Eric The Blue

The freewheelin' ninth grader

I find myself listening, closely and disapprovingly, to the lyrics of current pop songs—I assume they're current pop songs—that my 9th-grader belts out, perhaps more loudly than she realizes on account of her ear buds. So, if you play one of those gambling games where you bet on who's going to die soon, you might want to consider drafting me, especially now that the last pope has croaked. Speaking of him, his view of these lyrics would likely be even more dim than mine. Hope he's enjoying the organ music that blares through all eternity at his new address. If he's lucky, popes get to listen to Bach, a Lutheran. 

Once today when the ear buds were out she told me they are going to be reading Romeo and Juliet in English class. She knows I'm interested in Shakespeare and so moans and groans while imparting this information and then sneeringly imitates the language. Her abilities in this regard extend no farther than overloading sentences with "thee" and "thou." I plan on telling her that the play is intended as a cautionary tale about what happens when people her age consider themselves to be "in love." 

I might be understating my chances of attaining an actuarial average as my own dad lived for about 50 years after first frowning on the music I played. Though I think he had to try not to smile upon overhearing, on The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan:

Well, my telephone rang, it would not stop
It's President Kennedy callin' me up
He said, "My friend, Bob, what do we need to make the country grow?"
I said, "My friend, John, Bridgette Bardot". . . .

Ask me why I'm drunk all the time
It levels my head and eases my mind
I just walk along and stroll and sing
I see better days and I do better things:
Catch dinosaurs
Make love to Elizabeth Taylor
Catch hell from Richard Burton.

Leak investigation: almost as if they didn't want to find out

I've been reading about the Supreme Court's evidently failed attempt to figure out who leaked the draft of Alito's decision overturning Roe. They interviewed almost a hundred employees and everyone said, "I didn't do it." Imagine that! Did they interview the justices? You couldn't tell from the first press release—I guess they didn't predict there'd be curiosity on that point. Now they say that they did speak with the justices and none of them fessed up, either. But all nine were helpful, answered every question in addition to offering some of their own, and, in the end, they were not asked, as the other employees all were, to sign a sworn affidavit stating, "I didn't do it." 

It's been widely reported that the public's confidence in the Supreme Court is at the level of the juice in the puddle below the dumpster. I hope they weren't expecting a boost from this "investigation." Assume, for the sake of argument, that all the Court's employees are willing to lie to save their ass but that none would go so far as to commit perjury. In that case, there's only nine suspects left. My prime suspect, Alito himself, bursting with pride of authorship, is still alive, so there is no reason yet to ask penance for my cynicism. 

I offer this argument only for its possible impact upon others. I personally do not doubt that Supreme Court justices in general, and Alito in particular, would lie under oath as well as in other circumstances. It's one of the things Sen. Collins and I agree about. 

When not to make a free throw

Since yesterday evening was Thursday evening, I was at the Lowbrow with the kids after piano lessons, and on the TVs above the bar I could barely make out the end of the Gopher basketball game at Ohio State. It seems that with between 1 and 2 seconds left in the game we made 2 foul shots to go ahead by 3 points. In that scenario, shouldn't you miss the second free throw on purpose? You then deny the other team the chance to gain half the court or more with a long inbound pass after your made shot. Coach Eric would have told the shooter, Garcia, to bang one off the rim. Clock starts soon as someone touches the ball in bounds.

Poor Ben Johnson. His team gets a big upset win and some anonymous blogger guy says he had the wrong strategy in the last 1.5 seconds.

How big an upset? The win probability chart at espn.com indicates that, at the start of the game, Ohio State had a 97 percent chance of winning. When with 5:15 left the Gophers made a basket to go up by 64-53, the chart still gave Ohio State a 5 percent chance. Turns out that might have been low: the Gophers did not score another field goal, turned the ball over once, and missed 5 free throws (out of 9, not including the two Garcia made with 1.5 seconds left). 

Well, the Gophers are supposed to be the league door mat, so of course they're not going to blow out Ohio State in Columbus. Their last 3 games have been competitive and, before last night, entertainingly painful—lost narrowly at Wisconsin, lost in overtime at home against Nebraska, then beat Ohio State on the road. I seem to be trying to talk myself into another TV option for when it's too icy for senior citizens to walk the dog. 

On the way to piano, we were passed by an emergency vehicle, which caused the 6th-grader to recall the time, "long ago," when she had said it was quite a coincidence that a fire department vehicle should have the license plate FIRE. After a pause she added, "God, was I dumb." Almost told her that the thought 

I was stupid a few years ago but now I'm not

was apt to recur to her at regular intervals till she's at least 64. 

Notes on senescence

It seems there are few things like a significant snow event to bring into view signs of encroaching senescence.

1. I decided to do the snow removal in shifts, the better to preserve my energies. Heading out for my second go at it, I discovered that my neighbor had already finished the job. Probably viewed my efforts from the window and knew he never wanted to see anything that pathetic again. 

2. Then the plow went by and filled in the end of my driveway with approximately 3 tons of frozen crustiness. I was out hacking away at it this lunchtime when my daughter got dropped off by her friend's dad. We exchanged meteorological pleasantries, as Minnesotans will, and then, pulling away, he advised me to "be careful." 

3. A day or two before the storm, I'm stopped at a red light in south Minneapolis and a young woman, out for a run, crosses in front of me. I follow her with my eyes, naturally. As she approaches the opposite curb, she takes a short stride in order to land at the front edge of a puddle, then springs over it with her next long stride. I used to be able to do that!

4. Last time I was in an uber I was somewhat younger than I am now. Still, I guess I was old enough so that, taking my seat, I observed the driver checking me out in the rear-view mirror before changing the radio from a hip-hop station to MPR. Probably should be thankful it wasn't right-wing talk! 

5. Since I've strayed from the original theme of winter's memento mori, I might as well mention what I take to be the best bit of commentary on the recently concluded clown show in the US Capitol—someone, taking note of Kevin McCarthy's craven concessions to the certifiable lunatics in his caucus, tweeted that, in exchange for the votes needed to be elected Speaker, he had promised to use the gavel only for the purpose of pounding himself in the crotch. 

 

It profits him not

Came in from shoveling snow, turned on a cable news channel, and now I'm thinking that Kevin McCarthy should be trying to organize the House Republican caucus into an "electoral college." It's a proven remedy for the problem sometimes referred to as "can't win enough votes."

Seriously, though, there is now someone on saying, "Today's nonsense shows Republicans aren't interested in governing." He appears pretty well dressed considering he must have just awakened from a years-long sleep. 

Another bit of CW relates to McCarthy supposedly having "sold his soul" to advance his political career. Usually, as in the gospel of Matthew (16:26), the phrase refers to abandoning principles in order to get money, power, some worldly good. In A Man for All Seasons, Thomas More upbraids Rich, who, in exchange for perjured testimony, has been appointed attorney general of Wales: "Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world. . . but for Wales?"

Poor McCarthy! He "sold his soul" and now it looks as if he won't even get the shitty little prize.