aloha!

The last day in Hawaii, checkout time at the hotel was noon. Our flight wasn't until ten at night, so we reserved a car and driver; that way, we could tour the island, then slowly work our way to the airport.

The man who answered the phone at the limo company asked what we wanted to see on our tour. When I said I'd leave it largely to the discretion of the driver, I knew he would send his best man.

Michael was an experienced driver with a side business in aromatherapy. He started us off with one kind of scent, before slyly announcing he'd switched to a pine blend halfway through. He has fourteen children and seemed particularly proud of one who was turning out well. He was obsessed with real estate, describing many parts of Hawaii as the "Beverly Hills of..." (it's the Beverly Hills of Waikiki, it's the Beverly Hills of Kailua).

He drove us to various lookout points, where he would get out of the car and, in his suit, personally escort us to the romantic bluff. We'd stand there a while, until he decided we were sufficiently awed, at which point we'd head together back to the car. I whispered to Bernie to get a shot of me and Michael looking out at the scene together. The next stop, as he was extending his arm to highlight the view for us, I subtly put my arm around him. But Bernie hadn't brought her camera. After that, she brought the camera, but he mysteriously lingered behind (this is when he changed the scent to pine, I strongly suspect).

Michael name dropped with abandon, and I can only hope to one day be added to his arsenal. He has driven (or "taken care of" in his parlance) Adam Sandler, Cameron Diaz, John Travolta, Los Angeles Lakers, and a real-life Hawaiian princess. He confided proudly that he takes care of the cast of Lost. "Then you need to take a little more care of them, they keep getting arrested for drunk driving, they shouldn't be driving," Bernie said immediately, the first time she'd spoken in quite a while.

Michael went into a little bit of a shell after that. And we drove in blissful silence, watching the ocean, smelling the pine.

family vacations

On the beach in Honolulu, there is a trend this year of fathers, in a last-ditch losing effort, trying to keep a tight lid on their teen-age daughters' burgeoning sexuality. These girls, age seventeen to twenty-one, are looking for trouble, Dirty-Dancing style. Their fathers, like Jerry Orbach, are good men, out of their depth. In some cases, it is the last vacation they will ever take as a family.

There are usually younger children, sure, still buying what dad is selling, but to ease his frustration, he turns to the oldest son. And that's when the wrestling begins.

I can not tell you how many fathers and sons I've watched go at it on the sand in the past three days alone. Dad inevitably wins and order is restored in the universe.

And Baby sneaks off to fuck Patrick Swayze.

Sam Choy's

Last night, we went to the famous Hawaiian restaurant. There was an insane seating system featuring waiting in a lounge for a half hour for no apparent reason, with empty tables everywhere, while anyone who happened to call on the phone to make a reservation for two weeks from Sunday was given instant priority (aloha!).

We sat down to dinner, and I ordered a salad. The waiter asked me which dressing I wanted. There were two choices--creamy oriental or spicy vinaigrette. I asked him to tell me the ingredients of the creamy--

Wait a minute. The waiter was Asian, and I stopped myself to quickly confirm the word really was there in the menu, before finishing the sentence--oriental. Yes, that's what I was wondering. What's in the creamy oriental salad dressing?

Mayonnaise, he started.

Stop right there (I have a gag reflex), that's all I needed to know. I'll have the spicy vinaigrette, I said, very glad I'd asked.

Very good, the waiter replied, one salad with the spicy oriental dressing.

Wait. What's that? No oriental (that could mean mayo). Spicy vinaigrette. No oriental!

I didn't shout that. I waited patiently to see which dressing arrived. It was the correct one. Salad with spicy oriental vinaigrette, the waiter announced proudly, seemingly having cemented the decision to add the offending word to every salad dressing.

Why would you want to go there?

I've never spent much time in Honolulu, generally I'm off a plane and on another one to other points west, typically Guam. But we had a few days to kill so here we are in Waikiki. Sadly, though not surprisingly, over the past decade or so, it has turned into every other mall in America. Every single chain is represented here. I have no idea why Americans travel places to shop, when they have these same places at home (someone please explain this to me). The Cheesecake Factory in Waikiki, we all know by now, has the same menu as it does in Boca Raton.

It's sad that one has to make a concerted effort to find an authentic experience while traveling--the taupe malls dotting the landscape with Old Navys and Banana Republics and Buca de Pepos are the new tracks of Magellan. But John thought Chinatown and downtown Honolulu might be a win.

The taxi hailer at the hotel looked at us oddly at our destination request and added, "Make sure you aren't there after dark!" and we were on our way. First of all, Chinatown, which abuts downtown, is full of old buildings worthy of a visit. Then we found an open air market and, upon entering, it was like being in Asia again. I walked by the piles of fresh fish and rambutan(!) bunches of bok choy, lychees and of course unidentifiable dried items. We found a food court in it with most Asian cuisines represented. John got a Korean "Ome-rice" and I almost got Nasi-goreng but then settled for some Pho but then almost bought something from every stall(I felt like I was in Singapore, and I respect that in a food court.).

Red Lobster, Outback Steak House, and the ten thousand other corporate food chains especially Bubba Gump Shrimp Factory can go fall in the ocean now for all I care.

"The Kept Man" drops in twelve hours

I'm sitting on the balcony at our hotel in Honolulu. If I position myself just right, I can get the internet. If I put down the lap top to open the door to the room, it will blow away. It was not easy getting internet service here (aloha!), causing one of my "famous meltdowns." Meanwhile Isa is melting down on the mainland, missing her mother. It is our second wedding anniversary.

Against this bittersweet backdrop, a new novel from Jami Attenberg. When Jami had a series of interconnected stories published last April, I thought to myself, sure, I could write a book of interconnected stories. I mean I've dreamed interconnected stories, man. And if they weren't interconnected I could always tie them together later. The point is it was an achievable goal...if I ever got rid of my family and really hunkered down. But now Jami's just messing with me. Before I've even had time to consider the enormous ramifications of my choices, she's shat out her second book of the year.

"The Kept Man" is getting great reviews. It hits bookstores tomorrow. Congratulations, Jami.

Mister Magoo's Christmas Carol

This is my favorite version of the Dickens classic, songs by Jule Styne and Bob Merrill, featuring the voice of Jim Backus. There's supposed to be a framing device with Mr. Magoo getting ready for the show--but it was sometimes cut to make room for more commercials. Too bad, if that's the case. This bit of ironic distance could help arm the kids in the crowd for the horrors to come.

I also like the George C. Scott version--originally made as a movie for television. He's especially good when he's happy at the end. And while I know I'm supposed to love Alastair Sim in the role, I'm not crazy about him before the big transformation, until after he is redeemed (which is never any fun at all), at which point I become nostalgic for him earlier in the film. I don't like him happy and I don't like him sad.

What's your favorite Christmas Carol?

The Star Strikes Again

Another St. Helena Star article from the archives, Chamber Office News. "March Stats beat 2003 and 2000" the headline reads. OK, but then here is the only mention of statistics in the article:



Well, that seemed a little lacking in information, so I looked at the graph which accompanied the article.



Hmm. The graph-making function in Word hasn't helped everyone. The other day Isa had to make a graph and forgot to add a title, and her teacher took off five points. At the time, I thought it was a bit harsh, but now I see the point. I'm not any closer to knowing what the 'Glory Hallelujah' was all about in the first place.

Bee Season

Well, since we're unashamedly chatting up our math team legacies, I take this opportunity to note that in a few weeks I will be defending my title as the Albany Adult Spelling Bee Champion.

Last year's winning word was godet, in round 52.

The first ten minutes

It's good to know that the first ten minutes of Juno will be trying. I don't go to the movies that often, and the Spectrum usually has as many as four or five films of potential interest. When I go, I take note of the starting times, which tend to be staggered by ten minutes. If the film I've paid for doesn't grab me within ten minutes, I switch theaters. (Micaela does this too, though less often.)

I've switched theaters to avoid treatments of mid-life crises, self-pitying protagonists, scenes of senseless brutality, inadequate projection-bulb brightness, and films that are not films but digital video. I've probably missed some decent films, but I've never regretted switching.

Keno in Reno

I don't care for gambling that much, but when I do gamble I'm well aware of the odds of the games, and I certainly don't have any "lucky feelings" come over me when I'm trying to roll a hard six. Last month, we were in Reno sitting at a cafe, and Isa wanted to pick Keno numbers and I said yes, all the while explaining to her that Keno has some really dismal odds of winning. After each round of numbers was chosen, the Keno lady would come around the table, and I'd hand her a fresh sheet of numbers that Isa had chosen. She sighed and said, "You need to keep the same numbers! You will never win doing it this way!"
I smiled and didn't say anything and she left with our new numbers.
I looked over at Isa and asked,"Do you think if an 11 was chosen this time around, it has any bearing on whether or not an 11 is chosen the next game?"
"No," she replied.
"Do you think if we keep using the same numbers it increases our chances of winning?"
"I don't think it makes a difference," she said.
"Nice," I said, and then we promptly lost again. It's important to me that everyone knows the Keno lady is wrong.

One in a million!

A theme is emerging of people being surprised by their own circumstances. Grandsons of vinters shocked to find themselves making wine, Rumer Willis trying her hand at acting (of all things!), generations of writers struggling against the family legacy and then finding themselves writing in spite of themselves.

But nothing is worse than a couple with the need to believe that how they met was truly remarkable.

I was at a party a few years ago with a man and woman who'd just gotten engaged after a whirlwind courtship. It was one in a million they kept telling me, as they recounted, starry-eyed, in painstaking detail, how their improbable union came to be.

Let me cut to the chase. They met on J-Date, and they had a lot in common. Of course they had a lot in common--they filled out forms about their interests. And it makes sense things progressed quickly--the fact they were both internet dating meant they were actively looking. So what made it one in a million, except for the fact that it happened to them?

More Juno

John's Juno review reminded me of a bar mitzvah we attended last summer. His parents spared no expense in throwing him a Greek Mythology-themed party (by his request, as it was his favorite topic). Boys in togas were running around, spreads of food abounded, and the place was elaborately decorated. Next to some foam doric columns, I noticed a painting of the colosseum. Costumed entertainers ran around-- dressed as Roman centurions, complete with feathered helmets and shields with Roman numerals painted on them.
I saw the boy of honor surveying his party, with a dainty woven vine in his short curly hair, his white chiton neatly tied, his papyrus in hand, his feet bare. He shook his head as he saw a soldier swing a plastic sword at a guest. I think he was the only one who noticed the large historical error in his party.

"Juno"

Bernie and I watched it last night, and I almost didn't make it through the first ten minutes. It is wildly overwritten, Ellen Page delivering the smug one liners like every female comic on the Los Angeles alternative scene. It is also a pretty good movie.

The plot has some nice twists, but there's a parallel structure at play as well, unfolding outside of the action. It's in the way the movie releases information: about the past, about basic character traits or about the characters' relationships with each other--whole scenes are devoted to finding out something new. Some of these scenes don't advance the plot at all, they're just there to advance our understanding as an audience. I like this kind of story telling very much, almost as much as I hated the dialogue at the start. Credit (and blame) go to first-time screenwriter/"unlikely stripper" Diablo Cody.

Ellen Page won me over as Juno.* J.K. Simmons and Allison Janney are terrific as her father and step-mother. Michael Cera, as her boyfriend, is wonderful in a gutsy, girlish turn. Jennifer Garner is sweet as the adoptive mother. Jason Bateman plays it safe as the adoptive father (and at the same time he doesn't take risks as a performer, he gives away his character's shadier side too early and too easily).

*Note to screenwriter/"unlikely stripper" Diablo Cody: the Roman goddess Juno is the wife of the Roman god Jupiter (or Jove), not the Greek god Zeus. The Greek goddess Hera is the wife of Zeus. Or if Diablo was too busy inserting three extra words into every one-liner, the movie has ten producers, including John Malkovich. Maybe one of them could have cracked open Edith Hamilton.

Tony: A Man of Property

Excerpts from a St. Helena Star article from 2004. This is Tony.



Tony may not be able to control his hand or his checkbook, but it seems he has a good wife who is trying to keep that pesky addiction under control.


But then, the problem becomes clear: land is just flying at them!



Then the article gets into how they've never been to France (too busy buying land!) and a few parcels that they don't own around what they do own, and how this little piece of the pie irks him and he concludes:



Maybe someone will die and the phone will ring. Maybe someone will throw the land at him so he can finally close that darn checkbook and get down to the business of living.

Simplify This

    (a+x)(b-x)(c+x)(d-x) ... (z-x)

"Simplify" means that the solution can be written using fewer characters than the problem itself uses.

Untitled

I think I'm a reasonably clever guy. And yet the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest is in its 126th week and not a single caption has ever come to mind.

Perino wins what?

Undeniably sexy White House spokesperson Dana Perino won an odd little battle with the New York Times over a sub-heading to a story about the decision to destroy the CIA torture tapes. She got the paper to retract the claim that the "White House Role Was Wider Than It Said." The body of the piece remains in tact, and it outlines the involvement of four lawyers at a high level, not just one (sad, sweet Harriet Miers), as was previously leaked.

The retraction relies on a narrow (I would say contorted) definition of "White House," making Perino the only legitimate mouthpiece. It denies the obvious fact that the leaker who was selling the original story that only Miers was involved was also in the White House. The New York Times knows who the leaker was. They were leaked to. They could easily out the source, who clearly lied to them and has lost the right to confidentiality. But they chose to change the sub-heading rather than out a lying source. You'd think they would have learned their lesson from Scooter Libby.

And think about what the retraction makes clear. The Times was wrong to say the White House minimized its role in the scandal. The White House never claimed its involvement in the destruction of the torture tapes wasn't wide.

Me! Of All People! Part Two

Almost exactly three years ago, we were leaving the Napa Valley, with its cheeses and wines and olive oil stores (any specialty store with a single type of item for sale upset John greatly).
Found in a notebook from those days:
May 2004
An article from the St. Helena Star mentioned a vintner who said it was 'more likely that he become an astronaut than a winemaker.'
"Improbable!" he exclaimed.
But when he found the Old Turnbull 'ghost vineyard' on the 65 acres he inherited from his father (a winemaker) he thought, 'hey, I'm onto something here!'

another narrow admission

Another player who appears in the Mitchell report tries to get out ahead of the story. From Brian Roberts of the Orioles, in a statement to the Baltimore Sun:

"In 2003, when I took one shot of steroids, I immediately realized that this was not what I stood for or anything that I wanted to continue doing. I never used steroids, human growth hormone or any other performance-enhancing drugs prior to or since that single incident . . . I am very sorry and I deeply regret ever making that terrible decision. My only hope and prayer is that the Orioles, my family, friends and fans that have supported me so faithfully will forgive me."

Like Andy Pettitte, the drugs were the wake-up call he needed to remind him that he didn't need drugs, except as a wake up call.

mortgage meltdown

There's been a lot of talk about helping out homeowners. Alan Greenspan was the latest to suggest some sort of bailout.

What is it about homeowners that elicits such sentiment? Where were these concerned parties when the bankruptcy bill was pushed through? Is credit card debt inherently less noble than mortgage debt?

Or if you like your victims even more blameless, consider the plight of recent college graduates. Many are entering the workplace with student loans in excess of $100,000. It limits their career choices and blocks public service and entrepreneurial innovation. Are we really willing to sacrifice these kids so people with terrible taste can stay in houses they couldn't afford in the first place?

common courtesy

Senator Arlen Specter doesn't like being blown off. From a letter to Dick Cheney, accusing him of going behind Specter's back to other Republican members of the Judiciary Committee:

"I was surprised, to say the least, that you sought to influence, really determine, the action of the Committee without calling me first, or at least calling me at some point. This was especially perplexing since we both attended the Republican Senators caucus lunch yesterday and I walked directly in front of you on at least two occasions enroute from the buffet to my table."

He is keen to social dynamics, sensitive to slights, especially when they involve willfully not discussing Constitutional issues in casual settings. I am reminded of the flap with Ted Kennedy during the Alito confirmation. Kennedy threatened to hold up the hearings if a subpoena wasn't issued. Specter was characteristically quizzical:

"I am just a little puzzled at the issue being raised in this manner," Mr. Specter said. "Senator Kennedy and I frequent the gym at the same time," he continued, "He never mentioned it to me."

So if you see Arlen Specter outside of regular office hours--plate piled high with roast beef, or shirt dripping with sweat from a steps class--stop and say hello. He's always open for business.

factor this

x^4 - 11x^2 + 1

First prize is an Amazon gift certificate for one hundred dollars, decreasing in value by one dollar for each minute the problem remains unsolved. If it takes more than one hour forty minutes, you owe me money.

A Great Bargain

Dear Land Owner,
I see you are selling some land near Chatsworth! With a view! I do feel like I should notify any potential buyers lest they remain unawares: the Santa Susana Field Lab was a rocket and nuclear test facility with a long and colorful history of meltdowns, partial meltdowns, radioactive fires, fission fires, and at least four nuclear reactor accidents. Because these were all 'experiments', there were no containment structures such as the ones found in commercial structures. The largest meltdown happened in 1959, and it is estimated that about 400 times the amount of radiation as Three Mile Island was released into the air. 22 out of 27 men who worked in the 'burn pit'- whatever that may be- all dead of cancer. Stories abound of illegal burning of toxic waste, cancer deaths in the area are high, local water supplies are filled with all sorts of toxins. How this isn't a superfund site is a great mystery to me. One story last year (my personal favorite) was about workers shooting barrels filled with radioactive waste in the nineties to dispose of them. But-- there is good news! Boeing may be able to shirk its responsibility to clean up this area and may donate 2,400 acres to parkland! So the potential buyer will have a view of uninterrupted parkland.
But I see you haven't left a number. Maybe you're not so hopeful either.

Me! Of all people!

When Bernie and I lived in Napa, we were devoted readers of the St. Helena Star. They had a seemingly endless supply of stories about people who grew up on vineyards, pursued other avenues, and then, surprisingly, at mid-life, found themselves with vineyards of their own, often inherited from their families. The emphasis in these stories was always on the unlikely chain of events that led to this improbable picture. Who would have thought it? Me! Running a vineyard! All my life I tried to get away from vineyards...

Hollywood is full of such stories. Her parents discouraged her, but Rumer Willis is going to try her hand at acting (and she's really good!). Jason ReitmanKasdanCoppola is a gifted director in his own right (he even raised his own money). It's why I can't take it seriously when Sherwood Schwartz walks the picket line with his son (Sheldon?)--who, in a stunning turn of events, found himself running the Brady Bunch at the age of tweny-three--and his grandson, a young writer who also somehow managed to find his way into the family business.

But I can't completely claim the high ground, because my mother was a writer and my grandfather was a writer. I'd love to be able to emphasize the circuitous path I took to get here, but really I'm just another son of a vintner running away from grapes. Who would have thought it? Me! Writing scripts!

And yet the fact is, it wasn't writing that got me through school, it was math. And I have a fantastic factoring problem I want to post. But I'd need to learn how to type exponents on my keyboard, and realistically that's not going to happen.

"The Bronx is Burning"

ESPN is running a marathon of its miniseries about the 1977 New York Yankees. It is very watchable. John Turturro is fantastic, losing himself in the role of Billy Martin, the wily, self-destructive manager with a chip on his shoulder. Oliver Platt is less irritating than usual as owner George Steinbrenner, depressingly younger in 1977 than I am today.

But the action grinds to a halt whenever they cut to the "Son of Sam" case, which is a lot more often than you would think. What should be background flavor starts to dominate the show. The case was gripping the city! The Yankees and the case! How many movies have fallen back on this cheap device? It feels to me like there have been a couple.

"Mad Men"

Is anyone a fan? I know some people who are going crazy over the show, about the heady world of advertising in the early sixties. I can see it has merits, but I'd like it better if every scene didn't feature a character acting sexist or being antisemitic or blowing smoke in somebody's face.

Recreational Mathematics

www.flatlandthemovie.com

This looks like it would be pretty good. For some reason, it's not available through Netflix.

accountability

A lot of excitement today about Andy Pettitte "coming clean" and admitting to the use of human growth hormone. From the Sunday New York Post:

"In 2002 I was injured,'' the statement said. "I had heard that human growth hormone could promote faster healing for my elbow. I felt an obligation to get back to my team as soon as possible. For this reason, and only this reason, for two days I tried human growth hormone.

"Though it was not against baseball rules, I was not comfortable with what I was doing, so I stopped. This is it - two days out of my life; two days out of my entire career, when I was injured and on the disabled list. If what I did was an error in judgment on my part, I apologize. I accept responsibility for those two days."

So for 48 hours, his desire to be a good teammate overrode his personal comfort level. If that was wrong, he's sorry. What more do you people want?

The Locker Puzzle

This is my favorite puzzle.

A hallway in a school has 100 lockers. A student runs down the hall and opens every locker. A second student runs down the hall and closes every other locker, starting at the second. A third student runs down the hall and "flips" every third locker, starting at the third - if the locker is open, he closes it; if it's closed, he opens it.

A total of 100 students run down the hall, opening and closing lockers. In general, the n-th student flips every n-th locker.

After all 100 students run through the hall, which lockers are open?

Absentmindedness

I'm pretty absentminded, but for the most part I've learned how to handle it. It helps to have many of the same necessary objects. I'm always putting down my reading glasses and then can't find them, so I have ten or so pairs scattered around my apartment and office.

Today I hit the pinnacle of absentmindedness though. I couldn't find my glasses, so I went to the bedstand, found a pair, and tried to put them on, only then it turned out I had a pair on already.

Kommune Kutz for Kidz

Isa gets her hair cut at this commune down the street. Yesterday we went and an older woman with long black braids was there with Stardust, Isa's 'hair artist.' Stardust told Isa that the woman was a Chumash medicine woman. Isa excitedly told her that they had been studying the tribe in Social Studies class at school. The week before, I accompanied the class on a hike in the mountains to an old Chumash site. The teacher showed us a mortar hewn into a boulder used to grind the acorns. The ground was littered with acorns. Isa's hand shot up.
"Did they make acorn bread?"
"Well," the teacher answered, "We're not really sure exactly what they did with the acorns. There's no record really of how they lived here."
The aura of mystery about the Chumash that the teacher projected certainly didn't help Isa get the facts she needed. I have no idea why actual Chumash people were not included in her studies, but here was a tribal member, so Isa asked her, "Do you make acorn bread?"
"Absolutely," she said with a chuckle.
"The secret is in the leaching. Actually my husband does most of that."
"Does he use a mortar and pestle?"
The woman laughed. "That's too much work! He uses a blender now. That's the great thing about a blender, anyone can make acorn recipes now, even you can do it."
She promised Isa she'd give her some acorn cakes the next time her husband made them.
I bet the teacher wouldn't like the story about the blender; he prefers his Chumash naked and running in the canyons, pestles in hand.

The Golden Compass

Here is a random news story about The Golden Compass, echoing what's been in the paper here. There is a consistent pattern whereby none of the protesters seem to know exactly what they are protesting:

HOLLY TWP. - A retired grandmother is leading a group that plans to protest the nation's No. 1 movie - "The Golden Compass" - in Fenton this weekend.

Bev Suski, 56, of Holly Township, calls the film anti-Christian and wants the theater complex, Fenton Cinemas, to pull the movie.

She's asking anyone who agrees with her to join the group outside the theater on the sidewalk during the matinee showing Saturday. They're hoping for 100 people.

"Even though we're late, we need to do something," said Suski, who is retired from the antique business and attends St. Rita Catholic Church in Holly. "As Christians, we need to stand up to be heard."

Having just seen the film, I understand the protestors' vagueness. Yes, you could decide that the Magisterium is an allegory for the 16th century Catholic Church (and who wants to defend the 16th century Catholic Church, anyway?). It could also stand for Hitler, Stalin, Lex Luthor or Dr. No. Either way, not recommended.

Drop-kick me, Jesus

The following text has been tacked to my office bulletin board for a very, very long time, right next to the microwave:

The road to success is not straight. There is a curve called Failure, a loop called Confusion, speed bumps called Friends, red lights called Enemies, caution lights called Family. You will have flats called Jobs. But, if you have a spare called Determination, an engine called Perseverance, insurance called Faith, a driver called Jesus, you will make it to a place called Success.

If you find your family, friends, and career are impediments to success (rather than representing success), then it seems like a monastery is the only real option.

reality

One of the reasons management walked out of the talks with the Guild is that we wouldn't take reality off of the table. The WGA wants to represent reality writers. And reality writers need us. They're working sixteen hour days on a flat rate with no overtime! Without a union, they have no protection from these sorts of unfair labor practices.

This is the worst talking point I've heard since Marc Cherry wrote Desperate Housewives while he was living off of residual checks.

Writers Guild members don't receive overtime, and the WGA has no interest in how many hours a writing staff works. I once worked forty consecutive days on Arrested Development without a break. And I was easily the laziest person on that show.

What the Guild does is immunize the producers against any charges of labor law violations--if they make a deal with the WGA. The writers still work for a flat rate with no overtime, but the rate is higher, and there are better benefits. And the producers are protected.

We need reality writers so we can do a better job of shutting down production during a strike. And I have no problem with using labor law violations to scare the producers into settling with us. Life would definitely be better for reality writers under the WGA. Just not because of improved working conditions.

Of course, if reality is being used as a bargaining chip we can later remove from the table at a strategic point in the negotiations, as many suspect, then this is all moot.

"of course" and "obviously"

They are the most overused words by conservatives:

"Of course we want to get out of Iraq."

"Obviously no one cares more about the suffering in New Orleans than I do."

"Obviously no one wants war."

"Of course we want to find out how the information was leaked."

Once you've tuned in to those words, you can't listen to a Dick Cheney interview or Rush Limbaugh monologue without hearing them every other sentence. And of course it doesn't tend to be when things are actually obvious.

The most overused word by progressives? Kabuki. They're tired of the kabuki dance between Bush and Congress! They're sick of it!

Melamine Cat Poisoning Mystery

Back in March 2007, our two cats, Swee'Pea (aged around 11) and Baloney (13?) stopped eating, and curled up into listless balls, each refusing to move. I noticed a pet food recall on a local website. Alarmed, I made an appointment with our vet. She thought I was over-reacting. "If their food isn't on the recall list, then I wouldn't worry about it."
She examined them and took samples. I said they seemed as though they had been poisoned. She suggested maybe they had eaten something bad, but I insisted that wasn't possible. These cats were so spoiled, I told her, they'd never deign to eat anything but their food. The fact they were both sick worried me the most, I told her. She said it could be a virus. I agreed that yes, the cats may have caught a virus, but the fact that thousands of cats would die in the weeks following still made me suspect there was a correlation, if only for the fact these cats had never been sick before, and were up to date on all shots, and never around other cats.
Days passed and more pet foods were added to the recall list. We had been feeding the cats Fancy Feast (with gravy) and a fancier Fancy Feast (if that's even possible) called Elegant Medleys. I went on the internet and bought some fresh raw cat food but the cats refused it. Baloney, who at one point could easily have been termed obese, turned into a former shell of himself, a long, flat cat of skin and bones that refused to eat.
The vet said the tests came back negative (I'm not sure what these tests were, just enzyme counters and such that would signify illness). She administered water shots to both cats for a week and this improved their spirits immensely. They started walking about a bit (albeit stiffly) and nibbling some dry food. The vet offered us a brand of wet cat food she sells at her clinic, and we crossed our fingers and waited.


(Baloney No Paw)

Several friends and family members lost pets in the spring of 2007. Baloney was doing better, but Swee'Pea now had a strange hunch in her back (like a permanently scared cat) and more or less started resembling a rabbit in the way she walked. But she was eating and purring so we were happy to have her alive.

Sweep's strange gait worsened, and again in August she curled up into a ball and stopped moving around and eating. One morning I saw her dragging her back two legs behind her, useless. I called the vet and took her in. Once again, the vet could find nothing, but offered to send her to a larger animal hospital for more tests. I looked at the poor Sweep, terrified as the vet held her down on the table. I said no, I would just take her home.
When I was a kid, we had a cat that apparently was hit by a car and appeared at our doorstep, dragging its back legs behind it. We happily put the cat in a box and took the box with us everywhere, and slowly the cat learned to walk again. With that in mind, I put Sweep in a pillowed basket and carted her around the house with me; brought her food and water, took her to the litterbox. She seemed surprised at first by this new system, but gradually learned to adapt. She slowly started dragging herself into the litterbox and then back into her basket, at which point she'd be thrilled to be placed next to John's computer or on Isa's bed.
Over time, she has learned to walk again, although it certainly does look more like a drunken stumbly swagger than a stealthy cat walk. She is happy, she eats (too much!) and she sleeps on top of John most nights. But she certainly has never been the same since March 2007. Neither has Baloney. He's happy too, but a thin shell of himself, no matter how much he eats, he remains gaunt. Still, we are glad to have them with us. And furious if humans are to blame for their conditions.

(also if anyone has any information they'd like to share on this feel free to contact me at berniejubilee at yahoo.com)

'roids

The Mitchell report on steroids in baseball is coming out today, and word is leaking that Roger Clemens is in there. I never thought that, in the World Series, when Clemens took Piazza's shattered bat and hurled it back at him, it was just the spirit of competition. I feel the same way about Kenny Rogers smashing photographers' cameras and throwing ninety-three miles per hour at age forty. The use of steroids by pitchers has been widely overlooked. I'd look for a whole mess of them on the list.

Mike Huckabee

He suggested that Mormons believe Jesus and Satan are brothers, and there's been a big flap. Amid all the outcry, one thing I'm still not quite clear on: do Mormons believe Jesus and Satan are brothers?