Thursday, August 31, 2006

More on Prior (Self-) Restraint

About the NYT blocking Brit web access to that terror suspect story yesterday, Poynter's oneliner from Chris Floyd put it better than I did, in less space.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

British Due Process v. The American First Amendment

I'm feeling very First Amendment Fundamentalist tonight. Hence, a rant.

Should I not have been surprised to learn, while perusing Foreign Policy's blog, that The New York Times has blocked British users from accessing a story that details evidence against those being prosecuted for the airline bomb plots that resulted in this most recent wave of heightened airport security?

I'm not familiar enough with Brit press law and whatever their equivalent of federal law is, so I could be missing something. But blocking access to information that a few enterprising reporters - or enterprising others - are able to gather just never seems like a good idea to me. While I understand that the Times' explanation basically says the paper is covering its legal arse, FP hints at why it is probably not such a good idea for this sort of thing to be enforced:

"The Internet frequently collides with Britain's phenomenally restrictive press laws. In 1997, Jack Straw's son was busted selling cannabis to an undercover reporter. But because he was a minor, his name could not be revealed in British papers. It was, however, all over the Internet and the London gossip scene."

Yup.....gossip and rumor are likely to fly far too freely in the absence of substantiated facts. And while part of the intent of the Brit restrictions might be to limit prejudice against the defendants, seems to me that rumor is far more likely to taint opinion than reporting that is based in fact.

Since the Times is an American paper, I don't understand how it might be subject to British press law; and I can't ever imagine the Times of the NYT v. Sullivan or the Pentagon Papers cases subjecting itself to what to me amounts to a form of prior restraint. Or, in this case, prior self-restraint.

Monday, August 21, 2006

Barcelonista



Sick cats and vet bills preclude crosscountry travel, so I hadn't yet realized that my vacation, scheduled to start last Sunday, actually started the previous Saturday evening. And it started not in Seattle but New Jersey - a bad sign had I been anywhere but Giants Stadium.

I'd been drawn into Barca unwillingly by Franklin Foer's praise, and no sooner had my newly adopted team won the Champions League than a friend, a regular Virgil of futbol, pointed out they'd be here for this friendly in August against the Red Bulls.

It wasn't Camp Nou, but in our case that was another good thing, because we'd never get 6th row seats there like we had here. I hadn't realized how close the 6th row goalside really is - it's *right there*, and I see could all Puyol's messy locks bouncing up and down as a trainer led him through pre-game warmups (later I figured out he was injured, and as captain, and a Catalan local, he's a crowd favorite, and couldn't not make a showing). Gio looks just as much a little kid in real life as he does on bigscreen bar TV, possessed of the unselfconscious sangfroid of a 10-year-old. Except, that is, when his own team's goalie yelled at him for invading his territory, and Gio tried to pretend he wasn't bothered (as when you didn't want to admit your parents were rightly admonishing you for torturing the neighbor's cat). I finally realized that my soft spot for Gio is not actually a la the hottie kind of soft spot, but because he actually reminds me of a friend's nephew, who is (objectively) the sweetest and most darling 10-year-old ever. Unlike Deco, Gio doesn't sport any haught in his attitude, hence he comes off more 10-year-old than worldly futbol player with athletic charisma to burn.

That said, Deco's slightly haughty athletic charisma suits him well, and Marquez is in the same category. Giuly I just like because it's fun to say his name over and over in my faux French accent, and because he's more than solid. Favored star child Ronaldinho would normally bore me as the overdog, except he smiles too much and has too much fun the whole time - he's all joy, plus all talent. (Towards game's end, when it was time to vote for the player of the game, his name showed up on the board as Ronlahdo de Assisi....eventually fixed). Eto'o - love his compact efficiency, even if he didn't have the greatest of nights. And, while Messi is great fun to watch with his longhair wonderboy partner on the pitch, I was a little annoyed with the ungraciousness of the large Argentinian contingent in the crowd who more or less "Messi-ed" Eto'o off the field. I know that in reality this was coach Frank Rykaard's decision, but Eto'o put up an excellent effort and just ended up having a bit of a crappy night.

I never got a good enough look at Rykaard to see if looks in life, as he does in still photos, a bit shaggy and not very attractive, or looks as dashingly handsome as he does in moving pictures. But in any instance, his exuberance when his team performs beautifully is arresting. When there's any decent reason to explode into a smile, Rykaard easily throws off the serious look that other coaches often envelope themselves in. Better yet, he transforms into Brother of Gio, as he did during what I think was Barca's 2nd and winning goal in the Champions' League game: running 'round with arms out, like a kid who's imagination and ecstasy (natural, not synthetic) transformed him into a airplane on a runway, about to take off. Contrast this with the tight, controlled downward pumping fist and dour face of Arsenal's head coach (I'm not a real futbol fan, so I don't know the guy's name) and it's easy to prefer Rykaard. I also love the noncomittal, everything is everything, zen attitiude about his team that comes across in the few interviews I've read. All that relaxed control equates to something close to mastery.

The evening's 4-1 victory was made all the sweeter by the happy accident of having found the Nevada Smith's Barcelona contingent right above us, next level up, keeping the spirit. Not that more spirit was needed in the sold out crowd that seemed to be about 95% Barca supporters, home turf for the Red Bulls notwithstanding. And when finally we made our way out ensconced between cadres of Brazilian and Argentinian fans trying to out-do each other in post-game chants the bubbling panic in my gut told me that no matter how much fun it might be to squeeze into popular bar matches between sweaty futbol boys, I probably do not have what it takes to get through a match outside the U.S. (So funny that Ronaldihno and Messi compliment one another so well on the field, but their respective national fans haven't found the way to translate that cooperation to their fandoms.) We made it out to the outrageous bus line, and got lucky to find a friend of futbol's virgil to let us cut the line. Hours later back at the Port Authority, I stumbled my way to the E train back to Queens, futbol-star-crossed and half asleep, surrounded (judging from all the jerseys) by lots of other Barca fans.

Also, I make no apologies for naive or ignorant omissions or misstatements above. I'm new at this, and gaffes are permitted and necessary.

Now, which way to Camp Nou?

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Detour


I was about to post my big list of Things I'm Going To Do In Seattle, where I was supposed to spend two weeks. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, it looks like I'll be spending my summer vacation right here in NYC.

I'm still adjusting, but it's not a bad place to spend a vacation. Perhaps I will pretend to be a tourist and at last check out the view from the top of the Empire State Building.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Namesake & First Amendment Fundamentalist



Lenny Bruce was found dead 30 years ago last week. I suppose I named the cat after this guy because I could then pretend that the spirit of Lenny Bruce was always near. Not the overdosing, lawsuit-obsessive, betrayer-of-friends part of him, but the part of him that would keep up his routine city after city, knowing he was more likely than not to be hauled away to jail again and again, just for using the f-word. I'm not sure he's a First Amendment martyr, as some would cast him, but he was definitely a First Amendment Fundmentalist (I'm so making the t-shirt), the only kind of fundamentalist I can appreciate.



If I attribute this photo to Getty Images via the BBC, does that make it okay to use here? I hope so.

In the future: fewer photos of people, especially icons.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Speculation & Succession


Oh, the flurry of speculation about whether or not Fidel Castro is dead now that Cuba has announced the handing over of temporary power to his brother Raul! And then there's the flurry of speculation about how Cuba will change with Fidel out of power or dead. Will the Miami exiles return en masse and reclaim their posh homes and sugar cane plantations? Will capitalism overnight quash decades of the red menace that festered in the backyard of the U.S.?

I don't think Castro is dead, and while I'm pretty sure there's lots of talk in Havana today about the (temporary or not?) hand-off, I also don't think it's the shocker for Cubans there that the U.S. government would like it to be. During rallies on Havana's Plaza de la Revolucion the crowd for years has alternated between chants of "Fidel! Fidel! Fidel!" with "Raul! Raul! Raul!"...that's some seriously strategic succession planning.