Confessions of a beta male Part VII: Being one's self

The question of your alpha status often boils down to, are you doing what you want to do, and do you ever feel compelled to act in any way which does not reflect the real you?

An alpha male is perfectly comfortable in his own skin. Mine usually feels about two sizes too small -- or too big -- depending on the situation.

If hanging out with some toughs, an alpha just acts like himself. I try to pretend to be tough. (While fooling no one.)

If I'm with a group of guys who ooh and aah over a woman I don't consider attractive, I feel obliged to at least ooh along. An alpha says, "That beast? Are you kidding me?!" with such forceful conviction that it causes the others to reevaluate their original opinions.

If I'm asked to attend something I don't like, for instance the opera, I sometimes knuckle under. An alpha just says no.

If an alpha somehow ends up at that opera anyway, he will slump back in his seat and fall asleep. I fidget uncomfortably in my seat and look around to see if there's anyone else who looks as bored as I feel.

If an alpha is with some rich people, he'll think, what a bunch of spoiled scumbags. I just feel poor.

If an alpha is with some intellectuals, he'll think, what a bunch of pretentious asswipes. I'll start using phrases like "as it were" and "Correct me if I'm wrong, but..."

If I get invited to a Super Bowl party, I'll sit quietly at the end of the couch, hoping that my lack of football knowledge isn't too apparent. An alpha will plop himself down in the middle of the couch and ask for the remote so he can change the channel.

If I'm with a group who is bemoaning, say, the tsunami which hit Japan, I'll at least pay lip service to the horror of the tragedy. An alpha will say, "Did you see the way that thing lifted up those cars like they were little toy boats in a bathtub? It was freaking awesome!"

If I'm stuck talking to a boring person at a cocktail party, I'll continue talking to him in an effort to be agreeable. An alpha will just walk off when that person is mid-sentence.

If a woman asks me if I think that dress makes her look fat, I automatically reply, "No, not at all." An alpha just shrugs and says, "Whaddaya expect, a miracle?"

If I have dinner with a recovering alcoholic, I'll abstain out of consideration. An alpha will order drinks for both of them.

When I'm going to a party, I make sure not to get there late, because I don't want to be rude. At the same time, I don't get there too early, so as not to appear overly eager. So I appear promptly at ten minutes past the invite time. An alpha just gets there whenever he gets there.

If I'm the oddball in any way at any sort of gathering, I do my best to hide that and blend in. If an alpha is the odd man out in a group of 100, he wonders why the other 99 are so weird.

What is a courageous game show host?

As a long time viewer of Jeopardy, I couldn't help but feel a small thrill of pride after reading this article:

http://www.nypost.com./p/news/national/jeopardy_host_alex_trebek_injured_feosyQ6Nju9Wl273vmEFNK

Addendum, two hours later: turns out it was a 56-year-old woman he was chasing; maybe not quite as courageous after all.

Observations Thus Far

For swimming fans only:

http://www.swimmingworldmagazine.com/lane9/news/27669.asp?q=FINA-World-Championships,-Swimming:-Observations-Thus-Far

Justice?

Just read that Norway has a maximum penalty -- for any crime -- of 21 years in prison. That means that for each of the 93 people he killed, Anders Behring Bleivik will spend a maximum of about ten weeks in prison.

Here's another way to look at it. When an older person is killed, fewer years are being stolen from him. But almost all of Bleivik's victims were very young, mostly teenagers just starting out on their lives. And their grieving parents, brothers, sisters, and grandparents will have to live with that loss for the rest of their lives.

So for each of those young people who had maybe six decades stolen from them, and for each of their families whose lives have been torn asunder, Bleivik will pay a penalty of roughly ten weeks.

Bleivik was right about one thing: Norway is far too liberal.

Wiki entry on Bleivik

Wikipedia now has an entry on Bleivik which shows a much more complex portrayal. The relevant entries:

Acting national police chief Sveinung Sponheim told public broadcaster NRK that the suspected gunman's Internet postings "suggest that he has some political traits directed toward the right, and anti-Muslim views, but whether that was a motivation for the actual act remains to be seen". After being apprehended, Breivik was characterized by officials as being a right-wing extremist. Breivik is described by the newspaperVerdens Gang as considering himself a conservative nationalist. He...is reported to have written many posts described as "Islam-critical and Israel-friendly." He is a former member of the right-wing Progress Party (FrP) and its youth wing FpU...

According to media reports, he identifies himself as an admirer of Winston Churchill and Max Manus, and also of Dutch politician Geert Wilders. Breivik has also identified himself as "pro-gay and pro-Israel".

Pro-gay and pro-Israel? Strange, the New York Times account this morning identified him -- in the first paragraph -- only as a Christian fundamentalist with ties to far right groups. They musta just forgot the other parts. 

Addendum, two hours later: the pro-gay refererence has already been scrubbed from the Wikipedia entry. In my experience, gays are always trying to claim their club is bigger than it is, but I guess this is one guy they didn't want as a member.

"New York's a Lonely Town"

"...when you're the only surfer boy around." 

For 46 years I had assumed this 1965 song was by the Beach Boys:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71RIRLL1vPw&feature=related

But it's not. I just found out today it was by a group called the Tradewinds, from Providence, Rhode Island.

The music sounds as beautiful as something Brian Wilson might have composed, and the lyrics are certainly in keeping with Beach Boys themes of the era. But the Tradewinds probably never even stepped onto a surfboard.

 Then again, neither did the Beach Boys.

Federal Man

The previous post raised questions about the new codes at some colleges mandating that women who've had a couple of drinks are incapable of consenting to a sexual encounter. These codes will undoubtedly spark heated debate.

But in the meantime, a college student who wants to stay on the right side of the new federal guidelines should behave like this:

Joe College (looking up from his book in his dorm room): Oh hi Sally, how are you?

Sally Coed: (giving him a meaningful look): I'm good. (She walks up to him and starts to massage his shoulders.) "So Joe....You wanna take a break from studying?"

Joe: Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?

Sally: Yeah, I was just at that wine and cheese reception they were having for the new dean.

Joe: Then I'm afraid I'll have to abstain from the kind of "break" I think you're suggesting.

Sally: (giggling) You've never refrained before!

Joe: Yes, but Sally, you're obviously no longer capable of making a sober decision, and I don't want to sexually assault you.

Sally: What? I had one little glass of wine!

Joe: Which has rendered you incapable of giving consent.

Sally: OK, I get it, that new rule, haha, very funny. Now come on, I'm really in the mood.

Joe: I'm serious -- you can't consent now. 

Sally: (still playful) Consent? I'm propositioning you, you little f**kwad!

Joe: And I must in good conscience say no.

Sally: You are kidding, right?

Joe: No.

Sally: Joe, c'mon, I really want to. Pleeeease? That little thing  you do with your tongue....I love it so much!

Joe: I have no idea what you're babbling about.

Sally: You know exactly what I'm talking about -- you know it drives me crazy.....Come on Joe, don't be so difficult.

Joe College: Hmmph! That alcohol you consumed has obviously robbed you of any sense of judgment.

Sally: For the last time -- please, I'm begging you.

Joe: Sally, I'm afraid if you don't stop harassing me I'm going to have to report you to the Dean of Students.

Sally: (pulling up her shirt) Are you going to report these to the Dean as well? You know you love them!

Joe: Sally, I'm afraid the answer is no.

Sally: Guess I'm just going to have to find a new boyfriend.

Undoubtedly, due to the new federal regulations, scenes like this will play themselves out on college campuses across the nation.

Justice at last!

Sex codes on campus

This article in today's NY Post about the new campus sex codes decreeing that if you have sex with your date after she's had a drink or two, you're guilty of sexual assault:

http://www.nypost.com./p/news/opinion/opedcolumnists/the_feds_mad_assault_on_campus_sex_zjUl29Y8d3NmoYOkKchblO

This new code raises some other questions. If both parties are drunk, does it still count as sexual assault? If a sober woman beds a drunken man, is she then guilty of assault?

Certainly an experienced drinker will be able to function better after a few drinks than a virtual teetotaler. Will that be taken into account?

Will intelligence be taken into account? If each drink takes approximately seven points of IQ from a person (my theory), wouldn't a person with an IQ of 150 who's had three drinks still be able to make a better decision than someone who starts off with a 110 IQ who's had only one?

And what if the two people have hooked up before, and one just happens to get drunk this time around? What if they've been in a long term relationship?

How many more false rape claims will this engender?

Sociopath alert: Lenny Dykstra

This article in today's Times about Lenny Dykstra shows once again that the more you know about a sociopath, the more evidence you get of his sociopathy (italics mine). A few excerpts:

Once-Celebrated Recklessness Leads to Dykstra’s Financial Fall

By Harvey Araton

LOS ANGELES — Before promoting a single stock or venturing into the perilous world of magazine publishing, Lenny Dykstra lived the good life, essentially risk-free. He signed autographs, shook hands and banked the profits from his car-wash business.

Lenny Dykstra in June after he was arraigned on charges of auto theft and drug possession in San Fernando, Calif.

A life once brimming with unbridled energy and flush with cash has ground to a bankrupt halt. Dykstra’s wife of 23 years — the mother of his three sons — divorced him. His mother and brothers are estranged from him.

Sociopaths end up alienating just about everybody.

Not long ago, Dykstra was the proud owner of an $18.5 million mansion in Thousand Oaks, Calif., which he purchased in 2007 from Wayne Gretzky. But since early June, home has been a Los Angeles County jail in a part of the city with no ocean views and where bail bondsmen storefronts outnumber palm trees.

Dykstra, 48, faces federal charges of bankruptcy fraud and obstruction of justice, along with state charges of identify theft, grand theft auto and possession of drugs. He has pleaded not guilty to all counts and recently boasted to his 5,500-plus followers on Twitter, “With your support, I will have my day!” The promise, alas, was a come-on for financial contributions as Dykstra, who three years ago listed his net worth as $58 million, has been unable to post $500,000 bail and has been appointed a public defender in the federal case.

Sociopaths are always looking for their next scam.

Even his authenticity on Twitter was suspect: the post was made by Dan Herman, a 26-year-old Phillies fan who idolized Dykstra as a boy, claims to be his business manager and said he was working on a Dykstra documentary to raise money for his legal defense fund. In a telephone interview, Herman characterized Dykstra as a well-meaning victim of “unscrupulous people” who tried to take advantage of his celebrity and of overzealous law enforcement officials in Los Angeles. 

Sociopaths often keep a naive young fan nearby to sing their praises and do their bidding.

In May 1991, driving with his Phillies teammate Darren Daulton and with nearly double the legal blood-alcohol limit, Dykstra crashed his speeding car sideways into a tree, seriously injuring both of them. Two months earlier he was placed on a year’s probation by Commissioner Fay Vincent after admitting to losing $78,000 in high-stakes poker games in Mississippi.

High stakes gambling and reckless driving are both yellow flags: because sociopaths have higher thresholds of excitement, these activities appeal to them.

Within baseball’s ultracompetitive environment, Dykstra was practically iconic among peers for his take-no-prisoners ferocity, Ojeda said. The demands of the game, he added, left no time to worry about possible long-term behavioral trends and effects. “The truth was that we despised the guys who worried about their longevity, about getting hurt, and there were more guys with the same attitude as Lenny on our ’86 championship team than with any group I’ve ever been around,” Ojeda said.

"Take no prisoners" is a phrase often used in reference to sociopaths. And in some environments, a sociopath's risk-taking approach is lionized.

The problem was that Dykstra had long been conditioned to dismiss those who told him he was too small at 5 feet 10 inches and 160 pounds to be a major league center fielder, much less a star. “In a sport where we were all hoping we were going to be great, he acted like he knew he was going to be great,” said Ron Darling.

That kind of bedrock faith in yourself, not thinking but knowing you're going to succeed, is another hallmark of sociopaths. 

In Class A ball, Dykstra played under his eventual Mets manager, Davey Johnson, who lectured him on the wisdom of hitting line drives, playing small ball. Dykstra heeded the advice for most of his time with the Mets, but by 1993, with Dykstra having gone to Philadelphia in a 1989 trade, his body type changed drastically.
With muscle packed onto muscle, he had career highs in home runs (19) and doubles (44) and was second in the National League’s Most Valuable Player award voting to Barry Bonds after leading the Phillies to the World Series.

...Few were surprised 11 years later when he was caught in the net cast by baseball’s investigation into anabolic steroid use. Dykstra denied it but his brother Kevin — embittered by Lenny’s divestiture of the car-wash businesses for $51 million and not paid the $4 million he claimed he had been promised — cooperated with the former senator George J. Mitchell, who headed the investigation. 

Nonsociopaths take steroids too, but a sociopath is far more likely to do so. Another yellow flag.

“Lenny’s whole thing was that he always wanted to be bigger, in every way,” Kevin Dykstra said in a telephone interview. “After baseball, he was just never happy with what he had. He had a $4 million house, but he had to get Gretzky’s house. He had nice cars, but he had to have a Maybach. He flew first class, but he wanted his own private jet.”

Sociopaths love the trappings. And they never have peace of mind.

Wayne Neilsen, who is the brother of Lenny and Kevin Dykstra’s mother, Marilyn, and also worked in the car-wash business, supported Kevin Dykstra’s claim of an equity stake in the business. “He screwed us all out of money,” Neilsen said in a telephone interview. “He didn’t do right by his family and we’ve kind of disowned him.”

Cheating other people out of their rightful money is a red flag for sociopathy; cheating your own family makes that sociopathy almost certain.

...As business became more complex, [Dykstra's] behavior became erratic and his relationships more hostile. He badgered employees all hours of the night, disavowed debts and operated on whims. By July 2009, when he filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, Dykstra was awash in multiple court actions by creditors as large as the former Washington Mutual and as small as an older brother, Brian, who sued him for back pay related to the car washes.

Dykstra was essentially operating a Ponzi scheme.

Dykstra's image and empire disintegrating, bills went unpaid and employees and even prospective employees were saddled with expenses as routine as interviews over dinner. The unluckiest employees were pressured into providing him credit card access with the promise they would be paid back with interest.

“One of the dumbest decisions I ever made, giving him my American Express card information,” said Kevin Coughlin, who left another job to become photo director for The Players Club, in part because Dykstra had been one of his favorite players. Coughlin said that Dykstra ran up tens of thousands of dollars on his card, including one $32,000 charge for a leased jet from Atlanta to Helena, Mont., where Dykstra’s son, Cutter, was playing minor league ball. Coughlin worked only 67 days for Dykstra, but it took months to recover the money.

Kevin Dykstra said Lenny used the same credit card ruse on their mother, Marilyn, and alleged that his brother invested, and lost, the $700,000 bonus his son Cutter received when he signed his first professional contract with the Milwaukee Brewers organization.

Rhetorical question: What kind of person pulls that kind of scam on his own mother? 

Asked if the family has sympathy for Lenny, or any temptation to visit him in jail, Kevin Dykstra said: “Listen, we were once a really tight family, but we still can’t believe what he did to us. You know, people used to say, oh, there are two sides to every story. Well, the results speak for themselves.” 

Add up all the yellow and red flags, and the portrait of a sociopath is unmistakable.

Midnight in Paris

Despite not being a Woody Allen fan, I went to see Midnight in Paris at the local art house cinema this weekend. It was enjoyable, mostly for its ingenious concept.

Owen Wilson, as a Hollywood writer, wants to give up his lucrative screenwriting career in order to pursue his dream of being a novelist. He visits Paris with his fiancee and her parents; he is in love with the city while they are not. He ends up wandering off by himself; every night at midnight he goes through a time warp and ends up in 1920's Paris, the period he is most nostalgic for, where he gets to meet the biggest literary and artistic luminaries of the era.

Most of these are given relatively brief cameo parts. F. Scott Fitzgerald is attractive, and Zelda is unstable. We get a glimpse of Cole Porter, singing at the piano. A benevolent Gertrude Stein reads Owens' book for him, then reads his rewrite. (Would Stein really have gone to that trouble for a stranger?) Picasso wanders in and out of a few scenes, but is less forceful as we might have imagined.

Most of the famous names are played as brief self-parodies; Allen, in his rush to introduce them all, didn't have time to introduce any subtlety -- or surprise -- into their characters. After awhile it feels like just a lot of name dropping. 

The one luminary who is savaged is Ernest Hemingway, who is portrayed as a graceless, repetitive, pretentious boor. My first thought was, maybe Allen was forced to read Hemingway's books for school the way I was. But when I got home and looked up Hemingway, I was reminded that The Sun Also Rises was considered anti-Semitic. Mystery solved.

The 20's are shown as a never-ending party. (When did these people ever work? It takes discipline to be a writer or painter.)

The movie makes some good points about the nature of nostalgia. There is a cute time warp-within-a-time warp scene where Wilson and his main romantic interest in the 1920's, a Picasso mistress played by the very appealing Marion Cotillard, are transported back to the 1890's, where they meet Toulouse-Lautrec and Gaugin. This mistress, the only character from the 20's who is actually developed, worships La Belle Epoque the same way Wilson worships the 1920's. Cotillard decides to stay in the 1890's, forcing Wilson to confront the folly of his own nostalgia.

The acting was generally good. Rachel McAdams, who played Wilson's fiance, shows once again that the role she plays best is Bitch. (McAdams' original breakthrough role was as one of the title Mean Girls in 2004.) Her acting here is very reminiscent of Parker Posey as Tom Hanks' fiancee in You've Got Mail. 

Owen Wilson plays his role the only way he ever plays it, as himself. He always comes across decent, reasonable, and sensitive. His whiny voice augments the impression of a somewhat feckless man of adequate but not excessive masculinity -- the measure of that being that he can't even dominate his own hair. (He always seems to be drowning in all those blond locks.) Wilson gets a lot of roles as the everyman the audience is supposed to identify with: he is the new Tom Hanks. But that's exactly what's called for here.

And how sly was it for Allen to give a role to Carla Bruni, wife of French President Nicolas Sarkozy? You think Allen had any trouble getting clearance to shoot the movie wherever and whenever he wanted after that?

Allen the filmmaker may be cynical, but the movie he created is actually sweetly nostalgic, romantic, and self-aware. Invoking all of those famous geniuses didn't quite make the movie itself a work of genius, but it is still worth seeing.

The worst thing about getting old

My attitudes are becoming disturbingly similar to those of my parents' generation forty years ago.

When I hear recent pop hits, I think, that's not music.

The other day, when I heard of a new product, I actually thought, what will they think of next? (That makes me sound really old.)

I do all the things I thought so pathetic when I was young, like challenge younger people to athletic contests, and take way more pride than I ought in beating them.

The word "crotchety" fits better and better: it's harder to force a smile, and near impossible to fake a laugh. I get that "been there, done that" feeling about places I've never been, and things I've never done.

A generalized disgruntlement is my ever present companion.

But by far the worst thing about getting old is that when I hear a beautiful woman say something stupid, I immediately recognize it as stupid.

When I was young, no matter what a pretty girl said, it sounded like magic. Even when it was so stupid it was impossible not to recognize it as such, it sounded charmingly illogical, or charmingly naive.

The charm has disappeared. But the stupidity remains.

And I am much the poorer for that.

Confessions of a beta male Part VI: Salesmanship

One of the things -- perhaps the main one -- that separates the successful from the unsuccessful is salesmanship. An alpha male just knows that he is going to be able to win people over to his side no matter what the circumstances. A beta male knows it's hopeless, that people will believe whatever they want to believe. Beta males are basically right, but both sets of opinions tend to be self-fulfilling.

Even though "sales" has long been a job associated with ass-kissing, the best salesmen are in fact alphas. 

In the movie version of Glengarry Glen Ross,  Alec Baldwin was ultimate alpha. He had absolutely no heart, but a ton of self-confidence. He gleefully bullied the other salesmen, exulted in his manipulative ability, and emphasized the killer instinct it took to close a deal. To me, he seemed scary.

It is often said about a certain salesman, "He could sell sand to an Arab," or, "He could sell snow to an Eskimo." I couldn't sell an air conditioner to an Arab, nor a parka to an Eskimo.

Good salesmen can sell you something they don't believe in, as well as product they actually believe in. I have a hard time selling something I believe in.

An alpha knows how to spot vulnerabilities, and exploit them. I mostly just display my own.

An alpha knows how to convince people he is their friend, even when he is not. Even when I'm someone's friend, I somehow manage to convince him I'm his enemy.

An alpha is skilled at making that "friend" feel that their friendship hangs in the balance if he doesn't do what the alpha wants; an alpha knows how to induce guilt. I am good at feeling that guilt.

Tony Robbins is the ultimate alpha, a confidence man who sells, literally, confidence. His workshops reportedly get people to believe in themselves. I not only can't get people to believe in themselves (my own lack of faith in them would be too obvious), if I took Robbins' course I wouldn't even believe in myself.

An alpha radiates enthusiasm and energy. I can never hide my disgust and weariness.

Alphas lie, but are believed because of their presentation. I tell the truth, but am not believed.

One alpha specialty is withering laughter at an opposing viewpoint. (You see this on political talk shows all the time.) When I hear a ridiculous viewpoint, I usually just look puzzled.

An alpha knows how to exploit the pregnant pause. My words tend to come spilling out in a confessional torrent.

An alpha can sell people on his preferred activity for the evening. I end up spending a lot of time by myself.

Los Angeles Lakers, et al

One of the clues in this weekend's Sunday Times crossword puzzle was, "They moved from Minnesota to Los Angeles in 1960."

The answer was, "Lakers."

Despite not being a basketball fan, I've probably heard the name of the team over a thousand times in the past two decades. Yet it never once occurred to me that it was a strange name for a team located in a city which is basically an irrigated desert. The name only makes sense if you realize the team originally came from a state which bills itself as "the land of 10,000 lakes."

Most NBA names make perfect sense. The Boston Celtics are based in a town with a large Irish population. (And the team, at least during Larry Bird's heyday, seemed to make an effort to remain the most Caucasian team in the league.) The Philadelphia [17]76ers, from the home of the Liberty Bell. The Houston Rockets, based in the same city as NASA. The Portland Trailblazers, located where Lewis and Clark ended their expedition. The Detroit Pistons. The Miami Heat. The Charlotte Bobcats. The Minnesota Timberwolves. Etc.

But there are a few names which seem anomalous. The Utah Jazz? That form of music has never been closely associated with Mormons, so the name only makes sense when you find out that the team moved from New Orleans back in 1979.

The Toronto Raptors were formed in 1995. Had there been some significant dinosaur fossil finds there? No, the name of that team was chosen in a nationwide contest, and was evidently influenced by the popularity of the movie Jurassic Park, which came out in 1993.

The Memphis Grizzlies? Tennessee has black bears, but no grizzlies. However, naming your basketball team the Memphis Blacks would hardly seem to distinguish it from any other NBA team. The answer: they moved from Vancouver in 2001.

I never really questioned the name of the Cleveland Cavaliers, assuming that the alliterative aspect was key there, along with the common "v," "l," and "e." Look up "cavalier" in the Free Online Dictionary and you'll get the following two definitions for nouns: "A gallant or chivalrous man," and "a supporter of Charles I of England in his struggles against Parliament." Ironically, as an adjective it means "showing arrogant or offhand disregard," which is antithetical to the first meaning of the noun. In any case, the name was chosen in a contest run by the city's Plain Dealer. It's doubtful that many Ohioans felt a strong connection with Charles I, so it's a safe bet they were thinking more in terms of chivalry. (LeBron, on the other hand, seems more taken with the adjective.)

The Washington Wizards changed their name from the Bullets in 1997. It is understandable that a team based in a city which for a time rivaled Detroit as the murder capital of the country would want to eschew any violent connotations. So they had a contest to determine the name, and as seems to be the case with such contests, ended up with a name which had nothing to do with the city itself. 

The most interesting thing about this to me is how I never once questioned the name of the Lakers. I just accepted it at face value the way I unthinkingly accept so much of what I hear.

Country name changes

A NY Times article this morning referenced the Congo. I was so glad when they changed the name of that country back from Zaire. "The Congo" was always much more evocative, conjuring up images of deepest, darkest Africa: bongo drums, okapis, elands, and wild-eyed primitives engaging in barbaric rituals. "Zaire" was a place I associated more with corrupt dictators like Mobutu Sese Seko. When Muhammad Ali termed his historic 1974 fight with George Foreman the "Rumble in the Jungle" he had the right idea. But even then, it would have resonated more if it had taken place in "the Congo" rather than "Zaire."

(Technically, it is the Democratic Republic of the Congo, not just the Congo. Of course, giving a country that prefix, just like calling it a "People's Republic," is a sure sign that it in fact is the opposite.)

Siam became Thailand back in 1949, before I was born. But I can still appreciate that Anna and the President of Thailand doesn't have quite the same ring. I imagine Siam as a place with chaste dancing girls who would dress up in colorful native garb and smile graciously as you took their picture. These days their Thai granddaughters frequent the streets of Bangkok and offer to give you AIDS for a very reasonable price.

I preferred Burma to Myanmar. You never hear of a Myanmarese python.

Ceylon was a lush, peaceful country with peaceful tea plantations and endless tropical beaches. Sri Lanka is the place where the Tamil Tigers and the Sinhalese majority do endless battle.

Persia became Iran back in 1935, before my time, so I don't feel nostalgic for the old name. But I still prefer it. Persia is where they made fine rugs -- magical flying carpets, as a matter of fact -- and where if you stumbled upon the right bottle a genie would come out and grant you three wishes. It's also where Omar Khayyam composed his poetry. Iran is where Mahmoud Ahmadinejad steals elections.

While we're at it, Iraq ought to rename itself Mesopotamia. Better the cradle of civilization than the home of Saddam.

I even preferred the Soviet Union (the name, not the form of government it had) to, say, Russia -- even though "Russia" is in fact older. The Soviet Union had a much more intimidating, powerful feel to it. Meeting them in the Olympics was much more of a challenge than meeting any of the individual countries. Russia still has Red Square and the Kremlin, and Vladimir Putin represents the best (i.e., the worst) of Soviet realpolitik. But it's still not the same. In the old days those Chechnyans would have been squashed like bugs.

Certain countries have districts whose names are more evocative than their own. If Romania were to rename itself Transylvania, it would sound less like the home of the Roma (the Gypsies), and more like the place which inspired Twilight.

Were the Czech Republic to rename itself Bohemia (which in fact encompasses over half of the Czech Republic), it would sound less blandly neutral and more free spirited and artistic.

The Khmer Republic did the right thing by becoming Kampuchea in 1975, and then Cambodia again in 1991. Better to be thought of as the land of Angkor Wat than the killing fields of Pol Pot.

Spanish Guinea wasn't nearly as evocative as Equatorial Guinea, which it became in 1968. The former sounds like just another dreary colony, the latter more like a steaming jungle where the latest President for Life might do colorful things like confiscate the entire national treasury, ban the use of the word "intellectual," destroy all boats, and bestow upon himself the title of "Unique Miracle" (all of which Francis Macias Nguema did back in 1971).

Another positive change was when East Pakistan became Bangladesh back in 1971. Bangladesh seems synonymous with famine, but better that than safe haven for Osama. (Yes, I know, Osama hid out in Pakistan, not East Pakistan, but they sound like the same country.)

If only more countries would follow Zaire's lead and switch to their older, more colorful names, we former stamp-collecting, boys' adventure-reading oldsters could be happy again.

Thou shalt not speak ill of the dead

Today's NY Times had the following headline and first paragraph on their front page: 

Assassination In Afghanistan Creates a Void

Karzai's Half Brother Was Divisive Force

Kabul, Afghanistan -- Ahmed Wali Karzai, the powerful half brother of Afghanistan's President, was assassinated Tuesday, removing from the political scene a divisive power broker who was accused of corruption and alienated the American military, but whose connections and ruthlessness made him a critical force in volatile southern Afghanistan.

That is probably one of the least mournful obituaries ever. (They did everything but sing "Ding Dong the witch is dead!")

But, much as I hate the Times for their all-pervasive spin, I have to admit that they do (usually) put the most important articles on the front page. Wali's death could potentially have a significant impact on the balance of power in Afghanistan.

I was a little surprised that I had not seen news of this yesterday, even though I spend most of my day on the internet. Contrast that to the first four headlines Yahoo News listed listed (presumably, in order of importance) this morning:

-Big birth announcement: couple welcomes a 16-pound baby boy.

-The Beckhams' new baby

-Jaycee Dugard breaks silence

-Social media reacts to royals in California

I am as likely as anyone to turn to a human interest story rather than another dry article about the debt limit negotiations. But the most rewarding articles are those like the one quoted from above, where it's actually important news, but it's reported in such a way as to be entertaining. 

Confessions of a beta male Part V: Ironclad egos

An alpha male has an ego like an impregnable fortress, impervious to insult or even fact. My ego is more like a house of straw, easily flattened by even the slightest breeze.

If an alpha is insulted, he thinks to himself, that guy is really jealous and resentful -- which makes sense, 'cause he's him and I'm me. I take the insult, weigh it, and hold it up to the light to see if there's any truth to it. If there is, I get depressed.

If an alpha gets turned down by a girl, he thinks, stupid bitch doesn't even realize what she's missing out on: once they've had a taste of The Kid they get addicted. When I was young, I used to wonder: what was I thinking -- I'm obviously not good enough for her.

If an alpha's girlfriend breaks off with him, he thinks, that stupid bitch will be back on her hands and knees in no time. I just figured, hmm, she's finally seen the light.

An alpha of average physical attractiveness looks in the mirror and somehow sees Dolph Lundgren. I look in the mirror and see a skinny monkey.

An alpha driving a Corolla thinks, I don't need a fancy car to bolster my ego; people who do are pathetic. When I drove a Corolla, I used to think, people will think I'm such a loser. When an alpha drives a Lexus, he thinks, I have arrived! I worry that people will think I'm superficial.

When an alpha makes a stupid error, he generally won't admit it, either to himself or to anybody who may have witnessed it. If I do something stupid, I feel stupid, right down to my bones.

When an alpha does poorly on an athletic contest, he just tells himself he had an off day. When I do, I see it as final confirmation of my wimpiness.

When an alpha loses at chess, he thinks, what a stupid, pointless game. When I do, I can feel my face slightly redden as I wonder why I am unable to think four moves ahead the way my opponent seemed to.

If an alpha does poorly on an IQ test, he concludes, these tests don't measure shit. I think, hmm, guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was.

If an alpha gets lost, he gets angry and thinks, this podunk town must have had the worst goddamn city planners in history. I just feel helpless and lost.

If an alpha is talking to a tall guy, he thinks to himself, I can't wait to cut this motherf***er down to size. I just feel short.

After an alpha insults someone, he thinks, about time someone told that asshole what's what. I wonder how those words could ever have escaped my mouth, and conclude that I'm not a very nice person.  

This beta male series started off as pretty much pure self-laceration; but it seems to be gradually taking on a slightly more self-congratulatory hue.

Which I guess means I must have some alpha in me after all.

The carried interest deduction

Anybody who has any doubts about the complete corruption of Congress should take a look at the carried interest deduction. For those of you not familiar with it, it is the loophole which allows hedge fund managers to have their income taxed at long term capital gains rates rather than regular income rates.

It makes absolutely no sense. Hedge fund managers take a cut of their investors' earnings, as they should. But they're not investing their own capital, they're simply taking an investment management fee. So why do they get to be taxed at the much lower capital gains rate? I know of no one who's examined this situation who feel it is fair.

But they get away with it because it is never mentioned in the press, and very few even know about it.

It all boils down to one thing: campaign contributions. Take two morally flexible groups, hedge fund managers and politicians, put them together, and what do you get? A 15% tax rate for the hedge fund managers, some of whom make over a billion a year. (I wouldn't be surprised if some of those "campaign contributions" were off the books, though I certainly can't prove that.)

These are the real millionaires and billionaires who ought to be taxed more, not the married couples who together make $250,000 a year.

Addendum, 7/16: Someone just wrote in to explain that  the hedge fund managers only get that long term capital gains rate for their share of the profits on positions they carry for over a year, which for most of them is less than half of their positions. (They shouldn't get it at all, but at least they don't get it on most of their income.) 

"My conscience would never allow me to do that!"

Whenever you hear someone say something like, "I couldn't do that, my conscience would bother me too much," be suspicious. Generally, when someone advertises his conscience, it's a fairly sure sign that he doesn't have one.

For those of us who aren't sociopaths, we're not really aware of our consciences, certainly not as a separate entity. They're just part of us, built into our wiring, and we're no more conscious of them than we are of the way our nerve endings are connected within our brains.

In fact, the very idea of a "conscience" as a distinct, separate part of us is misleading. A conscience is simply the part of our personalities that makes us feel shame and embarrassment, and thus prevents us from acting on our every impulse. If we instinctively know that we would have those feelings after certain behaviors, it prevents us from engaging in them.

Sociopaths don't feel shame, and therefore don't have the same kinds of brakes on their personalities that most of us do. As a result, they often feel compelled to advertise their innate "goodness." They've heard of consciences, but don't really have any instinctive feel for how they work, and are thus more likely to refer to them as a distinct part of their personalities.

For example, when Casey Anthony's inevitable book comes out, expect her to say a lot of things like, "I was absolutely horrified when I first found out that people actually thought I might have killed Caylee. My conscience would never have allowed me to do that. I loved that girl with all my heart."

I got to know one sociopath on Wall Street very well. He was forever saying, "Hey, I'm the guy who's gotta get up and look at himself in the mirror every morning," as if doing something immoral would really have weighed heavily on him. This is essentially the same phenomenon at work: he had heard this expression, but since he never really felt guilt himself, he actually thought that it was the physical act of examining his own features that was supposed to bother him. So he used the expression. Over and over.

A normal person talking about a possible action that would bother him is more likely to just make a distasteful expression and say, "No thanks," or, "Yikes, that wouldn't feel right."

Casey Anthony

I haven't bothered to write anything about the Casey Anthony trial to this point for the same reason I didn't bother to put a "Sociopath alert" in front of her name above: because the truth is so glaringly obvious.

Anthony's sociopathy is as plain as her guilt, and one clearly led to the other. Whether or not the prosecution proved beyond a reasonable doubt that Casey murdered her daughter is debatable. (I think they did, but the defense's contention that the DA proved only that she was an uncaring mother has some merit.) In any case, common sense tells us that Anthony is guilty.

Perhaps some members of the jury simply couldn't believe that any mother could do that to her own daughter. Perhaps they couldn't believe that such a sensitive-looking young woman so prone to tears could be such a monster. If any of this was part of their thinking, they simply don't understand sociopathy.

It will be interesting to see what becomes of Anthony in the future. Maybe she, like OJ, will try to make some money by writing a book along the lines of "If I Did It." Maybe she can get appearance fees from bars or nightclubs. (Freak shows are a longstanding American tradition.)

Anthony will undoubtedly do her best to continue to party. You have to wonder what it will be like for the men who go to bed with her in the future. Will they have trouble performing, knowing her to be the monster that she is? Or will the knowledge of her notoriety provide an extra frisson? OJ had no problem attracting women after his acquittal; but men are less susceptible to hybristophilia than women.

The worst victimizers were almost always victims themselves as children; this is what psychologists refer to as "the cycle of abuse." Every now and then when I hear about a child horribly abused and then killed, it occurs to me that the child would probably have grown up to be a sociopath anyway.

No child deserves Caylee Anthony's fate. And it's possible that somehow, against all odds, she would have grown up to be a decent human being. We'll never know.

But one has to wonder how many potential murderers, even serial killers, have been stopped in their tracks that way. The world would certainly have been a better place without Casey Anthony.

In his statement to the press after the verdict Jose Baez, Anthony's lawyer, struck a properly somber note when he said, "There are no winners in this case."

The only problem was, he was not being truthful. He himself is the big winner, as he well knows. I'm guessing his hourly rate just doubled -- as it should.

I. M. confused

When I was growing up, I occasionally heard about what a genius I.M. Pei was. Yet whenever I saw pictures of his buildings, I could never figure out why.

Pei is probably most famous for this glass structure which he designed to be placed in the center of the Louvre, in Paris:

Pei evidently said that a pyramid structure was "most compatible" with the structure of the Louvre. That might have been true in Giza. But to me, but the Louvre is improved by a pyramid the same way that the Louvre's most famous painting, the Mona Lisa, would be improved by a big zit.

Another of Pei's famous designs was the Luce Memorial Chapel in Taiwan:

It does have a vague resemblance to the top of a traditional church. But it bears a closer resemblance to a Dairy Queen with wings. Or perhaps a Swiss ski chalet after a nuclear meltdown.

This is Pei's National Center for Atmospheric Research, in Boulder, Colorado:

Pei evidently said he wanted the building to "look as if it were carved out of the mountain." Well, judging from the scarcity of windows (they would have interfered with his Cubist design), it probably is as dark as a cave in there. 

According to Wikipedia, Pei considered the John F. Kennedy Library "the most important commission" of his life:

 

It is amazing how closely it resembles a terminal at JFK (the airport, not the library).

Pei also designed the Bank of China Tower in Hong Kong:

According to Wiki, Pei felt that it "needed to reflect the aspirations of the Chinese people." All tall buildings bespeak a certain ambition; but if you look closely, you can see that this one at least reflected the building next door.

This is the Pei-designed Dallas City Hall:

Pei wanted this structure to "convey an image of the people." If this building is an image of a person, then it's one who can't keep his balance; perhaps Pei was making a sly comment about Texans' drinking habits.

Modern architects speak a high-falutin' language which I don't seem to understand.

Confessions of a Beta Male Part IV: At the strip club

Going to strip clubs isn't something an alpha male necessarily does on a regular basis. (Many alphas take pride in never paying for female company.) But when he does, his experience is far different from mine.

When an alpha enters a strip club and sees those naked women, he feels exuberant and thinks, time to par-tay! I feel....unclean.

After few minutes in a strip club, an alpha goes into that trance-like, raised-body-temperature, pre-sex state. I generally find that those tawdry surroundings leave me cold.

That bouncer who looks like a Hells Angel doesn't even register on the alpha's radar screen. I glance over at him several times and think about how easy it would be for him to beat me up.

When a stripper starts writhing around on a pole, an alpha thinks, "She must be getting pretty wet, doing that in front of me." I can't help but think, that face looks awfully blank; she must really despise the guys who come in here.

When the stripper gets on her hands and knees and wiggles her fanny, an alpha thinks, why can't his girlfriend look like that -- 'cause he would never tire of that ass. I find myself wondering whether the stripper works out or just stays in shape from her job.

When the stripper starts to hump the pole an alpha thinks about how he'd love to be that pole. I find myself wondering what kind of dysfunctional family she came from to end up doing this for a living.

When she sits on the stage and spreads her legs, an alpha male thinks, c'mon, take off that g-string! Let's see that sweet little pussy now!! I wonder: did her parents not love her?

When an alpha sees a pair of implants, he thinks, "Yeesss!! Double D's!" But obvious implants always seem to be saying, "Look at us, aren't we exciting" -- which tends to have the opposite effect on me.

When a stripper sidles up to an alpha and purrs, "I can tell, you're not like all the other guys who come in here," he thinks, yep, you got that right baby. I am all too aware of the direct translation: "Give me twenty dollars."

When an alpha male hears a stripper whisper, "Between you and I, you're a lot cuter than the rest of your friends," he thinks to himself, that's so true. I think, it's 'between you and me' -- your grammar is atrocious! Then I find myself wondering about her IQ.

After a while, an alpha starts to wonder how much she'd charge to meet him after her shift. I think, this is costing a lot of money; how soon can I go home without my buddies thinking I'm gay?

With an alpha, having his buddies around and knowing that all of them are as turned on as he is by this situation is both an affirmation of his own desires and a bonding experience. Personally, I want to see naked girls with my buddies around about as much as I would want to have sex with them around.

I'm sensitive. As a beta should be.

Sociopath alert: Nafissatou Diallo

I was reluctant to label Dominick Strauss-Kahn's accuser a sociopath based on what I read this morning, but Steve Sailer just quoted a letter from the DA's office to the woman's attorney which makes me comfortable promoting her from the status of prolific liar to pathological liar. The relevant excerpt:

Additionally, in two separate interviews with assistant district attorneys assigned to the case, the complainant stated that she had been the victim of a gang rape in the past in her native country and provided details of the attack. During both of these interviews, the victim cried and appeared to be markedly distraught when recounting the incident. In subsequent interviews, she admitted that the gang rape had never occurred. 

That's pretty much all you need to hear. Crying on command is a sociopathic specialty, and false emotionality is also a hallmark. The only people who can fake tears that well are sociopaths.

I have no problem showing Diallo's picture above.

Strauss-Kahn and his accuser

I have to admit, I just assumed that Strauss-Kahn was guilty at first. But now that the case against him has fallen apart, I'm wondering what I was thinking. First of all, false rape allegations are not uncommon. Secondly, exactly how do you force a woman to give you oral sex? Short of holding a gun to her head, or perhaps threatening her with a knife (neither of which Strauss-Kahn was alleged to have done), it would actually be pretty hard.

Imagine that scenario. You tell some woman, "Give me a blow job or else I'll beat you up," or words to that effect. Then you pull your pants down and proceed to place your penis right on the chopping block in between her incisors? I suppose it's possible, but common sense dictates that if you threaten someone else with violence, you ought not make yourself so completely vulnerable to such an obvious counterattack.

Now that the woman has been proven to be an inveterate liar, will she be prosecuted? It seems only fair that if a woman can be proven to have made a false rape allegation, she should serve the same sentence the man would have had he been convicted. Of course, the fact that the man is not convicted would not be enough; it would have to be proven that she made the accusation falsely, with the burden of proof again being on the prosecution. But if it can be proven, it's only fair that she serve the same sentence.

My guess is they won't go after her for that, they'll merely use her false claims to deport her, which would be a shame. If she's guilty, she should serve time.