Do They Sell Chair-y Pie?

Right next to my workplace, there's a store with a sign reading "First in the city to sell products with 0.0% trans fat." It's a furniture store. Either the owner has no clue what trans fat is, or he has a highly developed sense of whimsy.

Next Up: Alvin Greene, the Opera

Alvin Greene's legend continues to grow.

Dandy in the Underworld

Though he died at the age of 47, Sebastian Horsley had a rich, full life nonetheless. Just check out the picture in his obit. Plus, any man who can say "I can count all the lovers I've had on one hand -- if I'm holding a calculator" is a man who has done some hard-core living.

Boy Scouts Redux

They Boy Scouts are still here. I passed at least two dozen of them on my evening jog. Where are they coming from? What do they want? And how can I keep them from from attacking me and stripping the flesh from my bones?

On consideration, only the first two questions are really pertinent.

Science Is Cool

Programmable insects? Jets fueled by vegetable oil? Prosthetic limbs that can read your brain waves? DARPA looks at these absurdities and asks: Why not?

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

If this article is even half-true, then Mister Rogers deserves to become Saint Rogers straightaway.

Twitterific

Buzz Bissinger of Buzz Bissinger fame explains how he became a Twitter convert. In brief, he likes Twitter because it allows him to vent his all-consuming rage upon the world 140 characters a time.

Warning: Contains language strong enough to make Don Rickles' hair grow back and fall out all over again.

Double warning: Just in case you doubted the warning above.

It's That Time of Year Again...

Ah, Comic Con! Something in San Diego's air brings out the bizarre in people. Need proof? Take a look at the best of this year's street marketing campaigns.

Most seem cool, in a nerdy way. I highly approve of the garlic-bread truck. No science-fiction/fantasy festival is complete without a thick, moutherwatering slice of juicy garlic bread, dripping with...excuse me, I think that's a sign I need to eat dinner.

Mini-Review: Parties and Politics in America

Parties and Politics in America is the political science equivalent of a throwback jersey; outdated, yes, but better than the current model. Clinton Rossiter's brief introduction to the history and function of political parties is worth more than a dozen stat-packed textbooks.

Rossiter's approach is qualitative, not quantitative; instead of calculating the inflation-adjusted median of the standard deviation from a fixed-point balance curve over a four-dimensional space time curve, he describes things in plain English.

Some of his insights are obsolete. The South is no longer firmly Democratic; isolationism still exists, but now tends to congregate on the left side of the political spectrum; the upper class is no longer a solid Republican constituency. And his statement that only a WASP can win the White House has been twice disproved--in 1960 and 2008.

But if the details are occasionally wrong, the big picture is accurate. Rossiter, after all, did not try to predict the future. He wanted to make timeless rules and not short-lived speculation.

What makes Rossiter remarkable is his admiration for our two-party system. You might argue that this appreciation arises from the fact that politics is profitable for a man like Rossiter. Yet in today's world, when "politics" is a harsher epithet than "pervert," it feels strange to read a stirring defense of political parties.

Rossiter admits that both Republican and Democratic parties are misshapen Frankenstein monsters, cobbled together from weird and conflicting constituencies. They have no real ideology; they simply try to get their man into office. But as Rossiter points out, our decentralized federal system makes ideological lumpiness a necessity. How else can you expect to unite a nation as diverse as America?

This is the lesson of Rossiter's book--no democracy without politics. Political parties act as go-betweens, connecting the individual to the faceless government. What's so bad about that?

Fame!

Michael Munn knows fame. He has prayed with David Niven, swapped jokes with Richard Burton, swung with Frank Sinatra, and been run over by George Raft. How can an ordinary guy move in such lofty circles? Munn explains all.

Dream On

Can you rewrite your nightmares as pleasant dreams about bubbles and birds and babies and such? Screenwriters around the world must be regarding this idea with horror. Without nightmares, how can they write misleading dream sequences?

Hat Man

If the Pope wears a baseball cap, what team does he root for? The cheap answer is the Angels. But I suspect he might be a closet Astros fan. Just speculatin'.

Soccer Thought, Too Late for the World Cup

I, Will Schultz, have figured out why Americans will never like soccer. The solution came to me while reading Bill Simmons, of all people. One of his readers argued that Americans will adopt soccer because we love underdogs--and what dog could be more under than the American soccer team?

In rebuttal, consider the following thought experiment. Take a well-adjusted person who has never paid sports any attention. Let's say he decided to become a rabid sports fan. He needs to choose a team to root for in every major sport.

Let's assume a little more. He decides to pick his teams not by relying on his friends and family, but by reading up on sports history. After a few weeks of intensive study he's ready to make his decision (broadcast on ESPN and hosted by Jim Gray). Who will he pick?

One thing for sure: he's not going to choose the underdogs. In the NBA, he's going to pick the Lakers or the Celtics, not the Clippers or Kings. His NFL team is more likely to be the Steelers than the Lions. On the baseball diamond, he'll root for the Yankees; if he's adventurous he might cheer for the Red Sox or Dodgers.

People want their teams to have at least a chance of victory. No sane person would willingly choose to root for the Charlotte Bobcats. Why? Because the Bobcats will never, ever win an NBA championship. The voluntary Bobcats fan is consigning himself to a lifetime of perpetual disappointment.

So it is with soccer. Americans can't win, and so they won't even play. For my next act, I will solve hunger, bring about world peace, and get "Arrested Development" back on the airwaves.

Oh, and if this post makes you nostalgic for buzzing vuvuzelas, check out Spitting Image's take on the fine art of calling soccer games.

Strangers in Need

Question of the day: why do so many tourists ask me for directions? There have been at least half a dozen during the summer, and three today. I don't mind, though I do feel sorry for the chumps who think I'm giving them good advice. Mostly I point and grunt. Sometimes I no sympathetically.

I have given some (too much) thought to the matter. Here are few critical factors:

1. I'm wearing a tie. This gives me DC street cred.

2. On the other hand, I'm young-ish, which means I'm not important, which in turn means I probably won't act too condescending.

3. I walk slowly, making me easy to flag down.

4. My walk--a slump-shouldered, hunchbacked shuffle--looks amusing and, more important, non-threatening.

5. I look smart (This thesis was considered and rejected).

6. I am good looking (Rejected even faster than the suggestion above).

7. Unlike DC's many crazy people, I do not talk to myself as I walk (Rejected, because I do, in fact, talk to myself as I walk, making me look like the world's best-dressed schizophrenic).

8. Did I mention I have a tie? It's a really nice tie.

At Sea

Thrilling story. Can't wait to see the movie. Though I assume some digital tweaking will be necessary to add in sea monsters, typhoons, tidal waves, et cetera.