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****Misunderestimating Katrina

Last Saturday (here), I derided various news items with stupid comments, including one that now haunts me: "Katrina is dominating the news... I can't bring myself to care about hurricanes. There are like twenty of these a year." And it turned out to be the Hurricane of the Century. Hopefully.

My cavalier attitude about Katrina shows how naive I am about the threats of natural disasters. (Realistic and imminent ones, anyway.) The Tsunami stunned me, and I'm well aware that earthquakes, floods, and droughts kill many humans, but that sort of thing never happens in America, a country so ensconced in the infrastructure of civilization. How could it be widely understood for years that a strong hurricane could breech the levees of New Orleans (here), the largest metro area on the hurricane-weary Gulf Coast, and Americans not do anything?

Maybe I'm speaking with the benefit of hindsight, yet I can't help to feel that most people who knew about the weaknesses of the levees and who were in the position to address these weaknesses also thought "that sort of thing could never happen in America." Maybe they were too busy hiring more airport security personnel to confiscate scissors and frisk old ladies, or investigating tips about suspicious foreigners.

I had just been in New Orleans last March, and loved its beauty and history (here for pictures). I remember looking at the graveyards in New Orleans, which hold the Dead in mausoleums, because the city is (obviously) below sea level. Well, the city is now really below sea level, and holds many more Dead. It seems incredible to think about how most of the city is probably gone forever, a watery mausoleum of debris and bodies

Thinking about the aftermath of Katrina provokes much more emotion than thinking about, say the stampede in Baghdad (here), or even the Tsunami (here for recent article about survivors). Isn't that horrible? I guess all Americans are latently nationalists, always thinking we matter more. I almost cried reading Nola.com's local coverage (here).

This essay by Howell Raines (here) begins with a stirring tribute to the city of New Orleans and then declares "The performance of George Bush during this past week has been outrageous. Almost as unbelievable as Katrina itself is the fact that the leader of the free world has been outshone by the elected leaders of a region renowned for governmental ineptitude." Of course, no American paper would publish such words after a national tragedy; it was published in the Guardian, and I must admit it's objective coverage so far has struck me as insensitive, though I agree that Bush's response has been less than impressive.

****No Coffee and No Sex Make Me Go Crazy

Just kidding. About the sex, anyway.

According to DunkinDonutsTalk.com, coffee and sex go hand in hand (here). Coffee drinkers cite more devotion to coffee over sex, yet still have sex way more often than non-coffee drinkers. (I'll be looking at my fellow java drinkers in the office in a whole different light).

And who needs Viagra when there's coffee? A study of elderly sexual habits has show "the consumption of at least one cup of coffee per day was significantly associated with a higher prevalence of sexual activity in women and with a higher potency rate in men" (here). Well, at least that's true in Washtenaw County, Michigan.

****Keeping up with the Bush

I hadn't been to www.whitehouse.com in a while (as opposed to www.whitehouse.org, which is vastly more rewarding to people like me who don't care about politics as long it provides sweet, sweet fodder for parody websites).

Reading the transcripts of Bush's speeches is much more enlightening than seeing him on TV. Watching him talk, I get distracted by thoughts like "Is he a puppet? How dumb is he really? How deep does the conspiracy spread? Why does he have a Southern twang when every other Bush talks like a Connecticut preppie?" Plus, the sound bites on TV don't capture the winded, boring rhetoric that makes GWB a disgrace to the Office once occupied by oratory greats like Roosevelt, Kennedy, Jefferson, and Lincoln.

Check out this transcript of a 43-minute address to an audience of military families (here). His speech writers must be frantic to find new ways in which Bush can get his flimsy but dangerous positions across while simultaneously saying nothing. "Transforming a country that was ruled by an oppressive dictator who sponsored terror into a free nation that is an ally in the war on terror will take more time, more sacrifice, and continued resolve." Dear God, the man says nothing! Nothing at all!

Press briefings are always fun. "Q Cindy Sheehan's group is airing commercials in Utah, again asking the President to meet with her... does [Bush] have any response? MR. DUFFY: No. I don't have any -- there are people along the side of the road wherever the President goes, supporters and others. So the President is certainly aware. But, again, he believes that Americans, obviously, have a right to express their views. That's part of being American. That's one of the things we're fighting for" (here). So crazy Ma Sheehan can say whatever she wants, just not to the President's face, cause he might get frustrated by her eloquence and call her an asshole. Would one of the other things we're fighting for be... oil? Would one of the other parts of being American involve... rabid consumption of Earth's natural resources?

I also learned that August 26 has officially been proclaimed "Women's Equality Day" (here). That means one day and one day only, Laura Bush gets to do something other than encourage teenage volunteerism (here) and give luncheons for third-tier politicians (check out the menu here. Excellent wine pairing!)

The last thing I read before quickly clicking my Onion bookmark for some soothing parody was a Bush speech that was supposedly about Medicare: "I want to repeat right quick what I said. If you're retired and receiving a Social Security check, you have nothing to worry about, you will get your check. (Applause.) You'll get your check. But you need to worry about your children and your grandchildren. See, there's a lot of baby boomers like me getting ready to retire. Matter of fact, my retirement age is in 2008 -- quite convenient. (Laughter.) And there's a lot of me. There's a lot of baby boomers" (here).

What? There's a lot of baby boomers?!? How did this happen? Was there some kind of boom of babies?

****The Perfect Summer Sunday

****Six for Saturday: Random News

• The Boston Red Sox are strongly discouraging Yankees Suck t-shirts at Fenway Park (here). I like the suggested alternative, "The Yankees have an oral fixation." I have no opinion on the matter, but I must comment on people who wear conspicuous Yankees attire in Boston. Hey, I understand: You're a sports fan, therefore you are evolutionary programmed to publicly proclaim love for the team. But must you wear that "go ahead buddy, give me a dirty look" smirk as you defiantly glower? If you really want confrontation, wear a "Red Sox Suck" t-shirt, and we'll see what you're made of.
• With every commodity developing a luxury niche, it was bound to happen: The $100 bottle of beer (here). It comes from Sam Adams, who bills it "the strongest beer ever brewed," meant to be "served at room temperature in a two-ounce serving" (here). For the beer drinker who always secretly wanted to be a cognac drinker.
• Actor Chris Farley received a posthumous star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame (here). At the ceremony, actor David Spade declared "He goes down as one of the greats. And I still think about him every day." Yeah, Spade thinks about all of the buddy movies and awkward appearances on Hollywood award shows that went unmade due to his fat-man foil's untimely demise. Apparently, "a special DVD edition of Farley and Spade's 1995 hit Tommy Boy will be released Tuesday." What a freaking coincidence. I know stars of the Hollywood Walk of Fame ain't like attaining sainthood, but obviously Farley's corpse is being dusted as a nostalgic bid to market a crappy movie.
• The best moment of banter on the local Fox News this week: A very pregnant Cindy Fitzgibbon finishes off another riveting weather segment and hands it off to Sky Fox traffic maven Doug Meehan, who quips "Hey, when Katrina hits, she'll be bring the Waves." Those are the gems of wit that earn these people the big bucks. Anyway, Katrina is dominating the news (here), and yet again I can't bring myself to care about hurricanes. There are like twenty of these a year.
• I enjoy reading police logs. I even have a dedicated Bookmark folder for my favorite Police Log URLs. Harvard University's (here for this weeks) is always a classic. It's extremely well written, turning the mundane police tasks into riveting excitement, like "HUPD officers investigated reports of an unfortunate bicycle parking incident leading to an argument at Au Bon Pain on Massachusetts Avenue."
• And finally, there's a lot of crazy talk going on about "Christopher Walken for President 2008 " (here) and "Robin Williams, the Next California Governor!" (here). Given who are current president is, I'm not surprised that people don't understand that good politicians are more than just soothing rhetoric and a pleasing appearance. It involves boring stuff like policy, law, and civics. Not every public figure has to possess pizazz.

****Dirge for Grey

An aptly-named tomcat Who squeaked. 21 years old, it is thought. Stoic, halcyon, intelligent, exquisite Grey.

****A Less Dignified Death

A photographer randomly stumbled on three men "dressed like working people" shooting heroin in the Boston Public Garden yesterday (here in the Herald, of course). He snapped some pictures. Then one of the men ODs and dies.

****A Trip to the Megaplex

Desperate to uncover the cause of our nation's movie-going malaise, Hollywood is doing some deep soul-searching about the current box office crisis (here). Out of touch with the common movie-going schmuck, many are generously over-estimating the taste of the American public... says one executive, "We just need a few more good movies."

While most movies do flagrantly insult the intelligence of the American public, so does every other form of media. We don't expect more from movies than we do television, newspapers, books, music, or magazines. It's not that the quality of films is getting worse, it's just not good enough to compensate for the agony that is the typical trip to the local megaplex. To fault the movie quality is like saying people don't read Shakespeare because Shakespeare sucks. Shakespeare doesn't suck, but the act of reading Shakespeare does.

I am lucky to live in Cambridge, a cultural hotspot with a smattering of independent cinemas and film festivals, but to see my guilty pleasures (which are increasingly more "guilty" than "pleasures,") I must endure the megaplex. First of all, seeing a hyped movie on its opening weekend involves planning and stress. Is this a leisure activity or a wedding? You must buy the tickets hours in advance, coordinate times and meeting places for everyone in your group, and arrive in the theatre at least 30 minutes early, lest all your planning result in seats five feet away from the screen.

Then there's the concessions counter... an ironic term, since they concede nothing with the $5 popcorns and sodas. We're not dumb. We know that popcorn is made from corn kernels, which cost about 5 cents a cup. We know there's no difference between the $3 bottle of Aquafina inside the movie theatre and the $1 bottle of Aquafina at the convenience store next door. We know you're ripping us off.

Movies are expensive these days. Despite paying close to $10, we're still subjected to at least five minutes of commercials. Then we get previews. It's a cliche to lament about the duration of movie previews... but nothing can kill your enthusiasm quite like sitting through a string of previews for films that will be released six months from now.

The only good thing about previews is they allow the audience to stuff their faces with popcorn before the movie starts, which slightly lessens the emittance of animal-like noises. Slightly. With all of the noise in the theatre... it doesn't really matter. Of course we can't blame Hollywood for the American people losing their already-tenuous grasp on public etiquette... or can we? Polite decorum ain't exactly glorified in most movies, where everyone who lives outside of the main story line is simply an extra.

So you're sitting there in a theatre, surrounded by talking, sneezing, laughing, eating strangers who have forgotten to silence their cell phones, and the temperature is too cold, and the seat doesn't recline, and you have to go to the restroom but don't want to miss anything, and there are restless kids nearby who lost interest after five minutes because not enough things are exploding. Movie quality couldn't matter less to you at the moment.

You just want to relax and be distracted from the monotony of every day life, at a reasonable cost for a reasonable expenditure of effort. And dammit, you really want a beer. Deliver this, Hollywood, and you could present 90 minutes of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt sucking on each other's toes and pistol-whipping monkeys and still make a tidy mint, for all the American public cares.

****Cholesterol 911

Filmmaker Michael Moore is paying $3,800 a week to attend a "fat farm for the rich" (here).

This could be enough to kill his status as a left-wing darling... if liberals aren't turned off by this admission of rampant obesity, surely they find his willingness to spend $3,800 a week to detox from fried foods and butter to be less than revolutionary. Che Moore, my ass (here).

****Favorite Website at the Moment

Check out the Phat Phree (here). I love Look at My Striped Shirt (here).

****#1 Embarrased Alumni and Alumnae

Nothing says "Back to School" like ads featuring nubile teens in casual clothes, filler paper on sale for 39 cents at Walgreens, fresh-faced collegians roaming the streets of Cambridge in small pedestrian armies and luxury SUVs, and the Princeton Review’s Annual College Rankings (here for press release).

My beloved alma mater of UMass Amherst continues to prove that it's worthy of national recognition by achieving the following rankings (out of 361 colleges):

#3 Long Lines And Red Tape
#3 Students Dissatisfied With Financial Aid
#9 Their Students (Almost) Never Study
#9 Party Schools
#13 Reefer Madness
#20 Campus Is Tiny, Unsightly, Or Both

Just how I remember it: Angsty, confused drunks packed into institutional dorms filled with clouds of pot smoke. Hey, note we didn't get "Worst Food" or "Unhappiest Students." Go UMass!

****The Green Thumbs Are Out of Control

I've found refuge from the intermittent severe humidity and haze in the Kendall Square cinema, taking in 3 movies in the past 2 weeks...

The Beat that my Heart Skipped (De battre mon coeur s'est arrêté)

An appealing premise: A young French man is torn between continuing to follow in his thug father's footsteps as a criminal enforcer, or seizing an opportunity to emulate in his dead mother as a concert pianist. He begins to eschew his violent lifestyle and struggles to prepare for an audition with the help of a female Chinese piano whiz. Deeply psychological with a fair amount of action, passion, and activity, this movie showed great promise. Unfortunately, as the plot unfolded, it grew boring, and the jumbled scenes ran together. All harmony and no melody. It's one of those movies that's more fun to think about than to watch. (IMDB here).

The Edukators (Die Fetten Jahre sind vorbei)

A rag-tag group of German twenty-somethings stealthily break into the homes of upper-class fat cats, rearrange the furniture, leave notes like "You have too much money" and "Your Days Of Plenty Are Numbered," and then leave... stealing nothing but their sense of security. This movie was pretty cool except for the shy love plot that predictably and laboriously develops between the two main characters. There's a lot longing, sexy glances amid the rallying about the outrageously unfair distribution of wealth. I was impressed with how the story worked out: Neither predictable nor unbelievable, and satisfying. Cute, but I wish they had more scenes of the subversive interior decorating. (Movie website here).

The Aristocrats

This movie is hyped to all hell, and deserves every iota of it. If you think your sense of humor is too refined to laugh at puerile scatological humor, I guarantee... you're wrong. Not only is it a laugh-a-minute, it's genuinely thought-provoking. It gives you a glimpse into the inner workings of elite stand-up comedy society and has many of our living comedic geniuses philosophizing about why a joke as stupid as the Aristocrats is hilarious. So many documentaries these days aim to be feel-good by being preachy and inspirational, but this is just flat-out healing through humor. Stand-outs include an incredibly dirty Bob Saget, Gilbert Godfrey, Wendy Liebman, Robin Williams, Andy Ritcher, a hilarious South Park cartoon, and the dirtiest mime I've ever seen. See it. (A collection of better-prepared reviews here).

****Less Than Impressive Summer Fun

****Potted Meats are Finally Getting Respect

****Meet Nancy Dunlap

Gotta love the "mistaken identity" email.

I've gotten more than a few in the 7+ years that I've had my Yahoo account, the most interesting being from a Nigerian man named Emeka Okereke getting his PhD in Political Science in his native country. He had just been to a conference in England, and was convinced that I was some British bird he had met. He was trying to court me, and was chagrined that I kept insisting I was not who he sought. I thought it was one of those email scams involving bank transfers, or a practical joke.

Emeka was quite ardent: At moment, I still think that she is the one sending this mail , maybe waiting to know if I am serious with what I said. Anyway, I will be back soonest at the Lion's den for the presentation of seminar two, i.e Changing theories of the State. and after wards get into the proposal proper which will be on 'Conflicts and development In Africa: A Focus on the Great Lake Region. After being sufficiently boorish out of exasperation, I finally convinced him there was no way that I was a European Political Science whiz. But we did have a thoughtful, enlightening exchange about our respective governments.

Today I got an email from "Dunlap Nancy L. (PDO)", a Delaware state worker who had CC'ed me and about six other people on her response to a 50-question survey with trite questions like: Do you have a journal? (Sort-of) and Scary movies or Happy Endings? (Happy Endings).

I've gotten questionnaires like this before from people that I know, and I must say it's vastly more interesting to read a stranger's. A real image in my head exists of Nancy (whose nickname is, bizarrely, Leah.)

First off, the woman is a glutton, big time. Ponder this:

What is your favorite lunch meat? Roast Beef
Favorite Food? Steak
What Is Your Favorite Dessert? Cheesecake with chocolate
What is your favorite ice cream flavor? mint chocolate chip
What was the last thing you ate? Chicken fingers and cancer fries
Favorite Drinks? Red wine, vodka and fruit, banana daquari, Strawberry daquari, Bloody Mary, Sangria (my recipe) Kahlua and Cream. Champagne with chambord. Gin with fruit.
What is your least favorite thing about yourself? weight

Second off, the woman is boring. Her favorite color is blue. (And people who favor blue are generally boring conformists. Sorry, it's a fact). Her life sounds sucky.

If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Blue
What color pants and shoes are you wearing? Blue skirt. Blue multi stripe shoes (reaction –kenneth cole)
Favorite sport? Ice skating on tv
Would you bungee jump? no
What's On Your Mouse Pad? Dell

Third, she's delusional about how boring and gluttonous she is:

Do you think that you are strong? yes
When did you last cry? This morning

And then there's this:

Do you want everyone you send this to, to send it back? yes

Are you sure, Linda?

****Snakes On A Plane

One of my friends who works in Hollywood (said casually, nonchalantly... as if I have more than two Hollywood friends) sent me this link about Samuel L. Jackson's latest film project (here). The working title is currently Pacific Air 121, but Samuel L. Jackson is quite insistent that, when it is released in September of 2006, we will know it as its original title: Snakes on a Plane.

What a brilliant title. As Jackson says "You either want to see that, or you don’t." And I am positive that I don't want to see it. However, with Pacific Air 121, I might be confused by the ambiguity. I mean, Pacific Air 121 could be about anything: A Terrorist plot, two lovelorn strangers falling in love and doing it in the bathroom, buxom stewardess who turn into zombies during the mid-flight movie. There's nothing in the title that indicates something as insipid as mere Snakes on a Plane.

If only all Hollywood movies were this truthful. Since 99% of all movies have dispensed with plots, meaningful dialogue, and any semblance of originality, they might as well quit it with the pompously obscure titles. Like, I just watched Ulee's Gold. I got it from the library because I liked the title. It turns out Ulee is a reclusive bee-keeper who draws on latent gumption to help his family, and his gold is honey. Should have been called Middle-Aged Honey Man. Also picked up The Banger Sisters. Oh, the images that name connotes... all deceptive! This movie should have been called Aging Hippie Whores. And though I have not seen The Dukes of Hazzard, from what I've seen in previews, they should rename it General Lee is Honking and So are Jessica Simpson's Titties.

****Another Sign that I'm Finally Mellowing Out in My Old Age

I picked up John William's Greatest Hits at the library on Monday, and already the theme to Superman has an i-Tunes Play Count of 5. I just can't get enough of that sweet sweet Superman.

****The Luckiest MSG in the World

I'm assuming that whoever surprised me via USPS with this Notorious MSG T-shirt: 1-Read this entry in which I link to "Chinatown's Bad Boys" website and 2-Knows my street address. I will find you out, whoever you are! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I also got a CD entitled Die Hungry, featuring classic tunes like "Straight out of Canton,""Dim Sum Girl," and "Egg Rollin'." Sample lyric: Oh, the Chinese Funk a-make me wanna flip this bitch/ It's time for MSG to bring it down like this A wok-ing good time (hey, I hate resorting to racist puns, but they started it). Incidentally, the top story in today's local news: A Fung Wah bus combusted into flames on I-91 en route to New York... the second Chinatown bus in five months to do so (here). Said one of the passengers, ''It's torched. Every seat is burned. All the little TVs are cracked and melted. It's amazing." Hallelujah! My suspicion: The cheap chemical that is used to clean the tiolets is reacting with all that MSG.

****3 Things I Can't Believe That Subway Musician With The Steel Guitar Just Totally Did

1. Proclaim "No money, no music, pissants" to a crowded, silent platform of 7:30am commuters.
2. Stare at me and mutter "So (effing) clean" as I walked by him.
3. Play the most exquisite bluesy tunes I've ever heard in person upon receiving a handful of change from an old white woman carrying an abused Filene's shopping bag full of cut sunflowers.

****Slumming It

The upwardly-mobile creative class New Yorker's ability to gentrify is astounding. Next project: Philadelphia, a entirely different city located two hours away that has shown a glimmer of national coolness as of late and has a low cost of living (here for NYTimes report on "the first wave of what could be called Philadelphia's Brooklynization.")

There goes my perpetual back-up plan of fleeing to Philly should I ever feel like owning a home in the city of my suburban youth. Guess I'll end up in Camden, New Jersey.

****More Wedding Visuals

Here are some more pictures (and movies with sound!) of the wedding ...

(No commentary, so use your imagination. Hint: Think Gay Woodstock.)

****Wedding Refreshment

I've been to my fair share of weddings, but never one where the guests had to jump in a river after the ceremony in order to pass through the receiving line...

****Off to the North Country

I'm going to Northern Vermont this weekend for a wedding. Most of the guests will be camping in the woods to watch two amazing women be wed, reportedly in gorilla suits.

I've known one of the brides forever, her being the kid sister of my best friend from Pennsylvania. My best friend and I wanted to hang out with her and bask in her coolness.

And damn, she's cool. She was and still is one of my favorite people in the world, and continues to prove her coolness by doing things like producing radio shows, participating in triathlons, and now marrying an extraordinary Harvard-educated babe with the most amazing speaking voice and a very cool blog (here).

So I am very excited about this muggy and buggy gay wedding in the woods. Love can be celebrated in many ways...

****My Old Maid Rant

Childless Worker Discontent is a creeping phenomenon in America's Brave New Corporate Culture. It affects childless workers who can't help but notice the liberties that working parents take with their "flexible" work schedules in the name of their offspring. This means everything from taking days off to care for a sick child to leaving work at four on a beautiful sunny day, mouthing "soccer game" on the way to the elevator. Childless workers cannot help but to feel rage over grievous abuses of family-friendly corporate policies that do not apply to taking time off in order to get a pedicure, taking a spur of the moment vacation, or shopping for Miatas.

I understand that my breeder co-workers have higher priorities in life, because I too have higher priorities. And spending 40 hours/week in an office puts an anchor on the realization of higher priorities. I understand their need to be an active participant in their children's lives. I trust my co-workers when I get Monday morning emails about little Janie or Billy requiring an emergency room trip, thus preventing them from coming into the office. I'm childless, but I'm not heartless.

But for the Childless Coworkers sake, please, please PLEASE don't bring the family into the office and then disappear for the rest of the day. It happens frequently in my office, with the Children's museum nearby. The wife will arrive the young kids, and the co-worker will take them around the office, forcing everyone to stop what they're doing in order to make small talk and coo over the kids: "How old are you? Are you five? Are you five? Are you going to the Children's museum with Daddy? Going to have fun with daddy? Are you five?" The kid just stares, of course, completely floored at being in the locus of Daddy's serious second life.

Then, having brandished the family to everyone as evidence of higher priorities, the co-worker leaves for the rest of the day. And who's going to say anything bad about someone leaving work to spend a day at a museum with his family? Not the fellow working parents, who already have used or plan to use this get-out-of-work strategy in the future. Not the childless workers, who don't want to sound like a Scrooge-like A-Hole.

But what if I wanted to leave for half the day to, say, go to a book signing? Finish sleeping off a hangover? Get my hair done? Hit the Victoria's Secret sale in the first hours? Hey, if I'm ever gonna land a husband in order to start a family...

That's why I detest these little obligatory family meet and greets and the emails about sick kids. Because if one needs to miss work to cater to your personal life, don't make it sound as if the kids are the only valid excuse to do so. We'd all like to skip out of work on Friday afternoon to go to a museum. We'd all like to spend a cozy weekday at home. And the more people bleat about their familial obligations for missing work, the more it makes it sound as if those are only reasons to do so. We're all humans, whether or not we have spawned.

****I May Not Make You Sick After All

My first name is Meredith, my middle name is Sue, and my last name is Green. My initials are, obviously, MSG.

While not as bad-ass as "ASS," "KIL," "LSD," or "THE," it's a curious combination of letters that was perfectly innocuous up until the 80s. Then Americans became convinced that the Chinese were engaging in chemical warfare via Egg Foo Young and Pork Fried Rice. It was all downhill from there... monogrammed backpacks? Forget it. Too many negative connotations that I seem to provoke perfectly fine on my own.

Do a Google search on MSG, and you'll get stuff like No MSG (here), a website that claims "MSG overstimulates brain cell activity." Or MSG Truth, an organization of "scientific, caring citizens" that likens MSG to an addictive drug (here). Or MSG - Slowly Poisoning America (here), an article that claims MSG causes weight gain.

(I also stumbled www.notoriousmsg.com, a website for a band called The Notorious MSG - "Original Chinatown Bad Boys." I want their domain name.)

My life has not been affected in any way by my initials, but I just took it on faith that the substance known as monosodium glutamate was bad. Why else would the good Chinese restaurants proudly print "No MSG" on their take out menus? To let me dust off my oldest joke and point out to my companions: I can't eat here, ha ha?

But the demonization of MSG may have been American Dietary Mass Hysteria with a little xenophobia thrown in. MSG has been used since the 1900s. It occurs naturally in asparagus, tomatoes, cheese, and just about any food with an umami (savory) goodness. It was originally brewed from seaweed, but is now commonly made through fermentation. Strange, I always pictured it coming out of a makeshift laboratory in the back of Chinese restaurants. Because of the controversy, MSG is one of the most thoroughly tested of all food ingredients, with hundreds of scientific studies confirming it is safe and not an allergen. And it's approved by the FDA, for whatever that's worth. (Facts taken from here and here).

So maybe MSG gets a bad rap. Maybe MSG makes our lives better and our foods tastier. Maybe I'll get a briefcase emblazoned proudly with MSG. The possibilities are, well, pretty limited, because who cares about initials?

****Syndrome of the Week

When I was a teenager, I read in People about a new widespread affliction called Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. The article lamented about how sufferers, mostly women, had to go to great lengths to convince doctors that there was something wrong with them, as physiologically, they were fine. In all actuality, the afflicted were just either lazy, or over-doing it, or not eating well. But saying "I have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome" is a whole lot more reassuring than "I'm lazy" or "The vigor of family life is slowly killing me," hence a syndrome was coined.

Today I read this article about Intermittent Explosive Disorder (here). Not to be confused with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It used to be known as "rage" and the people who suffer from it were "hot-heads," but this is all very un-PC language, because those who experience and inflict rage are simply suffering from a medical condition. To blame them for their insane anger is like faulting someone for having cystic fibrosis.

This tendency to assign medical terms to nearly every negative human trait is annoying. It implies that there's no personal accountability for our actions. So the conniption-prone guy can easily write off his behavior as Simply How I Am. I can't help being displeased at that bitch in the Express Line with 13 items. I can't help being peeved at the schmuck in puny sedan who cut me off. I can't help it if that bartender can't make a martini. And I certainly can't help when my Intermittent Explosive Disorder causes me to react with yelling, swearing, and vague threats. It's Me, and it might be an Angry Me, it might be an Unpleasant Me, but to not accept my Intermittent Explosive Disorder is to not accept Me.

I believe that crap as much as I believe this obese acquaintance of mine who blames it all on her blood sugar. I think rage is a natural by-product of a society filled with alienation, inequality, and tedium. But by coining it as a medical condition, we've given countless lawsuits defenders a medical condition with which to excuse there action: Not guilty by reason of Intermittent Explosive Disorder!

****Coldplay: Arena of Emotions

Not being a fan of Coldplay's discography of simpering ballads that all sound alike, perhaps you should not take it on my word that last Saturday's Coldplay concert at the Tweeter Center was dry. The other 20,000 people seemed to be enjoying themselves,. but it's amazing how easy it is to get drunk off of $7 Buds. Coldplay is U2 without the edge (or The Edge), and this lack of energy is what makes Coldplay more of a heartthrob band than a rock band. Why go to a concert to bob and up down to soft rock, 500 feet from the band?

Granted, they are a talented group. Musically, their songs are well-constructed and complex, though it's not my cup of tea. I've spent too many years in venues that only hold 200-400 people standing 50-100 feet away from the stage. To be seated in Section 9 watching a jumbo TV screen in order to see the singer's face is disengaging.

Lead singer Chris Martin has obviously been taking acting lessons from his wife, whom he only referred to once. He's got the humble emotive Hot Rock Star thing to a science. He's not afraid to show his vulnerability to the crowd, whether through occasionally messing up the words during piano interludes or making shy jokes and remarks between songs.

Since stadium performers are more or less obliged to move widely around the stage, Martin has invented a dance, which involves standing on one foot and hopping up and down while turning around in circles. I read that this is called "whirly birding." He looked sort of ridiculous, but the Babes dug it. And dare god, the lust he incited whenever he thrust his hips while playing the piano. It's worth millions.

****Bad Saturday Morning Things

****Proof I'm More Normal Then I Think

I spent a good twenty minutes looking at the Pixie Friend page (here), filled with pics of people dressed like pixies. Not the Pixies, mind you, but fairies, elves, and Peter Pan characters.

****Joke I Found in a 12-Year Old Letter From a Friend

A guy and a girl are in bed, and they light post-coital cigarettes and lay in each other's arms.

"I've heard some pretty bad rumors about you," says the girl.

"Oh yeah? What?" asks the guy.

"Well, I heard you're a pedophile," the girl says.

The guy looks at her, amazed. "Pedophile! That's a pretty big word for a ten-year old."

****Adventures on Rainy Escalators

I know that Getting Caught in Torrential Downpour stories are about as interesting as Last Night's Crazy Non-Sexual Dream or That Time in College When I Got Sooooo Drunk, but here's one anyway:

Today was the hottest day of the year in Boston, reaching 97 degrees... "feels like 103," they said. I spent my day ensconced in the AC comfort of my office. Then I shuffled in unbearable heat to the T and got on a train to Cambridge. At the above-ground Charles MGH stop, the doors opened and let in a burst of hot, muggy air. Not five minutes later, I got off at the underground Central Square stop, got on an escalator to the surface, and got ready for the heat.

Imagine the surprise of me and dozens others when cold wind-driven wind began pouring down the escalator. This subway exit is a single "up" escalator, covered by a small vestibule, now filled with people refusing to step into the torrential rain, leaving us poor souls on the escalator with no place to step off.

"You have to move!" an old lady yelled meekly as everyone (including me) nearing the top on the escalator reversed our direction in panic. It startled the people in back of us and lead to some gentle tripping and pushing. The wall of people at the top refused to budge, and I can't blame them. It was a crazy downpour and totally unexpected. The woman who was in front of me was now behind me, trying to escape the approaching peril of the top step.

Further down the stairs, I saw a totally coiffured blond woman with an amazing body brace herself against the rail and push mightily, stopping the escalator in three seconds. It was pretty amazing. I thought only mischievous teenaged mall rats could do that.

After that, I fought my way through the crowd and ran ten feet to the doorway of an ATM, getting drenched. It was an amazing rain, accompanied by gusty winds and cracks of thunder. Large tree branches flew down Mass Ave. A small crowd assembled in my ATM doorway, and someone finally opened the door. We cowered inside. Some people were upset, others amazed, others miserable. One guy found it all very amusing, and began making wiseacres. People looked annoyed, but I answered him, reaffirming his repeated assertion that "Nobody was expecting this, heh heh!" Eventually the rain slowed enough to make a run for it, so I did. Then the real fun began...

****Wiggle Goodbye, Antoine

Those of you who have been reading this website over the past fun-filled 2 years know of my loathing for Celtics General Manager Danny Ainge. This passion of bile began at the start of his tenure, primarily because he traded away most of my favorite players, but also because he just seems like an ass. But at the end of last season, Ainge redeemed himself by re-acquiring Antoine Walker, my basketball dreamboat. Walker may not be as technically talented or as physically blessed as many of the other NBA stars, but he ingenuous psyches out the competition with the best guttermouth in the league... and nothing compares to his sweet sweet Wiggle. I was overjoyed at seeing Antoine back in a Celtics uniform. He played with heart and skill, and rallied the young players on the team. Maybe Ainge realized his mistake in trading away the Wiggle. But this week, Walker has been traded to Miami (here) and neither Ainge nor Walker regrets the move. Ainge: Still an Ass.

****Hillary Never!

This week, New Hampshire will see the first televised campaign ads for the 2008 Presidential election. A private group called Hillary Now! is running late night ads touting Senator Clinton and bashing Bush (here). Can't these poor, simple Primary voters get any respite from shameless political courting? And why would waste time and money on a candidate who doesn't have a snowball's chance?

Don't get me wrong. I respect Hillary Clinton's intelligence, shrewdness, ambition, and balls. Yes, her balls. As far as mainstream politicians go, she would make a good president, and if her name appeared on the ballot in 2008, I would vote for her. But I'd be in the minority. If Clinton is their 2008 candidate, the Democrats would lose so badly that Walter Mondale would shine a little brighter in the history books. We're talking electorate massacre. 48 Red states versus simpering Blue New York and Massachusetts.

That many Democrats think of Hillary as a viable candidate is puzzling, and indicates that the Party has fallen helplessly out of touch with America. Sure, she has name recognition, but not in that good Hollywood way. She has credentials, but 95% of America doesn't vote based on who they think will make good decisions in the public's interest. They unabashedly see the President as a figurehead, a leader who must be moral, strong, God-fearing, and possess balls. Not the figurative balls that I previously referred to, but actual sperm-producing balls.

In the 2004 election, the Republicans managed to vilify a bland inoffensive war hero... oh, the ammunition Hillary would give them. A frigid lesbian who has affairs with men for political gain... A corrupt, power-hungry ball-buster who rode her husband to success... the whole ordeal would make a mockery of our political process. The Democrats should focus on long-term strategy, rebuild their Party's message, and tap new blood, and not throw all of their stars against a wall to see who sticks. If they produce a plausible platform that the American people can rally around, they wouldn't have to pin their hopes on a candidate who comes with a ready-made scandal sheet.

****Obligatory Summertime Tourist Rant

People ask me for directions all the time in the summer, probably averaging once a day. I guess my focused style of walking makes me look like I know where everything is, or maybe it's the Celtic surliness that people associate with Boston locals. I'm proud to be acquainted with my adopted town enough to be helpful 4 out of 5 times (My weaknesses: the intricate innards of the Big Dig-heavy North End, restaurants that advertise in tourist guides, and entrances to I-93).

Today in Downtown Crossing, I was approached by a sweaty fat man, flanked by his sweaty fat family, all donning cotton and sandals: "Are you local?" he blurted, stepping right in front of me. Normally, on my post-work walk to the Park Street T, the only thing that can stop me is $1 quarts of strawberries at the vegetable stand. It's a therapeutic speed-walk, meant to reduce stress and make my legs forget the last 8 hours of immobility. For someone to step in my path is foolhardy.

But that he picked me out of all the other surly commuters in Downtown Crossing was flattering, and they looked pretty pathetic, so I stopped and smiled. "Yes, somewhat," I said.

"We're trying to get to the Aquarium."

That may seem relatively simple. I knew how I'd get there, but their eager faces quickly turned hapless as I blurted out landmarks and things like "take a right, but not the right that curves, the right that veers sharply."

"Do you have a map?"I asked. Nope, which amazed me, because I've never seen a tourist in Boston without their heads burrowed into a map. "Okay, here's how to get a free map," I said, and began explaining where the nearest tourist trolley vendor was.

He interrupted me. "No, we want to walk."

"Yes, I know, but they have free brochures with big maps, and it will have the Aquarium marked on it."

The kids were getting restless: Three grade-schoolers, all sucking on fruit juice and moaning at having to stand still. The tourist dad began to look impatient. "Do you know how to get to the Aquarium?" he asked.

"Yes, but I think you'd be better off getting a map. They're just two blocks that way."

He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe my impertinence. He turned to his wife, who was already asking someone else how to get to the Aquarium. The business-attired man gave them the same look I gave them: Yes, of course I do, but there's no way I can explain it to you.

I continued on to the T. I have never met people so adverse to using a map, preferring to harangue locals and act all bothered when it turns out to be complicated. I hope they're lost in the tiny twisty streets of the North End, wishing they had a map.

****Book Review: The Devil of Nanking by Mo Haydar

I ripped through The Devil of Nanking (here on Amazon) because it had an appealing and promising beginning: A young British woman named Gray travels to Tokyo in order to satisfy her life's obsession and find a professor who reportedly has a film of the Nanking Massacre. She's psychologically screwy, and read about the film in a book that now doesn't seem to exist, so she needs to know that it does. She tracks down the professor, who ignores her. She then realizes she doesn't have any money, so begins working at a hostess club.

She then finds out that the Professor has his own obsession, and through a Mafia patron of the club, she can help him. So they make a deal.

That's when the book stops being interesting. It's told alternately from the young Brit's perspective and from the professor's journal of his Nanking experience, and soon this gets annoying. And the end is probably the most unsatisfying ending since, well, the Nanking Massacre itself.