Don’t know if it’s mine or the US Postal Service’s, but who doesn’t honestly think a lot of these are going to get stolen or supremely messed with?

I, obviously, did not win either of the lotteries. So I’m still here, but feeling a need for a transition. Of course, this is because while my life is standing still, so very many friends and co-workers are transitioning out of or into new jobs. I feel the need to change something, though it’s hard to justify change for the sake of change. But all the thinking has been quite a distraction.
My current thoughts, i.e. list of many options I’ll probably never execute on:

• Cut my hair - wait, I actually am probably going to do this
• Buy a new (to me) car - hard to justify when I have a (9 year old) car (that is no longer manufactured) that is paid off, my registration and insurance fees are negligible, I calculate that I’ve driven about 10,000 miles in the last four years, I drive at most twice a week and about 20 miles total in a really heavy week (occasionally up to 60 miles total if a trip to see my mom occurs)
• Start a running program with the goal of running Bay to Breakers - inspired irrationally by my sprained ankle
• Finish learning to play the guitar - can’t even type that with a straight face
• Write a novel
• Travel more
• Brush up on my Spanish
• Learn French
• Cook more
• Clean my office
• Blog more

We’ll see.

The jackpots are so very high. The chance to put down a buck or two and walk away impossibly rich is alluring. I wasn’t sure if I could get beyond the amusement of the fact that this week is National Problem Gambling Awareness Week (a little awkward, no?) - as it says right on my Mega Millions ticket - but I did and made a late afternoon dash to the one place near my work that I knew sold tickets, worried, but kind of hoping (for forced rationality’s sake) the shop was closed. It was not and I have to admit to buying into the madness by purchasing 3 plays for tonight’s record Mega Millions drawing and 2 plays for tomorrow’s respectable $57 million California Super Lotto jackpot drawing. I don’t expect to win, but, well, to quote the lottery slogan that I usually find horrifying - you can’t win if you don’t play. (You can, of course, lose miserably by playing, but no need to go into that.) The lottery has worse odds than just about any game in Vegas, but if you can take it for a lark, a bit of entertainment, it’s all right.

p.s. This all makes me think of (as I always do) that great The Simpsons episode involving a fervor over huge lottery jackpot, the best part of which is when people start checking out Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” from the library, only to discover it’s not quite as helpful as they presumed.

So I was just watching a show in Discovery Channel HD about righting a “capsized logging boat in the Pacific Northwest.” “Why” you may ask? I honestly don’t know. It’s just that it’s in HD and it’s so awesome. I was turning on the TV to relax with an episode of The Simpsons that I’m sure I’ve seen a hundred times, but the the TV was on Discovery HD and as the picture came up I saw this barge tipping, tipping, tipping, and all these red logs sliding off the deck and suddenly the craft was upside down. And then . . . they righted it! Fascinating.

All last week I was in a state of mild panic and sadness. The cause? My precious black Pumas that I wear to work every day (that I got for a song at Nordstrom Rack) had gone missing. They’re great because they’re black so they don’t stand out too much, especially when I’m riding up the elevator with someone important who has some impact on my future and with whom I would like to maintain the impression that I am not a slob. I wear them instead of pretty shoes - kept under the desk - because I often have to walk a mile or so of hills on the way either to or from work, depending on how Muni’s feeling. Once home, I usually dump my shoes in front of the coat closet, but last week there was an old dishwasher my usual spot (long story) and I had left other shoes there already. But I was still convinced that’s where I left them as I vaguely recalled plopping them down there on Friday, February 2. But they simply weren’t there. So I relied on my cute, but glaringly obvious, white with blue accents Adidas running shoes all last week, and every night engaged in a game of “maybe I left them ____,” looking in, e.g., the dining room, the garage, and being both disappointed and thoroughly perplexed that I could have lost shoes in my own house.

On several hours of sleep, I finally found my shoes last night. In the living room. Right under the coffee table. Fully visible from my regular location. Now, to be fair, I’d been too busy to watch TV most of the week, but I had been in the living room and in that seat at least two days of the week for some brief period of time and my brain never registered the presence of the shoes I so desperately missed. Thankfully, I get this weekend to sleep and sleep and not work and I have my precious shoes back.

It is a strange feeling to have contempt for a stranger. It seems so unneccesary, so excessive. Yet here I sit, writing about a stranger who I see every weekday and each time I find myself shaking my head (on the inside only, of course). He is some sort of doorman/security guard at a financial district building that is on the route from BART to my office. Well, he’s not really a  doorman. He does not open the door for anyone. Hmm, let me revise that. Occassionally, he opens the door for a pretty young thing, particularly if she’s wearing a skirt (and - this this time year - knee or thigh high boots).

Absent generally meeting the job behavior of a doorman, exemplefied more properly by the guys at the swanky hotel on the next block, I think he is - or is supposed to be - a security guard. Except, well, he doesn’t really seem to do that either. He stands in front of the building, but doesn’t really appear to look at anyone going in. Perhaps he is well-trained and has superior peripheral vision, but I can’t say that’s how it looks. Frequently, I cross his path as he is returning from getting coffee, but no one mans his post in his absence. Sometimes he is too busy chatting up one of those aforementioned pretty young things in a short skirt or staring at the legs and rear of one as she walks by - yes, I’ve seen him do that, yes, I was offended on her behalf, yes, she probably had a reasonable expectation that men would gawk after that when she chose that outfit on a chilly fall day, no, that doesn’t make him any less of a lech.

I shouldn’t care, but I’m so perplexed by his role in the universe and the fact that he seems to get paid for standing around doing something just shy of nothing. I admit that “security” at most office buildings is probably not significantly better than at your average mall - though if you wander around the Embacadero Centers looking bewildered, the security will come “help” you out. But this guy, I think he serves no purpose in front of that building (though he may serve some great purpose elsewhere in his life). So each morning as I walk by, I can’t help but stare at him, trying to figure out the mystery, probably glaring, and yet in my infinite politeness, this morning, he accidentally caught my eye and reflexively, I smiled.

I know that the whole (half) idea of a blog is seat of your pants commenting, but I have to bring up an interesting story from last week on NPR that was part of a Morning Edition series on what’s causing economic stagnation in Africa. One of the more intriguing points was that the undermining effect of second-hand clothing from the West: 

In Mozambique, cotton producers say that it’s not just agricultural subsidies that are stacked against them. They say the West also dumps second-hand clothes into Africa at prices that stifle local textile production.

Vincent Marush Sando, who coordinates a domestic-cotton promotion campaign in Mozambique’s capital Maputo, says Africa should place stiff import duties on used clothes from the West.

It was a logical theory - products whose manufacturing costs have been absorbed in their prior sale are logically much cheaper to distribute that new, domestic clothing.

What got me thinking about it again was a listener letter this morning on Morning Edition essentially calling bullshit on the idea that secondhand clothes could harm the economy because there would still be jobs generated by transportation costs.

Except, that’s not the point. Such a counter-argument is seemingly based on a flawed premise, i.e., there are no  “transportation costs” associated with domestic clothing production or that the difference in costs is greater than all the other jobs created and required by home-grown textiles, which I can’t imagine being true. The story talked of factories employing hundreds being shut down, not some sort of nearly costless subsistence clothing production with no transportation costs. It would seem that in addition to jobs in transportation, the home-grown industry would include jobs in the textile mills and clothing factories and jobs in the fields producing the cotton. Competition is good, but you can’t deny that this is a bit unfair. The second-hand clothes only have transportation costs so their prices can be comparatively low, regardless of quality. (Though I will presume that any designer or very high quality used clothing is ending up in “vintage” stores and consignment shops not Mozambique.)

I can’t pretend to know what sparked the letter writer’s response, but when I first heard the story last week, I was struck most by the implication of it - that charity was working against development. A funny thought, given that when you think of charity, you imagine something that usually supports or is neutral to development. Homeless shelters, giving blood, disaster relief, donating to cancer reasearch - none of these competes with business.

But the company picnic T-shirts and the hats and tees from the sports teams that lose championships would compete with the textile industry. And that’s a terrible result and hard to believe because it’s so instinctive that donations = good. People don’t want to think of their hopefully selfless act of charity being a remotely destructive force, so it’s an unacceptable conclusion.

Perhaps the most neutral approach would be to send money abroad and donate your clothes locally.

The AP via MSNBC.com is reporting that the US fatalities in Afghanistan and Iraq have now equaled (and then swiftly exceeded) the number of people killed on September 11. By any analysis, that’s a tragedy and it’s sad to realize that that figure is only going to increase. The problem with the story, of course, is that by folding the numbers of lives lost in Iraq and Afghanistan, the AP and MSNBC aren’t doing much to keep the distinction clear between those two theaters that technically have nothing to do with each other. Iraq isn’t really about the war on terror or 9/11 so why imply that it is? Other grisly figures include 2,390 who died at Pearl Harbor and, inexplicably, the 405,399 lost by the U.S. in World War II. Of course, the story concedes:

“Historians note that this grim accounting is not how the success or failure of warfare is measured, and that the reasons for conflict are broader than what served as the spark.”

The first part I totally agree with, but nice that the second part only serves to further confuse the issues. Good reporting, guys.

The magic number for the A’s is 4. The magic number for the Cardinals is 5. That’s the World Series I want. I’m pretending I haven’t jinxed it.

And not only is San Francisco the second “smartest” city in America, hometown Oakland the 18th, and most populus city in the metro area San Jose 15th, but those cities are also on the list of priciest places for renters. San Francisco lands at #2 (behind NYC and its wowza $2,469 average monthly rents), San Jose at #4, and even Oakland’s freaking out the renters at #7. It’s lovely that California has 6 of the top ten. I chalk it up to the weather.

Finally, I bought 14 books last night. I have a serious problem.

Update - 9/23, 12:19 am: The A’s magic number is now 2. Even better.

One of the few things I’ll actually read most weeks in the ABA Journal e-report (one of the forty gazillion e-newsletters I’m subscribed to for no good reason), is “Answers of the Week.” In each issue they pose a “Question of the Week” like “What book would you nominate to come along with a bar admission certificate?” or “What professional courtesy or favor was extended to you that made a real difference in a case, or in your career?” and people submit answers which are published in “Answers of the Week.” This week’s answers were stories about judges who have behaved less than reasonably and professionally on the bench. The responses are pretty horrifying - almost enough to make you not ever want to step into the courtroom. The ones about judges throwing stuff at lawyers and berating them with the apparent goal of hiding the judge’s own mistakes are terrible, but I’m most offended by the one about the judge who decied “someone was going to jail that day” soley because he was in bad mood. Always nice to be reminded that judges are human too and are capable of the petty capriciousness we all (well, not me) sometimes show.

I mean to post more often. I really do. Every day I come across events and articles I’m dying to write about, but because I can’t/shouldn’t/don’t blog at work (look, they’ve already taken away the sudoku), I keep it inside. Well, that’s not really true. I usually call up or e-mail one of my co-workers and we riff on the story for a few minutes, which yields the very enjoyable instant feedback and communal appreciation this medium does not always deliver. And by the time I get home, I’m usually too tired to write - and quite frankly I’m often a little sick of the computer. But I resolve to be better. (Like a fool I have many September resolutions in mind.) So this is what has been sparking my mind this week:

Bikes vs. Peds vs. Bikes vs. Autos vs. Bikes

Apparently the bicycles are taking over SF, and it’s a little scary, right? First, pedestrians (even blind ones) are effectively trapped on streetcorners by Critical Mass. Second, the the Bicycle Coalition is well on its way to world domination - well, SF street domination via their apparently immense political power. As important as encouraging, bicycling, walking, and public transportation is, I’m a little wary of the practicality of making SF a car-less city. There are plenty of people for whom going car-less just isn’t practical, particularly given how terrible Muni is, e.g., people with more than one small child to tote around. Finally, this is not explicitly a bicycle thing, but while the parking tax on the November SF ballot could be a great method of raising a little more scratch for the city and for Muni, a couple things give me pause. The money goes into the general fund, which means it doesn’t have to be used for any trasit related endeavors or costs and given that the city never has enough money for anything it wants to do, I’m not optimistic that it will end up fixing streets or public transportation. Further, as I mentioned above, there really are plenty of people for whom driving is really the only practical option. Lastly, I’m not really sure what the value is of giving Muni more money when there doesn’t seem to be much of correlation between the quality of Muni and its budget.

The Bright Shiny Glowing Box

I’m kind of excited about the fall television season even though I have no idea what’s going to be on. I’ve barely watched TV all summer, which was impressive for me, but I’m ready to become slavishly devoted to the idiot box again. The Prison Break premiere was delightfully tense goodness and I’m still basking in the summer euphoria of Project Runway (I miss Bradley, I’m still a bit shocked Jeffrey so cavalierly made someone’s mother cry, I kind of want to be there (and kind of don’t) when Vincent finally cracks, I want to rip off all of Angela’s damn rosettes!, I adore Uli and Michael, and Heidi Klum is all kinds of awesome) for a few more weeks.

On the giant, brighter, shinier box, I also saw two movies last weekend, which I don’t think I’ve ever done before. It was the fun, and not at all terrible, Snakes on a Plane and the goofy, adorable Little Miss Sunshine. Both were thoroughly enjoyable. Snakes because it was just fun, it hit all the elements of a classic disaster flick, and the snakes (faulty science and all) were pretty darn cool. Though Little Miss Sunshine resulted in depicting the most unfortunately put upon nice, little family ever, it was a great story and everyone in it played their parts perfectly. I might take a small issue with the divine Toni Collette being stuck in the typical “mom” role where other than trying to make everyone in her family behave, she’s the only one without an issue.

Remind Me Never To Go To Maryland (At Least While I’m Still Black)

The story of a (black) guy in Baltimore arrested for stealing his own car, which looked nothing like the car that the cops happened to be looking for that day, is so obviously disgusting and wrong that you wouildn’t think we’d have to talk about such things happening in this day and age, but here we are. And those geniuses sold his car (which they thought was stolen, so they sold it why?) while he was awaiting trial. And it took the testimony of the owner of the stolen car to exonerate the guy. Nice.

Poor Pluto

I’m just saying. And everyone’s taking it so personally.

And Ew

Don’t Marry Career Women. Thanks Forbes. [via Gawker, Shocker: Forbes Recommends Trophy Wives, via Boing Boing] At least they put up a counterpoint (Don’t Marry A Lazy Man) now, which I’m sure will elevate the discourse between the genders. At least Forbes.com is getting a lot of page views.