I am writing this 35,000 feet above the Pacific, listening to my new Brokeback Mountain soundtrack with my POG (Passionfruit-Orange-Guava juice). Those striking guitar chords slay me, but I'm disappointed they left out "Quizás," the song playing when Jack goes to Juárez for a quickie.
Two rows ahead of us is a gay couple, one black, one white. I pegged them as gay when they stuffed their matching blue backpacks in the overhead compartment. Both are pushing 275 pounds. I see that the black guy has flung his meaty arm around his partner's shoulder, a somewhat startling public display of affection in such a mixed crowd. But no one is going to mess with these two guys. Besides, it's unlikely that anyone has smuggled a tire iron on board.
I don't know where I've been, but since when is same-sex affection so acceptable in public? It's the third time in a week I've seen it in the most mainstream of places. On Saturday, as I was entering Oakridge Mall on my way to see Brokeback Mountain with two straight women who hadn't seen it yet (my third time), I saw two young women confidently holding hands. And last week, I saw two guys at Santana Row, one with his hand in the back pocket of the other. That's something I often see in the gay ghetto, but not in San Jose.
I wonder if Brokeback Mountain is behind all of this or have I just been oblivious. Feeling the lifelong anguish of Ennis Del Mar, one leaves the theater determined to never let societal bigotries strip one of the ability to love and be loved. Tracy and Shirley were both sniffing throughout the movie, regretting that they only had the with harsh napkins from the concession stand to dab their tears with. Both came out of the theater saying they were choking back the urge to bawl out loud. Tracy said she hadn't cried like that since Beaches. She couldn't imagine what life would be like if she couldn't be with her husband, Rock.
Looking back at my first review of BBM, I have half a mind to delete it. I missed so much. Now I get it. For someone who was bored with The English Patient and thought the best thing about Titanic was the digital graphics, not the love story, it takes me awhile. Ennis's love for Jack seems more tender now. The wrenching pain Jack feels when he can't be with Ennis now hits home. It's gone from a one- to a four-tissue movie.
As Ang Lee collected another big trophy from the directors guild (and again, neglected to thank his long-time fishing buddy), and newspapers report that the big story about the SAG awards is that BBM didn't win it all, I am feeling we're in the vortex of a significant, beautiful, revolutionary cultural shift. "I wish I knew how to quit you" it's been said, is the "You had me at hello" phrase of the decade.
Straight women, as I admonished them, are struggling to drag their boyfriends and husbands to see the movie. Small town newspaper critics are reviewing the movie, and from what I can tell, most of them like it, even in the red states. Are we, as a culture, beginning to grow up? Before the movie came out, I lowered my expectations that a movie could change the world. Over the last few weeks, my optimism has crept up again. With so many interesting stories to tell, many more good movies are bound to be made after this.
Each time I've seen the movie, I've been encouraged by audience reactions. During the intimate moments with Ennis and Jack, the theater has been silent, not a groan--not like the squirming I remember when Tom Hanks danced with Antonio Banderas in Philadelphia, and none of the fidgeting and guffawing when Tom Selleck kissed Kevin Kline in In and Out.
I can't count how many times I've held back, even subconsciously, in expressing affection for Robert. It's programmed into my psyche. I've been coming out for 14 years now, but I still act as though my love still needs to be hidden, even in the progressive San Francisco Bay Area. From a colleague's wedding where we danced together, but were quick to wander off for a drink during any slow songs, afraid we'd make a scene, to the uneasiness I still feel when going to the chekcout counter with a "To the Man I Love" Valentine's Day card, I realize there's still a little Ennis left in me.
Well, this trip is Robert's first in Hawaii. He's been waiting for the right person to go with. Finally, it is the right time, and damn, if were not going to walk hand-in-hand along the beach and watch some sunsets together.
I swear.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Ancient Chinese Secret
My mom is here tonight with some of her nursing colleagues. They're going to a training tomorrow here in town. Right now they're talking about some patient's anus and something about a colostomy. I'm trying desperately to tune it out.
We went out to PF Chang's for dinner. When the group said they wanted Chinese food, I figured they would all prefer one that serves Chinese food intended for the non-Chinese gourmand. We've got plenty of authentic Chinese restaurants around here. Although the Americanized version really does appeal to my non-Chinese palate, I tend to choose restaurants that have specials scrawled in Chinese on pink paper taped to the walls and actual Chinese diners.
Last night, Robert and I went to another "Chinese" restaurant, the Mandarin Gourmet. We craved Chinese food and weren't in a part of town where we could actually get some of the real stuff. I've eaten there before with work colleagues, and warned Robert, who is Filipino, that patrons might mistake him for a waiter since I rarely see any Asians eating there. I doubt you could find a chicken claw or a baby bok choi anywhere in that building outside of some waiter's own lunch bag.
But the non-Asian folks eat it up. The lobby has several awards from mainstream newspapers hanging from the wall in the foyer. Readers of the San Jose Mercury News voted it the best Chinese Restaurant in Silicon Valley in 2002.
This kind of award usually scares me off. That people voted for this restaurant more than any other only means that a majority of Merc readers like Americanized, sugary, deep-fried quasi-Chinese food. I'm sure this readers' poll also chose the Olive Garden for best Italian food and Chevy's for the best Mexican food.
It's the same kind of mass appeal that gave us the likes of John Kerry: safe, but as bland as plain yogurt. I look out for more of a "Dennis Kucinich" type of restaurant, a joint that appeals only to a select, discerning few.
I wonder how many Mandarin Gourmet patrons think they're oh-so-cosmopolitan and hip to enjoy this authentic Chinese experience and can even pick up a honey walnut prawn with chopsticks, not realizing that it's all a toned-down show, like an Epcot Center re-creation, designed for people who probably would turn their nose at what Chinese folks actually eat.
Mandarin Gourmet carries the charade so far as to include the Chinese characters next to each menu item. Or at least, that's what they'd like us to think. I have a feeling these characters are actually secret messages for the few Chinese folks who wander in unaware. The characters next to "Sweet and Sour Pork" probably mean "Avoid this Sticky, Gooey Mess" and the translation for "Cashew Chicken" is "If your non-Chinese friends brought you here to show how eclectic they are, just try to choke this dish down smile. It'll be over soon." I hear they can get a lot into those little characters.
Mom brought birthday gifts for Robert and me. Robert got his very own Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan. I'm thrilled.
Note: I probably won't be updating the blog this week. Robert and I are heading for Kauai on Monday. And then later in February, there's a good chance I'll be spending three weeks in New Orleans to provide communications assistance for a coalition of several California water agencies that will help the local water agency restore service.
We went out to PF Chang's for dinner. When the group said they wanted Chinese food, I figured they would all prefer one that serves Chinese food intended for the non-Chinese gourmand. We've got plenty of authentic Chinese restaurants around here. Although the Americanized version really does appeal to my non-Chinese palate, I tend to choose restaurants that have specials scrawled in Chinese on pink paper taped to the walls and actual Chinese diners.
Last night, Robert and I went to another "Chinese" restaurant, the Mandarin Gourmet. We craved Chinese food and weren't in a part of town where we could actually get some of the real stuff. I've eaten there before with work colleagues, and warned Robert, who is Filipino, that patrons might mistake him for a waiter since I rarely see any Asians eating there. I doubt you could find a chicken claw or a baby bok choi anywhere in that building outside of some waiter's own lunch bag.
But the non-Asian folks eat it up. The lobby has several awards from mainstream newspapers hanging from the wall in the foyer. Readers of the San Jose Mercury News voted it the best Chinese Restaurant in Silicon Valley in 2002.
This kind of award usually scares me off. That people voted for this restaurant more than any other only means that a majority of Merc readers like Americanized, sugary, deep-fried quasi-Chinese food. I'm sure this readers' poll also chose the Olive Garden for best Italian food and Chevy's for the best Mexican food.
It's the same kind of mass appeal that gave us the likes of John Kerry: safe, but as bland as plain yogurt. I look out for more of a "Dennis Kucinich" type of restaurant, a joint that appeals only to a select, discerning few.
I wonder how many Mandarin Gourmet patrons think they're oh-so-cosmopolitan and hip to enjoy this authentic Chinese experience and can even pick up a honey walnut prawn with chopsticks, not realizing that it's all a toned-down show, like an Epcot Center re-creation, designed for people who probably would turn their nose at what Chinese folks actually eat.
Mandarin Gourmet carries the charade so far as to include the Chinese characters next to each menu item. Or at least, that's what they'd like us to think. I have a feeling these characters are actually secret messages for the few Chinese folks who wander in unaware. The characters next to "Sweet and Sour Pork" probably mean "Avoid this Sticky, Gooey Mess" and the translation for "Cashew Chicken" is "If your non-Chinese friends brought you here to show how eclectic they are, just try to choke this dish down smile. It'll be over soon." I hear they can get a lot into those little characters.
Mom brought birthday gifts for Robert and me. Robert got his very own Westinghouse SweepEze Vacuuming Dustpan. I'm thrilled.
Note: I probably won't be updating the blog this week. Robert and I are heading for Kauai on Monday. And then later in February, there's a good chance I'll be spending three weeks in New Orleans to provide communications assistance for a coalition of several California water agencies that will help the local water agency restore service.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Transbahrain?
Michael Jackson was spotted in Bahrain, kids in tow, wearing a veil and the black robe traditionally worn by women in the Persian Gulf. We're all weary of Michael Jackson's strangeness, but before you judge, consider that Jackson might be taking healthy steps to complete his transition to womanhood. Was it just a convenient disguise or has he finally come to terms with the fact that his gender identity does not match the body he was born with?Most of us have known Jackson is transgender for years. Back when he made that video statement where he talked about the humiliation of the police taking photos of his penis, I think we all had the same reaction--Jackson has a penis? And if he does, it just doesn't seem that it belongs there. Despite the permanent makeup, the feminine hairdos, the frilly wardrobe and extensive "Make me look like Janet" surgeries, it seems like he is the last person to figure this out.
Before undergoing a sex change, I understand that a person has to live full time in their new gender for a year or more. I would think Bahrain would be one of the least accepting places for a man would to live as a woman. But when you're also the world's most famous pedophiles, your options are limited.
Many will roll their eyes that Jackson has once again managed to surprise us with his weirdness. But, I think living authentically in his true gender identity is one of the healthiest things he could do to put his life back together.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Gay actor stars in End of the Spear
Sure, gay actors can play straight, but can they play Christian?
A new movie that came out last weekend, End of the Spear, co-stars Chad Allen who used to be a cute kid on the TV show Our House with Wilford Brimley and Diedre Hall in the 1980s. Now he's all grown up and openly gay. And that has some Christians withholding their support of the film, which chronicles the true story of Mincayani, a Waorani tribesman from Ecuador and what happens after five Christian missionaries are speared to death.
From the San Francisco Chronicle:
But the Reverand Janz documented that the filmmakers and the real-life family portrayed in the film were well aware of Allen's sexual orientation and advocacy for gay equality. Janz is simply outraged that they didn't choose to discriminate against him. I imagine Janz professes to believe in the Bible, so it would seem he would be aware of the whole "let he who is without sin cast the first stone" lesson. But clearly, these folks believe it is their role to judge and that all sins are not created equal.
I hear that one of the key grips smokes weed, the second assistant director uses the "F" word, and Chad wasn't the only homo on the set--that wardrobe guy has a very limp handshake. All the more reason to stay away.
One thing is certain. This little controversy is only having the effect of drawing more attention to this little indie movie. I certainly never would have heard of it otherwise. In fact, it looks like an interesting story, and I may even go see it. Nah, I think I'll go see Brokeback Mountain for a third time instead.
A new movie that came out last weekend, End of the Spear, co-stars Chad Allen who used to be a cute kid on the TV show Our House with Wilford Brimley and Diedre Hall in the 1980s. Now he's all grown up and openly gay. And that has some Christians withholding their support of the film, which chronicles the true story of Mincayani, a Waorani tribesman from Ecuador and what happens after five Christian missionaries are speared to death.
From the San Francisco Chronicle:
Really? Green didn't know Allen was gay? Is he serious? He didn't think to Google "Chad Allen" before casting him? He didn't catch the October 2001 cover story in the Advocate? He missed Allen in the VH-1 special "Totally Gay!"? Someone needs to recalibrate his gaydar.The Rev. Jason Janz, an assistant pastor with Red Rocks Baptist Church in Colorado, is circulating an online petition expressing "deep disappointment" in Allen's casting and saying, "We have been asked over the last several months to aggressively promote this film to our congregations; however, we cannot do so because of this issue."
[Producer Mart] Green said he hadn't known Allen was gay before casting him but doesn't think any backlash "is affecting the box office in any significant way. I'm sure some people are staying home, but I don't think it's that many."
But the Reverand Janz documented that the filmmakers and the real-life family portrayed in the film were well aware of Allen's sexual orientation and advocacy for gay equality. Janz is simply outraged that they didn't choose to discriminate against him. I imagine Janz professes to believe in the Bible, so it would seem he would be aware of the whole "let he who is without sin cast the first stone" lesson. But clearly, these folks believe it is their role to judge and that all sins are not created equal.
I hear that one of the key grips smokes weed, the second assistant director uses the "F" word, and Chad wasn't the only homo on the set--that wardrobe guy has a very limp handshake. All the more reason to stay away.
One thing is certain. This little controversy is only having the effect of drawing more attention to this little indie movie. I certainly never would have heard of it otherwise. In fact, it looks like an interesting story, and I may even go see it. Nah, I think I'll go see Brokeback Mountain for a third time instead.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
A Gay, Gay, Gay Golden Globes
"I'm no queer," insists Ennis Del Mar. "But the 63rd Annual Golden Globes sure were."
Indeed, these were the queerest Golden Globes in recent memory, despite the lack of elaborate production numbers and the fact that no actual gay people (by my count) actually held any trophies on stage. But let's review the queer moments:
Here are some other awards that I'd like to give:
The "Most Embarrassing Omission in an Acceptance Speech" goes to Ang Lee. Not for forgetting Randy Quaid who was in the room. No, Lee remembered to thank his wife, but neglected to acknowledge his long-time fishing buddy, Wei-Tung.
The "So Tell Me Again Why She Gets to Present an Award" award goes to Pamela Anderson. And whose baby is that she's swaddling in her top?
The award for "The Acceptance Speech that Best Proves that the Hollywood Foreign Press Made the Right Pick" goes to Steve Carell and his wife. If you aren't watching The Office, you're missing out.
The runner up to the "So Tell Me Again Why She Gets to Present an Award" award goes to Drew Barrymore.
And I can't find a photo of her. They must have mercifully whisked her in and out before the cameras could get a shot of that atrocity she was wearing. She is undoubtedly regretting her decision to allow the contestants from Project Runway to dress her for the evening. Sure, they're creative, but the restriction that they use nothing but the upholstery from the couch they last sat on was just too much of a challenge, even for winner Santino, who regrettably had last sat on a couch in the Very Green Room.
Hey, I'm gay. I have a license to be catty about fashion.
Indeed, these were the queerest Golden Globes in recent memory, despite the lack of elaborate production numbers and the fact that no actual gay people (by my count) actually held any trophies on stage. But let's review the queer moments:
- Catherine Deneuve enters the stage, mutters something I can't recall, and leaves.
- Desperate Housewives wins, but gay creator Marc Cherry leaves the thanking and trophy-clutching to some other guy.
- The Will & Grace cast explains that to make a great sitcom, you need gay people. Sean Hayes does his best to not look like a flaming queen--he'll be looking for work next year.
- Leonardo diCaprio announces the winner for best actress in a drama. OK, he's not gay, but he's played gay, and he's still dreamy.
- Felicity Huffman wins for playing a transexual in Transamerica.
- Philip Seymour Hoffman wins for playing the gay author, Truman Capote, in Capote.
- Brokeback Mountain wins four awards, including the big prize. Dennis Quaid bombs with his quip that this is a movie that can be described as somethign that rhymes with "chick flick."
Here are some other awards that I'd like to give:
The "Most Embarrassing Omission in an Acceptance Speech" goes to Ang Lee. Not for forgetting Randy Quaid who was in the room. No, Lee remembered to thank his wife, but neglected to acknowledge his long-time fishing buddy, Wei-Tung.The "So Tell Me Again Why She Gets to Present an Award" award goes to Pamela Anderson. And whose baby is that she's swaddling in her top?
The award for "The Acceptance Speech that Best Proves that the Hollywood Foreign Press Made the Right Pick" goes to Steve Carell and his wife. If you aren't watching The Office, you're missing out.
The runner up to the "So Tell Me Again Why She Gets to Present an Award" award goes to Drew Barrymore.
And I can't find a photo of her. They must have mercifully whisked her in and out before the cameras could get a shot of that atrocity she was wearing. She is undoubtedly regretting her decision to allow the contestants from Project Runway to dress her for the evening. Sure, they're creative, but the restriction that they use nothing but the upholstery from the couch they last sat on was just too much of a challenge, even for winner Santino, who regrettably had last sat on a couch in the Very Green Room.
Hey, I'm gay. I have a license to be catty about fashion.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Lip Sync
The Golden Globe Awards doesn't yet include a Best Internet Short Film Lip Sync category, so I had to pick my own. And the nominees are:
Something about the Backstreet Boys invites lip syncs:
Not to be outdone:
Suddenly Seymour:
This could have been me if there were webcams back when I was this age:
Something about the Backstreet Boys invites lip syncs:
Not to be outdone:
Suddenly Seymour:
This could have been me if there were webcams back when I was this age:
My Golden Globe Guesses
Just for fun, here are the nominees and my guesses for tonight's 63rd annual Golden Globe Awards in the motion picture categories:
Picture, Drama: "Brokeback Mountain," "The Constant Gardener," "Good Night, and Good Luck," "A History of Violence," "Match Point."
My Guess: "Brokeback Mountain"
Actress, Drama: Maria Bello, "A History of Violence"; Felicity Huffman, "Transamerica"; Gwyneth Paltrow, "Proof"; Charlize Theron, "North Country"; Ziyi Zhang, "Memoirs of a Geisha."
My Guess: Felicity Huffman, "Transamerica"
Actor, Drama: Russell Crowe, "Cinderella Man"; Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Capote"; Terrence Howard, "Hustle & Flow"; Heath Ledger, "Brokeback Mountain"; David Strathairn, "Good Night, and Good Luck."
My Guess: Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Capote"
Picture, Musical or Comedy: "Mrs. Henderson Presents," "Pride & Prejudice," "The Producers," "The Squid and the Whale," "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Walk the Line
Actress, Musical or Comedy: Judi Dench, "Mrs. Henderson Presents"; Keira Knightley, "Pride & Prejudice"; Laura Linney, "The Squid and the Whale"; Sarah Jessica Parker, "The Family Stone"; Reese Witherspoon, "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Reese Witherspoon, "Walk the Line"
Actor, Musical or Comedy: Pierce Brosnan, "The Matador"; Jeff Daniels, "The Squid and the Whale"; Johnny Depp, "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"; Nathan Lane, "The Producers"; Cillian Murphy, "Breakfast on Pluto"; Joaquin Phoenix, "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Joaquin Phoenix, "Walk the Line"
Supporting Actress: Scarlett Johansson, "Match Point"; Shirley MacLaine, "In Her Shoes"; Frances McDormand, "North Country"; Rachel Weisz, "The Constant Gardener"; Michelle Williams, "Brokeback Mountain."
My Guess: Michelle Williams, "Brokeback Mountain"
Supporting Actor: George Clooney, "Syriana"; Matt Dillon, "Crash"; Will Ferrell, "The Producers"; Paul Giamatti, "Cinderella Man"; Bob Hoskins, "Mrs. Henderson Presents."
My Guess: Matt Dillon, "Crash"
Director: Woody Allen, "Match Point"; George Clooney, "Good Night, and Good Luck"; Peter Jackson, "King Kong"; Ang Lee, "Brokeback Mountain"; Fernando Meirelles, "The Constant Gardener"; Steven Spielberg, "Munich."
My Guess: Ang Lee, "Brokeback Mountain"
Screenplay: Woody Allen, "Match Point"; George Clooney and Grant Heslov, "Good Night, and Good Luck"; Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, "Crash"; Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, "Munich"; Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, "Brokeback Mountain."
My Guess: George Clooney and Grant Heslov, "Good Night and Good Luck"
Foreign Language: "Kung Fu Hustle," China; "Master of the Crimson Armor aka The Promise," China; "Merry Christmas (Joyeux Noel)," France; "Paradise Now," Palestinian territories; "Tsotsi," South Africa.
My (totally randome) Guess: "Tsotsi"
Original Score: Alexandre Desplat, "Syriana"; James Newton Howard, "King Kong"; Gustavo Santaolalla, "Brokeback Mountain"; Harry Gregson-Williams, "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe"; John Williams, "Memoirs of a Geisha";
My Guess: Gustavo Santaolalla, "Brokeback Mountain"
Original Song: "A Love That Will Never Grow Old" from "Brokeback Mountain"; "Christmas in Love" from "Christmas in Love"; "There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway" from "The Producers"; "Travelin' Thru" from "Transamerica"; "Wunderkind" from "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe."
My Guess: "A Love That Will Never Grow Old" from "Brokeback Mountain"
So, there are my guesses. They certainly aren't my "picks" since I've only seen three of the movies mentioned above. I'll try to be more informed for the Oscars.
Picture, Drama: "Brokeback Mountain," "The Constant Gardener," "Good Night, and Good Luck," "A History of Violence," "Match Point."
My Guess: "Brokeback Mountain"
Actress, Drama: Maria Bello, "A History of Violence"; Felicity Huffman, "Transamerica"; Gwyneth Paltrow, "Proof"; Charlize Theron, "North Country"; Ziyi Zhang, "Memoirs of a Geisha."
My Guess: Felicity Huffman, "Transamerica"
Actor, Drama: Russell Crowe, "Cinderella Man"; Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Capote"; Terrence Howard, "Hustle & Flow"; Heath Ledger, "Brokeback Mountain"; David Strathairn, "Good Night, and Good Luck."
My Guess: Philip Seymour Hoffman, "Capote"
Picture, Musical or Comedy: "Mrs. Henderson Presents," "Pride & Prejudice," "The Producers," "The Squid and the Whale," "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Walk the Line
Actress, Musical or Comedy: Judi Dench, "Mrs. Henderson Presents"; Keira Knightley, "Pride & Prejudice"; Laura Linney, "The Squid and the Whale"; Sarah Jessica Parker, "The Family Stone"; Reese Witherspoon, "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Reese Witherspoon, "Walk the Line"
Actor, Musical or Comedy: Pierce Brosnan, "The Matador"; Jeff Daniels, "The Squid and the Whale"; Johnny Depp, "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"; Nathan Lane, "The Producers"; Cillian Murphy, "Breakfast on Pluto"; Joaquin Phoenix, "Walk the Line."
My Guess: Joaquin Phoenix, "Walk the Line"
Supporting Actress: Scarlett Johansson, "Match Point"; Shirley MacLaine, "In Her Shoes"; Frances McDormand, "North Country"; Rachel Weisz, "The Constant Gardener"; Michelle Williams, "Brokeback Mountain."
My Guess: Michelle Williams, "Brokeback Mountain"
Supporting Actor: George Clooney, "Syriana"; Matt Dillon, "Crash"; Will Ferrell, "The Producers"; Paul Giamatti, "Cinderella Man"; Bob Hoskins, "Mrs. Henderson Presents."
My Guess: Matt Dillon, "Crash"
Director: Woody Allen, "Match Point"; George Clooney, "Good Night, and Good Luck"; Peter Jackson, "King Kong"; Ang Lee, "Brokeback Mountain"; Fernando Meirelles, "The Constant Gardener"; Steven Spielberg, "Munich."
My Guess: Ang Lee, "Brokeback Mountain"
Screenplay: Woody Allen, "Match Point"; George Clooney and Grant Heslov, "Good Night, and Good Luck"; Paul Haggis and Bobby Moresco, "Crash"; Tony Kushner and Eric Roth, "Munich"; Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana, "Brokeback Mountain."
My Guess: George Clooney and Grant Heslov, "Good Night and Good Luck"
Foreign Language: "Kung Fu Hustle," China; "Master of the Crimson Armor aka The Promise," China; "Merry Christmas (Joyeux Noel)," France; "Paradise Now," Palestinian territories; "Tsotsi," South Africa.
My (totally randome) Guess: "Tsotsi"
Original Score: Alexandre Desplat, "Syriana"; James Newton Howard, "King Kong"; Gustavo Santaolalla, "Brokeback Mountain"; Harry Gregson-Williams, "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe"; John Williams, "Memoirs of a Geisha";
My Guess: Gustavo Santaolalla, "Brokeback Mountain"
Original Song: "A Love That Will Never Grow Old" from "Brokeback Mountain"; "Christmas in Love" from "Christmas in Love"; "There's Nothing Like a Show on Broadway" from "The Producers"; "Travelin' Thru" from "Transamerica"; "Wunderkind" from "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe."
My Guess: "A Love That Will Never Grow Old" from "Brokeback Mountain"
So, there are my guesses. They certainly aren't my "picks" since I've only seen three of the movies mentioned above. I'll try to be more informed for the Oscars.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Beware of this sign!
I showed this self-referential warning sign to Robert, and he immediately understood its purpose. Maybe because he grew up in Manila, where this sign resided at Greenbelt Mall in Makati until recently, he saw the logic rather than the paradox.Still wondering why this sign was made? Here's why.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Stop! BANG! Or I'll Shoot!
I caught the last piece of testimony in the Alito hearings today. The last witness of the day was U.C. Berkeley law professor Goodwin Liu.
Side note: Though I didn't know him personally, Goodwin graduated from Stanford the same year I did, which is humbling. Next year is our 15 year reunion. I can hear it now: What did you do this year, Goodwin? I testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee to point out that Judge Alito's record indicates a tendency to defer to government power. How about you, Marty? I made broccoli casserole a lot, and I flossed regularly.
But that's Goodwin. He was Big Man On Campus and certainly would have been voted Most Likely to Testify Against A Conservative Nominee to the Supreme Court if we had ever voted for such a thing.
Goodwin (I feel like I should still be able to call him that) talked about a case on police use of force:
Since Alito's view was rightly rejected by the Supreme Court in 1985, I wonder if kids today yell "Stop, or I'll post an APB and we'll pick you up later tonight at your girlfriend's apartment where you'll inevitably be wearing no shirt!"
Tags: Alito, Goodwin Liu, Supreme Court
Side note: Though I didn't know him personally, Goodwin graduated from Stanford the same year I did, which is humbling. Next year is our 15 year reunion. I can hear it now: What did you do this year, Goodwin? I testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee to point out that Judge Alito's record indicates a tendency to defer to government power. How about you, Marty? I made broccoli casserole a lot, and I flossed regularly.
But that's Goodwin. He was Big Man On Campus and certainly would have been voted Most Likely to Testify Against A Conservative Nominee to the Supreme Court if we had ever voted for such a thing.
Goodwin (I feel like I should still be able to call him that) talked about a case on police use of force:
The first is a memo he wrote in 1984 as assistant to the solicitor general, analyzing a case where police saw a burglary suspect running across a backyard. The suspect reached a fence, and an officer called out: "Police! Halt!" When the suspect tried to climb the fence, the officer shot him in the back of the head, killing him. The suspect, Edward Garner, was an eighth grader with a stolen purse and $10 on his body. He was not armed, and the officer did not think he was. The sole reason for his killing was to prevent his escape.
Judge Alito's memo, speaking for no one but himself, said, "I think the shooting can be justified as reasonable within the meaning of the Fourth Amendment." In a remarkable passage, he argued that using deadly force to stop a fleeing suspect rests on, and I quote, "the general principle that the state is justified in using whatever force is necessary to enforce its laws." In 1985, the Supreme Court rejected this view.
As a kid, I remember playing cops and robbers and indeed, that was the rule: "Stop, or I'll shoot!" But we were just kids. Our sense of morality evolved. Now the idea seems ludicrous. Our society is not prepared to give a police officer the authority to act as judge, jury and executioner right on the spot. The sentence for running from the police should not be immediate death.
Since Alito's view was rightly rejected by the Supreme Court in 1985, I wonder if kids today yell "Stop, or I'll post an APB and we'll pick you up later tonight at your girlfriend's apartment where you'll inevitably be wearing no shirt!"
Tags: Alito, Goodwin Liu, Supreme Court
Robertson apologizes for saying what he believes out loud
Pat Robertson apologized today to the Sharon family, for implying that the Israeli prime minister's stroke was an act of God."My zeal, my love of Israel and my concern for the future safety of your nation led me to make remarks which I can now view in retrospect as inappropriate and insensitive in light of a national grief experienced because of your father's illness."
Of course, he did not exactly retract his statement. It's sort of the "I'm sorry...that your were offended" apology. He still believes God smote Sharon, but he realized it was bad timing to say it out loud while Sharon was in a coma. This apology was as hollow as his apology for calling for the U.S. to assassinate Hugo Chavez, which he immediately followed by comparing Chavez to Adolf Hitler. And this apology came just a day after Israel pulled support of a planned Christian theme park for Galilee--a project Robertson is leading.
But an apology is better than nothing. His apology letters to the gay and lesbian community have apparently been lost in the mail.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Schwarzenegger is not ready for his close-up, Mr. DeMille.
Before Le Male Tout Beau:
Oh, that looks awful! Whoever waxed his eyebrows should be fired.
No makeup. Doctor's orders.
After Le Male Tout Beau:
Oh, that looks awful! Whoever waxed his eyebrows should be fired.
No makeup. Doctor's orders.
After Le Male Tout Beau:
Monday, January 09, 2006
Don't kill your television!
I don't know how I got mixed up with these people, these people who insist they don't watch television. I thought I knew my friends fairly well, but a few of them have sprung this on me recently. Suddenly, they seem distant and odd-balled, as if they just divulged that they joined the Church of Scientology or have a fetish for previously worn dress socks.
We're pretty far from Amish country, so I'm not sure what their problem is.
At a recent gathering, my friend Greg announced he and his partner have a small television, but they don't have cable or satellite, like that's something to be proud of. This is akin to owning a refrigerator, but not actually plugging it in. (Granted, a Sub-Zero refrigerator would make a lovely storage closet.) No cable means no Daily Show, and no Daily Show means you're completely out of touch with world events. What are you going to do for news, read the paper? Oh, that's adorable.
Greg went on to deride people who keep their TV on whenever they're home for "background noise." Hey, I am that guy. While the others laughed, I sat silent, not out of embarrassment, but out of pity. The poor dears.
These are kind of people that you need to remember to call if there's ever a major disaster, but then that assumes they have telephones. Maybe all the people who were left in New Orleans after everyone else had evacuated just didn't know what was going on because they don't watch TV. Now I understand the report of people carrying off TV's in the midst of the flooding--if they'd had one in the first place, they'd have known to get out.
All the juicy stuff happens on TV and you never know exactly when. Just last week, Pat Robertson implied that God smote Ariel Sharon, and David Letterman told Bill O'Reilly that 60% of what comes out of his mouth is crap. Nightline's new Koppel-less crew, starring Martin Bashir, failed spectacularly to confirm rumors that 12 coal miners had survived before broadcasting the story across the universe. And on The Today Show, Ann Coulter justified the legality of the president's warrant-free wiretapping by comparing it to the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII. (See, Mom? Two wrongs do make a right.)
Sure, if you spend 12 hours a day watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air re-runs, you're probably looking in the mirror at an ignorant fatso with pasty skin. But if your 12 hours are spent watching the History Channel, well then, you're looking at a well-informed fatso with pasty skin—one who can kick ass in Jeopardy!.
If you're among those eschewing TV, I guess the rest of us will have to update you. Just in the last 24 hours, here's what you missed. Vice presidential candidate Leo McGarry in a televised debate eerily explained that the first warning sign of heart disease is often death. (Some claim that McGarry and the rest of The West Wing crew are just part of a TV show, but I prefer to believe that Bush and Cheney are fictional and Jed Bartlet is the real president.) American teenager Farris Hassan, who traveled to Iraq without his parents' permission, reported to NBC that he finally left Baghdad only because the media had reported what hotel he was staying in. You also missed two gay teens sweetly kissing right on the lips on Desperate Housewives without any noticeable protest from Donald Wildmon's hopelessly wadded-up underpants.
See? How can you call yourself an informed world citizen if you missed all that?
You choose this for yourself, but don’t impose this deviant lifestyle on the children. A couple I know have an adorable, charming three-year-old who hardly notices the television sitting in the corner of their living room on a shelf, as inanimate as a flower vase. I'm sure his play is as creative as his parents say and he can recite the days of the week, but I worry about a child who will go to Kindergarten without a healthy awareness of the difference between a Wiggle and a Teletubby. How are the other kids going to treat an imaginative boy with an unnaturally long attention span who can't pick Dora the Explorer out of a line-up?
Gather the kids around and watch your TV. It's for your own good. Now, if you'll excuse me, my TiVo has recorded a Will & Grace re-run from 2000.
Tags: television, TV, Desperate Housewives, Farris Hassan, West Wing
We're pretty far from Amish country, so I'm not sure what their problem is.
At a recent gathering, my friend Greg announced he and his partner have a small television, but they don't have cable or satellite, like that's something to be proud of. This is akin to owning a refrigerator, but not actually plugging it in. (Granted, a Sub-Zero refrigerator would make a lovely storage closet.) No cable means no Daily Show, and no Daily Show means you're completely out of touch with world events. What are you going to do for news, read the paper? Oh, that's adorable.
Greg went on to deride people who keep their TV on whenever they're home for "background noise." Hey, I am that guy. While the others laughed, I sat silent, not out of embarrassment, but out of pity. The poor dears.
These are kind of people that you need to remember to call if there's ever a major disaster, but then that assumes they have telephones. Maybe all the people who were left in New Orleans after everyone else had evacuated just didn't know what was going on because they don't watch TV. Now I understand the report of people carrying off TV's in the midst of the flooding--if they'd had one in the first place, they'd have known to get out.
All the juicy stuff happens on TV and you never know exactly when. Just last week, Pat Robertson implied that God smote Ariel Sharon, and David Letterman told Bill O'Reilly that 60% of what comes out of his mouth is crap. Nightline's new Koppel-less crew, starring Martin Bashir, failed spectacularly to confirm rumors that 12 coal miners had survived before broadcasting the story across the universe. And on The Today Show, Ann Coulter justified the legality of the president's warrant-free wiretapping by comparing it to the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII. (See, Mom? Two wrongs do make a right.)
Sure, if you spend 12 hours a day watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air re-runs, you're probably looking in the mirror at an ignorant fatso with pasty skin. But if your 12 hours are spent watching the History Channel, well then, you're looking at a well-informed fatso with pasty skin—one who can kick ass in Jeopardy!.
If you're among those eschewing TV, I guess the rest of us will have to update you. Just in the last 24 hours, here's what you missed. Vice presidential candidate Leo McGarry in a televised debate eerily explained that the first warning sign of heart disease is often death. (Some claim that McGarry and the rest of The West Wing crew are just part of a TV show, but I prefer to believe that Bush and Cheney are fictional and Jed Bartlet is the real president.) American teenager Farris Hassan, who traveled to Iraq without his parents' permission, reported to NBC that he finally left Baghdad only because the media had reported what hotel he was staying in. You also missed two gay teens sweetly kissing right on the lips on Desperate Housewives without any noticeable protest from Donald Wildmon's hopelessly wadded-up underpants.
See? How can you call yourself an informed world citizen if you missed all that?
You choose this for yourself, but don’t impose this deviant lifestyle on the children. A couple I know have an adorable, charming three-year-old who hardly notices the television sitting in the corner of their living room on a shelf, as inanimate as a flower vase. I'm sure his play is as creative as his parents say and he can recite the days of the week, but I worry about a child who will go to Kindergarten without a healthy awareness of the difference between a Wiggle and a Teletubby. How are the other kids going to treat an imaginative boy with an unnaturally long attention span who can't pick Dora the Explorer out of a line-up?
Gather the kids around and watch your TV. It's for your own good. Now, if you'll excuse me, my TiVo has recorded a Will & Grace re-run from 2000.
Tags: television, TV, Desperate Housewives, Farris Hassan, West Wing
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Ay, there's the rub!
We knew there'd be a catch. Of course, there would be a catch. A free trip to Hawaii just for enduring a two-hour timeshare presentation was, indeed, too good to be true.
Last June, a guy in a booth at the San Jose Gay Pride Festival caught our attention with a pitch for a three-day Hawaiian vacation as a reward for attending a Shell Vacation Club timeshare presentation. The vacation included round trip airfare from San Francisco, with lots of black-out dates, and two nights at an economy hotel. He told us we could extend the three days to however long we wanted and just pay to change the ticket--about $100 each. With healthy skepticism, we read all the fine print before signing up for the presentation in Fisherman's Wharf. At the very least, we'd get a free lunch, we reasoned, and we were planning to be in San Francisco the following Saturday anyway.
I'd been through this before. I have zero interest in actually buying a timeshare. I already knew buying a timeshare from a developer, even if you want one, is the worst way to buy. I already knew that you could buy just about any timeshare on the resale market for about 60 percent of the developer's price. I'm aware that the maintenance fees are extraordinarily high and that you'll never get to stay the week that you request.
But I've had pretty good luck taking advantage of the incentives all these timeshare companies provide just for sitting in on their presentation. In Cancun, I got a blanket, a bottle of cheap coffee liqueur and a daytrip to Chichen Itza. In Kauai, the whole family got a great boat excursion on the Na Pali Coast. A couple of years ago, Robert and I got two nights at Harrah's Lake Tahoe and $200 cash. I've been pretty smug about my ability to withstand so many wily plastic-smiled, scaly salesmen and leave with pretty decent rewards.
Of course, not everything is as advertised. That Tahoe incentive also included $40 for gas, but they cleverly put enough restrictions and unnecessary hoops to jump through that I gave up--just as they had planned. The $40 was actually a certificate for four $10 rebates for gas purchased within a narrow range of dates. I was instructed to send the original gas receipts in separate envelopes no less then ten days apart or some damn thing, and I think I was supposed to streak naked all the way from the Sigma Chi house to the quad at midnight--whatever.
And I nearly didn't get the $200. As they were leading me out the door with a goodbye, thanks for coming, enjoy the slopes and all that, I smartly asked about the money. Only then did the woman behind the reception desk pause and call someone on the intercom informing them that Mr. Grimes was asking about the $200 cash. Then she hung up, opened up her desk drawer and pulled out two Franklins and handed them over. I signed no receipt, so I deduced that they bank on most people assuming they'd be getting their $200 in the mail. Once they're out the door, the chance of ever seeing their $200 is about the same as hitting a royal flush at the poker slots downstairs.
The presentation at Fisherman's Wharf was exactly as expected. We were led into a room filled with activity, small tables with a sales rep for each couple, balloons, and upbeat music. Every few minutes, we'd be startled by a balloon popping which announced that another sucker had just been screwed.
The mood was just like that of a presentation a (now-former) friend once dragged me to in a hotel ballroom for a multi-level marketing scheme, creepy and cultish. I began to suspect that we might be the only real people in the place and all the others were planted there to make us feel like "everyone is doing it."
Our "lunch" turned out to be cheap deli sandwiches. We were matched with a cute, sweet-talking, flirtacious young sales rep who did her best to be chummy. To bond with us, she managed to mention that her dad is gay. For all we know, she loaths him for it, or maybe it's not even true. She pulled the "Oh, I'm not supposed to tell you this" ruse. She looked around and in a hushed voice told us that you can actually make money by renting your week to someone else if you don't want to use it one year. Later, she was exposed when the bad-cop supervisor came over and openly gave us the same pitch.
Two hours later, after they'd given their best shot, and we were adamant that we were not buying it, our pretty new friend turned as cold as ice and we were dismissed without fanfare, holding our two vacation certificates. The sweetheart that seemed ready to invite us to her two dads' guest house for the weekend was giving us one of those Glenn Close looks that made us fear we'd find our cat simmering in a pot when we got home.
We knew that this Hawaiian vacation may never materialize. We've been telling people we're planning to go to Hawaii this year, Robert's first trip there, but we'll believe it when we actually land in Honolulu. Perhaps the roundtrip flight was to Bakersfield and "Hawaiian" just referred to the decor. We saw that the flight would leave on a Tuesday morning, but that didn't concern us. Certainly the hotel, we figured, would be one of the cheapest, outdated monstrocities in Waikiki. We figured we could endure that for two nights and then arrange our own lodging for the rest of the trip. The contrast in lodging would allow us to appreciate the latter part of the trip even more.
The guy in San Jose also threw in a two-night stay in Lake Tahoe. We only had to pay $25 for taxes. The incentive programs are run through a different outfit called Holiday Travel of America--already a misnomer because with the date restrictions, the only "holiday" you might be travelling on is "National Administrative Assistant's Day." On their website, they pitch their travel products as a great incentive with "high perceived value." Uh-oh.
Of course, they make you send in a request form with your choices of dates. A few weeks later, we got a notice that we'd be staying at such-and-such cheap motel--no surprise. The fine print never said we'd be staying at Caesar's. A few weeks after that, we got a notice that we'd be staying at the Knights Inn since the one we were going to be in had closed down.
Uh-oh. Another bad sign. I googled the new motel, Knights Inn, and reviewers caution that this motel is a major dump. It's only redeeming qualities are that it's close to gambling and the Heavenly Valley gondola, it's dirt cheap, and it's got indoor plumbing. So, we've already made plans to stay in a condo with a bunch of friends and we'll just use the Knight's Inn to store our wet skis and boots.
So, with all of that, it was absolutely no surprise to find out yesterday that we could extend our Hawaiian vacation from three days to seven--for a fee of merely $250 per person. I asked why no one mentioned this amount previously and why the guy in San Jose said it would only cost $100 a ticket. Even as the words were leaving my mouth, I heard how stupid they sounded. The answer, of course, was that the San Jose guy has no affiliation with Holiday Travel of America and they can't be held accountable for his lies.
I said that this $250 fee is unacceptable since I was expecting a free Hawaiian vacation, she retorted with a challenge: "I'd like to see you try to find a flight for that price" in the same tone I remember from grade school: "I could lick ya!" "I'd like to see you try!" I held my tongue, refusing to allow the conversation resort to "Make me." "I don't make garbage. I burn it."
Well, I can find a flight for about $350 and we can go when we want and stay where we want, and we won't have to wonder if the return flight includes an 8-hour stopover in Wichita. We've given up--just like they planned. But, hey, at least we got a cup of cheap coffee and a deli sandwich.
Tags: timeshare, rewards, Hawaii
Last June, a guy in a booth at the San Jose Gay Pride Festival caught our attention with a pitch for a three-day Hawaiian vacation as a reward for attending a Shell Vacation Club timeshare presentation. The vacation included round trip airfare from San Francisco, with lots of black-out dates, and two nights at an economy hotel. He told us we could extend the three days to however long we wanted and just pay to change the ticket--about $100 each. With healthy skepticism, we read all the fine print before signing up for the presentation in Fisherman's Wharf. At the very least, we'd get a free lunch, we reasoned, and we were planning to be in San Francisco the following Saturday anyway.
I'd been through this before. I have zero interest in actually buying a timeshare. I already knew buying a timeshare from a developer, even if you want one, is the worst way to buy. I already knew that you could buy just about any timeshare on the resale market for about 60 percent of the developer's price. I'm aware that the maintenance fees are extraordinarily high and that you'll never get to stay the week that you request.
But I've had pretty good luck taking advantage of the incentives all these timeshare companies provide just for sitting in on their presentation. In Cancun, I got a blanket, a bottle of cheap coffee liqueur and a daytrip to Chichen Itza. In Kauai, the whole family got a great boat excursion on the Na Pali Coast. A couple of years ago, Robert and I got two nights at Harrah's Lake Tahoe and $200 cash. I've been pretty smug about my ability to withstand so many wily plastic-smiled, scaly salesmen and leave with pretty decent rewards.
Of course, not everything is as advertised. That Tahoe incentive also included $40 for gas, but they cleverly put enough restrictions and unnecessary hoops to jump through that I gave up--just as they had planned. The $40 was actually a certificate for four $10 rebates for gas purchased within a narrow range of dates. I was instructed to send the original gas receipts in separate envelopes no less then ten days apart or some damn thing, and I think I was supposed to streak naked all the way from the Sigma Chi house to the quad at midnight--whatever.
And I nearly didn't get the $200. As they were leading me out the door with a goodbye, thanks for coming, enjoy the slopes and all that, I smartly asked about the money. Only then did the woman behind the reception desk pause and call someone on the intercom informing them that Mr. Grimes was asking about the $200 cash. Then she hung up, opened up her desk drawer and pulled out two Franklins and handed them over. I signed no receipt, so I deduced that they bank on most people assuming they'd be getting their $200 in the mail. Once they're out the door, the chance of ever seeing their $200 is about the same as hitting a royal flush at the poker slots downstairs.
The presentation at Fisherman's Wharf was exactly as expected. We were led into a room filled with activity, small tables with a sales rep for each couple, balloons, and upbeat music. Every few minutes, we'd be startled by a balloon popping which announced that another sucker had just been screwed.
The mood was just like that of a presentation a (now-former) friend once dragged me to in a hotel ballroom for a multi-level marketing scheme, creepy and cultish. I began to suspect that we might be the only real people in the place and all the others were planted there to make us feel like "everyone is doing it."
Our "lunch" turned out to be cheap deli sandwiches. We were matched with a cute, sweet-talking, flirtacious young sales rep who did her best to be chummy. To bond with us, she managed to mention that her dad is gay. For all we know, she loaths him for it, or maybe it's not even true. She pulled the "Oh, I'm not supposed to tell you this" ruse. She looked around and in a hushed voice told us that you can actually make money by renting your week to someone else if you don't want to use it one year. Later, she was exposed when the bad-cop supervisor came over and openly gave us the same pitch.
Two hours later, after they'd given their best shot, and we were adamant that we were not buying it, our pretty new friend turned as cold as ice and we were dismissed without fanfare, holding our two vacation certificates. The sweetheart that seemed ready to invite us to her two dads' guest house for the weekend was giving us one of those Glenn Close looks that made us fear we'd find our cat simmering in a pot when we got home.
We knew that this Hawaiian vacation may never materialize. We've been telling people we're planning to go to Hawaii this year, Robert's first trip there, but we'll believe it when we actually land in Honolulu. Perhaps the roundtrip flight was to Bakersfield and "Hawaiian" just referred to the decor. We saw that the flight would leave on a Tuesday morning, but that didn't concern us. Certainly the hotel, we figured, would be one of the cheapest, outdated monstrocities in Waikiki. We figured we could endure that for two nights and then arrange our own lodging for the rest of the trip. The contrast in lodging would allow us to appreciate the latter part of the trip even more.
The guy in San Jose also threw in a two-night stay in Lake Tahoe. We only had to pay $25 for taxes. The incentive programs are run through a different outfit called Holiday Travel of America--already a misnomer because with the date restrictions, the only "holiday" you might be travelling on is "National Administrative Assistant's Day." On their website, they pitch their travel products as a great incentive with "high perceived value." Uh-oh.
Of course, they make you send in a request form with your choices of dates. A few weeks later, we got a notice that we'd be staying at such-and-such cheap motel--no surprise. The fine print never said we'd be staying at Caesar's. A few weeks after that, we got a notice that we'd be staying at the Knights Inn since the one we were going to be in had closed down.
Uh-oh. Another bad sign. I googled the new motel, Knights Inn, and reviewers caution that this motel is a major dump. It's only redeeming qualities are that it's close to gambling and the Heavenly Valley gondola, it's dirt cheap, and it's got indoor plumbing. So, we've already made plans to stay in a condo with a bunch of friends and we'll just use the Knight's Inn to store our wet skis and boots.
So, with all of that, it was absolutely no surprise to find out yesterday that we could extend our Hawaiian vacation from three days to seven--for a fee of merely $250 per person. I asked why no one mentioned this amount previously and why the guy in San Jose said it would only cost $100 a ticket. Even as the words were leaving my mouth, I heard how stupid they sounded. The answer, of course, was that the San Jose guy has no affiliation with Holiday Travel of America and they can't be held accountable for his lies.
I said that this $250 fee is unacceptable since I was expecting a free Hawaiian vacation, she retorted with a challenge: "I'd like to see you try to find a flight for that price" in the same tone I remember from grade school: "I could lick ya!" "I'd like to see you try!" I held my tongue, refusing to allow the conversation resort to "Make me." "I don't make garbage. I burn it."
Well, I can find a flight for about $350 and we can go when we want and stay where we want, and we won't have to wonder if the return flight includes an 8-hour stopover in Wichita. We've given up--just like they planned. But, hey, at least we got a cup of cheap coffee and a deli sandwich.
Tags: timeshare, rewards, Hawaii
Friday, January 06, 2006
Program gives booze to homeless alcoholics
The headline on CNN.com blares “Study: Free booze benefits homeless alcoholics.” Well, that sounds intriguing, but before you go out and actually take beer to the homeless guy with the cardboard sign scrawled with “Who am I kidding? I need a drink!” you’d better take a closer look at this study. Poking holes in the media’s latest groundbreaking scientific discovery is a fun sport. Join me, won’t you?
A well-meaning bunch in Toronto tried out a harm-reduction approach for a small group of chronically homeless alcoholics. The reported results were encouraging. While they were in the program, participants had fewer emergency room visits and run-ins with the police and 10 of the participants reported they drank less during the program despite the fact that the shelter provided participants with up to 15 glasses of wine or sherry a day, an amount one author laughingly described as “a small amount.”
To read the Reuters story carried by CNN.com, you’d conclude that the key to helping homeless alcoholics is giving them free wine all day long. But, the positive health outcomes and reduction in police encounters may have nothing to do with free wine. It may have everything to do with the fact that the program offered free room and board, aid with activities of daily living (maid service?), and help getting enrolled into benefits programs. An aide took them to medical appointments and dispensed medications, and medical care was provided on site by nurses and two doctors. I don’t think it was the booze that helped them out. And all of that medical supervision only reduced trips to the emergency room by half.
Offering free room and board isn’t enough to attract this population, the authors would counter. Free booze draws them into an environment where preventative medical care can be provided. But without a control group, the impact of the open bar is just speculation. Perhaps the key component wasn’t actually providing the liquor—it was the fact that, unlike most shelter programs, participants don’t have to go cold turkey to participate.
But what about the reduction in alcohol use? Bogus. First problem: only 10 of the 17 participants are included in that analysis--three refused to answer the questions and three died (!)--and you have to wonder if these participants were fudging their reported drinking to these fine folks who were trying to help them. Finally, in a tiny footnote in the published study, we find out that anything they drank off the premises was not included in the comparison. Do you think maybe some of them may have snuck out back from time to time to supplement their boxed Chablis with a little Thunderbird?
Kudos to the authors who are trying to help a population that seems beyond hope, but they’ve taken harm reduction over the line into enabling. Giving shelter, food, medical care and social services to alcoholics who won’t jump on the wagon may create the same positive outcomes. Despite what the CNN's headline implies, putting up a free martini bar next to every methadone clinic is not the answer.
A well-meaning bunch in Toronto tried out a harm-reduction approach for a small group of chronically homeless alcoholics. The reported results were encouraging. While they were in the program, participants had fewer emergency room visits and run-ins with the police and 10 of the participants reported they drank less during the program despite the fact that the shelter provided participants with up to 15 glasses of wine or sherry a day, an amount one author laughingly described as “a small amount.”
To read the Reuters story carried by CNN.com, you’d conclude that the key to helping homeless alcoholics is giving them free wine all day long. But, the positive health outcomes and reduction in police encounters may have nothing to do with free wine. It may have everything to do with the fact that the program offered free room and board, aid with activities of daily living (maid service?), and help getting enrolled into benefits programs. An aide took them to medical appointments and dispensed medications, and medical care was provided on site by nurses and two doctors. I don’t think it was the booze that helped them out. And all of that medical supervision only reduced trips to the emergency room by half.
Offering free room and board isn’t enough to attract this population, the authors would counter. Free booze draws them into an environment where preventative medical care can be provided. But without a control group, the impact of the open bar is just speculation. Perhaps the key component wasn’t actually providing the liquor—it was the fact that, unlike most shelter programs, participants don’t have to go cold turkey to participate.
But what about the reduction in alcohol use? Bogus. First problem: only 10 of the 17 participants are included in that analysis--three refused to answer the questions and three died (!)--and you have to wonder if these participants were fudging their reported drinking to these fine folks who were trying to help them. Finally, in a tiny footnote in the published study, we find out that anything they drank off the premises was not included in the comparison. Do you think maybe some of them may have snuck out back from time to time to supplement their boxed Chablis with a little Thunderbird?
Kudos to the authors who are trying to help a population that seems beyond hope, but they’ve taken harm reduction over the line into enabling. Giving shelter, food, medical care and social services to alcoholics who won’t jump on the wagon may create the same positive outcomes. Despite what the CNN's headline implies, putting up a free martini bar next to every methadone clinic is not the answer.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Prohibido Fumar
In Spain, the New Year comes with a revolutionary new law. No, not gay marriage. Smoking is now banned in workplaces and restricted in bars and restaurants.
If you’re not familiar with how fond the Spanish are of their smoking—and particularly their smoking in pubs and restaurants—it would be something akin to New York City banning taxi cabs, L.A. banning cosmetic surgery or Texas banning the contraction “y’all.” It’s just hard to imagine.
In Europe, only the Greeks smoke more than the Spanish. Today, the average Spaniard smokes about 2,300 cigarettes a year. Bars and smoking and drinking and chatting and eating, and smoking while eating, and drinking while smoking and smoking some more are all a major part of daily life for nearly everyone I knew in every part of Spain I visited in 1990. In my dormitory cafeteria, my fellow students smoked and flicked ashes onto the tile floor during meals and thought it very odd that I didn’t. Whenever Real Madrid would have a match, the toxic smog was so thick in the TV lounge that you literally couldn’t see the screen from the back of the room.
Apparently, bars larger than 100 square meters are allowed to have a separated smoking area like those glassed-in smoking lounges in airports that look like a steam room at the gym. The Spanish must be flipping out over this. Perhaps there has been an evolution, but in 1990, the concept of a non-smoking section did not exist. My Spanish friends would get indignant when I asked them not to smoke in my own dorm room.
Smaller bars can decide whether to go totally non-smoking or totally smoking. Interesting concession. My guess is that many Spanish bars will shrink to less than 100 square meters to avoid the restrictions. Perhaps larger bars will subdivide into two or more businesses, each with less than 100 square meters of floor space. So far, 90 percent of the smaller bars have opted to allow smoking.
The scourge of cigarette smoking in Spain was one of the things that cemented my allegiance to the United States of America, even while I became aware of how screwed up our country is in many other ways. Actually, I should be pledging my allegiance to California, a state with hard-hitting anti-tobacco campaigns, high cigarette taxes and a long-standing ban on smoking in public places—all of which have produced tremendous successes in reducing cigarette smoking.
Given that Columbus and the Spanish conquistadors nearly wiped out the entire population of indigenous Americans with influenza, measles, smallpox, slavery and outright genocide, it’s just a bit of poetic justice, a smidgen of karmic retribution that it was Columbus who introduced tobacco to Spain in the 16th century. The country has been chain-smoking ever since.
Let's all try to be understanding if Spain seems a little moody and jittery in 2006. If they get through this, we'll be better able to enjoy our sangria and tapas next time we make a trip to the madre patria. To that, I raise my copa and say "¡Salud!"
Tags: Spain, smoking, ban, tobacco
If you’re not familiar with how fond the Spanish are of their smoking—and particularly their smoking in pubs and restaurants—it would be something akin to New York City banning taxi cabs, L.A. banning cosmetic surgery or Texas banning the contraction “y’all.” It’s just hard to imagine.
In Europe, only the Greeks smoke more than the Spanish. Today, the average Spaniard smokes about 2,300 cigarettes a year. Bars and smoking and drinking and chatting and eating, and smoking while eating, and drinking while smoking and smoking some more are all a major part of daily life for nearly everyone I knew in every part of Spain I visited in 1990. In my dormitory cafeteria, my fellow students smoked and flicked ashes onto the tile floor during meals and thought it very odd that I didn’t. Whenever Real Madrid would have a match, the toxic smog was so thick in the TV lounge that you literally couldn’t see the screen from the back of the room.
Apparently, bars larger than 100 square meters are allowed to have a separated smoking area like those glassed-in smoking lounges in airports that look like a steam room at the gym. The Spanish must be flipping out over this. Perhaps there has been an evolution, but in 1990, the concept of a non-smoking section did not exist. My Spanish friends would get indignant when I asked them not to smoke in my own dorm room.
Smaller bars can decide whether to go totally non-smoking or totally smoking. Interesting concession. My guess is that many Spanish bars will shrink to less than 100 square meters to avoid the restrictions. Perhaps larger bars will subdivide into two or more businesses, each with less than 100 square meters of floor space. So far, 90 percent of the smaller bars have opted to allow smoking.
The scourge of cigarette smoking in Spain was one of the things that cemented my allegiance to the United States of America, even while I became aware of how screwed up our country is in many other ways. Actually, I should be pledging my allegiance to California, a state with hard-hitting anti-tobacco campaigns, high cigarette taxes and a long-standing ban on smoking in public places—all of which have produced tremendous successes in reducing cigarette smoking.
Given that Columbus and the Spanish conquistadors nearly wiped out the entire population of indigenous Americans with influenza, measles, smallpox, slavery and outright genocide, it’s just a bit of poetic justice, a smidgen of karmic retribution that it was Columbus who introduced tobacco to Spain in the 16th century. The country has been chain-smoking ever since.
Let's all try to be understanding if Spain seems a little moody and jittery in 2006. If they get through this, we'll be better able to enjoy our sangria and tapas next time we make a trip to the madre patria. To that, I raise my copa and say "¡Salud!"
Tags: Spain, smoking, ban, tobacco
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
