In A Post-UUST World

Well, I'm finally done with that pain in the ass...um, unspecified standardized test. I think it went fine, although I doubt it was my greatest performance. Anyway, I'll find out in two and a half weeks. I came home exhausted and with a right side of my back that can hardly move (still! damned tiny desks in Davies!) only to find that my dearest roommate had hidden sixteen signs throughout my room, bathroom, and kitchen areas with "UUST" written on them (he used the real letters). I had apologized that I wouldn't be able to help clean up after our Tony party, and he apologized that he would be talking nonstop about the test after it was done. Sixteen signs counts as nonstop. Grr.

Speaking of our party, the weekend would have been pretty much ideal had I not been a bit of a nervous wreck. Friday night I went out with work people for drinks, then I picked up a copy of the new Ian McEwan and read the novel(la) in one sitting. I was crying by the end—yes, I'm weepy—and I may have gained some painful insight into myself. Which can be a good thing. Or it can just make me mopey. To make matters worse better [SIXTEEN SIGNS! --Ed.] Greg had his wallet stolen and we turned his room upside down looking for it. The next day, the perps charged a couple of metro cards...which is exactly what the crooks who stole Natalie's wallet and my laptop did. Weird mofos.

On Saturday, I went to Jess R's smaller birthday party on Governors Island. That island is totally underrated: totally beautiful, barely developed, and perfect for picnicking and frisbee throwing. We didn't have frisbees to throw, but it was still good times. Then I met up for coffee with Brad—we did some very solid hashing out of answers to general questions—and I had a delicious Mercer Kitchen dinner with V. The idea of the dinner was to stop me from studying, but I wound up doing a section at 11:45 pm after a few glasses of wine. It actually went decently. Who knew?

Sunday was major prep for the par-tay, as I made my World Famous Guacamole (aka Guac of Ages) and deviled eggs. Greg's dad was over, and he miraculously cleaned our entire apartment...well, not my room, which needs a hell of a once-over, but a lot of the apartment. I also managed to see Mike L, who was in from Dubai because his dad was having heart surgery. Apparently, half of the city is under a certain surveillance, where you cannot access sites that are not in accordance with the values of Arab society. Greeeat. So Mike's been having a hard time getting to certain networking sites from his apartment. In any case, 'twas good to see him, and I'm glad that he (amazingly) loves Dubai.

The party was ridiculously well-attended and tons of fun, even though Spring Awakening had a bit too much of a sweep. V and Sam got into a few low-key arguments about shows and how musicals should be written. The two of them have, er, different styles of arguing, so V valiantly muscled his way to victory. They really just have VASTLY different taste. So it goes. And Mark O brought his actual Tony, which added a delightful authenticity to the festivities. The Guac of Ages was a big hit (Chayes's boyfriend Steve apparently came exclusively for the guac), as were the eggs. I must admit, however, that Greg's open-faced smoked salmon and cilantro butter sandwiches were pretty darn good. After the party, V drove me home so my mom could drive me to the Have the following day.

And now I am relaxing after watching (yet again) the fabulous Spencer Quest/Jamie Donovan scene from Michael Lucas' La Dolce Vita. Porn is such high art these days. If you know anyone who's an expert in right-side-of-back massage, please let me know.

Riddle Me This

I was reading The Yiddish Policemen's Union yesterday (highly recommended), and there's a character in the book who's really into chess but hates puzzles. Reading that, it struck me that I've never heard of Shortz doing anything with chess. Heck, I love puzzles, and I despise chess. Is there really a divide between chess people and puzzle people? I guess Reiman likes both puzzles and chess...but I don't know. There is something kind of different between doing a solitary and non-competitive activity where you have to solve something concrete and battling someone else where the point is to work a strategy around them. I dislike competition and, frankly, strategy, and I love cleverness and puns and math, so I guess my preference makes sense. But maybe this is a solid way of splitting people up in two—like Cavaliers and Roundheads—or at least a way of splitting nerds in two. Are you a proud, vindictive, autism spectrum hyper-male with a love of battle, or are you a someone who finds the purest fun in clean cleverness and the satisfaction of rushing toward a victory that won't be tempered by someone else's loss? Do I sound biased in my descriptions?

The Next Exciting Ethical Dilemma!

Get psyched, kids: Eugenics is back, and it's looking much friendlier. All of those "eu" words that were are so positive in etymology seem creepy these days, don't they? Euphoria is a little psychotic and delirious, utopia quickly leads to communism and dystopia, and Eugene's a total dweeb. But eugenics has the worst connotation of them all. Mention the word and all anyone can think of is forced sterilization by the Nazis. Which was bad. Really bad. But the new eugenics is so morally ambiguous, and it may inspire some great ethical discussion.

Here's the deal: Slowly, we're learning more about the genetic and prenatal factors that can influence traits in a fetus. And we're learning how to test for them. So the obvious question arises: How much choice should parents have? What should they select for? Right now we can test for Down's Syndrome, and over 90% of the fetuses diagnosed are aborted. There's some controversy over this, but not a whole lot. It seems like a fairly large majority of Americans wouldn't blame a mother for terminating a pregnancy if she knew her kid was going to have a reasonably serious illness or disability. Still, this kind of thing doesn't do much good for living people who have that illness or disability and their families. As fewer people have these issues, demand for treatment decreases, and it's harder for people to find support from others they can relate to. The more people abort fetuses with Down's Syndrome, the more pressure there is to abort a kid with Down's Syndrome...the fewer people there are with the disease the greater the consequences of having it are. Also, people tend to be less sympathetic to illnesses they see as preventable. And, yeah, I guess screening and selective abortion is a method of prevention. And it's eugenics. Intervening to reduce suffering, boost intelligence, whatever.

And then we get beyond disease to other traits. It is cool to select for IQ? Hair color? Sexual orientation? The last one's a doozy. If a parent wants to select for a straight kid, it's like that a gay kid would face some problems growing up with that parent. Still, it just seems really creepy to say it's OK to select for your kid's sexual orientation. But whom is this parent harming? The gay community at large? By making the world population of gay people smaller and therefore making it harder to be gay or by not forcing herself to accept gay people and contribute to a better universal attitude toward sexual diversity? And as I saw a somewhat sketchy scientist discuss (thanks to CM for the paper), if people can abort for not wildly compelling reasons (could handle another kid, but don't really want one), why can't they abort for this reason?

I'm totally conflicted on these issues, which is kind of great. I love a good dilemma...and that kind of testing for sexual orientation is a little ways away anyway, so I don't have to worry that I'm screwing anyone over by being conflicted. My instinct is to say that it's a parent's right to select the child on whatever stupid criteria they want, so I don't think parents should be legally barred from this testing. On the moral question, I think it's morally wrong to prefer many traits strongly enough that you would choose to abort a fetus—go through an unpleasant procedure and risk having issues that aren't currently present with a future pregnancy—rather than have a child with that trait. I think someone who prefers hair color that strongly is just a little pathetic, and frankly, I think someone who prefers sexual orientation that strongly is, well, kind of a bad person. But I think given those attitudes, the decision to selectively abort is not itself immoral. I don't think it's the responsibility of any individual parent to help a minority by bearing a child who's part of that minority. I'm open to changing my mind, though. That's why I think it's a cool topic.

How to Sell Your Grand Treatise on Everything

I wanted to title this post "How to Be a Convincing Crazy," but I figured that might put off my target audience. Don't go, Grand Treatise writer! Hear me out: This post is just a list of hallmarks of good, convincing, sane writing. Whether or not you're a bit nuts, you can use my advice to make your Grand Treatise on Everything (GTE) more appealing to your intended reader. In my line of work, I've received more than a few GTEs (and I'm still young!), so I'm not a horrible example of your target audience. Here I will tell you what you can do to prevent me from immediately tossing your GTE.

Disclaimer: This is not a response to any individual person or document. Any one GTE could be stricken from my data set and the advice would still hold. Here we go...

1. Don't spill the beans!
GTEs from crazies are a dime a dozen. GTEs that are accurate and provide true insight into the nature of the universe are, well, really, really rare. So the second your reader realizes you are writing a GTE, you're in trouble. Your reader knows that the chances that you're a crazy who's BSing his way through the essay are pretty darn good, and he or she will likely stop reading (or at least stop taking you seriously) right there. So don't start sounding too grand too early. Keep words and phrases like "revolution," "meaning of life," "secret of the universe," and "theory of everything" out of your opening paragraph. In fact, leave them out of the whole piece. Don't capitalize "truth." Try to be modest and specific in your impact claims. Talk about how the ideas in your paper could have an impact on a specific field or help people achieve a certain end. Instead of saying that your theory "will revolutionize physics," say it "could provide insight into outstanding problems in high-energy particle physics." Instead of saying your ideas will "let people see the true meaning of life and achieve what some would call Nirvana," say they'll "let people explore a method of thought that could help lower everyday stress." And for the love of God, don't mention Thomas Kuhn and paradigm shifts. If you keep your language modest and specific, your reader might think you're on to something. Everyone is interested in the meaning of life and a theory of everything; if you let the reader make the connection between what you're saying and these grand topics by himself, you will stand a better chance.

2. Support your claims
How did you think of your GTE? Was it a flash of inspiration? Did God personally talk to you? Was it through a lifetime of painstaking thought? I don't care. I don't want to hear it. Nothing is going to convince your reader that your ideas and theories are accurate except solid evidence and strong arguments. Your reader doesn't trust you, and unsupported claims like "everything is energy" get you no points. This step is where you should spend most of your time and energy as you write and revise your GTE. If you have no support for your claims and just feel you achieved your knowledge through revelation, think of how you can support your assertions. Build up arguments that are rational and as rigorous as possible. Don't talk down to your reader; it doesn't make you sound authoritative, it just makes you sound crazy. Yes, you can appeal to your reader's intuition, but...

3. Avoid arguments that amount to "Duh!"
Prominent advocates of creationism often use "duh!" arguments, but hey, they seem crazy. Don't use them. You know you're using a "duh!" argument if you start using phrases like "of course," "obviously," "clearly," "common sense tells us." Most really, really bad theories appeal to common sense and intuition. It's a sign of lack of rigor. If you're trying to disprove quantum physics (I wouldn't recommend it), saying, "Obviously a particle can't be spin up and spin down at the same time!" is a dead giveaway that you don't know what you're talking about. Appeals to common sense and intuition are a sign that you simply don't understand something well enough to argue it. Which brings me to...

4. Do your research
If you are challenging an established idea, you should be very familiar with all of the arguments for that idea. If you're challenging quantum mechanics (again, not recommended), you should know about Bell's Inequality and why violation of it demonstrates entanglement. Is there something you don't understand? Is there something that seems obviously wrong to you? Spend a nice, long time trying to find an explanation in the literature. It will serve you well.

5. Keep your language simple/Use English
Keep your voice active and your words short. Long, florid sentences are just annoying, and they make your thinking appear muddled. Plus, strained sentences are a great opportunity for using overblown language. Avoid the overblown language. And don't define too many new words. Sure, if you want to create your own term for the "space-time-mind-connectedness continuum" or whatever you've come up with, go ahead. Knock yourself out. But when you start defining tons of subtopics that are key to your theory, you sound awfully caught up in yourself. (Unlike this post, which isn't at all self-involved, I know. But hush.)

6. Watch you're grammer
Do you think I'm a moron? I would too, had I read this section heading. Sure, anyone can sub in a "you're" where there should be a "your" or misspell a word. These aren't actual signs of low intelligence. But when you make these sorts of simple errors, you come across really poorly. Curl up with your good friends Strunk and White and get to know their rules. A couple of little errors won't spell doom (I'm not proofreading the post, I'm sure it's got its fair share of crap), but it's better to be safe than sorry. Oh, and in these modern days you can end sentences with prepositions, start them with conjunctions, and split infinitives til the cows come home. Enjoy.

OK, GTE writer. That's all my advice for this evening. I'll update the post when I've thought of more. Oh, one last thing: A lot of people are really into GTEs. You can recognize them by their copy of The Secret or the latest Deepak Chopra. I'm not one of these people, so I haven't read any truly popular GTE books. By reading a few of these and seeing what methods they use, you can probably derive more techniques for successfully framing your theories and ideas.

Good luck, GTE writer. If you have it all figured out, I look forward to learning about life, the universe, and everything. If not, I eagerly await your best efforts. Godspeed.

Fun, personal posting will resume soon. You'll hear all about my hot dates and wild tropical adventures...if and when they ever happen.

Adapted Screenplay

Just add stage directions, (barely) change the names, edit for length, and it practically reads like noir.

We are in a small interrogation room. CHUCK is leaning against the back wall and smoking, wearing the two piece remains of a three-piece suit. The smoke billows around his face, obscuring his features, but it is clear that he is in charge and he is at ease. Sitting at the table is JIM, a man with a face that could once stop traffic, but it looks like one car didn't quite stop in time. He has just come in from the rain and drops from his hair form a small puddle on the table and make the shoulders of his white, button-down shirt translucent. Exhaling, CHUCK speaks.

CHUCK

Can you remember the date and the day?

JIM

Yes, sir, very well. It was Wednesday, March the 10th, 2004.

CHUCK

And how do you remember that date so well?

JIM

This was a very memorable period in my life; probably the most difficult time in my entire professional life. And that night was probably the most difficult night of my professional life. So it's not something I'd forget.

CHUCK

Were you present when Al visited Johnny's bedside?

JIM

Yes.

CHUCK

And am I correct that the conduct of Al and Andy on that evening troubled you greatly?

JIM

Yes.

CHUCK

OK, let me go back and take it from the top. You rushed to the hospital that evening. Why?

JIM

[JIM takes a while to answer. He slicks back his wet hair and covers his face with his soaked palms, unable to look up at CHUCK.]

I've actually thought quite a bit over the last three years about how I would answer that question if it was ever asked, because I assumed that at some point I would have to testify about it.

I -- to understand what happened that night, I, kind of, got to back up about a week.

[JIM pulls in his chair and folds his hands on the table. He begins to tell CHUCK his story.]

In the early part of 2004, the Department of Justice was engaged -- the Office of Legal Counsel, under my supervision -- in a reevaluation both factually and legally of a particular classified program. And it was a program that was renewed on a regular basis, and required signature by the attorney general certifying to its legality.

And the -- and I remember the precise date. The program had to be renewed by March the 11th, which was a Thursday, of 2004. And we were engaged in a very intensive reevaluation of the matter.

And a week before that March 11th deadline, I had a private meeting with Johnny, the attorney general, for an hour, just the two of us, and I laid out for him what we had learned and what our analysis was in this particular matter.

And at the end of that hour-long private session, he and I agreed on a course of action. And within hours he was stricken and taken very, very ill...

CHUCK

You thought something was wrong with how it was being operated or administered or overseen.

JIM

We had -- yes. We had concerns as to our ability to certify its legality, which was our obligation for the program to be renewed.

[The camera follows JIM's story, showing Johnny at the hospital, showing JIM conducting official business.]

The attorney general was taken that very afternoon to George Washington Hospital, where he went into intensive care and remained there for over a week. And I became the acting attorney general.

And over the next week -- particularly the following week, on Tuesday -- we communicated to the relevant parties at the White House and elsewhere our decision that as acting attorney general I would not certify the program as to its legality and explained our reasoning in detail, which I will not go into here. Nor am I confirming it's any particular program.

That was Tuesday that we communicated that.

The next day was Wednesday, March the 10th, the night of the hospital incident. And I was headed home at about 8 o'clock that evening, my security detail was driving me. [We are transported into JIM's limo, driving down a major avenue, shockingly empty for the hour.] And I remember exactly where I was -- on Constitution Avenue -- and got a call from Johnny's chief of staff telling me that he had gotten a call from Johnny's wife from the hospital. She had banned all visitors and all phone calls. So I hadn't seen him or talked to him because he was very ill.

And Johnny's old lady reported that a call had come through, and that as a result of that call Andy and Al were on their way to the hospital to see Johnny.

CHUCK

Do you have any idea who that call was from?

JIM

[Pauses, tentative about what he wants to say] I have some recollection that the call was from the president himself, but I don't know that for sure. It came from the White House. And it came through and the call was taken in the hospital.

So I hung up the phone, immediately called my chief of staff, told him to get as many of my people as possible to the hospital immediately. I hung up, called Bob from the FBI and -- with whom I'd been discussing this particular matter and had been a great help to me over that week -- and told him what was happening. He said, "I'll meet you at the hospital right now."

Told my security detail that I needed to get to George Washington Hospital immediately. They turned on the emergency equipment and drove very quickly to the hospital.

I got out of the car and ran up -- literally ran up the stairs with my security detail.

CHUCK

What was your concern? You were obviously in a huge hurry.

JIM

I was concerned that, given how ill I knew the attorney general was, that there might be an effort to ask him to overrule me when he was in no condition to do that.

And so I raced to the hospital room, entered. And Johnny's wife was standing by the hospital bed, Johnny was lying down in the bed, the room was darkened. And I immediately began speaking to him, trying to orient him as to time and place, and try to see if he could focus on what was happening, and it wasn't clear to me that he could. He seemed pretty bad off.

CHUCK

At that point it was you, the old lady and the attorney general and maybe medical personnel in the room. No other Justice Department or government officials.

JIM

Just the three of us at that point.

I tried to see if I could help him get oriented. As I said, it wasn't clear that I had succeeded.

I went out in the hallway. Spoke to Bob by phone. He was on his way. I handed the phone to the head of the security detail and Bob instructed the FBI agents present not to allow me to be removed from the room under any circumstances. And I went back in the room.

I was shortly joined by the head of the Office of Legal Counsel assistant attorney general and a senior staffer of mine who had worked on this matter, an associate deputy attorney general.

So the three of us Justice Department people went in the room.

[We see the hospital room. On a simple bed is Johnny, a frail man with hollowed cheeks and small but sparkly eyes.]

I sat down in an armchair by the head of the attorney general's bed. The two other Justice Department people stood behind me. And Johnny's old lady stood by the bed holding her husband's arm. And we waited.

And it was only a matter of minutes that the door opened and in walked Al, carrying an envelope, and Andy. [Al and Andy enter in trenchcoats and fedoras that cast their eyes in shadow.] They came over and stood by the bed. They greeted the attorney general very briefly. And then Al began to discuss why they were there -- to seek his approval for a matter, and explained what the matter was -- which I will not do.

And Johnny then stunned me. He lifted his head off the pillow and in very strong terms expressed his view of the matter, rich in both substance and fact, which stunned me -- drawn from the hour-long meeting we'd had a week earlier -- and in very strong terms expressed himself, and then laid his head back down on the pillow, seemed spent. And as he laid back down, he said, "But that doesn't matter, because I'm not the attorney general. There is the attorney general," and he pointed to me, and I was just to his left.

The two men did not acknowledge me. They turned and walked from the room. And within just a few moments after that, Bob arrived. I told him quickly what had happened. He had a brief -- a memorable brief exchange with the attorney general and then we went outside in the hallway.

Dramatic, no? Here's the source material.

A Weill Henchman: Must You Be On The Right Track?

Last week, thanks to Greg's commitment to affordable ticket-buying, the two of us saw LoveMusik, the new musical based on the letters between Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya. I want to have at it before the critics do, lest I be accused of just rehashing their points.

Amazingly, Greg, our former theater prof Sam, and I all had the exact same criticism of the show: It was, like, half-assedly Brechtian. Now, this is a specific enough criticism that when it comes from three sources, you know it's got to be accurate. The production had some trademark Brechtian elements—a second proscenium, time and place captions before each scene—but it had absolutely no Brechtian message. And the whole point of doing it Brecht-style is to get some point across and effect change (sorry, old theater professors, if I'm totally butchering this). There was no call to action here...in fact, there was more or less no dramatic tension here. It was just the story of Weill's life, focusing on his relationship with his wife. Which made it slow as hell.

I love Weill's music, really I do. And I love Michael Cerveris and Donna Murphy. But the music didn't come across that well in very forced contexts...although I liked the amusing "Schickelgruber," a song about Hitler rising to power from shameful origins (Schickelgruber was Hitler's last name at birth, apparently). I also sometimes find translations of his German songs a little unwieldy. That much female angst doesn't play especially well in English. And I was really bothered by the crappy humor. It seems to be a common problem that characters with accents (ugh, the accents) will make a very unclever joke and the director will expect a laugh. Is there someone writing or directing this that thinks they're just touching on such timeless comic themes the jokes will, of course, be funny? (Such timeless comic themes might include "my husband is such a slob!" "He eats so much!" That sort of crap.) If someone's speaking in an accent, you have to work harder to make it funny enough to get a laugh. This show gave up on humor somewhere in the middle of the first scene.

So yeah, I was disappointed. I'm still waiting for a show with great Weill music. Maybe one day they'll revive One Touch of Venus. That one seems like it might have promise.

Let's Go Out to the Lobby

My God, is this movie bad. After doing my UUST class homework and all but three squares of the Saturday puzzle (curse you, three squares!), I decided to relax by watching the telly. IFC had a movie starting at 5:10, so I flipped on Roman Polanski's "The Ninth Gate." Wow. The movie stars Johnny Depp and Frank Langella in what have to be their least believable, most overaffected/underworked performances ever. Johnny trades in rare books, and he's hopping around Europe looking to authenticate a particular copy of "The Nine Gates"—one of three possibly in existence, estimated value: $1M. I can't get over the fact that he regularly just flips through this book with his bare hands, hands it to other people to flip through, carries it through the rain in his messenger bag, and, yes, smokes while he reads it. WTF!?, as the kids say. At Beinecke, I couldn't read a Jonathan Swift ripoff from 1726 (The Sixpenny miscellany, or, A Dissertation upon pissing...a great read, to be sure) without getting out the foam bookstands and page turners and blah di blah di blah. And this guy's schlepping around a million dollar edition? Christ a'mighty.

I did much better with this week's double feature of movies where Will Smith plays a ridiculously smart, motivated, and charming poor guy who has to fit in with rich, white people as part of getting what he wants. Name the movies and win...nothing. Ah, well.

Obscure and Cryptic Old Cube: A Cryptic Crossword Primer

It's actually a square, not a cube. But today, with a whoosh of satisfaction, I completed this weekend's cryptic crossword. I swear, I could build a frickin' bridge, and I wouldn't feel half the sense of accomplishment that comes with every answer in this beautiful, beautiful puzzle. Woo!

If you're one of the many people whose faces drop as soon as they turn to the back of the magazine section and see barely parsable clues, this post's for you. If you DO like, say, the regular Saturday puzzle, and you treasure great puzzle themes, you'll probably love the cryptic, once you get the hang of it.

The first thing to know about the cryptic is that almost every clue has both a physical clue and a definitional clue. The definitional clue is exactly what it sounds like: the meaning of the answer. The physical clue is a little bit trickier—it somehow describes the word either through its syllables or through an anagram...somehow it lays out the letters of the word for you. A classic cryptic clue that's purely physical is "senselessness (1)." The answer has one letter (that's the number in the parentheses). Give up? The answer is "e." If you take the word "sense" less (i.e., minus) "ness," you get "e." It's the only letter remaining when you take the letters n-e-s-s away from the letters s-e-n-s-e. Get it? Good. If not, I'll go through a few examples soon. Occasionally clues are doubly definitional—"Plain hot dog (5)" points to "frank"—but that's not too common and usually fairly easy to spot.

Now it's time to learn a few conventions. Woo! These may seem superfluous, but it can be a huge pain in the ass if you don't realize, say, a proper noun often just points to its first letter. So here are a few. If any (of my legions of) commenters suggest more, I'll put them in:

Fuck punctuation. It means nothing to you. OK, that's not true, occasionally punctuation is meaningful in cryptics, but know that it really, really doesn't have to be. If there's a comma between two words, they may still be a phrase. Perhaps more importantly, your definitional clue and your physical clue can break without any indication in the punctuation. They'll just flow right into each other. When you assume you make "an ass out of you and me" an appropriate clue. (Ok, that's not true: "An ass out of you and me" would probably put "ass" or a synonym around "we" or something. Anyway...)

Anagrams are everywhere. Something like a quarter of your answers in a given puzzle will be straight-up anagrams of something in the clue. Look for three things if you want to anagram:1) Words or phrases with the same number of letters as are in the answer. Anagrams are always directly from the clue, so you'll never have to find definitions of words and then anagram those. If you don't have any words or phrases with the right number of letters, it's not an anagram. 2) A word that gives you an excuse to anagram. These words can vary from the relatively obvious ("mixed up," "stirred," "disorganized") to the bizarre ("sad," "broken," "fixed," "hurt"). If you get a clue like "windy east central Manhattan thoroughfare (11)," you can look at "windy" as an excuse to anagram "east central" and get "Canal Street," a Manhattan thoroughfare. 3) A hella-awkward phrase. If two adjacent words just make absolutely no sense together, they might be an anagram.

Sometimes, instead of anagramming, you need to actually find the answer within two words that run together. I'm pulling this off the top of my (dirty) head, but "Shorten the hard organ to create passion (5)" might be a clue for "ardor," which you can find when you shorten the phrase "hard organ." And it means "passion." Look out for those in awkward phrases as well.

More often then not, your physical clue will just spell out syllables for you. More from the top of my head: "Pleasant odor for each stew (7)" could be "perfume." Pleasant odor would be "perfume" itself, and "for each" would be "per" and "stew" would be "fume." Like, in the anger way. So there you go. Per. Fume. Perfume. I don't think the syllables you decipher have to be pronounced or spelled in the same way as they'll appear in the ultimate answer. One of the two, always, but not necessarily both.

Look for Roman numerals. They'll show up. And as I mentioned briefly, sometimes proper names just turn into their first initial. Sometimes other words go by their first initial, but there will be some indication that you're looking at the start of that word.

Look for other physical clues. Often (very often in this week's puzzle), one word will go inside another: "Woods around California make predictions (9)" would be "Forecasts." "Forests" goes around "CA" (for California) to make a synonym for "predictions." Other times you might be clued to read a word backwards. Be flexible about this stuff.

Did I mention, "be flexible?" It's really the most important thing and the whole reason these puzzles are so much fun.

OK, enough tips. Now to go through the ENTIRE puzzle. Answers and explanations are in black. Highlight them to read:

1A. Guide the woman in spring (6)
Sherpa
Meaning = guide. "The woman" points to "her," which is inside "spa," a synonym for spring.
4A. Roof application to set in spring (8)
Housetop
Meaning = roof application. I believe "set" here points to "use to," which is inside "hop," another synonym for spring.
10A. Say, Harry Potter's pal in spring (8)
Pronounce
Meaning = say. Harry Potter's pal is "Ron," and he's in "pounce," yet another...synonym for spring.
11A. Discourage Democratic relative (5)
Daunt
Meaning = discourage. Just take the D from Democrat (that proper noun). Your aunt's a relative. Send her flowers.
12A. "Superman" actor taking part in free verse (5)
Reeve
Christopher Reeve played Superman. If you take part of free verse, you get Reeve.
13A. Grabber of winks – or a lynx? (9)
Catnapper
This one's just cute and plays on the double meaning of "nap," sleeping or stealing.
14A. Wastes what you've got coming (7)
Deserts
This is just a double definition, I believe. Wastelands are deserts. And what you deserve are your deserts.
15A. Broadcast medium misrepresented diorama (2,5)
AM Radio
Finally, an anagram! AM Radio is a broadcast medium. "Misrepresented" should clue you into the anagram. Play around with diorama, it should come quickly.
17A. Song about villain in an idyllic spot (7)
Arcadia
Meaning = an ideallic spot. "Song" points to "aria," and "villain" is "cad." About means one's outside the other.
20A. Soldier talk – it gives you a lot of info (7)
Gigabit
This one took me a while. A gigabit is a lot of info. "GI" is a soldier (no trouble there), "gab" is talk (right-o), and in true cryptic fashion, the next word after "soldier talk" is "it." Just stick in on.
22A. Old Greek restored a lost rite (9)
Aristotle
He was an old Greek! And you have to "restore" (i.e., anagram) "lost rite" to get his name.
24A. Neckwear for a companion of Burns (5)
Ascot
Really, how many five letter neckwears are there? And good ol' Rabbie Burns was a Scot. His friends were, too.
26A. Private meal not starting (5)
Inner
"Inner" and "private" can be synonyms. The meal is "dinner." It's without it's start. Womp womp.
27A. Former medicine for John Jacob in spring (6,3)
Castor Oil
That was a medicine at one point, right? A spring is a coil. Barring Mr. Jingleheimerschmidt, Astor's the only John Jacob around.
28A. Superficial need changed in spring (4-4)
Skin-Deep
Meaning = superficial. The spring here is "skip" and you stick a "changed" (again, anagrammed) need in there.
29A. Approach of the French in spring (4-2)
Lead-Up
Meaning = approach. Leap is clearly spring. I don't know why "du" is the French. "Le," is "the" in French, right? If you know, tell me.

Downs!
1D. Great new purse (5)
Super
Meaning = great. Make "purse" new by anagramming it.
2D. Runaway lovers break up or sleep (7)
Elopers
Meaning = runaway lovers. You break up (anagram) "or sleep."
3D. Started with π + 1 before 500 (9)
Pioneered
This may be my favorite clue in the puzzle. Meaning = started. π = pi, 1 = one, before = ere, 500 = D (Roman). String 'em together.
5D. Orioles trainer somewhat fat? – not really (7)
Olestra
Great exercise in how to kill punctuation. The physical clue is "Orioles trainer somewhat." Take part of Orioles trainer to get something that's not really fat.
6D. Singer's first thought for 45-r.p.m. feature (4,1)
Side A
Meaning is "45-rpm feature." Singer's first (letter) is S. Thought is idea. Ta-da!
7D. Beat time like Quasimodo? (7)
Thumped
Meaning = beat. Time just turns into "t" here; it's one of those things. Quasimodo was humped.
8D. Sadly, our septet loses pep (6,3)
Peters Out
Meaning = loses pep. "Sadly" is one of those anagram cues. Do it to "our septet."
9D. N.B.A. team said no (6)
Knicks
They're an NBA team. "Said" clues you in to a homophone. Say "nix," a synonym for "no."
14D. Shot a jerk's overtheatrical behavior (9)
Dramatics
Meaning = overtheatrical behavior. "Shot" is "dram." "Jerk's" = "tics." And, love those cryptics, "a" = "a."
16D. Arrange mom part in confusing procedure (9)
Rigmarole
This took me a while, too. Meaning = confusing procedure. Arrange = rig, mom = ma, part = role. There ya' go.
18D. Greek character opposed to Italian wine (7)
Chianti
So elegant! Chianti is an Italian wine (a delicious one, no less). One Greek character (letter) is chi. "Opposed to" is "anti."
19D. For example, a botched recital (7)
Article
Meaning = example. Botch (anagram) "recital."
20D. Oil country, from the sound of it (6)
Grease
I'm not sure if you can REALLY know this is "Grease" and not "Greece" from the clue, but the acrosses tell you. You've got the "sound of it" homophone clue. "Oil country" is pretty clear.
21D. Obscure and cryptic old cube (7)
Becloud
It's the title of the post! Meaning = obscure. Both the word "cryptic" and the weirdness of the phrase "old cube" should clue you into the anagram.
23D. Shot, like a car's wheels? (5)
Tired
I hope you got this one :) It's a double definition, woo!
25D. Oddly lit up item in a bed (5)
Tulip
Meaning = "item in a bed," because, you know, there are beds of flowers. "Oddly" tells you to anagram "lit up."

And that's the puzzle. I've spent way too much time on this. I hope some poeple actually use the examples to learn how to do cryptics. They're the puzzler's puzzle. They're Will Shortz's puzzle. Spread the endless joy!

There's No Such Thing

Occasionally nights are so good they're actually depressing.

Yesterday was extravagant dinner number three: Bouley. V and I got seated on the same side of the table...for most it's canoodling position. For us, it was the ideal people-watching setup. The people, alas, were not especially hilarious, although V did catch one adorable waiter's eye. And I tactlessly called him on it. Heh heh. The meal began with (what else?) foie gras. Next to my inability to write thank-you notes, my love for foie gras is perhaps my worst trait. It really is crazy delicious. V got the egg (yup, an egg), which he aptly described as "eggs Benedict on crack...in a good way." The main course was perfectly-cooked lamb with Jerusalem artichoke, a green that was new to both of us and totally salty and wonderful. There was one especially good cheese from the cheese course—practically a butter substitute. And the dessert. Oh. The dessert. The chocolate frivolous (who cares what part of speech it is, just stare deep into the chocolate and all will be well) consisted of an incredibly dense and sweet souffle, a chocolate brulee with a sugar crust, ice cream, a small chocolate layer cake with some fruity/liquor-ish filling and this Platonic ideal of a kit kat. Astounding.

But of course the evening couldn't end with so few great loves. We walked from TriBeCa to SoHo, where we tore through the Saturday puzzle at a wine bar (I got a glass of port, V got the Riesling flight; no surprises there). It's amazing how quickly the crosswords go with a second person. It's an exponential improvement. The point is we rule.

It seemed like the evening was winding down. We headed up Varick toward the Christopher Street 1 stop, and when we got into the area, V mentioned the Duplex was his old watering hole back in high school (precocious children, those Catholic schoolboys). I still had never been there, so we decided to stop in for a drink. The place was, well, wonderful in every way. The schticky-but-not-schmaltzy piano player bangs out and sings a totally sing-alongable collection from the 60s, 70s, 80s, and (less) 90s. The whole place has this great high-fun, low-key vibe. According to V, the lines have stayed more or less the same since 1990. Like, the piano player would say, "And now it's time for a little Mama Cass," and the entire crowd would shout, "There's no such thing as a little Mama Cass!" Amazing. He played a few Redhot songs, reminding me of the reunion I was missing but also allowing me to impress V with my vast knowledge of "Sweet Blindness." Aw, yeah. The whole thing was a blast.

We parted ways at midnight. My stomach kind of went crazy after I got home...after the full meal, one glass of port and two bottle of Corona, it wasn't entirely surprising. Too much for one small organ (everyone knows the kidneys are just there for show). And now it is all done and I am back to UUSTing and watching Beaches. I've never seen the whole thing and will have to miss the (supposedly wildly sad) ending for UUST class. Shame.

In The Height

We are currently living in some really bad times, artistically. (Apparently, we're actually living in good times, geopolitically. Who knew?) Popular music has been in a nosedive since the 70s, with only a few groups (U2, REM on a good day) producing brilliant stuff. Television is producing some of the worst shows ever; the reality TV craze just won't die. Broadway can't fill up its houses. And, well, I don't follow the visual art scene much, but we seem to have relatively few superstars around. But I'd like to take a few lines to recognize some of the genres that are at their peak.

Puzzles
Will Shortz is editing the New York Times crossword. 'Nuff said. But I'll say more. We shouldn't underestimate the value of having an editor with Shortz's enthusiasm and his commitment to the "puzzle" aspect of the crossword puzzle. We could so easily have an editor who prides himself only on hitting the right level of obscurity. But Shortz hits the perfect balance of wordplay and trivia, namely one heavily weighed toward the former. There's no great satisfaction in solving a trivia puzzle. There's smugness, but you never want to run off and share your favorite trivia clue. I often want to share some of my favorite puzzle clues: "X-ray for Rex, say" 8 letters. Guess in the comments.

And we have some super-clever puzzle writers that contribute. When the writers submit and Shortz edits, every puzzle is a work of art.

We're also living through a huge Sudoku craze, and a bunch of other puzzles are migrating from Japan (or from Canada, via Japan). The puzzle section is growing at Barnes & Noble, and I'm optimistic that people will slowly come around to the cryptic (best puzzle everrrr) and we'll see an American renaissance there. We're living in the Golden Age of Puzzling, and I couldn't be happier.

Television
I know I knocked it in the intro to this post, but in addition to the worst TV of all time, we're also getting some of the best TV of all time. I feel privileged to be able to watch new episodes of "The Daily Show" and "The Colbert Report" nearly every night (even if they do take a lot of vacation time). Two of the greatest and most likable comic personalities are churning out brilliant and timely original content almost instantaneously. Of course, they're helped by stellar, fast-working writers, graphic designers and techies. These guys are the closest thing we have to Johnny Carson or Ed Sullivan; they're much more endearing than Letterman or Leno (maybe not Conan, I'm not sure). I know someday I'll look at an evening comedy talk show that's popular with the younger generation and thing, "My God, this is total crap compared with Stewart and Colbert."

There are also some great dramas on the tube. I haven't watched "Lost" or "24," but I hear amazing things, and I do watch "Heroes," which is finely crafted—or at least leads you to believe it is...the ending could be vastly disappointing. I was also never a big "West Wing" person, but people think it's truly brilliant, and I buy it. They had some ridiculously politically qualified writers. If it was entertaining, and it appears to have been, it must have been awfully worthwhile.

Harry Fucking Potter
The genre could be "literature" or "children's fantasy," but why try to make this what it's not? Harry Potter is the best international craze to come along since...well, maybe ever. Maybe since the Beatles. I don't know. But how often do you get the entire world excited about reading? How often do you get us all excited about a story where we root for a good guy, and harmless fun is praised, and harmful actions are condemned, and violence is only used where it's needed. It's a great series from a creative and meticulous mind, and I can't think of anything I'd rather share with 10-year-olds in India and grandmothers in Australia. The world's largest book group meets this July to experience the final chapter of the novel. I'm thrilled to take part in the conversation.

That's all for now; I'm sure there's more. If you'd like to add something, throw it in the comments.

V Cast Advertising Exclusively To Gay Men?

So, unless you've been living under a rock that doesn't have a cable hookup, you've probably seen the ubiquitous commercials for V Cast, Verizon's phone-based video/music network. I've only seen two commercials, but they both involve someone putting his headphones on you so you can hear the music he digs. Which raises the question: Who are you? Check out the first ad:

OK, so you're pretty clearly a guy. The dude takes a call from his "lady," so you're not a girl he's trying to woo. Plus, he calls you "bud." So you're male. And about his age. That's all we can REALLY conclude from this ad, but it's worth noting that the dude is a bit of an idealized jock stereotype. He's cute and jacked and a little dumb and sure, he's straight, but he shows fun-loving camaraderie and respect for the girl. I'd think he'd be, well, a little bit intimidating to straight guys, but he shows up in nifty stories all the time.

The second ad is more blatant:

He is clearly supposed to be gay, right? And doesn't he look like he's sort of trying to pick you up? I mean, sure, he's doing the over-the-top seduction faces that are appropriate for the Timberlake song, but still. He wants you.

Anyway, if this is on purpose, it's kind of cool...if you're competing against Apple, it's probably better to take an ax and try to carve out a niche instead of trying to clean up the whole market. Or maybe I just look everywhere and see gay men.

McCain't Say No

As part of my more regular blogging schedule, I'd like to highlight this stunning piece of asshattery:

Reporter: “Should U.S. taxpayer money go to places like Africa to fund contraception to prevent AIDS?"

Mr. McCain: “Well I think it’s a combination. The guy I really respect on this is Dr. Coburn. He believes – and I was just reading the thing he wrote– that you should do what you can to encourage abstinence where there is going to be sexual activity. Where that doesn’t succeed, than he thinks that we should employ contraceptives as well. But I agree with him that the first priority is on abstinence. I look to people like Dr. Coburn. I’m not very wise on it.”

...

Q: “So no contraception, no counseling on contraception. Just abstinence. Do you think contraceptives help stop the spread of HIV?"

Mr. McCain: (Long pause) “You’ve stumped me.”

Bloody brilliant, McCain. I'm kind of glad this guy's image as the totally honest, level-headed, non-partisan candidate is being slowly crushed. Because I think a year ago, a lot of swing voters and even Democrats would have voted for him over Hills, Barry O, or J.E. purely on that reputation. Perhaps by year's end he will be so powerless he will no longer warrant his #1 ranking on The Beast's 50 Most Loathsome list.

Oh, and for the record: Yes, condoms unquestionably prevent the spread of HIV. If McCain wanted to pander, he could have said something like, "Yes, of course they do, but I think we should prioritize other methods, like abstinence, which is the only method with a 100% blah-di-blah-di-blah." And even that would have been silly; people aren't going to stop having sex. For centuries, individuals and institutions have worked long and hard at stopping people from having sex. They've all failed. You can make fewer people have sex, but if our concern is protecting people (and I hope it is) we need to work on systems that will reach a larger percentage. Condoms do this. Right-o.

The Rock of the Dome

I've become mildly obsessed with the idea of shaving my head. No, don't worry, I probably won't do it. People have been reminding me that my hair's my best feature for about ten years, now, and I'm not that self defeating. A little self-defeating, sure. But not that self-defeating.

In any case, I'm not sure whether it's my undiagnosed (but unquestionably existent) trichotillomania, whether it's a symptom of a general disgust with the body, or whether it's just a cry for sensation—I'm sure those three are all related anyway. But still, every time I feel the weight of my hair, or the itch of my dandruffy scalp or the faint presence of the buildup of oils and junk from conditioners galore...I just think of how glorious it would be to be free. To turn this bizarre stretch of skin into normal skin. To expose it to all of the elements: sun, wind, water, a rough towel.

Of course then I'd be stuck with a bald head, which isn't so bad in itself—I'd enjoy the freedom from hair for a good long while—but it does mean I'd either have to keep it bald or wait for it to grow in. And then I'd have short hair. Blech. I'd have over a year of hair that doesn't even hang down from my head. I really don't think that's my look.

Maybe I could invest in some ultra-exclusive scalp treatment, where they could make my hair stick out and just go over every inch with some tool that treats my scalp with heat and rubbing and a little UV. That could be really good.

Everything New Is Old Again

I've been bad. I've been very, very bad about updating the blog. I could make excuses, but I'll just try to be better this time around.

So I moved last month. It went relatively smoothly, save some unfathomably dickish security deposit withholding from the old landlord. I still don't have the (too large) deposit back, and he legally has 60 days after the lease ends to get it to me. Then I pounce. He has never before met an enemy of my strength, intelligence, determination, and intolerance for douchebaggery. Soon he will fall, and perhaps he will be punished, and then he won't be so damned quick to try to get out of anything he owes anyone.

The new place is awfully cool. The roomies rule, as I suspected, and my box in the wall is coming along nicely. I still have a rug on its way that won't arrive until the middle of April, but the hotness builds. I dig the environment of the 4-bed; I wasn't sure I would. It's lively and puts less responsibility on me to interact when I don't feel like interacting. Rock on.

Also, I've decided to try my hand at an, um, unspecified standardized test. Which isn't to say I necessarily want to go where the UUST leads, but I'm considering. (If that statement wasn't full of ambiguity, it was edited after I made a decision. Shh!) I seriously rocked out on the first UUST I took, but I didn't do nearly as well on the second. My pacing was off. Garr. In any case, it's an extremely concrete goal, which I'm interested in having right now. You can do a few very good things with a degree from UU school...in any case, we'll see.

I went last week to see Spring Awakening with Greg and V, cool dudes both. I had very mixed feelings about the show, and I'm almost ashamed to admit that some of it stems from an instant disgust with diva-ish teenage girls, even if they're talented and don't seem all that caught up with themselves. I also liked the individual phrases of the music a lot, but I don't think they came together to make fully coherent, performable songs. It was a cool play to adapt, though, and the rocking style of the music connected nicely with the 19th Century German style of the script. And it was totally sexy.

All right, I'd better get crackin' on this whole tax return thing. I have more time tonight than I've had in a while, and I plan on using it wisely. Namely by watching SVU and American Idol and Comedy Central. Excellent.

This Used To Be My Playground

Clement's taken the couch and left me, and now I'm starting the moving process myself. I'm not a fan of moving—who is, right? It feels like the world's slowest Seppuku: I have to keep working to make myself more miserable. I don't like being in empty rooms, and I don't like leaving places I have any real fondness for. I'm now looking at everything with nostalgia. When will I have an occasion to get off at the 49th St. N/R/W stop again? What will bring me to the Coffee Pot? Will I ever again feel so at the center of the world? I guess that's a good thing, though. If the terrorists come, they might come for Times Square. But picture: "Where should we attack? I know! The south-west corner of Manhattan Valley! You know, the area between the Upper West Side and Columbia? That'll really show 'em." No.

So even though I'm excited to go to the new place, I'm sad to leave. Even though I kind of can't stand my incompetent landlord and his screaming kids and my irregular hot water, I kind of don't want to go. It'll be fun living with Greg and Megan and Mike, though. They're cool folks. It feels like there might be a really fun dynamic in that apartment, so I'm psyched for that, too. But it's my first apartment. And it's pretty. And I'm leaving.

Anyway, how about I don't mope any longer? It's half PMS anyway. I seriously need to deal with that shit...get myself on the pill or something. It would be worth killing my sex drive if I can not have one weekend a month where I pout and cry half the time. Not cool.

Where were we? Ah yes, not moping. I had dinner with Natalia last night. That was very cool. It had been far too long since I'd seen her. Now we'll be living just 13 blocks away from each other, which will be excellent.

Oh, and this isn't moping so much as bitching: I was so pissed at that Joe Biden/Barack Obama story this week. No, I wasn't pissed at Biden. I was pissed at how the press and the blogs and everyone and their mother handled it. In case your memory's foggy, an article in the New York Observer quoted Biden as saying:

“I mean, you got the first mainstream African-American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy,” he said. “I mean, that’s a storybook, man.”

And so of course everyone starts yelling at Biden for saying that Obama's the first, like, clean and smart and well-spoken and attractive and oh-did-I-mention-clean African-American. Or something. Now come on...did anyone actually believe this is what he meant? Really, now. Someone with a level head at TPM commented:

...what if the Observer punctuated casually? That is, what if there is supposed to be a comma before 'who,' making it a non-restrictive relative clause?

Genius! So he's the first mainstream African-American candidate. And by the way, ain't it cool that he's so studly and smooth and smart? Some people still took issue with this, saying he wasn't the first mainstream black candidate. Jesse Jackson apparently won a few primaries back in the day, and even if she wasn't a serious contender, Carol Moseley Braun was pretty mainstream. OK, so maybe it wasn't the single best way of describing Obama. But is he the first black person whom sane people think really, really could be president? I think so... And really, nobody would have cared about that statement anyway.

Oh, and in case you're still wondering about the comma, listen to the recording. It's up on Language Log. The comma should clearly, clearly be there. If it were a well formed sentence, it should have been its own sentence. Somehow it got cut out, and suddenly any chances Biden had are dashed. Because of mangled transcription or editing. And I don't even fault the Observer THAT much. Quote mangling can happen, sad as it is. I'm pissed at everyone who just couldn't wait to call Biden a racist...or even politically foolish. They're the same people who thought Kerry really was saying the soldiers were stupid. As for the Macaca thing, I don't know. I doubt he was really using the slur because he knew it was a slur. It always struck me as a substitute for "some guy with a funny name." Which is still not cool.

OK, that's all for now...later, dudes!

Oh, THAT'S Why I'm Not in The Biz

Gay-porn producer stabbed to death

Sure, it could have been a totally random murder. I'm sure there are tons of people uninvolved in any sketchiness who are...stabbed to death in their home then have their house burned and have to be identified by their dental records. But perhaps some industries are more mob-like than others. Right.

The part that's making my ears perk up at this story specifically is that there will inevitably be some speculation about whether one particular charming young porn star was involved. I'm a bit of a fan of this young man: I read his blog regularly, and I've seen a small slice of his work. For quite a few years he and the deceased were in a legal battle about the work the actor did for the producer and has done since. He was underage when he performed, so those videos have all been recalled (yes, he was 18+ in the vids I've seen), and the studio filed a lawsuit against the actor for breach of contract and trademark violations. Part of this was because the actor forged identification documents (I'm not sure that this has been established) and partially because the studio claims to own the actor's stage name as a trademark, but he's gone off and tried to start his own production company. They managed to stop him with the lawsuit last Novem...ok, I have no idea when this shit went down. The relevant entry has disappeared from the actor's blog without a trace. Perhaps I dreamt the whole thing.

Oh, so at work today (yes, I was working this weekend. I'm a "baller," as the kids say) I decided to listen to some of our illustrious art director's music. Of course I stumbled upon an amazing album and was forced to download it from iTunes. Bruce Springsteen toasts Pete Seeger in "We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions." No no, whatever you're thinking, it's better. Totally jubilant. Sure, Springsteen's singing isn't in absolute top form and he doesn't give the world's best rendition of Shenandoah, but from the first song, a toe-tapping romp of "Old Dan Tucker," I knew this would be coming with me on my next road trip out into the heartland. Yeehaw!

Love, Actually?

This week, there was much blogospheric activity surrounding a recent Modern Love column, I Fell for a Man Who Wore an Electronic Ankle Bracelet. In the piece (read it, really), a young woman writes about her ex-boyfriend, whom she dated for three years. A few weeks into their relationship, she found out he was on leave from Harvard because another student had accused him of rape. She eventually got the law involved, he pled out, and he wound up condemned to house arrest and counseling. She didn't like who he became during counseling—inhibited, solemn, uneasy—so they eventually broke up.

It's a classic story of boy meets girl, boy reveals checkered past to girl, girl forgives boy, law isn't quite so forgiving. Or something. In any case, what's been getting people so worked up? For one thing, there are passages like this:

But for me the experience had fundamentally altered my previously programmed reaction to stories of alcohol-fueled date rape on college campuses. No longer was my response autopilot compassion for the girl. No longer would I assume the guilt of intoxicated boys in the company of intoxicated girls everywhere.

And this one:

Yet what alarmed me was not some sinister side of him I never saw but a passivity and retreat that I saw far too much of. In the end, I found it harder to love an emasculated boyfriend than one accused of rape.

Unsurprisingly people aren't thrilled with the New York Times publishing this girl's perspective, which occasionally comes across as hostile to the girl that accused the boyfriend of rape. The author doesn't believe that the rape happened: Her boyfriend told her they were both drunk and had sex; the plea he copped to said the girl told him to leave, but he forced his way into the room, her bed, and her.

Amanda at Pandagon writes:

Cross claims to have read everything about the case she could get her hands on, so it’s entirely unlikely that she isn’t aware that the victim was too drunk to fight him off effectively, that she tried to fight him off, and that he tossed the victim around. He forced himself on a drunk woman, which is way different than “they had sex”, a phrasing that implies that the woman was willfully involved.

So it's the word of what he told his girlfriend against the word of the girl/what he pled to. A lot of commenters at Pandagon dis the "he said, she said" approach to evaluating this situation. Really now, he pled to the charges. Well, I'm very hesitant to take any plea as undisputeduted truth. After seeing Capturing the Friedmans (mandatory viewing), I'll never underestimate the amount of tactical decision-making and personal crap that go into accepting a plea. While it's wholly possible everything happened exactly as he said, I don't think its place on the record gives it fact status.

So is the author deluded, as so many commenters say, or is she reasonable in saying that she knows the guy well enough to believe him? Here's an idea I'd like to throw out (if not actually advocate): She's wrong, but she's wrong because she's operating under the assumption that only bad people commit rape. That's the conventional wisdom, right? People who rape are bad people who are part of the rape culture and get off on disempowering women. Maybe that's true, I don't know, but I don't quite see why someone who's a generally good-if-imperfect person couldn't fuck up and rape someone. I mean, normal people do bad things all the time, right? They gossip and scheme and insult people and hit people who provoke them and do dishonest deals that make them more money and screw oinnocentsents. Non-hideous people prioritize their own immediate pleasure over the good of others.

So can this be what rape is about? Could it be that a drunk guy gets one "no, I don't want to" and little further resistance and just decides to go ahead? I don't see why not. To be clear, yes, this is rape. It is criminal assault and he needs to be penalized for that. Even if he was drunk, even if she wasn't very firm in her resistance. If she didn't consent he is guilty of something harmful and explicitly illegal. But I don't know that that's an indication that he is someone who gets off on dehumanizing women or is even likely to rape again.

It's clear the sex offender label has itself become nearly meaningless. Some 13-year-old who grabbed a girl's boobs may now have to register as a sex offender for life. Really, do people need to be warned that when he was 13, he assaulted someone in a not-especially-harmful way? And then there's that kid who's going to jail for ten years for getting a blow job from a girl two years his junior. I think he has to register, too. Great. Shouldn't this label and all the stigma that goes with it be reserved for people who are likely to be repeat offenders?

God, this post has been long and incoherent enough. I think it's time to stop. If you're a first time reader who got here via a search, please realize this blog is primarily written for myself and interested friends, so take it slow. All opinions represented here may or may not be mine. They're just what was running through my head while I was writing. I also ask that you please do not copy and paste sections of this post to another blog. Allow me to censor myself by deleting this post later on, if I deem it to offensive. Thanks.

The Innocence Project

Please excuse me for co-opting the name of a seriously important non-profit for a post about graphing virginity loss.

So, Brad an I have a long-standing argument (one of many) about whether, if you were to graph the age at which people in America lose their virginity, it would look like a normal Gaussian. Brad says yes. I say no. My argument was, essentially, the graph would be very asymmetrical, with a sharp increase into the peak and a slow deline away from it (the average age is 16...many people lose their virginity at 20 or 21; many fewer at 11 or 12). Brad says that while it's true there's going to be some asymmetry, a normal distribution is still a pretty great approximation, or at least good enough to be useful.

I was reading about recent studies for work (what's new?), and I came across one study on premarital sex in the US. (Finding: The vast majority of people do it. The vast majority of people have been doing it for a really long time). The analysis was based on data from the National Survey of Family Growth, and I realized this survey might be just what I needed to prove my point (or be horribly shamed). Since all of this data is publicly available—if a pain in the ass to access—I was able to download the relevant questions for the women who took the survey: age, whether had sex, and age of first sex. I had data for 6500 nationally-representative respondents in 2002. The graph of number of people who lost their virginity at each age looks like this:


It's a very pretty graph, and it looks more or less as expected (although I'm a little surprised at the sharp drop-off in the 18-20 range). You can see where we're both coming from: It is pretty asymmetrical, and it also looks on the Gaussian side of life. It's also important to note that the data I took was from people aged 20 to 44 at the time of the survey. Therefore everything after age 20 is skewed down a bit.

So I did some fits. First I did the normal fit and it did look decent, but got far too low far too quickly. I did only fit it through age 25 (so the skew wouldn't affect the fit too much), but by age 21 it's already a suck-fest. Then I tried to fit a Poisson distribution. To put it mildly, that distribution doesn't exactly lend itself to Excel curve fitting. I attribute this mostly to the bitchy factorial in the denominator. I also tried to fit the black-body radiation function. Also a mediocre result. Then I had an idea and tried to curve-fit the integral:


As you can see, I got a nice little arctan thing going on there. While its derivative is still a symmetrical function (1/[x^2 + 1]), it seemed to drop off more nicely, so I fit the polynomial A/[ax^2 + bx + c] to the curve. It's not perfect, but it's actually quite a bit nicer than the sharp drop Gaussian. Anyway, here they are: THE FITS!


Light blue is data, red is the Gaussian, yellow is black body, green is Poisson and purple is the inverse polynomial. I still think a more generalized Poisson may make the best fit, but right now I think the inverse polynomial works best. If someone knows a better asymmetrical distribution, please let me know! But the important thing is that at two standard deviations, the Gaussian sucks :-P

Oh, and if you're curious, here are comparisons for different age groups in 2002. The peaks are a fair bit sharper and a little earlier for the younger groups, but they're all pretty similar:


I hope you've enjoyed the viginity loss post!

Now for some google loading so nobody else has to graph this stuff: virginity loss, age of first sex, america, usa, large sample size, age of first intercourse, age of first sexual intercourse, nsfg, 2002 national survey of family growth

Let's Do This Thing

All right, kids, it's the vacation post. Each day gets one sentence. This is for posterity, not pretty prose.

The week kicked off with Schreier's eighth crazy night party on Friday, where Brad and the high school folks collided and compared notes about Cat's new exercise program, "pirates."

On Saturday I trained into Slave, chilled with the folks, and bounced right back to the city to see a totally awesome "Company" with V, familiar-looking debate boy on the side.

Sunday started with crosswording with V at Slave and finished with a very solid Seven Jews/Seven Woks/Seven-Thirty Christmas eve...albeit with only six Jews.

Christmas is a slow day in, well, most of the Western world, so Monday was low key, with a trip to Jacob Burns to see Volver with the fam and a chips-n-guac-fueled watching of the Jets' first victory with Dad and Adam.

Natalie and I meant to get some shopping done on Tuesday but emerged from the Westchester empty-handed, but at least we had some fun adventures on Central Avenue and a meal at Villagio before I saw The Good Shepherd with Mike L and nearly saw Mike L in The Good Shepherd.

I woke up back in the city on Wednesday but soon met up with Mom and Natalia for a Tennessee Williams play with a gorgeous, gorgeous actor who wouldn't let me take a picture of him (pshaw!), followed by a shockingly-good vegan dinner and terrific Bond movie with Lauren and Will.

I walked up to the Guggenheim on Thursday to see the Spanish painting exhibit (I <3 the Spaniards), after which Brad and I got overpriced Indian food then had a lively conversation with V over beers in ::shudder:: Murray Hill.

Friday held a nice Thai lunch with Mike L, where we ran into a cute boy he sorta likes, then I saw Children of Men with Will (the via Brad one), and the eve topped off with Greg's birthday party, which included cool kids (yay, Sam) and...a cute boy he sorta likes.

Saturday brought a long-overdue visit from Meremurti (woot!) and a just-plain-long walk from Brooklyn to my apartment so she (and I, and our buddy Thomas) could get a taste of New York.

Meredith wanted to see St. John the Divine for L'Engle-related purposes, so on Sunday we went to the Hungarian Pastry Shop (and the church, yeah yeah), and after we departed I headed to Adam's for Saturday's puzzle and Sunday's Jets victory before I prepared awesome deviled eggs for the fun New Year's Eve potluck at the Frushticks' great, new-ish place.

The weather blew on Monday, so I was a bit low energy while doing the puzzle and meeting up with Greg and V for a late-afternoon showing of the slightly disappointing Dreamgirls, followed up by Thai food and a far too rough night of sleep.

Well, there you go! Now my life of leisure is over, and I return to the grind. As long as I get a little sleep tonight, all will be well.

Look Here, Don't You Know My Face?

Hey, check it out! There's a blog here. Who knew? Apparently not me, for a while.

At first it was pure laziness, because I did have plenty to say. Thanksgiving break was absolutely lovely. It started off with a perfect meal with V at Jean-Georges--I was dreaming about that foie gras for days afterwards. Fuck you, geese. Revel in your hideous pain. Your liver is delicious beyond belief. Seriously, now; have you had foie gras? It's unbelievable. It's, like, several cuts above any other food in the world. I can't even describe it...it's like a warm chocolate truffle that isn't overwhelming in its richness and has the natural hearty feeling of meat. The texture...Christ, it just melts. And then later that weekend I had my H.S. reunion, which was lovely. I said hello to my homies and found out what's been up with them (one even reads the blog; woot!). Afterwards (Much afterwards, actually. As is my way, I left around 11 pm, and this happened after 1:30.) I went to Therapy with Mike L. and Alisa. That was fun and relaxing and had the space and lack of ear-busting noise that the reunion wanted for so badly.

Since vacation, well, life's seen its better days. I've been operating on the "If you don't have anything nice to say..." principle, which is why you haven't heard much from me. Suffice it to say my family and friends and my relationships with them are all doing just dandily, and I haven't been sick. Infer away.

In any case, it's Daily Show time. I'll try to be better in the future.