Chapter 61.5: Lo Blow

Someone has finally noticed that Lindsey Lohan is underage! The moronic 20-year-old brat/actress, who has spent time in rehab, supposedly for alcohol abuse (though it seems to have been more about rehabbing her image), was arrested by police and charged with driving under the influence.

The fact that she was caught doesn't surprise me, but why has she been allowed to drink in clubs at all? It's not as though people didn't know she was underage. She's been a television and movie actress for years now and her famous mug has been plastered in magazines along with "teen star" next to her name.

The problem in some of these situations -- and I don't know if this is the case with Lohan -- is that the clubs actually pay these kids to attend the clubs. It's a job, essentially. And the fine the club receives for having the underage dolts in the crowd might be less expensive than advertising. And why don't these morons hire a driver if they're going to drink? It's not as though they can't afford it. I suspect it's to show that they're independent and worldly; instead they come across as irresponsible fools.

I've worked as a bartender and have dealt with annoying parents who seem to think that they should be allowed to decide whether their underage child should be allowed to drink. I stopped serving them and accepted their verbal abuse when they left. I needed the job, and I wasn't willing to let some idiots threaten it; if you want to let your kid drink, do it at home.

But bars that want to tout that celebrities use their place as their personal barstool should suffer the consequences, as should the self-centered children who think they're above the law. I've heard it all before, and probably said it when I was their age. "It's not like I can't find another place to get a drink." You're probably right, but that's not the point. These idiots are risking their own livelihood: the celebrity, the bar owner, the bartender, the door man, the occasional cop who lets the cute drunk girl get away with a warning. It's their fault -- all of them. Lock 'em up.

Chapter 61.3: Sorry to Say Goodbye

The Washington Post ran a front page story about an attractive young woman, Allison Stokke, who is a high school pole vaulter from California. That's not meant to have any connotations of anything, but it immediately sounds like a joke waiting to happen. Unfortunately, the girl didn't consider it a joke at all, and in this age of instant information and gratification, she has become the subject of male fantasies and a dream for photographers with an expert touch on the shutter.

I'll admit I looked at the "unofficial Web site" of her pictures, which has since been taken down with an apology for causing any unintended harm. And the girl is definitely attractive and has that wholesome, girl-next-door look that would be perfect for some advertisements. What amazes me is that none of the photos is in any way erotic or unseemly.

I feel bad for her, and I've chosen not to post the picture on my site, though it might have quadrupled the traffic. I suspect she'll have a difficult time next year at Cal Berkeley. Even though she'll be one of many beautiful girls on campus, there won't be many who can say she had to hire a publicist so a newspaper with the reputation of the Washington Post would run an article and help get her out of the public eye. I don't know any publicist who'd take on a client that wants LESS attention.

I hope she turns down the inevitable invitation from Jay Leno. And when she competes for the Olympics I hope she is able to accomplish things based on her abilities. But I also hope she's good enough to make the team, because I look forward to watching her compete. I could get to like female pole vaulting.

Chapter 61.25: A Pleasant Time Was Guaranteed for All

For the benefit of Mr. Kite, there was a wonderful weekend. And it's not yet complete. I spoke with each of my siblings -- met with my brothers and their respective spouses -- and had a thoroughly pleasant time. I rarely get a chance to have a two-day weekend, and I took full advantage of having three days.

We saw the third enstallment of the Pirates of the Caribbean on Sunday night. If you enjoy the franchise, do yourself a favor; see it in the theater. Some of its weirdness -- and there's a lot of strange scenes -- would be lost on the small screen. It's not a great film -- or trilogy for that matter -- but it's fun. And Keith Richards did a great job in his limited role.

Ok, I'm off to sleep soon, but I want to say thank you to those who played softball with me this weekend. It was a lot of fun and we're making things difficult for league management. Hey, wait a second; that's me!

Chapter 61.2: Memorial Day Weekend

There's something special about Memorial Day weekend. Sure, it's the unofficial start to summer, which is something I'm pleased about. And so far this weekend, the weather has been summery -- almost too hot.

But a conversation on the train coming home yesterday reminded me that it's about a lot more than barbecue, beer, and baseball games. I sat on the bench with a woman I see and nod my head in recognition to most mornings at the train station. We've never had a real conversation before yesterday, however. Turns out that she and her husband are naturalized citizens -- three years as a citizen, but they've been living in the U.S. for about 14 years.

Each year at Memorial Day, they take their family down to Washington, D.C., and do things on the National Mall and go to Arlington National Cemetery. "In all the countries I've lived in," said the woman of Indian descent who speaks with a British accent and married a German, "I've never known another that celebrates the memory of its fallen soldiers."

I didn't realize that. The British have veteran's day, she said (as do we, of course), but that's different.

In light of the ongoing immigration debate, I think it's wonderful to see that type of respect for their adopted home. Personally, I think that we born Americans could learn a lot from those who struggle and sacrifice to get into this country. I'm not going to get into the fairness issue of the recently proposed legislation, and I'm unimpressed by the argument that "those people do the jobs Americans aren't willing to do"; it seems a racist and disgraceful argument to me. And I'm getting away from my point.

While I hadn't even realized that Memorial Day existed until I discovered I had a Monday Little League baseball game as a kid, I've come to take Memorial Day seriously. I make sure the flag is hung on the house, and I contemplate what others have done for America, sacrificing their lives for our continued freedom. I'm no proselytizer, but I appreciate the sacrifice. And I'm happy to see that others appreciate it too.

Happy Memorial Day, everyone.

Chapter 61: Let's Go Mets!

I will refrain from hitting the Yankees when they're down, because truth be told, they're not in such bad shape, even though they're about to lose two out of three to my Mets. They're only three games under .500, and they've got the hitting that could create a massive offensive onslaught against opposing pitchers. However, I believe it's their pitching that is their biggest challenge. And the return of Roger Clemens won't be much help -- some yes, but not as much as the desperate Yankees fans I know are expecting.

The problem as I see it is that more than half of their starters are barely able to get through five innings -- which leaves their mediocre bullpen overworked. This is nothing new to the ears of New Yorkers, and most teams have overworked bullpens.

But the Red Sox staff and pen are superior, so the only way the Yankees will overcome them is for the Sox to have a major meltdown. Still, I believe the Yankees can get into wildcard contention. Theirs is a team built for a successful regular season, and now there's serious question whether they can accomplish that. A staff of Clemens, Pettitte, Mussina, Wang, and a random fifth starter can still be successful. The four main guys are all smart pitchers, but if they get to the playoffs, I'm sure it'll come down to Torre deciding to remove one of his starters with one out in the sixth inning to shut down the opposing offense, and then it's off to the races. That bullpen as it's currently constructed isn't going to scare anyone.

As for my Mets, I believe this weekend will be a pleasant few days at home. I don't think they will sweep, but their hitters are starting to put together some hot streaks, and slumping veterans are awakening from their slumbers. It's time to start winning in bunches and building a lead over the steady Braves and surging Phillies. I obviously am biased, but I think the Mets are the best team in the league. I like the Brewers, too, and those few who read my pre-season predictions will note that I said before the season began that they could surprise people.

But wistfully wondering about the Mets' chances in the post-season is premature. This weekend is about New York: Mets vs. Yankees, and all the bragging rights (unimportant though they are) that come with it. Enjoy, baseball fans.

Note: You folks in Chicago (you know who you are) should have a great series this weekend, too. I think the White Sox haven't shown what they're capable of doing. Are any of their starters hitting over .300 yet? And the Cubs aren't as bad as they've shown (but they are close).

Chapter 60.74: Tails of the Future

I was skimming through the commencement speech given by former Sec. of State Madeleine Albright gave at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and I came across a funny little snippet.

Perhaps each night, we should ask ourselves what we have done to prove there is a difference. After all, mice eat and drink, groom themselves, chase each other's tails, and try to avoid risk. How does our idea of “have a nice day” differ from that?

I'm not sure whether the new graduates totally liked being compared to mice -- and the first image that came to me was of mice in a lab, which may be worse -- but her analogy seemed an apt one. Humans do act like lab mice much of the time, whether we're being observed or not. ... I hope to expand on this another time.

Chapter 60.73: Chilling Pig

This is being posted for one person in particular. You know who you are. Oink.

Chapter 60.7: The 300; New Liberal Arts

Ok, this will be a disjointed post because I seem to be citing a recent movie (that I haven't seen) and combining it with a phrase that in that context makes no sense. So let me explain: this is my 300th post since starting this blog in 2004. More than some people, a lot few than many others. Self-congratulation is now over.

As for "the new liberal arts," that comes from an interesting post I saw at MIT Online, a publication at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. The writer, who is from the university's class of 2007, discusses social entrepreneurism and the importance of the priveleged to give something back to sociey -- not simply make buckets of money. And he recounts an alumnus who told him "Engineering is the liberal arts of the 21st century."

What an interesting comment; it might even be true. I'm becoming more and more convinced that the state of education -- particularly math and science -- is at a dangerous low in this country. I've spoken with people from Microsoft and the former governor of a major manufacturing state as well as others who have similar concerns, and they believe that American students -- and their parents -- have no idea how poor their math and science skills are.

The liberal arts comment points to how broadly necessary those skills are and will become. Technology is at the heart of nearly everything we use today -- this computer I'm typing on, the cash register at the coffee shop where you bought your cup this morning, the blinking voice mail like reminding your co-worker that she's ignoring a client -- and our future is spending it on their hand-held game or their cell phone, oblivious to irony.

We are far from a tipping point, unless it's already tipped to the negative. Getting through to the kids will not be easy. And it's entirely possible they don't care and will blame us for letting their world fall apart. It's not enough that we've taught them to read; we need to help them learn how to think. That requires math and science as certainly as it requires art and literature.

Chapter 60.66: New Thought for the Day

I saw this and found it too clever to pass by without passing on to the rest of the world (such that arrives here).

Thought for the Day
Every year, back comes Spring, with nasty little birds yapping their fool heads off and the ground all mucked up with plants.

-- Dorothy Parker

Chapter 60.63: Something Different

I've been ill most of this week, battling a cold that has left me depleted and dejected. So I think a little Irish music and memories of good times are in order. I can't offer you the music, but know that this night was a lot of fun. Hope you had a good time on St. Patrick's Day two months ago. This shot on the left is of the band we were seeing that day -- a longtime friend (old-looking guy on the left) who is always fun, even though he's hard-pressed to actually play the correct note on his bass guitar. The photo on the right includes one of my brothers (old-looking guy on the left) and I (on the right, with the tongue sticking out) with my wife. I suspect my brother won't be happy with this shot being on the Internet. So it goes....

Chapter 60.6: Thought for the Day

If a philosopher speaks outside a university, does anyone notice?

Chapter 60.52: A Vicious Hit

Murray Chass pulls no punches in this piece about the hypocrisy of baseball, which is now fighting to rid itself of steroids (after ignoring/overlooking/avoiding) that subject for at least ten years but avoids things like alcohol, which kills far more people.

In light of Josh Hancock's death, for which alcohol appears to have been a major contributor, Chass excoriates Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa, who was caught asleep at the wheel earlier this year with his foot on the brake at an intersection after drinking too much. LaRussa doesn't help himself with some of his comments about how reporters might try to turn Hancock's story into something "not all sweet" (I have a question about context, but I'll leave it for another time).

As someone who enjoys a wee dram or to crack open a cold one from time to time, I have to say that Chass's comments are sobering. It's hard to argue he's wrong; alcohol is not only a controlled drug but also is attributable to tens of thousands of deaths every year -- and probably contributes to the health problems of a million or more individuals. These are tragic truths, and Chass is right to call attention to them. He also could have enhanced his information about how smoking (cigarettes, cigars, pot) and smokeless tobacco also have held too comfortable a place in baseball and can be traced to the deaths of millions of people each year also. These things would be true.

I think there's something else at stake to the sport of baseball with steroids, however. We're not merely talking about a substance that threatens the health of the players, which is clearly bad enough, but it also undermines the integrity of the game. Alcohol is not a performance enhancer. Chass is comparing apples and oranges.

Driving while intoxicated is illegal, and those who are in the public eye who are caught doing that deserve to be ridiculed for their actions. I feel sad for those who die due to their stupidity in driving drunk and I'm angry about those who die because of the stupid people who drove drunk and caused their deaths. But the institution of motorized travel isn't completely undermined by drunk drivers. I know that sounds ridiculous, but the apples are apples. While some people choose not to drive because of the myriad dangers involved, that is all about personal choice, just like the fans who decided not to return to baseball after the labor strike(s).

I care about the game of baseball, and those who attack its integrity -- the admitted gambler Pete Rose, the admitted steroid user Jose Canseco, the alleged steroid user Barry Bonds -- all take a little piece of the game away. A game that was very helpful to them and enabled them to be wealthy. With great wealth comes great responsibility. I believe Pete Rose should not be voted into the Hall of Fame. Jose Canseco doesn't deserve to be there either. Barry Bonds? He may go down as a more tragic figure than Pete Rose, because what Bonds accomplished before he seems to have started juicing warranted Hall of Fame status, so he didn't really need to enhance his ability; he was already an all-time great. Now? ... well, I wouldn't vote for Bonds if it were up to me. (Of course, Rose was an all-time great too, but he broke an established, very well-known rule. That moron should have known better, but he thought he was above the game.)

Would I get into a car with Billy Martin or Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle or Hack Wilson or Whitey Ford or any of the other baseball greats who were later exposed as heavy, dangerous drinkers? Not a chance in hell. But I probably would have enjoyed watching the games they were involved in, because they seemed a bit more pure than what we were exposed to during the late 1990s.

Perhaps I'm deluding myself. There's probably a pill for that.

Chapter 60.5: Oui, Oui

I was coming home late last night after playing softball in Central Park. The PATH train was comfortably crowded — enough people to keep things interesting — and I had space for my personal bag of softball equipment and the team's collection of bases and extraneous stuff. I'd been on the train since 33rd Street, as had the woman who was sitting a couple seats away from me. She was reading her book, I read mine.

I think the young couple entered the train at 14th Street. She was a fashion-model type — tall and thin with perfectly toned legs that went all the way to the floor. Wisps of blond hair poked out from beneath her white hoody. Her boyfriend was a muscular-looking guy who might have been a model, too. He was taller than she and his hands were large enough to cup her tiny behind, which he did often while they kissed. She playfully scolded him in her European-accented voice about something he said, calling him a bastard, but the smile on her face showed she wasn't too upset.

I turned back to my book and kept trying to read, but I couldn't help but peek at the girl from time to time — her legs wrapping around his, her hands strolling along his back — as the train swayed on the tracks. Their kisses were loud and sloppy, overcoming the squealing train wheels that echoed in the tunnel.

By the time we arrived in Hoboken, I hadn't finished another page. While I bent over to place the book back in my bag to get ready to depart, the woman sitting next to me said, "I feel like I've been watching a French soap opera. I couldn't help watching. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it."

We both laughed and left the train.

The blond brushed by my bag of bases on her way up the stairs. She turned. "Sorry," she said, smiling.

Chapter 60.45: Ad Astra, Wally

I heard on the radio this morning that former astronaut Wally Shirra died yesterday. The fifth of the Original Seven to fly, Shirra was apparently quite a character. He also was the commander of Apollo 7, the first manned mission after the Apollo I disaster, which ended in Gus Grissom, Ed White, and Roger Chafee died in a tragic fire on the pad during a test.

Though he flew that mission with what became one of the most famous colds in history, Shirra had a sense of humor; he was known to young kids of the 1970s for an Actifed commercial in which he said "You ever sneeze in one of these?" while holding a space helmet.

Read more about Shirra and the early space program in Thomas Wolfe's The Right Stuff and A Man on the Moon by Andrew Chaiken, whose book is the basis for much of the 1998 HBO series From the Earth to the Moon, which I also highly recommend.