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A Midday Stroll

Cimg3539I had a few errands to run early this afternoon. A package to mail, a check to deposit at an ATM, and a drug store and grocery stop. After I was done, I decided to make a little loop up past Indian Rock, then down to Solano for a bakery indulgence, then back home. On one of the streets along my way, I saw a couple of kids go into a driveway that was partially shrouded by a bush; then one of them stuck his head out and looked up and down the street — almost like he was doing charades for the phrase “furtive ne’er-do-well.”

I had my digital camera, and my first impulse was to take it out and snap their picture. But I thought better of it. The furtive-looking kid had a cellphone out and looked like he was talking. Maybe he and his buddy were just hiding out while cutting school or something. I avoided eye contact as I walked past, having decided I didn’t want to do anything confrontational since I didn’t like my odds for taking on one kid, let alone two. I continued up to the end of the block, then looked back. I could still see the guys at the end of the driveway. Then a guy who was working on a neighboring house came out onto the sidewalk and looked their way; they started walking up the street, past the worker and toward me. My gut feeling was that something didn’t look right, so I took my digital camera out, set the telephoto magnification to its 10x maximum. I was pretty sure the shot would come too fuzzy to make out their faces, but I took a shot anyway (it’s the one above; click it to see a large version).

Then I continued on and looked back after a minute or so. Strange. I didn’t see the two guys. I walked a few more steps and looked back again. No, they weren’t there. A car passed while I was looking back and pulled into the curb about 50 yards ahead of me. When I turned and continued up the street, the two guys I saw were climbing out of the car with a third guy who’d been driving. Not sure whether the driver had seen me take the first picture and they were going to try to intercept me, but they started walking away from me — the driver across the street, the two guys I’d seen earlier on the sidewalk ahead of me. There was something casual but purposeful about the way they were leaving the car that made me wonder whether it was stolen and they were ditching it. So I took a shot of the car (below), with the trio retreating in the background. I followed them around the corner just to see which way they were going, then decided to go with my gut instinct and call the police.

Cimg3540 I called the Berkeley police non-emergency number and told the dispatcher I had seen three guys who appeared to be casing the neighborhood. She asked why I thought that; when she heard the details, she was convinced enough that she sent some officers to the neighborhood. Since I had kept my distance from the group and couldn’t see where they were any longer, I went on my way to Indian Rock.

Long story made short, an officer called me later to ask whether I could identify the guys I saw “if we showed them to you.” I told him I just wasn’t confident I could make a positive ID since I’d avoided really staring them down. The officer said the car I’d seen them get out of was, in fact, stolen and that  two of the three guys I saw were seen walking behind a house down the street from where I last them; the police had caught up with them. So something really was up, though it turned out there was nothing to arrest them for (the officer told me the only one who’d be criminally liable for the car theft was the person driving; since I couldn’t say for sure who it was, they couldn’t bust anyone). The officer also told me there has been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood and “now I feel like I know who two of the burglars are.”

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Significance

I guess we’re at the height of Academy Awards voting time, because The New York Times (and the L.A. Times, too, I imagine) is full of big ads for nominated pictures. I usually skip over them, but an ad for “Sideways” today includes a funny piece of dialogue in which the self-pitying would-be writer protagonist states his brutal view of his insignificance:

“Half of my life is over, and I have nothing to show for it. I’m a thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I’m a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to the sea with a million tons of raw sewage.”

It’s actually a funny moment. And it reminds me of other dramatic statements of the triviality of our existence and efforts in the universe. Particularly, formulations like “that’s not even a fart in a windstorm” and “so-and-so is just a pimple on the ass of progress.” Perhaps not as high flown as the “Sideways” example, but still — cherished outbursts from the past.

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’24’: Week in Review

“24” continues to amaze: In a stunning display of self-discipline, the show’s creators are keeping the soap operatics on the back burner while allowing action to drive the plot. Yes, sometimes the action seems a little heavy on the deus ex machina element (case in point: how in the world did there happen to be a terrorist sniper in place to kill the guy responsible for the nuclear-plant takeovers before he could be questioned?).

But my quibbles aside — and they should be put aside, because we’re talking about a prime-time network action drama here, not a complex entertainment like “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” — there’s actually something akin to real tension developing in the story line. One nuclear plant is already melting down and more might do so at any time. We’ve already gotten to see the heroic control-room workers who got radiation-toasted while trying to avert catastrophe. Elsewhere, Jack is getting ready to go mano a mano with the super-nasty Turkish Terrorist Dad, who just offed his credulous pharmacist brother-in-law. The Terrorist Mom, meantime, has let it be known that unless Jack can save her son, the Terrorist Teen, from the very upset Terrorist Dad, she won’t lift a finger to stop the imminent deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. Mommy dearest!

Other crucial “24” matters:

Best new character: Edgar. He’s a nebbish. He’s a mensch. Never mind the his lisping and whining and Brooklyn mama’s boy exterior. So far, he’s averted the meltdown of 100 nuclear reactors, exposed the enemy mole and tried to abandon his post to rescue his mom from the fallout cloud.

Whatever happened to: Paul, the soon to be ex-husband of Jack’s girlfriend, Audrey. I think he went to the bathroom two episodes ago and hasn’t come out. When he does, get ready for trouble!

Chloe: As a key Jack ally, who can believe she’s really gone for the whole season? Maybe she’ll come back with her baby and they’ll take on the terrorists together, “Lone Wolf and Cub” style.

Intriguing: Erin Driscoll, the putative CTU boss (putative, because it’s clear Jack was, is, and will always be The Man; and if he’s not, there’s always Tony), alternates between something like sensitive nobility (as when she talks Edgar out of his well-meaning but sort of dumb mom rescue), callous cruelty (as when she oversees the torture of one of her employees), and continuing blind stupidity (as when she agrees with a subaltern that they should cover up evidence they helped the enemy mole get a high security clearance). Conclusion: She’s nuts, just like her schizo daughter, Maya.

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Lincoln and Bush

Still thinking about Lincoln and the current Bush and whether they would have been on the same side during the current or former unpleasantness. I figured the White House must have had a Lincoln’s Birthday event that might shed some light on the question. Checking the White House site, sure enough: George and Laura hosted a performance of “Lincoln Seen and Heard,” a dramatic presentation of some of the 16th president’s speeches and writings. Sam Waterston, who was Lincoln’s voice for Ken Burns’s Civil War series, presented the Gettysburg Address and Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address. The latter was delivered about five weeks before Lee surrendered at Appomattox; it had finally become clear which way the way would go. Yet Lincoln’s words, which he knew would be read in the South, are entirely without a sense of triumph. Bush could have learned something from that before he put the flight suit on and flew out to that carrier. But of course, if he was liable to learn a lesson like that, he wouldn’t be our George.

At the end of the evening, Bush talked briefly about what he had heard. He said Lincoln was our greatest president. And he hinted, of course, that Lincoln’s words bolster his program to shock and awe the world’s evildoers out of existence with high explosives and the wonders of democracy:

“The Civil War was decided on the battlefield; the larger fight for America’s soul was waged with Lincoln’s words. In his own day, Lincoln set himself squarely against a culture that held that some human beings were not intended by their Maker for freedom. And as President, he acted in the conviction that holding the Union together was the only way to hold America true to the founding promise of freedom and equality for all. And that is why, in my judgment, he was America’s greatest President.

“We’re familiar with the words of the Gettysburg Address, and the Second Inaugural, so eloquently read by Sam. And this performance reminds us that Lincoln wrote his words to be spoken aloud — to persuade, to challenge, and to inspire. Abraham Lincoln was a master of the English language, but his true mother tongue was liberty.

“I hope that every American might have the experience we had here tonight, to hear Lincoln’s words delivered with Lincoln’s passion, and to leave with a greater appreciation for what these words of freedom mean in our own time.”

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Lincoln’s Birthday

Yesterday, I neglected the traditional Abe Lincoln birthday greeting. Of course, I don’t think he’s complaining much. Anyway, happy birthday, Abe.

In the past year, I visited his tomb for the first time, discovered that he made his last speech in Illinois in Tolono (the day before his birthday, in 1861), and that, for whatever reason, he liked to sleep with guys. Abe, we hardly knew you.

One thing I find myself wondering about in the age of George W. Bush, the Great Emancipator of Iraq, is whether Lincoln and Bush would be in the same party — either now or back in Lincoln’s day. Perhaps it’s an empty game to play, and I don’t pretend to know where Lincoln would stand on issues such as the war on terrorism or Iraq (though he didn’t hesitate to suspend rights in the midst of the nation’s emergency; so there’s some interesting evidence you might pursue).

On the other hand, it’s extraordinarily difficult to imagine Bush taking Lincoln’s path. I can much more easily imagine Bush as a defender of the South’s rights to pursue liberty the way it saw fit — for whites only — than see him as someone who would have risen to defense of the Union. It’s much easier to see him standing up for the rights of property owners — slaveowners — than recognize the human rights of their property. I think he’s the first president in my lifetime I’ve felt this way about, though he’s hardly the first president elected from the former Confederacy in our time.

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The Pumped Fist

Michael Sokolove, The New York Times Magazine’s apparent writer-on-sports, has a story today on the decline of U.S. hoops, or at least the overall quality of play in the National Basketball Association. The villain in the piece is the slam dunk, which he finds emblematic of the selfish, highlight-reel style of so many NBA players, stars and would-be stars alike. He also indicts the dunk and selfish play as a symptom of something deeper: the decline in basic individual and team skills among today’s players. His prescription for a quick fix: Ban the dunk. His fallback, realizing the league will never ban the dunk: Ban the dunk in college and high school, and maybe do something to stop kids from jumping directly to the pros from high school.

His argument is interesting as far as it goes. He points out that scoring is down and free-throw shooting is bad. The U.S. squad’s losses in the Olympics show the selfish American style’s vulnerability to sides well-versed in team skills. Can’t deny any of that, but I think Sokolove skips over another development that has led the pro game to where it is:

the sanctioning of rugby-style play on both ends of the floor. Basketball could always be rough — the Jerry Sloan-Norm Van Lier Bulls come to mind, and the Detroit Pistons of the late ’80s — but what makes those teams stand out was that their defensive approach was exceptional as well as effective. Now it seems like every team defends the basket and attacks it like they were trained for the job in the National Football League. Those tactics keep scores down, too, and they may have helped encourage the offensive philosophy of going for the sure score by slamming the ball through the hoop or, as the chief alternative, going for three-pointers from areas of the floor that are less fiercely defended.

You also have to wonder whether the selfish, “look at me!” kind of play that typifies not just high-level hoops but college and pro football and baseball, too, is really just a mirror of the kind of society we are: Just as for Donald Trump it’s proven more valuable to play the part of a hard-nosed successful business mogul than to actually be one, you’re only really somebody in what you do in a series brief triumphs. Sack the quarterback. Make a big sale. Cut someone off on the highway in your Hummer. Something, anything to pump our fists about.

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Dead, Dead Hero

BoingBoing points to the story of a Colorado woman who concocted a fabulous whopper about her husband’s heroism in Iraq: Over a half-year or so, “Amber” made regular calls to a local radio talk show, first talking about how she was in basic training, then disclosing that her husband “Jonathan” had been deployed to Iraq. Finally, Amber announced that her husband had been killed in action. She was left all alone, a military widow with one young child and, she said, another on the way. Tragic.

But the heroic nature of her husband’s death didn’t come out until Amber talked to a group set up to help military families in western Colorado. Jonathan had been killed trying to save the life of a little Iraqi girl. The story was full of other details, too, about the couple’s life and military service and everything. Media throughout the state, including the hometown paper, lapped up the story, which quickly unraveled. No Amber. No Jonathan. No dead hero. No one ever checked before issuing press releases or printing stories.

Wow.

Now, everyone, including Oprah, wants to know why “Amber” pulled the hoax. The consensus: Something is wrong with her. “Sometimes people have such a deep emptiness inside that when they get attention, they’re the recipients of well-wishers, the center of attention, they get a sense of importance and comfort,” one expert is quoted as saying.

Focusing all the attention on “Amber” and her obvious lack of balance (or incredibly well-developed, gutsy ability to pull pranks) leaves out the other side of the equation in this hoax and others: What is it about the rest of us — the emptiness in our own lives? — that we’re so ready to believe stories like this?

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City Hall Red

Cityhallred

I was working up in Marin County yesterday (for a home-furnishings catalog that will remain nameless) and got a ride to San Francisco so I could catch BART to Berkeley. Walking to the Civic Center station, the new moon hung in the west; to the east, City Hall was lit red. My first thought, San Francisco being the self-consciously romantic place it is, was that the lights were set up for Valentine’s Day. But it’s more likely the special lighting is part of the Chinese New Year celebration (which began with that new moon). I’ve never seen City Hall lit like this before.

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Man at Work

Or maybe I should say “man ‘at work.’ ” Just a note to the immense (and immensely faithful) ITC (Infospigot: The Chronicles) readership that I’ve been away from the blog in recent days because well, I’ve actually been off earning money by the sweat of my wordsmithing. The first person who can tell me what I mean by all that (use lots of parentheses) will get an all-expenses-paid breakfast burrito from the fast-food emporium of your choice. More soon. Maybe even tonight.

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Building the Pyramids

A few years ago I wrote a story about an online pyramid scheme that operated as a fantasy stock market. Without going into how it was supposed to work, one of the things that fascinated me was the willingness of so many people I found to be rational and articulate to send money to a faceless entity in the Caribbean with the expectation that they would get a big return. Many explained their readiness to send thousands of dollars into the ether by pointing to the real securities markets in the United States, where the technology/Net bubble was expanding fast. “Take a look at that,” they’d say. “That’s the real Ponzi scheme.”

Soon enough, real securities regulators busted the fantasy stock market and most of the people involved lost all or almost all of the money they’d entrusted to the operators. The real stock market unraveled, too, drawing the attention of the same regulators, and many people who’d jumped in during the bubble lost all or almost all of the money they’d entrusted to what securities laws and the business pages would have identified as “legitimate companies.”

I didn’t buy the simple, cynical line that there was no difference between one world and the other. Real companies actually created goods and services to generate revenue, for instance. (OK, except for Enron.) All the obvious differences aside, though, I was uncomfortable observing how similar the behavior of the phony market and real market looked, how much the world of “legitimate” finance seemed to justify the suspicion some of the pyramid scheme players voiced.

Because I can feel a long, convoluted essay coming on and I really need to go to bed, let’s jump-cut to today. The New York Times has an excellent story on what’s happening with early retirees who have had their pensions “realigned” and health-care benefits cut:

“For Americans heading into retirement, the contrast to the previous generation is stark. The typical household headed by a 47- to 64-year-old is poorer today, in constant dollars, than a similar household was in 1983. The main reason is the disappearance of the traditional pension, according to Edward N. Wolff, a New York University economist who analyzed Federal Reserve wealth data.

Still, it’s not a tale of Dickensian woe — none of the people the Times talks to are being put out on the street, and we all still live in this amazingly prosperous land that has the power to decide to blow $200 billion or $300 billion on projects like arresting Saddam Hussein and installing a group of Shiite fundamentalists in his place.

Still, it’s a story of betrayal; of people who have worked in good faith for companies that have decided that they can’t afford to honor the commitments they made — breaking faith with former workers won’t hit the bottom line, I guess, unless the workers sue and win. You wonder about the deeper price, though, in shredding the already frayed trust people have in our whole enterprise — the American corporate one — and making it look like little more than a Ponzi scheme.