Quick rant

I have no real feeling about the whole Star Spangled Banner in Spanish controversy, but today's rant does involve The Banner. If you are going to sing our national anthem at an assembly, LEARN THE LYRICS! Today was Honors Day at my college and one of our students opened the convocation with a soulful rendition of The Star Spangled Banner. She had the whole "wail like Whitney" thing down pat, but she kept flubbing the lyrics. Seriously, she messed up at least three times! It irked me.

Speaking of Honors Day, I did NOT win the Teaching Excellence Award. I didn't expect to win, but this may well have been my one and only chance. The student who nominated me is one of those rare students who actually enjoys being challenged in a class that requires more than just minimum effort. Oh well, the nomination is the real honor, right?

Quick hits

I've been busier than a one-armed paper hanger the past few days, but I wanted to comment on a couple of things I've noticed of late.

First, there's this nugget from Brad DeLong (a Cal-Berkeley economist):

Democrats are (because of the environmentalist wing of the party) generally in favor of higher gasoline taxes and higher gasoline prices--except when gasoline prices are high. Republicans are in favor of letting oil markets "work"--except when gasoline prices are high.

Everyone seems to have lost perspective in the face of the increase in gas prices. Am I bothered by the fact that gas prices are higher than they were? Sure. Do I believe government threats or "quick fix" schemes like the proposed $100 gas tax credit will solve the problem? Hell no. Full disclosure: I can afford to be a little blase about the gas price crisis because I only live (approx.) 4 miles from work. I'd like to think I'd still resist the "oh my god, the sky is falling" impulse even if I had a longer commute, but I can't say for sure.

On a more fun note, loyal reader, Ang, sent this science of basball story the other day:

Your Little League coach probably didn't know it, but every time he sent you to the plate with the instructions "keep your eye on the ball," he was giving you an impossible task.

And if you followed the coach's advice of positioning yourself directly under a pop-up, you probably struggled to catch balls in the outfield, too.

Ken Fuld, a baseball enthusiast and visual psychophysicist at the University of New Hampshire, has pored over numerous baseball studies and suggests that neither of these approaches produce optimal results.

The story itself covers a lot of the usual physics of baseball stuff. For instance, the rising fastball -- an impossibility for an overhand pitch -- a "myth" that just refuses to go away. I was watching a game last night (don't remember who) when the play-by-play guy said something like, "Boy, it seems like his hard fastball almost rises up out of the zone at the very end." The color guy then chimed in with, "Well, sometimes it will -- if he has a rising fastball." Sorry, guys, gravity says no!

Though I was familiar with most of the material, I still love articles like this. First, how cool would it be to be known as an expert on the science of baseball? [There are already way too many baseball economists out there.] Second, even if you weren't a baseball expert, how cool would it be to be a "visual psychophysicist"? Anyone even know what a "visual psychophysicist" does?

Well that's it for now. I've got to get back to my plan to conquer the world -- er, survive until the end of the semester.

It's funny 'cause it's true

You know how sometimes a stereotype turns out to be true (I guess it's called a characteristic then)? You know, you find yourself nodding along and saying something like, "Yeah, that really is a difference between ..." Well, this NY Times piece on the man date has a lot of truth in it. What is a "man date"? No, it has nothing (directly) to do with homosexuality. Rather:

Simply defined a man date is two heterosexual men socializing without the crutch of business or sports. It is two guys meeting for the kind of outing a straight man might reasonably arrange with a woman. Dining together across a table without the aid of a television is a man date; eating at a bar is not. Taking a walk in the park together is a man date; going for a jog is not. Attending the movie "Friday Night Lights" is a man date, but going to see the Jets play is definitely not.

"Sideways," the Oscar-winning film about two buddies touring the central California wine country on the eve of the wedding of one of them, is one long and boozy man date.

Although "man date" is a coinage invented for this article, appearing nowhere in the literature of male bonding (or of homosexual panic), the 30 to 40 straight men interviewed, from their 20's to their 50's, living in cities across the country, instantly recognized the peculiar ritual even if they had not consciously examined its dos and don'ts.

It's true: guys and gals hang out in different ways and there are certain rules that apply to guys hanging out -- e.g., the "skip a seat" rule at the theater. I'd never thought about it before, but "two guys meeting for the kind of outing a straight man might reasonably arrange with a woman," is a damned fine way to distinguish comfortable guy activities from those that might make guys self-conscious.

Though I'm pretty sure I'm more "okay" with this than your average male, even I notice such things on occasion. For instance, Thailand Jeff and I do a lot of stuff together when he's "in country". Most of the time I don't even think twice about it, but then again most of our activities involve food, drink, sports, or some combination of all three. Last summer, though, he invited me to go on a field trip of sorts. His art history class was touring the Parthenon in Nashville and he asked if I'd like to go. We figured we'd make a day of it by going to the Parthenon and then doing something fun in Nashville. I did point out to him, though, that his classmates probably thought I was his boyfriend. I mean why else would a man invite another man on an art and architecture outing? I was kidding, but this is just the sort of thing the "man date" article is talking about.

I think some of the guys quoted in the article have some deeper issues if they're THAT worried about being seen in public with another male, but (again) there's some truth to it. I remember once my old college buddy, B, and I went up to Memphis for some reason and ending up having dinner at Cafe Roux. Though it wasn't a candlelight atmosphere, Cafe Roux was a step up from a sports bar. I honestly didn't think anything about the fact that we were two guys out together until these two young ladies attempted to "pick us up". [Aw, who am I kidding? Two straight guys approached by two females showing interest -- I should have just left out "attempted to" in that last sentence.] We'd talked for a few minutes when one of the young ladies said something like, "I'm sorry, but there is one question we need to ask -- are you gay?" I thought that was quite presumptuous of them, but it goes right along with the "man date" concept.

Oh, B and his young lady spent some "quality time" together while I rode all around South Memphis with a psycho chick who made up wild stories about her family's close personal relationship with Eric Clapton. I would have been SHOCKED if it had turned out any differently.

So why do men have a harder time with this than women? I honestly don't know. I did find it interesting, though, that the article claims that men used to be a lot less concerned with this stuff. The whole explanation was a little "touchy feely" for me, but it's an interesting hypothesis. Anyway, read about the "man date" at the link above. Though there are some sloppy generalizations in the article, I guarantee you'll nod along in agreement at least once.

So worth the money

Please don't remind me of this claim in the future when the engine falls out and I'm carping about massive repair bills, but the Jeep was a GREAT purchase! I had to grade stats tests this past weekend and that prevented me from going to play in the woods, but I did take the Jeep out Saturday and Sunday -- the weather was just too good not to.

After grading most of Saturday morning and watching the Cards' game in the early afternoon, I decided that I had to get outside. I hopped in Jeep and decided to explore a secondary road south of Decatur that sort of runs along the TN River. In my younger days, just getting out and riding around for no purpose with no destination in mind was a regular source of entertainment. Now, though, I can't tell you how long it'd been since I just went riding around. Turns out it's still as much fun as I remember -- AND I was in a Jeep with the top down!

Anyway, I'd been across River Road once as a shortcut from South Huntsville when I lived over that way, but I wasn't that familiar with all the turns. Still, I knew my general route was bordered by the TN River on one side and AL Hwy 36 on the other, so I couldn't really get lost. I was doing okay until I came to a "bridge out/detour" sign and that kind of threw me off my route. When I finally came out somewhere I recognized, I realized I was a lot further west than I'd planned. In fact, I was almost in Huntsville, so I figured I might as well go visit some friends. I found a pay phone (go ahead and make your jokes) and called a couple of folks, but no one was home. Not to be defeated, I noticed another little side road heading south and I thought I should just ride down toward Morgan City and see if former neighbors Larry and Deb were home.

I had never been on the road I picked, but (again) it was headed in the right general direction. It turns out the road was a great shortcut to Morgan City and I came out just a mile or so from Larry and Deb's. As another plus, they were home so my trip wasn't in vain. They were, though, going to a car show in Arab, so I didn't hang around long.

Sunday I thought the "riding around" urge was out of my system, but then the weather turned out to be even nicer than it was Saturday. I decided I'd go check out some authentic dirt roads on the Wheeler Wildlife Refuge. I had been on those roads before and I knew they actually ran right up against the river. It was a nice day and lots of folks were out. In fact, all the spots where the river is easily accessible were kind of crowded. That was a bummer until I remembered I was in a Jeep. I spotted a nice riverside spot just off the road, but to get to it you had to drive down a sort of steep gravel bar. In the Kia I'd have had to park and walk, but not in Lucinda. No, I just turned left and drove right down to the water. I then spent a half hour or so sitting on the front bumper just watching the water and occasionally skipping rocks. I know it doesn't sound that exciting, but it was a great tonic for the "end of the semester blues". Yep, I'm thinking Lucinda may be cheaper, in the long run, than therapy sessions.

So now, even though it's Monday ALL DAY LONG, I'm in a good mood that not even this morning's econ test could dent. Of course that usually means a giant metaphorical (I hope) rock is about to land right square on my head, but I'm going to ignore that possibility and enjoy my good mood while it lasts!

Stats nerd post

I try not to complain too much (in this forum) about my students, but I couldn't resist a quick rant about an answer I just read on the stats test. Now to preface this, I should point out that most of the students handled this questioned just as well as I'd hoped.

This test covered regression analysis -- the MOST important topic in stats 2 in my opinion. Most regression analysis today is performed by computer, but I make them do one by hand just to show they understand the process. The more important (to me) task, though, is to make sure they understand the results. Hence, after having them determine the OLS regression line, I asked them to interpret the results and then I asked the following:

JUST GIVEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE IN THIS PROBLEM, can you say whether experience is an important predictor of sales? Why or why not?

The correct answer would be something like, "While experience does appear to be positively correlated to sales, one would have to test the significance of this relationship before reaching a valid conclusion about the link." Most students gave me a rather terse version of that answer, but a few fell for the "obvious" conclusion that since the correlation was positive, experience MUST be important. Then I read this answer:

Experience is an important predictor of sales because common sense says the more experience one has selling something the better he/she gets. [Emphasis added.]

I couldn't believe it -- someone actually invoked the "common sense theorem" (the grad school version is known as the "obvious theorem") as evidence in my stats class! ARGH! You know, the longer I do this, the more sympathy I have for my old grad school profs -- bless their hearts.

Fun Friday

Well I made it to Friday! Course I still have to grade those stats tests, but NOT TODAY! No, today I concentrated on fun. Cousin Kari (y'all remember Cousin Kari from the day I fell in Caney Creek) came over to visit today. She wanted to see the Charles Seifried photography exhibit at the local "visual arts center":

Photographer Charles Seifried of Decatur has lived and traveled around the world, but many of his favorite spots are in the Tennessee Valley.

You can see a lot of his landscapes and scenes in the new exhibit at the Carnegie Visual Arts Center. Seifried's "Vistas, Visions and Views" will be on display through May 13.

"I'm a commercial photographer who mostly shoots for corporate America," he said. On his list are Boeing, Chrysler and Southern Living, as well as promotional shots for the Alabama Department of Tourism and Robert Trent Jones Golf Trail.

But this exhibit shows his love for the beauty of nature.

Prior to seeing the exhibit, I only knew Seifried through his Sipsey book. It's a wonderful picture book of a beautiful area and though the hiking information is a bit spotty, it is the closest think to a Sipsey guidebook that I have found. Anyway, the photo exhibit was very nice. I liked the Sipsey photos, but I really enjoyed getting to see some of his other stuff. Cousin Kari, of course, baffled me with her technical discussions of photography techniques, but I got more out of it by going with her than I would have on my own.

Anyway, that was the big event of the day. Now I'm gonna' have to come up with other excuses to avoid grading those tests for another day or two. I'm sure I'll do just fine with that.

All the news that's fit to print

I know that's the slogan of a much more prominent paper, but the Decatur Daily really has impressed me the past couple of days.

First off, there's a story about a beer fetching dog in Athens. Like Lucky (the rescued dog I blogged about last month), this dog was found in a dumpster. Harley, though, wasn't injured and she's been with her adopted family a couple of years. Unlike any pet I've ever had, though, Harley shows her appreciation:

The Cannons don't have to leave the sofa for a snack. On command, Harley fetches a bag of potato chips and a 2-liter soft drink from the closet or a beer from the fridge by pulling on socks on the door handles. She brings the treats to them as efficiently as any butler and is always ready to return for more.

"If there is no beer, she comes back with the A-1 sauce," Joseph said. "Anything with a long neck."

Oh, Harley does lots of other neat stuff and she may well show up on America's Funniest ... soon. Plus, she's going to be in the Purina Incredible Dog Challenge in St. Petersburg in June. I hope Pa Caffeine doesn't hear about Harley or he'll get upset at the possibility of a dog being more super than Rambo (the Caffeine Folks favorite child).

Next, the DD had this notice about a guy who got "rolled" at a local bar:

A 60-year-old man from out of town told police a woman he met at a Decatur bar disappeared with about $4,000 of his cash on Monday night, Decatur police said.

After going to the man's hotel room with him, the woman, described as about 38 years old, said she was going to fetch some ice at about 11 p.m.

She never returned, said Lt. Chris Mathews, a police spokesman.

Here's a hint: If an unknown woman, 22 years your junior, suddenly finds you irresistable at a local dive, she just might have an ulterior motive!

Finally, a story about a complete idiot who jumped off DeSoto Falls, ON PURPOSE! Here's my favorite part:

The leap wasn't a suicide attempt since several witnesses reported that prior to the plunge, the man yelled, "Watch this," said Tim Whitehead, superintendent of DeSoto State Park.

The idiot landed in less than 10 feet of water and, not surprisingly, he said he "hit something" under the water. He was able to swim out, but he could go no further. Once he heals, I think he needs a good smiting!

Well I'm off to a Library Committee meeting this afternoon, so I'm sure I'll have lots of good stuff to talk about tomorrow.

Reconnecting

Yesterday I experienced a couple of "reconnecting" moments -- one sad and one happy.

First, I went "home" to Lawrenceburg. The mother of a couple of OLD friends (I'm talking elementary school, though L and I were more like mortal enemies in those days) passed away unexpectedly over the weekend. Though I didn't know Mrs. Williams that well, she seemed like a cool mom and a good woman. At the least, she raised two great daughters. My deepest sympathy to the Williams family. Since at least a couple of readers know them, I thought I'd pass along the info.

Though it was a sad occasion, I did talk to some Lawrenceburg folks that I haven't seen in 10 years or more and, of course, the Williams girls. [To my great surprise, I found out they read ThirdB, so "Hey, L and R!"] Even more strange than seeing folks from the past was just driving around town. Lots of stuff has changed. I knew there was now a pavillion in the center of the square, but has it always had a sort of dome with a (working) clock? That looked different. [Of course I know the reason the fountain that used to be in the middle of the square had to be replaced by something else, but I'm sworn to secrecy on that one.] Even driving up and down "the strip" was different. I know I don't live that far away, so I should get back to L'burg more often. Yeah, it probably won't happen, but it's worth a shot.

I also "reconnected" to a music album from my past. MANY years ago I was a big fan of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. As a big fan, I had to get ahold of a copy of Will the Circle be Unbroken -- the NGDB's revolutionary 1972 "teamup" with some of the real old-timey country and bluegrass greats. Though they later became more mainstream country, at the time the NGDB was pretty much a hippie group from out West. Of course I was a fan of the mid-80s NGDB, so I really wasn't that impressed with the Circle project -- until yesterday. Caffeine Brother hooked me up with a copy of two disc set over the weekend (my original copy was a dual cassette and I have no idea what happened to it) and I listened to both discs on my trip up and back last night. It's really good! I appreciate the musical form more than I did 20 years ago and I can now appreciate the significance of the whole project. It really was revolutionary at the time -- Opry stars and hippie freaks didn't really work together (unless you were the Byrds I guess). Anyway, that was the nice reconnection.

That's it for today. Trying to get things ready for the end of the semester, so blogging may be light in the immediate future.

I'll Never Learn

Believe it or not, I am not completely stupid. Yes, I know I sometimes do a good job of hiding that fact, but it's true. None the less, I'm going to wade into a "male/female" topic once again. We'll see if I survive.

Most mornings I listen to one of the music stations on my TV while getting ready to leave the house. Fridays, though, I tend to hang around the house a little longer. Hence, this morning I ended up flipping through some of the news channels -- CNN, Fox, MSNBC, etc. I don't remember which channel it was on (I doubt it was CNN because I'd like to think Soledad would not have done an interview with this woman), but I saw an author pushing her new book: The Truth Behind the Rock : Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Engagements. According to the book's preface, this is not a "how to catch a man" book, nor is it another version of "the rules". So what kind of book is this? I'll let Ms. Kaminsky tell you:

So now that we have that out of the way, let me be the first to assure you that The Truth Behind the Rock is the opposite kind of book from what you're probably used to. It isn't going to tell you how to do things differently or mock your pain as you wait and wonder when your guy is going to get off his ass and propose. The Truth Behind the Rock will give women a peek behind the curtain at what real couples go through on the road to engagement. You'll hear stories from both sexes about that uncomfortable, hazy time between wanting to be married and actually getting engaged, as well as every scenario in between. So rest assured this book has a little something for everybody.

Given that, can you imagine what the author and the interviewer talked about? I'll tell you. They discussed strategies to get a man to propose! What happened to the "different" kind of book? Doesn't seem that different to me. Not only does this seem to be just another "how to turn your loser boyfriend into a worthy husband" book, her suggestions were inane. Ms. Kaminsky is very much against ultimatums. Instead, she prefers subtle hints. Here are a few (they were so ludicrous I took notes):

1. Make loud and frequent mentions of any friends who have recently become engaged.
2. "Dog ear" random magazine ads for diamonds, just to let him know you're interested.
3. If those don't work, box him in. Take him for a long drive or a plane flight (really, she suggested a flight) and bring up the subject while you have him trapped in a car or plane!

I was amazed! How can this woman claim to be selling something new when she's just spewing this tired old crap? If she is serious about coming up with ways to get your man to marry you though, I've got a suggestion for her: start dating me! Sorry, I couldn't resist.

LATE ADDITION: I originally thought the 3rd "subtle" hint was the most ridiculous, but on reflection I think that honor goes to hint #2. Why does #2 win the "most absurd" award? Because it'll never work -- guys don't read magazines that carry ads for diamonds! Besides, if I saw an ad for diamonds I'd just go off on a rant about the DeBeer's diamond cartel and conflict diamonds and such. Of course that might go some way toward explaining why I'm still single, huh?

Someone shoot me, please!

It's been a while since I've had a good righteous indignation, rail against the world post, but boy I've got a doozy today!

Y'all remember Lucinda, the Jeep I bought last month? Well you may have noticed there hasn't been much Jeep blogging since then. For a variety of reasons, I haven't been able to get out and play with the Jeep yet. The first delay was getting the title. Turns out the guy selling it didn't actually have the title because he hadn't paid off the loan. Normally that wouldn't be a big deal (I've dealt with that situation before), but the credit union that had the title was in Rhode Island. Hence, we had to wait and wait and wait some more for the title to show up. Finally they sent the title, but they sent it to the guy's old address, so we had to wait for it to be forwarded, and you know how fast that goes. Finally, though, the title arrived last week.

Monday I went to the courthouse to officially register Lucinda. I knew I'd have to pay a bunch of fees, taxes, etc., but I didn't care. My Jeep was going to be legal and I was happy -- until I got to the DMV (or whatever the bureau's official title is at the county level). I figured it was early in the month, so the line shouldn't be too bad. Turns out I was right about that. The wait was only about 15 minutes -- amazing that we're conditioned to think a 15 minute wait is not bad when dealing with the government, huh? Anyway, I finally got to a clerk and she had some bad news for me. John Doe (the seller) had signed the back of the title with his legal signature, John Doe IV, but the front of the title only had John Doe -- no IV. The nice lady explained to me that this John Doe IV could be a totally different person. I tried to explain to her that no matter what name was signed on the back of the title, it could be a totally different person. She had NO WAY of knowing who had signed the title. That, of course, made no impression on her. But there was a form I could fill out. I don’t have the official document in front of me, but I swear to God the title was something like “Affidavit for Correction to Application for an Alabama Certificate of Title”.

Anyway, John Doe and I both had to sign this new document, in the presence of a notary, and then, I was assured, I'd be able to register my Jeep. I tracked down John and we arranged to meet at my bank today to get that done. He was running a few minutes late, but the whole thing was fairly painless. I was pissed that it'd taken a couple of extra days, but no big deal -- until I went back to the DMV.

After another 15 minute wait, I got a different clerk. I explained the original problem and showed her my notarized correction form. She said that looked fine, BUT! Yes, there was a BUT. This time the problem was that when the credit union in Rhode Island released the title they stamped and signed it as they should, but they DID NOT DATE THE RELEASE!!! Now why in Hades should the date of release matter? The lien was released; shouldn't that be the end of the story? Evidently not. Fortunately the woman wasn't going to make me go to Rhode Island to get this corrected. She said I could call the credit union and if they were willing to give me that information over the phone I could just write it in. Okay you know how much I wanted to walk outside the office, write some random date on the title, and then get back in line. Instead I figured I'd try to do the right thing, so I headed back to the office.

When I got back I googled the credit union and got a phone number. When I called them, though, a mechanical voice informed me they closed at 4:00 (3:00 my time) on Wednesday! EGADS! That was it; I'd had enough. I knew when the guy sent them the payoff check, so I added a week to that, wrote down that date, and headed back to the courthouse for the THIRD TIME!

Of course I had to endure another 15-20 minute wait and this time I had to put up with an incredibly loud and extremely jolly fellow in line behind me. Oh he wanted to be everyone's friend. He joked and joshed with people all up and down the line. Everything that was said made him roar with laughter. He was one of those guys beloved by everybody. I hated his guts and wanted nothing more than to punch him in the nose, knee him in the groin, and slowly shove bamboo shoots under his fingernails until he cried like a girl (no offense female readers). I was NOT in a joking mood!

After gritting my teeth for a solid quarter hour my turn came. This time I got the original clerk from Monday. I showed her my (dated) title, my affidavit for ..., and my bill of sale and she deemed me fit to own and operate said motor vehicle. There was one other little snag -- I wanted to transfer my "Forever Wild" tag from the Kia to the Jeep (it just seems to go better with the Jeep), but she told me they don't transfer tags unless they're personalized. Now I know that's not a state policy because I did this exact thing with my UAH tag when I lived in Huntsville, but I decided not to push my luck. I figure you've got to pick your battles and this was not one I was going to fight today.

The whole thing makes me want to run for governor one day just so I can fire every single person working for every county "tag department" in the whole blessed state! On the plus side, Lucinda is now legal.

Yet another sign of the apocalypse

Courtesy of Marginal Revolution, a new tool in the war on terror: musical profiling!

Harraj Mann, a British businessman of Indian origin, missed his flight at an airport in northern England when the cabbie who had driven him to the airport reported him as a security risk. What did Mr. Mann do to raise the cabbie's suspicion? He requested that the cabbie play two songs -- "London Calling" by the Clash and "Immigrant Song" by Led Zeppelin! Evidently the cab was equipped with some device that allows a rider to plug in his MP3 player and the cabbie can play the songs over the cab's radio. Mr. Mann evidently requested those two songs and the freaking cabbie turned him in as a potential terrorist!

The article reprinted the "suspicious" lyrics, but c'mon folks! You gotta' be kidding! I'm so sure suicide bombers intent on bringing down a plane would get their last earthly kicks by jamming out to Clash and Zeppelin tunes. Does anyone think anymore or are we all just programmed to "follow procedures"? I'm sure the security official took a "better safe than sorry" view of the situation, but this just seems a bit over the top to me. Oh, here's the official police statement:

In this case the report was made with the best of intentions and we would not want to discourage people from contacting us with genuine concerns regarding security.

I'm sure Mr. Mann feels all better now. Oh, he missed his flight and took a taxi (I'm assuming a different taxi) back home.

Wait, here's another version of the story that says the guy didn't ask the cabbie for anything, he was just singing along with the songs! Surely this is just a belated April Fools joke, right? Please tell me it is.

I wasn't underwater, but ...

I did spend a good chunk of my afternoon basket weaving. Actually that's not exactly true. I spent the day weaving a footstool! See, my co-worker, R, is an old pro at basket weaving and she even teaches classes occasionally. Every once in a while she brings stuff in and weaves with her work buddies. Being a man, I've never joined the weaving circle, but this time R decided they'd do footstools and she decided a footstool was manly enough that I could join in. Though basket weaving often is used as a low-effort comparison, this was amazingly hard work (R says baskets are MUCH easier). Regardless, here's the finished product as it was drying outside:


Never knew I was such a "Renaissance Man", huh?

Best story of the day

I saw this story (or a version of it) in the local paper this morning. Free pizza delivery BY PLANE to remote Alaska villages -- how cool!

NOME, Alaska — Last Christmas, residents of the Yupik Eskimo village of Savoonga added a special dish to their everyday fare of whale, walrus, reindeer and berries.

They had fresh pizza flown in from Nome, 170 miles away.

A tiny delivery joint, Airport Pizza, had opened several months earlier just steps from Nome’s busy runways, and many of Savoonga’s 700 residents were eager to try more than conventional pepperoni and plain cheese.

Nome’s first and only pizza delivery service does a robust business in the western Alaska town of 3,500. But it really stands out for its free deliveries via commuter plane to more than a dozen other remote subarctic villages spread over a region about the size of the state of Washington.

Dreams

First off, I survived the storms with no damage. Though I have no right to grumble at all, given what happened in my native state, I will say it was the scariest storm I've ever ridden out. Sure it didn't compare (I'm sure) to a hurricane or when a high school friend's house was completlely flattened by a twister, but it was pretty darned scary for a while. I'd gone to my "hidey hole" along with the cats a few minutes before the big storm hit. It started with the loudest, closest thunder I've ever heard, then the hail hit. I heard reports from "quarter-sized" up to "baseball-sized". While I doubt the latter, it sounded as if I were in the washing machine with random pieces of cutlery. Seriously, it was loud! To compound matters, I had no way to know if it was just hail beating the hell out of my house or if it was debris from a tornado. The last report I'd heard on the TV was that the big storm seemed to be heading right for Decatur High School -- just a couple of football fields down the street. If all that wasn't bad enough, just before the storm hit, my "psycho cat", Gumbo, decided to start HOWLING! That's the only way I can describe it. Have you ever had to give a cat a bath? Well that noise pales compared to the noises Gumbo was making Friday night. Still, we made it through unscathed.

Now to dreams. I don't know why, but I've been having the oddest dreams of late. Though not a conscious decision on my part, I seem to have a stock set of dreams that I usually go through. Sure the details change a bit, but the basic storyline is pretty much the same. Lately, though, I've been dealing with new, very vivid, dreams. Do you remember the episode of Northern Exposure where everyone was having dreams that really belonged to to other people? That's what I feel like. Last night's dream was really freaky as it featured The Vol Abroad AND, most unusually, the VolBro. What makes that strange is that I never really had that much to do with the VolBro. On the other hand, the whole experience has been less exciting than I'd like. If I'm going to be snooping into others' dreams, I'd at least like to get some exciting dreams. Of course it could be a sign I need some professional help. [No need for witty comments on my general need for professional help!]

Signs of Spring

One sign of spring you can ALWAYS count on in North Alabama -- "tornadic" thunderstorms! Yep, they've been talking about this round of storms since at least yesterday morning. Many area schools already have announced they are letting out at 12:00 or 1:00 even though right now (11:45), everything is calm. I'm hoping it's just the usual overkill, but I still get a little nervous when they start talking about a storm a day ahead of time. 3:00 to 9:00 is supposed to be the danger zone. Good wishes will be appreciated.

Another sign of spring -- things are blooming. Per The Vol Abroad's sort of request from the other day, I have some dogwood pix. Sorry, Vol, I didn't have any good red buds on my morning route. Oh, I did include a picture of my jasmine. My porch probably is too shady to get a bunch of blooms, but it's better than last year. Enjoy.

Men vs. Women

Now y'all know I've been a bit "down" on women of late, but I honestly do like women -- probably better than men (no snide sexual preference innuendos here). In fact, most of the readers (that I know about) of this blog are female. There ARE, however, differences between the sexes and it'd be silly to claim otherwise. Melusina complains about remote controls, but I've got a bigger fish to fry -- the toilet seat issue!

You know the basic issue, so there's no need for me to explain the problem. This issue came up the other night at the local coffee shop where I was "enjoying" the vocal performance of a folk/reggae/gospel group from Trinidad or Tonga or somewhere similarly exotic (a blog post in and of itself). Anyway, one of my coffee pals, we'll call her Frannie, went off on the usual rant: Why can't men just put the stupid seat down? Now contrarian that I am, I couldn't let that pass.

"Why," I asked, "is it assumed that it's the man's duty to put the seat in the position most desired by the female? Why shouldn't the female be considerate and lift the seat UP after use to make the male's next trip more convenient?"

You can imagine the shock and awe that generated. You'd have thought I'd drawn a cartoon of a prohibited religious figure! But I wasn't completely satisfied. No, I then decided to pour some gasoline on the fire. I pointed out that an economist at Michigan State had tried to solve the problem, but she wouldn't like his conclusion (trust me, NO need to read the paper):

I show that the "selfish" or the "status quo" rule that leaves the toilet seat in the position used dominates the down rule in a wide range of parameter spaces including the case where the inconvenience costs are the same.

In actuality, though, my favorite analysis of the seat problem is this tongue-in-cheek game theoretic approach. The "first best" solution:

In the morning John [the man] leaves the seat up after performing #1. In the evening he puts it down.

As I said, I didn't expect my "scientific" evidence to win me much support and it did not. Instead Frannie became even more agitated. She then went off on how GROSS it is to have to put the seat down. "First," she said, "you have to barely grasp the seat with two fingers, lower it, wash your hands, then use the bathroom, and finally wash your hands all over again!"

Now that seemed a little obsessive to me, but it did raise a question. I could understand her doing that with a public toilet, but wouldn't all the public toilets she used have the seats down already (I was assuming she only used women's toilets)? "Frannie," I asked, "do you mean you even go through all that at home?" "Yes," she said, "it's just GROSS to have to touch the toilet seat!" Now I had her: "That means you are asking men to perform a task that you, even at home, find repulsive! You say that you won't even touch the toilet seat at home, yet you expect men to put it down after each use! Where's the justice in that?" She had no answer.

Mind you, I have no illusion that I "won" the argument or changed Frannie's opinion a whit. No, I realize this is an ingrained "right/wrong" issue that will never change. I'm actually reminded of my friend, Karen, from grad school. She was ranting one day about her dad. "He NEVER puts the seat down. Even after all these years when I've practically fallen in the bowl in the middle of the night, HE still hasn't learned!" I couldn't resist pointing out to Karen that it might not be her dad who was slow to learn! "Hey, Karen, look before you sit!"

P.S. Full disclosure: Since I have cats and I don't want them drinking from the toilet, I always put the seat and the lid down so this is not an issue for me. Further, I always put the seat down in other settings just because it seems to be the "right" thing to do -- I've been indoctrinated. I just wanted to point out the lack of logic in Frannie's argument.

Hubris

Can Major League Baseball really be this arrogant?

The World Anti-Doping Agency wasn't allowed to conduct unannounced drug tests before the World Baseball Classic and still can't determine whether the sport's governing body complied with its code.

WADA said in a statement Tuesday that the International Baseball Federation, which was put in charge of testing by Major League Baseball and the Major League Baseball Players Association, allowed its out-of-competition testing agreement with WADA to expire in December and didn't renew it until after the tournament, which was played March 3-20.

"WADA's repeated requests of baseball officials to provide the details of the anti-doping policies and their implementation have been met with refusal until one week after the end of the event," WADA said.

C'mon MLB -- either you're serious about the doping issue or you're not. You can't have it both ways! Sure MLB ignored obvious signs of steroid use for years, but now it claims it's ready to get serious: the new drug testing, the stiff penalties, and the new investigative panel headed by George Mitchell. Then something like this comes up. What's the deal?

MLB, of course, claims this is no big deal. "This seems to be nothing more than a petty jurisdictional dispute among two members of the Olympic family," he [an MLB spokesman] said. Even the WADA admits that its beef is with the IBF and not with MLB. Still, the timing seems very suspicious -- IBF's agreement with the WADA expired in December and they just happened to put off renewing it until ONE WEEK AFTER the World Baseball Classic? The whole thing reminds me of the Dante Jones (I think that was his name) summer school scandal. I may be wrong on a few details, but this is how I remember it. Jones was a hot shot ringer than the Mississippi State basketball coach had found on the playgrounds of Nashville. At the time he was working at a Kenny Rogers' Roasters restaurant, but coach got him to go to college and turn his life around -- at least that was the tale.

In reality, Jones was brought in for one season for one reason -- he helped the Bulldogs get to the Final Four (I think). Of course Jones had some eligibility issues, so he went to summer school at one of the community colleges in MS where he earned something like 36 credit hours IN ONE SUMMER! Anyone who has ever been to summer school knows that is impossible. When the NCAA came around asking questions though, the school president said something like, "We're not part of the NCAA and we don't have to answer to them."

This is what the convenient lapsing of the WADA agreement reminds me of. We don't like your jurisdiction, so we'll just find a "workaround". Oh, as for Dante Jones ... I seem to recall he attended school for one semester, failed all his classes (maybe didn't even take final exams), but by the time sanctions came down the season was over. He entered the NBA draft and I think maybe played one year of pro ball. Again, I'm a little fuzzy on the details (and Google didn't help), but it was clearly a ploy to "rent" a player for one season.

Anyway, I thought MLB was smarter than MS State, but I don't know why I'd have thought that. Oh well, the Cards play tonight and I'm actually going to get to see the game. Yes, I realize the inconsistency: I criticize MLB's actions, yet I still consume the product. But it's the Cards!

Startling revelation

I had a strange moment Sunday morning. I meant to blog about it yesterday, but I got distracted by Opening Day. Anyway, back to Sunday ...

Each week I look forward to the Sunday newspapers (I get Huntsville and Decatur). It's not that either one is a great paper (though the HSV Times is not bad), but I just love spending a few hours going through the Sunday papers. I get to read editorials, op-eds, and letters to the editor that fill me with a sense of brotherhood or enrage me to the point where I'd like to track down the writer and cut his heart out with a spoon (Robin Hood reference, Ang)! On top of all that, I take the time to read the little small stories that seem to show up every week -- a random AP spot about a dog in Denver calling 911 when his master's house caught on fire or something like that. Ooh, and the Decatur paper does a "years ago" thing on Sunday where they run highlights from 75, 50, 25, and 10 years ago. One week I saw how, in 1930, some house on Bank Street had been ticketed for something like "congregating after 10:00 p.m." or some similarly egregious offense. Regardless, I love the Sunday papers.

As I go through the papers each week, I save the "sale papers" for the very end. I toss the furniture store circulars, the Parisian papers, and most of the grocery and drug store ads, but I hoard the offerings from Dick's Sporting Goods, Target, Sears, all the computer/office places, Best Buy, etc. Though I KNOW I won't be going on a major spree, I always enjoy going through the ads and finding the best deals, comparing the various options, seeing who has the best installation/delivery offerings, etc. This week, though, I came to a startling revelation: the papers were doing nothing for me. I had no sense of excitement, no tingle when I looked at the printers, no longing for the latest outdoors gadget. Nothing! That's when I realized I DON'T WANT ANYTHING! Now I know that's not literally true. I wouldn't turn my nose up at world peace, a plasma TV, or the ability to hit a curveball, but I can't think of a thing I'd just like to rush out and buy.

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not swearing off consumerism or making myself out to be somehow "above" all that. I'm not signing on to one of those movements I've been reading about where people have vowed not to buy anything other than food, medicine, gas, etc. for a year. Keep in mind that I did just buy a Jeep and I know something will catch my eye before long. No, I just don't want anything right now. I can't accurately describe why this disconcerted me, but the fact is it did. On the one hand I have the urge to go all Emerson and write up an essay; on the other I want to pull a Nanci Griffith and fill my suitcase with cheap plastic trinkets from Woolworth's.

Aw heck, I think I'll just get to work on my "back in my day speech" that will firmly ensconce me as an old coot, old far beyond my actual years. Heck, maybe I can just hire someone to write it for me!

Opening Day

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti

Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseballs around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball. ~Pete Hamill

Finally, it is Opening Day once more! I couldn't find the quote I was looking for -- something about making it through March and knowing you'll survive another year -- but those two will do just fine. Note that, in my opinion, Opening Day is today -- Monday -- not Sunday night! I must admit to taking a little evil pleasure in the fact that the MLB/ESPN created Sunday night opener featured an almost 3 hour rain delay. Hey MLB/ESPN, real baseball fans know the season doesn't really open until 1:10 Central time today when Aaron Harang throws the first pitch in Cincinnati!

Still, baseball is back and fans of all 30 teams can, for a while, dream of winning The Series -- though realistically everyone knows the Cardinals will win it this year, right? I had an erudite tribute planned for today's post. It was going to feature many of American's greatest philopsophers: Walt Whitman, Bill Veeck, Yogi Berra, etc. While checking other blogs this morning, however, I saw I'd been scooped by Melusina again. Damn Mel and her 8 hour head start! Oh well, I'll let her wax poetic on the game:

1983 was the year I got to meet Rick Dempsey, and I saw Eddie Murray’s ass in the O’s locker room. By the time ol’ easy out Cal beat the consecutive games record in 1995, baseball was all but over for me. Strikes had left a stale taste in my mouth, and interleague play in 1997 left me cold. I watched a handful of baseball games before I moved out of the U.S. in 2002, and I haven’t seen one since.

Still, I can’t help but feel a gentle stirring in my heart when spring days grow warm. In the distance I imagine the crack of the bat, the cheer of the crowd, the excitement of a player sliding into home. I can smell the hotdogs, the spilled beer, and Boog Powell’s barbecue. If I close my eyes I can see Camden Yards opening up before me, the Bromoseltzer clock tower poised ahead. One breath and I can feel the excitement as the game begins. Baseball has a mystical, ethereal quality that is inexplicable. No other sport has had so many legends and myths surrounding it. No other sport feels the way baseball feels – the sounds, the smells, the aura. I do miss baseball, although it will never feel the same as it did on a cool summer evening in 1983.

Well said, Mel.

Seriously, folks: Watch a game, drink a beer, eat a dog; life isn't so bad. Play Ball!