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.

Mindless Facial Hair Update

I'm down to a goatee. It's a new look for me. Jen thinks it makes me look like a yuppie scenester. I'll take a photo and upload it.

It's soon going to be reduced to The Half General. (cut out the bottom). Then I'll go to a moustache...for about 15 minutes, then it's on to clean shaven Aaron just in time for my trip to DC.

Further thrilling facial hair updates as events warrant.

Help Plan Aaron's RoadTrip

So here's the deal, I'm driving across the country (by myself) and I have a ton of things that I want to see...but no real idea of how to see them all. I'm therefore soliciting input from friends.

Basic goals/Things to See
Glacier National Park
Yellowstone National Park
Grand Tetons National Park
Badlands National Park
Mount Rushmore
Crazy Horse Monument
Minneapolis

Ground Rules:
I'm not equipped to camp in any of the places.
I'm willing to spend 300 dollars or so on lodging over the course of this trip.
I'm willing to drive 12 hours a day only on the last day of the trip (Minneapolis to Ohio)
On all other days I am willing to drive up to 10 hours.
I am eager to spend at least 4 hours in each of Montana and Wyoming Parks. I would settle for 1-3 in each of the SD parks.
=============================
So those are the basics. What should I do? What should I see? Are there shortcuts? Should I skip one of the parks to include another?

thanks,
Aaron

Striking Out

Long time readers of this blog will remember my previous unemployment bringing about a renaissance of hand eye coordination. I started filling endless Ohio hours with trips to the batting cage. It got so bad that I would conduct phone interviews from the parking lot of the cage...because having just blasted a few shots over the pitching machine seemed to relax me and make the interview seem more pleasant. Well, having watched a lot of baseball in the past few weeks and weekends I've again felt the itch to swing a bat. There is a batting cage just South of SafeCo Field (where the Mariners play), and off I went,today in hopes of further glory. Turns out getting directions to the actual location is really a good choice. I set out with a vague notion (knowing 3 of the four streets I needed to take to get there). While three out of four sounds bad, at least it was in order, meaning I knew everywhere but what street the gym was on. I was pretty sure it started with an H. There were three H streets in a row, each of which backed onto a train depot. None of which seemed to be secreting away a batting cage. Without taking a swing, I'd struck out.

Not wishing to be denied the mind numbing joy of bashing a ball meaninglessly with a stick. I went in search of a driving range. This I found with relative ease. I paid my 9 dollars for the large bucket (104 balls). Why they dispense balls in multiples of 17 I don't know, but I overestimated the durability of my delicate hands. Turns out 104 balls, was about 65 too many. By the end I was swinging the club, dutifully, with just one hand. The other hand, my left, was open and bleeding. For loyal readers and any friends I have out there, you'll recognize this as the traditional pattern for Aaron. Remarkably poor judgement w/r/t to stopping sports. Turns out I can just destroy a two iron, up until the point where the skin on my fingers and left palm begins to puff and separate from my hand. At that point, my prowess...small though it may be, diminisses rapidly. Funny that.

UPDATE: I checked the date of last year's batting cage post...almost one year ago exactly. Maybe there is something about the 4th monday in April that stirs a man's appetite for blisters and batted balls.

Pope.Com

The new pope has an email address. It's: benedictxvi@vatican.va. Several strange things there, first don't you figure it could just be Pope@vatican.va, as it's not possible for there to be two popes. If I were the only Aaron at Oberlin, I'd have had my email be Aaron@oberlin.edu, but there were others so the school was more specific. Also, can you imagine that there will be a lot of emails that are to Benedict XVI that are independent of his role as Pope. I have to imagine that everyone one of the emails he receives is concerning his being the Pope. So when he dies, the email should just go to his successor, just like the popemobile and apartment.

The other thing I adore about the Pope having an email address: He's going to get spammed like no one else on earth. The only close competitor might be Bill Gates. But can you imagine how entertaining it would be to see the number of penis enlargement emails that the pontiff gets. How many times per minute will he get a great offer on refinancing his Papal apartment? Thousands. How many Nigerian dissidents will have a deal for him, and this time they'll actually know with whom they are speaking. It's just a little too "of this earth" for my outsider understanding of the Pope.

Who gets the job of reading the emails? Or do we think that the Pope is like Joe Trippi and he'll spend all night reading every email? I hope for a Papal Blog next. That'd be fantastic. I'm figuring a lot of "OMG Can U believe Cardinal Fitzgerald said that, I swear I thought I was gonna die!!!" Maybe not. Does it seem wrong that you can email God's representative on earth, especially using a form that encourages emoticons? Will there be a Saint of the smiley face? God, I hope so.

Signs

As promised I'm posting some of my photos from Mount Rainier. In my last post I covered most of the highlights, but I ignored two great signs I saw. The first sign doesn't have a photo, but it was on the highway and advertised the Weyerhauser Bonsai Collection. That's right, Weyerhauser the paper company has a collection of well groomed miniature trees. Bonsai trees are regular trees that you abuse into fitting some centuries old notion of beauty. You starve and cut too short the trees, bracing and tying the limbs into interesting but unhealthy configurations. I guess I found it funny that a paper company would go to the trouble of growing these bonsai trees when a great one takes hundreds of years. My understanding of the paper industry is that it's not the most patient, and certainly not with any organism sporting bark.

The second great sign was for a Volcano Evacuation Route.
These are signs that don't make appearances in the Mid West. You don't see a lot of evacuation route signs (any kind, tsunami, volcano, etc) in Ohio. We have tornado warnings, but those don't get fancy signs. This particular sign was about 500 yards outside of the park proper. Which means it's maybe 5 miles from the middle of Mount Rainier. Here's the deal, if you're 5 miles from a giant volcano and it erupts you're dead. At five miles away the pyroclastic flow is going to get you. Moreover, if you don't know to move away from the smoking scar in the earth that used to be a 14,000 foot mountain...then you've probably already been naturally selected, and I'm guessing that the sign isn't going to be the primary trigger for fleeing. I have to imagine that somewhere in our lizard brains is something that says, when molten rock begins raining and flowing at 80KM/H...it's time to move, and with some rapidity.

For more photos visit Extra Vaganza

Paradise

When life presents me with situations that seem beyond my control, I change my facial hair. Some of it is a defense of agency, but more often it's simply a declaration of laziness. As in, the last thing I want to deal with right now is maintaining my facial hair. Thus, though I lack the photos to prove it, I am currently bearded. For many of you on the east coast, you've never seen me without a beard. But it's been a year or so since I last let the folicles run wild, and they are back to their natural dominion over my chin. We'll see if I let them stay, as I have interviews (hopefully) in DC at the beginning of May. Whenever I let the beard go I start to look grizzled, and finally start to appear like I could live in the West (not the Pacific Northwest, but the West--montana style). I wonder if when I die folks will look at photos of me in the same way that you look at tree rings. Instead of lean years marked by smaller rings, tougher situations will be marked with facial hair.

Today I arose, beard blazing, and was full of energy. A small portion of sun broke through my blinds and I promised myself that if I could see Mt. Rainier (not that common, with all the clouds) I'd go and see Mount Rainier. I dressed, and sure enough it was crystal clear and warm. So fulfilling my promise to myself, I geared up (camera, jeans, and extra pair of dry socks) and set out for Mt. Rainier National Park. The directions I used were horrible. There is something tremendously frustrating about getting lost trying to go to a mountain. Because you can constantly see it. And yet you never seem to be getting closer, and you never know which road will be the one you need, since it seems large enough that you could head in any of the cardinal directions towards it. I imagine it like getting lost while trying to send a probe to Jupiter. Maddening.

After more than a few instinctual turns off the main roads, each of which was wrong. (Turns out, I have terrible driving instincts, just awful). I stopped at a little market bought fresh apples and strawberries and got better directions. The sun was shining, I'm sure outside the car birds were singing, life was good. I arrived at the park around 11:00am. I had no planned routes, which might be a bad idea for future visits, but fit the mood of the day perfectly. I also didn't have gloves...and well, Mount Rainier is a mountain. A snow covered mountain. It looks like this.

See, snow. But I decided that I would go to Paradise. Paradise is a location, a popular trailhead quite near the Nisqually Glacier (which sounds really fucking cool, but which I never quite got to see).

I took a mess of photos, some of which I'll try to post here later. Never having hiked in the snow, I didn't realize that there aren't really trails. You just figure out where you want to go, and walk there. Fortunately some folks who seemingly knew where they were going, arrived before me. So I followed their path. That others were there first was good, that the path was matted down into a mess of pure ice, that was less good. I slipped and stumbled and fell up the hill. Oh, another note of some relevance, Mount Rainier being a mountain is at a higer elevation than say, my apartment. There was plenty of air, sadly not so much oxygen. And while I love me some nitrogen, it just doesn't quench my thirst for really breathing. So I'm out of shape, out of breath, and in shoes wholly inappropriate for the task, wandering up the face of a snow covered mountain. It was tremendous. I've become somewhat jaded, or at least habituated to the glory of the West in the last year. But I was still blown away. It made me sad, as I am giving this up for the swamps of Washington DC.

I continued up the mountain, and finally found some snow that wasn't packed into a zamboni approved sheet of ice. The sad part about that was that unpacked snow tends to allow grown men to fall down several feet. I managed to take surreal drunken steps up to a bluff. Every few steps was an adventure, the snow would hold for a couple of steps, then give way dropping me up to my waist in snow. At some point the snow just continually gave way, every step sunk me up to my waist, and I was having trouble getting out of my little holes, and I decided that that was a good indication of a stopping point. Making my way down was my own tribute to the Legolas slide down the tusk from the second LOTR movie. Sliding and gliding, and generally having a silly time of it, I finally made it back to the car. I drove home through nearly blinding sunshine, and 65 degree weather. Paradise indeed.

Strangers

Of late I have been in a pretty awful funk. Between losing a girlfriend, a job, the temporary use of my right knee, my lungs (chest cold), and the use of my car (thankfully now repaired at the cost of 500 dollars), it's been a shitty few days. But this post isn't to be a list of complaints.

Friday, on the way to pick up my car from the shop I took a few unfamiliar bus routes, and found myself with extra time to wait. An elderly Vietnamese gentleman shared the bench with me and we got to talking. His right eye was unusable, looking more the color of milk than anything else. He walked with a crutch, and spoke, by his own estimation (though not mine) bad English. He smiled throughout our talk. He was late for some meeting (I couldn't ever figure out what). His bus wasn't coming for another 40 minutes, and he moved with great unease. It was not a "there but for the grace of God" moment. Hardly. It was simply the fact that he was the first person to talk to me that entire day. I'd spent the day inside. Watching tv, feeling miserable, and sorry for myself. He approached me and we started talking, and it was fun. Somehow I'd forgotten how much I just enjoy meeting people, talking with them, learning from them. I never caught his name, nor gave him mine. Midway though the conversation he confided that after the end of the war, he was imprisoned for 6 years. He said this with the sorrow that I usually attach to losing my keys. It seemed, as he explained it, inevitable, and therefore not something to worry about or lament. I can't imagine that that's how he felt about it then, or now, but it was a little perspective adjustment. It's alright to go through tough times, in fact it's expected, but the real skill is moving on. Not ignoring, but continuing.
The man then out of the blue asked (as one question) how old I was and if I am married. I responded honestly to both, feeling some odd shame about the answers; a welling up of lost opportunity, missed chances, something overblown and self defeating. I was certain that he was going to be shocked by my age and lack of wife. Nope, turns out his 3 children are 30, 32, 36 and none of them are married. Each is too busy working with "the computers" and "saving to buy a home, gotta get a home, gotta buy a house." Again, it was nice to have a little perspective. My bus arrived and we parted company. One of those nice things about public transit, you get to meet people whom you don't know. Sitting anonymously in a coffee shop is a very Seattle thing to do, and it's been the bulk of my days of late, but it's nothing like talking to a stranger.

The second stranger experience was just yesterday morning. I was heading over to pick up a friend on the way to frisbee. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman sitting on the grass in front of some of the great houses near my apartment. She seemed out of place. I stopped the car (in the middle of the road, thankfully it wasn't busy) and ran over. She was, in fact, out of place, she'd fallen on her way to the nearby church. I helped her up, at which time she confided that without help she did think she could have gotten up. We parted company and she called over her shoulder "thanks, I'll say a prayer for you at church." It was the best start to my day in a long time. It's awfully nice to stop feeling so fucking selfish, and sorrowful just for a little. It's like the record skipping. You realize that maybe the sad sad songs you've been listening to aren't the soundtrack to your life, or at least they only are if you keep putting them on. I've felt better since. Both meetings were chance encounters, and both gave me a little distance from my frustration and self-loathing, a little space to realize that it's fine to feel crappy, but better to do something about it.

Flares for the Dramatic

With unemployment offering numerous daylight hours with little structure, I've been able to watch sports and sports talk television. In addition to concerns about Terrell Owens and the Sox-Yanks, steroids and the general failure of closers to do their jobs, this week's most incredible story (one that seems to only barely be about sports) is the debacle yesterday in Milan. Yesterday AC and Inter Milan played soccer. Now for those among you who really follow soccer/futbol (Emmet, JKD) this is probably noteworthy in and of itself. I'll watch soccer if it's on and I'm bored. I like it well enough, and I bet I'll go to a DC United game while there, if only to watch Freddy Adu. That last sentence best describes the degree to which I follow soccer. I will watch famous (if not necessarily, the best) players. I'm like the Easter-Christmas Christians. I'll watch the World Cup, and I'm not offended by the sport, but it fails to serve any true religious function for me.

This is not the way that soccer is understood elsewhere. Ranger and Celtic in Glasgow make Sox-Yanks look like the East-West All Star games, hired guns, professing little concern for community or class. Celtic is the Catholic team and Rangers are the Protestant team. It's not a small distinction.

'“Walking down the Shankill Road in a Celtic shirt, you’re dead, straight-away,” the Catholic 17-year-old Roisin explained. “They’ll just brush you onto the carpet. But it’s the same in Catholic areas. If someone walked in with a Ranger shirt in a Catholic area, they’re as good as dead. … If it’s a mostly Catholic area, or a mostly Protestant area, you’re dead. You just are.”' Soccer serves as a marker for geography, class, and religion. Those aren't small things.

And yet, while sport can easily be conflated with war, it's not usually a literal comparison. Yesterday it was. After a disputed goal was taken away from Inter Milan, fans began booing (no problem with that) and hurling lit flares onto the pitch. Flares, honest to god road flares. The video from the game looks like parts of the West Bank. First off, who the fuck brings a flare to a game. What normal thought is going through your head. What kind of tailgaiting involves torches. Even after the first few fusilades of flares onto the field, one of which struck AC Milan's goalie in the shoulder (injuring him, of course), the officials were considering continuing the event. Then after a calm down period further bottles were chucked onto the field. The old line about, I went to a fight and a hockey game broke out seems apt. I went to a armed insurrection, and there were a few soccer players there.

What's Your Fantasy

Last weekend, while Mark and Stacy were here we laboriously created teams and filled out our rosters for Fantasy Baseball. If you're not familiar with Fantasy Sports, it's basically created on the premise that statistics should have some regular application towards the destruction of the joy of sports. Why not take something that verges on art and reduce it to math.

In all honesty, I found fantasy basketball really fun. So I figured I'd give this a try. I am getting hammered. Just demolished. I played baseball for a long time, I pitched and caught for about a decade, so I figured I'd have some advantage over Mark in this. I also assumed, very erroneously, that defense and pitching mattered. Nope. Growing up a National League guy (Ozzie Smith, Willie McGee, Barry Larkin, Chris Sabo, and the lot) I believe in defense, pitching and small ball. Turns out fantasy is to real baseball what porn is to real sex. Oversized people, oversized numbers, no compromise and no sacrifice--oh and there is some annoying designated hitter who seems to only be there to add to the output. There's no love, no moving the runner into scoring position. It's all about the home run, the run scored. THere's no points for hitting it to the second baseman so that the runner advances to third. It's just about the money hit. Sorry this analogy is getting stranger by the second.

Long story short, I'm obsessed with this stuff. It has data, baseball...and seems to nearly justify watching a lot of baseball. Today was the first day where my time started to play well (How can Pujols go this far into the season without having a 3 RBI game?).

Selling Crazy for Free.

POST DELETED.

Place Them On Glass

So cool blogs do this on fridays, but I'm not cool, so I have to use thursday. They post the ten random songs that shuffle to the top on their computer. Well here are my ten songs:

Come and Find Me--Josh Ritter (good, I was hoping he'd make the random list)
Discotheque--U2
Four Horsemen--The Clash
Roll--Richard Buckner
My Slate Roof--Boxstep
Mary's Place--Bruce Springsteen
Baby Got Back--Sir Mix-a-Lot (Seattle represents itself musically)
The Way--Fastball
Still Crazy After All These Years--Paul Simon (potentially a comment on the last two songs)
In My (Wildest Dreams) Jayhawks

Strange, no modest mouse, pearl jam or nirvana...and yet Sir Mix-a-lot holds down the fort for Seattle. Well done, Sir, well done indeed. Would that I could put them on the glass in your honor.

Mark and Stacy Arrive

So I finally have my first guests to this wonderful city. Mark and Stacy are due to touchdown at 10:48pm. Which makes them guests who force me to stay up late. For shame. But as I'm taking tomorrow off from work, I guess my life isn't that horrible.

We have several sight-seeing ventures planned. It is of course supposed to rain 2 inches in the next few days (having been drought like, seriously, for the past 2 months). Maybe the EMP, maybe the Off Ramp (site of the first Pearl Jam concert), etc.

Looking forward to having guests. Not sure I'm the best host, as I barely know the city, but I'll try. Stay tuned for hostly mishaps and miscues a-plenty.

Beach Logs Kill!

Last weekend Jen and I went to the Olympics (penninsula, not games) and the vast majority of that trip was incredible. I took a mess of photos (maybe too many) and I figured I'd post some of the better ones here.


These signs were all around on the western side of the Olympic Penninsula. Generally whatever direction the arrow pointed was directly opposite our desired path (we were heading towards the beach). While I did see some waves that make the Atlantic look like the water running down your drive way after you finish washing your car, we saw no tsunamis. Seemed better that way.

When we got down to the water at Ruby Beach we saw this sign, the best of the weekend, and an interjection throughout the weekend:


Yup, Beach Logs Kill (a great band name for anyone so inclined). The beach was covered in trees, hundreds potentially thousands of driftwooded trees, see below
Right, that's a lot of trees. Every one of them a killer.

For more photos visit Extra Vaganza.

5:45

Today, I was interested in seeing how fast I could run one mile. The answer: 5:45. I'm more than just a little pleased with that, especially because I think I could bring that time down another 10-20 seconds the next time I go out. Because while I'm absolutely exhausted now (I did an hour or so of lifting after running that mile, so I'm just pooped) I wasn't dying at the end of the 5:45. But for perspective...the best indoor mile by a high schooler is: Alan Webb's time of 3 minutes, 59.86 seconds. So I have a ways to go before I get into the area where real runners workout. But I'm fine with that.

NY State of Mind

Congratulations to Brian on his new job as campaign manager for Cynthia Doty. He's running her "underdog" effort to win election to the NY City Council. Her district encompasses small portions of the Upper West Side, Morningside Heights and Harlem. And if there's one thing I know about Brian is that he is beloved in Harlem.

I'm excited for him. He was enduring the horrible wait that comes from working, or more appropriately, not working on campaigns. It grates on you. It makes you question your talents. I must admit to being jealous. I had a shot to manage a campaign and I screwed the pooch. Granted there were some mitigating factors (no real control, a party that hated me, and a candidate who didn't ever listen to me) but all the same it felt like a failure. I'm excited for Brian, I think he'll do really well.

I'm still trying to find what job I want in DC. Mainly I want to learn from my boss, and view them as a means to learn not an obstacle. I'm really hopeful that I'll be able to make that move in the next few months, as I'm ready to move forward professionally. It's been a long year of jobs I don't love, and that takes its toll.

A year ago...

One year ago (this month) I stated this blog. One year ago, I was returning from Washington DC to Ohio. I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. Lots of changes have taken place in the last 12 months, but I'm still looking to move to DC and trying to figure out what to do with my life. This blog has catalogued the changes and the victories along with the failures. But it's been nice to have a place to trace the changes in the last year.

Where is My Mind?

My mind is all over the place right now.

Jen and I decided to break up last night. We love eachother, we care deeply for one another--but we weren't happy, something about the relatioship wasn't working for either of us. There wasn't any anger or yelling or fighting, just the sorrow of two people who love and loved eachother realizing that we weren't going to finish the story as magically as we started. So like I said, my mind is all over the place. I'm sad, for sure, but I'm also certain that falling in love with Jen was one of the greatest joys of my life, and if this is the price for that joy, then it was worth it.

Please don't post comments. Thanks.

You Can't Go Home, But I Guess You Can Shop There*

Finding myself with time to kill on Monday before the Harvard Club fundraiser I took time for a personal history tour of New York. My grandmother (Dinah Cohen) grew up in Brooklyn, specifically an ill defined area called then, as now, Boro Park (not sure why they couldn't afford the prestige of "Borough" Park, but apparently the extra ugh was too much). I wasn't ever completely sure that I was in Boro Park. I just saw the occasional Boro Park Realty or Boro Park Dentistry and took those as a clue that I was still in the neighborhood. Grandma grew up above her father's candy store at 3820 Fort Hamilton Parkway. That residence no longer exists. It's been replaced by "Lamp Warehouse," where the slogan is "Everything in Lighting...Discounted." The Lamp Warehouse bricked over the windows and painted giant cameos of Thomas Edison and a man they call "The Maven". Edison says "Let There Be Light" while The Maven says "Let There Be Discounts." So, it's changed a little since grandma lived there.

It's been almost exactly 70 years since she was in the neighborhood. On March 15th of 1935 she married my grandfather, and never returned to the old neighborhood. I'm not sure why. I'm grateful for this trip and for the questions it leaves me. I just hope to get answers before being 94 years old catches up with her. But in the days when she lived in Boro Park the apartments were filled with Irish, Italians, Poles, Swedes and Jews. Now the neighborhood is a strange mix. Fort Hamilton Parkway (in the high 30s) is full of car shops--places to install a stereo, fix a dent, sell you tires, fix your garage door, check your emissions, and insure your vehicle. The strange part (over and above the sheer number of car places) is the diversity. Boro Park east of my grandmother's place is full of Hassidic jews. While her area is largely Hispanic. Thus, I saw a Hassidic jew leaning over the engine of Hispanic customer's failing Buick. I've never seen that in Columbus, nor could I.

I wandered around this Jewish neighborhood for an hour or two. It was among the most powerful experiences of the past year or two. I've never been in a white neighborhood and felt so out of place, so foreign, so conscious that I don't fit it. In my life I've never seen as many mezzuzahs as I saw in two blocks there. There were Hebrew posters for Hebrew boybands. And hosiery shops. Boy were there hosiery shops. I saw a woman leave a 99 cent store and pause to kiss her hand and put it on the mezzuzah in the doorframe of this store. It was tremendous. I don't know how different that is from the place where grandma grew up. But it was just about as far from Westerville as I've been.

A few random observations:

How are there so many 25-45 year old Hassidic men walking around in the middle of the day? Where are they working? I'd had Hammentashen. But not really. The piece I had on Monday was a whole different creature. I realized why New Yorkers are fiercely proud, there are few places where you could wander from a Kosher Bakery to an Italian deli, to a Polish restaurant in 150 yards.

Finally, I jumped back on the subway to travel to Southern Brooklyn where my grandmother went to High School (New Utrecht High). When I departed the subway I saw hundreds of students milling about (it was 1:30). I wandered past them and took a few photos of the school. After taking a shot or two a breathless reporter ran over to me and asked, "Do you have photos of the guy?" I asked, "What guy?" "The shooter, the guy who shot up the school?" At the time everyone was under the impression there was an attack and a student had pulled a gun. I learned later that some kid brought a gun to school, put it in his backpack and it went off into his leg during math class. My guess is that New Utrecht High has changed a bit since 1935 as well.


*Name that movie reference

New York

I'm packed and ready to head for the airport on my way to New York. For the second time in a month I'm flying to the East for essentially one meeting. The novelty began to wear off midway through the last trip, and it's worn down to a nub at present. I leave today, land tonight, work the room at a fundraiser tomorrow evening, then depart Tuesday afternoon. All of which leaves me with a fair bit of free and alone time in New York City. Sadly of the major east coast cities (Philly excepted) NYC is the city in which I feel most alone and uncomfortable (probably a strong relation between those two thoughts). Neil is in classes and I don't have too many other friends in the city, so it'll be a choice between hanging out with my boss (not a good plan) or being alone. Being alone isn't always bad, but I generally don't enjoy being alone in a large city. I don't like blending in, I don't like the annonymity. Somehow it feels more like getting lost, than getting away. So that'll be one of the challenges of the next few days. Thousands of things to do and see, but will I do any of them. Stay tuned.

The reason for this trip is a fundraiser at the Harvard Club. Open only to recommended Harvard graduates, the club is posh and exclusive and I'm guessing stifling. It has a private library of 75,000 volumes. And the food we're serving is unreal. Cornish game hen stuffed with sour cherries and wild rice. And 65 dollar a plate prime rib. nice stuff. The event will have several candidates and that should be interesting, and I tend to do a good job of working a room.

I wrote my boss's speech and with some help from JKD tuned up several sections. Below is one of the better paragraphs.

After the most recent election there was a lot of discussion of values, and lots of hand wringing about how the Democrats had lost contact with their values. It seemed like everywhere, well everywhere on cable, there was this amorphous notion that Democrats lacked values. I'm hear to tell you that's crap. Democrats don't lack
values, what some of our leaders have lacked is the courage and cohesion to defend our values. We don't lack morals, values or ideals, but some in our party been unwilling to fight, to scrap, to do the hard work of reaching out to voters. It's not enough to be right, we have to be willing to fight. Democrats are not weak on national defense, not by a long shot, but some Democrats haven't been strong in
their defense of the values of this nation, and our party. Too many Democrats have been borrowing Republican talking points in an attempt to appeal to "the middle." Democrats not Republicans must determine what we stand for. All those perceived weaknesses end the moment we decide to join together, and create a broad based progressive coalition. That weakness ends, and our victories begin the moment we
see the importance of progressive values. Values like a woman's right to choose, values like a gay couple's access to all the rights and all the responsibilities of marriage. Democrats value things like hard work, which is why we protect the right of workers to organize. Democrats value the land we'll leave our children, which is why we protect the environment. These are not issues that exist in opposition
to one another, rather they describe a cohesive worldview, one focused on providing opportunity, securing freedom and promoting tolerance. These are time-tested values, the values that have defined America's progress throughout the centuries. I was always told as a child don't say you're sorry if you don't mean it, well, I'm tired of Democrats apologizing for our values. You know what, we're right, we've been
right and we need to start acting like it.

I'm not convinced that I can make a living writting speeches, but I am fairly certain that I'd enjoy such a life. I probably won't check this site till after the speech is given (god help me) by my boss, as such feel free to post comments and critiques. It'll already have happened, and I'll be a lot more mellow about it.

Aaron's Frisbee Game Playlist

1. Float On--Modest Mouse
2. Death or Glory--The Clash (also the name of one of the most dominant teams ever)
3. Sunday Bloody Sunday--U2 (descriptive of the time, and the condition of my knees)
4. Under Pressure--Queen and David Bowie
5. Hurt--Johnny Cash (see number 3)
6. Say It Ain't So--Weezer
7. Roll Out--Ludacris
8. Thank You (fallettinmebemiceelf)--Sly and the Family Stone (Funk is as funk does)
9. Shelter from the Storm--Bob Dylan
10. Baba O'Reilly--The Who
11. No Depression--Uncle Tupelo

Suggestions for other on topic, pump-up songs?

Aaron Leavy Announces Candidacy For Employment

Over a year ago, following the defeat of Howard Dean I began to travel the country in the usual way one does when seeking employment. I then formed the "Aaron for Employed in DC or Boston" exploratory committee, and today I'm officially declaring that, I Aaron Benjamin Leavy am a candidate for employment in the cities of Boston or Washington DC.*

I've travelled across the internet and met thousands** of supporters who've encouraged me to move to the East Coast. Supporters like, Allison Stuntz, who said, "Aaron, you'd like D.C., it's nice here"

This move is for the people like Allison and the dozens like her, people with the vision to encourage me to do things I've always said I wanted to do. This campaign is for the people like Mark Seide, who told me, "Boston is great, we could be neighbors." I seek employment not for the glory of earning money but out of the necessity of paying off my new iPod mini.

This is a campaign to unite and employ people everywhere***.

It is a monumentous task, one that I know is beyond my abilities alone. That is why I'm entrusting this campaign to my many friends, supporters and allies. The greatest lie that job seekers like me tell people like you is, "Don't worry, I'll be able to find a job quickly, on my own." Abraham Lincoln said that government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish from this earth. But I
like to think he was just as concerned with the employment status of people like me.

The truth is: You have the power. You have the power to let me know about the great little non profit in Sommerville. You have the power to suggest that I interview with Congressman X. You have the power to suggest that I call your ex boyfriend's old boss. You have the power to make me further indebted to you for your incredible generosity, frienship and kindness. And that is exactly what I plan to do.

Thank you very much. Thank you very much. Thank you very much.

=======
*Jen got into a mess of grad schools all along the east coast, and it
seems like the best two locations for me are either Boston or DC. I'm
hoping for your help in trying to locate something that works for me
in either place. I'm looking to move over the Summer, but would move
sooner if I found the right job.
**actual number may vary
***Well, really it's mainly a campaign to employ Aaron Leavy in one of
two specific places, Boston or DC, but why quibble with poetic
license.

Apologies to Gov Dean and the English language.

Work.

JKD sent along this quotation from an article arguing for a resumption of the draft. Interesting points, etc. It's timid and apologetic about the choices that draftees would be allowed to make.

"Unlike an old-fashioned draft, this 21st-century service requirement
would provide a vital element of personal choice. Students could
choose to fulfill their obligations in any of three ways: in national
service programs like AmeriCorps (tutoring disadvantaged children), in
homeland security assignments (guarding ports), or in the military.
...
Most would no doubt pick the less dangerous options. But some would
certainly select the military—out of patriotism, a sense of adventure,
or to test their mettle. Even if only 10 percent of the one-million
young people who annually start at four-year colleges and universities
were to choose the military option, the armed forces would receive
100,000 fresh recruits every year. These would be motivated recruits,
having chosen the military over other, less demanding forms of
service."

"less demanding." This is a stupid argument. Less deadly certainly. But it's fucking hard toteach (says a man with no personal experience). It's doubly hard to teach when poorly trained. It's triply hard to teach when the students face challenges beyond the scope of needing to sit still...and verge into severe behavioral problems...and oh, crushing poverty, etc. And it's quadruply hard to do all that while being told that your struggle is worthless. The idea that those things that come easily, or are more easily imagined and less often romanticized are any less important is to think that careers should be chosen based by a trip to Blockbuster. Even if a smart populace wasn't the most important thing we can do to save our selves, it'd be wrong. Work is worthwhile. To get up daily and strive to perform your task, whatever it is, is noble. Just because it's easier to imagine yourself as a teacher than a soldier doesn't make it easier to do. you're right the risks are dramatically different. But for some the structure of the military is familiar and reassuring. and for those people being a free lance writer might be a real chore. for others having their souls crushed by a system that doesn't work and leaves millions of children without the basic tools to function in a society that regards them as spare parts...well that could be rough as well.

jesus.

Work is noble. Sacrifice and passion are heroic. No matter the form, no matter the title.

Welcome Back Billy

I've been loading albums into I-tunes in anticipation of the arrival of my shiny new ipod mini. It's silver. Emmet informs me that I am "a girls blouse" for owning a mini. But I couldn't resist the new mini. It has a better battery life (18 hours vs 8) and was 20% less. I'm realizing that the 4GB size is going to suit me just fine. I have more music than that, but I'm a skipper. I rarely listen to an entire album. So I guess I just pick playlists with songs that I'll actually want to hear.

The great part about loading songs into itunes is that you have reason and access to listen to songs/groups/artists you've been ignoring. No greater casualty than Will Oldham. Bonnie "Prince" Billy (aka Palace, Palace Brothers, or Palace Music) is a genious. No qualifications to that statement and none needed. The man is brilliant. He makes music that is earthy and scary and funny and sexy.

I see a darkness is probably the best of his albums. The title track was covered by Johnny Cash on his American Man series. Though, I've listened to ISAD upwards of 500 times all the way through, none of those sessions has been in the past 10 months. I've been on an unintentional Billy boycott. But today was different. I loaded ISAD into my itunes and gave the old standby a spin. The lyrics that caught my ear for what must be the 1,000th time came from the title track :

Well I hope that someday buddy
We'll have peace in our lives
Together or apart
Alone or with our wives
And we can stop our whoring
And pull the smiles inside
And light it up forever
And never go to sleep
My best unbeaten brother
That isn't all I see
Oh no, I see a darkness
Oh no, I see a darkness (x4)
Did you know how much I love you
Is a hope that some how
you you can save me from this darkness

The Return of Extra Vaganza

I'm back to posting photos on Extra Vaganza. One from the plane ride and one of the Gateway Arch (in St.L.)

I'm hoping to get out and take some more photos of Seattle, and my environs. Stay tuned.

Budweiser Brewery Tour

The Guys in front of "The Masher"

You Betcha.

The Onion is funny. But it's at it's best when it makes fun of things that the editors understand. Minnesota, Wisconsin and Iowa are often the best lampooned subjects owing to birth of the Onion in Madison. But this take on Minnesota is priceless. (Incidently, I got to be back in MN for a bit on my trip to and from St. Louis. I miss the place. It's always going to feel a little like home).

ST. PAUL, MN—Although many of its highways and bridges are in severe disrepair, the traditionally undemanding state of Minnesota isn't comfortable asking for more interstate funding, sources reported Monday.

"Oh, we wouldn't want to bother the U.S. government—they've got more than enough on their plate as it is," Minnesota Gov. Tim Pawlenty said. "Most of the potholes on I-90 are less than four feet wide. We get by just fine. I wouldn't want anyone all the way over there in Washington to be worrying about little ol' us."

According to U.S. Department of Transportation records, Minnesota has not requested an increase in highway funds for 10 years, in spite of the fact that the majority of their roads are plagued by rutted or uneven surfaces, cracked pavement, potholes, and other deterioration.

"If it were a life or death situation, you can bet your bippy we'd ask for it, but since it isn't..." Pawlenty said. "Well, we can make do with the transportation-department budget they decided to give us back in 1995. That was more than generous.

...
Joshua Bolten, U.S. Director of the Office of Management and Budget, said the national government "guilted" Minnesota into accepting some money to fund a child-safety-seat program three years ago, by repeatedly urging them to "think of the children."

"After all it took to get them to take the money, they wouldn't stop thanking us," Bolten said. "The following day, Minnesota congressmen kept dropping by with cakes and cookies. I mean, the hand-stitched quilt Rep. Mark Kennedy (R-MN) made was beautiful, but a gift was really, really unnecessary."

Architecture would interest me.

Once more, let us remember how badass Bob Dylan is. He's got some thoughts on modern rock.

"I know there are groups at the top of the charts that are hailed as the saviours of rock'n'roll and all that, but they are amateurs. They don't know where the music comes from," he wrote, adding, “I wouldn't even think about playing music if I was born in these times... I'd probably turn to something like mathematics. That would interest me. Architecture would interest me. Something like that."

Doesn't this also seem like something Johnny Cash would have said. You cannot imagine mick jagger saying it, because he's too obsessed with fitting in (still, after 40 years).

Meet Me in St. Louis

The gang is getting back together. Neil Gray from the North, Aaron from the West and ABJ from the midwest will come together, and by their powers combined...who the hell knows what'll happen. I'm guessing it'll be a giant nerd fest, with some overtures towards drunkeness rebuffed by good old fashioned adult responsibility. We'll be just like the Saint Lunatics, but without Nelly, and without rap careers and without Mascot (the one whose only role in the group seems to be wearing a half mask a la phantom of the opera).

My flight(s) take me to luxurious and thrilling Missoula, Montana. That's right. Missoula. I travel from Seattle to Missoula (to reiterate fucking Missoula montana is part of my itinerary) on a prop plane. I'm jazzed, working out as I have been, I'm sure we'll make better time than if I were my previous heavier self.

Then I fly to Minneapolis. Sit on the runway there. Then I fly to Saint Louis. Total travel time upwards of 9 hours. Sweet!

But it'll easily be worth it to see Neil and Aaron. Not sure what we'll do there. I'm thinking the Arch may be involved. And potentially the art museum, if for no other reason than that it's called the SLAM. And with that, somewhere the guy from Onyx just got 22 cents worth of royalties from the soundtrack in my head.

Long story short, I'm heading back to the Mid West for the weekend and beyond, and I'm loving it. The land of plump citizens. Gateway to the west, bi-yatch, it's St. Louis. Etc. I'm sure there will be no end of Nelly references and potentially one of us can try to work in a few Chingy references. For instance, "Hey ABJ where are the bath towels?" ABJ, "Right thurr." See works like a charm. Plus we can exclaim that others should "shake a tail feather" in honor of Murphy Lee. And finally we can all come together to mock the silliness that is J-Kwon. "Tipsy" while catchy is the one of the most vapid things to enter pop culture since the "I Like Girls Who Wear Abercrombie and Fitch" attrocity visited upon Earth by LFO.

Anyways...I can only assume that Aaron has moved out of his Smooth Jazz phase. Otherwise it may get ugly.

Propagannon

So by now many writers and posters with more talent and determination than yours truly have covered the unfolding story of Jeff Gannon (Guckert). For links go to www.rawstory.com or this racy section of Americablog.

Long story short: Gannon is a former gay prositute who was hired by a Republican operative in Texas to pretend to be a journalist and work for a pretend news agency. (a news agency so phony it was denied Capitol Hill press credentials, and which primarily reprinted WH press releases as content) While working for said agency he (Gannon/Guckert, see he used a fake name as a reporter) received daily press passes at the White House and frequently asked questions of the Press Secretary and even the President. Keep in mind that this is a President who rarely submits to interview or questioning. That he would allow a question from anyone is news, that it was a fake journalist for a fake paper potentially trading in sexual favors...well now that seems noteworthy to me. But for some reason Democrats are uneasy about it, and feel guilty.

Two metaphors popped into mind.

1. This guy works for a fake "news" agency. It's the equivalent of the editor for Highlights magazine getting a chance to ask repeated questions of the Press Secretary and the President. Except, of course, I'm assuming that Goofus and Gallant don't have sex for money, and more importantly never pretended to be journalists.

2. The Republicans take anything that looks like scandal and run with it. We tend to pull back and feel guilty. Not unreasonable. But we're playing a team that is using and abusing steroid and snorting amphetamines on the field, and we're worried that it's wrong to take a few vitamins. The rules of the game are changing or have already changed, and putting ourselves at a permanent competitive disadvantage doesn't make sense.

Don't ever abandon principle. Read that last sentence again. I was outraged well before the sex angle came into being. I think the idea of access being granted to a fake journalist is absurd. That that access may have had something to do with untoward behavior and not just ideological cronyism is offensive.

But.... Access being granted to a non-journalist, asking questions on behalf of a non-media entity is noteworthy. That the reporter in question may be a prostitute is also somewhat noteworthy, because it begs the question did his previous life help to ease his transition into his new one. Did he learn details for his journalistic endeavors through pillow talk? Finally, why is it of no concern to the WH that a person can be given access to the press room without a thorough background check, using an assumed name no less? Shouldn't we be vigilant in a time of terror?

Closing from Joe Conason:

Imagine the media explosion if a male escort had been discovered operating as a correspondent in the Clinton White House. Imagine that he was paid by an outfit owned by Arkansas Democrats and had been trained in journalism by James Carville. Imagine that this gentleman had been cultivated and called upon by Mike McCurry or Joe Lockhart—or by President Clinton himself. Imagine that this "journalist" had smeared a Republican Presidential candidate and had previously claimed access to classified documents in a national-security scandal.

Mark Dayton Out In MN.

Mark Dayton just announced that he will not seek reelection to his senate seat in 2006. Sounds from the news articles as though he was facing poor poll results, and maybe was just too battered having closed his office due to the "terror" warnings.

So who comes next? Ezra thinks it could be Garrison Keillor and offers this passage from his book (GK's not EK's) as evidence of the lanky bachelor farmers prowess with framing:

Medicare says that even though you're not working and may need special help with the ordinary business of life, you have value in this society. This is a Democratic idea. Be a howling right-winger if it gives you pleasure, but nonetheless milk comes from cows and Medicare comes from Democrats.

I read that book, and I remember that passage. I got teary-eyed reading it. I wouldn't mind work that got me teary-eyed, for the right reasons, and not out of frustration. It's been a while on that front.

Other candidates: David Wellstone. I don't know what to think of David. He reminds me, from the little contact I've had (seeing him a few times), of his father and that's a great thing.

Other potential candidates:
Al Franken
Mee Moua (1st Hmong State Senator in the nation)
Randy Kelly (conservative mayor of Saint Paul)
Collin Peterson (Conservative Representative from Western MN)
Matt Entenza (progressive State Rep from Saint Paul/Macalester)
Becky Lourey (progressive saint from Iron Range)
Judi Dutcher (Great former republican, from the 'burbs
Alan Page (former purple people eater, and Supreme Court Justice)
Walter Mondale (ride that horse till it can't stand up)
Darack Ebama... (umm..I think I may have made that last one up).

The Cool Kids

When I was in middle school there were cool kids. I have to imagine this is a near universal reality of all middle schools. In high school diverse and divergent interests replace being "cool" as the sole arbiter of external worth. But in middle school, at least for me, being cool was THE goal to which a great many people aspired. Second to being cool was being able to join the cool kids in looking down on others. Third was being ignored. The Worst was being hated by the cool kids.

It seems as though we're about to learn these lessons all over again. Howard Dean's rise to chair of the DNC (scheduled for this weekend) is likely to bring about great scorn and derision from the Republican noise machine. It's going to get really nasty in a hurry. Talking heads informing everyone how out of touch Dean is, and how they (GOP) got exactly what they wanted. Etc. Like the cool kids, Republicans have bravado and perception on their side. Objective worth and value are not the currency of middle school "cool." I expect hours and hours and days and days of Republican mockery and puffery (they must have the op research books on Dean, and be dying to use them--- Did Dean perform abortions? Let's just ask the question a lot, and then it'll become an issue). But the real concern I have is what are Conservative/Establishment Democrats going to do. My guess, having been burned by the aforementioned groups many times, is that they are going to rush to the ed boards and press rooms of America to explain how they knew Howard Dean was flawed. And how they agree with the cool kids.

The last lesson from middle school: Those who were toadies were souless and never got to be cool. Those who were worthy of scorn were always later worthy of praise. So it shall be with this.

Hooters Encouraging Healthy Choices

From the Washington Post:

"Speaking of doctors, physician-Sen. Tom Coburn (R-Okla.), a new member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, was at last week's meeting on a bill restricting class-action suits. "You know," he said, "I immediately thought about silicone breast implants and the legal wrangling and the class-action suits off that.
"And I thought I would just share with you what science says today about silicone breast implants. If you have them, you're healthier than if you don't. That is what the ultimate science shows. . . . In fact, there's no science that shows that silicone breast implants are detrimental and, in fact, they make you healthier."
So bigger really is better? Who knew? "

Do you figure this is just as demonstrable and valid as Bill Frist and the AIDS tears?

Doctor Coburn, T&A, M.D.

Joe Trippi is a tool

And not a really useful thing like a wrench, but something like a garden weasel or pocketfisherman that is hawked late at night to world weary insomniacs with ready cash and eager hopes. I just lost the little respect I'd had for Trippi. Before I thought he was the relentlessly self promoting hero of every one of his stories.

I saw Trippi in Boston over Thanksgiving. He gave a talk where he pulled a muscle patting Republicans on the back, and tried very hard to explain how terrible Kerry was. After the primary Trippi could be counted on to tell anyone in earshot how bad Dean was, and how poorly things went. It felt a little like someone trying to polish their resume while badmouthing their employer. It's a hard trick to pull off. Then there was this article.

"Dean had really never run for anything before in his life," Trippi explained. "The first contested race of his life was for president, and he was making rookie mistakes."
Secondly, "nobody with a brain would work for us," he said.

Dean ran for governor 5 times. Maybe what Trippi means is that because Vermont is small...it doesn't count as an election. (Which is a fairly poor GOTV approach).

Vermont's population is 608,827. Dick Gephardt's district has 621,690 people. I guess those 13,000+ voters are the difference between really having an election and just pretending. Even stranger: Howard Dean received 148,059 votes in his last race, and Dick Gephardt received 122,181. Each of their opponents polled at 38% of the vote. Apparently Dick Gephardt also ran a pretend race.

Leonard Boswell the lone Democrat in Iowa represents 585,305 citizens. Clearly he never faced real race. It's nice that Trippi would say as much.

Trippi loves playing the "they're so much better, we're stupid" game. He loves talking about how we have no clue, and are worthless. It's an annoying counter to his relentless proclamation of his own role in creating the next "revolution." It does amaze me, Trippi proclaims Dean and the rest of DFA a revolution, etc. Then after the revolution sputters and is stalled for a bit, he tells anyone who will listen how silly some of us were ("nobody with a brain would work for us") and that he knew all along we would fail.

Those are the qualities I look for in a real leader

UPDATE:

Apparently Trippi was quoted out of context. He emailed someone a copy of his remarks and they read as follows:

All the people who just wanted to be with the winner wouldn't give usthe time of day -- all the pro's wanted to work for John Kerry, ofEdwards or Gephardt someone all the experts thought had a chance --back then no one with a brain wanted to move to Burlington, Vermontand work for a guy with an astersik next to his name.

I guess that's better. Apparently it's not that we were all morons, rather none of us was good enough to be with the winner. Truth be told, I joined the campaign in part out of a recognition that I could carve a role for myself there. So at least in that regard his point feels fitting (to my situation). But.... I seem to remember a whole lot of professional operatives mucking about Dean HQ in the last month or two of the campaign. So to say that we lacked for pro's is kind of innacurate. And while I liked the elephants (as they were nicknamed) their arrival does coincide with our defeat (not their fault, just saying). Trippi then goes on to offer this painful metaphor, in which three teams are playing baseball. It's very confusing.

The miracle was not that the Boston Red Sox came back in the bottom ofthe 9th to beat the little Vermont Bad News Bears. The miracle wasthat the little Vermont Bad News Bears somehow snuck past security goton to the playing field and wailed past the St. Louis Cardinals andthe Boston Red Sox -- took a lead into the bottom of the ninth andtaught the rest of the league how to play better."

Take Me To Victor Conti

Recently I've joined a gym. Or rather, I'm using a 30 day free trial pass. I guess joining involves paying them money. I'm really more borrowing a gym right now. It's a block from my office and is routinely empty except for me and some staffers. So it's perfect.

I've been three times so far (Friday, Monday and Today). I've set a modest routine, running for 15 (then 16, then 17) minutes. Some lifting, pushing, twisting...and other muscle courting efforts. Muscles are sorta like my high school relationship with girls: They seem nice enough, other guys seem to have them. And I certainly feel a strong sense that I should want them, but in all honesty I'm easily distracted, and it seems like a lot of work.

But I've been doing my reps, feeling the burn and using work out terms. (Which seems to have as much of a role in being "buff" or "cut" as actually, you know, moving heavy things from one place to another).

Going to the gym provides several new experiences for me. 1) Watching 4 different tv programs at once. 2) Being naked in "public", or at least in the presence of people not societally obligated to tolerate my naked self (ie, parents and significant others). Number one has proven fairly uneventful. Same with number 2. Having played tennis in high school and having last period gym meant that I avoided being naked with other folks in high school. And frankly, that's just fine. Though I start to wonder what I was afraid of.

But these observations are merely prologue for the basis of this post: Aaron's exercise goals. So I have set out for myself the following goals, and welcome suggestions for meeting them.

1). I want to be able to run a 5K race in under 25 minutes.
2). I want to weigh something like 170-175, but be strong.
3). It'd be great to have some definition...and less tummy. And tummy is the right term because I look a bit like a kid with a juice box fed belly. No tone.
and most importantly
4). I want to be able to dunk a basketball. In college I was able to touch the rim of a regulation basketball hoop with my wrist. So that's about 5 inches above the rim. But I couldn't ever dunk. Bigger hands and/or about 4-8 inches of vertical were required. Never happened.

So my free time at work and quest for better information about exercise led me to search for exercises that help increase leaping ability. There were tons, some really helpful, others that read like the rejected copy from a 3am infomercial. My favorite though, was this one:

March Muscle Madness
Wanna dunk? This month's column dishes out an assist for your basketball training and conditioning.
LET'S FACE IT, WE ALL WANT TO DUNK. I mean, nothing says, "This is my house" more effectively than a two-handed, hang-on-the-rim-with-your-knees-at-your-elbo ws Shaq monster jam. "

Aside from stupid writing this seemed fairly normal. For a bit. There is the obligatory inclusion of "slang" to prove that while white, the author knows how to "hoop it up." Some of the exercises seem to make sense: plyometrics-- sounds about right, but strengthening your wrists... that sure seems out of place. Later in the article we learn that the "experts" involved are two guys who play "varsity" (o.ma.god, varsity?!) basketball in Colorado Springs.

Colorado Springs, hmmm. And it was that glanced up at the top left corner of the article, and saw the Focus on the Family insignia.

Yup, I'd been reading "A Focus on the Family Magazine for Teen Guys " Makes me wonder, you think John Podesta could take James Dobson on the low blocks? Could Alan Keyes drain a three from the corner if guarded by Dennis Kucinich. (answer, yes, Dennis plays terrible perimeter defense)

Hmm.. Maybe the wrist strengthening exercises for FOF reading boys are different from those of people I knew in high school, certainly the magazine that prompted WNHS efforts wasn't FOF's.

New Coke.

JKD offers a great commentary on a terrible article.

As he notes, the key passage from Paul Starr is:
"...liberal Democrats ought to ask themselves a big question: are they better off as the dominant force in an ideologically pure minority party, or as one of several influences in an ideologically varied party that can win at the polls? The latter, it seems clear, is the better choice."

You know when I was younger I used to assume that people rose to positions of influence and prominence because of ability. I used to think, "hey that guy gets paid to think about politics and tell me about it, there's a good chance he knows what he's talking about." Years later, turns out.... not so much. The idea that the failure of the Democratic Party is traceable to intransigence from ideologically pure liberals is horseshit. Or rather it's whatever item horseshit finds as objectionable as we find horsehit. Now, I don't propose we nominate Dennis Kucinich. But accomodationist efforts have simply neutered the message. The image that springs to mind is of a raft...when floating in shark infested waters, offering the sharks your remaining food in order to satiate them isn't wise. But then apparently wisdom doesn't get you anything these days.

I've come to believe more and more in the philosophy of strong and wrong vs. weak and right. And frankly I think it's a false choice, because being strong is right, and being weak is both wrong in strategic and policy terms. Parties, as I understand them, exist to create order and structure out of a chaotic political process. They are brands or intellectual shortcuts for voters. When confronted with myriad choices from President down to coroner.* People just want to know that the D and the R mean something. If a brand such as Coke where to come out with a commercial saying: "Pepsi, it's alright, and in fact we've decided to share bottles, from now on buy Coke's newest product: Coksi" they get hammered in the market. Just to offer some historical perspective, remember New Coke. New Coke started out as an attempt by Coke to counter a perceived move in consumer preference towards a sweeter soda. Pepsi did these silly taste tests and sure enough it beat Coke in the Pepsi conducted test. (Side note, turns out Pepsi still wins in a single sip taste test, but people buy 2liters or cans, and after a full can or 2liter people now, as always prefer Coke--because it's stronger and less syrupy). Coke flipped out, and decided that despite being the choice of millions of people for 75 years, it needed to be more like Pepsi. Sound familiar. Democrats do some focus grouping, find people like killing Iraqis, and boom...we jettison more than a century of Democratic ideals for New Democrat.

Instead, one option is to believe that we offer something that the American people like, and that if we continued to offer Classic Coke/Democrat or some pretty close facsimile that we might win. The metaphor breaks down a bit here, because I'm not suggesting we run Great Society II or New Deal: The Next Generation. But rather, that trying to copy, mimic and change our brand only muddies the water. The more we capitulate and the more we imitate the more we risk "New Coking" the Party even further.


*Coroner?! How the fuck am I qualified to judge who should be county coroner. I just picture an attack ad: Ominous voice over guy: "Bob Adams says you can trust him to be the Larimer County coroner, but on three ocassions he's been found slow dancing with dead bodies. (image shows Tom Petty's "Last Dance With Mary Jane" video)

This kind of thing will always be funny

High explanations for basic things will always be funny. This comes from the Style section of the Post (March 2003).

The Shakespearian Hokey Pokey
O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke,
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from Heavens yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl. The Hoke, the poke –
banish now thy doubt Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about.

The others are funny as well.