Mouse Musketeer

August 20th, 2009

While walking the dog this morning I came across a cute bit of sidewalk art:

 cavalier

 

I wonder how the child artist knew to place the cavalier’s sword in what would be the mouse’s right hand?  If the artist himself (let’s assume it’s a boy) was right handed, wouldn’t he be inclined to place the sword on the right side of the figure as we see it, since that’s how the young artist sees his own reflection in a mirror, and his own shadow on the sidewalk?  Or has he, after watching many a cartoon about cavalier adventures, formed an image of the sword naturally fitted to that side?  (Notice too the bent left arm, hiding the left hand behind the back, lending the figure a distinquished air.)

Oops: Is The New Yorker on Vacation?

August 19th, 2009

At breakfast this morning, while munching my Cheerios, I came across a head-scratcher of a sentence on page 53 of the August 24, 2009 issue of The New Yorker.  It’s in an article written by Tad Friend entitled, “Plugged In — Can Elon Musk Lead the Way to an Electric-Car Future?”:   

In 2004, Musk, who was interested in developing an electric car, met an engineer named Martin Eberhard, proposed to build a sports car with a lithium-ion battery.

If I understand it correctly, it was Mr. Eberhard (not Musk) who proposed to build a car powered by a lithium-ion battery.  So doesn’t there need to be another “who” in there to form a grammatically correct sentence?

In 2004, Musk, who was interested in developing an electric car, met an engineer named Martin Eberhard, who proposed to build a sports car with a lithium-ion battery.

It may be that’s how the sentence read when Mr. Friend submitted the piece to the magazine.  Maybe his editor, or later the proofreader, disliked those two “who’s” in the same sentence.  Fixes were debated.  But wouldn’t you know it, implementing a one-“who” solution was tolled by a deadline. 

If I may offer a two-sentence solution:

Musk was interested in developing an electric car.  In 2004, he met an engineer named Martin Eberhard who proposed to build a sports car with a lithium-ion battery.

I don’t know if that satisfies the rhythm The New Yorker goes for.  It would pass muster with high school English teachers.  Then again, it’s August, and English teachers are on vacation.  Maybe editors too.

My First Movie produced on iMac using iMovie

August 11th, 2009
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This is also available on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXPg-HUxibU

The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest: Update

August 3rd, 2009

Back in February I reported on my many failed attempts at winning The New Yorker’s cartoon caption writing contest.  Now there’s one more failure to add to the pile.  For Contest #201 (July 27,2009), I decided to improve my odds of losing by submitting two captions.  Below is the cartoon (drawn by veteran cartoonist Tom Cheney) followed by five possible captions — two of my ideas mixed in with the three finalists announced this morning.

“My office?  Think of an Edward Hopper — but with lots more light and air.”

“Maybe we should do the firings in the basement?”

“They said the complaint box was anonymous.”

“Let’s meet in my office, weather permitting.”

“Hello, Mother?  I reached the top.  Now what?”

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The winner (which again will not be me) is going to be announced August 24.  In the meantime, I found something to support the first caption.  It inspires an alternative caption of even greater obscurity:

“Me?  Oh, just waiting for that secretary in the blue painted-on dress.”

edward-hopper-office-at-night-19401

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UPDATE (08/25/2009):  The second, third and fourth entries above were the three finalists.  The winner was the fourth caption.   I found another Hopper painting somewhat in the same spirit as Tom Cheney’s cartoon, at least insofar as this office also appears to be al fresco: “Office in a Small City” (1953).

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What I wish for you

August 2nd, 2009

Often mentioned in the days following Walter Cronkite’s death last month was the origin of his signature sign-off, “And that’s the way it is.”  As Cronkite himself once explained, he sought to emulate his mentor at CBS, Edward R. Murrow, who closed out broadcasts with a sobering “Good night and good luck.”  Both are fine tag lines.  Yet when it comes to American-style wishes, I don’t now how you can do better than David Foster Wallace’s words.  Here’s how he capped off a truth-telling commencement address delivered at Kenyon College in 2005:

“I wish you way more than luck.”

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Better Thought Next Time, No.4 (Richard Corliss)

August 1st, 2009

You begin with a few simple thoughts.  Maybe you’re sad over the closing of a nearby video rental store.  Perhaps you’re finding your Netflix subscription wonderful but not perfect.  Maybe it’s beginning to strike you that, my God, people sure are growing fatter.  Then comes your editor asking, Where the hell’s your piece for this week’s Time magazine?  You approach the keyboard where your three thoughts congeal into embarrassingly silly prose — a rant you (or more likely, that exaggerating editor of yours) decide to title, “Why Netflix Stinks.” 

What I’m describing is a throw-away piece by Time movie critic Richard Corliss in the magazine’s August 10, 2009, edition.  The article is online, here.  It’s not worthy of a critic whose elegant and well-argued film reviews I’ve been enjoying for a long time.

Corliss, whose voice is assured and accurate in his film reviews, opens his argument with a strained predicate:

“It’s Friday night, and you want to watch a movie at home with that special someone.  You could go to a video store and rent a film, and instantly it’s yours; popcorn extra.  Or you could go to Netflix, and the movie will arrive, earliest, on Tuesday.  Here’s hoping you had a Plan B for your big date.”

Unless the “special someone” is a stranger picked up in a bar earlier Friday evening, I’m not buying into this scenario.  A “special someone” is someone you’ve had conversations with before, maybe even talked about films with, more than once.  Why, it could even be a spouse or partner with whom you’ve been sharing a home — and a DVD player.  A relationship in which the couple plans things in advance.  One or the other makes plans so that beer and toilet paper don’t run out; pays bills in advance of the electricity being shut off; has necessities on hand in advance of the blessed arrival of a quiet weekend.  What a concept!  Plus, planning in advance turns out to be a widely applicable tool.  I bet with practice it wouldn’t be long before the Average Joe is managing a 4-DVD Netflix subscription in a way that places one or more must-see films in the house every Friday evening.  Yes: Plan A, all the way.

(Not to shill for Netflix, but you have to wonder why Corliss conveniently forgets that Netflix provides a “Watch Instantly” feature.  It streams movies instantly to your computer monitor or TV.  Is he looking for an excuse not to watch a movie on his “big date”?  [I’m seeing Groucho’s eyebrows flutter at the mention of “Plan B.”]  Only in the article’s next to last paragraph does Corliss suddenly remember, Oh yes, you can get thousands of Netflix titles instantly, even on a Friday night.  Did he think readers would forget the premise of the piece after reading for two minutes?)

Like some anti-romantic comedy, Corliss’ article goes downhill after that opening “date night” scene, passing over moguls of illogic on its way to a morose finale.  He says he has “misgivings” about Netflix’s usefulness compared to that of a well-stocked bricks-and-mortar video store.   He warns ominously (cue the theme from Jaws) about “the possibly harmful effect that Netflix may have on American society.”

Well, even Corliss has to concede there is no video store within walking distance of his home, or anyone else’s home in America, that is as well-stocked as Netflix.  Yet Corliss waxes nostalgic for video stores that once had movies “you could see right away” — conveniently forgetting those fun times when a cassette, previously rented by an irresponsible viewer, would require you to spend precious time rewinding to its playable start; not to mention those countless instances when the tapes and DVD’s were defective and unwatchable. 

In a segment of the article captioned, “Wait Time: Eternity” (you hope that was the editor’s dumb idea, not the author’s), Corliss complains Netflix sometimes has a “wait” time for unexpectedly popular titles (he cites the scarcity of the 1974 Taking of Pelham One Two Three in the wake of the remake this summer).  Yet he fails to acknowledge a video store’s shelves would in those circumstances similarly disappoint the instant-gratification crowd.  He says the Netflix folks “sometimes” don’t put the correct movie in your envelope, and later in the piece he ratchets up the irate rhetoric by referring to “botched orders.”  I don’t know: that’s never happened to me under my Netflix subscription. 

Corliss yearns for happy days of yore spent visiting his local video store, befriended by a “budding Quentin Tarantino, eager to point renters toward some arcane masterpiece from Italy or Hong Kong.”  Earth to Corliss:  There’s a reason the lapel-grabbing Quentin Tarantino and obsessive video-store clerks of his ilk are objects of derision and the butt of jokes.  If Tarantino is the face, the voice, and the personality Corliss sees when ruminating on halcyon days, what can you say — other than chacun à son goût.   

At the finale, Corliss’ thoughts enter the mishagoss zone, where he goes for broke — pushing the nuclear option, as it were.  He takes a page from the inimitable Craig Ferguson, shouting: “I’ve figured it all out: why everything sucks!”  For Corliss, Netflix is why.  It’s Netflix that’s making us passive, inert, fat and flabby. 

Time for Congress and the President to act?

So Which is the Asylum?

July 25th, 2009

There is an affinity between the interiors of the mental asylum at Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, France, as painted by Van Gogh in 1889 (first photo), and an old office building housing a government bureaucracy in Washington, DC (second photo). 

 

blog-8-vincent-van-gogh-corridor-in-the-asylum-1889-watercolor1

 

 

copy-of-blog-9-dc-corridor

 

Most will agree the first building is more attractive.  At least Van Gogh could make something of it.  What artist would choose as a subject  the second cold corridor?   The only person I can think of is Stanley Kubrick.   A still from The Shining

 

kubrick-the-shining-danny1

 

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Separated . . . by time and space

July 24th, 2009

“Separated at Birth?” — that is the title of a game described by Wikipedia as the light-hearted activity of pointing out people who are unrelated but bear a notable facial resemblance. Most often the subjects compared are celebrities.

I was reminded of this when, having finished the first chapter of Jonah Lehrer’s “Proust was a Neuroscientist,” I set the book aside and in the process took notice of the author’s publicity photo on the book jacket. Something about the picture caused a buzz in my brain. What was it?

This:

Intentionally or not, when composing and lighting the shot, the photographer, Guy Jarvis, captured a look similar to that of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring.

Jonah Lehrer and the unknown young woman could be distant cousins, separated by an ocean and three and a half centuries.

blog-1

blog-3-vermeer-girl-with-pearl

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Do Dogs See Colors?

July 20th, 2009

 

On our walk through the neighborhood this morning my dog Jesse began to strain on the lead when he got within 20 feet of a certain object of his desire.  It was a blue Toyota Prius. Not my blue Prius, mind you, but someone else’s, parked blocks away from where mine sits in front of the house.  When Jesse reached the car he put his muzzle right up against car’s hatchback door, as if to say “Open Sesame!”  Then he turned and gave me a look that said, “Let’s go to the beach!”

By that point in our walk we had already passed dozens of parked cars, and Jesse had shown no sign of interest in any of them, let alone any move to commandeer one for a day trip.  He’s always ignored other Priuses parked around the neighborhood, cars that were the exact same model as mine, although come to think of it, those others were of a different color (red, black, silver, etc.)  This blue car today was so close in appearance to mine that even I did a double-take.

So why did Jesse select it to be the “stuff [his] dreams are made on”? 

I think the answer is the color blue.

For a long time it was assumed dogs could not see colors.  A post on the website “WikiAnswer”, found here, echos that view.  But recent scientific studies have come to a different conclusion.  In an article entitled “How Dogs See Color” by Dana K. Vaughan, Ph.D., Dept. of Biology, University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh (available here), Dr. Vaughan reports that, yes, dogs can see colors, but somewhat differently than humans: 

“These experiments showed that dogs do see color, but in a more limited range than that seen by normal humans, who see the rainbow of colors described by “VIBGYOR”: Violet, Indigo, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, and Red (plus hundreds of variations on these shades).  Instead, dogs see “VIBYYYR”  (Violet, Indigo, Blue, Yellow, Yellow, Yellow, and Red).  The colors Green, Yellow, and Orange all look alike to dogs; but look different from Red and different from the various Blues and Purples.  Dogs are very good at telling different shades of VIB apart. Finally, Blue-Green looks White to dogs.”

Dr. Mark Plonsky, a Professor of Psychology, also at the University of Wisconsin, presents slightly difference results here.  His article includes an admittedly speculative color spectrum chart showing what your pooch likely sees:

dog-vision-color-spectrum-compared-to-man2

 

One finding common to both studies is that dogs can readily discern the color blue.  So blue is the color to select next time you buy a car, if you want your dog to have a chance of spotting your vehicle in a crowd.

It’s reasonable, I believe, to assume Jesse can recognize a Prius by its size and shape, and through his sense of smell (as the car’s factory installed tires and its brake system probably emit distinctive odors).  But Jesse is able to find my Prius and his personal means of long-distance transport — or  get to the point where he believes he’s found his Prius — only when he comes across those elements plus the color blue.

Meanwhile, I haven’t settled on what to say to Jesse if today’s episode recurs.  This morning I simply said “No!”, yanked the lead, and walked on.  But I feel Jesse deserves a fuller explanation, something to indicate he is mistaken to think he has found my (his) car, yet he shouldn’t feel bad since it’s an understandable mistake.  So what voice command can contain than amount of  nuance? 

I’m thinking, maybe, “Close, but no cigar!”?

No, General, I won’t fund your culture war

July 18th, 2009

Yesterday’s mail brought a fundraising letter from Lt. Gen. Josiah Bunting, III, a man of great distinction.  Bunting asks for money on behalf of the Intercollegiate Studies Institute (ISI), a component of which, the Lehrman American Studies Center, he serves as President.  The letter bothers me for four reasons.

1.  Who’s there?

The unsolicited letter is written in a manner that’s sure to annoy more than a few recipients, and I wonder why ISI didn’t assign someone with the right skills to edit it, if only to sand down its grating style.  Given Bunting’s long career as a writer, scholar, and educator, it’s hard for me to believe that he drafted, edited and finalized the document.  Which is to say that when, in the paragraphs that follow, I indicate that “Bunting writes …” or “According to Bunting …”,  I sincerely hope I’m wrong and that the text I’m citing is not in fact conveying his voice, his temperament and his knowledge, but instead is content furnished by ISI and anonymous staffers. 

2.  The familiarity ploy

Before the letter launches into histrionic mode (more about that, below), Bunting warmly addresses me as “Dear Friend,” and soon thereafter as “My friend.”  Now, I swear I don’t know him from Adam, yet he says he knows me.   An ersatz friendly tone is often found in charity fundraising letters, of course, following a template pushed by consultants.  But Bunting says I (along with thousands of others who received the same letter) deserve a bear hug for good reason:

Your name has been given to me as a steadfast supporter of the preservation of America’s founding principles; a steward of freedom who cares deeply about the future of our nation.

Is he channelling Eddie Haskell or what?  And yet, unctuousness aside, who am I to quibble with this glowing description of me?  But, on the matter of familiarity, wouldn’t it be nicer, I’m thinking, to receive an unsolicited letter that displays honesty and humility?  And for a model I turn to an uneducated fourteen year old named Huckleberry Finn, who, in his own overture to readers, in his very first words, confesses:

You don’t know about me . . . 

So, anyway, I decided to dig deeper into the letter.  And that’s when I came upon a creepy come-on, as I’ll describe next. 

3.  Questionable command of English

Here is the third sentence of the letter:

As a true American patriot, I know you are concerned about the direction of America’s colleges and universities.

Well.  One thing I am a true believer in is English grammar and clear writing (while, Lord knows, I mess up all the time).  A rule students learn in high school and are expected to obey in college and beyond is that a modifier (“a true American patriot”) should be placed as close as possible to the word it modifies (“you”).  Although there are colloquial exceptions to the rule (in spoken English), the rule should be followed if there is a risk of confusion due to the presence of more than one noun/pronoun the modifier could be describing (here, both “you” and “I” are candidates).  Bunting himself is half a century removed from his undergraduate degree in English, but rules are rules, and clear writing is timeless.  If ISI truly intends to flatter the reader, or even if it’s just a ploy, the drafter should consider this formulation:

As a true American patriot, you are undoubtedly concerned about the direction of America’s colleges and universities.  

The thought I resist is that the Lt. General is trumpeting his honorable military service and combining it with a boast of uncanny power to discern like-mindedness in others:

I, as a true American patriot, know you too are concerned about the direction of America’s colleges and universities.

In its original state the letter gives the impression of being either a slap-dash effort or a crude stage for chauvinism — a terrible irony in a letter requesting money to support improving higher education. 

On to page two, where this plea pops up:

But, who’s going to climb a hill for others if their hearts are bitter towards their own culture?

Something is not right.  The word “who” can be singular or plural.  In this sentence it appears to be plural, referring to persons (plural) who possess hearts (plural).  But the word “who’s” is a contraction of “who is,” a misplaced singular.  The sentence needs not an “is” but the plural verb “are.”  Or, in the alternative, the simultaneously singular- and plural-fitting verb “will” will do the trick, as in the sentence, “But, who will climb a hill for others …”  Yet another possible reading of the sentence is that the author meant for the cited “hearts” to belong to the “others” for whom the single hill-climber is making a sacrifice.  But this makes no sense in the context of Bunting’s argument, which is that young persons must be inculcated with unquestioned love of country (we must “nurture the next generation of patriots”), for if we do not, we will fail to produce  citizens able to meet the demands of inevitable wars.  Then again, the letter’s expository prose is so muddy at times that the reader may be unavoidably flummoxed.  

In the first of his two post-scripts on page four, Bunting proudly informs us ISI’s charter says the organization’s headquarters “cannot be in the nation’s capitol.”  Well, of course not.  The word “capitol” (with an “O”) always refers to a building.  Watch the cute video, here, on this point.  The building housing our nation’s legislative branch is the U.S. Capitol.  It was Thomas Jefferson who insisted the legislative building be called “the Capitol.”  

us-capitol-building-west-face

 

 

 

 

It’s a large building, to be sure, but it would be the height of arrogance for ISI to think it had a chance of being located inside the nation’s capitol.  In contrast, “capital”  (with an “A” as the final vowel) refers to the District (see Article One, Section 8 of the U.S. Constitution) within which the federal government, and many a non-governmental organization, reside.  The same capitol-versus-capital distinction applies at the state level.  With this error, ISI, which sponsors the National Civic Literacy Board, earns a bonus point for irony.

Let me stop there, and express the hope that an intern with serious skills is hired to scrub through the next ISI letter prior to its release.  

4.  The culture war is here for you to join

What galls me is this:  ISI’s presumption that I am on its side.  I’m not speaking of the “side” in favor of improving classical education while strengthening all Americans’ understanding of our country’s long history and our nation’s uniqueness.  On that ground I have my feet firmly planted, thanks to a superb liberal arts education.  As a student of political science and history, and as a current participant in government, my mind and heart are there too.  No, I’m referring to the  letter writer’s assumption that I stand on his “side” in a great cultural war the far right desires to foment. 

The letter is very clear on this point:  the reader will be judged to be either “upholding the principles of the Founders” (values to be defined by . . . the Lt. General?) or found unworthy of  “confidence.”  For now, at least, I’m in Bunting’s good graces; he reports I have been tested and, in his words, “You have proven your dedication to the values upon which this country was built.”  (Should I keep a copy of that certification in my wallet, in case I need it to pass through check-points, come the revolution?)

Presumptuous? Arrogant? Scary undertones of Big Brother?  You betcha!  The  four page letter is chock full of radical right code words, phrases, and bêtes noires.  An ideological slant is never far from the surface, and frequently bursts through.  ISI says the American university system is being poisoned by a toxic culture.  Students are paralyzed by revisionist liberals.  A cadre of apologists (a term the letter neither defines nor assigns to named individuals) have made it their life’s work to disconnect our young people from the values and institutions that sustain a free and humane society.  Moreover, if we do not act, the anti-freedom crowd will gain the upper hand in the fight for our future leaders’ hearts and minds.  The letter closes with a statement that would fit nicely into a ritual session of Two Minutes Hate:

It is our job to expose them and I am counting on Americans like you to help us educate for liberty. 

I am struck by what is absent from the text.  Nowhere in four full pages addressing  American principles does the word democracy (or any of its variants) appear.  It seems Bunting believes the “nation’s heritage” ended before 1800, and so nowhere is there an appreciation of two centuries of subsequent history — a history forged by American people of faith and courage and intelligence equal to (or in the case of religious faith, exceeding) that of the leaders who emerged during the period of armed Revolution.  The letter displays a fetishistic attachment to the Founding Fathers, to the exclusion of our grandly successful, ongoing American experiment.  When describing today’s youth, Bunting casually tosses off calumnies (“their hearts are bitter towards their own culture”).  These are the words of a curmudgeon blind to the actual lives and character of young Americans.  (Say it ain’t so, Joe!)

I believe the study of history, which Bunting says he supports, shows America to be an unfinished nation.  Our nation is still being created.  This idea scares many people, I know.  Many prefer the sclerotic over the dynamic.  But the rest of us — and I believe we are the democratic (small “d”) majority — must steadfastly guard against the baleful consequences that would flow if personal fears prevailed.  That is the true threat to our lives, our liberties, and our happiness.

Whenever I encounter someone arguing that the America they live in today is not the country of their youth, let alone the country as founded over two centuries ago, I’m reminded of W. S. Gilbert’s lines satirizing a particularly sorry fellow:  “The idiot who praises with enthusiastic tone, all centuries but this, and every country but his own.”   As with us all, time’s fell hand ultimately will sweep them from the scene. 

I am struck by the aging of persons prominantly embracing a Manichean world view.  I’m noticing, for example, how Pat Buchanan is becoming unsteady in his argumentation.  Just this week he asserted, erroneously, that no blacks fought and died in the Vicksburg campaign (video, here; historical facts, here and here).  Sadly, the reason Buchanan denies history is so he can argue white males have a superior claim of ownership of America, de facto (long exclusive possession) if not de jure.  Also this week, in a different forum, Buchanan misquoted the Preamble to the U.S. Constitution in support of a related wacky argument, to the effect that the progeny of the Founding Fathers (white males) are the legitimate inheritors of a nation “created” back in 1787. 

All of which goes to show, some folks way past their college years need remedial education in this nation’s history.