At some point last Fall, my friend redubbed me “The Critic.” Her tendency to nickname has never been satisfactorily explained to me, although I have my suspicions about the whole attorney-client confidentiality bleeding into her personal life. Not a bad habit, mind you. But not one that I share.
Now, “The Critic” as an alternate to “Chris” is not, as you might have initially thought, because I have a moderately Jay Sherman-esque body type. Nor does it, as far as I know, have anything to do with my longstanding habit of commenting on certain short films. No, I gather the descriptor has a lot more to do with my limited conversation skills, which usually devolve rather rapidly to bitching about everything in a rather trite manner. In other words, my tendency to “try to ruin it for everyone.”
Also, by way of an aside, does anyone else find the “Boy on a Stick” character of Boy on a Stick and Slither to be eerily misnamed? In part because the “Boy” in question has a distinctly lesbian haircut, but also because the “Boy” is really only the head of a boy?
Notwithstanding the unpleasant heat from last year’s Bonnaroo, given the lineup at this year’s edition (e.g. White Stripes, Wilco, Franz Ferdinand, Regina Spektor, El-P, Gogol Bordello, Langhorne Slim, Widespread Panic, Tool, Flaming Lips, The Roots, Ween), I’m tempted.
This blog has a long history of applauding contributions by physicists to the field of mathematical humor. To that end, I am hereby suggesting Richard Feynman should receive a clap or four for his amusing use of the 762nd, 763rd, 764th, 765th, 766th, and 767th’s decimal places of pi.
Having only just received a copy of Wilco’s latest a few days ago, and having only listened to it a grand total of two times, I’m not sure I’m in a position to comment coherently. But I will say this: “What Light” is a pretty catchy tune.
The only objection I’ve heard to moving the focus away from familial relations into skills and degrees with regard to who to admit into the country is that it keeps out those who need America most: the non-English-speaking very poor with no formal education who, if provided the opportunity to work really, really hard will end up as ridiculously helpful members of society, with PhDs and everything, but if are ignored and kept in the Third World, will end up languishing in abject poverty, wasting their talent on sustenance agriculture and back-breaking physical labor. [Well, that and the "family is important" argument. Huh.] See e.g. Danny Westneat’s latest. What the objection is really saying is this: the default position should be to let anyone in, with exceptions to the open door policy for terrorists, convicted felons, etc. Which I’m fine with. But if we’re going to limit the number of immigrants with a cap of some sort, is there any coherent argument for not preferring the folks with higher education degrees? Knowing absurdist success stories, while heartwarming and inspiration and all, are about as rare as a forty-year-old virgin? Knowing that the educated and English-speaking foreign-borns are just as deserving of entry as the uneducated and non-English-speaking?
For those of you out there who dig on zombies and zombie-related humor–and I assume that 100% of my readership falls into this category, for the simple reason that 95% of the literate public does–I recommend Ed Helms’s “Zombie-American” series. The pilot is embedded below:
“We, as criminal defense lawyers, are forced to deal with some of the lowest people on earth, people who have no sense of right and wrong, people who will lie in court to get what they want, people who do not care who gets hurt in the process. It is our job – our sworn duty as criminal defense lawyers – to protect our clients from those people.”
Deb and I got engaged last Thursday. Dinner at the overrated The Mark. Having recently see Spider-Man 3, aborted an attempt to do something clever with the ring involving a desert or beverage. Instead displayed stone on the banks of Capitol Lake at sunset. Definite plans to follow, but at present the expectation is that May 2008 will play host to a ceremony, a reception, and old-fashioned debauchery of some sort.