Gone in 90 Seconds
The last 2 days were oddly reminiscent of the Asheville trip, in that there was lots of fuss in the run up to travel, but everything ended up being pretty much routine. I went to Connecticut to see my mom and dad. My train was at 9:18 and I normally leave the house at around 7:40, drop my daughter at 8, and get home around 8:20. I expected to stop home and organize myself, then head to the station, but I grabbed the important stuff as I left, just in case. As it turned out, today was a case. Lincoln Drive had several accidents on it, which led to delays in both directions and assorted traffic going everywhere trying to detour. As a result, we didn’t get to school until 8:20, but I wasn’t worried because I still had an hour and I could have walked to the station in an hour.
Needless to say, it was impossible to get back to the city, and as I headed toward the last refuge of the vehicularly challenged, Germantown Avenue, at 8:50, I called Amtrak and changed to a later train. Then the miraculous happened and the traffic disappeared and I was suddenly sailing toward the station at 9. At this point, I’m in serious grumble mode, because I know I’m going to arrive at the parking lot at around 9:12 and be in time to either just make or just miss the train. So I figure I’ll call Amtrak, wait on hold for a few minutes, and by the time I get an agent I’ll be there and know whether or not I’m on time.
As I write this it sounds preposterous, because it is, but it actually worked. I pulled into the parking lot and just as I crossed over to the station an agent picked up, as I entered the station at 9:15. Changing the reservation was delayed because he misunderstood the spelling of my name, but it got changed over at 9:17 and I got my tickets and as Iwalked down the stairs to the platform I could see the train was pulling into the station. I am not exaggerating at all.
Oh, and by the way, traffic reports suck.
Then on the way home, I get a late start and feel like I have a very slight chance of making my return train, so I call Amtrak once again and ask if I should change reservations again, but they say there’s plenty of space on the next 2 trains and to just do it at the ticket office. Plus the train is running 3 minutes late. I rush to Stamford. I know that every Amtrak train to Stamford is 5 minutes late. I think this is because they routinely schedule a commuter train at the same time as the Amtrak one and they don't want them to bump into each other. So I’m closing in on the station and I see that it’s 5 minutes past train time, and again go into grumble mode, but then I look at my cell phone and see that the clock in the car is 5 minutes fast. I drop off my car, sprint up to the ticket office, which looks closed. I peer around a curtain and see a woman reading a book. It’s the ticket agent. She says, don’t worry, you still have a couple of minutes. I get my ticket, go down to the track, and this time the train appears as I take my place on the platform.
So it was all routine. I made 2 trains with a combined total of about 90 seconds to spare, but I’m home.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Education in the news
My father pointed out to me an article in the New York Times about a Korean school where pretty much all the kids go to Ivy League schools and average over 2200 on SATs. He somewhat halfheartedly seemed to be suggesting that there was some merit in their approach. Here's the article, but to summarize it's about 2 elite schools where the students do pretty much nothing but work for 6 AM until at least midnight every day.
Honestly, I find the whole thing disgusting. Aside from the 17 hour days that these kids put in, the focus on Ivy League as a brand name that's desirable as a something to affirm your sense of self worth is almost as disturbing. I've got nothing against hard work. I demand it of my students and of myself, but this just seems wrongheaded in every way. Is this the point of education? Maybe I'm missing a subtext that Korea is a place one wants to escape and that this is an ideal way to do so. Or maybe you can argue that this is kids' work, to do nothing but study until they are old enough to do other work. You can argue that, but you'll never get me to agree.
The article features an admission by the headmaster at one of the elite schools that American schools probably do a better job at educating the whole person, as opposed to pure academics, and I guess this is the point. What is the objective of the schooling exercise? Let's keep in mind that schools serve no present positive purpose (I know people do research at schools, but that's not what I'm talking about). Schools are a classic investment model, where you invest early to achieve desired returns later. I think that with these kids, the desired returns are new doctors and lawyers and university professors. This is a reasonable goal, but I don't think I want any of these types of people teaching or protecting the health and livelihood of my own kids.
One of my frat mates was a guy who studied night and day because he was determined to be a doctor. Watching him, we all thought about what a nightmare it would be if you found yourself in the emergency room one night and this guy was your doctor, because we knew that outside of academics, the guy was an idiot. If you were choosing a professor for your English Literature course, would you pick the one who had spent her whole life studying and practicing for tests and keeping her academic performance at the highest echelon and so had impressive degrees? Or would you prefer the one who took a year off after high school to kayak across the Amazon? Who will be better equipped to put material in context? Let me wrap up with some David Byrne lyrics:
Life has facts, but life is context. Sorry to borrow insight again, but in A Fish Called Wanda, Wanda (Jamie Lee Curtis) insults Otto (Kevin Kline), calling him an ape. "Apes don't read Nietzsche!" he replies and she retorts,"Yes they do, they just don't understand it." The world needs people who understand things, not people who know things.
My father pointed out to me an article in the New York Times about a Korean school where pretty much all the kids go to Ivy League schools and average over 2200 on SATs. He somewhat halfheartedly seemed to be suggesting that there was some merit in their approach. Here's the article, but to summarize it's about 2 elite schools where the students do pretty much nothing but work for 6 AM until at least midnight every day.
Honestly, I find the whole thing disgusting. Aside from the 17 hour days that these kids put in, the focus on Ivy League as a brand name that's desirable as a something to affirm your sense of self worth is almost as disturbing. I've got nothing against hard work. I demand it of my students and of myself, but this just seems wrongheaded in every way. Is this the point of education? Maybe I'm missing a subtext that Korea is a place one wants to escape and that this is an ideal way to do so. Or maybe you can argue that this is kids' work, to do nothing but study until they are old enough to do other work. You can argue that, but you'll never get me to agree.
The article features an admission by the headmaster at one of the elite schools that American schools probably do a better job at educating the whole person, as opposed to pure academics, and I guess this is the point. What is the objective of the schooling exercise? Let's keep in mind that schools serve no present positive purpose (I know people do research at schools, but that's not what I'm talking about). Schools are a classic investment model, where you invest early to achieve desired returns later. I think that with these kids, the desired returns are new doctors and lawyers and university professors. This is a reasonable goal, but I don't think I want any of these types of people teaching or protecting the health and livelihood of my own kids.
One of my frat mates was a guy who studied night and day because he was determined to be a doctor. Watching him, we all thought about what a nightmare it would be if you found yourself in the emergency room one night and this guy was your doctor, because we knew that outside of academics, the guy was an idiot. If you were choosing a professor for your English Literature course, would you pick the one who had spent her whole life studying and practicing for tests and keeping her academic performance at the highest echelon and so had impressive degrees? Or would you prefer the one who took a year off after high school to kayak across the Amazon? Who will be better equipped to put material in context? Let me wrap up with some David Byrne lyrics:
Facts are simple and facts are straight
Facts are lazy and facts are late
Facts all come with points of view
Facts don't do what you want them to...
...Facts are getting the best of us
Facts are nothing on the face of things.
Life has facts, but life is context. Sorry to borrow insight again, but in A Fish Called Wanda, Wanda (Jamie Lee Curtis) insults Otto (Kevin Kline), calling him an ape. "Apes don't read Nietzsche!" he replies and she retorts,"Yes they do, they just don't understand it." The world needs people who understand things, not people who know things.
Rambling Man
Today was oddly reminiscent of the Asheville trip, in that there was lots of fuss in the run up to travel, but everything ended up being pretty much routine. I went to Connecticut to see my mom and dad. My train was at 9:18 and I normally leave the house at around 7:40, drop my daughter at 8, and get home around 8:20. I expected to stop home and organize myself, then head to the station, but I grabbed the important stuff as I left, just in case. As it turned out, today was a case. Lincoln Drive had several accidents on it, which led to delays in both directions and assorted traffic going everywhere trying to detour. As a result, we didn’t get to school until 8:20, but I wasn’t worried because I still had an hour and I could have walked to the station in an hour.
Needless to say, it was impossible to get back to the city, and as I headed toward the last refuge of the vehicularly challenged, Germantown Avenue, at 8:50, I called Amtrak and changed to a later train. Then the miraculous happened and the traffic disappeared and I was suddenly sailing toward the station at 9. At this point, I’m in serious grumble mode, because I know I’m going to arrive at the parking lot at 9:12 and be in time to either just make or just miss the train. So I figure I’ll call Amtrak, and it takes them a long time to get a live person on the phone, and by the time I get an agent I’ll be there and know whether or not I’m on time.
As I write this, it sounds preposterous, because it is, but it actually worked. I pulled into the parking lot and just as I crossed over to the station an agent picked up, as I entered the station at 9:15. Changing the reservation was delayed because he misunderstood the spelling of my name, but it got changed over at 9:17 and I got my tickets and walked down the stairs to the platform as the train pulled into the station.
Oh, and by the way, traffic reports suck.
Today was oddly reminiscent of the Asheville trip, in that there was lots of fuss in the run up to travel, but everything ended up being pretty much routine. I went to Connecticut to see my mom and dad. My train was at 9:18 and I normally leave the house at around 7:40, drop my daughter at 8, and get home around 8:20. I expected to stop home and organize myself, then head to the station, but I grabbed the important stuff as I left, just in case. As it turned out, today was a case. Lincoln Drive had several accidents on it, which led to delays in both directions and assorted traffic going everywhere trying to detour. As a result, we didn’t get to school until 8:20, but I wasn’t worried because I still had an hour and I could have walked to the station in an hour.
Needless to say, it was impossible to get back to the city, and as I headed toward the last refuge of the vehicularly challenged, Germantown Avenue, at 8:50, I called Amtrak and changed to a later train. Then the miraculous happened and the traffic disappeared and I was suddenly sailing toward the station at 9. At this point, I’m in serious grumble mode, because I know I’m going to arrive at the parking lot at 9:12 and be in time to either just make or just miss the train. So I figure I’ll call Amtrak, and it takes them a long time to get a live person on the phone, and by the time I get an agent I’ll be there and know whether or not I’m on time.
As I write this, it sounds preposterous, because it is, but it actually worked. I pulled into the parking lot and just as I crossed over to the station an agent picked up, as I entered the station at 9:15. Changing the reservation was delayed because he misunderstood the spelling of my name, but it got changed over at 9:17 and I got my tickets and walked down the stairs to the platform as the train pulled into the station.
Oh, and by the way, traffic reports suck.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
My visit to North Carolina
Whenever we set off to go anywhere, my late, great friend Richard would always announce in faux Evening News tones, “What began is a simple trip to the grocery store ended in tragedy today for two youths whose car jumped the guardrail and plunged"… or some such thing. I never take a safe trip for granted.
So here’s my report on the trip, picking up from my fun at the PHL airport.
Got to Greenville-Spartanburg airport, right next to the BMW factory. They have a visitor center, but I skipped it. My favorite sign along the way was on a truck for Ingles Supermarket. It featured a picture some tortilla chips with smiling faces on them, and the words, “Nacho typical supermarket.” I have no idea what they’re getting at.
My friend Bennett is a lanky fellow with reddish blonde hair and a large and distinctive beard. He hangs wallpaper for a living and is married to the math chairman at the local college. We met working at day camp at our local town park and became fast friends over mutual enjoyment of sports and music, and he’s a person that it has always made me feel good to be around. He is a voracious reader and the walls of their house are filled with books in every room except the kitchen (actually, I didn’t see their bedroom but I’m guessing there are books there too).
Asheville is a terrific small city in the mountains of western North Carolina. It was built up mostly in the early 20th century and has many fine art deco buildings. The downtown is almost completely free of chain stores and features lots of galleries and restaurants and music clubs, tucked in among the occasional office building. I’m not really sure what the economy is based on, but there are a couple of colleges and lots of college students and street musicians milling around, even on a weekday night.
My one full day there we went to a place called Chimney Rock Park. A couple of pillars separated off from a palisade and created a striking skyline overlooking a lake. You can hike from the bottom of the palisade or drive to a parking lot or take an elevator (!) to the top. We climbed, of course. It’s about 1/3 mile vertically and between 2 and 3 trail miles featuring a memorable number of wooden steps. After you get to the rock, you can hike along the top to a waterfall and cool yourself off in the stream before it plunges over the edge. We wondered how the fish got up to these little pools up on top of a rocky ridge 2000 feet above the main river below.
Then you go down 100 feet or so and make your way along the face of the palisade with sheer rock above and below. Very cool. Then the long but easier climb down. This is a place well worth visiting if you’re ever looking for a weekend getaway. There’s a nice lake a mile away and beautiful country everywhere.
Dinner and a long night of talking about all kinds of things followed. It’s rare that I get the chance to relax and open up. I guess it’s rare for everyone. I was sad to leave the next day, but it was well worth making the trip.
Whenever we set off to go anywhere, my late, great friend Richard would always announce in faux Evening News tones, “What began is a simple trip to the grocery store ended in tragedy today for two youths whose car jumped the guardrail and plunged"… or some such thing. I never take a safe trip for granted.
So here’s my report on the trip, picking up from my fun at the PHL airport.
Got to Greenville-Spartanburg airport, right next to the BMW factory. They have a visitor center, but I skipped it. My favorite sign along the way was on a truck for Ingles Supermarket. It featured a picture some tortilla chips with smiling faces on them, and the words, “Nacho typical supermarket.” I have no idea what they’re getting at.
My friend Bennett is a lanky fellow with reddish blonde hair and a large and distinctive beard. He hangs wallpaper for a living and is married to the math chairman at the local college. We met working at day camp at our local town park and became fast friends over mutual enjoyment of sports and music, and he’s a person that it has always made me feel good to be around. He is a voracious reader and the walls of their house are filled with books in every room except the kitchen (actually, I didn’t see their bedroom but I’m guessing there are books there too).
Asheville is a terrific small city in the mountains of western North Carolina. It was built up mostly in the early 20th century and has many fine art deco buildings. The downtown is almost completely free of chain stores and features lots of galleries and restaurants and music clubs, tucked in among the occasional office building. I’m not really sure what the economy is based on, but there are a couple of colleges and lots of college students and street musicians milling around, even on a weekday night.
My one full day there we went to a place called Chimney Rock Park. A couple of pillars separated off from a palisade and created a striking skyline overlooking a lake. You can hike from the bottom of the palisade or drive to a parking lot or take an elevator (!) to the top. We climbed, of course. It’s about 1/3 mile vertically and between 2 and 3 trail miles featuring a memorable number of wooden steps. After you get to the rock, you can hike along the top to a waterfall and cool yourself off in the stream before it plunges over the edge. We wondered how the fish got up to these little pools up on top of a rocky ridge 2000 feet above the main river below.
Then you go down 100 feet or so and make your way along the face of the palisade with sheer rock above and below. Very cool. Then the long but easier climb down. This is a place well worth visiting if you’re ever looking for a weekend getaway. There’s a nice lake a mile away and beautiful country everywhere.
Dinner and a long night of talking about all kinds of things followed. It’s rare that I get the chance to relax and open up. I guess it’s rare for everyone. I was sad to leave the next day, but it was well worth making the trip.
BFF
I just completed a visit to Asheville, North Carolina (actually in a small town outside) visiting my best friend from high school and his wife, whom I have known since she was in high school. It’s a little freaky to think you’ve known someone for 37 years and I’ve probably only seen them a half dozen times in the last 10 years. It is, however, very comforting to spend the time together and realize that you are still on the same wavelength and still simpatico after such a long time (I haven’t seen them since my 50th birthday, 2 ½ years ago). This is the first time I’ve come down here to see them, as opposed to their coming to see me, and the first time it’s been just us, as opposed to being part of a group.
Friendship can be a funny thing as an adult. You make friends easily as a kid, but it gets harder as you get older and your lives become more separate from those of your peers. You really have to make an effort, and I don’t feel like I really make that effort often enough. I’m not anti-social, but I’m not very social either, and I don’t spend nearly as much time with friends as I’d like to.
I just completed a visit to Asheville, North Carolina (actually in a small town outside) visiting my best friend from high school and his wife, whom I have known since she was in high school. It’s a little freaky to think you’ve known someone for 37 years and I’ve probably only seen them a half dozen times in the last 10 years. It is, however, very comforting to spend the time together and realize that you are still on the same wavelength and still simpatico after such a long time (I haven’t seen them since my 50th birthday, 2 ½ years ago). This is the first time I’ve come down here to see them, as opposed to their coming to see me, and the first time it’s been just us, as opposed to being part of a group.
Friendship can be a funny thing as an adult. You make friends easily as a kid, but it gets harder as you get older and your lives become more separate from those of your peers. You really have to make an effort, and I don’t feel like I really make that effort often enough. I’m not anti-social, but I’m not very social either, and I don’t spend nearly as much time with friends as I’d like to.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Travel Day
I know that people write lots of stuff about airports, but for someone who is easily amused they provide oodles of entertainment. I’m traveling solo today, a rarity now but extremely common back in the day, and I’m glad, because I rushed around enough to totally muddle my brain and allow me to do pretty much everything wrong on my way in.
First, I didn’t check the gate, so I parked at the absolute worst terminal. I could have moved, but I’ve heard so many horror stories about security lines that I decided not to. I had to go from Terminal B to Terminal F, which are about 2 letters apart. I thought I’d just walk my bags over there, but as soon as I went through security I was reminded that I’d brought a bottle of wine as a “come with” gift, and you can’t bring that through security because…well, because I don’t know, but you can’t. So the security agent led me back out through security (the line is much shorter in that direction, by the way) and suggested I check my bag downstairs while comforting me by telling me that what I did wasn’t nearly as stupid as the guy who had a $500 handgun in his bag and had it confiscated a few days ago.
I checked my bag and went through security again, got some coffee and decided to walk to terminal F, but the sign on the walkway said I’d have to clear security again when I got to terminal F, and I really didn’t want to take my shoes off again, so I took the shuttle bus. It’s a huge bus, plenty big enough for me and the other woman and the driver, and almost, but not quite, too big to maneuver around the airport. When you take the shuttle bus you get a close-up view of the workings of an airport. We passed what looked like a huge dome tent that had a complicated-looking bag belt. I imagined my poor bag trying to navigate it. Then we passed a large locked bin with a sign that said Satellite Accumulation Area, and I was not able to conjure up any idea of what might have been accumulated inside it. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t satellites, though.
Finally at Terminal F, I find a place to plug in my laptop (hint: think like a cleaning person), but find that it’s $7.99 for Internet access. Awful. So this is being post-posted.
Arrived safe and sound in Greenville-Spartanburg, SC, where they have free Internet access.
I know that people write lots of stuff about airports, but for someone who is easily amused they provide oodles of entertainment. I’m traveling solo today, a rarity now but extremely common back in the day, and I’m glad, because I rushed around enough to totally muddle my brain and allow me to do pretty much everything wrong on my way in.
First, I didn’t check the gate, so I parked at the absolute worst terminal. I could have moved, but I’ve heard so many horror stories about security lines that I decided not to. I had to go from Terminal B to Terminal F, which are about 2 letters apart. I thought I’d just walk my bags over there, but as soon as I went through security I was reminded that I’d brought a bottle of wine as a “come with” gift, and you can’t bring that through security because…well, because I don’t know, but you can’t. So the security agent led me back out through security (the line is much shorter in that direction, by the way) and suggested I check my bag downstairs while comforting me by telling me that what I did wasn’t nearly as stupid as the guy who had a $500 handgun in his bag and had it confiscated a few days ago.
I checked my bag and went through security again, got some coffee and decided to walk to terminal F, but the sign on the walkway said I’d have to clear security again when I got to terminal F, and I really didn’t want to take my shoes off again, so I took the shuttle bus. It’s a huge bus, plenty big enough for me and the other woman and the driver, and almost, but not quite, too big to maneuver around the airport. When you take the shuttle bus you get a close-up view of the workings of an airport. We passed what looked like a huge dome tent that had a complicated-looking bag belt. I imagined my poor bag trying to navigate it. Then we passed a large locked bin with a sign that said Satellite Accumulation Area, and I was not able to conjure up any idea of what might have been accumulated inside it. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t satellites, though.
Finally at Terminal F, I find a place to plug in my laptop (hint: think like a cleaning person), but find that it’s $7.99 for Internet access. Awful. So this is being post-posted.
Arrived safe and sound in Greenville-Spartanburg, SC, where they have free Internet access.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Naycation
This is the least vacationy vacation ever. Kids are in school, so I can't sleep in. Busy all weekend. Not much relaxation. Actually, I'm going to visit friends in North Carolina for a couple of days, so that should be a nice respite. Maybe I'll get some sleep too.
I heard the best thing ever on the radio today. A woman called in to a sports talk show and said it always drove her crazy how some kids would blink and flinch when the ball came at them, so when she had a baby she bought a foam rubber ball and once the baby could sit up she started regularly throwing it at his head, so that he'd get used to it. Isn't that brilliant? I bet this could work for other things too. Maybe you could condition your kid to not be afraid of bugs and snakes and things like that by surrounding him with them from the day he was born. Of course, it's hard to know in advance if you're getting them used to it or scarring them for life, but what the heck. People are funny.
This is the least vacationy vacation ever. Kids are in school, so I can't sleep in. Busy all weekend. Not much relaxation. Actually, I'm going to visit friends in North Carolina for a couple of days, so that should be a nice respite. Maybe I'll get some sleep too.
I heard the best thing ever on the radio today. A woman called in to a sports talk show and said it always drove her crazy how some kids would blink and flinch when the ball came at them, so when she had a baby she bought a foam rubber ball and once the baby could sit up she started regularly throwing it at his head, so that he'd get used to it. Isn't that brilliant? I bet this could work for other things too. Maybe you could condition your kid to not be afraid of bugs and snakes and things like that by surrounding him with them from the day he was born. Of course, it's hard to know in advance if you're getting them used to it or scarring them for life, but what the heck. People are funny.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Chaos
Edward Lorenz died a couple of days ago. If you thought that the only contribution a meteorologist could make to the world was reminding you to take an umbrella to work, Lorenz is proof otherwise. You've probably never heard of him, but you're aware of his work. Here's a short version of the story:
Lorenz was running a weather simulation programs on a computer. At one point, he wanted to take one of his earlier simulations and re-run it for a longer period. This was 1961 and computers were pretty feeble, so he had to reenter all the data. A couple days into the simulation, the weather pattern of the 2nd run diverged and took a completely different pattern from the first. It should have been identical. In trying to find out why it wasn't, Lorenz re-checked his numbers and found that the printouts he used to re-run the model had rounded the data to 3 decimal places, while the original data input was to 6 decimal places. Even though the change was less than .1%, this was enough to completely change the results (there's a rounding lesson in here, BTW). Further exploration led him to postulate the so-called "Butterfly Effect," that it was impossible to accurately predict long-term weather because a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil could ultimately lead to a tornado in Texas.
These findings led to an entire area of scientific exploration called chaos theory. Aside from demonstrating that it would be impossible to accurately predict weather (you'd need to know an infinite number of inputs simultaneously), it extends to any complex system (so pretty much everything in nature) in that small changes can cause significant and unpredictable results.
So if you think your life is chaotic, this is the guy you can thank for it. Not really, but if we wonder why it's so hard to really understand relatively things, Lorenz is one of the people who can give us insight.
Edward Lorenz died a couple of days ago. If you thought that the only contribution a meteorologist could make to the world was reminding you to take an umbrella to work, Lorenz is proof otherwise. You've probably never heard of him, but you're aware of his work. Here's a short version of the story:
Lorenz was running a weather simulation programs on a computer. At one point, he wanted to take one of his earlier simulations and re-run it for a longer period. This was 1961 and computers were pretty feeble, so he had to reenter all the data. A couple days into the simulation, the weather pattern of the 2nd run diverged and took a completely different pattern from the first. It should have been identical. In trying to find out why it wasn't, Lorenz re-checked his numbers and found that the printouts he used to re-run the model had rounded the data to 3 decimal places, while the original data input was to 6 decimal places. Even though the change was less than .1%, this was enough to completely change the results (there's a rounding lesson in here, BTW). Further exploration led him to postulate the so-called "Butterfly Effect," that it was impossible to accurately predict long-term weather because a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil could ultimately lead to a tornado in Texas.
These findings led to an entire area of scientific exploration called chaos theory. Aside from demonstrating that it would be impossible to accurately predict weather (you'd need to know an infinite number of inputs simultaneously), it extends to any complex system (so pretty much everything in nature) in that small changes can cause significant and unpredictable results.
So if you think your life is chaotic, this is the guy you can thank for it. Not really, but if we wonder why it's so hard to really understand relatively things, Lorenz is one of the people who can give us insight.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Debate
I didn't watch the so-called debate tonight. I just saw clips and read excerpts. From what I could see, this debate was to debate what reality TV is to reality. Somewhat related, but not in any substanitive way. Flag pins? Weather Underground? Who cares?
To me, this underscores why Clinton needs to drop out of the race. Not because she isn't a good candidate. She is, but statistically she can't win, and it's going to be hard enough for a Democrat to win in the current vapid, right-wing-dominated media environment without them bashing each other (although it's mostly Clinton bashing Obama) using Republican talking points.
I didn't watch the so-called debate tonight. I just saw clips and read excerpts. From what I could see, this debate was to debate what reality TV is to reality. Somewhat related, but not in any substanitive way. Flag pins? Weather Underground? Who cares?
To me, this underscores why Clinton needs to drop out of the race. Not because she isn't a good candidate. She is, but statistically she can't win, and it's going to be hard enough for a Democrat to win in the current vapid, right-wing-dominated media environment without them bashing each other (although it's mostly Clinton bashing Obama) using Republican talking points.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
A few random thoughts
Until recently, I was unaware that it was possible for a person to ride a bicycle for 18 miles and whine the entire time.
Tax day is always like a little party at the post office, except for the actual party part. It's a remarkably cheerful scene around here. If you go down to the main post office at 30th street, there's live remotes from radio stations and all kinds of promotional stuff going on, and it's open until midnight, so the good times just keep on coming.
The biggest marketing event of the year is in progress now. I'm speaking, of course, about the Starbucks relaunch. Starbucks is a business classic tale of success leading to overexpansion leading to decline. In all of these stories at some point someone notices that something's gone off the rails and frantically tries to get the company back on track. That's what's going on with them now and we won't know if it'll help for many months. At the moment, all I know is that they're ditching the green logo on the cups (are they going to make their signs brown too? Ugh.) and everything has the word "fresh" on it. We'll eventualy see if there's a strategy behind this or if they're trying out lots of unrelated things to see what works, though that's usually a recipe for disaster.
Until recently, I was unaware that it was possible for a person to ride a bicycle for 18 miles and whine the entire time.
Tax day is always like a little party at the post office, except for the actual party part. It's a remarkably cheerful scene around here. If you go down to the main post office at 30th street, there's live remotes from radio stations and all kinds of promotional stuff going on, and it's open until midnight, so the good times just keep on coming.
The biggest marketing event of the year is in progress now. I'm speaking, of course, about the Starbucks relaunch. Starbucks is a business classic tale of success leading to overexpansion leading to decline. In all of these stories at some point someone notices that something's gone off the rails and frantically tries to get the company back on track. That's what's going on with them now and we won't know if it'll help for many months. At the moment, all I know is that they're ditching the green logo on the cups (are they going to make their signs brown too? Ugh.) and everything has the word "fresh" on it. We'll eventualy see if there's a strategy behind this or if they're trying out lots of unrelated things to see what works, though that's usually a recipe for disaster.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Brooklyn again
We went to see our friends in Brooklyn again. They had blankets this time (apparently, their daughter had used them to make a large tent in her room last time), but it was pretty warm anyway. Park Slope is a great area. I think I lived there briefly, and I went to school there for kindergarten and first grade. We went out to buy some food for dinner and I held my friend's dog while he went into the cheese shop. Really first class people watching, with the classic New York scene of two guys walking along the street, hair, face and arms completely painted, one in tiger stripes and the other in rainbow tie-die. Of course, nobody even gives them a glance as they walk by. What a city.
The play we saw, Sizwe Bansi is Dead, is an apartheid era South African play, which I first saw in London in 1974. It was more powerful back then, with apartheid still in effect (it didn't begin to change until the late 1980s) and Nelson Mandela in jail (again, until the late '80's). It's a bit of a relic now, but still an interesting study in what makes up one's identity. A quick synopsis: an illiterate black man, Sizwe Bansi leaves a dessert town where there are no jobs to try to get work in the nearest city. He lacks a permit to work there, and the police stamp his "dom book" (internal passport) that he must return to his home. Before leaving he goes out drinking with an acquaintance and they happen upon a dead body in an alley. They take his dom book, which has the proper work permit. So Sizwe must decide if he wants to stay and work, but give up his identity, or go home. And it's funny!
Identity is always a tricky area to tread into. I have no attachment to my name at all- I don't think it's really part of me. So what constitutes my identity? Is it what people think of me? I'd hate to think that the essence of one's self is externally imposed. And on at least some level I don't really care what most people think about me, because I'm pretty sure that most people don't spend any time thinking about me.
Is it what I think about myself? We all know our share of people with a pretty significant disconnect between what they think of themselves and the kind of person that they really are. Is it a kind of objective judgment of your actions? Your intentions? Your upbringing? The moral choices you make? I've chosen to try to be a particular type of person and have figured out a pretty consistent way that I think I can accomplish that. But I'm naturally kind of introspective and I was a psychology major and had my share of therapy years back, so maybe I'm better equipped than most to create an identity for myself.
So how about everyone else? I have no idea what constitutes identity to even my closest friends. Do they even think about it? It's not the kind of thing you discuss over dinner. So I guess the play was worthwhile if it got me thinking this way.
We went to see our friends in Brooklyn again. They had blankets this time (apparently, their daughter had used them to make a large tent in her room last time), but it was pretty warm anyway. Park Slope is a great area. I think I lived there briefly, and I went to school there for kindergarten and first grade. We went out to buy some food for dinner and I held my friend's dog while he went into the cheese shop. Really first class people watching, with the classic New York scene of two guys walking along the street, hair, face and arms completely painted, one in tiger stripes and the other in rainbow tie-die. Of course, nobody even gives them a glance as they walk by. What a city.
The play we saw, Sizwe Bansi is Dead, is an apartheid era South African play, which I first saw in London in 1974. It was more powerful back then, with apartheid still in effect (it didn't begin to change until the late 1980s) and Nelson Mandela in jail (again, until the late '80's). It's a bit of a relic now, but still an interesting study in what makes up one's identity. A quick synopsis: an illiterate black man, Sizwe Bansi leaves a dessert town where there are no jobs to try to get work in the nearest city. He lacks a permit to work there, and the police stamp his "dom book" (internal passport) that he must return to his home. Before leaving he goes out drinking with an acquaintance and they happen upon a dead body in an alley. They take his dom book, which has the proper work permit. So Sizwe must decide if he wants to stay and work, but give up his identity, or go home. And it's funny!
Identity is always a tricky area to tread into. I have no attachment to my name at all- I don't think it's really part of me. So what constitutes my identity? Is it what people think of me? I'd hate to think that the essence of one's self is externally imposed. And on at least some level I don't really care what most people think about me, because I'm pretty sure that most people don't spend any time thinking about me.
Is it what I think about myself? We all know our share of people with a pretty significant disconnect between what they think of themselves and the kind of person that they really are. Is it a kind of objective judgment of your actions? Your intentions? Your upbringing? The moral choices you make? I've chosen to try to be a particular type of person and have figured out a pretty consistent way that I think I can accomplish that. But I'm naturally kind of introspective and I was a psychology major and had my share of therapy years back, so maybe I'm better equipped than most to create an identity for myself.
So how about everyone else? I have no idea what constitutes identity to even my closest friends. Do they even think about it? It's not the kind of thing you discuss over dinner. So I guess the play was worthwhile if it got me thinking this way.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Voice Mail
As long as I've been using voice mail and its prehistoric ancestor, the answering machine, it's still a little odd to call your house and have yourself answer the phone. And before you say that that's ridiculous, everybody knows it's just a recording, then why do 90% of the people who leave messages do so as if they're talking to me? There's nothing wrong about any of this, it's just not natural, that's all.
As long as I've been using voice mail and its prehistoric ancestor, the answering machine, it's still a little odd to call your house and have yourself answer the phone. And before you say that that's ridiculous, everybody knows it's just a recording, then why do 90% of the people who leave messages do so as if they're talking to me? There's nothing wrong about any of this, it's just not natural, that's all.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Politics
The most interesting aspect of the campaign to date (putting aside the astonishing fact that the Democratic nominee will be either a black man or a woman) is the discovery that evangelical Christians are not this monolithic force that's concerned solely with abortion and gay rights. There's a front page article in today's Inquirer that mirrors what I'd heard from other sources, that younger evangelicals, though concerned with abortion and gay rights, are more focused on poverty, health care and the environment, saying that these are really more important parts of Jesus' teachings. I always wondered about this; why, when Christian doctrine is so rich and diverse and potentially such a force for good, that it's been hijacked by a few people with big microphones and political ambitions. It looks like the pendulum may start to swing the other way. We may have President Bush to thank for this, with his wearing his Christianity on his sleeve and while promoting policies that are contrary to the most important parts of Chritianity. We'll have to see.
The most interesting aspect of the campaign to date (putting aside the astonishing fact that the Democratic nominee will be either a black man or a woman) is the discovery that evangelical Christians are not this monolithic force that's concerned solely with abortion and gay rights. There's a front page article in today's Inquirer that mirrors what I'd heard from other sources, that younger evangelicals, though concerned with abortion and gay rights, are more focused on poverty, health care and the environment, saying that these are really more important parts of Jesus' teachings. I always wondered about this; why, when Christian doctrine is so rich and diverse and potentially such a force for good, that it's been hijacked by a few people with big microphones and political ambitions. It looks like the pendulum may start to swing the other way. We may have President Bush to thank for this, with his wearing his Christianity on his sleeve and while promoting policies that are contrary to the most important parts of Chritianity. We'll have to see.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Music Question
How does a band keep its vitality? I was listening to an ad on XM for an R.E.M. special where they’ll play songs from their new album. I was a little late to catch on to R.E.M., but at their peak they were pretty special. “Automatic for the People” is one of my favorite albums. But it’s clear from their last couple of releases and listening to the little clips on the show that they have nothing new to offer. It’s a conundrum. You’re good because you have a unique sound, but after a while you have to evolve or die, and evolution is fraught with peril. If you change too much, you run a real risk of losing what made you attractive in the first place and you turn off your most ardent fans. But what happens far more often is a kind of incremental change, where I’m sure the band really feels like they’re doing something new but within a familiar milieu. Unfortunately, to even a discriminating listener it all starts to sound the same. R.E.M. is dealing with exactly that. The differences are so subtle as to seem nonexistent, although I’m sure R.E.M. feels otherwise.
It’s a rare artist who escapes this trap. Prince and Paul Simon come to mind, but even bands for the ages like the Rolling Stones or megastar singer-songwriters like Bruce Springsteen start to sound recycled after a while. Prince has proven to be an absolute master at reinventing himself, aided by the prolific volume of material he creates. From what I know about him, he has hundreds of songs to chose from for any album. Paul Simon, who’s been around a lot longer, has managed to adapt his sound to a number of styles that are distinctly unlike his own. “Graceland,” which he created while immersing himself in South African music, is a masterpiece because he miraculously manages to fuse his own subtle wit and ear for a hook with the joy and soul and exuberance of South Africa.
So I’ve asked the question, but I don’t feel like I’m anywhere close to an answer. Aside from both being very short it's hard for me to come up with anything Prince and Paul Simon have in common.
How does a band keep its vitality? I was listening to an ad on XM for an R.E.M. special where they’ll play songs from their new album. I was a little late to catch on to R.E.M., but at their peak they were pretty special. “Automatic for the People” is one of my favorite albums. But it’s clear from their last couple of releases and listening to the little clips on the show that they have nothing new to offer. It’s a conundrum. You’re good because you have a unique sound, but after a while you have to evolve or die, and evolution is fraught with peril. If you change too much, you run a real risk of losing what made you attractive in the first place and you turn off your most ardent fans. But what happens far more often is a kind of incremental change, where I’m sure the band really feels like they’re doing something new but within a familiar milieu. Unfortunately, to even a discriminating listener it all starts to sound the same. R.E.M. is dealing with exactly that. The differences are so subtle as to seem nonexistent, although I’m sure R.E.M. feels otherwise.
It’s a rare artist who escapes this trap. Prince and Paul Simon come to mind, but even bands for the ages like the Rolling Stones or megastar singer-songwriters like Bruce Springsteen start to sound recycled after a while. Prince has proven to be an absolute master at reinventing himself, aided by the prolific volume of material he creates. From what I know about him, he has hundreds of songs to chose from for any album. Paul Simon, who’s been around a lot longer, has managed to adapt his sound to a number of styles that are distinctly unlike his own. “Graceland,” which he created while immersing himself in South African music, is a masterpiece because he miraculously manages to fuse his own subtle wit and ear for a hook with the joy and soul and exuberance of South Africa.
So I’ve asked the question, but I don’t feel like I’m anywhere close to an answer. Aside from both being very short it's hard for me to come up with anything Prince and Paul Simon have in common.
Prom
I never went to a prom when I was in high school. I usually blame this on our moving when I was in 10th grade, leaving me to try to establish myself socially with a bunch of kids who’d known each other since first grade. But the truth is that I was too shy and introspective to ask anyone, including one girl that I actually liked who clearly wanted me to ask her. Don’t ask me to explain why; I don’t know, it’s a mystery. I had a girlfriend that I met in the temple Youth Group when I was in 10th grade, but she moved to Chicago and I ended up sitting both the junior and senior proms out. I hung out with a group that was nerdy enough that most of them didn’t go either, so it wasn’t completely devastating, but the fact that I remember details makes one think that it felt significant.
I never went to a prom when I was in high school. I usually blame this on our moving when I was in 10th grade, leaving me to try to establish myself socially with a bunch of kids who’d known each other since first grade. But the truth is that I was too shy and introspective to ask anyone, including one girl that I actually liked who clearly wanted me to ask her. Don’t ask me to explain why; I don’t know, it’s a mystery. I had a girlfriend that I met in the temple Youth Group when I was in 10th grade, but she moved to Chicago and I ended up sitting both the junior and senior proms out. I hung out with a group that was nerdy enough that most of them didn’t go either, so it wasn’t completely devastating, but the fact that I remember details makes one think that it felt significant.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Back to Blogging
There's an old fable about a frog and a scorpion. The scorpion wants to cross a river but can't swim, so he asks a frog. The frog say, "No way, you'll just sting me and I'll die." The scorpion says, "That's ridiculous, if I sting you I'll drown, so what are you worried about." The frog mulls it over and decides he'll give the scorpion a ride. Halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog. "Why did you do that", says the frog as they begin to sink, "now we'll both die." The scorpion replied, "It's my nature." (BTW, extra points for telling me what movie that story figures prominently in- no, it's not a Disney)
A lot of old sayings are pretty annoying, whether or not there is any truth in them. I always found myself particularly irritated by "Tis better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." I suppose there's nothing wrong with preferring to have some light, but what's the point of cursing darkness? Darkness is dark; that's what it is, and cursing something for its essential nature is just stupid. I find myself walking out of the classroom muttering something about the f-ing chalk all over my hands, but chalk is chalky. If it doesn't get on your hands, it's probably not going to do such a hot job on the blackboard. Can't blame paper for the mess on my desk either.
There's an old fable about a frog and a scorpion. The scorpion wants to cross a river but can't swim, so he asks a frog. The frog say, "No way, you'll just sting me and I'll die." The scorpion says, "That's ridiculous, if I sting you I'll drown, so what are you worried about." The frog mulls it over and decides he'll give the scorpion a ride. Halfway across, the scorpion stings the frog. "Why did you do that", says the frog as they begin to sink, "now we'll both die." The scorpion replied, "It's my nature." (BTW, extra points for telling me what movie that story figures prominently in- no, it's not a Disney)
A lot of old sayings are pretty annoying, whether or not there is any truth in them. I always found myself particularly irritated by "Tis better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." I suppose there's nothing wrong with preferring to have some light, but what's the point of cursing darkness? Darkness is dark; that's what it is, and cursing something for its essential nature is just stupid. I find myself walking out of the classroom muttering something about the f-ing chalk all over my hands, but chalk is chalky. If it doesn't get on your hands, it's probably not going to do such a hot job on the blackboard. Can't blame paper for the mess on my desk either.
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