Bayous and Beyond

Horseshoes, Hand Grenades, and 18-1: My Thoughts on Super Bowl XLII

2008-02-06T09:02:00.000-06:00

Only this year's Patriots could get this long-time Jets fan to root for the New York (Football) Giants.

This game somehow managed to be dramatic, exciting, and sloppily played.

Mercury Morris really needs to tone it down a little.

Hindsight is a funny thing. Had I known that Belichick, Brady, & Co. were going to lose this game, I wouldn't have gotten myself worked into such an uproar over the latest Spygate allegations.

Speaking of Belichick, at least he didn't kick a puppy as he made his dash to the locker room with one second showing on the clock, as that's pretty much the only way he could have come across as a bigger jerk or a poorer sport.

The 2007-08 Patriots are, without question, the least accomplished 18-1 team in NFL history.

Despite watching hours of Fox's pre-game coverage, I honestly don't remember seeing Ryan Seacrest on my TV screen. This is certainly a testament to the human mind's ability to protect itself from trauma.

With all due apologies to Marcus Allen and Lynn Swann, Manning to Tyree should be regarded as the greatest play in Super Bowl history.

Although my daughter did not watch the game, she still showed her support and a knowledge of football beyond her years by yelling "The Patriots Suck" at regular intervals. (I don't know where she ever got that idea, by the way . . .)

Bayou Blogger Ties the Knot!

2007-12-26T12:24:00.000-06:00

In case you're wondering why the blog's been silent the last few months . . . well, I got married on the 21st of December to the most wonderful woman on Earth. We're a blended family, so I'm adjusting to both married life and to becoming the father of a lovely and precocious 8-year-old.

Fear not, though, Bayous and Beyond will be back, better than ever, in 2008.

Hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas and has a safe and Happy New Year!

Sequestered Him

2007-10-19T13:01:00.001-05:00

Liquid smoke lilts off reneging rafters:

licking notions for him to eat.

Cicada-clicking-booms are fists of silverbacks — like this they begat laughter:

economized sustenance. Bold — a gorilla fending his Virungas-status meat.

Brothers: double limbs and digits groan to sit in moisture-lush as well… the lilt’s refrain —

baffling — same poverty seems not to make him captured.

Swells frolicking (deep-down-deft), like wincing deftly: blows of acid polyps in the rain.

New rinks dated, stolid pry; the blacktop streets: the quips to keep him up for Rapture.

Posthumous Postremus

2007-10-16T12:39:00.000-05:00

It took traveling thousands of years through time for Joachim Rison to decide that he was, at heart, a romantic.

He was doing research for his honors project. The topic was suicide notes. This wasn’t quite as morbid as it sounded. Joachim was primarily interested in the ideation behind the suicidal expression and the evolution of the form itself. He didn’t know who (or what) had crafted the first one. The earliest suicide note he’d found was a drawing on a cave wall in the south of France. This particular Paleolithic-era artist traced his own hands and then drew two smaller versions representing the mate and child he’d lost the previous spring. He did all of this a few days before throwing himself off a cliff to his death. When he was 16, Joachim first heard (and believed) Arthur Nathan’s theory that 400 years’ worth of crop circles (the ones that weren’t hoaxes) was really just one extraterrestrial’s rather maudlin version of “Goodbye, cruel world.” According to Prof. Nathan’s translation, it was an adolescent over-dramatizing a first break-up.

It was all open to interpretation, and some of them were on the abstract side. He’d watched Gaius Julius Caesar manipulate a group of his former peers into ending his life at the apex of his power and fame. The “note” was encoded in the great man’s will. Caesar made it clear that he knew his death was the only way to preserve his reputation. Points for creativity, as suicide-by-cop has nothing on suicide-by-senatorial cabal. Joachim recognized Credonic IX for the brutal tyrant he was, yet had also found himself fascinated by the ego of a man willing to turn a thriving planet and its three inhabited moons into his own funeral pyre. He still thought that message lacked the power and panache of Brazilian President Vargas’ Carta Testamento.

Of course, many of his opinions changed after he met Naomi and her sister, Sheila. He arrived on the corner of Baronne and Julia in New Orleans’ Central Business District. He was in his own body, though it took him a good minute or two to be sure of this. Time jumps were always disorienting. “Like every cell in your body is experiencing a head rush,” is how Trevor once described it.

Joachim had overshot his destination. The jump itself was a real close call (the look on the train conductor’s face. . .), but he’d thought that getting a definitive answer to the “did he or didn’t he” question with respect to Jozsef Attila was worth the risk.

The purpose of this trip was to gain insight into a famous suicide note from Earth’s 21st century. Its author was a renowned poet. She’d achieved fame posthumously. In fact, nothing she’d written had been published before her death. The suicide note was discovered in her attic, in a journal lying next to her body. Born in 1923, she kept a journal for the last 42 years of her life. The rest of the volumes had been found lining the otherwise empty bookshelves in her sitting room. The suicide missive, in the form of a poem, was on the last page of her last journal. (The second-to-last page was a scathing commentary on what the author saw as lingering “color” issues within New Orleans’ African-American community. She was light-skinned herself, but took those of every shade to task for perpetuating certain stereotypes.) Scholars described the untitled poem as a poignant expression of love in the midst of extreme loneliness. She was saying farewell to her family, friends long gone, and a city she believed would never be restored. She didn’t defend her choice to end her life, but simply tried to explain it. Joachim took her words to mean that she’d chosen to silence herself, instead of leaving the task to someone or something else. There was much debate over whether Leda Gardner would have been rescued had she not decided to slit her wrists. Joachim had no real opinion one way or the other. Trevor thought it mattered a great deal. If her situation was hopeless, whether she knew it or not, Trevor believed that it somehow “cheapened” her decision.

When her work began appearing in literary magazines, many in the press attempted to portray her (however subtly) as some sort of self-taught savant. Joachim thought this would have ticked her off. Leda Gardner was a Southern University (Baton Rouge) graduate with a master’s in education from Xavier, and damn proud of it.

Joachim knew that he was in the right place, wrong time the instant he looked at his chronometer, which read Sunday, January 7, 2007. It took him a little bit longer to realize that a fight had broken out 10 meters in front of him. He saw one man beat another senseless while two young women watched. One woman was crying. The other looked annoyed.

Light waves were being bent around him, he knew, but beyond that Joachim could not really have explained the physics behind the various distortion effects that (usually) prevented him from being noticed when he materialized. This had bothered him until the time he asked a late 20th century journalism student how her camcorder worked. She just shrugged her shoulders. To her, the how was secondary to the fact that the device functioned the way it should. Joachim felt the same way about the technology he relied on.

There were only four people (not counting himself) in the immediate vicinity. When he “popped” into view (it wasn’t audible, but he still liked to think of it that way), another distortion effect guaranteed that observers would see him in an outfit he’d pre-selected to blend in with his surroundings. Here it was black jeans and a grey long-sleeved shirt.

One man finally stopped beating up the other and ran off. The crying woman continued sobbing, but she made no move towards the figure now lying half in the street and half on the sidewalk. Joachim walked towards the trio.

“What do you want?” were Naomi’s first words to him.

“Nothing, I was just – ”

“Whatever.” She glanced at the other woman (who was still crying), shook her head, and then motioned to the barely conscious man lying at her feet. “Can you give me a hand?” She grabbed one of the man’s arms. Joachim grabbed the other and they propped him up against the wall behind them.

“Friend of yours?” he asked.

“Sheila’s boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. Depends on the time of day.”

“Sheila?” Joachim asked.

“My sister.” Naomi pointed at the other woman. “I’m Naomi.” She wiped her hand on her pant leg (she was also wearing black jeans) and extended it out to him.

“George Sanders.” Joachim said. It was a running gag between him and Trevor. They always chose a suicide from at least 50 years before the date to which they were traveling.

“Like the actor?”

“My dad loved Ivanhoe.” He said, wishing he’d gone with Charles R. Jackson. Joachim didn’t know if his father had even seen the movie. Lance Rison killed himself 7 months before the birth of his youngest son. He’d never felt comfortable broaching the subject of her late husband’s likes and dislikes with his mother. Actually, he’d never felt comfortable discussing much of anything with her.

“Right. This waste of space is Marlon.” She nudged the prostrate man with her toe, eliciting a moan. Naomi started rummaging through Marlon’s pockets, prompting another moan. Naomi gave an exasperated sigh. “Sheila, get over here!” She said. The other woman had been staring up at the sky. She turned around and walked over to them.

“Hello,” Sheila said to him. He held out his hand to her. Sheila kept her arms at her side. Naomi grabbed a small brown leather purse off of her sister’s shoulder.

“Sheila Gardner, this is George Sanders.” Naomi said. “Yeah, like the actor,” she added when Sheila furrowed her brow. Naomi began rummaging through the purse.

“Gardner?” Joachim said.

“Voila.” Naomi said, pulling out an open pack of cigarettes and a small, green lighter. She lit one, and quickly placed the lighter and cigarettes in her pocket before taking a drag. “What were you saying?”

“Gardner. I asked if your last name was Gardner.”

“Yep.”

“So you’re Leda Gardner’s niece.” Joachim said. Naomi Gardner was the editor of the vast majority of her great-aunt’s published works. There was plenty of disagreement in literary circles over whether she received too much or too little credit for the finished product.

“Jesus.” said Naomi. Joachim noticed that Sheila was now standing behind him. It was slightly disconcerting. “You’re not that guy from the Picayune, are you?”

“No.” Joachim said. Sheila moved beside him. She sighed, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“New Orleans Magazine?” Naomi asked.

“I’m not . . . I mean, I was just passing by, and—”

“You’re here about the poems, though, right?”

“Sort of, but—”

“I knew it!” Naomi grabbed her sister’s arm and pulled her away from Joachim. “Look, if she’d wanted that stuff published, she’d have done it herself. Carl never even knew about the journals! I’m not budging on this, and you can quote me.” That took Joachim by surprise.

“I’m not a reporter.”

“Whatever.” Naomi said. “Hold this.” She gave the purse to Joachim. Naomi knelt down and rummaged through Marlon’s pockets again. The man didn’t moan this time, but he let out a loud sigh and his head plopped from one shoulder to the other. She pulled out a cell phone. Joachim looked from her to her sister. Sheila was now walking on the edge of the curb as if on a tightrope. “No, this is Naomi. You’d better come and get your boy,” he heard her say. “Uh-huh. Anthony found him and beat his ass! Right. Hospital, homeless shelter, mortuary, I don’t care where you take him. He’s not my problem.” She flipped the phone closed and dropped it onto Marlon’s lap.

Sheila was twirling her hair around her finger. “Can we go now?” She said flatly. Naomi sighed.

“Come on.” Naomi grabbed her sister’s hand. The women started walking southwest on Baronne.

“It was a pleasure meeting you.” Sheila said.

“Hey!” Joachim called out. “What about Marlon?”

“What about him?” Naomi answered. “If his friends give a shit, they’ll come by to pick his fat ass up.” This was one of the periods in Earth’s history in which corpulence was not necessarily a mark of wealth. In this time it was often an invitation to ridicule. In the U.S. in particular, thinner was deemed better in this era. It was the same thing with hairlessness (natural, not the result of removal) in his time.

Joachim waited until Marlon’s friends pulled up. They shoved him out of the way, and scooped Marlon into a black SUV. Joachim hurried off after Naomi and Sheila. He’d seen a photograph of Naomi Gardner, who’d died only a few short years after her great-aunt. He remembered thinking she was pretty, but he now saw that the camera hadn’t done her justice. Her skin was a light caramel color. She wore her hair relaxed, with reddish-brown highlights. She had a snub nose and a generous mouth. The photo had captured all of that, but the living, breathing woman had a “vibrancy” to her, a sense of energy about to burst out at any moment. He thought how sad it was that in his timeline, this spirited young woman died in a one-car crash in near West End.

His arrival had already turned this into an alternate reality. The very instant he made the jump, Cent Chron assigned a catalogue number to this newly created branch of the time stream. (Joachim never liked to consider the possibility that what he thought of as the real timeline was, itself, catalogued as a time-splinter somewhere else). He’d overcome the fear of irreparably damaging the space-time continuum. There had even been a brief period where he made a point of killing at least one butterfly per trip. He still thought that was pretty funny, but Trevor warned him to knock it off before the faculty got wind of it. They frowned on that sort of thing. The guy who went out of his way to muck things up, alternate reality or not, was considered just as unsuited for time travel as the one too paralyzed by fear to even engage the locals in conversation.

Joachim knew that Leda Gardner had lived and died on Deslonde Street in the Lower 9th Ward and he figured that Naomi and Sheila weren’t going that far on foot. He followed them, taking a few surreptitious leaps (through space, not time) in order to catch up. The two women entered a bar on St. Charles Avenue. The sign said that it was open 24 hours. Joachim stood outside for a few minutes before entering.

Joachim started out trying to blend into the crowd. He sat in front of a bar-top trivia machine to the left of the entrance. He’d developed an addiction to them during a trip to late 1990s Manhattan. It was a real trick remembering what time period he was in. Certain mysteries considered unsolved in 2007 were solved by the middle of the century, only to be re-opened a few decades later. The other challenge was trying not to get his timelines mixed up. Both these things became more difficult the more he had to drink. After 6 vodka tonics, he tended to forget that jockey Ron Turcotte had not pulled Secretariat to a complete stop and climbed out of the saddle in the homestretch of the 1973 Belmont Stakes. Trevor, then majoring in sports and leisure activities, had won that bet. There were only a few ways that Big Red could have lost that afternoon. It turned out someone slipping his jockey a pre-race dose of benzodiazepine was one of them.

The first bartender who served him was a woman named Donna. She was a former accountant from California. Donna was very interested in ancient history, and Joachim thought that, for someone who’d never traveled to that era, she knew quite a bit about Rome during the Age of Augustus. Donna sat down next to him after her shift ended. She told him she just had to tell Naomi that someone had beaten all of her high scores. Joachim hadn’t been aware of the significance of the initials NJG. A question about Earth’s Second World War brought back a memory of a fascinating conversation he’d had with Hermann Göring in his Nuremberg jail cell. Joachim didn’t even notice Naomi until she punched him on the shoulder and sat down in the seat vacated by Donna. She helped herself to some of his cheese fries.

“Oops.” Naomi said, watching the screen. “That was a gimme, and you still blew it.”

“You should see me shoot pool.” Joachim said.

“If you’re not a reporter and you’re not working for my uncle, then why are you following us?” she asked. Joachim looked into a pair of luminous, hazel-colored eyes, and found himself struck by the strange urge to tell the truth. He didn’t, of course, but he still tried to tell his story as straight as he could without sounding like a madman.

“I’m a psychology student. I’m doing research for a paper on suicide notes.”

“And you wanted to find out more about the poor little old black woman who gave voice to a city’s heartache.” Naomi grabbed another cheese fry.

“Something like that.” Joachim said. He stared as she licked a bit of melted cheese from the corner of her mouth. “I only started following after I bumped into you guys on Baronne, and that was an accident.”

“Where do you go to school?” she asked.

“Boston.” Joachim said.

“I meant the name of the school.” Naomi signaled the bartender.

“Tufts.” Joachim thought that picking smaller and less well-known schools was a safer bet, particularly if they were located in or near Boston. In the early 21st century, that city had almost as many colleges and universities per square foot as it did residents.

“Oh, yeah? My ex-boyfriend went there. He sang in the Beelzebubs.” She said. Joachim chuckled, wondering how much of this he’d tell Trevor, who always said he went to SUNY-Binghamton, a school and city about which he proudly claimed to know absolutely nothing. When the bartender came over, Naomi ordered another round for both of them. “You’re buying.” She told Joachim.

“Where’s Sheila?” He asked.

“Donna’s keeping an eye on her.” Naomi took a quick glance over her right shoulder towards the pool room. She was drinking 7 and 7’s. Naomi warned him that while she usually wasn’t a mean drunk, she’d been under a lot of stress and was making no guarantees as far as her mood was concerned. She really did prove to be a trivia whiz, although she told Joachim that Sheila had a much better memory for useless information. Naomi also proved to be just as competitive as he was, even accusing him of cheating by raising his eyebrows “at the wrong time” and influencing her to change an answer. Joachim, then on his 10th vodka tonic, didn’t even try to explain that, technically speaking, the first atomic bomb in her planet’s history was dropped on a bio-dome in Atlantis.

Naomi was 23 years old. She told him that she’d dropped out of Tulane two courses short of graduating with a major in English and a concentration in creative writing. She’d gotten pregnant at the start of her senior year and, after a great deal of soul searching, decided to keep the child, only to miscarry in her second trimester. When Katrina hit, she got her sister out of the city as quickly as she could. She didn’t mention her great-aunt, and Joachim assumed it was because the memory was too painful, although Naomi did tell him about losing her parents in her early teens and becoming a virtual caretaker for her older sister. She was now working as an Administrative Assistant at a treatment center for homeless and indigent drug addicts and alcoholics. She said she found the job very rewarding but extremely frustrating.

Naomi provided Joachim with a greater understanding of the phrase “disarmingly honest”. She fooled you into thinking her life was an open book. She gave you so much information (whether you asked for it or not), that it took you a while to figure out that she kept her feelings and emotions to herself. Naomi inundated you with intimate details about her life, but she didn’t invite (or even understand) real intimacy. Joachim didn’t get the sense that she was trying to get him drunk. He just thought she found his drunkenness pleasantly distracting. Naomi divided the world into categories of distraction. Some were pleasant. Some were mildly interesting. Most of them just got on her nerves.

They talked a great deal about Sheila. Naomi said her sister suffered from a pervasive development disorder which mostly resembled a mild form of Asperger’s Syndrome. Sheila had a remarkable memory and a tremendous facility for languages and music. She simply spent most of her existence emotionally detached from the rest of humanity. This jibed with Joachim’s observation of her speech and mannerisms. He wondered whether anyone had ever misdiagnosed Naomi as alexithymic. Naomi was perfectly capable of interpreting nonverbal signals; she just chose to ignore them.

It took a little over an hour for the topic to turn to suicide.

“I’m obviously interested in it, but I’ve never thought about doing it.” Joachim said.

“Bullshit.” Naomi said. “You’re obviously more than just interested in it, which tells me you must have at least entertained the idea.” She blew cigarette smoke in his face.

“I’m serious. My dad killed himself, but –”

“Now I get it.” She said, not understanding. “Young George walked in on his dad swinging from the ceiling fan and decided to engage in the lifelong pursuit of understanding why.

“No. He died before I was born.” Joachim took a sip from his drink.

“Ah, so he’s trying to unravel the mystery that is the father he’s never known.” Naomi said with mock solemnity.

“Nope.” Suicide was rare in his era. By the time he went away to school, his older sisters had outgrown the need to invent fantastic stories to explain their father’s absence. When it was Joachim’s turn everyone knew that Lance Rison woke up one morning, ate breakfast, and, for no apparent reason, flew his cruiser into a mountain range. When he was 13, Joachim read his first suicide note. He was immediately intrigued. He could not conceive of what would drive a sentient being not only to end his own sentient awareness (and here, self-sacrifice for a greater good or euthanasia didn’t count), but also to feel compelled to try to explain something so fundamentally inexplicable to those he was leaving behind. How could you be so hopeless about your own condition, yet still cling to the hope that others would care about your motives or try to make sense of what you had to say? It still seemed like a paradox to him. “What about you?” He asked.

“What about me?” Naomi said. “Oh, killing myself? Tried it twice. Didn’t take.” Her laughter didn’t reach her eyes.

“And?”

“And, how’d I try? Or, and, do I still think about it?”

“Both.”

“Pills. Both times. Drunk for one, sober for the other.” She drummed her fingers on the top of the bar. “I got charcoaled the second time around. Not very pretty.”

“Interesting.” Joachim said.

“Not really. It was like the times I’ve convinced myself I was in love with a guy, when I was really in love with the idea of being in love with him.”

“So, you were –”

“Let me try to explain.” Naomi rested her hands on top of the bar, and laid her head on them. She looked up at him. “I was enthralled by the thought of ending my life, but I wasn’t really ready to have it end.”

“That’s actually interesting.” Joachim said.

“Thanks.” She smiled.

“What about now?”

“Do I still think about it? Shit, yeah. I mean, part of me has a hard time believing someone when they tell me the thought doesn’t ever cross their mind.” She paused. “Do you wanna hear something funny?”

“Sure.” Joachim said.

“The thing that really stops me from going through with it is that I won’t be around afterward to enjoy it.”

“Enjoy what?”

“All of it. My obit. My funeral. The laughter, the tears, the gossip. I won’t get to participate. That’s the irony. I’m pissed because I spend a lot of my time thinking that my death might be the only thing to make my life interesting again . . . and therefore worth living.” She downed the rest of her drink. “Well?”

“I’m speechless.”

“Did what I say make any sense?”

“Sort of.” Joachim hesitated.

“Spit it out.”

“I think . . . well, it’s like you still love yourself more than you hate your life.” He said. “That’s not really a recipe for a successful suicide.”

“Are you implying I’m self-absorbed?” Naomi batted her eyes at him.

“You’re definitely self-centered. Actually, it sounds like you would kill yourself, if only you weren’t so narcissistic.” He said. Naomi burst into peals of laughter, then buried her head in her hands as her sides shook. “Did you ever leave a note?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask that.” She said. “I wrote several of them the second time. One of them was a keeper, but, you know, suicide notes lose a little something when the writer doesn’t get the job done. If there’s ever a third time, I might just make it look it like an accident.”

“If you hung onto any, I’d like to read them.” Joachim said. “The notes, I mean.” Naomi smiled.

“Maybe after we get to know each other a little better.” She waved the bartender over. “Where’d you say you were staying again?”

“I didn’t. I’m going to try and find a hotel –”

“No, you’re not.” Naomi said, and that settled that. She ordered two shots of tequila, and told the bartender, Steve, to tell another woman, Lisa, to go grab Donna and Sheila from the pool room. It wasn’t until he stood up that Joachim realized just how drunk he really was. Fortunately, Naomi’s building was only a few blocks away. They talked until sunrise. He told her that he’d left his bags in a locker at the Greyhound Station, but that there was nothing he needed right away. Naomi kept giving him surprisingly strong rum and cokes. The last thing he remembered was staring up at the ceiling and hearing Sheila ask her sister how long “Mr. Sanders” was going to be staying with them.

Joachim awakened to the sound of Sheila vacuuming the living room. He opened his eyes the second time she ran the vacuum cleaner into his right foot. Sheila was wearing headphones, and seemed oblivious to his presence. He quickly moved out of the way and let her finish. When he sat back down, he saw that Naomi had left a note on the rattan coffee table.

George:

I had to go to work. (The nuthouse I was telling you about last night.) I didn’t want to wake you. You’re cute when you’re asleep, by the way. There’s food in the fridge if your stomach can handle it. I assume you’ll be able to find the Bus Station from here. Sheila knows the address. I’ll call this afternoon to see what’s up. I don’t have a spare key, but Sheila’s not going to go anywhere until I get back.

NJG

Joachim motioned to Sheila that he was going to the bathroom. She gave no overt indication that she understood or cared. He relieved himself, and spent some time trying to figure out what to do next. He was carrying $6,000 in late 20th century U.S. currency. He also knew that he could return to his own time and timeline whenever he chose. Still, he felt himself on the verge of panic. This happened when he found himself somewhere and some when he didn’t want to leave. He was intrigued. He was curious. He also thought he might be in love.

When Joachim walked back into the living room, Sheila told him that he was welcome to do what he wanted, but that she was going to be busy grading fugal chorales for her music theory class. Naomi had mentioned that her sister was a teaching assistant in UNO’s Department of Music. They sat on opposite ends of the futon for 25 minutes of what was, to him, very awkward silence. When the telephone rang, Sheila got up and went to the kitchen to answer it.

“Hello.” He heard her say. “I’m fine. I have a few papers left and some other projects I need to work on.” She paused, and Joachim turned around to look at her. Sheila was looking around the kitchen. “No. He’s not here now. I will tell him if I see him, though. Okay.” She hung up the phone and sat back down on the far end of the futon. “Can I get you anything?” She said.

“No.” Joachim glanced up at the clock. It was 1:30 p.m. “Um, did Naomi tell you when she was coming back?”

“Not this morning, but she just told me she’s very busy and that you shouldn’t expect her until at least 5:30.”

“That was her on the phone?”

“Yes.” Sheila paused. “She asked about you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“She asked if you were there, and I told her no.”

“Why did you tell her that?”

“Because you weren’t there.” Sheila said. She raised her eyes from the papers in front of her. It was the first time she’d made eye contact with him.

“I wasn’t?” Joachim asked. He’d been known to accidentally set off his personal cloaking device, especially after a night of heavy drinking.

“No. You were in the living room. I was in the kitchen.” She said. She returned to grading her papers. “I told Naomi I’d give you the message.”

Joachim told Sheila that he was going to the Greyhound Station to get his things. He actually walked to Canal St. and bought himself several pieces of relatively cheap luggage. Afterward, he walked to a nearby shopping mall and raided Saks Fifth Avenue and Kenneth Cole for some actual articles of clothing. He also caught a movie about the life and times of Edie Sedgwick. Naomi was waiting for him when he got back.

“Lousy.” She said when he asked her how her day went. Naomi was sitting on the futon with her legs folded, lotus position. “I hate showing up hung over. There are never cups at the water cooler, and you can’t get any aspirin to save your life.” She pronounced it “cain’t”. It was odd because it was the only word in her vocabulary that revealed her as someone who’d been born and raised in the American South. “Mondays suck anyway. It’s like the guys can’t stand the fact that I can go out and party. Well, half of them already think I’m a bitch because I don’t let them delude themselves into thinking I’m interested in hooking up.” She frowned, and shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, seriously. You’re an unemployed, homeless, and socially maladjusted crackhead. What exactly are you bringing to the table? I could understand if I were some chick who knew you back before you ruined your life, but I’m just seeing the ‘after’ picture, and it’s not pretty.” She folded her arms. “Wait . . . Rewind that one. I had a trying day. I’m glad to be home. I still like my job.” She glanced at the front door. His luggage was standing to one side. “Hey, you got your stuff!” Naomi exclaimed.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“What’s that about?” She asked.

“What?”

“You have a smirk on your face. It was the same thing last night.” She glared at him. “I hate feeling like I’m missing the joke.”

“No jokes here.” Joachim said.

“I told people at work about you.” Naomi said softly. “I never do that. Well, almost never.”

“Good stuff or bad?”

“Good. Definitely good. I said I met someone, and that, his smirking aside, I liked most of what I’d seen so far. I didn’t mention that we got drunk together and that you spent the night.” She paused. “So, what now?”

“I have no idea.” Joachim said. That, at least, was the complete truth. He couldn’t leave yet. He knew he was falling for Naomi, but he told himself that he was staying to unravel the mystery surrounding this apparent battle over Leda Gardner’s literary works. He’d never read anything to that effect in the histories.

“When do you have to go back to Tufts?”

“Winter Study. I don’t have to go back to Boston until the last week in January.”

“What were you planning on doing? Housing-wise, I mean.”

“I’ve got an uncle in Covington.” He sat down on the futon.

“Covington? That’s way too far.” She stretched out and laid her head on his lap. “You haven’t asked yet, but you can stay here. This thing does fold out, you know. Hmm. You smell nice.” She grabbed one of his hands with both of hers. He asked her about her great-aunt and her uncle Carl. She told him they’d talk about it later.

Naomi cooked dinner that night. She said she enjoyed cooking, despite not being very good at it. Sheila neither agreed nor disagreed, but commented that all of her sister’s dishes ended up tasting pretty much the same. “They won’t kill you, though.” Sheila added evenly.

That night, Joachim did not sleep on the sleeper futon.

He asked Naomi if she was going back to Sparky’s Tavern. She told him that one of her cardinal rules was not to drink on consecutive days. There were exceptions, she said, but tonight wasn’t going to be one of them. Joachim had often been told that he sent mixed signals. His attitude towards sex was decidedly casual, but he wasn’t promiscuous. He didn’t run when the opportunity presented itself, but he also didn’t act as if it interested him all that much. Several women had taken his take-it-or-leave-it attitude personally. A few had gotten upset, while others had turned it (and him) into a challenge. Naomi was no-nonsense. When she led him into her bedroom, she took off her top, handed him a jar of sweet almond oil, and told him to give her a back rub. Joachim was grateful the ball wasn’t in his court. It was much, much later before they talked about her great-aunt.

Joachim spent the next several mornings and afternoons at an internet café in the French Quarter. Primitive as they were, he loved these early search engines. It made him feel like a real historian. He quickly pulled up Leda Gardner’s obituary. It avoided mention of suicide, but Joachim noted that she was survived only by her nephew, Mr. Carlton Gardner, Jr. and her two grand-nieces, Sheila and Naomi. From what Naomi had told him, Joachim was fairly certain that Leda Gardner had made no specific instructions regarding her written work. She’d never married, and her three siblings had predeceased her, all but one dying without issue. If no specific instructions existed, then rights to her unpublished works (all of them) passed to her heirs: ½ to Carl and ¼ each to Sheila and Naomi. Uncle Carl had apparently gotten his way in Joachim’s timeline. Not only had the writings of Leda Gardner ended up seeing print, but he’d even talked Naomi into pulling a Christopher Tolkien. Naomi said that Uncle Carl was thinking about the continuing cash flow that Leda’s work represented. He wanted to strike while the iron was hot. Naomi disagreed. Joachim asked her why, but she offered up nothing but vague misgivings. She did make it clear that the state of Louisiana (which could intervene) didn’t care much one way or the other.

Joachim inadvertently solved the mystery while searching Naomi’s bedroom for something to write on. He’d been warned not to mess with Sheila’s papers or files. Naomi said that while her sister had gotten better about expressing this verbally, she could still throw a terrific (and often violent) tantrum when she felt like her personal space had been invaded. (That was what kept Marlon coming back, apparently.) Joachim respected people’s privacy, mainly because of how much he valued his own. He and Trevor had been roommates during their first year at the Institute. Trevor had no respect for others’ privacy, although this was somewhat balanced by the fact that he was quite good at keeping secrets. Trevor wasn’t likely to tell anyone else what he found, but he’d definitely go through all of your stuff if you gave him the opportunity.

When Joachim grabbed a notebook from Naomi’s nightstand drawer, he had no intention of invading her privacy. He really was just looking for something to write on. His eyes scanned a page headed by the struck-through title The Wreckage of Her Future. That was the title poem of the largest collection of Leda Gardner’s poetry. Like many time travelers, Joachim did actually believe in coincidences. As Trevor put it, when you’ve seen how reminding Julian the Apostate to strap on a breastplate can change the entire course of Western Civilization, you should be forgiven a little bit of skepticism about the existence of some sort of grand plan. Still, this was pushing it. Joachim leafed through the rest of the notebook. Understanding came quickly. The next 5 hours were the longest of his life, as he waited for Naomi to come home from work.

“What is this, an ambush?” She said. They were in her bedroom, both standing in front of her dresser. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the side view of their torsos reflected in the mirror.

“No, but I can’t let you do this.”

“Do what? I’m not planning on doing anything.”

“That’s the point.”

“No, the point is that you went through my shit.”

“I’ve already told you, that was an accident.”

“You have a lot of those, don’t you?”

“That’s not . . . Look, who’s the writer in the family, you or your aunt?” He said. Naomi’s expression went from confused to afraid to angry and back in the space of a few seconds.

“Jesus!” She said, and threw herself on the bed.

“So, all of it’s yours?”

“Almost all of it. Aunt Leda couldn’t write her way out of a paper bag, but she was a damn good editor. I used to send her the stuff I was working on. She said it kept her going. She called me her lifeline to the outside world.” She said. “I stopped a few months after I miscarried. I never told her what was going on in my life. Then the storm hit. I never knew how much of it made it into her journals.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I felt so guilty. George, I forgot about her! Not completely, but, you know, I put her out of my mind. I assumed her neighbors would take care of her, or someone from Peter Claver’s. Somebody. Then, well, I thought it was neat when they turned the poem into her last words. And, well . . .” She stopped.

“What? Go on.”

“It felt good to see my words, mine, getting all that attention. I’d never had the guts to put myself out there that way. But then when they found the rest of it, and Carl started talking to publishers . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

“You felt trapped.”

“Yes. My aunt had nothing, George. She had no legacy to leave behind. I abandoned her. I don’t want to take this away from her, too, it’s just. . . I mean, there’s no way I can get back control of my poems without telling the whole truth. Otherwise, I’m just another beneficiary. I’m not ready to make a choice one way or the other. I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little kid. It’s taken all of this to make me realize how much I wanted that. Still want that.” She sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just let Carl go ahead. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

Joachim didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell her that the “worst thing” was that seeing her work published under her aunt’s name would eat at her, a constant reminder of roads not taken. He couldn’t tell her that the sense of frustration would grow and grow until the night she drove her car into a viaduct wall in a deliberate act meant to look like an accident. Instead, he took her in his arms and held her tight, as they listened to the sound of Sheila playing her compositions on her keyboard.

The next few days passed quickly. By Friday night, Joachim felt trapped. He assumed he was already in hot water back at school, but if he stayed any longer the situation might become unsalvageable. Even if he told Naomi everything, what would be the point? He couldn’t take her with him. She might not prove physiologically capable of surviving the trip, and Cent Chron would have a fit either way. And staying here? Absolutely not. There were always stories told at the Institute, cautionary tales really, of students who’d gone “native” and decided to remain in some distant past. Joachim now suspected that these were mostly apocryphal warnings. He liked these jaunts as a change of pace, but he couldn’t see anyone deluding himself into thinking that sticking around permanently was a good idea. Joachim actually started filling out a job application at the Radio Shack on Gentilly Boulevard, but he knew it was hopeless. His ‘porter was already low on juice, so he was dependent upon public transportation. The bus and the streetcar were always arriving within minutes of each other, and neither got you to Broad St. in time to make your connection. Everyone seemed to know this, yet no one did anything about it. He spent three hours sitting on a bench just staring up at the sky. He’d seen Sheila rock herself back and forth when she got agitated. Joachim tried, but it only made him more anxious. He’d gotten off the bus when it neared Greenwood Cemetery. He walked among the monuments and sculptures and wondered if Trevor had managed to get a straight answer out of Thelma Ducoing Toole.

He told himself that Naomi would feel the same if she was in his shoes. She wouldn’t be willing to stay with a man 40,000 years in the past, never to return to her proper place and time, no matter how she thought she might feel about him. The novelty of stone tools would eventually wear off. She’d probably end up using a flint knife to butcher the guy while he slept. It would be the same thing here for him.

When Naomi fell asleep next to him that night, Joachim knew what he had to do.

He had no gift for poetry or prose, so he kept the note as simple as he could.

NG:

I’m sorry for so many things. I should have told you all of it, but I could never find the words. You can’t go where I’m going, and if I stayed, I might end up hating you as much as I love you now. Just know that somewhere, some when, I probably made a different choice, and things all worked out.

Love Always,

GS

Joachim told himself that it was all for the best. He kissed Naomi on the forehead. She murmured something unintelligible and he thought he saw the hint of a smile on her lips. He placed the note on her dresser. Joachim took a final look around the bedroom and dematerialized. There was no sound when he “popped” out of view, but he still liked to think of it that way.

Epilogue

In the splinter in time labeled SWY61727336159, George Sanders Gardner was born on October 8, 2007. He was a healthy, 7-pound baby boy with his mother’s hazel eyes and his father’s dimples. His mother, renowned poet and author, Naomi Jean Gardner, dedicated her second and most famous novel, Viaducts, “to both my Georges”. When he was 11 years old, young George first told the story of his father’s death to his 5th grade classmates. The tale changed over the years. Sometimes his father was a fighter pilot. At other times he was in the Peace Corps. Once, in his early 20s, he explained to a date how his dad, working as an offshore area production foreman saved ten members of his crew from certain death, though it cost him his own life. No matter the details, the way George S. Gardner told it, his father always died a hero.

Redolence

2007-08-10T15:27:00.000-05:00

Failure has a smell.

Failure smells like generic disinfectant that doesn’t quite mask an underlying aroma of rotten food and stale beer.

It's the stink of dirty laundry, clothes piled in a bedroom corner, sunlight warming them through the blinds.

Failure is the smell of cheap liquor so strong that I flinch and recoil the instant I open the bottle.

It’s the odor permeating the dining room at a homeless shelter; the smell I’m almost sure isn’t coming from me.

Failure is the fragrant scent of Confederate Jasmine pointing out that I’m sitting in the moonlight alone.

It's the freshly shampooed hair of the girl in the seat ahead of me whispering how long it’s been since I was that young.

Failure is a wallet that smells like anything but new bills.

It’s that card you sent me years ago; the one from which I can no longer catch even the faintest hint of your perfume.

Wild About K-Ville

2007-07-27T14:01:00.000-05:00

Well, I just caught 2 trailers of "K-Ville", the new cop-drama set in New Orleans coming this fall on Fox.

Here's a sneak peek.

K-Ville Sneak Preview

K-Ville Sneak Preview 2 (with Tawny Cypress)

Anthony Anderson stars as Marlin Boulet. I actually am familiar with Anthony Anderson, and I like his work (yes, even in "My Baby's Daddy") . I'm far more familiar with him in comedic roles, but I thought he did an excellent job both times I've seen him play police officers: "The Departed" and "Law and Order : SVU".

Cole Hauser stars as Trevor Cobb.

Maximiliano Hernández stars as Billy “K-9” Faust

Blake Shields stars as Jeff “Glue Boy” Gooden

Last, but certainly not least, the exquisite Tawny Cypress stars as Ginger “Love Tap” LeBeau. She's definitely stolen every scene in which I've seen her. No surprise there.

Actually, the previews look pretty good, and even if they didn't, I'd still plan on watching K-Ville. I sincerely hope that a "'Love Tap' LeBeau" spin-off is in the works.

Peacocks' Muster

2007-07-24T15:41:00.002-05:00

(Another short-story.)

The monastery had a wonderful library. There were six ceiling fans, two couches, and more chairs than he cared to count. There was a cross, naturally. It bore three nails and a crown of thorns. A dove was perched atop the crown, which he thought was a nice touch.

He was sitting in a brown recliner, reading a biography of Sir Thomas More. He’d never been a big fan, although he preferred More to Becket (I like More more) if given a choice between English saints named Thomas killed by order of English kings named Henry. He was here for peace, quiet, and the most important coin flip of his life. It was certainly peaceful. Something about the surroundings, a wooded area in SE Louisiana made even the most ignorant loudmouth speak softer and listen harder. There were ponds and paths and peacocks, though they, like him, weren’t native to the area. The whole atmosphere simply screamed out “Abandon drama, ye who enter here.”

He’d gone on this type of retreat once before, as part of a group of married couples. He suspected it had done his own marriage more harm than good. He and his wife had nothing but time to discover just how little they actually had in common. He’d heard stories of people waking up next to strangers after a hard night of partying. That had to be far less terrifying than waking up next to a stranger and realizing you’d been married to them for over 10 years. He didn’t know when this occurred to her, but he’d realized it when they were touring the various buildings.

The church itself was cruciform. The mural above the exit had sparked a fight between him and Connie. The figures depicted to the right of Christ represented society’s best and brightest. Those on the left represented the poor and downtrodden. With the group on the left stood the only non-white person in the bunch. He was dark chocolate, shirtless, and barefoot. Connie tried pointing out that none of the other poor, huddled masses was wearing shoes, either, but he was already on a roll. This guy held a shovel in one hand and a sledgehammer slung over one shoulder. The look on his face spoke of recognition that the rest of his party: a cripple; a blind man; and a mother holding an infant in her arms weren’t going to be of much assistance. He told Connie that was a pretty clear message. “Come all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. . . . Most of you will rest right away, but some of you still have work to do.” He wondered if they’d still be married today had he kept that observation to himself. Consuela, I love you dearly, but you have no sense of humor.

He hadn’t been surprised when he learned Connie was having an affair. He was only disappointed that she’d picked a guy who wasn’t even worth resenting. It had touched briefly on his pride, but she’d seemed genuinely hurt by his muted reaction. If he could do it all over again, he’d probably fake a temper tantrum or threaten violence. It was sad when you had to calm your wife down after she revealed to you that she’d been cheating. He put the book back on the shelf, promising himself he’d read more More later. After breakfast (the food was every bit as wonderful as he remembered) he took a stroll to the gift shop. He bought two cards, or rather donated a “suggested” sum of money in exchange for specified items. He lit a six-day candle when he entered the chapel, knowing there was a 50/50 chance it would stay lit longer than he stayed alive.

The chapel seated 57, but was only seating one when he walked in. He chose a seat as far from Jerry as he could. He liked Jerry, in the sense that he didn’t wish him any specific ill-will, but the other man was under the mistaken impression that the two of them were friends. Jerry went on these retreats frequently. He knew this because Jerry never missed an opportunity to mention it. He was sure that if the Benedictine Order ever authorized the creation of a Monastic Reserve Corps, Jerry would be the first to sign up. He shut his eyes and started praying. He was thinking about Thomas More, naturally, but it was Saint Thomas Aquinas who sat down next to him.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

“I might ask you the same thing.” Saint Thomas said.

“I’m enjoying a time of peace, tranquility, and quiet reflection.” He told Saint Thomas, who simply shook his head. “What? I thought you’d be happy. I’m very close to joining the Church.”

“You’re just as close to committing a sin for which there can be no repentance.” Saint Thomas pointed out.

“Yes, if the coin toss goes that way. What could be clearer evidence of God’s will?”

“You don’t even accept Church doctrine!”

“I’m no more or less skeptical of Catholicism than I am of any other religious credo.” He continued before Saint Thomas could interrupt. “Summa contra Gentiles, remember? It’s all interchangeable as long as I acknowledge I’m not God.”

“What I said was a bit more nuanced than that.” Saint Thomas said with a bit more than a hint of reproach.

“Close enough. And if it breaks that way, I won’t even be a Catholic at that point. I won’t have accepted the validity of the concept of a mortal sin, so how could it apply?”

“Flipping a coin, though?” Saint Thomas shook his head.

“Hey, Caesar rolled dice to decide the fate of the world.”

“That was a metaphor, and not even a fatalistic one.”

“Same basic idea. My life is a coin in the hands of a Power greater than myself.”

“That’s more of an ancient Greek attitude.” Saint Thomas said.

“Touché. Still, my mind’s made up.” He heard a sigh, but when he turned his head to look, Saint Thomas Aquinas was gone.

He filled out the two cards shortly after lunch. One was to his mother, with instructions for his funeral. The other was to pastor Father Michael McDermott. He’d never been formally introduced to the man, but he’d been attending Mass at St. Francis every Sunday morning for the last 7 months. He mentioned this in the card, and added his interest in the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. He’d actually discussed this with one of the monks last night. He was embarrassed that he’d been referring to it as “conversion” for all these years. He’d gone to Mass that morning. The processional, complete with Jerusalem incense, was a beautiful thing. He was bothered by the thought that he might never have the opportunity to attend a Latin Mass. He flipped the coin in the library. It came up Tails.

“Huh.” He said. One of the other “retreaters” lifted his head at the sound. The man had been thumbing through the very biography he’d been reading earlier. One more More reader. He made eye contact with the man, and raised his hand in the same gesture of apology that tennis players use when they win a point via a net cord. He walked down the hall to his room and shut the door behind him. It was the same room he'd stayed in with Connie.

Life sure took some strange turns.

A Bad Case of Pellagra

2007-07-24T15:35:00.001-05:00

(Something new. I do a lot of creative writing, and thought I'd share some of it here.)

I really hate it when people don’t take me seriously. To not be taken seriously by a born Floridian just added insult to injury. That was last night, and this particular Floridian was a police officer in Lake Worth, the city in which I’ve been living for the last 9 months. I have not been to the lake (Lake Worth, presumably) during this time period. The whole “lake” thing sounds like a tourist trap, and 3 years spent living in Orlando has made me wary of those.

My ex-wife was the one who called the cops. It was right after she hung up on me. She told them that something needed to be done before I harmed myself. Thanks to the Baker Act, she can’t just have me thrown in jail. She can, however, start the process by which a law enforcement officer can haul me off to a medical facility for psychiatric evaluation.

As usual, Amy’s gotten everything ass-backwards. She told them I was suicidal. I let slip that I was in the process of killing myself, but she really didn’t let me complete the thought. That’s the story of our relationship, when you get right down to it. She knew I was winning the argument, and calling “911” was her way of making sure she had the last word. I am planning on killing myself, but I’ve still got another 4-5 years before this course of action will be the cause of my death.

I’d decided, earlier this week, to contract pellagra. At first, I wanted to go with scurvy. I thought posterity would appreciate the irony of an otherwise-healthy adult male dying of a vitamin-C deficiency in the wealthiest county in the nation’s largest orange-producing state. Anyway, I was eating a bag of potato chips, when something I’ll call divine providence prompted me to read the nutrition facts on the back of the package. Those chips were loaded with vitamin C! I realized that it would be far too easy to eat the wrong thing and have to start all over. So, I settled on pellagra, a disease caused by a dietary lack of niacin. Pellagra isn’t as “sexy” as scurvy, I suppose, but I think it represents the more realistic choice. I’m nothing, if not a pragmatist.

I walked out of Publix yesterday afternoon with a shopping cart full of food . . . food lacking in vitamin B3, though I also need to steer clear of foods containing tryptophan. As I tried to explain to Amy, this is not a slap in the face to those who unwillingly or unwittingly suffer from vitamin-deficient illnesses. I’d obviously trade places with them if I could. I’m not starving myself to death. I’m not protesting anything. I’m not supporting any cause (at least, not that I know of). It’s not a case of a vegan diet gone wrong. It is what it is.

Pellagra’s primary symptoms are pretty easy to remember: diarrhea; dementia; dermatitis; and death. I figure that bad skin and irregular bowel movements are inevitable by-products of a fatally unhealthy diet. “The price of doing business” is how I described it to Amy. Death, of course, goes without saying. Dementia is the only one I’m worried about. I’m concerned that the onset of dementia (and I’m thinking years down the road, here) might cause me to reconsider. Just like that, I could flush all my hard work down the drain.
I admit, I really didn’t consider the reaction others might have to my decision. This has changed since my conversations with Amy. She started crying when I told her. When I asked her what was wrong, she shouted obscenities at me. (I mean really hurtful stuff.) And that was a good 10 minutes before she hung up the phone! What this tells me is that I should make a list of who does and does not need to know.

I told all of this to the police officers last night. One of them asked me if I’d been drinking. I told him yes, but that this was okay. In fact, alcoholics frequently suffer from pellagra. I even pointed to the case of vodka on top of the refrigerator (the highest off the floor you’ll ever be likely to see that particular brand, by the way). When he asked if I was taking any medication, I told him I’d certainly been prescribed plenty, but that “taking it” was no longer high on my list of priorities. His partner asked me, again, if I wanted to kill myself. I again answered yes.

They took my belt and my shoelaces, but the facility can’t hold me longer than 72 hours without giving me a psych exam. They tried making me take vitamins, but I hid them under my tongue. One of the nurses is now claiming that I’ve refused nourishment. I’ve told anyone who’ll listen (which is very few people, I might add) that this is not the case. I simply want a guarantee that nothing on the menu will offset my nascent niacin deficiency. It gets worse. Although I haven’t worked for the guy in months, Amy took it upon herself to call my old boss. Now, how could he see “something like this coming” when I only learned about pellagra a few days ago? I spoke to Amy this morning, and she still won’t stop crying. She said she couldn’t sit back and watch me “destroy myself” (her words). I said that I wasn’t asking her to put her life on hold. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to say, because she hung up on me again.

If that wasn’t enough, I looked at the menu, and tonight they’re serving us roast turkey and processed corn.

Venus Victorious! Five-Peat for Federer!

2007-07-09T08:03:00.000-05:00

Wimbledon 2007 is in the books, and what a long, strange, trip it was. The retractable roof can't come too soon for this tennis fan. Second round matches shouldn't be played in the middle of the second week!

First off, congratulations to Venus Williams. In winning her 4th Wimbledon crown (6th slam overall), Ms. Williams put on a devastating display of power, touch, and skill. She dismantled Maria Sharapova, Svetlana Kuznetsova, and Anna Ivanovic before soundly defeating a game but overmatched Marion Bartoli in the final. Mary Carillo summed up one of the reasons people have a problem with the Williams sisters. Namely, both seem capable of winning every match and tournament to which they set their minds and their considerable talents. Of course, the fact that they're confident and outspoken African-American women has nothing to do with it. Ahem.

Some other random thoughts on the women's draw:

Justine Henin: Wimbledon seems to bring out some strange weaknesses in her game and her psyche.

Maria Sharapova: I've now seen her get destroyed in three straight slams, managing to win a total of only 10 games.

Serena Williams: I felt bad for Serena losing to the one player (Henin) to whom she really didn't want to lose. Still, I like the fact that, win or lose, she speaks her mind. Some call it arrogance, I call it refreshing honesty.

Anna Ivanovic: This year's "It" girl actually has some game. Still, the only way she was going to beat Venus Williams in the semis was with a sledgehammer.

I did not want to see Roger Federer win. Pete Sampras was always my favorite player, and it's been real tough watching Fed march inexorably toward slam #15. Still, Rafael Nadal made him earn this one, and both players deserve props for showing why they're head and shoulders above everyone else in men's tennis.

Nadal had his chances. He lost both tiebreakers. He had double break points against Federer in the third and fifth games of the final set. At that point, I really thought he had the championship. Federer showed me a lot, though. No one had ever questioned his talent, but many sportswriters and fans (myself included) had wondered how he'd respond when truly tested. He responded with his 5th consecutive Wimbledon title. I thought I saw Bjorn Borg wince, but they may have just been a figment of my imagination.

Thoughts on the men's draw:

Novak Djokovic: Won a lot of fans with his hard-fought win against Marcos Baghdatis in the quarters. He then lost some fans when he retired in the third set (trailing 1-4) against Nadal. I'm actually predicting a Djokovic win at the U.S. Open.

Richard Gasquet: Has the best backhand in the business. He showed why some think he's every bit as talented as Federer. Coming back against Roddick in the quarters should be a sign of things to come. Allez, Richard!

Andy Roddick: Sigh. I felt bad for Roddick. I'd actually predicted a Gasquet win, but I didn't expect Andy to go out like that. He led 2 sets to 0 and was up a break in the third before it all fell apart for him. Gasquet didn't expose his weaknesses. He simply exploited the "gaps" in Roddick's game (backhand, deficiencies at net) that everyone already knew.

So, now it's on to the hardcourt season.

He's Smarter Because Mom Loved Him Best (IQ, Birth Order, and Family Dynamics)

2007-06-26T08:18:00.000-05:00

Eldest children learned late last week that they have (marginally) higher IQ's than their younger siblings. Yes, as if their egos needed any more stroking. The study, conducted among firstborn children in Norway determined that 2.3 IQ points differentiate the average Norwegian firstborn from the average Norwegian second-born.

The results of this study confirmed what I’d long suspected: First-borns are know-it-alls and the root of the problem is the way in which their parents treated them as children.

I'm an only child, so I've got no horse in this particular race. I've spent years listening to: eldest children complain about being put under too much pressure; middle children kvetch about feeling ignored; and youngest children whine about never being taken seriously. They do all this while telling "singletons" like me that we're selfish, self-centered, and spoiled. So, I'm unbiased in the sense that I think all three groups are full of it.

(For the record, having your parents' undivided attention is a double-edged sword. You do get a lot of encouragement. There's also not a whole lot you can get away with, and it's not like you can ever blame anything on anyone else. If something's broken, it's obvious that you did it. If something didn't get done, it's obvious you didn't do it.)

Anyway, the study itself seems to highlight some important things about family dynamics. In the case of eldest children, they may "benefit" from somewhat higher expectations placed upon them by their parents. They are often called upon to tutor their younger brothers and sisters.

Family dynamics are important. I once dated a woman who claimed (only slightly sarcastically) that her parents had managed to raise 3 only children.

Family "roles" are often self-fulfilling prophecies. People do, within certain limits, tend to live up or down to the expectations of others. If you're told often enough at an early enough age that you're the responsible one or the smart one, there's a good chance you're going to act the part to the best of your ability.

I was heartened by certain aspects of the study. As an only child, I can now blame my parents for deciding not to have any more kids. This has cost me 3 IQ points. More importantly, their selfishness denied me the opportunity to develop important skills in terms of mentoring and teaching. Alternatively, had I been a younger sibling, I might be more inclined to take risks. Finally, their selfish (or prudent, depending upon one’s point of view) decision not to provide me with siblings has also fostered the sort of spoiled, self-centeredness that would cause me to interpret the study in this manner. Who knew?

Increíble! El Pato bate el Tigre . . .

2007-06-18T13:36:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, June 17, 2007, a duck beat a tiger in a fair fight.

Yes, Angel "El Pato" Cabrera held off Tiger Woods and Jim Furyk to win the 2007 U.S. Open in Oakmont, Pa. The 37-year-old Argentinean captured his first career major. Woods finished runner-up at a major for the second time in 2 months. He again played in the final pairing and again walked off the course empty-handed.

It was a helluva tournament. Phil Mickelson whined and went home early. Paul Casey shot one of the finest rounds in recent U.S. Open memory (a 66 on Friday), but could manage no better than a tie for 10th. Cabrera finished at 5 over par and was the only golfer to record 2 rounds under par. Angel took home the trophy but Oakmont itself came out on top.

I admit, part of me was hoping that someone was standing over a 3 foot putt to shoot a 62 to win on Sunday. That way, I could have seen Johnny Miller run onto the 18th green yelling "Noonan! Noonan!" before getting tackled by security. You see, Mr. Miller shot 63 on Sunday at Oakmont to win the 1973 U.S. Open and now, while commentating on the U.S. Open, can't seem to go 63 seconds without working it into a sentence.

Wait, where was I?

Oh yes, I wish people would take a deep breath and relax before claiming that Tiger Woods is somehow losing his edge.

Let's put this in perspective. In his last 10 majors (dating back to the 2005 Masters), Tiger's won 4 times and finished second (alone or tied) 3 times. He has 8 out of 10 finishes in the top 3 and 9 out of 10 finishes in the top 4.

He's played in the final group on Sunday in the last 4 majors (dating back to the 2006 Open Championship).

Since retooling his swing under coach Hank Haney, Woods is in the hunt each and every time he tees it up. When he's clicking on all cylinders, as he was at the 2005 Open Championship, 2006 Open Championship, and 2006 PGA Championship, he's still head and shoulders above the rest of the field. When he's not playing his best, he no longer shoots himself out of contention, something he did early in his career.

As for the "dubious" fact that he has yet to win a major when not leading after 3 rounds, come on. Most majors are won by the guy who's leading after 3 rounds. That's why the choke label gets applied when the 54-hole leader doesn't close the deal. That's also why final rounds like Nicklaus at Augusta in 1986 and Palmer at Oakmont in 1960 are so well-remembered. Most of the Golden Bear's majors were won when he held onto the lead he'd carved out during the tournament's first 3 rounds.

I'm going to make a bold prediction. Are you sitting down? Tiger Woods will one day win a major when trailing after 3 rounds. You're reading it right here first, folks.

So, congratulations to Angel Cabrera. The Duck came out victorious on a course playing as tough as any you'll ever see. Now it's on to the Open Championship at Carnoustie.

Quack.

Happy Father's Day

2007-06-15T12:23:00.000-05:00

My attitude on this can best be summed up in the sentiments a friend of mine expressed to me in an e-mail this morning:

"You won't be getting a Father's Day card from anyone.....you hope."

Seriously, though, Happy Father's Day to all the proud papas and papas-to-be.

3-Day Conference re: Redefining and Empowering Black Males

2007-06-15T12:16:00.000-05:00

I guess this is appropriate with Father's Day coming up. Thanks to blackprof.com for the information.

3-Day Conference in Brooklyn, NY: Black and Male in America

Friday June 15, 2007 through Sunday, June 17, 2007

The Sharland Norris Group is presenting this event (headliners include: Kevin Powell, Hill Harper, and Michael Eric Dyson), a free conference geared toward redefining and empowering black males.

Sequels R Us

2007-06-15T08:05:00.000-05:00

The news that Sean Connery would not be appearing in "Indiana Jones 4" got me thinking.

I'm always wary when it comes to movie sequels. I'm not talking about stories that need to be told in multiple parts (so I'm not including "Godfather II" and the last two installments of the original "Star Wars" trilogy in this indictment). I'm referring specifically to unnecessary sequels, the kind of flicks that extend a story that was satisfactorily concluded in the previous installment (so I am talking about "Godfather III" and all three installments of the second "Star Wars" trilogy).

Of course, sucker that I am, I always make a point of seeing unnecessary sequels. I start off with a bad attitude. I nitpick, I groan, and I roll my eyes. I've finally had enough. I am not going to see "Indiana Jones 4" when it’s released in theaters. This will be the first Indy flick that I will not see during its opening week. Enough's enough.

Still, the whole thing got me thinking about my own "worst case scenario". That is, what other movie sequels might be on the horizon and what sequels might have been served up to us back in the day if wiser heads hadn’t prevailed.

1. Raging Bull 2

Plot:

I'm always up for a Scorcese/DeNiro/Pesci vehicle. We caught a glimpse of this at the end of the original. Now we get the entire story of Jake LaMotta's years on the lecture circuit and as a stage actor and stand-up comic. This time around, DeNiro doesn't have to go on any yo-yo diets and Scorcese's already got an Oscar.

Tagline: Although he can fight, he'd still rather recite.

Quote: "They still gotta give you a spot on Letterman. You know why? There's nobody left."

2. Top Gun 2

Plot:

Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer reprise their roles as Pete "Maverick" Mitchell and Ted "Iceman" Kazanski. The two are now instructors at the U.S. Navy Fighter Weapons School, teaching the next generation of elite fighter pilots. They're also still in the closet. Kelly McGillis returns as Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood. Instead of trying to seduce Maverick, she helps him to recognize that he can stop living the lie. The movie closes with a scene of Maverick and Iceman reciting their vows at a civil ceremony in Amherst, Massachusetts. The credits roll to the strains of "You've Lost That Loving Feeling".

Tagline: Come as you are.

Quote: "You can still be my wingman any time."

3. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid II

Plot:

It's been a long time since Paul Newman and Robert Redford were paired together. This assumes, of course, that Butch and Sundance survived the shootout in Bolivia. You'll laugh as Sundance finally learns how to swim, and cry when Sundance buries his pal Butch to Kelly Clarkson's cover of "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head".

Tagline: Not that it matters, but none of this is true.

Quote: "Butch and me have been talking. Wherever the hell Tobago is that's where we're off to."

4. Footloose . . . And Fancy Free

Plot:

Kevin Bacon and Lori Singer are back as Ren McCormick and Ariel Moore McCormick. Ren is now a high school principal, and Ariel is an outspoken member of the City Council. Their eldest daughter, played by Lindsay Lohan, is bright, ambitious, and talented high school senior. Unfortunately, she's a born-again Christian and wants to include a reference to her faith in her valedictory address. Principal Ren and Councilman Ariel butt heads with their strong-willed daughter.

There's a hilarious cameo by Sarah Jessica Parker as their old friend from high school who went out to Hollywood and made it big.

John Lithgow returns as Rev. Shaw Moore. In one of the film's most powerful scenes, Rev. Moore confronts Ren as he is about to cut off the power to his daughter's microphone during her valedictory address. Ren realizes that he's become the type of inflexible and reactionary authority figure that he himself despised. His daughter concludes her speech and Ren is amazed as, instead of tossing their caps into the air, the graduates break into an impromptu prayer session and Bible study.

Tagline: One kid. One town. Multiple opportunities to freely practice one's religion.

Quote: Student 1: "People think she's a Bible-thumper."
Student 2: "Is she?"
Student 1: "I just think she prays a lot."

5. The Continental Breakfast Club

Plot:

They're back. John Bender (Judd Nelson), Claire Standish (Molly Ringwald), Andrew Clark (Emilio Estevez), Allison Reynolds (Ally Sheedy), and Brian Johnson (Anthony Michael Hall)meet again. The quintet finds themselves in traffic school. Who's the instructor? You guessed it, Dick Vernon (Paul Gleason).

Tagline: Five people who actually know each other pretty well at this point, with a whole lot in common, like multiple traffic violations.

Quote: "You wanna know what I did to get in here? I didn't pay my #&^%$ speeding tickets!"

What Might Have Been

Casablanca 2 (Humphrey Bogart, Dooley Wilson,Ingrid Bergman, Claude Raines, and Paul Henreid)

Sam (Wilson) and Rick Blaine (Bogart) open another "cafe". The year is 1963 and the location is West Berlin. Of course, Rick ends up working behind the scenes to help escapees make it over. Ilsa Lund (Bergman) shows up, of course, with hubby Victor Lazlo (Henreid). Older and wiser, Rick figures out a way to do the right thing and get the girl. Captain (ret.) Louis Renault steals every scene his in. His banter with the East Berlin border guards will leave you in stitches.

Tagline: Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into his . . . again.
Quote: "Play that song again, and I'll kill you."

Lost Weekends (Ray Milland, Jane Wyman, and Phillip Terry)

Don Birnam (Milland) relapses after 20 years of sobriety. Wife Helen (Wyman) and brother Wick (Terry) are in Al-anon this go round, so Don can't rely on his two favorite enablers. Instead, he checks into a rehab center. Don works on another novel while he's in treatment. Helen and Wick have a brief fling, but quickly realize that a romantic relationship between two co-dependents of their variety is doomed to failure. Don ends up being the addiction counselor that all the patients love to hate.

Tagline: All he wants is to stop taking shots.

Quote: "I'm gonna put this whole 28 days down, minute by minute . . ."

The Sound of Music, Part II (Christopher Plummer and Julie Andrews)

It's June 1972 and President Richard M. Nixon has invited the von Trapp Family to perform at the White House. The musical Austrians set up in their plush accommodations at the Watergate Hotel, and quickly find themselves embroiled in a web of political intrigue. We learn what was really on those damn tapes as Maria von Trapp leads President Nixon in a drunken sing-along that leaves National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger shaking his head in disgust.

Tagline: He had music within his grasp.

Quote: "Ah John (Dean), you are funny. Expensive, but very funny."

It WAS a Wonderful Life (Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed, and Lionel Barrymore)

Mary Bailey (Reed) wonders what her life would have been like if she'd never married husband George (Stewart). Let's see: she's married to millionaire Sam Wainwright and actually got out of Bedford Falls. When the police arrive, Mary tells them that George had been drinking heavily and took a nasty fall down the stairs. She claims that the gunshot wound in his back was self-inflicted.

Tagline: Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Quote: "You've been given a great gift, Mary, the chance to see what life would have been like without your deadbeat husband."

Honorable Mention:

Spartacus 2 (Kirk Douglas, Laurence Olivier, and Tony Curtis)

Spartacus actually survived the crucifixion, and he's none too happy.

Tagline: Spartacus is coming to Rome . . . with a few days to kill.

A Bizarro Ending: The Season 6 Finale of "Smallville"

2007-05-24T08:45:00.000-05:00

“A Phantom went down to Kansas; he was looking for DNA to steal.
He was in a bind, ‘cause he was way behind, and needed a Clark Kent meal.”

Anyway, Season 6 of “Smallville” is in the books. I frequently criticize the show. I often ask myself why I still watch. Nonetheless, I went out of my way to catch the season finale.

It took him 6 years, but Clark Kent finally (well, sort of) told Lana Lang the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He told her that he’s an alien, sent to Earth by his birth parents just before their home planet of Krypton exploded.

Of course, Clark, in a rare display of intelligence and sound judgment, left out the fact that his arrival also brought with it the kryptonite meteor shower that killed Lana’s parents. Honesty is the best policy . . . except when honesty means telling the woman you love that you were the unwitting cause not only of her parents’ death but also every kryptonite-related incident that’s caused her other significant trauma. Just an opinion, but I don't think there's any "right time" to reveal that sort of information.

For those of you keeping score this includes her being: stalked; kidnapped; frequently hospitalized; manipulated into marrying Lex Luthor; and being convinced that she’d suffered a miscarriage only to discover that she’d been tricked into thinking she was pregnant in the first place. So, no, we’re not talking about Clark’s telling her that he used his x-ray vision to sneak a peek at her in the girl’s locker room back when they were in high school. (Yes, Clark did that, too. Yikes.)

Lois Lane made further strides into becoming the intrepid reporter that many of us know and love. She took an active role in investigating and researching a story (and this one didn’t even involve a flying barn door). She also ended up getting in a little bit over her head, also arguably a Lois Lane trademark. Let me clarify that by “a little bit over her head”, I mean “brutally stabbed”. I guess that qualifies as two steps forward and one step back.

We finally learned what Chloe Sullivan’s kryptonite-induced power is. Her tears have the power to heal. Chloe found her cousin’s (Lois) body. She turned on the water works, a teardrop hit Lois, and both young women were enveloped in a bright light. The glow left Lois healed and Chloe seemingly comatose. It also left supporters of the Chlois theory wondering if this was foreshadowing, a “shout out”, or a deliberate act of cruelty on the part of the show’s creative team. I think it was a “shout out”, and nothing more.

About Chlois, it’s my opinion that it just ain’t gonna happen. The creative team has been pretty clear about it in interviews. They’ve said that the show’s iconic “Big Three” are Clark, Lex, and Lois. All three are misunderstood by those around them and unsure about their futures. They have also experienced interruptions in their education, and have had complex relationships with arguably tyrannical father figures. Writer Steven DeKnight stated that “Lois is from the myth of being very strong, classically pig-headed, and taking her father, Sam Lane, straight from the comic books. With Lex it was a little different because Lionel was created for the show. For Clark, problems with Jor-El . . .”

DeKnight went on to state that “Smallville’s” Lois Lane is “very much the classic, shoot from the hip, get-into-trouble Lois.” He said that the writers were deliberately setting up a contrast between her journalistic approach and that of Chloe.

Look, Chlois is an interesting notion, but I think it’s going to remain relegated to the ranks of fan fiction.

Lexana (the relationship between Lex Luthor and Lana Luthor [nee Lang]) had a pretty rough night. Methinks that ship has sailed (pun intended). Lana told Lex that she knew she was never pregnant. She told Lex that he was incapable of love, and that Clark meant more to her than Lex ever will. Finally, she revealed to Lex that she’d lied when she said she found bald men sexy. (Okay, I made that last one up.) Lex did not take this well, at all. He slapped Lana, who left the Luthor mansion only to (apparently) perish when her SUV explodes. And if you think Lana’s really dead, I’ve got some choice land on Krypton I’d just love to sell you.

Lex got pulled over by some state troopers and charged with the murder of Lana Luthor. Sigh. Billionaire evil geniuses aren't supposed to go out like this.

Oh, yeah, there was some non-soap opera stuff, as well. The last escapee from the Phantom Zone made an appearance. He’s a Kryptonian experiment gone wrong and needed a Kryptonian body to sustain him. (That means you, Clark) He had a brief fight with the Martian Manhunter (revealed as a former officer of Jor-El, the biological father that Clark often wishes wouldn't bother) and he literally punched right through the mean green martian machine.

It was revealed that Lionel Luthor has been functioning as an emissary for the late, great Jor-El (the biological father that Clark often wishes wouldn’t bother).

Anyway, the last Zoner ended up stealing Clark’s DNA. He was transformed into . . . Tom Welling dressed in black and with an evil grin on his face. Yawn. The Zoner fought Clark, revealed that green kryptonite actually makes him stronger, and knocked out Lionel Luthor. He also spouted one of the lamest tag lines ever after Clark asked him what he was. He responded “I’m you, only a little more bizarre.” Riiiight . . .

Finally, “Bizarro” demonstrated just how far behind the curve Clark truly is. Although he’d only had Clark’s DNA for a couple of minutes, Bizarro ended the episode and the season by flying away from the aptly named Reeves Dam. By all appearances and accounts, Clark Kent, who's always had his DNA, remains earth-bound.

I’m not so much looking forward to Season 7 as I am resigned to the fact that I’ll probably be a faithful viewer of this show right up until the bitter end. Yikes.

When Ex-Presidents Attack

2007-05-23T13:02:00.000-05:00

In case you missed it, former U.S. President Jimmy Carter blasted current President George W. Bush on Saturday, May 19, 2007.

During a telephone interview with the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Mr. Carter said that the Bush administration "has been the worst in history" in terms of international relations. Lots of folks inside and outside the Beltway were surprised. They weren't surprised that he has this viewpoint (Mr. Carter has been consistently opposed to the war in Iraq and other elements of the current administration's foreign policy), but rather that he breached one of the unwritten rules of presidential etiquette by coming right out and saying it.

I know that great athletes have historically made some pretty disparaging remarks about succeeding generations. In 1959, Mr. Carter's fellow Georgian, baseball great Ty Cobb was asked how he would fare against the current crop of pitchers. Cobb had retired from the game in 1928 with a lifetime batting average of .366. He responded that he thought he'd hit only .300. When asked why, Cobb responded "You've got to remember, I'm 73." I got the sense while watching an interview with Wilt Chamberlain during the 1997 NBA All-Star Game that Wilt the Stilt still felt that he was capable of a 100 point night if someone could just find him a jersey and a pair of shorts.

Ex-presidents are apparently held to a higher standard.

I can see the reasons for this. These guys belong to an incredibly elite club. Only 43 men have held the office. Of those 43, only 4 remain among the living. We all know that these guys do not march in ideological lock-step. In addition, we're aware that there are all sorts of personal rivalries at work. The Carter-Mondale ticket was defeated by a ticket that included President George H.W. Bush. Bush 41 was defeated by Bill Clinton. Clinton's veep, Al Gore, was in turn defeated by Bush 43.

Although we usually have to read between the lines or learn the information third-hand, it's not as if former presidents have never sniped at current ones. Teddy Roosevelt was not shy about making derogatory remarks about Presidents Taft and Wilson. Of course, TR didn't use phrases like "worst in history" he just called Taft a "fathead". Then again, TR didn't try to "clarify" his remarks either. I wonder what TR would have called that sort of backpedaling.

Mr. Carter appeared Monday on "Today on NBC" to try to add some context to his comments. He denied that he was talking personally about President Bush. He further stated that his remarks were "careless or misinterpreted."

I was a little bit disappointed by this semi-retraction. I found his initial honesty refreshing, and not just because I think his statements were accurate. No, I like the notion of a former president adopting the role of the curmudgeonly retired superstar, not hesitating to say that the current crop of players couldn't carry his jockstrap in a suitcase. I think that a feud between Bush 41 and Bill Clinton would be a whole lot more interesting than Rosie O'Donnell vs. Donald Trump.

K-Ville Part Deux

2007-05-21T09:04:00.001-05:00

As promised, your favorite bayou state blogger has the latest news about "K-Ville".

On May 17, Fox announced its 2007-08 fall schedule. The cop drama, "K-Ville", set and shot in New Orleans is a part of the fall lineup. Fox also revealed that "K-Ville" might actually premiere in late August. If that happens, local production could begin as early as mid-June. It's slated to air Mondays at 9 p.m. EST (just after "Prison Break").

I, of course, want to see Tawny Cypress back in prime time as soon as possible. I'm not sure if this show's going to last, though. In fact, I'm pretty concerned.

There has been very little local buzz about "K-Ville". Other than a few people I've told about it, I don't know anyone who knows what the heck "K-Ville" is. And trust me, I know quite a few tv junkies.

It's also slated to air Mondays at 9 p.m. EST, just after "Prison Break". First of all, this means I might accidentally catch the last few moments of "Prison Break". Shudder. Second, "K-Ville" airs at the same time as both "Heroes" and "Monday Night Football". I'm already used to either recording "Heroes" for later viewing or watching it on http://www.nbc.com/. I'm not sure if I can juggle another Monday night drama. I'm sorry Tawny, but love has its limits.

Finally, I've got to admit that the show just doesn't sound all that interesting. A writing staff has yet to be hired. Apparently, writer-producer Jonathan Lisco is unaware of the fact that I'm available.

Ahem.

That gross oversight aside, Mr. Lisco has stated that "K-Ville" is "basically a cop show about two unlikely cops teamed together. Highly procedural, highly episodic." What this leaves is a standard cop drama whose hook is that it's set in New Orleans. Keep in mind, though, that Lisco has already said that he wants to avoid being overly depressing or falling into cliches about the corruption of the NOPD. I hope I'm wrong, but that sounds like a pretty boring hour of television.

So, I'm still holding out hope for CSI: New Orleans . . . starring Tawny Cypress

oba

Come On, Come On, Emmanuel . . .

2007-04-24T10:08:00.000-05:00

Last Friday, an adjunct professor at Emmanuel College in Boston, Massachusetts was fired for an in-class dramatization of the Virginia Tech shootings. In a statement released yesterday, school officials said that Professor Nicholas Winset was terminated for violating the college’s standards of civility and conduct.

This one genuinely surprised me, and not just because I’d never heard of Emmanuel College despite having gone to law school in the Boston area. (This is by no means a knock against the institution, I just often get the impression that there are almost as many colleges and universities in Boston as there are students.)

No, I was surprised that a liberal arts institution would fire a professor for discussing this issue.

I find it ironic that Emmanuel College's administration had this sort of knee-jerk reaction. The purpose of a liberal arts education is to help students develop and use their intellectual resources. The free exchange of ideas is essential to this.

I don’t agree with the point Professor Winset was (apparently) trying to make. I don’t think that last week’s tragic events speak to the need for more guns in our society. Unless college students and faculty members have changed significantly in the decade plus since I graduated college, I can envision many scenarios in which more firearms in the hands of students and faculty members might have exacerbated the situation. I can envision very few scenarios in which the presence of more firearms would have saved lives.

I do, however, support his right to make that point, particularly in the setting in which he made it. I’m sure that the discussion left many students upset. Discussions about sensitive subjects often have that effect on people. The fact that strong feelings are aroused is part of what makes them so valuable. Part of developing analytical skills and intellectual agility is developing the ability to think critically about these types of issues.

In its attempt to enforce institutional standards regarding conduct, I hope that Emmanuel College is not ignoring its educational mission.

oba

Fired Professor Speaks Out

K-Ville is (possibly) coming to town

2007-04-20T13:26:00.001-05:00

First it was the news that Brangelina was coming to town. I’d just gotten over the emotional impact of their arrival (it took me a couple of months) when I learned that, in the fall of 2007, a hard-hitting dramatic series set and filmed here in New Orleans will be coming to network television . . . well, maybe.

A pilot episode of a proposed Fox Network television series, called “K-Ville”, entered production in mid-March. In May, we’ll all learn whether or not Fox has given the show the green light.

“K-Ville” is a cop drama, and prospective cast members include:

Arthur Anderson (never seen him in anything);

Cole Hauser (liked him in "Dazed and Confused", "Pitch Black", and “Paparazzi”);

The lovely and talented Tawny Cypress (she played Simone on “Heroes”); and

John Carroll Lynch (played the cross-dressing brother on “The Drew Carey Show”).

The script’s been vetted by the New Orleans Police Department, so I assume that it’s going to show the Big Easy’s finest in a very positive light. Hey, the X-Files required me to suspend my disbelief, too.

Anderson plays a veteran NOPD officer who is joined by rookie cop, Hauser. Hauser’s a do-gooder who’s come to New Orleans to pitch in with the rebuilding effort.

Okay, it’s not exactly a novel premise, but it could do wonders for a city still in need of as much positive press as it can get. The title needs some work. “K-Ville” is short for “Katrinaville”, and I’m sure that the powers-that-be at Fox can do a little bit better than that. (Of course, how much thought went into naming a show about two guys who break out of prison “Prison Break”?)

Another positive sign is that Jonathan Lisco, who developed the script for the pilot, is listed as the show’s creator and executive producer. His credits include the unfortunately short-lived “Jack and Bobby” (I watched this program faithfully during its lone season).

I don’t want to count my pilots before they’ve been picked up, but I am going to keep my fingers crossed.

oba

K-Ville at TV.com

My Take on USA Today's 25 Most Influential Books of the Last 25 Years

2007-04-20T08:46:00.000-05:00

USA Today’s book editors and critics recently chose the 25 titles that have made the greatest impact on both readers and the publishing industry over the past 25 years. Here’s their list:

1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, by J.K. Rowling;
2. The Deep End of the Ocean, by Jacqueline Mitchard;
3. The Da Vinci Code, by Dan Brown;
4. The 9/11 Commission Report, by the National Commission on Terrorist Attacks;
5. Chicken Soup for the Soul, by Mark Victor Hansen and Jack Canfield;
6. Men are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, by John Gray;
7. Dr. Atkins’ New Diet Revolution, by Robert C. Atkins;
8. And the Band Played On, by Randy Shilts;
9. Beloved, by Toni Morrison;
10. The Greatest Generation, by Tom Brokaw;
11. Bridget Jones’ Diary, by Helen Fielding;
12. Left Behind, by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins;
13. The Purpose Driven Life, by Rick Warren;
14. Fast Food Nation, by Eric Schlosser;
15. The Satanic Verses, by Salman Rushdie;
16. The Closing of the American Mind, by Alan Bloom;
17. The Bonfire of the Vanities, by Tom Wolfe;
18. The Joy Luck Club, by Amy Tan;
19. What To Expect When You’re Expecting, by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg, and Sandee Hathaway;
20. A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking;
21. Iacocca, by Lee Iacocca;
22. Waiting to Exhale, by Terry McMillan;
23. Cold Mountain, by Charles Frazier;
24. Backlash, by Susan Faludi;and
25. Final Exit, by Derek Humphry

25 Books that leave a legacy.

I’m a little bit bored at the moment, so I thought I’d give you my opinion of their picks. I haven’t read all of these books. In fact, I’ve read less than half of them. Still, I’ve never let a little thing like ignorance stop me from my expressing my opinion, so here goes.

1. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone

I actually like the Harry Potter series. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince remains the only book I’ve ever purchased at a Supermarket (Publix, to be exact).

I give kudos to Ms. Rowling for getting a generation of children and adolescents interested in reading.

I also give kudos to fundamentalist Christians for showing these same children and adolescents that hysteria over witchcraft isn’t just something you read about in the history books.

2. The Deep End of the Ocean

I didn’t read this one. In fact, I’ve really never even heard of it. A friend of mine did see the movie, though, and he’s told me that it is, without doubt the finest movie to date starring Michele Pfeiffer, Whoopi Goldberg, and Treat Williams.

3. The Da Vinci Code

Ah, now we’re talking. I read this one in 2005, and saw the movie when it came out on DVD. I found the book enjoyable, in part because I knew a little bit about the Knights Templar beforehand, and this book enabled me to show-off this knowledge at a few social gatherings. I frankly didn’t understand (and still don’t) all of the hype surrounding it, though. I thought the movie was less entertaining, but similarly overblown, this time in terms of the degree to which it was panned by critics.

4. The 9/11 Commission Report

A point of agreement. I read this one from cover to cover. Thanks to USA Today, I’ve also learned that it’s the only government report ever nominated for the National Book Award.

5. Chicken Soup for the Soul

I read Chicken Soup for the Sports Fan’s Soul, and that’s close enough, in my opinion. It’s sappy, but the good kind of sappy. There was a market for this kind of stuff even before the publication of this book, so I can’t even blame Messrs. Hansen and Canfield for spawning a cottage industry.

6. Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus

People (like me) who didn’t even read the book, nonetheless added the phrase to their lexicon. Hell, people who don’t read books, period, added the phrase to their lexicon. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing, but it’s tough to argue that it hasn’t had a tremendous impact.

7. Dr. Atkins’ New Diet Revolution

The book that got America counting carbs instead of fat calories, all while growing more and more obese.

8. And the Band Played On

I read this one as a teenager. It is a very, very powerful book. Shilts dealt with the then-emerging AIDS epidemic in an unflinching manner. It is investigative journalism at its best.

9. Beloved

I admit that I was a little bit Toni Morrison-ed out by the time I read Beloved in the early 90s. The year before, I’d read The Bluest Eye, Sula, Song of Solomon, and Tar Baby, To say that I merely skimmed Beloved is to insult legitimate skimming. I knew enough of the basic plot to be able to participate in the class discussion. I was a history major who’s primary area of concentration was the Civil War and Reconstruction. At that point in my college career (second semester of my junior year) I had no problem launching into a monologue about the legacy of slavery. I saw the movie (if Thandie Newton’s in it, I’m watching it), but I plan on reading the book some day.

10. The Greatest Generation

Another book the title of which has become a part of our national vocabulary. I read this one and thoroughly enjoyed it. I did, of course, hear Tom Brokaw’s voice in my head the entire time.
11. Bridget Jones’ Diary

I did not read this book. I will never read this book under any circumstances. I have nothing personal against Helen Fielding. I was suckered into watching the film adaptation of this novel in 2002. I had seen chick flicks before. I have seen chick flicks since. This movie is to chick flicks what “The Fast and the Furious” is to westerns: the type of movie that makes one question the entire genre. So, since this movie would not have been possible if Helen Fielding had never written the book in the first place, she must accept her share of the blame.

12. Left Behind

Like Bridget Jones’ Diary, I saw the movie in 2002. Unlike Bridget Jones’ Diary, curiosity prompted me to find out if the source material was as bad as the adaptation. The best thing I can say about the film is that it answered that “Whatever happened to Kirk Cameron” question I’d never asked in the first place. As for the book, I’m a traditionalist about certain things. When I want to read about the Apocalypse, I’m staying old school with John the Baptist.

13. The Purpose Driven Life

I have mixed-feelings about this one. I liked parts of this book immensely. I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for reading material of the “daily inspiration” variety, particularly when its author describes it as “anti-self-help”. On the other hand, I don’t agree with the overwhelming majority of Mr. Warren’s theological views. Strictly from an “impact” standpoint, though, this is another one that’s inarguably reached millions.

14. Fast Food Nation

Um, I saw the movie “Super Size Me” a couple of months ago. Does that count?

15. The Satanic Verses

Any work the mere publication of which can spark riots and a fatwa calling for the death of the author has had an impact on readers, publishers, and the publishing industry. This book has been on my “I’ll read this one at some point” list for the last 19 years. One of these days I’ll actually get around to it.

16. The Closing of the American Mind

This is another one I read and enjoyed, even though I didn’t really agree with the author’s conclusions. I don’t know if today’s college students still discuss the book, but we certainly talked about it during my undergraduate years. Contrary to popular belief, Bloom’s book is a pointed critique of the manner in which he perceived that American colleges and universities were failing their students, not a statement that “liberals are bad, let me tell you another reason why.”

17. The Bonfire of the Vanities

One of my all-time favorite books. Forget it’s impact on anyone and anything else, this book inspired me not only to purchase A Man in Full in hardcover, but also to try and argue that it wasn’t nearly as bad as some of my friends said. Like Godfather III, I refuse to recognize that the film actually exists.

18. The Joy Luck Club

When the film came out in 1993, I said I wasn’t going to see it until I’d first read the novel. 14 years later, that’s still the story I’m sticking to.

19. What To Expect When You’re Expecting

I’ll cross this bridge when I get to it.

20. A Brief History of Time

I purchased and read this mainly to say that I had. I was surprised to find that I really liked it. It’s well-written and actually understandable, even for this layman/non-specialist. It also shows that truth in advertising is not an oxymoron; the book is only 200 pages or so.

21. Iacocca

This is another one that’s been on my “must read” list for a long, long time. I’ve seen this book on the shelves of numerous Baby Boomer executives for whom I’ve worked. I don’t think most of them have actually read it, either. A part of me thinks this book’s impact has been of the “office décor” variety.

22. Waiting to Exhale

This is another one about which I’m ambivalent. I applaud Terry McMillan for providing an entertaining story and showing the publishing industry that a story about black women can sell. I just wish she didn’t have to bash black men to do it. Oops, did I write that, or just think it? Just kidding, the book was excellent, as was the film.

23. Cold Mountain

Surprisingly, I really liked this book. I say “surprising” because I generally hate novels having to do with the Civil War. This was also an “airport” book for me. I only purchased it when I learned that my flight was delayed, and this was the best that the bookstore had to offer. Cold Mountain is well-written and emotionally stirring. I will not see the movie, though, because Renee Zellwegger must also bear some responsibility for the movie “Bridget Jones’ Diary”.

24. Backlash

A good friend of mine swears this a great book. I trust her judgment.

25. Final Exit

I read this in the mid-90s after a discussion I’d had with someone concerning assisted suicide. I knew nothing about the book beforehand, and was shocked when I read it and discovered that it dealt far more with the mechanics of the act itself than it did with its moral issues and legal ramifications.

So, there you have it: my critique of someone else’s top 25 list. May it do as much to alleviate your boredom as it did to alleviate mine.

oba

True Confessions of a "Smallville" Fan

2007-04-17T16:12:00.000-05:00

Yes, I admit it, I still watch "Smallville". I caught the Pilot in the fall of 2001, and I've been watching it ever since.

"Smallville" started with such promise. I'm usually wary of prequels, but I just couldn't resist the concept of watching a young Clark Kent and Lex Luthor forge a seemingly deep friendship, blissfully unaware that they were destined to become mortal enemies.

Tom Welling played his part well. I liked the notion that Clark Kent, far from simply accepting his powers and his alien heritage, would be torn between a sense of resonsibility to use his abilities for the greater good and the desire to lead a normal life.

Michael Rosenbaum was brilliant as Lex Luthor in "Smallville's" first three seasons. In Lex Luthor, we were able to see a young man's struggle against himself and his own darker inclinations.

I loved Annette O'Toole and John Schneider as Martha and Jonathan Kent. Despite some initial misgivings, I even enjoyed the new characters added to this take on the Superman mythos like Lionel Luthor and Chloe Sullivan. The former, portrayed delightfully by John Glover, provided remarkable insight into the development of young Lex, and his ambivalent feelings toward his destiny. Allison Mack's Chloe Sullivan was a breath of fresh air. Her character was, at least in the early seasons of the show, a believable mixture of precocious intelligence and youthful vulnerability. Heck, I didn't even dislike Lana Lang in those days.

This all changed after the first few episodes of Season 4. That's when it seemed like this show just started treading water. In my opinion, it's been treading water ever since.

Lex has gotten closer to his destiny . . . provided said destiny is to become the only billionaire arch-criminal who is beaten up, shot, or kidnapped on a regular basis. Lionel Luthor is seen far too infrequently. Chloe is always on hand to provide plot exposition, but her character has lost its freshness. (And while I admit it would be an interesting "twist", I don't think that "Chlois" is going to happen, either).

Everything you ever wanted to know about "Chlois" but were afraid to ask

Much as I love the actress portraying her, Erica Durance, "Smallville's" Lois Lane can best be analogized to an unwanted party guest: she showed up too early, and has stuck around too long. The writers have proven themselves incapable of writing about two smart women with a talent for journalism, so Lois' role has been relegated to providing comic relief and occasional eye candy. She works for a cheesy tabloid and has been called upon to go "undercover" wearing skimpy outfits.

Lana Lang remains annoying (no offense, Kristin Kreuk, I know it's not your fault), but to me, her presence is like a toothache I've learned to live with.

My real beef is with Clark Kent. In five plus years, this Clark Kent has out-Peter Parkered Peter Parker. The future super hero to whom other superheroes (except Batman, of course) look for inspiration, now has to be reminded of the responsibilities which come with his great powers by the Green Arrow. He has spent most of this season keeping the world from dangerous super-criminals released from the Phantom Zone. He's also the one responsible for their having been released in the first place. He still can't fly. In fact, without having the situation explained to him by Chloe, he can barely tie his own shoelaces. Up, up, and away, indeed.

Superman has always required me to suspend my disbelief when it comes to the whole "secret identity" thing. In other words, no one recognizes that Clark Kent is really Superman wearing a pair of non-prescription frames. Fine. Well, in the World According to Smallville, I'm now supposed to believe that no one with whom he's interacted over the past 5 1/2 years (including Aquaman, the aforementioned Green Arrow, the Flash, Cyborg, Lex Luthor, Lois Lane, Perry White, and the staff of the Daily Planet) will recognize this despite the fact that they've seen Clark Kent walking around sans glasses! He gave Lois Lane a "kiss of forgetfulness" in Superman II. Mr. Kent had better have a case of chapstick handy.

Did I mention he's still obsessed with his high school sweetheart?

Finally, this future Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter is, like Lois Lane, a college-dropout. Unlike Lois, he has given no indication that journalism is anywhere in his future.

Ultimately, "Smallville" has failed by dragging the show on too long. As with any other prequel, the audience has a good idea of where things are going to end up. Clark Kent is going to put on the red and blue tights and start fighting for truth, justice, and the American way. Lex Luthor is going to become his deadliest enemy. The interesting part of it was supposed to be the way in which their respective journeys played out before our eyes. By spending the better part of the last three seasons not developing these characters, this journey has been rendered completely uninteresting.

So yes, I still watch "Smallville", but I no longer tune in expecting to be entertained. I watch this show now out of a sense of morbid curiosity. How will they find a "new" way to keep these characters in a state of arrested development?

oba

A Culture Desensitized to Violence?

2007-04-17T10:53:00.000-05:00

My thoughts and prayers go out to the families and friends of the victims of yesterday morning's tragic shootings in Blacksburg, Virginia.

I followed the story as best I could, and was genuinely horrified when each new report brought more gruesome details. I was equally horrified, though, when I saw evidence of how benumbed many of us seem to have become to the violence which permeates our society. The Columbine shooting happened April 20, 1999.

I know a great deal has happened in my life during the last 8 years. The climate of the United States and our attitude towards violent behavior and its aftermath has changed, as well. I was living in New York. Many of my friends were, as well. I recall our sending e-mails back and forth throughout the day as the events unfolded. None of that happened yesterday.

Part of it, I recognize, is that our circumstances have changed. I have lost contact with several of these people. Several others are now married with families of their own. At the same time, I also get the sense that we're also just that much more jaded.

While watching a news report early this morning, I overheard someone remark that it must be a slow news day, since the networks were devoting so much time to this particular story. I was amazed at this. This was the deadliest mass shooting in the history of the United States, yet, less than 24 hours after the fact, this particular individual seemed surprised that it was still regarded as important news.

I was similarly shocked when an acquaintance could speak of nothing else but the fact that the shooter had been identified as a resident alien. He launched into a nonsensical diatribe about the problems with our immigration policy.

I hope that these reactions are gross exceptions to the norm.

I hope that we have not become that cynical, jaded, and otherwise desensitized.

oba

Police: Virginia Tech shooter an English major, 23

A Human Face

2007-04-11T09:14:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, the Rutgers University women’s basketball team, their head coach, and various other university officials held a press conference to voice their feelings about the Don Imus situation.

Testimonials by two members of the team spoke to the heart of the issue. I had to recognize that I had been viewing it from a decidedly narrow perspective. I focused on the impact of the comments on racial discourse as a whole, without recognizing that there were individuals who were harmed by, if we take him at his word, an aging shock-jock’s pitifully lame attempt at being glib. I should know better. I was the only African-American member of my high school graduating class. I remember how hurtful words meant “in jest” were to me. I remember being placed in the awkward position of being called on to defend myself because of someone else’s ignorance.

Instead of celebrating a tremendous achievement, an appearance in the NCAA Women’s Basketball Championship game, these young women have had to spend their time dealing with a controversy caused by one man’s thoughtlessness and stupidity. That’s far more important than the future of Imus’ radio and television career.

C. Vivian Stringer, head coach of the Lady Scarlet Knights, said that she wanted to “put a human face on this.” She and her players did just that. That human face is not the wrinkled visage of Don Imus.

oba

Press Conference at the Louis Brown Athletic Center in Piscataway, New Jersey

Not in Mourning over Imus in the Morning

2007-04-10T12:23:00.000-05:00

I first listened to Don Imus in the spring of 1988. I was living in New Jersey and listening to a lot of New York Mets games on WFAN out of New York. One night, I fell asleep with the radio still on. The next morning, I awakened to the dulcet tones of Imus and his crew of misfits. Even 19 years ago, he sounded like a grouchy old man. He was obnoxious, rude, and rarely had a good thing to say about anyone or anything. When I finally put a face to the voice, I thought he certainly looked the part. He was 47 at the time.

I've caught Imus' shtick off and on (mostly off) ever since. In a way, he’s aged well, but I suspect this has more to do with the fact that the human face can only look so wrinkled and weather-beaten. I think he reached the visibility limits with respect to “mileage” quite a few years ago.

His program certainly became more political, but it was still largely the a.m. (both in terms of time and frequency) ramblings of an unrepetentant curmudgeon. To be honest, I’ve never been a big fan of the MSNBC simulcast of his show. This is mainly the principle of the thing. I refuse to watch a “television program” that is, essentially, a bunch of cameras rolling while a radio program is being broadcast. Anyway, the point is that I’m pretty familiar with “Imus in the Morning”.

I was a little bit surprised when I heard that he’d made racially disparaging remarks about the Rutgers University women’s basketball team.

I was more surprised when I learned that he’d been suspended for two weeks by both MSNBC and CBS Radio. I think their response was “appropriate” by definition. He’s their employee, and, in matters like this, they make the rules. I just thought that Imus had enough clout to avoid a suspension.

I have not been at all surprised by the tone and tenor of the ongoing debate over all of this.

I knew that I would soon be subjected to water cooler debates over why it’s “o.k.” for an African-American entertainer to make derogatory statements about black women, while a white male gets into trouble for doing the same thing. At the other end of the spectrum, I’m going to hear calls for his head from people who I’ve heard make statements that make Imus’ look mild by comparison.

Look, context is everything. If comedian Chris Rock walks into P.J. Carney’s in New York City and tells the joke about an Irish seven-course meal's being a six-pack and a boiled potato, I would expect some of the patrons to respond differently than they would if comedian Denis Leary did the same thing. By the same token, yes, Tom Joyner might have been able to make the “nappy-headed ho’s” comment without sparking much, if any, controversy. What is usually ignored is the fact that no one should really be making statements like this in the first place!

"Double standards" always have existed when it comes to things like this, and they always will. One’s racial and ethnic identity can, absent evidence to the contrary, enable one to get the benefit of the doubt in terms of intent when it comes to making certain statements. It can work the other way, as well. This is also true in terms of other aspects of our “identities”, as well. I can call a sibling an idiot as often as I like. That being said, I will probably not take too kindly to such a label being applied to him or her by someone outside of the family. I tell more New Jersey jokes than most people, but that doesn’t mean I’ll appreciate it if someone from, say, Ohio starts talking about the “Garbage State”.

Imus’ remarks were stupid and insensitive. Guess what, he has a 30-year history of making stupid and insensitive comments in an attempt at being funny. I don’t listen to him much anymore, but I actually hope he keeps his job. Like the famous W.C. Fields quote regarding prejudice, Imus seems to hate everyone pretty much equally. He's also raised a lot of money for some very good causes. From a personal standpoint, I know that if he does get fired over this, the water cooler conversations will only get worse.

Come what may, though, I know that Imus will come out looking no more careworn than he did before the whole firestorm erupted.

Go Gators?

2007-04-04T10:26:00.000-05:00

I used to live in South Florida. I lived there, in fact, from the beginning of 2001 until the end of 2005.

I have nothing personal against U of F. I’ve never been to Gainesville, but I hear it's a great town. I’ve had the privilege of working with numerous alumni of the school. The overwhelming majority of them are/were great people. I just don’t usually root for their alma mater when it comes to sporting events. You see, Gator fans can be pretty obnoxious and annoying. They’re brashly arrogant in victory and incessantly whiny in defeat. Their fight song stinks, and the Gator chomp is decidedly unimaginative.

I did root for the Gators’ football team when they played Ohio State in this year’s BCS Title Game. I was no longer living in Gator Nation. I’d gotten a few e-mails last spring when Florida defeated UCLA to win the 2006 NCAA College Basketball Tournament. I was pretty sure that I could handle rooting for the University of Florida under those circumstances, particularly when their opponent was the Ohio State University. I have never rooted for an OSU football team. This was true even before my undergraduate days, when someone who turned out to be one of my closest friends, revealed the extent of his Buckeye mania. Unless an OSU victory would bring about world peace, end hunger, or save innocent lives, I doubt I ever will root for the Buckeyes on the gridiron. I celebrated OSU’s loss, and endured U of F’s victory. Granted, that was two championships in a relatively short time period, but I wasn’t too concerned. College basketball season was underway, and it’s not like anyone repeats in college hoops anymore, right?

Let’s fast forward to April 2, 2007.

As Florida and OSU tipped off at the Georgia Dome, I was faced with a Hobson’s choice. I didn’t really want either school to win. I found myself rationalizing. I have nothing against OSU’s basketball program. I actually like Greg Oden. I think he was the oldest person on the basketball court Monday night (referees included), but they tell me that 70 is the new 60, and I think that his outstanding performance sent a positive message to senior citizens. On the Gator side of the ledger, there hadn’t been a repeat basketball national champion since Duke in 1992. It’s been a feather in the Dukies’ cap for 15 years. I wouldn’t root for a Duke basketball squad even if there were innocent lives hanging in the balance, and how could I not support anything that would, even on a small scale, erode their prestige? I just couldn’t make up my mind. I stayed neutral throughout the first half.

A few strange things happened, though, as I watched the second half unfold. Florida led throughout, and, with the way OSU was playing, a Gator victory seemed pretty likely.

It occurred to me that Billy Donovan has the potential to be every bit as annoying as Mike Krzyzewski. At least Coach K, though he often comes across as a phony, is something of an original. Billy Donovan still comes across like a guy doing his best impression of Rick Pitino.

The camera also gave me a few glimpses of U of F’s head football coach, Urban Meyer. He appeared tan and rested. He also had a look of smug self-superiority written across his face. In other words, he looked like Steve Spurrier after a corporate makeover. I began to feel a sense of unease.

After the final horn sounded, and the Gator players, coaches, and fans celebrated a well-earned 9-point victory, it hit me. The University of Florida had now won the last 3 of college sports’ most widely viewed championship games. They have 2 young, hotshot coaches, neither of whom are exactly camera or microphone shy. Visions of cheesy articles, dual television interviews, and fluff pieces about the similarities and differences between Donovan and Meyer danced through my head. This morning I learned that Florida’s team will be featured on a Wheaties’ box. Enough’s enough.

I think that the NCAA needs to intervene. These guys need to be separated like any other 2 problem children. Urban Meyer’s not going anywhere, but the powers-that-be must somehow ensure that Billy Donovan either takes the University of Kentucky job or leaves the college ranks for the NBA.

I have yet to open the e-mails I’ve received from University of Florida alums.

Mardi Gras . . . Fuhgeddaboutit!

2007-02-20T10:26:00.000-06:00

This is only the second time in my life that I have been in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. The first time I attended, I was too young to appreciate what was going on around me. Now that I'm old(er), I've been able to take in the sights, sounds, and smells of "Carnival Time" with the awareness of a fully functioning (well, nearly) adult.

Well, let me be blunt. If this "holiday" ever needs an Ebeneezer Scrooge, they need to have my resume on file. Bah, humbug.

Mardi Gras is great if you're coming into town for a visit. If you live here, it can be a real pain in the posterior. Traffic is ridiculous and parking is next to impossible to find. Even traveling on foot requires wading through a sea of slack-jawed gawkers, or, as some call them, "tourists".

Speaking of tourists, their presence gives every merchant in the Crescent City free license to hike up prices and charge for amenities which used to be, well, free of charge.

Parking: $20.00
Bottled Water: $2.00
Use of the bathroom: $5.00
Hot Dog: $4.00
The ability to jump forward in time to Ash Wednesday: Priceless (Sadly, not available)

From the French Quarter to the Central Business District, the streets are littered with beads, beer cans, and other debris. The scent in the air is not magnolias, but rather a stench of sweat, vomit, and stale beer. It's sad when you walk by a dive bar and are sorely tempted to step inside because it looks and smells so much better than the outdoor environment.

I spent much of the weekend before Fat Tuesday journeying back and forth between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. I did not have pressing business in the state capital. I was not visiting family or friends. No, I was simply getting out of the Big Easy, courtesy of the "Swift Bus". The Swift Bus is coordinated by the Louisiana Department of Transportation and Development, the Louisiana Department of Labor, the CATS transit system in Baton Rouge, and the RTA transit system in New Orleans. It runs seven days a week and was originally intended to help those displaced by Katrina to travel between the two cities free of charge for legitimate purposes (work, school, family concerns, etc.). From what I saw this weekend, it has also become a means to kill time or get taxied to and from a night of drunken revelry.

I fought the good fight as best I could, but on Sunday and Monday I succumbed to peer pressure and actually watched two of the parades. On Sunday, February 18, I stood at Canal Street and St. Charles for the Krewe of Bacchus Parade.

Krewe of Bacchus

The theme was "Through the Eyes of a Child". Certainly fitting, if said "child" is a drunken, middle-aged tourist. Tony Soprano himself, James Gandolfini, was this year's "King". I saw him. I waved to him. He did not throw any beads in my direction. This will not be forgotten.

On Monday, February 19, I again stood at Canal Street and St. Charles. This time it was the Krewe of Orpheus Parade.

Krewe of Orpheus

This time, I fared much better in the bead department. I did get hit in the head once, though, as I tried to have a conversation with a young woman from Houston, Texas. I did not get her phone number, but I did get those beads. I had to snatch them out of the hands of a little girl, but, hey, it's survival of the fittest out there. She turned on the water works, of course, but I'm pretty sure those were crocodile tears.

Overall, my haul of useless junk was pretty impressive. I did not have a Scrooge-like ephiphany, but, I must admit that I had a good time at those two parades.

So, Happy Mardi Gras, everyone.

The Magnificent Seventh: Tiger Starts His Year with a Win and Closes in on One of Golf's Most Hallowed Records . . . or Does He?

2007-01-28T18:28:00.000-06:00

Tiger Woods roared from 2 shots back on Sunday to win the Buick Invitational at Torrey Pines in San Diego, California, to defeat Charles Howell III by 2 strokes. His surge was an impressive display of power, touch, and consummate skill under pressure. In other words, it was typical Tiger Woods.

He closed with a 6 under par 66 and claimed his seventh consecutive PGA Tour victory, dating back to his win at the Open Championship at Hoylake in July 2006.

This is the second-longest streak in PGA Tour history, behind only Byron Nelson, who won 11 straight PGA tournaments in 1945. Before he sank his par putt on 18 to seal the victory, Tiger's streak of six-in-a-row had tied him fo second-plac in the record book with Ben Hogan's run in 1948 and his own streak of six straight wins over two seasons in 1999 and 2000.

Still, as with the debate over what to call his string of 4 straight majors victories in 2000-01, how to define this streak of consecutive PGA Tour tournaments has caused a minor controversy among some golf fans. Then, it was whether or not to call Tiger's achievement the Grand Slam, a term coined by O.B. Keeler after Bobby Jones won the U.S. and British Amateur Championships and the U.S. Open and Open Championship in 1930. Many self-described traditionalists claimed that to be labeled as such, the true Grand Slam had to be achieved in a calendar year. Others said that winning four consecutive majors was the criteria, regardless of whether the feat was achieved in a single year or over the course of two seasons. Thus, the "Tiger Slam" was born.

Now, many of these same "traditionalists" are arguing that Tiger's streak ended last year either when he lost in the first round of the HSBC Match Play last September or when he finished in 2nd place in stroke play events in Europe and Asia. Those who defend the streak say that, as with Byron Nelson's 11 straight wins, the streak only applies to PGA Tour tournaments.

Both sides present cogent arguments. The traditionalists say that Byron Nelson's streak should stand alone, regardless of how many consecutive PGA Tour tournaments Tiger Woods wins, because Nelson's PGA Tour tournament streak was not interrupted by losses in non-PGA Tour events. These traditionalists argue that those who claim the streak is now at 7 are, in effect, giving Tiger a "mulligan". They have a point, but the fact that Nelson's streak included a victory at the Miami Four Ball, in which he teamed with Harold (Jug) McSpaden to win four matches, simply highlights the fact that comparing the PGA Tour in 1945 to the PGA Tour in 2006-07 is an impossible task.

The defenders of Tiger's streak state that it applies to PGA Tour tournaments, and that, by definition, Tiger Woods has now won the last seven PGA Tour tournaments in which he has competed. The PGA Tour does not recognize Tiger Woods' non-tour victories in its official records and statistics, how then can non-tour losses be counted against a PGA Tour winning streak? In that sense an analogy can be drawn to a major league baseball player who, after hitting in 30 straight MLB games, plays a few exhibition games in Japan in which he goes hitless. When he returns to MLB play, his hit streak would still stand at 30 games.

For what it's worth, Tiger Woods himself has stated his streak ended at 6 last year. It is obvious that he is not particularly concerned as to what others label his current run of stellar play. He is focused on doing what he does best, winning tournaments and adding to his already considerable legacy. Golf's best golfer started 2007 the way he ended 2006, playing great golf and poised to resume his assault on the sport's record books. He is far and away the best in the game today and probably the best golfer of all time. I would hope that is something on which both sides in the "streak debate" can agree.

Return of the Queen: Serena Williams wins the 2007 Australian Open; What does it mean for her and what does it say about the state of the WTA?

2007-01-27T09:16:00.000-06:00

The 2007 Australian Open's Women's Final lasted only 63 minutes. It probably seemed like an eternity to top-seeded (and the new world's #1 when the WTA announces its new rankings on Monday) Maria Sharapova of Russia, as she was beaten convincingly, 6-1, 6-2, by unseeded Serena Williams of the United States.

In her defense, Sharapova definitely did not bring her "A" game. She served up six double faults against only three aces. Her first serve percentage was only 51%, and, when forced to deliver a second serve to a focused Williams, Sharapova won only 26% of those points. She also faced an opponent seemingly (and incongruously) at the peak of her considerable powers. Serena Williams played perhaps the best and cleanest tennis of her career. She hit 28 winners against only 13 unforced errors. It was a dominating performance, and Williams announced to the tennis world that, when focused and injury-free, she is still arguably the women's game's most talented player and definitely its fiercest competitor.

A return to championship form by Serena Williams is obviously good for the WTA Tour. Justine Henin, the world's number 1 heading into the Australian Open, withdrew for personal reasons, making Sharapova the top-seeded player in Melbourne. Lindsay Davenport announced her retirement in mid-December. Kim Clijsters declared before the start of the year that this season would be her last. Amelie Mauresmo, despite winning two majors in 2006, still delivers performances that cause observers to wonder about her mental toughness. Her play in Australia, which culminated in a loss to unseeded Lucie Safarova of the Czech Republic in the 4th Round, did nothing to quiet the naysayers. The third-seed, 2004 U.S. Open Champion, Russian Svetlana Kuznetsova, also lost in the 4th round, to the 16th seed, Shahar Peer of Israel. After a first-round scare against France's Camille Pin, Sharapova had a comparatively easier time than Williams making it to the finals. During the final three rounds, however, her powerful first serve, an integral part of her game, deserted her. Her opponents in the quarterfinals, Anna Chakvetadze of Russia, and semifinals, Clijsters, were unable to take advantage. In the finals, she met an opponent who did.

The quarterfinal runs of Peer and Safarova were great stories, as was 17-year-old Nicole Vaidisova's advancing to the semifinals. Still, it is a case of "good news, bad news" for the WTA when unheralded players do not seem to have to play their best tennis to knock out two of the top three seeds at a slam, and the top seed is obliterated in the final in just over one hour. Parity is wonderful, but only when parity also produces competitive and exciting matches.

In that sense, Serena Williams' victory, her third win at the Australia Open, and the eighth major championship of her career, is also a case of "good news, bad news". The good news is that one of women's tennis' most exciting performers is back. The bad news is that an unseeded player with questionable fitness and little match play coming into the tournament won it all, while several of the top seeds displayed woefully inconsistent serves and erratic ground strokes. While a stirring run by Serena Williams may have answered many questions about her commitment to the sport, it may have also raised many questions about the current quality of the women's game.

When Antony Met Cleopatra: Episode 2 of Season 2 of HBO's "Rome"

2007-01-24T15:02:00.000-06:00

After the bloody conclusion to the events of Episode 1, Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo return to Vorenus' home. Vorenus tosses the decapitated head of Erastes Fulmen into a corner, and lies down. He stares despondently at the ceiling.

In the streets of the Aventine, there is utter chaos and gang violence in the wake of Erastes Fulmen's death.

In the next shot, we see that Pullo and his new bride, Eirene, are living with Vorenus. Eirene is quite worried. She calls Casa de Vorenus a "house of death," and worries that any child the two of them conceived within its walls would be "a monster". Wow, for most of last season this woman didn't say a word, now it's nag, nag, nag.

Pullo, newly married and even more newly hen-pecked, decides to have that long overdue chat with his old friend. We learn that a month has passed since the opening scene, and Vorenus looks like he might not have moved in that entire time.

Vorenus blames himself for the deaths of his wife, his children, and Caesar. Viewing things from his perspective, this is a very logical conclusion.

Meanwhile, Atia and Marc Antony are having a discussion about Cleopatra, who has just arrived in Rome. Atia's son, Octavian, asks Antony why he hasn't yet received Caesar's money in accordance with the great man's last will and testament. Antony assures him that he'll see to it. Octavian seems less than convinced.

Antony and Cleopatra meet to broker a deal. Cleopatra wants Antony to pledge to protect her throne with Roman military strength. In exchange, Antony wants 10 grain shipments per month for Rome, and a monthly payment of 48,000 denarii's as a "personal gift". Posca and Cleopatra's chief servant and counsel, Charmian, haggle over the "personal gift", finally settling on a monthly sum of 42,000 denarii's. (I think these two would make a very cute couple, by the way)

Antony wants an even more personal gift from Cleopatra. Cleopatra says that it's possible, but only if Antony fist acknowledges her son, Caesarion, as a lawful son of the late Gaius Julius Caesar Dictator. Antony refuses, and earns himself a slap in the process.

As she leaves her sit-down with Marc Antony, Cleopatra spies Titus Pullo amidst the crowd waiting for an audience with the consul. The two exchange a look that makes it clear neither has forgotten their "encounter" roughly 9 months before Caesarion's birth.

Marcus Tullus Cicero is the next person to meet with Antony. Cicero seems to grown a spine since the last time since we saw him last, and we quickly learn why. Antony personally summoned him back to Rome to endorse the list of candidates for the upcoming elections. Antony claims that Posca discovered this list among Caesar's papers. Cicero sees right through him, and makes it clear that he knows these potential candidates paid Antony (through Posca) to get their names put on a list drawn up long after Caesar's body was cold.

After saying that he knows Antony can't kill him because he needs him to run the Senate, says that he will provide his endorsement of these candidates, but only if he's allowed to strike the names of the worst scoundrels off of the list. Antony grudgingly agrees, but it's clear there is still plenty of bad blood between these two.

Marc Antony is obviously not enjoying the business of running Rome. He calls an early end to the day's business. As he heads for home accompanied by his guards, Titus Pullo steps forward and tells Antony about the condition Lucius Vorenus is in. Marc Antony accompanies Pullo to Vorenus' House of Death for an intervention, Roman style.

It becomes obvious from the start that Marc Antony certainly knows his man. He starts off with a dose of tough love. Antony expresses his disgust with Vorenus' condition. Antony tells him that he (Vorenus) is responsible for Caesar's death and that his name is "disgraced forever". He asks Vorenus why he has not done his duty and opened his own stomach. Vorenus answers that Dis, Roman god of the Underworld, is his master and that Dis wants him to suffer more before taking his life. Antony tells him that he is Vorenus' master, by sacred oath under the standard of the 13th Legion.

Antony picks up Erastes Fulmen's rotting head (which hadn't been moved), and tosses it outside. He asks Vorenus if he would like a chance at redemption.

At the house of Atia of the Julii, Octavian observes the preparation for his mother's dinner party. He sees several hard-looking men sharpening their blades outside. He puts two and two together rather quickly when he sees that Servilia, still Antony's hostage, has been dragged to the party. He knows that his mother doesn't plan on letting Servilia leave alive.

Atia stages a show of reconciliation with Servilia. She says that it is enough for her to know that she's won and to see Servilia humbled. The two women exchange a formal kiss. Octavian confronts his mother, and, after she confirms that Antony has no knowledge of her plan to murder his hostage, he quickly fills Antony in on the details. Antony and Atia argue briefly. He wins, and Atia tells her armed henchmen that their services will not be required.

Cleopatra makes a grand entrance to the party. Her son, Caesarion, accompanies her. Cleopatra is in full seductress mode, which entrances Antony and threatens Atia. After dinner has been served and consumed, Cleopatra makes ready to depart. She tells Atia that she "[has] made a friend for life." As the two exchange their own formal kiss, Atia whispers to her new-found friend, "[d]ie screaming, you pig-spawned trollop."

Atia's sometime henchman (and sometime lover), Timon, returns home to find that his older brothr, Levi, has resurfaced in Rome after 9 years in Jerusalem. Although Levi claims at first that he's come to Rome to expand his business, the spice, cloth, and oil trade, Timon finally gets him to admit the truth. Levi was forced to leave Jerusalem because he spoke too freely about the Pharisees' "licking the boots of Roman soldiers." Timon warns his brother that he's in Rome now, and that he doesn't want to see his wife and children placed in any jeopardy.

On the Aventine, the priests of Concord (Concordia), goddess of harmony, call a meeting of all the captains of the collegia. They are the ones responsible for the gang violence as each is trying to claim a share of the power and authority on the Aventine that once belonged to Erastes Fulmen. We cut to Pullo, who is trying to get Vorenus cleaned up.

Vorenus parley with the captains. He says that the Aventine college is now his, by the authority of Mark Antony. He tells the captains that they are to stop their fighting, and, in exchange for a generous stipend, are to help him maintain law and order on the Aventine Hill. When one man, Gaius Acerbo, asks why anyone should do business with a "poor, cursed, hounded beast . . ." Vorenus responds grabbing the sacred statue of Concord and smashing it to pieces. He declares himself a son of Hades. The captains quickly realize that a man willing to desecrate the statue of a goddess and announce his allegiance to the Underworld is not likely to balk at much of anything when it comes to mere mortals.

Octavian confronts Antony again about Caesar's money. Antony again puts him off. The young man goes to his sister, Octavia, and informs her of his plans to fill the leadership vacuum left by Caesar's death. She laughs, until she realizes that her brother is deadly serious.

A public announcement is made that Octavian has given the common people the money promised them in Caesar's will. Atia and Antony burst into Octavian's bedroom. They are upset about the announcement. They are even more upset when Octavian tells them that he has borrowed against his inheritance from Caesar (already legally in his name) to the tune of several million sesterces, and that he plans to enter public life. Atia strikes her son. Surprisingly, he hits her back. A physical struggle ensues between Antony and Octavian. In the end, Antony overpowers Octavian, and only Atia prevents him from choking the young man to death. Octavian, though physically over-matched, doesn't back down. He shouts at a departing Antony that the consul is "not fit to lead Rome".

Pullo is interviewing candidates to fill vacant positions of authority within the Aventine college. Ironic, since Pullo, along with Vorenus, was responsible for the violent deaths that caused these positions to become vacant in the first place. Mascius, one of their old comrades from the 13th Legion, shows up, ready to join their "merry band". Mascius said he'd heard word that a "black-hearted villain" in league with the gods of the underworld had taken over the Aventine. A man named Lucius Vorenus. Vorenus chuckles at this, but Pullo warns him that the gods do not like that sort of thing. Vorenus asks him "[w]hat more can the gods do to me? How can they punish me now?" He seems to think these are rhetorical questions.

Servilia and Cicero are celebrating what they think is wonderful news: the falling out between Antony and Octavian. Cicero, while pleased, thinks that Octavian cannot hope to rival Antony. Servilia thinks otherwise, commenting that Caesar would not have chosen his heir on a whim. She wants the Senate to invite her son to return to Rome. Cicero says that the wiser strategy would be to wait and see how things play out.

Octavian has left both his mother's house and Rome itself. In the letter he left for Atia, he expresses his displeasure over the fact that she took Antony's side over his. He says that he is still intent upon pursuing a political career, and that he hopes that one day his mother will realize "the gravity of [her] mistake."

Octavian and his men depart Rome. On a dusty Italian road, they pass a slave transport. Octavian pays the transport no mind, but, as the episode ends, we see that among these slaves are: Vorenus' daughters, Vorena the Elder and Vorena the Younger; their aunt, Lyde; and Lucius, the son of Vorenus' late wife, Niobe.

A Sense of Betrayal: Another Fantasy Congress Update

2007-01-24T09:29:00.000-06:00

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

A few days ago, I went through these five stages of the grieving process after I logged onto the home site of "Fantasy Congress" and discovered that the League I'd joined had been reset, and that I would have to draft a brand new team. I'd received no advanced warning from my League's commissioner.

So, after the fifteen minutes it took me to move from denial to acceptance, I tightened my belt, rolled up my sleeves, and selected the legislators who would comprise Bayou Boyz Mark II.

Out of a sense of loyalty and fair play, I tried to select the same members I'd drafted the first time around. Sadly, a few of my competitors had alread snatched up a few of my previous picks.

So, here's my new roster. Many of the names are the same, but there are a few newcomers

All-Stars

Spencer Bachus (R)
Howard Berman (D)
John Murtha (D)
Nancy Pelosi (D)

Supporting Cast

Mary Bono (R)
Elijah Cummings (D)
Jesse L. Jackson (D)
Tom Udall (D)

Rookies

Rodney Alexander (R)
Raul Grijalva (D)
Kendrick Meek (D)
Eleanor Holmes Norton (D)

Upper Senators

Joseph Biden (D)
Ted Kennedy (D)

Lower Senators

Evan Bayh (D)
Hillary Clinton (D)

The Real Obama Question: What Would His Candidacy Tell Us About Ourselves?

2007-01-20T15:28:00.000-06:00

At the 1956 Democratic National Convention, a young first-term Senator stepped out of the shadows and into the national limelight. Though he did not emerge from that convention as his party’s nominee for either the Presidency or the Vice-Presidency, Sen. John F. Kennedy turned that national exposure into a surge of momentum that eventually carried him all the way to the White House.

The buzz surrounding Sen. Barack Obama of Illinois reminds many seasoned Beltway observers of Pres. John F. Kennedy at a similar point in his political career. Sen. Obama gained national prominence at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. Though he has not announced that he is a candidate for the Presidency of the United States, such an announcement seems, at this point, to be a fait accompli.

Despite his current q-ratings, it will be very difficult for Sen. Obama to secure his party’s nomination, much less the White House itself. Nonetheless, it seems inevitable that his candidacy will represent a watershed moment in American politics. It is likely to provide concrete evidence of our society’s true attitudes towards race, ethnicity, and even religious tolerance. It will hopefully force us to examine the often-hypocritical stance we take towards information about politicians’ past behavior, particularly when it comes to recreational drug use. We have a history of being quick to condemn behavior that, in ourselves, we are just as quick to label “youthful indiscretions”.

The Positives

Sen. Obama is young, articulate, and photogenic. He presents himself with a directness and candor that stands in stark contrast to those politicians who often seem incapable of providing straightforward answers to even the most unambiguous questions.

He is inarguably intelligent. Obama is a magna cum laude graduate of Harvard Law School, who served as President of the Law Review. He taught at the University of Chicago while working for a firm specializing in civil rights law.

Sen. Obama also seems to know, whether by instinct or observation, how to market himself. He recognized at the very start of his political career that some skeletons should be exhumed and displayed as early as possible. Sen. Obama revealed his teenaged drug use in an autobiography published before his first political campaign. When asked by Jay Leno whether he inhaled, he simply replied “That was the point.” This answer showed a politician capable of thinking on his feet. It also showed a man with the ability and willingness to admit to his mistakes without coming across as either “preachy” or hypocritical. To many, that statement turned a potential land mine into a minor issue.

Barack Obama was not a member of the United States Senate when many of his potential opponents were faced with the decision whether or not to authorize the President to invade Iraq. As such, he does not have to contend with charges that he rubber-stamped what is now seen by many as a fundamentally flawed policy. Nor does he have to contend with charges that he flip-flopped on the issue, supporting the Bush agenda when it enjoyed immense popular support only to withdraw that support when that popularity began to wane.

The Negatives

Sen. Obama’s opponents are certain to highlight his lack of experience, particularly with respect to national politics and international issues. Expect them to bring this up early and often. Unfortunately for Obama, Pres. Bush’s current approval ratings mean that he cannot even defend himself by asserting that his level of experience is at least on par with that of George W. Bush when he took office in January 2001.

He also faces the same Catch-22 facing any Democrat seeking to gain the White House in 2008. It will be impossible for him to win the general election without securing his party’s nomination. Yet the stance on issues that he might have to take to secure that nomination might make him unpalatable to voters in the general election.

If history is any guide, the idea that “every boy can be President” is a myth with no basis in reality. No non-white male and only one non-Protestant has ever been elected President of the United States. If, 46 years ago, many voters wondered whether or not a son of Joseph P. Kennedy would take direct orders from the Vatican while seated in the Oval Office, what sort of concerns might the voting public have about a multiracial candidate with the middle name of "Hussein", who was educated, however briefly, at what one magazine report described as a madrassa (Islamic religious school) in Indonesia? From the fifth grade on, Sen. Obama attended and eventually graduated from a preparatory school in Honolulu, Hawaii. Still, the issue of his alleged “Muslim education” (a thinly veiled accusation of Muslim indoctrination) has already been raised.

The flip side to the fact that Obama does not carry any baggage with respect to Iraq, is that he will now have to choose his stance on the war very, very carefully. Voters have had a comparatively long time to process and evaluate the stances on the war taken by his opponents, however conflicting and contradictory they may be. If Sen. Obama makes a statement or casts a vote that proves unpopular, he will not have very long to recover before the primary season rolls around.

Ultimately though, the largest obstacle Sen. Obama faces is that he is in danger of “peaking” too soon. A great deal of his appeal lies in the fact that he’s a fresh face, a possible alternative to the seemingly preordained nomination of Sen. Hilary Clinton. As much as Americans love underdogs, we have a similar distaste for overwhelming favorites. Even if we know the little guy’s not going to win, we cheer for him loudly all the same. But it’s only January 2007. How can a fresh face remain fresh between now and the start of primary season in 2008? Only time will tell.

CNN debunks false report about Obama

On Monday, January 22, CNN filed a story from Indonesia regarding the early education of Barack Obama. According to CNN, Sen. Obama attended the Basuki school in Jakarta, Indonesia, for two years, before transferring to a Catholic school. CNN interviewed one of Sen. Obama's classmates, as well as the Basuki school's deputy headmaster. Both men stated that the school was not and never had been an Islamic school.

Just Get Over It?! A Virginia Lawmaker's advice to blacks about slavery

2007-01-20T12:34:00.000-06:00

On Tuesday, January 16, 2007, a member of the Virginia state legislature said that black people should "get over" slavery. Del. Frank D. Hargrove, age 79, made his statements in the course of voicing opposition to a proposed measure that would apologize on behalf of the state to the descendants of slaves. Hargrove’s main point was that, since slavery ended nearly 140 years ago, Virginia’s black citizens should just “get over it”.

Needless to say, black lawmakers in Virginia (and elsewhere) were swift to denounce Hargrove's comments. I also denounce Hargrove's comments.

140 years is a long time, and if this measure were advocating some form of monetary reparation, I could see several reasons for voicing an objection, the main one being simple unfeasibility. It would be one thing if there existed a major corporation that, upon examination, was actually Virginia Confederated Slave Holdings d/b/a RicherThanSinCo. RicherThanSinCo. could, of course, be easily traced to a partnership between and among Virginia’s wealthiest plantation owners. This is not the case, however. Reparations would end up coming from the pockets of taxpayers. Many of these taxpayers would be the descendants of individuals who were not slaveowners or otherwise direct beneficiaries of the slave system. For others, at what point do the sins of the father no longer apply?

By that same token, there was a time, a generation or two removed from slavery, when determining just how much might have been owed to whom and by whom could, at least in theory, have been a viable option. With the passage of time, and as more time continues to pass, this is just not going to happen.

The issue of monetary reparations, whatever its original merits, has, unfortunately, become a boogeyman that pundits and politicians alike trot out to frighten members of the public who don’t understand that it’s an idea with little to no hope of ever becoming a reality.

An apology, though, is an entirely different story. An apology constitutes an important symbolic gesture. An apology represents more than just an explicit recognition of the inhumanity and barbarity of the system of chattel slavery that existed in the antebellum South. An apology is also an implicit recognition of the racial inequities that continued long after slavery ended. It is a recognition of the damaging legacy of racial violence and Jim Crow. In short, an apology would cost Virginia nothing, but its value would be immeasurable.

Blacks don’t need to “just get over” slavery. Legislators like Frank Hargrove just need to “get it”.

Fantasy Congress Update: Who's Hot and Who's Not

2007-01-19T11:28:00.000-06:00

As I described in an earlier blog entry, I signed up for a public league in Fantasy Congress in late October 2006. Obviously, this was before the November elections, and I did my homework before selecting my team of legislators. I listened to the pundits. I walked the streets, trying to gauge public opinion. I watched C-SPAN. I called several psychic hotlines. In the end, I gambled all on the belief that the Democrats would gain control of both Houses of Congress. The gamble paid off. Well, it paid off in a figurative sense. No money changed hands, or anything like that.

It’s been almost three months since I joined the league. It’s high time to see how my team, the “Bayou Boyz” is doing.

The Top Gun

So far, my team MVP has been Rep. Mary Bono from California’s 45th District. She’s my leading scorer with 95 points. Rep. Bono co-sponsored H.R. 6429, the purpose of which is to treat payments by charitable organizations to a certain class of firefighters as exempt payments. This piece of legislation alone was worth 40 points. If/when it meets with Presidential approval, there will be plenty more points where those came from. Unfortunately, with the Dems having taken control, I may eventually have to bench Rep. Bono. Still, I will never forget her contribution.

Pulling Their Weight

Rep. Charles Rangel, of New York’s 15th District, has definitely been a solid contributor. His 85 points make him my team’s second-leading scorer. I didn’t join the league until the House of Representatives had already passed this piece of legislation, but H.R. 1472 was passed by the Senate on November 16 and signed by President Bush on December 18. This meant 80 points for the Bayou Boyz. The purpose of the bill, incidentally, was to designate the U.S. Postal Service Facility on 167 E. 124th Street in New York, New York, as the “Tito Puente Post Office Building.” It doesn’t get much better than that.

Tito Puente

Rep. Spencer Bachus, 6th District, Alabama, has chipped in with 30 points. He co-sponsored H.R. 6345, passed by the Senate on December 8. This bill’s purpose is to make a conforming amendment to the Federal Deposit Insurance Act with respect to the exemption of certain insured depository institutions.

Waiting for Them to "Heat Up"

The Junior Senator from New York, Hilary Rodham Clinton, is also on my team. I know her presidential aspirations might be a distraction, but I’m confident in her ability to multi-task. She’s scored 10 points so far, from 2 pieces of legislation addressing, respectively, nuclear terrorism and the collection of crime data relating to the occurrence of school-related crime in elementary schools and secondary schools.

Rep. Barney Frank of the 4th District of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts has contributed 5 points. I’m expecting big things from Rep. Frank this legislative session.

Overall

I’m confident that the rest of my lineup, which includes the Speaker of the House, Rep. Nancy Pelosi, and seasoned veterans like Sen. Edward Kennedy, Sen. Evan Bayh, and Sen. Joe Biden, and Rep. John Murtha, will be a finely honed legislative machine.

The Bayou Boyz are currently ranked 46th out of 100 teams. Keep in mind, however, that I joined the league much later in the game than many of those currently ranked ahead of me.

What I’ve Learned

I went through a brief period my third year of law school during which I watched quite a bit of C-SPAN. Since signing up to play Fantasy Congress, I’ve once again been tuning in to C-SPAN and C-SPAN2. I discovered that if we were attending the same cocktail party, I’d only recognize Sen. Harry Reid of Nevada if he were wearing a nametag and sporting a button that said “Kiss Me, I’m the New Senate Majority Leader”. I’ve also been reminded of why I stopped watching C-SPAN during my third year of law school. I’m not saying that these Congressional sessions can get boring, but . . .hmm, actually that’s exactly what I’m saying. I guess, at the end of the day, I’d rather watch paint dry than watch the television equivalent of someone describing the paint-drying process. I’m just old-fashioned that way, I guess.

Ultimately, for me, Fantasy Congress is not just about competing against a bunch of people I don’t know and will likely never meet. No, Fantasy Congress is about much more than that. Of course, I’d be disappointed with a poor finish. I could see myself being devastated to the point where, after smashing my computer in a fit of rage, I might lapse into a state of near catatonic despondency. But, that’s not really the point. The point is that it’s clear to me already that this league has spurred me to take a much closer look at this country’s legislative process. And that’s the essence of Fantasy Congress.

Fantasy Congress

Patriots vs. Colts?! No, this one is all about Brady vs. Manning

2007-01-18T12:08:00.000-06:00

They are inarguably the two greatest quarterbacks of their generation. With respect to enshrinement in Canton, it seems not a question of if, but when.

Tom Brady, quarterback of the New England Patriots, has led his team to 3 Super Bowl victories, winning the MVP trophy in 2 of them. He is the heir apparent as football’s greatest clutch performer to his childhood hero, Joe Montana.

Peyton Manning, quarterback of the Indianapolis Colts, has won 2 league MVP awards and holds the NFL record for touchdowns in a single season. He is on pace to re-write the record book. Still, one can’t help but look at his post-season results, and think that he might end up supplanting Dan Marino as the “best quarterback never to win a Super Bowl”. Despite his prolific numbers, Manning usually takes a back seat to Brady come playoff time; and playoff time is when great players become legends.

Strangely enough, these two very different quarterbacks have taken very similar paths to get to this point in the 2006-07 season. Both put up very good but great, by their standards, regular season numbers. Both led teams that were, at various points in the season, written off as pretenders and not contenders. Their teams have won one home playoff game and one road playoff game each. In these games, neither superstar quarterback really played like one.

This postseason, Manning, the prolific passer has put up downright pedestrian numbers. In victories over the Kansas City Chiefs and the Baltimore Ravens, he threw more touchdowns than interceptions, and in neither game did he top the 300-yard mark.

Meanwhile, the normally unflappable and ever-consistent Brady followed a strong performance against the New York Jets with a game against the San Diego Chargers that he’d probably just as soon forget. If not for a heads-up play by Troy Brown, Captain Comeback’s third interception of the game would likely have heralded the end of the Patriots’ season.

We all know how important this game is for Peyton Manning. He is playing in another AFC Championship Game, at home, against the team that has knocked him out of the playoffs on several occasions, and the quarterback whose 3 Super Bowl rings simply add fuel to the “Manning can’t win the big one” fire.

Still, the stakes are surprisingly high for Tom Brady, as well. His reputation as an all-time great quarterback hinges on his being a winner. It’s never been about numbers with Brady. Rather, it’s been about his ability to rise to the occasion. This is why so many fans and pundits alike rank him ahead of Peyton Manning, despite Manning’s statistical superiority. Since capturing that third Super Bowl, Joe Cool Version 2.0 has not always done so. A Colts’ win, particularly if they follow it up with a victory in Super Bowl XLI, would be seen by some as an indication that Peyton Manning had moved to the Head of the Class.

So, for these two great, young quarterbacks, this game is about far more than which team will represent the AFC in Super Bowl XLI. This game is about legacies. Can Peyton Manning put to rest the contention that he can’t win the big game on the big stage? Can Tom Brady silence any whispers that his anointing as his generation's Joe Montana was premature? This is a game you don’t want to miss.

No Thunder Down Under

2007-01-16T17:59:00.000-06:00

It’s January. Tennis’ first major of 2007 is being played in Melbourne, Australia at, arguably, the finest tennis facility in the world.

There are great storylines.

Can Roger Federer continue his dominance? Can Rafael Nadal put in a strong performance on a surface many feel suits his game almost as well as his beloved clay? Can James Blake take that next step and move from “feel good story” to “serious contender”? Can Andy Roddick show that his performances at the end of last year’s hardcourt season were not a fluke? Which Marat Safin will show up?

On the women’s side, can Amelie Mauresmo defend her title and put to rest once and for all any questions about her mental toughness? Can Maria Sharapova win a second consecutive major title and secure the #1 ranking? Is Serena Williams serious about her comeback or is she simply “talking the talk”?

In spite of these positive factors, as usual, I find that I’m not particularly interested in the Australian Open.

Believe me, I have my reasons.

Are you people familiar with the concept of an off-season?

Tennis players often complain (justifiably) that their season goes on too long. The final of the year-end Tennis Masters Cup was played on November 20. The deciding match of the Davis Cup Final (won by Russia over Argentina) was played on December 4. Less than 6 weeks later, they’re playing the first round of the Aussie Open.

I contend that it’s not only the players who need a break. The fans need one, too. Only golf’s off-season is shorter, and they don’t play the Masters in mid-January.

Too many other sports viewing options

If you’re a sports junkie like me, you’ve got a lot on your plate at this time of year. The NFL Playoffs are in full swing. In college basketball, teams have just started playing their all-important conference schedules. The NBA season is nearing the mid-way point.

Something’s gotta give, and, for me, that something ends up being tennis.

3. Time Zone Issues

I know I’m going to sound like the stereotypical “Ugly American”, but I’m just being honest. In order for me to watch any of these matches live, I would have to stay up until the wee small hours of the morning. As much as I love tennis, I’m not pulling an all-nighter just so I can see whether David Nalbandian can make it to the Round of 16.

The matches are re-broadcast the next day, but, in this era of constant sports updates (via television, radio, or internet), it would practically require my locking myself in a sensory deprivation chamber in order for me to not find out the outcome of these matches before they’re re-broadcast. Again, as much as I love tennis, I’m not watching too many matches the outcome of which I already know.

4. The Power of History

In 1988, the Australian Open completed its transformation into the tournament many now know and love: rebound ace courts; a retractable roof; and everything done first-class.

Unfortunately, there are those of us who still remember when the Australian Open was the red-headed stepchild of sports’ major championships. I remember when the Aussie Open was played in December and the top players did not exactly flock to the tournament. In fact, they stayed away in droves.

I truly became a tennis fan in 1981. I loved Bjorn Borg and hated John McEnroe. During the early to mid-1980s, I generally did not find out who had won the Australian Open until I heard the player’s name mentioned during a French Open broadcast that next June. But wait, there’s more.

If anyone ever asks you who won the 1986 Australian Open, men’s or women’s side, and you draw a blank, don’t panic. It’s a trick question. There was no Aussie Open played in 1986. I know it was done because the championship was being moved back to its original January date, but that still eroded almost all of its credibility in my young mind. 20 years later, the Australian Open has regained much of that credibility, but not all of it.

5. Rebound Ace and the Agassi Factor

(If you’re an Andre Agassi fan, read the following at your own risk)

As stated above, starting in 1988, the Australian Open moved from the grass courts at Kooyong to the Rebound Ace hardcourts of Melbourne (nee Flinders) Park. Little did I know at that time that this would one day be a source of tremendous bitterness.

Rebound Ace, particularly in the January Australian heat, is a dangerous surface. If a player can walk away (preferably under his own power) with only a mild ankle sprain or two, he should probably consider himself lucky. That, however, is not why I’m bitter.

You see, once they started to play the Aussie Open on Rebound Ace, it meant that, technically, tennis’ 4 major championships were now played on 4 different surfaces: Rebound Ace hardcourt; clay; grass; and Har-Tru hardcourt. Fast forward to June 6, 1999, a date which will live in infamy. That was the date on which Andre Agassi defeated Andrei Medvedev to win the French Open Championship. This gave Agassi his 4th major title and made him one of only a handful of men to win all of tennis’ major championships.

This means that, until Roger Federer wins the French Open, I will have to listen to Agassi fans ramble on (ad nauseam) about the fact that their beloved ‘Dre is the only men’s player to win grand slam titles on 4 different surfaces. Granted, 99% of them don’t know what makes a Rebound Ace hardcourt different from a Har-Tru hardcourt, but that won’t stop them from waxing poetic about their hero’s unmatched accomplishment. They will cite it as compelling evidence that a player who wasn’t the greatest of his own era somehow merits consideration as the G.O.A.T. (greatest player of all time).

So, those are my reasons for not being as big a fan of the Australian Open as I am of tennis’ other three “slams”.

Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi oi, oi!

"Caesar is Dead, Long Live Caesar" (Season Premiere of "Rome" on HBO)

2007-01-16T12:25:00.000-06:00

After a hiatus of over a year, Season 2 of “Rome” picks up right where Season 1 left off.

Caesar is dead. The great man is right where we last saw him, lying dead in a pool of his own blood on the floor of the Senate. His slave, Posca, is by his side, weeping as he sees what they’ve done to his “dominus”.

Just outside the Senate, Mark Antony is confronted by Quintus Pompey and several other armed men. They seem intent on making sure that Antony won’t be grieving Caesar for very long. Antony fights them off and makes a run for it.

A very shaken Brutus, one of the assassins and the figurehead of the assassination itself, returns home. His mother, Servilia, who spent the last episodes of Season 1 pushing him towards Caesar’s murder, continues guiding her son towards a role, “Savior of the Republic” to which he seems ill-suited and in which he seems uninterested.

In other news, our two main protagonists, Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo seem to have switched identities.

Stable, family man Vorenus has seen his wife commit suicide only minutes after he’s discovered that the child she’s been passing off as Vorenus’ grandson is actually her son by another man. Vorenus’ daughters arrive on the scene to find their mother dead and their father having seemingly lost his mind. A crazed Vorenus curses his sobbing children and wanders off in a daze. He learns of Caesar’s death, but it is not clear if Vorenus has figured out that many will blame him for it. He was supposed to have been Caesar’s personal bodyguard in the Senate, but was lured away from his duties through the machinations of Servilia.

Unstable, hard-partying Pullo, meanwhile, proposes to his former slave, Eirene. She accepts (after he promises her dresses, food, shelter, and no beatings) but the couple’s newlywed bliss is interrupted by news of Caesar’s death. To his credit, Pullo doesn’t shoot the messenger. He does, however, knock him off his horse before stealing it from the poor man. With his wife in tow, Pullo rides hard for Rome.

At the house of Atia, the balance of power is shifting. While the mistress of the house weeps in the arms of one of her slaves, her children, Octavian and Octavia, have put two and two together and figured out they played an unwitting role in Caesar’s assassination. Servilia was only able to lure Vorenus from Caesar’s side because of information that Octavian gave to Octavia, who in turn gave it to Servilia.

Atia wants to flee the city, but Octavian, shrewdly, argues that the better course of action is to sit tight and wait things out. A disheveled Antony shows up, vowing vengeance against Caesar’s killers.

At the house of the late, great Gaius Julius Caesar Dictator, Antony, Atia, Octavian, and Octavia are in attendance as Posca reads the contents of Caesar’s will. Posca gets his freedom, the common people get some money, and Octavian receives the remainder of Caesar’s estate and a posthumous adoption as Caesar’s son, to boot. Antony gets nothing, and is none too pleased about it. Although Antony claims that Caesar’s will is worthless, as his killers will simply declare that he was a tyrant, thus rendering all his acts null and void. Octavian is the only one who realizes that the assassins have painted themselves into a legal corner. If they declare Caesar a tyrant, they lose all rank and protection since Caesar was the one who appointed them to their current offices in the first place. Antony remains unconvinced, but Octavian is able to sway Atia with two simple sentences.

“If the will stands, and it might, you are mother to the richest man in Rome. If the will is broken, Servilia has that honor.”

Antony goes to the house of Brutus and Servilia. He uses Octavian’s line of reasoning in most persuasive fashion. They accept Antony’s offer of a truce, agreeing that Brutus and Antony will deliver the orations at Caesar’s public funeral. (In a later scene we see Antony’s unorthodox and definitely R-rated preparation for the funeral)

Pullo arrives in Rome and helps Vorenus regain a modicum of his former sanity. Vorenus is racked with guilt over having cursed his children. When he discovers that the children were taken by his old enemy Erastes Fulmen, he feels even guiltier.

Servilia, Caesar’s former lover and the true architect of his death, goes to the great man’s house to pay her respects. She is confronted by Caesar’s wife, Calpurnia. Servilia is coldly courteous. Calpurnia responds by spitting in her face. Twice. The exquisite Lindsay Duncan, who portrays Servilia, captures her character’s mixed emotions perfectly as she views the corpse of the great enemy who was also the love of her life.

The events of Caesar’s funeral are related to us through one of Erastes Fulmen’s henchmen. He tells his drinking companions that Brutus’ speech went over like flatulence in a cathedral, while Antony played to the masses and whipped them into a frenzy, particularly after displaying Caesar’s bloody toga and throwing it into the ranks of what had quickly become a bloodthirsty mob. At the end of it all, Brutus leaves the city on a thin pretext and Servilia remains at Antony’s home as his guest (read: hostage).

Episode 1 ends with Vorenus and Pullo confronting Erastes Fulmen. After butchering Fulmen’s henchmen, the two demand to know the whereabouts of Vorenus’ children. Fulmen tells Vorenus that he killed them before tossing their bodies into the Tiber River. Vorenus decapitates him, and the last thing we see is Vorenus carrying the head of Erastes Fulmen through the streets with Pullo trailing behind him.

All in all, this was a great episode. It’s marvelous to see that a show can keep a story interesting, even when its viewing audience knows the eventual outcome. (Did you catch that, “Smallville”?)

The groundwork for this period in Rome’s history was laid out for us. The power vacuum and instability caused by Caesar’s death and the eventual power struggle between Antony and Octavian.

Et tu, Brute?

A Rose by Any Other Name: New Jersey and Same-Sex Civil Unions

2006-10-27T16:23:00.000-05:00

On October 25, 2006, the New Jersey Supreme Court rendered its decision in the case of Lewis v. Harris. The case involved seven same-sex couples who sought to marry. The couples, who had been denied marriage licenses in their municipalities, brought suit challenging the constitutionality of New Jersey’s marriage statutes.

The Court decided, 4-3, that the state of New Jersey had not articulated a legitimate public need for continuing to deprive committed same-sex couples of the full range of benefits and privileges enjoyed by married heterosexual couples. The Court relied upon the equal protection guarantee of New Jersey’s Constitution.

The ruling exponentially increased the legal benefits available to same-sex couples in New Jersey. Same-sex couples could previously form "domestic partnerships" but that only afforded them a relatively small percentage of the rights conferred by marriage.

Here’s where a line was drawn in the proverbial sand, however.

The Court went on to state that the “name to be given the statutory scheme that provides full rights and benefits to same sex couples, whether marriage or some other term, is a matter left to the democratic process.”

In other words, we’re not touching the issue of whether the union we’ve just described is a “marriage” or something else.

If you think this looks like “separate, but equal”, I agree with you completely.

The Court was actually unanimous on the equal protection aspects of the case. The split was over the issue of defining same sex unions. Ironically, the four justices who held that it should be directed to the legislature were Democrat-appointees. The dissenting justices, Republican-appointees, argued for full marriage rights, including the right to the term “marriage”.

Marriages, from a legal standpoint, are simply legally recognized partnerships. When I see a heterosexual married couple, I don’t feel that the government is necessarily endorsing any other aspect of their relationship. They may be getting married because of an unplanned pregnancy. They may be getting married because she feels her biological clock is ticking. They may be getting married because one of them is wealthy and the other is a gold-digger. The government really takes no position on the dynamics of the relationship itself . . .unless and until one of them sues for divorce.

Still, when the issue of homosexual marriage is raised, counter-arguments either imply or explicitly state that recognizing the right of same-sex couples to marry would be tantamount to a government endorsement of specific sexual acts. Huh?

When a heterosexual couple gets married, the state is simply recognizing the desire of two individuals to form a legal partnership, with the attendant rights, privileges, and responsibilities. The government is not, to my knowledge, endorsing any aspect of their sexual activity. They can have as much sex as they want (and probably less than he wants). It’s no one else’s business (again, until it comes time to get that divorce).

I have several acquaintances who, while they support the notion of state-recognized same-sex civil unions, adamantly draw the line at referring to such a union as a “marriage”. One friend of mine even told me that it would cause confusion as to which person would be referred to as the husband and which would be referred to as the wife. I told him that the use of “spouse” or “partner” to refer to both might solve this confusion. I forget how he responded to this, but the sentence started with the obligatory “Yeah, but . . .”

Those who speak of preserving the "sanctity of marriage" usually fail to recognize that churches can still decide whether to grant their blessing or not. This is the same way churches have always handled marriages between heterosexual couples. I admit I am amused when I hear someone who was married by a justice of the peace or a ship captain refer to marriage as a sacred institution.

Still, the distinction (i.e. between marriage and civil union) carries a tremendous amount of weight for a great many people. It will continue to do so, as it touches upon issues of tradition, psychology, language, and behavior.

Here comes the spouse, all dressed in . . .

The Art of Being Roger Federer

2006-10-26T14:04:00.000-05:00

(Despite his accomplishments, Roger Federer, the best player in men’s tennis, is not a household name in the United States. English is one of the many languages in which he is fluent, so the language barrier does not explain it. Those who claim that the public finds dominance “boring” seem to disregard the fact that Tiger Woods’ dominance has in no way diminished either his popularity or that of his sport. So, as a die-hard tennis fan, I thought I’d do my part and try to place the man and his accomplishments in a greater historical perspective.)

On Sunday, Switzerland’s Roger Federer defeated Chile’s Fernando Gonzalez in straight sets to win the Tennis Masters Series Event in Madrid. For Federer, who has already clinched the year-end world’s number 1 ranking for a third consecutive season, it was his 10th tournament victory of 2006. He became the first man in tennis’ “Open Era” (post-1968) to win at least 10 tournaments in three straight seasons.

According to tennis great Ion Tiriac, no player in tennis history has been as technically proficient as Roger Federer.

Federer won three grand slam tournaments in 2006. He captured the Australian Open in January, Wimbledon in July, and the U.S. Open in September. He also won three slams in 2004. He is the only player in the Open Era to accomplish this feat twice.

Roger Federer is the only man to ever defeat a brick wall in a tennis match.

This year, Federer won both Wimbledon and the U.S. Open for the third consecutive season. He is the only player to have accomplished this feat. He only lost two sets (one in each tournament) over the course of 14 matches played in both tournaments.

Roger Federer is not capable of hitting a target on the broad side of a barn with his forehand. Every time he tries, the whole damn barn falls down.

In 2006, Roger Federer has lost a total of 5 matches. Only two players have defeated him: Rafael Nadal and Andy Murray. One of Nadal’s victories over Federer occurred in the finals of the French Open. It prevented Roger Federer from capturing his fourth consecutive grand slam tournament, and, as it turns out, prevented him from winning all four slams in a calendar year. Neither feat has been accomplished since Rod Laver won all four grand slam tournaments played in 1969.

The worst moment in a professional men's tennis player’s life is not when he finds out Santa Claus does not exist. It’s when he finds out that Roger Federer does.

Federer has now appeared in 6 consecutive grand slam finals. He is the first player to accomplish this feat in the Open Era and only the second in the history of men’s tennis.

Roger Federer’s forehand is the only hand that can beat a Royal Flush.

I first saw Roger Federer play at Wimbledon in 2001. He met 7-time (and 4-time defending) champion Pete Sampras in the 4th Round. I had heard about Federer, but, at that point, he was a promising player with a history of inconsistency. Federer defeated Sampras in 5 close sets. It proved to be the only meeting between the two players.

Someone once tried to tell Roger Federer that his forehand wasn't the best shot in the history of tennis. Many now believe this to represent the worst mistake in the history of mankind.

Speaking of Sampras, he is, in many ways, the primary player against whose career Federer will be measured. Pete Sampras owns the most career grand slam titles with 14 as well as the record for most years ranked number one on the ATP Tour (Sampras finished 6 consecutive years ranked number 1 in the world). Both players possessed exceptional movement and blistering forehands.

There are no steroids in men's tennis, just players Roger Federer has breathed on.

The careers of the two players, to this point, contain some eerie parallels. The two are exactly 10 years apart in age; Sampras was born in August 1971 and Federer was born in August of 1981. Sampras turned professional in 1988 while Federer turned pro in 1998. At this point in Sampras’ career, he had 8 grand slam titles. Federer has 9. In 1997 (2007 for Federer) Sampras captured the Australian Open and Wimbledon to bring his haul to 10. In order to remain ahead of Sampras’ “pace”, Federer must win at least two grand slam tournaments. It would be foolish to bet against his doing just that.

If tapped, the power generated by a Roger Federer forehand could power the country of Switzerland for 44 minutes.

The one glaring hole on Sampras’ resume is that he never captured a French Open title. Sampras’ best finish at Roland Garros was reaching the semi-finals in 1996, where he lost to eventual champion Yevgeny Kafelnikov. Federer already has one appearance in the French Open finals to his credit. Unlike Sampras (whose powerful serve was blunted by the red clay), Federer is an accomplished clay court player.

Everybody loves Raymond. Raymond loves Roger Federer.

Heading into 2007, the only serious challenger to Federer’s dominance remains Spain’s Rafael Nadal. Nadal is a 20-year-old left-hander who owns a winning career head-to-head record against Federer. After defeating Federer in the French Open final (the second consecutive year he defeated Federer in Paris), Nadal made it to last year’s Wimbledon final. Here, he lost to Federer in 4 sets. Nadal had a disappointing hard-court season, however, and has recently admitted to being both physically and mentally drained at this point in the ATP season.

Roger Federer once hit a forehand so hard that the tennis ball broke the speed of light, went back in time, and struck Amelia Earhart's plane while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean. Mystery solved.

So, as the 2006 tennis season winds down, I hope more of you will start tuning in. If you don’t, you may miss more of the stellar play of the man whom many feel will go down in history as the greatest player the sport has produced.

My New Fantasy League

2006-10-23T11:01:00.000-05:00

I’ve tried them all (except for hockey). I am either currently participating in or have at one time participated in fantasy football, basketball, baseball, tennis, and even golf. Ever since I was old enough to understand that “March Madness” was not a reference to the furor over my birthday, I’ve filled out a tourney bracket, as well.

Now I’m trying something different: Fantasy Congress. I signed up for a public league yesterday, and, yep, I’m waitin’ to watch some legislatin’.

Here’s how it works: I drafted a team of legislators (yes, real-life legislators) from the United States Congress.

My team is composed of:

2 senior Senators, called “upper Senators”;
2 junior Senators, called “lower Senators”;
4 senior Representatives, called “All-Stars”;
4 mid-range experience Representatives, called my “Supporting Lineup”; and
4 junior Representatives, called “Rookies”

According to the league’s blurb, Fantasy Congress offers me, a humble citizen, the power to “play politics.

I compete against other citizens in my league. The goal is to accrue points based upon the legislation passed by our respective Members of Congress (MCs). As the coach of my “team” of legislators, it’s my decision which MCs should be playing at any given time and which should be “benched”.

Every bill is supposed to represent an actual piece of legislation. My MCs have to push legislation through, from introduction in their respective chamber to approval by committee in the opposite chamber to the President’s signature. Point values are assigned to each stage in the legislative process. For example, I get a whopping 50 points if a bill sponsored by one of my MC’s is signed into law by President Bush.

Selecting my team was quite difficult. All current members of Congress are listed and there’s an election coming up. I regard myself as fairly politically savvy, so I avoided the obvious pitfalls. For example, I did not select Cynthia McKinney. I also steered clear of MCs who are locked in pitched battles for their seats. If they lose, I don’t want to get stuck with a “supplemental” selection.

Once I separated the wheat from the Chafee (heh-heh), I still found myself faced with some difficult choices. Should I go for a bunch of insiders or should I choose a group of idealists? Should I stick to my principles or should I cynically go solely with those politicos who I felt had the best chance to get legislation through? As much as I was tempted to select Zell Miller, it doesn't appear that "pistols at dawn" garners me any points. Sorry, Sen. Miller.

In the end, I balanced the two, though my line-up is extremely Democrat-heavy. I’m banking on the Dems winning both houses on November 7. So, if the mid-term elections do not see such a transition, several political pundits will be getting nasty e-mails from me on November 8.

Anyway, here’s oba’s starting lineup:

House of Representatives:

All-Stars:

John Murtha; Barney Frank; Charles Rangel; Nancy Pelosi

Supporting Lineup:

Mary Bono; Spencer Bachus; Jesse L. Jackson; Patrick Kennedy

Rookies:

James Langevin; Rodney Alexander; Joe Wilson; Bobby Jindal

United States Senate:

Lower Senators:

Evan Bayh; Hillary Rodham Clinton

Upper Senators:

Joseph Biden; Edward Kennedy

So, that’s my team. Needless to say, I’ll be tuning into CSPAN on a far more regular basis.

Um, I feel almost guilty saying this (but, hey, I’m a very competitive person) if you’re reading this, and have no other reason to vote for or against any of the legislators on my team . . . well, I think you know where I’m going with that one.

Let's Go Mets!

2006-10-07T14:15:00.000-05:00

The year was 1983. In January, President Ronald W. Reagan proclaimed it “The Year of the Bible.” He also signed a bill creating a federal holiday on the third Monday in every January to honor American civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. Iran invaded Iraq. Tom Brokaw became lead anchor for NBC News.

Whatever. I was ten years old, and had other things on my mind. I was waiting for “Return of the Jedi” to come out, and, even more importantly, I needed to choose a baseball team.

My mom and I had moved to New Jersey from Illinois in 1981. I had been too young to really have a team when we’d lived in Evanston. I’d rooted for the Phillies in 1980, the Dodgers in 1981, and the Cardinals in 1982. I was a front-runner, first and foremost, and still young enough to get away with it. Now, sadly, my age had reached the double-digits and childhood was over. I needed a “real” team to root for. I decided that team was going to be a local one.

In my mind, every other kid in my neighborhood was a Yankees fan. Their uncles, older brothers, and fathers were Yankees fans, too. Even at that age, I had a strong contrary streak. I was attracted to what I already knew of the pinstripes and their tradition, but I didn’t just want to follow the crowd. I’d also watched a few of their games on WPIX, and, frankly, something about Phil Rizutto’s voice disturbed me. Greatly. Still does.

So, at the start of the 1983 baseball season, I decided I was going to root for the New York Mets. From that moment forward, I no longer referred to the Mets in the third person; I referred to the Mets in the first person plural. “They” became “we”.

Shortly thereafter, I decided I’d better learn what a “Met” was and who was on the team.

Armed with this knowledge, a 23-year love affair began.

We finished that first season with a record of 68 wins and 94 losses. George Bamberger started the season as manager, and Frank Howard finished it.

A young slugger named Darryl Strawberry hit 26 home runs and was named the National League’s Rookie of the Year. We’d acquired perennial All-Star and former League MVP Keith Hernandez, who hit .306 on the season and won a gold glove playing first base. Oh, yeah, I also heard some good things about some pitcher named Dwight Gooden.

What a long, strange trip it’s been: the highs, the lows, the laughter, the tears; the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat; scandal, controversy, failure and redemption. But, that’s enough about 1986.

The 20 years in-between have been odd, as well. We somehow found a way not to win in 1987. That team had the best pitching staff in baseball, a solid defense, and two 30-30 players (back when 30 home runs actually meant something). The end result will mystify me to the end of my days.

The 1988 team was a juggernaut. All we had to do was get past the Dodgers (a team we’d owned during the regular season) and we were all set for a showdown with the A’s in the World Series.

We lost in seven games, and I’ve hated the Dodgers ever since. I’m still convinced Orel Hershisher was an alien impersonator and that Mike Scioscia made a deal with the devil. I will admit to a few dark fantasies in which I attempted to prove to Tommy Lasorda that he did not, in fact, bleed Dodger blue.

Still, as upset as I was, I got over it pretty quickly. I’d gotten used to our winning. Surely there’d be other chances, right? Wrong. We suddenly found ourselves unable to beat the Pittsburgh Pirates. For those of you too young to remember, this is the Pirates squad that boasted an outfield of Barry Bonds, Bobby Bonilla, and Andy Van Slyke.

After the Pirates succumbed to the fate which awaits all successful small-market teams, someone in major league baseball’s front office finally looked at a map and realized that having the Atlanta Braves play in the N.L. West really didn’t make any geographic sense. Yeah, who knew that Georgia didn’t abut California? Sadly for us Mets fans this also coincided with the Braves’ going on a run of unparalleled regular season success.

We missed the playoffs by four games in 1997 and one game in 1998. 1998 was really tough. We went 0-5 against the Braves and the Montreal Expos to end the season.

We didn’t get back to the post-season until 1999, and we didn’t even win the division. I did take pleasure in the fact that we beat out the Cincinnati Reds in a one-game playoff to win the Wildcard.

We ended up advancing to the N.L. Championship Series, and, after spotting the Atlanta Braves 3 games, we roared back to force game 6. In that game, pitcher Kenny Rogers walked Andruw Jones with the bases loaded to force in the winning run. Contrary to what I said at the time, it was not the first walk issued to the free-swinging Jones that season. It sure seemed that way, though.

The next year, after again winning the N.L. Wildcard, we made it to the World Series. We faced off against the hated New York Yankees in the first subway series since 1956. We lost four games to one.

Now, though, we’re back. It’s been 20 years since that 1986 team. I know that china is the traditional 20th anniversary gift, but I can’t think of a better way to celebrate this 20th anniversary than by winning the World Series.

We won our division for the first time since 1988. We’ve also taken a commanding lead in our N.L. Division Series against the Dodgers. This team is not a juggernaut, but we’ve got a good blend of power and speed and a pitching staff that has a bend but don’t break attitude.

So, Let’s Go Mets.

Which Box Should I Check, and Why?

2006-08-09T09:25:00.000-05:00

My previous entry on Tiger Woods notwithstanding, I’m truly not opposed to the so-called multiracial movement.

The central topic of my senior thesis was the political activism of New Orleans’ freeborn people of color during the Civil War and Reconstruction. In antebellum New Orleans, this was a predominantly “multiracial” group living in a tripartite racial system. After 1865, this group found itself coping with the realities of a monoracial society.

A monoracial view of the United States ignores not only our history, but also social, cultural, economic, and political realities. The fact that this monoracial viewpoint continues to be reflected in the manner in which the federal government collects data on race is not, in my opinion, a very good thing. I was surprised, however, at my own reaction when I looked at the new guidelines proposed by the Department of Education with respect to racial classifications for students. This reaction ran the gamut of emotions from skepticism to more skepticism.

Nine years ago, the United States Office of Management and Budget set forth guidelines mandating that individuals completing federally required forms be allowed to mark more than one racial category to identify themselves on such forms. The U.S. Census adopted that change, using it in 2000. 6.8 million people elected to identify themselves as multiracial. Timely, as ever, the Department of Education is now proposing regulations allowing students to self-identify in as many categories as they want.

As it stands now, institutions of higher learning must report how many of their students fall into one of five categories. These categories are the “old stand-bys”: (1) black; (2) white; (3) Hispanic; (4) Asian/Pacific Islander; and (5) Native American/Alaska Native.

There were plenty of reasons why it took the Department of Education such a comparatively long time to propose its own new set of standards, “stability” being perhaps the most obvious and important. Most institutions affected by these changes have been collecting their own data on this for years, and they certainly expected the Department of Education to eventually implement such changes.

The regulations proposed by the Department of Education asks first if the student is Hispanic and then asks students to select one or more descriptions from the groups American Indian or Alaska Native, Asian, black, Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander, and white. Uh-oh.

Aggregate statistical data and statistical comparisons to previous years will be extremely difficult, as the new regulations would not require updating existing records and statistics. A student who self-identified as “black” in 2006 but as “multiracial” in 2007 will make it seem as if yet another black student has fallen from the rolls. At this point, sociology is causing at least as big of a fuss as logistics.

In case you missed it, under the new regulations, students who self-identify as Hispanic would be counted only as Hispanics, regardless of whether they also check off or circle other categories. If non-Hispanic students responding to the second question check off more than one racial category, these students will be listed under “two or more races.” Those races will not be specified.

I’m not a conspiracy theorist. I don’t think that the Latino/Hispanic “lobby” threw its weight around on this. I just think the Department of Education got this one wrong. An obvious outcome under these proposed regulations appears to be that the number of Hispanic students counted would be maximized while counts for other racial groups would be diminished. Someone who self-identifies as Hispanic and black is counted as Hispanic. Someone who self-identifies as black and Native American is counted as "multiracial".

So, two students rightly or wrongly limited to identification as black under the current regulations would now be counted as Hispanic and "multiracial" under the proposed regulations. Substitute any non-Hispanic racial classification for "black" and the example still holds true. "Vanishing" non-Hispanic students who reappear in a generic "other" category does not seem like such a great thing to me. There has to be a better way to recognize the need for multiracial identification.

In addition, while the proposed regulations provide, on the surface at least, a greater opportunity for accurate self-identification, the end result seems unsatisfactory. An individual who self-identifies as “multiracial” is lumped into this “two or more” category with no ultimate distinction made as to which two or more races she has selected. At the end of the day, for statistical purposes, there’s still no distinction made between lots of racial categories. Instead of having one or more aspects of your racial heritage “ignored”, all are now ignored or at least not identified with any degree of specificity.

I don’t even pretend to have an answer for this one. The Department of Education, as with a lot of other federal agencies, has to balance a lot of concerns and interests. The department is accepting public comments on its proposed guidelines until September 21, 2006. At least there is now a greater opportunity for a legitimate discussion on an important issue.

oba

How the Game is Played

2006-08-05T20:54:00.000-05:00

On Thursday, August 3, a bill, already approved by the House of Representatives, went up to a vote by their counterparts in the U.S. Senate. The bill included a phased-in increase of the federal minimum wage, which, after three years, would see the minimum wage rise from $5.15 an hour to $7.25.

A Republican-controlled Senate needed 60 votes to pass the bill. The Senate voted 56-42 against, leaving us with the unlikely situation in which Democratic members of the U.S. Senate are, on the surface, responsible for keeping the minimum wage laughably low. Has Hell frozen over? Was that a pig I just saw flying past my window? Did the Cincinnati Bengals just win the Super Bowl?

Hell is still hot, they tell me. That was a pigeon (with a weight problem) I caught out of the corner of my eye. And the Bengals aren’t winning the Super Bowl in this or any other century. It was actually just business as usual in our nation’s capital. Six Senators in total crossed the aisles, 4 Democrats voted for it and 2 Republicans voted against it. Otherwise, it was just another example of pre-election electioneering.

You see, the bill didn’t just call for a show of hands as to who thought the minimum wage should be increased. (If it had, the bill still wouldn’t have passed, but at least we’d all be a little less confused as to why.) It actually combined a reduction in the estate tax (and the revival of other tax cuts) with the proposed minimum wage increase. For what it’s worth, the AFL-CIO also opposed the bill.

This was a double-edged GOP strategy, and a pretty shrewd one at that. An earlier attempt at bringing the estate tax issue up for debate fell a mere three votes short. So, they linked the proposed estate tax reduction to the proposed minimum wage increase. Even if Democrats succeeded in blocking the bill’s passage, the Republicans could claim that it was the Democratic minority that was responsible for yet another stalled piece of legislation. On a sports discussion board I frequent, Republicans were already asking Democrats to explain why “their” party was against increasing the minimum wage. Oh, boy.

I am not arguing that Democrats have never been guilty of the same type of maneuvering. Filibusters, shutdowns, hey, it all comes with the territory. It’s why politics is the dirtiest game going (though cycling made a strong push during and after this year’s Tour de France)
I shed no tears over the fact that this bill died on the vine. Under the proposed bill, by 2015, the amount of an estate exempt from taxation would have been increased to $5 million for individuals and $10 million for couples. Estates less than or equal to $25 million would have been taxed at capital gains rates (currently 15% and scheduled to increase to 20%). The top tax rate on larger estates would have fallen to 30% (again by 2015).

Don’t get me wrong, I think the minimum wage is long overdue for an increase. I just do not believe that increase is worth it when inextricably linked to yet more tax breaks for those least in need of them. A reduction in the estate tax will arguably lead to cuts in federal programs for the poor due to reduced federal revenue.

The “double taxation” argument against the estate tax has never made any sense to me. You’d be hard-pressed to find a legal transfer of funds that doesn’t constitute “multiple taxation.” My employer has paid taxes on the money that has gone into every paycheck I’ve received. If I don’t get relief from this “double taxation” why should the scion of a wealthy family be exempt from it for money he hasn’t worked for?

Let me put it this way. If I win the lottery, I will gladly pay taxes on my winnings. Likewise, if I inherit an estate large enough to qualify, I will gladly pay estate taxes. In neither instance am I somehow deserving of a tax-free windfall.

The games people play. . .

oba

Flag Daze: South Carolina and That Whacky Confederate Flag

2006-08-03T06:22:00.000-05:00

I was genuinely surprised to find out yesterday that the NCAA is considering expanding its ban of championship events in South Carolina because the flag of the former Confederacy is still displayed on Statehouse grounds. That is to say, I was surprised that the ban hadn't already been expanded.

The NCAA is responding (or rather, considering a response) to a request from the Black Coaches Association. Predetermined NCAA postseason events (e.g. conference championships, regionals, etc.) have been barred from the state since 2001. The NCAA is weighing whether or not to expand the ban to postseason events which individual teams in the state might host due to their regular season performance.

In 2000, the NAACP led an economic boycott of South Carolina because, at that time, the Confederate flag flew high over the state's Capitol dome. [Begin sarcasm] In an extremely bold and progressive move, the South Carolina Legislature voted, in the spring of 2000, to move the flag to the Confederate monument located in front of the Statehouse. Surprisingly, the NAACP was not satisfied. [End sarcasm]

South Carolina was the first state to secede from the Union in 1860. Truth be told, they were pretty close to doing so in 1832, but, as they say, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. A scant 97 years after Lee's surrender at Appomattox Court House, the Confederate flag was placed atop South Carolina's Statehouse dome in 1962, where it was to remain until July 1, 2000.

Many individuals, both inside and outside of South Carolina, claim that the Confederate flag is not a racist symbol. They cite the flag's ties to an important part of Southern heritage. The Confederate flag is now displayed as part of a monument to soldiers of the former Confederate States of America. The vast majority of these soldiers were not Rhett Butler. Like most other wars, the have-nots get put on the front lines to defend the interests of the haves. I get that.

What these individuals do not seem to get, is that the Confederate flag is also inextricably linked to the institution of slavery, de jure racial segregation, and opposition to the Civil Rights Movement. These are not good things, and to display the Confederate flag anywhere near the Statehouse is, in my opinion, an implicit endorsement of this legacy. You can't have one without the other.

I'm a big fan of the Bill of Rights. I moved back to Louisiana in early 2006. Since that time, I have passed more houses than I can count whose owners choose to fly the Confederate flag. The First Amendment and I both say, "more power to you." Fly whatever flag you want. As long as you're not violating a content-neutral noise ordinance, you can sit in a rocking chair under that flag and sing "You Fought All the Way, Johnny Reb." If, however, "Trading Spaces" chooses not to use your home because you won't get rid of the Confederate flag hanging in your living room, I have no sympathy for you. Similarly, the NCAA is well within its rights not to allow its postseason games to be played in South Carolina until the Confederate flag is no longer displayed on top of, in front of, or around the Statehouse.

The athletes do not suffer under the current ban. They will not suffer if the ban is extended. They still get to compete, and there are worse things in life than having to play on the road instead of at home. The schools and cities just don't get the extra revenue that comes with hosting these events. This particular combination of "carrot and stick" which the NCAA is considering is no different, really, than the combo used by the federal government with respect to states, the combo used by state governments with respect to counties, and county governments with respect to municipalities. Withholding a benefit is not the same as a punishment under these circumstances.

I must confess, I still chuckle when I see a "You've Got Your X, I've Got Mine" baseball cap or bumper sticker. I first saw these on my way to Myrtle Beach in the spring of 1994, and I still think that's pretty clever. Tacit state endorsement of the Confederate "X" was, is, and always will be a different matter entirely.

Continuing to display the Confederate flag in front of the South Carolina Statehouse is not clever. It's offensive and shortsighted. The NCAA should have no qualms about playing hardball with the State of South Carolina on this issue.

This fight's been over for a long time, Johnny Reb.

oba

In Vino Veritas: Mel Gibson, Drunken Rants, and Forgiveness

2006-08-01T13:36:00.000-05:00

I'm usually up on my celebrity "dish". E! is programmend on my remote as one of my "favorites", I'm no stranger to tmz.com, and I catch "Showbiz Tonight" whenever my schedule permits. (Which is quite often, in case you're wondering) This weekend, however, I was obviously a little bit off my game. I get a little distracted once NFL training camp starts.

I honestly did not find out about Mel Gibson and his tequila-fueled run-in with LA County police until yesterday.

I knew about Mel Gibson's history of problem drinking. He's a self-proclaimed alcoholic, and, for what it's worth I applaud him for taking responsibility for that aspect of last week's events. Relapses are not a required part of the recovery process, but they happen quite frequently. His celebrity means that his relapse is front page news. I'd be hard pressed to wish that kind of publicity on anyone. I can't defend drunk driving, though. He put his own safety and the safety of others at risk. This seems to have been somewhat forgotten in all the furor over his words and behavior after getting stopped by police. Reports are that Gibson is taking steps to get back on the wagon. I wish him all the best. To err is human, to forgive divine.

I also knew about the persistent allegations of anti-Semitism leveled at Mel Gibson. His father's comments on the subject of the Holocaust notwithstanding, Gibson's own statements always raised a few eyebrows. His drunken ramblings last Thursday night/Friday morning, however, contained invectives that would make a skinhead blush. A lot of discussion both on and off the 'net has been devoted to what extent these hateful remarks can be attributed to or explained by a problem drinker's having had too much to drink.

From a chemical standpoint ether and alcohol are close relatives. They're close enough to be brothers, as a matter of fact. Both are highly flammable and both are known to cause giggling, dizziness, and vomiting. A patient anesthetized by ether is liable to say some pretty strange things; things which he would probably not say under normal circumstances. Still, ether should not be considered the equivalent of "truth serum", and neither should alcohol. Statements made when a dying man knew he was about to die are given great weight under our legal system. Statements made when a man is dead drunk are not.

In my own experience, I've said many bluntly honest things while under the influence; things that, rightly or wrongly, I might not have said while stone cold sober. I've also lied like a rug. For every instance in which I've seen alcohol remove a man's inhibitions against hurting someone's feelings or making others uncomfortable by saying exactly what's on his mind, I've seen another instance in which alcohol has removed a man's fear of getting caught in a bald-faced lie. All that's to say that "in vino veritas" is always true . . . except when it's not.

No amount of alcohol, though, can justify or explain away the things Mel Gibson said to the arresting officers. Pour a fifth of whiskey down my throat and I'm liable to tell you launch into many diatribes. These could range from my hatred of the New York Yankees to my conviction that Lyndon Johnson gets short-changed by most Presidential historians. Most of these rants will probably not make any sense. They will, however, tend to be exaggerations of views and opinions I held long before the alcohol began to take effect. The circumstances under which I say them and the manner in which I express myself will be the major change brought about by my state of intoxication. Tequila can relax a shy man's inhibitions to the point where he'll get up in front of a crowd and start singing in a bad falsetto. He can't, however, blame the booze for the fact that he knows all the lyrics to "I Will Survive". Alcohol can't bring out anything that's not there to begin with.

The "don't you know who I am?" part of Gibson's rant is pretty commonplace. Many of us who are only household names in our own households might be tempted to say something similar given the right (or wrong) mixture of circumstances and alcohol. The guy no doubt has an ego. He wouldn't have achieved the success he has in a tough industry if he didn't. Our greatest strengths are usually tied to our greatest weaknesses as well.

Mel Gibson's timing could not have been worse. ABC has reportedly scrapped his project dealing with the Holocaust. His movie, "Apocalypto" also seems to be up in the air. As I've said, I hope that Gibson follows through on his plans for treatment. I also hope that he can work through the other issues which that bottle of tequila brought to the surface. These issues include his anti-Semitism and sense of entitlement. I hope he was motivated by a genuine sense of regret and acknowledgement that he needs to work on these things when he asked members of the very community he offended to help him in his recovery. I hope that concern for the future of his career wasn't the primary motivating factor.

oba

Reggie Bush, the NFL, and the City of New Orleans

2006-07-30T17:52:00.000-05:00

In December 2005 Reggie Bush of USC was selected as the 71^st winner of the Heisman Trophy. Widely acknowledged as the most exciting college football player in recent memory, Bush was drafted by the NFL’s New Orleans Saints with the second overall pick in April 2006. Until late yesterday evening, Saturday, July 29, 2006, Reggie Bush had not yet signed with the Saints. He and his agent were threatening a holdout. They said that Bush was willing to miss training camp and possibly the entire season if he was not offered a deal to his liking.

Well, we can all breathe a little easier now. Reggie Bush and the Saints have agreed to a 6-year deal for a reported $51 million. Hallelujah. He should be at practice first thing Monday morning.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for Saints fans that their #1 pick is signed, sealed, and (soon-to-be) delivered. I was just amused by the sportswriters who were seemingly beside themselves at the thought that his holdout might have lasted even longer than it did.

A lot of sports pundits felt that Reggie Bush was making a mistake. Some even cited Hurricane Katrina as a major reason. They claimed that, even if he ended up signing with the Saints, a holdout would send the wrong message to the populace of a city and the population of a region who have already gone through enough. I won’t argue that the people of New Orleans and the rest of the Gulfcoast haven’t had it rough. I just don’t see what Reggie Bush’s contract negotiation with the Saints has to do with it.

Remember that this is the NFL. It’s an owner's league, not a player’s league.
Out of the four major professional sports in the United States, NFL players arguably receive the least love from their league. I know, I know. These guys still get paid quite a bit of money for putting on the pads, and I’m not cueing up the OBA string quartet. Everything’s relative, and I’m just trying to point out that, from a relative standpoint, NFL players are, as a group, not as well off as their counterparts in baseball and basketball. They’re the poor relations at the family reunion; the cousins whose great-grandfather sank his share of the inheritance into a series of get rich quick schemes. They’re not really poor, just poorer than the rest of the clan.

The National Football League Players’ Association (the "NFLPA"), the labor union of NFL players, is one of the weakest in all of professional sports. NFL players receive a lower percentage of revenue than do players in the NBA. Unlike NBA players, players in the NFL do not receive a cut from the sale of their jerseys. The typical career of an NFL player is a whole lot shorter than that of a major league baseball player. Roger Clemens was the best pitcher in baseball in 1986, the year in which he won the American League’s Cy Young Award and MVP Trophy. He’s still throwing smoke for the Houston Astros 20 years later. Lawrence Taylor was the NFL MVP and Defensive Player of the Year in 1986. He’s still been retired since the end of the 1993 season. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, NFL contracts aren’t guaranteed.

Holdouts happen.
Reggie Bush was not Curt Flood here. The rookie holdout has become an NFL rite of passage. Eli Manning forced a trade from the San Diego Chargers to the New York Giants before he ever took his first NFL snap. John Elway was the #1 overall draft pick by the Baltimore Colts in 1983. Elway did not want to play in Baltimore. He held out, and eventually forced the Colts to trade him to Denver. He used every ounce of leverage available to him. He talked about playing professional baseball, even though the curveball baffled him far more than NFL defenses ever seemed to. In hindsight, all parties involved in the Elway situation, including the city of Baltimore survived. John Elway had a Hall of Fame career with the Broncos, the Colts moved to Indianapolis (where Peyton Manning currently stars), and the Ravens brought a championship to Baltimore by way of Cleveland. I’m equally convinced that the Saints, the city of New Orleans, and Reggie Bush would have survived a lengthy holdout.

Reggie Bush’s image would not have suffered.
Since the Saints drafted him in April, Reggie Bush has been one of the most visible faces involved in the continued post-Katrina relief effort. He’s given his time and his money. The goodwill he’s engendered for his charitable efforts will last long after memories of the contract squabbles fans in every city have come to accept and expect have faded. Even if he'd never suited up for the Saints, the worst he could have expected was some boos when he came to town playing for another team.

I don’t think Katrina victims begrudge him the pursuit of the top dollar.
I have yet to speak to a displaced Katrina victim whose primary concern is or was Reggie Bush’s contract. Give him a dart and a choice between aiming it at a Reggie Bush poster or a FEMA logo, and I can just about guarantee that he’ll choose the latter as his target. If you’ve survived the loss of your job, home, and community, did the prospect of Reggie Bush missing training camp really keep you up at night?

Also, let’s look at what the Saints have done since drafting Reggie Bush. They’ve made him the centerpiece of their advertising campaign. This sends a definite message to the fans. It also sends a definite message to the player and his agent! If my prospective employer featured me prominently on the front page of the company’s web site, I would think twice before signing the first contract this employer placed in front of me. I just might want to reevaluate my bargaining position first. The Saints have raised ticket prices. If they’re not lowering their asking price, why should Reggie Bush have lowered his?

As previously mentioned, Reggie Bush will not receive a red cent from the team (or the league) when his jerseys start selling like hot cakes. Color me cynical, but I also doubt that the funds from these jersey sales have been earmarked for Katrina relief.

If New Orleans is counting on the ‘Aints to make all the bad times good again, history is NOT on their side.

This is not the Green Bay Packers, folks. Despite being around since 1967, the New Orleans Saints have never played in a Super Bowl, let alone won one. The only other teams never to appear in "the game" are the Jacksonville Jaguars and the Houston Texans. They didn’t even win their first playoff game until 2000, and this remains their one and only playoff win in franchise history.

This is also not the first time the team has drafted a Heisman Trophy winning running back. Maybe the third time will prove to be the charm, but the first two were hardly the stuff of NFL legend.

The Saints drafted George Rogers, of University of South Carolina fame, in 1980. He started out with a bang, leading the NFL in rushing in his first season. He ended his career after 8 seasons with the Saints and the Washington Redskins. He was solid, but not the savior Saints fans were hoping for.

Then there was Ricky Williams. It sometimes seems like ancient history, but then-coach and GM Mike Ditka mortgaged his team’s future to select Ricky Williams with the 5^th overall pick in 1999 out of the University of Texas. Ricky posed in a wedding dress for the cover of Sports Illustrated, gave interviews in his football helmet, but didn’t take the Saints to the Promised Land. Ricky was traded to the Dolphins in 2002. In Miami he helped all of us learn a great deal about holistic medicine and the details of the NFL’s drug policy.

So, good for you, Reggie. On its surface your deal seems like a good one. If you decided to give the Saints a "discount", that’s your business, just remember that if you suffer a career ending injury, I doubt that the Saints will even honor the remainder of your contract, much less hold any fundraisers for you. Don’t feel obligated to implicitly donate any of your services to them. Saints fans, you've got yourself a potentially great player. You're adding him to a backfield that already boasts Drew Brees and Deuce McAllister. There are plenty of NFL teams that wish they could say the same.

1^st down!

oba

OBA's 10 Worst Movies

2006-07-30T13:44:00.000-05:00

I love movies. I was going to do a "top 20" list, but I realized it wouldn't really contain anything controversial or even particularly interesting. Basically, my list would have been the same one you'd get from AFI or Imdb with "Highlander" and "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka" substituted for "Titanic" and "The English Patient." Blah blah blah. I laughed, I cried, I laughed and cried some more. Whatever.

I'm of the opinion that what we scorn and deride reveals at least as much about us as what we celebrate and praise.

There are a few things I should point out, first.

No sequels. Picking on sequels is easy. That's why classics like "Speed 2", "Major League 2", "The Phantom Menace", and "Godfather III" don't make the cut.
No "piling on". I've omitted those films the beatings of which have already been beaten to death. You'll have to look somewhere else for rips on and rants about the likes of "Gigli", "The Postman", "Ishtar", and "Cutthroat Island".
The last 25 years only. I like classics, but, to be fair, I'm limiting this to movies I had the misfortune to see in theaters on first release. I was born in 1973, and, 1981 is around the time I honestly feel I became a true "critic". I may not have known much at 8 years old, but I knew what I didn't like and why.

Sit back, relax, and treat yourself to OBA's 10 Worst Movies of the Last 25 Years.

"Cool World" (1992). I saw Ralph Bashki's "Wizards" and his animated version of "The Lord of the Rings" as part of a double feature in Evanston, Illinois when I was about 7 years old. Between then and 1992, he'd become something of a cult figure. "Cool World" marked his first feature film in 9 years. The mixture of animation and live action was a genre that Bashki had helped pioneer. I figured this was a can't miss, and I actually talked a few friends into going to see this movie with me. Bashki hates "Cool World", and I've got to agree with his assessment. I'm cheap like that, and this movie is the closest I've ever come to walking out of the theater. Gabriel Byrne, future Oscar-winner Kim Basinger, and future Sexiest Man Alive Brad Pitt couldn't save this flick. Nothing human could have saved it. Bashki has not made another feature film in the last 14 years.
"Legends of the Fall" (1994). Bear with me here (pun intended). I'm not just picking on Brad Pitt, and I know that there are plenty of people who actually like this movie. I read the Jim Harrison novella years before I saw this one at the AMC in Morristown, New Jersey. In the novella, Susannah's not romantically involved with all three Ludlow brothers. Granted, she hooks up with two of them, but there's not nearly as much of an "overlap" and it's actually somewhat believable. Also, Albert doesn't just "get over" the fact that his wife has killed herself because of her unrequited passion for his younger brother.
"Mallrats" (1995). Kevin Smith has defended this movie. Hey, it's his baby, and there are parents who'll defend their children despite 50 eyewitness accounts and video footage. I'm one of those people who liked "Clerks" in spite of much of the scatalogical humor. Adding more "fart jokes" while removing most of the wit and replacing it with Shannon Doherty and Ben Affleck at his most annoying is not a recipe for enjoyable cinema. On a certain level, though, this reformed comic book geek does have to give Smith props for getting Stan Lee to talk about the gastrointestinal and reproductive functions of a few of our favorite super heroes.
"Last Action Hero" (1993). This film marked, for me, somewhat of the end of an era. It was an end of innocence, if you will. I didn't ever fully trust Arnold again after this dud. I enjoyed a few of his subsequent films, but, after this one, I never again watched a Schwarzenegger movie fully convinced that, at the very least, I'd be entertained. Arnold, satire, and homages to the work of Ingmar Bergman don't mix.
"The Toy" (1982). Jackie Gleason was a very, very funny man. Richard Pryor was one of the funniest human beings ever to draw breath. How do you make that duo unfunny? For starters, pick the unfunniest subject matter you can think of. Let's see, why don't we have a young white boy "purchase" an older black man. Slavery's not funny. Never has been funny. Never will be funny. (The chuckle or two you might get when you watch "Spartacus" with an eye toward spotting the homoerotic subtext doesn't count. You're not actually laughing at the fact that Kirk Gibson and Tony Curtis are victims of the slave system.) That this film was actually a minor commercial success is even more depressing than the fact that it was ever made in the first place.
"Kate et Leopold" (2001). I saw this movie with 2 friends of mine. She liked it. He and I didn't. Ladies (and gents, if the shoe fits), if Hugh Jackman floats your boat, download a few pics of him if you must, but don't subject yourself to two hours of this sappy nonsense. You'll never get those two hours back, you know. Not even if you fall off the Brooklyn Bridge and end up in 1876. If you're desperate for a time travel romance full of holes and paradoxes, might I politely suggest that you rent "Somewhere in Time", "Time After Time", "Peggy Sue Got Married", or "The Terminator". The lone bright spot is Liev Schreiber's talking his way out of a mental institution. Cute, but hardly worth the price of admission.
"The Fan" (1996). DeNiro playing a psycho is sually, well, a home run ("Taxi Driver", "Cape Fear", "Meet the Parents", "Awakenings" [heh-heh]). In this instance, it's a pop-up behind home plate. Did we really need this picture to tell us that calling into sports talk radio shows is a warning sign of psychosis? I think not. John Leguizamo's actually the best thing about this movie. That should tell you all you need to know.
"Cheaper by the Dozen" (2003). Whoo, boy. Where to begin?! Baker's dozen. Yeah, I get it. I have some advice for Steve Martin's Coach Baker. First, when it comes to birth control, the best defense is not a strong offense. Second, your wife has given birth to 12 kids, so, if she wants to go on a book tour, just let her go. Memo to Tom Welling: Evanston's not a rough town, especially for a guy in his late twenties pretending to be a high school kid. If you can keep track of all 12 kids you're a better man than I am. On the positive side, if you're looking for a vehicle to pair Hilary Duff and Ashton Kutcher, this is probably as good as it's going to get.
"Hulk" (2003). Of all the Marvel super hero flicks, this was actually the one about which I had the fewest misgivings. The Incredible Hulk I grew up reading about had an easily explainable origin story. CGI meant no body-builders in green paint (no offense, Mr. Ferrigno). Man's struggle with his own dark side obviously lends itself well to the big screen. The love story between Bruce and Betty could practically write itself, I thought. Thunderbolt Ross was a complex bad guy, both in his own right and as a representative of the military industrial complex. Slam dunk, right? Wrong. Apparently, the studio felt that Marvel got it wrong all those years ago. They felt the story could be improved with: the bizarre addition of Nick Nolte as Papa Banner whose attempt to modify his own DNA comes back to haunt his bouncing baby boy; a CGI Hulk that fails on so many different levels; and, last but not least, Hulk dogs. Eric Bana does give the "you wouldn't like me when I'm angry" line in Spanish, but, by then, it was too little too late.
"Troy" (2004). I know, I know. Another Brad Pitt vehicle. I swear, it's just a coincidence. I liked "Fight Club", for what it's worth. "Troy" is another kettle of fish. Homer crafted the greatest epic known to man. This movie wasn't even the greatest epic film of 2004. Achilles is actually one of the more 2-dimensional characters in The Iliad. Here, he's somehow the main focus. Orlando Bloom's Paris, while he certainly projects the shallow stupidity necessary to doom his family and his city, is too vacuous to even prove remotely interesting. This Helen is pretty, but not beautiful enough to lauch a thousand ships. A 10-year war is reduced to a few weeks, and the most interesting deaths of legend are ridiculously and unnecessarily altered to make it all about brave Achilles. Yawn.

So, those are my 10 worst films of the past 25 years.

Action!

oba

Arrivederci, Arturo. . .

2006-07-29T22:19:00.000-05:00

On Saturday night I saw what I hope will be Arturo Gatti's last fight. Not his last title fight. Not his last fight in Atlantic City. His last fight, period.

If it does prove to be the last time he laces up the gloves, then the man they call "Thunder" didn't go out with a reverberating boom. No, the end came late in Round 9 against WBC and IBA Welterweight Champion Carlos Baldomir. When the referee called a merciful end to the action, there was no protest from Gatti, Gatti's corner, the pro-Gatti crowd, or this Gatti fan watching at home.

I first became an Arturo fan in 1997 when I saw him beat Gabriel Ruelas via a dramatic 5th Round TKO. I've been a fan ever since. Before every fight, it seemed, Team Gatti would tell us that Arturo had learned his lesson. This time, they said, he would utilize his boxing skills to their fullest extent and fight a smart, low-risk fight. Right. And in the next James Bond flick, whoever's playing Agent 007 won't end up hooking up with a beautiful, yet dangerous woman. Once Arturo got hit with a big shot or two, it was on. The game plan got thrown out the window, and the old Arturo that I knew and loved would turn from boxer to brawler and have the crowd on its feet. Whether you started a Gatti fight rooting for him or not, you always ended one applauding his guts and heart and questioning his sanity. That was then.

Even when Arturo came out on the losing end of things, I loved the guy. I was on the edge of my seat when he lost to Angel Manfredy. I didn't miss a second of his two battles with Ivan Robinson. Then there was the Arturo Gatti-Mickey Ward trilogy. If you're not a fight fan, I can't really explain or describe to you what it's like to see two men who've spent three separate contests beating the hell out of each other hug in the center of the ring like long-lost brothers.
But, that was then.

Like Mark Antony with Julius Caesar, I come not to praise Arturo Gatti the man, but to bury Arturo Gatti the prize fighter. His last two fights have convinced me, and I hope him as well, that it's time for him to leave the ring for good. He can no longer fight at 140 lbs. and below. Age and those years he lived like a "rock star" outside of the ring have seen to that. Floyd Mayweather, Jr. and Carlos Baldomir both showed that 147 is no longer an option for him either. Pretty Boy Floyd picked him apart, revealing that, even if he can stick to the "boxer" game plan that seems to go against his very nature, Arturo is too slow to pull that game plan off against a marquee welterweight. Baldomir showed that, at 147 lbs., Gatti lacks the power to even have a proverbial "puncher's chance."

Before reading the final "verdict" on Saturday night, the ring announcer asked the Atlantic City crowd to acknowledge all that Arturo had given us the fight fants over the years. Through all the cuts, contusions, and closed eyes, Arturo Gatti never gave his sport a black eye. That's saying something these days. He's got nothing left to prove to us, and he shouldn't have anything left to prove to himself. So, arrivederci, Arturo, and thanks for the memories.

ding, ding.

oba

An Evening with the Voter's League

2006-07-29T22:17:00.000-05:00

The Union Parish Voter's League held its 21st Annual Banquet at the Farmerville Recreation Center in Farmerville, Louisiana on Thursday, July 27, 2006. The banquet's theme was: "Citizens moving to a higher plane through Government, Education & Family Life." Mr. William Washington, President of the Voter's League, served as the Master of Ceremonies. After the invocation by Reverend Michael D. Callahan of Blooming Grove Baptist Church (also in Farmerville), those in attendance observed a moment of silence honoring deceased officers and members of the Voter's League. Before dinner was served, Reverend Samuel Ellsworth, of Beulah Baptist Church, gave a stirring a cappella rendition of gospel favorite "Touch Somebody's Life".

After dinner, Ms. Gloria J.P. Crawford introduced the evening's honorees, ten of Union Parish's first black elected public officials. The honorees were:

Mr. Jimmy Kilgore, Union Parish Deputy Sheriff;
Mr. Troy James Fields, Union Parish Deputy Sheriff;
Mr. Lee A. Washington, Chief of Police, Marion, Louisiana;
Mr. Luther Wilson, City Councilman, Bernice, Louisiana;
Mr. Ralph Holley, City Councilman, Marion, Louisiana;
Mr. Arthur C. Hackney, Justice of the Peace, Union Parish;
Mr. Willie Davis, Mayor, Farmerville, Louisiana;
Mr. Leornest Watley, Member, Union Parish Police Jury;
Mr. Robert C. James, Sr., President, Union Parish School Board; and
Mr. Willie T. Sensley, Sr., President, Union Parish Police Jury.

The evening's guest speaker was State Senator James D. Cain, from Louisiana's 30th District. A member of the Louisiana High School Athletic Association Hall of Fame, Sen. Cain first entered the Louisiana Legislature in 1971 as a member of the House of Representatives for Beauregard, Allen, and Calcasieu parishes. He was the founder and first chairman of both the Rural and Independent Caucuses. A member of the State Senate since 1991, Sen. Cain currently serves as chairman of the Senate Insurance Committee.

Sen. Cain spoke at length about his travels throughout the State of Louisiana. He highlighted the need for strong advocacy on behalf of those in the state who too often feel as though their concerns are neither recognized nor addressed by their elected officials. He cited this as the driving force behind his candidacy for the office of Insurance Commissioner. In closing, Sen. Cain emphasized the need for fairness between and among all those present and all residents of Louisiana.

Banquet honoree and Voter's League Vice President Mr. Willie T. Sensley, Sr. recognized those in attendance who were Parish elected officials and candidates for office in 2006. Ms. Lennie Smith, Secretary, then presented a plaque to Sen. Cain on behalf of the Voter's League.

The banquet concluded with closing remarks by the Master of Ceremonies and a brief benediction by Rev. Callahan. The banquet was catered by CHF Caterers of Farmerville, Louisiana.

oba

Homecomin and Staying "Grounded"

2006-07-29T22:16:00.000-05:00

I had the honor and privilege of attending my first Homecoming.

Don't worry, you haven't pulled a Rip Van Winkle and awakened sometime in November. At this homecoming, there was no football game, no cheerleaders, and no tailgates. This homecoming took place on July 23, 2006 at Lanes Chapel Missionary Baptist Church in Downsville, Louisiana. It's an annual tradition that kicks off the church's week-long evening revival services. Lanes Chapel is my paternal grandparents' church. It's the church at which my grandfather still serves as a deacon, as did my great-grandfather before him.

Homecoming is a long-standing tradition among rural country churches. It marks an occasion when all members of the church and their extended families (particularly those who have moved away) come "home" to attend services. "Dinner on the Ground" is an integral part of Homecoming. It was originally a picnic or a potluck meal, with food supplied by those who could provide it for the consumption of all those who were willing to partake. People spread out blankets and ate, literally, on the ground. It was a chance for a church to come together to visit, fellowship, sing, pray, and, of course, eat.

There were no blankets this Sunday. Everyone came in cars instead of wagons. People sat on folding chairs and ate at tables. Dinner was still served between regular morning worship and afternoon service. Still, I watched folks come together to visit, fellowship, sing, and pray. I also watched people laugh, eat, gossip, nap, eat, swat flies, and eat. I was recruited for serving and clean-up duty, but I definitely didn't go hungry.

I learned a lot at my first Homecoming.

I learned that the girl her family used to call "Fat-Fat" has grown up to be rail-thin and model-pretty. I learned that, seated and from the rear, I'm a dead-ringer for my dad when he was my age. I learned that, if God ever gives her a large enough kitchen, my grandmother would try to feed the world. I learned that Terri's Mee-Maw is also my aun-tie.

I learned a lot at my first Homecoming.

I learned that, depending upon who's doing the slicing, three Sara Lee cakes can feed 100 people. I learned that there's nothing to stop a bold teenager from moving from family to family and table to table, getting a new plate of food each time. All he has to do is smile, nod, shake a few hands and kiss a few cheeks. I learned that I'm now too old to get away with this.
I learned a lot at my first Homecoming.

I learned that there's more to making real macaroni and cheese than just a pot of boiling water, elbow macaroni, and a packet of cheese sauce. I learned that the question of who makes the best dressing will not be answered definitively in my lifetime.
I learned a lot at my first Homecoming.

I learned that Lanes Chapel Missionary Baptist Church was founded by freedmen in 1867. The original signatories to the deed made their marks with an "X". Though these former slaves did not know how to read or write, they certainly knew the value of property, community, and family. I learned that, once a year at least, their descendants come together in a way that reinforces that those three things are still important. I just wish that we could find it in ourselves to do so more often.

I learned a lot at my first Homecoming.

oba

My 3 P's of Politics

2006-07-29T22:13:00.000-05:00

When discussing for whom to vote in an election, I generally refer to the three P's. The three P's of politics as I understand them are: principles; personalities; and partisanship. I rank these three P's in order of importance from most important to least important whenever I give advice to someone who is trying to decide between two candidates in a political election. I've been doing this for years.

Here's the condensed version of my usual spiel:

(1) Principles.

First, you should evaluate the principles (both political and personal) that the candidates espouse. Determine for yourself if their respective political and/or professional careers reflect these principles. If your own principles align with one candidate moreso than with the other, then you should vote for that candidate. If you still can't decide, then move on to the second "P".

(2) Personalities.

Once principles have been removed from the equation, it's time to head back to your high school days and treat this like a good old-fashioned popularity contest. When in doubt, vote for the candidate who's better spoken, better dressed, better looking, or with the better life story. If Candidate X's Horatio Alger tale appeals to you, then she should be your choice. If Candidate Y is a war hero like your dear old dad, then he's the one who should get your vote come election day. (Spouses are also fair game. I'm not ashamed to admit it, but I had a thing for Teresa Heinz-Kerry in 2004. If all things had been otherwise equal, her husband would still have gotten my vote on that fact alone.) If you still can't choose, take a deep breath and proceed to "P" number three.

(3) Partisanship.

Here's the "P" I always tell people that I love to hate. That's why it comes last on my list of suggested criteria. In his farewell address, our nation's first president warned against those who "serve to organize faction, to give it an artificial and extraordinary force; to put, in the place of the delegated will of the nation the will of a party." To say he got that one right is a gross understatement. Still, since voting "none-of-the-above" is tantamount to reneging on your duty as a voter, if the situation requires it, my usual advice is to hold your nose and vote based purely upon party interests.

Yes, that's my usual spiel. Let me confess to you now, that I don't always follow my own advice. This is mostly a form of self-therapy, but I need to get this off my chest.
You see, I've long presented myself to family, friends, and co-workers as a political independent. I chide them for wearing their "party blinders" and generally bemoan the climate in which party politics predominates philosophy, passion, and pusillimanity. Well, Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. A Republican has to jump through a lot of hoops and over a lot of hurdles before he gets my vote, while, for the most part, a Democrat just has to drag his rear end to the starting line.

No, 've gotta come clean. I'm a third-generation, card-carrying Democrat. I know the Democratic Party has let me down in the past, and will no doubt let me down in the future. I know that, as an African-American male, the Democratic Party takes my vote for granted. They increasingly promise little yet somehow find a way to deliver even less. Still, like many who find themselves in an emotionally abusive relationship, I find myself either unwilling or unable to break the cycle. Like Aretha, I'm just a link in their chain.

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not a "knee-jerk" Democrat. If the Democratic candidate for a certain office was a dead dog, I would not vote for that dog over his Republican opponent. No, I'd choose a third option. If no third option were available, I'd write-in myself. Seriously, I've voted for plenty of Republicans . . . at the state and local level. If we're talking about an office higher than a state senate seat, though, I'd only vote for a Republican candidate if I knew her (or perhaps her opponent) personally.

I've also always had a Republican "ace-in-the-hole". This is the Republican I dust off the shelf and present as evidence of my non-party based thinking. Former New Jersey Governor Tom Kean used to be my guy. The fact that I'd never been old enough to actually vote for him in his gubernatorial campaigns was a definite plus. The fact that he never threw his hat back in the ring after I turned 18 didn't hurt either. I could talk the talk knowing I'd probably never be called upon to walk the walk.

After his failed bid for the Republican nomination in 2000, John McCain became my Republican "safety". After all, he was from Arizona, and, though I've been a bit of a rolling stone in the 21st century, I have never seen a move to Phoenix, Scottsdale, or Tempe looming large on my horizon. I also didn't think he'd run against, much less defeat, an incumbent President from his own party in 2004. That left me, 8 years, basically, to use ol' Johnny Mac as that Republican for whom I'd vote if only I had the opportunity.

Well, that 8 year grace period is quickly coming to an end, and I don't know what to do. You see, if I follow my own advice and use the 3 P's, I might actually have to vote for Sen. McCain for President. I agree with a lot of what the man stands for. Despite its flaws, I generally supported the McCain-Feingold as a much needed first step in at least addressing the issue of campaign finance reform. I'm a die-hard boxing fan, and Sen. McCain's efforts to pass legislation to clean up the sport and protect the fighters are just what the sport needs. When he speaks about the use of military force and the treatment of prisoners of war, he speaks from the perspective of a man who's been in combat and who's been a p.o.w. himself. I like what I've seen of his personality. He seems to take issues seriously without always taking himself too seriously.

It's that darned third "P" that keeps holding me up. I don't see Sen. McCain switching parties anytime soon. I've either got to start following my own advice, or hope that, if the Senator from Arizona wins his party's nomination, that my party comes up with a better alternative than a canine cadaver.

Arf!

oba

Ask OBA, Volume I

2006-07-29T22:09:00.000-05:00

I've been getting a lot of e-mails asking me for relationship advice. I initially resisted the urge to respond because I didn't feel it was my place. My misgivings had nothing to do with any insecurities about a lack of qualifications on my end. Sure, I'm not a licensed therapist or counselor. I wasn't a psychology major, and, in fact, I never even took Psych 101. I'm not married, have never been married, and, to be perfectly truthful, my own relationship track record is hardly Hall of Fame material. After giving it a little bit of thought, however, I realized that these seeming lack of qualifications can actually be considered a plus. I'm not saddled with any of the baggage that comes from too much education, training, or experience. I figure, if a little bit of knowledge is dangerous, then who's to say that even less knowledge isn't incredibly beneficial?! One of my ex-girlfriends told me several months ago that she thought I gave good advice and was a good listener. Or something to that effect. Yak, yak, yak, that girl can ramble on. (If you're reading this, Lisa G., I'm just kidding) So, without further ado, here's the first installment of "Ask OBA". Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Dear OBA:

My girlfriend of three years (we've been living together for just over 18 months) has seemed very preoccupied lately. She's talking to her girlfriends all the time. She's also been highlighting wedding announcements in my Sunday paper, and doing the same thing to all the wedding photos in my college alumni magazine. Last week, she e-mailed me a bunch of articles on celebrity weddings and the financial mistakes that young married couples make. Is she trying to tell me something, and, if so, what is it?

Confused in Cleveland

Dear Confused:

You're from Cleveland so I already know you've got it rough. Let me make things easier on you. Things in your relationship are just fine. Three years is nothing! And 18 months living together? Please, you two kids are just getting to know each other. I'm sure that marriage is the furthest thing from your sweetie's mind. Unless I miss my guess, she's just been afraid to share with you a career change she's been contemplating for quite some time. So, my advice is to sit her down, look her in the eyes, and tell her that you completely understand her desire to be a wedding planner, (I suggest you watch that J-Lo flick first so you have some idea what you're talking about) and that you'll support her in whatever it is she does. She'll look shocked at first, but don't worry. That's just surprise as it dawns on her how perceptive and sensitive you really are. The tears that follow can be chalked up to tears of joy. Anyway, be sure to keep me posted on how her new business is going!

OBA

Dear OBA:

I met a cute guy at a party. We exchanged cell phone numbers and went out on a few dates. I was smitten. That was six months ago, and things have definitely heated up. There are a few things about him that are bothering me, though. He still hasn't invited me over to his place or told me what he does for a living. My girlfriends tell me he's hiding something (wife, kids, etc.), but I really like him and I don't want to lose him by seeming too jealous or clingy. Should I tell him how I'm feeling?

Lady E in Elmira

Dear Lady E:

Your girlfriends are the ones who are revealing how jealous they are! Don't let them keep you from Mr. Right. I can see where his behavior might raise a few eyebrows, but there's a perfectly logical explanation for each one of the "questions" you have. You haven't seen his place. Hmm, have you ever considered that this might be your fault? Perhaps he thinks you're a snob or a neat freak. He might be afraid that you'll think his place is too small, too messy, or not in the right neighborhood. Give him his space. If you still haven't seen his place after nine more months, then, perhaps, it's time to revisit the subject. The job thing is even easier to explain. He's probably a covert operative of some type. Instead of questioning him, you should feel flattered that (a) he cares about you enough not to involve you in any risky situations, and (b) he respects your intelligence enough to worry that you'd spot the clues to his "double life", putting yourself (and perhaps this nation's security) at risk. Don't mistake selflessness and patriotism for duplicity. He's given you his cell phone number, so he's already taken a big chance. Just consider yourself fortunate that your "James Bond" has opened up as much as he has. Patience, Lady E, patience.

OBA

Dear OBA:

I'm afraid that my wife is cheating on me. I've been unemployed for the last ten months. She's recently had to take a second job so that we can make ends meet. Or so she says. When I try to ask her about this second job, usually as she's trying to get ready for bed, she invariably claims to be too "worn out" to go into too many details. All I know is the name and address of the company and her supervisor's name and number. I haven't been able to check out the place because it's outside of walking distance, and my driver's license has been suspended for the last year (long story). I'd ask her in the morning, but, jeez, she's already out the door by 8:00 a.m. and I don't start stirring for at least another hour or so.

Another thing, in the early evening, the phone rings constantly. I answer only to hear a few moments of silence on the other end. When someone finally starts speaking, it's a person claiming to be a creditor or a telemarketer. When it's a creditor, the person always claims to be one of my creditors, just to make sure I get off the phone as quickly as possible. Anyway, I've hacked into my wife's e-mail accounts (the ones I know about, that is), but that hasn't turned up anything suspicious, other than the fact that her sister thinks I'm not good enough for her. Whatever. I also surreptitiously monitor her telephone conversations (on the alternate Saturdays she's not "working" at job number two). Again, nothing. This whole situation has me thoroughly stressed out. It's gotten to the point where it's interfering with my own job search. I scarcely have enough energy to turn on the computer most afternoons. I've thought about hiring a private eye, but unless she starts working overtime at her second "job", there's no way I could pay for it. Am I just projecting, or should I really be concerned?

Suspicious in Seattle

Dear Suspicious:

Trust, respect, and an equitable balance of responsiblities are the hallmark of any healthy relationship. If what you're telling me is true, your spouse is really dropping the ball here. She's an obvious work-a-holic, which leaves you to shoulder the burden for your own emotional well-being. She's clearly given you reason not to trust her! I suggest calling this second "job" and voicing your specific concerns to her supervisor. As for the private eye, remember, if she loves you, a little overtime will be a small price to pay to put your mind at ease.

OBA

Well, folks, that does it for Volume I. Keep the e-mails coming.

oba

Tiger Woods and the "One Drop Rule"

2006-07-29T22:06:00.000-05:00

Tiger Woods won the 2006 British Open to capture his 3rd claret jug and 11th major championship. I root for Tiger Woods whenever he tees it up. He and I actually have a lot in common. We both suffer from allergies and near-sightedness. We've both overcome childhood speech impediments. We both used to wear braces. Neither one of us goes by his first name. Our fathers both served in Vietnam. To the uninformed observer, we're both African-American males in our early 30s. Yes, it's a match made in heaven. (Well, he did attend Stanford, but I stopped holding that against him many years ago.)

In spite of all these similarities, my boy Tiger has made life a little hard on me at times. You see, Tiger, by his words and actions off the golf course has started quite a few arguments within my circle of family and friends. I'm usually the one trying to defend him. I've now given up.
I know what you're thinking. What has he said? What has he done? First, let me tell you what he hasn't said or done.

He hasn't gotten stopped for driving under the influence. The police haven't discovered him with a stash of marijuana. I don't think he's ever stayed at a hotel in Eagle, Colorado. He hasn't fathered a bunch of kids by a bunch of different women, or climbed into the gallery during a tournament and started throwing punches.

He's never said that he's not a role model. He's never referred to the millions he makes as "slave wages" or questioned how he could feed his family on an income equal to the GNP of several small countries. As far as I know, he's never threatened to eat Phil Mickelson's children. He's never referred to himself as his own favorite charity.

No, Tiger Woods said he was a "cablinasian" and he married a blonde bombshell from Sweden. Ouch. Tiger, you're killin' me.

For those of you who don't know, Tiger's "cablinasian" comment was a reference to his racial and ethnic heritage: caucasian; black; asian; and (american) indian. Long after he's stopped catching heat for that comment, I still catch heat for it.

I am all for the recognition of multi-racial identities. I wrote my senior thesis, in part, on this subject. Statistical data and anecdotal observation all support the contention that the "browning of America" has been going on for quite some time. Amen. If distinctions of skin color become nonexistent, then how can we not begin to judge each other based upon the content of our characters. But, we're not there yet, and Tiger Woods is a walking example of how far we still have to go. A "cablinasian" might as well be a character from the Lord of the Rings. You might think you know what it's supposed to represent, but it's nonetheless reserved for the realm of fantasy.

You see, when a black male of my generation, professional athlete or no, says or does something idiotic, I am often called upon either to defend or explain his words or actions. Before any of you reading this think that I am placing the blame solely on the shoulders of white America, let me assure you that this is not the case. Black men of older generations ask me for the same explanation of his behavior. And black women of ALL generations do the same. Who does he think he is? What the hell is he talking about? Cablinasian, uh, was that the guy Billy Dee Williams played in Star Wars?

Yes, I've just about heard it all. I've spent many years trying to explain his point. I've tried to say that he was merely trying to honor his Thai heritage. I've tried to say that he was really asking society to look at its own definitions. Alternately, I've said that he was just plain crazy or that he was misquoted. I'm done. Now, I just think he was wrong. Someday, we all may be able to look at our family trees and split our racial and ethnic identity into as many parts as we can find. Cablinasian may be one of over 256 boxes one can check on a job application, census questionnaire, or any other document placed in front of us. Until then, I will hearken back to the days of the Old South, and adhere to the "one drop rule". Here's why.

If Tiger Woods ever actually does anything absolutely crazy or embarassing, the term "cablinasian" will never come up. As a member of the black community, I will suddenly be called upon to embrace him. It happened with Michael Jackson, but it doesn't only happen with celebrities. I've watched "Cops" more times than I care to admit, and I've never heard a perp referred to by a multi-racial classification. "We have a male cablinasian suspect, early 30s on foot". Nope. Every statistic used to tell me that black males are underperforming white men, white women, and black women, certainly takes cablinasians into account. If I get lumped in with the cablinasian who's caught boosting cars, then I'm going to claim the one who's got 10 major professional golf victories. That only seems fair.

That brings me to issue # 2, Mrs. Tiger Woods. She seems like a very nice young woman. Still, a lot of black women take issue with Tiger's choice in a spouse. Again, I have been called on to defend him. Again, I will defend him no longer.

A female relative of mine has voiced the typical complaint on this. She feels that Tiger, like a lot of other educated, successful black men (see, no cablinasian reference) is sending the message that there are no black women he deems of marriageable quality. She usually proceeds to insult black men in general and bemoan our seeming fixation with interracial dating and marriage. She herself states unequivocally that she would not date or marry a non-black man. I have not yet asked her if this extends to a desert island scenario or a "survival of the human race depends on it" scenario. I guess we'll all just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, but, as a species I have my doubts as to our survival.

A friend of mine, an educated, successful black woman, has a slightly different view. She similarly badmouths Tiger (and Charles Barkley, Karl Malone, Cuba Gooding, Jr., et. al.) for their marriage choices. She, however, criticizes Tiger for marrying someone who, if she were an African-American female, he would not give the time of day much less a wedding ring. She has told me that, in general, black women are ahead of black men in terms of education and earning power. To her, this means that, individually, a black woman can justify marrying a white man while a black man cannot justify marrying a white woman.

Well, I've finally broken down here. I used to feel that my friend's view was hypocritical. Now, however, I recognize that her argument is no more or less logical than my own argument regarding Tiger and his attempt at racial self-definition. We have both reached our decisions based upon both statistical data and upon what we deem is good for African-Americans as a whole. In essence, if I'm calling on Tiger to "take one for the team", why can't she do the same? I think I speak for her (and many others) when I say, Tiger, I wish things were different, we're just not at that point yet.

As Tiger celebrates his win, I will also be busy. I will be trying to construct a family tree for Mrs. Tiger Woods. I'm cautiously optimistic, but I think that if I go back far enough, I can find a way to apply the "one drop rule" to her as well. That should settle the issue. Perhaps a trip to Sweden is in order for 2007.

Fore!

oba

Mr. Bonds Goes to Hollywood

2006-07-29T22:02:00.000-05:00

Word came out of San Francisco that a grand jury did not return an indictment against Giants slugger Barry Bonds. The sports and news media did not seem to breathe a collective sigh of relief, and the story was not treated as a hero's vindication. I watch a lot of movies, and this surprised me. To me, Barry Bonds is a Hollywood anti-hero of the first order. I think we should treat him like one.

To prove my point I've assembled a list of the main reasons people criticize Barry Bonds. After every one of those complaints is a quote from a feature film that successfully counters that line of reasoning.

(1) Barry Bonds is selfish.

"Greed is good." (1987) "Wall Street"

I know that Michael Douglas wasn't talking about baseball, but, darn it, the analogy works. All the pretentious sportswriters and kids in men's bodies who weep at card shows may deny it, but baseball is an individual sport masquerading as a team game.

A player's performance is evaluated by owners, agents, arbitrators, and fans solely according to statistics which unflinchingly and unforgivingly determine the quality of individual performance, especially offensive performance. In the American League there's even a spot for a guy who never has to pick up a glove. We're not too far from the day when a full-time designated hitter gives his acceptance speech as he enters the Hall of Fame. If you're a #3 or #4 hitter, you may not be asked to bunt or otherwise sacrifice an at-bat unless it's the late innings of the seventh game of the World Series. Until then, boosting your stats and helping the team are the same thing. Barry Bonds hits in the #4 spot for the San Francisco Giants. Unless he's making an assist from the outfield (again measurable as an individual statistic), he is not going to be called upon to do anything resembling "sharing". Barry's going after records is good for Barry and it's good for the team.

In "The Fugitive", Tommy Lee Jones is all about getting his man and protecting his record. He tells Harrison Ford that he doesn't care whether or not he killed his wife. Granted, he softens this stance at the end of the film, but, I've always contended that's just an attempt at softening what would otherwise be an incredibly awkward moment between the film's two main characters.

(2) Barry Bonds is surly and often uncommunicative. When he does communicate, he's usually rude.

"There's no crying in baseball!" "A League of Their Own" (1992)

Let's face it, our sports heroes are not now and never have been of the sensitive, tear-at-the-ready variety. We give them a pass when there's a ceremony in their honor. The tears can flow freely at that time and that time only. Even then, they might catch a little ribbing. Just ask Mike Schmidt and Mark Messier. Exceptions are also made for illness. When Lou Gehrig and Mickey Mantle cried, a nation of men cried with them.

When we saw Barry Bonds cry on his reality television show "Bonds on Bonds" it made us, at best, awkwardly uncomfortable. I don't know about you, but I'll take surly Barry over emo-Barry any day of the week. Disregarding issues of bad p.r. and generally poor reviews, I contend that Barry's tears sealed that program's doom. John Wayne basically played the same surly and often uncommunicative character in every movie in which he starred. Yes, even in "The Quiet Man". He's an American icon. There's an airport, complete with larger-than-life statue, named after him in California. Let's stop taking Barry to task for doing the same thing.

(3) We know he's used steroids.

"The Waterboy's a cheater. Cut his head off!" "The Waterboy" (1998)

Just like the character Bobby Boucher, who did not know that his coach had bent the rules to get him on the team, Barry Bonds has stated that he did not know that the substances he took were illegal, performance enhancing substances. We didn't turn on Adam Sandler, neither should we turn on Barry Bonds.

Another point in all of this is that no one likes whistleblowers, unless they're named Donnie Brasco, John Serpico, or Huggy Bear.

Look, Al Pacino was at the peak of his powers in "Serpico", we'd have rooted for him unless he was portraying Hitler.

Johnny Depp always makes the ladies swoon, so we could forgive him in "Donnie Brasco" even while he was diming out, well, Al Pacino.

Antonio Fargas in "I'm Gonna Git You Sucka" could pull off platform shoes with goldfish swimming in them. (I know he didn't actually play a snitch in that one, but he was clearly reprising his Huggy Bear role).

In the case of Bobby Boucher, the title character in "The Waterboy" we forget the coach's indiscretion and instead fixate on the length that the coach of the rival team was willing to go to win the bowl game. Like the classic "snitch" we love to hate, his motives were far from pure.

In Barry's case, baseball's most prominent whistle blower is Jose Canseco. Yes, the same Jose Canseco who dated Madonna when his career was at its apex, and the same Jose Canseco who spent a season on "The Surreal Life" when his career was at (hopefully) its nadir. Jose published a tell-all book about steroid use for the not-so-noble motives of spite and profit. For the record, he never says he personally witnessed Barry taking steroids. He simply says that he noted the signs. I guess these were the very signs the admitted steroid user saw every day when he looked at himself in the mirror.

(4) (a) We know he's cheated on his wife.

"I'm not going to be ignored, Dan." "Fatal Attraction" (1987)

Let me go on record as saying I'm strongly against marital infidelity. Hollywood generally supports me here.

Michael Douglas paid for his infidelity dearly.

The guy in "The Howling" stepped outside for a tryst and ended up getting turned into a werewolf.

Nick Nolte in "Cape Fear" had to camp out on the couch because his wife got reminded of a previous indiscretion.

Don't get me started on the bad things that happened to Wesley Snipes in "Jungle Fever".

Thanks to the revelations by his one-time mistress, we all now know a great deal more about Barry Bonds' private life than we ever wanted to know. She will also be a key witness if an indictment is ever handed down against him. Still, Hollywood has told me that these cheating husbands (except for the guy from "The Howling") are capable of redemption and should be given second chances. Can't we give Barry the chance?

(b) We think he's cheated on his taxes.

"None of them ever want to pay taxes again. Ever." "Armageddon" (1998)

Doesn't Bruce Willis sum up the way we all feel on this one?

I'm not going to get into a whole he said she said thing here. Again, nothing's been proven and those who say Barry's guilty clearly have their own axe to grind.

There are only a few instances in which Hollywood presents the tax man as the hero of the story. In "The Shawshank Redemption", his knowledge of how to beat the clear intentions of the federal tax code eventually helps Tim Robbins escape from prison.

Just remember, to side against Barry on this one means that you're siding with the IRS. Just chew on that for a minute or two.

(5) I just don't like the guy.

"I'm not perfect, but who are we kidding, neither are you. And you want to know what? I dig it." "Wedding Crashers" (2005)

This is really a combination of the four reasons previously noted, plus anything else one can come up with.

One thing Hollywood has definitely taught me is that I can still root for drunkards, murderers, and thieves. We all contribute something and we're all capable of redemption.

Bogart started off "The African Queen" as a drunken layabout. He ended the movie as a heroic newlywed and all it cost him was an old boat and several cases of gin.

Eastwood's Man With No Name often did some very, very bad things. Even when he had a name and had gotten a little soft in "Unforgiven", we're still supposed to root for him despite the bloody crimes he'd committed.

Martin Lawrence nearly made us forget that he was a largely unrepentant jewel thief in "Blue Streak". He portrayed another thief-as-protagonist in "What's the Worst That Could Happen?".

In every role he's been given to this point, Vin Diesel proved that neither talent nor looks were necessary ingredients for stardom. (I'm quite sure that last one's not related to my point, but I've just always wanted to get it out.)

So, the next time you're ready to judge Barry Bonds, think of the times you've been selfish and surly. Think of the times in which you've been tempted to cheat or cut corners. Then think of all the movies you've seen in which this behavior is not only tolerated but actually encouraged. If you can cheer for the leading men in the movies I've mentioned above, then you can certainly find it within yourself to cheer for Barry Bonds.

Play ball!

oba

Parish Populism

2006-07-29T22:00:00.000-05:00

I had stopped at a red light on Main Street in a small town in Union Parish, Louisiana, when I noticed something strange. It was a sign for a 2007 gubernatorial candidate prominently displayed roadside in an otherwise vacant lot. . I will not mention the candidate’s name, as I do not wish to be accused by his or her potential opponents of providing this candidate with free advertising space. Also, as is more likely to be the case, I do not wish to be accused by this candidate of implicitly providing free advertising space for his or her potential opponents.

Anyway, the sign itself struck me as highly unusual for several reasons. One, due to its elections being held in "off years", the Louisiana gubernatorial election will not be held until November 2007. Two, this "sign" was on a piece of cardboard and had been written with what appeared to be an unusually large magic marker. Three, the candidate’s sign was partially blocking the sign indicating the lot itself was "for sale", leading me to question whether permission had been secured beforehand. I admit that I had to suppress a chuckle or two as I drove away.
Upon further reflection, I found myself pondering my reaction. Was I just being a snob, betraying all of the prejudices of a Louisiana-born man raised in the Northeast? More importantly, was I belittling Louisiana’s rich tradition of populist politics? Did such populism still exist? Why were the cars behind me frantically honking their horns? As I drove past the lot (giving a wave acknowledging my culpability in holding up traffic) I realized that I could only definitively answer one of those questions. I’d just posed myself.

Let me backtrack a little.

Louisiana’s political legacy is dominated by two main themes. The first theme is the populist tradition best exemplified by the meteoric rise to and hold on power of assassinated U.S. Senator and former Governor Huey Long. The second theme is the tradition of graft and corruption best exemplified by the meteoric rise to and hold on power of assassinated U.S. Senator and former Governor Huey Long. As events in New Orleans and Washington, D.C. have made clear, the presence or appearance of corruption among Louisiana politicians remains a prominent topic of discussion. Reserving that topic for later, let me focus instead on Louisiana’s populist legacy.

It is fair to say that, for better or for worse, populism still reigns in Louisiana. It is also fair to say that both major political parties, in attempting to label themselves as heirs to the populist tradition, now attempt to embrace a label they used to avoid.
Populism in Louisiana (as elsewhere) had its roots in rural areas. Agrarian discontent contributed strongly to Huey Long’s rapid ascent (If you don’t believe me, just watch the movie "All the King’s Men").

Huey Long’s old-style populism appealed to the economic interests of the electorate. While the purity of his motives remains a bit of an open question, he nonetheless sought to address those economic issues that contributed to the dissatisfaction of agrarian voters. He strongly supported organized labor and an increased role for the state government in the economy. He vehemently opposed the concentration of wealth among the fortunate few as well as the corporate influence on government that contributed to it. He did all of this with flair, panache, and more than a little bit of demagoguery.

So, just who is Huey Long’s populist heir and what does he or she look like?

Can we find glimpses of that legacy in the ideology and career of Gov. Kathleen Blanco? After all, she cut her political teeth serving on the Louisiana Public Service Commission, the same commission once chaired by Huey Long.

Can we find it in the life and career of a man like Rep. Bobby Jindal, her opponent in the 2003 gubernatorial election? Is his popularity representative of a shift in Louisiana politics that more than one pundit has identified as a positive response to an outbreak of so-called "conservative populism"?

Can a politician like New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin lay his own claim to the populist legacy? His claim could be based not only because of his controversial rhetoric, but also because of his equally controversial reputation as a reformer not afraid to step on a few toes.

The problem with labeling any of these three as a clear heir to the populist tradition of Huey Long is that the manner in which "populism" is viewed and defined has changed significantly over the years. A few politicians may display some of Long’s bombast. A few may even demonstrate his zeal for reform. One or two may even have the potential to attract the "buzz" (positive or negative) that accompanied the Kingfish, but it is doubtful that any of them will be true populists in the Long tradition.

In Huey Long’s day, that sign may well have marked the potential site of a "stump". A stump from which a fiery politician planned to whip an eager crowd into a frenzy while he promised to carry the fight for their rights from the streets and sidewalks to the highest levels of state or national government. On Main Street in Union Parish on a hot summer’s day in 2006, that sign is just a crude piece of cardboard in an empty lot, seen by many but noticed by only a few.