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August 2005

August 26, 2005: And For The Record, I Dig This Place

I’ve lived in New York City and New Orleans, but you’ll never convince me that it’s preferable to live in one of those cities. And, yes, I love those independent films, art museums, and fine dining establishments that you usually find only offered in those “cosmopolitan” places. But I’ve found that no matter where I travel, I’ll always return to the bucolic beauty of my home here in West Virginia.

Don’t get me wrong. There have been times that I’ve had my reservations about living here. Let’s not forget what a few misguided people did to my dad after he spent nearly a quarter century building West Virginia’s library system. Watching that happen was tough. But I’m still here, folks. Because I really believe that there’s hope.

The truth is that wherever you go people are the same--Jew, Christian, Muslim or Atheist. We all eat, sleep, and bleed. I’d like to believe that we can all get along, but I know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

That being said, I’ve enjoyed writing this weblog over the last nineteen months. And I really appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read this. And I really, really dig those who have taken the time to comment, e-mail me or link to me. But all good things must come to an end.

Shalom.

 

August 23, 2005: Still More Random Thoughts

1. I keep receiving e-mails that tell me Yahoo! will terminate my e-mail account unless I notify the senders of my account information. This is the spam equivalent of “The Boy Who Cried Wolf.”

2. I’m halfway through the sixth Harry Book. It’s not as good as the last two. Here’s how I would now rank the books:

Book 5 (Order of The Phoenix)

Book 4 (The Goblet of Fire)

Book 1 (The Sorcerer’s Stone)

Book 6 (The Half-Blood Prince)

Book 3 (The Prisoner of Azkaban)

Book 2 (The Chamber of Secrets)

A strong finish may move The Half-Blood Prince into my “top three,” but it will have to be really good to move it into the top two. I disliked The Chamber of Secrets because Rowling devoted entirely too much space to the introductory chapters.

3. Dobby is the literary equivalent of Jar Jar Binks.

4. I’m having difficulty obtaining the new state quarters. I had to purchase the last four issues from the Fife Street Coin Shop.

5. I’m sure that whoever designed the Sherwin-Williams logo never considered the environmental implications of the graphic.

6. Charleston, West Virginia is in desperate need of The Cheesecake Factory. For that matter, so are Huntington, Parkersburg, Clarksburg, Morgantown and Martinsville, West Virginia.

7. Blogger’s “Flag Button” has finally arrived. WOO-HOO!! I am so psyched!

8. Sarcasm doesn’t work as well in print.

9. Target’s using the music from Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby Got Back” in its new commercial. What took it so long?

10. My winner’s league baseball team, The Coalition of the Unwilling, has a chance to win my league.

11. This one goes to eleven.

 

 

 

August 21, 2005: Quack!

Ok. . .Stop me if you’ve heard this one:

"He said, 'Give me the duck.' I heard a pause, then, 'If you don't give me the duck, I'm going to arrest you.'"

Full story here.

 

 

 

August 19, 2005: Blue Moon

In a recent interview, Randy Moss tells Bryant Gumbel that he still smokes marijuana “every blue moon.” I’ve often used this expression myself, albeit in different contexts. For example, “once in a blue moon,” I:

—try to cut my own hair;

—spray our shower with that stuff that keeps the mold away;

leave my car keys in the freezer;

—eat spinach;

—send my Uncle Marc a handwritten letter;

—buy a tie that costs $75; and

—listen to The Pet Shop Boys’ West End Girls on my stereo.

After thinking of all the things I do “once in a blue moon,” I started wondering about the actual expression, and so I checked the Wikipedia entry:

In modern terms, the event known as a blue moon is related to the western calendar system. A blue moon is the second of two full moons to occur in the same calendar month. This meaning originated in Sky & Telescope magazine in 1946, as a result of a misunderstanding of an earlier definition (see below). Blue moons occur infrequently (thus the saying once in a blue moon to denote a rare event), because the length of the calendar month in this system is close to the length of the period of the moon's phases (synodic month). They are not impossible, because every month except February is longer than this period by 1 or 2 days. Blue moons occur every 2.72 years. The next blue moons (based on UTC) will be on June 30, 2007; and December 31, 2009.

The original meaning of blue moon was the third full moon in a season when there were four full moons in that season: this had to do with church holy days related to the last or first full moon of a season (like Easter). This usage had been almost entirely forgotten, and the original meaning was uncovered only when researchers for Sky & Telescope magazine noticed that the Maine Farmer's Almanac from 1829 to 1937 reported blue moons that did not fit the first meaning of the term above.

You will note, of course, that while the next blue moon (June 30, 2007) does not occur during football season, the second one (December 31, 2009) does. Randy Moss, take note.

 

 

 

August 17, 2005: Post No. 358

Although I sometimes refer to my work as a lawyer, as a general rule I don’t write about my work. But because this is my 358th post, and because I am sometimes a hypocrite, I’m going to make an exception here.

I have a new job.

My old job ends on Friday. I’ve held it for over five years. Leaving this job will be bittersweet not only for the memories I have, but for the people I’ve met and represented. I’m excited about my new employment, though, and I know I have made the right decision.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

 

 

 

August 14, 2005: You Mean Deuce Bigalow Has A Sequel?

Who would bother with the first one?

 

 

 

August 12, 2005: Please Send Me Your Salmon Recipe

We’re hungry!

 

 

 

August 12, 2005: Sales Pitches

Over the last month, Don Surber’s been sponsoring his “Hillbilly Carnival.” You may have also noticed another interesting blogger, our own West Virginia Sock Monkey. Suffice it to say that Don Surber and the West Virginia Sock Monkey probably don’t share the same political views, but variety is the spice of life.

That reminds me. Raging Red, a.k.a. “The Food Girl,” also posts now for the Fifth Column. But you probably knew that, too.

As for me, I’ll post soon about some major changes taking place for our family. Also, I’m looking for a new “sponsor” for this page. Scare Magazine and American Lackey just aren’t bringing in those revenues. I keep telling them that they must charge people for reading the magazines, but they simply refuse. If you have any ideas for my new sponsor, feel free to suggest them in the comments.

 

 

 

August 11, 2005: The Politics Of Glory

If the title of this post strikes you as familiar, then you’re probably a baseball fan or have read Bill James’ book Whatever Happened to The Hall of Fame, which was originally titled The Politics of Glory (How Baseball’s Hall of Fame Really Works). I bought James’ book when it was first published in 1994. From time to time, I still enjoy reading it, which, of course, makes it one of my favorite books of all time. I have no idea, however, when or why the publisher changed the original title, which better captures the reader’s attention and book’s essence.

In The Politics of Glory, James makes a compelling case that the determination of who merits inclusion in the Hall of Fame often hinges more than it should on a baseball player’s relative popularity among the voters. This sometimes results in inconsistent selections to Cooperstown. Although Bill James is a master at applying statistical analysis to prove his points (he did, after all, pioneer sabermetrics), he also has a gift for advocacy, which makes his writing especially enjoyable. Yes, he’ll refer to Fibonacci Win Points, and he’ll break out those bar graphs, but when he does it, it’s like when you’re in the doctor’s office waiting for that tetanus shot, and you ask the doctor, “Hey, when is the shot coming,” and the doctor replies, “Son, I just gave it to you.” Bill James’ uses statistics like that.

In a perfect world--where the Red Sox don’t have to wait four score and seven years to win a World Series and everyone loves children and understands baseball like Bill James--those who determine who gets in to Cooperstown would be guided by some specific criteria and methodology for evaluating players. As the election process now stands, however, James reveals that the determination of who merits inclusion (and who doesn’t) is arbitrary, or “political.” For example, one of the least qualified selections to the Hall of Fame, according to James, is Ray Schalk. Here are some of his career numbers:

Games 1762 AB 5306 Runs 579 H 1345 2B 199 3B 49 HR 11 RBI 594 SB 177 CS 69 BB 638 SO 355 AVG .253

Now, if you’re not familiar with baseball (and if you’re not, I’m glad you’re still reading this), you should understand that there are certain career benchmarks that will usually all but guarantee a player’s selection to the Hall of Fame. For example, every eligible player who has hit over 500 home runs has been inducted into the hall. For pitchers, everyone who has won over 300 games has won election. Until Pete Rose entered the picture, every player who had amassed over 3,000 hits could expect to receive the votes for enshrinement in the Hall of Fame. But Pete changed that when he bet on baseball. And everyone knows that you can’t bet on baseball and become a member of The Hall of Fame--even if you have 4,256 hits, which is more hits than anyone else who has ever player Major League Baseball and 2,911 more hits than Ray Schalk, who is in the Hall, ever amassed.

So who is Ray Schalk? Ray Schalk was the catcher for the 1919 Chicago White Sox, or, as you may have heard them nicknamed, The Black Sox. Several players on that team conspired with gamblers and threw games to the Cincinnati Reds (oh, the irony, Pete!) in the World Series. Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis later banned several players. Schalk, who was not in on the conspiracy, was not one of them, and several decades later the Veterans Committee elected him to the Hall of Fame.

In his book, Bill James suggests that Schalk’s selection to the HOF resulted from those who remembered Schalk as one of the few honest members of the 1919 Black Sox, and the statistics support his point. Over his career, Schalk simply did not compile the offensive statistics consistent with the calibre of the “great” catchers. In other terms, Schalk’s selection to Cooperstown is akin to inducting Jim Sundberg, a merely good, but not great, catcher. (Sundberg is, in fact, a member of the Texas Rangers’ Hall of Fame.)

In major league baseball, catchers are, of course, relied on for their defensive skills. A catcher who can’t field his position or make a throw to second base isn’t going to last a long time in major league baseball--unless, of course, he’s someone like Dale Murphy whose hitting is so phenomenal that the manager moves him into the outfield in order to get his bat into the lineup.

You should remember Dale Murphy. He played for the Atlanta Braves in the late 1970s and the 1980s until the team traded him to the Philadelphia Phillies. Atlanta Braves fans, like WabiSabi, may recall Murphy began his career as a catcher. My earliest baseball card of Dale Murphy (Topps 1979) lists his position as “C-1B.” Murphy wasn’t a great defensive catcher. According to one website, he “had chronic throwing problems, occasionally hitting his own pitcher attempting to throw out runners at second base.” After the Braves moved the Murph to the outfield, however, the rest is history, and Murphy dominated his league in home runs, runs batted in, and earned two MVP awards.

Jim thinks Dale Murphy should be in the Hall of Fame, and I would love to see that happen. When Bill James first wrote The Politics of Glory, he even predicted Murphy’s election to the Hall of Fame would occur in 2008. But after a brief stint with the Colorado Rockies in 1993, Dale Murphy retired from baseball at age 37. Generally, a player becomes eligible for election to the Hall of Fame six years after his retirement, which means Murphy became eligible for induction in 1999. But six years later Murphy still isn’t in the Hall of Fame, and the odds are that he won’t see induction into Cooperstown anytime soon. Why not?

To answer the previous question, we need to look at Murphy’s numbers. Here they are:

Games 2180 AB 7960 R 1197 H 2111 2B 350 3B 39 HR 398 RBI 1266 SB 161 CS 68 BB 986 SO 1748 BA .265

Over eighteen seasons, Murphy gathered about 2,100 hits, 400 home runs, over 1,250 runs batted in while batting .265 and striking out over 1,700 times. He also added speed to his power by swiping over 150 bases (including 30 stolen bases in 1983 when he hit thirty-six home runs, making him a member of the “30/30” club). Although Murphy led the league several times in hitting home runs and driving in runs, and led the Braves to the playoffs, he didn’t achieve those magic milestones that we often associate with election to the Hall of Fame. He never hit more than 500 (or even 400) home runs or 3,000 (or even 2,500) hits. He doesn’t have over 200 stolen bases. He struck out often. And his batting average is, well, simply “average” for a major leaguer. So why do I want to see Dale Murphy in the Hall of Fame? I want to see him in Cooperstown because he was a nice guy who played by the rules.

Nobody’s going to suggest that Dale Murphy used steroids to increase his home run totals. It’s simply ridiculous. But we can debate whether Dale Murphy was “merely good” or “really great.” There’s no question, that Murphy has the credentials to spark a Cooperstown debate. But in cases of players--like the Murph--who exemplify class both on and off the field, I think character should count for something in the selection process for the Hall of Fame. That also means if a player used steroids to boost his home run totals, we should consider that, too, before we consider allowing that person into the Hall of Fame.

Of course, we won’t know for at least a couple years how the allegations of steroid use will affect any particular candidate for Cooperstown. But in my view, if the evidence reveals a player used steroids, then I think we need to reconsider the traditional benchmarks of a Hall of Fame career when determining that player’s eligibility for the Hall of Fame. Consider the following career statistics for this player, who many believe merits induction into the Hall of Fame:

Games 1874 AB 6187 R 1167 H 1626 2B 252 3B 6 HR 583 RBI 1414 SB 12 CS 8 BB 1317 SO 1596 BA .263

Now let’s compare this player’s line to Dale Murphy’s:

Player X: Games 1874 AB 6187 R 1167 H 1626 2B 252 3B 6 HR 583 RBI 1414 SB 12 CS 8 BB 1317 SO 1596 BA .263

The Murph: Games 2180 AB 7960 R 1197 H 2111 2B 350 3B 39 HR 398 RBI 1266 SB 161 CS 68 BB 986 SO 1748 BA .265

The Murph played more games than “Player X” with more at bats, more runs (though it’s basically equal), more hits, more doubles, more triples, and more stolen bases. The players’ averages are basically equal. But “Player X” has a bigger edge in home runs (nearly 200 more than Murphy), runs batted in, and bases on balls, and he struck out a bit less. Or, in simple terms, “Player X” hit more dingers and drove in more runs in fewer games.

Now, if you ask me, Dale Murphy’s career reflects a better complete player than “Player X.” “Player X” didn’t run. He cracked a lot of home runs, and everyone who has hit as many homers as “Player X” is in the Hall of Fame. That’s why many think “Player X” should be in the Hall, and it’s the same reason why The Murph hasn’t received the votes yet. The Murph slugged “only” 389 homers. But consider, too, that nobody accused players in his era of using steroids to boost their home run totals. That doesn’t hold true today for players who were active in the latter half of the 1990s--of whom “Player X” was one. And if you haven’t guessed by now, “Player X” is first baseman Mark McGwire.

If I were choosing players for my “Field of Dreams” team, and I had to choose between Dale Murphy and Mark McGwire in their primes, I would take Murphy over McGwire. I’m sure that I’m not alone in this pick, but I also know that I’m not in the majority either. I think that’s unfortunate because Murphy was a really great player whose numbers suffer when they’re compared to the totals of today’s sluggers.

You see, Dale Murphy didn’t use steroids. And to paraphrase a line from Al Pacino in the movie And Justice For All, if a player who used steroids to achieve amazing home run numbers is allowed to walk free into the Hall of Fame, then something really wrong is goin’ on here. Something really wrong is goin’ on here if a guy can inject or ingest steroids to pad his home run totals to get into Cooperstown while a player like the Murph has to buy a ticket to get in there.

As Leo Durocher once remarked, “Nice guys finish last.” I hope the Veterans Committee elects Dale Murphy to the Hall of Fame and proves him wrong.

 

 

 

August 8, 2005: Sonya Lee

Our little boy has developed his first crush. He repeats her name and he even carries her around the house. Who is this girl?

Here she is:

 

 

 

August 7, 2005: Hillbilly Night Lights

If you like Yahoo! fantasy football, then click here now or e-mail Wabi Sabi for more information.

 

 

 

August 7, 2005: Ritter Park, Benji And A Praying Mantis

After posting my opinion about the “horrible” drive to Huntington the other day, I found myself driving my wife’s Ford Taurus on I-64 at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning to my favorite city on the Ohio River. That’s because Ritter Park offers the best playground for kids, the best walking space for adults and the best overall recreation park space within a fifty-mile radius of our home in Charleston. And you know it’s true, so please do not engage me in debate on this.

As for the drive Saturday, it wasn’t as bad as the one I made on Thursday. Only one motorcycle passed our car at what seemed like Warp Factor 9, but this happened on the ride back--which is to be expected. Everyone knows you can’t travel faster than Warp 6 to Huntington. Again, you know it’s true, so please do not engage me in debate on this.

Another thing I love about Ritter Park is its parking. Unlike Charleston, which has such limited parking that it should consider issuing medallions for spaces to raise funds for our city, Huntington’s Ritter Park has ample parking places. You can park on the street next to the park and you can park in the lot next to the park. For our visit yesterday, we chose to park on the street near the fountain at the park’s entrance.

Both our kids dig the swings, so we spent time there first. While Seth was swinging, my wife strolled around the park with Lydia. Over the last week, Seth has started using “Hoyt” interchangeably with “Daddy.” I don’t mind, of course, because most of the time I’m used to people calling me “Ma’am” on the phone or making tactless remarks about my height.

While I pushed Seth in the swing, we met a really nice lady who was with her granddaughter. She asked me how much Seth weighed. I told her he probably weighed about 34 pounds. She then told me that her granddaughter, who was about to turn three, weighed 40 pounds and that her doctor had raised concerns about her weight. And her grandddaughter appeared perfectly normal and adorable. I talked with her grandmother about the “anti-obesity” craze in America that confuses health with appearance. This grandmother was like “I can’t believe the crap they tell you about children’s weight,” and I was like “Yeah, because it’s like basic biology that kids generally eat what they need but our society wants our kids to all have the same BMI,” and she was like, “Yeah, it’s all ridiculous,” and I was like, “Right on, tell it sister,” except I only thought this last remark and when I opened my mouth, I actually said, “Mmhmm...Seth are you scared?” because I hadn’t noticed I was pushing him higher and he was kind of trembling in the swing. So I stopped pushing him and we ventured toward the sandbox area.

By this time, I realized I had made a big mistake in forgetting the camera. I had considered taking it, but what usually happens is that I wind up spending time focusing (heh-heh) on the quality of my pictures, rather than on enjoying the moment. Anyway, Seth looked really cute crawling in the sand and Lydia shined with her smiles in the stroller, and I blew it by not getting their photograph with Joe Camp, who told us he was with the actual Benji from the eponymous movie, Benji Off The Leash, which I think is ironic because Mr. Camp had Benji on a leash when we saw him.

For the last half hour at Ritter Park, my wife sat on a bench and fed Lydia (from a bottle, of course, because we all know how offensive and unnatural breastfeeding in public is to the West Virginia Legislature). Meanwhile, Seth had developed a thirst for some apple juice resulting from his pushing the baby stroller across the park. When I went to retrieve his drink from the car, I heard someone call my name, and when I turned to see who it was I still had no idea who this young lady was except that I had worked with her several years ago. Things like this scare me because I have always had a pretty good recall of people, but as I write this a day later, I still cannot remember her name. When she saw my family, she laughed and said that I’ve “been busy,” and I realized that it had been almost seven years since I’d worked with her. Still, I couldn’t forgive myself about failing to recall her name.

We left the park and ate lunch at a Subway in Milton. This was a very clean Subway (until we finished our lunches), and the staff was very friendly. I had a seafood and crab sandwich on white bread because the cheddar bread was still baking and the lady behind the counter told me that the bread would fall flat if she cut it, and I couldn’t have my sandwich experience ruined like that. I had tomatos, lettuce, Monterey Jack cheese, banana peppers, onions and some mayonaisse on my sandwich. My wife had a veggie sandwich, Seth had a turkey sandwich, and Lydia had green beans and Cheerios™. Seth also had one of those drinks that comes in a box that, with the slightest application of pressure, squirted juice all over his shirt. (I’ve never understood why anyone who could invent a square juice box container couldn’t figure out a way to prevent the juice from spilling on you.)

Before we finished our lunch, we met three kids from Wisconsin. I call them “kids,” of course, but I think they were in their early twenties. As they were leaving, they spotted a large praying mantis on the outside of one of the windows. One of the guys looked at me as if to say “Is that really a praying mantis?” to which I nodded, “Yes.” “Do you have many of these down here?” he then asked, and my wife replied that we had seen a few. But this praying mantis was the biggest one we’d ever seen and it scared the female companion who was with the two guys. My wife reassurred her that the praying mantis wouldn’t harm her, and then I started thinking about what I’d heard about one species of praying mantis and its method of reproduction, but, I didn’t tell them this story because it’s more horrible than traveling to Huntington and cleaning kitty litter. And, yes, you know it’s true, so please do not engage me in debate on this.

 

 

 

August 4, 2005: An Admission You Will Hear Me Make In Court

The drive to Huntington is horrible.

It is, however, preferable to cleaning the litterbox.

 

 

 

August 4, 2005: Litterbox

I despise cleaning the kitties’ litterbox. It’s nasty. Changing my kids’ dirty diapers is not nearly as vile as maintaining our cats’ litter. Last night, the plastic bag I was using to hold the kitty excrement broke. The mere thought of it makes me sick as I type this.

I guess you could say that I’m more of a dog person.

 

 

 

August 2, 2005: Meet My Sister

This is my sister. She finally got her Mousetrap game. She’s also given me permission to post this photograph. It’s a damn fine likeness.

I teased her a lot back in the day. Yeah, I hurt her some. You know, punches, pulls, pinches, scratches. Emotional scars. But I’m making up for it all now. How? By posting this damn fine likeness of my sister.

Can you dig it? I knew that you could.

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 2, 2005: Old Friends

My sister and a couple of our friends are in town visiting this week. Last night, we had a chicken dinner at our house with the family. It has been several years since I’ve seen these friends, one of whom I’ve known for about fifteen years, while the other I’ve known for over thirty (thirty-three, to be exact if my estimation is correct).

As usually happens with these gatherings, everyone talks about the good old times. We laughed about the silly things we did as kids. I even got to see an old tape documenting some of my antics back in law school. It was startling--even for me--because I had not remembered some of the skits we filmed. My wife had a chance to see what I looked like in the early 1990s when I had more hair.

On watching the tapes, I realized how easy it is to forget the “little things” if you don’t record them. I’m not in much contact with many of my friends from childhood, college or law school, but I think that the least I can do now is to continue writing about the events so I don’t forget.

 

 

 

August 1, 2005: Lydia Said “Da-Da” During Her Breakfast

And someone claims discovery of a new planet.

That is all.

 

 

 

I’m considering getting that Creative Commons thingy. For now, however, all material on this page is like copyrighted by me. Yeah