Winners

Tonight, we actually have a newsworthy photo to share with you. Above is the scene at the end of the Warriors game, where the officials are reviewing the tape to decide if the game is, well, really over.

It was, and the Warriors beat the Grizzlies, 110-107.



Earlier this morning, at his basketball camp, my 13-year-old was told by his coaches that he has a "future" in basketball. As soon as he got home, he told me about that.

Tonight, thanks to my extremely generous buddy, Tom, Aidan got to watch NBA stars like Monta Ellis and Baron Davis and Mickael Pietrus drive to the rim again and again, seemingly floating on air until the climactic moment when they gently set the basketball over the rim and into the hoop.



We were sitting in the fourth row, court-side, in section one.



We could see the visiting team close-up.



This close to the court, NBA players are not only appear to be the giants they truly are, they are super-humans.

Why?

Speed. How can organisms this large move that fast? No matter kids believe in super heroes. There actually are some. In case you didn't notice, most of them are black. Lately, a sizable number of Eastern Europeans have joined the top ranks of this American super sport; and even a few Chinese players with thyroid disorders.

Meanwhile, several South American players have made an impact, not to mention Caribbeans, Italians, Frenchmen, and Russians.



Yep, the NBA has gone international, big-time, just like baseball.

Still, for now, it is mainly an African-American game, although, given the demographic trends, it is easy to imagine this is just another special moment in time, when the descendants of former slaves outshine the European-Americans who still consider "this land," as "their land."

Looking at my growing son, still thin as a rail but hard as iron, fast as a gazelle, and carrying the competitive blood of my father in his veins, I wonder what he would have to do to end up playing in a venue like we visited tonight.

Perhaps what separates athletes from those who fall away along the way is inner toughness. Aidan's inner toughness is not about his own success but about empathy. Tonight, as we exited the arena, he spotted among all the exiting fans a paraplegic being pushed in his wheelchair.

"Dad, it makes me sad to see that guy, because the only way he can communicate what he needs is by a lever attached to his head that he can use to type a message to the person pushing him."

Empathy.

Smells like team spirit to me. Go Aidan!

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The Boy inside the Man

Today's Food Quiz: What is this? (The answer in tomorrow's post. Yesterday's quiz was correctly answered (see below.)

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My childhood, in the Fifties, was a time when I wondered how I could ever fit in. It was a time of buzz cuts and Cub Scouts, of cliche and The Death of a Salesman.

My Dad was a salesman, and also my hero. I went around with him sometimes as he made the rounds of grocery stores. Our job (I felt involved) was to make sure our marketing gadgets and giveaways (mainly images of Elsie the Borden Cow) graced as many outlets as possible.



In later years, while raising millions of dollars for causes I believed in, like investigative reporting, social justice and environmental issues, I gradually became aware that the main asset I had as a fundraiser was the boyhood memory of watching my father at work.

Today, once again "cleaning up" around here, I unearthed the little plywood box he crafted for me half a century ago. Inside were reminders of my past, almost as if we'd filed them in a time machine.

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Yesterday's Food Quix:
Cecilia correctly identified these as radish slices (with sea salt).

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The strange world of social networking

Whether you've ventured onto MySpace, Facebook, LinkedIn, Arkut, or SecondLife yet; and whether you've tried Digg, Buzz, Reddit, or Newser, chances are you've heard of at least a few of these social networking/social bookmarking websites (SNS).

The bottom line of the SNS world is you have new opportunities to meet people or reconnect with those who have fallen away somewhere in the past.

Much like email, and blogs, a robust virtual SNS world has emerged that will soon be ubiquitous. Many who hold back have legitimate worries about preserving their privacy. But there are other issues to consider.

I value my personal privacy as much as anyone, but I'm also acutely aware that feeling disconnected from others is the loneliest, most alienated state I've ever been in.

Of course there are risks involved in being connected too -- both in the physical world and the virtual realm. Friends can become overly needy or encroach boundaries, they may require help that's hard to give, or get you into trouble you may have avoided on your own.

In my experience, the "real world" is a much more dangerous place than the virtual one.

And the rewards of finding so many new friends, and reconnecting with so many old ones, is the primary joy (for me) of the Internet.

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Okay, on to our new daily feature: What is that?

So, what is today's mystery food pictured at the top of this post?


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(The answer to yesterday's quiz: Pickled Green Tomatoes.)

Fall from Grace

Why would anyone want to be a politician?

I watch the hell these people and their families are put through, and wonder what type of motivation drives certain people to continue to seek ever higher elected offices.

Take John McCain. Thanks to an article in the formerly great New York Times, McCain's reputation was tainted by speculation that he had an affair with a female lobbyist.

As a journalist with 40+ years experience, I was appalled when I read the article. I assumed that the Times would at least meet one of the minimum standards for this type of personally invasive journalism -- in other words, that the newspaper had secured the cooperation of at least one of the parties to this supposed liaison, but neither McCain nor the lobbyist were sources.

What made this "big story" all the more disgusting was that this same newspaper, which arrogantly considers itself the "gold standard" of American journalism, had joined the conventional wisdom in denouncing us at Salon.com in 1998 when we exposed an affair Rep. Henry Hyde had had some years earlier.

The context was that Hyde had been praised by the Times as a wise old man who would conduct the impeachment of Bill Clinton in the Lewinsky perjury trap matter; yet our investigative article included confirmations from both parties to the affair -- the woman and Mr. Hyde himself.

Now, I am no fan of this kind of article. But if you have to do it, please make sure you hit the highest journalistic standards before you publish.

We did, at Salon, in 1998, and were greeted with nothing but scorn from the media elite.

The Times has disgraced our profession. They should study the methodological and ethical standards our little startup media company employed in order to learn how to improve their performance after this embarrassing lapse.

p.s. Can anybody identify the fruit in the photo at the top of this post? If you have an idea, please submit it as a comment to this post. The answer will be revealed tomorrow.

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Parallel Parking as a Math Problem

Lately, many of my main roles in life (math tutor, driving teacher, media critic, board member, awards competition judge, sports scorekeeper) seem to involve numbers.

The photo above illustrates an essential aspect of this conundrum.

How can I translate directions to an inexperienced driver as to how to guide the automobile backwards at the proper angle to allow for a series of adjustments that ultimately will help her maneuver the vehicle in place?

In this case, I secured four orange traffic cones to approximate the area between two hypothetical parked cars. Then, I asked my student to back in without hitting any of the cones (i.e., cars).

She was completely flummoxed.

This experience reminded me of trying to help my kids with their math homework. Much of what I try to teach seems somehow to get lost in the translation. And, of course, I often get lost myself in the wilderness of higher math.

Every other activity of mine can be reduced to a numerical sequence. That, of course, is the beauty of numbers, and the reason for this post.

Plus, I really think this photo is funny. :)

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Meat Pies and Wild Strawberries

As we grow older, many of us begin to reflect about why we are here, and what we may have to offer those who soon will inherit whatever it is we are able to leave behind.

In America, that often amounts to the degree of wealth we have acquired in our (all too brief) visit to this planet.

Money, land, assets.

I've often blogged here about the disparities in income and wealth between people, and classes, and races in our modern world. You could easily infer from these posts that I believe in redistributing wealth from the rich to the poor, but I am sorry to report that that is not the case.

In my experience, people who have the discipline to save, and who strive to be excellent at whatever they do, become quite successful in America.

That is why this country continues to exert such a seductive hold on the rest of the world. Those who are motivated enough to strike out in the way our ancestors did, leaving their ancestral lands for the prospect of thriving in this "new world," usually continue to do much better here than they would have in wherever they came from.

At the same time, as all immigrants know, much is lost in the process.

By now, the cycles of first generation / second generation assimilation are so well understood that most of us easily recognize where somebody new we meet is along the spectrum of fitting in.

Me? I have a deep and unfulfilled desire for Scottish Meat Pies, made as they were and still are in my mother's native Scotland.

As well as a lust for the tiny wild strawberries that grew along the train tracks in my father's native Ontario.

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Pre-Summer Lights

It was so warm here today that it seemed like we could see the blossoms popping. Cats in heat have been prowling the yards, the sour grass is sprouting, and today the kids and I had a real backyard BBQ -- hot dogs, hamburgers, and sausages with all the fixings.

Dylan, in particular, savored the moment. When he likes the taste of a particular type of food, he really likes it. I love that about him -- and about anyone with a passion for taste.

That I'm growing herbs and vegetables this spring is one of the joys of my present life. Every morning, at dawn, I go out to check my tiny crops.

Most of what I know about growing things comes from my Dad and his mother.

The rest comes from my best friend, Howard.

This weekend, Howard lost his little brother, Harvey, who died suddenly of a heart attack not long after he had been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Harvey's wife had died not long before of cancer; they have two kids in their 20s.

As this type of tragedy engulfs those around us, even as we enjoy the simple, sensual pleasures of a back yard picnic, it invariably provokes us to ponder the meaning of life.

Alas, I have not much to offer when it comes to the meaning of life. Maybe "meaning" is whatever we make of things.

Tonight, my beloved, if chronically unsuccessful Mud Lake Mafia entered the fantasy baseball draft. We seriously upgraded our talent base, I think. I am excited that the real and the fantasy baseball season is now imminent.

BTW, I have a second entry in another league this season: The El Matate Burritos.

Nosotros sólo hablan español y la mayoría de nuestros jugadores no pueden hablar Inglés, así que cada vez que transmitir noticias de este nuevo equipo, confío en que usted lo entienda! (Si necesita una traducción, por favor, no dude en ponerse en contacto conmigo y será entregado inmediatamente a su bandeja de entrada toi!

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