The Marks We Share

As I prepare to leave the reunion I’m washed under the same kind of thoughts that accompanied my graduation. I feel blessed to have been a part of this college, this institution. I feel remarkably sad at the prospect of the great distances that are about to be put between these people, about whom I care deeply, and myself. It’s a more acute version of the sadness that follows a birthday and birthday party. It is the moment of dawning realization, the moment where you realize that tomorrow won’t be hedonistically focused on making you feel special and loved. Tomorrow you won’t be entitled to expect perfect moments of encapsulated joy; tomorrow it’s back to the task of carving out a life. Tomorrow it’s back to assumed anonymity rather than expected recognition.

I was immensely fortunate. Out of the roughly 600 people in the graduating class something like 65 class of ’01 folks showed up. Of those were many of the people who most shaped my Oberlin experience. There were certainly people whom I would have loved to have seen (Ann, Ellen, Beth, Rachel). But to see Aaron, Neil, Dave, Josh, JKD, Ben and Naomi as well as Melissa and Noah felt like a fulfilling reunion.

The reunion was a chance for people to remind one another of moments of glory and moments of imfamy. Old nicknames resurfaced and "whatever happened to" session broke out like dandelions in an abandoned field, each querry sparking a new round. There were numerous moments where a story, in which I played a role, was told and I felt like I was hearing it for the first time. People you never liked before you weren’t forced to love now, but you had to admit that seeing them made the experience fuller. Each of us addressed or confronted old traumas, challenging old demons in the face of old friends…and in the end while some had left scars none had left us disfigured or embittered.

We’ve left Oberlin only to return as if for the first time. In some ways we’ve regressed to near copies of our first week freshman year selves. We cling to our groups; cleave to anyone who, by their presence alone, will suggest that we have friends here. The fear and timidity of freshman year is nothing like that of the newly reunited. As freshman, while afraid and lonely, we recognized that each of us faced the same new problems. But at the reunion there is a sense that everyone else knows more people, has more friends and may just have had a more meaningful time at Oberlin. The intervening years have brought definition and purpose, heartbreak and joy and yet we’re terrified to face our classmates without a brace of Obies. We travel in amorphous packs to bathrooms, dinners and events. The worst fear is that you’ll be left alone, or arrive and be lonely.

It’s been just under 8 years since I first set foot on Oberlin’s campus (as a student). The experience of Oberlin and memories and friendships formed there have in many ways dominated the better part of a third of my life. Neil and I were talking and we realized that the change you see between an old high school friend and an old college friend is remarkable. High schoolers are nearly raw clay ready for formation into vases or bowls, cups or plates. College kids seem to be once fired pieces, all that remains is some kind of finishing glaze. The changes I saw in my friends over the first 4 years I knew them dwarf whatever changes the past four have brought. Being back at Oberlin only reinforces that knowledge. Walking past the building which brought structure and order to those changes just works to remind me (and I think us) that we are very much the same person we were when we left and not at all the same person as when we arrived. Oberlin has marked us, has made us pieces that fit together. Not quite a matching set, but certainly complimentary.

Vin Diesel Once Invented a Plane with No Wings

It's 9:54 am at Oberlin. Despite going to bed at 3:45 I woke up at 8:30. Hooray!

I've been wandering the internet for a while this morning and found this site.

http://www.4q.cc/vin/
It's wonderful, it gives you fun facts about vin diesel. When the page loads just hit refresh and enjoy.

For instance:

Vin Diesel is not in fact bald, but has discover the secret of limited invisibility.
Vin Diesel is so tall that his field of vision goes all the way around the world, and he can see his own ass.
It was Vin Diesel's idea to glue staples together in columns. Before that, they just came in singles.
Vin Diesel Once ate seven orangutans after losing a game of Go Fish to Jesus.
If God made a burrito so hot that even He could not eat it, Vin Diesel would eat it with Fire sauce from Taco Bell.

My favorite:
Vin Diesel once invented a plane with no wings. He put wheels underneath it and called it a train.

Oberlin.Blogspot Live from Oberlin

I'm at my reunion. Not my 5th year reunion...my fourth. But because of an inane clustering system (whereby I'm paired with 2000, and 1999 grads) it's my time to shine and remember. It's truly stunning to be back. I've been back before, but never when other friends were here, and never during nice weather. It's wonderful. I met friends and went for a few drinks at the Feve (local reference). Then played frisbee on Tappan square. I saw an Ex. Though I think that she and her boyfriend did not see me. I saw old student senators and friends from Seattle. (3 in fact). I'm writing from a single dorm room in East. It's incredible to be here. It smells and feels just like the first day moving in. I feel like I'm this over experienced freshman reclaiming my four years. I'm in a particularly nostaligic point in my life, transitions and changes will do that to a person: but I love it here. Later tonight I'm sure more alcohol will be consumed, stories told and heartstrings tugged upon. Then tomorrow is the alumni frisbee game and other wonderousness. I'm sure to injure myself playing tomorrow, and would expect nothing less. I feel like I'm playing to prove to others that I could have played before. The thing is they don't care, not out of malice but because I never registered that high on the scale to be concerned about my abilities. So we'll see about tomorrow, I'm just hoping I don't play too hard and seem like the guy who doesn't realize it's just for fun. Because this whole weekend, all of it, it's just for fun. Nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Wild Kingdom...and Aaron

I made it safely home. The connection here is sorta screwy so I already lost a wildy funny, insightful pulitzer worthy post...so you'll just have to settle for this crap.

Bison

According to the park materials bison are the largest land mammals in North America (I'd have guessed Grizzlies, but who am I to quibble with authoritative signage). This guy and I came much closer right after the photo, to within about 8 feet, at which distance you fully believe the park pamphlet which cautions against bison maulings. Those horns seem wholly capable of turning my skin into a pulpy mass. So suffice to say I was happy when mr bison decided to move off of the path I was walking.

Bear

By way of direct contrast with Mr. Bison, this black bear seemed very tame and cuddly...though I have to imagine that hundreds of feet and a river helped me to warm to it.

Mountain Goats

These goats were just hanging off the side of a mountain as I drove by. I stopped on the highway (not an advisable move) and took this and a few other photos of them.

more photos at http://www.extra-vaganza.blogspot.com

Photos From the Road

In a surprising turn of events I have wireless access here in Cody Wyoming. Go figure.

I'm posting a photo from my first day.

This is the Madison River at sunset. Across the stream from me are a herd of bison. More on my close encounters with bison later. Suffice to say, they are very large animals, and even larger at a short distance.



It's prettier in person, but you weren't there so you just have to take my word for it.

The second photo is one of my favorite travel photos. It's taken along the highway just as you turn onto 287 to go to Yellowstone. It's a tremendous place, and I'm proud of the photo.

My bags are packed

As a child I detested change. It caused me no end of nervousness and abject terror. A new grade in school was enough to make me cry. Any deviation from safe and regular patterns was scary, and to be avoided.

And then I grew up and chose this life and this lifestyle. I've chosen to live and work in every time zone in the Continental US (and don't think I'm not ready to come over there Hawaii and you too Alaska). Since leaving college (a major change to be certain) I've lived for some time in seven states. I've had two incredible romantic relationships and made friends by the campaign load. Somehow a child who feared change has become a man who can deal with it. I don't like it. But I do it, over and again. I'm hoping that moving to Washington means a respite from nomadic life, but when the next great chance to work for the next great candidate calls in a year or two I may be right back in the Saturn heading West or South or who knows where.

My apartment is empty. I'm sitting on the newly scrubbed floors having loaded all my belongings into the car. And the song "Leaving on a Jet Plane" keeps floating in and out of my consciousness. When I was very little and would wake in the middle of the night crying my mother or father would take me from my crib and pace with me. Each of them would sing that song to me. It's not the most reassuring song, it's about being left and leaving. It's about uncertainity and about losing something that you love. But I can't help but wonder if somewhere in all those loving renditions my folks didn't plant just a small seed of acceptance, a small notion that it's alright to leave. It's alright to move and grow to travel and risk. So now it's that time. My bags are packed, and I'm ready to go. Again.

If you’re gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

Friday evening I went out with some friends from frisbee for a drink and dinner. One of my friends works a bit doing web consulting but really makes his money playing online poker, and the other friend aspired to do the same. This was finally my chance to figure out why poker has this magical svengali like grip on 20-30 year old white males. Turns out I still don't quite get it, but I'm sadly starting to see. They explained to me how to go online and set up an account. Went home and did so, just for curiosity's sake. Went into a 7 card hold 'em room. (I should point out I'm playing in the free rooms, no real money for me). At this point it seems fair and right to point out that I don't really understand poker. I have a vague sense of how it works, and I have watched it a few times when other television options failed to entice. I know how it works in the same way I know how my car works. I know that if it's on fire that's bad, and if it were say a bentley that that might be nice. Short of that, I leave it to the professionals. For some reason though I decided that poker was more about luck than learning, and hell it's only electrons, it's not real money.

Now for those of you similarly poker challenged there are all kinds of hands that beat other hands. Sadly my notion of what *should* beat another hand does not conform with reality. For instance...I figure anytime you have a pair or three cards that should beat everything except four of those cards. This is not the case. What moron cares about have 5 hearts if they are the 3,5,6,8 and 10. That's just stupid. My 2 Aces should certainly kick your crappy hearts' asses. And yet no. In fact it's not even close. So while I know the rule, I think it's dumb, and therefore pretty much ignore it. Which I do to my great and consistent detriment.

Another thing...straights. I played yatzee...I know about straights, though sadly in poker there's no such thing as a small straight (would that there were for my pretend bank account). Also, and I was prety sure this was the case (though am very sure now) you cannot go around the Ace. So for instance my seemingly lucrative hand of King-Ace-Two-Three-Four...turns out to be pretty impotent against nearly everything else.

Finally I believe in probability. But sometimes I slip into a way of thinking where my sheer will to receive a Jack will be enough to make it so. This, I believe, is a bad approach to gambling--what with it requiring nothing short of magic to enable its success. Turns out the force...not so much with me.

So how did I in my first forray into online poker. I cleaned up. I messed people up like snow in DC. I have to figure it's a combination of several nearly irreplicable factors. 1. It's pretend money. No one bets as cavalierly and irregularly as I do when it's real money. It's hard to prepare for a strategy that seems based on star charts and not the cards. 2. I drew very well. I realized early on that when I have a good hand I bet it a lot, and when I have a bad hand I fold. Simple enough, but it negates the principle that "I'm due" and it forced me to realize that no matter how much I wanted the next card to be perfect....it just wasn't that likely.

I was playing 25 cent raise but with no limit. I guess that means you have to raise at least a quarter, and eventually as the betting goes on you can raise as much as you have. Well doing this a few times when the pot goes from 1 buck to say 200...and then winning...it does great things for your pretend bankroll. Fischer price my first gambling addiction set. So flush (see I can use the terms) with this success I started to think, this is easy money. If only I were playing with money instead of spare electrons. But I knew enough to fight this thought and played again the next morning...again with fake money. I got the shit kicked out of me. I got beaten like I owed them money and in the process they took mine, so apparently I did. Finally realizing that it's not just luck but a process of measured risks, the game seems interesting.

Though the chorus of "The Gambler" plays in my head and I realize I should probably learn all the rules, because I have no earthly idea when to "fold 'em."

Piece of Shit Car

Like the Sandler song...my auto is a piece of shit. Having just spent 500 getting it fixed and prepared for the trip cross country, today it begins to make a little noise when I accelerate going up hill, something that you might imagine me needing to do as I...oh I don't know drive up and over the Rocky Mountains. Needless to say this happened well after the garages have closed for the week. I'm going to take it tomorrow to some brand place...firestone, mr. goodwrench, something like that. The good news is that having tested it a bunch around town, I've found that the noise is very slight and generally doesn't sound damaging. And as someone who has had more than my fair share of car trouble, I've gotten good at judging the severity of various noises. I still have no clue what they are. You could tell me I have a broken right stamen and I'd think...that sounds plausible and it explains why I have such trouble knocking up other flowers. Here's hoping that it's nothing, or at least that if there is a problem they tell me how lucky I was that I caught it before I was stranded in Idaho or Montana..or really any of the states along the way (excepting MN).

Living the Dream

Update on a previous lamentation....my fantasy team is now winning my league. The wise addition of Dontrelle Willis and Brian Roberts and getting rid of Kerry Wood and Mariano Rivera has proved beneficial. All hail Aaron, he shall always and forever reign fantasy baseball. Never shall he receive comeupance. Never I say.

Stay tuned.

It's far

Last night saw the installation of Streets and Trips 2005 (with the fancy GPS locator). I spent the better part of the evening into the morning (2am) playing with the mapping function. It's fantastic. My route is nearly planned. Along the way if I so desire I can open my lap top and find the nearest thai restaurant to West Yellowstone, or the closest grocery store to Pahaska. The software stores all those locations. The single greatest realization from last nights forray into cartography was just how fucking long this trip is going to be. As the crow flies Seattle to Columbus is only 1890 miles. I am neither a crow nor am I flying so it's considerably longer than that. It's estimated at 42 hours and 16 minutes worth of driving. I'll cover more than 2800 miles all told (plus about 10 or so hiking).

For some perspective I used the fancy "measure the distance" tool on Streets and Trips. Turns out it's 1870 miles from Barcelona to Moscow. Long story short, it's a long trip, which hopefully yields some great stories.

The Height of Absurdity

For reasons passing understanding I decided recently to measure myself. Lacking a measuring tape, the notion soon fell to the wayside and I continued with my long stated belief that I am 6'1 tall. I always wanted to be 6'2. For me that height held some magical quality, suggested an importance and dignity. All of that is completely preposterous, and I’ll easily admit as much, but all the same the hope of 6'2 has loomed large since I was 13.

While cleaning up my apartment and preparing to move I found a long discarded, and long thought lost tape measurer. A knife sharpened pencil (I don’t have a proper pencil sharpener) placed nearly level at the crown of my head marked the doorframe to my kitchen. I eagerly stretched the tape to its maximum and found my true and honest height. I am and probably have been for years just 6 feet tall. That it bothers me seems silly. But it does. Partly for the lies I’ve unknowingly perpetuated, but also because it suggests I’m not all I thought I was...quite literally. Oh well, I guess now why I sky someone in frisbee I can be more self congratulatory. Afterall everyone else in the world just got one inch taller by comparison. Somewhere I hear Randy Newman penning a ballad just for me: Shorter People Got Less Reason.

Familiarity Breeds Relief

My flight was uneventful. I finished a book, took a nap, and plowed through half of another book. Good stuff. Turns out that National Airport is wonderful. I'd never been, as I usually drive to Washington. National is really a nice way to welcome folks. I was surprised, I sorta assumed that it would feel unwelcoming (at least to me) since it shares a name with Reagan. About 20 minutes after landing I had another informational interview lined up thanks in large part to help from Ms. Stuntz. Met up with Emmet and went for a "kick." We bumped into a friend from the campaign. It's nice to feel comfortable in this city. It's nice to feel at home. I was afraid that I'd feel really removed and distant when I got here, like a high school football player trying to relieve old glories. Turns out I was wrong. Thankfully.

This Time Tomorrow

This time tomorrow I'll be somewhere over North Dakota on my way to Washington DC. I have a couple of informational interviews scheduled. Beyond those two suit wearing obligations, I'm not really sure what the next few days promise. I'm sure I'll see a large number of friends, and probably go to a Smithsonian. Other than that, who knows. If you're in DC feel free to give me a call.

I've been doing the cleaning and boxing assoicated with moving. It's become less and less traumatic as it's become overly familiar. I'm still waiting to plan out the route to Ohio, but I'm becoming more and more eager to travel that route.

Quick Sunday Update

As my new laptop has not yet arrived (that's right, I'm soon to be the proud owner of a refurbished Dell laptop), I'm paying the fine folks of Kinko's for the right to use the internet. (I guess right is probably a strong term, the priviledge, makes more sense). Anyways...quick updates.
1. Getting laptop. It's a refurbished Dell with 2.33ghz, 30G hd, CDR/DVD, 256 Ram. All for right about 500 bucks. Hooray for luck.

2. Am now hairless...at least on the face. I'm back to my presentable self. For about 3 minutes I had just a moustache, and I was terrified/terrifying. I did sort of look like a gay 70s cop, so that's something.

3. My knee is again screwed up. While playing today, I layed out and banged my knee up pretty good. It hurt enough that I didn't play anymore during the game (even as we lost) which gives those of you who've seen me play a sense of the severity. But I've iced it and am enjoying the pleasant feelings that candy brings. (candy being ultimate slang for Ibuprofen).

4. I'm getting truly jazzed about my trip/move to DC. For the first time it's seeming more real than fantasy, and while I'll certainly miss Seattle (it's hard to leave when it's lush, green, sunny and 65 most days) I'm eager to find myself doing good work around my east coast friends.