The Chronic Curmudgeon

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May 31, 2006

Bad 80s Video War: Weapons of Mass Destruction

Corey isn't playing nice anymore. Not only did he break out a painfully bad video to counter "Love Is A Battlefield" (Don Johnson's "Heartbeat"), but he's stealing signs, man -- "Heartbeat" was bookmarked in my browser as the next video I was going to pull out of my hat in this little war.

All right, Big C. You wanna play nasty? You wanna take the gloves off? Fine. Take this. We've got comically basic arthritic-finger keyboard playing. We have mounds of aluminum foil surrounded by mirrors. We got chicks in faux-kabuki/warrior makeup, dressed in Hefty bags. We have a red squiggly line appearing out of nowhere and for no discernable reason. And most of all, we have 80s hair! Lots of it.

That's right, big man. I'm breaking out A Flock Of Seagulls on your ass. This trumps your Sheila E. acid wash, Don Johnson's corset-wearing warbling, and Rebbie Jackson. You should just give up now and retreat to the comfort of your sweet new pad along the Gulf Coast, my friend. Don't make me cut you. ;-)

"I Ran (So Far Away)" by A Flock of Seagulls, ladies and gentlemen.

(removed for lack of storage)

Posted by Christopher at 06:31 AM | Comments (7)

May 29, 2006

In Memoriam

Today, as we do every last Monday in May, we pause to remember those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our nation. I will beg your indulgence as I do so here on this blog -- as well as remembering what it is that those men and women died for.

There are hundreds of thousands of Americans who were sent to fight wars on foreign shores -- some in self-defense, others in pursuit of political aims both noble and ignoble -- who never came home. Men on the beaches of Normandy, on the shores of Anzio, who fought at the Pusan perimeter, who died on Iwo Jima. There were teenagers who gave their lives at Hue and Khe Sanh. There were Marines who died in their barracks in Beirut. There were modern day heroes like Pat Tillman who bravely went to serve in Afghanistan to defend against an attack on our nation. There are those brave American men and women who have carried out their orders in Iraq and have done their duties and in some cases given their lives.

How many of us could say, no matter how brave or patriotic we are, that we would willingly and without hesitation have stormed ashore to near-certain death at Omaha Beach? Have forced our way ashore in the shooting galleries of the Pacific? How many could have kept our wits about us at Inchon, or during Tet, or on the streets of Fallujah?

No matter what one has thought over the decades of American foreign policy, today is not the day for those debates. Today is for acknowledging those who gave their lives in the service of our military. For remembering all that was lost. There were generations at home who never got to marry their sweethearts, their first loves. There were mothers and fathers who had to bury their sons (and later daughters). There were children who were never born; jobs never held; promotions never achieved; vacations never taken; gold watches never bestowed upon retirement. There were tears shed for the tears that never had the chance to be shed. There were lives never lived. And we, in our relative comfort today, owe those lives a remembrance and thanks.

There is one more thing that we owe our fallen. We owe it to them to fully live our rights as Americans -- to understand and exercise the rights guaranteed us by the Constitution. Those hundreds of thousands of military members sacrificed their lives -- literally everything they had -- to protect our rights as Americans; we must honor that sacrifice by living out those rights. Not just the popular ones, either.

We would dishonor their service and sacrifice if we fell into the trap laid by some today: the mirage that there is only one way to be patriotic, only one "American" way to think, that dissenting opinion is un-American. Dissent is patriotic. Dissent is American. Questioning authority is the American way; our nation exists today because a band of independent thinkers refused to think as the government wished them to, and they spoke out. They acted. Dissenting and speaking out is the most fundamental of American ideals, and doing so is the highest tribute we can pay to the memories of those who gave their lives.

Going along with what's popular is easy; agreement with the government enforced via intimidation and questioned loyalty is not freedom. The dustbin of history is littered with regimes, from the Nazis to the Communists to third world dictatorships, that attempted to enforce 'patriotism' that way. I can think of nothing better to honor the sacrifices of our fallen than to fully exercise all of the freedoms they died to protect.

As a nation, we can do better by them. Citizenship is more than getting our information from 8 second sound bites and having our opinions fed to us by talking heads. It's more than tuning in to the latest "reality" television sensation or Hollywood remake. It's more than whining about politicians even though we couldn't even be bothered to vote. We owe our nation better than that. We owe our fallen better than that.

So on this Memorial Day. I say this to those brave men and women who gave everything so that I might be free: thank you. Thank you for having the courage to do what you did, and the belief in our freedoms to serve and die for us. I promise to honor you -- today and always -- by fully appreciating the freedoms you died to ensure that I would have, and by fully exercising those freedoms. I'll do my best to make sure that you did not die in vain.

Posted by Christopher at 07:48 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Hooray For Boobies

Courtesy of Mrs. Doc, here's a petition that I wanted to bring to your attention.

U.S. Senators Olympia J. Snowe (R-ME) and Mary L. Landrieu (D-LA) and U.S. Representatives Sue Kelly (R-NY) and Rosa DeLauro (D-CT) introduced The Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act of 2005. Among other things, the Act will require insurance companies to cover a minimum 48-hour hospital stay for patients und ergoing a mastectomy. It's about eliminating the "drive-through mastectomy" where women are forced to go home hours after surgery against the wishes of their doctor, still groggy from anesthesia and sometimes with drainage tubes still attached.

The legislation is supported by the American Medical Association; American College of Surgeons; American Society of Plastic and Reconstructive Surgeons; Association of Women's Health, Obstetric and Neonatal Nurses; National Council of Jewish Women; Society for the Advancement of Women's Health Research; Susan G. Komen Foundation; Y-ME National Breast Cancer Organization; and Families USA. In addition, LIfetime TV (you know them, they always run those "all men are terrible" made for TV movies) has sponsored a peititon on their website urging passage of the legislation.

Some of us in my blogging circle have been touched by this disease; some others will probably be touched in the future by it. We have a responsibility to support more humane and compassionate medical care for this devastating disease. On this blog I've supported the Blogging BoobieThon in the past; today, I'm asking for everyone to go sign this petition as well. Please do whatever you can -- including signing your name to support this legislation.

Posted by Christopher at 06:22 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Long Holiday Blog Stew

A few random notes from the long holiday weekend...

1. Mess With The Bull, Young Man... You Get The Horns. Arguably, the quintessential 80s movie -- the 80s movie to end all 80s movies -- was "The Breakfast Club." And like any good teenage movie, there had to be an adult heavy... not just one who "didn't get" the teenage protagonists, but who actively opposed them and represented everything "we" never wanted to be. Principal Vernon in The Breakfast Club was that villian. When he lamented to Carl the janitor that "what keeps me up at night is this: when I get old, these kids are gonna be the ones to take care of me," and Carl responds with a cynical and knowing "I wouldn't count on it," every teenager in America snickered in agreement.

It takes acting skill to make an unsympathetic character truly unsympathetic. Paul Gleason brought that talent to Mr. Vernon. We laughed as Judd Nelson belittled him, we couldn't wait for him to get his... all because an actor knew how to play a jerk. Paul Gleason died today of a rare form of lung cancer. But thanks to Principal Vernon, he'll live forever.

2. Signs, signs, everywhere are signs... I'm a pretty perceptive person, usually. I don't miss much. But when I miss something, I miss it big. Like, for example, the fact that I didn't notice until yesterday evening on the way home from being out that my new apartment is right around the corner -- literally three minutes away -- from the largest, uh, "adult" toystore in Westchester County. (No, I will not favor you with the link to their site.) How I missed seeing that it the neighborhood when I was scoping it out or moving in, I am not sure. All I can hope is that this is an omen or a sign about my social life. ;-)

3. God's Thighs Are Very Powerful. The world record for the leg press is approximately 1,335 pounds. This was accomplished by a football player from Florida State University -- a young man in his late teens or early twenties, a man whose existence was defined and structured by physical workouts and being in the optimum physical condition.

Yet that rascal Pat Robertson, all of 76 years old and never a career athlete, claims that he can leg press 2000 pounds -- in his seventies. How Robertson manages to pull this off, he doesn't explain. Nor is he willing to repeat the feat in front of neutral observers. But, his sheep-like followers are accepting the story.

Apparently, now we know how Robertson's managed to steer all those hurricanes from America's coast; he just presses them away with those mighty thigh muscles.

Posted by Christopher at 03:12 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Home Run King

With all the hype this weekend about Juicy Juice hiting number 715, I thought it would be judicious to post a reminder of what a real home run king looks like. So for you baseball fans, and for anyone who appreciates actual class, here is Henry Aaron's 715th home run. (Video clip linked along the right hand side.)

Oh - and notice that when Aaron hits it, he... runs. None of this stand there and admire yourself, show-up-the-pitcher, show off to the world and for the ESPN cameras garbage. Aaron respected the game, and he ran the bases after hitting the ball. It's not just Bonds who's guilty of this modern posturing and preening, but it's all the more galling when he does it. Back in the day, Bob Gibson or Don Drysdale would have put a fastball on Bonds' chin for the chickenspit stunts he pulls when he hits the ball. Henry Aaron had too much class to behave like Bonds does. Henry Aaron was a home run king. Henry Aaron was a man.

"There's a drive into left-centerfield! That ball is gonna be-e-e-e-e.... OUTTA HERE! IT'S GONE! IT'S 715! There's a new home run king of all time -- and it's Henry Aaron!"

Posted by Christopher at 11:37 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

May 27, 2006

The Bad 80s Video War: Game. Set. Match.

Corey fought back hard from Toni Basil. He rolled out the acid wash from Shiela E. That's a pretty stiff challenge. And it required my tapping the one video I know that features every 80s video cliche.

You want a storyline totally unrelated to the song? We got that. You want authority figures who just don't understand? Check. Lots of ambient sound (like sirens, shouts, and the splash of water)? We got your hookup. Bad clothes? Cheesily choreographed extended dance scenes that require the mid-song instrumental to be extended to allow for the video scene to play out? All here.

Plus, this video features perhaps one of the most memorable of all archetypal characters from 80s MTV: the only gold-toothed pimp in the history of pimping who was ever intimidated out of business by a bunch of dancing girls shimmying their shoulders. (Actually, in hindsight, watching Pat Benatar try to dance is pretty scary.) Oh, but that's right, he wasn't a pimp, because they were only dancing with the random guys with that empty, detached, coked out look in their eyes.

Other highlights from this video (besides the comical gold-toothed sneer and that immortal dance confrontation during the solo) include Trey Wilson, the manager from Bull Durham, as the father throwing our heroine out of the house for some undisclosed sin. (This despite the fact that Wilson was only five years older than Benatar.)

Yes, ladies and gentlemen (and Corey)... my counterstrike in the Bad 80s Video War is the immortal "Love Is A Battlefield" by Pat Benatar. And Corey, you're really gonna have to dig deep to come back from this one... because I think I've got you game, set and match.

And remember, ladies... any time you find yourself in a trouble situation where you could be in danger... just shimmy.

(removed for lack of storage)

Posted by Christopher at 12:24 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Baby Baby

A quick shout out to my friend Samantha in North Carolina, who was induced this morning and who by now may well be the mother of little Lola. Sam, not that I expect that you'll be reading blogs a lot today, but I wanted to send some good vibes your way. Congratulations, mom!

Posted by Christopher at 12:04 PM | Comments (3)

May 26, 2006

You Can Enron, But You Can't Hide

Judge: Bailiffs, place the mayor under arrest.
Sideshow Bob: What? Oh yes, all that stuff I did.

Allow me to add my voice to the chorus of those cheering the convictions of those no-good bums from Enron, Jeff Skilling and W's friend "Kenny Boy" Lay. Convictions came on 25 of 34 counts, including all six that Lay was charged with. For what those bastards did -- to their investors, and (more importantly to me) to their employees -- they deserve not just a 200 year prison sentence, but a nightly visit to the weight room with Bull, Snake, and Razor. Thousands lost their life savings because of the greed and avarice of Lay, Skilling, and those they surrounded themselves with; no penalty could be too great.

I'm also frustrated with them on another level. I work in the corporate world; until I finally finish that Great American Novel and become everyone's favorite best-selling author, this is where I've chosen to make my way. I take pride in being a professional, and I like my company. And when gutless wonders like Lay and his pals behave like cartoonish stereotypes of rich white men, it gives the entire corpoate world a stain. In some eyes, we're all guilty by association. And while it's understandable, it's not fair -- no more so than associating all football players with OJ Simpson, all backup dancers with Kevin Federline, or all Texans with George W. Bush. Business is honorable, full of honorable people, for the most part. The few place the many under suspicion. And I resent them for it.

But most maddening was the inability of either Lay or Skilling to grasp that what they did was wrong. Even after the verdicts were returned yesterday, both men still clung like barnacles to the idea that they were innocent scapegoats caught up in a feeding frenzy.

“I firmly believe I’m innocent of the charges against me,” Lay said. “I believe that to this day.”

Outside the courtroom after court was adjourned, Skilling said, "We fought a good fight. Some things work. Some things don't."

There's a cognitive dissonance at work with those two -- indeed, it was pervasive throughout Enron's corner offices -- if they're still looking at what they did as "the good fight" and believe themselves innocent. They're in the same class as star athletes who seem to believe that the rules don't apply to them.

Then Lay walked outside the federal courthouse and declared himself blessed because “we believe that God in fact is in control, and indeed he does work all things for good for those who love the lord.”

Oh.... so God told you to screw thousands of people out of their life savings? Amazing how the conspicuously faithful can always invoke God no matter what they've done or how far they've transgressed.

Whatever, "Kenny Boy." I hope you spend thousands of long nights being made someone's bitch. And while you're in there, save a spot for Dick Cheney, will you?

Posted by Christopher at 06:37 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

May 25, 2006

The Bad 80s Video War Rages On

Corey made me do this.

In response to what I thought was one hell of an opening salvo (when I pulled out the Falco video), Corey fought back like a man with his back to the wall... he busted out Rebbie Jackson's "Centipede" on me, complete with its cheesy bad dancing and wild animal special effects. Bloodied by that vicious uppercut, I very nearly conceded the war to him right then and there.

But I have a secret weapon. And I never said I fight fair. Ladies and gentlemen... Toni Basil's "Mickey."

God bless cheerleaders. Not these cheerleaders, but God bless cheerleaders in general.

Posted by Christopher at 07:12 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

May 24, 2006

American Midol

I don't get it.

It's a glorified fourth grade talent show. It's a national karaoke night (and while karaoke is admittedly fun, you have to actually know the people you're singing with, or it's no fun at all). And yet inexplicably to me, it's a ratings monster yet again this season. Hell, it led the news on MSNBC.com overnight.

I'll say that again: a sitting Vice-President is going to be called to testify in a criminal proceeding; the FBI has (apparently unconstitutionally) raided the legislative branch; rival Palestinian factions are having talks today to try and nip some internal fighting in the bud. And yet the lead news story here among the major US outlets is about which cracker won a talent contest?

I cannot be the only one who thinks this is ridiculous. Why the hell do people give a ... gosh darn... about who wins American Idol? Spare me the defenses about the drama or how it's compelling TV. This show unleasged Ryan Seacrest and Clay Aiken upon the world; for that alone it will live in infamy. And the fact that people tune in just to watch Simon Cowell insult people... well, I suspect these people also own the "Best of Don Rickels" DVD.

I don't get American Idol. I just can't see why anyone would care. And I am extremely disturbed in a snobby, righteous indignation way that the show's season finale could be considered "news" at all -- much less the lead story -- in my country. We really are a nation of Stepford drones, if this is what we consider news... or even entertainment.

Posted by Christopher at 11:09 PM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

The Bad 80s Video War Is... ON

It's amazing how something that started out so innocent can get so out of hand, isn't it?

It was just a simple post from my good friend Corey... pointing out Billy Squier's prance-fest in the video for "Rock Me Tonite." I pirated shamelessly from Corey's post and reposted it myself, along with a counter offering of Journey. Corey returned the favor and reposted that video. And suddenly Corey and I have found ourselves embroiled in a Bad 80s Video War.

I'll fire the next salvo... Corey, my friend, I dare you to top this: Falco's video for the original (German) version of "Der Kommissar." Game. Freaking. On.

Posted by Christopher at 09:27 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Random Acts of Blogging

A quick collection of thoughts and reports before heading off to work this morning:

1. Moving update: I'm into the new place. Very little is unpacked and I still am sorting through boxes to find even the basics (where did I pack that toilet paper??) but I'm in. Challenges that remain include getting the Salvation Army over to my old place to pick up the furniture I chose not to take with me, and getting the old place cleaned up now that most everything is out of it (I'd like at least some of my security deposit back, although I know the old management will nickel and dime me on giving it back because that's the kind of people they were/are). So after getting that done, I'll focus on making the new place look more like "me."

2. TomKat on the rocks... Gee, what a shocker. Just weeks after allegedly giving birth to Tom Cruise's test tube-generated spawn, Katie the Zombie has run home to mother. I've said before and I'll say again: Tom Cruise got with Katie Holmes about as much as I have. (I haven't -- yet -- in case the point is lost on you.) At least when they go their separate ways, we never have to see that ridiculous sobriquet again.

3. Bush plays the ostrich. There's more to W's brusque dismissal of Al Gore's new film about global warming than just a childish snit about a former rival (who is a reminder to Bush and the rest of us about who really won the 2000 election). The movie may or may not be factual or accurate (I haven't seen it yet and don't have an informed opinion on it yet). But Bush is showing yet again why he is not qualified to be president. This movie's premise contradicts his world view, so he has no interest in even seeing the information... he doesn't want to make an informed judgement based on all points of view; he'll just blithely dismiss anything that doesn't jibe with what he wants to believe.

Is it any wonder that all reports that Saddam didn't really have WMD were summarily thrown out, and that our intelligence agencies were directed to find only the evidence that supported Bush's claims for war?

4. Barry Bonds. Without steroids, he's batting .245 this year with 6 home runs. His defenders say that's because he's getting old. Yeah. Like he has been for the last seven years... only now he has to get old without steroids. The emperor has no clothes, kids - and it's a wonderful thing to have happening. He's a filthy liar who disgraces the game with his very existence, and baseball will be better for his departure, which can't happen soon enough.

5. 80s video hell. Courtesy of my good friend Corey, here's a little slice of 80s video hell. The video for "Rock Me Tonite" single-handedly killed Billy Squier's career. Don't feel bad about that until you've watched the video. This is a rocker, in a pink Flashdance t-shirt and frolicking in pink satin sheets. I'm in touch with my feminine side -- I even wear pink -- but I draw the line at pink satin sheets. And prancing.

Not to be outdone, here is my nominee for the worst music video of the 80s (or worst ever, actually): Journey's "Separate Ways."

Posted by Christopher at 06:56 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack

May 23, 2006

"Senator, You're No Jack Kennedy"

It was likely the most effective political putdown of my generation's lifetime... and it destroyed what little credibility Dan Quayle might have had before the debate. It was incisive, it was surgically precise, and it summed up the Indianan's lightweightedness in one devsatating exchange. And now the man who uttered that famous retort, former Texas Senator Lloyd Bentsen, is gone, passing away today at the age of 85.

I have no idea what kind of Senator Bentsen was. But he'll be in the political history books for that famous exchange -- even in a losing effort -- and for the way he utterly demolished Dan Quayle's chances at being taken seriously.

Fare thee well, Senator.

Posted by Christopher at 10:16 PM | Comments (0)

May 20, 2006

Movin' Out

And it seems such a waste of time... If that's what it's all about... mama, If that's movin' up, then I'm movin' out. -- Billy Joel

It always arrives too fast, doesn't it? Never quite get enough packing done, never quite ready, and never completely sure that jumping your rent 50% just for the improved lifestyle/quality of home is really worth it... but ready or not, moving day is here.

I'm gonna be off line for another couple of days here; the cable/internet guy doesn't arrive at the new place until Monday evening. I'll catch up on Monday. Catch y'all from the new swingin' bachelor pad.

Posted by Christopher at 09:12 AM | Comments (10)

Separated At Birth

Okay, I really like the White Stripes. And since I also really like Brendan Benson, I am psyched about the Raconteurs as well. But someone's gotta talk to Jack White, so I guess it's gotta be me.

Jack... buddy. You're supremely talented and somewhat eccentric. We get it. But your look... pal... I mean, I know you're going for the whole Johnny Depp in Benny and Joon thing. But it's not working. You look more like Michael Jackson every day. And while I love your music, I am becoming less and less comfortable with being a fan of someone who looks like Neverland's most famous fan of little boys.

Please, Jack.

Posted by Christopher at 08:53 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 19, 2006

What's In A Name?

So I'm getting ready to go on stage on Wednesday... I was on the keynote panel that opened the conference, and since the other panelists and I hadn't actually met in person yet, we decided to have breakfast together and just develop a face to face rapport before going on stage together. This was my first time on stage in Europe, and of course you want to make an impression... so I was dressed in my corporate American best -- Ralph Lauren pinstripe suit, Boss dress shirt (dark blue, though -- no white shirts on stage, I don't suck up that bad!), relatively conservative tie... I looked very much the representative of big business that I am when I go to these things. Besides, while two of my fellow panelists were from the blog world, the other two were corporate reps as well -- I figured they'd be dressed like me.

I got downstairs in the hotel, and made my way to the cafe. When I found my new friends, I realized that I was a) the only one in a suit; b) the only one not wearing at least something black. The group greeted me fondly, but quickly settled into giving me friendly hell for my choice of outfit.

"You don't look like a blogger," I was told. "You should go change."

Now, generally I am a casual guy by nature, and am much more comfortable dressed down than up. So it was almost a relief to run back upstairs, throw a black t-shirt and jeans on, put the pinstripe blazer on over it, and come back downstairs just in time to do the panel. No one was the wiser, and I probably looked more comfortable up there than I would have looked in the suit.

But the whole exchange got me thinking: just what the hell does a blogger look like, anyway?

If the whole point of blogging in general is that now the means of expression and for the sharing of expertise are in the hands of anybody who chooses to use said means (rather than only in the hands of those few with the financial and distributive resources to communicate), then wouldn't it follow that bloggers look like everybody? In which case, some bloggers will be dressed in black or jeans (or, in the case of one of the speakers from later in the day, a leather kilt)... while others would be dressed in suits... while others might blog in their pajamas? If we who blog come from all walks of the Net, why can't some of us be businesspeople who feel most comfortable in Ralph Lauren pinstripes?

I am more comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans, so I don't feel bad about having changed; I was comfortable. But I am disappointed that I allowed myself to be talked into it -- and in the mindset that somehow we have to conform to some avant-garde or hipster dress code in order to officially look like a blogger. If there's a uniform, it's not going to fit everyone.

Posted by Christopher at 07:01 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

I Spy... A Cold War Bar

I'm home. Last time I got back and talked about how well the trip went, Erika and Beav rode me a bit for revealing a swelled head. I certainly wouldn't want to offend their sensibilities again (or yours, for that matter), so I won't go into the details of the trip other than to say that it went very well.

But I did have a fun little non-work-related adventure... After the conference ended on Wednesday night, I found myself at a "speakers' party" in Chelsea, for those of us who'd been on stage during the day. The house where the party was held had a fascinating little bit of Cold War history inside. In the middle of the living room of this otherwise highly dignified, graceful English home sits a bar straight out of the Austin Powers movies -- garishly loud animal print countertop, delightfully early 60s kitschy. In such a lovely home, the bar stands out like, well, a frilled mod shirt and crushed velvet suit.

As it turns out and as the host explained, the home was once owned by Greville Wynne. Wynne was a master handler for MI-6 during the height of the Cold War, controlling several Soviet double agents -- none more famous or influential than Oleg Penkovsky, who has been called the most effective and important Soviet spy who worked with the West in the entire Cold War. Having studied Cold War history in undregrad, I knew that Penkovsky was the source for some of President Kennedy's confidence during the Cuban Missile Crisis; it was Penkovsky who revealed to the West that the Soviets' nuclear arsenal was far smaller than they'd told the world. Penkovsky's information, before and during the crisis, was critical to western understanding in the early 1960s. Turning Penkovsky was one of the west's most important espionage successes. (Unfortunately, a double agent eventually turned Penkovsky in as the crisis peaked, and he was executed by the Soviet government in 1963.)

So the story with the bar? Wynne and Penkovksy often held their meetings in Wynne's home; Penkovsky telling his superiors that he was meeting with British businessmen who liked to drink and often talking too much (thus being potential sources of information worth Soviet awareness), and Wynne telling MI-6 that the Russian only talked when hammered. In reality, while they were working, it was also just two friends who wanted to drink together. And they hatched on a plan...

Wynne told his bosses that getting Penkovksy drunk in public was indiscreet and could risk the entire operation; he needed a private place to ply the Russian with booze. Penkovsky told his superiors that British businessmen who might be open to either wittingly or unwittingly giving up crucial information would not likely consort with a Russian in public; he needed help to get a private sanctuary in which he might get the fops hammered and conduct his espionage in a safer environment. Wynne got MI-6 to cough up 500 pounds (in 1960, that's what, about four or five grand now?) to build the bar inside his home; Penkovsky got the GRU/KGB to cough up 300 pounds to help Wynne build a bar in his home. So, these two masters of the spy game were able to con Cold War intelligence services into building them, in today's numbers, a $6000/$7000+ fully stocked bar, which they primarily used for their own amusement.

Since the bar was acquired/built right around 1960/1, they made it as "modern" and fashionable as possible. Fortunately for us all, fashion has progressed since then, and what must have at one point seemed quite the hip, happening home bar now looks and feels every bit the cultural relic that it is. But because of its historical value, and because -- as the home's current owner puts it, "it's so awfully kitschy that it's almost wonderful" -- the current owners have left the bar intact as it originally stood.

And it was at that very bar -- the same one at which Oleg Penkovsky delivered so much information that helped the West and eventually cost him his life, and the same one that hosted its own small chapter of the Cold War -- that I found myself having martinis on Wednesday night. And I couldn't help but silently raise a glass to Wynne and Penkovsky... for their sacrifices and effort, for the roles that they played in history -- and for the spirit of chicanery that allowed them to build a cheesy bar at the expense of MI-6 and the KGB.

Posted by Christopher at 06:46 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

May 14, 2006

London Calling

Just try to get The Clash out of your head today!

Headed out "across the pond" tomorrow afternoon for a conference this week in London; I'll be gone until Thursday night. So, since I'll be away for a few days, here's a few random thoughts and links to keep you occupied.

1. President Al Gore on Saturday Night Live. Hurry up and check this one before the clueless crusaders at NBC make YouTube take it down. Last night, the man the American people elected president in 2000 did a guest spot on the opening skit of Saturday Night Live, addressing the nation as if he'd been president all this time. Gore showed a sense of humor, a willingness to poke fun at himself, and best of all mercilessly skewered Zippy the Wonder Chimp. Best lines were the "negative consequences" of stopping global warming, the digs at the oil companies, the self-mocking jokes about the lockbox, taking credit for inventing the Anti-Hurricane and Tornado Machine, and most of all the dig at Bush's criminal invasion of our privacy by tapping our phone records.. (If you click on the link and YouTube's had to remove it, try SNL's site here to see if they have it up.)

2. The Evolution of Dance. Courtesy of Mrs. Doc, here's comedian Judson Laipply's performance of what he calls "The Evolution of Dance." From Elvis to Eminem, he covers it all ... and I have to tell you, between the guy's fantastic timing and great sense of physical comedy, you'll be grinning from the humor and finding yourself impressed at the skill needed to pull off a routine like this.

3. Domestic spying. Red staters, have you finally figured out what we've been trying to tell you all along: that the biggest threat to American freedoms comes not from without, but from within? What more does it take to prove to you the damage your criminal pretenders to the throne have done to America and our way of life? What's next -- the president going on national TV to defend his government's right to round up people in the middle of the night without charging them with anything? (That might sound like a stretch, but it might once have sounded like a stretch that the president of the United States would be defending his government's right to intercept the phone records of every single American citizen without a warrant or cause.) Every single person who voted for Bush twice is personally responsible for enabling this assault on our basic freedoms.

4. The real Barry Bonds Not that anyone needed any further proof of what Barry Bonds is about, but yesterday, after failing again to hit the home run that would tie him with Babe Ruth, Barry Bonds hit the lockerroom and prepared to go home. Problem was, the game was still on and his team was still playing. While the San Francisco Giants were scrapping out a come from behind win yesterday against their archrival Los Angeles Dodgers, Barry Bonds was on his way home. He'd not accomplished his own personal goal, so the team and its goals didn't matter. This is the kind of "teammate" Barry Bonds is. This is the kind of person Giant fans still have yet to reject as he rightfully should be rejected. What a selfish, egocentrical jerk.

The only good news: Juicy Juice has basically run out of time to set his record at home, where inexplicably the San Francisco fans will still cheer his exploits. (Why? Because he's on your team and helps them? Yeah, we saw yesterday just what a team player Bonds is.) He's going to have to go on the road to do it -- where fans will react to the incident with anything from indifference to derision. (Memo to Houston fans: please, for the love of all that is sacred in baseball, do not succumb to the "well, he's a jerk but this is history" dynamic, and do not begrudgingly cheer him. The man hasn't earned it. If you don't wish to heap scornful boos on him, better yet just turn your back on him when he does it; use his trip around the bases as an excuse to hit the bathroom or go buy that beer you've been thinking about since the 2nd inning. Turn your back on the SOB. Don't give him this moment he hasn't earned.)

Posted by Christopher at 09:40 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

Cashing In Chips

From as far back as I can remember having shoulders, I have had a chip on mine.

Not in how I treat people; I think anyone who knows me in real life would tell you that I am friendly, outgoing, compassionate, polite to a fault, and probably just a little more empathetic than a man is probably supposed to be. I was never a bully, am not now, and don’t have it in me to be one.

No, the chip on my shoulder has always been a hidden one, visible only to me. I don’t ever remember not having it. My whole life, I’ve felt like I had something to prove. Since I was a kid, I have needed to believe that there was somebody or something that wanted to hold me back. Not just that the odds were against me, but that there were forces stacking an invisible deck against me, discounting me or my abilities, wanting me to fail, and actively working to keep me from achieving what those abilities would otherwise have allowed me to do.

Given these forces arrayed against me, I was going to have to work twice as hard as you worked, be twice as good as you were, do twice as much as you did in order to force “them” to give me what was mine, what I’d earned. It didn’t matter if there was really a “them,” or if the forces were real or imaginary; I could manufacture reasons in my mind -- and did -- as to why I wasn’t going to get a fair shot to go as far as I could otherwise go.

That kind of attitude is a lot like a fire hose, I guess. When properly controlled and focused, the power of the water gushing through the hose is sufficient to overcome almost any fire. But should control be lost and things become unfocused, the power becomes uncontrollable and the hose thrashes about wildly, soaking everything in its path and potentially causing great damage. Similarly, when properly harnessed, this attitude can help overcome any real or imagined obstacle. Lose control of it, however, and it simply becomes unfocused and unproductive rage at the world.

Thankfully, with a couple years’ notable exception, for most of my life I’ve had control of that silent chip. I’ve been able to use it as a fulcrum which, when combined with the levers of hard work and my abilities, has taken me everywhere I have gone and allowed me to do whatever I have done. That chip has driven me. It’s made me who I am.

When I was a kid, I used that feeling to drive myself to get better grades than anyone else; I had to, because I wasn’t giving anyone any excuses to not give me a chance. In sports, I was going to play harder than you were, no matter our game. There might be other players on the field who were more naturally gifted than I was, but by God there was never going to be anyone who hustled more, ran harder, left more of himself on the field. You could bloody me up, break something, knock me out… but you weren’t going to try harder than me.

In my first career, politics, I believed that no one was taking a 22 year old who felt he could be running campaigns seriously; so when an incumbent who was going to win anyway gave me the chance to work his campaign, I was going to be damn sure that we won by a bigger margin than we were supposed to. And we did. The next time around, we won a race we weren’t supposed to win. I expected nothing less; I had something to prove.

Professionally, I’ve spent much of my second career believing that no one was going to give me anything that I didn’t take from them through sheer force of will. There were a couple of people I have run into who legitimately seemed to have it in for me -- well, okay, one person, but she was high enough up and influential enough that she did do some damage to me, and the reality of her impact just reinforced my outlook.

When I moved to the northeast, the chip quadrupled in size. The northeast is (as I have mentioned ad nauseum) parochial and tends to have what you would either describe as a dismissive attitude toward the rest of the country, or an artificially inflated view of its own superiority… and here I was, the blue-collar kid from flyover country.

Suddenly the people I was working with and living among had degrees from big-name colleges; they drove cars that cost more than my college education had; they had money, and I did not; they were Establishment, and I most certainly was not. I was just the guy from farm country who talked with the funny Minnesota “Fargo” accent.

In part from the attitudes I encountered, and in part from my need to imagine myself having to overcome resistance, I decided that the Northeast Establishment wasn’t going to give me anything that I didn’t forcibly pry from its hands. If ever I had anything to prove, it was that this kid from the turnip truck could hang just fine with everyone who thought that the geographic or socio-economic accident of their birth made them smarter or better than me.

I’ve tried never to let it outwardly show or impact how I treat people. Rather, it’s just been this thing, whether real or manufactured, that I didn’t even have to tell myself; I just knew that there was a “they” out there that didn’t want to give me a chance, and I was going to have to force them into having no choice but to give me one. That’s been my quiet resolve, and it’s served me pretty well until now.

But increasingly in the last year, this conceit has become more than impractical; it’s becoming flat out unproductive. The illusion simply will not hold anymore. I can’t look at my life or my career and imagine much aligned against me; by most any standard I ever would have set for myself, I have done well by the world and it by me. I’ve had incredible opportunities and made the most of them. I have a network of professional mentors and advocates who have actively gone out of their way to teach me, to help me, and to guide me when my own instincts don’t speak clearly enough to me. Today I have an array of newer opportunities and horizons I never even thought within reach. And I’ve realized that I can no longer realistically imagine any cosmic or earthly alignment opposing me.

So what’s the problem, you ask? It’s simple: without that chip on my shoulder, I feel lost. It hasn’t just been my motivation; it’s been a great deal of my self-definition and self-image. And when you’ve spent the better part of a third of a century becoming accustomed to the presence of an influence or factor or belief, its sudden disappearance is quite disorienting. It’s like finding out that my grown-up version of Santa Claus doesn’t exist anymore.

I am going through a really weird phase right now. With the way my life has gone lately -- professionally, financially, emotionally -- I should be on top of the world. Unquestionably, the perks of life and opportunities presented to me right now (on many, many different levels) are beyond anything I ever realistically hoped I would ever have. And yet, instead of feeling triumphant, or a sense of pride and achievement, I just feel rudderless. For someone who’s always felt an obsessive need to make sure he was in control of his own destiny, this loss of surety in direction is kind of messing with me.

During a rather revealing, if philosophical, conversation recently, someone asked me “who are you?“ The thing is, without that familiar and by now comfortable invisible chip on my shoulder, I don’t know exactly how to answer that. Or at least, I don’t know what I want. That’s maybe the better way of putting it. I have all these different directions I could go, professionally, personally, financially, and in any other way; all these different things that could serve as the trampoline to the next part of my life… and I’ve no longer the compass that I’ve always used to point myself in the right direction.

It’s like I climbed up this long hill clutching a map, never sure I would reach the top… and when I got there, there were a dozen paths I could follow, and just then the wind gusted and the map slipped from my hands. The good news is that there’s any number of paths that can be traveled now, all of which might lead someplace amazing; the bad is that I have no idea which is the right one -- because for a path to be the “right” one, you sort of have to know where you want it to lead. And right now, I don’t.

I have a lot of decisions to make in the coming months, decisions that will go a long way toward determining who I will be for much of the rest of my life -- both to the outside world and inside my own heart. The disorienting thing is that I don’t have any sense of which direction I will go. The exhilarating thing is that I get to choose; from now on, there is no “them” working to stop me, and no chip on my shoulder weighing me down.

It’s going to be an interesting year.

Posted by Christopher at 04:47 AM | Comments (6)

Running On Empty

Remember back in February, when I went out and said that I was going to run the 8k companion race to the Philadelphia Marathon when Doc and Tim run it in November? And I said that I was going to start training seriously and getting back in better shape, and was going to be ready to run no matter what? And even challenged readers to sign up with me and come to Philadelphia to run it with me?

Yeah, that didn't work so well.

I've used all my recent travel and crazy work schedule as an excuse, and after a month in February in which I was in the gym 3-4 days a week, I haven't been there since. Hell, I even let my gym membership slide. Yes, I know; very very bad.

I went to a birthday party for Tim & Mrs. Tim's son today; Mrs. Tim informed me that not only is she still running to train for this race, but she fully expects me to run with her, since I'm the one who laid down the challenge. Given that I've pretty much lost three months off of my training schedule, this is daunting. Not only is it bad form to challenge someone to do something and then bail, but Mrs. Tim will also never let me hear the end of it if she completes an 8k and I do not.

Thankfully, there's things like this Cool Running "Couch to 5k in 2 months" plan. I still have six months to get my butt in gear. While I will be in London this coming week for a conference and will be moving over the weekend after I get back... yet again, I'm intending to get started on this process, and I still plan on running that 8k in November. Corey, Nancy, Beav, Jill.... you still in? Anyone else up for training and a run in Philadelphia in November? (And of course the requisite post-run steam-blowing-off-of & celebration?) It's an open invite; anyone who feels like running and getting a little fitter in the next few months and cen get to Philadelphia on November 19 is welcome.

If my overextended, need-to-train butt and my bad knees can do this, so can you. (Besides, the more people who commit to the run, the more obligated I will feel to keep this commitment and finish training.)

Posted by Christopher at 12:52 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

May 09, 2006

Shout-Outs

Isn't the term "shout-out" so 2000? Why am I using it? (Especially given that I am 37 and not 19? Then again, if I were 19 I would probably know the more current term for publicly recognizing those deemed worthy of recognition.) Anyway, three lovely ladies of the blogosphere have been inspiring me of late, and I wanted to point you their way. Sometimes it's their subject choice; others it's the skill with which they've crafted the stories they've chosen to tell; still other times it's just respect for pure writing talent when I see it. While I've been wasting time crabbily grousing about Barry Bonds, each of them have been particularly worthy reading of late.

"Jane" over at Three New York Women has been on a roll lately. Her post on her relationship with her sister -- both as a young girl and now as an adult as her sister has come out -- was touching, human, and was crafted beautifully, arced around the plot point of taking her sister out to her first gay bar during a visit to Manhattan shortly after coming out (or, not coming out, exactly, but her realization that she was "just a heterosexual woman who has discovered I could also be attracted to lesbians. So I'm just exploring the idea now that my flirting and dating could be open to both men and lesbians."). It's a wonderful post. She followed it up with a somewhat tongue-in-cheek post about the challenges and emotional swings that come with being thirtysomething and being the last single holdout among a group of friends -- and then trading them in for a new set of single friends and watching them pair up and breed too. She's witty, she's poignant, and she's a hell of a writer. Jane, you're on a roll this week - nicely done!

"Liz" over at The Brain Dump visited my blog for the first time this week... and when I clicked over to check out her blog, I was taken by some highly personal, yet compelling and powerful posts. Her post entitled "O-R-E-O," specifically, though it's a couple of weeks old now, provided me with perspective on a life experience that I would never have -- being a black person growing up primarily among white people, then getting into high school and college and finding herself called "not black enough" by the black communities there, and her adjustment/coming to terms with this dynamic. Among the best things about blogging is the opportunity to read perspectives that you would otherwise never experience; Liz provides this articulately and entertainingly. Well done, Liz - and thanks for dropping by my corner of the blog world.

And last but not least... long-time friend of this blog and Curmudgeon favorite, Jill over at JillWrites, has been busy making me laugh. Playwright, poet, and all-around muse, Jill's been populating her blog this week with a few characters from plays she's in the middle of writing -- those characters just didn't feel like waiting for the play to be finished before speaking up. She's also done a very nice post on the relationships we bloggers end up having with our readers, the members of our communities whom we've never met yet have still become close to. Jill, my muse and comment banterer, I've been enjoying your stuff this week, even more than usual. (We still need to discuss my prize for being first to figure out Anais Nin, too.) :-)

Ladies... well done this week. Thanks for writing. And for everyone in my community, if you haven't clicked over to any of these three blogs yet, this'd be the week to do it. They're kicking out good stuff these days.

Posted by Christopher at 11:18 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

Venus & Mars Below The Asteroid Belt

This would explain so much, wouldn't it?

While only 38 percent of women said they think their partner wants sex more often, a whopping 66 percent of men said they do want more (only 25 percent of women report wanting sex more often than their partner).

That's not the only conclusion of the study, but it was the was that amused me the most. Especially when it's combined with this other finding:

Most men and women said they have sex once or twice a week. Yet, taking all their answers into account, men think they’re having less sex than women: Men said they have sex a median of 5.5 times a month while women said 8.4 times.

What does this mean? And what do you make of the rest of the survey findings? I dunno. But it's funny how men and women seem to perceive things like frequency and what the other is thinking. Which I think we can all relate to.

Oh... and I still hate Kevin Federline.

Posted by Christopher at 09:05 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack

Things I Will Not Miss About The Crappy Apartment I Am Moving Out Of

1. Not having a washer and dryer in the unit. Having to go down several flights of stairs to the laundry room, and having to hoard quarters. Having to take hell from the tellers at the bank on the corner when I go to buy $20 of quarters only to have them constantly ask if I am a customer of their bank. (No, my company has a credit union and I see no need to join your bank... but I am not asking to make a deposit or get a loan, I am asking to exchange this $20 bill I just got from your ATM for two rolls of quarters. It's not a favor of biblical proportions. It's a simple 20 second exchange, for which I have just stood in line for 10 minutes. Shut up and give me my damn quarters.)

2. The pathetically mismatched couple downstairs, who have not in all the time I have lived here gone a day without fighting. It never matters which one starts it -- they're both equally guilty. Their tactics are the same: he shouts atop his lungs about some mundane thing; her response is not to shout back or argue with words, but to shriek shrilly as if trying to drown him out. It doesn't; it just makes her sound like a shrill, screeching harpie. Their Groundhog Day-like battles have come up through my floor at all hours of the day and night for the last five years; I'd even relive the Florida phase to avoid having to hear them one more time.

3. The shower/tub that never seems to drain normally no matter how much Liquid Plum'r you pour down it. I've been showering in over-ankle-deep puddles for years.

4. The building management whose response to a complaint is to begrudgingly send a super up after the third phone call, then ignore his reports for weeks, then claim to you that you never called them about a problem.

5. The kitchen that thinks it's a closet; I've had just about enough counter space to toast an English muffin. The main selling point of the new place was that there's actually a real-sized kitchen, with real counter space, and inside which I will get to cook (which I love to do and have been barely able to do in that shoebox kitchen in the old place).

6. The building maintenance system, which manages to turn the heat on even when it's 60 degrees out, and has just two settings: on, or waiting to come on. Having no thermostat has sucked. Having heat that turns on during beautiful spring or fall days has sucked worse.

7. My own indifference. The longer I was here -- especially once I started spending most of my time in New York again -- the less happy I was about the apartment. As I climbed the ladder and started really achieving things, I didn't just dislike it; I resented it. It's going to be nice to come home to a place that doesn't make me angry, doesn't make me feel less accomplished than I am. It's going to be nice to feel like my new place is actually "home" instead of just being the place my stuff''s at for now.

Posted by Christopher at 07:55 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

Flirting WIth Disaster

I've always had a kind of odd fascination with disasters. (Look at my otherwise inexplicable thing for Britney Spears, for example.) Put a documentary on about some plane crash or flood or explosion, and I'm pretty much hooked. (For an idea of the look on my face when these things come on, think of the end of Ghostbusters II, when Vigo was trying to possess Dan Aykroyd... and Aykroyd got that blank, feeble-minded, drooling stare on his face while looking at Vigo's picture.)

I can't explain it, really. I don't know why I have been fascinated since I was a kid with things going very, very wrong. (Perhaps it was a precursor to my future romantic life? Would explain a lot.) Anyway, whether I can explain it or not, the interest has always been there. As a kid, I was reading about the Hindenburg and the Galveston hurricane and that DC-10 out of Chicago back in 1979 as avidly as today's kids read Harry Potter. As an adult, my television spends an uncomfortable amount of time tuned to the History Channel and Discovery Channel. And the only thing better than a documentary that analyzes what went wrong in a disaster that's already happened is one in which experts suggest what might go wrong in the future.

So I'm looking forward to the new series on the HIstory Channel, "Mega-Disasters," which will feature both expert commentary and CGI depictions of potential massive natural disasters that could hit the United States. (Had they made this series in 2004 and not 2006, for example, I suspect that one episode might have been "What might happen if a category 4 or 5 hurricane scored a direct hit on New Orleans?") Tonight's debut episode focuses on:

What would happen if a massive earthquake and tsunami were to strike the West Coast of the United States? Experts say it could easily match the catastrophic 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami in scale and might. A 700-mile stretch of coast, from northern California to southern British Columbia lies just off the extremely volatile Cascadia Subduction Zone. Many seismologists say that after more than 300 years of massive pressure build-up, it is likely to erupt in the not too distant future.

I'll be watching in sick fascination. But the best thing about series like this is that no one in any future government will be able to say, "I don't think anyone anticipated (insert disaster here)..." This series examines 10 of the potentially worst natural disasters that could ever occur in the US -- what could happen, why, and what the impacts might be. And rather than just an exercise in scaring the hell out of people, it's an educational opportunity and a chance to possibly, oh, you know... prepare.

Posted by Christopher at 06:27 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack

May 07, 2006

Photos of Joe Morgan

... I figure Barry Bonds ("Juicy Juice") must have some. Maybe like with Morgan and a goat or something. That'd be about the only rational explanation for the Hall of Famer and ESPN broadcaster's pathetic and embarrassing performance on Sunday night while doing color commentary for the Giants-Phillies game. Every time Morgan opened his mouth, he was delivering Bonds a big, wet, sloppy kiss. You couldn't get Morgan to even say the word "steroid;" he all but proclaimed that Babe Ruth calls Barry Bonds daddy. He made the ridiculous and laughable suggestion that the reason fans outside of San Francisco greet Bonds with boos and derision is simply because Babe Ruth is beloved, and anyone approaching a Ruth record -- be they Roger Maris, Hank Aaron or Barry Bonds -- is going to face a hostile public for doing so.

Hey, Joe??? Since you clearly haven't been paying attention, I'll spell it out for you. Babe Ruth's last game was in 1935; no one under the age of 75 has a conscious memory of Babe Ruth. He may be an icon of the game, but fans today don't feel a connection to Ruth so strong that they'd reject anyone who approaches him. The fans are rejecting Barry Bonds because he's a cheat, because he took steroids, lied about it, perjured himself in front of a grand jury over it; because he cheated. He doesn't belong this close to the Babe or Aaron, and everybody knows it. Fans are smart, fans can spot a fraud, and fans reject cheaters. That's why the fans are rejecting Juicy Juice -- that and his prickish personality. It has nothing to do with Babe Ruth.

And you, Joe Morgan, are an embarrassing sycophant suckup, the baseball equiavalent of that little yipping dog in the cartoons, walking down the street with the big bulldog and yelling "We're tough, ain't we Spike?" If the best you can do is repeatedly kiss Bonds' repeatedly injected backside, then please get off the air. Your performance degrades the game and your own reputation.

Posted by Christopher at 10:57 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

May 06, 2006

Sounds Worth Saving: #11

The night Martin Luther King, Jr. died was one of the most tragic nights in our nation's history. We may never know what we lost; sadly, in the aftermath of his death, we do know what it cost us. Riots in more than 100 American cities, most notably Washington, Baltimore, Trenton and Chicago, devastated urban neighborhoods. Washington DC was never the same; as WIkipedia puts it:

The riots utterly devastated Washington's inner city economy. With the destruction or closing of businesses, thousands of jobs were lost, and insurance rates soared. Made uneasy by the violence, city residents of all races accelerated their departure for suburban areas, depressing property values. Crime in the burned out neighborhoods rose sharply, further discouraging investment. On some blocks, only rubble remained for decades.

Yet for all the senselessness and violence and hatred that raged in the days following King's death, one major US city was spared. There were no riots in Indianapolis, Indiana that week. That's largely due to the speech recorded here at #11 on my list of 25 sounds worth saving.

Robert Kennedy was scheduled to give a campaign speech to a rally in what was considered the "most dangerous" part of Indianapolis. When he got off his plane, he was informed of King's assassination. The city's chief of police warned him that the city was unable to guarantee his safety that night if he attended the rally; word was just beginning to trickle out of anger in the streets of other cities, and the fear was that as the crowd learned of King's death, no one -- not even Bobby Kennedy -- would be safe in that neighborhood.

Kennedy went anyway. In a breathtaking and completely improvised and extemporaneous speech he'd written in the car on the way to the rally, he informed the crowd of King's death, and eloquently called for peace and calm despite the anger. He pled with them to respect the values to which Dr. King had dedicated his life. He spoke of his own family's experience with assassination (also at the hands of a white assassin, he noted). And he reached out to that crowd with such feeling, such emotion, such compassion, such humanity... that it worked. There were no riots in Indianpolis following Martin Luther King's death. In a time of insanity, Bobby Kennedy's speech provided at least one corner of America with some much needed peace. Even conservative Joe Scarborough agrees that Kennedy's act and words are among some of the most powerful and admirable ever delivered.

What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.

It wasn't just the speech of Kennedy's life; it was one of the most eloquent and stunning addresses any American ever delivered. It was a moment of courage and conviction, and it easily makes my list of sounds worth saving. To hear it, listen here.

Posted by Christopher at 10:39 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Poor Baby

Barry Bonds finally left the protection of his sheltered life on the west coast and came to the east yesterday. Philadelpha fans once booed Santa Claus; what did you think they were going to do to Juicy Juice?

Philly fans booed the cheating SOB mercilessly yesterday, doing what thousands of fish-taco eating, white wine sipping San Francisco fans should have been doing for the past couple of years at least. They let him have it, and never let him forget that no matter his numbers, he will never be accepted by the fans who love the game as the home run champion. A few even booed him when he was checking on an injured teammate, which I love (never take your foot off the throat when you have it), something Giants manager Felipe Alou whined about to the press.

"Barry went over there as a teammate and two or three fans booed him. I believe that was really cheap, very cheap," the manager said.

Well you know what, Felipe? We believe that it was 'really cheap, very cheap' of Bonds to juice up like a Florida orange in order to achieve numbers he doesn't deserve. We believe it was 'really cheap, very cheap' of Bonds to take an undeserving place next to Aaron, Ruth and Mays in the record books. We believe that it was 'really cheap, very cheap' of Bonds to perjure himself in front of a grand jury about all the juice he put into his system. And we're never going to let the cheating bastard forget it, either -- so you better get used to it.

In the meantime, this sign from Philly last night says it all.

Posted by Christopher at 06:19 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack

The Immigrant Song

I haven't taken a crack at a heavy political topic in a long time. I also haven't gotten people really mad at me in a while. Might as well change that with a take on one of the bigger issues of the day... so let's talk about immigration.

There are a couple of things I believe that shape my position on illegal immigration. The first is that America has always been a nation strengthened by our immigrants; all of us, unless we are Native American, were immigrants at one time. The experiment, 400 years old now, has by and large worked (unless you were one of the aforementioned Native American tribes). America is reinvented every generation or so by a wave of new people coming here to seek opportunity and freedom -- and this process strengthens America, not weakens it.

The second is that respect for the rule of law is important. It infuriates me when rich, powerful Texas oil men break the law and arrogantly think they can get away with it -- or even that they should be allowed to. It similarly infuriates me when a group of immigrants breaks US immigration law and arrogantly suggests that they should be allowed to vontinue getting away with it. Were I as an American to go to Mexico and ignoring the law, and then flaunting my disobedience for the citizens of Mexico to see, I have a feeling I'd be getting to know my cell-mate El Grande Hefe pretty quick. I don't see why it should be different here.

The third thing I believe is that it is possible to be pro-immigrant and anti-illegal immigration at the same time, They're not mutually exclusive positions. And that's the one I have staked out for myself on this issue.

It's uncomfortable to support tighter border restrictions and stricter enforcement of immigration law, because doing so aligns you with the xenophobes and ignorant Nativist-types. Not exactly pleasant company, you know? But I do support these things. Not because I'm afraid for "American jobs" (take a look at the world today, kiddies... how many jobs do you think still get created here anyway? Most of the new jobs are in India, China, Brazil, Russia....we're in a globalized era now). Not because I don't like the kind of people that are coming. It's simply because I don't think there's a greater way to disrespect the country you are coming to than to flagrantly flout its laws. If you're willing to blatantly ignore one law, how many others will you ignore?

The rallies in the past week have disappointed me too. What they really are is rallies to support (and indicate a willingness to continue) breaking the law. Imagine every aggressive, 90-95 mph driver who's ever barreled past you in a 65 zone, weaving in and out of traffic and representing a danger to everyone else on the road. Now imagine that all these drivers got together to rally in support of their continued right to drive 95 in a 65 zone. After all, they say, they're just driving to work and trying to support their families... so that noble goal in and of itself excuses the fact that they break the rules of the road every day. And imagine further if they staged a "Day Without Drivers" and stayed home from work to show the economic impact of their not being allowed to skirt highway laws? Would that seem silly to you?

Yet that's what we're seeing in essence right now. Because most illegal immigrants come here with the noble goals of pursuing opportunity, their having broken immigration law to get here is something we're supposed to overlook. And if we don't overlook it, they'll tell you we're racist, nativist, anti-immigrant, whatever. The demonstrations we've seen have been intended to remind us of the roles immigrants play, true; but the bottom line remains that they were demonstrations in support of being able to keep breaking the law. And that bothers me. Doesn't make me anti-immigrant; it means I want the law to be followed.

So what would I do, were I a member of Congress and dealing with this issue were one of my responsibilities? My thoughts are that we need to do four things:

1) Speed the legal process of immigration. I'm not necessarily endorsing full immigration; all one needs to do is look at the struggles Europe has been having with its open immigration policies to realize that that may not be the way to go. (Even traditional havens of tolerance like the Netherlands are beginning to rethink their positions.) But I do think that the legal process for those we do let in should go much more quickly. I think half the reason people come here illegally is the fear of getting tied up in the legal emigration process for years.

2. Crack down on those who hire illegal alliens. You can't blame people for going where the work is. But you can blame employers who hire illegals. Whether you're talking about giant corporate farms that hire migrant workers to pick the fields, or rich white yuppies from Greenwich and Lake Forest and Menlo Park hiring nannies and day laborers ... if illegal immigrants do have a substantial impact on the economy, it's due to the folks who've chosen to hire illegal workers on the cheap rather than pay market prices for legal ones. Right now, the penalties for working illegally are higher than for employing legally. To me, that's messed up. People work where the jobs are in order to feed their families. People hire illegally to save money. It's need vs. greed, and I am baffled that we penalize need more harshly. If you hire illegally, you should be punished -- substantial fines, seizures of land/property, even potential jail time for egregious and blatant cases. Period.

3. Strictly enforce the existing laws on illegal immigration. Building a fence won't do anything; that's a mean spirited and wholly un-American approach to society. (For how many years did we score rhetorical points off the Communists about how we'd never had to build a wall? Sure, theirs was to keep people in and ours would be to keep people out, but the symbolism is much the same: a society willingly cutting itself off from the outside world.) There are laws regarding illegal immigrants on the books already -- and yes, I believe that they should be enforced. There's a right way and a wrong way to do things, and even the noble goal of working hard and sending money home to support a family does not excuse the willful violation of the law.

4. English. America has been accepting immigrants for 300 years. Until very recently, it was expected that within a generation, the children of these immigrants would learn to speak English, the language of the land. Doing so was a necessary step up the ladder of economic progress in this country. Your ancestors had to learn it. Mine had to learn it. But suddenly, somehow we've decided that making people learn English is somehow nationalistic or nativist or wrong? Look -- if someone wants to come here to work hard and pay taxes and be a citizen, I'm all for it. But if you're choosing to come here to do it, we speak English in this country. Learn it.

I'm not opposed to multilingualism -- not at all. But I've never been able to figure out how it is that, according to many lefties, if I as an American go to another country and make no effort to speak the local language and expect everyone else to speak English instead of me speaking the local language, I'm an arrogant Ugly American... but when someone comes here to work and live, if I expect them to speak the local language, I am being an ugly Nativist. The disconnect confuses me. If I go to Italy for work (or even on vacation), I better at least try to speak Italian. And if I expect to work there permanently, I'm darn sure going to learn it and become fluent. Same thing should happen in the United States.

It's not just a cosmetic argument. Not knowing English is an impediment to economic progress and success; the trend in the United States toward accepting non-English speaking, especially Spanish, goes a long way toward establishing a permanent underclass or underprivileged who have little chance to move up the socio-economic food chain in this society. If people are coming here to achieve a better standard of living and a better life, joining a permanent underclass is probably not what they had in mind.

So I'd make English clases/lessons a requirement for entry; if, after a year here on a visa, there's not demonstrable improvement in your English skills, you're going home. Come here and work and have a better life, yes...but show enough respect for your new host country to speak its language, and show enough respect for yourself to try and take the steps needed for that better life you want.

That's what I'd do if I were in Congress. Of course, that's probably why I am not in Congress.

Posted by Christopher at 05:51 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

May 03, 2006

Sounds Worth Saving: #12

Continuing on with this list... as a reminder, about a month ago the Library of Congress announced this year's list of 50 recordings that go into the National Recording Registry. These recordings are treated as historical "landmarks" and are treated with the latest technology so that the master tapes don't degrade or fade away with time -- so they'll be preserved for Americans' enjoyment in perpetuity. I saw the article and am making my own list of 25 classic recordings. And on my list, we're up to number 12.

12. Ronald Reagan, "Mr. Gorbachev: Tear down this wall!" June 12, 1987 Don't get me wrong... I'm not mellowing on what I thought of Reagan as a president. (That's a subject for another post.) But I'm a speechwriter by trade and I can recognize and respect high rhetorical theater when I see it... and I was a history major who focused on Cold War diplomatic history, so I have an appreciation for its context.

And for sheer drama, this moment has to go on the list. Standing at the symbol of divided Berlin, in the same spot where a quarter of a century earlier John Kennedy had given his "Ich Bin Ein Berliner" speech (despite bad translation work by his staff resulting in Kennedy's having just asserted that he was a jelly doughnut, the crowd, uh, ate it up... and the speech became one of JFK's classics), Ronald Reagan -- the very symbol of Western resistance to communism -- looked defiantly in the face of the very symbol of the divide between east and west. He issued a challenge that was at the same time stripped of the delicacies of diplomacy and was as direct as any message an American president had given to the Soviets, and yet was one of the most rhetorical moments of the Cold War. It was brilliant poitical theater --and Reagan, who was a master of political theater, knew it and seized it.

I find conservatives' lionizing, deifying arguments that Reagan "ended the Cold War" to be grossly oversimplistic and far too hagiographic; there were 40 years of factors that ended the Cold War, not the least of which was the fundamental unsupportability of the communist economic model -- the Cold War would have ended because the Soviets couldn't have afforded to maintain their system, whether Reagan or Jesse Jackson were president. But from a rhetorical perspective, Reagan certainly played a strong role, and this was his zenith in that role.

There is one sign the Soviets can make that would be unmistakable, that would advance dramatically the cause of freedom and peace. General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate.

Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate. Mr. Gorbachev -- Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!

Listen to it here.

Posted by Christopher at 05:48 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

May 02, 2006

Sounds Worth Saving: #13

And now I can even say this is "by request," thanks to the Linkmeister. (Thanks, Linkmeister!) It's a work morning so I have to do just one today.... but oh, what a one:

#13. James Earl Jones' "People Will Come" monologue from "Field Of Dreams." A couple of years ago I did a list of what I consider the 50 best movie lines of all time. Anyone who knows me or has read me for a couple of weeks was not surprised that I named a monologue about how much baseball means to America as the #1 movie line of all time. And it shouldn't surprise anyone that I want to keep this monologue protected for all time as one of the 25 sounds I get to save at the Library of Congress.

Sure, Field of Dreams is a cheesy movie in many places. And it's about fathers and sons as much as it is baseball. But at the climax of the movie, when Ray Kinsella has to decide whether to sell his farm or keep Shoeless Joe and the Field of Dreams, it's America's Voice, James Earl Jones, who steps forward with the best defense of America's game.

I don't know any guy who loves baseball who doesn't love this monologue. No matter what they think of the whole movie, you put this monologue on and they'll get a little misty... and then decide as soon as it's finished to go buy a couple of tickets in the bleachers and take the rest of the day off at the closest stadium.

Baseball is having a catch with your dad, and throwing a tennis ball against a garage wall to field the bounces. It's weekend hours on the sandlot when you were a kid and really didn't have anything bigger to worry about than whether Jeff was really safe on that close play at third. It's the first time you saw a major league baseball field, when you walked through the tunnel and saw that endless expanse of green in front of you under the lights and thought you'd never see anything so wonderful. It's the smell of freshly cut grass and hot dogs with mustard (the brown spicy kind, not the bland yellow stuff), and it's the voice on the radio that someone set up somewhere behind home plate while you're playing outside. Baseball is how I best related to my dad, and someday it's how my kids will best relate to me. And it's how millions of kids across generations have best related to their own fathers. It's love for a team being passed from generation to generation like an heirloom. Baseball is a marker of time, and yet baseball is timeless.

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."

Sign me up -- put me in, coach. And don't let this monologue ever disappear. It's the mid-point on my list of sounds worth saving.

Posted by Christopher at 07:17 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack

May 01, 2006

The Weekend: Movin' On Up and Other Stuff

I think I have managed to screw up my sleep patterns for the next week as a result of this past weekend. It started out innocently enough - Friday night was our usual p0ker night with the guys. So we were up till 2:30ish on Friday night; by the time I wound down from all the Mountain Dew I drank at p0ker (no beer for me when we play; I drive home after the games), it was after 4:00.

But I had to be up again at 8:00 for meetings with apartment managers... I've been in the process of (finally!) getting a new apartment. I've kept the one I am in for the past five years (even during the Florida phase, which ended up being a good thing); it's sort of halfway between Manhattan and our Westchester offices. When I got the place (which is nothing special, believe me) in 2001, I was still an up and coming (ok, so mostly in my own mind) tyke who wasn't making enough to live any closer to the office -- there's a weird progression in this area in which Manhattan is ungodly expensive, then the inner ring burbs are merely shockingly expensive, then when you get further into northern Westchester it reverts to ungdoly expensive again -- and I told myself that it was better for my social life to be closer to Manhattan anyway.

But in those five years, I've moved up in my career some... more importantly, I've also bitten the bullet and finally admitted that, while I do get down to Manhattan often enough to dine, play, or visit Beav or Ethan or go on a date every now and then, the bulk of my social life is in Westchester. (Yes, for you city folk, that is a sad thing for a single, would-be hipster such as meself... which is why it took me five years to come to grips with it.) Living 30-45 minutes away from my office so that I could keep up the pretense that I was close to a social life in the city that didn't really exist... well, it was okay when this was all I could afford and when gas only cost $2.30 a gallon. But now? $3.20 a gallon for gas tends to make you want to shorten your commute. You generally find it easier to honestly assess things when your transportation costs jump 50% in a year.

Besides that, it was time for an upgrade. The place you move when you're establishing yourself is not the same place you should be once you're established. (For those of you thinking that I should just buy, I'll remind you that the average Westchester County house is well over $700,000... the average 2 BR condo approaches $450,000... so I'll be continuing to rent, thank you very much. Put me in any other part of the country -- save for California -- and I'd own a very nice house right now. But in the Northeast corridor, I'm a renter. This is one of the things that keeps me embittered a bit and has prevented me from fully embracing NY as "home" -- the feeling that the area is criminally overpriced.)

So anyway, Saturday was an early start and a day full of seeing places, nearly fainting from sticker shock (this erstwhile midwestern boy has still never gotten used to NY housing costs, and my first reaction is still shock and disgust), negotiating, walking out of a couple of places after being informed that I would be charged one month's rent for a broker fee despite the fact that I wasn't using a broker (actually had two places tell me that since the broker had placed the newspaper or online ad that I was responding to, I had technically used the broker and owed them the fee), finding a place that I liked and then sitting in the office for 90 minutes coming up with lease terms I would agree to/filling out paperwork... finally, at around 6:00 or so, I got home.

And, after a full intense day of thinking, negotiating, running around, etc. -- all on three and a half hours' sleep -- I promptly crashed. Hard. My Saturday night was spent in bed (alas, alone!), and I didn't wake up until about 12:30 am. At which point, of course, I was wide awake. Not only did I miss a phone call I really wanted to take, but I was now totally rested and awake at the time in which I ought to be fast asleep. And there was no getting back to sleep.

So I was up all night Saturday night to Sunday morning. The good news is that another really good idea came to me for some wrting. (At the conference I was at last week, I got to talking with some folks who also write novels on the side, and they'd gotten me thinking about trying to get started yet again.) And once more, I'm convinced I have the germ of a great idea if I'd ever actually make time to write it. The bad news is that somewhere around 1:00 pm, I was zonked again... totally needed to sleep. But it was too nice of a day outside, so I made myself at least go out and get some sun -- found a Starbucks with outdoor tables, plopped myself and my laptop down, and started writing characterizations for the people who will populate my next novel that I don't finish. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday, if you're a wannabe writer.

But when I got home around 5:30ish... sleepy again. I managed to hold out until about 7:00, then fell asleep watching "Baseball Tonight." Woke up around 1:00. Napped fifully after that for the rest of the night, but for the most part I've been up for good since about 2:45. So I slept through returning phone calls, and now that it's about time to get up and go to work, I am wishing for about four more hours of sleep. I have a work dinner tonight, so I won't likely get home until 8:00ish.... at which point I'll probably crash right out again, and I'lll wake up at 3:00 tomorrow morning... sigh. I've gone and messed up my sleep patterns but good. Dammit.

At least I found a new place to live. Moving day is May 20.

Posted by Christopher at 06:33 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack