Remember that email from Save The Internet I got a couple weeks ago? The FCC hearing probably would have gone off without a hitch and garnered no publicity whatever had Comcast not paid seat-warmers to occupy space meant for concerned citizens who were unable to get into the lecture hall for the hearing because of them. Given the subject matter — net neutrality — it doesn't exactly bolster confidence in Comcast's commitment to it.

The Globe had a major editorial on the incident and the issue in this morning's paper that concluded:

Interested parties sometimes hire seat-warmers before hearings in Washington. Like those lobbyist-heavy events, the Harvard gathering featured more people in suits than would normally be seen in a law school classroom. The question for Congress is whether the high-speed Internet of the future is being shaped to serve their interests - or those of the people who couldn't make their voices heard before the FCC.

Bravo. It's an issue that hasn't exactly caught fire, even among a supposedly politically jazzed-up generation of youth weaned on a neutral net. It would be great to see them channel some of their awesome Obamania into fighting for it.

Speaking of Obamania...


Despite the fact that the Democrats are still very much in a horse race, with only roughly 91.5 delegates (give or take half a delegate) currently separating Obama and Clinton, Obama supporters in the media have started whining for Clinton's "graceful exit" (God knows where they came up with either of those two words in reference to the Clintons, but whatever). They have argued that their cutesy O-mentum will crush Clinton anyway, so she'd do well to step aside before it does.

To recap: the media, who started the Clinton Inevitability meme, sees the fact that the race is even close as proof that she is not, and possibly never was inevitable, as they, themselves, had deemed her in the beginning. The fact that she appears not to be what they erroneously labeled her justifies, through some logic that seems unquestionable for some reason at this point, the scorn they heap upon her for not being what they now blame her for not being, something they labeled her in the first place.

But it also has the neat effect, again through some spooky quantum phenomena I am certainly not qualified to comment on, of exaggerating her opponent's accomplishment in overtaking her to become, himself, The Inevitable One. He has conquered The Candidate Formerly Known As Inevitable! Hail the Inevitable One!

As long as you understand that none of this is real and that the stakes are very high, it all makes perfect sense.

The reality is that Obama currently has a 91.5 delegate lead over Clinton, not exactly a rout, and is outspending her two-to-one in Texas and Ohio hoping to eke out wins there (O-mentum comes at a price — it will be interesting to see how that plays out in the general, given Obama's pledge to stick strictly to public funds — oopsy! I guess he reneged on that one). The rest — all the talk of inevitability, or rifts in the party — is wishful thinking or veiled threats. And, obviously, attempts to influence the outcome of next week's contests.  But then, all's fair in love and war.

I will say that for the blissed-out wing of the Democratic party, Obama acolytes can sure be testy. Whereas Clinton supporters generally express willingness to get behind the party's candidate, whoever it is, Obama's supporters have gained a reputation, well-earned, for brat attacks whenever a critical eye is cast in their direction, and snarky threats to withhold their support from Clinton should she capture the nomination. If this is any indication of what is meant by unity (you need to unite with us — because we have no intention of joining you) I'm afraid it's not Clinton who's the party's problem child.

Bob Herbert's fevered pitch for a quick and contrite Clinton exit is typical of sufferers of acute Obamania. "Party unity and a strong message are essential to overcoming [disadvantages of race and gender]. The longer the Clinton-Obama fight goes on, and the more bitter it gets, the better it is for the G.O.P." That's the new meme. But, honestly, if the party is unable to endure the schedule of primaries it has allotted itself, it isn't much of a party, is it? If your candidate can't endure it then he doesn't deserve the nomination.

The idea that we have to be delicate and use our indoor voices really has no precedence in democratic politics, I'm afraid. But it goes well with the therapeutic bent of Obama's campaign. I was watching The Situation Room the other night, and Wolf Blitzer had James "The Ragin' Cajun" Carville, a Clinton supporter, and Obama booster Jamal Simmons (who is absolutely delicious, by the way — I could just eat those eyebrows right off his face!) on to banter about Democratic strategy. Obama supporters do tend to be cuter, I'll admit, but the contrast between highly idisoyncratic spirited engagement in a political process and millenarian zombyism could not have been starker.

While Carville sputtered on in his characteristically endearing way like a poisoned hairless chihuahua, Simmons, always cool, calm and with that Mona Lisa smile of his, prefaced nearly every comment on his candidate of choice with a telling verbal tick: "What's comforting is..."

"What's comforting is Barack Obama also did well with [white male voters] in Virginia and then did well again in Wisconsin." "What is comforting is, these [poll] numbers are all over the place." "What's comforting is that the Obama campaign ... is hitting back when they get attacked." Are you comfortable yet? Because it's important to be comfortable, y'know. You are getting very sle-e-e-e-epy...

Politics as pain-killer may have a certain appeal, but to argue that the Clinton camp should fold up its tents before the Texas and Ohio primaries with only 91.5 delegates separating the two candidates demonstrates a different kind of desperation than those who argue Clinton should fight on to the bitter end, even if she loses those two states.

The rush to disenfranchise Clinton supporters in "late" primary states is disturbing enough, but attempts by Obama supporters to characterize Clinton supporters as being themselves responsible for a rift in the party is more troubling. Their constant caterwauling that Clinton and her supporters — roughly half the party — will bear ultimately responsibility for a rift in the party should they persist, will cause a rift in the party if there isn't one already. Clinton isn't the only passive-aggressive candidate in this race, that's for sure.

As uncomfortable as it may be for the Pain-Killers, Clinton has every right and reason to fight on at this point, and even a responsibility to her supporters, to pursue it so long as it is as close as it is. Calls from an ungracious press for her to exit gracefully don't do anyone any favors.


I had a second date with Mr. Scorpio Thursday. It was pretty low-key, which is the way dating's gonna be in February in New England. I suggested the Institute of Contemporary Art, partly because they were showing the Oscar-nominated short films on Thursday and Friday. I was more interested in Friday's showing of the animated shorts than the live-action ones on Thursday, but he was free Thursday, and the ICA is, too, every Thursday night, as he pointed out*. I'm a big fan of cheap dates, and apparently so is he, so Thursday it was.

For any of you thinking this might be a good idea for a second date, I have to caution you. First of all, the city has still done nothing to make the area around the ICA pedestrian-friendly. So, even while getting there is a breeze with public transit, once you get off at Courthouse, you've got about a half-mile walk through a not very romantic parking lot. Your date could easily disappear forever into one of Boston's legendary potholes or get plowed down by a Lexus SUV. Because approaching the building the sidewalks disappear, there is no separate entrance for people on foot, and you are forced to walk through the gate with the cars.

He was game, and had been through it all before, but it's typically half-assed urban design for our supposedly uber-pedestrian-friendly city. Sad, really. Pathetic in a way. But contemporary enough, I suppose.

The parking lot looked full but the museum seemed sparsely peopled (except for the cafeteria, which was packed), and at least half of those milling around the galleries were performance artists. A contingent of serious-looking white lab coat-clad artists from iKatun, The Institute for Infinitely Small Things, was shuffling around with clipboards upstairs in the "World As A Stage" exhibition, observing us observing them observing us. Whoa. Meta.

Which highlights another danger of the ICA for a first, second, or third date: some one of you might take it seriously, which would be boring.  Of course, this could be a good thing, as it might be a red flag.  But it's not healthy to be looking for those all the time, is it?  I mean, if you go to the ICA with some sort of litmus test in mind, it's obnoxious.  You definitely don't want to set someone up to be boring.  I mean, then you're the one waving the red flag, aren't you? 

A couple of weeks into my last serious foray into dating I met my date for First Friday in the South End, where artists open their studios to visitors.  My date followed me from studio to studio, scrutinizing me, obviously taking note of what I looked at.  Occasionally he would narrow his eyes and ask me why I was looking at something or other.  I'm like, what do you want me to do, smell it?  He was getting on my nerves, and mightily. 

Finally I was like, why are you walking three paces behind me, watching me like that, and taking notes? 

He said his therapist had told him to "observe" me. 

How obnoxious. 

I was like, what's her number? 

He looked frightened.  "What? Why?"

Because I'm gonna call her right now and tell her to tell you to stop!

But he continued to do it, even after informing me.  He was an AssMart — dammit, I always do that! — I mean, a MassArt grad, and acted like I'd either never been to a studio or gallery before, or wasn't doing it right.  Like I was like, "Art?  How do you spell it?"

When I took a postcard from one of the artists he'd been chatting up, he was like, "why did you take a postcard from him?" 

I said, I liked his ovals. 

He rolled his eyes. 

"Everyone is doing ovals." 

I was like, And?  What's wrong with doing ovals?

"I don't like that guy," he said.  "He slept with my ex."

I was like, And?  What's that got to do with his ovals?

"Everyone's doing ovals."

You mean, everyone's doing your ex, I said.  If I can't take a postcard from someone who slept with your ex,  I don't know how you expect me to get a drink in this town, or get my shirts dry-cleaned, or take a cab to the airport.  Everyone's slept with your ex.  I guess if you hadn't been hanging out in the sauna at BSC at Central Square giving out free blowjobs to all-comers (pun intended) every Thursday afternoon between 3 and 5 you'd have known that (his blowjobs were middling at best, by the way — teeth too big for his mouth — nice smile, but you pay for it).

But all that's ancient history. (Although the Thursday Afternoon Blowjob Special at the Central Square BSC is still on, if I'm not mistaken.)

Fast-forward to last Thursday again.  No such drama on this date, thank the gods.  But then there were no ovals on display, either. 

Personally I thought "World As A Stage" was lower-case "L" lame. Not majorly lame, since we got in for free. It just didn't hold together.

Because of cramped gallery space, Rita McBride's Arena, a section of bleachers, served no other purpose but to unintentionally highlight Jeppe Hein's much more fun and interesting Rotating Labyrinth (spinning mirrors anyone?). (Rick Sawyer over at Bostonist had a different experience of the intersection of the two pieces which I could see having had, if I was still where having my vanity beamed across the room was something I noticed — I've been jaded by beaming it across the universe through the ether all these years.)

We blew through the exhibition, stopping occasionally to comment on a piece that seemed to need commenting on. Looking down at Renata Lucas's Falha Scorpio said, "a lot of contemporary art makes me feel kind of... sad."  I take my meds beforehand, I told him, so that I feel nothing! HA HA! It's fun!  You should try it!

There were some cool pieces in the show, though.  We both liked Markus Schinwald's creepy toe-tapper, Bob. And stood watching him tap for untold minutes (I thought he might break into a little soft shoe at some point, but **SPOILER ALERT** he didn't). 

And while Scorpio was unimpressed, I could've sat and watched Catherine Sullivan's The Chittendens: The Resuscitation of Uplifting all night, although if it had been live I would have been uncomfortable watching it. I would have been sort of embarrassed for the actors, as I was a little for the kids from iKatun, who were discovering right before our very eyes how boring art can really be, even when you're making it.  (I'm sure they'd say they were having a blast, God love 'em.)

I loved Ulla von Brandenburg's Kugel, a 16mm black and white silent film, too, but not for the inscrutability of the images on the screen. It was the purr of the projector, such a soft, sensuous sound, that took me right back to my  school days, where we would watch films like that in class, and that wonderful sound would lull us all to sleep.

The Scorp wanted to show me that big spider (Louise Bourgeois's Spider) — possible red flag, not that I'm counting — in the permanent collection, which I didn't remember from before.  He said he thought it should have seven legs rather than eight, just to keep you on your toes. 

I like that burnt wood sculpture hanging from the ceiling, Cornelia Parker's Hanging Fire (Suspected Arson), but I think I would like it whatever it was — it wouldn't have to be burnt wood.  Scorp said he liked the nails that were left in the charred boards, though.  I was like, Oh, how, um, red flag—I mean, interesting. 

Noriko Furunishi’s Untitled (Grey Dry Stream) has always been one of my favorite works in the museum's permanent collection, but again it's not so important what the actual work depicts as that it was done by a Japanese artist.  And I like anything done by Japanese artists.

My favorite piece that I hadn't noticed before, and that Scorp pointed out to me, was Rachel Perry Welty's Karaoke Wrong Number.  I like any contemporary art that is clever, and a cool party trick.  That was a good note to leave it on, I thought. 

All of that took about ten minutes, and then it was off to the Barking Crab for dinner.  Our waiter had what I would say were mutton chops, but which my date thought weren't mature enough to be mutton, which led to his waxing nostalgic for everybody's favorite sock puppet, Lamb Chop!!!

BINGO!

Thank God he mentioned Lamb Chop, is all I can say.  If they haven't mentioned Lamb Chop by date three, it's over. That's what my shrink tells me, anyway.
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*Admission to the museum is free from 5 to 9PM every Thursday, but the movie's $9.00 regardless.