The Backbencher

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!

Bowling for Lawyers

Following up on last week’s post about Ohio’s absurd liquor laws, let me discuss some alcoholic beverage law issues from a perennial top performer in the silly state category, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. I originally wrote about this in a newspaper column back when I was attending law school in 1998.

It was in that year that I found myself at Lanes-&-Games, a bowling establishment in Cambridge, Mass. I was enjoying a cold Bud Light and trying to show off my bowling prowess to classmates, silently weighing my chances of becoming a successful lawyer without learning golf.

A Lanes-&-Games employee broke my reverie by tapping me on the shoulder.

“You’re going to have to stay on the carpeted area with that,” he said, motioning to my Bud Light.

“What?” It sure didn’t sound like anything out of the bowling courtesy handbook – a book I nearly memorized as a high-school sophomore trying to dodge honest PE credit.

“State law,” he said solemnly, and then he was off to tell some more people to keep their beers off the wood.

Can’t drink beer in the bowling-alley area? Only over the carpet? How could that make any sense?

My finely tuned lawyer brain did the analysis. Every law is supposed to have a “rational basis.” So what was at work here?

Drunk people with 16-pound bowling balls can always be slightly dangerous. So could that be the justification? Well, it couldn’t be that, because making you sip your beer a few feet over wouldn’t stop that.

Hmmm. Maybe state-legislators were worried about people slipping on spilled beer as they are concentrating on their approach. But wait, it remained okay to drink non-alcoholic beverages over the wood. So it couldn’t be that either.

Having mulled it over, I figured the bowling-alley staffer really didn’t know what he was talking about. It couldn’t be a state law.

I mean, no legislature could be that wacky.

Right?

Then I looked it up:

M.G.L.A. 138 § 16D: SALE OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES IN BOWLING ALLEYS.

No license for the sale of alcoholic beverages shall be granted for that portion of any building or premises licensed for the purpose of bowling, or any game similar thereto regardless of its designation.

Wow. Well, maybe this was a remnant of the aftermath of prohibition. I looked to see what year the law was added.

1962.

More like the aftermath of Sputnik.

Notice the law’s ingenious drafting. The “regardless of its designation” clause would deftly defeat a clever lawyer-crafted end-around of calling the game “schmowling.”

Now, many of you may be saying to yourselves, “What about my constitutionally protected right to bowl?”

That’s an excellent question. And, believe it or not, the Commonwealth’s highest court addressed that issue.

In Marchesi v. Selectmen of Winchester, 312 Mass. 28, 30, 42 N.E.2d 817 (1942), the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court observed:

It has long been recognized in this Commonwealth that the keeping of premises for a public bowling alley may be forbidden or permitted under such supervision and control as the Legislature deems appropriate and necessary to protect the public safety, health and morals, so that such a place will not become a source of annoyance and disturbance to the public or a menace to the peace and good order of a community.

Now here’s the really exciting part. After I made the above observations in my law school’s student newspaper, the Massachusetts legislature repealed the law! They took it off the books in 2000.

So I’m going to go ahead and claim credit for that one. Maybe, a couple of years from now, we’ll find out that Ohio couldn’t bear the weight of my sarcasm, and they too will clean up their act.

In the meantime, I hope you Massachusetts readers will go to a nearby bowling center, drink a beer or other alcoholic beverage seated right there at the scoring table, and toast your intrepid blogger for making a positive change in our society.

One of these days I will tell you the sad tale of how I am the unrecognized inventor of street luge.

Avoiding the Tragedy of Low Prices on Beer

One of the great benefits of living in a federal system with 50 sovereign states is that, compared to a normal country, we're 50 times as likely to create really silly laws.

I recently captured these photos of a Marathon service station in west central Ohio selling “beer and wine at state minimum prices.”

Now I’m sorry, but that is just funny. Of all the evils to protect people from, the Ohio legislature, in their infinite wisdom, has seen fit to protect the citizens of the Buckeye State from getting too much of a bargain on beer.

God forbid. Maybe they should outlaw rainbows and cute, fuzzy bunnies while they're at it.

Let me make a clarifying observation: The Ohio legislature is not protecting people from cheap beer. (Natural Light, for instance, is still legal.) They are protecting people from paying cheap prices for beer.

You can see exactly how this plays out in the next two pictures. The minimum prices are different for different beers. A “fancy” beer, Miller Genuine Draft, has a minimum price of $5.19 for a six-pack of bottles. The state allows a longneck six-pack of Busch, however, to be sold for $4.19.

That’s right, the state of Ohio, in its infinite wisdom, forces people to pay more for MGD than for Busch. I’d love to have been there during the committee hearings.

“Esteemed members of the legislature, please put down your tasters. All in favor of making Ohioans pay a buck less for Busch, please signify by stumbling over a lobbyist.”

I’d have taken more photos, but I was stopped by the store clerk. She said the owner of the store, watching on closed-circuit television, was upset. Why? He was, she said – and this is best part – worried that I might be from a competitor store. Huh? What’s a competitor going to do with that information? Undercut his prices??

The law, Ohio Administrative Code 4301:1-1-72, that dictates minimum prices on beer has a preamble explaining its purpose. One aim is to prevent sales that would “improperly stimulate purchase and consumption” of beer.

Oh, okay. That makes sense. So if a “good” beer, like Budweiser Select, were sold for $3.49 per six-pack of 16-ounce cans, then people would go crazy and drink too much. But it’s okay to charge that for Milwaukee’s Best Ice, since, presumably, the taste of “the Beast” serves as its own limit on consumption.

Another purpose of the law is to “eliminate discriminatory sales practices that threaten the survival of wholesale distributors”. That’s a good point. As we all know, a lack of state-minimum prices on beer has led to the tragic loss of beer distribution in most of the rest of the United States.

Now, some of you may think that the real purpose of the law is to eliminate competition on the basis of price. Not so. The law says that part of its purpose is to “preserve orderly competition”.

If we could only put the high-minded geniuses of the Ohio legislature in charge of college sports, we might get more orderly competition in football – for instance, a rule that mandates all teams named “Ohio State Buckeyes” start national championship games with an automatic extra 30 points. That way we could prevent “disorderly” results such as Ohio State losing in back-to-back years.

No post today

No post today, as I'm on the road, and it's hard to type and drive. Regular post coming on Monday, July 14, 2008.

Bare and Balanced in the Sin City of the Upper Midwest

You are probably like me in that you’ve been wondering for several months now why in the world the Republicans would hold their national convention in that great bastion of liberalism, Minneapolis.

Minnesota, after all, is so liberal, it was the only state to vote for Mondale instead of Reagan in 1984. In fact, the Land of 10,000 Lakes is so left wing that more than 50 percent of the radio stations are National Public Radio. If you don’t believe me, come on up and give the radio dial a spin. And bring some cassette tapes with you. Anything you can spare. I’ll listen to Air Supply’s greatest hits at this point – I’m that desperate.

Well, I have figured out why the RNC picked the Twin Cities. It’s as simple as this. Republicans want to party. And for conservatives, Minneapolis is a virtual buffet of sin. It’s where Republicans can go to let their hair down, kick off their heels, and wag their feet.

You’ll recall that late last year, Larry Craig, Republican senator from Idaho, was caught soliciting sex in the Minneapolis St. Paul Airport by making certain foot motions under the divider of a bathroom stall.

Now there’s this: I can report, as the result of my own investigative journalism (or at least my bored wanderings during a layover) that at the very same airport, and just yards away from Mr. Craig’s haunting grounds, the voice of American conservatism, Fox News Channel, is selling pornography. Yes, that’s right. Fox News is selling porn. And not just any porn. We are talking videos literally labeled “HARDCORE”.

No joke. I obtained photographic evidence, which you can see above right. On close inspection, you may be asking if I actually pixelized a portion of one of the photographs. Yup. Not family friendly, I’m afraid. Wow, this blog actually has a stricter decency policy than Fox News Channel. There you go.

I should note that these pictures were obtained at great cost. That is, at great cost to Fox News Channel. Or at least I figure as much. Anytime someone whips out a camera around the porno-mag rack at a newsstand, there’s gonna be some lost sales. I know I saw one guy scurry away.

Now, in all fairness, I should point out that there is no indication that Fox News Channel is selling pornography for prurient purposes. Their slogan is, after all: “We report. You decide.” In other words, “We sell porn. You decide what you’re going to do with it in the privacy of your own home, including using it as research for your upcoming Heritage Foundation white paper.”

Nonetheless, I’ve got to say that this is a disappointment coming from the network that employs Sean Hannity.

Sean Hannity is a great American. How do I know he is a great American? I know because everyone who calls into his radio show tells him, “Sean, you are a great American.”

Then Sean, without missing a beat, turns around and says, “Thank you, and you are a great American, too.”

Now, how does Sean know that all his callers are great Americans? I’m assuming that his call screeners, after thorough investigation, flash a message on his monitors: “CALLER IS GREAT AMERICAN.” Otherwise, it’s possible that Sean considers the act of calling into his radio show to be sufficient in itself to make someone a great American. And I’ve got to say, of all the ways there are of becoming a great American, such as dying for your country in combat, I would definitely recommend going the route of being a caller on the Sean Hannity radio program.

Let me just anticipate the comments some of you will have. “It's not fair to say Fox News Channel is selling porn when this is clearly just a newsstand at an airport which has a logo-licensing deal with Fox News Channel.”

To that, I have to pull out my intellectual-property-professor card and say, under trademark law, you are your trademark, and vice versa. The only way a trademark license can be legally acceptable is if the trademark owner controls the quality and characteristics of the thing on which the trademark appears, which, in this case, is the newsstand. To wit, viz., ERGO:

Fox News Channel is selling porn.

So, to the thousands of Republican delegates traveling to the Big Minne, I hope you whoop it up and have a grand ol’ time together. But on the off chance that you find yourself lonely, at least you know where to go to find a few hundred pages of great Americans to keep you company.

A Legal Analysis of Timeshares and Other Consumer Fraud Issues

I recently heard North Dakota’s attorney general, Wayne Stenehjem, speak on the important issue of consumer fraud. He’s a smart and talented guy. And that’s why it was all the more disappointing to hear his legal opinion on timeshares.

“A valid timeshare contract is not consumer fraud,” he said.

Now, when you read those words, you are probably saying to yourself, “Hmmm. That is a really boring quote.”

Fair enough, but this is the Attorney General of North Dakota we are talking about. And since I live in North Dakota, I’m not about to go dressing up his quotes.

The other thing I recall Attorney General Stenehjem saying did not constitute consumer fraud was delayed pancakes.

Apparently Attorney General Stenehjem’s office received a complaint from the patron of a restaurant advertising “all-you-can-eat pancakes.” The man said that when he was done eating a pancake, and he would ask for another, the waitress would sometimes make him wait as long as an hour and a half for the next pancake.

Not consumer fraud, according to the attorney general.

Now, I’m just going to disagree with that. I think that guy got ripped off. And, so, yes, I think that constitutes consumer fraud. Have I researched the issue? No. Do I have any experience with North Dakota’s consumer protection statutes? No. Have I done a keyword search on “pancake” in Westlaw? No. Do I have even a scintilla of precedent or so much as one reasoned argument from accepted legal principle? No. But I’m a law professor in North Dakota, and I think that entitles me to make my own legal pronouncement. So here it is:

Pancake delay, if both persistent and substantial, constitutes consumer fraud under the laws of the state of North Dakota.

There. That felt good. I’ve established a two-pronged test that would make the Supreme Court proud. And now that poor ripped-off restaurant patron can cite my blog in his doomed small-claims action.

But back to timeshares.

A couple of years ago my wife and I got a cold call from a major timeshare operator and we actually took the bait. We would get a deluxe room at a resort in Phoenix, access to the pool (with waterslides and a lazy river!), and, of course, a free gift. All we had to do in return was sit through a timeshare sales-presentation lasting no longer than one hour.

I was confident in my ability to resist high-pressure sales tactics and the intoxicating aroma of fresh-baked cookies. So we went for it. How bad could it be?

At the appointed hour, we went down to the timeshare sales office and met our sales guy. The first thing he said, motioning to our 12-month-old son who was just learning to walk, was, “He looks like a little drunken sailor.”

I took extreme offense at this, particularly because our son, Joe, looked exactly like a little drunken sailor. I was ready to deck the guy. It was all the more intolerable since this sales guy was one of only two people we’d ever met who did not react to our son like he was the cutest, most adorable thing in the world.

The other person was – and this is the actual truth – interviewing to be our nanny. As my wife held three-month-old Joe in her lap, and we sat across from this woman in a coffee house in Santa Monica, she actually – and this is entirely accurate – recoiled in horror when she saw Joe spit up a little. Grimacing and turning her head slightly to the side, she pointed to Joe with a crooked finger and said, “Um, there’s something, um, leaking out of his mouth. You might want to get that.”

As you won’t be surprised to learn, we opted for daycare.

So since the timeshare salesman not only insulted our kid, but actually seemed annoyed by him, we decided we would not pick Joe up, but, instead, let him walk FOR THE ENTIRE TOUR.

This was hilarious, of course. It took us eons to do the walk-through. Joe staggered in a halting zig-zag through every room of the model condo, grabbing wildly at flimsy simulated televisions and silk houseplants to keep from careening over. By the time we got back to the sales guy’s desk, our hour was, blessedly, almost up.

The sales guy went in for the close. “What I’d like to do now, is show you some of the numbers on how much money you’ll save with the timeshare plan.”

I stayed strong. “Well, whatever you want to do with the next two-and-a-half minutes is fine by me. It’s your time, and we’ll listen. But when the hour’s up, we’ll be going back to the pool.”

At this point, our guy sensed the sale was getting away from him, so he went to his A-game. For the next 150 seconds, we were barraged with such an onslaught of pathos as you could not believe. His being orphaned as an infant. His cruel aunt and uncle who made him live in a closet under the stairs. That time that he was almost killed by Voldemort. It was unbelievable. But when the minute hand reached the top of the clock, I picked Joe up, and we were out of there.

We strode confidently back to the pool, our bank account intact. But it turns out we didn’t get off scot-free. The fact is, years later, we still bear the emotional scars. I mean, it really was pretty sad that his mother sacrificed herself to save him from Voldemort’s death spell. You know, maybe we still have his business card around here somewhere.

Going Nuclear with Household Chores

It’s been an open secret for a long time now that lawn mowers are a way for guys to fulfill their fantasy of owning and operating farm equipment. One of the biggest mistakes I’ve made in my life was allowing my wife to talk me out of getting a John Deere riding lawn-and-garden tractor for our new house.

Granted, our yard is not really large enough for a regulation tetherball game. How can I be so sure about that? You don’t want to know. And please don’t ask my wife about it either. While you're at it, please also don’t ask her about any of the following: arena croquet, pilates-ball golf, or Lawn Darts: 3-D.

Now, while I didn't get a riding lawn-mower, I did get a good walking mower. Not only is it self-propelled, but you don't even have to pull the ripcord to get it started. You start it by putting a key into the ignition and turning it. Why do I need a keyed ignition for a lawn mower? Because it is awesome. I generally let it stall out several times when mowing, just so I can tun the key and crank it up again it up again.

Now, while awesome lawn technology is old news, the introduction of awesomeness to inside-the-house technology is relatively new. You may have noticed that, in recent years, we’ve seen a radical leap forward in vacuum technology.

Pretending I'm a farmer when I'm mowing the lawn is great. But next time you turn down aisle 21B at your local Target, you’ll quickly see that today’s vacuums offer carpet owners something even better: The potential to live out their fantasy of owning and operating a nuclear reactor. You know, a small nuclear reactor - but extremely dangerous all the same.

That’s why, I’ve decided, THE biggest mistake of my life was letting my wife go to the store without me to buy a replacement vacuum cleaner.

Look at these Dyson vacuums. I am not sure of exactly what I am seeing here, but with all these cylindrical and tubular shapes, somewhere in there is pretty clearly a magma chamber. And that is definitely something I need.

Now, not all of today's vacuums look as cool as the Dysons, but most of them offer some kind of alluring hazard. Dirt Devil makes a vacuum with a containment vessel on it that is menacingly emblazoned with the words “REACTION Fresh."

Hoover makes - and this is the actual truth - an "ALL-TERRAIN STEAM VAC." It's "all-terrain" because it works on both hardwood floors and carpet.

Taking the whole enterprise up a notch is the Dyson DC25 (professional catalog shot at right). In addition to the standard reactor core on top, it has, as you can see, a sinister-looking metallic-yellow sphere, presumably containing enriched plutonium.

The vacuum my wife bought looks like ... hmmm. I can only describe it this way: a vacuum. What was she thinking? She must have been shopping completely at random, comparing factors such as price.

My wife asks me why I don’t do more of the vacuuming. Well, I'd vacuum if we had the Dyson DC25. That's a piece of equipment where, you don't turn it on, you "initiate the arming sequence." Believe me, I could put down my lawn mower for that.

WARNING: DO NOT CONTINUE READING ANY FURTHER UNLESS YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER IN LAW.

The reason we needed to get a new vacuum is that we had to replace our “eight-pound” Oreck XL. The Oreck XL has the aesthetics of an answering machine from 1977. It was given to us as a wedding present by my mother-in-law, presumably because - and this is not a real stretch here - the Oreck XL is heavily advertised on conservative talk radio.

In fact, nearly 75 percent of conservative talk radio commercials are for either the Oreck XL, the Bose Wave radio, Ovaltine, or the Duxiana "MemoryFoam" bed. The remainder of the commercials are for vitamin supplements hawked by Larry King and investment opportunities. Most of the investment opportunities are targeted to people who are deeply skeptical of wacko-liberal financial gimmicks, such as federally insured bank accounts.

"Are you concerned that the Democrats in Congress could surrender America to the Chinese? Experts predict that in such a scenario, American currency could become worthless. But for thousands of years gold has retained its value. Call Direct Gold for a free prospectus ..."

You know, maybe I can call in to Sean Hannity and enlist his help in pressuring my wife to get the Dyson DC25. Think about it. If civil order collapses, I'll need nuclear technology to help protect my family from the communists. And you know they'll be coming for us. Especially if they suspect we have our life's savings stored up as Direct-Gold-certified coins and tucked beneath our MemoryFoam mattress.