POP, not soda

Parting words

2009-01-01T12:09:00.001-05:00

The old tension surfaces again: private vs. public sphere. Aside from writing little due to classes, the important topics have lately lent themselves to private expression. I tapered off this fall when school started and spat out a couple unpolished thoughts on politics. Unfortunately, I couldn’t/didn’t fill in the gaps or branch into other rumination space. This, of course, is a pattern repeated sufficiently often that I realize it’s here to stay.

2008 doesn’t get a simple verdict from me. 2007 was swiftly kicked in the ass on the way out, but 2008 deserves more thoughtful treatment. Unfortunately for you, my insatiable/nonexistent reader, that treatment doesn’t get divulged here. Suffice it to say, there was much good, yet some very challenging stuff too.

So, blogwise, what’s the point at this point? I’m not sure yet. I still foresee some evolution of this idea when things stabilize at school, but I’m not sure how it will materialize. Continue to not stay tuned….

And happy 2009.

Nice try, gamers...now go vote

2008-10-14T21:12:00.005-04:00

As one might suppose, going back to skoooool in a math-heavy area isn't the easiest thing when you haven't touched that math for 6+ years. Unexpectedly, that coincides with me not blogging very much at a time when I should be running my yapper nonstop. If I had time to dictate here all the ways in which the McCain campaign has spiraled into the abyss of dishonesty and dishonor, I'd probably exhaust Blogger's server space. So let me just add this: Obama has placed ads inside videogames that link to the internet. These ads will run through the election, and will then be removed. Now that's change we can believe in.

A shallow show

2008-09-25T11:00:00.003-04:00

I'll give John McCain credit. He acknowledges an ugly situation when it confronts him.

The political waters have finally started to shift away from the vacant smile of Governor Palin and focus on the potential governance of the presidential candidates. Almost across the board, the issues favor the Obama campaign and nowhere is that more true than in the economic arena. For all my ideological love of capitalism--and suffice it to say that Ayn Rand is one of the foremost influences in my adult life (in a positive way!)--I still believe, in this imperfect world, that the role of government in the financial sector is crucial. In particular, oversight must be firm when taxpayer dollars are involved and this has been a cornerstone of Obama's message since the beginning.

So now comes John McCain's utterly politically-motivated move to forestall the first debate. McCain's notion that he and Obama's presence in Washington would help and not hinder the process is ludicrous. The injection of presidential politics into this crucial piece of legislation can only hurt and McCain is again risking the well-being of american taxpayers after his irresponsible choice of vice presidential running mate. Furthermore, the idea forwarded by McCain here is that he's indispensable in solving this problem, which is the one laughable aspect of this otherwise grim scenario. He does have quite the economics background... I 100% agree with Obama that this is the ESSENTIAL time to have a presidential debate and talk about big solutions. Economics is deeply intertwined with national security and foregin policy, so it should be probed deeply in tomorrow's debate. The over-presence of those two individuals in Washington will be damaging, while the presence of those two in Mississippi will be illuminating and instructive for american voters.

A Falling Soldier

2008-09-18T11:56:00.003-04:00

Strangely, school is very time-consuming. Who'da thunk it?

Like everyone else, I've been watching the presidential campaign play out over the last few weeks. I made no bones about my disgust regarding Sarah Palin's speech at her convention. But much more dangerous is her selection in the first place. She is so grossly unprepared for the enormity of the vice-presidential position and, most especially, the higher-than-normal possibility of transferring to the Oval Office that anyone serving under a septuagenarian McCain with a history of cancer will be assuming. This is an appalling move by John McCain to risk the well-being of the country for political expediency. Regardless, I still think this selection is actually a misguided step and won't ultimately play out to his advantage.

Anyways, I recommend taking a minute to read this article by Elizabeth Drew who penned a sympathetic biography (i admittedly haven't read it) about McCain a few years back. I agree with the things that she used to admire about McCain and wholeheartedly agree with the deterioration of those qualities as he's pandered to the Republican base, increasingly compromised his character to ugly campaign tactics, and demonstrated disturbingly spur-of-the-moment behavior with crucial decisions.

It's easy to caricature a politician running against your favored candidate as races tighten and draw towards a close. The difference here is that these aren't exaggerations. The McCain campaign deliberately lied about Obama's positions to blacken his name and deliberately lied about Sarah Palin's positions to make her look like an actual reformer. This cannot pass. Any moderately inteligent American voter will have to see through this. The Palin spark is now starting to recede as any ephemeral sugar rush does and some dose of reality is returning.

In my opinon...

2008-09-03T23:43:00.003-04:00

...you should check out my buddy Evan's Op-Ed piece published in the Seattle Times yesterday. He write stuff good.

Painful Palin

2008-09-03T23:09:00.007-04:00

It looks like it's about time for some politics to surface here again. After hearing the substance and the optimism in Biden and Obama's speeches last week, Sarah Palin's speech was a miserable experience to behold. After spending the first significant portion dwelling on family minutiae to "introduce herself" followed by a laundry list of lines to perk the ears of different elements of the Republican base, Palin launched into an unapologetically vicious attack on Obama. The attacks were roughly half and half personal and issue-oriented. The personal attacks were many and varied. For instance, she managed to discount Obama's community organizing days in an acidic and mocking manner with a blase dismissal of anyone involved in such an undertaking. The issue-oriented attacks largely seemed half-truths phrased to blacken or distort Obama's intent. One example of this is how she talked about Obama wanting to raise a number of taxes...but she failed to point out that those will be raised for a small, wealthy percentage of the population while the overwhelming rest of us can anticipate decreases.

Most of this was to be expected. Palin certainly held her own as far as speaking and established herself as the Republican attack-dog. She accomplished well what was set out by the McCain campaign and the Republican party and she seemingly relished responding forcefully to the media storm last week. However, one can't help but feel that palpable difference in tone and message between the Democrats and Republicans this year. One side has ideas, optimism, and positive energy, the other side has energy to attack these things. I know the anger and excitement is high on the other side for the moment, but I can't help but think this will backfire in the end.

I'm an independent voter who will side with the better campaign and the better message. This year's contest is so starkly one-sided. She may have fired-up the Republican base, but she's going to fire up Obama's supporters even more. I'm donating as we speak.

A small step for a man

2008-08-25T01:10:00.002-04:00

Well, tonight is the last night for many, many moons where I won't call myself a graduate student (read: 'poor'). After five years, 5 1/2 cities, 5 1/2 jobs, and a few overdoses of lack-of-direction, it seems I've found a good outlet for my next half-decade plus. I'll be working on a phd in biophysics here in Chicago. Namely, I'll be working on acquiring the Insert-Word-That-Starts-with-"D" + Doctor appendage to my ford-dealership-esque name. What any of what I just wrote means, please consult the authorities.

Please don't for a second fool yourself into thinking I have the first clue what I'll due upon (fingers crossed) graduation. If anything, this allows me to put off those heady questions for even longer. Huzzah! In the meantime, I plowed through alot of introspection determining the right program in the right city at the right time. For that, I am quite pleased.

I bid a fond farewell to grossly underpaying jobs that, nevertheless, were pretty cool in their own ways. I have admittedly gone through extended periods of silence over the last three years that drove most readers elsewhere. I can't blame them. Although I'm going to be busy, I anticipate that this bloggy blog will continue to stay alive...and likely morph into something a bit more involved in the near future.

Cheerio. Yummy O-ee-O.

Excuses, excuses

2008-08-22T20:37:00.005-04:00

Among my handful of other excuses for being close-lipped this last month, I managed to make off like a bandit with my parent's car in Spokane and tear across the country back to Chicago. Please see some nifty pictures from K and I's trip.

Alaska '08

2008-08-22T01:12:00.006-04:00

I've been less than garrulous lately. One reason for that is I disappeared to Alaska with my family for 10 days at the very end of July and into August. Here are some pictures AND (dun dun dun dun) video clips from the trip. The video comes from either a regular camera or a phone, so don't be expecting Lucas Film here.

Apparently, there's a new Batman movie

2008-07-28T11:50:00.001-04:00

Warning: Annoying Movie Thoughts/Spoilers Ahead:

I finally joined the ranks of Batman: The Dark Knight viewers yesterday. I went into this movie with massive expectations, so the fact that it didn’t disappoint speaks volumes. I’m guessing I’ll be watching this one for years to come. Here’s some of my thoughts:

I was looking forward to a deeply sinister Joker. However, I thought his malevolence and sadism would be counterbalanced by a twisted lovability. Although he does carry out elaborate, and carefully-crafted schemes, I was hoping he would engage in battles of verbal wits or present his diabolical plans in puzzle form. Instead, Ledger’s Joker was a demented sociopath with little to love and much to revile. Since this is surely what the directors intended, I need another viewing to see if the notion grows on me. My first reaction, however, was nostalgia for the color of past characterizations.

Michael Caine gave my favorite performance as Bruce Wayne’s butler. Urbane, wise, proper, and sensitive, all flavored by a tiny sprinkling of silliness, he pulled off the role impeccably. I also continue to like Christian Bale as Wayne/Batman, although his Batman voice makes me cringe occasionally.

It’s impossible not to leave satiated by the eye candy. And sorry, Maggie Gyllenhaal, I like you but I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about sweeping panoramic shots of Hong Kong’s and Chicago/Gotham’s skylines, the underground laboratories, the sonar-generated simulations of various scenes around Gotham delivered by cell phone signals (neato idea), and of course, the action scenes (four of which were filmed at IMAX grade)…

…which leads me to my next point: nice work showcasing yourself, Chicago. My newly adopted city opened its arms to maniacal car chases on Wacker and demolitions aplenty and carried it all off with aplomb, if I do say so myself. Let me add, though, that it’s rare to see a firebombed semi on LaSalle. I always keep my eyes open for these things and have only spotted 2 or 3 in the last year. Also, I know the ferries were departing from the pier, but where, exactly, were they headed? Michigan? I was cool with considering the Chicago River as a barrier to the north and west, but gosh, those Gothamers might have considered spilling out the South Loop and catching I-90…needless to say, those parts took some suspension of disbelief, which I was more than willing to indulge.

As far as the issues go, terrorism and balance-of-power stand out. The Joker’s terrorism, however, is better characterized as anarchy. He is a walking oxymoron in that he employs shrewd reasoning to prove logic and order non-existent. Ultimately, he partially succeeds. Dent rots as a bastardized Two-Face and Batman flees with an angry Gotham at his heels. A few people make the decision—as a few made critical decisions earlier in the movie—that the truth cannot be tolerated by the masses. So really, The Joker has played a draw.

How this movie is rated PG-13, however, is something far beyond my analytical capabilities.

In a flash

2008-07-21T23:29:00.001-04:00

I missed my 10 year high school reunion last weekend. My buddies gave me the update and tore through a whole sequence of names that I haven't considered in a decade. He's cool. She's hot. He's a drunk. She's not cool. He wasn't there. He's married. She's engaged. I have to admit, I was pretty bummed I couldn't make it home for this. I guess I experienced the typical pattern of thoughts in the face of a 10 year reunion:

For one, holy sh*t that was fast! I remember the sights and smells of high school so distinctly at times. I envision my locker, and see my parking spot, and smell the nachos, and remember the faces. On the other hand, I've gone a long ways in those 10 years. Geographically, psychologically, intellectually, emotionally. I could carry on a conversation with nearly anybody in my class, no problem, because I was fundamentally the exact same person. But so much of me hadn't come to fruition. Probably the biggest thing that's changed is I've fallen in love with challenging my mind. Laziness covered that spot before. High school was a time of self-discovery, friendships, unrequited loves, music, the thrill of drinking, and amazing Spokane nights. High school was personality coming to the fore and emotional development...but so much has happened since. I can only assume that everyone else in my class has gone through their own evolutions in the past decade and developed into their skins somehow.

In our daily lives we can only accommodate so many friends. Those near take precedence, because as Johnny Cash says, "flesh and blood needs flesh and blood". But for those farther than a stones throw, I want to find a way to reincorporate you. Really, I just want to throw stones at you, but I'll do it lovingly. So, the wrap-up is I'm bummed i couldn't make it to my reunion because those 10 years went pretty quick, and we'll only get a handful or two of ten year windows. I think we need to put something together for Christmastime.

purrrrrdy good

2008-07-16T15:57:00.003-04:00

Send a JibJab Sendables® eCard Today!

Thanks to Kim W. for this...and (afterwards) every news organization on the planet.

Alefest, I heart thee

2008-07-15T00:07:00.005-04:00

And on the seventh day, God rested. But in the afternoon of the seventh day, he became antsy from inactivity. Those preceeding 144 hours of brilliance left him craving invention. So God poured all his omnibenevolent forces into one last creation: Alefest. And it was good.

So needless to say, Alefest Chicago trucked into town on Saturday and I partook in the festivities along with some jolly companions (thanks to Annie for unwittingly providing a picture!). For a pittance of monetary input, we received the joy of sampling 20 potions from over 50 breweries worldwide. Let it be known that we went expecting small "tastings" and ended up getting about 1/2 a pint per tasting. Considering some of the belgian and framboise selections topped 10% alcohol and the tendency of some volunteers to forget taking tickets, 20 was streeeeeeeeeeeeetching it. I will proudly say that although I didn't finish the full tastings towards the end, I did indeed sample 20 beers. Actually 18, because I revisited my two favorites.

The fest took place on the grass directly outside the Chicago Bears' Soldier Field. My scheming to clandestinely enter the stadium either via scaling the walls or tunnelling underneath became more elaborate and idiotic as time elapsed. Sadly, these brilliant ideas did not come to fruition. Meanwhile, we endured some mugginess with an occasional rain and made the most of the stupendous libations flowing freely.

So let me quickly dispense with the beer-related criticism: One, I simply don't like pilsners. The aftertaste will never agree with me and I find them pungent. I've tried, maybe for the last time. Two, wheat beers are hit or miss for me. I love a good hefeweisen as much as the next summer reveler (think Widmer Brothers in Portland), but alot of wheat beers bear hints of Belgian white ales...which brings me to my third, and last, criticism. I'm not a fan of most Belgian whites. Again, there are exceptions like the widely distributed Blue Moon Belgian White. Add an orange slice to that beer and I'm in heaven. But that's the exception, unfortunately.

Okay, enough of the bad stuff, let's get to the good stuff...which was roughly 90% of the tastings. I'm going to list off my five favorites, counting towards the cream of the crop:

5) Samuel Smith's Pale Ale (Yorkshire, England): I liked the nuttiness and chocolatey flavor of this moderately dark ale. SS's brown is a favorite of mine, and you could taste the aroma of the brewery pervading their other selections. For me, that's a big winner.
4) St. Peter's Cream Stout (somewhere old, England): This will be a great winter selection. Creamy's the word with a full, lasting flavor.
3) Podkovan Dark Lager (Czech Republic): I liked this beer because it tasted like a delicious brown ale, but finished lighter.
2) Floris Apple (Belgium): I was surprised by this. A lambic brew akin to a cider. Fruity, light, and dry on the finish. A tiny bit of carbonation washes it down perfectly. So refreshing and not too sweet.
1) Breckenridge Brewery Vanilla Porter (Breckenridge, Colorado): I love vanilla for its simplicity and its rich tones, so when crafted into a smooth, delicious porter I was in heaven. This was hands down my favorite discovery.

If I would enhance this joyous experience in any way, I'd encourage some volunteers to learn more about the samples they poured. Many tables had representatives from the breweries or really knowledgeable volunteers, which was great. But there were a few instances where reading the bottle offered more information than the server. Also, they might want to beef up the food selections in order to keep the drinking merry and appease the hungry stomachs. All things considered, however, they did a phenomenal job with Alefest Chicago version 2.0 and I can't wait to upgrade a year from now!

Cheers to you, Alefest.

Rachmaninoff at Ravinia

2008-07-13T11:25:00.003-04:00

There are a few professions I observe where, for a split second, it seems there is no comparable outlet for the myriad intellectual and emotional charges surging inside our bodies. When you see a person at the peak of that profession those feelings multiply. When you have a moment, kindly add ‘pianist’ to this short list of unrequited professional loves.

A certain someone I know harbors a questionably-healthy obsession for Rachmaninoff’s 3rd Piano Concerto. Therefore, when word surfaced that the Chicago Symphony Orchestra (CSO), along with a world reknown Russian pianist, Denis Matsuev, would be performing this number at the outdoor music venue Ravinia, nothing short of Lake Michigan drying up would stop us from attending.

CSO performed two other Rachmaninoff pieces without a featured piano part beforehand, which were both spectacular. That gave us a chance to appreciate the violin and cellos (among others) before the pianist absolutely dominated the show. After a brief intermission, Matsuev took center stage. As a bit of background, the 3rd Piano Concerto has driven accomplished pianists mad with its technical difficulty. Supposedly, only a handful of people on earth can complete a flawless performance and imbue the piece with all the nuances it requires.

Luckily, we stumbled upon one of these living legends. Matsuev, himself, evoked thoughts of a (relatively speaking) attractive Frankenstein. But that is neither here nor there. Well, it might be here a bit. Standing over 6 feet tall and fairly well-built with blocky shoulders and face, he almost made the huge piano look small. Matsuev exhibited a stage flair while playing, but it didn’t seem fabricated. The concerto was so demanding that at points he would drop one of his arms to the side for a brief rest and continue on with the other. Some moments I honestly thought the keyboard would crack under his relentless, but precise, hammering only to find respite a moment later in a soft, feather-light section demanding utmost delicacy. Within a nanosecond he could switch modes seamlessly. Throughout it all, the haunting melody of the concerto spun the threads together. You could physically see Matsuev pouring himself into the piece that lasted roughly 30 minutes and upon finishing it, he burst from the bench and embraced the orchestra conductor. We were positioned to the side of the stage near the front so I had a good view of Matsuev as he strode from the stage. His face looked exhalted and beaming.

Without exaggeration, I can say that was the most moving musical performance I’ve ever witnessed. Also, it surpassed Tim Reynolds’ solo guitar as the most technically challenging show I’ve witnessed at such close range.

Aside from the music, the venue itself made memories. Ravinia consists of the covered orchestra seating (our seats) that is, nevertheless, still open to the elements for 270degrees. Outside this orchestra area, large grassy swaths invite people to bring food and wine and enjoy the music from loudspeakers scattered throughout the grounds. From what I saw, these seats don’t offer a view of the stage, but they also only cost $10. Pretty sweet deal…..barring bad weather.

Unfortunately, bad weather came. And it came. And it came.

Thunderstorms swept through the area throughout the day, but a relative calm pervaded before the start of the show. We went up and met with some friends preparing their grassy perch just prior to the show but, alas, the rains returned. The sky was unforgettable: a solid bank of incredibly dark clouds came roaring in from the west bringing the storms with it. I’m pretty sure the four horsemen galloped on their steeds amidst that turmoil. K and I scrambled for cover down below and left our poor friends to fend for themselves. As it turns out, they found refuge under a covered area in one of the food/drink buildings and managed to make the most of the show. That does go to illustrate the dangers, however, of the grassy seats.

Anyways, the storms ripped and roared throughout the show. There were moments when the orchestra mounted a charge with drums banging, horns blowing, gongs ringing when, meanwhile, lightening blazed through the sky and deafening thunder followed shortly thereafter. All in all, mother nature choreographed herself impressively with the music.

Amazing

2008-07-10T11:53:00.003-04:00

An incredible visual trip inside the body. Even cool for non-sciency people. I promise.
(Thanks to Jason's slacker friend for this)

Coolest Animation Ever - Inside your body - Watch more free videos

A dip

2008-07-07T22:21:00.006-04:00

Nothing short of a revelation dawned upon me last week: you can swim in Lake Michigan along the Chicago shoreline. Call it absurd (it is) that it took me 15 months to grasp this fact, but it made it no less exciting. Tonight, after babbling a week straight about intending to do so, I finally swam in Lake Michigan.

It was so easy. I put on my running shoes, grabbed an old towel, and took my apartment keys. That's it. In the hot and slightly humid early-evening sunlight, I ran down to the lake shore. There are two popular sandy beaches within a mile of my apartment, Fullerton and North Ave, so I picked a less congested spot between them. Although asphalt and concrete replaced sand, I could jump off a 5 foot ledge and get a real plunge into the lake.

I run along that shoreline multiple times each week, but I erected a mental barrier of non-possibility regarding swimming. Summer appetites, however, usurp caution so I started asking around. As it turns out, the water is tested a minimum of 5 times each week for safety conditions. Info is available here. Although unhealthy conditions do arise a couple times each year, the lake is almost always suitable for swimming and you can check online for updated status.

So that's all I needed to know. I hurled myself into the cold waters of Lake Michigan and let my body adjust to the temperature. Like Priest Lake in Idaho, after you get past the initial rush of icy chill, the water feels supremely refreshing. The high rise condos lining Lake Shore Drive started to shield the dropping sun, but I managed to find a 100 foot swath between buildings where I had all the sunlight I ever needed. There, in my little gap of heaven, I swam towards the John Hancock Building towering a mile south, but it looked like I could reach out and grab it (I swam in the bit of water just to the right of this photo). It was a surreal feeling to glide through that water with the Magnificent Mile so close, the runners and bikers and rollerbladers zooming along the lake path, and a pair of tennis shoes and a towel waiting for me up the ladder.

Ahh, summer in Chicago.

EuroCup '08

2008-06-30T15:25:00.001-04:00

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

2008-06-27T12:45:00.007-04:00

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

2008-06-25T13:26:00.003-04:00

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

2008-06-19T19:57:00.008-04:00

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

2008-06-16T20:36:00.008-04:00

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

2008-06-14T14:28:00.003-04:00

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!

2008-06-14T13:54:00.006-04:00

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

2008-06-07T13:44:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-06T14:00:00.006-04:00

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

2008-06-04T12:21:00.006-04:00

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.

80's music fans, reveal thyselves

2008-05-30T14:30:00.006-04:00

Try this quiz out. (Many thanks to KW for this.)

Me read stuff

2008-05-28T23:03:00.004-04:00

I haven't read that much Dickens. The little I should have covered was assigned in high school., which was during (one of) my illiterate period(s). So I picked up David Copperfield to give Dickens a go. The story traces David's adventures and relationships from birth through his mid twenties. To reveal the tiniest bit of the storyline, David's father dies before his birth, and his mother's demise follows while David is still a child with no siblings. Therefore, the book mostly focuses on David being left alone in the world and seeking love beyond his lost parents. Dickens traces his story through childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, and into his mid-to-late twenties. The epilogue extends the picture much further, but that is obviously a quick sketch. It amounts to a large-scale coming-of-age story.

The remarkable thing about the book is that the stories are basically human scale. What I mean by that is that Dickens doesn't use many overtly outlandish plot lines, with some notable exceptions mostly involving disparate characters intertwining their stories along the road. What he does use--maybe more effectively than any author i've ever read--is colorful characters. The characters are vivid and mostly believable, but the believable traits are slightly exaggerated to drill home points. Plus, the various places in England that he talks about (Dover, London, Canterbury, Yarmouth) aren't more than 100 miles from each other (which I understand isn't negligible when you're using horses for transportation), yet the worlds he describes are so distinct. I think that's a difficult thing for an author to capture; it's much easier to contrast Jerusalem with London.

It's kinda cheesy, but I admit that I really fell for David's character. I think I neglect my childhood days too often, but the young David's fears and innocence made me remember things I hadn't thought of in over a decade. There's something pretty moving about reviving instances from childhood that seemed forever gone. As he matures, I admired his loving, level-headed, measured perspective on all the crazy characters he interacts with, but also his passionate sense of justice. David Copperfield rarely becomes combative, but he will battle perceived evils when necessary. His greatest strength, in my opinion, was his ability to strip away BS and see humans at their core levels. He also makes dumb mistakes along the way, but there's always wisdom gleaned from the failings. Another draw was how Dickens carefully described Copperfield's development up to his mid-to-late twenties. Since I fit snuggly in that demographic, I could closely relate to his earlier struggles and the sense of finally getting things (somewhat) figured out by that age.

One sidenote that the book made me consider: when English people moved from the motherland to one of their colonies far overseas (and this could apply to so many people, in so many locations and points in history), especially Australia in the mid 1800's, that often meant they'd never step foot on England's soil again. When you said goodbye to friends and sailed away, it could mean that was the last time you'd ever see their faces again. Letters could be exchanged, but that's no replacement for seeing somebody in the flesh. It's hard for me to grasp that sort of finality. The modest adventures I've had in the American north, east, and midwest since college have taught me that I rely heavily on knowing I'll see my friends and family in the near future. I can be away, but only for so long before the feeling of disconnection trumps the jewels of discovery.

Another conversation

2008-05-22T21:20:00.005-04:00

BLOG: Dude, you can't just disappear like that. That's not how this thing works.
PHIL: Oh, man, you know...work, family, all that stuff.
BLOG: You have no family. It's debatable whether you have a job.
PHIL: You have no manners.
BLOG: You have no reason to keep talking, so shut it. Listen, we used to be tight, man. We used hang out like every day.
PHIL: I'm right here, aren't I?
BLOG: Right here?! You've visited maybe twice in the last 11 months. And those were for ridiculous, self-involved political peptalks that don't have any right on these pages. Keep your panaceas to your delusional self, buddy!
PHIL: Whoa, now that's pushing it, pal!
BLOG: [grunt] Alright, alright. Look, I've got some pent up frustration and it comes out ugly sometimes. But you don't have to face the disappointed friends and family that visit, hoping for something interesting, only to find a mildewed entry from last June. You don't have to watch as they visit, once, twice, maybe three times then throw in the towel. Do you have any idea what that kind of rejection is like?
PHIL: Girls didn't like me in high school.
BLOG: They still don't. Look, don't try to get funny on me. We used to BE something, man. We used to have [swallow]...readers....
PHIL: Yeah...
BLOG: READERS MAN!!! Don't you see!
PHIL: I'm telling you, I'm rolling with the overarching plan. Big things in the works, you know, but they take time. Sometimes it's a period for public expression, sometimes not.
BLOG: Alright wise guy, enough of the lines. Tell your personal journal it's gonna take some hits for awhile and let's get this thing going again. I'm not asking for every day. Just give a little love once in awhile.
PHIL: I don't see any readers stopping by, to be honest. We've been dropped from every blogroll that ever paid any attention.
BLOG: I don't give a damn about blogrolls! You just worry about punching some keys before you're swollen with arthritis, alright?! Listen, it's for your own good.
PHIL: I know.
BLOG: Okay. Get outta here. SCRAM!!

Rejoining

2008-05-01T12:19:00.002-04:00

I had written something lengthy, but it didn’t feel right. It dwelt too much on expressing anger and frustration on the effect Clinton’s negativity has had on the storyline and, indeed, polls over the last two months.

But it strayed from my real intention:

I simply, and shortly, want to say that my support for Obama’s campaign remains stronger than ever. Through all the smears and daggers, he has shown himself to be a person of integrity, level-headedness, open-mindedness, and carefully reasoned intellect. Even through his self inflicted gaffe, he embraced the notion of being human and having faults. The fault was never an underlying elitism, as anyone who perceives human beings for what they are can attest to. The fault was a mish-mashed phrase erroneously tooled to one audience that brutally shielded good intentions. So this, combined with an all-out Clinton/McCain assault, brought to an end the messiah-era that really needed to go. No human should be glorified in superhuman terms as Obama was briefly during February. This eventually does harm to everyone involved because it’s unsustainable.

What has only crystallized my support is how he handled the injection of racism, elitism, classism, patriotism and any other division-sowing ‘ism’ imaginable. In each circumstance, he as lain down the foundation for long-term healing. He has addressed nuance, complication, and humanity. It has cost him short-term in polling, but the long-term wins will be enormous.

Obama isn’t a messiah, but he is a real person with uncanny capabilities and passion for progress. I’m not interested in the former, but I want the latter worse than anything.

The movement that I wholeheartedly support was always driven by individuals at the grassroots. In the intervening months, I think many of us have remained too passive about our support and we need to rejoin the fray. In whatever way you deem fit, I encourage you to actively get involved in this campaign again. I also encourage you to focus less on exchanging punches and more on promoting the optimism that will actually accomplish policy shifts and cultural shifts that will propel us forward.

Why not? A personal plug: Barack Obama

2008-02-02T13:09:00.002-05:00

Family, friends, foes, funkadelic-fiends,

At the risk of conveying unearned (and unwanted) self-importance, I think this presidential election is too important to remain close-lipped. My influence is scarce, if existent, but I figure it's worth doing anything in my power to get out a couple votes.

If you favor a rigidly conservative agenda, you needn't read on. Our differences are likely unbridgeable right now, and we can chat later (plus, you can't vote in the primaries of interest, anyways...Correction, you CAN vote in a few states' democratic primaries if you forgo your vote in their respective Republican primary). On the other hand, if you're anywhere from moderate to liberal, Independent to Democrat, I urge you in the strongest words to vote for Barack Obama in your respective state's Democratic caucus/primary.

I don't consider myself a political expert, by any means. Some of you far outpace me in your obsession with these things. I have, however, followed the campaigns closer-than-most in the last 3 months. Before that, I read what the newspapers told me. We could argue about the almost imperceptible policy differences that separate Obama and Clinton (such as Health Care approaches, if illegal immigrants should get drivers licenses with their citizenship, what world leaders they'll converse with in the first 12 months of their administrations, etc.), but those aren't the distinguishing items between the two candidates.

I'll even spare you my heartfelt stump-speech that does explore the differences between the two: that sound judgement (ie. Clinton voted to authorize Iraq; Obama made an historical speech against doing so) and character (Obama's ability to galvanize the electorate is uncanny) eclipse #years of Washington/political involvement…that no (wo)man is an island, and any president will have legions of policy aides and advisers helping them make decisions, not to mention the legislative apparatuses that temper any executive's ruling fist.

I'll just say this:

IF IT'S CLINTON VS. MCCAIN, MCCAIN IS VIRTUALLY GUARANTEED TO WIN IN NOVEMBER. On a personal level, I can't even claim this would be Armageddon. I like McCain's candor and perseverance compared to Clinton's disingenuous political-persona-of-the

-moment. His policies, however, have gravitated dangerously to the conservative end of the spectrum that's devastated our country over the last 8 years. Although the Republican base has been hesitant to jump behind McCain, they're increasingly willing to do so. Unless Mitt Romney pulls some miracle out of his deep pockets on Tuesday, McCain will essentially secure himself the Republican nomination.

The crucial point is this: even with McCain's gravitation rightward, he maintains his maverick credentials and will likely sweep moderates and independents his way in a general election. Meanwhile, Hillary Clinton, and the unavoidable baggage that comes from her husband's administration, so inspires the ire of significant decisive voting blocs, that her polarizing effect will only catalyze the flood of votes going McCain's way.

On the other hand, Barack Obama has the personal appeal, demonstrated ability to sponsor legislation that bridges the left/right divide and, most importantly, a clear stance against the Iraq war, which will likely once again vie with the economy as the defining issue in the general election. IN EFFECT, OBAMA VS. MCCAIN ALMOST CERTAINLY GOES TO OBAMA. As a matter of fact, adding to the tally of high-profile endorsement for Obama is President Eisenhower's granddaughter (recall, he was a Republican president) in an op-ed piece published in today's Washington Post. And I quote: "If the Democratic Party chooses Obama as its candidate, this lifelong Republican will work to get him elected and encourage him to seek strategic solutions to meet America's greatest challenges. To be successful, our president will need bipartisan help." That's indicative of the kind of moderate support Obama is gathering.

I'm voting for Obama on his own merits. That decision was made before this race became so incredibly close and fluid. Never has a politician inspired me with such a potent combination of intellect, candor, and charisma as has Obama. But if that's not enough, or if you disagree, please atleast think strategically about your vote. Your vote for Clinton could ring the death knell for Democrats' chances in November. With every passing day, Obama closes the slight lead Clinton maintains in the polls, but Super Tuesday, and the subsequent round of states in early February, is closing in fast.

If you agree with this, GET OUT AND VOTE IN YOUR STATE'S DEMOCRATIC PRIMARY/CAUCUS! Talk to your friends and family too. I'm not personally spearheading any of this, I'm just playing my small part. I've been inspired by other people who've already played their small part and I want to keep this movement going.

The Pit: Part II

2007-06-25T01:01:00.000-04:00

The Pit: Part I

Slam down the peanut butter and jelly, devour the banana, inhale the entire pack of fruit snacks in a single mouthful…it’s time to roll! Lunge to the backdoor, apologize to dad for running in the house, nudge the screen a couple times to awaken the black lab snoozing on the other side, wait for him to contemptuously move his restive dog-days bulk from the comfort of a shady and cool metallic screen door, and rush to the bike rack.

Ahh, the bike!

Now, few material possessions quite defined a nine year old like his dirt bike. First of all, did he have a dirt bike? Some kids chose ten-speeds, a few had only scooters or rollerblades, one or two were solely skateboarders, some denied the thrill of wheels and spent their summers in basketball and baseball camps. So the pool narrowed significantly right away. But let’s be honest with each other, the real crème de la summer’s crop--rich or poor--had a dirt bike. Now among us brave and noble souls who concentrated our attention on the world of the dirt bike, there were really two tiers.

The top tier had notable characteristics: these were the kids who had the pegs on the back and on the front tires. Instead of a web of spokes, you would only see the svelte blades of five chrome supports jutting from the central wheel to it’s rubber tire. So hot, so hot. These kids had frames that weighed an ounce, exhibited more fancy silver metal, and probably showcased the coolest dragon and skeleton designs a grade schooler could ever want. For them, the brakes weren’t even a question: hand-operated.

I found my place among the prosaic ranks of the simpler models. There were no pegs on my bike. I dealt with a forest of rusting spokes and my parents would have killed me had I removed the red reflectors that screamed “uncool”. My red huffy was a bit heavier than ideal and couldn’t claim much for design. And, of course, the brakes were foot-operated, so I wasn’t wooing any fans on that front. In short, it was a working man’s bike. It didn’t dazzle at the get-go, but it put me in the game and that’s all you really needed. I couldn’t flash it on the blacktop but it was sufficient to make me show up.

Besides, the real beauty came later because here was a world where merit competed vigorously with hardware to establish one’s rank. And maybe that was one of the core wonders of our dirt bike world: a first glimpse at the tug-of-war between having and earning. We learned that some who had still earned. We learned that some who didn’t have were afraid to earn. We learned that some who had couldn’t earn. We learned that to have a little was enough to let us earn alot. These were pivotal lessons that only the philosophy of adulthood can encapsulate in words, but maybe, just maybe, they impressed themselves upon a nascent and untamed thread of understanding that children surely develop earlier than they’re given credit.

But that’s all peripheral, so back to the important stuff...Grab the bike, pop the kickstand, open the back gate, make sure the dog doesn’t get out, close it, and you’re almost there.

One last obstacle: Mr. Krell (RIP), our septuagenarian once-and-future-lawyer neighbor was likely watering the northern half of our driveway and any cars that might be sitting there, so the exit down the side of the house had to be fast and furious. If you’ve ever imagined a bass-voiced crow with a bullhorn grinding away at his own vocal cords with a rusty chainsaw, then you’ve started to imagine Mr. Krell’s neighborhood-rattling throat-clearings. Good lord, those things came less from the bottom of his bowels and more from the bottom of a Rancour’s den! But the real problem lay less in his phlegmy effusions, and more in his loquacious ramblings and insistence on a fourth grader having determined the exact progression of his collegiate and graduate school training, combined with atleast a solid understanding of the economic state of various professions and how that should influence the early workplace maneuverings. So, needless to say, you had to tear at breakneck speed down the side of the house and across the driveway and allow Mr. Krell nothing more than a salute in-passing or you’d surely be roped in for an hour.

Now there was only one more stop before The Pit: Tim Snell’s house to rendezvous with your comrade in bikes.

A Challenger for Duct Tape?

2007-06-22T16:05:00.000-04:00

This stuff is pretty cool and worth checking out. The artist is Mark Jenkins and the medium is packing tape.

The Pit (Part I)

2007-06-18T20:55:00.000-04:00

If you awoke on a summer morning in my part of eastern Washington state in the late 80's, you were greeted by the warm, dry rays of a vibrant sun prebaking our sub-alpine heights. The air there carried a virginal quality as the putrid fumes of humidity wielded no power and the 2500 foot elevation thinned the molecules. Pine trees salted the air with their cleansing aromas and grasshoppers occasionally contended with the sparrows for a piece of the aural action.

For a fourth grader on summer vacation, this was perpetual bliss. The tetherball courts at the elementary school were empty and no yellow balls hung on the ends of those metal chains. The bells still rang in the school building because the principle forgot to turn them off for
the summer months. Times tables and cursive-writing disappeared into the hazy past. The water balloon fights during the last week of school were over which, unfathomably, the teachers had allowed and even encouraged. The classroom and recess world faded away into a distant memory as the present utopia of summer vacation blossomed before us.

For someone in my oppressed state, wrathful parents never ceased their tyranny so daily chores took precedence over an early start. First, their was laundry to fold in the cold basement where you could actually get goose bumps from the dark chill. Down in that hidden
world, green luminescent letters dotted the screen of our dual floppy-disk drive Macintosh computer in the next room where Below the Root, Snakebite, and Word Munchers capitalized upon their much needed respite from over-eager children and amused parents. If you glanced in there, you'd think Slimer was hiding behind a closet door.

So, there was laundry to fold, there were bathrooms to clean with buckets of hot water and pinesol, carpets needed vacuuming, lawns needed mowing, patios needed sweeping, dogpoop needed shoveling, and flourbeds needed weeding. Oh, the onerous weeds! Day in and day out
those weeds proliferated with a vengeance unrivaled by the ravaging Hun armies. Not only were the bigger ones sheathed in a coat of microscale razors, but the little ones refused to part with their roots and multiplied overnight like the beheaded Hydra.

But once these chores were done, there was nothing to stop a nine year old from reaching his promised land: The Pit.

The Pit: Part II

Sushi Guy

2007-06-02T09:56:00.000-04:00

Walk into any inexpensive sushi bar in the city. Grab a table. Sit down. Imagine for a moment that you've avoided that nefarious soul who haunts your maki dreams; imagine that you're safe. But alas! Try as you might, he'll find you. Whether through karmic (in)justice or the premeditated viciousness of a sadist, this gentleman will slither into a booth within earshot and unveil his poisonous fangs.

You know, of course, that I'm talking about Sushi Guy.

Sushi Guys come in all sorts of exterior variations which makes them difficult to tag on a quick scan of the room. Among the most prevalent, however, are the ones I codename Marcus: seniors in college, normally some background in theatre, caucasian, undersexed, wearing short-sleeve button-ups that scream "just try to call me an engineer, you plebian who's utterly oblivious to meaning of the japanese symbol plastered on my undershirt!".

Marcus always brings 'friends' to sushi, but never another Marcus. When this man is in his element, the room's not big enough to share. With barely concealed contempt, he cringes as his novice underlings order their California and tuna rolls but he also knows that everything is proceeding perfectly according to his plan.

And now he's on. This is the moment he's been savoring for days: The Order. First, he sets the menu down. Who needs a superfluous piece of paper when you practically invented the cuisine (in your dormroom). Marcus then asks the waitress about her personal favorites in the restaurants. When she replies that everything is "really good" but she especially "prefers the eel and octopus" he gives the knowing answer that he "always enjoys the eel cuts" from this restaurant but can only savor the octopus with heavy-salt soysauce and his "doctor advised against" excess sodium. Sadly, he must "opt for low-sodium" soysauce and, therefore, couldn't "do justice to the octopus".

[Here he steals a smug glance at his friends who hide behind recurrent sips from water glasses that have skyrocketed in appeal. He interprets that as tacit fawning over his exhibition of expertise. He proceeds.]

Tonight, he declares, he will only dine on nigiri and carefully selects each of the following (all japanese terms have been translated into english, but Marcus has capitalized upon his two quarters of high-school japanese and the 'Japan in World War II' history class he took last year to deconstruct the Japanese language and reassemble it into something resembling an eastern-flavored spanish): salmon roe, spanish mackerel, halibut, two abalones and, of course, sea eel (through notable stealth, he managed to fetch the menu again). Actually, "since everyone else seems to think it a good idea", he decides that a tuna roll is necessary so "he doesn't feel out of place" but, if it's not too much trouble, could he ask for brown rice on the roll, because he heard "that was how it was traditionally served." Although the waitress is covertly drilling a hole through his appalling head with her flashing eyes, her face is serene and she offers a polite smile to the group, and another polite nod to Marcus as she departs. Marcus was too busy to notice her eyes.

His entire 'presentation' proceeds at a decibel-level just above arena rock and just below a jet engine from 15-feet.

Marcus basks in the glory of his victory. His friends sip the last of their water and start crunching ice. You, seated two booths away from Marcus, try to calm your fury with warm sake and continue the conversation you forgot you were having. That conversation, my friend, is gone forever.

Dotted lines

2007-05-26T15:24:00.000-04:00

Listen to the brambles and gravel crunch underneath the tires as you pull away from the curb. Feel the engine spit and gurgle while it awakens from its nap. See familiarity slip away in your rearview mirror as you round the corner. Taste the gusts of air sneak in through an open window. Smell diesel and hot asphalt and oak trees and dry grasses blend into a perfume of motion.

The road opens its arms and welcomes you into its universe.

What outwardly lookes like escapism is, in reality, an avenue to real introspection. You get to it by getting away from it. This is widdling away the distracting minutiae and focusing on the bigger picture.

This is the crucial combination of meditation's repetition and adventure's novelty: Dotted lines and whitewater. Dotted lines and skylines. Dotted lines and diners. Dotted lines and rolling green hills. Dotted lines and pink semis. Dotted lines and old friends in new lives. Dotted lines and new friends. Dotted lines and revelations, large and small.

Connection from disconnection.

Let me engage in this world, but remind me why I'm doing what I'm doing. Yank me away from my world and let me see another existence. Strip away preconceptions and blase dismissals. Usher me back to my world refreshed and enlightened.

I never found in a church what I find on the road. Maybe our church just doesn't have a roof.

So, here's to you, Caretaker of Ruth.

4 notes

2007-05-22T22:11:00.001-04:00

1. Those subway and sewer vents in downtown are veritable chasms whispering my siren song. I'm not convinced that I won't plummet to my demise some day walking over those evil grates but I'll be damned if i'm not gonna risk it. I've observed the plight of my chewing gum and it's not pretty. But that's why I carry around my Mary Poppins umbrella. Well, one of the reasons I carry around my Mary Poppins umbrella.
2. The NBA playoffs are no longer my friend. I had three teams that I was really excited about watching. All three lost last round. Not only that, they either played half-ass or suffered the pangs and arrows of outrageous officiating. The only thing I can fall back on now are my childhood sweethearts, the Utah Jazz, which captivated every soon-to-be-five-eleven-white-kid-from-spokane-washington back in the day. But Mr. Stockton and his crew broke my heart too many times in adolescence for me to lightly dig those pompoms out of storage.
3. I swallowed a bug while running today. That little bastard bee-lined straight for my non-existent tonsils and fulfilled his kamikaze pledge. Although I'm not convinced that dying in a violent phlegm tornado is really that honorable, I must commend him on his aim.
4. I didn't really have a fourth point. But, damn, the first three were really good. Really, really good.

Tip of the day: ovens and renting

2007-05-15T08:30:00.000-04:00

If you're like me, you're still stuck on the final legs of renting as you prepare to invest in your own palatial estate. Here's one thing to watch:

When you move into a new place, open up that compartment below the main oven chamber where many people store baking sheets, etc. Maybe, just maybe, some creative folk inhabited the apartment before you and thought it might serve as a nice receptacle for a stack of papers. Really, who could blame them? Then maybe, just maybe, you'll turn on your gas stove for a few minutes and soon find your apartment engulfed in heavy smoke. Perhaps next you'll attempt, unsuccessfully, to control the smoke and see the pleasant warm glow of orange flames issue forth from underneath your gas stove. Ooooh, delicious! In a wild, wacky, cool-aid style twist of events, maybe you'll then get the opportunity to visit with the local firefighters as they isolate and quench this nifty fire.

I've heard these stories so, kids, always keep an eye out for those little practical jokes your lovable ex-tenants might have concocted.

Cicadas are coming!

2007-05-11T17:41:00.000-04:00

Cicadas are coming! Cicadas are coming!
Hear them stomping their feet to battlecry drumming,
I fear bulbous red eyes; here’s a shiny doubloon,
Stop the swarms of doom from excavating my tomb!

The scientists lie and declare that they’re harmless,
Anxiety, stress; I’m becoming a Pharm mess!
They will steal young children and hold them for ransom,
They will devour your face, nomatter how handsome.

For seventeen years they have been hatching their plan,
But don’t let them eat me with their monstrous wingspan,
For seventeen years they have been plotting my death,
Give me electrocution or poison by meth.

Yeah, yeah, you prune the treetops and aerate my soil,
You claim to minimize bugs through ravenous toil,
Sing your own praises you contemporary plague,
Tell your all-male chorus it’s an onerous nag.

I dodged you back in DC and hail from the west,
So this will constitute my inaugural test,
Call me an alarmist, extremist, curmudgeon
But if need be I’ll slice ‘ya, dice ‘ya, and bludgeon.

Strategic walking: showdown on sedgwick street

2007-05-09T18:54:00.000-04:00

I had a terrifying experience on the hard streets of Lincoln Park the other day. There I was, minding my own business while en route to the train. And that’s when I saw that two-bit jackal of a walker: me.

You see, I walk a lot. I live in cities, mostly rely on trains and buses for longer trips, then fill in whatever gaps this public transportation can’t cover by trekking on foot. I like walking. It’s how I learn about neighborhoods and see the underbelly of bridges and figure out what’s in all those stores with crowded signs that I couldn’t interpret at 30 mph.

So I’ve had a lot of practice and I take pride in having honed a pretty smooth walking style that maximizes my flow and the flow of those around me. Having diligently studied the art for years, I’m keenly aware of different walking styles and I’ve worked to adapt my own approach to any circumstances.

For instance, in the subway stations and streets of New York I was a darter: you’re dealing with a swarm of people who’re out for blood, so you can’t expect anyone to yield to you. Plus, there’s rarely room to forge your own path on the perimeter of the flow so you have to work in the same spaces as the masses. That means you take the openings when you find them. You move fast, often laterally, and always have your eyes two or three people ahead to gauge the plans of those in your vicinity.

In Washington, I played the perimeter game. It's a more conservative place, so although the sidewalks and subways might have pedestrians, you could normally squeeze a bit of space to yourself on slightly riskier terrain, i.e. streets and rumble strips next to the subway tracks. It was a little dangerous, but the rewards were plentiful so if you kept your head, you’d move swiftly and safely beyond the masses.

Here in Chicago, I haven’t quite developed my local style but I’ve performed relatively well by varying my approach with a given neighborhood. All was going swimmingly until the other day:

You see, I was playing the rumination card during a mid-morning stroll, so I had my head ducked a bit and hands tucked safely in the pockets. My pace was brisk, but not dangerously so. I snuck a surreptitious glance ahead on the sidewalk-which is a crucial element of this advanced walk style. Sure enough, I spotted somebody approaching me directly about 50 feet ahead.

No big deal. The alarms didn’t blare immediately because my sentinels didn’t sniff any trouble. They’ve since been replaced. So I resumed my downward glance but was startled a moment later by some shuffling gravel ahead.

This joker was moving faster than anticipated! My nerves tingled slightly as I quickly glanced upward, still trying not to make any direct eye contact. At this moment, I realized that I’d have to make the first move to prevent certain peril. If I did it now, this guy probably wouldn’t pay any attention to our awkward situation and we’d pass each other anonymously and safely. No harm done. We still had about 35 feet of separation at this point but were closing on each other rapidly. I mustered my courage and veered slightly to the right, thinking this would suffice for a close, but safe pass.

To my horror, I realized he had made the same veer to his left. Outrageous, I thought, as we raced directly at each other. Having faced this uncomfortable situation a few times before, I felt certain there was still time. 25 feet. Alright, we both made the early calculation that this scenario could be troublesome, I thought, so we’re both going to make an equally quick decision to take the second move. This dude’s legit, but If I play my cards right, I let him make this second dodge to his right to avoid the collision. It may give him the glory, but it lets us both walk another day.

So, thinking I was the better man, I sucked it up and maintained my course. But the fires of Hades burned for me that day because this half-wit refused to take the move that I handed him on a silver platter. Instead, through his gross negligence and brazen unwillingness to make the second sway, we were careening headlong towards each other with precious seconds ticking away.

My god, I thought, this could be it. I thought back to all the training I’d done the previous years to get to this elite level of walking. Could it really all be for naught?

12 feet. 12 feet separated me from this cold-blooded killer. He’ll probably take a swipe at my knee as he passes, level me with an elbow to the temple, or poke my eyes out with a fork and leave me writhing on the cold, hard cement to be put out of my misery by a passing Fed-Ex truck, I thought. Why, oh Why?!!

Knowing it was now or never, I dropped the act and faced this insufferable fool with straight eye contact. But oh no! Oh lord, those eyes! Those eyes burning with a manic expression of fury and fear; those eyes were my eyes. This fool wasn’t a ravenous blood-thirsty contract killer out for nothing but another obituary and a stack of cash. This was just a poor novice thrown into a walk-off he’d never dreamed could have such high stakes!

6 feet. I went even farther right, he went even farther to his left. 4 feet. A shriek, a holler, bystanders covering their children’s eyes to prevent permanent trauma. Hands out of pockets, a slide to the left on loose gravel followed by an unimaginable, pivot-foot-270-degree-hop-from-the-off-foot carried out in unison like a synchronized swimming pair performing for their lives in front of an otherwise bored shah looking for two additions to his head-on-a-pike collection for the terrace of the summer palace. Scheherazade, your spirit lived with us that day.

My heart skipped a beat as I felt the cold wind of his being pass within a centimeter of me. Breath held and senses numbed, we looked at each other as if in slow motion as we dusted off our shoes and backed away slowly. There were no laughs, there was only terror. A tragedy was averted by the tiniest of margins and we were shaken beyond comprehension. I’d lost my cool, my reputation was blown in this neighborhood and I’d never walk with the same bravado that turned heads on passing buses. I was done here.

That walk could have ended it all. The rumination strut is out for now. I’ll have to rethink my entire Chicago strategy. As for that poor fool, I can only hope that he has the sense to take a gift the next time it’s offered. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll save his walk and his life.

Some Chicago shots

2007-05-09T14:15:00.000-04:00

Picture this: an introduction to life in Chicago.

How kool is your skool?

2007-05-01T21:34:00.000-04:00

This post is like a bad infection that I really need to just belch out so I can get on with my life. This is another topic that would take a dissertation to do justice to it (not to mention it presents the dual peril of bothering friends and making me look preachy), so I hesitated about even mentioning it. The demons won’t go away, however, so I lay myself down on the chopping block…

You see, I read this article the other day that everyone else on earth, apparently, read too. I was excited because it expressed some of the visceral thoughts I have about education in America. If you’ve read my last couple posts, you know this is an issue on my mind.

The ultimate message, and the conclusion I have reached over the last few years, is this: there are incredibly gifted kids that don’t end up as undergraduates at elite colleges. This isn’t (mostly) to detract from those elite schools, but more a statement about 1) how other schools are attracting phenomenal students because it’s getting crowded at the top, 2) an acknowledgement that some bright minds simply don’t blossom (academically) during the high school years, and 3) that some sharp and driven minds don't ever find their real outlet in school. Futhermore, although this guy doesn’t say if he agrees with me or not, in my opinion, far too much emphasis is placed on standardized test scores.

Actually I can’t relate to the students he discusses who are rejected from Harvard, but have unbelievably accomplished stats. What I relate to is the author’s experience and the attitude he has about his own kids. The former do research for NASA while in high school and travel in Europe with orchestras during the summers. He and I worked in pizza restaurants, shoveled gravel, or put in sprinkler systems. Like his kids, my friends and I learned life lessons during high school by skiing on the weekends instead of doing pre-calculus homework and reading history textbooks.

My problems rest much more in undergraduate education than with graduate education. I think graduate programs do a better job of sniffing out the best candidates based on a broader set of considerations. Also, if you’re getting an advanced degree from any school, you’re probably quite driven and likely have an active mind. Furthermore, what you become during your undergraduate years (and afterwards) has much more to do with who you are, while what you become during your high school years has more to do with what you were born into.

Elite undergraduate schools serve an important role. There needs to be a place where the truly brilliant and the truly driven (or some combination of both) can congregate and push the limits of human thinking. But let me say two things: while the wealthy in this country have such an enormous advantage in training their children for these overemphasized standardized tests, getting their children into elite summer training programs, privately influencing high-level people with control over admissions, and offering to forfeit the entire $50,000 for a year in school instead of asking for grants and loans, this is simply not a meritocracy and you cannot be assured that you are giving every bright student the right consideration. Again, this doesn’t apply to everyone from wealth, but we do have a problem here. Secondly, don’t think for a second that you have such a monopoly on the best minds. You will soon be paying more attention to schools that right now fall below your radar.

To answer upfront any speculation about bias, I’ll give the disclaimer that my SAT scores were better than average but certainly not adequate to compete for the top schools. The one quite competitive school I applied to (still, a notch below the best) didn’t particularly like me and slapped me back to their waiting list. These realities haunted me for years and when I awakened intellectually in college my victories were tempered by ruinous memories of underperformance and rejection at the age of 17. Seventeen years old. It took me many years to see beyond this.

When given the chance at another standardized test (GRE), I knew deep down that it would not serve as an adequate measure of my intelligence. However, I wanted to forever quell any lingering doubts about my capabilities on this front. It was personal. So I signed up for that test, got all pumped up, memorized some vocabulary, looked over a bit of high school math, went in there, freaked out, and froze up in the middle. The computer generated scores that said I was pretty mediocre. But this time, I wasn’t having any of it. Pissed off at the world, I marched back in there, showed that test who was boss and sat back for my scores. But when the computer spat out scores that supposedly told me I should apply to really competitive grad schools, I felt anesthetized. Was this really any moment of elation?

No. Not really.

“What an empty metric”, I thought to myself as I walked the DC streets back to work. I know so many sharp thinkers with truly novel ideas who wouldn’t score well on that test for one reason or another. Or what if like me, they had a bad experience the first time and never reconciled that with another test? So I thought back to high school and how before my our schoolwide SAT prep courses (sorry, mom!) my friends and I would take beer bongs, then show up and make people laugh instead of memorizing lists of vocabulary and reviewing how to deal with an arctangent. A couple months later, we came in one Saturday morning, were convinced that we weren’t that smart by a really long test, and called it good. Maybe one or two of my friends took it again. Most of us didn’t. We had other high school stuff to attend to, just like countless other high school kids across the country. I also think back to my college years when I encountered some bonafide brilliant people that forever changed my perspective about what intelligence is and how we measure it. For various reasons, these kids weren’t at Stanford.

What I’m trying to say here is that as someone who’s scored both underwhelmingly and quite well on standardized tests, I hope I have atleast a balanced opinion (although, yes, my argument that graduate schools are more balanced with their admissions would fit nicely into my scoring history…don’t worry, I see you). When you’re 25, you have likely developed the maturity and wisdom to know that standardized tests simply cannot encapsulate the breadth of an individual’s intellectual capabilities. But when you’re 17 years old, it’s different. This metric has been so overemphasized as to devastate swarms of great, young thinkers and instill a hideous arrogance in a few others.

Although I do think genetics contributes partially to an individual’s level of intelligence, research is amassing that suggests their experiences (nurture) are atleast, if not quite a bit more so, important in molding a 17 year old’s mind. So, please, let us all stop freaking out so much about who ends up in what undergraduate school and what a kid scores on a test at the age of 17.

So, I have a couple things to say to some people who aren’t reading this:

Elite colleges (and their students…a number of which are my friends): First of all, I’m sorry but you place too much emphasis on standardized test scores. But much more importantly, there’s something else. Most of you are filled with exceedingly bright, hardworking people. I commend that. Really, I do. You, however, need to keep in mind that there are other kids in schools you wouldn’t suspect with marvelously nimble minds who, for one reason or another, didn’t draw the attention of the big names when they were 17 years old. You might be surprised to find out how little separates you from a number of those kids. So quit namedropping and keep innovating!

High schools (including teachers and parents): for the love of god, stop placing so much emphasis on these standardized tests. Instead, try to instill a love of learning in the students and teach them why learning is important and enjoyable. I promise you this will pay off eventually. Are you looking for kids who get accepted into flashy schools or are you trying to produce people who will make a real difference in the world? (no, they are certainly not mutally exclusive, but you get the picture) In my opinion, the focus on test scores distorts young minds and will backfire in the end. Not to mention, if a kid falls in love with learning on his/her own terms, the right scores will follow. This may not happen at the age of 16 or 17 because there’s lots of distractions while high school kids grapple with the transition from adolescence to adulthood including a maelstrom of physical, emotional, and mental challenges. But it will happen and that success story will trace its roots back to the foundational education you offered. And my last point, we need more innovation and less rote learning. We need analysis, not automatons. Creativity should not be squashed, but encouraged. Please, please work on this.

My two buddies from high school English class are both at Harvard now. Another brilliant friend from high school was working on installing refrigeration systems, last I heard. A couple friends have PhD’s in physics from MIT and Stanford, a couple others are budding artists working lame day jobs to pay the bills. A few people are going to medical school, a couple are farming, and some are learning about raising families while trying to excel professionally, too. The thing is, I don’t care what you are, where you are, or what you’re trying to become so long as you’re working hard to get there, applying your mind, and have a reason for what you’re doing.

If you have the opportunity to study at the best institutions in the world, damn, take it! If I get that chance, I’ll do the same thing. But just as those cherished acceptance letters wouldn’t cement my contribution to humanity, neither would a degree from a state school mean my thinking couldn’t be the most innovative around.

So, yeah, shake what your mama gave you, because she’s not gonna shake it for you.

Yes, it's quite nice

2007-04-27T19:43:00.000-04:00

Alright, time to flesh out a couple things, lest this URL decay into a rant space. We’re still in serious-mode, so let’s discuss entitlement today.

The topic of entitlement is a precarious one to broach. I hesitated before mentioning it in my last post for two reasons: 1) it raises hackles regardless of your background, and 2) the side issues associated with it are nuanced and complicated.

But put quite simply, living in New York pushed this topic to the forefront of my mind because you can’t escape the disparity between the top and the bottom. The city is a small space so you see everything. Furthermore, the rich are richer and, often, the money is older. To a lesser degree DC had a similar effect, but it was less directly focused on economics and more on prestige of job (which, I think, is eventually related to economics).

You can’t quantify the concept of entitlement. It’s really a behavioral issue obliquely related to number-friendly stats like economics and race. But what you can do is cringe at the way it distorts a human being’s persona.

Wealth is not the inherent evil here. The ‘bad’ wealthy aren’t bad because they’re wealthy. Just as an Hispanic child of illegal immigrants in East LA can’t dictate or change his origins, neither can the caucasian daughter of a Manhattan Hedge Fund manager growing up in Darien, Connecticut. Furthermore, there’s nothing evil about being a ‘Manhattan Hedge Fund manager’ or a caucasian (I hope!) or a daughter (although I might argue differently at times).

What I’m talking about here are over-privileged individuals who are never taught as children--and never take the responsibility to learn as adults--that they’re just lucky and not inherently better. This starts with an upbringing defined by the best schools, the right type of sophisticated language spoken, interacting with influential people, and the leisure-time to process all this cherished information. What follows are overinflated and overhyped test scores (another post), the corresponding colleges to which they’re admitted (also another post), the types of graduate programs they’re admitted to, and the types of companies who hire them. Guess what, then you start back at the beginning with the next generation.

I want to state very clearly that this doesn’t apply to every individual born into wealth, who succeeds in school and thrives professionally. This applies only to individuals like that who don’t have the insight know that many others could accomplish similar things given the right opportunities and who consider this ‘success’ their birthright. That’s entitlement and that’s what I’ve seen too much of over the past couple years, especially in the young professional world of Manhattan.

I have nothing against wealth. I hope to be rewarded nicely (money being a significant part of that compensation) for my contribution to humanity’s progress. I plan to work for my wealth and I plan to enjoy it once it arrives. I, overall, align with capitalists who think that competition and reward are key ingredients to a thriving society. If someone who’s earned their wealth deems it important to invest in their children’s futures, that’s their prerogative and should be respected. The onus, however, first falls upon them to instill in their kids that they shouldn’t rely upon inherited privilege. Furthermore, once those kids transition to adulthood, it’s then the children’s responsibility to act in a way that consciously acknowledges the inequalities from which they’ve benefited. They don’t need to feel badly, they only need to be aware and respectful.

The side issues here are apparent and abundant. To name a few: nature vs. nurture, standardized testing, racial disparity, and broadly, education. Before I stick my neck out and spout about other things I don’t take the time to defend, I’m gonna put a cork in it.

Hopefully that wasn’t too ranty.

Rant rant. Ranty ranty roo. Raaaaant. Rant.

Amen.

The State (Illinois) of my Union

2007-04-24T19:08:00.000-04:00

If you're one of the few I've talked to lately, you might want to save your current optometry prescription and not read this. Even if we haven’t spoken lately, you still might want to save your prescription and not read this. To put it mildly, life has been eventful lately and I haven’t been able to keep in touch with most people. I wanted to record for myself what I've been up to, so if I can compound that endeavor by updating a few people on my story, excellent.

Here’s the thing: I don't particularly enjoy long phone conversations. Don't take it personally because it doesn't matter with whom I'm speaking. I don't like the slight delay in transmittance; I don't like that the entire non-verbal element of communication disappears. These are issues that VOIP and bluetooth simply can't settle. The next generation of videochatting portable devices might suit me better. But guess what, this is not Tokyo, nor is this Seoul. For now, if I can cover the overarching picture here, our (shorter) phone conversation can be much more interesting for us both.

So you're left with this: too many paragraphs on a moribund blog. Take it or leave it. Excuse me, you're drooling...no, the right side...got it.

And then there was New York.
In the fall of '05 it became apparent to me that DC was not my ideal city. I liked many things about that city (some great people, a plugged-in/turned-on professional environment, improving social scene), but it boiled down to this: on the ever-paramount front of personal happiness, the cons outweighed the pros and I'd seen other places that endeared themselves to me more. So a relocation was in order. It would take nearly a year, and another position within my company, before I rolled away from DC with my meager possessions and charged northward to New York City for a new adventure.

First of all, what a phenomenal city! To wake up and step into the pulse of that metropolis is an exhilarating feeling, something I'll forever be glad to have experienced as a resident. Take solely the island of Manhattan. What a spectacle to witness the energy and brainpower from around the globe that has descended upon a skinny rock at the mouth of the Hudson River. Block after block after block teems. And I'm not just talking about Wall Street (which doesn't teem after hours, incidentally!), Little Italy/Chinatown, Greenwich Village, and Midtown. I'm talking about the whole damn island. I worked way up near 170th street in an area that isn't even included on most Manhattan maps. This area was alive with swarms of people at all hours, and that's just one example of an oft-ignored part of the City that's bumpin'. The city's alive on the surface and its underbelly is crisscrossed with a hidden world of trains that never sleep. Viewing the skyline from Brooklyn never failed to make my heart beat in appreciation of the ingenuity and vitality that erected those forests of buildings.

[If you love history and have about 15 hours of free time on your hands, I can't express enough how incredible is Ric Burns' PBS documentary "New York: A Documentary Film". Starting with the arrival of the Dutch in the early 17th century, this 8-disk series traces the history of New York City throughout the last 4 centuries (from the arrival of the Dutch until post 9/11). The narrative is engaging and the paintings, photos, and videos visually capture how old and rich is the fabric of that city.]

But for a real taste of New York, hop across either the Hudson or the East River and check out the surrounding areas. To the west you've got northern New Jersey. Up above you've got the Bronx, Westchester and swanky Connecticut. Go east and you're trekking through Queens or Brooklyn, then the NYC satellite communities, then the real Long Island. If Manhattan is the engine, herein is the fuel. If Manhattan is the dish, herein is the spice.

The real ethnic neighborhoods and Bohemian enclaves are in the boroughs. When you want something authentic and unadorned with needless (and expensive) frills, head across one of New York's incredible bridges (arguably, my favorite structures in the City). Such places can be found in Manhattan, but they're not easy to spot (actually, in parts of Brooklyn and Queens--some of which I know fairly well--this same scenario is already transpiring in its nascent stages, but nowhere near the same level). Instead, in Brooklyn and Queens it's pretty common to walk out of a subway and hear most people speaking another language. I remember one adventure-walk I took during my last round of unemployment (disturbingly, not too long ago!) in Brooklyn where I wandered into the Hassidic Jewish neighborhood. I honestly thought I was in a movie as throngs of bearded men with enormous hats briskly crossed streets with hands clasped pensively behind their backs and women clad in garments reminiscent of catholic nuns rushed by escorting their bountiful offspring in strollers. In my neighborhood of Greenpoint Brooklyn you might initially scoff at any claim of diversity because many people are white. But soon, you'll realize that you can't understand a thing anyone's saying because they're all speaking Polish! Oh, and about 4 blocks down is a heavy concentration of Hispanic families and Spanish reigns. This is just one example. In essence, if cultural and ethnic diversity is a driving factor in your decision to move to New York, you are absolutely choosing the right spot. Know, however, that your interests will likely draw you away from Manhattan into the other boroughs (and northern New Jersey).

I lived in two neighborhoods in Manhattan and two neighborhoods in Brooklyn. Everywhere felt very urban. But in Manhattan your beer will cost $7 and fries don't come with that burger. [And beware of the cheapest spots, including a buffet Indian restaurant that sometimes unintentionally adds roaches for extra flavor--I'm not kidding, I saw a worker scoop a roach out of a tub of curry chicken, shrug his shoulders and say, "welcome to New York!"]. In Manhattan, you'll see Hispanic and African American women pushing strollers with pasty white kids inside. Guess what, those women probably don't live there, and if they do, they likely live up in Harlem where prices are creeping up fast and traditional communities are dissolving. Head to NYU where the unshaven, tight-jeaned hipsters relax in Washington Square. But don't ask too many questions because the conversation stops at the Trust Fund.

Everywhere, you feel this incessant rush to be the most hip, secure an apartment deal, make your train, see the new club, and on an on and on. These things can be productive or destructive. The rush leads to things moving at a lightening pace. If you have the right personality and your sh*t’s together, you're plugged in and cruising. But the rush also allows less time for digestion and contemplation, so you start to wonder if your lightening progress is moving in the right direction. You need a break from New York to thrive in New York.

Manhattan is large enough and complex enough to maintain a real sense of ethnic diversity. Beware, however, because even the last bastions of this are disappearing faster than you'd believe. The same apartment my aunt rented a decade ago in the East (Greenwich) Village is now renting at atleast twice that rate if not more. Most of the newcomers are white professionals. Manhattan is being overtaken by over-compensated white kids whose name-brand degrees bought them positions at Goldman Sachs and midtown Hedge Funds. Trust me, I see my own cynicism and don't particularly like it. Many elements of gentrification are positive (not to mention that I know some great, hard-working people with those ‘name-brand’ degrees for whom I have a lot of admiration): dangerous areas transform into safe, clean neighborhoods; more businesses are attracted which generate new jobs; schools improve; these improvements spur improvements in adjacent neighborhoods and the movement spreads. But lets be honest, an overwhelming number of one race from similar socio-economic roots is represented and an overwhelming number of professions are not represented. In my opinion, this is a travesty for the city. The groups that give New York (and any other locale) its flavor are flocking across the rivers into the other boroughs. Manhattan is for the wealthy, period. I think there's more than one way to improve a neighborhood and I can't help but think these are short-run wins instead of long-run wins.

So here's the thing about New York, in my opinion you need atleast one of the following to really be happy there today (in order of decreasing importance): lots and lots of money, a connection for housing, the ability to get away, or family and friends in close proximity.

I had basically none of these things (to a small extent, the last), which eventually made the city unappealing. Although other factors contributed, it came down to one crucial fact: New York is prohibitively expensive for the lifestyle it affords someone on my budget. It's a world-class city that attracts the best and the brightest from across the globe. Its rich history is enchanting. If you consider the boroughs and northern New Jersey, it's gotta be one of the most diverse areas on earth. But in order to live there, people of modest means must move farther and farther from the epicenter. Manhattan itself just feels like too much of an elite museum. I didn't move to Manhattan to grow rich in the financial game (although I did, unsuccessfully, interview for some finance jobs because I thought it'd be interesting to see that world from the inside). What really attracted me was the cosmopolis itself. I wanted culture and cutting-edge creation. I found some of that but it was mostly outside Manhattan. Manhattan is now almost exclusively for high-end (brow?!) culture, but I often find that profoundly less interesting, not to mention profoundly less accessible! I prefer to see the workhorses on the ground floor fighting for their passions instead of those being handed their entitlement. I scratched the surface on the Brooklyn scene and liked some of what I saw. But Brooklyn is still really expensive and it's far enough away from the big, pretty buildings to make me question what I was doing there. I felt like I could really plug into some neighborhoods but never had any hope of plugging into the city itself...and wasn't quite sure if I wanted to anyways.

My aunt lived in Manhattan for a couple decades spanning roughly the mid-70's through the mid-90's. Many of those years were spent as a social worker in the Lower East Side. She sometimes lived in penury but always lived happily. She speaks with unadulterated fondness about the ethnic food, the bazaar of different people, and the creative vibe that dominated. I can't help but think that her New York was quite different from mine. Namely, one could still reasonably expect that such an existence be Manhattan-centric. Today, that is not possible without a flush bank account or a nice connection, which already implies a disruption of the demographics. If you have those things, Manhattan is still an incredible place. But please, know that it’s different today than it was yesterday and, please, don’t rent!

So…..what?
I wasn’t alone in my analysis of New York. K’s likes/dislikes aligned with mine as our adventure together continued. Hers is a saga in and of itself that isn’t mine to share here. Suffice it to say, revelations only come if you’re willing to stick your neck out and test the water. And once they do arrive, it takes a whole new reserve of strength to face the barrage of doubts from others and transfer those schemes into reality. She’s done this in grand-fashion over the last year and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

So we repaired to the nearest pub and took stock of our scenario in the only suitable fashion: over a frosty pint.

For me, the professional consequences were foremost on my mind. New York will always be there and my roots were relatively shallow, so extricating myself was simple on most fronts. However, although I had some real issues with my position at Columbia, the educational opportunities alone made such a position (which was nearly impossible to land, and I only secured after 6 months of persistence) tough to relinquish. Also, I would be dealing with a 4-month blight on my resume and likely heading towards another bout with unemployment. But here’s a crucial bit of self-knowledge I’ve gained in the post-college years: location is absolutely critical for me. There are many jobs and great academic programs I won’t even consider if that involves living in an unappealing location for a significant length of time. My second position at the National Academies in DC was phenomenal in many ways, but I still stepped out onto streets that didn’t embrace my full potential for inspiration. New York is not unappealing in an absolute sense, but it quickly becomes so given insufficient resources.

Life in New York is a battle…but it's not that I'm afraid of a battle. Nothing comes easy…but I'm not asking for an easy road. All I'm asking for is to find a battle worth fighting. And I know this might sound harsh to some dear ears, but I couldn't justify fighting the battle in New York. The spoils of that war were insufficient for the sacrifice. I have too many priorities that couldn't be met by that city (at this time) and I wasn't willing to pay the astronomical price to indulge just a few of my passions. Perhaps I'll reside in New York at another point, but I'll either have lots and lots of money, a connection for housing, the ability to get away, or family and friends in close proximity. Either the first or the second, combined with either the third or the fourth, would be absolute requirements. For now and into the indefinite future, a couple yearly visits will suffice.

Therefore, it was a surprisingly easy decision for K and I to decide it was time to go.

But where?

Which brings me to Chicago, literally.
The answer was simple: Chicago.

Here are the characteristics for my ideal home:
A cosmopolis, first and foremost.
Four distinct seasons.
The juxtaposition of quaint neighborhoods and a thriving, vertical downtown.
A significantly sized and clean body-of-water/river.
Relatively-affordable, interesting, clean, safe, decently-sized housing.
Few rainy days; give me snow over cold rain.
Mind-blowing architecture.
An encompassing network of public transportation.
Incredible food.
History.
An eclectic, thriving, worldly, educated, unpretentious populace.
Great, distinctive, comfortable coffee shops.
Great, distinctive, comfortable pubs.
World class universities.
A promising economy.
Bike friendly and pro-physical fitness atmosphere.
A place where I feel comfortable yet constantly challenges me.
Clean, abundant park space.
Easy access to the outdoors.
Easy access to mountains.
Easy access to the ocean.
Athletic teams.
Affordable, abundant flights to my hometown.
Affordable, abundant flights to everywhere else on earth.

It’s funny because (I don’t think I’m exaggerating here) Chicago is just not on the radar screen of most people on the West Coast. We west coasters relish our society, lifestyle, and the unparalleled natural beauty outside. When most of us think about possible other cities in the US that might satisfy such high (and unique) standards of living we have fairly predictable list of possible choices (Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego…maybe some inland choices like Denver, Austin, Salt Lake City…then the few east coast selections such as Boston, Brooklyn, the Research Triangle, or possibly DC. This might sound preposterous to people from elsewhere, but I really don’t think Chicago is a city that most west coast people consider as livable, even given it’s immense population and popularity as a sports-city and history hub. I think most of us heard the words ‘midwest’ and ran screaming away from the Chicago brochures…especially eschewing the thought of ‘eclectic’ and ‘worldy’ fitting the bill.

[I was actually hesitant to even mention this, but let’s be honest, this thing doesn’t have the circulation of the Washington Post (or the Fort Washington Post)…]

Homies, if you haven’t already realized, think again! I can safely say that Chicago satisfies, to a greater or lesser degree, 22 of the 24 criteria above. And no, Wisconsin doesn’t have the Cascades, Rockies, Sierras, Chugach, or Alaskan Ranges, but it’s downright gorgeous up there and it’s pretty close. Seriously. There’s even a few mounds that people ‘ski’ down! And as for the other missing criteria, parts of Chicago’s north-side waterfront could easily be mistaken for southern cali’s beaches, minus the five-footers. Trees and parks are everywhere, cool neighborhoods abound, downtown is accessible and energetic yet not chaotic, the trains run above ground (something anyone who’s ridden the dark subways of NYC will appreciate immediately), if you enjoy cold/snowy winters the weather is phenomenal. The prices are big-city level, but not outrageously inflated ala NYC and parts of San Fran and Los Angeles. If you have important people that live east or west but don’t travel much, you can’t beat the location and accessibility/price of flights. Furthermore, you’ll see all kinds here. Quite simply, the city kicks complete ass and will likely blow you away. But, shhh, don’t tell anyone. This is our 9.4 million person secret (entire metropolitan area; 2.9 million in the city itself).

On my PDL preferences list, the only other American city that contends with Chicago is San Francisco (Philly would rank highest of the East Coast contenders). But, hey, the location and lifestyle I’d want in San Fran (not extravagance) puts me back in the NYC economics dilemma, not to mention I really like my seasons. There’s a reason Chicago just won the US bid for the 2016 Summer Olympics. It’s down to a handful of global contestants (Rio de Janeiro, Madrid, Prague, and Tokyo look like the real competition) and I’m guessing Chicago is at the top of that list.

After visiting Chi-town many times in the last couple years, I’d totally fallen for it. After realizing this, I could never think of New York as anything more than a stop along the way to either here or San Fran. For the reasons above, Chicago was the obvious first choice.

Who knows how long I’ll be here but I can tell you this: my quasi-wandering over the previous 3 years has been a deliberate effort to educate myself on other parts of the country and determine where I’d most like to settle for a few years and build something. Chicago is very likely the place where I sacrifice the least and gain the most. The international phase of my life will probably have to wait for another degree or some unexpected professional opportunity. Whether this involves consistent traveling or even living abroad for awhile, it will come, I promise. You see, my life is intended as one ever-improving adventure and I think Chicago is where I will mold that reality in the near-future. In Brooklyn, I finally gained a small taste of stability (and the opportunities for growth that stability affords) and I decided I was too impatient to wait for the next step along the way. I knew what I wanted, I knew it would benefit me immensely in the long run, so sacrifices and seeming-insanity were small prices to pay in the short run!

So, yes, I now live in Chicago.

Can you spell ‘career’ for me, please?
Let’s return to the near-term sacrifices. Namely, I now find myself again faced with the dilemma of unemployment. This has been a recurring theme of my post-college experience. I’ve moved numerous times and tried a number of jobs. Chicago is just the latest iteration of this script. You have to be willing to pay the consequences to undertake the path I’ve taken. It’s definitely not for everyone. In fact, I’m not sure I’d recommend it to many people. That’s not a statement of superiority/inferiority. It’s simply a concession that I needed to learn lessons in this manner and others may not need to do so. Because of my mobile lifestyle, I’ve surely sacrificed the consideration of many cool employers who don’t like my unintelligible resume. I also haven’t focused on further schooling which bumps that back a few years. Amen.

For years I’ve been struggling with finding direction. My profession has taken a backseat to geographical exploration, friendships and relationships, and generally establishing a personal philosophy. Without that foundation, I’d be building something structurally unsound (feel free to vomit at this point). My ultimate vision was never compromised, but this (professionally speaking) side stuff had to come first.

So now I’m here with some time on my hands, and I’m wondering what the hell am I doing with myself?! I tore through Po Bronson’s book that’s been sitting on my shelf since Portland, I took online character/skills/aptitude tests, I consulted family, I bought a career-counseling book. All of this has been helpful to expand my vision, but it’s also a bit overwhelming and convinces me that there’s no easy answer. My interests are varied and complex and there’s lots of other people like me with voracious appetites. Maybe I’ll see a Career Counselor but a few hundred bucks seems like a lot to an unemployed dude (exercise, find the logical flaws in Phil’s argument).

The underlying staples of my universe are rationality, objective analysis, creativity, good-conscience-productivity and humor. But these characteristics can fit into so many professional outlets. It’s both a confusing and exciting experience to simultaneously—and quite seriously—consider each of the following paths/careers within a five-day span: physics PhD, biophysics PhD, financial analyst, space lawyer, intellectual property lawyer, MBA, international relations, engineering PhD, Biomedical Engineering PhD, Computer Science PhD, journalist, novelist, actuary, restaurateur, teacher, psychiatrist/psychologist, architect, graphic designer.

Has anyone else gone through this career exploration phase? Probably most, to some degree. By no means have I reached any life-altering decisions, but it has been a productive period of introspection.

Phil, wake up to the rest of the globe!
Unexpectedly, what’s helped me most recently is picking up another book I’ve been meaning to read; this one having nothing to do with career exploration.

Quite simply, please listen to this: if you have not read Thomas Friedman’s book, “The World is Flat: A Brief History of the Twenty First Century” (2005), pick this book up soon.

For anyone who even takes a few minutes to glance at the news headlines each day, the content is nothing unexpected: India, China, and Eastern Europe are rising and the global playing field is being leveled. The genetic lottery of being born middle-class (or better) in the US will soon not prove as meaningful. We all know this, kind of.

What this book does, however, is detail the incredible extent to which this has already happened (not to mention that this book considers the world as it was way back in late 2004 and things have been changing at light-speed since), the reasons it has happened, and the long-term consequences for Americans. It’s just a nice summary of lots of important stuff and I think any American entering the workforce or considering more schooling should read it.

This book is phenomenal because it does two things. First of all, it will alarm you and scare you. Secondly, it will inspire you. Friedman isn’t issuing a call to nationalism. Instead, he’s telling America that we need to work our asses off to remain global leaders (even global players) in most industries. He focuses a lot on science and engineering because they traditionally have driven markets and will do so to an even greater extent in the future. But really, it’s the same for any professional endeavor (accounting, law, marketing, healthcare, etc.). He thinks, and I agree, that everyone benefits from a flattening world, including Americans, but we’re just going to have to work harder to really benefit. There’s going to be some uncomfortable times during the transition for people of all ranks and we’ll need to iron out political policies that allow for the much-needed transition but also cushion those being adversely affected and get them back in the new ballgame.

For individuals, it’s going to get more competitive because there’s more people being educated around the world and most of them have greater appetites than you and I. Most of them will accept less for their work. What that means is that we need to actually take advantage of our world-leading education system and continue to improve ourselves. This doesn’t mean you have to go get an engineering PhD (although we do need those). It means that instead of killing your mind with laziness, go learn something that challenges you and gives you the tools to create something novel or contribute something impressive. It might not even be a traditional degree, but instead a combination of skills that are unique (aka, a cartoonist who understands basic computer programming and speaks Polish). That sort of thing.

So where this leaves me now is convinced of a couple things. First of all, the world is becoming progressively more tech-driven and I don’t want to drown in this. I want to participate. It has re-inspired my natural attraction towards science and instilled the pursuit with more meaning. I haven’t been able to focus on any field for graduate studies because anything outside of science leaves a huge part of me unfulfilled, yet anything in science takes a significant amount of dedication and will shield me from other things I’m interested in for awhile. But now, I’m finally at a point where I can look longer-term and understand that in order to participate in this world in a meaningful way, you must receive more specialized training. Once you have that, then you can spread your creative wings and attempt to combine all your interests.

Secondly, I don’t have to have the grand-scheme picture entirely figured out right now. My uber-career might be in an area not even envisioned right now because things are moving so fast! Instead, I just need to learn something and apply myself. I know a PhD physicist who’s working in financial analysis in Manhattan right now. He has no regrets about lost time and he loves what he’s doing. He also loves what he studied. The key was that he took it to another level. For him, that meant getting a PhD. What he’ll have in common with someone else doing something completely different is just that they both applied their minds and their energy. Maybe they both read Friedman’s book, or maybe they were his case-studies for success!

So I had a second interview at U of C today working in research that coordinates a medical unit with engineers, chemists, and physicists. That sort of cross-disciplinary work is the wave of the future and I love it both philosophically and for the way it promises to benefit humankind. It’s a microcosm off the integration happening globally. Again, that’s something I don’t want to fear, but something I want to partake in. So whereas awhile ago I might have dwelt on being stuck in a lab and missing other opportunities, now it seems an amazing opportunity for me to improve my knowledge of many branches of science, enhance my tech skills, apply myself creatively, and work towards some yet-undefined ultimate expression of myself. Plus, there’s always time after work for the other interests.

So the U of C thing would be phenomenal and hopefully it'll happen. But the workforce is cutthroat right now, so maybe I’ll be working for a staffing agency next week answering the phone for some VP as I make my appointment with the career counselor to formulate Plan B. Hopefully not, but we’ll see.

And finally, there’s this bloggy thing.
Some periods are for me and only for me. I'm actually quite careful with what I'll spill on a blog. With some topics, I have no problem communicating through this medium with candor and openness. The nauseating length of this post offers proof. Sometimes, however, instead of interpreting the world on these pages I need to have the liberty to extricate myself and process more privately.

2006 was not for this medium. Many reasons contributed, which I won’t discuss here. I don’t foresee disappearing like that again anytime soon. Sorry to all my loyal fan (singular). I’m still deciding where I want to take this thing. Maybe less topical and more creative stuff at times. Probably not daily posts, but atleast weekly. We’ll see.

Please, stay tuned.

time, again

2007-03-21T22:11:00.000-04:00

795 miles

2007-03-17T19:00:00.000-04:00

Voyages '04

2007-03-03T16:11:00.000-05:00

Here's a set of pics I transfered from Snapfish to my Flickr account recently. They're from my Alaska/West Coast/Driving-across-country/DC adventures in 2004.

Morning exercise

2007-03-03T16:09:00.000-05:00

Out the door, down the steps, outside and begin. Okay, walk briskly and start to angle. Over the left shoulder check for traffic and quickly peer back to the right. Go. Hop up the curb, position your strides over the vents and listen for whooshing trains, feel for gusts of air. Nothing, sweet! Whip around the corner and down the steps. Keep listening. Around 12th step grab wallet from back pocket. Avoid that puddle, it’s slippery and nasty. Keep walking while simultaneously removing farecard. Okay, you hear something so don’t screw up when swiping card. Firmly and swiftly slide the card with the flat bottom resting snugly along the brushed steel plates. Nice! You’re through and sure enough, there’s a white spotlight 30 yards down the track coming to a halt. Sprint! Don’t slip, avoid the people walking towards you, don’t step too close to the edge but do run a bit closer to the edge because the conductor needs to see you. Fifteen yards, ten yards, the announcer didn’t see you and he’s ringing the bell. Lunge, grab the door, let it clamp down on your arm, let it momentarily re-open, and go! Alright you’re in.

Breathe.

Now the truth is you’re not positioned well. You really need to be two cars towards the middle because that’s the closest spot to the best stairwell. Walk down the moving train, keep your right arm in touch with the ceiling railing. Whoops! Damn good thing for that right arm. Apologize to the lady you bumped, congratulate yourself for not embarrassing yourself worse, half-jokingly curse the universe for trains unexpectedly slowing, and keep moving. Avoid pondering over what was on the 147 hands that held that railing in that exact spot in the last two days. Keep moving. Alright, next station now, doors opening. Sneak out past those entering, angle left and take a few sprinting strides down the train. Back in on the next car. nice. Moving. Take a look at a pair of boots with an exposed steel toe, a pair of blocky grandma shoes, a two-inch black high-heel, and a pair of sneakers with thick shoelaces all arranged horizontally. Ignore the guy preaching damnation, he was here yesterday too. Quick, breathe.

Okay, here’s the station. The train could approach from either side and you really need to be right in front of the door. You choose the left and wait. Feel how the train’s angling slightly? Good. Switch sides to the other door. Damn good thing you moved then because now there’s 15 people crowded behind you. Train stops. Waiting, waiting, and the doors open! Go! The next car over’s closer to the stairwell so you have to hurry. 11 people in front of you on the stairs. It’s a blockade. Frustration. Alright top of stairs, things open up a bit. You’ve got some work to do. The other staircases moved faster and now you’ve got about 40 people to contend with as you move along the long corridor. The path broadens a bit and you swing wide. You make three passes before the older gentleman blocks your progress. But you see this coming, gauge his velocity and that of the other gentleman to your left and slightly behind and determine if you move now, you can take the gap. You do. They guy behind’s slightly pissed but you speed up and you’re out of his way in a flash. Well executed. You’re looking at about twenty people now but they’re the elite, the jaguars, the top guns. This group you float with. Make another pass or two but mostly enjoy the fluidity and speed of this group.

Okay, but listen, or maybe feel. There’s a train approaching downstairs. Could be yours. Go! Whip around the corner, skip down the stairs, dash ahead. Crap, it’s the V. now for the agonizing few minutes of no progress. You slowly approach the spot on the platform that’ll be just right and lean against the post. Pull out the magazine and read. It’s reading time. The next train will be too packed so take as many words as you can right now. A couple lines…is that it? No. a couple lines, interesting, really, okay. There it is. Train. Let off those who are going to leave your couple square feet, claim your spot as first entrant, and go! Off with the backpack, nudge, bump, shuffle, excuse me, shuffle, no railing. Alright, you’re stuck against the door. Angle your back a bit because you have to consider the possibility of that thing flying open. Put your pressure appropriately on the two inches of the exposed door’s arch. He stepped on your foot. No worries man. Maybe read? No, no room and you gotta watch that door. Five stops. Take it in around you. All the sights sounds smells around you. It’s early but you gotta take this in right now.

Okay last transfer. Roll now! Because you hear it approaching on the other track. Sprint past the shuffling group of 7, up the stairs, dash in and out of the 42nd street masses. Gauge that angle, that speed, that newcomer who’s working the diagonal. There’s motion and change everywhere but you need to digest, calculate, and act on this instantaneously if you want to take that train. A red laser line traces your zig zag for unconcerned deceased relatives to never look at, but who knows right? Somebody’s gotta appreciate this….down the steps! Crap go! It’s closing, it’s closed.

Utter despair…but you know better, sometimes it happens, sometimes…look up the train and see there’s a mash of people there….ding dong…oh my god, you get your chance as the doors open for less than a second and you lunge in. the stationary riders with their briefcases chuckle silently at the glistening sweat on your forehead in understanding. No seats, but you know about 22% of the train will clear at the next stop and you’ll have three seconds to grab a seat. It’s a long ride, you have a magazine, and damnit, you’ve earned this.

Now read, read, read.

Life in pictures: DC to NYC (9/06-2/07)

2007-02-20T20:52:00.000-05:00

Here's my world in 41 (42) pics that explores the odyssey from DC to NYC.

Below Block City, And Beyond

2007-02-05T21:48:00.000-05:00

The earth has careened around its fireball and glimpsed all the sights that time and galactic proximity permit since these pages were visited last. At that moment, we were plunging into the depths below Block City...

...The yawning abyss swallowed our bruised and battered protagonist who was clinging desperately to his inexplicable spark of energy. Soon, consciousness was swept away...He awoke briefly to find himself gliding gently through a spacious tube of sorts with glass walls that enclosed and guided his journey. As gravity seemed to have disappeared, he couldn't quite tell in what direction he was moving, but he had the distinct feeling it was downward. Broadcast upon the glass were human faces of every shape and color emitting such a range of emotions that one couldn't help but be transfixed by the power of physiognomy. His body gathered speed and the faces began to blur together until a strange sight greeted his eyes: his own face. He stared at the tired eyes, the sallow skin, the creased brow and knew that this person was for yesterday. And sure enough, his reflected face melted away leaving only those eyes. But the eyes morphed into the blazing stare of a stampeding buffalo, then the dual glowing optical-cavities of ignited blue lasers and, finally, into crevices upon the ever-emotive face of a cliff within a sun-drenched valley where an hour disappeared in a second and shadows taught light the power of contrast. But this was only for a moment because his body then prostrated itself to the soporific beauty of efficient, clean power taking control and beckoning him onward...

Upon awakening a second time, he found a new world deep below Block City.

Gone were the endless gray days and nauseating monotony of an uninspired grid. Here there was color, and when there was no color the chilling absolute of the void was equally invigorating in its potency. Here was black the shade of an alpine sky at dead of night on winter's eve. Here was saffron of such vividness that salivating tastebuds might eclipse your dancing retinas in its presence. There we see jade fit to bejewel a wizard's wand and a regal purple that made the breeze feel like a velvet robe. Here there was rebirth cast in the brilliant aqua of a southern sea. Glancing upward, he saw how the colors in this welcoming-cavern bled together and receded into the invisible roof as a familiar dirty-rust shade. Of course it did, he thought.

And so began his countless adventures in this magical land. To speak of every creature he encountered, every labyrinth explored, every room that revealed treasures wrought by ancient hands in ancient lands, every room that revealed future treasures wrought by future hands...all this would would take far too long. Those stories can only be told from his lips, with his mind's eye back below Block City recounting the caverns and subterranean auroras and time-tubes and exotic languages and seers and poets and mythical creatures and others just like him who were, apparently, looking for the same thing.

But understand something critical, and, please, understand it well. This wasn't a land devoid of struggle. Quite the opposite my friend. This was simply a land of illumination and heightened perception. Here the victories were fantastic and so long as the valiant struggle persisted, melancholy could be embraced as a natural companion to the reverie of glowing embers. And out of those embers sprung unbridled fury, the likes of which had been foolishly relegated to another time. Its ability to devastate revisited him and hard lessons had to be relearned. Slowly, this fury was embraced and channelled. Another spark from the embers brought joy--not the precarious mania of fear, but the wholesome, hard-won, and indestructible elation of reason.

There was danger in this land. Unctuous peddlers with silver tongues and treacherous souls roamed freely among the dark corridors below Block City. Their wares were an illusion and your servility their purpose. They wore sandals from Nazareth and tucked vipers under their cloaks. They set a ten-course, silver plated feast in your honor; they sated your tongue with the finest wines from their own fields and offered false accounts of families and victories hard-fought...all in anticipation of you leaking the smallest bit of your soul. For when this happened, they seized the precious essence with gleaming green eyes and stole away to their lairs. There they punctured, pilloried, and poisoned this jewel; they scorched and boiled it until it was unrecognizably corrupt. They proceeded to pour this foreign substance into a weapon's mold (and here was their fatal flaw) hurled it savagely at it's original source. Such things, of course, can only strike a fatal blow when delivered by the agent of origin....So these peddlers saw blood and claimed their victories, retreating to their caves under the false impression of their ascendency. But there, they immured themselves in stone to immortalize their 'victory', only to crumble to pieces completely devoid of mourners. Here, at the moment of death, did they realize they'd immured themselves long ago. The patient seers would silently sweep up the soiled remnants and scatter them in the Crystal Lake. Here, nature would begin its process of purification and rebirth. Meanwhile, the flesh wounds had healed and wisdom amassed for the besieged.

Other dark creatures lurked in the shadows, but the real power lay in the noblest of souls: Those who built reigned. It mattered not if they constructed a palace or a meal; they still reigned. Those who forged-with respect-into unchartered lands reigned. Those who guarunteed their own power by ensuring that their neighbors live with unimpeded freedom--they too reigned.

This was the intensified reality that he had lost. This was life in all its phenomenally complicated nuance. This was a celebration.

Oddly, for such an exotic realm, it allowed him to connect more intimately with his comparatively-prosaic past than he had ever done before. Childhood memories surfaced that seemed lost to the unrelenting wheel of time. The smell of pine trees and dirt on a dry, summer afternoon; musty ski gloves on a hotel heater; the sight of a friend's dog in a friend's long-lost basement; school and teachers; family and friends during another time; a thundering rainstorm; a magical snow and the innocent wonderland it brought; fleeing in terror across grassy fields from enraged 8th graders. Names like Ryan and Spencer and Davis and Deanna and McChesney and PJ and Tigger and on and on. Isn't it odd, he ruminated, to consider somebody part of your daily sphere of interaction then watch them recede into a memory? Some bitterness accompanied these thoughts; a visceral and agonizing yearning to recapture and relive those moments burned within him. The haunting reality that those days had vanished plagued him and weighed heavily upon his soul. But consider the alternative, he considered through welling tears: a haze of vague recollections scattered over a nebulous past that supposedly added-up to the flesh and bones of today...utter disconnection and, therefore, utter lack of understanding. Fair enough, Time, a truce: you can savagely claim the former minute as no longer mine to mold, but i claim that minute as mine to cherish. Furthermore, if I don't mold the next minute into something superior to the last, you win. But, Time, you won't win.

And that was that. Time had taught him a hard, but crucial lesson: to never forget and to never sleep.

So he didn't forget and he never slept. The days below Block City were, arguably, the most crucial he ever had. When he finally decided it was time to leave through a passage to the surface, he found himself far away from Block City in a land bustling with vibrancy, mystery, and promise. But he had learned never to forget. Block City lay burnished deep within his consciousness and he saluted it as he closed the portal to its underbelly.

It was a new minute.

Tales from below Block City: Entry

2006-01-13T01:42:00.000-05:00

...and down the spiraling steps he crept, wary of the disappearing noises of life above and the mounting darkness below. soon, only the faint reflection of dank condensation on the moss under his soles offered any indication of where his foot should land next, or if it would land at all. the air hung damp, thick and cold; it almost seemed you had to part a curtain of hovering vapor to advance. Rats scurried around in the darkness, the luminescent glow of red eyes darting here and there in their muted symphony of angst.

an errant step on crumbling stone made his heart jump as he desperately scrambled to brace himself and prevent a headlong tumble into what was now almost sheer blackness below. chest heaving as the fingertips of his left hand violently clawed the step behind and his right hand scraped along the wall to his side, he finally managed to stay his body. the echo of falling shards colliding with the wall far below gave an unmistakable indication of the calamity that he'd just narrowly avoided.

wiping the sweat from his cold brow and curling his frigid toes inside soaked boots, he leaned back against the slimy wall and glanced above at the pinprick dot of pale, filtered light far beyond. what on earth was he doing down here, all alone, following cryptic signs from an unknown source, heading to an unknown place?...........

......as he figured it, the strange saga had started to unfold months ago. Treading tired roads under gray skies those days, his eyes started to play this trick where the buildings morphed into enormous slabs of dirty-rust colored jello that slowly wobbled in an endless, unbroken shuffle. The surreal monotony plagued his deranged soul. Doubting his own sanity, verity bleeding into verisimilitude and back again, he launched himself headfirst at a nearby slab in an attempt to breach the glossy walls, only to stumble away amid the stifled gasps of passersby with a reeling, bloodied head. Still the gooey blocks wobbled away. They mocked him with their cold, removed laughs of knowing disdain; impenetrable fortresses of drab that stretched as far as the eye could see.

And then he'd awake, shake his head and look around. Unable to decipher dream from reality, he'd set off under the gray skies and see the Block City in its usual, solid form. Yet when darkness started to descend, the same vision would revisit him as the buildings would slowly, almost imperceptibly start their wicked metamorphoses....until he woke up again, head pounding and vision blurred.

So it continued for unknown days that bled into weeks and beyond. Afraid to confide such disturbing thoughts in those around him, he conversed, instead, with the ever-vigilant pages of a spiral-bound journal that never left his side. Sheet after sheet filled with detailed accounts of his wanderings; vivid recollections of different locations where the psychosis, or whatever it could be termed, had taken over. He paid such attention to the minutest details, including intricate maps and figures, in his neurotic drive to record these recurring circumstances that his increasingly wartorn journal read more like the laboratory notebook of an assiduous alchemist than the lonely scribblings of a nondescript denizen of Block City. Without fail, the final note in each entry read something to the effect of, "long shadows gather around now, the air grows quiet and people shrink away into a muffled distance. stand at exactly 27 paces SSE from Post 3.2 in the Subsquare J. i feel the warmth within and know they beckon. jesus, it's beautiful. fuck...fuck..." So the siren song played and played.

But then something devastating and auspicious transpired that changed the whole landscape of our troubled gentleman's story. He awoke one morning in his usual state of aching paranoia to find that his one link to reality, his one anchor amid the swelling tempest inside, had abandoned him. The journal had disappeared.

Desperately, he tore through the few spare rags that constituted his possessions in a frantic struggle to reclaim the only thing that could possibly matter to one in his state. But a tornado doesn't build a house and neither does it dislodge one that isn't there. It was gone.
Huddled in a dark corner of his self-imposed asylum, he shivered away the hours. no food, no air. sleep, but no rest. minutes, hours, days. Slow fade...

Then electricity! Clouded, bloodshot retinas focused to razor acuity. extremities tingled and saliva wet parsed lips. with the stealth of a panther he shot from his corner redoubt to crouch amid the strewn clutter. Forgotten lucidity cringed at the deplorable mess scattered about. But that didn't matter right now. that was for later. the pulse came from outside. Relentless and mesmerizing, vibrant and enraging. out the door, down the hall with torn tapestries and cobweb lanterns, around the corner, through the arch and outside.

His journal lay there on the doorstep. With a darting glance he saw that nothing stirred in the gray world; nobody awaited his arrival. The energy pulsated from the little black rectangle at his feet. With delicate touch befitting a cherished photograph or a newborn's skin he closed his fingers around the binding. A familiar warmth greeted him. It was then he noticed that the frayed edges of the cover had the slightest dirty-rust coloration. a coloration he knew well.
perplexed, intrigued, and inexplicably apprehensive, he thumbed open the cover. Two words greeted his gaze: "Your choice".

Scribed in an elegance bordering on calligraphy, the letters appeared the same dirty-rust. But it made no sense. thumbing through the first couple pages, he noticed that most of the pages appeared exactly as his hand had left them, except when one of his maps appeared. On the first map, a dirty-rust arrow pointed upward and slightly to the left, with the inscription, "1.7 m", written next to it. On the next, another arrow appeared pointing almost directly downward, accompanied by "so close, 0.2 m".

After eyeing ten or twelve of these revised maps, he finally came to one that had no arrow. Instead, a tiny, dirty-rust dot lay in the middle of the page. It took another couple arrows and inscriptions before the realization settled in. All those arrows pointed directly towards the same spot in Block City: the spot where the tiny little dot lay on the eleventh or thirteenth map!

.......and so, there he stood, hundreds of feet down a dank, spiraling staircase in the abandoned underbelly of Block City, leaning against an invisible wall of slime that offered a fleeting, but real sense of comfort. But 'fleeting' was the word of the day because an instant later the peril became real as his crumbling steps heaved their last breath and gave way to the yawning abyss below.....

A vanishing act

2005-11-30T17:44:00.000-05:00

And he woke up that day and realized that the music had faded to a dull, monotonous mumble that festered and collected in the corner.
And he woke up that day and realized that words disappeared from the page, forgotten and empty as a blank wall.
And he woke up that day and realized that color had lost its hue as it rotted away in drab, grey uniformity.
And he woke up that day and realized that it had happened the day before. And the day before. And so on…

But whereas withering resignation and insulated safety had filled that space before…where distorted vision and clouded thoughts cast a pallor over endless days turned black in times past….this time there would be armies mobilized in defiance, fists pounded on tables to splinter boards and shatter glasses.

Too much electricity had fired through the marrow of those bones to see it drain away in darkness’ decay. The spirits of doom hadn’t expected a fight; they’d expected a willing victim collapsing into the suffocation of their miasmic arms. Not this time. He played a quiet, fresh note and it was good. Then there was the swift wind that ignited something. So fleeting a palpitation, but long enough to spark the crucial memory.

Begging for ingenuity and creation and vibrancy and the aroma of sweat and passion he set out to find the wizards in the underbelly of the block city. Hiding away from the dazed masses in their daily grind, these misfits chanted ancient spells, stirred exotic potions and danced to chants alive with thumping drums and shrieking ravens and enchanted snake swoops.

Knowing that empty is dead, he set off to look….

Please don't ask why i was looking at this

2005-11-21T14:41:00.000-05:00

From Wikipedia:

Biologist Barry Sinervo from the University of California, Santa Cruz has discovered a Rock-Paper-Scissors evolutionary strategy in the mating behavior of the side-blotched lizard species Uta stansburiana. Males have either orange, blue or yellow throats and each type follows a fixed, hereditable mating strategy:

* Orange-throated males are strongest and do not form strong pair bonds; instead, they fight orange-throated males for their females. Yellow-throated males, however, manage to snatch females away from them for mating.
* Blue-throated males are middle-sized and form strong pair bonds. While they are outcompeted by orange-throated males, they can defend against yellow-throated ones.
* Yellow-throated males are smallest, and their coloration mimicks females. Under this disguise, they can approach orange-throated males but not the stronger-bonding blue-throated specimens and mating while the orange-throats are engaged in fights.

The proportion of each male type in a population is similar in the long run, but fluctuates heavily in the short term. For periods of 4-5 years, one strategy predominates, after which it declines in frequency as the strategy that manages to exploit its weakness increases.

If interested in further research, please visit your neighborhood bar on Friday evening.

The District in all its glory

2005-11-20T19:51:00.000-05:00

While walking along the banks of the Potomac this weekend, I was reminded how spectacular DC is in the autumn. Sunny, fresh days and crisp, cold mornings and nights. Although I had to capture yesterday's images only in my memory, it made me recall a day at exactly this time last fall when I set off with a pair of sneakers and a camera to catch some shots of the area (unemployment does have some benefits!). Here's a few more of my favorite images from that day.

So many dead

2005-11-18T12:18:00.001-05:00

The violence in Iraq baffles the imagination. Another 90 + killed in mosques. Another 6 + killed in hotels. Atleast 4 more people obliterated their bodies in the name of religion and politics and hate and desperation. No one needs another tirade launched about the war’s legitimacy and it’s execution, so let me keep this brief. Suffice it to say, the Hussein regime and it’s brutal repression needed to go, but this was not the way to do it. The hubris, ideological distortion, and selfish motives that led our current administration into this quagmire have destroyed so many lives unnecessarily and alienated us for generations from so many people it makes you nauseous to consider. The soldiers in Iraq are doing incredible things by building the infrastructure for modern development, opening schools, and giving oppressed people a ballot. But those actions are overshadowed by the instability that’s a direct offshoot of our essentially unilateral approach. It’s cynical and ridiculous to characterize the Bush administration as purely evil. Those who do see the world in black and white, and that’s bullshit. Aside from the oil reserves and callous geopolitical strategizing, those who masterminded and directed this campaign also considered 100’s of thousands killed or maimed by chemical warfare and wanton slaughter at the hands of the Hussein regime. But moral indignation doesn’t justify brash, irresponsible retaliation that, in many ways, compounds the misery. We should have the whole goddamn world playing a part in this enterprise and ensuring that instead of strapping nails and wire to their chests, those people reap the benefits of democracy and freedom. This never was a job for such a limited military contingent, and maybe not a military contingent at all. Regardless of how positive the ultimate outcome-and I truly hope stability and democracy prevail-those who calculated this assault and reconstruction have erred on an unforgivable scale and can now only hope to save face, and a few innocent, war-torn lives.

Gobble, gobble it up

2005-11-15T14:28:00.000-05:00

A little sumthin' sumthin' to get in the Thanksgiving mood.

Always good to know

2005-11-14T17:14:00.001-05:00

So i was looking at my world map yesterday (seriously) and focused in on that ever-neglected country Burma (Myanmar). I was thinking how odd it is that a country of fairly significant size (slighly smaller than Texas) in an ever-increasingly important region in the world receives hardly any press. So i was thinking, what the hell's going on in Burma?

Well, today I found out. Apparently, the ruling military Junta packed up their supplies (and government) and headed out of the capital, Yangoon (alt. Rangoon), northward into the mountains. Somewhere about 200 miles north of Yangoon now sits the Burmese government. Just chillin'. Chillin' up in the Burmese mountains at their new pad called Pyinmanaa. This is weird, right?

But it's really not that big of a deal, though, because "foreign diplomats said they were told that if they had urgent business with the relocated government, they could send a fax but that no number was yet available." So it's not like they're completely outty-5. Offering the explanation that they needed to find a "more centrally located government seat", alternative theories seemingly now abound. At the top of the list sits speculation that top Burmese officials fear an imminent invasion by the United States, and hence, withdrew to their fortified bastion in the mountains.

Is this what will finally push the US and China over the brink and into the potentially catastrophic throes of WWIII. Burma? Myanmar? According to them, maybe. As young military recruits in Burma are instructed by their superiors, "you are the holding action against the Americans until the Chinese come to our aid".

And now I know what's going on in Burma.

Possibly, best news imaginable

2005-11-14T15:02:00.000-05:00

It's WAY too early to predict how this will unravel, but credible news sources are discussing how a British man supposedly managed to expunge the AIDS virus from his body. Even more remarkably, he accomplished this without the aid of any medicine, whatsoever. Although I fear a simpler and less promising solution to this mystery might surface, I hope more than anything that this patient's anomalous case could be the long-awaited turning point in our imperiled battle against the vicious disease.

WORST NEWS IMAGINABLE

2005-11-11T11:15:00.000-05:00

The day of doom has arrived: FOX DECIDED TO CANCEL ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT. I'm pretty speechless right now that by far-absolutely no question about it-the funniest and most creatively written, produced, and acted show on television is being plucked from its nest in the infancy of its prime.

As stated in the article, "The two back-to-back episodes averaged a paltry 4 million viewers Monday". 4 million pop-culture-drenched, television-addicted, short-attention-span-plagued people in this entire world sat down and watched this show on Monday. 4 million.
I've tried on many occasions to care whatsoever about the bullshit aired elsewhere on television. I've tried hard to get excited about reality shows to join their cult followings and make Tuesday night more exciting. I've attempted to become attached to other television shows and it just hasn't happened. I guess I'm boring but I can't fool myself into caring about those shows whatsoever, even given the surrounding social context.

But Arrested Development is different. Arrested Development is about the content; it's about the show itself and that's what's beautiful. It's about shaking your head one moment at the utter absurdity and brilliance of a sketch and rolling over on the couch in laughter the next. it's about heaving a pleasurable sigh while the credits roll and knowing those 22 minutes made your day. it's about Buster getting his damn hand bit off by a seal, okay.

Look, Fox is a business and they need to make money. If nobody's watching, then sponsors don't want to pay for commercial time. They resurrected this show from the dead once, and I thank them for that. All i know is that the people who are fans of this show are obsessive because they realize that trite bullshit is shelved for a half-hour each week, replaced by innovation, creativity and utter brilliance. Although I'm not thrilled with Fox and really think a continued investment in this show could pay off huge, my real antipathy finds it target in the general television-watching-populace that supports inanity over art.

I'm pissed.

"There is a possibility that the show will be shopped around, but its high cost is expected to be prohibitive for a cable network." Let's make it happen.

Good luck, indeed

2005-11-10T12:33:00.002-05:00

If you haven’t seen Good Night and Good Luck [produced and written by George Clooney, screenplay by Grant Heslov], go see it. Now.

For those who don’t know, the movie focuses on a narrow period in the career of pioneer broadcast journalist Edward R. Murrow. Although Murrow’s legacy extends far beyond this window to include historic reporting during WWII and afterwards, this film concentrates on the battle that he and his production team at CBS waged against Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy. As a junior senator from Wisconsin, McCarthy terrorized the fabric of America’s social landscape by launching spurious crusades against people he suspected to be associated with Communism, hence, the ensuing Red Scare. Largely due to the editorial pieces written and read on-camera by Murrow, McCarthy’s credit was debased and the Senate ultimately voted in 1954 that he performed "conduct that tends to bring the Senate into dishonor and disrepute".

With that history as a backdrop, Clooney drew on his first-hand experience in the newsroom (his father was news anchor) to produce an incredible film. If listening to one of Murrow’s understated responses to McCarthy’s tyrannous crusade doesn’t make your skin tingle, I really don’t know what will. This was the essence of free speech and it was using a new medium (television) as the conduit-a medium most people didn’t understand had the capability of serving such a role. This was the internet, video/satellite phone of the age and the possibilities were just surfacing.

Plus, it was cool how they used so much actual footage, but the transfers were smooth because the film wasn’t in color. You watch as David Straitham (playing Murrow) views a video screen showing an actual McCarthy clip. It’s seamless and convincing. Seriously.

But beyond the story and the acting, I loved the way the movie looked and felt. A simple elegance pervaded throughout that found its expression in unique ways. To attribute this simply to the film being black-and-white doesn’t do it any justice. Many of the scenes involved a single camera panning around a room, tracing the development of a conversation. It was cool because it was crude but it wasn’t dizzying; you felt like you were sitting in the room. Another technique I liked was how many close shots of the face they used. Black and white has this amazing capability of capturing skin creases and eye communication. And skin creases were found aplenty! I’m sure this has something to do with the fact that everyone smoked like frickin’ chimneys (Mr. Murrow, apparently, outsmoked even the most assiduously dedicated, which was evidenced best by his untimely lung cancer demise). The scene interludes used a single woman, with background instruments, crooning out different songs (depending upon the transition). Again, simple and elegant.

I loved this film for all this and more. Go see it and try to convince me that Murrow’s speech from 1958 couldn’t be more relevant on November 10, 2005. If you succeed, I’ll buy you some popcorn and rejoice that we’ve come farther than I thought.

I plead the Fifth

2005-11-08T12:47:00.000-05:00

In honor of my friend Neeraj’s ~~ridiculous~~ claim that Columbus, OH is the world’s 5th-repeat 5th-best city, I’ve decided to use his ranking system to explore 5 other 5th placers:

World’s 5th best food: soggy asparagus
World’s 5th best social event: Rock Creek Convalescent Home’s Saturday morning yoga
World’s 5th best hairstyle: this
World’s 5th best job: my job
World’s 5th cleanest drinking water: The River Thames (phil did not find this originally, he definitely did not even come close to finding this originally and for him to pretend that he did was wrong in atleast 7 different ways and forever banished him from the good graces of 3 major religions)

Brilliant!

2005-11-04T10:49:00.001-05:00

Once in awhile, a commercial comes around that’s so cool it hurts. You know, the kind where you gaze at the screen on the verge of tears because you didn’t have any part in its creation. I would rank this Guinness commercial among that rare breed (those from Kansas might disagree). I thought the Ice Age was especially sweet.

Breakfast

2005-11-03T09:46:00.000-05:00

Serpentine stare of sepulchral shrew searing my supine soul’s stuttering stalemate. Simple, soiled suggestions sent by sanctimonious spearmint. Sally forth, sally forth.

An onion bagel.

E-Waste away, far away

2005-11-02T18:34:00.000-05:00

I listened to an interesting symposium at the Academies today addressing the problem of E-Waste. For those not familiar with the term, E-Waste (EW) refers to the unused refuse that remains after electronics (computers, televisions, I-Pods, cellphones, etc.) fizzle out and meet their makers’ landfills. Among the surfeit of dangerous metals and hazardous materials contained in old electronics are the following: cadmium, lead, mercury, chromium IV (known to damage DNA, linked to asthmatic bronchitis), and brominated flame retardants (endocrine disrupters, increase cancer risks to digestive and lymph systems).

Two different speakers offered strikingly different input on the problem. In short, the first speaker, Ted Smith, spoke mainly about the Precautionary Principle which he thinks should drive the electronic industry’s mounting problem of waste disposal. In relation to this discussion, the theory says that when there’s not ample evidence to show that EW doesn’t harm those who participate in its disposal-or those located in close proximity to its disposal-then the burden falls upon the manufacturer of those supplies to ensure that all precautions are taken for safe disposal. This implies that the electronic companies of the world need to deal with their own waste using their own funds. Right now, with no regulation of the disposal whatsoever, the waste is either treated like any other type of regular waste and thrown in a landfill, or its shipped overseas. What’s shipped overseas ends up in huge piles of rubbish that are burned to melt away plastic and leave the underlying copper, etc. Imagine the toxicity of those fumes.

The second speaker, Gordon Davy, took the unpopular, and unconvincing (in my opinion) position that definitive proof of EW’s detrimental effects on human health have yet to surface. Therefore, considering EW accounts for only 1% of total US refuse each year, Davy argues perhaps our attentions should be focused elsewhere. His arguments largely rested upon claims that the dangerous chemicals contained in this waste don’t leach into the aquifers and water sources once they’re buried. He took the tack of insinuating-rather bluntly-that special interest groups have channeled their energies and pocketbooks into making EW more of an issue than it deserves.

To be frank, although I think his demand for better research is important, I found his overall tone of dismissal almost insulting. For one thing, even if we grant him his assumption that only 1% of the US’s total refuse can be attributed to EW, that totally ignores the 50-80% of our EW that’s shipped overseas to places like China, India, Pakistan, and Nigeria. We’re producing enormous amounts of EW, but most of it doesn’t end up buried in the US. Even more importantly, however, the amount of EW’s increasing ever year on an enormous scale (according to the other speaker, whose statement was not argued by Mr. Davy, EW is easily the fastest growing source of refuse in the US). The computer-age really only blossomed within the previous generation and many of those computers are becoming obsolete. Plus, technological development continues to race forward and there’s more and more techy stuff on the shelves-that’s not going to slow anytime soon. All of this is either dead or dying. Do we burn it, bury it, or donate the organs? Damn it feels good to be a gangsta…

Mr. Davy concludes that EW should be disposed of in landfills without pumping revenue into an EW recycling infrastructure. In his opinion, it’s a fairly simple cost-analysis equation: we’d have to pump millions or billions of dollars into a recycling program that simply wouldn’t pay for itself in the end. Furthermore, in his mind, the detrimental impacts have yet to be proven beyond a reasonable doubt, so why spend so much money?

He’s right to say that recycling EW costs ridiculous amounts of money in the US right now (up to $25 per computer unit sometimes). However, the main reason for this is that freight ships roll in from China stacked with supplies and have tons of room in their holding containers for the return trip. We have no regulations in place dictating whether or not our EW remnants can be shipped overseas, so why not pay a few bucks and load up a crate? Your problem’s history! Therefore, it actually costs less to ship the waste overseas and have it disposed over there than it is to do the job in the US. Also, engineers and companies have no incentives awaiting them should they devise a more economical approach to recycling EW here in the states. Finally, maybe we don’t have definitive proof right now that EW causes serious health concerns, but guess what, these ills take decades sometimes to reveal themselves! The components are abnormally toxic and it’s only a matter of time before we see those effects.

Although I liked the essence of Ted Smith’s remarks infinitely more than those of Mr. Davy, I disagree with Mr. Smith to some extent regarding the burden of disposal. I think the federal government needs to acknowledge the grave dangers involved in leaving this industry unregulated and should offer its economic and managerial might in establishing the underpinnings of an EW recycling system. We can’t continue to ship this crap overseas to China, turn a blind eye on its disposal, then turn around and criticize them for their revolting treatment of the environment. Also, it’s not right to put ALL the burden of disposal on the companies because that doesn’t match up with practices in other industries and the cost of establishing a reasonable recycling (research, infrastructure, workforce) might even sink some companies who make these computers and cell phones were using (probably not, but repercussions would be felt, and they’d trickle down to you and me eventually).

Therefore, I’d hope we can achieve a joint program between the federal government (some states have already imposed their own restrictions) and electronic manufacturers that awards innovative treatment of EW, but doesn’t saddle the industry with all the responsibility. I think the responsibility should be shared between those who make and those who use. Guess what, you and I use and we should probably dedicate some of our taxes to preserving the environment were endangering.

Sports: the real barometer

2005-11-01T10:52:00.001-05:00

Somebody explain this to me: North and South Korea have forged a pact to compete as one team in the 2006 Asian Games and the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. I mean, the Demilitarized Zone separating the two countries might constitute one of the tensest regions in the world, where the threat of war-possibly nuclear war-casts a perpetual shadow. Maybe Kim Jong Il and his totalitarian dictatorship continue to starve their own people while adhering to the faltering and ideologically driven tenets of a Marxism/Leninism run awry. But hey, let’s think about what really matters here: medal counts.

In all seriousness, I’m excited about this small, but notable development in the relations between North and South. Not only would a thaw in those tensions serve the international community as a whole, but the more attention drawn to the situation in North Korea the better. It gets us one step closer to feeding starving mouths and reuniting families that haven’t seen each other in half a century. I think this political decision, channeled through the guise of athletics, will do less to legitimize the impotent, but dangerous, rule in the North and more to draw that stagnating region back into the international community. I don’t think we need to worry about justice coming to those who begged its swift hand; that will happen when the people in the North are empowered by their own revelations. Therefore, although it struck me as incomprehensible and conciliatory at first, I now see this as a calculated (correctly calculated, in my opinion) move to achieve the ultimate goal of democratic unity.

Also, China better rethink their Table Tennis odds when they’re playing at home in 2008.

A conversation

2005-11-01T10:07:00.000-05:00

Blog: Phil, this is embarrassing. Your entries lately are less substantive than Harriet Miers and about as consistent as your jump-shot.

Phil: Yeah, well I’ve been traveling a bit lately without a computer and feel kinda enervated as far as writing.

Blog: Look, I’ve got an image to uphold here and if you’re gonna be the one dressing me I’ll be damned if you’re shopping at JC Penney’s. I’m talking Vera Wang and you’re giving Sketchers...this isn’t gonna work.

Phil: I don’t get it.

Blog: You wouldn’t.

Phil: Man, maybe I should just throw in the towel here.

Blog: I know I didn't hear that.

Phil’s Imagination: Wait! This blog is acting as a conduit, reversing roles and allowing my adoring readers to speak to me this time. What’s that?....Uh huh!....Of course! They’re telling me my words are like the first waft of coffee’s sweet aroma on a dull, grey morning; they’re telling me what’s typed on this page builds mountains, cures diseases, and mobilizes armies; they’re saying utter bedlam threatens should my voice not quell the upsurging masses with words of enlightenment and direction. By God, I must write! I must! If only to save civilization as we now know it….

Blog: Did you say something?

Phil: Nah. Look, I’ll come up with something, alright?

Blog: Hurry up.

Phil: Shut up.

Blog: You shut up.

[Stay tuned for the next installment…]

Dance of the dead

2005-10-31T16:41:00.000-05:00

Since I don't seem to have anything more interesting to offer lately besides entertaining/nauseating little video clips, here's another choice selection to help you celebrate Halloween in style. This guy's really pretty good.

No hollerin' back here

2005-10-25T13:35:00.001-04:00

Rarely can 3 minutes and 35 seconds teach us crucial lessons about ourselves and those from other cultural backgrounds, but a highly educational and nuanced video entitled "Curry-n-rice girl" manages to do just that. Watch and marvel as Ludakrishna and Vikram MC poetically encapsulate the complex feelings of familial allegiance and personal quests for fulfillment.

Why would anyone ever need to introduce me to this?

2005-10-24T16:53:00.001-04:00

This is SOOOOOO freaky. As it was presented to me:

This is spooky. Read the information below before viewing the clip.
Strange but interesting. This is a car advertisement from Great Britain.
When they finished filming the ad, the film editor noticed something moving along the side of the car, like a ghostly white mist. They found out that a person had been killed a year earlier in that exact same spot.

The ad was never put on TV because of the unexplained ghostly phenomenon. Watch the front end of the car as it clears the trees in the middle of the screen and you'll see the white mist crossing in front of the car then following it along the road....Spooky!

Is it a ghost, or is it simply mist? You decide. If you have the sound up a little, you'll even hear the cameraman whispering in the background about it near the end of the commercial.

Now go check out the commercial HERE. Look close, because the resolution is a bit hazy and listen for the bewildered cameraman.

Electronic Pumpkin Carving

2005-10-24T13:58:00.001-04:00

This is way too cool to pass up. I carved the Hagia Sophia.

A public service announcement from way out...

2005-10-21T13:27:00.001-04:00

What do you tell someone when they ask you what you're doing next Tuesday evening, October 25th? Obviously, you tell them that you're heading over to NW 17th in DC (which might require a rather lengthy flight for some) and checking out the Drag Queen Races. Come watch as ~~I parade~~ others parade their flamboyant glamour for the world to see followed by a mad-dash down 17th. It's a great way to get inspired to exercise during the cold, grey winter months by observing the finest examples of she-male physique. See the 'other' you there.

Truth be told?

2005-10-21T08:25:00.001-04:00

In Salman Rushdie's latest work, Shalimar the Clown, Rushdie forwards a theory-that's probably already popular in some circles-regarding JFK's assassination through one of the characters in the book:

The date is 1965. The place is India. A Kashmiri beauty seduces the recently appointed US ambassador to India, Max Ophuls, with her entrancing dance at a festival honoring the diplomat's visit north. As with all Ophuls' lustful conquests, he turns to his loyal assistant, Beaver Wood, to organize an opportunity for Max and Boonyi (the dancer) to, ummmm, 'meet'. Beaver replies with an unexpected question and comment:

"Do you have a bad back?.....because too much sex and a bad back is what got the president assassinated".

Through Wood, Rushdie continues:

"The truss, sir," Wood explained. "Kennedy's back was bad to begin with, but it got so much worse because of all the screwing around that he had to wear the truss all the time. He was wearing it in Dallas and that's why he didn't fall over after the first shot hit him. he was wounded and lurched over and the truss just sat him up again, boing, and then the second bullet blew off the back of his head. You see what i'm saying, Professor, maybe if he'd had less sex, he maybe wouldn't have been wearing the truss, and then no boing, he'd just have fallen flat after being wounded; the first bullet wasn't fatal, remember, and he wouldn't have been as they say available for the second shot, and Johnson wouldn't be president. There's a moral in there somewhere, I guess, but as you don't have a bad back, Professor, it doesn't apply to you."

Did promiscuity kill Kennedy? Does anyone with a bad back understand the moral here?

Is this common knowledge?

2005-10-20T13:36:00.000-04:00

Go to Google's homepage
Type in "Failure"
Perform a web-search
Check out what Google spits out as the first result

ganGREnous test issued vital medicine

2005-10-19T11:18:00.001-04:00

First of all, if you’re just tuning back in, go check out my photos from Europe (but don’t use the “view as slideshow” option…make me feel like you care what I have to say and read my captions under the photos).

Now to the point: a year from this month, in October 2006, the Graduate Record Exam (GRE)-that purported barometer of how students will perform in graduate school-will undergo a major facelift. According to the Times' interview with the executive director of the GRE program,

On the new exams, the verbal reasoning section will consist of two 40-minute sections rather than one 30-minute section, and will place less emphasis on vocabulary and more on higher cognitive skills...The quantitative reasoning section will grow from one 45-minute section to two 40-minute sections, with fewer geometry questions and more on interpreting tables and graphs. And the analytical writing measure, which had a 45-minute essay and a 30-minute essay, will now have two 30-minute essays.

I openly embrace these changes. Although this remark will surely inspire many grumbles, I think the test needs to be longer. When you’re only given 30 minutes to prove your adeptness in verbal reasoning and 45 in quantitative pursuits, it seems a trip or a slip could really damage your score. By increasing the number of questions, the severity of such slips diminishes and a greater understanding of the student’s abilities surfaces.

I can personally attest to this because I took the GRE at the end of September when a virtual avalanche of both personal and professional pressures amounted. After running from work to the testing center, I mistakenly thought myself at peace and prepared to test. Near the end of the initial writing section, and especially in the following quantitative part, the pressures I’d warded off for a few minutes came barreling back. A crippling anxiety attack ensued that literally paralyzed me mentally. I only bring it up here because I find it pertinent to my argument. The time constriction and tiny opportunity to prove my abilities intensified the pressures once they surfaced and magnified what should have been a brief period of anxiety into something devastating; there was no time to recover. The new GRE formula promises that such crises could be averted by promising students ample opportunity to amend a 5-minute mental lapse. By no means do I consider myself alone in facing these exterior burdens when testing; therefore, I think many others would support an extension of the GRE’s breadth, as well. Although the GRE by no means constitutes the only, or even the most important criteria (and, it shouldn’t) upon which graduate schools will measure a student, it nevertheless does bear some importance. Therefore, students should have adequate opportunity to demonstrate their abilities [ps. I took the test the following week after a breath of fresh air and the differences between the two testing sessions was night and day-if this happens to anyone else inane enough to schedule under such circumstances, don’t worry, just take it again].

Aside from the length, the nature of the questions needs attention. I transformed into a lab rat and took ETS's experimental verbal section after concluding my test and found the questions much more meaningful. As mentioned above, the present questions emphasize vocabulary WAY too much and often preclude test-takers from utilizing enough critical thinking to effectively reason towards a solution if they don't know the definition of some esoteric word. This should be about thinking and comprehending, not memorizing vocabulary. Don't get me wrong, I love words and often find more interesting words capable of conveying more interesting thoughts. But that's certainly not always true and a big words don't necessarily make you smart. ETS way overexaggerates their import. The newer questions address that point effectively, in my opinion.

Another welcome change is ETS’s decision to dispose of “computer adaptive” testing. In essence, if you answer a question correctly, the computer spits out a more difficult question the next time. If you answer incorrectly, the computer gives an ‘easier’ follow-up question. According to ETS’s philosophy, the computer eventually narrows in on your skill in a particular subject through this trial and error approach.

This presents a number of problems, however. First of all, you could easily find yourself caught in a maelstrom of analysis with the appearance of each subsequent question as you tried to gauge whether it seemed more difficult than the previous question. Considering the inherent pressure already weighing on test takers, this additional psychological burden could easily distract beyond acceptable limits, further compromising the validity of the final score. Furthermore, it removes any nagging arbitrariness in determining the ‘difficulty’ of a particular question. I mean, maybe you got the preceding question wrong and, hence, received an ‘easier’ follow-up question, but who decides whether that follow-up question is really any easier after all? I mean, if your percentage reflects how you tested compared to everyone else, shouldn’t you all answer the same questions?

Finally, out of roughly 30 questions in a section, the initial 10 weigh much heavier in determining your final score because the following 20 questions only serve to refine an already grossly defined score. In other words, mess up on a couple questions early, and your score might not reflect your true abilities. So, for all these reasons, good riddance “computer adaptive” testing.

I also like that “every question on the new exams will be used only once, and the test will start at different times in different time zones, so students who have finished cannot pass on questions to those in different zones.” It was glaringly obvious that if you were fanatical about raising your scores ten or twenty points (maybe even more), you could easily drill friends or find a website chalked full of probable questions.

In long-awaited conclusion, if they’re going to insist on an entrance exam, then why not make it more meaningful. I fully support the revisions planned by ETS to broaden the scope of the GRE and revise the nature of the material.

Ever a vile purpose

2005-10-18T15:24:00.001-04:00

Just to clarify for all those who suffered the unenviable fate of looking at my previously posted Euro-fotos without the joys of my narrative, you probably chose the "View as slideshow" option on the Flickr page. As pointed out by elder-brother Long from his mountain sanctuary, that option is evil and professes a dark, barbaric faith that only results in your soul's gangrenous rotting. Please swear an oath this day that you shall never use the "View as slideshow" option again while you tread the dirt of this earth.

10 digital days

2005-10-17T20:40:00.001-04:00

Pictures of France, Switzerland, Italy and tales of heroic victory over dastardly designs can all be found RIGHT HERE if you have the courage to look.
Unless you understandably hate my dialogue and wish it silenced, DON'T use the "view as slideshow" option. Instead, just click on the first picture and proceed from there.

Three thoughts

2005-10-11T16:39:00.001-04:00

Not all European trains are created equal
I speak too much English and too little everything else
Christmas gluttony makes so much more sense now

field trip

2005-10-06T13:20:00.001-04:00

Guess where I'm going...answer.
Guess where else I'm going...who's a genius?
Guess where I'm passing through...nice.
Guess if this is the last question, then guess where else i'm passing through....juicy.

Now i know how much this pains everyone to hear, but alas, I shan't be updating my blog all that often in the next 10 days. I'll try to drop a quick story from some overpriced internet cafe now and then, so keep checking every hour, on the hour.

cheers.

Don't read if you don't want to hear about A History of Violence!

2005-10-05T18:25:00.001-04:00

It would be nearly impossible to walk away from David Cronenberg’s compelling new movie A History of Violence without an immediate, visceral reaction. Mine (shocker) was one of disquietude. As the title clearly suggests, the movie pivots around the saga of an ex-crime family thug from Philadelphia (Viggo Mortensen) to explore the ubiquity of violence. Not content to focus exclusively on-although by no means neglectful of-traditional physical violence, Cronenberg incorporates sexual, psychological, and spiritual brutality in this film that never fails to disturb.

Rarely in popular film has such graphic violence persisted throughout a movie, and almost never has the sense of glamorization or dramatization been stripped away to offer a raw glimpse of the aftermath. Music and background noise either disappear or diminish to imperceptibility while the camera unflinchingly captures a bloodied human head with half the jaw utterly torn away compliments of a shotgun. You see maniacal looks, punishing sex, and rampant bloodshed. It’s cold, it’s gruesome, and it’s realistic.

But this wasn’t the kind of violence that made you want to play hero or take a quaff of the tantalizing criminal hedonism. This movie repelled and sobered you, and made you want to vomit. It made you want to call your family just to check in. It made you feel vulnerable, and it made you see others as vulnerable.

Although based on a graphic novel, a genre that always includes elements of exaggeration, the movie verges too close to reality-albeit a distorted, tormented reality-for the viewer to dismiss it as irrelevant. Instead, it’s the underlying truth of the work and revelation of human complexity that makes this film surpass such forgettable caricature.

Many whom I've spoken to since watching the movie found the violence gratuitous. I have to respectfully disagree, however, because I think this violence-all of it-served a point. It reminds us that while we’re capable of creating works of profound beauty, we’re also capable of haunting destruction. The juxtaposition of such antithetical traits, and the denial of a simpler, less convincing reality, makes the film work. In my opinion, instead of neglecting such troubling possibilities, we need films like this to agitate us into maintaining an enlightened sense of humanity.

Aim for the stars, man, but c'mon!

2005-10-05T17:18:00.001-04:00

Continuing the theme of the week, which vaguely entails animals acting in strikingly anthromophic ways (weapon-happy/vengeful/idiotic), here's a couple choice excerpts from the latest find:

A 13-foot Burmese python recently burst after it apparently tried to swallow a live, six-foot alligator whole, authorities said.
The incident has heightened biologists' fears that the nonnative snakes could threaten a host of other animal species in the Everglades....

...The snake was found with the gator's hindquarters protruding from its midsection. Mazzotti said the alligator may have clawed at the python's stomach as the snake tried to digest it.
In previous incidents, the alligator won or the battle was an apparent draw.

An alligator, it swallowed a six-foot long alligator...that was alive! I think natural selection is having its way one moronic python at a time.

Maybe it happened, maybe it didn't....

2005-10-05T14:34:00.001-04:00

...your call:

STOCKHOLM (Reuters) - A Swedish hunter was knocked unconscious after his son shot a flying Canadian goose which then fell onto his head, news agency TT reported Wednesday.

"I guess it wanted revenge," hunter Ulf Ilback told local newspaper Extra Ostergotland, according to TT.

Ilback said he had to stay in bed for two days after being knocked out by the goose, which fell from around 60 feet. The birds can weigh up 13 pounds.

Escalating excitement for everybody

2005-10-04T16:39:00.001-04:00

I had an interesting talk with my roommate, Atif, last night about the merits of escalator systems. Atif, a worldly gentleman with an acute interest in urban development, described to me how the Public Transportation system in Kiev, Ukraine contains no such escalators and, instead, utilizes an extended ramp system to facilitate subway riders issuing forth from the train platform to sunlight and vice versa. From the sounds of it, however, the subway trains run essentially directly below the ground. Therefore, although the idea of conserving electricity, encouraging exercise, and simplifying the aesthetic tantalizes the imagination, it simply isn’t practical in every metropolitan area.

DC constitutes one such area where subways cannot always run directly below the ground. Due to gentle, but consistent elevation changes, a meandering creek bed with a steep, deep drop, and the depth of stable ground at some locations, DC’s metro boasts some of the longest escalators in the world. In particular, the Wheaton Metro on DC’s Red Line hosts the longest escalator in the Western Hemisphere at a length of 230 feet (the Forest Glen station, just preceding the Wheaton station, is actually deeper at 196 feet, but the only access in and out is via elevator).

Which leads me to my next point: why didn’t anybody tell me about the escalator system in Hong Kong. Jerks. For the unschooled riff-raff like myself, Hong Kong boasts the world’s longest outdoor escalator system in the world. The escalator system provides such essential transportation for Hong Kong’s commuting masses, that they treat it like an expressway in the United States (think Seattle). In the morning, the escalators operate only downhill for the workers to descend to the business districts, and then operate from 10am until midnight only uphill. This escalator system, christened the Mid-Levels Escalator, consists of 20 escalators and 3 moving sidewalks. It is 800 meters long, and climbs 135 vertical meters. If you were the typical American and let the escalator do all the work, total travel time takes 20 minutes.

I just gotta know, has anybody ever run the entire 800 meters upward against the down escalators? Epic.

Austin Powers realized

2005-10-03T16:06:00.001-04:00

1. Dr. Evil:

You know, I have one simple request. And that is to have sharks with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads! Now evidently my cycloptic colleague informs me that that cannot be done. Ah, would you remind me what I pay you people for, honestly? Throw me a bone here!

2. Excerpt from this absurdly, stupefyingly, bewilderingly ridiculous story:

Experts who have studied the US navy's cetacean training exercises claim the 36 mammals could be carrying 'toxic dart' guns. Divers and surfers risk attack, they claim, from a species considered to be among the planet's smartest. The US navy admits it has been training dolphins for military purposes, but has refused to confirm that any are missing.

Dolphins have been trained in attack-and-kill missions since the Cold War. The US Atlantic bottlenose dolphins have apparently been taught to shoot terrorists attacking military vessels. Their coastal compound was breached during the storm, sweeping them out to sea. But those who have studied the controversial use of dolphins in the US defence programme claim it is vital they are caught quickly.

Those English people and their wild imaginations.

K-research Laboratories contributed to concocting this story.

Star Wars realized

2005-09-30T12:22:00.001-04:00

I had no doubt it would happen in my lifetime, but I certainly didn't anticipate its immediacy (sort of). Nieman Marcus decided to advertize the first 'skycar' available to anyone interested and capable of paying the modest $3.5 million price tag. A couple catches, ummmmm, first of all it costs $3.5 million. Secondly, word has it only 1 successful test flight has been completed heretofore, so these machines haven't exactly proven their mettle. Finally, they're only really selling purchasing agreements right now; it could take up to three years for the first models to actually ship.

All that practical crap aside, this will definitely be Numero Uno on the Christmas list for 2005. I never did get my Imperial Speeder Bike, so I don't think this oversteps suitable remuneration for past wrongs. Please include leather seats and galactic radio, thanks.

Of note

2005-09-29T14:09:00.001-04:00

Right now, in Alaska, a statewide manhunt is underway to catch Robert "Papa Pilgrim" Hale. Papa Pilgrim, the locally famous patriarch of the 17-member Hale clan, has fled in a camper van from 30 charges including sexual assualt, kidnapping, coercion, and incest. The Anchorage Daily News had this to report:

The 17-member family, bound by strict rules that Hale drew from his reading of the Bible, broke apart last winter after a single, horrific episode, described by troopers this week. They said Hale locked a daughter in a small shack on family property near the Kennicott River in McCarthy and raped her repeatedly. Some other family members knew she was in there, heard suspicious sounds and were concerned, troopers said.

It's hard to imagine this stuff even happens these days. Luckily, the chances of Hale escaping unnoticed before winter bears down is almost nonexistent (you try escaping with an 18-inch beard, pilgrim hat, and camper truck). If he tries to hold out past that point, I'm guessing mother nature will apply final justice.

Also, I would give most things to be in San Francisco right now to check out this urban ski-jump of all urban ski-jumps. Unfortunately, my friend Tyson still hates America, so I don't know if his brother Tanner's taking part or not (of note, of note, I was in Manhattan for that road race last weekend, but the man made me work right through it...here's the results showing Alan Webb in 2nd behind Craig Mottram).

Late, not never

2005-09-29T10:16:00.001-04:00

Life's been a maelstrom lately and i'm rowing a splintered canoe. So in tardy fashion, as promised earlier, here's some files with a whole bunch of tiny little colored dots arranged in intelligible order to reproduce images I saw. I decided to leave my camera at home when i walked over half the length of the island, which meant I missed some great shots. Most notably, there was a troupe of Capoeira fighters/dancers that put on the most spectacular show. I was introduced to this Brazilian art in DC awhile back and remain fascinated at how demanding Capoeira is in terms of agility, strength, and elegance. So just pretend that I included this.

The wrath of the escalator

2005-09-29T09:20:00.001-04:00

The escalator at one of the Metro stops in Virginia decided to devour my friend Taryn's shoe a couple weeks ago. This is the aftermath of the devastation. Although the shoe met it's brutal demise, the foot arose unscathed. Logic would direct most criticism towards the design of the escalator, I, however, decided to blame Virginia and call it good.

B,b,b,b,b,b,baby got back

2005-09-26T18:15:00.002-04:00

Alas, my spitefully dedicated readers, but the fatuous words must go on. I apologize for the echoing silence here the last couple days, I was in New York and couldn’t manage to obtain internet access in one of the most wired cities on earth. Go me!

There’s a lot I’d like to say, but life’s insane right now…plus, brevity’s the soul of wit (hence, I will now commence my exegesis). The days were mostly work with little play. I did check out the progression at the Trade Center complex and walk from Wall street up to the bottom of Central Park, over to the Hudson, and back to Times Square. We’re not talking about trivial distances here. If you’re in the Chelsea neighborhood, the Greek Kitchen is a great little restaurant.

I’m also here to proudly claim that in a city teeming with world-class museums, I managed to visit their paragon of high culture: The Museum of Sex (Mosex). If you’re thinking Strip Clubs and porn flicks, I wouldn’t bother wasting the 15 bucks for admission. You might as well stay home and hunt around on the internet. If, however, you’re interested in exploring the historical context of modern sexuality, pornography, and sex education I’d highly recommend dropping by. The curators obviously paid close attention to how their exhibits might be interpreted, because although they dealt with material easily susceptible to crassness and shallowness, they managed to maintain a sophisticated and sensitive treatment.

That does not, however, imply that they hide anything. Noooooooooooooo, trust me. You’ll see your fair share of bawdy movies, candid interviews, and exotic contraptions. I found it refreshing to openly learn about a universal, yet often cloaked, human drive. Go check it out.

On a side note, the gallery entitled “Men Without Suits: Objectifying the American Male Nude Body” made me think about gyms. I think the modern gym would be one of the most fascinating developments of our modern world for a time traveler from the past to see. The whole idea is kind of space age in its own way…people running in place in stale, white rooms while lined up right next to each other with their headphones on. Although never receiving a second thought, those modern gyms didn’t really become normal until the 20th century.

Alright I’m done rambling. Flickr’s “is having a massage” right now, so I’ll post a few pics later.

Devastating and Serious

2005-09-20T14:28:00.002-04:00

Here's a couple notes of interest:

Devastating: A Louisiana scientist working on one of my committees at the Academies forwarded this unbelievable graph our way. As you can see, an absurdly indestructable buoy managed to weather the onslaught of Hurricane Katrina's eye and record the storm surge at the mouth of the Biloxi River, where it feeds into Mississippi Sound.The blurb on the master copy that doesn't show up on this image is the following: "One surviving gauge measured the whole storm, a little inland on the Biloxi River.....a 25-ft wall of water. This might be the first measurement of such a surge ever. “Incredible”." Although a crippling surge has been discussed exhaustively in the wake of the hurricane, for me, seeing this rare and horrific documentation kind of pounds the point home. They essentially dealt with a tsunami, on top of a hurricane.

So as not to make light of the situation along the Gulf Coast in any way, I'll label this second element as only 'Serious'. DCist just reported that Dr. Dremo's Bar in Arlington-that bastion of high culture and sophistication-will no longer host Beer Pong on their premises (Scroll down on that link and check-out some interesting reader input). Apparently, the Virginia Department of Alcoholic Beverages Control found Dremo's guilty of violating statutes under their purview. As you can see in DCist's post, some aren't totally convinced this is true. Anybody have any legal insight into this tragedy? Also, call me ignorant, but isn't that beer pong game pictured on DCist absolutely ridiculous. 36 cups?!

Arrested attention

2005-09-19T20:40:00.001-04:00

Arrested Development launched its third season tonight. I'll repeat what i've preached since becoming a relatively late convert to the show last spring: nothing else on cable rivals this for comedy. I should qualify that statement by conceding that i don't watch a whole bunch of television, but try to atleast get a feel for what's out there. So, I'm begging you, if there's a show airing that you think ranks with or above Arrested Development for humor, please, for the love of the deities, tell me about it.

Lots of juicy new twists and turns surfaced in this season's inaugural episode, maybe the most notable being that Oscar has his own blog. Here's a wonderful excerpt:

When I woke up in the infirmary, I was surprised to find out that my stabber was the leader of an equal rights gang called: RAVIOLI or Rapists Against Violence Against Insects. When I went to apologize for killing the ants, I pointed out that ravioli doesn’t work as an acronym and they stabbed me again.

"Shouts and Murders"...are you kidding me! Brilliant. Basically everything on the show was funny, minus a creepy shot of George Sr. as an awakening Blue Man. Actually, that was funny too.

Darfur, Revisited

2005-09-19T18:19:00.002-04:00

Nicholas Kristof contributed a poignant article in Sunday’s New York Times addressing the Bush Administrations response to Darfur’s genocide. I like this article for a couple reasons. First of all, Kristof takes a bold, unequivocal stand against the Bush Administration’s insufficient response to the inhumanity still unfolding in Darfur. I think it’s important that a respected journalist writing for the most prominent publication in the nation, if not the world, voices such strong discontent obviously charged by real emotion. Erudition and academic-laced writing has it’s important place in those op-ed pages; however, it’s refreshing to hear plainspoken talk when somebody’s deservedly pissed off about something of utmost importance. I applaud Kristof for being relentless in has outspoken stand against the administration’s tepid involvement.

Also, Brian Steidle, the former Marine Captain mentioned in the article, participated in a panel discussion I attended at the end of August. Although accompanied by prestigious and war-hardened fellow panelists, Steidle’s gruesome pictures constituted the most compelling testimony offered that night. As Kristof describes Steidle’s pictures in this article, they show “men, women and children hacked to death. Other photos were too wrenching to publish: one showed a pupil at the Suleia Girls School; she appeared to have been burned alive, probably after being raped, and her charred arms were still in handcuffs.”

Regardless of the political repercussions and the delicate policy balance involved in antagonizing Sudanese officials by disseminating these photos, testimony like this should never be quelled. Instead, these heart-wrenching photos should be broadcast on all the major television stations, daily newspapers, and prominent websites throughout the world. We’ve had enough whitewashing, now it’s time to face the gruesome reality of human beings slaughtering other human beings with machetes.

What’s most dumbfounding to me is the fact that Steidle adamantly stressed that the United States government had surpassed most others in the world with their response to Darfur. Although not satisfied with the extent of US involvement, he unambiguously praised the few steps taken, especially a year ago when Bush explicitly characterized Darfur as a ‘genocide’. In return, Steidle’s been “blacklisted from all U.S. government jobs.” Something doesn’t add up.

I’m glad Kristof’s continuing to sound his note of discontent and I’m glad he’s doing it in a genuine and moving manner. (Thanks to K-Research Labs for vital input)

Say it like you mean it

2005-09-16T17:05:00.001-04:00

DJEZI, a jockeyer o' disks originally from DC, concocted a tune with the help of Public Enemy, Grandmaster Flash, and the Furious 5 cuts that features an interview with New Olreans' Mayor Ray Nagin subsequent to hurricane katrina. it's pretty cool, have a listen from his website (press "MP3 download whole song, hi-fi" under the title "Sugar Ray Nagin"). This luscious find now based in Orlando just released his second album, Day-maybe my favorite listen at this very second....and this very second. To hear more tracks and an interview, PLACE CURSOR HERE AND CLICK OVER AND OVER AGAIN (if link annoys you like it did me, download from here by pressing "play" after Trampoline House Podcast #3 - djezi presents Day.

You can't run away (from problems) on a treadmill

2005-09-15T18:07:00.001-04:00

Although you’re more likely to encounter most of the animals in the Anchorage zoo while cross-country skiing down one of the city’s urban trails, a few key exceptions to this rule reside in those pens. Most notably, the zoo has remained defiant through much controversy and maintained their 23 year old African elephant, Maggie.

This decision sickens me for all the reasons it sickens everyone else.

I arrived in Anchorage in the middle of January-halfway through their winter. By the time the ice and snow retreated enough to spend a considerable amount of time outside without warm clothes and equipment, I was getting stir crazy. That occurred in May. I’m not kidding, it was May. Relative to much of Alaska, Anchorage lies to the south and experiences the mellowing influences of coastal weather. However, let’s underscore the fact that it gets brutally cold up there and legitimate winter weather spans roughly six months (according to my sister and brother-in-law who live up there, it’s been pouring rain and hovering in the 40’s and 50’s for weeks now…it’s only September). Regarding my struggles with the weather, I wasn’t exactly living in the tropics, or even California, prior to moving there. So, although the climate shift proved substantial, it wasn’t as significant as might be experienced by someone or something moving from, ohhhh, let’s say the Sahara.

But guess what? Maggie belongs in the Sahara. Her genes didn’t arm her with the defenses necessary to combat harsh temperatures, cold winds, snow and sleet. Nor does any of the vegetation she’s used to stand a chance of growing up there.

Furthermore, as mentioned in the article, elephants herd together. Maggie, however, had one companion up until 1997 and has since spent her days among alone or among humans. Not only would this significantly alter her natural behavior (which constitutes one of the fundamental reasons for building zoos-to educate people about how animals act in the wild) but probably inflicts psychological distress in the form of loneliness and depression.

I write about this today because the zoo announced they purchased parts to construct a 16,000 pound treadmill upon which Maggie can exercise during the protracted northern winters. This extravagant gesture will do little to quell the storm of controversy surrounding the zoo’s decision to house and keep Maggie. Instead, it seems this costly and untested device serves to buy the zoo more time while they persist in mistreating this natural treasure for their own benefit.

Normally, I get a kick out of reading through the Oddly Enough news section because most of the wacky stories provide harmless, head-shaking anecdotes about ridiculous people. This story just pisses me off. I’m not the first to call for Maggie’s removal from the zoo, but it bothered me while I lived up there and it still does today. The Anchorage Zoo needs to acknowledge their inability to properly house this animal, regardless of the elaborate contraptions they devise. Maggie should not spend another winter in Alaska.

Life wish fulfilled, arrrr

2005-09-15T17:19:00.001-04:00

Holy crap, it's finally here again! Mark yerrr calendars maties, fer the nineteenth of September...that's a Monday for ye leperous scalawags that don't know...is TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY. Arrrrrrrrr. Many thanks to sailor Judy fer tossin' the anchar an' pointin' out this fine treasure.

May the [fill in appropriate term] be with you

2005-09-14T18:21:00.001-04:00

A couple years ago, my family introduced me to Belief O’Matic. It’s a 20 question quiz that attempts to prod your thoughts concerning spiritual, religious, and moral issues. Based upon your response to these questions, and the importance you assign each query, the little gnomes running through cyberspace shovel your replies into an algorithm that spits out a list of religions/philosophies to which you adhere best. Today, I decided I to revisit the gnomes.
Much to the chagrin of my grade school teachers (Sr. Jackie, especially), nothing monumental shifted in the ensuing years since I last used this tool to probe my spiritual depths. In other words, let’s just say that Secular Humanism, Unitarian Universalism, Liberal Quakers, Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants, Nontheists, and Theravada Buddhism didn’t not, not, not fit my outlook.
Try it for yourself, then run straight to the local building that houses your favored institution and convert because the Belief O’Matic reigns omnipotent and omniscient…

Shenandoah'sh sho shweet

2005-09-12T19:00:00.001-04:00

Myself and some fellow hardened woodsmen undertook an adventure in Virginia's backyard this weekend. See how we learned this and other really important lessons about nature in my pictures collection (Switched over to my usual account).

Drawing an important, but difficult line

2005-09-09T17:17:00.001-04:00

One of the projects I’m participating in at the National Academies seeks to determine the extent of Ecosystem impact due to fishing and make recommendations about halting or reversing the damage. This has proven an interesting and complicated topic for a number of reasons.

For one thing, the volume of our global oceans dwarfs any scale we typically discuss, which makes it incredibly difficult to gather the requisite data. The five oceans (yes, 5…in 2000 the International Hydrographic Organization denoted the Southern Ocean which surrounds Antarctica and extends to 60 degrees latitude) cover 70% of the earth’s surface and dive to depths of over 36,000 feet. That’s an unimaginably vast region to monitor. Although satellites, an international fleet of research vessels, and unmanned buoys distributed in all corners of the globe constantly process information, it’s not even close to enough.

Then there’s the problem with data we do collect. Available information focuses on a few lucrative target species that can be gauged relatively accurately. Although this data seems mostly reliable, the preponderance of the information comes from the fisheries themselves, which presents the possibility of bias (although fisheries argue somewhat convincingly that they have an invested interest in maintaining a robust stock more than anyone, hence, why would they distort numbers to increase fish abundance). Regardless, these condition of these key fish stocks are known pretty well.

The impact on subspecies, non-target peripheral species, and non-fish marine life remains largely unknown, however. This occurs in a couple ways. For instance, the enormous nets used by commercial and industrial fisheries aren’t selective about which species they sweep up. Therefore, although a trawler in Northern California might only gather fish in an area known for high rockfish concentration, that doesn’t mean the rockfish will always swim there and it doesn’t mean the rockfish will exclusively swim there. Inevitably, many undesired lifeforms meet their demise in a confused tangle of net. Some choke themselves or slit their own throats on the netting, others are eaten in the melee, still others manage to escape but leave behind a crucial fin or an eye, thus leaving them prostrate to the brutal Darwinian forces operating in the seas. Those that don’t die on the boat are thrown back in an often mortally weakened state that basically guaruntees their imminent end. All these species perish to nobody’s benefit and most of them are not accounted for.

Beyond that, although the fish might escape the net, their habitat might not. Imperiled coral reefs, mangrove forests, and sediment beds constitute just a fraction of the habitat damage inflicted by these nets. Do you really think the fish will survive without that vital protection?

Then, there’s the clutter left behind: oil, nets, boats, ropes, pulleys, aluminum cans, drums, etc. etc.

Now, consider the cascading effect of severely diminishing one top-tier predator from the oceans. Blue marlin and swordfish, for example, once thrived in the central north Pacific, but their numbers plummeted in the second half of the 20th century. This allowed the small tuna population, the prey of those larger predators, to thrive. If given sunlight, the grass will grow. Or perhaps a fish species disappears the fed off the microscopic life at the ocean’s surface. Algae thrives, maybe to the point of taking over vast areas.

So does this constitute ‘damage’ to the ocean’s ecosystem, or is this just humans playing their role in evolution and natural selection. Sure, we kill off one species, but that means something else thrives. How do we decide if we should stop or even reverse an ecosystem (given the dubious argument that it is possible) and if so, to what former point on the temporal scale will be determine the pristine, wilderness ocean? If we do condone human invasion of the seas to gather nourishment where do we establish the cut-off point for such intervention and manipulation?

I don’t count myself among those promoting a complete withdrawal from the seas. I’ve fished before and I will happily fish again. My personal philosophy is that humans are another type of animal that uses primarily intellectual and technical ingenuity to subsist, rather than physical ability. Either way, we still need to consume to survive, just like any other animal. In reality, the gigantic net is only an extension of the spear. The exception, of course, being that the spear doesn’t kill things it doesn’t intend to kill. I think if you fish, then you should eat what you catch. I’d say the same about hunting. Therefore, I look forward to the advent of techniques that allow targeted fish, and only targeted fish, to be caught in humane ways.

By diversifying our diets and avoiding unnecessary and inhumane kills, I think we can move closer to impacting the ecosystem less while remaining realistic about the fact that we are member-crucial members-of this global community and will invariably leave our mark. We adjust to what we know, and if more types of cuisine passed down our throat, we’d realize there’s no reason to concentrate on just a few. This ensures that no species diminishes to the point of extinction. The important thing is that the consumer ultimately drives the market. If you disagree with the harvesting of a particular type of species, don’t eat it. If you think others should do the same, offer a convincing argument defending your position. Screaming at somebody won’t do the trick.

Lest this entry turn into a novel and cheap proselytizing, somebody put a muzzle on me. I’m running away to the wilds of Virginia for the weekend, so fare ye well. (ps. i wrote this kinda fast and gotta cruise so i apologize for any glaring grammatical mistakes, missed words, etc....also, as always, i apologize for myself in general)

Baghdad files

2005-09-08T18:09:00.002-04:00

My roommate, whom i affectionately refer to as Evander Holymaher, was recently deployed to Iraq through the department of justice. While en route from Baghdad airport to the International Zone aboard a Blackhawk helicopter, he shot some incredible video from his camera. Check out the video from a link through our buddy Jake's blog (I tried to facilitate this on my blog earlier in the week, but for a number of reasons could not carry the video without server space...which i do not have).

Oh, and Jake's blog speaks volumes for the value of this medium. Give the guy a break for his shorter, less frequent postings because he just started law school and has a library to read. Plug, plug. Plug, plug.

A DC night.

2005-09-07T18:13:00.001-04:00

Living in DC does afford some unique opportunities. After leaving work last night, I grabbed some indian food and walked about a mile to the Supreme Court building to file past Chief Justice Rehnquist's body as he lay in repose in the Great Hall. The crowd, as far as i could analyze, consisted mostly of Hill staffers congregated and socializing in small groups. Although the crowd didn't exude rowdiness, neither did they stand in silent mourning. I think by the time I arrived, more people were attending to drink in a bit of history than to lament the death of an American giant (regardless of your political sway, you can't deny Rehnquist's stamp on the current American political and social milieu). I would count myself mostly among the former and slighly among the latter. Here's a couple more pics that might be of interest. Actually, they're not particularly exciting, I'm gonna just say that straight up. Hey, let's see you file past a dead body ringed by secret service and make it more interesting. jerks.

Chicago, where I ate for 96 hours straight

2005-09-06T19:10:00.001-04:00

Nothing like a height ordinance at home to make you appreciate a spectacular skyline. Check out some of my other Chicago shots from last weekend.