My friend Mike posted this graphic from phd comics yesterday. I know this cycle too well:

Similarly, this entertaining article from Jessica Winter in Slate documents the epic procrastination/perfectionism of Ralph Ellison and Truman Capote following the publication of their big hits (Invisible Man and In Cold Blood, respectively). My favorite part is the authors’ false claims of stolen and/or burned manuscripts–really just a half-step above the “my dog ate it” excuse. I wonder if a similarly anguished procrastination is secretly at work with Harper Lee and J.D. Salinger. Either way, the article struck a little fear in the heart of this wannabe scribe (though of course I have no great success—save the underappreciated buddy cop masterpiece Haymaker & Sally—to drive my anxiety), and I hope it does the same for a certain friend who needs to finish his opus, post-haste.

You don’t understand, OJ: people are paying to see me.

To the surprise of only those who believe in Santa Claus, ESPN is reporting that surefire NBA lottery pick O.J. Mayo received gifts—including hotel rooms, clothes, and a flat screen TV—from representatives of sports agents while he was at USC. Today, we get NCAA president Myles Brand’s reaction:

“This is not acceptable behavior and on occasion, it’s illegal. You get thrown in jail if you rob a bank, but people keep robbing banks. The fact of the matter is these kinds of activities are unacceptable, they are unfortunate. We expect the schools to enforce the rules and protect our student-athletes.”

Brand added that he’d like to see the NBA set up a rule whereby players are required to stay in college “two, three, or four years.”

While I can’t find the original article, it appears that, as of 2006, the NCAA was paying Myles Brand $895,000 a year. (Similarly, USC head coach Tim Floyd has a base salary of $850,000.) That same year, Brand delivered a speech defending the NCAA’s pursuit of increased revenues and dismissing complaints that the association’s commercialism was inappropriate. “Nonsense,” he said. ” ‘Amateur’ defines the participants, not the enterprise.”

Brand is right that it’s “unacceptable” for Rodney Guillory, the guy buying Mayo the gifts, to try to funnel the payments through allegedly non-profit shadow corporations. But remember that the NCAA is a tax-exempt organization–one with roughly $500 million a year in revenue and regular million dollar payouts for besuited blowhards. It provides vicarious thrills and bragging rights to the privileged segment of American society that call themselves alumni through a business model that compensates the athletes—the main attraction—at a tiny fraction of their market value. (Mayo could make a pretty compelling case that the value of his scholarship is less than .5% of what he would have made with an NBA contract and endorsement deals last year.) And of course, out of his boundless magnanimity and benevolent paternalism, Brand would like to protect guys like Mayo by requiring them to stay in school for four years.

So I say, here’s to you, O.J. Mayo. Way to get yours. Don’t bother denying it. Don’t act demure or contrite. Be honest: tell them Myles Brand and the rest of the NCAA are a bunch of wrinkled, profiteering, bloviating douche bags, peddling nostalgia for pennies on the dollar that should be yours. The next time some inflated sports-world muckraker confronts you with evidence that you got paid, tell ‘em the truth. You’re a baller and you want to get paid like one.

The handsome bearded man pictured above is Greg Plumis, photographed on the set of Haymaker & Sally, in which he deftly played two roles. But Greg’s skills extend beyond the silver screen: not only is he a versatile actor, but a skilled photographer as well. You can check out his work at the Greenwood Phinney Art Walk this weekend. Here is a sample:

Of course, the walk will feature many other talented artists as well–all the more reason to go. It runs tonight from 6:00 to 9:30 and tomorrow from 12:00 to 5:00. For more info, go here.

His website calls him “The Perfect 10 Model” (and even provides a recipe). He’s built like a power forward, shoots and passes like a guard, and can get off the floor when the mood strikes him. He also dresses like an Eastern Bloc Walt Frazier and flashes facial hair skills that would make George Michael blush. (It takes a lot to make George Michael blush). He was kicked off the Serbian national team for responding to a coach’s halftime tirade by flippantly peeling and eating a banana; he spent the second half in the crowd, posing for pictures and signing autographs. The current national team coach offered a TV or a laptop for his phone number. He wears mullets, fauxhawks, and braids equally without a hint of self-consciousness, lies about his height to bachelorette parties and about his snowboarding habits to his employer, evinces the mean ambition of a hot-boxed Breakfast Club, and, for all this, boasts over $15 million in career earnings, with another $18 or so guaranteed. He is Vladimir Radmanovic, a singular figure in the NBA.

Granted, underachievers are not a rarity in a league with guaranteed contracts. And there have been more than a few whose failure to fulfill their promise arose from deeper, decidedly unfunny troubles. (Eddie Griffin was perpetrator of perhaps the funniest drunken car accident in history until he died in another drunken car accident and it became hard to laugh at the first; Similarly, Vin Baker’s bug-eyed, jowly ineptitude was born of his constant suckling at the hooch-tit.) Despite his childhood in the war-torn Balkans, all signs point to Vladi being not a demon-stricken underachiever but rather a flamboyantly dressed, comically disengaged playboy, a combination of The Strokes and Steve Martin and Dan Ackroyd’s ‘Wild and Crazy Guys.’

Though I lament his departure from Seattle (for non-basketball reasons; as a GM, I would never sign him), his decision to sign with the Lakers has been a boon to Vladiphiles everywhere. Now he’s just a channel flip away, wearing grandpa-on-vacation knee-high black socks and improbably poised to add a championship ring to his garish get-up. (Perhaps that will finally discredit the ring as the litmust test of winner-ness). But more importantly, in his crusty coach, Vladi’s found his first worthy NBA foil.

Nate McMillan, a more mild-mannered member of the Scott Skiles/Avery Johnson young tough guy school, was way too no-nonsense for Vladi’s bullshit. Mike Dunleavy was just a quick stop on the contract-year gravy train (look—Vladi even rebounds!). But Phil Jackson is as hopelessly adolescent as Vladi (if possessed of a better attention span). His Zenmaster schtick consists mainly of third-hand mystical pablum and a willingness to insult his players in the press. What better situation, then, for Vladi and the Vladiphiles? We used to have to scour awkward translations of Serbian message boards to find the latest nugget of Vladi apathy, but now it’s front page on ESPN. Phil calls Vladi a space cadet; Vladi separates his shoulder snowboarding. Phil says Vladi should see the team psychologist; Vladi says Phil is like Jack Nicholson in Anger Management. Phil says Vladi is not playing up to his potential; Vladi says they’ll talk about it in the exit interview. And on and on it goes, Mean Girls in men’s clothes playing a child’s game.

Cue up the banana, Vladi. Let’s hope that exit interview doesn’t come for a long time.

One Saturday morning in the year 2000, South Tacoma eight-year-old Perley King woke up to find that there were no Cheerios in the cupboard. Cheerios were his favorite cereal, so he did what any bold and resourceful eight-year-old would do: he got the family dog, stole the keys to his sister’s car, and attempted to drive to the grocery store, alternately pressing the gas and lifting himself to see over the dashboard.

I’ve always admired Perley King for his take-charge approach, and even suggested to my girlfriend the possibility of naming future offspring after him. The idea was quickly vetoed.

The legend and his partner in crime pose for the press in 2000

Well, it appears that Perley has been upstaged. Seven-year-old Latarian Milton of Palm Beach Gardens, Florida joyrode his grandmother’s Dodge Durango because he was mad at his mom. Check out the video. How many seven-year-olds get to give their defiant “I’m not sorry” speech on television. He provides some great quotes.

Thanks to Jeff for the tip.

Do you think America’s health care system is a mess? Do you think private insurers look to maximize profits by denying coverage and care? Do you make videos?

Unleash your inner Michael Moore/Erroll Morris/Jason Reid and win $1,000 by making a one-minute (or less) video on the bad behavior of America’s private insurers. The Northwest Federation of Community Organizations (NWFCO) is holding the contest as part of their Sick Profits campaign. I was an intern with NWFCO for a summer and can attest that they do really good work.

Contest guidelines are here.

Contest YouTube page is here.

A little Monday morning paparazzi action for you, courtesy of “The Dirty” and a hot tip from my man, Matt N.

It’s Spencer Hawes and the Durantula hanging out with what appears to be next year’s pledge class. More photos here.

Local sportswriter Seth Kolloen just announced the second issue of his new magazine, Sports NW. The cover story is a piece by Free Darko scribe Bethlehem Shoals, arguing that the relocation of the Sonics to Oklahoma City is part of a David Stern plan to woo red-state America. The cover art is provided by Supersonicsoul contributor Rafael Colonzo, Jr. Check it out:

This week, the state announced that it has increased the list of viaduct replacement options from three to ten. But with the political process seemingly dragging and with removal of the old, unstable structure still four years off, some might wonder: what if an earthquake were to hit in the meantime? After all, it was the 2001 Nisqually Earthquake that set the structure sinking into Elliott Bay, and since then a group of earth sciences and urban planning experts at the University of Washington have repeatedly warned the state to shut it down as soon as possible. If an earthquake were to strike at rush hour tomorrow and a collapsed viaduct killed thousands, would the state end up paying damages on wrongful death lawsuits?

Many states employ “sovereign immunity” to protect their governments from litigation, while others cap the damages their governments can pay. For example, Minnesota, the state with the most recent highway collpase, doesn’t have sovereign immunity, but does cap damages at $1 million per incident. (Bridge victims there are being compensated through a $38 million fund set up by the state legislature.) Washington waived sovereign immunity in 1961–Attorney General Rob McKenna’s recent efforts to curtail the state’s immunity have failed–and places no cap on damages. So, in theory, this hypothetical’s plaintiffs could go ahead with their suits and demand a lot of money. But succeeding would be a tricky prospect.

“If it were a huge earthquake and even new buildings were collapsing, it would be a lot harder to say that the state was negligent with the Viaduct,” says Chuck Paglialunga, whose law firm, Paglialunga and Harris, handles cases involving wrongful deaths and negligent highway design. “On the other hand, if it were a mild earthquake, and the Viaduct still collapsed, that might show it was unreasonably dangerous.”

But the size of the earthquake would be just the beginning. Were there affordable interim measures the state could have taken to lessen the risk? It’s already spending nearly $15 million on emergency repairs; designing and implementing a replacement structure or system will be vastly more expensive. (Of course, the UW experts who called for the Viaduct’s closure noted that a planned interruption is less costly than an emergent one. It may also be worth considering that the costs of steel and cement are expected to continue to rise, as China’s economy continues to grow.)

However, even if the math favored the plaintiffs–that is, that the probability of a disaster multiplied by the cost of damages exceeded the cost of repairs—the state could probably invoke “discretionary immunity.” This court-created doctrine holds that high-level discretionary acts by the government–basically, decisions of policy direction, as opposed to implementation–are immune from lawsuits.

Still, there might be one last angle. “Here’s the kicker,” says Louis Wolcher, a professor of torts at UW Law School. “There are two different kinds of theories a plaintiff can assert. One is, you should have designed it better, retrofitted it, or shut it down. The other is that you should have provided adequate warning.” Wolcher notes that the state might argue that local drivers were aware of the risks, and admits he’s at a loss as to what such warning signs might say. Nevertheless, perhaps the state will want to add this eleventh, interim option to its list.