If you go to a MegaGym like I do with Megasized Locker rooms and you've ever been MegaFrustrated trying to find which locker you put your stuff in... here's an idea for you.
Take some red or brightly-colored nail polish, and paint a happy face on your lock. Two eyes on top (duh!) and a smile on the bottom.
I honestly have NO idea what originally possessed me to try this, but let me just say, it's turned out to be wonderfully helpful. Plus, even after all these months, I still smile whenever I pull my lock out of my gym bag :-)
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Monday, January 13, 2003
Racism, victimhood, and American culture
People wonder why middle-class black students still have these low grades and scores. There's no reason to wonder. Part of it is that there's an element in black culture that is a legacy of racism, and another part of it is that there's no reason for that to go away, because everywhere a black person turns, they're given a pass. That has to stop.
- John McWhorter quoted in an interview with Salon.com
Within the span of a few pages, McWhorter shuns prominent black leaders, shoots down affirmative action, calls Britney Spears black, and much, much more.
He does not hold back, and his interview makes for both fascinating and frustrating reading.
On one hand, at least some of McWhorter's assertions make a lot of sense. Wouldn't it be more logical, after all, providing college scholarships to a poor white kid with uneducated parents over a well-off black kid whose dad is a doctor?
But on the other hand, McWhorter is quick to offer criticisms but ultimately unable to come up with much in the way of solutions on his own. And indeed, it's neither a sign of bravery or brilliance to question the character and 'leadership' of folks like Al Sharpton, even from a fellow black.
McWhorter's basic message -- that blacks need to move beyond victimhood and take personal responsibility for their success -- certainly has substantial merit. But without attention paid to equally deep and related issues, McWhorter's sentiments seem to be as stark and painful as a diagnosis without a prescription.
Pagination... oh boy oh boy! :D
This blog is now paginated! In non-geekspeak, that means that from the front page or any category page, you can 'go back' in time by following links to page 2, 3, etc., until you reach the last entry in that section!
I know this may seem like a 'duh' kind of thing, but in the world of blogs, it's surprisingly revolutionary!
You'll see the new 'navigation' system on the top and bottom of all blog pages. Let me know what you think (about this or anything else BLADAMwise!)
Oh, and I added a goofy-fun "Who said this?" feature on the right-hand side. Scroll down :-)
I know this may seem like a 'duh' kind of thing, but in the world of blogs, it's surprisingly revolutionary!
You'll see the new 'navigation' system on the top and bottom of all blog pages. Let me know what you think (about this or anything else BLADAMwise!)
Oh, and I added a goofy-fun "Who said this?" feature on the right-hand side. Scroll down :-)
Sunday, January 12, 2003
Senior moment(s)
This is really embarrassing.
A friend of mine told me today, "Janice said hi!"
I blinked. "Janice? Uh... I'm really drawing a blank here."
"You know, Janice from New Hampshire! She hung out with you last Sunday, or maybe it was the Sunday before... red hair, really great body... she even referred to you by full name!"
I sometimes barely remember what I did a couple of days ago, much less a week or two ago... but forgetting someone like that? And how would she know my full name anyway? It's not like I introduce myself to dancers that way, or many other folks, for that matter.
I don't know whether I'm more annoyed or worried about this. I'm 31. I shouldn't be going senile yet. Sure, I meet a lot of people while dancing, but given that this one knows my full name and specifically told a friend of mine to say hi, I'd say that it seems like I'm losing it. Ack. I really need to take my vitamins more often, I guess. That and get more sleep.
A friend of mine told me today, "Janice said hi!"
I blinked. "Janice? Uh... I'm really drawing a blank here."
"You know, Janice from New Hampshire! She hung out with you last Sunday, or maybe it was the Sunday before... red hair, really great body... she even referred to you by full name!"
I sometimes barely remember what I did a couple of days ago, much less a week or two ago... but forgetting someone like that? And how would she know my full name anyway? It's not like I introduce myself to dancers that way, or many other folks, for that matter.
I don't know whether I'm more annoyed or worried about this. I'm 31. I shouldn't be going senile yet. Sure, I meet a lot of people while dancing, but given that this one knows my full name and specifically told a friend of mine to say hi, I'd say that it seems like I'm losing it. Ack. I really need to take my vitamins more often, I guess. That and get more sleep.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Who's on first? Gas is on second.
I decided to Do the Right Thing and avoid lazily making myself a frozen dinner tonight. Instead, I whipped out various spices, veggies, and knives, and decided to make a grand creation in my very own oven.
Ten minutes after throwing this soon-to-be-delicious tray into the oven (which was shocked to see something that WASN'T a frozen pizza!), something prompted me to check on it, and bo and lehold, it wasn't the slightest bit hot.
And yes, I had remembered to turn on the oven!
And whew... I could smell the unlit gas, too. Blech.
But this was just the start of my troubles.
Figuring that it was just a pilot light problem, I got down on my knees with whatever-you-call-that-funky-flame-thrower-lighter-thingie, determined to show the oven who was boss.
Apparently I was demoted.
My roommate had no better luck. We both spotted what LOOKED like the right thing to light, but it wasn't lighting.
We knew that we had three choices: Call a repairperson (expensive), call our landlord (who'd return our call, if we were lucky, a few weeks later), or call PG&E, our local utility company. We opted for the latter.
Figuring that we might just have some sort of blocked gas pipe leading into the oven, I though it was worth having someone from PG&E take a look... especially since there was always the possibility -- albeit remote -- that there was a gas leak somewhere.
To my surprise, they agreed to send someone out this evening. They couldn't give me a time, but hey, I wasn't planning on going out anyway. I was exhausted from a heavy workout at the gym, and never did get my nap in, so I was happy to stay in and take it easy.
By the time midnight rolled around, though, I was getting dang tired, and my roommate had already decided to turn in, since she has her church (singing) gig in the morning. I called PG&E to ask what was up.
ME: I assumed that "tonight" meant sometime before midnight. Can you give me an estimate of when I can expect to see someone here?
PG&E: Uh, sorry, sir, we don't have any additional info. But someone should be there tonight.
Sighing, I realized that I wasn't getting any additional info from them, so I hung up.
An hour later, I had finally had enough. I figured if our apartment hadn't gone kaboom yet today, we could safely wait until sometime tomorrow. So I called PG&E back to reschedule the visit.
ME: Hi, I'd like to have a service visit rescheduled, please. [requisite providing of info, blah blah blah]
PG&E: I'm sorry, sir, we can't do that. You reported something to us that could be a potential gas leak, and for liability reasons, we can't come tomorrow.
ME: Liability reasons? What do you mean?
PG&E: Well, sir, if something happened overnight after a postponement of service, we would be liable for the accident. This is considered an emergency due to the nature of a gas leak.
ME: But if it was really an emergency, you'd have had someone here 6 hours ago, now, wouldn't you?
PG&E: Well, sir, yours is considered a class 20 emergency. If it had been a class 10 emergency, we would have gotten someone there sooner.
ME: Okay, okay. Um, so when can I expect someone here then?
PG&E: Hmm... let's see... well, it's looking like probably sometime tomorrow. But I can't say when. Maybe morningtime?
ME, looking for object to bang my head against: Okay, so you're telling me I can't reschedule for tomorrow, but in all likelihood, no one is coming until tomorrow. Fine. Could you at least have someone call as they're leaving to come here, so I can get out of bed if necessary?
PG&E: No, I'm sorry, we cannot do that. Given your potential gas leak, you should under no circumstances be using the phone because of the possibility of sparks igniting, and so we would be liable if we called you.
...
I think I'm going to go back to microwaving frozen dinners.
Ten minutes after throwing this soon-to-be-delicious tray into the oven (which was shocked to see something that WASN'T a frozen pizza!), something prompted me to check on it, and bo and lehold, it wasn't the slightest bit hot.
And yes, I had remembered to turn on the oven!
And whew... I could smell the unlit gas, too. Blech.
But this was just the start of my troubles.
Figuring that it was just a pilot light problem, I got down on my knees with whatever-you-call-that-funky-flame-thrower-lighter-thingie, determined to show the oven who was boss.
Apparently I was demoted.
My roommate had no better luck. We both spotted what LOOKED like the right thing to light, but it wasn't lighting.
We knew that we had three choices: Call a repairperson (expensive), call our landlord (who'd return our call, if we were lucky, a few weeks later), or call PG&E, our local utility company. We opted for the latter.
Figuring that we might just have some sort of blocked gas pipe leading into the oven, I though it was worth having someone from PG&E take a look... especially since there was always the possibility -- albeit remote -- that there was a gas leak somewhere.
To my surprise, they agreed to send someone out this evening. They couldn't give me a time, but hey, I wasn't planning on going out anyway. I was exhausted from a heavy workout at the gym, and never did get my nap in, so I was happy to stay in and take it easy.
By the time midnight rolled around, though, I was getting dang tired, and my roommate had already decided to turn in, since she has her church (singing) gig in the morning. I called PG&E to ask what was up.
ME: I assumed that "tonight" meant sometime before midnight. Can you give me an estimate of when I can expect to see someone here?
PG&E: Uh, sorry, sir, we don't have any additional info. But someone should be there tonight.
Sighing, I realized that I wasn't getting any additional info from them, so I hung up.
An hour later, I had finally had enough. I figured if our apartment hadn't gone kaboom yet today, we could safely wait until sometime tomorrow. So I called PG&E back to reschedule the visit.
ME: Hi, I'd like to have a service visit rescheduled, please. [requisite providing of info, blah blah blah]
PG&E: I'm sorry, sir, we can't do that. You reported something to us that could be a potential gas leak, and for liability reasons, we can't come tomorrow.
ME: Liability reasons? What do you mean?
PG&E: Well, sir, if something happened overnight after a postponement of service, we would be liable for the accident. This is considered an emergency due to the nature of a gas leak.
ME: But if it was really an emergency, you'd have had someone here 6 hours ago, now, wouldn't you?
PG&E: Well, sir, yours is considered a class 20 emergency. If it had been a class 10 emergency, we would have gotten someone there sooner.
ME: Okay, okay. Um, so when can I expect someone here then?
PG&E: Hmm... let's see... well, it's looking like probably sometime tomorrow. But I can't say when. Maybe morningtime?
ME, looking for object to bang my head against: Okay, so you're telling me I can't reschedule for tomorrow, but in all likelihood, no one is coming until tomorrow. Fine. Could you at least have someone call as they're leaving to come here, so I can get out of bed if necessary?
PG&E: No, I'm sorry, we cannot do that. Given your potential gas leak, you should under no circumstances be using the phone because of the possibility of sparks igniting, and so we would be liable if we called you.
...
I think I'm going to go back to microwaving frozen dinners.
Drinking and causality
Here's info on yet another report that suggests drinking is good for one's health. Though far be it from me to protest the conclusions, I do have to admit to lingering doubts surrounding issues of correlation and causality.
It seems to me, frankly, that people who have the interest, time, and money to engage in moderate nightly drinking are probably those more apt to lead generally healthy lifestyles and have more positive outlooks in life.
For instance, so much has been made about the French having fewer heart attacks than Americans, and wine consumption is usually the 'reason' cited. But did it ever occur to folks that maybe the French have fewer heart attacks than we do because they're simply less stressed? After all, they've traditionally enjoyed delightfully long, lingering social meals... no doubt in part because their culture doesn't look kindly upon 80 hour work weeks, either.
Perhaps these alcohol / heart attack studies took stress levels into consideration, but if not, I'd seriously question their conclusions.
It seems to me, frankly, that people who have the interest, time, and money to engage in moderate nightly drinking are probably those more apt to lead generally healthy lifestyles and have more positive outlooks in life.
For instance, so much has been made about the French having fewer heart attacks than Americans, and wine consumption is usually the 'reason' cited. But did it ever occur to folks that maybe the French have fewer heart attacks than we do because they're simply less stressed? After all, they've traditionally enjoyed delightfully long, lingering social meals... no doubt in part because their culture doesn't look kindly upon 80 hour work weeks, either.
Perhaps these alcohol / heart attack studies took stress levels into consideration, but if not, I'd seriously question their conclusions.
Sort of bad days, lindy like, and unrequited "like" like
Today was not a good day.
I rolled out of bed late and already cranky, since taking melatonin apparently succeeded in making me have vivid not-so-nice dreams and sleep fitfully throughout the night
Not long after arising, I had a phone conversation with a friend of mine -- who, bless her heart -- meant well but was disarmingly blunt. After inquiring about the possibility of working at her company, she told me that they get 800-1000 resumes PER DAY and that I'd have no chance in hell of even being seriously considered for a position there. I applied anyway, dammit.
Apparently out of masochism, I looked at my bank balance online. Well, at least it wasn't negative. Close, but not quite. But let's just say I better get a job soon. Or learn how to rob banks. Or marry rich. Or to be on the financially safe side, perhaps all of the above.
When it was time for me to attend the "9:20 Special" lindy hop dance I usually frequent on Thursday nights, I was none too eager to go. From past experience, when I'm already having a particularly bad day, I tend to sadly carry this with me into dancing... acting shy and basically sulking in a corner.
Unsurprisingly, my evening at the 9:20 began just like that. I went in, faking a smile, and sat in the corner, preparing to have a lousy time.
I failed. Despite getting stuck briefly with the follow from hell during a snowball, I ended up having a darn good time against my will. Within moments of sitting down, I already had one fine follow ask me to dance. Shortly after that, another one. One particularly stunning follow that I hadn't seen before thanked me for the dance and smiled "That was wonderful!" Another hugged me after I proudly pulled off a decently challenging up-tempo dance and gushed, "That was awesome! I love your style!"
I was reminded that -- at least on my on nights -- I may not be publicly loved, but I'm at least well-liked. And while I was a bit jealous watching throngs of women fighting over the chance to dance with one of the birthday boys (my jam suffered from, ahem, some rather dry spells in contrast), I was and still am grateful that I can still make quite a few women smile in an evening.
After calling it quits around midnight, I ended up walking a particularly talented and attractive woman ("Lucida") to her car and we ended up having the following exchange that, among other things, reminded me of just how much I miss college.
LUCIDA: I'm not going to meet guys anywhere else [other than at Lindy Hop events], I mean, what else do I do? I'm not a bar girl.
ME: Really? I mean, in contrast, you know I'm a total bar stud. Major bar player material.
LUCIDA, almost tripping over herself in laughter: Uh, yeah Adam, riiiiiight! But seriously, I haven't been single in five years. FIVE YEARS! And these guys that ask me... I never know if they like me, or they just want to get into my pants.
[It was incredibly tempting to run with this, but I thankfully resisted saying something crude and stupid.]
ME: Okay, I know what your problem is. You've got to quit being a lazy ass... time for YOU to start doing the asking.
LUCIDA: I do! But none of the guys I like... like me back. It's really hard, you know? Well, I liked this one guy, but he was a jerk. Jerk!
[Once again, the cynical me was sorely tempted to pantomime some violins. The girl's not been single in 5 years, and she's whining about a comparatively short dry spell? Gimme a break.]
ME: I know what you mean. Sometimes you really like someone in the lindy scene... you know, a crush or whatever... and then you get to know them, and you go, damn, what was I THINKING?!
Lucida paused for a moment that -- to me, at least -- felt like an eternity.
There was, indeed, a delicious irony of my statement... since I, like every other guy *I* know of, had a crush on her until realizing that it was a hopeless cause.
But she didn't catch this, right?
If she had, though, I bet she was amused in an Alanis Morrisette kind of way.
And now we were at her car.
"Thanks," she said, non-commitally.
"Goodnight, Lucida."
I wonder if she's as self-aware as I am whenever I'm dancing with her or sometimes even talking to her. She's not my type. I'm not her type. We don't even dance well together. I don't even have fantasies about her, because I think I'd internally chuckle at the incongruity of the idea before getting too excited.
But that doesn't matter. I still say stupid things to her (yes, much stupider than apparent from the exchange above)... like a tongue-tied school boy. The antithesis of Mr. Suave... Mr. D'oh!
Maybe that's even worse than being Mr. Cellophane. Hmm.
I rolled out of bed late and already cranky, since taking melatonin apparently succeeded in making me have vivid not-so-nice dreams and sleep fitfully throughout the night
Not long after arising, I had a phone conversation with a friend of mine -- who, bless her heart -- meant well but was disarmingly blunt. After inquiring about the possibility of working at her company, she told me that they get 800-1000 resumes PER DAY and that I'd have no chance in hell of even being seriously considered for a position there. I applied anyway, dammit.
Apparently out of masochism, I looked at my bank balance online. Well, at least it wasn't negative. Close, but not quite. But let's just say I better get a job soon. Or learn how to rob banks. Or marry rich. Or to be on the financially safe side, perhaps all of the above.
When it was time for me to attend the "9:20 Special" lindy hop dance I usually frequent on Thursday nights, I was none too eager to go. From past experience, when I'm already having a particularly bad day, I tend to sadly carry this with me into dancing... acting shy and basically sulking in a corner.
Unsurprisingly, my evening at the 9:20 began just like that. I went in, faking a smile, and sat in the corner, preparing to have a lousy time.
I failed. Despite getting stuck briefly with the follow from hell during a snowball, I ended up having a darn good time against my will. Within moments of sitting down, I already had one fine follow ask me to dance. Shortly after that, another one. One particularly stunning follow that I hadn't seen before thanked me for the dance and smiled "That was wonderful!" Another hugged me after I proudly pulled off a decently challenging up-tempo dance and gushed, "That was awesome! I love your style!"
I was reminded that -- at least on my on nights -- I may not be publicly loved, but I'm at least well-liked. And while I was a bit jealous watching throngs of women fighting over the chance to dance with one of the birthday boys (my jam suffered from, ahem, some rather dry spells in contrast), I was and still am grateful that I can still make quite a few women smile in an evening.
After calling it quits around midnight, I ended up walking a particularly talented and attractive woman ("Lucida") to her car and we ended up having the following exchange that, among other things, reminded me of just how much I miss college.
LUCIDA: I'm not going to meet guys anywhere else [other than at Lindy Hop events], I mean, what else do I do? I'm not a bar girl.
ME: Really? I mean, in contrast, you know I'm a total bar stud. Major bar player material.
LUCIDA, almost tripping over herself in laughter: Uh, yeah Adam, riiiiiight! But seriously, I haven't been single in five years. FIVE YEARS! And these guys that ask me... I never know if they like me, or they just want to get into my pants.
[It was incredibly tempting to run with this, but I thankfully resisted saying something crude and stupid.]
ME: Okay, I know what your problem is. You've got to quit being a lazy ass... time for YOU to start doing the asking.
LUCIDA: I do! But none of the guys I like... like me back. It's really hard, you know? Well, I liked this one guy, but he was a jerk. Jerk!
[Once again, the cynical me was sorely tempted to pantomime some violins. The girl's not been single in 5 years, and she's whining about a comparatively short dry spell? Gimme a break.]
ME: I know what you mean. Sometimes you really like someone in the lindy scene... you know, a crush or whatever... and then you get to know them, and you go, damn, what was I THINKING?!
Lucida paused for a moment that -- to me, at least -- felt like an eternity.
There was, indeed, a delicious irony of my statement... since I, like every other guy *I* know of, had a crush on her until realizing that it was a hopeless cause.
But she didn't catch this, right?
If she had, though, I bet she was amused in an Alanis Morrisette kind of way.
And now we were at her car.
"Thanks," she said, non-commitally.
"Goodnight, Lucida."
I wonder if she's as self-aware as I am whenever I'm dancing with her or sometimes even talking to her. She's not my type. I'm not her type. We don't even dance well together. I don't even have fantasies about her, because I think I'd internally chuckle at the incongruity of the idea before getting too excited.
But that doesn't matter. I still say stupid things to her (yes, much stupider than apparent from the exchange above)... like a tongue-tied school boy. The antithesis of Mr. Suave... Mr. D'oh!
Maybe that's even worse than being Mr. Cellophane. Hmm.
Friday, January 10, 2003
Successful simplicity
Some things just work. Google is decidedly one of those things.
But did you ever stop to ponder the origins of its lauded minimalism and what we can learn from this?
I discovered the secret of the site's sparcity during an enjoyable public presentation from one of the company's affable product managers.
Apparently, when the time came for Google founder Sergey Brin to unveil the brand new search engine to the world, there was a bit of a problem:
Sergey barely knew a lick of HTML.
So he did what he could. A logo, a search box, and two buttons. That was about it. And it worked.
Key takeaways:
1) Sometimes constraints can lead us to tackle issues with amazing efficiency and success.
2) Keeping things simple is smart business.
3) If companies like pets.com had hired (and listened to) folks like Sergey, my damn technology stocks probably wouldn't be in the dumps.
In the meantime, if you haven't already played around with some of Google's lesser-known areas, such as Google News and Google Labs, I urge you to take at least a small break from my SmileZone to do so now.
But did you ever stop to ponder the origins of its lauded minimalism and what we can learn from this?
I discovered the secret of the site's sparcity during an enjoyable public presentation from one of the company's affable product managers.
Apparently, when the time came for Google founder Sergey Brin to unveil the brand new search engine to the world, there was a bit of a problem:
Sergey barely knew a lick of HTML.
So he did what he could. A logo, a search box, and two buttons. That was about it. And it worked.
Key takeaways:
1) Sometimes constraints can lead us to tackle issues with amazing efficiency and success.
2) Keeping things simple is smart business.
3) If companies like pets.com had hired (and listened to) folks like Sergey, my damn technology stocks probably wouldn't be in the dumps.
In the meantime, if you haven't already played around with some of Google's lesser-known areas, such as Google News and Google Labs, I urge you to take at least a small break from my SmileZone to do so now.
Thursday, January 9, 2003
What could be more romantic?
So, my friends, Valentine's Day is coming up!
This, of course, means wearing lots of black, drinking like a fish, and feeling either decidedly miserable or simply superior or both.
And that's just the day before Valentine's!
In the meantime, I'm chivalrously helping my friend Phil come up with gift ideas for his new (and -- eeek! -- oft-talked-about) sweetie.
Being a geek (me, not Phil), I've decided that the most irresistable present he could possibly buy would be a domain name.
Granted, this is not an original idea, but hey, it's 11:30am and I've had <5 hours of sleep, so be kind to me here.
Anyway, I've thought up a couple of names so far, which are amazingly still free and available to register!
www.philslove.com
and, better yet...
www.philamor.com
"But wouldn't it be sweeter to have her name in it?" a puzzled Phil asked.
"Geez, dude, what are you thinking?" I responded. "I mean, it's like tattoos. Wouldn't you rather have some wiggle room?"
This, of course, means wearing lots of black, drinking like a fish, and feeling either decidedly miserable or simply superior or both.
And that's just the day before Valentine's!
In the meantime, I'm chivalrously helping my friend Phil come up with gift ideas for his new (and -- eeek! -- oft-talked-about) sweetie.
Being a geek (me, not Phil), I've decided that the most irresistable present he could possibly buy would be a domain name.
Granted, this is not an original idea, but hey, it's 11:30am and I've had <5 hours of sleep, so be kind to me here.
Anyway, I've thought up a couple of names so far, which are amazingly still free and available to register!
www.philslove.com
and, better yet...
www.philamor.com
"But wouldn't it be sweeter to have her name in it?" a puzzled Phil asked.
"Geez, dude, what are you thinking?" I responded. "I mean, it's like tattoos. Wouldn't you rather have some wiggle room?"
Remembering the past
I decided to fold in some documents (essays, poetry, etc.) from other parts of my site into this blog to facilitate linking, updating, and other good stuff. You'll notice, therefore, that the next few entries below include items written as much as 8 years ago. I hope you agree that they're still worthwhile reads, and I apologize in advance for any confusion.
Wednesday, January 8, 2003
POETRY: A Running Journey
A Running Journey
Just when you think
That all is done
Or finished...
You've run the course, passed the markers
And watched with hidden concern
The other runners passed ahead and behind
Some whom you left behind gladly
Others... you wonder... why don't they look back?
Without intending, you've curved around
Returned not to the start...
But rather crossing places and people you've seen
They seem different now, perhaps because they are
Or you are.
Familiarity reminds, refreshes, teaches...
And while running backwards to relive a moment isn't an option,
Intersecting is, in contrast, not only an option, but a necessity
For if we never look back... never cross a path once traced
We miss places, faces... that should not be missed.
To run constantly forward without looking back...
Or to stop running so as to avoid uncertainty ahead...
One is stubborn and unwise
The other, foolish and cowardly.
The answer, then, is to run with reflection and determination.
Not necessarily upon the straightest path...
Nor the path with the clearest markers,
But rather, upon the path that matters.
Only then can you be content, knowing that your travels were done
Not for the destination, but the journey.
written by Adam Lasnik on August 29, 1995
Just when you think
That all is done
Or finished...
You've run the course, passed the markers
And watched with hidden concern
The other runners passed ahead and behind
Some whom you left behind gladly
Others... you wonder... why don't they look back?
Without intending, you've curved around
Returned not to the start...
But rather crossing places and people you've seen
They seem different now, perhaps because they are
Or you are.
Familiarity reminds, refreshes, teaches...
And while running backwards to relive a moment isn't an option,
Intersecting is, in contrast, not only an option, but a necessity
For if we never look back... never cross a path once traced
We miss places, faces... that should not be missed.
To run constantly forward without looking back...
Or to stop running so as to avoid uncertainty ahead...
One is stubborn and unwise
The other, foolish and cowardly.
The answer, then, is to run with reflection and determination.
Not necessarily upon the straightest path...
Nor the path with the clearest markers,
But rather, upon the path that matters.
Only then can you be content, knowing that your travels were done
Not for the destination, but the journey.
written by Adam Lasnik on August 29, 1995
POETRY: A Friendship Journey
A Friendship Journey
What strange lands a friendship travels...
Or rather strange, what friends have along the journey.
Of closeness felt and closeness feigned
Through the time many a friendship moves
Shifts
And changes or disappears.
What was there? Or was it? Not to know.
Though truly, neither side is free to ignore
What might have, could have, seemed to be
At least to one
A friendship marked, marred
By uncertainty
Hesitation
Confusion
Emptiness.
Should it be said out loud? No.
Why voice what's already known, already felt.
Actions precede words, no truer will follow
For little by little, now, there is nothing
No one
To follow
Where?
It doesn't matter.
The signs can be learned, but can be neither avoided nor changed
One friend wants to change the signs
The other, to escape the journeyman, to stay one distance ahead
Until the friend reads but does not follow.
What strangeness, sometimes sadness, befalls those on the road of friendship...
Roads meet, roads diverge, roads end.
But the traveling does not, should not cease, for the road traveled
Is but one of many.
Friends, unique, but not finite.
The traveler wise does not forget, does not regret
But rather, remembers what was learned along the way
To be used on another journey
Another day
Which begins tomorrow.
Written by Adam Lasnik on July 26, 1995.
What strange lands a friendship travels...
Or rather strange, what friends have along the journey.
Of closeness felt and closeness feigned
Through the time many a friendship moves
Shifts
And changes or disappears.
What was there? Or was it? Not to know.
Though truly, neither side is free to ignore
What might have, could have, seemed to be
At least to one
A friendship marked, marred
By uncertainty
Hesitation
Confusion
Emptiness.
Should it be said out loud? No.
Why voice what's already known, already felt.
Actions precede words, no truer will follow
For little by little, now, there is nothing
No one
To follow
Where?
It doesn't matter.
The signs can be learned, but can be neither avoided nor changed
One friend wants to change the signs
The other, to escape the journeyman, to stay one distance ahead
Until the friend reads but does not follow.
What strangeness, sometimes sadness, befalls those on the road of friendship...
Roads meet, roads diverge, roads end.
But the traveling does not, should not cease, for the road traveled
Is but one of many.
Friends, unique, but not finite.
The traveler wise does not forget, does not regret
But rather, remembers what was learned along the way
To be used on another journey
Another day
Which begins tomorrow.
Written by Adam Lasnik on July 26, 1995.
The culture of Korea
[ Though written in May of 2001, I think my friend Tamara's list of observations on her visit to Korea is interesting and certainly relevant today, given the prominence of Korea in the news. I normally include in this blog only stuff I have written personally, but I feel this is a worthy exception. -- Adam]
A QUICK PROFILE OF SOUTH KOREA
- high cell phone usage; cells provided mainly by a company called Cyon;
most rings are answered immediately with no apology (incl. in restaurants,
in the middle of conversations, in bathrooms, and on subways)
- most kids have desktop computers with a DSL connection (unlike Japan,
where people surf the web and answer email on their cell phones)
- appearance is extremely important, esp. perfectly unblemished and light skin
- the ENTIRE border to North Korea is lined with barb wire, military
stations & spotlights... and North Korea has built huge apts. in sight of
Seoul to show their economic independence (btw, all the apts. are empty)
- cars tend to be Daewoo, Hyundai & Kia, which use either regular gas or
'LPG' (which burns slightly cleaner)... all foreign imports require heavily
taxes (I saw only 2 BMWs in Korea)
- Korean women dress trendy, not cute; however, their mannerisms can be
cute (ok, except all school girls seem to look impossibly cute)
- the myth is true: toilet paper, which is packaged in multiple ways, is
used as a napkin, paper towel and face tissue -- even in offices and
restaurants
- Koreans drink instant coffee 2-4x a day; don't really drink any type of
tea regularly (more a Japanese cultural thing)
- Korean suburbs are actually HUGE apt complexes... 8-12 buildings per
complex, each building 20 floors tall, each floor 4-6 apts.
- no real concept of privacy or solitude, esp. when family is over... you
are always "on" and engaged
- countryside consists of rural high mountains, like West Virginia or parts
of Colorado
- the roles are still distinct between men and women... traditionally, the
women will cook and eat after the men
- women are expected to marry by 25 (latest 28)... I received many
questions about the status of my "upcoming" marriage
- all highways are toll roads, usually costing between $100-2000 won (about
- most Korean men smoke and drink daily, something you never criticize in
public
- outside Korean cities, produce is grown in many greenhouses along rice
patties
- surprisingly, many men and women dye their hair, usually brown/copper
highlights
- kids spend 8-10 hours in school, then 2-5hrs in an after-school program
(called hogwa)
- if home, families are expected to eat and sit together
- every meal includes a spicy dish, usually 2-4 kimchee variations (of 100+
types)
- every store will put its sign on its building -- creating an overall very
colorful, very cluttered look (think Las Vegas)
- 1/5 signs are in English, 1/5 are in Korean spelling phonetic English,
most highway signs include English "subtitles"
- American movies are subtitled in Korean
- most product packaging contains English mispellings for some reason
- many Koreans study English in school (mostly written study) so they are
willing to practice English in conversations
- Koreans love small house dogs, but raise & eat a different type of dog
for dog stew (uh-huh)
- most of the houses and restaurants have heated floors (mmm) which creates
very dry heat... in the winters, I'm told they burn coal to heat the floors
- most Koreans sit on the floor, incl. homes and restaurants
- cities have high levels of pollution due to many factories and constant
traffic... if the U.S. pollution average is 100, Seoul is 2000 (my biggest
challenge for the entire trip was a burned throat and a hoarse cough)
- I have observed little attention to design, fengshui, space -- Koreans
have a similar concept called "pungso" (ex., most buildings face south) but
it's not really practiced
- almost always, shoes are removed at the entrance of a home, template and
restaurant
- Koreans tend to be either Christian or Buddhist
- most families don't continue ancestor shrines but will honor dead
(grand)parents in an annual ritual
- overall diet tends to be healthy (rice, fish, soup, vegetables)... but
Koreans actually love junk food (incl. their version of American hotdogs,
fried potatoes, pizza which has corn and squid)
- the music Koreans hear is all over the map... U.S. 80's and 90's, some
recent hits, Japanese hits, Korean bugglegum pop
- while their meals often takes a long time to prepare, Koreans eat
extremely fast with little beverage and eat all day... the order food seems
to be served is side dishes, meat/seafood, rice, a little water...
A QUICK PROFILE OF SOUTH KOREA
- high cell phone usage; cells provided mainly by a company called Cyon;
most rings are answered immediately with no apology (incl. in restaurants,
in the middle of conversations, in bathrooms, and on subways)
- most kids have desktop computers with a DSL connection (unlike Japan,
where people surf the web and answer email on their cell phones)
- appearance is extremely important, esp. perfectly unblemished and light skin
- the ENTIRE border to North Korea is lined with barb wire, military
stations & spotlights... and North Korea has built huge apts. in sight of
Seoul to show their economic independence (btw, all the apts. are empty)
- cars tend to be Daewoo, Hyundai & Kia, which use either regular gas or
'LPG' (which burns slightly cleaner)... all foreign imports require heavily
taxes (I saw only 2 BMWs in Korea)
- Korean women dress trendy, not cute; however, their mannerisms can be
cute (ok, except all school girls seem to look impossibly cute)
- the myth is true: toilet paper, which is packaged in multiple ways, is
used as a napkin, paper towel and face tissue -- even in offices and
restaurants
- Koreans drink instant coffee 2-4x a day; don't really drink any type of
tea regularly (more a Japanese cultural thing)
- Korean suburbs are actually HUGE apt complexes... 8-12 buildings per
complex, each building 20 floors tall, each floor 4-6 apts.
- no real concept of privacy or solitude, esp. when family is over... you
are always "on" and engaged
- countryside consists of rural high mountains, like West Virginia or parts
of Colorado
- the roles are still distinct between men and women... traditionally, the
women will cook and eat after the men
- women are expected to marry by 25 (latest 28)... I received many
questions about the status of my "upcoming" marriage
- all highways are toll roads, usually costing between $100-2000 won (about
- most Korean men smoke and drink daily, something you never criticize in
public
- outside Korean cities, produce is grown in many greenhouses along rice
patties
- surprisingly, many men and women dye their hair, usually brown/copper
highlights
- kids spend 8-10 hours in school, then 2-5hrs in an after-school program
(called hogwa)
- if home, families are expected to eat and sit together
- every meal includes a spicy dish, usually 2-4 kimchee variations (of 100+
types)
- every store will put its sign on its building -- creating an overall very
colorful, very cluttered look (think Las Vegas)
- 1/5 signs are in English, 1/5 are in Korean spelling phonetic English,
most highway signs include English "subtitles"
- American movies are subtitled in Korean
- most product packaging contains English mispellings for some reason
- many Koreans study English in school (mostly written study) so they are
willing to practice English in conversations
- Koreans love small house dogs, but raise & eat a different type of dog
for dog stew (uh-huh)
- most of the houses and restaurants have heated floors (mmm) which creates
very dry heat... in the winters, I'm told they burn coal to heat the floors
- most Koreans sit on the floor, incl. homes and restaurants
- cities have high levels of pollution due to many factories and constant
traffic... if the U.S. pollution average is 100, Seoul is 2000 (my biggest
challenge for the entire trip was a burned throat and a hoarse cough)
- I have observed little attention to design, fengshui, space -- Koreans
have a similar concept called "pungso" (ex., most buildings face south) but
it's not really practiced
- almost always, shoes are removed at the entrance of a home, template and
restaurant
- Koreans tend to be either Christian or Buddhist
- most families don't continue ancestor shrines but will honor dead
(grand)parents in an annual ritual
- overall diet tends to be healthy (rice, fish, soup, vegetables)... but
Koreans actually love junk food (incl. their version of American hotdogs,
fried potatoes, pizza which has corn and squid)
- the music Koreans hear is all over the map... U.S. 80's and 90's, some
recent hits, Japanese hits, Korean bugglegum pop
- while their meals often takes a long time to prepare, Koreans eat
extremely fast with little beverage and eat all day... the order food seems
to be served is side dishes, meat/seafood, rice, a little water...
On being warm
[ I wrote the following note in December of 1998 while living in Europe and immediately after traveling through Belgium and Ireland. The weather was cold, but interactions with the locals made my heart warm. -- Adam ]
I just came back from a relatively short vacation in Belgium and Ireland. Of course, I have a lot to say about my visits in these fine countries, but for now I'm just going to share one noteworthy tidbit.
As I was hauling my 35 pound suitcase down a street in a suburb of Dublin, a kindly older woman smiled at me and said something. Though I had already become accustomed to and appreciative of the typical Irish friendliness I had been encountering during my stay... the suddenness of her comment and her deep Irish accent caused me to miss what she said.
She stopped walking, smiled again, and repeated: "I hope you'll be warm where you're going!"
Indeed, it was a bit nippy in Ireland at the moment, and so I suppose it was a rather unsurprising, though admittedly a bit random comment. But for several reasons, it stuck with me.
The Irish had been good to me during my stay. Although I didn't really know any Irish people before visiting, I greatly appreciated the cheerfulness and warmth of the natives, who patiently gave me directions, offered recommendations, and gave me extra-big helpings of good food :-)
In light of this pleasant environment, I took the woman's comment in another context. While it's not always possible to be physically warm in these harsh winter months (at least here in freezing Europe!), there's definitely something to be said for keeping and spreading warmth in a broader sense.
During the holidays, we typically exchange gifts, fill ourselves with good food, and sometimes even sing songs in this time of year in which even the most tone-deaf amongst us are free from ostracization and pained glances. And there's certainly nothing wrong with these traditions :-)
But I'd like to put in a good word for BEING WARM... for figuratively lighting a warm fireplace for strangers with our smiles, our kind compliments, our seemingly tiny but still important thoughtful acts, and so on. This holiday season... instead of just being the life of the party, be the warmth.
And as the wise Irish woman wished for me, I too wish for you: I hope you'll be warm where you're going... for the rest of this year, and beyond.
I just came back from a relatively short vacation in Belgium and Ireland. Of course, I have a lot to say about my visits in these fine countries, but for now I'm just going to share one noteworthy tidbit.
As I was hauling my 35 pound suitcase down a street in a suburb of Dublin, a kindly older woman smiled at me and said something. Though I had already become accustomed to and appreciative of the typical Irish friendliness I had been encountering during my stay... the suddenness of her comment and her deep Irish accent caused me to miss what she said.
She stopped walking, smiled again, and repeated: "I hope you'll be warm where you're going!"
Indeed, it was a bit nippy in Ireland at the moment, and so I suppose it was a rather unsurprising, though admittedly a bit random comment. But for several reasons, it stuck with me.
The Irish had been good to me during my stay. Although I didn't really know any Irish people before visiting, I greatly appreciated the cheerfulness and warmth of the natives, who patiently gave me directions, offered recommendations, and gave me extra-big helpings of good food :-)
In light of this pleasant environment, I took the woman's comment in another context. While it's not always possible to be physically warm in these harsh winter months (at least here in freezing Europe!), there's definitely something to be said for keeping and spreading warmth in a broader sense.
During the holidays, we typically exchange gifts, fill ourselves with good food, and sometimes even sing songs in this time of year in which even the most tone-deaf amongst us are free from ostracization and pained glances. And there's certainly nothing wrong with these traditions :-)
But I'd like to put in a good word for BEING WARM... for figuratively lighting a warm fireplace for strangers with our smiles, our kind compliments, our seemingly tiny but still important thoughtful acts, and so on. This holiday season... instead of just being the life of the party, be the warmth.
And as the wise Irish woman wished for me, I too wish for you: I hope you'll be warm where you're going... for the rest of this year, and beyond.
On smiling
[I had originally published this pensive note on my usually joke-filled "Smile List" e-mail newsletter sometime around 1997, and since I enjoyed a rather positive response, I thought I'd share it also on my site here.? Enjoy! -- Adam ]
*?*?*
Today the topic is SMILING, something that -- logically enough -- is at the heart of my Smile List. So today, we take a break from jokes... to think about things that make us smile in other ways.
A few weeks ago, I was leisurely enjoying ice cream at a small family owned Italian ice cream shop here in Germany. Sharing the wonderful rich dessert with a good friend made it worth every penny for this non-discount treat. We could tell, too, that the waiter (the son of the owner) not only had great pride in the delights he was serving, but also enjoyed the atmosphere of relaxed and happy customers.
The three of us engaged in pleasant chatter for a bit, and when it was time to pay, I gave him a small tip in German money (as is customary), but also added a U.S. dollar bill. He was confused but excited and handed it back to me, but I assured him he could keep it. His glowing smile still sticks with me today... such happiness from a little gesture. He shook my hand -- repeatedly -- and walked with my friend and me to the door as we exited, still smiling broadly.
Fast forward to yesterday. It was a cold and stormy day... not much good for anything, it seemed. Determined to make the best of my free Saturday, I invited a good friend to join me... first shopping, and then cooking a warm, creative meal, combined with good wine. And... rich vanilla ice cream, this time with just a smattering of fine Italian Amaretto. We were cooking and eating and laughing and relaxing for hours... literally hours. As we talked, we both commented how it seems people don't take the time to relax... enjoy the little things, savor the 'small' moments. In this era of in-your-face movies, pounding music, 60 hour work weeks, why are we not more often content to sip wine with friends, sit and wonder, ponder, chat about little and big things, and just savor a few unstructured moments?
And when was the last time you took a bath? I did, this morning :-). I had forgotten how peaceful it is, how much it makes me smile.
In this world, there are great people doing great things. Great sammaritans, famous doctors, brilliant artists. But too often, we forget about the power of little people... everyday individuals... and little things.
From a few simple lines I typed here a while back in the Smile List, over 100 of you sent get-well wishes to my friend Moni. She's recently been able not only to walk just fine, but also rollerblade, and she's now working and traveling in Asia via an intership there. Your warm thoughts meant a lot to her, and perhaps even helped speed the healing process.
Lots of you, too, sent cards to my grandparents, wishing them a happy 60th anniversary and Grandparents' Day... from all over the world.
Every day, we have the options to do little, simple things to make ourselves and others smile. Do it. Give someone a random hug. Cook a fun or fancy meal -- without a 'reason'. Give an extra-generous tip. Treat yourself to a GOOD chocolate bar. Maybe even share it :-)
And I hope, in sharing these thoughts with you, that there'll be a few more smiles spread around. I wish you a wonderful week ahead, and promise more humor comin' to you on the Smile List soon. In the meantime, don't forget to visit my SmileZone, and feel free to post a few thoughts on the things that make YOU smile (or you can even just read what others have written). Go to http://www.smilezone.com/talk, and then from there you'll know what to do :-)
Take care...
--Adam
*?*?*
Today the topic is SMILING, something that -- logically enough -- is at the heart of my Smile List. So today, we take a break from jokes... to think about things that make us smile in other ways.
A few weeks ago, I was leisurely enjoying ice cream at a small family owned Italian ice cream shop here in Germany. Sharing the wonderful rich dessert with a good friend made it worth every penny for this non-discount treat. We could tell, too, that the waiter (the son of the owner) not only had great pride in the delights he was serving, but also enjoyed the atmosphere of relaxed and happy customers.
The three of us engaged in pleasant chatter for a bit, and when it was time to pay, I gave him a small tip in German money (as is customary), but also added a U.S. dollar bill. He was confused but excited and handed it back to me, but I assured him he could keep it. His glowing smile still sticks with me today... such happiness from a little gesture. He shook my hand -- repeatedly -- and walked with my friend and me to the door as we exited, still smiling broadly.
Fast forward to yesterday. It was a cold and stormy day... not much good for anything, it seemed. Determined to make the best of my free Saturday, I invited a good friend to join me... first shopping, and then cooking a warm, creative meal, combined with good wine. And... rich vanilla ice cream, this time with just a smattering of fine Italian Amaretto. We were cooking and eating and laughing and relaxing for hours... literally hours. As we talked, we both commented how it seems people don't take the time to relax... enjoy the little things, savor the 'small' moments. In this era of in-your-face movies, pounding music, 60 hour work weeks, why are we not more often content to sip wine with friends, sit and wonder, ponder, chat about little and big things, and just savor a few unstructured moments?
And when was the last time you took a bath? I did, this morning :-). I had forgotten how peaceful it is, how much it makes me smile.
In this world, there are great people doing great things. Great sammaritans, famous doctors, brilliant artists. But too often, we forget about the power of little people... everyday individuals... and little things.
From a few simple lines I typed here a while back in the Smile List, over 100 of you sent get-well wishes to my friend Moni. She's recently been able not only to walk just fine, but also rollerblade, and she's now working and traveling in Asia via an intership there. Your warm thoughts meant a lot to her, and perhaps even helped speed the healing process.
Lots of you, too, sent cards to my grandparents, wishing them a happy 60th anniversary and Grandparents' Day... from all over the world.
Every day, we have the options to do little, simple things to make ourselves and others smile. Do it. Give someone a random hug. Cook a fun or fancy meal -- without a 'reason'. Give an extra-generous tip. Treat yourself to a GOOD chocolate bar. Maybe even share it :-)
And I hope, in sharing these thoughts with you, that there'll be a few more smiles spread around. I wish you a wonderful week ahead, and promise more humor comin' to you on the Smile List soon. In the meantime, don't forget to visit my SmileZone, and feel free to post a few thoughts on the things that make YOU smile (or you can even just read what others have written). Go to http://www.smilezone.com/talk, and then from there you'll know what to do :-)
Take care...
--Adam
Blast from the past: 8th grade poetry
Just for the heck of it, I figured I'd add in to my blog this goofy poem I wrote when I was in the 8th grade. Enjoy!
A Morning Warning
The following may really sound quite queer,
But it's all the truth, what you will hear
I'd like to describe to you one horrible day,
When something awful came my way.
I woke with the sun, just like all other morns
But next to my bed was a thing with nine horns!
Nine horns, I say, oh yes indeed,
Also nine eyes, with which it could read.
It opened its mouth and said, "Come to me,"
"I'm starving, for I haven't had breakfast, you see!"
Now I wasn't too keen on BEING breakfast that day,
So I thought really fast, and I started to say...
"I'm really fatty and I'm not good to eat,"
"But why don't you try Harry Plat down the street!"
The thing with nine eyes replied, "Gee, thanks a lot!"
And he flew, yes he flew, right away from that spot.
I never saw that creature after that
But in school, oh my, there was no Harry Plat!
This story isn't a bunch of lies,
And if you see something with nine horns and nine eyes --
Don't offer him someone else to eat,
For remember poor Harry Plat, who lived down the street.
Written by Adam Lasnik sometime in 1985 for 8th grade English class.
A Morning Warning
The following may really sound quite queer,
But it's all the truth, what you will hear
I'd like to describe to you one horrible day,
When something awful came my way.
I woke with the sun, just like all other morns
But next to my bed was a thing with nine horns!
Nine horns, I say, oh yes indeed,
Also nine eyes, with which it could read.
It opened its mouth and said, "Come to me,"
"I'm starving, for I haven't had breakfast, you see!"
Now I wasn't too keen on BEING breakfast that day,
So I thought really fast, and I started to say...
"I'm really fatty and I'm not good to eat,"
"But why don't you try Harry Plat down the street!"
The thing with nine eyes replied, "Gee, thanks a lot!"
And he flew, yes he flew, right away from that spot.
I never saw that creature after that
But in school, oh my, there was no Harry Plat!
This story isn't a bunch of lies,
And if you see something with nine horns and nine eyes --
Don't offer him someone else to eat,
For remember poor Harry Plat, who lived down the street.
Written by Adam Lasnik sometime in 1985 for 8th grade English class.
Tuesday, January 7, 2003
Christmas cards
My friend Jen recently blogged an entry about New Year's resolutions and Christmas Card writing.
The following is a comment I left on her blog regarding the latter issue:
I'm torn on the Christmas card thing. On one hand, I hate the process each year. I have 502 people in my Outlook addressbook. No, few if any of them are "Internet" friends; I have known them or at least have met every last one in Real Life... dancing, working, learning, playing, traveling, flirting, or a combination thereof.
The process of winnowing -- combined with the realization that writing and sending cards involves a not-insignificant amount of time and money -- is something I do dread each year.
But then I remind myself how happy I am when I get cards. Real cards I can touch, not e-mails that are easy to send, easy to file or delete.
And each year I am surprised as well as pleased. This year, I got a card from one of my sister's friends, a woman for whom I've always been fond of. She was actually thinking of me, and cared enough to write a few paragraphs? Wow! I also got a card from an old high school friend, a college (unrequited) crush, and assorted other folks that I either had or had not written myself.
Christmas card writing is an arbitrary and often frustrating process. But it's rewarding, too. It forces me to go through my contact list and think... whom should I write? Why? Is it time to file this contact away? Oh, THIS person? Erk! It's long overdue for me to actually CALL them! Hmm.
It's sort of the front-end on New Years resolutions, if you will, Jen. The actual execution isn't necessarily as valuable as the contemplation.
The following is a comment I left on her blog regarding the latter issue:
I'm torn on the Christmas card thing. On one hand, I hate the process each year. I have 502 people in my Outlook addressbook. No, few if any of them are "Internet" friends; I have known them or at least have met every last one in Real Life... dancing, working, learning, playing, traveling, flirting, or a combination thereof.
The process of winnowing -- combined with the realization that writing and sending cards involves a not-insignificant amount of time and money -- is something I do dread each year.
But then I remind myself how happy I am when I get cards. Real cards I can touch, not e-mails that are easy to send, easy to file or delete.
And each year I am surprised as well as pleased. This year, I got a card from one of my sister's friends, a woman for whom I've always been fond of. She was actually thinking of me, and cared enough to write a few paragraphs? Wow! I also got a card from an old high school friend, a college (unrequited) crush, and assorted other folks that I either had or had not written myself.
Christmas card writing is an arbitrary and often frustrating process. But it's rewarding, too. It forces me to go through my contact list and think... whom should I write? Why? Is it time to file this contact away? Oh, THIS person? Erk! It's long overdue for me to actually CALL them! Hmm.
It's sort of the front-end on New Years resolutions, if you will, Jen. The actual execution isn't necessarily as valuable as the contemplation.
Monday, January 6, 2003
But daddy... I really waaaaaant war!
UN Iraq report complicates war plans
Jan. 6, 2003 | WASHINGTON (AP) -- U.N. inspectors have yet to turn up any sign of prohibited weapons in Iraq, complicating the Bush administration's task of justifying an armed invasion. Allies already are expressing misgivings, and the inspectors' first comprehensive report, due Jan. 27, could further cramp the timing of any attack.
[Read the full AP story]
Is it just me, or is this the tone of this a little wacky for AP-style? It seems to pretty clearly imply that we (as a nation) are jumping up and down in our seats excitedly gurgling "yay yay... let's go get 'em! I wanna get me a stuffed eeerackie!" followed by an "oh, danggomit! Those pesky UN guys are postponing our war!"
Or am I reading too much into this?
Sunday, January 5, 2003
An obligation not to be intimidated
I was chatting with a kind and talented Lindy Hopper friend today after our usual Sunday dance, and he shared with me an interesting concept.
"You know how we often say that it's wrong for people to be snobs?" he asked. "Well, I think the other side is that we have an obligation not to be intimidated."
At first I was simply puzzled and a bit amused. An obligation not to be intimidated?
Then I remembered an online conversation with dance instructor / legend / Lindy-guru Paul Overton. When asked why he didn't ask more beginners to dance, Paul noted that he once DID frequently ask beginners to dance, but quickly realized that too many of them were so freaked out by the prospect of dancing with him that the dances ended up being simply uncomfortable for everyone. So from that point on, he decided to graciously accept a dance with anyone who asked him, but never ask a newbie to dance out of the blue.
Indeed, it's certainly understandable for relatively new dancers to be highly intimidated by more accomplished dancers.
But after a while, it seems reasonable for us average/mediocre dancers to remind ourselves that the "Rock stars" are to be enjoyed, not feared. Otherwise, we're conveying a similar albeit more subtle sense of discomfort to many of those we dance with, which is certainly not desireable for either party.
So, in the end, I agree with my friend. In the interest of making Lindy Hop a comfortable pleasure for everyone, we DO have an obligation not to be intimidated. Though admittedly, that's easier said than done ;-)
"You know how we often say that it's wrong for people to be snobs?" he asked. "Well, I think the other side is that we have an obligation not to be intimidated."
At first I was simply puzzled and a bit amused. An obligation not to be intimidated?
Then I remembered an online conversation with dance instructor / legend / Lindy-guru Paul Overton. When asked why he didn't ask more beginners to dance, Paul noted that he once DID frequently ask beginners to dance, but quickly realized that too many of them were so freaked out by the prospect of dancing with him that the dances ended up being simply uncomfortable for everyone. So from that point on, he decided to graciously accept a dance with anyone who asked him, but never ask a newbie to dance out of the blue.
Indeed, it's certainly understandable for relatively new dancers to be highly intimidated by more accomplished dancers.
But after a while, it seems reasonable for us average/mediocre dancers to remind ourselves that the "Rock stars" are to be enjoyed, not feared. Otherwise, we're conveying a similar albeit more subtle sense of discomfort to many of those we dance with, which is certainly not desireable for either party.
So, in the end, I agree with my friend. In the interest of making Lindy Hop a comfortable pleasure for everyone, we DO have an obligation not to be intimidated. Though admittedly, that's easier said than done ;-)
There's a special place in hell for the Entertainment industry
The Entertainment industry just doesn't get it. This point -- albeit not a terribly original one -- was hammered home for me today yet once again.
I had decided to support the movie industry's entry into the digital sphere by plunking down $1.99 to rent an online copy of "Groundhog Day" via the service called "MovieLink." Unsurprisingly, the terms were obnoxiously restrictive:
- I could only view the movie on one computer... no copying it to my laptop for the road, etc. Of course, I don't have a laptop, so this is a moot point, but nonetheless...
- The movie would expire from my hard drive in 30 days.
- Once I hit the "play" button, the movie'd go poof within 24 hours.
Well, you know how the story goes. I downloaded the movie last month and, with the holiday craziness, I didn't quite get around to watching it 'til this weekend. Realizing that the 30-day point was [gulp] today, I sat my fanny in front of my computer and began to watch the movie.
With about 35 minute left to go, the movie stopped and the following notice popped up on my screen: "The movie 'Groundhog Day' has been deleted from your hard drive, freeing up 525 megabytes of disk space."
Gee, how thoughtful of this movie service to help free up hard drive space for me in that manner!
So what we have here is a movie industry so hell-bent on maintaining control over every aspect of its customer's viewing experience that it creates a sense of artificial scarcity and urgency -- convenience and value be damned.
A brick-and-mortar place like Blockbuster has, of course, real reasons to establish deadlines. Every day that I physically have possession of a DVD from them is a day that someone else is not able to view that DVD, which results in potentially lost revenues for Blockbuster.
However, I'm at a loss as to why an online service has to put, of all things, a deadline for viewing a particular movie. Why would MovieLink care whether I watched my downloaded movie in January or February... or even next year? Regardless of my viewing time, I'd be costing them still a total of one movie's worth of (downloading) bandwidth.
But this is par for the course with the entertainment industry. Rather than endeavoring to make the consumer's experience more flexible, convenient, and pleasurable, Hollywood seems determined to make movie watching a frustrating and often cumbersome experience.
Indeed, when it comes down to it, MovieLink really does offer a questionable "value":
- Mediocre sound and no full-screen video.
- VERY limited selection (<200 films, I think)
- Limited or no extras usually found on DVD's
And for this, they charge as much as $2.99 for somewhat-current films.
Unfortunately, I doubt things will get much better, at least not until they get much worse. The music and movie industries have very little incentive to do things right, especially since they have politicians largely bought and paid for (witness the Orwellian Digital Copyright Millenium Act that practically makes it illegal to even TALK about circumventing copy protection schemes).
Entertainment insiders like the charming Jack Valenti -- who once compared VCR's to the Boston Strangler -- insist that the sort of movies we know and love today will cease to be made unless the, ahem, stranglehold of the movie industry is maintained.
Perhaps he means that telegenic folks reading lines will no longer be able to make in one day what a teacher in the Bronx makes in a lifetime?
Maybe he's alluding to a future in which whiz-bang special effects in countless and brainless summer movies will prove to be cost-prohibitive?
Is it possible that -- horror of horrors -- Hollywood will actually have to scale back on its billion dollar legal retainers, sell a few politicians, and actually make movies with thoughtful plots based upon original stories?
Where do I sign?
I had decided to support the movie industry's entry into the digital sphere by plunking down $1.99 to rent an online copy of "Groundhog Day" via the service called "MovieLink." Unsurprisingly, the terms were obnoxiously restrictive:
- I could only view the movie on one computer... no copying it to my laptop for the road, etc. Of course, I don't have a laptop, so this is a moot point, but nonetheless...
- The movie would expire from my hard drive in 30 days.
- Once I hit the "play" button, the movie'd go poof within 24 hours.
Well, you know how the story goes. I downloaded the movie last month and, with the holiday craziness, I didn't quite get around to watching it 'til this weekend. Realizing that the 30-day point was [gulp] today, I sat my fanny in front of my computer and began to watch the movie.
With about 35 minute left to go, the movie stopped and the following notice popped up on my screen: "The movie 'Groundhog Day' has been deleted from your hard drive, freeing up 525 megabytes of disk space."
Gee, how thoughtful of this movie service to help free up hard drive space for me in that manner!
So what we have here is a movie industry so hell-bent on maintaining control over every aspect of its customer's viewing experience that it creates a sense of artificial scarcity and urgency -- convenience and value be damned.
A brick-and-mortar place like Blockbuster has, of course, real reasons to establish deadlines. Every day that I physically have possession of a DVD from them is a day that someone else is not able to view that DVD, which results in potentially lost revenues for Blockbuster.
However, I'm at a loss as to why an online service has to put, of all things, a deadline for viewing a particular movie. Why would MovieLink care whether I watched my downloaded movie in January or February... or even next year? Regardless of my viewing time, I'd be costing them still a total of one movie's worth of (downloading) bandwidth.
But this is par for the course with the entertainment industry. Rather than endeavoring to make the consumer's experience more flexible, convenient, and pleasurable, Hollywood seems determined to make movie watching a frustrating and often cumbersome experience.
Indeed, when it comes down to it, MovieLink really does offer a questionable "value":
- Mediocre sound and no full-screen video.
- VERY limited selection (<200 films, I think)
- Limited or no extras usually found on DVD's
And for this, they charge as much as $2.99 for somewhat-current films.
Unfortunately, I doubt things will get much better, at least not until they get much worse. The music and movie industries have very little incentive to do things right, especially since they have politicians largely bought and paid for (witness the Orwellian Digital Copyright Millenium Act that practically makes it illegal to even TALK about circumventing copy protection schemes).
Entertainment insiders like the charming Jack Valenti -- who once compared VCR's to the Boston Strangler -- insist that the sort of movies we know and love today will cease to be made unless the, ahem, stranglehold of the movie industry is maintained.
Perhaps he means that telegenic folks reading lines will no longer be able to make in one day what a teacher in the Bronx makes in a lifetime?
Maybe he's alluding to a future in which whiz-bang special effects in countless and brainless summer movies will prove to be cost-prohibitive?
Is it possible that -- horror of horrors -- Hollywood will actually have to scale back on its billion dollar legal retainers, sell a few politicians, and actually make movies with thoughtful plots based upon original stories?
Where do I sign?
Wednesday, January 1, 2003
Construction... eeek!
Sorry for any confusion... messing with blog templates this (late) evening... check back tomorrow, please :-)
UPDATE at 6:57am: Now it *IS* tomorrow, and I think I have most everything taken care of. A little 'comments list' weirdness on some pages, but overall, I think everything is working decently.
HOWEVER, please do take just a sec to comment (either via this blog, or here) to let me know how stuff works for you! Thanks much! :-)
UPDATE at 6:57am: Now it *IS* tomorrow, and I think I have most everything taken care of. A little 'comments list' weirdness on some pages, but overall, I think everything is working decently.
HOWEVER, please do take just a sec to comment (either via this blog, or here) to let me know how stuff works for you! Thanks much! :-)
Parking, Europe-style
Gotta hand it to those direct Irish folk. There's certainly no ambiguity about THIS space.And speaking of parking: Every time I return to Europe, I'm still both amused by and fascinated with the European style of parking. Given the narrow streets throughout much of Europe, people park with one side of their car up on the sidewalks... and though usually the curbs aren't too stepp, I've nonetheless gotten used to a *JOLT* right before parking.
In France -- or at least in Paris when I visit one of my friends -- there's also the "touchy feely" form of parallel parking. This involves repeatedly hitting the bumper of the car in front of you and in back of you until you get your car in perfectly with just a millimeter or two of space on either side.
Luckily, given the very long lunches and other breaks the French seem to take, there's likely no sense of urgency for folks to maneuver out of their parking spots, so I'm assuming that trapped Frenchies -- spotting their closed-in cars -- barely blink, and simply have another drink or cigarette or both. C'est la vie!
A glimpse of Belief
This past Sunday, I visited a friend in Mainz, Germany, and in the freezing rainy cold, she kindly played the role of tour guide in her beautiful city.
One of the most memorable parts of the afternoon was when she took me to this amazingly grand cathedral in the city center.
Just in time for one of the Sunday services, I let the stunning organ music wash over me, and I felt in awe and very, very small.
I also felt at peace. Protected. To those that would choose to actually worship here and not just visit, I knew in my heart that there would be a sense of stability and reassurance.
In a tiny doubting corner of my mind, I questioned the allocation of resources used to build this palace of grandeur. But more than anything, I stood there in wonderment, looking up, looking all around me, drinking in the stateliness and painstaking artistry and dedication of my surroundings. The carvings, the color, the stones so cold and smooth to the touch.
If there was a God, this was one of two places in which he would be found... here, and by a waterfall and a rainbow.
Looking back now, that tiny corner of doubt in my mind has intensified. I think back to the audacity of it all, the blatant buying of closeness to the Lord through physical artifices. I reflect upon the great harm that the Church has perpetrated throughout history. Misogyny, murder, and more.
And yet I still wish I could Believe. For a few moments, standing within that great sanctuary, I was one with the powerful rumble of the organ, with the wafting voices of the minister and congregation, completely enveloped by the solid walls that had stood for nearly than three quarters of a millenium.
Something larger than myself. If only it could be something else.
One of the most memorable parts of the afternoon was when she took me to this amazingly grand cathedral in the city center.
Just in time for one of the Sunday services, I let the stunning organ music wash over me, and I felt in awe and very, very small.
I also felt at peace. Protected. To those that would choose to actually worship here and not just visit, I knew in my heart that there would be a sense of stability and reassurance.
In a tiny doubting corner of my mind, I questioned the allocation of resources used to build this palace of grandeur. But more than anything, I stood there in wonderment, looking up, looking all around me, drinking in the stateliness and painstaking artistry and dedication of my surroundings. The carvings, the color, the stones so cold and smooth to the touch.
If there was a God, this was one of two places in which he would be found... here, and by a waterfall and a rainbow.
Looking back now, that tiny corner of doubt in my mind has intensified. I think back to the audacity of it all, the blatant buying of closeness to the Lord through physical artifices. I reflect upon the great harm that the Church has perpetrated throughout history. Misogyny, murder, and more.
And yet I still wish I could Believe. For a few moments, standing within that great sanctuary, I was one with the powerful rumble of the organ, with the wafting voices of the minister and congregation, completely enveloped by the solid walls that had stood for nearly than three quarters of a millenium.
Something larger than myself. If only it could be something else.
I want to Believe.
I have a lack of belief and heros in my life.
I am agnostic, refusing to pledge allegiance to a God who is alternately merciful and cruel, or at best, indifferent.
I do not worship celebrities of any sort, for I cannot fathom how throwing a ball or saying scripted lines makes someone worthy of my high respect.
Politicians, too, fail to inspire me. As is commonly noted, those who are least worthy of leading often take (or, in some cases, steal) the scepter. The fact that a recent poll has identified George Bush as the most admired American merely shows that others have sadly mistaken Power for Heroism.
I believe in myself, and I believe in friends that inspire me. I know them, I trust them, I believe in what they do and who they are. Through little things and big things... it is both my friends' goodness and intent that inspires, because I can see, know, and feel this in my heart.
Nonetheless, since I was little, I've craved for the Beliefs and Heroes I could neither justify nor connect with. While millions of others around me enjoyed happiness and strength from those they admired from afar, I had contrastingly only puzzlement and sometimes disdain.
How could one so admire a person who took more than they contributed? Someone showered with adulation and 'respect' and paid millions not due to their innate goodness or meaningful contributions to society, but rather for merely their empty words and movements and glances?
Years ago, as the Internet swelled, I optimistically assumed that great art, kind souls, and Truth would cut through the stale offerings of mass media and publishers and make itself known and loved throughout the world.
I was, clearly, naive and wrong. After 400 years in Internet time, Britney Spears and her clones still reign supreme. While true gems are there to appreciate on the Internet, they are for the most part still buried, unappreciated, often undiscovered.
And so today, even via the Internet, we still have fabricated and false Heroes rather than examples of people from whom we can universally and deeply admire. Where is Gandhi? Where is Florence Nightingale?
I want to believe in someone real. I know they're out there, and I hear of the random heroic Jane Doe and John Smith every so often. This one started an organization for at-risk kids, this one donated a thousand books a year to a small library, and so on.
But I greedily want something more... someone innately good AND larger than life. A Hero, someone to worship and adore in conjunction with others. After all, there's a strange but real safety and comfort being in sync with others' beliefs... worshipping the same hero or Hero, nodding in silent understanding, not finding a more lonely path.
This, I'm sure, is why so many people believe in God.
If only I could. It would be so much easier, so comforting.
I want to Believe. But at the moment, I cannot.
I hope 2003 will be different.
I am agnostic, refusing to pledge allegiance to a God who is alternately merciful and cruel, or at best, indifferent.
I do not worship celebrities of any sort, for I cannot fathom how throwing a ball or saying scripted lines makes someone worthy of my high respect.
Politicians, too, fail to inspire me. As is commonly noted, those who are least worthy of leading often take (or, in some cases, steal) the scepter. The fact that a recent poll has identified George Bush as the most admired American merely shows that others have sadly mistaken Power for Heroism.
I believe in myself, and I believe in friends that inspire me. I know them, I trust them, I believe in what they do and who they are. Through little things and big things... it is both my friends' goodness and intent that inspires, because I can see, know, and feel this in my heart.
Nonetheless, since I was little, I've craved for the Beliefs and Heroes I could neither justify nor connect with. While millions of others around me enjoyed happiness and strength from those they admired from afar, I had contrastingly only puzzlement and sometimes disdain.
How could one so admire a person who took more than they contributed? Someone showered with adulation and 'respect' and paid millions not due to their innate goodness or meaningful contributions to society, but rather for merely their empty words and movements and glances?
Years ago, as the Internet swelled, I optimistically assumed that great art, kind souls, and Truth would cut through the stale offerings of mass media and publishers and make itself known and loved throughout the world.
I was, clearly, naive and wrong. After 400 years in Internet time, Britney Spears and her clones still reign supreme. While true gems are there to appreciate on the Internet, they are for the most part still buried, unappreciated, often undiscovered.
And so today, even via the Internet, we still have fabricated and false Heroes rather than examples of people from whom we can universally and deeply admire. Where is Gandhi? Where is Florence Nightingale?
I want to believe in someone real. I know they're out there, and I hear of the random heroic Jane Doe and John Smith every so often. This one started an organization for at-risk kids, this one donated a thousand books a year to a small library, and so on.
But I greedily want something more... someone innately good AND larger than life. A Hero, someone to worship and adore in conjunction with others. After all, there's a strange but real safety and comfort being in sync with others' beliefs... worshipping the same hero or Hero, nodding in silent understanding, not finding a more lonely path.
This, I'm sure, is why so many people believe in God.
If only I could. It would be so much easier, so comforting.
I want to Believe. But at the moment, I cannot.
I hope 2003 will be different.
How I spent New Year's Day
Last night, I ate lots and lots of alcohol-filled chocolates, yet I wasn't tired enough to go to bed until about 5am.
Imagine my surprise, then, when after a vivid dream I woke up and saw "7:07" on my alarm clock. Ack! It was still dark and I had apparently gotten just over two hours of sleep, yet I wasn't tired... and now I had to use the bathroom.
After grumbling in bed for a short while, I gruntily trudged out of my room, managed my business, and then noticed my roommate laying lazily in bed, with her door dumbly open.
"Do we have any pancake mix left?" she queried. Wow, it was not even 8:00, and she was already thinking about making breakfast on her day off. Strange.
Not content to simply flop directly back into bed, I decided to check my e-mail for a moment.
WHOA! My screen was littered with instant messages, and my mailbox was full! How could this be? After all, it was only 7:28........PM?!?!?!?!?
Imagine my surprise, then, when after a vivid dream I woke up and saw "7:07" on my alarm clock. Ack! It was still dark and I had apparently gotten just over two hours of sleep, yet I wasn't tired... and now I had to use the bathroom.
After grumbling in bed for a short while, I gruntily trudged out of my room, managed my business, and then noticed my roommate laying lazily in bed, with her door dumbly open.
"Do we have any pancake mix left?" she queried. Wow, it was not even 8:00, and she was already thinking about making breakfast on her day off. Strange.
Not content to simply flop directly back into bed, I decided to check my e-mail for a moment.
WHOA! My screen was littered with instant messages, and my mailbox was full! How could this be? After all, it was only 7:28........PM?!?!?!?!?
Truth or Consequences
I just discovered that there is a city called "Truth or Consequences" in New Mexico. Really.
How would someone come up with a name like this?!
How would someone come up with a name like this?!
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