Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Sex in the City Is My Least Favorite TV Show Ever

I watched Memoirs of a Geisha the other day and as with all Hollywood movies pretending to be something other than the end product of a cliché blender, all cultural themes in the film were hammered on the audience’s heads sometimes by a mad narrator carpenter. In Memoirs of a Geisha the narrator/carpenter continually reminded us that the best hope a Geisha had of happiness and success was to attach herself to a wealthy powerful married man and live as his personal concubine. The audience oos and awes over how terribly unfair 20th century gender dynamics in Japan were and then knowingly concludes things aren’t so different here—are they?

To answer that question, I submit Sex in the City. It’s the same show narrator and all. In both shows women need men. Women spend all day talking about men and bitching each other in attempts to acquire men—almost entrap them if needed. And all my sophisticated female friends love the show. Does a smugly self aware red headed character somehow make reinforcing a male dominated world okay? What I hate most about Sex in the City has little to do with it’s anti-feminism I must admit. What I really hate is the contrived cuteness of it all. They’re glamorous and they know it, but everything is expressed with little diminutives, “on a tiny little island we call Manhattan I met my little friends for brunchie,” or “in the tiny cutesy Soho club scene bla, bla, bla…” You are cool, just admit it. Anything else is a modesty so false I may puke.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Round 1

It's the first Sox v. Yankees game tonight, and here at Blue Fish Canoe we typically advocate for peace and prosperity. However tonight, we have the exception that proves the rule. If this game is lopsided by 3 runs or more, I say we send in Julian Tavares to hit Yankee batters (first Damon, the Jeter) until an old fashion bench clearer breaks out. And Willie Mo Pena better lead the charge or I'm going to have trouble accepting this years Sox team as anything but candy-ass pretenders. After losing a series to the D-rays, I just can't warm up to these new Sox.

Sunday, April 30, 2006

Blue Fish Canoe has traumatic experience with the general public

About once a year I become overwhelmed with a sense of patriotic duty and I eat fast food. (Go ahead. Gasp. And depending on your socio-economic-o-cultural leanings you may gasp at either the high frequency or low frequency of my fast food dining. Have your gasp and read on…)

This year I spontaneously chose Church’s Chicken, which is a nondenominational Brooklyn ghetto version of KFC and surprisingly the owners of the url, www.churchs.com. I wanted to exchange my money for a piece of chicken and a drink and be on my way. Of course this proved to be impossible. I could only order from a matrix of Value Meals with muffins, potato wedges, French Fries, chicken bits, and drinks from medium to bathtub sized. All meals cost in total over $5 and ended in weird non-whole number sums (eg. $5.72, $6.36 + tax), which was more than I wanted to spend—I could get real food for those sums. I brought my dilemma to the Church’s employee who, judging from his accent and look, may have been a recent immigrant from Africa. He told me of a secret value meal that allowed me to get a piece of chicken and a muffin for $3.21 if I agreed not to get a drink. I accepted. Just before he rang up the $3.21 he asked me if I wanted to Juraso-size the drink that I did not order. Then, despite the whole premise of this exchange resulted from not wanting a drink, a white woman’s voice came from nowhere and asked me the same question, if I wanted to Juraso-size the drink. The voice interrupted me as I was talking to the employee and totally freaked me out. It took me a second to get my bearings, but when I did I realized the voice was in fact not a white woman, but the cash register itself interrupting me. I declined the offer from the cash register.

I got my food and began to eat. I soon discovered the non-drink value meal was not a value meal at all, but a challenge-meal. Church’s chicken and muffins are 50% salt and nearly impossible to eat without a drink. I can only attempt to describe how dehydrating this experience was, but imagine having only a pile of extra salty pretzels to eat after a night of beer drinking after say, crossing the Sahara. For some reason I was determine to win the challenge-meal and I persevered. I finished learning a valuable lesson about turning down offers from cash registers. Looking back on it, I can say the chicken left me slightly nauseous and with a nagging taste in my mouth similar to what one might experience after licking a high school chemistry class beaker. The chemistry beaker flavor is now in its third day of persistence, but I must admit, at first the chicken tasted really good.

Monday, April 24, 2006

New Bar

About a month ago, my neighbor pointed out a new bar was opening up near us. Our neighborhood is in dire need of a new watering hole. All our spots either lack pool tables, or play terrible live bands, or have gone Eurotrash with bizarre purple lighting, metal chairs, and a constant stream of trance (when will trace die?) Now, horrifyingly, construction on the new bar has stopped. I’m willing to donate free time to get the place up and running in a Jimmy Carter, Spring Break over summer kind of way. I just spoke to my neighbor at the super market and he’s in. If anyone else wants pick up the old hammer and nail, contact me. (Some prior experience with these tools is not needed, and as of yet, undiscovered within our group.)

New Swing

I’ve revamped my swing in the off season. I was having trouble getting the bat head around last year and I found myself sending a lot of balls into the opposite field without much power. My new approach is to shorten my swing and imagine myself chopping down on the ball (thanks to hitting coach Corn Chips and Pie). Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull some more pitches in the odd picnic softball game or backyard waffle ball game I may play in this summer.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Toussaint jailed, Bluefish Canoe confined to carpet

I had my most recent argument over the justifiability of the transit strike last night. It was with a girl who I yelled at as she was leaving an otherwise very pleasant dinner party. She felt transit workers shouldn’t be making as much money as her with her education and important position at the Department of Health. I pointed out her problem should be with her boss, as opposed to supporting others getting screwed to somehow improve the relative worth of her own salary. I also brought up my standard under-reported point that the TWU has every reason to oppose changes to its pension plan because the city openly spends workers pension money (or “monies”—the term favored by moron city officials) on whatever the city feels like assuming they can pay it back later, and now, of course, they may not be able to repay future workers. Subsequently, I got drunk and stoned and passed out on my friend’s floor after the contents of my stomach had demanded immediate exit—I may not be the best spokesperson for the cause though it’s valid nonetheless. In a short time Roger Toussaint will be going to jail for 10 days for leading the strike. Here’s what Toussaint had to say about the sentence. As always he carried himself like a gentleman.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

The Jammys

It's time. This Thursday is the sixth annual Jammy awards, an award show for Jam Bands. All the jammers will be there, including remaining members of the Dead, members of Phish, the String Cheese Incident, Moe, and some drummers from Africa displayed like museum exhibits. Remember, if you are at the show and anyone questions your dankness pause and then announce "the system is so fucked up, man... People are just going to revolt... Man… When the war breaks out I’ll be living in a cave in Colorado, strumming a homemade string instrument, and politely asking a bear poop if I can eat it [then bob your head knowingly agreeing with your own comment]."

In the tradition of this genre, the Jammies have been known to go from 8:00 to early in the morning. I would gladly dine on said bear poop rather than attend.


Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Politico Graphs

For those fellow political graph lovers I recommend this site (sometimes I don't know which word to attach the hyper link to--is it obvious?)

Monday, April 10, 2006

Prof. Tom's

The baseball season is on and turned up to 11. A friend of mine, Mike Murphy, predicts the Brewers will surprise everyone and win their division. I predict nothing outside the usual tears, conflicts with befuddled significant others, and all around unholy waste of time.

Rumor has it that a new ex-pat Sox bar called Professor Tom's has displaced the Riviera as a home-away-from-home for Sox fans in NYC. I hear it’s owned by a former Riviera bartender who walked out of his job in the West Village after the Yankee fan owner of the Riviera torn down a pro Red Sox banner. If this is true, it is a tremendous story--a coup d'etat of the first order. If it’s BS concocted by the owner of Professor Tom’s to drum up business or just fuck with people, then I respect it even more.

Sox

A lot people have been approaching me and offering their congratulations recently and I must say I appreciate it. I assume they’re referring to the Red Sox early lead in the AL East (although some say they’re talking about the engagement or grad school etc…) Again thank you. Red Sox = 5 and 1 and first place. Yankees = 2 and 4 AKA last place. David Ortiz just signed a 4 year contract extension, and Bluefishcanoe doesn’t fear fame either (thinly veiled snotty comment directed towards CornChipsandPie).

Friday, April 07, 2006

Questionpro

I don’t totally comprehend what this means, but the podcast now has a corporate sponsor, questionpro. Questionpro is software that helps one create online questionnaires, and is in fact the only software I would ever dream of using for such a task.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Cheney Resignation Pool Rises Again

I can't tell if it's the new format or if this is just riotous news cycle, but the nytimes.com has been on fire today. The Tiktaalic (your welcome), bird flu in Scottish foul, new parts of the Bible discovered (Judas was cool?), and now Scooter Libby, Dick Cheney’s former chief of staff and right hand hack, testifies that Bush via Cheney okayed the leaking of classified information. Evidence directly linking Bush to the leak after all Bush’s pledges to sniff out the real leaker—what a day!

Bush has a way out though. Scooter testified that Cheney suggested to him that Bush gave a green light on leaking classified information; not that Bush contacted Scooter directly. Cheney and Bush can say that Cheney had misinformed Libby regarding permission from Bush. Thus Cheney takes some responsibility for the disgrace, Cheney steps down and joins Ollie North as hero of right wing psychopaths, and Greg K. wins the Cheney Resignation Pool. It’s not over yet but this is undoubtedly the perfectly cooked, medium rare, steak from Peter Luger with sides of creamed spinach and German potatoes of Cheney Resignation Pool tips.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Oil Can Update

The Can will be pitching for the Nashua, NH, Pride this season after avoiding jail time on assault charges. The manager for the Pride, former Red Sox manager, Butch Hobson, personally worked to bring the Can aboard. We can contrast Boyd with Doc Gooden who faces jail time for using coke (yes of course Gooden still has 86).

All indications seem to suggest Oil Can will continue to refer to himself in the third person during interviews. For example:

I am the Can, and I'm going to come right at you with my best [stuff]. If you can hit, I want to see how far Bo Jackson can hit the Oil Can.

- Oil Can Boyd after giving up a 500 ft homerun to Bo Jackson

Saturday, April 01, 2006

Kyle's Job

The podcast is now fully operational: http://kylesjob.net/.

Friday, March 31, 2006

Basic Instinct II: Not Popular at the NY Times

The NY Times movie reviewer, Manohla Dargis, despised the new Basic Instinct movie so much there are now two links to the drubbing, one in the movies section and one on the sidebar. Dargis must really hate this movie.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Tavarez Round 1

Julian Tavarez got in the first totally unnecessary brawl of the season in a spring training game today against the Devil Rays. When he was covering home on a play at the plate, he stepped on Joey Gathright arm as Gathright slid into homeplate. Gathright hit Tavarez with his left forearm and while Gathright was still on the ground Tavarez cracked him in the jaw. Players congregated. Combatants got booted. Sox eventually beat the D-Rays 12-11.

Sit versus Squat : A False Dichotomy?

When it comes to crapping, I am now a squatter with his sitting past cast into the crap heap of cultural bias right next to country music is for hicks (country is for all--download five Jason Boland tunes and I defy you to disagree). That's right folks. I'm changing sides.

Let me explain. In Asia toilets don't look like chairs with holes. They're small holes in the floor with foot rest such that a man can squat, like a baseball catcher, while getting down to business. The advantages: less paper work, less red tape and something about it being more natural on the muscles of the nether regions leaves one with the sense that every dump was the biggest of their life.

But how can this traditional way exist in a world increasing dominated by western style crappers? I'll tell you folks: the perch. Oh ya, I strip down and hop on the edge of the bowel for a good old squat crap.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

The Dogg


Nate the Dogg Sanderson will be interviewed on the podcast. Hold on to your hats.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Nature's Freaks Part V: The Frogfish


The Oscellated Frogfish (Antennarius ocellatus) is a fish that through eons of selective pressures has evolved to look like a frog. Thus the frogfish is perfectly camouflaged when it’s surrounded by deformed frogs. You see, the predators are color blind so it all works out…

The frogfish uses its long thin dorsal fin like a fishing pole to tempt smaller fish which the frogfish catches.

Another Schachterle Please

As many of you may know the Smoked Salmon and I have recently gotten engaged. As part of this life changing venture I've been thinking more seriously about my future and legacy. I've become very concerned that I may not have a male heir to carry on the family name, Schachterle. To hedge my bets against this chilling possibility I've been trying to coin a drink called The Schachterle. It's a gin and tonic with grapefruit juice. I've gotten a few friends to order it and local bartenders to serve it. If the moment strikes you, or you are in fact searching for a way to extend a piece of immortality to me, I say order up a Schachterle.

Monday, March 20, 2006

asdfas v

Smoking pot = no decent blog today.

Friday, March 17, 2006

dzUSA

Oh, my God. There’s been a DraculazombieUSA blog around all this time and I didn’t know about it. I really should have assumed it, but in my defense I’m new to the Internet. How do I double click? Where is the Internet anyway?

To atone for the oversight I’ve added the word “DraculazombieUSA” to my Microsoft Word Dictionary. I’ve never even added a peculiar consonant heavy constellation of letters known as “Schachterle” to that.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Bluefish Canoe Midterm Election Guide ‘06

I plan to vote for candidates whose accents most closely resemble my own. Just to give you some idea of this profile: my mother was a Berber and my Papa a Cossack, but I was raised amongst the Saami reindeer herders of artic Finland (your people might call my people “Lapps” but that term causes us great offense after centuries of persecution by the barbaric Swedes who used that word). So typically it’s quite obvious who will get my vote. In the event two candidates have accents equally similar to my own, I just vote for the tallest male. I encourage you to do the same.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Tee Shirt

When I first started the blog I toyed with the idea of not telling any friends. I wanted to thwart the temptation to try impress friends and girls with my razor sharp satire and earth-shattering observations. Biasing blog content by their plebeian tastes would be totally uncool.

The other day I saw the Smoked Salmon trying to buy a tee shirt on-line that said “I don’t care about your blog.” I submit that's a success for the blog on some level.

The Coming of the Podcast

The Podcast: Episode I is almost up. We're working on business cards.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Bill Wasik and the Flash Mob

The inventor of the Flash Mob, Bill Wasik, recently revealed his identity. Wasik is a senior editor at Harpers Magazine. The flash mobs were gatherings of hip, strangers via high tech means (text message, email, etc.) to do something pointless, but quirky and cute like hold a tissue in the air and drop it or gather around an expensive rug at Macy’s. They started off in Manhattan in the summer of 2003 and spread all around the world according to their entry in wikipedia. When Wasik claimed credit for starting the micro-craze, he announced that his intention was to mock the youth hipster culture as nothing more than a race to the next trend. He purportedly intended to draw attention to the hipster’s blind faith in anything with a whiff of irony, despite the stench of confusion, creative want, and conformity.

Unfortunately for Wasik, smug mockery, especially mockery followed by denial of ones own hip-itude, is the cornerstone of all things hip, and by mocking the mockers Wasik may have made himself into the biggest hipster of all. Did Wasik not simply apply the hipster formula of irony and cuteness above reason, and then take that formula to its logical conclusion? Could the meta-mocker be the smuggest and most nauseating of all hipsters?

The answer is obvious: probably, but who cares? I care because like making mocumentaries about mocumentaries or adding razor blades to disposable razor heads, this could easily spiral out of control. What if someone tries to mock Wasik for mocking hipsters and then someone mocks the guy who mocked Wasik for mocking hipsters and someone mocks that final guy too and then on and on… I could meet the meta-meta-meta-meta-mocker at a party and feel socially pressured to laugh like a Senator forced to applaud at the State of the Union. Oh, I can say I won’t fake laugh now, but if it gets me out of the conversation I’m sure I’ll fake laugh, escape for more drink, and then be left feeling like a washed up, broke whore. What will be left of me then?

Monday, March 06, 2006

Oscars

I have no time for a real blogging today because I've been busy with the podcast and work. (A pod cast is coming soon.) However I would like to open up a question to the readership: why is the Oscars statue a depiction of a nude warrior knight? I guess the gold part kind of makes sense.


Saturday, March 04, 2006

Funk-a-delic

Looking for a funk infusion but too young and white to know where to start? Check out the recent posting on Corn Chips and Pie for what can only be described as a Rosseta stone of funk.

You Have to Believe in Something

There’s been a lot happening in my personal life so I haven’t managed to write about one recent surprise. I visited Burlington, Vermont two weeks ago and I spent the evening playing pool in a bar called the Three Needs with some friends. We were playing doubles and this annoying hippie dude came up to challenge us for a game. He wasn’t the crunchy gutter punk type—more a clean shiny Phish kid. My partner, a girl I know, and I went down early with this hippie having a little streak after my crappy break. After a few shots by both teams I realized the hippie didn’t have a partner and was trying to play two on one. That’s totally against the rules of course. We had just won the previous game; hence it’s our call to play doubles. I pointed out his mistake. He refused to take a partner and insisted he should be able to play alone. Thus a typical endless pool table dispute broke out with my lady partner in no mood to take this shit from the hippie asshole. I believe in doubles pool because it gets more people involved and reduces a certain annoying, ESPN, pool hall mindset that doesn’t belong at a bar (you have to believe in something). The hippie evidentially felt otherwise. After a long debate, I grabbed one of his friends, declared the friend the hippie’s new partner and made him play. The new partner sucked, I sunk the eight ball, and the hippie undoubtedly blamed my choice of his partner for their poor showing. So the hippie threw down his stick, and turned to this girl announcing that “we lost, but he [me] is a dick!” I got in his face and the hippie challenged me to “take it outside”.

He walked out to smoke a cigarette and ostensibly wait for my now called-out person. My friends had gotten word of what had happened and were crowding around to prevent fisticuffs. I kept quite until things returned to normal and snuck outside while no one was looking so my crew couldn’t prevent the whooping that need to come down.

I found the hippie right near the bar smoking and blabbing Phish kid dribble to some girl. I pushed him and the rumble ensued. A few body blows were thrown, a bit of wrestling, but all and all it was a very wimpy showing on both sides. Then the bouncer from the bar came out and broke it up. The hippie went off in another direction and I tried to go back in the bar assuming the bouncer wouldn’t let me after my mighty bout, but he did. Apparently the fight was so incredibly lame that it didn’t even register in the bouncers mind as a fight. Alternatively, after seeing my best attempt to mess someone up, the bouncer may have concluded that I was harmless and can safely be granted re-admittance.

Later that night I noticed the hippie had returned. I avoided eye contact with him due to embarrassment still surrounding the failure of our fight. I also avoided the bouncer after it occurred to me he may have mistaken the battle for a make out session.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Tavarez

I just had lunch with a friend at a favorite dinner and briefly discussed the recent free agent signings in Major League Baseball. I pointed out my beloved Red Sox had acquired the pugnacious loon Julian Tavarez. This friend of mine is a San Francisco sports fan where Tavarez is something less than beloved after spending three years on the Giants where he 1) sucked and 2) was an asshole. I defended Tavarez by quoting what may be one of the most insane monologues ever by a professional athlete who was not Oil Can Boyd. In 2003 while playing with the Pirates, umpires caught Tavarez clearly scuffing a ball with pine tar hidden on the brim of his hat. Tavarez responded:

I used to let things like that bother me. That's why they used to call me Yo-Yo Head earlier in my career. Now, I don't care what people say or write in the newspapers. I'm not putting anything on the ball. I could see if I had 20 wins that people might say something. I have two wins. Would I only have two wins if I were cheating?[my italics].

Tavarez then out does himself:

Everyone has their own preferences. Some people like skinny women, I like fat women. Some people like young women, I like old women. Some people like poor women, I like rich women. Some people like clean caps, I like dirty caps.

Housewives of Newton, Nahant, and Newbury Street with no particular inclination for the gym, you are in luck.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

Baseball in March: What's the Deal?

To follow up the last posting with an opinion piece: I’m not so sure about baseball in March. I mean, I’ll watch team USA. I’ll even get drunk watching team USA—I’m not a some sicko terrorist or anything. But there is something unnatural about going right from the Winter Olympics to baseball. This may seem odd coming from a man who lives in a country where it’s perfectly normal to eat a strawberry in February. However baseball in March to me is like those 40 year old dudes who wear down jackets with fake fur hoods, or dudes in yellow sneakers who are neither gay nor German—it’s just a little weird.

I heard an interesting idea on the ESPN podcast the other day. Someone suggested eliminating the All Star game, which no one would miss, and breaking in the middle of summer for the international tournament. My total ignorance of anything non-American prohibits me from guessing how that might affect non-American leagues, but I like the idea. Other leagues may be willing to rearrange their schedules around America if it means promptly kicking Team USA’s ass. And personally, I picture myself spitting on Derek Jeter in his Yankee uniform on one day and the next cheering for him in his Team USA uniform. I could get into that.

On an unrelated note, check out my friends remix of a Strokes song.


Monday, February 27, 2006

Baseball in March?

Yes, something is coming and it's called the World Baseball Classic. It's modeled after the soccer World Cup where professional players from various leagues get together and play for their country. It's going to be a short tournament in March of baseball playing countries. People are going wild about it in the Dominican Republic and Central America, and Americans may get into it once it starts. The Classic is run mainly by Bud Selig, the commissioner of Major League Baseball, and the American baseball players union.

Not surprisingly the usual jerks arose to push their weight around and cause problems with something that should be fun. The NY Yankees lead by their owner George Steinbrenner objected to their player's involvement for fear they'd get injured. They can't officially block their players from participating, but have informally discouraged Yankees from playing. Then the Bush administration worked to prohibit the Cuban national team from entry into the tournament. The Puerto Rican professional league threatened to pull out in protest to another stupid call by Bush and friends. Losing the Puerto Rican league and Cuban team would cripple and in fact invalidate the tournament. Fidel Castro offered to donate all proceeds from the games to victims of Hurricane Katrina, and the Bush Administration gave in. Cuba will be in the games.

As suggested above, Puerto Rico, although not an independent country, has a team in these games. That’s just a cool move and of course well earned by Puerto Rican baseball players.

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Old School Freak

Nytimes.com managed to outdo Bluefish Canoe by reporting on a recently discovered Jurassic era freak animal called Castorocauda lutrasimilis. Castorocauda lutrasimilis is Latin for "beaver tail and similar to the otter". The nytimes article provides no explanation of how beaver tail and similar to the otter is expressed in only two words in Latin. Nor is there any account of why the scientists didn't name the newly found species the Latin equivalent of similar to the platypus. I have no explanation either, but the nytimes does concede Castorocauda lutrasimilis is pretty much like a platypus (but not a relation according to the article).

Anyway, if you didn't go to the link this is what it looks like:

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

A Guy with Two 1,000 Gallon Fish Tanks

Fred Hamilton of Cincinnati, Ohio has two 1,000 gallon fish tanks for a total of 2,000 gallons of indoor aquatic habitat. Naturally, he has also published on the Internet. I don't mean to disparage Mr. Hamilton or his colossal effort. I, in fact, have the utmost respect for a guy who just really likes big fish tanks. Check out the web site. It’s pretty cool.

Monday, February 20, 2006

I can't believe I forgot Downhill Battle

I didn't have a link to downhill battle on the blog till now. I should have, but it just slipped my mind. It's a cool site and the dudes who make are super cool Worcester people.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Cheney Resignation Pool

I believe you all know the tune to this one:

Na na naa na
Na na naa na
Say hey, hey
Goodbye

May that ditty be the anthem to the Dick Cheney Resignation Pool. Here the rules: you guess a date for Dick Cheney’s resignation, leave it on the comments section (you do not need a username or password although you can make one, but you must copy the squiggly letters). The contestant who guesses the date closest to Dick Cheney’s actual resignation wins a mix CD made by me. You can guess a date past the inevitable resignation—it’s purely closest date wins.

Dick Cheney’s years of arrogance, secrecy, insolence, and incompetence followed by a high profile shooting accident dumb and sad enough for the media to jump on—oh yes it’s on. He’s a liability, and it’s time for him to go!

My guess = March 15th.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Plame Was Spying on Iran when Cheney "Outed" Her

For the first time, and possibly the only time, we may actually have breaking news at Blue Fish Canoe. According to Larisa Alexandrovna of a blog called the Raw Story, Valerie Plame Wilson was investigating an underground network of terrorists who smuggled nuclear bomb making materials to Iran when she was “outed” by Cheney & co. This story is corroborated by Stephen Clemens, the Executive Vice President of the centrist think tank, the New America Foundation. Mr. Clemens appeared today on the Brian Lehrer Show where he mentioned the connection, and if Stephen Clemens is good enough for the great NYC radioman, Brian Lehrer, then he’s is good enough for me.

The underground network of nuclear smugglers that Plame infiltrated included known Pakistani granddaddy of proliferators, A.Q. Khan. The report is vague on what exactly Plames role was as a spy, but said her outing did “severe” damage to America’s ability to monitor the Iranian nuclear weapons program.

If this turns out to be true, will we finally have enough evidence to show Bush and friends have done far more to harm American security than to bolster it? During the elections two years ago only one candidate, Dean, clearly said Bush makes us vulnerable, but now it seems pretty obvious. The Iraq war has emboldened Iran to pursue nuclear weapons seeing we’re too weak to stop them. The only chance we have to slow Iran appears to be Russian diplomacy (imagine being dependent on Russia six years ago). The North Koreans have been forgotten and left to build who knows what—and again thanks to the war in Iraq we’re powerless to stop them. And now, our own efforts to keep tabs on a volatile nation, a nation run by people who openly hate us, were undermined by our own VPs office.

Saturday, February 11, 2006

What's Wrong with Park Slope: Exhibit A

I’d like to draw your attention to the link to the right called the Muk Report. This dude, Muk, said he made these joke tee-shirts making fun of Park Slope and people from “the Slope” freaked out. I should say Park Slope is a neighborhood in Brooklyn, NY known for being a bit on the yuppyish side in a sanctimonious, young parent kind of way (it's as bad as it sounds). Check out the blog and the subsequent comment section for nauseating dose of self-righteousness from PS breeders.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Nature's Freak Part IV: The Platypus


This species I believe to be the king of nature’s freaks as well as my favorite animal. In English we call him the duckbilled platypus. When the English first discovered the platypus, they sent a stuffed one back to the British Museum in London and officials in the museum thought it was joke. They assumed the explorers had sewed a beak onto a baby beaver. The platypus lives in limbo between mammal and marsupial. It’s toothless, venomous, egg-laying; it has boobs, and it poops, pees, and gives birth through the one hole, the cloaca. It also has the ability to hunt by sensing electrical charges. The platypus paddles through the water with two webbed and clawed hands that are hyperactive and completely out of sync with each other—like a guy in a rowboat who rows with one arm and then the other. It's a tremendous animal and I salute all platypus.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

Nature's Freak Part III: The Viperfish


This is the viperfish, Chauliodus sloani. There’s not a whole lot to say about this fish besides it’s one ugly mother. However, I will share some marginally notable trivia. 1) The viperfish is found in deep water all around the world from Maine to Australia. 2) It’s got bioluminescent fins, meaning its fins light up the color of glow-in-the-dark stickers. 3) It's usually about a foot long. And 4) it'll mess you up.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Nature's Freaks Part II: The Chimaera


This hideous sad looking freak is a shark relative known as the chimaera.

The name comes to us from ancient Greek mythology. The Geeks were creative in ways that may never again be matched; however in dreaming up mythological animals they were largely lame and lazy preferring to just combine traits of existing animals into one freak animal rather than make up new animals. That, animals in a blender approach, was the route they took with the chimaera claiming it was fire-breathing part lion, serpent, and goat.

Even lamer by wide margins are those who name newly found animal species. I'm not sure which part of this fish resembles a lion, serpent, or goat, but nonetheless it's a chimaera.

How Long Should I Microwave Things?

I can't figure out microwaves. Everything I try to microwave comes out either lukewarm with patches of cold or several degrees chiller than the sun. Does anyone have any advice on this? What about one potato? How long should I microwave a potato?

On the other hand, I am good at estimating volumes of liquid in practical situations such as number of glasses left in a partially drunk bottle of wine or shots in a bottle of whiskey. Can I trade volume estimates for microwave times?

Help me.

Friday, February 03, 2006

Another Good One from the Bush Administration

Christie Whitman, the Bush appointed head of the EPA in 2001, mislead New Yorkers by telling them that the air around Ground Zero was safe according to Deborah A. Batts, a Federal Judge. Whitman knew that 2,000 tons of asbestos went into World Trade Center construction, but somehow she announced time and time again that Lower Manhattan and Brooklyn were safe.

May I extend a sarcastic thank you to the Bush administration?

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Possibly my favorite Iraq war corruption story yet

Uber dirt bag, Robert J. Stein Jr., served as comptroller for the Coalition Provisional Authority in Iraq in 2003 and 2004. During his tenure he used his position and tax payer money intended for Iraqi reconstruction to acquire first class plane tickets, cigars, alcohol, watches, jewelry, and 2 million dollars in cash including 1 million in outright bribes. He also kept women in his villa who dispensed sexual favors to spice up the already delightful deal. Mr. Stein had been convicted of felony fraud before taking the job in Iraqi, although this charge was somehow overlooked by the administration that hired him. Check out the story for yourself.

Nature's Freaks Part I: The Sea Butterfly


A recent underwater documentary I received from my brother as a Christmas present has sparked my interest in natures most bizarre species. The discovery coincided with figuring out how to upload pictures to the blog (I click on a picture of a picture--who knew?). This serendipitous conflation can only lead to a reoccurring blog theme: nature’s freaks.


The freak depicted here is the sea butterfly. It's a snail relative that floats around in the ocean fishing for plankton using a "mucous net".

Monday, January 30, 2006

John Edwards on the war vote

About two months ago (admittedly I'm a bit late on this), John Edwards clearly articulated his views on his on vote for the war in Iraq. The article begins with a three word paragraph, "I was wrong [to vote to give the authority to the president to go to war, if you must]." Then he goes on to bash Bush for Bush's glaring incompetence by simply outlining American foreign policy and military strategy over the last five years. Thank you Mr. Edwards. Finally, someone using their free time wisely.

Saturday, January 28, 2006

Great moments in keyboard shortcuts: Function F4

I arrived at an epidemiology seminar 5 minutes early yesterday. Some have suggested that epidemiology lies in a void between hard sciences like physics or molecular biology and social sciences such as economics—many have insinuated that this void could be aptly named the pseudo sciences. Maybe it is because of this dubious reputation that we, as a rule, arrive in mass to Friday seminars 5 minutes late. (This rule had temporary slipped my mind boding poorly for my future in the field.) Thus I was stuck in a room that was empty except for the scheduled speaker. Senior epidemiologist do not mix well with those whom they have no formal professional connection, and I mix poorly with strangers without beer; so instead of using this opportunity to network with a leader in the field, I embarked on an inane conversation about the dearth of A-V equipment for the presentation in the room. This led to me offering my laptop to the presenter for purposes of showing his slides during the presentation. We attached a projector and as usual (another Friday Epi tradition) the laptop could not connect with the projector. For the few seconds that follows it looked like the presentation may end in disaster: sins slides. In the mean time all the epidemiologist arrived and Dr. S. suggested I hit “function” “F4” to remedy the laptop-projector problem. I tried this miraculous shortcut and the presentation was saved! Thank you Dr. S. You are so cool. I regard savvy with keyboard shortcuts as a sign of ones intellectual prowess, sort of a Microsoft equivalent of a large vocabulary.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Papi’s secret life

In the DR the smoked salmon and I caught an Escogido v. Licey baseball game. They’re cross-town rivals in Santo Domingo. The cab driver who drove us to the game was so fired up to talk baseball with a tourist that he ran at least 10 red lights (or maybe he never stopped at red lights—I don’t really know).

The stadium emanated a dilapidation reserved for Caribbean capitals. It was a giant cement block painted in pastels and covered in an inch of soot. Imagine the color of a baby blanket stolen by a dog and taken under the dog’s favorite bush to be covered in doggie filth.

We got to the game a few minutes late and stepped out onto the bleachers just in time to see none other than one, David “Big Papi” Ortiz approaching the plate. The crowed went mad and a group of dudes drummed out a special song reserved for Papi. Ortiz went through all of his same pre-at bat rituals he does in Boston—the same adjusting of the batting gloves and elbow pad—the same tapping the plate with the end of the bat. Ortiz ended up going 1 for 3 (or 3 for 1 as they call it down there) with 2 RBIs. Ortiz’s team, Escogido, won. It was like magic to be in this random ass stadium watching guys in weird uniforms and there was the Boston Red Sox most lovable player. And God bless him for making 5 million dollars last year in the US and still going down to the DR to play winter ball. Some might say it risks injury unnecessarily (may pro sports contracts require players to give up things like skiing in the off season for this reason). But whatever, it shows Ortiz is as pure a baseball player as their ever was.

Epidemiologist or Revolutionary

I’m back in the City. Vacationisover. I’mprocrastinatingworkasusual. My thesis is looming ominously like a loft bed built by an undergraduate philosophy major.

I was actually just walking home from the Columbia undergraduate campus presumabley surrounded by philosophy majors while I smoked the last of my vacation cigars. The cigar made me slightly nauseous but I smoked it as an act of defiance towards the end of vacation. The smoke also reminded me of a great game the Smoked Salmon and I played in the DR. It was called epidemiologist or revolutionary. Basically, I switched between wearing a baseball hat, smoking a cigar, both or neither and the Smoked Salmon had to guess if I was a revolutionary, epidemiologist or both (never neither).

Friday, January 20, 2006

NY Times Redeemed


To make up for the unflattering picture of Serena Williams, nytime published a great picture of Denver Broncos QB, Jake Plummer (left).

Williams loses twice

Serena Williams lost in the third round of the Australian Open recently. To add insult to injury the nytimes chose this picture to illustrate the moment.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

DR Malaria Update

Two common malaria vectors in the DR are the mosquito species, Anopheles albimanus and Anopheles vestitipennis. These names roughly translate to the mosquito with the white ass and the mosquito with the bright colored dick--weird names even for mosquitoes.

Friday, January 13, 2006

Refugee v. IDP

I’m no grammar expert but I’m going to take a public stance (thanks J.A.) against re-defining words for jargon in Social Sciences. Adding words is inevitable, but we can’t just take an existing word, use it differently, and then tell everyone else they’re misusing the word. A recent example of re-definition involves the “refugee” versus “internally displaced persons” (IDP) debate. IDP refers to people forced to move from their homes due to political turmoil, but not forced to cross a border. Some will fight to the death arguing that the term “refugee” can only mean those forced to cross a political boundary and thus can be used in opposition to IDP. However, the dictionary definition of refugee does not limit it to people moving across a border; thus I believe IDPs should be viewed as a subset of refugees and those forced to cross a political boundary should get some other name--maybe externally displaced persons.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Winter Ball

Baseball in the DR was everything I’d hoped.

I don’t intend to belabor an historical perspective on this, but baseball in Latin America is often assumed to be part of the so-called American cultural imperialism. However Latin Baseball predates the global success of companies like McDonalds and Coke by at least a 100 years. In 1864, Nemesio Guilló brought the first American baseball bat to Cuba marking the beginning of American baseball south of the border. Guilló, the son of a wealthy Cuban family, was sent to Mobile, Alabama to study at Springhill College where he picked up baseball. However, even before Guilló’s historic luggage arrived, variations of pitch-a-ball, hit-a-ball, run-somewhere games were played throughout the Caribbean. After Guilló, a game Americans might recognize as baseball took off in Cuba. At the time, Cubans were fighting for their independence from Spain and baseball was associated with the Cuban rebels. The traditional pastime, bull fighting, required spectators pay homage to the Spanish crown, and baseball without such rituals was banned by colonial authorities during the War of Cuban Independence (1868-1878). Many of those forced to emigrate during the war went to the Dominican Republic where they along with Dominicans educated in the US continued playing and popularizing baseball. Like in Cuba, the sons of the Latin American elites educated in the US introduced baseball to Mexico, Puerto Rico, Panama, and Venezuela in the later half of the 19th century. Vibrant professional leagues existed in these countries since the begining of the 20th century creating a playing field were Latinos, white Americans, and black Americans competed together before the integration in North American professional baseball. Most notably, Cool Papa Bell and Satchel Paige played for the Santo Domingo team in 1937. Baseball is an American game of course, but its history in Latin America is rich, and its roots as a pan-American enterprise should never be discounted.

At its inception, the Dominican league consist of 4 teams: the Tigers del Licey (Santo Domingo), the Estrelles Oriental’s (San Pedro), Las Anguilas (Sandino), and Leon del Escogido (also Santo Domingo) with each team established between 1907 and 1921. The San Francisco Giantes and La Romana Azucareros entered the league in the middle of the 20th century. Licey (or Licky as the Smoked Salmon calls them) and the Aguilas are the dominant teams, and in a sense are the NY Yankees of the DR. David Ortiz plays for perennial underdogs, Escogido, thus I believe Escogido to be the equivalent of the Boston, Red Sox.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Where’s all the crime?

I rode my bike the other day from downtown Brooklyn to Astoria, Queens traversing not the worst ghettos in NYC, but not the best neighborhoods either. Somewhere in the no man’s land near the Brooklyn Navy Yard a kid pulled up in an SUV and shouted something at me. I couldn’t hear him over the rumble of traffic and asked him to speak up. The youth would need to get out of his car to be heard. He was of the portly sort and apparently felt leaving the vehicle was too much trouble and drove on. Later, a group of kids sitting on a bench near the Brooklyn-Queens sketchy bridge yelled at me, but were too fat to get up and hassle me further.

At first I was relieved, but then I began to worry: are this nation’s children too fat and lazy for crime? The guys from “Freakonomics” site the Roe v. Wade as the cause of America’s downturn in street crime (according to friend of mine—I must admit I never read the book). But has anyone considered what kind of ramifications this surprising side effect of the obesity epidemic might have on our economy? If people don’t steal cars and electronics, then less people will buy these luxury items to replace the stolen ones! But once again the free market came to the rescue. I thought back to the last time I was robbed. I was in India and a native broke into my hotel and stole my wallet, visa, and passport; so yes friends, the crime was outsourced. I then had a vision of the future: middle class kids buying heroin online directly from newly liberated poppy growers in Afghanistan (but not coke from those commies in Bolivia—we still prefer corrupt, America ravaged Colombian coke). It’s perfect. Technology cuts out the middleman, and low income Americans sink further into poverty with their own massive girth speeding their descent.

Monday, January 09, 2006

The Canoe Paddles Again

As many of you know (and as my Eastern European readership may not have heard yet) I was on vacation from not only New York and sobriety, but also work and the blogosphere over the last several weeks. The smoked salmon, two confidantes, and myself traveled to the Dominican Republic (DR). To be honest, I expected little from this trip, but the DR was like a museum’s representation of a prehistoric cat—a saber tooth tiger of vacation spots. It’s exotic, but familiar as well as a distillation of the cool parts from a spattering of species plus a little more. The DR is warm in the winter and everyone speaks Spanish, but everyone drinks Presidente which is widely available in New York, and watches baseball, which is nearly surreal to see outside of America. Also, like any good saber tooth tiger, beautiful women walk around in skimpy but stylish attire, while I get to tromp around in my usual jeans and smelly tee-shirt.

At this stage, I’m willing to say that the DR is the coolest place I’ve ever been. And in no small measure the coolness is due to a more genuine friendliness from the natives then you get in most tropical vacation spots. Dominicans seemed to be a very pro-eye contact people. Living in New York, where eye contact between pedestrians is infamously prohibited, I really enjoyed watching people walk down the street and acknowledge my existence. Also people were cool about my absolute butchering of their language. For example, people responded positively to me drunkenly searched for rooster fights by making little shadow puppet rooster heads with my hands, banging my finger tips together, and saying, “pollo, pollo”. This roughly translates to touching your finger tips together, and saying "cooked chicken, cooked chicken".