Another such egregious offender is TheStreet.com’s Scott Mortiz, an apparent CDMA apologist who writes a badly misguided post about five “blemishes” on the new iPhone, a post whose permalink is “5-reasons-not-to-buy-iphone-4″?  Do we have any doubts about his impartiality at this point?  Herein is my complete dissection of the nonsense this man foists upon an unsuspecting public in the name of objective “journalism”

Mr. Moritz, no favorite of Daring Fireball’s John Gruber,  starts off by saying the iPhone has a “skimpy camera”.  I’m not sure what color the sky is in your world, but in no universe in which I exist is 5 megapixels (MP) considered skimpy.  Realistically, unless you plan on making large format (greater than 8×10″)  prints from your pictures, a good 5MP shot is sufficient for small prints and web publishing.  Additionally, you can increase the resolution of the camera all you want; if the imaging sensor chip in the camera doesn’t increase proportionally, your end result is smaller pixels on the sensor.  Although Apple is notoriously opaque about the nuts & bolts that go into their phones and MP3 players, Steve Jobs did mention during the WWDC keynote that the pixel size of the iPhone 4 camera would be the same as the iPhone 3G S, strongly hinting that the sensor size had grown along with the resolution of the camera.  In a video comparo of the the two flagship 4.3″ Android handsets, the HTC Sprint EVO and the Motorola Droid X, he clearly states that the Droid X’s camera is disappointing next to that of the EVO.  I notice he hasn’t yet compared the iPhone, and its 720P video capability, to either of the larger Android handsets.

He then laments that Apple didn’t include a predictive typing technology called Swype in the iPhone.  Swype is software that was invented by the creators of T9 predictive texting, which was either the greatest thing ever invented for non-QWERTY phones, or a harbinger of the Phonepocalypse, depending upon the person being asked.  I hated T9 texting, and I’m concerned because Swype still seems to be a very beta product.  Comments in the Swype forum indicate issues with the language support built into the software, which is a huge concern for any company wanting to sell their phones outside the US and other English-speaking countries.  Incorporating Swype into their products at this point in the game would require Apple to fork their OS development efforts into two separate branches – Swype & non-Swype, depending upon language support.  Such an effort would significantly increase the effort and complexity of keeping the two branches in sync, and of porting language support from one branch to the other once Swype added support.

Mr. Moritz then complains that the FaceTime video calling feature of the iPhone 4 is only available via wi-fi, and only with other iPhone 4 users at this point.  Apple has already said they’ll publish the protocol as an open standard, paving the way for video chat services like Skype to utilize FaceTime in their product, and allowing for other manufacturers to build FaceTime support into their handsets.

His next point of contention is shortages of the iPhone, and how supply chain difficulties have forced Apple to cut their manufacturing output to a measly 1 million phones per month.  I’m sure Google would have liked to have had this problem with their Nexus One, which only sold 135K units in its first 74 days.  That time period is significant because the original iPhone, which was also sold unsubsidized, sold 1 million devices in that same period.  The Droid, on the other hand, only sold 1.05 million devices in its first 74 days despite being heavily subsidized.

Finally we reach the heart of Mr. Moritz’s argument, that the #1 reason NOT to buy an iPhone is because there is no Verizon iPhone.  He doesn’t argue that carrier exclusivity, or the absence of the iPhone on the other 3 major carriers, is a reason not to buy an iPhone.  He shows his true colors as an unabashed fanboy, as someone whose subjectivity clouds his judgment, in saying that the news of a new iPhone isn’t as big as news of a Verizon iPhone would be.  You can kvetch all you want about AT&T’s network, and how the iPhone exclusive is holding Apple back, but it’s no secret that Verizon originally spurned the iPhone.  That move sent a jilted Apple into the arms of AT&T, at that point the only other network large enough for the iPhone, and the rest is history.  Three years in, we’d be hearing nothing but complaints from Verizon loyalists had they landed the iPhone, wailing about how the network couldn’t handle the load, and how Verizon’s slow implementation of Voice Over Rev. A (VORA) was keeping iPhone users from being able to use simultaneous voice and data.  Is it about time for Apple to end their exclusivity with AT&T?  Probably.  Is it also time for them to offer iPhones to every wireless carrier in the US?  Definitely.  Should someone work as a tech journalist with a seemingly poor understanding of technology and a glaring lack of objectivity refrain from calling himself so?  Undoubtedly.

The main page of the Center for Inquiry (CFI) web site discusses how the loss of a major anonymous donor has forced them to restructure their operations and potentially close their DC office. After the debacle that was the Hitchens event, I have very little sympathy for their plight.  If they can’t run a simple lecture-cum-book-signing, I have little faith in their operations on a larger scale.  Mr. Hitchens, his publisher, and his “team” (if indeed, he has a cadre of handlers) should carefully reconsider any more events benefiting this group.

I arrived a few minutes prior to 5:15, when the doors were supposed to open, to find a long, poorly formed, and slow-moving line stretching most of the length of the (long side of the) block.  And this was on a day when it hit hit 97 or so degrees in Washington, DC.  Random event staff were wandering around asking if there was anyone in the line who hadn’t pre-registered on the Internet.  I waited, and waited, slowly growing more uncomfortable in the afternoon heat.  Some enterprising employees of one of the many DC-to-New York bus lines were selling water for $1 to people in line.

As I approached the front door of the building, one of the many hapless CFI employees/event staff milling about was talking about how there were supposed to be VIPs, but he didn’t really know who they were or where they were supposed to sit.  When I finally made it in the door of the Synagogue, I saw the reason for the bottleneck.  There was one table with two staffers checking every single pre-registered guest, one for the first half of the alphabet and another for the latter half.  Each staffer had pages and pages of names through which he had to flip to find a single reservation.  You were then given a ticket, and if you purchased a book you had to fight the flow of traffic and cross back against the line of people waiting  to be checked in to retrieve your copy of the book.

Was the data structured in such a way as to make it quick and easy to check off a name (like a simple Excel spreadsheet organized by last name)?  Sadly, no.  Was the line set up in such a manner as to stop at one station, check in, proceed to the next station if you were buying a book (as it seemed most of the attendees had done), and then into the event?  Again, the answer would be negative.

So I finally wander into the synagogue, and find the entire left front of the auditorium reserved for “friends” of the CFI.  My choices downstairs were the very back row, or the far side of the auditorium.  I wandered over to the far side of the auditorium and walked as far forward as I could, only to be accosted by this smug little bald winged monkey informing me that these seats were also reserved, despite a lack of obvious signage to that effect.

That was simply the final straw.  I said that I had had enough of the event, said so audibly, and was asked if there was a problem.  After 45 minutes outside in blistering heat and my experience navigating the sea of clueless event staff, my patience, never in abundant supply, had worn thin.  I asked who I could see about a refund, and was directed back to the front desk.  I encountered someone who was ostensibly the manager of the front desk who informed me that all the seats in front of this particular column were reserved across the entire lower level of the auditorium.  I asked why they weren’t marked as such across the auditorium, and why was the line moving so slowly, and she could only repeat the mantra “It’s the biggest event we’ve done. There are over 1,000 attendees”.  I asked for my money back, and was refunded most of it in cash.  I was informed that the event ticket was non-refundable, although they did refund about half of what the event ticket was supposed to cost.  This is the cost of not refunding me the entire amount.

I was informed by others in attendance that the event started 20 minutes late because of the staff’s difficulty in checking in all the guests.  I’ve honestly never run into a lecture and book-signing event so poorly administered, including a handful of events at the larger Lisner Auditorium.  There was simply no excuse for the poor execution of the staff in attendance.

In closing, I wanted to like you, Center for Inquiry.  I really did.  But I don’t brook fools at all well.  And Mr. Hitchens, I would strongly recommend you find another pet project in your quest to foster rationality.

Sincerely yours,

The Unqualified One

I’m not going to say anything about Vampire Weekend’s Contra or Surfer Blood’s Astro Coast that someone hasn’t already said, but I think both albums are worth a listen.  I will say that I think this is the album that Vampire Weekend was trying to make with their eponymous debut, which showed a tremendous amount of promise but ultimately fell a bit short.  Compared to the debut by their upstate compatriots Ra Ra Riot, Vampire Weekend felt flat and stifled by comparison.  Astro Coast is good, old-fashioned surf-inflected power guitar pop.

After hearing “You Must Be Out of Your Mind”, I really wanted to like The Magnetic Fields‘ Realism, the final installment of their “no-synth” trilogy.  I’m an unapologetic defender of Stephin Merritt (against the likes of Jessica Hopper and Sasha Frere-Jones).  I just couldn’t find any other tracks to love; to me, there was no “Come Back from San Francisco” to serve as the companion to “I Don’t Want to Get Over You”.  The album is, as always, beautifully arranged and lovingly executed, so I don’t want to dissuade you from buying it if you’ve been a fan of their prior work.

One album about which I am very excited is Basia Bulat’s Heart of My Own.  The Canadian neo-folkie with the dusky alto returns with another densely layered album, full of her recondite lyrics, soaring string arrangements and characteristic autoharp.  She’ll be playing a show at Iota on March 23rd; I recommend you check her out.  I was there for her phenomenal show with Vandaveer at DC9 a few years ago.

Yeasayer’s ODD BLOOD is also garnering a lot of positive press, and rightly so.  Their follow up to 2007′s All Hour Cymbals shows them heading into the direction of danceable but experimental pop in the vein of Dirty Projectors and Brian Eno.  The percussion is still present, as are the strong vocals, but the world music focus of their prior album gives way to a more heavily synthesized sound.  I jokingly told a friend that Yeasayer had made the best 80s album of 2010, and I was only half-kidding.

While we’re on the subject of eighties-inflected music, Four Tet’s There is Love In You is absolutely stunning.  “Angel Echoes” is an early pick for Song of the Year.  Kieren Hebden is to electronic music as Nico Muhly is to classical, a talented young barbarian at the gates of tradition.

Albums I haven’t listened to but intend to are Local Natives’ Gorilla Manor, OK Go’s Of the Blue Color of the Sky, The Knife’s Tomorrow in a Year, and Adam Green’s Minor Love.  The buzz about Local Natives is gathering, with an exclusive first listen on NPR and a SXSW set.  OK Go has produced not one, but two, of the most imaginative videos of the year for their single “This Too Shall Pass” (a la Weezer’s “Island in the Sun”).  The Knife’s Dreijer siblings, who wrote the single “Heartbeat” popularized by Jose Gonzalez, return with an opera inspired by Darwin’s On the Origin of Species.  And finally, former Moldy Peaches vocalist Green channels his inner Leonard Cohen and Serge Gainsbourg on his latest release.

Everyone will tell you to go to Mother’s for brunch or po-boys (that typically New Orleans sandwich made on French Bread).  Unless you’re there on a weekday, you should avoid it, in my opinion.  It’s too expensive for what you get, the lines on weekends are too long, and the new ownership of the place has turned it a tourist trap.  If you want to experience a “real” New Orleans po-boy, go to Parkway Bakery or Parasol’s.  Better, cheaper sandwiches, and more local flavor.  You absolutely have to have a roast beef po-boy while you’re in New Orleans, and I also recommend a fried oyster or shrimp sandwich if you dare.  If you’re not of the meat-averse variety, the other definitive New Orleans sandwich is the muffuletta, a large, round seeded roll filled with Italian meats, cheese, and wonderfully oily olive salad.  The definitive place to grab a muff is Central Grocery, one of a few restaurants that lays claim to inventing the sandwich.

If you have a day to visit a plantation, I recommend Oak Alley.  It’s a magnificent piece of living history.

If you want to do something cheesy and touristy, I’d suggest the Honey Island Swamp Tour.  Legend has it that a Bigfoot-like creature lives back in the swamp.  There’s also the Haunted History Tour of New Orleans, which is super schlocky but fun.  Note: I’ve almost run these tourons over on multiple occasions.  Save the power drinking for post-Haunted History Touring.

As far as fine dining goes, there’s Breakfast at Brennan’s and John Besh’s Restaurant August.  The Brennans own seemingly half the restaurants in the French Quarter (hereafter referred to as just the Quarter), and I think Brenna’s is one of the best.  If you love French Creole food and want to take in the old money (and some of the nouveau riche) of New Orleans, there’s Galatoire’s.  This is the kind of joint where you keep your jacket on during dinner.  I’m not a huge fan, but that’s because I don’t like French food.

For Italian, there’s Impastato’s and Venezia’s.  Impastato’s is the kind of place you want to go when you don’t mind dinner taking 2 or 3 hours, and you want to see the pasta Alfredo made at your tableside.  Venezia’s is good old-fashioned casual N’awlins Italian food, in the kind of place that’s changed very little since it opened 50 years ago.

Breakfast, burgers and milkshakes are the specialty at Camellia Grill.  It’s New Orleans’ version of (DC’s) The Diner, except it doesn’t suck.  Jimmy Buffett picked this place as one of his ten favorite burgers in the US.  Jacque-Imo’s is probably the most popular of the new New Orleans restaurants.  They don’t take reservations for small groups, and you might wait in line, but it’s probably worth it.

For a super fast casual lunch, Juan’s Flying Burrito is quick, cheap and easy.  For an inexpensive but flavorful burger, head to Bud’s Broiler.  Fresh, never frozen, beef.  I’d recommend the #4 with either hickory sauce (a really pungent BBQ sauce) or chili, cheese and onions.  The Calhoun and City Park Avenue locations are the best.

New Orleans City Park is charming, housing a whole host of fun things, including the New Orleans Museum of Art.  It’s mammoth, probably larger in size in proportion to the city than Rock Creek is to DC.  Grab some burgers or a po-boy and hang out in the park if the weather is nice.

Now if you want to go deep New Orleans and eat at the places where the locals dine, head on over to sample the chicken Willie Mae’s Scotch House in Treme or Rocky & Carlo’s in Chalmette.  Willie Mae’s is an exceptional story, a James Beard nominee that was destroyed during Hurricane Katrina and was rebuilt largely through the efforts of the James Beard Foundation and famous chefs from across the country (including DC’s Ann Cashion and New Orleans’ John Besh).  Rocky & Carlo’s was similarly destroyed by the hurricane, in an area that was devastated much worse than most of the rest of the area.  Go there for the baked macaroni & cheese, the brocioloni (a variant on braciole), or the veal parmigiana.

If you dare to try raw oysters, Felix’s or Pascal Manale’s.  I like Manale’s better, but Felix’s is in the French Quarter.

Now that you’ve eaten your way through New Orleans, there’s nightlife.  For a romantic evening, you can’t do better than live jazz at Snug Harbor.  Located just outside the quarter in the Marigny, this is the area where locals like to congregate.  Bars like DBA, the Apple Barrel, Cafe Brasil and the R Bar are all within a short walk from here.

As far as in the Quarter, The Gold Mine Saloon is where I wiled away much of my young adulthood.  It’s pretty raucous, and do a Flaming Dr. Pepper shot if you dare.  Cosimo’s is the coolest bar in the Quarter, just far enough off the beaten path so you avoid the worst of the tourons.  Fahey’s and O’Flaherty’s are cool little Irish bars in the Quarter.

Now I’m back to food…if you need a late night bite to eat, there’s Verti Marte and Clover Grill.  Both joints are 24 hours…the former is better if you want to grab some takeout and take it back to the hotel, the latter better if you’re not quite ready to call it a night but need a quick bite to eat.

You absolutely, positively, have to go have a drink on the outside balcony of the Columns Hotel.  If you’re looking for live New Orleans music, you can’t go wrong with the world famous Tipitina’s.  The Sunday Fais Do Do with Bruce Daigrepont is a little slice of Cajun heaven in New Orleans.

I’m sure I overlooked a few things here and there, and this is meant to be more of a living post than a static snapshot.

First, I object to her characterization of the song “The Nun’s Litany” as pseudo-feminist because it “provides a ringing endorsement for expressing female sexual freedom as obtained by sex industry performance”.  As performed on the album Distortion, Shirley Simms’ flat, almost mechanical voice somehow mutes the song’s unspoken and heartbreaking revelation that trading one male-dominated yoke for another isn’t empowerment.  Songwriter Stephin Merritt’s world-weary bass fills in the blanks in a manner that Simms simply cannot.

Is Hess honestly trying to make a comparison between “California Girls” and Crime Mob’s “Stilletos (Pumps)“?  From my not so casual listening to TMF’s music, I’ve come to the conclusion that Stephin Merritt has two modes – painfully earnest and playfully cheeky (as in tongue planted firmly in).  Some of his songs show both sides of this dichotomy, as when Merritt writes (and sings) “I could make a career of being blue/I could dress in black and read Camus/Smoke clove cigarettes and drink
vermouth like I was 17/That would be a scream”.  He confronts the realization that, no matter how real the pain at losing a lover is, he’s unsure how to proceed without eventually falling squarely into the realm of the cliche.  On a slightly more abstract level, this is simply a variation on the trope, “There is nothing new under the sun”.

I digress.  I somehow find it unlikely that the diminutive and gay Merritt, whose affliction with hyperacusis makes him unable to stand percussion or audience applause onstage, has ever been in a fight in a bar or anywhere else.  I additionally find it not entirely unlikely that that the members of Crime Mob, whose ranks previously included a rapper with three solo efforts entitled Bitch Music as well as a convicted child molester, are perfectly capable of and likely to throw down on any given Saturday.

As I listen to “California Girls”, I picture Stephin Merritt as a slightly perverse and post-modern Brian Wilson, turning the Beach Boys/Spectorian “Wall of Sound” on its ear.  Rather than reveling in red-blooded, all-American fun, the song’s protagonist indulges a momentary, violent, and misanthropic fantasy with his/her “battle ax”.  I say “his/her” because of Merritt’s long history of gender-bending in his lyrics.  “Come Back from San Francisco” features a female vocalist singing the lyrics, “Should pretty boys in discos/Distract you from your novel/Remember I’m awful in love with you”.  Is the object of the singer’s affection bisexual, perhaps a male who enjoys the company of other men or a woman who bats for both teams?  Of course not.  Regardless of which member of the group is singing, the words are (probably) all Merritt’s.  Rather than indulging in the process of modifying the lyrics to suit her reality, Simms sings them as written without apology.

I think Amanda’s thinly veiled implication that Merritt is a misogynist, much like Jessica Hopper and Sasha Frere-Jones’ similarly misguided attempt to brand him a racist, falls apart under careful examination.  Her usually stellar writing makes little more sense in this instance than Joanna Krupa’s model-thin defense of her decision to pose in Playboy.  A lack of hyperbole and an inability to suspend disbelief do not a feminist make.