Thoughts from the Black Vice President

I Hear Digging But I Don't Hear Chopping

2010-03-15T21:59:00.006-04:00

Two Sundays ago I was doing my usual Sunday morning ritual- go down to the Crescent Street Deli to buy some coffee (sugar and a little half and half), a two egg and cheese sandwich on a roll (salt and pepper, no ketchup), bring it all back upstairs, and watch the latest edition of Bill Moyers. On the show he had two lawyers, David Boies and Ted Olson. They'd previously been adversaries, most famously in Bush v. Gore, but were now teaming up to litigate the lawsuit against California's passing of Proposition 8. Both men are supremely talented and it's a real pleasure to see that real resources are going to be put into litigating the case. What's also very refreshing is seeing a conservative like Ted Olson make the conservative case for gay marriage. Olson, who has been revered in the conservative community for his win in Bush v. Gore, has been somewhat ostracized in man conservative circles because of his stance on this issue and I have nothing but respect for people who are willing to stand up and do the right thing at personal cost for themselves (although admittedly the personal cost is not that great for him.

There was one thing, though, that struck me as I was watching the program, something that, up until now, I hadn't given much consideration. During one segment, David Boies started talking about some of the advertisements that the Yes on Prop 8 groups ran. Fearmongering ads that played on stereotypes of gay people seducing young children, or how gay marriage would destroy the institution of marriage for heterosexuals. One of the videos showed a pastor talking about how gay marriage would lead to polygamy and other types of deviant behavior. After the videos stopped playing, both Boies and Olson were especially adamant in destroying any notion that gay marriage would lead to polygamy. And they're right of course; allowing gay people to marry will not lead to polygamy. Marriage as something between more than two people is something that will be even harder for our society to sanction, let alone come to grips with.

But the more I think about it, the more I have to come to terms with the fact that there's nothing inherently wrong with polygamy. This isn't like the horrendous bestiality comparisons (most notably by Rick Santorum) or the pedophilic ones that are implied by all of those school commercials. Both of those are despicable for many reasons- but the comparisons don't even make any sense because they do not involve parties that are able to consent. Is there actually a problem with, let's say, three consenting adults that love each other being able to profess that love in way that they see fit? It seems to me that, if you make the argument that bans on marriage between two consenting adults are unconstitutional, an argument that I buy, then it follows that banning a person from marrying because it involves more than one person is just as unconstitutional. Why should marriage be between only two people; if all of the adults are consenting there shouldn't be a problem. But of course it is, probably because it just seems primitive and animalistic to some people- polygamy just conjures up images of Ottoman harems and brainwashed Mormons and primitive Tanzanian tribes. And as long as they do there will never be a substantive debate on the issue.

Postscript:
From a practical standpoint, I guess it would be legally more complicated for things like next of kin or deciding whether to take someone off life support if we had a society where people could marry more than one person. But, I mean, we have second liens on mortgages and lines of succession for President, I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard to have an order of importance for your various wives/husbands if you chose to marry more than one.

Thoughts on the Health Care Summit

2010-02-25T23:04:00.004-05:00

First I should probably talk about my overall thoughts on the health insurance debate, since I think it'll help to clarify my reaction to the entire forum. Overall, I am not too fond of either bill, mostly because I think that they won't do much to lower healthcare costs going forward. I think certain parts of the bill(s) are good, most notably the stuff on pre-existing conditions. My biggest gripe though is with the individual mandates without a public option. I'm always a bit queasy about mandates of any kind, but it would be far more palatable (and much easier to philosophically defend) if the mandate came with an option to buy publicly rather than being forced to buy from a private insurance company.
Personally, I would like to see a system with universal catastrophic coverage, vouchers for preventative care, and an increase in community health clinics that serve poor and working class people.
I also think that we need to be honest about what accounts for the majority of healthcare costs- end of life treatment and chronic conditions. Those are the two real problems, and they're the ones that are the hardest to do anything about. I would just as soon put chronic conditions in with the catastrophic coverage, with either a deductible or yearly cap, although admittedly each would have their own problems.

Overall, I don't think the health summit got much accomplished as each side stuck to their guns pretty hard. Talking to my brother about this earlier today he had a very good point- our system makes it so that no side can ever admit that they're wrong, not even for a moment. And that makes people dig in their heels, even in untenable positions, The calcification of our political process is probably the biggest impediment to solving any problems in our country and there's really no way to fix it.

President Obama- Came off as the smartest guy in the room as he usually does. He's really the ace for the Democratic party and is pretty much the only person in leadership that is able to easily and effectively explain the parties position. At times he got a bit agitated, sometimes even snapping at members of his own party (Biden, Waxman, and Rockefeller). Even with his agitation though, I do think he enjoys these kind of debates. In a way, descriptions of Thomas Jefferson come to mind. Jefferson was someone who enjoyed debate and enjoyed mashing out legislation in committee moreso than being President. Obama is probably a much better orator than Jefferson was (at least from contemporary accounts) but I often times think his natural role is Senator rather than President. Or if we had a parliamentary system he'd make a great prime minister. Back on topic though- he's generally a great salesman for his ideas even though I don't agree with all of them and I echo both the Atlantic and Salon that he should do more talking while the rest of the party leadership just shuts the hell up.

Harry Reid (D-Nevada) and Nancy Pelosi (D-California)- Doing them together since I only watched a bit of their opening and only Pelosi's closing. The biggest problem with both of them, and the Democratic leadership (besides Obama and Durbin) in general is that they don't actually talk much about their bills and instead just spout platitudes about expanding coverage and bending cost curves. Okay, that's fine, but why should we use this bill to do it? They have a hard time being able to defend their respective bills because it's convoluted. That being said, it's very easy to sell healthcare reform broadly and very hard to sell specific legislation of this magnitude and those two just don't have it in them

Lamar Alexander(R-Tennessee)- A bit frustrating but mostly harmless as the Republican standard bearer. Couldn't get much of the talking points and was outsmarted by Obama during their back and forth.

John Boehner-(R-Ohio) The tan-man was terrible, easily the worst speaker of the day. Had the gall to say that medical malpractice was the key driver of healthcare costs- Boehner's never met a fact he couldn't completely misconstrue . I think it was Moynihan that said that people are entitled to their opinions but not their own facts. He was talking about you Boehner.

Charles Boustany(R-Louisiana)- Good points in the beginning, boilerplate at the end. Mostly inconsequential though.

George Miller(D-California)- Also mostly boilerplate- although I faded in and out of his speech because he was kind of boring.

Jon Kyl (R-Arizona)- Just an all around jerk, went on rambling about costs control but government takeovers and really had new clue what he was talking about. Absolutely awful.

James Clyburn(D-South Carolina)- Liked his point about community health centers, which I'm glad he brought up because for a second I thought his speech was going nowhere.

John McCain(R-Arizona)- Came across as petty and petulant like he has ever since he lost the election and Obama rightly smacked him for it. Did have a point about Obama's promise though, and I would have loved to see the entire debate on C-Span from the get go.

Secretary Kathleen Sebelius- I've had the opportunity to hear her twice now, once for a conference call at work and now here. I find her unimpressive and although I know she knows her stuff, I had a hard time focusing when she spoke. Maybe I just needed a second cup of coffee.

Eric Cantor (R-Virginia)- My brother and I both did debate in high school and while talking to him on the phone during the intermission, my brother described Cantor perfectly. He's the rich conservative kid at the debate tournament who comes dressed in a nice blue blazer, has way too many files for the competition, is cavalier and snide to anyone who is not his intellectual equal (which to him is pretty much everyone), and is really just an all-around asshole. But the kid also really knows his stuff, practices everyday, is abreast on all political issues, is engaging and speaks with a confidence that at it's best is engrossing, and is always the most formidable opponent you'll face during the tournament. Man I hated that kid but always respected the effort. Cantor is like that and he played up to the role- not as intellectually rigorous nor as formidable as Paul Ryan, but amongst the best of the GOP. Which is pretty sad.

Vice President Joe Biden- Didn't get much of a chance to talk, but when he did was pretty good. When Obama is at his most arrogant, it's usually with regard to Biden- it seems like he just doesn't like the man and it shows up on camera. Maybe it's too many episodes of Biden sticking his foot in his mouth; but he's far from a liability and could have been utilized more effectively in the number two slot; he is much better than Reid or Pelosi. His best attribute is his ability to breakdown arguments to their essence; particularly on the issue of pre-existing conditions, which is really one of the fundamental agreements of the healthcare debate. Because really, once you agree that pre-existing conditions should not bar people from being able to buy into health insurance and that the amount they pay should be capped at a certain percentage above the normal rate, then you're suggesting that government get into healthcare all the way. I don't think that point was stressed enough.

Louise Slaughter (D-New York)- Pro- Very passionate. Con- A little crazy

Tom Harkin (D-Iowa)- Cornboys! Another example of someone who had trouble defending the bill on the table. Essentially, he made a case for single payer coverage, but then tried to tie it to the bill on the back-end. And I have no clue where he was going with that whole insurance/segregation thing.

Jay Rockefeller (D-West Virginia)- Such a flopper, one minute he's for the public option moral imperative, next he isn't. Rambled on and on to the point where Obama had to cut him off. Just not a very inspiring figure.

Marsha Blackburn (R-Tennessee)- Shame, I thought she'd bring a bit of Bachmann to the proceedings, instead it was just your standard government takeover rhetoric.

Paul Ryan (R-Wisconsin)- The star of the GOP right now; the man's got some chops. The only one who can stand up intellectually with Obama, at times he had him absolutely stumped. Last week I read over his long-term plan on entitlements, and while I do not agree with it, at the very least he's relatively honest in saying that benefits will have to be cut if taxes aren't raised. He's much stronger on the general deficit than he is on the However, he voted for Medicare Advantage and he needs to repudiate that as strong as he repudiates the current plan. One other note; one thing that I like about the Republican party is that they are a bit quicker in allowing young people to rise in the ranks of the party. Cantor is the whip, Ryan has become one of their top policy guys. I mean the cream usually rises to the top, so a man with the political talent of Obama can run for President, but if Obama had stayed in the Senate he'd be a back bencher for years before getting an opportunity to become a leader. Now, the actual leaders for both parties in the House and Senate are pretty weak (I'd rank them Pelosi, McConnell, Hoyer, Boehner, and Reid strictly on their leadership abilities), but I just think the Democrats would be better served if they had some of their young guns in more prominent roles.

Tom Coburn (R-Oklahoma)- And right back to the crazies. Coburn is another one of those big time entitlement champions, but never

Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa)- I can never figure him out. Sometimes he seems like he's part of the small intellectually honest Republican contingent and sometimes he's as demagogic and misleading as the worst of them. And sometimes he champions causes for some unknown reason (huge opposition to physician owned hospitals, opposition to tax-exemptions). One thing I do like about him is that he's genuinely intellectually curious; I smiled when he said he relished the opportunity to learn so much about our healthcare system. His speech was mostly a wash though.

Henry Waxman (D-California)- And another wasted opportunity for giving a coherent speech on the merits of the bill. Did the majority of the Democrats come unprepared? Now, that's different from saying that the Dems have better arguments than Republicans. But it just seems like they barely attempted to play any defense. Waxman was in-line with the rest of them, never getting into the meat of why this bill is a good thing.

Dick Durbin (D-Illinois)- Maybe it's the Chicago water or just the way they play politics there, but the two most impressive Democrats today were both from Illinois. I sincerely hope that Durbin beats Schumer for majority leader when Harry Reid finally gets ousted. He's strong and consistent and is very good at crafting narratives. Plus he's really one of the only top Dems that is a natural and charismatic speaker. Either him or Biden should have been the number 2, rather than Pelosi and Reid.

I faded out a bit after that, and only caught a little bit of the rest of the speeches and the closing. Overall my verdict is one of a slight Democratic win, which I guess is how it was supposed to end up in the first place. Insofar as the Democrats were trying to shame the Republicans in their recalcitrance they failed at that. And if the Republicans thought that they could slow the Democrats or force them away from going it alone I think they also failed. Insofar as it matters, the best Democrats (Obama, Durbin, Biden) were far better than the best Republicans (Ryan, Cantor, Grassley) and the worst Republicans were godawful(Boehner, Coburn, Alexander). It should be enough to give the Democrats cover for reconciliation, now the question is do they use it?

But that's the political calculus. From a policy perspective, the bills are better than the status quo and certainly better than the Republican package of ideas, but to me they're still logically incoherent and not going to be nearly enough in the long-term. You can't fully make the moral health care coverage argument because you're forcing people to buy coverage rather than creating a mechanism to provide it for them. The fiscal argument is their primary argument, but it feels logically convoluted and a bit like a sleight of hand (cutting Medicare to fund other entitlements). But we'll see what ends up happening and whether or not this political theater actually matters.

The Beautiful Games

2010-02-18T21:23:00.005-05:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a HUGE HUGE sports fan. Baseball, basketball, football, hockey, soccer, if it's two sides competing in an athletic endeavor, I will definitely watch it and try my best to understand the nuances involved. I'll sit down and watch no matter the era, no matter the style of play- low-scoring, high-scoring, no-scoring, the thrill of the competition always excites me and keeps me coming back.

Lately though, I've been thinking about sports, and particularly team sports, from an aesthetic perspective- sports divorced from the goal of winning, sports simply as a form of entertainment. I started thinking about this while reading about the current plight of the NBA. The NBA, for those who haven't been following, is in a bit of a slump- teams are having a hard time selling tickets to games, there's news of upcoming labor strife, and there's a perception, fair or unfair, that the professional game is too selfish, too boring, guys don't try until the last five minutes, and to thuggish. It's almost hard to believe, because growing up, it looked the NBA was on a path of permanent ascension, propelled by Michael Jordan to unimaginable heights that could only get higher. His popularity and the fanaticism that his celebrity generated lifted the entire league to the point where I thought it was only a matter of time before basketball became the most popular sport in the country. The effect was only magnified in the Black community where basketball was the absolute king and people thought I was weird because my favorite sport was baseball.

That all seems like such a long time ago now; even with the popularity of Lebron James and Kobe Bryant, there's just not enough interest in the league for it to sustain itself in its current form. Basketball's challenge to baseball as the second most popular sport in the country is pretty much over. Now I don't agree with people who find the current brand of basketball to be boring- those who stopped watching after Jordan retired have missed some really good basketball, particularly in the last 3 or 4 years. But in the world of entertainment, perception is reality and it got me thinking- from an entertainment perspective, what is the optimal style of play for the the five major North American sports?

Now, simplistically, I could just say that it's the style of play that is most conducive to entertainment is the style of play that is most conducive to scoring. In general offense, particularly for casual fans, is much easier to understand and higher scoring gives the spectator a greater sense of action. Defense is a bit more nuanced. However, I'm not sure it's necessarily as simple as high scoring equals fun. To give one example, suppose an NBA team averaged 120 points per game, but scored almost all of their points by isolating their best player at the top of the key and having the other four players stand around doing nothing. Is that truly the optimal style of play that maximizes the sport from an entertainment perspective? Or would fans be willing to sacrifice more scoring for an offense that got everyone involved and was full of cuts, screens, ball movement, as well as a few isolations?

For the next few days then, I'm going to write about what I think are the optimal styles of play, from an entertainment perspective, for baseball, basketball, football, hockey, and soccer. First up is the sport I know most about and the one that I've pondered this question for the longest baseball. Til then!

Schools and Snitches

2010-01-24T11:28:00.002-05:00

Oh what am I going to do when Bill Moyers goes off the air? I cannot think of another journalist who has such a variety of guests and such creativity in topic choices. Hopefully, PBS has started to groom a replacement for him, or at least start to produce an analagous program that can capture the attention and imagination the way Moyers does. There isn't a better journalist to watch on Sunday morning with a cup of coffee than him.

Moyers' guest two Friday's ago was a man named George Mortenson, a humanitarian who, for the past 20 years, has worked to build schools in rural Afghanistan and Pakistan, primarily for the education of women. It was pretty fascinating learning about the success he's had in his endeavors, even with all of the setbacks, even with (or perhaps because of) the attention deficit disorder our country has when it comes to that region of the world. My roommate and I were up late last night talking about the merits of optimism when it comes to large scale, decades long projects and about having a collective sense of what is possible given the constraints people we describe as humanitarians operate under. Watching people like George Mortenson makes that sense of optimism I'm always trying to harbor a worthwhile endeavor.

I've been thinking alot lately about Afghanistan, because I was anxious to see what kind of strategy President Obama would persue in the country, to see whether or not he'd deploy troops in great numbers and whether he'd fear being painted as soft on national security, something Democrats are always scared of (Moyers piece on the deliberation of President Lyndon Johnson as being analagous to President Obama's is a must see by the way). Initially, I was very much against an increase in troop deployment, which is why President Obama's ultimate decision was very disappointing. However, after listening to Mortenson and thinking about the various alternatives, deployment of troops, if, and only if they understand that they are there for protection, and not for a true military victory, which isn't really possible anyway. Instead, our primary mechanisms for combating terrorism and making sure the country is not a safe harbor should be a two-pronged strategy I'd like to title "Operation SNS," or Operation Schools and Snitches.

John Kerry was blasted during the 2004 election because he said that the "War on Terrorism" should be fought primarily through police action rather than military action, but I think he was on to something. The Taliban should be treated primarily like organized crime rather than a true military. The best way to combat organized crime then, is to get in good with the populace, train police officers who are part of the population. People know a lot more than they let on and citizens on some level must be willing to talk to the people who are charged with their protection. We tend to make fun of people who talk to the police, what with "Stop Snitchin," and depictions of police as pigs, and we certainly have problems with the police today (that's for another discussion though) but a functioning civil society needs a relatively trustworthy force capable of both respecting rights and imposing some knid of order. Of course, because of the weaponry that the Taliban possesses, there will always have to be a military component to our efforts in Afghanistan, but it's just so much easier for a police officer to blend in than a vested up, semi-automatic rifle touting soldier and it's easier to talk to them also.
As for the second prong, it's a bit more self-explanatory. Education is the cornerstone of a vibrant civic life and although it takes a lot of time in order for it to bear fruit, it tends to build a foundation that lasts. The closer Afghanistan can get to universal education, the better that foundation will be and less tolerance people will have for a group that cannot deliver on anything real.
One final point. Mortenson said that although he would have preferred no new troop deployments over anything else, he was glad that the ultimate decision was not pulling out troops with more targeted bombings, which would only exacerbate the problem. With heightened casualties though, there's a lot of political pressure to garrison our troops instead of having them out in the populace. That may also make things worse, just some food for thought.

Injury Report: Entire Colt's Defense Out Two Week with Hurt Feelings

2009-11-17T09:43:00.005-05:00

For the past month and a half, I've been living in a hotel way out in California for work. And one of the perks of living in this particular hotel (besides free breakfast seven days a week, free dinner four days a week, racking up Hilton points and people making my bed and giving me fresh towels) is that I get the USA Today delivered at my doorstep. I don't read the paper much anymore, I get most of the things I need online, and the USA Today is to news as McDonalds is to meals, but it's just nice to have something delivered every morning on your doorstep, as if I was living in a true home or something.

Or at least it was. I got up early this morning because I'd fallen asleep before I could do my laundry. I'm walking out with my bag of clothes and look down to see the USA Today at the foot of my door, like it always is. The headline is something about tainted cafeteria lunches in our schools, alarmist no doubt, but something I might look at later. On the top left corner there's a small headline about Sunday nights, Colts-Patriots games that made me do a double-take- "Colt's D Felt Disrespected By Play-Call!" What!!!

If you're not a sports fan, what they're refering to is the Patriots going for it on 4th and 2 with 2 minutes left deep in their own territory. Punting the ball is conventional wisdom in that scenario and it's pretty much what every team would do. Only the Patriots didn't, thinking that getting the first down on 4th and 2 would ice the game. Only they failed (controversially) and the Colts went on to score the game winning touchdown. Belicheck was destroyed in the press and on TV for his decision, for everything from being too arrogant to showing no faith in his defense.

I personally do not think it was a bad call. The numbers are actually with Belicheck in the situation, about 60% of 4th and 2's are successfully converted, and I think it's always good to challenge your offense in those situations. I like aggressive play-calling, and I think in the long haul it helps to win games. But conventional wisdom is hard to break, especially in athletics, which is steeped in tradition and has long been a bastion of conservatism, both on and off the field. So I understand why people took Belicheck to task even though I don't agree with it.

But the Colts D saying they felt disrespected! That is beyond stupid; it's almost like an Onion headline. In fact, it's pretty similar to this headline from last week. They felt disrespected because the Patriots wanted to go for the win in that situation, because they went for it on 4th down? Isn't that what teams are supposed to do? Offenses try to get yards, defenses try and stop them, that's it. There's not respect or disrespect in that. Did the defensive line feel disrespected everytime the Patriots ran a running play? "Oh, they don't think we can stop a draw play, we'll show them!" I bet Bob Sanders feels disrespected everytime they throw in his direction, because you know, that's saying he can't defend a pass. In fact, the Patriots even stepping on the field is disrespect to the Colt's defense, since the Patriots offense is explicitly saying that they believe that they can score on them. Think about this Colts D- maybe Belicheck wasn't disrespecting you, maybe he was respecting your Hall of Fame quarterback, not wanting to put the ball in his hands with the game on the line. Or even better, maybe he was RESPECTING his Hall of Fame quarterback, the one that convinced him to go for it, the one that shredded up your defense pretty good for most of the night, the one that he's been to four super bowls with and won three championships. Either the Colts defensive players are the most sensitive group of people in the Western Hemisphere, or the whole "disrespect" thing that athletes always shout about, has gone way way too far, to the point where its as much a cliche as "taking it one game at a time" or "no one believed in us."
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On another note, I want to emphasize one thing, timing aside, 4th down is JUST ANOTHER DOWN. Yeah, in many situations you punt because you're worried about giving up the ball in prime territory, but you don't have to punt and in many situations it's probably best not to. You make your decisions based on whether or not you think it will win you a game. I will say this: in football, the most important posession you have are your four downs (like in baseball your most important posession is outs). Conventional wisdom in football, because of the natural risk-aversion of coaches, is that you almost always give one of those downs away. But that means giving away your most prized posession freely; it's not that teams should ALWAYS go for it, but that the decision, particularly in the "maroon zone" shouldn't be as automatic as people suggest.

Break Up the Yankees Part 1

2009-11-11T15:23:00.005-05:00

My favorite sportswriter, Joe Posnanski, wrote a blog post about the tremendous financial advantage the Yankees have and how that financial advantage translates into a payroll that absolutely dwarfs every other team in the entire league (including the second place Red Sox). As a result, the Yankees are a team of all-stars that can, if not win the championship every year, at least dominate the regular season and always have a chance at the end of the year to play for the title. Even last year, when they missed the playoffs, the Yankees tied with the White Sox and Twins for the fourth best record, and most surely would have made the playoffs had they played in the AL Central. In the post, Joe doesn't come up with any solutions (which disappointed me a little), but just puts the question out there for discussion, after laying out how truly monumental the Yankees payroll is. The discussion that ensued was very vibrant, at times heated, but genuinely informative. I had a hard time arranging my thoughts so I didn't comment on it then. I'll try my best to do it now.

I remember back in 2000, the Yankees had just won their third straight championship and fourth in five years. I just kind of figured that the Yankees would go along winning championships for the rest of my adolescence. Cries for higher luxury taxes, salary caps, anything to stop the Yankee menace, were at a fever pitch, on sports pages and from the mouths of every non-Yankee baseball fan. Bud Selig was on top of his milk crate talking about how small market teams just could not compete in this environment, that some teams might even need to be contracted from the league.
At the time, I was in complete agreement with the proponents for a salary cap. A burdgeoning fan of a small market team (Milwaukee Brewers) I thought the competitiveness of my favorite team and the very survival of my favorite sport was at stake. The only way to fix it, it seemed, was to make sure that no team could spend more than a certain amount of money. I had a friend who was a big Yankees fan in high school, I use to always tell him his teams championships were tainted because they were bought rather than earned. I went into the 2001 postseason scared as ever that the Yankees would win yet another World Series.
Only something happened, something glorious to quiet all us small market fans, the Yankees stopped winning championships. They lost the World Series to the Diamondbacks in 2001 (Game 7 was one of the happiest moments of my life). Lost in the ALDS to the Angels in 2002, lost in the World Series in the Marlins to 2003, lost to Red Sox in the ALCS in 2004, lost to the Angels in the ALDS in 2005, lost to the Tigers in the ALDS in 2006, lost to Indians in the ALCS in 2007. Didn't even make the playoffs in 2008. The Yankees were spending more and more money, their payroll reaching ungodly levels, but since they weren't winning championships, not too many people cared. If anything, they became something of a punchline- the best team money could buy, only they couldn't win when it counted. Countless stories were written about how the free agents they signed for megabucks, men like Mike Mussina, Jason Giambi, and especially, Alex Rodriguez, weren't "true Yankees" and didn't have the heart to win a championship.

Of course it was all ridiculous, the Yankees were still winning tons of games, still scoring tons of runs, still dominating the regular season year in and year out like few teams ever have. Pretty much every Yankee team from 2001 to today has been better than the 2000 champions. But baseball on any given day is a crapshoot, much more so than the other major team sports, and that counts double for playoff baseball. The baseball season is long because it takes a much larger sample size to separate the good teams from the bad. Even the worst baseball teams win 40% of their games (equivalent to a 33 win basketball team or a 6 win football team), and even the best teams only win 60% (49 win basketball team or a 10 win football team). Give me a sample size of 16 games and I can make just about any team in baseball have the best record in the league, depending on the dates chosen. To think that we could determine what team from a best of 5 and two best of 7 series in a sport like baseball is ridiculous. But here are the Yankees, back on top of the "world" again, and the conversation turns to how to stop the team from leveraging its advantage to winning all of the championships. But the thing is, nothing's really changed. This conversation should have stayed front and center throughout the entire decade, because the Yankees were still the best in the area where the best teams are truly determined, the regular season. The only difference is that this time they weren't quite lucky enough to get through the playoffs unscathed.

I guess one other thing is different too, I've started to care less, or at the very least had a chance to see the situation from a more nuanced point of view. There are plenty of owners who are far richer than the Steinbrenners (including the owner of the Royals who happens to have a share of the Walton families riches), plenty of owners who take the luxury tax or shared revenue money and pocket it instead of spending it on player development and salaries. Many of the teams that say they can't compete don't even really try to and are perfectly content with putting a losing product on the field if only to make sure that their income statement looks pretty. I would rather see a salary minimum before a salary cap, see what will happen if teams had to put more effort in assembling a competitive roster. As a fan, I don't care too much about inherent advantages. I think it's logical that a team in New York, Los Angeles, or Chicago has an advantage over a team in Milwaukee. Flattening the advantages some is cool with me, but I also don't think we should do away with them. My expectations are that the ownership group will try its best to build a quality team with the resources that it has. I don't think I'm owed a playoff spot every year or even the hope of one. It comes with the territory of being a fan of a small market team, and I do think that there are ways in baseball to compete under the current system.

But that doesn't change the fact that many fans see this as a huge problem and in the case of entertainment that's all that matters. The fans see the Yankees buying their way into the playoffs every year and see the entire system as unfair. And as long as that is the perception then it's going to be a problem, something that MLB has to address.

Is there a solution to the problem? I think it truly depends on what is truly the primary concern. Is it having a number of different champions every year? Baseball already does a pretty good job of that, the crapshoot nature of the sport makes it so that a hot team has a good chance of winning a championship in any given year. To give even more teams a chance to win a championship, they could open the playoffs to more teams. Baseball opens its playoffs to a lower percentage of teams than any of the major sports, but I there would be plenty of people crying foul saying that the regular season would be even more diluted (people howled when the wild card was implemented).
Or they could shorten the regular season enough to where a fluke team can get in with greater frequency. If a larger sample size separates the good (i.e. high payroll) teams from the bad teams, then a smaller sample size would make there be less separation. But, itt would mess with all kinds of season and career records, and no one would want that.

Is the primary concern competing for a playoff spot? If that's the case, then I think the only real problem area is the AL East, where there are two teams (Boston and New York) that have a confluence of many advantages that make it hard for the other three teams in the division to compete (large media market, ownership groups willing to spend, populations with high incomes, rich history and tradition that stretches back over 100 years). I truly don't think that teams in divisions other than the AL East have a too much of an argument that they can't compete.*

Let's take the teams that haven't made the playoffs in a decade in the other divisions- Kansas City and Texas in the AL; Washington, Pittsburgh, and Cincinnati in the NL.

Texas: Up and coming team, and actually had a better record than either of their; they made the playoffs three straight years in the mid to late 90's. Their only problem is that Tom Hicks can't or won't pay his bills.

Kansas City: Hasn't made the playoffs since 1985, but they have a very wealthy owner. The only truly big market team they have to compete against is the White Sox, the second favorite team in a football town. Minnesota and Cleveland are able to compete with those teams just fine. Kansas City has no excuse but their own bumbling, cheapskate owner.

Washington: Special circumstances, didn't have an owner, moved from Canada. Give them a few more years to try and build a fanbase and team

Pittsburgh and Cincinnati: Call it the curse of Barry Bonds and the curse of Davey Johnson. All I know is, if Milwaukee can compete in that division, then any team can. It's a shame what terrible ownership has done to these once proud baseball towns.

Finally, is the primary concern simply think that no team should have a payroll so far in excess of the other teams, whether or not the Yankees won 13 consecutive championships with the highest payroll or spent the last decade losing 100 games a year with the highest payroll. I'm not convinced by the fairness argument (why care about fairness in something as trivial as sports), but I think that many people would put their Yankee opposition under this tent. The people who are most concerned about this are in favor of a salary cap. I'm not, or rather, I think that there's a way to get the features of a salary cap without having a salary cap, and I think, that, along with other solutions will help to flatten some of the advantages that big markets have without taking them away. But that's for my next post......

Fractional Earned Runs

2009-10-12T11:17:00.004-04:00

So lately I've been doing a lot of reading about our monetary system, and specifically, criticism of fractional reserve banking and comparisons between fiat money and the gold standard. I'm certainly not a gold bug, I think that the transition back to the gold standard would cause so much harm that even if all of its supposed advantages were true it still would be a bad idea. But it's pretty fascinating to gather information on the subject, and some of their critiques have made me reconsider some of my positions.

All of this focus on fractional reserve got me thinking as I was watching the end of the Angels-Red Sox game. Jonathan Papelbon came into the game and the two commentators were going on and on about how Papelbon has never given up an earned run in his postseason career. And that's true- under baseball's rulebook, Jonathan Papelbon, up until that game, had never given up a postseason run. But without discounting Papelbon's dominance, that has just as much to do with one of baseball's archaic rulebook. The rules stats that once a runner reaches base he is the responsibility of the pitcher he reached against, regardless of whether or not another pitcher is the one that allows him to score. And I find that grossly unfair.

If a pitcher allows a leadoff single and gets lifted for a relief pitcher and the relief pitcher allows a home run, why should the first pitcher bear the full weight of the runner on first. He didn't allow him to score, he allowed him to get a single, the relief pitcher allowed him to get the other three bases. Many people have commented on this before, but why not have a fractional run system, with each base counting 1/4 of a run. Under a fractional run scenario, the first pitcher would get charged 1/4 of a run for allowing the first hitter to get a single and the relief pitcher would be charged 1 3/4 runs for allowing the base runner to advance three additional bases and for the four bases he gave up to the batter. It makes so much sense, sharing the responsibility between pitchers, and it's not like the math is hard or anything. All it does is make starting pitchers look worse and relief pitchers look better. But alas, in the end, Papelbon finally gave up a postseason run and the Red Sox will be watching the rest of the playoffs like me (only with nicer tv's I suppose).

3 Days in Zion

2009-10-08T23:25:00.002-04:00

The counter woman and waitress brings me my tray, on top of which sits a greasy mushroom swiss burger, a smattering of onion rings, and a cup of Sprite. Just the sight of it makes my stomach churn, and thoughts of late night heartburn rushes dance inside my head. But hunger will make a man do crazy things, make him decide to get a burger at a rundown Dairy Queen with exactly zero customers, make his head not notice the Applebee's across the street with the special on cheesburger sliders. I bite into the burger, the swiss cheese is a bit old, the bun is a bit hard, and the mushrooms are a bit slimy. The onion rings aren't much better, cooked in finely aged oil no doubt; at least that explains how they could be both crispy and soggy all at once. And for the trifecta, the Spire tasted terrible, but I couldn't figure out whether it was because there was syrup stuck to the spigot or the bittersweet taste was from earlier in the delivery process. And as I hurriedly scarfed down my subpar fast food, all I could think was about how much I loved my job.

Just a few days ago I was sitting at my desk inputting some data into a spreadsheet, or researching some kind of hospital company. And here I was today, eating some crappy food in some small town in Illinois, with sreets named Ezekiel, and Jeremiah, and Isaiah, knocking on peoples doors, getting to have conversations with people who do healthcare work for a change. I don't really think any other job I could have can match this one for pure variation. Go to Illinois and meet with hospital executives, go to Wisconsin and work on a historic election campaign, have a sit down with a guy running for state treasurer, go to Florida and meet with hospital workers, monitor finance authorities. And as I finished my burger and walked out towards my blue PT Cruiser, 7 more hours of door knocking ahead of me, I couldn't help but think about how much I'd miss it when I was done.

I'm sitting at Denny's early the next morning, hungry because I didn't eat dinner. Ordered a denver omelette with all the good sides, heavy on the coffee, halfway through my second cup already. Directly in front of me are two old men, chatting about some kind of good old days, a slight hint of a stereotypical Italian-American accent from one of them, a strong Mid-Western accent from the other.
"And I tell ya, there ain't too much of us left. The stories I got, me and Rico," said the one with the Italian accent.
The Midwest guy nodded, "Yeah I know, they should get somebody to write all this stuff down,"
"I'm tellin ya, there's nothin like the good old days. Man, we use to do so many deals."
And he proceeded to tell stories, stories about shady real estate deals in Chicago, ins he had with the mayors office. Tales about how some of his buddies ran the numbers rackets, use to fence stolen goods, how he had to make a million dollar cash run for this guy who hid his money in the floor boards. His buddy Rico would steal anything not nailed to the floor and half of the things that were. I guess those were the days. I just listened closely and drank my coffee, my head halfway down, less they think I was an informant or something. I wanted to get up and tell them that I'd write their story, call it "Those Were the Days: Looting, Shooting, and Wholesale Corruption in Daley's Chicago." And I'd price it at 19.99, and we'd sell the damn things like Snuggies, and we'd be instant millionaires. But I wouldn't dare get up. Instead, they finished up their coffee, paid their tab and walked out. I did the same shortly afterward; then I went to Target to buy some socks.
************************************************************************
I never really noticed, but damn there are a LOT of small towns in the US. Places with 10,000, 5,000, 2,000 people. Places where the highlight is a Monday night ride to the skeet shotting range, where the roads are still sand and gravel, and the airports have Cessna's instead of 737's. Rode past this one community plopped down in the middle of a cornfield, like it had taken a ride on Dorothy's tornado and fallen out of the sky. I tend to forget sometimes that these places exist, to me they're random exits on the side of the freeway. It's good that I get a chance to visit for work sometimes, because I wouldn't otherwise.

Freelancer

2009-09-20T19:38:00.004-04:00

And so begins my last week in New York for three whole months, with a plate of Puerto Rican food and a pint of some bittersweet Black Sheep Ale watching the late afternoon football games and monitoring the progress of my fantasy football team (go Union Thugs! 2-0 baby). Starting September 28th through December 31st (at least) I'll be in the Bay Area for work. Luckily, I'll be staying in an apartment instead of in and out of hotels, at least after the first week.

There was this computer game I wanted when I was like 16, Freelancer, where you play a cargo runner/soldier of fortune of sorts, who takes on various missions in order to amass a fortune, upgrade your ship, and achieve a certain level of status and reputation throughout the galaxy. I was big into gaming, then or now, so I didn't know that it was a very highly anticipated game, all I knew was that the concept was attractive to me, and for more than just entertainment. That air of independence, even if it truly is a facade, is so appealing. At its core, it's not necessarily a world devoid of attachments, but it does mean being attached to people and institutions almost completely on your own terms. At it's worst it's completely insular and more than a little bit immature, particularly when it's applied to relationships to people rather than relationships to institutions. What's more it clashes with any kind of sense of loyalty, a sense of community, and it's impractical if you want to establish any kind of relationship long-term.

So I guess the best thing to do is to get it in the small of doses that you can, which is why I'm always so game to go when my job wants me to travel. Maybe it's my Navy brat upbringing, but I start to get the shakes whenever I stay in one place too long. Although I'm firmly attached to my job, for a little while I can feel or pretend that I'm doing something for myself. And when those days come where I got that lawn and the mortgage I can tell my kids about my days sweltering in a Miami hotel getting stood up in a Coral Gables hospital or running down the streets of west Chicago or three months living on the eastside of the San Francisco Bay. Just my small bit of the independent life before I did what was good for me.

Socrates Reprised

2009-08-27T00:02:00.003-04:00

It was one of those hot nights, air was like sticky and sweet, the kind that puts beads of sweat on your forehead, the kind that makes you want to get out of the house before you slowly melt. Don't know if it was a coincidence, but it just so happened that I wanted to see this one Italian film, "Gomorrah," at Socrates, a sculpture park about ten blocks west of me on the border of the East River. It's funny because about year ago today something similar happened. I'd just moved to New York, a bit lonely, bored out of my mind, and the apartment I was living in felt like And Socrates was playing 8 1/2 by Federico Fellini. And since I had no one to go with, I went by myself. I guess it was some kind of theme night, because they had a stand serving meatballs and eggplant, pasta, and cannolis for desert, and some of the best coffee I've ever had. In front of the screen they had some band playing some Nino Rota lite, soothing enough to drink some coffee to. But mostly I remember when the film started sitting on the grass in my shorts because I forgot to bring a blanket, looking around at the people with their companions and dogs, wine bottles and glasses, french bread, fruit, and cheese. Throughout the crowd I saw only one other person by themselves, a Black lady in her late 20's with a red and yellow scarf wrapped around dreads that went down to her shoulders, looking even lonelier than I felt. But at least she'd brought a blanket to sit on. I started to get cold as the wind blew off the river, but there's nothing like sipping coffee to warm you up while watching a film in a language you can't understand.

Round 2, and this time I went alone again. Walked down that same streets, past the same guys playing soccer on artificial turf, past the same oily taxi repair shops. Past the blue and metal paneled diner that I loved to eat at but always made my stomach cramp. Except this time, I had a bag with me, this time I remembered to bring some food and a blanket. Turkey sandwich with swiss cheese and mustard and two beers, Brooklyn Lager and Brooklyn East India Pale Ale, not cabernet sauvignon and brie exactly, but more filling, and I needed something to differentiate myself from everyone else. When I walked in I saw all the same things that I had last time. There was a line for meatbalss and cannolis, the same band playing the theme from the Godfather, the same people with their dogs and wine. And I took my place, pretty close to where I was last year, the same awkward spot where the ground starts to slope backwards and the grass is mostly dirt. I've kind of had that feeling for a while now though, feeling of sameness, stagnation. Maybe next time I could bring somebody or something, spice it up a bit (getting people to come out to Queens though?)

The movie itself was pretty boring, more concerned with the filming technique than with story development (and it was shot very well, capturing the grit of Italy, a country that in many parts sits on the brink of third world status). The tryptophan and beer did it's job though and I fell asleep for most of the last quarter of the movie, and at least I had a blanket to sleep on.

Chili Dawgs Still Bark at Midnight

2009-07-24T22:31:00.005-04:00

I don't know if it was the howling mutts wrapped in hot dog buns or the bewildered look on Lewis Grizzard's face as he stares up at that smiling moon, his eyes guarded by those unimaginably dorky glasses band across the top of the frames (my father had a pair), but I was completely fascinated by this dusty pocket-sized paperback my dad had near his military duffel bag. Don't really know why, but I knew that I had to read it- in my eyes it was absolutely adult, without being too academic like the books they forced me to read in school. I took it from my father's room and read the whole damn thing in one sitting.

Looking back, I can only vaguely remember reading it. Only a few of the stories really stood out, one about televangelist and one about Kentucky Fried Chicken, but a the time, it was something special, a foray into a world that I'd known very little about. Grizzard was a southerner through and through, at a time when I was Even without remembering most of the stories, I do remember that I enjoyed his irreverence and his varied sense of humor.

The strange thing is that I'm quite certain that if Grizzard was alive and writing today, I would absolutely despise him. To me, he represents everything that is wrong with old-time sportswriters and conservative southerners, namely, their stubborness and dogmatism, their inability to empathize with anyone, and mostly their hypocrisy. Grizzard was married three times, and yet he was a purported traditionalist when it came to values. He wasn't a religious man per se, instead he was just someone who was incredibly sure that the society he grew up in was right- or if not that, then at least good enough to survive an assault from a more modern world.

I've talked before about cities that represent a specific time and place in America's history. For the 60's, or at very least the late 60's, that city was Haight-Ashbury/Summer of Love San Francisco. The late 70's to early 80's was the Son of Sam's New York. It's a bit tougher to choose for the 1980's, but I think that Lewis Grizzard's Atlanta would be as good a city as any to choose. Atlanta started to flex its muscles in the 1980's- it was still a defiantly Southern town, with Southern sensibilities, but with success comes changes and transplants, and a confrotation between the values of the people who And it was that disappearnce of that old South that Grizard was decrying. A South that didn't take itself too seriously when dealing with each other, but one that also became hyper defensive when their problems were pointed out. A place of purported family values that nonetheless winked, nodded, or turned a blind eye towards the inclination that much of their population had towards the seven deadly sins.

White Southerners have a lot more in common with Black people then they think. Most of their history has been spent feeling or being inferior, at least by the common social and economic metrics we use to measure such things. Sooner or later though, a culture begins to develop around that feeling of inferiority, and while I think it is certainly generalizing, I think white southern culture reveled a bit in its informality, its more overt displays of masculinity and femininity, and its emphasis on a principled value system (no matter how many times those principles were violated). Yeah you Northerners may have more money and better education, but we sure know how to have a good time. A professor of mine in college, during a lecture on the antebellum South, talked about how important the culture of honor was, and I think that it's importance, while not as strong, still lingers to this day. I also think you can see remnants of this in the modern Republican party, both envigorated and imprisoned by its value system. And that's what Grizzard's book, admittedly in hindsight, represents for me. It's probably very hard for people to think of a Lewis Grizzard book as an example of the frustration, anxiety, hatred, and humor with which Southern white people dealt with the makings of the "New South," but for me it definitely is.

New Gotham

2009-07-12T09:30:00.003-04:00

Thank God for indigestion- the hamburger crowned America's best burger by "Good Morning America" did not agree with me falling asleep too long and my stomach did all types of somersaults at 3am. Reminds me of that Lewis Grizzard book I found in my dad's room when I was 11; I guess burgers wait a little bit longer before they start to bark (I want to write about that book sometime). But I was fortunate really that I'd woken up when I did. In my pursuit to meet a college classmate for a fine slice of Kobe beef, I'd completely forgotten to pick up some deodarant and a pair of black socks that I needed for the meeting tomorrow. (In my defense, the burger, which was good but far from America's best, was topped with a healthy chunk of brie. The taste of brie and burger is interesting enough to fool someone into thinking that the burger is America's best).

After finding out where the nearest Walgreen's was, I stumbled out of my downtown Chicago hotel onto the quiet streets. A comforting quiet really, not an eery quiet, interrupted by idling municipal trucks parked next to a manhole, men in their white jumpsuits suspended by rope lowered deep into the dark sewer. I love the look of Chicago, I think it does a better job of blending old and new than any other city in the country. Chicago, at least in my mind, doesn't try to escape from its gritty past, in many ways it still looks like a souped-up 1920's gangster film. To this day, Al Capone would not look out of place crossing the river at La Salle. It's probably why Christopher Nolan decided to shoot "The Dark Knight" there rather than in New York. Obviously I wasn't here for New York during it's downtrodden heyday, but from the looks of things, it's far too glamorous, far too safe to be anyone's Gotham. It's commendable that the Dinkins and Giuliani and Bloomberg administrations did such a good job in cleaning up the city, cracking down on crime, destroying the Son of Sam and New Jack City, New York. But a good city for business and families and quality of life makes for a pretty lousy Gotham.

The sounds changed after I crossed the river. More cars, more lights, even the wind picks up its pace slightly. A Black lady walking on my side of the street but in the other direction hugged herself close. Her fingers nervously rubbed the side of her pink tank top. Her legs were long enough to last the whole summer and every nervous and wobbly step they took reminded me of a baby gazelle the moment before it's taken down by a pride of lions. She looked like she'd be tough enough, on her best days, to stand toe-to-toe with any motherfucker that dare cross her path, tonight tears framed the middle of her face. Past her, the unmistakable smell of urine and body odor and alcohol was strong enough to make my eyes water. I found the source when I got to the corner, a man in a dirty white shirt shuffled his way down Ontario, propped up only by the buildings on his left and the occasional wayward trash can on his right. I imagined that the first alley he found was where he'd call it a night.

One Power Vitamin Water, three pairs of black socks, a stick of Mitchum deodarant, six pencils, and two pens later I was on my way back home. On the other street corner, next to a two-story McDonald's I saw a group of maybe eight or nine people having a good time. I went over to get a closer look, maybe McDonald's at damn near 4am was the happenin spot downtown. Turned out to be two crazy guys talking to bronze statues of little kids. I decided to take a different way back, one that was just a little bit darker, to revel in the quiet just a little bit more. No cars at all this time, just the gentle wind, the subtle river, and the sound of my own footsteps. I love Chicago, but there's just no comparison between it and New York. The only way downtown would ever be this quiet, this lazy, was if a nuclear bomb went off on Canal Street. In the city at least, I could never imagine passing no one, on any street, at any time. Don't know if that's a good thing or not. I made it back to my hotel close to 5am, enough time for one hour of sleep and morning full of a whole bunch of coffee.

Living Off the Wall

2009-06-30T21:51:00.003-04:00

When I first heard the news that Michael Jackson died I didn't think too hard about it. Sure I was sad that a person who made such great music and was so beloved by the world had fallen to such unthinkable depths, an agonizing crawl from the absolute height of worldwide fame that could ever be achieved by a human soul to the subject of near constant ridicule and scorn (even until the end though there was constant love). In many ways the person my parents and my older cousins knew growing up had been dead for damn near twenty years, replaced by something that looked very much like a ghost. As much as people my age hate to admit it or try to pretend otherwise (and by my age I mean anyone who was less than 3 when Thriller came out), we didn't really know who Michael Jackson was. By the time we were cognizant, he had already become something of a circus freak. Bad was released in 1987, a few days before I turned 1, and he'd already completely changed his color and his hair. He still made good music, but when I heard or thought about Michael Jackson during my formative years the negative ("I pledge allegiance to the flag, that Michael Jackson is a fag," the "In Living Color" send-up of the "Black or White" video, the child molestation charges) completely outweighed the positive (my cousins VHS of Moonwalker). Not to say that I wasn't completely entranced by the man, even as a little kid. I knew he was important, an outsized celebrity before I even knew what a celebrity was. When I took my test to get into kindergarten and the proctor told me to draw something, I drew Michael Jackson, albeit with an enormous head (anyone who remembers the Speed Demon video from Moonwalker might get why. Needless to say, they said I did not get into kindergarten). But I can't say that I really knew or loved Mike. Not the way my cousins can, not the way the people I saw at the Apollo can. I can love his music, his history and like to the greats from Motown's past, his undeniable genius and enormous talent surrounded by an equally undeniable pain. But his justfiable heyday as the biggest pop star this planet has ever known is an era that I just missed, and it would be dishonest if I mourned him as if I was a front-row spectator for the creation of a legend, when really, I just watched the re-run.

These past couple of days though as every car that passes blares "Billie Jean" and "Beat It" and every other track from his magnum opus out of half rolled down windows, I've found myself gravitating towards songs from "Off the Wall." It's not to be contrary, I enjoy "Thriller" just like everyone else. It's just that, for some reason, when I listen to "Off the Wall," I feel like I'm listening to Michael's last hope. It's well known that Michael was disappointed after the release of "Off the Wall." Although it was critically lauded, he felt that it hadn't been treated with respect by the Grammy's, and he vowed that it would never happen again. When he released "Thriller" he was a man on a mission, to become the biggest and richest pop star the world had ever known. And he did that, it took him three years, but he accomplished what he set out to do. But what was the ultimate cost? Everybody knows how well hindsight can see, but knowing how damaged Michael's psyche was, would it have been better for him and for his life had he not accomplished his ultimate goal? What if he'd been satisfied with the success of "Off the Wall" (and it was still uber-succesful, ultimately selling 7 million copies in the US and having four top ten hits)? "Off the Wall" sounds like pure joy a man has on gaining his independence. "Thriller" sounds like a man on a mission, and the man became ensnared and trapped by the consequences of that mission's successful completion for the rest of his life. My sister said to me that when she looks at a picture of a young Michael Jackson when he was with the Jackson 5, she wants to give him a hug and tell him everything is going to be okay. I want to walk up to the 21 year old Michael after "Off the Wall," won only one Grammy and tell him how great the album was. Maybe we wouldn't get "Thriller," but we also wouldn't get everything that came after it too. Rest in Peace Mike

The Heart of a Slacker

2009-06-08T23:14:00.005-04:00

Back in 11th grade, when I was in pre-calculus, I had a teacher who'd give out homework every night. And every night after I came home from work, I wouldn't do it. I'd lay on the couch or watch something on TV or do something useless on the computer, anything but do my homework. There'd always be a rationalization, usually that 6 hours of pushing carts and cleaning up spills was so tiring that there was no way in hell that pre-calculus could get done. Besides, the work was so easy that I could start it in 2nd period general music class and finish as I was walking to third period. Only of course that's never how it worked out. I'd use my dear time in general music unsuccessfully trying to get with this one chick (who ironically I ended up dating a year and a half later) or laying my head down on one of the cold black music stands that I pulled over from the back of the classroom. So everyday, when my teacher would come around to collect the homework, I wouldn't have anything. And she'd look at my with such disappointment. And for the most part, I wouldn't care, figuring that I aced all my tests so at the very least I'd walk away with a B. But one day after class was dismissed, I was the last person left in the classroom. I was putting my notebook in my bag when my teacher walked up to me.
"Antonio, do you know what you're grade in my class is?"
I really didn't have any idea, hadn't really thought about it.
"Right now you have an 84. And you know what, you're capable of having a 104 if you'd just turn in your homework."
And the way she said it, her voice didn't match the look she'd always given me while collecting everyone elses papers. No, it wasn't that almost maternal disappointment she flashed so often, it was a look that bordered on disdain, as if she couldn't fathom a person such as myself. I was like a lazy bug on the bottom of her New Balances. And it was that look and only that look that got me to do my homework, or at least occasionaly. There were still plenty of days where I'd hand in nothing, but they were outnumbered by the ones that I did. Never got that 104, but a respectable 93 was all I could ask for.

Through my almost 23 years on this planet, I've had a lot of teachers disappointed in me, mostly for the same reasons that my pre-calculus teacher was. Like the mid-90's Mariners or the early 2000's Sacramento Kings, somehow the perceived talent never matched up with the finished product. The conclusion I've come to is that deep in my heart, I am a slacker. Now there's a difference between being a slacker and being lazy. I don't think I'm lazy, because laziness implies an unwillingness to work. It is still very possible to be a slacker and still give enough effort to succeed, to appear as if you're working hard and even have results which imply just as much. I think I fall nice and squarely into the latter category, even if only because of the sense of ambition that was driven into me from every adult that's ever meant anything to me in my life. But the ambition I have is also a result of an inherited ego that's way too large for me to be a grocery store philospher (I've known and worked with a few and I envy them). The traditional barometer of success is something that I believe in though, something that I am more than willing to adhere to, for completely vain-glorious reasons (marry a good woman, have a nice bit of money, and have people think of me as intelligent, interesting, and wise). Because truth be told, the best job I ever had was being the mid-day Drug/GM stocker at Kroger. I was the only person in the department, I got a chance to think, I read political magazines and complex novels on my lunch break, I got to interact with coworkers and customers when I wanted companionship, and I got to conveniently disappear when I didn't. If money was not an object, I'd really consider doing that for the rest of my life. Just because you love intellectual discussions and keep abreast on obscure current events doesn't mean you're a scholar. And I know that I'm not, but the expectation is that I should be.

City, Country, City

2009-05-26T15:50:00.003-04:00

Listening to "City, Country, City" by WAR. Unfortunately I cannot find a link to the song. I'll have to put it on when I get home; they were one hell of a band!

I really think this song should be called, "Country, City, Country." It starts out so languid, tranquil even, the harmonica strong but lazy like a clear sunny day when you have nothing to do. Reminds me of the heat bearing down on me walking up a dry green hill, my feet stomping on grass that's been baked over twice. Only later does it get fast paced, country harmonica gives way to city saxophone. Not that smooth jazz urbane saxophone that frequents every R&B song from the late 80's. I'm talking an urban sax that jolts the senses, crashes into you like the unapologetic businessman checking his BlackBerry down 42nd Street. And just like that you head straight back, to the sun, to something so peaceful. It's hard to choose between the two sometimes and I'm not speaking in a metaphorical sense. My junior year of college I went to this conference where this guy, Peter Raven, talked about how apartment living would make the most economic and ecologic sense; that people would have more green space and be much mroe energy efficient if only we lived like people in say, Hong Kong. And that's true, and I want all that, it appeals to my logical sensibilities and any kind of vision that I have for the world. I want the culture and the subway, the pace and the people, everything that comes with living stacked high on top of millions of other people. But damn it if I don't want a big ass yard to mow and make more even than Steve Harvey's afro. And I want that big ass yard in front of a big ass house with a humongous den where I can hide from my family while watching a baseball game. Everything slowed down to a molasses drip; can absorb everything I love about being alone. All the green space to myself, as energy efficient as a 5-year old Hummer.

F. Scott Fitzgerald said that the test of a first rate intelligence is to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. I wonder if holding diametrically opposed emotions gives one a first rate heart? The thing about Fitzgerald's quote is that I've always found it relatively easy to hold two opposing ideas; I'd argue that it wouldn't be worth having a brain really if you didn't. Rather than impeding my ability to function, debating two opposing ideas inside my head feels utterly liberating. This is certainly because the ideas I end up debating in my head are mostly superfluous. I'm not a lawyer or a judge or some kind of person who has any real responsibility. There are very few consequences to the ideas I play around with.
Emotions though, how you feel about something or someone, that's a lot harder. Whenever they're in conflict I find my entire body shutting down, losing the ability or the will to move, paralyzed by the way I feel or the idiotic things I've done. Maybe it's my body slowing down trying its best to allow my brain to catch up. Maybe if there's just a little more time I can make everything coherent again. I can live with cognitive dissonance when it involves something philosophical like a Supreme Court decision, or hate crimes legislation. But when there's a conflict about how you feel, the ultimate conclusion is that maybe you're not the man you thought you were, the one you pretend to be.

Adventures in Code Crossing

2009-05-17T08:00:00.001-04:00

Sitting here listening to some kind of blend of Aretha Franklin's "Lady Soul," and Van Hunt's classically underrated eponymous first album.

I wouldn't say that it's happened a lot, but there have been a few people who have commented on the way that I talk in the past couple of months. Not the tone of my voice so much, as my vocabulary, my word choice. Being up in New York, I've had a few people comment that I talk like I'm from the South. And while I'm in the South it is generally understood that I am from somewhere up North. Not a full fledged Yankee mind you; maybe Philadelphia or something.

I guess it has a lot to do with fitting in; I've had to do it often- code switching it's called (learned that from an interdisciplinary class that had a foot in the linguistics department). Everyone code switches of course, whether you are moving from a formal setting to a more casual setting, or you are moving from a casual setting with family to a casual setting with friends, our way of speaking changes in marked as well as subtle ways depending on the situation. Code switching is not absolute though, it is impossible to completely change your style of speech. The markers that identify who you are, where you come from, the people you hang around, they always stay with you. When you're trying to fit in they come out subconsciously, sometimes in the most unfortunate situations (like when you're talking nervously trying to impress a suited-up civic leader, that's for another day though). Those who do it best usually can keep those slips to a minimum.

A far more common phenomenon, or at least something I know I do, is the intentional mixing of different styles of speech. I don't know exactly what to call it, but there has to be a term for it in some lingustics text book. For now, let's call it "code-crossing," using at least two separate styles of speech in conversation, at the same time, in order to signify both your insider and outsider status.

"Code-crossing" can be both an offensive and defensive mechanism; I shall give you examples for both.
For the first example, let's take a hard working young man who finds himself at university. And at this university, he takes a class, a class, perhaps, on inner city public school education. And furthermore, having gone to an inner city public school he finds himself surrounded by students who went to Gossip Girl style expensive private schools or at the very least elite public schools. Now, it is true, the young man could discuss the topic, inner city public schools, just like everyone else in the class, using the words and mannerisms and style of an educated man who more than holds his own at this particular institution of higher learning. And he does..... for the most part. But every so often, he puts in a few choice inflections, cuts off a few "g's" at the end of his sentences as he embarks on tales of the woeful inadequacy of his particular high school, a school that symbolizes the inequities within our society. Implicitly, he's saying that it is his right to dominate conversation on this topic. But it's not enough to show that he can hold his own, no, he has to shame his fellow classmates as well.
"Look at you, the advantaged children of the wealthy! I didn't have your advantages and yet we still ended up at the same place; you're pitiful. If I'd gone to (insert fancy private school) they would have named me Chancellor by now. Hang your head in shame!" Offensive code-switching is best used when a dash of outsider status confers some kind of expertise or authority.

Now, let's take the same young man, only this time, let's place him in an entirely different scenario. A fancy dinner, the kind with a bunch of different forks and glasses and courses (yes I know it's a more than a little cliche). Everyone is confidently eating and socializing, using the inner and outer forks correctly, while he has to look down at his hands and make the "d's" and "b's" to remember where his drink and bread goes. In order to save face, code-crossing can be very helpful in this instance also. This time though, it will signal that "Hey I'm an upwardly mobile young man, but back where I'm from, we didn't have all these crazy utensils and cloth napkins and such." Guaranteed to buy you two faux paus before the dinner is over.
The key with code-crossing is it has to be strong to where the message is definitely delivered, but subtle enough where it doesn't seem intentional. It can take years of practice, but with repetition and diligence, in the long run you'll be able to get the effect you're looking for.

Just a Thought About Dreams

2009-05-04T01:18:00.000-04:00

To the conscious mind, dreams are pretty much random. I've had dreams about polar bears inside a funhouse, speaking naked at a debate tournament, and my brother getting hit by a car in Beaufort, years after we left, across the street from Alvin Ords because he was breakdancing in the middle of traffic. Anyway, all of those dreams and many more that I can remember had absolutely nothing to with what I'd been going through the days or even weeks before the dream occurred. Now, I'm certain that to my subconscious those dreams certainly did have something to do with my day/feelings/worries and interpreting them in such a fashion is always fun (I briefly tried to keep a dream log). Occasionally though, you have a dream that is incredibly topical, the kind where the moment after you wake up you sit up and let each concrete moment settle in your head- the bits and pieces that are hazy get swept into the dust bin, the most vivid parts taking over the narrative, gradually becoming a compelling story, one now more worthy of interpretation.

The thing about those dreams is that they touch you supernaturally, like an angel visiting softly in the night. Even the most vivid dreams are still ephemeral; in many ways they are the one outlet you have to the mysteries inside your head, the part of you that you have no control over. Topical dreams have helped me make decisions, helped me to appreciate the people I love, solidified my principles, and scared me half to death, much more so than the nightmares I use to have when I was little. At their best, the sense of mystery is awe-inspiring, at their worst completely nerve-wracking. I go through periods where my dreams are incredibly vivid; they strike without warning and last for only a short period of time. I wish I could go through one of them again, just for fun, just to give me something else to ponder when I'm bored with the life that I actually got.

Morning Coffee

2009-04-25T11:44:00.002-04:00

So I'm by myself in my girlfriend's apartment, drinking coffee, reading the Atlantic. No matter how much I tell myself that I love the hustle and noise, the sounds of my neighborhood, the liveliness of the city, there's nothing nearly as peaceful to the mind as a quiet neighborhood early in the morning on a weekend. Part of it is being alone, part of it is that the people who live here are still fast asleep. Their children are in the living room watching cartoons and the only sounds I can hear besides my hand on the keyboard is the "pop" of a tennis ball awkwardly hitting a racket, and a few songbirds chirping as they chase each other from tree to tree. Maybe it's just the ability to concentrate more than I usually get a chance to. I guess it's connected to all those studies about light and noise pollution. The ways in which the end of night time and the end of tranquility has disrupted our circadian rhythms. Or something like that.
I know it's impossible to have it all three ways- to have the suburbs when I want memories of being a kid playing in the streets on base, the country when I want to be alone with my thoughts, the city when I absolutely crave the excitement. A guy can dream just a bit though.

Blogging Howlin Wolf: The Definitive Collection

2009-04-11T12:26:00.001-04:00

I have been meaning to do this for some time, right after I did the live-blogging for Sketches of Spain. But alas, I just couldn't get another one out of me. Without further ado, here's my live-blogging of the incomparable Chester Arthur Burnett or as he's better known Howlin' Wolf

Moanin' at Midnight
The opening is famous- Wolf does his best impression of throat singing. The song is downright scary, but accessible enough to reach #10 on the charts. Simple lyrics but his voice is clearly the star. An auspcious start to an excellent career.

How Many More Years
Your standard jump blues really, both in subject matter (woman doggin him out, he's about to leave) and in style. Surprising that it was the biggest hit he had in his career, because he's had much better songs. Not to belittle it any, Wolf is great on the harmonica, but his singing on this song is just average, with none of the passion that he'd exhibit on later works. Sounds more like a rock and roll precursor than blues really. As a plus though, a pre wife-beating Ike Turner appears on the song.

Evil-
A song about another man sleepin with your woman, while you're out travelin, workin hard for her. Subject matter thoroughly covered by the blues I know, but it's still so well done. Willie Dixon sings lead on this song and he absolutely steals the show, at least in my opinion. Wolf's relegated to the chorus- which he also does very well on. He really stomps his feet into the "e" in evil, until it's twisted and mangled, like it went through a paper shredder on the way out his mouth. The piano is probably the most distinctive- this song has a more Willie Dixon-style to it even though it was written by Wolf- in the sense that it's sounds more like a pop blues song than some of Wolf's other more unique work.

Forty-Four
"I wore my fourty-four so long, it's made my shoulder sore." Changes up the subject matter slightly, about a man with a gun who has a bad case of wanderlust- a woman has to make an appearance (it wouldn't be the blues if it wasn't) but she's inconsequential to the ending. Instead, he pawns his gun for some money, hopefully to start a new life.
But what this song is actually about is the rhythm section, which really shows its muscles after hiding in the background the previous three three tracks. It all starts with the beautiful piano entrance about 18 seconds in, and then they add some bass and rolling drums to the concoction. Willie Dixon, for all his faults (and we'll get to those in a minute) really could play the bass, it really is the force behind this song. Well, him and Wolf's powerful voice, which is the first time he completely put its versatility on display since "Moanin at Midnight." It's impossible not to hear the southern gospel influences in his voice, it'd sit right along nicely on a Mahalia Jackson tune. And that right there, is the central contradiction of the blues. He's singing about a gun making his shoulder sore with the voice of a choir member (on second thought, maybe it's not such a contradiction).

Smokestack Lightnin
Probably the most famous song of his career, or at the very least the most famous song of his career that he wrote for himself. It wasn't his biggest hit (that was How Many More Years), but it did peak at #8, and in all honestly, it completely blows away that song (it's always good when a song is both an excellent track and becomes a hit, what happened to those days?). The subject matters is, what else, a do-wrong woman, but he doesn't come right out and say it, you're not really sure what smokestack lightnin is. The songwriting is sparse, a third of the words are just Wolf moanin', but I don't think he'd ever put more passion into anything he's done. It's at once dreary and sad, utterly distinctive, the verses aren't really verses, it's more like just a stream of accusatory questions between tormented moans. Like Bobby Womack, he's able to convey strength at the same time he conveys vulnerability. My favorite line is towards the end where he says- "Whoa, who been here baby since I, I been gone, a little bitty boy? Girl be on."
The rhythm section is really cooks again and it's a team effort, the underlying riff would be gorgeous if it wasn't so spooky, particularly the bending guitar that always hits a twinge in me everytime I hear it.
I agree with what Wolf said, he can sing his own shit better than he could Willie Dixon's. Only four more songs on the album were written by him after this. The rest of them are by Willie Dixon- who was much more of a pop-blues writer. I think Wolf's appeal was that, although he was smooth for a 6'6'' 300 pound man, he was naturally rough and intimidating. And he was at his best when he had a chance to experiment and wasn't trying to appeal to his pop sensibilities. At he was successful at it.
As a final aside, the last two songs were the reason that I had such a hard time completing this damn thing, I wanted to hear them over and over again.

I Asked For Water
Another hit for Wolf (#8), but a big drop from the last two songs, which struck the right balance between experimental and accessibility. The musicians, after two Hall of Fame performances, decide to take a break. They're sparse to the point of barely being there. The vocal performance is similarly understated. Not a bad song by any means, but you can't really follow Smokestack Lightnin.

Who's Been Talkin
Tha man is the master of the harmonica. This song is very unique, I can tell why it wasn't a hit, but it has a very interesting lineup, with the tenor sax and piano sounding particularly interesting. The underlying riff by the tenor sax weaves through the breaks and really makes this song. I like how, for the most part, Wolf eschews hooks and instead allows the musicians to be the ones to burrow into your head.

Sitting on Top of the World
A slightly different take on the whole "my woman left me" theme. It may be tongue in cheek, but he seems to relish the freedom from not having to bring his lady with him. Hop on a freight train if he wants, work as hard as he wants and can keep all the cash in his own pocket. The songwriting just okay- but by this time Hubert Sumlin, who Wolf had brought with him from Chicago and who had been with the band from jump, had really come into his own. From this point on, his sliding guitar would be the star musician on just about every track. I like to imagine that Wolf was just a little bored with this song after Who's Been Talkin's originality.

Howlin For My Darlin
And we officially depart from the Wolf-written section into section where Dixon handles the songwriting duties. I don't know exactly why they stopped Wolf from writing his own songs; four of the eight songs above were top 10 hits. Perhaps some of his latest experimentations had fallen flat and blues was moving away from his style. Maybe they thought Dixon had more adaptability. Or maybe Leonard Chess (head of Chess Records) wanted to keep everything in-house and have first dibs to all the rights to the songs. Dixon was handling most of the songwriting duties for all the other Chess artists, and if they were paying the man primarily to write, then damn it he'd write for everyone. It's easy to see where my loyalties lie.
The change from Wolf to Dixon can be immediately felt on this song. First, the title is kind of corny not to subtly playing on Wolf's stage name. There are more bright and shiny horns, the better for the ladies to dance to. And he loses all of his spookiness. Even the subject matter itself has changed- in this song, he is raving about how good his woman is. Who wants a blues artist to do that?

Wang Dang Doodle
The ultimate blues standard, but Wolf had it first. Sadly, he did not do it best. It's known that Wolf hated this song and in his autobiography, Dixon said that he hated this song too. It's a rollicking urban party song, which was something new for Wolf, but he just can't really catch a hold of it. Personally, I like Koko Taylor and Little Walter's versions much better.
On the other hand. Hubert Sumlin is teamed up with Freddy King (the baby of the three blues kings) and they both really go to town. I think it's great that the guitars have fun on this song, but a passionless, flavorless, Wang Dang Doodle is not what I want to hear- he just doesn't have the screeching in his repotoire that's required to make this song great.

Back Door Man
The first time I heard this song I didn't think it was anything special, but I've grown to like it a lot. Wolf's on the prowl in this song, visiting all the wives of the neighborhood men in the night, and retreating to his lair during the day. Reminds me a lot of Clarence Carter's "Back Door Santa." The best part of the song is Dixon's dragging bass, which meets up with Wolf while he sings "I am/ a back door man." It's the intermingling of the bass and guitar that make this song really work though, and Wolf really finds his voice in that combo, around the middle of the song. At times, it sounds almost James Brown-ish, a terse three syllables making up the line in the verse. At times it's almost like improvisation.

Spoonful
Rhythm section sounds like a rehash of Smokestack Lightnin, and it's a bit like 100% recycled paper. No matter what the environmentalist tell you, it's just not as good as the original thing. Freddy King, by this time having taken over chief guitar duties, has another excellent performance. Why did they have Dixon writing the songs again?
Since I don't have much of anything else to say about this song, I guess I'll talk a little bit about Howlin' Wolf's life.
His story starts out like most other bluesman who made their way to Chicago by way of Memphis in the 1930's. Born in Mississippi in 1910, he grew up very poor on a farm near White Station. His mother kicked him out before he was a teenager for being lazy. Then he went to go live with an uncle who treated him even worse, before finally settling in with his father when he was 13. He first moved to Memphis in 1948 after a stint in the army and spent his days performing, being a radio station DJ, and sellling farm equipment. He was discovered in 1951 by Sam Phillips of Sun Records (the same man who discovered Elvis).
I don't know what the perceptions were about Chester Arthur Burnett, but he certainly was no dummy. In fact, he was a something of a rareity among bluesmen. He lived frugally, saving his money rather than spending it on drink, flasy cars, and loose women. Before he even got to Chicago, he'd already saved enough working in Memphis to have a nice nest egg in his pocket and a nice car to drive up in. He couldn't read or write until well into his 40's, but he worked hard, got his GED, and later studied accounting to further his business career.
Most importantly, he married one of those pretty, bougie, southside of Chicago girls. She came from an educated family, was the primary manager of all his finances, and was the one who encouraged him to continue his business studies. (there ain't nothing like a good woman to do that for you). He was so financially successful, that he not only paid his musicians one of the best salaries in the business, but he also paid for their health insurance. That's pretty awesome.

Shake For Me
Up tempo stuff. I do have to give it to Dixon, he does know how to write a popular song. The other good thing about him writing the songs is that Howlin' Wolf got more of a change to play the guitar. Not sure who had the solo on this song but it's enjoyable and Sam Lay puts down a nice backing for the three guitar attack to play over. This is where Dixon is at his best, an ultimiately inconsequential ditty of a song, but very nicely performed.

Red Rooster
Another song that became blues standard. To be honest, I like Sam Cooke's version better, even though he puts a lot of soft sheen onto the song. I guess it's just because I heard Cooke's version first. Not that Wolf's is bad or anything, it's got some downhome feel to it adding a certain heft to the song.

I Ain't Superstitous
Very interesting song, mostly the guitar work again. I miss how great the rhythm sections use to be; but if there's one area that Dixon's songs get the edge it's here. Teamin' with Sumlin, Wolf sure is something. The lyrics touch on an unsuperstitous man who has all kinds of bad luck. Not a woman to be found in this song.

Goin Down Slow
Dixon is a sly motherfucker, the two times he appears on vocals he really takes over. This song he isn't singing, but his spoken word is hilarious "I did not say I was a millionaire, but i said i have spent more money than a millionaire.... and women? well googly moogly) This is some straight classic blues, more great guitar play. At around the 3 minute mark the bending guitar really stands out.

Three Hundred Pounds of Joy
Another interesting uptempo, lots of horns and Buddy Guy (Buddy Guy!) on bass. It's not so much a blues number, more of that 60's poppy R&B stuff. Sounds like something you'd imagine Bobby Bland singing with these kind of lyrics and arrangement.

Built For Comfort
More poppy stuff. I don't mind the silliness too much (I'm built for comfort not built for speed); but the truth is that Howlin' Wolf is long past his prime at this point. I'm still listening, but quite honestly it's starting to bore me at this point.

Killing Floor
Burnett's last hurrah. This final song was written by Wolf, he was finally released from the Dixon cage and he goes back towards the darkness. Not his best stuff, but as we draw to a close, it's nice to hear him going back to his roots. Overall, the first half of the album stacks up to any blues artist in history. The second half is not nearly as good in my opinion, and suffice to say it coincides with when they took the pen out of his hand. Hubert Sumlin's guitar work helps to make up for a lot of it, as does Dixon's penchant for fun- but Wolf knew himself, knew what he was best at. It would have been something if he could have written for himself his entire career and not just half of it.

Diner Dash

2009-04-10T19:09:00.011-04:00

So, after 6 and a half months, I finally got around to returning the copy of Jane Eyre that I checked out from the Jackson Heights Branch of the Queens Library. It was supposed to be for a book club that never really got off the ground. Just have a hard time doing classics. Didn't stick around to see how much I owed on the book, although it has to be a lot of money. Hopefully they didn't report it to a credit rating agency, I heard libraries do that nowadays.

Got a little hungry after I was done, hadn't eaten all day. There was a diner just a short walk away from the library that I'd notice when I got off the train. When I walked in, I immediately felt like I passed through a time portal, straight to the 70's, like that soon to be canceled show, Life On Mars. Or more accurately, it was straight out of Taxi Driver or a Woody Allen movie (Annie Hall or Manhattan). They had those swivel chairs that are attached to the front of the bar, stained glass chandeliers covering those dusty yellow globe lights, wood paneling. Smooth jazz versions of Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack oozed through the speakers. Gray-haired men were reading the New York Daily News, eating lukewarm soup and drinking egg cremes, talking to the waitress about the mayor or the Yankees or the new administration. They were there long enough to have breakfast and lunch and they would always forget to wipe the food out of their beards. And the whole place was dim even as the sun poured in to the large front windows; not to the point where you couldn't see, it was like the entire world had been turned just a little bit more gritty, like life was in technicolor. I'd had one of those moments before, feeling like I'd gone back in time as soon as I stepped inside a place. My uncle (by marriage) has never been able to escape the 70's, I guess it must have been a good time for him. Everything in his house is dim, he still has a floor model TV, the light bulbs burn that dull brownish yellow, the type of yellow that lightbulbs burn after non-stop cigarette smoked has caked the glass. This isn't the vibrant, bell-bottoms, Brady Bunch 70's. No, this is some kind of blaxploitation film, dark enough to be The Mack, not quite cool enough to be SuperFly, a little too dirty for Shaft.

I've always been more than a little intrigued by New York in the 70's, particularly the New York of the mid-to-late 70's. It's like San Francisco in the mid-to-late 60's, something about that time and place goes a long way towards explaining the character of our country. It's the New York which actually earned its reputation as a dangerous city (sorry New Yorkers, but contrary to what you believe, you do not live in the roughest city in the country, not by a long shot). It became the ultimate symbol for a more general national malaise and the ultimate failure of the urban experiment. New York from that era was John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, the Son of Sam, the Bronx Zoo (the Yankees team not the place where animals live)- the city that Ford refused to bail out, the breeding ground for punk, hip-hop, and disco, all the sheen of Studio 54, all the sexuality of the Mineshaft, all the trashiness of a Rupert Murdoch tabloid, weighted down by the bloat of its bureaucracy. Birthed by disillusionment which flowered in to the kind of unrepentant hedonism that conservatives could point to as the moment when our country ceased to be a great nation- that hooker doing blow off a gay man dressed like an angel and proceeding to get fucked by three celebrities in the dirty batthroom of a discoteque on 54th Street. Yeah, that was when our country officially went off the track and Reagan officially won his election. A child of the 90's wonders what it would have been like to live in that world, but I'm glad to be able to study it from afar.
_________________________________________________________
The waitress took me and the Hispanic couple behind me to our respective places, me by myself near the kitchen, them towards the back where the tables were separated and there was a few more people scattered about. I'd already known what I wanted since I walked in, a nice juicy cheeseburger as a way to celebrate the end of Lent- but I let the waitress give me the menu anyway, mostly to see what kind of desserts they had. I started filling out the questions on the placemat, it had all of the presidents pictures and dates in office, and you were supposed to name as many presidents as you could. Using only the pictures, I got 27 out of 42, with the pictures and dates I got 40 out of 42. I forgot James Polk and William McKinley. Guess that makes me a nerd. What dawned on me as I was filling out the placemat though, was how many really mediocre presidents we had. Guys who were just not up to the challenge- after James Polk, there was a series of Presidents who were simply not up to the task of being President- Zachary Taylor, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan. More often than not these men were chosen for their ability to be molded by party bosses, and they proved unfailingly up to the task. I guess there's something to be said for Congress having more control over our affairs and maybe that's how the Framers intended it to be, but man were these guys weak.

The burger, fries, lemonade, cheesecake, and coffee was delicious, left the waitress a 33% tip for her excellent service. Walked around Jackson Heights for a little bit, before the rain started. It was good just to be out on my day off- when the temperature dropped I got on the 7 train back home so I could lay down and watch some baseball.

What Happened? Observations from Seattle vs. Minnesota on Opening Day

2009-04-09T02:03:00.003-04:00

Baseball's Opening day is love, pure love, and I mean that from the bottom of my blood filled heart. Because I have a job now and can afford such frivolous things, I decided to purchase MLB TV online for the entire 2009 baseball season. I've met plenty of people who've called themselves lazy; but let me just say this. Give me an opportunity to watch any baseball game I choose and I can show you how lazy a man really can be.

One of my favorite blogs is The Hardball Times and one of my favorite features of THT is Craig Calcaterra's throughly entertaining ShysterBall. During the baseball season, he writes these little blurbs about every major league game by either watching them or (more often) combing through the boxscores and digging out interesting tidbits. It's called "And That Happened" and it's probably the second or third thing I check on my computer when I get to work (after my work email and maybe Andrew Sullivan, naturally). I don't want to bite the man's style, but I too have decided to write little tidbits about baseball games throughout the season. Except, because I have the incomparable MLB TV, I will only write about games that I've actually watched. It will be heavily skewed towards the Brew Crew and Phillies because those are my favorite teams and West Coast starts because I get home from work relatively late, but I will try and be as even handed as possible. One last thing, no Mets and Yankees coverage because I live in New York.

Without further ado, here's some of my notes from opening day.

Seattle vs. Minnesota

Top of the 1st:
Liriano's slider is really working early. I know he'll probably never return to the form he showed during his rookie season, when he was inspiring, but he'll still become a legitimate ace. Not quite Santana though.

I've watched a little bit of the Twins, for some reason I can't quite understand, I've always had a soft spot for them. Even though they are the only baseball team to make me cry (I can still hear Jack Buck's call on Kirby Puckett's home run- "into deep left center, and we'll see you tomorrow night).

Man.. Nick Punto has a weak arm- not David Eckstein weak, but certainly towards the bottom of all shortstops, he might need to lie down after that throw.

I'm glad Mike Sweeney has a job, I thought he'd retire. I know I would if my manager told the press I needed to start pounding tequila instead of milk and cookies.

Damn, Hernandez twists his ankle a bit. He's young, so he'll play it off.

Bottom 1st:

Sometimes I forget that Felix Hernandez is only 22. He's been the anointed one for so long, that I think of him as a grizzled veteran. I also forget that he's actually gotten better every year- playing for the crappy Mariners keeps his win total low though.

Denard Span at the plate, he looks a little nervous, like he wants to hold on to his position for dear life. I don't blame him.

My god Endy Chavez is fast. Everybody remembers the catch for the Mets in 2006, so for the rest of his life he'll always be thought of as a great defender. And damn is it the truth, he didn't catch the foul ball he was chasing after, but he really never should have come close and he did.

Hernandez still has some trouble putting people away. And he still starts off the game throwing too much gas- but man are they some scorchers. 95, 95, 96, he has the best fastball in all of the bigs. Or at least the most consistently fast.

I know he's actually a really nice guy and all, but for some reason, Justin Morneau seems like he'd play the asshole bully in some high school movie.

Top 2nd:

Beltre knocks a baggy double the other way, I always expected more from him. I mean, 2004 has to be up there with Norm Cash in 1961 and Ken Caminiti in 1998, as far as flukish seasons, right?

Griffey's playing against lefties, seriously. His swing is still sweetest I've seen, but it's dangerously long. He shouldn't have (or want) any piece of Liriano. But he gets the productive out and Jose Lopez hits the sac fly to drive Beltre home, In other news, Span is a good defender. We got some gold glovers in left field tonight.

I like Liriano's motion although it frightens me a little bit. I wish he followed through more, it always seems like he's stopping abruptly.

Bottom 2nd:

Hernandez isn't showing any effects from the ankle in the first. Gets Redmond on a nice breaking ball

Bottom 3rd:

I know he's dead and we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Carl Pohlad was crotchety old miser. The best thing I can say about him is that he let his baseball people do the baseball work. Glad he wasn't really a fan or he might have fucked things up.

Beltre can certainly play some Defense, his arm is fantastic, strong and effortless throws after making the backhanded grab.

87 mph breaking ball followed by a 96 mph fastball, Cuddyer had no chance. I love pitchers who work backwards because I like strikeouts that end with a hitter getting thoroughly outgunned by the heat.

Top 4th:

Liriano's getting a lot of groundball outs. Bodes well for his season.

Bottom 4th:

I know I've said this already, but Hernandez really does have a pretty breaking ball. It's weird to describe it that way, it's biting and thrown in the high 80's, so it ain't your classic 12-to-6er, but it's still a joy to watch when it's on.

Beltre with another nice play, although this one has plenty of luck to go along with the skill. He lost the ball in the lights after it took a big hop, but he just reached up while looking down and snared it in his glove before throwing out the runner.

Top 5th:

HOME RUN GRIFFEY! OFF LIRIANO! Sorry I doubted you man. That pretty swing can still generate power, especially against a hanging slider. I just want to let you know that I had your shoe in the mid 90's. Even though it was ugly as sin. And I played your video game, even though it was completely unresponsive.

The homer seems to have taken something out of Liriano, the Mariners are starting to time him better.

Bottom 5th:

Man, Redmond aced that fastball, timed it really well.

Trouble for Hernandez, bases loaded and no outs. How's he gonna get out of this.

I like Span's patience, for some reason he's impressed me. Aaron Gleeman talked about him a bit, but I didn't know he'd be a player like he is.

Be careful with Cuddyer- bloop single. I think Hernandez is gonna be that type of pitcher, guys are just gonna stick the head of the bat out in front of the plate and use the speed of the pitch to drive it between the infielders and outfielders.

Morneau grounds into a double play to end the threat.

Top 6th:

Span has some serious range, him, Beltre, and Chavez have been the defensive stars of the game. He hesistated a bit on the Betancourt fly ball but still had enough speed to track it down.

Home run Gutierrez; it's crazy that Gomez almost caught that ball though. Good defenders are a joy to watch.

Top 9th:

The damn MLB TV messed up for two and a half innings. Missed the end of the line for Hernandez, but he pitched an absolute gem. Reminds me of that game he pitched against Boston in the first series of season last year, where had the no-hitter going. He never pitched that well again for the season, but it was that game that made me a fan of his.

Bottom 9th:

And as Jack Bucks says.. that's a winner, for the Mariners.

Other notes:

Detroit at Toronto

Watched Doc Holliday pitch. He's so efficient and quick, that sinker really is frustrating to hitters. He got nailed in his final inning so it looks like he was ineffective. But he wasn't, he was flat out dominate for most of his start. I like starters going a lot of innings as much as the next guy, but Cito really should have pulled him, the game was no longer in doubt.

Until the wheels fell off, Curtis Granderson's homer was the only damage against the Doctor (and boy did he hurt that one, hit it into the second deck). To me, Granderson is like a better version of Doug Glanville. Both very intelligent, thin Black outfielders, who can fly. Glanville, as you may know, graduated from University of Pennsylvania with an engineering degree and writes guest columns for the New York Times. Granderson has/had a very insightful blog on ESPN. The biggest difference between them is that Granderson has much more power, and is a legitimate All-Star. But I really like both of them.

Till next time.

Something Quick

2009-04-09T00:59:00.002-04:00

A TO Z ABOUT ME

A
Age: 22
Annoyance: somebody coming in to a room when I'm trying to be alone

B
Beer: as Ben Franklin said, it's proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy., some of my favorites include Newcastle, Sam Adams, Leinenekugels, and Fat Tire.
Birthday: September 2
Been In Love: and currently am, love you baby
Been on Stage: four times, i've played Little Boy Blue's Cow in kindergarten, the boy who got nothing for Christmas in first grade, Arthur in "The Happy Journey from Trenton to Camden" in fifth grade, and
Best Friends: my brother, my roommate, and my girlfriend
Best Feeling: waking up on a sunny day
Blind/Deaf: i'm probably closer to being deaf

C
Candy: jolly ranchers and reese's peanut butter cups
Color: blue and brown
Chocolate/Vanilla: for ice cream, vanilla. for anything else, chocolate. when i was little i use to feel bad that i liked vanilla ice cream better, i thought it meant that i secretly hated myself.
Chinese/Mexican: chinese food is more consistent, but mexican has the better upside
Cake/Pie: red velvet, german chocolate, or yellow cake
Continent to Visit: i want to visit africa.
Cheese: provolone on sandwiches, gouda to eat by itself

D
Day or Night: day
Dancing in the Rain: is pretty lame

E
Eyes: are incredibly sexy, especially big eyes
Everyone's Got to:
Ever Failed a Class: nope

F
First Thoughts Waking Up: oh please give me five more minutes

G
Greatest Fear: dying young
Goals: to have a family and die happy.
Gum: winterfresh or big red

H
Hair color: black
Height: 5'5''
Holiday: christmas i guess... i really like giving gifts
How You Want To Die: in a bed surrounded by loved ones... barring that, instantly

I
Ice Cream: chunky monkey
Instrument: bass guitar and the violin

J
Jewelry: nothing
Job: current job- public finance analyst; dream job- mayor of a big city, if money and prestige did not matter: i'd be a high school or community college history teacher and stock groceries during the summer.

K
Kids: three or four, but i guess it's up to the lady.
Kickboxing or Karate: kickboxing, almost exclusively because of jean claude van damme's terrible 80's movie.
Keep a Journal: my blog is my, journal, although it's not that personal.

L
Love: is incredible and incredibly hard
Letter: A or K
Laughed So Hard You Cried: maybe my eyes might water a bit.

M
Milk: skim, my mom started buying it when i was like 6
Movie: can't really choose just one, have to go with a top 5. City of God, The Godfather, Memento, Y Tu Mama Tambien, My Cousin Vinny (for nostalgic purposes)
McD's/BK: McDonalds fires, burger king burgers, but wendy's got them beat on both.

N
Number: 7 and 31 (the opposite of 13 so it must be lucky)

O
One Wish: infinite wishes, naturally.

P
Pepsi/Coke: depends on my mood really.
Perfect Pizza: deep dish Giordano's
Piercings: none and never wil

Q
Quail: reminds me of Quailman from Doug

R
Reason To Cry: death of a loved one.
Reality T.V: eh
Radio Station: my pandora
Roll Tongue in Circle: um... yes.
Ring Size: i have absolutely no idea.

S
Song: right today? "Psychotic Girl" by the Black Keys and "Ever Lovin' Man" by the Dirtbombs

Shoe Size: 10 or 10.5
Salad Dressing: balsamic vinagrette or country ass ranch dressing
Sushi: rainbow
In the Shower: nivea for men
Strawberries/Blueberries: strawberries... blueberries, except in very rare cases are always disappointing. everytime i eat one it always reminds me why there's never any blueberry flavored candy.

T
Tattoos: none
Time For Bed: between 12 and 2
Thunderstorms: are nice when you're inside next to a window

U
Unpredictable: i'm pretty steady

V
Vacation Spot: i haven't gone on many vacations so i'm not sure

W
Weakness: a woman crying, femininity in general.
Which Friends Act Most Like You: my brother, we have the same mannerisms
Worst Feeling: having the flu
Wanted To Be a Model: nope
Worst Weather: cold rain, it's far worse than snow.

X
X-Rays: i think i've had a few

Y
Year It Is Now: 2009
Yellow: is the color of my favorite shirt when i was 15 or 16

Z
Zoo: pretty cool when it's free.

"Chicken Fried Steak Don't Come With Peas" and Why I Love Eastbound & Down

2009-04-08T09:47:00.006-04:00

I'm not sure how long ago this was, but one day my family was watching Comedy Central, one of those shows where a bunch of random comics come on, tell one funny joke and six bad ones, then leave the stage. I think it was called Friday Night Comics (or maybe I'm thinking of ESPN's Friday Night Fights). Anyway, this skinny unassuming white guy came on the stage and was pretty much like all the rest of the comics. Towards the end of his set though, he starts an amusuing rant about the ways that Black comics imitate white people.
Comic: Everytime a Black comic tries to imitate white people he always talks like this (does white "nerd" voice ala Dave Chappelle in, say, the Nutty Professor).
Family: **smattering of laughter**
Comic: But really, white people don't talk like that. White people talk like this (with just the right mixture of country and southern). "Chicken fried steak don't come with peas."
Family: **non-stop laughter** because we know people who are like that.

The comic was right though. I think Black comics have an acute case of "Stuff White People Like"-syndrome, something a lot of people suffer from. When Black comics make fun of white people it's actually a specific set of white people, the coastal, liberal, NPR-types, who, for better or worse, have become the white archetype. Now it's different when they make fun of southerners; they'll appropriately use a southern accent. But I would be willing to bet more white people talk about chicken fried steak and peas.

Fot a long time I've been fascinated by white history, and more specifically, the history of the white underclass. I'm not talking about Italian and Jewish immigrants to northern cities during the turn of the century though, I'm talking about the some of the old Scots-Irish immigrants from the South, the people in Appalachia who still spoke Elizabeathan English. The people in many ways were used by the Southern Aristocrats and the Northern bankers to further their various agendas. The people, who today, at least outwardly, are the most "proud" of their country. I don't know if this makes me just as bad as the white liberals who fetishize "foreign" cultures. I just think that it's integral to an understanding of American history. And not some overwrought slobjob like James Webb's book, something real that doesn't focus on them in the periphery, as simply pawns in a game, or as the primary antagonist in the story of Black people, but also not something that gushes over them as the "salt of the earth," or the "real Americans."
I know there are whiteness studies programs but they're pretty much the antithesis of what I'm talking about. See, I'm not looking for explanations of the privileges of white people (and there are plenty) or the historical wrongs visited on minorities by white people (and there are a bunch)- what I'm interested in is mindset so to speak, and that's something that's a little harder to find. There are plenty of classes that try to explain the reasons behind some of the "pathological" behavior of Black people. There aren't too many that touch on the "pathological" behaviors of other groups of people. Most of the time it's chalked up to just being poor, unlike with Black people, where it's being poor and something else. A lot of it has to do with Black being synonymous with poverty, one would guess. A lot of it also has to do with the same problems that Black comics have when imitating white people. In academia, as in American society, white is like the video game default setting and to a degree, academic, liberal whites are the starting point for the default. But, there are specifics to white "underclass" culture that don't come simply from being poor and I would love to see how these particular features came about.

Part of my fascination comes from the impetus to try and engage with people who on the surface I have very little in common with, without immediately dismissing what they have to say (if they come at me with the appropriate demeanor, not on some Rush Limbaugh shit). Whether or not the grievances of cultural conservatives (who by and large are representative of this group) are based in logic, they are real grievances, and acting like they're not is a recipe for disaster in the end. In my experience, when you study history and gain an understanding of where someone is coming from then they're more likely to approach to you with respect.

Finally, all of this reminds me of one of the reasons I love Eastbound and Down (besides the hilarity and the wonderful acting and writing). In the very first episode, Kenny Powers (the main character) after hitting rock bottom, only has two posessions to his name, a truck with floodlights and a jet ski. And man does he love that jet ski, won't give it up for anything in the world, even when he needs the money. The way they portrayed it was just perfect, I know people like that, country boys who can't give up their one item of luxury. Jet ski : country white man :: rims : urban Black man, as I always say.

Come Get To This

2009-04-05T10:55:00.004-04:00

Another excellent Marvin song. Everyone knows that the man was an absolute monster. The past few days at work, I've pretty much only played him, hopefully the people around me like his music just as much as I do.

Yes I know all the Soul Train appearances are lipsynched, but I just love looking at the people more than anything (and I generally prefer album cuts to actual live singing). And I just love the title of this song. I'm a sucker for good titles, and I love people who have the ability to sum up exactly what I'm getting into, in just four or five words. Intellectually speaking, I suppose it's a little bit shallow. It's like judging a book by its cover, and I'm afraid I do that much more often than one would care to admit. (After giving it some consideration though, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not as deep as I want to appear. I love snappy titles, I love certain types of style even if they lack any semblance of substance 50's Rat Pack style slang, Spike from Cowboy Bebop, pseudo-indie pop culture references, and in many moods I'll take a good single over an album.)
Anyway, "Come Get To This" is like a perfectly aggressive come on- plenty of confidence to spare, but smooth enough, if said correctly, to not make it seem like a command. Now, obviously Marvin could sing the white pages and have it sound sensual, so in the hands of a lesser singer it might have fallen flat. Thankfully, in this video we don't have to find out.

I use to have this box set of funk & soul rarities from the 60's and 70's. The music was great, it had everything from Wilson Pickett and Aretha Franklin to Little Sister (Sly Stone's girl group) and Eddie Palmieri's Harlem River Drive. But what I really loved about it was the booklet that came with it. Just the pictures of the artists, the unmistakable 70's style and hair. It was all sepia-toned, so I couldn't see the outrageous colors, but it certainly did make me want to be young during those years. I have a friend who I use to share music with sometimes. She had the same reaction that I did when looking at the photos, a sense of joy upon gazing at the people of our parents generation. We were both history majors and anything that puts modern history into a better context is something we'd enjoy. But it was a bit more than that too, and I think it can be summed up in something she said while we were looking through the booklet- "Man, I love Black people from the 70's."
I certainly know the feeling, which is why I pick the Soul Train videos as much as I can.
When I look at those old episodes the first thing I notice.. well, the first thing I notice is that everyone is so damn skinny. And from the looks of things, it's mostly because of all the dancing they did. People really did dance back then, males included. I can't dance, but one of the bad things about the machismo of hip-hop infiltrating pretty much all of popular Black music, I think, is that it's pretty much unacceptable for Black men to dance like that anymore, it takes a little bit of bravier because something you try might not be "cool." It's fine for men to do, say performance dance, Americans in general love to watch dance crews, but no man could ever get away with dancing at the club the way some of these guys danced on Soul Train. Kat Williams talked about how Black people, particularly Black men, always have to be cool and can't enjoy themselves fully. It's generalizing of course, but I kind of agree.
But after the collective anorexia and dancing (and clothes), what I notice the most is a sense of the collective attitude, you can kind of feel it bursting through as Marvin's singing. It's feels like a cloud of joy has kind of just been released By almost any legitimate measure, the life of the average Black person is far better today than it was in the 1970's. Crime is down, drug addiction is down, educational achievements levels are up, as are economic ones. But what I think we don't have, or at least did not have until very recently, was that pure sense of joy about the prospects for the future. I wasn't alive back them (of course) and my impressions may be wrong, but from what I've seen, there was so much pent up hope about the progress of Black people. I mean, some of the culminating events of the Civil Rights movement were less than a decade old, and the progress that had been made was pretty stark, it must have been a wonderful experience to witness firsthand. I don't think you can fault anyone for thinking that the progress would go unimpeded, that the only direction there was to go was up. In hindsight we now know that the progress, under the economic and cultural conditions of the 70's was unsustainable. The sagging economy of the 70's, devastated by high inflation, low growth, and government largesse, begat the Reagan 80's, and with it came cuts in social spending and a more general laissez-faire attitude when it came to the underclass. To strain an analogy a bit, it may be comparable in a sense to how people felt about the space program. In elementary school, some of the social studies books we use to use were pretty old, and one in particular talked about all of the future plans that NASA had in store, the most prominent being a manned mission to Mars, sometime around 2000. Again, the progress the United States made in the 60's was enough to be optimistic about what was in store for the future of our space program. But of course it wasn't to be- it was unsustainable and in many ways a waste of spending. I guess that's what many people felt about government spending on inner cities too (although we never really got control of the budget during the Reagan years either- the money just went to a different constituency). Of course the educational and economic stagnation of Black people during the 1980's is a lot more consequential for our current situation than an unfulfilled mission to Mars. People talk about Japan's lost decade of the 1990's the 2010's becoming a lost decade for our country, well, with a few caveats, the 1980's was a lost decade for Black people and were now only starting to make up for it.

But the point is that, what I see, when I watch those Soul Train videos is the exuberant feeling that comes along with visions of an extraordinarily bright future. I'm pretty sure it's just my wishes reading too much into something, but that's how I'd like to see it, so that's how I will.

Winter Hiatus

2009-04-04T14:42:00.002-04:00

More than once I've thought about whether or not I have ADD, or perhaps ADHD. I'm not really sure what they call it now. I guess what I mean is that everytime I keep a journal or a blog there is always a period of time where I just cannot write. And it's not like a few weeks either, it's more like several months. January, February, March, three whole months where I can barely eek out a paragraph let alone something of substance. Part of it is certainly my general personality; I love starting projects much more than I like continuing or finishing them. It's the reason that I'm a generalist, the reason why I'm so disorganized. I'm just not nearly as interested in the day-to-day upkeep of things and so I intend to ignore them.
Part of it is also work, which has been much busier since around mid-February. I use to have time in the day to write about things I read or things I wanted to talk about. The projects were considerably more spaced out, and most of the work I did was completely of my own initiative, which meant I could get it done on my own timetable. Now, I'm always working on a project and when there is downtime, it's not really downtime because I could always be working on something else. I'm not a quick writer, as much as I don't like to admit it I'm sometimes a perfectionist. Not so much in the grammar and spelling department as anyone who has ever read something I've written before, but rather in trying to arrange my thoughts in the most logical manner possible. Now, it rarely works, but it does explain why I have a hard time getting things out at times. There are at least 20 half finished posts, just languishing with thoughts interrupted in mid-sentence, never to be unleashed to the greater viewing public, all three of them. But hopefully, as spring appears and warm weather spreads over the greater New York area, I'll get back to writing. Lord knows it'll feel good.

Grindin'

2009-03-30T22:48:00.002-04:00

(from the Lent Blog)

It's been a more than week since anyone has posted and since I don't want this to completely die, I guess I should put down some of my thoughts.

Lent had been going fine. I am sad to say, however, that I broke down a few weeks ago. I was down in North Carolina visiting my girlfriend- we went to go visit one of her friends. His parents were in town, and since they were from Louisiana they decided to make some gumbo for all of his friends. I didn't want to seem ungrateful, so I had some. And man was it good! But the thing is, it wasn't like I forgot about what I'd given up. I made a conscious decision, and I should suffer some kind of consequence. So, I will try my best to go an extra week without beef, pork, or chicken. And if I foul up again, I'll make it an extra two weeks.

Other news? I flat out failed when it came to reading, again, no excuse for that either. I didn't expand myself culturally either, unless going out to bars to have a beer and commiserate counts as taking advantage of living in New York. The only thing I can say in my defense is that work has been extremely hectic lately. At times it's been stressful and when it hasn't been stressful it's been numbing. Not in the sense of being boring, I actually enjoy the work I do very much. No, what I mean is that I invest so much of my mind at work that I don't want to have to think about anything when I get home. It's a weird feeling, wanting to be mindless. I guess this has been my first feeling of going through "the grind."

Young men, especially those steeped in "hip-hop" lingo, love to talk about how much they grind, how hard the grind, I definitely loved to talk about it while I was in college and working. But, it's an all together different feeling now that I'm working for a living rather than going to school. Having to go to work when I had a paper due put a nervousness in my stomach that bordered on fear. It wasn't tedious by any means. But for work, though, it's sloshing through a project, which, you enjoy in the abstract, but which also consists of a bunch of tedious number crunching that ultimately gets you to your ultimate goal at some distant point in time. Sometimes it's two weeks, sometimes it's a month, sometimes your project withers up and dies because your boss wants to go in a different direction. The minuteness can be compared to the busy work you received in school, but it's ultimately much more necessary. But, since sometimes in a single day, or even a single week you don't feel that you've produced much, it feels just like you're spinning your wheels, inching forward as slowly as the ocean encroaching on an island. That's what the grind is, nothing exciting, nothing physical, there's no sweat involved. In other words, coke dealers don't grind, office workers do.

Quickly on Chaz Freeman

2009-03-12T10:45:00.003-04:00

Although it's just now getting mainstream coverage, I've been following the story of Charles Freeman for a little while now. Retired Navy Admiral David Blair, the Director of National Intelligence, appointed Charles Freeman to chair the National Intelligence Council. It's an important post, probably more important now after the debacle of intelligence gathering which led us to the Iraq War. But ultimately, it's rather inconsequential as far as newsworthiness. It's not a Senate confirmed appointment, most of the time the nominee flies through quite effortlessly. But not this time, because Freeman crossed AIPAC, the Israel lobby The fight went on for about a week, but ultimately Freeman voluntarily withdrew his name.

I hate to say this, but the Obama adminstration went out like a bunch of ho's. How do you think David Blair feels, having to fight for his appointment with no back up from the adminstration he works for. Now AIPAC and their roster of political thugs that holler "anti-Semetic" anytime someone does something they don't like know that they will continue to control the debate, just like they've done in the past. Perhaps the administration thought the fight for a relatively minor post was not worth the effort, but if you blink once....

Now, Freeman did have some other issues. He's a Kissinger-lite style realpolitiker; which bugs the hell out of human rights activists, and justifiably so. Some of his statements on China and Saudi Arabia have caused some alarm, not nearly as much as his statements on the Israel/Palestine conflict, but they do provide good cover for those that oppose him. But honestly, I don't see too much that is controversial. His views on China and Saudi Arabia are pretty much in line with everyone elses, if we were to judge our government on its actions rather than words. We may bloviate on Chinese human rights atrocities at certain times to try and maintain our moral superiority, but a) we don't have as much leverage since they're bankrolling our deficit spending and have been for some time, and b) we, as a country, don't actually care about Chinese human rights. Yeah it'd be nice if they'd stop arresting people for political reasons, freed Tibet, cleaned up their air, and opened up their internet. But it'd be a lot better if they continued to buy up all of our T-bills and continued to churn out low cost products to ship to our Wal-Marts. And as far as Saudi Arabia is concerned- just substitute oil in for T-bills and low cost goods. I'm not doubting that It's important that people who are in intelligence posts to deal with the world how it is now how they want it to be and leave the lofty optimistic goals to the elected administration. It goes back to the Wilson vs. Jefferson debate; those who have to deal with the details of advancing to our lofty goals have to have a much more realistic frame of mind than those who set up the grand vision. It wouldn't be his job to set up policy, rather he would be interpreting the data collected for the policymakers to act on. Furthermore, Freeman, as an avowed contrarian would help to curtail the dangerous group-think that can infect any organization. Overall, every person that knew Freeman and commented on his aptitude and qualifications for the job said that he was the right man, even if they disagreed with some of his conclusions. Shame that he won't get a chance to serve.

PS- One more thing. I've read some comments on blogs that I frequent that talk about a "conspiracy theory" when it comes to the Israel lobby, saying that it doesn't actually exist. As Andrew Sullivan said, there is no conspiracy. There is an Israel lobby. And there's nothing wrong with having an Israel lobby, all foreign governments have some kind of lobby. There are plenty of firms that specialize in lobbying for dictatorships. I'm not saying that there's some nefarious plot where Israel actually runs our government. Like all lobbying groups they present their case, lean on officials that owe them favors, and spend their political and social capital as best they see fit in order to implement their agenda. And I'm not saying that the Israel lobby shouldn't carry more weight in the American government than say, the government of Azerbijan. I just personally think the lobby carries a little too much weight, and that our interests don't always align with Israel's the way that some people say they do.

My First Real Friend Revisited

2009-02-22T18:58:00.004-05:00

Do you remember your first friend? I mean, your first real friend. My brother has been my best friend for my entire life- but I guess for this exercise he doesn't really count. My second blog entry here was an old post from 2005, about my first real friend. I suppose everyone has done the old friends search with Facebook or Myspace before out of sheer curiosity- "Oh, I wonder how so and so is doing? Where did they end up?" Most of the time though, you're only curious for a second. I know that most of the people I looked up I didn't really want to contact, and even if I did "friend" it was just a formality to get my numbers up during my early Facebook days. He was different though, I actually wanted to contact him. Maybe not to rebuild a friendship, but definitely just to know that he was alive and doing well, that he maybe even remembered me.

But I couldn't find him on Facebook couldn't find him on MySpace. That's okay, I thought, he probably just didn't have a computer. My sister suggested that I try looking in the Department of Corrections; I'd seriously thought about that but didn't want to admit that it'd have the possibility of bearing fruit. But sure enough I ended up fiding him on the Penn DOC website; I knew it was him because he had a very unique name and I could still remember his birthdate. He was doing an undetermined bid in a medium security prison outside of Philadelphia, but I didn't know what for. I found out yesterday though. I was trying to write a post about something else entirely when he popped into my head again, I'm not really sure why. So I went through the online Pennsylvania court papers; it didn't take me long to find him. Turns out, he's in prison on a gun charge, but he's set to stand trial in May for first degree murder. Between his arrest for the gun charge and the trial date he shot an 18 year old kid, in a grocery store, over an argument. And it's not like he's a first timer; his rap sheet is two miles long. Guns, dope w/ intent, guns, aggravated assault, burglary, dope w/ intent, and more guns. Like I said before, it was always likely that he was going to go to prison for something. When I saw his name in the system I thought it would only be dope and guns, at worst assault. I couldn't imagine something like this, his picture in the paper like one of the men from America's Most Wanted, looking just like I remember him only older, grimier, as if he was bred to do what he did.

The question I keep asking myself is, why do I care so much? He was my first friend yeah, but we haven't been friends in a LONG time. I don't know who he is, I only know who he was. On a certain level, I care on moral grounds, because two lives and two families were forever ruined on that February day in 2007. Two young Black men, one did not live to see his 19th birthday and the other (if the evidence is as strong as it seems to be) will spend his 23rd and every subsequent birthday for the rest of his life behind bars. I read an article describing the birthday party that the victims mother was throwing for her now deceased son. It's hard to keep from crying as she describes the hurt that her family has gone through. It's tough to think that a person I knew when he was a little boy could cause all of that harm.

On another level, I care about it from an intellectual point of view. It's just an example of the violence that plagues so many inner city Black neighborhoods- the police call that section of South Philly "Little Beirut." It's something that is hard to come to grips with, even in the abstract, as the death of that young man and the imprisonment of my old friend becomes nothing more than another data point belying the hopelessness under which so many people live. My friend was a sociological stereotype- absentee father, welfare/addicted mother, older brother already doing time, lived in the projects, substandard public school. Yeah, we went to the same shitty South Philly public school, but even at 8 it was easy to tell the difference. It was the way the teachers treated us, what they expected from us, and what we expected from ourselves. There were two classes of kids that went to that school, the navy kids and the project kids and it was always easy to tell the difference- from the reading class that you were in to the simple fact that you came to school with clean clothes. (there was also the occasional Italian kid whose parents were too poor to send them to Catholic school but thats another story). Us Navy kids certainly weren't rich- to put it in perspective, I make $14,000 more in inflation adjusted dollars than my father did after 20 years of service in the Navy, and he had to support a wife and three children. But compared to the kids from Passyunk, we might as well have been Warren Buffett. I'm not trying to reduce what happened to some case study about young Black men in the ghetto, but I can't help of think of it in those terms. Because I knew him so long ago, in many ways my friend has morphed into a silohuette, a piece of anecdotal evidence for improvements we need to make in our society.

But I think mostly, I care because he was one of my best childhood friends. Thinking about all of the places I lived growing up, all the friends I had to make and remake, there are four that I remember vividly, four that were part of my life the way no one outside my family was. Three of them were Navy brats like me, our lives were pretty much the same. As I've gotten older (because of college and work mostly), my friends have tended to be more and more like me, a larger percentage of my friends are Black or at least minorities, and as whole they are much better educated. I guess it speaks to the innocence of childhood that he and I could be best friends, even though our worlds were so separate.

A man who murders, particularly in the manner in which he did, is a monster to the outside world, and I can't dispute that. But he wasn't always one. He was a good kid while I knew him. At school we were inseparable, we were always on the same team in kickball, always partners on field trips, always sat together at lunch. We lived too far away to hang out much outside of school but we talked on the phone nearly every night. Usually to play MASH or talk about which girls looked good and which ones were ugly, but also about what we thought middle school would be like and which lunches tasted the nastiest in the classroom. All dumb kid stuff at the time, but I felt so adult because my mom let me talk on the phone for hours.

And he was always there for me. I didn't get made fun of for "talking white," or not cursing a lot, at least not nearly as much as I might have. But I was still a Black nerd at a bad school, and there were more than a few occasions where he protected me, fought for me. I remember one time, I'd gotten into a fight the previous day with some kid over being a doorholder at the end of the day. When my friend found out, the next day he bloodied the kids lip in the auditorium during an assembly. At the same time though, he followed me too. We met because I had to tutor him in science at the beginning of the year and pretty soon he was actually interested in school- getting all A's and B's on every report card for almost the entire school year. My mother told me, years later, about how our teacher would let our youthful shenanigans slide a bit because of the "positive effect" we had on each other. When we moved away it was my first experience ever missing someone.

As I got older, after his phone got disconnected and we lost contact, I started to realize just how perilous his situation really was. But I always held out hope. Yeah, the statistics say this and that. But it was going to end differently for him, I just knew it. I knew that he would get out of Passyunk, maybe out of Philadelphia, and expand his world in ways that wouldn't be imaginable to most young men in his situation. I just knew that he would get a good job, maybe even get a chance to go to college, break the cycle of poverty, start a newer one, a better one. Deep down, and it's entirely my selfishness and foolishness talking, I knew that he would be a better person and have a better life simply from knowing me.

I shake my head now thinking about how foolish and egotistical I was. Thinking that his success would be a referendum on how good my friendship was, my 8 to 11 year old friendship. That somehow just because he became a vegetarian like me, and made the honor roll at some crappy elementary school and some crappy middle school that it actually meant something more than just two kids from different worlds being friends. That it could overcome every male example that was set for him and the environment he lived in his entire life. You can't save someone from what they're going to become, I suppose, especially when you're just a long forgotten ghost from the past. But damn if I didn't wish it could be that way.

Melange

2009-02-18T23:32:00.004-05:00

Except for Valentine's day dinner (at the exquisite Christo's Steakhouse) I haven't eaten any red meat or chicken for two weeks. It hasn't been as hard as I thought it'd be, mostly because I have the money to not worry as much about the cost of food. Throughout college, as I ate excessive quantities of Taco Bell, Jack in the Box, Rally's, and numerous other fast foods, I told myself that I would change my ways as soon as I got a job. I just didn't have the money to buy things like fruits and vegetables and groceries. After paying bills and putting gas in the car, I was lucky to have five dollars a day, let alone enough money to buy groceries at one time (looking back it was mostly laziness). And then I graduated, and got a job, and made a little money. Even still the transition came much more slowly than I thought it would though. There's just too much good fattening food in New York and I have to get to most of it before I move away. But then this recession hit, or rather I just got tired of spending the money. I still wild out a little bit on the weekends, but weekdays, at work, I try and bring in some leftovers. Just makes more sense, and like I said, it's usually not hard.

Tonight though, tonight it was hard not eating red meat or chicken. Not that I couldn't have gone out and gotten something, it's just that I didn't get hungry until it was late and the closest spots don't have fish. To get the amount of protein required for a strapping young gentleman such as myself, I've resorted to eating a lot of fish- tilapia mostly. It's cheap, goes well with just about any fish seasoning, and the store next to the train station keeps it heavily in stock. But I'd forgotten to leave it out to thaw and I hate how things taste after thawing in the microwave. Suppose I could have thawed it in a pot of water- but I didn't think about it. Instead, I decided to make
a melange, just throw a bunch of crap lying around and hope that it tastes good.

A quarter tub of rice:
I'd made some rice to take to work with me last night. Didn't really add anything, it was just some plain white rice. But that's how I like it- I want my rice to be bland and just a little al dente. Rice isn't meant to be the star of the show, merely a template, a sturdy foundation on which you can improvise. In a melange, the rice is like the drums or the offensive lineman, rarely the star but absolutely essential to the success of the team.

3...6....3 stalks of Asparagus (asparagi?):
It's funny, but we rarely buy vegetables that don't come in a can. As three immature bachelors living under one roof, we are not the most practical grocery buyers, although we've improved leaps and bounds from when we first started living together. Sometimes I wish I had a child just so it'd force me to start shopping smarter; it'd be a shame to put him or her through the trial and error process though. Anyway, I said all that to say this, for some strange reason on the day that I bought the asparagus my roommate just happened to buy some too. What are the odds of both of us buying a healthy green vegetable on the same day when we rarely even went to the produce section before? I orignally bought it because I thought it would go well with tilapia- I love the taste of fish with a hint of asparagus. I also like it the other way around- asparagus with a smattering of fish flavor. There were a few stalks left and they were making that far turn into the realm of the spoiled. So at first I chopped three stalks up and heated them in the microwave. The first dice went really well, chopped it like a cross between Malto Mario and Nino Brown, and heated it until it was both firm and tender. If there was some kind of national recognition for chopping and heating up almost bad asparagus stalks in the microwave, I'd probably do pretty well in it. I guess I got a little cocky after that because I didn't fare to well on the second one. Like an idiot, I forgot to put water into the bowl and when I microwaved it.... Just so you know burnt asparagus smells really bad. I didn't even know asparagus could burn. Anyway, in this melange food band, the asparagus is like the bass- understated and not as overpowering as the other ingredients, but it adds some much needed texture to the festivities.

1 can of Chicken of the Sea
Because I still need some protein. And it has Omega fatty acids. And about 36 days worth of sodium, but I'm starting to drink a lot of water so it's okay. Chicken of the Sea.... after years as living as a Black man and feeling like I had to love chicken because I was supposed to I reached a pretty startling conclusion. I could live the rest of my life without ever eating chicken again. It's just not that good. It doesn't have the flavor of beef or pork (not disgusting, slimy ass ham mind you, but pork of the chop and loin variety) and it's not as healthy as fish. Chicken is certainly versatile, I'll give you that. And versatility is definitely a virtue, but not enough of one for it to replace beef, pork, or fish. From now on, I'm calling chicken Fish of the Ground. As in most meals, the meat is the star here, providing the most prominent flavor and getting most of the credit if the meal is successful. It's just natural that the tuna is the lead singer here; although I'm not sure if he writes his own songs.

A couple slices of Muenster Cheese
My roommate got me hip to this. I'm pretty sure I've tried muenster cheese before, but it wasn't until I moved to New York and tried the ungodly turkey sandwiches at the corner deli next to the apartment that I truly knew how good it could truly be. It was more than a revelation, it was like Saul falling off the donkey, forever to be known as Paul. The true power of muenster cheese was revealed on a night me and my roommate came home drunk as hell; the turkey sandwich hit the spot and the tryptophan put us straight to sleep. But I woke up thinking about the cheese- just zest and flavor, every bite as refreshing as the last. It melded perfectly with the turkey, augmented it, damn near stole the show really. Besides my brother and my girlfriend, my roommate is my best friend- and if he wasn't already, he secured that spot with thse turkey and muenster sandwiches. The muenster is the final piece of this band; because it adds so much spice it's definitely the lead guitar; a little crazy, posesses the most flavor, great solo but much better as part of the ensemble.

And that was my meal, doesn't sound too appetizing, but it was actually pretty good. Arranged like I love life, a mixture of all kinds of disparate parts that somehow fit.

Style for Style's Sake

2009-02-13T10:44:00.005-05:00

Tired at work this morning. I was up late last night discussing the merits of Cowboy Bebop with my roommates. People who know me well know that I absolutely love Cowboy Bebop- it's the only anime I watch. But, and I'm putting this as mildly as I possibly can, my roommates think that it blows, fully, hardly, and unconditionally. They think that it's corny, boring, superfluous, and ultimately, style for the sake of style alone. I tried to argue that it wasn't style alone that made the series compelling; that it had an enjoyable (although sparse) storyline, gritty minimalism, the interaction between the characters. And it's true that I enjoy all of those aspects- but I realized that it wasn't the right ground to be arguing in favor of the show; because ultimately I don't think it was what the creators were going for, and it's pretty tough to defend a show on grounds where it's not necessarily trying to step. But I have to admit that my primary reason for liking Cowboy Bebop was indeed it's style, and that I fell into the same bias that I'm about to argue against. Namely, that liking or enjoying something primarily or solely because of its style is lazy for an intellectual person; that it somehow needs defending. But that's not necessarily the case.

While it's okay to like something because of it's style, there's a stigma attached to loving something primarily because of it's style. In the world of criticism, I think, that stigma- and it's certainly not an unjustifiable one- comes from a kind of intellectually sophisticated cynicism. Accordingly, something that is too stylish, too slick, inherently lacks any meaningful substance. When applied to people it makes a lot of sense. Con-men, pimps, criminals, they all hide their true intentions behind a stylish sheen that implies that something else is there. But when it comes to entertainment? The primary value of entertainment of course is to entertain, and different combinations of style and substance can suffice, as long as it's done well. I don't think it truly matters where exactly the components of value come from, just as long as they're there.

Being me I just have to use a baseball analogy. In baseball, the worth of an individual player is comprised of his offensive and defensive value. Because offense is individualized, the vast majority of the average players value comes from offense, what they can do with the bat in their hands. To accumulate an equivalent value defensively is much harder, simply because there is so much randomness on the trajectory of a batted ball. So it's certainly harder to accumulate enough value on defense to offset offensive deficiencies, but it's not impossible. It's how someone like Ozzie Smith is in the Hall of Fame (and deservedly so), but it takes an awful lot of style to mitigate deficiencies in substance. I agree with the basic premise that most of the value in entertainment is in its substance, and that most forms of entertainment (at least) that I think are classic are heavy on substance, their ability to make me think long after they're over. But it doesn't have to be that way- I can enjoy a book primarily because of the way it is written and not for the story itself (Kenzo Kitakata's Ashes), I can enjoy a rapper primarily because of his rhyme schemes and not what he says in them (Papoose), and I can enjoy an anime primarily because of its aestetic pleasure (Cowboy Bebop).

And Cowboy Bebop has an awful lot of style to spare. It's not just the animation, although it was certainly ahead of its time. It was the breadth of music, the fight scenes, the endless popular culture homages (blaxploitation, sci-fi, and film noir being the best) that were, for the most part, tastefully and hilariously incorporated, a minimalistic grittiness that was; and an attitude that was a little Clint Eastwood circa "Fistful of Dollars," a little Bruce Lee from "Enter the Dragon," and a whole lot of the late 50's early 60's bebop coolness that the show gets its name from. Not to mention incredible efforts by the American dubbed voices. It's a style that combines so much of what I like, a style that I wish I had.

(more on this later)

Thoughts on A-Rod and Steroids

2009-02-09T17:00:00.004-05:00

Imagine you're at work one day, sitting at your desk pouring over a spreadsheet with various cash flow models. You're tired, pulling long days with a hard-ass boss breathing down your neck. While at lunch a co-worker comes up to you tells you about this substance that some other guys at work have been taking. It helps them get through the long-hours with incredible ease, relaxes their eyes muscles so they don't develop strain staring at the computer screen, enhances concentration so all of your models are more accurate. That last round of promotions; all of the people on the list were using. The guy who got the biggest bonus? Him too. And further more nobody cares if you use; in fact, there's tacit approval from the people on high. Under those circumstances; where there is seemingly no downside but a tremendous upside, what do you do?

I just want to contrast Michael Phelps and Alex Rodriguez for a second. First, a few admissions. I think marijuana should be legalized; I don't think it's harmful to society, certainly not any more harmful than cigarettes or alcohol. And I also think that there should be testing for steroids in sports, and that players caught using steroids are subject to whatever penalties the organization comes up with. If there were tests and clear rules before 2004, then there wouldn't be a problem.

But there wasn't any testing regime in baseball before 2004. And marijuane still is illegal. You mean to tell me that it's okay for someone to use an illegal drug for recreation but it's not okay for someone to use an illegal drug to make them better at their job? What kind of sense does that make? Now, there are plenty of reporters out there who are going hard at both Michael Phelps and Alex Rodriguez- most of them are tired old blowhards who love to talk about how great the old days of baseball were (like the coked-out 80's or speed-junky 60's). But there are other people, people I'd categorize as more liberal in some respects, who are cool with Michael Phelps smoking weed at a party but are getting all self-righteous because Alex Rodriguez somehow ruined the sanctity of the sport. They want it both ways I suppose. Part of it is that most of the commentators have smoked weed before, know that it's not some nefarious substance that's undermining our national morals, and thus can sympathize with Michael Phelps. Most people who have commented on the subject have not taken steroids; I'm sure they see it as the rich getting richer in some respect. Shoot, I see it as the rich getting richer. But we're being more than a little disingenuous if absolve Michael Phelps completely while piling extra hard on Alex Rodriguez.

I think it's pretty safe to say that baseball (as well as track, football, and pretty much all athletics) had a steroid culture. It wasn't just a couple of rogue players; there were 104 players on that list, or a quarter of the people who qualified for the batting or ERA titles, 9% of the people on 40 man rosters. And those were just the people who tested positive on the test date. Certainly, the amount of people using steroids solely to recover from injuries was higher still. There was no actual testing until 2004; no specific rule against it's use in baseball. There were all the incentives in the world to use it and virtually none not to. Yeah, it's illegal- that doesn't stop people from smoking weed or snorting coke. And what were the chances of getting caught? If something has all kinds of benefits and few forseeable downsides.. well, I mean people smoke crack just to get high, what makes you think someone won't inject some stanazol to make more money?

I guess that most of the outrage stems from the fact that somehow the achievement of Alex Rodriguez has somehow been dampened. I can see that, we want to believe that athletic achievement is completely derived through hardwork and dedication. When people realize that many (most?) athletes use some kind of chemical enhancement it makes them cynical. But does anyone honestly believe that Alex Rodriguez is not a tremendous baseball player, one of the very best of his or anyones generation? Does anyone think that the only thing that made him a great player was using steroids? If the use of performance-enhancing drugs was as ubiquitous as I believe (and circumstantial evidence suggests) then I think that A-Rod's achievements relative to his peers is pretty much where the numbers suggest. Roided up pitchers vs. roided up hitters competing with roided up minor leagues for jobs. All with the tacit approval of ownership.

One final note. Gene Orza needs to fall on his sword as quickly as possible. How could the players union possibly let all of this come out? The tests should have been destroyed as soon as next years testing determination was made. Orza wanted to fight the subpoena that the Feds had for the BALCO players records (Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, etc.) which left the door open for all of the records being subpoenaed if the Feds so wished. And god-damn does our government leak like a broken faucet, sealed grand jury testimony, anonymous test results, it's all getting out there if it's connected to a high-profile baseball fan. Now if they'd only leak about important things- like say the oh-so-important "state secrets" in the Biyam Mohamed case, where the Obama adminstration is using Bush style tactics to dismiss an entire case connected to the torture and rendition of the previous administration. More on that later. The players union, after talking to their members, might want to preemptively release the other 103 names on the list instead of letting all of the star players get leaked first, followed by a bunch of no-names who will get even further lost in the crowd. Then maybe people will finally understand that it's not just the guys chasing records who are using, but the bench players too. I mean, if Neifi Perez; this NEIFI PEREZ, was on the juice, how helpful could it have been?

A Thing Done Well: A Literary Fan Bids Updike Adieu

2009-02-04T23:09:00.006-05:00

When I was 13 years old my godmother/violin teacher bought me a book for my birthday; "The Greatest American Sportswriting of the Twentieth Century." She knew that I loved sports, particularly baseball, so I guess she must have thought that I would love reading about them just as much as I liked playing them. (Sports was always a contentious subject with my godmother, sports were manly and the violin, particularly when you're a pre-teen, seems kind of wimpy. She knew I'd eventually be pulled in that direction.)

I can't say that I wasn't a little disappointed. I mean, I was grateful that she had gotten me something for my birthday. But I was 13 years old, barely out of my Matthew Christopher phase. And although it makes me happy to know that my godmother thought I was intelligent enough to truly appreciate the artistic merit of America's best sportswriters, you don't instantly jump from "The Kid Who Only Hit Homers," to Dick Schaaps musings about his time in a hotel room with Tom Seaver and Muhammad Ali or feature length pieces in Esquire magazine about the legendary Dick Butkus. Not to say that "The Greatest American Sportswriting of the Twentieth Century," didn't eventually find it's rightful place in my life. It functioned wonderfully as a book I could use to bear down on when I did my homework on the floor of my room, or as a surprisingly heavy doorstop. Overtime, it got wrinkled and started to fall apart at the seams. Not from being read too much, but from being misused and neglected by a careless 13 year old who didn't have much use for what was inside.

But there's a very long distance between 13 and 14. It's partially because of the set-up of American schools.(to put it in perspective, when you're 13 you go to school with people who might still be playing with action figures. When you're 14 and went to a high school like I did, you're going to school with some people who are 20 and have families.) Between that, my propensity to pretend that I'm older than I am, and other more personal circumstances, I probably did enough growing up to actually take a second look at my godmother's gift. A lot of the book I still didn't get, and the topics, which ranged from baseball to NASCAR and horseracing, held my interest to varying degrees. But to even my young untrained mind, the writing was gorgeous. I laughed at the picture of Ted Williams as the Florida Keys curmudgeon painted so brilliantly by Richard Cramer in "What Do You Think of Ted Williams Now?"- the image of a lonely Joe DiMaggio sitting by the Bay, carrying so much weight in his heart haunted me. But my favorite piece took me on a little jaunt to Fenway Park, before it became baseball's yuppie Mecca, on a sunny September day, to watch the last game of a legend, Boston's bitter institution, Ted Williams. I don't know what it is about Ted Williams, maybe it's the contemptuous personality combined with the rugged Greatest Generation charm, but he brought out the best in the sportswriters who covered him. He wasn't immune from the venomous sportswriter cliches of the day of course, (ones that plague players like Alex Rodriguez to this day) and Updike manages to cast them aside as the intellectually shallow arguments that they are. All while turning a beautiful phrase about two college students sitting on the third base side of the diamond- just as effortlessly as a veteran middle infield turns a 6-4-3 double play. Yes, "Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu" might be pound for pound the best writing in the non-fiction sports genre.

The entire essay is dazzlingly understated, he comes as close as possible to recreating the feeling of a lazy, meaningless September game, interspersed with sharpest insights and the small fact that it's the last game of the "greatest hitter who ever lived." What I loved about Updike was his astonishing vocabulary that somehow never seemed out of place or presumptuous. It's like he knew that under normal circumstances (i.e. when you weren't reading something written by him) the reader would be hard pressed to figure out just what he meant- in the hands of a less gifted author bestowing the term of "dowagers" on grizzled old sportswriters would have seemed excessive. While reading Updike though, it felt just right.

There are several famous passages in his eassy, most of them have been quoted endlessly by understandably grateful sportswriters. There's his dismissal of the writers who tried to dismiss Williams achievements because of a handful of games at the end of the season, putting the idea into words better than us sabermetric folks put into numbers. "The correspondence columns of the Boston papers now and then suffer a sharp flurry of arithmetic on this score; indeed, for Williams to have distributed all his hits so they did nobody else any good would constitute a feat of placement unparalleled in the annals of selfishness."

And then there's perhaps the most famous passage- after Williams hits his climactic home run in what turns out to be the final at-bat of his career.

Like a feather caught in a vortex, Williams ran around the square of bases at the center of our beseeching screaming. He ran as he always ran out home runs—hurriedly, unsmiling, head down, as if our praise were a storm of rain to get out of. He didn't tip his cap. Though we thumped, wept, and chanted "We want Ted" for minutes after he hid in the dugout, he did not come back. Our noise for some seconds passed beyond excitement into a kind of immense open anguish, a wailing, a cry to be saved. But immortality is nontransferable. The papers said that the other players, and even the umpires on the field, begged him to come out and acknowledge us in some way, but he never had and did not now. Gods do not answer letters.

It's the fatalism in the last sentence that really gets me "Gods do not answer letters." It's certainly sad but not excessively so; it's tempered by a sentence a little bit before, about immortality not being transferable. I guess it's kind of unfortunate that we cannot choose who greatness is given to particuarly objective greatness, the kind that can be quantified, by points and runs and touchdowns. The men and women bestowed with these gifts are saints, sinners, and harlots alike. The best we can do is acknowledge it when it stares us in the face. No matter who they are, even when the leave us wanting as we plead.

But my favorite passage combines the arguments against the amorphous clutch of the first passage and the vague fatalism of the second. It's one that can be easily overlooked because it's argument against conventional wisdom is not entirely blatant, and it doesn't have a final hook that is instantly quotable. Instead it reads like this.

For me, Williams is the classic ballplayer of the game on a hot August weekday, before a small crowd, when the only thing at stake is the tissue-thin difference between a thing done well and a thing done ill.

That last phrase is especially beautiful, a hidden gem because of its simplicity, because of it's applicability. In most parts of our lives what can be deemed success or deemed failure are as interchangeable as the two sides of a nickel, and ultimately they're just as consequential as the flip of that coin. Most summers don't end in a championship or even in a pennant race, most of the things we do at work will have no effect on the world at large or even on anything, and the largest challenge we might have all day is trying to be nice to the person in the drive-thru who is slow filling our order. Is there any reason to give 100%, under those circumstances, when there is little difference between "a thing done well and a thing done ill?" It's easy to go through the motions, it's very difficult to perform your craft for it's own sake, when the weather is always hot, the crowds are always sparse, and the home team always seems to be down by 5.

I think it's particularly apt that Updike wrote this passage about baseball, and not the sport that had already started to supplant it as the American pasttime, football. Football as an institution is parallel to the life of a celebrity. Every game is played in front of a packed house, the short schedule requires total concentration and places enormous importance on every game. It's a game best represented by it's signature event, the Super Bowl, something so big that it attracts scores of people who couldn't tell you what teams were playing in the game. Contrast that with baseball, which as an institution is much closer to the life of your everyman. The season is as long as the Nile River coming up from Lake Victoria and snaking through the Sahara Desert known as June through September. Teams that are out of it by the middle of May slosh mercilessly through game after game against those who still have a shot- but every team has to cross that Sahara, sometimes just so they can come in last. It's a game best represented by that classic situation that Updike mentioned, that hot August game with nothing at stake, the stands have a good chance of being half empty, and even people who could tell you the on-base percentage of every player on the field probably aren't bothering to watch.

I'm not entirely sure about where it all connects- Updike's ideas on clutch and fate, and Gods not answering letters. But it all reminds me of one of my favorite scenes from the Wire. During the third season, a character by the name of Cutty who has just gotten out of prison after 15 years is trying to get on the straight and narrow by doing some honest landscaping work. The man he's working for has been out of prison for a while, and he describes to him what his life will be like- getting up early in the morning, standing in the hot sun, back hurting, for only a little pay. At the end of his speech he tells him- "You want to be on the straight, there ain't no big reward. This is it, right here," he says pointing at the ground next to the lawnmower. The "right here" he mentions, that's a person's knowledge of a thing done well, and, in no way am I being pessimistic, that's the only reward most of us are going to get. That tissue thin line between "well" and "ill" IS our reward for a career well spent or a life well-lived. When Updike spoke of the "vulgarity of the clutch player," I think he was getting at those who step over that line only when it suits them. Those that save their best for the lights and crowds are by definition slackers during the regular times that make up the bulk of any athletes career, of any humans life. Actually caring about the difference between the two sides of the line, even when very few people are looking- that's something very close to honor in my book. Not to say, of course, that those who perform in the lights don't deserve special recognition or that they are lacking in honor- but that does not mean that we should underrate those who perform admirably when the stakes are little lower too. With that being said- Well done Mr. Updike- it was honor reading you.

What's Up With the Senate Dems

2009-02-04T22:09:00.001-05:00

This will be pretty quick cuz there really isn't too much explanation for this.

So after the stimulus bill passed the House with nary a single Republican vote, it looks like the bill will stall in the Senate. Not that the Democrats don't have the votes, they do. As it stands, all the Republicans will balk as will Ben Nelson from Nebraska and Kent Conrad from North Dakota, which means the vote would be 56-42 (Republican Judd Gregg would recuse himself during his consideration for Commerce Secretary). But the Dems do not have the 60 votes necessary to block a filibuster, they're backing off for now. Instead of making the Republicans actually filibuster though, they're just going to let them bluff the filibuster, like they always do. Wouldn't it be great politics if the Dems actually made the Republicans look foolish by having them stand on the floor, literally stand in the way of the stimulus bill passing while they read various lists and poems into the Congressional Record.

It would be different if the Republicans actually had good ideas about what the stimulus package should look like. But they don't, demonstrating the economic understanding of a fourth grader in the process. All Senate Republicans know how to say is tax cuts; they don't care about infrastructure spending, education spending, or healthcare spending, saying that it all will be too expensive. While I guess it's refreshing that Republicans have suddenly discovered their fiscal austerity, it's funny that it only happened after they added the executive branch to their stunning losing streak. Look at this chart put out by those radical Marxist at Moody's- which shows real GDP growth from various stimulating activities.

Pretty startling isn't it. From the looks of the chart, it seems like all forms of spending activities have a much larger effect on real GDP growth than all forms of tax cuts. Now, the spending activities should not be permanent, as we do need to get our deficit and long-term debt under control But instead of just giving people money that under the circumstances they'll just hoard, perhaps we could, I don't know, use this opportunity to create jobs by doing things we should have been doing a long time ago, as well as take advantage of the multiplier effect. Fixing roads and bridges, improving our electrical grid, improving public transportation, retro-fitting schools, making capital improvements to our hospitals. These are things that have been needed for a long time, only the people in power did not have the political will or the political philosophy to do it. Now, those in power have a mandate for it- don't let the Senate Republicans forget that. I know that Obama wants to be magnanimous and doesn't want the same divisiveness that was fostered during the Bush years (although it wasn't divisiveness so much as the Dems being completely spineless). There's a difference though between listening and allowing others to dictate. That's just what it seems like lately- a show of political power would certainly not be a bad thing right now.

PS- For your viewing pleasure. House Democrat and Chairman of the Financial Services Committe Barney Frank; Senate Republican, ranking member of the Finance Committee and all around dimbulb Jim DeMint; CEO of FedEx Fred Smith; and CEO of Google Eric Schmidt on "This Week."

Idiot Senator Jim DeMint (R-South Carolina) comes across as... well.. an idiot. I bet if I asked him what the answer to 10x10 was he'd say "tax cuts" with the same smug look on his face that he uses in this discussion. He's the ranking member on the Senate Finance committee and he doesn't know that a stimulus bill by definition is a spending bill. He also used the Heritage Foundation- THE HERITAGE FOUNDATION as a legitimate source of evidence. They sure do breed good ones down in SC.

Chairman Barney Frank is masterful as usual, running circles, squares, triangles, and pentagons around DeMint with his actual knowledge of economics and finance. I thought Fred Smith did very well also. I was a little less impressed with Eric Schmidt, I thought the CEO of company as ubiquitous and with as high a market cap as Google would be a bit more impressive- although he is an IT guy by trade (I actually like companies that are run by the operations people rather than the finance folks). But all three of them take turns running roughhouse all over DeMint. I just hope the 47% of people who voted for the Repubs this election cycle will realize how intellectually bankrupt the current iteration of the GOP is.

Hate Crimes

2009-01-28T00:04:00.004-05:00

I had a conversation with my roommate yesterday about hate crime legislation. I may not be a good liberal by saying this, but I think hate crime legislation is ultimately unnecessary, as it's currently written. Problem is that, not from a lack of trying, I had a hard time articulating my reasons why, at first. I've been thinking about my reasoning off and on since our conversation- so much so that I commented on a message board about my ideas so I could practice writing them for my blog post.

The original blog post (here) talked about Obama/Biden wanting to beef up existing hate crime laws and how it was redundant and that ultimately it was meaningless.

Many people who are against hate crime legislation are Rush Limbaugh style social conservatives who use arguments of fairness to mask their barely hidden prejudices. I don't think that having hate crime laws on the books will somehow exacerbate differences between protected groups, as many "conservatives" argue. I also understand the reasoning behind hate crime laws in the first place, most notably, it gave the Federal government an out for prosecuting crimes against minorities that otherwise would have gone unpunished. Society does have a stake in upholding certain values, and it's entirely possible that the ends justify the means.

Nevertheless, hate crime legislation still sits very uneasily with me. My response to the original post shows why:

In the original post, I think there's a mix-up between motive and intent. It's not a waste of time to look for intent- it's the basis by which we categorize crimes. The difference between murder and manslaughter is one of intent.

What the government should not waste it's time legislating and what I think the original post was trying to get at is motive. Our basic criminal laws do not and should not differentiate between motives if we are to live in a society governed by the rule of law. We'd then have to have all sorts of sentencing guidelines. It may seem like parsing words, but it's actually very important. Intent has the higher burden of proof then motive, simply because motive does not have to proven beyond a reasonable doubt in order to get a conviction, intent does.

Now, I understand that society has a vested interest in not having a particular community terrorized. So I propose that if the prosecution has enough evidence to prove that a white person killed a black person with the intent to terrorize the black community they should charge them with the separate crime of terrorism as well as the crime of murder. The fact that they killed someone because of their race should bear no more on the charge than the fact that they killed someone because they had red shoes. The fact that they killed with the intention of terrorizing a community should. But it's something that the prosecution has to prove beyond a reasonable doubt before a harsher sentence should be handed out.

Hate crime legislation as currently written, while well intentioned, comes too close to policing thoughts, in my opinion. I think we should err on the side of caution when it comes to things like this.
Now a jury may hand out a lighter or harsher sentence because of motive and that's okay. But different sentences because of motive should not be codified in our laws.

One of the arguments I made in the post addresses my roommates most persuasive argument during our conversation. He said that hate crimes were really two crimes in one and as such deserve a harsher sentence. If that's truly the case, and I accept arguments that they are, then we should charge them with two crimes concurrently. It's more than an issue of semantics, charging them with one crime, the murder as a hate crime, gives the jury very little wiggle room. If they believe that the defendant committed murder then they necessarily have to convict them of a hate crime, even though the prosecution. Charging them with a separate crime would allow the jury to vote not guilty on the issue of intent on the hate crime, while still giving a guitly verdict for the murder.

In practice, what's most important is keeping the burden of proof high enough where only those cases where the prosecution can reasonably prove that the crimes were motivated by the victims membership in a protected group. Overall though, I think we should shift the onus from proving motivation to proving intent.

A Place to Call Home

2009-01-24T15:50:00.000-05:00

(from 1/13/09)
First, an update. I bought a ticket and went to Prince Joe's funeral. I got a chance to meet his family, and I was given the opportunity to speak in front of everyone- to say how Joe affected my life and how I'd gotten to know him. I'll always be grateful for that opportunity.

The funeral was on a Thursday, but I used a couple of sick days to spend the rest of the weekend in St. Louis. Being back there showed me how much I really missed the city. Don't get me wrong, I love living in New York, I've had a wonderful time and I know that looking back I will always appreciate being able to live in the biggest city in our country. Riding the subway, eating at the carts, people everywhere, going to see the symphony in Central Park during the late summer. It's so exciting being young in New York, even if it's just for a little while. Even if it's just so I could say I did it.

But there's something to be said for having a place you call home, and as much as I'd like to, I don't think I'll ever develop that feeling about New York. When I was just a young high school student in Milwaukee, me and my brother would always get paper copies of the Onion. There was this one comic strip that we'd always laugh at, I forget the name, the sole purpose of it being to highlight pathetic losers at their absolute lowest moments. In one particular edition, this teenager was up late at night watching syndicated shows when the theme song for Cheers came on. Without any warning, he started crying because he "really wanted to go someplace where everbody knew his name." At the time, me and my brother laughed hysterically over someone who would cry over a popular TV theme song. But, all snarkiness aside, it's kind of how I feel when I go back to St. Louis.

For instance, that Friday night I went to this art gallery/hip-hop event that was put on by some of my people. Along with being a hip-hop artist and DJ, they respectively did fashion design and drawing/sketching/painting, and were both really good. In addition, there was plenty of free Schlafly beer (yeah St. Louis beer) and Vitamin Water. But more to the point of this story, I saw dozens of people that I knew. I had brought one of my friends along, but I was constantly bumping in to one person I'd known from doing anti-death penalty lobbying in Jefferson City, or someone I planned a concert with while working at the radio station. Looking back on it, I got a chance to do a lot of things during my time there. Now that I'm working, it's hard to imagine being involved as heavily, or really at all. I'm trying my hand at some volunteering, but it's not the same and on the weekends I just want to stay at home and read or rest. Part of it no doubt is the sheer energy it takes to truly get to know a place like New York. For a naturally curious person, getting to know St. Louis is pretty easy and once you're in with people, whether its the music scene, politics, volunteering, whatever, you're in there for life and you get to know everyone else in that life pretty quickly.
It was nice to talk about old times, catch up on who is getting married or having babies. It was also pretty cool telling people how life was going for me in New York. Most of my acquaintances told me how lucky I was to be in New York, and more to the point, out of St. Louis. It's an easy sentiment to understand. New York is one of the top three cities in the world (with London and Tokyo) by almost anyones metric, and St. Louis is a decrepit, mid-sized, former industrial city smack dab in the Rustbelt Midwest. But, I moved around all of my life, never really had a place to call home, it was pretty exciting to actually start to build a life somewhere. I had my favorite bar, knew where most things were happening at any given time, got to go to fundraisers for the now Governor of Missouri- it was stuff that my parents never did. We moved around too much to ever get settled, losing that continuity means losing friends but also losing all of your ocnnections, that social capital built up by familiarity. It's just makes things a lot easier to navigate your way through situations, or to build up a potential career when those relationships are still intact. St. Louis is small enough where building those relationships is a possibility for a young kid who just moved there, but large enough for them to be rewarding with hard work. I'm not sure if I'll eventually make my way back there; life's got too many possibilities at this age to know for certain. I really wouldn't mind it though, if that's how it's gonna be.

Honest Graft

2009-01-24T13:58:00.000-05:00

So for what seems like forever, I've been reading a book about William Marcy "Boss" Tweed, the infamous ringleader of Tammany Hall at its most corrupt. The book is a biography of Tweed, the only one I could really find that doesn't deal with his life on the periphery. For the most part, Tammany Hall and New York City from the late antebellum period to Reconstruction are the subjects covered in books that are nominally about the Boss. Tweed makes his appearances, but it's usually after his rise and brief stay at the top of Tammany Hall and long after his term in the House (I didn't even know he served a term until I started reading the book). And they always, always present the same image, the Thomas Nast's portrait of Tweed the "Tiger of Tammany." Not to be an apologist or anything, but things always worked as they had for Tweed, and continue to do so up until today. Going after a powerful public official for graft and/or pay-to-play is like going after a CEO for insider trading, or an NBA two guard for traveling. You have to limit yourself to prosecuting the (seemingly) most egregious violations, because everyone takes that extra step. And many times it's not just about the degree of the infraction, but whether or not the person will make headlines or has enough friends in high places, or has a bunch of all-star appearances.
For instance, do you honestly think that what Blagojovich did in Illinois is that uncommon. The governors ability to appoint a senator is something very powerful- of course the person in charge will use it to their own advantage. There are several reasons that Blago is in the trouble that he is- he has ALOT of enemies, particularly the mob connected mayor of Chicago, he was selling off the most high-profile Senate seat in the country, and he was imbecilic enough to talk about it blatantly on the phone even though he knew he was under investigation. If this wasn't the case; well he'd probably still My point when it comes to Tweed and public finance is this- when it comes to public projects, money always disappears, timely political donations will always get your company the job, no-bid or shoddy bid contracts are the rule, not the exception. The feds are currently investigating
For more on that, look at the saga of Bill Richardson. It's full of all this kind of stuff- bid-rigging, donations to re-election campaigns and political action committees, overcharging, the works.

One thing that I've learned from my short time doing public finance research is just how opaque the entire industry is. The oversight levels are paltry compared to the corporate world, there is little disclosure on fees, and the relationships between parties are much closer than arms length. One of the reasons I am interested in public finance is the intersection between government and business, but without any oversight or disclosure, that relationship becomes toxic. What would be great is meaningful oversight- requirements for competitive bids. Pay-to-play, unless it's captured on a wiretap is tough to prove, particularly because while the underwriter on bond deals are forbidden from making political donations, derivative advisors are not barred from making donations. It's all so hard to unwind

And it kind of scares me. I have to admit that I am utterly fascinated by corruption, from the municipal corruption I just highlighted to organized crime to pay-to-play politics, and pretty much everything in between. I love reading about the intertwining of legal and illegal activities, how they all feed each other to make one cancerous sore on the body we call civilization. I guess that's one of the reasons that I loved The Wire so much, because it was a mostly realistic portrayal about how all of those pieces, law enforcement, real estate developers, the unions, the government, drug dealers, unintentionally worked in concert to enhance and force adaptations from the other institutions(not to mention destroy our collective moral fabric). At first glance, my introspection tells me that it's because of my inner cynicism that I am attracted to corruption. But most people who know me would say that I'm not overly cynical, if I had to describe myself I'd say that I was an idealistic realist. Realistic in the sense that you have to know what's going on, adapt and react to the world according to the way it is, not to the way you want it to be. Idealistic because, once you start looking at the world in a realistic manner, actual solutions can be created. Ultimately, the problems that our society has in our institutions (which are big only in some contexts) can be solved, we just need the collective will.

But is there any case where the means (corruption and graft) are justified by the ends? I'm not the first to notice that a lot of public works (including the Brooklyn Bridge, Central Park, the Met) were completed under the Tammany Hall system of "honest graft." Of course, the politicians and the rich got richer on these deals (mostly through buying up the land after they heard it was going to be used for some development). But really, the rich always get richer anyway. Most of the deals being investigated by the Feds on these muni bond deals were for bridges, roads, and hospitals- things done for the legitimate public good. And greasing wheels, whether it's in Tweed antebellum New York or Bill Richardson's modern day New Mexico, has always been used to get things done. We don't have a control really, to see if public works could be done without all of the corrupt practices (at least on a large scale). But people will always act in self-interested ways, try and work their way around the regulations we set in place. If the grease stops one day, will the wheel suddenly stop turning, or just turn much more slowly?

I guess this goes to George Washington Plunkitt's concept of honest graft. If he'd said something like this today he'd be indicted on principle. Today of course, it can't be as outlandish as Plunkitt's examples (although Halliburton's notorious no-bid contracts definitely say otherwise). But it begs the question of whether or not some kind of centralized corruption is, if not necessary, then a minor evil. Then again, Plunkitt was all about machine politics, patronage, and hated civil service reform (a topic for another day). Needless to say, he was one hell of a character. The man saw his opportunities and he took them.

WRITERS BLOCK!!!!!!

2009-01-23T12:17:00.001-05:00

Distant Lover

2009-01-11T18:03:00.006-05:00

Artist- Marvin Gaye
Song- Distant Lover
Album- Let's Get It On

Distant lover, lover
So many miles away
Heaven knows that I long for you
Every night, every night
I plan, sometimes I dance
Through the day
Distant lover
You should think about me
And say a prayer for me
Please, please baby
Think about me sometimes
Think about me here
Here in misery
Misery
As I reminisce, oh baby, through our joyful summer together
The promises we made
All the daily letters
Then, all of the sudden
Everything seemed to explode
Now, I gaze out my window
Sugar, down a lonesome road
Distant lover
Sugar, how can you treat my heart
So mean and cruel
Sugar, sugar
Treat every moment that I spent with you
I treasure like it was a precious jewel
Please, Lord have mercy
Please, come back, baby
Somethin' I wanna say
When you left
You took all of me with you
Do you wanna hear me scream
Come back and hold me, girl

I've listened to this song many times in my life. For the last few months though it's been on repeat, if not on my iPod then definitely in my mind. Marvin at his best is always affecting in his phrasing and anguish, and on this song he's masterful. It has more of the mid 70's Philly soul vibe, heavily orchestrated, plenty of sweeping strings and horns, bassline at the forefront, percussive guitar. And Marvin vocals just float over all of it, like a falcon's wings cutting through wind currents. Yeah, it's like that.

One of my coworkers at the record store I use to work at was a big fan of Jeff Buckley, and upon finding out that I thought he was just okay, responded "You'll start to like Jeff Buckley as soon as you experience real pain in your life."
At the time, I thought it was something rather presumptuous to say, how did he know I hadn't experienced pain in my life? More importantly, I didn't think my inability to empathize was the reason I did not think Grace was one of the 100 greatest albums of all time.

But now I understand what he meant. You certainly don't have to go through the exact situation the artist is singing about in order to understand the song or have an appreciation for it. But your relationship with the song changes as the situation morphs from unimaginable, to something theoretical, to something that you've actively experienced. At that point, it's like the singer gets you perfectly and the song becomes a flawless representation of that moment.

And it started out as unimaginable. I'd never do something like that again, I tried it once and it didn't work out. But it was a juvenile relationship really, looking back, I'm pretty sure it didn't count. And then it became theoretical. After it's been going on for awhile, after you've let your guard down, it becomes a possibility. And as the both of you go down that road together, the dangers are known and openly discussed. You don't have anything to lose discussing the possibilities though, it's all for practice, for pretend, you're playing soldier safely inside the fort. And it stayed, for a long time at the theoretical level. No matter how much you contemplate it you're never completely prepared. Now, every night it's real, sometimes it's a little too real- and the only recourse is the equivalent of hugging a phone. Even now I'm still trying to get my sea legs so to speak, it's a process that even seasoned pros have to play by ear, or so I'm told. And it's about learning what I can and cannot handle and always being as honest as possible.

It's more than a little cheesy, playing "Distant Lover" over and over again when you're in a long distance relationship. Even if it is a form of therapy. It helps that the singer is an all time great; when I play it, I can legitimately say that it's one of my favorite songs. And Marvin's so damn smooth with it, like I said, combining vulnerability and masculinity is no easy task but he did it effortlessly in song form. In the actual world, I try and fail too often at it- coming off either as a softie or as a colossal jerk. But really it's that one part, at the beginning, the part that Kanye West samples on "Spaceship." It's when he says "heaven knows that I long for you" and he goes up a little bit higher. Then he tops it off- "every night... every night." I could loop that back over and over again; it's a good approximation for how I feel at times. I get it now, I'll call it the Jeff Buckley Corollary. And I think I'll take another listen to Grace.

He Truly Was A Prince (Finding Buck O'Neil Pt. 2)

2009-01-05T02:24:00.001-05:00

This started out as a post describing how I met "my Buck O'Neil," so to speak. A man named Joe Henry. A former Negro League baseball player who lived in Brooklyn, on the Illinois side of the Mississippi. They called him Prince back in his playing days with the Memphis Red Sox, Indianapolis Clowns (the same Negro League team Hank Aaron played for), Detroit Stars, Detroit Clowns, and Goose Tatum's All-Stars.

Prince Joe passed away last Friday, he was 78 years old. I started this post way back in December, and I'd been meaning to call Joe for sometime. It's been far too long since we talked- something always came up, looking back it was usually something trivial. Not too long ago I was sitting at work with nothing much to do. I pulled out my phone, scrolled down to his name, and pressed the call button. But no one answered. But I didn't try again, and that's something I'll always regret. I'd stayed close to his grandson while I was in St. Louis, we talked at least two or three times a month. His grandson had taken it upon himself to be his full-time representative, and he was good at it, garnering for Joe the recognition that he deserved such a long time ago. His Riverfront Times Column "Ask a Negro Leaguer" was a must read every week. And during the MLB Draft this year, he was ceremoniously "drafted" by the St. Louis Cardinals. And yes, he finally did get his baseball pension.

I can't say that I knew him as well as I'd like to pretend I did. In the three years after the event, we probably talked 5 or 6 times, and the last time was no later than early 2007. I got close to his grandson though, and I followed his path to recognition through our conversations. Joe was no saint- he was, at times, a bit vulgar (even though I never heard him curse), and sometimes he was so enamored with his own intelligence that he'd completely crowd someone out of a conversation. He could ramble on with the best of them. But mostly he was man full of pride and full of stories, a man who was proud to be from Brooklyn, Illinois, proud to be from the wrong side of the river. And he thought kindly of me, told me that I was intelligent, a remarkable young man- which is something I will never forget. So thank you Joe! Thank you for believing in me, thanks for agreeing to talk, to enter my life and to help me pull off my first event as a member of Washington University's Association of Black Students Exec Board. You were a man against organized religion, but knew your Bible backwards and forwards. I don't know if there is a heaven, but it sure would be a fun place if you're there. This post, this long meandering post is my dedication to you. In all of its rambling glory! Enjoy the peace and rest my friend, because you've earned it!
______________________________________________________
(original start date 12/16/08)

The truth is that I have my own Buck O'Neil. I met him my sophomore year of college. I was the history chair for the Association of Black Students at my school and I wanted to do something memorable for the Black Arts and Sciences Festival (BASF) Week. If you read this blog (all three of you), then you will know that I love baseball. The thought of combining history, baseball, and Black people was too good of an opportunity to pass up. I started contacting people at the Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, wondering if they could do a display and Q&A session on the history of the Negro Leagues, document some of the stars (Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson) and really just give people an idea about something that is either forgotten or cariactured far too often in our national discussion. I wanted it to be a celebration as well, because too often when we study Black history, because of the tragedy and heartache involved, everyone always gets bummed out. It usually goes something like this-
BC-1600: NOTHING!
1600-1863: SLAVERY!
1863-1865: GOOD LORD LINCOLN FREED US!
1866-1877: IGNORANT COONS TAKE OVER SOUTH (AKA Reconstruction)
1878-1954: SHIT WAS BAD! I MEAN REAL BAD! (except for small break for Harlem Renaissance)
1954: BROWN VS. BOARD
1955-1968: CIVIL RIGHTS!!! MARTIN LUTHER KING!!!!! (Rosa Parks, Malcolm X and a bunch of other people too, but mostly MARTIN LUTHER KING!!!!!)
1969-Present: NIGGAS BEEN FUCKIN UP EVER SINCE!

Well, what I'm trying to say is that I wanted to study something that occured in the period before the "modern" Civil Rights movement, something during that, "Shit was Bad" period. Because yeah, it was bad, but there was beauty and joy within that period as well, and Negro League Baseball, the largest Black business, was one of those things that brought joy to people.

There was one little problem though, we didn't have a lot of money. The man who I talked to was great. He was pleasant, knowledgeable, timely in his responses, and willing to come all the way across the state to St. Louis to give the talk. And although the museum curator racket is not quite as lucrative as Bernie Madoff's Ponzi scheme, the man still needed to get paid. When I added everything together, the honorarium, the travel, the hotel stay, the total was far more than we could pony up. I called to tell him the bad news (for us at least). After weeks of going back and forth, planning how the program was going to go, I felt like I'd wasted the man's time, and there's nothing I hate more than wasting someones time, particularly someone who had been so kind to me. He told me he understood, I mean the man works for a history museum, he knows what it's like for an institution to not have any money. He then pointed me in the direction of a Negro League ballplayer who lived in the area who was willing to do speaking engagements, the man's name was Joe Henry. He lived across the bridge in Brooklyn, Illinois, and he was clear to make that distinction. To me, everything over the bridge was just East St. Louis, but I guess nobody wants to live with the connotation of what it means to be from East St. Louis hanging over ones neck. He gave me his number and told me to give him a call soon so everything could be arranged.

I gave him a call a few days after I got his number. He sounded tired and a little annoyed when he first answered the phone- I started to think twice about inviting him. But after I explained to him what we would be doing and that we would be willing to pay him a $500 honorarium, he suddenly became all ears. That first time we mostly talked about his days playing baseball with the Memphis Red Sox, when he was a serious prospect, and the injury he suffered on a double play which made it painful to throw and could have ended his career (he was playing a Philadelphia Phillies farm team). But then came his days with the Clowns and Goose Tatum, and his trademark tuxedo and top hat. He spoke fondly of those days, because at the end of the day, baseball, like all spectator sports, is about entertainment (something I think people running the game forget from time to time). At the end of the conversation, he accepted my offer and told me to set everything up with his grandson.

We talked on a few more occasions- the topics stayed close to baseball for the most part. He'd had a falling out with the game after MLB refused to give him a pension. MLB gave pensions to Negro Leaguers who had not played in the Major Leagues only if they played during a certain date- a little while after Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby broke the color line. Joe's argument at the time, and I thought it was a good one, was that even though the color line was broken, for a long time only stars were signed and many teams did not integrate until long after Jackie Robinson. The Red Sox did not have a Black player on their team until 1959. Black players who were slightly below average or bench players, had no shot at competing for a job in the bigs, and so were denied long after Robinson had entered the game.

Even though he did not follow baseball like he once did, he still had opinions on some of the players, most notably Barry Bonds. We talked about his chase for the record and the scandal that consumed him. At the end, he invited me over to chat at his house, so we could go over last minute details and so he could show me some of his memorabilia. I agreed.

I took a day off of school that next Tuesday (I believe) to give Mr. Henry a visit. I got into my crappy 1993 Mazda 323 Hatchback and rumbled my way to Highway 64/40. I remember it being a beautiful October day, with a bright beautiful sun peaking through the clouds that dotted the sky. It's weird, I was already 19 at the time and had been in control of when I went to school for more than a year, but I still felt a sense of excitement every time I played hooky, especially when I played hooky for a good reason. My car weaved in and out of traffic on the bridge straddling the Mississippi River, the road gleamed a very bright gray. I took exit to St. Clair, a short round-a-bout that took me under a thoroughly rusted old bridge that trains use to go over. Every time I drive through East St. Louis, it feels like I'm traveling through a dystopian novel. It's like a ghost town; you can hear the wind better there than anyplace I've ever been to. Abandoned buildings and potholes make up most of the scenery, with weeds playing a strong supporting role. Even the trees look sad, the only remaining witnesses from glory days long since passed. Driving through the heart of the town is more of the same. My tires take a severe beating and the buildings are still largely empty, but there's more people outside, cats in hats and tees, posted up on the corner, on sides of buildings, in alleyways, next to semi-luxury cars with 22 inch rims. And darting in between them are people tattered clothes and scabs on some of them, you figure you know who those people are. But mostly, it was just people trying to get through- maneuvering strollers through the patched up sidewalks or running while sloppily putting their Popeye's name tag on their purple Popeye's shirt, they're purple Popeye's hat blocks the sun that always seems to beam just a little more unbearably in this part of town. I sped off, hoping the young man made it to work on time.

My mapquest directions told me I was close, just a few more turns past the titty bars that were as ubiquitous there as Walmart in Nashville. Names like Pink Slip, Soft Touch, Roxy's- I got to know all of them in time. 5 more minutes of going straight and another left turn brought me to a high school. There was a group of kids hanging out in the parking lot- playing Juneau hooky, just chillin out in front of the school but not daring to set foot in there. I got out of my car and reached for my bag in the back. There was a row of about ten or twelve trailers in front of my car. I couldn't see any numbers, so I scanned the row about four or five times before pulling out my phone.
"Who you looking for?" one of the teens asked me.
"Joe Henry," I said sheepishly looking every bit as lost as I was.
"Oh, Mr Henry's over there," he said pointing to the white and blue trailer a little to the right of the trailer I was parked in front of. I slammed the car door before marching through the tall weeds that separated the school from the start of the trailer park. The side screen door was slightly cracked, and I could hear labored footsteps echoing towards the outside. I knocked on the screen door- a little too loudly, the metallic rattle alarming even myself. A shadow of a man gingerly made its way towards the door.

"Mr. Henry! It's Antonio Rodriguez." I exclaimed as the figure made its way down the steps leading to the doorway. He paused for a second.
"Antonio?" he said, with only a slight hint of recognition. Damn, he doesn't remember me, I thought. But then I saw the smile on his face, as if he'd recalled my voice right after he made the statement. He pushed the door open to let me in, and we walked up the stairs past the kitchen into the living room. The floor and table were generously littered with papers and books and stands which held items from Prince Joe's past. There was a red couch on the left side near the window with enough space for the both of us, he offered me a seat after we said our pleasantries, pointing his arthritic hand towards the far right end. He made his way slowly back to the other one, right next to his white mug of water.

And we sat on that tattered red couch and talked for four hours. At first it was just a reprisal of our phone conversations. I described Black Arts and Sciences week as a whole, and then how I wanted our specific event to go. For the most part it was going to be free form- I wanted to give him as much room to operate as possible. The only thing that I'd do was give a brief history of the Negro Leagues complete with an all-time player packet, and then he'd get to talk about his life and hopefully at the end there'd be time for Q&A. He nodded, with that smile on his face, the smile that in one day would become so familiar to me.

"Well, I got some things I want to say and I'm going to say them," he said. I knew what that meant, I'd read a few of the "Ask a Negro Leaguer," columns before. At best, his answer would only be loosely connected to the question he was presented with. Really, it was just an excuse for him to pontificate on whatever was on his mind. I couldn't blame him, no newspaper, not even a liberal free weekly was going to just give an old Black man living in an East St. Louis trailer park his own opinion column where he could talk freely about politics and religion. But if he disguised it as an advice column? So that's how it was going to be with the Q&A too. I appreciated his honesty and told him so. And then we really started talking.

Joe was like a combination of my grandfather and my favorite history professors. He didn't curse like my grandfather, but he could be just as hilarious and even more prescient in his observations. He was most proud of his knowledge of the history of Brooklyn, Illinois. He knew it like he knew the seams on that old red couch. You could see the pride on his face as he recited facts about the businesses and people who use to inhabit his beloved home town; and you could see the hurt (actually it was more like timid anger) on his face as he described Brooklyn's long descent into a land of strip clubs, drugs, crime, and despair.

But then he perked back up and we got back to talking about his memorabilia. Pictures with Hank Aaron and Willie Mays, boards with his fellow Negro Leaguers standing on the foul lines. And a blue board that contained pictures of one of his ultimate scourges- Bingo Long's Traveling All-Stars (starring Billy Dee Williams and James Earl Jones). Oh he hated that movie. How it portrayed Negro League ballplayers as buffoons only concerned with getting a laugh out of the crowd, lacking any kind of professionalism. It was especially insulting to him because he played for Goose Tatum, and he did play third base in a tuxedo with tails and top hat. To many people there's a fine line between being entertaining and acting like a coon- like there's a fine line between entertainment and Soul Plane. Too fine a line for some people, and although I never asked him directly, I bet that it troubled him to think that people saw him that way, as some kind of person who would sell out the dignity of Black people for a quick buck. He just wanted to play ball. I guess it's similar to Buck O'Neil having to play in a grass skirt during the Great Depression. I don't know what I'd do in that situation; I'm just glad I'm not in a situation where I have to choose between doing what I love and sacrificing my dignity to do it.

On the table right next to the couch, Joe had a Bible. He didn't seem like the religious type to me, but he knew his scripture very well. I always get a little uneasy when I talk to people who are very religious, I'm a pretty secular guy and I don't like offending people when I talk about the disagreements I have with organized religion. As it turned out, I had a kindred spirit, at least in one sense. Joe loved the Bible but he had no use for organized religion.
"It would take crack 200 years to do the same amount of damage to the Black community as preachers already have," he said to me. I almost spit out my water laughing. He didn't like the absurd amounts of money churches took in, he didn't like how churches weren preoccupied with building new facilities instead of helping to better the Black community. Joe's favorite book in the Bible was Exodus, and he was constantly relating the deliverance of the Hebrew people from Egypt to anything that he talked about. If organized religion was to truly be worth all of the problems that it caused, then at the very least it would help to deliver people from their earthly problems.

What brought a smile to his face more than anything else was when he talked about young Black children though. Joe would go to elementary schools to speak sometimes, and the unadulterated joy he expressed to me about those moments- well, I've rarely seen someone so happy. He knew that, statistically speaking, that many of them, particularly the ones who lived in Brooklyn and especially the young men, would have a hard time stayng out of prison, a hard time getting out of Brooklyn. But I think he enjoyed reveling in the hope that he had in the gradual progress in the collective fortunes of Black people. He'd seen a lot in his 75 years, he'd seen Black people come a long way. He was old enough to have cognizant thoughts during the Great Depression, old enough to have saved and scrapped during World War II, old enough to have lived through the entirety of the Civil Rights movement, and to have fought in his own way. But most importantly, I think, is that his age brought him a much clearer perspective. It's something that I lack at times, when I despair about the state of our country and the people who run it, the state of the Black community and the people who pretend to care. He'd seen it all; 70 years means that you've seen the big picture from a lot of different angles. Things are getting better, not necessarily in a straight line, there's backsteps and potholes, traps and wrongturns, but things are getting better. Joe loved the Constitution, and, under the circumstances, the "Founding Fathers" too. I think he was in love with the ideas that they generated, the ones we seem to get away from too often. Regardless of whether or not they were hypocritical (and they were) the message of the documents is key, and he believed in trying our best to meet that message as best we could. We ended our conversation with him recounting his days as a union steward- I applauded like a good liberal should. He seemed just as proud of those days as he was playing in the Negro Leagues, which, to me at least, showed just how much he cared about making sure others had opportunities that he himself had been denied.

I left feeling ecstatic about the prospect of Prince Joe talking to my peers. And he didn't disappoint. With his grandson and his wheelchair and the myriad of posters and pictures, he talked to the Association of Black Students at Washington University. Just like we did on that rundown old couch, as personal and as prescient, with vulgarity (one of the best was when he talked about modern ballplayers shittin the ball out of the ballpark) and a vitality that hid the fact that he could barely stand. Like he promised, he came with his own agenda, a blend of the Bible, bitterness, baseball, and those same beautiful stories. Like the time the Washington Senators wanted to sign him to one of their minor league teams. This was pre-Castro, so the Senators still had their team in Havana- but Joe was absolutely petrified of flying (I guess he could have gone by boat but...) so out went his chance of becoming a major league ballplayer. People were flabbergasted at first when he would completely bypass the questions asked- I could see the look in their eyes, the way they mouthed "What?" to each other and tried to stifle laughs. In the end though, he got everybody to listen, everybody to see his reasoning behind it. After the Q&A he stayed to sign posters, for every person who wanted one. Cracking jokes, answering questions, getting around about as well as a 75 year old man in a wheelchair could. A stuck-up woman who came in from Springfield representing something called the Chicago Baseball Museum tried to monopolize his time, but his grandson was pretty cool about letting other people meet him. (I tried unsuccessfully to get an internship out of her, it would have been pretty cool working at a baseball museum). I was so happy that we'd pulled off a successful event, and even happier that we'd gotten together the $500 to pay him a decent honorarium. Thanks to the History Department and Professor Hillel Kieval- and absolutely no thanks to the AFAS Department. *edit* upon further review Joe said that it was $300, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt, I mean he was the one getting paid.

After the event was over, Joe told me to stay in touch, and I did, at first. In his next column, he mentioned me, said that I was a remarkable young man. I can't begin to say how touched I felt. When I first got the clipping, I read it over and over again, just to make sure he'd actually said that. I'd call ever few months, just to say hi. The last time I talked to him though, he sounded tired, more tired than he normally did, that enthusiastic rambling replaced by a more ominous tone. I could barely believe it was the same man, and honestly, I could barely stand to hear it. Mostly though I kept in touch through his grandson, increasingly so as I progressed through college, and in time I got to see his grandson as kind of a mentor. I can't remember the last time we had a full conversation, probably not since my junior year of college and I hope I get to sometime. He's been on my mind, because of the book, because of the MLB Draft where the Cardinals ceremoniously picked him, and because I recently talked to Sean. I'm just happy he's lived long enough to get some kind of recognition, however belated, however understated. Thanks for everything Joe. You truly are a prince!

Quick Comment on Gaza Situation

2009-01-02T17:06:00.002-05:00

Just real quick. I've been doing a lot of reading about everything that is going on in Gaza. I just wanted to make a quick comment.

Our political establishment is pretty much in lock step on the issue. In this space I'm not going to question whether or not we should be so blantantly one-sided in our affiliations. What I am going to write about are the people who say that we cannot question Israel's actions. They won't say that exactly. They'll usually say something like "Israel has the right to defend itself." That statement is essentially meaningless, something that can be uttered when a politician wants to avoid the question. Of course Israel has the right to defend itself- that's not the question. For arguments sake, let's say that Israel was right in retaliating the way that they did, using their airforce in response to homemade rockets firing into their neighborhoods. That still doesn't mean we don't have the right to question what they did. Last time I checked, the weapons that they use are HEAVILY subsidized by American tax dollars. Israel receives more foreign aid from the US than all other nations combined. That cash should buy the right to question if not criticize when it's warranted. Shoot, in order to get development or anti-HIV aid, African nations have to lie prostrate on the ground while we fuck them with a broken broomstick. And THEN we tell them how they have to spend the money. If there are strings attached to development aid, then there damn well better be string attached to money used to buy weapons.

And it would all be different if our government didn't act like everything that's in Israel interest is also in our interest. I can definitely see the argument where Israels' retaliation served their goals. It's been speculated that Olmert wants to hold off a challenge from Benjamin Netanyahu and the Likud party by showing his bonafides as a fighter. But exactly how does this help our own goals in the region? No one ever explains that. Acting like theirs nothing wrong with the enormity of the response that Israel had to Hamas rockets that did not kill anyone does not serve our interests nor our ideals. If my brother shoots a dude that steps on his toe in the club, I am definitely going to criticize him (among other things), but I'll still love him, we'll still be "allies," so to speak. I just don't agree with what he did, it's way out of proportion to the initial act, and just downright dumb. And the US should do the same. It doesn't mean they're allied with Hamas, doesn't mean that Israel doesn't have the right to defend itself, it just means that there are different ways to go about getting results, and what's good for Israel may not necessarily be what's good for us.

"I S.O.S. Across the Universe"

2008-12-30T22:47:00.004-05:00

Got back in to New York earlier today, and even though I didn't have to, I went in to work. Well, first I got a haircut- all decked out in the shiny purple dress shirt purchased from Wal-Mart (I know, I'm sorry). I'm really glad I did go in to work today, because of the really interesting project I get to work on- one mostly of my own doing, hopefully it will lead somewhere.

What I really wanted today was to go to the Earl Greyhound Show in Chinatown that started at 7pm. I was randomly perusing the internet the other day when I stumbled on the fact that they were headlining the MEANY Fest Finals. They did an in-store when I worked at Vintage Vinyl, and by all accounts it was amazing. Of course, I had an exam that day which meant that I couldn't come. And to make matters worse, my co-workers band was opening up for them, but it was at a 21+ spot when I was only 19. So I had to be content with playing their cd over and over again for the next two years- which I did. Besides Wolfmother, there hasn't really been any new rock bands that I actually liked; to me Earl Greyhound was like a rock and roll reedemer or something. And I just knew that I was going to see them today.

Only one problem, the same problem that I always have. Who can I get to go with me? The list isn't too long- most of my coworkers didn't come in today. They had the right idea, staying warm inside their homes, inside their beds, taking the rest of the week off. Can't be a girl. There's no guys left at work. And I'm not exactly hurting for space in my New York rolodex. My only friends don't listen to Brooklyn based inter-racial modern glam rock. And even if they did find Earl Greyhound interesting (which is a very good possibility) they'd have to get through the sounds of a bunch of unsigned bands vying for a chance to get on an indie tour bus. And while that sounds like an interesting night to me, no matter how crappy/white/punk the bands sound, I'm not sure I can say the same for anyone else. And I'm not going alone, not this time, don't have the energy to go it alone today.

So instead I came home, to eat bread, cheese, and tomato soup, say hi to a cold bottle of Sam Adams, and rewatch Season 1 of The Wire. I'm already tired because I didn't get any sleep last night so Sam'll put me to bed pretty quickly. It doesn't come close to seeing my favorite rock band while sipping on a Leffe or some other imported glass bottle beer. But there is something comforting about being home when it's cold outside. Hopefully they'll play another New York show soon.

Rent to Own

2008-12-24T12:57:00.004-05:00

I'm a truly blessed young man. There are plenty of reasons for me to be thankful, but one of the best is that I pay an incredibly low amount to rent an apartment in Astoria. I'm ever thankful that I have such a good friend who helped me out in this situation.
The thing is, I love renting, love being a renter, and I want to rent until I have children. I really don't understand why so many young people think that they should buy a home/condo while they're still in school and really have no idea whether or not they're going to stay in a certain place. I'm not against owning a home per se. I know that when I'm older I'll own a home; I want to have a family and the woman I eventually marry will almost certainly want us to have a place of our own. While, for planet Earth's sake I think apartment living is better- I don't think I'll be able to convince what ever girl wants to marry me of that.

What I hate is when people tell me that renting (right now!) is not good because I am just throwing my money away. I hate hearing that because it's something that bankers tell buyers to lock them into 30 years of interest and principal payments. Renting is definitely not throwing money away; it's paying for someone to provide a service, namely shelter. Last time I checked, shelter was pretty high up on the list of "things needed to survive." I give someone part of my check so that I have a place to lay my head down. And in addition, if I need something fixed or shoveled or fumigated, my landlord has to do it. I go downstairs to the super and he takes care of my problem. I don't see anything wrong with the arrangement. I have other things I want to do on the weekends besides fixing up my house, at least while I'm young. I live in New York for God sakes, but even if I lived in Mississippi I wouldn't even think about buying a house. I don't want to worry about keeping it up. You can call it lazy, and I wouldn't argue with you. But, in addition, I don't feel like going through all the transaction costs if I have to leave. I'm young, with no family, no career path set in stone. If I'm trying to up and leave if I get a nice offer somewhere else, I don't want to worry about having to sell. I'll just make my job pay for me breaking the lease.

"But, but, you're not building up equity!" Yes, when you rent instead of taking out a loan to eventually own one day, you are not building up equity in the property. But who says that I'm looking for my shelter to turn into an investment? There were plenty of causes to the current financial crisis that we're in right now, but one of them is the mindset that turns houses into a short-term investment, a quick opportunity to make a buck, instead of shelter.

Let me explain. Looking at your house as an investment instead of a form of shelter drives up the price of housing, particularly when it is seen as a short-term investment. How come? Because you/other buyers will be willing to pay more for the house if you think that you can sell it for a nice return in a few short years. When this becomes standard practice, you get the unprecedented run-up in housing prices that preceded our countries current predicament. You get people flipping their house or multiple houses to make a quick dollar. You also get people buying homes that they cannot afford (with the guidance of mortgage broker with incredible teaser rates and no money down) because they just know that even if they cannot keep up with the mortgage payments, they'll be able to sell the house for more than what they paid for it, pay off the banker, and keep a nice tidy sum for themselves.

The title "subprime mortgage crisis" makes people believe that it was just a bunch of broke ass Black and Hispanic folks with no jobs, stumbling into a bank on their way to the liquor store, and walking out with an 8,000 square foot McMansion in Arizona. Subprime just means that the rate you pay is above the prime rate; the rate that people with pristine credit receive when they want to take out a loan. You can make $500,000 a year and get a subprime mortgage- it all depends on your credit history AND the type of house you buy. A person making $500,000 who buys a 50 million dollar home.. well, if they got past the broker/loan officer (which in that environment, who knows), would be paying an obscene rate on their purchase. Which is why you saw the greatest defaults in wealthy areas and why the default rates overall for income categories were the same. The symbol of the subprime mess wasn't so much a poor person trying to buy their first home as it was a middle-class/upper middle-class professional trying to buy their second. With an assist from the mortagage broker, who told that person that they were getting a risk-free return when they purchase the house. But as we all know, the higher the return the higher its associated risk- and it was a risk that the financial institutions concealed or just did not pay attention to. For some more reading on this subject go here and here.

That's not to say that everyone or even most people who purchase houses straight out of college shouldn't. I'm just saying, what other reason would I purchase a house other than to try and get a good return when I inevitably sell it. I don't need a house right now, I don't have any kids and the chance that I will be living in New York when I finally settle down is pretty slim. (again leaving out the fact that on my salary I couldn't afford to by a house in NY). My principles dictate that I treat shelter as shelter and when it comes to investing, I'll put my money in a nice index fund.

Free Write Vol. 2

2008-12-22T23:52:00.003-05:00

Up late again- a couple of chores to take care of and I'm expecting to call a young lady in an hour or so. Made myself some coffee- both to keep me up and because I love the taste. Jamaica Mountain Blue for those that are interested, although I'm mad because I made it too watery after making it perfectly this morning. Watery like the sludge I use to drink at Kroger a little bit before I got off at night. It gets you through midnight, got me to my next job handling packages for 6 hours straight for 9.50 an hour.

At night, I always have my most vivid thoughts. Perhaps it's mostly because I'm tired. You know how right before you go to sleep your brain starts to rearrange your thoughts into something coherent and the images of the day drift aimlessly across your head, slowing your mind down to a soothing slumber- making your eyes slide shut gracefully. I guess that's what it is, my mind is beginning to make that transformation. It's getting everything in order so I can think pragmatic thoughts during working hours, leave the idealism for the section of the day that naturally contains our most outlandish dreams.

But there's something else too, something more than just the biological effects of my brain's preparation to shut down. Something special about this place on the outskirts of Nashville. Something special about being at home that makes me think, makes me want to write. I don't get this feeling while I'm in New York, there are too many sounds and lights. My sense are naturally attracted to them- they feed my head with all kinds of information. If I were to think like I am right now, my mind would be overloaded.

So it has to be the night time quiet that does it for me. A place and time where I can be alone with my thoughts I remember first moving here, the nights were endless, they dragged on for centuries. As time slowed down, my awareness, of myself, of certain sensations began to heighten. And I felt compelled to describe them in some fashion. But not just in my head, they couldn't just stay bottled up, bouncing around like carbon molecules in a shaken up soda can. So I write, try my best to describe what exactly is going on in my head as I stay up late, when my senses are at their most raw.

Like how tranquil the sound of a dishwasher is as it switches cycles, from "pots and pans" to "normal wash." If you're far enough away it sounds like the gentle sloshing of waves of seawater against the side of a boat.
Or how sensual it feels drinking a warm cup of coffee at night. I guess it reminds me of long road trips and late nights that turn into early mornings sitting at the far table (or if I'm lucky, a booth) in my favorite diner with a certain someone, waiting for the best pancakes in town.
And finally, there's the soothing feeling that my body gets as I finish the last dishes in the sink, the water still warm and smooth from the suds. I've always been self-conscious about having soft hands. They conceal the fact that I've actually done "man's" work before, while telling the story of how I've been an inside thinking man all of my life. But right now it doesn't particularly matter. You ever notice how the temperature of your extremities affects your entire body? I guess that's just what I really love. Being warm.

Innocent as a Glance

2008-12-22T22:37:00.002-05:00

From August 5th, 2008

Nothing is ever as good as it looks, or sounds.. or at the very least, as good as it's made out to be. For some reason, that thought popped into my head as I stole glances at the absolutely stunning woman sitting across from me on the subway on my way to work. She was holding a Coach bag tight to her stomach and had very nice (and presumably expensive) designer shades resting on top of her straightened black hair. She didn't look like she was going to work, she may have been kept nice by her man although I didn't see her wearing a ring. Anyway, she was the type of beautiful woman who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would always be the best looking person in every room, restaurant, or subway car she entered. The weird thing is that, sometimes, when I look over at her she seems to be looking up at me, our eyes will meet for a fraction of a second (most likely she knew that I and every man was looking at her, she probably thought it was funny how I tried my hardest not to).

Now, I'm certainly not wanting for a good woman, I have one of the best around, beautiful, intelligent, considerate, loving, I could add on a lot of adjectives, but I'd probably need a thesaurus to make sure I hit everything. Besides, I'm a little young for this woman anyway... I've just very recently entered full-fledged manhood; guessing from her demeanor and her style, she's had a grown woman's attitude for at least ten years.

The thing is though, that even if I didn't have a girlfriend, even if the woman on the subway didn't care about age, or we were the same age, and even if she found me the least bit attractive (and could forget that she had two or three inches of height on me), chances are we would not be a good match. There is a good chance that she is not particularly or even the least bit interesting. More than that, there is a fair chance that all things consider, she's an asshole that beats her children (although with a figure like that I doubt she has any). In fact, there is a 50% chance that she's below average bed. And the funny part is, I know all of this as I am looking at her. These are not thoughts that form after the fact, they're formulated simultaneously.

It's amazing really the sheer power that a woman's physical features can have over how our brain operates. In some ways, it's simply advertising, and some people are just blessed with better marketing directors than others. In this case, I'm not really talking about sexual attraction, because it's easy to get past that. And it's certainly not about looking for or wanting anyone. Because at some point, the actual action, physically turning your head and affixing your eyes on a beautiful woman becomes automatic. The decision is made at least at the subconscious level or maybe even at the genetic one. Usually, when it happens, I'm not thinking about anything at all, but I'll still find my eyes transfixed.

In order to truly love a woman, a man has to love all women. It's something I say from time to time, I figure that I've heard it somewhere before and adopted it for my own, but for the life of me I cannot find where it came from. As much as I'd like to attribute it to myself, attaching it to my name for all eternity, I cannot believe I came up with it. Unfortunately, I'm not smart enough to have had a truly original thought before, and if I did, it was almost certainly wrong; the truly smart people would have thought it up already if it wasn't.

But it does have some truth to it, I think. In order to truly love a woman, a man has to love all women. Maybe that's the reason that even during my most asexual moments, I still pause to enjoy that which I see. This could be my inner chauvinist (or my inner excuse maker), and I've covered my thoughts on this before, but the extent to which I can feel masculine is in part determined by the femininity of my biological opposite. Is it right? Does it have to be that way? Probably not, but it's the best way I can explain myself for now.
I've always contended that women are God's most perfect creation explicitly, maybe my body and mind is responding to it implicitly as well. In order for me to appreciate my ladies form, for instance, her lovely shape, there has to be some kind of appreciation for the subtle and dramatic curves of all women. To acknowledge the way that she cares for me and brings out the best in me, there has to be some kind of acknowledgment of a woman's role as caretaker, whether it is forced upon her or innate in her biology. The way she dresses, her ability to make me feel like my thoughts are important even if, at that moment, she doesn't care about what I have to say. You put it all together and much more and you get why I am attracted to her. What is also unquestionable though is that I am thoroughly and completely attracted to the qualities that equate to femininity in general, whether they be physical or cultural. It would take an artist of Apollo's stature to do their form any kind of justice, a worship screed the caliber of David's Psalms to pay homage to their bodies correctly, and they still couldn't incorporate the mental and emotional aspects. But it's also that appreciation, unfortunately, that has the ability to lead me down paths I logically would never think about taking. Even if it's as innocent as a fleeting glance.

Brief Note

2008-12-22T22:36:00.000-05:00

Most of the next few posts will be drafts that I never got around to finishing. One of the benefits of being in Nashville until the 30th is that I have plenty of time to write. Not that I'll use it effectively or anything, but knowing that I have the opportunity is important.

Brooklyn Play Review

2008-12-21T11:38:00.000-05:00

(From December 7th)

It was cold outside yesterday, it even snowed a little bit, but it quickly melted into rain the moment it touched the ground. Only the cars parked down Bedford and Broadway kept the snowflakes intact; they built up on the windshields and the roofs and started to look like the bottom of a freezer. The rest of us got cold windy rain, and there's no type of weather/precipitation mix I hate more than cold windy rain (although I suppose that you can't have hot snow). It's just that combination, misery with the ability to slip at any time that makes it particularly grating. But this time, as I walked outside it was almost pleasant, refreshing really; it was so hot in the WAH Center's makeshift theater on the 3rd floor, all the people moving around, the hot stage lights.
But I kept my jacket on anyway, I've always done that, I never want to get too comfortable in a place where I have no right being comfortable, besides I'm gonna just put it back on again anyway. Truth is that I felt as comfortable as I possibly could, given the circumstances. Imagine, sitting there, in all of your untrendyness, mixed up with the hipsters and Black bohos, with their deep understanding of the inner workings of Chekov, their impeccable appreciation of modern kinds of art, and their, their scarves. I didn't do a scientific survey, but there was at least a 2.5 to 1 ratio of scarves to people at this event (it would have been higher but I considerably dragged down the mean). True it was cold outside, but scarves more than anything else, represent for me the essence of the Williamsburg Hipster- I bet if it were 86 degrees outside the ratio would have stayed more or less the same.
I don't know why I rode out all the way to Brooklyn to see five 15 minute plays that used Chekov as an inspiration. Obstensibly, it's because I wanted to support a fellow JWJer, and that's true. We're not really friends, just acquaintances really; I think he was a little surprised when I showed up. Also, I knew that if I were to go, I'd be going alone. That's kind of how all these things work out for me. As a formality, I invited my co-workers, but really I sometimes like to go to these kind of things alone. In the good instances, it's not loneliness but supreme tranquility.

The train ride is the hardest part. The ride going to Brooklyn wasn't bad, I had a stop along the way (Lincoln Center, Frost/Nixon, crowded house) which broke up the sometimes excitement, sometimes monotony of being on the train. Going to the WAH Center was the first time I ever took the J-train. It's actually quite beautiful, especially as you emerge above ground going across the Williamsburg bridge and you look at the little yellow dots cascading down the high-rises, and you recognize the daunting, dirty beauty of the East River. I got off at the Marcy Avenue stop; in a brazen display of appropriate lameness I switched my iPod over to Jay-Z, crossing the avenue with absolute impunity. The walk to Bedford Avenue was longer than I expected from how the numbers were set up west of Marcy Avenue; one thing I hate about New York is that their numbering system is all out of whack in parts. In the city, for instance, instead of having the same avenue be the center from which all of the numbers are arranged, the centers are on different avenues, and that's just stupid.

The plays: I enjoyed the set as a whole. The brevity of each play means that you have to pay attention really carefully, you might miss the entire point otherwise. The first one was undoubtedly the weakest of the three- it was called Bear 2.0 and it was about a lady whose husband just died and he's trying to get into his laptop in order to see whether or not he was having an affair. While she's trying to open the computer at a coffee shop, a computer geek comes by and tells her that he was supposed to meet her husband there because he had some property of his. After he helps her with the laptop and some terse conversations, she decides she needs to move on.
The play only had two actors, but I just did not feel their chemistry, although I think that it mostly had to do with the script. The actress who played the widow was good, not classically pretty, but artsy cute with short hair and a black dress. The geek was a caricature of a computer nerd, and he overacted his part a little bit. The conclusion was a little trite- you could see it coming from the stratosphere. Overall- a B- for the actors, C+ for the script/plot

Biggest Break: On second thought, I might have liked this one even less, even though the performances were slightly better. It's about a late 20-something guy who lives with his mother, who he treats like shit. His father just died and, over a joint, he discusses with his friend how to best use the money left for him. They decide to start a record label, but as they are congratulating each other, his father's friend, lawyer, and business partner, comes upstairs to discuss the terms of the will. Instead of being able to get the money immediately, the son's share of the will is contingent on him working in the business for 10 years. The play ends with
Again, the acting was only okay. The mother, who only has bit parts, has the battered wife syndrome down pretty good. The friend is probably the best of all the actors, but he also benefits from having a much easier part to play. The "stoner friend" part almost guarantees laughs, and he gets them with his timely quips. The main character has it much harder as he has to be both a decent straight man for his "stoner friend" and an emotionally sympathetic character during the climax. He certainly tries, but he doesn't have the chops and comes off as unconvincing in both. The father's friend is much better, tempering his forcefulness while being the ironic bearer of bad/good news. The climactic scene, where the business partner confronts the son, falls flat though, simply because the son cannot carry his weight. The script and plot are okay, nothing special but I don't think they hindered the actors performances. Overall, the actors get a B- and the script/plot get a B-.

Philodendron: Now, this is what I came here for. This was also a play with two actors, but they were older than the actors in Bear 2.0, and their chemistry is incredible. The play is about a couple who are in the process of separating. There are a few items left in the living room, and they've decided to take turns in picking through the objects. It's really about the process of a relationship breaking down, the flickering hope of reconciliation, and arguments that always seem to end up exactly where they started. The plot is easy to identify with, which puts it right in the wheelhouse of any seasoned actors. The script is very well written- the dialogue is specific enough for it to be identified with a single relationship, but the themes themselves are all too common. And the actors are by far the best of the evening. The man, who at first did not agree to the separation, in time slowly grows to appreciate what it will mean for him. The woman, who is the one who wanted to separate has the opposite transformation. But the way they cross paths, the way that they ultimately develop, and the way that the man leaves that one final time, leaving his wife with the philodendron in her hand- wow!. What's most important though is that throughout the entire play, the love between them is still palpable. It's at times both smoldering and playful- you can tell that they truly worked on how exactly to make their interactions believable. The joy of the night really. The actors get an A and the plot/script gets an A- (because the actual plot played it a little safe).

Gone With the Masha: Well, actually, this was the real reason I came out. This was the play that my fellow JWJer wrote, and it was the second best one of the night. A man comes into a bank with a business idea for pre-rundown condos, for middle class professional people who have hit bottom and are too pathetic to do anything to fix their lives. As expected, the two loan officers (a woman who is the senior and her male employee) think it is a preposterous idea and tell him to leave. The senior is called into a meeting with her superiors and the business man is left with the subordinate loan officer. The subordinate then starts to talk about how miserable he is, how he lost his job as a doctor for medical malpractice, and how he would love to get a job with the business man. He then professes his love for his senior, saying if he got a different job she'd love him. They're interrupted by the senior coming back in with her mascara running under her eyes- she did not get a promotion she was hoping for and starts to go ballistic, as the subordinate tries to comfort her. The two loan officers quickly descend into pathetic shells, yelling, screaming, crying, and confessing to the business man. The lady even tries to sexually accost the business man. The play ends with the business man running for his life out of the bank as the two loan officers finally contain themselves.
The actors, particularly the subordinate loan officer has great comedic timing, particularly his physical humor. The ensemble as a whole though generates a lot of laughs- a great amount of that credit goes to the writer (my associate) because of the point he was trying to prove about people and the facades in which they hide their true selves. The business man makes an excellent transition from being the guy who provides the laughs in the first half, to being the only sane individual in the second, although most of his responsibilities in the second half is being a horrified on-looker trying in vain to grab his stuff to go. The lady also makes a transformation- although she is far more compelling as the Glen Close/Cruella De Ville boss in the first half than she is as the Glen Close/Fatal Attraction/screeching banshee that she is in the second. Philodendron is the most thought-provoking and best written play of the set, but this was definitely the most enjoyable. Actors A-, script/plot A

Fin de Circle: The final play and truth be told I was a little out of it by then. I hadn't eaten in a little while, and I mostly just listened to my stomach rumbling. The play took place sometime during Reagan's first term (1983 or 1984) and was about a family divided over a town's decision to take down a nativity scene in the town square. What it's actually about, though, is the obliviousness of the heads of the family to what is actually going on inside their household. As the mother, grandfather, and grandmother fret over the nativity scene, the daughter and her boyfriend are having sex, the brother is gay and services his sisters boyfriend, and the maid brilliantly discusses the political ramifications of the town's decision. It's all a little over the top, which would be fine, except I do not think the writer or director made the commitment to make it a true comedy- so they're kind of stuck in between making a serious play and making a comedy and achieve neither. Two actors do particularly well though- the grandfather and the drop dead gorgeous maid (she wore won of those Fame style sweaters that showed her shoulder). Overall, the actors get a B and the script/plot a B.

News Round-Up

2008-12-17T11:25:00.004-05:00

News Round-Up: This is my second one of these. Basically, I link to some stories and give my reactions. Because I am long-winded and like to meander, my commentary delves off into other topics that are loosely based on the article. Enjoy!

Fed Cuts Rates to Range of 0-.25%

Yeah, of course it was coming. The Fed has been very aggressive in cutting rates, it's the 10th time in 15 months. With the economy lagging, I know that everyone wants to make money cheaper. To keep from a deflationary cycle, it's probably the best we can do in the short term. Now that the Fed is out of it's primary hammer, what other, more subtle tools are they going to use to continue to stimulate demand? I mean, the rate cuts haven't been working; maybe we just have to take the castor oil for a little while. Maybe it will push Americans to take a long hard look at putting back some of the better regulations from Glass-Steagal. Maybe it will also make us question what kind of society we truly want- what is the best way to maintain a democracy with increasing economic inequality?
I truly need to reconcile my general liberal-ness with my more austere "monetarist" side. I'm a man of the people, didn't come from a lot of money, but I'm actually pretty conservative when it comes to monetary policy. I know that easy money helps to stimulate demand, and during these times, we'll do whatever it takes in that regard. But maybe lighting a fire under the special American brand of consumerism (you're doing your patriotic duty by shopping) is not what we need. People that know me know that I'm not big into fashion, or gadgets, or electronics, or keeping up with the Jonses in general. I spend money on my hobbies and gifts for other people- the cost of money can go up and I'll still find a way to enjoy myself- still be able to save some money. I guess what I'm saying is that consumerism is an easy way to create jobs- but is it the best or most equitable way?
The fiscal policies that I'd implement don't feel quite right in my head sometimes- progressive income taxation (not to Swedish levels but more than what it is right now) with a hard/sound money policy. The more I read, the more I think I come from German stock- I really like their policies (not to mention their excellent craftmanship, union density, delicious beers, delectable chocolate, and wonderful strategy games). I'm still trying to create a framework that combines the ordo-liberalism of German origin with a free trade regime that benefits developing nations. God I wish I was smarter!

Dick Cheney Says He's Done Well

I guess, he meant done well for himself, because even Dick Cheney can't think that Dick Cheney has done well for the country. Dick Cheney is a caraicture of the evil politician. I remember one time while I was working at Vintage Vinyl, me and a coworker (one of the few coworkers that I could talk about politics with) were talking about Dick Cheney. I called Dick Cheney evil, and he stopped dead in his tracks and told me that we should not call someone evil just because we have a policy dispute with them. At the time I demured, I figured he was right. That was back in 2005. Now though? Who can read this article, who can see that interview and not say that Cheney is evil. Aruging whether or not torture should be exacted on human beings is NOT a policy dispute- it comes down to the very moral fabric of our society.
People sometimes highlight abortion as a similar dispute- but it's not. In the case, there is a legitimate scientific dispute about whether or not a ball of cells is a person or not (for the record, I am pro-choice until the time that a fetus can survive outside the womb 22 weeks is the youngest on record. I'm extremely uneasy about abortion outside the first trimester though).
But there is no dispute about the humanity of the people we have imprisoned. Regardless of what they've done- I do not believe that we should torture, anyone, under any circumstances. And that's doesn't even take into account the fact that confessions from torture are not even reliable.

NATO Must Be More Than Military Force

Yeah it really should be. On the foreign policy "Millman Chart" I am a cross between Alexander Hamilton and Woodrow Wilson. I guess the marriage can be explained like this- I think that ultimately we need a realistic international approach to foster our international values. If I were President- I'd use my chief diplomat (Sec of State) to act as Hamilton/the bad cop, and I'd use my pulpit to act like Wilson/the good cop (without the blatant racism). Tactically speaking, being Hamilton just makes sense.
Which is why I think that NATO is acting foolishly when it tries to recruit Georgia and Ukraine into NATO. And it is foolish to add missile defense near the Caspian. We're not going to get attacked by Russia! Repeat, we are not going to get attacked by Russia. We need to be worrying about loose nukes, and working with Russia would be a perfect display of the potential for a Hamilton/Wilson marriage. The Hamilton side is that we do not want the loose nukes to fall in the hands of terrorists and we want to shore up our relationship with a resurgent Russia. The Wilson side is the message it will send about our commitment to disarmament.
NATO has to have a clear poltical perspective, and the ever growing divorce between the values of the US and the values of the EU is going to take a heavy toll on the viability of this military alliance going forward. Although, then again, I'm not totally against NATO disbanding and being replaced with something with more clearly defined internationalist aims, and one that does not carry the Cold War baggage (which would help Russia save at least a little face when we inevitably start to build up in its former satellites).
The troubles facing us in Afghanistan call for such a reform.

Army Riots Escalate Zimbabwe Crisis

And that right there is the problem when your legitimacy from the military. What happens when they don't get paid? At this point, Mugabe has to go, and I'm actually for whatever it takes to get him out. The African Union's troops are stretched incredibly thin though; Darfur and Somalia are taking up pretty much all of their manpower. Mugabe has accused the Movement for Democratic Change, the opposition party, of working with Britain to oust him. I for one applaud that- at some point (when there is legitimate and honest reasoning) we have to say fuck all of this sovereinity stuff. Now, I don't think British troops should land- a multi-lateral peacekeeping force has to.
I say this again, but I think that Africa would benefit the most from severely beefed up regional governance. That, along with a forgiveness of debt (all of it), allowances for tariffs for key national industries, and a unilateral reduction of trade barriers by the developed world would also be needed. Changes by the IMF and World Bank, and Africa would be WIDE open for development. The problem, of course, is internal political stability, which I think would be helped by the regional outlook. It would be great if I could just fiat all of this. Man I miss debate.

Joint Default Improbability
(The link actually goes to a different story about the forced selling of insured muni-bonds which made their yields higher than uninsured bonds, the article I've written about is only in the print edition)

Finally, a story from work. Right now, municipal bonds with insurance have higher yields and higher reset rates than municipal bonds that are uninsured. The turmoil in the municipal bond insurance industry has fostered this, but it's an incredibly stupid market reaction, and the illiquidity of the muni market is the culprit. Even after the monoline insurers were downgraded from their AAA ratings, they still add enhancement to the underlying credit of the issuer. Why would having insurance, even "crappy" insurance make u less credit worthy?
Right now, rating agencies use the "credit substitution" method, which means that they just subsitute the rating of the insurer or letter of credit provider for the rating of the issuer. That just strikes me as an incredibly lazy way to give ratings. What this article is arguing for is using the joint default probability, the probability of both the issuer and the insurer defaulting on their principal and interest payments. The correlation between the two events would also need to be taken into account. It has already happened in one case, but the commentator is arguing that it should be the industry practice.
Ultimately I think two things would come out of this. First, there would be a proliferation of insurers, which would lower the cost of obtaining bond insurance. There would need to be some kind of specific regulation that say insurers must be rated at least A1. But more monoline insurers would be a good thing, I think, if we want to lower the cost of borrowing for poor hospitals. Thorough inspections of the balance sheets of these insurers would also need to take place. Downgrades for the AAA monolines were warranted long before they were actually downgraded and that should not happen again.
Second, it would open up the tax exempt market for weaker credits (like safety net hospitals). AAA insurers wouldn't touch some of the weaker credits because they would not be able to maintain their AAA rating- the default risk was too large. But an A insurer? They would be able to take on some of the weaker underlying credits while still maintaining their rating. I could see a day where the stronger credits would get insurance for basically nothing, just because it would help insurers book of business when it came time for the rating agencies to audit them. Overtime, this would also have the effect of closing the spreads not between ratings, but between issuers.

Finding Buck O'Neil

2008-12-16T16:47:00.002-05:00

*The title of this post comes from Finding Buck McHenry, a children's book about the janitor of this middle school who may or may not be a former Negro League ballplayer.

As I've said before in this space, one of my favorite writers, both in newsprint and on the internet is Joe Posnanski, a sportswriter for the Kansas City Star (crazy how the star has both him and Jason Whitlock). From the moment I discovered his blog, it has become a daily read for me. Days that he's posted something are good ones, right up there with days that I get home in time to watch the Jim Lehrer NewsHour. I just know that I will get a chance to read a 5,000 word masterpiece on such diverse topics as the Hall of Fame credentials of Rickey Henderson, the trials, tribulations, and incredible foilibles of the Kansas City Royals, or the topic today, the fight over appointing a new Executive Director for the Negro League Baseball Museum. Days that he hasn't posted, there's just a twinge of disappointment; I almost feel betrayed.

Anyway, even though I've been reading his blog for the better part of a year now, I still hadn't gotten a chance to read his first book, "The Soul of Baseball: A Road Trip Through Buck O'Neil's America." Every time I'd go to the library in St. Louis, I'd check whether or not it was on the shelf, but inevitably it was always checked out, or it was transported to some far corner of the city that I did not have the inclination to drive to. When I came to New York, I would always tell myself to check when I made my way over to the library, but for some reason I'd always forget, and I'd end up checking out some book on economic policy or the history of labor corruption. This last time though- as I was perusing the biographies I remembered. It felt like the light knocking down Saul of Tarsus off his horse as I weaved my way through the smooth brown bookshelves- "I gotta check out Joe Posnanski." I scooted quietly over to the computer to make sure that it was in stock. Luck was with me that evening after work ladies and gentleman, because sure enough, there was a copy, right in that very Midtown Manhattan library. Unable to run, but fearful that someone else would pick up the book first, I race-walked over to the baseball section, bent down just a little bit, and grabbed the book, and headed back down the elevator to the self-check out line (to hell with interaction I wanted to go home and read my book).

For those of you who do not know- Buck O'Neil was a remarkable man. The easiest way for you to tell is by looking at the title, without even really knowing the man, is by looking at the title of his autobiography, "I Was Right On Time." If you just examined his life you'd think it was actually an ironic title- from a strictly objective point of view, his life was marked entirely by NOT being on time. O'Neil was a Negro League baseball player, played for the old Kansas City Monarchs, and he had stories about all the greats. The list of players he played with or against is staggering- the absolute who's who of Negro League legends: Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell, Hilton Smith, Double Duty Radcliffe, Judy Johnson, Turkey Stearnes, the list goes on. By all accounts, including his own, he was a pretty good player, a slick-fielding, line drive smashing first baseman, a one-time batting champion. There aren't too many players like that now- Doug Mientekewicz (sp cuz I'm too lazy to look it up right now) had the defense part, but wasn't nearly a good enough hitter. I guess Mark Grace is probably the best fit from recent history- good hitter with good/great defensive skills and little power. That type of player was much more common in the past.

Anyway, it was clear that while O'Neil was a very good player, he was not of Hall of Fame quality. But the things he did after his playing career, well that's a different story. He was a successful manager for the Kansas City Monarchs, the first Black coach in the the major leagues (he probably would have been the first Black manager, but the league wasn't ready for that). He was the scout who "discovered" Lou Brock, Billy Williams, Oscar Gamble, and Ernie Banks. But his most lasting legacy, the one that turned him in to a legend, the one that should have given him a unanimous selection into the Hall of Fame, was his tireless work for the Negro Leagues, going all across the country to contribute to the memory of these men who would have otherwise been forgotten. The Negro League Museum would simply not exist if it was not for him. More than anything else, he wanted people to know how it truly was. The hardships yes, but more importantly, the joy. He didn't want to be pitied, he didn't want the story of the league to be all sorrow, of only terrible bus rides, discrimination, and little money. But he also did not want the Bingo's Traveling All-Stars treatment either, where the Negro Leagues were little more than mid-century minstrel shows. As Buck said, he got to eat at some of the best restaurants in the country, except they happened to be Black resturants. He got to stay at some of the best hotels in the country as well, they just happened to be Black hotels. He wanted everyone to remember that the men who played were MEN, not sad stories of "What Might Have Been," or cariactured Step & Fetch-It style clowns. The fact that he kept the memory of the Negro League alive and that he worked to transform that memory into something different from those two polar extremes surely gives him more credence to the Hall of Fame then that joker Bowie Kuhn, the single worst Commissioner in the history of organized baseball (as Posnanski said, every quote from him is like a "molatov cocktail of stupidity.") In my mind the line for entrance into the Hall of Fame (for those who can only be voted in by the Veterans Committee I mean) starts with Ron Santo, Marvin Miller, and Buck O'Neil. It's a damn shame that he didn't get a chance to experience his induction while he was alive. It's not black eye on the HOF, black eyes eventually fade. This is more like a gunshot that paralyzes from the waist down, something from which the Hall can never truly recover. I remember how angry I was when they didn't vote him in that one last time- it hurt my heart, even though I didn't know the man except through videos and other peoples accounts. After reading the book, the anger and sadness welled up in me again. The one consolation was that I got to read once again the uproar that resounded across the country after the vote, and to realize again how beloved he was.

I've had the good fortune in life to have never met my childhood, intellectual, or spiritual heroes. I've heard and read about too many occasions where someone gets a chance to meet their heroes and they end up being absolute assholes. And really, why wouldn't you expect them to. Shit, I've been around people who become arrogant jerks for winning their neighborhood bowling league, why should we expect people who've actually accomplished something to act any differently? From all accounts though, Buck O'Neil was a beautiful man, a modern day saint. But even saints can be unsufferable sometimes; Buck O'Neil just happened to be a saint you'd also want to hang out with. He always had a kind word for everybody, even at the age of 94 he would still sign autographs until his hands would start to shake. He was endlessly devoted to his wife (who died of cancer in 1997) and friends. He was constantly reading, constantly observing, had an educated opinion on a broad range of topics. Old Black people who lived before the Civil Rights movement are capable of only eliciting pity, the kind that inner city Black students get today. Their opinion on anything but how hard it was/is to be Black is not sought after; I bet many people don't think they have an opinion on anything at all. And if they do, it's almost certainly discounted. Buck shattered that kind of thinking.

His life was filled with plenty of hardship though. He wasn't able to go to high school in his hometown of Sarasota because there was no high school there for Black people. There was the everyday racism that was not exclusive to, but certainly culminated in, his not being able to play in the Major Leagues because of what he called his "beautiful tan." And finally, there's the denial that followed him all the way to the end of his life, the denial of entry into the Baseball Hall of Fame. After dedicating his life to the game, being a central figure in Ken Burns incredible documentary (where so many people were introduced to him), being THE catalyst for the Negro League Baseball Museum in Kansas City, as well as the catalyst for the election of many of the best Negro League players. He carried around a list of men who he actively campaigned for to get into the Hall of Fame, and he never once campaigned on his own behalf, saying quite simply that the men he was campaigning for were better at baseball than him.

He wasn't a mark though, his forgiveness came unencumbered by any kind of resentment, but it wasn't a thoughtless forgiveness, Buck had no use for martyrdom. And although he had pragmatic reasons for forgiveness (paraphrasing a quote from him, he said that he did not want to die of hate and bitterness in his heart), it wasn't calculating enough to chalk it up to pure pragmatism. It's really hard to find a word that manages to balance the two, because Buck O'Neil was too real for innocence or purity but also too real to for callous deception. The best I can tell, from reading the books, listening to him speak (on TV) and other accounts of him was that he truly understood men, their motivations, their abilities, their ability to make mistakes or live up to your wildest dreams. And with that understanding, he accepted men and the world for what it was, stripped of its complexities and pretensions. He was truly a remarkable man, so I suggest you read both "The Soul of Baseball," and "I Was Right On Time," to get a true idea of who Buck O'Neil really was.

An Accounting Lesson

2008-12-15T10:54:00.005-05:00

At work waiting for my boss again (what else is new?)

Last night I was flying back to New York after attending my sisters college graduation in Nashville. I'm sitting in my seat, reading a book about Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall, when I hear two people in back of me talking about the prospects of a Big 3 bailout. Always interested in listening to the informed thoughts of my fellow traveler, my ears perk up, and although I'm still interested in the "honest" graft of George Washington Plunkit, I'm even more interested in eavesdropping on an economic conversation.

I really shouldn't call it a conversation, it was more like a lecture. The gray-haired Southern gentleman with the charming Tennessee accent was doing most of the listening, and the middle-aged Jewish lady from the Upper East Side was doing most of the talking. It was mostly cliches she was spouting, nothing particularly profound, but then again you wouldn't expect any seering revelations in the coach section of a two hour flight. The gray-haired gentleman mostly just nodded, chiming his agreement ("See, that's what I thought") when the lady paused to seek affirmation. He stared at her intently as she talked about the UAW needing to make more concessions, impressed by her incredible wealth of knowledge almost as much as he was impressed by her wrinkle strewn but blemish free face. She wasn't a looker- but then again neither was he. He leaned over the seat in between them, resting his elbow on the armrest.

She continued on, towards reductions in CEO pay (she was much less adamant about that) and then to the start of the entire mess, the sub-prime mortgages and mortgage-backed securities. The lady even provided a useful anecdote- her idiot cousin who made $18,000 a year got herself a $400,000 house at 1% which then reset to some obscene rate after a year.
"I mean there was fault with the banks (she means mortgage lenders) too, don't get me wrong. But you shouldn't take out a $400,000 loan if you only make $18,000 a year. If people would just be honest on their applications. Besides, it's not like the people who get foreclosed are homeless. They just have to rent, that's all. What's so wrong with renting? I rented for the first... 10 years of my life. There's nothing wrong with renting."

"And then you get to the other problem," she said as the plane skidded on the runway. "This whole, mark-to-market accounting thing."
"Yeah, I heard about that," the gray-haired gentleman said. I was beginning to think that he'd forgotten how to talk. By this time he was probably just figuring out how he could propose before we got the gate.
"Yeah, see we have to get rid of this whole thing because it's not fair. These companies, when they buy the securities, they're not allowed to mark them up when they make money. But when they lose money, they have to take these... these huge write-offs and then they need new capital. See, that's what mark-to-market is. And, and we get in this mess."
By this time we were at the gate and walking to get off the plane. I turned around, with a smirk on my face, while the gray-haired man ate up every single word. They ended up walking off the plane together, all the way to the baggage claim. I got in a taxi before them, but I'm pretty sure they probably got in the same cab and had passionate old people sex in his hotel room.

And oh Jesus Christ in heaven was she wrong. She couldn't have been more wrong if she'd said that the capital of France was Vishnu. I wanted to correct her so bad- but it was quite clear she was running some serious "sound real educated" type game and I have a strict no-cock-block platform. Furthermore, I am proud to say that I'm quite ethical when it comes to that rule.

Then again, she was pretty egregious with her error, so to all you readers I'll give you a quick accounting lesson. The lady made the mistake of mixing up "mark-to-market" accounting with "lower of cost or market" accounting. In current accounting standards, "mark-to-market" is used for things like trading securities while "lower of cost or market" is used for things like inventory. "Mark-to-market" is what it sounds like, you write the asset up or down depending on its value in the marketplace, or if there is not a mature marketplace (as in the case of many OTC derivatives) some reasonable estimate of its fair value. "Lower of cost or market" is valuing something at its purchase price until you sell it, unless the price you can reasonably sell it for is less than the price you paid for it, in which case you write it down to the lower price.

It all comes down to a question of the assets purpose and the primary business of the company. The purpose of trading securities is to take advantage of increases in their value, in fluctuations in the market, at which point you sell them. The purpose of your inventory is to also make you money- but not through increases on the stock market, but through sales to your customers. (Not to mention the question of whether or not you'd have to mark it to the primary/supplier market or the secondary/end user market) Accounting is all about painting a realistic picture of your company, so it needs to be able to adjust for different asset purposes.
Let's say you own a grocery store, and you have a bunch of milk. Under the current system for inventory you keep the milk on your books at the price you bought it for, and then when you sell it you put it on your books as net income. If you had to mark it to market, you'd have to mark to the current price of milk in the primary market. You could make or lose money on commodities fluctuations even if that's not the purpose of your inventory, the purpose is to sell to your customers so they can put some liquid on their cereal. The value of trading securities is completely tied to those fluctuations.
The point is that, the companies that owned these mortgage backed securities DID get to participate in the upside, because every time the price of these securities increased they could put it on the books, and, if they were classified as trading securities, the increases flowed through as Net Income. In many cases, they were far too exuberant in pricing these assets, which led them to have to take massive write downs. Using LOCOM, while not painting the real picture, would have made the writedowns much smaller since they would not have marked the securities up as much.
If you have any questions on the different types of accounting treatments... post them on the bottom I guess. I hope this was as fun for you as it was for me.

Cause for Celebration

2008-12-11T18:33:00.005-05:00

In a week I'd like to have back (along with a day in September), any good news is cause for celebration. Three of my predictions this week have all been accurate.

First, I predicted that Jesse Jackson Jr. would be Senate Candidate 5 in the FBI Probe/Affadavit. Although, really, that's not too hard a prediction, I mean his father is the ultimate player in "pay-to-play"

Second, I predicted that the reason Blagojevich kept talking about money on the wiretap was because he needed money to pay his lawyers, who is on the hook for more than 500K to. With all the mess he was in even prior to this, he probably needed some good attorneys on permanent retainer.

Finally, I predicted (right here in this very blog) that Frank Langella would need to start clearing mantle space for his slew of upcoming awards. Well, he was just nominated for the Golden Globe for Best Actor (which I think he will win unless that damn Brad Pitt steals it from him). The Oscars await.

Just sayin.

A Blues Kind of Morning

2008-12-10T13:05:00.003-05:00

"Well I'm so worried, I don't know where to go."

Slept on the floor last night, but really I didn't fall asleep until early morning. Just me and a blanket and a bright red feather pillow placed carefully on under my back to keep my company. Well, there's the glass table on my left side too- but I think at this point even it's disappointed in me. I mean, I ran out of Windex and had to use.. pff.. all purpose cleaner to wipe it down when I cleaned this past Sunday. The streaks looked like they were left by a monster truck during a drag race. But no bother- there's always next Sunday.
The curtains are wide open, forgot to shut them last night, there were certainly more pressing concerns that occupied my mind. The dreary sky beamed in through the windows- if a sunny sky wakes you up by gently caressing you on the cheek, a dreary sky backhand slaps you across the mouth, telling you to "wake the fuck up, it's time to live with what you did." Oh how it stings so much more when you wake up in the morning and the first thing on your mind are the tunes you cried to sleep to. And cry I did- something I haven't done since I was 13- since I slept on that shag carpeted floor and fleas use to bite me up and down my arm and I cried like a baby because tomorrow I'd have to go to school with the same mustard-stained pants I wore the day before.
I didn't want to go to work, didn't have the energy to get up and fight through the sting in my stomach, a mix of nausea and that sharp pang, that Bernard Hopkins-style punch that hits you in the gut everytime you... remember? See, because you can forget for a little bit, while you're engrossed in data sets and spreadsheets, while you have conversations with your coworkers and you walk to lunch bunched together like ducks in flight formation. It's easy to forget when you allow something else to crowd into your mind. And then- you see something, hear something maybe, and its right back in that boxing ring and your memory has you in a corner and its pounding away at your lower torso and your chest and your face. And your heart.....
But get up I must, get up I got to. Too late to get there on time, but early enough where I can still be productive. Yeah, you got it, you can get through. Take it one day at a time, shoot one minute- your wounds are raw but they'll heal. Take a shower, iron your clothes, pack up your bag, step outside with some kind of authority, walk proud. And it works, you feel like you can, almost, just about.
And then the hit comes as you're putting on your haphazardly ironed shirt- the corner man inside your head is yelling "You put your guard down, son!" Slowly, you crumple back on to the sticky black leather couch, and all you want to do is take off your clothes, sit in your t-shirt and underwear, drink a case of beer and listenin to Howlin' Wolf, drinking until you can moan in the moonlight, in the daylight, and the twilight too.
Step outside my building, a strange mix of a day. 60 and raining, worried about slipping so I step gingerly, deliberately on to the slick concrete. I've never been this deliberate walking before, staring down intently on the ground, counting steps to myself, listening to the lovely sound of worn-in work shoes purposefully hitting the sidewalk. Anything to keep from getting hit again, occupy your mind, let everyone pass you by. At that moment, I'm probably the slowest person in the history of New York. My walk to the train station takes twice as long- every step I dangle on the precipice of self-induced agony. I step lightly to not fall over the edge.
On the train, no more walking- there to collect my thoughts. What to do, what to do? I pull out a book, "The Soul of Baseball," a most comforting book, just the right mix of upliftment and intellectual engagement. The train ride goes smoothly. At Queensboro Plaza I get up so an older Chinese lady can sit down- I wrap my hand around the pole between the two doors. Just standing and reading- it looks like I won this round.
"There's nothing like New York lonely." Just one of the gems that Buck O'Neill spouts in the first few pages of the book. Doesn't he know the truth. There ain't nothing like being lonely here, although it happens quite often. Movies and plays, sporting events, parks. All there for the taking, but even when they're free it comes at a price, the price of silence. But many times I was deliberate about it- a choice I made rather than one forced upon me. One that I am proud of and only a little bit difficult. Yeah, there's nothing like being lonely in New York.
Ain't nothing to do but sip apple cider at my desk and look over data, letting the soothing calm trickle down in to my stomach. My body warms up and between the spreadsheets, all I can think is that maybe I deserve the next hit that comes my way. The pain only lasts for a moment, maybe this time I'll be ready for it.

Foreign News Round-Up

2008-12-07T13:55:00.004-05:00

I'm going to try and do this once a week. Pick three foreign news stories and post them here and try to put in my point of view. Like most Americans, I am sadly under-educated on what's going on inside other countries. I have a long way to go, but hopefully this is a start. The hyperlinked article for the title is something interesting I read a while ago and is connected to the last foreign news article.

*Riots in Greece Over Teen Shooting:

Crazy that youth in Greece would get this worked up over the shooting of one 16 year old by the cops. That sounds a little callous- what I mean is that I guess it's not a common enough occurrence for it to be something to riot over. I'm not up on the latest on Greek crime or Greek police- but I don't know whether the youth outrage over the shooting death of a fellow teen is great (shows they are involved and will not stand for random shootings) or terrible (not all of the facts are known, was it a completely random shooting, was a group of teens really attacking police). I mean, even the Rodney King riots only took place after the police were acquitted.

*Kenyan Prime Minister Raila Odinga says that foreign troops must go into Zimbabwe

The most important part of the article for me is when Odinga rails against other AU leaders for treating Mugabe with "kid gloves." I don't know how other liberals feel, but I always have trouble with reconciling my humanitarian impulses with my thoughts on respecting national sovereignty. On the one hand, I think that humanitarian missions are in our best interests, particularly in the prevention of genocide and mass suffering. On the other hand, national sovereignty counts for something, and it's pretty easy to stuff things like future Iraq wars under the guise of humanitarian efforts rather than self-interested aggression. That's why I think we must act to strengthen global institutions. I don't know if it is within the rights of any STATE to unilaterally disregard national sovereignty without opening up their borders to attack, but what about an international body with real teeth? This isn't a fleshed out idea of course, just a starting point. I actually want to work towards a world where national boundaries are a bit more porous, to a world with more of a European Union, federalist type structure. I think that the East African Union is a great idea, at the very least regionalism is needed to solve to going concerns that our globe faces.

Between Darfur and Somalia the AU's troops are stretched thin, so the troops would either have to be from African nations or some amalgamation with UN or European troops. It seems that the power-sharing is just not going to work- Mugabe needs to go.

*Thai Opposition Set to Form New Government

I must admit that I'm always fascinated by parliamentary governments. Something about a vote of no confidence always gets my juices flowing. I think the US should consider a parliamentary style government, with a President head of state and Prime Minister head of government. Some critics say that we'd never get anything done under a parliamentary style government (especially if we went to some kind of proportional representation). To that I say.. well, we don't really get too much done now. Mostly this is just my grass is greener outlook I guess.

I read somewhere that instead of fostering a greater democracy the growing Thai middle class actually wants more autocracy. Weak democracies mean that the elected official pretty much has the run of things after elections are over. No institution has the power or credibility to stand up to these elected officials who destroy civil liberties and preach nationalism and populism to the poor, so long as they follow their leader uncritically. Well, there is one force that does have the power... the military. To many in the middle class, there's not much difference between military rule and the rule of their corrupt elected officials, both suppress civil liberties, but at least the military officers come from middle class or elite backgrounds and are not as beholden to the votes of rural poor as the elected official is.
And that's part of what it comes down to. I think it's comical to call the people in the middle truly "middle class," simply because they are socioeconomically speaking sandwiched between the super-rich elite and the large number of rural poor. The rural poor makes up a much much much larger percentage of the population, the middle class is not a middle class but a lower elite, and acting as a lower elite, they want a leader who is beholden to them. Not saying that they're not right about their opposition to these corrupt elected leaders. It's just that, I don't think the motives are as pure as we're made to believe.

The President is Our Daddy-King

2008-12-07T03:13:00.005-05:00

Just got back from seeing Frost/Nixon. Overall, a very good film, I think that Frank Langella did a masterful job as Nixon. If I were him I'd really start making sure that the mantle above my fireplace had plenty of space and was adequately reinforced, there's gonna be some heavy hardware coming his way during award season. I mean, pretty much everything is lined up for him to win a Best Supporting Actor Oscar/Golden Globe/etc. He plays a larger than life figure, a disgraced former President who still captures the American imagination enough to warrant a film more than 30 years after his resignation. There's always danger in playing a famous person in a movie- but you're definitely well compensated for the risk if you play the part well. Then too, the film's director (Ron Howard) is well liked, and the movie was released in December, making it close enough to the ceremony where nominators will remember it, but far enough away that the Academy doesn't look like they're nominating it just because it's fresh in their minds. Like I said, Frank Langella should get some space on his mantle ready.

As I was watching the movie, what I thought about most though was not the acting or the storyline or even about how good a job the casting director did on picking the person who played the young Diane Sawyer, but frankly, about how quaint the entire movie seemed. I obviously was not alive during those fateful years, I had no clue what it feels like to have your naivete about how the federal government and the office of the president and all government worked smashed into a million tiny pieces-tiny saddened and betrayed pieces. It's not that the anger and betrayal that people felt wasn't justified; it was completely justified. It's just that, well, what did they expect out of a president?
I never really thought about how seminal a moment Watergate really was until the start of the movie. I'd studied Watergate to some degree, it had always permeated pop and political culture
I was talking to my girlfriend earlier, about how American society views the office of the President, as some kind of daddy-king figure, only better than a daddy-king because you get to participate in the process to choose him. (Think about how different your life would be if you got to choose your father?) I think that it was true back then and it's true today. Except, before Watergate, the American people at-large saw their daddy-king in the way that a child does. He was a protector, he always acted in our best interest, always on the straight and narrow. He was wise and carried the burden of representing the American people with grace and dignity and a strength that the world admired. As children, the American people may not have been privy to the conversations held in the Oval Office/master bedroom, but rest assured that the coversations our parents (daddy-king plus his trusted advisers) had were only in the best interests of the country. After Watergate, the American people as a collective saw the President the way a teenager would see his father. We recognize that our daddy-king isn't perfect or even particularly good- he might be a jerk, he might drink too much and wiretap his political enemies for his own personal gain. The cynicism the American people developed after Watergate prepared us to expect the worst (or at least the pretty bad) when it came to a presidential administration. What it did not prepare us for (since I still do not think the American people are politically adult yet) is to confront our very views of what a President is. We still see the daddy-king even if we do not use him as our moral North Star. Like a teenager trying and failing to rebel, we secretly still cower in front of him, so to speak. It still highlights the worst of our own Machiavellian impulses, we truly want someone to lie to us because we like the image. The image of Jack Bauer and "24", of our President making those tough decisions that may not be "ethical" or "humanitarian" or even really "legal," but that in the end keep us warm and safe in our beds and the terrorists at bay. Nixon may have been ridiculed when he said that "When the President does it, it's not illegal," but I think he ultimately got the last laugh. Only it was subsequent Presidents who benefited.

Nixon's specific crime that he resigned for was the cover-up of the scandal of Watergate, but he did a lot of other things too. Wiretaps of reporters, trying to destroy the careers of his political enemies, the escalation of the Vietnam War, going in to Cambodia, his strange relationships with mobsters and the Teamsters, the list could go on. But when I say that much of what he did seems quaint, I think it's because of everything that has happened during the Bush administration. The NSA's warrantless domestic wiretapping program that is much larger than Nixon's, the granting of immunity to all of the telecommunications companies that spied on us since before 9/11, the fabrication of evidence in making the case for the Iraq War, the abhorrent use and (more importantly) systemization of a torture regime that violates the Geneva Conventions and completely destroyed any moral authority the US had left, the political firings in the Justice Department, the mind bogglingly incompetent response to Hurrican Katrina, and his utter expansion of the power of the executive branch of our government. The systemization of a torture regime, under the incredibly Orwellian euphemism "enhanced interrogation techniques," by itself is worse than anything the Nixon administration did. The fact that our populace has by and large has acquiesed to these actions, acted as if they were legitimate actions instead of the decay of our system of checks and balances; well, the office of the President really did get the last laugh. All them, Reagan, Bush I (who I think has been our most honorable president since Reagan, and he was a former CIA director!), Clinton, Bush, and now Obama should thank Nixon for the power he grabbed for them.

Update* Speaking of executive secrecy, Glenn Greenwald has an excellent (as usual) article on Matt Miller's (from the "liberal" Center for American Progress) bewildering assertion that Obama should have his aides sign confidentiality agreements so that they won't disclose the inner workings of the administration until well after Obama is out of office. What????? This ain't a some criminal enterprise, Obama's not runnin a dope and coke operation out of the Oval Office. He's an elected official, the highest elected official; him and all of his aides are putting taxpayer dollars in their direct deposit checking accounts. The man campaigned on change and one of those changes was a more transparent administration. Those aides damn well better disclose, that's one of the things we're paying them for. Basically Miller wants to run a Stop Snitchin campaign in the district- funny how once the Dems get back in power all the executive abuses suddenly become okay.

Why I Buy Music (From a Record Store)

2008-12-03T14:31:00.001-05:00

I walked up 30th Avenue in the bitter cold all the way to Steinway before I saw the hole in the wall they called Sound City, the record store I found on the internet in desperate search of a place where I could buy music. It was a little disappointing, sliding through that door only to see an establishment the size of a living room, holding only a handful of racks of records and cds. VHS and cassette tapes were also present, sitting forlornly on the floor. This isn't a record store, I thought to myself, as the bells on top of the door chimed to signal that the mid November cold had indeed been shut out. Vintage Vinyl (where I worked for more than two years) now that was a record store. It was gigantic, one of the last behemoths from a bygone era, filled to the breaking point with all kinds of music and dvds and music memorabilia. I guess that's the closest I'll ever get to knowing how the last T. Rex must have felt when those furry four-legged live-birthing animals started to take over. After lamenting for a bit about the gradual demise of the neighborhood record stores, I dove right in to the pitiful jazz and blues collection, hoping to find something worth purchasing.

So far New York has been 0-for-2 in the record store department. The first one I visited was in Williamsburg, my first foray into the hipster capital of the planet, gentrified to the point of being a parody (it was also the sight of the biggest burger mishap in my 22 year history, a story for another day). I know it's foolish to expect New York to have a record store even approaching the size of Vintage Vinyl. Space is too valuable in this city, and a record store in todays environment would never sell enough merchandise to justify the square footage used. But still, one of the things I miss about St. Louis is knowing for damn sure that I could walk into Vintage and know that I could find something to buy, something that would catch my interest, an absurdist French film from the Criterion Collection, a hip-hop album from the All Natural label in Chicago, a classic rock album on vinyl that I should have had a long time ago.

It's silly really, because there are so many options for a music lover like me today; in many ways this is the golden age for people who love music. In addition to going to the ever dwindling number of record stores, I can download music at will from Limewire (and don't get it twisted I will download the HELL out of a hot single or any artist that has no business making albums). I can order music on iTunes, I can buy the tangible product on Amazon or eBay. I can create my own personal radio station at Pandora or watch all the mid-90's music videos on Youtube. If people in the 1970's had this plethora of options, I honestly think that they're heads would have spontaneously combusted.
But nothing is 100% good, and the ability to get music from a myraid of sources means that there is less opportunity for interaction with other people in the music buying experience. Don't get me wrong, I revel in the fact that the greedy SonyBMG's of the world are slowly but surely getting their comeuppance. I also understand that in order to get that comeuppance, the record stores which acted as gatekeepers for their collective monopoly had to be considerably scaled down. I shed exactly zero tears for the demise of Sam Goody or Tower Records- and only a few for even the demise of the independent store. Like the man at Sound City told me, "I'm not bitter." How can you be? Times change because technology changes it; people always gravitate to that which is cheaper and easier- the definition of convenient. Music is meant to be heard and any way that helps for the greatest variety of music to be heard by the greatest number of people is fine.

For me though it boils down to being able to fulfill a combination of experiences. Buying music off of the internet satisfies my need for something tangible, satisfies the combination of touch, sight, sound, and smell which helps to create my visceral experience of listening to music. Where it fails is my need for instant gratification- even with expedited shipping it takes time for it to arrive, too much time. Buying from iTunes or downloading off the internet has the opposite problem. The gratification is even more instant, I don't have to brave the New York cold, I only have to make sure that my internet connection is working and that I have the stamina to reach my desktop in the living room. But there's nothing to touch, except sticky keys, headphones, and my rundown yet still sleek, black and silver ipod.

While sight is definitely the most magical of our senses, it's that combination with touch that truly helps to inform reality, and more importantly, physicality. I miss my girlfriend; and when I say that I want to see her, I don't literally just want to see her. What I mean is that I want to experience her physicality, not just sexually, but her very presence in my vicinity. Maybe that's how I can best describe it. Music on iTunes, music that I downloaded off LimeWire, it has no true presence. It's only announcement that it is in fact real, is the computer on which it is stored before I transfer it to my iPod. But a computer does a lot of other things too; music loses its own special place and becomes just one of many functions of my 5year old HP. On the iPod it becomes just a jumbled mass with no differentiation except for the intangible folders that they are stored in.

For better or worse, the music I play on a cd or record has presence. The crates that take up too much space in the back of our kitchen nook constantly remind me. When I want to play I record, true I have to go through a process rather than just pushing a button (and making sure that it has enough battery power). And it's true that I cannot shuffle my records, if I want to hear another artists I have to take the record off, put it back in its sleeve (most of the time), and then put another record on, making sure the stylus is just right. It's the price you pay for physicality of the smooth dust filled vinyl or the glossy liner notes inside the cd case- the feeling you get when you want to put on that Sonny Rollins and Sonny Stitt record to accompany that dinner you took precious time to make. It's the price you pay for the ability to be mesmerized by the dusky moonlight orange color of the record case and the picture of Rollins and Stitt playing somewhere way far out of their minds. It's almost religious sometimes, when it's done right it's like you're performing a sacrament and it's always gratifying.

After accounting for the ability to touch and my inability to wait, there's finally the ability to interact. The physicality of the actually piece of music extends to the presence of those who can give me information or advice. I mean, there are is an innumerable amount of websites which can give you advice about what type of music you may like; shoot Amazon does a much better job of that then say a random record store clerk. But it's not just strictly about the information, it's also about the interaction no matter how fleeting it is. Let's be real, you don't ever really get to know the clerk who is ringing up your cds (or tomatoes or a large flatscreen tv)- but the ability to make small talk, and the tiny chance that you may in fact make a friend, or at the very least an acquaintance is nice in and of itself. And buying music is just a bit different than buying something like tomatoes or even a flatscreen. Buying music by its nature fosters some kind of connection, because behind each discreet unit there's an interesting reason for the buy- a reason beyond "I'm hungry," or "I want to be able to see the game from the outer edges of the solar system." The opportunities just present themselves so much more readily, because music lends itself to deep opinions and endless comparisons in ways that other buying options do not. From there, the road to other topics is pretty straightforward.
The man from Sound City and I talked about Howlin' Wolf and Miles Davis, our childhood dreams of being musicians, our current jobs, books we were reading, he even let me borrow one before I left. It was pretty lame, one of those simplistic self-help books that try and pass themselves off as deep and end up selling 2 million copies. But it's the thought that counts. And when I walk in, he calls me Mr. Rodriguez (still a weird experience for me) and gives me long-winded explanations for his recommendations or the reason behind why a certain cd hasn't come in. Then he'll go back to yelling at some guy on the phone or telling some aging hip-hop connosseiur that his Ludacris special order hasn't come in yet. The experience is hilarious, the walk is tiring, and Sound City guy can be mildly annoying at times. It's something I come back to every week, and while I'll keep buying music from a record store for as long as they're still open.

**Add-on**: As an ending aside, I think that the record industry should go to a two tier kind of model. Eventually, it might be forced upon them if they want to stay viable. There are plenty of artists who make hot songs that have absolutely no business making an album. None. They just do not have the talent, inclination, or the stable of producers to make an album worth listening to, and so, quite simply, they shouldn't. Only two kinds of artist should make an album: Superstars who the record company is willing to put all kinds of money behind in order for them to succeed, and really talented artists who have the creativity necessary to make varied songs around a central theme. What ends up happening with these other people- the ones who put out a hot single or two and then have to rush back to the studio to make an album- is that their entire album sounds like a crappier version of the single, and nobody wants to buy that. Not on iTunes and definitely not in a store. So instead they should just be singles artists, putting out hot songs when the inspiration comes, until they prove themselves worthy of making an album. There's nothing wrong with singles artists- James Brown was a singles artists for most of his career and he's one of the top 5-10 music artists in modern history.

Live Blogging- Sketches of Spain

2008-12-01T13:56:00.005-05:00

I wanted to try something different with this post. I recently bought a bunch of albums from a small record store and decided to record the immediate thoughts I had listening to them, a kind of live-blogging for albums. Because my cd player does not have elapsed time on it, I'm just going to type without any kind of timestamp. I know, it kind of dilutes the experience of live-blogging, but I swear I typed all of this as I was listening. So.. here goes nothing.

Context: Sitting on my bed finishing a presentation for work while drinking Leffe, a smooth blond Belgian Beer.

Some background:

Concierto de Aranjuez (adagio): I have to admit (even though it's blasphemous) that during his Gil Evans period, I find Miles' horn to be, at times, far too piercing. It feels like my ear drum is being punctured with every note. I much prefer him in the lower register, it just feels so much warmer. Right now it just reminds me of a gnat. Towards the middle he makes a seamless transition from sadness to something far more... I guess grand is the right word. This is jazz at its most orchestral, something I tend not to associate with the era of small band jazz. I guess it has to do with the ensemble that Evans put together. Man his arrangements are amazing.

Will O the Wisp: The first thing that comes to my mind- playfully scary. If Miles at the beginning of Concierto is a gnat, right here he's a graceful dragonfly, darting between his backing horns (the french horn in particular is daunting in this piece). The songs called Will O the Wisp and it feels just right, like a reed in the lake moving gently in the wind.

The Pan Piper: The start is Miles at his most annoying living in the upper register and rarely coming back down to earth. But as much as I'm annoyed by some of the sounds, I also find this to be Miles at his most compelling. It sounds like a bad dream out of Fantasia or the playing of the Pied Piper gone horribly wrong. I was introduced to this song from a British compilation, Blues Miles, a mood compilation of sorts as it contains a bunch of songs from different periods in Miles' career. I had just started getting into jazz and it was the first time I'd HEARD Miles Davis. Like Woody Harrelson, I'd listened to Miles a few times, but this time I was Wesley Snipes and I heard him like he heard Jimi. And really, I've only heard Miles more clearly on one other occasion. First week in January, Sunday morning after a night of partying and big swigs of Jim Beam, I went to work with an epic hangover, and the sounds of the 42 minute monster Zimbabwe, from the album Pangaea punctuated every step I took.
But man the smoothness returns, and it takes me back to hot summers in Milwaukee, the kind of hot where the sweat becomes a string of beads across your forehead and upper lip. My mom use to work late nights at JC Penneys, so at night me and my brother, when we weren't fighting or watching crappy shows on the WB, would sit at the kitchen table and talk about life while listening to Miles Davis. My mom use to keep a jug of red wine on the table and we use to get the nice small glasses out of the cabinet and mix the wine with pepsi and ice. Made us feel like two grown men at a smoke filled jazz club. Man were we corny, but it was such a good time in my life, and Pan Piper takes me back there.

Saeta: A march! For some reason, I think of Verdi's Aida when I hear this. Genuinely happy, on an album thats mostly somber and reflective. I feel triumphant just listening to it, if I made a mixtape for my entrance music, this would definitely be the jazz entry.

Solea: And right back to sad, then an even swifter transition to exuberant. Man does the Davis/Evans combo know how to jerk you around. I can't quite call it a musical rollercoaster, because there is never a doubt where the tone lies or where they eventually want to take you. This song loses a bit of steam towards the end, Miles seems to be meandering a bit. Maybe he's a bit tired from all of the work he's put in earlier? The backing band seems to follow him as well; they're solid but that's not saying much on an album that's been so much more than that.

Song of Our Country: Not included on the original, but it's here and I'm grateful. It would have been a shame if the album ended with Solea, because it would not have done Sketches of Spain justice. Miles sounds drunk here, but much more purposeful, like the last few minutes of a workout, he knows the end is coming and he wants the finale to be exciting. He turns in some incredibly fast and skillful runs, with the trombone placing some fills where Miles gives him space. My last impression is that, damn Evans put together a group worthy of playing with Miles. They give him time to shine throughout, and especially on this song, while not completely fading into the background.

The last two songs are replays of Concierto. I've never been much of a completist, so I don't particularly care about the alternate takes on jazz reissues (the alternates on Tiajuana Moods being one of the exceptions). A lot of it has to do with the fact that, though I fancy otherwise, I'm just not as sophisticated a jazz listener as I want to be. Mostly I'm caught in a supreme no man's land- I know just enough to be uninformed. I can appreciate some of the subtleties of the different takes (one of them used a different producer for Concierto) but I'd be lying if I said that I noticed them without listening to each track back to back repeatedly.
Part one is a little more mild, the main theme just a tad slower. Best of all though, Miles is playing exactly where I want him, in the lower and middle registers with only a few forays into piercing gnat territory. Part two is just a replay of Concierto's ending, and I honestly, I have no clue what to say about it.

To me this is the most ambitious of the three Evans/Davis sets, because they try to interpret pieces in a jazz format that do not immediately fit. There's not much of an opportunity to really cook as in more mainstream jazz. Many people have said that this is one of Miles most accessible albums, some calling it "elevated elevator music" but I only think that's partially correct. For someone with an inclination about what jazz is supposed to be, this is nowhere near as accessible as Birth of Cool or Miles Ahead or Kind of Blue. For someone who is looking for a gateway from classical to jazz or something light to chew on before digging into the something like hardbop, then maybe they're right. Out of all the Evans/Davis sets, I think both Miles Ahead and Porgy and Bess are easier to listen to, and, in my opinion, they're both better as well. Not to say that SoS isn't great, basically any Miles in this period qualifies as such. Sketches of Spain is definitely still worthy of a buy and repeated listens, especially if you enjoy some of the lighter and yet in some ways more challenging work.

Thanks for reading and tell me what you think!

*Edit- After reading a lot of reviews, it seems that most people love Solea, while it was my least favorite track on the album. I'll have to take another listen to it. But I guess it's worth noting that my favorite songs were all of the short variety, maybe I just don't have the attention span for some of the long-form cuts. Maybe with repeated listens my favorites will switch.

My Two Guys

2008-11-23T14:29:00.003-05:00

I got a whole list of blogs that I love to read, but there are three that really stand above the rest. For me, Glenn Greenwald, Andrew Sullivan, and Joe Posnanski are daily reads (just so they do not feel left out, Ta-Nehisi Coates and the staff at the Hardball Times are also on the top of my list)- Sullivan's posts are short vignettes about his thoughts and daily news that he posts multiple times a day. Glenn Greenwald and Posnanski are longer, so there are (sad) days where they have not updated. Greenwald, though, is more focused and scholarly, he is after all a constitutional lawyer. Posnanski's blog is how I'd like mine to be- meandering with plenty of parentheticals (he calls them posterisks). Anyway, they are all quite thought-provoking and very insightful. Many of the ideas I get from my posts are directly as a result of writing that they have done.

Not to slight Joe or anything but this post today is about the other two, Sullivan and Greenwald. They are separated on the ideological spectrum, one is a small government conservative, one is an unabashed liberal, but both been incredibly outspoken on the failures of the Bush Administration, particularly the expansion of presidential power, the domestic spying regime, and the general incompentence which has accompanied this administrations response to everything. (sidenote, I think that eventually we could have a political party, which is a combination of the best of libertarianism and progressive liberalism, I want to write about that combo later) But what I think is most commendable is their continued vigilance on the subject of torture.
I don't think people still understand the gravity of what Bush/Cheney authorized during the past 8 years. WE TORTURED! Say it to yourself: the United States of America tortured people! We have to repudiate this every chance we get. This is NOT just another policy dispute- it gets to the very fabric of who we want to be as a country. I don't understand why there is not more outrage in our media and in the populace as a whole.

People talk about how Barack Obama should not prosecute the people who authorized these atrocities, that it would be too political, that the right wing would skewer him. While I think that Obama's consensus governing style and willingness to listen to dissent is going to work for our country in the long-term. But for the health of our country I also think that we must repudiate to the maximum extent, the policies of this administration. If that means a Truth Commission then so be it, but we've already let these monsters sully our reputation, are we going to let them get away with it too? If we do, it not only means that we've allowed torturers to go free, but we also say out loud that those in power are above the law.

Comin' Out Hard

2008-11-22T12:20:00.005-05:00

I don't remember actually meeting my mother's father for the first time, but I do remember the environment. It was winter time, it was probably 1990 but it may have been 89. We walked up what seemed like an enormous flight of dark brown stairs. My memory tells me that the stairs were a little chipped, but honestly, it was too dark to see anything but the steps outline, which, along with my mother's hand, guided my little feet up the stairs. There was no light inside the actual stairwell, it was illuminated from a source inside the apartment. The light was off-yellow, a brownish yellow, like the bulb had been stained by almost constant cigarette smoke, it made everything seem old. Looking back, it reminds me of a 70's blaxploitation movie. And that's where the memory ends. It's always me walking up the stairs with my mother, and presumably the rest of my siblings, never reaching the top, just endlessly climbing towards the smoke yellow light.

I figured out that the memory was from visiting my grandfather through deductive reasoning. The door we entered into was one on the side of a store and the stairs led to a single, slightly rundown apartment. My grandfather was the only person in my family that lived above a store, in this case a liquor store. Therefore, it must have been him. And even though I don't remember actually meeting him, the memory itself gave me a sense of fear and a sense of strength, but mostly fear.

I got a chance for a do-over meeting when I was 10. He still lived above a liquor store, not sure if it was the same one, at the very least the staircase was the same. We got to the top and there he was, sitting on a white chair facing the doorway, a trucker hat on his head and his grainy tv screen turned to the news. His coffee table was filled with bills, letters, a VFW magazine and stacks of road maps. I guessed correctly that he'd been a trucker in his former life, and a retired veteran in his current one. But I really noticed was him physically. He was huge, well over six feet tall, broad shoulders, long limbs. (why the hell am I so short? oh, yeah). And more importantly, he was hilarious. He reeked of alcohol and cursed more than any person I'd ever met. Crotchety wouldn't even begin to describe him; the bitterness that he had at the world came out in expletive form. If Guiliani spoke with a noun, verb, and 9/11, my grandfather was a noun, maybe a verb, and motherfucka. I would later learn that his bitterness was almost entirely justifiable, but at the time I just thought that he was the Black, cursing incarnation of Statler and Waldorf always hating on everything, always making jokes, and always being extraordinarily ornery.

But if my grandfather was funny, it was my uncle who lived with him in that small liquor store apartment that was cool. He was light-hearted, taking the brunt of my grandfather's curses but more than keeping up in his comebacks. He was big too, not as tall as my grandfather, but even more broad shouldered. There was this confidence that just exuded from him, that, especially for a 10 year old boy, was inspiring. I couldn't wait until I became a man. Man- besides my father and my brother I had never really interacted with any males in my family before. All of my closest relatives were women. My uncle was definitely excited to see his little nehpews for the first time also, because he asked my mother if he could take us out to Lake Michigan the next day. Now, my mother knew her brother, she knew what kind of guy he was, but she let us go out with him anyway. Then again, my mother also my brother and I ride to go get a puppy with this old white guy who lived in our trailer park who we'd literally just met. He said that there were free puppies at some other trailer park, we pleaded with her, and she let us go. My mom was truly one of the last of the old school parents.

Anyway, the next day we got inside my uncles ancient big bodied Oldsmobile, and all of my thoughts about his coolness are confirmed. He warns us as he puts the car into drive that he doesn't listen to the kind of rap we listen to, this being 1996, the beginning of the shiny suit era, he meant Mase and Puff Daddy. He pops in his tape, the only one he listens to the entire day, and instead of heavily sampled rap about having a bunch of money and writing checks, I hear stories of Armed Robbery, niggas gettin merked with 9 millimeters, pimps pimpin out a multitude of ho's. Here me and my brother were, two black nerds from South Carolina, riding around in a big-body hoopty. I didn't learn until later that it was Eightball and MJG's critically acclaimed debut "Comin' Out Hard" that we were listening to, all I know is that I felt hard just listening to it.
Before we head to the lake though, my uncle tells us that he has to make a couple stops, make his rounds. We pull up to this brick apartment complex near a small park, and my uncle quickly jumps out. He tells us to wait in the car while he does his business. A lady greets him at the front door and takes him upstairs. Me and my brother are silent, only Eightball is speaking "Mr Big, Mr Big, they call him Mr. Big." We must have waited like twenty minutes for him to get finished, the lady hands my uncle a key as he walks out the door, I guess for easier access. He's grinnin' as we drive off, headed for the highway.
We're doing something over the speed limit, the tape already having started over, gun shots fill my ears. A nice looking lady in sunglasses speeds past us on a black motorcycle. "Hey poo-poo, what's good?" my uncle yells out the window. He leans over to check out how her ass looks propped up by the seat of the bike. He lokos around just in time to see another lady on the passengers side of the car to our right. He greets her outrageously- "I LOVE BIG TITTIES!" I think she blushes a little. So that's how you get women.
We pull off onto an exit and head to the gas station. I thought we'd run out of gas, turns out the gauge is just broken. We wait in the car again, he comes back with a pack of Newports and a can of beer, Old Milwaukee I think. I'm only certain about the Newports. We get back on the freeway; me and my brother are hoping that we'd finally get to the lake. Now, I'd seen plenty of people drive and smoke, and I'd even heard of people drinking and driving. My uncle, with unmistakable talent, drank, smoked, and drove all at the same time. He had the Newport in one hand, the can of Old Milwaukee in the other. Having run out of hands, he proceeded to drive with his knee, down the freeway, doing ninety. As me and my petrified brother are clinging to our seats, saying one last Our Father, he jokes "Man, I shouldn't be doing this... I don't even have a license right now!"
At least we were headed to the lake now. Except we weren't. I gotta make a few more stops man, and then we'll get to the lake, he told us. While we were driving to, I don't know where, he told us stories. About his time in LA, becoming a Crip, going to prison for armed robbery. The worst story was what they did to this one guy when they found out he was in prison for raping little kids (it involves a broken off broomstick). He talked about his (now ex) wife (who to this day I never met) and his dogs, my mind tell me they were either boxers or pit bulls. He loved those dogs, and the bitch (his wife) had put them down to spite him. Just because he was a little reckless, just for a little thing like cheating on her a couple times and not coming home for a month. Was that so wrong? I looked down and my brother did the same. We really didn't have a concept of infidelity besides the fact that it was indeed wrong.

We never made it to Lake Michigan that day. Me and my brother watched my uncle literally get the keys to a woman's place a little while after he met her. We drove around the hood as he'd randomly yell at women- try and talk to ones that were definitely under 18. We made stops at corner stores, at one of our cousins houses, at my uncle's friends house (we didn't get to go in there either). And when all the stops were over, as the sun was going down, and we FINALLY drove to the east side to go to the Lake, his car broke down. Wouldn't even begin to turn over. So we had to walk; all the way back to my grandfather's tiny apartment above the liquor store on 5th street.

Is it inately male to admire another man who just doesn't give a fuck? That has to explain my fascination with my uncle when I first met him. He was larger than authority, larger than life. Every single thing that my mother told me was wrong, he did, with absolutely no regard. It's wrong to drink and drive: my uncle drank beer after beer driving down the freewayt. It's wrong to drive without a license: I'm not sure he's ever even had a valid drivers license, and honestly, he shouldn't have one. He was ALWAYS strapped- (although I didn't see one that day, ever time I've seen him since he's had a gun on him). He cheated on his wife with reckless abandon, not even pretending to have discretion.
And he got women- by the barrel, it was awe-inspring to watch. My uncles a good-looking guy, but not that good-looking. He doesn't dress nicely, he never really has a steady job. He's damn near or already 50 and still lives with his father. But women flock to him. When I started high school, he'd give me nice watches to wear to school, he had a drawer full of them, all given to him by women. Other things inside that drawer- a large number of house keys, another gun, and an assortment of prophylactics. When I lived with my grandfather the summer before high school he had ladies always blowing up my grandfather's phone. For someone trying to be cool it was quite a lesson. A bad one for someone eventually trying to find a nice girl, but a lesson that I took to heart. The choices my uncle made was never really an option for me, but it did influence how I thought about women and "relationships" at least for a little while.
I'm 12 years older now, most of the things I thought were cool back then are just sad now. I definitely don't want to be him, but I can't lie and say that occasionaly that lifestyle isn't attractive. There's a fleeting moment, where going to the office, reading books, taking care of responsibilities, just isn't enough. I wanna ride shottie with my uncle listening to Eightball and MJG and feeling more powerful than I actually am.

Tell Them How You Really Feel

2008-11-21T15:36:00.005-05:00

On the train I was listening to Bobby Womack's "If You Think You're Lonely Now (Wait Until Tonight Girl). It's one of my favorite 70's black guitar man songs, and Bobby Womack is probably the best black soul guitarists of that era. I love the opening the most; that first guitar lick, the gravel in his voice during the monologue, and his ability to mix angst and frustration that boils over into anger. And the background singers are just heavenly. It's clear that he loves his lady but he also makes it clear that he's fed up with her contradictions, her constant nagging. But instead of finding a more constructive way of dealing with their problems, he leaves. He tells her how he really feels, in all its complexities and in the process reveals his own failings.
I'm certainly reading too deep into this song- but I can imagine the circumstances from the story of greater Black America, a little bit after the Civil Rights movement. He feels ashamed about not being able to give his wife/woman/girlfriend the things she wants- his has little in the way of job prospects. I think about him, living in Detroit or Cleveland, his plant shutdown, what can he do? Travel for work? Perhaps, but then he's never home, then she's lonely. But doesn't it feel a little bit refreshing to be away from all that- nagging and anger and frustration. He could travel for work and send back the money- leaving little for himself. He could stay home, try and look for work, and be berated for being unsuccessful. Or..... he could leave for work and keep his money. More money for him, less money for the wife- for my kid?

The problem with male soul/R&B music today is that they cannot display their vulnerability while retaining their ability to come hard with it. For the most part it's an either or proposition. Part of it is the dominance of hip-hop in the Black community. Our current soul/R&B singers were weaned on the cockiness of hip-hop and it is reflected in what and how they sing. You tell a woman/girl/bitch/ho how you're gonna dick her down, break her back, or how she's ain't nothin but a ho/bitch. In the song at least, you are an all powerful sex god able to both that no woman can resist. There's a place for that in music, but there's also a place for something a little more honest and it's tough to find, particularly in the popular stuff.
But Bobby Womack still came hard while revealing his softer side. The anger inside his voice was just as palpable- but it was grown man anger, anger built around trying to build a household. You don't have to be lame to be honest, and you don't have to say things like "she gone let me beep/beat, beep/beat, beep/beat, beep/beat" from that awful Bobby Valentino song. The chorus goes way past playfulness into silliness and undermines the sex god archetype- it's the worst of both worlds really.

I blame Marvin Gaye for the current state of male R&B. Yeah I said it. I blame Marvin Gaye for the current state of R&B in the same way that I blame Michael Jordan for the isolation-revolution that took over the NBA in the mid to late 1990's. It's not their fault personally. Because he had the best combination of skill, intelligence, and savvy, Michael Jordan increased his teams chances of winning by being isolated at times (although he also worked in the triangle offense). It was not isolation in and of itself that was key, it was the man doing it. But coaches thought that putting your best player at the top of the key to go one-on-one was a great strategy. It wasn't and it's extremely boring for players under MJ's stature.
Marvin Gaye with "Let's Get It On" showed how being candid could be a selling point in a more open and permissive age. Not that there weren't other artists who were candid before (blues artists, both men and women had always been upfront about sex in their songs), but because Marvin Gaye was so popular it became acceptable. But Marvin Gaye was also a great great song interpreter, made one of the best (concept) albums in music history, was an accomplished drummer and lyricist (even if he didn't always show it), and was both critically and commercially acclaimed. My point is, that in the hands of an all-time legend like Marvin, the candidness (which is positively tame now) works well. It was one of the tools in his ever evolving arsenal, one that he leaned on very heavily in his later years, but one, because of his extraordinary gifts, he wielded quite capably. Too often for today's R&B artists, it just comes off as arrogant and nasty- and unfortunately that's the only tool in the box for them. Just because it worked for Marvin and some other artists (of the newer R&B artists, Usher's Confessions comes to mind) doesn't mean it works for you. A&R's, please tell your artists to get some different tools, you don't need a sledgehammer for everything.

What Happens When You Waste Time

2008-11-21T10:50:00.003-05:00

So, I haven't written in a couple days. I've had a few ideas written on paper, but just wasn't in the mood to write something coherent.

In the wake of Lieberman keeping his chairmanship, I wanted to write a post about the different ways the Republicans and the Democrats treat their respective bases. But then, while perusing The Daily Dish I stumbled across another website which wrote about the exact same thing, only better. So if you want some excellent analysis on the subject go here. I'll just add what I was going to say:

Republicans treat their base with reverence, or at least they make the appearance of treating their base with reverence. If they pursue policies that hurt the white rural Christian working-class (and oh lord do they do they ever), they will 1) spin their actions to make it seem like they're acting in the bases interest, 2) talk about how God-fearing and patriotic their rural base is. Republicans, for better or worse, are unashamed to be married to their base, will walk proudly down the street holding their rural, hard-working hands. They will defend them against all comers, and make no excuses for the actions of the worst of them. When it comes time to dole out the goodies after an election is won, they throw them not just a bone, but the big piece of chicken reserved for the head of the household.

Democrats, particularly the spineless ones representing the party are utterly ashamed of the people who ultimately get them elected. They are more than willing to not only ignore the interests of their base, but Dems actually will brag about the ways in which they scorn them. Even with resounding wins in the last two election cycles, Democratic leaders still do not think Americans actually like their policies. They subscribe to the right-wing talking point that this is, essentially, a center-right country. They act like the geeky, slightly overweight guy who used his good personality and keen sense of humor to land the girl of his dreams. Even though they're married and she professes that she loves him everyday, he still cannot believe that she is actually with him. He thinks he needs to act like someone else in order to keep her- but in the end, no one likes a phony. To me at least, it makes the Dems seem ungrateful. They had people giving up days, months, years, of their lives in order to help get them elected (I know, I was one of them, although I'm not sure where I categorize myself at this point). Many of those people were the "far-left" part of the party, the very hippies that they deride in the papers. The ones Rahm Emanuel wants to upset because it appears "bipartisan", the ones Nancy Pelosi is so dismissive of. I bet that in the halls of Congress, Repubs talk derisively about their "Bubbas and Rapturists" just as much as the Dems talk bad about their "Hippies and Darkies." When they walk outside though, that's a different story.

Politically speaking, it is actually much more efficient to treat your base as if they were your loyal battered wife. The Democratic base, particularly because they are so politically inclined, will always come back to the fold, even if you persue policy after policy that is the antithesis of what they want. Better to focus your time, money, and legislative power on those crucial "swing voters," or as the hilarious Daily Show put it (and I'm paraphrasing), those fucks who can't seem to make up their mind. The Republican concentration on their base is a foolish move in the end, because they are wasting precious resources on 1's, those people most likely to come vote for them anyway. You have to continue to make overtures to your foundation of course; you want them to come out and vote and knock on doors. But you don't always have to kow-tow to them, and you don't always have to flatter them, because it means that their worst aspects will paint the entire party the same shade of racist/sexist/leftist/etc.

Obama may be heading down that road as well. Apparently, it was ultimately up to him that Lieberman stayed as chairman of Homeland Security and Government Affairs. His entire Cabinet is old-time Clintonistas and a bunch of people from his Chicago political machine. I got no problem with that per se (except for wanting to appoint John Brennan, the torture and extraordinary rendition apologist, as CIA Director, that is deplorable and completely unacceptable). Most Presidential adminstrations are filled with people who have served under previous Presidents or were a part of the Presidential-elects machine back in his home state. I just think that the so-called "most liberal" senator will disassociate himself from not only the worst of the "far-left" but also the best. His people will tell him that it doesn't play with certain segments of our society. Obama is his own man, nobody on his team will be able to pull the puppet strings on him the way that Cheney did Bush. He is pragmatic, and thoughtful, a damn good politician, and I'll hold back any kind of judgment until he actually starts. But even Pat Buchanan said that he needed to give his foundation a Cabinet seat. I just hope he doesn't forget about the base that worked their asses off for him to be in the position he is in.

Everything Made of Marble/A Moment of Pleasure

2008-11-15T15:07:00.000-05:00

While at work on Thursday I got an email from a man that works in my office inviting me to come to a function put on by Jobs with Justice. I'm on one of the committees for the organization, but since I hadn't been around for a month, (and let me tell you that month felt like forever) I felt like an intruder rather than a committee member. I decided to go, mostly because I did want to see my fellow JWJ committee people, and because a few of my coworkers were going. I like my job, but I actually get to work on projects with a small group of people and I thought it would be nice to get to know some other people in the office better.
What I didn't know was that the ceremony was being held in the infamous 32BJ building on Canal Street. I'm reading this book right now "Solidarity for Sale" which talks about the corruption of unions and how it has undermined the labor movement; 32BJ, one of the most mobbed-up unions in American history has a prominent place in it. I'd heard stories about the penthouse at the top of the union office, the elevator that only had two stops- the garage and the penthouse floor. The Vegas casino style security cameras The presidents office (now used for accounting) that had floors of marble, 360 degree panoramic view of the city, all the furniture plush leather. I couldn't go up to the penthouse of course, but even on the bottom floor, all of the walls were made of beautiful black and white marble. It was something out of a corrupted dream. Calling it ostentatious would be far too kind. I can imagine a gaudy mob boss telling the architect that he wanted EVERYTHING to be made with marble, no matter the cost, it'd just come out of the workers pension fund or something.

I work in the labor movement, it's tough sometimes to come to grips with the legacy that it's steeped in, even when you are close to not being a part of it. It's some good mixed with a whole lot of bad. Fitch's thesis in "Solidarity for Sale" is that the entire set-up of the American labor movement is flawed. He says that the local union set-up naturally devolves into nothing more than a Middle Age era fiefdom, given time. Union bosses play the role of lord/patron doling out jobs and access, while the members are the serfs/clients, their union dues analogous to the crops given up by the serfs of old. Fitch does a good job of explaining why, once the client/patron system had solidified, the labor movement in the United States developed the way that it did; the corruption, the clientelism, the gradual takeover of the Mafia, the dwindling density, and the inability to pass any meaningful pro-worker legislation. What he does not do a good job of explaining is why American unions did not go through the metamorphosis that European unions did- from trade unions based on jurisdiction, to more centralized labor unions with a diverse occupational mix. Fitch dismisses the cultural claim for why American unions are more corrupt (Americans are more violent, Americans have less communal connections) stating that countries like Italy and Japan have flourishing criminal organizations that do not infiltrate the labor unions.
And yet, Fitch implies that cultural reasons play a part in the differences through describing the distinctions between the two types of unionism. European unions are centralized and bureaucratic- in American unions "the individual exchanges loyalty for protection," a more individualistic mindset. Our country's predisposition to federalism and local control definitely played a part in how our unions developed, with unintended consequences. Local control certainly has its strong points, particularly greater knowledge of occurrences on the ground, and the speediness with which the organization can act absent a large bureaucracy. What local control lacks is the ability to foster best practices and higher operating costs because of the inability to take advantage of economies of scale. Add that to the fact that the unions are based on territory and territorial jurisdictions need to be protected from encroachment. Without clear territorial legislation (like there is for cable television) who is going to provide that protection? Think about what our business environment would look like without the government setting up clear protection of property rights. It's no wonder that the thugs quickly got involved in the labor movement, who best to provide some much needed muscle.

I haven't come up with a coherent plan of action for labor unions yet (don't worry I'm working on it). I think the key, however, is to focus on helping out all workers. Organizing and getting members is important as it helps to pay for our efforts, but regardless of whether or not someone wants to join a union, we still want to do what's best for them. Having greater union density would help, but having a clear legislative and economic plan would be even better. And the plan can't be scattershot- we can't preach global solidarity while at the same time championing protectionism for certain domestic industries. It has to have an education plank that examines the viability of all options and that emphasizes integration and the equalization of opportunities. If it means revamping the set-up of teachers unions in order to better our education then we should do it. All institutions look out for their best interests, but the difference is that as unions we say that we aspire to something higher, and we should. If we want to play by the rules that apply to corporations, then we're in the wrong game.
Our thoughts have to be global; I actually break with many union members when it comes to things like free trade. If we truly care about justice and the plight of all working people we have to come to some kind of consensus on how to best incorporate people in the developing world, and in the short-term that may mean higher prices and more job losses, but if we do it right we can pick up the pieces. It's not easy, but it's most certainly worth it.
________________________________________________________
The actual event was pleasant, a few people gave really good speeches, some people were endearing but long-winded. The food was good, the open bar was even better. I stayed the entire time because a coworker needed to talk to one of the award recipients, I sat in the shadows or chatted with some of my JWJ buddies while he did. This blond-haired woman who came by herself sat next to me, smiling as she nibbled on one of those cheese squares, I think it was cheddar. She was a little wrinkled, maybe an inch past 35, and she was reading this Tarot card book which kept smacking against this monstrosity of a clear bracelet that she wore on her right wrist. It looked like a clear hard-plastic hoola-hoop, she could have worn it around her waist for God's sake. I know how it feels to be alone at an event so when she smiled at me I gave her a little smile back.
"So what brings you out here," I said.
She put her book down on the table.
"I got an email, thought I'd come by," her Lower Eastside accent was strong enough to pull a train, it almost hurt my ears.
"Yeah, me too. So where do you work?" I asked politely.
"1199, right on 42nd Street. I'm usually on the 7th floor but I work out of Brooklyn too," she said.
"I'm right in that building too, work on the 9th floor. Maybe we'll pass ways some time." My voice was full of pseudo-excitement. She too a loooong sip of merlot.
"Yeah, maybe. I just got back from Michigan, though. They sent us all out for the election."
"Yeah, same here. I was in Milwaukee for a month, working on logistics. Didn't get to knock on a single door," I said between bites of my sandwich.
And then she got this look, of very mild disgust- and she laughed, but it was more like a snort-laugh, a snlaugh. The kind of snlaugh that escapes the nasal cavity of sophisticated Lower Eastsiders who wear a gray t-shirt and jeans to a classy event when they so much as hear about some podunk town in the Mid-West.
"Ugh... I went there for the primaries.. let me tell ya," she said with another one of those exruciating snlaughs. "That's one place I'll never go back to you know."
Now, I could have played this a few ways. Naturally, I couldn't agree with her because that would be a betrayal of my mother's home and of a city that I use to live in and like. I could just say that I liked Milwaukee and that I had a fun time. I could have said nothing, taken a sip of my wine, and changed the subject. I mean, I'd only lived there for three years, my dad was in the Navy, and I wasn't REALLY from anywhere....
"Well, I'm from Milwaukee and..." I didn't have to finish, I just loved the transformation of her face, the sheepish grin, the eyes looking downward, such sweet revenge.
"There goes my foot right in my mouth," she said, her lips still smashed like silly putty into the shape of that same goofy grin.

Serves you right you cocky ass New Yorker!

Playing Politics

2008-11-15T14:25:00.004-05:00

Just a few things-

So it seems like Joe Lieberman might keep his chairmanship of the Homeland Security and Government Affairs Committee so long as he apologizes on the floor of the Senate. Evan Bayh and Chris Dodd have been two of the main senators speaking on Lieberman's behalf while Patrick Leahy and Bernie Sanders have been two prominent senators who want him ousted. Lieberman has said that if he does not retain his chairmanship, he'll caucus with the Republicans. Mitch McConnell, the Senate minority leader has reciprocated, offering Lieberman an invitation to caucus with the Repubs if he leaves the Dem caucus.

My take on it? You have to let Lieberman go. The Dems will not have the 60 votes necessary to stop filibusters with or without him, so that's off the table. More importantly, he SLAMMED your nominee for President. If he did not want to support Barack Obama, that's fine and that's his coice. He could have sat out the campaign. He could have been like Chuck Hagel, the Republican senator from Nebraska and endorsed the oppositions nominee but stayed out of day-to-day campaigning activities. But no, Lieberman was actively campaigning against his party's nominee for President; he SPOKE at the Republican National Convention. He tried to scare Jewish people into voting for McCain by saying an Obama victory was dangerous for Israel. There is NO WAY he should be allowed to keep a major chairmanship in the Democratic Party.

Look, I think it's fine that Lieberman had a conviction that he thought McCain was the better man for President. People should stand on their convictions. But you have to know there are consequences for your actions. When it comes to legislation, I think that playing politics should be kept to a minimum, particularly on legislation that is of utmost importance to the American people. Vote your conscience, vote for the policy that you think will help the American people, regardless of your party line. When it comes to the inner workings of the party apparatus, I'm all for playing politics, and you crack the whip on those who cross the line. You mean to tell me that the Dems can play politics when it comes to something like the bailout or stimulus package, but they're suddenly "above it all" when it comes to ousting a turncoat from a major chairmanship? Perhaps they're just really concerned about that one vote- but Lieberman will still be who he is even if he caucuses with the Repubs, a socially liberal hawk who because he believes in abortion rights, won't have much of a place in the Republican party. He might have to do a few more favors for some social conservatives but he won't be nearly as dangerous outside the party as he is made out to be.

Keeping him in however, would undermine party leadership and cohesiveness. It would show other senators that they have an enormous amount of leeway in their actions against the party. As an added bonus- Lieberman lost his last Dem primary but won as an independent probably because there were more than a few Dems who probably thought that he'd still caucus with the party. He'd lose a lot of those votes if he started caucusing with the Repubs. So remove his chairmanship and call his bluff- now is the perfect time to play politics.

The Republicans Art of Relativism

2008-11-11T18:08:00.000-05:00

One of the most interesting aspects of Stephen Hawking's "The Universe in a Nutshell" is his discussion of Albert Einstein. It's pretty amazing how a scientist (admittedly of the once in a few generations variety) could amass such a stature in popular culture- tot he point where everyone knew not only who he was but could recite and (in many cases) explain his most famous equation. As Hawking explained it, the reason behind Einstein's mainstream fame was that the theories of relativity were applicable not only to the physics and cosmological world from which they came, but also to almost every other facet of life. Relativity and relativism literally chanted the way people thought about the world around them; suddenly there was a coherent argument stating that there was no universal center, no universal truth which applied to everyone. Truth, centrality, and objective authority all depended on where you were situated, on your point of view.

I don't know the extent to which scientific relativity informed the social science concept of relativism- it's been a few years since I last read Universe- but I recall it being substantial. For instance, relativism complicates any notion of a universal morality taught by religion. It's harder to teach supposedly objective accounts of historical events as facts without presenting other points of view. Relativism as a concept brought many benefits to academia and the world, particularly by making possible different cultural studies programs as different points of view were given the same value as more dominant ones. Old sources of authority were questioned and forced to justify their positions. Anything that allows for more critical questioning, I think, is always a welcome development.

I am a big believer in self-reinforcement and relativism, which started out by saying that there are multiple valid opinions, reinforced that position to the point where it became ALL opinions are valid and further more, ALL opinions are equally valid. I'm definitely exagerrating the extent to which this sentiment was broadly expressed, but certainly many people had grown weary of the endless march into a sea of relative murkiness. There had to be some things that were certain, right?

This is just my mildly (mis)informed opinion, completely unresearched, but the rise of conservatism and the appeal of people like Ronald Reagan may had had something to do with achieving a degree of balance with the liberal relativism from the academic elite that said we should not judge but try to understand that hood nigga who mugged us after our delightful dinner date downtown.

But Pandora's Box cannot be unopened, and relativism of a different strain has entered the Republican party/conservative movement and is threatening to break it apart. The first thing that has made this infilitration possible is the relativism of the news media. After years of being accused of having a barely concealed liberal bias, the media has gone out of their way to be deferential to both sides, to the point where they will no longer call out blantantly wrongheaded drivel when they see it, but instead just present both sides of the story without passing judgement. Kind of like just laying out two sandwiches without telling you which one has the poison in it, even when they know. This has allowed the right wing to put out blatantly false statements without fear of retribution- because it could/can/is true from their point of view. This has made the use of testimony and evidence based in fact unnecessary.
The second thing is the new populism to which the Republican party has hitched their wagon. I was reading an article in the Wall Street Jorunal entitled "The Perils of Poopulist Chic." The article quoted NYT columnist David Brooks as saying that the base of the GOP started out attacking elite liberals but that attack has transformed into an attack on ALL elites even conservative ones. It's what makes the base believe that "Joe the Plumber"'s statements on economics and foreign policy deserve the same amount of attention as an economic policy professor's at Princeton. It's what makes Sarah Palin a frontrunner for the 2012 Republican Presidential nomination and not a colossal embarrasement to her party.
The problem is that it's just not true- the TRUTH is that Joe the Plumber's opinion is NOT as valid as someone learned in foreign policy and Sarah Palin is NOT even remotely qualified to be a head of state. When relativism goes too far it creates these kinds of false equivalencies that must be stopped on both sides, but mostly on the Republican side. Just because someone's opinion IS valid does not make their opinion AS valid as someone else's. The problem with eleites is that they are often times... well.. elitist and they can become guilty of not believing the first part of my statement. Just because they can become elitist though does not mean that we do not need elites to temper the base instincts of the base though. There has to be some kind of balance between taking into account all opinions without making them all equivalent- a balance between securing a place for the common man in the decisions of our country and discounting for the fact that common people are not as versed in all of the relevant subjects. That's the prevailing conondrum of democracy, but as long as the Republicans place all their chips on the opinions of their lowest base, I have a feeling they won't have to worry about being in power anytime soon.

A Striking Resemblance/A Truly Lost Cause

2008-11-10T17:56:00.000-05:00

To me at least, it's only natural that your siblings end up being your best friend(s). My brother is my best friend and has been every single year of my life. We were forced together really, we shared a room from the moment he was old enough to not sleep with my mother until I left for WashU, except for a glorious few months in the summer and fall of 2002 when my sister went off to college. We separated amicably, it was the least we could do after 16 years together. Unfortunately, she moved back in December and we were reunited once again.... But it's more than being forced together. As you get older, you start to realize the other major advantage to growing up with siblings your own age- you manage to get almost all of your siblings references, references that no one else could possibly understand. When I was 14/15 and just starting to try and really understand who I was, I resented my brother for liking the things that I liked, because it made me less of an original. While I was desperately trying to cut the rope attaching us together, he was busy tying it back up. Now I feel the opposite way, I wish we had more time together so we could foster the interests that we share, and so we could laugh about all of the things we remember growing up together.

So I was talking to my brother election night, MSNBC having just reported that Ohio had been called for Obama, essentially sealing the election for our current President-elect. We talked excitedly about the sheer awesomeness of a Black president, the return of an intellectual to the office, of George Bush's ultimate legacy, and the future prospects of the Republican party. Finally, we talked about John McCain of 2000, the one who stood honorably as W. and Rove diced him to pieces on the primary battlefields of South Carolina. He'd sold his soul in order to be President this time around, and I think he knows it. Many of his supporters, particularly the ones most turned on by the farce of Sarah Palin, were vicious hate-mongers. The transformation of my opinion on John McCain was the most complete I've ever had about a political figure. In the beginning I thought he'd be a respectable candidate who I disagreed with on issues- instead he and his campaign became a reprehensible, divisive force that deserved the loss they received.

But that wasn't the only thing on my mind as we talked about John McCain. I was also thinking about the last speech I saw him give on TV the day before election day. He looked tired and old, almost resigned to the fact that defeat was in his grasp and that he'd unwillingly have to cling to it like a piece of driftwood. He got to his standard closing, where he told his audience to stand up and fight for a whole host of cliches, national security, reform, change, for your country. I'd heard this ending numerous times, most notably during his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention, and it always struck me as a pretty weak closing, lacking a coherent message and really any true enthusiasm. But this time, it struck me a little, I was taken aback. To call it moving would be wildly inaccurate- but I got a feeling inside myself that I hadn't felt in ages. It was a mix of sadness and sympathy, pity and scorn, with the final ingredient being a healthy dose of ridicule. His speech brought me back to a time I was 6 years old, sitting on the floor watching commercials on Nickelodeon with my brother, waiting for my favorite Nicktoon to come back on. John McCain's closing argument reminded me of watching the greatest biscupid in straight-to-video's illustrious history... the one... the only.... Timmy the Tooth!!!!!!!!!

My brother instantly knew what I was talking about. For those of you not in the know, Timmy the Tooth was a puppet that went on various adventures with his pal Brushbrush (some kind of toothbrush dog). His main enemy was the Cavity Goon and he had friends with names like Ms. Flossie, Mr. Wisdom, and Johnny Paste. Despite all of those dental names (and the fact that he was, you know, a tooth), the series wasn't even about making sure your teeth was clean. Instead of going on adventures where he'd try to foil the Cavity Goon's secret plot to make everyone eat Jolly Ranchers for dinner, Timmy would do things like fly planes, rescue Brushbrush, and go on your standard childhood show adventures. (Where the hell was the American Dental Associations marketing agents when this show came out???)
Anyway, although this all sounds bad enough, this was not the reason I felt sorry for Timmy. I felt sorry for Timmy because, I knew, in the bottom of my 6 year old little heart, that there was no way in hell that I'd ever want or ask my parents to buy The Adventures of Timmy the Tooth. Even more imporantly, I knew that NONE of my friends would want to Timmy either. The commercial was fighting a losing battle; what made the creators of Timmy think that kids were just dying to watch a talking molar? I didn't know anything about business or marketing when I was 6, so I projected all of my feelings on the subject towards Timmy himself.

"I know you're not a bad guy Timmy, but why do you have to be so lame?"
"Why can't you be cool like Thomas the Train Engine, everybody likes him."

What made it even more sad was the fact that in the middle of the commercial as the announcer is describing some of Timmy's daring adventures, Timmy gets up and says "Who's with me?" and immediately after there's a moment of silence. Just hearing him say that, in his adorably pitiful little voice and then having that second of silence where there is no sound made me want to cry. I knew full well that I and the rest of the cartoon watching world was not with him, that we did not want him, and that we were just waiting for his commercial to get off the air so that cool cartoons could come back on. And yet everyday Timmy's commercial came back on; the loser. Looking back, somebody had to be watching/buying the video, otherwise they would not have played it so often. Then again, the cost of advertising mid-morning on Nickelodeon was probably not that expensive. Either way

My brother and I had a good laugh about the Tooth/Mccain connection- so far he's the only person I know who remembers Timmy the Tooth. It's more than a bit unfair to compare the Republican nominee to a two-legged tooth puppet, especially after McCain's gracious concession speech. But it did get me thinking about the nature of lost causes, the nature of being going down in defeat in honor, about the ability to feel empathy for someone in that situation, without having that empathy turn into pity. I do not pity John McCain, but I scorn the tactics that he used. I do not have empathy for the man, but I am sad about the man he became (always was?). He could have been the Bob Dole of this campaign, a man who was doomed to lose an election from the moment he entered but did not lose the respect he had garnered in the process. It has to be tough to keep your honor when the only prayer you have of winning is to throw it all away. And, I think, the man I heard in that final speech before election day, certainly the man I heard conceding to the first Black president, knew how tough it was also.

Black Ball Pt. 2

2008-11-10T01:25:00.000-05:00

It took me a little longer to get to this than I wanted; I still haven't really wrapped my head around the fact that I was in Wisconsin for a month, I worked all those hours for a month, every single day. No matter- we were victorious on both the national and state level, and as an added bonus I'm on a bus to DC to see my girlfriend.

When we left off, roughly a month ago, we were talking about the declining percentage of black players on major league rosters. Like I said before, the percentage peaked during the mid 1970's and has fallen to a low point in this decade. WHen I ask my black friends why they do not enjoy watching or playing baseball, they always say that it's boring. When I was younger I use to get offended when somene said that- it hurt my feelings. To me, when someone said that my favorite sport was boring, it was an indictment on who I was and my ability to discern what was entertaining. Like many Black kids who were above academically and liked weird things, I was also sensitive to accusations that I "acted white" and tried to minimize those moments as much as possible. The fact that I liked baseball was something to hide. Now that I'm older, I can accept that just because someone doesn't like what I do doesn't mean that they think that somethings wrong with me, well at least most of the time.
Besides, I can understand why some people would find baseball boring. The pivotal matchup is between the batter and pitcher, so there are not a lot of moving parts, except when a ball is hit. Even more importantly, the people in charge of baseball do not seem to understand that they are selling entertainment. Not to say that there aren't many people who find baseball to be entertaining; MLB has shattered attendance records every year for the past few years now. But there are definitely ways to make the game more entertaining.
When I lived at home and we had ESPN Classic, I use to love when they played classic baseball games, particularly from the 1970's. Obviously, these games were "classic" so chances are that they would be enjoyable, tempered only slightly by the fact that I already knew what would happen at the end. What was immediately striking though was how quickly the game was played. There was no stepping out of the batters box every five seconds, no incessant changing of pitchers to get the key matchup for one batter. When the pitcher received the ball he almost immediately stepped back onto the rubber and delivered the next pitch. The players were different too, they were wirey, built more for speed and defense than power hitting. Even the big sluggers looked like the middle infielders of today. The parks were larger, which meant less home runs were hit. The fields were turf which not only rewarded speed, but made it an almost necessary component to any successful team. There were more triples, more stolen bases, it was just a more action packed environment. I love baseball in any era, but the baseball of that era was just so exciting because of the combination of speed, power, pitching, and hitting.
John Kruk, the portly former Padres and Phillies first baseman and current talking head for Baseball Tonight once told a lady "I'm not an athlete, I'm a ballplayer." Well, in my opinion, baseball was built more for athletes and less for "ballplayers" during the 1970's than it is today. The action of the game was more fluid and the actual athletic ability of the players was more apparent- the game was just a much better showcase for those skills Of the three major sports, baseball is undoubtedly the one that takes the most specialization in order to play well. The skill set it takes to succeed in baseball doesn't come as naturally to athletes; except for a few notable exceptions (Bob Feller, Al Kaline, Robin Yount, Alex Rodriguez) no one can step off of a high school diamond and even begin to compete in the major leagues. Further more, the way baseball is played today- on grass fields, with small parks, instead of in large parks on turf fields, it blunts the differences between the really good athletes and the big fat guys who can just hit home runs.*
* Side note, this has nothing to do with my feelings on strategy or anything of the like. With the way parks are today (grass/small) it is not optimal strategy to have a bunch of fast guys who slap at the ball, steal bases, and play good/great defense. I love how you can be successful with many different kinds of body types in baseball, I just think that as entertainment it would be beneficial if the advantage to good/great athletes was greater than it is now.

I think it's the combination of the two that is the ultimate culprit. The way the game is played today means less casual fans, less fans who are not roped in by tradition, perhaps less Black fans. Less Black fans means less Black people to pass the game on to their children, meaning less Black people playing the game, which means less Black athletes to choose from. I think the key is starting with the fan base- making the game more accessible, which would really just require some tweaks around the edges rather than a complete overhaul. Baseball competed for the Black fan and Black athlete even when football and basketball around, there is no reason why they cannot again.

One final reason that I often see sited in articles addressing this problem is the lack of access to college scholarships for baseball players as compared to football/basketball. Obviously, college football and basketball are the two cash cows of the college athletics industry so it is in the universities interest to pay for the best players to come to their schools. Baseball is not, which means that there are much less scholarships and that most of them are for half-tuition or something like that. For a poor Black kid from the city, it's not too difficult a choice about which sport to persue; the one that will pay for four years of school with plenty of national exposure, plenty of groupies willing to do whatever I want, and plenty of boosters willing to pay for things for me. Or the other sport. The flipside, of course, is that baseball is the only major sport where you can still be drafted right out of high school, even though the salary is low in the minors, top prospects still get millions of dollars in signing bonuses. Besides, it's not like there are that many who have to choose at this point. It is important first to build a new fan base, getting them to choose baseball is later down the road.

Do The Right Thing

2008-11-05T03:26:00.002-05:00

Oh man am I royally pissed.
Tonight was supposed to be completely joyous. Barack Obama is the President-elect of the United States. The first Black president, but more importantly, he is intelligent, thoughtful, has very capable advisors, and will bring much needed sanity to the White House after eight years of the Bush debacle. I am happy that John McCain gave a gracious concession speech which reminded me why I liked him back in 2000 when Bush and Rove dragged his name through every mud pit they could find, why I liked him 2004 and thought he might be a good running mate for John Kerry. Unfortunately, his supporters were ridiculously ugly during the speech, booing their next President loudly. It just goes to show you that right wingers are not as patriotic as they say they are, they are only true patriots when the person they want is in charge.
Anyway, all of this isn't what gets my blood boiling. What makes me so angry is that Proposition 8 which bans gay marriage in California, passed. And what made the difference is the votes of Black people, the very same Black people who came out in droves to vote for Barack Obama. From exit polling, 69%... SIXTY-NINE PERCENT of Black people voted to ban gay marriage. It makes me sick to my stomach to think that Black people would so openly and heavily discriminate against another group of people, after all we've been through. How and why should someone, through referendum/proposition/constitutional changes, tell another adult how to love ANOTHER ADULT? This is not about children, not about teaching different kinds of sexuality, this is not about religion. This is about the states ability to tell two adults whether or not their relationship is recognized under the law. I don't want to hear that it's an argument over semantics, over whether or not civil unions are legally equal to marriages. Seperate but equal? Where have we heard that before?

What it really comes down to, is gay sex, and more specifically, gay male sex. Homosexuals are not seen as human beings; in this context they are seen only as sexual beings whose only goal in life is to fuck every man that moves. Well, I think Twizzlers are nasty and not only that, but we are feeding them to our children, IN SCHOOLS!
What's funny is that, as Andrew Sullivan (the conservative writer for the Atlantic, who is also gay) put it, marriage would go a long way towards helping Americans accept gay people outside the context of sex. When I think of married couples, I think of people raising a family, of sharing responsibilities, both the good and bad times, about having a companion to grow old with and bounce ideas off of.

People always go back to religion on this. The Bible (the Quran, the Torah, etc.) says it's wrong, it's a sin. I love the selectivity with which people apply the "it's a sin argument." People I went to high school with, who had pre-marital sex, cursed, drank, smoked, disobeyed their parents, and did badly in school would nevertheless say, "being gay's a sin," when we would have discussions about civil rights. We as a community have an enormous amount of problems, economic problems, educational problems, self-esteem problems, problems that will take vision and dedication in order to solve and it's a shame that instead of concentrating on building coalitions we are tearing them down, expelling our gay brothers and sisters from our community and repelling the goodwill we could generate from the gay community at large. How about these huckster, pimp/preachers concentrate on helping Black people solve some of those problems instead of trying to push their incredibly skewed views of religion on to an entire state. Let's be real about this, and I'm sorry if I offend anyone, but the Old Testament of the Bible is a book of myths, like Greek myths or Norse myths, only it's also packed with a bunch of boring lists. Regardless of what you believe, can you honestly say that a free society, which purports to separate church and state, should rely on 6000 year old books as a basis for its laws? Leviticus, the book with the most widely used anti-gay scripture quote, calls homosexuality an abomination. You want to know what else is an abomination? Shrimp and wearing clothes made of two different types of material, among other things. So, of course we should make it illegal to eat at Red Lobster. And it's a sin to have that nice blue and white polycotton blended shirt in your dresser. Snarkiness aside, why should our society have to subscribe to a skewed view of Christianity, or any religion?
I'm not anti-religion, like I said before, I love the mystical aspects and the emphasis on service that some religions have. I just don't buy arguments that are based on religion in these circumstances. The fight has to continue on, and hopefully those that have already fought so hard can help to persuade others to help fight this civil rights issue. As T. Coates, another writer from the Atlantic said, "You don't have to like black/gay people in order to do the right thing." Here's hoping that we eventually do the right thing.

PS: I am VERY DISAPPOINTED in Barack Obama for taking such a milquetoast stand on this "controversial issue." He's on record opposing gay marriage but for civil unions, a political tool me thinks. I guess it's because of his religious beliefs which, would make him inconsistent to say the least.

Just Want to Say

2008-11-04T20:17:00.004-05:00

I just want to say.. being in the war room right now is so much fun! The excitement is so high! Can't wait until we're done with payroll so I can sit down and just sit in awe as we elect the first Black President. I will cherish having this opportunity, however small my role was.

Up From the Roots/Things Fall Apart

2008-11-04T08:53:00.004-05:00

I was up at 4am after getting back home close to midnight. The stretch run is exciting and even though I've had a few problems over the past month I'm still grateful that I got the opportunity to work to elect Barack Obama for President; it's something I'll be able to tell me children. For posterities sake, my prediction is that Obama will win 333 electoral votes, although in our war room pool I put 353 because the guy who created the pool put 333. Putting down duplicates for an office pool is lame, so I added Ohio to my mix even though I don't think he will win Ohio. No real bother really, I think it'll be much closer to a landslide than people predict. A great site to look at is fivethirtyeight.com. It's from Nate Silver, the guy who made Baseball Prospectus, only the top statistical baseball research site in the world (well that or Baseball Reference). Into politics and baseball, sounds like a great guy to have a beer with.

Looking back, it's been memorable being part of this team, even when I let my frustrations get the best of me. It's always fun building something up from the roots, for better or worse I basically lived with these people for a month. Everyday, I was with them for 12-18 hours and I am proud of what we accomplished. And now we sit and wait and read Loaded Questions, or at least I want to, I don't think people are particularly in a boardgame mood. I can feel the anxiousness, ready to morph into excitement if (when?) we win. I feel we have it in the bag- you never want to get overconfident though. But I seriously can't help it, we're about to have the first Black president in United States history.

Building, all the way up from the roots. When you do that, you take your materials from whatever is around you. In the case of me, that means you pour in energy from your other activities, your other obligations, because out of necessity, nothing else is as important as your new project. What's going to be there to fill that voids you left? They never stay empty, something always has to fill them. It's like those square puzzles where you have to put the numbers in order, when you move a piece to the right another piece has to come and replace it. Something has to die for something else to live, you know. As we built this, this entity, this massive 4 day event, the rest of my life suffered a little. What can you expect when you average 14 hours a night? I didn't think about what would be there to fill my place, because I could coast with half the effort. Some people are talented enough, Randy Moss can play with a quarter of his effort and still be the best wide receiver. I'm realizing I can't.
History will say that John Mccain lost this election when he said the fundamentals of the economy were strong when they were clearly not. I sympathize with the man, because I actually know where he's coming from, and I think to some extent his comments were misinterpreted (he didn't make it any better with his terrible, "I meant American workers" explanation once he was dinged on it). McCain's problem was that he was mistaken about what constituted "the fundamentals," he didn't understand the extent to which FIRE (finance, insurance, and real estate) WAS the economy. He didn't understand the extent that people like him and Phil Gramm (his economic adviser) helped to create the environment where FIRE was our fundamentals. I sympathize because, sometimes I feel like I don't know exactly what my/our foundation is made of. Scratch that, I think I do, I have a pretty good idea. But then again, what happens if the foundation we laid is fundamentally different than what we thought? What if there's a hole there which allows something, someone, to slip in unnoticed at first until its too late.
When you build up from the roots and you fear that something is wrong with the foundation you have a myriad of options. You can check it out, at what could be great costs, only to find that there's nothing wrong. You can check it out, find that something is wrong and try and fix it. You can check it out, find something is beyond and repair, kiss and say goodbye. Or finally, you can do nothing and hope for the best. The last one is not a real option, nothing man-made, not even the best insitutions/relationships inherently work; things naturally fall apart unless you put in the energy and effort. After the election, I guess I can again.

My life use to revolve around a song.