The Required Amount at the Prescribed Rate (Handcrafted From the Finest Corinthian Leather)
Thank You, Stupid Meat Brain
Maturity is Admitting You're Stupid
I Blame the Time Shift
My knee hurt last night, probably a combination of my tennis match and all the weather changes, so when I woke up this morning, I figured I would just go to the gym instead of playing indoor soccer-- but then I looked at the stupid clock and it was almost time for indoor soccer-- because of the stupid time change-- and my knee didn't hurt so I figured I'd get one more session in before I was too worn out from tennis practice so I went and I played great in the first few games-- two-game winning goals and a key assist, so our team got a really long run (eight-minute games, winner stays on) and then after playing for about an hour, just after I tried to banana bend a right-footed cross, I sprinted out towards a ball and tweaked that same quad-- my right quad-- that I hurt last tennis season . . . but this time, I stopped right when I felt it-- and I don't think it's too bad so I'm not behaving as poorly as I did last winter . . . I took some naproxen, iced it down, and I'm going to take it very easy at tennis practice all week; while I am trying to stay in good spirits about this minor setback, I am also angry at the state government for stealing an hour of my sleep and screwing up my life-- and for this, I will never forgive them (perhaps I need to move to Indiana, where the time shift does not exist).
Symbolic Wall Will Cause Real Damage
Dave Tries to Act Like a Normal Person
Someone at work (who will remain nameless) said they were enjoying the Netflix show "Clickbait" and I watched an episode with my wife and we found it to be a mildly entertaining digital-kidnapping-thriller (and it stars Adrian Grenier! who I hadn't seen since Entourage) and we slowly continued to watch-- though it's often slow and repetitive-- and because I had a theory about who about the perpetrator of the crime, I avoided looking at reviews or talking about the show-- which is VERY out of character for me . . . I normally only watch things that are vetted by both my friends and smart reviewers . . . I don't want to waste my time-- but I decided to act like a normal person and just watch the show and-- SPOLIER-- the ending is absolutely dumbass, so stupid and cheap and I can't describe it without profane ad hominems for the writers that would impugn my good name-- but it seems like the original writers got swallowed up in an earthquake and they hired a bunch of drunk people who had not read or seen the earlier episodes-- and so they introduce a couple of new characters in the fading minutes of the penultimate episode-- a middle-aged childless secretary and her chubby old model-train building husband-- and THEY DID IT . . . she catfished Nick Brewer and then her husband killed him . . . and then they kidnap Nick's kid and the chubby old model-train guy might kill the child . . . holy shit, what a cheap and stupid ending . . . and if I would have just read the reviews I would have saved all this time and rage.
Easy Does the Hedonistic Calculus
Rawlins has been evading taxes on a rental property he owns-- mainly because he bought the property with illicit money from the escapades detailed in Devil in a Blue Dress.
He has to play everyone against each other in just the right manner to survive. The taxman, the FBI, a Communist instigator, white cops, Uncle Tom cops, his seedy property manager-- who I imagine as a black version of Danny DeVito-- and a number of gritty black folks from the neighborhood. His alliances shift as necessary, and though he detests the white world-- as he should-- he's also willing to look after himself and utilize those connections.
And the white world wants to utilize Easy, as he's a valuable source of information . . . a resource . . . a conduit into a world that even black police can't enter. Easy is generally savvy to all this, but he's also hot-blooded enough to start up with the police and sleep with his psychotic friend's ex-wife. He's a compelling mix of stupid and clever.
I also like the fact that Easy Rawlins does some serious drinking, and makes some serious mistakes while drunk. He's a man's man.
The plot of the novel is tangled to the point where at times I felt stupid (though it makes sense in the end) but the best part of the book is the portrait of 1950s California . . . it's LA Confidential from an African-American perspective.
I'm going to finish out the trilogy as a fitting end to my extended BHM Book Club. Anyone want to join?
A Proboscis Endeavor
If you're walking the dog in the cold-- with lightweight cotton gloves on-- and your phone alarm goes off, if you press the "STOP" button while wearing your gloves the phone won't recognize your fingertip . . . and, as I found out this morning, the phone also won't acknowledge the tip of your nose-- and I must have looked pretty stupid, repeatedly bonking my phone into my nose, trying to press that button-- before I finally took my damn glove off and silenced the stupid thing (maybe Apple phones recognize nose tips?)
Jury Duty: You Don't Need to Be a Clairvoyant Racist Lunatic
Weird.
I hope my wife doesn't get bitten by a rabid animal (probably a coyote) next Monday . . . because it's going to happen to me on Tuesday. These things come in threes.
As far as jury duty went, my wife got called upstairs but didn't have to fill out any questionnaires or do any interviews. So she didn't need to utilize any of the stupid advice people give about how to get out of jury duty.
Stupid Advice People Give You So You Can Get Out of Jury Duty
"Tell the judge you can tell people are guilty just by looking into their eyes!"
"Act crazy!"
The Real Deal with "Voir Dire"
If you've ever been interviewed for a spot on a jury-- the process known in legal parlance as "voir dire"-- then you know this advice is absurd. You're in front of the general public, in a formal situation, talking to someone wearing robes, in a court of law.
You don't want to present yourself as racist clairvoyant lunatic.
You might run into these people in the future.
My wife sat in a room for a while and then got released early.
I was not as lucky as my wife.
I arrived at 8 AM, and snagged a choice seat at the one large table by the TV (advice from my wife) so I could get some grading done. The presiding judge came down and spoke to us about the importance of jury duty and the system. He explained the difference between an inconvenience and a hardship. Then we watched a video, which gave us some instructions on how to behave if we were on a jury. We instructed to not only listen to the witnesses, but to observe their body language and tone of voice as well. I had a problem with this, which I tucked away in the recess of my brain. Then I got back to reading quizzes.
I was called upstairs at 9:30 AM, with a hundred other citizens. One of the elevators was broken so we had to stuff ourselves into the good one, in shifts. We were crammed into a courtroom. I was sitting in between a tall white guy from Texas and an older African American gentleman with one earring who was working on an adult coloring book with some markers. The judge told us they needed 12 jurors for a criminal case, and then he told us a bit about the case. I can't reveal this information, or I might get fined $1000. The prosecutor and the defendant and the defendant's lawyer were all there. The defendant was accused of a violent crime. He was African-American and looked like a tough hombre. You'll understand why I mention his race soon enough.
We filled out two questionnaires and then the judge, prosecutor and lawyer interviewed possible jurors. This went on for hours. We finally got to break for lunch at 12:30 and I went to Tavern of George (a.k.a. Tumulty's) and inhaled a burger. The beer looked was tempting, but I didn't want to be found in contempt of court.
I went back, finished my grading, and added some information to my questionnaire. Quite a bit of information. There was nothing else to do. And I decided if I got called up that I wasn't going to repeat what I did last time I went through "voir dire." No pathetic pleading. I would not throw myself prostate upon the mercy of the court. My kids were older now, and more responsible. If I got called to be on a trial, so be it.
So I would be myself. I would explain that it was a rough time of year for me to miss-- because of the College Writing curriculum-- but that this was more of an inconvenience than a hardship.
At 2 PM, I got called up for some "voir dire." I took a deep breath and walked over to the table with the judge, the prosecutor, and the defendant's attorney. I sat down. I told the judge my school situation, but very plainly, without drama or histrionics, and he said he would consider it. Then we got into my questionnaire.
First he wanted to know why I said I wouldn't be able to convict someone just on testimony alone. I told him about the new Malcolm Gladwell book Talking to Strangers and just how difficult it was to determine whether a stranger was telling the truth or lying. I told him I had a problem with the instructional video, because its very difficult to determine anything credible from tone and body language. Some people always seem like they are telling the truth and other people always seem nervous or anxious or sketchy. And it doesn't mean much. I talked about the fallibility of human memory and the ambiguity of eyewitness accounts.
Then we went through the people my interactions with the legal world. My brother worked in the building. My dad was director of corrections. I had a few run-ins with the law, but mainly college shenanigans.
Then he asked me why I wasn't sure if the legal system was fair. I told him I had read and listened to a lot about Ferguson and the shooting of Michael Brown, and I had listened to Serial Season 3 in its entirety, which delved into the corruption int he Cleveland court system. I told him I had learned that sometimes the court system is designed to shake down and oppress people of color.
Then we took a look at the free response questions. We were upstairs for a long time and I had answered the questions comprehensively. For example, there was a question about how you get your news. I had listed every podcast I to which I subscribed-- this is a long list.
The judge saw this scrawling mess and said, "I don't think we've ever had anyone run out of room on the sheet."
We talked my favorite books and movies (the judge enjoyed The Irishman) and the prosecutor pursued the list of magazines I often read: The New Yorker and Harper's and Mother Jones and The Atlantic and Wired and The Week.
The judge took a look at the people I'd like to meet. I had listed The Wu-Tang Clan, Dave Chappelle, and Howard Stern. I forgot Larry David.
The judge thought about all this for a long moment and then said, "I'm going to have you take a seat over there."
He pointed at the jury box.
"Over there?" I said, in slight disbelief. I was headed toward the jury box! I quickly accepted it. It was my civic duty, it was only a six day trial, and my family would figure it out. It wasn't the end of the world. My students would be fine.
I took three steps, and then I heard the judge again. I turned. The prosecutor had just finished speaking to the judge. Telling the judge to dismiss me. No way the prosecutor wanted some liberal bombastic blowhard all full of random and useless information on his jury.
So I was dismissed. And I didn't have to act like a racist or a lunatic or a mind-reader.
I just had to be myself.
Sometimes, You've Got To Do What You've Got To Do (Despite the Stupid Name)
I put it off for a week, because it's absurd and embarrassing and it has a stupid name and nothing feels more foolish, but in the end, it had to be done, and as usual it cleared up the problem . . . if you're congested, nothing works better than the Neti Pot.
Some Simple Advice, Since the Marketplace is Broken
The new episode of Radiolab, "What's Up Holmes," is required listening for anyone interested in the great American experiment with freedom of speech; Oliver Wendell Holmes eventually comes to the conclusion that there is "a marketplace of ideas" and that nearly all speech should be allowed-- good ideas will rise to the top of the marketplace, win the competition, and the truth will prevail . . . and while this has become an American ideal, the metaphor may need some revision-- marketplaces need rules, regulations, and referees because while marketplaces can occasionally work, they can also produce pollution and uncontrolled externalities; they can create monopolies and arbitrage and collusion and unfair trade practices and great inequality; they can poison the water supply (or factual information) and-- when deregulated enough, they can lead to Enron or the mortgage crisis or any of the other stupid crashes created by our idiotic and evil hardline right-wing voodoo economists/politicians that have been having their way with this country, it's laws and marketplaces and its unions since 1980 or so . . . anyway, the takeaway is that if you are stupid enough to get your news on Twitter or Facebook or any other social media, you need to realize that marketplace is broken and lies, propoganda, and misinformation compound and spread much fast than logic, reason, and the truth . . . my advice would be to AVOID TWITTER AND FACEBOOK . . . because if you go there, you give those platforms power to pollute the information-sphere and the marketplace of ideas, but-- despite the fact that I crushed at tennis AND the NYT mini today-- who's going to listen to me?
Hey Stacey, A Good Podcast is Better Than a Bad Book
The Deers Hate My Shed
The shed project continues: I've leveled out the base, bordered it with bricks, put down plastic pavers, added the pea gravel, hauled the lumber for the joists and floor, and now perhaps I'll hire a professional to do the rest . . . especially since some stupid deer rubbed their paws or their hooves or their stupid fuzzy antlers on the shed package in my driveway, ripping open the plastic and damaging (slightly) the shed lumber . . . these deer have no respect for property or propriety.
Just The Policy, Ma'am
1) you should vote for Trump if you are anti-immigration, worried about Syrian refugees and Mexican racists and various brown people stealing your job, he's also up your alley if you would like a libertarian deregulation of banking, business, and environmental rules inside our country, and less free trade and more regulations and tariffs for doing business outside our country, you'll probably also like Trump if you're rich, as he's proposing massive tax cuts, mainly for the rich, and a consequential scaling back of social programs for the poor, he also promises to bring back the blue collar factory and manufacturing jobs, which will make his special interest minority group (white folks without a college degree) the backbone of America again, because Trump loves "the poorly educated" and though George Packer thinks his promise to the less-educated white folks is fraudulent and impossible, he also wonders whether Clinton's promise to spend money retraining these workers would work either . . . and nobody is proposing unionization, which makes me sad;
2) if you're a dual earner family, you'll like the fact that Hillary Clinton wants to make our childcare, maternity, and family leave policies more like Northern Europe . . . because America has the worst family leave policies of any developed country, and Clinton wants to bolster our pre-K program and generally make it easier for women and families to work . . . Clinton is tougher on banking regulations than Trump-- though, ironically, she has closer connections with the big banks (I've heard speculation that Trump, who has been denied loans in the past, doesn't want this to happen in the future) and she wants to provide free state college tuition for lower middle class families; reform healthcare and provide it to more people; enact comprehensive immigration reform that provides a path for immigrants to obtain citizenship; she promises she won't raise taxes on the middle class; and she wants to invest tremendous amounts of money into infrastructure, both to create jobs and provide avenues for economic growth . . . Clinton's policies and white papers are detailed and wonky, Trump's are broad, vague, and very short, and while Trump is a typical product of our fragmented media-driven echo-chamber, a polarizing figure that George Packer views as "catastrophic," the problem with Clinton is the reverse, she's a classic backroom politician who wants to make deals and compromises between the two parties using her knowledge and connections, but the country has moved beyond any sort of good-natured diplomacy between the Republicans and the Democrats; the Republicans vow to block all Democratic legislation, deny all Democratic Supreme Court nominees, and to investigate Clinton forever, to obstruct her power-- and the Democrats, view Trump supporters as a basket of deplorables, and can't consider the perspective of this special interest group-- uneducated white blue collar voters-- a group that was once unionized, galvanized and potent, and is now marginalized and lost . . . so whatever happens on Tuesday, half the country is going to be incredibly unhappy, and the other half will be more relieved than inspired, and that's not going to change any time soon.
I Need to Stop Losing My Temper (But My Kids Also Need to Stop Doing Stupid Shit)
Ask a Stupid Question, Get a Stupid Answer
You'd think the question "What color is the inside of a coal mine?" wouldn't need asking, but -- according to Jeanne Marie Laskas in her new book Hidden America: From Coal Miners to Cowboys, an Extraordinary Exploration of the Unseen People Who Make the Country Work -- the inside of a coal mine is bright white (when you're shining your torch, of course . . . which you should never shine in another miner's eyes) because coal dust is highly explosive, especially when mixed with methane gas -- which naturally leaks from excavations deep beneath the earth -- and so the coal face needs to be coated with crushed limestone, which is the opposite color of coal and gives the mine a much more cheerful appearance than if it were all dark black . . . but this belies the fact that every time you go down there, you are taking your life into your hands . . . a fact that the miners deal with in a cavalier fashion, like the tone of that Jim Carroll song "People Who Died."
Great (Criminal) Minds Think Alike?
Yesterday, I found out that several Spotify users have plagiarized the name of my favorite playlist-- Tip Top Hip Hop-- and this made me feel both annoyed and vindicated; annoyed because when I ask Google to play it, sometimes it doesn't access my playlist, vindicated because my son Ian told me it was a stupid name, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery so it's obviously NOT a stupid name . . . anyway, this led my son Alex and I to collaborate on an excellent Criminal Minds plot: folks are being murdered around the country and while there's no apparent connection, they are being killed with the same gun and the same M.O. and then Spencer figures it out, of course . . . all the people that have been brutally executed have playlists entitled "Tip Top Hip Hop" and the murderer wants to possess the one and only version of this playlist . . . which raises the question: do playlists live on when you head to the great-festival-seating-concert-in-the-sky?
Absolute Adjective Maniac
"adjectives in English absolutely have to be in this order: opinion-size-age-shape-colour-origin-material-purpose Noun . . . so you can have a lovely little old rectangular green French silver whittling knife, but if you mess with that word order in the slightest you’ll sound like a maniac . . .”
but after thinking deeply about this rule, I think it might be a great big brown steaming fresh shit pile (a sequence which does begin with opinion and size, but then inserts color before shape and age . . . and 'soft brown stupid underbelly' doesn't follow this rule either . . . so you probably shouldn't use the words "absolutely" and "maniac" when you're talking about English grammar . . . I have a feeling H.L. Mencken would kick this guy's ass).
Research
Not Quite a Dream (But Just as Stupid)
Joyce Carol Oates Has Got the (Good Book) Look
1) I don't think it's fair that someone who is fit and sexy and put-together has also managed to write a quality piece of literature and/or non-fiction . . . that's monopolizing all the good stuff;
2) I think homely women with weird hair and glasses (e.g. Joyce Carol Oates) are smarter and more pensive than super-hot bombshells and thus they are more likely to have deep and profound thoughts, and so I trust their intellectual discourse more;
while Susan Sontag has alerted me to all the paradoxes and contradictions and stupidity of this kind of thinking, it's still hard to avoid doing it, because I'm a stupid man, full of stupid "man-ecdotes," and-- as a tangential bonus-- I'd also like to point out that if you tell a little story about some caramel glazed egg custard in a flaky and delicious pastry shell, then you've just recounted a "flan-ecdote."