You Can't Have It Both Ways, Part N+1

In a recent survey the Times conducted in response to the BP oil spill, a disappointingly routine disconnect emerged. "Overwhelmingly, Americans think the nation needs a fundamental overhaul of its energy policies, and most expect alternative forms to replace oil as a major source within 25 years," write John M. Broder and Marjorie Connelly. "Yet a majority are unwilling to pay higher gasoline prices to help develop new fuel sources."

Unfortunately for these respondents, who seem to reflect popular opinion, U.S. energy policy can't change fundamentally unless gasoline prices increase. The two are inseparable. As long as the externalities of gasoline consumption, such as air pollution or massive ocean pollution, are not included in gasoline's price, it will remain the country's cheapest energy source. If prices remain more or less the same -- though the past five years have certainly highlighted commodity prices' volatility -- demand continues to grow, which is all it has done in the past 60 years, exacerbated by massive increases in the past 15 years in China and India. With that, oil companies will continue to explore for and extract oil in more environmentally and politically dangerous places, risking public health and international political stability.

This is how federal energy policy and BP's spill are related. In order for energy policy to reach a different summit, the market has to be re-directed and a collective sacrifice has to be made. One can't request a systemic change and realize it without making personal changes to lifestyle, driving and land-use habits. The situation reminds me of a theme Thomas Friedman often writes about in his columns. He criticizes the Bush administration for its handling of the Iraq War because it said the country could go to war and win without committing many soldiers or much money or losing many lives. All we civilians had to do was keep shopping.

Let Go, Mets, Part N+1

Maybe life, including sports, is all about expectations. At the baseball season's start, I wrote the best thing the Mets had going from was their lowered expectations, after four years of high, unrealized ones. Turns out they're tied for first place before tonight's game! Who knew.

Until five weeks ago, their manager, Jerry Manuel, didn't seem long for the dugout and my dad and I talked about how we hoped David Wright would be traded, just to save his career from TARP Field. Now, Wright is the league's hottest hitter and the team appears to be comfortable with itself for the first time in years, a trait directly attributable to the manager. All the key hitters have improved as the season has progressed, relieving Rod Barajas of the totally unexpected home-run streak he had earlier. (I would love to shout "Rod Barajas" as the correct answer to a question at a bar's trivia night. There's something about his name's sound that is hilarious.) Maybe Carlos Beltran, the onetime star centerfielder, doesn't even need to return?

The only part of my summer that has yet to meet expectations so far is being able to hear Mets' broadcasts. I thought I'd be able to strain through a weak signal to pick up the call, but, alas, WFAN is rarely anything but static. Perhaps I should drive to the southern end of the county each night and park my car somewhere.

Lost Scenes, Found Scenes, Your Own Scenes

After six months of intermittent reading, I finally finished "The Savage Detectives," the novel that deservedly made Roberto Bolano quite famous in the final years of his life. That it took me so long to finish isn't a reflection of how much I loved the book. It was wonderful, though sad and long enough that I needed to take breaks. (A semester of graduate school also intervened.)

My favorite part of the novel was the idolization of the obscure, a theme that appears in Bolano's other work, but is probably celebrated at greater length and in greater depth here. The torrents of obscure poets, novelists and theorists, Mexican, Latin American and others; the chase after Cesearea Tinajero, the 1920s poetess who only ever published the scraps of one poem and doodles; and the chronicles of the band of visceral realists in mid-1970s Mexico City are all filled with names you never heard, but are presented in a way that the line between the fictional and real-life ones is blurred.

My hypothesis is the implied interviewer of the novel's middle section -- the person who's traveling the globe for 25 years to capture the lives of two of the protagonists, Arturo Belano and Ulises Lima, only to find himself a few steps behind them -- is Juan Garcia Madero, the third protagonist of the visceral realist gang. In the final pages of the novel, there's the suggestion that Garcia Madero went searching for Belano and Lima in Mexico City after their adventures splintered, but never found them and then never stopped looking. Earlier, in the final interview of the middle section, featuring the self-anointed only academic specialist of visceral realism, the professor says he never heard of Garcia Madero so he must not have been part of the gang. Bolano then insinuates that the interviewer's reaction is one of offense, that he can't believe he's been wiped from the pages of obscure literary history.

Art is everywhere, the novel teaches. That it's often overlooked doesn't mean it's not happening in every corner. Usually the art is better there too, the novel says. The biggest lesson is: Create your own scene. Don't wait to join the existing one in a big city because it may have ossified already. Better yet, go somewhere out of the way and start something. Play mid-tempo rock with lots of reverb.

Update: Also great about the novel is the way Bolano-like phrases can be created. My friend spontaneously said one Saturday night outside his house in Guilford, Vt., as we stood and watched thousands of fireflies sparkle like the camera flashes of spectators at big sporting events. "The fireflies all make us feel like celebrities," he said.

Things To Like About The Pittsfield Colonials

The paltry attendance at the first two Pittsfield Colonials games I've attended are alarming considering the team, part of the independent professional Canadian-American League, is only two homestands into its first season here. Perhaps that my first game was played during a tornado warning (albeit a very sunny one) and the second one under irrepressibly cloudy skies has something to do with it. Also, school isn't finished yet. Hopefully the crowds pick up soon; otherwise, it seems there may not be a year two. Nonetheless, there are many things to like about the team. A randomly assembled list:

* The team uniform, a well-assembled throwback to the early 20th-century. Great fonts, great wide collars on the jersey, great blue-and-red color scheme, great stripes on the hat. This is, by far, the best thing about the team. And when marketing matters almost as much as the quality of play for all teams outside the major leagues, the uniform is very important. The hat has already secured the slot of crowning treat for myself for the summer.

* When I buy tickets at their downtown office, the staff says, "See you later at the game." And then you see them later at the game.

* Each ticket costs $6. The beer (Sam Adams) costs $4 and the ice cream (Ben & Jerry's) costs $3. It might actually be a better deal to buy a ticket and enjoy a couple of drinks at a Colonials game than doing the same at a bar.

* Nearly all of the seats at Wahconah Park are underneath an old wooden awning behind home plate and they have a charming, vintage appeal. Beyond the outfield wall are only trees, which is a lovely backdrop for fans. A not-so-lovely backdrop for hitters is the sun that sets in their eyes between 7:45 and 8 p.m. Also, the outfield wall is a bit ragged and the park dimensions ridiculously favor pitchers, to the extent that it was probably a strong factor when the Mets and Astros moved their Class A affiliates out of town, eight and nine years ago, respectively.

* Even though it's still the Colonials' first season, the Quebec Capitales are apparently their rival. So said the woman who sold me my first ticket. Even more surprising, most of the Capitales have French names. I suppose if you're a talented player in Montreal but not capable of reaching a U.S. franchise, the team is your only option.

* The Colonials' manager, Brian Daubach, seems to be doing his best to impersonate Tom Hanks' impersonation of Jimmy Foxx in "A League of Their Own" -- the first half of the movie, when he pees in the sink, not the second half when he bonds with the female players and rallies with them to the championship game. Daubach, who had four good seasons as the Sawx's designated hitter from 1999 to 2002, seems to have been chosen for the name recognition he brings. Otherwise, he doesn't seem very peppy or interested in mid-game advice or strategy as he shuffles to and from his spot as third-base coach. His comments to the Berkshire Eagle usually combine sports cliches in all of the wrong ways. Covering him must be very tough on the reporter, not that the Eagle has shown too much interest so far.

In short, you should go see a Colonials game very soon and enjoy. Here's the link to the schedule:

http://www.pittsfieldcolonials.com/schedule.html

Why LeBron James Matters

As ESPN.com has incessantly reported and speculated on LeBron James' plans for his impending free agency, I often found myself thinking, Who cares this much? Isn't this a ridiculous level of coverage for the most minute developments? Then, a story in the Times clarified matters, as is often the case.

Alan Feuer reported on Cleveland's attempts to keep its star with the Cavaliers, who have been James' only professional team, including a homespun video of the city's local celebrities singing an adaptation of "We Are The World." In contrast, New York's counterattack to lure him to the world's premier city features a stilted pitch from Bloomberg and a seemingly grassroots campaign that's really orchestrated by a prominent advertising firm and paid for by the New York City Economic Development Corporation. Feuer sniffs that New York's campaign "is only the latest example of the city’s puzzling descent into boosterish antics that are perhaps better suited to less sophisticated towns." Quite the East Coast elitist he is! Ohio Gov. Ted Strickland summarizes things much better, saying, "I understand the skill and talent of the advertising world in New York City. But what we have in Cleveland is genuine, deeply felt love."

That, right there, is why LeBron James' free-agent odyssey matters. It represents something much more profound than an NBA championship (and all the money that brings many people). It embodies the big-city-versus-little-city dilemma that plays itself over and over again as every city tries to attract young people, employers, culture and vitality. The problem remains pressing, about 50 years into our country's industrial decline and economic reshaping, as cities such as Cleveland unceasingly loses population and New York's position continually strengthens. The greatest talents seemingly almost always leave home and can't be coaxed back.

Does James, a native of Akron, Ohio, have to leave his hometown to find true success? Do you need to be in the world's most important city to do something important? Can a fish truly be big in a small pond? Is New York as exciting as it seems, or is there something artificial about it all? Do you prefer the earnestly placid or the frothy hustle? Can you be personally and professionally satisfied in a place that's the first? These days, I answer: No, no, yes, the latter, the former, yes.

Update: What I like most about James' game are his ferocious drives from the top of the key -- when he starts it's as if a truck revving its engine and barreling down the track -- and his pre-game ritual of sending a burst of chalk skyward. The latter shows how much joy James takes from the game, unlike his peer Kobe Bryant, who just won his fifth championship, but is so unlikeable because his demeanor is so cold and business-like. A friend's father compared his behavior to that of a derivatives trader as we watched the finals together.

Further Update: TV Land has a new series featuring four middle-aged (and older) women who move to Cleveland from L.A. Apparently, the stars marvel at how nice the men are. In the Times, TV critic Alessandra Stanley commented the show is "not perhaps the most daring or avant-garde comedy on television, but there is nothing shameful about 'Hot in Cleveland.' It’s actually kind of fun." This evaluation seems tangentially related to the above post.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs Corollary

Though the last time I wrote about the New Pornographers it was in praise of their madcap uptempo song "Wild Homes," I also very much enjoy their new record, "Together," even though it's stylistically quite different. The songs move slower, take longer to unfurl and, amidst it all, suggest something wistful and perhaps something once had, briefly lost and then recaptured. Like its predecessor, "Challengers," the album shows the band has matured as I wish all bands did.

Neither record has received as much critical adulation as their first ones, when the band was a welcome, unexpected kick from British Columbia, but they're an established indie band these days that ranks almost as high as one can be without being considered mainstream, so it doesn't matter as much. Nonetheless, I think the band deserves credit for acknowledging they're older and finding a sound that evolves well to match that. They've modified their sound to the point that the albums sound different and don't repeat each other, without becoming a different band. Few bands pull off this trick.

Above is the New Pornographers' recent performance of the first single, "Crash Years," on Jimmy Fallon's show. It's the album's biggest pop nugget and the crowd in the background is very exuberant, though I think that's more attributable to the show's producers, who always seem to want a "youthful club vibe" for the set as musicians perform, than the song. The atmosphere obscures another layer in there; it has something to do with that opening lyric in the chorus: "The traffic was slow for the crash years."

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are another example to succeed at this shift, as noted previously here. Also worth noting, as one of those out-of-left-field neat things, Karen O and her guitarist, Nick Zinner, played a show last month at the Colonial Theater, in my temporary home's downtown. Unfortunately, I missed it by a week.

M.I.A. Is A Citizen Journalist?

Apparently M.I.A., the captivating and beguiling rapper, records her interviews with reporters. In response to an unflattering, widely read profile in the Times Magazine, she tweeted the writer's cell phone number, prompting thousands to call, and then posted excerpts from her recordings of their interviews on her Web site. They showed M.I.A. isn't as big a fan of truffle french fries as the story implied -- a seemingly minor detail that was quite damning in context -- and that she was misquoted at least once. The Times has since published an Editors' Note.

M.I.A. is tough to summarize in a profile and the writer, Lynn Hirschberg, hit and missed. Hirschberg is correct that M.I.A.'s political views are often simplistic enough to resemble a college freshman's and that the more famous one becomes, the harder it is to stay true to one's origins and causes (in M.I.A.'s case, the Tamil Tigers and Sri Lanka). While it doesn't help that M.I.A. is marrying into the Bronfman family fortune, wealth and championing causes to benefit the poor aren't mutually exclusive. The most prominent American example is the Kennedys, though their situation and M.I.A. are very, very different. Also, as a college friend points out in his blog post, she's not the first artist to be successful, excellent and controversial. Hirschberg wildly missed on those.

Really, M.I.A. is a fascinating example of the 21st century. Her personal history and music are a deep multicultural mix, emblematic of post-colonial diaspora (Colombo to London to Brooklyn to L.A. and back) and the Internet's ability to allow people to snatch their favorite beats and sounds, wherever they are. She understands the power of social networking and branding like few others. She knows that controversy ricochets around and across the world endlessly, thanks to search engines. As nauseating as it can be, nothing moves albums like people talking about you, no matter what it is they're talking about.

My friend takes apart Hirschberg very well, so I'll end by noting how M.I.A.'s decision to post the interview herself on the Internet is a powerful example of people taking reporting into their own hands and challenging -- and weakening -- newspapers' long-held appearance of omnipotence. Why be subject to a magazine profile that may be scathing because of one reporter's perspective when you can post your own thoughts directly on your Web site and send them straight to your fans?

Update: As noted previously in these pages, I like M.I.A.'s music.

Farewell, Edward J. Sullivan Courthouse

The Sullivan courthouse, once the home of the Middlesex Superior Court, has a decent chance of being demolished, Cambridge's city manager, Robert Healy, told the Globe last week. Its prisoners, the only remaining tenants, are moving soon; Cambridge has declined to buy it; and the state hopes someone will pay $40 million for it, which seems to be optimistic at best. The building is about a 10-minute walk from my apartment and visible from my eastward-facing windows. It's also 22 stories tall and occupies an entire city block, between Second and Third streets and Thorndike and Spring streets, in a neighborhood largely consisting of row houses, with only a handful of buildings taller than four stories.

The contrast between the courthouse's design, a concrete tower, and that of the surrounding neighborhood, pre-20th century wood-frame houses, is so striking and such an obvious example of urban renewal-era planning that it's incredibly comical. It's not even as though an entire neighborhood was cleared post-World War II for redevelopment, as happened locally to create the West End and Government Center. Only one square block was cleared, so the courthouse becomes the strangest physical accident, as if the developers and planners were run out of town in the middle of the night. (They probably were run out of town by contemporary East Cambridge community groups and politicians.)

Everything about the courthouse is so bizarre I almost wish it would stay. But then I realize the block, once the tower is removed, has great potential for new housing, both affordable and market-rate, and the only logical move is to take it down. Hopefully the state realizes this too.