Good news, for a change

DADT repealed. Thanks to eight thoughtful Senate Republicans. Maybe they will come to their senses on some other matters, such as climate change? Tax policy? It's Christmas-time, a boy can dream, can't he?
Addendum: I guess he can't... Dream Act killed in the Senate.

Potter VII, Part 1

I actually enjoyed this movie more than I expected to. Whatever the commerical advantages, artistically speaking it was probably a good idea to break the overstuffed final book of the series into two movies. Compared with the other installments, rather little actually happens in this film, plot-wise. One horcrux is located, obtained, and destroyed, but aside from that the movie is essentially a sequence of hair's-breadth escapes. These are handled effectively. The mood is dark throughout, in keeping with the trajectory in the novels.

The acting limitations of the principals remain a problem. The child leads of the Potter movies, like their fictional counterparts in the books, find themselves thrust into adult roles by circumstances beyond their control. Alas, in fiction such a transformation can be pulled off with a stroke of the author's pen or computer mouse; not so easy for real-life child actors. But perhaps this liability is also an asset. We need never be distracted by the star power of the wooden Mr. Radcliffe or his sidekicks. And there are signs of growth, even for Mr. Radcliffe. The film's pivotal scene-- Harry's little dance with Hermione, alone together against the world in their flimsy tent-- is tender and revealing of character.

Some critics have griped that we don't see enough of the series' real actors in Potter VII: Rickman, Fiennes, etc. Helena Bonham Carter is more in evidence, and seems to have been born to this kind of role (Cf. Sweeney Todd), although her lovely and expressive face is usually obscured by that unkempt mop of witch-ly locks. To the extent that these movies work, it is not because of the stars, or the exciting scenes of stuff blowing up, but in spite of them; we have to be convinced that something much more important than a thrill is at stake here. That was the triumph of the books, and the movies come closest when they approach that seriousness of purpose, and that sense of wonder or dread. I for one look forward to seeing the final chapter... if not to the obligatory epilogue, which was something of a blemish on J.K. Rowling's remarkable achievement.

Capsule movie reviews

T.A.M.I. Show: Highlights include the Beach Boys in all their twisted pop glory, and Lesley Gore belting out the amazing proto-feminist anthem "You Don't Own Me" and the always wonderful "It's My Party." Marvin Gaye is in good voice on some bluesy straight-ahead soul numbers, but you also appreciate how well served he would be a little later by the Motown songwriters who allowed him to capitalize on his falsetto come-on. Smokey is good of course, but as always a little "pitchy" live. The Stones? Merely watchable.

The James Brown performance is justifiably famous. Given his importance as a great bandleader and inventor of funk and everything that would follow, it's easy to forget just how great a singer he was. He could dance too. His intensity, work ethic, professionalism, and raw artistry just blow everyone else off the stage.

The Book of Eli: Denzel eats a cat.

White: Fine but not outstanding Kieslowski effort. I.e., only ten times better than most movies.

Viking blood brothers

Here I am at a recent Santa Clara University event with my colleague from the Chemistry Department, Thorsteinn Adalsteinsson. He's the more sophisticated fellow on the left drinking his beer from a glass. There was no coordination on facial hair or apparel.

Thorsteinn does interesting work involving chemistry in and around tiny droplets of oil, among other things. He also has amusing things to say about his home country of Iceland.

Schools, Skills, and Synapses

James Heckman's "Schools, Skills, and Synapses" is the most important, depressing, and possibly hopeful economics article I have read in some time. It won't come as a big surprise to those who follow Heckman's research, but it is a fantastic summary of his current thinking as well as a ton of work by others. It is rich in empirical savvy, theoretical clarity, and interdisciplinary creativity.

The article is important because it is a compelling explanation of the increasingly polarized economic prospects of Americans; depressing because the causes are deeply rooted in social trends that we cannot, and probably would not want to, reverse; hopeful, because we actually know cost-effective ways to address the problems; doubly depressing because there's little indication of the political interest, let alone will, to do anything.

Heckman's core argument is that the skills leading to lifelong success are both cognitive (smarts) and noncognitive (motivation, etc.), are formed very early in life, are acquired more in the family than in the schools, and are distributed increasingly unequally between advantaged and disadvantaged American children. The rest of the story is complex and subtle, and needs to be heard and understood.

Yes on 19

I had a few hesitations, but Charles Blow's column in today's NY Times clinched it for me. And shame on the Democrats for perpetuating the injustice.

Happy Birthday, Robert Pinsky!

Blank verse lives!

Shirt

The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams,
The nearly invisible stitches along the collar
Turned in a sweatshop by Koreans or Malaysians

Gossiping over tea and noodles on their break
Or talking money or politics while one fitted
This armpiece with its overseam to the band

Of cuff I button at my wrist. The presser, the cutter,
The wringer, the mangle. The needle, the union,
The treadle, the bobbin. The code. The infamous blaze

At the Triangle Factory in nineteen-eleven.
One hundred and forty-six died in the flames
On the ninth floor, no hydrants, no fire escapes--

The witness in a building across the street
Who watched how a young man helped a girl to step
Up to the windowsill, then held her out

Away from the masonry wall and let her drop.
And then another. As if he were helping them up
To enter a streetcar, and not eternity.

A third before he dropped her put her arms
Around his neck and kissed him. Then he held
Her into space, and dropped her. Almost at once

He stepped up to the sill himself, his jacket flared
And fluttered up from his shirt as he came down,
Air filling up the legs of his gray trousers--

Like Hart Crane's Bedlamite, "shrill shirt ballooning."
Wonderful how the pattern matches perfectly
Across the placket and over the twin bar-tacked

Corners of both pockets, like a strict rhyme
Or a major chord. Prints, plaids, checks,
Houndstooth, Tattersall, Madras. The clan tartans

Invented by mill-owners inspired by the hoax of Ossian,
To control their savage Scottish workers, tamed
By a fabricated heraldry: MacGregor,

Bailey, MacMartin. The kilt, devised for workers
to wear among the dusty clattering looms.
Weavers, carders, spinners. The loader,

The docker, the navvy. The planter, the picker, the sorter
Sweating at her machine in a litter of cotton
As slaves in calico headrags sweated in fields:

George Herbert, your descendant is a Black
Lady in South Carolina, her name is Irma
And she inspected my shirt. Its color and fit

And feel and its clean smell have satisfied
both her and me. We have culled its cost and quality
Down to the buttons of simulated bone,

The buttonholes, the sizing, the facing, the characters
Printed in black on neckband and tail. The shape,
The label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt.

Robert Pinsky

http://www.poemhunter.com/

Sometimes you feel like a nut...

... sometimes you don't. But I have to say that, more often than not, I feel like a nut!