NY September 2013 Fashion Week: What were they thinking?

You often hear people ask about someone who has screwed up, "What was he thinking?"

Having just taken a look at some of the styles from New York's Fashion Week, I find myself asking the same question, not because any designers screwed up (that seems impossible on runway shows), but because I'm genuinely wondering what thought processes were at work.

My best guesses:

(Academy of Art University): "Hmm....let's take an outfit that fat ladies wear --  a baggy jacket, a loose-fitting untucked shirt, culottes, and a scarf to hide the double chin -- and put it on a skinny guy. Yeah, I bet that's never been done before!"

(Anya Caliendo): "What the public needs needs is a wedding veil for those brides who want to send the message that they're so horny they can't wait for their wedding night."

(Anya Caliendo): "We'll start a whole new trend: Triceratops Chic."

(Argentine Designers): "Let's see....if the Tinman from the Wizard of Oz tried to check his wife's oil when she wasn't in the mood, what would she have looked like afterward?"

(Betsey Johnson): "Hmm...let's dress up a model in hospital whites, to make her look like an escapee. We'll put a wig on her so she looks like that vacuuming woman in Something About Mary. We'll wrap her wrists and hands in gauze, like a boxer. We'll apply lipstick so garish her mouth will look like a bird's beak. We'll hang a small license plate around her neck. And we'll have her stride extra jauntily down the runway singing to herself. No one will think she has anything in that box but a severed human head. Yeah -- that's crazy!"

(Czar by Cesar Galindo) "Let's make a dress that a woman can't possibly walk in. All she'll be able to do is stand on a pedestal while people admire our creation."

(David Tlale) "Hmm....let's make something that's part dress, part negligee, and part veil, but make it sheer only around the breasts, so that no man can see it without thinking that he is basically being propositioned. We'll call it the So How Do You Like My Tits look."

(Elle Fashion): "First, let's create a top made out of sheepskin with sleeves about a foot too long. Then let's dye it to look as if some ink got spilled on it by accident. Then we'll add a sash that wraps around crookedly and doesn't quite match, or meet up in front. Then we'll gather up all the wool fabric clippings that have been left on the cutting room floor and stitch them together in a dress with uneven pleats and extra flaps sewn on. Then we'll combine that with samurai leggings and eskimo boots. We'll call it Expensive Homeless Chic."

(Falguni and Shane Peacock): "Let's put together a complicated design with two large dark spots on either side of the nipples with what looks like a large nose between them and some fat lips right below that. But the large nose will turn out to also be a torso itself with two nipples that could also be eyes. Then we'll put a dark triangle where her crotch is to add some allure. We'll call this the Fish Scales Rorschach Test look."

(Falguni and Shane Peacock, again): "This is the ultimate female assassin's outfit. At first glance it looks as if we're trying to create a Polio Chic look with those leg braces. But then the target's eyes will be drawn to the sight of her breasts, so she can quickly pull the knife out of her left "brace," which is actually a sheath, and run her target through. We're going to call this the Mata Hari."

(Fashion Shenzhen): "Let's find a model who looks as if she's been hypnotized and put her in a sheer dress with both her breasts and crotch line visible. We'll call it Sex Zombie."

(Female readers: just so you know, sheer tops are definitely in this year.)

(Jill Stuart): "Let's come up with a creation which is not appropriate for a single situation. It won't quite be a bathing suit, but won't cover up enough so that you can actually go anywhere in it either. We'll make it out of fine linen, too nice to wear for workouts. And the undies look will render it inappropriate for any sort of social occasion. This will stymie everybody!"

John Kerry now an aspiring male model

Has anyone else noticed that John Kerry just looks different now? He's gone from this:

To this:

Actually, in the process of getting those pictures I saw that a lot of people have noticed: when you type "John Kerry" into Google Image, the first three things that come up following his name are "facelift," "plastic surgery," and "Botox." (That means those are the three most commonly searched queries.)

To me, it's a change for the worse. With those puffed out feminine cheeks he looks less masculine. He looks less tough. He even looks less intelligent somehow.

(In the shot above, he looks like Grandma Kerry showing how big Grandpa Kerry's member used to be.)

I can't imagine his plastic surgeon is going to be displaying those before and after shots as one of his success stories in an effort to entice new customers.

What exactly was Kerry hoping to accomplish with that surgery? He always wanted to evoke the Kennedy's; he still does, although he now resembles late stage Teddy more than any of the others.

The one good thing he has accomplished with the surgery is that he looks less conniving. Before, he looked like the most evil, duplicitous, schemer who ever lived. He could have been picked by Central Casting to play Iago, or Machiavelli, or any number of want-to-take-over-the-world-type villains.

But wouldn't it have made more sense to get surgery before his Presidential run in 2004? It's not as if he's ever going to run for elective office again.

Could it be that as Secretary of State, he now wants to put foreign leaders off their guard? His previous face was certainly enough to scare anyone. (Though the new one is just as scary, in a different sort of way.)

The larger question is, what does this surgery say about Kerry? The first thing it says about him is that he's a liar, since he denies having had any work done. (He's literally now a big fat liar, with that face.)

What kind of guy gets plastic surgery at age 69? Did Kerry finally tire of having people describe him as looking like an undertaker? Did he think that he would be putting a friendlier face on the USA? Did he think that he would get more women this way?

It's a mystery to me.

All I know is that every time I see him on TV, I find it hard to concentrate on his words, and just find myself staring at his face.

If I were interviewing him, I'd probably say, "Okay, okay, go ahead and bomb Syria -- but what the hell happened to your face?!"

Fast food workers and the minimum wage

Most readers of this blog probably reacted instinctively against the fast food workers who went on strike last week, seeing them as part of the Left -- which they are -- and therefore as part of the problem. That was my reaction as well.

After all, higher minimum wages mean lower profits for corporations and fewer entry level jobs. And raising the minimum wage would go against the principle of free markets.

But no one should lose sight of the fact that employees at a place like McDonald's are working. They are choosing to work and earn money and pay taxes rather than just go on welfare or deal drugs. And for many, those are their only options. So these workers should be encouraged, not discouraged.

If raising the minimum wage is what it takes, maybe that's the answer.

Fast food workers are not like pampered United Auto Workers with self-serving no-work rules, lavish pensions, and, according to Obama's definition, "Cadillac" health care plans. They have jobs that can only be described as lousy.

There will always be tension between labor and management. Management's goal is to be as profitable as possible, and labor's goal is the highest-paying job possible. These aims are often at odds, but that is a healthy tension that makes businesses efficient. And ultimately, it makes this country strong.

I've seen too many analyses of how people who milk the system and get every possible government benefit have a higher standard of living than those who work at low level jobs. With that kind of incentive, who would opt to work for minimum wage?

Even worse is the way the welfare system in this country is set up: women too dumb and irresponsible to do anything else are basically paid to have babies. That's the long term death knell for this country.

In 2011 I announced that I was running for President, and outlined my platform here and here and here.  Much to my surprise, my campaign never took off. But I did distinguish myself in one respect: I became the first announced Presidential candidate to throw his hat in the ring and then, basically, just forget that he was running.

In any case, in that third link above this is what I said about corporate pay:

The highest paid employee of a company ought not to be paid more than forty times what lowest paid employee is -- which is the way it was forty years ago. And stock options and bonuses will be counted as part of their pay. This would not prevent an Edwin Land or a Bill Gates of a Steve Jobs or a Bill Hewlett or a David Packard or a Henry Ford from becoming fabulously wealthy, as they all deserved to be. They got rich by founding companies which they then grew. But it would prevent corporate climbers from taking advantage of a company's shareholders. These types tend to rise by virtue of their skill at corporate politicking, then tell us that their presence is invaluable to the company, and reward themselves outrageously. I have a hard time lying back and enjoying it when I get raped this way.

I have not changed my mind about this, despite the fact that it is actually an extremely Leftist position (too much so for most Democrats). We've all heard how back in the 1970's CEO's used to be paid roughly thirty times as much as the average factory worker, and now some of them get paid upwards of a thousand times as much. Have CEO's gotten that much better? Do they now put in 1000 times as many hours as factory workers? Are their IQ's 1000 times as high?

Maybe the solution is what I suggested in my platform above, which would both decrease CEO pay and increase the lowest paid employees' pay. And that should be combined, as I stated elsewhere in my platform, with a program to wean people off welfare both by turning it into workfare and by making the payments contingent upon taking some form of effective birth control.

A country with such huge wage disparities is as unsustainable as a country with ever increasing numbers of people on welfare.

In any case, and this is the main point of this post, there is no reason to resent the fast food workers. They just want to do an honest day's labor (unlike the welfare freeloaders) for an honest day's wage (unlike many corporate CEO's).

The next best thing

I just went to pick up my car from the local mechanic (Precision Performance, which is far more reasonable than the auto dealership when it comes to maintenance). There was a 1968 Pontiac GTO there being worked on. I went over to take a closer look at it. Up close it didn't look quite as good as it did from a distance; it was sort of a living reminder of how much safer and more efficient cars have become. Still, there was something cool about seeing a car from another era.

Occasionally on weekends in my hometown you'll see guys driving around in vintage cars, like that one, or Mustangs from the 1960's. These guys are inevitably white haired, and it's pretty obvious what's going on.

They fell in love with these cars in their youth, back when they couldn't afford them, and could only admire them from afar. Then, once they got older and put some money aside, they got a chance to buy the car of their dreams. So you'll see these guys tooling around from time to time, living out their youthful fantasies.

I suppose it's the next best thing to getting to have sex with the girls you worshipped from afar back in high school.

"Diary bombshell: RFK's secret slams against Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, and Gov. Cuomo"

This is an interesting read. I had always thought that whatever prominence Robert F. Kennedy Jr. had attained as an environmental advocate was primarily because of his name. While that opinion hasn't changed, after reading the linked article I will no longer think of him as an airhead.

I'm not sure about the morality of the NY Post in publishing excerpts from a private diary, but in a way they did him a favor since RFK's observations about the prominent figures mentioned are all right on target.

How will the world react to Obama's Syria incursion?

In 2007 Obama criticized Bush for making plans to possibly bomb Iran without getting Congressional approval, pointing out that absent an imminent threat to the US, this was unconstitutional. Then, in 2011, Obama himself bombed Libya without getting Congressional approval.

A week ago, Obama said that he would bomb Syria. But then it turned out that he could not get UN Security Council approval, and even our staunchest ally, the United Kingdom, voted against the incursion. So Obama decided that he wanted Congressional approval, since he didn't want to take the political risk of acting unilaterally.

Of course, after seeking such approval, Obama then announced that he did not need it and even if he didn't get it might go ahead and bomb Syria anyway.

Last year, Obama said, "A red line for us is we start seeing a whole bunch of chemical weapons moving around or being utilized.” This week, he said, "I didn't set a red line, the world set a red line." (The world has disavowed chemical weapons; but it never set a "red line" and no other world leaders are suggesting bombing Syria.)

The question is, how will Obama be perceived abroad after he gives the order for the Navy to loft a few Tomahawks in Syria's direction? You know, a response strong enough to send a message, but not strong enough to actually change anything (like a regime). Strong enough so as not to be mocked, but not so strong as to anger Russia or Iran. Strong enough to make it look to the American people as if he is good on his word, but not so strong as to do too much damage.

Will Obama be perceived as a strong leader?

Here are some of the reactions I expect:

Vladimir Putin: "Wow, I thought Barack was just a big pussy. Boy, was I ever wrong. When he ordered those Tomahawks in, it sure opened my eyes. He is one tough hombre. You know me, I'm into machismo, but I'm nothing compared to Barack. I wish instead of growing up in Leningrad competing at judo and having a career in the KGB, I'd played JV basketball at Punahou, then gone to Harvard Law School and become a community organizer. Then I'd be a real man, like Barack. I mean, he may be a homosexual, but he's no pansy."

David Cameron: "I'm so ashamed that Parliament voted against supporting Barack's military adventurism. He was right, and we were wrong. They'll be making movies about this in the future. Hey, maybe if Barack is out of office by then, he can star in them as himself. Then maybe he can put those movies on an iPod and give them to Queen Elizabeth as a gift. She so appreciated his previous gift of the iPod with his speeches on it."

UN head Ban Ki-moon: "Barack was smart not to wait for our verdict. There was absolutely no chance that the rebels might have used chemical weapons in order to draw the US into the conflict and shift the tide of the war. I mean, whoever heard of such duplicity, right? And Barack was obviously right that those weapons represented an immediate threat to the United States. Today, the outskirts of Damascus; tomorrow, Bethesda."

Bashar Assad: "Now that Barack has put that airfield out of commission, I see the error of my ways. I'm now going to put down my arms and let the rebels take over. A lot of them are al Qaeda, but Barack is right, we shouldn't fight them."

Ayman al-Zawahiri: "Al Qaeda has been completely won over by Barack's statesmanlike move. We no longer see the US as the Great Satan; we now see them as our savior. In fact, a lot of us are already converting to Christianity. Personally, I can't decide whether to become a Baptist or an Episcopalian. In fact, we admire Barack so much, we've decided to stop promoting jihad and start promoting gay rights."

Jewelry

Occasionally you'll see a woman a woman wearing a piece of expensive jewelry and it's obvious she thinks her expensive bauble makes her hot stuff. I always want to ask these women, how does that necklace improve you? Does it make you wittier, or smarter, or more honest, or even better-looking? Did it cause you to lose 20 pounds? What exactly is your thought process?

They seem to feel it somehow makes them more attractive, and enhances them somehow. But it seems to diminish them more. By wearing a fancy and ostentatious piece of jewelry, they become an adjunct to it rather than the other way around.

(When some woman proudly flashes a big diamond engagement ring, I always have to repress a desire to tell her, "You remind me of Gollum in Lord of the Rings.")

In a way, it's a roundabout admission of failure: there's really nothing to admire about me, so, please, admire my jewelry instead.

An expensive watch sends the same message, since these days cheap watches tell time just as well. (Both Rolexes and Omegas are, in spirit, far more pieces of jewelry than timepieces.)

A woman who gets extremely excited over a pricey engagement ring is basically saying: my value has been affirmed! A man values me this much!

(Have you no self-worth?)

In general, the more expensive the jewelry, the cheaper the woman. Such women don't care how witty, or smart, or honest, or decent you are. They only want to know how successful you are. More important than that, how much money you have. And even more important than that, whether they can get their hands on any of your money.

(If you're a stupid-but-rich sociopath, these are the women for you.)

A woman who loves jewelry is apt to see a short, fat, ugly, well-dressed, conceited guy get out of a Ferrari and think to herself, wow, that guy is really sexy. Jewelry-lovers aren't necessarily quite as conniving as gold-diggers, but they do tend to conflate money with sexual attraction.

If having a fancy car or big house is ostentatious, wearing expensive jewelry is ten times more so. It's basically the equivalent of taking a thick wad of hundred dollar bills, encasing them in sheer plastic, and hanging them around your neck.

And if women who wear gaudy jewelry are off-putting, men who wear jewelry are even more so.

What men have traditionally worn flashy jewelry, like gold chains and pinkie rings? Mafiosi.

These days, the gangsters have been surpassed in that department by gangstas.

And gangstas have been outdone by those pretend gangstas, the rappers who have renamed such ornamentation "bling."

In all three cases, the mentality is the same: admire me for my strutting ostentation (....since there is little else to admire me for.)

Just remember, the next time you consider buying a piece of jewelry -- even one piece -- you're taking a step in the direction of Flavor Flav:

Personally, I'd sooner wear a Livestrong bracelet -- and have to tell people I still believe in Lance -- than wear a piece of jewelry.

Joke

Not sure why, but just remembered a joke from thirty years ago:

Q: What's the definition of a macho guy?

A: A guy who comes home at three in the morning, shakes his wife by the shoulder, and says, "Wake up honey, you're next."

Thirty years ago I found this joke absolutely hilarious. Looking at it now, in print, it doesn't seem quite as funny. Of course, there is no age at which women find this funny.

The truth comes out

I had, like most people, been both horrified and angered to hear of the beating death of Delbert Belton, the 88-year-old WWII veteran. Two sixteen year olds had stolen his wallet and left him with serious head injuries in a Spokane parking lot several days ago.

Initial reports described the five foot tall Belton, known to his friends as "Shorty," as a wonderful man who enjoyed fixing up old cars and who was always willing to lend a helping hand to anybody.

But the NY Post reported this morning that Kenan Adams-Kinard, one of the two 16-year-olds, now says that the reason they beat him was because Belton shorted them in a crack cocaine deal.

Ah well. Live and learn. I had naively assumed that Belton's friends were telling the truth when they initially described him as a kindly old man. Turns out they were merely covering up for just another wounded-at-Okinawa no-good crackhead.

What a "teachable moment."

"Congress should veto Obama's war"

More common sense from Pat Buchanan.

Cheryl Cole's new tattoo

Cheryl Cole is a British singing star and television personality. (I'd never heard of her till I saw this article.) According to Wikipedia, she is also a fashionista, and FHM has put her at the top of its 100 Sexiest Women in the World list twice. Two fairly recent shots:

Now she has a new tattoo:

I criticized tattoos in general here, in 2009. But Cole's tattoo goes far above and beyond -- or rather below and beyond -- most ink.

What Cole doesn't seem to understand is, men are aroused by the sight of naked female bottoms. Naked female bottoms. But she has now transmogrified hers so that even when naked, it will seem partially covered. And when the magical moment does arrive, the tattoo will be just plain disconcerting.

The only thing worse than pulling down a woman's slacks and discovering that monstrous tattoo would be pulling them down to discover a penis.

That tattoo fairly screams: Look at me! Aren't I cool? Admire me! Now!

This is not an enticing message. The sweet little girl persona Cole reportedly employs will now be a bit less convincing.

There are probably a few men who like their women covered with tats. But they are in the minority. The majority will probably find it about as attractive as the majority of women find facial tattoos on a guy:

Flower gardens can be beautiful. Women's behinds can be too. But each is appealing in a completely different way, with zero overlap. Why conflate the two? (Does Cole think that with these tattoos in place her behind will always smell like a rose garden?)

I know of men who are attracted to other men. I know of men who are attracted to children. I know of men who are attracted to lingerie. I even know of men who are attracted to animals. But I've never heard of a man who is sexually attracted to roses.

The whole thing wouldn't be quite so tragic if Cole hadn't had such a nice tush to begin with. It's a little like drawing a Van Dyke beard and sunglasses on the Mona Lisa.

And frankly, Mona Lisa wasn't nearly as good-looking.

Although Mona probably had more sense: we'll never know for sure, but it's highly unlikely she had a gigantic tattoo on her ass.

"5 Hormones That Determine How You Look and How to Control Them"

This is actually a great summary of the most recent research on how to influence the hormones which determine your body composition.

It's written for men, but some of the principles apply to women as well.

Androbolix

I've recently started to take a supplement you can get over the counter at GNC, called Androbolix. It's supposed to be a testosterone precursor, i.e., it's not anything that's illegal athletically, it's just a mixture of herbs and seeds (testofen, fenugreek, etc.) that are supposed to convert more readily into testosterone than most foods do.

So far I haven't noticed any positive changes. My muscles are still barely visible to the naked eye, and my sex drive is such ancient history that there hasn't even been a perceptible placebo effect.

The one effect that I have noticed, however, is that I am now, at age 59, getting zits.

Hey, at least that's something.

At a certain level, I should probably be proud that I can still get them at my age. In fact, just this morning I noticed some new soreness around my right nostril.

We all have to have something to take pride in.

And even if I am a sexless little wimp, at least I feel young again!

Perhaps if I keep taking this stuff -- which I plan to -- the next effect will be that I will revert to the overwhelming awkwardness of my youth. (As opposed to the sporadic variety I currently suffer from.)

Who knows, maybe after that I'll even start believing liars again, as I did in my tender years.

I have much to look forward to.

Elmore Leonard, RIP

Elmore Leonard, the great Westerns and crime novelist, died on Tuesday at age 87.

I said what I had to say about him here, back in May of 2009, and don't have much to add. The most fitting tribute is probably just an excerpt from one of his books anyway. This is from Chapter Four of Gold Coast:

    They let him do the work, yes, because no one walked into a room and faced people the way Roland did.
    Into 410 of the Ocean Monarch high-rise condominium on the beach, Jesus Diaz behind him, into the big living room of the apartment with the expensive furniture, where the four young guys were sitting with their beer cans and music and the smell of grass -- a heavy smell even with the sliding door open to the balcony.
    Arnold Rapp, the one they came to see, let them in, looked them over, turned and walked back to the couch. Jesus Diaz closed the door behind them. He liked the loud funk-rock music. He didn't like the way the four young guys were at ease and didn't seem to be scared. Yes, stoned, but it was more than that. They lounged, sitting very low on the couch and the chairs, no shoes on, each with long hair. They looked like bums, Jesus Diaz thought, and maybe Roland was right. Rich kids, yes, who didn't give a shit about anything. Man, a place like this, view of the ocean, swimming pool downstairs -- these guys laying around drinking beer like they just came off a shift, not offering anything, waiting, like Roland was here to explain something or ask for a job.
    Roland said, "Your mommy home?"
    They grinned at him. Arnold said, "No, no mommy, just us kids."
    Roland said, "Well now, who're your cute little friends, Arnie?"
    Arnold said "Well now" -- imitating Roland's cracker accent, getting some of the soft twang -- "This here is Barry. That there're Scott and Kenny."
    The young guys -- they were about in their mid-twenties -- snickered and giggled.
    The one called Barry, trying the accent, said, "And who be you be?"
    It broke them up, "Who be you be." The guys laughing and repeating it, Jesus, who-be-you-be. They thought it was pretty funny.
    Roland walked over to the hi-fi. He brushed the stylus off the record and the funk-rock stopped with a painful scratching sound.
    Arnold straightened up. "Jesus Christ, what are you doing?"
    "Getting your attention," Roland said.
    Barry was still grinning. He said, "Who-be-you-be, man?" And one of the others said, "He's the who-be-you-be man. Comes in, who-be-you-bes your records all up."
    "No, I'm the man's man," Roland said. "Sent me to ask you what happened to the five hundred and forty thousand dollars, I believe is the figure."
    "It's in the municipal incinerator," Arnold said.
    The one named Barry said, 'We already told it, man. Ask him."
    Roland tilted up his Ox Bow straw. He walked out to the open balcony with its open view of the Atlantic Ocean and leaned on the rail a moment.
    Jesus Diaz stood where he was in the middle of the room, watching Roland, hearing the young guys say something like "Hey partner" and something about riding here on a fucking horse, and another one saying, "A fucking bucking bronco, man," and all of them giggling again.
    Roland came back in. He said to Arnold, "How about you tell me what you told him."
    "Coast Guard picked up the boat in international waters and brought it into Boca Chica," Arnold said. "He knows all about that. The pot went to Customs and they burned it up."
    "Pot went to pot," Barry said.
    "The crew, the three guys, were turned over to Drug Enforcement," Arnold said. "Your man is out the five hundred and forty grand and there's nothing I can do about it."
    "It's a high fucking risk business," Barry said, "anytime you get two hundred percent on your investment it's got to be."
    "Two and a half," Arnold said.
    Right, two and a half," Barry said. "You know it's high risk going in, man, if you're not stupid."
    Roland walked over to where Barry was lounged in his chair. He said, "Is that right, little fella? You know all about high risk, do you? Stand up here, let me have a look at you."
    "Jesus Christ," Barry said, sounding bored. "Why don't you take a fucking walk?"
    Roland pulled Barry up by his hair, drew him out of the chair and an agonized sound from Barry's throat, telling him to hush up, turned him around and got a tight grip on the waist of Barry's pants that brought him to his toes, Levis digging into the crack of his ass.
    Jesus Diaz reached behind him, beneath his jacket -- to the same place Roland was gripping the guy's pants -- and brought out a Browning automatic, big .45, and put it on the other three guys, sitting up, maybe about to jump Roland.
    Roland said "See it?" without even looking, knowing Jesus had the piece on them. "Now tell me about high risk," Roland said to Barry, walking him toward the open balcony, the other three guys rigid, afraid to move. "You want me to tell you," Roland said, bringing the young guy to the opening in the sliding glass doors. "Fact is, I'll show you boy, the highest risk you ever saw." And ran him out on the balcony, gripping him, raising him by his hair and pants and grunting hard as he threw the young guy screaming over the rail of the fourth floor balcony.
     Someone in the room cried out, "Jesus -- no!"
    There was silence.
    Jesus Diaz held the gun on them, not looking at the balcony.
    Roland stood at the rail, leaning over it, resting on his arms.
    When he came back in adjusting his hat he said, "That boy was lucky, you know it? He hit in the swimming pool. He's moving slow, but he's moving. People gonna say, my, what do those boys do up there? Must get all likkered up, huh?" Roland paused, looking at Arnold and Scott and Kenny sitting there like stones. He said, "Now, who-be-you-be, who be's gonna answer my question without getting smart-aleck and giggling like little kids? You see what I do to smart kids, huh. Next one might hit the concrete, mightn't he?"
    "The name of the boat in the paper was Salsa," Arnold said quietly. "The same one I hired, I know, because I saw it in Key West two weeks ago."
    "And the Coast Guard cutter hauled it in was the Diligence," Roland said. "Same thing I'm gonna use till you pay us back the five hundred and forty thousand. You can take your time, Arnie, we're reasonable folks. Long as you understand the vig's fifty-four grand a week, standard ten percent interest."
    Arnold began to nod, very serious. "We'll pay you, don't worry."
    Roland said, "Do I look worried?"
 
    He said to Jesus, in the car, driving away from the beach, "I told you, didn't I, them dinks'd pull something."
    "But they weren't lying to you," Jesus Diaz said. "It was the same boat was picked up."
    'Oh my oh my, you don't understand shit, do you?" Roland drove in silence to the federal highway, US 1, went through the light and pulled over to the curb. "Out you go, partner."
     Jesus looked around. "What am I supposed to do here?"
    "Hitch a ride or take a cab, I don't give a shit. I'm going up to Lauderdale."
    Roland was looking at himself in the rearview mirror, squaring his new Ox Bow wheat-colored straw.

Elmore Leonard, the one and only. No one had a better ear for dialogue, or a better feel for sociopaths. RIP.

Usain Bolt's appeal

Usain Bolt has been in news again recently, with his three gold medals at the World Track and Field Championships in Moscow last week. I didn't catch the meet on TV, but, having read about his triumphs, was moved to watch a couple of videos of him on Youtube. (The ones of him dancing are always amusing.)

I then stumbled across this biopic of him. Although it's interesting, and captures his natural appeal, it's also a little propagandistic. At one point in the movie, it shows him at home in Kingston, playing dominoes with some of his friends, with a few girls laughing in the background. The narrator then intones, "And that's about as wild as it gets." Somehow I doubt that. (Other Youtube videos pretty much give the lie to that claim.)

The movie also makes him out to be an extremely hard worker, which has never quite been his reputation. At one point, it shows him on his hands and knees throwing up in practice. This scene looks staged. It looks as if Bolt is merely spewing out some Gatorade, and when his coach, Glen Mills, asks him if he's okay, Mills has a semi-smile on his face, as if to say, "Okay, I'll play along with this little charade that the director asked for, but I do feel sheepish about it."

But even if the movie is somewhat staged, it still manages to capture Bolt's appeal and his incredible popularity, both of which are completely real. Wherever he goes, he is greeted by huge throngs of adoring, screaming fans. Meet directors know that his presence will guarantee a huge gate.

Part of Bolt's appeal, of course, is that he is a double world record holder. But Haile Gebrselassie and Kenenisa Bekele, both from Ethiopia, were also recent double world record holders and Olympic champions, and neither ever generated a tenth the enthusiasm Bolt does, at least among non-hardcore track fans.

Some of that has to do with the fact that the sprints are more glamorous, dramatic events: the title "world's fastest man" carries more weight than "world's most enduring man." And watching a 100 meter dash, unlike, say, a 10,000 meter run, requires little patience.

But most of the difference can be attributed to Bolt himself. It always helps to be good-looking, and he is. (Steve Sailer once pointed out that Bolt has the head of an East African perched on a West African body.) His height and distinctive rollicking gait allow you to pick him out from across a stadium, always a plus for the charisma quotient. He also doesn't have the kind of swollen-looking body which screams steroids, as so many of his competitors do.

Mostly the crowds love his playfulness. He strikes a variety of humorous poses. He pretends to be an airplane. He shadow boxes. He makes faces. And he is loose enough to do these things in the last minute before a race. At a time when most of us would be so nervous that any attempt at a smile would emerge as a grimace, Bolt is mugging for the camera and obviously enjoying himself. Two weeks ago in Moscow, he pretended to be opening up an umbrella as a response to the heavy rain at the start of the 100.

After his races, Bolt expresses joy more eloquently than any other athlete I've ever seen. It's not a vituperative joy, where he wags his finger admonishingly at a disbelieving media, or shakes his fist in an "I beat these bastards but good" sort of way. It's more unalloyed: he continues to run after the race is over, prances over to congratulate his teammates, high fives all the fans who stick their hands out, hugs the mascot who is on the field, does the latest dance steps from Jamaica, and obligingly strikes his trademark archer pose. (This pose is, at heart, an exercise in self-mockery.)

Some of Bolt's gestures actually border on vamping, as when he "combs" his hair or smooths out his eyebrows for the camera. Most men would feel uncomfortable acting so fey, afraid that it might somehow compromise their masculinity. But Bolt feels no need to act macho.

Likewise, Bolt sees no benefit -- or obligation -- to act "dignified." (What did dignity ever get anyone, especially since the kind that is strived for is by definition false anyway?)

Finally, Bolt seems to have no political agenda. He doesn't see himself as a spokesman for "the oppressed." From the various Youtube clips, it's obvious he's most comfortable with other blacks; but he seems to hold no animus against whites.

You can't be an effective clown prince if you are burdened by machismo, or dignity, or an agenda. Bolt is blissfully free of these, which accounts for the twinkle in his eye as well as his step.

Jobs

The movie Jobs was supposed to have been a hagiography of Steve Jobs. But there must have been something in it that gave his true nature away, because a lot of people have been coming to this blog after Googling, "Was Steve Jobs a sociopath?"

If you Google search that question, my recent post on the subject will come up on the first page, but there are also a number of people who claim he was not. I took a look at some of those boards, and found that most of them do not understand sociopathy.

Anyway, I'm happy for the traffic, and also gratified that the movie wasn't quite the whitewash I'd been led to believe.

"Whores have more interesting backstories"

A young man mentioned to me recently that whores almost always have more interesting life histories than did the regular girls he met. I'd never thought about it before, but it's probably true.

Who is more interesting:

Girl A: Was brought up in a nice middle class home, father was a middle manager at a Fortune 500 company, mother was a homemaker. She studied hard, played field hockey, went to the University of Connecticut, and is now as an assistant product manager at Proctor & Gamble. She stays in touch with her circle of friends from college and has recently taken up triathlons. Occasionally goes clubbing.

Girl B: Was brought up on the outskirts of the Everglades. Her father was a fisherman and part time alligator poacher. (She helped him skin the alligators.) When she was 11, her father was killed by a water moccasin bite. Her mother later spent time in jail for transporting a controlled substance, which she did at the behest of her meth dealer boyfriend. While the mother was in jail, the boyfriend raped the girl, then 17. It didn't occur to the girl to press charges, but she did later steal some meth from him and sold it herself. With the money she got from that, she moved to Miami and got a job as a cocktail waitress, then soon discovered she could earn more by hooking on the side.

I realize that this sounds as if I'm romanticizing poverty in a particularly elitist way, making the poor girl's life sound almost appealing, when there's really nothing good about it. Any sane person given a choice would obviously choose to lead Girl A's life.

And to anybody who grew up in poverty, Girl A actually had the more exotic, intriguing background.

Still, most of us would probably be more impressed by the resourcefulness and toughness of Girl B than of Girl A.

I suppose that making this comparison is a little like pointing out that Ted Bundy has a more interesting backstory than the average well loved middle class child. The average child did not have a grandfather who swung a cat around by its tail and bashed its brains out against a wall. And the average child is not told that his unmarried mother is merely his older sister. Such a background is, of course, more interesting, but unfortunately the end result can be Ted Bundy.

Likewise, most prostitutes are hardly role models for well-adjusted, healthy lives either. Many are dysfunctional because of their abused backgrounds, and many are just plain too dumb to do much of anything else. (And this is ignoring those who were tricked or coerced into prostitution.)

All this said, the young man still had a good point: people who've had to scramble to survive have usually led far more interesting -- and often, admirable -- lives than those whose biggest worry in life has been their GPA.

Descriptive names

In the recent post on Westminster Abbey I mentioned that all English kings up through William the Conqueror (for instance, Ethelred the Unready and Edward the Confessor) were given descriptive titles rather than numbers after their names.

It's unfortunate that this tradition was not continued, as such names are far more informative than, say, George III or Elizabeth II.

To those of us unacquainted with Russian history, the name Ivan Vasilyevich probably does not ring a bell. But when we hear "Ivan the Terrible," the name he is better known by, we not only recognize him but feel as if we already know a little about him.

As it turns out, Ivan actually gets mixed reviews for his long reign, and many historians claim that his original Russian sobriquet, grozny, is more accurately translated as "fearsome" or "formidable" than as the more pejorative "terrible."

Still, personally, had I been Mr. Vasilyevich, I'd have preferred to be known to history as "the Terrible" than by my surname.

There are other historical figures, however, such as Vlad the Impaler, who were fully deserving of their descriptive names. (Impalement was actually his favorite method of execution, and his victims were said to number in the tens of thousands.)

If only modern politicians had more descriptive names. What are family names, after all? They carry no more meaning than numbers do. And getting rid of them would help eliminate nepotism, and political dynasties.

Take our current President. Were the mainstream media to anoint him, he would probably become known as Barack the Savior. A more clear-eyed view might result in Barack the Con-man, or Barack the Narcissist.

However, as they say, history is written by the victors, so for now we'll have to accept the Savior.

Other recent Presidents could also be given such titles:

George W. Bush could be known as George the Heir (to denote his primary qualification for the office).

Bill Clinton could be known as William the Slick, a variation on a nickname he's already been given. Or, perhaps, Bill of Goods, to signify what he sold us. Or, William the Affect-hungry Sociopath.

George H. W. Bush could be called George the Accidental, an explanation of how he rose to the Presidency.

And so on.

Such names could extend beyond the Presidency. Harry Reid might be called Harry the Obstreperous.  Nancy Pelosi, Nancy the Know-Nothing. John Kerry, as John the Conniver. Hillary the Hanger-On (to her husband's coattails). Newt the Unembarrassable.

In the old days, such names consisted of one word. This could be limiting. It's a little hard to capture Ron Paul without calling him something like Ron the Crotchety Old Foreteller of Doom -- which is not exactly a prescription for a successful candidacy nowadays.

Foreigners could be given such titles as well. Silvio (Berlusconi) the Self-Indulgent. Blair the Bland. Merkel the Sober Purse-keeper. And so on.

And we needn't to limit ourselves to politicians. Some showbiz types scream out for such names. Lindsay the Addict. Oprah the Mighty. Arnold the Austrian Accent. Johnny (Depp) the Chameleon.

Athletes could use such names as well. Though, once again, restricting it to one word could be a little limiting. OJ The Formerly Popular Heisman Trophy Winner Who Got Away with Murder is far more informative than OJ the Killer. Though the latter would suffice.

The only problem is, there are too many celebrities and not enough words to go around. (A thousand years ago, there wasn't quite the same media saturation.) Once you'd anointed Barack the Narcissist and Bill the Sociopath, how many other people for whom those names would be apt would be left without an appropriate descriptive title?

Bradley Manning's extenuating circumstances

The NY Post this morning reported that Pfc Bradley Manning's defense lawyers have pleaded with the court for leniency on the grounds that Manning is gay: 

A defense psychiatrist, Navy Reserve Capt. David Moulton, testified that Manning has "gender dysphoria," or the desire to be the opposite sex. Tuesday, the court-martial hearing heard how Manning, who is gay, indicated his torment in April 2010 when he sent an e-mail to Master Sgt. Paul Adkins. It bore the subject line that read “My Problem.” Attached to it was the photo Manning took of himself in a blond wig.

Yesterday, Capt. Michael Worsley, who treated Manning during his deployment in Iraq, described how Manning’s job stress was compounded by being in a “hyper-masculine environment” of a combat zone. “Being in the military and having a gender-identity issue does not exactly go hand in hand,” Worsley said.

IF Manning's homosexuality, as his defense lawyers argue, contributed to the state of mind which caused him to betray his country, and IF the court accepts this as a legitimate reason for leniency, then it is also an argument against allowing gays in the military. 

I've always supported gays in the military, and never saw their sexuality as reason enough to exclude them. 

But you can't have it both ways. If Manning's homosexuality contributed directly to his treasonous frame of mind, then maybe it's time to reconsider. 

(My feeling: it's not an excuse, gays should remain in the military, and Manning should receive a harsh sentence. But if similar cases pile up -- which I doubt will happen -- then it is time to reconsider.)

Date rape drug-detecting cup

Evidently a company called DrinkSavvy has developed a plastic cup which will change color when exposed to the three most common date rape drugs, GHB, ketamine, and rohypnol.

It sounds like a great idea.

I spoke to a college girl last spring who told me that she personally knew two different girls who had been fed such a drug and subsequently been taken advantage of. When I asked why the guys who had done it were not in jail, she said that the girls in such situations never wanted to press charges because they knew they would have their own reputations savaged in court and they didn't want to deal with that, plus they didn't want their parents to know what they'd been up to.

I can understand that, but it is a pity, because by all rights, any guy who'd drug a girl that way ought to be put away. In any case, this new plastic cup is a great idea.

I can think of only one drawback. It's easy to imagine a girl having drink after drink with a guy, and, as long as the cup doesn't change color, figuring she can trust him.

But what kind of shape will she be in after eight or so drinks? Hasn't alcohol been the traditional drug of choice among men ever since humans discovered fermentation?

Just sayin', a monochromatic cup could easily lull a coed into a false sense of security.

("Wow, he's bought me eight drinks and not one of them has changed the color of my cup....What a nice guy....Hmm, I seem to be in a really good mood....You know, I never realized how good he looks before this evening....I think I'll invite him back to my apartment.")