Acckkkkkkkkkk....

I try not to bite the hand that feeds me. But this has got to be the worst defense of utilitarianism I have ever seen. Please note the idiotic reference to "neuroscience" in the abstract. I thought neuroscientists were supposed to be virtue theorists (and hence, wrong)!

The Revenge of Stickman

I had high hopes.

I mean, really. My intentions were golden, all the way to the core.

I had decided sometime in the last few weeks that I was going to spend yesterday prowling the thrift shops for new and interesting clothing choices. Frankly, I need a few items that I'm unwilling/unable to spend a bundle on, so I thought I'd follow the trend in this department and check out the thrift shops.

Didn't go so well.

Somehow I found myself more or less chicken when it came to actually trying on/buying the stuff. Actually, there was only one semi-decent item I found, but it was much too small for me. But I also feel that my general queasiness might have contributed to not really looking. I suppose the thought that I'd be wearing something that is as likely to have been died in as not sort of freaked me out. Maybe I should go with a more experienced thrift store shopper in the future.

Today I've been work, work, workin' hard. I'm calling it quits in about a half-hour, though, because it's OSCAR NIGHT!!! Now, I hate the Oscars just about as much as anyone else on the planet, but they wield a strange power over me...a sort of fascination, if you will. Somehow, the morning of Oscar Night, I become absolutely curious to see what sort of dress Nicole Kidman is wearing, what idiotic things are said by miscellaneous actors on stage when they receive their awards. Sometimes it backfires. Sometimes I get so mad at someone like Julia Roberts for dissing on Bill Conti (in her terminology: "stickman") that it ruins the whole night. But not tonight. I'm going to have some serious milk-duds, some serious buttered popcorn, and some serious homemade lentil/split pea soup. Perhaps I might have wine? Perhaps?

Dr. Strangelove - or - How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Family of Possums that Crawled in and Spent the Night in my Cupboards.

Last night was fun. Did I say I would be doing the educating. Hah! Such boastfulness. In actuality, I had probably the worst night of pool-playing ever had by someone over the age of twelve. Believe me, I was bad, bad, bad. Actually, A. was our standard-bearer (this is the way A. refers to people on A.'s blog, so I figure I should adopt some sort of 'alias' convention; why not, when discussing him, rip him off?). He held his own against a set of reasonably strong opponents, eventually losing out (giving up?) after J. purchased a pack of ciggies and was bugging him to smoke. Anyway, I say: well done, A.

Little did I know that after I left Lancer's, my night was only beginning. Because M. is unable to drink caffeine or boozahol, and because M. gave J. and A. rides to Lancers (this alias thing is getting annoying; ugh), I was stuck taking A., J., and E., back to La Jolla. No worries; it was a fun ride home, but I did get back rather late. When I got back to my apartment, my roommate was sittin gup watching Rosemary's Baby (which I always found sort of overrated). It was right at the end, but I was promised An American Werewolf in London right after RB ended. Sweeetness. That's a great movie. So I stay up to watch the first part, and get to bed pretty late.

So at around 3:30, I hear a hurried rapping on my bedroom door.

INT. DALE'S MESSY BEDROOM, NIGHT

DALE
Whhaaaa?

DALE'S ROOMMATE
Uhhh, sorry to bother you, dude, but there's something wierd happening in the kitchen.

DALE gets up and puts on pants, goes to kitchen.

There is a distinct SCRATCHING/KNAWING NOISE coming from CUPBOARD above STOVE.

DALE
Sounds like a racoon, or a possum, if you will.

Really, it was more like some sort of small rodent. I exaggerate. Anyway, the sumbitch was loud. It was tough to go back to sleep. We didn't quite know what to do, especially so late at night, so we just ended up taping the cupboard shut so that it would get out into the rest of the kitchen. We felt that it was welcome to our potato chips, so long as it didn't try to venture elsewhere. I hope this arrangement persists.

Anyway, screw you rodent. I'm tired today.

Whaddya wanna do with your life?!?

The train of students is never ending. I just had eight more come to my office in the space of two hours. On Wednesday I had ten in the space of three hours. Monday I'm going to have twelve in the space of three hours. Individually, I like 'em all. And, in fact, I love interacting with themm as a class. Sometimes I feel as though it's my job not to educate, but merely to get them to the next round. I wonder why college, all of a sudden, has become something to get through in order to achieve some goal rather than being considered something that's important for its own sake. Education, dammit! It's education!

Speaking of education, I'm going to be some serious educating tonight with my pool cue. We're going to Lancer's, this sweet-ass-sweet pool bar in Normal Heights. It's also the greatest depository of funny quotes by San Diego locals:

1. (I was in my KU T-Shirt, and didn't do the greatest job parking); Local: Nice park job, Kansas!
2. (There with another grad student, beat a local at pool); Local (to buddy): I can't believe it, I got beat by an intellectual.
3. (A former student critiquing my phone); Student: That phone is so 1989.

There are a couple more that I'm forgetting. Actually, the first guy felt so bad about giving me shit about the parking job, later I ran into him at the jukebox and he gave me a dollar! WOOHOO! That helped me out because I was running low on cash and like always, I wanna rock.

Won't you chauffeur me.

Drat.

I found this message in my email inbox this morning:


Dale,

This is Donnie Hornberger. We are working on putting some information together for our reunion this summer. I was able to get a hold of your dad through some people at Baker, and he gave me your email. Could you please send me you mailing address and phone number. I really appreciate it.

Thanks,
Donnie


A couple of things race through my mind at once.

1. Am I that freaking old already?
2. I mean, John Cusack looked pretty old in Grosse Point Blanke. Am I as old as he was?
3. I never really got on all that well with Donnie Hornberger. I mean, he wasn't awful to me or anything, but it's wierd that after all these years I hear from someone who I considered to be less than friendly.
4. What the fuck? Am I gonna go? Am I seriously considering this?
5. I'm going to kill those people at Baker.

Ugh. I didn't have very many good experiences in high school. Most of it is stuff I'd rather forget, if I could. I know this isn't like some unique story, but I was a rather forgettable personage in high school. I seem to recall that I spent a lot of time working out the best senior quote for my yearbook. I picked out this great line from The Cure's "Like Cockatoos". In the end, it appeared in the yearbook like this:

"There are a thousand things" he said,
"I'll never say those things to you again."
And turning on his heel he left a blaze of bubbles bleeding in his stead
And in her head, a picture of a boy who left her lonely in the rain
And all around the night sang out
like cockaroos.

That's right. "Cockaroos." That typo pretty much sums up my whole high school experience.

This ten-year reunion, I dunno. I mean, I'd have to travel back to Kansas City during the summer. Maybe they'll schedule it during September when I'm scheduled to be teaching a class. Or maybe I'll tell them to cram it with walnuts.

As long as we're talking about Doctor Castrato,

You guys remember when we were called "Doctor Castrato and the Measles"? (Actually, I think for our original show we called ourselves "Doctor Castrato and the Electric Measles".) I recall that we thought this name was too long and unwieldy. Why the hell did we decide on "Doctor Castrato" rather than "The Measles"? The latter would have been a totally sweet name.

More readers.

So somebody suggested to me that the way to get more readers to this place is to start posting messages about my personal life. Well, it seems to me that insofar as there is anything interesting to post about my personal life, I do so. See the last post. Maybe this is an indication that I need a more interesting personal life. There are some things I keep secret, I suppose. Mainly out of concern for other people involved and, frankly, for me. But rest assured, dear readers, if there are sordid details worth telling, I'll tell 'em.

I suppose the James Ellroy Quote Of the Night feature has completely disappeared. I think the reason for its demise is mainly that I keep my James Ellroy novels at home, and have only once posted from the computer at home (in my roommate's room). That happened to be the James Ellroy quote night. Anyway, if I post from there again, I'll be sure to quote Mr. Ellroy liberally. It'll probably be about somebody calling somebody else a shitbird, or about the LA Cops liking that green, green, green.

Here's something about my personal life. Well, not mine, per se. Well, I guess it could be about my personal life in a "Cambridge" sense. That is, a story about George Bush getting a haircut is about me in the sense that I now live in a world in which George Bush got a haircut. That's about me in a "Cambridge" sense.

Anyway, my Mom got a date! Hooray for my mom. Much less pathetic, apparently, than me. Some dude named "Dick." Not, however, my advisor, who is also named "Dick". Also, not some dude named "Dick van Dyke" (who I would instantly assume was made up). Anyway, I was worried about my mom. She has been really, really lonely lately, especially since my sister moved from home, to Topeka, to Kansas City. She's going to see a Jazz concert. I don't know if I'm wild about the choice of date, considering my dad also happens to be a jazzmonger. Two jazzmongers might not be so good. Anyway, who knows. I, apparently, know nothing about these things. But I am relieved to see that my mom will at least be able to do something like this sometime. A lot of the reason I've been unable to get over my parents' divorce fully, I think, is because of this stuff.

Hey, that was sort of sordid. Readership spiking!

Weekend rundown.

So I got sorta' drunk on friday night. Not really, but just about as drunk as I ever get. I was starting fights about music left and right, as I recall. I was takin' down REM, Kurt Cobain (as opposed to Nirvana), I was promoting the virtues of Pablo Honey, "Your Mother Should Know" over "Hello, Goodbye", McCartney over Lennon, etc. Funny thing is that I believe most of these things anyway. Sometimes I pick fights when I'm drunk, but this time I was tellin' it like it is. Then, before the group of people I was with ended up in a hot tub for like two hours, I started playing a bunch of beach boys tunes on this guy's keyboard and wouldn't shut up about it. (I think.) I wonder if I pissed anybody off.

The rest of the weekend was surprisingly productive. I finished a first, though embarassingly bad, draft of Chapter Two of my dissertation. If anyone went to my webpage to download my prospects (like anyone did), you noticed the "Coming Soon!" where Chapter Two should have been. Anyway, there's a draft now. Thirty-one pages of philosophical goodness.

One funny thing happened to me on saturday night. I had invited a bunch of people over to my place to watch Nicolas Roeg's masterpiece of eerieness "Don't Look Now," which I had just received from Netflix. I was thinking like 8:30ish. Now, after no one showed, around 9pm I went back into my room and played around on my new computer (mostly on GarageBand, though it's a pretty crappy program, I have to say). But at 9:30, Adam and his date show up (am I supposed to be using aliases on this thing? screw it.). Of course, this is slightly surprising to me because of all the people I expected to show up, Adam was in the "least likely" bin, considering that I knew he was on the date, and had, on friday night in the hot tub, been acting like I had some sort of insight into how to treat women well on dates (considering I actually had gotten one to marry me, though we all know how that worked out). Considering "Show up at my place at 9:30, an hour after the movie was supposed to start, though actually have no one be there, Dale in his messy room playing GarageBand" was definitely on my "don't" list, I was a little surprised. Anyway, long story short, I felt sort of weird, like I was thrust into Adam's date somehow. I went from happily messing around on Garageband to third wheel in my own place feeling responsible (given the lack of people) for Adam's tough date. Talk about a turnaround. Good movie, though.

Wow, that was rambling. I rarely do that. Back to the tight, punchy prose style you all know and love tomorrow.

I come dancing in.

Alright, jagoffs.

Here's the Castrato Trax Page.

If you have problems downloading the files (that is, if you click on one and it gives you a bunch of gibberish, that's not actually music), you should right-click (or control-click) and hit "Save Target As..." and then you do what you want. These are mpeg4 files, you know, the kind that iTunes uses, so I don't know if they work on PC. Oh well.

Help yourselves.

This is the new stuff.

It's that time of year again! Fantasy Baseball!

For those of you interested in playing, I basically set up the league the same as last year, with a new stat for pitchers: Total Bases Allowed. I'm not sure this adds anything in particular, but it does capture the Pedro Martinez disease: giving up double after double after double, but no homers.

For those who want to join, shoot me an email. I'll give you the league ID and Password ("the password is...nipple").

Also, re: Castrato Trax. I'm currently trying to get a secure FTP program that I can use to upload the files to my Philosophy webspace. As soon as I do that, I'll post links to as many songs as I can fit. Keep in mind, some of them are shitty in the extreme, and not just because of the crappy recording technology.

Shed my skin.

So the Reverend Derek Schoppa yesterday (super-props to the Rev.) sent me 19 Doctor Castrato tracks from my previous life as a hardworking entertainer. I have to say, they range from very very good, to bad, to horrible and embarassing. During our sophmore and junior years, we recorded eight songs in the studio, though Derek had, apparently, only four of those tracks. The four of those sound pretty darn good. They're "Anxiety", "Outta My Brain", "Chicago" and "Guy Named Rob". All good, fun stuff. Then it goes way way back into the "Skankin' the Monkey" period. There are some major problems with this stuff, including probably the worst song I ever wrote, "Why?". Why, indeed. But it has a nice recording of the song "Record Collection", that we stopped doing after awhile (I'm not sure why, it was decent enough). Then there's some live stuff; one song that I can't remember the name of. Also, my favorite of my latter-day writing period, "B.O.O.M.E.R.A.N.G.". Also, for some reason, Schoppa included on this disk a live version of Matt Barr and Chris Grenz's "Paper House". The last track on the record is a live version of "Bigger is Better". That song kicks.

Ah, nostalgia.

I kicked the habit, kicked the habit, kicked the habit.

So, dear readers, I am writing to you from my brand spankin' new Apple Powerbook G4 (one of the older versions, but super-sweet nonetheless). It has wireless internet, it has an 'o' key, it's not necessary to keep it plugged in at all times, and it's held together with nice, reliable metal screws. I've transferred all of my files, and I'm rockin' and rollin' like never before.

Turns out that the sense in which I could afford this machine was plenty substantial enough for me! WOOHOO!

This close.

Almost bought a computer today. The UCSD Bookstore has the old versions of Apple Powerbooks available at super-duper discounts. Could have had one of them bad boys for just over a grand. And I need one, too. My current computer is on its last legs, doesn't support the internet (I'm currently writing to you from a computer lab), it's battery doesn't charge (so it's not portable), has a missing 'o' key, and is quite literally held together with scotch tape. Scotch fucking tape. If that computer dies, I'm completely screwed. All of the material for my dissertation is on that computer, not to mention all other papers I've ever written.

Problem is, I can't afford a new computer. I mean, I can afford it in the sense that I have more than $1000 of available credit on my American Express card, but I can't afford it in any sense more substantial than that. And even if I did have some additional funds lying around, I'd have to save them to support myself over the summer, which is going to be a dicey proposition, anyway.

Ugh. I really want one of those new computers.

True, true, Trouchez

Finally watched Touchez Pas au Grisbi last night. Don't want to spoil it for those who haven't seen it, but suffice it to say, I think Le Trou is a much better work as far as Becker is concerned. This movie oozes similarities with Bob le Flambeur. I think it's better, all things considered, however.

Netflix giveth, and Netflix taketh away.

So, the way Netflix is supposed to work is as follows:

1. You send a movie back.
2. Netflix gets the movie.
3. Netflix sends you the next movie on your queue.
-unless the next movie on your queue has a wait, in which case-
4. Netflix sends you the next movie on your queue that doesn't have a wait.

This system is not infallible. Case in point. I've had Touchez Pas au Grisbi at the top of my list for several days now, and even though it's been available now, Netflix has sent me the next movie on my list.

Bummer.

Anywho, yesterday I sent back Breathless (which, I might add, was more than a little disappointing), and Touchez says short wait. But then I get an email saying that I've been sent Touchez Pas au Grisbi! Woohoo! Dale: 1, Netflix: Nothin'.

Also, I'm going to try out a new 'blog feature. The James Ellroy Quote-Of-The-Night. Here's tonight's James Ellroy Quote-Of-The-Night:

"We visited Mickey Cohen in his cell at McNeil, approximately two weeks before the Nite Owl killings. We proposed the idea to him. He refused to help and became very angry when we told him the idea was conceived by Duke Cathcart, whom he referred to as quote a notorious statch rape-o shitbird unquote." L.A. Confidential, 212.

Call me crazy.

So I informed you guys last time that my advisor was asking me for answers to some pretty big questions about my thesis. I think I'm on my way, but I just wanted the impressions of some people about one particular facet of what I'll have to say. Consider the following case:

You own a yacht. One day, you're sailing your yacht and you see someone in the water. Turns out it's a 95-year-old woman (Grannie), and she's drowning. Now, you can save her, but you'd have to jump in and your yacht would be out of control, it would hit a reef, and sink. Moreover, because you sunk almost all your money into investing in this yacht, you'd be essentially ruined. Now, Grannie, if saved, will only live another year. Should you save her?

If your answer to this is no, think about the following:

You own a yacht. One day, you're sailing your yacht and you see someone in the water. Turns out it's a 95-year-old woman (Grannie), and she's drowning. Now, you can save her, but you'd have to jump in and your yacht would be out of control, it would hit a reef, and sink. Moreover, because you sunk almost all your money into investing in this yacht, you'd be essentially ruined. Now, Grannie, if saved, will live 30 more years. Should you save her?

I'm interested in whether it's more plausible to require that one save Grannie in the second case than in the first.

Now consider a different kind of case. Again, you can save one person, at the cost of your yacht and financial future. But this time, you have a choice of who to save: Skippy (20 years old), who will live 2 more years if saved, vs. Grannie (95 years old), who will live 2 more years if saved. Assuming you should save someone, whom should you save?

If your answer is Skippy, would your judgment shift if we said that Grannie would live more years after saving (i.e., from 2 to say, 10, or 20, or 30)?

A lot of examples. Let me know what you think, if anything.

Philosophy Web Page

My (admittedly underwhelming) Philosophy Web Page is up! WOOOHOOO! There, you'll find links to: well, here, but also to my CV and a bunch of papers in progress and some that are completed or are in press. There are a few others I could include, but this should be enough for the likes of you people.

Ya' need not wonder whyyyyyyyy...

Hey. Haven't posted in a while. SO SUE ME.

I've been workin' hard. I almost have a full committee. UCSD has some bogus rule that you have to have two committee members from outside your department, and so far I have one, Alan Houston from Political Science. I don't know the guy, but hey, if he'll be on my committee, he must be a stellar individual. Now I'm waiting for another one, possibly from Economics.

My advisor sent me a preview of the questions he's going to ask my during my defense. Ugh. They're whoppers. One of the questions, it seems to me, I'm going to have a particularly hard time answering (he's asking me to define something that, it seems to me, any which way I define it threatens to wreak havoc with some aspect of my argument). Anyway, it's time to get to gradin'. May U live 2 C the dawn.

Million Dollar Week

This was a great week for me. I got a R&R at The Philosophical Quarterly. The revisions requested were minor, and I think are largely completed. Also, UCSD just hired Michael Otsuka for a senior job. He's in political philosophy, which is great for me, and I'm excited to have him starting here in the fall. Also, I learned that I will only be teaching one section of Muir 50 next quarter, rather than the standard two. Apparently it's a new policy that instructors only teach five sections per year. WOOHOO! Now it turns sour as I have thirty papers to grade before Wednesday, but it's nice to savor a good week just a little.

Also, I saw Million Dollar Baby last night. Very strong. Not quite sure how to put my thoughts into words yet, but an elegant piece. All performances were well done, especially Morgan Freeman, but especially Clint Eastwood. His voice sounds grisslier than ever, but it worked quite well for that role.

It's straight down the line, for both of us.

OK. I've done heists and cons, now it's time for the big whopper. Murders.

Sometimes murders are involved in cons and heists, but this category is reserved for movies that take murder to be central to the action. Now, a few comments. I don't include movies that have murders, but that are not planned, or are used for shock value. Psycho, for example, doesn't count here. Neither does a movie like L.A. Confidential, because the murder in that case is largely backdrop. There has to be at least some plot established. The people here have to be tried for first-degree murder.

Here are the contenders.

A Simple Plan, Diabolique, Double Indemnity, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Body Heat, U-Turn, Red Rock West, Blood Simple, Get Carter, The Limey, The Princess Bride, The Crossing Guard, Dial M for Murder, Strangers on a Train, Fargo, Out of the Past, Gilda.

Note: I was also thinking, after yesterday, that The Talented Mr. Ripley is a noteworthy con, though it probably doesn't make the top five. Out of the Past is really more of a double-cross, but I've already split enough hairs over these topics. Down to the rankings.

5. Strangers on a Train

Smooth, classic. Features one of the greatest single shots ever; a tennis match, but one man's head isn't moving.

4. A Simple Plan

New, but very well done. None of these men are criminals in the usual sense, but have killed so much that murder is the only way out.

3. Body Heat

The sweatiest movie ever. Some great dance moves by Ted Danson complement an incredibly strong plot. "You're not too smart, are you...I like that in a man." "Maybe you shouldn't dress like that," "Like what? I'm wearing a dress," "Maybe you shouldn't wear that body."

2. Double Indemnity

Fred MacMurray is fantastic; so are Barbara Stanwyck and Edward G. Robinson. But the real star is the script: a Raymond Chandler adaptation of a James M. Cain shocker. Contains one or two nice double-crosses.

1. Diabolique

Absolutely fantastic. Great murder. Well filmed, timed, acted. Unlike the others, the audience isn't in on the plot. Great fun.

"None of these men are criminals in the usual sense..."

What a great opening line. In case you don't know, it's the line by which we're introduced to Johnny, Sterling Hayden's character in The Killing. Great, great stuff. Just thought I'd share it.

Ok. Heists out of the way, though I do encourage any and all to submit. My own list stands, for me, though I'm opening to revision. Klaus: haven't seen For a Few Dollars More yet, though it's in the queue.

Here are the contenders for the top five cons:

The Sting, House of Games, The Grifters, Diggstown, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Abre los Ojos, Gaslight, The Spanish Prisoner, The Usual Suspects, Catch Me if You Can, Charade, Wild Things, Glengarry Glen Ross, The Lady Vanishes, The 39 Steps, A Fish Called Wanda, Femme Fatale, Vertigo.

That oughtta do it for contenders. If there's one I've missed, lemme know. Admittedly, this is a pretty broad category, but some movies have a general "confidence game" going with the audience and protagonist that might not be considered a con in the usual sense, i.e., Abre los Ojos. I've also left off movies that you might think are important cons, i.e., Double Indemnity, because they're more murder/murder scheme movies; that's tomorrow's list.

5. The Sting

I mean, it's really good; it's a classic con movie. But I don't think it holds up as well as many people think it does. Makes the top five, though.

4. Vertigo

Great con. I mean, what can you say about it that hasn't been said before? This could rate higher.

3. Gaslight

Charles Boyer's con of his wife, Ingrid Bergman, is absolutely brutal to watch, but totally absorbing.

2. The 39 Steps

Robert Donat gets conned by several mysterious parties and a group called, interestingly enough, The 39 Steps. Hitchcock's best, I think.

1. House of Games

Can't be beat. Even Mamet himself (who had three contenders) can't top this one.

I'd like to know how I'm wrong. Also, keep working on the heists. I'm convinced I've missed some classics.