The play was great, my friend is brilliant. Funny to hear myself quoted in it, especially when I no longer hold the opinion. Hazard of hanging out with a writer, I suppose.

There were around 40 people in the audience, and I think about 20 of them knew each other. There must be half a million little worlds like that in the city, which, it must also be said--after driving around it all day--is frickin' huge.

Update: I've totally got a future in travel writing, no?

Hung out at the wonderful Getty today. Really a great place just to spend some time. I went to see "Rembrandt's Late Religious Portraits," Rembrandt being, conventionally enough, my favorite artist. There are only about a dozen paintings, and, as a whole, they're certainly very good, but don't quite have the power of some other Rembrandts. But "Christ" stood out, in that Rembrandt gets the unique pacific fanaticism that might have characterized Jesus.

To my amusement, I also saw Perr/y Ferr/el at the Getty. He was pushing a stroller (with no baby in it). He had a lean, well-tended look; a health-nut look. Strange world.

Now, off to see a friend's play, which is why I'm out here in the first place.

Off to L.A. for the weekend. I'm taking the computer so, damn it, I'll check in tonight. Remember to keep the new kids out while I'm away.

Arrived! And I think there's a Whole Foods within walking distance. Ain't L.A. grand?

And: I think I've mentioned it before, but the Santa Monica Whole Foods is from another planet, with its density of hot young hollywood bodies. Outta control. I got couscous.

On the walk back, a car full of young women was doing the drive by, hang out the window and go "Wooo!!" but man, these were amateurs. I could barely hear them. I recall fondly taking a stroll one brisk evening in Columbia, South Carolina when a car full of women did the "Wooo!!" and those women were the real deal; they scared the crap out of me.

In which I use the blog for (almost) scholarly purposes.

I'm teaching a class on well-being soon, and I'd like to cover some of the literature on the relationship between economic status and subjective happiness. In particular, I'm interested in a question that sometimes appears in "Paul Krugman vs. The Corner" form: does, say, the increasing availability of cheap consumer goods make up for a decline in adjusted income? (Yes, real wages have fallen, but TVs are so much cheaper, etc.) If you know good (accessible) literature on this-- or on related issues-- and you give me references, I'll be grateful.

I've seen some posts elsewhere about Clinton hatred vs. Bush hatred, and they're dealing with two questions: why, given his basically moderate views, was Clinton hatred so intense, and was Clinton hated more intensely by the right than Bush is by the left.

Remember this?

When you really dislike someone...part of what's really upsetting is the belief that you're the only one who can see how totally annoying/crazy/evil that person is.

That, I think, is at the heart of the intensity of Clinton hatred. People who weren't predisposed to like his politics (or his wife) saw him as Slick Willy, the guy always trying to put one over. And, as far as those folks were concerned, he did put one over--on the whole country. How pissed would you be? Lucky for us, that's not a hypothetical question, because we have exactly the same feeling with regard to GW: he's so obviously a complete idiot and phony that it drives us crazy that anyone falls for his act. The volume of the shrieking isn't pegged to policies or even the person so much as to how each of us thinks the person is being perceived by everyone else.

As for comparing the two, the thing to remember is that Bush hatred is happening in the era of Clinton hatred; the context has changed a lot since 1992: intense hatred and outlandish accusations are now part of mainstream political discourse. Clinton hatred was notable at the time because Clinton, and no one else on the national stage, was loudly loathed. Now, people on both sides are loathed, and denounced, and accused. Sure, there are probably as many people who absolutely hate Bush as there were people who so hated Clinton, but now we're also hating Tom Dasshole, and Hitlary, and all the DemoncRATs.

I'm being kept amused at the moment by real-time Blackberry updates from a friend who's sitting at an airport bar next to Kyl/e MacLachla/n, who is transfixed by the US Open golf tournament.

Who would have thought he was an avid golfing fan? It is sort of weird to see a famous person show so much interest in sports though I am not sure why...

An hour later...

Seriously this is weird. We both have been sitting here for over three hours watching the US open. Even I can't watch this much golf and yet he's still glued to the set. He even oos and ahhs out loud when someone hits it close. Not loudly but audible nevertheless.

My suggested ice-breaker was "Not much doing since Twin Peaks, eh?" More to come, I'm sure.

There's a lifeguard at the pool, a woman who is half-Jew/sh, half-Japan/se, and 1) I think she's cute 2) she reminds me of Yoda.

The Schiavo autopsy results have confirmed what we long suspected: Bill Frist is a jerk.

Dr. Frist did not respond to questions about the autopsy findings, saying he had not had time to review them. His spokeswoman, Amy Call, sought out reporters who asked about the case to assert that Dr. Frist "never made a diagnosis."

Indeed he did not. He did, however, lean heavily on his medical authority on the Senate floor in a way that invited people to gloss over the distinction between a diagnosis and a bit of self-promoting shamelessness.

Right after thinking about the glory of the funk (thanks, baa!), I ran across this story about mortgages in the NYT, and thought, "hell yeah! I've got a low fixed rate, baby! Damn!"

Kill whitey.

A co-worker asked me this morning if I'd been to Disneyland "this year." "It's the cleanest place in the world. They have the best crowd control."

When the smart kids are young, they have some notion that they're supposed to be great at everything unphysical. One of their rites of passage is the moment when they not only realize, but admit that other people are better at some things than they are, can think through some things more clearly, with greater alacrity, etc. (Sometimes they go on to fetishize this admission, post on blogs, and revel bitterly in the pressure that hasn't in fact been lifted from their shoulders, but that's not the topic of today's post.)

There are some obvious ways to see that different people's minds are suited to different things: musical talent and its lack are probably the most obvious. But one of the more interesting is to watch what people notice. The Ex and I would often go for walks and she'd stop to look at the plants and trees, take a leaf, roll it between her fingers, pull it apart. If, on the other hand, every bit of flora had been removed from our neighborhood, I probably would have gone outside and said, "Hmm, something's different." Conversely, sometimes I'd say something like "That couple we just passed was *not* having a good day." And she'd say "What couple?"

It's fun, this different noticing. I have friends who notice the same kinds of things I do, and we can talk about them endlessly. But I'll never forget the little thrill of going on a hike with some folks from Alaska, one of whom is a hunter/trapper, when he said, pointing at a little patch of mud, "Worm trails." Worms make trails? They do, and some people can see them from fifteen feet away. Cool!

Now my absent friend thinks he's going to inquire about the redhead himself. To my "I saw her first," he responds that he needs it in writing. Not only is it in writing, you vulture, but I even mentioned you at the time:

the redhead was just down for the weekend, so I didn't, and won't, see her again. I learned this by chatting with an absent friend's friend, whose girlfriend's friend the redhead is.

On the other hand, this friend, who just called me from some eatery in his city, did get his reportedly cute waitress to chat with me, which provided a few appreciated moments of amusement.

I'm not sure how this sentence made it into a review of the new Batman movie. One would think this sort of thing goes without saying.

Can I just say that the thought of my 2-year-old with SpongeBob sticking out of her ass is really appalling.

I'm starting to figure this out, thanks to the Beta Band. I like the Beta Band. Why do I like the Beta Band, when they sound, in some ways, so much like the Beatles, who suck? Because whoever is singing for the Beta Band sounds like he could work on a road crew, if it came to that. He sounds, forgive me, like a guy--not like a mewling little wussy. I do not like mewling wussies. I do not like guys who talk about their feelings.

Also, the Beta Band are not earnest. (Neither are the Beatles, to their credit.) But the mewling wussies of pop music are so earnest. I do not like earnestness.

This is why pop music sucks, except for the Beta Band (on some songs), and other bands I don't know about that are not fronted by mewling wussies.

Finally, pop music has too damn many instruments. This, I realize, is simply a matter of taste. 0, 1, or 2 instruments good; more than 2 instruments typically bad.

In case you were wondering, here are the complete lyrics to Emerson, Lake, and Palmer's "Still...you turn me on."

The best part of the song has to be the wah bit after the title phrase. Look for a Jesse Jackson remix soon.

UPDATE: if you want to feel the pain W-lfs-n inflicted on me, click here.

Do you want to be an angel,

Do you wanna be an angel

Do you wanna be a star

Do you wanna play some magic

On my guitar

Do you wanna be a poet

Do you wanna be my string

You could be anything

Do you wanna be the lover of another undercover

You could even be the

Man on the moon

Do you wanna be the player

Do you wanna be the string

Let me tell you something

It just don't mean a thing

You see it really doesn't matter

When you're buried in disguise

By the dark glass on your eyes

Though your flesh has crystallised

Still...you turn me on

Do you wanna be the pillow

Where I lay my head

Do you wanna be the feathers

Lying on my bed

Do you wanna be the cover

Of a magazine

Create a scene

Every day a little sadder

A little madder

Someone get me a ladder

Do you wanna be the singer

Do you wanna be the song

Let me tell you something

You just couldn't be more wrong

You see I really have to tell you

That it all gets so intense

From my experience

It just doesn't seem to make sense

Still...you turn me on

In 1999, Maurice Green runs 100 meters in 9.79 seconds. Three years later, in 2002, Tim Montgomery runs it in 9.78 seconds. Three years later, this morning, Asafa Powell runs it in 9.77 seconds. Powell says,

This goes to show that the no one knows how fast a man can run.

The Clintons have finished paying off their Whitewater legal bills. I'm so happy that they're filthy rich, just because this fact irritates many people I loathe.

Hats off to Ben W-lfs-n for writing a post to which these are both on-topic responses.

According to this paper by Chudnovsky and Seymour:

Let n >= 0. Let A = {a0, a1, ... , an}, B = {b0, b1, ... , bn} and C = {c1, ... , cn} be three cliques, pairwise disjoint. Let G be the graph with vertex set A[B [C and with adjacency as follows. For 0 <= i, j <= n, let ai, bj be adjacent if and only if i = j > 0, and for 1 <= i <= n and 0 <= j <= n let ci be adjacent to aj, bj if and only if i 6= j 6= 0. Let X ` A [ B [ C with a0, b0 /2 X; then the strip (G \ X, a0, b0) is called an antihat strip.

Posted by: apostropher | June 13, 2005 11:20 PM

There once was a gyno named Glenda

With opposites on her agenda.

Each patient disrobing

Got 'stead of a probing

A stetson upon her pudenda.

Posted by: Standpipe Bridgeplate | June 14, 2005 08:31 AM

It must be nearly impossible to write a good essay about a dead and famous parent. Adam Bellow pulls it off. In him, indeed.

via baa

You might have seen this reworking of the Book of Job, but, in case you haven't, you really should enjoy a few cheap laughs at Hindrocket's expense. Via the The Poor Man's own fantastic parody.

Reading about the Michael Jackson case, I was reminded that the biggest-selling albums ever in the US are The Eagles' greatest hits compilation and Thriller. May God continue to bless America.

I like gadgets too, and I realize Wired isn't exactly the place for moral or social commentary, but you'd think that in an article about the increasing use of unmanned offensive aircraft, especially one in which you find this sentence--

"Most of the time, I get to fight the war, and go home and see the wife and kids at night"

--there might be some consideration of how much more willing we'll be to go to war when we don't have to risk any American casualties.

Quick! We've got about two minutes before the verdict's read. What are the headlines after the Michael Jackson verdict? "He Beats It" is all I can think of.

So: We have a winner (no cash, just, ahem, ignominy): Brutal Hugger's "Michael Jackson Gets Off On Child Molestation".

Why, do you figure, can't people resist "going Hollywood"? I remember first appreciating the power of Hollywood when Phil freakin' Jackson, Mr. Zen Montana, the man who made his name in freakin' Chicago, got the "water" haircut, fancy glasses, and tailored suits. And he broke down quick (and don't tell me his Zen schtick was already Hollywood; it was a different kind of thing entirely).

And now, Eminem.

...his 10-page list of backstage demands for a concert in Ireland reads like something requested by a devotee of clean-living...includes a gallery of Atkins-friendly food products such as turkey burgers and Myoplex drinks...entourage will reportedly include...fitness instructors, body builders, and accountants — and he is said to also be requesting a "chill-out" room featuring aromatherapy candles, relaxing music and masseurs.

Come ON. What happens to people's brains?

Dear 37 Year-Old Guy Sitting Next to Me at the Coffee Shop Right Now Who is Clearly on a Blind Date:

Funny stuff, via dooce.

In a good article about changes on the L.A. Times editorial page, the first hint I've seen in a major publication that blogs aren't the hot new thing anymore.

"It's great that a mainstream newspaper has the spine to innovate so aggressively," Ms. Schaffer said. "What's really fresh about what The L.A. Times is doing is it's not just blog central. They are creating new entry points for readers to weigh in with their collective wisdom and enrich the journalistic commentary."

Good. Obviously, I think blogs are great and do some things really well. But as a forum for communication between an institution and its readers or customers, they kinda suck. Institutions can't readily adapt their voice to the informality of blogs, and there's too much noise in the feedback. I hope they come up with neat stuff.

This is a very interesting article in the Washington Post about a sucessful peasant rebellion in rural China. All indicators are that as the Communist party apparatus aligns itself more and more with exploitative industry, the chances of a massive peasant uprising increase.

The workers and peasants appear to have nowhere else to turn but the street. Their representatives in parliament do what the government says; independent organizations are banned in China's communist system; and party officials, focused on economic growth, have become partners of eager entrepreneurs rather than defenders of those abandoned by the boom. Most of the violent grass-roots eruptions have been put down, hard and fast. This report examines the origin and unfolding of one revolt that went the other way. "We won a big victory," declared a farmer who described the protest on condition that his name be withheld, lest police arrest him as a ringleader. "We protected our land. And anyway, the government should not have sent so many people to suppress us."

The peasants are willing to send old people to confront the police, most of whom have been sent from other regions to cut down on the chances that they will sympathize with the protestors, or even be able to communicate with them. In this case, Mandarin-speaking cops confronted protestors who only spoke "dialects"; these are as different from one another as Romanian is from Portugese. Still, it takes a dedicated cop to beat up little old ladies.

...the sight of the elderly protesters being whacked by police trying to clear the road produced a wave of anger among the excited peasants, they said, and many started hurling stones across the tape....

"After that, people got really mad," the protester recalled.

10,000 peasants versus 200 heavily-armed cops equals cops running away in their underwear and hiding in a ditch. There have been many Chinese governments throughout history to founder on the rock of a lot of pissed-off farmers. You just know that of all the things the Chinese communists have nightmares about, this is it: angry farmers with rocks, wave upon wave upon wave. Nothing has ever been built to withstand it.

People didn't laugh enough at this post from Labs, back in the day.

I didn't realize Matt Yglesias was still blogging at his old site. He is, and in good humor posted a picture of himself wearing a cap with "Princess" written across it, and so, of course, his commenters proceed to tell him how fat and ugly he is. Jesus people. (I've always suspected that about a third of his commenters are around fourteen years old.) You look fine, Matt; pay no attention to the dweebs in your comments. (Ok, maybe use a little sunscreen.)