I remember when the biggest concern that athletes faced in Olympic competition was the relative gender of the person in the lane next to you. Chromosome testing of the Eastern Bloc athletes to determine the proper personal pronoun to use when describing the feats that have been performed in any given arena continue in Beijing, but they are far from the biggest worry. Instead we are now questioning the relative ages of the woman gymnasts on the Chinese team. Does a thirteen-year old make a better gymnast than a sixteen-year old? It seems pretty counter-intuitive, but rules, as they say, are rules.
There are no rules for good taste, and that's what the Spanish basketball teams find themselves guilty of breaking. A picture, showing the players pushing up the outside corners of their eyes, was taken before the team left Spain for Beijing. These photos were taken of both the men's and women's teams as advertisements for a local courier service. One of the members of the men's team, Jose Manuel Calderon who also plays for the Toronto Raptors, wrote in his blog: "We thought it was something appropriate and that it would always be interpreted as somewhat loving. Nevertheless, some of the European media did not see it this way." European, American, International, twenty-first century - it's one of those subjective things, I guess.
Just like cuteness. Little girls singing about their Motherland with all their heart is about as cute as I can imagine, but cuteness is still relative. Lin Miaoke, age nine, was deemed suitable in appearance, but not in voice. Seven-year old Yang Peiyi's voice was pretty enough, but her distinct lack of pigtails kept her from taking center stage at the opening ceremonies, but she could be heard. "The reason was for the national interest," said Chen Qigang, general music designer of the opening ceremonies, who revealed the deception during a Sunday radio interview. "The child on camera should be flawless in image, internal feeling and expression." At least we're pretty sure that they were little girls.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Georgia On My Mind
What did you do on your summer vacation? I went to Disneyland. If you're a member of the Russian army, chances are you got to spend time in Georgia. Not like the peaches and home of Coca-Cola where the Olympics were held just a little while ago Georgia, but the former Socialist republic. The Russians were there to put down a Georgian attack on South Ossetia, a separatist region along the Russian border with close ties to Russia.
Declaring that "the aggressor has been punished," the Kremlin ordered a halt Tuesday to Russia's assault on Georgia. Five days of air and ground attacks have left homes in smoldering ruins and uprooted more than one hundred thousand people. Remember that kinder, gentler Russia that we all looked forward to having in our Facebook at the end of the Cold War? It's not these guys. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev ordered his defense minister, during a televised Kremlin meeting: "If there are any emerging hotbeds of resistance or any aggressive actions, you should take steps to destroy them."
Why would Russia need to flex its muscle at this point in time, in this place? Georgia sits on a strategic oil pipeline carrying Caspian crude to Western markets and bypassing Russia. Oh, that and that whole "freedom" thing. Stay tuned, it's been a while since President Pinhead has sent U.S. troops into a foreign country to protect freedom - and oil.
Declaring that "the aggressor has been punished," the Kremlin ordered a halt Tuesday to Russia's assault on Georgia. Five days of air and ground attacks have left homes in smoldering ruins and uprooted more than one hundred thousand people. Remember that kinder, gentler Russia that we all looked forward to having in our Facebook at the end of the Cold War? It's not these guys. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev ordered his defense minister, during a televised Kremlin meeting: "If there are any emerging hotbeds of resistance or any aggressive actions, you should take steps to destroy them."
Why would Russia need to flex its muscle at this point in time, in this place? Georgia sits on a strategic oil pipeline carrying Caspian crude to Western markets and bypassing Russia. Oh, that and that whole "freedom" thing. Stay tuned, it's been a while since President Pinhead has sent U.S. troops into a foreign country to protect freedom - and oil.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Blurred LInes
While President Pinhead was over in Beijing giving out high fives to the U.S. men's basketball team and practicing this beach volleyball skills with the girls, the rest of the world continued on its course. Things were blowing up and people were being shot, but Pinhead got to feel like a kid again. Never mind Pakistan and Russia and Georgia and Iraq, he's out there taking his victory lap.
Back home there's trouble brewing. Barack Obama's campaign announced Tuesday the launch of "Republicans for Obama." The group is being spearheaded by former lawmaker Jim Leach of Iowa, former Rhode Island senator Lincoln Chaffee, and Rita Hauser, who was a prominent fundraiser for The Pinhead Regime. These are men who have seen the writing on the wall, most of it in crayon, telling them that the winds of change are blowing in a less conservative direction, away from the stink of the past eight years. Even Robert Novak noticed the trend when he coined the term, "Obamacons."
Meanwhile, back on the lone prairie, John McCain continues to do his best to appear as the candidate of change with his trusty sidekick, Joseph "Droopy Dog" Lieberman. That would make him a McCainocrat, except that Joe left the Democratic party after he lost his party's primary in 2006. He was elected to the Senate as an "independent Democrat." There has been some mild speculation that McCain might even pick Joe to be his running mate.
With all this confusion about "liberal Republicans" and "conservative Democrats," I begin to wonder if the clear distinction between parties is coming to an end. Partisan politics have brought us this far. Maybe it's time for a change.
Back home there's trouble brewing. Barack Obama's campaign announced Tuesday the launch of "Republicans for Obama." The group is being spearheaded by former lawmaker Jim Leach of Iowa, former Rhode Island senator Lincoln Chaffee, and Rita Hauser, who was a prominent fundraiser for The Pinhead Regime. These are men who have seen the writing on the wall, most of it in crayon, telling them that the winds of change are blowing in a less conservative direction, away from the stink of the past eight years. Even Robert Novak noticed the trend when he coined the term, "Obamacons."
Meanwhile, back on the lone prairie, John McCain continues to do his best to appear as the candidate of change with his trusty sidekick, Joseph "Droopy Dog" Lieberman. That would make him a McCainocrat, except that Joe left the Democratic party after he lost his party's primary in 2006. He was elected to the Senate as an "independent Democrat." There has been some mild speculation that McCain might even pick Joe to be his running mate.
With all this confusion about "liberal Republicans" and "conservative Democrats," I begin to wonder if the clear distinction between parties is coming to an end. Partisan politics have brought us this far. Maybe it's time for a change.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Just Talkin' Bout Hayes
I have a very vivid memory of the first time I saw Isaac Hayes. I had spent a good many months ahead of that event listening to him, but when he took the stage at the 1972 Academy Awards in his trademark chain-mail vest and shades to perform what would be the Oscar-winning "Theme From 'Shaft'," I was in awe. He brought the funk. This was a bad mother-
I know, shut your mouth. But this was no one-hit wonder. Along with songwriting partner David Porter, created the sound of Stax records, including "You Don't Know Like I Know", "Soul Man", "When Something Is Wrong with My Baby", and "Hold On I'm Comin" for Sam and Dave. As a solo artist, he put his own spin on a number of Burt Bacharach tunes, including "Walk On By" and "The Look of Love."
As he moved through the seventies, he dabbled in disco, and began to move from cameo roles in films to take on larger parts. I remember turning on "The Rockford Files" and saying, "Hey, isn't that Isaac Hayes?" It was indeed. And then there was his much-celebrated turn as the voice of benevolent, sexy reason on "South Park"" Chef.
But none of these are my fondest memory of Isaac Hayes. For that we have to travel back to 1981 and a little film called "Escape From New York." Mister Hot Buttered Soul played The Duke of New York, and his pimped-out ride included chandeliers on the hood above the headlights. All that was missing was that chain-mail vest. He wrote hit songs, he won Grammys and an Oscar, but to me he will always be "The Duke - he's A Number One."
I know, shut your mouth. But this was no one-hit wonder. Along with songwriting partner David Porter, created the sound of Stax records, including "You Don't Know Like I Know", "Soul Man", "When Something Is Wrong with My Baby", and "Hold On I'm Comin" for Sam and Dave. As a solo artist, he put his own spin on a number of Burt Bacharach tunes, including "Walk On By" and "The Look of Love."
As he moved through the seventies, he dabbled in disco, and began to move from cameo roles in films to take on larger parts. I remember turning on "The Rockford Files" and saying, "Hey, isn't that Isaac Hayes?" It was indeed. And then there was his much-celebrated turn as the voice of benevolent, sexy reason on "South Park"" Chef.
But none of these are my fondest memory of Isaac Hayes. For that we have to travel back to 1981 and a little film called "Escape From New York." Mister Hot Buttered Soul played The Duke of New York, and his pimped-out ride included chandeliers on the hood above the headlights. All that was missing was that chain-mail vest. He wrote hit songs, he won Grammys and an Oscar, but to me he will always be "The Duke - he's A Number One."
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Bizarre Love Triangles
"Out there with these natives it must be a temptation to be god." - General Corman in to Captain Willard in "Apocalypse Now"
So there he was, out there in the wilds of the campaign trail, and John Edwards fell prey to that temptation. The native in question, Rielle Hunter, was impressed enough to comingle with the once and future candidate to the tune of an extra-marital affair back in 2006. The Democratic Knight in Shining Armor turns out to have a morality challenge.
Certainly, the suggestion or spin that could be made is that the former Senator from North Carolina is merely holding up a grand Democratic tradition of "lusty, zesty men, seething with vital hormonal secretions." There was Bill Clinton most recently, and John F. Kennedy before him. And let's not forget the presidential infidelities of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Of course, with FDR and Elanor, can you really blame a guy for cheating on his cousin?
What is it about Democrats that inspire such salaciousness? Jimmy Carter, noted Baptist and former President of the United states said, "I tell you that anyone who looks on a woman with lust has in his heart already committed adultery. I've looked on a lot of women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times." By that measure, I'm guessing even Harry Truman was guilty of that sin.
What about those Republicans? The very idea of Richard Nixon coupling with another human being is creepy on the order of the idea that your parents once had to - well - you know. And Ronald Reagan divorced his first wife to be with that saucy little vixen, Nancy. Then there's John and Cindy McCain. John is also on his second marriage, after a string of extra-marital affairs, for which he has dutifully accepted the blame. But here's where this story comes full circle: Serving as groomsman at John and Cindy's wedding, none other than Playboy Senator from Colorado, Gary Hart.
And so, as the sun sets on John Edward's public life, we remember that we are all human, after all and subject to the frailties of that particular condition. Better still to remember the words I am certain that Lillian Carter must have passed on to her son so many years ago: "It doesn't matter where you get your appetite, as long as you eat at home."
So there he was, out there in the wilds of the campaign trail, and John Edwards fell prey to that temptation. The native in question, Rielle Hunter, was impressed enough to comingle with the once and future candidate to the tune of an extra-marital affair back in 2006. The Democratic Knight in Shining Armor turns out to have a morality challenge.
Certainly, the suggestion or spin that could be made is that the former Senator from North Carolina is merely holding up a grand Democratic tradition of "lusty, zesty men, seething with vital hormonal secretions." There was Bill Clinton most recently, and John F. Kennedy before him. And let's not forget the presidential infidelities of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Of course, with FDR and Elanor, can you really blame a guy for cheating on his cousin?
What is it about Democrats that inspire such salaciousness? Jimmy Carter, noted Baptist and former President of the United states said, "I tell you that anyone who looks on a woman with lust has in his heart already committed adultery. I've looked on a lot of women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times." By that measure, I'm guessing even Harry Truman was guilty of that sin.
What about those Republicans? The very idea of Richard Nixon coupling with another human being is creepy on the order of the idea that your parents once had to - well - you know. And Ronald Reagan divorced his first wife to be with that saucy little vixen, Nancy. Then there's John and Cindy McCain. John is also on his second marriage, after a string of extra-marital affairs, for which he has dutifully accepted the blame. But here's where this story comes full circle: Serving as groomsman at John and Cindy's wedding, none other than Playboy Senator from Colorado, Gary Hart.
And so, as the sun sets on John Edward's public life, we remember that we are all human, after all and subject to the frailties of that particular condition. Better still to remember the words I am certain that Lillian Carter must have passed on to her son so many years ago: "It doesn't matter where you get your appetite, as long as you eat at home."
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Guess Where I'm Calling From?
It used to be that if you wanted to reach out and touch someone, there was a certain amount of strategizing. Making a phone call used to be more of a challenge before we started carrying telephones around in our pockets, purses, or wedged into our ears. Not that I'm not impressed by all of this portable technology. I really am. It just takes all the adventure away.
When I was a lad, phones were attached to walls by "cords." You couldn't just walk around wherever you wanted while you talked. With the exception of those fifty foot long umbilicals made popular by Marlo Thomas in "That Girl," if you answered the phone in the bedroom, that's where you had your conversation. Or maybe you were lucky enough to have more than one extension, in which case it would be a matter of yelling across the house: "Can you hang up in there? I'm trying to use the phone!" Of course, finding the phone was a lot easier back then. You just followed the cord.
Then there was the omnipresent pay phone. There used to be banks of pay phones in airports, shopping centers, and street corners across this great land of ours. I had a friend in high school who saw it as his personal mission to make a call from most any of these conveniently located devices, and before he finished, he would always give the receiver one really good whack against the counter or the wall, and then before he hung up, he'd let me know, "Nope, still works just fine." He was a one-man quality control service.
Nowadays it's more difficult than it's ever been. Back in December 2007, AT&T got out of the payphone business for good. Over the past ten years, the number of public telephones in the United States has dropped from two million to one million. Up the street from me is a pay phone that doesn't look like anyone has used it for months - probably because the handset has been snapped into three distinct pieces, the wired inside hold the bits tenuously together. I thought I should grab my cell phone and give my friend a call to see if this was his handiwork, but I had left my phone at home.
When I was a lad, phones were attached to walls by "cords." You couldn't just walk around wherever you wanted while you talked. With the exception of those fifty foot long umbilicals made popular by Marlo Thomas in "That Girl," if you answered the phone in the bedroom, that's where you had your conversation. Or maybe you were lucky enough to have more than one extension, in which case it would be a matter of yelling across the house: "Can you hang up in there? I'm trying to use the phone!" Of course, finding the phone was a lot easier back then. You just followed the cord.
Then there was the omnipresent pay phone. There used to be banks of pay phones in airports, shopping centers, and street corners across this great land of ours. I had a friend in high school who saw it as his personal mission to make a call from most any of these conveniently located devices, and before he finished, he would always give the receiver one really good whack against the counter or the wall, and then before he hung up, he'd let me know, "Nope, still works just fine." He was a one-man quality control service.
Nowadays it's more difficult than it's ever been. Back in December 2007, AT&T got out of the payphone business for good. Over the past ten years, the number of public telephones in the United States has dropped from two million to one million. Up the street from me is a pay phone that doesn't look like anyone has used it for months - probably because the handset has been snapped into three distinct pieces, the wired inside hold the bits tenuously together. I thought I should grab my cell phone and give my friend a call to see if this was his handiwork, but I had left my phone at home.
Friday, August 08, 2008
The Rules
For the past eleven years I have been running through the park with my dog. She has been my companion through wind and rain and sun and fog. On a number of occasions, I have met my the rest of my family near the playstructure and my dog has enjoyed doing her many circus tricks. She loves to go down the slide. She gets very impatient with us if we don't let her go down at least a couple of times.
Now that fun has to stop. I'll still go on runs with her. She'll still look longingly at the slide for a chance to show off her amazing talent, but we won't be running through the park anymore. You see, there are no dogs allowed in the park. This is not a new rule. I actually noticed it, right there at the top of the sign that says, "Park Rules." It's number one. But I confess that I continued to run past and around those signs on my way through the park, confident in the knowledge that I have a very well-behaved dog and a spare bag in my left hand in case of any "comfort stops."
This week, I've been running a little earlier in the afternoon, and I have encountered the kids playing at their summer day camp. My dog has never been anything but patient with kids, and so it never occurred to me that I would be bothering anyone. Quite to the contrary: I have stopped to let curious short people pet and stroke her while I catch my breath. So imagine my surprise when a little girl came running up behind me the other day, "Sir?"
I pulled one of my earphones out, expecting he usual request to pet my dog.
"My camp counselor says that you can't bring your dog into the park."
"Excuse me?"
"My camp counselor says," and before she could finish, her camp counselor came up behind her and told me that I couldn't bring my dog into the park.
"It's against the rules," he asserted.
"But I've been doing this same run for eleven years," I huffed.
"I'm sorry. Those are the rules," and he took his little charge with him back to the four square game.
Yesterday I avoided the situation by going on a different route, but today I found myself heading back to the park. And instead of running through the park, I ran around it. It's about the same distance, and my dog didn't seem to be too sad about missing the playstructure. I decided to change my route. Why? Because that's the rule. When I got a ticket for running a stop sign while riding my bike, I paid it. I could have protested the ticket and complained about how there must be something else that a policeman in Oakland could be doing rather than giving out tickets to bicyclists on their way to teach at an elementary school, but I didn't. It's the rule.
And the rule says "No Dogs." The good news is, there are lots of places where my dog is more than welcome. That's where we'll be going from now on. And we won't be breaking any rules.
Now that fun has to stop. I'll still go on runs with her. She'll still look longingly at the slide for a chance to show off her amazing talent, but we won't be running through the park anymore. You see, there are no dogs allowed in the park. This is not a new rule. I actually noticed it, right there at the top of the sign that says, "Park Rules." It's number one. But I confess that I continued to run past and around those signs on my way through the park, confident in the knowledge that I have a very well-behaved dog and a spare bag in my left hand in case of any "comfort stops."
This week, I've been running a little earlier in the afternoon, and I have encountered the kids playing at their summer day camp. My dog has never been anything but patient with kids, and so it never occurred to me that I would be bothering anyone. Quite to the contrary: I have stopped to let curious short people pet and stroke her while I catch my breath. So imagine my surprise when a little girl came running up behind me the other day, "Sir?"
I pulled one of my earphones out, expecting he usual request to pet my dog.
"My camp counselor says that you can't bring your dog into the park."
"Excuse me?"
"My camp counselor says," and before she could finish, her camp counselor came up behind her and told me that I couldn't bring my dog into the park.
"It's against the rules," he asserted.
"But I've been doing this same run for eleven years," I huffed.
"I'm sorry. Those are the rules," and he took his little charge with him back to the four square game.
Yesterday I avoided the situation by going on a different route, but today I found myself heading back to the park. And instead of running through the park, I ran around it. It's about the same distance, and my dog didn't seem to be too sad about missing the playstructure. I decided to change my route. Why? Because that's the rule. When I got a ticket for running a stop sign while riding my bike, I paid it. I could have protested the ticket and complained about how there must be something else that a policeman in Oakland could be doing rather than giving out tickets to bicyclists on their way to teach at an elementary school, but I didn't. It's the rule.
And the rule says "No Dogs." The good news is, there are lots of places where my dog is more than welcome. That's where we'll be going from now on. And we won't be breaking any rules.
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