HinesSight

Obama needs to channel his warrior "Avatar"

Fresh off of seeing Avatar last night in mind-blowing 3-D, I'm hoping that President Obama will rock my psyche in a different -- but related -- way next Wednesday when he gives his first State of the Union address.

Fight for what you believe and take on the freakin' bad guys!

This is one of the Avatar good guys, Jake. He was a crippled paraplegic soldier who regained his kick-ass capabilities when his mind was melded with the artificially created body of a Na'vi lookalike.

The Na'vi are the indigenous people of Pandora. Slender. Graceful. Intelligent. Attuned to nature. Spiritual. Blue.  

Which makes them a lot like Obama.

Hugely likable, but with a flaw: when the scheming, greedy, selfish, money-hungry corporate bigwig who wants to pillage Pandora's astounding natural resources for a rare mineral sends in his hired guns to blast away the Na'vi, they don't know how to fight back effectively. 

Jake does. He's fearless. He's willing to dare anything to protect the people (and Na'vi babe) whom he's grown to love after getting a crash course in Pandoran culture and lifestyle.

Including how to ride large nasty-looking winged creatures who, he's informed by his Na'vi guide, Neytiri, have to choose you before they can be ridden.

Jake asks, What's the sign of being chosen? Neytiri replies: One tries to kill you.

Here's a lesson for Obama. You aren't going to be able to win a battle against bad guys by playing nice, searching for middle ground, hoping for the best. You've got to put your (political) life on the line by standing firm for what you value.

After some brutally painful failed attempts, Jake manages to tame his dragon-like winged creature and uses it to fight the Pandora plunderers. (Earth, apparently, has been totally environmentally wrecked, so humans have set out to despoil other planets.)

Watching "Avatar," I found myself deeply inspired and sometimes almost moved to tears. Seeing people/Na'vi manifest marvelous courage, fearlessness, and commitment to saving a planet (earth-sized moon, actually) brought out a lot of emotion in me.

I haven't felt that way about Obama and the Dems since the 2008 campaign. I want to, again.

But currently this cartoon reflects the depressing status of the party that controls both houses of Congress and the presidency. Clueless. Wimp'ish. 

I was pretty sure that Avatar was going to have a happy ending (which it does). The movie's politics are undeniably progressive and I couldn't believe that director James Cameron would leave me in a downer mood when the closing credits came on, given the philosophy he wanted to express in the film.

After exchanging a greeting in the language of the native Na'vi population, Oprah asked Cameron if he's a spiritual person. After all, the Na'vi greeting "I see you" is a phrase with a deeper meaning more akin to "I understand who you are." "I guess I must be, because this film represents a lot of ideas and feelings I have as an artist," he said, going on to highlight his movie's "environmental message and the idea that we are all connected to each other as human beings."

Obsessed with what he termed "nature's imagination," Cameron said "Avatar" was his "attempt to bottle that." 

(Here's another take on the politics of Avatar.)

Well, Obama and his family saw the movie while they were in Hawaii last month. I can only hope that he imbibed some potent Avatar juice and is ready to channel his Na'vi warrior spirit during the State of the Union address.

No punting on the one-inch line, Mr. President. Push your legislative and political agenda across the goal line. That's what you were elected to do.

This humorous one-minute video exposition on the Balls Beer approach to health care reform echoes that theme. Obama, chug a cool one. And grow some.

Russell didn't win Survivor Samoa. Unfair?

After the first episode of Survivor Samoa I hated Russell Hantz, this season's evil genius. Watching last night's finale, I almost (but not quite) hoped he'd win.

At the end of this post you'll find a comment interchange between me, Brian, and Tucson -- a regular commenter on my blogs and a fellow Survivor fan. Since this interchange occurred on a post unrelated to the show, I wanted to copy it to this post-finale pondering about Russell's unexpected second place finish.

Tucson and I ended up in basic agreement with a thoughtful NPR blog analysis by Linda Holmes: Russell blew it, because he thought Survivor was all about strategizing and scheming, not interpersonal relationships.

(Short version of Holmes' post is here; long version is here. It's must reading for Survivor geeks.)

Russell was an inveterate liar and jerk on the show. Question is, what's he like in real life? If he was acting on Survivor, it was a masterful performance. But I tend to think that Russell really is as unappealing a guy as he appeared to be.

And that he lied about being a rich oil company executive along with many other things. My Googling of "Russell Hantz" didn't turn up any evidence that he's a highly paid successful businessman.

However, I did find some well-deserved skepticism that Russell is who he claimed to be. Way back in September there was talk that Russell's bio was a lie. Seemingly he doesn't own any property in the part of Texas where he lives. And his "oil company" has a zero online presence.

When someone typed in the address of Hantz Tankering Service, which is the name of his company, aerial photos show a nondescript rural residential road. Methinks Russell is a fake.

Here's the interchange between Tucson and me:

---------------------------------------------

Tucson: At least Russell didn't win Survivor. There must have been a teeny bit of consolation in that.

Brian: I'll confess, rather guiltily, that I actually was rooting for Russell to win Survivor. At least, I ended up feeling that he deserved to win. I didn't like him, but I came to respect his abilities to scheme, manipulate people, and understand interpersonal dynamics.

It was a surprise to me that Natalie won. To my wife also. Taoistically, she played a "yin" game. (And she also looked good in a bikini.) I don't think she deserved to win, given the coattails argument. However, it could be argued (and it was) that she simply played a more subtle game, while Russell's was extremely overt.

I'm glad Russell won the $100,000 Best Player prize. He grew on me over the season. Once in a while I'd even find myself liking the guy. it was nice to see his wife appear on the results hour. I'd been curious about what she would be like.

Tucson: I disagree that Russell played the game well as evidenced by the fact that he didn't win. I give him credit for finding the immunity idols and his strength of will in the final immunity challenge. In the end, the human factor plays a part and Natalie succeeded in that department while using Russell well. Even during the reunion show Russell was completely ungracious and without class.

Brian: Tucson, good points. By "playing well" I meant that Russell's strategic vision was outstanding. His summary of that at the final Tribal Council was terrific, how he played this person against that person for this reason. He had that part down.

But I agree with you that he overplayed that aspect. Russell assumed that the jury members would value strategizing above all else, forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings.

I suspect that Russell won their heads, and Natalie won their hearts (the viewer reactions echo this, since Russell was more popular among people who watched him from afar on TV rather than putting up with him on the island).

Tucson: "Russell assumed that the jury members would value strategizing above all else, forgetting that people are feeling beings as well as thinking beings."

Exactly. This is what the bartender guy summarized so well in the final tribal council. Up to that point I was sitting on the fence between Russell and Natalie. The bartender's (can't remember his name) comments struck me as eloquent in that moment and I saw a change in Russell's demeanor after that little speech. I think he knew then that he didn't have it in the bag.

I was continually surprised that people in the game did not seem very perturbed by Russell's brazen, cocky attitude. I realize that it was mostly revealed to the audience and his "good old boy" side to the players, but some of the smarter ones caught on pretty quick.

Nevertheless, he did play a smart strategic game and he would be a formidable competitor in the dog eat dog world of business. I'll give him the 100 grand but not the million.

One thing about Russell that I do admire was his ability to keep his spirits and competitive attitude up during the bad weather when everyone was shivering, suffering and complaining. Not one negative peep or complaint from him. He almost seemed to enjoy and thrive in it.

I am just happy to see that utter ruthlessness does not always pay off. I think all winners of Survivor have had to resort to scheming, betrayal and manipulation as a necessary part of the game, but most seemed to have some level of regret or remorse about it. Not in Russell's case however.

Whatever. It's just a TV show, but one that can teach a lot about human nature.

Life lessons from Michael Jackson's "This Is It"

Whether or not someone has a philosophical bone in their body, he or she likely will enjoy "This Is It" -- a documentary featuring rehearsal footage of Michael Jackson preparing for a monumental concert tour.

I do have philosophical bones. And they loved this well-reviewed movie as much as the non-pondering side of me.

Over on my other blog I opined that "This Is It" is a great movie. Also, a terrific philosophy. We're always waiting for It to arrive in the future, or wondering what happened to It in the past.

Meanwhile, life -- It -- keeps yelling "Here I am! Here! Now!" in the present moment. But often we don't have ears to hear it.

This is the main message that I got from the movie. Your results may differ. Side effects may vary.

Regardless, I heartily recommend going to see "This Is It" while it's still playing in a theater with a big screen and Dolby sound (it won't be the same on your TV, believe me). If nothing else, you'll get an impression of Michael Jackson that will be different from whatever you had before.

My wife and I left the theater feeling that Jackson was a genuinely nice guy. Previously I'd put him in my mental box of "weird tortured artists" with strange peccadilloes, like young boys.

This sort of typecasting doesn't reflect the rich complexity of people.

I don't like it when right-wingers sum up our president with one word: he's a socialist. Nor did I like it when my fellow progressives said about George Bush: he's an idiot. (I'd point out that he got a MBA from the Harvard Business School, which idiots can't do.)

I've been surprised at some highly negative comments about Michael Jackson in response to my other blog post about the movie. One guy said that he was selfish. However, it's estimated that Jackson gave over $500 million to charitable causes.

"Selfish," or any other term, can't come close to summing up a human being. Each of us is unsummable. There's no way to add up any set of qualities and arrive at a total that equals Me. Or You. Or Anybody.

Sure, Histories 'R Us to a large extent. We're creatures of our past.

In the movie Michael Jackson carried the record of his plastic surgeries on his face. And reflected his astounding musical career with every note he sang and step he danced. But what really grabbed me as I watched "This Is It" was...

It. The moment. The here-and-now of Jackson captured on film. Which produced a corresponding feeling of It in me.

Michael Jackson had sung the songs -- "Billy Jean," "Beat It," "Black and White," and so on -- that were to be in the show countless times. But the rehearsal footage showed how Jackson was able to seemingly sing them for the first time, every time.

This unscripted documentary showed me a side of Jackson that hadn't been very apparent to me in all the other times I'd seen him perform onscreen: how his music was him, and he was his music.

Now. Always now.

At one point he tells the musicians and other performers that they'll need to wait for his cue before moving to a certain part of a song. Because he was feeling the music say pause -- it's marvelous how Jackson moves between movement and stillness -- and only he knew how to listen to the saying.

I had the sense that if Michael Jackson hadn't died, and "This Is It" had gone on its 50-date tour, almost every performance of a song would have been subtly different.

He was a highly creative artist. Jackson was creating life at each and every moment. We can quibble with his choices, his creations, his art work. But the movie is a reminder that for each of us, no matter what we do or who we are...

This

Is

It.

(Richard Corliss of TIME has an interesting review of the movie. So does Roger Ebert.)

Corvallis Fall Festival shows why Trader Joe's is coming to town

I've been envious, and more than a little irritated, at Corvallis since I learned that Trader Joe's chose to open a store there rather than in much larger Salem.

"What does Corvallis have that Salem doesn't?" I'd wonder. And quickly answer, "Major university. More highly educated people. A progressive, creative vibe."

Still, I hadn't spent much time in Corvallis recently. So to get a look at a town that Trader Joe's loves more than Salem, I said "sure" when Laurel suggested we go to the 2009 Fall Festival in Corvallis' central park.

Comparing it to the Salem Art Festival, I found the atmosphere hipper, cooler, more creative, and less up-tight.

As soon as we parked and walked a few blocks to the festival, I had an opportunity to try out the zoom on my camera when we passed by the music stage. An attractive beginning to what ended up being a very pleasant couple of hours.

 
We couldn't quite see these garden sculptures fitting into our yard. Maybe if we had a vegetable garden...

 
I think this art form was called Crow Dancing. It had a Tai Chi'ish feel to it, partly because of the yin-yang black-white outfits.

 
The crows fought at times.

 
The posture of the woman in black definitely looks like Tai Chi -- "snake creeps down." It's difficult to go that low. I was impressed.

 
Some of the food options were considerably healthier and tastier than what the Salem Art Festival offers, thanks to Nearly Normal's cuisine. I loved my falafel. Sitting down to eat it, I was struck by the difference in the length of the lines of people waiting for a fruit smoothie (short) and ice cream (long).

 
The Amazing Vend-a-Matic was fun to watch. Quirky and creative. I'm not exactly sure what people got for their $2 -- except entertainment from a black-gloved hand that snaked out of a slot in the box (plus a postcard).

DIRECTV drops Versus sports channel -- it's DISH deja vu

Wow, that was fun, listening to the Oregon State-Arizona football game today on my tinny-sounding Radio Shack portable radio.

Since I wanted OSU to win, the game was crappy. And my mood wasn't made better by realizing this morning that DIRECTV has dropped the Versus channel where the game was on.

I should sue for bait and switch.

Back in January I changed from DISH to DIRECTV after getting irritated at losing the local ABC affiliate (KATU) when DISH and Fisher Communications got into a pissing match over an increase in programming charges.

I even got all lovey-dovey with DirecTV after making the move.

If you're thinking of getting rid of DISH network because it no longer has a favorite local station (like Portland's KATU, in our case), don't hesitate to jump to DirecTV.

That's what I decided to do, and after five days of experience with DirecTV -- the installer came last Thursday -- I'm wondering why I didn't dump DISH sooner.

Now, like they say, it's deja vu all over again. 

DIRECTV drops the Versus channel. Which means no Oregon State-Arizona game. DIRECTV blames Comcast, which owns Versus.

DIRECTV was already paying Comcast more than any other non-Comcast distributor to air Versus — and now Comcast is demanding an overall rate hike of 20% on top of that. Comcast also forces DIRECTV to make Versus available to a much larger portion of our customer base at our own expense than they require from other TV providers — most notably, DISH Network. We simply cannot accept these unfair and outrageous terms. All we're asking from Comcast is equal treatment.

Versus/Comcast blames DIRECTV, naturally.

If you are a DirecTV customer, you are most likely aware that VERSUS’ contract with the satellite provider expired on August 31. Throughout our discussions, VERSUS made fair and reasonable offers to DirecTV – simply asking them to carry the network at a comparable level of distribution as they had for several years, at the same market price that other operators are currently paying. Yet, despite our good-faith negotiations, DirecTV chose to remove VERSUS from its programming lineup and deny millions of passionate sports fans access to our comprehensive coverage of the sports they love.

Here's how I score the blame game: DIRECTV 0, Versus/Comcast 0. They're both losers, and I couldn't care less about who did what to whom, or why they did it.

Just give me the programming that was available when I signed up for DIRECTV, and now isn't. Pretty damn simple.

With the DISH vs. Fisher Communications dispute, a commenter on one of my blog posts said that the supposedly outrageous 82% rate increase Fisher was demanding amounted to eight cents a month per subscriber.

I suspect this DIRECTV vs. Comcast/Versus battle is over a roughly similar amount (though there's also another issue involved here).

It's interesting how neither side talks about actual cost numbers, just percentages. Probably this is because big corporate egos are fighting over a few cents, while DIRECTV customers get screwed as the CEOs play their petty games.

I accepted DIRECTV's offer to express my concerns by emailing them.

I didn't realize that DirecTV wasn't offering Versus any more until I saw a big ad in today's newspaper urging people to switch from DirecTV if they want to see football games like today's Oregon State vs. Arizona -- which is only on Versus. Great. I switched to DirecTV from Dish because Dish was in an argument with Fisher Communications about its ABC affiliate in Portland. Now DirecTV is doing the same thing.

Look: we subscribers would rather pay a few cents more per month and be able to watch what we want to watch. DirecTV bills itself as offering a large choice of sports programming, but now you shut off a major sports channel. Doesn't make sense. I hope you get your act together soon, or you're going to lose customers just like Dish Network did.
    --Brian

Tonight I got a marvelously impersonal email response from DIRECTV customer service: it was a copy of the exact page on their web site where I was invited to express my concerns -- incuding this identical line.

If you have any questions or concerns, please contact us at versus@directv.com.

Thanks, but no thanks. I'm going around in circles. I just hope the contract negotiations with Versus/Comcast aren't.

Survivor Samoa champions incivility with Russell Hantz

Watching the first episode of "Survivor Samoa" last night was bittersweet.

Sweet, because my wife and I are huge Survivor fans. We've seen each episode of every season, so naturally we were looking forward to the fresh drama that plays out as twenty contestants try to outwit, outplay, and outlast each other.

Bitter, because this was the most disturbing Survivor show I've ever seen. Plenty of jerks, assholes, and liars have competed for the winner's prize of one million dollars. But nobody like Evil Incarnate Russell Hantz. 

Usually it takes a while for a contestant to warm up to truly despicable behavior. Hantz, though, was off and running with the devil right from the beginning.

As Dr. House always says, “everybody lies.” And most “Survivor” contestants end up lying or leaving. This is not a Miss Congeniality contest.

But starting your “Survivor” journey with lies about being a firefighter who lost a dog while suffering through Hurricane Katrina? Then dumping out all the water from your tribemates' canteens? After making alliances with all the women in your tribe, most of whom you call “dumb-a**” girls? And the one not girlish woman you call an “old lady”?

Russell H.: “I plan on making it as miserable as possible for everybody.”

To me, the guy looks like a genuine piece of shit. If he's play-acting a role that isn't his real personality, he deserves an Academy Award.

Regardless, deceit is part of the Survivor game. Every hard-core fan of the show knows this. And applauds it. I love watching a good liar.

However, Russell Hantz elicited other feelings in me. Disgust. Irritation. Anger. And not just at Russell. At the producers of Survivor also. They're promoting the heck out of his evil'ness.

That bothers me, as it bothered this commenter on a People blog about Survivor Samoa:

I will not watch a show that promotes this man as the main focus of the show when he should not have been cast at all. He is sick and dangerous and that is not why I watch Survivor. You touched the surface a little bit at least, Stephen. What he does is not game play or strategy, it’s an outlet for his psychotic tendencies. I can watch horror movies for that. I am insulted that the Survivor producers and casting directors think the American public want to see that. I wanted to see so much more last night, but you’re right. I only got to see him. What a joke.

I just hope he goes out fast so I can watch Survivor again. He said he wants to prove how easy Survivor is to win. Well, yeah Russell, anybody could do what you’re doing. Someone, I think Jeff, said he was “charming”? What edit were you watching? There is nothing charming about him from his fat belly to his fat head. He is disgusting and does not deserve this chance that millions of people would do anything for. Get him off Survivor contestants and no more like him please.

The United States is suffering from chronic incivility.

It's evident everywhere, from Congressman Joe Wilson yelling "you lie" at our President, to Serena Williams cursing a line judge at the U.S. Open, to Kanye West usurping a MTV Video Music Award winner's acceptance moment.

And here comes Survivor Samoa, elevating super-jerk Russell Hantz to super-star status. CBS features him all over the show's web site, billing him as "The Biggest Villain in Survivor History."

Probably true.

If a network is out for ratings, it makes sense to go for the sensational jugular vein, making viewers bleed with cries of Ugh! I can't believe Russell acted so nasty!

Yet something bothers me about Survivor's producers choosing to feature Russell Hantz at this time, when our nation is struggling to stay on the civilized side of the boundary between intense debate and crazy ranting.

Jeff Probst, who oversees the contestants on Survivor, writes in his blog: 

A new star has most definitely been born. He stands about 5 feet tall and when he slips that buff on top of his head, he transforms into a pirate, missing tooth and all. He was discovered on Survivor, the greatest reality show of all time, his name is Russell Hantz and in addition to being absolutely captivating on television, he writes and delivers some of the greatest material ever heard in 20 seasons of Survivor.

As long as Russell is on the show you are going to be talking about him and I am going to be writing about him. Instead of protesting like you did last season about my infatuation with Coach, why not try “riding the horse in the direction it’s going.” ‘Cause trust me, that is the direction this blog is going.

Yeah, I believe you, Jeff. The nastier and more outrageous Russell Hantz gets, the more CBS is going to like it.

But I'm not.

I'll be visualizing assholes like Russell watching him on TV, their feet up on a beer-stained cushion, yelling "hey, woman, where's my fucking dinner?!," chuckling at his sexist demeaning insults, and thinking with their few brain cells, That mean motherfucker is kicking some ass!

If you don't watch Survivor, it looks like you'll be able to follow the plot line of the current season via Wikipedia.

I sure hope that soon, very soon, it shows that Russell Hantz has been voted off the island.

"Down and dirty" hurt my dancing man, Evan

My wife and I love "So You Think You Can Dance." It was sad to see the current show come to an end last night with Jeanine's triumph.

(How does someone 18 dance so well? Partial answer: she started when she was three.)

Being philosophically minded, I enjoy the more profound sub-texts of the show as much as the overt dancing.

Now, having just written "profound sub-texts," I guess I've got to come up with some -- since like most bloggers I tend to write first and think afterwards.

Wednesday night, for the first time I voted for a couple of the contestants. Usually we watch a recording several days later, but the finals were too much of an attraction to wait for. I picked up a phone and punched in the numbers for Evan and Jeanine.

Evan is a great example of the sometimes-true adage, nice guys finish last. This is a fascinating subject, which, not surprisingly, has earned its own Wikipedia page. 

Of the twenty finalists, Evan clearly was the nicest guy. Including the gals. He was regularly criticized by the judges for being too bland, too non-assertive in his partner dancing, too reluctant to let his personality blaze forth on the dance floor.

I liked Evan. I didn't think he was the best dancer, but I voted for him because I wanted to see the heads of the judges explode if he ended up winning.

One of their greatest compliments after a dance performance is, "That was so dirty!" Meaning, sexy, passionate, dangerous, edgy.

What this points to, philosophically, is Yin-Yang.

People may claim allegiance to light, truth, love, and God, but most of us also are attracted to dark, false, hate, and Devil. We distrust one-sided nice guys or gals as being out of balance.

There is, of course, a lot of sexuality percolating in this sub-text of So You Think You Can Dance. Jeanine oozed it. Janette did. Brandon did. Evan didn't.

The Wikipedia article discusses evidence pro and con on the question, "Are women attracted more to nice guys or bad boys?" Whichever, it's clear that dancing judges are much more inclined to get in bed with the latter.

So are voters. Jimmy Carter was our nicest guy president in recent memory. And also one of the most vilified (or at least disrespected). Bill Clinton, a classic bad boy president, is still highly popular.

Because he appeared to be real in a way that Carter wasn't. Which is unfair, just as Evan's being dissed for his nice-guy persona also is.

If someone is genuinely nice, that's their real. However, this also is reality: most people enjoy some dark-side spice with their life, not unalloyed bland sweetness and light. This is what doomed Evan.

He deserves a lot of credit for getting to the final three. It just wasn't surprising that Evan failed to make it to the So You Think You Can Dance winner's circle.

Nice guys have a lot going for them. On the dance floor, though, niceness only gets you so far.

Here's an example of going beyond -- way beyond -- nice into Oh, yeah! joy. This video makes me feel great every time I watch the terrific boogie-woogie dancers.

Happy dancing videos bring summer smiles

Hey, it's almost August. And the Northwest's record-breaking heat wave is about over.

Time to celebrate by sitting on our finally-cool deck and sharing some viral dance videos that brought smiles to the sweaty brows of my wife and me yesterday.

Like this title of this video says, this has got to be The Best Wedding Entrance Dance Ever. For sure.

Then there's this guy -- who must have watched Beyonce's video of Single Ladies a million times to get his copied moves down so perfectly.

To check his work, here's Beyonce's version. Actually, I think the guy is a better dancer.

Oregon Country Fair photos -- the '60s live on

 Today Laurel and I headed to Veneta for a marvelous counterculture celebration, the 2009 Oregon Country Fair.

I wished we had an old VW bus to drive there, but had to settle for our Hybrid Highlander (less cool, but not nearly so prone to break down).

We hadn't been to the Fair for about fourteen years. It was good to see that the '60's flower power hippie ambience hadn't changed.

Except the original flower children, like us, had aged. But as some of my photos show, we're still youthful at heart.

Walking to the fair entrance, we encountered some philosophy: "The material world is but an illusion." Yeah, but we still had to buy $18 advance tickets to get in.

I'd intended to get to the fair in time to enjoy some belly dancing. Leaving late from Salem, we only were able to see a few minutes. Next year, more!

Laurel was wearing blue feather earrings she'd bought at the fair many years ago. Probably from this very booth.

Now she has a feather to match the earrings.

Many fair goers favor the wild and crazy look.

Others, a cool and sophisticated appearance.

When we got to the Main Stage, some classic rock was playing. And these ladies were groovin' to it. I went to free concerts in Golden Gate Park back in the good old '60s days. Today I had some flashbacks.

Now, though, the tie dye was worn under gray-haired heads.

I thought, "Man, it would have been something to encounter this sight back in my LSD-taking days."

Highly creative artistry abounds throughout the fair grounds.

Along with apt banner sayings.

Quirky parades snake through the winding fair paths.

The parades, like almost everything else, are wonderfully colorful.

Including Laurel browsing a booth.

There's loads of attractive semi-nudity at the Oregon Country Fair. This couple simply was semi-nude.

By comparison, some of the dancers at a drumming circle were considerably more shapely.

There didn't seem to be as many topless women as there were fifteen years ago. Or maybe I'm just getting to be such an old geezer, I didn't notice them so avidly as I did before. This was one of only a few photo opportunities.

An Oregon Country Fair archetype. Beautiful. May the '60s live on forever.

Coach -- the biggest jerk ever on Survivor

I was so happy Coach (real name, Benjamin Wade) got voted off Survivor Tocantins this week. My wife and I have watched every episode of Survivor over the years. We've seen some real jerks, such as the infamous Jonny Fairplay and Randy Bailey.

But I've never screamed so often at the TV, Vote him off! Get rid of him! Don't trust him!

My wife and I couldn't stand Coach from the beginning. He's the most irritating sort of person: someone who blabs on and on about how truthful, upright, honest, courageous, and strong he is. I wouldn't be surprised if Coach also believes himself to be the most humble person in the world.

The Tao Te Ching warns:

When the great Tao is forgotten,
Kindness and morality arise.
When wisdom and intelligence are born,
The great pretense begins.

Given all of Coach's yogic posturing (both physically and psychologically), you'd think some of this Eastern wisdom would have soaked into his ego-encrusted head.

However, Coach mostly was clueless about how his incessant moralizing and holier-than-thou attitude was turning off his fellow contestants. On Survivor, as in life, people value genuineness over hypocrisy -- which is why I'm betting that JT Thomas is going to end up on top after tonight's finale.

There's quite a bit of evidence that Benjamin "Coach" Wade is an inveterate liar. For example, this piece about him. 

On Survivor: Tocantins, Ben Wade claims he must “surround himself with integrity”, yet according to one viewer of the hit CBS show, he has been caught in more than one lie recently including lying about holding the world’s record for a solo kayaking trip. No record has been recorded on either Google or Wikipedia.

Ben Wade also claims on his website that he survived a hurricane with mammoth waves and that at the top of a 30 foot wave, “God” spoke to him and saved him. The area he claims he survived the hurricane is the Mexican port of Portolabombo which according to the viewer, is not a hurricane ravaged area and has only recorded one tropical storm since 1939.

Ben Wade received his name “Coach” because he coach’s young girls soccer teams and recently he was fired from his postition because he reported to the school he worked for, that he was leaving to go for “cancer tests” when he was really competing on this season’s Survivor. He also claims that God has called him to do the show after he prayed about it.

The guy wears a large cross around his neck. He loves playing martyr (when he was sent to Exile Island this week, he made a big deal out of not eating or sleeping while he was there, and posed with his "Dragonslayer" staff in a Christ-like position).

But whether Coach subscribes to an Eastern or Western faith, the fact remains that he is a total jerk. People's voted-off interview with him proves it. One irritating excerpt:

You told a lot of wild tales by the campfire. So level with us — are you speaking truth or are you pathological liar?
I am probably the most misunderstood person in America right now. I can guarantee you two things: I’m not delusional or crazy. My reputation and my character have been assassinated … It has been a difficult road. I’m human and some of this stuff has cut me to the quick. But I remember two things to get through it: One, I am a child of God and no one can take that away. And I’ve got the character that has been forged by these triumphant victories and devastating losses.

Um, Coach, you didn't answer the question. So let's stick with "pathological liar." Judging from the first bunch of comments on the article, clearly most Survivor fans agree.

My advice: Dump DISH and grab DirecTV

If you're thinking of getting rid of DISH network because it no longer has a favorite local station (like Portland's KATU, in our case), don't hesitate to jump to DirecTV.

That's what I decided to do, and after five days of experience with DirecTV -- the installer came last Thursday -- I'm wondering why I didn't dump DISH sooner.

Since we have several Qwest services (local line, unlimited long distance, DSL), adding DirecTV shaved another $10 off our bill. It's hard to compare the costs of DISH and DirecTV, given the many programming and receiver options, but it looks like we're going to save at least a little each month with DirecTV.

And now we have a considerably better picture, which isn't only due to getting the HD package (which we didn't have with DISH).

Basic digital programming is sharper on DirecTV, a conclusion echoed by a friend who also recently made the switch. A recent Consumer Reports issue found that DirecTV subscribers are considerably happier with their satellite service, including picture and sound, than DISH subscribers.

Now I know why.

The installation guy was on time and professional. The HD DVR is considerably more advanced than our old DISH DVR, which admittedly was several years old. I much prefer the channel guide set-up on DIrecTV, as well as how the listed recordings show up.

One of my qualms about switching to DirecTV was losing my beloved 30 second skip on the DISH remote control, which happens to be almost exactly the time between a play being whistled dead in a college football game, and when the next snap occurs.

Indeed, the DirecTV remote doesn't skip, but slips -- since the button takes three seconds to advance 30 seconds, and you see the televised images whizzing by (I guess this is a bone thrown to advertisers, since you get a subliminal exposure to ads).

I'd prefer to have a genuine skip button, but I'm adjusting to the DirecTV version. Maybe someday they'll switch to a real skip so I can save a bunch of three seconds each day and apply the time to some other important activity, like napping.

My only other gripe with DirecTV is how it records The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, plus other programs, I'm sure, that are repeated after the initial showing.

I indicate that I only want new shows recorded, but every day the HD DVR dutifully records every single episode of these two programs. So every day I dutifully delete all but the new show every evening.

Some Googling reveals that this problem seems to be caused by the content in the online programming guide that DirecTV uses, so I guess there's nothing DirecTV can do about it.

Still, I wish the DVR had the option of recording a particular program at a certain time, rather than having to get all new episodes (which, as I've found, often aren't really new).

Anyway, aside from these minor gripes I'm much happier with DirecTV than with DISH network, even leaving aside DISH's dropping of our local ABC station.

The Washington state Attorney General has a pretty good description of this issue here.

I realize that DISH and Fisher are both responsible for the dropped stations, but it still was irritating to miss the first episode of Lost's new season last Wednesday (fortunately a friend put it on DVD for me; it also was repeated a few days later).

Bottom line: switch to DirecTV if you're ticked off at DISH. Based on my experience, you won't have any regrets.

Ustream shows inauguration live on iPhone

Oooh! So cool.

Both Obama's inauguration and Ustream's new video player for the iPhone that is streaming live coverage.

I just turned on my new iPhone, clicked on the App Store, and downloaded it via a "Ustream" search.

On my phone it wants a wi-fi connection. We don't have 3G coverage at our house, so I don't know if it will stream video over 3G.

Still, it's neat to be able to watch CNN on both our TV and my iPhone. Now I can go to the bathroom and not miss a live moment of history.

Thanks, Ustream.

"Slumdog Millionaire" puts financial meltdown in perspective

We here in the United States, who think we're going through tough economic times, need to put Slumdog Millionaire at the top of our movie-watching list.

Laurel and I saw it last night at Salem Cinema. Aside from the film's entertainment value (off the charts!) I came away with a fresh appreciation of how good the lifestyle of most Americans is compared with how Indians live in the Mumbai slums.

Many scenes are incredibly powerful, showing how children and adults alike live perpetually on the edge of existence, eating meal to meal, not being sure whether the bed they sleep in one night will be theirs tomorrow.

And here I am, fretting over whether I should switch to grande vanilla lattes, from venti, in a minimalist money-saving effort.

I've been to India twice, in 1977 and 1998. I didn't travel around much, but I saw enough to realize that Slumdog Millionaire captures both the inward spirit and the outward appearance of the country beautifully.

Watching the movie, I kept wondering how Indians themselves would react to it.

Slumdog Millionaire isn't exactly the India Tourist Bureau's dream. Much of the film shows the gritty, dirty, poverty-stricken, crime-filled side of India. And it definitely makes you want to stay out of the hands of the Mumbai Police Department.

It appears, though, that Slumdog Millionaire is being heartily embraced by India. Ditto for Indians living in Britain, according to this story.

In the cinema, when the first flashes of Boyle's Mumbai unroll across the screen - drawing in the fields of garbage, rivers of excrement and the constant grasp in the city - there are no angry mutterings.

In fact, although Amitabh Bachchan, India's biggest Bollywood star, has blasted Danny Boyle for portraying India in a poor light, most British Asians are relieved that, finally, a slice of the real India is out there on display, warts and all.

Jaspreet Pandohar, 35, a freelance writer, says she feels the film portrayed the city and its people in a truthful, dignified manner. "India's commercial capital may be booming but there's a dark underbelly of crime, deprivation and poverty that is often ignored or misrepresented by Indian cinema and the government."

This evening I talked about Slumdog Millionaire with my daughter, Celeste, who lives in Hollywood and makes her living selling high-priced designer eyewear. She agreed that Americans need to put our current financial difficulities in global perspective.

Celeste said that a friend had just returned from Jamaica and spoke about how people there sometimes wear two different kinds of shoes (shoes, and the lack of them, also come in for quite a bit of attention in Slumdog Millionaire). And children trudge along carrying heavy containers of water.

So, yes, times are tough. But our tough times would be viewed by most of the world's population as extravagant beyond belief.

Let's be grateful for what we have, and generous toward those who have so much less.

Final comment: I loved the final scene, upbeat Bollywoodish and jarringly unlike the rest of the movie that it was. Guess I'm not cut out to be a sophisticated movie reviewer like Anthony Lane of the New Yorker, who said:

There is a mismatch here. Boyle and his team, headed by the director of photography, Anthony Dod Mantle, clearly believe that a city like Mumbai, with its shifting skyline and a population of more than fifteen million, is as ripe for storytelling as Dickens’s London, and they may be right; hence the need to get their lenses dirty on its clogged streets.

At the same time, the story they chose is sheer fantasy, not in its glancing details but in its emotional momentum. How else could Boyle get away with assembling his cast for a Bollywood dance number, at a railroad station, over the closing credits? You can either chide the film, at this point, for relinquishing any claim to realism or you can go with the flow—surely the wiser choice. After all, to make an old-fashioned crowd-pleaser is no mean task, requiring both folly and verve; and right now, I suspect, the crowd is ready to be pleased.

I'm done with DISH network after Fisher feud

Sorry, DISH Network, I've changed my mind. Your satellite dish on our roof soon will be replaced by a DirecTV model.

On January 1 I was planning to stick with DISH, even though turning off our local ABC affiliate, KATU (Channel 2) was deeply irritating.

Watching the 2009 Rose Bowl on a 4.5 inch laptop window wasn't nearly as much fun as seeing it on our new 42 inch LCD television would have been. And we're getting anxious about the new season of "Lost" starting in a few weeks on ABC.

Still, I was going to give DISH more time to work out a deal with Fisher Communications until I glanced at the cover of the February 2009 issue of Consumer Reports.

It said "We rate 27 phone, TV & web providers." I turned to page 22. Where I found this advice about bundled services:

Recommended
These carriers stand out for the reasons cited below

If TV is paramount and you can't get fiber service:
A hybrid bundle that includes DirecTV

This satellite TV provider scored significantly higher than the major cable companies and rival Dish Network for TV picture, sound, and channel selection, with 150 high-def channels at the latest count, compared with 75 or so for AT&T [which offers DISH] and 35 to 50 for most cable companies.

It's TV service is offered in hybrid bundles with DSL and phone service from some telephone providers. Combinations of Qwest Internet and phone services and DirecTV television service compare well against bundles from the best cable companies. Satellite requires a satellite dish and other equipment, usually free or at a discount in exchange for a contractual agreement.

That pushed me over the-get-rid-of-DISH edge. I researched DirecTV offerings, then called Qwest.

By dumping our AT&T long distance and going with Qwest, plus adding DirecTV, we ended up with a $20 a month bundle discount for having four services: local phone, long distance, DSL, and satellite television.

The HD Plus DirecTV package will end up costing us about the same, or a bit less, than our current roughly comparable DISH package. We'll get a HD DVR receiver at no extra cost.

I also was impressed by DirecTV's Scheduler service. It lets you schedule programs for recording via a mobile phone or computer, if you're not at home and suddenly realize that you're going to miss an important sports event or TV show.

Pretty cool. And not available on DISH.

One last benefit for switching to DirecTV: revenge. This will punish DISH Network for going back on its local channel commitment to us that it made when we signed up quite a few years ago.

Because so many people in our area are switching from DISH to DirecTV, our installation date isn't until January 22. That, I believe, is one day after the new season of Lost starts.

Well, we might have to watch the first show online. No problem.

I'll be feeling good about getting rid of DISH, which should have been able to negotiate a deal with Fisher Communications long before this.

How I see the DISH vs. Fisher dispute

Wow, it sure was fun to watch the Rose Bowl on a 4.5 inch screen this afternoon.

That's the only way I could see the game -- via the Internet -- thanks to the hugely frustrating standoff between the DISH satellite TV network and Fisher Communications, which owns several ABC stations in the northwest, including Portland's KATU.

Like I said before, curses on both DISH and Fisher. And I know a lot of other DISH subscribers feel the same way.

I've asked representatives of both companies to give me the details of this contract dispute. How much was DISH paying previously to rebroadcast local ABC stations? How much is DISH willing to pay now? How much is Fisher asking? 

George left a seemingly knowledgeable comment on my first post which said in part:

what Dish network is not saying is that Fisher wants a new contract that will last years by the way, where compensation will be raised from 8 cents a subscriber to 15 cents a subscriber...a 80% increase, dish only pays right now your locals 8 cents a subscriber and charge you $5 bucks a month for the locals which in some areas is only 4 channels so 8x4 = 32 cents and then they charge you 5 bucks again who's being greedy here.

This has a ring of truth to it. But when I wrote the KATU general manager (John Tamerlano), asking the questions above, all I got emailed to me was a form letter. Excerpt:

It's important to know that while the specific terms of our negotiation with Dish Network cannot be divulged, we are not asking for anything more than many much less significantly viewed cable networks are receiving. The increase that is being reported has been grossly exaggerated and is comparable to other broadcast stations.

OK, that also sounds believable. So I've come to be more pissed off at DISH than Fisher.

I've told the head guy at DISH that I'd be happy to send him a couple of bucks to pay for a year's worth of getting KATU at a higher rate if he'd get a contract approved. For less than the cost of a latte, I'd like to be able to watch Lost, Dancing With the Stars, and other favorite ABC shows.

For a while I seriously considered switching to DirecTV. But then I realized that while I'd be making a point to DISH, I'd also be causing myself television-watching grief.

It's complicated to switch satellite services. We've got over fifty hours of saved-up shows to watch on our DISH DVR. I like the DISH equipment (especially the 30 second skip feature) and the programming.

The only thing I don't like is not getting our local ABC station.

However, we've found that the KGW news is more enjoyable to watch than KATU's, so that's no loss. And if KATU is still off the DISH lineup when the new season of Lost starts, we can watch via the Internet (and probably on our television set, once I figure out how to connect my MacBook to it).

So I've decided to stick with DISH. There's no guarantee that DirecTV won't get into a similar contract pissing match and cut off some other channel that we like.

That almost happened recently with the Time Warner Cable system. Viacom was on the verge of pulling the plug on a bunch of channels, including (gasp!) Comedy Central.

If we lost The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, our lives would barely be worth living. Fortunately for Time Warner subscribers, the shutoff was averted at the last moment.

I still think DISH owes me something, though, for making me watch the Rose Bowl on a 4.5 inch laptop window rather than the 42 inch LCD television we got recently.

Tomorrow I'm going to try to suck a HD DVR receiver upgrade out of DISH's greedy little hands. Having them waive the $10 a month fee for getting a bunch more HD channels on our current programming package also would be a nice gesture.

How to watch 2009 Rose Bowl live on internet

I'm one of the disgruntled DISH network subscribers who just realized that the Rose Bowl is on ABC today, and our local affiliate (KATU) no longer is on DISH due to a ridiculous contract dispute.

After having done some quick Google research on how to see the Rose Bowl for free over the Internet, here's the best option I've come up with.

This site has a list of feeds around the world. I tried a few. Not wanting to download additional software I found that this feed opened even on my MacBook.

At the moment I'm seeing a live feed of the Capitol One Bowl, which precedes the Rose Bowl on ABC. Kind of fuzzy and a bit jerky on our 1.2 mbps DSL connection.

But sure better than nothing.

Curses on both KATU and DISH network

Super irritating... to start our nightly recording of local news on Portland's KATU (Channel 2) and find an endless loop of a DISH network notification that we can kiss our ABC subscription goodbye because DISH no longer has an agreement to carry KATU.

DISH says it's the greed of Fisher Communications that's at fault.

KATU says that DISH network should be willing to pay more for it's programming.

Here's what I say: to hell with both of you.

DISH network, you canceled without notice a channel that's been included in our package since we signed up with your satellite service. If we knew it could be eliminated at any time, we might have gone with DIRECTV.

If someone is thinking of signing up with DISH network, think again. Keep in mind that DISH can take away a favorite channel and not give you any warning.

KATU and Fisher Communications, we've been loyal viewers of the 11 o'clock news for many years. Plus other ABC shows. Now we'll be watching KOIN or KGW. I assume you'll be notifying your advertisers about this.

If someone is thinking of buying ad time on KATU, think again. Keep in mind that KATU can lose a significant share of its viewership and not give you any warning.

Here's the emails that I just sent to the CEO of DISH network and the general manager of KATU. A pox on both their TV houses.

To DISH network:

Yes, we're upset...at DISH network. Every night we record the KATU 11 o'clock news. A storm is coming, but we don't know the details about it because all we could watch was your irritating endless loop about the KATU cancellation.

Which happened with no notice. Thankfully, Qwest has been sending us offers for switching to DIRECTV -- which we can get with a discount since we have DSL and local service.

Believe me, this will happen soon if KATU isn't back. And as an active blogger, I'm looking forward to letting other DISH subscribers across the country know that their channels can be cancelled at any moment without notice, and they should switch to Direct TV now if they're smart.

This is a bone-headed move on your part. And very un-Christmas like. Thanks for a crappy holiday present -- taking away our favorite local TV station. DISH has lost our confidence and I can't wait to switch to a reliable satellite provider.

To KATU:

I can't tell you how irritating it was to find that our DISH DVR didn't record the KATU news this evening, which we wanted to watch to see a forecast of the coming storm, but rather got an endlessly repeated loop about your station's greed.

I don't know whose fault this is. I've told DISH that we'll switch to DIRECTV if KATU isn't back soon.

But you should know that our long-time loyalty to KATU news is gone now. We like your news team best of the Portland stations. However, when your loyalty to satellite viewers is so minimal, we'll have no regrets about switching over to KOIN or KGW.

You should realize that once viewers are lost, they're tough to get back. And your advertisers should realize this also.

Shame on KATU for giving viewers like us such a lump of coal Christmas present: canceling our ABC programming.

Dagwood's Blondie is a hottie

I don't know what this says about me, but I've just spent quite a bit of time burrowing through the Blondie comic strip archive looking for the hottest images of her.

For quite a while I've had a thing for Blondie. She's the most curvaceous chick on the mainstream comic pages.

She may have had breast implants, given her otherwise svelte shape, but who cares? And I'd prefer that she wear high heels around the house, but her tight skirts help make up for that fantasy lack.

I figured that if I Googled "Blondie comic hottie" I'd find lots of other guys who shared my passion for a comic strip character. Disturbingly, I didn't.

This told me that either I'm more atypically deranged than I thought, or I need to take the lead in showing my fellow Blondie-lusters that it's OK to come out of the closet.

Being an exhibitionist blogger (is there any other kind?), naturally I liked the second option.

One guy, at least, is in my corner. He wants to see Blondie naked.

"Rereading some old Blondie cartoons I remember how I was deeply in love with her for years. And how I at some point in my teenage years wanted to see her naked.

Still do I think. Although her neighbor, the brunette, is sexier. I wanna see both of them naked. Now!"

I assume he means Tootsie Woodley. Sorry, dude, I don't see her as sexier. No way. However, I'll admit to a preference for blondes (especially since my wife may read this post).

I agree with him, though, about the Blondie naked part.

It's doubtful that we'll ever see this in the newspaper. However, I managed to find someone who's gone part way toward fulfilling that guy's wish. Here's his before and after images.

Cool. I'm so jealous of Dagwood.

He doesn't deserve such a fine woman. He spends a lot of his at-home time napping, watching TV, taking baths, and scheming about how to get out and play golf.

Dagwood does do the dishes sometimes, though. Albeit with an ulterior motive.

I don't know what Blondie sees in him, but she can give Dagwood some good loving.

[Update: Dagwood, I apologize. I'd forgotten, or maybe never knew, that you were the son of a billionaire tycoon who gave up his inheritance to marry Blondie against your father's wishes. That's beautiful.]

I assume this was just a prelude.

Well, I suppose there are worse things for a 60 year old man to do than ogle a comic strip character.

Like, ogle Blondie's daughter. She's hot too.

What Survivor, the TV show, says about the election

We're fervent fans of CBS' Survivor. Haven't missed an episode, ever. Not once in sixteen seasons. We put so much time into the show, I like to discern Big Truths in the machinations that go on between the contestants.

I'm not a Clinton supporter, but the Fans versus Favorites contest on a Micronesian island that concluded last night was a good omen for her.

First, the women ruled. Everyone in the final four was female. The girls were way more devious than the guys.

That's why this is called a "reality" show. Cirie talked about how her mother said that women might not be able to beat men physically (pointing to her biceps), but they could always beat them here (pointing to her brain).

It was painful to watch the last episodes. Trusting male after trusting male fell into the webs of trickery these Black Widows spun out of sweet talk and false promises.

Hopefully neither the voters nor the superdelegates will do the same. You never know, though.

Take the case of Erik, a nice guy who got wound around the finger of Natalie. She was billed as a "personal trainer." Her bio says that she also is a bartender. Yeah, I can believe it. She knows how to handle men, with or without a drink in their hand.

Erik strains and sweats to win immunity. He's on the chopping block to be voted off the island, being the odd man out with the four women.

I was excited when he won the immunity necklace. Now the females would have to eat one of their own at tribal council.

But the women hatch a scheme to make Erik feel that unless he gives the immunity necklace to Natalie, they won't trust him – so he'll be voted off eventually anyway.

Natalie is reluctant to even try this line out on Erik. "Who would believe that?" she asks her conspiring sisters. "Give it a try, Natalie," they urge her. "Use your feminine wiles."

Dear god, it was painful for me, as a man, to watch Erik cross his fingers (dude, nobody does this anymore, especially not 22 year olds) after handing over the necklace in an astonishing display of naiveté.

Which, in short order, resulted in him having his torch snuffed on a 4-1 vote. So much for trust. Everyone watching could see it coming but Erik.

Barack, pay attention. Don't believe what Hillary's camp is telling you, no matter how good it sounds. If you take her on as your vice-president, make sure she's on a short leash (ignore how sexist that sounds).

The crowning touch of reality came when Parvati beat out Amanda in the final tribal council and won the million dollars. Laurel and I both cried out "No!" when the 5-3 vote was announced.

Amanda, the beauty queen, was cool, calm, and collected. A schemer, sure. But basically straightforward. Parvati was a shameless flirt, coming on to guys and girls alike (one comment on the Survivor message board opined, "Natalie voted for Parvati because she wants to sleep with her").

So who comes out on top? The woman who will say or do anything to win, forming and breaking alliances with anyone and everyone if it helps her get what she wants.

I can reluctantly accept Parvati winning Survivor. But equally schemy Hillary winning the Democratic nomination… nightmare.

That'd be too much reality.

Heisenberg, Copenhagen, and unanswerable questions

I knew I was going to like the play, "Copenhagen," when one of the first lines said that some questions are unanswerable.

That appealed to my churchless soul. As did Salem Repertory Theatre's reading of the play. For a mere five bucks each Laurel and I got to see "Copenhagen" performed last night.

OK, read.

But when a play has so much dialogue, and so little action, seemingly it doesn't make much difference whether the actors are sitting on stools with binders in their hands, reading, or sitting around on a stage reciting memorized lines.

"Copenhagen" is about a 1941 meeting in (take a guess) Copenhagen between two noted physicists: Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg.

Pleasingly, because I'm into this stuff, there's much mention of quantum physics in the play. In the 1920's Bohr and Heisenberg were central players in the development of quantum mechanics, one of the greatest scientific developments of our time.

Or any time.

The crux of "Copenhagen" is whether Heisenberg, a German, was working to develop an atomic bomb for Hitler.

Reflecting the uncertainty principle of quantum physics that goes by his name, we're never sure what Heisenberg's motivations are or what he really was up to before and after his meeting with Bohr – a long time friend and colleague.

After the reading the actors hung around to chat with the small audience (there was minimal publicity of the reading, unfortunately).

My comment was that I appreciated SRT's boldness in presenting a play in Salem that offered up questions rather than answers.

Too many people in this too-conservative town like entertainment that follows a typical arc of (1) problem introduction, (2) deepening of the dilemma, and (3) pleasing resolution. Such as, a dissimilar man and woman meet, their differences cause difficulties, they work it out and get married!

Boring. Yet emotionally satisfying.

With "Copenhagen," I told the actors, I started off not knowing what was going on and I ended up not knowing what was going on. Nice. Just like life.

The ending of the play leaves the impression that Heisenberg did his best to stall Hitler's development of an atomic bomb, via both conscious and unconscious motivations. Hence, he's a good guy.

However, one of the actors said that recently released correspondence from the Niels Bohr Archive leaves a different impression. Indeed, a 2002 article from New Scientist says that the uncertainty about Heisenberg's bomb making has ended.

Newly released documents show unequivocally that the renowned German physicist Werner Heisenberg was building an atomic bomb for the Nazis during World War II. The revelations, in letters and notes made public on Wednesday by the Niels Bohr Archive in Denmark lays to rest a controversy that spanned 60 years.

The unsent letters, written to Heisenberg by Bohr after the war, reveal that during a visit to Copenhagen in 1941, Heisenberg confessed to his former mentor that he was working on a bomb. Furthermore, Heisenberg told Bohr he was confident of success.

However, Wikipedia's take on "Copenhagen" is sympathetic to Heisenberg, interpreting the correspondence in a more favorable light. Some uncertainty continues to reign.

Proving (in my own mind, at least, where it counts) that synchronicity also is a fundamental principle of the universe, this morning I ran across a terrific Country Public Broadcasting System music video that mentions both Heisenberg and Bohr – along with lots of beer, pickup trucks, and physics.

Enjoy. But be warned, it's scientifical.

“In Treatment” captures the soul of psychotherapy

Just what we needed – another engaging TV series that'll add to our backlog of unwatched DVR recordings. But we're hooked on HBO's "In Treatment."

My wife is a retired psychotherapist. So not surprisingly, Laurel finds watching Gabriel Byrne fascinating. He plays Paul Weston, a psychotherapist who acts like a traditional psychiatrist because he's so non-directive (he also seems semi-depressed).

But Weston must be something else, since he has plenty of time for his patients and doesn't whip out a prescription pad. So far, at least; we've only watched five of the forty-five episodes.

After my first viewing of "In Treatment" I thought it might be boring to spend 30 minutes listening to people talk about their problems. I've found that it isn't, something Laurel already knew, since she spent quite a few years doing just that – for real.

I bet this has happened to you. You're sitting around with some friends, chit-chatting about this and that. Safe topics. Politics. Weather. Sports. Family.

The evening wears on. People have an extra glass of wine. The mood loosens up. Finally someone blurts out, "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but I've got to get this off my chest. I need to tell someone."

Ooh! Some covers coming off a psyche's façade! Every head turns toward the revealer. Expectant. All ears. Raw honesty is about to supplant polite superficiality.

That's what I find fascinating about "In Treatment" – the ever-changing balance between telling it like it is, and how it isn't. Weston's patients struggle to find that balance. So does Weston himself, whose professional life and marriage have their own sore spots.

After each episode Laurel enjoys critiquing Weston's psychotherapeutic technique. He strikes her as overly passive, doing a lot more listening than talking.

These days insurance companies don't let therapists get away with lengthy non-directive counseling. You're supposed to get the problem dealt with in a few sessions, while Weston apparently has been seeing some of his patients for a long time.

But all in all "In Treatment" reflects the flavor of psychotherapy pretty well. If it didn't, Laurel would be saying much more often, "That's not real!" (one of her favorite critiques of TV shows or movies, whereas I enjoy a healthy dose of illusion in my escapism).

On the message board of one of my blogs someone recently posted Zen Sarcasm. One item says:

Everyone seems normal until you get to know them.

Absolutely. "In Treatment" reminds us that we're all abnormally normal. Meaning, normally we cover up our weirdness, hang-ups, bizarre beliefs, relationship craziness, and other manifestations of our humanity.

Psychotherapy is one place it's OK to let all that hang out. Along with closing time at a bar when you've had way too much to drink. Or in other altered states of consciousness.

Reviews of "In Treatment" have been generally favorable. I'm surprised by the cranky minority who say that the show will make your head hurt, or is painfully boring.

Not to my wife and me. It's fascinating to look into other people's minds when the covers are off, even when their psyches are scripted.

Colbert and Stuart are better without writers

After four days of seeing how Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart fared without writers after returning to the airwaves, I can issue my review:

The Colbert Show and The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (now called A Daily Show) are more entertaining without the writers.

So even though my progressive sympathies are with those on strike, my TV watching sympathies say, "Stay away; let Colbert and Stuart keep on doing their own thing."

I've always enjoyed The Colbert Show more than The Daily Show, because Stephen Colbert is more of a natural improvisational comedian. His interviews are terrific, filled with witty spontaneities.

But now The Daily Show is almost equally pleasurable for me to watch without the irritating, and often infantile, sketches featuring other members of Stewart's fake news team.

This week the only time I reached for the fast forward button on my DVR was when John Oliver returned for a sketch about global climate change. Dreadful.

Colbert and Stewart clearly are capable of coming up with their own material – which I assume is what they're doing (some are suspicious about this).

If I were their writers, I'd be nervous after watching this week's "unwritten" shows.

Now that Colbert and Stuart are free, or forced, to make the content of their shows more purely reflect their own sensibilities, we're seeing that these guys can carry their own comedic water.

And that it's actually better tasting than what the writers had been pumping out for them.

(Some other opinions about the return of The Colbert Report and The Daily Show are here, here, and here.)

Writer's strike gives us funny videos, at least

My wife and I already are tired of watching re-runs of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report.

Pretty soon we'll be reduced to desperate measures, like watching programming with actual educational value, such as the many nature and science shows stored up on our digital video recorder that we've been ignoring in favor of Comedy Central.

There's a few bright spots to the writer's strike, though. This YouTube video, "Not The Daily Show, With Some Writer," is terrific entertainment. Persuasive too.

Stick it to those corporate bastards, writers!

This other YouTube offering, apparently from The Colbert Show writers, isn't as funny. A good effort though.

Makes you realize the obvious: that Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert couldn't work their satirical magic without the support of a whole lot of unseen and unsung writers. Hopefully they'll get their due as a result of the strike.

Survivor China: Ashley is for real (except her breasts)

After watching the first episode of Survivor China tonight, I have my favorite contestant: Ashley.

Contrary to what my wife would have you believe, my admiration for Ashley has nothing to do with the size of her breasts. Well, maybe just a little. OK, maybe a lot.

Still, I need to defend my bosom friend (oops, bad choice of words) from vicious rumors that were being spread in our home this evening by – not big surprise, since our dog doesn't watch much TV – my wife again.

Almost every time Ashley appeared on camera with the "professional wrestler" identifier next to her name, Laurel would say, "Yeah, right. I bet she wrestles in mud when she's not dancing around a pole."

Laurel also questioned the authenticity of her breasts, which I studied with considerable non-clinical attention along with the CBS cameramen – since several shots focused first on Ashley's chest, then panned up to her face, the second most interesting part of her body.

I'm inclined to concede to my wife that she could be right about her doubts concerning this side (or rather, front) of Ashley. However, I just pointed out to Laurel that a quick Google Images search revealed convincing proof of Ashley's wrestling prowess.

Look at that hold. I'm not sure what you'd call it, but it certainly looks like an authentic wrestling technique. As does her grimace. And the short skirt.

Confirming Ashley's athletic credentials, the Survivor web site says that:

A former gymnast, she competed in Miss Hawaiian Tropic pageants and was crowned Miss Hawaiian Tropic USA in 2002 and Miss Hawaiian Tropic Canada in 2005. She currently works as a model and a professional wrestler with the WWE. She came to the WWE as a contestant in the 2005 RAW Diva Search. After beating out seven other finalists, she received a one-year contract with the World Wrestling Entertainment.

Hah! Former gymnast! Take that, Laurel.

My girl Ashley clearly is as real a professional wrestler as they come, for whatever that's worth. I confirmed that she was indeed winner of the 2005 RAW Diva Search, beating out such stiff competition as Alexis ("a veteran of music videos"), Cameron ("a former Miller Lite girl"), and Elisabeth ("a former Baywatch Babe Search winner").

So I hope this puts to rest any carping about Ashley's professional wrestler status. If not, the next episode should convince any remaining doubters, as I caught a glimpse in the preview of Ashley throwing down another girl.

OK, it was in some mud. But it rains a lot in China.

Hott4Hill(ary) hotter than Obama girl?

Who has the hottest music video featuring an ardent – and attractive – female admirer, Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama?

This is the sort of political debate that should be going on right now. It's too early to decide on a Democratic candidate. But it's the perfect time to pay close attention to the positions of Taryn Southern, who's hot for Hillary, and Amber Lee, the Obama girl.

You decide. At first I was drawn to Taryn, but after watching Amber I realized that she has her own, um, assets.

Survivor Fiji’s sleazy Dreamz lets down inner-city blacks

Time to take a pass on political correctness. Dreamz, a twenty something who sleazed his way to the final three on "Survivor Fiji," epitomizes much of what's wrong—from this blogger's 58 year-old rural Oregon white guy perspective—with black inner-city culture.

Dreamz, whose real name is Andria "Dre" Herd, loved to talk about the tough times he had growing up in the projects. OK. That's no excuse for being an irritating, lying, egotistical jerk.

Lots of people have difficult childhoods. I did, for sure. I wasn't homeless, like Dreamz was for a while, but I grew up in a broken home without much money and had to deal with an alcoholic mother.

I got through it. Dreamz is still using his past as raw meat for his Pity Patties, which he served to other contestants on almost every episode.

Last night was the finale of Survivor Fiji. My favorite contestant, Yau-Man, won the traditional challenge where a new car goes to the winner. It was a mucho-macho Ford truck that supposedly was worth $60,000. Didn't exactly look like the slight, cerebral Yau-Man's sort of drive.

Dreamz really wanted to win the challenge. He let everyone know that he was the only one who didn't already own a car. He pleaded for the other contestants to give him the car if someone else won it.

Yau-Man didn't go that far. But he offered Dreamz a deal: he'd give him the truck if Dreamz would agree to give Yau-Man the immunity necklace—if Dreamz was one of the final four survivors and earned immunity in the final challenge.

Dreamz was thrilled. He gladly accepted the offer. He promised Yau-Man that immunity would be his, if Dreamz got to the final four and won the immunity challenge.

Then he reneged. Dreamz did indeed get to the final four. And he did beat out Yau-Man on a hanging-by-your-hands test of endurance.

But when it came time for him to decide whether to keep the immunity necklace or to keep his promise, Dreamz took the greedy, sleazy, self-centered path. He told the host, Jeff Probst, "I'm holding on to the necklace."

This was after he'd said that he was looking forward to keeping his promise, so his son could see how a man acts honorably and keeps his word.

When I heard that, I was moved. I thought, "This is going to be cool—a black guy is going to show that you can overcome a rough childhood in the projects and come out with some strong moral fiber." Dreamz is a cheerleading coach. I was ready to cheer him on when he handed Yau-Man the immunity necklace, even though this likely meant he was going to be voted off the island.

What a letdown. All that got handed off (to viewers) was a confusing mess of rationalizations about how "this is just a game and lying is how it's played."

I'm with the vast majority of last night's viewers who were disappointed that Dreamz didn't keep his promise. Here's the deal, Dre, my conscience-impaired young man.

It's one thing to lie, connive, and deceive in an attempt to win the million dollar "Sole Survivor" prize. That's part of an effort to get money that isn't in anyone else's pocket yet.

It's a whole other thing when Yau-Man has won a $60,000 truck that actually belongs to him. That isn't a potential prize; it's a real prize. Dreamz promised that if he won the final-four immunity challenge, he'd give Yau-Man the necklace in exchange for the truck.

A real truck. An expensive truck. A lot different from the usual sorts of deals that are brokered, and broken, all the time on "Survivor" as alliances form and fall apart.

Dreamz tried to argue that how he played the game of Survivor doesn't bear any resemblance to how he acts in "real" life. That's bullshit. Yes, Survivor is a game. So is life. Many other contestants have chosen honor and honesty over deceptiveness and lies.

Dreamz didn't. He even lacked the minimal self-awareness to recognize that after he broke his word to Yau-Man there wasn't any chance, not a shred, that he'd end up winning the million dollar prize. Dreamz was toast in the jury's eyes the moment the immunity necklace remained around his neck.

So he ended up a big loser. He lost his honor. He lost the respect of millions of viewers. Maybe including his son. What did he gain? Nothing. He would have had his beloved Ford truck whether or not he kept his promise. The eventual winner, Earl, got all nine votes from the jury—the first unanimous winner in Survivor history.

That's because Dreamz and the other finalist, Cassandra, were utterly undeserving of being the Sole Survivor. Even Earl was, compared to Yau-Man, who definitely would have won if Dreamz hadn't played his sleaze card.

What bothers me the most, as I said at the beginning of this post, is how Dreamz solidified stereotypes about young, athletic, uneducated, underprivileged inner-city black men. Lots of people think that all they care about is hip-hop, partying, hanging out, looking good, and talking trash.

Dreamz did nothing to burst the bubble of that stereotype. He got to the final three of Survivor via a simple strategy: go along with the crowd when it was convenient; break your word and lie whenever things got a little tough.

Far from being the street-hardened guy who learned life's lessons by looking into dumpsters for his next meal, Dreamz came across as a frightened self-absorbed punk who's clueless about what it takes to be a man rather than a boy.

One of the jury members, Boo, ripped Dreamz a new one when he said that while Dreamz claims to be a Christian, he doesn't have the faintest idea what this entails. I don't usually like to see displays of religiosity on Survivor. But Boo was right on with this one.

Some other bloggers' takes on the final episode are here, here, and here. Dreamz comes off looking like a liar, cheat, and poor contestant. Which he most surely was.

West Point dean condemns “24” torture scenes

Even though I'm a progressive, I love "24." Torture away, Jack, I'll say to myself as my man, counter-terrorism agent Jack Bauer, shoots a bad guy in the knee and screams Talk!

But now I'm looking at the show in a new light. The dean of West Point says that "24" isn't just entertainment. It's taken as real by our soldiers around the world. And that's hurting the American military.

In a fascinating The New Yorker article, "Whatever it takes, Jane Mayer writes:

This past November, U.S. Army Brigadier General Patrick Finnegan, the dean of the United States Military Academy at West Point, flew to Southern California to meet with the creative team behind "24." Finnegan, who was accompanied by three of the most experienced military and F.B.I. interrogators in the country, arrived on the set as the crew was filming. At first, Finnegan—wearing an immaculate Army uniform, his chest covered in ribbons and medals—aroused confusion: he was taken for an actor and was asked by someone what time his "call" was.

In fact, Finnegan and the others had come to voice their concern that the show's central political premise—that the letter of American law must be sacrificed for the country's security—was having a toxic effect. In their view, the show promoted unethical and illegal behavior and had adversely affected the training and performance of real American soldiers. "I'd like them to stop," Finnegan said of the show's producers. "They should do a show where torture backfires."

You can listen to Mayer discuss her article, while watching "24" clips, courtesy of a The New Yorker online extra, "Making them talk."

She points out that on one episode Jack Bauer declines medical help for a gunshot victim until the person tells where a bomb is. This reportedly is the same technique that was actually used on an Al Qaeda suspect who'd been shot in the groin.

In these fearful days, a lot of citizens say "So what?" If torture saves lives by getting terrorists to reveal their "ticking clock" plans, what's the problem?

Well, this is the problem: torture makes us less safe, in part because it rarely works. A former Army interrogator in the war in Iraq, Tony Lagouranis, accompanied Finnegan on his visit to Hollywood. Mayer writes:

"In Iraq, I never saw pain produce intelligence," Lagouranis told me. "I worked with someone who used waterboarding"—an interrogation method involving the repeated near-drowning of a suspect. "I used severe hypothermia, dogs, and sleep deprivation. I saw suspects after soldiers had gone into their homes and broken their bones, or made them sit on a Humvee's hot exhaust pipes until they got third-degree burns. Nothing happened." Some people, he said, "gave confessions. But they just told us what we already knew. It never opened up a stream of new information." If anything, he said, "physical pain can strengthen the resolve to clam up."

I won't stop watching "24." Got to see how Jack deals with his dad, and whether the President escapes an upcoming assassination attempt.

But I hope the show's right-wing co-creator and executive producer, Joel Surnow, listens to Gen. Finnegan and his interrogation experts. They know that operational details hardly ever are revealed under torture. It's better to establish rapport with a subject instead of water-boarding him.

Plus, on "24" you almost always know that the person being tortured is part of a nefarious plot. After all, a scene or two before you saw them working on a suitcase nuclear bomb.

Real life is a lot different. A man can be whisked up by U.S. agents, sent off to Syria to be tortured for 10 months, and then released as an innocent with not even a "Sorry, we made a mistake."

That's bad enough for the image of the United States. All the "24" DVDs floating around the globe makes things worse.

Mayer says, "We can talk all we want about the Geneva Convention. Yet what the world sees is Jack Bauer. And Jack Bauer is torture."

“24” and Jack Bauer more progressive now

What a difference a year makes. On both the national political scene and the hit Fox television series “24,” a progressive-friendly outlook is kicking the neocon ass.

Now it’s a lot easier for me to admit my love affair with Jack Bauer (in the finest tough guy heterosexual fashion, naturally).

Exactly twelve months ago I felt the need to explain how a compassionate progressive such as myself could be so attracted to a counter-terrorism agent whose interrogation techniques—breaking bones, electric shock, bullet in the knee—wouldn’t pass muster with the ACLU (to put it mildly).

But as James Poniewozik pointed out in his TIME essay, “The Evolution of Jack Bauer,” my man has changed. Along with “24.”

Jack is showing his vulnerable side this season. A few years in a Chinese prison will do that to you, understandably. He’s been seen sobbing into a cell phone, “Tell the president I’m sorry. I can’t do this any more.”

We’re with you, Jack. Most of the American public can’t do this any more either: support the president. Or his Iraq war policies. Or just about anything else the incompetent-in-chief is in favor of.

Jack Bauer knows how to adapt to changing circumstances. He’s grounded in reality, not ideology. That’s why George Bush is no Jack Bauer. They do have in common a fondness for torture, but Jack does it for the right reasons.

Poniewozik accurately captures how “24” is no longer (and, really, has never been) a conservative show.

24’s ideology—Jack Bauerism, if you will—is not so much in between left and right as it is outside them, impatient with A.C.L.U. niceties and Bushian moral absolutes. This season, Bauer allies with Hamri al-Assad, a (putatively) reformed terrorist leader, to stop an attack.

He thus displays a better grasp of realpolitik than has the Bush Administration, which resisted the Iraq Study Group’s recommendation to work with Iran and Syria. A fellow agent asks Bauer if it matters that al-Assad has murdered hundreds of people.

“I don’t know what means anything anymore,” he answers. “The playing field has changed.”

…That may be the biggest lesson of 24 in the Iraq era: don’t stubbornly hang on to your preconceptions when the facts on the ground change. Undoubtedly, Bauer will continue to give liberals and libertarians conniptions before his latest day is over.

But if conservatives and neocons think 24 is working for them, they don’t know Jack.

Sacha Baron Cohen’s hilarious Golden Globe acceptance speech

Cohen, a.k.a. Borat, Ali G, and Bruno, is a comedic genius. As evidence, I submit this video of his acceptance speech after he won a Golden Globe award for best actor in a motion picture musical or comedy.

Sure, Cohen almost certainly gave some advance thought to what he was going to say. But he’s speaking spontaneously here, only glancing at the piece of paper he brought up with him when he gets to his “formal” thank you remarks.

The scene he’s talking about, the nude wrestling encounter between Borat and his rotund Kazakstan comrade, is the most gut-splitting bit of movie-making I’ve ever seen. It even had my normally restrained wife laughing out loud in the movie theatre.

Here’s Cohen’s Golden Globe appearance: [Note: the YouTube video I originally linked was removed at the request of Dick Clark Productions. This is ridiculous. Broadcast over the public airwaves, the producer of the Golden Globes should be happy to get more air time. Here's another version. If this gets deleted also, search on YouTube for another video. Hopefully copyright holders will get the message that they can't censor the public airwaves.]

Must love dogs (and hate Reagan)

We forced ourselves to watch Must Love Dogs all the way through last night. If we’d paid for this two-paws-downer I would have felt cheated, but HBO brought this puppy into our television for nothing (extra).

The movie’s Internet dating scenes reminded me of how Laurel and I met, so this aspect of an otherwise forgettable flick kept my eyes open. Back in the ancient days of 1989, online personal ads didn’t exist like they do now. We hooked up the old-fashioned print way, as related in “Thank you, Willamette Week personals.”

Diane Lane and John Cusack first get together in a dog park. Laurel and I met in a Mexican restaurant. She brought her dog in the car, though.

After a pleasant dinner, at which I wore my carefully chosen wildest, coolest, most fashionable newly-single-guy shirt (which Laurel later told me looked disturbingly conservative), I walked her out to the Isuzu Trooper where Tasha, the German Shepherd, was ensconced.

Laurel’s person-to-person ad said that she was seeking a “tallish, slim, sensitive, spiritually aware, educated intelligent male who values nature, dogs, in depth communication, and who also seeks a mate to share the mysteries and pleasures of life.”

I felt good about meeting her criteria (she hadn’t mentioned “stylish dresser”), apart from the values dogs bit. I’d already told Laurel that while cats rather than dogs had been my chosen pet during adulthood, I’d grown up with standard poodles and Skye terriers.

I could sense, though, that being taken out to meet Tasha was a test of sorts. Indeed, there’s nothing like an attractive woman opening up the hatch of her SUV and revealing a scary-looking purebred German Shepherd, whom you’re expected to make instant friends with, to focus your male-mating-mind attention.

I’d enjoyed Laurel’s company. I wanted to see her again. So I figured improving my chances for a second date was worth risking a finger or two. I gingerly extended my hand into the automotive lair. Tasha licked it. I relaxed. I wasn’t home free on Laurel’s “values dogs” prospective mate check-off list, but at least I was in the ballpark.

Not batting very aggressively, however. Having been out of the dating game for eighteen years, I pretty much froze after the dog greeting was over. It was Laurel who said, “The Salem Art Fair is next weekend. Want to go?” “Sure,” I said, happy that I’d been asked out on a second date.

A ways down our relationship road, Laurel told me that she was surprised to hear herself bringing up the Art Fair. For that entailed a significant commitment of time with a guy she’d only known for an hour. Usually long-time single Laurel liked second (and first) dates to be easily escapable.

So she must have been wary when we walked across Bush Park, heading for the fair. We were talking about politics. I said something about being an independent now, after a stint as a registered Democrat. I also must have mentioned that I didn’t always vote a straight Democratic ticket.

Because what I do distinctly remember is Laurel stopping in her tracks, looking me in the eyes, and asking, “You didn’t vote for Reagan, did you? Tell me you didn’t.”

Oops. I couldn’t remember. But the fact that I possibly voted for Reagan, which I had to admit, was reason enough to bring the date to a screeching halt. We sat on top of a picnic table and hashed out my extremely disturbing revelation.

I wished that I’d changed the subject from politics and told Laurel something more acceptable from my past. Like, I’d killed a guy with a knife in a bar fight. Or been convicted of disseminating child pornography. Anything would have been more forgivable than voting for Ronald Reagan.

I can’t recall how I talked my out of this potential relationship-buster. I must have assured Laurel that my voting insanity was a one time thing, and now I was back on the right (meaning, left) side of the political street.

We got married a mere seven months later. I proved to Laurel’s satisfaction that I both loved dogs and hated Reagan. She forgave me for a brief flirtation with a Republican. Love isn’t blind, but sometimes its eyelids need to be lowered when an indiscretion is evident.

Male geishas on the rise in Japan

Could it be my karma to become a male geisha? Signs point to it.

Sunday Laurel and I finished watching Memoirs of a Geisha. Then the next day my Tai Chi instructor, Warren, who’d just returned from several weeks in Japan, talked after class about the clubs where women are served (in various ways) by male hosts.

Warren thought I’d make a great geisha. I agree. There’s the language barrier thing, but Berlitz could get me over that. And I could learn how to say, “Yes, yes, you’re so right” in a flash. Along with, “Another drink, beautiful woman?”

That should cover a lot of the male geisha bases.

I’ve been married for thirty-four years (sequentially to two wives) so doing whatever a woman wants comes naturally to me. Might as well start getting paid for it. A Guardian story says, “Male escort clubs are big business, satisfying the newfound freedom of Japanese women - at a price.”

I read that a good male host can make £50,000 a month, which translates into almost $100,000. Not too shabby. And reportedly the hosts at one upscale club range in age from 20 to 68. I’ve got at least a decade of male geisha’ing in me.

Interestingly, at first almost all Japanese geishas were men. According to Wikipedia:

Male geisha (sometimes known as hōkan, more commonly known as taikomochi) gradually began to decline, and by 1800 female geisha (originally known as onna geisha, literally "woman geisha") outnumbered them by three to one, and the term "geisha" came to be understood as referring to skilled female entertainers, as it does today.

Carolyn Seawright’s essay, “Taikomochi or Houkan, the Male Counterpart to the Geisha,” casts more light on male geishas past and present. Through it I found the web site of Shozo Arai, who currently practices as a taikomochi.

Arai was 56 back in 2002, when this photo was taken for a story in the Japan Times. I’ve got more hair than he does, so I’m reassured that my bald spot isn’t a disqualification to become a male geisha.

I’ll keep on with my training. Which for now is marriage.

Almost every night I sit on the floor at the foot of the recliner where my client/wife is enthroned while we watch TV. Her feet wiggle demandingly. I bow to her needs. I take her socks off. I squeeze and massage her feet.

If I stop, she says “More!” I accede. If feet squeezing is part of what it takes to be a male geisha, I’ve got that down. Laurel sometimes says, “I wish we had a foot-massage slave.” I don’t know why she says that.

She’s got one. Brian-san.

How to watch the 2007 Fiesta Bowl, if you missed it

I had a sinking feeling last night when my Dish network recording of the Boise State-Oklahoma Fiesta Bowl ended with three minutes to go in regulation. Like an idiot, I’d forgotten to extend the “stop” time past the scheduled game end.

That feeling only got worse. On the evening news I saw some highlights of what I’d missed. And heard the KATU sports gal rave about what a great game it was.

Then, this morning I got the newspaper. “Overtime thriller,” “wild finish,” and “one of the most dramatic finishes in BCS history” leapt out at me from the AP Fiesta Bowl story.

Just to drive myself even deeper into despair, I got on the Internet and read an Instant Analysis of the game.

Decades from now, the first BCS bowl game ever broadcast by the FOX television network will likely remain the best. In the immediate aftermath of a breathtaking event, only one thing can be said: the 2007 Fiesta Bowl could be the greatest game in college football's 138-year history.

Great. And I missed the crucial moments of it.

The good news is that partial videos of the game are available online now. Fox Sports has highlights of every quarter, including overtime. Wanting more, I went through the trouble of signing up for iTunes (yeah, I’m one of the last people in the country who doesn’t own an Ipod).

But after finding and purchasing a complete iTunes video of the 2007 Fiesta Bowl, I belatedly realized that (1) only the pre-game player interviews are available for download now and (2) even those were going to suck up a good share of my satellite Internet bandwidth for the month.

So I’m going to wait for a 20-minute short cut of every Fiesta Bowl play to become available. It’s worth $1.99 to me to be able to say that I saw all the plays of the greatest game in college history (though I’m sure this claim is open to debate).

There’s also YouTube, naturally. In 2:33 you can see highlights of the final moments of the fourth quarter and the astounding overtime. Or just click below. Enjoy.

Even if you saw the game, the sleight of hand by Broncos quarterback Jared Zabransky (a Hermiston, Oregon native) on the Statue of Liberty play that won for Boise State is worth watching over and over.

Are you insane, CBS Sun Bowl producer?

Dear CBS, when you broke into the last 6:20 of the first half of the Oregon State-Missouri Sun Bowl game a little while ago, I was worried that World War III had broken out.

After all, it’d have to be something really important to warrant broadcasting a CBS News Special Report in the middle of an exciting live football game. I was reassured when I saw that you were merely informing us that the six day funeral of Gerald Ford had gotten under way.

Are you insane? I found the photos of black limousines interesting for about two seconds, after which I wanted the damn Sun Bowl back. I can catch up on the funeral sometime during the next six days, thank you. Or, not.

But those six minutes of the last half…they’re gone forever. When the game returned, it was halftime. The brief highlights you showed of what I, and everyone else in the country, missed revealed that some interesting plays transpired.

A lot more interesting than slowly moving black limousines. May I suggest that whoever came up with this crazy idea of a Special Report on a six day funeral in the midst of a bowl game be demoted to CBS janitor.

Though even that may be a more responsible position than he or she deserves.

Sincerely,
Brian, one of many frustrated football fans

“Take the Lead” and Tango Zen

If I’m going to be reincarnated, coming back as Antonio Banderas would be entirely acceptable. As Roger Ebert says at the end of his “Take the Lead” review, Banderas oozes cool and charisma, just like he does in all of his movies that I’ve seen.

“Desperado” remains one of my peak cinematic experiences, notwithstanding Ebert’s tepid review. However, I have to admit that my memories are as much of Salma Hayek as of my man Antonio.

Last night Laurel and I finished watching “Take the Lead,” a predictable yet inspiring story of how ballroom dance changes the lives of inner city kids. Banderas is a dance instructor who brings the tango, waltz, and fox trot into a basement high school detention hall.

By the time he’s done (gosh, what a surprise!), the once-resistant students have become ardent dance aficionados, able to go head to head with snooty white kids at a fancy competition. They meld their street hip hop moves with traditional styles, loosening up even the staid judges.

Banderas is as much an etiquette teacher as a dance instructor. Waiting in the high school office to talk to the principal, he stands up whenever a woman walks by and opens the door for her, thereby melting the hearts of female office staff.

This reminded me of the time I was in the Portland condo of a sixty-ish couple who I had worked with before but didn’t know very well socially. I was sitting in the living room with the husband, waiting for his wife to get dressed. We were chatting away, then he suddenly stopped talking and leaped to his feet.

At first I had no idea what was going on. Then, I did. Good god, I realized, he actually rises whenever his wife walks into the room. At least when company is around. I felt like an etiquette clod. For a while after that I made a point of opening car doors and such for Laurel. But I blow hot and cold when it comes to traditional courtesies.

Maybe “Take the Lead” will re-inspire me. I liked how Banderas explained why men have to learn how to take the lead in dance, and why women have to learn how to trust them. As in dance, so in life. Respect between the sexes on the hardwood floor transfers over into respect on the street. And the living room.

Yesterday I got an email message from Chan Park, the author of “Tango Zen” (who presents a koan on his web site, how can you dance tango without legs?). I ordered the book directly from Chan a while back, and he’d asked how I liked it.

I told him about my glimpse of Tango Zen. I’d welcome a more expansive view. Hopefully I’ll be able to attend one of Chan’s workshops someday. In one of his emails, Chan shared his philosophy.

TangoZen is about learning to appreciate traditional tango through disciplines of Zen, which is synonymous to simplicity and clarity of body and mind. For decades dancers have discovered that learning to enjoy dancing requires not only physical but also mental disciplines.

TangoZen is to advocate and promote the traditional tango with aid of the Zen, which teaches us to devote 100% of our physical and mental attention to what we are doing Here Now.

…Goal of the TangoZen courses is to help the students appreciate the tradition tango by experiencing total concentration on dancing while dancing Tango. To accomplish the goal, the students in the TangoZen courses are guided to practice a number of exercises, which are fundamental and closely linked to tango dance movements.

The exercises are adopted from martial arts such as Tai Chi and Chi Kung, and meditation techniques such as yoga.

Sounds good. Right up my alley.

Laurel and I hope to continue learning Tango through a five-week class being offered by the RJ Dance Studio in Salem next month. Only a few couples have signed up so far, so I want to plug the class in the hopes that some other locals will get the Tango bug.

Watch “Take the Lead” and you’ll see some hot Tango that might infect you. When I phoned the RJ Dance Studio today to put our names down I mentioned the movie. “That’s basically American Tango,” I was told, “not Argentine Tango. We teach American in our class.”

Cool. We’ve been learning Argentine, but I’m way open to looking more like Antonio Banderas. And I already have a blonde partner. Throw in some Zen, and I’ll be ready to hit the dance floor.

Legless, of course.

Searching for meaning in “The Big Lebowski”

Right in Hollywood Video it was clear that “The Big Lebowski” must have some special message for me. I’d gone in looking for the movie yesterday, having heard that it was a cult favorite. Filled with profound meaning of some sort.

I headed for the Drama area. Found the “Bs.” Saw a Big this and a Big that. But there was an empty spot on the shelf where a Big Lebowski would fit alphabetically. I stared at the void for a few seconds.

Then heard an employee say, “Can I help you find something?” “Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m in the right section, but I’m looking for The Big Lebowski.”

“Here you are.” He, I swear to God, was holding the DVD in his right hand. “I was just about to put it back. Somehow it got in the wrong place.”

Far out. Now I was convinced that this movie had something deep to say to me. Obviously we were meant for each other. A feeling confirmed when the hip young guy at the checkout counter approved of my selection: “Great flick. Good choice.”

Well, Laurel and I watched it last night. I’m still waiting for The Big Lebowski hit of enlightenment to strike. Maybe it will be a delayed reaction. Or I need to see it twice to grok a deeper meaning, like Todd Alcott did.

The first time I saw this movie, I didn't like it much. For a comedy it wasn't funny enough, for a mystery it wasn't satisfying. There was too much weirdness, not enough punch, couldn't figure out what any of it meant. The cowboy, the dream sequences, the dotty peripheral characters, it just didn't gel for me.

Nor for me. But one of those who commented on Alcott’s thoughtful review said that he’d seen it twice in theatres and six times on video. The third time through he realized what is going on.

Myself, I’m not sure what that is. However, I’m not about to disagree with Alcott’s final words (especially since he’s got an extra viewing on me).

This movie, for me, went from being pale and unpersuasive to standing as the Coen's densest, most intricate, most interesting and, in a way, most profound movie.

Okay. Could be. It’s definitely the most profound movie ever made about a dude named “Dude.” Over on YouTube you can watch The Dude’s Version of The Big Lebowski. In 2:12 it’s possible to absorb the dudeosity of this 90 minute movie. The strange thing is, it almost makes as much sense.

If you’ve got a bit more time (two seconds) and a broadband connection, check out the “Fuck” Edit of The Big Lewbowskie (sic). For 2:14 you will bathe in the aural warmth of the movie’s other favorite word.

I can already tell that this is a flick that grows on you. I didn’t find it all that enjoyable to watch, yet more scenes have stuck in my mind than is the case with most movies I see. For some reason I still hear Walter (John Goodman) telling his buddy Donny (Steve Buscemi), “Shut the fuck up, Donny.”

Probably because Walter said that a lot. Like he harkened back to his Vietnam days a lot. Walter lives a lot in the past. That helps explain why, no matter what he tries to do, he screws it up. Appealingly.

The “hero” (extremely loosely put) of the movie is The Dude, Jeff Bridges. Stoned, slackerly dressed, dark glassed, he lives in the moment. The Dude is more in touch with what’s going on than Walter, but that doesn’t help him cope with a parade of lower-case dudes who aim to bust up his apartment (and him).

I was rooting for the Nihilists to have better lines. But judging from this compilation of The Big Lebowski quotes, their command of the English language was pretty basic (of course, they had German accents). Sample:

I fucks you in the ass, I fucks you in the ass, I fucks you, I fucks you, I fucks you, I fucks...

This Nihilism had more content, though.

We believe in nothing, Lebowski. Nothing. And tomorrow we come back and we cut off your chonson.

My take on the meaning of the movie is just that: nothing. Nothing really matters, so nothing really can go wrong. My interpretation is along the lines of how a Spirituality & Practice review summed up The Dude’s outlook on life.

Once the Dude gets involved in a kidnapping case, his life swirls in chaos. But he is unperturbed by it all. Like a good Taoist, the Dude realizes that freedom is understanding we are not in control and never will be. By taking it easy, the Dude abides and becomes a spiritual teacher of crazy wisdom.

As Walter said, after Donny asked “Are these the Nazis, Walter?”

No, Donny, these men are nihilists. There's nothing to be afraid of.

I like! Laurel is carded buying tickets for “Borat”

Life imitating Borat, even before we saw the movie this afternoon. We dash up to the ticket booth, late for the 5:10 pm showing. “Two, please,” I tell the girl behind the glass.

She looks at me. Sees a grizzled mostly gray guy. She looks at Laurel. Sees a long-haired blonde. “ID, please.”

“What?” Laurel is incredulous.

“ID. I need to see your ID. This is an R-rated movie.”

I started laughing. “Oh, man, thank you. This’ll make my wife’s day. Maybe even the month. She’s over 18, believe me.”

“Okay, but I still need to see an ID.” She wasn’t kidding.

Cool. I was on a date with a teenager. Or at least a gal who looked enough like a teenager, at dusk, after running through the rain, to warrant handing over her driver’s license.

I demanded that the girl look at mine too. Born in 1948. I passed by a mere forty years. Laurel is about the same vintage. But clearly much better preserved. I’m the first to admit that.

“Borat” the movie is a lot like our mini-Borat moment at the ticket booth (except funnier). It’s basically a series of vignettes featuring a make-believe journalist from Kazakhstan encountering real-life Americans.

You keep saying to yourself, “No, this can’t be happening!” Yet it is. And it’s almost always hilarious. Laurel isn’t a big laugh-out-loud movie goer. But I heard her giggling like, well, a teenager through Borat’s nude wrestling scene with his portly Kazakhstan traveling companion. That alone was worth the price of admission.

For several years we’ve been big fans of Sacha Baron Cohen, a.k.a. Borat, Ali G, Bruno and other comedic personas. Way back in July 2004 I was on the leading edge of the current Borat craze with my “Da Ali G, for real!” post.

As I said back then, not many people in this country must watch HBO’s Da Ali G show. For Cohen has no problem fooling his unwitting foils. I’ve read that Cohen’s assistants rush those who appear on camera through the signing of release forms.

Indeed, it’s hard to believe that some of the poor souls who embarrass themselves in “Borat” were willing cinematic collaborators. Some scenes obviously were staged while most others seemed spontaneous.

A climactic scene involving Pamela Anderson had Laurel and me wondering: staged or spontaneous? This blogger believes that Anderson was oblivious to Cohen’s true self. However, he follows up that conclusion with a report of a 2005 encounter between Anderson and Cohen during her dog’s wedding.

Wouldn’t Anderson have recognized Cohen at the book signing shown in “Borat” if she’d previously been tackled by him on a Malibu beach? Of course, maybe the book signing occurred before the dog wedding. I’m inclined to agree with this reviewer that Pamela was in on the joke.

Fact and fiction blur in the marvelously creative mind of Sacha Baron Cohen. Why else would the actual Kazakhstan ambassador to the United Kingdom be so offended by Borat’s humor?

“Little Miss Sunshine,” a tribute to dysfunction

A VW bus that has to be pushed or rolled to start it. A family comprised of wildly disparate members, including a heroin-snorting grandpa, a platitude-spouting motivational speaker father, and a Nietzsche-obsessed son who hasn’t said a word for nine months.

What’s not to like about “Little Miss Sunshine”? We saw the movie last Friday, thanks to Salem Cinema’s decision to bring it back for another run. It’s a feel-good tribute to eccentric dysfunction, something I know more than a little about.

Automotively, I felt right at home watching the family of Olive, an aspiring seven year-old beauty queen, coax their VW from New Mexico to California so she could enter the Little Miss Sunshine pageant.

In 1968 I became the owner of my mother’s ’57 VW Bug when she got a ’67 model. I loved it. And I hated it. VW’s of that era were equally (1) marvels of German engineering and (2) pieces of crap.

That’s what made them so interesting. You never knew whether Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde was going to appear when you turned the key. I remember the day my VW got me safely through a nasty Sierra snowstorm. I also recall driving along scraping ice from the windshield. On the inside.

There were a lot of positive qualities to my ’57 Bug. The heater wasn’t one of them.

So it was an enjoyable flashback to watch the VW in “Little Miss Sunshine” drive the family crazy with little quirks like a horn that wouldn’t shut off and a broken clutch that required the push-starting routine.

When my VW’s engine compartment caught fire on a San Jose street in the late ’60s it didn’t surprise me at all. I just pulled over, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and called it another day in the life of a Volkswagen owner.

I’m horribly un-mechanical. But with the aid of that marvelous book, “How to Keep Your Volkswagen Alive,” I learned how to crawl under my successor VW (a Karmann Ghia) with a screwdriver and get it running again when, for some forgotten reason, it decided that it didn’t want to start. Which was frequent, as I recall.

Still, I remember those cars with much more fondness than the blandly reliable Japanese models that, when I became a family man, I eventually turned to. A dash of dysfunction adds spice. Too much of it gives you psychic indigestion. But too little leaves a hunger for the wild side.

Growing up, I took for granted that the abnormal was normal. For that, I’m now grateful to my dysfunctional nuclear and extended family. We had alcoholism, divorce (lots of it), affairs, scandals.

I don’t know if the “cocktail hour” is still common. It was in my family during my pre-teen years. As the youngest in the room, usually, during family gatherings my job would be to hand out the drinks. Then I’d perch in a corner, sip a coke, and listen to the gossip.

I accepted all the dysfunction as part of usual family life, not having any other basis for comparison. My uncle played the bagpipes. And, polo. (Not at the same time, though, so far as I know). I thought that was normal too. Now I honor him for his eccentricity, and am sorry that I gave up so soon on the starter bagpipes that he sent me.

When I became a teenager I went through my own existential despair phase. I wasn’t into Nietszche, unlike Little Miss Sunshine’s Dwayne. But the weirder side of Bob Dylan (was there any other side to him in the ‘60s?) touched my dark soul. Also, Henry Miller, who wrote in “Tropic of Capricorn”:

But if you would laugh when others laugh and weep when they weep you must be prepared to die as they die and live as they live. That means to be right and to get the worst of it at the same time. It means to be dead while you are alive and alive only when you are dead. In this company the world always wears a normal aspect, even under the most abnormal conditions. Nothing is right or wrong but thinking makes it so.

I included this quote in a letter that I wrote to my high school girlfriend, Mary. She and her family were wonderfully functional. They helped keep me on as even a keel as I could manage during some extra-dysfunctional adolescent years. For that I’m also grateful.

However, I still resonate with Henry Miller. You’ve got to laugh and weep on your own terms, not anyone else’s. That’s what made “Little Miss Sunshine” so appealing to me. The members of this family march to their own dysfunctional drummers.

And by the time you get to the closing credits, they seem like the most engagingly normal people you’ll ever meet.

Airplane liquid explosives threat was overblown

Terrorism is no joke. But how the British and American governments have been responding to it often is.

That’s why it was fitting I learned about the mostly phony binary explosives threat, which was supposed to be able to bring down an airplane with a tube of toothpaste and a bottle of water, in Funny Times, which reprinted Ted Rall’s expose of the overblown Homeland Security alert that kept our flying mouths dry until TSA relaxed the rules recently.

Which was the right thing to do, since there never was much reason to be concerned that terrorists would be able to mix some liquids or gels together and bingo!, fashion a powerful bomb.

For The Register reports in “Mass murder in the skies: was the plot feasible?” how unlikely it is that anyone would be able to concoct a brew capable of bringing down a plane from liquid carry-on items. Preparation of TATP, triacetone triperoxide, the jihadist’s explosive of choice, takes some serious work.

Rall says:

"First," wrote The Register, "you've got to get adequately concentrated hydrogen peroxide. This is hard to come by, so a large quantity of the three per cent solution sold in pharmacies might have to be concentrated by boiling off the water...Take your hydrogen peroxide, acetone, and sulfuric acid, measure them very carefully, and put them into drink bottles for convenient smuggling onto a plane.

It's all right to mix the peroxide and acetone in one container, so long as it remains cool. Don't forget to bring several frozen gel-packs (preferably in a Styrofoam chiller deceptively marked "perishable foods"), a thermometer, a large beaker, a stirring rod, and a medicine dropper. You're going to need them.

"It's best to fly first class and order champagne. The bucket full of ice water, which the airline ought to supply, might possibly be adequate...Once the plane is over the ocean, very discreetly bring all of your gear into the toilet. You might need to make several trips to avoid drawing attention.

Once your kit is in place, put a beaker containing the peroxide/acetone mixture into the ice water bath (champagne bucket), and start adding the acid, drop by drop, while stirring constantly. Watch the reaction temperature carefully. The mixture will heat, and if it gets too hot, you'll end up with a weak explosive. In fact, if it gets really hot, you'll get a premature explosion possibly sufficient to kill you, but probably no one else.

"After a few hours--assuming, by some miracle, that the fumes haven't overcome you or alerted passengers or the flight crew to your activities--you'll have a quantity of TATP with which to carry out your mission. Now all you need to do is dry it for an hour or two."

The conclusion is clear: "Certainly, if we can imagine a group of jihadists smuggling the necessary chemicals and equipment on board, and cooking up TATP in the lavatory, then we've passed from the realm of action blockbusters to that of situation comedy."

Yes, these days it’s difficult to separate Bush administration policies from satire. Such is Maureen Dowd’s point in a biting New York Times column about how similar George Bush is to comedian Ali G’s hilarious alter ego, Borat. (See continuation of this post).

Here’s a clip of the new Borat movie. Watch it. It’s a reminder that when Bush and company make you want to cry, a better response is to laugh at their antics. We’ve got a comical president, so why not smile some at his expense? At the same time, of course, working like crazy to elect replacements for his Republican minions this November.

Stephen Colbert should put Jon Stewart on notice

Why? Obvious to anyone who watched the Emmys. I cringed each time The Daily Show beat out The Colbert Report for an award. That’s why The Daily Show needs to go On Notice.

Now, I realize it isn’t Stewart’s fault that his protégé has surpassed him in wit, intelligence, and entertainment value. Still, those Emmys that The Daily Show carted back to New York need to be cloned and shared with Colbert.

Just because the Emmy voters chose Barry Manilow (!!!) over The Colbert Report (how can these two even be uttered in the same breath?), doesn’t mean that this offense against television watching humanity has to stand unchallenged.

In one of the few genuinely entertaining moments during the Emmy Awards show, Colbert asked Stewart, “Could I hold some of yours?” Stewart said, “No.” That’s the truth, not truthiness. Here’s proof.

Inexcusable, Jon Stewart. So you’re on notice—in my Stephen Colbert-loving mind, at least. I already much prefer The Colbert Report to The Daily Show. Keep this up, Stewart, and you’ll be dead to me.

One evening Jon Stewart interviewed quasi-comedian Martin Short (boring) and Stephen Colbert’s guest was Janna Levin, a scientist (provocative). He asked her if being a theoretical physicist was like studying unicorn husbandry.

That line is worth an Emmy, for sure. Next year, Stephen.

My TV confessions

As a lapsed Catholic who hasn’t made a formal confession in some forty-five years, sometimes I feel the need to lay my sins bare. Blogosphere, serve as my virtual confessor, for I have committed some venial (and maybe mortal) television watching sins.

Fox News. I’ll start with my most shameful viewing act. During my morning cable news channel surfing I spend more time tuned to Fox News than CNN. My wife will notice and say (or scream), “Why are you watching that!”

Well, because Fox is energetic, youthful, and hip while CNN is lethargic, mature, and drab. Plus, in the graphics department Fox kicks CNN’s butt (I never get tired of watching that blue and gold capitol image rotate and change colors). Wolf Blitzer’s Situation Room looks old and tired compared to Shepard Smith’s G Block.

On the plus side, CNN has Carol Lin. This beautiful anchor can feed me the news anytime.

Meerkat Manor. I often think about the adage, “You only live life once; make every moment count,” as I’m sprawled on the couch, spending half an hour of my human existence watching an Animal Planet soap opera series about a family of meerkats—prairie dog-like critters who live in Africa amidst a bunch of cameras.

My wife is more of a fan than I am, but I got into following the trials and tribulations of the Whiskers family. Belatedly.

At first I “accidentally” erased all of the Meerkat Manor episodes that we had stored up for eventual watching, hoping that Laurel wouldn’t notice and I could use those digital video recorder hours for something truly life-enhancing.

Like, my much-beloved Reno 911. Check out the dry humor of Trudy making her sperm bank announcement. However, the show’s semi-improv style isn’t for everybody. Laurel would rather watch meerkats digging a burrow.

So You Think You Can Dance. This isn’t a new confession, because I’ve already admitted to my general infatuation with this terrific program, and my specific infatuation with Allison (Ivan too, but in a different way, especially since they’re no longer partners).

However, SYTYCD does take up a significant portion of my TV watching week (three hours), and I’ve heard people say that the show is overblown.

Indeed, the recently instituted format is irksome. Now that viewers decide, after watching the Wednesday night performances, which girl and which guy get booted each week, the Thursday night episode should last only about five minutes. Stretching the suspense to a full hour is, well, a stretch.

Thanks to my friend Randy at RBlog I was able to see a marvelous video of Heidi and Benji at the 2005 US Open Swing Dance Championships. Oh, yeah, they can dance. If Allison can’t win SYTYCD, either Heidi or Benji would be my worthy second choices.

Allison is one hot Tango girl

Oh, yeah. After watching last Wednesday’s “So You Think You Can Dance” episode on Fox, I agree with the high decibel assessment of judge Mary Murphy: You are one hot tamale, girl! You are hot!

She was speaking about Allison, a lyrical dancer who steamed up the floor with her partner Ivan, a hip-hopper. It blows me away that they were able to nail the Tango choreography after just a few days of instruction.

My wife, Laurel, and I have been taking Tango lessons for six months. I spotted only a few Allison and Ivan moves that we could duplicate. Which wouldn’t include this one.

Or this one, a highly sensual number in which Allison’s high heeled foot slowly teased its way up Ivan’s leg to his shoulder and down again. Hot tamale!

Tango is an amazing dance. To me the waltz is romantic but not sexy. Hip hop is sexy but not romantic. Tango has it all. Especially when highly skilled dancers like Allison and Ivan do their thing.

But not only then.

Browsing through the “tango” selections of YouTube, I came across this video of a couple doing a simple, sensuous Tango walk. In front of some elevators, no less. It shows how Tango still can be muy romantic and sexy without the high octane moves Allison and Ivan showed off.

Here are some more photos of their A+ performance. I’ve watched every episode of So You Think You Can Dance over its two seasons. I’ve seen many Wow! moments, but Allison and Ivan’s 100 seconds on the dance floor topped them all.

Toughest Jack, Bauer or Reacher?

It’s a difficult question. Between Jack Bauer and Jack Reacher, who is the toughest tough guy? I’ve been tossing the two of them around in my mind, trying to decide who’d come out on top.

The wisest answer would be: it depends. You don’t want to piss either of these guys off.

I know, because I’m a huge fan of both the Fox series “24,” where Bauer does whatever the hell he feels like, Counter Terrorism Unit bureaucracy be damned, and the Lee Child novels, where Reacher, an ex-military policeman and drifter, similarly operates both inside and outside the law in the name of truth, justice, and Jack’s Own Way.

In an unarmed mano-a-mano, you’d have to bet on Reacher. He’s 6’ 5” and about 250 pounds. Puny Bauer and his pussy martial arts moves would barely get Reacher warmed up.

I fondly remember one Reacher bar fight which began with him calmly sitting at a table. He’s confronted by half a dozen guys out to give him a bad time. Reacher suggests that they should take a hike. Their leader says, “If we don’t, what are you going to do?”

Reacher then describes in exquisite detail what will happen. “You and I are going to go out to the parking lot. You’re going to take a swing at me and I’ll break your jaw. Then you’ll take another swing and I’ll break your right kneecap. After that, I’m going to come back inside and finish my beer." Which, of course, is exactly what happened.

Bauer can handle himself in any sort of situation, but almost always he’s got a gun in his hand. In the last Lee Child book I read, “One Shot,” Reacher dispatches four well-armed guys (who seriously deserved to be dispatched) with just a knife. Bauer maybe could do that too, but he’d have to work at it harder than the other Jack.

Yet Bauer can fly a helicopter. That gets you extra points in the Jack vs. Jack matchup. So does Reacher’s expert sniper ability, though. The one area where Bauer clearly kicks Reacher’s ass is cyberspace. I’m not sure whether Reacher even knows how to turn on a computer.

He definitely wouldn’t have a clue about how to download satellite tracking images to his cell phone, which Bauer seems to do every couple of minutes. Reacher favors old-fashioned pay phones. Bauer is never without a cell phone that possesses an inexhaustible battery except, strangely, at the end of last night’s episode. Bad for Bauer. Good for kicking off the suspense of next season.

What tilts my toughest-of-the-tough vote to Reacher is how dependent Bauer is on Chloe. He probably couldn’t figure out how to get to the nearest Starbucks without her. When it’s a Jack against the Evildoers, he shouldn’t need a computer nerdette to get him through a firefight.

“Infrared satellite shows a lookout on the second floor at the end of the corridor, Jack.” What a weenie. Reacher would just stealth his solitary way up the stairs with a Ka-Bar and fillet the guy without a trace of electronic assistance.

In the battle of the Jacks, this blogger has it backwards. Reacher rules. Except, when your Internet connection goes haywire, as my piece of shit Linksys router did today. That’s when I want Bauer and Chloe on my side. Otherwise, Reacher’s the man.

Colbert’s comedy makes George Bush cringe

Oh my God! Laurel and I couldn’t stop laughing at Stephen Colbert’s “tribute” to President Bush at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner last night. We watched his hilarious send-up of the Bush Administration’s absurdities today via the Internet.

Links to complete video of Colbert can be found at Democratic Underground. The broadband challenged can read a transcript courtesy of the Daily Kos. Naturally I recommend the video, which includes a Colbert audition tape to be the new White House press secretary. You’ll never be able to look upon Helen Thomas the same way.

The best part of Colbert’s performance was how uncomfortable he made Bush feel. The cutaway shots of Bush’s unsmiling face once Colbert got warmed up and rolling are priceless. Almost made me forget the pain of November 2000 and 2004.

Clearly the President was not amused. Good. Colbert went right up to the edge of good-natured satire. Probably he crossed over several times. Kudos, Stephen. This was your chance to speak your mind to the leader of the Western world, who was sitting uncomfortably just a few feet away from the Master of Truthiness.

Colbert rose to the occasion. Democrats, did you take notice?

It’s obvious who should replace Rumsfeld

CNN reported today that retired Maj. Gen. John Batiste has called for Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld’s resignation, saying:

We need a leader who understands team work, a leader who knows how to build teams, a leader that does it without intimidation.

It’s obvious who should replace Rumsfeld: the marvelous troika of Ling, Ming-Ming, and Tuck.
“What’s gonna work? Teamwork!”

Talk about effective utilization of minimal forces. I've watched quite a few episodes, and these three little creatures are always fully capable of dealing with complex situations involving baby animals in trouble. In five minutes, max. They'll work, if not for peanuts, for a celery stalk.

Plus, the FlyBoat clearly possesses some sort of advanced stealth technology, since it's able to zip in and out of the school without anyone noticing.

The Wonder Pets have great Special Forces skills, even though, as they say, "we're not too big and we're not too tough." Thing is, they work together, which gives them the right stuff.

Go, Wonder Pets! And goodbye, Donald Rumsfeld.

(If you’ve got no idea what I’m talking about, you need to put some joy in your life and start watching The Wonder Pets).

“Big Love” and semen scraping dragonflies

Laurel and I have become fans of “Big Love,” the HBO series about a Salt Lake City polygamist and his three wives. From my male perspective, the most interesting aspect of Big Love is the central question asked on the show’s web site: “Think having three wives is a dream come true?”

We’re an episode behind in our watching, but I’ve seen enough of Bill’s life with mature first wife Barbara, shopaholic second wife Nicki, and youthful sexpot Margene to be pretty certain of my answer.

“No.”

Bill has triple the sexual variety of the typical husband. However, he also has triple the nagging and complaining. At the moment, and, indeed, every moment that I can remember during our marriage, Laurel has had a “honeydo” list affixed to the side of our refrigerator with a magnet.

The chance that I’ll ever come to the end of that chore list is as great as the probability that the universe’s electromagnetic force will stop operating and the magnet will fall to the floor.

For my thirty-four years of matrimonial experience, spanning two marriages, has led me to conclude: While the man may get the proposal ball rolling, after the vows are said it is by and large the woman who proposes what needs to be done around the homestead, and the man disposes of those chores.

Or not. Depending upon his capacity for procrastination, which for me is great. And for Laurel, not so great.

Thus while being able to rotate between three attractive women in the bedroom is appealing, having three chore lists affixed to three refrigerators decidedly isn’t (Bill has three homes in his suburban polygamy compound, one for each wife).

Turning to the subject of semen scraping dragonflies, a National Geographic article about “Dragonflies Strange Love” casts light on why Bill can more or less peacefully coexist with three wives, while it’s difficult to envision a woman having three husbands. More accurately, I can envision this happening briefly—but soon two of the three men would be driven away by the third.

Males are possessive and aggressive when it comes to mating. Dragonflies more so than humans, admittedly. Yet the male Homo sapiens possesses his own dragonflyish qualities. My psychotherapist wife can supply many examples of men stalking women who wanted to break up with them and favoring their own offspring over a new mate’s children.

Similar stuff goes on in the dragonfly world, according to National Geographic.

A male dragonfly uses his penis not just to transfer sperm to the female, but also to remove sperm left in her storage organ from previous matings. When he curls into that wheel position and begins his energetic genital thrusting, he’s actually using his rigid, spoonlike, and sometimes spiky, penis to scrape out rival sperm before he deposits his own…Males want their own sperm to prevail, so they have evolved strategies for purging other sperm and for discouraging mates from copulating with rivals.

(Spiky? Ouch.) Evolutionary theory doesn’t explain everything about men and women. It sure points to some obvious truths, though. When a woman gets pregnant, she knows it is her child. After all, it is growing in her womb. Conversely, a man has no idea whether that child is the product of his own, or another man’s, copulation.

So a woman is assured of passing on her own genetic heritage no matter who gets her pregnant. If she has one mate, or three, or a hundred, it doesn’t matter: her DNA passes to the next generation. However for a man, he needs to be damn sure that the woman is bearing his child and passing on his DNA, not another man’s.

Thus there is great evolutionary pressure on men to be possessive of their mate(s). You don’t want to share your woman with another man. As a presentation for a college class on Sexual Selection says, competition between members of one sex for “breeding rights” usually is between males.

I don’t want to share my wife sexually with another man. Still, I can see some benefits to a sort of non-sexual polyandry. This week, as I was struggling to disconnect and drain an old hot water heater, I would have liked to have our household include a plumber. A carpenter often would come in handy too.

With guys, though, these sorts of helpers are called “friends.” In Big Love, Bill’s women have female friends who also are sister-wives. That wouldn’t work with men. The semen scraping instinct is too strong.

“Assassination Tango” and our inner Argentinas

After a friend heard that Laurel and I were taking tango lessons, she suggested that we watch “Assassination Tango,” a 2003 movie starring, written, and directed by Robert Duvall.

The tango scenes were marvelous, so far removed from the shuffling around that I’ve been able to master in a few lessons that to call what I’m doing “tango” is a stretch. Still, I could recognize a few moves that are (minimally) in my repertoire, such as the ocho.

I learned from another review that in real life Duvall studies tango with Luciana Pedraza, who in the movie plays Manuela, an Argentine tango dancer who gives lessons to John J. (Duvall)—a New Yorker who is in the country to kill a wealthy general.

Googling deeper into the movie, I uncovered another connection between fact and cinema fiction: Pedraza, 31 years old when the film was made, is (or was) the girlfriend of 72 year old Duvall.

My reaction is, “Way to go Robert!” However, I just told my wife what I’d learned about their May-December relationship and she said, “That’s disgusting, a forty year age difference!” Actually, it’s forty-one years, but I didn’t want to tell Laurel this and make her even more disgusted.

For some reason I don’t find anything disturbing about a much younger woman being attracted to a grizzled old guy. (Could the reason be that I’m a guy who is getting increasingly grizzled and old? It’s a theory.)

“Assassination Tango” has its faults, as the Ebert review points out. I enjoyed the movie, though, and not just for the amazing tango dancing. The dialogue sounds genuine, like how people actually talk. Now that I know Duvall and Pedraza have a thing going in real life, I can see why their conversations in the movie seem so unforced.

There’s one scene in a coffee house that appeared especially natural. In an interview Duvall said that it was minimally rehearsed and, like the rest of the movie, apparently partly improvised. Here John J. and Luciana are getting to know each other after he has watched her dance a few times. They chit-chat for a bit, then John J. gets more serious:

John J.: “If I was a younger man, living here…I’m just theorizing…Do you think I’d have a chance?”

Manuela: “A chance for what?”

John J.: “With you.”

Manuela: “Well, you have it now.”

John J.: [looking surprised] “Wha…What?”

Manuela: “Welcome to Argentina, my friend.” [both laugh]

John J.: “O.K.” [changes subject, starts talking about coffee]

This transcript doesn’t do justice to the subtleties of the scene. When I watched the movie last night I thought, “That girl is a natural actress. It doesn’t seem like she’s acting.” Well, she isn’t a professional actress, but she sure can act.

“Welcome to Argentina, my friend.” A great line.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if life in general, and the United States in particular, was a lot more like Manuela’s Argentina? I’m not talking about a world where attractive young women are open to the advances of much older men, but a world where almost anything is possible—where rigid societal rules and mores don’t limit people’s natural inclinations.

This country isn’t that “Argentina” where life is embraced exuberantly, all sides of it. In a scene where John J. meets Manuela’s family, her mother and father talk about the tango philosophy. “It’s about life,” one says. “And death,” adds the other. Everything. Nothing excluded.

Gays. Straights. Believers. Atheists. Blacks. Whites. Native-born. Foreign-born. Young. Old. Women. Men. White-collar. Blue-collar. Progressive. Conservative. All real. All part of life. And death.

I’m getting tired of politicians, or anybody, who focuses on what divides us rather than what unites us. Or who puts restrictions on what is allowed rather than expanding the range of personal choices.

I want to live in “Argentina.” Not the country in South America, but the borderless land of laughter, dance, and free expression Manuela welcomed John J. too. That place isn’t far away for any of us. We just need to let our inner Argentinas out.

Is it possible to love “24” too much?

My week now centers around Jack Bauer and the rest of the “24” cast. As Monday evening approaches my heartbeat quickens. A rosy glow of anticipation brightens my cheeks. I begin to feel the titillating thrill that accompanies the righteous killing of terrorists.

In short, I am in love. And though I know there should be no limits on love, I sometimes wonder: “Do I love too much?”

Plus, what’s up with me loving Jack Bauer? Usually I’m not attracted to those strong, quasi-silent types (even though Jack’s expertise with computers means he could easily solve my intermittent Windows XP shutdown problem—especially if he brings super-geek Chloe along—which is a pretty good foundation for a serious relationship).

I felt better after I checked out Michael Sean Blogs’ “Jack Bauer Body Count” series. For then I realized that other “24” fanatics put my passion to shame.

Cautionary note: if you recorded yesterday’s two-hour special and haven’t watched all of it yet, like me, use caution in reading the Jack Bauer Body Count Episode 11 & 12 post. I scrolled down into the Episode 12 section by mistake and now know stuff that I wish I didn’t.

However, this won’t stop me from enjoying the hour of “24” that I haven’t seen yet, because I know that Jack Bauer is capable of modifying the space-time continuum and changing the content on my digital video recorder.

I know this because I’ve read The World According to Jack Bauer. It’s hilarious. But I didn’t laugh while I was reading it, because Jack doesn’t like to be laughed at, and, as one of the entries on this page puts it, “Simon Says should be renamed to Jack Bauer Says because if Jack Bauer says something then you better fucking do it.”

Here are some other entries:

Your attraction to Jack Bauer in no way affects your sexual orientation.

Men are ok with their wives fantasizing about Jack Bauer during sex; because they are doing the same thing.

Due to Jack Bauer, no one looks forward to the weekend anymore, they look forward to the weekend being over, and watching 24 on Monday.

Jack Bauer once forgot where he put his keys. He then spent the next half-hour torturing himself until he gave up the location of the keys.

Jack Bauer was never addicted to heroin. Heroin was addicted to Jack Bauer.

Jack has inspired me to do some sleuthing of my own. I’m starting to make some connections. It’s all beginning to come together. Can’t tell you what “It” is yet, because if I did Jack would have to shoot me.

But I can reveal this: in the February 27, 2006 issue of TIME magazine there's a revealing photo of Dick Cheney.

It’s obvious. He is Mike Novick, chief of staff (and chief slimeball) to President Charles Logan. The shifty smile gave him away.

The country is in danger. We don’t need to worry though. Jack is in charge of the situation.

(As contrasted with El Presidente. See my "George Bush is no Jack Bauer" post. Though there are some seeming similarities--both adore torture--the differences are much more striking.)

Academy Awards 2006: Beauty and the Beast

With Buddha-like compassion for the Googlers who are searching today for “Salma Hayek Academy Awards 2006” and finding my outdated 2005 photos of The Perfect Platonic Form of Woman, I offer a vision of Salma 2006.

Who was, as always, one of the highlights of the show for me. And many millions of other men too. One of the lowlights was the Oscars’ repeated admonition to see movies in movie theatres rather than at home on DVD. That just made me more determined to avoid over-priced popcorn and talkative seat-neighbors whenever I can.

Those who follow my performance at Jim Ramsey’s annual Academy Awards Potluck Party (who must number in the ones or twos) will be saddened to hear that this year I got second prize in the Most Awards Guessed Right contest.

I think I over-prepared. I usually avoid searching out predictions of award winners by supposed experts. However, a few days ago I noticed that a New York Times critic had offered up his opinion of who the winners would be and I paid more attention to it than I should have.

For example, my heart was with “Crash” for Best Picture, but I went with the conventional wisdom favorite, “Brokeback Mountain.” That failure to trust my intuition was costly, as I only ended up two correct guesses behind the winner. Who, reaping home court/TV advantage was the party’s host, Jim.

Here I am, trying to look Buddha-like content with my second-place trophy while my heart (and right hand) longs for the first-place prize. Oh, well. There’s always next year. And, I can only hope, another photo of Salma Hayek in a low-cut dress.

Kudos to MTV.com for recognizing that Salma was the “standout” of all the beautiful women who appeared on the Academy Awards stage last night.

Urgent warning about The Wonder Pets

I just finished watching the debut episode of The Wonder Pets on Nickelodeon Jr. (yes, this 57 year old has too much time on his hands). I have an urgent warning for pot smokers and, especially, any users of psychedelics (do they still exist?).

Do not, repeat, do not watch The Wonder Pets if you aren’t prepared to laugh your guts out. That almost happened to me just now, and I’m not even high on anything (except life, ha, ha).

Today I watched Turtle Tuck, Linny the Guinea Pig and Ming-Ming Duckling save a dolphin trapped in a fishing net and a chimpanzee stuck in an orbiting space capsule. The music and songs are addictive. Sample lyrics:

“Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets,
We’re on our way
To help a baby chimp
And save the day.

We’re not too big
And we’re not too strong
But when we work together
We’ve got the right stuff

Gooooooooooo Wonder Pets!
Yaaaaaaaaaaay!”
(Note: it seems like “strong” and “stuff” should rhyme; maybe I need a hearing aid.)

Plus, the animals come up with some pretty deep insights that can be taken on many levels. Even if you’re not high. For example:

“Whoa, we’re in space.”
“There sure is a lot of space in space!”

And:

“Wonder Pets to baby chimp: do you hear me?”
“He doesn’t hear you, Linny!”
“Baby chimp: take that banana out of your ear!”

Check it out. But only, repeat only, if you’re drug free. Otherwise you might never return from Laugh Land.

Listening attentively to the dog whisperer

We’ve become big fans of Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer. The Dish Network should be a fan too, because my wife upgraded our subscription to America’s Top 180 just so we could get the National Geographic Channel, home of Milan’s weekly program.

It was worth buying sixty more channels to be able to watch the Dog Whisperer, though. I’ve warmed up to him more slowly than my wife, but now on Friday evenings I’m right there with her on the television room couch.

Laurel’s interest in the Dog Whisperer was strong right from the start because she’s become a dog walker at the Salem Humane Society. She has to deal with difficult dogs every week. I just have to deal with our own mellow family pet, the aptly named “Serena.”

Even so, Milan has helped me become aware of how little I understand about dogs and how much I’ve been doing wrong in my daily interactions with Serena. Last night’s episode hit home for me when Milan gave a woman some advice about how to handle her overly protective and aggressive dachshund, Chocolate.

After he asked about what they’ve been trying, the woman’s daughter said, “She nags a lot.” Milan laughed and told them:

Yeah, but with dogs that doesn’t count. It’s just “blah, blah, blah, blah.”….In the dog world that really doesn’t count. Have you seen how Cinnamon [her other dachshund] disciplines Chocolate? [Milan makes a biting movement with his mouth]

…So a dog, when he controls another dog, he bites. And then he stays, and looks at him, or her, until the dog surrenders to what he wants. The dominant one never says, “Go to your room, now! You’re not getting a bone today.” That doesn’t exist in the dog world. Because we apply those concepts, we can accomplish what we want.

I talk a lot to Serena. “So, what do you think? Is it time to go for a walk? I wonder if there’s any dog in this house who wants to go for a walk. Hope I can find one. Do you think you might be that dog? Huh, do you?” And so on.

Actually, I often sound a lot more ridiculous than this. Both of us engage in “babytalk” with Serena. You wouldn’t believe what I say to her when I go downstairs to Serena’s dog room and wake her up in the morning. (Well, if you have a dog or cat, you probably will believe it, because most people do the same thing.)

Even before I started watching the Dog Whisperer I’d noticed that Serena is a lot more interested in what I’m doing around dog walk time than in what I’m saying. When I move toward the front door, or look like I’m about to change my clothes, she shifts into her excited “Let’s go, let’s go!” mode.

The cues she is responding to are almost entirely non-verbal. At the most, Serena seems to understand what “walk” means. But even that could be my imagination. So, in line with Cesar Milan’s oft-repeated tenet that dogs live in a dog world, not our human world, I’m trying to communicate with Serena more through body language and less through verbal language.

For example, Laurel (who knows a lot more about dog behavior than I do) has been telling me that I should always go out the door before Serena does to show my dominance. Usually I do, but when she’s especially enthusiastic about checking out the squirrel family after a long indoor stint I’ve been letting her squeeze by me.

No more. Taking my first faltering steps toward Dog Whisperer apprenticeship, I’ve begun to put my leg in front of Serena when she tries to push through the door first. I take a look outside, utter my “Run squirrels, run!” yell if any are in sight, and only then allow Serena to follow me.

Milan often says that it is a big mistake to treat dogs like people. They don’t want sympathy. They don’t want to be coddled. They don’t want kind words. What dogs want is to know their place in the canine/human “pack.” Dogs crave the security of a pack structure. If you don’t serve as the dominant pack leader, they’ll try to take the position because someone has to fill that role.

It reminds me of when Laurel and I took swing dancing lessons. We spent a good share of the time arguing.

Her: You’re supposed to be leading!
Me: What do you mean? I am.
Her: It doesn’t feel like it.
Me: Well, maybe it’s because I don’t really know what I’m doing. If you want to lead, go ahead.
Her: You’re the man. You’re supposed to be leading!
Me: I am.

It’s questionable how much swing dancing we learned, but we sure got good at going around in circles.