Long Shrift

have gun, will travel, in the opposite direction

I was taking a leisurely walk around the neighborhood with the boy. I like to think that these walks give me an opportunity to teach him a thing or two, and I might even learn something myself, or at least be reminded of how the world looks through much younger eyes. Sometimes that's not so good, like the other day, when he stopped in front of a house, gave it a brief appraisal, and loudly proclaimed how the house needed a lot of work because it looked like it was going to fall down. That was an opportunity to talk about how keeping some opinions to oneself can be a good thing. (Yes, I see the hypocrisy there.)

These walks are usually leisurely because the boy will stop to examine every bit of flora and fauna that crosses our path. While he scraped two twigs together in an attempt to get all their bark off, a woman drove up and parked her car a few houses down the street. She got out of her car and walked to the side entrance of her house. She was wearing a loose white tunic-like outfit, which made the gun holster on her hip all the more visible.

I wasn't sure what to think about this. While I know how to use a gun, I wouldn't want one in my house. While I support the right to bear arms, I don't think anyone really needs to keep an assault rifle in their home. It's legal to openly carry guns in Wisconsin, but I'd prefer not to see them in my neighborhood, if only because of my irrational desire to, well, reduce my chances of getting shot. Admittedly, a NIMBY perspective.

I don't know anything about this woman. She might have been a cop returning home after a long day at work, or maybe she was just making a statement. She's not wearing that holster to accessorize with her purse; she must have a good reason for carrying a gun.

I've since decided that I think the right to openly carry a weapon is a good thing, because it provides a visual cue that the person might be a nutjob. For example, that woman may simply be batshit insane, and that might be good to know if I were to strike up a conversation with her at a block party, the farmer's market, or in a clock tower somewhere. Because most of the people I've encountered who are adamant about the right to bear arms have a bunch of other beliefs that I can't get behind.

he won't be walking the campaign trail, either

A while back, my brother decided that he was going to walk the Appalachian Trail. Never mind that he wasn't in the best physical shape for it, and he seemed to be ill-prepared for the endeavor. He's an avid reader, so I asked him what books he was going to take along; if I was in his shoes, this is something I'd consider long and hard. He replied that he didn't plan on taking any, since he'd either be walking, eating or sleeping.

I'm not joking when I say that I was impressed that he even started - I imagine that the vast majority of people who decide to hit the AT never get much further than buying hiking boots. My brother lasted a few days before he threw in the towel. I would expect that seeing a bear on his first day might have dampened his enthusiasm somewhat. So I didn't rib him about it too much.

My brother could learn a lot from Mark Sanford. I had no idea the AT went all the way to Argentina.

I dearly hope that Sanford does decide to run for President in 2012, if only so that I can see the advertising campaigns of his opponents. All you'd need is a picture of Sanford, add a striped knit hat, and caption it "WTF?"

in like flynn

A few days ago, the news broke that Edward Flynn, the local police chief, had been having an affair with Jessica McBride - a journalist who wrote a very favorable article about him shortly after he came to town. Flynn has only been on the job for about 18 months, but he has made a very favorable impression on the city, and the public, the mayor and other officials have thrown their support behind him.

The story came up at a family get-together over the weekend, and the crowd was very supportive. The general consensus was that this impropriety had nothing to do with his ability to be the chief of police. I heard someone say "What's good for the goose is good for the gander," and while I'm not completely sure what that means, I'm thinking that's not much of a justification. Apparently Flynn's wife is still living in Massachusetts while their kids finish high school, and someone implied that this was partially her fault because she didn't move out here with her husband.

I turned to my brother-in-law, one of the handful of liberals in attendance, and joked that this conversation went a little differently back in 1998. Of course, there's a world of difference in the positions: a police chief's job is relatively straightforward, there are fairly objective ways to measure success, and the job can be done without sinking too far into politics. Contrast that with being President.

Maybe we've gotten a bit more forgiving in the last decade or so, or we've just grown so jaded to the idea of government officials and their affairs. Or maybe we're OK with this because the journalist is attractive.

can do, can don't

I was enjoying a can of soda, wondering why soda tastes so much better out of a can than a plastic bottle. Then inspiration hit: what if you could drop a pill into your plastic soda bottle so that it tastes like soda out of a can? OK, dumb idea: that pill would have to contain some bisphenol A (yeah, that bisphenol A), just like soda can liners. It's true - amaze your friends!

Four minutes of exhaustive research couldn't find a reason why canned soda tastes better than soda from plastic bottles. Aluminum is a better insulator, so perhaps you could argue that the soda tastes better because it stays cold longer. Or you could just pour the soda into a glass, over ice, and STFU.

Meanwhile, if you're wondering whether aluminum cans or plastic bottles are better for the environment, the answer is simple: bottles. Or maybe cans. Well, definitely not cans. But bottles are safe, says the American Chemistry Council. Well, mostly. Of course, you could lessen the environmental impact of cans and bottles through some creative re-use. But you shouldn't.

Of course, the real issue is whether you should be drinking the stuff in that bottle or can. Tap water may be better than the alternative.

embracing infinity

I had been meaning to read Infinite Jest for some time. It was always turning up in my Amazon book recommendations, and its size made it stand out on bookshelves. For a couple of days last fall, after David Foster Wallace killed himself, it was everywhere. I put it on my Christmas list, got it, and put it on the bottom of the 'to read' pile. Partially because it seemed like a daunting read, and partially because I figured it might crush anything I placed under it.

I finally started, and found myself struggling with it. A few years ago, I resolved that life is too short to read books that aren't enjoyable, so I put it down and started something else. Then I read about "Infinite Summer," a collective effort to read the novel during the summer of 2009. I still wasn't convinced; my years of college literature classes dampened my enthusiasm for literary criticism, and my misanthropic tendencies sealed the deal. But I read through the comments, and this one caught my eye:

It's likely you'll get a little ways into it, and though you'll doubtless be impressed by the singular style, the depth of detail, the extraordinary range of possibility presented in the narrative - you'll start to wonder, nevertheless, why you're bothering. Somewhere in the p. 100-150 range, it's very common to begin to feel like it's lost you. It's slow going in thick muck, and it feels like a lot of sound and fury all over the place signifying not enough to slog through the 1000 pages that remain.

Make yourself a deal that when you feel yourself fully mired, you'll just push on just another 50-100 pages. The narrative and thematic threads begin to weave together, and then the thing hits full stride and takes off and it becomes so fully immersive an experience it'll become your sort of primary occupation.

I checked, and sure enough, I had given up on page 150. Meanwhile, I had a business trip to San Diego coming up, and a 4-hour flight seemed like a good way to goad myself into trying again. It worked.

I'm a couple hundred pages further along, and while I'm not completely enthralled, it's certainly growing on me. It's not an easy read, and I'm not sure where it's going. But I know I'll be pissed if I get to the end and it was all just a dream, or it abruptly fades to black, or all the characters end up in a jail cell together talking about nothing. I'll probably finish it by next Christmas.

Meanwhile, graduation season means commencement addresses. I stumbled across a speech that Wallace gave a few years ago. It's worth reading, but it's hard to forget that Wallace didn't take his own message to heart. It's since been released as a book, but I'll save you $12: you can read it here.

crime and asparagus

We shared the news of the day over a family dinner of asparagus carbonara. I recounted how a coworker's car was broken into over the weekend, which prompted about a hundred questions from Quinn:

"Why did they break into his car?"

"They must've seen something inside that they wanted to steal."

"Why?"

"Some bad people steal things from other people."

"Why?"

"Because they're bad people."

"Were they burglars?"

"Well, yes."

"What did the burglars look like?"

"I don't know, no one saw them."

"Did the police see them?"

"No."

"Were the police sleeping?"

"Well, the police can't be everywhere."

"Did the police catch them?"

"No. The police don't always catch the bad guys."

At this point, I get a sidelong look from my wife.  I backtrack hastily. "Um, that is, the police didn't catch them yet. The police will catch the burglars eventually."

Quinn, satisfied, goes back to eating. I look to my wife. "I suppose that's the message I should be sending, right?"

She nods. A few minutes later, Quinn asks why parts of the asparagus are brown. She explains that sometimes the tips of the asparagus are darker than the stem. "And you know," she says, "You know what the best part is about eating asparagus? When you pee, your pee will smell funny."

Quinn is ecstatic. "Will my toots smell too?"

I regard my wife through narrowed eyes. "Oh, like that's the message we should be sending?"