MichaelLortz.com/JordiScrubbings.com

If you are reading this, I feel sorry for you.

Honestly.

Do you realize it is already 2009 in nearly a quarter of the Earth?

Heck, it’s nearly 5AM in the Christmas Islands. Almost time for the Christmas Islanders to go back to work. Which is probably where you are if you are reading this. Work.

So tell your boss you want to go home. Tell him or her that you have some lox and cream cheese waiting for you. Or some black-eyed peas and collard greens. Tell him you have football to watch. Or don’t tell them anything and just leave. It’s New Year’s Eve. Go home.

Anyway, if you are home, good job. Now pour out a little champagne (not the expensive stuff, the cheap bottle) for your homies who ain’t there.

Once your homies are accounted for, time to get yourself ready to welcome in 2009. Time to dust off those high-priced kicks (the ones with the fat laces I hope), splash on the Johnson’s Baby Powder and Cool Water cologne (or the Polo cologne). You are going to bring in the new year in style. And don’t forget those raincoats. Don’t want any unnecessary mouths to feed come Labor Day.

Now that you are fresh dressed like a million bucks, it’s time to paint the town red. Honestly, I never understood that phrase – “paint the town red”. What is that supposed to mean? Walking around like the Dutch painter boy with a bucket of red paint doesn’t seem like a good way to break in the new year. Maybe we should skip the whole “red” thing.

(Note: According to Phrases.org.uk, “paint the town red” means “the kind of unruly behaviour that results in much blood being spilt”. That’s cool. So do that if you want. But I digress.)

So back to the beginning …. you are dressed to the nines, smelling fresh and clean, and totin’ a wad of dubs. There’s only one place to go. The rub’a'dub club.

Oh, the times you will have …

Time to try and slip the doorman a five only to have him laugh at you and send you to the back of the line. Time to spend that check Grandma gave you for Christmas on a drink for that girl in the black mini skirt. Time for her to say thanks and then disappear. Time to realize you have to break the seal right before the ball drops. Time to realize the other people at the club that look as old as you look awfully pathetic. Time to make the big decision: do you call it a night at 12:30 or do you throw down a few more shots and try and ward off those evil spirits that might have followed you from 2008?

Word to the wise: don’t try to squeeze down that last shot of Jager. It always tastes worse coming back up.

Happy New Year and see everyone in 2009.

By the way, people of New York, according to a site called Apocalypse 2008-2015, New York City is going bye-bye on February 9, 2009. Not to ruin your buzz or anything.

Happy 2009!

Tonight, Georgia Tech will take on Lousiana State University in the 41st annual Chick-fil-A Bowl. There is no doubt the broadcast of this game will feature numerous Chick-fil-A commercials. They are, after all, the main sponsor and have been so for the last ten years.

Most people have a positive opinion of Chick-fil-A. They are seen as a family-owned and operated American business that does well for its employees and for its customers. Upon further investigation, however, perhaps Chick-fil-A is not the type of company that should be allowed to sponsor a major sporting event. Perhaps their image as a family-friendly organization is merely a veneer, a ruse for less-innocent intentions.

For the last several years, Chick-fil-A has used an advertising campaign in which cows carry signs and promote the consumption of chicken instead of beef (see video here). While these ads are normally perceived as harmless and possibly even cute, they could possibly hold a deeper, darker, more divisive, intolerant second meaning.

What people fail to realize is that the Chick-fil-A cows are advocating speciocide, or the killing off of a species. There is no doubt eating more “chikin” means killing more chickens, slaughtering more innocent fowl, and massacring many poor gallus galluses. These seemingly passive cows want every chicken dead.

No other popular advertisement condones murder like the Chick-fil-A ads. No other ad makes such harsh divisiveness acceptable. To make a comparison, if cows and chickens were people, the Chick-fil-A ads would be pushing genocidial cannibalism, which I doubt anyone would find tolerable. No one would think it was funny, cute, or worth buying a calendar for.

Chick-fil-A’s endorsement of mass murder and speciocide must be stopped. The willful disregard the Chick-fil-A cows have for fellow members of the animal kingdom should not be acceptable in our society. Their “harmless” promotion of slaughter and neglect for the civil rights of chickens is not a message we should allow our children to see.

So remember the chickens this New Year’s Eve as you watch Georgia Tech and LSU. Remember the chickens and say “No Way!” to Chick-fil-A.

Once again Global Voices Online has provided interesting links for thought:

In Bahrain, officials are trying to ban the appearance of the Playboy Bunny logo. According to ammaro.com, officials believe that the logo itself is contrary to Islamic values. Ammaro.com thinks the whole hubbub is ridiculous and the ministers should focus on what really ails Bahrain.

From Mongolia, Asian Gyspy.com writes about Mongolian Ninja Miners. According to the links provided by Asian Gypsy, Mongolia is facing a mineral boom not unlike the gold rush in America in the 1800s. Thousands of Mongolians are leaving the pastoral fields and rushing towards the mineral regions equipped with green plastic pans, hoping to make a fortune. According to a CNNMoney article from 2003, the nickname “ninjas” is derived from the miners’ apppearance when they strap the large green pans to their back. Apparently they look like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (see this site for a study on the Mongolian and “ninja” society).

That’s all for now. I’ll probably have a few more posts before the new year. Hope everyone enjoyed their holiday season.

(This post originally featured on Pomp Culture.)

Fifty years ago in Chicago, Illinois, a king was born among us. A King of Kings. A Savior of Saviors. One who would change the world we live in forever.

In late December 1958, John and Bobbie Henley were expecting a child. Unbeknowest to them, but beknowest to us, this child was unlike any other, before or after. On December 25th, a day normally reserved for bank and post office holidays, the skies opened, the angels sung down from the heavens, and Rickey Nelson Hendley was born in the back of a 1957 Chevy.

Like many of us, Rickey Henley’s beginnings were marked with trials and tribulations. As a youth, his biological father passed away in a car crash. Years later, Rickey’s mother would marry Paul Henderson. Rickey would eventually take his step-father’s last name and ascend to the mountaintop of fame and achievement.

At the age of 21, Rickey Henderson would make his debut in the Major Leagues. In his third year, he would shatter the individual season stolen base record. He was a phenomenon unlike any other. His mix of speed, average, on-base percentage, and power were unprecedented. After just over a decade, Rickey would become the patron saint of steals. Although he was followed by numerous base-burning clones such as Gary Pettis, Tom Goodwin, and Vince Coleman, Rickey always stood head-over-heels above any other prophet of plunder. He was the epitome of disruption and in a game were scoring runs was the goal, he was quickly “the greatest of all time”.

Like other gods among men, Rickey Henderson had to move from city to city to keep his legend intact. His journeys spanned the nation, from San Diego to Boston, Anaheim to New York. Then, after two decades in the major leagues, Rickey was forced out by the powers that be, made to take a short sabbatical in the outpost of Newark.

The next year, Rickey was resurrected from Newark and given a second life in Los Angeles. But after only approximately 60 days and 60 nights in the City of Angels, Rickey was once again left for dead. Although he claimed he was still as able as he was years earlier, Rickey was forced into exile, never again to be seen on the field of play.

Today we appreciate Rickey Henderson more than ever before. The depth of his legendary skills are more apparent to us now. He will never be duplicated, this once-in-a-lifetime Sultan of Steal. Despite the pretenders, never again will we be graced with a person of Rickey’s aptitude.

On this day, the day of his birth 50 years ago, I ask that you remember Rickey Henderson. Remember the story of Chicago and the ’57 Chevy, remember Rickey’s youth, his rise, his exile, his resurrection, and the fact that he was abandoned by the game he loved. Most importantly however, remember to honor Rickey by doing one of the three things he did best: walking, stealing, or scoring.

So Happy Hendersonmas to all and Rickey bless us, every one.

Fifty years ago in Chicago, Illinois, a king was born among us. A King of Kings. A Savior of Saviors. One who would change the world we live in forever.

In late December 1958, John and Bobbie Henley were expecting a child. Unbeknowest to them, but beknowest to us, this child was unlike any other, before or after. On December 25th, a day normally reserved for bank and post office holidays, the skies opened, the angels sung down from the heavens, and Rickey Nelson Hendley was born in the back of a 1957 Chevy.

Like many of us, Rickey Henley’s beginnings were marked with trials and tribulations. As a youth, his biological father passed away in a car crash. Years later, Rickey’s mother would marry Paul Henderson. Rickey would eventually take his step-father’s last name and ascend to the mountaintop of fame and achievement.

At the age of 21, Rickey Henderson would make his debut in the Major Leagues. In his third year, he would shatter the individual season stolen base record. He was a phenomenon unlike any other. His mix of speed, average, on-base percentage, and power were unprecedented.

After just over a decade, Rickey would become the patron saint of steals. Although he was followed by numerous base-burning clones such as Gary Pettis, Tom Goodwin, and Vince Coleman, Rickey always stood head-over-heels above any other prophet of plunder. He was the epitome of disruption and in a game were scoring runs was the goal, he was quickly “the greatest of all time”.

Like other gods among men, Rickey Henderson had to move from city to city to keep his legend intact. His journeys spanned the nation, from San Diego to Boston, Anaheim to New York. Then, after two decades in the major leagues, Rickey was forced out by the powers that be, made to take a short sabbatical in the outpost of Newark.

The next year, Rickey was resurrected from Newark and given a second life in Los Angeles. But after only approximately 60 days and 60 nights in the City of Angels, Rickey was once again left for dead. Although he claimed he was still as able as he was years earlier, Rickey was forced into exile, never again to be seen on the field of play.

Today we appreciate Rickey Henderson more than ever before. The depth of his legendary skills are more apparent to us now. He will never be duplicated, this once-in-a-lifetime Sultan of Steal. Despite the pretenders, never again will we be graced with a person of Rickey’s aptitude.

On this day, the day of his birth 50 years ago, I ask that you remember Rickey Henderson. Remember the story of Chicago and the ’57 Chevy, remember Rickey’s youth, his rise, his exile, his resurrection, and the fact that he was abandoned by the game he loved. Most importantly however, remember to honor Rickey by doing one of the three things he did best: walking, stealing, or scoring.

So Happy Hendersonmas to all and Rickey bless us, every one.

Last week I read a few articles on artists protesting the U.S. military’s use of music to acquire information from prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. According to these articles, several artists such as Tom Morello, formerly of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave, are against the use of their music in a war effort they are opposed to.

I see these artists’ point. They created the art to have one meaning and the art is being manipulated and in some cases misconstrued to fit the needs of the US Government. It is similar to when Ronald Reagan attempted to use Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA” as a campaign song, when the song actually protested an aspect of American society.

In Springsteen’s case, he won and Reagan dropped the song from his campaign. In the case of the Reprieve Musician’s Union and their website Zero db, I don’t think they have a leg to stand on. First, the messages in most, if not all of the songs are not counter to the intent of the Government’s action. It’s not like they are playing Public Enemy, Immortal Technique, or The Coup. The lyrical content is in most cases completely coincidental. It is the sound, the rhythm, and the volume the Government is using to its advantage.

Second, the artists’ claim that their music causes “suffering” is ridiculous. The songs themselves can not cause suffering. It is the methodology of their use that can cause pain and discomfort. Just as in Clockwork Orange, any music can be used as the backdrop of torture, even Beethoven’s Ninth. Unless of course, the bands in question are claiming their music is in fact brutal. I doubt these bands would complain that people are crying and breaking down emotionally when subject to repeated playing of their music. I would think most death metal bands, for example, would use the fact that their music is used in torture as a selling point.

Lastly, however, I want to make clear that I don’t think the Government can get away scot-free. Remember the arguments for programs such as Napster and other file sharing services, that people can use music and other media under their possession for whatever use they want, even if that included giving it away? If memory serves me correctly, the government said that is not the case, use of media is restricted to private use and has its limitation. (Apologies here, if this is not the case, please let me know.) However, I seriously doubt the music being used at Guantanamo Bay is the property of the US Government employees employed there. If the music is the property of the US Government, then the US Government is in a sense legalizing the use of media for usage outside of the normal sphere. Why is the Government able to use music for whatever it wants but the people can’t?

Expect to see a few random thoughts as I clear out the brain and my notebook for 2009. Some I may bundle together, but I think most will deem their own post.

First a question:

Why are dogs the pets of choice for the homeless? Why don’t homeless people wander the country with cats, lizards, turtles, or fish? Where do homeless people get these dogs? Does the humane society let homeless people have dogs? Or are there that many stray dogs out there that strays and the homeless make a natural match, like peanut butter and chocolate?

Now a link:

Over at Pomp Culture, I took the task of defending Ebenezer Scrooge. Although he was a penny pincher, old Scrooge wasn’t that bad.

Now another question:

Is the rate of spousal abuse lower in polygamist households? Could that be an advantage to polygamy, that perhaps one wife can talk the husband out of assaulting another wife? I would think that if there was someone to diffuse the situation or even come to the physical defense of the assaulted, there would be less violence. Unless of course there is wife-on-wife violence, or one wife convinces the husband to assault another wife, or perhaps the husband assaults all his wives.

A second link:

For those who want to stay up on their Florida State basketball, I wrote my reaction to their latest game against number three-ranked Pittsburgh over at ScalpEm.com.

A third question:

What is the proper method of disposing of non-U.S. flags in the United States? There is rules and protocol for the destruction of an American flag, but what about flags of other nations? Does the American Legion or VFW take foreign flags? Do these organizations know flag destruction protocol for all 200+ nations? Are there any countries that require the owner to mail the flag to the U.S. embassy in that respective country? What about countries that don’t have a U.S. embassy, such as Iran? This is why I don’t own any foreign flags.

And last but not least, a third link:

Check out the new updates over at Afro-Squad.com. Did you know the Afro-Squad was denied bailout money from the U.S. government? Those cheapskates.

(About the image: way back in April, someone in Seattle was shooting darts at pigeons. I thought the picture was interesting in a Steve Martin-wild-and-crazy-guy sort of way.)

Expect to see a few random thoughts as I clear out the brain and my notebook for 2009. Some I may bundle together, but I think most will deem their own post.

Archeology, Anthropology, and Breast Implants

One of the things I have always wondered is what happens to breast implants when the implantee dies. Do breast implants follow a person into the crematorium?

According to this website, implants do get cremated. But there might be environmental consequences. That’s not good.

But can breast implants be kept by the surviving as a memento?

I hate to sound too materialistic, but there are women who are best known for their breasts. Dolly Pardon, Pamela Anderson, and a wide array of artificially enhanced porn stars comes to mind. What if a husband wants to keep them as a way to remember his wife? Or what if a museum is willing to pay an exorbitant amount to display them? Depending on the amount, that money could help pay for burial services or help the inheritance of future generations.

Can breast implants be buried with the person?

Something about burying people with artificially enhanced body parts just seems weird to me. Not that someone shouldn’t be buried with a fake leg or an artificial arm; those are essential body parts. But I would think cosmetic pieces such as fake teeth, fake breasts, or hair extensions should be removed.

Imagine a time 10,000 years from now, a time when the human race has died off due to any one of many catastrophes (war, famine, etc). Imagine a race of aliens comes to Earth and discovers there was at one point a dominant species on our planet. Imagine they start alien archaeological digs to find out who this species was and what their culture was like. Along the way, a few of the graves they open have two silicone orbs among the bones of the deceased. How are they to ever imagine that these orbs were attached to the breast area? What conclusions will they come to on the orbs’ place in human culture?

This is the type of stuff that worries me. Not because I have a fascination with death or boobs, but because I care about humankind’s image 10,000 years from now. Even after we are all gone, I still think we should put our best foot forward. I wouldn’t want an alien race thinking those with breast implants were some sort of royal elite ruling class. That would be weird.

(This is a response to DRays Bay’s recent post “Processes > Results“. Don’t get me wrong, I like those guys. Sometimes however …)

As much as my educated mind loves statistics and analysis, some baseball fans just take statistical analysis a little too far. At least they do in their writing. Today I read a piece by prominent Rays’ bloggers DRays Bay on the idea that wins and losses aren’t always the most important idea in baseball. To quote,

“Yes, wins are the ultimate goal in baseball (and all sports), but how you get those wins are also important. The problem is a lot of people take that quote to heart. These people watch Pitcher A give up five runs, have his offense bail him out with six runs, get a winning decision and proclaim Pitcher A did his job. These people are wrong.”

Ugh.

The problem as I see it depends on perspective. Whereas the guys over at DRays Bay love processes, methodology, and the inner workings of mechanics, most fans couldn’t give two wits about that stuff. They care about wins and losses.

And I hope that never changes. Honestly.

Again, I love stats. I used to stare at the back of baseball cards night and day. But I am insulted when the guys from DRays Bay say things like thinking only about wins, losses, and other results is “simpleton thinking”.

Quick question: if Stephen Hawking took a day off from physics and went to a ballgame and during this game he cheered when his favorite team won on a few “lucky” breaks, would the guys from DRays Bay call Hawking a simpleton?

Here is a small list of people who don’t care about the processes of baseball:

Casual fans
Kids
Gamblers

These people will never be concerned with VORP, ERA+, WARP, or LD%. Why? Because to them it is a game, not a complex equation. My guess would also be that these groups put more money into the game than people who know anything about Third Order Wins. (To be honest, I don’t even know what a Third Order Win is.)

I understand DRays Bay is not written for kids, casual fans, or gamblers. It is written for people who look at baseball deeper than most. For people who approach the game from an almost graduate level viewpoint. But what pisses me off is their occasional “holier than thou” attitude towards the casual fan. For example, this quotes from their commentors:

“We can sit here and explain the virtues of BABIP and FB and GB% until we’re blue in the face, but it’s going to take many many years before Mr. Joe Everyfan, or most mainstream/national writers for that matter, learn to see past the traditional metrics and expand their baseball IQ.”

What they don’t understand is that most fans don’t care. It’s like a stock broker advising a buyer to change their portfolio because certain stocks have a higher or lower P/E Ratio. If it makes a buyer happy, and they are getting what they want out of it, they don’t have to listen to one word the broker says. It’s their money.

Before I go, compare DRays Bay’s line that “Things (in baseball) are not always as black and white as ‘pass/fail’” with Ty Cobb’s famous statement that “I have observed that baseball is not unlike a war“.

What matters in war is wins and losses (at least in force-on-force direct combat). War is black and white. Kill or be killed. Most people like their baseball like that too. That doesn’t make them simpletons.

‘Tis the season for cliches. It is the time of year when we spout overused sayings promoting feelings that should permeate year-round. Yet for some reason only around the holidays do we recall stories of the perils of loneliness and claim to make an effort to increase general goodwill.

Or is it all grandstanding?

Do we really believe what we are saying? “Peace on Earth”? “Goodwill towards Man”? “God bless us, everyone”? Unfortunately, I think it’s all a bunch of malarkey.

We don’t really want peace on Earth, do we? Do you realize how many people would be out of a job if everyone on Earth instantly got along? We wouldn’t have threats to our person, to our resources, or to our nation. That means no Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marines. No need for a Department of Defense either. Everyone knows war is good for business. Where would these people work if peace broke out tomorrow?

Nothing represents the hypocrisy of the holiday season more than Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. We all know the story: grumpy old loner transforms overnight into celebrated philanthropist. Nice, neat, and packaged for our consumption.

According to the Blogger News Network, last year the Chicago Sun-Times claimed that Dickens’ protagonist, Ebenezer Scrooge, was at first some sort of evil early Republican monster. This of course, set off the political blogosphere, with each claiming that the Scrooge of the end of the story represented their point of view. Because for whatever reason no one wants to be associated with the early Scrooge character.

The problem is that Scrooge is misunderstood. In defense of the Chicago Sun-Times, Scrooge was absolutely a social conservative. He worked within the system and succeeded. He saw nothing wrong with the socio-economic system as it was. The system didn’t need changing, the people in it needed to change. That’s the definition of conservativism.

Early in the book, Dickens portrays Scrooge as a miser, unwilling to put another piece of coal on the fire. But, as we know now, burning coal is bad for the environment. Scrooge was merely ahead of his time in his attempt to minimize the use of unrenewable resources.

Dickens also depicts Scrooge’s desire to succeed as a bad thing. Today we would call him a workaholic. In a world where people are pulling Ponzi schemes to get rich quick, is working hard really such a bad thing? What Dickens doesn’t mention is that Scrooge was honest. As far we know, he made his own money and never swindled anyone. Yet he is looked down upon.

Third and most importantly, Scrooge stayed within his limits. Since the days of Dickens’ England, people have been bombarded with industrialized manufacturing. This uber-production is only now beginning to slow down. In its wake, we have millions owing credit companies and a trillion dollar national debt. My guess is that Scrooge never bought anything on credit, nor did he have outstanding debt. He was recession-proof, which in today’s society is quite enviable.

So why shouldn’t we emulate Ebenezer Scrooge? Remember, we are told not to be Scrooge-like by the same machine that tells us to buy more cars and eat more casseroles. The same machine that publishes Dickens’s works every year and broadcasts his story between commercials on cable TV.

This year, fight the power. Stay real year-round. Embrace your inner Ebenezer and be like Scrooge.