The Backbencher

Olympic Losers: Americans Who Purchased a Chevy

One of the many perks of living in Grand Forks, North Dakota is that you get over-the-air Canadian television. Their comedies are brilliant. The news programs are insightful. And they have great children's shows. In addition to teaching my kids to speak French and be extra polite, they also brainwash my kids to want toys that are, happily, not available in American stores.

But where Canadian TV really shines is with sports. They offer regular coverage of bobsled - my favorite sport since I was five - and everything else that golf and Nascar pushes off the air in the States. Best yet, when the Olympics come around, Canadian television opens a window into the hidden goings on of another culture. 

As an interloper to Canadian broadcasting, you, as a viewer, are addressed as if you were a red-blooded Canadian. So the ads attempt to appeal to your maple-leaf patriotism to patronize the official sponsors of Team Canada. Businesses that have forked over money to help Canada win Olympic gold include the Royal Bank of Canada, Air Canada, and Rona - a home-improvement warehouse store native to the provinces.

That's all great. And I'm sure those companies couldn't care less if Americans find out that they are sponsoring their country's Olympic team. But one sponsor of Team Canada shocked me: Chevrolet.

Oh, the dark secrets you can learn by watching Canadian television! Now, listen, I have nothing against Canada, but helping them hand the United States a humiliating loss in curling is not exactly what I was hoping to accomplish with my new car purchase. 

Look, if you want to sponsor the arts, children's charities, and the search for a cure for cancer - and even help them all at the same time - that's wonderful. No one comes out a loser. But if you are trying to help Canada win gold medals, that necessarily means you are trying to help the USA lose. And I can't get behind that.

When I grew up, there was a jingle that was ubiquitous on television: "Baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet." Back then, Chevy was all about America. Well, not anymore. If you buy a Chevrolet, you might as well knit Canada's hockey coach a sweater.

You don't believe me? Read about GM's proud involvement in the $110 million "Own the Podium" initiative, which was "designed to help Canada become the number one medal-winning nation at the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games."

Now, I want to be very clear here: I am by no means suggesting or implying that you should refuse to do business with Chevrolet because of this - that is a step you should take only - and I mean only - if you love America.

Children: Genetically Programmed Robots Trying to Kill You

If you are currently trying to decide whether or not to have kids, there are some things I should tell you to help inform your decision. 

Children will try to kill you. If you are not up for the challenge, don't have them. But if you do, understand this: Babies are genetically programmed to try to end your life. The only reason any parent survives is that small children are as wildly ineffective at homicide as they are at just about everything. But they try.

Here's an example: Somewhere around 12 months of age, children go through a phase where they fixate on shoes. They have to touch your shoes, pick them up, and then move them all over the house. After that, all children go through a phase where they are infatuated with flashlights. They will find every flashlight you own, run down the batteries, and then hide them all.

What is happening - the shoes, the flashlights - is that your children are systematically trying to deprive you of each element of your earthquake survival kit.

Chances are that you will not be harmed by this, but it's not for lack of effort.

Some toy manufacturers have attempted to satiate toddlers' relentless appetite for flashlights by creating toy versions which automatically turn the light off after a few moments. Fools. Young children smell decoys like dogs smell fear.

The other day, when I was trying to sneak out of the house early to go to work without waking anyone up, I could not find my keys. I wanted to look for the keys in my bedroom without turning on the ceiling light and waking up my wife. So I needed a flashlight. Every single flashlight in the house was missing or out of batteries except one, the only one our toddler doesn't care about: A heavy green flashlight with googly eyes, the head of an alligator, and a body shaped like a hippopotamus. This was not helpful in keeping my wife asleep. When you activate the light, the jaws snap open, and the flashlight says, "CHOMP! CHOMP! CHOMP! MMMMM! YUM! YUM! YUM!"

In the meantime, I managed to nearly puncture my foot by walking on a die-cast metal spaceship. Then, while hopping around trying to my stiffle yelps of pain, I stumbled into a toy broom which taunted me with a perky, "It's fun to clean up!"

Of course, children are not limited to setting traps. They will also try to injure you in more direct ways, such as by beating you with a whiffle bat or lowering their head and running at your crotch.

In fact, evolutionary biology explains this behavior. The head-lowered ram at your pelvis is a straightforward adaptation that allows children to try to prevent the introduction of extra siblings into the household. What is true for baby birds straining for a regurgitated worm is true for humans: The fewer children there are in a family, the less competition there is over a limited supply of essential resources, including food, parental nurturing, and whiffle bats.

What is not so clearly explained by evolution is why children try so hard to kill themselves. In fact, when your children start trying to kill you, it tends to come as a relief, because it usually means they have moved on from trying to kill themselves. 

Some prime ways children try to kill themselves are by climbing up stairs so they can then fall down them and by attempting to dart out into traffic. Young children look forward to walking hand-in-hand with you just so they can seize the opportunity to try to wrench their hand free and run in front of a car. 

Of course, as soon as you get home and there is no present danger, the same child will fiercely hug your leg and go limp to prevent you from walking away from them - for instance, to keep you from doing something utterly selfish, such as using the toilet.

The top way children try to kill themselves is by putting things in their mouths. Small things, shiny things, dirty things. Many children will put anything in their mouths except a vegetable - unless you count moldy brown leaves found under the welcome mat to be a vegetable. 

One thing children love putting in their mouths - and in my experience this kicks in around nine to 10 months of age - is shoes. They especially like to put their tongue on the sole of a shoe that you just wore into the public restroom at a train station. 

When I explain to people that children put things in their mouths in an effort to kill themselves, I often get someone explaining to me how putting an object in the mouth is just a child's way of learning about the world. I'm sorry, that is absurd. True, children start putting shoes in their mouths right about the time they start trying to stand upright and walk. But learning about walking by putting shoes in your mouth just is not going to work. If people could learn about things by putting them in their mouths, I'd be a Ph.D.-level entomologist after all the gnat clouds I gulped down this summer while mowing the lawn. 

Speaking of which, I gotta go. I think that's the sound of my kid trying to start up the lawn mower.

This Decade was Certainly "This Decade" - No Doubt About That

Back in 1999, at the end of "the Nineties," I wondered what the new decade, the first decade of the Third Millennium, would be called. 

Would people refer to it as "the Aughts," "the Noughts," or "the Zeros"? Or would it be something utterly unique? To mark the fact that all years of this decade had two 0's in the middle, and paying homage to Y2K anxieties and millennial armaggedon fears, I thought it would have been fun to call this decade "the Oh Oh's."

But what did we end up calling this decade? What name eventually stuck?

None.

The only person I have heard refer aloud to this decade by any name was me. I tried "the Aughts." In case you noticed, it didn't catch on.

The entire English speaking world wussed out. And that includes you, dear reader. The media, however, has been the worst. Now, as television and radio embark on their ritualistic decennial orgy of best-of-worst-of lists and overhashed clips, the feckless cowards in the media persistently and pusillanimously refer to this decade by no name other than "this decade."

The one outfit I've seen call the decade by a name is iTunes, which has released a set of music collections representing the decade. iTunes calls this decade "00's." Of course, iTunes hasn't exactly gone out on a limb here, because they haven't disclosed how to pronounce it.

By the way, the number one song in the iTunes collection of 00's Pop is "Clocks" by Coldplay - a song that is pointedly symbolic for the occasion - not because of its tick-tock reference to time passing, but because it comes from a band that exudes the kind of wimpiness that is emblematic of our nameless, nearly over decade. 

In fact, if there is one quality that characterizes the 00's, it probably is wimpiness. This is the decade we failed to finish off Osama bin Laden at Tora Bora. We nervously twiddled out thumbs while North Korea developed a nuclear weapon. And we allowed ourselves to get so frightened by Wall Street bankers that we shoveled billions of dollars of bailout money at them as soon as they said "Boo!" 

Let's hope things get better as we head into the new decade, the decade that will proudly bear the name ... ummm ... "the New Decade."

Happy New Year!

P.S.: Hey, by the way, I don't mean to insult Coldplay too much. I do like the Coldplay song. Who doesn't? It's a great song. But let's be clear: It is one song - that is, one song they have recorded over and over again with different lyrics. The Ramones only had one song, true, but at least they didn't take themselves quite so seriously. Try this experiment at home: Think of a Coldplay or Ramones song and try to play it in your head, then allow your mind to wander slightly. You will find that the song you had in your head has transitioned effortlessly into one of the many "other songs" released by the band. See? Same song.

An Open Memo to Obama: Get a Flu Shot

To: POTUS
From: Taxpayers
Re: Your Decision Not to Get Vaccinated for H1N1

We understand that your daughters have just received H1N1 immunizations, but that you have decided not to get one yourself. As many children and pregnant women are still waiting for shots, you have chosen not to use the power of your office to ensure that you receive special treatment.

Brilliant.

What else are you going to do to avoid special treatment? Live in a two-bedroom apartment and protect yourself with a can of pepper spray? 

As the president of the United States of America, your time is at a premium. We, the taxpayers, realize that. If we were going to get jealous of you getting a flu shot, we probably would have gotten upset about the fact that you have your own personal 747. And then there’s the helicopter that lifts off from your lawn. 

Look, we elected you. We want you at your best. The last thing you need while you are trying to navigate Afghanistan and Iraq is a virus that will give you, according to the federal government, "fever, cough, sore throat, runny or stuffy nose, body aches, headache, chills, fatigue, and possibly vomiting or diarrhea." 

And then there's health-care reform. That’s pretty complicated. You’ll need to be able to focus. Is it a good idea to reform health care while you’re rolling around in a comforter on the bathroom floor moaning in agony? You’ll end up sacrificing everything to get America full coverage for lotion-infused facial tissue. 

Now, we understand your concerns. Millions of voters can’t get access to the vaccine, and you’re a politician who’s going to be up for re-election before you know it. You want votes. Okay, that’s fine. Kiss babies for votes. Trade favors for votes. Grovel for votes. But don’t have vomiting or diarrhea for votes. That’s just gross.

Get vaccinated, stay healthy, and get a good night’s sleep.

That way you’ll be ready, tomorrow morning, when we ask you what you’re doing to get more vaccine made.

[originally posted on PrawfsBlawg]

How Many Scintillas Does it Take to Win?

One barrel of flour contains zero scintillas of evidence.

Time is measured in minutes. Sugar, in spoonfuls. Rain, in inches. 

Evidence, of course, is denominated in scintillas. 

Whenever a lawyer or judge wants to emphasize the lack of evidence in favor of some party or proposition, we hear that familiar refrain, "There is not one scintilla of evidence."

How did the scintilla become the recognized unit of measurement for evidence? We do not know precisely, but in this post, I present some of my own research findings.

An early prominent use of the scintilla can be found in the famous case of Byrne v. Boadle, 159 Eng. Rep. 299 (Exch. 1863). That case introduced the doctine of res ipsa loquitor to help out the unfortunate Mr. Byrne, who, struck by a barrel of flour that fell out of a building, had not a "scintilla of evidence" to prove that the barrel's fall was the result of any negligent conduct.

But the earliest use of "scintilla" that I could find was the dissent of a Judge Grimke of the Constitutional Court of Appeals of South Carolina in Frost v. Brown, a land-title case from 1798:

The U.S. Constitution: Not All that Well Written

I mean, it’s fine as a first draft, but if I were a law-firm associate, I wouldn’t turn it in to a senior partner without putting in a lot more work.

I am not a legal writing professor, and I suppose it’s a good thing I'm not. The fact is, if it were turned in to me as homework, I could not, in good conscience, give the United States Constitution better than a B-minus. And that’s with a healthy dose of grade inflation already factored in.

First of all, let’s look at the handwriting. It’s sloppy. You may not have known this, but the Constitution contains numerous interlineations.  In Article I, Section 3, explaining Senate procedure upon the impeachment of the president, there is this doozy:

 

 

The intended language is: “When the President of the United States is tried, the Chief Justice shall preside[.]”

The original uncorrected, verbless text is: “When the President of the United States the Chief Justice shall preside[.]”  

How can you screw up and write something like that unless you are totally mentally wandering while doing it. This is the Constitution of the United States of America for crying out loud. You’d think you could focus. And if you can’t get it right the first time, then I say grab another sheet of parchment and start from the top of the page. Where is the craftsmanship? Look, I can only imagine what a pain in the a** it would be to write out a long legal document on calfskin with nothing but an inkwell and a pen made out of a feather. Honestly, I couldn’t do it. But then again, I didn’t take the job. According to historians, it was a fellow named Jacob Shallus who did take the job.

And, honestly speaking, he kind of phoned it in.

There are a total of four interlineations in the original Constitution.[1] What’s worse, Shallus did a “my bad” about the mistakes, listing them next to the signature block on the past page – but, incredibly, he only noted three of the four interlineations! How lazy do you have to be to fail to count up all the dents you tried to knock out of your own work?

Okay, so the Constitution’s penmanship is annoying. But is it a real problem? Precedent suggests that it is. Frighteningly, the federal district court for the District of Columbia, where the Constitution currently resides, has declared legal documents unenforceable on grounds of sloppiness.

In Antonelli v. Senate Realty Corp., the D.C. court lowered the boom on a slapdash deed of trust with more than a note of scorn: “Certainly this document on its face has been so altered by interlineation and hand-printed additions as to make it legally obnoxious and unacceptable.”[2]

Yikes. Could it be that our Constitution is “legally obnoxious”?

Under the eyes of the law, perhaps. There is no Supreme Court opinion directly on point, so, for now, it is an open question.

One thing we do know is that the Constitution was a rip off. The U.S. government paid Shallus the princely sum of $30 for his calligraphy services.[3] That may not seem like much, but this was 222 years ago. Using the unskilled-labor inflation index, $30 in 1787 is equivalent to $10,694 today.[4]

That kind of government waste makes a $640 toilet seat for the Pentagon seem like a bargain.

Shallus’s bang-up job also included erasures,[5] a misspelling,[6] and wildly inconsistent capitalization.[7]

Now, I haven’t even started to talk about the actual text.

The text of the U.S. Constitution is replete with ambiguity. And I say that not because the Constitution is a great document that is at the center of a great story about great struggles over great freedoms and other great stuff.[8] It is because, at least in large part, the Constitution is a maze of passive voice, mismatched grammatical constructions, and awkward phrasing.

Take a look at the Second Amendment:

 

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

 

What in the heck is that supposed to mean?

Surprise, surprise: People disagree.

Analyzing the text, we can confidently make two observations: (1) If the amendment was intended to say that states have the right to give guns to their national guard units – and that’s the extent of the right – then the text clearly wouldn’t have been phrased the way that it was. (2) If the amendment was meant to give individual citizens the right to possess guns, without being part of a state-run militia, then the text clearly wouldn’t have been phrased the way that it was.

That leaves us with only one sure conclusion: The drafters shanked this one big time.

Incredibly, over thousands of pages of the United States Reports, our Supreme Court has not once used the words “poorly drafted” to describe the Constitution.

Yes, I checked.

We may need to revisit that hallowed quote of Ben Franklin, who, walking back from Independence Hall, was asked by a Philadelphia resident, a Mrs. Powel, what resulted from the Constitutional Convention.

Famously, Mrs. Powel heard Franklin say, “A republic, if you can keep it.”

It seems quite possible that Franklin’s actual words were, “A republic, if you can read it.”

---

[1] U.S. Const. art. I, § 2 (“the”); art. I, § 3 (“is tried,”); art. I, § 10 (“the” in two different places).

[2] Antonelli v. Senate Realty Corp., 230 F.Supp. 776, 779 (D.D.C. 1963).

[3] See Irvin Molotsky, N.Y. Times, September 17, 1987 at http://www.nytimes.com/1987/09/17/us/the-constitution-it-s-200-years-old-and-it-certainly-has-been-around.html.

[4] See Samuel H. Williamson, “Six Ways to Compute the Relative Value of a U.S. Dollar Amount, 1790 to Present,” MeasuringWorth (2009) at http://www.measuringworth.com/uscompare/.

[5] U.S. Const. art. I, § 2 (“thirty”); art. I, § 3 (“may make”).

[6] U.S. Const. art. I, § 10 (“it’s” in “except what may be absolutely necessary for executing it’s inspection Laws”).

[7] See, e.g., U.S. Const. art. I, § 2 (“vacancies” and “Vacancies”). See also art. I, § 8 (“credit” in “To borrow Money on the credit of the United States”) and art. IV, § 1 (“Credit” in “Full Faith and Credit”); art. I, § 2 (“Executive” in “the Executive Authority thereof shall issue Writs of Election”) and art. II, §1 (“executive” in “The executive Power shall be vested in a President”).

[8] Though it is, of course.

[Cross-posted on PrawfsBlawg.]

You Haven't Earned a Flag

We're still in Plano, Texas. Let me tell you something. There is a cultural disease here. Specifically, a vexillological epidemic: Corporate flags. Every office building, condo development, and taco stand here seems to have a set of three flags, all flying at the same height: The flag of the United States of America, the flag of the State of Texas, and the flag of Global Mortgage Solutions Group ... or whatever.

A representative blurry, poorly composed picture is below:

Let me tell you something, Global Mortgage Solutions Group. You don't rate a corporate flag.

Companies should realize they are in over their heads when they throw their corporate name in Times New Roman and some clip art on a navy-blue background. Leave it alone. 

You know who can pull off a corporate flag? Maersk. Maersk is Danish shipping line with more than 600 ships. They get attacked by pirates. They've earned a flag. You haven't.

The Luxury Wal-Mart

We're in Plano, Texas, where Wal-Mart has opened a test/concept store: a luxury Wal-Mart. It is pretty much exactly the same as a regular Wal-Mart, except that they sell a couple of really expensive bottles of luxurious champagne, the store's exterior is accented in a luxurious shade of green (rather than the customary working-class blue) and the store's interior has been decked out with a luxurious woodgrain linoleum, which you can see in the picture below. 

Hey, I just want to give a shout out to the spiteful person who declined to erase their spectacular blood pressure from the free test-your-blood-pressure machine. Good for you, buddy. I found this while I was looking for a jumbo pack of Rolaids chewable soft-gels. That's the actual truth. I hope while you were slinking away from the pharmacy, my screaming children were able to squeeze your cranial arteries into a pulsing, throbbing knot.

Speaking of ear-piercing screams, here's another item from the luxury Wal-Mart – on clearance for just $5, it's Baby's 1st Ear Piercer. This excellent product offers do-it-yourself convenience for parents who are in such a rush to body mod their newborns that they can't wait until Twizted Skullz Dezign Studio opens back up on Friday at 9 p.m.   

Gold plated ball earrings are included. Sold separately is the Ear Care Antiseptic which the box encourages parents to buy "for the proper care and healing of newly pierced ears." 

"Purchase a bottle today!" the box exhorts. 

Perhaps this fine company will soon help out busy, budget conscious parents of newborn baby boys with a do-it-yourself circumcision kit. 

Law Professors: Lou Dobbs is on Our Side

A couple of weeks ago, Lou Dobbs discussed what he called "an apparent threat to America's sovereignty," namely certain remarks made by U.S. Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I will warn you, her words are shocking. But I feel you need to see them. This is the actual transcript of what she said at a symposium at the Mortiz College of Law at Ohio State University.

RUTH BADER GINSBURG, SUPREME COURT JUSTICE: Why shouldn't we look to the wisdom of a judge from abroad with at least as much ease as we would read a law review article written by a professor.

Don't you see? Lou Dobbs is not just fighting against foreign influence, he is fighting for law-review-article influence.

This is, indeed, a truly grave "threat to America's sovereignty." We need America's sovereignty to continue to be held, as it always has been, by America's law professors.

I hope all of you professors will join me in roundly condemning Justice Ginsburg and supporting Lou Dobbs – as he has supported us. And if Justice Ginsburg continues her assault on America's sovereignty, let us band together and fight back. We have the power write a bunch of really confusing scholarship about the Third and Ninth Amendments, and we should not be afraid to use it!

[Originally posted on PrawfsBlawg.]

Rachel Maddow – I'm Sorry, But She is Just Evil

I recently learned that cable-TV political pundit Rachel Maddow, who just started her own show on MSNBC, does not own a television.

While being interviewed on the Daily Show, and not particularly apropos of anything, she volunteered this information.

I'm sorry, but that is just evil.

You've probably noticed that if you ever meet a person who doesn't own a television, you'll find out that fact right away. Because they will tell you at the earliest opportunity.

YOU: Hi. It sure is cold today, isn't it?

THEM: I wouldn't know. I don't own a television.

YOU: Well, I was actually just talking about the weather ...

THEM: You see, I don't need a TV, because I read books. I've read so many books that I've already read everything written in English, French, and Proto-Brythonic Khwarezmian. Hey, can you recommend any titles in Yazgulami or Middle Khotanese?

YOU: Uh, well, I really don't ... umm – okay. Last night I was watching Battlestar Galactica, and they were talking alot about the Book of Pythia. I guess it's a pretty important book, although I'm not sure if it's supposed to actually exist or if they were just making that part up. Anyway, I think it might be written in some kind of ancient space-people symbols or something. Do you know what I'm talking about?

THEM: I wouldn't know. I don't own a television.

Let me put it this way: If you have a middle-class income and you don't own a television, let me know: I will put you on my personal no-fly list.

But if you actually host a television show and you still think you are too good to own a television, then, regrettably, I must put you on my AXIS OF EVIL.

Look, honestly, I feel bad putting Rachel Maddow on my AXIS OF EVIL. She seems like a really nice person. Here's an example. Recently, coming out of a commercial break on her show, she teased an upcoming segment by saying, "[We're going] to talk about one of my favorite subjects – infrastructure."

Now, when I here someone say something like that, I immediately feel a bond with them. Not only do I personally find infrastructure to be fascinating, but it's pretty clear that the only person who would make a remark like that is someone can't get past her glory days in high school debate. And I'm down with that. Hey, after all, I'm a law professor.

But not owning a TV? C'mon. Let's be clear about what this means. As far as Rachel Maddow is concerned, we are not talking about your average TV-abstainer, someone who's been camped out in a dank studio apartment for the better part of a decade writing a Ph.D. dissertation on medieval hermeneutics. Rachel Maddow seems aware of the real world, and she can clearly afford a TV. Also, I did some research, and I found out that she's got the space for one. Her personal website mentions that she has homes in New York City and Western Massachusetts. Go her. Folks, these facts are consistent with only one conclusion: Rachel Maddow regards television as so intellectually poisonous that she cannot allow even the most modest of small-screens into her abode. YET SHE WANTS US TO WATCH HER TELEVISION SHOW.

And not just any television show. A television show which PURPORTS TO EXPOSE THE DUPLICITOUS SHENANIGANS OF PUBLIC FIGURES.

I can't get behind that.

Rachel, I like you. Any friend of infrastructure is, at least potentially, a friend of mine. But buy a TV.

Not all television programming is mindless garbage. Don't you want to be able to watch live coverage of unfolding news? How about sports? What about Knight Rider? Did you see the episode where KITT battles KARR at Area 51 and KARR turns into a giant robot?!? That was AWESOME!!!

Until you can come down from crazy, Rachel, that sound you'll be hearing is me hitting the thumbs-down button on my TiVo.

Gong.

Gong.

Gong.

What I Am Doing to Help the Environment

We must all do our part to help the environment. In my little corner of the world, Grand Forks, North Dakota, I am doing my part. Let me tell you about it.

SOLAR POWER: I am currently using solar power to provide the energy needs for five out of the seven calculators that live in the junk drawer in our kitchen. These five calculators create zero carbon emissions. You’re welcome, Earth.

And as for the other two calculators, I am trying to cut back on the amount of math I am doing. I am achieving lowered math emissions by “powering” our household finances with a Visa card – that reduces our dependence on paper checks that lay waste to our nation’s forests and constantly require me to calculate how much money I have in the bank.

WIND POWER: North Dakota is extremely windy. I would like to buy a wind turbine for our house – that would be seriously awesome. But I looked into it, and they are really, really expensive. In the meantime, I have been able to take care of the energy needs for approximately 10 percent of all our household trash removal – and 100 percent of all outdoor litter removal – through the use of what I call “direct” wind power.

Now, I am not a slob, but some one around here, presumably someone just across the border in Minnesota, deposits an enormous number of Burger King wrappers on the ground. I refrain from expending the energy that would otherwise be required to remove the trash by following a “what blows in must blow out” policy. This allows renewable energy resources to remove the litter, and it gives my neighbors a chance to be environmentally conscious as well.

DIRECT REFRIGERATION: When the North Dakota winter comes on, it becomes possible to take advantage of what I call “direct refrigeration” technology. This involves taking things and throwing them out the front door.

Say you have a warm beer. With a sweater, long coat, scarf, wool socks, and a face mask, you can open the front door long enough to toss the bottle into a snow bank. In 180 seconds, it’s frosty and ready to drink.

Or, let’s say it’s Christmas, and your wife just cooked a ham that leaves a quarter inch-layer of residue on some enormous roasting pan. You’d like to put off cleaning it – ideally until late April or early May. How can you accomplish this? Use direct refrigeration.

Last year when I did this, I was concerned I would forget that the pan was out there. But it turns out that’s not a problem. I was helpfully reminded about the ham remnants one day when I saw all the neighborhood dogs digging around and sniffing in the melting snow by the front door. Thanks, guys.

WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD? In the future, thanks to advances in science, I hope to be able to take advantage of still other sources of renewable energy available in North Dakota. We might even achieve the Holy Grail of environmentally conscious North Dakota energy solutions: Snowblowers that are powered entirely by hockey violence.

I can’t wait to find out what tomorrow will bring.

Unless it is more Burger King wrappers to my yard.

For Your Consideration - Disney/Pixar's Irony IRON-E

Some of the WALL-E merchandise in transit from Disney/Pixar to a landfill near you: From top to bottom: plug-in video game, light-up pillow, programmable robot, throw, book that makes sounds when you press the buttons.

Now that it's after Christmas, if you live in Los Angeles, you are getting to hit full on with the onslaught of ads vying for your nod on the nomination ballots for the Academy Awards.

It's a lovely time of year to be in LA. Even if you are not a member of the Academy, you can't help but feel important as billboards, newspaper ads, and even radio ads all pucker up to you and offer something "for your consideration." After all, you don't need a ballot to not vote for a movie. And not voting for all those movies every year always made me feel good.

Now that I'm in Grand Forks, North Dakota - surprise, surprise - I am no longer assaulted by ads desperately seeking my "consideration." These days, my only form of ersatz rebuffery is refusing to purchase the brands of beet seed that billboards beseech me to buy.

But I am certain that back in La La Land, execs have purchased acres of ad space in Variety and on bus shelters throughout the city to tout Disney/Pixar's WALL-E for an Oscar nod. If not, it's because the movie is such a shoe-in it doesn't need any help. Not because it's good, but because it has great heaping shovels full of social and cultural MESSAGE of the sort the glitterati can't get enough of.

If you didn't see WALL-E, here's all you need to know [SPOILER ALERT:] Earth has become so cluttered with garbage that it has been abandoned by humans and all other life forms. WALL-E, a squat, adorable robot, dutifully scoops up the detritus of our consumption-driven society and stacks it into neat cubes. Humanity persists as race of sedentary blobs living on a spaceship where their fat bodies are whisked around in pods that move from one form of passive entertainment to the next. In the end, people learn to value the environment and exercise. In other words, the lesson is that humanity needs to take its political direction from Tinsel Town and strive toward having awesome bodies like those of all the underemployed SAG-members out jogging on the Miracle Mile on any given Wednesday. It's a beautifully animated validation of everything LA.

Now while the members of the Academy are being called upon to send in nominations for this orgy of SoCal self-love, we here in Grand Forks are not being ignored. We have our part to do. Specifically, Disney/Pixar is asking us out here in fly-over America to BUY WALL-E MERCHANDISE. In other words, we are supposed to clutter up the Earth with mountains of WALL-E licensed plastic crap and grow soft and pudgy with our WALL-E video games, DVDs, and other couch-viewed entertainment products that are compatible with a sedentary lifestyle. (Examples pictured.)

Ah, the irony! That would be like agronomy titan Holly Hybrids touting the aphanomyces tolerance of their beet seeds to North Dakotans but trying to sell muffins made with cane sugar to Californians. As if!!

[Cross-posted on Pixelization.]

My Candidacy for Higher Office

Some time ago, I wrote that the following week I would be announcing my write-in candidacy for president of the United States of America.

I delayed my announcement. Why? I couldn’t really think of any issues.

But now, my fellow Americans, I have issues. Or, at least I have one issue. And I’ll tell you what that issue is, but first, as I embark upon my campaign for elected office, I need to tell you that I don’t think I have the maturity and experience necessary to be president of the United States. After all, this is the first election where I am actually old enough to run.

So, that’s why I have decided, my fellow Americans, that today, with a great sense of humility, I am announcing my write-in candidacy for vice president of the United States of America.

I feel I must run for vice president because: (1) Sarah Palin, the Republican nominee, has proven to be too controversial and too polarizing, and (2) no one knows who’s running for vice president on the Democratic ticket.

At first, I delayed throwing my hat in the ring because I wasn’t even sure you could run for vice president without being the running mate of someone who is running for president. On every ballot I’ve ever seen, you vote for both the president and vice president by punching the same hole or filling in the same circle. But then I realized, since I am running as a write-in, this is really your problem, as the voter, to figure out how to vote for me. Other candidates may say “This election is about you!” I, however, am the only candidate who is actually putting the onus on you of figuring out how it is even possible to cast a ballot for me.

So, you’ve been waiting to hear my issue.

My issue is lasers. Lasers allow us to print documents, whiten teeth, protect America from incoming nuclear missiles, erase tattoos, permanently and safely remove unwanted hair, point at things when we are making a presentation, excise tumors, and even create “Laser Light Spectaculars,” each of which has successfully put paying patrons in the seats of financially strapped planetariums when the prospect of mere “astronomy” failed to deliver.

Lasers can do almost anything. What else can they do? We don’t know. But has anyone even tried using lasers on the economic crisis? I will. As vice president – assuming I have the president’s permission – I will aim lasers at our burgeoning federal deficit, and I will permanently and safely laser away unwanted spending. I will also use lasers to stimulate the credit markets, loosening the flow of capital to small businesses across this country.

Now, I understand that the office of vice president, under our Constitution, is a position without much formal power. This is okay by me. For one, it’s more power than I have now.

But for another thing that you are allowed to do under the Constitution, is preside over the Senate. And I pledge I will do that just about all the time. It will be easy for me to keep this campaign promise, because I like watching myself on TV. And I’ll TiVo C-Span every day. I promise.

Better than that, my three-year-old likes watching me on TV. I once heard Jon Stewart complain that when he appeared on Sesame Street, his kid acted totally unimpressed. Well, my son is not like that. One day at Target, Joe noticed that he could see me captured on closed-circuit television. He acted like I was a rock star. “Daddy! Look! You’re on the TV!”

So, Jon Stewart, eat your heart out. Everybody else, this November 4, cast your ballot for Eric E. Johnson for vice president of the United States of America. If you do, I promise you won’t regret it, especially if you live in a non-battleground state and are generally forgetful.

Gee, Thanks for the Information

Eric Hanson, in the Atlantic Monthly, has just released a list of ages and what people accomplished at that age. For instance, Spanky McFarland, of Our Gang, retired at age 13.

Mr. Hanson should call his list "Look Up Your Age and Feel Bad About Yourself."

I'm 36. Let's check. At age 36, Albert Einstein completed his General Theory of Relativity. That's great. I'd be happy if by age 72 I understood what the General Theory of Relativity was. But I doubt that's going to happen. Before I can take physics, I need to take calculus. And trigonometry is a pre-requisite to calculus.

Now I actually took trigonometry in high school, but the sum total of all I remember is the word "cosecant." Hmmm. Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not so sure Cosecant wasn't the 16th president of the United States.

If you, too, want to feel bad about yourself, check out Mr. Hanson's list at here.

Why We Need the Bailout

We, as a nation, are facing a critical choice: Should we give Wall Street something in the neighborhood of a trillion dollars so that it can continue doing the outstanding job it’s doing? Or should we let Wall Street collapse and see if the rest of America can get by without all those "financial services" that Wall Street provides?

To help you, and all Americans, understand why we need this bailout package – and we urgently do – I’ve decided to answer all your questions. Right here, right now.

Why should we give this money to Wall Street? I mean, if the economy needs to be spurred by an injection of billions of dollars, why not give it to us?

That’s a funny question. You already have it! Ha ha! What sense would it make to take money from taxpayers and give it straight back to taxpayers? That’s just silly. The whole point is to take the money from taxpayers and give it to someone else – preferably some hedge-fund manager who doesn’t pay taxes at all thanks to his tax-sheltered yacht parked off Antigua. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but the fact is that, after all is said and done, the money actually will come back to you, the taxpayer. How? As a result of rescuing Wall Street, banks and yacht captains will be able to extend loans to people on Main Street. That way, Main Street businesses will be able to make the investments that are needed to keep the economy going.

If the problem is that people on Main Street need loans, then why don't we just loan the money directly to them, instead of giving away it to the people on Wall Street?

You need to look at the broader picture. Farmers need to buy seed for their field, ranchers need to buy feed for their cattle, and bankers need to buy drinks for their congressmen. Everybody plays their part. That’s how the economy works.

I completely fail to understand why it helps anything to buy bad loans from banks. If banks made bad loans, shouldn’t the banks suffer the losses?

The problem, with all due respect, is that you simply don’t understand enough about economics and finance to form your own judgment about these sorts of things. Don’t forget that officials in the Bush administration have carefully thought this through. Do you think you could have done a better job evaluating pre-war intelligence from Iraq? Or deciding exactly how many days to wait before sending help to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina? I’m sure you don’t.

More importantly, you need to realize that this situation is not the fault of the bankers. Everybody thinks they can Monday-morning quarterback the whole situation, but that’s unfair. It’s easy now to say, “Well, you shouldn’t have accepted loan applications filled out in crayon.” Or, “It was a mistake to give five mortgages to a single 19-year-old who listed his employment as ‘watching Flip That House! on cable tv.’” The fact is, it’s not productive to look backward. We need to reject the impulse to lay blame, and we need, instead, to figure out how we are going to solve this crisis.

Hmmm. Let me see. Um. Oh! I’ve got it! How about we keep our money and just see how things go?

That may seem like a tempting course. But we simply cannot wait. As the Bush administration has explained, without the bailout, Wall Street will collapse, and the misery will quickly spread to Main Street.

How? How exactly will the misery spread from Wall Street to Main Street?

Think about it this way: If Wall Street collapses, tens of thousands of investment bankers, stock brokers, and other financial-industry professionals will be out of a job. While they will retain their education, skills, and knowledge, the companies they work for will no longer be able to pay their salaries. At that point they will be forced to leave Wall Street and come to your town looking for work.

Do you really want them to set up a hedge fund inside your local Wal-Mart between the optical center and the portrait studio? I didn’t think so. You wouldn’t be able to get from the self-checkout to the greeter table without some pinstriped MBA trying to sell you a collateralized derivative-backed forward-swap debenture. And believe me, you don’t want that. It’s worth however many hundreds of billions we have to pay to keep these people in lower Manhattan, where they just sell these things to each other.

Okay, you’ve convinced me. How can I help?

Please, support the bailout by writing or calling your congressional representatives as soon as you read this. Do it first thing in the morning. If you wait until 3 p.m. in the afternoon, they’ll probably have already left to go drinking with the bankers.

Un-Conventional Wisdom

It was lousy timing for the Democrats to start their convention the day after the Beijing Olympics ended. It really brought into stark contrast the boringness of national politics compared to sports – even sports like synchronized diving.

No matter how much of an ardent Democrat you are, you have to admit, there was not a single speech given at the Democratic National Convention that couldn’t have been improved by having the speaker deliver it while jumping on a trampoline.

One of the problems with the convention was its pre-determined outcome. With sports, unless it involves Usain Bolt or Michael Phelps, you really never know who’s going to win. But the Democratic convention was, of course, entirely staged, with Obama’s people making sure that there was not a single thing left to chance. Ironically, this was done by the campaign in order to custom tailor the convention for television. Yet the whole thing ended up not even having the requisite level of excitement necessary to justify a PowerPoint presentation.

If political parties want people to watch conventions on television, then they’ve got to give us a reason to tune in. Television is not rocket science: To be watchable, the convention’s got to be either funny, dramatic, sexy, or chock full of home-decorating advice. Since politicians aren’t funny or sexy, and since they don’t like to talk about the lobbyists who paid for their home decorating, that leaves dramatic as their only option.

Back before Hilary Clinton conceded, it looked like the Democratic convention could actually get dramatic. Most of the expected drama seemed to hinge on the question of what the “super delegates” might do.

Having delegates that were “super” was an inspired idea, but they turned out to be a big-time let down. Long before the convention started, they all decided to fall in line for what was “good for the party,” which is politico-speak for “bad for television.”

Politicians are always saying that this country is tired of “politics as usual.” Great. I agree. It’s time for them to put their money where their mouths are, nix the super delegates, and try these instead:

CELEBRITY MYSTERY DELEGATES – These would be delegates whom no one would know the identity of until they were revealed during prime-time at the convention. Imagine this: A curtain goes up, and silhouetted mystery delegates are suddenly illuminated with spotlights. A baritone announcer booms:

From “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” please give a warm welcome to Tom Bergeron! Next, you know her as that gold-medal-winning darling from the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, please give it up for Kerri Strug! And finally, the father you remember from “Growing Pains,” and most recently host of the “All New 3’s a Crowd” on the Game Show Network, ALAN THICKE!!!”

SURPRISE DELEGATES – These delegates would be ordinary folks – just like you and me – who, while sitting at home, would find out that they have been picked to board a plane in the next two hours to travel to the convention and to help pick America’s next president! Of course, to keep television ratings high, they would have to call within 10 minutes after their name was announced on television, otherwise someone else would be picked to go in their place. Ideally, the names would be revealed by opening aluminum briefcases held by models, and Howie Mandel would emcee: “Susan Brykowski of Lake Ronkonkoma, call in now to confirm your place as a Surprise Delegate! Hurry, you have just seven minutes left!”

CASTAWAY DELEGATES – How awesome would it be to see bitter defeated candidates sitting on a jury of castaway delegates, with the would-be nominees taking their questions and groveling for their votes? Imagine Dennis Kucinich asking Obama, “Do you remember in New Hampshire when my campaign got lost on the way to the Laconia Senior Center, and your campaign told us to go the wrong way on Route 11A, and we ended up in Meaderboro Corner before we figured out where we were? Do you think that was political fair play? And if not, why should I still vote for you?”

You Just Lost the Olympics

The Olympics are now over, and it’s time to tally up the winners and losers.

Arguably the Games' most impressive story was Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt, who became the greatest sprinter in history, winning three gold medals and setting world records with each one. Particularly stunning was Bolt’s performance in the 100 meters, where he got so far ahead of everyone else that, 20 meters from the finish, he slowed down, completed a moderate-difficulty sudoku, confirmed all his pending friend requests on Facebook, and then jogged lazily to the finish line.

And that brings us to the biggest loser of the games: Nike.

Usain Bolt accomplished all he did in sparkling metallic-gold Pumas. Yup, that wasn’t a typo: I’m talking about Puma-brand athletic shoes.

When I went to middle school, if you wore anything but Nikes, you had to be prepared to be locked in a janitorial closet from 5th period Friday through 2nd period Monday. It was humiliating. Plus, you missed “Knight Rider.”

My, how times have changed. Residents all over northwest Oregon must have heard the anguished screams of Nike executives every time Bolt effortlessly cruised to another victory. I love how Bolt rubbed it in by posing with the shoes for photographers.

Not only did Nike suffer that indignity, but, if you believe what you read on the athletic-apparel blogs (and who doesn't?), Nike was apparently ready to spend tens of millions of dollars to sign a deal with Michael Phelps. But they lost out. To Speedo.

And just to be clear about what we’re talking about: This is Nike trying to drop eight figures on an athlete who competes in a sport in which HE DOESN'T EVEN WEAR SHOES.

More than that, his very smiling presence on television seems to say, “If you want to get an awesome body like mine from your workout, then YOU SHOULDN'T WEAR SHOES EITHER.”

And Nike lost him to Speedo?

I’ve got to say, I feel like this is a fate Nike richly deserves. When I went to the Atlanta Olympics as a spectator in 1996, Nike had a billboard hovering right over Centennial Olympic Park, where it was visible to all the athletes and their parents, reading:

“You don’t win silver. You lose gold.”

Hmmm. Bet they won't be resurrecting that ad campaign anytime soon.

Photo, above: A willing pawn in the global marketing wars, an Agence France-Presse photographer lends larger-than-life perspective to Usain Bolt, as Bolt gives mad props to his shoes, which are not Nikes.

Nike-logo illustration: Special to the Backbencher.

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NEXT WEEK IN THE BACKBENCHER ...

... I continue my tally of winners and losers at the XXIX Olympic Games, even though, by then, it will no longer be topical.

Family-Roster Minivan Decaling

Backbencher-reader Betsy, in response to last week’s post about Calvin-desecrating-a-logo rear-window decals, said, “they're still better than the cutesy stick figures that announce to the world how many members are in your family.”

Hmmm. That's a little bit hostile, isn't it? I’ve always liked minivan family-roster decaling. And I always wanted to do one for our family. The problem is, I can’t find the illustrations needed to properly represent our family unit. Based on my wife, my children, and the contents of our garage and storage shed, here’s what ours should look like:

Family Matters

Sorry about not posting last week. I have been consumed with other matters.

Last Tuesday, doctors removed a large mass from my wife’s abdomen. It was purple, slimy, and seemed angry to be disturbed. We named it Zane. I’m happy to say that Zane pinked up quite nicely within several seconds after removal, and he was definitely less gross after a bath.

While my wife was on some serious pain medication recovering from her c-section, I decided, as a caring husband who is concerned about the quality of her healthcare, to test the effectiveness of the medications she was receiving by posing various questions to her, such as “Do you mind if I buy a pick-up truck?”

It turns out that the immediate post-op recovery period presents an excellent opportunity for husbands to get their wives’ approval on all kinds of critical family expenditures. Not only did she agree to a pick-up, but I also got her consent to a rider lawn tractor, a compound cross-cut miter saw, and something called an “Arctic Cat.”

I don’t know exactly what an Arctic Cat is, but I think it’s some kind of snowmobile. All I know for sure is, judging by the rear-window decals I see, Arctic Cat appears to be very popular with pick-up owners here in Grand Forks, North Dakota. Therefore, I figured, I should make sure to be able to get one, especially since I’m already getting the truck. I’ll need something to haul.

I should note that Arctic Cat’s popularity is not universal. One pick-up around town sports an apparently a new window decal depicting Calvin, of the Calvin & Hobbes cartoon strip, urinating on an Arctic Cat logo. This is remarkable for at least two reasons. First, it’s somewhat surprising that people are that passionate about their snowmobile brand preferences. Second, that whole Calvin-urinating-on-a-logo thing peaked when I was in high school.

Yikes.

America needs to find a new obnoxious window-decaling trend for our trucks. And that’s an issue you can be sure I will take up when I announce my write-in candidacy for president next week.

But, in the meantime, I should tell you that mother and baby are doing fine. Please e-mail me or post a comment to weigh in on whether I need a cup holder on my lawn tractor.

The Original Taste of Breakfast in Japan

Konichi-wa! I am writing to you from Sapporo, Japan. And I am a bit dizzy because I haven’t had much to eat.

Now, I don’t care how much you say you love Japanese food. It’s a daunting prospect when you wake up jet-lagged, having survived 30 hours of travel from Grand Forks, North Dakota, and it’s time for breakfast.

Just think for a second about everything you know of Japanese food, and now think about breakfast. Kind of confusing, isn’t it? And besides, I never said I was crazy about Japanese food. I’ve certainly enjoyed many things I’ve eaten in Japanese restaurants, but, to be honest, I’ve got a palate slightly more adventurous than that of my three-year-old son, Joe. And he’s never tried a strawberry.

So I wandered out of my hotel, found a small convenience store, and walked the aisles. The only food product I was able to conclusively identify was a bag of dried octopus. Believe me, even if you’ve never seen dried octopus packaged like beef jerky, it’s the kind of thing where, you know it when you see it. Rows of suction cups on tentacles is a dead giveaway. Everything else on the shelves was utterly mysterious. Now, at one point, I thought I had identified some pretzels, but the fact that they were hanging on the peg next to the dried octopus made me think that I really had no idea what I was looking at.

I overheard a German couple talking – and I don’t know much German – but I did hear the word “Frühstück” spoken with some degree of distress. “Frühstück” means “breakfast.” And doing that translation in my head is about the highest use to which I have put my two years of college German. (Kids, take Español.)

Finally, in a corner of the store, I ran into an old friend: Tony the Tiger. He was perched, broad-shouldered and smiling, on the label of a box of “Frosties.” The color illustration depicted food that certainly looked like Frosted Flakes. So I decided to give it a go.

But now I faced a new problem: milk. After some searching, I found a refrigerated carton bearing a picture of cows in a pasture. Where I come from, that is a clear indication of something that is dairy-themed. And while almost all of the labeling was in Japanese, it did say, in English, in small little letters:

The original taste of milk.

Close enough. I snagged a carton and headed for the checkout.

I’ll note that one thing many travelers struggle with is understanding the value of foreign currency. The exchange rate in Japan is currently one yen to 0.009316 U.S. dollars. With ratios like this, it’s impossible to calculate the exact cost of items on the fly. So you have to make do with estimating. For me, the easiest, if not most accurate method of estimating, is to assume that one yen equals one dollar. The resulting figures make it seem like prices in Japan are astronomically high, but it also makes me feel insanely rich.

Walking out of the store I thought to myself: Did I just drop 475 big ones on a box of Frosted Flakes? Oh yeah, I did!

Back in my hotel room, I selected a small cup intended to hold afternoon tea, and poured in some Frosties. Then I opened the carton and sniffed the white liquid inside. It smelled like seafood.

Okay, I freaked out for a second. But then I remembered that the Japanese are passionately careful in their preparation and handling of seafood. So I took the fishy smell as an indicator of high quality, and I filled up the bowl.

Hmmm. I needed a spoon. The closest I could come on a moment's notice was the complimentary toothbrush the hotel was kind enough to provide me with. Not only did I get a belly full of delicious cereal, but my teeth felt refreshingly clean afterward.

And to think my mom said frosted breakfast cereals would give me cavities!