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****Bean Heiress: Anti-Camping Renegade

When traveling through northern New England, I am wont to pick up a local newspaper, to enjoy a taste of homebrew rural news that rarely filters down to Boston. Mostly, I end up reading about tragic car and drowning accidents, petty battles in local politics, drug busts in remote areas, factory and industrial plant closings, and spitfire citizens, angry about some road or traffic law that deeply disturbs their way of life.

But this weekend, there was a rare treat: I read about Linda Bean Folkers, granddaughter and heir of the LL Bean fortune, antique collector (here), and noted supporter of the "most radical and insane right wing causes and politicians" (here).

Linda Bean is embroiled in a dispute with the small town of Weld, Maine over a public road with access to popular camping sites and hiking trails that bisects Folker's 2200 acres. Folkers demanded that the town gate the road, because her land is abused with "illegal dumping, campfires and motorized wheeled vehicles." When the citizens of Weld voted 102-0 at a special town meeting to deny Folkers' insistence, not only did Folkers dismantle a 60-year old camping shelter, she had "several mounds of dirt in front of 6-foot-deep ditches" (here) constructed on a public road.

This is not just any crazy rich person who acts as though they own the world, it's a woman who's fortune came mostly from hikers, campers and other outdoor enthusiasts. Shouldn't she encourage these activities? Shouldn't she be happy that modern life has not made us all immune to the glory of an escape to nature? Yes, campers and hikers abuse the land... but at least they are using it.

It's not like anyone's dumping toxic chemicals in her backyard... this probably affects 1% of her vast land holdings. Rich people have the privilege of being optimists; why not assume most visitors respect the land? When we're allowed to be slobs and land marauders everywhere else in life, it's hard to remember to stop when we enter nature. If she's concerned about illegal dumping, she should do a civic service and fund more rangers and trash removal. Maybe she should start programs to educate people about safe campfires, and how loving nature peacefully can be just as satisfying as ripping it apart with a motorbike. It would be a suitable cause for the granddaughter of LL Bean, an avid outdoors man who made billions from those who share in his passion by buying his overpriced outdoor gear.

****The Rain in Maine...

****Happy Memorial Day

I can't really explain why the picture on the right startled me so much when it popped up on the Boston Herald homepage (for this riveting Memeorial Day celebration round-up, here). It's cute and I'm glad that they decided against the typical picture of the little eugenic blond girls waving their flags with innocent glee, but just struck me as a very strange picture, I think because it lacks context.

****Feeling Great at 28

But I wanna stop right here.

Yes, hard to believe another birthday looms this Sunday. As a kid, I never believed the old folks who said this milestone grows significantly insignificant with each year. Rather than feeling happy and celebratory, I am seized by a vague sense of panic. I know what Age means now: A total shift in your priorities from dessert, toys, music, and looking older, to 401K, career, preventative medicine, and holding onto the last vestiges of a youthful appearance. The only constant is an insatiable lust for birthday cake.

You think Christmas babies have it rough, sharing their glory with Jesus Christ? Try Memorial Day weekend sometime. Geesch. I'm leaving town to spend my Special Day in the wilds of Maine, sleeping in a tent and trudging through mud as black flies ravish This Aging Flesh.

****The Vacationer

It wasn't hard to duck out of the office after lunch. He fired off three superfluous emails to his various superiors that he wrote that morning to prove his presense in the office until at least 1:15pm. He walked around to scope out all desk jockeys who remained, hunched over their computers either pecking away dutifully or staring as they scrolled through web pages, none of who would seriously question a middle manager leaving early the Friday before Memorial Day weekend.

Hell, he should get a prize for just showing up.

Julie had called him three times during lunch: 1- I'm leaving to pick up the kids, 2- I picked up the kids, and 3- Are you sure you have your credit card? When he got off the office elevator after finally finishing his turkey sandwich and chips, his phone buzzed with a new message. It was Julie: Hi honey, we hit some traffic on 93 but we're getting near your exit so we should there soon. He pictured his chubby wife ensconced in the minivan with her eyes glued to hyperactive Tony in the backseat, pissing off drivers with her irritating way of driving in traffic: Peel out, stop suddenly one inch away from the bumper in front of her, wait for the traffic to move up forty feet, repeat.

That's pretty much what she was doing ten minutes later when he spied the minivan on Congress Street. His casual arm-raise turned into a frantic wave when the minivan didn't appear to be pulling over for him. The kids screamed "DAD!" when he opened the door, and he forced a big Dad smile even though they were going to annoy him silly for the next three hours. "I saw you," Julie sighed as she vacated the driver's seat. "You ready?"

He felt absurdly like saying no and half-meaning it, but instead he almost barked "Yep!" and buckled his seat belt. He pulled out in front of a Lexus SUV and debated in his head which route to take to the highway, trying to decifer the intentions of his fellow commuters. It's Memorial Day, so everyone's headed for the Cape. Then again, they could be going home, then going to the Cape. Or headed directly for the North country, like he was. Or the airport. The variables were unknown so he felt safe taking the Mapquest-approved route.

On the highway, speeding along a pretty good clip, his mind tuned out the constant back-and-forth bickering between Julie and the kids. Tony was in fine form, shouting nonsense, cinching little Lila's seat belt around her waist so she'd squawk, and trying to jump in his seat so his head would hit the ceiling. Julie was volatile. To her, a vacation was a duty, an unpleasant diversion from the regimented household that she worked so hard to maintain. If she could be anywhere, it would be in the kitchen while the kids played video games in the living room, waiting for him to call to be picked up at the train station.

They pulled over at the first rest stop so Tony could use the restroom and Julie could get a coffee. He stayed in the car with Lila, who never talked except when provoked by her brother, and watched four young males loitering around a white Subaru Forrester packed with camping gear. They talked easily to each other, eating fast food and walking around the car with cell phones. They were all muscled and good-looking, young and smiling.

Julie and Tony walked out of the rest stop, and one of the young men gave them a brief glance and then focused on his French Fries, as it to say: Someone else's problem.

****Another Classic Cops Moment

"Stop resisting, Leonard."

--Wife to husband, as husband struggles with cops who are cuffing him after he admits to hitting her because "she is always, always, always nagging me."

****Pepsi President: Oh America, Up Yours!

Last week, more savvy blogs were buzzing about PepsiCo president and chief financial officer Indra Nooyi's US-bashing, Asia-pandering speech at Columbia University's MBA graduation ceremony. Nooyi compared each of the five major continents to a finger, and guess who was the middle finger? (Here for story - here for PDF of speech).

Since I'm on the subject of soda: While I'm fully aware of how vulgar soda consumption is, I admit to occasionally eschewing my afternoon cup of joe in favor of a refreshing, life-affirming diet soda (that would be the first afternoon cup of joe, not the second one). Diet Coke was my brand, but this year, with Pepsi's free iTunes song contest, I started purchasing Diet Pepsi.

Not that I won much, and certainly not 1 in every 3 bottles. What an ingenuous marketing ploy for a soda. A contest with a 99 cent prize wouldn't sway me to buy a different brand of, say, salad dressing, spaghetti sauce, deodorant, or newspaper, but since all soda is equally bad for you and made by equally evil people, at least I have a shot of recouping my nonessential expense.

Strangely, I rapidly developed a liking for Diet Pepsi, and even though Pepsi now offers "Sports Points" instead of iTunes songs, I still reach for the Diet Pepsi. How proud the marketing folks at Pepsi would be! How Coke would resent my lack of cohort brand loyalty!

****Annoying T Ad of the Moment

Picture: An elegant blond, face hidden by sheath of blond hair, seated at a grand-looking restaurant booth
Text: This weekend I'm plotting a coup against practicality and proclaiming myself Duchess of Oysterland.
Advertiser: Mohegan Sun Casino

****New Hampshire Sheriff, Mad with Power

Illegal immigration is an explosive subject in America, a land that had declared it no longer has room for poor and huddled masses unless they can program Java. Though it is actually the foreigners who stay in their countries who take (or are given) our jobs, many Americans are enraged by the Federal government's inability (or unwillingness?) to act decisively to curb illegal immigration, resulting in innate xenophobic fears that 9/11 has only intensified.

The nuts who do border patrol in their spare time are strange enough, but here's a sheriff in New Hampshire who has began charging illegal immigrants in his town with criminal trespassing... as in trespassing in the United States of America (here). Live free or die... or go back to where you came from.

(Here is a convincing and rational article on why we need a new immigration policy.)

****Some Apples Are Healthier than Others

You may think you're being healthy by munching on that Empire, but you fool! You should have chosen a Red Delicious (here).

The study also found that the greatest source of antioxidants in the apple comes from it skin, meaning that McDonalds, which only serves peeled apples in Happy Meals in the US (Europe gets sliced apples with the skin and Australia gets the whole apple, apparently due to cultural differences) is giving us the nutritional shaft once again.

****How 'Bout this Weather?

I put up with a lot of bad weather living in Boston. As any cursory reader of this website knows, I trudged through many, many inches of wintry mix. But I expect snow in the winter. What I don't expect in constant rain and wind and cold in the month of May (here). May is supposed to be the nicest month of the year! Without the typical 70 degree May days, I'm just living in a hell of hot and cold extremes.

****Movie Review: Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith

A curious psychological phenomenon: The more you anticipate an event, the more pleasure you will convince yourself you had when it happens, even if it actually sucked. For example, let's suppose Hollywood has seduced you onto pins and needles for an upcoming movie release, and you are all worked up over how cool and wonderful the movie will be, and you plan for days how you will see this much-anticipated movie on its opening day, and it winds up a boring, annoying experience. Your brain will deal with this disappointment by convincing you that it wasn't that bad.

That, essentially, is what happened with me and Episodes I and II. And having bought tickets to see Episode III in DLP (big screen digital projection!) last Saturday night, knowing full well that going to the movie theatre in the midst of opening weekend madness would be hell, I was praying Lucas gave us something good. And he did. And that's not the compensatory post-anticipation delusion talking.

This is the only prequel Star Wars that matters. It's compact, action-driven, and explains a lot of the history behind the original Star Wars. Sure, it had inconsistencies and excesses (did you really need to put Chewbacca in it? I'm surprised we didn't see the Millennium Falcon whiz by the window that Padme was constantly looking out of), but I thought it was kinda cool.

Though the action and story were excellent, one of the major lackings of the prequels has always been the weak characters to whom no one had childhood emotional bonds. You can't help but to compare the stiff, prissy Padme to Leia, who was a true female role model. Loopy Luke and hunky Hans were fun characters. Obi-Wan and the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine are not. Only the energetic, kick-ass Yoda's appeal has increased in the prequels.

No one should need me to give a plot synopsis. But there's some incredibly powerful stuff. The last half of the movie had me riveted. I didn't even care that I was sitting in front of a woman who kept making loud, inane remarks: That's the young Darth Vader! That's the Death Star! That's Natalie Portman!

****My Billion-dollar Movie Idea

If I had time to write a book, I'd write a story about this: According to a leading British futurologist, death could become a thing of the past by the mid-21st century as computer technology becomes sophisticated enough for the contents of a brain to be "downloaded" on to a supercomputer (here). Is futurologist officially a new occupation?

****Wormholes: Bogus!

While I'm waxing science fiction, this week it was announced that wormholes are of 'no use' for time travel (here). A fun little article, that progresses from talking about the spinning vortex in Doctor Who to "building a wormhole with a throat radius big enough to just fit a proton would require fine-tuning to within one part in 10 to the power of 30. A human-sized wormhole would require fine-tuning to within one part in 10 to the power of 60." Whatever you say, science guys.

****The Waitress

She started waiting tables after dropping out of college, because that's what a year of pre-Psychology could do for her. An initial liability: She despised people as a concept. Her forehead was chronically knotted with silent rage as she poured beers, served food, delivered condiments, fumbled with plates, silverware, and napkins, and uttered pleasantries and small talk. But it was an uncomplicated relationship: Here's the food, here's the drink, leave the tip on the table and go someplace else.

She liked staying up late and sleeping while the insane people of the world bustled to and fro school, the office, the store. Blah. She'd see them when they sought escape over plates of fried food and pints of Irish stout. She played off her surliness as spunk and believed customers liked it, that it awakened latent memories of their mothers. Because after birth, except for the near-extinct June Cleaver types, most mothers grow resentful that they really only function as a food source.

Despite her unwillingness to indulge customers, and though she was not attractive, she would often cash in more tips than her friend Dora, a wispy doe-eyed blond, or Gina, a lean big-breasted brunette, both of whom smiled and bowed to every customer no matter how much of a jerk they were. She developed strong bonds with her co-workers and spent her non-working hours talking with them about work, either over the phone as she padded around her apartment in pajamas, or over meals at other restaurants. They'd bitch and speculate about customers and about each other, and she was good at this. She was a popular and feared person with whom to work.

She'd cash in her tips to the nearest twenty and collect huge wads of ones and bowls full of coins. Though she was chronically in debt to credit card companies, her family, and the IRS, she was comforted by possessing a large amount of petty money. Some days, she'd eschew her friends in order sit in her room and count her tips, sliding the one dollar bills rapidly between her hands, then piling identical stacks of coins all over the bedspread of her twin-sized mattress with a wobbly frame that collapsed the last three times she had sex. She was really good at simple math.

She was a waitress, and that was life. It was her life, clattering in a jar like a handful of pennies.

****BBC Headline of the Day

"US teacher marries boy she raped."

(Here... technically there was a rape conviction, so it's accurate... but still tacky to mention in the headline.)

****Leading the Blind

One day in college, I learned a very important lesson, one that was worth twice the tuition of most of my classes. I was relaxing outside of Bartlett Hall between English classes when a tall, hulking blind man neared my bench with his cane. It was obvious he had lost his direction. His cane got closer and closer to my feet, and I watched it with silent dread until it smashed into my shoes and I shifted audibly. "Sorry," he muttered, turning around. "It's okay," I said, embarrassed. A girl I knew from one of my classes approached him and said in an assertive voice "Would you like a sighted guide?" He took her arm and they walked away.

Sometime later in the semester, the same girl revealed in a class discussion about some book that her mother was blind. I forget the specifics, but I remember clearly she said "I've seen people on campus ignore blind people who were lost, as if they weren't there!" I felt unjustly reprimanded, because it's not like I was an unkind person, I'm just shy. I thought offering assistance would be subjugating or belittling, as if to say "Hey Mr. Blind man! You're failing miserably at independence!"

Today, I got off aT stop early to buy some flowers from my favorite sidewalk vendor, and I was walking through the corporate area of Kendall Square filled with harried commuters. Approaching an intersection, I saw a blind man standing in slow-moving traffic, trying to feel his way around a huge, stationary SUV. The driver, a suave-looking stuffed shirt, eyed him helplessly, perhaps wondering if a good horn-honking would make the blind man fly away like a bird.

A group of pedestrians at my intersection looked on worriedly. The light changed, the traffic stopped and everyone looked relieved as they hurried across the intersection, past the blind man still trying to find his way. I stopped next to him. "Would you like a sighted guide?" I asked clearly, and he turned towards my voice and said "Yes, thank you!" He took my arm and we walked across the intersection.

"Where are you going?" I asked brightly. "The Kendall Square T stop," he said, which was not only in the opposite direction but a good five minute walk behind me. "Okay, let's turn around then." "Oh, I was going the wrong way? Huh!" He seemed amused at himself. "Your flowers smell nice" he said as we walked. I could have sent him the rest of the way on his own, but he seemed to enjoy having someone to walk with, and honestly, so did I.

****One Paragraph Book Reviews

The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby
Pondering this collection of Hornby's columns for the Believer, I felt skeptical. Hornby's books are like 80s music: Comforting, enjoyable, but rarely substantial. But I devoured this book in one sitting on an airplane (and then re-read the extensive select bits), and fell in love with his non sequitur witticisms weaved together with unfettered opinions about the books he's read or purchased. He is the Lester Bangs of literary criticism. A choice excerpt: Even if you love movies and music as much as you do books, it's still, in any given four week period, way, way more likely you'll find a great book you haven't read than a great movie you haven't seen, or a great album you haven't heard: the assiduous consumer will eventually exhaust movies and music.

Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami
Knowing full well that this 2000 novel was about angst-ridden college students in love, I don't know why I started reading it. And after an overly-profound first chapter in which the narrator Toru frolics in a meadow with his adored Naoko, I don't know why I kept reading. And when I finished reading this sad but strangely uplifting story, I don't know why I liked it: It was predictable and at times boring. Murakami's prose is compelling; even though I ceased to care what happened, it was still a good read.

Snobs by Julian Fellowes
A savory guilty pleasure. A beautiful young woman marries her way into the highest echelon of British society and purposely mucks it all up. Some of the pleasurable guiltiness was assuaged by the fact that Fellowes, who wrote Gosford Park, narrates with full knowledge of the absurd rules of aristocratic life. Couldn't put it down.

The Prone Gunman by Jean-Patrick Manchette
Even people who hate reading will love this book about a French hitman who must shoot his way to a new career. It's 150 pages of sparse, clean, direct prose that will explode in your brain like a hollow bullet filled with pulpy fiction. Manchette's ironic and sexy story hits the target again and again.

Old School by Tobias Wolff
Set at an elite boy's New England prep school in the 1960s and told from the point of view of student who aspires to be a famous writer, this book was boring. The unnamed student is desperate to win a yearly contest in order to have a private audience with one of the luminous visiting writers to the school, who include Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway, and Ayn Rand. Though the writing was clean and these cameos are entertaining, I was aggravated by the pointlessness of this self-indulgent book that is ultimately about teen angst and rich brats.

****Where Would Jesus Shop?

American boasts two types of Christians. We have the god-fearing social conservatives that blindly vote Republican, rally to uphold the innocence of their children through censorship and fear-mongering, and believe that gay marriage is ripping our already-anemic social fabric to shreds. After the ascension of George W. Bush, the world is very familiar with this family-values-cherishing American Christian.

But less attention is paid to the Christians whose religious beliefs reinforce a more genial view of society, who believe that over-consumption in a land riddled with poverty is wrong, who truly love their fellow Man, and who do not twist the tenements of the Bible to support hatred and ignorance.

I like those Christians. I like these Christians here who are rallying against Wal-Mart and its corporate practices, calling them "evildoers" and "immoral," and citing actual scripture to base their judgment, like Malachi 3:5, where the Lord rebukes "those who defraud laborers of their wages," and James 5 denounces those who have "failed to pay the workmen who mowed your fields."

See, the Bible isn't all holy-rolling doctrine and fodder for hate groups. There's PETA-like environmentalism (Jeremiah 12:4: "How long shall the land mourn, and the herbs of every field wither, for the wickedness of them that dwell therein? the beasts are consumed, and the birds; because they said, He shall not see our last end"), anti-war slogans (Proverbs 4:14: "Seek peace, and pursue it"), and anti-racism (Jeremiah 13:23: "Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his spots?")

Check out the Atheists for Jesus website here. No it's not a joke. It's for people who "find Jesus' admonition to Love Your Neighbor to be more important than the idea that his death was a sacrifice made in order to get you into Heaven."

****A Toast

When regaling co-workers about my vacation, I've been embarrassed to express enthusiasm about my trip to the Napa wineries. It feels unladylike to admit that I enjoy getting slightly tipsy on a glass or two of yummy wine. And after living with Sally Six-Pack and Barbara Boozehound (*not their real names) for four months, I concur that not all female drinkers are alluring, slim, witty, sexy pictures of robust physical and mental health, as vodka ads would have us believe.

But in moderation, anything that makes women fun, carefree, and flirty as opposed to our usually neurotic, nagging selves has got to be healthy. And the perils that drinking does to our delicate constitutions, reproductive organs, and feeble brains (here) are often exaggerated in the media, as Ann Robinson argues in the Guardian (here).

So bottoms up, ladies.

(In researching this post, I happened upon this shortlist of alcoholic slang (here), and saw that one of those slang words is a complete non sequitur. What in the world does the fifth word have to do with alcoholism?)

****Phoenix!

Click here for pictures and sparse commentary of last week's trip to Phoenix.

****San Francisco!

Click here for pictures and a rambling commentary of last week's trip to San Francisco.

(Phoenix pictures to come...)

****Back in Black, I Hit the Sack, I Been Too Long, I'm Glad to Be Back

Sitting on my Boston-bound plane yesterday, I picked at my United Airways Jumpstart Snack Pack ($5 for a variety of "healthy" options like Wheat Thins, biscotti, and trail mix), tried to rouse interest in the in-flight movie (In Good Company, starring an extremely grating Topher Grace), and flogged my brain for a clever way to start this first post after a 10-day hiatus. Cause I'm all about the gimmicks.

My vacation soothed me to the point that my writing adapted a dull gloss. Emails and postcards barely scratched an eighth grade reading level, and employed rampant use of all conjugations of "is" (San Francisco is great! The people are nice! The weather was bad, but now it is good! Phoenix will be hot!) I finally excommunicated myself, fearing I'd pick up vacation habits worse than relaxing and purposeless wandering.

But nothing shocks reality back into one's core quite like coming back to an apartment several notches above "squalid" on the cleanliness scale. I hadn't cleaned before I left, hoping one of my roommates would realize that they are wallowing in their own filth and take the initiative. But my absence inspired the urge to mark their territory in exciting new ways. Like the leaky takeout container of Chinese food in the refrigerator that's dribbling red sauce all over my milk and yogurt. Or the piled of wet, used Kleenex surrounding the trash can in the bathroom. Or the baffling appearance of a fourth toothbrush, my first clue that they missed me so much that they replaced me with an out-of-town guest who is sleeping on my couch. Ladies, I cannot thank you enough for showing me why my vacation was so very necessary.

Anyway, right now I feel like a kitten who fell out of a tree: I'm on my feet, but still trying to find my footing. Pictures and stories to come...

****A vacation is what you take when you can no longer take what you've been taking. ~Earl Wilson

So for the next week, I will be gone. I am getting on a plane and fleeing the East Coast. I don't have to go to work, but they are paying me anyway, as if I am there. I am not bringing my laptop with me and will not be making an inane daily public declaration on this website. I will not set an alarm, though my biorhythms are so tuned I'll wake up at 5:30am anyway. I will not engage in purposeful exercise and will eat ice cream for breakfast if I feel like it. I will not go through Monday wishing it was Friday. It's this crazy thing called a vacation.

First, to San Francisco, to finally check out this place out. Then, to Phoenix, to watch my sister graduate with a Masters of Social Work.

(Laurie, I am so proud of you. You excel at everything you do and I've always looked up to you for that. I remember playing softball at the ARA fields, and we were on the same team and you batted cleanup every game. You were number 4, I was number 11, you played infield, I played center field... but I didn't care how much I sucked because my older sister was the best player on the team. I remember Orchestra, when you were First Chair and Miss D'uloise or however her name was spelled talked about how talented you were on violin, and I meanwhile I was struggling to make non-irritating noises out of my viola... but I didn't care, because my sister played like an angel. And now you are graduating, making me the least educated person in the family, but I don't care because I am so proud that my sister has her Masters Degree.)

****Snooker Savant

The new Snooker World Champion Shaun Murphy overcame 150-1 odds to win the tournament at the Crucible last Monday. He is only 22. Murphy started playing when he was 8, and judging by his picture here, he stopped aging when he turned professional at 14. Learn more about this snooker savant here.

****Marathon Human

I'm pounding the running path along the Charles with renewed enthusiasm. I'm even toying with the idea of training for a marathon. This article about how humans evolved to run (and ran to evolve) is only fueling my desire to maintain the bouncy gait of my ancestors for 26 miles.

****"Why did it last so long?"

Orson Scott Card, the Mormon science fiction writer I love to hate, wrote a clever little rant about Trekkies in the LA Times (here). I agree with everything he says, especially his final proclamation: There's just no need for "Star Trek" anymore.

****Hip-hop will eat itself

Check out the Top 10 Most Ridiculous Rap pictures of all time here.

****Movie Review: Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room

When future Enron President and CEO Jeff Skilling was at Harvard, he was asked by a professor: "Are you smart?" He replied, "I'm effing smart."

Even if you are not familiar with the intricacies of the Enron scandal or are quickly bored by tales of white-collar criminals cooking the books, you should still see this stylish documentary to reflect upon the weaknesses of this system called capitalism under which we all labor. Yes, capitalism is great when it works, but only if everyone plays by the rules. As the movie is quick to point out, Enron is not a tale about creative accounting. It's about the people, and these people are some of the most evil and greedy people to ever be in charge of a publicly-traded Fortune 500 company. (That's pretty evil and greedy).

Let the California energy crisis be a lesson to all of us: The power industry should not be deregulated. There was enough power in the grid to prevent any of the blackouts that occurred in California, but Enron's traders took advantage of the free market by ordering blackouts at whim, just to line Enron's coffers with more sorely-needed cash. It was perhaps one of the most vile, reckless moments in 20th century business. (The movie also seems to connect Enron with Arnold Schwarzeneggar, but this is hazy at best).

The movie attempts to explain the behavior of Enron's traders, who we hear joking and laughing about the blackouts in phone conversations. It showed footage from the famous experiment in the 1950s in which half of the study's participants administered what they believed to be a lethal electrical shock to another "participant" because the scientist in charge told them to do it and took all responsibility. In other words, the traders and other criminals at Enron did what they knew to be unethical and illegal because their macho, Darwinist corporate environment permitted it. Hell, with everyone at the company focused on nothing but the stock price, and with Enron's practice of regularly firing 10% of the lowest-performing employees, unethical behavior required.

If you do know a little about Enron, this movie will rehash what you know. I had read Pipe Dreams a few years ago, so I already knew about most of the story, but really dug the footage and the way the movie was edited. This wasn't a Michael Moore-style skewing of the facts. The history of Enron and its bankruptcy is presented as it happens. There's plenty of footage from company meetings (during which employees are urged to buy more stock by the very same top executives who are dumping theirs), taped interviews and news conferences full of boldfaced lies, creepy pans of the empty Enron buildings, the Senate hearings, and even taped message of thanks from Bush Sr. and Jr. to Ken Lay for helping with their campaigns. Things that make you go hmmm.

One thing that this movie made clear to me: The Internet Stock Bubble was not only fueled by the greed of some, but a basic ignorance about technology. All Jeff Skilling had to do was throw around talk about trading broadband and swear they had working technology, and the stock price quadrupled. I assume most serious investors understand the fundamentals of trading traditional commodities like pork bellies, but how many people really grasped what Enron was proposing to do? I found this interesting, having been on technology projects that have basically been proposed and specified by the good old boys in Sales and Marketing who like to sell what looks good on paper.

On the way home from the movies, my iPod shuffle once again showed its uncanny ability to be the soundtrack of my life: "Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones came on. Very fitting, because Enron had nothing but red balance sheets and they painted them black. I listened to the song twice just to relish in its appropriateness, and dreamed of the day that Skilling and Lay have to face the facts and account for their white collar atrocities.

Is this movie good? It's effing good.

****Pat Robertson

Yesterday George Stephanopoulos's talk show played host to Pat Roberston, a man who considers overthrowing the judical branch of the government a religious crusade because they are liberals who are dismantling our nation's Christian values. Why do people listen to a man who obviously un-American? Poor George. It's impossible to argue reason wit super-religious people.

Apparantly at wits end, George asked Pat a curious question that often stumps religious people for a concrete answer, about how he can reconcile the idea of a loving and mericful God with the tsunami disaster. Pat started by avowing his blief in God, but stressed that God does not control nature and believes in plate tectnics and earthquakes as being real natural phenomonen. Kinda a surreal moment.

****May Day

The month of May was come, when every lusty heart beginneth to blossom, and to bring forth fruit; for like as herbs and trees bring forth fruit and flourish in May, in likewise every lusty heart that is in any manner a lover, springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds. For it giveth unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May.
- - - Sir Thomas Malory" Le Morte d'Arthur" (1485)

May as always been my favorite month of the year. Perfect weather, gorgeous green grass, a legitimate reason to eat ice cream, and it's topped off by a three-day weekend.

And, my birthday. 28 this year. If anyone wants to get me a birthday present, may I request the Junk Food Fantasy gift basket (here on Amazon)? That's right, spend $50 on $10 worth of candy so that I may possess the Junk Food Junkie ceramic bowl. (I'm just kidding. Please do not buy me candy or anything that says "Junkie" on it).

What I really want: An $800/month studio in Cambridge for September. Titter. I might as well wish for an emerald green MX-5 Miata (please buy me a Miata).

****Mariah Carey: Celebrity Regrets

While I ignore celebrity news except when it hits the news stands at an "Aliens Invade Earth" frenzy, I have always found Mariah Carey to be fascinating. The Cinderella-like rise to the top of the charts with record mogul Tommy Mottola 'tween her legs... the crazy concert exploits (here for her recent banning in Malaysia)... the bizarre and unhinged phone messages to her fans (here... mute computer before clicking)... and an all-time favorite, the Mariahisms (here).

(The glossary of Mariahisms ain't exactly Esperanto, but anyone who communicates with these words is on a whole different level. For instance: BING BONG!: Used to quickly end an argument or conversation while still able to be funny. If I was exchanging of words with someone, and they suddenly said "Bing Bong!" and walked away, I don't think I'd find it very funny. Grounds for a bitch slap.)

Anyway, a friend and I were recently discussing the concept of "the one that got away." We've all had that prospective soul mate with whom, due to mitigating circumstances, a relationship was impossible. Mine was a guy named Jeff with I worked with at Cumberland Farms in college. He was an earnest Western MA local who lived in a large party house with seven other men, and liked drinking beers and listening to classic rock. We had nothing in common except a rather misanthropic and sarcastic view of life, yet fondness ensued over many nights clerking the busy convenience store and the few times we went out to a bar afterwards. Despite moments of tension in his car when he'd drop me off after a going out, it never happened. I started dating a guy who shared my love for old school punk music. Jeff dropped off my radar when he quit Cumbys sometime thereafter, but I sometimes wonder... what might have been.

So we all have people like that, even Mariah Carey, who regrets not hooking up with Tupac Shakur: "[Mariah] still thinks he could have been the love of her life if she'd only acted on instinct and dumped her husband Tommy Mottola to be with the late rap icon (here)". Mariah and Tupac. Yeah, that fits.

****Another Nerdy Declaration

Yesterday I proclaimed that classical music is sexy. I'm going for broke: I also find it provocative to watch an attractive man read. Check out the Kama Sutra of Reading (here).