Far be it from me to dive fully into the blog-morass that is the Terry Schiavo case (or to take issue with the deep passion that some friends have on this), but I do feel the obligation to pick a nit.

At the American Scene, Ross Douthat writes:

it seems pretty much blindingly obvious that a woman who is badly brain-damaged but not entirely vegetative, and has a family that's more than willing to take care of her more or less indefinitely, shouldn't be starved to death because her husband (who incidentally wants to get remarried) claims without any documentation or proof that she would want it that way. ... why not choose life? Who's hurt by it? If the materialists are right, and we are our brain functions, then Terri is gone forever -- so she isn't hurt. Her husband can get a divorce, so he isn't hurt. The parents are willing to take care of her, so the state's pocketbook isn't hurt. So what's the harm?

My favorite quote thus far from the oral arguments (PDF) in Kelo v. New London (which, I predict, Kelo will lose, 6-2, with Justice Scalia and Thomas dissenting and perhaps one or more concurrences from Breyer, Kennedy, and O'Connor, and talk about the importance of compensation and good faith):

MR. HORTON: But as I say, Your Honor, if public use and public purpose are the same thing, which they are unless you're going to overrule Holmes' decisions from 1905 and 1906. --

JUSTICE SCALIA: It wouldn't the first of Holmes' decisions to be overruled.

When I'm in the gym (not as often as I should be, I admit) I've taken to noticing the different rules of etiquette norms that either develop naturally, or that gym managers institute as policy. Interestingly, gym etiquette is pretty similar and rigorously followed everywhere I've been. Most rules make sense: try not to bang your weights, since it's annoying and loud; don't look at how much other people are lifting, since it's really not your business; don't cheer people on if you dont' know them, since they really don't want your help, etc. Two rules, however, give me pause.

1. The clean your machine rules. The basic rules at most gyms is that you wipe off your machine after using it. My gym here in Chicago provides paper towels and some mysterious blue cleaning agent for this purpose, and has signs posted saying, "Please clean your machines after use," or something to that effect.

I find this extremely puzzling. Why wipe off a machine after you've used it, rather than before? This system fails because it assumes that everyone (1) will wipe after using their machines and (2) cares equally about using clean equipment. Unfortunately, only the clean and conscientious ("Cleans") remember or care to clean off their machines after using them. Others forget to do so or just ignore the rule ("Dirties"). This doesn't seem to make sense though: every time a Clean person uses a machine after a Dirty person, there's an exchange of filth that the clean person would rather have avoided, but didn't, having relied (reasonably?) on the gym policy. Granted, the Clean types can mitigate their losses by always cleaning their machines before use, but that means that the Clean type cleans twice as often as others, creating a benefit that redounds, in party, to Dirty types (who then avoid dirt and germs or what have you) at no cost. Similarly, whenever a Dirty type uses a machine after a Clean type, they're benefiting from cleanliness that they neither care about nor would have provided for others.

I guess there's something "polite" about cleaning up after one has sullied public equipment, but it just seems like the reverse system would do a better job making sure that people who like clean machines get them and don't end up cleaning machines for others who don't care and don't return the favor. Admitedly, this is a bit simplistic: Not every person who cares about clean equipment is conscientious (or altruistic); similarly, not every person who doesn't care about clean equipment for themselves is so cold-hearted that they neglect to clean up after themselves. Even so, I would posit that there's a correlation between the two traits. People who don't care about dirty are more likely to assume that others don't care either; and vice versa.

2. The 30 minute rule. Most gyms have a rule posted saying something like "Limit use to 30 minutes when others are waiting." As a law student I'm honor-bound to find ambiguity in every textual directive. Does this mean "when people are waiting, use the machine for only 30 minutes longer" (such that no one has to wait more than 30 minutes to get on the machine) or does it mean "if you've been using this machine for 30 minutes, then as soon as someone is waiting for the machine, you must give it up." The latter is the rule in every gym I've been in. Thus, if I've been running 31 minutes and someone walks in and is waiting for a treadmill, I'm supposed to give it up.

What sense does this make though? For starters, this encourages all sorts of odd behavior to avoid the rule. For example, people drape towels over their machines so that no one can tell how long they've been using them. Similarly, what's to stop me from turning my machine on and off, restarting the clock, every 5 minutes until someone walks in. Then, the person waiting still has to wait for me to hit the 30 minute mark. It seems like that's just inefficient -- why not just force them to wait the 30 minutes anyway? Further, if there are four treadmills, all I care about is having my clock be one minute behind someone else's, in effect, turning other gym members into a buffer. (So if X is 13 minutes into his workout, I want to be at 12 -- that way if someone walks in 15 minutes from now, X has to give up his machine, and I get to work out until someone else comes in - I have a one person buffer).

Aside from game-playing, this rule creates perverse incentives. The system favors those who drift into the gym when it gets crowded since they get machines more quickly, while those who come to the gym earlier must cede their machines. This just encourages peak-time-arrivals, thereby exacerbating the problem. Further, it creates disincentives for serious exercisers (who are more likely to be using the machines beyond 30 minutes). Empirically, I'd guess it'd be the case that in serious gyms, like say, Gold's Gym, or something like that, there aren't time limits on the machines, or, if there are, members tend to parse the 30-minute rule differently.

While I was in Venice I was reminded that Sasha Volokh (formerly of the Volokh Conspiracy) had blogged a trip to Venice about two years ago. Unlike Volokh, I stayed away from Harry's Bar but did stay on the mainland. Like him, I particularly liked the stolen goodies on the upper level of St. Mark's Basilica and the dungeons and crannies of the Doge's Palace. I also loved Murano-- the boat trip out there, the time spent sticking our heads into glass factories, where half a dozen men bustled giant balls of red-hot glass into delicate artworks, and buying too many things (like an orchestra).

I was struck by how shabby all of the buildings looked from the canal-side. Unsurprising-- nobody arrives at the Opera Fenice by boat any more, so why not turn the grand entrance into a rusty place for broken instruments to rest?-- but I still thought it was sad. In my armchair land-use-planner's hat, I suspect that if Venice is to ever be a place where people really live again (and it may not) there will have to be some effort to return the canals to more serious popular use. Overpriced watertaxis and 400 extremely overpriced gondolas are not going to do the trick, and the Vaporetti mostly stay out of the side-canals. My tentative suggestion would be to put yellow rowboats all over the city, and let people row themselves from landing to landing to launch, especially when one or two meager canals can cut across a ratty warren of unnavigable streets. Maybe the liability problems would be too immense.

Maybe this also says something off my affection for boats-- the boat rides were some of my favorite parts of the trip (C.f. Murano) and if I had more time in Venice I think I would spend almost all of it island-hopping (and perhaps taking a few more spins through the Rialto market).

Donna Tartt's The Little Friend and John Irving's The Cider House Rules are twins in many respects. Both are gripping but not-entirely-trashy paperbacks, each one kept me engrossed for most of a transatlantic flight, both deal with death and community in a highly geographic focus in two regions (New England, the South) that I'm not much familiar with. And both have incredibly unsatisfying endings.

I liked both, but in the end, I preferred Cider House, not because I liked the ending (I didn't! The shy, shuffly hero should win the enchanting if vapid blonde a little more often. C.f. The Secret History), but because it at least had one. Among my lowbrow biases is this: Unless a sequel is to be reasonably expected, I would like my characters' lives tidied up, please. It is nice to follow through until they actually die, but I am willing to make certain allowances. I will not give away the plot of the Little Friend except to say this-- If, most of the way through the book you develop questions about what is going on, the rest of the book will not answer any of them.

[50 Book Challenge]