Taylor's Laws

Note: Taylor's Laws--or variously, Rules, Principles, Axioms, Whatevers--are a series of Laws of Nature and Life as promulgated by yours truly (a la Stephen's Dictionary for words and phrases). I hope to make this a semi-regular feature of Malchats Matters, and possibly to produce a compendium when I have enough Laws formulated.

Taylor's Principle of Pizza Purchasing

Always buy as much pizza as your available funds will allow.

Explication: You always want to maximize the value of your money. Buying as much pizza as your available funds allows will accomplish this. Pizza, in any amount, will always get eaten. Cold pizza is almost as good as fresh out of the oven pizza, so leftovers are always welcome. It will not go bad, even if left sitting in its box for a couple of days (it will rarely achieve that long a shelf life). Thus, every dollar you spend on pizza goes to making a meal--usually a couple of meals. Whatever is the best 'buy in bulk' price that your local pizza joint offers, go for it.

Recently Read

Into the American Woods
by James H. Merrell

Into the American Woods:
Negotiators on the Pennsylvania Frontier

by James H. Merrell

I was completely deceived by this book's title. I put it on my reading list under the belief that this was a work of natural history about the great forests that covered the American continent back in the day. It would have helped if I had kept reading until I came to the subtitle...

But this turned out not to be a problem. What I accidentally discovered was a book on colonial history that I would not have otherwise selected, and that happy accident led to an enjoyable reading experience I would not otherwise have had.

Author James H. Merrell tells the intriguing story of the "negotiators on the Pennsylvania frontier"--those souls who, for one reason or another, straddled the worlds of the native Indians of mid-Atlantic river valleys and the early British colonists who were the first founders of "Penn's Woods." As the author tells it, trying to bridge the gap between those peoples was an enormous undertaking, one so fraught with difficulty that even those involved in the task were often in the thick of it against their will. That motley mixture--of half-breeds, inter-marriers, and hustlers on the make for trade and land speculation--proved to be invaluable for the peoples in the Delaware and Susquehanna valleys in the years from (roughly) 1680 to 1760; it was only through the shrewdness and diplomatic skill of the go-betweens that William Penn's original vision of a "peaceable kingdom" of mutual brotherhood between the natives and the colonists ever came close to being realized.

Except, of course, it never really was realized. By the end of that eighty year span, despite the best efforts of the negotiators, the fits and starts of peace and aggression between the two parties had degenerated into brutal frontier war. That conflict, played out as one theater of the wider Seven Years/French and Indian War, helped set the archetypal course of American history--Indians fighting for their lives and land before ultimate dispossession by the ever-growing hordes of European immigrants.

Merrell's history provides an interesting perspective on all elements of this archetypal story. The characters on display run the full gamut, from noble stalwarts to foolish clowns and everyone in between. Occasionally, the story moves towards high comedy, as vignettes about some drunken Indian leader or peevish colonial official bring moments of true mirth. More often than not, though, this is a sad tale, one that tugs at the soul of the reader, who is confronted by tragedy again and again in the slaughter of families, the sacking of homes and fields, the dispossession (often by fraud) of the natives of their longtime birthrights, and the slow erosion of peoples and their way of life. Reading Into the American Woods can be an especially sobering experience for someone, like myself, who is a native of Penn's Woods (though the Philadelphia where I was born bore hardly any resemblance to the place known as Shackamaxon, where Penn held his famous council with the local Delawares back in the day). Again and again, while reading this book, I felt a longing to live up to Penn's dream and do something to bring that dreamed of harmony closer to reality. But whatever actions I or anyone else may take now, the sorrows of the past cannot be undone.

It is, then, the least we can do, to remember what was and move forward with that knowledge. Merrell's work helps move us towards that goal, and thus should be read and appreciated. Certainly, readers with a hunger for historical knowledge should pick up Into the American Woods. And though it is a scholarly work, and perhaps not everyone's cup of tea, it wouldn't hurt even the casual reader to give these pages a look as well. If nothing else, reading this book might drive home a point that has widespread application in all places and times: it is communication, or the breakdown thereof, that can decide the fate of peoples, nations--almost everything. If we all learn that lesson, maybe the "peaceable kingdom" will finally come to pass.

No Contest: The Real World Wins Hands Down

Lately, I've been on a run selling my old CDs--not because I've grown tired of my music, but because I no longer have the space to accommodate 100+ discs and their containers. At first I went the online route, selling my discs via sites like "selldvdsonline.com" and "mx123.com." (I'll name them, but I won't provide links, for reasons that will become obvious below.) I thought using the online sites would be an advantage to me: you enter the disc's bar code for pricing, so you know right away whether a disc will sell or not--no lugging any duds to the store; the online vendors pay for shipping, so it's just a case of packaging the order up and getting to the post office; and (important for people-shy types like myself) you don't have to deal with any of the music store weirdos face to face. Seemed like a good way to go.

The mad monk is your friend

Alas, not so much. While it is true that I was ultimately able to make approximately $37 selling old, unwanted CDs online, the process was a pain in the ass.

Many CDs were rejected out of hand, because the bar code did not show up in the vendor's database.

Packaging the orders meant finding a suitable box, packing the discs properly, and securely sealing the box--and then I still had to get the thing to the post office. Not horrendous, but still a pain.

But those issues paled in comparison to the actual process of completing the sale. The worst indignities came after the vendor received the order. Of four separate orders sent by me, three of them had "problems" according to the vendors.

In two cases out of three orders sent to selldvdsonline.com, the vendor informed me that a disc was "missing" from my order. This despite the fact that, by their own assessment, the package seemed undamaged, and I certainly had no spare discs lying around at home. I was particularly assiduous about double-checking the order after the first "missing" disc issue. The fact is, I KNOW that each order included all of the intended discs. But who's going to haggle--long distance--over 25¢? In both cases, the payment I received was marked down by the value of the "missing" discs.

Worst of all was my experience with the execrable mx123.com. It took almost 10 days for them to acknowledge receipt of my order. After several days with no payment, I had to nudge them via email. This led to a response telling me that my order had "quality" problems, that several of the prices for my discs would be marked down because the discs or packaging did not meet their standards. (Funny, the other place never had a problem with the quality of my discs.) Again, I was told I would be paid "within 3 business days." It was only after the fourth business day, when I was ready to send another, considerably angrier email, that I received my payment. And finally, to add insult upon insult, my payment was reduced by 57¢ for PayPal's transaction fee. (None of the other payments from the other site--or indeed, any other payment I've ever received via PayPal--had a fee deducted from them.) I feel lucky to have gotten away with any money at all from those turds.

Contrast those experiences with what I got when I took two grocery bags full of CDs to my nearest Rasputin outlet. I had some trepidation about taking a big chunk of my music collection into the store at once, but two paper grocery bags full of discs (had to be about 70-80 CDs all told) was no problem for them. I had to wait while the (very friendly) clerk went through my discs one by one to assess prices, but the experience wasn't at all uncomfortable. Ultimately, I was offered $55 cash for my discs--without any of them rejected for "quality" reasons. (They offered $63 store credit, but I didn't take that, since I had other things to buy.) The entire process, including the drive to the store, probably took no more than 45 minutes, I got rid of my CDs, and I walked out of the store with $55 cash.

It was no contest: the real life, bricks and mortar, actual building on the street Rasputin store won hands down over the online outlets. I only wish I'd gone there sooner. If you find yourself in the same situation, got some music or movies or such that you'd like to sell, give your local store a shot. You'll be glad you did.

For The Record, Scale Check

284.0 pounds

This shot actually dates to last month, September 13 to be exact. I've been lazy about posting it, though I intended to upload it as soon as I took the shot. I'm posting this to create a date/time stamped record of my weight, and will do so periodically in the future to keep track of my downward progress. (I'm not going to bother posting weight gains; the point of this is milestones on the downward march.)

Check back again later for further milestones as they are achieved.

Recently Read

Fat Land
by Greg Critser

We're in deep trouble. But we can still do something about it. Maybe. That seems to be the takeaway from Greg Critser's book Fat Land.

Critser explores all aspects of America's growing obesity problem, in mostly chronological order: from the 1970s and former Nixon and Ford Secretary of Agriculture Earl Butz's pet projects for lowering the price of food--mostly through opening up markets to the cheap and then-new ingredients high fructose corn syrup and palm oil--to the degradation of physical fitness standards via defunded schools and hypersensitive parents, to the muddled confusion produced by nutrition science and dietary standards, and finally all the way up to the socioeconomic forces that have made fat--as I have said myself, here on this very site--into a class issue in modern America.

Fat Land
by Greg Critser

As a survey of all things obesity related, Fat Land is well-thought out, comprehensive in scope, informative, and sympathetic to plight faced by those of us who are carrying more than our share of pounds. Critser does lay blame where it belongs--including all of us in this population who have allowed our attitudes towards diet and exercise to degenerate in such an unhealthy fashion--but he also spells out the case that many obesity sufferers are indeed victims of societal circumstances. In today's U.S.A., it has become almost impossible NOT to be overweight if you have any genetic inclination towards holding onto the pounds.

In the book's final chapter, Critser presents ideas for actions that we, as a society, can take to ameliorate, if not reverse entirely, the obesity epidemic. For example, the suggestion that young college graduates could be recruited through Americorps to attack the problem in the schools, amongst the youngest victims of the crisis--in the same way such graduates have been sent out to alleviate kids' problems learning math--is intriguing, and should get serious consideration. But, given all that has gone in the preceding pages, the reader is left to wonder how effective such steps can be. After all, Fat Land was published nine years ago; not much has happened in the ensuing years to make the overweight problem any better. Suggestions for improvements have been falling on deaf ears, or upon ears that are blocked or covered up by the moneyed interests (think McDonald's, Burger King, soda companies, et al.) who have been the chief beneficiaries of the obesity explosion. We, as a society, are in thrall to the very forces that have been expanding our waistlines; Critser quite effectively makes that case, and thus it is no surprise that remedial efforts have been largely useless.

Still, we all do have at least the personal, individual solution to weight problems available to us: stop eating poorly, and exercise a lot more. Fat Land may not spell out the regimen that will get the best results for you, but it presents a clear argument that, for each of us--and especially those with a high BMI--the effort is undoubtedly worth it.

Recently Read

Unusually Stupid Americans
by Kathryn Petras and Ross Petras

I'm on a losing streak--there's no denying that.

What else to make of Unusually Stupid Americans, the second entry in my quest for some lighthearted Summer reading? As with my first choice, the lamentable tome The Areas of My Expertise by John Hodgman--a book so dull and disappointing I actually forgot to post my written review of it--my second grab for a literary breeze proved to be a dud.

Unusually Stupid Americans features "a compendium of all-American stupidity"; that is, it's a collection of infotainment items gathered together under several vague topic headings (government, business, food, etc.) and presented for the reader's amusement, in bite-sized morsels. It's a well-worn concept, seen repeatedly in many published works of humor, one which promises lots of laughs without much effort on either side of the equation (reader or author).

On the plus side, the book is not hard to read; no slogging through difficult passages required here. And at least some of the items presented here are silly enough to draw out a guffaw or two.

But not nearly enough of those items are that funny. Worse still, the text is presented with a heaping helping of snark; authors Kathryn and Ross Petras (they're siblings) lay on thick their contempt for their subjects. That would be all well and good if their own contributions amounted to the height of wit and intelligence. Unfortunately, their text presents the reader with little more than boilerplate commentary on the stupidities on display--writing on a par with the humor column of a once a week small town newspaper, with all the banality that implies.

Thus, a book that should have taken a day and a half to read ended up sitting in my bedroom for weeks. But at least I get to get rid of it when I return it to the library. If the local branch is not particularly assiduous about weeding the collection, then--based on its merits--Unusually Stupid Americans may remain on the shelves there, unmoved and unread, for years. Maybe decades. Maybe until the pages rot away to dust. And who will be stupid ones then?

Recently Read

The Areas of My Expertise
by John Hodgman

Mildly amusing.

That was the opening line I was hoping to use in this review of John Hodgman's The Areas of My Expertise. It seemed appropriate, given what I have long seen of Hodgman's work on The Daily Show. His segments, tough few and far between (there may be a hint there), can usually conjure up a good dose of laughs. And I want to be as charitable as possible, because comedy is hard. Being funny isn't easy.

But, apparently, being interesting isn't all that easy either.

I rarely review a book I have not bothered to finish, but in this case I've decided to make an exception. Not once but twice, during the process of reading these pages, I actually fell asleep. I don't mean my attention wandered for a minute or two; I literally dropped my head and shuffled off to snoresville, two separate times, while slogging through Hodgman's words. That was enough to call it for me--boring, unentertaining, and not worth the rest of my time.

Perhaps the failure lies in the premise. As a compendium of ostensible facts drawn from Hodgman's supposedly vast knowledge of everything, the book seems tailor-made for quick, easy and light-hearted fun. But Hodgman's literary persona--a written version of the same arch, stealth-silly, and supercilious character from The Daily Show--comes across as vastly more off-putting in print than it ever does on TV. Even in bite-sized morsels of text the effect quickly becomes grating and robs the jokes of any real impact, muting the funny through the overweening impact of that unlikeable identity.

So much, then, for one title from my supposed Summer of light reading. The Areas of My Expertise will not cut it in any season, be it for light reading or some weird form of personal punishment. Avoid it.

A Class Issue

I've been saying it for years: Fat is a class issue. Meaning, in the United States in particular, whether or not one is obese has a lot to do with your socioeconomic class. The condition is not entirely determined by your bank account, but your money has a heavy influence on your weight.

Now, at least, someone has agreed with me--or at least expressed that agreement in public. I call to your attention this article, Slim Chances for America's obese by author Gillian Tett, as posted on the Financial Times website. The money quote:

…one key for higher obesity rates in poor areas is that those communities have less access to expensive fresh food, exercise and other health aids. The problem is widespread among children, where the obesity rates have grown at a particularly sharp rate. Conversely, surveys suggest that individuals who are obese tend not just to suffer worse health, but have less-positive job prospects.

A few comments to make here: it's refreshing to see someone acknowledge the plain fact that fresh foods is expensive. So often, when this topic is broached, the discussion includes a scolding tone about how ridiculous it is that the poor don't eat enough of that good, fresh, and presumably cheap produce that the (well-compensated) commentator gets to enjoy on a regular basis. That is just nonsense; fresh produce--especially good fresh produce, which you can't get at the supermarket--is not cheap. Not only does it often cost more per unit (or, more particularly for the subject at hand, per calorie) on the face of it, but fresh foods are, ahem, fresh. That is, they go bad. Every fruit that rots, because the buyer did not have the opportunity to eat it before was lost, is wasted money. And--this may shock you, if you are a pundit--poor people don't have money to waste. A can of Spaghettios may be shit, and not very healthy, but it's shelf stable. You won't lose to decay a penny of what you spend on it.

Also, as Tett notes at the end of the above quote, if you're poor and obese you're likely to stay that way. I know from personal experience, if I go looking for a job, all other things being equal, the potential employer is going to hire the skinny person over me. This may, perhaps, be enacted with an eye towards the bottom line, via health insurance premiums. But just as likely, it's because the person who's doing the hiring simply doesn't like the look of you and your excess adipose tissue. You get trapped in a vicious cycle, one that is almost impossible to break with out a lot of help, or perhaps just some dumb luck.

Notably, many of the comments that follow Tett's piece are dedicated to refuting the position her article lays out. This is not surprising; no group lives more on the bad side of the Real Golden Rule™ ("Blame the object of your hatred for being the object of your hatred.") than the obese. That strategy--denying that the ever-growing problem of obesity in this society is something more than millions of individual personal failings--has grown in tandem with the problem. It's one of the reasons that this issue is not likely to be resolved anytime soon, not just in an election year (as Tett points out in relation to governmental intervention).

But at least now I have one example that confirms that I'm not just a lone voice in the wilderness.

Recently Read

The Character of Cats
by Stephen Budiansky

Cats sure do have character. Cats sure are characters. The question is, how much does author Stephen Budiansky reveal, which we don't already know, about that subject in his book, The Character of Cats? The best answer I can give you is, some.

The Character of Cats
by Stephen Budiansky

Budiansky's work reads as a natural history of the domesticated cat, covering well-worn topics such as the origin of their partnership with humans in ancient Egypt and their supposed vilification in medieval Europe; vaguely familiar ground (to cat enthusiasts) such as the feline's natural inclinations towards loner living and territoriality; and all the way through to information on more obscure items (in some cases, through new and recent scholarship) such as cat learning ability and the range of personalities found in the population of domestic kitties.

In some of these cases, the author's assertions are challenging and provocative. For example, Budiansky reports on new thinking about the domestication process that brought formerly wild animals--including cats--into the human realm, ideas that turn the traditional view on its head. Cats have long been seen as "the only animal to have domesticated itself," whereas the rest of the farmyard crew came to their lots in life via a conscious process of subjugation by humans. However, Budiansky calls on recent scientific studies and makes the opposite claim: it was cats who were purposely domesticated (or at least semi-domesticated) by people, while other animal species took the yoke upon themselves as a response to "evolutionary trouble" (meaning loss of habitat, dwindling numbers, etc.).

It's an intriguing claim--but are we sure it's true? Budiansky's argues persuasively from observed experiments, but should we really conclude that everyone who thought about this topic prior to now just got it all wrong? And not just wrong, but completely backwards? If this is the first book of natural history you've ever read, you may be inclined to swallow the argument whole and just move on. But if your experience with the field includes more than these pages, you've certainly encountered exactly this sort of dynamic before: a back and forth set of points and counterpoints around a bone of contention that is not made crystal clear by the biological, genetic, or paleontological evidence. Think of the dinosaurs and their extinction--there are still holdouts who do not accept the asteroid theory and argue for other suspects in that particular whodunit. If experts are themselves uncertain about these matters, how can humble lay readers such as ourselves come down on one side or the other?

Cats, of course, are beguiling in many ways, and lend themselves quite well to this sort of uncertainty. Take, as another example, the state of their vision. Are cats colorblind? They were long thought to be so. And then some observers made claims that cats can and do see color. Now, Budiansky weighs in on the side of feline colorblindness, citing experimental results and the physical structures in cats' eyes (cones and rods), to back up his position. But is that the last word on the matter? How many more times will we see new claims made, on both sides of this issue, in the future?

Thus, the reader must take what he reads in The Character of Cats with a grain of salt--at least where his own direct observations can not confirm or deny the author's assertions. Still, Budiansky's views on our favorite furry friends provide some value. Later sections of the book, dealing with cat psychology and learning potential, should be read by anyone with a serious interest in the health and well-being of cats. In particular, getting a handle on how cats see the world--and thus how they can taught positive behaviors and cajoled away from destructive antics--can be of particular value to anyone sharing territory with a kitty (or more than one).

Lastly, Budiansky brings a solid writing style to the pages in The Character of Cats. The reader may learn a thing or two about cats, but that does not mean he's in for a scholarly slog. The tone of the text remains light and readable through most of its length. The casually interested, as well as the hardcore cat fan, can get through this slim volume without any problems.

In sum, The Character of Cats passes the test. If you'd like to add a few good nuggets of information to your pool of knowledge about our fabulous feline friends, this book is worth your time.

Milestone

Today (Friday June 15) was a big deal. I weighed myself this morning, and for the first time in 7 years--since 2005--I saw a number below 290 on my scale. Granted, it was 289.5--just a hair's breadth below the milestone number--and the next time I step on the thing it will probably read something a few pounds heavier, again. But at least this is a clear sign of progress made. That's what you have to call it when you see numbers you haven't seen in a long time. I can move further forward now and maintain the confidence that my health, my real health, will eventually return to what it was back in the halcyon days of the end of the 20th century.

It Was Fun While It Lasted

It's a long season. That hasn't changed. I acknowledge that fact, and that we are only at Memorial Day as I write this, and that they are only five games out of the division lead at this point. But I don't think the Phillies are going to be playing for any championships this year.

Now, I certainly do hope I am wrong. Their recent run of five straight division championships, along with their style of play and the character of the players, has made this Phillies team the most memorable of my lifetime, possibly my favorite baseball team ever, and most probably the best team in Philadelphia Phillies history. But they're scuffling now, and all signs point to a drop off that will be difficult to overcome.

Yes, their best offensive players have been injured all season. Yes, there have been some injuries to the pitching staff. And yes, there was enough shuffling in the off-season that you can make the case that it's just taking a little while for things to gel. But I think there's more going on here than a minor, temporary dip in the team's fortunes. The evidence points to an ending rather than a new beginning.

Cliff Lee was hurt for a while there, but even so he should not be winless for the season. The bats have been mostly mute without Chase Utley and Ryan Howard in the lineup...and that's part of the problem. There doesn't seem to be much faith in anyone in red pinstripes that those two guys are actually going to play this season. Other teams have guys on the DL, but those teams nevertheless carry on without the missing pieces, and do so with confidence that those players will be contributing soon. (Though Boston has been very up and down, they remain a confident team despite the number of key injuries they've suffered.) And now, with Roy Halladay potentially showing breakdown signals, everything points to a siuation that's about to turn from bad to worse.

Of course, it's possible that everything will turn out right in the end. Maybe the ship rights, guys who've been hurt come back on or ahead of schedule, and the machine starts rolling through the NL again. It just doesn't feel like that's going to happen. The current Philllie team feels more like a squad that is under siege, a team where every time something positive happens (taking three out of four from the Cardinals this weekend, or perhaps seeing one of the big bats back in the lineup soon), some new calamity rises up and takes a big chunk out of them for another foreseeable future.

It happens. Good teams, even great teams, often have that one season in the midst of their run where, for whatever reason, nothing goes right and a whole year is lost before they bounce back. The A's of the late '80s-early '90s were like that: three straight league championships, then one oddly off year in '91 before a bounce back season brought another division title in '92. The Yankees and Dodgers back in the '70s met twice in consecutive years in the World Series, then took the next two off before meeting again in '81. I could probably cull through baseball history and come up with more examples, if it weren't so late now.

So how about it? Can't the Phillies do the same thing? Can't they win next year, if not this year? Maybe. I hope they do. But I also know that there are plenty more examples from baseball history of good teams that had their run, and then dissipated once age and player movement took their toll. I fear we're seeing the latter development in South Philly. So I'm bracing myself, and reminding myself whenever I grind my teeth a little too hard over another loss to the goddamn Mets: Appreciate the good times of the last five years. It was fun while it lasted.

Shins Shine

Back in the old crescent & crossbones days, I used to do much more in the way of music reviews, along with the still chugging along (barely) book and movie reviews (Recently Read and Reel Reviews, respectively). I abandoned that habit, both because I just don't dive into the new music pool very often, and because I came to the conclusion that I don't have much to offer in the way of music criticism. It's easy to say you like, or don't like, a song or album, but it's not nearly as easy as it is with books and movies to say why you should or shouldn't like any particular piece or collection of music. To me, it really does come down to a matter of taste, and who's to argue about that?

Port of Morrow by The Shins, available now.

Nevertheless, once in a while a new musical work comes along that just compels me to speak up--and that happened earlier this year with the release of the latest from The Shins, Port of Morrow. I've been a Shins fan ever since Chutes Too Narrow, or perhaps even earlier with the big breakthrough hit "New Slang" in the movie Garden State. The arrival of Wincing The Night Away back in 2007 cemented The Shins as my favorite "now band"--a hip, current outfit I could point to as at least one example of a group I like that is relevant today, to complement my gigantic stable of favorites from back in the day.

Imagine then, my disappointment when over four years passed with nary a whisper from The Shins. Of course, front man James Mercer--at this point, Mercer is The Shins--had a foray a couple of years ago with Broken Bells, but the one song I heard from that project ("The High Road") never sparked for me. Soon enough, I resigned myself to the inevitable and assumed I'd have to be satisfied with a couple of really good albums, and leave it at that.

Thankfully, I was wrong. Port of Morrow came along back in March, heralded by the pre-release single "Simple Song"...and I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. I could tell, on first listen, that there were a few songs that would grow on me, but nothing leaped out the way, for instance, "Gone for Good" or "Girl Sailor" had from the previous albums. I was almost willing to chalk it up as a loss--another album from a favorite artist that, for some reason or other, just bombed with me, like Imaginary Kingdom from Tim Finn. (Sorry, Tim. IK's no Before and After, that's for sure.)

Eventually, though, I had the good sense to burn the album onto a CD--they're still useful for some things--and started playing the thing in my car as I drove. The breakthrough came, not as any snap! "Eureka!" moment, but more as a slow-motion immersion into the heart of the music. After numerous listenings, during which I could feel the songs growing on me, I'm ready to declare Port of Morrow a triumph, maybe even the album of the year--even better than the recent release Wrecking Ball from my longtime favorite, Bruce Springsteen. Mercer's words and music offer something so unique that you really do need to give them repeated hearings before you can understand what's going on. It's only after hearing these songs enough to get the echoes ringing inside your head that tunes such as "For A Fool," "Fall of '82," and "40 Mark Strasse"--the song trio that delivers as the album's late, illustrious crescendo--can have their greatest impact. Their 'bright melancholy,' paired with more ebullient tracks like "Bait and Switch" and "Pariah King," run the listener through an entire gamut of musical expression like few other artists working today can achieve.

So my sincere thanks to James Mercer for giving us at least one more piece of greatness to add to the Shins' catalog. Or, to counterpoint the plaintive cry that ends both "Pariah King" and the album, "Yes, Jimmy, yes."

Somnambulance

I am more than a little bit sad, frustrated, and nonplussed that this is the first post I've written in a month for this blog. I would give the tired, weak, and frequently quoted excuse that I just haven't had the time to make any new comments here, but that just doesn't cover the story. The plain truth is that, while I do seem to be the busiest part-time employed, work one day a week person on the planet, that's not what's keeping me away from Malchats Matters.

I think the grim reality has more to do with my living arrangements than anything else. It's now been six months since I broke down the most recent Heavily Fortified Bunker and moved in at my mom's place, and the erosive--indeed, corrosive--effects of that household set-up have been grinding down on my sense of having my own life. This is, after all, a touch of cyberspace that is designed to be a virtual adjunct to my life--and with the life I call my own squeezed down into such a narrow space in the real world, it makes perfect sense that I wouldn't have much to add to the Internet annex.

For one thing, the current set-up allows little time and space for me to do much reading; thus, very few Recently Read editions. Given mom's virtual monopoly on the main TV, watching movies has become a null program. (I have been re-watching old episodes of The Simpsons [seasons one through four, so far; now into season five] on the computer in my bedroom; that has taken away time and space that could be devoted to films.) And I suppose I just haven't been as active an observer on the scene as usual, and thus not so much a commentator on that scene.

But beyond all that, there's simply the fact that all I really think about these days is how much I hate the current arrangements, and if I were posting here regularly, all I'd really be doing is bitching about that. And, of course, that's exactly what I DON'T want to do. It's what I hate about most blogging to begin with (as well as its twisted virtual baby brothers, Twitter and Facebook): the false, narcissistic, unmerited belief that anyone gives a shit about the minutiae of your life. That's not what Malchats Matters is all about, despite the title. I want to express thoughts, and occasional feelings, about things that are relative to, but outside, my own life--not just wallow in my own filth. Perhaps, if I'm lucky, one of my sent-out resumes will strike literal pay dirt, and I'll have the chance to redevelop my sense of the world beyond my own (basically nonexistent) plot of earth.

Until such time, I ask for patience, both from myself and any reader who happens to stumble upon this Internet backwater.

Weirdness, Baseball Edition

This is an odd thing: the baseball season has arrived, and I did not publish any kind of preview prediction thing. It's the first time in several years I have not bothered to put together a prediction sheet. It's not that my life is too busy right now, per se, but I seem to have little time to spend on activities that are not "must do" actions. Nevertheless, I'd like to say a few things about the new season, just to put a few observations down for the record.

Most notable right now, several teams got off to very good starts. The Dodgers came flying out of the gate, while the Nationals, Cardinals, Rangers and Tigers have all impressed in the early going. Some of these starts will be meaningful in the long run, but I'd caution any fans of these teams about getting too excited just yet. There's a muddled record for fast starting teams achieving ultimate success; especially teams that were nowhere just last season, and are now pushing the envelope in April.

That may mean trouble for Washington. They have talent, but it's young talent, and those are the kinds of ballplayers who play well when they're playing well, but then have trouble bringing themselves out of the tailspin when the slump comes (as it inevitably will). I also retain my prejudice against St. Louis; championship or no, I remain convinced that that team isn't as good as recent results suggest. (They will, however, benefit from playing in an obviously weakened division this year.)

Conversely, Texas has made a believer out of me. You can't go to the Series two years in a row, then come flying out of the gate the next year, and not convince the doubters. I think they're in it for the long haul. I expect the Dodgers to stick around, too; their fast start suggests that their struggles the past couple of seasons represented artificially suppressed output, due to the toxic scene caused by the ownership fiasco. Detroit will probably stay up there, too, but I'm less certain about that.

On the other side of the coin, I'm worried about the team of my youth, the Phillies. They're scuffling even with their superior pitching, and that worries me. Injuries in the offense should have an impact, but even so a set of starters that good should keep you winning games. I'm not writing anything off just now, but check back with me in June, and the answer might be different.

There's a smell around the Angels, too, just now, and that might linger as well. Yes, Pujols will eventually hit his usual share, but I get the vibe that that team, for whatever reason, is less than the sum of its parts, and has been for a few years now.

As for my local nines, both teams look a lot like "four games over .500" teams this season--and that will play very differently on either side of the bay. An 83 win season will not find many friends with the Giants, but that feels like their ultimate destination. They just have that one step up, one step back feel to them, despite their own high expectations. Conversely, finishing over .500 will be hailed as a triumph by the Athletics, should they get that far. Everyone was very down on them going into this season, but as of this writing they're one game over .500, with almost half of Manny Ramirez's suspension in the books. That may turn out to be a non-trivial matter; if they hold their own for the next 30 games, and then get a little more juice in their lineup from MR's presence, the A's could turn into a very big surprise. Again, get back to me in June.

Finally, whither the eternal questions about the Red Sox and Yankees? Since there can never be any baseball discussion anymore without those two teams in the mix, we must address the issue. The good news is, I think the results of the last couple of seasons have worn away the veneer from these two teams. The Yankees look good, but not that good. Meanwhile, Boston just reeks of bad medicine. Worst of all--for these two teams; it's good for the rest of us--the mystique has been dissipated, and rest of the AL East has just about caught up. The Rays are legit challengers, as always lately, but even the Jays and the Orioles aren't afraid of the big two anymore. I think that erosion just might be enough to send one, or even both, of these teams packing come the end of the regular season. And a big sigh of relief for that.

Keep watching this space for more baseball related insight, or at least baseball related whining.

Recently Read

The Believing Brain
by Michael Shermer

If you've got a party that needs spoiling, Michael Shermer is your guy.

Michael Shermer's
The Believing Brain

This is not to cast Shermer with nefarious motives. I doubt the well-known skeptic and founder of the magazine of that name seeks to ruin anyone's fun with his latest work of analysis, The Believing Brain. The author is simply a man of science, and wishes everyone else could be, too.

But I must admit to feeling twinges of disappointment and sadness while I read Shermer's latest. I remember how much fun I had as a kid, reading books about hokum like the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot, sea serpents, and ghosts. That stuff was, as Denzel Washington's Training Day character Alonzo Harris put it, "bullshit...but entertaining bullshit." Much as folks of all ages spice up their dull as dishwater lives with the imagined possibilities of science fiction, so too the more colorful products of pseudo-science help us retain a bit of that childlike wonder, some semblance of a belief that there's more to the world around us than the banality of everyday life.

To be fair, The Believing Brain is not simply a debunking report on those characters of our dreams (and not a few nightmares). Shermer has attacked such targets in previous works, notably the earlier book, Why People Believe Weird Things. This current work serves up a straightforward examination of how the human brain works; it is a discourse on the cognitive processes that lead us believe ideas both common, ordinary and demonstrable (that sound in the bushes might be a dangerous predator, so watch out) and odd, outrageous and unprovable (the aliens have already arrived and are ruling the world from behind the scenes). Shermer makes his strong case that, contrary to intuitive thought, our beliefs come first, then we use our cognitive biases to reinforce those beliefs, until we find ourselves well convinced of our hold on the "truth."

All well and good, for the psych student. But such discourse does not necessarily make compelling reading for the casual observer. Though Shermer is by now a seasoned pro at writing interesting, accessible, and often humorous prose, parts of The Believing Brain can be difficult to connect with. Some readers will find it easy to get lost in the author's descriptions of the various parts of the brain and their various functions in perception and belief building. While Shermer's account of his personal journey from believer to skeptic is instructive and quite readable, his descriptions of "patternicity" and "agenticity" may prove too technical for many to understand. Reading the early sections The Believing Brain gives you the distinct impression that you're slogging through a bunch of details in order to get to "the good stuff" later in the book.

There are, in fact, pieces of "good stuff" in the book's latter pages. Particularly intriguing is the discussion of Galileo's discoveries at the end of the Middle Ages, and how the reliance on authority so prevalent at the time led otherwise intelligent observers not to see the very objects so readily apparent in Galileo's telescope. (The story suggests obvious parallel's to today's conservatives--current society's arch-lovers of authority--and their obstinate disbelief in evolution, climate change, etc.) And Shermer's account of the debates among astrophysicists regarding the nature of the universe--arguments that ultimately led to Hubble's cosmological discoveries--stands as an eloquent exemplar of the value of the scientific method.

So you can learn a lot reading The Believing Brain. Particularly, you will learn a lot about the author himself. How the reader responds to the ideas presented in the book may depend not upon empirical evidence, but upon how you feel about Shermer. It's hard not to view Shermer himself as part of this equation; the book is littered with the author's imprimatur regarding his subject matter. Many terms of the discourse are categorized as "what I call..." terms; i.e., "we practice what I call 'agenticity'." One suspects that many of the terms so labeled in the book are not necessarily of Shermer's own coinage. Plus, numerous concepts in the text are fleshed out through examples from the author's own experience--particularly when it allows Shermer to recall one of his television appearances, or the marathon bike race he founded and participated in, or to educate his audience about his preference for libertarianism. In fact, a reader could readily draw the conclusion that the one thing Michael Shermer truly believes in is Michael Shermer. That perspective must necessarily color the reader's judgment of the arguments presented in The Believing Brain. Is that shading enough to invalidate the concepts presented in the text? Not in this reader's view; Shermer's arguments retain their validity, based on their own strength. But it's easy to see others having their judgment thrown by the author's somewhat obtrusive personality.

Overall, The Believing Brain succeeds on its own terms. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but the strength of the scholarship and reasoned argument it presents is not easily refuted. If we all read this book, and were moved to question our own deeply held beliefs--even for a few moments--that would probably be a good thing.

Wordsmith

Another term for Stephen's Dictionary:

Cunt Blanche
[noun]
The unconditional, unconstrained authority certain female creatures believe themselves to have, to be invoked however she pleases, in the manner most unpleasing to anyone who has to spend five fucking seconds dealing with her

D'oh! Not Udoh!

I just want to pop in here and make a few (time-stamped) comments on the recent activities by my local NBA outfit, the Golden State Warriors, at the trade deadline.

I don't have a problem with trading away Monta Ellis. A lot of folks have been grinding their teeth over the trade with the Bucks, because the W's sent away Ellis. That's not my beef; Ellis is a good player, and I appreciated watching him these last few years, but scoring guards are not hard to come by.

What really cheesed me about this deal was the departure of Ekpe Udoh. Few observers made any points about Udoh's loss, but I think in time this is going to be the real bungle to come out of this trade. (Especially when Andrew Bogut spends most of his Warriors career on the bench looking like a Mens' Wearhouse advertisment.) The Warriors' eternal quest has been for frontline players: guys who play near the basket, scoring down low, rebounding, and defending the rim. Udoh had the last part down cold; he's good for a couple of blocked shots a game, and altered an odd number of additional shots just through presence in the lane. Lately, in the last several games before the trade, Udoh showed a developing low post scoring game; he has made tremendous progress in that area since the start of last year's rookie season. And while his rebounding has been questioned, the willingness to work on his game--as exhibited by the developing scoring touch--promised better things in that area as well. In short, Udoh had all the promise of growing into exactly the kind of player the Warriors have been trying to get for years.

And they just traded him away. For the NBA equivalent of a handful of magic beans.

It says here that, in three or so years, when Udoh has blossomed to the point where he gets picked as a back up for at least one All-Star game--don't laugh; big men who are solid on both ends of the court are extremely rare, and just a little good game will go a long way--then everyone in the Bay Area will be griping about yet another player who got so much better after leaving the Warriors, and how they let another one get away. The only difference is, this time you heard it here first.

Recently Read

Pity the Billionaire

Pity the Billionaire
by Thomas Frank

What's the matter with Thomas Frank? Nothing, in particular.

Frank, the author of multiple explorations of America's right-wing madness--including the now classic What's the Matter with Kansas?--has not sunk into a literary morass in any legitimate sense. His latest work, Pity the Billionaire, shares much in common with the author's published antecedents, particularly Kansas and The Wrecking Crew. Frank brings his usual keen insight into conservative minds and motives, and presents his thesis with impeccable logic and exhaustive research and citation. (Pity might be better reserved for Frank himself, who, judging by the extensive notes backing up this slim volume, must spend more time watching, reading, and immersing himself in right-wing media and live events than anyone ever could and still hope to remain truly sane.) And the author's greatest strength--Frank is one of the best wordsmiths in the field of political discourse--remains intact; when Frank describes Sarah Palin as the "[right wing] movement's snarling sweetheart," it is just one more example of his skill at delivering a wholly apt yet economical mot juste.

Yet, for all that, Pity the Billionaire never reaches the same heights of literary brilliance as Frank's earlier works. While the book delivers plenty of solid reporting, along with several chuckle-worthy turns of phrase, Billionaire never lifts the reader up to the seriocomic heights they way Kansas did. The latter book, with sublimely titled chapters like "Russia Iran Disco Suck," and its ludicrous exposé on the various anti-Popes who call the Sunflower State their home, meets no equal in Pity the Billionaire. Though it covers much of the same warm and fertile ground, Billionaire reaps a somewhat uninspiring harvest.

Why is this? One might first suppose that the latest work is simply an inferior effort, but that interpretation doesn't feel satisfactory. Upon further reflection, the problem may lie--ominously--with the passage of time. Here is Thomas Frank, pricking much the same balloon as he was nearly a decade ago...and yet, for all of its absurdity and wrongheadedness, that balloon never seems to deflate. Indeed, as the central thesis of Pity the Billionaire points out, the balloon keeps re-inflating itself, actually growing larger than before, no matter how forceful are the efforts of men like Frank to put it out of its (and our) misery.

The overall effect, then, is one of recognition and at least mild depression: recognition that this thing keeps happening to us, and a sense of depression when we recognize that we can't seem to escape it--that we should expect the same thing to keep happening to us, and keep doing the same damage over and over again. Knowing that Glenn Beck is an asshole does nothing to keep Beck, and others like him, from soiling our political landscape and leading legions of the misinformed down socially destructive paths. Frank can point out the folly, pick it apart for all to see, and we can absorb the knowledge he presents us--but we're still bound to have to live with half the population playing suckers and fools, to the detriment of(almost) all of us.

As Frank makes perfectly clear, there's no reason to pity the billionaires. Those .01%ers are doing just fine, as always. It's the rest of us who could use the pity. We can hope that Thomas Frank and his ilk keep trying to talk some sense into our nation; but it's becoming more and more clear that we can't rely on the lesson ever taking hold.

My Life

Just read an extremely interesting article on AlterNet, Would We Have Drugged Up Einstein? How Anti-Authoritarianism Is Deemed a Mental Health Problem. It reads like a summary of my own life. In a minor sense, that is--I know I'm no Einstein, but I've definitely always had an issue with authority. The money quote:

Many people with severe anxiety and/or depression are also anti-authoritarians. Often a major pain of their lives that fuels their anxiety and/or depression is fear that their contempt for illegitimate authorities will cause them to be financially and socially marginalized, but they fear that compliance with such illegitimate authorities will cause them existential death. 

I wouldn't say I have severe anxiety or depression. But financially and socially marginized? Check. Fear of "existential death." Check.

I've said many times over the years, my take on psychological prescription drugs amounts to, "Here, you become a drug addict so the rest of us can stand to have you around." I first had that thought about 20 years ago, and I've seen nothing to change my mind on the subject since. And it is encouraging to see written words that, in some small way at least, back me up. Be careful whom you call crazy...or even a problem.

Recently Read

Baseball in the Garden of Eden:
The Secret History of the Early Game
by John Thorn

Baseball in the Garden of Eden

It's an annual ritual, on a par with pitchers and catchers reporting in mid-February, the pomp and circumstance of Opening Day, and the passionate denouement that is the World Series: my yearly off-season quest for a literary baseball fix to get me through the dark, game-less days of Winter.

This year's entry into that long tradition is John Thorn's Baseball in the Garden of Eden. Subtitled "The Secret History of the Early Game," veteran writer and researcher Thorn's volume utilizes a two pronged approach to cover the baseball's earliest development. Much of the text is devoted to a straightforward narrative of the game's evolution from various forerunner activities into the sport that would become the nation's pastime. Wrapped around that core history is Thorn's somewhat well-documented, somewhat speculative account of the "secret history" that surrounds baseball's "creation myth"--specifically, the doings of the members of the Mills Commission of the early 1900s and their specious conclusion that the Civil War hero Abner Doubleday created the game out of whole cloth one day in Cooperstown, New York in 1839.

Thorn's narrative about the origins of the game--who really developed the rules of baseball, where and when the game truly became "baseball" (rather than ancestral forms like "rounders" or "three old cat"), where and when those pioneers played the game, and how it evolved into the sport we've followed for roughly 130 years--is far more successful than the other half of his presentation. Die-hard fans, even those well versed in the history of the game, will learn new and fascinating facts about early baseball, including: the antiquity of some of baseball's current rules (e.g., the rule that the catcher must cleanly catch a third strike to record the out goes all the way back to the earliest schedule of regulations, the Knickerbocker Club's rules from the 1850s); the fact that the "World Series" was played, under that specific name, as the post-season championship between the National League and the American Association, long before the 1903 detente between the NL and the new American League; that the DH was proposed, and almost enacted, back in the 19th century; and the eternal fact that free agency, player salaries, and ownership shenanigans (including syndicate ownership of multiple teams) were crucial concerns then as much as now. All of Thorn's revelations about baseball's primordial form and environment serve to deeply enrich the hardcore fan's appreciation of where the sport has been, and perhaps where it may yet go.

Unfortunately, the other side of Thorn's narrative--his meticulous examination of the development of the Doubleday creation myth--provides less interesting fare, even for the reader most primed for this sort of history. The author's study and speculations on the Mills Commission, the role Albert Spalding played in ginning up the Cooperstown fantasy (it was known contemporaneously to be a humbug among those in the know, despite the poobahs' pronunciations on the matter), even his conspiratorial notions about the role the Theosophical Society (of all things) played in the creation scheme--all of this examination proves to be of little particular interest.

Perhaps the problem is one of time and perspective. While this story might have been a revelation to baseball fans 50 years ago, today almost no baseball fan believes the Doubleday story. Even the favored alternate history, placing Alexander Cartwright in the sport's primal position, has been superseded by further revelations on baseball's antiquity, in some form or another, far exceeding Hoboken's Elysian Fields in 1845. (Thorn himself notes the now well-known reference to baseball, in the laws of the town of Pittsfield, MA, from 1792.) Since the whole thing is now widely regarded a sham, today's reader can see little more than a historical curiosity in the tale of American chauvinism and vague Victorian spiritualism leading Spalding to rig up Doubleday (a fellow Theosophist) as baseball's Prometheus. The creation myth exegesis is a story that probably won't resonate with most readers, and holds little connection to the modern organization of baseball, beyond the continuing location of baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.

Thus, Baseball in the Garden of Eden reaches to the reader as only half of a good story--or rather as one good story needlessly paired with a second, much weaker story. Still, those Winter nights are long and dark, with nary a pitch, bunt, double play, or home run to take the edge off the cold. Thorn's book has the necessary ingredients to make it worth a look while waiting for the opening of Spring Training. It's about baseball, after all, and it's hard to go wrong with a book about our most literary sport. Baseball in the Garden of Eden may not be a solid hit, but it will get the runner over to where he needs to be: in scoring position, ready to move when that hit finally does come.

Authorship

Be it here announced that I have just published the third work of writing to go into my collection on Scribd. The latest piece, Bunts, Baseball, and the Virtue of Small Steps, is a study/rumination on baseball and life, and strategies thereupon for both. It's a brief little essay, and hopefully worth a few people's time. Check it out, if you feel like it (follow the link above).

Pigskin Flux Capacitor

I've often ruminated on why I hate sports. Occasionally, I've even put those thoughts into print. But I also have ideas about why I love sports, too.

Most notably, I've often thought that sports are perhaps the only source of tangible, objective reality we have available to us. Everything else is so subjective, so wrapped up opinion and perspective: music is good or bad, according to your taste; food is delicious or awful, depending upon what you like; even history and its facts are subject to interpretation. As noted many times before, there are lies, damned lies, and statistics. We live in a universe built on quicksand.

Not so with sports. Sure, there are points of disagreement, especially when discussing all-time greats. But for the most part, sports present us with a simple, objective reality upon which we can all agree. One team or competitor wins, the other loses. A game that ends 6-3 is a game that ends 6-3. Not much argument there. In a world of shifting sands of perspective, the sports fan can read the final score and stand steadfastly anchored on solid ground. Sports, in this way, can be a reliable and comforting antidote to all of life's other uncertainties.

So much for that. Yesterday, a fresh, brand new idea--another reason to love sports--popped into my mind, courtesy of the San Francisco 49ers.

Time-travellers Vernon Davis and Jim Harbaugh
Photo courtesy oregonlive.com

Yesterday's dazzling win by the Niners over the Saints has stirred up a feeling that has not been seen around the Bay Area in a very long time. Many folks have drawn comparisons to 2002, the last season when the 49ers made it to the playoffs. The game-winning throw and catch by Alex Smith and Vernon Davis brought back many memories of a similar playoff-winning TD in 1999.

But for me, this run by the 49ers is reminiscent of their original Super Bowl team in the 1981 season. Like the 2011 model, Bill Walsh's first championship team came out of nowhere, after several years of abysmal failure. They too sported a 13-3 season record, yet went into the postseason as decided underdogs against traditional playoff heavyweights like the Cowboys, whom they beat in the conference title game. If the current edition of the Niners makes it to the Super Bowl, they will have dispatched not one but two recent champs to get there.

But even if they lose on Sunday, the 49ers will have accomplished something that has solidified in my mind another reason to love sports: time travel.

The only real form of time travel we have available to us is memory. The only way we can go back to yesterday--or yesteryear--in any sense is through our memories of those past times. And, as noted above, the 49ers' victory has proved that sports can provide a powerful vehicle for evoking those memories.

Maybe not as powerful as Doc Brown's suped-up Delorean in Back To The Future, but at least as powerful as any of the other sources of memory recall we can experience. Art can stir up those memories of the past and bring one a sense of days gone by. Food can do it too. Music may be the most powerful vehicle for evoking that sense of past times and places. And now, I can attest from these past 30 or so hours, sports can perform that same magic as well. The memory of what it was like when I was a kid, when Montana threw that ball to Clark, has been surprisingly strong this weekend. And someday, someone who is a kid today will be able to travel back to this time, when athletes not yet born will make a play with an uncanny resemblance to what Davis and Smith hath wrought on Saturday.

Small wonder then, given its power to evoke such feelings in its adherents, that sports can continue to thrive the way it does, even in the face of all that is so desperately wrong within its purview. Today it may be just a game, but in thirty years today's game, tied to another game in the future, will be a connection to our lost youth, and a window into a lost world.

Reel Reviews -- U

U2: Rattle And Hum (+) -- What to say? One of the all-time great rock bands at the top of its game. Watch this one in a room with a great sound system. Posted 7/18/05.

U-571 (~) -- Mostly, it's your standard WWII submarine flick (they are legion) until the story takes a turn for the interesting, and the movie really grabs your attention, until by the end it's finally...your standard WWII submarine flick. Got that? Nevertheless, I must admit that the action/battle sequences are top notch, and Matthew McConaughey gives a first rate performance as the would-be leader of men. If you can't get your hands on Das Boot, this will do. Posted 4/1/04.

Ulee's Gold (+) -- A tale that moves at a measured pace--to put it mildly--but still a pretty good movie. Peter Fonda's performance really makes it worth it--his Ulee practically defines world-weary (in this case, that's good).

Unbreakable (+) -- Something of a stealth movie--its quality sneaks up on you, and you realize how good it is when thinking about it later, after you've finished watching it. And I really dig director Shyamalan's willingness to hold a shot; it's a refreshing change from today's dominant 'quick-edit' style.

Under The Tuscan Sun (+) -- I suspect this movie did not get much love upon its release because it does not stick to comedy or drama but blends the two freely. (Most folks like their stories to color only within the lines these days.) That wasn't a problem for me. And there are other pluses: beautiful locations, good story (and sub-stories) and a real commitment to the heart. Top all that off with one of our favorite actresses, Diane Lane, and you've got a winner. (Lane being oh-so-easy on the eyes has been well documented, but she's really a fine actress; watch her here in the opening scenes, where she's conveying the pain of her character's break-up and divorce.) All in all, definitely worth a look. Posted 12/2/04.

Underworld (+) -- Mostly, I liked it. I'm not going to give it any awards, but it stayed watchable all the way through, and as long as you don't start poking around looking for logic in the back story, you'll do all right. It might have been better with someone other than Kate Beckinsale--don't get me wrong, a fine actress--in the lead role; maybe some gal with a little more action heft. Plus, you have to admire the cheek of the producers, setting up a sequel when there really is no reason to believe there will be one. Posted 2/27/04.

Unfaithful (~) -- As we all know, Diane Lane is a freak--she's actually getting better looking as she gets older. That's not merely a lascivious observation; it's integral to making this movie work. You would hardly believe the story if Lane, despite her (and her character's) age, was not the hottie she is. As for the acting, the real props go to Richard Gere, who plays so skillfully against type, laying on the nebbishness, that you can actually get past his own handsomeness. Plus there's some handsome and artful direction from Adrian Lyne. Put it all together and...well, it's OK, not great. It's probably better than I'm willing to say, but it still felt unsatisfying to me. Hard to say. Posted 9/12/04.

Unknown (+) -- That positive recommendation is tentative; it could have slipped into squiggle territory if there had been one more thing wrong with this movie. Because there do seem to be a lot of holes in the plot; and we've seen this sort of international intrigue play many times before. But what pulls it through is the work of Liam Neeson, who really shines in this sort of role: a mystery man who needs to fight against desperate odds in order to ultimately come out on top. As with the underrated Taken, Neeson's performance makes this thing go, though this time he gets help from a very good supporting cast. It may not be a necessary movie, but you won't regret watching it either. Posted 1/5/12.

The Upside of Anger (--) -- Alert! There's been a Kevin Costner sighting. Good work, too. Too bad it's in a bad movie. The story is simply not engaging, too weighed down by Joan Allen's flawed central character to make much headway with the viewer. (We're told at the beginning how good she is/was, but we see no evidence of that fact within the story. Kinda hard to generate much sympathy that way...) You can easily see why the movie failed with viewers. Posted 7/28/06

The Usual Suspects (+) -- A movie that set the tone for a generation of crime flicks to come. Cool, funny, smart, and steeped in good performances. You're not hip if you haven't seen this one.

Recently Read

Predictably Irrational

Predictably Irrational
by Dan Ariely

So it turns out that the invisible hand of the marketplace is palsied, weak, and apparently attached to a kleptomaniac.

That is the inevitable conclusion one must draw from Predictably Irrational, Professor Dan Ariely's light treatise on how we among the consuming public act as purchasers, choosers, and in some cases outright liars. In a light and breezy tone that makes for easy reading, Ariely serves up a succession of arguments about the nature of human beings as economic animals--backed up by examples from his own research experiments--all of which point to the same idea: that we do not always make the correct, rational choices in life circumstances both large and small. Instead, we carry with us biases that frequently thwart our best efforts to make the right choice, in situations as trivial as buying a piece of candy to those as momentous as deciding what house to buy or what career to follow.

Through his work and experiments, Ariely demonstrates that not only are we irrational choice-makers, but (as the book's title suggests) that we are predictably so--that there is, in fact, little mystery in the frequency with which we make our unwise decisions. All one needs is to know how to read the characteristic elements of any given situation--particularly commercial transactions; i.e., anything involving money--to make a safe bet on which way the typical person will go when making his choices. Such is the author's argument, and Ariely makes the case that, with a little self-awareness and a little more careful examination of the pieces in play, we can train ourselves to make better choices.

Such is the implications of Ariely's argument for our personal outcomes. More intriguing, from a broader perspective, is the implication of his work for the larger political sphere. In short, Ariely's demonstrations of our irrationality as economic actors strongly refutes the current received wisdom, touted so often by the Very Serious Persons, that market forces are always right, that Adam Smith's famed "invisible hand" will correct all economic mistakes and guide the world to better outcomes for all. The pundits' oft-invoked credo, that we must "let the market decide" what's best for our economy and politics, relies on a foundational concept that just isn't true. Ariely himself touches on this idea in his conclusion:

Standard economics assumes that we are rational--that we know all the pertinent information about our decisions, that we can calculate the value of the different options we face, and that we are cognitively unhindered in weighing the ramifications of each potential choice...wouldn't it make sense to modify standard economics and move away from naive psychology, which often fails the tests of reason, introspection, and--most important--empirical scrutiny? Wouldn't economics make a lot more sense if it were based on how people actually behave, instead of how they should behave?

Those questions ring loudly in the ears of anyone who has witnessed the conservative free-market mania that has enveloped much of the world in the last thirty years. We are living amid the debris scattered about by what has been, at best, an unswerving faith in the rational decision making of actors in free markets. (At worst, it's been little more than a cynical swindle, but that's another story.) Ariely's experiments--particularly those focused on the common human impulse to cheat for personal profit--put the lie to that misplaced faith. We can only hope that some policymakers pick up Predictably Irrational and learn not to listen the next time some think tank pundit tells them to let the market decide what's best for the country.

For our own part, we as individuals can read Ariely's book and try to make ourselves more aware of the biases we bring to the table in all walks of life, Maybe, if we keep Predictably Irrational in mind, we can all make better choices and come out ahead for ourselves, if not our society and our world.