Sunday, May 27, 2007
Mystery Vegan
This weekend, Mark and I braved the Valley to attend a friend’s 30th birthday dinner in Tarzana at a quaint little vegan restaurant called Madeline’s. This frightened me because it meant I was going to be both eating vegan food and driving in the Valley. I’ll say upfront that the meal was not bad and I have no cause for complaint. However, I was completely puzzled regarding the menu. It was filled with items such as “Spare Ribs,” “Chicken Seitan,” (which I had) and “Cheese Platter,” none of which came with descriptions of what was actually in the food you were ordering. Why the hell would anyone order a cheese platter at a vegan restaurant? Do vegans want to pretend they’re eating meat so badly that they can’t even acknowledge the textured vegetable protein patties that actually make up the faux-chicken? I think this is odd. Towards the end of the meal a bug landed in my water glass, and I seriously considered eating it just to spite the restaurant.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
American Idol [un-Spoiler]
For those of you living in a cave and reading my blog for current event info, that girl won American Idol. Yeah…
What really inspired me to write today, however, was the old time reality show Jeopardy. I generally hold this show’s contestants in high regard, but tonight I was shamed by their ignorance in one particular category—Africa. Three pillars of American awareness came up completely empty when asked to name the official language of Ghana, to locate Sudan on a map, to name any of the countries that border Ghana, and to locate the Gulf of Guinea (the only African gulf). The media incessantly asks how we continue to allow genocide and famine to continue in Africa, but it doesn’t seem as surprising when you realize that even the most learned Americans are still oblivious to the entire continent. How many courses did you take in college that focused on Western Europe? How many focused on Sub-Saharan Africa?
What really inspired me to write today, however, was the old time reality show Jeopardy. I generally hold this show’s contestants in high regard, but tonight I was shamed by their ignorance in one particular category—Africa. Three pillars of American awareness came up completely empty when asked to name the official language of Ghana, to locate Sudan on a map, to name any of the countries that border Ghana, and to locate the Gulf of Guinea (the only African gulf). The media incessantly asks how we continue to allow genocide and famine to continue in Africa, but it doesn’t seem as surprising when you realize that even the most learned Americans are still oblivious to the entire continent. How many courses did you take in college that focused on Western Europe? How many focused on Sub-Saharan Africa?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
On the Road
The great void that has been my blog for the last month has been secretly filled with term papers, grading, and moving home to Los Angeles. There are numerous things I missed about Los Angeles, but the one joy that has been unparalleled since my return is driving.
Navigating a car through the boulevards, avenues, and twelve lane interstates of LA is an art. It envelopes your senses and engages your mind. Strategy is necessary; timing is everything. And the rhythmic weave of cars between lanes, riding inches from your bumper, is like a ballet of steel. I am a four door black ballerina with leather, back on stage.
Navigating a car through the boulevards, avenues, and twelve lane interstates of LA is an art. It envelopes your senses and engages your mind. Strategy is necessary; timing is everything. And the rhythmic weave of cars between lanes, riding inches from your bumper, is like a ballet of steel. I am a four door black ballerina with leather, back on stage.
Monday, May 14, 2007
This Is Why I Want to Teach
The second best thing to really shooting sixth graders:
TEACHERS STAGE FAKE GUNMAN ATTACK ON SIXTH GRADERS
MURFREESBORO, Tennessee (AP) -- Staff members of an elementary school staged a fictitious gun attack on students during a class trip, telling them it was not a drill as the children cried and hid under tables.
The mock attack Thursday night was intended as a learning experience and lasted five minutes during the weeklong trip to a state park, said Scales Elementary School Assistant Principal Don Bartch, who led the trip.
"We got together and discussed what we would have done in a real situation," he said.
But parents of the sixth-grade students were outraged.
"The children were in that room in the dark, begging for their lives, because they thought there was someone with a gun after them," said Brandy Cole, whose son went on the trip.
Some parents said they were upset by the staff's poor judgment in light of the April 16 shootings at Virginia Tech that left 33 students and professors dead, including the gunman.
During the last night of the trip, staff members convinced the 69 students that there was a gunman on the loose. They were told to lie on the floor or hide underneath tables and stay quiet. A teacher, disguised in a hooded sweat shirt, even pulled on a locked door.
After the lights went out, about 20 kids started to cry, 11-year-old Shay Naylor said.
"I was like, 'Oh My God,' " she said. "At first I thought I was going to die. We flipped out."
Principal Catherine Stephens declined to say whether the staff members involved would face disciplinary action, but said the situation "involved poor judgment."
TEACHERS STAGE FAKE GUNMAN ATTACK ON SIXTH GRADERS
MURFREESBORO, Tennessee (AP) -- Staff members of an elementary school staged a fictitious gun attack on students during a class trip, telling them it was not a drill as the children cried and hid under tables.
The mock attack Thursday night was intended as a learning experience and lasted five minutes during the weeklong trip to a state park, said Scales Elementary School Assistant Principal Don Bartch, who led the trip.
"We got together and discussed what we would have done in a real situation," he said.
But parents of the sixth-grade students were outraged.
"The children were in that room in the dark, begging for their lives, because they thought there was someone with a gun after them," said Brandy Cole, whose son went on the trip.
Some parents said they were upset by the staff's poor judgment in light of the April 16 shootings at Virginia Tech that left 33 students and professors dead, including the gunman.
During the last night of the trip, staff members convinced the 69 students that there was a gunman on the loose. They were told to lie on the floor or hide underneath tables and stay quiet. A teacher, disguised in a hooded sweat shirt, even pulled on a locked door.
After the lights went out, about 20 kids started to cry, 11-year-old Shay Naylor said.
"I was like, 'Oh My God,' " she said. "At first I thought I was going to die. We flipped out."
Principal Catherine Stephens declined to say whether the staff members involved would face disciplinary action, but said the situation "involved poor judgment."
Monday, May 7, 2007
It's Star Trek II for Real
This made me throw up a little in my mouth:
DOCTOR FINDS SPIDERS IN EAR
ALBANY, Oregon (AP) -- These guys were not exactly Snap, Crackle and Pop.
What began as a faint popping in a 9-year-old boy's ear -- "like Rice Krispies" -- ended up as an earache, and the doctor's diagnosis was that a pair of spiders made a home in the ear.
"They were walking on my eardrums," Jesse Courtney said.
One of the spiders was still alive after the doctor flushed the fourth-grader's left ear canal. His mother, Diane Courtney, said her son insisted he kept hearing a faint popping in his ear -- "like Rice Krispies."
Dr. David Irvine said it looked like the boy had something in his ear when he examined him.
When he irrigated the ear, the first spider came out, dead. The other spider took a second dousing before it emerged, still alive. Both were about the size of a pencil eraser.
Jesse was given the spiders -- now both dead -- as a souvenir. He has taken them to school and his mother has taken them to work.
DOCTOR FINDS SPIDERS IN EAR
ALBANY, Oregon (AP) -- These guys were not exactly Snap, Crackle and Pop.
What began as a faint popping in a 9-year-old boy's ear -- "like Rice Krispies" -- ended up as an earache, and the doctor's diagnosis was that a pair of spiders made a home in the ear.
"They were walking on my eardrums," Jesse Courtney said.
One of the spiders was still alive after the doctor flushed the fourth-grader's left ear canal. His mother, Diane Courtney, said her son insisted he kept hearing a faint popping in his ear -- "like Rice Krispies."
Dr. David Irvine said it looked like the boy had something in his ear when he examined him.
When he irrigated the ear, the first spider came out, dead. The other spider took a second dousing before it emerged, still alive. Both were about the size of a pencil eraser.
Jesse was given the spiders -- now both dead -- as a souvenir. He has taken them to school and his mother has taken them to work.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
God Hates Me for Yesterday
"And I was greatly terrified because of the wrath and anger, because the Lord was provoked with you utterly to destroy you."
Deuteronomy 9:19
This is as true today as it was when it was written, nearly a hundred years ago. Yesterday, I may have provoked the wrath of God with my mocking of fall-down boy (who may or may not have be seriously injured). Today, the Lord brought upon me three plagues:
1. I bore witness to the mowing down of an innocent baby squirrel. A large pick up truck clipped his furry little back legs as he was darting across the street. The squirrel was, however, not was not quite dead and lay helplessly in the gutter waiting to die--fluffy tail still twitching. I wanted to cry.
2. I endured a dancing stag. It was pouring rain today, and as a result traffic was at a standstill on Lindsey. I was trapped driving behind a large SUV with a plastic stag sitting on its hindquarters affixed to the rear hitch. Disturbingly, the buck had a red and white bull's-eye painted on its ventral side. More disturbingly, the plastic suicidal animal DANCED when the driver braked. Its legs worked front to back vigorously as if to shout, "I'm over here! Point the gun this way!" I wanted to vomit.
3. I talked to an ombudsman. After pulling into the parking lot at the bookstore, a small, white-haired lady of around 80 years tapped gently on my window. I was concerned, due to her age, that she might be senile or having a heart attack, so I reluctantly rolled down the window. This was a mistake. Once down, a thirty-minute "conversation" commenced. It seems that Agnes (her real name) was a fan of the Volvo and herself had owned many Volvos [note, I drive a Volvo as well]. She told me how her last Volvo had 360,000 miles when she sold it. She told me how she bought her two sons Volvos. She told me about her mechanic who fixes Volvos. She told me about her newest Volvo. She told me lots of things, and eventually I stopped listening. Sometime during her diatribe against American cars I noticed her nametag (Agnes) and realized in horror that she was an ombudsman at the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. Mark and I recently had a bad experience with another ombudsman at the museum when he tried to get in our car and go home with us, citing extreme loneliness and neglect at the museum. I realized it was best to just stay quiet and let Agnes extol the virtues of Swedish auto engineering until she stopped talking or dropped dead--whichever came first. She eventually thanked me for talking (ironically, rather I let her talk) and departed, having successfully shared the Word with me. I imagine tonight she'll go to her temple of Volvo and recount her proselytizing to an eager but small crowd of followers.
The point is, "Sorry God."
Deuteronomy 9:19
This is as true today as it was when it was written, nearly a hundred years ago. Yesterday, I may have provoked the wrath of God with my mocking of fall-down boy (who may or may not have be seriously injured). Today, the Lord brought upon me three plagues:
1. I bore witness to the mowing down of an innocent baby squirrel. A large pick up truck clipped his furry little back legs as he was darting across the street. The squirrel was, however, not was not quite dead and lay helplessly in the gutter waiting to die--fluffy tail still twitching. I wanted to cry.
2. I endured a dancing stag. It was pouring rain today, and as a result traffic was at a standstill on Lindsey. I was trapped driving behind a large SUV with a plastic stag sitting on its hindquarters affixed to the rear hitch. Disturbingly, the buck had a red and white bull's-eye painted on its ventral side. More disturbingly, the plastic suicidal animal DANCED when the driver braked. Its legs worked front to back vigorously as if to shout, "I'm over here! Point the gun this way!" I wanted to vomit.
3. I talked to an ombudsman. After pulling into the parking lot at the bookstore, a small, white-haired lady of around 80 years tapped gently on my window. I was concerned, due to her age, that she might be senile or having a heart attack, so I reluctantly rolled down the window. This was a mistake. Once down, a thirty-minute "conversation" commenced. It seems that Agnes (her real name) was a fan of the Volvo and herself had owned many Volvos [note, I drive a Volvo as well]. She told me how her last Volvo had 360,000 miles when she sold it. She told me how she bought her two sons Volvos. She told me about her mechanic who fixes Volvos. She told me about her newest Volvo. She told me lots of things, and eventually I stopped listening. Sometime during her diatribe against American cars I noticed her nametag (Agnes) and realized in horror that she was an ombudsman at the Sam Noble Museum of Natural History. Mark and I recently had a bad experience with another ombudsman at the museum when he tried to get in our car and go home with us, citing extreme loneliness and neglect at the museum. I realized it was best to just stay quiet and let Agnes extol the virtues of Swedish auto engineering until she stopped talking or dropped dead--whichever came first. She eventually thanked me for talking (ironically, rather I let her talk) and departed, having successfully shared the Word with me. I imagine tonight she'll go to her temple of Volvo and recount her proselytizing to an eager but small crowd of followers.
The point is, "Sorry God."
Monday, April 30, 2007
You Fell, I Laughed
I've got another two weeks before this semester is done. I keep reminding myself the reason that I'm doing all this:
In other news, I am an asshole. Today, while stopped at a red light, I watched the biggest, nerdiest undergrad (wearing jeans shorts and white socks) attempt to run through the crosswalk in front of me. I say attempt because he didn't make it. He bit it, hard. We're talking rolling head over heals in the street, losing his backpack, and clutching his knee while rolling on the pavement hard. All this chaos unfolded right in front of my car. And did I get out and help this poor kid? No, I buckled over laughing so hard I thought I was going to accidentally take my foot off the brake and run over the gimp. After what seemed like minutes of literal writhing in the street, he limped off to find his bag and drug it to the sidewalk. I drove away, but I took a little piece of his dignity with me.
In other news, I am an asshole. Today, while stopped at a red light, I watched the biggest, nerdiest undergrad (wearing jeans shorts and white socks) attempt to run through the crosswalk in front of me. I say attempt because he didn't make it. He bit it, hard. We're talking rolling head over heals in the street, losing his backpack, and clutching his knee while rolling on the pavement hard. All this chaos unfolded right in front of my car. And did I get out and help this poor kid? No, I buckled over laughing so hard I thought I was going to accidentally take my foot off the brake and run over the gimp. After what seemed like minutes of literal writhing in the street, he limped off to find his bag and drug it to the sidewalk. I drove away, but I took a little piece of his dignity with me.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
With All This Virginia Tech Hype
We've seemingly forgotten what's truly important:
1. Sanjaya got voted off American Idol.
2. Attorney General Gonzalez is still a partisan prick.
3. Britney, how much hair has she re-grown?
4. Bush is still pushing that whole Iraq war thing.
5. Polar bear cub Knut is still cute, still alive.
You were all thinking the same thing you heartless bastards.
1. Sanjaya got voted off American Idol.
2. Attorney General Gonzalez is still a partisan prick.
3. Britney, how much hair has she re-grown?
4. Bush is still pushing that whole Iraq war thing.
5. Polar bear cub Knut is still cute, still alive.
You were all thinking the same thing you heartless bastards.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
A Post-Virginia Tech World
Yesterday I came home to discover 12 new emails from my university outlining the new-fangled security measures that we as students and teachers will be forced to endure throughout the rest of the academic year (and possibly beyond). Phone-trees were established and updated, a resolution to remain safe was passed by the academic senate, email boxes were clogged with junk to ensure a cyber-terrorist couldn't get to us electronically, our president David Boren expressed his deep sorrow to anyone who cared to listen, and finally all campus buildings were locked, to be opened by guards only after showing identification and appearing Caucasian and free of weapons. All in all, it was a long day.
However, today proved that living in this post-Virginia Tech era would not be as simple as an email-blast. During my first class of the morning, campus police rushed into the lecture hall, decked out in SWAT gear, and informed us that there was a security breach on campus and that we would be required to stay in "lock down" until the "situation" was “resolved.” I asked if there would be prison sex like on Oz and if we could put the girls in a different room to really get an authentic experience. The police, although secretly amused, did not respond. Some girl in the front started to cry, so I continued to lecture, ironically about virtue ethics, i.e. the right thing to do is the thing that the virtuous person would do.
At some point I ran out of examples and got bored talking, so I asked the coppers if there had been any progress (we're still sitting in class 20 minutes after it ended). An officer responded with, "Sir, the safety of you and your class is our first concern here."
I retorted, "Well then you should let me out then! I could show you some of these students' test scores... I think they may have brain damage and it could be contagious. Prolonged exposure in close contact is not safe."
The officer began talking into his walkie-talkie and turned his back to me. Some of the students were staring at me now. I pretended to read the newspaper and drink the tea that I'd actually finished an hour ago. Team SWAT all of sudden began filing out of the room and gave us the all clear to go as well. When asked what happened they simple said the situation was "resolved.” "Resolved like they blew up the building resolved? Or resolved like they got the mustard stain out of Boren's tie resolved?" I asked. No answer.
Later, back in the safe confines of my departmental office, I learned why we were locked down. A student reported seeing a man holding what looked like a rifle walking quickly into a classroom. A sketch artist created this rendition of the eyewitness account:
The object was later confirmed to be an umbrella. The student said she had a hard time seeing it clearly because of all the rain.
However, today proved that living in this post-Virginia Tech era would not be as simple as an email-blast. During my first class of the morning, campus police rushed into the lecture hall, decked out in SWAT gear, and informed us that there was a security breach on campus and that we would be required to stay in "lock down" until the "situation" was “resolved.” I asked if there would be prison sex like on Oz and if we could put the girls in a different room to really get an authentic experience. The police, although secretly amused, did not respond. Some girl in the front started to cry, so I continued to lecture, ironically about virtue ethics, i.e. the right thing to do is the thing that the virtuous person would do.
At some point I ran out of examples and got bored talking, so I asked the coppers if there had been any progress (we're still sitting in class 20 minutes after it ended). An officer responded with, "Sir, the safety of you and your class is our first concern here."
I retorted, "Well then you should let me out then! I could show you some of these students' test scores... I think they may have brain damage and it could be contagious. Prolonged exposure in close contact is not safe."
The officer began talking into his walkie-talkie and turned his back to me. Some of the students were staring at me now. I pretended to read the newspaper and drink the tea that I'd actually finished an hour ago. Team SWAT all of sudden began filing out of the room and gave us the all clear to go as well. When asked what happened they simple said the situation was "resolved.” "Resolved like they blew up the building resolved? Or resolved like they got the mustard stain out of Boren's tie resolved?" I asked. No answer.
Later, back in the safe confines of my departmental office, I learned why we were locked down. A student reported seeing a man holding what looked like a rifle walking quickly into a classroom. A sketch artist created this rendition of the eyewitness account:
The object was later confirmed to be an umbrella. The student said she had a hard time seeing it clearly because of all the rain.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
I Heart My Passport
Due to an unforeseen lack of mental resources this week (year?), I've resorted to pictures. This post is more of the same. Perhaps worse.
I love traveling and regard my passport like a wallet full of pictures of my kids. But even more special because I see my kids everyday, and sometimes frankly they're just a pain. The following are snapshots of my passport:
(notice the visa from the former Yugoslavia!)
I love traveling and regard my passport like a wallet full of pictures of my kids. But even more special because I see my kids everyday, and sometimes frankly they're just a pain. The following are snapshots of my passport:
(notice the visa from the former Yugoslavia!)
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Drinking in West Hollywood
You know 32 different ways to order a Mojito.
You were drinking green apple martinis in the nineties, beyotch.
You drink vodka tonics for the lack of calories only to stop for pizza on your way home.
You did saki-bombs, not beer-bongs, in college.
Your personal Cheers is the Abbey, and everyone really does know your name (or has slept with you and since forgotten your name, if names were ever exchanged, but still people look at you like "how do I know him?").
You’ve actually seen Lindsey Lohan drunk in person, not just on Perez Hilton.
You’ve actually been to an AA meeting with Lindsey Lohan (while she was drunk, and you were probably still a little hung-over yourself).
Fiesta Cantina forties.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
From Such Great Heights
If you haven’t noticed, I haven’t written anything in the last week (in fact, even if you did notice I still havent written shit). This is due to grading exams and wanting to throw myself off a bridge water-tower. We don’t really have the type of bridges from which you could successfully kill yourself in Oklahoma. But water-towers are plentiful and tall in the plains. I’m finished grading now and will eventually regain the will to write. Maybe. Sometime.
Monday, April 2, 2007
Approval Matrix
The following is a Norman version of the Approval Matrix lifted directly from New York Magazine and inspired (stolen) from Bee-Spot:
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Dear John Deere
My neighbor, who I call deer hunter (I forget his real name) does not mow his lawn. It's ragged and overgrown and thatched with pine needles. His backyard, I have learned, is paved. It is where he stores his industrial John Deere riding lawn mower with halogen headlights. His wife is blind.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Eating in LA - Part I
You make soy and tofu regular parts of your diet.You only shop at Whole Foods, Trader Joe’s, and Bristol Farms.
You’re so over Sprinkles, it’s all about Pinkberry now.
You’ve waited in line over an hour to buy cupcakes (Sprinkles).
You’ve waited in line over an hour to buy frozen yogurt (Pinkberry).
You have an opinion about Dough Boys, either way.
You know the difference between nigiri, maki, and temaki.
Your Sunday brunch starts at 2 pm at Hugo’s, the Griddle, or Toast.
You’ve eaten quiche at Urth Café, but don’t know why.
Friday, March 23, 2007
And These Are My Hummel Figurines
Recently, my friend Betsy attended a dinner hosted by her Ph.D. advisor for all of his doctoral students. Her professor, a Czech Jew who survived Dachau during WWII, created the following awkardness before the meal:
Professor: [giving an impromptu tour of his home] ...and this is my personal library. That entire bookcase is filled with foreign language translations of my books.
Students: [oooh, aahhhh]
Professor: And over here is a collection of my brother's sculptures.
Betsy: These are remarkable. Is he a famous Czech sculptor?
Professor: No, he did these when he was eight...
Students: [mild, respectful laughter]
Professor: These sculptures survived the war. He, however, did not.
Students: [awkward silence, dry cough, sniffle...]
Betsy's imagined response: Oh, did you watch him die in your arms at the concentration camp? (Because really, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?)
Professor: And on this shelf is my collect of Hummel figurines...
Professor: [giving an impromptu tour of his home] ...and this is my personal library. That entire bookcase is filled with foreign language translations of my books.
Students: [oooh, aahhhh]
Professor: And over here is a collection of my brother's sculptures.
Betsy: These are remarkable. Is he a famous Czech sculptor?
Professor: No, he did these when he was eight...
Students: [mild, respectful laughter]
Professor: These sculptures survived the war. He, however, did not.
Students: [awkward silence, dry cough, sniffle...]
Betsy's imagined response: Oh, did you watch him die in your arms at the concentration camp? (Because really, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?)
Professor: And on this shelf is my collect of Hummel figurines...
Thursday, March 22, 2007
My Favorite Norwegian: Sondre Lerche
Set against the sea of fedora hats that marks any indy concert in Los Angeles, Sondre Lerche rocked the El Rey theatre last night with help from the Faces Down band. It was Lerche’s third performance in LA and his first return to the city since recording his latest album Phantom Punch here last year. In contrast to his last album, Sondre’s Phantom Punch is a frenetic mix of rock and melody—a one-eighty from the jazzy stylings of the Duper Sessions. The entire concert took on the flavor of a Modest Mouse show, though complete with Sondre’s keen sense of humor and wit. Unfortunately, the Los Angeles crowd seemed less familiar with the band’s latest album and remained slightly subdued as a result. But when Sondre unleashed his hits from Faces Down and Two Way Monologue, the crowd’s excitement was tangible. Highlights included: Modern Nature performed as a duet with the audience, Sondre’s pep-talk before Phantom Punch, a classic performance of Track You Down, and my personal favorite, a rare treat, All Luck Ran Out. If you haven’t fallen in love with the Phantom Punch album yet, see this show—you will. Play List:
airport taxi reception PP
say it all PP
phantom punch PP
tragic mirror PP
face the blood PP
well well well PP
happy birthday girl PP
dead passengers FD
sleep on needles FD
modern nature FD
all luck ran out FD
two way monologue TWM
track you down TWM
the curse of being in love DS
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
OU Gymnastics
Saturday evening Bee-Spot author Blythe and *The Life and Times author Shain attended the No. 5 Oklahoma vs. No. 9 Iowa gymnastics dual meet at the OU Field House. The following are each author’s respective versions of that night.
Mr. Shain’s Version:
Senior and defending National Champion Brian Carr prepares to begin his Floor Exercise after OU has already posted three solid scores on this event. OU leads Iowa by two full points.
Bee-Spot: This is really exciting Shain, all eyes are on Brian during this competition. He’s really the heart of this OU team. You can just feel the tension in the air can’t you?
Mr. Shain: You’re absolutely right Blythe; this boy’s on his way to a Wheaties box!
Bee-Spot: Brian’s opening pass is huge—a double twisting double layout! And he sticks it! NICE. That landing is so difficult because of the speed of those rotations, but he’s not giving anything away with extra steps tonight. OU’s really improving their floor routines this season.
Mr. Shain: Absolutely Blythe! Oh wow, he’s working the floor! Brian knows exactly what he’s up against tonight—he’s got to go clean on this routine. Punch front one and three-quarters, flawless. Wow… whip two and half to prone! What does that fulfill in terms of the requirements?
Bee-Spot: I have no idea Shain. But I’m sure it’ll be hard to beat! His third pass… half-in, one-three quarter roll out… he did have a little trouble with this is warm-ups earlier. But not tonight! Solid!
Mr. Shain: Oh he nailed it! Brian’s getting bonus for his connections between these acrobatic skills now. Legs fully extended, straight, tight, beautiful. He really stands above the rest in terms of his flair Blythe.
Bee-Spot: Yes, that is tight isn’t it. And look at that Y-scale, Shain, see how far apart his legs are, he’s earning virtuosity for that. Ok, Brian’s final pass is a double Arabian in a piked position—this is one of the toughest elements being performed tonight.
Mr. Shain: And he nails the landing! There’s no way anyone from Iowa can touch his package tonight Blythe! I think he just locked it up for OU!
Bee-Spot: He certainly locked it up for me Shain!
=========================================================
Bee-Spot’s Version:
Bee-Spot: Why am I here again?
Mr. Shain: blah blah blah pass I used to be a gymnast therefore I'm better than you blah blah blah.
Bee-Spot: Can we drink yet?
Mr. Shain: blah blah rings horse blah blah blah.
Bee-Spot: OU loses points. Their outfits are entirely too sparkly.
Mr. Shain: I love gymnastics!
Bee-Spot: Do you think the ladies teams get funding for bikini waxes? Do you think I should get a brazilian?
Mr. Shain: Why? It's not like you're sleeping with anyone. Or ever will. Jumping! Spinning!
Bee-Spot: I like the shorts the boys wear when vaulting. Hot. Oh God, these boys are three [actually up to six] years younger than me. I'm so old. That one's got his shirt off! Muscles.
Mr. Shain: Yeah, you are. And ugly. Dismount!
Bee-Spot: The Iowa coaches look like they're going clubbing after this. She's got rhinestones on her shirt. This is a gymnastics meet, for Christ sake. Those are the ugliest heels I've ever seen. Does Marc Jacobs design for Wal-Mart yet?
Mr. Shain: Are you talking, because I'm better than you.
Bee-Spot: I need a pedicure.
Mr. Shain: Shut up. That was a tough vault.
Bee-Spot: She just fell! Ha!
Mr. Shain: Point-five deduction.
Bee-Spot: For the stupid ribbon in her hair. These women are in college. Ribbons? Bows? This is a fucking sport not a fashion show.
Mr. Shain: Running! Cartwheels!
Bee-Spot: We are not sticking around for the autograph session. In fact, we're leaving right now.
Mr. Shain’s Version:
Senior and defending National Champion Brian Carr prepares to begin his Floor Exercise after OU has already posted three solid scores on this event. OU leads Iowa by two full points.
Bee-Spot: This is really exciting Shain, all eyes are on Brian during this competition. He’s really the heart of this OU team. You can just feel the tension in the air can’t you?
Mr. Shain: You’re absolutely right Blythe; this boy’s on his way to a Wheaties box!
Bee-Spot: Brian’s opening pass is huge—a double twisting double layout! And he sticks it! NICE. That landing is so difficult because of the speed of those rotations, but he’s not giving anything away with extra steps tonight. OU’s really improving their floor routines this season.
Mr. Shain: Absolutely Blythe! Oh wow, he’s working the floor! Brian knows exactly what he’s up against tonight—he’s got to go clean on this routine. Punch front one and three-quarters, flawless. Wow… whip two and half to prone! What does that fulfill in terms of the requirements?
Bee-Spot: I have no idea Shain. But I’m sure it’ll be hard to beat! His third pass… half-in, one-three quarter roll out… he did have a little trouble with this is warm-ups earlier. But not tonight! Solid!
Mr. Shain: Oh he nailed it! Brian’s getting bonus for his connections between these acrobatic skills now. Legs fully extended, straight, tight, beautiful. He really stands above the rest in terms of his flair Blythe.
Bee-Spot: Yes, that is tight isn’t it. And look at that Y-scale, Shain, see how far apart his legs are, he’s earning virtuosity for that. Ok, Brian’s final pass is a double Arabian in a piked position—this is one of the toughest elements being performed tonight.
Mr. Shain: And he nails the landing! There’s no way anyone from Iowa can touch his package tonight Blythe! I think he just locked it up for OU!
Bee-Spot: He certainly locked it up for me Shain!
=========================================================
Bee-Spot’s Version:
Bee-Spot: Why am I here again?
Mr. Shain: blah blah blah pass I used to be a gymnast therefore I'm better than you blah blah blah.
Bee-Spot: Can we drink yet?
Mr. Shain: blah blah rings horse blah blah blah.
Bee-Spot: OU loses points. Their outfits are entirely too sparkly.
Mr. Shain: I love gymnastics!
Bee-Spot: Do you think the ladies teams get funding for bikini waxes? Do you think I should get a brazilian?
Mr. Shain: Why? It's not like you're sleeping with anyone. Or ever will. Jumping! Spinning!
Bee-Spot: I like the shorts the boys wear when vaulting. Hot. Oh God, these boys are three [actually up to six] years younger than me. I'm so old. That one's got his shirt off! Muscles.
Mr. Shain: Yeah, you are. And ugly. Dismount!
Bee-Spot: The Iowa coaches look like they're going clubbing after this. She's got rhinestones on her shirt. This is a gymnastics meet, for Christ sake. Those are the ugliest heels I've ever seen. Does Marc Jacobs design for Wal-Mart yet?
Mr. Shain: Are you talking, because I'm better than you.
Bee-Spot: I need a pedicure.
Mr. Shain: Shut up. That was a tough vault.
Bee-Spot: She just fell! Ha!
Mr. Shain: Point-five deduction.
Bee-Spot: For the stupid ribbon in her hair. These women are in college. Ribbons? Bows? This is a fucking sport not a fashion show.
Mr. Shain: Running! Cartwheels!
Bee-Spot: We are not sticking around for the autograph session. In fact, we're leaving right now.
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Barefoot Contessa & Me
This weekend I read a NYT’s article about a Food Channel favorite, Ina Garten. To be quite honest, her wildly successful show, The Barefoot Contessa, irks me. It portrays the food stylings of a middle-aged Hamptonite who throws tea parties and prepares elaborate brunches for her island lady-friends. And there’s the perennial “special Friday dinner” which she prepares for her husband Jeffery when he returns home for the weekend (he works in New Haven if you can imagine!). I always watch hoping the camera will pan down to her feet to confirm her barefootedness and reveal that she’s actually chained to her kitchen. However, this Time’s article pointed out that Garten started her career not with baking scones, but as policy analyst for the Office of Management and Budget during the Carter administration. It turns out that the woman can actually read more than a cookbook. And it made me think, if you can go from white collar State Department analyst to Hampton homemaking guru in a lifetime, where the hell will I end up at fifty? A philosopher-king of some small African fiefdom or bowling alley shoe attendant? It could go either way I guess.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
These Things I Learned
Today, amidst snow and the functionally illiterate, I returned to Seminole Oklahoma after an 8-year absence to judge high school debate. Debate is the technical term, but it is altogether misleading. The word cluster-fuck seems more illuminating.
Now some of you, not from Oklahoma, may be asking, "but what is Seminole?" Although not a Native American linguist, I contend that "Seminole" simply denotes the maximal set of organizational skills that can be acquired via the union of two first-cousins plus a leaded water supply and a suspicious proximity to high-voltage power lines; i.e. I advance the theory that the meaning, or bedeutung as Frege wrote, of "Seminole" is merely the empty set, similar to "Santa Claus," "the present king of France," or the class of prime numbers less than 2. There's just nothing there. Yet, I digress.
Today, while young men and women fight and die in Iraq to defend our American freedom and protect our sacred institutions such as public education, I witnessed spectacular atrocities right in my own backyard. A squat, compact, sophomore boy, when confronted in a speech contest with a question regarding US and Iranian relations with Iraq, dazzled his audience with an exactly 17-second long oration in which he declared that "we ain't got nothing to do with them folk over there" and left it up to us to fill in the rest of the puzzle. Foreign policy W-style I thought.
During a different, yet equally horrifying event at the tournament, four students were asked to prepare sermons ranging from the American deficit to the SAT. A sharp fellow from a small, western town, which contains neither a library nor a hospital, but has found room to accommodate two competing liquor stores and a "Bait-'n'-Ammo" shop, informed the eager crowd that had gathered to hear his word, that the recently elected Congress would not "hurt the deficit." Two minutes into his speech it became evident he had confused the word "deficit" with "Laura Bush," and despite some initial reservations, he was now convinced that Madame Speaker Pelosi would not try to kill First Lady Bush in a supposed hunting accident. After impressing me by completing a 3-minute speech without reference to "rag heads" or "camel jockeys" the contestant was summarily disqualified for cheating. In fact, 3 out of the 4 contestants were caught cheating. Another cheater was a soon-to-be-junior-college-drop-out whose best friend was a genius and only received a 13 on the ACT, but herself did even worse (though she quickly qualified that of she was not a genius). And the third cheater: a bright, cheerful, blond girl who tried to multiply 13 by 200 during her speech but, after several seconds of silence, was unable; embarrassed, but not ashamed, she boldly declared, "Heh, well I don't know. I suck at math!" Feminists around the globe suddenly became nauseous.
It is perhaps worth noting, for the readers own moral enlightenment, that the sole orator whose integrity remained intact, thus allowing him to win the tournament, gave the following argument to explain the rise in capital murder cases in the US:
1. Wages are increasing, but not as fast as consumer spending.
2. Increasing interest rates are forcing both parents into the workplace fulltime.
3. Due to the family's purchase of a new car, childcare is out of reach.
4. More children are home alone.
5. Parents have guns at home.
6. Children, alone, play with guns, and inevitably shoot each other.
7. Therefore, the rise in capital cases is due to murderous children with guns.
This argument went unrequited. It really makes you think.
Now home, retired by the fire in my dressing robes and reflecting on the day, I can engage in the sort of radical skepticism Renee Descartes immortalized. Though I doubt not my own existence or the potential of real knowledge, I doubt the future of American education.
The profoundly retarded walk among us; and sometimes if you live Seminole, they are also your math teachers.
Now some of you, not from Oklahoma, may be asking, "but what is Seminole?" Although not a Native American linguist, I contend that "Seminole" simply denotes the maximal set of organizational skills that can be acquired via the union of two first-cousins plus a leaded water supply and a suspicious proximity to high-voltage power lines; i.e. I advance the theory that the meaning, or bedeutung as Frege wrote, of "Seminole" is merely the empty set, similar to "Santa Claus," "the present king of France," or the class of prime numbers less than 2. There's just nothing there. Yet, I digress.
Today, while young men and women fight and die in Iraq to defend our American freedom and protect our sacred institutions such as public education, I witnessed spectacular atrocities right in my own backyard. A squat, compact, sophomore boy, when confronted in a speech contest with a question regarding US and Iranian relations with Iraq, dazzled his audience with an exactly 17-second long oration in which he declared that "we ain't got nothing to do with them folk over there" and left it up to us to fill in the rest of the puzzle. Foreign policy W-style I thought.
During a different, yet equally horrifying event at the tournament, four students were asked to prepare sermons ranging from the American deficit to the SAT. A sharp fellow from a small, western town, which contains neither a library nor a hospital, but has found room to accommodate two competing liquor stores and a "Bait-'n'-Ammo" shop, informed the eager crowd that had gathered to hear his word, that the recently elected Congress would not "hurt the deficit." Two minutes into his speech it became evident he had confused the word "deficit" with "Laura Bush," and despite some initial reservations, he was now convinced that Madame Speaker Pelosi would not try to kill First Lady Bush in a supposed hunting accident. After impressing me by completing a 3-minute speech without reference to "rag heads" or "camel jockeys" the contestant was summarily disqualified for cheating. In fact, 3 out of the 4 contestants were caught cheating. Another cheater was a soon-to-be-junior-college-drop-out whose best friend was a genius and only received a 13 on the ACT, but herself did even worse (though she quickly qualified that of she was not a genius). And the third cheater: a bright, cheerful, blond girl who tried to multiply 13 by 200 during her speech but, after several seconds of silence, was unable; embarrassed, but not ashamed, she boldly declared, "Heh, well I don't know. I suck at math!" Feminists around the globe suddenly became nauseous.
It is perhaps worth noting, for the readers own moral enlightenment, that the sole orator whose integrity remained intact, thus allowing him to win the tournament, gave the following argument to explain the rise in capital murder cases in the US:
1. Wages are increasing, but not as fast as consumer spending.
2. Increasing interest rates are forcing both parents into the workplace fulltime.
3. Due to the family's purchase of a new car, childcare is out of reach.
4. More children are home alone.
5. Parents have guns at home.
6. Children, alone, play with guns, and inevitably shoot each other.
7. Therefore, the rise in capital cases is due to murderous children with guns.
This argument went unrequited. It really makes you think.
Now home, retired by the fire in my dressing robes and reflecting on the day, I can engage in the sort of radical skepticism Renee Descartes immortalized. Though I doubt not my own existence or the potential of real knowledge, I doubt the future of American education.
The profoundly retarded walk among us; and sometimes if you live Seminole, they are also your math teachers.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Local News
Boy stays in home with dad's body for 2 days
OKLAHOMA CITY, Oklahoma (AP) -- A 6-year-old boy stayed in an apartment with the body of his father for two days after the man died on their sofa, obeying instructions to never leave without permission, firefighters said.
The boy, whose name was not released, didn't want to leave even after firefighters arrived, fearing punishment if he left, fire department Maj. Noble Lee said.
"He wasn't as distraught as one might think," Lee said. "I don't think he understands the gravity of the past few days. He wasn't as upset at the situation as he was about being outside the residence without permission."
His father, Kevin Dale Judd, 52, appears to have died of natural causes, authorities said. The body was found late Monday after neighbors and a maintenance man reported a foul odor, Lee said.
According to a police report, the boy told police his father had been feeling ill and laid down. The boy left the room to watch television, and when he returned his father was slumped over.
The boy did not know to call 911 in case of an emergency, said Department of Human Services spokesman George Earl Johnson Jr. He apparently had not eaten in two days but refused food and water offered by firefighters and paramedics, Lee said.
Johnson said the boy will remain in DHS custody until relatives are found to care for him.
Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
OKLAHOMA CITY, Oklahoma (AP) -- A 6-year-old boy stayed in an apartment with the body of his father for two days after the man died on their sofa, obeying instructions to never leave without permission, firefighters said.
The boy, whose name was not released, didn't want to leave even after firefighters arrived, fearing punishment if he left, fire department Maj. Noble Lee said.
"He wasn't as distraught as one might think," Lee said. "I don't think he understands the gravity of the past few days. He wasn't as upset at the situation as he was about being outside the residence without permission."
His father, Kevin Dale Judd, 52, appears to have died of natural causes, authorities said. The body was found late Monday after neighbors and a maintenance man reported a foul odor, Lee said.
According to a police report, the boy told police his father had been feeling ill and laid down. The boy left the room to watch television, and when he returned his father was slumped over.
The boy did not know to call 911 in case of an emergency, said Department of Human Services spokesman George Earl Johnson Jr. He apparently had not eaten in two days but refused food and water offered by firefighters and paramedics, Lee said.
Johnson said the boy will remain in DHS custody until relatives are found to care for him.
Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
These Things I Know, or Knew, Maybe
It is a popular topic for philosophers, the question “what is knowledge?” Up until the latter half of the twentieth century, three words succinctly answered this question: justified true belief. Like E=mc2 before it, K=jtb had a seductive simplicity which seemed to satisfy the sophist’s epistemic lust. Here’s why it seems to work:
Belief: In order to know that you have two children, for example, you must believe you have two children. You can’t know much without believing in it first. True: Your belief must be true in order to count as knowledge. I cannot know that the capital of California is Los Angeles because the object of my belief is false. Our beliefs must match up with the way the world really is for us to know our belief. Justified: Your true belief that this week’s lottery numbers are 8, 32, 16, 7, 29, & 2 must be justified in order for you to know the lottery numbers. For example, suppose on Monday I bought a lotto ticket with the numbers listed above and claimed to know these would be the winning numbers. Who would believe me? Very few… very, very, few (only a dozen people are even aware of this blog’s existence). But suppose Friday rolled around and the very same numbers I predicted five days earlier are drawn. Would anyone agree that I knew the winning numbers? Not normally… most you would assume it was simply luck, even if I truly believed those numbers would win. Without justification, my beliefs remain only beliefs, ungrounded. After I’ve won the lottery, and someone asks me, “What were this week’s numbers?” then I do KNOW the winning numbers—my belief is true, it matches the numbered ping pong balls that popped up during the drawing, and it is now justified by the newspaper that published the results, the live news broadcast, the lottery board writing me a check for $237,000,000, and the like. Now I know.
I knew until 1963, when a small-time assistant professor, Dr. Gettier, at Wayne State University somewhere in BFE destroyed knowledge in a two-page paper that was his first and only published work. Gettier destroyed our sexy definition of knowledge with a mere counterexample.
Suppose Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones work at Whole Foods (not Gettier’s choice but I’ve updated the story for my audience). Mr. Smith knows, i.e. has a justified true belief, that Mr. Jones will get the promotion to produce manager (suppose his boss Ms. White told him and Jones’s name is frosted across a congratulatory cake in the bakery, etc.). Mr. Smith also knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket—he’s counted them himself (they’re quite close). With this information, Mr. Smith deduces that the new producer manger will have ten coins in his pocket. However, when the big announcement comes from Whole Foods management, it is Mr. Smith who gets the job, not Mr. Jones. Oh, and guess what… Mr. Smith also has ten coins in his pocket. Breakdown:
Mr. Smith has a justified true belief about the new producer manager. His belief: The new manager will have ten coins in his pocket. His justification: Ms. White told him Mr. Jones would be the new manager and Mr. Smith knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket. The truth: The new manager has ten coins in his pocket. Ergo, Mr. Smith has a justified true belief, but does not appear to have knowledge because it is SMITH not JONES who is the new manager. FUCK.
Belief: In order to know that you have two children, for example, you must believe you have two children. You can’t know much without believing in it first. True: Your belief must be true in order to count as knowledge. I cannot know that the capital of California is Los Angeles because the object of my belief is false. Our beliefs must match up with the way the world really is for us to know our belief. Justified: Your true belief that this week’s lottery numbers are 8, 32, 16, 7, 29, & 2 must be justified in order for you to know the lottery numbers. For example, suppose on Monday I bought a lotto ticket with the numbers listed above and claimed to know these would be the winning numbers. Who would believe me? Very few… very, very, few (only a dozen people are even aware of this blog’s existence). But suppose Friday rolled around and the very same numbers I predicted five days earlier are drawn. Would anyone agree that I knew the winning numbers? Not normally… most you would assume it was simply luck, even if I truly believed those numbers would win. Without justification, my beliefs remain only beliefs, ungrounded. After I’ve won the lottery, and someone asks me, “What were this week’s numbers?” then I do KNOW the winning numbers—my belief is true, it matches the numbered ping pong balls that popped up during the drawing, and it is now justified by the newspaper that published the results, the live news broadcast, the lottery board writing me a check for $237,000,000, and the like. Now I know.
I knew until 1963, when a small-time assistant professor, Dr. Gettier, at Wayne State University somewhere in BFE destroyed knowledge in a two-page paper that was his first and only published work. Gettier destroyed our sexy definition of knowledge with a mere counterexample.
Suppose Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones work at Whole Foods (not Gettier’s choice but I’ve updated the story for my audience). Mr. Smith knows, i.e. has a justified true belief, that Mr. Jones will get the promotion to produce manager (suppose his boss Ms. White told him and Jones’s name is frosted across a congratulatory cake in the bakery, etc.). Mr. Smith also knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket—he’s counted them himself (they’re quite close). With this information, Mr. Smith deduces that the new producer manger will have ten coins in his pocket. However, when the big announcement comes from Whole Foods management, it is Mr. Smith who gets the job, not Mr. Jones. Oh, and guess what… Mr. Smith also has ten coins in his pocket. Breakdown:
Mr. Smith has a justified true belief about the new producer manager. His belief: The new manager will have ten coins in his pocket. His justification: Ms. White told him Mr. Jones would be the new manager and Mr. Smith knows Mr. Jones has ten coins in his pocket. The truth: The new manager has ten coins in his pocket. Ergo, Mr. Smith has a justified true belief, but does not appear to have knowledge because it is SMITH not JONES who is the new manager. FUCK.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Kierkegaard on the Self
A human being is spirit. But what is spirit? Spirit is the self. But what is the self? The self is a relation that relates itself to itself or is the relation's relating itself to itself in the relation; the self is not the relation but is the relation's relating itself to itself. A human being is a synthesis of the infinite and the finite, of the temporal and the eternal, of freedom and necessity, in short, a synthesis. A synthesis is a relation between two. Considered in this way a human being is still not a self. In the relation between two, the relation is the third as a negative unity, and the two relate to the relation and in the relation to the relation; thus under the qualification of the psychical the relation between the psychical and the physical is a relation. If, however, the relation relates itself to itself, this relation is the positive third, and this is the self. --Kierkegaard
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