Win. Or Die Trying.

The Sox are going to the playoffs. The rumors of their late season collapse were greatly exaggerated. My favorite headline was "Sox Choke...On Champagne." As many of you know, I had completely lost hope in their ability to even make it into the playoffs, so this is a day of celebration. I think I'll celebrate tonight. Hmm, how shall I celebrate? As if there was more than one way!

In related news, the other Sox team is, indeed choking. I hope they get in. I'd love to see a Sox-Sox playoff series, mainly because it would pit me against, oh, let's see, ALL of my friends, minus 5 in the area. I'm not entirely convinced that my Sox will win even one playoff game, they haven't in a long time. But to be able to see them beat that other Sox team would be the ultimate. Especially since I had to sit through last year's ridiculous celebration. I'm not going to lie, I really enjoyed it, especially watching them win four in a row against the Yankees. That really is a memory that won't fade.

Still, my enjoyment was more than partly through osmosis. Right now I'm really reveling in this. Yes, I should be focusing on my thesis. I love my thesis advisor because he doesn't take any of my shit. I'm pretty sure he's going to kick my ass all year long. It's awesome. Except I'm lazy. But I'm on top of it. I think I'm ahead of at least some people. Shudder Shudder.

The good news is that with the Sox win today that I don't have to spend hours on the internet watching MLB Gameday. I'm not sure if you know what this is, but it's basically a window that updates whenever a pitch is thrown, letting you know whether it was a strike, ball, hit, etc. It also keeps track of outs and base runners. In short, it's completely mindnumbing, but when your teams games aren't broadcast where you live, it's all you have unless you want to pay. No thanks. So now I can relax until the playoffs begin next week and hunker down on my thesis.

Lazy Bones

So the thesis is stumbling out of the blocks. I do have a topic, though. I'm not in love with it, but I don't hate it either, so that's a plus. What is it, you ask? Well, chances are you already know. For those of you who don't, here's the working idea. By studying "American Pastoral" and a number of other works, I hope to examine how Americans in the 1990s interpreted the 1960s and used it to explain the America in which they found themselves. In reality, it'll probably be more about me going crazy about deadlines and writing until I join some modern Weather Underground organization where I bomb my concentration department in order to avoid having to write the thing, but cleverly disguising the whole ruse as a political statement intending to "bring the Iraqi war home." Just kidding...I hope.

Tom DeLay was indicted today; so that's good news. Today is Tiff's birthday, so I'll be going to BU to celebrate. Currently, I'm supposed to be meeting Wubulu for dinner, but instead I'm writing here. Still haven't seen the new Curb yet, but Bighead has Tivo at his frathouse, so I'll catch it some time soon.

I watched the Dylan documentary by Scorcese on PBS. Loved it. Long, though. In fact, I spent 3.5 hours not actually doing homework, but convincing myself that somehow watching Dylan and his transformation in the early 1960s was somehow relevant to my work on interpreting the late 1960s in the 1990s. In truth, it's not. But I have to find some excuse.

I also read a book on Reconstruction. Man o man, is that the most depressing chapter in American history? I think so. It's so heartbreaking and devastating. Welp, here I go around again. Gotta do stuff.

Chicago Burning

News came today that Marshall Field's, the beloved Chicago department store, will have its name changed in a dumbfounding move of cultural insensitivity. To add insult to injury, Field's will now be known as Macy's, as in New York's Macy's. The move has been reported as an effort to make national marketing efforts more cost-effective, and many other stores will undergo the same change, including the Ayres of the shopping mall in my hometown.

Now, I don't care whether or not they change LS Ayres to Macy's, but Marshall Field's plays an important part not just in the history of the city, but in national history as well. At this point, almost all Chicagoans are speaking out from a sense of nostalgia, but this move goes far beyond that. Yes, we've all spent snowy December days in the palatial department store, feeling like Gold Coasters as we slipped up and down the escalators, pondering the Tiffany ceiling and looking at the window displays on State Street beneath blaring gold trumpets and garland. We have been reassured that all this beauty will continue, no jobs will be lost, and the Chicago store will be transformed into the third crown jewel of the Macy's fleet, alongside the flagship stores of New York and San Francisco.

Hogwash. Is this supposed to make us feel better? How insensitive are these idiots? Do they not know that Chicago has always deeply resented its status as the Second City, even as we revel in it. Why do we resent it? In the words of a song by Chicago rapper Kanye West..."Two Words": New York. We hate that the coastal elites refer to our neck of the country as flyover states, and if they think that linking us with two coastal cities is supposed to make us feel better they're damn wrong. Sure, many of us secretly love New York, but none of us want to BE New York. What birdbrains are these executives that they think that we would be comforted to learn that one of the things that was quintessentially ours and one-of-a-kind is now simply one of three, with New York at the top? Marshall Field's was ours. Macy's will always be New York's. Tying our wagon to the Big Apple's will never be acceptable. Perhaps next they should rename the Sears Tower the Empire State Building.

But this issue cuts deeper than that. Marshall Field's was not merely important in the minds of Chicago, but it held an important place in the history of the country. Most twentieth century cultural history classes begin with the road to mass entertainment, culminating in Coney Island and movie palaces. But Marshall Field's predates those, and most scholars recognize this and give the department store its due by namechecking the transformation from shopping from an errand to an event of mass entertainment, creating exotic showrooms exquisitely decorated, showcasing products from around the world. In this sense, and in the Columbian Exposition of 1893, Chicago helped pave the way toward a transformation of leisure time and mass entertainment that continues today. As of September 2006, this legacy will be as deconstructed as the buildings of the White City, mystified and understood only by proxy. And so it goes.

In other news, my White sox managed to squeak out a win yesterday against the Indians, putting both of their magic numbers at 9. It's scary that they have two magic numbers, but whatever. And to make matters worse (a theme of this column), their rival in the wild card race, should they lose the division to Cleveland is none other than the New York Yankees. Should they lose a spot in the playoffs due to the Yankees, I hate to think where this leaves us.

The Comeback

I'm back in Cambridge living and working and schooling. After a week of complete lack of productivity, I'm now shopping classes like they're on sale. I went to three classes today, and they were all fantastic. Only one of them will I probably take, though. It's History and Literature of the Modern American South, and I felt all special today because of my road trip there after freshman year, understanding how things like kudzu define the south. Yes, we discussed kudzu for a few minutes. I must say that I haven't missed self-important, argumentative brats. While we were discussing it I said that despite the fact that it now grows like a weed, it can be pretty cool. The girl next to me was responded under her breath "it's awful" to which I said that in certain areas it can be quite beautiful, i.e. under railroad trellises on your favorite album cover, but whatever, she can die.

This was the same person who at the beginning of class, as we were answering the prof's preliminary question of what the Confederate flag meant in the North vs. the South, said, "I think it's a little more complicated than that." Um, yeah. You're not in middle school or the executive branch of the federal government where everything is in black and white. The point of the question was to lay some groundwork for discussion and accepted generalizations are the best way to do that. Ok, I'm ranting, but this girl's shortsightedness really got to me. I think she was from the South and had this attitude that no non-Southerner could possibly understand it, like we were all judging her. Um, let me just say that we probably wouldn't be taking the class if we were so judgmental, and second of all, don't assume all Harvard students are New York-centric Manhattanites.

So that's out of the way. What else happened of note. Probably the most exciting part was going to Allston to see my BU friends. Seeing as how close it is on the 66 bus, I'll probably be over there all the time.

Haven't seen Beulah yet, sadly.

Fretting about my thesis, but I'll probably get over it. I'm narrowing into Philip Roth, but right now I'm starting a lot of books and not finishing. I took a break from Augie March for a few days and now am reading White Noise just to get that under my belt before classes begin.

My thesis is due March 1, which is probably less than a month into 2nd semester which is terrifying, especially since so many of my friends are ditching their theses, a luxury which I don't have...not that I'd want to.

The Supreme Court thing looks pretty much sealed. I really enjoyed discussing it with AirPizz who had an internship there, so basically, she knows all the justices, which is amazing, and she really cares and knows so much about it that it's always a fun topic of conversation. I don't know where I stand on whether the Senate Dems should oppose the nomination. I suppose there's no harm in voting "no" to send a message, but at the same time, it may strike a wrong note politically considering that at least on the outside Roberts is pretty likeable. My favorite part of the hearings?---Pat Leahy saying, "We're rolling the dice with you, Judge." All I could think of was a bunch of shady alleyway figures shouting "clickety CLACK." Ok, I've told that joke to just about everyone, but it still puts a smile on my face.

Over and out.

Apres moi, le deluge...

The comparisons to 18th century France are striking. We literally have a deluge and a president whose attitude seems to suggest the famous "After me, the deluge" quote of Louis XV in terms of budget policy, international relations, you name it. Further, his mother, donning her powdered Marie Antoinette wig, manages to embarrass herself with the line "And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this --this is working very well for them." Mid sentence, where the hyphen occurs, there's a brief chortle if you've heard the audio. I'm willing to excuse this and not make the big deal out of it that other bloggers have. It seemed more nervous than anything, but as someone else put it, the sad thing is that she probably doesn't even know that the statement is offensive. On top of all this, I can recall the after the 2000 election people referred to the president as the dauphin president, mocking his relation to the ill-fated Louis XVI, and now that couldn't be more apropos. It's times like these that make me wish we lived under a parliamentary system so that we could call a vote of no confidence. Is there anyone who feels safe with this man in office. I think that it's true that local authorities didn't do enough, but their failures don't even begin to stack up to the numerous blunders of a FEMA made ineffective by budget cuts, and its fearless leader, the horse breeder.

I'll miss New Orleans, but I can't wait for it to come back. Sure, I was only there a few days with some friends while on our tour of the South, but it left an indelible impression on my friends and me. The muffaletta, the beignets, the cafe au lait, the charming streetcars, the lively street performers, po'boys, hurricanes (the drink), and gumbo. I can't wait to go back and take all these in again down the line. These are all the things I talked about with my uncle (who is the the most New Orleanian of all non-New Orleanians in the world) over Labor Day.

I normally don't like to get political in the blog, but this has basically been my last week--sitting in front of the tv watching in horror and pumping my fists as the media fought back for the poor. I believe we need a government led by people who still think that government can be an agent of good in the world and not a necessary evil. A real Roosevelt with dreams and Trumanesque accountability. God, I sound like my grandma. What we don't need are photo-ops and buck-passing. It's hard to write about this because everything has been said, and yet it still demands to be aired personally. Is there any faith left in the federal government?

Well there you have it. My soapbox collapsed right from under me. I'm in the last week of summer and kind of reeling. My thesis is spinning out of control. I can't focus, I've just added Saul Bellow to the list of possible topics, I'm pushing Moby Dick out of the way once more so I can fit in the new Roth book, I'm planning to read For Whom the Bell Tolls, too, and all this on top of packing and moving in and Camp Harvard. Stop this ride, I want off.

Oh, wait, SCOTUS. I forgot how I was so excited about Supreme Court hearings, and now Rehnquist is gone. I applaud Bush's decision to move Roberts into the Chief Justice chair because you know he was just itching to put in Nino Scalia or Clarence Thomas. I really think we dodged a bullet on this one, but no one really knows what this guy will do. Still, he can't be as conservative as Rehnquist, a man who disenfranchised black voters in Arizona in 1962 and Florida in 2000. (The Arizona case is rock solid, no matter what you think of Bush v. Gore.) Plus, he did a few hours of pro bono work for gay rights, so he can't be that horrible.

Which brings to mind dear old Sandra Day. I think we're getting a woman with this one, and probably a red herring ringer in the Clarence Thomas sense. We'll see. Bush is awfully weak right now.

As I mentioned earlier, I'm currently reading The Plot Against America by Philip Roth about the fictional presidency of fascist sympathizer Charles Lindbergh, a man who barnstorms the country in a flight suit, oversimplifying international affairs. hmmm. I'm told it's not quite so allegorical as it first seems, but we'll see. In one review of it, the critic talks about Roth's ability to turn up or turn down the volume dial of his dialogue. What insight! In this book and American Pastoral, you can hear the characters screaming or mumbling, and feel the hot breath on your face.

Thursday we'll probably go to a Sox game to go see the Good Guys rip Kansas City a new one. What fun!

Requiem For A Mullet

Et lux perpetua dadum da DUM et lux perpetua da dum da DUUUUM, and all that.

So yesterday I went into Chicago with the Drake and had lunch, got a haircut. I originally planned to go to the place where my protomullet was born, but as we stopped to say hi to another of our friends who works in a Lebanese restaurant in the neighborhood, he said he knew of a great cheap place to go. So he made me an appointment, and I entered Esteban's. That's right, Steven's. All systems were go, and I was very excited. I explained exactly what I wanted. Esteban had a little bit of trouble understanding, so I tried to be as explicit as possible. When we got to the protomullet, I said I wanted that hair to be the same length as the hair on top. He asked me if I wanted him to shorten it, and I said yes, since it had grown a little long, but he took that to mean to take it off completely. So it goes.

The protomullet is no more. It will take me at least a solid two months to grow it back to a noticeably decent length, and then perhaps we can try again. I'm quite upset since reviving the American mullet is a pet project of mine, and now it's dashed. I should know better than to try to revive things past. We all know how the campaign to bring back the high five went. It ended up being more annoying than anything.

The haircut is still fairly nice, though, and here's the reason that I'm not quite so upset. As you could guess, Esteban is Latino. I'm not quite sure how he knew that I speak Spanish, but the point is that he did. (I think he may have seen my ears perk up when he talked with his coworker.) So we chatted away the time in Spanish. Generally I find it hard to talk to haircutters, but I guess when you find out that you both speak Spanish, it creates something to latch onto. (How did you learn Spanish? How did you like Spain? Have you been to Mexico? etc.) It was great, and I was surprised how well I've retained it.

The Drake is now on her way back to St. Paul. It's very sad, first I said goodbye to the Hoosier Lush...now the Drake. My whiplash trip home is coming to the end of its friendphase and will soon move onto the familyphase before returning for my last stay at Camp Harvard.