Cipherdom (deprecated)

Do the Freddy

The Sox bandwagon got close to capacity with last weekend's drubbing of the Cubs, capped by their acquisition of prime starter Freddy Garcia from the Mariners. Now they're on the verge of sweeping the Twins at the Hump Dome. As if that weren't a convincing enough a sign of the end times, today Peter Gammons of ESPN actually picked them to win the World Series. This is usually when it all comes unravelled, but for once I agree with Gammons. Book it: They're going all the way.

Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You . . .

The boy avoided being drafted a couple of times before, but maybe the third time is the charm.

O Happy Day

Good news for the Sox. Pity the poor Marlins. Somewhere, Vernam's dad is smiling. Because the Sox and Marlins were, coincidentally, playing each other today, it's just a shame the trade wasn't executed soon enough for Koch to blow the game for Florida.

Unchained

That's how I prefer to remember him, as opposed to this. The man was one of the 10 most important musical figures of the 20th century, which is saying an awful lot.

All Due Respect, Part Deux

Dad was also a deeply, unabashedly religious man. But he never made the fatal mistake of so many politicians wearing his faith on his sleeve to gain political advantage. True, after he was shot and nearly killed early in his presidency, he came to believe that God had spared him in order that he might do good. But he accepted that as a responsibility, not a mandate. And there is a profound difference. From the eulogy by Ron Reagan, Jr., making an apparent swipe at the current president.

Now I know what I'll ask next time I see him in a Chinese restaurant.

All Due Respect

Out of the deepest regard for our fallen leader, I'd like to reminisce about the time I saw Ron Reagan at a dumpy little restaurant in San Francisco. This was about '98, I suppose. We'd wandered through Chinatown, looking for a place to eat. Stopped in a fancy place with George Bush the First's picture in the lobby but quickly moved on, not in protest but because that's not the kind of place where you want to eat in Chinatown; you want a place w/ the head-on roasted ducks hanging in the window.

So we found one of those and settled in for some authentic chow. Soon I noticed a scrawny guy seated alone, reading a paperback as he ate. It was unmistakably the president's son. No, not Bush the Second -- he was probably still snorting cocaine in Texas back then. It was Ronnie Jr. (Sorry, I know the "Jr" must be a letdown for you. Imagine how we felt.) Anyway, I am not one of those people who accost any "celebrity" they meet, not that I considered RR Jr. a celebrity. Even if I'd see someone I deeply admire eating Kung Pao chicken, I could resist the urge to ask him or her to scribble his or her name on a piece of paper. I'm just funny that way.

So we sat there minding our business, pretty successfully pretending not to notice there was a quasi-famous person in our presence. The place was empty except for our party of four, RR Jr., and a 30ish woman also dining alone. Sure enough, this woman could not contain herself. She approached Reagan as he ate and read. He took it OK the first time, smiling pleasantly. But then a few minutes passed, and she came over again. What on earth could she have had to say that didn't get said in the first fly-by? "Do you still dance ballet?" "I loved when you danced in your skivvies a la Tom Cruise on Saturday Night Live?" "C'mon, that wife of yours was a beard, wasn't she?" "Were you worried your father would start lobbing missiles at the Russians?"

Whatever her gambit, Reagan clearly did not appreciate her follow-up attention. He said something curt, gestured dismissively, and then went back to eating. She didn't seem to have said anything politically sensitive -- "Isn't it terrible how the working class is screwed thanks to what your father started?" -- because her demeanor was too congenial for that. So fawning, in fact, that she clearly expected better from the object of her affection. She stalked away in a huff.

All I Want for Christmas

Little more than six months remain until the release of Wes Anderson's "Life Aquatic," in which Bill Murray plays an oceanographer, with Owen Wilson as his son. SPOILER ALERT: This Ain't It Cool preview probably tells more than you want to know if you're an Anderson fan. The guy's films aren't only hysterically funny, they also have a lot of heart. Unlike, oh, let's say Spielberg, he doesn't telegraph his big emotional scenes; you have to watch closely to catch those moments, which gives them all the more impact. Like when Jason Schwartzman proudly introduces his father the barber (Seymour Cassel) to his wealthy former father figure, Bill Murray, in Rushmore. Or when Gene Hackman finally reconciles with Ben Stiller as the son who justifiably hates him in The Royal Tenenbaums.

Not Mint, More Than Fair

Word is Fender's up for sale. Instead of taking out an ad in the paper, they should try listing it on E-Bay; everyone knows that's the best way to get more than your guitar is worth.

Executive Privilege

That zany John Ashcroft is up to more hijinks, defying a Senate committee that's asking to see memos in which his staff weighed -- if not outright advocated -- the use of torture by agents of the Bush administration. Says the story by Bloomberg News:

"The president has a right to hear advice from his attorney general, in confidence,'' Ashcroft said. He also refused to answer whether he personally believes torture can be justified under certain circumstances.

Glad to see our highest-ranking law officer at least hesitated to commit perjury. If only he took human rights as seriously. If you'd written a memo about torture that ultimately recommended it's a bad idea, wouldn't you want the world to see that document rather than let them wonder whether you're a sicko intent on subverting our most cherished traditions?

Mourning in America

After having led cheers in 2002 and 2003 for the planned Iraq invasion, Christopher Hitchens may be trying to rehabilitate himself among the friends he had before losing his mind. It's a start . . .

I'm nostalgic for a president who didn't sweat the details, who let his senior staff do all the heavy intellectual lifting, who made no attempt to hide his disdain for people who don't share his narrow view of right and wrong, who had a reckless disregard for the truth, who was way too quick to resort to belligerence and force in addressing international conflicts, who . . . Oh, who am I kidding? It's still the 1980s, just without the jobs.

Bush VS Bush

If consistency is a virtue . . .