Daniel E Wolf
Listen to Jim Croce sing “Working At The Car Wash Blues,” here.
Then, read the NYTimes’ “Multimillion-Dollar Payday @ the Carwash,” here.
Last but not least, read “A Wage Theft Direct Action Success Story,” here.
Sometimes the good guys win.
And some days an old dad’s heart overflows.
“Have an A-1 Day!”
A century ago – and then a decade later – On This Day In History, two different presidents established two different National Parks: The Grand Canyon (by Woodrow Wilson in 1919), and one with a bawdy nickname (by Calvin Coolidge in 1929). What are the odds of these two alliterative presidents (WW & CC) establishing two of the “Grand-est” spots in all of North America as National Parks on exactly the same day, ten years apart, eh?
You can read all about it here. In so doing, you’ll find out the bawdy nickname.
Here’s a hint: It’s French.
Here’s another hint:
And no, the correct answer is not “Sawtooths.”
Nice try though.
Oh man, I just love stories like this one. You can tell by the title, “Psychopath,” that it’s gonna be juicy. Read on if you dare, gentle reader…
Recently I got into a heated exchange with an old friend on the topic of eating meat. I think it might have come soon after I posted a cartoon that used the word “bacon,” merely as a subtext, mind you (See: here). Hoo Boy, what a minefield that turned out to be!
My friend recently became a vegetarian. Then he zeroed in on me with all the puritanical zeal of the newly converted. I’m pretty sure he referred to me (and my meat-eating ilk) with the words “sociopath” and “murderer.” But then again, maybe that’s just me being “defensive” – another word that got flung my way – along with the term “testy”. And here I thought vegetarians were supposed to be these pacific and gentle souls? No such luck, apparently. Where is Gandhi when you need him most?
In the spirit of full disclosure, I admit I probably egged him on a bit with graphic details of my rural agricultural childhood: Butchering hogs, hunting rabbits and squirrels, aiding and abetting a series of semi-feral barn cats in their nefarious stalking of the farm’s burgeoning mouse population. I may even have related a tale or two of my role (albeit only a peripheral role, mind you) in castrating young boar hogs. Then again, I could be mistaken – so take everything I say with a grain of salt. Nothing gets me going quite as much as reveries of my misspent youth – so sue me. What do I look like, a pussy cat?
Anyway, in the course of our conversation, we strayed onto the topic of pets: If we eat beef and pork, then why not eat our dogs and cats? That’s obvious, I said: It’s the quality of the meat. Also, maybe it’s a matter of just how hungry we are. Starving in the Andes or the Sierras, humans not only would eat Fido and Fluffy, but have been known to eat each other. My friend was having none of it (pun intended):
I don’t believe you’d eat your pet dog or cat without hesitation if you’re hungry, because humans (since our species is so superior and special to you) evolved to bond with them. We experience an emotional connection with them – well deserved, considering the joy they unsparingly provide – that rivals anything connecting humans. This is common and indisputable, whether you personally experience it or not.
So again my question, not for you personally Mr. Defensive Fido Murderer and Language Parser, but in general: Why do people who choose not to eat meat (an intelligent choice based on factors from climate change to rejection of horrific industrial cruelty) single out dogs and cats for special treatment? When pigs (for instance) are smarter and arguably as lovable?
Lucky for all concerned, I came across this article in The Atlantic, titled “Why We Think Cats Are Psychopaths.” While it doesn’t exactly solve the “Arnold Ziffle problem” posed above, it does show the limits of applying concepts best reserved for human psychology onto our furry friends. It also has quite a lot to say about humans’ co-evolution with dogs and cats, which may help explain in part why we tend not to eat them, at least under normal circumstances. And just for the record, while I’m mostly OK with dogs, I’m not so crazy about cats. But that doesn’t mean I’m planning on eating Fluffy any time soon.
Bottom line? The cat who “attacks grandfather’s ankles” or “pees in grandmother’s bed” is not really “being a psychopath.” It’s just a cat being a cat – doing in the house what after all only comes naturally to a cat in the barn. Now if I can just just convince my friend to give the same leeway to omnivorous humans as we give to carnivorous cats… Well then, maybe we’ll really be getting somewhere. For whatever it’s worth, I’m not holding my breath. And as for the cat who sharpens her claws on my Barcalounger? “Watch your back, Fluffy” is my only advice.
Hilarious canine bonus content: here.
Far be it from me to tell a one-sided tale…
Last word goes to the opposition: here.
Today’s Word of the Day is “loquacious.”
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“It’s just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.”
I have written before in these pages about shared-ride services (See: here). But in advance of the upcoming IPO planned by Uber later this year, I share with you today an article by Nikil Saval from the current New Yorker, titled “Uber and the Ongoing Erasure of Public Life.” I hadn’t really thought about it in exactly this way before, but it does sound reasonable: Urban traffic congestion is a thorny issue. Diverting trips from public transit into individual cars makes the problem worse, not better. And that’s true regardless of any rosy corporate PR about “first mile, last mile” spun by the guys with the cool ride-sharing app.
What doesn’t compute for me is how Uber can bleed so many billions in losses each year and still make investors salivate. Maybe the potential upside in the people-moving market is so huge that the current unprofitable business model is merely a blip on the radar, easily ignored by venture capitalists and the investing public generally? Even so, it does lead you to wonder…
“Caveat Emptor” (Buyer Beware) has always sounded like good investment advice to me. As long as traffic in Manhattan shuffles along at something above a snail’s pace, then hailing an Uber with your SmartPhone makes perfect sense. But once things on the street stall out completely? Might be time to look around for a train station – assuming there still are any.
Which of these Uber logos do you like best?
“Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast your pearls before swine; lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again, and rend you.“
So counsels one who should know in the Gospel According to Saint Matthew. That’s why today’s post is going out to subscribers only. Because some wisdom is so rarefied and fine, so esoteric and celestial, that only the non-porcine Elect get a shot at it. That’s you. That’s today. Read on. If you dare.
I probably should have narrowed it down to The Elect plus Theoretical Physicists. In the current issue of the New Yorker, Natalie Wolchover has written an article titled “A Different Kind of Theory of Everything.”
In 1964, during a lecture at Cornell University, the physicist Richard Feynman articulated a profound mystery about the physical world. He told his listeners to imagine two objects, each gravitationally attracted to the other. How, he asked, should we predict their movements? Feynman identified three approaches, each invoking a different belief about the world. The first approach used Newton’s law of gravity, according to which the objects exert a pull on each other. The second imagined a gravitational field extending through space, which the objects distort. The third applied the principle of least action. This holds that each object moves by following the path that takes the least energy in the least time. All three approaches produced the same, correct prediction. They were three equally useful descriptions of how gravity works.
The ultimate goal of physics is figuring out the mathematical question from which all answers flow. The ascension to the tenth level of intellectual heaven would be if we find the question to which the universe is the answer. The nature of that question in and of itself explains why it was possible to describe it in so many different ways. It’s as though physics has been turned inside out. It now appears that the answers already surround us. It’s the question we don’t know.
Well now, that’s the mystery, isn’t it? You can read all about it here.
The good news? It’s short, by New Yorker standards.
The bad news? Porkers – and non-subscribers – need not apply.
Today’s Word of the Day is “Ragout.”
“I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in London, that a young healthy child well nursed is at least a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout . . .”
No children, Irish or otherwise, were harmed in the production of today’s post.
It’s Wednesday, which means it must be time for a New Yorker cartoon:
Ya just gotta love Montgomery Burns…. “Excellent!”
Call it “The 1% Solution,” I guess? Just one question, though…
Where are Bernie, Pocahontas, and AOC when you need them most?
Bonus cartoon, also from the New Yorker (Carolita Johnson):
It’s the only medical question worth asking!
After yesterday’s indie bookstore post, today you get… a book review! And not just any book, mind you, but a classic. It’s from one of my favorite satirists of all time, Mark Twain. On This Day In History, 1885, Twain published a sequel to his smash 1876 hit, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. His new book?
At the book’s heart is the journey of Huck and his friend Jim, a runaway slave, down the Mississippi River on a raft. Jim runs away because he is about to be sold and separated from his wife and children. Huck goes with him to help him get to Ohio and freedom.
Huck narrates the story in his distinctive voice, offering colorful descriptions of the people and places they encounter along the way. The most striking part of the book is its satirical look at racism, religion and other social attitudes of the time. While Jim is strong, brave, generous and wise, many of the white characters are portrayed as violent, stupid or simply selfish. The naive Huck ends up questioning the hypocritical, unjust nature of society in general.
Even two decades after the Emancipation Proclamation and the end of the Civil War, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn landed with a splash. A month after its publication, a Concord, Massachusetts, library banned the book. They called its subject matter “tawdry” and its narrative voice “coarse” and “ignorant.” Other libraries followed suit. Thus began a controversy that continued long after Twain’s death in 1910.
In the 1950s, the book came under fire from African-American groups. They said it was racist in its portrayal of black characters – despite the fact that it was seen by many as a strong criticism of racism and slavery. As recently as 1998, an Arizona parent sued her school district over Huck Finn. She claimed that making Twain’s novel required reading made already existing racial tensions even worse.
You just gotta love it when the critics call your work “tawdry.” That’s almost as high praise as “coarse” and “ignorant.” And so, with the publication of Huck Finn, Twain scores the ironic literary trifecta. Or, as no less a judge than Ernest Hemingway famously declared:
“There was nothing before. There has been nothing as good since.”
Ummmm – OK then. Whether you love or hate Twain, that may be overstating things a bit? But, Ernie always did tend toward purple prose…. Which brings us to today’s Word of the Day – and no, it’s not “tawdry.” (For that one, go here and skip to the end.) Rather it’s this:
A generally pejorative term for writing or speech characterized by ornate, flowery, or hyperbolic language. The double meaning of the term “purple” is useful: It is both imperial and regal – demanding attention – as well as overly ornate, ostentatious, and sometimes even profane.
Sorry, Papa. Like Twain, I was only being ironic. Just please don’t call me “tawdry,” OK?
And of course, my all-time favorite:
Yer welcome.