Dear Mr. Menick:
I thought you would be interested in the following unsolicited endorsements for our website. These are just a representative few from today's mailbag.
“Thanks to VBD I didn’t miss one moment of forensicana during my entire incarceration.” – M Stewart
“VBD provides all the heart, all the soul, all the excitement of being there in person. I mean, when I read that Dario had handed in his ballot, it brought a tear to my eye. Thank you, VBD!” – R Blake
“VBD marks the difference between going to high school and going high to school.” – P Spector
“At Neverland, VBD is what separates the men from the boys.” – M Jackson
“The only thing that keeps my search for the real killers going is the tireless team at VBD.” – O Simpson
“I just can’t get enough of those cribs. Go, VBD!” - S Peterson
“VBD is one phat website. Knowing that it will be there no matter what happens to Social Security is what our boys are fighting for in Iran.” – D Cheney
Mr. Menick, you are probably the only person on the planet who isn't on board with us. Shame on you!
Your VBD correspondent,
Herman Melville
Cub Reporter
Monday, March 07, 2005
Sunday, March 06, 2005
More news from Herman Melville, Cub Reporter
This guy, bless his little heart, will not stop. Why me? I ask. Why me?
Dear Mr. Menick:
We trainees began our first live reporting sessions this weekend. The new interns at HQ were flown around the country for their first taste of forensic action. “You represent the lifeblood of schematics to a concerned and panicked international consituency,” we were told by Ms. Morgana, our mentor. Since we’re just starting out, management didn’t feel that we were ready to cover “real” events, so my assignment was the last CFL meet of the year at Scarsdale High in New York, a small but important tournament not on many (if any) team schedules. I know that I had never heard of it until I arrived at Scarsdale International Airport and was met by school limo. Who knew there was this much money behind one public school team?
I think you’ll agree that the reportage that I filed with HQ brings the tournament to life!
Dispatch #1, 8:52 a.m.
The first bus has arrived for the Scarsdale High School CFL! This is cub reporter Herm Melville reporting live for NC-17, and I’m standing on the sidewalk watching as, yes, our first bus has arrived, pulling up right in front of the high school. And, let’s see--it’s from Kate Hudson HS!
Welcome Kate Hud!
Dispatch #2, 9:03 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has just entered the building. He is wearing a gray scarf today and looks like a war-tossed orphan. (Mighty Joe Vaughan is scheduled for one of PCP’s “Debate Makeovers” in the near future, so stay tuned.)
Dispatch #3A, 9:04 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has exited the building and returned to his car. It’s anybody’s bet if he’ll return for the day.
Dispatch #3B, 9:05 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has returned to the building with a full complement of ballots, flow pads and lab animals.
Dispatch #4, 9:22 a.m.
The first doughnuts of the morning have been spotted in the judges’ lounge. Check out photo number one. The smell of coffee stretches all the way to the custodian’s closet. [Note: The photos did not print successfully to my blog. Sorry. JM]
Dispatch #5, 9:38 a.m.
The LD tab room, under the direction of Jim (“Antichrist”) Menick from Kate Hudson HS, has issued its first warning: Do not drink the water in the 3rd floor ladies room!
Dispatch #6, 10:13 a.m.
The schematics for Round One have been released. Check out photo two to see the pairings for yourself.
Dispatch #7, 11:02 a.m.
The schematics for Round Two have been released. Check out photo three to see the pairings for yourself. It’s getting pretty exciting around here. Rumor has it that round two was paired completely at random, but no one will officially comment one way or the other.
Dispatch #8, 12:18 p.m.
Pizza trucks have been spotted along the Post Road, and the buzz in the cafeteria is that they’re delivering to the tournament. In an exclusive interview, Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan pointed out that the pizza will be sold at $1.50 a slice, which is $.70 less than NYC prices. Think of it: excellent debate, plus good food at reasonable prices. Yummy!
Dispatch #9, 12:28 p.m.
The first debater to purchase a slice of pizza for $1.50 was BRONX RS (Rick Soddy).
Dispatch #10, 1:48 p.m.
Things are pretty quiet as we wait for the Round 3 pairings. Check out photo four to see a cafeteria seat where Doug Lieb, Dave Lebowitz and Matt Shields are all rumored to have sat at some time in the last 4 years (but not at the same time).
Dispatch #11, 2:12 p.m.
The schematics for Round Three have been released. Check out photo five to see the pairings for yourself.
Dispatch #12, 2:33 p.m.
Things are quiet around here. Too quiet.
Dispatch #13, 2:52 p.m.
There is a mall not very far from the school, where your DOD correspondent is pleased to report that there’s a great sale on cotton V-necks at the Gap.
Dispatch #14, 3:51 p.m.
They’re offering free samples of corned beef and cabbage cookies at William Sonoma.
Check out photo number six. This is one really great mall. Thank God I had the limo.
Dispatch #15, 4:45 p.m.
Everyone is gone from the high school. The tournament must have ended. This is Herm Melville, Cub Reporter, signing off for STP!
Dear Mr. Menick:
We trainees began our first live reporting sessions this weekend. The new interns at HQ were flown around the country for their first taste of forensic action. “You represent the lifeblood of schematics to a concerned and panicked international consituency,” we were told by Ms. Morgana, our mentor. Since we’re just starting out, management didn’t feel that we were ready to cover “real” events, so my assignment was the last CFL meet of the year at Scarsdale High in New York, a small but important tournament not on many (if any) team schedules. I know that I had never heard of it until I arrived at Scarsdale International Airport and was met by school limo. Who knew there was this much money behind one public school team?
I think you’ll agree that the reportage that I filed with HQ brings the tournament to life!
Dispatch #1, 8:52 a.m.
The first bus has arrived for the Scarsdale High School CFL! This is cub reporter Herm Melville reporting live for NC-17, and I’m standing on the sidewalk watching as, yes, our first bus has arrived, pulling up right in front of the high school. And, let’s see--it’s from Kate Hudson HS!
Welcome Kate Hud!
Dispatch #2, 9:03 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has just entered the building. He is wearing a gray scarf today and looks like a war-tossed orphan. (Mighty Joe Vaughan is scheduled for one of PCP’s “Debate Makeovers” in the near future, so stay tuned.)
Dispatch #3A, 9:04 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has exited the building and returned to his car. It’s anybody’s bet if he’ll return for the day.
Dispatch #3B, 9:05 a.m.
Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan has returned to the building with a full complement of ballots, flow pads and lab animals.
Dispatch #4, 9:22 a.m.
The first doughnuts of the morning have been spotted in the judges’ lounge. Check out photo number one. The smell of coffee stretches all the way to the custodian’s closet. [Note: The photos did not print successfully to my blog. Sorry. JM]
Dispatch #5, 9:38 a.m.
The LD tab room, under the direction of Jim (“Antichrist”) Menick from Kate Hudson HS, has issued its first warning: Do not drink the water in the 3rd floor ladies room!
Dispatch #6, 10:13 a.m.
The schematics for Round One have been released. Check out photo two to see the pairings for yourself.
Dispatch #7, 11:02 a.m.
The schematics for Round Two have been released. Check out photo three to see the pairings for yourself. It’s getting pretty exciting around here. Rumor has it that round two was paired completely at random, but no one will officially comment one way or the other.
Dispatch #8, 12:18 p.m.
Pizza trucks have been spotted along the Post Road, and the buzz in the cafeteria is that they’re delivering to the tournament. In an exclusive interview, Tournament Director Mighty Joe Vaughan pointed out that the pizza will be sold at $1.50 a slice, which is $.70 less than NYC prices. Think of it: excellent debate, plus good food at reasonable prices. Yummy!
Dispatch #9, 12:28 p.m.
The first debater to purchase a slice of pizza for $1.50 was BRONX RS (Rick Soddy).
Dispatch #10, 1:48 p.m.
Things are pretty quiet as we wait for the Round 3 pairings. Check out photo four to see a cafeteria seat where Doug Lieb, Dave Lebowitz and Matt Shields are all rumored to have sat at some time in the last 4 years (but not at the same time).
Dispatch #11, 2:12 p.m.
The schematics for Round Three have been released. Check out photo five to see the pairings for yourself.
Dispatch #12, 2:33 p.m.
Things are quiet around here. Too quiet.
Dispatch #13, 2:52 p.m.
There is a mall not very far from the school, where your DOD correspondent is pleased to report that there’s a great sale on cotton V-necks at the Gap.
Dispatch #14, 3:51 p.m.
They’re offering free samples of corned beef and cabbage cookies at William Sonoma.
Check out photo number six. This is one really great mall. Thank God I had the limo.
Dispatch #15, 4:45 p.m.
Everyone is gone from the high school. The tournament must have ended. This is Herm Melville, Cub Reporter, signing off for STP!
Friday, March 04, 2005
I have apparently struck a nerve
People could just comment on posts. But, oh not, not this guy.
I reprint his email in its entirety.
Dear Mr. Menick:
You do not know me. My name is Herman Melville (no relation), and I’m writing you unofficially from VBD headquarters, where I’ve just been hired as a cub reporter. My first assignment here has been to go through the morgue (that’s a journalism term that means old crap) and look up you and your blog and your relationship with our operation.
It is not a pretty picture.
I think you do a serious disservice to our operation. When I was hired and flown into headquarters, I have to admit that even I was surprised by the scope of the VBD empire. The campus here is a marvel to behold. After you get past the guards you drive up a long winding road to a fabulous building that I understand was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in between the Guggenheim and the Johnson Wax headquarters. It’s called Passing Winds, and it’s simply phenomenal, aside from the leaks. It’s pure prairie, long and flat and built into the mountainside. The photographs do not do it justice.
I was met at the receptionist’s desk by a woman named Morgana, who is the head of the VBD intern program, which handles all the cub reporters, among other new hires. She told me that I would join this year’s contingent of ten new journalism interns, for what she knew was another great career at VBD. She then proceeded to outline the outstanding benefits package. The pension plan has become the model that many forward-thinking media corporations have recently begun emulating, including Google and Fox News. “Stay with us for forty years,” Ms. Morgana said, “and you’ll retire a rich man.”
When I finally joined up with the other interns, each of us with our “New Employee Guide” binder and our freshly minted ID cards in lanyards around our necks, we were taken on a tour of the premises. We were driven in one of the corporation’s new environmentally beneficial electric jitneys to each of the main divisions of the place. Some of them were within the main building, while some were spread over the grounds. (R&D, for instance, has a completely separate facility due to its hazmat needs.) Mr. Menick, even you would have been impressed! From the stables to the main factory to the administration building to the new VeebeeDome Stadium, it is one of the most spectacular capitalist enterprises you can imagine. And when construction is complete on VeeBee One, and the tallest building in the world is back on US soil, I have to believe that you will agree that you have been maligning us.
But as I say, I am merely a cub reporter here. And this letter bears no official weight. But if you were to come out to Euphoria yourself, if you could see what I see, if you could watch as thousands of our dedicated employees put their collective pedals to their collective forensic metal, I think you would change your tune. I would be happy to act as your guide and escort. Just say the word.
Sincerely,
Herman Melville
Cub Reporter
VBD
Euphoria, ND
P.S. If you can arrange a trip for the weekend of 4/16, you would be on hand for the launching of VBStat, our latest news satellite. I am told that the satellite launches are big party events not only for the corporation but for all the surrounding countryside. You wouldn’t want to miss that!
I reprint his email in its entirety.
Dear Mr. Menick:
You do not know me. My name is Herman Melville (no relation), and I’m writing you unofficially from VBD headquarters, where I’ve just been hired as a cub reporter. My first assignment here has been to go through the morgue (that’s a journalism term that means old crap) and look up you and your blog and your relationship with our operation.
It is not a pretty picture.
I think you do a serious disservice to our operation. When I was hired and flown into headquarters, I have to admit that even I was surprised by the scope of the VBD empire. The campus here is a marvel to behold. After you get past the guards you drive up a long winding road to a fabulous building that I understand was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright in between the Guggenheim and the Johnson Wax headquarters. It’s called Passing Winds, and it’s simply phenomenal, aside from the leaks. It’s pure prairie, long and flat and built into the mountainside. The photographs do not do it justice.
I was met at the receptionist’s desk by a woman named Morgana, who is the head of the VBD intern program, which handles all the cub reporters, among other new hires. She told me that I would join this year’s contingent of ten new journalism interns, for what she knew was another great career at VBD. She then proceeded to outline the outstanding benefits package. The pension plan has become the model that many forward-thinking media corporations have recently begun emulating, including Google and Fox News. “Stay with us for forty years,” Ms. Morgana said, “and you’ll retire a rich man.”
When I finally joined up with the other interns, each of us with our “New Employee Guide” binder and our freshly minted ID cards in lanyards around our necks, we were taken on a tour of the premises. We were driven in one of the corporation’s new environmentally beneficial electric jitneys to each of the main divisions of the place. Some of them were within the main building, while some were spread over the grounds. (R&D, for instance, has a completely separate facility due to its hazmat needs.) Mr. Menick, even you would have been impressed! From the stables to the main factory to the administration building to the new VeebeeDome Stadium, it is one of the most spectacular capitalist enterprises you can imagine. And when construction is complete on VeeBee One, and the tallest building in the world is back on US soil, I have to believe that you will agree that you have been maligning us.
But as I say, I am merely a cub reporter here. And this letter bears no official weight. But if you were to come out to Euphoria yourself, if you could see what I see, if you could watch as thousands of our dedicated employees put their collective pedals to their collective forensic metal, I think you would change your tune. I would be happy to act as your guide and escort. Just say the word.
Sincerely,
Herman Melville
Cub Reporter
VBD
Euphoria, ND
P.S. If you can arrange a trip for the weekend of 4/16, you would be on hand for the launching of VBStat, our latest news satellite. I am told that the satellite launches are big party events not only for the corporation but for all the surrounding countryside. You wouldn’t want to miss that!
Thursday, March 03, 2005
My adventures in instant messaging
I post this correspondence thread as it occurred.
“Yo, that’s a little cold, Menick. I mean, why would you attack poor Vassar? They’re just trying to throw a tournament. You should support them. Have you no sense of noblesse oblige or eminence grise?”
N
“I have nothing against Vassar, which you know perfectly well. I love Vassar. My daughter almost thought of applying there! My point is not that Vassar is having a tournament, but that VMI is covering it moment-by-moment. While they’re also covering tournaments in Texas, Guam and Nova Zembla.”
M
“So what’s wrong with that? The world wants to know, eh? They’re providing a service. They’re like a gas station open all night, and debaters are like cars that are about to run out of gas on lonely roads in the middle of nowhere.”
N
“The legendary Nostumite way with a metaphor… Anyhow, who died and made me eminence grise, anyhow?”
M
“You’re putting me into a state of permanent depression. You have POWER, for God’s sake. The power of experience. People look up to you. Well, maybe they don’t look up to you, but they look at you as being old and wise. Well, maybe not wise, but old, anyhow. You’re probably the oldest person associated with debate on the East Coast now that Sodikow’s retired. You should act the part.”
N
“The part of Sodikow?”
M
“The part of wise and productive old age, you randy fart.”
N
“When you start referring to me as a randy fart I think we have crossed the line!”
M
“All I’m saying is that you should be kinder and gentler. It won’t kill you.”
N
“You’v done your own share of taking pot shots at GTA.”
M
“But I’m like Claire’s b.f. I speak from a position of anonymity commingled with lofty intentions.”
N
“This has nothing to do with either Phaeton or lofty intentions. I’m simply making a satirical comment that perhaps DNC is taking itself a little too seriously, and that maybe 24 by 7 is, perhaps, 20 by 5 too much.”
M
“Let's cut to the chase. Are you going to let up on the poor yabbos?”
N
“Does the pope wave out of windows?”
M
At which point my cable service went down.
“Yo, that’s a little cold, Menick. I mean, why would you attack poor Vassar? They’re just trying to throw a tournament. You should support them. Have you no sense of noblesse oblige or eminence grise?”
N
“I have nothing against Vassar, which you know perfectly well. I love Vassar. My daughter almost thought of applying there! My point is not that Vassar is having a tournament, but that VMI is covering it moment-by-moment. While they’re also covering tournaments in Texas, Guam and Nova Zembla.”
M
“So what’s wrong with that? The world wants to know, eh? They’re providing a service. They’re like a gas station open all night, and debaters are like cars that are about to run out of gas on lonely roads in the middle of nowhere.”
N
“The legendary Nostumite way with a metaphor… Anyhow, who died and made me eminence grise, anyhow?”
M
“You’re putting me into a state of permanent depression. You have POWER, for God’s sake. The power of experience. People look up to you. Well, maybe they don’t look up to you, but they look at you as being old and wise. Well, maybe not wise, but old, anyhow. You’re probably the oldest person associated with debate on the East Coast now that Sodikow’s retired. You should act the part.”
N
“The part of Sodikow?”
M
“The part of wise and productive old age, you randy fart.”
N
“When you start referring to me as a randy fart I think we have crossed the line!”
M
“All I’m saying is that you should be kinder and gentler. It won’t kill you.”
N
“You’v done your own share of taking pot shots at GTA.”
M
“But I’m like Claire’s b.f. I speak from a position of anonymity commingled with lofty intentions.”
N
“This has nothing to do with either Phaeton or lofty intentions. I’m simply making a satirical comment that perhaps DNC is taking itself a little too seriously, and that maybe 24 by 7 is, perhaps, 20 by 5 too much.”
M
“Let's cut to the chase. Are you going to let up on the poor yabbos?”
N
“Does the pope wave out of windows?”
M
At which point my cable service went down.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
The production crews are rolling in
(According to a certain website, there will be live coverage from Po'keepsie this weekend for those forced to stay home.)
Let me tell you, you can't move out there. The traffic is completely out of hand. The production trucks started moving up the Taconic before dawn this morning, and the eyes of virtually the entire Hudson Valley have turned northward. Not since Woody and Soon-Yi shot their wedding video in Nyack has so much show-biz been seen south of Schenectady (or, for that matter, north of synecdoche).
Classes at the college were shut down by ten a.m. to make room for the technicians. All the buildings on the campus are being rewired, and a KritiKam is being installed in every room where the rounds will be taking place. You'll be able to watch every turn, every refutation, every drop, every point on every flow, right from the comfort of your own home! Why brave the crowds when the KritiKam is as good as being there? Maybe better? Interestingly, some rounds will be judged remotely, if the participants so choose. This is a response to Critical Debate Theory; the goal is to remove the judge's possible tainting of the round by his or her race, age, sexual orientation or garlic breath. Pundits claim that the resulting results will be the least tainted since, well, Woody and Soon-Yi's wedding video.
The tearing down of the administration building for the erection of the temporary Challenge Courtyard Tent is the most controversial aspect of the proceedings. The tournament directors were able to assuage the fears of the college by promising that the tent would be a lot more "with it" than that old-fashioned ivy-covered gothic stone monstrosity it's replacing (one of which is seen, let's face it, at practically every college campus). Additionally, the tournament directors promised that if any of the deans and their families were interested, they would be welcome at lunch on Saturday, provided they were willing to judge a couple of rounds of Public Forum and didn't mind ziti.
Hackers, meanwhile, are said to be drooling over the prospect this weekend of practically every computer in the country online to one event. The FBI reports that they have already intercepted two viruses, one of which (FooKooKoo) drives either you or your computer insane; the other (codenamed Chipsallin) takes every last bit of your money while masquerading to coaches as a nice quiet game of Hearts. One of the great fears of this much concentration of the country on one spot is the possibility that, in between rounds, the entire country will flush the toilet at the same time and cause the greatest water shortage since Woody and Soon-Yi's wedding video. Water Works authorities are reported to be standing by. Meanwhile, airports, train stations and cargo container ships have already notice a marked increase in people leaving the country to avoid the likely confusion. Homeland Security is raising the alert to the very highest, and both George Bush and Dick Cheney have been safely transported to separate, secure, underground bunkers in undisclosed locations.
Perhaps the most telling comment describing the weekend that will change America forever came from Woody and Soon-Yi. "This is what happens when you let men on the campus," the happy couple agreed.
Let me tell you, you can't move out there. The traffic is completely out of hand. The production trucks started moving up the Taconic before dawn this morning, and the eyes of virtually the entire Hudson Valley have turned northward. Not since Woody and Soon-Yi shot their wedding video in Nyack has so much show-biz been seen south of Schenectady (or, for that matter, north of synecdoche).
Classes at the college were shut down by ten a.m. to make room for the technicians. All the buildings on the campus are being rewired, and a KritiKam is being installed in every room where the rounds will be taking place. You'll be able to watch every turn, every refutation, every drop, every point on every flow, right from the comfort of your own home! Why brave the crowds when the KritiKam is as good as being there? Maybe better? Interestingly, some rounds will be judged remotely, if the participants so choose. This is a response to Critical Debate Theory; the goal is to remove the judge's possible tainting of the round by his or her race, age, sexual orientation or garlic breath. Pundits claim that the resulting results will be the least tainted since, well, Woody and Soon-Yi's wedding video.
The tearing down of the administration building for the erection of the temporary Challenge Courtyard Tent is the most controversial aspect of the proceedings. The tournament directors were able to assuage the fears of the college by promising that the tent would be a lot more "with it" than that old-fashioned ivy-covered gothic stone monstrosity it's replacing (one of which is seen, let's face it, at practically every college campus). Additionally, the tournament directors promised that if any of the deans and their families were interested, they would be welcome at lunch on Saturday, provided they were willing to judge a couple of rounds of Public Forum and didn't mind ziti.
Hackers, meanwhile, are said to be drooling over the prospect this weekend of practically every computer in the country online to one event. The FBI reports that they have already intercepted two viruses, one of which (FooKooKoo) drives either you or your computer insane; the other (codenamed Chipsallin) takes every last bit of your money while masquerading to coaches as a nice quiet game of Hearts. One of the great fears of this much concentration of the country on one spot is the possibility that, in between rounds, the entire country will flush the toilet at the same time and cause the greatest water shortage since Woody and Soon-Yi's wedding video. Water Works authorities are reported to be standing by. Meanwhile, airports, train stations and cargo container ships have already notice a marked increase in people leaving the country to avoid the likely confusion. Homeland Security is raising the alert to the very highest, and both George Bush and Dick Cheney have been safely transported to separate, secure, underground bunkers in undisclosed locations.
Perhaps the most telling comment describing the weekend that will change America forever came from Woody and Soon-Yi. "This is what happens when you let men on the campus," the happy couple agreed.
Monday, February 28, 2005
This is not a good house...
,,, they don't have any Wodehouse.
I can't remember where I picked up that piece of doggerel, but it's true, of course. Apparently MC has been brought over to the positive side of the force through exposure coming back from Harvard. I thought I was the only one listening, since no one commented. But Mac is apparently now joining the legion of people who recognize the name Gussie Fink-Nottle, which is much to his credit. The thing about Plum is that you can listen, and it's like being washed over with hilarious poetry in a language you marginally recognize, or you can do the work and read it yourself, and either way you're in for a treat. I figure every convert I collect is one more cow creamer on my path to heaven.
Keeping up with my personal rush to eclecticism, the new Zatoichi film is a pip. I watched it yesterday while I was dying of this cold my daughter brought back from Japan, which I guess was some sort of sympathetic magic approach. Anyhow, can you not love a blind samurai movie that ends with a big dance number? I was always a fan of the original Ichi, and didn't even know till recently that there was a whole series. I miss samurai films. We used to go to theatres that were showing them by the bucketful back in the 70s; I don't know if there's anything analogous today. We'd sit in the smoking section up in the balcony for what seemed like days on end. Ah, wasted youth. (Did I really smoke a pack and a half a day? Ah, wasted lungs.)
Does anyone watch movies by the bucketful anymore? Do people care about films much anymore aside from their value as something to do when hanging out requires some content?
Final recommendation: Get Bruce. You probably have to be a little show-bizzy to enjoy this one (you know you're a little show-bizzy when a credit at the opening of the film says "Music by Michael Feinstein" and perk up a little) but it's fun, and if you're interested in behind-the-scenes at the Oscars, for example, it's a film to see. Behind the scenes has to be more interesting that in front of them, if this year was any indication. I just don't care anymore. So why do I always watch anyhow?
I can't remember where I picked up that piece of doggerel, but it's true, of course. Apparently MC has been brought over to the positive side of the force through exposure coming back from Harvard. I thought I was the only one listening, since no one commented. But Mac is apparently now joining the legion of people who recognize the name Gussie Fink-Nottle, which is much to his credit. The thing about Plum is that you can listen, and it's like being washed over with hilarious poetry in a language you marginally recognize, or you can do the work and read it yourself, and either way you're in for a treat. I figure every convert I collect is one more cow creamer on my path to heaven.
Keeping up with my personal rush to eclecticism, the new Zatoichi film is a pip. I watched it yesterday while I was dying of this cold my daughter brought back from Japan, which I guess was some sort of sympathetic magic approach. Anyhow, can you not love a blind samurai movie that ends with a big dance number? I was always a fan of the original Ichi, and didn't even know till recently that there was a whole series. I miss samurai films. We used to go to theatres that were showing them by the bucketful back in the 70s; I don't know if there's anything analogous today. We'd sit in the smoking section up in the balcony for what seemed like days on end. Ah, wasted youth. (Did I really smoke a pack and a half a day? Ah, wasted lungs.)
Does anyone watch movies by the bucketful anymore? Do people care about films much anymore aside from their value as something to do when hanging out requires some content?
Final recommendation: Get Bruce. You probably have to be a little show-bizzy to enjoy this one (you know you're a little show-bizzy when a credit at the opening of the film says "Music by Michael Feinstein" and perk up a little) but it's fun, and if you're interested in behind-the-scenes at the Oscars, for example, it's a film to see. Behind the scenes has to be more interesting that in front of them, if this year was any indication. I just don't care anymore. So why do I always watch anyhow?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Vrot Splinky, International Declamation Champ: The exclusive MVP interview!
MVP: [Smiles] So, champ, tell us about yourself.
VS: There’s not much to say.
MVP: [Snorts] How did you get into declamation?
VS: Well, it was easier than the other IEs because you didn’t have to cut a piece. I just stole mine from my coach’s cousin.
MVP: [Gasps] What pieces did you do?
VS: Just the one. “I’ll Murder Your Children if You Don’t Rank Me a One.”
MVP: [Chortles] You were pretty much a picket-fence performer from the get-go.
VS: Sure. If they wanted their children to live past the weekend.
MVP: [Trips on mop] Did you do anything other than declamation?
VS: Dec was my life, dude.
MVP: [Inadvertently logs off server, crashes, reboots and trims fingernails] You never wanted to expand into, say, JV interp?
VS: Are you calling me a wimp? Nobody calls me a wimp.
MVP: [Lifts eyebrows in classic fear reaction and ducks under table] You’re only able to do declamation for two years in the CFL. What happened after that?
VS: I dropped out of school. I mean, life was pretty much over. I got a job at IBM designing medical software.
MVP: [Scratching like baseball pitcher] That sounds awfully difficult.
VS: Not for a declaimer. Besides, the only other people applying for the job were women, and you know what that Harvard guy says about them.
MVP: [Mentally sorting Critical Feminist responses] Are you still at IBM?
VS: I’m on sabbatical until the lawsuit comes to court.
MVP: [Chewing cud] Can we see your crib?
(And no, I had nothing to do with this. Address your comments to the Nostrumite. Spend two hours with the guy and he wants to co-opt your blog! Then again, it's a slow debate week.)
VS: There’s not much to say.
MVP: [Snorts] How did you get into declamation?
VS: Well, it was easier than the other IEs because you didn’t have to cut a piece. I just stole mine from my coach’s cousin.
MVP: [Gasps] What pieces did you do?
VS: Just the one. “I’ll Murder Your Children if You Don’t Rank Me a One.”
MVP: [Chortles] You were pretty much a picket-fence performer from the get-go.
VS: Sure. If they wanted their children to live past the weekend.
MVP: [Trips on mop] Did you do anything other than declamation?
VS: Dec was my life, dude.
MVP: [Inadvertently logs off server, crashes, reboots and trims fingernails] You never wanted to expand into, say, JV interp?
VS: Are you calling me a wimp? Nobody calls me a wimp.
MVP: [Lifts eyebrows in classic fear reaction and ducks under table] You’re only able to do declamation for two years in the CFL. What happened after that?
VS: I dropped out of school. I mean, life was pretty much over. I got a job at IBM designing medical software.
MVP: [Scratching like baseball pitcher] That sounds awfully difficult.
VS: Not for a declaimer. Besides, the only other people applying for the job were women, and you know what that Harvard guy says about them.
MVP: [Mentally sorting Critical Feminist responses] Are you still at IBM?
VS: I’m on sabbatical until the lawsuit comes to court.
MVP: [Chewing cud] Can we see your crib?
(And no, I had nothing to do with this. Address your comments to the Nostrumite. Spend two hours with the guy and he wants to co-opt your blog! Then again, it's a slow debate week.)
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Sixes and sevens
I'm sort of at loose ends this week, for one thing or another, none of them worth describing. I do have a couple of tight ends worth mentioning, though.
First, Matt J's judging paradigm on BVD is the cat's sleeping attire. I will be trying to figure out a good use for it. It's over the head of newbie adults, of course, but it might be a good handout to starting varsity kids when they begin to judge. And maybe also to parents after they've been on the bus for a while. Whatever. It's a document of great sense. Of course, I'd enjoy it more if it also showed his crib, his pimped ride and a couple of schematics from round three.
Jon O'C is going to interview himself? My mouse is at the starting gate... (What would I do without DVM to razz? I wouldn't bother if it didn't have enough good stuff—and the audience—to demonstrate the potential for so much more.)
"From Caveman to Frenchman" is now finally complete. I realize I've been dragging this out since October! But I think I needed it to come together in my mind before I could pretend to know what I was talking about. (Now that it HAS come together in my mind, pretending to know what I'm talking about will be a breeze.) The problem with critical theory and pomo and all that stuff is that there is no bright line. Everyone disagrees internally with his or her own writings, much less trying to find someone to put a coherent overview on it. And pomo has more spikes and offshoots than a Rasta on a bad-hair day. Not to mention the inherently bad writing. One of my problems was going back too far, I think; maybe I could have skipped the cavemen? We'll see. If it actually goes over well I'll write it up for the Hillary Duff.
First, Matt J's judging paradigm on BVD is the cat's sleeping attire. I will be trying to figure out a good use for it. It's over the head of newbie adults, of course, but it might be a good handout to starting varsity kids when they begin to judge. And maybe also to parents after they've been on the bus for a while. Whatever. It's a document of great sense. Of course, I'd enjoy it more if it also showed his crib, his pimped ride and a couple of schematics from round three.
Jon O'C is going to interview himself? My mouse is at the starting gate... (What would I do without DVM to razz? I wouldn't bother if it didn't have enough good stuff—and the audience—to demonstrate the potential for so much more.)
"From Caveman to Frenchman" is now finally complete. I realize I've been dragging this out since October! But I think I needed it to come together in my mind before I could pretend to know what I was talking about. (Now that it HAS come together in my mind, pretending to know what I'm talking about will be a breeze.) The problem with critical theory and pomo and all that stuff is that there is no bright line. Everyone disagrees internally with his or her own writings, much less trying to find someone to put a coherent overview on it. And pomo has more spikes and offshoots than a Rasta on a bad-hair day. Not to mention the inherently bad writing. One of my problems was going back too far, I think; maybe I could have skipped the cavemen? We'll see. If it actually goes over well I'll write it up for the Hillary Duff.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Imaginary friends
Harvard was a big weekend for magic and mystery. Oh yeah, and shopping. I bought an Edith Wharton book illustrated by Maxwell Parrish for the spouse, a lifetime supply of red ink for my Dr. Grips, Fluxx, a Martin Greenberg anthology, chocolate pudding ice cream, and untold numbers of Brazilian CDs (Caetano forever!). I'll also admit to a Rosie (a Concord album I've never even seen before). In terms of torturing people with canned entertainment, in the car we listened to Jean Shepherd, Bertie Wooster, Elmore Leonard, Warren Zevon and The Rocky Horror Show. We'll sleep when we're dead!
The biggest mystery was the imaginary friend. Now, Lord knows, I go back with this woman for years now. I've known her longer than I've owned many of my socks. I've never known her to get "creative" in all that time (give or take the odd adolescent overenthusiasm). But I have fully come to believe that the new b.f. simply does not exist. How come he could only meet with us Sunday night? Did he know that the weather would be bad and we'd missing breaking by the breath of a speaker point and hence hit the road? Not to mention all those other times I've never seen him. At this point, I've come to accept that Clayton doesn't exist. Maybe it's Claeton, spelled to rhyme with the Rolls Royce. Or Claethon, as in Phaethon, and he's the son Helios never liked to talk about. Whichever. Clayton: if you're reading this, I know you don't exist, so you can stop right now.
As for magic, I did get to hang with the Nostrumite Saturday night during the 4th round while everyone else was debating or judging. We sat in some burger joint and waxed nosty on old times and alternately watched the BC/Syracuse game on ESPN and the crawl on CNN. The lad was sent into a state of permanent depression when we read that doctors had removed some baby's extra second head. Fortunately, the crawl said, this condition was "rare." We hadn't known this. We thought that two-headed babies were as common as Frenchpeople at a Dump Bush convention. Of course, this is the sort of thing that starts the Mite yapping for hours on end, decrying the poor usage of the English language and spewing forth on the over-reliance on synecdoche in critical animal rights theory and ultimately telling me in deepest confidence that he's heard that the PETA people are trying to ban the playing of "Fur Elise" on the local classical radio station. Don't even ask about his reaction to the women who refused to go wild for Koko the gorilla. There are nights like this one when I wish Jules weren't still in Dahomey or wherever he went. (Now I know it wasn't Dahomey, which really does sound like someone from Dahood, but that's just too easy.) Maldives? Whatever. The Mite says Julie should be back toward the end of spring or the beginning of summer. Good. The Nostrumite always needs someone to keep the lid on. Maybe he should get married again. He's about due. Come to think of it, there is no Claethon, so maybe there's a possibility there...
The biggest mystery was the imaginary friend. Now, Lord knows, I go back with this woman for years now. I've known her longer than I've owned many of my socks. I've never known her to get "creative" in all that time (give or take the odd adolescent overenthusiasm). But I have fully come to believe that the new b.f. simply does not exist. How come he could only meet with us Sunday night? Did he know that the weather would be bad and we'd missing breaking by the breath of a speaker point and hence hit the road? Not to mention all those other times I've never seen him. At this point, I've come to accept that Clayton doesn't exist. Maybe it's Claeton, spelled to rhyme with the Rolls Royce. Or Claethon, as in Phaethon, and he's the son Helios never liked to talk about. Whichever. Clayton: if you're reading this, I know you don't exist, so you can stop right now.
As for magic, I did get to hang with the Nostrumite Saturday night during the 4th round while everyone else was debating or judging. We sat in some burger joint and waxed nosty on old times and alternately watched the BC/Syracuse game on ESPN and the crawl on CNN. The lad was sent into a state of permanent depression when we read that doctors had removed some baby's extra second head. Fortunately, the crawl said, this condition was "rare." We hadn't known this. We thought that two-headed babies were as common as Frenchpeople at a Dump Bush convention. Of course, this is the sort of thing that starts the Mite yapping for hours on end, decrying the poor usage of the English language and spewing forth on the over-reliance on synecdoche in critical animal rights theory and ultimately telling me in deepest confidence that he's heard that the PETA people are trying to ban the playing of "Fur Elise" on the local classical radio station. Don't even ask about his reaction to the women who refused to go wild for Koko the gorilla. There are nights like this one when I wish Jules weren't still in Dahomey or wherever he went. (Now I know it wasn't Dahomey, which really does sound like someone from Dahood, but that's just too easy.) Maldives? Whatever. The Mite says Julie should be back toward the end of spring or the beginning of summer. Good. The Nostrumite always needs someone to keep the lid on. Maybe he should get married again. He's about due. Come to think of it, there is no Claethon, so maybe there's a possibility there...
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
DLI
I’ll be getting together with the Nostrumite up at Cambridge this weekend, needless to say. In fact, checking in with the lad is one of the reasons I’m going to Harvard in the first place. Maybe the only reason, except perhaps for some residual insanity in the Menick DNA. The Mite, who is now coaching policy for Tennessee Williams HS, a small venue right outside of Boston, somehow expects that the two of us will spend the weekend pub crawling. The idea that we are both the responsible adults on this expedition seems so far to have eluded him. It will be sad to see the effect of the news when it dawns on him that our greatest kick might be an extra shot of espresso at Starbucks.
Anyhow, I was amused to learn that the Nostrumite is in a state of permanent depression over what he refers to as Defeat Longjohns Intermittently. He firmly believes that he can pin the magic date to within three hours when the chickens will come home to roost. “Don’t these people know that at three a.m. on the Wednesday of the third week of October during their junior year in college they will suddenly remember what they posted in their Cribs piece, and realize that they are scarred forever and that their lives will suddenly become a living hell of self-recrimination? That you never overcome the photo of the George Foreman grill where you cook all your tuna melts, or the image of the Freddie the Ferret doll you’ve been sleeping with since kindergarten, or your painting of Bietz Contemplating the Bust of Jon Cruz, or the picture of the room where your Uncle Ralph was sleeping when the local constabulary nabbed him for—well, we won’t talk about that one.” Why is it the Cribs that always brings out the worst in people? “If you ask me,” the lad continues, “DLI is missing some good opportunities.” And, of course, he proceeds to list them:
Pimp My Bus Ride: Pictures of the school buses the debaters arrive at tournaments in
Debate Makeover: Take some nerdy guy in a suit and tie and patent leather pumps and subject him to the real world. Throw away his jacket, pull out his shirt tail, get him into some $200 sneakers and put a backwards baseball cap on his head—Voila! The transformation is complete: an LDer turned into a Policy person.
Emory Poker Championships: That one is self-explanatory, perfect for both the Travel and Weather Channels.
Iron Chef Forensician: A look into the cafeterias at your favorite debate venues! Today’s ingredient? Ziti!
The Biggest Loser: Enough with all these good debaters. How about profiling a few real stinkers for a change, those people who show up week after week and go 0-6? The salt of the debate earth, so to speak.
The Nostrumite goes on and on with this, but I won’t bore you with the rest of them. If you see us in Cambridge, join up with us as we pretend to pub crawl. I’m sure he’ll be happy to regale you with another hundred or so.
Anyhow, I was amused to learn that the Nostrumite is in a state of permanent depression over what he refers to as Defeat Longjohns Intermittently. He firmly believes that he can pin the magic date to within three hours when the chickens will come home to roost. “Don’t these people know that at three a.m. on the Wednesday of the third week of October during their junior year in college they will suddenly remember what they posted in their Cribs piece, and realize that they are scarred forever and that their lives will suddenly become a living hell of self-recrimination? That you never overcome the photo of the George Foreman grill where you cook all your tuna melts, or the image of the Freddie the Ferret doll you’ve been sleeping with since kindergarten, or your painting of Bietz Contemplating the Bust of Jon Cruz, or the picture of the room where your Uncle Ralph was sleeping when the local constabulary nabbed him for—well, we won’t talk about that one.” Why is it the Cribs that always brings out the worst in people? “If you ask me,” the lad continues, “DLI is missing some good opportunities.” And, of course, he proceeds to list them:
Pimp My Bus Ride: Pictures of the school buses the debaters arrive at tournaments in
Debate Makeover: Take some nerdy guy in a suit and tie and patent leather pumps and subject him to the real world. Throw away his jacket, pull out his shirt tail, get him into some $200 sneakers and put a backwards baseball cap on his head—Voila! The transformation is complete: an LDer turned into a Policy person.
Emory Poker Championships: That one is self-explanatory, perfect for both the Travel and Weather Channels.
Iron Chef Forensician: A look into the cafeterias at your favorite debate venues! Today’s ingredient? Ziti!
The Biggest Loser: Enough with all these good debaters. How about profiling a few real stinkers for a change, those people who show up week after week and go 0-6? The salt of the debate earth, so to speak.
The Nostrumite goes on and on with this, but I won’t bore you with the rest of them. If you see us in Cambridge, join up with us as we pretend to pub crawl. I’m sure he’ll be happy to regale you with another hundred or so.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Inside the trenches
Herewith, a self-explanatory note from a parent judge. This is what keeps this activity valuable beyond its own little borders. If you intrinsically can't pick up her ballot, you're not that good a debater, bub, and this activity has been worthless to you in the grand scheme of things.
***
On Being a Mommy Judge
When my son became a debater, I was told that I would have to get involved as a judge, especially if my son wanted to go to many tournaments. I decided that I would support my son in this activity. As an English-speaking mommy, I was only required to invest 1 hour in judge training. From then on, I received on-the-job training, starting as a novice and advancing to varsity.
When I agree to serve as a judge at a tournament, I accept full responsibility. I don’t leave unless I am “dismissed.” I check the schematics to make sure I get to where I am supposed to be when I am supposed to be there (I admit that one time the “judge squad” had to find me to tell me that I was supposed to be judging when I was sitting around gabbing with other mommies; I was embarrassed and I hope that never happens again). I make sure my ballots get to the tab room, even if I have to bring them there myself. I read my son’s cases so I have some knowledge and understanding of the resolution (sometimes he asks me to read his cases to make sure it can be understood by a mommy/daddy judge). I flow the debate and try to follow the contentions, subpoints, blocks, rebuttals, harms, values and warrants. I try to write something meaningful on the ballots. After a tournament, I read my son’s ballots to try to gain insight into other judges’ insights. I have been operating with two basic assumptions: 1) this is the way adults behave and 2) I need to be a role model for my children and other people’s children, not the other way around. Apparently, some mommy and daddy judges should be taking grown-up lessons from their children.
Last week I judged 5 varsity rounds and I found myself pushed to the limit of my debate judging skills. These debaters were moving so fast, that it was difficult for me to follow their arguments. Flowing became almost impossible. After they read their cases, I found it easier to spend more energy on listening instead of flowing. I tried to see the big picture instead of all the little pieces. I found it difficult to write something on the ballot that would support my decision. I gave it my best shot, and that’s good enough for me. When I found myself as one of three judges in the first break round, I had to disclose, and this was after the God-coach of debate gave his treatise on how and why he made his decision. That was a hard act to follow, and although I accept the basic premise that debate is an activity that can and should be judged by mommies and daddies, I was a bit intimidated. I had been exposed as a mommy judge.
So what’s the payback? Why do I make the effort and “volunteer” to serve as a judge? I get to sit around high school cafeterias eating not hot pizza, cross the Bear Mountain Bridge in a school bus, and watch the steam rise in a stifling hot classroom when it’s below freezing outside. I also get to see my son put on a suit and tie and engage in an activity that I know will serve him well today and in the future. I leave these debate tournaments with a renewed faith in American youth. The writing, thinking and speaking skills that are on display really blows me away.
I know that there are some mommies and daddies that are better judges than me (my husband for starters). Apparently, there are far too many that are worse, simply because they don’t make the effort. I have decided that I need to be the best judge that I am capable of being. My son is entitled to no less than that from any mommy or daddy judge.
Rochelle Mozlin Insler
February 15, 2005
***
On Being a Mommy Judge
When my son became a debater, I was told that I would have to get involved as a judge, especially if my son wanted to go to many tournaments. I decided that I would support my son in this activity. As an English-speaking mommy, I was only required to invest 1 hour in judge training. From then on, I received on-the-job training, starting as a novice and advancing to varsity.
When I agree to serve as a judge at a tournament, I accept full responsibility. I don’t leave unless I am “dismissed.” I check the schematics to make sure I get to where I am supposed to be when I am supposed to be there (I admit that one time the “judge squad” had to find me to tell me that I was supposed to be judging when I was sitting around gabbing with other mommies; I was embarrassed and I hope that never happens again). I make sure my ballots get to the tab room, even if I have to bring them there myself. I read my son’s cases so I have some knowledge and understanding of the resolution (sometimes he asks me to read his cases to make sure it can be understood by a mommy/daddy judge). I flow the debate and try to follow the contentions, subpoints, blocks, rebuttals, harms, values and warrants. I try to write something meaningful on the ballots. After a tournament, I read my son’s ballots to try to gain insight into other judges’ insights. I have been operating with two basic assumptions: 1) this is the way adults behave and 2) I need to be a role model for my children and other people’s children, not the other way around. Apparently, some mommy and daddy judges should be taking grown-up lessons from their children.
Last week I judged 5 varsity rounds and I found myself pushed to the limit of my debate judging skills. These debaters were moving so fast, that it was difficult for me to follow their arguments. Flowing became almost impossible. After they read their cases, I found it easier to spend more energy on listening instead of flowing. I tried to see the big picture instead of all the little pieces. I found it difficult to write something on the ballot that would support my decision. I gave it my best shot, and that’s good enough for me. When I found myself as one of three judges in the first break round, I had to disclose, and this was after the God-coach of debate gave his treatise on how and why he made his decision. That was a hard act to follow, and although I accept the basic premise that debate is an activity that can and should be judged by mommies and daddies, I was a bit intimidated. I had been exposed as a mommy judge.
So what’s the payback? Why do I make the effort and “volunteer” to serve as a judge? I get to sit around high school cafeterias eating not hot pizza, cross the Bear Mountain Bridge in a school bus, and watch the steam rise in a stifling hot classroom when it’s below freezing outside. I also get to see my son put on a suit and tie and engage in an activity that I know will serve him well today and in the future. I leave these debate tournaments with a renewed faith in American youth. The writing, thinking and speaking skills that are on display really blows me away.
I know that there are some mommies and daddies that are better judges than me (my husband for starters). Apparently, there are far too many that are worse, simply because they don’t make the effort. I have decided that I need to be the best judge that I am capable of being. My son is entitled to no less than that from any mommy or daddy judge.
Rochelle Mozlin Insler
February 15, 2005
Monday, February 14, 2005
Inside the bunker
This weekend's tab room at Lakeland was, perhaps, emblematic. It was also hotter than Baghdad. You should know what goes on in there.
First of all, the judges were, again, one step ahead of us. I thought that the fact that they often don't speak English and that they know every hiding place in every school was trouble enough, but they pulled a new one on us this time. They went home. One of them left a note at the ballot table Friday night informing us that he would not return on the morrow. Another simply didn't return, with no notice whatsoever. That both these judges left in the middle of the tournament, in one case abandoning a team completely, is beyond my understanding. I wanted to toss the teams out on their butts, but I was only running the computer, not the tournament. It gets harder and harder to like lay judges, but the real issue is the kids, not the judges. There is no question that the teams involved knew full well that their judges were blowing off their obligations, just like kids know full well that they haven't bothered to train their judges, but don't give a damn, because their bad judges will be out judging someone else. The notoriety of a handful of teams, and a handful of judges, because greater and greater. I guess the offenders simply hope that we'll stop scheduling their lousy judges and let them off the hook. Now THAT is sleazy. And deliberate. I'm tempted to start posting the names of the schools and judges to avoid. And I can't wait to write the judge section of next year's Bump invite. Don't even think of signing up if those notables are any of yours. You know who you are.
There were plenty of bright spots, though. While I alone was left to defend Moby Dick as a regular reread (the various coaches assembled were almost unanimously strong supporters of tossing Melville overboard completely), and also seemed to be the only person who liked Dickens AND Austen, we could at least all agree that The DaVinci Code is the only bestseller in recent memory that actually delivered on what a bestseller ought to deliver. In other words, it was only as philistines that the coaches could find unity. Then there was the Menick evidence against kritiks, or something along those lines. Let's put it this way. Some yabo quoted this blog in his case, against a Hen Hud debater, and WON! I don't know which is more embarrassing, that the yabo didn't have a clue to the credibility of his source, or that my guy lost to it. Heads should seriously be hanging in shame today. And then there was the usual schmoozing and gossiping about various and sundry. Mr X with his ego being the only thing bigger than his mouth was roundly savaged, and everyone hopes he will be going away at the end of the season. Ms Y, it turns out, was given the boot; I didn't even know her but I was glad to hear it. And the disconnect between what everyone says the TOC is doing and what the TOC is doing was remarked upon yet again; as a member of the LD advisory committee, I am ever astounded at the things people say we're up to!
And on the local front, a commitment was made to keep the MHL together in the face of Bill Barthelme's leaving Bergenfield. News of how we'll do things will be reported eventually, but expect at least as many tournaments as in the past, and an active website for signups and information.
And not that you really care at all, but Lakeland was yet another example of why you can't use the "new" TRPC software. Every version after 2002 has faults. The runover of divisions is well-known, but this time we got incompletely filled-in schematics, plus total inability to find extra judges that were clearly available in the data. If you plan to run a tournament and need the old software, let me know. It's on my flashdrive and it's yours for the asking. If you use the new software, you're on your own. The only good thing it does is print ballots, if that's your fancy. The only way to use it is if you have one and only one division of something (and even then you'll run into trouble, e.g., it forgets how to print a schematic). I use these programs week after week after week, and while the old version lacks a few bells and whistles, it's solid as a rock, and Rich Edwards is my god! As for the new version... I prefer index cards.
First of all, the judges were, again, one step ahead of us. I thought that the fact that they often don't speak English and that they know every hiding place in every school was trouble enough, but they pulled a new one on us this time. They went home. One of them left a note at the ballot table Friday night informing us that he would not return on the morrow. Another simply didn't return, with no notice whatsoever. That both these judges left in the middle of the tournament, in one case abandoning a team completely, is beyond my understanding. I wanted to toss the teams out on their butts, but I was only running the computer, not the tournament. It gets harder and harder to like lay judges, but the real issue is the kids, not the judges. There is no question that the teams involved knew full well that their judges were blowing off their obligations, just like kids know full well that they haven't bothered to train their judges, but don't give a damn, because their bad judges will be out judging someone else. The notoriety of a handful of teams, and a handful of judges, because greater and greater. I guess the offenders simply hope that we'll stop scheduling their lousy judges and let them off the hook. Now THAT is sleazy. And deliberate. I'm tempted to start posting the names of the schools and judges to avoid. And I can't wait to write the judge section of next year's Bump invite. Don't even think of signing up if those notables are any of yours. You know who you are.
There were plenty of bright spots, though. While I alone was left to defend Moby Dick as a regular reread (the various coaches assembled were almost unanimously strong supporters of tossing Melville overboard completely), and also seemed to be the only person who liked Dickens AND Austen, we could at least all agree that The DaVinci Code is the only bestseller in recent memory that actually delivered on what a bestseller ought to deliver. In other words, it was only as philistines that the coaches could find unity. Then there was the Menick evidence against kritiks, or something along those lines. Let's put it this way. Some yabo quoted this blog in his case, against a Hen Hud debater, and WON! I don't know which is more embarrassing, that the yabo didn't have a clue to the credibility of his source, or that my guy lost to it. Heads should seriously be hanging in shame today. And then there was the usual schmoozing and gossiping about various and sundry. Mr X with his ego being the only thing bigger than his mouth was roundly savaged, and everyone hopes he will be going away at the end of the season. Ms Y, it turns out, was given the boot; I didn't even know her but I was glad to hear it. And the disconnect between what everyone says the TOC is doing and what the TOC is doing was remarked upon yet again; as a member of the LD advisory committee, I am ever astounded at the things people say we're up to!
And on the local front, a commitment was made to keep the MHL together in the face of Bill Barthelme's leaving Bergenfield. News of how we'll do things will be reported eventually, but expect at least as many tournaments as in the past, and an active website for signups and information.
And not that you really care at all, but Lakeland was yet another example of why you can't use the "new" TRPC software. Every version after 2002 has faults. The runover of divisions is well-known, but this time we got incompletely filled-in schematics, plus total inability to find extra judges that were clearly available in the data. If you plan to run a tournament and need the old software, let me know. It's on my flashdrive and it's yours for the asking. If you use the new software, you're on your own. The only good thing it does is print ballots, if that's your fancy. The only way to use it is if you have one and only one division of something (and even then you'll run into trouble, e.g., it forgets how to print a schematic). I use these programs week after week after week, and while the old version lacks a few bells and whistles, it's solid as a rock, and Rich Edwards is my god! As for the new version... I prefer index cards.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
You know who you are
Yeah, you, You're the sort of debater who believes that all a negative has to do is say that the affirmative is wrong. As much as possible, you avoid a position of your own.
Here's how you'll do this in March-April.
Now, I grant you that this is a mushy topic, which is why no one voted for it (it only came in #2 out of 10—who are these people, for pete's sake). I know my team didn't vote for it (I save our ballot). The thing is, I can't imagine more nebulous constructs than community or national standards. (I won't even talk about where civil liberties comes in!) Even the Supreme Court has gone to great lengths to not define the two, but simply to leave cs in the hands of the sitting jury facing the evidence in hand. You're the community, folks: have at it.
So, in the event, the aff will have no choice but to define and defend community standards above national standards. The negative, even your negative, will have to concede that, if protecting cs "better protects" civil liberties, it has to actually be better than some other thing. The natural (preferable, and ultimately stronger) negative is that, no, ns better protects, and now let us compare the two. I say natural, because it demonstrates an intuitive understanding of the English language, that better implies a comparison of two items. Also, debating thus will provide the neg not only with reasons why cs is not good, but why something else is indeed better, which is a strategically strong position all negs should attempt to achieve in any resolution. Neg's advocacy should always be equal to aff's, if for no other reason than that this strategy forces aff to address strong arguments other than refutations of aff's own (putting aside kritiks, of course). You never listen to that, though.
Anyhow, here's what you're going to do. Rather than explaining why nat stds better serve civil liberties than com stds (which, of course, they seem to do, at least if you don't think about it too hard, which means that neg has an intuitively stronger case if neg grabs the topic by the tail and stares it straight in the eye), you are going to argue that:
1. It is difficult or impossible to differentiate between ns and cs
2. Because of 1, we can't know which is which
3. Because of 2, we can't choose between them
4. Therefore, the aff is not true because we can't tell which is better because we don't know the difference
Keep in mind, when you make this argument, that it is paradigmatic of bad debating. That won't stop you, but at least you'll know what you're doing.
According to my calendar, I probably will not be judging this topic. Lucky you.
Here's how you'll do this in March-April.
Now, I grant you that this is a mushy topic, which is why no one voted for it (it only came in #2 out of 10—who are these people, for pete's sake). I know my team didn't vote for it (I save our ballot). The thing is, I can't imagine more nebulous constructs than community or national standards. (I won't even talk about where civil liberties comes in!) Even the Supreme Court has gone to great lengths to not define the two, but simply to leave cs in the hands of the sitting jury facing the evidence in hand. You're the community, folks: have at it.
So, in the event, the aff will have no choice but to define and defend community standards above national standards. The negative, even your negative, will have to concede that, if protecting cs "better protects" civil liberties, it has to actually be better than some other thing. The natural (preferable, and ultimately stronger) negative is that, no, ns better protects, and now let us compare the two. I say natural, because it demonstrates an intuitive understanding of the English language, that better implies a comparison of two items. Also, debating thus will provide the neg not only with reasons why cs is not good, but why something else is indeed better, which is a strategically strong position all negs should attempt to achieve in any resolution. Neg's advocacy should always be equal to aff's, if for no other reason than that this strategy forces aff to address strong arguments other than refutations of aff's own (putting aside kritiks, of course). You never listen to that, though.
Anyhow, here's what you're going to do. Rather than explaining why nat stds better serve civil liberties than com stds (which, of course, they seem to do, at least if you don't think about it too hard, which means that neg has an intuitively stronger case if neg grabs the topic by the tail and stares it straight in the eye), you are going to argue that:
1. It is difficult or impossible to differentiate between ns and cs
2. Because of 1, we can't know which is which
3. Because of 2, we can't choose between them
4. Therefore, the aff is not true because we can't tell which is better because we don't know the difference
Keep in mind, when you make this argument, that it is paradigmatic of bad debating. That won't stop you, but at least you'll know what you're doing.
According to my calendar, I probably will not be judging this topic. Lucky you.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Moving right along, Criticism #12.5
12 1/2. Discussion of CX on VB, thumbs up. All right, I admit to asking the team to create a VB in a barred circle graphic for me, but I do like discussions like this one. First of all, it demonstrates that most people take CX very seriously, plus it gives food for thought to debaters on what to do with it. But more to the point, I like a place where people can discuss debate theory, which a site like VB can do nicely. On the other hand, I really don't need to know what brand of toothpaste is used by the guy who made it to doubles at the Pago Pago Prep Chowder Society Invitational. But if you want wheat, I guess you have to sort through some chaff. (Has anyone posted the photos yet of the PPPCSI? I understand a lot of people where seen in classrooms wearing suits. I can't wait!)
The eleventh criticism (and a half)
I was wrong. I am big enough to admit it.
11. Carvel: thumbs up. Wally the Whale rules (or, as Elmer Fudd would say, Wally the Whale wules).
11 1/2. Claire. 'Nuff said.
11. Carvel: thumbs up. Wally the Whale rules (or, as Elmer Fudd would say, Wally the Whale wules).
11 1/2. Claire. 'Nuff said.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Ten criticisms, during an off debate period
The young 'uns are doing midterms this week, which makes me wonder how many will turn up at tonight's meeting. So, if they wish to pass the time not studying and not meeting, they could pursue some of the following.
1. The Last Samurai, thumbs up. Lots of people refuse to see Tom Cruise movies on face, which is a mistake. They should only refuse to see some Tom Cruise movies on face. He's perfectly good in this one, which is a nice sequel to Pacific Overtures in my private little universe. I did not, however, watch the supplemental second disk of extras. Even I draw the line somewhere. My only complaint about the film is that it needed more Billy Connelly.
2. Coffee and Cigarettes, thumbs all over the place. Worth watching, I guess, especially if you're up late nights wondering about RZA and GZA and if your daughter is insane for liking the Ghost Dog soundtrack.
3. Legal Affairs magazine, serious thumbs up to keep the brain juiced. For instance, read this on Intellectual Property: http://www.legalaffairs.org/issues/November-December-2004/feature_hunter_novdec04.html
4. NPR online, thumbs way up. For instance, sample Johnny Carson: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4464083
5. The next Robert James Waller novel, thumbs down for anyone who doesn't think they're a cowboy. I just put this one down on my desk. This guy is a little undisciplined, a little interesting, a little terrible, a little cute.
6. The next Trevanian "novel" is nicely thumbs up. No one remembers this guy, who wrote Shibumi, one of my favorite silly thrillers. His autobiographical novel of his youth in Albany is a real wallow. Makes you glad you missed the 30s and the Depression, but if W gets his way economically, we may get to see similar times again soon. Oh dollar on the international market, we hardly knew ye.
7. Under the Tuscan Sun, thumbs way down. Of course, you get to look at the Tuscan scenery, but if you are thinking of suffering through a chickflick for the sake of balancing your Blade collection, look elsewhere.
8. Slow-cooked duck, thumbs up. 325 for 3 hours, 400 for 1/2 hour, thank you Nigella.
9. Red Ranger Came Calling by Berkeley Breathed, thumbs up. Nice kids children book that was sitting on my pile that I read over the snowy weekend.
10. "Men are smarter than women" sez Harvard honcho. Thumbs way up. This is getting more ink than Iraq, Social Security and Brad-Jen combined. I, for one, didn't know men's brains were (proportionately) 16% bigger than women's, as reported by the New York Times. No conversation with a Harvard girl (like Claire) is now complete without a nod toward Larry Summers. I don't think I convinced Claire to rethink her computer science career choice, but with that missing 16%... I don't know. Sounds like trouble to me. Fortunately she can always get her old job back scooping ice cream at Carvel.
1. The Last Samurai, thumbs up. Lots of people refuse to see Tom Cruise movies on face, which is a mistake. They should only refuse to see some Tom Cruise movies on face. He's perfectly good in this one, which is a nice sequel to Pacific Overtures in my private little universe. I did not, however, watch the supplemental second disk of extras. Even I draw the line somewhere. My only complaint about the film is that it needed more Billy Connelly.
2. Coffee and Cigarettes, thumbs all over the place. Worth watching, I guess, especially if you're up late nights wondering about RZA and GZA and if your daughter is insane for liking the Ghost Dog soundtrack.
3. Legal Affairs magazine, serious thumbs up to keep the brain juiced. For instance, read this on Intellectual Property: http://www.legalaffairs.org/issues/November-December-2004/feature_hunter_novdec04.html
4. NPR online, thumbs way up. For instance, sample Johnny Carson: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4464083
5. The next Robert James Waller novel, thumbs down for anyone who doesn't think they're a cowboy. I just put this one down on my desk. This guy is a little undisciplined, a little interesting, a little terrible, a little cute.
6. The next Trevanian "novel" is nicely thumbs up. No one remembers this guy, who wrote Shibumi, one of my favorite silly thrillers. His autobiographical novel of his youth in Albany is a real wallow. Makes you glad you missed the 30s and the Depression, but if W gets his way economically, we may get to see similar times again soon. Oh dollar on the international market, we hardly knew ye.
7. Under the Tuscan Sun, thumbs way down. Of course, you get to look at the Tuscan scenery, but if you are thinking of suffering through a chickflick for the sake of balancing your Blade collection, look elsewhere.
8. Slow-cooked duck, thumbs up. 325 for 3 hours, 400 for 1/2 hour, thank you Nigella.
9. Red Ranger Came Calling by Berkeley Breathed, thumbs up. Nice kids children book that was sitting on my pile that I read over the snowy weekend.
10. "Men are smarter than women" sez Harvard honcho. Thumbs way up. This is getting more ink than Iraq, Social Security and Brad-Jen combined. I, for one, didn't know men's brains were (proportionately) 16% bigger than women's, as reported by the New York Times. No conversation with a Harvard girl (like Claire) is now complete without a nod toward Larry Summers. I don't think I convinced Claire to rethink her computer science career choice, but with that missing 16%... I don't know. Sounds like trouble to me. Fortunately she can always get her old job back scooping ice cream at Carvel.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Great moments in debate
The average weekend is full of them, if you know where to look. Being buried in the tab room often cuts you off from the ebb and the flow of things, but I did manage a couple of magical moments.
For instance, there was the judge who decided to riffle through the teacher's desk. While this is in itself an extraordinary event, in this particular case the teacher happened to be in the room! The judge made an attractive nuisance defense (the drawer was open and looked interesting), followed by a we-always-riffle-through-the-teacher's-desks-in-Texas defense (which is, I guess, a sort of Rehnquistian anti-federalist ploy), followed by the oh-shucks-what's-that-printed-on-the-ceiling defense. Some people are born with a silver foot in their mouth.
Then there was the moment when I went over to see if all the judges had turned up for the novice finals. As I entered the room, Robbie, rather than proceeding with his 1AC, interrupted the proceedings to take a call on his cell phone. Presumably it was his broker, or bookie, or bag man. Hard to tell. Harder too to turn your cell off, when you're expecting a call from your broker, or bookie, or bag man. Then again, maybe it was just Noah calling in with a turn off negative's second contention.
My only hope is that everyone was on the bus when I sent it home Saturday night. I still have a vague sense that someone was left behind. Has anyone seen NoShow lately?
For instance, there was the judge who decided to riffle through the teacher's desk. While this is in itself an extraordinary event, in this particular case the teacher happened to be in the room! The judge made an attractive nuisance defense (the drawer was open and looked interesting), followed by a we-always-riffle-through-the-teacher's-desks-in-Texas defense (which is, I guess, a sort of Rehnquistian anti-federalist ploy), followed by the oh-shucks-what's-that-printed-on-the-ceiling defense. Some people are born with a silver foot in their mouth.
Then there was the moment when I went over to see if all the judges had turned up for the novice finals. As I entered the room, Robbie, rather than proceeding with his 1AC, interrupted the proceedings to take a call on his cell phone. Presumably it was his broker, or bookie, or bag man. Hard to tell. Harder too to turn your cell off, when you're expecting a call from your broker, or bookie, or bag man. Then again, maybe it was just Noah calling in with a turn off negative's second contention.
My only hope is that everyone was on the bus when I sent it home Saturday night. I still have a vague sense that someone was left behind. Has anyone seen NoShow lately?
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
My Keeper's Brother
It was suggested to Robbie last weekend that, in fact, Noah had written his cases.
If they only knew the truth.
I remember back to those so-called days of yore. Noah, as we all knew at the time, was incapable of holding two sequentially coherent thoughts in his head for more than three seconds at a time. He was completely dyslexic (in fact, his mother was very active in DAM, the Mothers Against Dyslexia). And if that wasn't enough, he had a tendency to overpack for short trips, bring every article of clothing he had ever owned even to tournaments where he wasn't staying overnight. I had warned the family that there was no way I could turn this frail wreck into a debater, and suggested that he think about the wrestling team as more suitable to his talents. At that point his mother took me aside and told me about Robbie. "He's only a first grader," she said, "but he really understands Lincoln-Douglas." She surreptitiously handed me some papers. When I read them later, I realized that they were cases, two sides of the current resolution, the best I had ever seen. An affirmative, and a negative, and both of them were true. And they had been written by Robbie, during recess, while the other kids were falling off the jungle gym.
In the following four years, it became progressively harder to hide the fact that Noah's success was based completely on running Robbie's cases. Fortunately no one ever noticed that Noah's knobby fingers were incapable of typing, much less knocking out case after case after case. Robbie used to prep Noah on a daily basis, giving him drills, trying to keep his attention pinned to the topic at hand. It wasn't easy. And there were a couple of times when Noah simply wasn't up to the task, and we substituted Robbie in his place. (This was especially difficult at Glenbrooks, where Robbie, in the third grade at the time, had a lot of difficulty adjusting to the time change, the cold showers at the tournament hotel, and the combination of the names of the coaches running the thing, viz, Whipple and Belch.)
Anyhow, Robbie can now finally come into his own, and no longer has to prop up his degenerate brother. And I for one say, it's about time.
(PS: Noah is now in Israel learning Hebrew so that he can study international law in Jerusalem. How Robbie is managing to both write cases and prop up his degenerate brother in Israel is beyond me, but my guess is, he's doing just that.)
If they only knew the truth.
I remember back to those so-called days of yore. Noah, as we all knew at the time, was incapable of holding two sequentially coherent thoughts in his head for more than three seconds at a time. He was completely dyslexic (in fact, his mother was very active in DAM, the Mothers Against Dyslexia). And if that wasn't enough, he had a tendency to overpack for short trips, bring every article of clothing he had ever owned even to tournaments where he wasn't staying overnight. I had warned the family that there was no way I could turn this frail wreck into a debater, and suggested that he think about the wrestling team as more suitable to his talents. At that point his mother took me aside and told me about Robbie. "He's only a first grader," she said, "but he really understands Lincoln-Douglas." She surreptitiously handed me some papers. When I read them later, I realized that they were cases, two sides of the current resolution, the best I had ever seen. An affirmative, and a negative, and both of them were true. And they had been written by Robbie, during recess, while the other kids were falling off the jungle gym.
In the following four years, it became progressively harder to hide the fact that Noah's success was based completely on running Robbie's cases. Fortunately no one ever noticed that Noah's knobby fingers were incapable of typing, much less knocking out case after case after case. Robbie used to prep Noah on a daily basis, giving him drills, trying to keep his attention pinned to the topic at hand. It wasn't easy. And there were a couple of times when Noah simply wasn't up to the task, and we substituted Robbie in his place. (This was especially difficult at Glenbrooks, where Robbie, in the third grade at the time, had a lot of difficulty adjusting to the time change, the cold showers at the tournament hotel, and the combination of the names of the coaches running the thing, viz, Whipple and Belch.)
Anyhow, Robbie can now finally come into his own, and no longer has to prop up his degenerate brother. And I for one say, it's about time.
(PS: Noah is now in Israel learning Hebrew so that he can study international law in Jerusalem. How Robbie is managing to both write cases and prop up his degenerate brother in Israel is beyond me, but my guess is, he's doing just that.)
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Windows for Nostrumite, V.666
As I've been sorting out the next few weeks of judging and visiting Massachusetts, I touched base with the Nostrumite, who almost didn't make it to return my emails because he is in a state of permanent depression over his recent attempts to upgrade his computer. "I shoulda bought a Mac," he told me glumly. "A couple of weeks ago I got an error that my PC's hard disk was out of space, with marching orders to erase or die, and since then, every day a little death doesn't begin to describe it." You've got to hand it to him: even in the midst of core meltdown, he manages to toss in a Sondheim reference. That's my boy!
He began by eliminating some of the games he never plays anymore, he told me. He has a habit of buying a game, playing it for two hours until he reaches some particular difficulty that will take some clever offense, and then tossing it on the cybernetic ash heap. "I got rid of Age of Mythology, which I never liked, and Age of Empires, which I bought because they said it was just like Age of Mythology, which should have been a warning rather than siren call, but in any case, after that I blew away American McGee's Alice and a few unintellible zip files and a couple of copies of the TRPC software, and I was cooking with gas. Megabyte after megabyte fell like scales before my eyes." Unfortunately, by this point, the machine was slogging away at the speed of a Commodore 64 or Lionel Richie, whichever seems slower to you while sticking roughly to the same metaphor. "My virus definitions were older than a Commodore 64," the Mite said, "or older than Lionel Richie, so I downloaded and installed a new version of Norton. While I was at it, I scraped the bottom for spybots. I really felt as if I was cleaning up dramatically." But he had as yet gotten no increase in speed. Far from it. "So I went for the Big One, and loaded up good old Service Pack 2, which is the Godfather 3 of operating system upgrades." Which solved the problem? "Now it takes me ten minutes to start up, which means I'm afraid to ever turn the machine off." Any plus sides? "Well, once I got into the upgrading mode, I upgraded iTunes so that I could buy the Triplets of Belleville theme song"—that, I will add, was my recommendation to the lad, who fell in love with the tune at first byte—"but then I couldn't offload to the iPod which also needed new software, so I upgraded that, and lost about half my music, that is, anything I had put in with any software other than iTunes. At which point, I would have murdered Commodore Perry, or Sophie Coppola, or anyone else who got in my way."
But the machine was now back to fighting speed? I asked.
"I shoulda bought a Mac," he replied.
It ain't easy, being a Nostrumite.
He began by eliminating some of the games he never plays anymore, he told me. He has a habit of buying a game, playing it for two hours until he reaches some particular difficulty that will take some clever offense, and then tossing it on the cybernetic ash heap. "I got rid of Age of Mythology, which I never liked, and Age of Empires, which I bought because they said it was just like Age of Mythology, which should have been a warning rather than siren call, but in any case, after that I blew away American McGee's Alice and a few unintellible zip files and a couple of copies of the TRPC software, and I was cooking with gas. Megabyte after megabyte fell like scales before my eyes." Unfortunately, by this point, the machine was slogging away at the speed of a Commodore 64 or Lionel Richie, whichever seems slower to you while sticking roughly to the same metaphor. "My virus definitions were older than a Commodore 64," the Mite said, "or older than Lionel Richie, so I downloaded and installed a new version of Norton. While I was at it, I scraped the bottom for spybots. I really felt as if I was cleaning up dramatically." But he had as yet gotten no increase in speed. Far from it. "So I went for the Big One, and loaded up good old Service Pack 2, which is the Godfather 3 of operating system upgrades." Which solved the problem? "Now it takes me ten minutes to start up, which means I'm afraid to ever turn the machine off." Any plus sides? "Well, once I got into the upgrading mode, I upgraded iTunes so that I could buy the Triplets of Belleville theme song"—that, I will add, was my recommendation to the lad, who fell in love with the tune at first byte—"but then I couldn't offload to the iPod which also needed new software, so I upgraded that, and lost about half my music, that is, anything I had put in with any software other than iTunes. At which point, I would have murdered Commodore Perry, or Sophie Coppola, or anyone else who got in my way."
But the machine was now back to fighting speed? I asked.
"I shoulda bought a Mac," he replied.
It ain't easy, being a Nostrumite.
Monday, January 03, 2005
Ten criticisms, following the Christmas break
1. Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell: Thumbs down. You read 800 pages waiting for the story to get started. The author has a creamy, readable style, but substance here is sadly lacking. If you're looking for Harry Potter for grownups, read Harry Potter.
2. Finding Neverland: Thumbs up, provided you attend with the requisite three hankies. Still waiting for the mythical bad Johnny Depp movie.
3. Triplets of Belleville: Thumbs up for the theme song alone, much less the curious animation style. No Spirited Away, but a winner.
4. Robert Caro: Thumbs up for anything. This man cannot write a bad word. I'm back in Robert Moses land again. What a bastid!
5. The new Pacific Overtures: TU, almost as good as the original (high praise indeed). But not as good, when all is said and done. Nevertheless, clever staging, and with that score...
6. Avenue Q: TU, although you never know whether to look at the puppets or the people.
7. The Terminal: TU. Which is more awesome, Hanks's talent or the built-for-this-movie set?
8. Bubba Ho-Tep: Reluctant thumbs down. Once you know that Elvis and JFK (who has been turned black) are living in a nursing home, you can write the script yourself. Too bad. Should have been a lot funnier.
9. Postmodernism: TD. The "lecture" continues apace, now that I've caught up a little with M. Foucault. My problem? I can't get past relativism. Anyone claiming that there is no objective reality needs to be hit over the head with a golf club.
10. Speaking of which, Golf: TD. I got worse this year. The team tried, getting me a great playing lesson. I played exactly one good round the whole season, the very last one, in October. At which point I grabbed the clubs out of the car and hid them in the basement. Unfortunately, I will no doubt remember where they are when April starts piercing at the old root.
So as you can see, my life is dull. Things seem to be jumping on the debate websites, though. They even had a Round Robin New Year's Eve. Can those forensicians celebrate or what?
2. Finding Neverland: Thumbs up, provided you attend with the requisite three hankies. Still waiting for the mythical bad Johnny Depp movie.
3. Triplets of Belleville: Thumbs up for the theme song alone, much less the curious animation style. No Spirited Away, but a winner.
4. Robert Caro: Thumbs up for anything. This man cannot write a bad word. I'm back in Robert Moses land again. What a bastid!
5. The new Pacific Overtures: TU, almost as good as the original (high praise indeed). But not as good, when all is said and done. Nevertheless, clever staging, and with that score...
6. Avenue Q: TU, although you never know whether to look at the puppets or the people.
7. The Terminal: TU. Which is more awesome, Hanks's talent or the built-for-this-movie set?
8. Bubba Ho-Tep: Reluctant thumbs down. Once you know that Elvis and JFK (who has been turned black) are living in a nursing home, you can write the script yourself. Too bad. Should have been a lot funnier.
9. Postmodernism: TD. The "lecture" continues apace, now that I've caught up a little with M. Foucault. My problem? I can't get past relativism. Anyone claiming that there is no objective reality needs to be hit over the head with a golf club.
10. Speaking of which, Golf: TD. I got worse this year. The team tried, getting me a great playing lesson. I played exactly one good round the whole season, the very last one, in October. At which point I grabbed the clubs out of the car and hid them in the basement. Unfortunately, I will no doubt remember where they are when April starts piercing at the old root.
So as you can see, my life is dull. Things seem to be jumping on the debate websites, though. They even had a Round Robin New Year's Eve. Can those forensicians celebrate or what?
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