Gender Thread

Bernie and I spent the past few months looking into schools for our daughter Isa. Most of these schools were for "highly gifted" students and any one of them would have been thrilled to have her. Because they are overrun with boys.

Last time I checked, college students were something like fifty-seven percent female. Law school is even more predominantly women.

What happens to the boys between elementary school and college?

In the early 1980s, when Carol Gilligan's writing became popular and everyone started championing girls' education, I took an unpopular position. I said the changes had already taken root; they just hadn't manifested yet. The best remedy was to do nothing and wait.

Nobody listened to me, because I was just saying it to my friends in Mike's apartment.

Recent articles about advances in girls' education are careful to note these steps forward are not at the expense of boys. How do they know?

In black families especially, many men wind up in prison or the military. John McCain isn't ruling out a draft. Boys already have to register and girls don't.

It's true that some single fathers don't live up to their responsibilities. It's also true that others aren't considered "marriage material."

Single men with money, relative to women with money, are becoming an increasingly rare commodity. On the Million Dollar Matchmaker, these men are considered to be such catches that the women go to their houses to pick them up on dates.

I believe women picking men up on dates will become a trend. What do you believe?

Traffic cone: important new findings

During Bernie and Isa's visit this weekend, Bernie and I took a stroll through the neighborhood that took us past the now well-known traffic cone. Close inspection revealed that the cone was, at one time, the property of St. Peter's Hospital, a half-mile to the east. While we now know that the cone was not left behind by a utility truck, unfortunately these new findings raise as many questions as they answer.

Albany Shadow Store

Today I was driving in Albany and I noticed a shadow store.



Here he was, the same leaning cowboy I saw back in California. In fact, the whole yard display filled with the same shapes. My sister in law suggested that there are online templates one can buy. Sure enough, she was right.

Oh, Those Connor Girls!

I'll admit it: For the past five years, I have been obsessed with social networking. First it was Friendster, and then MySpace, and now Facebook. And somewhere along the way, through overseas friends, I've signed up for hi5 and Bebo. Some of these sites have been infiltrated with fictional women, perhaps connected to porn websites or mail-order-bride operations. And of course these spam-generated "women" prey on men who list themselves as single.

It had been a while since I last checked in at hi5. But today, an e-mail notified me that I'd received a friend request from "Daisy Blaire." I clicked through, not thinking that I might actually know Daisy Blaire, but, oh come on...I'm writing this blog post on a Friday night; I obviously have some free time on my hands.

Lo and behold, I had 16 friend requests waiting for me on hi5! And I'd like you to meet 8 of them (pictured above, left to right, top to bottom):

• Erica Connor, requested Mar 6, 2008 4:30 PM

• Whitney Connor, requested Mar 7, 2008 10:42 AM

• Angela Connor, requested Mar 9, 2008 5:07 PM

• Lindsey Connor, requested Mar 17, 2008 5:01 PM

• Julia Connor, requested Mar 29, 2008 1:44 AM

• Trix Connor, requested Mar 31, 2008 4:57 AM

• A different Erica Connor, requested Apr 3, 2008 6:44 PM

• And last but not least, a different Angela Connor, requested Apr 6, 2008 10:10 AM

I don't know how to put this, Erica, and Whitney, and Angela, and Lindsey, and Julia, and Trix, and other Erica, and yes, even you, other Angela, so I'm just going to speak from the heart. I want to be friends with each of you. Who knows, maybe our friendship could develop into "something more" if we take things slow. But if I accept only one of you, I risk hurting the others. And if I accept you all, it might just tear the Connor household apart. And that I simply cannot do. I trust that you'll find happiness, Connors, in some kind of Eight Brides for Eight Brothers sort of deal. But it's not going to happen with Team Silbert.

Faking Suicide

Samuel Israel III is missing. He may have jumped off a bridge or faked his own suicide. His car was found on the bridge, keys still inside. He wrote "suicide is painless" on the windshield. He left a bottle of pills in the car. This is complete overkill. I think the removal of any two of these four clues would have more convincing. For example; car not on bridge,nothing scrawled on windshield, but keys in car and bottle of pills in glovebox.

Another Salt in Wound Mystery

Bernie and I got married at the Bellagio Hotel. There was a big party with a lot of logistics that my wife is unaware of to this day. This is a picture of me arriving with some of Bernie's family to the pre-party in our suite.

Why am I arriving to my own party? Because I was constantly going downstairs so I could get guests onto the elevator.

There is a lot of security at the Bellagio. The lobby is a zoo. I don't think I could have gotten three large men onto the elevator without a hassle. It's why I question Javon Walker's account of being robbed in his room, carried unconscious through the hotel and then tossed into the street.

Is it possible he was robbed...





...in the street?

TV Show Memorabilia

Frank's Proscar post reminded me of this thing, hanging in John's office.



There's still have a few A.D. things lying around here, like a Bluth jacket, and yes, Zanotab.

Promoting Your Blog

After photographing the traffic cone the other day, my eye was drawn to a Post-It note affixed to the light pole. The Post-It note advertised Proscar® (finasteride), currently the leading medication to shrink one's prostate. There is questionable marketing value for any drug that appears to be promoting scarring, but I believe the name was a portmanteau formation of PROSTATE + NASCAR. Written on the Post-It note in shaky, loopy cursive was the message: "Go to allreligions.blogspot.com. You will be benefitted (sic)".

Unfortunately, I failed to take a close-up photograph, and the blog name that I remembered does not seem to exist. When I went back the Post-It note was gone. I believe they are only rated for 5 mph wind shear, enough to handle most office environments, but not the outdoors.

Overall, an unsuccessful promotional effort in so many ways.

One in the Loss Column for Team Silbert

Ah, that exquisite moment.

You've waited all day for an e-mail you hoped would arrive, and it didn't arrive.

But just to be sure, you check the spam filter.

And it's not there either.

And then—oh, this is lovely—just to add insult to injury, several of the collected spam messages bear the subject line:
You look really stupid jsilbert

Topanga Traffic Cone

Frank's traffic cone post inspired me to show him how it's done in Topanga.

This neighbor has a GREEN traffic cone, at the ready, for any situation that might come his way:

Helicopter in Topanga

Yesterday John and I were sitting on the yurt steps and watching the dogs roll around in the grass. I saw a red helicopter fly over us. I noted it wasn't a news chopper, police or fire either. There was something odd about it-- perhaps its trajectory or speed--that I couldn't put my finger on. So I waved to it.

And then it crashed down the road.

No one was hurt, though.

Good Times!

For the last nine days I've been in Uganda, teaching at a school for three full days and staying at the family home of the gentleman who runs the school, Pastor Godfrey. On the last day Pastor Godfrey took me to a restaurant a few streets away from the village school. The waiters in Ugandan restaurants often bring a bowl of cold water to the table with some soap and a little ladle, just before and after the meal. You hold your hands over the basin and hold the soap, and the waiter ladles some water over your hands. It's very pleasing, actually - the African equivalent of the pre-meal hot towels at Japanese sushi bars.

This particular restaurant was well outside downtown Kampala, and my impression was that they hadn't had many white people (muzungos) in that restaurant before. I washed my hands without incident before eating, and then we ate our lunch, and then the waiter brought the after-meal wash. I held my hands over the basin, and the waiter, looking so eager to please me, poured the boiling water over my hands.

My brain had no idea what was going on. It thought spiders!, and I jumped up, knocking over my chair and shaking my hands frantically to get the spiders off. Pastor Godfrey and the waiter looked at me, surprised. By then I'd realized heat, not spiders and said "The water's too hot."

Pastor Godfrey dipped his finger in the water and got angry at the waiter. "It's too hot, man!". The waiter tried it himself; to test it, he put just the tip of his finger onto the very surface of the water a fraction of a second at a time, with an puzzled expression that asked this is too hot? He left to get us cooler water, and this time I tested it before letting him pour it. A bit better, but still, way too hot! I told him just to bring some cold water and after that everything was fine.

Talking about it afterward, Pastor Godfrey and I weren't sure exactly why this happened. Our theory is that the waiter had never brought the wash basin for a muzungo before, and he knew that muzungos liked hot water, but he overestimated just how hot we like our water.

The funny thing is that every time I looked down at the red marks on my hands for the next few days, I was delighted more than anything else. And telling this story still delights me.

Team Silbert

I like Facebook. I still heavily rely on MySpace to follow my favorite bands. But for my overall social-networking and time-wasting needs, I've appreciated Facebook's much cleaner look and smarter, less sleazy feel.

Still, Web sites need to make money. Facebook has tried to stay innovative with social ads ("your friend is a fan of this product") and personalized ads.

Regarding the personalized ad above: Now, OK, my relationship status is listed as "single." And as a heterosexual male, sure, there's a decent chance I'll find the very buxom woman to be appealing. Perhaps they even knew that the company's name would remind me of a favorite movie.

Two aspects of the ad make less sense, however.

1) Though I'm sure that some "local singles" could read that top line of type, let's just say it's not the native tongue here in Hoboken, New Jersey.

2) WHAT THE HELL IS "TEAM SILBERT"? Am I on the team? What sport are we playing? How many players on each side? Or is this more of a Charlie's Angels setup? And what does this ad look like for a guy on Facebook with a really long last name? Wow, that photo is really creeping me out.

I guess I wouldn't mind one of the shirts, though.

Pass on the Party Plates...

When we moved here a few years ago, I said to Mike, "What the hell are all these people from New Mexico doing in Cleveland?"

What led me to think that Cleveland was a popular destination for New Mexicans was the bright yellow license plates with red letters. Although this IS the New Mexico license plate color combination, in Ohio it means you have been busted for a DUI. That's right. A scarlet letter for repeat offenders. Drive drunk, get caught, and you can be branded for a long, long time with a yellow and red license plate. (It sucks if you are really from New Mexico. Everyone must think you are a drunk driver)
They call these license plates "Family Plates" officially, but natives call them "Party Plates." I admit that when I see a car with these plates I try to catch a glimpse of the driver and I totally judge them. Some of them seem to still be driving around a little schnickered up. Some I feel bad for, as they look like they are working hard to pay off the big fine that goes with the plate and jail time. Others, I am convinced, just got busted for a few too many cocktails after a long day at the firm (ala Boston Legal).

Last Saturday, I was behind another party plate owner that was not any of these. This dude was in a red 1980ish Firebird with the roof off/open, blasting ACDC and playing the airdrums. I think he would get a vanity party plate if he could. Maybe it would say "TAKILLYA". He was rockin' out in his black muscle shirt. "She was a fast machine she kept her motor clean.." All I could think was, "Man, I hope you're keeping YOUR motor clean."
But it's not looking good.

The lowly traffic cone

Traffic cones are among the most inconspicuous features in the landscape. This is interesting, because they are supposed to conspicuous - signifying the need for attention and caution. But they are constantly being left behind and forgotten. The cone pictured here has been perched at the base of a light pole near my house for a really long time, possibly even predating the Iraq War. Originally it was probably left there by a utility crew. Since it sort of looks like it might belong there (as long as you don't think about it too much), it will never get moved.

If I was running from the police and had to quickly stash some contraband, I would drop it safely into the top of a traffic cone for later retrieval.

On my way home from work I counted the orphaned cones along my route: eleven! There may have been even more; they are so inconspicuous that several times I forgot I was counting them.

Another Musical

Isa told me that her friend invited her to see him perform in a musical. I said sure, get the time and place, and we'll be there. Sunday rolled around and we trekked out to the valley to see the show.

As luck would have it, I was treated to yet another all-white performance of The Wiz.

The show, comprised of children 8-17, was decent. But like every other student-based performance in L.A. I've seen, it had two serious flaws:
canned music and wireless microphones for each singer.
I understand, having a band adds to the expense of a production, but the synergy between the performers and the band makes the show come to life. Performers having to project their voices into a theater keeps the audience engaged.

I sat there in the darkness of a beautiful, intimately-sized theater and watched each young person sing with a mic strapped somewhere to her. The voices weren't belting out lines or bursting into gospel-type songs; instead they were singing along to canned music that popped on like a karaoke machine hiding somewhere behind the curtain.
Because the energy between the singer and music was lost, the relationship between the audience and the cast was lost as well. We were merely watching children on a stage singing random songs, in the spirit of American Idol.

Even our small Pennsylvania high school managed to scrape together live music for their musicals. In 1986, Barbie Andretti's Dorothy taught me the challenges of singing in a musical. At times a line was dropped, a cue missed, a glance to the band was needed. Sometimes Dorothy sang too fast; the band scrambled to slow her down, and in her final number, her last word of "home" had to ursurp the band and seemingly last forever. The conductor's baton was up high, ready to crash down when she finished the word.

It seems technology has rendered this unnecessary for some directors. Worst moment in 2007: watching the Nutcracker Ballet, with music from a cd crackling in the speakers. I was in a beautiful theater at Pepperdine University. I looked in vain for an orchestra pit, and realized I was in for three hours of sheer hell.

It's Summer. Put the Heaters Away

The latest top ten SIW searches:

1. patrick moberg
2. salt the wound
3. rice krinkles
4. salt in wound
5. miracle heaters
6. aggressive fuck *
7. diana wolozin
8. amish made heaters
9. isaac asimov super quiz
10. amish miracle heater


*John's fault