How to Enjoy Sports

A few random thoughts while I wait for the UK tip off.  

I consider myself to be a moderately engaged fan of competitive team sports.  On the continuum between complete apathy and SEC frat boy, I’m almost precisely in the middle.

In baseball, I root for my SF Giants, but I don’t make a point of watching their games,  which tend to proceed at the pace of hardly.  My attention span can’t handle five minute at-bats and twenty-or-so commercial breaks between the action.  However, get me a ticket to a game, and I’m there.

Football tests my loyalties, between my genetic predisposition to root for Green Bay, my father’s hometown team, and my adopted 49ers.  This has created some intra-family playoff drama in recent years, and I distinctly recall being exiled from my home one year, at the tender age of fourteen, when I refused to back the boys in green.

The one sports team that I get behind with all my fan-boy enthusiasm, however, is the UK Wildcats basketball team.  Having grown up in Lexington and attended UK, I come by it honestly.  And I’ll be the first to admit, I go a bit overboard, wearing a UK tie to work on game days, traveling 90 minutes each way to join fellow alumni at our adopted home bar for big games, and shamelessly taunting fans of those teams so unfortunate as to oppose us.

Having spent most of my life surrounded by at least one person who aspires to complete apathy (Mom, Ashley, I’m looking at you), I have developed a grand theory of how to be a sports fan, a simple formula that any willing spectator can adopt to get the best possible experience out of their vicarious battle with The Other Guys.

According to this theory, you only need two things in order to enjoy a sports match up: a basic understanding of how the game works, and a team to root for.

This explains why, once every four years, I manage to get Really Excited about sports that aren’t on my radar screen outside the confines of the Olympics.  The announcers tend to walk us through the scoring system, and comment on what the athletes are doing right, or wrong.  Any time I see the red-white-and-blue, I have an athlete or team to support.  It’s almost too easy.

It equally explains why, despite enjoying baseball, I do not watch cricket.  The game is incomprehensible.  I have had no fewer than six people- all of them some varietal of British, appropriately enough- attempt to explain to me what is happening on the “pitch,” but the significance of the game eludes me.  Fortunately, that is a majority position among Americans, and there is no societal pressure or expectation that I figure it out.

Two days ago, I went to our local Kentucky bar for a big game, and brought a friend who is rather apathetic towards sports in general.  To ward off evil spirits, I lent him my UK tie, and together we fought through the mosh pit of blue and white to secure a table with a good view of the action.  At the beginning, he couldn’t understand why conversation was stopping when the ball was in play, but then a funny thing happened.  The enthusiasm of a hundred-or-so rabid Kentucky fans became infectious, and when the game came down to the wire in the final minute, he was rising and falling with the rest of us, holding his breath when the ball was in the air, genuinely rooting for a positive result.

Retrospectively, I consider this confirmation of my theory.

The subject is on my mind today because there is yet another Big Game for the Wildcats this afternoon, and in acquiescence to a little too much birthday cheer last night, I am considering watching the game at home.  That isn’t to say I’ll be watching it alone- my wife is here, and she is a perfect test case for my Grand Theory of Enjoying Sports.  Unlike my guy friend from the other night, she will need a bit of explanation about the game’s details- why was that a foul?  what just happened there?  is he allowed to do that?- but she asks the right questions and occasionally remembers the answers.  More crucially, she has a predisposition to root for Kentucky.  Not because she attended the school, though she did, but because she knows that my happiness will be directly, inexplicably affected by the outcome of a game taking place between ten eighteen-year-olds thousands of miles away.

So, as previously alluded, today is my birthday, and the Cats have a shot at the final four.  Life is too serious to forego a chance to associate with a sports team and live and die with their performance, once in a while.   I’ll be donning my UK sweatshirt, UK track pants, Kentucky t-shirt, and a pair of blue fuzzy socks, for good measure, yelling at the refs through the screen, cheering in a mostly-empty room when we succeed, hanging my head when things look bleak.  It’s fun to be a sports fan.

Go CATS!!

~Andrew

 

Published in: on March 30, 2014 at 8:41 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , ,

The Weather is Too Damn Cold

An open letter to New York City Mayor Bill DeBlasio

Dear Mayor DeBlasio,

I am an attorney and resident of Flushing, and write to call your attention to a major climate issue in need of your prompt resolution.

As you are probably aware, this winter has been defined by extended cold, voluminous snow, and substantial wind chill.  As a result, we have experienced transit delays, dangerous road conditions, and difficulty enjoying the outdoor attractions of our fine city.

As our mayor, I urge you to act.  Cold temperatures of this magnitude are simply unacceptable for a major metropolitan city.  It  has slowed our business, and directly denigrated our quality of life.  If New York does not act immediately to improve our weather, we risk losing jobs and upwardly-mobile professionals to more successful climate programs in such places as San Diego and Miami.

In an age when global warming is being debated in Congress, it is incumbent upon you to ensure that some of the additional degrees are appropriated to New York.  This common-sense action will have an immediate and appreciable impact on each and every New Yorker, and would go a long way towards securing both your administration’s success, and your future re-election.

I understand that many of these issues were inherited from the previous administration, but I urge you to make weather improvement a top priority in the weeks and months ahead.

Respectfully,

~Andrew

 

Published in: on February 12, 2014 at 3:43 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , , ,

Holy Hell!

How do you tell someone who has solicited your opinion that their work is offensive and vile?

From time to time, I am asked by my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances for my feedback or editing of their work.  I have been a “freelance” editor in that respect for nearly a decade, and I am always willing to give my two cents and suggest revisions to make the writing stronger.

I also have cultivated a diverse set of friends and acquaintances over the years, and enjoy reading pieces that challenge me intellectually, or cause me to revisit or re-think my own perspectives.

Be very careful what you ask for, I learned again today.

Last week, I received an email with an attached manuscript.  The sender, an old college acquaintance, is an orthodox Jew who has written a novel-length work built around the premise that all violence in the bible is morally justified.  His intended audience consists of not only fellow orthodox, but non-orthodox Jews like me, and even non-Jews.  He wanted my perspective, to see if his writing had broad appeal.

After finishing a lengthy and involved trial, I sat down today to begin reviewing his work.  As I read, I started composing an email response addressing specific parts of the book: this part needs development, this part could use editing, please don’t assume that we all know what happens to David in Chapter 20- that sort of thing.

As you might expect, I found some of his arguments less than compelling, but his task to defend the bible from a modern moral perspective is intriguing, and I tried to help.  Then, nestled under the broader heading of “capital punishment in the Bible,” I arrived at the section about homosexuality.

Now, as most people know, the bible is not ambiguous in its treatment of homosexuals.  They are to be put to death, via the use of of large rocks thrown by the community, in public.  I was interested to see how he would raise a defense, how he would side-step and justify this edict, which most modern readers- even Republicans- will view as extreme and indefensible.

I was not ready for what he wrote next.

That section was, by a country mile, the most vile, despicable, and utterly offensive treatment of homosexuality I have ever encountered, and I was raised in Kentucky.  The author refers to homosexuality as a disease, a crime against life itself, and argues that the death penalty is appropriate because, like Down’s Syndrome, one day it might be cured.

One page into his treatment of homosexuality, I resolved to give up, to end my critique with something along the lines of “I made it this far, but cannot continue.  I find this terribly offensive.”  However, as previously noted, one of the reasons I read is to challenge myself, and I am not often exposed to views that differ so fundamentally from my own.  I forged ahead.

The writing got worse, the assertions bolder and more odious, and the ultimate argument- one of my favorites, for the record- came down to “homosexuality causes societal problems such as murder, because science cannot definitively prove otherwise.”

I shudder to think that this perspective might be indicative of acceptable attitudes towards homosexuality in the insular, orthodox community in which the author studied.  That community is in New York, the erstwhile crown jewel of diversity and acceptance.  Let me be clear that I am not referring to all Jewish orthodoxy, just the particular subset with which this writer associates.

To be frank, I have absolutely no idea how I am going to respond to this aspiring author.  I have deliberately omitted his name from this critique, but will show no such restraint should this vile work be made public.

For every step we have collectively taken towards equality and acceptance, this served as a shocking reminder just how far we have yet to go.  This is a topic on which I do not “agree to disagree,” and this author, who knows well my politics, has invited some rather blunt criticism and feedback.  He will not be disappointed.

~Andrew

Published in: on February 11, 2014 at 2:11 pm  Comments (2)  
Tags: , , , , ,

Arbitrary and Unduly Burdensome

The process of moving to New York was hard enough without the ridiculous attorney admission process.

Approximately a year ago, my wife and I made the difficult decision to relocate from our home in California to New  York City.  The move was prompted by my wife’s career- she had secured a wonderful job as a 3-D animator.  The biggest hurdle to our move, by far, was my career.

As an attorney, mine is not a “portable” profession.  Licensing varies from state to state, and my initial review of the bar admission rules in New York gave me cause for pessimism.  The cause of what would be a painful, expensive, and difficult relocation process was the tense relationship between the states of California and New York.

New York, like most states, has a concept called “reciprocity.”  Basically, they will let experienced attorneys from other states join their bar with a minimum of hassle, as long as the other state gives the same courtesy to New  York lawyers.  California, one of few among the states, does not grant reciprocity to anyone: they have the toughest bar exam in the nation, and will not permit out-of-state attorneys to simply “waive in” to practice.

For that reason, New  York treated me as though I was a new graduate, and ignored my five years of legal experience.  In order to practice in New  York, I was required to sit for the New York bar exam, sit for the multi-state ethics exam (which I took and passed five years ago, prior to admission in California), submit to a full, detailed, and unnecessarily burdensome background check, and attend an in-person ceremony to be sworn in to practice.

Total cost: approximately $8,000.

At the outset, it is helpful to remember that we have a fundamental right to practice our chosen profession.  While I’m sure we can all agree that attorneys  should be licensed, and should have to prove ability and character in order to practice, we should also agree that those requirements should not be arbitrary or unduly burdensome.

My first issue with this process was the necessity of re-taking the bar exam.  After five years of successful practice, I believe I had demonstrated sufficient acumen to prove my understanding of the law.  If I lived in another state, it would not have been an issue, but New York chose to punish me, an individual attorney, because the State Bar of California doesn’t play well with others.  This is arbitrary and unreasonable, especially considering that California’s bar exam is, by any rational metric, significantly  harder to pass than New York’s.

Of course, the New York Bar Exam is only offered in the Empire State, so I had to take time off work to fly across the country and sit for the exam, which is administered only twice per year.  As an out-of-state resident, New  York did  not permit me to choose where I took the test, so instead of flying to New York City, where my wife already lived, I had to fly to Buffalo.  In February.  From California.  I did not own a winter coat before that trip, and it is a wonder I was able to perform well in that extreme and unfamiliar climate.  Final point on this: taking the bar exam is not cheap.  They charge several hundred dollars of fees for the privilege of taking this examination.

The ethics exam was another needless exercise in redundancy.  It was- literally- the exact same test I took upon graduation from  law school.  The material is simple, and I did not need to study to pass it: as a practicing attorney, I am more than passably aware of the ethical rules governing my profession.  However, I did have to give up a full day,  pay yet another examination fee, and patiently wait for the results.

The last substantive portion of the admissions process is the “character and fitness” application.  They required certification from the California Supreme Court that I am, in fact, an attorney in good standing.  Small detail: this is public information that any third grader with an internet connection can easily verify within ten seconds, but they wanted me to pay for a certificate, wait a week, and send a sealed, original copy to their offices.  More troubling, they wanted affidavits of character from each and every employer I had ever worked for since graduation.

This part proved tricky for two reasons.  One of my previous employers was out of business, and I had a devil of a time getting an affidavit for that time period.  Worse, I needed an affidavit from my then-current employer.  Now, I had and continue to have a wonderful relationship with my old boss, Gary Fraley.  Frankly, my happiness in that position was the reason we didn’t decide to move much sooner.  However, at the time I sat for the New York bar exam, we had not fully decided to move, and our decision would certainly be contingent on my admission to the bar.  In short, I had not told my current firm that I was thinking of relocating, and did not want to couple that disclosure with a request for an affidavit of good character.  For some applicants, I’m sure such a request could jeopardize their jobs.  Fortunately, I was able to have a colleague not in management fill out the affidavit for me, and I was approved for admission.

The final, unforgivable burden of the admissions process was the swearing-in itself.  Unlike most jurisdictions, it must be done in-person, at pre-set times that are scheduled less than once per month.  Naturally, they are in the middle of the week, necessitating further use of vacation time.  Again, I was not given a choice of locations, so I had to miss visiting my wife again, this time flying to Albany.  None of my friends or family were there to see me, a scowl barely contained, as I took the oath and was sworn in to the bar.

In a way, the admissions process itself was a good preparation for the practice of law in New York, where many of the rules and procedures seem arbitrary, unfair, and designed to kill trees and waste time rather than efficiently produce results.  However, from an applicant’s position, I found the process difficult, needlessly expensive, and unfairly burdensome for no better reason than “your home state doesn’t play nice.”  That a lawyer from California is somehow profoundly less qualified than an attorney of the exact same experience from, say, Kentucky is absurd and irrational.  There is no legitimate justification for this discrimination in the admissions process.

Again, the right to practice our chosen occupation is a fundamental right.  Attorneys already face daunting challenges, including law school, the bar exam, admission in their home state, and an ongoing duty to take classes and pay large annual fees.  Adding arbitrary burdens based on “reciprocity” demonstrates that the actual qualifications of the applicant are secondary to concerns that do not speak to our ability to practice law.

Thank you for reading this diatribe, and I hope that my experience can serve as an example of a broken system sorely in need of a change.

~Andrew

Published in: on January 20, 2014 at 9:22 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , ,

Not Just Another Trip to the Library

A shameless story of my own physical prowess (but not really) and sense of altruism (but not really)

As my friends, family, acquaintances, and readers of this blog know, I’m a big fan of literature.  I like to read, and my small apartment has A Lot of books in it.

As I mentioned in a previous entry, “a lot” is a rather non-specific quantitative expression.  However, thanks to my well-channeled and totally-not-weird OCD, I can tell you with particularity that I have, on my shelves right now, precisely 1,383 books, organized by owner (Ashley’s or mine), fiction/nonfiction, and the author’s name.

This enormous quantity of books is not without its downside: nearly every cubic foot of our living room houses a bookshelf, including a full-sized Ikea Billy balanced precariously over a radiator, kept from immolation only by my wife’s engineering prowess.  For that reason, we recently identified several dozen books that- for reasons of duplication or obsolescence- we decided to donate, and put in the trunk of our car.

And by “recently,” I mean about six months ago.

This weekend, we are taking a trip that will push our vehicle to the limits of  its carrying capacity, between passengers and their luggage.  Because of this, it became suddenly urgent that these books be relocated from the trunk to a suitable place of donation.

After a brief online search, I identified the library in Bayside as a suitable recipient.  It is located just three blocks from where I work, and accepts just about any donation short of last week’s compost, for shelving or resale.

Now, because of my huge surplus of at-home reading, I am not a member of the local public library; I have my own literary demons to slay without borrowing any additional reading material.  This would be my first trip to the Bayside library, and I was excited to bestow upon them dozens and dozens of my expendables.

However, on this particular Thursday, I parked fairly far from my office, and in the opposite direction from the library.  No matter- surely I could simply heft the eight oversized bags a few city blocks for drop-off.

So, determined and optimistic, I removed the bags from my trunk and organized them for the aforementioned hefting: four in one hand, three in another, and the largest slung over my right shoulder like a hipster with a backpack.  This must have been, no joke, over a hundred pounds of dead weight.  With a lumbering shuffle-step, I began my trek away from the car.

About a block later, things started to go horribly awry.  With each six-inch step, I became increasingly aware of the constant tug of gravity upon my burdens.  I’m a lawyer, so I’m acutely aware of the importance of law.  Gravity is a law.  I was at risk of gravitational contempt.  I put my bags down, un-slung my shoulder bag, and took a minute to regather my strength.

After that initial rest, the progress almost stopped altogether.  My arms and hands now knew, firsthand, the rush of relief that resulted from such a simple act as Stopping to Rest.  Independent of my will, they undertook to achieve this relief as often as possible, sometimes as often as five steps after the last rest.  One of my coworkers, returning from court, passed by me and honked with a mix of recognition and ridicule.

I was too far from my car to return, and too far from the library to conceive of ever arriving at my destination.

After nearly twenty minutes of maddeningly slow progress, I arrived at my office, approximately halfway to the library.  In a moment of perfect clarity, I realized that I could leave half of the books just inside the door, and make two trips to lighten the burden.

Even with half the load left behind, my overexerted limbs were howling as I made each of two painful, three-block treks from my office to the library.  On the return trip in the middle, my hands and arms were numb.

The actual drop-off was effortless.  The librarian ascertained my purpose, stacked the books on her desk, and offered me a receipt.  I magnanimously declined- unbeknownst to her, I do not itemize my deductions.

One hour after I started my “quick errand” to the library, the task was done.  My limbs still ache, but my trunk is empty.  In the few minutes that have passed since I started this post, feeling has returned to my fingers, so that’s progress.   I will have to remember, upon my return home this evening, to find an ice pack to apply to my bruised ego; it is my sincere hope that this post serves as a personal reminder not to wait six months to make a book donation ever, ever again.

~Andrew

Published in: on January 9, 2014 at 1:08 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , ,

What?

The brief story of the liberation of a Dave Eggers classic.

My lunch breaks at the office can go one of two ways.  If I’m hungry, which invariably means I skipped breakfast, I either grab a sandwich from Subway, or participate in whatever ill-conceived delivery order my colleagues are assembling.  If I have had a substantial breakfast, however, I tend to use my break to take a walk.  There is a beautiful three-mile path that makes a large rectangle around my office, skirting the water, a park, and, less fortunately, a highway.

Today was one of those walking lunches, and on the erstwhile homestretch, I happened past a used bookstore.  My general approach to this stretch of sidewalk is to carefully avert my eyes, because they have an outdoor bargain rack, and a used bookstore is like flypaper; I get stuck, and have a very hard time leaving.

Resolved to pass by this tempting display without breaking stride, I permitted myself a brief glance at the rack, and that’s where I saw it.

Dave Eggers “What is the What,” one of my favorite books.  Sitting on the top shelf.  The shelf marked “all books fifty cents.”

For those of you unfamiliar, Dave Eggers is among the best writers still producing.  He belongs, loosely, in the Jonathan Franzen and Jeffrey Eugenides school of smart, witty, and engaging writers.  I own, and have read, all of his novels so far, and I am  yet to be disappointed.  “What is the What” is a story about one of Sudan’s “Lost Boys,” and explores his experience escaping Southern Sudan as well as his acclimation to life in America, his new home.  It is not just good- it is a future classic.

Now, for the past  year or so I have been on a very strict diet of “no new books,” a reluctant acquiescence driven by the twin factors of my lack of shelf space, and my current horde of over one hundred yet-to-be-read novels.  It has taken discipline, but I am slowly whittling down my to-read list, and hope to have it fully under control sometime this century.

For that reason, I resist the urge to purchase new books, even if they’re great, and even if I have been looking for them for a long time.  So ordinarily, purchasing a book I already own- in the same edition, no less- would be unthinkable.

That said, I had a funny reaction to seeing such a great literary marvel listed at such an absurdly low price: I became angry.  Angry at the store for undervaluing this important work, and even more angry at the throngs of people who must have passed by this same shelf and determined, through their inaction, that this book was not worth two quarters.

My brisk walk was at a full halt, my mind was processing these emotions of surprise, anger, and disbelief, when suddenly a single thought intruded to break my internal stalemate: the holidays are coming up in just a few weeks, and I haven’t begun my shopping.

With this realization, I resolved to liberate What is the What from its undeserving bookstore, and from the anonymous fools who failed to snatch it up at such an absurd price.  It is in my bag now, awaiting gifting designation.  Of course, there is always a chance its future recipient will have read this post, and will know that the precious gem I am giving them was acquired for half a buck.  To that future contingent reader, I say only this: “What is the What” is one of the best, most worthwhile stories out there, and it almost felt like theft to obtain it for such a ridiculous price.

And to the owner of the used bookstore on Bell Boulevard, who parted with this classic for so little coin, I have only a single question, nay, a single word to pose to you:

What?

~Andrew

Published in: on November 15, 2013 at 2:08 pm  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , ,

Thanks for Letting Me Choose

Thanking our veterans is more than a cliche or a perfunctory exercise in patriotism- it is sincere, and deserved

I have never served in the armed forces.  Frankly, I never wanted to- I didn’t grow up in a military family, and my interests and talents tilted in a different direction from a very early age.  I wanted to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a writer, or something academic or political; military service did not appeal to me.  Also, crucially, and never-to-be-taken-for-granted, I had a choice.  I did not have to serve.

That is precisely why I am so grateful for our veterans.  Because so many people volunteer, people like me can make a choice, and can choose not to serve if our interests and abilities lie elsewhere.  It hasn’t always been that way in America, and it isn’t that way in many other places in the world.  We have a choice, and we only have that choice because of our volunteers.

During the World Wars of the early to mid-twentieth century, military service was mandated for most able-bodied males.  My grandfather served, as did a great part of his generation.  They were never asked if they felt that military service would benefit their careers, or help them with college, or provide generous benefits.  They were simply told that they were needed, and off they went.

In my father’s generation, the Vietnam conflict-but-not-technically-a-War was much more contentious, and many people in America were against our involvement.  The politics were not as straightforward as in the European wars of a few decades before.  My own father- who shares a birthday with Bill Clinton- was only spared deployment because his “draft number” in the lottery was chosen quite low on the list.  Fate, luck, and family connections determined who was given a choice, and who was required to serve.

Today, our military is all-volunteer, and the prospect of a draft is virtually unthinkable.  I still have my selective service card- one is required for, among other things, student aid- but I keep it more as a memento than a “retrieve in case of emergency” item.

Part of the reason we have this choice is the evolution of warfare because of technology, but we still require trained, professional soldiers to fly our planes, man our bases, deploy our weapons, and maintain a vigilant defense.  Our limited successes in Iraq and Afghanistan were attributable to political missteps, not any failure on a part of our armed forces.  Our great victories, including the raid that killed Osama bin Laden, showcase how powerful and effective our armed forces really are.

In the second decade of the twenty-first century, America is still the “force majeur” in the world.  We project our military strength throughout every part of the globe, which both keeps us safe, and deters others from military mischief.  We do this with an army made up entirely of volunteers.

Too often, the debate about cutting military spending is reduced to an attack on our troops.  As one of the frequent advocates for reducing military spending, I can tell you that reduction is completely misplaced.  I support our troops unconditionally, and when I talk about reducing military spending, I have in mind budget-busting armaments, not pay cuts for personnel.

I often hear that some people choose military service because there are no other good options for employment, or education, or advancement, particularly among the less-affluent.  While I am sure the incentives to service play a role in some soldiers’ decisions to enlist, I reject any inference that this makes their service somehow less admirable or less commendable.  My ethos does not require that the decision to join up be made out of patriotism or service alone.  It’s much more simple than that:

I don’t have to serve, because they do.

So, soldiers past and present, you’re going to hear this a lot today, but it’s important, and while I tend towards wordiness I want to tell it to you straight:

Thank You.

~Andrew

Published in: on November 11, 2013 at 11:36 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , , ,

Could Wyoming be the Answer?

Congressional districts are not performing as intended, and it is time for a change.  

When I first moved to New York, one of the first things I did was head over to house.gov to find out who would be my new representative.

I’m sure that isn’t exactly a list-topper on most people’s relocation  checklists, but I try to stay engaged in politics, and wanted to be sure I knew who purported to speak on my behalf on capitol hill.

Having identified my member, a Democrat named Grace Meng, I decided to take an additional step that I assumed- wrongly- would be fairly easy.

I wanted to meet her.  I wanted to meet my representative.

Now, I’m not talking about an hour-long meeting to advocate on my issues, debate policy, or lobby for a particular piece of legislation.  My goal was to get a quick handshake and perhaps a three minute conversation to introduce myself, express my support, and pay my respects.  My thinking was that I often write to my member about pending legislation, and my voice might be more effective if the member knows who the hell I am.

What I did not expect was the reaction from Congresswoman Meng’s office when I made this request; they were completely flummoxed.  They told me that she does not keep office hours to meet with constituents, and that if I wanted a meeting, I would have to be a member of a community or lobbying group.  Instead, they offered me a meeting with one of her aides.

I explained, per above, that my sole goal was to get a handshake and a few minutes of introduction.  They flatly told me this was not an option, but helpfully suggested that I could attend one of her town hall meetings, where she “sometimes” shakes hands at the rope line.

Now, one of the often-voiced criticisms of Congress is that lobbyists have too loud a voice, but I was certainly not expecting that unless I were a lobbyist, I could not even request a brief meeting with my member.    So, I did a little bit of research.

During the days of our country’s founding, when the whole legislative system was being designed, George Washington was known for being a peacemaker who seldom advocated for any particular outcome.  However, the one time he actually advocated a position during the Continental Congress, he argued that representative districts of 40,000 people were too large, and that 30,000 was a more appropriate number.  Consequently, the first congressional districts had approximately 30,000 people per member of Congress.

Today, there are on average over 700,000 people living in each district, with variations based on the population of the state.    This is over twenty times the original number, and has made constituent contact far more unwieldy.  How can a member of Congress adequately represent my issues if she doesn’t even have the time to meet with me, unless I belong to a lobby or group?

The rate of growth in Congress has not kept pace with other modern democracies.  We have picked a number of representatives- 435- and we stick with it no matter how large our population grows.  That number was established in 1912, when the population was only 92,000,000; today it has more than tripled.  As a consequence, our voices as voters are diluted in what is ostensibly the people’s house.

Among the competing proposals to fix this problem is what is known as the Wyoming plan.  Here’s how it works: every state is entitled to at least one representative, no matter how small.  Wyoming is currently the smallest state (population around 575,000).  That means your vote counts more in Wyoming than it does in a larger state, like California or New York.

The Wyoming plan would set the size of congressional districts at the population of the smallest state, as counted in the census. This would have the dual benefits of reducing the number of people per district, and making our individual votes more equal than they are today.  If the Wyoming system were currently in effect, there would be around 530 representatives, or 95 more than there are today.

In a healthy democracy, our voices are heard through our representatives.  The system is definitely broken when our representatives do not have time to meet with us, no matter how briefly.  Reducing the size of congressional districts will make the body more accessible, responsive, and responsible to the needs and demands of we, the people.

~Andrew

Published in: on November 7, 2013 at 11:00 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , ,

Where (not) to Park in New York

Car ownership in the city is an expensive, needlessly complicated enterprise. 

When my wife and I first decided to relocate to New  York, one of our first major decisions was to give up one of our two cars.  Even though we intended to live in the “boroughs” (which for you non-New Yorkers means any part of New York City that is not Manhattan), we reasoned that one car should be sufficient, especially given the prominence of public transportation.

This was not an easy decision, since for most of our adult lives, having a car represented a degree of independence. By relying on a single vehicle for two people, we were each becoming somewhat less self-sufficient.

After six months of living here, I’m not sure we made the right decision.  I think we might have been better off not having a car at all.

The reasons for this are three-fold: transportation realities, cost, and the nightmare of “New York car management.”

In our everyday lives, we seldom drive.  We both have unlimited passes for New  York’s public transit system, which is absolutely world-class.  At any time of day or night, we can move from one point in the city to another with relative ease.  Sure, public transit involves a certain amount of waiting, detours, and Encounters with Weird People, but overall the system is efficient, reliable, and accessible.  Also, it gives me time to read, which is a major plus in my book.

For the few times we actually use the car (we have filled up the tank a total of three times in the last six months), the costs of owning one are tremendous.  Even with my flawless driving record, and my wife’s almost-sterling record, the insurance costs are quite high.   Add to these a car payment, and the miscellaneous fees of registration, and the amount becomes quite significant.  Unfortunately, there is an additional layer of costs associated with having a car, and which fall under my broader heading of “New York car management.”

New York’s greatest shortcoming relates to the problem of having too many people in too little space.  Parking is not an exception.  For reasons I may never fully understand, the city does not have many parking garages, and most parking in Flushing is on surface streets.  For the vast majority of those streets, there is a one-and-a-half hour period each week where the street becomes “no parking” for street sweepers.  This means that even if you don’t intend on driving regularly, at least once per week a driver must move the car to a new spot, circling for many minutes to find one of the few available spaces.  If you are spatially challenged (i.e. can’t parallel park), this is even more difficult.  I’m looking at you, mirror.

Even when a spot is located, one must take great care to check, and double-check, that the spot is in fact legal.  Parking restrictions are not always well-marked or clear, and often the signs are contradictory.  The parking cops are everywhere, and they are fast to pounce.  I have received tickets when the “no parking” sign was facing the wrong spot, when my parking tag inadvertently flipped upside-down on my dashboard, and several times while waiting for registration documents.  The appeals process is heavily weighted against the driver, with a barely-rebuttable presumption of guilt.

Last week, after many minutes of circling, I found a spot that was clearly marked “no parking Fridays 10-11:30,” which is as close as New  York will give you to a “yes, it’s okay to park here” indication.  As it was Friday evening, I parked, patted myself on the back, and went about my life.  On Saturday, I happened past and discovered that my car was no longer there.

At this point, like any jaded New York driver, I looked around to ascertain where, exactly, I had screwed up.  It turns out that there was a construction awning, which has been a feature of this portion of road for months without any actual construction taking place.  Halfway up the scaffolding, all but invisible unless one crossed the street and looked back at it, was a dark sign that said “no standing anytime.”  They had busted me; I had been towed.

Retrieving a car from the self-styled “tow pound” is quite difficult, as they did not think to put said “pound” on any major lines of public transportation.  The facility is located in a neighborhood from which one might not return, particularly if you walk through it at night.  The cost of retrieving a vehicle is over $200, which includes “storage fees,” even for the days they are not open.  These are, of course, in addition to the ticket.

In my current position, having a car is a big plus; it allows me to quickly commute to Nassau county for court appearances, or to Queens if time precludes public transit.  However, the city seems to be doing everything in its power to make owning a car and obeying its parking rules difficult.  Our family includes two professionals, and we struggle with the costs.  I cannot imagine how out-of-reach it makes car ownership to people with smaller incomes.  Moreover, for those who are less fluent in English, the misleading, deceptive, and contradictory parking regulations must be a cash-cow for the city’s finances.

Perhaps that is the point, to make car ownership an unattractive option and encourage the more environmentally-friendly practice of public transit.  While I acknowledge the merit of that goal, the effect of New York’s parking regulations is to make car ownership an option only available to a small segment of its population, and not a very attractive option, at that.

~Andrew

 

Published in: on August 7, 2013 at 11:31 am  Comments (1)  
Tags: , , ,

Further Modesty

A reluctant addendum to my previous post

In light of the Justin Carter debacle, it has been suggested to me that I clarify that my previous post was intended as dry humor, sarcasm, irony, an homage to Jonathan Swift, and other such please-tell-me-we-still-have-first-amendment-protection-in-this-day-and-age purposes.  It was not a serious suggestion for violence; I don’t like guns and do not support their use, even on bad dog owners.

(grumble, grumble)

~Andrew

 

 

Published in: on July 10, 2013 at 2:19 pm  Leave a Comment  
« Older Entries
Newer Entries »