EuroCup '08

Along with the other 6.6 billion humans on earth, I watched the EuroCup soccer final between Spain and Germany (congrats to Spain!). Before the final, I managed to catch select games throughout the tournament. It struck me during the competition, as it strikes me every World Cup, that these international soccer matches surpass all other sporting events for viewer satisfaction.

One important explanation is the nature of soccer, itself. A soccer match plays two 45-minute halves, followed by extra periods or shootouts in the case of ties. Barring a particularly brutal injury or penalty, play essentially never stops throughout those 45 minutes. Whereas commercials, timeouts, pauses between pitches, or huddles slow other sporting events, the intensity remains high and constant throughout a good match. This also demands that soccer players exhibit not only quick-burst speed, but also formidable endurance. I am drawn to that well-rounded conditioning.

Furthermore, soccer requires relatively few accoutrements. Players wear cleats and shin guards—goalies wear gloves—but no other padding, protection, or tools are allowed. To me, there’s something elemental and fundamentally satisfying about that. The simplicity of the sport seems to focus your attention on the athleticism and the strategy without distraction. Also, if a ball of any kind can be found, any impoverished person throughout the globe can setup makeshift goalposts with shirts and play soccer. I love the inclusiveness of the sport.

But those explanations apply to any soccer match. What distinguishes international play is the rarity of so many people passionately uniting under a common, positive cause. I guarantee you that the Basques, Catalans, and Galicians never align themselves with the bulk of Spain as they do during an international soccer match. The 45million Spaniards would have married off their daughters in a heartbeat to rival ethnic groups yesterday evening! Although I always fear overzealous nationalism, in some ways, those drives can minimize internecine and interminable strife, if only momentarily. Now that’s rare. Watching that match and seeing images of Madrid, Barcelona, Berlin, and Munich, you honestly believed those cities were on the verge of erupting. The majority of that energy was positive. Compare, instead, other huge gatherings of similar energy, and you likely pinpoint a protest. These matches truly do supply something incredible in a uniquely positive light.

In general, I love all kinds of sports. If, however, an evil genie came and stripped all other competitions from me except one, I would choose the World Cup.

I Pee Ale

India Pale Ale, to be exact (I wrote this post just so I could use that title, followed by that line).

But it’s true. An important development has transpired over the last 1 ½ months. Heretofore, I’ve always found IPAs too bitter. However, since combining a Lagunitas IPA with Sonoma cuisine and discovering true euphoria, nothing less complex can satisfy right now.

It’s nothing novel to enter a new stage of preferences. I spent October ’07 through April ’08 salivating non-stop over New Belgium’s 1554, which will undoubtedly remain among my favorites. This latest stage, however, is a leap compared to historical trends. Although not a connoisseur by any means, I am a beer lover and many trysts litter my past (amber ales, brown ales, stouts, oatmeal stouts, lagers, hefeweizens, etc.). For all their character, none of these carried themselves with the sassiness of an IPA. Is this my mid-beer-drinking life crisis? Will I return to the past, mellow favorites after IPAs run their comparatively-flashy course?

All signs point to yes and no. Yes, as in, “Duh, Phil. IPA’s don’t mesh well with lots of foods and, just as moods shift and revisit themselves, so too do beer tastes.” No, in that my palette seems to have taken a seismic shift towards accommodating—and craving—more adventurous flavors. Coincidentally, my food tastes seem to be tracing a parallel course. All I can do is credit Sonoma with making it a lot harder to appreciate a $6 burrito and a Pabst.

Now we all know harder does not mean impossible. Nor, even, necessarily difficult, in an absolute sense. Just harder.

Fantas-y-tic

Chockronial Salamandus de Rosenstern bestowed upon me, a naïve peasant, George R.R. Martin’s (let’s be cool; let’s call him GRRM) fantasy series, A Song of Ice and Fire. I just finished the first book, A Game of Thrones. Here’s a couple thoughts on why this book rocked not only my world, but my solar system, too:

-GRRM includes a dauntingly large cast of characters in this first book. Furthermore, any author would impress with the number of characters alive. Martin, however, tops himself by referencing countless detailed legends of past heroes and relatives. Based on what I’ve heard of the subsequent books, these character threads—even those seemingly insignificant—continue. In a desirable twist of irony, this lends a sense of verisimilitude to his fantasy world.

-In a similar vein, rarely have I read an author who details clothing and related accoutrements without driving me comatose. I guess the pseudo-Middle Ages context of the story makes these details enticing. Examples include the broach fastening a cape, the rippled pattern of a princess’ dress, the velvet robes of a eunuch, or the bronze mold of a warrior’s helm.

-My just-barely-second favorite part of the book is GRRM’s willingness to treat primary characters, and notably, likeable characters with brutality. A head rolled in this book that I never anticipated losing through the entirety of the series. Some don’t die; they’re simply crippled, mutilated, or banished. It requires an incredible amount of time and imaginative force to develop a prominent character and your readers would start to develop an affinity for them. You sacrifice so much by severing a character's role, but GRRM understands that tragedy is gripping and elevates the fabric of a story. That’s when you know these books aren’t for the faint of heart, but they are for someone who wants an intense experience.

-Probably my favorite element of this book—and I think this might be what attracts his most ardent fans who came many years before me—is the human complexity. In other words, the characters become so nuanced that, unlike the preponderance of fantasy novels (atleast those I’ve read), it’s sometimes difficult to establish a moral hierarchy. GRRM accomplishes this partly through the narrative itself. Each chapter’s content comes from the perspective of a main character. You gather that individual’s thoughts for a short time, but then you’re left to guess until later. While inside someone’s mind, you discover that exterior gallantry need not always equate with fundamental goodness. Characters embody complex motives, some less than noble. Lastly, the perspectives of many of the more intriguing characters remain hidden from the reader. For example, the crafty and calculating members of the King’s counsel are seen only through the eyes of others.

Miura's bright idea

In honor of T-Hall and his Celtics' triumph, I need to give another shout out. The first, of course, ushered forth after he recommended the greatest restaurant in the western hemisphere. Today, however, I pay tribute for a movie recommendation that the transplanted Montanan provided.

The Man Who Skied Down Everest, documents Japenese skier/adventurer Yuichiro Miura's quest to ascend Mount Everest in 1970 and ski down a considerable portion of the upper mountain. (Warning: although they subtract nothing from the movie, some spoilers follow. You know all you need to know at this point to either be interested or disinterested in seeing the movie.)

Miura departed from Katmandu, Nepal with 800 people lugging supplies on their backs. The team included scientists, photographers, video crews, other skiers, and many hundreds of Nepalese helping to transport heavy equipment and rations up into the mountains. When the team reached the base of Everest, itself, experienced sherpas relieved the Katmandu residents of the remaining supplies, and a much smaller group ascended up into the perilous heights.

In a way, the plan was straighforward: climb to just below 27,000ft (Everest peaks at 29,028ft) to the South Col and ski down 8,000 vertical feet to the Bergschrund—a mammoth crevasse at the bottom of the Lhotse Face that cannot be crossed. Beyond 8,000 vertical feet spelled certain doom. Rescue crews were deployed along the route. Camera crews would capture the descent from the point of departure at 27,000ft, and also from three spots below with telescopic lenses.

Miura correctly calculated that his speed would reach unsustainable levels if unchecked. Therefore, they designed a parachute to deploy behind him as he skied to keep his speeds somewhat manageable. Astronauts, pilots, and sky divers had never deployed parachutes at 27,000ft above sea level, so there was no telling how the parachute might behave. Air is thin at that altitude, hence, many feared the parachute wouldn't catch and Miura would have no check on breakneck speed. Alternatively, imagine the winds that whip across the rooftop of the world. Perhaps, the wind would catch the parachute and literally lift Miura from the mountainside to an elegant, but inescapable death.

The climb itself proved hazardous and, for a few, fatal. Regardless, Miura persevered and decided to ski. He skied an unfathomable 6,600 vertical feet down Everest in 2minutes and 20seconds, and that was with a parachute! He slid an additional 1320 vertical feet to just above the crevasse. Furthermore, the slope angled at ~45degrees, which any recreational skier knows is treacherous in icy conditions. Imagine trying to control a rickety pair of skis under these conditions on Everest's wind-battered icy ramparts that laugh at the mere thought of a grooming machine?

This dramatic feat inevitably begs the question: was it worth it? A team of Japanese scientists participated in this adventure and managed to collect data ranging from physiological performance under alpine duress, geophysical measurements of Everest, and, of course, the behavior of a parachute at 27,000ft. They surely gathered some important data. The financial cost (3.5million dollars) far outpaced any immediate scientific/medical benefits, however. Furthermore, although no one forced them to participate, a number of Nepalese sherpas lost their lives when a monster ice field caved-in. All this for what?

Well, all this for the purpose of pushing human limitations and eking the most out of our fleeting existence on earth. In our own small ways, we each do this everyday. I can pinpoint people who don’t live out some measure of this philosophy; these people remain unfulfilled and unhappy. The impositions we place on ourselves regarding risk and reward are largely arbitrary. There’s no absolute barometer for knowing when your risk is justified or not. Only individuals can answer this question for themselves. No resident of Katmandu, no sherpa, no scientist, no skier, no photographer participated in this quest against their free will. The only element that gives me pause is when I consider those, including Miura, who had young children at the time. You assume additional obligations as a parent and have a responsibility to those you bring into this world who cannot yet fend for themselves. Judging by Miura’s thoughtful journal excerpts read (translated into English) throughout the movie, I trust Miura understood and cherished his obligations and settled this issue with his family (and himself) beforehand. I don’t think it’s a risk I could take as a young father, but my tenets are only my own, and I do understand the elation and importance of conquering what seems impossible. So, yes, with qualifications, I certainly think it is worthwhile.

In 1985, Miura claimed another remarkable feat: he had skied the tallest mountains on all 7 continents. To add to his already firmly established legend, Miura summited Everest in 2003 to become the oldest person to accomplish this at 70 years old. That's not all. This year, 2008, Miura set about to reclaim this coveted record which had been surpassed by a 71 year old a couple years back. Although his accomplishment was slightly eclipsed by a 76 year old Nepalese climber who summited 2 days beforehand, Miura did, indeed, summit Everest again last month. He is 75 years old and likely plotting his next challenge.

I've decided upon a little project: watch all the winners of Documentary Film for the Academy Awards.

Chicago, one year in

Now that I’ve called Chicago home for a bit over a year, I feel it’s time to revisit some early ideas I had about the city and see how they match up with my understanding of the city at this point. In an egregiously long post from last April, I supplied (to anyone masochistic enough to read that far) reasons why Chicago outpaced other American cities as my choice to settle for awhile. San Francisco (broadly speaking) still sits atop the heap as my ultimate locale, but for now and the near-future, it wouldn’t be the right choice. Considering I’ve committed myself Chi-town for grad school, it seems the city proved itself pretty admirably.

Last year, I listed the general traits I'd find in my idea city, and I claimed that Chicago would fulfill all but two. Although this is the case, some categories are satisfied to greater and lesser degrees than others. Here's my original criteria with some current comments regarding Chicago [The black type below are the criteria that I desired in a city. Green is my current analysis of Chicago's ability to satisfy each respective category]:

A cosmopolis, first and foremost. Yes, without a doubt, but it’s different than NYC. The downtown area doesn’t have the same energy as New York; it’s much more tame in that regard. However, the ethnic enclaves in Chicago are phenomenal and you can literally meet someone from any nationality here. The city feels connected, hip, and flourishing. This is certainly a winning point for Chicago but I wouldn’t put it at the level of New York.
Four distinct seasons. Holy crap, YES! This year’s winter was brutally long, but I still loved it. I wouldn’t want that excessive gray every year (I do have it from reliable sources that this was the worst year in memory for lingering clouds/cold) but it felt so good to be living in a place that legitimately gets snow again. Also, fall was gorgeous with all the deciduous trees, and summer gets hot hot hot. I should add a footnote here that, although I didn’t mention it last time, I cannot stand humidity. I was somewhat disheartened to find that Chicago does get a bit humid towards the late summer. This, however, is nothing compared to the east coast and it’s something I can live with for that shorter window.
The juxtaposition of quaint neighborhoods and a thriving, vertical downtown. Yep, definitely.
A significantly sized and clean body-of-water/river. The lake is not always clean enough to swim in at points during the summer. Occasionally, public announcements are issued when bacteria levels rise. Last year, this didn’t seem to happen too often.
Relatively-affordable, interesting, clean, safe, decently-sized housing. It still blows my mind how much you can get for your money in Chicago real estate. “Tiny” condos here dwarf most condos in New York and they’re much cheaper than DC too. Without a doubt, you can find expensive places here, but even the spendier parts aren’t bad, comparatively. In truth, many other cities are more expensive than Chicago, including Seattle, SF, LA, Boston, DC NYC, and others.
Few rainy days; give me snow over cold rain. Yep, it’s proven to be just that way. The other thing I really like is that most rain storms in the warmer months arrive in the form of thunder storms. I’d prefer a roaring thunder storm any day to steady (Portland, you’re guilty) rain.
Mind-blowing architecture. Umm, yes. New condominiums are spreading like a virus, and many of these are uninspiring, but that doesn’t overshadow the city as a whole. Regardless of the uproar over the future Chicago Spire, I'm happy to see the city reclaiming its hold on bold, avante garde design.
An encompassing network of public transportation. Pretty damn good, although we need some major work in order to win the Olympic bid for 2016.
Incredible food. More than anything, this is true. The food culture here is unparalleled for the price. I’ll just say that Top Chef was filmed in Chicago last season and the winner is a Chicago resident.
History. Give me a break. Yes.
An eclectic, thriving, worldly, educated, unpretentious populace. Yes, and put emphasis on the last adjective, especially. I cannot express how glad I am to be away from the pompous throngs in my two former east coast cities. These are, of course, generalizations, but compared to DC and NYC the people here are so much more down to earth. You will find more "worldly" people in a couple other US cities, but that doesn't mean these people are living in a cave. It simply means many of them come here to live permanently and comfortably; it's not a stop on the way for the majority.
Great, distinctive, comfortable coffee shops. This is one criterion I have to say has disappointed me. There are some good spots, but they don’t define Chicago. They’re few and far between, much to my dismay.
Great, distinctive, comfortable pubs. Without a doubt, the pub scene here surpasses any other I've seen in the US! Chicago reigns supreme on this front.
World class universities. Sure, sure.
A promising economy. Anyone who makes this claim too loudly would be laying their neck out. The economy here is multi-faceted enough and large enough to weather storms in sections of the economy, but no place can escape unscathed what's going on right now. Gas here is higher than California; ouch. But, yes, it's "promising" for the future.
Bike friendly and pro-physical fitness atmosphere. Having Mayor Daley count himself among the biking enthusiasts has elevated the conversation of biking safety and accessibility to the forefront of Chicago conversations. A number of high-profile biking fatalities have made the front page of the Chicago Tribune since I moved here last April. According to a friend who is an avid biker, however, the number of instances per capita has actually decreased. There's simply more visibility, similar to Portland, OR. Stiff penalties are now enforced for impeding bike lanes and more streets have designated lanes for bikes. Overall, it's a bike friendly city but more work should be done on this front. Regarding pro-physical fitness, that depends heavily on the seasons/weather. Winters hit hard here and few venture outside. Now, however, the warm sun beckons thousands to the shores of Lake Michigan for running, biking, rollerblading, volleyball, swimming, and of course, bags. Overall, Chicago falls in the middle of pro-physical fitness, but for the metropolis category (NYC, LA, Houston, etc.), it's much better than average.
A place where I feel comfortable yet constantly challenges me. Kind of a lame category, although I see where I was going with it. Yes.
Clean, abundant park space. Phenomenal for a metropolis. Very impressed.
Easy access to the outdoors. Yep.
Easy access to mountains. This is one I never deluded myself into believing and it’s most certainly not the case. This, more than anything besides proximity to family and friends, would prove the Achilles heel of Chicago’s hopes to keep me much beyond graduate school.
Easy access to the ocean. Again, I couldn't lie myself into this one. Lake Michigan truly feels like a sea at times, but you don't get the briny aroma and you don't get the (huge) breaking waves.
Athletic teams. Nothing shy of religious devotion in this town.
Affordable, abundant flights to my hometown. So so on this category. For being 2000 miles away, it's about as good as I could hope. The fault doesn't exactly lie with Chicago and it's two airports here...
Affordable, abundant flights to everywhere else on earth. Check. Check.

So in summary, I'm not going to pretend I've stumbled into utopia, but it's the best place I could hope to live right now. That could evolve after 6 years, but in the meantime, I've got plenty of time to enjoy a carefully and happily chosen city. Those are feelings I haven't had since college, which feels pretty amazing.

Fotos tan fantasticos

Check out some pics of our quick sojourn to California last month. A wedding and wine country were the destinations.

I can't believe it's not microwaveable!

I've never been much of a cook (I was spotted with peanut butter and jelly on a tortilla once or twice in college), but lately I've been drawn into the first stages of foodie world by the CEO, CFO, and Chairman of the Board of KHuh Industries. In reality, I mostly dice things then pretend like I played a pivotal role. It works.

Check out this little concoction devised by the head honcho, herself. Amazingly, it's cheaper to make than even a cheap meal out:
1) Fresh ground chicken meatballs, with herbs and veggies of choice. Baked. Grated parmesan, flavored with a barbeque/salsa sauce, and polished off with a delectable cut of provologne on top. All this, of course, is on toasted bread, somewhat gutted so as not to be too filling.
2) Wheat tabouli with diced tomatoes, green onions, cucumbers, and fresh lemons squeezed on top.
3) Baby field greens (from local farmers market, of course...nose here is raised and lips in just the slightest smirk/pout of condescension), warm honey-baked pecans, yellow and red grape tomatoes, onions, goat cheese, balsamic.
4) Depending on the preference, you can spot asparagus, sweet potatoes, and my little addition, some grilled apricot as sides.
5) Polish off with an economical girl's sangria (wine and fresca) or your summer beer of choice with an orange slice.

A better face

As expected, Clinton showed a much different side today with her concession speech. It was the best speech I've ever heard her give, and that has nothing to do with the fact that she endorsed Obama. She was natural, heartfelt, eloquent, and poised. This is the higher ground that Clinton is capable of achieving, but this is not what she exhibited during the majority of her campaign. If she could be so admirable when in the midst of battle, I would have a different perspective on Senator Clinton. Unfortunately, these brilliant moments come too rarely and too late. This is why Senator Clinton ran such a close race, but ultimately finished behind a superior candidate.

She also relinquished any hesitation in declaring her boundary-breaking campaign as historic. Many observers think this realization came late and she could have saved her campaign by trumpeting this earlier. I think it was a cold calculation (and likely the correct calculation) to not do so earlier, because they likely would have alienated many male voters. Now, in defeat, is the only time she could be so forceful on this point. It sets her up perfectly for her next move, whatever that may be.

Anyways, Clinton deserves much lauding and I don't seek to diminish that. But the fact remains that this is one side of a multifaceted politician, and her other faces have not been so honorable. Whatever road she takes in the future, I hope she marches forward in this fashion. She would gain a fan in me.

My Greatest Walk

Our walk started back in Portland, I remember it well. The fragrant air that pervades the city in the warmer months was just dying down. You caught the last wafts before the winter rains. Let me apologize, here and now, for that apartment I walked you into. It's never fun living next to someone who thinks battery acid gushes from shower heads. That's definitely not fragrant. But I have to say you held your own. There was even that snow in early January when we walked all the way down the hill from OHSU, through downtown, then up into NW. What was that, like 6 solid miles?

Snow we could handle. Hot dry sunshine: yes please! But rain didn't agree with us. It was time to flee either north or south. We went north. Way, way north.

Remember stepping out of the airport in Anchorage? You guys crunched right down into that packed snow and laid claim of the place! I still think you fit right in up there. Truth be told, that's where our walk got interesting. You hated me when I decided, of all friggin' jobs in the world, to become a busboy! We walked through that kitchen muck so many times! I spilled beer, ranch sauce, marinara, coke, and I'd venture to guess, some splatters of baby upchuck all over your leather uppers. You always counterpunched with some pretty mean blisters. I'll give you that.

But actually, I countered your counterpunch pretty effectively when we headed home. Eddy was just a puppy black lab at that point and she'd sneak into the entryway where you hung out, snag one of you in her jaws and tear at breakneck speed around the front room. You were understandably terrified because those canine teeth were as sharp as razor blades and she was relentless in warding off my chase. But yes, sooner or later I'd save you from impending doom and Eddy would make my Achilles heels her next targets while you recovered your pride (I'll save myself the bad Achilles heel pun…but just know that I'm thinking it right now).

So we strolled that path for ½ a year, then veered way off course. You rested on the ferry, then had a couple light workouts up and down the west coast. I think you took a full 3 week vacation when we finally drove from Washington west to Washington east. In effect, I gave you a month and a half off from duty. Afterwards, you practically dove onto the DC streets! Man, we covered some serious ground over there. There was that one day we walked all the way from Arlington Cemetery across the Potomac and the entire National Mall, then up through Dupont Circle and Adams Morgan. Plus, all those nights crunching across old brick and cobblestone in Georgetown. Northern VA had some trails you knew well and lets never forget the Metro platforms I put you through.

You grumbled ceaselessly about those Metro platforms until we took our walk northward to Manhattan. I remember you whimpering the first couple weeks down in the underbelly of that city where you took a beating for the ages! You were spared trampling from neither stiletto nor work boot. The flourishing biology experiments on those train platforms made you reminisce so fondly about the sterile DC metro. But even then, a little toughening-up made you almost crave those daily journeys above and below The City. Whether crunching gravel on the Brooklyn waterfront, stepping on sewer grates in the Lower East Side, or side-stepping mustard packets outside the gyro stand up on 168^th, you definitely held your own.

For all those grand steps we took in New York, however, I remember they were tinged with some melancholy. I hopped over a huge puddle outside Stuyvesant Town, landing in the shallow periphery with my right heel. Something didn’t feel right a minute later, and I felt the first pangs of a painful realization. I didn’t want to look, because it’s never easy to see beloved friends withstand such a punishing blow. But I had to look. Sure enough, pierced through the formidable rubber in your right sole was a small hole. At that point it was the tiniest of slits, but I could see the slippery slope had begun. Soon, other bits of rubber would wear away, leaving your hearty inner bones lain bare.

You apologized for a damp sock; I batted your guilt aside and asked whether it was time to retire. You told me that if I was willing to withstand the disapproving looks of folks with shiny new sneakers, you’d march on harder than ever. Just like Barack and Michele, we gave each other ‘the rock’ and resumed the adventure. Admittedly, from that day forward I constantly monitored the pavement for puddles and rocks, but my agility ratings skyrocketed and I enjoyed the new challenge.

So our walk finally led us to Chicago. You were excited about stomping through new territory, but you’d been around that block a few times and decided to sit out a couple strolls. I watched you continue to weaken. That’s not to say your engines weren’t revving, but more days were spent with the maintenance team. The winter months hit you hard, but listen, Chicago’s winter months combined with my commute would hurt the freshest of faces. We stumbled into your last spring and you finally told me it’s time.

You know what? You're battered, bruised, and bloodied, but you're beautiful. You guys are grizzled, noble warriors with many proud stories to tell. Age only solidified your rank among the legends. I want you to know that your model is retired. I loved hanging out so much that I almost hunted down some of your younger brothers for my next walk. That wouldn’t be right. I know, I know, the new guys have a lot of similarities, but trust me, they’ve got their own vibe. We sat down and talked it over; they’re not looking to tread on your tracks, and I wouldn’t let them regardless.

Anways, buddies, this has been the greatest walk of my life. I love you guys and I’ll take the next walk in your honor.

In the end, a real contrast

As even the most absent of bloggers, I’d be remiss to not punch out a couple thoughts today. Firstly and most importantly, given all the daily microscale drama, it’s pretty easy to forget the monumental feat just accomplished by Barack Obama. Imagine the odds of a candidate virtually unknown before 2004…actually let’s not sidestep the obvious…imagine the odds of an African-American candidate virtually unknown before 2004 arising victorious over the Clinton dynasty’s juggernaut of political connections and fundraising dominance. I think many of us are so caught up in the daily news cycle, that it’ll take some time before that reality fully sinks in.

In victory and in defeat, respectively, I thought Obama and Clinton showed their essence.

I found Obama’s speech gracious, humble, focused, and magnanimous towards Clinton’s historic achievements. He didn’t gloat in his speech. As a matter of fact, he spent little to no time in self-congratulatory mode. He barely touched on his own historic accomplishment. He was inspiring and unifying, while expressing that this is only a stepping stone to the real prize.

Now to the other side. Through all of the egregious acts of political ugliness I’ve seen out of Clinton and her camp since late February, I cautioned myself to not become a number. I saw how the polls showed the increasing polarization of Clinton’s supporters against Obama, and vice versa. Somewhere, I found a reserve of restraint to tell myself, “be practical, keep the big picture in mind, don’t get visceral.” I didn’t. Even as of yesterday afternoon, the pragmatist in me thought that a gracious denouement (on both sides) to the primary season, might channel nicely into Obama offering Clinton the VP slot.

Then I watched Hillary’s speech last night.

Clinton barely acknowledged Obama, offering a few curt and cursory words. She MOST CERTAINLY did not acknowledge that he’d obtained the 2118 delegates for the nomination. She then proceeded to do everything within her power to stoke the anger of her coalition and, incredibly, convince them that the race wasn’t over. She said she wanted their input to determine her next step. While mouthing the requisite line that she’ll do whatever’s necessary to seek unity, there was absolutely no substance to the words. Her speech was utterly self-involved, divisive, and defiant. A pan of the audience showed some supporters in a rabid fury, almost militant. Although I imagine the majority of her supporters are actually level-headed people who will vote in their own best interest in November, there's an undeniably large group of Clinton supporters who only cement their largely reactionary anti-Obama stance every time Clinton fans the flames.

I could very well be proven wrong, but if Clinton intended to make a play for the VP with her defiant speech last night, I sense that speech ensured she won’t get the offer. The tone and tenor of Obama’s campaign is unity through harmony, open-mindedness, and hard work. Clinton would be offering unity by withholding war. In other words, “take me on or lose the army of supporters whom I control and meet your demise.” Hillary Clinton had an unparalleled opportunity last night to raise herself to exalted status in the Democratic Party by playing the role of unifier after an epic battle, which she has unequivocally lost. Much of the ugliness of her campaign would have dissipated in a heartbeat and Obama supporters, like myself, would have recognized the brutality of politics and forgiven many of her transgressions in pursuit of the greater good. Instead, she made herself small in defeat and craven for power. Her 18 million votes may or may not go to Obama. But they shouldn’t be obtained by her barely concealed threats.

As someone who tries hard to keep a balanced, objective perspective, I was appalled and sincerely disappointed by Clinton’s performance last night. I wouldn't be surprised to see a more gracious side of Clinton in the near future, but last night she missed a precious chance. Those kinds of opportunities are moments that shouldn't be pilfered away by Obama's VP. Juxtaposed against that tasteless backdrop, one couldn’t help but see Obama as a huge step forward in our nation's journey through history.