Such a fine line

It is perhaps surprising that one of the greatest nuggets of philosophical wisdom comes not from some Greek thinker or revered English playwright, but from the 1984 Rock-N-Roll spoof "This is Spinal Tap." In it, the addled philosopher-rocker David St. Hubbins observes "It's such a fine line between stupid and clever."

I will hazard a guess that John McCain has never seen the movie.

In picking Sarah Palin of Alaska as his running mate, McCain has done what seems to be an astonishingly clever thing. Palin is successful and bright, by all accounts personable, vivacious, and energetic. She's the kind of woman that any man would like to have as a mother, wife or daughter. She's the kind of woman that any other woman might admire and aspire to be.

And yet, McCain may have veered dangerously close to David St Hubbins' dreaded line.

For one thing, he has neatly kicked a rhetorical leg out from under himself. Never again will anyone be able to listen with a straight face when he accuses Barack Obama of bring a naïve, inexperienced lightweight. Palin is just 44 years old and has been governor for just two years after serving as a small town mayor. In terms of heavy-weight national and international experience, or even just life experience, she and Obama are roughly tied. If she's ready to be president in the event of McCain's death, then Obama is ready to be president in the event of McCain's defeat.

But perhaps even more seriously, McCain has made the one mistake that neither candidate should have made (and yet both did). He picked a person who highlights his most serious perceived weakness. There are few people in the country that could have highlighted more painfully McCain's age and frailty, or thrown into sharp relief his status as a grey-haired Washington insider. Perhaps only Louisiana Gov. Bobby Jindal could have done more to make McCain look like a feeble and aging veteran senator.

Of course, Obama has made roughly the same mistake. By picking Joe Biden, Obama has tied his fortune to a serious, respected, graying elder statesman with a lengthy Washington career. The choice of Biden doesn't remove a rhetorical weapon for Obama, as McCain's choice did for the GOP, but it will still make it painfully clear that Obama is young and relatively inexperienced. Perhaps worse, Biden is lively, funny, and irreverent (if excessively verbose at times), likely to charm the press and voters. This will be a painful contrast with the dour, distant, and slightly disapproving demeanor that Obama has projected so far.

Unfortunately, it may not be so easy for voters to decide in November which side of David St. Hubbins' line they are standing on.

The Silly Season

A friend of mine back in Washington used to call election time the "Silly Season." And he was right. A sign of how silly things have gotten this year is an article that appears to be causing great interest and jubilation among Right Wingers, in which political gadfly author Steve Miller writes that Obama is not a "natural born citizen" of the United States, as required by the Constitution in order to become president.

The article says, in part:

Barack Obama is not legally a US natural-born citizen according to the law on the books at the time of his birth; a law that was in effect between December 24, 1952 and November 13, 1986, when the law was changed.

However, the new law did not preempt the former law in the cases of those born between the above listed dates when the old law was in effect.

Therefore, Senator Obama may very well be disqualified as the Democratic candidate in the upcoming Presidential campaign.

Presidential office requires the person elected to be a natural-born United States citizen if the child was not born to two US citizen parents.

US Law very clearly stipulates: “If only one parent was a US citizen at the time of your birth, that parent must have resided in the United States for at least ten years, at least five of which had to be after the age of 16.”

Barack Obama’s father was not a US citizen, and Obama’s mother was only 18 when he was born, which means although she had been a US citizen for 10 years, his mother fails the test for being so for at least 5 years prior to Barack Obama’s birth.

In order for her child to have been a natural-born US citizen, his mother would have had to be 21 at the time of his birth.

In essence, Mrs. Obama was not old enough to qualify her son for automatic US citizenship.

His mother would have needed to have been 16+5 = 21 years old at the time of Barack Obama’s birth for him to have been a natural-born citizen.

Barack Obama instead should have been naturalized, but even then, that would still disqualify him from holding the office of President under current law.


This would all be terribly interesting, of course, except it is wrong. Obama was born in Honolulu, which even the most hardened Wingnut would have to admit was part of the 50 United States in 1961. And the 14th Amendment, passed slightly less than a century before Obama was born, makes one thing clear up front, in its very first sentence:

All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the state wherein they reside.

UPDATE: It appears that Miller simply lifted a bit of Internet mythology that has been circulating for several weeks and has been attributed to various authors (but frequently with significant details altered), making it unclear who came up with it first.

It has become so common, the great Urban Legend Reference Page has weighed in.

My new political orientation

I don't know where this comes from, but I shamelessly stole it from some guy who was using it as a signature line on a discussion group.

Things I think about, pt. 1

Would it be correct to think of the woman who gave birth to the world's foremost cellist as "Yo Yo MaMa"?

Things my five year old has learned

Frogs come from eggs.

Caterpillars become Butterflies.

Plants grow from seeds.

Saying fuck in the school gym is a bad idea.

Calling your camp counselor "gay" is also a bad idea.

It is possible to be expelled from summer camp.

Singing the Indiana Jones theme as loudly as possible is great way to make Dad start yelling.

Sometimes it is necessary to deal with an overbearing older brother with a controlled application of violence.

"Unbreakable" plates aren't.

Dirt tastes good.

Batting your eyelids in an adorable and apologetic way sometimes gets you out of real trouble.

Thanks for nothing...

My friends at Paste magazine cheerfully acknowledged their mistake recently and returned my check...

Every Homeowner's Nighmare

Oh my god, there's a leek in my bathroom.


Damn. Now there are multiple leeks.

Fine dining poetry

Two Cornish game hens;
We will eat the small chickens,
And remain hungry.

Ok, so this is really old, but...

I know this is all ancient and stuff, but I am still amused by my impressions from the Live 8 concert in Philly, which I helped cover for People magazine back in 2005. So now purely for my own amusement, my debriefing after the event:

Here, in no particular order, are the things that I know today that I did not know yesterday:

1. Will Smith has really astonishing pale brown eyes. Rather hypnotic.

2. Jaida Pinkett Smith is really, really short. I mean, really short.

3. The Rev. Al Sharpton is a shameless media whore who will maim and kill to get into pictures, but he is really goddamned funny.*

4. Sarah McLachlan is dazzlingly, heartbreakingly beautiful in a way that pictures cannot capture.

5. Anna Nicole Smith is crazy,** though she looks great these days and her breasts are still enormous, particularly when displayed under the "shirt" that she was "wearing" to Live 8.

6. Rob Thomas is a really nice guy, particularly when he is extremely high.

7. Jimmy Smits appears to be developing a beer belly.

8. The Kaiser Chiefs are really cool. Nobody's ever heard of them before today, but I can tell I am going to be a fan.

9. Dave Matthews is an inarticulate, boorish asshole.***

10. Natalie Portman's body is so small and delicate and her head is so freakishly large that she resembles a giant Pez Machine.

11. Jennifer Connolly is too thin, but still sexy.

12. Chris Tucker is a really funny guy. But his eyes are big and buggy, which is distracting.

13. Kanye West believes some really freaky conspiracy theories and generally makes Oliver Stone seem well adjusted and stable.

14. Rita Marley may be 60, but she is still hot.

15. Don Cheadle is really, really dull. I mean, really dull.

16. If this music thing doesn't work out, Alicia Keys should look into becoming a diplomat. Or a congresswoman. Or maybe president.

17. Hollywood publicists should be killed. Painfully and publicly.

* Actually, I did already know this.
** I strongly suspected this already.
*** Ok, so I knew this already too.

UPDATE: yeah, I know Anna Nicole isn't looking so good anymore. That's what you get for waiting three years to post an item. The rest I will have to assume is still true.

I'll get right on it

God, how I hate getting past due notices. I try to keep up with the bills but, you know, sometimes things happen. Sometimes the paydays don't fall neatly into sync with the billing cycles. Sometimes things get lost on my desk. So I was terribly distressed to find this in my pile of bills I paid today:



So naturally, I immediately settled up:

Narodnik

One of the more interesting things to me about Russian history is how big the Russians tend to think. Whatever it is, the Russians...



You know what? I started typing this post a few days ago, got interrupted and never finished it. So I came back to it today and I cannot remember what the hell I was talking about. But I guess it was really profound and important. I hope you enjoyed the first sentence and a half, 'cause that's all you're ever going to get.

You have my sympathy

With the world's smallest violin.

On the other hand

The only evidence I have a job

Here's what I spent the week preparing - a video poll for Time, asking voters who they voted for. What a strange new world. I used to write actual words about politics, but now I sweet-talk voters into talking to us on camera. Strange.

Lest anyone doubt I was at work today, here is the only existing evidence...

Living in hope

Join my evil cult

I am not sure how these people saw through my clever plan, but clearly my cover is blown. My hopes of becoming a world-dominating God-like cult figure are at an end. Now that my lifetime crusade is in ruins, I shall have to simply throw in the towel and become one with my cover story - that I am an average, generic white Yuppie with two kids and a BMW. Oh, Crap.

Seriously.



Actually, I think someone did try to recruit me into some kind of religious group once. It had something to do with Buddhism and it involved getting me and a whole bunch of other slacker college kids to help out on the inventory of a natural foods store. The people there were creepy, though oddly healthy and good looking, and the work was incredibly tedious. Then they took us out for a big lunch at a local Chinese restaurant. They seemed to expect us to be terribly grateful and kept waiting eagerly for something to happen. I never did figure out what. Of course, they made an elemental mistake. Being that they were some sort of demented Buddhist splinter cell, they only ordered vegetarian food and hot tea. The lack of meat or beer was pretty much a deal-breaker for college students in terms of joining some kind of cult. Had they been smart, they would have plied us with burgers and Moosehead. If they had, I might be their leader today.

I can't decide

This is either the coolest tank nerd thing I have ever seen or it is kind of sad:



The one thing that does annoy me is that he refers to it as a "Panzer Tank," which is wrong, or at least completely unnecessary. It's like saying a "Tank Tank" Or "Armored Vehicle Tank." But other than that, this is an act of geeky genius.

What worried me, though, is that when I did some research to find the right code to embed this video here, I discovered that there is an entire subculture of paintball-based tanks. Look what happens when you search for "Paintall" and "tank" on the video site Liveleak or Google "Paintball Tank."

Alarming, no?

Call me a geek, but...

I just find this irresistibly cool. It is a sand dune field on Mars, in the kind of detail you'd get if you were in an airplane flying over it yourself. I always thought it would be cool to go to Mars, but as that became progressively less likely, I had to accept that I would be stuck on this planet for life (a truth I had to embrace at around 12 or so). So now, 28 years after swallowing that bitter pill, I can at least look at really cool detailed pictures and imagine that I am 10 years old again, planning my future as a Mars-bound astronaut.

April Fool's Day

I hate April Fool's Day. In fact, I hate pranks and practical jokes of all kinds. Perhaps this is because for a guy who is so cynical, I am surprisingly gullible. That makes April Fool's Day a confusing and irritating ritual.

So in honor of April Fool's Day, I am going to undertake one last, great practical joke, this one of an existential kind. I am going to play a prank on April Fool's Day itself. I will pretend that everything I do is a practical joke and yet, in reality, I WILL NEVER PLAY ANOTHER PRANK EVER AGAIN.*


* This is part of my ongoing series of meta lifestyle choices. In about 1999 or so, for example, I made a New Year's Resolution that I would never make another New Year's Resolution. And I have been completely successful to date.

Sigh...

I am just glad I didn't turn up in this movie.

I worked for five years at The Washington Times. I must say, they treated me well, gave me lots of interesting opportunities and generally tolerated the fact that I was neither particularly politically conservative nor particularly fond of Rev. Moon. The editors rarely (with a few spectacular exceptions) attempted to meddle in what and how I reported on anything. I found that most reporters there by the time I got there, particularly on the smaller desks, like Metro and Business, were there because they wanted good jobs in Washington, not because of any ideology or affinity for Moon's church. And yet, unfortunately, much of what John Gorenfeld reports here is true. I suppose I'll wind up having to read his book.




Online Videos by Veoh.com

Why Cheney didn't run

Geode asks a perfectly resonable question that I actually, surprisingly, know the answer to. This is in part because I was covering the Bush campaign at the time and had occasion to cover Cheney a bit as well. It wasn't an awful lot of fun, largely because Cheney and his people hate the press and make no effort whatsoever to do interesting things or be nice.

Geode asks, in a comment on my Cheney-as-the-Penguin post:

How come Cheney's not running, Sean? I was trying to ask myself that the other day. I thought the veep of a 2-termer ALWAYS gave it a go.

Cheney actually said he wouldn't run back in 2000 - that was part of his agreement with Bush to start. The idea was that Bush could count on a loyal lieutenant who wasn't hamstrung by his personal agenda and by calculations about his political future. That seemed to appeal to Bush at the time. I think Cheney recognized that his medical history made him unlikely to win the White House. And really, I am not sure he wanted to be president, or at least to go through all the campaign crap that would be necessary. He's not a very enthusiastic campaigner. I even wrote a story about it.

I so stole this picture

This guy is my new hero

In the never ending quest to evade paying work, this guy is some kind of visionary. From the AP this morning:

PASCO, Wash. (AP) - What happened to faking a cough? Sheriff's detectives in Franklin County said a man had his friend shoot him in the shoulder so he wouldn't have to go to work.

When he first spoke with deputies, Daniel Kuch, of Pasco, told them he'd been the victim of a drive-by shooting while he was out jogging Thursday. But detectives told KONA radio that Kuch later acknowledged that he asked his friend to shoot him so he could get some time off work and avoid an upcoming drug test.

The friend, Kurtis Johnson, of Burbank, has been arrested for investigation of reckless endangerment. Kuch was booked into the county jail and is expected to be charged with false reporting.

Detectives declined to say where Kuch works, or whether he still has a job. It wasn't known if he had obtained a lawyer.

Why didn't I think of it first?

Less is More

I never have liked Garfield. He does nothing for me. Like Alf, but more terrestrial. And no less unfunny.

So it is with considerable amazement that I find out that some clever person has realized that by removing Garfield completely from his own cartoon, the strip becomes a surrealist masterpiece:



Garfield Minus Garfield

We've all been there

Potentially bright lad, I'd say. Learning early to deal with Customer Service...




It is this sort of thing that has led me to DirecTV. I have never had to say a single bad word to them.

Burn the bridges

Here's a lovely series of email memos, by way of The Arkansas Times blog, touched off by a blunt newsroom email sent to employees of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette by State Editor Marilyn Mitchell, who promptly walked out. This has got to be among the all-time winners in "take this job and shove it" memos:

From: mmitchell@arkansasonline.com
Subject: Fuck the glass
Date: February 14, 2008 8:36:31 AM CST
To: to-all-Systemwide@arkansasonline.com
Cc: to-all-LR@arkansasonline.com, to-all-NW@arkansasonline.com
All I wanted to do at this newspaper is to do a good job. I came here because I thought it was a good newspaper. But, it's not. It's a good ole' boys club made up of old white males. Nobody else has a voice. This is a newspaper in which: The city editor can verbally abuse another editor in the presence of the managing editor and nothing is done. The managing editor in a news meeting slugs a potential 1A story as blonde bombshells - a story in which bombs were strapped on two retarded foreign women and sent into a crowd. Male editors are allowed to talk about penis size during news meetings. Editors call Hispanics wetbacks in news meetings Editors are proud to call blacks niggers in news stories. A city editor gets his feelings hurt over coverage of a story and I'm penalized for it. The managing editor is a bald face liar and the executive editor doesn't give a damn. So to "the glass," I resign effective immediately. Marilyn Mitchell

From: Bill Simmons
Date: February 14, 2008 10:11:20 AM CST
To: Marilyn Mitchell , To-All-systemwide
Cc: To-all-LR , To-all-NW
Subject: Re: Fuck the glass

As an old white male, let me offer a few thoughts for perspective (and not
to set off an onslaught of similar missives):

1. In my dozen years here, I have NEVER seen anybody (editor or otherwise)
"proud" that the "n-word" was used anywhere. I can't say nobody was, because
I can't be everywhere all the time, but I can say I NEVER saw anybody
manifest any such attitude when I was around.

2. The reference to "wetbacks" has a history -- a history of disagreement
over whether the term is acceptable in any usage, with most editors here
believing it is not. Sometimes the term is used in derision of the view that
using it is acceptable, not in furtherance of its use.

3. I suppose some males will discuss penis size in the news meetings (boys
being boys), and I have heard in long ago meetings some remarks that were
offensive. But this hasn't happened in any recent news meeting that I
attended and it is not appropriate to convey the idea that this is standard
practice in the meetings.

4. The "blonde bombshells" complaint omits the fact that every day some
quipish summary of each leading news items of the day's leading is posted on
the board. When the governor makes a speech, it may be "Beebe's lips move."
When an Al Quaida leader was blown up by a car bomb, it was "Bad Guy Goes
Boom!" And political in-fighting in Pakistan will become "Pakitics." And so
on. The reference to "blonde bombshells" had no sexist nuance that I
perceived, any more than "Econ Tanks" (a summary of a downturn in the
economy) was expressing approval of a recession or anything else. Practicing
humor has its risks, and one of them is being misperceived and distorted.

The truth is hard to swallow

I guess we'd all like to fancy that we're Han Solo, all Devil-may-care and cool, or Obi-wan, a sage and patient mentor. But somehow I wound up being Luke Skywalker, who is, to be brutally honest, a bit of a wanker.

Which Star Wars Character Are You? Your Result: Luke SkyWalker You are a noble and loyal person who is always looking after the welfare of your friends, even if your hand gets cut off trying to save them. Just stop kissing your sister and everything will be fine.
Princess Leia
Jar Jar Binks
Yoda
Han Solo
Boba Fett
Jabba the Hutt
Darth Vader
Which Star Wars Character Are You? Create Your Own Quiz

The end is nigh

I think it must be some sort of portent of the End Times when I find myself 1) reading Pat Buchanan and 2) nodding along and making agreeing sorts of grunts as I do so. Don't get me wrong, Pat and I would last five minutes in a policy discussion group before we began slapping one another like angry little girls, but still, sometimes it worries me how often lately he seems to make some sort of sense.

An example: Subprime Nation

Have things gotten so bad that the only people making any sense are the crazy ones?

My poor choice in careers

I coulda been a chef. I coulda gone into radio. I coulda gone to law school. But Nooooooooo...





Update: Oh, crud. The video has been removed, presumably by some copyright stormtrooper. So it goes.

The upshot was that it was a clip of a Simpsons episode featuring a candidate's debate and people, including bad-boy Nelson (the "Ha-Ha" kid) were ruthlessly mocking a print reporter on the moderator's panel, saying he was a relic in a dying industry. Principal Skinner then scolds Nelson for being mean, even if what he says is true. Believe me, it was funnier than I make it sound.

We said what?

I love newspaper corrections pages.

I don't dwell or corrections with any sense of epicaricacy, of course. God knows I have made enough mistakes and it's simply courting bad journalism karma to laugh too derisively at any error made by a colleague.

Instead, I find buried in there is a chronicle of human error, bad luck, misunderstanding, and unfortunate timing that make for the whoppers that inevitably appear in print every day (they show up on TV and radio too, perhaps in greater numbers, but they tend to vanish quickly into the electronic ether and broadcasters are notoriously reluctant to remind the audience of errors by issuing a correction). Corrections are also a lovely chronicle of defensiveness, denial, and, occasionally, good humor. Writing a good correction can be an art form in its own right.

The New Yorker used to publish lots of little corrections as filler, but they hardly do that anymore. So I had to look to other sources. Fortunately, there are a few, including the famous Regret the Error. It's well worth checking out.

Regret is out with its annual Best of list for 2007, and some of them are excellent, including the one that caused me to laugh until I cried. From the Hindu Times:

A report “From Bombay to Rajasthan” (“Newscape” page, January 8, 2007) stated that actor Elizabeth Hurley will wear “a 4,000-pound sari by designer Tarun Tahiliani” during her wedding in March. While one reader wondered how she would be able to lift the 1,800 kg sari, another reader said there are possible fears about the bride being reduced to pulp by its weight. It was an error. The word “pound” was used instead of the currency symbol for pound sterling (£).

Or the nearly as funny one from The Guardian in the U.K.:

We wrongly converted a baby’s birth weight of 8lbs 15oz as 51kg. It is 4.1kg (Losing it, page 13, G2, January 1). A 51kg baby is an impossible 112lbs 6oz.

You just can't make this stuff up.

It's the end of the world and we know it....

....and I feel fine.



Not perhaps as clever as Harry Shearer's brilliant mash-up of George W.'s many versions of "It's hard work" being president, but still funny. Unfortunately, I can't find an online copy of the song anymore - Shearer used to have it posted, but seemingly not now. If you're very nice to me, I will play you a copy I just happen to have.

That's gonna leave a mark

Jeez. How did they KNOW?

Viva Fashion

Gosh, if only life was this beautiful...



Discovered and posted last week by the fitfully amusing blog Phillyist. Despite the look and sound, this place is in the suburbs of Philadelphia. I may have to go. And you should too.

Just read this

It is possible, just barely possible, that this is the best article I have ever read. Even if it is not THE best ever, it certainly flirts dangerously with being the best high-concept story idea ever.

The glamor and the glory

Once, long ago, the Washington Times maneuvered me into covering the White House. I was having a perfectly good time covering Congress, but the editors asked me just to head down to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue "temporarily" until they found someone else who wanted to do it. I agreed, albeit extremely reluctantly. But immediately I realized that they had no intention of finding anyone else and everyone was acting as if this was my new beat. So I did what any reasonable person would have done: I screamed and cried like a little girl until they let me go back to Capitol Hill a few weeks later.

Now, many people have suggested I was crazy for this. After all, there is no more prestigious and sought-after beat than the White House. But, of course, I knew that anyone who said this to me had never covered the White House. The dirty secret is that it is boring, frustrating and tedious. Unless you are passionate and creative about the beat (someone like, say, Peter Baker of the Washington Post, who is now in Moscow but was in Washington at the time I was there) or don't give a damn what you do for a living, the White House beat is really a pain in the butt. I loved covering Congress and I had no particular interest in covering the White House on a regular basis, so nearly every minute I spent in the Press Room was agony.

Finally, I have found something to illustrate the banality and pointlessness of most of what passes for news in and around the White House. This is a bit of film by Ken Herman, who is a good reporter, and, judging by my passing acquaintance with him during the 2000 election, a nice guy. And he has accurately captured why the beat drove me away immediately.

The President and The Prime Minister

Update: In looking at the Post website this morning, I see that Peter Baker is back home from Moscow these days. Good. He's a very good White House reporter.


Update 2: I see that I am not the only one who admits this White House thing stinks. Karen Tumulty of Time is interviewed this week in Texas Monthly and here is one of the things she has to say:

"Covering the White House is the most prestigious bad job in journalism. You’re completely at the mercy of whoever deigns to return your phone calls. It’s not like Capitol Hill, where people can’t get away from you. If the Speaker wants to go from his office to the floor of the House, he has to walk past whichever reporters care to plant themselves in his way."

You cannot make this up

Atlanta's alt-weekly, Creative Loafing, has a brilliant cover story this week, listing Atlanta's "Least Influential People." Leaving aside the fact that the mere concept is a withering and hilarious satire of the list-mania sweeping the media these days, some of the individual profiles are masterpieces in themselves. The one that trumps them all, however, is #4, Dawn Williams, the woman who tried starting a support group called the "Atlanta Panic Disorders and Phobia Meetup Group."

There follows a gently hilarious story of unplanned, but not entirely unpredictable, consequences.

Tom for Prez?

Way back in 1998, when I was covering Congress for The Washington Times, a new member came to Capitol Hill and I was instantly fascinated. I sought this guy out in large part because I saw that he had signed a public declaration that he opposed funding for public schools. That, I concluded, was truly hard core. I had to know more.

He was more than a little surprised to find I was interested - in fact, I think I was the only reporter outside of Colorado who knew who he was at that point. I called him off the floor one day for some little issue that I don't even recall: just an excuse to meet him and hear what such a person might have to say (Yes, reporters can send messages to members on the floor and a clerk will personally deliver the message. Sometimes, if you're lucky, the member will come out into the Speaker's Lobby and talk with you. It's pretty cool). Tancredo's first reaction, delivered with genuine incredulity, was "you want to talk to me?" After that, I made a habit of asking his opinion on a wide variety of issues, though I don't think I quoted him often.

And now he's running for president. And doing pretty well for a guy way, way out there on the fringe (he's not doing as well as my other fringe favorite, Ron Paul, who is a story in his own right. Ron Paul, by the way, has signed the same public education statement as Tancredo, a fact I didn't learn until just now. Interesting).

Contrary to what you may glean from this clip and other Tancredo comments, he is actually quite a personable, intelligent guy. And one of the more quietly humorous men in Congress, which sometimes makes me wonder if the following is just a bit of twisted performance art. Probably not, unfortunately.

The best beer you will never have

Unless you are lucky enough to visit, or better yet live in, the Commonwealth of Virginia, you will probably never have this beer. Which is really sad, because it is incredible. It has suddenly vaulted into my top five or so favorite beers.

The brewery, which sits in a little regarded corner of the little regarded county of Nelson, has only been open for a few weeks. It released it's first beer in August and opened the restaurant and tasting room in late October.

It does excellent work on several beers, including the Blue Mountain Lager, which is nearly as good as Victory's Prima Pils and Troegs' Sunshine Pils, both of which are hard to beat.



It does a number of other beers, including a nice wheat beer, a tasty Kolsch, and a rich Imperial Porter. Two other beers are in the works, both Belgians (which are not my favorites, but I am sure they will be great, for those that like that kind of thing).

But the shining star of the line is the Full Nelson Pale Ale, which is rich and smooth, with an warm and enveloping hop aroma and the lovely bite of the Cascade hop, the signature of the seminal Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, on the finish. What's cool is that some of the hops were grown right there on the property.

And the restaurant is cute too. It sits on the edge of the Blue Ridge on a wooded lot. The inside is built like a warm mountain lodge and there is a large outdoor porch where you can sit and enjoy a beer while watching the beauty of the Virgina foothills.

The main downside is that the beer is so good that the restaurant is always packed and the brewmaster can't pump out enough beer to meet demand. His wife tells me they have no plans to distribute beyond Virginia because demand is so huge locally.

So if you're anywhere in spitting distance of Charlottesville anytime soon, and you enjoy a good American beer, make an effort to stop by this place - it's about 20 minutes west of Charlottesville, just at the foot of Afton Mountain, which is where I-64 crosses the first ridge of the Blue Ridge mountains.

The honeymoon is over?

After months of kindness and support, the voices from the Internet have become increasingly cruel and taunting of late. Could it be I am no longer loved as much as I thought? Have I done something to offend? "Evangelene Lejhanec" writes:

hello darling Sean
think the girls will accept your tiny dick? think again buddy


I am shaken, questioning my place in the universe. How can I regain your unconditional love, Evangeline? Please, I must know.


UPDATE:

Even as I was writing this, Myles Gilmore wrote to say

hallo buddy sean
you better make it bigger! weren't those her last words?

I must say, in my current delicate state, those very well might be her last words, Myles. You have no idea.

It's good to be loved

I continue to be touched by the outpouring of love and support I receive from around the world, but my accursed Spam filter keeps intercepting these effusive expressions of affection. I shall have to turn it off, I suppose.

For example, just today, Deena V. Begay wrote to say "We are here for your penis! You'll like it!" I have not yet retrieved this message from my Spam folder, but when I do, I am sure I will like it indeed. Never before has it occurred to me that penises might need a support group, but it is a charming notion, now that I think of it.

And also just today, my Spam filter cruelly blocked a plea from help from a poor soul in China. A certain Jin Faniu writes "Please help me: I am a schizophrenic patients from China, due to the need for long-term use antipsychotic drugs, the family has begun can not afford it, if we do not take drugs so I would crazy, I need your help, you need only to download firefox in my website firefox browser, if you don't install firefox , then you can download firefox in my website, the download url is http://www.sohocer.com/firefox.html, if you install firefox in your computer then you can donate one dollar in my account ， please contact me via email jinfaniu@hotmail.com."

Normally, I would help this person, but unfortunately, I already have a perfectly good copy of Firefox. Perhaps if you'd like to sell me a light bulb, or some cheap Cialis, I might indulge. Better luck next time, Jin.

Lucky Larry

Ok, so this little clip is a little cheesy, but I got a laugh, in a twisted sort of way. This guy was one of my best GOP Senate sources when I was on the Hill. He didn't give me a lot of terribly insider stuff, but I could count on him to give a solid read on the thinking of the Senate leadership at the time. And he was a reliable barometer of the opinions and outlooks of a certain segment of highly conservative, moderately religious, gun-owning Western conservatives. It happens also that he always gives a neat, clear, useful (if sometimes glib) soundbite that fills a hole (so to speak) in a story perfectly.

He also happens to have the sharpest front teeth I have ever seen on a human being - a pair of sharp little pointy canines that he can use to great effect when he peels back his lips in a gleefully malicious smile. It scared the hooey out of me.

I've watched his downfall with a mixture of amusement, horror and sorrow. I had heard that he was gay some years ago, after I left the Hill but before this whole fiasco unfolded. Oddly, I was at once shocked and unsurprised.

Count Me In

Since I got kicked out of Facebook, I am signing up for Enemybook, the most brilliant concept on the Web since Gophers.


Here's how they describe it:

Enemybook is a Facebook app that allows you to manage your enemies as well as your friends. With Enemybook you can add people as facebook enemies, specify why they are your enemies, notify your enemies, see who lists you as an enemy, and even become friends with the enemies of your enemies. Ever wanted to "enemy" somebody instead of friend them? Finally you can. This app remedies the one-sided perspective of Facebook.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer...

Oh, crap. Now I see that I need to HAVE a Facebook account to make this work. The Universe is so unfair.

Fresh is best

The Great Divide beers I have had before I liked quite a bit - The Hercules Double IPA and the the Titan IPA. The Titan I am most fond of - it's not anything revolutionary, but it is a sturdy, flavorful, balanced, smooth American IPA. I don't buy it often, but I'm never sorry to have it in the fridge.

So when I saw this Fresh Hop Pale Ale big bottle I picked it up. And I like it too. The brewers say that the difference is they use freshly harvested hops, available in the early fall, as opposed to the pressed pellets of hops people use the rest of the year around. I have no idea if this is true, of course, but it makes a good story. And the beer is a little different. I don't have a Titan in the fridge now to compare first hand, but I could tell that Fresh Hop is a little different. I got a distinct herb flavor from this beer that I haven't gotten with a pale ale before. In fact (and this is going to sound strange, but I mean it as a good thing) it tasted of a good, musky parsley (yes, there is such a thing).

Like the Titan, this isn't one I will go mad over, but it is a solid, refreshing and ever so slightly unusual beer. I'm glad to be drinking it at this very moment.

UPDATE: I looked around a little and discovered that this is true, though beer wonks are divided as to whether it is worth using fresh hops versus the dry kind. The fresh stuff is called "Wet hopping," a phrase that sounds faintly unseemly.

Stop the presses

Reporters get a lot of weird press releases - stuff scribbled in crayons, made up of letters clipped from magazines, written in the margins of photocopied articles, and so on. The Internet has made this even more common, though it has taken a lot of the visual fun out of it, since even the craziest press release looks neatly typed now.

I don't know how I got on this guy's email list. He sent this, under the subject line "Bulletin," to about 100 people, mostly at news organizations, universities, and local governments, by the look of the addresses. He pretty much covers the English speaking world too. And by the look of the content, it's a darned good thing he is getting his message out far and wide.

Here is the full and unvarnished truth from user367@alice.it, calling himself "The Society of Fundamental Biology / Laboratory of the Phisiological Model of Behavior"


Suicide bombers are severe maniacs, enemies of medicine, agents of devil,
enemies of Allah, unique and monotheistic god, so also god of medicine,
and not god of insanity. The problem is more and maximally serious:
the problem is medical. I suggest to inform habitants possibly
carriers of the risk.

War is pathological behavior; sane habitants don't make duels and don't
fight each other, respecting exact national and international rules: in any
conflict almost one combatant is mentally insane. This doesn't exclude that
shooting to the bank robbers by the police is a pathological conduct:
it would be more pathological not doing it, or depenalize robbing;
"enemy is mentally insane".

Communists are mentally insane or they are right and their
law is correct; nazists are mentally insane or they are "super doctors
against the enemies of mental hygiene"; Napoleon is mentally insane
or he is right and he act as "perfect doctor".

Phisiologycal behavior means absence of pathological behavior; biological
group self destructive activity is pathological behavior. The scale is
from zero to 1000 of pathologicity, zero means phisiology.
The committer of a pathological conduct or omission, is diseased by
definition. Example for detecting a pathological behavior: if everybody
would pass with red traffic light, there would be more deaths and wounded
people.

The tribunal says that some paedophile is sane and has no mental illness or
disability, this means: physiological behavior, non pathological behavior.
Paedophilia is a clinically insane behavior, the committer has mental
illness in every case. Also crimes against the patrimony or with
economic motive are non physiological conducts.

Theoretical example:
"Egyptians kill homosexuals but children are not born homosexuals: egyptians
corrupt then kill sane children, using illegal and maniacal behaviors".
This is a useful example of something that, if medicine would not operate
well, could happen almost in few cases, matching a "predisposition and
activation" case: a predisposition like my arm has, to be broken by a crash.

Why slapping child isn't a crime and a mania? Which clinical problem,
methods of correction and control want to correct ? Methods of correction,
like slapping, menacing, insulting are initially illegal and maniacal
behaviors. They involve 80-90% of earth's population: there should be a
medical document deposited somewhere, that disposes the violation of the
general rule, for a medical reason. If that would be a problem it should
be involved in the pathogenesis of many morbose states.

Killing animals is a crime and a mania. Why eating animals isn't a
crime and a mania, as generally is ? Is there a medical document
deposited somewhere, that disposes the violation of the general
rule ? In every case it is a parasitic activity.

Siegmund Freud says that children has sexual attraction for parents,
and that mind is partitioned in three parts: ego, superego, es.
Does he lie not knowing to be lying ? Is psychoanalysis a fake ?

I am such a nerd

All these marketing articles a few years ago said that the way to sell wine was to put animals on the label. So now, everything has a bird, a lion, a kangaroo, whatever.

Well, animals don't work for me. At least not so much. What seems to work for me is ... World War II airplanes. I have this thing for World War II airplanes. And my favorite of the bunch, just happens to be the P-40, often known as the Warhawk, though it went by several different similar names depending on the version. I don't know why I love it - it was a great big, slow, overly armored obsolete dinosaur before the war even started. But ever since I was a little kid, I have been fascinated by the P-40. It looks cool. And it has the unusual distinction of being the backbone of the Flying Tigers, who used this out-dated plane time and again to get the better of the Japanese flying the white hot new Zero, which by all rights should have slaughtered the old American planes (the trick, apparently, was to fly very high, wait for the Zeros to appear below, the use the huge weight of the P-40 to come screaming down out of the sky, blasting everything in your path. Then you hope like Hell you've done enough damage to slow the Zeros down, all the while relying on your great slabs of armor to keep you alive).

So what do I see on a beer store shelf this week? Warbird Pale Ale from some place in Indiana. I don't know anything about it. And I am usually not fond of a straight pale ale; I prefer big India Pales Ales. But it has a great big pretty picture of a P-40; the 8-year-old in me wouldn't let me leave without this beer (good thing they didn't card my Inner Child).

And guess what? It's good. Very good, even. Powerful without being overpowering. Flavorful, with a nice hoppy aroma, musky and floral. I might have bought some more sometime even without the really cool airplane picture.

Now, I gotta go to Indiana and check out Warbird Brewing. I might even be tempted to try some Thunderbolt Wheat,even though I don't like wheat beers. And I'd love to try the Mustang Golden Ale. Damn, these guys have my number.


UPDATE

Commenter Cub corrects my romantic, yet historically hazy, vision of the P-40s role in the war over China.

Cub, otherwise known as Dan Ford, writes:

Ah, but the Flying Tigers never met the Zero in combat. For the full story, see
Flying Tigers: Claire Chennault and His American Volunteers, 1941-1942, just published by HarperCollins.

That said, I'll keep an eye out for Warbird ale. Blue skies! -- Dan Ford


Which of course points up the danger of relying on comic books as your source of historical information. But it does nothing to diminish my prepubecent admiration for the sleek likes of the poor old P-40.

Thanks for asking!

I received a lovely personalized note today from a young lady who is either in Canada or the UK, depending on how one reads her email address. Sadly, my Spam filter intercepted her kindly email, but I was touched by her concern anyway and I thought she raised an interested question. Here is what she had to say:

"Hi sean Do women really care about penis size? The answer is yes yaman elker"

So to my new friend Yaman, wherever she may be, I must reply: I don't know. Is my penis size a common topic of discussion where you are? Perhaps there are places where this is the case. I certainly hope the women don't worry about it too much. I don't. But thanks for writing, Yaman. Do keep in touch.

Thank God it's only in small batches

Tried this last night and I was very disappointed, not least because it was an irrationally expensive bottle - almost $9 for a 24 oz. bottle. The result? Overly sweet. Not offensive, just out of balance.

Double IPA's like this are hard to pull off under the best of circumstances. Try Dogfish Head's 60 minute, 90 minute, and 120 minute IPAs side by side and you'll see what I mean. The 60 minute is nicely balanced and drinkable, the 90 minute gets a little sweet and odd tasting, and the 120 minute is like drinking beer flavored cough syrup. Not a happy experience (the 120 minute is a whopping 20 percent alcohol by volume. Most beers are, say, 5 percent or thereabouts, most Double IPAs are around 9 percent, so this beer is WAY out there on a lot of levels).

But for some reason, I had higher hopes for this Breckenridge beer - I guess I made the classic mistake of equating cost with quality.

If you want a good Double IPA, try some of these: Weyerbacher's Double Simcoe, Stone's Ruination IPA, Avery's Maharaja, and Victory's Hop Wallop. All of them manage to walk that delicate Double IPA balance: High alcohol and intense hops without becoming unpleasantly sweet and heavy. I hear the Three Floyd's Dreadnaught is excellent, but I have never managed to get my hands of any. What I have tried of their stuff has been impressive.

I just needed to share this

I'm not a particularly good speller. I have gotten much better in recent years through considerable effort but it is something I have struggled with since I first learned to write. Spell check is a nice feature that has saved me much heartache, but it only catches blatantly misspelled words. For example, "public" and "pubic" are both spelled correctly as far as the computer is concerned. The machine has no way of knowing that the person at the keyboard meant to write a front page story about a "poorly-attended public hearing," as I discovered to my sorrow one day early in my career.

Which brings me to today and a small triumph. While typing along in a story about a long interview with a locally-famous Chinese chef, I managed to type the word "chrysanthemum" without a pause and without resort to spell check.

I just thought you'd want to know.

Like Father Like Son

This is my son Colin.



He is trouble. And I mean that in the best possible sense.

My older son, Evan, who is not trouble in any conceivable sense, describes his brother this way: An angel with a devil's smile. Which is just about right, as far as I can tell.

Well, just this week, Colin followed in his old man's footsteps and got expelled from camp. Yes, expelled. As in cannot ever come back.

His crime? Well, basically being high spirited. The camp teaches Karate. So Colin tried it on some of his fellow campers and a couple of counselors. Some of the older campers were talking about people, such as Michael Jackson, being "gay," so Colin decided to try that out as a label for some counselors. They didn't see the humor. Nor apparently did it occur to them that a 4-year-old hasn't the faintest idea what that means (Try explaining the concept to anyone under, say, 12 or 15 and you'll see what I mean. I had a very unhelpful conversation about it with both Colin and his 8 year old brother which pretty much convinced me that this is a VERY advanced concept for anyone who cannot even spell "puberty" yet).

Oh, and he did threaten to kill someone. But he was repeating something from a Ben 10 cartoon, or something that his big brother watches. Colin, like most 4-year-olds, still thinks that death is something like a cold - take some medicine, wait a while, and you're all better.

So I guess we'll be needing a new camp next summer. Any suggestions?

Poor Colin. He still doesn't quite get what happened to him. He knows he "got kicked out," but that idea seems to occupy the same hazy territory as "gay" and "kill" in his little brain.

The whole thing just makes me tear up when I think about it too deeply. He's trying so very hard to understand the world.

It's all in the game

There is a slightly unsettling article in the New York Times Science section this morning. It rests on an idea that seems, on its face, to be preposterous, but it is unsettling because it turns out to be so insidious.

Writer John Tierney talks to an Oxford philosopher named Nick Bostrom, who is modestly well know for advocating a The Doomsday Theory, an exercise in logic that, as he describes it "seeks to show that the risk that humankind will go extinct soon has been systematically underestimated."

But that's not what Tierney wants to talk about. Instead, he wants to talk about Bostrom's argument that there is a significant chance that we are all living inside a computer simulation run by remarkably advanced descendants of the real, non-simulated, human race. This is, of course, preposterous.

Unless it isn't.

Bostrum figures it this way. It seems very likely, based on our experience with increasing computing power, that sometime in the future – anywhere from a few decades to many millennia – humans will develop computers of sufficient power to realistically simulate the entirety of human history, complete with humans simulated in sufficient detail that they develop some level of consciousness. Whether this event is right around the corner or in the far future doesn't make much difference to the argument.

This being the case, there are only two basic reasons to assume that it is flatly impossible that we are living in some Matrix-like simulation. First, that no civilizations reach that level of technology (and we are clearly headed in that direction right now, so the implications of this argument are alarming), or, second, that civilizations that do reach this level of technology have no desire to run this sort of simulation. And clearly human beings do, even if no other creatures in the universe do – we do it all the time with our current computers: think Sims, Civilization IV, Caesar IV, and any similar simulation game. It seems unlikely that humans will lose their taste for watching such animated critters go about their business just as their ability to add detail and realism skyrockets. It's certainly possible that some highly advanced civilization might develop a moral or legal prohibition against such simulations, but it seems improbably that ALL such civilizations, and all individuals in such civilizations, would hold these beliefs and refrain from running any detailed simulation.

So, presuming those two conditions are false, then we have to assume that is possible we live in a simulation. If, indeed, processing power develops sufficiently, then it is likely that there would be many such simulations running, meaning the total number of conscious creatures living in computers greatly exceeds the number living in whatever constitutes reality. In that case, it would become ever more likely we are living in a simulation (Imagine, for example, that the hottest-selling computer game for Christmas in the year 2234 is SimEarth, or even SimCosmos. You begin to see the potential dimensions of this).


Bostrom puts the chances that we are living in some kind of simulation at about 20 percent, though if you read his original (and rather dense) paper on this, he appears to be implying a much higher chance.

So what if it's true? Well, in practical terms not much. Whether we live in a simulation or not, we still have problems and challenges we need to meet to live day to day. But there are some metaphysical and quasi-theological implications. If we are in simulation, then there is some kind of creator who can intervene or examine our actions. It is, therefore, possible that our actions are being judged and we could be punished or rewarded accordingly.

And it sure as hell explains a lot, doesn't it? The Big Bang? What a freaky idea, unless it is either a fiction created by the person running the simulation or some artifact of the beginning of the simulation itself. Suffering? Evil? War? Disaster? All part of game – a flawless life in a perfectly smooth cosmos would probably make lousy entertainment, or would be useless as some kind of research project.

But as I say, it's completely preposterous.

Isn't it?

Don't mess with Karl

The news that Karl Rove is stepping down brings to mind my first, and rather peculiar, encounter with Rove, an encounter that caused me to largely avoid him during the time I covered the Bush campaign.

It was just a few days before the New Hampshire primary in 2000. Bush was touring the headquarters of the state police, but the building was quite small and cramped. That meant only a handful of reporters, known as the press pool, and a few staff could go on the tour. That left the rest of us cooling our heels outside. The temperature wasn’t too cold, but there was plenty of snow on the ground. Some of the reporters and staff began pitching snowballs back and forth. Eventually, Rove jumped in and began hurling snowballs at a couple of reporters hiding behind a snow bank – an event immortalized by Alexandra Pelosi's documentary "Journeys with George."

Rove turned out to be surprisingly nimble, however, and nobody could hit him. Spirits seemed high, everyone was laughing, including Rove. Finally, a cameraman blindsided him, coming up from the side and hitting him with a snowball, though I don't recall exactly how hard. Rove continued to laugh and joke, and ran after the guy, who ran away, all very playfully.

But not only was Rove nimble, he was fast, particularly for a guy who is short and rather doughy. He caught the cameraman and grabbed him around the neck, laughing and joking the whole time. He bent the much larger man over, held him in a powerful headlock, and began cramming snow in his face, scooping it up in handfuls from a snow bank. His jovial demeanor never wavered but I was the closest reporter, standing by myself in an area where nobody else was standing, and I heard the cameraman begin to splutter and protest and I could hear the impact of the snow as Rove shoved handful after handful into his face. I suddenly realized that Rove was actually hurting him deliberately, while making it look like a game.

I am not sure exactly how long the whole event lasted – it seemed like an eternity, though it was probably just a couple of seconds. As Rove shoved another handful of snow into the man's face, all the time laughing and shouting jokes, he looked up and locked eyes with me for just a moment. His eyes were both cold and triumphant – he had managed to exact brutal revenge for a playful, harmless attack and make it look to the world like an equally playful moment. But he was playing for keeps, even in a snowball fight.

That look so unsettled me that I pretty much stayed away from Rove for the rest of the campaign, talking to him mostly in the small groups of reporters. It was, in retrospect, a glimpse into the darker side of the Bush operation. I wish I had realized it at the time.

Banned for Life 2

There's an interesting discussion of Facebook's hairtrigger banning system over at the Huffington Post. It was brought to my attention by a comment on my previous post by Huffington Post contributor Ann Handley, though it looks to me like the link she included in her comment didn't register correctly in the comment box. So here it is:

Too Popular for Facebook?

I'm not sure what to make of it all yet, though I find it interesting that my case seems to be part of a broad pattern by Facebook. My guess is that this issue will bubble up in the near future as more people get caught in this. One of the things that has made Myspace an enduring institution is that they seem to be more tolerant of business, journalism and other unusual uses and they seem to spend the time and money to police the site with some nuance and judgment, where, if Ann is to be believed, Facebook simply pulls the plug on a user with relatively little discretion. I suspect this could hurt Facebook's longterm prospects.


UPDATE

Here's an interesting tale that explains a bit about Facebook's practice of spiking certain users:

Happy Hotelier banned from Facebook?

And here is the story from Tasnim who posted the comment below about his experience with Facebook. I don't see exactly how to link the post directly from his blog, so I will repeat it verbatim (with apologies to Tasnim):


July 26, 2007: Sixth Anniversary of the Princeton Summer Journalism Program/Back on Facebook

So, I’ve officially been banned from Facebook.

Sucks, really. But… it’s fair because they warned me before… and I never took it seriously. They said to stop sending the exact same message over and over again so I altered it and sent a “dear _____” (so technically different right?) message to everyone. It was for an event I was planning–I had to. People don’t check their e-mail!

But I’m almost happy that they didn’t give me another chance. It’s like they KNEW this was going to kill my time. One less thing to deal with in college.

A week (exactly 7 days) without facebook. What an interesting experiment. I got through Harry Potter zippity-fast and got my application essays and reading assignments for Princeton out of the way. Now, it’s for real. Facebook was a pretty big and obsessive/addictive part of my life. That phase has ended. yay?

Edit: I know, I suck! I made another one. One week was apparently too long.

Forgot to mention! First time on the highway today. What a thrill. :

True crime

I keep an eye on the various true crime blogs online mostly to see if they turn up any interesting stories that People magazine might want to look at, but I normally don't get into the cold case sorts of stories that turn up once in a while. Except today. I don't know why this one, on the best of the crime blogs, caught my eye, but it is quite interesting.

Banned for life

Somehow, Facebook decided that I have become a Spammer. I don't understand - they won't explain. It has something to do with my efforts to contact friends of Virginia Tech students in the wake of the shooting there in the spring, a story I was reporting for People magazine. I've been through several layers of making complaints, all with no result. I finally, in desperation, wrote to the founder of the company some weeks ago. No answer so far.

At first I was really pissed off, because no other website has had any problem with the way I and other reporters operate. But then I cooled off and began to wonder if it might not be kinda cool to be one of the few people banned for life from Facebook. I haven't really decided. Perhaps I should take an informal survey: is it Cool? Or should I fight to the death?

Mark Zuckerberg, CEO
Facebook, Inc.
156 University Ave
Palo Alto, CA 94301

May 24, 2007

Dear Mr. Zuckerberg,

I find myself in an intensely frustrating situation with Facebook and it is a last resort that I write to you.

I am, and have been for many years, a freelance reporter for People and Time magazines. I am a 17 year veteran journalist. In recent years, as have many other journalists, I have made use of social networking sites – including yours – to contact sources on stories. At no time have I had difficulty with any of these networking sites or received complaints about my activities.

Until this month.

In the course of reporting on the shootings at Virginia Tech last month, I had occasion to contact a considerable number of Tech students and friends of the victims by way of Facebook and other sites. As is usual in a case like this, the majority of those people ignore my inquiry and I made no effort to persist. One person rejected my inquiry with a profanity. But the remainder, easily more than a dozen, responded. I interviewed many of them and I responded with thanks for those that said they preferred not to be interviewed. At no time was my approach to these people rude, obtrusive or harassing. If you review the communications, you will find that I was unfailing polite and respectful, as has been my habit in sensitive crime cases throughout my career.

And yet on May 3, I received a notice that my account had been flagged as having distributed Spam. I appealed immediately, explaining my purpose and behavior in detail. Several days later, however, I discovered that my account had been deleted. I further appealed and had a lengthy discussion with Pam in your appeals department, the contents I will attach. I informed Pam that I had founded a new account after my first one was deleted.

I now find that account has been permanently disabled. Pam informs me that I will never be allowed to have an account at Facebook.

As you will see from my correspondence with Pam and James, I have no desire to act in any way that runs afoul of your rules. It is my invariable purpose to act in good faith – I believe you will see that I was completely transparent and open with Pam and James in this matter. I wanted nothing more than to find out why I had been flagged as a spammer and how I could prevent such a problem in the future.

As a reporter, my inability to have a Facebook account is a serious liability. I have seen no sign that you have engaged in a widespread crackdown on journalists or have forbidden them to use your site. I can only assume this is some sort of misunderstanding, but so far I have been utterly unable to determine how and why I was flagged for having crossed the lines so seriously as to rate a lifetime ban. I want nothing other now than to clear my name and determine how I may use Facebook in good faith and transparency ...

Please help me understand what happened and how I can resolve this matter. I have reached an impasse with any other avenue.

I look forward to hearing from you.

New Media, Old rules

A discussion group I have been a part of - or more accurately, a series of loosely related groups - has been going through an unpleasant period. Lots of hard feelings. Lots of bruised egos. Some nasty childishness. It has been most discouraging. I've known most of these people, electronically at least, for five or six years. It used to be a refuge for me. I spent a lot of time interacting with these people after I started working from home, a move that deprived me of the normal social network provided by working in a newsroom. This was my virtual version of the water cooler. Fortunately, I've managed to keep out of the actual fights online, but the fallout has been hard on all of us.

One of the players wisely observed this:
"We've gotten OLD. We can't take a joke and we can't handle criticism. We don't think people are worth the effort that forgiveness costs, nor do we think they deserve it."

And I think he is right. It got me to thinking about the way the Internet changes some of the rules for building - and dismantling - communities.

These sites of ours illustrate an interesting inversion caused by the Internet. In real life, building a group of friends is relatively hard - you generally have to meet people based on geography: school, work, church, neighborhood, whatever, then overcome social and cultural barriers of age, class, nationality, race, and so on. On the Internet, it is uniquely easy - people of common interest can come together despite considerable differences in age, race, geography, all of that. So that's really good.

But the interesting thing is that in real life, breaking up a group is fairly easy. People move away, get married, develop new interests, get a new job, go to a new school. Groups tend to disperse. On the Internet, however, breaking up is relatively hard. None of the things that allow a group to be fluid, to drift apart before the members get on each other's collective nerves, don't really matter. If you move? No problem. Get married? No problem, nobody notices. Go to a new school? Get a new job? Move across town? Still in touch. To get away, you have to actively drop out and quit going to the discussion group, which is in a way much more difficult than drifting away, as you would do in real life. So the group remains, year after year after year. Resentments build. Interests change. On and on and on. We get tired of each other.

Imagine what would have happened if your best group of best buddies from College or High School had kept living in the same dorm together for years and years on end. I bet you wouldn't be such good buddies now. Or at least there would be ugly fractures among the group. But I'd bet your best buddies have all scattered, or at least spun off to some degree. Sure you're all still good buddies, but now, instead of seeing each other 12 hours a day, seven days a week, you see each other 12 hours out of every few months, or talk on the phone once a month, get together on the weekend once in a while. That doesn't happen as easily on the Internet - you're much more in or out. You either living there in the dorm day after day or you've dropped out of school.

That's what happened to us, I think.

New York

I stood on the 45th floor looking out over Central Park and experienced a moment of vertigo, more existential than physical. It occurred to me what an astonishing monument to impermanence the city really is. It is a city that is dependent entirely on its outside support network. Every element must work to near perfection. If any element fails, the city would die in a matter of days. It's like one of those Renaissance aristocrats who displays his power by engaging in no physical activity, awesomely powerful in society, but defenseless in person. New York has rendered itself nearly helpless as a symbol of its immense power - it alone can command the kind of support it takes to keep eight million people alive on a low-lying series of islands and peninsulas. Perhaps this is why New Yorkers are so edgy about crises, from power outages to terrorism - on some level, they know that if that intricate support network were to fail, even partly, their lives would not only become impossible, but unimaginable.

Humans like, I think, to imagine that the places they build are as permanent and solid as the mountains. But the Manhattan schist that pokes out of Central Park and the towering bluffs along the Hudson mock that. Humans can move flatten those mounds of rock, but only at enormous cost and effort. One could fly a fleet of aircraft into those bluffs along the river and barely make a mark.

As I looked out along the northward spread of Manhattan, I became suddenly aware how little stood between my feet and the ground 500 feet below.

Just when I was beginning to weary of the Green Flash Brewing West Coast Pale Ale, I find this - the Green Flash Imperial IPA. It's incredibly strong and hoppy - 9 percent alcohol with a considerable hop kick, but lots of flavor. For a beer this strong and hoppy, it has an excellent balance. I would say it is better than Victory's Hop Wallop, which I love.

From the AP this afternoon:

ENID, Okla. (AP) - Detectives arrested a 12-year-old girl and her 10-year-old sister for allegedly abducting their neighbor's 1-year-old son and demanding $200,000 for his return.

Brandon Wells was safe back at home Thursday night, hours after intruders broke into his family's residence and took him while his mother, Sheila Wells, slept, police said.

"I've been doing this 18 1/2 years, and this is the first time I know of when a 10- and a 12-year-old kidnapped a 1-year-old," said police Capt. Dean Grassino. "It definitely ranks up there with the unusual crimes."

The siblings, who were not identified because of their ages, are accused of sneaking into Wells' home at about 5:30 a.m., taking Brandon and leaving a ransom note.

"If you want to see your son again then you won't call police and report him missing and you will leave $200,000 on the sofa tonight and we will return your son back safe," the note read, according to police.

The note was signed, "the kidnappers."

The plan began to unravel when the girls' mother saw them with the child, police said. They told their mother they had found the boy on the corner, police said.


I have to say I am impressed. This is the kind of go-getter spirit we need in the younger generation. Well thought out, decisive, well executed (except for the whole Letting Mom See You With the Baby thing, of course). And $200,000? What a perfect number. I say let's get this girls into business school, not reform school.