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Malcolm Gladwell, Eclectic Detective

gladwell

Malcolm Gladwell

Have you ever wondered why there are so many kinds of mustard but only one kind of ketchup? Or what Cézanne did before painting his first significant works in his 50s? Have you hungered for the story behind the Veg-O-Matic, star of the frenetic late-night TV ads? Or wanted to know where Led Zeppelin got the riff in “Whole Lotta Love”?

Neither had I, until I began this collection by the indefatigably curious journalist Malcolm Gladwell. The familiar jacket design, with its tiny graphic on a spare background, reminds us that Gladwell has become a brand. He is the author of the mega-best sellers “The Tipping Point,” “Blink” and “Out­liers”; a popular speaker on the Dilbert circuit; and a prolific contributor to The New Yorker, where the 19 articles in “What the Dog Saw” were originally published. This volume includes prequels to those books and other examples of Gladwell’s stock in trade: counterintuitive findings from little-known experts.

gladwell 1

A third of the essays are portraits of “minor geniuses” — impassioned oddballs loosely connected to cultural trends. We meet the feuding clan of speed-talking pitchmen who gave us the Pocket Fisherman, Hair in a Can, and other it-slices!-it-dices! contraptions. There is the woman who came up with the slogan “Does she or doesn’t she?” and made hair coloring (and, Gladwell suggests, self-invention) respectable to millions of American women. The investor Nassim Taleb explains how markets can be blindsided by improbable but consequential events. A gourmet ketchup entrepreneur provides Gladwell the opportunity to explain the psychology of taste and to recount the history of condiments.

Another third are on the hazards of statistical prediction, especially when it comes to spectacular failures like Enron, 9/11, the fatal flight of John F. Kennedy Jr., the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger, the persistence of homelessness and the unsuccessful targeting of Scud missile launchers during the Persian Gulf war of 1991. For each debacle, Gladwell tries to single out a fallacy of reasoning behind it, such as that more information is always better, that pictures offer certainty, that events are distributed in a bell curve around typical cases, that clues available in hindsight should have been obvious before the fact and that the risk of failure in a complex system can be reduced to zero.

The final third are also about augury, this time about individuals rather than events. Why, he asks, is it so hard to prognosticate the performance of artists, teachers, quarterbacks, executives, serial killers and breeds of dogs?

The themes of the collection are a good way to characterize Gladwell himself: a minor genius who unwittingly demonstrates the hazards of statistical reasoning and who occasionally blunders into spectacular failures.

Gladwell is a writer of many gifts. His nose for the untold back story will have readers repeatedly muttering, “Gee, that’s interesting!” He avoids shopworn topics, easy moralization and conventional wisdom, encouraging his readers to think again and think different. His prose is transparent, with lucid explanations and a sense that we are chatting with the experts ourselves. Some chapters are master­pieces in the art of the essay. I particularly liked “Something Borrowed,” a moving examination of the elusive line between artistic influence and plagiarism, and “Dangerous Minds,” a suspenseful tale of criminal profiling that shows how self-anointed experts can delude their clients and themselves with elastic predictions.

An eclectic essayist is necessarily a dilettante, which is not in itself a bad thing. But Gladwell frequently holds forth about statistics and psychology, and his lack of technical grounding in these subjects can be jarring. He provides misleading definitions of “homology,” “saggital plane” and “power law” and quotes an expert speaking about an “igon value” (that’s eigenvalue, a basic concept in linear algebra). In the spirit of Gladwell, who likes to give portentous names to his aperçus, I will call this the Igon Value Problem: when a writer’s education on a topic consists in interviewing an expert, he is apt to offer generalizations that are banal, obtuse or flat wrong.

The banalities come from a gimmick that can be called the Straw We. First Gladwell disarmingly includes himself and the reader in a dubious consensus — for example, that “we” believe that jailing an executive will end corporate malfeasance, or that geniuses are invariably self-made prodigies or that eliminating a risk can make a system 100 percent safe. He then knocks it down with an ambiguous observation, such as that “risks are not easily manageable, accidents are not easily preventable.” As a generic statement, this is true but trite: of course many things can go wrong in a complex system, and of course people sometimes trade off safety for cost and convenience (we don’t drive to work wearing crash helmets in Mack trucks at 10 miles per hour). But as a more substantive claim that accident investigations are meaningless “rituals of reassurance” with no effect on safety, or that people have a “fundamental tendency to compensate for lower risks in one area by taking greater risks in another,” it is demonstrably false.

The problem with Gladwell’s generalizations about prediction is that he never zeroes in on the essence of a statistical problem and instead overinterprets some of its trappings. For example, in many cases of uncertainty, a decision maker has to act on an observation that may be either a signal from a target or noise from a distractor (a blip on a screen may be a missile or static; a blob on an X-ray may be a tumor or a harmless thickening). Improving the ability of your detection technology to discriminate signals from noise is always a good thing, because it lowers the chance you’ll mistake a target for a distractor or vice versa. But given the technology you have, there is an optimal threshold for a decision, which depends on the relative costs of missing a target and issuing a false alarm. By failing to identify this trade-off, Gladwell bamboozles his readers with pseudoparadoxes about the limitations of pictures and the downside of precise information.

Another example of an inherent trade-off in decision-making is the one that pits the accuracy of predictive information against the cost and complexity of acquiring it. Gladwell notes that I.Q. scores, teaching certificates and performance in college athletics are imperfect predictors of professional success. This sets up a “we” who is “used to dealing with prediction problems by going back and looking for better predictors.” Instead, Gladwell argues, “teaching should be open to anyone with a pulse and a college degree — and teachers should be judged after they have started their jobs, not before.”

But this “solution” misses the whole point of assessment, which is not clairvoyance but cost-effectiveness. To hire teachers indiscriminately and judge them on the job is an example of “going back and looking for better predictors”: the first year of a career is being used to predict the remainder. It’s simply the predictor that’s most expensive (in dollars and poorly taught students) along the accuracy-­cost trade-off. Nor does the absurdity of this solution for professional athletics (should every college quarterback play in the N.F.L.?) give Gladwell doubts about his misleading analogy between hiring teachers (where the goal is to weed out the bottom 15 percent) and drafting quarterbacks (where the goal is to discover the sliver of a percentage point at the top).

The common thread in Gladwell’s writing is a kind of populism, which seeks to undermine the ideals of talent, intelligence and analytical prowess in favor of luck, opportunity, experience and intuition. For an apolitical writer like Gladwell, this has the advantage of appealing both to the Horatio Alger right and to the egalitarian left. Unfortunately he wildly overstates his empirical case. It is simply not true that a quarter­back’s rank in the draft is uncorrelated with his success in the pros, that cognitive skills don’t predict a teacher’s effectiveness, that intelligence scores are poorly related to job performance or (the major claim in “Outliers”) that above a minimum I.Q. of 120, higher intelligence does not bring greater intellectual achievements.

The reasoning in “Outliers,” which consists of cherry-picked anecdotes, post-hoc sophistry and false dichotomies, had me gnawing on my Kindle. Fortunately for “What the Dog Saw,” the essay format is a better showcase for Gladwell’s talents, because the constraints of length and editors yield a higher ratio of fact to fancy. Readers have much to learn from Gladwell the journalist and essayist. But when it comes to Gladwell the social scientist, they should watch out for those igon values.

Steven Pinker is Harvard College professor of psychology at Harvard University. His most recent book is “The Stuff of Thought.”

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Full article and photos: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/15/books/review/Pinker-t.html

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Tetris

 

It’s one of the world’s most simple computer games – but, as a new report suggests, there could be more to Tetris than the idle act of fitting blocks together on a computer screen.

Computer games have changed beyond all recognition since those early days when blocky graphics would judder across a screen and explode with all the sonic impact of an egg box being crushed.

But while most of today’s new games boast the production values of a Hollywood blockbuster, a handful of old favourites continue to defy their apparent sell-by date. There’s Solitaire, the card game that comes pre-installed on every version of Windows.

And then there’s Tetris, the creation of a Soviet computer programmer which requires players to move different shaped blocks into position so they form a straight line and then disappear from the screen. Despite its minimalism, this year Tetris celebrates its 25th birthday.

Tetris

Feeling brainier already

But while Tetris continues to win over new legions of entry-level computer gamers, it’s also been drawing the interest of brain scientists. Some even suggest the game may actually be good for the health of the mind if not the body.

While hours spent struggling to sink those breezeblocks render fingers sore and gnarled, there are scientific studies that point to wider benefits.

The latest inquiry comes from the Mind Research Network (MRN) – a brain research organisation based in the United States. Using little more than MRI brain scanners and game consoles, scientists have found that regular turns on Tetris caused the grey matter in a group of teenage girls to thicken.

Earlier this year, Oxford University reported that Tetris could reduce the flashbacks experienced in post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

In the research published this week, 26 adolescents were asked to play Tetris for 30 minutes a day over a three-month period. Their brain power was then compared with a similar group who hadn’t been playing the game.

The theory is that Tetris thickens the cerebral cortex – part of the brain that plays a key role in memory, attention, perceptual awareness, thought, language and consciousness.

“What we found was a change in the brain after playing Tetris,” says Dr Richard Haier, a neurologist who led the project. “The thickness of the cerebral cortex actually increased, by less than half a millimetre.

Brain efficiency

“It used to be thought that the number of neurones [brain cells] in the brain was fixed after a certain age. This appears not to be true.”

Dr Richard Haier
Tetris is an excellent tool for neuroscience
Dr Richard Haier

It’s not the first time Dr Haier has seen research potential in playing Tetris, initially discovering the game in the early 1990s.

“Back then we were trying to find out what happens if you practise something over time. We suspected that the brain efficiency was the key concept.

“I was looking for a game that was suited to look at what happens to the brain when you practise a complex task. In 1991 no one had heard of Tetris. I went to the computer store to see what they had and the guy said, ‘here try this it’s just come in’.

“Tetris was the perfect game, it was simple to learn, you had to practise to get good and there was a good learning curve. Tetris is an excellent tool for neuroscience.”

The link between computer games and boosting brain power is not new. Leading software companies like Nintendo have created their own brain-training games, such as MindFit, IQ Academy and Anagrammatic. These claim to sharpen up mental processes like memory, visual spatial awareness and concentration.

But the apparent benefits of Tetris or other such games only go so far. What scientists have so far failed to find out is whether the new mental powers learnt from playing Tetris can help with anything other than… playing Tetris.

“The $64,000 question is whether these brain changes are beneficial to activities other than playing Tetris. They are very important questions about the brain and learning.”

Cabbie proof

Dr Chris Bird, a clinical neuroscientist at UCL, is cautious should anyone think Tetris is a short-cut to becoming brainier.

“If you practise something you are going to have to engage your brain in some way. By doing something again and again the parts of the brain involved in that operation will change,” says Dr Bird.

“It’s the same with tests on cab drivers in London who have to do the Knowledge [memorise every street in the capital]. These studies also show a decrease in other parts of the brain.

“So while some parts of the brain show an increase in cells, there’s a cost.”

And one thing that Tetris doesn’t seem to help is visual perception. Dr Bird cites a study from 2003 which assessed the benefits of action games, or “shoot ‘em up” games, and found they helped improved a player’s visual perception. In that research, Tetris was played by the control group – and those who played the puzzle game had not notably improved on the tests.

So what about hardened Tetris players themselves – do they see any knock-on benefits in other parts of their life?

Waste of time

Vincent Laurent, a member of harddrop.com, an online community of Tetris addicts, has been hooked on the game for 17 years. He said the attraction for him is its deceptive straightforwardness.

“Under a really simple and easy appearance, the game is incredibly deep and complex, it needs many years to assimilate every combination and keys to solve the problem.

“Today we have some versions of Tetris game which require five years to be finished, there is no more harder video game in the world than Tetris Grand Master 2 and Tetris Grand Master 3.”

After spending much of his life glued to Tetris, Vincent, who is French, is in a strong position to judge whether it improved his mental skills.

“Honestly, with the level I have reached today, I prefer to think that I wasted my time,” he laughs.

“I am sure it doesn’t improve anything in the brain, except the Tetris skill itself. I can play today at more than three pieces per second, but I am slow in life, slow and a perfectionist. Tetris never helped me to think better or faster unfortunately.”

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Full article and photos: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8233850.stm

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The Revenge of Levi

For the first time in my life, I feel sympathy for Sarah Palin.

Levi Johnston — you will remember him from his featured role as the father of Bristol’s baby at the Republican convention — has written an article for the new issue of Vanity Fair. It’s his take on the Palin home life, which Johnston says was “much different from what many people expect of a normal family.”

Given the fact that Johnston is a 19-year-old high school dropout whose mother was arrested last year on six felony drug counts, it is conceivable that he is not the perfect arbiter of normal families. But even if he were an Eagle Scout with a scholarship to Harvard, can you imagine anything worse than discovering your daughter’s teenage ex-boyfriend has been given a national platform to discuss his impressions of her mom’s parenting skills?

It’s hard to totally resist an article that has sentences that start with: “In early August, before I went hunting and Sarah was picked, Bristol and I were at a tattoo parlor in Wasilla. …” Or information like the fact that baby Tripp’s middle name is Easton in honor of “my favorite hockey-equipment company.”

But somehow I have a feeling that even the most ardent Palin-haters are not going to be able to work up much sympathy for Levi’s complaint that Sarah made him cut off his mullet before his appearance at the Republican convention. Or that when she moved to Juneau after being elected governor, she tried to take Bristol with her in order to break them up.

In fact, trying to separate her daughter from Johnston could be filed away in the rather slim folder titled “Sarah Palin’s Good Ideas.”

Levi’s reports on Palin’s failings as wife and mother sound exactly like what any self-absorbed teenager might say about his girlfriend’s working mom. She doesn’t cook! He and Bristol had to do everything! They had to take care of the kids and go to Taco Bell to get Sarah a Crunchwrap Supreme!

Plus, Sarah fought a lot with Bristol’s dad, Todd, and they certainly didn’t look like a happy couple to Levi. She claimed to be a hockey mom but he didn’t notice her at the rink all that often. (Why do I have the feeling that the amount of time Johnston spent keeping tabs on his teammates’ parents was not extensive?)

It’s too bad Johnston is untrustworthy about every subject not covered by Field & Stream. Otherwise, this article might be fair payback for the Levi-Bristol convention appearance. In an effort to cement her family-values cred, Palin gave every teenage girl in the country a deeply unrealistic and dangerous vision of the wonderful way a boyfriend would transform once he discovered there was a baby on the way. (In the staged world, the handsome, expectant, unmarried couple held hands while the whole auditorium applauded. In the real world, after whacking off Levi’s mullet, Sarah had to veto his plans to go partying and force him to hang around the hotel with her pregnant daughter. “It was boring,” he concluded.)

Besides selling a fantasy about how easily a semi-delinquent, unemployed father-to-be could be turned into Prince Charming, Palin also spent her campaign trying to give the impression that running for vice president and taking care of five children, the youngest a baby with special needs, was as easy as falling off a snowbank. Politicians who don’t want the federal government to address child care issues like to imagine that’s true. It absolves them from dealing with the question of who takes care of the kids when women make up almost half the work force.

So it would be helpful to know if Palin was “always in a bad mood and she was stressed out a lot,” as Johnston claims. But really, we’re going to have to wait for a more reliable witness. Maybe Piper or Willow are preparing their memoirs.

Levi and Bristol split up last spring, a few months after the birth of their baby. (“It was the happiest day of my life, but it was also terrible because my family couldn’t be there,” he writes. “I didn’t think Sarah wanted my mom around all the cameras because she had been arrested for selling prescription medication a week and a half earlier.”) The Palins have accused him of trying to cash in on his relationship to the former vice presidential candidate, and we can add this to a very brief list titled “Sarah’s Accurate Depictions of the World Around Her.”

However, I was fascinated by his claim that she doesn’t know how to shoot a gun. Hunting is one of the very few matters in which Levi Johnston seems like a trustworthy source, and if he says she showed no familiarity with weapons, I want to know more. In fact, I think Palin should never be allowed to bring that moose stuff up again until she appears at a rifle range and gives us a demonstration.

Gail Collins, New York Times

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Full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/03/opinion/03collins.html

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See also: Levi Johnston’s Smarmy Tale

In the year and counting since she burst onto the political scene, I haven’t been Sarah Palin’s biggest fan. Charitable would not be the word that comes to mind in describing my atitude toward the former Alaska governor.

Finally, though, I find myself in Palin’s corner — pushed there by Levi Johnston, her former future son-in-law, and the father of her grandson. Johnston offered up to Vanity Fair an insider account — you might think of it as do-more-than-kiss-and-tell — about life in the Palin household.

Johnston’s smarmy account of life with Sarah and Todd makes Jon and Kate look like Ozzie and Harriet. Sarah supposedly only talked to Todd when arguing or bossing him around; Todd spent his nights on the living room recliner. The supposed hockey mom barely turned up at Track’s games; the supposed doting mother of a Down’s Syndrome baby dumped his care on her daughter Bristol.

He depicts Palin “on the living room couch in her two-piece pajama set from Walmart — she had all the colors — with her hair down, watching house shows and wedding shows on TV.” Todd, for his part, was in the garage sneaking beers. “There wasn’t much parenting in that house,” Johnston says. “Sarah doesn’t cook, Todd doesn’t cook — the kids would do it all themselves: cook, clean, do the laundry, and get ready for school.” (Palin kids: want to come to my house? I have a tough time getting mine to make their own beds.)

Is any of this true — the talk of divorce, Sarah’s secret plan to adopt Tripp? I don’t know. Would anybody’s household look especially attractive if its inner workings were splashed on the pages of Vanity Fair by someone with every motive to accentuate the negative? I know mine wouldn’t.

Johnston is an opportunistic creep; his claim to fame is having gotten his teenage girlfriend pregnant when her mother happened to be the governor of Alaska and a soon-to-be vice presidential nominee. Only in America can this be a springboard to a modeling and acting career. “I could go out and do movies, maybe one day even end up as a celebrity,” Johnston muses. If you watch the “behind-the-scenes” video of Johnston on the Vanity Fair website, you can see him sitting in the back of a limousine discussing an offer to pose for Playgirl magazine. “I’d do it,” Johnston says.

I bet. Sarah Palin didn’t deserve to be vice president — but she didn’t deserve this either.

Ruth Markus, Washington Post

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Full article: http://voices.washingtonpost.com/postpartisan/

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Spies like them

Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig as James Bond. Rupert Penry-Jones in Spooks, Sir Alec Guinness as George Smiley, Alex Jennings as John Ashenden and Robert Donat as Richard Hannay
There have been many fictional British spies
 
From Ian Fleming to John Le Carre – authors have long been fascinated by the world of espionage. But what do real life spooks make of fictional spies?

Much of what the public knows about the UK’s Secret Service, or MI6, comes from the world of fiction – whether Ian Fleming’s James Bond or John Le Carre’s George Smiley.

The  intertwining of fact and fiction dates back to the birth of the British intelligence service. In the early years of the 20th Century, the British public was whipped into a frenzy of “spy mania” driven by novelists and newspapers.

It was an era in which the UK was fearful of the rise of Germany and particularly its navy.

William Le Queux wrote the novel, The Invasion of 1910, which was serialised in the Daily Mail. The paper took care to adjust the invasion route the Germans were supposed to take in order to include the towns where its circulation was highest.

There was a widespread belief that the Germans were everywhere, posing as waiters and barbers, stealing secrets and preparing for war. Public pressure grew to do something and so a Secret Service Bureau was established. One half, which would become MI5, was designed to hunt for German spies. The other, which would become MI6, was to steal German secrets.

Older mythology

Even at that early stage, fiction was rubbing off on the real world of espionage, says Alan Judd, the biographer of Sir Mansfield Cumming, who was the first head of what became MI6.

“Le Queux knew some of the people in the War Office, I had no doubt that he had some influence on it all – certainly the culture and the climate,” says Judd.

Sir Ian Fleming
Sir Ian Fleming had experience from his time in naval intelligence

But the mythology created by fiction may have gone back even further, to the era of the Great Game – the battle between the British and Russian empires for supremacy of Central Asia, which began in the early 19th Century.

Britain had no professional spying service at the time, just the occasional gentleman amateur and soldier. But their stories were written up for the public, most dramatically in Rudyard Kipling’s Kim.

These forerunners of the professional spy “did some very brave things” says Sir Colin McColl, MI6′s chief between 1989 and 1994.

“And so there was a sort of general feeling that this was a good thing done by brave people. And that was followed by a whole series of authors in the first part of the 20th Century – [John] Buchan and so on. I mean terrific stuff.”

Sir Mansfield Cumming
Sir Mansfield Cumming was the first head of MI6

The fiction created a romanticism around spies which attracted many people to work for the service.

Among them was Daphne Park, who joined in the 1940s and rose to become a controller at MI6.

“I suppose it did start with reading [Rudyard Kipling's] Kim, reading John Buchan and reading Sapper and Bulldog Drummond and I think from a quite early age I did want to go into intelligence. I didn’t know what kind or how it would be. But I always wanted it.”

As well as attracting individuals to sign up for desk jobs, the daring antics of fictional spies also helped MI6 in its core work of recruiting agents – people willing to spy for the service and pass on secrets.

“There have been a lot of people with whom we’ve dealt across the world… [that] have come to us or worked with us because they felt we knew far more than anybody else knew,” says Sir Colin.

Pierce Brosnan as James Bond in a bit of a scrape
This would be considered a poor outcome by most real-life spies

And much of the world knows MI6 though the man known as 007. James Bond’s creator Ian Fleming never served in MI6 but he did work in naval intelligence during World War II and modelled Bond on a number of real life intelligence officers.

His creation – particularly once it moved to cinema – has done much to define public perceptions of MI6, although the real chief is called C not M. Egyptian intelligence services reportedly bought up copies of Fleming’s books to use on their training courses.

So do people think it is like Bond?

“They usually do,” says Sir Colin. “[But] no it isn’t you see… we were not in the business of going out and shooting people down dark alleys. That was a completely different world.”

But Bond still has his uses. “Everybody watches Bond. And so why shouldn’t a little bit of Bond rub off on our reputation,” says Sir Colin. “If you looked at the number of people who helped us at any one time, a large number of them were Brits who were doing it for nothing – perhaps a bottle of whisky at Christmas. You know we had wonderful support and that is hugely valuable… based on the reputation.”

However, Fleming’s character seems to have made less of an impression on the Russians, according to former KGB colonel Mikhail Lyubimov.

Miss Moneypenny reclines on a desk
This would not be considered best practice for secretaries in the real MI6

“Bond was never considered to be a serious film in the KGB,” says Mr Lyubimov, curtly.

The other figure who has done much to shape the public understanding of MI6 is John le Carre. The portrayal of often flawed characters draws a mixed reception from real life spies.

“I mean there were two feelings I think in the service over the years,” explains Sir Colin McColl. “There were those who were furious with John Le Carre because he depicts everybody as such disagreeable characters and they are always plotting against each other and so on… So people got rather cross about that.

“But I thought it was terrific because, again, it carried the name that had been provided by Bond and John Buchan and everybody else, it gave us another couple of generations of being in some way special.”

Ms Park, it’s fair to say, is not a fan.

“He dares to say that it is a world of cold betrayal. It’s not. It’s a world of trust. You can’t run an agent without trust on both sides.” Le Carre, who served briefly in MI5 and MI6, declined to be interviewed.

As the British Secret Service has come out of the shadows, some of the myth and mystery has certainly disappeared. Some insiders believe this is inevitable and for the best, laying to rest some of the crazier ideas about the world of MI6.

But there are a few, all the same, who may rather miss it.

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Full article and photos: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8166163.stm

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You can’t get away from him. Nearly 18 months after Obamania swept the nation following the Iowa caucuses, our president is everywhere — from Us Weekly to the nightly news. He’s been rendered into an action figure and his likeness gazes out upon the world from T-shirts everywhere. He’s the subject of guerrilla art campaigns and formal art installations. Washington’s P&D Souvenir Factory, which specializes in snowglobes and collectible spoons commemorating our nation’s capital, recently changed its name to “Obama Biden Collectible Merchandises.”

And then there are the comic books.

comics july 10

It started innocently enough. In September 2008, the independent publisher IDW put out comic-book biographies of the two presidential candidates. They were handsome and told in a straightforward manner. The issue about Mr. Obama was friendly toward the senator, but also clear-eyed. It described his use of marijuana and cocaine in high school and even included a section on the racialist musings of Jeremiah Wright and Mr. Obama’s consequent decision to join Trinity United Church of Christ. And since there was a companion book about Sen. John McCain, IDW wasn’t taking sides in the election.

A month later, another independent publisher, Image Comics, did take sides. In issue #137 of Savage Dragon, the titular character, a green-skinned, super-powered Chicago policeman, appears on the cover with a grinning Obama, proclaiming, “I’m Savage Dragon and I endorse Barack Obama for President of the United States!” Normally an obscure title, that issue of Savage Dragon sold out through four printings.

After the election, the new president put in a guest appearance in Amazing Spider-Man #583. The cover of the venerable series featured Obama in the foreground giving a big thumbs-up to Spidey. Released the week before the inauguration, the issue centered on Spider-Man defeating a plot to destroy Mr. Obama’s swearing in. After Spider-Man saves the day, the buffed-up president says, “Thanks partner” and favors him with a fist-bump. Amazing Spider-Man usually sells about 70,000 copies a month. The Obama issue went to five printings and sold over 350,000 copies, making it the best-selling regular series book in a decade.

People noticed those numbers. Wizard, the lifestyle magazine for the comic-book/sci-fi crowd, put Mr. Obama on its cover the next month. The image, an oil painting by Alex Ross, depicts Mr. Obama ripping off his suit and tie to reveal a big red “O” emblazoned on his chest. He stares purposefully into the middle-distance, ready to fight evil and raise the capital-gains tax.

With brisk sales of that issue, Wizard ventured into Newsweek territory, putting Mr. Obama on the next issue’s cover, too. This time he appeared with Michelle, the couple fist-bumping next to a headline blaring “Obama Power! Barack and Michelle Rule the World of Comic Books, Toys and More!” It was an act of pure merchandising — the First Lady appears nowhere in the magazine.

By then, the floodgates had opened. There was another biography titled, simply enough, Obama, the Comic Book, published by Antarctic Press. Encouraged by the Savage Dragon sales, Image put Mr. Obama on the cover of two issues of Youngblood with a story about the new president riding herd over a team of superheroes and beating up the occasional bad guy himself. There was a second Obama appearance (and cover) in Savage Dragon. He showed up on the cover of The Greatest American Hero #3. Another comic-book trade publication, Tripwire, ran a cover featuring a Marvel character, the African-American version of Nick Fury, in the now-famous red-blue-and-cream Shepard Fairey “Hope” poster.

Sitting presidents have appeared in comic books before. In 1980, Jimmy Carter made a brief cameo in Uncanny X-Men #135. George W. Bush appeared momentarily in Ultimates #3 in 2002. Issue #309 of Action Comics saw President Kennedy play a prominent role pretending to be Clark Kent for a day in order to help Superman preserve his secret identity. (Unfortunately, the issue hit stands the week after Kennedy’s assassination.)

But on the whole, when presidents have been part of comic-book plots, they have been figures of scorn. Alan Moore made Richard Nixon a despotic president-for-life in Watchmen. Ronald Reagan appeared in a number of ’80s comics as a bumbling, warmongering fool — though his presence was never important enough to be featured on a cover.

What’s different about Mr. Obama’s triumphant march through comics is (1) the sheer volume of his appearances, month after month; and (2) the worshipful attitude toward him. The main characters gape and stutter in his presence, overwhelmed by his magnificence. He’s even drawn iconically. Where other presidents have been penciled either realistically or satirically, Mr. Obama mostly gets the superhero treatment with bulging muscles and jutting jaw line.

More Obama is on the way. In Drafted: 100 Days (published by DDP), he fights evil aliens as part of an intergalactic war. Dynamite Entertainment is putting out a four-issue series called Army of Darkness: Ash Saves Obama. Chicago-based publisher DDP has just begun a series titled Barack the Barbarian, in which our president, now a shirtless, ax-toting, he-man, is the protagonist. Bluewater Comics is scheduled to release yet another Obama biography this September, titled Political Power: Barack Obama.

Recently, Bluewater published a comic-biography about Michelle Obama, which is remarkable in its own way. There’s been a long tradition in comics of earnest, fair-minded nonfiction. Over the years comics writers have crafted sober renderings of subjects ranging from the Lindbergh kidnapping to The 9/11 Commission Report. Even though they’re overwhelmingly liberal as a group, comic-book writers have kept their politics out of these stories.

The Michelle Obama comic book is less a biography and more of a valedictory attack on Republicans. Bill O’Reilly is portrayed as a racist. Robert Bork is rendered as a ghoulish specter supposedly animating Mrs. Obama’s professional life. Sarah Palin is depicted — seriously — snarling and holding aloft a bloody knife.

It would be nice to believe that the cult of comic-book Obama is just publishers cashing in on a fad. In an interview with a fan site about the glut of Obama comics, Chris Ward, who wrote the forthcoming Bluewater biography, (sort of) jokingly referred to the phenomenon as “a free ride on the Obama comic cash-in train.”

The alternative is that the comic-book establishment finally feels liberated to let loose its political fantasies. Let’s hope it’s just commercialism. The last thing we need is comic books descending to the level of respectable mainstream journalism.

Mr. Last is a staff writer at The Weekly Standard.

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Full article and photo: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124719493132621465.html

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Sophisticated Europeans, Obese Americans?

One side is home to red wine-sipping Europeans, the other to gun-toting Americans: A whole slew of stereotypes can be found on both sides of the Atlantic. But, as American historian Peter Baldwin argues in a three-part essay for SPIEGEL ONLINE, the EU and the US are much more similar than they think.

Talk about upending accepted certainties! While Europe is now in the hands of right-of-center parties (see France, Germany, Italy, Sweden, Denmark and the UK’s David Cameron pacing restlessly in the wings), America has “gone socialist.”

Nationalizing the financial sector by the back door, considering massive subsidization of production industries, increasing state spending on health care and education, promising big investments in all manner of greenery, and limiting executive salaries: Is Obama beating Europe at its own game?

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A banker on Wall Street: There are a number of stereotypes about differences between Europe and America. One of the most popular is that America believes in the untrammeled market, while Europe accepts capitalism but curbs its excesses.

“We are all socialists now,” Newsweek trumpeted in February, predicting that, “as entitlement spending rises over the next decade, we will become even more French.” General Jack D. Ripper, Doctor Strangelove’s nemesis, who fulminated against fluoridation as another of communism’s nefarious advances, must be rotating in his Valhalla.

How quickly things change. It seems like just a few months ago that the presidency of the younger Bush — unilaterally going to war, refusing to submit to international treaties, disparaging the seriousness of global ecological catastrophe — convinced bien pensant opinion on both sides of the Atlantic that the gulf between the US and Europe was stark and growing ever wider. Indeed, old and well-worn mental ruts are hard to steer out of. It remains a staple of political discourse on both sides of the Atlantic that Europe and America are worlds apart. Everyone knows this.

The “wide Atlantic” thesis claims that there are fundamental differences between Europe and America. These are the alleged contrasts:

  • America believes in the untrammeled market, Europe accepts capitalism but curbs its excesses.
  • Social policies either do not exist in America or are more miserly than in Europe.
  • America’s lack of universal health insurance means that people die young and live miserably.
  • Because the market dominates, America’s environment is less cared for.
  • Since social contrasts are greater in America, crime is much more of a problem than in Europe.
  • While Europeans are secular, Americans are much more likely to believe in God and accept a role for religion in public life.

The two societies are thus divided along several fault lines: competition vs. cooperation, individualism vs. solidarity, autonomy vs. cohesion.

This is all familiar. But is it true? With the Obama administration moving the US to the left, there is perception of the Atlantic narrowing again — to the dismay of American conservatives. Being “too European” is a stick Obama’s opponents are fond of beating him with. But were the contrasts between Europe and the US ever as great as both sides imagine?

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People demonstrating in California for universal health coverage: Part of the European stereotype of the US is that America’s lack of universal health insurance means that people die young and live miserably.

One way of answering this question is to look at the quantifiable evidence. Not all differences can be captured in numbers. But statistics allow us a first pass over the terrain and give us the opportunity to compare reliably. Let us compare four areas: the economy, social policy, the environment and finally –the hardest of all to quantify — religion and cultural attitudes.

The evidence in each case allows two conclusions: First, Europe is not a coherent or unified continent. The spectrum of difference within even the countries of western Europe (which is what we will be looking at here) is much broader than normally appreciated. Second, with a few exceptions, the US fits into this spectrum. Either, then, there is no coherent European identity, or — if there is one — the US is as European as the usual candidates. Europe and the US are, in fact, parts of a common, big-tent grouping — whether you call it the West, the Atlantic community or the developed world.

Economics

It is universally observed that America is an economically more unequal society than Europe, with greater stratification between rich and poor. Much of this is true. Income is more disproportionately distributed in the US than it is in western Europe. In 1998, for example, the richest 1 percent of Americans took home 14 percent of total income, while in Sweden the figure was only about 6 percent.

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Billionaire financier Warren Buffett: Another stereotype is that inequality and social contrasts are greater in America than in Europe.

Wealth concentration is another matter, however. The richest 1 percent of Americans owned about 21 percent of all wealth in 2000. Some European nations have higher concentrations than that. In Switzerland in 1997, the richest percent owned 35 percent, and in Sweden — despite that nation’s egalitarian reputation — the figure is 21 percent, exactly the same as for the Americans. And if we take into account the massive moving of wealth offshore and off-book permitted by Sweden’s tax authorities, the richest 1 percent of Swedes are proportionately twice as well off as their American peers.

What about poverty? Not the same thing as inequality? Because inequality is greater in America, relative poverty is by definition also higher.

But absolute poverty rates look different. If we take absolute poverty to be living on the actual cash sum equivalent to half of median income for the original six nations of the EU, we see that many western European countries in 2000 had a higher percentage of poor citizens than the US — not only Mediterranean countries, but also Britain, Ireland, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Finland and Sweden.

Unemployment benefits in the US, which are often portrayed as derisory in the European media, are actually higher than in many European nations. When measured on a per capita basis, Greece, Britain, Italy and Iceland spend less than the US on unemployment.

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Full article and photos: http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,628381,00.html

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Part 2

Why Europeans Have It Wrong About Americans

Many Europeans think that the US is full of gun-toting maniacs and illiterate morons. In part two of his series on trans-Atlantic differences, American historian Peter Baldwin shows why Europeans have this — and plenty of other facts about America — plain wrong.

When compared to Europe, the US welfare state is often portrayed as miserly and undeveloped. And so it is, if the standard is taken to be Sweden or Germany. But if we look at the span of social policy across Europe, a different picture emerges.

Of course, America has no universal system of health insurance — Michael Moore’s 2006 film Sicko will ensure that no one forgets that. Some 15 percent of the American population is not covered. There is no question that being uninsured is unfair and brutal, nor that the lack of universal health coverage is the most pressing problem of American domestic politics. The true disgrace of American health care is that infant mortality is higher than anywhere in Europe. President Obama seems determined not to let the financial crisis sidetrack his promise to improve access to health insurance.

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Weapons confiscated in a gang raid by police in Los Angeles: Europeans also like to believe that crime is a bigger problem in the US than in Europe.

Yet despite the too-large fraction of those who are not insured, if you judge by disease survival rates, Americans are relatively healthy and well-serviced by their health care system. For diabetes, heart and circulatory disease and strokes, the incidence rates and the number of years lost to sickness are firmly in the middle of the European spectrum.

For many cancers, incidence rates are high in the US. This could, of course, indicate noxious lifestyles, but it equally may suggest more vigilant diagnosis. Whatever the reason, cancer mortality rates are surprisingly low. The US has a higher incidence than any western European nation of breast cancer, for example, but the percentage of women who actually die of the disease is at the lower end of the European scale. And for the four major cancer killers (colorectal, lung, breast and prostate cancer), all European nations have worse survival rates than the US.

Family Policy

Looking also at other forms of social policy, we see that the US fits broadly into the lower half of the European spectrum. As with its unemployment assistance, US spending on disability benefits is higher than in Greece and Portugal per capita, and it’s practically at the same level as France, Italy, Ireland and Germany. (All figures used for comparison here account for differences in costs of living.) State pensions in the US may fall into the lower half of the European spectrum. But examine, instead, the total disposable income of the retired in America as a percentage of what the still active receive: Only in Austria, Germany and France do the elderly fare better.

It is commonly known that the American state does not help out much in terms of family provision. Parental leave is not statutory, and there are no guarantees that women can reclaim their jobs after pregnancy. Family allowances as such do not exist.

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A Hispanic activist holds an American flag at an immigration reform rally: Americans are commonly regarded as more patriotic than Europeans.

On the other hand, if one counts resources channeled via the tax credit system, as well as outright cash grants and services, and if one measures them as a percentage of GDP, the US ranks higher than Spain, Greece and Italy, and only marginally below Switzerland for family benefits. Public spending on child care (day care and pre-primary education) puts the US into the middle of the European scale. And total spending on pre-primary care per child is higher than anywhere but Norway.

True, public social spending in America — that is, monies channeled through the state — is undeniably low compared to many European countries. But other avenues of redistribution are equally important: voluntary efforts, private but statutorily encouraged benefits (such as employee health insurance) and taxes. If we take all of these together, the American welfare state is more extensive than is often realized, and the total social policy effort made in the US falls precisely at the centre of the European scale.

Education

And if we shift our focus to education, the contrasts across the Atlantic are, if anything, reversed. A higher percentage of Americans have graduated from university and from secondary school than in any European nation. America’s adults are, in this sense, better educated than Europe’s.

And the US lavishes more money per child at all levels of education than any western European nation. Europeans often believe that good US schools are private and only serve an elite. Yet American education is, if anything, less privatized than most European systems. Public education was among the first social programs to receive massive public funding in the US, and this has remained the case ever since.

Simone de Beauvoir was convinced that Americans do not need to read because they do not think. Thinking is hard to quantify; reading less so.

And Americans, it turns out, do read. By European standards, the percentage of illiterate Americans is average. There are more newspapers per capita in the US than anywhere in Europe outside Scandinavia, Switzerland and Luxembourg.

The long tradition of well-funded public libraries in the US means that the average American reader is better supplied with library books than his peers in Germany, Britain, France, the Netherlands, Austria and all the Mediterranean nations. They also make better use of these public library books than most Europeans. The average American borrowed more library books in 2001 than his or her peers in Germany, Austria, Norway, Ireland, Luxembourg, France and throughout the Mediterranean.

Not content with borrowing, Americans also buy more books per capita than any Europeans for whom we have numbers. And they write more books per capita than most Europeans, too.

American popular culture is fascinated by violence, much as Japanese culture is by suicide. Whether in The Godfather or the TV series The Wire, the image America broadcasts about itself is crime-ridden and violent. Most foreigners have been content to accept that analysis at face value. Not that it is entirely untrue: A horrendous number of murders are committed in the US, almost twice the per capita rate of the nearest European competitors, Switzerland, Finland and Sweden. Nor is there any doubt that the US imprisons a far higher percentage of its population than any of its peers.

But in other respects, America is a peaceful and quiet place by European standards. US burglary rates are highish, but below the Danish and British. The incidence of theft is better than in six western European countries. Assault is in the middle, on par with Swedish and Belgian rates. Rape levels are high, but sexual assault rates are moderate. Only Denmark, Belgium and Portugal are lower; Austria suffers three times the American rate.

American drug use is also (no pun intended) on the high side, but still — excepting cannabis, where the figures are a smidgen above Britain’s — within the European spectrum. American white-collar crime is at the middle-to-low end of the European spectrum. The French suffer over six times the American rate of bribery. And the total American crime figures are in the low middle of the pack. Indeed, only relatively small countries — Finland, Austria, Switzerland and Portugal — are less crime-ridden than the US.

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Full article and photos: http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,628385,00.html

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Part 3

Is the US Really a Nation of God-Fearing Darwin-Haters?

Is it only Europeans who want to save the environment and only Americans who discount Darwin? In the final part of his series on trans-Atlantic differences, American historian Peter Baldwin explains why these stereotypes don’t work – and what the real differences between Old Europe and America are.

In ecological terms, America is thought to be wasteful — big cars, big houses, long commutes, cold winters, hot summers, profligate habits. Such perceptions of the country have combined with the Bush administration’s cozy relationship with the oil industry and its refusal to sign the Kyoto Protocol to paint the nation as an environmental black hole. Once again, the numbers tell a different story.

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A job center in London: In 2000, there was a higher percentage of poor people in England than there was in the United States.

Although oil use per capita is high in America, measured as a function of economic production (in other words, putting the input in relation to the output), it remains within European norms and, indeed, lower than Portugal, Greece, Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and Iceland.

Between 1990 and 2002, America’s carbon dioxide output rose, but per unit of GDP it fell by 17 percent — a greater reduction than in nine western European countries.

In its output of renewable energy, the US is in the middle of the spectrum on all counts, whether biogas, solid biomass energy, geothermal or wind. American spending (public and private) on pollution abatement and control as a percentage of GDP is bested only in Austria, Denmark, Italy and the Netherlands.

Despite the myths of a hyper-motorized nation, Americans own fewer passenger cars per head than the French, Austrians, Swiss, Germans, Luxembourgers and Italians. Per capita, Americans rely on their cars more than Europeans. But adjusting for the size of the country, automobile usage is lower only in Finland, Sweden and Greece.

Similarly, Americans produce a lot of waste per capita, though the Norwegians are worse, and the Irish and Danes are close competitors. But they recycle as well as the Finns and the French, and better than the British, Greeks and Portuguese. Since 1990, Americans’ production of waste has scarcely gone up per capita, while in all European nations for which figures are available, there have been big increases — 70 percent in Spain, almost 60 percent in Italy and over 30 percent in Sweden.

“The Old World developed on the basis of a coalition — uneasy but understood — between humanity and its surroundings,” the Guardian reassures its recycling readership. “The settlement of the US was based on conquest, not just of the indigenous peoples, but also of the terrain.” Yet, despite such common European conceptions, American conservation efforts are strong by European standards.

The environmental activist Jeremy Rifkin insists that Europeans — unlike Americans — have “a love for the intrinsic value of nature. One can see it in Europeans’ regard for the rural countryside and their determination to maintain natural landscape.” Actually, the percentage of national territory protected in the US is about double that of France, Britain or even Sweden.

And conventional American farmers are far less chemicalized than their European colleagues. Thanks partly to their use of GM crops, they use pesticides sparingly. The Italians use over seven times as much, the Belgians even more.

Nationalism and Religion

Despite perceived differences in its economy or care for the environment, perhaps the most fundamental assumed gap between the US and Europe is in values. Americans are said to be nationalistic and religious, while Europeans are post-nationalist and secular. But even here there is reason to doubt the stereotypes.

Yes, Americans are patriotic and nationalistic but, according to the World Values Survey (undertaken between 1999 and 2001), not more than some Europeans. Unsurprisingly, Germans are least proud of their nation, and rather unexpectedly, the Portuguese — not the Americans — are most, with the Irish tied for second place.

Granted, Americans are more likely to think that their country is better than most others. But more Portuguese, Danes and Spaniards feel that the world would be improved if other people were like them, and a larger fraction of Americans admits that there are aspects of their country that shame them than there is in Germany, Austria, Spain, France, Denmark and Finland. And the Finns, Danes, Norwegians and Swedes are all more willing to fight for their country than the Americans.

Even on religion, there is reason to question an absolute polarity between the US and Europe. “Religion is palpable in US schools, places of work and public institutions,” claims the Guardian. “God is invoked by soldiers and politicians in a way that would seem inappropriate in Britain.” Puzzling, then, that Britain’s head of state is known as the “Defender of the Faith,” and the established church has 26 seats in the upper legislature.

The American observer of Europe is often baffled at European claims to secularism since official expressions of religion are so public and yet — apparently — so taken for granted. A 10th-century depiction of the crucifixion, for example, is part of every Danish passport, regardless of whether its bearer is — as many nowadays are — a pious Muslim.

American church attendance and religious belief is not off the European scale if one compares it with Europe’s Catholic regions. A smaller percentage of Americans consider themselves religious than the Portuguese and Italians. Proportionately fewer Americans say they believe in God than the Irish and Portuguese.

Moreover, sociologists tend to explain high American church attendance as the outcome of market as much as spiritual forces. Greater competition has led to a richer variety and higher quality of offerings, while Europe’s state-monopoly religions struggle to provide for their citizens’ spiritual needs. Thus, if the issue is thus of supply and less of demand, the contrast between Europe and America may not be between religious and secular mindsets but, rather, between how — if at all — largely equivalent spiritual needs are fulfilled.

This is certainly a conclusion suggested by looking at attitudes to science across the Atlantic. Without question, Americans are more likely to believe in Creationism than Europeans. The modern American creationist, interestingly enough, no longer takes scripture as sufficient reason to believe the Biblical account of the origins of the world. The debate is, instead, conducted on the turf of science, with creationists attempting to argue the fine points of the age of the fossil record, suggesting that orthodox evolution has gaps as a seamless explanation, and otherwise indicating their acceptance that the modern world speaks the language of science.

The realm of scientific quackery in Europe, on the other hand, is much wider than in the US. Consider the sway of self-evidently daft positions like anti-vaccinationism among the Hampstead Bildungsbürgertum or the equally irrational rejection of the fruits of scientific reasoning, like the anti-GM (genetically modified) movement. In several European nations, astrology is more widely believed in than in the US, and homeopathy is relied upon much more often in Europe.

So if Americans are, on the whole, more religious than most Europeans, it does not follow that they have less overall faith in science. Societies with a strong faith in science can also have strong religious beliefs. True, proportionately fewer Americans firmly agree with the Darwinian theory of evolution than any Europeans other than in Northern Ireland.

But, in other respects, Americans believe in the Enlightenment project of human reason’s ability to understand and master nature. They fall in the European middle ground in approving animal testing to save human lives. Perhaps most tellingly, more American pupils agree with the statement that science helps them understand the world than in any European nation other than Italy and Portugal.

The Individual vs. the State

They may be scientific, then, but Americans are also thought of as die-hard individualists who live in a society of sharp elbows and an ethos of live and let live. They are imagined to be unusually anti-governmental in their political ideology — practically anarchists, by European standards.

Yet a Pew Foundation survey in 2007 found that proportionately fewer Americans worried that the government had too much control than did Germans and Italians, with the French at the same level and the British just a percentage point lower. And a higher percentage of Americans trust their government than all Europeans, except only the Swiss and the Norwegians — although no people, truth be told, demonstrates much faith in their elected representatives.

But talk is cheap, and these findings may indicate desire as much as reality. The trust of Americans in their state apparatus can be measured more concretely by their willingness to pay taxes. Unlike many Europeans, Americans pay the taxes required of them. Only in Austria and Switzerland are the underground economies as small. Tax avoidance is over three times the American level in Greece and Italy.

The archetypal Montana survivalist so beloved of the European media — holed up in his shack and determined to resist the government’s impositions — is as uncharacteristic of America as the Basque or Corsican separatist — ready to kill for his cause — is of Europe.

The Real Difference

These are just a few examples of how the presumed chasm dividing the Atlantic is not, in fact, nearly as deep as opinion among the chattering classes and their mouthpieces believes. Why, then, does this notion persist — even though a sober look at its empirical basis suggests that it is an inverted pyramid, a lot of conclusions perched on flimsy premises?

For one thing, the European press wants the juicy, titillating low-down. And America certainly dishes that up. It is not a culture accustomed to putting its best foot forward. Is there another nation that washes its dirty laundry so publicly? British tabloids aside, is there one where the seamy underbelly is more readily proffered for inspection? Hence that genre of such fascination to the European chattering classes: the tedious travelogue by the sophisticated European — whether Bernard-Henri Lévy, Jean Baudrillard or Borat — observing American yokels and reporting back with the smug assurance of superiority to other sophisticated Europeans.

Moreover, Europe’s various cultures are ones still steeped in the lore of national stereotypes and quite happy to wring from them whatever elixir can be had.

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One genre of much fascination to the European chattering classes is the tedious travelogue by the sophisticated European — whether Bernard-Henri Lévy, Jean Baudrillard or Borat — observing American yokels and reporting back with the smug assurance of superiority to other sophisticated Europeans. But what they fail to notice is the reality: Europeans and Americans are growing more and more alike.

Who can forget Edith Cresson, Mitterand’s prime minister, who was convinced that no Frenchman was gay, while the English were all limp-wristed poofs? Or consider the extent to which no Europeans — however otherwise politically correct — can be shaken in their conviction that the Roma really are shifty and thieving.

Having a trans-Atlantic whipping boy is convenient and serves politically useful purposes, especially if there is little else that you can agree on. The purveyors of anti-Americanism in Europe appear to have rediscovered the truism that nothing unites like a common enemy.

And the Bush administration played into their hands by serving up caricatures by the spadeful. It will be interesting to see how the European pundits deal with Obama once he does something they do not like. While Bush could be portrayed as an ignorant cowboy, which of the available stereotypes will they dare lambast Obama with?

Here, we come to the grain of truth to the Atlantic divide. If there is anything that most separates American society from Europe, it is the continuing presence of an ethnically distinct underclass. Even as other outsiders have successfully assimilated, the tragic resonances of slavery in the black urban ghettos of America continue to prevail.

Indeed, take out the black underclass from the crime statistics, and American murder rates fall to European levels, below those in Switzerland and Finland, and even squeaking in under Sweden. Child poverty rates, which are scandalously high in the US, fall to below British, Italian and Spanish levels if we look at the figures for whites only. PISA scores for American whites (ranking secondary school proficiency, in this case, for combined science literacy in 2006) come above every European nation other than Finland and the Netherlands.

This is not meant to excuse the atrocious negligence with which the problems of racism have been dealt in the US. But it does suggest that, far more than any grand opposition of worldviews or ideologies, it is the still unresolved legacy of slavery and its tragic modern consequence that distinguishes — to the extent anything does — America from Europe. Whether Obama’s election will mark a turning point in this respect remains to be seen.

And if it is this distinct urban underclass that most separates the US from Europe, Europeans should pay notice. In this respect, their societies are rapidly becoming more like America’s. Europe’s birthrates have plummeted, and immigration continues unabated. It is a demographic certainty that an ethnically and religiously distinct lower class in Europe will grow in the decades to come.

Perhaps Europe will turn out to have been lucky. Having instituted universalist social policies, highly regulated labor markets and redistributive fiscal policies in the belief that they were all — so to speak — being kept “in the family,” Europe may weather the expansion of its social community. On the other hand, it may be that the social fabric will fray.

No one is arguing that America is Sweden. But neither is Britain, Italy, or even France. And since when does Sweden represent “Europe” — at least anymore than the ethnically homogenous, socially liberal state of Vermont does America? Europe is not the continent alone, and certainly not just its northern regions.

With the entrance of all the new EU nations, it has just become a great deal larger. These new entrants are not just poorer than Old Europe. They, like Europe’s many recent immigrants from Asia and Africa, are religious, skeptical of a strong state, unenthusiastic about voting and allergic to high taxes. In other words, from the vantage point of Old Europe, they are more like Americans.

And so, as Europe expands, the argument made here for western Europe — that the differences across the Atlantic have been exaggerated — will become irrefutable.

A Note on Sources: The data in this essay comes mostly from a handful of organizations that devote significant efforts to presenting internationally comparable figures: the UN, UNESCO, UNICEF, WHO, the IMF, the World Bank, Eurostat, the Sutton Trust, the World Values Survey, the ILO, the International Agency for Research on Cancer, the International Association for the Study of Obesity, the World Resources Institute, the International Energy Agency, the International Social Survey Programme and, above all, the OECD.

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Full article and photos: http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/0,1518,628389,00.html

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An adventurous English friend named Belinda, searching some years ago for sensual ecstasy in the East, once described finding a special salon in upcountry Thailand, where she was invited to allow herself to be restrained quite naked on a cedar table and have three young female attendants gently apply a sweet-smelling unguent to her more delicate parts. The trio silently withdrew, bidding my friend to keep still. Seconds later she heard a door slide open, then a rushing sound, and felt the air itself throbbing with movement. She was then swiftly overcome by pleasing physical sensations of an almost unbearable intensity.

She lifted her head slightly, and was just able to see why: portions of her body had become suddenly covered with thousands upon thousands of brilliantly colored captive butterflies. All of them were engaged in licking away the ointment with what felt, as she later said dreamily, like a million tiny tongues.

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Things like this just don’t seem to happen in Dubuque or Stow-on-the-Wold. And as Richard Bernstein suggests in his provocative and intriguing book “The East, the West, and Sex,” it is tales like this that over the years have helped construct today’s notion of the East as a sensual and sexual paradise. Tales of the odalisque, the harem, the seraglio, the concubine, the geisha and the Kama Sutra have all become combined in the past century or so into a sweetly perfumed mélange of exoticism and eroticism, presenting “the Orient” as a realm of languor and loucheness, where concupiscent curds run in the streets and nostalgie de la boue is perfectly de rigueur.

This idea — of the East as the center of a “harem culture” so enticingly different from what is parodied as our own Judeo-Calvinist dreariness — has captivated Westerners since the first imperialists planted their flags in the heat and dust of far away. In recent years, however, it is a notion that has spiraled frighteningly out of control. Nowadays there is precious little that passes for romance about the picture: the charming 19th-century image of Kipling’s temple girl at the old pagoda in Moulmein, the “neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land,” has been replaced by today’s obese American pederast trolling for catamites in the bars of Zamboanga, or of middle-aged sex tourists buying infants in Phnom Penh or on the beaches outside Colombo.

Precisely how we regressed from the delights so well described by writers like Gustave Flaubert a century and a half ago — times when, dare one say it, true love did occasionally blossom among the bougainvillea and the date palms — to the grim realities of today’s meat markets in Thailand and the Philippines is the main thrust of Mr. Bernstein’s properly high-minded book. That we get rather less than a fully considered answer — but a good deal of alluring and titillating description in its place — is the single shortcoming of a book that is based on a very good and eminently discussable idea.

Mr. Bernstein, a columnist for The International Herald Tribune, the global edition of The New York Times, sees Richard Burton, a British Arabist, as perhaps most to blame, being among the first to popularize the notion of the East as offering an endless procession of licentiousness and abandon. As Burton saw it, India, the Middle East and Africa were places where, in Mr. Bernstein’s words, “the cultivation of love far surpassed the low and unsatisfactory levels attained in frigid, Christian Europe.” He adds, “The East was a place where the erotic and the poetic mingled, where, stripped of its taint of immorality, it could be the subject of a kind of connoisseurship, a learned cultivation.”

Burton’s translation of “The Arabian Nights” gave us Scheherazade and Sinbad and Ali Baba, of course, but it also gave us what Philip Larkin later hinted at with his poem relating the “16 sexual positions on the sand”: the idea that the conquest of the hot and distant could be made a lot more bearable for the visitor if one only got to understand the locals’ curious customs.

And though white imperialists did plenty of frightful things, a good many of their accounts speak of their total enthrallment with what they found: the Taoist idea that intercourse, for example, permitted a man to absorb life-enhancing yin forces, undeniably offered a degree of justification for foreigners to have a great deal of fun. Steadily, from soldiers and district commissioners, this habit passed downstream and into the world of commerce: “Do anything you like out there, old boy,” was for decades the watchword of all the great British China trading companies, even when I lived in Hong Kong a decade ago. “Whatever you like — so long as you don’t bring it home.”

Perhaps that is when it all began to change; perhaps it was long before the wars, in Japan and Vietnam, that brought so many sex-starved soldiers into contact with this apparently magical world. Perhaps the change happened when rich young businessmen, men armed with cash rather than carbines, came East and began to wield more freely what this exchange between Western men and Eastern women was already truly all about: power.

For that is what this book seems to miss, or if not to miss, then not to make as obvious as it should be. Perhaps there is a kernel of truth, as Mr. Bernstein observes, that “the sexual advantage of the Western man in the East is an aspect of Western dynamism, the questing spirit of Europeans, compared with the relative passivity of Asian in these matters.” .

But some will find this an almost insultingly trivial explanation, compared with what is a far more tragic certainty: that whether these sexual transactions occurred centuries ago and involved a sultan with his harem or a daimyo with his geisha, or whether they took place during the Vietnam War and involved a G.I. with his Hong Kong go-go girl, the central truth is always the same. The transactions have always ultimately been based on the same pathetic reality: poor women — and lots and lots of them in those countries that have large populations and place too little value on the female sex — must peddle their bodies and their dignity to whomever has the power to demand them.

In recent years Eastern entrepreneurs, perhaps the tawdriest of all players in an increasingly tawdry business, have cashed in on the trade, creating for millions of foreign visitors the fancy that what is on sale in today’s bars and brothels is somehow mystical, magical and a traditional sacrament of the Orient. It isn’t: it is every bit as much about power and exploitation as if it took place on Eighth Avenue or north of King’s Cross Station. There is absolutely nothing Eastern, nothing magical and nothing exotic about it. It is all just quite desperately sad.

Simon Winchester is the author of “The Professor and the Madman” and, most recently, of “The Man Who Loved China.”

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Full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/08/books/08winc.html?hpw

Photo: http://www.amazon.com/East-West-Sex-History-Encounters/dp/0375414096

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You don’t have to be Indian. But it seems to help.

87996162AW022_STUDENTS_COMP

Kavya Shivashankar, of Olathe, Kan., wiped her tears as E.W. Scripps CEO Richard Boehne presented her with the trophy for winning the Scripps National Spelling Bee. She correctly spelled “Laodicean” for the win. The 13-year-old hopes to be a neurosurgeon someday.

I think I see a pattern here. When 13-year-old Kavya Shivashankar calmly spelled “Laodicean” this past Thursday to win the Scripps National Spelling Bee, she became the seventh Indian-American to take the title in the past 11 contests. As the Times of India boasted, at this point an Indian-American win at the Spelling Bee has “an air of inevitability.” So Indian kids must have a natural advantage, right?

Well actually, no. Consider the winner in 2004, David Tidmarsh, a fair-haired Midwestern boy whose ancestors never ventured anywhere near New Delhi. I spoke with David in between final rounds on the day he won, and he confided his technique to me. In between gulps of anxious breathing — David almost hyperventilated on stage — he explained that he studied by reading the dictionary.

“How much of it did you read?” I asked.

“The whole thing,” he said with a sheepish grin. The straight-A student trawled though the entire Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary — some 450,000 words. David worked seven days a week for months on end, including when he was sick. And he admitted he even lugged along Webster’s on family vacations.

That is the secret to winning the National Bee. The natural advantage of David, Kavya and all the other kids who have taken the trophy is a fierce and unswerving dedication to their study. The Spelling Bee is a workaholic’s game. No weekend enthusiasts need apply.

In addition to discipline, winning the Bee requires a broad education. No mind can memorize the spelling of 450,000 words. Top spellers must be able to make an educated guess about obscure words using their wide-ranging knowledge of etymology, science, geography, history and literature.

So a top speller needs a rise-at-dawn work ethic and a multidisciplinary education. Still, you ask, why are there so many Indian winners given the fact that people of Indian descent only make up around 1% of the U.S. population? Surely there are American kids of all backgrounds who are hard workers with a great education.

Of course there are. Yet an outsized share of Indian pride is attached to achievements in traditional education.

The cultural pride that Indian-Americans bring to the Bee is deep. In 1985, Balu Natarajan was the first Indian-American competitor to win the Bee. Winning this quintessentially American contest prompted a heartfelt reaction among a new wave of immigrants. Holding that trophy aloft as the cameras clicked proved you were as American as any of your neighbors and that you could compete — and win — in the new world.

In the years I spent reporting the National Bee I spoke with spellers’ families from all over the U.S. Though they were from all kinds of backgrounds, virtually all the families were bookish, even wonderfully old-fashioned in their tendency to limit TV in favor of studies.

Yet it was the Indian parents that consistently repeated the mantra: For us, it’s all about education. Making sure that their children performed exceptionally well in all their studies — which supports the cross-discipline smarts of a top speller — is of non-negotiable importance.

This approach, which so often enables Indian-American kids to win, has ramifications that transcend the Bee. Victories by the likes of Kavya are signposts for the future. As national boundaries collapse and competition becomes increasingly international, it’s clear that the next generation of movers and shakers will come from families that emphasize education so intensely that they can compete and win in a second culture.

The shelf full of trophies won by the children of immigrants throws a challenge back at America itself. Can the country as a whole keep pace with their educational attainment? Can we bootstrap ourselves as we have in the past, this time leading a global marketplace? Can we view education not as an expense but as a critical investment?

The Great Spelling Bee of the 21st century awaits. Are we ready to face the microphone?

Mr. Maguire is the author of “American Bee: The National Spelling Bee and the Culture of Word Nerds” (Rodale, 2006).

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Full article: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124398728702579459.html

Photo: http://blogs.wsj.com/photojournal/2009/05/29/pictures-of-the-day-187/

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tetris 1

Photo of the first incarnation of Tetris, the hugely popular computer game that turned 25 in June 2009.

Hunkered in his Moscow apartment 25 years ago this week, computer engineer Alexey Pajitnov worked into the wee hours finishing a trifling game that fused his love of puzzles with his computer training.

Pajitnov later entered the game into a computer competition in a nearby city, where it placed second. There was no first place, he was told.

“I didn’t understand it either,” said Pajitnov, 60, chalking it up as a vagary of the communist system. “I was just informed my game got a very good score.”

 

tetris 2

Alexey Pajitnov, the creator of the popular computer game Tetris, which turned 25 in June 2009.

That game – Tetris – was much more than just a good game.

Twenty-five years later, it’s still a world-beater and a record-setter. It has sold more than 125 million units on 30 different computer platforms, a Guinness world record feat. More than 75 million Tetris games have been sold on mobile devices including the iPhone, where it’s one of the top games of all time.

It’s a remarkable story of a game that has challenged and entertained generations of gamers, many of whom had no previous experience with games.

“It was definitely a gateway drug in a good way,” said Joseph Olin, president of the Academy of Interactive Arts & Sciences. “It spawned a generation of today’s young adults who played on the Nintendo Game Boy.”

The story of Nintendo’s unlikely success comes down to two men, Pajitnov the creator and Henk Rogers, the American entrepreneur who secured the rights to the game for consoles and handhelds. Rogers licensed the game to Nintendo and it became a worldwide sensation on the Nintendo Game Boy portable system, which popularized the game.

Neither realized how big the puzzle game would become.

“I thought another game would come along … to eclipse it. Given enough time, I thought (designers) would come out with a better mousetrap,” said Rogers, the CEO of BluePlanet Software and part owner of the Tetris Company, which owns most of the licenses for Tetris. “But they haven’t. I feel lucky to be there in the beginning.”

While working at the Moscow Academy of Science in June 1984, Pajitnov built the game as a test for a Russian computer system called Electronika. He patterned it after a classic puzzle called the Pentamino Puzzle, but altered it into a real-time challenge in which players have to fit the falling pieces together.

tetris 3

Photo of Alexey Pajitnov playing the first version of Tetris.

The title was modified a year later for the PC and got passed along informally before video game publisher Spectrum HoloByte discovered it and decided to license it for the PC. The early years of licensing were murky but eventually Mirrorsoft distributed the game in Europe while Spectrum HoloByte sold the game in the United States.

While the game was an immediate hit on the PC, the big breakout was yet to come. After seeing Tetris at a Las Vegas tradeshow, Rogers flew to Moscow in 1988 to secure the handheld rights to Tetris for Nintendo, which he had worked out a deal with. Rogers and Nintendo won the rights for handhelds the following year using his wits, honesty and an instant connection with Pajitnov. Rogers helped Nintendo win the console rights as well. The game was packaged with the Game Boy and went on to sell 35 million units.

So what is it about a game that requires you to place blocks in rows?

“I believe there is some basic psychological pleasure sensor that Tetris has found that others don’t,” Rogers said. “The balance is so good, it feels like you can always go a little more.”

Pajitnov didn’t see any of the revenue in the first ten years of the Tetris frenzy because the Soviet government assumed the rights for the game. In 1991, he immigrated to the United States with Rogers’ help and then in 1996, when the Tetris rights reverted back to him, he started finally receiving royalties. Pajitnov later formed Blue Planet Software with Rogers to manage the Tetris rights.

Rogers thinks the game has another chapter ahead as a spectator sport. He’s developing a sprawling competition code-named the Tetris Cup to help determine a worldwide champion.

Pajitnov said he’s convinced that this “good game” can live forever.

“I don’t see the reason why people should stop playing the game,” he said. “Technology has changed but this game is totally independent of technology.”

Tetris Fun Facts:

Developed in 1984 by Alexey Pajitnov

More than 125 million Tetris games sold in more than 50 countries

More than 35 million units of Tetris were sold for the original Nintendo Game Boy

Guinness World Record for most ported game and game with the most official and unofficial variants

Englishman Faiz Chopdat, was jailed for four months for refusing to stop playing Tetris on his cell phone during a flight

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Full article and photos: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/06/02/BUSM17TLDI.DTL

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Forget, for a moment, GM and the Middle East. Barack Obama just made life a helluva lot harder for one already underperforming demographic: the husbands of America. His date-night foray to Manhattan with the First Lady was the sort of beau geste that most men could only dream about (if they even bothered to dream) but never pull off.

Sure, the president took some predictable, partisan heat from the Republican National Committee, which denounced the trip as frivolous almost before the government Gulfstream that served as a smaller-than-usual Air Force One had left the ground. But I’d bet anything that most regular people all around the country instantly got it: the man had promised his wife a Broadway show when the ordeal of the campaign was over, and he made good on his word.

Presidential travel has never been easy. Abraham Lincoln’s advisers were fit to be tied over the security risks when he decided to tour Richmond just days before the Civil War ended. Every time Franklin D. Roosevelt made the 10-hour train trip from Washington to his family home in Hyde Park, New York, hundreds, even thousands, of people got into the act. “For six hours before the president’s departure, all rail traffic was deflected from the tracks to be used, so that responsible railroad men could walk every yard of track, inspecting for cracks or broken switches,” Doris Kearns Goodwin wrote in No Ordinary Time. “In the areas adjacent to the tracks, all parked cars were removed, lest they prove hiding places for conspirators. Security agents tested the food and drinks as they were loaded into the dining car.”

Today’s White House let it be known that the president would have been more than happy to take the regular air shuttle to LaGuardia, but the Secret Service vetoed that idea. A simple effort by Joe Biden to ride the train home to Delaware a couple of weeks ago, as he did for years in the Senate, apparently caused logistical nightmares.

So give the first couple their due, which in this case involved a quiet dinner at Blue Hill (two martinis for the missus, wine with the tasting menu for him) and a pair of orchestra seats for Joe Turner’s Come and Gone, the story of a search for black identity in a Pittsburgh boarding house, circa 1911. I don’t begrudge the president one penny of whatever it cost of my taxpayer dollars to carry out his plan. I just worry about what it’s already cost me in the school of comparative spousal performance—and what it will yet cost me in any attempt to follow the president’s lead.

Todd S. Purdum, Vanity Fair

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Full article: http://www.vanityfair.com/online/politics/2009/06/obama-date-night-an-affront-to-lazy-slobs-everywhere.html

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archie may 18 3

After 67 years, Riverdale’s playboy finally picks that vixen Veronica to be his wife. Upset? Our reaction reveals a lot about how we view relationships, experts say.

One is blond, loyal and kind. The other, raven-haired, charming and rich.

Both great catches in the eyes of many, but after 67 years of being entangled in the comic world’s longest-running love triangle, Archie Andrews is set to tie the knot. His fiancé? That vixen Veronica Lodge.

Gasps resounded from the comic’s fans yesterday after Archie Comic Publications announced the flighty redhead from Riverdale picked Veronica over Betty Cooper. The publisher sent speculation swirling in mid-May when it announced a special marital-themed storyline for release in August but didn’t reveal the lucky lady. The wedding will take place after the gang graduates college and venture out into the working world.

Response to the proposal has been markedly divided. Betty fans are outraged the girl next door has been ditched yet again for the beautiful, yet spoilt, Ronnie. Many question whether Archie should marry at all, lamenting a possible end to the enduring comic-book soap opera (The last time the comic toyed with ending the triangle, Archie chose a third option, Cheryl Blossom, in a cop-out ending.)

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The cover of Archie Comics #600 shows Archie proposing to Veronica.

But whether you’re in Betty or Veronica’s corner – and let’s face it, most of us have a gut response – Archie’s choice of life-partner urges us to look inward. What does the couple we root for say about us?

Perhaps more than we realize, relationships expert Marion Goertz says.

“People who vote for Veronica-Archie are the idealists, the people who say, ‘I’m voting for the glitz, the glamour, the high energy, the sexiness, the ideal [and] they might not even care so much that it’ll only last five years,’” says the Toronto-based registered family, marriage and sex therapist.

Those who yearn to see Archie and Betty get hitched take a more realistic, traditional view, she says. They’re more grounded, are thinking long term and have more of a sense of “for always and forever.”

The way the girlfriends each relate to Archie sheds a lot of light on their character. Betty allows Archie to push her aside, a sign she’d make a submissive wife, Ms. Goertz says.

“Veronica just kind of takes what she takes and doesn’t give a whole lot in return, but there’s a sense that she’s the prize, the unattainable, the hard to reach. Archie’s quite flattered by that.”

While she wishes both women would just ditch Archie for good, Toronto sex and relationships columnist Josey Vogels says their love triangle has influenced the way we approach our dating lives.

“We [often] go between the predictable, safe, reliable, loyal, but maybe not that exciting and passionate [relationships] to the more unavailable … slightly more mysterious and angst-ridden high drama relationships,” she says, adding that the good girl vs. bad girl dichotomy is often played up in the dating game.

Archie’s pick of a modern woman who is independently wealthy (okay, it’s daddy’s money) is a sign of the times, she adds.

Feminist professor Maureen Bradley would take it a step further.

“The spoiled rich girl is still more appealing, and maybe that’s a wise thing to pick in these uncertain times,” says the associate professor of media at the University of Victoria.

The choice to create Veronica as a raven-haired minx is also surprising, she says. Historically, the temptress has always been blond – just look at Marilyn Monroe.

“I think you marry the nice girl, I don’t think you marry the whore,” she says, adding that the man of the 1950s would certainly take Betty home to their mothers and perhaps take up an affair with a girl like Veronica.

Though a modern man himself, comic-book salesman Kody Peters is outraged over what he views as Archie’s woeful taste in women.

“I’m shocked and appalled,” the 23-year-old employee of Toronto’s Silver Snail Comics bookstore said yesterday when delivered the news.

“They’re both madly in love with him, but really, aside from that, Veronica’s got nothing to offer, whereas Betty is like the sweetest girl in the whole world.”

The characters also weighed in on the proposal.

“I wonder if Betty wants to be my Maid of Honor? I bet she is so happy for me” Veronica mused on her blog yesterday. Meanwhile, Betty was speechless but expressed her sorrow amid a string of x’s and o’s. Reggie, the comic’s smarmy bad boy, was opportunistic. “Betty is probably free Friday night. Maybe I should ask her out.”

Leah, a commenter on the Neatorama.com blog, expressed surprise that Archie’s best friend Jughead was left out in the cold.

“If he doesn’t marry Jughead I will NEVER read an Archie comic again. Honestly those two have the most chemistry.”

Betty backers

As an example to children, shouldn’t Archie marry for the love of a good woman – CLEARLY that would be Betty – Turning Left

She’ll have no trouble finding “Mr. Right.” She was always my Perfect Girl, even though a cursory glance will reveal she’s Veronica with blonde hair. – B. Logan

Veronica is going to make him sign a pre-nup…. – A Happier Place

Ronnie fans

When the chips are down, go for the money – Lamont Cranston

Thank God Archie didn’t end up with a stock blonde, the generic housewife next door. At least Veronica has edge. – Cassie

Well Betty would be your true down to earth woman and Veronica is too much about maintenance. – Gary_MB

Archie is taking life lessons from Brad Pitt – sample the girl next door and then leave her for the vixen. – Gossip Girl

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Full article and photos: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/archie-commits-finally/article1155671/

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road and track may 10

2009 Mazda MX-5 PRHT

Eddie Alterman, the new editor of Car and Driver, ends his inaugural column in the June 2009 issue with a quotation from another inaugural column written by David E. Davis, Jr., when he took over the helm at Automobile in 1981: “I am not an automotive expert, nor a pundit, nor an analyst. I am a car nut, better informed than some, perhaps, because I’ve been able to eat sleep and drink cars for the past 35 years, but a car nut nonetheless.”

Amen. I could make the same statement, but change 35 years to 55 years. My love of automobiles began when I was 16 and my grandfather gave me an old green something which had been a taxi-cab (the yellow was showing through) before he made it into a transporter of paint cans and ladders. (He was a house-painter.) By the time I got out of High School, I had moved up first to a 1953 Chevy Bel-Air convertible (turquoise and white) and then to a 1955 MG TF 1500, red of course.

In graduate school, I drove a dull Mercedes 180, which I traded in for a 1960 356 Porsche. In the many years that have followed I took up with a variety of Porsches, Jaguars, Toyotas and Mercedeses (if that’s the plural), one very high-strung Alfa Romeo (a 2400, with three Weber carburetors) and (my big mistake) an AMC station wagon (what was I thinking?). Until recently I owned four convertibles, a Mercedes 430CLK, a Jaguar XJS (racing green), a Saab 900 (black on black) and a very red 1971 Oldsmobile Cutlass. I have now sold the Cutlass (its block had cracked), but I still drive the other three, and when I do I keep an eagle eye out for models that might possibly be in my (increasingly decreasing) future.

Let me hasten to add (I know Times readers) that I’ve always bought used cars and that the combined value of the machines in my driveway has rarely exceeded the price of a new Pontiac.

The name Pontiac strikes an elegiac and forlorn note (“Forlorn: the very word is like a bell”). The Pontiac is gone and the entire parent company may follow it. And then there’s all that talk about hybrids and plug-ins and the prediction, once more, of the demise of the internal combustion engine. I guess it’s all over.

Well, maybe not, for if you read the auto magazines, which I do religiously, especially in barber shops where you don’t have to pay for them, it’s still morning in America and, indeed, it’s still 1970. In the June issue of Road & Track, Douglas Kott celebrates the new Solstice: “Pontiac brings us a stunner.” (Is it a going-away present?) A longish piece in the June issue of Car and Driver lingers over the virtues and limitations of Chrysler’s Grand Caravan minivan. (Isn’t that the kind of car we want to get rid of?) And gracing the cover of Motor Trend are three “pony” cars (muscle cars to you): the Chevrolet Camaro, the Ford Mustang and the Dodge Challenger. The line above the pictures reads “The Showdown We’ve Waited 35 Years For.”

Who exactly are “we”? I guess “we” are those for whom consternation about bailouts and fears that there may soon be no American auto industry barely register except as background noise that doesn’t begin to drown out (or even divert) the story we want to hear, the story the magazines keep telling no matter what is happening on the outside. That is a story internal to the history of the development of the automobile and the investment by fans (car nuts) in the stages of that development. From a purely technical point of view those stages have only a disposable interest; once there was this or that mechanical limitation; now it has been overcome. But if you experience automobiles as an art form, periods in its history can be valued and savored for their own sake.

The letters section of Motor Trend features a lively debate between those who view the manual transmission as an imperfect precursor of the automatic transmission most of our cars now have and those for whom the manual transmission is its own finished accomplishment, one that merits celebration and study. “I’ve got half a century to go before I gain octogenarian status,” declares one reader, who hastens to tell us that “all the cars I’ve ever owned have three pedals (as God intended).” People who make such statements will be excited by questions like, “in what ways are the new pony cars like and unlike the predecessors they at once pay homage to and claim to surpass?” But when someone tells them that pretty soon there may not be any pony cars or any American cars at all, they are likely to tune out, for that is news from a universe they decline to live in.

Are we talking then about an act of massive denial? Do these magazines and their car-crazy readers subscribe to (and burnish) a fantasy that more rational types do not entertain? Maybe so, but it also might be the case that they are wiser than those who too quickly buy into the apocalyptic warnings one finds everywhere in the mainstream media. To the endless predictions of impending industry disaster, these true believers say, “This too will pass.” Some familiar and revered bands may fall by the wayside (remember DeSoto, Packard, Kaiser, Studebaker, Nash), but new ones will emerge. And through thick and thin, when all is said and done, a thing of beauty, like the manual transmission or the hemi engine, will be a joy forever.

Some years ago at a dinner party in Toronto I was seated next to Marshall McLuhan. No doubt I should have asked him what he meant, exactly, by his famous aphorism, “The medium is the message,” or what it was like to play himself in a Woody Allen movie. But those conversations never took place because within a few seconds we had discovered a shared passion. We spent the entire evening talking about Pontiacs.

Stanley Fish, New York Times

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Full article: http://fish.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/car-nuts/

Photo: http://www.roadandtrack.com/article.asp?section_id=10&article_id=8035

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golem may 10

In signs of the current vogue for the Golem, a souvenir shop in Prague sells statuettes.

They say the Golem, a Jewish giant with glowing eyes and supernatural powers, is lurking once again in the attic of the Old-New Synagogue here.

The Golem, according to Czech legend, was fashioned from clay and brought to life by a rabbi to protect Prague’s 16th-century ghetto from persecution, and is said to be called forth in times of crisis. True to form, he is once again experiencing a revival and, in this commercial age, has spawned a one-monster industry.

There are Golem hotels; Golem door-making companies; Golem clay figurines (made in China); a recent musical starring a dancing Golem; and a Czech strongman called the Golem who bends iron bars with his teeth. The Golem has also infiltrated Czech cuisine: the menu at the non-kosher restaurant called the Golem features a “rabbi’s pocket of beef tenderloin” and a $7 “crisis special” of roast pork and potatoes that would surely have rattled the venerable Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, the Golem’s supposed maker.

Even the first lady, Michelle Obama, paid her respects, when she visited Rabbi Loew’s grave last month and, following Jewish tradition, placed a prayer on a piece of paper and put it near his tombstone.

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Small stones left by visitors at the tombstone of its supposed maker, Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel.

Eva Bergerova, a theater director who is staging a play about the Golem, said it was no coincidence that this Central European story was ubiquitous at a time of swine flu and economic distress. “The Golem starts wandering the streets during times of crises, when people are worried,” Ms. Bergerova said. “He is a projection of society’s neuroses, a symbol of our fears and concerns. He is the ultimate crisis monster.”

Rabbi Manis Barash, who oversees an institute here devoted to Rabbi Loew’s work, said that “because of the financial crisis, people were increasingly turning to spirituality for meaning.”

Others, like Jakub Roth, a derivatives trader and a leader of the Jewish community, noted that the Golem had contemporary relevance because he protected sacred values from imminent dangers. “In the past this was anti-Semitism,” Mr. Roth said. “Today it is global recession, Islamic fundamentalism and Russian aggression.”

The surge in popularity of the Golem also anticipates the 400th anniversary in September of Rabbi Loew’s death in 1609, at nearly 100. A Jewish mystic and philosopher who a leading scholar of the Talmud and kabbalah and wrote at least 22 books, he was known widely as the Maharal, a great sage.

Few here dispute that the Golem, who is often depicted as either a menacing brown blob or an artificial humanoid, has become a lucrative global brand. But it is also a profound irritation to Prague’s Jewish leaders that Rabbi Loew’s legacy has been hijacked by a powerful dunce whom the Talmud characterizes as a “fool.”

“I am frustrated by the legend of the Golem in the same way I am frustrated that people buy Kafka souvenirs on every street in Prague but don’t bother to read his books,” Rabbi Karel Sidon, the chief rabbi of the Czech Republic, lamented. Alluding to the recent rise of neo-Nazis in the Czech Republic and elsewhere, however, he hastened to add, “We like the Golem because he protected the Jews.”

Rabbi Barash emphasized that in the Talmud, the Golem was considered a dumb klutz because he was literal-minded, could not speak and had no “sechel,” or intellect. “If in school,” he said, “you didn’t use your brains, the teacher would say, ‘Stop behaving like a golem.’ ”

According to one version of Prague’s Golem legend, the city’s Jews, under the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II, were being attacked, falsely accused of using the blood of Christians to perform their rituals. To protect the community, Rabbi Loew built the Golem out of clay from the banks of the Vltava River.

He used his knowledge of kabbalah to make it come alive, inscribing the Hebrew word emet, or truth, on the creature’s forehead. The Golem, whom he called Josef and who was known as Yossele, patrolled the ghetto; it is said he could make himself invisible and summon spirits from the dead.

Eventually, the Golem is said to have gone on a murderous rampage — out of unrequited love, some explain. Fearing that he could fall into the wrong hands, Rabbi Loew smeared clay on the Golem’s forehead, turning emet into met, the Hebrew word for death, and put him to rest in the attic of the Old-New Synagogue.

Though a quintessentially Jewish tale, the saga of the Golem, popularized here in a 1950s fairy tale film, has long been regarded as a Czech legend. Benjamin Kuras, a Czech playwright and the author of the book “As Golems Go,” said the fighting figure of the Golem had appeal in a nation traumatized by centuries of occupation and invasion.

“After living through the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Nazism and decades of communism, the Czechs are drawn to a character with supernatural powers that will help liberate them from oppression,” Mr. Kuras said. “Many here don’t even realize he is a Jewish monster.”

Such is the pull of the Golem that Rabbi Sidon said he received dozens of requests each year for visits to the Golem’s attic lair — requests he politely declined. During World War II, it was rumored that Nazi soldiers broke into the synagogue, and Rabbi Loew’s Golem ripped them apart, limb by limb.

“We say the Golem is in the attic, up there,” Rabbi Sidon said. “But I have never gone there. I say that if the Golem was put there 400 years ago, then today he is dirt and dust and can’t do anything to disturb anyone.”

Asked if the Golem was fact or fiction, Rabbi Sidon shrugged and sighed. “It’s possible he is real,” the rabbi said. “I just don’t know.” But he noted that there had been several cases of sage rabbis who had supposedly created golems.

Rabbi Sidon recalled that in the late 1990s, an elderly Jewish woman asked him where the Golem was. “I told her he was in the attic,” Rabbi Sidon said. “ ‘Not that one, the real one,’ ” he said the woman replied, insisting that she had been at the synagogue a year earlier and had met Mr. Golem, a lanky figure with ruddy cheeks.

Recognizing the description, the rabbi said, he confronted the synagogue’s shamash, or attendant, a man called Josef, who shares the Golem’s first name. Josef eventually confessed that he had been telling visitors he was the Golem’s great-grandson.

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Full article and photos: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/11/world/europe/11golem.html?ref=global-home

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ramirez may 10 1

A Dodgers fan shows his disappointment Thursday as he watches the first of 50 games without Manny Ramirez in the lineup.

Many fans have reacted to the Dodgers slugger’s use of a banned substance with indifference rather than indignation.

Am I out of touch? Am I too angry, too outraged about Manny Ramirez and his dope-induced exile to baseball purgatory?

In the last few days, talking to fans during Dodgers games and perusing my e-mail inbox, it’s been striking how many people feel that angry indignation is uncouth, unrealistic and absurd. Striking how many are willing to treat their favorite player as if he’s just gone off on a nice holiday. All will be forgiven, as long as No. 99 comes back swinging a fat bat.

“Hey, he cheated, everyone has their crutch, it’s not that big a deal,” said Mike Calame, 45, sitting near the left-field foul pole at Dodgers Stadium the other day. He shrugged a shrug I’d end up seeing time and again. “All I know is that he’ll be back, and he’ll be rested. That’ll be great for the Dodgers. . . . I can’t wait.”

It was no different on the Internet.

“When Manny returns it will be just like last season,” read one of many notes castigating me for castigating Ramirez. “His strength, hunger, passion and love for the game will conquer your typing. . . . What matters is what happens on the field.”

“Save the moral panic,” read another. “Most of your readers under the age of 70 have done the same long ago. . . . Is taking steroids cheating? Sure, maybe.”

Sure, maybe? Ho-hum, la-di-da , who cares . . .

How sad.

So, sitting here in the press box during the Dodgers’ Saturday win against the Giants, the question comes. Am I, along with the other journalists who are breathing fire about this sordid story, simply out of touch with a huge slice of our audience, the who-cares-who-takes-what crowd?

ramirez may 10 2

Jose Velasquez of Los Angeles dresses like Dodgers slugger Manny Ramirez to show support for the suspended player outside Dodger Stadium before Thursday’s game.

You bet I’m out of touch, and that’s the very reason it’s important everyone in the media keep laying the wood to the rule-breakers and ne’er-do-wells. Someone has to draw the line. Someone has to keep hold of standards. Someone has to give voice to those who know there’s more to life than winning. How you win, how you prepare, the ethics you bring to the ballpark and yes, to life . . . guess what? That matters.

It’s when we lose track of this, when we as a society are willing to cut too much slack, when we in the press stop drawing a hard line, that deep trouble comes. You get the last eight years, probably longer: a fool’s paradise, not just in sports and entertainment, but in politics and the economy.

I know the arguments. Who cares what Ramirez or Barry Bonds or A-Rod put in their bodies? So long as my team is on top, so long as I get to drive around with a “World Champs” bumper sticker, it doesn’t really matter.

Really? My wife teaches third grade at a school a mile from Dodger Stadium. Is this what she should tell her kids, a group that has adored Ramirez since he arrived in town? “Kids, it doesn’t matter if you cheat.”

How’d we arrive here?

I say it’s partly because “performance enhancement” is a sin committed in private. We don’t see needles plunging into forearms, don’t watch our favorite slugger downing Dianabol with the morning orange juice.

We don’t get to witness how this stuff works its magic; helping a guy approaching age 40 wake each and every day during the off-season, spry as a high school senior, primed for two hours of heavy lifting, an hour of sprints, three hours in the batting cage and then more weights.

If cheating were in the open, if it stared us in the face, if a select group operated with different rules right there in front of us, maybe we’d wise up. How would you feel about Tiger Woods if you saw him take a mulligan every time he sprayed a drive? How’d you like it if, when the Cavaliers played the Lakers, they started six players and L.A. started five?

Rules are rules. They exist for a reason. We might not like them. They might make our games less interesting. We might wish they were different, but we either abide by them or we get chaos. We get Bernie Madoff; fake, flimsy loans; economic Armageddon. We get Bonds, Clemens, A-Rod and now, Manny Ramirez.

Look, I’ve already weighed in on how hypocritical we are, a society swimming in pharmaceuticals and face-lifts, targeting athletes without looking at ourselves. I’ve even wondered if maybe, because we don’t seem to be able to catch them, we should allow pros to take steroids, with hard limits and heavy supervision. But that’s not the current reality. The current reality is that any player on the juice is a rule-breaker, a crooked scofflaw getting a leg up on colleagues who rightly won’t go there. Case closed.

Even worse, the cheats are sending the ugliest possible message about living healthily, especially to the kids who deify them.

“I’m afraid people don’t really understand how horrific this stuff is, they don’t know what it does, they don’t know that it can kill you,” said Dr. Anthony Butch, director of the UCLA Olympic Analytic Laboratory.

He equated the amount of steroids most pro athlete abusers take to smoking four packs of cigarettes a day; you don’t die right away, but your chances of making it past age 55 drip away with each puff. Butch ran through the heightened health risks. Out-of-control rage, liver damage, heart damage, lung damage, prostate damage, cancer, diabetes, infertility . . . on and on.

“What kind of message is this sending?” he asked after I’d told him how many people didn’t really care. “You know what I’d like to see? I’d like to see the fans stay away. . . . We can’t send the message that cheating is OK.”

Butch and I both know the fans will keep coming. Ramirez will be back mid-summer. It’ll be Pavlovian. First big homer, the past will fade.

Yes, eventually we should forgive him; everyone deserves a second act. But we should also regard Ramirez as tarnished, deeply so, now and for good. He held a special role, profited mightily from it and abused our trust. The fact so many disagree, that the “ho-hum, la-di-da” crowd has so much sway, is a sign of scrambled priorities. A sign we need more who are angry and indignant and offended. Count me in this last group. It’s my job.

Kurt Streeter, Los Angeles Times

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Full article and photo (1): http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-streeter10-2009may10,0,2245399.column?track=rss

Photo (2): http://www.latimes.com/sports/la-sp-plaschke-lakers10-2009may10,0,7747144.column

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Obmam kirk may 10

THE FINAL FRONTIER

I dreamed that Spock saved our planet, The Daily Planet of journalism.

Instead of swooping in to figure out the dimensionality and logarithms to rescue the world from red matter, as Spock does in J. J. Abrams’s dazzling new “Star Trek,” I imagined Spock rescuing read matter for the world.

Newspapers are an “endangered species,” as John Kerry called us in a Senate hearing last week, just as the Vulcans are in the new prequel.

I know Barack Spock likes newspapers. An aide told me during the campaign that Mr. Obama would get cranky if he didn’t have some time set aside during the day to read The New York Times.

And it was clear from his very first news conference, when I began covering his long-shot bid for the White House and he began referring to stories he had read in The Times, that Mr. Obama’s supple mind was nourished by news and books. You knew he would never inspire alarm as W. did, that if Condi walked too far away or his notes blew off the lectern, he’d be utterly lost.

Once, during his campaign trip to Europe, Mr. Obama told me that he had briefly sold subscriptions to The New York Times when he was at Columbia University to help pay for school, but confessed he wasn’t very good at it.

I said that if he won the presidency, he’d be pretty busy, but that maybe he could find time to sell a few more subscriptions. It would really help us out in the current business crunch.

He gave me that wry Spock look.

In the “Star Trek” prequel, Spock’s father tells him, “You will always be a child of two worlds,” urging him not to keep such a tight vise on his emotions. And Spandexy Old Spock, known as Spock Prime, tells his younger self: “Put aside logic. Do what feels right.”

Mr. Obama is also a control freak who learned to temper, if not purge, all emotion. But as a young man of mixed blood, he was more adept than Young Spock at learning to adjust his two sides to charm both worlds, and to balance his cerebral air with his talent for evoking intense emotion.

Just as President Spock pledged to make hope and government cool again, Mr. Abrams said he wanted his movie to make optimism cool again.

Commanding his own unwieldy starship of blended species, with Cheney, Limbaugh and other pitiless Borg aliens firing phasers from all sides, Mr. Obama has certainly invoked Mr. Spock’s Vulcan philosophy of “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.” And he even recruited some impulsive Rahmulen muscle for his Utopia.

Many other corporations are being coddled by the president. But, as Robert Gibbs correctly pointed out the other day, a government beam-up for newspapers is not logical.

One of the things Young Spock has to learn in the movie is the difference between what is morally praiseworthy and what is morally obligatory. Newspapers do a praiseworthy job of trying to keep the dark side at bay, by shining sun on it. But society may not consider us obligatory, as we’re finding out.

Senator Kerry’s hearing tried to determine, in a metaphor that was whipped to death, whether there was any way to shut the barn door now that the ink-stained horse has gotten out into the virtual pasture (making readers pay for content now that they’ve gotten used to getting it free online).

David Simon, the creator of “The Wire,” who worked for 13 years as a Baltimore Sun reporter, testified that “high-end journalism is dying,” and when that happens, and no one is manning the cop shops and zoning boards, America will enter “a halcyon era for state and local political corruption.”

He said he thought the horse could be lured back into the barn. “I work in television now,” he said, “and no American, for the first 30 years of television, paid anything for their rabbit ears. Now they pay $60, $70 a month for better content.”

Newspapers no longer know how to live long and prosper. It’s enough to make a Vulcan weep.

Kirk out.

Maureen Dowd, New York Times

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Full article and photo: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/opinion/10dowd.html?em

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star trek may 10

ALMOST exactly 40 years after the original TV series was canceled by NBC for low ratings, the 11th feature film based on or spun off “Star Trek” has arrived on a wave (I suppose I should say a photon wave) of excitement and fanfare. This latest “Star Trek” movie, a deft effort to reboot the franchise, reintroduces the old characters — Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura and the rest — as sexy young cadets setting out on the first mission of the starship Enterprise. Re-imagining their origins in a prequel, rather than depicting their further adventures in another sequel, is a cheeky act of cultural retro-activism, and perfectly in keeping with the ’60s show. “Star Trek” was, from the start, more nostalgic than futuristic.

The original series was never really about the 23rd century or outer space; and to think of it only in those terms is to misunderstand the show and ignore its real legacy. Despite its technological gimmickry — the flashing light bulbs and the transporter beams and the cafeteria dispenser that synthesizes the atomic structure of any lunch order — the series was essentially a trek around the past, and not even the real past, but the past of vintage Hollywood movies. Its fictions always had less to do with science than with popular entertainment itself.

The show appeared at a signal moment in the progression of pop culture literacy. In 1966, television viewership was exploding, and stations around the country found that they could fill hours easily and cheaply by broadcasting old movies. New York’s Channel 9, which I watched when I was young, would often run the same film twice a day, three times on weekends, for seven days in a row. Thus, the children of the ’60s became the first generation to grow up on the whole catalog of American movies, not just the films of their own day; they were the first to have a free education in pop history and to develop a hardy appetite for kitsch.

“Star Trek” was an early manifestation of our contemporary absorption with the pop culture of the past. The show’s creator, Gene Roddenberry, was a gifted hack writer for TV Westerns like “Have Gun, Will Travel” and cop shows like “Highway Patrol,” and “Star Trek,” though set in a nominally stylized future, was essentially a Western cop show. In fact, Roddenberry pitched the series to NBC as “Wagon Train” to the stars; and, as Captain Kirk noted in his log, the ship would venture out on “patrol,” cruising the galaxy like a city beat.

The Enterprise’s five-year mission, famously cut short by the network after three years, was ostensibly to seek out new worlds and new civilizations. Yet, with some exceptions, what Kirk and his crew encountered matched nobody’s conception of alien species inhabiting extra-solar worlds. The ship zipped from planet to planet as if flitting from channel to channel, essentially landing each week in a different old film.

Certainly, few living astronomers expect to find Planet 892-IV, the gladiator-movie planet, where Spock and McCoy were forced to battle in Roman games. Or Ekos, the Nazi-movie planet, where Spock ended up discomfortingly sympathetic to the fascists. Or the unnamed orb in Melkotian space, the Western planet, where the crew literally re-enacted the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Or Tarsus IV, the Shakespeare-movie planet, where everything was just frightfully dramatic.

“Star Trek” was shot for Desilu Productions, on the lot its founders, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, bought from RKO Radio Pictures, the prolific studio that had made “King Kong,” “Citizen Kane,” the Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers musicals and countless B pictures like “I Walked With a Zombie.” In time, the series moved to Paramount and if it seemed as though Kirk and his crew were venturing from old movie to old movie, Roddenberry and his crew were traveling literally from old-movie set to old-movie set.

“The majority of story premises …can be accomplished on such common studio back lot locales and sets such as Early 1900 Street, Oriental Village, Cowtown, Border Fort, Victorian Drawing Room, Forest and Streamside,” wrote Roddenberry in his original pitch. “Interiors and exteriors temporarily available after an ‘Egyptian’ motion picture, a ‘horror’ epic, or even an unusual telefilm, could be used to meet the needs of a number of story premises.”

The creative re-use of studio sets may have begun as a way to keep costs down. But the show made a kind of loopy pastiche pulp art by appropriating, referencing and recombining ideas from film history, going imaginatively — and, yes, even boldly — where many had gone before.

I can still remember the first time I saw “A Piece of the Action,” which was set on Sigma Iotia II, the gangster-movie planet, on which Kirk and Spock donned fedoras and pinstriped suits to blend in. As a boy in grade school, I found it excitingly ridiculous but baffling. Why was Spock waving around a tommy gun?

Fortunately, my big sister, then already in high school, was on hand to explain the wondrous narrative physics of the episode. I was watching a puzzle made from three things, she said: one, the “Star Trek” I understood; two, a period crime movie our father liked, called “The Roaring Twenties”; and three, the clownish “Soupy Sales Show.”

I realized years later that I had heard the future in my sister’s cheeky teasing out of the pop-culture influences in one wonderfully, unashamedly preposterous episode of “Star Trek.” Today, my 22-year-old daughter talks that way about everything.

Ultimately, then, “Star Trek” was prescient not for its futurism, with the Enterprise crew using communicators that look like flip-phones, but for exploring a universe absorbed with pop-culture history. The slogan for the new movie may be “The future begins,” but what “Star Trek” really says is, the past continues.

David Hajdu is a professor at the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism.

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Full article and photo: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/opinion/10hajdu.html?ref=opinion

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A friend of mine was meeting his soon-to-be in-laws for the first time. They had driven from a faraway state. Their license plate, he saw, consisted of an unusual, arcane scientific term: something like “GENTFRETS.” Let’s call it that.

Nothing strange so far, except that the families had never met, and my friend’s father’s license plate, relating to his profession, also read: “GENTFRETS.”

That baffling phenomenon — coincidence — intrigues me more and more as instances spice up my own life with their mysterious improbability. I’ve had some doozies.

I’m told of, but haven’t yet found, a recent book on the subject that raises the question: are coincidences more than coincidence?

The idea that they are is akin, I suppose, to those who like to say, pointedly and accusingly about a significant and injurious mishap, “Freud says there are no accidents.”

This tiresome note is eagerly sounded by its adherents when you spill hot soup on your disliked cousin, or when the wife’s pot of geraniums slips from her hands from a third-floor window sill and brains her husband. And in less dramatic instances, slips of the tongue: as when one says “wife” for “life” in saying what one is sick of. (Perhaps not less dramatic.)

First of all, Freud never said it. Or, if he did, it has escaped the notice of at least two acquaintances of mine, well-read in the works of the man V. Nabokov enjoyed calling “the Viennese quack.” Both my sources for this are licensed, Harvard-educated practitioners of the shrink trade.

What Freud did say, they tell me, is that there is nothing in behavior that doesn’t have a cause. Obscure and difficult though it may be to discover. Maybe a less than perfect understanding of that concept is where the cherished “no accidents” idea comes from.

I love my own coincidences and love to hear other peoples’ stories. Or let’s say I love most of mine.

What I don’t love is when one happens that combines wonder and chance with face-scalding embarrassment. An instance follows:

A thick fog blanketed Long Island’s east end. Alone in a shared summer house, I sought that morning’s Sunday Times for companionship.

As I headed for the newsstand’s rack of papers, so did another man. A bit ahead of me. He snatched up the remaining copy. Instant hatred. As I cursed my luck he put it back and took Newsday instead.

Grabbing that last one up, I paid and got back in the car and tossed the weighty bundle ineptly toward the passenger seat. A cascade of sections slid to the floor, leaving only Arts & Leisure exposed.

I glimpsed but one headline. It announced a coming Broadway musical to be adapted from a popular and fairly amusing book of that time. Let’s pretend its title was, say, “How to Be Sexy Tho’ Bald.” That info was taken in at a glance. I saw nothing else on the page.

Something urged me to drive to the beach and take a lonely seaside stroll in the fog. It was super thick and of the kind where a tree, for example, appears instantly and magically, two feet in front of you, invisible until that moment.

The lovely sensation of walking along the water’s edge, utterly hidden and feeling like the only person in the world, was suddenly shattered. The figure of a man appeared, those two feet before me. We startled each other and nearly bumped.

He looked familiar, but not overly. I couldn’t match his “Hey, Dick” by greeting him by his own name. After the obligatory exchange of “How ya doin’?” and “What’s happ’nin’?” I was stuck. I needed to say something to cover the embarrassment of facing a stranger who knew who I was.

In a sort of panic, I grabbed for the only thing in my head. “Can you believe the junk that gets to Broadway these days?”, I said, needing to say something .

“Like what?”

“It’s in today’s paper. They’re actually going to make a musical out of ‘How to Be Sexy Tho’ Bald.’”

“You’re kidding me, of course,” he said, with a sort of sorry look.

“No, I’m not. It’s in today’s Times.”

“You know I wrote it?”

Just typing that line decades later makes my face hot to the touch.

I went on to do the coward’s “I’ve got to stop kidding people this way” sort of pitiful, cheese-eating-grin-accompanied attempt to save the day. But it was without salvation.

Exactly how we parted is lost in memory’s own fog.

I went home and somebody had left a World Almanac on a coffee table in the rented house. I looked up how many people there are in the world.

Theoretically at least, I could have run into any one of them.

Couldn’t I?

Dick Cavett, New York Times

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Full article: http://cavett.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/05/08/seriously-what-are-the-odds/

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zuma may 9

South African President-elect Jacob Zuma dances with Nompumelelo Ntuli at their Zulu wedding last year.

To the rarefied ranks of first ladies such as Michelle Obama and Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, South Africa will add Sizakele Khumalo.

Or will it be Nompumelelo Ntuli?

Or Thobeka Mabhija?

Though South Africa’s recent general election featured all the mudslinging of a fierce political battle, it was long expected to result in the victory of ruling party leader Jacob Zuma, who is to be inaugurated as president Saturday. The real mystery — one that has intrigued South Africans for months — is which of Zuma’s wives will be the nation’s new first lady.

Zuma, a 67-year-old Zulu traditionalist, is about to become South Africa’s first polygamist president. Confronted with the first lady question, spokesmen for his party, the African National Congress, have typically declined to respond or noted that the constitution does not touch on the issue, thus allowing Zuma to choose or alternate. The party, in fact, had stayed mum on just how many wives and children Zuma has — figures that even his biographer could not nail down.

New clues emerged this week, however. At the bottom of an ANC statement that extolled Zuma’s liberation-movement credentials and ballroom-dancing skills, the party casually noted that he is a father of 19 and a husband to three: Khumalo, Ntuli and Mabhija.

On Thursday, local news media reported that all three women were on Zuma’s guest list for the inauguration, which is expected to draw 5,000 dignitaries.

But speculation remains rife about what the Times newspaper called the “protocol nightmare” of whether the state will be obligated to cover medical care, jet transportation and security for the entire Zuma brood. And South Africans are still in the dark about who will be Zuma’s date to galas and have dibs on the spousal office in the east wing of the president’s hilltop residence in Pretoria, the administrative capital.

“As a family they are supportive of each other,” said Lindiwe Zulu, an ANC spokeswoman, noting that one of Zuma’s daughters has often accompanied him to official events. “That family has got their own unique way of dealing with those issues. If they didn’t, I’m sure we would have heard about it by now.”

While providing fodder for headlines and comics, fascination with Zuma’s polygamy is rooted in deeper dilemmas in democratic South Africa, whose ultra-progressive, Western-influenced constitution enshrines equal rights for women but also protects tribal traditions that were suppressed by the white apartheid government. Among them is the mostly rural practice of polygamy, which was legalized in 1998, though only for men belonging to tribes in which it is a custom.

“South Africa is a very modern, secular country with a great constitution, but it’s also an African country. To some extent, Jacob Zuma sort of brings it full circle,” said Penelope Andrews, a law professor at Valparaiso University in Indiana who has written widely on polygamy in South Africa, her native country. “And a lot of people are obviously fine with it.”

But not everyone. As elections approached, the leader of the African Christian Democratic Party attacked polygamy as “abuse of women.” In an open letter to Zuma in the Mail & Guardian newspaper Friday, gender rights activist Colleen Lowe Morna wrote of Zuma’s wives: “I doubt you would countenance any one of them having several husbands.” One recent opinion poll found that 74 percent of respondents opposed polygamy.

But that survey was conducted in urban areas, and Zuma’s backers say that is part of the problem. Critics, they maintain, are elites whose opinions are out of touch with many of their compatriots, particularly those who live in rural areas like the one where Zuma, who grew up herding cows, keeps a homestead. The ANC swept the elections with almost 66 percent of the vote, a resounding victory attributed in large part to Zuma’s appeal.

“Jacob Zuma’s pride in his culture is what has played such a large part in his hyper-popularity in this country,” one reader wrote in a letter to the Star newspaper on Friday, saying Zuma was a victim of “pandering to overseas European values.”

Zuma draws vigorous support from the ANC Women’s League, which approves of polygamy as long as wives enter into it willingly and the husband takes good care of all spouses and children, said Zulu, the ANC spokeswoman. Though Zulu said she “may not agree with it,” she said she is certain the Zuma marriages meet those standards.

“There are plenty of politicians who have mistresses and children who they hide so as to pretend they’re monogamous,” Zuma once told a television interviewer. “I prefer to be open. I love my wives, and I’m proud of my children.”

By most counts, Zuma has been married five times. One marriage, to Foreign Minister Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, ended in divorce in 1998. Another wife, Kate Mantsho Zuma, committed suicide in 2000.

Zuma has been married since 1973 to his first wife, Khumalo, who lives at Zuma’s country home and rarely appears in public. He wed Ntuli, who is in her mid-30s and often attends high-profile soirees, at a traditional Zulu ceremony last year. Early this year, news broke that he had paid lobola — a sort of bride price, often given in the form of cattle or cash — to the family of Mabhija, a socialite in her mid-30s. But there was no confirmation of their marriage until this week’s ANC statement. His children range in age from infancy to older than 30.

Zuma’s first lady situation is not unique, though his counterparts on the world stage tend to be kings, not presidents. King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is reported to have about four wives. King Mswati III of Swaziland is expected at the Zuma inauguration — most likely with one of his 13 or so wives on his arm.

First ladies in democratic South Africa have not been major figures. Nelson Mandela, South Africa’s first black president and a bachelor for most of his presidency, was often accompanied to events by his daughter. Thabo Mbeki’s wife was well recognized but hardly the subject of scrutiny or adoration.

The wife of Kgalema Motlanthe, South Africa’s interim president since September, was such an unknown that a newspaper launched an investigation in January to find out who she is. That backfired after the newspaper reported that it had discovered a young and pregnant mistress of Motlanthe along the way, then retracted that after the woman recanted her story.

Even so, pundits and observers do not doubt that each Zuma wife would like the title. One Zuma insider has been quoted as saying Khumalo, as the oldest, is the most likely choice. Other reports predict the younger and more social Mrs. Zumas will vie for the job.

“You know the TV show ‘Desperate Housewives’? It’s going to be Desperate First Wives,” said Andrews, the law professor. “I imagine there’s going to be a little bit of controversy for the first year or two.”

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Full article and photo: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/08/AR2009050803964.html?hpid=topnews

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Liverpool Anglican Catherdral

The cathedral will play out Imagine on 16 May

The bells of Liverpool’s Anglican Cathedral are to ring out to John Lennon’s anti-religious anthem Imagine.

The bells will play the 1971 song, which begins “Imagine there’s no Heaven”, as part of an arts festival on 16 May at 1300 BST and 1430 BST.

A cathedral spokesman said: “Allowing Imagine to be pealed on our bells does not mean we agree with the song lyric.”

The song has drawn criticism from some religious figures as Lennon himself as called the anthem “anti-religious”.

Liverpool Cathedral said it had carefully considered the “sensitivities” surrounding the song’s lyrical content.

“But we recognise its power to make us think. As a cathedral we do not shrink from debate. We recognise the existence of other world views,” added the cathedral spokesman.

The original idea to ring out Imagine came from artist Cleo Evans, who was commissioned by Futuresonic, a cultural festival, to develop the concept with the Anglican Cathedral.

She said: “Imagine is an incredibly gentle, philosophical and moving song which speaks strongly of the need for peace.

“It is an iconic song which will be performed in a thought-provoking and surprising setting.”

Lennon’s widow, Yoko Ono said the idea was “so beautiful, it made me choke up”.

Ringer Sam Austin, 23, a student at Manchester’s Royal Northern College of Music will lead the recital.

He and seven volunteer bell ringers started rehearsals by playing the melody on hand-bells before progressing to the “world famous” Anglican bells, which are the highest and heaviest ringing peal bells in the world.

The 13 bells are arranged around ‘Great George’, a central ringing bell which weighs over 14 tonnes and can be heard for miles around.

A spokesman for Liverpool Catholic Diocese said it had no comment on the project.

__________

Imagine by John Lennon on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okd3hLlvvLw

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Full article and photo: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/merseyside/8040238.stm

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It’s 40 years since the global antiwar anthem Give Peace a Chance was created during John Lennon and Yoko Ono’s celebrated bed-in.

lennon may 8

Gerry Deiter photographer

Like so many who streamed through the Queen Elizabeth Hotel in that week in May 1969, I was there by chance. Life magazine was working quickly to cover this unexpected event, and while normally I did a lot of fashion photography, this was a sudden assignment anyone would have been a fool to pass up. A few hours, I thought. I had no idea I would be there for a week.

I stayed for two reasons: because John and Yoko wanted me to; and because it seemed to me they were doing the right thing at precisely the right time. It was only two years after the “summer of love”, when hope was never higher, when an entire generation of young Americans, Canadians and Europeans believed they held the world’s future in their hands. It was a time of idealism, of optimism, of pacifism. Yet the Vietnam War was at its peak; there were more than half a million US soldiers in combat. Global opposition to the war was coalescing.

John Lennon understood that his voice would count. But make no mistake about it, even though he was a Beatle, immensely wealthy and influential, he was still risking everything. He was viewed by much of the world with as much suspicion, confusion and ambivalence as the war itself . . . a man with a “strange” oriental wife whose art, although innovative and original, was universally misunderstood and largely ignored by the art world. And they were going to try to convince people that the war really was over; all you had to do was believe it. A simple message. So they took to a bed in a Montreal hotel in a very public manner, inviting the world to join them.

The images remain crystal clear in my memory: a huge buffet in the dining room, with pitchers of orange juice and bottles of champagne cooling in silver buckets; in the master bedroom one wall was covered with posters drawn in a primitive, yet childishly charming style, combining peace slogans with self-portraits of John and Yoko. Flowers bloomed in every corner of the crowded room, at the centre of which was a king-size bed and a small bedside table, also covered with flowers and bearing a small Buddha. It looked like a devotional shrine.

And then the central image: John Lennon Ono and Yoko Ono Lennon, both with flowing dark hair set against white linen sheets. He wore his trademark granny glasses and a full beard that made him look like a holy man; her raven tresses fanned out around her head on the pillow, and her dark eyes flashed warmly in greeting.

Having been present at the birth of Give Peace a Chance, I never stopped feeling a profound responsibility to spread that simple message. Perhaps as we raise our voices together, we’ll be able to hear an echo of John’s voice singing, “Give peace a chance.” That voice still animates my days and flows through my dreams at night.

Alison Gordon TV producer

I recall the whole experience in a golden glow, not so much for the ineffable shimmering of the experience, but because John and Yoko had taped clear yellow gels over all the windows, so the light came through warm as honey. They knew how to dress a set.

And a set it undeniably was. Despite the chaos everywhere else, the bed — their stage — seemed somehow removed from it all. It was quite extraordinary: despite the yappy disc jockeys broadcasting “LIVE! From the Bed-In for Peace!”; despite the self-important people coming and going like ants with urgent requests; despite the room-service deliveries and starstruck fans always hovering; despite the occasional incursions of Hare Krishna devotees with chanting and drums; despite all of that, the bed and the two small people dressed in white nightclothes curled up together on it seemed to be in a bubble of calm, well, of peace, actually, throughout those strange few days. It was as if there was an invisible box around them, and they were insulated within it.

I was there for four or five days and I don’t recall speaking directly to either John or Yoko. I was part of a CBC television crew filming a documentary for the weekly current affairs magazine The Way It Is. The idea for the programme came as a response to the US Government’s refusal to let the couple into the country because of Lennon’s record of cannabis use. Some of the younger producers on the programme hit on the idea of bringing the country to them, instead. Working with Lennon’s people, we invited a cross-section of Americans to Montreal to be filmed with John and Yoko.

Among those we brought in were Tom Smothers, whose TV variety show had just been cancelled by CBS for political reasons; Dick Gregory, the outspoken black comedian; and Nat Hentoff, the left-wing jazz critic and columnist for New York’s Village Voice.

It being the Sixties, my recall of the details of several days I spent there tends to be a bit spotty. (I do remember being dazzled by a sterling silver cigarette case with professionally rolled joints as smooth as cigarettes, wrapped in pastel-coloured papers, the contents of which made climbing the hill back to the hotel seem to be a feat worthy of Sir Edmund Hillary, but that’s neither here nor there, and irrelevant to John and Yoko. In their bedroom the drug of choice seemed to be Pouilly-Fouissé.) Which is to say that I don’t quite recall the circumstances surrounding the recording of Give Peace a Chance. However it came about, there were a bunch of us — 30 or 40, maybe, including some of the visiting celebrities — sitting on the floor in the bedroom, on the walls of which John had taped big boards with lyrics scrawled on them: all those crazy off-kilter rhyming couplets in lists — “evolution, revolution; masturbation, flagellation; bagism, shagism; ministers, sinisters; bishops, fishops; rabbis, popeyes, bye-byes”.

As much fun as it was to sing along with the chorus — hey, how much cooler could cool get? — I can’t imagine that any of us thought we were involved in music history. I didn’t even think it would ever be produced and aired. It was too clumsy, too unmusical. But I was wrong, about the lasting impact of the song and about the quality of the performance.

I now see the whole experience as a kind of pop-culture Stockholm syndrome, in the most benign possible way. The gaggle of strangers had been through a lot of weird stuff in the days that led up to the recording; trapped in a room with the film crews, the interviews, the lights, the delegations bearing gifts and babies to be kissed.

You can hear all of that in the recording. Whenever I hear it, there are a couple of things I wonder about: how can it be that no one among the leaders of the world has yet given peace a chance, and how come I never got any royalties?

André Perry music producer

The phone rang shortly after midnight. Pierre Dubord, an executive for Capitol Records, distributors of the Beatles’ Apple Records label, announced that John Lennon wanted to make a recording the next day in his suite. Would I do it? I said: “Of course,” my mind rushing to co-ordinate the details.

When I arrived John and I discussed the recording procedure. I looked at the low ceiling and sheetrock walls sceptically, thinking that these must be the worst conditions for making a recording. I did the best set-up I could in the circumstances. We recorded it only twice, everyone in the room singing and banging on telephone books, ashtrays, whatever.

The sun was rising when I left John and Yoko. I went directly to my studio to mix the recording. I still hadn’t slept a wink by the time I returned. John thanked me and graciously gave me a signed Hair Peace poster. More importantly, he ordered a special label for the international release of the single, bearing prominently my name and the address of my studio, a gesture of appreciation that won international attention for the young engineer/producer that I was. It was quite a boost to my career.

Yoko Ono

From the very first moment John and I saw each other, we knew something was about to happen — something big. We just didn’t know how big. John said about our meeting: “It was bigger than both of us.” That was the feeling we had. When John and I sang Give Peace a Chance, we had no idea the song would become an anthem not only for our time but for generations to come.

It went around the world, and made other songwriters realise that you can convey political messages with songs. Millions of people got together and sung the song in different parts of the world at different times. The song connected us and made us realise that we were a power strong enough to GIVE PEACE A CHANCE — change the world. Little did we know that that’s when we, John and I, really made our beds for life.

I still remember the beautiful full moon that John and I kept looking at from the bed, after everybody went home. Did anybody think that a man and a woman, a man from Liverpool, and a woman from Tokyo, would do something crazy like that together to change the world? Maybe it was written already on a stone on the moon or something. At the time, we were laughed at and put down, in a major way, by the whole world. Now all of us are standing at the threshold of a beautiful new age that we worked hard for. It’s not in our hands yet, but we know we will make it happen. Let’s make the best of it and have fun. I think John would have been very pleased too.

IMAGINE PEACE WAR IS OVER, if you want it.

I love you!

Edited extract from Give Peace a Chance: John & Yoko’s Bed-in for Peace, compiled by Joan Athey, photographs by Gerry Deiter.

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Give Peace a chance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-NRriHlLUk

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Full article and photo: http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/music/article6248757.ece

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Dom DiMaggio

Dominic_DiMaggio_050809.jpg

Dominic DiMaggio (left) and older brother Joe posed for a photo in April 1940.

Dom DiMaggio, who despite having to share an outfield with Ted Williams and a name with his older brother Joe became a diamond standout in his own right, earning All-Star status seven times during 11 seasons with the Red Sox, has died. He was 92.

DiMaggio died this morning at his home in Marion, said Pam Ganley, Red Sox director of media relations. The cause wasn’t immediately released.

The author David Halberstam described Mr. DiMaggio as “probably the most underrated player of his day.” Playing in the shadow of the era’s two biggest superstars made that inevitable, perhaps. But neither of his great contemporaries failed to appreciate Mr. DiMaggio’s talents. Williams considered him “the best leadoff man in the American League,” and his older brother called him “the best defensive outfielder I’ve ever seen.”

DiMaggio’s wife, Emily, said her husband had been ill recently. “He was the most wonderful, warm, loving man,” she told The Associated Press. “He adored his children, and we all adored him.”

Elected to the Red Sox Hall of Fame in 1995, Mr. DiMaggio spent his major league career in Boston, playing for the Sox from 1940 to 1942, then from 1946 to 1953. He lost three seasons to wartime service in the Navy.

Mr. DiMaggio, who stood 5-feet-9-inches tall and wore eyeglasses, was nicknamed “the Little Professor,” a tribute to his intelligence on the field as well as his scholarly mien and slight stature. Along with canniness, Mr. DiMaggio brought quickness and speed to the Red Sox lineup. He led the American League in stolen bases in 1950, with 15 (the lowest figure ever to lead either major league in that category). He also led the league that year in triples, with 11.

Mr. DiMaggio had a lifetime batting average of .298. He scored more than 100 runs seven times, twice leading the American League in that category. He hit safely in 34 consecutive games, a Red Sox record, in 1949. Two years later, he hit safely in 27 consecutive games.

Mr. DiMaggio’s skill as a hitter inadvertently helped create one of the darkest moments in Red Sox history, their defeat at the hands of the St. Louis Cardinals in the seventh and deciding game of the 1946 World Series. In the top of the eight inning, he doubled home two runs to tie the game at 3-3 — but pulled a hamstring on the way to second base.

Leon Culberson replaced him in center field. In the bottom of the eighth, with two outs, the Cardinals’ Enos Slaughter tried to score from first on a single. Culberson was slow to field the ball, then made a mediocre throw to shortstop Johnny Pesky, whose throw home was too little, too late. Slaughter was safe, giving the Cardinals the lead and, half an inning later, the championship.

“If they hadn’t taken DiMaggio out of the game,” Slaughter later said of his daring sprint, “I wouldn’t have tried it.”

Mr. DiMaggio, who had started in baseball as a shortstop, played the outfield like an infielder. He specialized in charging balls hit through the infield and using his powerful throwing arm to cut down advancing runners. (Slaughter had good reason to be leery of Mr. DiMaggio: He threw out three runners in the ’46 Series.) He was also celebrated for his range, using his quickness to get a good jump on the ball and positioning his body to face left field rather than home plate, which he felt saved him a step on balls hit in front of him.

“He was the easiest outfielder I ever played with,” Williams said. “When he yelled ‘Mine!’ you didn’t have to worry about the rest of that play.” Williams was uniquely qualified to comment on Mr. DiMaggio’s fielding ability. It was often said that because of his teammate’s slowness afoot Mr. DiMaggio had responsibility for both his own center-field position and Williams’ in left.

According to Halberstam, many of Mr. DiMaggio’s teammates felt that batting leadoff for the Sox was “the hardest job in baseball” because that meant he had to face a barrage of questions back in the dugout from Williams, who batted third. “What was he throwing Dommy, was he fast, was he tricky, was he getting the corners? Come on, Dommy, you saw him.” The highly analytical and driven Williams found his match in the highly analytical and composed Mr. DiMaggio.

One of Williams’ closest friends, Mr. DiMaggio begrudged the Splendid Splinter neither his interrogations nor his preeminence with the Red Sox. Relations with his brother were more charged. Mr. DiMaggio never suggested he was the superior ballplayer. “I can do two things better than he can,” he would say when asked to compare himself to Joe, “play pinochle and speak Italian.” He did, however, resent those who saw him only in terms of Joltin’ Joe.

“Yes, he’s my brother — and I’m his brother,” Mr. DiMaggio liked to say. “It’s been a struggle all my life…. It followed me all through my major league career. I was always Joe’s kid brother…. I never encouraged my two sons to get into baseball. I knew it would be twice as hard on them as it was on me. The Joe DiMaggio legend was just too strong.”

The two DiMaggios played the same position (as did an older brother, Vince, who spent 10 seasons playing in the National League). They played for teams that were each other’s fiercest rival. Joe’s most famous achievement was hitting safely in 56 consecutive games. Having hit safely in 34 straight games, Dom found his own streak ended when Joe made the put-out on his final at-bat of what would have been the 35th game.

“Oh, Joe DiMaggio was a great player, but Dominic’s got all the brains in the family,” Emily (Frederick) DiMaggio, his wife, said in a 1971 interview.

Born in San Francisco on Feb. 12, 1917, Dominic Paul DiMaggio was the son of Giuseppe Paola DiMaggio, a fisherman, and Rosalie (Mercurio) DiMaggio. He was the youngest of nine children. “I think Pop’s pride and joy was Dom,” Joe DiMaggio once said. “When Dominic was in short pants, Pop wanted him to become a lawyer because ‘he wears glasses.’”

Instead, Mr. DiMaggio wanted to be a chemical engineer. His athletic talents soon made him alter that ambition, though, and he followed in the footsteps of Joe and Vince.

Mr. DiMaggio started out as a shortstop (which would shape his distinctive fielding style in the outfield), but managers feared a bad hop might break his glasses so he was switched to the outfield.

Mr. DiMaggio’s exploits with the minor league San Francisco Seals drew the attention of major league scouts, and the Red Sox signed him in 1939. Starting out in right field, he demonstrated such prowess with his glove the team traded its All-Star center fielder, Doc Cramer, to open up that position for him. He finished the season with a .301 batting average.

Mr. DiMaggio enlisted in the Navy in 1942. Gathering no rust while in the service, he batted .316 in his first season back. He did, though, suffer an eye injury in 1943 while stationed on the West Coast that would develop into chorio-retinitis and force his retirement in 1953. The eye trouble led Sox manager Lou Boudreau to bench Mr. DiMaggio. He retired two months into the season. “I didn’t want to hang around if I couldn’t play regularly,” he said in a 1987 interview of his decision to end his career.

In 1940, Hall of Famer Ty Cobb had said, “Dom’s a throwback to the kind of players we used to have.” In many ways, though, Mr. DiMaggio was more a forerunner than throwback: the athlete as business professional. Toward the end of his playing career, he served as American League player representative in negotiations between players and owners. After retiring, he founded two highly successful manufacturing firms. One made carpeting for automobile interiors; the other made foam padding for automobile seats.

An example of Mr. DiMaggio’s business success was his membership in the Boston Patriots’ original ownership group. He purchased 10 percent of the team in 1960 for $25,000 — and sold it six years later for $300,000. That same year, he made unsuccessful overtures to Red Sox owner Tom Yawkey about buying the team. He also headed a syndicate that tried to purchase the team in 1977, after Yawkey’s death.

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Full article and photo: http://www.boston.com/news/local/breaking_news/2009/05/former_red_sox_1.html

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Tom Hanks, Dan Brown and Ron Howard

Hanks, Dan Brown and Ron Howard were in Rome to promote the film

Director Ron Howard has accused the Vatican of trying to hamper the filming of his new movie, Angels & Demons, starring Tom Hanks.

The movie sequel to author Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code features symbolist Robert Langdon helping to rescue four kidnapped cardinals.

But Howard said the Vatican exerted its influence “through back channels” to prevent filming near certain churches.

A Vatican spokesman said the director’s claims were purely a publicity stunt.

Howard told a news conference: “When you come to film in Rome, the official statement to you is that the Vatican has no influence.

Filming barred

“Everything progressed very smoothly, but unofficially a couple of days before we were to start filming in several of our locations, it was explained to us that through back channels and so forth that the Vatican had exerted some influence.”

Last summer, Rome’s diocese confirmed it had barred producers from filming inside two churches because the movie did not conform to the church’s views.

Angels & Demons

Ewan McGregor also stars in Angels & Demons

The director also claimed the Vatican got an event related to the film’s premiere in Rome cancelled.

“There was supposed to be a reception or screening here in Rome that had been approved and I suppose that the Vatican had some influence over that,” he said.

Speaking to the Associated Press the Vatican spokesman, the Reverend Federico Lombardi, refused to comment on Howard’s allegations about church interference, saying his charges were purely designed to drum up publicity for the film.

Science vs religion

Catholic critics were unhappy with The Da Vinci Code which suggests that Jesus married Mary Magdalene and had children, creating a royal bloodline that Church officials kept secret for centuries.

But Howard challenged them to see the new movie before condemning it.

“My only frustration as a film-maker is that we actually reached out a couple of times, to sort of offer opportunities for bishops and others just to see the film. And those opportunities have all been declined,” he said.

“So far all the criticism, all of the complaints about the film have been coming from people who haven’t seen it.”

Over the weekend, a 102-year-old Italian bishop was quoted in the Italian media calling the film “highly denigrating, defamatory and offensive to Church values”.

However, the storyline of Angels & Demons does not raise questions about Jesus Christ – it is billed as a “science vs religion” thriller that deals with an attempt to hijack a papal election.

Howard’s adaptation of The Da Vinci Code, which was panned by critics, earned more than $750m (£505m) at the box office worldwide.

Angels & Demons will be released in the UK on 15 May.

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Full article and photos: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/entertainment/8032514.stm

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janet-jackson

Janet Jackson, left, covers her breast during the half time performance with Justin Timberlake at Super Bowl XXXVIII on Feb. 1, 2004.

The Supreme Court on Monday ordered a federal appeals court to re-examine its ruling in favor of CBS Corp. in a legal fight over entertainer Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction.

The high court on Monday directed the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals in Philadelphia to consider reinstating the $550,000 fine that the Federal Communications Commission imposed on CBS over Jackson’s breast-baring performance at the 2004 Super Bowl.

The order follows the high court ruling last week that narrowly upheld the FCC’s policy threatening fines against even one-time uses of curse words on live television.

Last year, the appeals court threw out the fine against CBS, saying the FCC strayed from its long-held approach of applying identical standards to words and images when reviewing complaints of indecency.

The appellate court said the incident lasted nine-sixteenths of one second and should have been regarded as “fleeting.” The FCC previously deviated from its nearly 30-year practice of fining indecent broadcast programming only when it was so “pervasive as to amount to ‘shock treatment’ for the audience,” the court said.

The FCC appealed to the Supreme Court. The case had been put off while the justices dealt with a challenge led by Fox Television against the FCC’s policy on fleeting expletives.

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Full article: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/05/04/AR2009050401428.html?hpid=topnews

Photo: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124143580583682975.html#mod=article-outset-box

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Henry

Henry’s owners are baffled as to where he finds his socks

The owners of a cat with a passion for socks are leafleting their neighbours in the Loughborough area to see if they are missing any.

Henry, who is now a year old, has taken at least 57 socks although it is still unclear whether he gets them from washing lines or people’s houses.

He is often seen on a wall near his home with the hosiery in his mouth.

But owner Louise Brandon said they had so far been unable to reunite the stolen socks with their owners.

She said: “People must be going and replacing the socks because now we’re getting new ones.

“But no, there just seems to this endless supply of neighbourhood socks coming in and we don’t know where they’re coming from. So it’s a bit embarrassing.”

Her four-year-old daughter Eloise added: “He steals socks every day.”

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Full article and photo: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/leicestershire/8030168.stm

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See also:

Cat burglar steals 50 pairs of socks

Meet Henry – a real-life cat burglar with a peculiar taste in swag – socks.

The mischievous moggy has brought back more than 50 socks to puzzled owner Anne Brandon in the past three months.

She is desperate to find out who they belong to, so she can return the plundered booty.

Anne, 67, a retired admin worker, of Charles Street, Loughborough, said: “It’s getting really, really embarrassing. I’ve got a huge bag full of people’s socks and I have no idea where they are coming from.

“I’ve been round to my neighbour’s houses and asked if they’re missing anything from their washing lines but no-one seems to know what I’m talking about.

“One neighbour told me she sees Henry walking along her wall with socks in his mouth all the time, but where he gets them from is a mystery. I just want people to contact me so I can finally give them their stuff back.”

Henry’s owner believes the socks are being taken from neighbours’ washing lines or clothes baskets.

During Anne’s granddaughter’s fourth birthday party, Henry bought home his largest single haul so far of four socks.

Anne said: “We all laughed about it and although it was just a coincidence, it was still funny that he turned up with a large batch of socks on Eloise’s birthday.

“He’s a very friendly cat and everybody in the area loves him. He’s always going into people’s houses, so he’s certainly not shy.

“No-one has complained, but I’m just desperate to return these socks.”

It is thought that the socks come from homes near Charles Street and Alfred Street, in Loughborough.

Anne is worried about Henry suffering reprisals, however, and asked us to blank out his face on the photograph.

Sally Walker, who works in the cattery at the Woodside Animal Centre, in Scudamore Road, Braunstone Frith, said: “To be honest, I’ve never heard of anything like this before.

“Cats like to bring gifts or presents to their owners, but it’s usually things like birds and mice.

“I have heard of cats coming home with joints of meat from barbecues, but never socks.”

To help Anne reunite the socks with their owners, the Mercury has put pictures of the socks on its website.

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Socks: http://www.thisisleicestershire.co.uk/galleries/Socks-appeal-gallery-936693-detail/gallery.html

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Full article: http://www.thisisleicestershire.co.uk/news/Cat-burglar-steals-50-pairs-socks/article-938122-detail/article.html

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Genius: The Modern View

Some people live in romantic ages. They tend to believe that genius is the product of a divine spark. They believe that there have been, throughout the ages, certain paragons of greatness — Dante, Mozart, Einstein — whose talents far exceeded normal comprehension, who had an other-worldly access to transcendent truth, and who are best approached with reverential awe.

We, of course, live in a scientific age, and modern research pierces hocus-pocus. In the view that is now dominant, even Mozart’s early abilities were not the product of some innate spiritual gift. His early compositions were nothing special. They were pastiches of other people’s work. Mozart was a good musician at an early age, but he would not stand out among today’s top child-performers.

What Mozart had, we now believe, was the same thing Tiger Woods had — the ability to focus for long periods of time and a father intent on improving his skills. Mozart played a lot of piano at a very young age, so he got his 10,000 hours of practice in early and then he built from there.

The latest research suggests a more prosaic, democratic, even puritanical view of the world. The key factor separating geniuses from the merely accomplished is not a divine spark. It’s not I.Q., a generally bad predictor of success, even in realms like chess. Instead, it’s deliberate practice. Top performers spend more hours (many more hours) rigorously practicing their craft.

The recent research has been conducted by people like K. Anders Ericsson, the late Benjamin Bloom and others. It’s been summarized in two enjoyable new books: “The Talent Code” by Daniel Coyle; and “Talent Is Overrated” by Geoff Colvin.

If you wanted to picture how a typical genius might develop, you’d take a girl who possessed a slightly above average verbal ability. It wouldn’t have to be a big talent, just enough so that she might gain some sense of distinction. Then you would want her to meet, say, a novelist, who coincidentally shared some similar biographical traits. Maybe the writer was from the same town, had the same ethnic background, or, shared the same birthday — anything to create a sense of affinity.

This contact would give the girl a vision of her future self. It would, Coyle emphasizes, give her a glimpse of an enchanted circle she might someday join. It would also help if one of her parents died when she was 12, infusing her with a profound sense of insecurity and fueling a desperate need for success.

Armed with this ambition, she would read novels and literary biographies without end. This would give her a core knowledge of her field. She’d be able to chunk Victorian novelists into one group, Magical Realists in another group and Renaissance poets into another. This ability to place information into patterns, or chunks, vastly improves memory skills. She’d be able to see new writing in deeper ways and quickly perceive its inner workings.

Then she would practice writing. Her practice would be slow, painstaking and error-focused. According to Colvin, Ben Franklin would take essays from The Spectator magazine and translate them into verse. Then he’d translate his verse back into prose and examine, sentence by sentence, where his essay was inferior to The Spectator’s original.

Coyle describes a tennis academy in Russia where they enact rallies without a ball. The aim is to focus meticulously on technique. (Try to slow down your golf swing so it takes 90 seconds to finish. See how many errors you detect.)

By practicing in this way, performers delay the automatizing process. The mind wants to turn deliberate, newly learned skills into unconscious, automatically performed skills. But the mind is sloppy and will settle for good enough. By practicing slowly, by breaking skills down into tiny parts and repeating, the strenuous student forces the brain to internalize a better pattern of performance.

Then our young writer would find a mentor who would provide a constant stream of feedback, viewing her performance from the outside, correcting the smallest errors, pushing her to take on tougher challenges. By now she is redoing problems — how do I get characters into a room — dozens and dozens of times. She is ingraining habits of thought she can call upon in order to understand or solve future problems.

The primary trait she possesses is not some mysterious genius. It’s the ability to develop a deliberate, strenuous and boring practice routine.

Coyle and Colvin describe dozens of experiments fleshing out this process. This research takes some of the magic out of great achievement. But it underlines a fact that is often neglected. Public discussion is smitten by genetics and what we’re “hard-wired” to do. And it’s true that genes place a leash on our capacities. But the brain is also phenomenally plastic. We construct ourselves through behavior. As Coyle observes, it’s not who you are, it’s what you do.

David Brooks, New York Times

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Full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/01/opinion/01brooks.html?ref=opinion

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A spokesman for China’s Hunan Satellite Television said Tuesday that “Happy Girls”, its proposed version of “American Idol”, had won conditional approval from the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television.

Li Chao told Xinhua the singing contest would last no more than two months and must be aired after 10:30 p.m.. The TV anchors should act and speak decently and the judges should be authoritative and observe common courtesy.

The conditional approval came after a similar reality show planned by Hunan TV was cancelled last year amid criticism that it promoted vulgarity and encouraged youngsters to seek instant celebrity. 

TV company executives were discussing the timetable and rules of the contest, Li Chao said. But he added they would stick to the tradition of selecting the best singers to the taste of the general public.

Hunan TV broadcast “Super Girls” from 2004 to 2006 and “Happy Boys” in 2007. 

 ”Super Girls” drew 400 million viewers for the finale of its four-month run in 2005 and helped contestants, including the winner, Li Yuchun, gain nationwide celebrity.

In 2004 and 2005, there was no age limit for contestants. But in 2006 and 2007, the contestants had to be aged over 18.

The show attracted as many as 50,000 contestants in one year. Besides the judges, viewers also could vote for their favorite singers by text message.

In a similar show, “Britain’s Got Talent”, Susan Boyle, 47, became a celebrity almost overnight earlier this month, after the clip of her rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” was viewed millions of times on video-sharing websites.

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Full article: http://news.xinhuanet.com/english/2009-04/29/content_11276508.htm

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David Brooks: Gail, so there I was standing by the elevators in the U.S. Capitol this morning, and along come a posse of Democratic senators, each of them smiling from ear to ear. It looked like the Seven Dwarfs singing “Whistle While You Work” only taller, quieter and, if you can believe it, happier.

One of the senators shouts over to me with a big beam, “Did you hear about Specter?” I just had, but I still wasn’t quite prepared for the joy on the Democratic side, nor the glumness I subsequently discovered on the Republican side.

This emotional outpouring isn’t about Specter personally, I suspect. Democrats are not that enamored of the guy, and some Republicans were tired by the way he felt compelled to expound on every subject, whether he had expertise or not, during their Tuesday policy lunches.

It’s more about the tides of history. The tides are still moving in a Democratic direction.

Pennsylvania voters are swept up in those tides, and Specter is trying desperately to follow. The Democrats I saw on Capitol Hill were experiencing the joy you feel when your team, already up by four touchdowns, scores yet another. Let’s call it the joy of pulverization.

For Republicans this was demoralization piled on top of demoralization. Many Republicans I speak to are apathetic about their own party unless they are paid to care. It’s like how you feel about your favorite team at the end of a losing season. They’re still your team. You just don’t care about them. (I am male — must use sports metaphors.)

My own view is that Republicans will have to lose three presidential elections to regain their dominance. That’s how long it took the British Conservatives. There’s almost zero sign of rethinking so far.

In the meantime, I do have to salute Specter’s deft ability to survive. I thought he was cooked. He would have lost the G.O.P. primary. I’ve been told he no longer has the physical stamina to run two tough campaigns — primary and general. I figured he couldn’t get the Democratic nomination, because Democrats do after all prefer to vote for Democrats. And it’s tough to run as an Independent.

And yet the odds are that now he’ll keep his job. He did it by winning over the Obama administration, and, I presume getting Gov. Ed Rendell to clear the field for him. What a savvy dude!

Gail Collins: David, if the question is whether the Democrats are happy because: A.) They have the potential 60th Senate vote or B.) They’re looking forward to the opportunity to spend more quality lunch time with Arlen Specter, I think we can all agree with your assessment.

And you sound so sad and discouraged that I don’t have the heart to wallow in this latest Republican disaster.

If I remember correctly, when we were together at an event last week, you said the Republicans would have to lose two more elections before they regained their footing. Have you added another four years, or were you counting 2008 as Therapeutic Loss No. 1? If so, it doesn’t seem to have produced the needed prod toward self-realization.

Everybody knows, of course, that even when Al Franken finally makes it to Washington, getting all 60 Democrats-and-fellow-travelers to vote together on something will be like herding … something really impossible. Not cats. Cats I could envision all going in one direction if there was a little herring-flavored incentive at the end of the line. Herding rabid guinea pigs in a thunderstorm, maybe.

But my big question is how long the Democrats can refrain from becoming appalling. When the Republicans took control in 1994, even those of us who were saddened about what the change would do to the Clinton agenda had to admit the Democrats had it coming. They’d been in power most of the time since the New Deal, and had become way too arrogant and inward-looking. They didn’t believe the public would punish them, either for corruption or for ignoring the voters’ complaints and concerns.

What surprised me was how fast the Republicans became worse. The bloom was off the rose before you could say Tom DeLay.

Now the question is whether the Democrats can remember how hard they had to fight to get where they are right now. There have been a few signs of reform — the House has made it somewhat harder to pile up those dreaded earmarks. But on the other hand, there are several prominent Democratic chairmen who are way overdue for an ethics investigation.

If the Republicans keep up their current policy of doing nothing but screaming “socialism” at every juncture, I could imagine the Democrats winning another few Senate seats in places like New Hampshire or Ohio next time around. It would be nice to think that would open the door to a period of self-imposed discipline and real progressive policymaking. However, I have to admit the more likely scenario is that the rabid guinea pigs take over the world.

Gail Collins, New York Times, and David Brooks, New York Times.

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See also:

Whistle While You Work – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oY3aljAO7qU

Heigh-Ho – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aURThUaRjCc&feature=related

Dwarfs’ Yodel Song – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YMhmVVB4flg&feature=related

__________

Full article: http://theconversation.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/04/28/specter-survives-at-least-for-now/

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Wisconsin has unveiled a new official state slogan, “Live Like You Mean It,” much to the dismay of some Wisconsinites who wondered why their tourism department spent $50,000 to come up with a catchphrase that used to be in a Bacardi Rum ad campaign.

“It wasn’t so much we didn’t like it as — it’s been used,” said Warren Bluhm of The Green-Bay Press-Gazette, who wrote an editorial denouncing the choice. Under further questioning, Bluhm admitted that he also didn’t like it.

I have been thinking a lot about state slogans this week. Some days when you’re confronted with the Chrysler bankruptcy and the deteriorating situation in Pakistan, you just decide that this is the moment when you’re going to take a cold, hard look at the difficulty marketers have in coming up with a good state tourism campaign.

Besides, I am a big fan of State Things — the ever-growing national collection of mottos, songs, slogans, nicknames and state birds, flowers, rocks and animals. This began back when I was a legislative reporter in Connecticut and covered a hard-fought contest for official status between the deer and the whale, during which the State Senate, in a moment of extreme pique, voted to make Connecticut’s state animal the human being.

Even as we speak, the spotted salamander is engaged in a fierce battle to become Ohio’s state amphibian, and its chances of success are said to be excellent. Go salamander!

It’s hard to go wrong when you’re picking a state flower, but the number of bad slogan-driven tourism campaigns is legion. For a while, Louisiana was trumpeting “Come As You Are. Leave Different,” which sounded sort of sinister, recalling that TV series about vampires roaming the bayous.

Until fairly recently, Connecticut’s slogan was “We’re Full of Surprises,” which was really bad. While the state has a long shoreline and nice bed and breakfasts, when you think of Connecticut surprises, you mainly remember the time the governor went to jail. And we will not dwell on the period when Rhode Island christened itself the “Birthplace of Fun” and allowed the tourism division to dot the landscape with 6-foot-tall statues of Mr. Potato Head.

Happily, all of these states have moved on. But the slogan arc does not always move upward. West Virginia replaced “Almost Heaven” with “Open for Business.”

And Wisconsin has “Live Like You Mean It,” which sounds less like an invitation to vacation than a self-improvement project. As a matter of fact, besides being an old Bacardi slogan, it is also the title of a motivational book whose authors promise to guide you toward “a meaningful, fulfilling, and happier life with results worthy of legacy building.”

I don’t know about you, but when I want to get away from it all, I do not want to take my legacy along with me.

Kelli Trumble, the secretary for the Wisconsin Department of Tourism, said she was heartened that the new slogan already has an “amazing” 90 percent awareness rate in the state, although it’s pretty easy to get attention when you have a radio news anchor in Milwaukee blogging “Wisconsin: We have a lame slogan … AND WE STOLE IT!”

In a telephone interview, she insisted that people were getting past the issue of originality and beginning to tell each other: “I see how this speaks to the essence and spirit of Wisconsonites.”

The essence and spirit of Wisconsinites was unearthed by a panel of brand experts brought together to determine what makes the state different from its competitors — i.e., Illinois, Minnesota and Michigan. This is where the trouble started. Wisconsin always proudly billed itself “America’s Dairyland” and that is still on the state license plates. But if you ask a bunch of brand experts to report on what people think of when they think of Wisconsin, do you think they’re going to come back with “cows?” No.

“What we identified is — our brand essence is that the Wisconsin culture fuels creativity and embraces original thinking in business, travel and education,” Trumble said.

I know, I know. Don’t write to me, Michigan, Minnesota and Illinois. I don’t want to hear about how you have so much original thinking and creativity it’s sloshing over the border. Tell it to the Wisconsin Department of Tourism.

I went to school in Wisconsin, and it never struck me as the sort of place where people were worried about living like they meant it. But they were so deeply into being the nation’s dairy capital that they once banned the importation of margarine across state lines.

Then, in 1985, Gov. Anthony Earl of Wisconsin decided “America’s Dairyland” was boring and sponsored a contest for a new state slogan, which drew an avalanche of suggestions. A screening committee declined to consider the popular favorite: “Eat Cheese or Die.” I truly believe that nothing has gone right for Wisconsin on the slogan front ever since.

Gail Collins, New York Times

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Full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/25/opinion/25collins.html?ref=opinion

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SUSAN BOYLE doesn’t know me, but I host “Dancing With the Stars,” the American version of the BBC‘s “Strictly Come Dancing.” And I’m worried about her. After an incredible performance on “Britain’s Got Talent,” she’s getting millions of hits on YouTube, Larry King is fawning over her like a nervous prom date, and I’m guessing even her cat, Pebbles, has a pending book deal. I’m sure, given her never-been-kissed image, this is all pretty overwhelming. So I just want to offer her some friendly advice.

Run away.

The kind of love she’s getting isn’t a tenth as genuine as her pussycat’s purr (and even Pebbles is mostly angling to get fed). We saw the eye-rolling in the audience moments before she performed. We heard the derisive wolf whistle. And then she sang, and the humbled audience sprang to their feet in sudden adoration.

On “Dancing with the Stars,” I’ve seen several physically stunning actresses and models who’ve had the opposite experience. Just before their first dance steps, the audience basked in their beauty. Then they began nervously clomping across the dance floor like lame horses and were quickly shown the door.

Ms. Boyle’s experience seems to suggest that people are willing to overcome their prejudices and see the world anew. But those same people can turn back into snarky snobs just as easily. Some already have. Post goose-bumped pundits are speculating about a deliberate charade to increase ratings.

The truth is, more often than not we look only for what we expect to see. I’ve been guilty of this too. Once when I was hosting a daily talk show in Boston, I greeted the studio audience before the broadcast and put them through a training exercise in applause. One woman didn’t seem to be buying it. She wasn’t applauding at all.

“Come on,” I teased. “You’re going to have to do better than that. Show a little enthusiasm.”

Minutes later, a nervous staff member came up to me in my dressing room.

“That woman you singled out called me over when you left,” she said.

“Too bad,” I said. “She wasn’t clapping.”

“Right,” the staff member agreed. “But she just wanted you to know something. She only has one arm.”

I felt like an idiot. I was looking right at that woman, but I saw only what I needed. And I worry that many of the people looking at Ms. Boyle now are just seeing dollar signs. What happens if she lets them down?

After all, “Yes We Can!” communal euphoria is tough to sustain and even harder to market. We’re already grumbling about our president’s choice of puppy and asking whether his wife’s arms are too toned for national magazines. It’s always something, and it’s usually nonsense. But it sells newspapers. At least it used to. Now it sells Web sites and cable television.

The real problem is that too often we don’t have the courage to sustain wonder. Susan Boyle walked onto that stage and faced down a sea of smug. We need that kind of courage nowadays, and not just on reality shows. We need the courage to believe that stirring voices can be found in unlikely places.

 

Tom Bergeron is the host of “Dancing With the Stars” and “America’s Funniest Home Videos” and the author of “I’m Hosting as Fast as I Can: Zen and the Art of Staying Sane in Hollywood.”

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Full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/25/opinion/25bergeron.html?_r=1&ref=opinion

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Management speak – don’t you just hate it? Emphatically yes, judging by readers’ responses to writer Lucy Kellaway’s campaign against office jargon. Here, we list 50 of the best worst examples.

1. “When I worked for Verizon, I found the phrase going forward to be more sinister than annoying. When used by my boss – sorry, “team leader” – it was understood to mean that the topic of conversation was at an end and not be discussed again.”
Nima Nassefat, Vancouver, Canada

2. “My employers (top half of FTSE 100) recently informed staff that we are no longer allowed to use the phrase brain storm because it might have negative connotations associated with fits. We must now take idea showers. I think that says it all really.”
Anonymous, England

3. At my old company (a US multinational), anyone involved with a particular product was encouraged to be a product evangelist. And software users these days, so we hear, want to be platform atheists so that their computers will run programs from any manufacturer.”
Philip Lattimore, Thailand

4.Incentivise is the one that does it for me.”
Karl Thomas, Perth, Scotland

5. “My favourite which I hear from the managers at the bank I work for is let’s touch base about that offline. I think it means have a private chat but I am still not sure.”
Gemma, Wolverhampton, England

6. “Have you ever heard the term loop back which means go back to an associate and deal with them?”
Scott Reed, Lakeland, Florida, US

7-8. “We used to collect the jargon used in a list and award the person with the most at the end of the year. The winner was a client manager with the classic you can’t turn a tanker around with a speed boat change. What? Second was we need a holistic, cradle-to-grave approach, whatever that is.”
Turner, Manchester

9. “Until recently I had to suffer working for a manager who used phrases such as the idiotic I’ve got you in my radar in her speech, letters and e-mails. Once, when I mentioned problems with the phone system, she screamed ‘NO! You don’t have problems, you have challenges’. At which point I almost lost the will to live.”
Stephen Gradwick, Liverpool

10. “You can add challenge to the list. Problems are no longer considered problems, they have morphed into challenges.”
Irene MacIntyre, Courtenay, B

11. “Business speak even supersedes itself and does so with silliness, the shorthand for quick win is now low hanging fruit.”
Paul, Formby, UK

12. “And looking under the bonnet.”
Eve Russell, Edinburgh

13-14. “The business-speak that I abhor is pre-prepare and forward planning. Is there any other kind of preparedness or planning?”
Edward Creswick, Exeter

15-16. “The one that really gets me is pre-plan – there is no such thing. Either you plan or you don’t. The new one which has got my goat is conversate, widely used to describe a conversation. I just wish people could learn to ‘think outside the box’ although when they put us in cubes what do they expect?”
Malcolm, Houston

17. “I work in one of those humble call centres for a bank. Apparently, what we’re doing at the moment is sprinkling our magic along the way. It’s a call centre, not Hogwarts.”
Caroline Garlick, Ayrshire

18. “A pet hate is the utterly pointless expression in this space. So instead of the perfectly adequate ‘how can I help?’ it’s ‘how can I help in this space?’ Or the classic I heard on Friday, ‘How can we help our customers in this space going forward?’ I think I may have caught this expression at source, as I’ve yet to hear it said outside my own working environment. So I’m on a personal crusade to stamp it out before it starts infecting other City institutions. Wish me luck in this space.”
Colin, London

19. “The one phrase that inspires a rage in me is from the get-go.”
Andy, Herts

20. “‘Going forward’ is only half the phrase that gets up my nose – all politicians seem to use the phrase go forward together. ‘We must… we shall… let us now… go forward together’. It gives me a terrible mental image of the whole country linking arms and goose-stepping in unison, with the politicians out in front doing a straight-armed salute. Is it just me?”
Frances Smith, Toronto, Canada

21. “I am a financial journalist and am on a mission to remove words and phrases such as 360-degree thinking from existence.”
Richard, London

22. “The latest that’s stuck in my head is we are still optimistic things will feed through the sales and delivery pipeline (ie: we actually haven’t sold anything to anyone yet but maybe we will one day).”
Alexander, Southampton

23. “I worked in PR for many years and often heard the most ludicrous phrases uttered by CEOs and marketing managers. One of the best was, we’d better not let the grass grow too long on this one. To this day it still echoes in my ears and I giggle to myself whenever I think about it. I can’t help but think insecure business people use such phrases to cover up their inability for proper articulation.”
Leon Reilly, Ealing, London

24. “Need to get all my ducks in a row now – before the five-year-olds wake up.”
Mark Dixon, Bridgend

25. “Australians have started to use auspice as a verb. Instead of saying, ‘under the auspices of…’, some people now say things like, it was auspiced by…
Martin Pooley, Marrickville, Australia

26. “My favourite: we’ve got our fingers down the throat of the organisation of that nodule. Translation = Er, no, WE sorted out the problems to cover your backside.”
Theo de Bray, Kettering, UK

27. “The health service in Wales is filled with managers who use this type of language as a substitute for original thought. At meetings we play health-speak bingo; counting the key words lightens the tedium of meetings – including, most recently, my door is open on this issue. What does that mean?”
Edwin Pottle, Llandudno

28-29. “The business phrase I find most irritating is close of play, which is only slightly worse than actioning something.”
Ellie, London

30. “Here in the US we have the cringe-worthy and also in addition. Then there’s the ever-eloquent ‘where are we at?’ So far, I haven’t noticed the UK’s at the end of the day prefacing much over here; thank heavens for small mercies.”
Eithne B, Chicago, US

31. “The expression that drives me nuts is 110%, usually said to express passion/commitment/support by people who are not very good at maths. This has created something of a cliche-inflation, where people are now saying 120%, 200%, or if you are really REALLY committed, 500%. I remember once the then-chancellor Gordon Brown saying he was 101% behind Tony Blair, to which people reacted ‘What? Only 101?’”
Ricardo Molina, London, UK

32. “My least favourite business-speak term is not enough bandwidth. When an employee used this term to refuse an additional assignment, I realised I was completely ‘out of the loop’.”
April, Berkeley, US

33. “I once had a boss who said, ‘You can’t have your cake and eat it, so you have to step up to the plate and face the music.’ It was in that moment I knew I had to resign before somebody got badly hurt by a pencil.”
Tim, Durban

34.Capture your colleagues – make sure everyone attends that risk management workshop (compulsory common sense training for idiots).”
Anglowelsh, UK

35-37. “We too used to have daily paradigm shifts, now we have stakeholders who must come to the party or be left out, or whatever.”
Barry Hicks, Cape Town, RSA

38. “I have taken to playing buzzword bingo when in meetings. It certainly makes it more entertaining when I am feeding it back (or should that be cascading) at work.”
Ian Everett, Bolton

39. “In my work environment it’s all cascading at the moment. What they really mean is to communicate or disseminate information, usually downwards. What they don’t seem to appreciate is that it sounds like we’re being wee’d on. Which we usually are.”
LMD, London

40. “At a large media company where I once worked, the head of human resources – itself a weaselly neologism for personnel – told us that she would be cascading down new information to staff. What she meant was she was going to send them a memo. It was one of the reasons I resigned – that, and the fact that the chief exec persisted on referring to the company as a really cool train set.”
Andrew, London

41. “Working for an American corporation, this year’s favourite word seems to be granularity, meaning detail. As in ‘down to that level of granularity’.”
Chris Daniel, Anaco, Venezuela

42. “On the wall of our office we have a large signed certificate, signed by all the senior management team, in which they solemnly promise to leverage their talents, display and inspire ‘unyielding integrity’, and lots of other pretentious buzz-phrases like that. Clueless, the lot of them.”
Chris K, Cheltenham UK

43. “After a reduction in workforce, my university department sent this notice out to confused campus customers: ‘Thank you for your note. We are assessing and mitigating immediate impacts, and developing a high-level overview to help frame the conversation with our customers and key stakeholders. We intend to start that process within the week. In the meantime, please continue to raise specific concerns or questions about projects with my office via the Transition Support Center…”
Charles R, Seattle, Washington, US

44. “I was told I’d be living the values from now on by my employers at a conference the other week. Here’s some modern language for them – meh. A shame as I strongly believe in much of what my employers aim to do. I refuse to adopt the voluntary sectors’ client title of ‘service user’. How is someone who won’t so much as open the door to me using my service? Another case of using four syllables where one would do.”
Upscaled Blue-Sky thinker, Cardiff

45. “Business talk 2.0 is maddening, meaningless, patronising and I despise it.”
Doug, London

46. “Lately I’ve come across the strategic staircase. What on earth is this? I’ll tell you; it’s office speak for a bit of a plan for the future. It’s not moving on but moving up. How strategic can a staircase really be? A lot I suppose, if you want to get to the top without climbing over all your colleagues.”
Peter Walters, Cheadle Hulme, UK

47. “When a stock market is down why must we be told it is in negative territory?”
Phil Linehan, Mexico City, Mexico

48. “The particular phrase I love to hate is drill down, which handily can be used either as an adverb/verb combo or as a compound noun, ie: ‘the next level drill-down’, sometimes even in the same sentence – a nice bit of multi-tasking.”
B, London

49. “Thanks for the impactful article; I especially appreciated the level of granularity. A high altitude view often misses the siloed thinking typical of most businesses. Absent any scheme for incentivitising clear speech, however, I’m afraid we’re stuck with biz-speak.”
Timothy Denton, New York

50. “It wouldn’t do the pinstripers any harm to crack a smile and say what they really felt once in a while instead of trotting out such clinical platitudes. Of course a group of them may need to workshop it first: Wouldn’t want to wrongside the demographic.”
Trick Cyclist, Tripoli, Libya

__________

See also: Are you going forward? Then stop now. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/7453584.stm.

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Full article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/7457287.stm

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