My adult league soccer team played the predominantly Jamaican team in the first round of the playoffs last week-- and, unfortunately, we pulled the early slot on an absurdly hot day . . . if you were a betting man, due to the conditions, you'd certainly have taken the Jamaicans over the old old fat men, but we held on for a 4-3 victory, and I've been limping around ever since-- my knee and calf are swollen (I think I popped my knee-cap out of the slot when I cleared a ball) and Terry couldn't even play because of his torn calf from the previous game (not to mention his possible broken jaw and hyper-extended arm) and I think I'm getting to the point where I need to choose another sport to play competitively . . . like darts or pie-eating . . . or stand-up paddle-boarding . . . and so I ordered an inflatable paddle-board from Amazon and I can't wait to take it out on the Raritan and use it at the shore . . . I figure this will be a safe and fun way to rehab my knee, but my friend Connell doesn't think so-- he thinks paddle-boarding on the Raritan will be more dangerous than soccer, as I will certainly contract dysentery from the murky water.
Even More Ha-Joon Chang Analogies!
In his book Bad Samaritans: The Myth of Free Trade and the Secret History of Capitalism, Ha-Joon Chang accuses wealthy countries and their financial institutions of historical revision, and comprehensively proves that it was not the free market led these countries to success-- and in his chapter on intellectual property law he cites the Mickey Mouse Protection Act, or the law that extended copyright protection to the life of author plus 70 years (it was originally 50) and Chang doesn't propose the removal of all copyright law, but he does point out that for developing nations to actually develop, they need to implement first world ideas and technology yet they cannot afford to abide by the same rules as nations that are already technologically developed, and so he uses an analogy to explain his perspective . . . and since I am the main content provider for people in need of summaries of Ha-Joon Chang analogies, I will paraphrase it here: Chang says the amount of copyright law a country needs is like the amount of salt the human body needs: no salt will kill you, and too much salt is very unhealthy, but a little bit is beneficial . . . and the life of the author plus 95 years, even if it means anyone can have their way with Minnie Mouse, is too much salt.
A Fast Review of the Past
If you want to see a deaf mute kill a gangster's trigger-man with a fly rod, or a gun moll betray a private dick, or Robert Mitchum and Kirk Douglas when they were young, then Out of the Past is the movie for you: nine trench-coats out of a possible ten.
Chang vs. Jeter vs. Ridley! To The Death!
Matt Ridley's new book The Rational Optimist: How Prosperity Evolves reminds us that even though many people are professing the end of days because of the sub-prime mortgage crisis, high gas prices, a stagnant economy, rising food prices, and climate change, that people are still living better than at any other time in human history, and he argues that this is because of specialization and free-trade-- and credits David Ricardo for realizing this-- and this system of eschewing self-sufficiency and instead pursuing markets and trade enables ideas to mix and mate and reproduce, which leads to a higher quality of life for everyone involved, but sometimes he oversimplifies his thesis, especially when he makes over-arching statements like this: "The message from history is so blatantly obvious-- that free trade causes mutual prosperity while protectionism causes poverty-- that it seems incredible that anybody ever thinks otherwise," and then Ridley claims that there is "not a single example" from history of a country opening its border and ending up poorer . . . which is the logical kiss of death; Ha Joon Chang provides comprehensive examples of when protectionism is necessary for a country to thrive, and John Jeter provides examples of countries who opened their borders to the forces of global markets and became impoverished . . . so I guess these guys need to arrange a time and a date and settle this debate out in the streets.
Irony, Hypocrisy, Christie
While the extensive media coverage of Governor Christie's use of the State Helicopter to go to his son's baseball game is bi-partisan politics at its worst-- we have far more important things to debate in New Jersey-- there is still a delicious irony to the fact that Christie actually said this on the record: "People in New Jersey now feel as if there have become two classes of people in New Jersey: public employees who receive rich benefits, and those who pay for them," and, of course, if you call for a "shared sacrifice" to balance the State Budget, then you'd better be prepared to be called a hypocrite if you're not "walking the walk"-- but, considering his plump figure and the fact that he was driven in a limo the hundred yards from the helicopter to the ball field-- it is doubtful that Christie walks anywhere.
No Virginia . . . You Are An Idiot (Spoiler Alert!)
I overheard a conversation between my two sons while we were driving to Grounds for Sculpture; Ian-- who is six-- emphatically professed his disbelief in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny, and Alex-- who is seven-- agreed that they were all manifestations of "mommy and daddy," and I know that I am supposed to regret this moment and think: It's so sad that they've lost their innocence, their belief in make-believe and magic-- but what I actually thought was: Phew! Thank God my kids aren't idiots!
A Cinema Question
Are you supposed to cheer when Raymond Shaw shoots his Communist Red Queen mother at the end of The Manchurian Candidate?
Wonderful Images Day Two: Sperm Cake!
Nearly twenty year's ago at my friend Jason's first wedding, I ended my rambling, extemporaneous, and generally incoherent best-man's toast with a sperm joke-- my peroration was: As long as those little guys can swim!-- and the remark was received by the genteel Southern crowd as you might expect, and so I waited a decade for everyone to lighten up, and then tried a similar speech at Jason's second wedding-- but met with similar results-- but, finally-- no pun intended-- my time has come: Saturday evening at Liz and Eric's wedding, each table received a small wedding cake and a bag of frosting and we were told that we were in a "cake decorating contest," and that the winning cake would be the one cut and eaten by the bride and groom . . . and in my opinion, this is what every wedding needs, because after all the romantic stuff everyone is dying for a little friendly competition; it took my table a few moments to get on board with my plan, but once I took matters into my own hands and drew a giant red wriggling sperm on the pristine white icing, they had no choice but to follow suit-- and once they were in, they were all in . . . Audrey made wee mini-sperms for the sides of the cake, Laura drew a lovely smiley face on the featured sperm, Brady got blue Tic-Tacs from Rob so we could make the egg look more like an actual haploid reproductive cell, Jack and Terry wrote the caption "Life Begins" with crumbled chocolate cookies underneath the sperm and egg . . . and we eagerly pointed out the double meaning of the phrase to the bride and groom when we "campaigned" for our cake . . . and though there were some beautiful cakes, many with exquisite dragonflies on them-- the motif of the wedding-- the bride's mother (an art teacher) put in a good word for us and we we were announced the winners and took great pride in the fact that Liz and Soder cut our cake . . . and though I must be honest and report that there may have been some gloating over the fact that we won . . . perhaps we did not display the best "sportsmanship" after our victory, but, on the other hand, how often do you get to say: "I just won a cake decorating contest!"
A Wonderful Image Trumps An Annoying Event
Aside from this incident-- which doesn't count because it happened while I was running a high fever-- I hadn't received a traffic ticket in twenty years (this is partly because my father worked in corrections and so I could always drop his name and partly because I'm a fairly safe driver) but last week I received a letter from the East Brunswick Municipal Court and it had photographs proving that I "Failed to Observe a Traffic Signal," when I made a right onto Tices Lane off Route 18, but the fact of the matter is (I watched the video) that the light turned from yellow to red just as I was about to make the right, and though I should have come to a complete stop before I made the turn, I've never seen anyone actually do that, and no cop in their right mind would have pulled me over for this, but you can't talk to an automated camera . . . although maybe it would have been worth a try-- I could have waved my PBA card at it and said things like: "MAYBE YOU KNOW MY DAD? HE RAN ALL THE JAILS? HE TEACHES CRIMINAL LAW NOW? MAYBE YOU HAD HIM AS A TEACHER? PLEASE?" and when I explained to my five year old son Ian how the computerized traffic signal gave me a ticket because I didn't stop at a red light, he asked, "How did you get the ticket? Did it come twirling down?" and that image, of a computerized camera spitting out tickets from high above, so that they "twirl down" to the traffic offenders, is worth the 85 dollars I had to pay for my violation.
Bonus! An Important Topic That Requires Your Immediate Consideration
Bonus post today over at G:TB . . . you may feel secure in the fact that you've got your living will, your living trust, and your life insurance policies in order, but you still might not have considered this possibility . . .
Upset Victory
The last thing my friend Mario said to me as we stepped onto the field for our adult league soccer game last Wednesday was, "We will be slaughtered" and I agreed with him-- the team we were playing was comprised of fit, fast twenty-five year old kids, while our team is comprised of slow old men . . . and, to stack the deck against us more, we were missing several of our youngest, strongest, and fastest players, and so we only had one substitute . . . AND it was 95 degrees and humid-- but the soccer gods smiled on us, and our strategy of packing it back on defense and playing for the counter-attack worked and we ended up upsetting the youngsters 4-3 and I would tell you who scored the game winning goal, but my friend Terry says my sentences have gotten too long, so I'll end this one here.
Europe in the Air
It sucks when your seven year old son gets the joke and you don't: Alex told me he wished we could go back to Busch Gardens because he liked the ride Europe in the Air, and then he reminded me that it was "Europe-- the continent-- in the air," and not "Your up in the air," as he first thought-- and that he liked that the name meant both things . . . and I told him that I liked the joke as well, but what I didn't tell him was that, truth be told, I didn't realize the pun when we were at at Busch Gardens . . . and only got it long after the fact, with the help of a first grader.
Paradoxical Refuse
The bottom of one of our garbage cans has rotted out, which raises an interesting question: how do you dispose of a trash receptacle? (I have asked several people this puzzler, and no one has a solution . . . one person said she has actually spray-painted a message on one of her broken bins-- to alert the garbage men that she wanted to throw it away-- yet they still didn't remove it . . . but here are a few techniques that may work: my favorite is the recommendation to "disguise the trash can," by placing it inside a trash bag).
Another Use For Your Closet
Lately, my seven year old son Alex is on a roll . . . at dinner Tuesday night, he asked to be excused after eating only a couple bites of his ice cream (he had just earned back dessert status) which was strange because he has a sweet tooth and always finishes treats-- and after Alex left the table, Ian, a model of discretion for his five years, said to us, "You know what was weird? Alex had a handful of green beans," and I was impressed that he didn't outright squeal on his brother, instead he alerted us with some subtlety and sophistication, but it was enough of a hint for Catherine to chase Alex upstairs-- he said he was going to write his friend a birthday card-- and when she asked him about the green beans, he claimed that "he ate them," but upon further interrogation it turns out that he threw them in the back of his closet-- the second time in a week he's made an absurd choice for hiding contraband-- so Catherine made him fish them out and she told them that as punishment he had to eat them, but he claimed that they were "dusty," and so I washed them off with some cold water and once again . . . he's lost dessert for a week.
I'm Not A Professional Actor
So it must hard for my seven year old son Alex when his younger brother churns out super-cool looking drawings on a daily basis . . . when Alex draws something we try to encourage him, but I'm sure he can tell the difference between our feigned enthusiasm for his mundane scribbles and our unabashed adulation for Ian's boldly drawn creations . . . and so-- as a person who experienced growing up with someone talented (my brother was a piano prodigy)-- Alex might be better off if he quit drawing altogether and focused on some other skill.
I Was Thinking (That You Were Thinking)
I Was Thinking (That You Were Thinking) by The Density
A new song by The Density . . . this one explores the most awkward of moments: when you put yourself out there and admit to someone that you think they are groovy and special . . . they they reject you . . . you can read the lyrics over at G:TB, but the lyrics don't do the song justice . . . the real content is provided by Whitney, my colleagues at work, Jim Carrey, The Farrelly Brothers, The Coen Brothers, Lauren Holly, Molly Ringwald, Anthony Michael Hall, Frances McDormand, and Steve Park and so I'd like to thank them for letting me splice, dice, and mangle their words . . . I appreciate it.
Busted!
My son Alex has had quite a week: first he confessed this lie, and then-- when he was on the way out the door for school on Thursday, my wife noticed a bulge in his sock, and when she asked him about it, he said it was "just bunched up," but upon further interrogation and a search, she found that he was attempting to smuggle "Now and Later" candies to school . . . and if he wasn't wearing shorts he might have gotten away with it (or if he would simply put them in his pocket, but he obviously knew he was doing something illicit and you don't put illicit stuff in your pockets, you put it in your socks).
Words Of Advice
Apparently, when your wife says, "I'm drawing a blank on what to get you for our anniversary," the proper response is not "We're getting each other gifts?" followed by "Do you want anything?"
Some Like It Hot (But They Are Idiots)
So the way I get my students to stop complaining about the heat (our classrooms are NOT air-conditioned, and they are poorly ventilated) is by complaining about it even more than they do . . . because I've stolen their gripe and added an unnecessary amount of hyperbole to it, their only recourse is to take the reverse position and so they eventually start encouraging me, they try to motivate me to finish class . . .they say things like: there's only twenty minutes left-- you can make it . . . and I reply with statements like: THIS IS THE HOTTEST PLACE ON EARTH! MY ENTIRE BODY IS SOAKED WITH SWEAT! LET'S GO OUT IN THE COURTYARD, IT'S HOT BUT AT LEAST WE'LL BE OUTSIDE! I THINK I'M GOING TO PASS OUT! and the sight of a grown man behaving so childishly usually inspires them behave more maturely . . . and I just bought a wall thermometer at Home Depot, so now I'll be able to add a quantitative element to my complaints: IT'S 91 DEGREES IN HERE! THERE MUST BE A LAW THAT PROHIBITS THIS! WE NEED TO CALL OUR CONGRESSMAN! WE NEED TO ALERT THE AUTHORITIES ABOUT THIS! THIS IS A HEALTH HAZARD!
A Good Thriller You Probably Haven't Seen
For once, my wife gave me a task that was in my wheelhouse . . . . a task which I not only completed, but also enjoyed (unlike the time she assigned me the Christmas mission of buying her some sexy lingerie and I went to Victoria's Secret in the mall and saw the word "panties" and started blushing and then a cute girl asked if I needed help and I got nervous and ran out of the store and then got my friend Celine to go to the mall and pick out some things that Catherine would like and on Christmas when Catherine saw what Celine picked out, she was happy and amazed by my good taste and I told her Celine "helped me," but didn't tell her the truth: that I didn't even go on the mission . . . and I would have gotten away with it if another teacher hadn't spilled the beans and told my wife the whole sordid tale-- that Celine picked out the lingerie and showed it to all the women in the English department, so Catherine made me return the lingerie-- except for one item she couldn't part with-- and then she made me go buy lingerie all by myself as punishment . . . even though I thought it was pretty clever of me to complete the task in the fashion I did) because this task-- to use the internet to find a good movie-- was right up my alley . . . she said, "Find us a good movie to stream on Netflix," and so I went on-line and found some spectacular reviews for a thriller from 1991 called One False Move, starring Billy Bob Thornton as a violent drug dealer from Los Angeles and Bill Paxton as the small town Arkansas sheriff that collides with him and his violent companions . . . it's tense, graphic, ambiguous, and well-acted-- and you never know which direction it's going to take . . . is Dale "Hurricane" Dixon a heroic small town cop like Marge Gunderson in Fargo . . . or is he an inept yokel like Marshall Link Appleyard in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance . . . I'm still not sure of the answer, but I do know this: the film may be worth watching just for Billy Bob Thornton's hair: ten mullet pony-tails out of ten.
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