The porridge thickens

Have you ever gone into a situation, hoping that something improbable but awesome will come of it, only to have it turn out even better than you had hoped?

OK, that's too confusing. Try this: Have you ever gone in to interview for a prospective job, hoping for a perk or two that would make it really desirable, only to discover that the position far and away exceeds your wildest expectations? Probably not. But that's what's actually happened to me.

Yesterday morning I had my interview for that part-time position with the Council for a Parliament of the World's Religions. As I mentioned previously in this space, I was hoping -- irrationally, I thought -- that one über-cool perk it might offer would be the off chance they'd send me to the 2004 Parliament, to be held in Barcelona one week in July.

Now, I knew this was a rather unrealistic hope. I mean, it's a nonprofit group, and nonprofits tend to have cash flow problems, or at least tight budgets. Usually there isn't money for a lot of the lavish, extravagant excesses you can find in, say, the financial or legal worlds (you know, ridiculously expensive lunches, premium travel, etc., all on the company dime). And even if they aren't grossly underfunded, nonprofits seem unlikely candidates to send an intern to Mediterranean Spain for a week at the height of tourist season, even if it's ostensibly to work. So I wasn't expecting much, or anything, to come of this hope. Boy, was I wrong.

During the interview one of the two women spent much of the time describing duties, responsibilities, etc., of the position. Maybe five minutes into this she mentions that the position would have a couple of opportunities to travel. At the mention of travel my ears perked up and my eyes grew to the size of saucers. I was right! Look out, Barcelona!

But while I just knew this confirmed my hunch that I'd get to visit Spain, I also grew more intrigued. After all, she had said a couple of opportunities, as in two. Barcelona I knew. And this was confirmed as she began to elaborate on the possibilities. Not only would I be in Barcelona for the Parliament for a week, but I'd also be in Spain for three days before that, for a conference in Montserrat, home to an old monastery, and located about an hour outside of Barcelona.

This was all great to hear, but I wanted to know about the other place I'd potentially be going, the wildcard in this.

Seems that if I get this internship, I'll be headed to Israel in about a month. That's right, the Holy Land. Which I guess makes sense, considering this is a group dedicated to promoting dialogue between religions, and Jerusalem (or the place outside there I'd actually be) is probably a good place to be holding and encouraging interreligious dialogue.

The details of this are that I'd be there for a week at the end of February/beginning of March, for the group's mid-winter meetings. ("You can tell we're from Chicago because we consider March 'mid-winter,'" she opined.) But I'm down with that. While Israel's not (yet) on my growing list of locales to visit before I die, it's still a place with a lot of fascinating cultural history and a lot of contemporary political significance. Plus, it's not likely I'm likely to ever pass up free international travel, particularly when it's to a place I've never visited previously.

Needless to say, after she finished enumerating the possible travel possibilities, and then asked whether that was something I found exciting, my kneejerk reaction was "Oh yes, very exciting!"

And as if that weren't reason enough for me to want this job, they answered my questions about the flexibility of the schedule before I could ask them. Seems that I'd be able to do the vast majority of my work from home, if I so desire, and that I'd just have to come by the office every week or two for meetings and the like. This made the job even better than I could've dreamed. Were I to get it, I'd just need to find another part-time job to scrape together enough income, and I would even be less inclined to be picky about that job since this one would be so choice.

While discussing this job with my roommate the day before my interview, Joe wondered how I always managed to find the good jobs. I remarked that my success -- or lack thereof -- thus far in my job search suggested otherwise, but certainly this one would lent credence to Joe's assertion.

And, when I called Joe yesterday afternoon to tell him about the interview and what I had learned about the job, he was in utter disbelief. "A part-time job with international travel? I think I'm going to go weep." Yeah, that's pretty much my reaction to it. Except for the sorrowful tears.

Of course, I'm getting ahead of myself here. I don't actually have the position yet. And trying to figure out whether I met get to go into the West Bank or the Gaza Strip, how many frequent flyer miles I might be able to accumulate from these travels and so forth are certainly a matter of me counting my chickens before they're hatched. But frankly, this job is too plum for me not to want it and not to get excited about it.

Plus, I think I have a really excellent chance. Overall, I'd say the interview went really well. I think I helped sell them on my qualifications; at one point, when the one woman mentioned that I might need to interview some people, I replied my pointing out that, as they had probably seen from my résumé, I had a lot of experience as a reporter and thus was comfortable doing interviews, to which the other woman, the COO or some other such executive, remarked that I had a "really great background." So that certainly curries well in my favor. In addition, just from the nature of the interview, which seemed to consist mainly of them describing what I'd be doing and how I'd fit in, it felt like a situation where they had already identified me as a top candidate based on my application and just wanted to meet with me to confirm their inkling and sort of verify that it would work out for me as well as for them. It's hard to tell, because I haven't the foggiest idea how many other people they're considering for the position, if any, and I felt it imprudent to ask. But I think I've had enough interviews at this point to have developed a sense for reading them, and this one definitely went well by all indications. Now I just wait for Monday or Tuesday to hear from them and hope that it's in the affirmative. Particularly because I'd start later in the week if I'm hired. Which is good. Income is good. Especially now.

In any event, the 30 minutes, if that, I spent meeting with them were enough to whet my appetite and make me ridiculously excited about this. Even if they hadn't more or less told me they'd send me overseas a couple of times, I'd still like it a lot. Especially since I'd still have a lot of flexibility and the potential to work at home most of the time. And even if not that, the nature of the job is such that I'd still get to spend most of my time doing work that's interesting and beneficial. Here's hoping it comes through.

Additionally, this morning I applied for another job, one that would dovetail neatly with this internship. (So I like to get ahead of myself.) It's just be an administrative assistant position with a Jewish community center, but it'd also work out quite well for me. Through April I'd be working part-time, 15-20 hours a week, with a flexible schedule, out of a center that's just a mile or so from my apartment. Then from May through August, when the position ends (which, as established earlier, works well for me), it'd be 40 hours a week, though a little earlier than I'd prefer (7 a.m. to 3:30 p.m.), but between these two jobs I'd presumably make enough to cover all my expenses and save a little money.

But then I'm really getting ahead of myself here, seeing how I've only put in an application and not had any contact with anyone at the organization. Nonetheless, my spirits have been lifted remarkably since a couple of nights ago. Perhaps it will all come out in the wash after all.

Make that an even half-baker's dozen

In the 12 or so hours following my rant about job searching being utterly fruitless and hopeless, I got some nibbles, naturally. Karma? Perhaps. Or maybe it's divine intervention.

Seriously. You laugh, I laugh, we all enjoy a hearty chuckle, but hear me out.

I'm sitting around the apartment still in my pajamas past noon, as usual, reading and editing Colleen's paper on medieval German cultural hegemony in Central Europe, when I get a phone call. It's the Council for a Parliament of the World's Religions, and they want to bring me in for an interview tomorrow. Score!

Well, it's exciting, yes. But it's not the end of my search. Not by a long shot. First, I actually have to wow them enough tomorrow morning to get them to offer me the position. But even then, I'll still have to keep searching for work. See, this job is only part-time, as in 10 to 15 hours a week, and it's only 10 bucks an hour. Not quite enough to live on, but enough income to cover most of my expenses, at least for the time being. At the very least, I'd still need to find a second part-time job to earn enough to pay all of my bills, and hopefully still manage to save a little dough for grad school.

But this wouldn't be a bad gig. For one thing, I'd be doing something useful, namely researching religious violence for the upcoming Parliament of the World's Religions, to be held in Barcelona this July. In and of itself, just getting to do research of a social scientific nature is an exciting prospect, because this should really utilize my talents quite well. And it'll look good later on job applications (or, perish the thought, a second round of grad school apps in case I don't get in where I want this year). Plus, there's always my faint hope -- likely to be dashed tomorrow -- that I might get sent to the actual Parliament, which means a one-week working vacation. In Barcelona. During the summer. There's also the matter of getting to do something for a pretty good cause, which is important and rewarding in its own right. (And even if, improbably, this turns out to be as bad as the HistoryMakers job, at least it's an hourly job instead of salaried, so I'd get paid for all the extra time spent working.) Also convenient is the fact that the position is supposed to run until August, or roughly about the time when I'd ideally be bolting Chicago to begin grad school. So at least I can be perfectly honest and upfront about my plans in my interview without fearing it will come back and bite me in the ass and prevent me from having a job. Additionally, they told me they'd make a decision and let me know early next week, meaning I could be working and drawing income fairly soon, which is good because at the end of next month I'll have about tapped out my bank account. All of these are reasons why this job could potentially be a good thing.

With any luck, I'll nail my interview tomorrow morning, then begin applying for a bunch of second jobs. Hopefully if I land this one the days and hours will be sufficiently flexible to accommodate another job. I imagine it should be, since the job announcement said it was seeking a graduate student, who presumably would have kind of an irregular schedule. If anything, I almost feel like this is like a graduate work-study position, one where I can more or less set my own hours and work in a pretty casual environment, only with a much better wage.

And when I got the mail this afternoon, I received a notice from a place I applied to a couple of weeks back, called Facing History and Ourselves, which is an organization that develops curricula about genocide and other historical atrocities to use in schools so that children can learn from the sins of the past. It's the sort of mission any historian should believe in fully. The job I applied for is as an administrative assistant, so there's a lot of office work, but also some development and public relations stuff. I tried to play up my actual knowledge of history, which one would assume would distinguish me from a lot of the people who apply for an administrative position, but you can never tell. The letter I got was just sort of the snail mail equivalent of the auto-response, and it was dated 13 January, with a postmark of 15 January, meaning it took two full weeks to arrive from the group's Massachusetts headquarters. It just said that they'd send my application to the search committee, which could potentially contact me to schedule an interview. I'm not really banking on this, but then maybe they're just waiting for the application deadline (1 February) to pass before deciding on whom to call for interviews. And, they did say they'd at least let everyone know when the position is filled, so I can count on getting definite word that they aren't interested in me, should that be the case.

In any event, things are looking a little less bleak, at least for the time being. Hopefully they'll all work out. I mean, I guess on a fundamental level, I'm an optimist and believe that it'll all turn out in the wash. After all, if I were an absolute pessimist and wholly convinced that I'm destined to destitution, I'd probably be in a lot worse shape. So hurray for small achievements.

Cursèd consciousness

I nearly had one of the five greatest dreams of my life this morning. Actually, even considering how it turned out, it might still rank that high.

For some reason (perhaps I should interpret this as a sign that I've read too much Super Bowl coverage), I was dreaming that the Oakland Raiders (not the Carolina Panthers) were playing the New England Patriots in Sunday's big game. (Yes, I realize this is impossible as both teams play in the AFC and thus would've faced off in the playoffs leading up to the Super Bowl, but as you'll discover, my dreams subscribe to some pretty bizarre logic.)

And it gets better...

While I evidently didn't witness most of the game (I think it was because despite the Raiders playing for the NFL title, I still knew in my dream that it was this year's Raiders and that the Raiders stunk this year, thus I couldn't bring myself to watch the first 58 minutes of the game, recalling how well things went last year in the real Super Bowl when the real Raiders who were the real offensive juggernaut played real [sic] terrible and got embarrassed), I apparently opted to tune in for the final two minutes of the game.

New England quarterback Tom Brady was trying to rally his team, like he's shown a penchant for doing, which trailed by a touchdown, 18-11 (yes, that was the actual score, don't ask me how such odd numbers were put on the board, because I didn't see that part), and it's inside the two-minute warning. In typical Brady fashion, he's leading the march down a rain-soaked field (again, don't ask me why they didn't bother closing the roof of Houston's Reliant Stadium), bringing the Patsies perilously close to the red zone and a possible game-tying score.

And then, inexplicably, it all unravels. On what I believe was a third-down play, Brady's pass protection was nonexistent. As in, instead of a five-man defensive line, there appeared to be four linemen around the line of scrimmage, only one of whom was one of Brady's blockers. Despite the three-on-one surge, Brady managed to elude the sack and get rid of the ball.

Only here it gets weird. In a scene straight out of Super Tecmo Bowl, Brady throws a functional reverse lateral to his right. And even more bizarre, there's not a single New England player near it. Nope, just a particularly opportunistic (or fortunate, considering this had to be the worst-blown assignment in pigskin history) defensive back who picks off the pass and runs it all the way back. Except that evidently a good number of New England offensive players hustle back to help impede his road to glory, though the unnamed Raider does scamper all the way into the end zone and pay dirt.

But then comes the most surreal twist yet. Remember how I said that the New England players made things difficult on the runback? Apparently they got a hit or two on the DB, which may have caused his knee to touch the turf during the return, nullifying the touchdown, though not possession. This is established, obviously, thanks to the wonder of NFL instant replay. The officials call for a video review (since, after all, it's within the final two minutes of the half and no longer within the purview of the coaches to challenge the call), rule the DB down by contact and take the six off the board. Ridiculous, I know.

Nonetheless, the Raiders still lead by a touchdown, they have the ball deep in New England territory and fewer than 90 ticks on the clock. Victory is a slam dunk. I mean, at this point, they just run out the clock and there's nothing the Pats can do about it (it seems New England didn't have enough timeouts to try to get the ball back, or at least this must have been the case since I was supremely confident that the Raiders had the game in hand and Al Davis was moments away from accepting that big silver football).

Naturally, at this point I wake up. And it all becomes painfully clear. The Raiders aren't in the Super Bowl. In fact, they really stink. And I don't even get the pleasure of consoling myself by at least dreaming about a championship celebration and thus temporarily transcending their suckiness in my subconscious.

Methinks this is some sort of sick and twisted joke perpetrated by the football gods to remind me that I'm doomed to suffer as a Raiders fan so long as Al Davis calls the shots (which include, inexplicably, hiring proven loser Norv -- his name is Norv! -- Turner as coach).

Granted, the Raiders have not only been to the Super Bowl but won it in my lifetime. Unfortunately, that victory came back in 1984, when I was barely two months past my second birthday and far too young to appreciate what an idiot Davis was/is, or the genius of Apple's "1984" ad that ran during the third quarter of the Raiders' romp.

Alas, such is the cruelty of fate.

Question for Mr. Bush

Oh to be a member of the White House press corps for a day.

There's a thought that's been on my mind of late and it's suddenly clarified as a question I'd love to ask the president.

See, Colleen has long suggested that Bush wouldn't give up power, even if defeated or forced to yield due to term limits. It's not entirely improbable either, considering A) Bush didn't win the election that saw him installed (yes, that's exactly the right term for it) as president and B) Bush (or at least his puppeteer) has shown a general disinclination to abide by the Constitution (see the Patriot Act, Patriot Act II, Gulf War II, etc., etc.).

So what I'd really like to ask Bush, if only for the potential embarrassment it could provoke on national TV, is: "Mr. President, if you lose the election in November, will you willingly leave office at the end of your term in January?" This might require a follow-up or two to elicit just the right response, but I think it could be instructive.

On a related note, contemplating this, thinking about the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917 and reading about a successful guerrilla war in Cuba in the 1950s, I've been wondering whether it would be appropriate to organize a citizen's militia to stand on guard at the end of Bush's tenure, whenever that might occur (preferably sooner -- much, much sooner -- rather than later), to ensure that the transfer of power actually goes down. Perhaps it's more apropos to appeal to the United Nations for an international peacekeeping force or some similar body to monitor the transition (not to mention the election, good grief). And, again, this is not to suggest that I endorse violence. Just that the more I think about it, the more I think Colleen's onto something with this.

Leaving hope

Should things persist, I'll be forced to rely on -- and exhaust -- Nine Inch Nails songs to use as post titles.

You know how the unemployment rate is skewed by the number (fairly high these days, I imagine) of people who are without work and have given up on finding new work, the so-called "discouraged worker"? I'm falling into this category.

It's so utterly maddening to see how spectacularly unsuccessful my job search has been. Particularly when you consider I've been looking fairly actively for seven-odd months or more, and I can count the number of successful responses on one hand: 1) there was the writer/researcher opening at the HistoryMakers that actually landed me a miserable short-term gig; 2) some interest from a market research firm that netted an informational interview and consideration for a project that was perpetually postponed and finally shelved indefinitely; 3) not one but two interviews with the Mercy Home orphanage for a writing job in the development department, a candidacy that had me as the leading applicant and likely would've yielded my job if I had been dishonest about my interest in grad school; 4) an interview, foolishly scheduled by an investment bank for a financial analyst opening in mergers and acquisitions, that predictably led nowhere after they established that they needed someone with financial knowledge and that I lacked that knowledge; and 5) a reply to my inquiry at a dog walking/pet sitting company encouraging me to come in to fill out an application.

Pathetic, I know.

In fairness, it's possible I've overlooked some job or other where I at least got a token response or even non-automated confirmation of my application. But then, in fairness, I'm not sure that this dog walking gig will pan out as I'm starting to think they probably want someone with a car, given that the ad said it required access to reliable transportation (in Chicago and especially the 'burbs the CTA doesn't exactly qualify as "reliable") and it's "in and around Evanston and the North Shore," whatever that means exactly. Which is unfortunate, since the pay is $14-20 an hour, and they're looking for both full- and part-time people.

But it's just such a hit-or-miss process. Or in my case, miss-and-miss. Seriously, there's no real rhyme or reason to what limited interest I have generated (other than my impassioned plea as a lifelong dog owner and lover to that job). For only one of the four jobs where I landed interviews did I send a cover letter in responding to the announcement (oddly enough, it was for the one [temporary] job I actually got, yielding first a writing test and then an interview). Generally I've had the best luck simply sending a resume and hoping it gets read. Perhaps that speaks to my inability to write a really compelling cover letter, but I'm not sure. Prospective employers have been impressed by my academic record (as well they should, thank you very much), but most jobs it seems either want specific coursework and educational training or a lot more experience than I could realistically hope to have as a college grad.

It's so friggin' frustrating.

This week, I've come to the conclusion that I'd really like to just join the ranks of the discouraged workers and share in their plight. But I can't. Predictably, I can't afford it. If I don't find a source of income in the next month or so, I'm going to have to either deplete my very meager savings account (which so far I haven't touched since last summer) or beg parents and friends who don't have a lot of it to spare for money. Or take up residence beneath a bridge and eat from dumpsters.

Yeah, yeah, same old sob story as countless other folks. But I'm really approaching my wit's end over this.

Mainly I still can't (and hopefully, in an idealistic sort of way, never will) get over the way the world works, with its elaborate and foreboding system of patronage. I want a meritocracy, dammit! Ironic, considering my general disregard for all things American, I've done a remarkable job of internalizing that whole American dream crap about how hard work and persistence will pay off and make anything possible. I'd like to believe in that. Or rather, I believe in that and want reality to bear it out.

Really, I'd like to be able to have complete confidence in the fact that I am a really damn intelligent human being, with a glowing academic record to prove it, and that I have the smarts to learn quickly. I write like no one's business. I mean, this one's not even up for debate -- have you seen some of the crapola that passes for writing, grammar, style, etc., these days? It's laughably pathetic. I can write circles around 99 percent of the population. That's cocky, but true. And I happen to possess some truly outstanding analytical skills, honed through years of social science classes and research. These, you would think, are marketable skills. But the market for them appears to be nonexistent. At least, without two or more years of related experience. Whatever.

Sure, I've set out on a career trajectory that has me on course to become an academic. It is what I want to do, after all. But in the meantime, it's not like I'm incapable of doing other things. With my background, I'd be perfectly competent trying my hand at any number of occupations. But the chances to do that have been between slim and none.

So as the specter of penury looms in the not-so-distant future, I've found myself considering and increasingly lousy range of jobs just to get by. Anything from office/administrative assistant work to customer service, call centers to retail. I need income, desperately.

At this point, I honestly want to give up. It's conceding defeat, to some extent. But faced with my apparent options -- either continue sending out resumes and applying for interesting and decent jobs in the futile hope that I land one or accept an exciting new career in the booming service sector -- I think I'd really rather stay home than work just for sake of collecting the odd paycheck. Actually, I know I'd prefer that. My point is that both society and myself stand to gain more from allowing me to spend all my days bumming around my apartment, reading books, browsing the Internet, working on creative and other endeavors, than we would if I spent 40-odd hours a week peddling crap or making copies. At least if I do what I want, I can continue to stimulate and develop my mind, to acquire new skills and knowledge, to prepare myself for my future career as an academic and intellectual. And ultimately, I think society (and I know that I) will benefit more from me training to be a better scholar and teacher than stocking shelves or gaining a modicum of experience retailing.

Were it up to me and my preferences, if I possessed that sort of agency over my life, I'd do it in an instant. What's to choose? Only to eat or not. And therein lies the rub.

At times, I want to scold myself for being too materialistic and not sufficiently austere. In great measure I'm sure this is inspired by my current choice of reading material, Jon Lee Anderson's superb biography, Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life. But then I take a good look around my apartment and realize that it's not the case. The vast majority of my possessions consist of books and clothing. Perhaps I have too many t-shirts and pairs of jeans. Certainly I have more pairs of slacks and collared shirts than I presently have need for. But Che would no doubt agree with my contention that having books doesn't qualify as being materialistic. And there's no shame in wearing clean clothes daily. Beyond that, my major expenses are rent (essential), gas (essential) and electricity (essential). I also have a phone bill and cable Internet, both are which are necessary to carry out the kind of communication needed if I ever hope to find a job, and I think are functionally necessary beyond that. Then there's food, which is somewhat variable, but unexpendable. So I'm already leading a relatively spartan existence.

But at the very least I'd like to maintain it. And until this country develops a decent dole system, or at least offers me some assistance until I can fully support myself, I'll have to soldier on, hopeless though it seems.

I hate this. I hate that I perpetually harp on being unemployed and keep cursing the windmills to blame for it. But it consumes me. It literally renders me incapable of doing much so long as it hangs over my head. There are any number of perfectly useful and fulfilling projects I could be tackling in this preponderance of free time, even while keeping up the job search. Revising my thesis and submitting it for publication. Improving my Czech and German language skills. Working on the work of fiction I so desperately want to write. Reading a whole hell of a lot. Meditating on perplexing issues facing the world. But the futility of joblessness is so debilitating that I accomplish little. I accomplish little, I mope more and I bitch a lot.

Yup, I'm pathetic. Really, really pathetic. I've allowed myself to get sucked into this vortex of pessimism, and like quicksand my frenzied efforts to escape it only draw me in deeper. There's just not a lot that inspires me right now, that gives me hope, that makes me confident things will work out. At least not in the interim. What keeps me going and sustains me is the knowledge that I should get accepted to at least one grad school come March, and that I'll likely have the option of beginning work on my doctorate in the fall. From there, it's all back in my hands. I can work hard, I can make use of my talents and skills, I can create a lot of luck for myself. It's the one arena where I really do feel empowered to control my own fate.

But in the meantime, I'm stuck. I don't know what I should be looking for, whether I should keep focusing mainly on good jobs or concentrate on just finding the first intolerable job that will pay my bills. I wonder if at this point I'd be better off trying to defer admission to grad school since I'll muster very little in the way of savings between now and the fall, and might be better off financially to keep slaving away another year. Not to mention, all else equal, I'd really like to hang around Chicago just one more year (less the winter). Perhaps my prospects would improve if I were on that sort of a timetable (almost certainly I'd already be working had I been willing to more or less commit to it back in November). I'm just not sure how to weigh the tradeoffs.

For that matter, I'm really just not sure about much of anything. I need some glimmer of hope, some words of encouragement, some (unusually) helpful advice.

The wonderful world of college athletic recruiting

Ed. note: Thanks to ESPN.com Page 2's "Sports Guy," Bill Simmons, for bringing this to the attention of the world.

The Miami Herald has started a monthlong, weekly feature chronicling the recruiting visits of all-state high school linebacker Willie Williams, Florida's top football prospect.

This stuff is straight out of the hilariously bad Anthony Michael Hall flick, Johnny Be Good. Rather than spoil it for you, I simply encourage you to read the stories for yourself, in order, of Williams' visits to Florida State, Auburn and Miami.

Bear in mind that it is all perfectly legal (apparently) for universities to lavish such luxuries on would-be student athletes. FSU, Auburn and Miami can fly top high school athletes on private jets, put them up in extravagant suites and stuff them full of expensive food at upscale restaurants.

However, once those players become scholarship athletes, that all goes out the door. A coach can occasionally have players over for good eats at his or her house, but beyond that, it's absurd.

Utah mens basketball coach, jolly fat man and all-around good guy Rick Majerus (who sadly appears to have coached his final game after being hospitalized for heart problems on Tuesday) has been dinged previously for violating some of the more ludicrous NCAA rules. Some of Majerus' infractions, as enumerated by Sports Illustrated's Rick Reilly:

• Unashamedly purchasing a dinner in 1994 for his player Keith Van Horn at a Salt Lake City deli. At 3 a.m., no less! So what if Van Horn's father had died that night? Or that Majerus was the one who had to tell him? Or that Van Horn wanted Majerus to stay with him until his 8 a.m. flight home? This ain't Dr. Phil!

"I guess I should've reached over as he was getting on the plane and said, 'Hey, you owe me $9.90 for the ham and eggs,'" Majerus says.

Do you see? Do you see the attitude?

• Brazenly buying a bagel for a player. Who cares if the player was upset about his brother's recent suicide attempt and had come to Majerus to talk? "I could've talked to the kid in my office, I guess," Majerus says. "But if you go get a bagel, it kind of relaxes a kid. It's not coach-player anymore. It's two guys talkin'."

Bah! It's one guy cheating, and, in truth, Majerus got lucky. The report never states what kind of bagel Majerus bought the kid. For instance, an "everything" bagel is a considerably larger offense in the eyes of the NCAA. And don't even get me started on the ramifications of lox.

Twice -- twice! -- allowing assistants to buy groceries for players who didn't have enough money to eat: $20-$30 for a player whose meal plan hadn't begun yet and $20 for a prospect who hadn't yet received his scholarship. "I just felt sorry for those guys," Majerus says. "Maybe because I was that kid once, you know? No money, no friends, and you haven't eaten for two days."

===
Majerus also happens to have produced more Academic All-Americans (four) in the past five years than any other Division I coach. Granted, the NCAA didn't exactly slap Utah with major sanctions, but it just demonstrates the insanity of it all.

Powered by Macintosh

This custom-modified, souped up Tatra with a G4 under the hood (actually in the trunk) is one of the cooler cars I've seen. Should I ever own a car (it'll probably be a hybrid, not a Tatra, unless Tatra comes out with a hybrid of their own), I really would want to deck it out like this. Just being able to use iTunes and my vast library (5908 songs and counting) of music as Steve Jobs meant it be, using a Mac and its hard drive instead of a complicated system of car radio/CD/mp3 player/car adapter kit, would be awesome. Plus, there are all those other nifty features in this model, like mapping software.

(And it would be cool to install a wireless card and some war driving accessories to try to take advantage of open, unsecured wireless nodes for "emergency use.")

Special thanks to my dad for sending me this link, despite his use of "Czech" to make a bad pun.

Hello, is there anybody out there?

I wonder who, if anyone, reads this page. Since having to move to Blogger, I've lost (to my knowledge) the ability to check site stats, thus I have no idea what kind of traffic I'm getting.

I can be reasonably sure I have at least one regular reader (well, two, including myself), but I wonder whether anyone else visits here with some frequency or stumbles across it.

Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with writing for no audience. I'm completely cool with the concept of creating for creation's sake. But by the same token, if I am by some unlikely fluke getting lots of people, or random people, checking in on this, I'd like to know.

Oh, if only to have my own Stalinist intelligence agency. Then I'd know exactly who was visiting. (And what they had for lunch, which television programs they watch, what time they go to bed, etc.)

The pitfalls of eBay

On the one hand, the ardent anti-capitalist in me objects to this technique for profiting through pure speculation. On the other hand, the grammar Nazi in me finds this highly amusing and a fate befitting those who fail to learn proper spelling.

It seems that misspellings by eBay sellers can lead grammar-savvy speculators to cash in big.

I just want to know where I can find some chandeleer [sic] earrings on the cheap.

Pedagogical pedantry

This is a brilliant piece on education and what it really should entail:

"Universities have no interest in education in its truest sense (the dictionary meaning that sums it up for me is "an experience that causes one to see things in a new way"). They are about sorting students into meaningless categories, labelling them for society to consume easily later.

The notion that university is primarily about getting a qualification that will generate cash to enable you to pay back your fees and loans and spiralling debts is deeply insulting - but entirely consistent with the crass, stupid, book-blind, culture-hating government of a crass, stupid, culture-less, increasingly fractured society."

As an aspiring university professor, I find this perspective refreshing and inspiring, and hope to inculcate it in my students, as I've already taken much of it to heart in my own studies.

Starving the beast

Paul Krugman has offered another scathing indictment of neo-conservatives and the Bush tax cuts.

There's really not much beyond this to add, except to reassert the gluttony of the über-rich who seek these tax cuts and the whorishness of the Republican leaders who pander to them.

The real question to be asked is: When are Americans, as a society, finally going to decide that giving up a little in taxes (I'm referring of course to an idealized world in which the working and middle classes pay much less, as opposed to the present state in which the rich pay an unjustly small portion of their income in taxes) is worth the bounty of public goods and services this country still refuses to guarantee for all its citizens?

I'm afraid the likely answer is not anytime soon, if ever. And yes, I realize I'm merely harping on a long-running theme and probably preaching to the choir. But it always bears repeating: it is inexcusable for the world's leading industrialized nation and largest economy to have people without healthcare; without quality, affordable education; without homes.

The fact of the matter is, a lot of other countries do it better. Maybe not in absolute terms of the quality of care or education or other aspects of life, but quantitatively, they at least manage to provide to everyone. Yet we here in the U.S. lack that sense of common humanity, of palpable concern for our fellow humans, let alone our fellow Americans. No, easier to save the rich a buck or million than to let poor babies get immunizations, adequate nutrition and decent education.

For all the conservatives and other folks who rant and rave about how abortion should be illegal, take a long, hard look at the facts before you start demanding that. Look, I don't care for abortion either. I find it unpleasant and wish no woman ever sought it. But that's a pipe dream. At least if you're going to insist that women who use abortion as a method of birth control -- the stereotypical young, unmarried, poor, minority woman -- give it up, do something to give their unborn child a fighting chance when he or she enters the world. You may think it's awful to not let that fetus reach term, but it's just as bad to force the mother to deliver her baby and stack all the odds against the child upon entry into the world.

But we couldn't do that. It'd cut into those tax breaks for the rich.

What neo-cons want to do is not "starve the beast," but to starve the poor and the middle class. Not literally. At least not the point of actual death by starvation. But to keep the poor at subsistence levels and the middle class just prosperous enough to keep consuming crap it doesn't need.

More and more, I just find myself frustrated and fed up with this country. There's so much wrong with it, so much to be discarded and abandoned and transformed. I wonder often what to do, or what can even be done. It doesn't seem particularly promising.

A revolution -- a real American revolution -- would be ideal. But frankly I don't foresee that happening without things becoming even more desperate and bleak. And even then, it seems doubtful.

Clearly something needs to be done to shake up the status quo, to arouse the masses and to empower the populace to take back their country, or to claim it for the first time.

I just don't have a lot of faith that the democratic process as presently constituted can achieve that. Sure, there are minor gains and advancements that can be made, but nothing ever truly transformative. By definition governments and the politicians who populate them are concerned with preservation and prolongment of their own power, not with forging revolutionary change, even through nonviolent, conventional methods. If it were true, then communism would be possible. And perhaps would've been realized. The Soviet Union may indeed have seen the withering away of the state after a period of development and the consolidation of socialism. But more likely not.

While it's certainly not impossible for individuals in positions of power to welcome and to foster such transformations, it's incredibly improbable. It would take a rare constellation of unique persons with a shared vision and selflessness to pull it off, but one so tenuous as to collapse under the slightest strain.

Perhaps I'm becoming exceedingly jaded and overly cynical. Perhaps I've fatalistically accepting Lord Acton's axiom about power and absolute power. But perhaps I've simply lived long enough and seen enough politicking to have peeked behind the curtain at the Wizard and to see the ugly machinations. I'm not sure.

What I do know is, I'm unwilling to accept things as they are. But I'm flummoxed on that point. How to make things better? How to slay the beast and prompt a phoenix-like resurrection from the ashes of civilization? I don't know.

I wish I had the answers. But then I think it'd be more perplexing or problematic if I did or thought I did.

Overreacting

In case you missed it, and you probably did unless you read the British press, Liberal Democrat MP Jenny Tonge has been sacked by her party for remarks made at a meeting of the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign on Wednesday. What exactly did she say to warrant her ouster? She merely demonstrated her understanding for the circumstances that motivate many Palestinians to become suicide bombers:

"Many, many people criticise, many, many people say it is just another form of terrorism, but I can understand and I am a fairly emotional person and I am a mother and a grandmother. I think if I had to live in that situation, and I say this advisedly, I might just consider becoming one myself.

"And that is a terrible thing to say."

Let's deconstruct what she said. She qualifies her remark several times ("I am a fairly emotional person", "I am a mother and a grandmother", "I say this advisedly", "I might just consider, "that is a terrible thing to say") and says simply that she understands their motivations. And on a human level, she understands how the circumstances of the Israeli occupation and the hardships of life for Palestinians can drive some to become suicide bombers. And that, were she facing the same scenario, it's a notion that would undoubtedly cross her mind.

At no point here does she say "suicide bombing is morally justifiable, not terrorism," nor does she claim "if I were living in that situation, I'd definitely blow myself up to kill some Israeli civilians." The key to her remarks, and one that's commendable in its own way, is that she simply understands the thought process that brings about Palestinian suicide bombers. She demonstrates empathy: the capacity to understand something without condoning it. Where her sympathy shows through is not in saying suicide bombing is a good thing, but that it's unfortunate -- "terrible" -- that the realities of life for Palestinians in the occupied territories would even bring someone to contemplate this. Implicit in this is the contrast to her own life, and how her situation in Britain is so much better that she'd never consider becoming a terrorist because nothing is that bad or desperate to make the idea cross her mind.

Now, while I'd expect a U.S. politician to come under fire (possibly literally) were he or she to make similar remarks, I'm a bit disappointed at the Brits here. For one, it's the Liberal Democratic Party with its pants in a bunch over Tonge's remarks, and its leaders are the ones seeking to dump Tonge. This is all the more disturbing given that the Lib Dems are at least nominally more progressive than Labour, and in theory they should be the ones showing more tolerance and sympathy toward the plight of the Palestinians (but obviously not condoning suicide bombings, which Tonge never does).

It's just another example of people being stupid and overreacting to a politician who dares to do or say something that seems to the media out of character. The same thing is happening on this side of the pond right now, with the way journalists are enthusiastically (ironic, isn't it?) jumping on Howard Dean for being a bit raucous and energetic in addressing a crowd of largely young supporters. I mean, the guy has one soundbyte where he sounds like something other than a dignified, wooden politician, and suddenly this shows he's "unpresidential" and a bunch of crap like that.

Now, I'm not really keen on Howard. I'm leery of him when he talks of being a Clinton-style "triangulator before Clinton was" and when he keeps railing about being more fiscally conservative than Dubya. Yes, he opposed the war and yes, he's promised some progressive things. But I'm still a bit suspicious of him. Nonetheless, I have to say, if nothing else, being boisterous like he was in Iowa on Monday night and showing that he's at least very passionate about winning and kicking Bush out of the White House will endear him to me, if only slightly. And getting hammered by anyone and everyone for doing that is also going to win sympathy for me. It's probably still not enough for me to back him, but for crying out loud, at least he's not quite so staid or stodgy in personality as Kerry or Edwards or most politicians. There's a pulse beneath his cheap suits.

I just fear that Dean's campaign will be derailed by that moment of ebullience rather than by his finish in Iowa (also a lousy reason) or, more importantly, by any of his policies and proposals. Again, that's not to say I'd be upset if he doesn't get nominated, but if it meant having John friggin' Kerry going up against Bush, it'd be really bad.

Freudian slip?

A lot of people have demonized Joe Lieberman for being on the far right of the Democratic Party, and deservedly so. In fact, a lot of people (yours truly especially enthusiastically) like to maintain that he's really just a Republican, given that he's 1) in the pocket of the Hartford insurance industry, 2) extremely fiscally conservative, 3) alarmingly hawkish and 4) just generally a frightening guy.

But this contention seems justified by Lieberman's own remarks during the debate of Democratic presidential hopefuls in New Hampshire earlier tonight.

Harping on the theme of electability that's become Democratic chic since Iowa, Lieberman insisted he would be the hardest candidate for Bush to attack.

"The reason is that the Republicans can't run their normal playbook on me that they try to run on Democratic candidates."

That's right, he just confessed that he wasn't a Democrat, but is actually a Republican. Newsworthy only in Lieberman's admission, not the substance of it.

Luddites for democracy

While I'm ordinarily eager to promote democracy and the electronic age, I have to admit, I'm a bit dismayed at the way people are proposing to institute digital voting in this country. As currently practiced, it's really, really damn easy for the electronic voting machines to be rigged. And there are plenty of unsavory characters already in position to do just that. Not mentioned in the article: the CEO of Diebold is a BIG Bush supporter and fund-raiser (if I recall correctly, I think he captured both "Pioneer" and "Ranger" status for raising more than a quarter-million dollars for Dubya in the 2000 election). Not to suggest that Diebold might have reason to manipulate the vote.

Dean [Iowa remix 04]

In case you missed it, Howard Dean provided the drop of blood (or perhaps pound of flesh) needed to get the sharks of journalism worked up into another media feeding frenzy.

Dean got a bit excited and animated in a speech to supporters in Iowa Monday night after coming in a disappointing third in the state's caucus. Trying to energize his backers, he showed a lot of enthusiasm, ebullience and élan in talking about how his campaign was going to go into all the upcoming primary states and take them by storm before taking back the White House. I heard a description of this speech on the radio last night as not quite on the level of a professional wrestler, but close.

Frankly, I think it should've helped Dean (at least in theory), because it made him seem like less of a purely angry character. But, it broke with the media's expectations for how Dean should behave, so they're going nuts with it. To some degree you would think he needed to do something with such flair to add a dimension to his character. Then again, anytime Al Gore, or Gray Davis, or any of the myriad Democratic politicians disliked for being more technocrat than entertainer, did something to break with the wooden perception of himself, the media universally slammed them for trying to be vivacious. Vicious folks, those campaign reporters. It's one of the many problems and pitfalls of modern political journalism in this country, but that's a discussion for another time and place.

Anyway, one of the beauties (?) of modern technology is the ease and speed with which cultural phenomena can take shape and be manipulated. And in this particular instance, the fun seems to be taking soundbytes of Dean's speech and remixing it, complete with dance music and everything. While it may or may not be the best thing for Dean right now, beyond perhaps keeping him in the spotlight despite his finish in Iowa, this remix really showcases Apple's new GarageBand sound engineering software. Still, I have to say, I prefer this particular cut, "Yeah."

Bush by the numbers

Since it's not always enough to allow raw emotion and gut feelings to determine our political preferences, the good folks over at The Independent in Britain have done the math and broken down Bush's performance in his first three years in office statistically, allowing us to make more sophisticated quantitative analyses.

(The verdict, for those of you who don't want to pore over all the numbers, is that Bush sucks. A lot. More than pretty much any U.S. president before him. And this includes such illuminaries as Bush the Elder, Ronnie, Tricky Dick, Warren G. "Teapot Domes" Harding, Herbert "Sucks Like A" Hoover, Rutherfraud B. Hayes, James Monroe and Bill "Slick Willie" Clinton. So you know I'm not just blowing smoke.)

Off the Schneid

After going 14 games and a month without a victory, the Los Angeles Kings got one Sunday night, beating the Blackhawks here in the Windy City.

Sadly, my precarious financial situation prevented my attendance at this event.

And oddly enough, though the Kings had a 14-game winless skid, they earned 11 points over that time, thanks to nine ties and a pair of overtime losses.

The victory was also enough to bump the Kings up to eighth in the Western Conference standings, good enough for the final playoff spot.

Of course, this is still a far cry from where the Kings were when they last won, namely atop the Pacific Division standings. But, again, the win and two points were enough for the Kings to leapfrog both the Dallas Stars and the Phoenix Coyotes, moving from fourth to second in the division.

So, it's certainly not too late to turn things around. They certainly should compete for a playoff spot, and still have an outside shot at the division title (all important because winning the division means getting at least the third seed and home ice advantage in the first round, something the Kings last had when I was in grade school).

But, it would be a lot easier if they didn't have so many walking wounded: the top line, the "A to Z" line of Jason Allison, Adam Deadmarsh and Ziggy Palffy are likely all out for the remainder of the regular season, and only Palffy had even played this season; in addition to significant injuries to Martin Straka, Aaron Miller, etc., et al, so on and so forth.

Still, I remain an optimist, probably against all logic.

Productivity

I have to pat myself on the back for today. For the first time in a very long time, I was rather productive, both in terms of getting mundane chores finished, and in embarking on projects of personal enrichment.

On the first front, I did my laundry, having delayed the chore until the last day possible. This is, of course, no mean feat, given that our apartment lacks in-building facilities and we lack a vehicle. So whenever we do laundry, it turns into an ordeal involving us hauling loads of dirty clothes a couple of blocks or so to The SaGa Launder Bar and Cafe. I know, poor baby, having to carry the clothes all the way to the laundromat. But two weeks' worth of dirty laundry weighs more than you'd think. I'd estimate it at anywhere from 20 to 30 pounds, which isn't all that much in and of itself, but it takes its toll rapidly when you have to carry it over any distance. Especially when later you have to turn around and carry it back. For this reason, and reasons of the laundromat being unreasonable in its pricing (I think $1.50 for one washer load is excessive, especially when it costs the same amount to get 54 minutes of dry time, though at least the dryers are large enough to accommodate two loads of wash), Joe and I have taken to doing laundry at the widest intervals possible. For me at least, that's a shade over two weeks.

Second, and much more impressive, I began learning Russian today. Perhaps that doesn't sound all that special, though I think it inherently remarkable. But when you consider that I'm learning a whole new alphabet (Cyrillic) with letters that look familiar and sound the same, letters that look familiar but sound like other letters, and letters I've never seen with sounds I've never produced, it's nothing to sneer at. I found a really cool and useful online Russian tutorial that teaches the Cyrillic alphabet along with some rudimentary Russian. I can ask where something is, who that person is and -- most important, of course -- how to say beer (peeva), wine (veeno) and vodka (Stolichnaya). It definitely helped that the vocabulary, being Slavic, is pretty similar to the Czech I know, so I could more or less anticipate words, with the only trouble being slight variations in spelling and pronunciation.

Really, I'm just infinitely pleased with myself at the moment. After all, it's not everyday you teach yourself the Cyrillic alphabet. At least now if I ever find myself in Russia (hopefully someday in the not-too-distant future), I'll distinguish myself from other English-speaking tourists when encountering a sign that reads "PecKTopaH." While they scratch their heads and wonder what in the heck a "peck-toe-paw" is, I'll head inside the "ris-to-rahn" and grab some grub ("yeh-dah").

Eat your heart out, slaves to the Roman alphabet! The legacy of saints Cyril and Methodius lives in the spirit of this Slavophile.

Cultural differences

For those of you who missed it, notorious British serial killer Harold Shipman hanged himself in his prison cell Tuesday. Shipman, a former physician and Britain's most prolific murderer, killed 215 of his patients. He was tried and convicted of 15 murders in 1999, resulting in life imprisonment.

What I find striking about this story, however, is the reaction of the victims' families to Shipman's suicide.

There's a sense of relief, even closure, among the survivors. But beyond that, they feel cheated. In part, the relatives had hoped to confront Shipman, to seek answers for why he committed so many heinous crimes (a motive for his homicidal ways was never determined).

And therein lies the stark contrast between Americans, with their stubborn insistence on maintaining the death penalty, and virtually the rest of the world, which has largely forgone capital punishment. Part of this is undeniably cultural. But beyond a more humane or enlightened tradition, I think there's something punitive in the anti-death penalty camp that's not recognized by those so quick to insist on retaining the electric chair (or gas chamber, lethal injection, firing squad, gallows, etc.).

Here's the deal: it's more punitive to strip a man or woman of his or her liberty and freedoms, forcing him or her to live until dying of natural causes. How so? You kill a person's spirit, remove all hope, eliminate the possibility of a second chance, and force him or her to grapple with the gravity of his or her crimes for years. It's a form of emotional and psychological punishment, and one more torturous and painful than simply being subjected to quick physical pain and the cessation of consciousness.

This is recognized by Jakub, a rehabilitated victim of a Stalinist purge in Milan Kundera's The Farewell Party. From his friend, the physician Skreta, Jakub had long ago secured a tablet of poison. His motivation was that it is only when a man has control over his own death (and consequently life) that he can ever have a measure of freedom. Jakub recognized that the worst, most brutal and torturous punishment to which the Stalinist regime could subject him was not execution, but forcing him to stay alive and living in such misery indefinitely. Having the poison at the ready empowered Jakub. In the same way, sentencing a convicted criminal to life in prison removes that agency and introduces a level of anguish unsurpassed by even execution.

Growing old

It's official. I'm heading over the hill.

The new trend in radio station formats, it seems, is to revive early '90s alternative as a "nostalgia format."

You know you're getting old when classic rock radio starts to play songs you remember vividly from when they first debuted. Acts like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains -- that whole Seattle invasion -- are no longer cutting edge but rather the hallmark of a bygone era.

Now, admittedly, I welcome this development with open arms. Hell, I've been encouraging it for several years. Basically since my later high school days, when I started listening almost exclusively to classic rock stations on the radio when established, so-called "alternative powerhouses" like L.A. KROQ stopped playing good music and gave in to the rising tide of crap-metal, nu-metal, post-punk, etc. Basically, I couldn't tolerate the preponderance of foul music and incessant, inane prattle of deejays, so I figured I'd put on classic rock in the car and could always pop in a CD if I wanted to listen to something more contemporary yet listenable.

It is kind of nice to be getting some attention finally from station executives, advertisers and other powerful phantoms who dictate these sorts of things. Not that I'm going buy their crap. But so long as they think I'll buy their crap, they might at least indulge some of my fancies. Even if this does mean I'm outgrowing my youth.

Cherubic

Do you believe in Angels? Yes!

The Anaheim Angels scored the coup of the baseball offseason, landing marquis free agent Vladimir Guerrero, who signed a five-year deal worth a reported $70 million.

You don't realize what a monumental steal this was. Here was the consensus number-one player on the open market, a legit five-tool player just entering the prime of his career and superstardom. All rumors had focused on the Baltimore Orioles as the clear frontrunners in the Vlad sweepstakes. Recently the New York Mets had surfaced as potential suitors. And as recently as Saturday the World Series champion Florida Marlins (an odd phrase, I know, but we've had to use it twice in the past half-dozen years) emerged as contenders.

But when I awoke this morning and saw the headline -- Guerrero signs with Angels -- I was stunned. (Or is the correct expression "shocked and awed"?) Stunned because the Angels had never been rumored as a dark horse candidate, not so much as a long shot.

Yet, here they were, landing the biggest fish of them all, probably (deservedly) with smug looks on their faces.

Keep in mind what a banner offseason it had already been.

The Halos first signed Kelvim Escobar, formerly of the Toronto Blue Jays, a solid starting pitcher capable of eating a lot of innings, for three years and $18 million. Not a top-shelf arm, but someone you'd be happy to pencil in as a second starter on your staff.

Then it got really interesting when the Angels landed Bartolo Colon, the top pitcher available, for four years and $51 million. Colon was arguably the second-best free agent out there, and a real horse. We're talking bonafide staff ace, someone you want taking the ball in a big game, and someone you can trust to pitch a lot. That was a significant heist in its own right, considering that the Evil Empire, the New York Yankees, had been gunning after him, among several teams. Anaheim was winning the offseason arms race.

Right around Christmas, the Halos gave their lineup a boost by picking up Jose Guillen, a 2003 surprise slugger, for two years and $6 million. Not a difference-maker, per se, but a definite upgrade to the offense and a strong outfielder with a lot of upshot.

Beyond that, it looked like the Angels might make another trade. They had been rumored to be interested in Boston Red Sox shortstop Nomar Garciaparra, a SoCal native, had the proposed A-Rod/Manny megadeal gone through. Later, the Angels had been mentioned as possible employers of Rafael Palmeiro, a slick-fielding, smooth-swinging, 500-homer man and Viagra pitchman. A good acquisition, he'd be, though at 39, not quite someone you'd get as a franchise cornerstone. So I didn't get too disappointed when that deal started to fall through.

But Vlad! Undeniably a great pickup. Especially when you consider what the Halos are looking at for 2004. The acquisition of Guerrero means Guillen shifts to left, moving MVP candidate Garret Anderson from left to center and gamer Darin Erstad from center to first. Franchise posterboy and all-around good guy Tim Salmon had already moved from occasional right fielder to full-time DH with Guillen's acquisition.

Just for kicks, because it's more fun when it's more than mere fantasy, I've been kicking around Opening Day lineups for the Angels in my head. Here's what I've come up with:

1. David Eckstein, SS. (If he can return to 2002 form, the Angels will be among the AL leaders in runs.)
2. Darin Erstad, 1B (Moving out of center should help keep Erstie healthy for a full season.)
3. Vladimir Guerrero, RF (Pure and sweet -- and arguably the strongest outfield arm in baseball.)
4. Garret Anderson, CF (He put up an MVP-type season in '03 without much support around him -- the sky's the limit in '04.)
5. Tim Salmon, DH (Should be more productive and healthier not having to play the field anymore.)
6. Troy Glaus, 3B (Less pressure on him means greater probability of returning to the form that saw him win a home run title a few years ago -- and he's still only 27.)
7. Jose Guillen, LF (Came out of nowhere in '03; more likely to repeat his success in this lineup.)
8. Bengie Molina, C (Solid bat in the bottom of the lineup and an excellent receiver behind the dish.)
9. Adam Kennedy, 2B (Showed some power in '03; will be asked to hit for a high average like in '02, when he was among AL's top 10.)

Damn, that's potentially a run-producing machine, from one through nine. Sure, you could probably upgrade it in places, or have a little more lefty-righty balance, but it still has the potential to be potent. And defensively, it should be rock solid. Not to mention that the rotation is greatly upgraded, and the bullpen should be great as always. It's going to be sweet to watch the Halos this year. Maybe I'll get to update my 2002 World Series Champions collection.

Curses

Were I an amateur conspiracy theorist, I might think someone was out to get me.

My boundless optimism for the Los Angeles Kings, the team for which I bleed purple and silver (after previously bleeding silver and black for them), for which I perennially build up my hopes of hoisting a Stanley Cup banner to the rafters, has, true to form, found new and maddening ways to break my heart, it seems.

Eleven years ago, they broke my heart. Or rather, Marty McSorley did. Along with Patrick Roy. And Eric Desjardins. And the rest of the Montreal Canadiens. All of whom/which I have borne ill will and resentment toward over the past decade. We're talking fanatical (by my standards) animosity. McSorley was a bonehead and got caught playing with an illegally curved stick late in the third period of Game 2, which the Kings led 2-1 in the old Montreal Forum, minutes away from taking a virtually insurmountable 2-0 series lead home to La-La Land. On the ensuing power play, Desjardins scored to force overtime, when he completed the hat trick to deadlock the series. Roy stole that and the next two games in OT, and won another one-goal decision in Game 5 to give the Habs their 22nd Cup to the Kings' nil. Yeah, I'm still bitter.

I endured five playoff-less years after that, saw the local market invaded by a Mickey Mouse outfit and watched all the legendary players from those glory years leave Tinseltown and the game. My suffering was "rewarded" in 1998 when the Kings qualified for the fifth seed, only to get swept by the St. Louis Blues, another serious where a bad, stupid penalty came back to bite us in the ass. (Though if the refs had been at all competent things might not have turned out so ruinous. And Geoff Courtnall will never be welcome at my table.)

The following year all that promised bottomed out as the Kings missed the playoffs altogether. They returned in 2000, only to once again get swept out in the first round, and it rather unceremonious fashion. Not once in four games did the Kings even hold a lead over the Red Wings. It was that ugly.

Flash forward to 2001. Newfound enemy of the state Rob Blake, formerly my all-time favorite player and hockey idol, was dealt to the arch-rival Colorado Avalanche (employers of a wretched human being, the aforementioned Roy, in their net) after refusing to sign a contract extension and vowing to test the free agency market after spending more than a decade -- his entire professional career -- in L.A. We at least managed to snag rock-solid blue liner Aaron Miller and tenacious power forward Adam Deadmarsh in return. After performing with typical playoff aplomb in Games 1 and 2, when the Wings once again handed the Kings' hats to them, my team pulled out a nail-biter in Game 3, winning 2-1 on a third-period goal by Mathieu Schneider. In Game 4 the Wings held a 3-0 lead entering the third, but the Kings mounted a late surge to tie, then Eric Belanger netted the game-winner in OT to finish off the "Stunner at Staples," a latter-day equivalent of the epic "Miracle on Manchester" nearly two decades before. A hard-fought battle in Game 5 resulted in a crucial road win, sending the series back to Hollywood where the Kings had a chance to close out the Wings on home ice. After jumping ahead early, the Wings surged back in the second period to take a 2-1 lead. A goal mid-third period equalized it, and the game went to sudden death. In the extra session, Deadmarsh buried a rebound to seal the deal (and help alleviate some of the sting of the Blake trade -- it's easy to feel better about that swap every time Deadmarsh scores an overtime goal in the postseason), sending me and the home crowd into delirium.

The following round led to a matchup with the Avs and the much-despised Blake and Roy. The Kings stole Game 1 in Denver on an OT goal by Jaroslav Modry, before dropping three straight. Then Felix Potvin took it upon himself to carry the team, recording a 1-0 win in Game 5 in Denver, and blanking the Avs yet again for a 1-0 victory in Game 6, capped when Glen Murray put a knuckling puck through Roy's five hole in the second overtime. Game 7 was close; the Avs went up first, then the Kings leveled it. With about a second left in the second period, Bryan Smolinski rang a shot off the post from in tight, which would've been huge, sending the Avs into the locker room before the last period trailing. Alas, in the third the Avs broke it open and won 4-1. It was arguably the closest anyone came to untracking the Avs en route to the Cup that year, and for one glorious month had me believing the Kings were that year's darlings of destiny.

In 2002, a Kings-Avs rematch was in the works for the first round. After dropping the first two in Denver, the Kings won Game 3, then lost in Game 4. Yet again, they rallied from a 3-1 deficit to force Game 7. And again it stayed close until the Avs broke it open in the third.

Last year was a lost cause. The Kings lost more than 500 man games to injury. (To put it in perspective, it was the equivalent of having six players scratched due to injury in each and every contest.) I sort of had to write it off to bad luck, while also taking some solace in the knowledge that at least I wouldn't lose dozens of hours watching playoff hockey on TV when I hit crunch time for completing my thesis.

This year seemed different. We added some new faces, some character guys and role players, including the return of Luc "Lucky" Robitaille, the NHL's most prolific left wing of all time, for a third stint with the club. Sure, it was kind of an ominous start to have Deadmarsh and Jason Allison begin the year on IR, with a return several months off. And losing the opener in the final seconds didn't help either. Indeed, not a lot seemed to go right in the early going, as injuries piled up at an even faster clip than last year, impossible as that seems. But, somehow, the Kings kept plugging away. They hovered near the top of an admittedly weak Pacific Division and occupied first place for several weeks. They slipped a bit in the standings, but remained within striking distance. Even as the injuries mounted, the ship stayed upright, mainly the work of Ziggy Palffy. This dynamic Slovak has had an MVP-type season, if anyone outside L.A. would bother noticing. His all-around game has been phenomenal this year, and Ziggy has really be central to the team staying afloat in spite of everything else. He's among the league leaders in scoring and plus-minus, a strong two-way player, and an emerging leader in the room.

So, naturally, word comes now that Palffy's been injured in a game and could miss the rest of season with a dislocated shoulder. That sound you hear is my heart breaking.

This is not to say that the season is completely a lost cause. Especially if this injury turns out not to be as severe as first feared (unknown), or if Allison (unlikely) or Deadmarsh (extremely unlikely) returns down the stretch. And there's also the matter of having Andy Murray, an underappreciated hockey mind, behind the bench.

But facing the music, this team was struggling before Ziggy got hurt. The special teams have been anything but special, and this winless streak that's now hit 10 games (though the Kings have mustered seven points in this stretch) isn't helping matters.

I just have one question:

Why? Why?! Why?!?

Finding my religion

So, I took a survey online tonight and discovered that I am absolutely, without doubt, 100 percent an adherent to the belief system of secular humanism.

That's cool. I'm accepting of that. It's basically a liberal, tolerant philosophy, something very much out of the Enlightenment. It's devoid of much spirituality, beyond any naturalistic yearnings, but that's fine. Should I ever feel inclined to indulge my spiritual side, I can always check out Unitarian Universalism, which is more or less a brand of humanism that embraces or synthesizes many different religious and systems of belief as all having truth, validity, etc.

It's kind of funny, to just base something like this, which is often an intensely personal and pivotal issue in peoples' lives, on a brief Internet quiz. But I think mainly it was just a simple matter of giving a name to something I've more or less embraced for several years. So in that respect, fear not, for I have not just up and adopted the first religion the computer spat out.

I am a secular humanist. And I am completely and perfectly at peace with the thought.

Mother Nature (Time immemorial - 2004)

"President Bush risks having the biggest impact on wildlife since the meteorite that wiped out the dinosaurs."

Sad, but true.

Motorcycle diaries

Perhaps I need to be a bit more introspective. Or circumspective. Just need to get a new perspective.

I've begun Jon Lee Anderson's interesting and authoritative biography of revolutionary leader and philosopher Che Guevara, Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life. So far I haven't gotten too deep into it; it's about 800 pages or so, and I've only read the first 70. Still, I've made it up to the point when Che decides to go off for a year with a friend riding throughout South America, during which he penned the legendary Motorcycle Diaries that offer a unique, first-person look at this remarkable figure of 20th-century history.

From what I've read thus far, it's hard to be awed by Che. As a youth, at least, he was fairly non-political. Not a-political, but just someone who preferred to remain aloof from actively practicing politics. You can see some of the events and experiences that would determine his later politicization, like the unique worldliness the Guevaras had for a family so ingratiated with Argentine society. But it's more striking to hear about how Che spent so much of his youth in a rather distant, bookish manner. Sure, he played rugby and sought physical challenges that would test his asthmatic condition. But he was very intellectual and well read. It's sort of like he's opting to do very little in terms of politics until he's had a chance to sort everything out for himself. Obviously he doesn't watch from the sidelines of history for long, but it seems like that period of detachment and development, of political maturation from afar, was much more important than jumping in with both feet. That process of discovery, I think, became central to the person he later became. Almost ascetically revolutionary, single-minded in objective like Lenin.

It has me longing again to undertake my own itinerant voyage, one where the journey proves more important than the destination or the stops along the way. I wonder if it's possible to have such an experience without embarking on a physical journey, if there's some sort of metaphysical traveling that can substitute.

I just keep feeling like I'm running into the same obstacles in this. I need time to undergo this kind of a process, and it's a luxury I don't really have. Always I have to worry about more mundane matters, like where I'm going to sleep or how I'm going to eat. And as much as I'd like to attribute that to the absence of an adequate social welfare state, or my misfortune to lack a wealthy benefactor or patron, it's just as much the result of my own psychology, of being incapable to chuck all the creature comforts and the aura of security I seek in life for the sake of something daring, something eminently risky, but with a reward unquantifiable.

It's not to say that I'm unhappy with my life, just that I feel some need to augment it with something truly out of the ordinary. But, I seem cursed by this need for material security. I think more and more that a powerful, if subconscious, attraction of the academic life is the very security that comes with tenure. Knowing that I'll not only have job security for life, but the means to live very comfortably, is definitely an integral component of the freedom that comes with the territory. I guess that makes sense, when you think about it. After all, I would argue that no one can be really free so long as they have the ever-present worry of where they're going to stay, how they're going to eat, what they're going to do if they get sick. Material security at least seems essential to have that sort of freedom.

And yet, I know this isn't absolutely true. There are plenty of examples of people like Che who just up and take off one day, without knowing where they're headed or how they'll make it through, but who never worry over such inconsequential matters. So maybe that's the key, to learn to overcome the psychological barriers that hinder such freedom and to have such perennial optimism that things will turn out in the end to make them turn out in the end.

I suppose I find myself meditating on this a lot lately because of my present position. I'm at a definite crossroads in my life. On the one hand, I did something extremely bold by just up and moving to Chicago without a lot of money to my name or much direction as to where exactly I was going. But at the same time, I knew (and still know) that I have enough people to call on in the event of dire straits to not need to worry too much. But I'm trying to resist that. I'm trying to overcome that dependency, to throw all caution out the window and let things come. I just wish that didn't mean simultaneously losing my ability to me particular, to wait for what I want instead of being forced to take whatever I can get just to make do. This sort of a cycle leaves me feeling trapped. I really just want the ability to take as much time off as I need to meditate and create, to indulge my whims and develop my latent abilities, to try to do something of consequence for myself. I'd love to have the freedom to do something ostentatious, outwardly stupid. To consume myself with an avocation so absurd and ill conceived as to give it impossible meaning. If, say, I decided I wanted to sculpt, despite having no training or aptitude for it. But if I had the time to really throw myself into it and give it all the attention and care and thought I could muster, I could create something intrinsically great by virtue of that effort. For it's not about objective standards of quality or taste, but by the subjective value -- the journey contained therein -- that such things can be judged.

Brrrr

Damn, it's cold.

Ordinarily I wouldn't whine too much about the wintry weather we're having, except that I have to go outside in it. A lot.

Colleen gets in today. Or at least she's supposed to get in today, assuming the weather doesn't become so severe between Erie, Cincinnati and Chicago to prevent her from flying. Originally she was to get in last night, but the flight out of Erie got scrubbed due to mechanical problems. So instead of getting to come in decent weather, she'll be flying in nice, steady snow.

As for me, I'm to pick her up from the airport. But first, I have to go up to Evanston to drop off my own crap, as I've got enough Christmas gifts and other junk to fill a suitcase, which I'd rather not haul all the way out to O'Hare to meet her with her two suitcases and other assorted luggage. So about the time she leaves Erie I'll leave my apartment, head north 45 minutes on the train, go to her apartment, unload my stuff and wrap presents (I lack tape other than duct at my apartment), then turn around and go back on the El all the way to O'Hare via downtown, which will be about 1 hour, 45 minutes by train. I'll wait around in the airport until she arrives, when we'll collect her luggage and board the train so I can repeat the 1 hour, 45 minute journey but in the opposite direction. All told, I'll be spending a little more than 4 hours riding the train today, in addition to the time transferring between the train and apartments and the airport. I'll be bringing a large book to help occupy myself.

At least at O'Hare I won't have to wait outside at all. That's something to be grateful for, I think.

Also, mercifully this should all end with Colleen and I back at her warm apartment, and that will make it all worthwhile, again, assuming that the weather doesn't foul it up for her travel.

Great news from the steppe

In an act of tremendous fraternity, Russia has agreed to forgive a considerable portion of the Soviet-era debt owed to it by Mongolia.

This is a tremendous boost for Mongolia, which will now pay Russia less than $300 million, instead of the $10 billion it had owed.

It's a good day in Ulaan Baatar.

Am I pregnant?

Let's see, it's 2:01 a.m., and my body has a bizarre hankering for some mandarin oranges with stir fry. This is a most strange craving to have, and at a rather odd time, one that would make it impossible to satisfy such a hunger even if I had the determination and cash to attempt it.

I keep thinking about the stir fry I got with frequency at the Ass, as well as the much better selection and cuisine at Flat Top. Neither of these I can afford at the moment. But damn, it's a tempting thought.

On the bright side, at least this is relatively normal food. I'm craving specific dishes and foods I've eaten on many previous occasions, as opposed to something totally off-the-wall, like peanut butter and pickles.

So, perhaps the answer is, in fact, no. (I certainly hope so.)