I'm Proud to Be an American...

...where at least I know I'm free. Free to eat cakes in a cake contest, that is.

According to the Irish Times, a recent European Union regulation has outlawed eating cakes and confections entered into competitions at country fairs and agricultural shows.

This rule applies even to the judges!
Says the report: "Under the rules adjudicators of bakery sections in local shows are only permitted to taste the traditional favourites such as apple tarts or cheese cakes. Once the judging is over, the produce must be immediately destroyed. As a result, only bite-sized versions of the cakes will be entered in shows."

Destroying cheesecakes? I think that's just perverse. One Irishman is quoted as saying, "it’s no wonder the people voted No to the Lisbon Treaty." No wonder, indeed.

Dodging Bullets

Yesterday, thanks to the worst ice storm in ten years, half of Maine's population was without power, even as night fell. Now, Maine isn't the most populous state even in this region, but that's still a lot of people. Plus, our state's population is spread out more evenly than, say, Georgia, where pretty much everyone lives in Atlanta. With temperatures expected to dip into the teens, officials were telling everyone without a heat source that didn't rely on electricity to hightail it to a public shelter for the night.

At school, I thanked my lucky stars that our house still had power. Some of my students lived in houses with wells, which mean the outage shut down their water supply, as well. I figured since we live in downtown Westbrook, near a mill and a hospital, we'd be unlikely to lose power and quick to get it back if we did.

The electricity went out around 6 p.m. I headed out to get some food, and with the eerie, moonlit darkness I began thinking about how feasible it would be to spend the night at home without heat. Over the radio, officials from the power company said to expect to spend "at least" one night without power. Now, Watoosa and I could easily camp out in a high school gym on a cot for a night, but having a baby changes the equation completely. I honestly don't know how it would work, and with the widespread outages, I figured the hotels would be full.

Fortunately, the power came back on after an hour, and it hasn't cut out since. There are still well over 100,00 people who don't have electricity, and my heart goes out to them. But I'm thankful we didn't have to leave the house.

It's a shame that ice storms are so destructive and disruptive, because they make the trees look so beautiful, especially when the sun comes out in full force, like it did today. Everything looks like it's encased in glass. But I guess it's hard to enjoy that when you're effectively homeless or huddled under every single blanket you own.

Still Here

Well, I suppose my paternity-leave-from-blogging should just about be coming to a close, given that Benjamin has now reached the 3 month-old mark. Here are a few updates:

-Last week, I went to an academic conference in Copenhagen. It was a great conference, and I got good responses to my paper, so I'm glad I went. I also got to see a good bit of the city. But it was so much harder to leave Watoosa and Benjamin than I had expected. I always miss Beth when I travel, but I was pretty much wracked with worry the whole time. So while I'm glad I went, I'm also glad to be back.

-Fatherhood has brought with it a whole range of emotional states that it's dizzying to keep up with them. Taking care of Benjamin (and Beth) in the early days was certainly one of the toughest emotional experiences of my life. Things have gotten easier now that we have him on a feed/wake/nap schedule. It's made a world of difference. But there have been times when the combination of stress and sleep deprivation showed me just how much moral formation I have yet to undergo.

-And yet... I have grown so attached to the little fella, much more than I realized until I had to say good-bye at the airport last week. I like the way he giggles and flashes his big toothless grin, and how he stretches his arms out when he wakes up, and how he makes little cooing sounds when he eats.

-I also love showing him off, seeing everyone delight in looking at him as they fight off their sense of disbelief at how he is just as unbelievably gorgeous as his father. Good stuff. When we took him into campus to let everyone meet him, we started off in the secretaries' office. As soon as she saw us, Jane, who was on the telephone, just burst out, "Baby! Must go!" and hung up on whomever she was talking with. She told us they'd understand.

-Watoosa and I were proud when we were asked if he could play baby Jesus in the Christmas pageant at church. Alas, we'll be out of town. Plus, he will probably be larger than the kids playing Mary and Joseph by then. And while that might nicely represent the relative importance of the characters to the story of salvation history, I doubt the organizers want to have a baby Jesus that has to be hoisted into the air by his parents with a series of pulleys and levers.

-Greta's status position in the household has, naturally, declined. She gets more attention from me, since that's pretty much the way things were before Benjamin arrived. Now that the cold weather has come, she likes to sit in my lap when I wear my robe, and she likes to sleep on my back at night. But unfortunately she doesn't get quite as much attention as she wants. To be more precise, she doesn't get the attention she wants when she wants it. Perhaps recognizing the new attention-hog, she completely ignores the baby. We'll see how that strategy works once he gets mobile.

-Benjamin had an early lesson in the difference between men and women when I picked him up in the middle of the night for a feeding. Since it was still during warm weather, and I had jumped out of bed, I was shirtless. He tried latching on. Let's just say neither one of us was happy with the outcome.

-Finally, I'd like to formally revise my pre-season football predictions.

I don't know if any of my former readers still check in, but take this as a sign of more regular writing, if you're interested. I have noticed that many people start their blog and then over time lose momentum. I 'm not ready for mine to go dark just yet.

All About the Benjamin

Watoosa and Ben are now home from the hospital. We're all pretty exhausted, but happy to be home, and happy that Watoosa's parents are here to help. We've got relatives lined up to cover the next three weeks or so.

Ben is very healthy. He weighed in at a hefty 9lbs. 11.4 oz., and he only lost about a pound of that before he started gaining again. He's also very sweet-natured, as long as his every wish is fulfilled without delay. Unfortunately, doing so is made more difficult by the fact that Watoosa is moving a bit slower than usual. When he's being...uh, not sweet-natured, he can pack a wallop. He's already developed a William Shatner-style karate chop, with which he rained blows on my face and chest when he had to wait for Watoosa to get out of the bathroom and feed him (check out the 1:15 mark here to see what I mean). He should call it Kirk Fu.

It's still a little overwhelming to realize that I have a son, but in a good way. When we finally got discharged, we were so excited and relieved that when I went to get the car, I steered toward home out of the parking lot before I realized that I was forgetting to pick up Watoosa and the baby at the entrance. Luckily, I didn't get far.

For more on Ben, check out his blog at The Kid (soon to be renamed). We've been too tired and busy to post anything yet, but that will change soon.

This Is What Justice Looks Like

Sweet, hilarious justice.

Word to the Wise

The wait continues here at the home office. Watoosa is now ten days past due, which is well beyond fashionably late.

Meanwhile, in preparation for my role during the delivery and first few days of childrearin', here is a list of words, phrases, and sentences which I am pretty sure I should avoid using.

"great with child"

"fruit of my loins"

"Walk it off."

"Let me finish this nonogram first."

"What's a contraction?"

"football"

"whiner"

"women's work"

"Are you cooking tonight?"

"Dibs on the bathroom!"

"I'm pretty sure he's crying for his momma."

All Those Years of School Were Totally Worth It Because of This

My doctoral regalia came in this week, so I had to try it all on.



The tam looks even better on Watoosa. I think she's starting to show, now.



Greta liked the tassel.

Surprising Experimental Finding of the Week

Bicycle helmets make you less safe:

"When he wore a helmet, vehicles tended to pass closer than when he did not wear a helmet. Passing drivers may have read th helmet as a sign that there was less risk for the cyclist if they hit him. Or perhaps the helmet dehumanized the rider. Or--and more likely, according to [the researcher]--drivers rea the helmet as a symbol of a more capable and predictable cyclist, one less likely to veer into their path. In either case, the helmet changed the behavior of passing drivers."

That's from Tom Vanderbilt's Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says About Us).

I'm tempted to try this experiment myself, given how scary it is for cars to pass too close by me on high-speed roads. But I suspect an AK-47 strapped across my back might lead them to give me even more leeway. These are the things I fantasize about as I pedal around the area.

In other news...no, labor hasn't started yet.

Regrettable Food...Soviet Style!

Nothing in your life can prepare you for this:



Questions:

(1) Obviously, the most pressing question is this: "Do the makers of this commercial want us to buy this product, or are they trying to turn us off of meat forever?"

(2) Is that voice-over
(a) simply part of the soundtrack?
(b)a Manchurian Candidate style hypnotic trigger designed to send someone out to bring the system of capitalism to its knees?
(c) a voice inside the women's heads?
(d) a voice inside the women's heads projected by the chicken, announcing impending bloody vengeance on the human world for this and this(!)?

(3) The women at the restaurant seem to be exchanging knowing glances, as if to say, "Do we dare try the Kana hakkliha?" What do they know that we don't? Something tells me that deep down they suspect that KANA HAKKLIHA IS PEOPLE! IT'S PEOPLE!

Your New Timewaster

If I could have prayed to the god of Cyberspace, I would have asked for the Failblog. Here are some of my favorites so far:

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

We're officially at T minus 2 weeks, now, and counting. And counting and counting and counting. People have told us the days leading up to the delivery are tough emotionally, especially if the mother is overdue. We're not quite into that territory, yet, but we're pretty much ready for the little fella to arrive already. Watoosa says that for a while, she had small worries about the whole delivery process, but now she's looking forward to it, if only because it means the end of being pregnant. It was magical and wonderful for a while, and hers has been blissfully free of complications, but she'd like to be able to actually lay on her back for more than a few seconds.

Yesterday, she came down with an acute case of boredomitis. It was too hot to go outside, and she didn't want to do anything in particular, but she also didn't want to be bored, so she lay on the floor and demanded to be entertained immediately. I suggested that it might be fun for her to sit quietly and watch me finish my nonogram puzzle, but that seemed to just enrage her. I figured it would be good to practice not-disturbing-Daddy-when-he's-working, but she seemed to have different feelings on the matter. Oh well.

Everybody asks her when she's due, now. And I mean everybody, from a stranger on the other side of a busy street to the girl working the register at taco joint last night. Watoosa says that people respond differently, but fall neatly into categories. Old men sort of chuckle, knowingly. Older ladies want to know all the details, and then want to share all their stories of childbearing and childrearing. Younger men and boys seem a little freaked out, as if she might "pop" at any moment.

The nursery is ready, the car seat is installed, the doctors lined up...nothing is left to do except wrestle with the following questions:

1. Will the baby have more hair than me?

2. Will he develop a New England accent, so that he sounds like Good Will Hunting or Cliff Claven from Cheers? We sure hope not.

3. When facing the inevitable envy and resentment from his peers at his superior good looks and staggering intellect, will he be able to handle it with grace and humility, like his daddy does?

4. Will his mother succeed in her fell attempts at preventing an appropriate fervor for college football?

5. Will I be able to persuade Watoosa that my weak stomach should preclude me from diaper duties and vomit clean-up?

Keep watching this space for the answer to all these questions--and more!

Impeccable Logic

From The Pirates! In an Adventure with Napoleon:

'Baby kissing is a tried and tested way of getting votes, Captain.'

The Captain didn't look convinced. 'Thing is, number two, what's the voting age nowadays?'

'It's eighteen, sir.'

'Exactly!' The Pirate Captain waggled an informative finger. 'So there's not much point lavishing all this attention on babies when they can't even vote for me, is there? I should be concentrating on the eighteen-year olds. And you know which other bit of the electorate is often unfairly overlooked? Women. So really it makes a lot more sense for me to spend the morning kissing eighteen-year-old women.'

Fireworks

Last night, Watoosa and I had dinner at the home of some new friends, and then we walked over to the Back Cove to watch Portland's fireworks display. The display was pretty good, and the bursts of light were reflected in the water. The only drawback was that our distance from the launch spot meant that the explosions weren't very loud. But since our friends had their 1-year old daughter with them, that was probably for the best.

Here are some of my most memorable fireworks experiences, in no particular order:

Independence Day 2004 (Cedar Hill, TN) My extended family traditionally gathers at my grandparents' farm for major holidays, and for the past 25 years or so, we've shot off a mess of fireworks on the 4th of July. During 2004's session, for some reason one of the "big ones" traveled only about 20 feet up in the air before exploding. I got hit with burning fragments in the middle of my chest, on my side, and on my arm. My shirt protected me from the first two, but the last one burned the skin on my arm like you wouldn't believe. I still have a scar. Good times!

Independence Day 2003 (St. Louis) Every year, St. Louis holds a big fair right downtown, and it culminates with the Independence Day fireworks shot off from the river, which means they're framed by the Gateway Arch. But since it's the middle of the summer, seeing the display usually means slogging through the stifling heat while being crushed by the masses of sweaty plebeians, many of whom are shirtless. In 2003, though, one of our friends invited us to watch them from her office, which was in the tallest building downtown. Watoosa was sick that year, so she couldn't go, but I got to watch the show while sitting in a cushy chair in blissful air-conditioned comfort. The view was fantastic, too.

Independence Day 1998 (Seattle) I was studying in Vancouver for a few weeks that summer, and went down to Seattle to visit my friends Nick and Jenn. Nick's parents were in town, and we all took an evening boat tour of Puget Sound, after which the boat dropped anchor in the harbor for the fireworks show (which were launched from a barge not too far away, as I recall). Very nice. The one drawback was that the music accompaniment included Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." I could do without that.

New Year's Day (Night?) 2000 (New Orleans) Watoosa and I and a dozen friends or so all went down to New Orleans to ring in the New Year. I had been to New Orleans a few times, but never during Mardi Gras. New Year's, I was told, was like all the nights of Mardi Gras crammed into one. I wondered if it would be a bit much (in addition to the worries about the Y2K bug--remember that?), but we had a blast. The fireworks were OK, but this was the first New Year's that I was with a significant other, which means it was the first time I got to start the new year off with a kiss. My friend Steve, alas, was not so fortunate. I offered to plant one on him myself, but that didn't seem to console him.

Bastille Day 1999 (Paris) Watoosa and I got engaged just a few days before in the Luxembourg Gardens, and this was the last day of our trip to Europe. That morning, we saw the military parade on the Champs-Elysees. It was impressive--far more than France's military tradition itself. Since our hotel clerk told us that the fireworks display was held the night before (which made no sense to me), we figured that was the end of the festivities. But that night, we had finished eating dinner and were walking around the Esplanade des Invalides when we heard explosions in the distance. We raced over to the Parc du Champ de Mars and saw one the most spectacular fireworks shows I've ever seen, with the Eiffel Tower in the foreground. It was the perfect end to a perfect trip.

My New Route

I had a great ride today out to the southern tip of Sebago Lake. I wondered if I'd be able to find some good rides once we moved out to Westbrook. From Portland, it was still pretty easy to cross over Casco Bay and ride through Cape Elizabeth to the Portland Head Light (and for a longer ride, to Prout's Neck). I could still do that ride, but it would mean adding on a few more miles of uninteresting city riding each way.

But I've been really pleased with the rides inland. The New England countryside is beautiful, and there are more hills. I miss having a lighthouse to look at, but the views of the lake are still a nice reward for pedaling.

Here's the route:

What's Cooler than Bein' Cool?

Ice cold.

Which was the approximate temperature of the water in my shower this morning. Watoosa first noticed the lack of hot water, and it turns out our boiler is down.

I had gone for a jog and was super sweaty, so I had to have a shower. After my brain processed all the impulses of frigid agony coming from every single nerve ending in my body, I couldn't help but think of the "shrinkage" episode on Seinfeld. Those of you who have seen it will understand me when I say that I may never be able to use a stand-up urinal again.

At least it happened in July, and not January!

Question: Are You Ready for Some Football?

Answer: Yes. Yes I am.

I am so ready that I even stooped to watching a little bit of Remember the Titans, just so I could get a simulation of the real thing. For those of you who haven't seen it, Remember the Titans offers up about as much cinematic excellence as Clash of the Titans*. While RTT doesn't have the laughable not-so-special effects of COTT, it does feature little Hayden Panettiere, who turns in what has to be the most grating child performance since Jonathan Ke Quan annoyed the living crap out of America with his portrayal of Short Round in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

And yet I put up with it, just to get a glimpse of some behelmeted lugs tackling each other. I blushed when Watoosa came back in the room, and I quickly changed the channel to public television and feigned interest in a somber discussion of the Fed's decision to lowering interest rates. But that shows you how hard up I am for some gridiron action, and there are still several weeks before even fall practice begins, let alone the first kickoff. I honestly don't know if I can make it.

Anyway, here's my prediction: Auburn will play in the BCS Championship Game either this year or the next or (most likely) both. You heard it here first. There's a good chance that Ohio State will reprise its role as SEC whipping boy, too, which will give me bragging rights over certain acquaintances of mine (you know who you are). War Eagle, y'all!

*Holy shnikies, IMDB says there's a remake of this stinkbomb due out in 2010!

(Un)Wanted

For years now, Watoosa has maliciously told all our friends that I "made" her go see the execrably bad Pearl Harbor. It's true that seeing that flick was my idea, and that I probably should have known better. But I would like to enter the following points in my defense:

1. 2001 was an abysmal year for summer movies, and we got hoodwinked into sitting through other stinkers that year (Jurassic Park III and Planet of the Apes, for example).

2. I was really in the mood to see a movie.

3. The idea of just being in a movie theater was irresistable, as it was scorching hot that summer and our AC wasn't working (this was in the humiditopolis of St. Louis, after all).

4. Anyone who knows us will also know that Watoosa can bend my will to hers any time she wishes. In other words, I didn't exactly have to drag her into the theater.

5. It had Kate Beckinsale in it.

We tried to lower our expectations, but we just couldn't get them low enough. Apart from regretting our having paid good money to see the film, we were disturbed by the response of the guy sitting next to us, as he seemed utterly moved by the narrative (literally to tears, as I recall). If he'd been a WWII veteran, I could probably cut him some aesthetic slack, but he was hardly older than me.

Ever since, Watoosa has yet to let me live it down. But now we're even, because she talked me into going to see Wanted yesterday. True, this summer--like 2001--has been a stinker as far as movies go (We liked Iron Man well enough, and wisely opted against Indy 4, The Happening, and Prince Caspian). But Wanted is a complete waste of time, not to mention film.

Morgan Freeman phones in his performance, which is more than the script deserves, and I can't say much for James McAvoy. Angelina Jolie does what she does best, which is scowl and look undernourished (honestly, I've never understood all the hubbub about her). And when she throws a punch with her veiny, Tinkertoy arms, it's about as believable as watching the Ewoks kicking stormtrooper butt.

I might have enjoyed the movie slightly more had I not been disturbed to see that the woman down the row from us brought her preschool-age son! What's with these people? This movie had two separate sex scenes and enough F-bombs to supply the U.S. Navy! Since the theater was dark, she probably couldn't see my raised eyebrow communicating my consternation, shocked disbelief, and disdain for her parenting skills. Years from now, when her reprobate son is prosecuted for knocking over a 7-Eleven, she'll surely look back on yesterday and wish she'd decided to see Wall-E.

Just like me.

Brutal

From A. O. Scott's review of The Love Guru:

"To say that the movie is not funny is merely to affirm the obvious. The word “unfunny” surely applies to Mr. Myers’s obnoxious attempts to find mirth in physical and cultural differences but does not quite capture the strenuous unpleasantness of his performance. No, “The Love Guru” is downright antifunny, an experience that makes you wonder if you will ever laugh again."

Yesterday, I finished C. S. Forester's Poo-Poo and the Dragons, a book that allowed me to annoy Watoosa by referring to it as simply "Poo-Poo Dragons." It's a children's book that's been out of print for some time, now. I located a copy through our local library system. When I looked at the Due Date slip, I noticed that it had been regularly checked out since 1969. I suppose these stamped Due Date slips will soon go the way of the Card Catalog, but I like seeing when other library patrons have checked out the books that I read.

Pre-natal Thoughts

Last night, Watoosa and I had our sixth and final birthing class. I haven't really blogged about the pregnancy, so here are a few random thoughts about the class and the upcoming event.

-The class has been very low-key. From what I had seen in movies and TV, I expected graphic videos that would make me squirm, and lots of time spent on the floor, pantomiming labor. There was really none of that. Mostly, we just talked about what would happen during the various stages, and how to breathe.

-I was surprised at how old all the other couples were. I'd guess that many other women, if not a majority, are older than Watoosa. Since we're in our thirties, I expected us to be the old fogies.

-One of the women in the class is a professional model, and she still looks like one (albeit one for a pregnancy magazine). Her name is Jennifer, and she and her husband were the last to arrive on the first night. When she walked in, Watoosa told me that she could detect the self-esteem of all the other women taking a nose-dive. That may be, but Jennifer can't rock the sexy librarian look like Watoosa.

-One of the husbands in the class looks remarkably like Vladimir Putin. Keep your distance, comrade!

-We've gotten the impression that a lot of the other women have been more irritable than Watoosa, who has been pretty chipper through the whole process. We've been lucky on that score.

-We did watch one video that showed several births. At first, I could only see half the screen because someone's head was blocking my line of sight. At first I just put up with it, but then I began to worry that I was missing something important on that obscured side. What if there was a special technique that the doctor was using, or that the husband was doing? I'd never know! I guess I'll find out in August.

-When they showed the baby coming out, I was shocked to see just how pointy the head was. I had heard that vaginally born babies have coneheads, but this kid looked like TV's Bert.

-Watching that video made me so very, very glad that none of us remembers our own birth. Sheesh!

-On Sunday, we toured the birthing center where we'll go for delivery. They've got free WiFi throughout the house. Watch for my liveblogging. ("Hold that contraction, honey--I'm almost done with this post!")

-The baby kicks and pushes. A lot. It's pretty freaky to feel it, and even freakier to see it. Watoosa says it doesn't really hurt as much as feel uncomfortable and weird. But since it has interfered with her sleep, I've decided to ground the kid as soon as he comes out. Spare the rod, spoil the child.

-Last night, as she crawled into bed, Watoosa huffed, "Ugh! It's just a festival of discomfort." She makes me laugh.

-I can't shake the suspicion that I really have no idea what's about to happen to us. Maybe it's because people keep telling us that we have no idea what's about to happen to us.

Alert the Media

From a student paper:

"Through this article, it has come to my attention that yes, killing and stealing no matter in what aspect, is morally unacceptable."

I hope he remembers that when he sees his grade.

I Hope This is a Typo

From a student paper about terrorism:

"Only a primary target could be assed...."

Don't even think about assing a secondary target. It's just wrong, dangit! If the good Lord had wanted us to ass secondary targets, he would have made them primary targets.

Now I'm going to ass his paper. Like there's no tomorrow.

Uh-Oh

Peter Travers on the new Indiana Jones flick:

"By midpoint, the movie starts to play like National Treasure meets The X-Files, with a touch of The Goonies, and I don't mean any of these comparisons as a compliment."

I'll still probably go see it, but I'm increasingly concerned about this franchise suffering from the kind of treatment George Lucas gave to the Star Wars franchise. Mitichlorians, anyone?

For Crying In-N-Out Loud*

We saw Iron Man last night. I have never even thumbed through an Iron Man comic, so I have no idea how faithful the film is to its source, but it's good, fun, escapist fare. I remember hearing last year that Robert Downey, Jr. would be taking the lead role, and I couldn't believe it. I just can't get the image of him in New Wave make-up in the laughable (as opposed to actually funny) 80s teen romp, Weird Science (scroll down here for pic). But he sold me on his performance.

The low point of the film comes at the beginning of the second act. Tony Stark (the Iron Man) has just returned to the U.S. after three months' captivity in Afghanistan. He wants two things: to head over to his press conference, and to get an "American cheeseburger." In one of the lamest ever product placement shots in film, the next scene shows one of his handlers passing him a Burger King bag. Now, the scene is set in Los Angeles, which means that zillionaire Tony Stark has not only passed up a burger made by a real chef, but he's also passed up In-N-Out. And for a crummy BK greaseburger.

Granted, that's still better than McDonald's or (I shudder at the thought) Krystal/White Castle. But that scene still stretched my suspension of disbelief past the breaking point. If I had been Tony Stark, and I had been captive overseas for three months, and I wanted my first cheeseburger, and one of my flunkies gave me a Burger King product, I would have fired that employee on the spot. Then I would have bought the companies that employ his friends and family members, just so I could fire them.

*Alternate title: "I Can Has Cheeseburger?"

Striptease

Ever since move-in day, I've yearned to strip off the wallpaper in the kitchen. It's not hideously ugly, but it does look (a) dated, (b) "countryish", and (c) dingy. There were several edges that had come up off the wall surface, and I knew I could just give a tug and the whole sheet would come right off. It was all I could do to keep from pulling it all down, but we had already spent enough time redoing the other downstairs rooms and the nursery upstairs.

Well, we decided we can't take it anymore, and that we'd paint the kitchen in the next week or two. So yesterday I pulled off several sheets. There will be a few spots that need some work, but most of it will come off easily. It was hard to rein myself in, but I had to prep for class.

We're going to try to paint this weekend, and then the house will finally be done. Although...the walls in BR 1 & 2 are starting to look bad in comparison. And then there's the bathroom.

Must...stop...redecorating!

Got to...avoid...becoming...HGTV cliche!

How Do I Put This on my Goodreads List?

Say what you like about Wikipedia, but I often find myself sucked in by it, bouncing from one link to another as the time flies by. Yes, it's probably not a suitable reference for an academic paper, but it's still great for introducing you to new things.

Today, I saw the entry for the World's Largest Book. From the entry: "It has 730 leaves and 1460 pages; each page is three and a half feet wide, five feet tall and five inches thick." It should go without saying that I won't find it at my local library.

I have no desire to read it--Buddhism has always put me to sleep--but it looks like it's worth seeing in person. Unfortunately, travel to Myanmar isn't in the cards for me anytime soon, for a host of reasons.

Netflix without Watoosa

Two days after moving in, Watoosa left for Florida to attend her sister's wedding. So until last night, I had the house to myself. It was a little odd. If I hadn't spent the previous two weeks here working I would have felt like I was house-sitting or squatting.

I used the time to watch Netflix movies that she wouldn't be interested in seeing. It was a pretty interesting mix, this time. The first was an epic samurai flick whose title sounds like a Tolkien rip-off: The Sword of Doom. The second was a famous documentary about French collaboration and resistance during World War II. The third was Metallica: Some Kind of Monster.

The Metallica movie was OK. It was interesting--almost comical--to see the uber-heavy metal group try to solve their personal issues through psychotherapeutic hokiness. Megadeth's Dave Mustaine, who was kicked out of Metallica right before they got big, makes an appearance and comes off as a total whiner. Suffice to say, these guys don't exactly come off looking hardcore. To their credit, though, they released the film, anyway.

The best part, for me, was realizing during one scene that the band has stocked their studio with the stoneware that Watoosa and I use: Denby Energy. They even have the same salt and pepper shakers. Yep, James Hetfield gripes about his feelings and how he never can trust people whilst slurping coffee out of the same cup that I use.

The similarites, I can assure you, end there.

Aaaaaaaaaaand...We're In

We are now officially moved into our new house. Actually, it's been a week and a day, now, but I've been too busy to post an update.

All the work on the house was actually enjoyable, but it's great to know that it's behind us and we can focus on settling in. The carpet is now installed, and just about everything is unpacked, but we still need to hang a few things on the walls and organize the books in the cases.

This remodeling/redecorating stuff is addictive. When I sit in our living room, which has been repainted, I can see the den and dining room, and part of the kitchen. The contrast between the first two (both of which have been repainted) with the dingy, 1980s kitchen becomes unbearable. I have to exert all my willpower to keep from ripping the wallpaper off the walls. We've decided to paint them, but later this month, and we might even do the countertops. Why not?

Whoops

Somehow, when I posted an update on the work at the new house, it got posted on Watoosa's blog. So here's what I wrote:

"Our House is a Sorta, Sorta, Sorta Fine House"

For now at least. We made a pretty good mess of the interior by stripping off wallpaper, scraping old paint, sanding, sanding, sweeping, and more sanding. Yes, I'm tired of sanding.

But the end is in sight--yesterday we actually began putting up primer on walls in two of the rooms. It's a relief, since we've been doing prep work since we closed. I've never seen so much dust apart from the time that our house in Santa Barbara was beset by fallout from a huge forest fire.

We also incurred our first damage to the house. While trying to drive a nail, I split a stair step. But my friend Jason managed to fix it, and now it's even stronger than all the others. He and his wife Amber helped us prep and prime this weekend (extra large size thanks to you guys for that).

Today my mother and sister arrive, God and the airlines willing. Hopefully we can get all the painting done this week. Moving day is Saturday.

Homeowners

Today, Watoosa and I closed on the house. We now actually have two residences--an apartment (for the next 16 days) and a house.

We met the sellers last night when we did the final walk-through. They've lived there for 34 years--longer than Watoosa has been alive. It was easy to see how emotionally attached they were to their house. They even camped out on the floor last night to sleep in the house one more time. At one point during closing, I thought the husband was going to call the whole thing off. It lasted only a couple seconds, but those were a tense couple of seconds for us! But they told us that knowing a "nice" couple are moving in would make it easier for them to leave.

It was great seeing the house again. I was wondering if it would lose its luster since we first looked at it, but last night I was reminded all over again how much there is to like about the place. As we finished the walk-through, the carillon in the church behind the house began ringing out hymns. I take that as a good sign.

The house is in great shape, but we do need to redecorate. That will involve stripping wallpaper, painting five rooms (including a stairway), and installing carpet in one room and on the stairs. We are hoping to get it all done by move-in day (4/26). So we tackled the first chore today. I now see why people tell horror stories about removing wallpaper. In most of the rooms, we didn't need to use any chemicals--we just tugged and it popped right off. But in the room that will be the nursery, we had to scrape. And scrape. And scrape. And scrape some more. Thankfully, that part is now done. Next step: sanding the walls to get them ready for painting.

I'm actually looking forward to doing all the work. The physical labor is a nice change of pace from my egghead job, although I've never had a student that was anywhere near as recalcitrant as that wallpaper.

Self-Refutation of the Year

From a student's paper: "The good thing about philosophy is that you can't be wrong."

Oh, he's so very, very wrong.

Alternative explanations:

1. He's subscribed to the Nick Naylor school of philosophy (see the 1:30 mark).

2. The term "you" refers specifically to me, in which case the statement is analytically true.

Sicko

Watoosa and I are both under the weather. She caught a cold early last week and kindly decided to share it with me. I feel like someone shoved a bicycle pump up my nose and started inflating my head, Dig Dug-style.

I can't remember the last time Watoosa and I were sick at the same time, but I find that it results in a drastic decrease in both the quantity and quality of cheap sympathy and coddling to which I have become accustomed. This must not stand. Comments are open, for those of you who feel like picking up the slack.

UPDATE: Things got worse for me last night. I don't want to bore you with details, but let's just say that having Indian food for dinner last night was a big, big mistake.

It was fortunate, then, that Watoosa has been improving. When I get really sick, my judgment begins to cloud, and sometimes I just need to be told what to do--autonomy just gets in the way. Many of you have heard her tell the story of my walking around Santa Barbara in a feverish stupor, looking for a doctor's office. I wasn't quite that bad off last night, but it sure was good to have her here, and I hereby retract my gripe about the cheap sympathy and coddling.

Me Think Real Good

From a student essay: "Philosophers are very intelligent individuals, more so than humans...."

Yes, students see me as a veritable deity, whose ways are high above their own. I don't know what I could have done to give them that idea.

Foolish mortals!

U2 3D

Last night, Watoosa and I caught the final showing of U2 3D in the area. I had been eager to see it after reading the NY Times review, but I assumed it would be coming to Portland. Apparently I was wrong. Luckily, I happened to check listings for a theater 2o miles away.

Unfortunately, we didn't get to see it in IMAX, but it was in 3D, and it was amazing. The last time I saw something in 3D--the 2007 re-release of The Nightmare Before Christmas--the effect was pretty negligible (although Watoosa seemed more affected by it). I was hoping that this film would work better, and I was more than satisfied. Although some of the images challenged my eye focus a bit, most of the time it was like watching a performance in person.

Only it was better than that, because the multiple cameras swoop over the crowd and hover over the band, and the editors blend and manipulate images with wild abandon. I was mesmerized, and fully sucked in. Early on, during a low shot from the crowd's perspective, I got annoyed for a couple seconds at a few hands obscuring my view of the stage--I thought someone in the seat in front of me was getting too carried away. Then I realized that those hands were in the film, and I remembered that Watoosa and I were the only ones in the theater.

If it's still showing in your town, pay the higher ticket prices and see it on the biggest screen you can find. It's worth it for the first encore alone.

All Systems are Go

This week we got our "Clear to Close" from the bank who will be handling our mortgage. That means we're one step closer to closing the deal on our house, and that Icktoosa headquarters will soon be relocating to Westbrook.

Next month, then, looks to be pretty crazy for me. Here's what will be going down:
-Close on the house
-Remove wallpaper in three rooms
-Paint four rooms
-Rip up some carpet, replace it on the stairs
-Move
-Grade papers in all three of my classes, plus tests in two of them
-Teach three sessions of an additional class
-Help lead a workshop on ethics and torture

My work is cut out for me, but I'm looking forward to most of it.

Protecting Our Polity with Peircing Pickle Projectiles

I really don't know what to make of this, but it's certainly worth a look: a portrayal of America's military conflicts from WWII to the present that uses foods representative of the countries involved. Who thinks up this stuff?

Some of it is funny--like the arms race with the Soviets (stroganoff)--but other parts strike me as a bit too...beyond the pale. Watch for yourself.



A cheat sheet for the various entrees is here.

What Sunday Afternoons Are For

Here's a video of a woman doing 21 different accents. She even attempts to distinguish closely related accents, such as Czech and Russian, California and Seattle, Texas and South Carolina. The funniest is Toronto. The weakest is Texas. South Carolina doesn't sound quite right to me, either, but it's such a delight to hear it, all the same.


Chick Does 21 Different Accents - Watch more free videos

It's Genderrific!

Uncertain about your real gender? Of course you are. Now there's hope! Just enter some text into the box at this website, and it'll tell you whether (and even to what extent) you're male or female.

I just tried it. After entering some text from a recent post, the result was "Weak male." That's obviously incorrect, so I figured another test was in order. The second result was "110% red-blooded American male." A third yielded "So freakin' male, you make John Wayne look like a sissy." After the fourth try, it told me "Stop it already--we can't handle your awesome maleness and it's causing our supercomputers to blow up." That's more like it.

Watoosa's writing, on the other hand, yielded "Weak male," so it looks like we have some...."issues" to work through, although the site warns that this result could simply mean that she's European.

They Wish They Were the World

The most nauseatingly self-congratulatory song of the past few decades, recreated for a Japanese television show. Josh, can you give us some background on this curiosity?



Observations:

1. The Cyndi Lauper woman absolutely nails it.
2. I swear, the Stevie Wonder is played by Horatio Sanz.
3. The Michael Jackson amazingly looks more like a human being than Michael Jackson himself.
4. I must--repeat, MUST--have the red and white suit visible at 3:10. Easter is just around the corner.

Stickin' it to the Man

I've always found it annoying at places like Home Depot when, on exiting the store, they insist on looking at your receipt and nosing through your purchases. It's invasive and a waste of time. So, having read this article a while back, I decided to try refusing this "request" yesterday.

I was at Best Buy, where I purchased a set of speakers. There were more employees than customers in the store, and I was the only customer anywhere near the checkout area. The exit was maybe ten yards away from the register I used, in full view of the employee doing the receipt checks. So there's no way she could have missed me checking out. As I walked toward the exit carrying a moderately heavy and cumbersome box, she still asked to see my receipt.

I started to walk past her.

"Wait, sir! I need to see your receipt!"

"Um, no, I'd rather not," I said.

"No, I have to look at it," she said. She tried to take it out of my hand, but I moved away so she couldn't get it.

"Really? What happens if I don't let you?"

"Well, I'd have to report it."

"That's fine with me. Go ahead," I said, turning to leave.

"But I also need to make sure that you got what you paid for!" (As the article I linked to above points out, this isn't really possible, since the boxes don't have prices on them. There's no way she can compare my receipt to the intended price for the speakers, unless she happens to have memorized the price of every single item in the store's inventory, which is doubtful.)

"Thanks, but I'm sure I did," I said, and I started walking away from her. At this point, she just gave up, huffing out a petulant "Fine!"

I doubt I'll make this a standard policy, but it was fun to mix it up a little.

I Have a Cunning Plan

Although I can't exactly say why, I have a weakness for a couple film genres. One is the submarine picture. Any movie that takes place in a sub will draw me in, even if I know it's not a terribly good film, and even though they are all pretty much the same film (firing torpedoes, evading depth charges, taking on water, a tough skipper, a green XO who the skipper suspects isn't ready for command, taking the ship deeper than she's rated to dive, debates about orders and military procedure, the psychological ordeal of being cooped up in a tin can underneath millions of gallons of water...you know the drill).

The other genre that I can't resist is the heist picture. The NY Times has a great article here that partly explains what makes these movies so much fun: part of the allure is watching the characters develop and execute elaborate and daring plans, and the other part is watching them deal with the inevitable snags to said plans. What the NYT didn't point out, though, is that yet another part of the appeal of these movies is that they typically include some kind of swindle. Sometimes, like in Ocean's 11, the thieves swindle the mark. But it's even more fun when there's a swindle going on within the team.

I've added some titles to my Netflix queue based on this article, including a number of foreign films, so do check it out of you're a fan of the genre. In the meantime, here are a few mini-reviews...

I already mentioned Ocean's 11, and I think it was underrated when it was first released. Soderbergh and Co. know how preposterous it is, and that's part of the fun. The sequels got progressively more preposterous and less fun (although subbing Catherine Zeta-Jones for a pasty and shrewish Julia Roberts was a big step up), but they're good for wasting a couple hours.

Speaking of Zetamax, as I've heard her called, a remarkably mediocre example of the genre is Entrapment, in which she co-stars with Sean Connery. This was the film that made me realize how much of a cliche this line is: "You're gettin' too old for this stuff [obviously, the last word can be substituted with a stronger term]." Now I'll be the first to admit that Connery has aged well, but the romance that develops between him and CZJ is just creepy, not to mention feebly developed. The ending scene in the train station is laughably lame. However, there is a memorable scene in which CZJ is "training" for the heist by slithering over, under, and around a mock-up laserbeam detection system. I remember the theater getting very quiet during that scene.

If you want to be completely terrified of the man who once played Gandhi, check out Sexy Beast. The heist is less central to the film than the efforts of the main character to resist Ben Kingsley's attempts to recruit him, and Kingsley is absolutely frightening.

I refused to see the remake of The Pink Panther for multiple reasons, but one reason was because much of the appeal of the original is the way it embodies the grooviness of the early 60s. As a kid, I laughed at Clouseau's bumbling, and I recognize Peter Seller's talent, but that part hasn't held up as much for me. Watching David Niven exude smoothness has.

Although I can't recall a single detail, and although it's far from Woody Allen's finest work, I remember enjoying Small Time Crooks. Same deal with Bandits.

There's nothing too remarkable about Frank Oz's The Score; it hews pretty close to the standard heist film. But it's well-executed, and Robert De Niro and Ed Norton give good performances. There are lovely scenes of Montreal, too. I preferred this film over its competitor that year: Heist, starring Gene Hackman. The latter was penned and directed by David Mamet, but it left me cold.

As always, I'm open to additions to this list.

UPDATE: Forgot to mention Heat and The Usual Suspects.

My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys

And they still are, it seems.

Watoosa and I watched 3:10 to Yuma this week, and it reconfirmed my high opinion of it. Watoosa proclaimed it her favorite western. I wouldn't put it above Unforgiven, which is in my favorite films in any genre. But 3:10 to Yuma is certainly one of the best of its kind, and seeing it in the theater last summer was one of the most enjoyable movie-going experiences I've had in quite a while.

There's nothing fancy about this film--it's just a straightforward story about a man (Christian Bale) determined to get an outlaw (Russell Crowe) to a train that will take him to his trial and, presumably, to justice. There's enough character development that you enjoy watching these people interact and make the choices that move the plot along, and you care about what happens to them. But this is no hoity-toity character film posing as a Western. The action sequences are gripping, and there's plenty of them.

Crowe plays his character with plenty of charm, but also with enough cold-blooded ruthlessness that you never quite forget he's a villain. Bale gives his usual full-tilt performance. But Ben Foster steals the show as Crowe's right hand man. He has such an intensity that far outstrips his rather small frame. There are scenes of him waiting on horseback, positioned far off in the distance, watching and waiting for a chance to strike out at the men who have captured his boss. It's chilling.

In the bonus features, the filmmaker portrays Westerns as the American counterpart to the Greek and Roman myths. I think there's something to that, but the fact that so few Westerns make it to production these days (compared to the early and middle part of the last century) suggests that the importance of the Western to the American identity is waning. It looks to me like it will be supplanted in this century by the super-hero film.

But 3:10 to Yuma was such a treat, I hope it will remind Hollywood that there are still stories worth telling that involve horses and six-shooters and a decided lack of spandex.

I'm Not Nearly as Special as I'd Like to Think I Am

One highlight (out of many) from the trip to California: I met someone who seems to have largely followed my life trajectory. During the conference, he introduced himself to the group as someone who does work in political philosophy and ethics, with a particular interest in issues concerning citizenship. That's pretty much how I describe myself, too, so I decided to introduce myself. In the course of our conversation, I discovered we had the following things in common:

1. We both grew up in north Alabama.
2. We both grew up Southern Baptist.
3. He went to Samford for one year, and ended up earning a degree from UAH. I went to UAH for one year, and I ended up earning a degree from Samford.
4. He married a Samford alum, and so did I.
5. He got his Ph. D. from Vanderbilt. As a kid, I always intended to go to Vandy.
6. We both started off with an interest in American pragmatism, and then eventually shifted to analytic philosophy.
7. Our dissertations addressed similar topics, and we seem to have argued for similar positions.
8. Our dissertation advisors run in the same circles.
9. This year, he began his career at a Protestant college in Southern California. I just left a teaching position at a Protestant college in Southern California.

How many other people are out there that have lived pretty much the same life as you?

UPDATE: I forgot to add "10. We both have the same intials--C.C."

Goin' Back to Cali

Stylin' and Profilin'.

I leave in a couple hours for Southern California, where I'll spend a little time in the L.A. area and attend a conference in beautiful Santa Barbara. This conference is held each February partly in order to catch the best weather of the year. While I have loved the Maine winter, yesterday was such a mess that I started thinking that the lyrics of "California Dreamin'" were gospel truth: "All the leaves are brown, and the sky is gray....I'd be safe and warm, if I was in L.A."

On Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, we got seven inches of snow. During the day on Wednesday, snow gave way to lots of rain, which in turn changed the fallen snow to seven inches of slush, and formed giant pools of standing water that couldn't find its way to street drains. I got completely soaked through while trying to liberate our cars, as passing traffic splashed gallons of road water and sludge on me. Then I turned my attention to our walk, where I was literally shoveling liquid water.

So I should get a break from all that the next few days. Alas, Watoosa must stay behind.

But as for the rest of my readers...so long, suckers!

UPDATE: Title explanation, for those who have insufficient appreciation of 80s rap, here.

UPDATE 2: Yes, I will be both stylin' and profilin'.

Things I Wish I'd Never Seen

A 1.5 cm* nose goblin dangling from one of my student's nostrils, its slimy exterior reflecting the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window.

Fortunately for him, it was in the middle of class. Unfortunately for him, the class consists of six people, so he was especially conspicuous. I was horrified, and yet I could not look away. Not even when, finding himself without a tissue, he used his freakin' sleeve.

Needless to say, I'll be handling this kid's tests and papers with safety tongs and a hazmat suit.

*Approximate measurement, but no exaggeration.

The Best Sentence I've Read This Morning

From the NY Times review of Fool's Gold:

"Mr. McConaughey and Ms. Hudson, who were less than electrifying in "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days," appear to be suffering through a course in remedial chemistry, which they barely pass."

Be Afraid. Be Very, Very, Very, Very Afraid

What in the name of all that is holy and decent in this world would impel someone to greenlight this idea: a cheeseburger in a can? You read that right. Click on the link, and despair.

And yet, amidst all my revulsion and suspicion, I find myself strangely curious....

Fun with Logic

Just found this site, which features amusing Venn diagrams (although some of the entries are line graphs). If you haven't done Venn diagrams before, you'll still get the jokes, I think. The author is putting out a book collection soon.

Here are a couple of my favorites so far:

There Will Be Blood

Yesterday afternoon, Watoosa and I went to see There Will Be Blood. I quite liked it, and I think it's worthy of a Best Picture nomination, although I would prefer No Country for Old Men. Watoosa would choose Juno, I think (I did enjoy that one, but I'd still give the big one to the Coens).

There Will Be Blood features a spectacular performance by Daniel Day-Lewis as the protagonist, Daniel Plainview. Day-Lewis uses an American accent reminiscent of John Huston or Jack Palance. It doesn't sound like the accent of a rough-and-tumble prospector turned oil man, but I think that adds to the character's mystique. I spent the entire film trying to figure him out. Is he a villain? Is he simply a hard-working businessman? Is he succumbing to his obsession? Just what is he up to? Only at the end does an answer begin to emerge, although I'm still trying to make sense of the character even now.

The film naturally invites comparisons to Citizen Kane. Both films chronicle the life of men who rise to prominence and wealth and ultimately suffer from it. Watching their protagonists develop, even to the point of tragedy, is what makes them compelling. But There Will Be Blood also features a foil to the Plainview character: a local faith healer named Eli Sunday, who eventually becomes a famous radio preacher in Los Angeles. These two characters could easily be seen as embodiments of the American century: a business tycoon and a celebrity revivalist preacher. But if they were nothing more than types, this movie would have been a lot less interesting.

The film also uses music to remarkable effect--some have likened it to Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. And there are lots of shots that are beautifully composed; we especially loved the scenes of the Central California countryside.

I think it gets a bit out of hand toward the last 20 minutes or so (although it allows Day-Lewis to go completely nuts), but it's definitely worth seeing.

Maine Barbecue (No, That's Not a Typo)

After succumbing to a raging, pregnancy-fueled craving for barbecue on Friday, Watoosa did some research and found a local place that was supposed to be pretty good: Beale Street Barbecue. We tried it out yesterday, and we were quite impressed.

Their basic sauce is tomato-based, so it resembles the kind you'd get in the mid-South. It has a delicious, vegetablish savoriness, and just enough heat to make it interesting without producing rivers of sweat from my scalp (not that it takes much to do that). They also have a habanero-fueled sauce, if you want some agonizing pain with your meal.

That basic sauce gets served with many kinds of meat: pulled pork, chicken, pulled brisket, and sausages. I got some pork and brisket, and while the former was quite good, the latter was fantastic. It comes served on a hunk of tasty jalipeno cornbread.

They also serve pork ribs. Friends and neighbors, I'm here to tell you...those ribs are amazing. They are smoked and seasoned with a dry rub, and the meat is so tender that a light breeze would pull it right off the bone. I put a little sauce on a few ribs, but Watoosa and I both decided they were even better with just the rub.

I wouldn't say it's the best barbecue ever, but we wouldn't be embarassed to take our Southern friends there. If there hadn't been several inches of snow on the ground with temps in the 20s, and if our waitress hadn't sounded like an extra from Good Will Hunting, I could almost have fooled myself into thinking I was in Memphis.

I say "almost," because the menu features lots of non-BBQ items, like crab cakes, burritos, pasta and salad. And people ordered them! At the table next to ours, as I was devouring those magnificent ribs, I noticed that none of the three diners ordered barbecue. And one of them--a petulant whelp of a teenager, I'm sure--ate only a salad with some chicken tossed on top. I didn't know whether to condemn them or grieve for them. Alas, they forfeited culinary riches for a bowl of pottage (or a salad and a couple burgers, to be more exact).

Chillin' Like a Villain

See that big goose egg in the bottom left of the image? That was last night's low. Or is it tonight's? No matter. It's been cold here the past couple days. Farther inland they've been having a windchill advisory, but it seems to have missed us.

After we moved out here, we'd tell people how excited we were to be living in Maine. Since they knew we'd moved here from California and that we grew up in the South, they warned us, "You'll be changing your tune once winter comes and you're digging your car out of the snow."

My insistence that we actually love cold weather was usually met with skepticism. And when I'd respond by pointing out that Southerners are naturally tough and that's why it was a scientific fact that Johnny Reb could whoop ten Billy Yanks in the War between the States and don't you even try to deny it or we'll rise up again and give you Federalists another shellackin'...well, that's usually been met with stares of puzzlement and disbelief.

But I'm happy to report that we're now about halfway through the winter, and Watoosa and I both love it. We've had an unusually large amount of snow this season (several feet, in fact) and lots of days below freezing. The snow does tend to make things a bit messy, but I still get a charge out of watching it fall and cover everything. The drive to campus (and the view of Sebago Lake and the White Mountains) is especially beautiful after a good snowstorm. Digging the cars out hasn't been a problem except for one night, and even then I was able to use a neighbor's snowblower, which was actually fun (I'm going to have to get one when we get a driveway). And I take an almost perverse pleasure in seeing how low the temps can get; I'm hoping for a day when the highs stay in the single digits, just to say I saw it.

So all the doubters can rest assured. Old Man Winter can keep on trying to freeze us out, but we're not going anywhere. Mother Nature can do her very worst, and we'll take it with a smile.

Unless we lose power. Then we're screwed.

Forever in Peace May They Wave

I've always had a thing for flags. As I child, I would sometimes pull out the "F" volume of our encyclopedia set (The New Book of Knowledge, which was for some reason stored in my room) and look at a color spread of all the world's flags. I got extra excited when a school assignment required us to construct flags. Yes, I was a total geek.

So I was especially jazzed about finding this site today: a ranking of all the world's flags in terms of aesthetic value. Some of the comments are pretty funny, such as Libya's choice of a plain green rectangle ("Did you even try?"), Mauritius four-bar monstrosity ("'Hey, lots of countries have a tricolour, why don't we have a quadcolour?' Big mistake."), and Zimbabwe ("Features a hawk sitting on a toilet.").

The grading methodology is here. There are bonus points for simplicity and good colors, and flags lose points for bad colors, the use of maps, and resemblance to corporate logos. Especially damning is the penalty for "Makes me nauseous."

The United States gets a C+, which is about what I'd give it. I've never really taken to it, in part because of the proportion of the size and shape of the blue field to the whole rectangle, and because of all those stars.

The United Kingdom is one of my favorite flags, but it gets only a B on this list, having points docked for being "too busy." I don't think it's too busy at all. I like especially that it incorporates the flags of England, Scotland, and Ireland (it's the cross of St. George, imposed on the cross of St. Patrick, all imposed on the cross of St. Andrew). Of course, that means that Wales gets left out--tough luck to the Welsh for living in a principality rather than a kingdom.

Another one of my favorite flags was the Confederate battle flag, aka the Stars and Bars. Unfortunately, it's now forever tainted with racism and redneckery, but it's a fine looking flag.

Just Think of the Occupational Hazards

Here's a job I'd never want to have, regardless of the salary: public restroom reviewer. The NY Times apparently has one, who's posted a review here of an automated toilet in Madison Square Park.

I've heard about these automated toilets before, and it sounded like a pretty great deal; since they are self-flushing and self-cleaning, they avoid the absolute worst thing about public restrooms, at least those devoted to males: for some reason, men seem to abandon all influences of civilization and decency once they enter, and prefer to leave their offerings right there in the bowl for the next guy to witness. I've long been baffled by this, since it's clearly a negative-sum game--we all suffer when even a few of us refuse to flush, and yet it's so easy to avoid that outcome. I can't believe that all these men don't flush their toilets at home, so why not just take the 0.5 seconds and hit that lever? If you're grossed out by touching it, use your foot (like I do).

Luckily, I've been blessed with a bladder of steel, so I can quite comfortably delay taking care of business until I can do so with a home court advantage, so to speak. But I have longed for a technological fix to this particular shortcoming of human nature.

It looks like I'll have to wait a little longer, though, because it looks like these automated units have two shortcomings that I don't see myself getting past. First, you're given only three 16-inch strips of toilet paper. Granted, that's typically enough to get the job done, but what do you do in those extreme cases? You can't just wait for the thing to reset, because the entire room gets cleaned after every use. Are you supposed to zip up, exit, and tell whomever's waiting outside that you that you want another ride?

Second, there is dampness everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. Part of the point of having a guaranteed bathroom is that you don't get your trousers infected by fluid on the floor. And there's nothing worse than the sensation of sitting down on the toilet seat and feeling moisture. You pray to the gods above that it's just clean toilet water that splashed up there after the last flush.

These units cost $100,000, so they may be slow to catch on. But hopefully they'll get a couple design improvements before they do. In the meantime, I'm forced to put up with the great unwashed.

OD on Austen

Some of you may be interested in this little nugget: PBS's Masterpiece Theater, plans to air adaptations of all of the works of Jane Austen. Plus, they're including a dramatic portrayal of her life, and no, it's not the one with Anne Hathaway. Rather it's titled Miss Austen Regrets, and it stars Olivia Williams (she was Miss Cross in Rushmore), who should be a bit more believable than Hathaway. I think some of the adaptations are new, but there is at least one classic: the BBC's production of Pride & Prejudice, which stars Jennifer Ehle and Colin "You might as well call me Darcy" Firth.

I've thankfully overcome my blithe dismissal of Austen's books, and so I no longer turn my nose up at dramatized versions of them, although the BBC P&P is still the best (thank the lords of Kobol that PBS didn't use the Keira Knightley version, or Watoosa would have gone into a fit of rage). We'll see how the new ones turn out.

There is a webpage for the series here. Since it's PBS, the website doesn't really tell you that much. I hope Masterpiece Theater still uses that same theme music from when I was a kid. I knew when those trumpets started playing that it was time for my parents to watch grown-up TV and for me to go to bed.

Bonus funny story: a few years ago, I gave Watoosa a DVD copy of P&P. She was elated, and she insisted we watch it immediately. It's pretty long, so we split it up over two evenings. During the night after we finished it, I awoke to hear her talking in her sleep. With as much vitriol as I've ever heard come from her lips, she said, "Oh that Mr. Collins...I HATE HIM SO MUCH!"

UPDATE: Imagine my embarassment on realizing I used the coarse, lowbrow Americanized spelling "theater" instead of "theatre." A thousand pardons.

UPDATE 2: Masterpiece Theatre intro theme is here, although it's warbly and quiet and doesn't kick in until the 1:10 mark. On the plus side, it also features that weird Moogish WGBH Boston promo that used to be all over PBS in the 1980s.

UPDATE 3: Mousterpiece Theater intro is here.

UPDATE 4: Monsterpiece Theatre episode is here. Is it me, or does Cookie Monster say "Good Sex Joke" at 00:19?

No Movie for Loud Men

The latest Coen brothers' feature, No Country for Old Men, is getting a lot of awards buzz, and I think it's well deserved. I really liked it in the theater, and the more I thought about it afterwards, the more I retroactively enjoyed it. Today, I read this article that explains part of why the film is so effective: it's the way the Coens use sound, or rather, silence.

Here's its description of the most memorable scene:

"There is at least one sequence in “No Country for Old Men” that could be termed Hitchcockian in its virtuosic deployment of sound. Holed up in a hotel room, Mr. Brolin’s character awaits the arrival of his pursuer, Chigurh. He hears a distant noise (meant to be the scrape of a chair, Mr. Berkey said). He calls the lobby. The rings are audible through the handset and, faintly, from downstairs. No one answers. Footsteps pad down the hall. The beeps of Chigurh’s tracking device increase in frequency. Then there is a series of soft squeaks — only when the sliver of light under the door vanishes is it clear that a light bulb has been carefully unscrewed."

The reference to Hitchcock is apt. I knew exactly what was going to happen in this scene, and yet I was still completely on the edge of my seat. Another good comparison is 2001: A Space Odyssey. Stanley Kubrick builds the tension to an amazing degree scenes in which the astronauts are maneuvering outside their ship, by using utter silence or limiting the sound to the astronauts' breathing and a slight hissing of the air system. It seems to last forever, and it underscores the coldness and emptiness of space, which reminds the viewer (although subtly) of the danger they're witnessing. Similarly, he focuses for an uncomfortably long amount of time on the readout monitors on the hibernation pods, when HAL is slowly killing the astronauts inside, and all you hear is a persistent, manic beeping. It's one of the creepiest things I've ever seen in a movie. You can get a feel for it here, but it loses something on the small screen.

Hitchcock's Strong Suit

I'm not sure exactly how serious to take it, but I enjoyed reading this essay about my favorite Alfred Hitchcock film, North by Northwest.

The author's thesis is given in the first sentence: "North by Northwest isn't a film about what happens to Cary Grant, it's about what happens to his suit."

He addresses something that has always bothered me about that film--Cary Grant goes so long without showering, and yet Eva Marie Saint doesn't seemed put off at all until they're in her hotel room in Chicago (and even then she's just putting up a front to protect him). Granted, it is Cary Grant. But after all that running around, fleeing malevolent aircraft, getting nearly roasted by an exploding fuel truck, etc., when he does get a chance to bathe, he passes up the opportunity. Surely, he had to be reeking to high heaven.

But the article also points out something I hadn't thought of before: just how magnificent the suit looks, despite all the abuse it takes. Clearly, there's some Hollywood magic involved, here.

One other thing that has always bothered me about this film is its title--what does it have to do with the story? The characters move almost exactly due west, not north by northwest. Someone once suggested to me that it refers to the direction that the villains plan to go as they make their exit from the United States. But since they're leaving from Rapid City, South Dakota, that would mean they were heading to...where, exactly? I have a hard time believing that superspy James Mason would be heading to Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.