The Backbencher

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.

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.

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.

---

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.

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.

To America's Financial Services Companies: Please Shut Up

After last week, when I told you how afraid I am of slipping on ice, and how, I injured my neck by “moving to sit down,” you may be asking how old is this guy?

Well, let me tell you. I am old. Very old. Actually, I’m 36. And let me tell you, that’s old enough. My 35th birthday was very hard to take. Much harder than 30. When you are 30, you are still in the 18-to-34-year-old demographic. Advertisers are still encouraging you to buy an engagement ring, take out a lease on a Mini Cooper, and even “go out” on Friday night.

But as soon as you turn 35, you’re an entirely different beast as far as America’s corporations are concerned. You’ve just passed into the 35-to-59-year-old demographic. And that means you start getting commercials for vitamins that are “specially formulated for your active lifestyle.” Worst of all, you begin to receive the considerable attention of a group of outfits called “financial services companies.”

I think I speak for everyone here on planet Earth when I say: Financial services companies, PLEASE SHUT UP.

The worst is when these financial services companies merge with one another and change names. Upon such an occasion, they will spend the next several months engaging in an orgy of advertising trying to impress you with how great that is.

“USB Warcus Pinkberg Globotrade and TD Ameriswiss Fidential have now joined forces to become USBTDPG AmeriGlobo Pinktrade. Learn how the power of USBTDPG AmeriGlobo Pinktrade is the Power to Dream.”

I’m not even sure what these companies do. They are not banks. I understand what a bank does. Thanks to the modern convenience of “direct deposit,” a bank gets all the money you earned from your job, and then charges you a fee if you ask about it.

Okay, I get that. I can wrap my head around that. But financial-services companies do something entirely different. How is it different? I can’t tell you, but for one thing, even though they are in the “financial services” industry, they apparently do not provide services at all. Instead, they provide “financial products.”

What is a “financial product”? Your first thought might be “money.” What other kind of financial product could you need? And if helpful American corporations are trying to give me money, that would be something I’d definitely be interested in, and I bet you would be too. But, as it turns out – and this is not a real shocker – these companies actually want you to pay them money in order to receive a “financial product” in return.

So, once you have a financial product, what can you do with it? Well – and this is the good part – with a financial product, you will be able to do no less than go out into the middle of the desert and achieve your dreams.

At least this is how Dennis Hopper explained it to me as he was sitting on a chair in the center of a vast dry lakebed. And since I’m now in the 35-to-59-year-old demographic, I tried really hard to pay attention.

Now, the thing about Dennis Hopper is, I’m not sure I find him incredibly persuasive when it comes to financial services. Several months ago in L.A., when I was driving on to a movie studio lot at about 4 a.m., I saw someone who looked like a bleary-eyed, unshaven Dennis Hopper half-asleep in the driver’s seat of a car parked immediately in front of the security booth. In fact, he looked exactly like Dennis Hopper, except that he looked very old, not very tall, quite drawn and wizzened, and, like I said, he was nearly passed out in a car parked just outside security at 4 a.m.

Now, there is a rule you learn about celebrity sightings when you live in Los Angeles. It is this: An apparent celebrity sighting is never not-to-be-believed because the person you see is (1) too short, (2) too old, (3) too thin, or (4) doing something extremely weird.

When my car’s headlight beams hit his face, he looked at me like I was the biggest jerk in the world for disturbing his nap. I will just say that it was not the look of someone from whom I want to take advice regarding financial products.

So I still have many decisions to make regarding financial products and services. But at least I’ll have plenty of time to think about it. All of us in the 34-to-59 demographic will – now that Sally Field has invented once-monthly Boniva. Because who could possibly deal with the slave-like drudgery of taking our osteoporosis pills EVERY SINGLE WEEK?!?

Can I Wear a Backpack Even if I'm a Law Professor?

I have recently ditched my messenger bag for a backpack. Is it okay for a law professor to carry a backpack to school? My wife says I look too much like a student. Now, maybe the backpack doesn’t look all that professorial – and I do want to look professorial – but the backpack is easier on my aching back than the messenger bag. And back problems, it seems to me, are very professorial. Or at least old-sounding.

My wife, Kit, is unconvinced. I explained to her that with a backpack, wearing a suit, I look like Josh Lyman from the West Wing. Kit thinks it is “silly” for me to model my fashion choices after a fictional senior White House staffer.

Kit thinks, instead, that I should model myself after a government counter-terrorist agent who breaks all the rules. That is to say, she only wanted me to carry a messenger bag after Jack Bauer ran around with one in Season Five of 24.

Granted, I’m sure everyone is instantly reminded of Jack Bauer when they see me hobbling to class, bent-spined – and rogueishly good-looking, of course – as I fumble for aspirin in my man-purse, gingerly making my way as I try not to slip on the black ice in front of the library.

I’ve got to tell you, I am truly terrified of falling on the ice. The mid-March thaw in North Dakota brings a fresh film of disgusting black water to every ice-packed sidewalk in town. The last thing I want to do is take a digger in front of a crowd of 1Ls.

Even worse, I’m afraid I may have reached that age where, instead of saying “Professor Johnson fell,” they will say, “Did you hear? Professor Johnson ... ” lowering their voice to a whisper, “had a fall.”

And that’s the last thing I need after a couple of weeks ago, when I badly pulled a muscle in my neck. Do you know how I injured my neck? That the best part. I was – get this – moving to sit down on the couch. Yes. That’s it. MOVING TO SIT DOWN ON THE COUCH.

I was in so much pain I couldn’t move at all for several minutes. You would think, since I’m a torts teacher, I would know enough not to get a soft-tissue injury while I am alone, at my own house, not even holding a product.

So for days I strode around in front of class unable to swivel my head independently of my shoulders. I’m sure THAT looked very professorial.