If We Were Still Calling It Shell Shock

This morning, I'm thinking of this piece of commentary by George Carlin:

I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't like words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protect themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse. I'll give you an example of that.

There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to it's absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either (click) snapped or is about to snap.

In the first world war, that condition was called shell shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, shell shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves.

That was seventy years ago. Then a whole generation went by and the second world war came along and very same combat condition was called battle fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell shock! Battle fatigue.

Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called operational exhaustion. Hey, we're up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car.

Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called post-traumatic stress disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-traumatic stress disorder.

--

Yesterday, I tweeted the following:

When did "regret" become the new "apologize"?

A friend replied:

I think it's a more formal way of saying, "I'm sorry you feel that way."

And she's right. We live in an age defined by the art of "mis-remembering." Public perception is only skin deep, and lasts as long as our next click of the refresh button, our next Facebook quiz, our next Tweet. We associate singular words with presidents (nuke-ular, stupidly) and have agreed to trade journalistic integrity in for speed of reporting.

--

So what does this all have to do with the the gentleman pictured above?

--

That man is Justin Barrett, a Boston police officer who was recently stripped of his gun and badge and suspended from his military duties as a captain in the National Guard.

Why?

In response to a editorial in the Boston Globe, a piece that discussed the recent arrest of Henry Gates, Barrett wrote and mass-sent an e-mail that included the following:

[if I would have] been the officer he verbally assaulted like a banana-eating jungle monkey, I would have sprayed him in the face with OC (oleorosin capsicum, or pepper spray) deserving of his belligerent non-compliance.

CNN goes on to report that Barrett used the "jungle monkey" phrase four times, three times referring to Gates and once referring to Abraham's writing as "jungle monkey gibberish."

And while all of this is terrible and repugnant, I'm comfortable with the notion that Mr. Barrett will get his just due. I don't think you can change the minds of hate mongers like Mr. Barrett, and so I don't concern myself with the thought.

What does concern me is this, and it's the lead from the CNN article:

The Boston police officer who sent a mass e-mail in which he compared Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. to a "banana-eating jungle monkey" has apologized, saying he's not a racist.

Really?

Not a racist?

But wait--there's more! On Larry King last night, Barrett said:

I would like to take this opportunity to offer fellow police officers, soldiers and citizens my sincerest apology over the controversial e-mail I authored. I am not a racist. I did not intend any racial bigotry, harm or prejudice in my words. I sincerely apologize that these words have been received as such. I truly apologize to all.

Let's look at some of the more interesting points in this apology:

-Controversial e-mail: controversial--or hate speech?

-I am not a racist: No, probably not. I mean, who doesn't use the phrase "banana-eating jungle monkey" regularly?

-I did not intend any racial bigotry, harm or prejudice in my words: I've got no witty response to this besides: Yes! Yes you did!

-I sincerely apologize that these words have been received as such: So wait. Wait a minute. Are you apologizing? Or are you apologizing that we interpreted you using the phrase "banana-eating jungle monkey" as racist? Because there's a big difference.

-I truly apologize to all: Interesting, because this is the only time he comes close to apologizing to the one person he should have been apologizing to in the first place--you know--the guy he referred to as a "banana-eating jungle monkey?"

--

Now, I may not have gone to law school. And really, there's no legal standard of what constitutes an apology anyway. But in the court of public opinion there is, and while the millions who stand behind men like Barrett (whether publicly or not) may not agree, the ruling is clear:

This isn't an apology.

And we haven't even gotten to my favorite part yet, which is this:

Asked what led him to choose to use such language, he said, "I don't know. I couldn't tell you. I have no idea."

He added, in response to a question, that he had never used such language before.

Well let's help you out, Justin Barrett:

You're a racist!

But again, as much as I don't condone it, I don't see what I can do to change the fact that Mr. Barrett dislikes people because of the color of their skin. But what bothers me more is the Larry King's of the world allowing this man, and others like him, to use their platform as a place of reconciliation. As a safe haven. A time when he can bend the language in his favor, and in some ways, flat-out lie.

And all in the name of ratings.

All in the name of getting him on, getting him mic'd, and getting him to talk.

People like Larry King hope that Mr. Barrett comes on their program and makes a scene. They want us to talk. They want us to tweet. They want us to get angry and write letters, because attention is ratings, and ratings mean advertising dollars.

--

The ending of the George Carlin piece is as follows:

I'll bet you if we'd of still been calling it shell shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha.

The same is true now--if we were still calling people like Mr. Barrett a racist, and truly holding him up to the scorn he deserves, and not allowing him to own up to it on his terms, terms that allow him to apologize while not really apologizing, maybe spectacles like the "Beer Summit" would mean something.

But for now, the teaching moment remains nothing more than a photo op, and the pictures that are plastered all over the news, the ones of our President and our Vice President and a major Black scholar and his arresting officer, to some, they are still just shots of a couple of porch monkeys and a couple of crackers.

And I'm not okay with the idea that people like Justin Barrett are fine with that.


More soon.

JS

Stories Normally Told When The Time Is Right

With 61 games left to play and August in our sights, it's a good time to be a Yankees fan.

We've won 11 of 13 coming out of the All-Star break. Our offense is clicking. Our starting pitching has been able to bend and not break, and at times, even look something close to dominant. Our bullpen has quietly become spectacular--Alfredo Aceves and Phil Coke expect to get outs and usually do, Phil Hughes is now officially the 8th inning bridge, and Mo is Mo.

We've done all of this while navigating some pretty nasty bumps in the road--losing Chien-Ming Wang for the season is big. Brian Bruney was supposed to be an arm we could count on and hasn't been the same since coming off the DL. A-Rod is only hitting .250 (but is still hitting home runs, driving in runs, and most importantly, getting on base). Losing Brett Gardner to a broken thumb could prove to be costly, but we'll wait and see.

But when the dust settles on all of that, you look up and see that we're now 3.5 games up on the Red Sox and one game off the pace for best record in MLB. Take into account the fact that we've lost to the Sox 8 times already this season, and you start to put in perspective just how well this team has been playing.

All that being said, I thought it was important to highlight two small stories I saw on Twitter this morning--both by Yankees beat writer for the The Star-Ledger Marc Carig--because neither are the type of story you'd see written if times weren't as good for the Bombers.

Here's the first, which is just a small wrap up of the time that George "Big Stein" Steinbrenner spent with the team yesterday--his first in a while.

It's amazing to think how much George Steinbrenner has changed his public persona in the last ten years. And I'm okay with that too. Nobody (except for maybe the Little Caesar's guy) has done more for a sports franchise then George Steinbrenner. Payroll issues aside, I'm sure there are plenty of fans of small-market teams out there who wish he was their owner.

What gets me the most are the quotes by some of the Yankees regarding him and his presence. You don't hear those kinds of things about just anyone.

The second piece is about CC Sabathia and Carl Crawford coming together for an event to get the "play baseball" message out to minority youth.

Before yesterday's game, they spoke to about 200 inner-city youth, and the fact that both are highly talented Black athletes, in a game where Black influence is waning, is really important. So often we're told that the modern athlete only cares about one thing--his paycheck--and even worse is insinuated about the modern Black athlete. But when two of the game's biggest stars come together and take time out to try and make a difference in a group of children's lives, we don't give nearly enough kudos--myself included.

So here's to you, CC and Carl, and Marc Carig, on a job well done.

Go Yanks.


More soon.

JS

How I Helped Treat Spinal Cord Injuries By Drinking Powerade

Danielle gets great joy out of mocking my love of all things new and blue. Sports drinks, candy, shampoo, candles--it doesn't matter. No matter how little the chance the product has of being successful, all the designers need to do is slap some neon blue on the packaging, maybe even back it with a little black, and it's only a matter of time before I buy it. Here's a sample of a conversation we've had many times before:

Me: Danielle, I picked up a new body wash when I went to CVS today.
Danielle: Oh, nice. What is it?
Me: ManScrub. Locker Room scent. It smells so good.
Danielle: Oh! And what a surprise! It's--blue!
Me: Is it? Wow, I didn't even notice that.
Danielle: *laughing* Sure you didn't.

So it was with a certain amount of validation that I read this article today, which I found on CNN. Here's the lead:

The same blue food dye found in M&Ms and Gatorade could be used to reduce damage caused by spine injuries, offering a better chance of recovery, according to new research.

I knew there was something to blue!

The article is actually pretty interesting--it goes on to explain how this is research piggy-backing on older research:

In August 2004, scientists revealed how Adenosine triphosphate, which is known as ATP and described as the "energy currency of life," surges to the spinal cord soon after injury occurs.

Researchers found that the sudden influx of ATP killed off healthy cells, making the initial injury far worse. But when they injected oxidized ATP into the injury, it was found to block the effect of ATP, allowing the injured rats to recover and walk again.

Of course, this proved to be problematic for two reasons--first, sticking a needle into a spinal cord didn't seem like a viable option, and second, injecting oxidized ATP into a human's bloodstream is too dangerous anyway.

What that team also discovered at the time was that:

...the spinal cord was rich in a molecule called P2X7, which is also known as "the death receptor" for its ability to allow ATP to latch onto motor neurons and send the signals which eventually kill them.

Nedergaard knew that BBG could thwart the function of P2X7, and its similarity to a blue food dye approved by the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) in 1982 gave her the confidence to test it intravenously.

And that's where that little blue guy pictured up above comes in. After receiving BBG, the rats can walk--with a limp--again. And the article points out that while this doesn't mean we'll be able to totally cure all spinal injuries, it certainly bodes well for the future in terms of small improvements, which can mean the world to many patients. Nedergaard says:

"Even a moderate improvement in functional performance of the patient is a big, big event for these patients...They can control their bladder. If they can just take small steps instead of sitting in a wheelchair all the time, it's a tremendous benefit for these patients."

So for all the guys out there who find themselves gravitating towards that new flavor of gum or deodorant scent, don't feel bad.

You're not playing right into the marketers hands.

You're helping to support spinal cord injury research.


More soon.

JS

Arbitrary Heaps of Words

As a writer, as well as a lover of all things technological, it should come as no surprise that the Kindle fascinates me. I'll be the first to admit that I'm still on the fence about the future of the book as a physical medium, but terms like "e-ink" and "the last book," with their perfect blend of Jetsonian logic and 1984-esque doublespeak, never fail to get a response out of me.

I should point out that as of right now, I haven't had any real interest in actually purchasing a Kindle for myself. I'm far too content with my books and my bookshelves. All Jerry Seinfeld protests aside, I enjoy keeping and in some ways, collecting, books, even after I'm done with them.

But what I do love is reading Kindle reactions and reviews and obituaries and exultations, and I've read none better than Nicholson Baker's A New Page, published recently in The New Yorker.

--

Put bluntly (and used somewhat out of context here), this is what Baker had to say regarding the Kindle:

Here’s what you buy when you buy a Kindle book. You buy the right to display a grouping of words in front of your eyes for your private use with the aid of an electronic display device approved by Amazon.

From the tone of the article, I'd say Baker had some issues with the Kindle, so this summation doesn't surprise me. What he was hinting at at this point in the article was the refusal of Amazon to play nice with Sony's ebook capabilities (and all the other ebook entities out there), which comes at the expense of you and I, Joe Consumer. But in the big picture, how is his definition that different from a "normal" book? Look at this edited version:

Here’s what you buy when you buy a BOOK. You buy the right to display PAGES of words in front of your eyes for your private use.

After taking out the arty, personal parts of the definition of a book, isn't that what it is? In comparison, all that winds up being lopped off from the original Baker statement is:

...with the aid of an electronic display device approved by Amazon.

I'll use this snippet in a bigger point in a moment, but first, I still don't see the issue. If you're talking about access to literature, the debate is over before it begins. Baker points out how many books still aren't available on the Kindle

(There is no Amazon Kindle version of “The Jewel in the Crown.” There’s no Kindle of Jean Stafford, no Vladimir Nabokov, no “Flaubert’s Parrot,” no “Remains of the Day,” no “Perfume,” by Patrick Suskind, no Bharati Mukherjee, no Margaret Drabble, no Graham Greene except a radio script, no David Leavitt, no Bobbie Ann Mason’s “In Country,” no Pynchon, no Tim O’Brien, no “Swimming-Pool Library,” no Barbara Pym, no Saul Bellow, no Frederick Exley, no “World According to Garp,” no “Catch-22,” no “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” no “Portnoy’s Complaint,” no “Henry and Clara,” no Lorrie Moore, no “Edwin Mullhouse,” no “Clockwork Orange.”)

but that's just a result of lack of time passed, not function. If anything, Amazon helps the public gain access to books, simply because they can "stock"--in both the physical and ebook sense--far more items than your local bookstore, be it small or large.

I think that what winds up becoming the bigger question, especially when using Baker's definition as the gold standard, is this:

Is our issue with the Kindle itself, or what the Kindle stands for?

Considering that at one point in the piece, Baker spends almost 550 words--7 paragraphs--describing the unboxing, physical attributes, and color of the Kindle screen, I think the answer is, for the moment, yes. By the end of the piece, Baker points out how functional the (free) Amazon Kindle iPhone app can be, and how in some ways, it does things (lit screen) that the Kindle cannot do, and scratches an itch the (not free) Kindle cannot scratch, a line of reasoning I feel supports my assertion yet again.

--

I don't want to come off sounding as if I don't think Baker gave the Kindle a fair shake--quite the opposite, actually. I commend him just for trying it out in the first place, something I'm not even close to doing.

In the final paragraph of the piece, Baker describes coming to the end of his first "Kindle-delivered novel." He writes:

I began pressing the Next Page clicker more and more eagerly, so eagerly that my habit of page turning, learned from years of reading—which is to reach for the page corner a little early, to prepare for the movement—kicked in unconsciously. I clicked Next Page as I reached the beginning of the last line, and the page flashed to black and changed before I’d read it all. I was trying to hurry the Kindle. You mustn’t hurry the Kindle.

I think here, as I always seem to do during times of great personal reflection, of the infinite wisdom of one George Costanza, upon realizing what he had turned down after a date's suggestion that they go back up to her apartment for coffee:

Coffee doesn't mean coffee at 12 o'clock at night. Coffee means sex.

In this case, I wonder if Baker truly meant that we mustn't hurry the Kindle, when instead, he'd rather that the Kindle didn't hurry us.


More soon.

JS

I never got a chance to write about this yesterday, and of course today has throw several roadblocks up, preventing me from writing more on this subject, but I wanted to get you the link at the very least.

This starts off, as usual, on a Mac site--Cult of Mac--to be exact. This post to be even more exact.

I am always intrigued by Malcom Gladwell. I haven't read his books, but I'm familiar with some of his theories and the fact that he's a HUGE sports fan certainly helps.

What CoM was doing was "fact-checking" a review he wrote in The New Yorker (there's that damn magazine again!) of Free: The Future of a Radical Price by Chris Anderson.

Anderson's basic (I'm dumbing it down here in a major way) premise expands on the Stewart Brand idea that "information wants to be free," and that the Digital Age is making it easier and easier to sell us "ideas" rather than "stuff," and because of that, everyone (publishing houses, record companies, etc.) will need to get over the fact that the old model is dead and adjust to the new one. Quickly. Here's one example he gives of how the trend started:

The cost of the building blocks of all electronic activity—storage, processing, and bandwidth—has fallen so far that it is now approaching zero. In 1961, Anderson says, a single transistor was ten dollars. In 1963, it was five dollars. By 1968, it was one dollar. Today, Intel will sell you two billion transistors for eleven hundred dollars—meaning that the cost of a single transistor is now about .000055 cents.

Anderson also uses, as an example, a really interesting study by Dan Ariely:

Anderson’s second point is that when prices hit zero extraordinary things happen. Anderson describes an experiment conducted by the M.I.T. behavioral economist Dan Ariely, the author of “Predictably Irrational.” Ariely offered a group of subjects a choice between two kinds of chocolate—Hershey’s Kisses, for one cent, and Lindt truffles, for fifteen cents. Three-quarters of the subjects chose the truffles. Then he redid the experiment, reducing the price of both chocolates by one cent. The Kisses were now free. What happened? The order of preference was reversed. Sixty-nine per cent of the subjects chose the Kisses. The price difference between the two chocolates was exactly the same, but that magic word “free” has the power to create a consumer stampede.

This is where Gladwell comes in. He doesn't think "Free" is quite the revolution that Anderson thinks it will be--for the most part.

First, using YouTube, a company that is yet to make any money for Google, as an example, he points out that far too many people are willing to round .000055 cents down to "Free," which is reckless:

...an estimated seventy-five billion videos will be served up by YouTube this year. Although the magic of Free technology means that the cost of serving up each video is “close enough to free to round down,” “close enough to free” multiplied by seventy-five billion is still a very large number. A recent report by Credit Suisse estimates that YouTube’s bandwidth costs in 2009 will be three hundred and sixty million dollars. In the case of YouTube, the effects of technological Free and psychological Free work against each other.

Also, there's been plenty of distributors of "Ideas" willing to stick with the accepted business plan:

The Times gives away its content on its Web site. But the Wall Street Journal has found that more than a million subscribers are quite happy to pay for the privilege of reading online. Broadcast television—the original practitioner of Free—is struggling. But premium cable, with its stiff monthly charges for specialty content, is doing just fine.

What Gladwell seems to be more in favor of--and he uses Apple's App Store as an example--is that in the future, the "Stuff" (iPhone) will only serve a vehicle to get us to purchase the "Ideas" (Apps), and I can get behind this notion somewhat. The App Store doesn't require nearly the same type of investment from Apple that thinking up, developing, manufacturing, and marketing a product like the iPhone requires. And while it's hard to believe that Apple would ditch a product that has sold over 5 million units in a little over a month, as costs drop and bandwidth gets cheaper, it's impossible to foresee what the future will bring, or even scarier, what we will bring the future.

--

PS: I don't think there will be a Sunday Review this weekend, as I'll be gone most of the day for some work-related activities.

Enjoy it without me, or better yet, let me know what I'm missing.


More soon.

JS

You've Been Traded, or, How To Make An Impression

Just a quickie sports post (I've got something bigger coming later today) for you all to enjoy.

And if you're a Mets/Red Sox/Pirates/Cardinals fan, then prepare to want be the coked-up cousin in American Gangster--you know, the one that gets his head smashed in? Courtesy of Denzel and an unsuspecting piano lid?

--

First up, the Red Sox, who have officially lost their minds, and are now trading for mediocre players that they don't want or have a roster spot for, including Chris Duncan:



Looks like he would have fit in perfectly back when they were the Merry Band of Dipshits, or whatever Damon and Manny and Miller called it.

And here's what Bill Simmons thought of the equally stupid Adam LaRoche trade.

Moving right along, we have Julio Lugo, traded from the Red Sox to the Cardinals in the Duncan deal. It's been six years since he did something stupid (besides boot about 600 ground ball outs), but beating the shit out of your wife (including slamming her head into the hood of a car) is something that shouldn't be allowed to just fade into the background.

The best part?

St. Louis fans will still cheer for him.

And think that that makes them classy fans.

And last but not least, the New York Metropolitans. I feel bad posting this because I have so many people near and dear to my heart who root for Queen's Finest, but really, there's no hiding the truth:



I don't like to say 'never,' but I can almost guarantee that you will never catch a ball in that position.

The positive way to look at this, of course, is that it seems as if Jeff Francoeur will fit in perfectly on the Mets.

And remember, kids--that's $25,000 alpaca. You blot that shit.


More soon.

JS

Consider Me Hungry

I'm going through another rough patch in my writing life, which inevitably involves me bemoaning the fact that everything I've written is garbage, my publication rate is near zero (technically zero), and I'm not doing enough of anything to warrant--something.

The frustration mounts and I start writing ten different short stories at once. I sit and focus far too deeply on Whitney. I go on crazy list-making sprees of all the journals I haven't sent to and now, because it's August and many aren't reading, I get even more angry. I re-read all my old rejection letters in an attempt to find clues as to why it didn't happen for me. I especially re-read (over and over again) my e-mail rejection from The New Yorker:

We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider it.

The Editors

All I wind up doing is locking myself up to the point where I don't even want to speak, just because I hate the language so much, and I resign myself to the fact that everything up until now has been a sad attempt at something that just isn't in the cards for me.

--

And then I make some minor break-throughs (a good first sentence, an edited chapter) and the stress levels drops in stages.

And I read another book that rejuvenates me (right now, I'm reading a JR Angelella suggestion--Dirty Havana Trilogy by Pedro Juana Gutierrez) and eventually I'm back to believing I can make a go of all this.

So where am I going with this?

Well--

Shit, why not make this a confession?

Part of my publication frustration stems from the fact that, despite my love of technology, I'm biased against Online Literary Journals.

I hold back my "best" work for those antiquated, glossy, tangible publications (with suspect reader numbers, shoddy marketing, and laughable distribution power), all because of the name, the power, the prestige that these dinosaurs still have over me.

(And reading that John Cheever published in The New Yorker 115 times in his lifetime didn't help one fucking bit, I'll tell you that.)

As I print up my stories and my cover letters and mail out my little manilla envelopes, I ignore the date on the calendar.

I ignore just how vast of an audience the Internet can be.

I ignore how much easier and how much time is saved submitting to OLJ's.

I ignore that the time is now and holding back my "best" stuff only prevents my name from getting out there, and holds me back from writing newer, better stuff.

I ignore all of this as I spend my days listening to music on my iPod, doing fifteen different things on my iPhone, reading sports columnists (along with every other news source) on Twitter, and talking to my friends on Facebook.

I ignore the fact that I've embraced the 21st century in almost every aspect of my life except the one area that I love and want to succeed in the most.

--

I read an article in today's NY Times by Brad Stone that hit me in the face like a fucking brick. The lead was all I needed to see:

There was a time when most aspiring musicians had the same dream: to sign a deal with a major record label.

I remember this time too--well, except it was just a record label (a super-Indie, to be exact). Lord knows I was far too sophisticated for the majors, even then. But still, that was my dream. And now that dream has shifted into a different artistic realm, but the message remains eerily the same.

So from here on out, I'm done looking down.

Consider me converted. Consider me in the know.

There's a quote in the piece from Radiohead's manager, Brian Message, where he says:

“Artists are at the point where they realize going back to the old model doesn't make any sense. There is a hunger for a new way of doing things.”

Consider me hungry.


More soon.

JS

What ESPN Doesn't Want You To Know (For Some Reason)

So if you head over to ESPN.com right now, the website of the self-proclaimed Worldwide Leader in Sports, there's a story you won't find coverage of.

Sure, there's plenty about Hideki Matsui's walk-off home run last night, a blown call in the A's game, the Cotto/Pacquiao fight coming in November, and the latest rumors about where Roy Halladay will wind up.

But there's something missing.

Here's what I saw when I looked at Deadspin this morning.

Oh, no.

No.

Say it ain't so, Ben.

(That's me doing my Jim Nance impersonation, a man who, along with Bob Costas and the rest of the dinosaurs, speaks about Roethlisberger--a mediocre quarterback who just happens to be lucky--like they're golf buddies instead of, you know, strangers.)

Now, it looks like NBC Sports is who broke the story.

WATE in Pittsburgh saw fit to cover it, along with The Pittsburgh Tribune-Review.

Along with Yahoo Sports.

And Sports Illustrated, and by default, CNN.

But for some reason, the Worldwide Leader just didn't see fit to put it above the fold, so to speak.

Now, unless this turns out to be a hoax or erroneous, in which case I'll apologize, not covering the news of sexual assault charges being brought against the star QB of the defending Super Bowl champions isn't just a case of dropping the ball, it's damn-near criminal. And let's see what other athlete-friendly sportswriters like Peter King have to say about this. We'll see if the the media goes after Big Ben (oh, the places that nickname can go now) with the same vigor that they went after Kobe.

But for right now, shame on you, ESPN.


More soon.

JS

Degenerates Hell-Bent On Tripping Up God

Before I left for vacation last week, I had an interesting conversation with a couple of friends during lunch one day that revolved around this notion--if you could ask God (god) one question, what would you ask?

We can up with some vanilla questions (Is there really a heaven?), some I-forgot-you-are-God,-not-a-genie questions (What's tomorrow's winning lottery numbers?), and some tougher questions (What is the one thing I can do that will guarantee me not getting a spot on the eternity train?).

As we talked, we kept trying to out-think each other. In some ways, I look back now, and I think we were trying to out-think God. We wanted to get Him (I'm not going to debate God's gender here--I'm using the masculine for argument's sake. I still proudly wear my homemade God Is A Woman t-shirt, although it's been washed so many times it now reads od s oman) to answer a question He wouldn't want to answer, to reveal some truth that was otherwise unknown. My first response was that I'd ask who killed JFK, so that I would then be able to profit immediately off the information. I thought this was pretty good until one of us said, "Yeah, because everybody would believe you--the guy claiming to know who killed JFK, thanks to some timely information from God."

And we laughed, and kept pushing ourselves (and God) and eventually the conversation ended almost as quietly as it started.

I'm not sure why I'm thinking about that conversation today. Maybe its because vacation is just about over and work looms in the morning. Or maybe its because sometimes its important to voice our concerns regarding the unknown. Maybe because its what validates our existence as humans--continuing to push what we know together with what we think, so that we can then make sense out of the results.

Or maybe we're just a bunch of degenerates hell-bent on tripping up God.

Either works for me.

I'll tell you one thing you can believe in though--The Sunday Review.

*

-via The New York Times: This became front page news early this morning (maybe even late last night?) and it seems like it will be another one of those stories that people don't fully understand, but still manages to stick around for a while. Looks like Dick "Make Sure The Safety's On" Cheney ordered the C.I.A. to withhold information from Congress regarding a secret counterterrorism program. Nobody is yet to disclose what the program involved, but this surely will get some fists pounding and fingers pointing. I'll withhold judgement until I hear what was actually involved, but I can say for sure that I'm not usually a fan of those in charge hiding things from our Congressional Representatives, and by extension, us. And I'll use a bit of Republican/Bushian logic--if you're not doing something wrong, why would you have to hide it?

-via The New York Times: This is a really great piece by Michael Powell about the film critic Andrew Sarris, who is, as the title suggests, "a survivor of film criticism's heroic age." I love the lead sentence so much--it's so New York Times-y:

The aging duelist sits in his Upper East Side apartment and contemplates all that is past, the polemics and late-night arguments and denunciations in one magazine or another.

-via The New York Times: Found in the NY Region section, this is a beautiful collection of real-life stories that is being updated weekly. Here's the description from the Times itself:

New York is a city of characters. On the subway and in its streets, from the intensity of Midtown to the intimacy of neighborhood blocks, is a 305-square mile parade of people with something to say. This is a collection of a few of their passions and problems, relationships and routines, vocations and obsessions.

-via The New York Times: Just to show you I'm not a hard-hearted man, and it's not all dollars and cents (that was a Godfather reference, sorry) I'm including this piece by Jack Curry about the long and winding (and non-rotating and fluttering) career of Red Sox knuckleballer Tim Wakefield. Wakefield, who despite having a more than stellar career, was finally selected to his first All-Star game, at the ripe old age of 42.

-via The New York Times: This is from the Sunday Magazine and there's nothing too special about it--it's a piece by Susannah Jacob for the Lives column and its called Pancake Chronicles. Anybody who has worked a shitty job should read it. I doubt you'll regret it.

-via Gizmodo: I don't shop at Best Buy much, but when I do, I'm always left wondering if maybe they need to focus a bit more on employee training. And by if, I mean, for the love of Christ, please. Apparently the fine folks at the best gadget blog on the net agree. The Seven Types Of Employees You Meet At Best Buy is funny, sad, and most of all, true.

-via Gizmodo: Best Buy CMO Barry Judge responds with a blog post entitled: The One Type Of Gizmodo Blogger. Well played, Barry.

-via ESPN's Page 2: I'm sure you've heard about Dunkgate--Lebron James getting dunked on by Xavier's Jordan Crawford in a Nike basketball camp training game, and the subsequent confiscation of the video evidence by Nike officials. Well, here's Jemele Hill's take on the situation. I think people might be getting on Lebron a bit too much about this, but maybe I'm just biased. It is worth noting that Nike has pointed out that not allowing video to be shot at their summer basketball camps has been a rule for the past twenty years.

-via The Boy Genius Report: This is Part I of BGR's review of the first smartphone that isn't an iPhone to excite me in a while--the BlackBerry 9630, or Tour. If for some reason, the iPhone was outlawed tomorrow and I had to keep my AT&T contract, I'd go with the BlackBerry Bold. But if the iPhone was outlawed tomorrow, I'd assume AT&T would go belly-up in a month and then I wouldn't have to honor my contract, so I would then go back to Verizon and get the Tour.

-via The Boy Genius Report: This is Part II (newer) of BGR's review of the Tour.

-via The Unofficial Apple Weblog: iPhone Wi-Fi issues have been popping up all over the place since the release of OS 3.0 (I'm included in that group) and it was only a matter of time before Apple responded. I'm in the process of following their four steps to remedy the situation, but I'm also in the group that hopes this will be addressed in the coming OS 3.1 update.

-via The New York Daily News: I'm not a Bill Madden fan by any stretch of the imagination, but his piece today on why injuries should not be used as an excuse for the sad state the Mets currently find themselves in is a doozy. The only positive thus far in the Mets season is the fact that everyone else in their division--defending World Series champs included--sucks almost as much as they do, meaning they still have a shot to lose in the ALDS.

-via Lifehacker: Tired of giving your money to blood-sucking corporate entities in exchange for a shitty cup of coffee? No, I'm not either, at least not completely, but here's ten tips that will help you to find some kind of independence. DIY Life--it's the new reality TV.

-via Michael Ruhlman: One thing I am tired of is food that requires a Chemistry degree in order to read the ingredients. The best part of Ruhlman's Cherry Pie recipe? The six-item ingredient list: flour, butter, water, cherries, sugar, and corn starch. Love it.

And speaking of Ruhlman, he always has awesome photography highlighted on his blog, usually done by his wife, Donna. Here's a shot of his desk that I got a chuckle out of:



Important note--Donna didn't take that one. Ruhlman took it himself. With his iPhone.

*

In the biggest news of all, I picked up a sweet new pair of kicks, and for a song. Here's the pics:





Those are Nike AJF 3's in flint gray/varsity maize/silver. It's a crazy Jordan/Air Force 1 fusion that were rolled out about a year ago. Craziest part? They retail for $115 on pickyourshoes.com.

How much did I pay?

$60.

Got to love those deals.

*

That's all for now. My vacation may be just about finished, but I've still got a Sunday to enjoy. Hope you do the same as well.


More soon.

JS

A Prescribed Fire

So, I'm on vacation this week, technically since this past Thursday, which in some way is the explanation behind my sporadic posting. It's been encouraging to get a couple of notes from readers (and friends), expressing interest in my take on certain situations and even in my Sunday Review (sorry, Alicia). What's worse is that I've had a couple of things lined up to pontificate on, and still didn't post, and so maybe here's my chance to rectify things.

I've never wanted to make this blog about myself. I'd much rather have it go through my experiences, rather than be defined by them. But I've been thinking a lot lately, for a variety of reasons, and I've been trying to slow it down, settle back, enjoy my time, and live life to the fullest, all while racing a race that had no clear start, has no clear finish, and for the moment, I can't see anyone racing beside me, and it's terrifying, because I've no idea if that means I'm too far behind, or that much in the lead.

I'm currently working my way through Blake Bailey's biography of John Cheever, and it's been quite the experience. All those thinking about leading a life of letters should be forced to swallow this book straight, no chaser at some point. I'm terrified and excited for my future, and I've got that split of nausea and adrenaline going, and I'm questioning just about every decision I've made, writing-wise, thus far.

Sometimes, when a forest catches fire, rather than work to extinguish the flames as quickly as possible, the fire is allowed to burn in a controlled state. Sometimes, these fires are even planned--they are referred to as "prescribed fires." The process of burning everything down to the roots is healthy for the ecosystem. Changes occur, all with its own value.

So consider me currently undergoing a prescribed fire, teeter-tottering on the edge of favorable wind patterns.

And don't be too shocked to find this in a story at some point.

Nothing is sacred.

*

So the reason this sob-fest is adorned with a poster of Public Enemies is because Danielle and I saw it yesterday. On a numbered scale, I'd give it a 7. On a letter scale, I'd give it a B-. On a See It/Don't See It/Rent It/Netflix It scale, I'd give it a Rent It.

The acting is first-class, the dialogue is relatively cringe-free (and I'm being cynical here), and the action is well done--well shot and well executed. The shoot-outs in Public Enemies were presented in a way I'd never seen before. That being said, I had two major issues:

-First, the movie was shot with digital cameras. And while I understand that Michael Mann has done this before, I could not get past the "something's different/it's super clear!/but it seems wrong" feeling for most of the film. Public Enemies should have been sepia-toned (think Saving Private Ryan's green feel or Mystic River's blue feel). It should have been gritty (there are lots of shots of flat, dusty roads and fields, and men wearing three piece suits in the middle of summer, yet I never felt dirty or sweaty). Instead, it felt like a 48 Hours crime reenactment--every motion and glance was crystalline. And the fact that mostly hand-held cameras were used only highlighted the strange digital element, as nothing ever seemed to be out of focus (intentional or not).

-Second, and even bigger than the digital cameras, is the fact that Public Enemies is--flat--for lack of a better word. There are no underlying themes, goals, or victories. What you see is what you get. And if that sounds appealing to you, here's the kicker--this is exactly why Public Enemies will fall through the cracks.

I recognize that not everybody goes to the movies looking for "a bigger meaning." Fine. Trouble is, Public Enemies is far too slow for a shoot 'em up/chase movie, and doesn't dig deep enough to be something more. We get a bunch of big names--John Dillinger, Melvin Purvis, Baby-Face Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, Edgar J. Hoover, Frank Nitti--but nothing more.

No rationales, no explanations.

And we know they exist. There's a reason Dillinger became a folk hero. There's a reason this period was punctuated by celebrity thieves. There's a reason the FBI entered the modern era then, and there were reasons behind the actions of those involved.

By doing some reading, I found out those reasons.

Just don't go see Public Enemies expecting to find them.

*

This has been an interesting summer, movie-wise, already:

-First, we had Lou Lumenick's review-embargo breaking (negative) review of Public Enemies, which then became a retraction, which then became a story. I wonder if such a big deal would have been made had it been a positive review?

-Then (or maybe before) came Transformers: The Revenge of the Fallen. If you smelled something funny the past few weeks, it was most likely the shit storm that was rained down upon T:RotF by critics, including this scathing piece by Roger Ebert, which begins:

"Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" is a horrible experience of unbearable length, briefly punctuated by three or four amusing moments.

-Then (or maybe before all of this. God, my sequencing is off today), is the turmoil that the G.I. Joe movie has been going through. The director was fired, or maybe just PNG'd from the set, or maybe had creative control stripped, or whatever. Regardless, none of the three can be all that good. Here's one of the many articles available chronicling the sad tale.

-Last, but certainly not least, came the news that the nominee pool for the Best Picture Oscar would be increased from five to ten. Surely this was done for monetary reasons (Now out on Blu-ray and DVD, the Academy-Award nominee...), but I'm yet to decide how I feel about this. Only time will tell.

*

That's all for now. I've got a vacation to enjoy. Be good, everyone.

More soon.

JS

Rain Changes Everything

What Could Be Better?

I'm pretty sure my favorite holiday is the 4th of July. And not because I'm some flag-wavin', G.I. Joe lovin', American flag-still-taped-to-the-antenna-of-my-car-since-2001-and-now-it's-rotting-and-falling-apart kind of guy.

No, it's much simpler than that: Booze and blowin' shit up.

Nothing gets me hotter than alcohol and explosives. And having an excuse to combine the two, all while celebrating juicy, delicious freedom?

Hell, what could be better?

So in honor of the big day, he's a couple of treats, both courtesy of Gizmodo and Gizmodo:

-This is probably the coolest board game ever:



Enigma Battleship Drinking Game?

Yes, please.

-And because there's nothing better than a smarmy drunk, watch this video so that while shit is blowing up all around you on Saturday, you can be THAT guy:



*

And just on the off-chance that I wasn't clear enough, I wholeheartedly support the mixing of things that go "boom" and liquor. Just don't hold me responsible for any missing digits/relatives/relationships, alright? Cool.


More soon.

JS

Just Another Reason To Move To Maine

See that picture?

That's Maine. Portland, I think. Looks nice, right? Looks like a good reason to live in Maine, right?

Wrong.

Here's the reason why you should live in Maine.

via TUAW.


More soon.

JS