Getting A Grip On 2001: A Space Odyssey

The Internet is already groaning under the weight of prose dedicated to 2001: A Space Odyssey, Stanley Kubrick's watershed sci-fi epic. I've downloaded and read dozens of books and compilations of essays about the film. They range from the interesting and insightful to the square peg-round hole hammering by those with an agenda (gender roles etc. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz).

Many point to the humor, much of it subversive, expressed by Kubrick in spite of the po-faced actors and (intentionally) stilted dialogue. I harbor no illusions that this post will be revelatory but as I pondered the film after an umpteenth viewing and reading many essays on AI, war, etc. one theme kept recurring to me: Get A Grip. The phrase is usually a caustic, direct distillation of the self-help culture if not a refutation of it. 'Get a grip!' is most often an admonishment to abandon the touchy-feely nonsense and deal with reality on reality's own terms.

Kubrick has all but stated that he intended the film to be a restatement of 'Man's reach should exceed his grasp' which fits nicely with this theme. In 2001, Get A Grip can be seen or inferred in many scenes. At the risk of exhausting the metaphor, this is by no means a comprehensive list but one done from memory ('to get' is conjugated as necessary):

-Moon-Watcher (the chief primate) Gets A Grip on a bone, making it a club (weapon). His primate clan Get A Grip on their meager vegetarian food while snarling at the competing tapirs.

-The primates, scared out of their wits, eventually get a grip on the monolith by running their hands up and down its surface.

-The Pan Am stewardess Gets A Grip with her grip shoes (too easy) on the deck of the space plane

-The same stewardess Gets A Grip on Dr Floyd's floataway pen, even as he fails to Get A Grip on his seat by falling asleep and allowing his arm to drift weightlessly.

-Once on board the space station, Dr Floyd Gets A Grip and is able to walk normally thanks to artificial gravity (as Bowman & Poole do on the Discovery later)

-The Russian contingent fail to Get A Grip on the nature of Floyd's visit to the moon as he refuses to be drawn on the matter

-Dr Floyd urges the meeting's attendees to Get (and keep) A Grip on the cover story meant to fob off the curious and nervous

-On the moon shuttle, Floyd and his colleagues, despite their knowledge, security clearances and good cheer, admit they have failed to Get A Grip on the monolith's origin and purpose

-At the dig site, Floyd et al attempt to Get A Grip on the monolith just as their primate ancestors did.

-As the monolith delivers its piercing shriek, the scientists attempt to Get A Grip and obey the urge to cover their ears, only to be foiled by the very helmets that are keeping them alive in the vacuum.

-On the Discovery, the astronauts Get A Grip on news about earth while the earth Gets A Grip on news about them. Both parties admit they cannot fully Get A Grip on HAL 9000's human-like ability to interact with the world.

-Poole attempts to Get A Grip on (or at least retain) man's supremacy over machines by challenging HAL to chess

-Poole must literally and figuratively Get A Grip on the Discovery's exterior and on the electronic components he must replace while working in zero gravity

-Bowman & Poole attempt to Get A Grip on the specifics of the 'failed' AE35 unit and, soon after, admit that they must Get A Grip on HAL's apparent malfunction and Get A Grip on the prospect of disabling HAL.

-Simultaneously, HAL feigns confusion when he fails to Get A Grip on his prediction of failure and on Mission Control's confirmation of his error.

-HAL Gets A Grip on the astronauts' scheme by lip-reading

-HAL, controlling the space pod, Gets A Grip on Poole by attacking him and severing his air hose

-Poole, hurtling into space, attempts but fails to Get A Grip on the severed hose

-Bowman Gets A Grip on Poole after a rescue mission in another space pod

-Bowman must Get A Grip when the now openly-hostile HAL refuses to comply with his instructions Bowman must, in order to enter the airlock, Un-Get A Grip on his shipmate to manipulate the controls

-After his successful space pod escape, Bowman must desperately Get A Grip on the emergency repressurization handle

-Back onboard, Bowman Gets A Grip on a wrench, the implement of HAL's destruction

-HAL attempts to Get A Grip on Bowman by suggesting that Bowman himself Get A Grip ('take a stress pill')

-HAL attempts to Get (or Retain) A Grip while his electronic brain is slowly shut down

-After viewing the secret video briefing by Dr Floyd, Bowman must Get A Grip on the true nature of the mission, his role in it and his immediate future

-The entire Star Gate sequence can be seen as Bowman Getting A Grip on the vastness of space, the ultra-advanced intelligence of the aliens he is encountering and the surreality of his eventual landing site.

-Bowman Gets A Grip on daily life as a zoo creature but eventually fails to Get A Grip on his champagne glass, thus signaling a transition

-Bowman, in the last extremity, sees the monolith and once again attempts to Get A Grip on it by feebly reaching out

-The aliens Get A Grip on Bowman by re-birthing him as one of them (or as a new species of hybrid)

-Finally, the Star Child Gets A Grip on his power while the Earth, implicitly, must Get A Grip on what has arrived or, more accurately, returned to them

Quail Hollow - In Which The Author Gets Well Fargoed

It’s always seemed a bit odd that the most important dates on the PGA TOUR (I’ll use their self-important all caps construction once) have nothing to do with the PGA Tour (see?) itself. In other words, the Masters, US Open, Open Championship and PGA Championship are staged by entities other than the Tour. Each major has its own flavor, traditions, famous stories, champions, etc. The winner’s checks are nice but those players want that trophy first and foremost.

There is justifiable focus on the majors from players, public and media alike, but that still leaves the Tour proper with dozens of events occupying nearly the entire calendar year. Those giant purses don’t fill themselves so sponsors and commercial tie-ins are the financial lifeblood of the Tour. Unfortunately, this frequently manifests itself in a tawdry county fair/football tailgate atmosphere, with food tents, beverage/snack stands and ubiquitous, er, ‘comfort stations.’

Jack Nicklaus’ Memorial Tournament immediately springs to mind as an exception. But it’s a measure of the Tour’s money-grubbing instincts that it requires the iron will and year-long involvement of the game’s greatest player to stave off the sideshow.

The Tour’s so-called Fifth Major, THE PLAYERS (here we go again) Championship, is an orgy of excess exemplified by the overrated Stadium course with the lottery staged at its silly 17th hole. Creativity, usually considered the essence of golf in thought and deed, is banned there in favor of luck. The array of hospitality tents at Sawgrass dwarfs a wartime army base during emergency mobilization.

The Wells Fargo Championship, staged (geddit?) at Quail Hollow CC in Charlotte, NC, seems to fall in a very small patch of grey between the tacky and the well-mannered. Perhaps it’s the course, the clubhouse, the geography - with Charlotte serving as a gateway to the South albeit one inhabited by hundreds of thousands of Yankee refugees – or the banking-related sponsor and profile of many members. How long does new money take to become old money? Let’s just say the money has salt-and-pepper hair at this point. But there’s certainly enough of it to pay for redesigns of holes, greens and to handle the expense of a massive clear-out of trees similar to that undertaken by Oakmont CC. In Oakmont’s case, it earned (or confirmed) a US Open in 2007 and another in 2016. Quail Hollow’s makeover was part of a carrot-and-stick scheme that will bring the PGA Championship to the club in 2017 and not before time: 2013 was a disaster as unpredictable and often inclement weather led to a superintendent’s nightmare as fairways and greens alike suffered greatly. The players in last year’s event made no secret of their displeasure. A few made their excuses and withdrew after honoring their pro-am commitment (perhaps they got a sufficient taste of the conditions then) before arriving ahead of schedule for The Players.

The 2014 edition of the course and the weather for the tournament stood in stark contrast to the ’13 nightmare. All was green and bright. A respectable list of names were entered including Phil Mickelson, still the Pied Piper in Tiger’s absence and occasionally in Tiger’s presence, and Rory McIlroy, already a previous winner of the event despite his youth.

A friend of a friend who does business with the Tour provided season-long clubhouses passes i.e. clubhouse access at every Tour stop (!) and with our blue PGA TOUR-imprinted lanyards we made a brave show of pseudo-officialdom as we trudged to the gates.

It’s a sad commentary on the state of modern America and the world beyond that the first encounters at any public gathering will inevitably be with police and private security. The Common Yellow Windbreaker is a species usually spotted at American football games, standing stoically with back turned to the action on the field for hours at a stretch as they stare menacingly (they hope) into the crowd before them. Apparently, this is supposed to prevent bad behavior among ticket holders who have paid handsomely for the privilege of being glared at but someone forgot to tell the ticket holders, because bad behavior still thrives among them. Overconsumption of alcohol is the most frequent culprit, of course, but there are plenty of sober gameday narcissists who believe that a group setting provides camouflage for their boorish antics or that the strangers around them have been waiting patiently to be a captive audience for a stream of filth and/or armchair expert commentary on the sporting action before them. Club seats are nice for the wet bar and private bathrooms, but the ability to watch a live sporting event in peace is well worth the investment.

In any case, The Common Yellow Windbreaker often believes that to don the uniform is to be transformed into a combination of Lord Nelson, Patton and Alexander The Great. They have power (or so they imagine) and they’re damn well going to use it. The well-heeled attendees at a PGA Tour event at a swanky country club in a highly affluent neighborhood could not rank any lower on the Potential Threat scale but in our modern police state all are assumed to harbor ill intent. So empty your pockets and submit to a ‘wanding.’ The Windbreakers obsessed over their wands as Merlin might have done. Let me wand you. Did you wand him? You can’t proceed until I wand you! Move to this side so you can be wanded! Are you carrying anything metal? Anything dangerous – say, a treatise by Locke? Are you still in possession of common sense? A remaining modicum of perspective? Demographic data that might obviate such foolishness? Never mind! Submit to your wanding immediately! It merely proved – again – Richard Littlejohn’s theory that authority will inevitably be abused by those unworthy of it.

Leaving the jumped-up Wanders behind at last, we stopped at the practice range. It will surprise nobody in this forum that players practice with the brand and model of golf ball they endorse/play on the course. Tournament workers piled a rainbow-like array of drawstring bags on their table; with brands identified by color (Titleist was red, by the way).

Players warming up included the 2013 champion Derek Ernst. Whippet-thin, he hit two or three balls to most of his peers’ one. It seemed less a gradual warm-up and more a dragstrip smoking of the tires. Ricky Barnes, who resembles a linebacker in person with rippling forearms to match, arrived. He chided a swing instructor for spending inordinate amounts of time with a wonder-boy pupil, the name of whom I was unable to discern from the context. Ricky joked that the instructor might need some WD-40 to allow the mystery player’s head to squeeze through doorways. Ooh, snarky! Vijay Singh, also a past champion of the event, warmed up on the far end of the range, alone literally and figuratively. As my uncle says of unpopular persons, they’ll have to hire pallbearers for his funeral. A few other players arrived directly and most spent their time hitting pitches to the 50-75-100-125 signs, which makes sense given the demands on their wedge play vis-à-vis scoring. It’s also a lesson to the 20 handicap who will burn through a bucket of balls hitting nothing but driver and wonder why he’s still a 20 handicap. Last to arrive before we left the range was El Pato, Angel Cabrera. Not since Ron Cey aka The Penguin has a sporting figure deserved his bird-inspired nickname more, for Cabrera’s waddling gait is duck-like indeed. Cabrera chatted away with caddie in their native Spanish and seemed to enjoy the fact that most on hand had no idea what they were saying.

The clubhouse aspect of the passes underwhelmed a bit. As expected, the clubhouse was roped off and chaperoned to a gratuitous level, with many areas deemed ‘players only’ and rightly so. It became more of a tunnel than a house with the restrictions. But we walked through anyway, feeling that we had some obligation to fully test the power of the pass. The pro shop counter, interestingly, was converted to a cocktail bar. Give the people what they want etc.

Determined to see more of the course than I did last year, we walked ‘against traffic’ i.e. from green to tee on the front nine. In doing so we saw most of the pairings with mid-morning tee times. I’ll switch from prose to list for notes on those we encountered:

Rory Sabbatini – definitely in the Camera Adds Ten Pounds (CATP) category. He’s probably concentrated more on his fitness recently but there was a distinct absence of any paunch. His name is mud among many but I’ve always appreciated his let’s-get-on-with-it attitude. He was paired with…

Hideki Matsuyama – taller than one might expect, he was as lithe and lean as most of his countrymen, especially his fellow golf professionals. Trailed by a small army of Japanese TV and still photographers as well as print reporters. It was odd to see his caddie’s notes, which obviously combined Western (Arabic) numerals for distances but all the rest in handwritten pictographs.

Kevin Chappell - could do no wrong on the day (until the last two holes). Got a break or two, including a ball that nestled in the second cut rather than bounce into heavy rough or a water hazard only feet away. Very easy-going; spoke to those he knew in the gallery. Played Nike V-Forged Irons that were quite rusty front and back – obviously very comfortable with and loyal to his ‘gamers.’ When faced with one of these ridiculous 250-yard par-3 holes (even downhill) he pulled out a long iron and hit a high, arcing ball right onto the green in the manner he described to his caddie moments before. Definitely one of those moments that reminds you these players are on a different plane of existence and that neither rusty clubs nor shiny new ones will admit us to Mt Olympus. Paired with…

Mike Weir – we’d encountered Mike and his caddie at a local watering hole the night before…literally water in Weir’s case as he was abstaining that night (and maybe a teetotaler given his BYU background) but had good reason to be there as a good Canadian: the hockey playoffs were on as well as a Toronto NBA game. Had a good yarn with his caddie who praised the course conditions and condemned last year’s. The caddie took a particular and obvious interest in my missus, which I suppose is a compliment of sorts, and it came as no surprise that he stopped to say hello to her again on Sunday. In fact, he stared her down during Weir’s setup and shot (I was monitoring him via peripheral vision behind sunglasses). Again, I took no offense, especially knowing that Tour caddies think about two things and one of them is golf.

Weir had a frustrating day, dropping three strokes in two holes. He tempted fate, as we all have done, by changing clubs at the last moment – in this case from hybrid to four-wood. ‘I’ll choke up a bit,’ he said without much confidence. ‘Too easy,’ he said regretfully as the shot landed well short of the green. The left-hander snap-hooked his drive on the next hole – so far right that he failed to reach the hazard line and was unable to drop and had to re-tee, only to push that drive into the rough. He had the sprays from that point forward, it seemed.

Martin Laird – was throwing absolute darts all day with nothing much to show for it.

Stewart Cink – I’m not exaggerating when I say that I think people still blame him for stealing (?) Tom Watson’s Open Championship. He received mostly silence for good shots or putts and got a few catcalls at the 18th as he finished.

Brendan de Jonge – 80 first day, course record-tying 62 the next. As you do. Member of the CATP club or not, he is a big lad.

Kevin Na – his worst tendencies seemed contained, although he still gave it a good half-dozen waggles.

Rory McIlroy – that hip flick is even more pronounced in person but the swing ‘a thing of joy and beauty,’ as one of my dear departed friends used to say of good shots. A large following with many from the British Isles, as you might expect.

Pat Perez – has been mostly out of the spotlight for some time but made good on his reputation by uttering only a single word of commentary after a tee shot. I quote him verbatim for accuracy and posterity: ‘F@*#!’

Ernie Els – revise that to the Camera Adds Twenty Pounds, please! Very tall, obviously, but very lean. Could watch that swing all day. Seemed very at ease and of course he had his new Adams bag and clubs.

Angel Cabrera – the aforementioned El Pato was having an off day and had adopted the thousand-yard stare.

Gary Woodland – a fearsome power pairing with Cabrera. Both attempted to cut the corner on a 508-yard par-4 (another ridiculous hole length, downhill or otherwise). Woodland in the bunker, Cabrera in the rough. Neither happy.

I am gratified to report that we heard only a single ‘Get in da hole!’ all day. I still considered a seek-and-destroy mission but the voice sounded as if it came from the second deck of a viewing platform and I didn’t want to climb the stairs. Perhaps this cancer on the game is in remission?

I write this missive with after wearing my everyday trail running shoes to the tournament and returning safely - no injuries, broken bones, sprains or falls despite my reckless refusal to wear golf shoes. In fact, I saw only a handful of golf-shoe wearers all day. All others also managed to remain upright.

Tour wives were readily identified by vertiginous wedge heels, cascades of blonde hair and Titanic-class icebergs on their left ring finger.

It was an entirely cloudless day and while May was only a few days old the sun was quite direct and intense. It earned many – including me – the Red Badge Of Stupidity for capillary-inflaming consumption of adult beverages that only intensified my already-vivid hue although I applied wanton amounts of SPF.

But red was easily outdone as color du jour by orange, specifically the sherbet orange of Rickie Fowler. Although we didn’t see Fowler on the course, his clones were everywhere, mostly in the form of Puma-hatted adolescents with their flat brims. Pictures, digital or film, are lasting, especially with Mom as keeper of the vault, and one day they may regret their sartorial choices the way we cringe at leisure-suited photos from our youth. Still, it must be said that the marketing is working.

And speaking of marketing, the PGA Tour Traveling Church Of The Commercial Plug will now begin its weeklong High Mass Of Self Regard in its own front yard. We have been offered the same credentials for the Players. It’s very tempting, especially to see if the form of these players changes or stays the same week-to-week and, admittedly, to see the rebuilt Sawgrass course (I played it in 2004) but I’m sure that lodging will be remote and expensive, even on the Florida coast where hotels and motels outnumber houses. Perhaps by Thursday I’ll change my tune…

On The Origin Of The Species Known As Political Correctness.

Political Correctness is a force - unfortunately.  Its repeaters and amplifiers are motivated by man's most primal fear: exclusion and mockery. Without bears and mountain lions as predators, man's greatest opponent is man. As thinking beings (usually), disagreements are conducted with words not fists. In a hyperconcentrated hive of human activity like a large city, the pressure the author refers to is unrelenting - literally 24/7. Most are not up to the task. And if the energy born of social anxiety is not used to resist, it is almost always used to engage in enforcement of perceived social norms. That rush they feel at being 'on the right side of history' is merely the relief of fitting in.

In keeping with the hunter-gatherer analogy, women are even less apt to violate group boundaries i.e. take risks. They would prefer the boundaries be eliminated or at least unenforced. Those insipid 'Coexist' bumper stickers are merely a testament to cowardice and an unwillingness to admit that right and wrong exist - and wrong couldn't be happier about it.

Political Correctness is a an obvious latticework of lies (it has been accurately called a War On Noticing). We despair as it creeps into every corner of our lives but it could not do so without a critical mass of the weak-minded. The Times has been doing its bit for decades and now the schools and the pop culture (via unfunny doctrinaire comedy, boring autotuned 'music') have adopted their tactics to produce legions of the intellectually naked.

As Mad Men Begins To End

The first few years featured delicious character development but most of these people, despite this or that life event, have become static over multiple season, which is a shame. Or...they become the polar opposite of what they were before, which is a bit pat.

To state the obvious, the people and their jobs are the embodiment of the 60s zeitgeist which is why the show can and should wind up. It's a hall of mirrors as we regard our past selves, America regards its unprecedented postwar economic power and standard of living, we look back at morality and all the various isms that are part of the current lingua franca of politics and, in turn, current advertising.

No doubt Don Draper will be in the last shot of the series but then Don Draper was conceived and functions as a cipher so are you really seeing a person or merely looking at an illusion similar to that which he deftly created in his professional work and personal life? The crossover into the 70s has a couple of major signposts: the moon landing (have they included that already?), Woodstock (overrated but still lazy cultural shorthand) or merely Dec 31, 1969 becoming Jan 1, 1970. The producers have mostly resisted the temptation to do a 'Forrest Gump' by involving the characters directly in historical events but those events are freely used as a backdrop.

If we go beyond 1970, in keeping with the advertising theme, the end may coincide with Jan 1, 1971, when the ban on TV commercials for cigarettes was imposed. Given the prevalence of smoking (although it continued long thereafter) and the importance of tobacco advertising to the firm and its personnel as well as the show's characters and various storylines, it seems a most obvious dénouement.

While others have changed clothes, grown more hair and sideburns and beards, Draper still has his hat, side parting, white shirt, narrow black tie and grey suit - which furthers my belief that he appears differently to every character in the show i.e. he is a projection screen for them (and us) which explains the persuasive power that begets their sense of awe when they are around him.

As for Draper being 'exposed' within the world of the show, that ship sailed several years ago. Pete found out, threatened them and they called his bluff. Don's (ex) wife already knows anyway and his clients simply won't care about his past. But the question 'Will Draper be exposed to the audience?' is a legitimate one.

And so, even a minor change in the Don Draper archetype will signal the end of an era both on and offscreen. Perhaps he quits smoking. Perhaps he quits drinking. Perhaps his hair grows over his ears or he sports facial hair. Perhaps he tosses his hat out a window, off a roof or out of the car as he speeds along. Perhaps - I hope - he finally summits Mt. Joan. Whatever the resolution, I hope that Weiner can resist some 2014-vintage socially redemptive soul butter. The dissolve to/from young man to/from old man along with the tearful contemplation of the past has been done already in 'Saving Private Ryan.' No need to plagiarize.

There's no doubt in my mind it will be ambiguous, perhaps controversial, but I do hope he avoids taking the coward's way out as his mentor David Chase did with the Sopranos.

Let Juan Pablo up - he's had enough

Card-carrying cynics like us and many others are having a grand time swatting the large piñata that is Juan Pablo, along with his unfortunate female castmates.  It seems that even TPTB are getting in on the act.  But to the extent we want this show to survive it may be time to put the cat o’ nine tails back in the bag for now.

The internet has, for good or ill, eliminated much of the mystery and naivete from life.  Things that used to make us wonder, explore, read, etc. are resolved in a matter of seconds with a Google search.  But a cheap payoff usually means the lesson isn’t as lasting or memorable. Why stand in line for 2 hours in the blazing sun to see Star Wars in the cinema for the 12^th time?  Because it couldn’t be downloaded and viewed on a loop on one’s computer which didn’t yet exist. Social media, whatever you think of it, strips away any inscrutability. 99% of those in the Bachelor contestant demographic would sooner live without food and water than their phones.

In short, we have gone from ‘I have a healthy skepticism about the process but will defer judgment because lightning might strike’ to ‘This is a farce and a joke but I’m here so I might as well play along and have a laugh.’  I daresay even Chris Harrison has crossed this particular Rubicon.

I have no brief for some of the decisions made by Mike Fleiss et al but in the era of 350 million Truman Shows airing simultaneously, he has a thankless task in establishing and maintaining his bubble of isolation around the contestants. 

We used to mock the average cast member for sounding clueless and getting caught up in the fairy tale (although some revealed their true selves in Bachelor Pad, a much-missed outlet for the also-rans), but now we are hard-pressed to compete with the jaded, tongue-in-cheek attitudes of the contestants themselves.

This show and its whole-cloth soap opera are easy targets but if we want them to be around in future we sheath the long knives for now.

Obamacare Enrollment Shell Game

Let me see if I have this correct:

The federal government strongarms each and every American into purchasing something they may neither need nor want (in effect, signing a contract under duress for the remainder of their natural lives). At the stroke of a pen, all Americans are, in ways large or small, participating in this scheme.

Despite the universal, compulsory nature of this law, citizens, taxpayers and media must rely on 'signals' and 'estimates' when it comes to their so-called representative government providing honest, accurate enrollment numbers in order to gauge the financial viability of the program. Individuals who have, by the admission of HHS, merely 'selected a plan' are nevertheless declared 'enrolled' despite a fraction of that total actually paying for something, anything. Those responsible for conceiving, implementing and administering this panacea repeatedly and doggedly refuse to provide data even during testimony before a co-equal branch of government, for no other possible reason beyond the protection of fragile political egos during their eyeblink of history in DC seats of power.

The HHS press release suggests we 'hear stories of Americans enrolling in the Marketplace [capitalization theirs].' But how is the story of a cousin, a neighbor or a complete stranger 500 miles away relevant since all personal circumstances are unique? Very fond of stories, are these Democrats. Statistics tend to reveal unpleasant facts. Better to rely on a 'narrative.' Do we need stories of other Americans complying with laws regarding bank robbery or auto theft in order to decide whether to comply ourselves? And if noncompliance carries penalties, isn't such inspiration surplus to requirements?

You must pay the rent! And what is the rent? What will the rent be next month, next year or ten years hence? They're not saying. Funny sort of landlord.

Sally Satchelbottom, DC Bureaucrat

Sally Satchelbottom (not her real name) works as a data analyst and compiler in a cubicle at the Bureau of Labor Statistics.  She is a product of a full 17 years of our self-esteem 'educational' system, graduated with a degree in economics from State U where her professors revered Marx and thought Keynes was a right-winger.  She couldn't wait to get to the DC area and go to work (?) for Uncle Sam where she could 'make a difference.'  She pays $2,000+/month for a 1,000 sq ft flat in a drab concrete high-rise built in the 60s.  She regards any place west of Hagerstown MD and south of Richmond VA as Terra Incognita full of rednecks wearing criss-cross cartridge belts, armed to the teeth, listening to David Allen Coe, driving their pickup trucks to the cleaners to drop off their Klan robes after the weekly cross burning rally.  Data she sees at work tells her these people have a wide variety of occupations but she believes it's all a front for a secret highly organized militia movement.

Sally proudly drives a Prius with its COEXIST bumper sticker.  She isn't a lesbian but has strongly considered adding a rainbow triangle sticker to show her solidarity with the gay movement.  Sally didn't date much in school (she's pleasantly plump) so a photo of her nephews (who live in Indiana, Ohio or one of those other flyover states) in a school-project yarn frame hangs from her rearview mirror along with her Federal ID security badge which keeps those icky citizens out of the halls of government by the people, for the people and of the people.

Sally is proud of the DC Metro and thinks that green public transport should be implemented everywhere especially in places she's never been like Texas and Montana.  But the Metro station is very crowded and noisy so she chooses to drive to work where she can listen to Tori Amos, doing an average of 15 mph on the Beltway along with thousands of kindred spirits who believe in reducing emissions at all costs.  She sees the empty HOV lane and swells with pride at 20% of the freeway lanes going unused.  She has contemplated stopping to get coffee and a bagel but the staff don't speak English at the places along her route.  Still, she believes that diversity is strength and that America would be better off if our borders were thrown open.  Needless to say, Sally voted for Obama.  She's contributed $100 to his campaign but hasn't yet received her 'O 2012' reelection sticker but plans to get one from the pile on her coworker's desk today.  Finally, Sally reaches the office.  She swipes her badge, sits at her desk and begins compiling Labor Statistics.

Now...what are the chances that Sally, her colleagues, and her like-minded bosses (appointed or elected) will produce numbers favorable to the Obama administration, no matter what manipulations of raw data and formulae are required?  Why is government trusted for one single second to evaluate its own performance?  It's akin to giving an NFL head coach the scoreboard controls and telling him to 'keep it close.'  Madness.

Texting & Driving: Another Government "Safety" Cash Grab

Anti-phone and anti-texting laws are more of the same smoke-and-mirrors that convince the gullible that government is "doing something" about a particular problem.  Results are rarely compiled and analyzed, motives are never discussed beyond vague notions of increased safety, etc.

However, in order for the cause to deliver the promised effect, let us examine the spots on all the dominos that must fall in the correct order:

1) The law must reduce or eliminate the deleterious behavior it claims to address
2) Police must not divert their attention from more pressing matters i.e. those which exist approximately 100% of the time spent on patrol.
3) If safety is our overriding concern, then police must also be prevented from the use of their phones, radios, and even in-car laptops while in motion, claims of superior driving skill and training notwithstanding (especially in light of their tendency to do 90 MPH on our highways).
4) Police must be able to discern the act taking place, often through dark tinted glass and often while traveling 70+ mph on the highway
5) Motorists can't claim to be adjusting the radio, their GPS, their mirrors, their air conditioning, their seat, their steering wheel, their iPod, or simply speaking on their phone as oppposed to using it to text.
6) Prosecutors must be able to prove conclusively that the prohibited activity was taking place.
7) The law's punishments should be directed towards cessation of the activity rather than monetary fines that are simply a stealth tax.

If the state fails to meet ANY ONE of these conditions (and many more not listed here) then that is prima facie evidence that the law is as flawed as the motivations behind it.  Worse, it is evidence of the state acting in bad faith when it claims to promote safety when its actual purpose is revenue generation (see also:  artificially low speed limits in direct conflict with traffic engineeers' recommendations).

The fact is that there are good and bad drivers with or without technological gadgets involved.  Licensing procedures and driving tests are an unfunny, undemanding joke especially when it comes to the inexperienced, the elderly and the infirm.  But keeping poor or flat-out incompetent drivers from getting behind the wheel would reduce license fee revenue, insurance premiums (which are partially converted to political donations), and the potential for revenue from moving violations and parking fines.

There are those drivers, despite claims by government and its enablers, that can and do rely on their own judgment, skill, experience and intelligence to use communications devices safely while in motion.  They complete thousands of safe trips every hour, every day - some of them lucky enough to still have jobs use their phones for business purposes.

One-size-fits-all clothing rarely is, and one-size-fits-all government "solutions" rarely, if ever, solve the problem they purport to address.  Indeed, they often make the problem worse.

We haven't even touched on the concepts of liberty, freedom, private property, etc. but they are potent trump cards in the fight against ever-encroaching statism sold under the rubric of safety.

Voter ID: Individual Sovereignty Trumps Anti-Fraud Efforts

The libertarian side of me has a problem with Voter ID as a concept. Citizens ultimately have power over the state as in "whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it." If this is true, then it's impossible, unworkable and contradictory for the state government facing abolition to be the same state government that decides who it will and won't permit to vote. If you & I are deciding whether or not you will move out of a house that I own, I may solicit your opinion but what are the chances that I will allow your view to trump mine?

Obviously these are ideals and/or hypotheticals but then so are most of the concepts enshrined in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Ideals are beyond individuals as they should be. Government of laws not men etc.

Now, as a practical matter I recognize that we must first clean house before we can hope to reestablish proper Constitutional structure and practices, therefore if Voter ID is the only way to reduce or eliminate vote fraud then it is a necessary evil but conservatives should be cognizant of the Law of Unintended Consequences. If and when leftists lose power via the ballot box, rest assured that they will make obtaining a photo ID so easy that the proverbial man off the banana boat will be able to obtain one with little or no documentation.

The left never seeks peace in class warfare. Why are is a driver's license and/or vehicle registration somewhat difficult to obtain in terms of bureaucratic nonsense?   How many times have you seen a fellow citizen approach the window at the DMV with a clutch of documents, acting in good faith, only to be turned away, or even scolded, for having the 'wrong' information e.g. typos on documents?  Experiences like these make the gainfully employed, law-abiding citizens shake their heads at the hand-holding that occurs at welfare agencies. Anyone who owns a car also owns freedom of movement. But again if an ID is required for voting then IDs will become as plentiful and free as leaves on trees.

About Those Anti-Smoking Commercials

By now most have viewed at least one of the HHS anti-smoking commercials featuring victims of various cancers and other ailments caused - they say - by smoking and tobacco use. It's a cliche but still true: these are our tax dollars at work. Your government commissioned these ads and purchased the airtime with your cash. HHS Secretary Sebelius and her minions risk another sort of medical problem - namely, rotator cuff injuries from patting themselves on the back for foisting these grotesque, voyeuristic images on an unsuspecting, undeserving public. This isn't a tear in the eye of Iron Eyes Cody when he sees litter along a roadway; this are 21st century bureaucratic bullies grabbing you by the scruff of your proverbial neck and rubbing your nose in the misfortunes of others under the rubric of education.

Let's stipulate that smoking is injurious to health and has strong links to cancer and other diseases. A reasonable person might also point out that anti-smoking campaigns have been in place for most of our lives and cigarette packages have carried anti-smoking messages for just as long, making these ads surplus to requirements. They rely on the Fallacy Of The Dramatic Example by showing the worst examples (apart from actual corpses - but let's not give them any ideas). But extreme scenarios involving death or disfigurement could be conjured up for nearly every activity in life: driving a car, skydiving, skiing, or even slipping in the bathtub.

The ads and the sentiments expressed are based in cowardice. If the substance being discussed is maiming and killing indiscriminately, why has it not been completely banned from use? We know the answer - and so does HHS - but the same government sponsoring this modern-day Elephant Man sideshow is hopelessly, er, addicted to the taxes generated by smoking. The ends-justify-the-means crowd have an enduring blind spot on this issue. Remember governors and state attorneys general rubbing their hands with glee over tobacco settlement money? It was supposed to be a twin panacea for public health and public finance. Where did all those billions go? And why aren't we all hale and hearty by now as a result of state benificences?

As someone once said, the Bill of Rights should be amended to include The Right To Be Left The Hell Alone. Most of us have precious little leisure time available. When we choose to allocate some of those hours to watching TV i.e. escapism, we do not and should not wish to be subjected to graphic video of amputations, prosthetics, voice kazoos, etc. when we are simply attempting to relax for a few fleeting moments before heading back to work (at least for those still lucky and/or disciplined enough to do so) in order to pay the salaries of Sebelius et al.

Elections mean pandering, and the ongoing political battles over health care mean that the disabled and the ill are often targets of such pandering. We are always scolded with 'person first, disability second' by many of these same DC health commissars. Don't rob them of their dignity or their humanity, we are told (and don't forget the inevitable ADA lawsuits). To them I respond: if you want dignity, then Step #1 is to refuse any offer to act as a political show pony. Surely by now you know that after a few seconds under the lights with a candidate for a photo op, you will be as distant a memory as last Thursday's lunch order. Ignore the blather about cautionary tales, etc. You cannot set a good example by setting a bad example, therefore anyone claiming to be your champion is lying. If you are self-aware enough to realize what your lifestyle has wrought on your body, then please be self-aware enough to realize when you are being exploited.

Leftists have a cult-like obsession with disease and death. Look at their pet causes: environmentalism (i.e. man is voluntarily poisoning his world and in turn himself), euthanasia (they've convinced millions that 'doctor-assisted suicide' is not an oxymoron) and, of course, abortion. They are equally obsessed with playing God, deciding who is worthy of medical care, drugs, and operations, as well as the nonstop coercion of food providers and consumers with laws, bans, restrictions, labels, etc.

Proponents of the ads will claim that shocking images are the only way to get people's attention and change their behavior. But why and how should government be in charge of our attention i.e. our thoughts? References to Orwell and 'Nineteen Eighty-Four' are easy but in this case they are absolutely relevant. As before, an intelligent, educated and free people should neither need nor want any central authority attempting to dictate what to think or how to behave. The individuals appearing in these ads and those subjected to watching them have one thing in common: a government constantly attempting to manipulate them in order to amass more power.

NASA and the Space Shuttle

Many observers, including the brilliant editorial cartoonist Michael Ramirez, are lamenting the end of the shuttle program and calling it the effective end of NASA. For those who have idolized astronauts over the years, it's unbelievable and disheartening to imagine that the 'star voyagers' are all dressed up with nowhere to go.

But NASA and its contractors have nobody to blame but themselves. Relieved of the immense pressure to land on the moon by the end of the 60s, NASA became a make-work agency and just another federal sugar daddy. It took less than 10 years - with some tragic losses in the persons of Ed White, Roger Chaffee and Gus Grissom - to go from Project Mercury to Tranquility Base yet the shuttle program dragged on for 30 years (with its own tragedies of course).

It goes without saying that the shuttle provided diminishing returns. A good rule of thumb was that the greater the hype about a mission, the less important it really was. Fixing the Hubble was important and didn't need NASA's PR fluff. Giving out rides to foreign astronauts as party favors was quite a bit less crucial.

In the end, NASA allowed PC and PR to serve as very weak substitutes for science and progress. Where is the innovation, research and leadership that might provide a path to a new program? Ideas cost nothing yet we apparently have none to offer. Why should we reward inertia with additional funding?

NASA is an organization that has lost its vision. Here's hoping they will use the post-shuttle era to locate it again.

I've said repeatedly....

Note: I have tried to keep politics out of this blog but this isn't a political post so much as a post about veracity and personal integrity.

Impressionists, cartoonists, and even historians rely heavily on identifying and amplifying the physical and verbal idiosyncrasies of public figures, especially presidents.

Their constant presence in the media means that their pet phrases and mannerisms become familiar to all (even against our will) as the inevitable caricatures demonstrate.

There was Reagan's "Well..." and a shrug of the shoulders, GHWB41's slow-motion karate chops on the top of the lectern, Clinton's raised index finger, etc.

Obama is a special case, however, as he rarely has anything to say of substance (or truth, if you like) beyond the verbal window dressing.

His "Let me be clear..." has already passed into legend for its annoying frequency of use and its contradictory nature - for what he says after rarely contains one iota of clarity.

Less frequent - but more insidious - is Obama's reliance on the pet phrase "I've said repeatedly." He occasionally changes it to "I've said in the past" or "I've said all along" but it is his go-to phrase especially in one-on-one interviews.

It sounds harmless enough until you realize several things:

1) He will claim to have said something in the past when no evidence of same can be found.

2) He believes that use of this phrase somehow confers a continuity of purpose, philosophy, policy or action when we know full well this is not the case.

3) He believes that an inherently wrongheaded idea or plan somehow gains validity if it exists for an extended period of time.

4) He uses it as a sort of after-the-fact clairvoyance. When the market dips, when home prices fall, when jobs are lost, Obama will claim to have "said repeatedly" that action X, Y or Z should have been taken. Of course, he never gets round to identifying or taking that action BEFORE negative consequences occur.

At the risk of drawing further attention to the more maddening aspects of this intellectual lightweight, I have reached the breaking point with this particular verbal trip hammer of his. It is his umbrella, his shield, his front porch. Count (if you can stand it) the frequency and quantity of "I've said repeatedly." This man cannot stand to be in the wrong. And if he is in the wrong (that is to say, most days), he will claim to have been in the right, safe in the knowledge that nobody within a 100-mile radius of the White House has the nerve nor the initiative to challenge him on the most rudimentary of facts.

Steelers/Jets AFC prediction/analysis

Hero: BR7

Goat: Roger Goodell, the media and the officials. The media have devoted 75% of airtime to 25% of the AFC/NFC finalists i.e. the New York Jets. Steeler fans may welcome the lack of intrusions but what about the Bears & Packers who are the NFL's two oldest franchises both with incredible histories and a storied border rivalry all of it played in mostly brutal weather? All we're getting from reporters in Chicago are a load of by-the-numbers pregame updates. Meanwhile, extended segments on the Life And Times Of Rex Ryan, Mark Sanchez And The Rest Of God's Chosen People Including The Fans Most Of Whom Are Wearing Chrebet #80 Jerseys are on heavy rotation.

Goodell and the NFL earn goat horns for putting a game in the CENTRAL time zone ahead of a game played in the EASTERN time zone. Who cares if it's a New York team? It's preposterous to believe that all four sets of fans won't be watching regardless of kickoff time, especially when it's 8 ****ing degrees out across the northern US and everyone is indoors already. Further proof that Manhattanites view the large landmass beyond the bridges and tunnels as a foreign land full of rubes who deserve what they get and are lucky to get it.

There's no need to wait until gametime to decry officials' bias. Think they don't know the NFL along with Jets TV, er, ESPN, is absolutely dying to get the Jets to the Super Bowl?

Let's all take a moment to remember Tim Donaghy. Sleazy crooked basketball official who was in thrall to the bookies, they said. The NBA and its media partners did their level best to discredit and destroy him but they could do nothing about his claims that the league demanded and engineered desired outcomes of certain games and playoff series - probably because the claims were true! David Stern lost his permanent smirk for a few weeks while he worked feverishly to stifle coverage of that subject. Several years on NBA fans (hands up, both of you) are supposed to believe that, gee whiz, the Finals matchup is just a one of those flukes (again)!

The NFL does its outcome-tilting with a bit more style due to the larger audience involved but there are a host of issues such as advertising (read: big markets come first) that are higher on the list than objectivity. The replay system, ostensibly designed to aid officials and 'get the call right' has become another tool for the league office to influence results from afar while providing cover for the on-field officials since all parties can blame an inanimate object - deus ex machina. NFL referees don't make calls; they make speeches. But if the rulebook - lovingly cared for and modified by the competition committee (themselves inherently biased since they attempt to alter the rules to favor their own franchises) - is unambiguous why the need for the Hamlet soliloquy? It's because trotting out a load of codswallop enables the 'neutral' NFL to make a show of claiming the referee 'interpreted the rule correctly/incorrectly' - all after the fact of course and if your team took it in the shorts better luck next year. Shouldn't they all get together BEFORE the season to agree on interpretation of rules?

The point is: if there is a close call it will favor the Jets. The Steelers should be prepared for it and brush aside any feelings of surprise, anger, injustice, etc. In fact, they should assume that they are down 7-0 at the beginning of the game and make no less than a 14-point margin their target in order to mitigate the tinge of green that will be visible on the black and white striped officiating crew.


Outcome: 23-17 Steelers. The only problem with advancing so far in the playoffs is that Bruce Arians looks at himself in the mirror and convinces himself (again) that the team is winning due to, not in spite of, his trickery and guile. Like Robert Stack in 'Airplane!' who orders the runway lights turned off because 'that's just what they'll be expecting,' Arians will serve up a contrarian game plan that uses the most talented players as decoys and ignores high-percentage plays regardless of down and distance. Everyone is obsessed with the matchups between the Steeler starting WRs and the Jets DBs but that will likely be a stalemate. Loads of passes underneath to the sure-handed Heath Miller seem to make eminent good sense but Miller will find himself ignored again. Arians will pass even when the defense is ripe to give up running yards simply because he views it as a contest of oneupmanship with Rex Ryan. Let us not forget that last week's offensive game-changer came about because BR7 vetoed Arians' original playcall.

The Arians/Tomlin axis will settle for field goals and make the game closer than it should be - a regrettable Pittsburgh 'tradition' since Chuck Noll was in charge and certainly continuing during the Cowher era. The Jets will get a TD from an INT, PR or KOR which will give them a huge emotional lift in addition to the free 7 points. LeBeau will make extensive use of the nickel as he attempts to prevent Braylon Edwards et al from running streak patterns all day while relying on a 3-man rush and his trusty LBs.

Intangibles: the Jets' reaction to finally vanquishing their division mate Patriots was somewhat over-the-top and one is reminded of the Arizona Cardinals' giddy reaction to winning the NFC title game especially in contrast to that of the Steelers who, after winning the AFC, symbolically shrugged their shoulders on the way to packing their bags for the real prize. Perhaps only Barack Obama has enjoyed better PR from the East Coast press than Mark Sanchez but he is still a 2nd year QB and facing a defensive coordinator with, oh, only 50 years' more experience in the game. Let's hope the virus known as false confidence infects both Sanchez and his offensive coordinator Brian Schottenheimer.

The TSA are not 'serving with honor.'

To the TSA worker quoted in this Techdirt article:

If something doesn’t change in the next two weeks I don’t know how much longer I can withstand this taunting. I go home and I cry. I am serving my country, I should not have to go home and cry after a day of honorably serving my country.

Er, no. People in the ARMED FORCES are serving their country. At a stretch you could say that FBI, CIA and certain other groups are serving also. You simply took a job with the federal government with an eye on the inflated pay for menial work, ridiculously extravagant benefits and retirement, and where being fired is virtually unheard of despite the incompetence and sloth on display. You're no different from a GSA slob mowing grass somewhere.

There is no honor in what you are doing. You have been brainwashed along with the rest of your TSA brethren. Forget all the PowerPoints, videos and paperwork that DHS/TSA handed you when you signed up. Snap out of your personal Stanford Prison Experiment and try to remember that these are your fellow citizens and beyond that they are human beings with rights, personal space and dignity which you are violating under the false pretense of providing security.

The passengers are REASONABLE persons reacting to UNREASONABLE searches and INEXCUSABLE transgressions against their person and their rights guaranteed under the Constitution. Stop pretending to be the injured party and if you really want to quit then do it now. And take as many of your colleagues with you as you can manage.

On 'underage' drinking

The most effective way to combat underage drinking is to lower the drinking age to 18 (or possibly 19) again.

Simple? Silly? Self-evident? Perhaps. But it will work.

All of the bluster about alcohol (binge drinking etc.) ignores one fact: for 3/4 of an undergraduate population alcohol is forbidden fruit due to the 21 age restriction. Yes some bars will allow 18-and-up in and we all know that (wink wink) these 18+ customers MIGHT have a tipple or two.'

But prohibition and an arbitrary age limit simply increase demand. In the case of college students the demand and the prohibition set up a challenge, a game to be won at all costs. Consumption of alcohol in moderation is, or was, a rite of passage into adulthood. Social drinking is called that for a reason. When alcohol becomes contraband then access to that contraband can become an obsession. When the object of the obsession is obtained the next logical (?) step is to go absolutely hog-wild. Overconsumption becomes the norm because in the back of the mind of every underage drinker is "when and where will I have access to alcohol again?"

The 21 drinking age has failed on two fronts: it has failed to prevent or even reduce consumption; indeed, it has increased it in many cases. Worse, it has created hundreds if not thousands of unsupervised speakeasies in the form of dorm rooms, apartments, off-campus houses, etc. where social drinking i.e. a public display of being able to consume and still function as a rational human being is nowhere to be found. Instead, interaction is limited to drinking-oriented games (e.g. beer pong) and constant exhortations to consume stupor-inducing quantities of alcohol (beer bongs, shots, etc.).

In sum, the 21 drinking age is an overreach that stands the process of socialization on its head and forces students who choose to drink into a state of arrested development. They remain children but they are children with easy access to oceans of beer and spirits rather than young adults who frequent licensed venues in order to drink, yes, but also to (hopefully) continue the process of maturation via interaction.

Requiem for a friend

A friend died. A friend I haven't seen in months and who might not even consider me a friend since he treated so many like friends upon meeting them. But maybe that's why he had so many friends...real friends.

This poor bloke was born with a variety of congenital heart defects and suffered through surgeries and frequent trips to specialists and out-of-town clinics. It's a horrible cliche to employ but he dealt with it a hundred times better than I ever would have. His poor mother and father employed gallows humor by the truckload but obviously they worried...but not enough to exempt him from the family squabbles that served as live entertainment for me and other patrons of their restaurant/bar business.

At one point the friend's heart was reported to be operating only at 10% of capacity. He was put at the tail end of the transplant priority list if he was listed at all due to a variety of other factors.

One night he was working like mad behind the bar and turned literally white as he fought for breath and sweated profusely. It scared me almost as much as it must have scared him.

I'm ashamed that so much time passed since I last was able to see him in person and I'm gutted that I will never have a pint and a chat with him. Even more distraught for his family, of course - two brothers and a mother and a father who must perform grim duties no parent should ever have to face.

I don't believe in ghosts but I do believe that hearing about someone's death causes us to think intensely about that person...where we saw them last...what we talked about or did together. This concentration, I believe, causes us to 'see' the departed whenever we go to a certain place, hear a certain song, or engage in certain activities.

Farewell, Matt. I won't forget you and while I'm on this earth I will no doubt 'see' you quite often, such is your positive and lasting impact on me.

British Virgin Islands: Service With A Shrug

A true story

The scene: Road Town, British Virgin Islands (BVI)

The time: present day, early afternoon

The location: The Batcave/Spaghetti Junction - a bar/restaurant catering (?) to the boating/cruising/tourist crowd.

Actual facts and conversations:

2 PM
Myself: "I would like a Carib lager."

Waitress: "We only have the regular." (note: Carib Lager IS 'regular'!)

2:05 PM
Myself: "I would like the chicken fajitas."

2:30 PM
Food arrives. It is a chicken (?) kebab on a bed of rice. No fajitas visible. No iron skillet, no tortillas, no sizzling vegatables, etc.

Myself: "I'm sorry but I don't think this is what I ordered."

Food taken away without comment.

2:35 PM
Waitress: "I didn't hear you. I didn't know you wanted the fajitas. Anyway we are out of chicken."

Myself: "OK - how about shrimp fajitas then?"

2:55 PM
Waitress: "You can't have fajitas because we are out."

Myself: "But didn't the person sitting at the next table have fajitas (iron skillet, etc.)?"

Waitress: "Yes."

Myself: "Was that the last batch or something?"

Waitress: "(Latching onto an excuse) yes that was the last batch!"

Myself: "Can I order something else please?"

Waitress: "No because it's 3 PM and the kitchen is closed."

You rang?

We all go to Wal-Mart even if some of us don't admit it.

Have you ever loaded a basket or a cart up with purchases only to see 24 checkout lanes - with a grand total of 3 of them open? Have you ever waited for an eternity at the returns counter while the clerks play Sherlock Holmes, investigating each item and each person in depth?

Whether you love or hate Wal-Mart, here is the quickest way to get personalized attention from the top dog store manager: take a video camera. I watched two girls shooting a student project in front of a Wal-Mart (they were simply using it as a backdrop). In 20 seconds or less the name-badged manager was fairly sprinting out to the front of the store to challenge the girls and ask how they dared to use his precious front wall as a backdrop.

At that point they had mostly finished their shoot but it's obvious that the fear of God has been drummed into Wal-Mart managers where PR is concerned. Yes it's private property and yes they have a right to rules and enforcement but I did find it ironic that such an immediate response could be elicited from such an innocuous stimulus.

Formulaic Film Trailers

Four reasons I stopped going to the cinema:

1) Fellow patrons who have forgotten their manners completely if they ever had them to begin with. Mobile phone users this means you.

2) Commercials before films. I'm hardly the first to say it but the idea of paying to watch ads is the kind of marketing-run-amok madness that brings together the worst excesses of commercialism: loud, scatterbrained and abusive of its captive audience's intelligence. The PSAs are worse with their herky-jerky camera and hackneyed nu-metal music.

3) The films themselves. There are supposedly creative people producing, directing and acting in films; we are told this every year during award season. Why, then, are there so many remakes, sequels and shameless ripoffs? 'Reboots' are a hot trend - granted it's interesting to see how different filmmakers present already-familiar stories (mostly of comic book superheroes) but if you know the origin of a hero then you already know most of the film's plot. Political correctness has all but killed the entire comedy genre - the only individuals allowed to act like buffoons and suffer injury or humiliation are young white males.

4) Finally there are the trailers. After you have been assaulted visually and audibly by commercials the trailers come on. There must be some sort of unspoken competition between the editors of these previews to see how many cuts they can insert into a 30- or 60-second spot. It's the cinematic equivalent of an epileptic seizure. I daresay a trailer editor could make a Merchant-Ivory period drama look like a Michael Bay smash-em-up. The over-the-top husky-voiced narration has been parodied mercilessly for years yet they continue to contract with the same voice talent regardless of studio or film genre.

These days the trailers are also spoilers. In an effort to pique audience interest those making the trailer can't resist inserting some of the impressive effects shots from the film's climax. But in doing so they make it very easy for experienced (if cynical) audiences to deduce the protagonist, antagonist and plot. If I can watch the film in a minute why would I sit through two hours of it?

But the worst part of the trailers are the zinger lines. In the context of a complete film they are glaringly obvious when suddenly there is a pause in the action or the dialogue and Character X utters the zinger line. It's usually generic i.e. not a reference to any character or situation within the plot of the film and it's usually a pathetic attempt by the screenwriter(s) to coin a catchphrase. In part I blame Arnold Schwarzenegger, whose wooden 'acting' had his various writers scrambling for something he could deliver in deadpan style since he had no other style to offer. Hence 'I'll be back' went from a throwaway line in the first Terminator film to a touchstone in T2 and the rest of the franchise. The zinger line is generally placed at the end of the trailer or just before the end when split-second of action (a vampire or zombie alighting on a character's neck, an explosion triggered, a shot fired, etc.) is shown with an immediate cut to a black screen. These aren't clever lines like 'We're going to need a bigger boat' (which was an ad-lib anyway), they are simply pointless momentary ego trips for the actor, writer and director.

One could probably invent a party game (and maybe someone already has) with real and fictional zinger lines from films. Let's play!

"Here we go!"
"You can't do that here"
"Hang on!"
"Where is your brother?"
"Where did they go!?!?"
"I can't believe it!"
"Full power now!"
"This is what it's all about"

Which are real and which are fake? It doesn't matter - and that's the point. They are cheap irrelevant throwaways employed by 'creative' people who should know better. The game of oneupmanship may be fascinating to them but it has driven me from the cinema completely.

Why 70s Kids Appreciate The Internet

To those who lived it, the elementary and secondary education system in the 1970s was one continuous flow of urban myths occasionally interrupted by classes, recess and vacations. Forget about weak tea like Richard Gere or Jamaicans breaking into houses and photographing their exploits in the master bathroom - in the 70s urban myths were invented, repeated, reinforced and in too many cases completely believed by the young and relatively innocent.

Inquisitive minds were hardly sated by schoolwork and youth's appetite for adrenaline still meant kickball, basketball, '500' (semi-brutal football game in which a dozen or more vie to catch a thrown ball), bike rides and front lawn activities such as tag and statues. In the downtime that accompanied these activities a kind of communal flight of fancy would take place. 70s decadence was a bit of a puzzle to the average square suburban kid who couldn't figure out why Dad suddenly got his hair permed or why Mom went with the gold reflective wallpaper in the family room. In response to this crazy quilt of images from posters, record album covers, comic books and Tolkien-inspired fiction and games, myths and legends began to flow freely long before MSNBC got in on the act.

Did you hear about Rod Stewart? Did you know Elton John has a pair of glasses with windshield wipers? What about that creepy house down the street? What about that kid who drowned at the high school in a neighboring suburb? Did you know if you lay down and I rub your temples for 5 minutes you will start to hallucinate and act like a madman? Do you know what the symbols on Led Zeppelin's 'Runes' album (aka LZ IV) stand for? Did you know that Gene Simmons of Kiss had his own tongue removed and had a much larger cow's tongue transplanted? It's why he can pierce it without pain every night to draw the blood he spits out during concerts!

The 'big kids' never seemed to run short of these Believe It Or Not stories nor did they tire of telling them in dramatic fashion - their reward was a string of gasps, open mouths and of course the 70s refrain of 'No Way!'

Of course, expressing disbelief or even suspicion was usually considered bad form and the assembled throng would beat you down verbally for daring to question such a fascinating, if far-fetched, tale!

Back then computers were huge things your dad worked with (for unknown purposes) and they involved punch cards and reel-to-reel magnetic tape. If you were lucky your local TV market had three network affiliates, a UHF station and possibly an independent that expended the minimal amount of effort possible to bring you cartoons and reruns of The Brady Bunch and Hogan's Heroes. Is it any wonder so many can effortlessly recite dozens of Brady episodes and lines verbatim?

But computers, of course, went from oddities seen in a science or children's museum to becoming conduits for information every bit as crucial and addictive as that old color television set (to quote Greg Brady).

(By the way, what constitutes a television 'set?' There's only one television and it is a self-contained unit. Is the tube, tuner, speaker and antenna considered a set? Could any of these function without the others in terms of delivering sound and vision? Granted the term 'set' has all but vanished but it stuck around for many years.)

The Internet came along with those mysterious-but-powerful search engines (remember Webcrawler?). In true 70s kid form we ignored topics like genetics, the reign of Louis XIV, the Civil War and the history of smallpox and instead scrutinized every corner of cyberspace for answers to the burning questions of our (younger) day. Some set up sites like http://snopes.com to help those similarly afflicted with urbanmythitis. In true support group fashion we shattered as many myths as we could for each other and for our own sanity. Did we feel relief? Of course. Anger? A bit perhaps, directed at ourselves for being so gullible for so long or even for repeating the lies. But mostly we felt a sense of relief and completion. We finally walked by that creepy house down the street - at night! - and lived to tell the tale.

It's just too bad there aren't any 'little kids' left to impress with our 'courage' - they all have the Internet too.