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.
Saturday, January 11, 2003
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.
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