The Annotated Llama

Get it together, Mitt

2007-02-13T15:13:00.000-05:00

Competing with Jeanine Pirro to make the most incompetent campaign announcement appearance ever, Mitt Romney, Governor of Massachusetts, formally declared his candidacy for the presidency in a museum honoring Henry Ford in Dearborn, Michigan.

First mistake. Ford, man. Henry Ford--automotive pioneer, innovative industrialist and... rabid anti-Semite, who, according to the National Jewish Democratic Council, was given the "Grand Service Cross of the Supreme Order of the German Eagle" by Adolf Hitler. Ouch.

More funny, though slightly less embarrassing: this is the photo of his announcement speech that is running on the New York Times webpage--and, presumably, print edition:

The caption: "We are weary of the bickering and bombast, we’re fatigued by the posturing and self-promotion." Uh-huh. Right. Fatigued of posturing...and... self...promotion. (Is that a 747 behind you, Mr. Romney?) Wait. Have I seen this picture before? Oh, I think I'm confusing it with...

Yeah, you guys are real humble. Next time you should take your photo in front of some tanks, or, like, a rocket. This is the humble way to go.

Update: It only gets better. Check out his flip flops--which I posted about earlier--here and here.

"Boyish U.S. Envoy Becomes Heartthrob in China"

2007-02-13T11:35:00.000-05:00

I can't imagine that this is part of the Bush administration's nuclear negotiation strategy towards North Korea. But hey, if it works...

I just saw his picture. Am I missing something here?

Things Not to Do in a Movie Theatre

2007-02-08T14:57:00.000-05:00

Some good political writing to check out:

(1) This insightful article in The Politico notes that modern candidates are more likely to be “rootless,” lacking a defining regional identity. Unlike old-line candidates like Bill Clinton or Ted Kennedy, most candidates today aren’t deeply regional and often have had little to no history in the states that eventually vaunted them into national politics—a la Hillary Clinton, Bill Richardson, John McCain, and Mitt Romney.

(2) The Atlantic's Joshua Green profiles three former political consultants that will say goodbye to the Ds and Rs and form their own centrist party—Unity08. The party would be web-based—including an online nominating convention to follow both the Democratic and Republican ones—and, most interestingly, will be a one-time event; instead of trying to establish a permanent third-way, Unity08’s founders envision it as more of a wake-up call for national politics to move to the middle.

(3) Jeffrey Goldberg profiles Joe Lieberman in the New Yorker and reveals that aside from being Dick Cheney’s yes-senator, Lieberman is also a huge weirdo:

Lieberman likes expressions of American power. A few years ago, I was in a movie theatre in Washington when I noticed Lieberman and his wife, Hadassah, a few seats down. The film was “Behind Enemy Lines,” in which Owen Wilson plays a U.S. pilot shot down in Bosnia. Whenever the American military scored an onscreen hit, Lieberman pumped his fist and said, “Yeah!” and “All right!”

WTF?

Mi viaje a Peru, Part One

2007-02-06T01:35:00.000-05:00

As promised, here the first part of my rundown, avec media, of my recent time in Peru, the sacred ancestral homeland of the Llama. I was in Peru to visit family and also to work on a potential documentary on Peruvian sheepherders, who travel to the United States on H-2A visas to work--in remote regions and oppressive conditions--for American ranchers. As you will see, my first day of this trip was primarily taken up by the drive to the highlands, a trip to the market in Jauja, and a visit to a spectacular and very peculiar local festival. (I've written more extensively about these experiences here.)

Friday, January 19

5:00pm: The Llama finishes his Criminal Procedure final. Important issues in modern criminal jurisprudence are identified, addressed, and resolved within the confines of a three hour written examination.

5:00pm - 3:48am: Party time.

3:49 - 4:28am: Frantic packing time.

4:30am: Primetime Shuttle to JFK airport.

Saturday, January 20

8:00am - 6:00pm: Flight(s) to Jorge Chavez International Airport in Lima.

7:30pm: Arrive at 175 Pasaje La Morena, Miraflores, Lima, sacred ancestral homeland of my dad.

8:00pm: Consume aji de gallina.

Sunday, January 21 - Tuesday, January 23

Ditto. Also sleep, see family.

Wednesday, January 24

7:00am: The journey to the highlands begins.

7:31am: Refuel chariot.

9:35am: Rest break at El Tronco, finest lodging establishment on Km. 165 of Lima-Huancayo highway.

10:46am: Brief stop at Ticlio, located at 4,818 meters (15,806 feet) above sea level, site of the highest railway station in the world.

10:46am - Way Longer Than Expected: Mild to severe unpleasantness in the head.

11:16am - 11:32am: Drive through old mining town of La Oroya. Note the barren hills--vegetation is entirely absent for miles on account of air and soil pollution and other byproducts of intensive mining operations.

12:15pm: Arrival in Jauja.

12:30-2:30pm: Visit to the market, where they sell:

Frogs

medicine for your ovaries

and cocai... lots and lots of flour.

3:34-5:46pm: Visit tunantada festival. Consists of... oh, just watch the video.

5:47pm: Least Favorite Bathroom Experience 1982-2007.

5:48pm: At a certain point people started dancing sideways.

6:12pm: Return home to nurse head.

6:54pm - Rest of the Night: Rest, prepare for first day of interviewing sheepherders.

To be continued...

Three Cheers for Cyrus

2007-02-05T22:30:00.000-05:00

My buddy Cyrus just won a Soros Fellowship. He is well on his way to becoming a public intellectual.

Oh, wait, he is already. Check out these op-eds Cyrus has written on the Military Commissions Act and, most recently (and interestingly) the federal lawsuit to make American currency recognizable to the blind. I had no idea, but over 180 countries already take measures--such as using raised ink or differently-sized bills--allowing the blind to easily distinguish different denominations of their currency.

I am terrified of Vladimir Putin

2007-02-05T22:06:00.000-05:00

This piece from last week's New Yorker explains why you, too, should be scared.

The best part: last July, the Russian parliament actually passed a law to allow the assassination of "enemies of the Russian regime" abroad.

As one observer helpfully explained:

"This guy [Putin] is a K.G.B. guy... This guy issues a law allowing the Russians to kill opponents abroad. So they kill opponents abroad."

But you don't have to worry, it is okay. Because when Bush met Putin, he looked into his heart and soul and he just knew that the U.S. and Russia "can work together in a positive way."

The long road home, on TACA

2007-02-03T11:19:00.000-05:00

I'm in the airport now, waiting for my first flight home--I'm flying into JFK with a connection in San Salvador, El Salvador.

Overall, I have to say I'm very happy with how this trip has gone. (Again, I promise on various things that are holy to give you a blow-by-blow, with pictures, a video or two, etc., of my trip, but this is a job for a better internet connection.) Some highlights:

1) Drank water everywhere except one community where it would have meant certain death.

2) Have yet to suffer from any food- or water-borne illnesses.

(A hardy llama
Stomach of steel and coca
the runs won't stop me)

3) Have eaten about 4 servings of aji de gallina, and drank about 5 pisco sours.

4) Have not been hit by any vehicles.

5) Have watched Babel. The verdict: way too depressing, and not good enough to merit the depressingness.

I'll leave it at that for now, everything will be more exciting when I put up video of dudes dancing to tubas.

So I'm flying home on TACA, the airline of choice for flying in certain remote regions of Panama and French Guyana. It is the kind of airline whose passengers clap every time the pilots make a successful landing. (I have heard this done in small, single-engine planes in the Amazon, but a 747, in 2007? Uh-uh.) It is also the kind of airline that gives you soda and peanuts while you are in the air, and also offers you an awesome warm cheese sandwich "lunch" option at the passenger-friendly price of $5.

I don't want to rag too much on this culinary option, 'cause if I operated a catering business with five retarded monkeys and a broken microwave, I too would be somewhat sensitive to criticism--but let's just say that this is not the best $5 warm cheese sandwich on soggy bread I have ever had.

Whatever, if they deposit me in JFK, with my luggage, on time, I really won't care... but if this sucker goes down in the high seas (unsuccessful landing, hence no clapping), I want my next of kin to get my $5 back.

Update from San Salvador: I take back what I said about TACA's catering monkeys. They still serve lots of warm cheese, but there is at least one ape in there that knows how to make a mean steak sandwich.

Brain damaged primate
Forager, hunter, maker
of sweet beef sandwich

While you are waiting

2007-01-31T12:20:00.000-05:00

I'm planning on doing a photo-and-video post about my trip to the highlands, but haven't had enough time at a computer to do it yet. In the meantime, two pieces of goodness, courtesy of Dan and Spunia:

(1) Remember stop-motion animation? This is stop-motion music.

(2) This is how law professors actually grade your exams.

(3) Since I hate leaving anything at just two, please take another moment to look at the expression on the woman's face below.

Cheers,
The Llama

You may not realize it

2007-01-28T22:33:00.000-05:00

...but this is the largest sheep you have ever seen. It is entirely possible that there is a large wolf under there.

Should you doubt what I am telling you, take a good long look at (A) the expression on the woman's face to the left, and (B) how tall said ovine is in relation to the humans around it.

Ah, the wonders of Andean livestock markets.

From Huancayo to the Cunas Valley

2007-01-25T20:42:00.000-05:00

Another incredible day, this time with sheep. The objective this morning was to begin to interview former sheepherders, their family members, and fellow community members. We set off early for Usibamba, a small town accessible by a 2 hour drive via dirt road.

The road to Usibamba crawls along the bottom of the Cunas Valley, just a few meters above the Mantaro River. The settlements run right up to the road; in the short drive you can easily see people doing their daily harvesting, planting, and… herding of sheep! Another curious occupation is “fixing road.” The road isn’t maintained by any government authority. Instead, individual people, usually young boys, spend their days filling in potholes or mysteriously, and probably highly ineffectively, digging ditches at the side of the road. They make their money from folks who use the road and hand them some spare change along the way. The real smart ones, though, realize that generosity can only go so far: these guys actually block the road with rocks and charge a tariff to drivers-by.

I am aware that I am occasionally a little generous with the superlatives, but this was the most beautiful drive I have taken in years. We had to stop our car about twenty times because Bob-—the filmmaker I am assisting-—or I wanted to take pictures. And I took some good ones: the rapids pulsing through the valley, a young boy tending to a flock of 10 or 15 furry ones, the green mountains rising up on all sides. Other sights included several Indiana Jones-style basket-on-a-rope-and-pulley chair lifts across the river, and lots of close ups of confused or indifferent livestock.

Right before you reach Usibamba, the road rises out of the valley—-which winds a sharp right, then left-—and meets the valley again a few kilometers down the road. This time, though, instead of entering the valley at its mouth, the road plunges into the valley from its bank. You take one turn, and suddenly the valley opens up before and below you, and you can see for miles and miles.

It is hard to describe what I saw, but I’ll try. Some years ago I spent a summer traveling through Bolivia, writing new chapters for the Let’s Go travel guide series. One night, when I was in the Jesuit missions—-a series of 10 to 15 little villages that start east of Santa Cruz and end just west of the border with Brazil—-I had the chance to check my email, something I hadn’t been able to do in weeks. Mind you, this was the year 2000, and perhaps more importantly, this was deep rural Bolivia, so checking my email was (a) an unexpected surprise, and (b) exorbitantly expensive. Since I didn’t have much money, I had to read through 15 or 20 select emails in about 10 minutes. One email was from my friend Emily, who was working in an orphanage in Africa. As I skimmed it, the part that jumped out at me was her description of the vastness and beauty of the African countryside. She wrote:

"The sky is here. I know that sounds strange, but I can’t find better words to describe it."

The sky is here. For weeks I repeated the phrase in my head, marveling at how these four words, so simple and seemingly awkward, managed to convey exactly what Emily saw in Africa.*

Well, I can tell you that when I made that final turn back into the Cunas Valley, the sky was there. And so was the sun, and the green, and the river. There are moments—-few and far between for people like me who spend their lives in books and buildings—-when you appreciate the bigness of life and the world swallows you up and says “Look at me!” This was one of those times.

So people, please come to the Cunas Valley.

When we arrived in Usibamba we quickly met a man who had traveled several times to the U.S. as a shepherd. His friends got curious about the professorial types and gringos hanging out with their buddy, and soon we had a small crowd of men surrounding us in the central plaza (it was the weekly market day, which meant that there were lots of people in town)…every single one of the men was a herder. The herders I interviewed were stoic, and I wouldn’t say proud, but conspicuously Americanized individuals. You could tell a herder in a crowd by his cowboy hat, or his bright red “Blazers” baseball cap—and his button down shirt, big belt buckle, and Carhart-style working boots.

The men spoke of their loneliness in the hills, and how much they missed their families when they were away. They also spoke of their eagerness to return to the United States and continue working as sheepherders. Remember, these guys are paid $750 per month for working 24 hours a day, seven days a week, live in tents with shovels instead of toilets, and often don’t have a day off for years at a time--and the only thing they can think of is how they can come back.

I want to be clear: this does not mean that they aren’t exploited. I don’t care how wide the smile is on a rancher’s face, or how friendly he is to his charges—-no American employer should pay their employees so little; more importantly, no American employer should be able to deport their employees if they are injured or if complain about their conditions—no employer should be able to exert such total control over their employees.

What this does mean is that these men will do anything to move ahead, to provide for themselves and their families—-even submitting themselves to the conditions that greet them in the states. I think that’s pretty impressive.

My apologies for an entry that is much more preachy than usual, but I am seeing a lot and it is making me think just as much.

Tomorrow we’ll check out one or two more towns, then return to Usibamba for a personal tour of the community president’s sheep and cattle ranch. Should be good stuff.

From Lima to Huancayo

2007-01-24T22:50:00.000-05:00

I had an incredible day today. Woke up bright and early and left for Huancayo at 7:30 in the morning. Once you leave Lima, the route is remarkable. Finished in 1909 and designed by an American engineer [whose name I will surreptitiously insert here when I have better email access], the Lima-Huancayo road climbs from sea level to a literally breathtaking 4,800 meters above sea level. (Halfway up Mt. Everest for those of you keeping track!) And it isn’t a straight shot, either—the road winds through mountains and valleys the whole way there.

The surroundings and accompanying flora change dramatically with the altitude—and with industry. The outskirts of Lima is overcast desert; then you wind through some narrow green valleys—and I mean bright, Sound of Music green—with the mountains crowding in all around you. Bordering the rivers are parcels of land divided off by old stone fences; on the sides of hills—literally planted on 45 degree slopes—are potatoes and other similarly hardy crops. I would not want to be around for the harvest.

The road keeps on climbing—all the way to Tilcomayo, the highest spot on the road, clocking in at somewhere above 4,800 meters (15,000+ feet by my back of the envelope calculation). It is cold in Tilcomayo, and there are about three signs that tell you the altitude. I didn’t see much else, though I did, of course, take a picture of myself in front of the signs.

Beyond this area, you start getting into mining country. The vegetation—which fell away in the rise to Tilcomayo—returns but then thins again, not because of the altitude, but because of the acid rain and toxic emissions from local mining operations. We drove through La Oroya, which I was told was one of the ten most polluted cities in the world. I believe it. La Oroya was, 40 or 50 years ago, a major mining center. Today, the mines still produce, but the town looks like an Andean version of the London streets in Children of Men. A single smokestack—once the world’s tallest—rises above the crowded town. Let me repeat myself: the hills are literally stripped down to an ugly, unnaturally bright light grey for several kilometers around. Once you get past that, though, the valley opens up to reveal green again, and pastures.

We had lunch with one of our contacts in Jauja (guinea pig!). Then we walked through the market, where, should you so desire, you could stock up on: pork, chicken, beef, frog, snail, wheat, oats, dried potatoes, very dried potatoes, a huge mound of flour that looked liked cocaine, quinua, hats, gloves, slingshots, deodorant, fake soccer jerseys, fresh fibers for your broom, a whole lot of soup, rings, watches, earrings, and an unidentified syrupy substance you could use to treat “fungus, and bad smells.” The seller of this last item conveniently had a little panorama he put together of pictures from some medical textbook of the most bizarre, horrific, and bizarrely horrific dermatological ailments known to science circa 1970. (If you have one of these ailments, let me know, I’ll hook you up.)

The best part of the day had nothing to do with any of this, though; after lunch we were lucky enough to catch the town’s second-largest annual celebration. It is hard to describe, really, but I’ll do my best to make an analogy. Picture New Orleans, Bourbon Street on Mardis Gras. Turn Bourbon Street into a single loop. Knock down the (frankly highly tackified) French colonial buildings and erect wooden platforms on all sides with two levels: the first for beer drinking on benches, the second for beer drinking on benches, up one level. And also watching.

Watch what? Okay, so take away the floats, and the cars, and instead of dressing people as whatever people dress as for Mardi Gras, wizards, Rexes, crazy bare-chested lady, and instead dress them up in elaborate masks and colonial costumes. And make people dance instead of throw beads. Every dancer has a specific role: some play the Spanish colonizers—with one well-dressed gent playing the part of “the prince”—others play the indigenous and mestizos they ruled over. Still others represent people from neighboring countries—the Bolivian, the Argentine, or gaucho.

All of this is exceedingly hard to communicate without pictures, so as soon as I can put those online I certainly will. But I do want to discuss one very interesting thing I noticed at the festival. By and large, the men dressed up as men, and the women dressed up as women; a few men, however, actually…well, went in drag. And it wasn’t good Is-that-a-dude-or-a-chick drag; I mean pretty obvious, I’m-six-feet-tall-and/or-have-heavy-stubble cross-dressing. These folks were dancing along with everyone else, and though people giggled at the more flamboyant ones, no one—not a person—yelled out any sort of harassing or hateful remarks. Remember, this is a small, 20,000 person town in the middle of the central Peruvian highlands.

I asked an anthropologist I’m traveling with what was going on. He explained, very matter of factly, that this is the only outlet through which many gay or transgendered men can openly express themselves. He pointed out a very drunk man who was dressed as a pony-tailed campesina, puffy skirts and all. “This man is a mechanic. During the rest of the year, he is a serious and dedicated worker, a married man.” He said one or two things insinuating the gentleman was either bi- or homosexual. Then he said, “Instead of renouncing his family, or going to see a psychotherapist, as you do in the United States, he spends the four or five days of this festival dressed as a woman.” I’m not sure how healthy that is for one’s sexual identity, but it seemed to me that the cross-dressing men were quite happy to be a part of it.

Generally, the anthropologist described these festivals as an opportunity for “communal catharsis”—an opportunity not just to resolve sexual frustrations or simply party, but an opportunity for regular work and life schedules to stop, and the normal strictures of social life to relax. There was something to what he said, too—I saw it in the way people wore masks to conceal their identities—and they kept them on, too. All of this will be clearer once I put up pictures.

You may have noticed there was no talk of sheepherders so far; that will start tomorrow with two trips to smaller villages.

Peru: Day 3

2007-01-23T19:14:00.000-05:00

Hey folks,

Sorry I have not been better about posting. My access to email is limited by (a) the distance of internet cafes, and (b) my inability to locate the "@" symbol on local keyboards. (If you're wondering, Alt-64 is the way to go.)

So far, pretty nice and uneventful time here: I've eaten two servings of Aji de Gallina, watched a couple of good Euro soccer matches on TV, and almost gotten hit by at least three vehicles.* Tomorrow, however, I'll leave for Huancayo--not Junin, plans changed--to begin two or three days of work on a potential documentary on Peruvian sheepherders. I am very excited, and hope I will be able to take at least one or two photos with a friendly camelid or ovid.

More to come soon.

Best,
The Llama

* Crosswalks in Peru, and probably most of South America, are best described as "optional." Years ago, when Bolivia was first implementing crosswalks in its streets, it kicked off the campaign by paying people to dress up as zebras (black and white stripes, get it?) and simply walk back and forth across the crosswalks all day. I am pretty sure that is the first time a zebra has been killed in the Andes.

Letter from New Haven

2007-01-21T20:12:00.000-05:00

Fresh in from New Haven, this update from my roommate Daniel Mochimbo Kanataka:

So I’m currently trapped in my bedroom. Like R Kelly, if the closet were really big and if I had a gun. A saga in five acts.

Act 1: Mid-December. [The Llama] leaves a giant bag of potatoes that we’d bought for our last balcony bbq in our coat closet, next to his bedroom.

[I dispute this. You're the potato man and you know it, Dan.--Ed.]

Act 2: Holiday Break. The potatoes linger, then rot.

Act 3: Early January. [The Llama] notes that something smells funny is in the coat closet, figures Dan spilled some kind of cleaning fluid. Addresses situation by closing closet door.

Act 4: Yesterday. The unholy stench begins to break through its feeble cage. Dan inquires into the death and disposal of any animals or small children over on [the Llama]’s side of the apartment. [The Llama] tries to figure out what is the source of the pungent fragrance. Fails. Leaves for Peru.

[This is true.]

Act 5: Today. Dan initiates a search of his own. First finds puddle of brown rotten potato juice. Then finds potatoes. Weeps. Cleans. But the smell lingers. So he sets up a fan to air out the closet. But the stench has to go somewhere. So he opens the sliding door to the balcony. Where it’s 21 degrees out. And the whole living room starts to stink. So Dan holes himself up in his bedroom, emerging only to run to the kitchen, grab coffee, and run back.

Such is life man. Rotten potatoes happen. I told you I smelt something in there. Thanks for taking care of that, it's awful nice of you.

In about 40 minutes...

2007-01-20T02:57:00.000-05:00

...I will board a shuttle for John F. Kennedy airport. From there, I will be taken to San Salvador, El Salvador. From there I will be taken to Lima, Peru. At Lima, I will sleep, and eat Aji de Gallina. Then, I will travel to Junin. Junin sits at 4,105 meters above sea level. I will be ill in Junin. From Junin, I will rent a vehicle and film sheep and the people that herd them. Then, I will come back to Lima, where I will be less ill and continue to eat Aji de Gallina. Then, I will board a plane and come back to the United States of America.

That is the schedule folks. Long story short: I'm leaving for Peru for two weeks and will try my darndest to blog about eating/relaxing/and documentary-filming no matter where I roam. Please wish me luck.

FYI: If you're wondering why I'm all mixed up with Peruvian sheepherders, please read this blindingly brilliant article by this guy I've never heard of.

I [Heart] Falcons

2007-01-17T22:31:00.000-05:00

Have you ever wanted a pet?

I think falconry is cool. Really, really cool. Little creepy... still cool.

In fact, I would like a pet falcon for Christmas. I will name him Arcteropyx, or, if he doesn't like that, Alfred. Alfred the Falcon. Alfie for short.

I would treat Alfie very well. I would take him for walks, or flies, often. He would have a companion, and I would have a steady supply of squirrels, possums, and smaller falcons that Alfie did not like. I would take him many places, but I would avoid certain locations for obvious reasons.

Alfie the Falcon
Wings arched strong and majestic
Put Howard down now

I feel that, as the owner of a falcon, I would better understand great figures like Genghis Khan and Napoleon, who also owned falcons, and were crazy as shit.

"Hey Genghis."

"Greetings."

"How is Artok the Destroyer?"

"Well. Yesterday he caught a small antelope."

"Sounds tasty."

"Yes, better than child-from-neighboring-village."

"..."

"Old habits are hard to break, friend."

"Yes, they are."

With Alfie, I would instantly be That Guy That Owns a Falcon. People would also assume I play Dungeons and Dragons, and wear a cloak. But this would not be true. I would just own a falcon, a small raptor designed by God to soar, kill, and look wicked in my garage.

This I swear: A falcon will be had by me.

Pollsters Beware

2007-01-17T22:21:00.000-05:00

Obama announced he was creating an exploratory committee yesterday. Already I have read about twenty different blogs/news articles that say he will announce in Springfield, Illinois--Abraham Lincoln's hometown--in order to cash in on the symbolism, and on the fact that Lincoln was also a very "inexperienced" candidate, but hey, look what he did.

I like Obama and Edwards, and I'll write about why in later posts. For now, let me excerpt the smartest thing I've read about the blizzard of '08 polls that is already hitting the country:

...[H]ere are some names and numbers to remember from March 2002: Al Gore (26 percent), Hillary Clinton (19 percent), Tom Daschle (8 percent), Joe Lieberman (7 percent), Dick Gephardt (7 percent), John Kerry (6 percent), John Edwards (2 percent) and Howard Dean (1 percent.)

That's right, a little under a year and a half before the generals, the eventual presidential nominee, vice presidential nomineee, and almost-presidential nominee were in sixth, seventh, and eighth places, respectively.

Latin American Folk Music: Victor Jara

2007-01-15T17:18:00.000-05:00

For Martin Luther King Day, I thought it would be appropriate to dedicate the second post in the Latin American folk music series to Victor Jara, the most ardently progressive and politically active of the artists I will profile.

2. Victor Jara - Te Recuerdo Amanda

Victor Jara's story is as tragic as it is inspiring. Victor was born rural Chile to a family of poor peasants. His father, Manuel, was an alcoholic and brutally abused his mother, Amanda. Manuel left the house in search of work when Victor was young, and in the years when Manuel was absent, Victor enjoyed a relatively happy life and learned to sing and play guitar under the instruction of his mother. Amanda died when Victor was 15.

After pursuing a meandering path through the seminary, and then the army, Victor finally found his calling in the arts, returning to his hometown of Loquen to study theatre performance and direction. During this time, he also developed his music and in doing so befriended Violeta Parra, a budding folk singer and artist in her own right (who in fact wrote Gracias a la Vida, the song Mercedes Sosa can be seen performing in my last post) and the owner of a local cafe where Victor found work.

Victor released his first self-titled album in 1966, and soon became one of the pillars of the Chilean Nueva Canción movement--music characterized by its blend of folk and rock, and, most importantly, its politically progressive lyrics. Victor was a staunch supporter of Salvador Allende, and often gave concerts in support of Allende and his Popular Union party. Jara was also quite prolific, putting out one album in every one of his eight years as a musician.

Victor's fortunes reversed with the Augusto Pinochet's 1973 military coup, an action that was backed, if not explicitly supported, by the CIA and the Nixon Administration. Victor was one of the first individuals rounded up by government soldiers and was detained, along with many other students and political activists, in the Estadio Chile (a soccer stadium). He was publicly beaten and tortured; at one point, his captors broke both of his hands and taunted him to play them a song on the guitar. Defiant, he sang a protest song instead. Soon after he was shot, killed, and buried in a mass grave.

Victor Jara's music and legacy has lived on, and today he to a powerful cultural figure to many Latin Americans, particularly in Chile. Much of the credit is due to his widow, Joan Jara, who was able to smuggle his recordings out of the country after his death, and who later published a biography of her husband.

Sadly, Victor's music is hard to get in the United States. Many of his albums are unavailable, even on Amazon, and I'm unfamiliar with those that are. Thank God for YouTube:

The song Victor is singing is Te Recuerdo Amanda. It is about Victor's mother, Amanda. Every day, no matter how hard it was raining, or how far it was, Amanda would run to the factory where her husband worked to visit him for just five minutes--the length of his workbreak. The song is about how happy she looked walking back, the rain in her hair.

Te recuerdo Amanda
la calle mojada
corriendo a la fábrica
donde trabajaba Manuel.
La sonrisa ancha
la lluvia en el pelo
no importaba nada
ibas a encontrarte con él
con él, con él, con él
son cinco minutos
la vida es eterna
en cinco minutos
suena la sirena
de vuelta al trabajo
y tú caminando
lo iluminas todo
los cinco minutos
te hacen florecer.

I remember you, Amanda
the wet street
running to the factory
where Manuel worked
A broad smile
the rain in your hair
nothing else mattered
you were going to be with him
with him, with him, with him
It's five minutes
life is eternal
in five minutes
The alarm sounds
back to work
and you, walking
you illuminate everything
those five minutes
make you blossom.

What makes the song particularly poignant is that it is not a realistic depiction of Victor's family or childhood. It could be his childhood as he wishes to remember it. It could also be his vision of an ideal that he never had. It ends in a familiar way, though: one day, Manuel goes to work, and never comes back. There is a vague reference in the music to "muchos no volvieron"--many didn't return--which seems to suggest that Manuel--or rather, the Manuel in the song--was somehow killed in a protest or strike.

As for how to get a hold of his recordings, your best shot is Amazon, but the pickings are slim. I have a recording of Te Recuerdo Amanda myself that (A) is much better than the video, and (B) I would be willing to, ahem, share with you if you so desire. Please let me know if you do.

Lest we forget

2007-01-15T17:13:00.000-05:00

A classmate just sent this out over e-mail. I had forgotten that these were Martin Luther King's final public words:

Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

What a brave and beautiful person.

Latin American Folk Music: Mercedes Sosa

2007-01-13T03:06:00.000-05:00

Most people in the U.S. are introduced to Latin music in clubs and on MTV, typically to some combination of the Macarena and Livin' La Vida Loca. While American-Latin fusion has its virtues--reggaeton can be fun if you don't wake up to it every morning at 4:30am when you are living in Jersey City above the garage of some idiot who owns a small car, huge stereo system, and a single song (Gasolina)--most gringos are entirely unfamiliar with Latin American folk music. This is a real shame. If you're wondering why, please take a moment to actually listen to Gasolina.*

This is the first of five posts that will highlight some of my favorite artists and songs in the Latin American folk tradition. Each post will highlight one artist and one of their songs that is either particularly emblematic of their style, tells a particularly interesting story, or is particularly beautiful--or (I think) all three.

Before continuing, I should say that these individuals are more than famous musicians; they are also, in many cases, cultural icons and political heroes. As in the U.S., many Latin American folk artists came to prominence during the '60s and '70s. In Latin America, however, these protest singers faced ruthless dictators like Augusto Pinochet, Jorge Videla, Hugo Banzer, and Alfredo Stroessner. Two of these artists I will profile--Victor Jara and Jorge Cafrune--were eventually killed by the governments and individuals they fought so hard to oppose.

1. Mercedes Sosa - Alfonsina y el Mar

Mercedes Sosa can be considered the mother of Latin American folk music. Unlike many female Latin pop stars, Sosa is no chirpy waif; hers is a rich and unapologetic alto. When she performs, her gestures and expressions are those of a poet or flamenco dancer. Watch this video of her performing Gracias a la Vida to see what I mean:

There are two things I love about Mercedes Sosa. The first is her conscious cultivation of a pan-Latin identity; instead of identifying as an exclusively--or even primarily--Argentine artist (Sosa is from the Tucuman province of northern Argentina), she has instead done everything possible to appeal to and identify with a broader Latin American audience. (Check out Cancion con Todos for a more explicit example of this.)

More importantly, though, I love the generosity with which she sings; regardless of the subject matter of her songs--and many of them are sad and tragic, as you will hear--there is never a hint of bitterness in her voice. The best example of this is the song I'll recommend, Alfonsina y el Mar, a song written in memory of Alfonsina Storni, a post-modern Argentine poet. Towards the end of her life, Alfonsina suffered a deep depression triggered by the deaths of several friends (including fellow poet Horacio Quiroga) and her own fight with breast cancer. The day before she died, Alfonsina sent this poem to La Nación (available in English here); the following morning, as alluded to in her final stanzas, Alfonsina killed herself by walking into the sea.

The lyrics (here in Spanish, here in English) of Alfonsina y el Mar are about as sad as you can imagine; they both celebrate Alfonsina and weave in references to her final poem. What most performers miss, though, is that the song is also addressed to Alfonsina: the lyrics comfort her, almost like a child, telling her that she will be safe and happy where she lies:

Cinco sirenitas te llevarán
por caminos de algas y de coral
y fosforescentes caballos marinos harán
una ronda a tu lado.
Y los habitantes del agua
van a nadar pronto a tu lado.

Five little mermaids will take you
Along paths of seaweed and coral
And phosphorescent sea horses
Will swim around you
And the creatures of the water
Will soon play at your side.

When Mercedes Sosa sings Alfonsina, it sounds like what it is--a eulogy and a lullabye. It is a song that is hard to forget, particulary when she is singing it.

If you'd like to hear more, this is the album you need to get. Dan's sister got it on my recommendation a while back and I understand she approves. Other great songs on the album include La Maza and Todo Cambia, as well as all of the songs I've mentioned above. If you just want to get Alfonsina y el Mar, go to iTunes and make sure you buy the one that says "Album version." I haven't heard the other ones and can't guarantee you that some cheesehead hasn't turned up the reverb or put some absurd synthesizer loop over it, as my people are occasionally wont to do.

* Gasolina actually rocks; I just think that (A) my appreciation for it has been significantly diminished by my experiences in the Garden State, and that (B) it would nevertheless be the shame for this to be the only--or rather, most emblematic--Latin song you crazy kids are familiar with.

Breaking News

2007-01-12T00:49:00.000-05:00

Mensch, heartbreaker, and Yale Law School bachelor Daniel Joshua Freeman IX has finally been picked up by the html celeb circuit.

Jewcy.com--a sort of Slate for readers of the Hebrew persuasion--has profiled Dan as the initial recipient of its user/reader/hottie of the month club.

The verdict: "Somewhere, Lisa Simpson's touching herself with two of her four fingers."

Affirmed. Oh so affirmed.

Romney's "Reverse-Macaca" Moment

2007-01-11T19:16:00.000-05:00

Mitt Romney is a die-hard conservative. Right? Why don't we ask Mitt Romney himself... 12 years ago (when he was running against Ted Kennedy for the Senate). This video posted by Wonkette does just that:

...and reveals Romney to be, er, have been a die-hard supporter of... gay rights, affirmative action and abortion rights. As to the last, Romney helpfully adds, "you will not see me wavering on that."

Riiight.

Wonkette called this Romney's "reverse-Macaca moment."

(Thanks to Emma for the lead.)

FYI: For those of you not following the 2008 horse race that closely, Romney is the Republican governor of Massachusetts and a highly likely candidate for the presidency.

The Chicken Little of the Movie Industry; Children of Men and Other Mexican Films

2007-01-10T16:00:00.000-05:00

I finally got around to reading last week's New Yorker, and was surprised to read this strangely nostalgic and highly pessimistic piece by David Denby, one of the magazine's two regular film critics (the other is Anthony Lane).

Denby predicts that, because of increasing home viewership of movies on home theatre systems and the terrible video iPod--particularly by young people--the "movies," that is, the actual experience of going to the theatre, may become a thing of the past. He also says that movie theatres themselves aren't helping, describing them as having "become the detritus of what seems, on a bad day, like a dying culture." No joke:

The concession stands [are] wrathfully noted, with their "small" Cokes in which you could drown a rabbit...add to that the pre-movie purgatory padded out to thirty minutes with ads, coming attractions, public-service announcements, theatre-chain logos, enticements for kitty-kat clubs and Ukrainian bakeries--anything to delay the movie and send you back to the concession stand... If you go to a thriller, you may sit through coming attractions for five or six action movies... a long stretch of convulsive imagery from what seems like a single terrible movie that you've seen before. At poorly run multiplexes, projector bulbs go dim, the prints develop scratches or turn yellow, the soles of your shoes stick to the floor, people jabber on cell phones, and rumbles and blasts bleed through the walls.

First of all, where the hell are you watching your movies? What is a "kitty-kat club"? And who in the world doesn't like previews? But Denby isn't all negative, instead, he looks back fondly at the days of the "old downtown picture palaces,"

a faintly remembered dream from childhood of cathedral lobbies and ushers in red uniforms with gold braid. The palaces had names like the Alhambra, the Luxor, the Roxy; the auditoriums were evocative of pagoda pavillions or Persian courts or some celestial paradise with flocks of fleecy blond cheribum suspended in blue ether.

I've been to movie theatres like that. They creep me out. I frankly don't need a sixteen year-old wearing a fez and a bellboy suit selling me candy.

But Denby's biggest problem isn't nostalgia. He contradicts his own arguments in the course of the article. While he strongly implies that movie-watching is about to drop off, and blames this potential decrease on teenagers and their crazy movie-watching gizmos, he admits that (A) movie attendance at the moment is "holding up," (B) "almost half of the audience but only twenty-five per cent of the population is aged between twelve and thirty," and that (C) it is, rather, the lack of attendance of older people that is problematic, both for revenues and for the types of films being made.

Denby really needs to relax. No one is going to stop going to the movies--especially young people. To be honest, I've personally only seen people using the "video" on their iPods in (A) the first week or two after purchase, and on (B) planes, trains, and buses, where they function more as crutches to avoid awkward social interactions than sources of entertainment. If movie theatres are poorly maintained, a competitor will open a better one. That's precisely what happened here in New Haven, where the Brattle Theatre--where whole seating sections used to be blocked off because of roof leaks--closed down when my beautiful baby Criterion Cinema moved in.

Separately, here's one movie that suggests that the movie industry's sky is not, in fact, falling: Children of Men. Holy Mother this movie is great. It does so many things: it is a dystopian thriller, in the vein of 1984 or 28 Days Later, but also the sharpest critique I've seen of Guantanamo and the anti-immigrant sentiment coursing through America. It needs to be seen on the big screen and judging by the numbers, people are doing exactly that.

Let me note that Children of Men was directed by Alfonso Cuarón, the same guy who brought you Harry Potter, Great Expectations, and Y Tu Mama Tambien. As Anthony Lane notes in the same issue as Denby's article, with quality films like Children of Men, Babel, and Pan's Labyrinth all coming from filmmakers south of the border, "[s]omething is afoot in Mexican filmmaking."

Final digression: While linking to all of these films, I noticed that Pan's Labyrinth has a 99% rating on Rotten Tomatoes--87 positive reviews out of 88 reviews total. Wow. I don't think I've seen that before.

Do Not Trust This Llama

2007-01-09T14:55:00.000-05:00

This dude cheats at poker. Not to be trusted with lighter grains and small children.

All is Fair in Love and Finals, Pt. II

2007-01-09T14:54:00.000-05:00

In order to get back at Dan for wrongs I will not specify on this website, I have eaten all of his hummus.

Yeah, that's right, Dan. Go check the fridge. I ate all of your hummus. What are you going to do about it?

All is Fair in Love and Finals

2007-01-09T03:45:00.000-05:00

1. I woke up at 2:00pm today.

2. I went to bed at 6:00am last night. Er, morning.

3. The other day, I ran out of clean socks. To put off laundry for one day, I wore my blue soccer socks. The kind you wear over your shinguards and that extend to the knee. No one noticed.

4. I can't believe I never thought of this in college.

5. Did you know that the right to counsel in Miranda is derived from the 5th Amendment privilege against self-incrimination and not the 6th Amendment?

6. For real, no joke.

7. If all else fails on my exams, I will use the Chewbacca Defense.

8. I'm calling it an early night and going to bed now.

Losing Afghanistan

2007-01-05T02:44:00.000-05:00

Reading alot about Iraq in the headlines, I didn't quite realize just how bad the situation is Afghanistan. According to this sobering article in Foreign Affairs, the Taliban is resurgent, conducting attacks with increasing sophistication (often using methods imported from Iraq), erecting a system of courts parallel to the government's, and openly operating out of Quetta, a provincial capital in Pakistan. Here's the kicker: Pakistan's intelligence agency, the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), is actively supporting the Taliban leadership.

Concludes Newsweek's Fareed Zakaria: "Afghanistan is in danger of becoming a version of Iraq, where the central government has collapsed, disorder is rife and a Qaeda-backed insurgency controls large swathes of the country."

The problem? Not enough troops and equipment. And the NATO-led troops that are there often have to operate under crippling rules of engagement that their individual countries impose upon them. As this op-ed in the Financial Times explains, even after the most recent NATO summit in Riga, only the Americans, British, Canadians, Dutch and Australians are allowed to fight in the most dangerous areas of Aghanistan--countries like Germany, France, Italy and Spain have only agreed to enter these areas to assist allies in the case of an "emergency."

But the problems aren't just military. Other indications suggest that the international aid operation is just as big of a disaster. The Foreign Affairs piece refers to "poorly designed and coordinated technical assistance," and donor organizations that insist on sending their own technical advisers from abroad that are clueless to the conditions on the ground.

I read the most blistering critique of the aid operation in Afghanistan in The Places in Between, a brilliant book written by a young Scotsman, Rory Stewart, who had the gall (and something else that rhymes with "gall") to walk across Afghanistan in January 2001, just weeks after the Taliban fell. As someone who was thoroughly familiar with Middle Eastern and Central Asian languages and cultures, Stewart had this to say about the flood of young aid administrators and bureaucrats who entered Afghanistan:

...They were mostly in their late twenties or early thirties, with at least two degrees--often in international law, economics, or development. They came from middle-class backgrounds in Western countries, and in the evenings, they dined with each other and swapped anecdotes about corruption in the government and the incompetence of the United Nations. They rarely drove their SUVs outside Kabul because their security advisers forbade it.

Some...were experienced and well informed about conditions in rural Afghanistan. But they were barely fifty out of many thousands. Most of the policy makers knew next to nothing about the villages where 90 percent of the Afghan population lived... [They] did not have the time, structures, or resources for a serious study of an alien culture. They justified their lack of knowledge and experience by focusing on poverty and implying that dramatic cultural differences did not exist.

Stewart packs the harshest and certainly most "gallsy" part of his critique in a footnote, where he states:

Critics have accused this new breed of administrators of neocolonialism. But in fact their approach is not that of a nineteenth-century colonial officer. Colonial administrations may have been racist and exploitative, but they did at least work seriously at the business of understanding the people they were governing. They recruited people prepared to spend their entire careers in dangerous provinces of a single alien nation...

Postconflict experts have got the prestige without the effort or stigma of imperialism. Their implicit denial of the difference between cultures is the new mass brand of international intervention. Their policy fails but no one notices. There are no credible monitoring bodies and there is no one to take formal responsibility. Individual officers are never in any one place and rarely in any one organization long enough to be adequately assessed... In fact their very uselessness benefits them. By avoiding any serious action or judgment they, unlike their colonial predecessors, are able to escape accusations of racism, exploitation, and oppression.

Whew. (It is important to know that after Afghanistan, Stewart put his money where his mouth was and served as a deputy provincial governor of Amarah and Nasiriyah after the Iraq invasion.) More troops may be on their way to Kabul, but the sort of problems described by Stewart will take much longer to fix.

Postscript: I would highly recommend Stewart's book. The section I quoted is perhaps the only "political" part; the rest is a beautiful and at times riveting travelogue. One moment he is commenting on the possible provenance of a mysterious ancient minaret; the next he is talking his way out of getting shot because his old adopted Aimaq fighting dog is considered unclean. A quick and enlightening read.

How great is it that...

2007-01-05T02:00:00.000-05:00

...Thomas Jefferson owned a copy of the Quran? Forget Obama. Raise that man from the dead and re-elect him. I can't imagine the 22nd Amendment applies to the undead.

Update: Dan has conducted some legislative interpretation on his own and has come to the conclusion that the 22nd Amendment "probably applies to dead people." Dan: "It all depends on the definition of 'person.' The amendment reads, "No person...". It doesn't read, "No living person," now does it?" Thanks Dan. Duly noted.

Quantic; The "Most Required" Llama

2007-01-03T03:34:00.000-05:00

Was surfing Cool Hunting yesterday instead of preparing for exams and discovered a great young artist, UK-based DJ/producer Quantic. His latest album, An Announcement to Answer caught my eye, and I quickly bought it on iTunes.

It's generally uptempo, and combines some eastern influences (check out Absence Heard, Presence Felt) with some older-school Latin stuff (Sabor) and some horn-friendly hip-hop that reminds me of Talib Kweli (Ticket to You Know Where). And some of it just plain rocks (Tell It Like You Mean It). I dig.

Random single you need to purchase on iTunes: You Fly Me by Fingathing. (You can listen to it on the crummy Amazon.com sample player, but you really should just drop the $0.99 and buy the thing.) I pulled this guy out of this pretty cool mix made by Stephane Pompougnac, a French DJ who is famous for the mixes he makes for Hotel Costes (no joke, that's actually the website), apparently the Parisian equivalent of the uber-chic Hudson Hotel.

Pompougnac, who is apparently two parts DJ and one part European-celebrity-metrosexual, has this hilarious over-the-top bio on him online that was written by someone who was remarkably close to being fluent in English. The money quote(s):

This is the real Stéphane Pompougnac, seen as an “urban neo-aristocrat” in Italy, as a “French signature DJ” in England, as Hotel Costes’ little prince turned “Baroque Olympus” in Germany, and hailed worldwide as the icon of New French Sophistication. Today he is DJing at Gucci, hopping from Bristol (where he plays at Massive Attack’s open bar) to Rio, working with Madonna (he remixed “What it feels like for a girl”), whirling Nicole Kidman at Cannes for the release of “Moulin Rouge” or performing at Cameron Diaz’s restaurant in Miami, the Bamboo Bar. Mixing jet lags and forever between planes...

[...]
Today, Stéphane is one of the most required DJ, spreading the music "à la française" all over the world.

What an ass. Though I have to admit it would be nice to be the "most required" something. And frankly I like the sound of mixing "jet lags and forever." Has the sound of a bad American Airlines-DeBeers joint promo.

The Day I Met Saddam Hussein's Aunt

2006-12-31T02:05:00.000-05:00

Saddam Hussein is dead. I don't want to make light of this occasion, but I also can't resist telling this story. So you remember that game, Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon? The idea was that you could link any actor to any other actor via a movie containing Kevin Bacon. Well, I don't want to promote Six Degrees of the Llama, but if you are reading this blog, and you happen to know the super-tippy-top-secret identity of the Llama, and in fact you personally know yours truly, then you my friend are just two degrees away from Saddam Hussein. Why? Cause many moons ago the Llama met, and had a lovely, if unsuspecting, conversation with Saddam Hussein's aunt. Or mother-in-law. It is unclear. To wit:

In 2004 I was working with my father on a research consulting project for an NGO. The work required us to conduct field research in Peru, Bolivia, and Paraguay, but in order to get to Paraguay from Peru one has to fly thru Argentina. Since we had family in Buenos Aires--and the NGO had a branch office where we could conduct some archival research--we decided to make a week-long stopover in BA.

At the time, my great uncle was serving as the Bolivian ambassador to Argentina. (The Llama may be but a humble camelid, but his ancestors roll deep.) He was on his way out, though--a new Bolivian president, Carlos Mesa, had come into office a few months earlier and had finally gotten around to appointing my uncle's successor.

Having heard of his upcoming departure, the diplomatic community organized a farewell cocktail party. It was held in the Buenos Aires Jockey Club, possibly the most pretentious building I've been in since I visited the offices of Cravath, Swaine, and Moore in New York. At least the Club didn't vaguely smell of sulfur, nor did it have the feeling that Darth Vader had just been chilling in the reception area. Wait, did I ever tell you about how Cravath has a budding human rights defense practice?

But I digress. Anyways, the day of the reception my father and I went to my uncle's apartment beforehand, where we met two aunts who would also be attending the reception. We arrived at the club fairly early, were given a brief tour of the premises, and then headed back to the main room. There were a couple of folks in the room already, so my uncle said hello and I kind of hung back with my dad.

The first forty-five minutes or so were uneventful. I basically talked with my dad and aunts, and occasionally went up to the random dignitary, introduced myself as Ambassador [Llama]'s nephew, made some chit-chat, then tracked down the family again.

In the course of the reception, though, I noticed that while most of the attendees were speaking in groups of three or more, two older women were not speaking to anyone else. One was short and had reddish-brown hair. The other one was very tall, fairly large, and had jet-black hair, the kind you only see when you are blind, or when you dye it with industrial strength, uh, hair dye. She also had a very large head.

I started paying attention to them, and continued to observe that they didn't approach anyone, and no one approached them. I thought that was weird, so I went over to talk to them.

"Hi. I'm Ambassador [Llama]'s nephew. I just thought I'd come over and say hello."

"Oooh, look at you, you're so cute," said that black-haired lady.

"He's so cute!" said the red-haired one, in slightlty less intelligible Spanish.

"Well, thank you. How nice of you to come to the reception. I'm sure that my uncle will be pleased to see you."

"Yes, this is nice," said the black-haired one.

"Very nice. This reception is nice," said the red-haired one.

"Uh, yes. May I ask where you are from?"

"We're from Jordan," they said in unison.

"Oh, wow. I understand you have a new king."

"You know about Jordan!"

"He knows about Jordan!"

Whereas before they had been fairly reserved and awkward, the two women simultaneously grabbed me by each arm and unleashed upon me a stream of praise (for my "knowing about Jordan") and information (about Jordan). It seemed as if no one had talked to them about their country in years. I explained to them that I had recently taken a course on Middle Eastern history and that I had read about the recent ascension King Abdullah, how he was a young king, and how he was pushing modernizing economic reforms.

They loved every minute of it. For every half-true fact that I spouted, their praise, and their attention to me only increased. Which was tough, cause they were really paying attention to me.

And I was right...kind of. Actually, I really had no idea what I was talking about. King Abdullah was young, but he had recently assumed power... five years ago. He was all about modernization, but he was also all about torture.

As I started to internally question my own expertise on the subject, though, and as the ladies continued to talk my ear off, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was my dad, who was with my two aunts. All three of them were staring at me. My dad was laughing. I kept my eye on him and he kept on laughing, and then did that thing he does with his thumb and forefinger--Ali G does it when he says "booyakashah"--whenever he thinks something is either really worrisome or really funny.

Eventually, after promising that I would visit Jordan... someday... I was able to escape the All-Jordanian Fan Club. I walked back to my dad and asked him what was up.

"How was your conversation, hijo?"

"It was... nice. Those ladies are from Jordan."

"Jordan, huh?"

"Yes, they are very excited about Jordan."

"Yeah, well you know why no one's talking to them."

"Uh, no."

"Well, see that tall one, the one with the black hair?" The whole punchline has kind of been ruined by the wind-up, but rest assured that I was pretty surprised when my dad told me that I had just had a long, wonderful conversation with Saddam Hussein's aunt. Or mother-in-law, he wasn't sure. But he and my aunts were quite sure that she rolled with the big H, in a family way.

Anyway, there's not really a rousing end to this story. At the end, we all left the reception, and I don't remember saying bye to my Ba'athist friends. We weren't penpals, and though I don't think they forgot me immediately, I'm sure that the memory of me faded when someone showed them a map or article on Jordan, which I am sure has happened (probably) once in the past two years.

I will say, though, that I have spent a long time trying to find out exactly why my Ba'athist mystery lady was. Was she Saddam's aunt? Or was she his mother-in-law? I guess the punchline was that after a little research, I realized that it was possible--though unlikely--that she was Saddam Hussein's aunt and mother-in-law, 'cause Saddam's first wife--he is reported to have had three--was actually his first cousin. Ole.

Holiday Movie Round-Up

2006-12-27T02:04:00.000-05:00

With the holidays comes a hell of a lot of movie-watching.

The good:

1. Fitzcarraldo (1982): Crazy German dude tries to build an opera house in the Peruvian Amazon. Doesn't end too well, but manages to lift steamboat across large swath of jungle, which is cool.

2. The Pursuit of Happyness (2006): Closest I've come to crying in a movie since The Chipmunk Adventure (1987). (If you're wondering, I lost it during the hot air balloon scene.)

The very good:

1. Das Boot (1981): Crazy German dude tries to pilot a U-boat in North Atlantic waters during World War II. Doesn't end too well, but that's probably a good thing since they're all Nazis.

2. The Spanish Prisoner (1997): Has nothing to do with a Spaniard who is a prisoner. Thriller with Usual Suspects-style plot and occasionally hilarious David Lynch-style dialogue. ("Why did you get me a Swiss bank account?" "Lavish awkward gesture.")

3. The Beat that My Heart Skipped (2005): Am aware that I've recommended this movie on here before, but just watched it again with the fam and was reminded how much it rocked. BTW, I'm offering $10 to whoever can figure out what music Tom is playing when the "Two Years Later" message comes on.

The bad:

1. Happy Feet (2006): Two hours of dancing penguins and no one does the worm? Uh-uh.

2. Blood Diamond (2006): I was previously under the the impression that my deep and abiding love for Jennifer Connelly would rescue any movie from the suck. I was wrong. Okay, it is a bit harsh to say that this movie sucked. I thought Jennifer Connelly was good.

The ugly:

1. Scarface (1983): I'm sorry, but I am so sick and tired of Al Pacino playing an Angry Man Who Screams A Lot. I actually almost put this in "The Bad" category because there was a certain comedic value in Tony Montana and his sidekick Manny, but all of this was erased the twentieth time he shot someone in the face while screaming the F-word. I did learn that cocaine used to go by "yeyo," though, which is the funnest term for a narcotic that I have heard in a while.

Next Stop: New Year's

2006-12-26T03:58:00.000-05:00

...and this is how I will be spending it.

Last summer I somehow ended up at a rave in a warehouse in deepest darkest Brooklyn. ("How do you know it was a rave?" Trust me.) It was, ahem, absurd. I am now on their email list and if this party is anything like that one, we--and anyone who chooses to join us--will be in for a treat.

Kehinde Wiley

2006-12-23T14:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I went to the Virginia Museum of Fine Art. The hit of the visit was this recent acquisition (left) from Los Angeles-born and New York-based artist Kehinde Wiley. (To get an idea of its size--it is huge--click here.) Wiley, who is 28 (!), paints young, black men in poses reminiscent of Baroque or Rococo classics. In fact, the pose from Wiley's piece, Willem van Huythuysen (2006) is "quoted" directly from this 17th century portrait of a German gentleman of the same name (right). Wiley's portraits are in collections in Brooklyn, Denver, Kansas City, and of course, Richmond; an NPR profile recently described him as one of the "top newcomers on the New York art scene."

When I first saw Willem, I thought it was a simple tongue-in-cheek take on flashy urban style. The more I thought about it, however, and the more I looked at his other work (which is best viewed at Wiley's personal website), I realized that the guy is doing something much more subtle--and valuable. First off, he's making fun of the arrogance of the original Renaissance-era paintings. If you look like a pompous ass standing like around with a sword (or a scroll, or a cane) in the 21st century, my guess is that you'd still look like a pompous jerk way back when.

Most importantly, though, Wiley is asking "Why not?" Why not portray young black men in traditional poses of wealth and power. Why can't they be the subjects of "serious" art work. I also love the fact that someone so young is able to make these points with such flair and style. The guy's currently exhibiting in Columbus, Ohio; definitely worth a look if that's your neck of the woods.

Post-script: If you're not too impressed by this particular piece and are wondering why I love this guy so much, I again recommend checking out the gallery in Wiley's website. That's where I found probably my favorite works of his, with his trademark bright--but spot-on and very attractive--color schemes and patterns.

Trouble Brewing in Bolivia; Hugo Chavez Wants In

2006-12-23T03:55:00.000-05:00

I was at the Gutenberg Cafe in downtown Richmond today--nice, cosmopolitan little dig--and my mother pointed out this article in Le Monde about Bolivia. (No, I don't read Le Monde but am proud that someone in my family does.)

I haven't been following my South America news closely enough, 'cause major trouble is brewing in Bolivia. The provinces of Beni, Pando, Santa Cruz, and Tarija are all calling for increased autonomy from La Paz and the Evo Morales government; some people are calling for outright independence. There have been major protests, with dozens of people injured, and, to boot, Hugo Chavez in Venezuela has announced that his country will not "stand idle" at any action aimed at destabilizing the Bolivian government. In other words, that he'll send in troops.

Reuters has the best-English language coverage that I've found on the subject, but it is still lacking. This most recent article, for example, misleads as to the crux of the conflict. With the headline "Eastern Bolivians Vow To Intensify Autonomy Movement," you'd think that this was a regional conflict, an east-versus-west kinda thing. That whole idea breaks down when you look at a map of Bolivia and notice that two of the provinces calling for independence--Pando and Beni--are about as "Eastern" as Vermont is Deep South: they're not.

[This wasn't a journalistic blunder, though; the label "Easterners" comes from the fact Bolivians still refer to the Pando and Beni provinces--as north and west as they may be--as making up the "Oriente"--the "Orient" or "East."]

Rather, the conflict in Bolivia is race- and class-based. Bolivian President Evo Morales, while originally from a low-lying jungle area in central Bolivia (the Chapare), draws most of his support from collas--the name given to the predonominantly indigenous people from the highlands. Beni, Pando, Santa Cruz, and Tarija are home to the cambas--a population that is more European in ancestry and caucasian and mestizo in appearance.

The cambas, whose regions contain 96% of the Bolivia's massive natural gas reserves, are feeling increasingly distant and alienated from the Morales government. As the Reuters piece notes (but way too far down), "[m]any people in Santa Cruz feel they have little in common with the poor, mountainous west of the country, where Morales has his support base."

What now? Wait and see. But I know for a fact that folks in Bolivia are getting very nervous. It will be interesting to see if the U.S. will do or say anything if Chavez keeps up the rhetoric; something tells me it is AAI (All About Iraq) in the Oval for now.

Update: The New York Times just did a great piece on the Bolivia crisis. I agree with the article's diagnosis of the role of race--and natural gas--in the conflict.

Dr. Spock Where Are You?

2006-12-23T03:43:00.000-05:00

This video of a small South Asian child reciting the capitals of all fifty American states walks the fine line between creepy and really, really awesome. The head-on, dim greenish light, the heavy electrical wiring screen left, and the look on kid's face when they hit Kentucky all tend towards the former. The novel pronunciation (Texas? "As-THON!" Mississippi? "JACKH-son!") and the fact that everyone involved (kid, dad-cameraman, etc.) all seem to be mutually excited/obsessed with this, tend toward the latter.

Somehow, all of this reminds me of the time my brother and I went to see this Pearl Jam-cover band in Peru where the lead singer clearly and unabashedly did not speak English.

And while I'm at it...

2006-12-22T03:23:00.000-05:00

Let me make another holiday gift recommendation: Hair Mayonnaise. You think I'm joking, but no, I was at CVS this morning to buy some hair stuff, and right where my normal stuff should be (American Crew Fiber, which I non-sarcastically recommend) was this big, tall $10 jar of "Hair Mayonnaise." I'm not sure what they do with their hair down here in the South, but if it requires something called "Hair Mayonnaise," boy am I glad that I acquired my personal grooming habits north of the Mason-Dixon line. It even says--right on the label--that it contains "Olive Oil, Egg Products & Herbs." It is actually mayonnaise. Anyways, I spent a good five minutes staring at the thing wondering if I could give this to my brother for Christmas, or if I thought it was funny enough--$10 funny--to purchase and keep in my bathroom as some sort of man-prop to keep my Yeti company. (The answer was no.)

Findlay Brown

2006-12-22T03:04:00.000-05:00

So I was watching CSI with my mother tonight (another exciting holiday season!) and during the commercials this ad from MasterCard came on:

Just as it was about to end, I stopped whatever I was doing and thought, "Hey, that music actually sounds pretty good." I googled the only lyrics I could make out--"nobody ever says goodbye" and "come home"--and found out that the ad used the music of Findlay Brown, some sort of English-Danish country singer. The song itself was "Come Home."

Anyway, I spent the rest of the evening on the guy's MySpace site listening to "Come Home," "I Will," and "Separated by the Sea." I really like his sound; his voice is a cross of Samuel Beam (of Iron & Wine) and Chris Isaak, and his music is gentle but quite moving. This very well might be the first album I will actually, physically purchase in a long time...

Peer Pressure Wins the Day; the Llama Rides Again

2006-12-21T20:17:00.000-05:00

Reports of my death are somewhat exaggerated. But after repeated encouragement/verbal harrassment from friends and colleagues, the Llama rides again.

AKK: So, I noticed you haven’t been posting much to your blog.

The Llama: Nope.

AKK: How come?

The Llama: It just takes too much time. You always have to be thinking about what you’re going to post next.

AKK: So I guess the “Q” in your name stands for “quitter”?

The Llama: I don’t have a “Q” in my name, Adam.

AKK: …

The Llama: …

AKK: I think the point stands.

The Llama: The whole thing also just degenerates into being a link monkey. Like: “Here’s a funny link.” “Here’s another funny link.” “Ha ha, click on this.”

AKK: But I like monkeys.

The Llama: So do I. In the zoo.

----

The Llama: Hey Sarah.

SB: Update your goddamn blog.

The Llama: What?

SB: That thing about Kahan is less funny every time I see it.

The Llama: That piece was supposed to be kind of weird and tragic, not funny.

SB: Really?

The Llama: No, but… you know. Tell you what. If you join me as a guest blogger, I’ll start blogging again.

SB: Nice try.

----

CH: Yo, dude, what happened to your blog? Update that shit.

The Llama: Okay.

Facts

2006-11-15T02:30:00.000-05:00

1. If I were a renowned law professor, I would not devote a section of my personal webpage for my running times. If I were Dan Kahan, though, apparently I would.

2. When I grow up, I want to wear suits like this.

3. We have spent twice as much money rebuilding Iraq than we did rebuilding Japan in the seven years following WWII. We have spent almost as much as we did rebuilding Germany in the same period.

4. We have been in Iraq for three and a half years.

5. This is what my good friends Rufus and Gabe did in their spare time.

6. Coincidentally, Gabe also published the cover story in Science a couple of months ago.

7. I hefted an AK-47 in the evidence room down at the State’s Attorney’s office today.

8. Nope, not kidding. It had a bayonet on it.

9. “It is estimated that Americans now spend somewhere around $10 billion a year on adult entertainment, which is as much as they spend attending professional sporting events, buying music or going out to the movies.”

10. This is a really good poem about a cat.

Creepy Photo of the Day

2006-11-07T15:07:00.000-05:00

You fooled no one, Bill. Everyone knows that this morning you left Hillary at home and instead kidnapped Laura Bush, who may make a convincing Hillary but for that indelible nobody's-home/Baby-Ruuuth/"I like kittens!" face that she's got going on.

Nice try, though. At least she looks happy.

Llama still alive, chewing more grass

2006-11-06T19:10:00.000-05:00

Hey folks,

Just want to let you know I haven't forgotten about the blog--just have been a bit more busy than usual! In general, I think that from now on I'll try to post every two or three days as opposed to every day. Less quantity, more super quality.

That said, tomorrow I'll be spending eight hours monitoring polls in deepest darkest Connecticut. I imagine I should have some stories to tell after that.

Go in peace,
The Llama

A Job I Hope I Never Have

2006-11-02T15:24:00.000-05:00

Google is worried that as people start using the term "Google" as a generic verb--i.e. "I googled the guy to see what he had written"--Google will lose its claim on the Google trademark. (There are plenty of wrinkles, but common usage makes a trademark claim much harder to sustain.)

So... Google writes this entry on its "Official Google Blog" to try to discourage people from using the term "Google" so loosely. It was clearly written by some lawyer pretending to be a Google staffer who's funny! and exciting! but really concerned about this important trademark issue. I really hope I never have to do anything like this.

Why I Love Tom Waits

2006-11-02T03:22:00.000-05:00

Friends have asked me about the “Music” section of my Facebook profile. In a list including the Arcade Fire, Sufjan Stevens, and some Latin American artists, one guy stands out—Tom Waits. Of all the folks on my list, he’s the one I know the least about: my knowledge of his music is mostly confined to The Mule Variations, with a couple of songs from Small Change, Rain Dogs, and a few other of his later albums. Here are a few reasons why this has been enough to convince me that the guy is a genius. (Click here to sample most of the songs referenced below.)

The first thing you’ll notice about Waits is his voice. I would say it is a cross between Louis Armstrong and Bob Dylan. Honestly, it sounds like the man gargles every morning with fresh gravel and motor oil.

But the guy is much more than a novelty voice. Waits has a remarkable ability to completely communicate a feeling: physical and emotional exhaustion in Pony, falling in love in Picture in a Frame, and being homesick, heartbroken, and probably drunk, in Tom Traubert’s Blues. And while many artists are good at doing this—someone like Nina Simone comes to mind—what makes Waits special is the manner in which he does it.

Check out his characters, for one. Waits' language is slow and spare, but when his banjo/guitar/out-of-tune-piano kicks in, two or three words conjure up an entire life.

Look at these lines from Pony, a song about a man’s travels around the country, and his deep desire to return home:

I run my race with burnt face Jake
Gave him a Manzanita cross
I lived on nothin’
But dreams and train smoke
Somehow my watch and chain
got lost.

I wish I was home
in Evelyn's Kitchen
With old Gyp curled around my feet

Don’t you kind of want Gyp curled around your feet? (And don’t you want to stay the hell away from “burnt face Jake”?) Better yet, though, some of Waits’ characters are just obscenely—and very entertainingly—out of their minds. Like in Chocolate Jesus. I kid you not, the song is about a man who, instead of going to church on Sundays goes to “Zerelda Lee’s candy store” and, well, eats himself a little candy Jesus. As Waits helpfully explains, “[w]hen the weather gets rough / and it’s whiskey in the shade / it’s best to wrap your savior up in cellophane.”

The best part thing about Waits, though, is his lyrics. By and large, Waits’ songs are not in your traditional first-person, this-happened, that-happened, now I’m happy/sad/nostalgic/in love/really frickin’ pissed off. Instead, while each song has some sort of narrative to it, it is also a mash-up of random sayings, touching—yet entirely out of place—moments, and ambient noise.

While you really have to listen to it, check out this verse from Hold On:

Well, he gave her a dimestore watch
And a ring made from a spoon
Everyone is looking for someone to blame
But you share my bed, you share my name
Well, go ahead and call the cops
You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops
She said baby, I still love you
Sometimes there's nothin’ left to do

Oh you got to hold on,
hold on
You got to hold on
Take my hand, I'm standing right here,
you got to just hold on.

“Well go ahead and call the cops / you don’t meet nice girls in coffee shops”? It makes no sense. But once you listen to the song you’re like “Yeah, go ahead and call the cops.” And its not cause you gained some context from the other verses. The whole thing just fits.

Other people have noticed, too. Do you like Downtown Train by Rod Stewart? Or Bruce Springsteen's Jersey Girl? Both covers of Waits originals. (And in my opinion, Waits’ Downtown Train makes Rod Stewart look like… Rod Stewart.)

Finally, though, since I’m realizing that none of this will really mean anything until you actually listen to Tom Waits, let me say I also get the impression that he is a huge badass.

That’s enough for now. Go listen to the guy.

Disclaimer: As I mentioned earlier, this post is based on a fairly narrow range of Tom Waits’ songs. For all I know, there’s probably ten albums in which he sings Kumbaya in contratenor to a tambourine and string quartet. But what I’ve heard, I either like, or just do not understand, so I’m sticking to my guns on this one.

Are Ivy Leaguers Prude?

2006-11-02T03:03:00.000-05:00

This Harvard student certainly isn't. But her classmates are prude enough to notice.

No, Really, Why Did You Publish This, Pt. 3

2006-10-31T13:22:00.000-05:00

I know I majored in "Social Studies" and haven't taken a legitimate science class in... hmm... about six years... but this is the most hilariously irresponsible piece of scientific journalism I've seen in ages. A real home run, BBC Online!

In this gem of an article, an "evolutionary theorist" named Oliver Curry predicts, inter alia, that humans will diverge into a "genetic upper class [that] [will] be tall, slim, healthy, attractive, intelligent, and creative" and a genetic "'underclass'... who [will] have evolved into dim-witted, ugly, squat goblin-like creatures."

Oh, but it gets better...

[I]n the nearer future, humans will evolve in 1,000 years into giants between 6ft and 7ft tall, he predicts, while life-spans will have extended to 120 years, Dr Curry claims.

Physical appearance, driven by indicators of health, youth and fertility, will improve, he says, while men will exhibit symmetrical facial features, look athletic, and have squarer jaws, deeper voices and bigger penises.

Okaaay, Mr. Mengele... but... where is your scientific "evidence"? Hmm, there's the problem. If you look at the entire article, you will not find one study, experiment or, um, number to suggest that any of this is true. But hey, if Doctor Curry said it, it must be right.

The Dog Who Loved to Suck on Toads

2006-10-30T16:05:00.000-05:00

It is what it is folks. You'll want to listen to this one.

(Thanks to Rich for the lead.)

Modern Slavery, Just Read the Paper

2006-10-29T17:20:00.000-05:00

A friend sent me this disturbing article from the New York Times. It focuses on Ghana, but broadly discusses how thousands--perhaps tens of thousands--of African children are sold into indentured servitude by their parents, often for sums as paltry as $30. This is not just an African problem; the International Labor Organization estimates that well over 100 million children work in hazardous industries.

Due to the nature of parental and family relationships, the freedom of child workers is difficult to ascertain. With adults, it is much easier: the ILO's most conservative estimate is that 12.3 million adults are forced laborers. "Forced labor" is a tricky term; it makes many people think of outright slavery. And there are actual cases of outright slavery--I confirmed as much while working as a research consultant for the ILO--but focusing on such cases obscures a larger problem: debt-bondage. This is the sort of situation you observed in the American west in the 19th and early 20th century "factory stores." (You get to the mine/ranch/farm. You need to eat/drink/clothe yourself. You buy your goods at a grossly marked-up prices from the factory store. And your paycheck goes to the store, and not your pocket.)

I'll have more on practical proposals in a couple of months, when I finish a long-overdue paper on labor clauses in free trade agreements, but for now I think it simply bears repeating that forced labor--modern slavery--is a real problem in the 21st century.

There's a Yeti in My Bathroom

2006-10-29T16:21:00.000-05:00

If you've been to the Llama's den recently you'll know that he likes to have frames on his walls. With pictures in them, of course, but right now he feels like a nice mature Llama for having said pictures in frames. Custom frames. (Hmm-hmm. This is how I do, ladiez.)

For a while, though, I have been unable to find an appropriate piece for my bathroom. You don't want anything too nice; you might as well put that in your room. You want something a little lighthearted, but not so much that you might as well have SpongeBob SquarePants shower curtains. I found a nice compromise in the art of Tom Gauld (check out his stuff in "Tom's Shed" here). He has a recurring character who he calls a Monster. But I will soon call him:

My Bathroom Yeti. Please come and visit him post-haste. He will get lonely in there.

Technical Difficulties...

2006-10-29T01:31:00.000-05:00

Your patiencesness is asked for by me.

Immigrant Narratives

2006-10-28T12:14:00.000-05:00

Harper's has a great piece by Cecilia Balli on what happens to border crossers who are apprehended. I didn't know this, but the Mexican government has established an organization called "Grupo Beta" to provide migrants with food, shelter, and (apparently) really long lectures. I also didn't know that an estimated ninety percent of border crossers are robbed Mexican and Central American "bandits" at some point of their journey.

On the fiction side, I'm currently reading The People of Paper by Salvador Plascencia; its main characters are a father and daughter who make the crossing from central Mexico, via Tijuana, to a town in California called El Monte. It reminds me of Gabriel Garcia Marquez at a magical-realist peak, with very entertaining shifts in narrator and perspective. Some snapshots: a woman created out of paper by a self-taught origami "surgeon"; a flower picker who decides to wage a (non-violent) war against Saturn; a Tijuana mechanic who, instead of fixing cars, makes little mechanical turtles. I'm not done yet, but still perfectly comfortable recommending it.

Why Did You Publish This Dept., Pt. 2

2006-10-26T11:57:00.000-05:00

A little while back I posted about a bizarre story in the Crimson that suggested, without any merit whatsoever, that Bill Clinton would be the next president of Harvard.

Check out this story in the New York Times.* Headline: "Demure Madonna and Anxious President." What! What? Did Madonna make an appearance with Dubya? No way, right?

Right. If you read the story, you will quickly see that there is no connection whatsoever between Madonna and Bush. All they did was make awkward appearances on television on the same day. I don't care if some overzealous undergrad writes a story about how he shook Clinton's hand (er, Bill Clinton will be the next president of Harvard), but I really... don't know... what is going on here.

*I know some people write New York Times--with only the "Times" italicized--but I think that's obnoxious. Just like the New Yorker writes "coordinate" with an "ö," as in "coördinate." Come on guys, who are you kidding.

Talking Animals Pt. 1: Captain McKittles

2006-10-25T17:42:00.000-05:00

The Llama is not the only mammal with powers of speech. There are various instances in modern literature of animals who possess the ability to communicate orally or in writing. Recent exemplars include a hungry goat, and Tom Cruise's dog. Or, dogs that are Tom Cruise. That was why the Llama was not surprised when he came across the following letter. Though the language is occasionally a bit coarse--felines are not as classy as you think--he hopes you like it as much as he did.

Sunny day

129 Barrow Drive
Danbury, CT 06523

Mary
129 Barrow Drive
Danbury, CT, 06523

Dear Mary,

Effective immediately, I would like to establish several rules to will govern our continuing relationship and my continued residence at 129 Barrow Drive. The following items are non-negotiable:

1. Fresh Iams™ every morning.

2. By fresh, I mean straight out of the can. None of this garbage where you ziplock it and sprinkle it with warm water and say “Tasty, tasty.”

3. You clean the litter box every night.

4. Arthur does not touch me.

5. Arthur does not touch me.

6. No more goddamn catnip.

I would like to emphasize that this last item is, like, really mandatory. You may do advertising and all sorts of fancy shit, but you clearly do not comprehend the magnitude of a nip hangover. Picture jumping up real high, like to the TV, and then having the kid blindside you and landing on your head. Repeat four times and you will know where I am coming from, compadre.

I am also aware that the above-named policies may require some time and energy on your part. In fact, you may even have to spend some time monitoring your hyperactive, clearly troubled, Cheetohs-eating child. (FYI, if I actually had nine lives, I would suicide-bomb the little fucker for the first eight.) In light of this, I propose the following merely as suggestions:

1. Instead of leaving every morning, you can stay home every once in a while, and we can watch the Discovery Channel.

2. Isn’t two gerbils a little much? Couldn’t we get rid of one? Nope, I know what you’re thinking—what are we going to do with Squeaks? But don’t you worry—I’m totally on it.

3. If (2) is not cool, then, maybe you could just let me play with them a bit. Or like, let me see if they smell different when they are in my mouth. I’ve read somewhere that happens, you know.

4. We replace the living room wall with one large, bay window. The whole wall. You don’t even have to buy curtains. I mean, who doesn’t like sunlight?

I think that these are perfectly reasonable things to ask in exchange for my loving companionship and my letting you touch me. Please respond at your earliest convenience.

Sincerely,

Captain McKittles

The Llama is going to get a headset.

2006-10-25T17:21:00.000-05:00

Also, when he sends a text, he will do so "with [his] arm outstretched next to the window when travelling on a train."

Apparently, there is now scientific evidence suggesting that the use of cellphones will impede the future likelihood of lil' baby Llamas. See for yourself.

Shortbus Screening

2006-10-25T01:56:00.000-05:00

Tonight I went to see Shortbus by John Cameron Mitchell, the same guy that filmed Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Apparently, Mitchell's goal in making Shortbus was to make a serious film that incorporates explicit sexual material. And explicit it is. You will not see sex scenes like this anywhere else other than the sort of movies where actors are named Jack Banger and Debra Rider. Or Jack Banger and Jim Rider. And John Rodeo. (Yep.)

It is an interesting goal, though, and for the most part the film achieves it: the sex scenes are not pornographic and are critical to the plot. But the movie doesn't have that much more behind it. The characters are really confused (and confusing). There is not a thesis or theme of any type, other than You-have-to-try-different-things/partners/orientations-to-be-happy.

But before writing the movie off completely, I should say that the movie does have one saving grace--the final fifteen minutes. I have never seen a Bollywood movie (I know, shame on me), but this is what I imagine an epic Bollywood final dance number would be like if people had little or no clothes on and spent all their time in bizarre cafes/salons/sex clubs in deepest darkest Brooklyn. It may be worth watching just for that.

Apocalypto: Kiwi Camara Redux?

2006-10-25T01:27:00.000-05:00

Last night, while watching the latest three episodes of Lost online (welcome to Fall Break land), I came across a trailer to Mel Gibson’s upcoming Mayan end-of-civilization flick, Apocalypto. (Check out the trailer here.)

While watching, I couldn’t help but wonder: will Apocalypto be Kiwi Camara all over again? But on a national scale?

In 2002, Harvard Law student Kiwi Camara posted his property notes online to share with his classmates. In his notes, he used the word “nigs” to refer to the African-American defendants in a famous civil rights case, Shelley v. Kraemer.

This wasn’t a mistake: he prefaced his outline with a statement that his outlines “may contain racially offensive shorthand.” When classmates learned of his posting, Camara made several pretty lame attempts at apologies, including one statement that he would “make a much more conscious attempt than I have made" not to use racial slurs, but that he could not “guarantee it.” (Legal education makes people nice and precise like that.)

Fast-forward to late 2005. Kiwi Camara, HLS ’04, is now a fellow at Stanford and looking to enter academia. He submits an article to the Yale Law Journal under the name “K.A.D. Camara” and it is accepted for publication. Upon learning of Camara’s background and the Journal’s decision to publish him, many Yale Law students were outraged, and urged the Journal not to publish the piece. (It did.) Should an author’s racist or bigoted views affect how we consider his or her work independent of those views?

You can’t help but draw a comparison with Mel Gibson’s current predicament. Gibson, like Camara, (A) made blatantly bigoted comments (and it was way more than one word), (B) later denied he was a bigot (but, come on, no one believes him) and (C) is about to benefit greatly from work that has nothing to do with those bigoted views.

So, are you going to watch Apocalypto? Even though Mel’s an anti-Semite? Just as I was against publishing Camara’s piece, I don't think I'll watch Apocalypto. I believe that it is appropriate to sanction Gibson for his anti-Semitic views, to send a message that his conduct and beliefs are reprehensible. Some may say that it is arbitrary to sanction someone in this way. Really? In my view, punishment in our society has never been rationally associated with the prohibited conduct--putting someone in jail doesn't really speak to the crime they committed (i.e. a forgerer could be in the same cell as a violent criminal). So I’m perfectly comfortable denying Mel his profits because of the ridiculous things he says.

Only thing is that the movie might rock pretty hard. So… I might be inclined to get my hands on a bootleg copy. Or sneak into a movie theatre.

Thoughts?

Back from Pasture, Awesomeness

2006-10-24T12:20:00.000-05:00

The Llama has returned from wandering in the desert for [4] days. He is also on vacation. Awesomeness will ensue, promise.

Out to Pasture

2006-10-20T00:58:00.000-05:00

The Llama is sad to report that he will be out to pasture for the next three days.

In his stead, he offers the world-famous George Washington video. Many of you have seen it before; if you have not, click away, it gets funnier the more times you watch it.

From My Hoof to My Trigger

2006-10-19T14:11:00.000-05:00

The Llama was happy to see that some reporter from the Press and Sun Bulletin, his hometown newspaper, visited his cousins in upstate New York. You can find the whole slideshow here, but below you can find a good picture of cousin Frankie.

The reporter-girl says “This white male actually came to the fence. He's one of two males used for breeding, so we figured that he was trying to be macho.” If by “trying to be macho” she meant, “trying to score some J,” then she is entirely correct. Frankie is all kinds of trouble.

Important Anatomical Update: Since posting this entry, the Llama has learned that neither he, his cousin Frankie, nor any member of his family (read: species) has hooves. We got toes, man. You're damn straight that we spit to establish dominance, though.

Introduction to Vice Magazine's Do's and Don'ts

2006-10-19T13:30:00.000-05:00

In college, I spent a summer in California chasing down and interviewing sheepherders for my senior thesis. In between driving sessions in the middle of nowhere, I spent some time in San Francisco, Sacramento, and Los Angeles.

In LA, I made two discoveries. First, I realized that there are men who spend thousands and thousands of dollars on botox, waxing, cosmetic surgery, and bizarro stuff like permanent pec implants. (Hmm... feel a little funny having "Male Pectoral Implants Pictures" cached on my computer.) Anyway, these men exist. And they all live in Los Angeles.

Second, I discovered the most offensive yet consistently hilarious publication I have yet to come across: Vice Magazine. Vice Magazine is devoted to everything that is profane and unholy in this universe. Think of it as a South Park, for adults, if there were no FCC. I will not link to it here. But I will link to the best part of the whole operation, the Do's and Don'ts. Every day, readers of Vice send in photos of people off of the street. Some evil genius provides the imperative--"Do" or "Don't"--and a caption. And V - O - I - L - A.

Okay, so I feel a little bad about that last one. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Run, Barack, Run

2006-10-19T11:21:00.000-05:00

The obligatory "What if Barack Obama ran for president" post:

Previously, Barack Obama categorically ruled out a 2008 presidential bid, saying things like "I will serve out my six year term" to the media. According to the Chicago Tribune, however, something about the current atmosphere--be it Warner's exit or simply overwhelming pro-Dem sentiment--has got him rethinking his decision. I'm all for it; as Senator Durbin says in the article, does he really think that sticking around the Senate for another 4 years and casting another 1,000 votes will make him more qualified to run? The Nation blog, "The Notion," helpfully suggests that Barack would have a lock on the Facebook group race.

In completely unrelated news, have you ever wondered exactly how much money a candidate has, or how two candidates stack up in the money race? Click here and find out.

Low IQ, High Entertainment

2006-10-19T02:28:00.000-05:00

Remember when you were a kid and you dreamt of joining the WWF? And you fractured your little brother's clavicle testing out your pile driver? Or rather, if you are reading/writing this blog, you had your clavicle fractured when your older brother tested out his pile driver on you? (Just kidding. Kind of.) Either way, though, you always wondered if the whole thing was fake?

Well, now you no longer have to wonder what would have happened had you entered the ring. Steve-O and Chris, two of the tragic figures/stars of Jackass 2, actually decided to challenge a professional wrestler to promote their movie. It all went well until about 5 or 6 minutes into their appearance: Steve-O and Chris took to the stage looking like frat boys on a dare, "Umaga the Samoan Bulldozer" (sample commentary: "Umaga is a bad man. An undefeated bad man.") comes out, kicks their butts, and is about to exit stage left. Steve-O and Chris feign great pain and lie still on the ground until... Steve-O decides to break script, get up, and make fun of Chris for playing along. Umaga does not like this, Umaga mad, so Umaga demolish Steve-O... in a way that looks anything but fake. Enjoy.

We agree on immigration?

2006-10-18T14:15:00.000-05:00

Foreign Affairs has published a good article reviewing the current immigration impasse and presenting a blueprint for ever-elusive "comprehensive immigration reform." It doesn't break much new ground--and often uses phrases like "busboys and gardeners" as shorthand for low-skilled immigrants (something that even the most liberal commentators are prone to doing)--but it does make a couple of interesting points:

1. Most Americans are in agreement with regard to immigration, supporting immigration policies that continue to allow high levels of immigration, so long as (A) enforcement efforts are bolstered and (B) current undocumented immigrants are allowed a way to "honorably" earn citizenship (i.e. instead of automatic granting of amnesty).

2. Many politicians ignore this consensus, fearing that a core group of supporters--mostly white males lacking college degrees (the author's words, not mine)--will wield influence beyond their numbers and shut down any policies falling in line with the above.

3. Barring the construction of a border wall, traditional law enforcement at the border simply does not work; the Border Patrol budget has tripled in size and quintupled in budget over the past decade, yet undocumented immigrants continue to arrive in the same if not greater numbers.

4. Given (1) and (3), the most intelligent way to improve enforcement would be to provide a legal avenue for most of the current stream of immigrants entering the country. The author analogizes this to the repeal of Prohibition, when allowing and regulating alcohol ended widespread lawlessness.

Again, not groundbreaking stuff, but it is helpful to see an establishment publication like Foreign Affairs addressing this issue in a sensible, unalarmist way. (I.e. instead of that Time magazine cover a couple years back, "The United States of Mexico.")

On Netflix, Evil Movies

2006-10-18T11:08:00.000-05:00

Last night I watched The Spirit of the Beehive, an early 1970s Spanish movie that Netflix pushed on me with furious anger and great vengeance. It's about a little girl in post-Civil War Spain who becomes obsessed with Frankenstein and decides to try to track him down by--of course!--running away to the Spanish countryside. She does not find him. Or she kind of does. I don't know, it sucked. I have no idea why the Rotten Tomatometer comes out at 100% for it, and frankly am starting to think that the thing stops working before the late 1990s.

The night before, I finally got around to watching Blue Velvet, a 1980s David Lynch film that's been on my list since Mulholland Drive. People warned me that it was going to be "disturbing" and that "[y]ou probably don't want to watch that one in mixed company." I didn't find it as disturbing as much as I found it incoherent, unlike Mulholland, which was effectively a riddle that made perfect sense once you knew the answer. I have to say, though, that Lynch is unparalleled in his ability to turn a perfectly nice oldie (i.e. "Blue Velvet") into a creepo sexual-deviant anthem.

Finally, I had no idea that this guy made two of the most disturbing movies I have ever seen: Pi and Requiem for a Dream. I had to turn off Pi after about fifteen minutes--this from the guy who watched The Piano Teacher start to finish, no dry-heave breaks. I didn't turn Requiem off, but I did watch it, in its entirety, with my brother, mother, and 86 year-old grandmother. Yeaaah. Anyway, Aronofsky is coming out with a new movie. I will not be seeing it.

All this being said, just so you don't think the Llama is not a movie snob (if you know me, you know that, generally, the more artsy/independent/French the movie, the better) or just a hater, let me make one recommendation: The Beat that My Heart Skipped.

Bill Clinton will not be the next president of Harvard

2006-10-17T14:22:00.000-05:00

The Harvard Crimson fronts a curious story on Bill Clinton becoming the next president of Harvard University. Curious because, if you read the article, it becomes exceedingly obvious that there is no chance in hell that Clinton will be named president. Rather, it appears that the writer’s chief motive was to publicly memorialize the fact that he shook hands with Bill.

In other news, however, a little bird recently told the Llama that Dean Harold Koh of the Yale Law School, currently a member of Harvard's Board of Overseers, is in fact high in the running for the presidency of Harvard. Not going to substantiate that. Just going to throw that out there.

Update: A now-medium-sized bird claims that Koh is in fact one of a handful of top candidates; the short-list also reportedly includes Elena Kagan, Dean of Harvard Law School. Again, no substantiation here.

The Llama on Patrol

2006-10-17T02:08:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: Names, places, and other things-that-may-or-may-not-have-happened have been (liberally) altered to protect the innocent, maximize entertainment, and minimize the Llama's chances of getting kicked out of his prosecution externship. In fact, I’m just going to come out in say that, if this were a book, it would be in the fiction section. But like historical fiction, a la The Interpretation of Murder.

Last night, I took the sweetest field trip ever: a six-hour ride-along with the local police department. Two domestic disturbance calls, one expired car registration, and one brief (very brief) high-speed pursuit later, I am considering dropping it all and joining the Force. A minute-by-minute recounting of the evening:

5:35pm: The Llama shows up at the station, five minutes fashionably en retard. He is ready to enforce some law.

5:43pm: The front desk officer explains that the Llama has been assigned Officer Thomas for his ride-along. He inquires, and is assured, that Officer Thomas is also ready to get his law on.

6:04pm: The Llama meets Officer Thomas. He is not a small man. (Small man = less than 6’5”, 275 pounds.)

6:18pm: Officer Thomas and the Llama respond to a domestic disturbance call.

6:19pm: Officer Thomas enters the premises and introduces himself to the complainants.

6:20pm: Officer Thomas is asked “[w]ho the hell...the short guy [is].”

6:21pm: The Llama introduces himself to the complainants.

6:21-6:53pm: Good ol’ fashioned sleuthing takes place. Llama Tip to Perps #1: If you are on crack, do not attempt to engage in prolonged conversation with an officer of the law. If you engage in such conversation, do not repeatedly interrupt yourself to scream “[w]here the f-ck is [your] pink jacket.”

6:54pm: Good ol’ fashioned arresting takes place.

7:13pm: Perp bus arrives and suspect is sent to jail.

7:14-7:36pm: Patrol mean streets.

7:37pm: Officer Thomas identifies a vehicle with an expired registration sticker.

7:39-7:53pm: Officer Thomas pulls over vehicle, calls in plates, and begins to interrogate driver. There is a Baby on Board.

7:53-8:01pm: Driver explains that his wife had just sent in renewal forms last week, which is a wholly satisfactory explanation given that registration expired several months ago. Plus, driver always gets pulled over all the time while all of these assholes who really do the bad stuff get nothing. Like, the other day there was a shooting on Elbridge Street. Why doesn’t Officer Thomas go look at their license plates.

8:02pm: Officer Thomas returns to patrol vehicle.

8:07pm: Good ol’ fashioned ticketing to the maximum extent provided for by law takes place.

8:13-9:03pm: Code 46 (Dinner)

9:07pm: Upon exiting the parking lot, Officer Thomas observes blue Toyota Camry idling in front of a brick house 50 yards down the street.

9:09pm: Officer Thomas passes vehicle on left hand side of the road, making visual contact with driver.

9:09:01pm: Driver peels out of parking spot in opposite direction. Llama Tip to Perps #2: if you are in the process of selling or purchasing narcotics, and make eye contact with a police officer, you will want to at least wait until the officer is no longer looking at you to mouth an obscenity, appear obviously distressed, and peel out of your parking spot.

9:09:02pm: Officer Thomas does a U-turn and accelerates at maximum speed in pursuit of suspect.

9:09:03pm-9:11pm: --Awesomeness--

9:12pm: Officer Thomas admits that he no longer has any idea where suspect went.

9:13pm: The Llama assures Officer Thomas that this sort of thing happens all the time, really, it’s no big deal, we can still cuddle and stuff and have a good time.

9:14-10:05pm: Patrol mean streets some mo'.

10:06pm: The Llama realizes that Officer Thomas does not know that Llama is only authorized to ride-along until 10:00pm. Llama does not make significant effort to inform him of this mistake.

10:07-10:34pm: Patrol mean street in stationary vehicle.

10:35pm: Officer Thomas responds to second domestic disturbance call of the evening.

10:41pm: Officer Thomas meets alleged complainant and her boyfriend, both affiliates of local university.

10:53pm: It is unclear to Officer Thomas, and to the Llama, whether alleged complainant and her boyfriend were actually part of a domestic dispute, or if neighbors called the cops as part of a very peculiar, if not amusing, form of class warfare.

10:56pm: Officer Thomas informs the Llama that he needs to stop by nearby deserted police substation “to, like, fill out some papers.”

11:04pm: Officer Thomas and the Llama arrive and enter substation.

11:06-11:30pm: The Daily Show With John Stewart

11:46pm: Officer Thomas drives the Llama home. The Llama is disappointed that no one observes him getting out of a law enforcement vehicle.

11:47pm: Important work has been completed; there is peace and justice, and a little bit of law enforcement, in this world.

Valentin Paniagua, 1936-2006

2006-10-17T00:11:00.000-05:00

The Llama is sad to report the death of Valentin Paniagua, the former President of Peru who led the country back to democracy after a decade of increasingly corrupt rule under Alberto Fujimori. He was only in office for eight months, but the honesty and transparency with which he conducted his administration set a high standard for subsequent governments.

I actually had the chance to get to know Paniagua a couple years ago. In college, I was part of a group called HACIA Democracy that, in addition to running a model OAS conference in Central America, brought politicians and other prominent Latin American speakers directly to campus. One winter morning in early 2002, a classmate and I were charged with picking up Paniagua from Logan Airport and taking him to his guest room on the Harvard campus.

I could tell straight away that he was a quality guy when, faced with the sight of two college students who clearly had no idea how to tie their ties--let alone what to do/say/bring when one greets a former head of state--he just smiled and said he was happy to see us. We took him home in a Yellow Cab.

Throughout his visit--including a dinner and question and answer session with HACIA folks--he was exceedingly understated, yet still quite dignified and direct. I don't remember exactly what he said when I asked him about Lori Berenson, but I remember thinking that it was all eminently reasonable, how silly of me to question such a thing, etc. etc. And even though he called me "Arturo" when he said goodbye a day or two later--he probably never knew my name to begin with--it was a privilege to know him.

Rick Santorum, Party Animal

2006-10-16T12:38:00.000-05:00

The New York Times came out with a great article today analyzing the GOP’s strategy entering the last three weeks of campaigning. The Republicans are in full crisis mode, “circling their wagons” and cutting off funding to candidates they think are dead in the water. Who are we talking about? In the Senate, that’s DeWine (R-OH), Burns (R-MT), Chafee (R-RI), and (drumroll, please) Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania. This should come as no surprise, as Santorum has been consistently trailing in the polls in spite of having almost twice as much money.

What does this mean for Santorum, though? A huuuge party. This summer I spent some time on the Hill in a committee office down the hall from Santorum’s personal office (i.e. where he actually has his desk). When you walk by any senator’s personal office, you notice certain quirks about it. Obama’s has lots of pictures of Lincoln and serves Baby Ruth candy bars (made in Chicago). Kennedy’s has beautiful photographs and tons of Kennedy family memorabilia. I never saw the front (or just-inside) of Santorum’s office, though, because it was always mobbed by 30 people eagerly awaiting His arrival. Yep, Santorum loves getting a war-hero welcome whenever he comes back from a floor vote, and arranges for visiting parties to wait outside his office to shower him with praise, high-fives, and “Senator! Senator!” photo ops. Pretty hilarious when you stop thinking about how creepy it is.

(The funny thing I noticed is that half of the people waiting were invariably schoolchildren who were too young/naive/tied to their teacher with a harness to realize that they were waiting to meet the kind of guy who, inter alia, criticizes Katrina victims for ignoring storm warnings and proposes that we increase punishments for those who decide to “ride it out.” Upstanding dude, Rick Santorum.)

The thing to realize, though, is that this was in June, when Santorum was already ten points down in the polls. It was his way of giving himself a mid-day ego boost; how bad can it be when Mrs. Petley's first grade class is adamant that you are the coolest Vice President ever? Anyway, you can only imagine what sorts of ragers Team Santorum is throwing now that his own party has counted him out.

The Llama Sings and Confuses Older Folks

2006-10-15T16:39:00.000-05:00

Last night and this morning my a cappella group at the law school, Six Angry Men, performed for ten of the eleven alumni classes having reunions at the law school. We just did two numbers—"Coney Island Baby" and a medley of "Twist and Shout" and "La Bamba"—but it was a lot of fun. And educational too: we quickly learned that certain classes would respond differently to the same joke depending on their graduation year.

This was easiest to see in Coney Island Baby, where we always have one person say something—typically a pickup line—after the verse “We all fall for / some girl that dresses neat / some girl that’s got big feet / we meet her on the street…” At first, we had Rich blurt out “Nice shoes!” (The first half of the old standard, “Nice shoes, wanna [have some tea]?”) It was a bit of a disappointment when the Class of 1991 did not appreciate—or appear to understand—the comedic significance here. So at our next stop, the Class of 1976, we decided to take the gloves off and have Rich switch to the more obvious “You’re not a cop, are you?” Judging by the fact that not a single person laughed, this, too, was not ideal. Eventually we opted for the family-friendly “Did I mention I go to law school?” This, to our dismay, was pure gold.

When we reached the oldest class, however—the Class of 1956—we realized that our audience was facing a different problem: the utter inability to understand what is going on. The first sign came in between our two songs, when Rich was explaining that we wished we could stick around but that we had to go to other classes... plus we only knew two songs. About thirty seconds after the laughter died down, pretty much in some dead space, a certain gentleman of a certain age shot his glass up in the air and yelled “Bon soir!” Like with real gusto.

(In case you are wondering if this was, in fact, appropriate, I can assure you that (A) no one else was toasting, (B) or speaking French, and (C) it was 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Okay, I’m lying about the 3 o’clock part, but you have to admit this was incomprehensible.)

The second sign came when, after I finished singing La Bamba—which I sing in Spanish—Senator Arlen Specter ’56 approached me and asked me where I got my “excellent Caribbean rhythm.” Then he asked Dan who his "barber" was. Then he explained that when he was in law school, he was part of a men's singing group called "the Oversextette." Then he offered all of us jobs on the Judiciary Committee. He was pretty much all over the place.

The Iraq War Has Killed Over 650,000 Iraqis

2006-10-15T16:11:00.000-05:00

...according to this latest study published by the British medical journal The Lancet. Not only that, the article also shows that Iraqi mortality rates have actually increased at every step of the conflict. The American death toll isn't getting any smaller, either. What a disaster.

It's the War on Drugs, Stupid

2006-10-15T15:25:00.000-05:00

In college, I took a course with George Borjas, a professor at Harvard's Kennedy School of Government. Borjas is a controversial conservative economist who focuses on immigration issues. A Cuban immigrant himself, Borjas has been widely criticized for arguing that immigration is hurting the U.S. economy, particularly by decreasing wages and job opportunities for low-skilled Americans. I knew all of this before taking his class, but (A) he was the only economist at Harvard who taught a whole class on immigration (sound familiar?) and (B) I was on an "open mind" kick at the time that was highly overrated.

In the end, I thought Borjas' class was fair, and I actually grew to like the guy personally. I always suspected that he was a bit of a showhorse, however, picking topics and reaching conclusions that were guaranteed to draw media attention.

I can now make up my mind: in mid-September Borjas released this paper arguing that immigrants not only take away jobs and decrease the wages of African-Americans, but that by increasing black unemployment rates, they indirectly lead to higher rates of black incarceration. Borjas does this by tracking employment, wage, and incarceration data from 1960 to 2000.

(Good media strategy, George: argue that the fastest growing demographic group in the country is actually putting the second-largest minority group in the country in jail. You win the Shiny Happy People Award for Neighborhood Relations.)

Problem? I'll leave the economic critique to the economists, but I'll put on my law student hat to point out that Borjas in no way accounts for the drastic changes in federal drug laws in that same time period. This is a glaring mistake, as that period included both the 1971 declaration of the War on Drugs by Richard Nixon, and the 1988 founding of the Office of National Drug Control Policy, home of the super-coolly-named "Drug Czar." Borjas does account for the number of cocaine busts carried out by the DEA in 1980-2000 by creating a so-called "crack index"--no joke--but even he admits that does not account for other aspects of "the criminal-justice response to the crack problem."

Overall, I have to say that I'm very weary of articles that exploit the tension in relations between Hispanics and African-Americans. The New York Times released figures last Sunday showing that Hispanics and African-Americans together comprise 35.8% of the U.S. population (follow this link and click on the infographic; you'll note that Hispanics clock in at an incredible 20.5%). With so many shared socioeconomic interests, if Hispanics and blacks work together, this nation could be due for a major progressive revival come 15 or 20 years, when larger portions of the Hispanic population attain citizenship and/or reach voting age. This will not happen, however, if Hispanics are cast as a direct threat to the black community, something that Mr. Borjas and his colleagues have willfully or negligently accomplished.

Sad but true

2006-10-14T01:08:00.000-05:00

I don't know where Tom got this, but it is brilliant. I had to stare at it for a while, but it is all true. Correct me if I'm wrong, guys.

This also falls nicely within this subject heading, and is particularly a propos given my recent Kim Jong-il kick. Check the date, then cry.

We Just Want to Make Sure You're "Safe"

2006-10-13T23:56:00.000-05:00

Today, I went with some students from the prosecution externship to visit the United States Coast Guard Academy. It was a great day trip: we had a long talk with the “Coastie” lawyers about their jobs, took a guided tour of several boats, and ate at the officers’ mess hall. Tastiest (and only) lobster cheddar melt sandwich I’ve ever had.

The best part of the trip, though, came when we were talking to the enlisted man who led the tour of the boats. Since we’re always talking in class about probable cause—-exactly what the police need to know to perform a search—-one of our classmates asked what legal standard the Coast Guard had to meet in order to be able to stop a ship and search it.

Without missing a beat, the guy said, “Oh, no, we don’t have to worry about that. Because while we need probable cause to search a ship, we always have the right to board a ship to perform a ‘safety’ inspection.” He actually put “safety” in air quotes. All the students laughed and the lawyers just kind of looked at their feet. I’m pretty sure he will not be talking to any more law students anytime soon.

Reflections on Kim Jong-il, Global Thermonuclear War

2006-10-13T02:33:00.000-05:00

Secretive, all-powerful, and completely fucking crazy, Kim Jong-il makes the rest of the axis of evil look like the Haley Joel Osment fan club. Example? Kim Jong-il likes movies. So he kidnaps his favorite movie director and his wife, smuggles them into North Korea, and has them make him movies. Kim Jong-il also likes pizza. So he flies out several elite Italian chefs...and their ovens...and has them make him pizza. In the middle of a famine. Kim Jong-il also likes NBA basketball. You get the picture? (Run while you can, Shaquille.) Further thoughts on the fourth horseman:

1. Will this man be directly responsible for my death?

2. Where can I get a suit like this?

3. Assuming KJI does indeed kill me--and I'm not the only one--something tells me this will not phase him. "Fifteen million? Right. Who wants to play basketball?"

4. How do I get hair like this?*

5. Genocide and cult of personality aside, can you imagine a day in this dude's life? Hmm... wake up, take a bath in Honey Nut Cheerios, have hair pulled, threaten to deploy tactical nuclear device, play with pet orangutan and Komodo dragon, etc.

6. Given that this guy is clearly out of his mind, though, it's possible that he is just terribly misunderstood. Like, he wants to take over the world, but only so that he can throw a really sweet pizza party.

7. I don’t care if Mark Foley is eating congressional pages, this is pretty much the story we should be watching.

8. I would strongly prefer not to die.

* Answer: You pull it. Five minutes every morning. Christopher Walken famously said so in this Playboy interview.

Go See Eurydice

2006-10-12T00:14:00.000-05:00

I went to see the Yale Rep's production of Eurydice tonight. It was stunning, and you need to go see it before it closes on October 14th. I could drown it in superlatives like the New York Times did here and here, but instead I'll just say one thing.

Beyond being funny, poignant, and beautifully designed, the play was full of these moments and gestures that were so different, so new, that you couldn't help but be swallowed up by them. The way that Eurydice's father makes her a house out of a single, long thread, or the way people in Hades forget how to read (or write, or speak) and try to stand on letters to read them--it was like watching Miyazaki, or reading that part in Life of Pi where the kid lands on the seaweed island. I loved it.

The Llama Salutes

2006-10-11T16:10:00.000-05:00

George W. Bush. And Jesus. The press release is pretty good, too.

It is only a matter of time

2006-10-11T10:24:00.000-05:00

First this, then they they will acquire speech, monopolize all sources of potable water, make an alliance with the computers, and take over the world.

NB: Apologies to those who have seen this before. The Llama admits he is kind of intoxicated by this video.

The Case Against Slate

2006-10-11T00:48:00.000-05:00

Like everyone else, I started out loving Slate. It had interesting, offbeat articles, provided insightful news coverage, and also had "The Explainer," a neat section where this guy answers all your most pressing questions, from "What is that spray that soccer players get sprayed on them when they get injured?" to "How many cellphones can fit in one rear end?"

As I read more, however, I noticed that Slate has a nasty habit of publishing vicious criticism of the pop culture icon du jour. Not your standard What-the-hell-happened-to-Michael-Jackson pieces, but rather stuff like this story on Zach Braff, Scrubs star and director of Garden State, and more recently, The Last Kiss. Thesis? That Zach Braff is a talentless hack whose movies (TV shows/writing/stuff-he-does) do not represent his (our?) generation. "Never has the voice of a generation had so little of substance to say." Okaaay.

The piece that really got me though, was this bizarrely emphatic character assassination of... Harry Potter.

I may have only read the first three Harry Potter books... in Spanish... but apparently I missed the fact that Harry is actually a "glory hog who unfairly receives credit for the accomplishments of others and who skates through school by taking advantage of his inherited wealth and his establishment connections."

I have never met you, Chris Suellentrop, but you appear to be an unholy combination of Karl Marx, the Grinch, and my freshman year expository writing teacher. Why you gotta hate like that, Chris? Isn’t the kid (A) an orphan with (B) a horribly disfiguring facial scar that (C) glows? Oh wait, you knew about that whole orphan part. ("Did your mom love you? Good, maybe you deserve to be a hero, too.") The Llama orders you to get out of your basement library carrel and get some sunlight, homes.

Who’s next, Nancy Reagan? Or better yet, how about kittens?

Post-script to Mr. Suellentrop: Lest the Llama not practice what he preaches, also know that the Llama loves you for who you are, and you should only get that gym membership if you really want to, don’t worry about me, really.

Here goes

2006-10-11T00:45:00.000-05:00

Well aware that this may end up as another poorly tended and attended blog (see Westlaw Ninja, supra), I hereby christen a new... blog. Truth and justice and, like, other stuff, will be dispensed freely.

Yours,
The Llama