“Gingie”

Some of Jasper’s aliases:

“Fluffy” (his middle name);
“Jaspartacus”;
“Sparty” (short for “Jaspartacus”);
“J. Clumpus Booty” (his alias when we clean his toilet).

And now, “Gingie” – for his color and his new disease.

He’d been behaving rudely, especially toward little Ziva (who’d shown signs of stress). Then, yesterday, we discovered the likely cause. We saw that his lip was swollen. We took him to the vet, who diagnosed a rare disease of the immune system – a disease that attacks the mouth and, eventually, rots the teeth.

The good news is that so far Jasper only has gingivitis (no wonder he’s been irritable). We’re treating it with steroids and antibiotics. The bad news is that the disease will stay with Jasper for the rest of his life. We can only minimize its symptoms, e.g. by brushing his teeth each day. Fortunately, by doing this, we can prevent the worst effects.

Now both Jasper and Ziva seem calmer. Karin & I are struggling to do without the money that we had to pay to the vet.

Two ex-Hammers

A year has passed since the dismal European Championship, the highlight of which was Simone Zaza’s failed penalty kick:

How poignant Zaza’s face is, how hopeful. (And Conte’s, how full of sadness.)

Last year, I wrote: “Brave Zaza, I understand your pain, and I wish you future success.”

Zaza has redeemed himself. After an awful period at West Ham, he was lent out to Valencia, where he scored this golazo against Real Madrid.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I now look to the resurgence of Énner Valencia, my compatriot. This other former Hammer was lent out to make room for Zaza. At Everton, he hardly played. Now, he is in Mexico, with los Tigres, among strikers Eduardo Vargas and André-Pierre Gignac.

He scored three good goals in his debut with los Tigres. The second goal, especially, shows his athleticism, his ruggedness.

Why didn’t he succeed in the Premier League?

I agree with Álex Aguinaga. Some players can only function in a certain warmth.

On how I begin to write in the morning

My dissertation has taken a tedious turn. I’ve been trawling for mentions of the term ‘reasonable’ among the obscure speeches and declarations of King James II, as well as in the debate on religious toleration between John Locke and Jonas Proast. And not only in those sources: also in legal dictionaries, and in Merriam-Webster.

Soon – I dread this – I really ought to check the OED.

I wonder if it was a good idea to try to detail the pre-Rawlsian history of this moral concept. Then I remember my supervisor’s advice. “Pages,” he would say. “You need a certain quantity of pages.”

Consequently, a long footnote about Xabi Alonso, Xavi Hernández, N’Golo Kanté, and Claude Makélélé has remained in the dissertation for several months. I can’t bring myself to take it out.

The other day, I ate lunch with my old pastor, and he expressed confidence that, whatever I turn in, it’ll be of superb quality. I didn’t tell him about that footnote.

What helps me to start writing every day is this. Online, I’ve found the dissertations of many of my acquaintances. I pull them out and read a few lines. Then I read a passage of my own dissertation. My own writing unfailingly is less erroneous, less trivial, less clunky, and funnier. I decide it’s quite good, relatively speaking. And so I write all day long, except when tutees interrupt me.

The sum of small things

At last! A social scientist – “the James Irvine Chair in Urban and Regional Planning and professor of public policy at the University of Southern California” – has written the book on hipsters.

Or, more broadly, on “the aspirational class.” The book says that hipsters are just the poorest members of that class. Ha, ha!

Now I can rest. My prejudices have been confirmed. (By science!)

The driving idea behind The Sum of Small Things isn’t new. The book uses “Bourdieu’s basic thesis” – that “everyday cultural forms create and maintain social status” (p. 55) – to explain how elitists separate themselves from other people today, as opposed to how they did so fifty or one hundred years ago. So, instead of focusing on how rich people lived in mansions and carried fancy walking sticks – costly, conspicuous behaviors that helped them to maintain their social status – the book talks about foodies ordering brunch (which is cheaper but still conspicuous to do, or at least conspicuous enough).

Bourdieu’s thesis is true but awful to read about. Bourdieu was a hideous writer. I know because I own his famous book. And everything written after him follows his lead.

This new book is only slightly more readable. Here’s another passage (again, p. 55):

The accrual of different types of knowledge and the sharing of cultural capital mean that the new elites use this information to buy particular things or act in particular ways and to further solidify their position. Or, as Khan writes, “Culture is a resource used by elites to recognize one another and distribute opportunities on the basis of the display of appropriate attributes.” Nail polish color is more subtle and less expensive than yachts and handbags, but the choice to wear one color over another involves acquiring knowledge as to what is aesthetically appropriate and appreciated by one’s peer group.

Not lovely.

Here is all you need to know. Hipsters are bad. They promote a culture of snobbery and exclusion, even as they believe themselves to be doing good. Don’t be a hipster. The best thing you can do, when eating out, is to eat fast food.

“The boy ain’t right”

Whatever happened to Bobby Hill?

He grew up to be Aaron Paul.

Reëlection

I found this spelling of the word, with its casually ostentatious ë, in a recent New Yorker article about Texas politics.

How long has this been going on?

IS THIS WHERE SOCIETY IS HEADED?

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In the Copa Libertadores, Barcelona hosted Palmeiras in the first leg of a home-and-away series.

The first half was nothing great to look at. The Brazilians disrupted play as much as possible.

In the second half, Barcelona exerted smothering control. Such famed Brazilians as Ze Roberto and Michel Bastos couldn’t keep Jonathan Álvez from bringing attack after attack up the right wing. But as the minutes passed, it looked as if Barcelona wouldn’t carry a lead into the second leg.

Therefore I was delighted when one of Álvez’s shots squeaked in in injury time.

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My parents arrived from Ecuador today. They’ll be in this country until October.

Delfín 4, Liga de Quito 1; Portugal 2, Mexico 1; Germany 1, Chile 0; a futile exercise in pickup soccer

The important news is that Delfín S.C. clinched the top spot in the first semester of the Ecuadorian tournament. In so doing, the “Cetaceans” qualified to play in December’s grand finale – and in the group stage of next year’s Copa Libertadores.

This is historic. Delfín will be the first-ever Copa Libertadores team from the longsuffering province of Manabí.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

In the Confederations Cup, in the game for third place, the Portuguese scored a couple of late goals to defeat the Mexicans. Then, in the final game, the Germans tapped the ball into the net after stealing it from one of the Chilean defenders. After that, the Germans simply waited for the game to end.

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I missed the second half of that game because I was playing pickup soccer. It was not one of my best experiences playing soccer.

It was dismal to play as a fatty. I had the strength for just one sprint, and I didn’t want to expend it right away, so I let the opposing players dribble past me. Then, after an old man dribbled past me, I was like, “No more of this.” So when he tried again I got in his way and kicked the ball out of bounds. I did this several times.

I tried to stay on the wing, a region of the field from which the other team would never score any goals. Alas, my teammates failed to occupy the fullback’s area just behind me. (Perhaps they assumed that I was the fullback.) Since I didn’t run back to cover that area – and since I couldn’t have guarded anyone even if I had run back – this was fatal.

After a while, my friend Brandon – another fatty, who was playing for the other team – came over to my side of the field to guard me. I decided to perform my only sprint. I ran into the open space behind Brandon. I called for the ball. It was passed elsewhere.

A little later I decided that it was time for me to go home.