How I spent my summer, Ch. 2: Rome

Rome is cool. Rome at night is cooler. Putting a big Puma ad at the top of the Spanish Steps (right) isn't so cool. One little piece of Americana I wish we hadn't exported.

After spending nearly a week in Rome in August, I've decided that DC is the most touristed place on Earth. The crowds of tourists around the Colosseum were pretty bad, but they've got nothing on the hordes I have to wade through just to do my job between June and September.

Oh, and let me dispel one myth right here. There are no pickpockets or thieves in Rome. No one ever attempted to rob me or Mom (who was equipped with a theft-proof -- albeit awfully ugly -- purse, just in case). We didn't see any crowds of gypsy kids swarming around tourists on the Forum. And I felt a helluva lot safer walking all over Rome at night than I do DC.

So quit writing about it already, Rick Steves.

Photo credit: Me.

Back to the slide show momentarily...

... but first, a rant against Creationists.

Why is this trial even necessary? Why can't these people simply acknowledge one FACT -- inarguable, inescapable: "intelligent design" is not science.

There's no way to test whether an "unidentified intelligence" -- as many reporters seemed to have been conned into calling it -- created life. (I would call it "supernatural being," if I were the reporter on the story -- which I probably will never be, given my quite biased view of the subject. But kudos to AP reporter Martha Raffaele for consistently and accurately referring to ID as an "idea," instead of a "theory.")

If it can't be tested it's not science, and if it's not science it doesn't belong in biology class. The end. Is there a lawyer in the house -- why wasn't this case won on summary judgment?

While we're on the topic of myth and science, this is very cool. Almost as good as catching the Loch Ness Monster on tape, in my book. Shame, though, that they had to badly wound the thing in order to film it.

How I spent my summer, Ch. 1: Flying

Steerage is for suckers.*

We went business class, baby. Which actually wasn't as relaxing as I anticipated. Good food and free booze and stewardesses who asked, about every two minutes, whether you needed more of said booze. And good movies, too -- no "Miss Congeniality 2," thank you very much. "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" on the way over and "Sahara" on the way back, plus bits and pieces of "Kingdom of Heaven," television, and video games. ("Guide" is great. "Sahara" is dumb fun, but a bit of an insult to Clive Cussler.)

But I didn't sleep an hour either way, even with all the extra leg and ass room. And I still sat in fear that I would be stricken by deep vein thrombosis.

Anyway, above is The Alps from the plane window. Most impressive mountains I've ever seen, not having ever seen the Rockies.


Photo credit: Me.

*Suckers whose moms didn't buy their plane tickets, that is.

How I spent my summer vacation: Prelude

Let's get this out of the way: More than one person has bitched recently that I haven't been posting often enough and my blog is "boring." You know what? If you want to read my shit every day, buy a subscription to my employer's publication. Otherwise, you'll get it when I feel like it and not a moment sooner.

I feel like it.

At right: Me and my mother on the edge of the crater of Mt. Vesuvius. The Bay of Naples is behind us. Sorrento, where we would spend a harrowing two days (more on that later), is way back there to the left of my head. Capri is to the right of Mom's head.

This was my finest accomplishment of two weeks in Italy: dragging my mother to the top of the most dangerous volcano in Europe. At a few points I thought I might have to administer CPR. Which is really sad, considering that you can drive almost all the way to the top.

(Pause to let Mom curse me a bit.)

Hey, but I'll grant you, that last half-mile or so is a real bitch. Nice that the Italians sell beer at the summits of their volcanoes.

So anyway, now that Blogger has made it reeeeal easy to post photos, I'm going to be industrious-like and post a regular series of items about Italy. Oughta keep certain people off my goddamn back.


Photo credit: Some German dude that Mom thought was hot.

Really, I am ready for some football

The 2005 NFL season kicks off tomorrow night. Time to meet my fantasy team: the Noodly Appendages. Imagine a big inflatable flying spaghetti monster at the entrance to the tunnel to the locker room, as well as a bunch of slutty Creationist cheerleaders, and out they come...

At QB: Jake Delhomme, Carolina and Byron Leftwich, Jacksonville, backed up by David Carr, Houston.
At RB: Tiki Barber, New York Giants and Chris Brown, Tennessee, backed up by J.J. Arrington, Arizona.
At WR: Randy Moss, Oakland; Terrell Owens, Philadelphia and Lee Evans, Buffalo, backed up by Rod Smith, Denver and Marcus Robinson, Minnesota.
At TE: Antonio Gates, San Diego, backed up by Bubba Franks, Green Bay.
Kicker: Jeff Reed, Pittsburg.
Defense: Washington Redskins.

Fittingly, the Appendages' strength is the receivers and tight ends. Or at least until Randy Moss gets his leg broken tomorrow night by the New England Patriots' Rodney Harrison, as one of my coworkers has forecast. I'm not wild about my running backs situation. And Delhomme and Leftwich better have the break-out seasons everyone's predicting, or I'm dead in the marinara in this two-QB league.

Update (9/27/05): Three games into the season, the Appendages are one of two 3-0 teams in the league and are third in scoring. The receivers are carrying the team, as expected. Also, I snapped up (Fast) Willie Parker of Pittsburg and Cadillac Williams of Tampa after the first weekend, significantly upgrading the RB corps. Delhomme was killing me until this weekend, when he threw for 3 TDs. I could care less that it was a losing effort. Carr, Brown, Arrington, Robinson, Franks and Washington's D have all been handed their walking papers.

Sick of my infrequent posting schedule?

Then check out my friend Pete Wagener, who is free to write about stuff I can't go anywhere near. Also, he's cool because his site runs on software he wrote.

It's crossed my mind, too

A friend of mine has decided to retire from personal blogging for the time being, apparently because his site is pointless.

Which is a pretty good point.

The only reason I continue to half-ass it, really, is as a substitute for something quaint like keeping a journal. Someday when I write my memoirs I can look back through my blog and recall all my pointless ruminations about Creationists, fantasy football, crappy drivers, movies, music and friends. Won't that be useful.

Anyway, stay tuned for posts about fantasy football, crappy Italian drivers and maybe some pictures, if I can figure out how to do it.

Even less to see here than usual

I'll be in Italy for two weeks with my mom, probably without access to email or phones or football. On the plus side, mom sprung for business-class on the flights, so I should be drunk by about 2 p.m. Sunday and not sober again until Aug. 27. Arrivederci...

I am, like, sooo ready for some football

NFL training camps have opened, we're in the last month of summer, and Florida State football players are getting arrested. The most wonderful time of the year is upon us!

So here's how the first round of my fantasy football draft is looking this year. Advice is appreciated:

1. Peyton Manning (4,600 yards and 49 TDs in 2004. 'Nuff said.)
2. LaDainian Tomlinson (had him last year; he struggled with his groin -- heh-heh -- but still produced.)
3. Shaun Alexander (big numbers last year; contract year this year.)
4. Daunte Culpepper (with 4,700 yards and 39 TDs in '04, I'd place him higher -- if he hadn't lost Randy Moss.)
5. Randy Moss (still the only WR worth a first-round pick, I think.)
6. Willis McGahee (a monster in the last half of 2004, and no competition for carries this year.)
7. Donovan McNabb (looks a lot better with Terrell Owens on his team.)
8. Priest Holmes (I'm really hoping I'm not in a position to draft Holmes. At 32, and after a pretty steep drop in production last year, I don't trust him.)
9. Edgerrin James (like Alexander also in a contract year, but has to compete for TDs with Manning.)
10. Tiki Barber (led RBs in our league in scoring last year. A fluke or the emergence of a star?)

Guys I'll be looking to steal later. Suggestions are welcome:

1. Jake Delhomme (had him last year; consistently produced and should be better.)
2. Drew Bennett (Tennessee's number one WR with Derrick Mason gone; put up great numbers the last half of '04.)
3. Byron Leftwich (traded for him last year and didn't regret it. Plus he's the hometown guy.)
4. Jermaine Wiggins (if I can't get Antonio Gates or Tony Gonzalez for my TE. Culpepper will need someone to dump to, now that he can't just wing it in Moss' general direction.)
5. J.J. Arrington (who I think will be the best of the rookie RB crop -- he's the only one of the big names who doesn't have to compete for carries.)

Guys I'll be looking to avoid like the plague. Again, feel free to advise:

1. Mike Vick (Ron Mexico simply can't throw, and killed me on a couple occasions last year after I took him in the second round.)
2. Jake Plummer (got him late in the draft last year, but because Vick sucked he became my number one guy. Sometimes looked like Brett Favre. Sometimes looked like Mike Vick. No telling who was going to show up.)
3. Tom Brady (a couple of games a year, he has these 99-yard, zero-TD performances but still manages to win, leaving the t.v. guys to all hail his "leadership" and all his fantasy owners fuming.)
4. Torry Holt (drafted him third round last year; he disappeared in more than one game.)
5. Chris Brown (awesome first few games last year, but then seemed to stub his toe in every game and leave in the third quarter. Irritating, and now he's competing with Travis Henry.)

Why the creationists are winning

In part, because the New York Times identifies their creation myth as a "theory" on par with evolution.

I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this nation is slowly devolving into a theocratic idiotocracy. But Jesus H. Christ, Elisabeth Bumiller, you don't have to help the process along.

Gentle reminder: a theory stands up under the scrutiny of scientific testing. Myths, like "intelligent design," do not, and so it is inaccurate to call them theories.

Update: For some guidance, Bumiller could read her own editorial page, where Paul Krugman spells out what's happening.

Double update: I shouldn't pick only on Bumiller. The Washington Post is also guilty. Its reporters at least wait until the fourth paragraph to call creationism a "theory," but then attribute the lack of scientific evidence to a claim by "opponents."

This is a situation where journalists should educate themselves on the subject matter and write with authority: "There is no peer-reviewed science that supports the idea of 'intelligent design,' which is called creationism by many biologists." The end. And when the creationist assholes call to complain, tell 'em to show you the science.

A gifthorse that almost got looked in the mouth

I made my first visit to Greensboro's new "First Horizon Park" on Saturday.

Spent a lot of my time in the Grandstand, the re-make of the bar of the same name that was integral to the city's old baseball stadium. The new bar, like the new stadium, is pretty much superior in every way. Better beer, more room, more seating. Only downside: it's no longer staffed by college hotties. Can't have everything, I suppose.

The rest of the stadium is equally pleasant. A nice wide concourse with your usual assortment of junkfood dealers. Comfortable seats. Good colors, and little architectural flourishes, like the green lamps ringing the outside of the brick facade. A good view of the game from everywhere. Plenty of beer vendors. A playground for the kiddies. A beautiful view from the third base line of Greensboro's skyline, such as it is. Clean, uncrowded bathrooms. It's a gem, pretty much. I bought a Grasshoppers hat. My friends got a free Jim Melvin bobblehead doll, which was really funny if, like me, you happened to have reported on the construction of this stadium. A couple years ago, it might as well have been a Satan bobblehead.

Here is where I almost launched into a lengthy, boring post about how ludicrous it was for a healthy proportion of Greensboro's citizenry to oppose the construction of this stadium, even though it cost taxpayers peanuts, if anything, and has clearly helped revitalize downtown.

(Some context: Washington, DC is about to build a $500 million stadium for its new baseball team, and every penny will come from taxpayers' hides. Now there's a scandal.)

But hey, water under the bridge. The stadium has made a nice town better. Enjoy.

Arrivals

Two very good friends of mine in Greensboro, NC are about to have their first baby. The husband -- I believe in order to vent his mounting panic -- has taken to documenting the experience in a series of often funny, sometimes heartwarming emails. Perfect kind of thing for a blog, but he says he's too lazy (in a city sort of famous for its blogging). Anyway, because I have nothing else to write about, here's an excerpt (plus, I'm a contributor to this one):

Last night, I just watched Nancy’s belly move and squirm. Isaac is
already very smart. He has figured out a series of kicks and punches to
communicate with us, we just haven’t learned to interpret them yet. The
obvious visual comparison is the parasite in the movie Alien, but I
also thought of ol Bugs Bunny cartoon when someone ate dynamite and would
quiver, ready to blow at the slightest jostle.

While I was enjoying the “Wavy Belly” Show, Nancy told me she felt a
contraction. My first instinct was to raise the Delivery Awareness
Level from “Orange” or “Guarded” to “Red” or “Active Delivery Phase”. My mind
quieted down when I looked at Nancy. She’ll know when it’s time.

Here comes the science…..For those of you haven’t been exposed to
making babies (except for rolling over and going to sleep afterwards)*, the
cervix is a thick muscular ring at the base of the uterus. The baby’s
head is slightly pointed to push though. “Contractions” are actually
the muscles in the walls of the uterus practicing for the big day. Normally
the cervix looks like the neck of a turtle neck sweater, but when it
effaces, it stretches and thins out. It also dilates from 0 cm
(completely closed), to 5 cm (ouch this isn’t fun), 8 cm (you son of a
bitch I never wanted kids), 10 cm (baby time).

I’m sure you’ve seen skeletons before. Next time you look at one, look
at the bones in the pelvis. A baby has to get through that hole. Oh
yeah, bone doesn’t strech by the way. When the baby’s head is level
with the bottom of the hip joints, they are at “Zero station” Any higher,
and the are rated at Zero -1-5 (-5 being the highest). Any lower and the
are rated Zero +1-5 (anything higher than three, and the baby is crowning).

Two weeks ago, Nancy was 50% effaced, and 1 cm dilated.

Big Matt.

* Thanks for the joke Alex

You're welcome. I still don't know what all the science stuff means, though.

Notable aside: For my readers/friends in Greensboro, I'll be down there this weekend, visiting Matt and Nancy on what could be their last weekend as DINKs. If you'd like to catch up, I'll probably be at the 'Hoppers (?) game on Saturday. Haven't seen the new stadium, but I'll bet there's a bar, and that's where you're likely to find me.

Alternatively, you can email me, and we might actually, like, plan something.

Quick movie reviews

Seen a couple very good flicks recently that should be plugged. Warning: mild spoilers, but probably nothing you didn't already figure out from trailers and reviews.

1. Batman Begins. Easily the best edition since Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson, and maybe even better than that one. Christian Bale is totally Batman. Liam Neeson is a badass. Morgan Freeman steals every one of his scenes. So does the batmobile. Katie Holmes looks like a girl in a woman's role (Angie Harmon, who has convincingly played a prosecutor, perhaps should have gotten a call). Also could have done without some of the mystical ninja mumbo-jumbo that burned up the first third of the movie and nearly chased my girlfriend from the theater.

2. War of the Worlds. I sure hate Tom Cruise, but damn if I don't love his movies. I would offer that this movie features the greatest "arrival" scene in the history of extraterrestrial cinema. Like, they come from underground, man! How cool is that? (We'll overlook the logical questions, such as: If they could plant awesome war machines under the Earth's crust thousands of years ago, why didn't they, uh, just invade the planet back then?) Dakota Fanning, who plays Cruise's daughter, is one excellent little actress. How many 10-year-olds have comedic timing, for Christ's sake? The scenes in the basement are some of the most tense in an alien movie since Sigourney Weaver was trapped in the lab in Aliens. Stephen Spielberg is simply a genius. Although the Martians look kinda dumb -- like wimpier Aliens. My only real problem with the flick is something Spielberg couldn't do anything about: the ending of War of the Worlds has always been unsatisfying. I want something like Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum blowing up the mothership in Independence Day, only not so stupid. Instead we get: the flu. At least there's a cool Morgan Freeman voiceover.

Mastered:

On banjo, the opening verse of "Dueling Banjos."

(The verse you might feel compelled to whistle when, say, crossing from Florida into Georgia, or from Guilford County N.C. into Randolph County, or from Arlington into Fairfax.)

It is my finest musical achievement. Bow to me, hillbillies of the world.

State of the fart

The first sign of a Great Society, I believe, is fancy shitters. Still, I'm not sure why I'd want my toilet to look like a hatbox. Seems like that'd just make it harder to find when I'm drunk. Especially when I read this line:

... freeing designers to place the Purist where toilets have never been placed before.

Like ... where? Next to the couch? Nonetheless, I'm a big supporter of advances in toilet technology. I envision a day when we don't even need "bathrooms," a day when toilets blend in with the scenery and no one bats an eye when I drop trow in the middle of a dinner party.

All I want for Christmas...

... is this t-shirt. And for the Kansas school board to be impeached. (Thanks, Lex.)

Tooting my own horn, again

Check me out on NPR's "Talk of the Nation." I'd have announced it in advance, but I didn't want any of you suckers asking me about crazy shit again. And they only gave me about three hours' notice this morning.

Criticism is welcome. It's the only way I can become the best pundit I can be.

You know you live in a third-world city ...

... when the police chief's unmarked police car, full of riot gear, is stolen.

Alex Wayne, activist (so long as it doesn't require, like, actual activity)

One of journalism's many commandments: thou shalt not involve thyself in the activity of governments thou covers.

So because I cover Congress, I don't blog about what they're up to (er, much) or write letters to congressmen or anything like that. Somewhat refreshingly, however, I suddenly feel free to involve myself (a little) in local government. And since I live in a city that may have the sorriest local government in America, opportunity abounds.

For example: the Washington Post recently published an excellent series on our badly mismanaged public transit system. In response, I sent an e-mail to the Metro board of directors (who should all be replaced, by the way):

Dear Metro Board of Directors:

As a frequent Metro rider, I am generally pleased by
the system's service and supportive of providing the
agency more money, including a dedicated revenue
source.

My support, however, has been badly shaken by the
disclosures in just the first chapter of the
Washington Post's series on the state of Metro. The
agency appears to be in a state of disarray and very
badly mismanaged; it does not deserve increased
funding until public confidence is restored.

I hope you will act swiftly to right the agency. I
would offer two suggestions, based on the Washington
Post report, that I believe you could implement
immediately:

1. Replace the chief executive, Richard A. White, who
is ultimately responsible for the millions of dollars
that have been wasted on bad equipment and failed
maintenance.

2. Contract with private firms for escalator
maintenance. At my home station, Eastern Market, one
or the other of the platform escalators seems to be
almost permanently under repair; now I know why.

Sincerely,

Alex Wayne

In response, I get this:

Dear Alex Wayne:

Thank you for your June 4, 2005, e-mail  to the Washington Metropolitan
Area Transit Authority's (WMATA) Board.  The Board has requested that I
respond to you.  

While it is not always possible to implement every suggestion made, we
do consider each one carefully and value your opinions.  Regarding your
idea to contract with private firms for escalator maintenance, WMATA
uses both contractors and in-house mechanics for escalator repairs.  Both
groups have performance standards they must meet.  WMATA has more
escalators than any transit system in the world.  Many of those escalators
are more than 25 years old, but the overall reliability of the rail
system's 588 escalators has improved three percent during the past five
years.  WMATA is taking several steps to improve escalator performance,
including: installing canopies over rehabilitated escalators; installing
remote monitoring systems to quickly identify breakdowns; and
conducting more frequent inspections.

I hope I have addressed your concerns.  We look forward to continuing
to serve you and improving our services for you and all of our patrons.

Sincerely,

Joseph Galinanes
Director of Customer Service
Department of Communications

Nice try, Joe. But you seem to have addressed only one of my two suggestions. An oversight, I'm sure.

Oh how I loathe you, Lucas

George Lucas got the better of me last weekend. I saw his cursed movie. (But I didn't pay for it.)

Grudgingly, I will acknowledge that I was entertained. Which makes it all the more a shame. Rather than just being a kind of fun movie, it could have been a very good one -- if the first two hadn't reeked, and if Hayden Christensen wasn't such a terrible, terrible actor. (The little lady noted that his portrayal of "evil" seems to be confined to looking over his shoulder and raising an eyebrow. Oooohhh, hide the women and children!)

Binker speculates that Lucas had enough material for two movies, not three, but felt he had to stretch it out to match the first -- er, second -- three. Hence we got Jar Jar Binks, and speechifying, and silly stuff about minichlorine or something. I buy that.

What I look forward to is the remakes, in twenty years or so, of all six movies. That is, of course, if the rights can be pried from Lucas' cold, dead hands. This might merit an act of Congress.