Whole Milk Married

For the past two days, much of the American political world's attention was on the U.S. Supreme Court as it heard two high profile cases on the subject of gay marriage.  On Tuesday, the Court heard arguments on California's Proposition 8, while yesterday they heard arguments on the 1996 Defense of Marriage Act.  But the action was not just in the Court.  Outside the Court, crowds gathered to make their opinions heard, many bearing clever and classic signs in support of gay marriage.  And those who lacked either the geographic proximity or the time to travel down to the Court made their opinions heard online, most notably by turning Facebook into a wall of red equals signs, or variants thereof.
 
Many words have been exchanged on the subject, in the Court, online, in newspapers, and on television, but the most memorable line of the two days came from Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, when she said that defending DOMA was essentially saying that there are "two kinds of marriage, there's full marriage and then there's sort of skim milk marriage."  These words will no doubt be among the most memorable of these historic proceedings, and long-time readers know I'm not one to let talk of food and politics pass by without a more thorough analysis.
 
First, there's Justice Ginsburg's choice of marriage-related beverage.  Why milk?  Champagne is probably the beverage most traditionally associated with marriage, but there's no champagne-lite sort of equivalent.  But what about beer?  Traditional marriage could be the Miller High Life marriage, while in comes the nasty-ass Miller Lite marriage offered to same-sex married couples.  Though maybe Justice Ginsburg was avoiding alcoholic beverages to keep things family friendly.  After all, this is marriage we're talking about, and the support of the stable family was a frequent topic of conversation over the two days.  So why not a soda parallel?  "Marriage" and "Diet Marriage" seems a lot easier to say off the cuff.  And let's be honest, much more of the American public would understand a soda reference than a milk one.  Or is talking about soda a political taboo right now after Bloomberg's failed soda ban.

No, Justice Ginsburg went with milk.  Traditional marriage defenders and fans of Freud rejoice, she picked milk!  Milk, of course!  Milk, as in breast milk, as in mother's milk, as in a mother and a father.  Gotcha, Ginsburg!  You've been tangled up in your own words, because the only milk that matters in marriage is the mother's milk, further support for the argument that children need a mother and a father.  Boom.  Seems you've been breasted, Justice.  But wait!  Could there be an argument for milk that would support gay marriage?  Milk that the gay crowd could get behind, huh?  Oh!  How about Harvey Milk, gay rights activist and the first openly gay man elected to public office in America?  (Also notorious Oreo fan.)  So the word choice doesn't mean subconscious support for one side or another after all.

If you think about it quickly, though, what Justice Ginsburg is proposing doesn't sound that bad.  For straight married couples, Whole Milk Marriage.  Gay couples, you get Skim Milk Marriage.  Sure, it's not as rich and creamy as Whole Milk Marriage, but it's a marriage alternative that won't raise your cholesterol and make you fat.  Sounds good to me!  All the health-conscious homosexuals should be lapping this up, right?  But think on it a little longer.  Cooking up a pop-over?  Hope you've got Whole Milk.  A nice rich cream sauce?  Skim's not gonna cut it.  And in the recipe book I've got for my ice cream maker, guess how many recipes call for skim milk.  Zero.  That's right, a Skim Milk Marriage is a marriage without ice cream, and a marriage without ice cream... Well, that's hardly a marriage at all.  At least, it's certainly not the kind of marriage I want.

And maybe Justice Ginsburg picked her milk metaphor knowing just how well it could be carried across to other types of milk and marriages.  It is a fact universally acknowledged that a tall, cold glass of chocolate milk is delicious.  And if we expand Justice Ginsburg's metaphor, Chocolate Milk Marriages have been a legal right since 1967's Loving v. Virginia.  And civil unions?  Justice Ginsburg would simply point to products like Lactaid and Silk.  Sure, they'll tell you a Milk Substitute Civil Union tastes just like the real deal... But everyone knows that's total bullshit.  There's something about that Whole Milk Marriage, and substitutes just don't cut it.

And speaking of Lactaid, there comes the final parallel of Milk and Marriage.  Plenty of people cut milk and dairy out of their diet entirely, or they seek out Lactaid-like alternatives, because they are lactose intolerant.  They can't drink milk.  Their stomachs turn, they get bloated and upset if they consume even the slightest quantity of milk, skim or whole.  And, let's face it, there are people out there who have the same reaction to gay marriage.  Except, here's where the parallel falls apart.  Because people who are lactose intolerant just cut milk from their own diets.  They don't try to go around stopping everyone else from drinking milk.

Not being able to digest milk, so you stop drinking it yourself?  That's lactose intolerant.  Not being able to digest the idea of gay marriage, so you work to stop gay people from getting married?  That's just intolerant.

So, while I raised my glass of crumb-filled 1% for Oreo's birthday, now I raise my glass of hope-filled whole milk that when the time comes I will be able to get Whole Milked Married.

Odd Jobs and Random Tasks

Following on yesterday's report, one reader provided an interesting essay on why some book-to-movie adaptations fall short of our hopes.  (Hint: It's got something to do with the "master" part of masterpiece.)  We'll see if Baz proves up to the test by making something Great this summer...  Another reaches further back into literary canon and provides another Fleetwood Macbeth quote, this from Duncan's ghost's monologue: "I know there's nothing to say.  Someone has taken my place."

As today's Report headline suggests, we're tackling the working world today.  (Sorry for those who thought we were discussing diminutive Bond villainsand their Austin Powers parody counterparts...)  Specifically, we're taking a behind the scenes look at 15 different jobs, from dominatrix to paramedic.  The stories these men and women at work tell provide interesting glimpses at what actually goes on in worlds we may not know about.  Trust me, it's worth pushing through the shocking disturbingness of the dominatrix profile to get to the rest, though hers is probably the only place you will hear "I can be in my dungeon for up to seven hours" today.  The Undertaker's perspective proves HBO's Six Feet Under did its research, while the five year unpaid intern suggests maybe something about the intern system is broken and/or illegal.  Plus, if you don't feel like reading, you can just check out the cute little graphic representations... Though in real life I've never encountered a cab driver who looks like Travis Bickle.

Finally from our continuing Coincidences series, an extended story (to make up for a short report) about a college interview:

Georgetown was the first of my college interviews. I remember feeling incredibly nervous as I pulled up to the house of my alumni interviewer, a local judge who lived in the next town over. I was wearing a newly acquired navy suit skirt (the first time I actually had use for such an item of clothing) and uncomfortable grown- up shoes. I rang the doorbell, hesitantly. A dog started barking wildly from inside.

"Come on in", I hear, " I just need to put the dog away." As I open the front door, I see the alum interviewer struggling to gate off the kitchen in order to keep some large animal inside.

"Oh, that's fine, I don't mind. I love dogs. We have a brown-and-white Brittany Spaniel at home named Molly."

The interviewer stopped trying to wrestle with the dog. He looked a little taken by surprise. I took one step closer, peered  in the kitchen, and saw none other than a brown-and-white Brittany Spaniel.

"Her name's Molly", he said.

It's an odd world!  It's also Nathan Fillion's birthday!  If you don't know who that is, maybe you've seen him at the gym?  No, he doesn't go to the gym. He's just naturally like that.

For the Record Books

I had been sort of planning to continue March Madness tournament coverage this week, but after Friday's embarrassing rout of Georgetown, I'm gonna keep quiet on that topic for a while longer.

Instead, let's talk about adaptation.  Not the Charlie Kaufman film that features a rare good performance from Nicholas Cage.  (For more Nicholas Cage performances, try Nicholas Cage Roulette - "C'mon, Kick-Ass, c'mon Kick-Ass. Damn! Face-Off!")  The practice of adaptation, while often criticized as a sign of creative stagnation, is nothing new in the storytelling world.  Book to movie, comic book to movie, movie to novel based on the motion picture, book to musical to questionably cast movie musical, book to movie to video game, video game to cartoon series, comic book to cartoon series to video game to more modern video game... There is no shortage of examples for all of these, but there is a notable exception to the world of adaptation: The record-to-book or film divide really hasn't been crossed.

Sure, there's Fantasia and sequel, which provided beautiful depictions of classical compositions and an iconic Mickey image, but that's the only feature-length film example I can think of.  In terms of shorter pieces, there's Prokofiev's "Peter and the Wolf," originally released as song-and-book to teach kids the parts of the orchestra, and since adapted into films.  In that same spirit, pseudonymous author Lemony Snicket has created the song-and-book combination "The Composer Is Dead," which seems to be a more interesting and humorous teaching tool.

Luckily, the Internet is working hard to rectify this situation.  First, artist Christophe Gowans has developed a series of book covers interpreting whatfamous albums would have been had they been released as books.  If the covers alone weren't entertaining enough, he's written up small descriptions of what each book would be.  Highlights include the Queen murder mysteries, Beach Boys board book, and a classic aviation safety booklet.

In the other direction is the Coudal Partners produced "Booking Bands" project, combining famous books with famous bands.  The full list merits thorough giggle-filled examination, and stands out as a piece of collaborative wordplay genius.  But some of my favorites include "Abba Karenina," "Anne of Al Green Gables," "A Christmas Carol Channing," "Neutral Milk Hotel New Hampshire," "Fleetwood Macbeth," and "The Five Village People You Meet In Heaven."  (Should that last one happen in real life, you're probably actually in some sort of Hell.)  Bonus Points for anyone who can produce some sample lyrics from some of these bands...

And finally, on a more serious note: the 33 1/3 series is a series of books written about albums.  I've only read one of these books, in which The Mountain Goats' John Darnielle writes brilliantly on Black Sabbath's Master of Reality.  Still there are many on the list I hope to one day check out.  Particularly If You're Feeling Sinister, Tusk, and In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.

That's plenty for today... Tomorrow we'll talk jobs and share a few more coincidences.  

As Fleetwood Macbeth would say, "Don't stop thinking about tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow."

Bracketology-ology

After a week of careful thought and study, no doubt you are all starting that two and a half week process that is getting frustrated at failing to see the obvious upsets that will upset your March Madness brackets.  ("Harvard! Of course, Harvard! It's their big damned brains!")  (Yes, I get my sports news from NPR. What of it?)  In the spirit of hindsight being twenty-twenty, I studied up on some alternative -ologies that you could have used to picked your brackets that might have had a better shot of getting you to office sports gambling glory.
 
1.  Mascots.  This is always the most obvious alternative to, y'know, actually following sports stuff.  The somehow affiliated with Arizona State Athletics website House of Sparky put together a mascot bracket and commentary of their own and, while I question their final result, I agree with certain fundamentals.  They are absolutely right that "human mascots just don't move the needle."  Human mascots are weird.  A guy with a weird human head dancing around is just... Well, a guy with a weird human head dancing around.  But make that guy a lion or tiger or bear... Oh my!  You've got yourself a mascot.  (As long as we're disqualifying non-animals, fruits need not apply either.  Suck it, 'cuse.)  That said, there's no way Boomer's blue eyes should bring him past Georgetown's REAL LIFE Jack the Bulldog(s), let alone on to the finals.
 
2.  Alumni.  The Internet has found at least two ways do go on this one.  First, you can go for the most embarrassing alum and rank based on that.  Here you've got mostly reviled athletes toward the bottom (less embarrassing), along with weird YouTube celebrity and Tom from MySpace.  But as you start to climb toward the Top Ten, things get dark real fast... Like murderer dark.  Though Guy Fieri rightfully finds his place up there, along with Bruce Vilanch.  Oh, and of course Syracuse continues to produce such utter crap as Marmaduke.  Another (better) way to go about this is to rank in terms of coolest alum, like Sports Illustrated did.  Tricky part here is that coolness tends to correlate with dropping out of college, so a lot of these so called "coolest alums" aren't really full alums, including Brad Pitt who puts Missouri at #1 on this list in spite of leaving two weeks before completing his degree.  (Seriously, your film career couldn't wait fourteen days, Brad? Had to rush off to play "Guy at Beach with Drink" in the absolutely terrible sounding Hunk?)  Great to see coolness spread across all fields, too, with actors, artists, athletes, and authors all finding a place in the Top Ten.  Also great for my morale:  Seeing the achievement of another Georgetown English major properly recognized. 
 
3.  Religious Devotion. Too late now, but the next time that the time for picking a new Pope falls in March, be ready for some Sweet Sistine March Madness brackets.  Tricky thing about this bracket?  The winner doesn't even appear!  Talk about a Jesuit dark horse!  And while we're on the subject...
 
4.  Blind Devotion.  Georgetown's winning it all this year, right?  (Okay, but actually, I do have them in my Final Four.)

5.  Blind Ignorance.  All this pretending like you know stuff about sports at work is stressful!  Just ignore it all together and participate in this infinitely cuter Animal March Madness bracket that buzzfeed is doing.  The first round is done, and while I really don't see any way for otters to lose (I'm predicting an otter-quokkas final), I'll be following every round of this tournament.  And don't worry, I'll keep you all posted.
 
Finally, we'll wrap things up today with a long overdue reader submitted story of coincidence.  A brief one to start the ball rolling:

David and I both had the same desktop background when we met.

Removed from any context, not particularly thrilling... Until you learn that the David in question is now that reader's husband!  Certainly the most romantic coincidence we received!

Remember to say completely moronic observational things when watching the Madness tonight, in honor of yet another sports atrocity from Syracuse University, Orange dropout Bob Costas, who turns 61 today.

No Coincidence, No Story

After nearly a month off due to meeting commitments, travel, and GRE Prep we're back.  Before we get underway this week, a recap.

Previously, On "The Morning Report":  After a week covering Zambonis, 30 Rock, and the Super Bowl, the Report tackled the real world of fake estates, exploring famous homes of fiction.  I asked readers for help naming my home and identifying famous homes of the American literature scene.  One reader suggested my name did not play strongly enough into "Marshmolie," and offered "Marshmouslie" instead.  Another strongly agreed with the proposed "Creaking Tree."  In terms of literary homes, several minds leaped to the [Fall of the] House of Usher.  One of our most dedicated responders provided several more, including Little Women's Plumfield, Cheaper by the Dozen's "The Shoe," "Sunnybrook Farm" (of Rebecca of fame), and Streetcar Named Desire's famous, though unseen, "Belle Reve."

But: Back to today.  This morning I listened to this week's episode of This American Life, "No Coincidence, No Story."  At first, the title sounds like a demanding criterion for submission, and this is true:  All the pieces featured in this week's episode (and the extras featured online) include moments of coincidence.  Coincidences of all sorts. From the mundane (seeing someone twice in the same day) to the morbid (a body under a manhole cover).  From the gut churning (a tale of two pukers) to the heart wrenching (reunions with long absent fathers).  But the title actually refers to a Chinese saying with wider implications: "No coincidence, no story" -- Without coincidences, we wouldn't have the stories we tell at all. 

Moments of apparently fated chance can be found along the branches, if not at the very root, of the stories we tell, read, and watch.  Lost built six seasons out of curious connections.  The hand of fate guides the characters of Thomas Hardy through crossroads and often lead to their downfalls, as in The Mayor of Casterbridge and Tess of the D'Urbervilles.  One of my favorite films, Magnolia, features my favorite film opening, in which a narrator describes three stories of incredible chance and coincidence.  (While I cannot find a video online, the stories he tells are the second monologue on this page).  While moments of coincidence feature prominently in the fiction we consume, they also tend to take center stage in the factual reflections we produce.  And maybe we're just adding structure to the randomness of life... Or maybe these strange things happen all the time.

Consider: Wandering alone through an open bar welcome reception for study abroad students when I was in London, I saw a face that seemed somehow familiar. (Perhaps it was the fact that he was a ginger. Actually, that was definitely it.)  Turns out the whole group was from Georgetown.  Ryan (the ginger) and I would end up traveling all over Europe together, but only after a conversation in which we realized that I had spent the previous semester living with a good friend of his.  And not only that, but that he would be living with that friend and another friend and former roommate in the following year in a house that I had opted not to live in!

Consider: Getting drinks with some co-workers after work, it came up that one of my co-workers, Joe, is a New Hampshire resident.  He asked where in New Hampshire I was from, and I gave my standard answer: "A town about fifteen minutes from the coast... The Exeter area."  "Where in the Exeter area?"  "Stratham..."  Anticipating a vague awareness, what I got instead was a surprise: "I'm from Stratham."  Turns out Jim was neighbors with one of my closest friends from elementary school.  Now I work in Virginia three feet from someone whose property I almost definitely trespassed on as a kid in New Hampshire!

And the list goes on...

But... Rather than ramble on about my own coincidences, I want to hear about yours!  I'm putting out another call for reader submissions, which I can tack on a few at a time to the Report for the next couple of days.  Send in your stories of run-ins with friends in strange places, odd encounters, numbers that seem to be haunting you, and any other coincidence you've come across in your life.

Looking forward to hearing from you on this one!


"And it is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just 'Something That Happened.' This cannot be 'One of Those Things... ' This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This Was Not Just A Matter Of Chance. Ohh. These strange things happen all the time."  --Magnolia

Fake Estate

Today's Report comes as a result of a story run yesterday by The Daily Beast:  F. Scott Fitzgerald's Baltimore home is for sale.  The 113 year old home sounds quite nice, but as the newsblurb says, it's not exactly the West Egg mansion of Jay Gatsby.  Even still, the Beast links to a list of Nine Illustrious Houses in Fiction, which includes Gatsby's mansion.  Interestingly, Gatsby's Mansion, incorrectly referred to as "West Egg" on the list, is the only one of the nine houses that doesn't have a formal name.  Pemberely, Brideshead, Tara... All these illustrious residences come with similarly illustrious names.  So what's going on there?  When did we stop naming our houses?
 
The Internet suggests that doing so is a distinctly British custom, as a quick search for the practice of doing so provides information on official methods of naming and this entertaining history of/guide for naming.  Where are the names of American homes?  Where are our Skyfalls and Manderlays?  Let's bring this practice back!  The question becomes, how do we pick the name?  Some sort of factor of the environment?  Mine could be Creaking Tree.  A combination of the names of its residents?  I'll check and see what my housemates think of Marshmolie. (Rhymes with Molly, not guacamole.)  Can we just name it Winterfell?
 
But: Let's circle back to literature for a moment.  Is it a function of the Britishness of naming houses that so many of literature's famous houses are British?  Consider the list above:  Six of the nine listings are from British literature.  Is it just because named houses are easier to reference?  Or is there a dearth of houses in American literature?  When I think about what houses were missing from the list, my mind goes straight from house to Holmes, and wonders about 221B Baker Street.  Then to Bag End.  Then, even though I haven't read it, on to Bleak House.
 
When I try to think of houses in American literature, I have much less success.  The first image my mind produces is the completely uninhabitable floating house the Huck and Jim find upon in the river.  When I finally arrive at an actual house, I think of Mark Z Danielewski's House of Leaves, but here the home is shifting and changing and impossible, bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.  The residences that I think of in American literature are of a more temporary nature:  The Overlook Hotel, the mental institution of Nurse Ratched, the Ennet House Drug and Alcohol Recovery House (sic)... Is it something about the nature of mobility and change that characterize American literature?  Is it because we name institutions and not houses?  Or is it because I'm just failing to think of any good examples, when really there are a whole bunch out there?
 
Readers, never before have I been so curious about what you have to say.  What would you name your house?  What should I name my house?  And where are the houses of American literature?

I promise something less academic and rambling tomorrow, but til then I'm thinking about my house (in the middle of my street).

First Downs and First Dogs

I hope you all had pleasant weekends and were able to gather with friends and food for the Puppy Bowl and the Beyonce Concert with special guest, Football.  I'll admit to only really knowing the team preference of one of our readers in this game, but his dedication to his team had me rooting for them from home... So I was sad to see the 49ers fall under the Unkindness of Ravens.  (Seriously, that is what a group of ravens is called.  Look it up.)  The game certainly wasn't without its twists and turns.  Viewers at my home argued that the blackout came as a result of Jim Harbaugh resorting to the strategy he has when he's losing against his brother in Madden: Pull the plug.  But for the sake of that one reader, I won't dwell on the football game here.

Instead, let's turn to the Puppy Bowl.  Remember how I had my money on Eli?  Well, scoring one touch down, Eli was one of the final contenders considered for the title of MVP(uppy).  He ultimately lost out to the love mi hermano, Marta.  While Marta's bold play in the face of puppies twice her size (has anyone tested for steroids) certainly helped seal her victory, it couldn't have helped Eli's case that in the entire two hour broadcast he was the only puppy to poop on the field... I sure know how to pick 'em.

In other dog news, we turn today to the sad passing of Barney Bush, First Dog during the presidency of George W. Bush.  Barney, a Scottish Terrier, passed away last Friday at age 12.  While sad, this news also opens the question of why a Scottish dog held such a prominent American office.  And this trend has only continued into the Obama administration, with the title passing to Bo, a Portuguese Water Dog.  Perhaps it was part of an effort to assure Americans of his loyalties that Bo Obama received visiting Dognitaries from Furuguay at the end of January.  Glad to see the First Dog keeping a close eye on the Tailiban presence in Arfghanistan.  Fighting terrierism is important to all nations, and certainly earns Bo the honor of Good Boy!

Live your life "as a model for others."  It's the 100th anniversary of Rosa Parks' birth.