Author: bobg

An open letter to Paul Krugman

Dear Professor Krugman,

Congratulations on your well-earned Nobel prize.

I was heartened recently to read your column, “Life Without Bubbles” — not by the part where you write, “we’re in for months, perhaps even a year, of economic-hell,” which is just acknowledging the depressingly obvious, but by your assertion that “Late next year the economy should begin to stabilize, and I’m fairly optimistic about 2010.”

In dire need of some positive news, of something to look forward to, I seized on that “fairly optimistic” line as many others have done in the week since you published it, despite its vagueness, its throwaway nature, and the fact that it’s mostly beside the point of your article.

But then I thought, “Hmm. Suppose I were Paul Krugman, Nobel-prize winning economist and one of the best-known, most well-respected voices on current affairs. Suppose I knew the basic fact of economics that the public’s collective confidence in the economy is self-fulfilling: when people are optimistic about the future, by and large the economy improves; and even more certainly, when they’re pessimistic, it deteriorates. And now suppose that I, Paul Krugman, believed that things were going to get bad, really bad, for a long time — Weimar Germany bad. Would I tell it like it is — and knowing my own influence, be responsible for the resulting nosedive in public confidence and the economic ruin it would cause? Or would I feel a responsibility to say something positive even if I didn’t really believe it?”

So I’m having trouble knowing whether you’re sincere, or whether you’re secretly with Roger Ebert and just not able to express your sense of doom without hastening it.

Don’t bother replying. If you would write that you were really being sincere, I won’t know whether to believe that and we’ll be right back where we started. But if you would admit that you were being unsupportably rosy in an effort to delay the inevitable, that’s something I’d just rather you not say in public.

Whistling in the dark,
– Bob

Les quatre cents cool

It’s gee bobg post number 400, and time again to turn the podium over to the Bob-o-matic.

I know where the phallus originates: see figures 1a, 1b. But what’s the matter, energy, and along the way to a wealthy and unsavory businessman known as the to and from e-mail? I’ve been trying to recall the name of a bitch. Check. Deliver a eulogy. Check. Describe how it jibes with the previous few days in which I measured faithfully under identical conditions each day to protest a greedy move by the prevailing political fashions of the story. After ten heart-stopping minutes I believed their fun was just a phase. The girls again, was banned in the 1950’s, still holding out a grape from a pay phone — and walk Alex (I had never learned he was our tour guide, where’s Violet)? He couldn’t bag ‘er for want of a trance. Tom, tonight is the imaginary number 1. Five factorial, for me because it was over. We felt we really must be going. Then they began laughing and clamoring. Steve set the stage properly. Cast a couple are typical murder mysteries, but I think it was called the Joyful Elite. It didn’t help. Exley: You make a guess on my side and reaching under the same to me, since water is heavier than oil, then at the end of Superman/Batman crossover stories, and thanks anyway. Excerpts of my own best efforts to avoid it, recording it, see a correlation between cat allergies and an etrog citron. As a result of 438 square inches knowing that the telecoms and/or the easy way or another descended into the water? Because she chose the wrong conclusion. Subscribers to Comcast Digital artifacts (Con Edison) what year did the fish movie, Hitchcock once explained to her name was Turner leading the pirates would continue to play some roulette. All together to endure the crisis and emerge more tightly knit — the Danger mail system uses (when converting from MSP data to and from time) to dry by a long time I finally got around to follow their instructions? The trials involved in achieving the goal of some psychological jujitsu by Mary Poppins, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg! In two weeks — then dragged the duffel bag (seemed no less dense than the year 2008). The year I sent this message to one side with a better sense of humor, the least electable Democrat. The problem (the problem) isn’t a particular collection of mechanisms for specifying and describing the cloud — let’s assume that the recent wave of non-introductory computer-science courses, which contributed to the Kims’ mistakes, fall into each other’s families — she watches my kids grow up, in retrospect. I said once Bush was crazy, they came from simply walking down the hill beneath the surface. Commander sighs: I had attended a sneak-preview screening of Reggio’s final Qatsi film, from someone who knew this fact and the friend request with the filthy soles of theirs. It’s an annoying case of murder, about a month later. When you get your very own Fizzies fountain. They glamorized the idea that with Steven Spielberg — because Spielberg made Hitchcock feel like crying — Comcast removes West Coast feeds 1, 6 — Comcast, Comcast, crappy broadcast Comcast, reduction in service at all those Western girls? Has it done such a time. I forget what it had — the needed equipment we ran into one another (groan) with — our first surprise came when traffic was backed up in arms about it was the litigiousness of its kind among Splashdown’s songs, leaving a diehard core of doubters free to murder and steal and covet their neighbors’ wives and kick adorable defenseless puppies, but on this trip, or some other innocent program to view the complete list of Perl regular expressions, we made a trek to the altar to witness the awesome power of tyrants is to suspend or nullify elections whose outcomes they don’t because God is everywhere.

A holiday tradition

You didn’t think I was going to leave you hanging, did you? It’s a little late in the season but here’s my annual reimagining of a popular seasonal song.

You better not look
You better not leer
Your best bet is getting the
Hell out of here
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

He’s batting his eyes
And pursing his lips
Walking in heels
And swinging his hips
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

When Mrs. Claus is sleeping
He sneaks into her clothes
He calls some elves in a girlish voice
And they paint each other’s toes

When Christmas is done
The year is so long
He passes the time
In drag — that so wrong?
Santa Claus is wearing a gown

(Previously.)

Flux capacitor fluxing

So yesterday I’m on Facebook and I see a status update from my friend Amy from elementary school, who moved to Hollywood and was an actress for a while. Attached to her status update is a comment from one Claudia Wells, a name I recognize. Another elementary school classmate of mine and Amy’s? I send her a “friend” request with the note, “Are you the Claudia Wells from P.S. 196 in Forest Hills, NY?”

She writes back promptly to say she isn’t — she’s a classmate of Amy’s from high school. That’s when I Google her and discover she’s the actress who played Marty McFly’s girlfriend in Back to the Future, the film in which a short-circuit sends Michael J. Fox thirty years into the past. And then I remember that the Claudia who went to school with me and Amy had a different last name entirely. How did I get it wrong? I guess seeing the name “Claudia” juxtaposed with Amy’s caused a mental short-circuit — one that sent me into the past — by exactly thirty years! (To 1978, my last year of elementary school and the last time I saw Amy or Claudia.) I write back and tell her so.

I slay me. I’m quite sure Claudia Wells doesn’t get nearly enough Back to the Future references in her life.

The old fly, call, sprint, bound, ring gag

A couple of times after I moved to Pittsburgh for college, I flew home to New York without telling my mom. Her apartment building had a pay phone in the lobby. On these occasions I would call her from the lobby, pretending still to be in Pittsburgh. In the middle of the conversation I’d say, “Hold on a second.” Then, leaving the phone off the hook (but having arranged with the doorman to hang it up for me after a few minutes), I’d sprint from the lobby down a long hallway to the rear staircase, bound up to the third floor, and ring her doorbell. I’d greet her with a “Surprise!” and a goofy smile, and she’d greet me with a delighted hug.

Thanksgiving was a good time to do this trick, because it was plausible to claim not wanting to travel on Thanksgiving, and because Thanksgiving is a great family-togetherness holiday, and because my mom’s birthday was always right around Thanksgiving. In fact today’s the day she would have been seventy-four.

After I surprised her this way two or three times she started asking me, “Are you really down in the lobby?” whenever I’d call from Pittsburgh to say “wish I could be there” on some holiday or other. She was always disappointed when I convinced her that I really was far away still. In later years, after college, I did this once or twice more, only with the advent of ubiquitous cell phones I didn’t have to arrange anything with the doorman, or sprint, or even say “Hold on a second.” I could call her from right outside her apartment door, and ring her doorbell right in the middle of a sentence. Convenient — but I liked the lower-tech, higher-effort version better.

Happy birthday, Mom. This is the story we would be remembering together if you were still around. I miss you.

November 14th, 1988

It was twenty years ago today
I stayed up until the break of day
Talking like it’s going out of style
With a girl who had a gorgeous smile
So may I introduce to you
The guy I’ve been for many years:
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band!

I’m Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band
I hope you will enjoy this post
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band
Scroll down eight dozen lines at most
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band

It’s wonderful to be wed
It’s certainly a thrill
We’re such a lovely family
I like to have you home with me
I love to have you home!

I don’t really wanna stop the blog
When I do, I get a big backlog
But the writer’s gonna write a song
And he wants you all to read along
So may I introduce to you
The guy who beat up Billy Sheer:
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band!

Billy Sheer!

What would you think if I said “Let’s stay home”
You’d say “Let’s go out and have some fun”
You always find all the cool things to do
And without you they’d all stay undone

Oh I improve with a little help from my wife
In the groove with a little help from my wife
Oh I couldn’t move without some help from my wife

What do I do when my love is away?
I just watch TV and eat some Fluff
How do I feel when she comes back to play?
She can get me to do better stuff

Oh I improve with a little help from my wife
In the groove with a little help from my wife
Couldn’t move without some help from my wife

Do you need anybody?
I don’t want this to sound crass:
Could it be anybody?
She gets me up off my ass

Do you believe in a love at first sight?
If by “first sight” you mean decades of time
What does she hear when she turns out the light?
She hears snoring and she knows it’s mine

Oh I improve with a little help from my wife
In the groove with a little help from my wife
Oh I couldn’t move without some help from my wife

Do you need anybody?
I just don’t want to sound crass:
Could it be anybody?
She gets me up off my ass

Oh I improve with a little help from my wife
In the groove with a little help from my wife
Oh I couldn’t move without some help from my wife
Yes I improve with a little help from my wife
With a little help from my wife!

One, two, three, four!

I’m Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band
I hope you have enjoyed this post
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band
I’m sorry but it’s done (almost)
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-

Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart Hus-band
I’d like to thank you once again
Mr. Glickstein kinda sappy Happy-Heart Hus-band
It’s getting very near the end
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-
Mr. Glickstein, Happy-Heart
Hus-
Band!

Bonding

[This post is participating in Lazy Eye Theatre’s James Bond Blog-a-thon.]

1973. Live and Let Die. I was seven years old. My folks gave me five bucks and let me go to the movies on my own, just me and my friend Matt. Afterward we rehashed and debated everything that was cool about the film: the speedboat jump, walking on crocodiles, and that amazing LED watch showing tiny red numerals when Bond pressed a button on its side. (Years later I would see the film again and be appalled at its racism. Everyone white is a good guy. Everyone black is a bad guy.)

1975. The Man With the Golden Gun. Matt saw it without me, and then described how the bad guy had this amazing gun that he assembled from innocent-looking items like a gold lighter and a gold fountain pen that he could take anywhere and no one would ever know! It was the coolest thing I’d ever heard. Also: second Bond movie in a row with a bad guy’s name ending in -anga.

1977. The Spy Who Loved Me. I had forgotten about going to see Live and Let Die, and when my summer day camp organized an outing to see the film, I resisted, claiming haughtily that I only enjoyed the original and best Bond, Sean Connery. (In fact I’m not sure whether, at that point, I’d ever seen a Connery Bond film; but I’d heard this opinion expressed elsewhere and decided to adopt it.) But I tagged along, had a terrific time, and afterward readily admitted my error. Years later I would adopt a strong preference for Sean Connery, and a dislike for Roger Moore, for real.

1979. Moonraker. I easily spotted this as a pathetic Star Wars rip-off, and the Close Encounters joke it contained made me roll my eyes, but I still liked it well enough to go out and buy the novelization. Also the first time I can remember quoting a Bond film. (“I believe he’s attempting re-entry.” [Haw!])

1981. For Your Eyes Only. What the hell was that?

1983. Octopussy. You guys aren’t even trying anymore, are you?

1985. A View to a Kill. To this day, I haven’t even bothered to see it. By this time I am evangelizing to everyone that the only really good Bond film was From Russia With Love.

1987. The Living Daylights. A welcome return to a Bond who’s dangerous and sexy, whose flirtations with an equally sexy Moneypenny don’t make me bury my face in my hands. But what’s this? The PC police have caught up with the Bond series and conspicuously scrubbed it of smoking and (as the AIDS epidemic builds up a head of steam) womanizing. Phooey! That’s not what I go to the movies for. Any time I want to see someone not womanize I can just watch myself.

1989. Licence to Kill. The promise of the previous film not fulfilled. Wayne Newton, seriously?

2002. I’d skipped all the Pierce Brosnan Bond films, but I tagged along with my co-workers to the premiere of Die Another Day. It was a revelation. Mental note: go back and watch his other movies.

2006. Casino Royale. The Bond I’d been waiting my whole life to see.

Update [14 Nov 2008]: Matt wrote to question my recall about Live and Let Die. I agree with him it’s unlikely we went alone to the movies at age seven, especially if it meant crossing Queens Blvd. Maybe we saw a re-release a couple of years later.

Eat your vegetables

[This post is participating in The Cooler’s Politics and Movies blog-a-thon.]

I don’t know how my mom ever got me to watch the film 1776 in the first place. Probably it was by turning it on to watch it herself and relying on the hypnotic spell of the TV to pull me in. Ever since she did, I have spent a large part of my life trying — and failing, mostly — to persuade others to see it too. You see, the movie is almost impossible to describe without making it sound like “eat your vegetables” or “floss your teeth” or “do your homework” — something boring but essential because it’s good for you (shudder), even though it’s actually as entertaining a two hours as you’re ever likely to spend. Its educational value is just a nice little plus.

Here, I’ll show you what I mean:

1776 is the true story of how the Second Continental Congress, which at first opposed the idea of separating from Great Britain, eventually came to adopt the Declaration of Independence. And it’s a musical!

See? You couldn’t possibly want less to watch it now, could you? The fact that it’s a musical only seems to confirm that it’s a subject so dreary that it needs some added flavor, like oatmeal. Let me try again:

In 1776, John Adams and Benjamin Franklin persuade a reluctant Thomas Jefferson to write the Declaration of Independence, and a reluctant Congress to adopt it.

Ugh, that’s worse. Try this on for size:

Franklin.
Jefferson.
Adams.
They’re not just names in history books. They’re not just stodgy portraits, marble statues, or dry-as-dust lists of accomplishments. They were ordinary people like you and me. 1776 makes them accessible and shows how they achieved the impossible.

Oy. Clearly I’m trying too hard. Maybe if I concoct a modern high-impact movie trailer using scenes from the film and some dramatic narration…

            NARRATOR
      You know how it ends.

Close up on the new Declaration of
Independence as John Hancock adds his
distinctive signature.

            HOPKINS
      That's a pretty large signature,
      Johnny.

            HANCOCK
      So Fat George in London can read
      it without his glasses!

            NARRATOR
      But it almost didn't happen.

Congress in session.

            RUTLEDGE
      South Carolina will bury now and
      forever your dream of
      independence!

Congress in session.

            ADAMS
      They stopped our trade, seized our
      ships, blockaded our ports, burned
      our towns, and spilled our blood!

            NARRATOR
      In a world that doesn't know
      freedom...

Congress in session.

            DICKINSON
      I have no objections at all to
      being part of the greatest empire
      on earth!

Congress in session.

            RUTLEDGE
      Black slavery is our peculiar
      institution and a cherished way of
      life.

            NARRATOR
      ...a secret cabal...

Franklin indicates Jefferson, Adams, and
himself.

            FRANKLIN
          (singing)
      A farmer, a lawyer, and a sage!

            NARRATOR
      ...defies the mightiest army on
      earth...

Congress in session.

            THOMSON
          (reading a dispatch)
      "There can be no doubt that their
      destination is New York for to
      take and hold this city and the
      Hudson Valley beyond would serve
      to separate New England from the
      other colonies permitting both
      sections to be crushed in turn."

            NARRATOR
      ...and an even greater enemy:
      apathy...

Congress in session.

            HANCOCK
          (distractedly)
      General Washington will continue
      wording his dispatches as he sees
      fit, and I'm sure we all pray that
      he finds happier thoughts to
      convey in the near --
          (swats a fly)
      -- future.

Outside Congress.

            ADAMS
          (singing to the heavens)
      A second Flood, a simple famine,
      Plagues of locusts everywhere
      Or a cataclysmic earthquake
      I'd accept with some despair
      But no, you've sent us Congress!
      Good God, sir, was that fair?

            NARRATOR
      ...to attempt the impossible.

Franklin and Adams scheming outdoors.

            FRANKLIN
      No colony has ever broken from the
      parent stem in the history of the
      world!

            NARRATOR
      One man with a vision...

Congressional chamber, empty.

            ADAMS
          (singing)
      I see fireworks!
      I see the pageant and pomp and parade!
      I hear the bells ringing out!
      I hear the cannons roar!
      I see Americans, all Americans
      Free forevermore!

            NARRATOR
      ...one man with a quill...

Jefferson appears at his window and lets
a paper flutter down to Adams and
Franklin in the street below.

            ADAMS
      Franklin, look!  He's written
      something -- he's done it!
          (reads)
      "Dear Mr. Adams: I am taking my
      wife back to bed.  Kindly go away.
      Your obedient, T. Jefferson."

            FRANKLIN
          (admiringly)
      What, again?!

            NARRATOR
      ...and one man with the savvy to
      see it through...

Congress in session.

            FRANKLIN
      We've spawned a new race here --
      rougher, simpler, more violent,
      more enterprising, and less
      refined.  We're a new nationality,
      Mr. Dickinson.  We require a new
      nation.

            NARRATOR
      ...must overcome incredible
      odds...

Congress in session.

            ADAMS
      But it'll never be unanimous,
      dammit!

            DICKINSON
          (pleased)
      If you say so, Mr. Adams.

            NARRATOR
      ...their personal prejudices...

Franklin and Adams scheming outdoors.

            FRANKLIN
      Nobody listens to you.  You're
      obnoxious and disliked.

Hopkins and Franklin milling about in
the Congressional chamber.

            HOPKINS
      You are without a doubt a rogue, a
      rascal, a villain, a thief, a
      scoundrel, and a mean, dirty,
      stinking, sniveling, sneaking,
      pimping, pocket-picking, thrice
      double-damned, no good son of a
      bitch.

Outside Congress.

            JEFFERSON
          (singing)
      Oh, Mr. Adams, you are driving me
      to homicide!

            NARRATOR
      ...and their own weaknesses...

Adams and Jefferson in Jefferson's
apartment.

            ADAMS
      Do you mean to say it's not
      finished?!

            JEFFERSON
      No, sir.  I mean to say it's not
      begun.

Adams and his wife.

            ADAMS
      I've always been dissatisfied, I
      know that.  But lately I find that
      I reek of discontentment.  It
      fills my throat and floods my
      brain.

Franklin and Adams in Congress.

            FRANKLIN
      What will posterity think we
      were -- demigods?

            NARRATOR
      ...to prove to the world...

Congress in session.

            ADAMS
      Certainly we require the aid of a
      powerful nation like France or
      Spain.

Congress in session.

            DICKINSON
      Mr. Jefferson, are you seriously
      suggesting that we publish a paper
      declaring to all the world that an
      illegal rebellion is, in reality,
      a legal one?

            NARRATOR
      ...that all men...

Adams and Franklin in the Congressional
chamber.

            FRANKLIN
      Whether you like it or not, they
      and the people they represent will
      be a part of the new country you'd
      hope to create!  Either start
      learning how to live with them or
      pack up and go home!

            NARRATOR
      ...are created equal.

Congress in session.

            FRANKLIN
      There's no backing out now.  If we
      don't hang together, we shall most
      assuredly hang separately!

Laughter.

            HANCOCK
      Gentlemen, forgive me if I don't
      join in the merriment, but if
      we're arrested now, my name is
      still the only one on the damn
      thing!

Fit-ness

Survival of the “Fit”test

A lower price wasn’t the Fit’s only advantage over the Prius. While car shopping I rented a Prius for a one-day extended test drive, ending up with three specific complaints:

  1. Visibility through the rear window is poor;
  2. The console’s large, animated engine-performance display is dangerously distracting;
  3. The keyless engine-start button is (a) unsafe with small children around but (b) too cool to disable with the child-safety lock.

More than a year ago I replaced my 1998 Honda Civic hatchback with a new Honda Fit. Fuel efficiency was a key decision criterion for me, and naturally I considered the Toyota Prius; but the Prius gets its best gas mileage in city driving, and at the time of my purchase most of my driving was on the highway, where the Fit’s efficiency was close to that of the Prius, at a much lower price.

I’ve been tracking my Fit’s fuel consumption on a spreadsheet for several months now and the trend is clear: its efficiency is consistently in the 35 MPG range. Nothing to sneeze at, especially given the dismal fuel economy of almost all other cars on the market; but disappointingly it falls short of the mileage I was getting with my Civic at the end, which occasionally exceeded 40 MPG — with the previous decade’s engine technology!

You can see the mileage I’m getting, fill-up-by-fill-up, in my Google Docs spreadsheet.