renditions of the joke comes from Bob Saget.

Saget was a star in Full House, as well as TV's Funniest Home Videos. He's seen as a squeaky clean guy. However, much like Redd Foxx in Sanford and Son, Saget is apparently one of the dirtiest comedians around, just that few people know it, and apparently it's shocking to those who know only his clean-cut image.

Anyway, back to the ceremony. The closest ceremony I know that resembles a wedding ceremony is a graduation ceremony. There are outfits. There are speeches. There is music. There are religious figures. For momentous occasions, people want ceremony. It makes it feel more important. I don't necessarily disagree with it, but for weddings, I find that overly religious ceremonies simply alienate those that are not part of the church, or are not religious at all. I understand that people want this, but they should realize how some feel.

At the very least, once the wedding is concluded, the new couple, can now relax. All the work to put on a show that pleases everyone is now done, and they can relax on their honeymoon.

Love is a Wreath of Flowers That Smell Bad

It's rare that I go to a film that I know little to nothing about, yet that's what happened last night. I watched Me, You, and Everyone We Know. This is an unusual film. The closest films I could compare it to is either American Beauty or Happiness, or possibly even Ghost World. Don't read more if you want to see the film fresh, which is a pretty good way to watch it.

The film is an ensemble piece, dealing with several different stories. John Hawkes plays Richard, a shoe salesman, who's recently separated from his wife. Nowadays, a mixed-race relation goes without much saying, and yet, it's still not terribly common to see in films. She's African American. He's white. The issue of race is not discussed, really, except possibly that the two kids, who look mixed, with hairstyles resembling 70s cuts, seem odd for children.

The older son who's in his teens is quiet and stays on the computers all day to chat. His younger brother, who appears to be 5 or 6, hangs around his brother, appears to be an innocent, filled with peculiar insights.

In fact, everyone is somewhat off-kilter in the whole film. Miranda July plays Christine. She's an artist, who imagines relationships with guys, tries to be good, but seems terribly insecure. To make ends meet, she drives elderly people to their destinations.

The opening sequence of the film is indicative of what the film is like. Christine has picked up her eldely man for a ride to the shoe store. They spy a family that has just bought a goldfish, put in a bag. The father puts the bag on top of the car, and then forgets to bring it in., and begins to drive. Christine and Michael, who appears to be a Latino retiree, are fearful for the fish.

If they tell the man that he has a fish in a bag on top of the car, the man is likely to stop the car, and the fish will fling off and die. If he accelerates, the same might happen. They decide not to tell him. Christine feels sorry for the fish and says that even though she never knew the fish, she loves the fish, and it should know it was loved. Another car then cuts off the man, he decelerates, the fish bag flies in the air, and lands on the car ahead of it.

Realizing the fish is still alive, they decide they can save the fish if they keep the car it's on steady, so they pull ahead of the car with the fish, and it's now sandwiched between the car that had the first, and Christine's car. For a while, you see the three cars in close proximity from overhead, all working together to save the fish. Finally, the middle car rushes out, and the bag with the fish in it is gone.

In this one scene, you have three groups of people. The people who bought the fish, and probably think of it as barely a pet. The people that have the fish, after the bag lands on their car, who have no idea that they have anything to do with anything, and Christine and Michael, who see all, and desperately want the fish to do well. And there's the fish itself, who also has no idea what's going on. It's swimming in a bag.

Mirandy July, director and playing Christine, mines this for both humor, and a kind of insight. She has a quirky view on life.

Christine falls for Richard, who has sold her pink shoes and Michael bright blue Nikes. Richard still has to care for his sons, Robby and Peter. Peter meets two female classmates, Rebecca and Heather, who like to tease him, and older men, including Andrew, a fellow shoe salesman. He talks to Rebecca and Heather, who flirt with him by kissing one another, before he begins to put his fantasies on his window, which no one, save the girls, seem to notice. Sylvie is an 8 year old who is interested in Peter, even though he appears to be 15.

July is interested in sexuality, and has challenging roles for the children. The girls, who pretend to be 18, are trying to seduce an older man, yet want to know who gives the better blow job, and ask Peter to decide. To offset the possible inappropriateness, July amps the weirdness, but in oddly believable ways. The two girls insist on towels, dry and wet, plus candy or a cookie, plus a CD for the right kind of music.

Peter is oddly neat, providing the towels nicely folded, on a tray, and two mints on top, as if he were working for a hotel.

The two girls are doing a blind taste test as it were, and yet, want the experience to be neat and tidy, as a real experiment.

If that's risque, July also has two younger kids, Sylvie and Robby, involved in even more bizarre ongoings. Robby comes up with the bizarrest idea and tells his older brother, Peter, to type this to a possible-woman named "Untitled". He says that he wants to poop in her asshole, and that she poops it back into his, and it goes back and forth, forever. It's an oddly gross and mature fantasy, said by the mouth of a five year old, and July revels in this scene. Peter says "OK, what do you want me to type", and as he begins to repeat what he said, it is oddly hilarious to hear a kid saying this, because it almost sounds like something a kid would say, since kids can be obsessed with poop, and yet, with twisted enough that a kid might not say it.

Robby is an innocent, interpreting sexual advances by Untitled, as a kid would. He likes to play, but not in the same way an adult "plays". He wants to have friends. He likes to be with people. The idea of sex really has not crossed his mind, and yet, here he is talking to someone (is it he or she?) who has no idea that Robby is only 5. This is the first film that deals with chat in somewhat realistic ways, where the two sides have no idea who the other are.

Sylvie, on the other hand, seems much older, and yet, associates herself with a time long since gone. She goes to the store and buys items from department stores that she puts in a "hope chest". This, she claims, is her dowry for the man she will marry, and for the daughter she will raise. She asks the saleswoman whether a Braun hand mixer will go out of style in twenty years. Initially, it's meant to sound that she wants a product that's quality, showing a savvy consumerist flair, odd for a child her age, but then it's revealed that it's for her dowry, and she's planning ahead.

Sylvie seems drawn to the older Peter, and he to her.

And I'm leaving out Richard, who acts mostly with his eyes. He's trying to be a good dad, and yet, in an early scene, he tries to burn his hand, and it looks like some odd scene from a Pink Floyd album. When he explains later on, that he thought he had alcohol which burns without burning, but instead had lighter fluid, it is both quirkily funny, and also explains that while he might be crazy, it's a kind of offbeat crazy. It's a weird justification for his behavior.

He wanders through this film looking slightly lost. Christine wants Richard to date him, but pretty much stalks him. They walk down a street to their cars parked interminably far, as she and he make an analogy of how the street represents their relationship which they haven't had. At least, not yet.

Ultimately, I think July wants to show that relationships occupy a much greater universe than we normally see. Even relationships that would normally be seen as disturbing, might not be nearly as disturbing in reality. For example, she plays up a scene that would normally be a "special episode of Webster" (and sadly, it really was), when she has the person who has sent the instant message talk to the little boy, Robby. Robby has no idea who he'll meet. He seems to just want to meet a playpal. The other also has no idea, and is seeking some sort of lover, more likely her own age, and when that person sees Robby, a weird thought passes, as if the universe had, for a moment, briefly wanted them together.

This is an accomplished film, dealing with many issues, in an odd, yet funny way. Even though it touches on many topics that would otherwise seem highly offensive, July creates a world that resembles our own, but is just off in many different spots, enough for us to accept what happens without being totally grossed out. If anything, she sympathizes with these characters who in their way are seeking happiness, and yet, without the kind of strong sense of animosity that Solondz has.

Oh yes.

Macaroni.

A Friend Indeed

I was listening to the Tony Kornheiser show this morning, as I do most mornings heading into work. Mr. Tony has been on vacation the last two weeks, and just returned this week. Apparently, that wasn't enough, since he took off Friday as well! So, Andy Pollin was filling in.

When he fills in, it's basically him and Stern. Stern's the British guy who plays tunes that Tony must guess, often related to some story of the day. Tony, who knows a lot of music, is great at this, and rarely misses. Andy, who's musically challenged, misses nearly every one.

In effect, Andy runs a one man show, and I must say it doesn't work nearly as well as the cacophony of voices when Andy, Tony, Gary, and Stern are on.

However, Andy had an interesting, non-sports related anecdote, and he was going to spin it for half an hour. In particular, he tells of how he ran into a fellow radio commentator whom he hadn't seen in a few years. His friend greets him by name, and they talk for about 5 minutes or so.

In the meanwhile, his friend is not alone. He had just completed lunch with a friend of his, and it looked like they were heading back to the office. During this entire conversation, Andy's friend never introduced his friend. Andy thought that was weird. He figured that there must be people that hate him, and maybe his friend's friend was one of them, and that's why he wasn't being introduced.

He opened up this topic for listeners. Most of them say it was most likely an etiquette faux pas. Andy's friend, caught up talking to Andy, simply forgot to introduce his friend. Still others thought that Andy's friend had forgotten his friend's name, perhaps, because it may simply have been some business colleague that he was entertaining.

The most interesting caller (though not the most interesting call) was the guy who apparently started the whole "Andy Polley" tape snippet. Apparently, there was some talk about Rafy Palmeiro or some player like that being traded, and Pollin had taken some stance about it, and the caller said "Andy Polley, you are an idiot!", not realizing his name was Andy Pollin.

From then on, they would play the snippet "Andy Polley", and Mr. Tony still refers to him by that name. It was amazing to hear that caller call back because I had always wondered about the story behind the "Andy Polley" name.

Now, I have to say, Andy's theory that he wasn't introduced to this guy was a bit of a troll. Troll isn't the right word. A troll is more like a negative comment which provokes many defenders to write in response. For example, suppose there's a Star Trek newsgroup. Someone writes that "Star Trek" sucks. So others come to its gallant defense and criticize the poor chap. The provocation is a troll, meant to cause people to respond.

In this case, it's like a, hmm, what's the opposite of a troll? An elf? Something. By hypothesizing that this guy wouldn't introduce his friend because his friend hated Andy? I mean come on. So callers were calling in saying they loved Andy, and what person could hate Andy. I mean, talk about ego-stroking. Andy had to be faux modest. "Please, in this business, some people hate you".

While the elfing might have made a pleasant blog, I wasn't planning on that.

What was more interesting to me was the necessity of having to formally introduce a friend. Andy himself points out that these introductions do him no good. He quickly forgets the person's name, as he's introducing himself. There's the appearance of a slight when a friend doesn't introduce you, because it makes it more challenging to strike up a discussion, but think about it.

Why do we need to know the name of the person we're talking to? It's only important if you want to establish contact again? I only care that I'm talking to Sarita or Samir if I care to talk about them again or see them again. Then, it's helpful to say "Sarita" rather than "that Indian chick that you were with last time we spoke". Still, the average person feels a distance from a person if they don't know their name.

One possibility, which I thought of, and which was probably unlikely, but still occurred to me nonetheless. Perhaps this gentleman friend was more than a friend, and his friend didn't want to establish that his friend was really a significant other, except not so significant as to be public information.

For some reason, introducing friends to friends usually ends up being awkward. You have to be unusually extroverted or the friend has to be unusually attractive to make this work, unless, for some reason, you meet at, say, a Star Trek convention, or any sort of convention, where there is common interest.

For example, you never know how easy-going the other person is going to be. I was at lunch, and someone remarked that a temporary office-mate of his wanted to convince him to use a Mac for his work, and how it was superior to using a PC. He wanted none of that religious debate, and stated so, whereas, I'm sure, the other guy wanted to evangelize the goodness of the Mac (they are SO good, though). The attempt at nicety was rebuffed. What can you do?

I have a friend who's actually nicer initially than the more you know him. Strange how that works out. One of my housemates prefers to seem like an ass right away, so that he seems better later on, when he isn't being an ass.

Andy Polley had me thinking about how we meet friends of friends, and how this invariably fails to work out. When you have two people that have a great deal
of history, and then two people who have no history, it always seems incredibly awkward for the no-history folks to talk to one another, as if they've been thrown together in this artificial setting, and been told "make friends".

Still, one would argue, that's not the point. It's just politeness, which really means it's just convention. We follow it because we're supposed to, and that's why it's polite. Which makes it silly.

Boxer Rebellion

Surely I've blogged about this topic. I mean it has such an obvious title. Yes, I want to blog about boxers.

To put things into perspective, once upon a time, boxers were the norm. Men from the 1950s wore these mini shorts which we call boxers. I remember as a little kid, that I wore them. Then, sometimes during the 70s and 80s, guys went to briefs. In fact, in the 1970s, there was a trend towards more open displays of male sexuality.

Understand the difficulty, compared to women. The most sizable woman's bosom far exceeds the volume of the most sizable man's penis, except for those that have some sort of disorder. This means, for the most part, that women have a more challenging time hiding their chestage than men do hiding their boys. Of course, many women, especially in non-conservative societies like the US, do choose to flaunt what they have, wearing form fitting clothing, as opposed to loose clothing, which virtually tell straight guys and lesbians, look, I have a huge chest.

Women who lack in that department have a more challenging problem of wearing looser fitting clothing to give some hint that maybe somewhere, somehow, there is substance behind the wardrobe.

But, in the 70s, there was a huge attempt at trying to level the playing field. Tight jeans were the fashion. While it was more effective to show off one's derriere, if a male were suitably equipped and possibly suitably aroused, tight jeans would give the hint of what a man could provide. Those who have, could afford to wear such clothing.

The 70s were also a period where men, especially male basketball players, wore short shorts. If these shorts were any shorter, men would be wearing mini-skirts. You could determine a man's religion if shorts were any shorter. And, underneath all that, men typically wore briefs. More effective than tight pants, briefs also showed a male off to best effect, especially if his ass were substantive, and his endowment too.

Then, the 80s rolled around, the Republicans came into power, and along with a wave of political conservatism also came a wave of conservative clothing. As basketball lead the trend to short shorts, it too also reversed the trend. Shorts began going southward, Where the bottoms of shorts used to be mere inches from one's organs, now they were sitting on top of one's knees, or further below.

This trend to longer shorts extended to swimwear. No speedos for males. Guys were ready to add a little more mystery to their attire. There's a large number of undersized (relatively speaking) males who probably mark the day when they did not have to be put in competition with others. Women, alas, did not follow suit. While skirts disappeared, tight jeans were still common enough, as were a revealing knit shirt.

With singers like Christine and Britney, a little navel was also a possibility. Women still could titillate with their, er, titillators. Men, on the other hand, strived for more is more, as in more clothing. Briefs, which always had the danger of treadmarks, and were too revealing, and unflattering to some, were now seen as old fashioned. Boxers had more colors, more varieties, and depending on how it was made, it could offer its fair share of hintage.

Despite a generally greater acceptance of gay male lifestyle, which has as much to do with ad campaigns by Calvin Klein, and then by Abercrombie and Fitch, who sold a nirvana of white flesh (colored males need not apply), engaged in quaint sports like lacrosse or rugby, and oh yeah, occasionally selling shirts and jeans and such, a change that has made men of the new millenium just as concerned about their waistline and figure as their female counterparts, the trend has not yet reversed itself. Clothing that revealed a little too much were still considered "way gay".

As with anything that deals with fashion, perhaps this trend too shall pass. MC Hammer once seemed destined to dictate clothing where the divide of the pants were nearly to the ground, facilitating side to side movements, followed by utterances of "can't touch this". Yet, sartorial sage he was not.

Are men simply more insecure and less sexual than women? Do women value such things as pretty clothing and pretty bodies because they still value ensnaring men, and impressing other women? Are men still in a state of gay panic, worried about what people will think of them should they be so vain, or perhaps they've simply woken up, and realized there's no reason to be sexual, by showing off what they had little to no control over.

Why have I devoted this entire blog to the superficial, to the body, instead of to the mind. It shows that we are slaves to our genes, which command us to reproduce, even though the act of reproduction itself scares the bejeezus out of most of us, while the act of trying to reproduce is exciting. We should be seeking ways to enrich ourselves through more cerebral means, and yet, this too, is a form of conservatism, and many a conservative religion posits a libinous male unable to control his urges on a frail female. Veils and burkas are to protect men from themselves, as women, surely are not that kind of creature who would ravage a man with her intense desire. It's not becoming of a gentlelady to behave in such a untamed manner.

We shall continue to have an affair with our clothing, to send messages to others, intentionally or otherwise. Would it be no be more valiant to do write a poem or a song or a program or a building?

In any case, I better get to the Gap before they close. (I know, so passe!).

Why I Read Blogs

"You can read about it in my blog!"

So exclaimed a coworker of mine, to which another coworker said "I'll get on it right away". Of course, he had no intention of reading the blog. Somehow, reading someone else's blog that you know is seen as too, I don't know, sappy, or something. It seems to call into question one's masculinity. For you see, to read someone's blog is a little like wanting to read their diary. And to read a diary is pretty much desperate.

And yet, I read blogs to gain insight that I might get were I to read a diary. Except, of course, so few blogs are about that. After all, how many of us want to complain about a friend or a coworker or a boss or an employee or whomever. Maybe we'd like to rant against our own kids or parents. And yet, because we fear there will be repercussions, we can be less than honest.

But a few simply don't care. They write what they feel, other people's feelings be damned. If they can't stand the criticism, well they can go on home, close the door behind, and have a good cry. Some people want that honesty, the honesty to be mean, yet truthful to others.

More than that, though, a blog, if it's that honest, can reveal what the person thinks, not just what you see of them in person. Of course, that's not always honest. A blog tends to make the person who writes it look good, or at least, avoid putting one in a bad light.

If I read a blog, maybe I'm interested in how the person deals with their significant others. Are they frustrated? Are they happy? Are they going to tell me? At times, I know people who won't even mention their personal lives. To be fair, I don't either, for exactly the reasons I state.

I remember hearing this guy said that all the blogs he ever reads seem somehow fixated on the feelings after a breakup. He never found that too exciting until that one day. The one day where his girlfriend broke up, and then those feelings came to him, and by golly, he wanted to blog about it.

I suppose successful blogs are those that offer advice, or are in a specific field, and not really about people, and their personal lives, even if those are the kinds of blogs I like to read. Even though I say I like reading such blogs, I don't read any on a regular basis. Those few friends that I know who do blog, do not reveal that much about their relationships or their thoughts on it.

I suppose I can't blame them, but it's what I want to read.

Double Dare

There are a handful of films that resonate with the American cinemerati, if even such a word exists. These are films that critics come back to once and again. Some are considered masterpieces, and some nearly so. Psycho fits into the nearly masterpiece. Beloved films are like beloved friends. It's not easy to substitute them for someone else. Despite your friend's flaws, improving upon them wouldn't seem quite right.

Gus Van Sant had an idea that most directors would consider preposterous, and that's in an age where remakes occur with startling frequency. Most remakes are of films that are either foreign, so American audiences are unaware of the original. I can thnk of several films. Sommersby was a remake of the French film, The Return of Martin Guerre, and reset as a Western. Point of No Return was a remake of La Femme Nikita. Little Indian, Big City was remade from the French film of approximately the same title.

There have been talks about remaking John Woo's The Killer. And of course, Peter Jackson is remaking King Kong.

Gus Van Sant intended to use the original script, and the original shots to remake Psycho. He made a few changes. Clearly, he had to have new actors. So, he conceded that these actors could act the way they felt was appropriate, rather than do a faithful mimicry of the originals. That would have been challenging. As it was, Van Sant got several name actors to play key roles, including Anne Heche, Viggo Mortensen, William Macy, Julianne Moore, and Vincent Vaughn.

Second, he filmed it in color. Given that the movie was going to be in theaters, making it in black and white would have been a hard sell. As it is, remaking Psycho would be a hard sell.

To be honest, up until about the halfway point in the film, it was pretty tense. Sure, the acting's a bit mannered, the clothing a little out of style, the Herrmann score is wondrous even as it dominates the film. Viggo Mortensen does a reasonably good job of playing the dull yoakam that helps find out what happened to Marion Crane, the main character.

Hitchcock did something in Psycho that surprising for its time, and really, has almost not been done since then. He made people believe that the movie was about the woman who steals the money, believing it will change her life, when a rainstorm forces her to stay at the now infamous Bates Motel. About halfway through the film, her character is killed off, and the story becomes that of Norman Bates.

Despite this well-known twist, people continue to enjoy the film to this day.

There were many who questioned whether a remake of such a classic could ever hope to match the original. I have no idea. I wanted to see the remake first, and then compare. At the very least, I would get to see differences in acting style, choices of what to shoot, even differences in available technology. For example, the opening shot of Van Sant's version is a long shot over a city, which then closes in on a skyscraper, to an open window, and just inside, where we're introduced to Marion and her lover, having an afternoon tryst. In the original, this shot was not possible, so they did the best they could, which involved cuts.

Personally, despite the widespread criticism of remaking such a classic, I'd like to see more of it happen, because I think there's value in trying to see what makes great films great. Is it really great, or is it our intimate familiarity, just like seeing our pet dog, where any replacement could hardly ever qualify as an improvement.

Deja View

I've visted Seattle three times in my life. The first time, I stayed the longest. I was there ten days, and it was my first real vacation on my own. Prior to that I'd either been a graduate student, and decided it was too expensive to travel, or I was teaching full-time, including summers. In any case, I was never much of a vacationing type to begin with, and so the idea of going somewhere to visit didn't occur to me.

I picked Seattle partly because I knew some people there, and the first time, I was visiting to hang out with someone I knew reasonably well. Overall, it was a rather relaxing experience. I didn't do a lot of the touristy things, and in fact, spent quite a few days visiting the University of Washington campus, since having been a student for so many years, I happen to enjoy college campuses.

Of all the institutions we have, college campuses is a peculiar one. When do so many people of similar age and similar educational background essentially live in a communist like society. Dorms are typically not significantly better than another, unless you choose to live off campus, and let your wealthy parents set you up. At the end of each year, you have to decide new living arrangements.

Many students are required to eat on-campus food, buy items on-campus. Sure, there are always choices off-campus, but for a non-commuter campus, like Cornell, where I went, there's not much choice.

Campuses try to create a weirdish environment that resembles nothing like the modern real world. Fraternities, honor societies, clubs. Sure, some of these things exist in the real world, but not with the same kind of access. And college, unlike the real world, is ostensibly about teaching and learning. My one great lament is that there's too little teaching in the real world.

In any case, that's not what I really wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about my vacation.

The second time I went to Seattle, I went for four days. This was for an interview, so the first two days were spent travelling to Seattle, and then doing the interview itself. I had dinner with two softies (can they really be called that?), ie, employees of Microsoft. They talked about the value of a Maryland education, where they both received their degree.

On one day, I still managed to visit the UW campus, at least, I think I did.

The last time I went, which was less than a month ago, I went for about 6 days, though really I only spent about 3 days in the city. On the day that I was planning to head back, I decided to both tour the neighborhood where my cousin lived, which was not that far from where my friend stayed, and then head to the University again.

It's an odd sense to navigate in a city you've only really been to once, to see the same sights, to visit the same restaurants, the same stores, to take the same busses, to try to recall what happened the previous time I was there.

I went to visit the campus, and realized while I remember some things, such as a museum, or the bookstore, or the Ave, it was a hazy memory. I knew, for example, that I wanted to get a haircut at the same place I had it three years ago, and couldn't remember exactly where this place was, nor its name. I finally saw "Rudy's" and realized that was the place I had gone.

I visited the same computer store, the University bookstore, which had changed somewhat. The coffee shop was no longer in the center between two parts of the store, as it had been the last time I was there. However, overall, the structure seemed the same.

Perhaps the biggest change on the campus was the Paul Allen computer science building. Five stories tall, with a wide open central area, modern architecture, paintings---it puts all computer science departments I've seen to shame, especially Maryland. Unless Maryland gets a rich alum like Sergei Brin to cough up a lot of money, Maryland's doomed to have a subpar building, which lacks imagination, is stifling. It took a long time before campuses realized that even those in the math and sciences want a building that is spectacular to look at and work in.

I've yet to see the new building that University of Illinois was planning to build. Last time I was there, they were still in the middle of construction.

Ultimately, I see people as creatures that float in time, and that by revisiting a place over time, we see the effect of man on nature. This kind of feeling happens all the time, but is made more acute by revisiting the places you've seen.

I'm reminded of the film Touching the Void. In one of the extras, Joe Simpson and Simon Yates revisit Siula Grande, where the two had climbed in the late 80s. The two were the first pair to climb the west face of this Peruvian mountain. During the climb down, Simpson broke his leg, and Yates had to abandon him, or die himself. He had been helping Simpson down by letting down rope down the mountain, then telling Simpson to hold ground, and then coming down himself to meet him.

At one point, he lets the rope down, and Simpson goes over the edge of a cliff. Simon is holding him up at the top, not realizing, due to the blinding snow, that he's over the edge of a cliff. Hours pass and Simon concludes something has gone dreadfully wrong, and he's beginning to slip. So, he makes the fateful decision to cut the rope and let Joe fall to his death.

Only.

He doesn't die. He falls into an ice cave, with injuries, and manages, over the next three days, to crawl back to the base camp, while losing a great deal of weight, with nearly a broken leg, and no food.

Joe Simpson went on to write a book, mostly to defend Simon, who had taken flak for leaving his climbing partner to die. Simpson's successful book lead to a writing career, then to a semi-documentary. As part of the documentary, both were invited back to visit the base camp at Siula Grande (actually, a third guy, Richard, who was mostly around to keep guard at the base camp, also arrived).

During the visit to the site, Simpson suddenly starts getting a panic attack. He wants to remove his shirt. He remembers the incident, which he had compartmentalized away and dealt with, and it comes back, as a torrent of emotions. He says that the incident was life-altering. Before that, he was fearless. He felt the ordeal had taken something away from him as a man.

The closest thing I can relate this to, having never been in such danger, is an episode of Star Trek, the Next Generation, where Picard is made into a Borg, and then forced to kill other members of Starfleet. He feels that he isn't strong enough to resist the hive mind that is ordering him to do this, and feels he's lost some of his humanity in the process. I know it's weak to compare a fictional series like this to a real event, but that's what it made me think of.

I bring this story of Simpson to point out the importance of location to memory. Some places, even over time, still have the power to trigger memories of a time. And while I didn't go through the same kinds of emotions, I was at least very aware of trying to retread where I had been before. I don't know what I was expecting or hoping or anything. It was just something I wanted to do.

I have a friend who wants to seek new experiences, new sensations, so his sense of what I did was probably that I seek reassurance in the familiar, rather than the thrill of the unknown. I'd probably have to agree.

More Tony

This morning, on the commute to work, I was listening to Tony Kornheiser, my favorite morning announcer. He wanted to talk about several things. He talked about why his daughter didn't watch the news, that the news is meant to scare the audience or at least make them feel uneasy. This happens a lot. Ever since news was told they needed to make money, news producers needed someway to sensationalize news, and one way to do that was to make audiences scared, and yet, in a train wreck sort of way, unable to turn their heads.

In particular, there were replays of videos from yesterday's launch of the Discovery, where bits of flotsam were seen careening off the shuttle. Such scenes were played and replayed to evoke memories of Columbia, whose debris caused a crack, and perhaps, as Tony points out, caused that shuttle mission to be doomed. With no way to repair the shuttle in space, once they re-entered, the atmosphere overheated the crack, which had become unprotected from the heat, and boom, no more Columbia (and to think, if it could have been on the ground three minutes earlier, there would be no disaster).

Tony, rightly, complained that this kind of news coverage is prevalent, and partly attributes this observation to Michael Moore, who has also levelled this kind of criticism on the media.

He then says that even Sportscenter does this kind of sensationalism. He recalls an incident where some athlete, perhaps a baseball, was hit over the head. Announcers said those sensitive to such scenes should turn their heads, and then proceeded to show this hit, Tony claims, seven times, and in slow motion. If they were so sensitive to viewer needs, why did they show it so many times? Probably because people want to see things they are told not to see. It's a morbid fascination to see harm, even when we want all to be well.

How many people were expecting to see the shuttle blow up? I mean, seriously. Weren't you? It's a horrible thought, and yet, it drew more attention to this launch than any other ordinary launch.

While Tony is discussing this replay of the hit, Andy (or maybe it's Gary...I always think it's Andy) pipes in and says "If you play it backwards, you see Joe Theismann's leg break". This is the kind of humor that shows the intelligence of sports commentators, at least, for the quick observation, and the humor.

To explain this, you have to understand that in the 70s, who seemed to cavort in lyrics involving Satanism and the like (heavy metal was essentially this, until the 80s, when these groups used their libido and sang about girls, girls, girls, instead of owing allegiance to some otherwordly demon, as an expression of teen angst) with groups like Led Zeppelin, parents believed there were obscene lyrics, which could be heard if you played the records (yes, vinyl!) backwards. Over time, people joked that all sorts of mischief could be heard playing albums backwards.

The other half of the joke only makes sense to Redskins fans, or devotees of NFL history. Theisman was the quarterback of the Redskins in its heyday. His last name is really pronounced THEESE-MUN, sort of like "cheese", not "THIGHS-MUN". The good folks at Notre Dame changed the pronunciation of his name to make it rhyme with Heisman, as in the Heisman Trophy, awarded to the best quarterback (er, player) in the country.

His career was ended when linebacker Lawrence Taylor (known as LT) hit Theisman in such a way that his leg bent unnaturally and broke. This was apparently shown on Monday Night Football, and repeated many times for fans at home to watch. Theisman's
career was effectively ended.

Then, Tony goes on to talk about how Nike wanted to pay him large sums of money to repeat his soccer-hating quotes which he's written prodigiously on over his 25 years at the Washington Post. Apparently, they'd make an ad where his voice goes over great images of soccer plays. He's made to look silly about those comments.

To his credit, Tony understands that's what the ad is for, but he claims that as a loyal member of the Washington Post, he can't accept money for ads like that. To which his cohosts discuss just when was the last time Tony wrote for the Post. Tony used to write, say, once a week, to once in two weeks. Then, with PTI, the sports show he cohosts with Michael Wilbon, and his radio show, which I was listening to, his writing has dwindled to nearly nothing.

And with his two week vacation just concluded, he hasn't written for over a month. Andy says "If Tony writes an article, and it doesn't get published, does anyone read it?". Again, it's the kind of comment that's just heady enough to qualify as genius in the sports commentary world.

This comment is a riff on "If a tree falls in the forest, and no one hears it, does it make a sound?", which itself is about observability. Heisenberg postulated the uncertainty principle which states that you can not measure momentum and position with infinite precision. The conseqeunce of that is any observation you make perturbs what's being observed.

If you want to find an atom's location precisely, you end up making it move. It has nothing to do with the lack of precision of modern day equipment, and all to do with the inherent nature of the world. Imagine the most precise measuring equipment you have, and it would still cause a perturbation, albeit a tiny one. This is supposed to explain why electrons don't fall into the nucleus.

There's also the associated Schrodinger's Cat problem where a cat is placed inside the box, and based on the decay of some radioactive atoms, poisonous gas is released. Given the probabilistic nature of this decay, without observing it, the cat is both dead and not dead, and only upon observation do we really know.

Strange stuff, quantum physics.

And that too, is why Kornheiser's show is so amazing, when the jokes lend itself to blogging material.

Naughty and Nice

There's an odd life lesson that many of us learn when we grow up, and it's not the kind of message that we expect. Nice doesn't pay off. Hmm, so now I have to explain what I mean. You've surely heard of the phrase, Nice guys finish last. Why's that? The saying sounds cynical, suggesting that nice guys let others win, that they won't play dirty enough when it matters.

For some reason, many of us are turned off by nice. Say, someone is nice to you. They do things for you, buy things for you, whatever you want, they're there for you. From your vantage point, that's an odd feeling. What do you do to deserve this niceness? And more importantly, what do you owe back? And since you don't want to have to owe anything back, you might start to be aloof or even downright mean to the person who's being nice to you.

There's this notion called the "asshole theory" which suggests that being an asshole attracts more interest than being nice. I'm not sure this is completely true. Unless you have money, fame, power, or something positive to offer a person, being an asshole eventually leaves you with no friends.

I remember reading a book by Guy Kawasaki, who worked for Apple, and in particular, Steve Jobs, in the early days. He was a successful programmer. But the book he wrote was pathetic. Sure, he looked up to Jobs, even revered him, but the guy played him like a violin. He would alternately praise him and put him down. Steve knew that to make certain people productive, you play on their desire to be loved, and their fear of being hated. It's how you can train a dog. Give them a snack when they do well. Give them a kick or a shock when they do badly. It's amazing, and amazingly sad how this works.

But being nice comes at many different levels. The kind of nice I'm talking about here is doing favors for someone and being helpful. This is the kind of niceness that people can indeed like. After all, if you can get beyond the fact that the person may be nice because they want you to like them, you are at least benefitting from the favors they offer.

The space of nice is, however, rather broad. A friend says he's nice to everyone. But by that, he simply means that he's not mean. He doesn't say bad things of others (at least, not that I'm aware). He doesn't raise his voice, or lose his temper. He's genuinely pleasant.

However, he's also incredibly distant. He could have, for example, when I was visiting recently, say, stay over, I can host you for a few days, as did two others I did end up staying with, but he didn't. He's nice in the way that someone who doesn't like you might be nice given that they had no choice but to be nice. And that itself ought to tell me that I should stay away. But I don't because I find people like him fascinating. And as long as he chooses to be "nice", which is barely appropriate of the definition in my book, I'll continue to drop by and visit.

Niceness, therefore, doesn't necessarily equate with honesty, nor does it equate with doing favors (ie, being polite). I have another friend who's far ruder, who has a short temper, who likes ordering people around, who tends to get his way by yelling, and yet, at times, he's pretty honest, let's you know what's on his mind, and is willing to do favors from time to time. I can't say which is better, as I think I could do without the yelling, but I'm used to it, as are his friends.

This gets to the point that an asshole can be nice from time to time, and so people crave that part, as they learn to either deal with the less pleasant aspects, or to do things to prevent triggering those responses.

Women, for some reason, have a greater deal of societal pressure to be nice. Sure, there are women that get upset, but they get slapped with a certain five letter word. They have to be supportive and helpful, characteristics of a good wife. They're supposed to be their spouse's better half, so their spouse can fly off the handle, while they stay calm and try to restore order. I'm sure some women resent having to be this nice, when they want to rail just like their male counterparts.

The funny thing is that even if you could convince someone that's nice (but not aloof) that the asshole theory works, they find it incredibly difficult to change. They believe so much in being good to others, that the thought of being mean just to get attention is abhorrent. It just feels wrong, like selling your soul. In the end, they say it's not them, and if they can't find someone who'll like them, well that's the way it's going to be. They won't be who they aren't.

Similarly, those who are assholes are not likely to change, because their behavior is so ingrained. They learn to say what's on their mind, and to muzzle themselves is also very uncomfortable. It makes them less certain of who they are, and gives them a sense of emasculation (this can apply to women too, despite the name).

Does that mean we're destined not to change? I think not. If all of us would take acting lessons, where we pretend to be others, and if we didn't find acting a dishonest profession (which I think most of us don't), then we might be able to pretend we're someone else, and if we pretended long enough, we could get ourselves to be who we wanted to be.

Ricky Business

The story of Ricky Williams is a peculiar one. Ricky was the star running back for the University of Texas, where he broke the rushing record held by Tony Dorsett. He'd hold the new record for only a year until Ron Dayne of Wisconsin would break it the following year.

Mike Ditka was so enamored of Williams that he gave up all his draft picks just to get him. Ditka didn't coach the New Orleans Saints much after that.

Williams had some social anxiety disorder, and used to wear a football helmet to interviews. It took a while before he managed to cope with that. Then, he joined the Miami Dolphins. Sometime, last season, he quit football. He said he needed to get away from it all. Part of it stemmed from the recent drug tests he had taken--and failed. This was his third test, and he was about to be suspended.

In an interview with 60 Minutes, he came across as a total flake. Intelligent, to be sure, but a flake. He claimed he had no good reason to leave the team except he wasn't happy, and he wanted to get answers. However, part of the issue may have been his marijuana use. Williams has also fathered three children with three different women.

A lot of athletes, especially football players, get pegged as dumb. Football is a sophisticated enough sport that you can't be too much of an idiot to play. Even so, you spend a lot of time thinking only about football, so in an odd way, it's refreshing to see Williams try to grapple with other issues in his life, even as he hasn't quite fully grasped what that is. It sounds as if Williams hasn't always taken the wisest course of action.

Recently, he announced that he wants to return to football. Part of the issue is financial. Due to his three kids, he needs some income to make payments, and he does one thing fairly well, and that's play football. Whether the team can really accept him back is another story. This is the kind of fodder that keeps sports commentators plenty busy. They talk about whether Ricky's teammates will reject him, whether any team will want him.

This kind of commentary reflects the "team-first" attitude that teams need in order to succeed, and yet, if you don't care that much about sports, it sounds totally inane. I understand that they try to have this notion for business too, but it can sound just as inane there. Ultimately, Ricky does what he thinks is best for him, though in this case, it's hard to say what's best for him. And even has he abandoned his teammates, they are certainly accountable for playing well despite him. To somehow believe Ricky Williams is the savior of the Dolphins seems too hard to believe. They could have done just as badly with him as without.

I can't say I know Ricky Williams that well. I've only heard him in this one interview, and he came across as intelligent if offbeat. Maybe teams don't want someone this colorful, but he's certainly someone different from the usual kind of player in the NFL. He's no Terrell Owens. He's not exactly a prima donna. He's simply Ricky, and if there's no easy way to peg who or what he is, that makes him all the more fascinating.

Fish and Ships, Part 2

Last time, which was this morning, I told the intrepid fans of this blog about my adventures at the Baltimore Aquarium. Only problem was that I never got around to talking about being at the aquarium. Instead, it was a rationalization of why I never drove anywhere, and therefore don't know where anything is in Maryland.

This time, I'll talk about the trip. Eight of us were going to go the Aquarium. People have told me for a while that Baltimore's Aquarium was one of the best in the nation, and yet, in all the years I've been at Maryland, I've never gone. Six of eight were grad students. One was Dave's high school buddy who's now a programmer, and the last was me.

We parked at some garage, and headed to the aquarium. The whole area seems oddly decorate, almost a combination of turn of the century buildings made modern by Disney or some amusement park. Bright neon signs abound. Brick buildings that go up a hundred feet or so. Yet, these were modern shops like Barnes and Noble or the ESPN Sportzone.

The Aquarium is split into two sections. One part, which is the smaller, is the dolphin section. Apparently, they have regular shows, but ever since one of the dolphins gave birth, the shows have been put on hold. We went through that section rather quickly before heading into the main section.

Now, I was running low on memory on my SD card, and had yet to move the photos to my computer, so I went earlier that day to buy a cheap 128 M card, which would provide me about 100 photos. As I put that in, I put my other card into a small pocket of my small camera bag. I was mildly concerned the small pocket, which did not have a cover nor a zipper would not hold the chip. On the other hand, I didn't expect to flip the camera pack over, so I thought it was reasonably secure.

I was split between being paranoid, and yet not being paranoid enough. Every once in a while, I'd check to see if the SD card was there. The first time, on the dolphin end, it was.

The larger part of the aquarium is several stories tall, and you move up using a tilted escalator, which doesn't use steps (think of it like a tilted plank, but using
an elevator mechanism---something like what they use to move luggage at an airport).

Somewhere on the third or forth floor I noticed my SD card was missing and began to panic. More than half the photos were not downloaded (well, maybe fewer than half). So, I took the elevator down to the first floor, and began to look around. The problem was lighting. The floors are not well-lit, so it was hard to see a card that's barely larger than your thumbnail.

Oddly enough, the escalator thingies were not working, and I was soon to find out why. I ran into two workers who told me various floors were already shut down. In fact, to make it easier to close the Aquarium, they close the lower floors and slowly close the upper ones. Because there are no down escalators (only down elevators), they can make it more challenging to go down.

They told me the floors had already been swept and I'd have to go to the lost and found, and in the meanwhile, I should head back up if I wanted to see the rest of the Aquarium before it closed.

Great, just great.

So, up I went to rejoin the group, thinking I should have been more paranoid and put the card somewhere safer. Then, I saw the two people, a tall guy and a blond girl, a few minutes later. They came over to tell me that, not twenty feet later, they spotted it on the ground. She had seem something shiny, and picked it up.

I looked at the card, and it looked right, so I was happy to get it back. Really, the odds of that happening had to be close to nil, and yet there it was. I then put the card into my wallet, where it would stay secure the rest of the evening.

We had to rush to see the rest of the Aquarium. I must say it does look fairly nice, although one really has to like aquatic life to enjoy it. It's probably more fun than going to a museum, but is about on the same par.

We were shoved to some very humid section of the Aquarium which resembled a rain forest, then from there, saw large tanks which manta rays and once we got lower down, plenty of sharks. It's amazing how photogenic the fish are. They stay in schools, they move around. They even had a few birds that flew and swam. Generally, you think of a zoo where not much happens, unless you get lucky, and yet fish and related sea animals have to move around all the time.

Once we left there, we went to one of Dave's favorite restaurants: Nacho Mamas. We had one big restriction. Grecia is vegetarian, and there are plenty of places that just have seafood or seafood and meat. Nacho Mamas, I was surprised to discover, is absolutely tiny. It can seat maybe 40-50 people tops, and has a bar that can seat maybe 10 people. The place was packed.

We had to wait half an hour to get seated, so most of the people were outside. Dave and I sat down at the bar. Dave recommended a magarita for me, while he had a "Natty Bo" which is short for National Bohemian. It's not quite a local brew, being made in Pennsylvania, but close enough. After my magarita, I had a Natty Bo, too, and it tasted much like a standard American beer, ie., moderately bland. Already, after these two drinks I was getting pretty toasted, as I had had nothing to eat.

When we finally got seated, I ordered yet another mixed drink, this time a Tequila Sunrise. I think I'm not ordering this anymore. A tequila sunrise is something like tequila, orange juice, and grenadine. Well, grenadine tastes like life savers, and I don't think I care for that. I suspect it's called a sunrise because the drink has two distinct layers, one orange (due to the juice) and one red (the life savers flavored grenadine).

Then, I made the mistake I always make. I ordered too much. I love getting soup, so I had some chicken soup. It was Mexican style or some such. But after that, I was stuffed, and I still had seafood pasta coming. I could barely eat that, so I just picked at the seafood parts, and ignored the pasta.

In the meanwhile, I could barely stay awake, and was dozing away. No one else bothered to have any alcohol, so they stayed coherent. But then, no one was is as much an alcoholic wimp as me.

Finally, we headed back. We came in two cars. Dave knows Baltimore pretty well, and certainly, how to get to and from this restaurant. The other car was lead by Nick the Greek, who, yes, is really Greek from Greece. Despite having a native Marylander in Jay, and despite getting directions from Dave, they got lost, though not terribly so.

Meanwhile, we were speeding back. There was a bunch of heat lightning going on, though no sound of thunder. Mostly, I didn't notice because I wanted to sleep. Still, I was yapping incoherent stuff until we got back. Since I was still suffering from alcohol, I left my car at school. Dave drove me back.

As we got back, we just beat the thunderstorm that hit, which brought with it more lightning, and a lot more rain.

At that point, we proceeded to just talk for another hour or so. This wasn't exactly smart because Dami, our friend, wanted a ride to the airport, and we needed to be up by 6 to make that happen, and it was already 1:30 AM when we got back, and it was edging to 3 AM as we were talking. But I find late night is a pretty good time to talk, especially if one is feeling confessional.

I won't go into much details about the conversation, not that it was terribly original or novel anyway. We reached no epiphany, no grand insights. Just talked.

There are worse ways to spend a night.

Fish and Ships

On Friday, which was July 23, 2005, I went to the Baltimore Aquarium. Kudos to my roommate Dave for setting this up, as eight people went to the Aquarium. I'm not originally from Maryland, though I've lived here longer than a native Maryland preteen would have lived here.

You would have thought, by now, that I would have visited the Aquarium by now, given that it's one of Baltimore's biggest attractions. Of all the aquariums in the country, I'm told it ranks (if such a thing could be ranked) in the top five.

However, for the first ten years of living in Baltimore, several things stopped me from travelling almost anywhere. First, I can't deal with highway traffic. It's not being on the highway that bothers me, it's merging. You have maybe ten seconds to merge onto a high-speed freeway.

Would it not make sense to give those of us who'd rather take a more leisurely approach a mile or so to make this merge? Clearly the economists among road designers and those who don't think about meek drivers believe ten seconds is more than enough time to decide the traffic patterns and move right on in.

Worse still, I was horrible at directions. Unlike other teens, who reveled in the idea of driving once they turned 15, I did not, and furthermore, my parents weren't keen on having me on the road as a mid-teen. They wanted to wait until I was closer to say, oh, 90. Seriously though, I didn't drive that much until I went to college, and even then, it was the same trip to the nearby lab on some off-roads. It wasn't exactly city traffic.

And it's not like I paid much attention when I was a passenger. Even now, you can take me ten times to the same place, and I'd have no idea how to get there. I have to drive there myself in order to figure it out.

Finally, I don't use maps, even though I own plenty. It's not that I can't use a map, it's that I don't. It's just like some people's messy rooms. It's not that they can't clean it up, it's that they don't.

Perhaps I could learn to wander around and learn streets that way. Yes, but I live in the United States, and worse still, I live near Washington DC and Baltimore, which have to be like 1 and 2 in the murder capitals of the world. I've seen Bonfire of the Vanities (they should set a bonfire to that vanity, but I digress). I know what happens when you take the wrong turn. I'd like to avoid that, thank you.

There's another blog entry that I could add which is the perception non-city folks have about the relative violence in the city, which is that they're petrified. Dark skin pigmentation equates to you're about to be mugged. Thank the local news outlets for portraying that image. It's not these places are perfectly safe, but they aren't lawless either.

Several things bailed me out of a life of solitary confinement. First, I decided that I would have to get on the Beltway, because it was ridiculous that I couldn't. In fact, my first adventure was to visit Tyson's Corner. Tyson's Corner is at least a good half hour from where I live, but it is nearly the easiest place I know to get to, that is that far away.

I get on the Beltway, head into Virginia, exit off the Tyson's Corner exit, just after Dulles, move three lanes across, make a left, another left, a right, and I'm in a parking garage at Tyson's. It's that easy.

My first trip alone to Tyson's was probably 1996. Since then I've ventured other locations.

The second godsend is online map services like Yahoo Maps (which is basically Mapquest, since they all give you about the same set of directions). Now I don't require myself to use a map to figure out how to get where I need to get. It does it for me.

Oh, it's not without its flaws. For example, while I can follow these directions, I have no idea where the major roads are relative to each other. I know 495. I know 270. I know 95. I sorta know 295. That's it. There are bunches of other nearly major roads that I have no idea about. The average driver figures them out within two months of living in a new location. I've been here fifteen years.

That means if I ever get lost, I'm screwed. Well, that's not entirely true because I can always wander around until I see a major road, and worse gets to worse, I can always ask for directions. If I had a sense of more major roads, or if I wandered more, I'd know how to get out of more problems. At least, in certain parts of Maryland, I can wander til I see something familiar (and that can be a while), and get to where I need to get to.

In fact, the next thing I really need technology to bail me out on is to provide me a smart GPS. The smart GPS will not only tell me where I need to go, and make corrections when I make wrong turns, but it will inform me of major roads. Like "this is 270 you dolt...remember this road, because everyone uses it".

But do you know what I really want? I want a video game that is a driving game, and allows me to drive throughout a real city using real landmarks, real traffic and so on. No more getting lost in new cities. This can clearly be done. I hearby copyright this idea.

Goodness, this is getting so long that I have yet to describe the trip to the Aquarium, a trip you might think I actually drove, but in reality, I did not. I was a passenger the whole time, I got hammered at a tiny dive somewhere near the Inner Harbor I'd imagine, and spent most of the time trying to doze away.

But I'll leave that for the next installment.

Only the Armstrong Survive

Today, July 24, 2005, Lance Armstrong won his seventh Tour de France in a row, perhaps a record that may never be broken. Up until now, the most anyone had ever won was five Tours, and several people had done that. Lance was the first to win six, then seven Tours. One can easily believe he could win an eighth, were he so inclined, but he has already publicly stated that he plans to retire after this.

Armstrong's achievements are not just considered amazing because of seven in a row, but further, that he is an American in a predominantly European sport. His own team only has one other American. Greg LeMond, who won the Tour three times (1986, 1989, 1990), is the only other American to have ever won the tour. Before Armstrong, interest in biking was not very high. In fact, interest in nearly any sport that is not mostly played in the United States has always been low.

However, Armstrong's other huge achievement, if you can really call it that, is that he is a cancer survivor. In 1996, Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer which had spread to his abdomen, lungs, and brain. With treatment, he was able to survive, and excel. Due to his bout with cancer, he lost twenty pounds, which made him more fit to bike than before he had cancer.

Armstrong is often held as a role model for cancer survivors, and while I find that fine, there is one thing that bothers me. We all want to believe that killer diseases can be beaten by simply being strong. Yet, Armstrong would probably be the first to tell you that there's not much correlation with being strong, in the sense we think of strong, and beating a disease. It's as much roll of the dice as anything.

Strong, caring individuals have succumbed to the disease. Rude, difficult people have survived the disease. In fact, word is that Lance Armstrong is not that pleasant of a person. In his book, he talks about how his wife was devoted to him through his illness, yet, he didn't stick with her when he got better. I'm not sure he necessarily owes his wife that, nor does he owe the public being Mr. Nice Guy, but don't equate being successful with being someone respectable.

Having said that, I don't think Armstrong is necessarily really bad either. As a ultracompetitve athlete, striving to be the best, Lance Armstrong probably has character traits that many of us can't relate to. Even if there are athletes that are successful and are great to get along with, we can't always expect this.

In any case, I can't stand ads like Nike's that talk about how strong Lance is in overcoming cancer. Winning the Tour seven times is remarkable. Having come back from cancer is remarkable. But don't make it sound like his "fight" was what got him through the disease. His fight, his training, and preparation got him his seven wins. And that is one thing you can cheer, if you like.

Best of Utes, Part 2

One good reason to have a film that lasts six hours is to tell a story that takes a long time. Best of Youth spans forty years. This wasn't unexpected since the first three hours, which I saw yesterday, spans twenty years.

Admittedly, the story treats Italy as if there's only about twenty people, since they keep bumping into each other, time and again. At times, the story is nearly allegorical. The film starts off with Matteo, who's an idealist, who thinks being a successful doctor will solve problems. When he sees that shock treatment exists, he tries to take matters in his own hands, and frees Giorgia, who has been treated using shock treatment. Does she represent the state of Italy, where people hid their problems.

Matteo decides to join the army, then become a cop, figuring this might solve problems, and yet, realizes he may have to kill his brother's wife, who's abandoned him to join Italian terrorists. For Americans who think terrorism is a novel concept, only recently occuring in 2001, Europeans have had to deal with terrorism, often of the home grown variety, for twenty years. And those acts weren't isolated to a single day, but occurred over many years, with assasinations aplenty.

Adriana, the eldest sister, is a judge. Francesca marries Carlo, a friend of Matteo and Nicola, the two brothers, who is a high ranking official in Italy, Their mother is a teacher. The father looking to find some way to get rich quick, but always optimistic about the future. The various figures represent different ways of good people trying to make Italy a better place to live.

In the early parts of the film, Nicola is taking an oral exam. The old professor tells him that he should leave the country, head to England or Norway or the United States. Italy, he said, is rotting, and is going to collapse, and won't become any better until the dinosaurs are removed, him being one of those dinosaurs. Carlo is told that he should leave Italy, lest he become a victim of terrorism. He stays because he believes good people need to stay, and help Italy.

Giorgia, in some ways, represents Italy itself, starting off in an asylum, but finally able to live on her own, through the goodness of Matteo, who ends up, despite his idealism, thinking he has failed. And yet, the film also treats these characters as people too.

Perhaps the film ends to happily or too optimistically. Sara, the daughter of Nicola and Giulia, has grown up resentful. Giulia realizes she's not a very good mother, and leaves late in the first film to do what she's passionate about, which is to make Italy better, admittedly, through terrorism. She looks very much like Jennifer Garner. And yet, once Sara is ready to find Giulia, shortly after she's announced her engagment to her boyfriend, she's ready to forgive.

Mirella, who Matteo has an affair with, has gone to Rome to be a librarian at a beautiful library. When Matteo commits suicide, Mirella decides that she will do what he advised, which is to photograph people, and she does this as a photojounalist. Yet Matteo has treated her like crap, lying to her, then being unable to be tender. He sees prostitutes, and doesn't even know he's fathered a child. Yet, she's happy to see Nicola (who Matteo pretended to be) and invites their mother to live with her in Sicily.

As with the first part, the second part is funny, but not in the conventional funny, but in its observations. It's amusing to see Italians doing their best Marlon Brando. After all, this is the birthplace of the mafia. Throughout the years, you see the steadiness of friends. Carlo and Vitale (I think that's his name) are there, with Carlo being the successful bureaucrat, and Vitale having been reduced to manual labor before Carlo has him build his dream house, and helps him to his feet.

The film ends with Matteo's child journeying through Norway much as his uncle (now father, since he marries his mother) did in the 60s. He manages to go where his father and uncle did not make, and this too, I think represents a hopeful look to Italy's future.

I will say that Mirella marrying Nicola seemed a bit forced. A friend commented that it seemed odd that Nicola would spend more than thirty years by himself, never marrying, though it's hinted that he's had plenty of women, but never anyone that's lasted.

Still, in the end, it's a very pleasant experience. I picked up a little Italian (very little), and saw a little of Italy's history, and got to know this family that represented all that Italians wanted to be, to do for their country.

Best of Utes

Most films clock in somwhere between an hour and a half to two hours and a half. For some reason, nearly all films are this length. Personally, I'd like theaters to show more short films, that are, say, half an hour to an hour in length, and on the flip side, to show films that are three or more hours long. It makes more sense to make shorter films, though, if for no other reason than it costs less to make a short film than a long, and you can see many more films.

Best of Youth is an Italian film about two brothers, Matteo and Nicola, and their lives, spanning from 1960 to presumably present day. Landmark E Street is showing this film in two halves. I've just seen the first one today, and should see the second one tomorrow. Each half is three hours long.

I can't say, at this point, what the title means. Is it about youth being the best time of our lives? Is it about the best youth? It is about the best instincts of youth? It doesn't seem to be any of these.

Best of Youth seems terribly European to me. If you watch European films, they don't have a particularly strong plot arc. As it moves forward, you keep asking yourself, what will they do next, and not have a good idea. The beginning of the film shows two brothers training to be doctors in Italy. The older one meets Giorgia, who is a patient at the local asylum. She's beautiful, yet is not well. She barely talks to anyone, yells when people touch her. Her father doesn't want to care for her anymore, which is why she's at the asylum. Worse still, she's undergoing shock therapy.

Matteo is supposed to walk her around, and keep her relaxed. He soon decides that he must get her out of the asylum. This eventually leads to Giorgia being caught by police when she is trying, not too successfully to get ice cream, and the two brothers leading divergent lives. The older brother joins the army, and then the police. The younger brother heads to Norway to be a lumberjack, before finally returning to Italy, where he marries and has a kid, and becomes a psychiatrist, who is interested in helping those who are literally imprisoned in asylums.

It's tough to peg Best of Youth. While the story is about two brothers and how they end up leading different lives, and how their friends and other siblings (they have two sisters) and parents interact, it's also a commentary about mental health care in Italy, and the political turmoil over 20-30 years. I'd probably have a better feel for what was going on if I knew more about the recent Italian history.

What is more notable to me, an American, is the very traditionally Italian gestures. Hand gestures, facial gestures--the Italians are noted for using gestures to accentuate whatever they say. Best of Youth is funny too, from the quirky things the characters do, to what they say, and yet it all seems quite natural, except perhaps how much they love to sing. In particular, they hum a tune they claim is Anatomie, using it to make fun of one of the brothers trying to score on a woman (the real name is something like Amada Meo).

American songs from the 1950s are so, are also used to give the film a sense of the era.

Do I like it? I'm enjoying it. I'm curious what will happen to Giorgia, and the brothers. I keep thinking they'll kill off some character (they have, but it wasn't a surprise). I wonder if it will reach modern times, say, at least up to the 1990s. Best of Youth comes across somewhat preachy when it comes to issues like mental health care, but there's so much else going on, that I don't particularly mind.

I'm modestly surprised that I can somewhat follow bits and pieces of Italian by listening, and looking at the subtitles. I have to say that I'd much rather read subtitles, even if this means I have to look at the bottom of the screen, instead of watching every image. I know some prefer dubbing to subtitles, but you really have to hear the words enunciated by native speakers to get a real feel for the original dialogue.

This is one of those films that's probably going to be hard to catch except in a place like Landmark. The AFI theater recently showed it as well, but a six hour runtime is likely to scare many people off.

Unlike, say, the two halves of Kill Bill, which could easily be seen as a first and second part, the two halves of Best of Youth is merely due to where they folks who distributed it decided the cut should be. It appears quite intentional that it was originally 6 hours. I don't know if they've done much to warrant a 6 hour runtime, though it gives time to learn about the characters, and what they go through.

Don't Know Much About Technology

By it's very nature, technology is always changing, and keeping up with it, especially in this day and age, is a pain. Once upon a time, you'd invent something like a typewriter. Years would pass, but the basic design remained pretty much the same. If keyboards were designed by software engineers, you'd have to learn to type every year. Keys would be shuffled around. Functionality you thought you wouldn't need would appear. You'd go back to quill and ink for your correspondence.

If you're reading this, you probably have heard of podcasting, RSS, and phishing. Oddly enough, I know about phishing the best. Phishing occurs when some nefarious spammer pretends to be your, say, bank, and ask you to update sensitive information. They are really "phishing" (a funny spelling of "fishing") for your information, and seeing which customers "bite". This happened to me once, and halfway to typing some sensitive information, I stopped, realizing this couldn't be real.

Had I paid more attention to these scams, I might not have fallen for them at all. The pace of technology astounds.

Podcasting is a relatively recent phenomenon. It combines two words "pod", from the Apple IPod, and "broadcasting". It's said to be the TiVo of audio broadcasting. TiVo is a company that sells DVRs (digital video recorders). You tell it what shows you want it to record (like Friends) and it uses its TV guide data to determine when the shows are on, and records it for you.

Later on, you can watch these shows at your own convenience. Being able to watch programs later than its original broadcast time is called time-shifting. Anyone who's had a VCR (which was available in the late 70s) has had the ability to time-shift. It's only recently that it's been given a name---probably by marketers.

With podcasting, you can use fairly simple equipment, plus a computer, and record and host broadcasts. Listeners download the broadcast on their Ipods (or similar portable MP3 device) and listen to it at their own convenience.

As much as I read about RSS, which stands for Really Simple Syndication, I still don't have a good grasp of how it works. Basically, you have some RSS client. Some websites provide you this service. You register for an account, tell it where the RSS feeds (the place that generates RSS info comes from---sort of like a URL) comes from, and then, when you log into your RSS client account, it gives you links to recent articles from the website.

This is good for keeping up with news, updated blog entries, really, anything that changes every few days, where you want to know about the latest updates. So, I know what RSS is used for, but I'm curious how it all works. It's based on some simple XML, but there's more to it than that. In particular, how does it know to fetch, say, ten weeks worth of stuff when you've been vacationing in Fiji for ten weeks. I'm sure it's simple. Just don't know how it works.

These three terms: RSS, podcasting, and phishing are basically unknown to 75% of the American public. At least, so says the following study. This shows that there is a sizeable portion of the public that just doesn't like keeping up with technology.

This is something to think about when you market technology to such people.

Scoring Potter

It's dangerous to blog when you've had a little alcohol. It's bad enough that blogging is the kind of writing that requires the least amount of editing, but at least when one is clear of mind, it's possible to string a few sentences together that make a modicum of sense.

Last night, I wanted to blog about this idea I had. As people get into their 20s, they want to be in a relationship. But often, to be in a relationship, you need to spend a great deal of time with the person you are trying to woo (or the person who is trying to woo you).

Being male, and living with other males, and knowing mostly males, I get the perspective of men chasing women. That's the way society---at least American society---works. For some reason, women can't be nearly as aggressive as men (at least, by and large), and spend their time deciding who, if any, among their suitors, can spend time with them. I'm sure, once the relationship is cemented, terms are somewhat more equal.

In the meanwhile, which is the point of the story, you don't hang out with your buds as you once did. I could have filled out a missing persons report on my housemate when he was dating his previous girlfriend. He was at her place like all the time. No, that's not quite right. Being a desperate grad student trying to get a degree, and realizing his funding might dry up, which would force him to leave his life of meager poverty for the jet-set (does anyone use this phrase anymore? I thought not) life of a software developer, where he could finally afford a few amenities of life, like, oh, a 35 inch plasma TV, he redoubled his effort, and would spend mad hours in his cubicle doing whatever he does.

And then, due to the night owl habits of his girlfriend, he could head out at 2 am, and still enjoy a pleasant evening before repeating the same cycle again. Point is, either he was hacking code, or well, you get the idea. He simply wasn't around. A wise person would have rented his room and pocketed the change, but we're just as lazy, and put a life size cut out that made wisecracks and was occasionally flatulent.

And I could have talked about all that, and discussed why this form of dumping friends for a signficant other is possibly uniquely American, or how other cultures with different rules create other stresses in people's lives, and how to quantify or qualify the results of such rules.

Instead, I want to talk about Harry Potter.

A woman on the dole (ie, getting welfare) in Britain writes a book, and through the magic of good marketing and an audience who realized they craved fantasy books, came the series of books on a lad named Harry Potter. Last weekend, the latest Harry Potter book hit the shelves. This was Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I'd like to say I've sat and read all its predecessors, but the best I can do is say that I saw the first movie on HBO and its many clones, including HBO en espagnol, many, many times. I saw one other film, the one directed by Alphonse Cuaron, of Y tu Mama Tambien, and excellent film, which I highly recommend.

Somehow, somewhere, there's a man named Orson Scott Card who's wondering why his Ender isn't the latest Harry Potter. He wrote several books about a boy wonder as well. It was not only a coup for himself, but Mormonism (is that a word?). I mean, how many Mormon authors do you know?

Grown adults went to their favorite bookstore, or mail-ordered it, so they could become part of a collective who would find out what happened to our old chap, Harry? Who are these people? How well does Harry cross cultural and generational lines? I'm sure there are some among the new elite who'd poo-poo Harry Potter, and find something much less, um American Idol.

Meanwhile the woman formely on the dole (no, no, not Lizzy) must be the most popular and wealthiest author that side of the Atlantic.

I want to be J. K. Rowling.