It's not quite the same, but it certainly reminds me of this Lexus commercial, which has been getting a lot of airplay lately.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
A Girl Walks Into a Bar
Proving, once again, that I am a weirdness magnet.
My class had its end-of-semester party at a bar in the Lower East Side last night. I got there on time, which is to say early, because the MTA was remarkably more efficient than I am accustomed to.
As I stood inside, near the front door, I spotted some guys who looked like either business students or actual practitioners of the business arts. In the back were some young lesbians chilling out over a pitcher, and then at the bar was a range of older working stiffs and hipsters.
One of the working stiffs approached me and offered his seat at the bar. I thanked him but declined, saying I was there for a party.
"No one told me about a party," he said. Then he pointed out the $5 special - a Bud and a shot of whiskey. I said I'd think about it.
I checked to make sure I had the right place. I did. I grabbed a table and decided to wait for twenty minutes. It crossed my mind that maybe I had the time wrong.
In short order, the man I had encountered earlier came over and gave me a bottle of Bud and a shot of something that pretended to be whiskey. "Since you're having trouble deciding," he said.
Now, dear readers, I ask you, what does on do? Accept the gift with no strings attached, or politely demur and risk offending the gracious host?
He returned to his post, and I let it sit for five minutes before starting on the beer.
Eventually, my fellow students and colleagues streamed in, and in short order we had ourselves a party. It was good, we talked, decompressed, and got to know each other better. I watched two boys play a deer hunting game. Several students later resorted to beer pong. Meanwhile, I had a different sort of encounter.
I got to chatting with two of the hipsters, who turned out to be husband and wife. The husband held forth on how men who played hunting games didn't ever really hunt. His wife encouraged me to dance on top of the bar with her. I declined, and waltzed away when she went out for a cigarette. Later, I saw that she and another woman were actually dancing on the bar, and I realized it was a good thing that I demurred because my head would have been in the ceiling. Later, as I donned my coat, she accosted me.
"Where are you going? You're supposed to dance with me!"
"I can't. I am too drunk and I have to go home."
"Come on!"
This looped several times before she finally asked what sign I was.
"You're so stubborn! Are you an Aries? A Taurus?"
"I'm a Gemini," I said. "I'm just persistent."
With that, she let me go, and I glided through the below-freezing temperatures up to Houston, over to Second Avenue - familiar stops from an earlier life - and got on the train to go home.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The End is Near
Not near enough, some might add.
Next week is finals; I've already had my last Financial Accounting class. Now we are into holiday parties, walks in the rain, talks of Winter Intensives, and a sense of accomplishment.
I look at my workplace and wonder where this will put me; I look beyond and the picture is ever broader and hazier. I like school, I like this degree, but I have to say it's good that I have learned to live with ambiguity.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Aviation History
Here is a fascinating bit of aviation history - the Germans trying out a flying wing well before the more publicized efforts of the US after the war, let alone the B2.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Valuable Sayings
From Catwg the Wise, 6th Century.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Change Management
My management class continues to really hit home in ways that I never expected from an MBA class. For a class that focuses on high-level management strategies, it is remarkably personal.
This past week we discussed change management. When I first heard about this topic a few years ago, I imagined it in over-simplified terms based on m IT experience - print out some documentation, engage end users before the change, then walk around the floors and be prepared to answer questions about the new product. Hand-holding, we call it. You can make fun of it, but it's an important part of IT's role within the organization.
What I hadn't fully realized then was how much my background as a military brat has prepared me for the role of change management. I was living in Europe when the Berlin Wall was torn down, and that example is one that our instructor has used repeatedly. What do we do now, she asks, hypothetically, now that forty years of history are no more? The old way of doing things ist vorbei. We must find a new way forward in an unfamiliar landscape.
That was the background against which I graduated high school an entered college, and bearing witness to the transformational power of technology has always been rooted, for me, in the collapse of the Cold War.
This past week we discussed change management. When I first heard about this topic a few years ago, I imagined it in over-simplified terms based on m IT experience - print out some documentation, engage end users before the change, then walk around the floors and be prepared to answer questions about the new product. Hand-holding, we call it. You can make fun of it, but it's an important part of IT's role within the organization.
What I hadn't fully realized then was how much my background as a military brat has prepared me for the role of change management. I was living in Europe when the Berlin Wall was torn down, and that example is one that our instructor has used repeatedly. What do we do now, she asks, hypothetically, now that forty years of history are no more? The old way of doing things ist vorbei. We must find a new way forward in an unfamiliar landscape.
That was the background against which I graduated high school an entered college, and bearing witness to the transformational power of technology has always been rooted, for me, in the collapse of the Cold War.
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Monsters in a Box
Monster bagels. That's what Michael called them. They were the deformed, over-sized or under-sized bagels at the local bagel shop along Lighthouse Way. We were about twelve, and knew each other through our parents, who worked with each other at the Navy School. When I would visit Michael's, we would take a walk to the bagel shop. He would always ask for "monster bagels" because if the had them, they were free. Our odds were better in the morning. By afternoon, more often than not, one or more unnamed predecessors had come in and acquired them, or else they had been bagged up and set out as bird feed for tourists on Fisherman's Wharf.
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Saturday, November 15, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Snap, Crackle, Pop
My body crackles when I stretch.
I carry my tension in my shoulders and neck. Sometmes, it feels like everything between my neck and lower back is just a slab of dried meat, or a rocky carapace molded into its final shape. Then, I stretch - reach for the sky! Reach for the walls! Grainy musculature grinds against itself. Sinews bend only with the promise to snap back into shape.
Then, I twist my neck, and with a pop I feel tension release, like a spring that's come unwound.
I'm getting older. Not old, but certainly older. It's lamentable that as much care as I put into the meat-sack, it's already wearing out.
I carry my tension in my shoulders and neck. Sometmes, it feels like everything between my neck and lower back is just a slab of dried meat, or a rocky carapace molded into its final shape. Then, I stretch - reach for the sky! Reach for the walls! Grainy musculature grinds against itself. Sinews bend only with the promise to snap back into shape.
Then, I twist my neck, and with a pop I feel tension release, like a spring that's come unwound.
I'm getting older. Not old, but certainly older. It's lamentable that as much care as I put into the meat-sack, it's already wearing out.
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Friday, November 7, 2008
O Tattered Remnants of My Childhood
While I find Salon to be a bit earnest at times, I rather enjoyed this column on what Obama's election meant to a generation of cynical Xers. In particular, this passage was charming in its references:
"We were raised under Ronald Reagan, smiling emptily under a shellacked cap of shiny brown hair like a demon clown, warning us (With a knowing nod! With a wink!) about those evil Russians stockpiling nuclear arms thousands of miles away. We were raised by "The Love Boat" and "Eight Is Enough" and "Charlie's Angels," a steady flow of saccharine tales with clunky morals. There were smiling families, hugging and learning important lessons on every channel, while at home, our parents threw dishes at each other's heads. We went to church and learned about God's divine plan every Sunday, but all it took was one Dr. Seuss cartoon about an entire world that existed on a speck of dust, and our belief in God was deconstructed in an instant. Our childhoods were one long existential crisis. We ate Happy Meals while watching the Space Shuttle blow into tiny bits."
http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/11/07/havrilesky/?source=newsletter
"We were raised under Ronald Reagan, smiling emptily under a shellacked cap of shiny brown hair like a demon clown, warning us (With a knowing nod! With a wink!) about those evil Russians stockpiling nuclear arms thousands of miles away. We were raised by "The Love Boat" and "Eight Is Enough" and "Charlie's Angels," a steady flow of saccharine tales with clunky morals. There were smiling families, hugging and learning important lessons on every channel, while at home, our parents threw dishes at each other's heads. We went to church and learned about God's divine plan every Sunday, but all it took was one Dr. Seuss cartoon about an entire world that existed on a speck of dust, and our belief in God was deconstructed in an instant. Our childhoods were one long existential crisis. We ate Happy Meals while watching the Space Shuttle blow into tiny bits."
http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2008/11/07/havrilesky/?source=newsletter
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Thursday, November 6, 2008
148 Years Later
From the NY Times, an interesting, if predictable, coincidence:
"On Nov. 6, 1860, former Illinois congressman Abraham Lincoln defeated three other candidates for the U.S. presidency"
"On Nov. 6, 1860, former Illinois congressman Abraham Lincoln defeated three other candidates for the U.S. presidency"
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Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Interesting
Some professionals I know are predicting the market bottoms out this quarter. The rest of the economy doesn't feel it till summer. Then the recovery begins.
Here is an interesting article.
In particular, I am glad it points out the value of foreign aid.
Then as now, Americans failed to understand that unattended hunger, disease, and deprivation are the breeding grounds of extremism and conflict that threaten our national security and lead to vastly larger costs.
http://www.thebigmoney.com/articles/judgments/2008/11/05/what-obama-needs-do?page=0,0
Here is an interesting article.
In particular, I am glad it points out the value of foreign aid.
Then as now, Americans failed to understand that unattended hunger, disease, and deprivation are the breeding grounds of extremism and conflict that threaten our national security and lead to vastly larger costs.
http://www.thebigmoney.com/articles/judgments/2008/11/05/what-obama-needs-do?page=0,0
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Monday, November 3, 2008
Election Eve
My mother is convinced that Obama is the reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln, returned to finish the work that he started in his previous lifetime. Or so says my father. It sounds like my mother, at least, the mother I floated through adolescence with. Leave me unburdened with the sensible questions; I can tell you there are no good answers. Questions like, isn't Obama good enough within characterizing him as the return of a historical figure? Or hey, as long as we believe in reincarnation, who was Abraham Lincoln the reincarnation of?
It's Monday night, the night before the election. I vote in the morning. I like voting; I really do consider it to be a civic duty. While it's tempting to say that this election matters is extremely important - and it is - I'm not sure that elections are ever unimportant. In my own voting lifetime, 1992 seemed like a given, as did 1996, but maybe that's my own ignorance talking. The 2000 election, for all is endgame drama, didn't seem important at all at the time, but certainly was in retrospect. 2004 was the first election I really felt emotionally vested in, and based on those results, I have been withholding myself a bit in this election.
I was a Hilary supporter. For all her flaws (real and perceived) I thought she was the best candidate. I still do. I think Obama ran a better campaign. And let's be clear, I don't think Obama is a bad candidate. I just thought Hilary was better.
On the Republican side, I feel much more strongly about Sarah Palin than I do about John McCain. I can criticize McCain's policies and his campaign just as easily as I might criticize Obama's, but the inclusion of Sarah Palin has got to be the most laugh-out-loud disturbing move that could sway me one way or another. It's easy to say she's stupid, naive, or whatever - if that were all true, then you wouldn't have to worry much about her possible tenure in the White House. I think she is smart, politically savvy, and very focused on achieving the White House. I wouldn't really be concerned otherwise.
In any case, I vote tomorrow morning before going to work. In many ways, my vote doesn't matter; New York is solidly Democratic, so it's a given that Obama will get New York. I have a midterm tomorrow night; after that, it's of to the pub to watch the results with all the other downtown rabble-rousers.
It's Monday night, the night before the election. I vote in the morning. I like voting; I really do consider it to be a civic duty. While it's tempting to say that this election matters is extremely important - and it is - I'm not sure that elections are ever unimportant. In my own voting lifetime, 1992 seemed like a given, as did 1996, but maybe that's my own ignorance talking. The 2000 election, for all is endgame drama, didn't seem important at all at the time, but certainly was in retrospect. 2004 was the first election I really felt emotionally vested in, and based on those results, I have been withholding myself a bit in this election.
I was a Hilary supporter. For all her flaws (real and perceived) I thought she was the best candidate. I still do. I think Obama ran a better campaign. And let's be clear, I don't think Obama is a bad candidate. I just thought Hilary was better.
On the Republican side, I feel much more strongly about Sarah Palin than I do about John McCain. I can criticize McCain's policies and his campaign just as easily as I might criticize Obama's, but the inclusion of Sarah Palin has got to be the most laugh-out-loud disturbing move that could sway me one way or another. It's easy to say she's stupid, naive, or whatever - if that were all true, then you wouldn't have to worry much about her possible tenure in the White House. I think she is smart, politically savvy, and very focused on achieving the White House. I wouldn't really be concerned otherwise.
In any case, I vote tomorrow morning before going to work. In many ways, my vote doesn't matter; New York is solidly Democratic, so it's a given that Obama will get New York. I have a midterm tomorrow night; after that, it's of to the pub to watch the results with all the other downtown rabble-rousers.
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Sunday, November 2, 2008
A Big Weekend
So this weekend has been huge. I don't remember ever seeing Halloween, the NYC Marathon, and an important election converging so closely together.
I'm not a big Halloween person. I'm sort of a spoiler that way, and I don't mean to be. In fact, I try to like Halloween, I want to enjoy it. I just can't. I don't get into the costume bit. I appreciate a good costume, but let's face it, most people do not make or wear good costumes. I also suspect that in my heart of hearts, I am insanely competitive about costumes. I know I'll never put the time and effort into making a truly kickass costume, so I basically don't care to play. Finally, if you take the costuming and death themes out, in the city you're really just seeing a bunch of adults out drinking and having fun together. I've been to plenty of parties. I don't need to dress up as Princess Leia to have fun.
Still, I went to a party sponsored by the student association at my school. It was at a club called Slate, 21st between 5th and 6th; a nice enough place. I didn't see anyone I know. I hung out and chatted with some people, made the rounds, danced. I also wondered, what the hell is it with fat dancing Asian kids? There were two guys wearing these inflatable suits that made them look like walking mangoes. They were coordinated in there dancing - it was a site. They also performed simulated sex acts on girlfriends they were with, as well as with each other. It was something to see.
So, Saturday was a day of studying and cleaning the apartment. I did something else momentous - I bought an iPhone. I am trying so hard to be underwhelmed by this device. It is awesome. I cuddle with it in bed. I walk around the city mapping myself. I am on Facebook and Linkedin with it. OMG, it is, like, the perfect device for me, a mobile companion that does everything I need or want.
The only trouble was, there were not subways all weekend; we were reduced to shuttle buses north of 96th street. Coming back from the gym was a bear, so, I stay in all night - and played with my iPhone.
Favorite app? Real Soccer 2008.
The marathon was today. My apartment looks right out over 5th Avenue, mere blocks from where the runners come in to Manhattan after the Bronx. I watched them start on TV, then watched the political news shows, then watched the runner trickle by. More studying and housework, then I went on a long walk down through Central Park, listening to music on my iPhone. OMG, love it.
So the election is Tuesday. I know who I am going to vote for; I am astonished at anyone who is undecided at this point. I am not sure which way things will swing. In NYC, it's easy to support Obama and assume he's got a lock, but friends of mine who live or visit outside of the city describe endless McCain support as far as the eye can see. It is telling.
I'm not a big Halloween person. I'm sort of a spoiler that way, and I don't mean to be. In fact, I try to like Halloween, I want to enjoy it. I just can't. I don't get into the costume bit. I appreciate a good costume, but let's face it, most people do not make or wear good costumes. I also suspect that in my heart of hearts, I am insanely competitive about costumes. I know I'll never put the time and effort into making a truly kickass costume, so I basically don't care to play. Finally, if you take the costuming and death themes out, in the city you're really just seeing a bunch of adults out drinking and having fun together. I've been to plenty of parties. I don't need to dress up as Princess Leia to have fun.
Still, I went to a party sponsored by the student association at my school. It was at a club called Slate, 21st between 5th and 6th; a nice enough place. I didn't see anyone I know. I hung out and chatted with some people, made the rounds, danced. I also wondered, what the hell is it with fat dancing Asian kids? There were two guys wearing these inflatable suits that made them look like walking mangoes. They were coordinated in there dancing - it was a site. They also performed simulated sex acts on girlfriends they were with, as well as with each other. It was something to see.
So, Saturday was a day of studying and cleaning the apartment. I did something else momentous - I bought an iPhone. I am trying so hard to be underwhelmed by this device. It is awesome. I cuddle with it in bed. I walk around the city mapping myself. I am on Facebook and Linkedin with it. OMG, it is, like, the perfect device for me, a mobile companion that does everything I need or want.
The only trouble was, there were not subways all weekend; we were reduced to shuttle buses north of 96th street. Coming back from the gym was a bear, so, I stay in all night - and played with my iPhone.
Favorite app? Real Soccer 2008.
The marathon was today. My apartment looks right out over 5th Avenue, mere blocks from where the runners come in to Manhattan after the Bronx. I watched them start on TV, then watched the political news shows, then watched the runner trickle by. More studying and housework, then I went on a long walk down through Central Park, listening to music on my iPhone. OMG, love it.
So the election is Tuesday. I know who I am going to vote for; I am astonished at anyone who is undecided at this point. I am not sure which way things will swing. In NYC, it's easy to support Obama and assume he's got a lock, but friends of mine who live or visit outside of the city describe endless McCain support as far as the eye can see. It is telling.
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Saturday, November 1, 2008
I'm So Happy
This has been one of my favorite Sting songs for ages. I seem to like his lesser, more depressed works in general. That said : Sting, I don' get it. You're like. . .a punk rock cowboy? With spaceships? And alien friends driving 57 Chevys like flying saucers? Dude, the midwest is strange, but not that strange.
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I'm So Happy
This has been one of my favorite Sting songs for ages. I seem to like his lesser, more depressed works in general. That said : Sting, I don' get it. You're like. . .a punk rock cowboy? With spaceships? And alien friends driving 57 Chevys like flying saucers? Dude, the midwest is strange, but not that strange.
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Thursday, October 30, 2008
Quote of the Week
Not that this will be a habit mind you. I just thought this was an interesting quote. From The Big Money:
"Inflation is the bacteria of the financial world: It carries a certain ick factor and can cause a lot of trouble if allowed to grow unchecked, but a carefully calibrated amount is essential to keep the bigger, loftier parts of the system functioning properly."
"Inflation is the bacteria of the financial world: It carries a certain ick factor and can cause a lot of trouble if allowed to grow unchecked, but a carefully calibrated amount is essential to keep the bigger, loftier parts of the system functioning properly."
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Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Palin as President
Funny - and creepy. Keep clicking on the door.
http://www.palinaspresident.us/
http://www.palinaspresident.us/
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Meltdown Defined
A friend sent this link: stick figures demonstrating the global financial meltdown.
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Slate Posts on Small Town Theory
An interesting article on Slate about three weeks ago takes on the whole "small town vs DC bit".
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Saturday, October 18, 2008
OMG! Violence Against Women!
But - it had me laughing, bc despite knowing what would happen, I had no idea when.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Barack Jokes About His Reputation and Identity
Funny stuff - and proof that even the ugliest partisanship does not extend fully into DC
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7675927.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7675927.stm
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Yeah, that about sums it up.
I normally take Salon with a grain of salt, but I can never turn down a column by Joan Didion. Today she writes:
"We could argue over whether "intelligent design" should be taught in our schools as an alternative to evolution, and overlook the fact that the rankings of American schools have already dropped to twenty-first in the world in the teaching of science and twenty-fifth in the world in the teaching of math. We could argue over whether or not the McCain campaign had sufficiently vetted its candidate for vice-president, but take at face value the campaign's description of that vetting as "an exhaustive process" including a "seventy-question survey." Most people in those countries where they still teach math and science would not consider seventy questions a particularly taxing assignment, but we could forget this. Amnesia was our preferred state. In what had become our national coma we could forget about Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers and Merrill Lynch and AIG and Washington Mutual and the 81,000 jobs a month and the fact that the national debt had been approaching $10.6 trillion even before Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke mentioned the imperative need to spend, which is to say to borrow, $700 billion for securities backed by bad mortgages, a maneuver likely to raise the debt another trillion dollars. ("We need this to be clean and quick," Paulson told ABC.)"
"We could argue over whether "intelligent design" should be taught in our schools as an alternative to evolution, and overlook the fact that the rankings of American schools have already dropped to twenty-first in the world in the teaching of science and twenty-fifth in the world in the teaching of math. We could argue over whether or not the McCain campaign had sufficiently vetted its candidate for vice-president, but take at face value the campaign's description of that vetting as "an exhaustive process" including a "seventy-question survey." Most people in those countries where they still teach math and science would not consider seventy questions a particularly taxing assignment, but we could forget this. Amnesia was our preferred state. In what had become our national coma we could forget about Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers and Merrill Lynch and AIG and Washington Mutual and the 81,000 jobs a month and the fact that the national debt had been approaching $10.6 trillion even before Henry Paulson and Ben Bernanke mentioned the imperative need to spend, which is to say to borrow, $700 billion for securities backed by bad mortgages, a maneuver likely to raise the debt another trillion dollars. ("We need this to be clean and quick," Paulson told ABC.)"
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Sunday, October 12, 2008
Kids
What is it with the men I meet? They all ask pretty quickly about kids. They want them. I can't have them.
I want kids, have wanted kids, even though my life isn't set up for them financially. it's something to work for. However, I can't actually get pregnant.
I think I would make a great mom. I'm patient and diligent, A good listener and, when required, a strong advocate. Last summer, after a group of kids kicked my niece off a playground, I tracked them down along with their parents and got an apology.
So, this is the second man I've dated who jumps to the kid question right off the bat. He wants 'em. I can't have 'em. I mention adoption, but I know it's not the same. Men who want kids want to pass on their genetic material. In market terms, I'm a bad investment, a complete waste of time.
So anyway, it makes me sad. It's one of those life-unfair things. I see it, i know it, I understand it, but I don't like it and wish it weren't so, and I just had to say that
I want kids, have wanted kids, even though my life isn't set up for them financially. it's something to work for. However, I can't actually get pregnant.
I think I would make a great mom. I'm patient and diligent, A good listener and, when required, a strong advocate. Last summer, after a group of kids kicked my niece off a playground, I tracked them down along with their parents and got an apology.
So, this is the second man I've dated who jumps to the kid question right off the bat. He wants 'em. I can't have 'em. I mention adoption, but I know it's not the same. Men who want kids want to pass on their genetic material. In market terms, I'm a bad investment, a complete waste of time.
So anyway, it makes me sad. It's one of those life-unfair things. I see it, i know it, I understand it, but I don't like it and wish it weren't so, and I just had to say that
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Saturday, October 4, 2008
In Lighter News
In this election season, we all need something to give some non-partisan relief. Herein, the Ukulele Orchestra plays the theme from 'Shaft' on, you guessed it, ukulele.
Watch for the weird-beard in the audience.
http://gawker.com/5059074/the-theme-to-shaft-ukulele-style
Watch for the weird-beard in the audience.
http://gawker.com/5059074/the-theme-to-shaft-ukulele-style
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Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Excesses of the Decade(s)
Here is something I don't understand: when people talk about the "excesses of the decade" as if excess defines a given decade.
The seventies: the excesses of the decade as demonstrated by disco, coke, and lounge suits. Then again, wasn't this the decade that faced stagflation and the first major oil crisis?
The eighties: Reagnomics, leveraged buyouts, and the "greed is good" meme. But this was a decade bookended by a nation hoping for "Morning in America" and the 1987 Wall Street collapse, not to mention the Savings and Loan crisis.
The nineties: a tech boom! the New Economy! Valuation based on hits per page! Yet, the decade started in a near-recessionary state and ended with the collapse of the first tech bubble, and there were adjustment fits as defense spending was downscaled.
Now, the NYT has referenced the excesses of the past decade, i.e. the aughts, and it is true that the housing bubble has been absurd and our economy has been propped up by easy credit. However, we had a near recession near the start, faced the collapse of Worldcom and Enron in accounting scandals, and now, we are coming into a very real recessionary state.
So which is it? Are these decades excessive in their entirety, or does the economy move in a cyclical state?
The seventies: the excesses of the decade as demonstrated by disco, coke, and lounge suits. Then again, wasn't this the decade that faced stagflation and the first major oil crisis?
The eighties: Reagnomics, leveraged buyouts, and the "greed is good" meme. But this was a decade bookended by a nation hoping for "Morning in America" and the 1987 Wall Street collapse, not to mention the Savings and Loan crisis.
The nineties: a tech boom! the New Economy! Valuation based on hits per page! Yet, the decade started in a near-recessionary state and ended with the collapse of the first tech bubble, and there were adjustment fits as defense spending was downscaled.
Now, the NYT has referenced the excesses of the past decade, i.e. the aughts, and it is true that the housing bubble has been absurd and our economy has been propped up by easy credit. However, we had a near recession near the start, faced the collapse of Worldcom and Enron in accounting scandals, and now, we are coming into a very real recessionary state.
So which is it? Are these decades excessive in their entirety, or does the economy move in a cyclical state?
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Saturday, September 13, 2008
North at Night
I ought to mention that I went to the GWB again, coming back at night this time.
Dn and I planned to go one a short evening paddle with a couple other people, but no one else showed up. We got special dispensation to go out as a pair instead of in a group. We decided to paddle north to Fairway (about 125th street). We made such great time we decided to see how far we could go.
We ended up going to the George Washington Bridge.
By the time we got there, it was night. We broke out our lights and cruised on the way back. Having kept on the Manhattan side the whole time, we had a quiet ride back most of the way, past parks and residential neighborhoods, and he highway. At one point, a train roared past, and I could feel the vibration through the river in my boat.
Altogether, we took about 3 hours round trip, pretty good time considering the distance. We had the tide with us most of the way. This was only my third night paddle, and the first time I wasn't in a large group. I felt prepared; nothing bad happened, but something had happened, I would have been confident I could handle it.
I plan to go on more trips, but it was a good trip to go out on on.
Dn and I planned to go one a short evening paddle with a couple other people, but no one else showed up. We got special dispensation to go out as a pair instead of in a group. We decided to paddle north to Fairway (about 125th street). We made such great time we decided to see how far we could go.
We ended up going to the George Washington Bridge.
By the time we got there, it was night. We broke out our lights and cruised on the way back. Having kept on the Manhattan side the whole time, we had a quiet ride back most of the way, past parks and residential neighborhoods, and he highway. At one point, a train roared past, and I could feel the vibration through the river in my boat.
Altogether, we took about 3 hours round trip, pretty good time considering the distance. We had the tide with us most of the way. This was only my third night paddle, and the first time I wasn't in a large group. I felt prepared; nothing bad happened, but something had happened, I would have been confident I could handle it.
I plan to go on more trips, but it was a good trip to go out on on.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Sunday, August 31, 2008
True North
Today was a day of seeing upper Manhattan.
First, I went on a kayaking trip with my club. We left around nine and crossed the river, then paddled up to Edgewater. The tide was good so we pressed on, into points previously unexplored by me. We went under the George Washington Bridge, past a little playground, parking our boats on a thin sliver of a beach on the north end of a riverfront park.
Passing under the bridge was an awesome, as in awe-inspiring, process. First of all, it's big. It's a huge, double-decked bridge. Second of all, it's high. When you're sitting literally on the surface of the water, it is practically another natural artifact, like the palisade cliffs. Finally, there's the noise. There's traffic - trucks, cars, and (oddly) visible bicyclists, but there's also the wind, breezing down the Hudson and suddenly split in two by this giant bridge.
When we got out, we just hung around and snacked. There was no real food so we were limited to the trail mix and fruit and water we'd brought along. The view was gorgeous. We could see the Goldman building in Jersey City, the Empire State Building, the entire riverside of Manhattan, the Cloisters, and points north.
Coming back, we crossed above the bridge, which is unusual because the river's a bit wide there. We passed the little red lighthouse - a landmark Ive heard of but never seen. It's a small, two-story tall, narrow lighthouse under the Manhattan side of the bridge, sitting like a bright bolt of thread against the rocks and marshy growth at the base of the bridge's tower. We gave it a fair clearing due to Coast Guard regulations.
Coming back was quick, a bit hard at first due to some eddies around the bridge, but once we were clear, the current carried us quickly. You could see by the time we got to the boat basin at 79th street. We were strung out, so I had us stop and wait, and even without paddling we drifted about twenty yards per minute.
After we got back, we put everything away, I showed and changed, then got lunch and ate in Central Park.
One of the things I wanted to do this weekend was visit a park up in Inwood. The pastor at my church mentioned it in a recent sermon, including the fact that it had the only remaining natural forest in Manhattan. I took the 1 train up to 207th street. It was like another world - el barrio - as I walked a few blocks uphill to the park's entrance.
The long trip was well worthwhile. There are a few baseball parks that ive way to a salty marsh; the Harlem river laps at the boundary. Walking further out and through the forest, you can see a giant C painted on the Bronx-side cliffs, and you can see a smaller bridge connecting Manhattan to the Bronx. Around the corner is a railroad bridge, much lower and closer to the river. The paths wind over the rails and into a park on the river front. I walked past numerous baseball games, and realized many of the events were promoting a local politician.
It was a long, hot day in the sun. I am happy to be back home for the evening.
First, I went on a kayaking trip with my club. We left around nine and crossed the river, then paddled up to Edgewater. The tide was good so we pressed on, into points previously unexplored by me. We went under the George Washington Bridge, past a little playground, parking our boats on a thin sliver of a beach on the north end of a riverfront park.
Passing under the bridge was an awesome, as in awe-inspiring, process. First of all, it's big. It's a huge, double-decked bridge. Second of all, it's high. When you're sitting literally on the surface of the water, it is practically another natural artifact, like the palisade cliffs. Finally, there's the noise. There's traffic - trucks, cars, and (oddly) visible bicyclists, but there's also the wind, breezing down the Hudson and suddenly split in two by this giant bridge.
When we got out, we just hung around and snacked. There was no real food so we were limited to the trail mix and fruit and water we'd brought along. The view was gorgeous. We could see the Goldman building in Jersey City, the Empire State Building, the entire riverside of Manhattan, the Cloisters, and points north.
Coming back, we crossed above the bridge, which is unusual because the river's a bit wide there. We passed the little red lighthouse - a landmark Ive heard of but never seen. It's a small, two-story tall, narrow lighthouse under the Manhattan side of the bridge, sitting like a bright bolt of thread against the rocks and marshy growth at the base of the bridge's tower. We gave it a fair clearing due to Coast Guard regulations.
Coming back was quick, a bit hard at first due to some eddies around the bridge, but once we were clear, the current carried us quickly. You could see by the time we got to the boat basin at 79th street. We were strung out, so I had us stop and wait, and even without paddling we drifted about twenty yards per minute.
After we got back, we put everything away, I showed and changed, then got lunch and ate in Central Park.
One of the things I wanted to do this weekend was visit a park up in Inwood. The pastor at my church mentioned it in a recent sermon, including the fact that it had the only remaining natural forest in Manhattan. I took the 1 train up to 207th street. It was like another world - el barrio - as I walked a few blocks uphill to the park's entrance.
The long trip was well worthwhile. There are a few baseball parks that ive way to a salty marsh; the Harlem river laps at the boundary. Walking further out and through the forest, you can see a giant C painted on the Bronx-side cliffs, and you can see a smaller bridge connecting Manhattan to the Bronx. Around the corner is a railroad bridge, much lower and closer to the river. The paths wind over the rails and into a park on the river front. I walked past numerous baseball games, and realized many of the events were promoting a local politician.
It was a long, hot day in the sun. I am happy to be back home for the evening.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Monday, August 25, 2008
The Girl with the Golden Arms
I noticed yesterday that my arms are very tan. I've been developing a tan all summer, and doing what I can to develop an even tan. My arms, however, are downright golden.
I think the reason is that a fair amount of my sun time has been spent in a kayak.
When I go out, I'm sitting in a boat, covered with a sprayskirt up to my waist. I've taken to wearing hats to protect my hair, scalp, and face. Maybe my shoulders are golden too, but my back is mostly covered by the swimsuits that I wear.
That leaves my arms. By browned, golden arms, exposed in the August sun.
I think the reason is that a fair amount of my sun time has been spent in a kayak.
When I go out, I'm sitting in a boat, covered with a sprayskirt up to my waist. I've taken to wearing hats to protect my hair, scalp, and face. Maybe my shoulders are golden too, but my back is mostly covered by the swimsuits that I wear.
That leaves my arms. By browned, golden arms, exposed in the August sun.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Sunday, August 24, 2008
On the Water
I went on another morning trip with my kayaking club today. Saturday and Sunday mornings we take about a dozen people from the general public on trips up and down the Hudson. Usually we try to cross the river over to New Jersey, but today the current was very strong in an opposing direction, and we had a middling group of paddlers.
We went north from 56th street to about 86th street, stopping twice to rest and drink water. To give you an idea of how strong the current was, it took over an hour and a half to get up there, and about twenty-five minutes to get back down.
When you go out with the public, you never know what you're going to get. Most people have been out at least once or twice before. For them, the challenge is maintaining their efforts over time. They usually respond well to instruction. There are usually a few people who have never gone out, and for them the challenge is just paddling efficiently.
A lot of people waste effort when then paddle. They use their arms, instead of their core body strength. They put the paddle in partway, and they put it out too far from the boat, leading them to skew their direction. We usually coach them the whole way up, doing what we can to not sound like nags. It's more important when the current is a problem, as it was today.
Kayak instruction is instruction at it's most precise: you can show them what to do and how to do it, but you can't do it for them. It's amazing to me how people muddle through, and then for some, things suddenly click, and they get it. For others. . . .not so much.
Kayaking is a zen art for me. It's something to practice and continually improve upon. Even the basic stroke is difficult to master in a consistent way. What's telling is that for most people, kayaking is like everything else they do in life: they want to just do it, hop in and go. But like so many practices, it isn't something one can simply go do. You have to do it over and over and over again. You have to swing and miss and swing again. It's art art, not a microwave burrito.
We went north from 56th street to about 86th street, stopping twice to rest and drink water. To give you an idea of how strong the current was, it took over an hour and a half to get up there, and about twenty-five minutes to get back down.
When you go out with the public, you never know what you're going to get. Most people have been out at least once or twice before. For them, the challenge is maintaining their efforts over time. They usually respond well to instruction. There are usually a few people who have never gone out, and for them the challenge is just paddling efficiently.
A lot of people waste effort when then paddle. They use their arms, instead of their core body strength. They put the paddle in partway, and they put it out too far from the boat, leading them to skew their direction. We usually coach them the whole way up, doing what we can to not sound like nags. It's more important when the current is a problem, as it was today.
Kayak instruction is instruction at it's most precise: you can show them what to do and how to do it, but you can't do it for them. It's amazing to me how people muddle through, and then for some, things suddenly click, and they get it. For others. . . .not so much.
Kayaking is a zen art for me. It's something to practice and continually improve upon. Even the basic stroke is difficult to master in a consistent way. What's telling is that for most people, kayaking is like everything else they do in life: they want to just do it, hop in and go. But like so many practices, it isn't something one can simply go do. You have to do it over and over and over again. You have to swing and miss and swing again. It's art art, not a microwave burrito.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Sunday, August 17, 2008
To the Edgewater Again
Today I went on one of our early morning kayak trips. My group holds these trips Saturday and Sunday mornings; we leave around 8:30, usually cross the river, then go up or down with the tides. Today we made it as far as Edgewater, which is about 135th street. We departed from 56th.
It was a gorgeous day. It really could not have been more perfect. The sky was blue, the sun was shiny, clouds were light and puffy. There was a slight breeze, a little strong at times, but gentle and cooling most of they time.
I tried out a boat I hadn't been in before (and I've been in most of the models - my favorite, the Chennai, was out on another trip). This boat was HUGE - almost 18 feet long, and wide enought that I had to sit frog-legged in it to grip the knee braces. It tracked well, but tended to skew in the wind. One nice feature was a mini-hatch just big enough for my sandals and sunscreen.
Edgewater has a little marina to tie up at, and we got out and walked around, looking at the parrots in the park that it is known for. On the way back, we stopped at a Japanese supermarket, pulling up on a little beach and hopping the fence. I had already filled up on trail mix and fruit and juice, so I didn't each much.
Overall it was a good group. You never know what you're going to get with the public, but these folks were alright, and able to keep up. There was a little drama towards the end, as they got a little tuckered and slowed down or even stopped while we were crossing the river, and we could see a barge heading our way. We got through of course, we just had to encourage them a bit.
Afterwards, I showered, dried off, put on a sun dress, and walked up Broadway and did some window shopping. All in all, a fun day.
It was a gorgeous day. It really could not have been more perfect. The sky was blue, the sun was shiny, clouds were light and puffy. There was a slight breeze, a little strong at times, but gentle and cooling most of they time.
I tried out a boat I hadn't been in before (and I've been in most of the models - my favorite, the Chennai, was out on another trip). This boat was HUGE - almost 18 feet long, and wide enought that I had to sit frog-legged in it to grip the knee braces. It tracked well, but tended to skew in the wind. One nice feature was a mini-hatch just big enough for my sandals and sunscreen.
Edgewater has a little marina to tie up at, and we got out and walked around, looking at the parrots in the park that it is known for. On the way back, we stopped at a Japanese supermarket, pulling up on a little beach and hopping the fence. I had already filled up on trail mix and fruit and juice, so I didn't each much.
Overall it was a good group. You never know what you're going to get with the public, but these folks were alright, and able to keep up. There was a little drama towards the end, as they got a little tuckered and slowed down or even stopped while we were crossing the river, and we could see a barge heading our way. We got through of course, we just had to encourage them a bit.
Afterwards, I showered, dried off, put on a sun dress, and walked up Broadway and did some window shopping. All in all, a fun day.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Other Thirty Years
I just finished watching "The Lives of Others", the German film about an East German secret police officer who, while monitoring a prized writer he suspects of subversive tendencies, comes to sympathize with the man and, in the end, saves his life and career. Its an excellent film, already highly recommended, and I only regret waiting almost two years to see it.
I am reminded of another film I saw last year, "Goodbye, Lenin", which is a serio-comic take on the transition from the bifurcate Germany of my youth to the nascent unified Germany that took its place. In that film, a young East German man's mother, conditioned to be a Communist Party loyalist after her husband defected to the West, has a heart attack when she sees her son marching with protesters just before the Berlin Wall collapses. She wakes up months later, and her son is advise by doctors not to let anything shock her in her weak condition. Most of the plot of the film revolves around the man trying to make it appear as if Communism never dies, using an old VCR to simulate East German news broadcasts, covering her windo, and scouting for old brands of East German food. The extens he must got to are hilarious, and the moments of genine pathos touching.
In with these two films I'll throw one I saw last January at Sundance, titled "The Wave". It's about a German social studies teacher who, in an effort to convince his students of the dangers of fascism, forms them into fascist group. It's a fascinating, compelling portrait of how fascism works, and how quickly it can spiral out of control.
With all of these films, I am reminded of how much I loved not only living in Germany, but of how beautiful the German language can be, and the deep, somber truths of the literary tradition there. True to stereotype, Germans have as much betrayal, blood, and death as the English, but it all seems so much more systematic. Particularly in "The Lives of Others", there is a sense of the state, or in older periods the church, or the social order, controlling the framework within which the dramas of ordinary people are cast. It's not at all like us cavalier Americans, with our wide open spaces, our cars and motorcycles, our penchant for freedom. German auto sciences are about precision because there's nowhere to escape to.
Having lived in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down, I can relate keenly to scenes of jubilation in these movies when the Wall is first cracked, and the post-Glasnost audience knows the rest of the story. The story was unwritten back then; it was unbelievable even as it unfolded. My family lived there from 1986 until 1990, and for all but the last nine months of that period, it was clear that that wall was not going to come down in our lifetime, or at least not our tour. We were there with the US Army and we were there to protect Western Europe from the Red Army and all the Warsaw Pact forces lined up in the east.
I rarely encounter anyone who understands the visceral reaction to the collapse of the Wall. Even those who understand the historical significance don't always resonate with the sense of jubilation. This was a wall that kept families apart for decades. It was a visible and stark reminder of the larger division of Germany, the partitioning of a historically important player on the European stage. Continental statecraft was always geared towards keeping the Germans in check (but not Czechoslovakia, ha ha ha). The collapse of the wall was the reuniting of a nation, a rapprochment between lovers, and your divorced parents getting back together, all at once.
Of course it wasn't all sunshine and roses afterwards. The wealth disparities between east and west came to present a problem, and Germans struggled for years in mixing their identities. The Westerners tended to resent the drag on their economy that the East presented, and Easterners, whil happy to be free from Communist oppression, were dismayed at the materialism of the West and the strains Capitalism put on their Socialist ideals.
I only lived in Germany for four years, and it was about twenty years ago at that. The Berlin Wall stood for just under thirty years, a blink in the eye of history, but a resounding symbol of the deeper divisions of the Cold War. I can scarcely believe there are kids who have grown up with no idea of the wall's existence or importance, and I marvel whenever I see it and the lives of the Germans it overshadowed represented in film.
I am reminded of another film I saw last year, "Goodbye, Lenin", which is a serio-comic take on the transition from the bifurcate Germany of my youth to the nascent unified Germany that took its place. In that film, a young East German man's mother, conditioned to be a Communist Party loyalist after her husband defected to the West, has a heart attack when she sees her son marching with protesters just before the Berlin Wall collapses. She wakes up months later, and her son is advise by doctors not to let anything shock her in her weak condition. Most of the plot of the film revolves around the man trying to make it appear as if Communism never dies, using an old VCR to simulate East German news broadcasts, covering her windo, and scouting for old brands of East German food. The extens he must got to are hilarious, and the moments of genine pathos touching.
In with these two films I'll throw one I saw last January at Sundance, titled "The Wave". It's about a German social studies teacher who, in an effort to convince his students of the dangers of fascism, forms them into fascist group. It's a fascinating, compelling portrait of how fascism works, and how quickly it can spiral out of control.
With all of these films, I am reminded of how much I loved not only living in Germany, but of how beautiful the German language can be, and the deep, somber truths of the literary tradition there. True to stereotype, Germans have as much betrayal, blood, and death as the English, but it all seems so much more systematic. Particularly in "The Lives of Others", there is a sense of the state, or in older periods the church, or the social order, controlling the framework within which the dramas of ordinary people are cast. It's not at all like us cavalier Americans, with our wide open spaces, our cars and motorcycles, our penchant for freedom. German auto sciences are about precision because there's nowhere to escape to.
Having lived in Germany when the Berlin Wall came down, I can relate keenly to scenes of jubilation in these movies when the Wall is first cracked, and the post-Glasnost audience knows the rest of the story. The story was unwritten back then; it was unbelievable even as it unfolded. My family lived there from 1986 until 1990, and for all but the last nine months of that period, it was clear that that wall was not going to come down in our lifetime, or at least not our tour. We were there with the US Army and we were there to protect Western Europe from the Red Army and all the Warsaw Pact forces lined up in the east.
I rarely encounter anyone who understands the visceral reaction to the collapse of the Wall. Even those who understand the historical significance don't always resonate with the sense of jubilation. This was a wall that kept families apart for decades. It was a visible and stark reminder of the larger division of Germany, the partitioning of a historically important player on the European stage. Continental statecraft was always geared towards keeping the Germans in check (but not Czechoslovakia, ha ha ha). The collapse of the wall was the reuniting of a nation, a rapprochment between lovers, and your divorced parents getting back together, all at once.
Of course it wasn't all sunshine and roses afterwards. The wealth disparities between east and west came to present a problem, and Germans struggled for years in mixing their identities. The Westerners tended to resent the drag on their economy that the East presented, and Easterners, whil happy to be free from Communist oppression, were dismayed at the materialism of the West and the strains Capitalism put on their Socialist ideals.
I only lived in Germany for four years, and it was about twenty years ago at that. The Berlin Wall stood for just under thirty years, a blink in the eye of history, but a resounding symbol of the deeper divisions of the Cold War. I can scarcely believe there are kids who have grown up with no idea of the wall's existence or importance, and I marvel whenever I see it and the lives of the Germans it overshadowed represented in film.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Dating
Remember when, I think to myself, I used to blog about dating, and going out, and all the fun adventures I had in the city?
It seems so sophomoric now. It was as if I would go do something just to write about it. It wasn't enough to experience life; I was accumulating material, as if I had nothing to say until I did something - a notion which, come to think of it, was probably accurate.
So, last night I had a nice date. we met in the Lower East Side. We had a dinner date. We talked - as seems to happen increasingly often with my dating - about religion and politics.
It was a reflection of old habits, trawling the LES, drinking and eating and kissing under halogen lights. I keep thinking I'm too old for this, or perhaps the thrill is gone, but in all it was a good date, and I hope we have another.
It seems so sophomoric now. It was as if I would go do something just to write about it. It wasn't enough to experience life; I was accumulating material, as if I had nothing to say until I did something - a notion which, come to think of it, was probably accurate.
So, last night I had a nice date. we met in the Lower East Side. We had a dinner date. We talked - as seems to happen increasingly often with my dating - about religion and politics.
It was a reflection of old habits, trawling the LES, drinking and eating and kissing under halogen lights. I keep thinking I'm too old for this, or perhaps the thrill is gone, but in all it was a good date, and I hope we have another.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Decisions
I'm still deciding where to pursue an MBA. Actually, I'm not really deciding that so much as adjusting myself to the consequences of my decision. I'm going to go for NYU, despite the cost.
I'm nervous. I'm more than a little scared. It's a commitment not just to this particular program, but to paying back the costs over time. At my age, I have less time than most people who enter MBAs, and I still have some costs from my undergrad.
However, the opportunity is too great. Where I had planned before to obtain an inexpensive MBA and just work for a few more years, the opportunity for better long-term contacts an career prospects are too great. It's painful to think about the next six years financially, but sixteen, even twenty-six years out, I think I will have done better.
So, NYU it is. God have mercy on me.
I'm nervous. I'm more than a little scared. It's a commitment not just to this particular program, but to paying back the costs over time. At my age, I have less time than most people who enter MBAs, and I still have some costs from my undergrad.
However, the opportunity is too great. Where I had planned before to obtain an inexpensive MBA and just work for a few more years, the opportunity for better long-term contacts an career prospects are too great. It's painful to think about the next six years financially, but sixteen, even twenty-six years out, I think I will have done better.
So, NYU it is. God have mercy on me.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Sunday
Sunday was a long day.
I volunteered with my kayaking club to support the NYC triathlon. Basically swim support means we go out in our kayaks and prevent the swimmers from swimming out into the open river or swimming into the sea wall. They're so focused on moving forward, they get off track easily.
This meant I got up at 3 AM. I was out the door by 3:30 to get to the 79th Street Boat Basin by 4. Less than an hour later, we were on the water, lining up and watching the sun rise.
The first wave came through a little before six. There were two clusters, a large group and then a smaller group. Altogether, it looked like a serpent roiling through the water, or perhaps two giant hands twisting their way through the river. These guys were fast. These were the professionals, competing for a $100,000 prize.
After that came a series of swimmers. They got less serious as they went on. We were instructed to call out to the swimmers the direction they should head, i.e. "Swimmer! Left!" or to point with our paddles. We could even bonk them with our paddles if we needed to. The first guy who ran into my boat didn't pay any attention and ran right into my side. "Swimmer, left," I gently cooed. "What? in your bloody canoe?" he scowled. Swimmers in the back half of the race apologized as if they had reached too far in front of me at the grocery store. "Sorry," they would say, and then bob in the water aiming their goggled eyes across the waves, looking for the way out.
A man had a heart attack and died. I didn't see that. There were many reports of jellyfish stings. I did see them. They look like giant muffin wrappers in the water.
Afterwards we took our boats back to where they belonged. I stayed at our spot on 72nd street even though we weren't opening. It seemed pointless to put the boats away. I turned away all walkups except one: Doris, a woman in her nineties who comes by early morning every weekend to paddle. When i told her we weren't opening until noon she was crestfallen. I let her go out - and she stayed out for over an hour. I hope someone will put me in a boat when I'm that old.
After that, I ran back and forth between 56th and 72nd running errands, then walked all over the upper west side looking for a bank, for stationary, and finally for lunch. It was hot and muggy, humid and in the 90s, brutal weather.
I met my friend TM and we went downtown to see if we could find the waterfalls. We got out at Wall Street and walked over to South Street Seaport. We were able to see the falls under the Brooklyn Bridge, as well as a set out on Governor's Island. TM's work relocated downtown, so he took me to some of his favorite spots in Battery Park.
After walking through Battery Park we came upon the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Behind it was the old terminal, now renamed the Governor's Island Ferry Terminal. It has a neo-rococo look, with several flags hanging out front. Only a very small space is devoted to the terminal. The rest is being refurbished, and this summer is host to an art installation by David Byrne. Because of something to do with the incomplete renovations and the ownership of the site, we had to sign waivers in order to see the exhibit. I've never had to waive my rights to see an art installation before.
The installation itself was interesting but underwhelming. An old organ has been wired to different sound effects in the building that replicate the industrial sounds of its former life.The space itself was far more interesting, one of those derelict urban spaces that reek of history and assert that they aren't through yet. Gangways for the ferry, stairs over water, and a giant brick waiting room with a dirty skylight were all on display. It's the kind of urban space I like to find.
After the terminal, we had another encounter downtown, this time with a French-speaking violinist busking for change. TM gave him money, and I thought we were through, but the man insisted that TM pose as if TM were the fiddler and the man was putting money in the case. I took pictures, then I took on the role, holding the violin to the man's exacting specifications. TM took pictures. I sent one to my father, who played violin as a child. He pointed out that I was holding the violin wrong.
Next, we hopped on the JMZ line to go up to Delancey. There was a restaurant I wanted to try in the Lower East Side. The Chambers Street station and the Delancey Street station were very interesting. The first was large and expansive, but somewhat ill-kept. The second was far more brightly lit than I remembered, and had a weird arrangement with the intersecting F line.
We walked over to Avenue C - Losaida - and sought out the restaurant. We never did find it, so we settled for Esperanto, a charming little bistro with a reasonable menu. I had appetizers - a wonderful chayote salad along with some friend potato-cod balls. TM had the house chicken, rich with coriander. Desert, a warm brownie with molten chocolate inside was wonderful. I only regret we did not try their drinks.
All along our day, the weather was brutally hot and muggy. It drained the life out of us. We kept on sunblock, and even with it on TM was a shade darker by the end of the day than when we started. We drank gallons of water every change we had. For myself, this was all on top of having gotten up at three in the morning. I thoroughly enjoyed our day, but by the time I got home - around nine - I was ready for it to be over.
I volunteered with my kayaking club to support the NYC triathlon. Basically swim support means we go out in our kayaks and prevent the swimmers from swimming out into the open river or swimming into the sea wall. They're so focused on moving forward, they get off track easily.
This meant I got up at 3 AM. I was out the door by 3:30 to get to the 79th Street Boat Basin by 4. Less than an hour later, we were on the water, lining up and watching the sun rise.
The first wave came through a little before six. There were two clusters, a large group and then a smaller group. Altogether, it looked like a serpent roiling through the water, or perhaps two giant hands twisting their way through the river. These guys were fast. These were the professionals, competing for a $100,000 prize.
After that came a series of swimmers. They got less serious as they went on. We were instructed to call out to the swimmers the direction they should head, i.e. "Swimmer! Left!" or to point with our paddles. We could even bonk them with our paddles if we needed to. The first guy who ran into my boat didn't pay any attention and ran right into my side. "Swimmer, left," I gently cooed. "What? in your bloody canoe?" he scowled. Swimmers in the back half of the race apologized as if they had reached too far in front of me at the grocery store. "Sorry," they would say, and then bob in the water aiming their goggled eyes across the waves, looking for the way out.
A man had a heart attack and died. I didn't see that. There were many reports of jellyfish stings. I did see them. They look like giant muffin wrappers in the water.
Afterwards we took our boats back to where they belonged. I stayed at our spot on 72nd street even though we weren't opening. It seemed pointless to put the boats away. I turned away all walkups except one: Doris, a woman in her nineties who comes by early morning every weekend to paddle. When i told her we weren't opening until noon she was crestfallen. I let her go out - and she stayed out for over an hour. I hope someone will put me in a boat when I'm that old.
After that, I ran back and forth between 56th and 72nd running errands, then walked all over the upper west side looking for a bank, for stationary, and finally for lunch. It was hot and muggy, humid and in the 90s, brutal weather.
I met my friend TM and we went downtown to see if we could find the waterfalls. We got out at Wall Street and walked over to South Street Seaport. We were able to see the falls under the Brooklyn Bridge, as well as a set out on Governor's Island. TM's work relocated downtown, so he took me to some of his favorite spots in Battery Park.
After walking through Battery Park we came upon the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Behind it was the old terminal, now renamed the Governor's Island Ferry Terminal. It has a neo-rococo look, with several flags hanging out front. Only a very small space is devoted to the terminal. The rest is being refurbished, and this summer is host to an art installation by David Byrne. Because of something to do with the incomplete renovations and the ownership of the site, we had to sign waivers in order to see the exhibit. I've never had to waive my rights to see an art installation before.
The installation itself was interesting but underwhelming. An old organ has been wired to different sound effects in the building that replicate the industrial sounds of its former life.The space itself was far more interesting, one of those derelict urban spaces that reek of history and assert that they aren't through yet. Gangways for the ferry, stairs over water, and a giant brick waiting room with a dirty skylight were all on display. It's the kind of urban space I like to find.
After the terminal, we had another encounter downtown, this time with a French-speaking violinist busking for change. TM gave him money, and I thought we were through, but the man insisted that TM pose as if TM were the fiddler and the man was putting money in the case. I took pictures, then I took on the role, holding the violin to the man's exacting specifications. TM took pictures. I sent one to my father, who played violin as a child. He pointed out that I was holding the violin wrong.
Next, we hopped on the JMZ line to go up to Delancey. There was a restaurant I wanted to try in the Lower East Side. The Chambers Street station and the Delancey Street station were very interesting. The first was large and expansive, but somewhat ill-kept. The second was far more brightly lit than I remembered, and had a weird arrangement with the intersecting F line.
We walked over to Avenue C - Losaida - and sought out the restaurant. We never did find it, so we settled for Esperanto, a charming little bistro with a reasonable menu. I had appetizers - a wonderful chayote salad along with some friend potato-cod balls. TM had the house chicken, rich with coriander. Desert, a warm brownie with molten chocolate inside was wonderful. I only regret we did not try their drinks.
All along our day, the weather was brutally hot and muggy. It drained the life out of us. We kept on sunblock, and even with it on TM was a shade darker by the end of the day than when we started. We drank gallons of water every change we had. For myself, this was all on top of having gotten up at three in the morning. I thoroughly enjoyed our day, but by the time I got home - around nine - I was ready for it to be over.
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Quaint
Oil and Competition
http://io9.com/5028683/colonel-cosmic-brings-lube-job-to-mars
http://io9.com/5028683/colonel-cosmic-brings-lube-job-to-mars
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Monday, July 14, 2008
Harlem
It's not a ghetto. A friend of mine asked me that once, not long after I moved here. "Is it the ghetto?" Harlem isn't the ghetto. At least, most of it is not the ghetto.
In fact, the NYT recently described my buiding complex as 'luxury apartments". They're nice, and mine is certainly newly renovated, and that's nice. A notable Member fo Congress lives here, along with another prominent black politician, and the NY state governor has a residence here. I'm near a hospital and a public school, near an express train and a convenient bus stop. It's a nice place to live.
Still, there are certain things I don't tell my parents about. This blog is safe bc while my mother is net-savvy, I don't think she reads blogs, let alone my blog.
Gentrification has taken its toll. A white male friend of mine was punched for no reason other than, from what he could tell, he was white and moving in to the neighborhood - this after living here for something live six years. Another time, I was walking down the street minding my own business when a man at the other end of the sidewalk looked straight at me and said, "get the fuck out of Harlem". I ignored him, and wondered if he'd ever talked to the big and loud guy who greeted me outside the grocery store with a solicitation to suck his dick. I declined.
Most of the people here are good people. Every day I see those who anywhere else in America would be called minorities studying hard to get in to college, or for a technical training program, or to be nurses, or computer technicians. I see well-dressed, responsible young men and women slogging their way to and from work just like me.
But I also see, through the democratizing means of transportation known as the subway, some really rude behavior. Eating on the train is one thing; eating fried chicken is another. People get nasty with each other and rag on each other's ethnicity. I'm not talking hillbilly race riots, I'm talking about Latinos ragging on black, or the other way around. I have seen mothers screaming at their own children for dripping ice cream on their hands, as if they were dogs that shit on the rug. Or, another time, I was alone on the train with two boys, and the older one pulled out his dick and started waving it around. What is it with men and their dicks?
There's violence. I've been spared, and I've certainly pushed my luck, coming home in the wee hours of the night from a couple of rounds in the LES. A couple of years ago, a man high on PCP started shooting around the projects that are on the next block. When the police arrived, he ran up fourteen flights of stairs, forced his way into an apartment, then jumped out the window to escape (he died, but they say he probably didn't feel anything). A month or two ago, there was some kind of rampage, or possibly unrelated killings, that meandered from Marcus Garvey park ten blocks south of me to 130th street or so and Lenox, which is about five blocks south. I was out of town that day.
Sometimes you just can't tell. The other night - second week of July, after a hot and muggy week - I fell asleep early and work up just before one AM. I heard a lound bang, like a truck bouncing on one of the bridges, or a metal plate in the street. There were two more, then screaming among the crowd at the basketball courts nearby. The yelling surged, like a crowd rushing past. There were a couple more pops, lighter, I'm guessing smaller caliber. The police showed up, but by the time they did, the crowd was still dispersing but more slowly. When I asked my doorman about it the next night, he said it was probably just people shooting in the air to celebrate.
Now, is that true, or was he just saying that to make me feel safe, the pretty little white girl in Harlem?
Harlem is, all at once, the most interesting neighborhood I've lived in and the most depressing. There are some amazing people here, surrounded by old habits that perpetuate misery. I have seen some really wonderful moments between people, and some depraved, abusive behavior. It is inspiring and degrading, a microcosm of humanity.
In fact, the NYT recently described my buiding complex as 'luxury apartments". They're nice, and mine is certainly newly renovated, and that's nice. A notable Member fo Congress lives here, along with another prominent black politician, and the NY state governor has a residence here. I'm near a hospital and a public school, near an express train and a convenient bus stop. It's a nice place to live.
Still, there are certain things I don't tell my parents about. This blog is safe bc while my mother is net-savvy, I don't think she reads blogs, let alone my blog.
Gentrification has taken its toll. A white male friend of mine was punched for no reason other than, from what he could tell, he was white and moving in to the neighborhood - this after living here for something live six years. Another time, I was walking down the street minding my own business when a man at the other end of the sidewalk looked straight at me and said, "get the fuck out of Harlem". I ignored him, and wondered if he'd ever talked to the big and loud guy who greeted me outside the grocery store with a solicitation to suck his dick. I declined.
Most of the people here are good people. Every day I see those who anywhere else in America would be called minorities studying hard to get in to college, or for a technical training program, or to be nurses, or computer technicians. I see well-dressed, responsible young men and women slogging their way to and from work just like me.
But I also see, through the democratizing means of transportation known as the subway, some really rude behavior. Eating on the train is one thing; eating fried chicken is another. People get nasty with each other and rag on each other's ethnicity. I'm not talking hillbilly race riots, I'm talking about Latinos ragging on black, or the other way around. I have seen mothers screaming at their own children for dripping ice cream on their hands, as if they were dogs that shit on the rug. Or, another time, I was alone on the train with two boys, and the older one pulled out his dick and started waving it around. What is it with men and their dicks?
There's violence. I've been spared, and I've certainly pushed my luck, coming home in the wee hours of the night from a couple of rounds in the LES. A couple of years ago, a man high on PCP started shooting around the projects that are on the next block. When the police arrived, he ran up fourteen flights of stairs, forced his way into an apartment, then jumped out the window to escape (he died, but they say he probably didn't feel anything). A month or two ago, there was some kind of rampage, or possibly unrelated killings, that meandered from Marcus Garvey park ten blocks south of me to 130th street or so and Lenox, which is about five blocks south. I was out of town that day.
Sometimes you just can't tell. The other night - second week of July, after a hot and muggy week - I fell asleep early and work up just before one AM. I heard a lound bang, like a truck bouncing on one of the bridges, or a metal plate in the street. There were two more, then screaming among the crowd at the basketball courts nearby. The yelling surged, like a crowd rushing past. There were a couple more pops, lighter, I'm guessing smaller caliber. The police showed up, but by the time they did, the crowd was still dispersing but more slowly. When I asked my doorman about it the next night, he said it was probably just people shooting in the air to celebrate.
Now, is that true, or was he just saying that to make me feel safe, the pretty little white girl in Harlem?
Harlem is, all at once, the most interesting neighborhood I've lived in and the most depressing. There are some amazing people here, surrounded by old habits that perpetuate misery. I have seen some really wonderful moments between people, and some depraved, abusive behavior. It is inspiring and degrading, a microcosm of humanity.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Rollin' in the River
Another day on the river. I spent more time than I expected, but I needed it.
I went down to the boathouse to go out on a trip. I assisted with two other volunteers plus our leader. we had about twelve members of the public and headed across to the Jersey side. We went up, and intended to go farther, but the wind and current not aligned well and were whipsawing us all over the place. Half my effort went to just keeping my boat straight. We headed up to about 80th street (we started out at 56th) and crossed back, coming down with the current.
I learned a lot about managing my boat in less than ideal conditions. I'm also getting my face around the boathouse seniors. I did get a little talk about staying with the group. I got out to far ahead a few times. I need to check the rearview more often and make sure I'm still with the group.
When we got back, I took a break and hopped out of the Chennai. I love the Chennai, by the way, it's an awesome boat. It's speedy and it tracks well. I wanted to try some rolling, so after a snack I went out in a Baja, which I'm more familiar with. I only spent about half an hour rolling. I got pretty good, but flubbed at one point and did a wet exit. I did well climbing back in, but by the time my buddy and I were done pumping the boat out, we were ready for some other things, so we chatted with another volunteer about hand rolling, and I plied around the embayment for a bit.
There was a huge arriving event - some sort of group trip from Albany, mostly folks in their sixties and older, plus a few extras for the last leg. Some of them had very nice, very fancy boats. We helped them out and walked them back to the lawn in front of the boathouse, then noshed on sandwiched. At one point I rode up to my usual spot to see how things were going, and later two more volunteers came up, so I rode back down and changed into regular clothes to go home.
I love kayaking. I really enjoy this particular club as well, and it's fun to ride a bike up and down the trail the city's developed along the waterfront. I learned a bit more about how the trust and authority structures are organized for different parts of the waterfront. It's really fascinating. It's remarkable what the city has done, compared with what was along the waterfront before.
I went down to the boathouse to go out on a trip. I assisted with two other volunteers plus our leader. we had about twelve members of the public and headed across to the Jersey side. We went up, and intended to go farther, but the wind and current not aligned well and were whipsawing us all over the place. Half my effort went to just keeping my boat straight. We headed up to about 80th street (we started out at 56th) and crossed back, coming down with the current.
I learned a lot about managing my boat in less than ideal conditions. I'm also getting my face around the boathouse seniors. I did get a little talk about staying with the group. I got out to far ahead a few times. I need to check the rearview more often and make sure I'm still with the group.
When we got back, I took a break and hopped out of the Chennai. I love the Chennai, by the way, it's an awesome boat. It's speedy and it tracks well. I wanted to try some rolling, so after a snack I went out in a Baja, which I'm more familiar with. I only spent about half an hour rolling. I got pretty good, but flubbed at one point and did a wet exit. I did well climbing back in, but by the time my buddy and I were done pumping the boat out, we were ready for some other things, so we chatted with another volunteer about hand rolling, and I plied around the embayment for a bit.
There was a huge arriving event - some sort of group trip from Albany, mostly folks in their sixties and older, plus a few extras for the last leg. Some of them had very nice, very fancy boats. We helped them out and walked them back to the lawn in front of the boathouse, then noshed on sandwiched. At one point I rode up to my usual spot to see how things were going, and later two more volunteers came up, so I rode back down and changed into regular clothes to go home.
I love kayaking. I really enjoy this particular club as well, and it's fun to ride a bike up and down the trail the city's developed along the waterfront. I learned a bit more about how the trust and authority structures are organized for different parts of the waterfront. It's really fascinating. It's remarkable what the city has done, compared with what was along the waterfront before.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
A Man I Worked For Was Cleaning the Table
Today I've come for training. The company providing the training is a company I used to work for. I think what's happened is that all but one of the original owners have sold their shares out and moved on, and the remaining owner changed locations to SoHo and turned what had been a service company into a training company.
So, it was an odd sight, to see the main who was my boss wiping down the table in the waiting room. Not bad, not really odd, just - Seven Years Later. Small business is small business.
It was also odd walking up the stairs, not quite aligned with the plane of gravity, let alone each other. After working in midtown a year, and a well-kept private school before then, I'd forgotten how cool it was to open a tiny little unmarked door to see a giant set of stairs leading up, each office a stop along the way, doors farther back the higher you climbed.
So, it was an odd sight, to see the main who was my boss wiping down the table in the waiting room. Not bad, not really odd, just - Seven Years Later. Small business is small business.
It was also odd walking up the stairs, not quite aligned with the plane of gravity, let alone each other. After working in midtown a year, and a well-kept private school before then, I'd forgotten how cool it was to open a tiny little unmarked door to see a giant set of stairs leading up, each office a stop along the way, doors farther back the higher you climbed.
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Sunday, July 6, 2008
The Weekend Closes with Liberty
So, the Fourth of July Weekend has come and gone. It felt a little bizarre to have the Fourth on a Friday. The entire week leading up to the weekend felt like part of the holiday, which makes sense given that Pride was going on the weekend before, and I had not one but two different friends visiting from out of town. There were several drinks and dinner get-togethers involved, and they all kind of blur together.
The Fourth itself was a bit of a mixed bag. I made plans with one friend, but she begged out in the afternoon because she wasn't feeling well. So, I called up another friend and we got together for dinner in the Lower East Side. As much as that neighborhood changes, it's still fun to walk through, especially since I'd been out the night before an had some ideas for dinner. We ended up at a nice Mexican place on Saint Marks, a place I'd enjoyed during the day a while back, but which was very nicely lit at night. We managed to see some of the fireworks but they were mostly obscured by a muggy fog that hung over the entire city. As we wound our way through Thompkins Square and to points east (as far as Avenue C) we only saw a periodic glow in the heavens above.
Saturday I chilled in. I worked with my kayak group in the park, but after some heavy rains and twenty minutes of no one stopping by, we closed up. I got some soup at Ollie's and came home.
Sunday, I went on a big kayaking trip with our group. We sponsor these trips with the public, and I was hoping to just go along for the ride. You have to arrive early, before eight in the morning, and the trips last about three or four hours.
Before we left, someone told me that our trip leader had a tendency to let people get a bit too extended. She got some more experienced volunteers to come along with us. This set the tone for the trip to come.
It wasn't a bad trip. Altogether we shepherded a dozen people in open boats across the Hudson river at 56th street all the way down to a marina in Liberty State Park. The current was with us each way, and I learned a lot about that part of the river - I hadn't been past Hoboken previously.
What was daunting was that this guy kind of passively put me in a leadership position I wasn't prepared for. While crossing the river and kayaking in general are safe, when you lead one of these trips you are, basically, responsible for other peoples' lives. You not only have to watch out for river traffic and changing river conditions, but you have to communicate with complete strangers who may have no kayaking skills at all, keep them together, and make sure they don't become too tired to make it back.
I made the mistake of making myself known when I offered to organize the public while our leader finished getting in his boat. When we left, he told everyone to follow me across the river. I did it wrong - not knowing exactly where we were going, I picked a spot to far up, costing us time and almost forcing an unnecessary crossing in front of a ferry terminal.
Fortunately another, more experienced volunteer realized what was going on and coached me through, and on the way back, our leader took more of a leadership role. It was like he couldn't wait to get back.
The trip itself was phenomenal. It was one of the longest trips I've taken so far. As we cruised past Hoboken and Jersey City, it was remarkable how much that area has changed. There are twice as many skyscrapers in Jersey City as I recall from when I lived there five years ago. As we came around the Colgate clock and pulled in to the marina, I realized we were in a familiar place, as I used to walk past the marina whenever I went to Liberty State Park.
After we came back, I chatted with some friends and came home to shower and get ready for church. I was reading scripture that day and wanted to look nice. Our readings were strange when next to each other - romantic piece from the Song of Solomon, and a piece from Romans that basically says, "woe is me, I keep doing things I know are wrong even though I want to do good things." The sermon put it together though - Love, not punishment, is the only thing that can effect real change. It's not quite liberation theology, but it is liberating for many people.
The Fourth itself was a bit of a mixed bag. I made plans with one friend, but she begged out in the afternoon because she wasn't feeling well. So, I called up another friend and we got together for dinner in the Lower East Side. As much as that neighborhood changes, it's still fun to walk through, especially since I'd been out the night before an had some ideas for dinner. We ended up at a nice Mexican place on Saint Marks, a place I'd enjoyed during the day a while back, but which was very nicely lit at night. We managed to see some of the fireworks but they were mostly obscured by a muggy fog that hung over the entire city. As we wound our way through Thompkins Square and to points east (as far as Avenue C) we only saw a periodic glow in the heavens above.
Saturday I chilled in. I worked with my kayak group in the park, but after some heavy rains and twenty minutes of no one stopping by, we closed up. I got some soup at Ollie's and came home.
Sunday, I went on a big kayaking trip with our group. We sponsor these trips with the public, and I was hoping to just go along for the ride. You have to arrive early, before eight in the morning, and the trips last about three or four hours.
Before we left, someone told me that our trip leader had a tendency to let people get a bit too extended. She got some more experienced volunteers to come along with us. This set the tone for the trip to come.
It wasn't a bad trip. Altogether we shepherded a dozen people in open boats across the Hudson river at 56th street all the way down to a marina in Liberty State Park. The current was with us each way, and I learned a lot about that part of the river - I hadn't been past Hoboken previously.
What was daunting was that this guy kind of passively put me in a leadership position I wasn't prepared for. While crossing the river and kayaking in general are safe, when you lead one of these trips you are, basically, responsible for other peoples' lives. You not only have to watch out for river traffic and changing river conditions, but you have to communicate with complete strangers who may have no kayaking skills at all, keep them together, and make sure they don't become too tired to make it back.
I made the mistake of making myself known when I offered to organize the public while our leader finished getting in his boat. When we left, he told everyone to follow me across the river. I did it wrong - not knowing exactly where we were going, I picked a spot to far up, costing us time and almost forcing an unnecessary crossing in front of a ferry terminal.
Fortunately another, more experienced volunteer realized what was going on and coached me through, and on the way back, our leader took more of a leadership role. It was like he couldn't wait to get back.
The trip itself was phenomenal. It was one of the longest trips I've taken so far. As we cruised past Hoboken and Jersey City, it was remarkable how much that area has changed. There are twice as many skyscrapers in Jersey City as I recall from when I lived there five years ago. As we came around the Colgate clock and pulled in to the marina, I realized we were in a familiar place, as I used to walk past the marina whenever I went to Liberty State Park.
After we came back, I chatted with some friends and came home to shower and get ready for church. I was reading scripture that day and wanted to look nice. Our readings were strange when next to each other - romantic piece from the Song of Solomon, and a piece from Romans that basically says, "woe is me, I keep doing things I know are wrong even though I want to do good things." The sermon put it together though - Love, not punishment, is the only thing that can effect real change. It's not quite liberation theology, but it is liberating for many people.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Motionless
Sometimes I feel like I'm lazy. Like I'm doing nothing. I wake up, and I think to myself, "I need to do something - something useful, valuable, productive. I should go for a run. But first I need coffee. But I'm tired. I just want to stay in bed."
Such is the effect of having been depressed earlier in life. It's hard to accept doing nothing as acceptable, since for extensive periods, I did nothing because I was afraid to do much of anything. Or maybe it wasn't depression, but a fear of getting over-extended.
Whatever it was, in any case, I always want to do something. But as my career continues in the project management direction, I am getting better at identifying long-term efforts that may be impacted by taking on new tasks. Oh God, I'm even talking in project-lingo now.
Here's an account of the past nine months or so:
I went to London. That was fun. I saw a good friend and finally got out of North America for a while.
I traveled a lot afterwards. I went to training in Minneapolis. I went to Tulsa for a funeral, and to Wisconsin for Christmas. I flew to Park City for Sundance. Just recently, I flew to Wisconsin again for an aborted trip with my niece and nephew. I took them swimming and we went into Milwaukee a couple of times.
I've dated. This is what I need to keep in mind, because when I am at home alone, I start wondering if I'm doing enough to not be single. I have dated three men in the past year, and each of them was very different from the other. Maybe it's not that I'm not doing enough, but that I'm not managing my dating as well as I might, disengaging when no longer profitable.
Oh God, there's that MBA-engineer--speak again.
I took the GMAT. I applied to and was accepted in to a local part-time MBA program, which I'm looking forward to. One thing's for sure, if I feel like I'm doing nothing now, I won't have that luxury for the next thirty months.
And to be fair in addressing my inner 22-year-old: I'm not just running out and becoming a lifeless schooled robot. I have had my fun - my twenties, spent in art circles, hipster circles, hanging out, working and learning and just trying to be cool. I'm ready for what's next. I'm not exactly doing nothing.
Such is the effect of having been depressed earlier in life. It's hard to accept doing nothing as acceptable, since for extensive periods, I did nothing because I was afraid to do much of anything. Or maybe it wasn't depression, but a fear of getting over-extended.
Whatever it was, in any case, I always want to do something. But as my career continues in the project management direction, I am getting better at identifying long-term efforts that may be impacted by taking on new tasks. Oh God, I'm even talking in project-lingo now.
Here's an account of the past nine months or so:
I went to London. That was fun. I saw a good friend and finally got out of North America for a while.
I traveled a lot afterwards. I went to training in Minneapolis. I went to Tulsa for a funeral, and to Wisconsin for Christmas. I flew to Park City for Sundance. Just recently, I flew to Wisconsin again for an aborted trip with my niece and nephew. I took them swimming and we went into Milwaukee a couple of times.
I've dated. This is what I need to keep in mind, because when I am at home alone, I start wondering if I'm doing enough to not be single. I have dated three men in the past year, and each of them was very different from the other. Maybe it's not that I'm not doing enough, but that I'm not managing my dating as well as I might, disengaging when no longer profitable.
Oh God, there's that MBA-engineer--speak again.
I took the GMAT. I applied to and was accepted in to a local part-time MBA program, which I'm looking forward to. One thing's for sure, if I feel like I'm doing nothing now, I won't have that luxury for the next thirty months.
And to be fair in addressing my inner 22-year-old: I'm not just running out and becoming a lifeless schooled robot. I have had my fun - my twenties, spent in art circles, hipster circles, hanging out, working and learning and just trying to be cool. I'm ready for what's next. I'm not exactly doing nothing.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
The Good Land
I recently too a trip to the Milwaukee area. Number Two lives about an hour outside of Milwaukee, is married and has two kids. The original plan was for me to fly out there and chaperone the kids on a train ride to St. Louis, where we would spend some time with my parents (their grandparents). The rains and flooding in the midwest led my brother and his wife to reconsider, so in the end I spent the entire week keeping the kids occupied.
It wasn't bad. I can't complain; I had wanted to spend some time with them. The trip came up on short notice, and there's never really a good time for me to take off from work. I got to drive, and I got to experience a life I considered but never followed - me, the city girl, heading out to the country to don a frock, do the dishes and take care of children.
We took two trips in to Milwaukee. The first trip, we expected to go to Discover World, which is a sort of hands-on science exhibit and aquarium, but they were closed. We went to the Betty Brinn children's museum and the Milwaukee Public Museum instead. We came back two days later for Discovery World.
The trick is, my niece gets carsick. We make her eat as full a breakfast as possible, and extra bags are usually packed in case we need to contain the spillage. She gets upset about it. Of course it's painful for her, but she's also worried about making other people mad. When we had our incidences, I gave her lots of encouragement ("yeah honey! That's great! Get it all out! Get it in the bag!"). We pulled over, had water, and caught our breath. She always fell asleep on the trips back home.
My nephew was good. He's kind of a dork, like any older brother can be, but he was an able second hand for me. He needed his alone time though. I gave him plenty of opportunity to range on ahead of us, away from his aunt and little sister.
We also went swimming. There is a schwimbad near my brother's house; we call it that because it's more than a pool, and resembles nothing so much as the schwimbads we went to in Germany - miniature spas, really, with additional activities, a fod canteen, and pleasant grounds to walk upon. After seeing the beer culture, the German and Polish influences, and finally the schwimbad, I pointed out to my brother that he has recreated our childhood home - he lives in West Germany, only it's in America.
At the museums, we saw: live butterflies, giant catfish, hermit crabs, a 3-D fly-through of the solar system, a giant ship mounted over the exhibit hall, and a diorama of buffalo being driven over a cliff. This last piece made my niece very sad, because buffalo calves were shown in mid-air, plummeting to their deaths.
Milwaukee as a city is interesting. The downtown is like so many others, slowly being revitalized and reclaimed. The highway system is epic, interlocking ribbons of asphalt leading to anywhere but there. The city itself is very flat, and post-industrial; a place that
is still transitioning from one economy to another, but having trouble since, as my brother put it, Chicago is barely an hour away and gets first dibs on most enterprises looking for a mdiwestern metropolis.
Where my brother lives, though, is both expansive and bucolic. There is still a Main Street, where parking is easy to find and quaint little shops line the road; there is an old-fashioned ice cream and burger joint, right across from the library. Rivers flow through town, swollen from the recent rains and carrying ducks ripe for feeding bread to on a warm summer day. It's a beautiful town, and I'm glad I went.
Our final destination was Mount Olympus, a Greek-themed water park and amusement park. We splashed in the wave pool; my niece went under and needed some time out to recover before going back in. We went down the slides, and we went on three different go-kart tracks and four different roller coasters. I was genuinely afraid of the final one, called 'Hades', which apparently has a 140' drop and runs underneath the parking in total darkness.
Here's a clip - though I admit, watching a roller coaster isn't the same as being there.
After the park, we went to a theme restaurant; the theme was polynesian. The portions were HUGE, especially the drinks and the deserts. I ordered what I thought was a sensible dinner - coconut shrimp with vegetables and rice. It turns out this meant, "shrimp wrapped in coconut and deep fried, then skewered and mounted a pineapple top", giving the effect of enormous airplanes circling an island and swerving in front of my face. Furthermore, the shrimp were easily separated from their deep-fry jackets, leaving little Body Snatcher-style husks behind.
On the way home, my brother and the kids slept and I talked with my sister-in-law. We've known each other since our college days; she's about four years younger than me but we ran in overlapping circles. We watched the harvest moon mark the summer solstice and cruised down the highway until we came home. The children were unpacked and put to bed; it was after midnight, and I had an early flight top prepare for.
I could end there, but there was one more thing. As I finished packing, my niece came down to kiss me goodbye. Four years old, she burst into tears. "I don't want you to go-oh-oh-oh-oh," she cried. "I want you to stay-ay-ay-ay-ay." Tears running down her cheeks, I told her I would visit again, and that I had people back home who wanted to see me. She wouldn't stop. I pointed out that if I stayed, it wouldn't mean ice cream and swimming every day; I'd put her to work. She cried some more but finally calmed down.
Her brother was easier. He just wanted to fall asleep.
It wasn't bad. I can't complain; I had wanted to spend some time with them. The trip came up on short notice, and there's never really a good time for me to take off from work. I got to drive, and I got to experience a life I considered but never followed - me, the city girl, heading out to the country to don a frock, do the dishes and take care of children.
We took two trips in to Milwaukee. The first trip, we expected to go to Discover World, which is a sort of hands-on science exhibit and aquarium, but they were closed. We went to the Betty Brinn children's museum and the Milwaukee Public Museum instead. We came back two days later for Discovery World.
The trick is, my niece gets carsick. We make her eat as full a breakfast as possible, and extra bags are usually packed in case we need to contain the spillage. She gets upset about it. Of course it's painful for her, but she's also worried about making other people mad. When we had our incidences, I gave her lots of encouragement ("yeah honey! That's great! Get it all out! Get it in the bag!"). We pulled over, had water, and caught our breath. She always fell asleep on the trips back home.
My nephew was good. He's kind of a dork, like any older brother can be, but he was an able second hand for me. He needed his alone time though. I gave him plenty of opportunity to range on ahead of us, away from his aunt and little sister.
We also went swimming. There is a schwimbad near my brother's house; we call it that because it's more than a pool, and resembles nothing so much as the schwimbads we went to in Germany - miniature spas, really, with additional activities, a fod canteen, and pleasant grounds to walk upon. After seeing the beer culture, the German and Polish influences, and finally the schwimbad, I pointed out to my brother that he has recreated our childhood home - he lives in West Germany, only it's in America.
At the museums, we saw: live butterflies, giant catfish, hermit crabs, a 3-D fly-through of the solar system, a giant ship mounted over the exhibit hall, and a diorama of buffalo being driven over a cliff. This last piece made my niece very sad, because buffalo calves were shown in mid-air, plummeting to their deaths.
Milwaukee as a city is interesting. The downtown is like so many others, slowly being revitalized and reclaimed. The highway system is epic, interlocking ribbons of asphalt leading to anywhere but there. The city itself is very flat, and post-industrial; a place that
is still transitioning from one economy to another, but having trouble since, as my brother put it, Chicago is barely an hour away and gets first dibs on most enterprises looking for a mdiwestern metropolis.Where my brother lives, though, is both expansive and bucolic. There is still a Main Street, where parking is easy to find and quaint little shops line the road; there is an old-fashioned ice cream and burger joint, right across from the library. Rivers flow through town, swollen from the recent rains and carrying ducks ripe for feeding bread to on a warm summer day. It's a beautiful town, and I'm glad I went.
Our final destination was Mount Olympus, a Greek-themed water park and amusement park. We splashed in the wave pool; my niece went under and needed some time out to recover before going back in. We went down the slides, and we went on three different go-kart tracks and four different roller coasters. I was genuinely afraid of the final one, called 'Hades', which apparently has a 140' drop and runs underneath the parking in total darkness.
Here's a clip - though I admit, watching a roller coaster isn't the same as being there.
After the park, we went to a theme restaurant; the theme was polynesian. The portions were HUGE, especially the drinks and the deserts. I ordered what I thought was a sensible dinner - coconut shrimp with vegetables and rice. It turns out this meant, "shrimp wrapped in coconut and deep fried, then skewered and mounted a pineapple top", giving the effect of enormous airplanes circling an island and swerving in front of my face. Furthermore, the shrimp were easily separated from their deep-fry jackets, leaving little Body Snatcher-style husks behind.
On the way home, my brother and the kids slept and I talked with my sister-in-law. We've known each other since our college days; she's about four years younger than me but we ran in overlapping circles. We watched the harvest moon mark the summer solstice and cruised down the highway until we came home. The children were unpacked and put to bed; it was after midnight, and I had an early flight top prepare for.
I could end there, but there was one more thing. As I finished packing, my niece came down to kiss me goodbye. Four years old, she burst into tears. "I don't want you to go-oh-oh-oh-oh," she cried. "I want you to stay-ay-ay-ay-ay." Tears running down her cheeks, I told her I would visit again, and that I had people back home who wanted to see me. She wouldn't stop. I pointed out that if I stayed, it wouldn't mean ice cream and swimming every day; I'd put her to work. She cried some more but finally calmed down.
Her brother was easier. He just wanted to fall asleep.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Like a Sailor, in a Storm at Sea
It had been a hot day all day long. It wasn't oppressively hot, like the weekend before it. The water was nice, steadily draining down the Hudson all day until about 3 PM, when it begin to flow in. We were shorthanded, and there was a near-constant line of people waiting to go out in our kayaks, but overall it was manageable.
A little before four the wind began to kick up. It was nice, a breeze to lighten the temperatures, but then we began to notice a heavy humidity weighing in the aird, and looking across the water we could see a mist, a light fog, forming and setting over the water. There were clouds above the Jersey side of the We knew we'd have to end the line soon just because it would take at least half an hour to get through the line. We started to pack up our unessentials. Then came the first drops of rain.
Rain in itself isn't so bad. Rain is just water, and we had all been out on the water already. It was very light rain, but then the wind began to pick up and the water got choppy. At low tide, the effects of wind and rain get exacerbated, as the water hits the ground sooner and the wind rushes across the surface. Moreover, the wind and tide were running into the same direction, so it was harder and harder for neophyte paddlers to keep from floating up the river. We called people in and cancelled the rest.
It was a good thing we did too. The rain came down harder and the sky was completely overcast. We began bringing our boats up to load them up on our carts. The wind kicked up something fierce and the rain came like soft bullets. A stack of papers came loose and blew all over the place; life jackets were ripped from the rack that they hung on. We managed to pack up all of our gear and start rolling everything to our storage containers, but only a few items at a time. The rack of jacks fishtailed wildly in the wind. The Hudson was gray like the Atlantic, with choppy, rain-dimpled waves.
Our storage area protected but still had a large puddle in it. We keep our things in a storage bin underneath a highway about five stories above us. Rain gutters from the highway drain not far from where we are at, and some kind of leak creates a sprinkler five feet wide, showering us with water below.
We are neighbors with a set of basketball courts. These are also underneath the highway, and so they continued. Little League baseball players huddled under the highway as well, their games rained out.
The wind died down but the rain persisted. We loaded everything up. We were soaked. The sun began to come out, leading to a surreal effect as the sun refracted in the water that was in the air: it was raining but the atmosphere was glowing with light. Two of us stopped at an outdoor cafe for drinks and watched until the rain finally stopped. When it did, we walked up to 72nd street and made our way home.
A little before four the wind began to kick up. It was nice, a breeze to lighten the temperatures, but then we began to notice a heavy humidity weighing in the aird, and looking across the water we could see a mist, a light fog, forming and setting over the water. There were clouds above the Jersey side of the We knew we'd have to end the line soon just because it would take at least half an hour to get through the line. We started to pack up our unessentials. Then came the first drops of rain.
Rain in itself isn't so bad. Rain is just water, and we had all been out on the water already. It was very light rain, but then the wind began to pick up and the water got choppy. At low tide, the effects of wind and rain get exacerbated, as the water hits the ground sooner and the wind rushes across the surface. Moreover, the wind and tide were running into the same direction, so it was harder and harder for neophyte paddlers to keep from floating up the river. We called people in and cancelled the rest.
It was a good thing we did too. The rain came down harder and the sky was completely overcast. We began bringing our boats up to load them up on our carts. The wind kicked up something fierce and the rain came like soft bullets. A stack of papers came loose and blew all over the place; life jackets were ripped from the rack that they hung on. We managed to pack up all of our gear and start rolling everything to our storage containers, but only a few items at a time. The rack of jacks fishtailed wildly in the wind. The Hudson was gray like the Atlantic, with choppy, rain-dimpled waves.
Our storage area protected but still had a large puddle in it. We keep our things in a storage bin underneath a highway about five stories above us. Rain gutters from the highway drain not far from where we are at, and some kind of leak creates a sprinkler five feet wide, showering us with water below.
We are neighbors with a set of basketball courts. These are also underneath the highway, and so they continued. Little League baseball players huddled under the highway as well, their games rained out.
The wind died down but the rain persisted. We loaded everything up. We were soaked. The sun began to come out, leading to a surreal effect as the sun refracted in the water that was in the air: it was raining but the atmosphere was glowing with light. Two of us stopped at an outdoor cafe for drinks and watched until the rain finally stopped. When it did, we walked up to 72nd street and made our way home.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Atomic Funkytown
There's this crazy ad for nuclear energy that plays while I eat breakfast. It's from a company called Areva. Basically, a series of isometric animations demonstrate the delivery of nuclear energy, from mining uranium all the way to the dance floor in some distant, unnamed metropolis.
I'm not particularly against nuclear energy, but I do find it disturbing to have it oversimplified into a series of animations that are as complicated as a Lego build guide, set to 'Funkytown'.
The company is Areva. Extended cuts of the animation are on their website.
I'm not particularly against nuclear energy, but I do find it disturbing to have it oversimplified into a series of animations that are as complicated as a Lego build guide, set to 'Funkytown'.
The company is Areva. Extended cuts of the animation are on their website.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Hot
Is it hot in New York City this week? Let me put it to you this way: it's not even 9 AM and the temperature is already 92 degrees.
Over the weekend, when I went to my kayaking spot around 9 AM, it was already in the 80s and there was a low haze, like a warm fog, that hung across the park and the river.
There are no changes predicted for the week. I am wearing all of four articles of clothing plus my sandals. I'd wear less if it was work-appropriate. Time for the summer dresses.
Over the weekend, when I went to my kayaking spot around 9 AM, it was already in the 80s and there was a low haze, like a warm fog, that hung across the park and the river.
There are no changes predicted for the week. I am wearing all of four articles of clothing plus my sandals. I'd wear less if it was work-appropriate. Time for the summer dresses.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Monday, June 2, 2008
Best Argument Evah for not Breeding within Families
Slightly disturbing article on folks who do not walk upright. They seem genetically incapable of it. The culprit? Inbreeding.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Friday, May 9, 2008
Baby Mama Jamba
I've been to Jamba Juice twice in the past week. I had never been before.
My current l'amour points out it's an effect of the movie Baby Mama. Though the brand is disparaged in the film, it is name-checked often enough to count as product placement.
Curse you Tina Fey, you and your snarky branding.
My current l'amour points out it's an effect of the movie Baby Mama. Though the brand is disparaged in the film, it is name-checked often enough to count as product placement.
Curse you Tina Fey, you and your snarky branding.
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Dead Lines
An end to April.
April is a blur. April is - what did I do? There were many meetings. These were meetings outside of work. Meetings with the groups I volunteer with. My kayaking club, my church. There have been challenges, in person, in email, in meetings.
People. Managing people seems to be the common thread, at work and outside of work.
Money. I've been fantasizing about spending money. Buying a proper bed, and perhaps a desk. A digital camera, an iPod, or perhaps waiting to get an iPhone later in the year, or a Kindle, or even an Asus EEE PC. Vacation. Saving money.
Applications. I haven't looked at Stern in weeks; I've kinda given up on that, since I didn't get into NYU's SCPS, and I consider that to be the lesser program. I did finally get in my CUNY app and have high hopes. I still kinda wish that I'd just stayed in Tulsa and blindly applied to mediocre law schools to become a mediocre lawyer.
No, not really.
I've met someone new, and that is going well.
I do a lot. I don't know why it never feels like enough, even though sometimes it feels like too much.
April is a blur. April is - what did I do? There were many meetings. These were meetings outside of work. Meetings with the groups I volunteer with. My kayaking club, my church. There have been challenges, in person, in email, in meetings.
People. Managing people seems to be the common thread, at work and outside of work.
Money. I've been fantasizing about spending money. Buying a proper bed, and perhaps a desk. A digital camera, an iPod, or perhaps waiting to get an iPhone later in the year, or a Kindle, or even an Asus EEE PC. Vacation. Saving money.
Applications. I haven't looked at Stern in weeks; I've kinda given up on that, since I didn't get into NYU's SCPS, and I consider that to be the lesser program. I did finally get in my CUNY app and have high hopes. I still kinda wish that I'd just stayed in Tulsa and blindly applied to mediocre law schools to become a mediocre lawyer.
No, not really.
I've met someone new, and that is going well.
I do a lot. I don't know why it never feels like enough, even though sometimes it feels like too much.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
The Commute
It's chilly out. I'm glad I wore my vest underneath my coat.
You know, these shoes are actually very comfortable, despite the heel.
Oh look, here comes the train!
Man it's early.
Hey, there's an email from our consultant. Good news!
Awesome, a seat. I live in an awesome city with awesome public transportation.
More emails, but they're all just automated alerts. Delete, Delete Delete.
Maybe I'll read my book.
I'm glad I'm wearing these shoes. These shoes are awesome.
I like my bag. It has all these compartments. Like the one with my book.
This story is so sad. I relate to all the characters.
Man, how long is this? Two, four, six . . .wow, a dozen more pages.
Well I won't finish it this morning. I'll read till I get to another stopping place.
Is this Times Square already? No, just Seventy-second.
I'll put away the book. I want to think about work, get my head in the game.
My shoes are so awesome.
Oh yeah, I've got to email that guy.
Wouldn't it suck to work in Times Square? I hated it.
I hate it when creepy people stand in front of me.
That was Times Square.
Will I get out at this door or the one on the other side?
Excuse me.
I hope my shoes don't get scuffed on the stairs.
I wish they would just decide which door to block off. Sometimes right, sometimes left.
I hate the lobby monitor, he's a jerk to everyone he works with.
The nearest elevator is the open one. Awesome.
You know, these shoes are actually very comfortable, despite the heel.
Oh look, here comes the train!
Man it's early.
Hey, there's an email from our consultant. Good news!
Awesome, a seat. I live in an awesome city with awesome public transportation.
More emails, but they're all just automated alerts. Delete, Delete Delete.
Maybe I'll read my book.
I'm glad I'm wearing these shoes. These shoes are awesome.
I like my bag. It has all these compartments. Like the one with my book.
This story is so sad. I relate to all the characters.
Man, how long is this? Two, four, six . . .wow, a dozen more pages.
Well I won't finish it this morning. I'll read till I get to another stopping place.
Is this Times Square already? No, just Seventy-second.
I'll put away the book. I want to think about work, get my head in the game.
My shoes are so awesome.
Oh yeah, I've got to email that guy.
Wouldn't it suck to work in Times Square? I hated it.
I hate it when creepy people stand in front of me.
That was Times Square.
Will I get out at this door or the one on the other side?
Excuse me.
I hope my shoes don't get scuffed on the stairs.
I wish they would just decide which door to block off. Sometimes right, sometimes left.
I hate the lobby monitor, he's a jerk to everyone he works with.
The nearest elevator is the open one. Awesome.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Do You Hulu?
OMG. Hulu is awesome.
Hulu is a new website by NBC Universal and Fox. It is, as the New York Times describes, like a 'YouTube Pro' for conventional media outlets to obtain advertising money on current and existing series. They're got everything from Fox's The Riches back to every episode of the old Battlestar Galactica, as well as dozens of movies.
It is awesome. I've been able to revisit some childhood favorites and see just how dated they seem. In an early episode of Buck Rogers, for example, one of the leads has to convince a room full of Speak 'n' Spells to stay the execution of our hero. I was also reminded that, to my six-year-old brain, the show was really more about two women catfighting on an interstellar level over the affections of Buck - vampy trampy Princes Ardela vs prim and proper Colonel Wilma Deering.
But I've only just begun. Hulu is great because it is free. It's like a limited Tivo that spans decades in terms of content. The only price is, like television, having to watch ads, but they are under a minute long - not the epic, interminable three or four minute ad spaces on TV. Hulu remembers your que, allows you to email clips from the shows, has excellent playback quality at all screen sizes, including full-screen, and has a fast and simple search utility. It's a great interface experience and the content is only going to grow.
I could be cynical about the goals and business model, but I won't go there. Hulu is media time-shifting done right. Get Hulu on a PMP like the iPod Touch or Archos series of media players, and you'll see a whole new model of distributing media.
Hulu is a new website by NBC Universal and Fox. It is, as the New York Times describes, like a 'YouTube Pro' for conventional media outlets to obtain advertising money on current and existing series. They're got everything from Fox's The Riches back to every episode of the old Battlestar Galactica, as well as dozens of movies.
It is awesome. I've been able to revisit some childhood favorites and see just how dated they seem. In an early episode of Buck Rogers, for example, one of the leads has to convince a room full of Speak 'n' Spells to stay the execution of our hero. I was also reminded that, to my six-year-old brain, the show was really more about two women catfighting on an interstellar level over the affections of Buck - vampy trampy Princes Ardela vs prim and proper Colonel Wilma Deering.
But I've only just begun. Hulu is great because it is free. It's like a limited Tivo that spans decades in terms of content. The only price is, like television, having to watch ads, but they are under a minute long - not the epic, interminable three or four minute ad spaces on TV. Hulu remembers your que, allows you to email clips from the shows, has excellent playback quality at all screen sizes, including full-screen, and has a fast and simple search utility. It's a great interface experience and the content is only going to grow.
I could be cynical about the goals and business model, but I won't go there. Hulu is media time-shifting done right. Get Hulu on a PMP like the iPod Touch or Archos series of media players, and you'll see a whole new model of distributing media.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Good Samaritan
Yesterday morning I was headed to work after an early morning doctor's appointment near NYU. As I approached 6th Avenue, I saw a man fall. Two students offered to help. One went in and got some napkins. We all offered to make phone calls but he declined.
He said he felt fine, but there was quite a lot of blood. I think his first inclination was to keep going to work and clean up, but it was clear that the napkins were getting more and more soaked. He said he'd go to St. Vincent's, and I offered to accompany him since it was on m way.
When we exchanged names, he said he was a doctor.
What's the protocol here? When does on call 911? At first he seemed like an elderly man who had stumbled. On closer inspection he wasn't that old, in his fifties perhaps, and he was responsive and aware of his surroundings.
This event just underscored last week's encounter with the frail Mrs. Mitchell. New Yorkers are seen by many as abrupt and unfriendly, but we're practically tripping over each here. We do respond when someone seems to be genuinely in need.
He said he felt fine, but there was quite a lot of blood. I think his first inclination was to keep going to work and clean up, but it was clear that the napkins were getting more and more soaked. He said he'd go to St. Vincent's, and I offered to accompany him since it was on m way.
When we exchanged names, he said he was a doctor.
What's the protocol here? When does on call 911? At first he seemed like an elderly man who had stumbled. On closer inspection he wasn't that old, in his fifties perhaps, and he was responsive and aware of his surroundings.
This event just underscored last week's encounter with the frail Mrs. Mitchell. New Yorkers are seen by many as abrupt and unfriendly, but we're practically tripping over each here. We do respond when someone seems to be genuinely in need.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Tipster Julie
I tipped off Gawker to this reference in the NYT today:
http://gawker.com/5004431/newspaper-to-self-all-is-well-all-is-weeellll
Got the email to prove it and everything.
http://gawker.com/5004431/newspaper-to-self-all-is-well-all-is-weeellll
Got the email to prove it and everything.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The Human Condition
While I was eating lunch today, there was a cry for help. I ran out into the hallway. One of the old ladies who live on my floor had fallen.
Altogether half a dozen of my neighbors responded. We brought her pillows and recovered her dignity (her blouse was loose, and her wig had slipped). Two other old biddies came out and were giving her a hard time about walking about on her own and not having Life Alert. She had only gone downstairs to get the mail. They shut up when her age was revealed. She was 93. "I thought I was the oldest on this floor," said one of the biddies. Both of them were merely in their eighties.
Three of us neighbors are women in their twenties and (ahem) thirties. I suppose for some, old age is disturbing, a glimpse of what is to come. But really, does this sort of foreshadowing make a difference? I think we all know and accommodate aging into our lives. It happens, and it can be prepared for.
There paramedics said her hip was dislocated. They did not say one way or the other that the hip was broken.
I hope she is alright.
Altogether half a dozen of my neighbors responded. We brought her pillows and recovered her dignity (her blouse was loose, and her wig had slipped). Two other old biddies came out and were giving her a hard time about walking about on her own and not having Life Alert. She had only gone downstairs to get the mail. They shut up when her age was revealed. She was 93. "I thought I was the oldest on this floor," said one of the biddies. Both of them were merely in their eighties.
Three of us neighbors are women in their twenties and (ahem) thirties. I suppose for some, old age is disturbing, a glimpse of what is to come. But really, does this sort of foreshadowing make a difference? I think we all know and accommodate aging into our lives. It happens, and it can be prepared for.
There paramedics said her hip was dislocated. They did not say one way or the other that the hip was broken.
I hope she is alright.
Tippecanoe (and Julie too)
In my kayaking class, I not only learned how to roll, but spent some time in a canoe.
Basically our lead coach needs to integrate canoe skills into his training program, so he used us (four of us, plus another coach) as guinea pigs for how to teach canoe skills. Picture, if you can, a large canoe, with two seats and room for four additional pasengers, in a swimming pool about 20*15 meters wide. Oh, and there are about half a dozen kayaking students blazing random trails across the pool, plus two large sea kayaks to practice the rescue techniques with.
Everyone is wearing life jackets, and we are not allowed to stand up on the floor of the 4-foot pool. We are practicing as though we are in open water. That is, open water with no current, lots of chlorine, and excellent visibility.
I worked with an English girl named Ellie. Ellie and I paddled around the pool pretty easily. The kayaking strokes that we know were developed from canoe strokes, so it isn't difficult. There isn't much room to go straight, so mostly we turn, and turn, and at one point practice a pivot, rotating in place.
Next step: capsize, and try to rescue ourselves.
We leaned over on the right, holding on to our paddles. With the boat full of water, we tried to figure out what to do. Kayaks tend to float, because they have watertight compartments and flotation material. The canoe just bobs in the water. I tried floating into the front and performing a sculling brace while Elle climbed in the back, thinking maybe we can paddle it full of water - it's been done in a kayak. We failed. We just kept diving like the Titanic.
We tried an assisted rescue with the kayaks, but I'll detail that in a bit.
The other team - Donna and Giselle - got a little coaching on how to self rescue. If a canoe is capsized, there is usualy a trapped pocket of air underneath. Ideally, the canoeists can swim underneath and talk to each other to coordinate their efforts. They rock the boat gently until they are ready to push and flip the boat over. We all understood the concept, but were unable to execute.
The assisted rescue was very involved and involved a lot of stage management. Basically, two kayaks pull up about a paddle's width apart. They reach their paddles across and hold on to the blades, forming a pole between them. The canoeists then push down on the far end of the canoe, still upside-down, and push up with the near, and the kayakers try to assist with lifting the canoe onto their paddle handles. The kayakers can then pull the canoe out of the water, using the paddles as a lever. With the canoe out of water, they can flip it and slide it back in to the water. They then keep the canoe in the water and hold tight while the canoeists climb over the kayaks and back into the canoe.
We also tried rescuing a kayak using the canoe. That was a little more tricky, and a deliberate challenge on our instructor's part. I was in charge, and while I was headed in the right direction, I didn't get it totally figured out. We also had a second kayak to help us out. I know how to to a kayak-to-kayak rescue, and an inkling on the canoe-to-kayak rescue, but the two together presented such an abundance of resources I that I didn't know what to make of them.
I ought to mention one more thing (golly, I did a lot on Saturday). I got a bad scratch on my forearm, plus a couple of little cat-like scratched, from doing a cowboy self-rescue. That's where you push down on the back of the boat and pull yourself up to slide into the cockpit. It's trick to maintain your balance, but I can do it pretty well. I think there was a rough plastic edge, or maybe a frayed cable, because something nicked me good but I didn't feel it at the time.
I love kayaking. It's my new passion.
Basically our lead coach needs to integrate canoe skills into his training program, so he used us (four of us, plus another coach) as guinea pigs for how to teach canoe skills. Picture, if you can, a large canoe, with two seats and room for four additional pasengers, in a swimming pool about 20*15 meters wide. Oh, and there are about half a dozen kayaking students blazing random trails across the pool, plus two large sea kayaks to practice the rescue techniques with.
Everyone is wearing life jackets, and we are not allowed to stand up on the floor of the 4-foot pool. We are practicing as though we are in open water. That is, open water with no current, lots of chlorine, and excellent visibility.
I worked with an English girl named Ellie. Ellie and I paddled around the pool pretty easily. The kayaking strokes that we know were developed from canoe strokes, so it isn't difficult. There isn't much room to go straight, so mostly we turn, and turn, and at one point practice a pivot, rotating in place.
Next step: capsize, and try to rescue ourselves.
We leaned over on the right, holding on to our paddles. With the boat full of water, we tried to figure out what to do. Kayaks tend to float, because they have watertight compartments and flotation material. The canoe just bobs in the water. I tried floating into the front and performing a sculling brace while Elle climbed in the back, thinking maybe we can paddle it full of water - it's been done in a kayak. We failed. We just kept diving like the Titanic.
We tried an assisted rescue with the kayaks, but I'll detail that in a bit.
The other team - Donna and Giselle - got a little coaching on how to self rescue. If a canoe is capsized, there is usualy a trapped pocket of air underneath. Ideally, the canoeists can swim underneath and talk to each other to coordinate their efforts. They rock the boat gently until they are ready to push and flip the boat over. We all understood the concept, but were unable to execute.
The assisted rescue was very involved and involved a lot of stage management. Basically, two kayaks pull up about a paddle's width apart. They reach their paddles across and hold on to the blades, forming a pole between them. The canoeists then push down on the far end of the canoe, still upside-down, and push up with the near, and the kayakers try to assist with lifting the canoe onto their paddle handles. The kayakers can then pull the canoe out of the water, using the paddles as a lever. With the canoe out of water, they can flip it and slide it back in to the water. They then keep the canoe in the water and hold tight while the canoeists climb over the kayaks and back into the canoe.
We also tried rescuing a kayak using the canoe. That was a little more tricky, and a deliberate challenge on our instructor's part. I was in charge, and while I was headed in the right direction, I didn't get it totally figured out. We also had a second kayak to help us out. I know how to to a kayak-to-kayak rescue, and an inkling on the canoe-to-kayak rescue, but the two together presented such an abundance of resources I that I didn't know what to make of them.
I ought to mention one more thing (golly, I did a lot on Saturday). I got a bad scratch on my forearm, plus a couple of little cat-like scratched, from doing a cowboy self-rescue. That's where you push down on the back of the boat and pull yourself up to slide into the cockpit. It's trick to maintain your balance, but I can do it pretty well. I think there was a rough plastic edge, or maybe a frayed cable, because something nicked me good but I didn't feel it at the time.
I love kayaking. It's my new passion.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Roll, Roll, Roll Your Boat
I can roll.
Some of you may already be aware that I have been trying to learn how to roll in a kayak. It's more accurate to say 'right myself'. Basically, if I'm inverted, upside down in the water, I can swing the paddle and give a little kick to the side in order to come up. I'm not perfect, but I can do it consistently.
There are several ways to hold the paddle, but the basic technique is the same. All the techniques change is how far out the paddle swings. I do it best with the grip that is the longest, with one hand on the near blade. I'm working towards moving my hands more to the center, where they are usually placed.
After our self-practice, several of us gathered together with our coach to play with something new: a canoe. The certifying agency that covers our certifications is going to require canoe skills in addition to kayak skills, so we practiced moving around and trying to rescue (on our own, and with assists). It was fun.
Some of you may already be aware that I have been trying to learn how to roll in a kayak. It's more accurate to say 'right myself'. Basically, if I'm inverted, upside down in the water, I can swing the paddle and give a little kick to the side in order to come up. I'm not perfect, but I can do it consistently.
There are several ways to hold the paddle, but the basic technique is the same. All the techniques change is how far out the paddle swings. I do it best with the grip that is the longest, with one hand on the near blade. I'm working towards moving my hands more to the center, where they are usually placed.
After our self-practice, several of us gathered together with our coach to play with something new: a canoe. The certifying agency that covers our certifications is going to require canoe skills in addition to kayak skills, so we practiced moving around and trying to rescue (on our own, and with assists). It was fun.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Ditching the Past
OK, when can we expect that Diablo Cody, the writer of Juno, will no longer be referred to as a 'former stripper', or by the less damning alternative, 'former exotic dancer' ? Every news media article in the past year has mentioned that aspect of the Oscar-winning writer's past, and while I'm sure she isn't entirely ashamed of it (reclaiming the word, owning your history, whatever), I'm just as sure that now that she's an OSCAR-WINNING WRITER that she'll watch to ditch that sobriquet.
After all, who wants to walk into a pitch meeting as 'the former stripper'?
After all, who wants to walk into a pitch meeting as 'the former stripper'?
Saturday, February 23, 2008
An Adventure in DUMBO
An adventure in DUMBO
I took the GMAT on a snowy day in February, 2008. I registered on fairly short notice; although I had expected to take the test for a while, I never got around to scheduling the event until I was running out of practice questions. The result was that I registered to take the test in a recently-gentrified neighborhood, formerly inhabited by artists, called DUMBO, short for Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass. It's on the waterfront between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges.
The GMAT, for those of you unfamiliar with the test, has two components: quantitative and verbal. Quantitative is math, and problems are categorized as problem solving and data sufficiency. Problem solving means just that, doing the math; data sufficiency gives you two points of data (sometimes conditional), and you have to determine if either, neither, both together or each separately will help you solve the question. The verbal section comes down to sentence correction, critical reasoning (called logical reasoning on the LSAT) and Reading Comprehension, which is also on the LSAT.
I left home early. I live in Harlem, which is pretty far up in Manhattan; DUMBO is directly across the East River from downtown Manhattan. Normally, I would have expected the trip to take an hour, but there's been construction on my line lately, and a significant snowfall on Friday. I had to be at the testing center by 8 AM, so i left a little before 6 AM in order to give myself plenty of time.
I didn't need it. Even with a transfer to the F train at 14th street, I still got to DUMBO before 7. I stopped in at the corner Starbucks for coffee and breakfast. I sat at one the window stools and looked out on the downtown Brooklyn skyline; Two tall residential towers in the background, an older factory building restored for living, and the BQE squeezing under the Brooklyn Bridge.
I don't recall being particularly nervous, or anxious. I'd been drilling for weeks, and I knew my strong and weak points. My English, she's pretty good. My math. . .well let's just say that shopping is fun. In all seriousness, I do well with tings like rations and percents, and basic algebra and geometry, but I get lost with things like multiple variables and inverted exponents.
The music at Starbucks was some bizarre blend of adult contemporary emo: Low, frail, resigned voices singing softly of quarterlife love affairs abruptly terminated, chances missed, and the possibility of redemption through a semi-Nietschean will-to-joy. It was a little depressing and not the sort of mood you want to carry into a three-hour exam that will help determine the next stage of your life.
I was about the leave when a peppy, seventies-tinged pop-funk song came on. Suddenly I imagined my uber-business self, frozen in mid-action pose, with think shoes and an array of rainbow colors emanating from every side. I sat and stared out the window, thinking about what brought me to this point, a point I was at seven years ago, when I decided instead to take a barrel roll off the freight train. I like business, I like systems, and I like being part or a large kingdom where I can be a ruling princess, if not a queen. I never thought I'd do well, though, because I'm not (or wasn't) anal enough, or logical or math-savvy enough.
My first choice was the LSAT. I liked reading about case law. I like precision in language, and I actually enjoyed studying for the LSAT, except for analytical reasoning. I even took the LSAT, but I didn't do very well (and in retrospect, given my results on the GMAT and the conditions I was under, I may very well attempt it again). I enjoy arguing with people and building a case, when my feathers are ruffled. I wasn't looking forward to the math on the GMAT, though in the end I found I remembered more middle and high school math than I expected to.
I was stalling. I knew the test center was open and I could go early. Another boring, confessional song came on. I left Starbucks and walked down by the waterfront; a children's playground, designed to look like a boat, was there, and there were clear views to the river, the bridges, and lower Manhattan. I left my hat off so the brisk air would help clear my head. I walked back, noting a pair of rails that ran perpendicular to the street, as if the buildings had been put directly on top of old train tracks. You can se that all over in New York.
I walked back to the testing center. The doors to the building were locked, with a sign saying to call for admittance - and I had left my cel at home, since we couldn't take it in to the testing center (as it turned out, there were lockers but I hadn't known what to expect). I walked back over to Starbucks and asked to borrow the phone. I made the call on a Sidekick 3 with a partially bedazzled Puerto Rican flag. A few minutes later, I was in the building and signing in for the test.
The test-taking security is thorough. It's a good thing I long ago got over my suspicions about the authorities. Not only did I have to present ID, but I had to sit for a picture and have my index finger scanned. Moreover, as was taking the test, I had to submit my index finger for scanning upon exit and entry.
The head clerk was friendly enough. He had a thick Brooklyn accent, sort of like Bugs Bunny or Sylvester the Cat. He was definitely into Harry Potter, with official scarf and ballcap. When I was done, he cheered on my score and suggested I go for NYU's continuing education Master's program (I think we both knew Stern would be a stretch). He also told me I looked like I was 17, which is flattering but ridiculous. 27, maybe. He was incredulous at the birth date on my license.
I did pretty well on the test. I did very well on the verbal, not perfect, but very well. I didn't do well at all on the math, which I halfway expected. In my practice tests and drills, I've ranged from missing 12 to 15 questions at a time on math. A couple of early questions were hard, and since the exam is adaptive - it gives you harder questions when you get one right, easier when you get one wrong - I think I meandered all over the curve.
Altogether I got 620, 74th percentile. I've already prepared my speeches, as it were. I know my selling points, I have a good resume and a good extra-cirricular resume. So I'm going to start applying, and see where I get in.
It didn't occur to me until later how funny it is that I took a test like this in a place called DUMBO. To riff even further. . . maybe I don't need a black magic feather anymore.
I took the GMAT on a snowy day in February, 2008. I registered on fairly short notice; although I had expected to take the test for a while, I never got around to scheduling the event until I was running out of practice questions. The result was that I registered to take the test in a recently-gentrified neighborhood, formerly inhabited by artists, called DUMBO, short for Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass. It's on the waterfront between the Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges.
The GMAT, for those of you unfamiliar with the test, has two components: quantitative and verbal. Quantitative is math, and problems are categorized as problem solving and data sufficiency. Problem solving means just that, doing the math; data sufficiency gives you two points of data (sometimes conditional), and you have to determine if either, neither, both together or each separately will help you solve the question. The verbal section comes down to sentence correction, critical reasoning (called logical reasoning on the LSAT) and Reading Comprehension, which is also on the LSAT.
I left home early. I live in Harlem, which is pretty far up in Manhattan; DUMBO is directly across the East River from downtown Manhattan. Normally, I would have expected the trip to take an hour, but there's been construction on my line lately, and a significant snowfall on Friday. I had to be at the testing center by 8 AM, so i left a little before 6 AM in order to give myself plenty of time.
I didn't need it. Even with a transfer to the F train at 14th street, I still got to DUMBO before 7. I stopped in at the corner Starbucks for coffee and breakfast. I sat at one the window stools and looked out on the downtown Brooklyn skyline; Two tall residential towers in the background, an older factory building restored for living, and the BQE squeezing under the Brooklyn Bridge.
I don't recall being particularly nervous, or anxious. I'd been drilling for weeks, and I knew my strong and weak points. My English, she's pretty good. My math. . .well let's just say that shopping is fun. In all seriousness, I do well with tings like rations and percents, and basic algebra and geometry, but I get lost with things like multiple variables and inverted exponents.
The music at Starbucks was some bizarre blend of adult contemporary emo: Low, frail, resigned voices singing softly of quarterlife love affairs abruptly terminated, chances missed, and the possibility of redemption through a semi-Nietschean will-to-joy. It was a little depressing and not the sort of mood you want to carry into a three-hour exam that will help determine the next stage of your life.
I was about the leave when a peppy, seventies-tinged pop-funk song came on. Suddenly I imagined my uber-business self, frozen in mid-action pose, with think shoes and an array of rainbow colors emanating from every side. I sat and stared out the window, thinking about what brought me to this point, a point I was at seven years ago, when I decided instead to take a barrel roll off the freight train. I like business, I like systems, and I like being part or a large kingdom where I can be a ruling princess, if not a queen. I never thought I'd do well, though, because I'm not (or wasn't) anal enough, or logical or math-savvy enough.
My first choice was the LSAT. I liked reading about case law. I like precision in language, and I actually enjoyed studying for the LSAT, except for analytical reasoning. I even took the LSAT, but I didn't do very well (and in retrospect, given my results on the GMAT and the conditions I was under, I may very well attempt it again). I enjoy arguing with people and building a case, when my feathers are ruffled. I wasn't looking forward to the math on the GMAT, though in the end I found I remembered more middle and high school math than I expected to.
I was stalling. I knew the test center was open and I could go early. Another boring, confessional song came on. I left Starbucks and walked down by the waterfront; a children's playground, designed to look like a boat, was there, and there were clear views to the river, the bridges, and lower Manhattan. I left my hat off so the brisk air would help clear my head. I walked back, noting a pair of rails that ran perpendicular to the street, as if the buildings had been put directly on top of old train tracks. You can se that all over in New York.
I walked back to the testing center. The doors to the building were locked, with a sign saying to call for admittance - and I had left my cel at home, since we couldn't take it in to the testing center (as it turned out, there were lockers but I hadn't known what to expect). I walked back over to Starbucks and asked to borrow the phone. I made the call on a Sidekick 3 with a partially bedazzled Puerto Rican flag. A few minutes later, I was in the building and signing in for the test.
The test-taking security is thorough. It's a good thing I long ago got over my suspicions about the authorities. Not only did I have to present ID, but I had to sit for a picture and have my index finger scanned. Moreover, as was taking the test, I had to submit my index finger for scanning upon exit and entry.
The head clerk was friendly enough. He had a thick Brooklyn accent, sort of like Bugs Bunny or Sylvester the Cat. He was definitely into Harry Potter, with official scarf and ballcap. When I was done, he cheered on my score and suggested I go for NYU's continuing education Master's program (I think we both knew Stern would be a stretch). He also told me I looked like I was 17, which is flattering but ridiculous. 27, maybe. He was incredulous at the birth date on my license.
I did pretty well on the test. I did very well on the verbal, not perfect, but very well. I didn't do well at all on the math, which I halfway expected. In my practice tests and drills, I've ranged from missing 12 to 15 questions at a time on math. A couple of early questions were hard, and since the exam is adaptive - it gives you harder questions when you get one right, easier when you get one wrong - I think I meandered all over the curve.
Altogether I got 620, 74th percentile. I've already prepared my speeches, as it were. I know my selling points, I have a good resume and a good extra-cirricular resume. So I'm going to start applying, and see where I get in.
It didn't occur to me until later how funny it is that I took a test like this in a place called DUMBO. To riff even further. . . maybe I don't need a black magic feather anymore.
Friday, February 22, 2008
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