American Idiots

Yesterday, The Common Man reported back on the idiocy he heard on his various travels to and from the great state of Minnesota. Though prolific in their ridiculousness, none of the comments have been in the same league as some of the responses that The Common Man has heard regarding the Michael Vick case.

As, undoubtedly, you all know by now, Michael Vick is pleading guilty to criminal conspiracy charges in connection to an illegal dog fighting program that he helped run and in which he allegedly murdered several dogs who were not "cutting it" in the ring.

Condemnation of Vick and his actions have, of course, been plentiful. Virtually every media outlet, both sports and otherwise, have graphically documented how Vick would (allegedly) execute the dogs and the obscene amount of money he spent on the fights, and has justifiably excoriated the Atlanta Falcons' quarterback. Indeed, you don't need The Common Man to tell you how reprehensible Vick and his cronies are. On his nicest days, Vick did things to his dogs that The Common Man wouldn't even consider doing to Ralph the Evil Dog, who lives downstairs so that he doesn't eat the cat.

What has surprised The Common Man, however, is the amount of almost-defenses for Vick that have surfaced since the Federal inquiry began. NBC Announcer and Superstar cornerback Deion Sanders, for instance, wrote

"What a dog means to Vick might be a lot different than what he means to you or I. Hold on, don't start shaking your head just yet. Listen to me. Some people kiss their dogs on the mouth. Some people let their dogs eat from their plate. Some people dress their dogs in suits more expensive than mine, if you can believe that.
And some people enjoy proving they have the biggest, toughest dog on the street. You're probably not going to believe this, but I bet Vick loves the dogs that were the biggest and the baddest."

All-Pro running back and resident scholar Clinton Portis argued, "I don't know if he was fighting dogs or not, but it's his property, it's his dog. If that's what he wants to do, do it. I think people should mind their business." and revealed that "I know a lot of back roads that have the dog fighting if you want to go see it."

Yesterday, Stephon Marbury of the New York Knicks, contended that dogfighting is no different from hunting, saying "I think, you know, we don't say anything about people who shoot deer or shoot other animals. You know, from what I hear, dogfighting is a sport. It's just behind closed doors." Amazingly, Marbury's line of argument has been supported by the Atlanta chapter of the NAACP, whose president said, according to CNN.com, "he didn't understand the uproar over dogfighting, when hunting deer and other animals is perfectly acceptable." Such statements are ludicrous at their core, considering that most hunting is performed as cleanly and painlessly as realistically possible. No hunter that The Common Man knows (save perhaps for Dick Cheney and Karl Rove) think that dousing a deer with water and electricuting it is appropriate behavior.

These people who trivialize Vick's behavior, frankly, are stupid and should be lampooned. That said, what is most interesting to The Common Man in all the response to the Vick saga is how shocked that the mainstream, white media seems to be that a) anyone would consider defending dog fighting and b) that it is a seemingly popular activity in certain parts of the country, perhaps even close to socially acceptable. The Common Man believes that this shock is evidence that, quite frankly, mainstream America chooses not to know nearly as much about those who live outside of its purview than it should. Instead of looking into and confronting allegations of rampant dog abuse and fighting, until a prominent figure is involved, America turns away. Instead of delving into and solving the reasons behind poverty and high crime in America's urban centers, America turns away. This country and its media focus on soap operas (celebrity girls out of control!) rather than real problems that plague it, and that ought to make it ashamed.

According to the Michigan State Legal and Historical Animal Center,

"The Humane Society of the United States estimates that there are at least 40,000 dogfighters in America, though that number seems to underestimate the epidemic of street fighting in urban areas. In 2003, the city of Chicago alone recorded and responded to 1093 animal fighting complaints. Virtually all children in high crime urban areas are exposed to dogfighting in their own neighborhoods while American hip/hop culture glorifies the blood sport."

The mainstream media and the legal system has turned the other way, not caring that,

"The systematic desensitization of each new generation in high crime inner cities starts early on; there, most children are routinely exposed to dogfighting and are forced to accept the inherent violence as normal. The routine exposure of the children to unfettered animal abuse and neglect is a major contributing factor in their later manifestation of social deviance."

By paying attention, gentle readers readers, the people of this country could solve a lot of problems before they get started.

Travel Stories

The Common Man has had to hear a lot of ridiculous things in the past week while journeying to and from his home state of Minnesota (for the 3rd time this summer). He is thankful, however, that relatively little of the inanity has come from anyone in any way connected with the Motherland.

The first leg of the journey, during which The Common Man was accompanied by The Uncommon Wife and The Boy, was marked by the whimsical musings of an 89-year old native of Yorkshire, England. She informed The Common Man, in between her interesting musings about being a radar operator in WWII and a G.I. bride afterward and her kernels of advice for raising up The Boy to be a right proper gentleman, that all the Arab states hated the U.S. because of the freedoms that Americans enjoy and that the Chinese were trying to poison us all (meanwhile, seated behind and in front of her were two people of Asian descent). She also fretted constantly that "all the fat people" will steal all the wheelchairs before she could claim one that she had reserved upon disembarking. To this end, she made The Common Man and several flight attendants promise to bring her bag to her after she made a mad dash from the back of the plane to the door in order to secure rolling passage from this plane to her next (a plan that, sadly, failed in its execution because, it turns out, two hundred able-bodied passengers are much more spry at leaping from their seats than an 89-year old with a bad hip).

That said, The Common Man acknowledges that certain 89-year olds have earned the right to be pains in the ass, because of their many years of continued existence, in spite of all this society does to try to kill them (booze, drugs, cigarettes, fatty food, crazy drivers, etc.). And The Common Man can even sympathize with the average 89-year old who is bitter and confused that the America that they grew up with seems to be gone, and who rants a little at those who they deem to be the culprits of the change. They aren't right, but they are harmless. By the way, she is supporting John Edwards for President.

Our first attempt to return to State College being rebuffed (bad weather and a late plane would have caused us to miss our connection in Detroit), The Common Man and family returned via Atlanta yesterday. Though disappointed at the delay, the trip was made entirely worthwhile by the Atlanta-bound passenger who asked the woman behind him in line, "Where's your funny accent?" when she revealed that she was from British Columbia. The Canadian woman had to tell her new geographically-challenged friend that British Columbia is not actually part of Great Britain, nor even on the same continent and that the most they do is "elongate their vowels" and say "aboot". This, naturally, led to many "Do you live anywhere near that Stonehenge thing?" and "Let me ask you a question, do you guys really drink warm beer?" jokes between The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife for the rest of the flight.

On the next leg of the journey, the flight attendant (Brenda) and the entire front row of the plane got to have a chuckle at the expense of the living, breathing stereotype of a fat, drunk, obnoxious, and lewd convention-goer (complete with arm-pit stains and small black mustache) who a) tried to order a Martini, b) apologized in advance to an Asian woman in case his bag fell out of the overhead compartment and hit her on the head, c) argued passionately that he would want a pilot who "had had a few drinks the night before" so that "they would be nice and relaxed" the next morning for their flight out, d) loudly announced to the Brenda that no one was "joining the Mile High Club" in the plane's single lavatory in the back, and e) tried to finagle a meeting in that same bathroom with her to join said Mile High Club or, barring that, figure out what hotel she would be staying at in State College and invite her to dinner.

Good times. Good times. It's amazing what interesting people The Common Man gets to meet when he travels. God bless the Brendas in the world and all the ridiculousness that they have to put up with. The Boy, by the way, slept, ate, and smiled most of the time on all four legs of our trip, and was a hit with travelers, airport personel, and flight attendants wherever he went.

Abrupt Change of Plans

Here The Common Man was getting so excited to give you his review of the final Harry Potter book (completed last night at 10:45) and the Bush Administration had to go and ruin everything. The Common Man apologizes to all of his readers out there (all three of you), and promises that just such a review will be forthcoming, complete with spoilers, because that's how much of a hypocrite The Common Man is.

But today, we must bask in the glow that is today's news' loving, warming, loving glow. Ladies and gentlemen, Karl Rove is dead...in the strictest political sense of the word. It comes seven years too late, mind you, but it came. The Common Man is going to take credit for Rove's departure, since it coincided with The Common Man's return to blogging last week. Aware that The Common Man was back, was going to be around for a while, and would be watching his every move like a hawk, Rove decided to get out while the getting was good. One of The Common Man's Big 10 Goals for 2007 has been accomplished. He will now cross "Force Karl Rove to resign" off of his list and move on either to "Paint the living room" or "Negotiate reunification of North and South Koreas," whichever he happens to get to first.

Of course, Rove's resignation makes any difference in the strictest sense for this White House. The President's term is just 17 short months from completion and he does not have the political capital to even control his own party. He is the lamest of lame ducks. Barring an unforseen resurrgence in the President's numbers, Rove's brilliant politicking would have made no difference. And even if that were not the case, surely the President has several Rove deciples still on the White House payroll and the Evil Chessmaster himself on speed dial.

Not surprisingly, Rove is putting a positive spin on his departure, saying that he had been contemplating leaving for more than a year. Asked if he was being "run out of town," Rove said that anyone claiming that would be "like the rooster claiming to have called up the sun;" which, of course, doesn't happen, because the rooster's calls are being monitored and he and the sun haven't spoken for more than a year. In the immediate future, he plans to "go dove hunting in West Texas with family and friends, then drive my wife and the dogs to the beach." Dick Cheney is said to be all packed for the farewell hunting trip. Afterward, he will be writing a book and teaching at the university level, he said.

Rove's legacy will be an interesting one. He never had a clearly defined position within this White House, maintaining the title of Senior Advisor. It's possible that no single non-President has had as much influence over a President and his administration than Rove has. He is a remarkable fund-raiser and election strategist who is widely suspected of playing a part in some of the more underhanded campaign attacks in recent history, including a notorious push-poll in South Carolina that suggested to voters that McCain had an illegitimate mixed-race daughter. His seeming embrace post-structuralist philosophy has given rise to Rovism, described by Los Angeles Times columnist Neal Gabler, where "All politicians operate within an Orwellian nimbus where words don't mean what they normally mean, but Rovism posits that there is no objective, verifiable reality at all. Reality is what you say it is."

Is Rove the downfall of modern democratic politics? Have his methods and strategies and antics so poisoned and polarized the American political spectrum that there can never be consent, never be nonpartisanship? The Common Man does not know, but sees no foreseeable end to politics as we know it today. And much of that is because of Karl Rove's influence over national politics. He was and is an enigma, a lightning rod, and a(n evil?) genius. Anyway, wherever Rove goes from here, The Common Man is sure that his class will be popular. His first two students stand ready to enroll:

Damnation

Ah, a new feature! As the week wraps up, this is a short list of things that The Common Man, over the past seven days, has either damned or condemned:

1) Time Magazine
Not two hours after The Common Man had sat with The Boy, reading and watching Baby Einstein, Time.com has the gall to come out with this article on how bad Baby Einstein is. Damn you, Time! Stop checking your facts (The Common Man is getting tired of fact checking; c'mon, chickens, take a risk!) and report news quicker. That's 20 minutes of development time that The Boy doesn't get back. Who's going to let The Boy live in their basement when he's 20 minutes of development behind everyone else trying to get a job out of college, Time Magazine? You? Not The Common Man, The Common Man tells you that. C'mon Time, get your head in the game. Give me news when I need it, not when you want to report it. Lazy bastards.

2) Spoilers
The Common Man has long had a policy regarding the Harry Potter books. He waits until just before the movie is released, then he reads the book so that, when he inevitably sees the movie, he remembers more of the plot and has more to complain about (The Common Man does like to complain). Sadly, soon after the release of the sixth book, The Common Man stumbled upon the big plot twist at the end on, of all sites, ESPN.com. Thus, was the surprise ruined. The Common Man held out for as long as he could, readers, sticking to his policy, but he's had to forgo it in the past week and has zoomed through book 6 and is engaged in fierce battle with book 7. Damn you, irresponsible internet writers, for spoiling plots and ruining surprises. Damn you all to Hell.

3) Primaries
With so many presidential primary seasons in full swing, there is a great deal of political activity with few actual political resolutions. There are debates going on right now across the country and it's hard to keep track of who is saying what and when and where, because the primary leapfrogging being done by South Carolina, California, Florida, New Hampshire, Iowa, and other states requires candidates to get their messages out and convince voters earlier and earlier. As it stands, the Iowa Caucuses may have to be held in December of this year to meet its legal obligation to be the first in the country. This is ridiculous. The Common Man is tired of all these debates and wants some time to make up his damn mind. He is becoming convinced that there needs to be a national primary held over the course of one day in June in order to reduce influence over the process by small, crazy states like Iowa, New Hampshire, and South Carolina and to give the country enough time to get to know the candidates. The Common Man condemns political primaries and all they have come to stand for, the 10-word answer, the 7-second soundbite, and Gotcha! style debate.

4) White people
The New York Times reported this week that many areas in the country are in the process of having ethnic minority populations as their majority population. This has led to hand-wringing and fear-mongering by certain right-wing personalities that this country is becoming "less white." Yesterday, on Glen Beck's radio program, The Common Man even heard one idiot guest host wonder whether a country has a right to determine what color its population is going to be, and advocating some kind of "Master Plan" to make sure that whites remain a majority for a long as possible. Their concern, supposedly, is that "American culture," whatever the hell that is, is going to be supplanted by, primarily, a Mexican or African-American one (as though the finger prints of African-Americans are not all over White America's favorite foods, music, clothing, and art already). So, in response, The Common Man condemns white people for not having a culture that is worth emulating. Seriously, white people, you have bad food and bad music (Michael Bolton). Your contributions to popular fashion (disco, shoulder pads, piano-key neckties, and grunge) have been egregious. And even your precious language, with all of its exceptions, and special rules, and internal contradictions is less sophisticated than Spanish's simplicity. Hell, you want a language worth salvaging, try Russian, which has evolved past the point of needing articles. If you want to salvage your culture, Whitey, have a culture worth salvaging.

The End of the Chase

This is a long one.

On the night that Barry Bonds hit the 756th home run of his major league career, breaking Henry Aaron's all-time record, The Common Man was asleep. This was not some planned protest of Bonds' alleged doping, nor misguided anger over the fall of baseball's most hallowed mark. Rather, it was a function of the game starting at 10:00 and of The Common Man getting three hours of sleep the night before. The Common Man's absence should not be confused with that of Bud Selig, baseball's commissioner, who refused to celebrate Bonds' record tying home run, and then cravenly left California two nights ago to attend "meetings" regarding former Senator George Mitchell's investigation into steroid use in baseball. Clever, Bud. And subtle.

The sports media (which, at this point, consists almost exclusively of ESPN) has made a great deal over whether Selig and/or Aaron (who are apparently close friends) would be in attendence when Bonds hit his homer, ascribing motives to their decisions ranging from "they believe that the record is tainted and would not want to have to stand and applaud a man that they feel cheated and marred the record books" to "they hate Barry Bonds and all that he stands for, that miserable, lying, cheating, cheater who cheated." This oversimplification obscures the fact that the two men apparently can have very different reasons for not wanting to be there. Hank Aaron, by all accounts, at 73 years old, did not want to spend a couple weeks traipsing up and down the opposite coast from where he lives, following Bonds like a glorified sheep dog.

Of course, the reason so many members of the media wanted Aaron in attendence was so that they could contrast him with Bonds, something that Aaron has seemed to want no part in. As Joe Morgan said yesterday (and The Common Man can't believe that he agrees with anything Morgan says),

"The thing that bothers me is that Hank is getting this adulation because people don't like Barry Bonds. He should have gotten the praise long before this. Hank Aaron was always a great player and it's unfortunate it takes him losing the record to get what he deserves."

Instead, Aaron filmed his reaction to Bonds' historic homer, which was played on the scoreboard during the post-homer celebration. He congratulated Bonds, calling his achievement, "it is a great accomplishment that required skill, longevity, and determination." Classy dude, that Hank Aaron.

Selig, on the other hand (as described by Baseball Prospectus' Joe Sheehan), after Bonds' 755th,

"As the crowd around him cheered, Selig rose slowly from his seat and made a grand show of putting his hands in his pockets, refusing to acknowledge the player, the achievement or even the excitement around him. With that one gesture, Selig made it clear what he is: an old man determined to protect the interests of other old men, even if it means degrading the game of baseball."

Selig has made an art out of bah-humbugging his way through his lengthy "interm" commissionership, largely decrying small market teams' ability to compete as the league (leading to increased revenue sharing, but implanting a feeling of grouchiness in the average fan of Pittsburg, Kansas City, and Minnesota), complaining about watching games in aging stadiums (leading to an explosion of new, taxpayer financed stadiums that do not provide the regional economic boom promised), attempted to contract two franchises (almost forever poisoning the wells of Minneapolis and Montreal as baseball cities) and focusing on players who have "betrayed the national pasttime" through their use of performance enhancing drugs while ignoring his office's decision to turn a blind eye to steroid use and the open, rampant, and possibly ownership-approved use of amphetimines (or greenies) by players. Fearing the outcome of drug testing would reflect poorly on the game, Selig chose not to implement testing policies, nor to address the issue in any way, prior to Jose Canseco's infamous book, Juiced. He fiddled while Rome burned, until the fire that players started could not be put out quickly, quietly, and with minimal damage to the game. And he blames the players, most specifically Barry Bonds for the problem of steroids in the game. For shame. His comment, from Milwaukee, was short. After congratuating Bonds, he reminded everyone that "the issues which have swirled around this record will continue to work themselves toward resolution," implying that the record was dishonestly attained.

It is widely assumed that Bonds cheated to get this record. Indeed, The Common Man thinks that he probably did as well. There is grand jury evidence (illegally leaked) that Bonds took amphetimenes. But there is no evidence, save for circumstantial evidence presented by people with axes to grind and much to gain by a continuing scandal, that Bonds took steroids. So everyone has jumped on the anti-Bonds bandwagon, buying into the media's portrayal of him as a steroid-inflated Hulk, arguing that "everyone knows" he took them. After all, look at who he hung out with! Look at the size of his head! Look, he's gotten bigger as he's gotten older (as though everyone (The Common Man included) hasn't gotten a little thicker as they've gotten older). There's so much smoke there must be fire.

But prior to invading Iraq, everyone in this country (and, indeed, around the globe) just knew that Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction hidden in bunkers around Iraq. Colin Powell went to the U.N. He brought pictures. There was circumstantial and second-hand evidence that Iraq was trying to buy uranium. Hussein was a bad guy who hung out with bad guys. Of course he had WMDs stashed away somewhere. Anyway, the coalition of the willing has had a hard time finding those things that everyone (The Common Man included, even though he didn't like the war from the first shock to the last awe) knew just had to be there.

Fortunately, like Aaron, The Common Man believes that the majority of sports fans (and Americans) have better things to do than to excoriate a man whose greatest known crime is that he's sometimes a jerk to reporters. Hell, Ruth ran around on his wife, screwed anything that moved, was alternately generous and lousy to teammates, and ate himself out of effectiveness. Mantle drank himself to an early grave. So did Jimmie Foxx. Ty Cobb was a rabid dog who hated anything black, Jewish, or, frankly, alive. Steve Garvey has, like, a billion kids with half a billion women. Roger Maris was from North Dakota. Surely, these are worse crimes by far, and this country has fallen all over itself to romanticize those men and their accomplishments. And, true to form, a majority of fans in San Diego that night acquitted themselves well. Again, Joe Sheehan:

They respect Bonds’ talent and accomplishments, while feeling little warmth towards the man. They vote him onto the All-Star team. They acknowledge the questions that surround his involvement with BALCO, the suspicions that he used steroids, while also acknowledging the points in his favor–that he’s never failed a drug test; that the testing program MLB claimed to need so desperately has turned up mostly dry; that the investigation into Bonds’ behavior has dragged on for years with no resolution, taking on a tinge of “witch hunt;” that the book that so famously chronicled his activities was sourced by illegally-obtained testimony and by those with axes to grind; that Bonds’ image has been shaped by the media, and it is impossible to separate this story from that process.

The great middle ground of baseball fans doesn’t hate Barry Bonds. It doesn’t know him, and it hasn’t made up his mind about what he did and did not do. In the absence of that decision, the crowd at Petco Park last night did the right thing: it cheered the accomplishment, while holding back judgment on the man. It was a good moment for the game, and San Diego’s baseball fans can be proud of themselves today."

Would that baseball's commissioner could say the same thing. Screw you, Bud.

As for you, Barry. Congratulations. Enjoy your record until ARod gets around to breaking it in seven years.

Running Behind

The biggest surprise for The Common Man, over the past month, is just how many interesting things there are in this house for The Boy to get into. Picture frames, drapes, pets, pet toys, pet food, surge protectors (or cords of any kind), books, papers. Virtually anything and everything is remarkably interesting to the average eight-month old once he gets crawling. And since The Boy is not the average eight-month old, he’s interested in even more than that.

Anyway, The Common Man has resumed his “training,” getting back on the elliptical machine in hopes that he will be able to keep up with his motoring little son. So far, so good, but The Common Man suspects that his success will only last as long as The Boy confines his movement to dragging himself, like a Navy SEAL in training worming his way under barbed wire, across the floor. Once he walks, The Common Man is afraid that The Boy will need to be strapped to a gurney at all times for his own safety. For who can keep up with anything that moves so fast?

Well, perhaps Al Gore III could. Now, The Common Man does not wish to appear to endorse AG3’s apparent excess of prescription drugs, partying, and speeding; far from it. But he does think that everyone needs to take five minutes and appreciate the fact that this kid got his Prius up to 100 MPH. The Uncommon Wife, until last winter,
drove a ’99 Chevy Metro until she put it out of its misery and upgraded to a Hyundai Sonata. The Metro seemed to fight against The Common Man every time he tried to get it above 65, as though going 66 would somehow align it cosmically (at least 2/3 of the way) with Satan (Cheney) and all that he stood for. Being a good car, a nice car, a safe car, it would stick to 65, thank you. Or, better yet, 60. Anyway, The Common Man imagines that getting a Prius above 65 would be a little like that. The car would reluctantly edge toward the precipice, rattle and buck a little, ask you if you were sure that you knew what you were doing, say a Hail Mary, and then shake in fear as its speed continued to climb. For breaking that magic 65 barrier, everyone should thank AG3, for he has taught them not just something about the Prius, but about themselves. To reach for the impossible, the unreachable. To go beyond themselves and to dream new dreams, no matter how unlikely. Hallelujah, the Prius went 100 MPH! It can keep up with The Boy! Now, The Common Man needs to convince Gore to do a little babysitting.

Or, perhaps, The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife can simply deny that walking exists when The Boy begins expressing curiosity (which he’s already doing, with his big boy standing). They can say, “With respect, The Boy, despite what you think you may see, there is no such thing as a domestic walking program going on in this house. And there is no internal disagreement between your parents about whether such a program should be instituted. Your parents feel confident that crawling is just fine for you and denies any existence of this so-called “walking”. Later, when The Boy points at The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife as they go about their daily business in and around the family home, as if to say, “HEY! You’re walking! How come you get to walk and I don’t?” they will testify that they do not recall testifying about walking and that, indeed, they never said that walking does not exist, just that it was ill-advised, given the time and place. Later, when The Boy becomes cognizant of the things that he can play with and those he can’t, The Common Man will apologize for any confusion that his previous testimony has caused and that, indeed, he always meant to say that there was walking and encourages The Boy to investigate it fully, now that he can be responsible about the whole thing.

Anyway, The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife haven’t decided just how to handle this yet, but they will figure it out soon. Now, if you’ll excuse The Common Man, The Boy has a handful of cat food.

Autobots Waged Their Battle To Destroy the Evil Forces of Michael Bay

As he mentioned yesterday, The Uncommon Wife allowed The Common Man to indulge his inner eight year old, and went with him to see Transformers on the 4th. Careful readers will remember that The Common Man was all atwitter five months ago in anticipation of this film, when he wrote, "The Common Man prays that this film will be good, for it holds the unfulfilled dreams of his childhood in its hands." So how did it stack up? Was The Common Man's childhood reduced to robot-pummeled rubble by Michael Bay or was he magically transported back to 1986, in his parents' basement, making the familiar chkee-chkoh-chkoh-chkoh-kuh-kuh-kuh-kuh noises of his Transformers transforming?

The movie requires a significant suspension of disbelief (even more than you'd probably expect for a movie about giant transforming robots from outer space) and will require you to turn off your inner logic-detector (one is forced to continuously wonder whether Optimus Prime's extreme selflessness is a sign of stupidity, for instance, and why Megatron is the only Decepticon who speaks English when he's been frozen for 4,000 years and his minions have been living here for some time).

Also, some of the characterization of the Autobots was disappointing. Jazz and Ironhide, in particular, come off as petty and annoying. Bumblebee, for some reason, can't talk and speaks almost entirely in movie and song clips. Also, Bumblebee turns out to be a total bad-ass, which is ridiculous given how wussy he was in the TV show. And Ratchet may as well not even be there.

On a somewhat related note, The Uncommon Wife and The Common Man are in agreement on this point, there were far too many people involved in this movie, and not nearly enough giant transforming robots from outer space, or at least not enough time spent developing those giant transforming robots from outer space who were in it. The movie (and TV show, and cartoon, and the other movie, and the comic books, etc.) were called Transformers, not Some Kid and His Giant Transforming Robot Friends. But the inclusion of Shia Labeouf as Sam Witwicky is at least understandable, given that Spike Witwicky was a main fixture of the original. And the inclusion of his love interest (Megan Fox) is fine because it gives the kid something to do and because she's hot. But spending time with all the computer hackers, with a group of random soldiers (only one of whom is even decently developed) is totally unnecessary. Likewise, the inclusion of a government conspiracy subplot only made what should have been a fun sci-fi ride seem ludicrous (even for a movie about giant transforming robots from outer space).

Finally, there are long sections of the movie that are essentially motionless, allowing Bay to channel Charley Chaplin and do some physical comedy with his CGI robots. It's largely unnecessary (The Common Man really didn't care that Ironhide wanted to "eliminate the parents" or that he will rust after getting peed on by a dog. And as funny as it was to watch giant transforming robots from outer space try to hide around a back yard, it took away from the action. Also, some of the humor was inappropriate for a movie targeted toward a younger audience and suggests that Michael Bay is incapable of subtlety of any kind, given that characters openly and directly discuss masturbation (The COmmon Man imagines that an email exchange with Michael Bay would go something like this: Q: Did you enjoy making Transformers? A: YES, I ENJOYED MAKING TRANSFORMERS A GREAT DEAL. IT PLEASED ME AND I CAN'T WAIT TO DO IT AGAIN. I ONLY WISH THAT I HAD THE TIME TO INCLUDE MORE UNCOMFORTABLE SEXUAL REFERENCES SO AS TO DISTRACT YOU FROM THE FACT THAT 40 FOOT TALL ROBOTS ARE FAR COOLER THAN ANY IDEA FOR A MOVIE I COULD POSSIBLY COME UP WITH ON MY OWN.)

But Michael Bay's lack of subtlety does help the movie where it really counts. If Michael Bay knows how to do one thing, it's make things explode, and it turns out that, in a movie about giant transforming robots from outer space, explosions are pretty damn important. And cool. Very, very cool. It turns out that, once you turn off your brain, the movie is a hell of a thing.

The voice acting of Optimus Prime (Peter Cullen) and Megatron (Hugo Weaving) are excellent, as Megatron has never seemed more menacing and Prime has never seemed more like Prime (Peter Cullen needs to read The Common Man's eulogy as Prime; he doesn't care how old Cullen is, they can pre-record it).

And the Transformers themselves, the main attraction, are excellently rendered. Their fight scenes are fast but intricately detailed. In all, they are very cool. Which is why, of course, The Common Man wanted more of them. And more robots fighting. Perhaps in the inevitable sequel, The Common Man will get all the robot-on-robot violence he so desperately needs and the film can rid itself of those meddlesome fleshlings. Until then, The Common Man has gotten his fix, and actually enjoyed it a great deal. All things considered, The Common Man had an excellent time at the theater, watching his Transformers, but it's more because of how awesome the Transformers were than anything else about the movie (particularly the script and director). He recommends the film to any fans of the old school toys, though he's quite certain that it's not going to mean much to you if you never cared for Optimus the way The Common Man did and, sadly, still does.

The Squeaky Third Wheel

The Common Man hopes that you had a wonderful 4th of July holiday. He did, going to see Transformers (review forthcoming), taking The Boy down to the creek and dipping his feet in, eating and drinking with The Deacon, and curling up with The Boy on The Deacon's front lawn to watch fireworks/pretend to be awake. It was a good day.

Something else that The Common Man has been using to put an extra spring in his step for the last couple of days has been this video of Elizabeth Edwards calmly and politely dismantling Ann Coulter. Careful readers will remember Ms. Coulter as the Queen of the Harpies that quasi-called John Edwards a "faggot" back in March. Of course, if you don't read this blog regularly, you've probably heard of her as well. She kind of enjoys attention. The Common Man wants to know what's hiding behind Coulter's sunglasses in this clip, as she's forced to listen to Edwards kindly and politely asking her to not be such a horrible person (not asking her to stop writing or speaking, just asking her to stop being such a horrible person while she's doing it).

Anyway, all of this is a long introduction to say that The Common Man thinks John Edwards is currently in the catbird seat in the Democratic nomination fight. Sure, he is fighting with the non-running film-maker Al Gore (who just got embroiled in his own controversy; The Common Man didn't even know that a Prius could go 100 MPH) for third place in the most recent Gallup poll (at approximately 10% of Democratic voters, as of mid-June), roughly 10% behind Obama and 20% behind Clinton, but Edwards has significant advantages over the two front-runners.

He already has solid name-recognition, but his continued feud with Coulter (one of Democrats' least favorite people ever) will only increase his visibility in the news and make him easily the hero in a very one-sided battle for public sympathy. In addition, from the #3 spot, he can run quietly against the top two candidates while they fight between themselves. As the Obama/Clinton race becomes more heated and (presumably) less civil, Edwards can clean up whatever voters are turned off by their squabbles. And as Bill Clinton demonstrated in 1992, Edwards does not have to win in Iowa and New Hampshire, he simply has to present himself as a viable candidate and finish "in the money".

With the shorter nomination season this time around, it will be more difficult for Edwards to build on any momentum he gets from Iowa and New Hampshire, but if smart campaigning between now and February can cut into the Clinton/Obama lead (particularly by exploiting the additional media coverage he seems to be generating to create more opportunities for free advertising), he certainly can slide into the nomination after Super Tuesday. With Clinton's lack of personality and Obama's lack of specific proposals, The Common Man believes that it's far too early to write off the Democratic nomination as a two-horse race.

Boom Goes the Dynamite

Reader Lt. Rob asks "have you lost your senses and moved to Canada?" No, Rob, The Common Man did not move to Canada; he got as far as St. Johnsbury, Vermont last weekend and turned around. The more he thought about it, the more The Common Man realized that the United States were indeed the place for him.

As we inched closer to today, the 4th of July, it became more and more apparent that fireworks fill a gigantic hole in our nation's self-concept. Though Americans may doubt their union and those leading it, having the freedom to set explosives off in the middle of their backyards allows these Americans to marvel and wonder at the glories of a nation that could create something so beautiful and stupid as a Roman Candle Fight (2 separate links, for those of you who are interested), as pointlessly destructive as the black cat, or just plain as pointless as the worm. As The Common Man oohs and ahhs with wide-eyed wonder at the colorful explosions over Beaver Stadium tonight, he can forget all about the elected officials who flaunt every 9th grade civics textbook ever written by claiming that they are not part of the executive branch, but that they exist in a quasi-governmental realm that hovers between reality and non-reality, forever caught between dimensions, having substance (being able to influence national debate and policy) without form and, in so doing, crap uncerimoniously over the Constitution and the people of the United States. The Common Man can forget that he is being treated like a 5 year old kid brother, playing Uno against an older sibling who keeps changing the rules of the game in increasingly ridiculous ways to maintain his advantage. Grrr. Fireworks, thankfully, help The Common Man to forget all that.

Canadian fireworks just wouldn't help The Common Man to make up for the fact that he was in Canada to begin with. They're not big, pretty, or explosion-y enough. And Canada Day is not a real holiday. They're just making that up.

Also, it's worth noting that Canadian money can be easily exchanged for Monopoly money at this point without anyone caring or even noticing. They look a lot alike, with their fun colors, and are worth virtually the same. So literally, had The Common Man absconded to Canada (and become The Common Man, Eh) he would have gotten less bang for his virtually worthless bucks.

So, The Common Man chooses to remain here, railing against the injustices he sees around him, like how his neighbors park a big RV in the middle of their lawn for the entire summer, or how his other neighbors shoot pellet guns toward his house, or how he continues to get treated with scorn and disdain by his own government, because the money is good and the explosions are pretty. And that, friends, is why The Common Man is proud to be an American. Happy 4th of July.

Scott Free

The Common Man makes his triumphant return to blogging today. No posts at all in June is inexcusable. During the month he was away, The Common Man let things that were not important at all keep him from devoting his full attention to the things that matter most, his family and his writing, and he apologizes to both. He also apologizes to readers (something he has gotten very good at since starting this blog). But it's time to get back to work, and without further ado...

Yesterday, in a stunning (to The Common Man, at least) decision, President Bush decided to commute the sentence of convicted perjurer and all-around d-bag Scooter Libby, meaning that the Scootster will spend absolutely no time in jail because the President felt the punishment meted out by an impartial judge was "excessive" (despite the fact that Libby would have been eligible for release after two years and the average sentence for perjury (as of 2000) in U.S. District Court was 2 1/2 years (or, wait for it, 30 months. Instead, Libby will be forced to pay a $250,000 fine and may be subject to two years of probation (though the judge and prosecuting attorneys are still sorting that out).

In all fairness, The Uncommon Wife saw this coming ages ago when she turned to The Common Man and said, "Darling Dearest, it is assured that that man will spend absolutely no time in jail." "Pshaw," said The Common Man, "not even this President has the temerity nor the utter disdain for the American public to do that. Surely he knows that the people would see through such a transparently cynical and self-serving decision. He must let the sentence stand, at least until after the next election." She rolled her eyes, "My truest love, you underestimate the pressures upon the President, the influence of Darth Cheney, and the sheer arrogance of this administration. Verily, I say unto you again, the man will not see the inside of a jail cell."

Well, The Common Man was, for once, wrong. It pains him to say it, but not as much as it pains him to see how little respect this administration has for the justice system and the will of its electorate (a CNN poll found that 69% of respondents believed the President should not pardon Libby). Its consistent ability to ignore a sensible course of action and to undermine its own credibility is as baffling as it is admirable, for at least it is predictable.

That said, the Bush administration is not the first to thumb its nose at the justice system. The Presidential pardon, once a last resort to preserve national order or to prevent a miscarriage of justice, has become a political tool to reward administration supporters and ideological sympathizers. George Bush I pardoned four members of the Reagan Administration for their role in Iran-Contra. Bill Clinton (who makes up the difference between himself and Bush II in quality pardons with quantity) pardoned his brother for cocaine possession, Patty Hearst for the crimes she committed while with the SLA, billionaire fugitive and donor Marc Rich, family friend and business partner Susan McDougal, and Democratic congressman Mel Reynolds.

According to The Jurist, recent Presidents have been using the privilege to provide executive clemency less often than many of their predecessors, but to the casual The Common Man observing the process, it seems that grants of clemency have become markedly more controversial and less defensible in the past 20 years. It shakes The Common Man's faith in his elected officials and makes him wonder whether allowing the President to retain this power will serve the intended purpose or only encourage greater and greater levels of corruption at the highest levels of government.

You Get What You Pay For

Well, The Common Man is in Minnesota now, watching The Uncommon Wife eat breakfast and The Boy play on the ground with Grandma. Despite the inability of the Minnesota Twins to actually hit a baseball, the trip has been incredibly relaxing thus far. It's nice to get away from the political pressure cooker that is State College.

You see, in their infinite wisdom, over the past year the State College School Board has proposed and begun the process of rebuilding State College Area High School, turning it into an architectural and technological wonderland. The proposed bill for the reconstruction effort was in excess of $100 million, and was initially approved with little input from the community at large.

Understandably, members of the State College community were concerned about a $100 million construction project in their town that they would be on the hook for. After several contentious and marathon-length school board meetings (more than 200 community members spoke at one meeting), the board decided to continue with its plans. In response, a large coalition of community members banded together to back a new slate of candidates for the board, resulting in a relatively massive media campaign that included major radio air time.

Anyway, to make a long story short (and overly simple), the school board was voted out on Tuesday, but will remain in office until December. The bids that have been submitted for their construction project total $17 million more than the board has budgeted. The current board (the one that got voted out) still can continue down this path, can revise their proposal, or can table the matter until the fall. Meanwhile, there is not a viable plan in place to replace the outdated and inadequate high school that exists right now. Pipe dreams of magical classrooms and cynical politics of not wanting to pay up for school construction have gotten in the way of meaningful school reform for students again, and the refusal of the two sides to come to any kind of consensus means that State College's high school students will still be working in crumbling schools for years to come. Given the relative wealth and educational background of the State College community at large, this is unacceptable.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh....They Could Be Watching

A quick programming note: The Common Man, The Uncommon Wife, and The Boy are winging home to Heaven-on-Earth, aka Minnesota, until the end of the week. Expect light blogging between now and then, by which The Common Man means two or three short posts. Sorry, but The Boy needs to meet his great-grandmother.

Last week, The Common Man hinted at "The Atkins Conspiracy," and in the interest of getting himself sued for libel, he thinks it is important to relay it here. It is important to note that The Common Man has no evidence for his beliefs, and nothing aside from his own sparkling reputation to back it up. Nor does he really know if he believes in this conspiracy, or whether it's just fun to talk about and speculate over.

This story begins a little more than four years ago, in Maine, where The Common Man was more like The Common Fatass (not that The Common Man is The Common Skinnyass now). Recognizing that fat, drunk, and stupid was no way to go through life, The Common Man searched for a way to lose the weight while not giving up his carnivorous tendencies. At that time, Dr. Atkins and his diet were all the rage, and The Common Man and the then Uncommon Girlfriend decided to give it a shot. To The Common Man's surprise, he dropped almost 25 pounds in two months, it was a revelation. Ultimately, the diet was not sustainable (in part because The Common Man already has high colesterol and didn't want to know what he was doing to his poor poor arteries (which he swears he could hear screaming in the night)).

Shortly thereafter, Dr. Robert Atkins, the inventor of the Atkins diet, apparently slipped on some ice outside of his apartment, bumped his head, slipped into a coma, and never woke up. Before his death, Atkins had built up a personal fortune in excess of $600 million dollars based on his controversial, counter-intuitive diet plan. Here is where things get interesting.

Sure, the Atkins family tells the public that the good doctor "slipped on some ice," but let The Common Man ask you a question: What would have happened if Dr. Atkins had not slipped and fallen on the ice that day? A very real possibility is that the already elderly Atkins (73 years old) could have (eventually) died from one of many coronary or renal related causes (the two most common complaints about his diet). And how would that have looked, eh? The inventor of the world's most famous diet, dying from the effects of his own diet, a cash cow.

That's why The Common Man wonders whether Dr. Atkins was murdered by someone who feared the financial ruin that would accompany such an unfortunate and ironic demise. Indeed, given the timing of his death, the inheritors of the Atkins empire could reasonably have expected to go on making money for years.

Meanwhile, that bastion of responsible journalism, The New York Post has spent recent days covering the saga of Atkins' widow, apparently the sole beneficiary of the doctor's will. Allegedly, she is "living in fear," with her new husband (who has a reputation for marrying rich women and getting divorced), of the trustees she hired to manage her husband's estate. Apparently, when the trustees refused to release $100 million of the money to her (she's only supposed to get $1.2 million per month), she stopped paying them. In response, the three trustees have brought suit for their back wages ($1.2 million per year, each) and taken out a $15 million insurance policy on her life.

So, given the (thoroughly shaky) motive and cast of weasily characters, there is just enough to give The Common Man's Atkins conspiracy theory just the slightest whiff of plausibility. This is, of course, all that a conspiracy theory really needs to find legs. And now that so many 9/11 Conspiracy Theorists have been disappointed to learn that, indeed, steel can melt. The Common Man recommends The Atkins Conspiracy as the new theory-du-jour to give those idiots something to talk about.

A Change of Plans

The Common Man planned to talk today about how he had officially exceeded the number of blog posts from April already this month. But scrapped that when the President decided that someone needed to blink in this whole Iraq funding issue and graciously did so, relenting to Congress's demand of benchmarks (a concept The Common Man is still not comfortable with when they are tied into continued funding). Then he scrapped that after read a headline in the New York Post and was going to talk about The Atkins Conspiracy (which he a) made up and b) will undoubtedly get to on Monday). Then, he returned home and found this article on Rob Neyer's blog at ESPN.com that linked to this article in the Village Voice.

The Village Voice article documents a perceived string of inappropriate gifts and perks given to Rudy Giuliani by the New York Yankees while he was Mayor of New York City. Between 1996 and 2001, the article alleges that Giuliani received four World Series rings from the team, as well as front-row box seats, memorabilia, and apparel. The article alleges that the gifts given by the Yankees to Giuliani add up to more than $300,000 (though their math can be disputed). Adding to the sordid picture of Giuliani's relationship with the Yankees are the mayor's final hours in office, in which he green lit a $400 million dollar, tax-payer financed ballpark plan for the team, an effort that was almost immediately canceled by Mayor Bloomberg. If true, Giuliani's actions are particularly egregious in light of his enthusiastic campaign against city corruption, in which several prominent city employees were forced to resign after accepting gifts from city vendors. Giuliani himself was highly critical of these employees.

The article is problematic, in that it is clearly written from a biased perspective and seems to revel in the muck it is raking up. Also, the author's decision to value the rings at $200,000 is based on what the rings would be worth on the open market, not what they cost to make or that the team paid for them (in a closed market). But Caesar's wife must be above reproach, and so should Caesar. So it seems as though an investigation into these gifts is warranted, an investigation that will undoubtedly hurt Giuliani's campaign, whether it uncovers any wrongdoing or not.

Up the Down Escalator

The Common Man is finding it very difficult to sympathize with the Democratic Party these days. He finds this particularly frustrating, since the alternative is so distasteful and untrustworthy. Indeed, as more and morepolitical and more appointees are forced to resign for being thoroughly and utterly corrupt, and more and more and more stubbornly refuse to do so, it has become apparent that this administration is rotten to the core, even if, in some cases, it has become so through the best of intentions.

Yet, Democrats continue to play games with the Iraq war funding, refusing to send the President an acceptable bill, they have a detrimental affect on our soldiers' efforts. It's impossible to sympathize with a group (or a President) whose intransigence is delaying the delivery of properly armored vehicles. It's virtually criminal.

The Common Man is unsure if he's brought this up in this space or not, but he is fairly certain that, if you break something (as we seem to have done in Iraq), it is incumbent upon you to buy it. Any effort to leave the country, at this point, may be emotionally satisfying, but is immorral and will damage America's already shaky credibility with the people of the next country it invades (The Common Man is looking at you Iran!). Indeed, how can citizens of the countries that we "liberate" have any enthusiasm for our presence if our appearance is the harbinger of disaster, chaos, and destruction? The Common Man believes that the U.S. is obligated to stay and is frustrated that Dems are advocating the opposite in a cynical attempt to win votes.

Meanwhile, of course, George Bush is largely to blame for getting the country into this mess. Thanks, George. And now The Common Man is forced to agree with him, even if he shares neither his optimism nor his motivations. The Common Man thinks he may just have thrown up in his mouth a little.

Royal Pain in the...

The Commmon Man forgot to extend a warm welcome to a visitor to this great nation while she was here, and regrets his lack of manners. As most of you know, the United States (and specifically the state of Virginia) has played host over the past week to real royalty, as Queen Elizabeth has graced her former colony to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the first permanent English settlement in the Americas. It's been an interesting visit for Her Majesty, as she's attended the Kentucky Derby, met with survivors of the VA Tech tragedy, toured Jamestown with Dick Cheney (perhaps the unlikeliest couple since Lyle Lovett hypnotized Julia Roberts with his smooth, mournful, baritone voice), and endured a state dinner with a more bumbling than usual President Bush (seriously, he winked at her!).

Throughout her trip, Americans have tripped all over themselves to get close, catch a glimpse, and prostrate themselves before her. According to USA Today, Virginia has "spent about $11 million on the queen's visit, [and] has been preparing for months." Despite this extravagance, it's not as though the commonwealth's efforts have been unappreciated by its people. The same article points out that "Nearly 20,000 people entered a lottery for 108 spots on Richmond's Capitol Square, where the queen strolled on her walkabout. Thousands more gathered on the lawn around the square to await her arrival and watch her on giant screens." Similar crowds awaited her at Churchill Downs (where there were long lines to get pictures with an Elizabeth impersonator). Statesmen and VIPs and commoners alike bowed before her.

This fascination with the Queen and her family is not terribly surprising (she is, after all, the ultimate celebrity), but the reason for her fame and attention at this point is puzzling. As The Uncommon Wife pointed out, "didn't we, like, fight a war so that we wouldn't have to fawn over royalty?" Yes, yes indeed we did. And it's not as though this woman has any social clout. Sure, the papers report what she says and she wears, but it's not as though 20 million 80-year olds are suddenly going to jump up and buy "a fine wool coat of lime green, with a matching silk dress in a small floral print and a lime green hat with a fuchsia trim." She's not a trend-setter. And, obviously, though the head of the (at this point) fictitious British Empire, the woman has no more political power than The Common Man does. Indeed, the first time she even tries to excercise any political muscle, The Common Man is certain that her people will kindly remind her that her ancestors used to imprison, torture, and execute them on a fairly consistent basis and that she has no real qualifications for her "job" aside from that ancestry.

So why does this country (and England, and Canada, and Australia, and New Zealand) care so much, particularly after casting off the British yolk 231 years ago? The Common Man doesn't get it. And that's saying a lot, considering how much The Common Man gets.

Picking and Choosing

Observant readers may have noticed (not on this blog, but in the news) a few weeks ago that Nancy Pelosi was roundly criticized by the President, his administration, and Republicans of all shapes and sizes when she and a diplomatic envoy went to Syria and met with some high mucketymucks. Presumably, her trip was a response to the Iraq Study Group's recommendation to engage Mid-East actors in high level negotiations and encourage them to withdraw support from terrorist organizations and to close their borders to Iraq, effectively shutting off the pipeline of weapons and foreign-born Iraqi terrorists.

Still, White House spokesperson Dana Perino claimed, "We do not encourage and, in fact, we discourage members of Congress to make such visits to Syria. This is a country that is a state sponsor of terror.... I don't know what she is trying to accomplish, and I don't know if anyone in the administration has spoken to her about it. In general, we do discourage such trips.... I know that Assad probably really wants people to come and have a photo opportunity and have tea with him, and have discussions about where they're coming from, but we do think that's a really bad idea." A spokesperson for the State Department argued that "it's not the right time to have those high-profile visitors to Syria." Mitt Romney called her visit "outrageous," and said "It's a very bad idea to be carrying out a separate and independent foreign policy from the president of the United States. I just don't know what got into her head, to be completely honest with you. I think it was a huge, huge mistake." Indeed, silly woman, I don't know what got into you. You leave that there difficult diplomacy to the menfolk.

Anyway, most media outlets, and the whole of conservative pundits and politicians said nothing about the visits of Republican congressmen Wolf, Pitts, and Aderholf two days before Pelosi's trip. Indeed, they all met with President Assad, but Pelosi was the only one singled out.

Now, in a stunning reversal of policy, the White House has decided to engage Syria in diplomacy on its own. At a conference in Egypt, Rice had "constructive and transparent" talks with Syrian Foreign Minister Walid al-Moualem over securing its borders with Iraq. It was the first meeting on the ministerial-level in more than two years. On a related note, Major General William Caldwell pointed out that "There has been a reduction in the flow of foreign fighters into Iraq for more than a month." Of course, there has been no criticism of Rice's meeting.

The Common Man does not know whether Pelosi's trip has had any discernable effect on Syria's foreign policy. But both the White House and Ms. Pelosi should be commended for their efforts to encourage Syria, in a face-to-face manner, to change their policies regarding their support of Hezbollah, their interference in Lebanon's internal affairs, and their lax border security. Yet, the differing reactions to the two meetings points out the height of hypocrasy at work in this administration. Indeed, between alternately giving "Brownie" and George Tenets medals of freedom and using them as scapegoats at the first sign that they are breaking from the administration's line (not that they weren't, in reality, incompetant and blundersome), the marginalization of Colin Powell, and the singling out of Speaker Pelosi, it's a wonder that anyone trusts and supports this administration anymore.

Denying denial

Indulge The Common Man as he discusses the baseball. He does it so rarely.

It will come as little shock to most of you that Major League Baseball has problems. Indeed, despite record-breaking revenue and ever-increasing attendance, between steroids, amphetamine abuse, rising ticket costs, and a declining popularity with young males, baseball has its share of issues it will need to resolve in order to remain competitive with other sports leagues (*ahem*NFL*ahem, *ahem*Mixed Martial Arts*ahem*) in the long term.

But the issue that The Common Man wants to address today has been far less visible in the public eye until the recent death of St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Josh Hancock. Hancock was killed in an car accident at about 12:30 AM on Sunday morning, slamming his rented SUV (his car was in the shop due to another accident a few days earlier) into the back end of a tow truck that was stopped in the middle of the highway. Hancock was killed almost instantly. Since his death, police have revealed that the pitcher's blood/alchohol level was .157, or nearly twice the legal limit in Maryland. In addition, he had eight grams of marijuana in the car and was talking on his cell phone at the time of the accident.

These facts, of course, do not mitigate the tragedy of Hancock's death, as the loss of any life is a tragedy. That said, the culture from which Hancock comes and the reaction to it should give us insight into how one young man could be so stupid. You see, baseball is a sport that likes its beer. Most clubhouse refrigerators are well stocked with complimentary bottles and players are well-known to go out after their games for a few pops. Some of the most famous baseball players in the game's history have been heavy drinkers/probable alcoholics: Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, Pete Rose. During Spring Training, Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa, the man who was supposed to be responsible for setting the tone for his team and for maintaining discipline amongst his players was charged with DUI. Though LaRussa only blew a .93 (Florida's limit is .08), he was asleep at the wheel of his car, sitting at a red light with his foot on the brake. And he did not initially wake up when officers tap, tap, tapped on his car window. The problem is not confined to the Cardinals. Prominent players Esteban Loiza and Dontrelle Willis have also been popped for DUI in the last year, as has Washington Nationals GM Jim Bowden.

Perhaps this is not so bad. After all, there are more than a thousand major league players, coaches, and prominent front office people. Some of them will, undoubtedly fail their good citizenship exams. But, of course, it is likely that far more players are stopped by police and released because they are recognized. Indeed, The Common Man is fairly sure that Johan Santana, Jason Bay, or Ichiro have a better chance of getting off with a light warning and an autograph than he or you do.

And before accepting Hancock's death as an isolated incident, consider the statements of Hancock's teammates and fellow players in the aftermath of his death. According ESPN.com, Cardinal Jim Edmonds "believed that by eliminating one of several elements -- alcohol, talking on the cell phone, speeding, a tow truck parked in a traffic lane with somewhat limited visibility -- Hancock probably would have made it to his destination." Houston Astros manager called what happened to Hancock a "perfect storm" of events that led to his death.

Such rationalizations deflect attention from the central problem that Hancock was drunk and distracted. Of course, if one to remove, say, the truck in the middle of the road, Hancock would have likely made it to his destination (which, according to the woman he was talking to, was another bar). But thousands of drunks make it home every night without killing anyone. This does not mean that driving drunk is somehow a better idea than calling a cab in those instances. Instead, it simply demonstrates that stupidity does not guarantee that you'll be hurt or hurt others. It just makes it much more likely. Sometimes, it takes a while for Darwin to catch up to idiots. After all, there are so many of them to get to. Baseball players, macho guys that they are, tend to believe that they have a high tolerance and deny that alcohol influences them in any significant way.

Following Loiza's arrest, the Oakland A's became one of the first major league teams to ban alcohol from its clubhouse, citing concerns about legal liability and public safety. Since Hancock's death, the Cardinals have followed suit. For far too long, baseball's dirty secret has been that it has a drinking...if not "problem," then what? Habit? Enthusiasm? Perhaps that's unsurprising, given that the league is filled with young, macho men, many of whom have been drinking heavily since their teens. But it is now incumbent upon Major League Baseball and its Commissioner, Bud Selig, to ban all alcohol, save for celebratory champaign, from major league clubhouses. It's time to send the message that work time is work time, and play time is play time, and that it's not imperative to have beer on hand at all times. And trust The Common Man, he says this as a man who has a healthy enthusiasm for beer.

Sanctuary

Recently, The Common Man has staked out a spot in beautiful Schlow Centre Region Library, located conveniently in downtown State College, to do some mid-day studying/work. The facility is less than a full year old and is a fine combination of sun-lit porticoes, cherry bookshelves, and grand vault ceilings. Friend of the blog, snarl, would love it, or at least appreciate the inviting practicality of the space that merges its books with its reading space. It has been, for the most part, a quiet and convenient place for him to study without having to worry about bumping into colleagues or students who will interrupt his work.

That said, The Common Man is more than a little interested in his fellow library-enthusiasts. Indeed, day after day, The Common Man sees the same people walking and sitting about the library, engaged in various combinations of sleeping, grunting, walking, and reading. Because it is free and quite and pleasant (warm in the winter, A/C'ed in the summer), it seems that the least fortunate and most harmless nutjobs in the State College area flock to it in droves.

Right now, I'm looking at a 60ish woman in a brown and red flowered jacket, who gives the appearance of total normality. Yet, two days ago, when she encountered a fellow library lover, she stood and talked to him (her talking, him listening) for at least 20 minutes with no pauses for breath. It was amazing. A true feat of endurance. Today, she appears to be wondering through the stacks with little direction, weaving through them, slalom-like, not even glancing at titles or authors. Earlier, there was a gentleman, balding and with a short beard and over-sized glasses, walking up and down the aisles of the adult section, mumbling to himself and swinging his arms back and forth. Oop, there he is again, grabbing a reference book, saying "there I'll get this one. (inaudible mumble)," and walking away. There was an elderly gentleman in the chair next to The Common Man until 5 minutes ago who simply grunted again and again, every 15 to 20 seconds. And The Common Man has not even begun to talk about the homeless gentleman with the long, unwashed hair and beard that has been using the library this week. These "clients" are here with no real discernible purpose (not that The Common Man has one, mind you, aside from finishing his work for the semester).

The Common Man does not wish to make fun of these people and, certainly, none of them are cause for alarm. After all, this is a public building and they are the public (indeed, they are the public who do not work during the day and can, therefore, afford to come to the library). They are not terribly disruptive and seem to keep to themselves. They are weird, but not weird-bad, just weird-noticeable. But The Common Man wonders who is looking after these people after the library closes and where their caretakers are during the day. The library seems to have become a kind of makeshift refuge for those who are normally unable to care for themselves. That, of course, is not the library's job, but it seems to be one that it has accepted willingly.

Anyway, it is far too easy for us to forget these people exist. Indeed, I assume they head home after 5:00 or so, this being their only public appearance of the day. It's also easy to assume that they like coming the library every day, rather than wonder if they are coming to the library every day because they have no other place they can go where the poor, old, and indigent can simply be without buying anything. This town needs more places like the Schlow Memorial Library. More parks. More museums. More public spaces.

What's in a name?

The Common Man just found out. According to Stephen Colbert and astro-physicist Neil DeGrasse Tyson, apparently the scientific community has chosen to ignore The Common Man's decree that the new planet be called The Common Mania. Instead, they've chosen to call it either Gliese 581-c (after the star it revolves around) or New Earth. Look, The Common Man loves Stephen Colbert and considers him the funniest man on television today. That said, he cannot help but be more than a little disappointed in Colbert, who he knows would support The Common Man's bold, decisive, and self-congratulatory move to name the planet after himself. It is a far grander idea than Colbert's recent push to get a bridge in Hungary named after him. As for those scientists, The Common Man calls on any and all readers to talk to any scientists that they know in order to lay the foundation for The Common Man's grassroots effort to undermine "New Earth" and Gliese 581-c.

Of course, all of this could be moot The Boy gets to this planet and finds out that someone is already living there and has named it. Obviously, any inhabitants will have to die in order to ensure the immortality of The Common Man and his name. Sorry. That's just the way things work in the real world(s).

Up Is the New Down

The Common Man believes that Procrast is a wonderful nation in which to vacation at the end of a semester. In an age when there is so much out there to see and do, how can a person not willfully get distracted from mundane chores such as paper writing. Indeed, writing has been gleefully interupted by cleaning and the NFL draft and laundry and a Twins game, house guests and, now, a blog entry.

The Uncommon Wife's little cousin is attending Penn State as a freshman this coming school year and she and her mother are visiting for the evening in the anticipation of getting a tour and turning in paperwork in the morning. This is a perfect opportunity for more procrastination, as The Common Man is looking forward to remembering what hopeful, uncynical exuberance was like.

Anyway, there are certainties in this world. Things that are absolutely sure bets on which everyone can agree. The world is round. The sun will come up tomorrow. If you throw a ball into the air, it will eventually land. There are WMDs in Iraq (it's a slam dunk!) And Journey is way better than Styx.

Until today, The Common Man thought that roads were solid, permanent things that would be our most lasting legacy upon this earth, in the way that you can still see places where wagons passed along the Oregon Trail. That is why The Common Man finds this so disillusioning. That the road in front of The Common Man could buckle and crumble and melt is shocking and befuddling. The world is flat and "Come Sail Away" is stuck on repeat.

Oh well, it's up to you, dirty diapers and McDonalds styrofoam containers, to carry on after this society is gone and everyone moves to The Common Mania.

Forward and Back

Only one more week to go until the end of the semester here, and The Common Man is looking forward to getting back to blogging four times a week. That said, The Common Man could not stay silent any longer, particularly in light of the recent news cycles.

Now, The Common Man often wonders about the nature of the universe. You know, why we're here? Where did here come from? What existed before there was "something?" These are common questions, of course, asked and answered by countless human beings since the dawn of consciousness and higher level thought. Once man moved beyond wondering where his next meal was going to come from, he turned to questions about his own existence and prayed that that existence had some kind of higher meaning, that we weren't all alone.

Recently, Bill O'Reilly tackled this difficult and complicated series of questions with his usual "bull in a china shop" style, completely oversimplifying the issue and his "throwin' in with Jesus" in his debate with noted atheist Richard Hawkins and it got The Common Man thinking about the possibility of God and the beginning of things.

The Common Man, for once, agrees with O'Reilly (almost as disturbing as the time, recently, when The Common Man agreed with Geraldo Rivera). Simply saying that science explains how the universe got the way it is doesn't explain where a big ball of matter and energy that exploded in a big bang came from in the first place.

Naturally, as The Common Man pondered on the beginning of the universe, he thought about the end. Indeed, as the world becomes increasingly violent and polluted, it's as though life on this planet is rushing toward some kind of windshield, on which we'll all be splattered.

Indeed, signs abound around us. For instance, theologians believe that, when the world ends, the dead will rise and walk among us (George Romero will be out of a job at that point, The Common Man is afraid). Lo and behold, on Wednesday night, this happened on American Idol.

For now, let's leave aside the fact that Celine Dion has the balls to think that she should be allowed to sing with Elvis. And let's put aside the lunacy of American Idol producers thinking their remaining Idol contestants should even be allowed on a stage that The King has graced. But what the video confirms is that the dead do walk again. They are among you. Indeed, one of them is even singing with a CGI hologram of Elvis Presley (hold for laughter).

Anyway, if this is indeed the End Times on this planet, it's nice to know that, now, humanity has some place to go. Though scientists don't yet know whether this new world already has life (don't worry, if it does have life, I'm sure someone will be able to kill it), or if it even has water, The Common Man remains confident that they will work out all the details before everyone needs to abandon ship. That said, the new planet, let's call it The Common Mania, is smaller than this one, so not everyone will get to go. Only the best and the brightest and the most necessary will be sent along to preserve the human species. And when that day comes, The Common Man (and The Uncommon Wife) will undoubtedly be too old to be of much use to anyone. So they will be left behind. But The Boy still has a chance. That's why it's time for him to stop chewing on his toes and start doing some calculus. The Common Man's legacy must live on!

Nothing Clever

The Common Man's off today, banished to the corner of my mind. My heavy heart goes out today to students and parents of students, and employees of Virginia Tech University. What a senseless and horrible tragedy. What a mockery of everything that is good and decent in this world. It makes me want to go find my son at his "school" and hug him until tomorrow.

We seem to try to insulate themselves from tragedy in every way possible in this society: by moving out of bad neighborhoods, by procuring constant care for their children, by not leaving the house. Yet, tragedy strikes everywhere and everyone. I hope the lesson taken from this tragedy isn't just that people need to find new and better ways to shelter themselves, but also that people need to find new and better ways to connect with one another in the hopes that tragedies like this can be avoided as much as possible. I believe strongly (and so does The Common Man, by the way) that, in a world where we continue to find ways to distance ourselves from other people (because of email, telecommuting, IM, expansion of the reaches of popular culture, and suburban sprawl, that we are constantly encouraged to think of ourselves as alone in a narcissistic bubble. Other people become, not people, but two-dimensional characters in our own little personal play. It is only by breaking down those barriers and connecting with our fellow men and women that we are encouraged to consider the lives and needs of others.

I've been listening to the media talk extensively about this for an hour or so, pouring over the actions of the university and wondering why more wasn't done to stop this gunman and to limit the damage he could do. I think those are the wrong things to be focusing on. Instead, we should be asking ourselves how someone could come to believe that his own life and the pain that he was in was more important than the lives and pain of two or three dozen more people. I don't know the answer to that, but I hope somebody starts trying to think of the answer.

Hippity Hoppity

Note: The Commmon Man wanted to post this over the weekend, but there was difficulty finding a computer on which to do it while he was celebrating Easter with his inlaws in Lancaster.

The Common Man promised a blog entry over the weekend, and so a blog entry you shall have:

This is the Easter weekend, a joyous time in the Christian church. As such, The Common Man, with The Uncommon Wife and The Boy in tow, will venture far and wide, first to Philadelphia then to just outside of Lancaster, PA to spend the Easter holiday with The Uncommon Inlaws. This will be The Boy's first opportunity to meet his maternal great-grandmother, so he is excited (though at this point, sucking on his fist and finding his toes also qualify as exciting).

The Common Man has often wondered why Easter gets relatively short shrift in our culture, among Christian holidays. Indeed, among all holidays. Christmas, of course, has blown up like the Olson Twins and is a force unto itself. Even non-religious families feel pressure to celebrate it. The Fourth of July has a drawing power that brings families together to grill and watch fireworks. Valentine's Day has become a massive financial industry. Veterans Day gets spread out over a full weekend.

Yet Easter, by most accounts, is the most important of the Christian holidays. Even more than the birth of Christ, this day celebrates the reason why Christianity exists. It is a day to remember why Christians are Christians in the first place. But Christians in this country treat it like a second-class holiday. Some roll it into Spring Break. Some do not celebrate it. Some think of it solely as a day of bunnies and colored eggs (by the way, if you haven't already, watch South Park's take on Easter from last week; hilarious). It should be exalted among holidays but it is not. Why?

The Common Man thinks that it's mostly because people like Baby Jesus more than Adult Jesus. Call this the Ricky Bobby effect. It seems like people are happiest with a cute little 8 lbs, 6 oz baby Jesus. Adult Jesus was, apparently, kind of scrawny and hairy. Also, once he gets arrested, Adult Jesus gets uglied and bloodied up pretty quick. Ever wonder why we don't see Adolescent Jesus? Because nobody wants to see a pimply, awkward, greasy Jesus with a cracking voice. People prefer their Jesi to be aesthetically pleasing.

Also, Baby Jesus is harmless and helpless, he must be cared for (by his surrogate family, the Christian community). Adult Jesus can take care of himself, thank you very much. Hungry? Here, let Adult Jesus rustle you up some loaves and fishes. Ow, adult Jesus fell off a roof during a filming of backyard wrestling with Simon-Peter? Don't worry, he's already healed his shattered fibula. Needing beverages for an expensive dinner party? Put Adult Jesus on the guest list and everybody gets wine! Just don't invite any money-lenders, pharisees, or tax collectors (Zaccheaus excepted).

Plus, Baby Jesus is quiet (Silent Night: "Little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes."). Adult Jesus has the temerity to tell people how they should live their lives. How annoying! There's nothing worse than a bossy, know-it-all savior.

Also, it's worth noting that Christmas comes at the beginning of winter, when snow and cold are relative novelties. It's easier to be excited about a time of year when you aren't cursing your decision to live north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Easter comes at the tail end of winter, when everyone's sick of the cold and wind. It's no fun anticipating yet another weekend that it's too cold to grill.

That's all I've got. Got more ideas, post them below.

By the way, according to the Religious Talk Radio The Common Man listened to on the way back from Lancaster, he is not crazy. Celebrating Easter has always been secondary to celebrating Christmas in this country, and celebrating the holiday did not become widespread until the late 19th century. Happy [belated] Easter.

programming note: because this didn't get posted until Monday (and because he doesn't have class tomorrow), The Common Man will be back tomorrow.

Slurring The King's English

Before beginning, The Common Man would like to issue a public service announcement. If you have had too much to drink, it is unsafe to operate an automobile. The Common Man recommends that you take a zamboni instead. Zambonis, if would seem, are not motor vehicles because "they aren't usable on highways and can't carry passengers" according to New Jersey Judge Joseph Falcone (which, incidentally, is a terrific name). This decision denotes a certain lack of imagination on the judge's part, as The Common Man is certain that, were he so inclined and had sufficient access to one, he could get that zamboni out on the highway with The Uncommon Wife and The Boy riding on the hood. Anyway, while the point is that driving drunk on a zamboni will not get you busted in New Jersey, it also seems that the life of a zamboni driver is not as glamorous as it sounds, as the driver in question testified "he did drink beer and vodka, but not until after he had groomed the ice. However, he told police he had a shot of Sambuca with his breakfast coffee and two Valium-pills before work." Seriously? Sambuca with breakfast? That's sad. And funny. Sorry.

Anyway, it seems that former Speaker Newt Gingrich should have completely given up speaking once he lost his job. The former head of the Republican Party recently argued to National Federation of Republican Women that immersing Spanish-speaking students into English-only classrooms was important, "so people learn the common language of the country and they learn the language of prosperity, not the language of living in a ghetto." Let's take Gingrich's statement apart here.

First, let's dispense with the obvious. Gingrich intimates that Spanish is a language of poverty, of a "ghetto," a statement so oblivious to the success of bi-lingual Americans who have leveraged their knowledge of both Spanish and English into incredible success (people like President Bush, for instance, who used his knowledge of Spanish to appeal to Latinos in Texas when he was running for governor) and so ignorant that The Common Man doesn't feel the need to call any more attention to it, save to say that if Gingrich thinks he's going to run for President and win a general election without any support from Spanish-speaking voters, he's an idiot.

Second, Gingrich suggests that there is a common language for this country. Gingrich seems to think that English is a stable, uniform thing. In reality, there are multiple Englishes at work right now, differentiated by accent and dialect. Indeed, The Common Man's grandmother likes to tell the story that she used to call her cousin in Florida, and that she could not understand the operator, who was apparently from the Deep South. Is this inconvenient? Of course it is. Would it be nice if everyone spoke using a common vocabulary so as to discourage misunderstanding? Sure. But it's never been that way before, and, The Common Man would argue, that difference is part of what makes different communities unique and makes our country all the more interesting. Besides, in a country as large and as populous as this is, there is virtually no chance of establishing a uniform language.

And it's not as though English is a pure language in and of itself. Indeed, English is the bastard offspring of Anglo-Saxon, French, Latin, and German, among others. It has been in near-constant flux since William of Normandy invaded Britain in 1056. So if a little Spanish influences Gingrich's precious English, if through the tension between these languages, English grows and expands, that's not a bad thing. It's just a thing.

Of course, this isn't simply a question about language. It is also a question about education. Gingrich and his ilk would like students to be "immersed" in an English-only classroom, rather than have the option of bilingual education, arguing that only through immersion will students be able to get the education that will allow them to "succeed". Gingrich, in his non-apology apology, argues, "But my point was simply this -- in the United States, it is important to speak the English language well in order to advance and have success." Certainly, The Common Man agrees with that sentiment. However, Gingrich's education proposal is more related to an English-only ideology than by concern over what will allow bilingual students to learn best. After all, bilingual students will not succeed simply by knowing English. There are a multitude of other skills they will need to know in order to become successful outside of the classroom. The Common Man would argue that a bilingual education, for at least the first part of the child's education, would have allow them to learn those skills faster, so as to be able to compete with their native English-speaking classmates.

The Common Man becomes angry when politicians try to score political points by throwing out ideological notions about education that have little to nothing to do with what is best for the children and the communities in which those children live. Gingrich is appealing to his conservative base at the expense of Latino (and Asian, and African) school children. It's wrong.

New Link on the Right

Just a quick post: somebody named Mike's Evil Twin has a new blog about baseball that The Common Man hears will be pretty good once he gets it running on a regular basis. It's listed on the side.

Running Into a Meandering Post

As a general rule, The Common Man cares little about what others think of him. That said, good friend of the blog Mark Huffines mentioned the other day that The Common Man was something of a crack dealer, providing just enough content to get you hooked, but then to string you along with less and less stuff as your desperation grows for more of The Common Man. The Common Man understands this plight and certainly did not want any of his precious few readers to undergo withdrawal symptoms.

Because the semester is in its home stretch, The Common Man will have to cut back on his blogging, but does not want to drop off the face of the Earth. So, here is what The Common Man proposes, he will drop back to writing three entries a week. One on Monday, one on Thursday, and one over the weekend until the semester resolves itself. After that, how about we reassess?

The Common Man is multi-tasking this afternoon, writing a blog, putting away laundry, reading for class this week, and watching three different baseball games here on Opening Day. It's a busy time, obviously, that would be made less busy if The Common Man were able to avoid the festivities of Opening Day. But he can't do that. Opening day is a beautiful thing. For a moment, a brief moment, everyone is equal. Everyone has hope for a strong season, and can envision their team going all the way. Right now, the Yankees are tied with the Devil Rays and the Royals are tied with the Twins. By the end of the day, of course, this won't be the case, particularly because the Rays are playing the Yanks right now.

Unlike in years past, The Common Man can now watch every major league game thanks to MLB's Extra Innings package on his DirecTV. This is amazing. Fifty years ago, almost no one could even watch their own local team on TV, let alone watch them all. Hell, if The Common Man wanted to, he could watch them on his TV, his computer, or his telephone.

The pace at which this world is changing is both wonderful and scary to The Common Man. Sure, MLB's Extra Innings package is a wonderful advancement. But its a symbol for a society in which there is seemingly unlimited access to cultural productions. In the early 1980s, sociologist James S. Coleman argued that our social structure, in which parents were not around (because of longer, more demanding work and the expansion of the suburbs away from centers of work) and children were left to fend for themselves would leave the home "psychologically barren." Kids would increasingly pick up social and behavioral cues from other kids and from popular culture. Because the messages of other kids and pop culture are mixed, "the child has a less fully developed sense of what is right and what is wrong." The Common Man doesn't know that there is a crisis of childhood and that America's children are in some kind of psychological danger, but he does think that the decreasing role of parents in the lives of children and the greater access kids have to material that parents disapprove of (and that children are not ready to assess critically) is troubling. And how does a parent stop the flow of the river of information? Or, more importantly, how does a parent filter out the pollutants that somebody dumped in upstream?

Maybe The Common Man and The Uncommon Wife should just not teach The Boy any English. Spanish is an increasingly useful language, and Spanish-language programming sucks (so he'll be discouraged from watching it).