sounds of the space age

going to boston/ letter to United Airlines

2007-07-19T18:13:00.001-07:00

During my travels from Boston to Charlottesville yesterday, a delay forced me to take a flight that was scheduled to have left earlier than the one I was originally booked on, but which was delayed, in order to make my connection at Dulles into Charlottesville. Somehow, during this connection, my baggage apparently failed to make it onto my flight into Charlottesville. This is understandable to a certain extent. Upon my arrival and subsequent discovery of the mix-up, the man at the counter (apparently the only United/ Colgen Air employee in the building, as he was also the thrower who reported to me that there was no more baggage to arrive) did an admirable job of assuring me that he was aware of the location of my bag (Dulles, unsurprisingly) and that it would be placed on the first flight into Charlottesville the following morning. He said that it would be delivered to me directly. Though many items critical to my daily life were within the bag, I was unconcerned because I knew that United has early flights into CHO and that I would probably have my bag by late afternoon. This was not the case. Furthermore, no United representative has contacted me to let me know what the status of the search is. When I try to be proactive (a burden that I do not believe rests on the customer whose bag has been lost), I am told to contact the Bag Track telephone number (800-221-6903). Upon calling this number, I was made furious by the fact that, first, it is a recorded voice. Machines are, by default, less capable of handling these sorts of problems than humans. I spoke all manner of information into the phone, as clearly and slowly as I could manage considering my evaporating patience, and had to redial four times in order to arrive at the fact that there was apparently no option for speaking to a person who might be able to clarify such issues as how I might be reimbursed for things that I am being forced to purchase in order to continue with my life without my belongings. If indeed such a policy does exist (and I assume it does since there is reference to it on United's website, I would like to know how I might take advantage of it. Perhaps a CS Representative could answer my questions regarding when a bag is considered lost permanently and how, in that case, a reimbursement is arranged. Instead, I spoke to an automaton who constantly apologized for his faults, but was unable to correct them. If this is the sort of customer service that I have to look forward to from United, then perhaps its time I look for another airline to give my allegiance to. I have always enjoyed flying United and its treatment of loyal customers, but this sort of communication barrier is unacceptable. On the plane, I read about United's recent hire of a new head of Customer Relations. If I may be so bold, I would suggest that this issue be directed to her, if not in full detail, at least in so much as this theme is concerned. Baggage is lost. Passengers are made unhappy. These things are unavaidable in such a competitive industry. What makes people more furious than anything, however, is a slow, one-way flow of communication that must be mitigated by machines. In short, I would like to know where my bag is. The details are above. I would like to know how to go about being reimbursed for the mounting pile of junk I'm buying to replace the perfectly good things that have been lost in my bag. But mostly, I would like to hear from a human who maybe doesn't apologize all the time like that robot-man, but who can at least understand my (rather clear, I think) voice. To whomever has the unpleasant duty of responding to these messages, I realize this is not your fault. If, by some chance company protocol sees fit to have you call me, know that I will not attack you directly, but only if I deem things to be going exceptionally poorly. I come in peace, or whatever. Otherwise, I wish you a pleasant day (Unless you are a letter-answering robot, in which case I hope you fry a transistor and must be replaced by a person). Thanks.

Vacation Photos

2007-05-20T19:13:00.000-07:00

Luxembourg. After a day trip to Trier (or Treves if French suits you) we went to some restaurant. It could have been any restaurant and I don’t care for the specifics but it had something to do with French food. We stopped into a bar for a nightcap. Danny’s always suggesting nightcaps. He often makes suggestions about how many drinks will be had too but he always suggests one drink and I never have fewer that three. I had four. On the way home he pulls up to Thorsten’s bar for a second nightcap. Thorsten had introduced us to the drink which was to remain nameless until we decided to call it the “Thorsten”. Yeah, clever, I should get a medal. A Thorsten is the perfect beverage for Luxebourg, sandwiched as it is between Germany and France. It’s a pretty even mix of Pernod and Jagermeister. It seems disgusting but is really pretty ok. Especially when its served to you by a very German looking man who is down a few teeth and who’s English seems limited to, well, limited. Thorsten’s bar is pretty much a German biker bar which is damn entertaining. Despite the fact that we were strangers, Thorsten poured me at least two Thorstens on the house when all I ordered was a Piconbeir. If you’re keeping track, I am drunk at this point in the story. All I know is that pictures have surfaced of me on a motorcycle inside the bar. I don’t remember posing for them. At around two we left because Jesse was taping an interview the next day at like eight and I was supposed to go see a Patton memorial in Ettelbruck.

I woke up hella-drunk. Danny dropped me into the center of town and says something about a memorial being in the general direction indicated by a wave of the hand and he drove off saying something about meeting him “later” at “a place that I could neither remember nor pronounce”. My German is not good. I was drunk. I lit out for wherever it was that I was supposed to be going and was having a reasonably good time trying not to stagger (failed) while walking. Never mind that I had no idea where I was, had little money, no communication device and no idea where Danny even lived or where Jesse was. Fuck it, as they say. So I stumble upon this memorial with a tank parked beside it. I shoot a few slides of the tank and climb on it some and decide to read the plaque. As near as I can remember (the slides aren’t processed), the plaque said “On such and such date in the 90’s, we renew our gratitude to the brave American soldiers who sacrificed their lives to give us back our freedom”. I’m pretty sure it was the booze that caused it, but I started crying. I mean, fucking sobbing. I could taste my tears. They were salty. This is pretty strange because I can only remember crying like three times in my life, and certainly no time recently. So here I am crying like a son of a bitch looking at this plaque in a little park in Luxembourg where hundreds of men lost their lives 60 years ago. About then I noticed the gardener watering the flower quite near me who was trying not to stare. Ass. As I sort of stumbled away, still crying some, I thought about what it was that had gotten to me (besides dubious european liqueurs). All I could figure was that I wasn’t crying for the men who died, but for the tragedy of a nation being occupied. I was crying because once, we (America et. al) sent our young men to die for something that was worth sending men to die for. In those days, freedom really was worth a damn, and we had a pretty good idea of what it was like to be without it. As I wandered around Ettelbruck, still drunk and with salt all over my damned face like two year old, I looked at all the people on the street. What do they think of us now? Will they renew their gratitude again? Will there ever be memorials like that in Baghdad?

I ran into Danny and he gave me some kind of roll with pate inside and some kind of wine grape jelly. It tasted good.

This one is simple

2007-04-14T17:16:00.001-07:00

If one more fucking person says, or puts on their facebook/myspace profile "so it goes" in response the death of Kurt Vonnegut I'm gonna croak. Yes, I'm admit that I thought it. Yes, I thought it was kind of funny when I thought it. I maybe even cracked a smile at it. You know what I didn't do? I didn't call anyone to tell them of my cleverness or post it anywhere. You know why? Because EVERYONE who has ever read a book in the world thought the same thing, thus it must not be that clever. Thank You. That is all.

Oaxaca Oct. 31-Nov. 2

2007-01-08T19:47:00.000-08:00

So once again I ended up in a heated discussion of tacos, and Mexican food in general, last night at the C&O. Millington, Parisi, Easton, Spencer and self would certainly have been ejected from any sensible French-style bistro for our tone if not for the fact that Farrell was tending the bar. At least three other parties have elicited this same response from me by referencing opinions I made public in this very forum recently. My fervor was so great last night that I declared that I am going on taco tour in Oaxaca for Dia De Los Muertos this year. Understand this: There is no better holiday on earth than Dia De Los Muertos (my own holiday "Happy Fucking It's Warm Day" is TIED with Dia [I'm sure you'll hear all about HFIWD when the spring comes on though if winter keeps up like this is might be next week][HFIWD is never scheduled. It depends on my whim, you see] but is not by any means SURPASSED by Dia). They make skulls out of sugar for Christ's sake! They hang around in graveyards for a holiday that, despite being a dia, is three days long! There is no better city for Los Muertos than Oaxaca, and incidentally, as if to prove the divine providence involved, Oaxaca is a great city for tacos. Never mind that this is set to occur in the midst of a destroyer of a semester. This is exactly the same way our trip to Morocco was conceived. Over whiskey at the CANDO. Rick Easton is on board even though he is apparently destined to die in Mexico (he felt a lot better about the whole thing when I explained that just because he's destined to die in Mexico doesn't mean it will be THIS time). That bastard has proven he won't back down. So who else is on board? Let's go lick sugar skulls and eat tacos and hang around the graveyards of Mexico! The only thing I have yet to do is buy the ticket and learn something in Spanish other than "I need three tacos al pastor please." Preferably something useful like "where is the store that will sell me tacos al pastor?""or sugar skulls"

Oh Canada...

2007-01-05T12:49:00.000-08:00

When Jesse Dukes told me that he wanted to go to Quebec City for the New Year holiday, I envisioned sort of a Mardi gras style event taking place in a French style city. Call it ignorance, but I assumed that all Francophones on the North American continent celebrated by getting shit-hammered and throwing beads at each other and that this celebration would be pretty much the same on New Years as Mardi Gras (yes I realize that this seems like a pretty crazy leap but tell me that when you hear "celebration" and "French" you don't think of crazy bead throwing).

Thus we took out of here and met up with our old friend Chris who was in New York City being a ne'er do well and doing gobs of blow. Chris is a really good dude who is a great chef, triathlete, and all around top dude. After some failed attempts to find housing, we met some girls who allowed us to stay at their place. The next day Jesse and I walked from their apartment on 125th St. down to the Brooklyn Bridge and across. We walked for about six hours straight. We then met our friend Zeke who is a great guitar player and also a pretty great chef it seems.
The next day we headed for Portland Maine. Portland is one of my favorite cities because of the mix of proximity to mountains, good urban style and maritime tradition. Doesn’t hurt that the rent is cheap. It’s too bad that it’s so cold but I guess that’s what keeps the creeps at bay. Anyway a day and a night and off to Ville de Quebec.

Quebec was a pretty cool city overall. Very old. Very French. The restaurants were good. We asked the receptionist in our hotel where a good place to experience New Years would be. On our way there we decided to have dinner. Since Quebec is a French city, we went to a French restaurant. We weren’t worried about the time since it was 930. So two hours into the meal we still haven’t finished the dessert or coffee courses. As they passed out the noise makers we were out the door and looking for a bar to get defaced in. Quickly. So we hustle on over to the promising part of town but things look sort of not that hopping. Jesse described it as being about as crowded as a not too busy Wednesday night in Portland’s old port. Maybe you’ve never been there but you probably get the idea. We could not find a fucking decent looking bar anywhere. We counted down the new year en Franςais. On the sidewalk. And by “counted down en Franςais” I really mean glanced at my watch and realized it had been 2007 for about 45 seconds. We went in the only place that seemed alive. It appeared to be a private party for an accounting firm. It probably wasn’t but that’s what it looked like. We were dressed like we were about to climb mountains (which was later to come) but not in that clean Patagonia catalog way, more in the train bum with a bottle of Thunderbird in his pocket way and Jesse was carrying his radio gear (he makes documentaries for public radio). I had just shaved with a shitty throw away razor and lather from holiday Inn complimentary soap after not shaving in over a week. I was probably still bleeding out of my face. Short version: we were dressed more for Halloween in the ghetto than New Years with Francophone accountants. We managed to get a drink and walked around the place (which was a shit hole aside from the koi swimming in the floor). When we returned to where we left our things, about 8 Quebecois were standing around Jesse’s microphone (which was like 18 inches long) singing to the shitty 80’s tune they were playing in the place. He reclaimed him mic, turned it on and interviewed one of the women who insisted that Jesse was in fact not American but Canadian and from Toronto (she could tell by his accent). This was really the only interesting thing that happened that night. On the way back to the hotel we saw a guy being taken into custody by the fuzz. He was so drunk he couldn’t stand. Jesse posited that he had, in fact, managed to have our shares of the fun for the evening. Sadly we managed to have his share of the illness the next morning. Jesse and I were both nauseous as a motherfucker as we pulled out of Quebec. If someone other than me had been taking photos they could have gotten a fantastic photo of me leaning on the hood of the car trying not to empty my guts while scraping the quarter inch of solid ice that had accumulated on the car away. Fuck.

The trip was quickly spared as we went back to the comforting confines of Portland. We climbed Old Speck. It’s a reasonably tall mountain (by eastern standards) on the AT with a fire tower on top. It was snowy as a motherfucker and about eight miles round trip. The top looked like a fucking alien planet because of the strong wind encasing everything in snow. All the trees had about five inches of sideways snow hanging from them. You really should see the pictures I took. The tower was in similar condition, which made climbing it rather treacherous but the view from the top was worth it. We stood up there in the wind and cold and snow and were pleased with the world and with ourselves. Jesse ate a frozen snickers bar and we retreated under the light of a bright moon and a setting sun reflected off snow and occasional clouds. It was some of the most beautiful light I’ve seen. We snow shoed down in the dark and were happy to relax. My legs hurt like two motherfuckers. It felt real nice.

As I was getting on the plane back home I thought about the people I know that I don’t see often enough. I miss Maine sometimes and one day I reckon I’ll go back. Leading trips in those mountains were some of the best times I’ve had. As for today, I’m happy to be back at my home in Virginia where it’s unseasonably warm and the bars are filled with good people that I know.

I'll smile when someone in Charlottesville makes a decent taco

2006-12-14T11:24:00.000-08:00

Why the fucking hell can't anyone in this town make a good taco? I'm serious. My psychological wellbeing depends on me eating mexican food and it really fucks me when I can only eat burritos. I have nothing against atomic burrito. Though I've had better, it sure as hell wasn't in this state or even on this side of the Missi'p (Don't you even fucking MENTION chipotle or Qdoba or any of those other shit-slinging chain horse-shitteries. Guadalajara, Amigo's, and all those other "hot plate" Mexican joints are not good and don't even count. That shit is not even what I’m talking about. And the biggest offender of all, Baja Bean with the photos of Mexico on the wall to prove that the owner went there and did research to figure out how to make Baja-style food, makes me sick, not only in product, but in principle. Maybe you went to Baja but going to Baja did not put a stop to your ineptitude) (YES you may have seen me eat in one of more of these establishments. YES I eat at them all at one time or another. You must understand how badly I NEED Mexican food. To me these shitty places are like drinking water from a rusty canteen- it tastes like hell but when you've been crawling thirsty through the desert you don't complain about the aftertaste). The problem is that between the burritos I eat at atomic and the burritos I eat in my home, I end up eating burritos about 1.5 meals a day (on average). I NEED A FUCKING TACO. I heard good things about this place called Aqui es Mexico down by the C'ville Market. I went there the other day and despite the name which, if my Spanish serves me translates to "here is Mexico" or suchlike, the place is run by a bunch of Salvadorans. Now, I have nothing against Salvadorans or their fine cuisine. Papusas and yucca are all fine with me. The only problem is that, as I believe I mentioned earlier, I NEED A FUCKING TACO. To my relief, they did have plenty of Mexican stuff on the menu, including tacos. I was also relieved to see that they served tacos con lingua-beef tongue tacos (if even one of you fluent-in-Spanish sons-of-a-bitches tells me I spelled this shit wrong I will curse. I know French was a poor choice of languages. crucify me.). Now, I’m pretty disinterested in eating tongue tacos in general, but tongue tacos are a good sign. They indicate that the restaurant has a predominantly Mexican clientele, which means that there are a few things you will NOT have to put up with. The first of these is the ubiquitous crunchy taco shell. I don't know where they got the idea for this but the idea sucks. Tacos come on two soft corn tortillas. Not crunchy and not those white flour things. They should be small. Like 5 inches in diameter. Second, They should have three ingredients: some kind of meat, cilantro and onion. There should be lime on the side. There should not be lettuce. There should not be tomato. There sure as hell should not be cheese. The existence of the tongue taco is a signifier that the establishment understands these things. I'm not sure anyone really orders these tongue tacos at all (I'm lying. They do.). I think it's just easier than putting a sign on the table that says "hey Mexican people! Fear not! This isn't one of those goddamned fake Mexican places that gringos seem to adore. We understand that tacos don’t crunch." Anyway, I ordered up a couple carnitas tacos. Though the presentation was spot on, the tacos were not as good as they could have been. I mean they were the best I’ve had in Charlottesville by a long shot but if I had been given these tacos in Santa Cruz I would have thrown them away (I’m obviously lying. I have never thrown away a taco). The Salvadoran fare was pretty good though.
Hey all you Charlottesville entrepreneurs! somebody buy a damned roach coach and park that shit on the downtown mall so I can get good tacos on my way home from work! I mean there's one on every block in fucking California; you'd think a metropolitan center like Charlottesville could get one! I mean we have a crepe store AND a fondue store for Jesus' sake! These things are what's wrong with Charlottesville. Tacos have the potential to be what's right.

where is this all going?

2006-12-10T00:20:00.000-08:00

At a certain point birthdays stop being fun. At a certain point they are the sort of thing you run away from. For this one i ran to Morocco. The truth of the matter is that it pretty much worked. As it turns out, if you confuse yourself sufficiently, you don't have time for self pity. I was sitting at a cafe in this gorge so deep that one could just see a slice of sky through the overhanging rocks. The sky was filled with way more stars than i've ever seen. We had driven through some crazy winding mountain roads into the desert where camels were wandering in the street and i was tired. Driving in Morocco is trying. Our new friend Idriss had been blasting the same tape in Arabic all day at maximum volume. He was in the act of drinking up all the beer we had paid higher than US prices for. The Koran was locked safely in the glovebox. I think it was Mike who mentioned that it was my birthday. So it was. I opened a beer and drank some tea. It was quiet and still.

The next day we drove to the real Sahara. The Sahara with dunes. We spent the night around a fire with our camels regurgitating near by. Idriss and Rick whipped up a camel tagine which was good, if heavy on the olive oil. I went with a Touareg named Said to gather firewood. riding the camel through the dark desert with bare feet was calming. The desert was so calm and quiet. You could see the galaxy overhead. I talked quietly with Said in french about how nice things were. I was surprised that i was able to convey how i felt to him. It was a pretty simple feeling i guess. Later we ran to the top of some dunes and collapsed, exhausted on their peak. We could see towns in Algeria from where we were sitting. I fell asleep with the stars revolving around my head. In the morning I climbed the tallest dune around which was as high as a lot of mountains. It felt good.

I had to drive all day back to Marrakech which was tiring. I hadn't known from the onset that i was the only one who could drive the car so it was a little annoying but driving in Morocco is pretty rewarding. I'm sure our Fiat Pallio had never had it's tiny engine run so hard before. I would love to have listened to it sing but, alas, more shitty Arabic pop on repeat, maximum volume. When we got back to Marrakech i got sick. After two days i was pretty dehydrated and was starting to worry about my well-being. i wasnt drinking water and i wasn't eating food. In the midst of all this, however, Mike and Rick took me to the most incredible restaurant ever. It was in a 15th century palace, the floors covered in rose petals, walls covered in beautiful mosaic. We were dressed like vagrants. The food was amazing and though the bill came to about fifty dollars each, it was worth it. It would have been three times as much in the US. Unfortunately my stomach hurt a lot and i was torn between the feeling of absolute decadence and the feeling that i might die if i didnt hold onto some food or water soon. The next morning Rick got me some Antibiotics. Things got better after that. The feeling that my body was betraying me was bothersome. I've always been tolerant of dangerous food. Though i was still having a wonderful time, a shadow was cast.

After a couple days of tying up loose ends in Marrakech and buying things in the markets, we went to London. At a bar that night this girl, who may have been young enough not to have moved out of her parents house, approached me and after inquiring about a cigarette, asked if i was american. i told her i was and she followed with "I hate Americans." i said something along the lines of "well that's unfortunate." To which she responded "kiss me." she didn't wait for a response and went for it. I stopped her with the only thing i could think of which was "You don't want to make out with me! You don't know me! You don't know where i've been! I've been in the DESERT!" Rick seemed to think this was just about the funniest thing i could have said under the circumstances. Though i was mostly disinterested in making out with this girl of dubious vintage (despite mike burlin's encouragement) in a place that was pretty foreign to me (probably more foreign than Marrakech in ways)( I mean christ, i ordered a jack on the rocks (they didn't have any bourbon) and the bartender loooked at me like i was crazy. i eventually had to tell him how to make it and he still managed to fuck it up. I was like "it's not hard. you put ice in the glass then you pour in the whiskey! he filled the glass with ice and poured a shot over it. i guess this is what i get for going to these sort of strange countries.), it was flattering to me that a girl would pick me out of this crowded bar to come hit on. it really sort of lifted my spirits. this lasted until roughly the time she tried to give me her email address and number but was too drunk to write them legibly even after three tries and 15 minutes. i'm getting better at laughing at myself. i was already pretty good at laughing at others.

Speaking of which, if you ever want to laugh, go on a long plane ride with rick easton. watch as the tobacco withdrawal and hatred of flying turn him into a bomb with a short fuse. After the flight, watch as he meets the one thing between him and a cigarette- Customs. watch as he patiently explains why his bag is filled with half a dozen keys of "herbs" he uses for "cooking" swimming an a soup of preserved lemons, olive oil and broken glass. he really did pull it together surprisingly well.

on coming back home i have had some trouble adjusting. things just seem too slow. i had trouble getting back into school and was hit with the end of what has been a disappointing and difficult semester. i'd like to think the next one will be better. i have no reason to believe this.
i'm really happy about christmas. i'm not usually into it but this year i really look forward to seeing my parents and sister. it will be nice to be around people who don't expect anything from me and for whom i don't feel like i need to be impressive.dont get me wrong, i like all my friends, i just feel like i spend too much time trying. it will be nice to wake up and be able to do anything i want. it will be nice to sleep. i need some sleep.

going to charlottesville

2006-11-30T13:14:00.000-08:00

So, I've come back from Morocco and I'm still alive, though I am on antibiotics for some ailment i picked up. I'd love to write a long narrative about all that happened but i can't. Every day in morocco was more exciting than a month here. there were so many stories that sometimes i would see two insatiable things happening at the same time.

Morocco is a place where people cling to their existence with a tenacity that is admirable. they reject insulation from their environment and from each other with astonishing fierceness. cars drive within inches of each other. people share food and drink freely. dirt is on everything. people trust each other but count their change invariably. people argue about everything but they always end with a shaking of hands and a smile. just my kind of people.
on the down side, everyone wants your money and they dont really hide that fact. at least they'll give you mint tea while they're screwing you. the air is so dirty that i'm still expelling black stuff from my sinuses. people will throw trash anywhere because at a certain point it just doesnt matter.

I'm a year older and i ate camel for thanksgiving. i saw, quite clearly, where our solar system is situated in the galaxy while lying on my back on a sand dune. i found out that some Muslims do drink beer and some will even drink up all your beer and make you pay for it, but what goes around always seems to come around. there will be lots of stories and lots of pictures. right now i just need to relax and finish my school work for the semester.

going to Morocco

2006-11-15T14:46:00.000-08:00

I'm working fucking hard to get a lot of school work done. Between work and school I haven't seen many friends this semester. It's really wearing on my chi or whatever. I don't sleep enough and I waste time because i have so little of it. Like, when I could be out doing something good I sit around because it feels so good to not be working. Many people work well this way but I am not one of them. Sometimes it gets bad.

I'm going to Morocco for thanksgiving (and my birthday for that matter). People keep telling me that they hope i don't die. I dont know why i would but people seem concerned. Maybe it's because there are guys with cobras all over. I don't know. I find that my answer to these concerns tends to be "i don't care if i do. At least then i could get a good night's sleep."

Morocco should be pretty fun i think. I imagine a lot of strange things but it was a french colony for a long time so it can't be that strange. I plan to buy a rug or two and some other shit. i imagine i'll eat a lot of tajine. I have to do some research on mosque architecture. Otherwise i just want some peace and quiet. In Marrakech.

Maybe when i come back i'll write something worth reading.

This is NOT ok

2006-11-08T07:43:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting here sort of waiting to see what the outcome of the midterm elections is going to be. It sort of looks like the Democrats might take the House and the Senate. So I imagine all my liberal friends showing up today and being in a celebratory mood and all that. It's funny, but I just feel hollow about the whole thing. To be honest, the fact that I even have to watch the news to find out what's going to happen after all that's gone down in the last six years is revolting.

I have this friend who will remain nameless (Juwhan) who recently became a citizen of the US. He has lived here for a great deal of his life and recently had his citizenship switched from South Korean to American. When I asked him if he wanted to come with me to the polls, he said he wasn't going to vote. I was taken aback. I asked him why he wasn't voting and he said it was because he didn't give a shit. When I appealed to him as a friend, he replied that if I forced him to go to the polls he would vote republican just to piss me off. I decided to let him off the hook.

This situation offended the hell out of me. It made me so angry that i seethed for the entire day. In a country where the rights of the individual are the basis for pretty much everything we do (theoretically), why am I offended when that individual chooses to not give a damn?

Maybe this is a reflection of my concern over the community i keep. When you think about the population of the United States, it is no surprise that a lot of people dont vote. You know, there are bound to be low-lifes like gangsters and prostitutes who don't care what happens because they're already outlaws and societal rejects. I like to think that i stear clear of this demographic, however. I like to think of my friends as this group of socially conscious, if rather cynical, altruists. The fact that one of them won't walk into the damned polling place to check some boxes in order to sway the government of the country is absurd. This is not what Pericles had in mind. What's next, people driving their cars without touching the steering wheel?

When pressed, Juwhan responds that he "doesn't believe in the system." Now, for a second, I feel some sort of kinship here because I don't believe in the system either. As I have stated on numerous occasions, I don't think Capitalist Democracy is an effective way of running a country in this age. Sure, when we had vast swaths of land that was not inhabited at all, there was some logic in letting personal wealth be our motivating force and allowing the people who stand to gain influence the system of government. After all, land was pretty close to free and land equals wealth. Unfortunately, there is no place in America where you can just build a house and call the land around it yours. Thus we need to protect those who do not have land, or who have less of it for that matter.

Isn't protection what this is all about after all? I mean government. Isn't that why we, as a race, stopped fighting directly with each other and submit to the control of government? I mean, if we are going to leave a lot of people unprotected, don't those unprotected people have the right, no, the responsibility, to destroy those who have created their oppression (strong words but when the rich get wealthy by making the poor work in shitty situations despite their own lack of need, there is no other way to refer to it)? Let's look at it this way: if I break into the home of someone who has more than me and I take it away, the police come and lock me up. If the wealthier person abuses those who work for him, the police don't do shit. Maybe, if the oppressed manage to get legal representation, they can sue the oppressor and reduce the amount of financial gain, but really, there is always the argument that the worker didn't HAVE to submit to the conditions of the employer in order to make his living. What happens when the wealthy organize? What happens when the workers organize? The bottom line is that the wealthy can hold out longer than the poor without income. Government must not only protect an individual's right to make money, it must protect the poor from starvation, from lack of health care, and frankly, in a country a rich as ours, from working too hard. It could certainly be argued that our government does none of these. It does not only benefit the poor to be protected in this way, it benefits the rich in the form of decreased social unrest. In short, it keeps me from breaking into your house to steal your fancy shit. You already know this. I digress.

It turns out there is an even sadder truth behind all this. The oppression of the poor can account for the low voter turn out among the undereducated. This is a function of the division that capitalism allows to be placed between the worlds of the rich and poor. So long as the rich don't have to educate their children in the same schools as the poor, there is no motivation (negative motivation, in fact) to see to the quality of the education of the poor. This quickly gets into the territory of urban planning but I'll try to hold back. This is, remarkably, not my point.

My point is that Juwhan is not undereducated. He went to fine schools, public and private, throughout his upbringing. He graduated from the University of Virginia. There is something else at work here. There is an emerging class in America who do not vote because they are generally discontent with the way the system is operating but are comfortable enough that there is not margin in taking to the streets in protest. As long as we/ they can come home and drink a few beers and play video games, the nagging discontent will be held at bay and the discomfort of a failing social paradigm can be mitigated to the point that one can consider the daily struggle comfortable. In short, we have gone from a country that struggled toward an egalitarian ideal to a country that struggles only to maintain a position of complacency and consequently, of ignorance. The problem is that people are dying for us to not give a shit. Whether you believe in karma or not, this is not a grant but a loan.

When we become so lazy as a culture that we can no longer hold a position of power on the world stage (really, how long do you think a culture who would rather eat a cheeseburger from mcdonalds than expend a little energy to create actual food can maintain dominance over the much more zealous cultures of the world?) we must be prepared for the repercussions of the abuses of decency we are currently carrying out. When someone has done you wrong while in power, your own rise to power almost certainly spells disaster for your oppressor. We can expect no different. Rather than arrogantly believing that our position was granted by God, or that we will buck all trends to the contrary throughout world history, we should use our current power to try to move forward in the way that people and nations treat each other and the world we live in. This doesn't include recklessly using up resources so that we can maintain a life of using pacifiers to quell that sinking feeling that everything is NOT alright in our world.

What will it take to get us up off our asses? I vote for the draft. If it were not just the sons of the poor dying for our oil, but the sons of congressmen and oil barons and bankers, we might see more clearly the cost of autocentric development. People are dying for our drive to work. Funny, I would have thought a young man or woman's blood would be worth more than $2.09/Gal.

It looks like the Congress and Senate will both go to the Democrats. This is a small step in the right direction. Just don't, as my grandmother used to say, break your arm trying to pat yourself on the back.

Montic(h)ell(n)o

2006-10-07T18:16:00.000-07:00

My parents came to visit for the weekend. This was fucking remarkable. In the 8 years I've lived here they have come to visit twice and one of those times was when i was getting surgery to repair my broke ass leg. Yesterday we went around the University and went to dinner at Mono Loco. Today we went to Monticello and Michie Tavern. I realized something at while at Michie Tavern that I did not know previously. It is that I fucking hate Michie Tavern. Michie tavern is such a pile of shit. So is Monticello, but at least that shit is sort of legit.

If you are unfamilliar with all of this, know that Monticello is the museum/ home of Thomas Jefferson. Michie Tavern is the bullshit restaurant and gift shop located just outside of Monticello. It pretends to be an old tavern with an "ordinary" which, as far as I can discern, means restaurant that serves that same damned food as Old Country Buffet except with less selection, no unboiled vegetables, and a ridiculously high pricetag. They serve something they call "stewed tomatoes" which seems like a bad idea to begin with and in practice is a fucking horrorshow. Now, i understand that the premise of this restaurant is to serve the same kind of shit they ate two hundred years ago in Virginia. That's fine I guess but do you really expect me to believe that after Thomas Jefferson travelled to France and Italy for years, he came back here and the best food he could think to produce was fucking fried chicken and goddamned stewed tomatoes? (and don't any of you fact checking assholes go sending me and articles you looked up that say that Thomas Jefferson liked nothing more that stewed tomatoes because I dont want to hear it.) The worst part was that they make all the people who work there dress in these obscene "period" costumes that I swear to god probably come from Cintas (you know, the uniform company). Its so dumb to see some guy come over in polyester knickers to ask you if you want anymore COKE. I mean jesus. But get this: they'll give you a fucking coca cola but you have to drink it out of a tiny metal cup, the volume of which is about .5 cups. Add ice and the volume comes to about .25 c. or 4 tablespoons if you're not into fractions. I swear to god that at one point the waiter came and brought two cokes to our table and i drained them both at the same time as if i were taking a shot and demanded that he go bring ten more. When he came back with a tray of "cups" of coke, i asked him why the hell they didn't just use glasses like a normal fucking restaurant. He said it was because the cups were more authentic. I informed him that since the cups were made of stainless steel (as were the plates and silverware) which was not invented in its modern form until the early twentieth century, it would in fact be much more authentic to use glass. Then, in my fury, i slapped the tray full of little cokes to the ground. Fortunately only 40 tablespoons of coke were spilled so it was cleaned easily using an extra napkin from the table. It was the stupidest event of the day.

OK, second stupidest. While at Monticello, we went to see the steel smith. He was this guy who is apparently paid to stand around making useless shit out of steel all day by heating it on the fire and then beating the hell out it on an anvil. It was actually pretty cool. The guy clearly didn't give a holy damn about safety as he was handling the material with his bare hands and didnt give a shit how close you got to him, he would just shower you with burning sparks until you moved away. When he was done making nails or whatever shit, he would let them fall to the ground and wouldnt pick them up or anything. We're talking red hot steel here. Enter my mother. After a rousing conversation with the slaves about how shitty being a slave is for them (and then getting directions about how to avoid traffic while driving to Dulles from 66), she rolls up and is amazed at how deftly the smith turns metal into nails. She then proceeds to bend over an pick up one that he had let drop to the stand his anvil was standing on like ten second earlier. She was about to try to hand the hot motherfucker to me when it occured to her that she was getting her hands burned to shit. Instead of dropping the bitch instantly, she set it back down on the stand very carefully so as not to mess it up. Needless to say I kept that nail as a souvenir. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother a great deal, but christ.

It might sound like I'm a miserable ass, but i did actually have a fine time with my parents. It would probably have been a little more ok if our waitress at Michie Tavern didn't look just like a girl I used to date, with whom i had a pretty mutually sad breakup (it got me thinking too much)(and all you afore mentioned fact checkers who want to point out that the story above includes a WAITER not a WAITRESS, just know that it is people like you who killed santa claus and the easter bunny for us all.)

whaaa? fuck. Huuh?

2006-09-17T01:41:00.000-07:00

I really wish that when you made any sort of permanent action on the "internet", it took a picture of you while you were at it and posted it right along with the result of your action. So like, if i did something while i was, say, wasted, there would be this picture of me (or maybe video, i mean, the sky's the limit, right?) slumped over the keyboard trying to find the goddamned "x" key. i think my actions are taken out of context far too often because i get to choose the picture of me that accompanies them. that's all i'm saying.

eulogy part 2

2006-09-14T23:17:00.000-07:00

The cold wind in my face on Park Street reminds me its getting cold again, reminds me that i never did go see that stone they carved your name into, old son. And by the way, i don't even know where to find that stone if i intended to. i guess its closing on two years since you dug that hole so i guess it doesnt look like i'm looking. there's been a lot going on, you know, not to make excuses...i'd rather not know who's under the stones when i'm sitting on them. seems a little too familiar i guess. i imagine it'll get easier as i settle in. i guess i learned a lot about things in these in between years but it's still the same in betweens that confuse me. subtlety and brutality, elegance and strength. efficiency and style. you're supposed to focus, and i guess i am, but it's taking time that i'm not sure i have. while we're talking, it reminded me of all i hate about death when you went. all these people sitting around crying at the tragedy of the whole mess... the real tragedy is that we're all gonna die but not all of us are gonna have a few days to sit and think it over. maybe thats what they were all crying over. how should i know. i didnt ask. it must have been hard to finally give up all together on making everyone else happy. i mean that's most of why we're in this puppet show isnt it? looks like i'm not too good at all that either. i cant quit thinking about my time and my space. every time i'm cold i still think about how cold you must have been. that wind in your eyes as you walked out there. how many of those notes did you write and tear up before you made it stick? knowing you, not many. jesus i still shiver at that cool. and when you climbed in, did the water run down your back or was it frozen solid? wouldn't you want to be comfortable there at the end or would that slow your mind? god knows it slows our minds. you never gave up trying to please other people, you just gave up living for them. are you really gonna stick around every winter? i don't mind. i could use more honest company. i hope you brought a good coat. it's gonna get cold again. you can feel it coming already. i know it isnt right to address you this way but i'm a little drunk and its late.

Indianoplace

2006-09-11T18:58:00.000-07:00

I've been hating Indianapolis for about ten years now. It's where my parents moved just as i quit college. After they left, i tried to stay in california, where i grew up, but i quickly found that i couldnt make it there. This had more to do with me being 19 and irresponsible than anything else, though i blamed everything from el nino to earthquake trauma for my failure at the time. I ended up moving back home to be with my parents while i got my shit together. It was during this stay that i developed in intense loathing for the midwest, Indianapolis specifically. I had trouble with the cold ass winters. I mean those stretches where it doesnt get above 0 degrees for like a week at a time...fuck that shit. There was something else about it that i couldnt really put a finger on. i mean, there was something so artificial about the suburban landscape surrounding the city...like, everything looked pretty good, but good in that way that those sugar cookies with the thick pastel icing on them look good. Like its supposed to look good, and you know if you actually tried to eat that sugary shit it would make you want to be ill. There was this thin veneer of new construction everywhere. Shit that was really poorly made so you knew that in like ten years, they'd be moving on to another ex-cornfield and building another cookie cutter house beehive. Like fucking locusts they are. Now, i didn't know too much back then but i knew enough to know that that shit was no good for anything and that as much as i hated the endless fucking cornfields, that had to be better than endless houses, stripmalls, freeways, you know. I fell into eating dinner every night with my parents. They seemed to think the best food one could ever eat was served at Chili's followed closely by TGIfridays. We ate at these places at least twice a week if not more. In the course of the year or a little more that i lived there, i made not one friend. I had jobs and coworkers and all that but i never made a friend. This sounds terrible but it was great because it allowed me to hone my skills and start a career as a professional photographer. Well actually that turned out to pretty much suck to so, yeah, it basically plunged me into a sea of hopelessness. I used to sneak bottles of scotch to my room and get wasted in the middle of the night (my parents are real religious so this was a big deal). My life was hell. It was all Indiana's fault. So, after surveying my options, i moved to Charlottesville. My life became better instantly. I've taken friends of mine who are curious to see if this place is as bad as i make it out to be home with me at vacation sometimes. Their reactions range from "that could have been worse" to "wow. shit. this place is the worst thing in the universe. but your mom was pretty nice". I'm sure there is no god because the only thing i've asked for from his ass in my life was for my parents to move away from indiana. it's not like it impacts me much, but everytime i get ready to go home for the holidays or whatever and people ask where i'm going, i have to say "indiana". and it pisses me off.

Until today. I just found out that my dad is quitting his job with United and moving to the FAA which will relocate him to Memphis Tenn., Home of Beale St., Sun records and Graceland. Now, I'm not stupid enough to think that Memphis is the greatest place in the world, but at least its known for something more than a stupid ass car race that isnt even good anymore. Good riddance Indianapolis! If i ever see your shit infested suburbs again it will be too soon. come nuclear bomb! rain hellfire upon the shit we've created! destroy all those cops who used to hassle me when i was out taking photographs of train engines at night. hasten the decay of the suburban sprawl!

There is a bit of sadness i must admit. i'll miss visiting the house where i watched my little sister proclaim that she was buddhist, wiccan, pentecostal and finally catholic (she's into the iconography), because none of the kids at school liked her. Behind this house is the spot where i ran the fastest 3 miles of my life(training in charlottesville makes you pretty fast on the flat ass cornfields of indiana). it is the city that first made me think of Urban Planning as something i could be passionate about. it is the culture that made me distrust capitalism, which, as bad as it may sound, has become one of my favorite qualities about myself. Won't i miss all of this?

Nah, Fuck it. Burn it.

I'm not so sure "Doctor" Octogon is really a doctor at all...

2006-09-08T22:04:00.000-07:00

I've been going to see music like every night for a while now. I've been on such a tear, and with such success that i was starting to think that i just might have lost my taste altogether. I mean, every show i have been to in a while has been pure gold. I can't remember the last time that i left a show feeling like it was anything but awesome...until last night.

I went to see Dr. Oc. at the Satellite. Now I'm usually not really into a hip hop band enough to go see them (I think the only hip hop show I've been to was the Roots...twice) but since my friends the Whoppaz (sic)(I don't know Q) were playing, i decided to go. Shit cost me 18 bucks. I missed the Whoppaz who were forced to start quite early to make time for like an hour and a half of DJs spinning records I mostly disliked. Then Keith took the stage. He did a lot of freestyling which is pretty impressive if done well, but really, he pretty much sucked. I feel like i could have done better, if only because mike rhymes with a lot of things, unlike keith, or octogon, or octogonocologist for that matter. Then came the part of the show where he passed out underwear to the women near the stage and had them come up and put them on over their clothes and dance while he sang about where he wanted to touch them etc. At this point the two men next to me started beating the shit out of each other. I mean really pounding away. After far too long, they were broken up. Keith continues singing about fucking women and also about his balls for a while. I tried to see it as sort of amusing but i failed. I started to feel real alienated and confused. I started to wonder all sorts of things about sexuality and what it's supposed to mean to be a man. i wondered at the fact that this man was being payed a bunch of money to say things way less important and interesting than the average things my friends say on any given day, backed by music worse than that which my friends make, except not played live even, but on records. Eventually i started to feel disgusted in myself for having sexual interest in women and for paying money to see dr. octogon. I stood around outside trying to feel better but didn't. I went home and felt sort of lost inside my own head. Pretty much the highlight of the evening was going outside to see an eclipse with (di)jon, jordan, lisa, nate and chelsea, that didnt even exist. Other than that i was trying not to look or feel like a weirdo all night. i would feel shitty still except that i did some yard work today after work which brought me back to the earth a little if you will.

usually i try to make some sort of point but i dont think i'm going to this time. fuck it. i'm too tired to think about all the angles involved in kool keith making me feel bad about sexuality. And besides, where the hell is my sense of humor...tomorrow morning i'll go to the farmers market and get some awesome tomatoes and other stuff. then i'll go spend all day managing the transit for a stupid-ass football game. then i'll come home to a party that will likely have started without me. that should be pretty good. i like most of the people i know pretty well.

school...jesus.

2006-08-29T21:20:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of friends who are or are trying to become teachers (not the least of which is my housemate Farrell). All these motherfuckers are crazy. Teaching must be the worst job on earth. My opinion on this is backed up by data gathered in the field as follows:

I used to teach outdoor science to sixth graders in Santa Cruz California. Now, I'm not about to try to make the case that this should be considered legitimate teaching. To the contrary, that shit was about as Mickey Mouse as it comes. All i had to do was take kids into the woods and show them awesome shit like redwood trees and banana slugs and Pacific Giant Salamanders. We talked about ecology and sustainability and hiked around for a few hours and then i handed the kids off to some other teachers who took them to meals and watched them sleep. I worked 3-4 days a week and surfed or tried to court this girl who worked at the bookshop (QUITE unsuccessfully) the rest of the time. I know you think this sounds like the best thing ever (except for the making an ass out of myself), but it was not. It was the worst time of my life, in fact. Why? Because children in groups larger than two are bad people. These children say the meanest things they can think of. They destroy all they touch. They persecute like little hitlers. This is what children are: little fascist fuckheads. Now, they aren't all this way. If they were it wouldn't be so bad because they could just destroy each other and it would even out. The problem is that about half the kids are very sweet and kind and are interested in holding a pacific giant salamander. These kids are the jews, fodder for the fascist machine. I can't tell you how many days off were ruined by my fury, how many tacos made bland by blind rage. I quit that job within months (it should be noted that another factor in causing me to quit was the fact that we had to sing songs (look for the one called "shooting star") to the kids which i pretty much refused to do because there was this line about how much we were gonna miss the kids which was a fucking lie since i didnt miss those assheads a bit, especially once i was at the taco store. i dont like lying to children)(really, just picture me singing this shit).

Also, so you say that not everyone teaches sixth grade. some people teach, like, high school or college where the kids are way more tolerable. You are wrong. College is a little less stupid maybe, but the fact that these people are supposed to be intelligent makes their stupidity intolerable. I find myself in a 100 level Architecture class for reasons that i'd rather not get into (because they involve a lot of negative attributes that i certainly possess but won't get into because i'm not here to tell you how bad I suck.). Yesterday i went to the first section for this class (now you have to understand that my even being in this class is a little embarassing, thus infuriating, because my peers all graduated back when Al Gore was still busy inventing the internet) and the TA was telling us things about how to study, do the readings BEFORE lecture, take notes, you know. I was amazed by how engaged and happy she seemed to be teaching us. Then this girl raised her hand and asked if it would be ok (wait for it...) for her to use highlighter to highlight passages in the text. You know, the text she had bought. At the bookstore. Though i could barely see through the smoke created by my blown mind, i'm pretty sure the TA made a face of complete and total confusion. I don't mean like the face you make when you don't know the answer. I mean the kind of face you would make if you were just walking down the street and suddenly the sky turned purple, the buildings turned to popsicles and the sidewarks transformed into laffy taffy. She was totally mind-fucked. The prblem with teaching though is that she had to recover, smile and say some shit like "yeah that would be fine" or whatever. She wasn't even sarcastic. I don't know how any human could be in that position and not say something sarcastic. Jesus! There are so many kids who don't get to go to college because they don't have any money or they don't know they can do it because no one ever encourages them or whatever and then there are people who have to ask permission to highlight books they own as a study method.

Yeah, i know, its not that that students are not worthy of my teaching, its that i'm too big of a shithead to teach.

my heroes have always been cowboys

2006-08-24T18:50:00.000-07:00

When it comes to the future of the American empire, i have about the most bleak outlook possible. Encouraging signs come once a blue moon and they tend to be minor and insignificant victories wrapped in a shell of loss.

In the midst of what has been a terrible couple of weeks (mostly because i've worked 18 of the last 19 days) comes some good. I heard this story on NPR this morning and it made me pretty happy. It even made getting out of bed easy. The part about it that gets me is that the truckers, a group of people who tend to be intellectually marginalized by educated people are, at least in this instance, leading the way on a pretty major political issue. It's sort of great to see truckers talking about the concept of using fuel derived from farm grown products as if it were the most logical fucking thing in the world. I mean it IS the most logical thing in the world but you sure can't tell this to the government. I see this situation as proof that there is too great a connection between business and government in america. Think about it: If america wants to stop hostilities from the middle east, all we have to do is stop buying their oil. It is oil money that drive the armies of our "enemies" and it is out thirst for oil that drives our aggression. I think most of us can agree that this is at least partially true (i mean, my dad agrees and he's pretty much my litmus test when it comes to testing out my ideas on the right wing maniacs of america). Also, who the fuck can not sympathize with the plight of the small time farmer in America? I mean, i would expect the red states in the middle of America to have a lot more concern for the family farm than coastal, blue-state city folk, since it is or was THEIR family within the last few generations, but i guess you can't mess with the sort of arguments GW makes. Image how much more sound our country would be if, instead of sending all those ducats overseas, we kept them in the US. Imagine the farmers of America with the power of OPEC. No, i don't think we should stop looking into more radical departures from the internal combustion engine, but in the short term, the switch to biodiesel requires almost no change in infrastructure and immediately reduces greenhouse emissions. And it's made in the USA. What's not to love you fucking corn state-living assholes? In the story, they mention that if the american trucker switches to biodiesel, soccer moms will not be far behind. I don't know if that's true but i sure hope it is.

A year ago, the University Transit Service (my place of employment) switched to a B20 blend in all our buses. The most difficult part of the switch was finding the fuel in the quantities we needed it in. There was no demand for Biodiesel on this scale. After seeing our results and hearing our experiences, many of the local transit organizations are moving toward biodiesel. I was at a joint community info session with some Charlottesville Transit representatives a few weeks ago, and a member of the community asked the director of their organization why they hadn't switched to biodiesel like the University had. As they explained that they were going to start a pilot program in the very near future, i couldn't help but be a little bit hopeful.

uh

2006-08-23T03:32:00.000-07:00

For once i am at a loss for words.
http://msnbc.msn.com/id/14121008/?GT1=8404
This line sums it up pretty well i think: “We are not promoting Hitler. But we want to tell people we are different in the way he was different.”

Hey Ray, i think a certain joke of yours just became appropriate dinner conversation.

yeah... i saw snakes on a plane

2006-08-20T13:30:00.000-07:00

I don't really want to talk about the actual content of the film. I would rather comment on what motivated me to see it. I have caught myself saying things like "i really went to see Snakes on a Plane as sort of an anthropological experience. To see how those indigenous to the North American continent react to the infusion of such wealth that they have nothing to do but go en masse to see one of the stupidest films ever. or maybe to see how hollywood has created an interactive film writing experience by heeding the input of the internet". That's all cute and maybe partially true, but really i went to see the movie because as shitty as it may be, i wanted to be connected to other people. I wanted not to be the complaining curmudgeon who sees entertainment at a time like this to be counter productive and wasteful. I wanted to see if maybe there is something to just trying to enjoy yourself. My conclusion is that there is. My life has been off balance toward negativism of late. So, i went to see snakes on a plane. The cops came and stopped the film halfway and took a bunch of people out of the theatre for yelling and causing a problem. I was right there with the rest of the crowd who's feeling was basically "leave us alone pigs! this is snakes on a plane, not casablanca!". Then i started thinking about how absurd it is that while they haven't caught that rapist, the Charlottesville PD has six officers to spare to break up the rowdys down at the Seminole Square Snakes on a Plane showing. I guess some things are inevitable. That shit was off the hook, though. Samuel Jackson is the bomb. When he said that shit about getting the motherfuckin snakes of the motherfuckin plane, i was all like "Oh Shit!"

Nate Millington is Great

2006-08-20T13:03:00.000-07:00

Nate Millington is one of my favorite dudes. I saw Nate a few weeks ago and he was like "oh yeah! I haven't seen you in a while! I was just wondering where you were!" He was so excited about the whole thing that i really felt loved. I think this is Nate's gift. He's always so excited about shit that you can't help but join him is his excitement. He somehow manages to avoid the pitfall of all optimists which is sounding stupid. Now, I'm not saying that i dont like optimists. I do. I even consider myself one of them deep down and would say that it is optimism that drives my pessimism, but they often seem sadly insulated from the shitty elements of the world around them. They close up as soon as you start to talk about how the world isn't such a happy place for some people and how maybe we all should get around to doing something about it. Not Nate, though; he's right there getting pissed off about the sad state of political affairs or the way drivers will run you off the road when you ride your bike or whatever. The difference is that Nate is excited and proactive, thus avoiding the pitfall of critics and pessimists, which is hopelessness and complacency. When he complains, his tone isn't caustic but rather disappointed. He is yin and yang in one neat (though often disheveled) package. He does not contend. Have you ever talked to nate about music? It's the best thing you'll ever do. No one is more excited about music than Nate. Even better is listening to music with Nate. A while ago we were at the Bistro and Chelsea put on the first Sabbath record. Nate was so happy. He exclaimed and danced. If i was gonna take a spaceship into space, never to return and i could only have a few people on it, Nate would definitely be there. Though i'm sure he'd have lots of useful skills that would come in handy, i think he would really just be there so that no one forgot that though shit gets rough and there's no denyin' it, all you can do it what you can. If i ever meet anyone who says they dont like Nate Millington, I will be instantly and irrevocably suspicious of them. You can't dislike Nate and though i don't see him as much as i wish i did, Nate is one of my top dudes.

in the aeroplane over the sea

2006-08-16T09:44:00.000-07:00

My old man works for United Airlines. One of the perks of his job is that he and his family get free air travel to pretty much anywhere. I'm sure i dont have to explain the greatness of this to anyone. The only problem with it is that my parents were never very adventurous. We used to go to Hawaii once and sometimes twice a year when i was growing up. I was on Maui so much as a kid that i knew where to find a moray eel in this one spot, and where this one turtle liked to hang around, things like that. I don't want to make it sound too bad (because it wasn't at all) but the underside of this was that I knew stupid shit like that the hard rock cafe on maui cooks their hamburgers too done so you have to order down. At a certain point it started to occur to me that as nice as Maui is, there are other places in the world. When i brought this up to my parents, they took us to the big island or kauai. Really, though, i wanted to go to europe or asia or anywhere. Eventually i got old enough to travel on my own, which opened up some pretty impressive doors for me. No longer encumbered by my parents allotment of paid time off, nor their dependance on expensive hotels, i became sort of the ultimate bum. free airfare to anywhere in the world but only my allowance to spend when i got there. this lead to some pretty absurd situations. Since this free travel was on standby basis, i sometimes got stranded in at O'hare or Dulles or De Gaulle for days at a time. It got to the point that getting stranded was little inconvenience to me. I would bring CDs and books and would make a camping trip of it. I knew where all the best food could be had in airports. I knew all the best deals. Eventually, i realized that no one could actually tell whether i was at the airport to catch an airplane or not. I had a pocket full of "write your owns" (literally i had blank tickets that i just had to write the destination and origin on and i was off) and no one could tell me i wasn't at the airport to catch a flight, because if they gave me any trouble i could just board a plane and jet. The thing is that no one ever gave me trouble. In the days before American fear, i was an accepted part of the fabric of air travel. Thus, airports became my hotel. Eventually, airplanes even became my restaurant. One time i was stuck in Chicago and had no money. I was headed back to San Francisco but was having trouble getting on a flight. In order to get a hot meal, i boarded a flight to Dulles just to get the in flight food. I got first class, ate poached salmon and was given an entire bottle of bordeaux by the flight attendant (i was 18 at the time). when i got to dulles, i caught the next flight back to O'Hare; just in time for dinner. I had about 40 cents in my pocket.
When i started college, i wanted to get far away from my home in Fremont California. I moved across the country to Boston University. It was a bittersweet move for me. I was separated from my highschool girlfriend (who i was still trying to date and who moved to Spokane Washington) by about 3000 miles. Fortunately, i was able to fly to see her and my friends at home pretty often. I would ditch friday classes and fly to spokane or san francisco overy other weekend or so. The jetliner became the conduit for my affection; it's cabin, my sitting room, where i pined and burned for the woman who i knew would one day be my wife. It was there, as well, that the totality of my broken heart was realized when i was assured that this was not the case. Thus, the cabin of a jetliner became the source of all that was romantic, all that was free and alive.
As the nest has emptied for my parents, they've stopped going to hawaii all the time. they've gone to italy, germany, france, austria, china, you name it. It warms my heart. I wish they had figured that shit out when i was a kid. Mom and Dad just came back from a trip to Switzerland. On the flight over, an old couple boarded the plane and sat across from my parents. Sometime during the flight, the older man started to have trouble breathing. A doctor was called for but there was nothing that could be done. The man died somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. Since there is no place to store a corpse on an airplane, the man was left sitting in his seat, his wife still holding him, as the warmth and color and life slowly drained from his body. She didn't cry or anything. She just held on to him.

throwing stones at my own glass house

2006-08-13T14:30:00.000-07:00

Everywhere I go I run into some misanthrope who is feeling really good about talking about how fucked up everything is. Humans are an unstoppable force destroying everything in their path etc. If you know me, you know that there's a big part of me that agrees with this notion, but what's bothersome is the tendency amongst these radicals to talk a hell of a lot about how mankind is the problem with the world, but very little about real solutions. The reason they have no real answer is the same as the reason that the problem exists in the first fucking place: selfishness. These wise motherfuckers talk all about how the human population is choking the earth (true) but they never want to get down to brass tacks about solving it in any practical way (and by practical way i mean shooting themselves in the face). Seriously. The first one of these whining misanthropes who gives their diatribe and then pulls out a pistol and shoots themselves in the face is gonna be my personal hero and will be listed as such on myspace from here on out. I mean really. Put your money (barrel) where your mouth is. I would even be a little refreshed to hear just one of these sonumbitches try to get a group together to save the earth with them (like a bunch of lemmings). Don't even mention Jim Jones to me, that self important ass. I'm talking environmental solutions here, not feeling like a badass because you suckered a bunch of fools. The sick thing about it is that the reason you never hear this sort of thing come from these would be Captain Planets is that they're selfish. It's the same reason people drive cars around and shop at the whatever mart and get things that come in too much packaging. We're all scared of death. At least the regular consumer isn't making a big fucking thing of it. When pressed on why they insist on their food being double packaged, pasteurized and processed, they say because it's safer that way. Less germs. Less bacteria. Less danger of discomfort and death. Funny, this isn't so different from our friend the rebel. The difference is that rather than just accept his or her fear, this motherfucker veils it in something worse: narcissism. Because he or she has had this epiphany, because he or she has not been fooled by the government, the corporations, the evil, the watchdog feels that they have become more valuable than the run of the mill consumer. They can't shoot themselves in the face because then who would tell us all what is wrong with us. Who would guide us toward the light of our bright human future? We certainly couldn't figure that shit out without them. And maybe this is true. From the evolutionary perspective, maybe this all knowing individual is the future of the species. Maybe this person is what we will all one day be. A human disinterested in procreation and preoccupied with sustainability; a biological end of the road. Perhaps we will stop mating for the good of mankind and will devote our child rearing energies to making the earth a great place for everyone to live again. Or maybe we're just gonna keep on using shit up until we've got nothing left to use. Like a bunch of fucking rats. But thank the good lord somebody's here to tell us all how bad it sucks. And though the misanthrope has the solution to the selfishness of mankind, they'll never use their discovery because they're too damned selfish. The misanthrope just may be the salvation of the human species. I just wish they'd get to solving the problem and quit fucking talking about it. I'd do it but i don't want to leave a mess for you all to clean up. I'm selfless, you see.

i cannot fucking understand musicals

2006-08-13T14:29:00.000-07:00

I like the theatre arts as much as the next fellow (provided he could really give a damn one way or the other) but I cannot fucking understand musicals. There is some part of me that sees people breaking into song at a dramatic point in a performance to be the most absurd thing ever.
I've been watching a lot of Turner Classic Movies lately. This is contrary to my usual stance about not watching TV but this doesn't really count. I really like old movies. Just now, I'm watching Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Sometimes old movies are fucking dumb. In this one, this newly married guy with six brothers who live with him in a remote locale notices that the brothers are hard up for some action. They inform him that they're in love with some women who live nearby but have no chance at getting them. His response is simple. Quoting the story of the Sabine women, he tells them that they need to go and kidnap the women and drag them back to their house (!?). So the men are sort of, you know, not convinced that it's such a good idea. They sort of argue that it might be better to, like, not drag the women of their affection out of their homes. Adam (the married one) finally decides that the only tool he can use to convince them that stealing women is a good idea is a song, composed on the spot and delivered in a beautiful baritone. The display is so convincing (now hang on a damned minute. I'm no rhetorician but I'm not real sure that the best way to convince someone of something is to sing your argument to them. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe if, during the last set of presidential debates, John Kerry had phrased his retorts in the form of song, things would be worlds different. I can just hear it now "Oh Mister Buuuuuush, your stupidityyy is mind numbinggggg. Your foooooreign poooolicy is absolute shiiiiiit". I mean, I would argue that if he would have SAID those things, things would be different but that's for another day)(ok, bad example. Kerry singing would have been fucking incredible) that the brothers are won over instantly and begin to sing along in perfect harmony. Now, I don't know if you've ever gotten seven people in a room and tried to get one of them to sing a song while composing it in his head and then the others to anticipate the composition and compose sympathetic harmonies, while singing them, but it fucking doesn't work. (OK I haven't tried it either but I'm pretty sure about this). I mean, i feel like he'd have just as good a chance at looking convincing if he were giving a blowjob to a jackass. Now, i know what you're gonna say. your're gonna say "but Mike, you didn't raise any hell at all about Yoda using the force to lift an enormous fucking spaceship out of the mud in "the Empire Strikes Back". Of course that's less realistic than a bunch of singing. But i was predared for that Yoda shit ahead of time by a bunch of other clues about what i should expect (Like, for instance, the part in the beginning that tells me about how that shit took place long ago, in a galaxy far, far away). That, and the fact that when i first saw Starwars i was like three. Maybe they should just put a big reeling warning at the beginning of every musical saying "some time that isn't now, in a galaxy where everyone can make up bullshit songs about stupid-ass nonsense on the spot, there lived these ridiculous, annoying people who thought it would be cool to sing about everything, even being in fucking jail (sorry elvis but the premise sucks). Perhaps then I could watch musicals and not be confused.

things i learned this weekend

2006-08-13T14:27:00.000-07:00

1. According to a woman i don't know on the downtown mall, riding a fixed gear bike is the sexiest thing a man can do (i'm not sure she really thought out all the angles before telling me this but, you know, it got a sheepish grin out of me)(this is not part of the "lie about how great bikes and left wing politics are to convince people to come on board" scheme discussed in the bit about victim mentality being donkey shit)(no, i swear).
2. Drunk jon bray certainly doesn't know when to hold 'em or when to fold 'em but he's got a pretty firm grasp on knowing when to walk away and when to run.
3. How to send text messages. Yes. I learned that this weekend. it isn't funny.
4. My porch may actually be the best place on earth.
5. I am just barely capable of caring for Bartleby the sniveller (Farrell's cat) and a few plants at the same time.
6. There is a wide spectrum of public acceptance to a group of people drunkenly singing the national anthem. Deciding factors include: a) How well you sing it. We sang it at Escafe quite poorly. People liked that none too much. We did a much better job at Michael's Bistro. Things were smoother there. B) Where you are. Escafe didn't like it*. Michael's Bistro was tolerant at least. C) How you introduce it. At Asscafe we just started singing it after being there a few hours. I think we were hated instantly. We made our entrance at the Bistro by gathering at the foot of the stair and began singing softly. I think people deep down want to be good americans and like the national anthem but sometimes it needs to be warmed up to (This is actually a metaphor for the inevitable spread of Captalist Democracy through all the nations of the world and our current problems with Iran, Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, North Korea and, you know most other countries.You see, rather than hit them over the head with our superior ideals, we must show them the light slowly [by this i mean drawn out limited warfare, not talking about stuff you fucking candy ass. don't get the wrong idea]. Once their eyes have adjusted to the light of the american way of life [i mean, you know, once they've had a big mac] they'll join us in beautiful harmony).
*I actually think Escafe disliked the national anthem for the obvious reason... they're RED.

with friends like you, who needs enemies

2006-08-13T14:25:00.000-07:00

So lately I've really started to view the cultural divide in this country as a war. This means that more and more i view people with right wing ideals to be the enemy. Not just like "that guys a dumbass" but more "that guy is killing my unlikely to ever exist children" This also means that people who say they are on "my side" but who turn out to be either stupid to the point of being unhelpful or who, worse still, display their lack of discipline as if it were a badge of honor, are traitors to me. Here are two examples i ran across recently.
#1: "Too damned stupid"
I was reading some newspaper or something (no i CAN'T be bothered to quote the source or hyperlink it) and there was this article about organic food and how it is rapidly replacing conventionally grown food on the grocer's shelves. Now, you should know that the fact that this is true is possibly the only one that has given me reason for hope for our culture in the last few years. So the article is written from the point of view of this supposedly environmentalist fellow who was also happy about this fact until a friend of his informed him that he was actually hurting the earth by buying organic because most organic foods have to be brought all the way from places like California, since that's where most organic foods are produced, instead of being moved only a small distance from local conventional farms (our noble author lives in New Jersey)(of course). Thus, as the argument goes, the emissions form the trucks coming all the way across the country are great enough to outweigh the reduction in pollutants achieved by the change from conventional to organic farming. And, like, it's almost enough to make you throw up your hands and go eat a fucking big mac to calm your nerves unless, you know, you have a brain and consider the quite fucking obvious fact that if they're paying all that money to move the shit all the way across the fucking country, that must mean that they're making money off doing it (this is still a fucking capitalist country, right?). And if they are both making money off doing it and are driving down the demand for local, conventionally grown food, DON'T YOU THINK THAT JUST MAYBE THE LOCAL CONVENTIONAL FARMER THAT IS SUFFERING FOR THIS FACT MIGHT GET THE NOTION TO GET IN ON THE ACTION AND START MAKING HIS/HER OWN ORGANIC FOOD TO COMPETE WITH THE CALIFORNIA FARMERS WHO HAVE TO SHIP THE SHIT ACROSS THE COUNTRY? (i really am fighting the urge to switch to a bigger font to express my fury but maybe you can just imagine me fuming and that will suffice) AND DON'T YOU THINK THIS MIGHT, ON A LONG ENOUGH TIMELINE REDUCE THE AMOUNT OF PESTICIDES IN OUR (local, mind you) SOIL AND WATER AND REDUCE OVERALL EMISSIONS (it takes fuel to move pesticide around too dickhole)?!? BAH!!! Who's side are you ON you dimwitted shit artist!?! (I'll come back to this)
#2 "the Dilettante"
I'm gonna preface this by saying that I don't hate all my friends who do not ride bikes all over the place. Sometimes I don't either. I carry lumber in a car. It was a hundred degrees today. Anyone riding a bike today was stupid (i did it but i'm stupid). We have to choose our battles and this one happens to be mine.
So I'm reading this story online (it came up on my hotmail while i was opening my account and piqued my interest by saying something about switching to bicycle commuting. I thought it was gonna be great) and the author is a regular contributor to Outside Magazine. Now, I shouldn't be surprised by this since Outside is pretty much a magazine for dilettantes (the ranks of whom sometimes include me) but here goes. The guy talks about how all the environmental/ health benefits of riding bikes to work finally convinced him that it was a good idea and since he was a cyclist already, he figured "no problem". So the article meanders through him buying all manner of expensive dogshit and unnecessary accoutrements for his new life adventure. Then he starts talking about how when he got started at it, he was confronted with how hard it is to ride a bike to work with all the hills and heat and whatnot (the motherfucker was a cyclist to begin with. didn't he know that it's harder than driving?). He talks about how he's scared of the cars doing dangerous shit. He talks about how hard it is to carry beer in his bag (Millington, Bridge, AJ or whoever can speak for the fact that you can fit enough beer to kill you and your three best friends in a messenger bag, especially when there are race points on the line). Here's the worst part though. He seems ok with all these factors but what broke his resolve was the fact that when he went in stores or bars or whatever people looked down on him because he had his pants rolled up and a helmet and some sweat on him. His friends were looking at him differently. Like he was a freak! Dear Jesus!.... ......We're fighting a fucking war here and this dick is giving up because he got dirt on his fucking uniform. Now i want to reiterate that i don't hate everyone who doesnt walk or ride or whatever. i do know that there are days when you just dont want to ride a bike. i am not perfect at this either. but here's the thing: i may not always succeed but i'm not gonna let that cause me to give up all together. and i'm sure as FUCK not gonna TAKE MONEY FROM SOMEONE TO PRINT THE STORY TELLING EVERYONE EITHER a)that biking to protect the earth is TOO HARD TO BE FEASABLE, so hey everyone, IF I CAN'T DO IT, THEN GOD KNOWS NO ONE ELSE CAN EITHER. AFTER ALL I DO WRITE FOR OUTSIDE fucking MAGAZINE!, OR THAT b) I AM TOO BIG OF A FUCKING BABY TO PUT UP WITH PEOPLE LOOKING AT ME FUNNY BECAUSE MY PANTS ARE ROLLED UP OR BECAUSE OCCASIONALLY I SMELL LIKE I FUCKING DID SOMETHING FOR ONCE IN MY WORTHLESS-ASS LIFE. JESUS!
Now, before people start sending me shit telling me how they just figured out that this shit is probably written, not by stupid left wing environmentalists, but by conservative shit heads, save it (not that anyone who reads my shit responds anyway). if anyone's thinking i haven't come up with at least a hundred conspiracy theories to account for this, you're dreaming. So the moral of the story is to hell with naysaying right-wing shitheads and double to hell with sorry ass no good fake environmentalist left wing dilettantes. no i'm not perfect. no, i'm not doing everything i can. but that doesnt mean i should give up and it certainly doesnt mean i should expect payment or the adulation of my peers for my failure. here'e what i'm gonna do about all this: I'm gonna lie. I'm gonna lie about this shit the same way they do and i'm gonna exaggerate in the opposite direction to compensate for this shit. it starts now. next time you see me with my pants rolled up you can look down at me all you want. i find cycling so easy, fun and comfortable that i can't imagine driving a car (even when it is 100 degrees outside). You should join me. it will never be a bit of inconvenience of discomfort. honest injun. if you see me climbing some steep ass hill in the hundred degree heat tomorrow and i'm grimacing, it isn't because it is uncomfortable. i'm just doing that so that it LOOKS uncomfortable so that not just everyone starts biking (i'm telling you about this only because we're obviously close friends if you're reading this on my MYSPACE page). i would rather share the road with cars than bikes (because of the drafting opportunities, duh) and besides, if everyone was in the market for bikes and bike parts it would raise demand and thus the price i would have to pay for them (duh again). so keep on driving. suckers.

victim mentality is donkey shit

2006-08-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

i found out today that my stolen money has been restored to me thanks to some insurance the bank has against this sort of thing. funny part was that when i discovered this, my heart sank momentarily. i have deduced that this means one of two things about me: Either I have a bit of anarchist in me who pulls for the poor, clever thief (never mind that this thief made more in a weekend than i've made in my life)(i know this to be true, the bank told me about it)(yeah i know it was probably "thieves" plural) taking down the "man" (who i guess is me if i have an entire thousand dollars in one account) or I relish the idea of being a victim. If it is the later, Then I either relish it because i assume that if this bad shit is happening and it's only losing some money, then real bad shit is not coming my way in its stead (its the whole karma argument) or it means that i like feeling like a victim. Why? maybe so I have something tangible to complain about rather than just, like, being lonely or even general sadness. I mean, the I'm sad because i'm sad complaint gets old early. like 11th grade if you use it a lot (i know this for a fact). Or perhaps I liked it because it got a small amount of attention which is always good. I could be all like "look at me! my money got took and i dont even mind! i walk the walk! Shiiiit!". Unfortunately Theresa lost some money the week before so my story wasn't really that cool at all. Thanks Theresa. Anyway, if i have to tell you what i think it really was or if you don't know yourself then....you should call me up and we should hang out.... Really though, I guess it's a soup of all of the above. I'd like to think it's a nice vegetable soup like at the C&O. Evenly mixed and hearty. It's probably more like tomato soup from Cafe Europa, though. The tomatoes are the shitty, self-centered parts, and that bit of basil in it is the cool part about anarchism. Before you go thinking I'm a fucking ass though, (i am) i'll tell you this: I'd give all that thousand bucks back if the US would officially apologize to all the countries they've sent Condoleeza Rice to talk down to in the past few months. I mean seriously, that bit about making a new middle east? Goddamn. If you dont see what I'm saying, here's a parable (yes, a parable, fuck you). So, you and your friend are trying to put a new carburator in your '63 Thunderbird in the front yard. You're a little stuck on how to go about it but, you know, you've got a Haynes manual (for those of you who dont do a lot of auto work, these are about as useful as a receipt from hardee's when it comes to figurin' out how to fix a car. actually less useful. if you had a receipt from hardee's, that might imply that you were the sort who would know how to do this operation without a manual. anyway, sorry). Then along comes this dog. It starts barkin' and growlin' and then it begins to speak.(i know, bear with me). Dog says:"yo, i see you's guys dont know what you're doing. (he's a new york italian dog it seems) I tell you what. Take that carberator and piss on it and then throw it over that fence". So, you know, you do it of course (it's a goddamned TALKING DOG!). Then the dog bites you each in the leg and grows at you. Then it walks away. So you're like "hey! What the fuck!?!" And dog just sort of shrugs and growls and keeps on going and you're left with your carburator pissed on and on the other side of a fence (in the original version of the parable the dog was a lawyer or preacher or other know-it-all but these had too many redeeming qualities) (and now i know all of you are gonna say "Shit, Mike, I think dogs are swell! Dogs are way cooler than Lawyers! Do you hate animals? You are an ass! so here's the crux: the dog has rabies and steals babies from homes so he can eat them.) (yes. see. that dog is Condoleeza Rice). So, you know, to all you countries who Condo's busy setting straight on my behalf, I'm sorry. You can have my thousand bucks now. Just, you know. Call me or whatever.

Letter to a friend

2006-08-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

Boy, now you've gone and wound me up...

As far as cigarettes go, I don't think the California mentality of avoidance at all cost is a good idea. This only creates the necessity for rebellion. If a smoker is seen as a rebel then by nature, soon many people will smoke. This paradigm never reverses because there will always be enough religious zealots and health freaks to keep the rebels rebellious. A healthier approach is to consider tobacco what it is: a mild natural drug that, like most drugs is bad for you in quantity and ceases to be any fun anyway. Occasionally, however, it gives you a fantastic calming rush to the head. I'm having about 1-2 a month on average. I try to smoke them on top of mountains or on my back porch listening to the stream ripple by. I refuse to give money to American tobacco companies, though. They need no encouragement. The cigarette break can be sublime. I prefer the coffee break but I'll admit that Architecture (school) and coffee are like natural mates. Not unlike coffee and cigarettes (sans jarmusch's dumb ass)
And now that i'm going you'll have to bear me out.
McDonald's is maligned more than perhaps they should be. They never have been the least healthy fast food alternative. Just the most successful. I disagree with their practices regarding animal treatment but that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with the greed-based system that is capitalist democracy. That in conjunction with a nation wealthy enough that a microscopic percentage have any dealing with the food we eat pre- cooking, combine to create a system that values efficiency above humanity. If we had to kill our own meat there'd be more vegetarians and a lot more humane ways of putting an animal to the blade. I'm no animal rights activist, I just think things should be done well.
Walmart is dangerous because they are nearing the point where they can dictate what we buy simply by carrying nothing else. Remember their "Made in the USA" campaign of the mid nineties? They claimed only to sell american made products unless there really was no alternative. They did a good job of it until they ran most of their competitors into the ground. Have you looked around there lately? Hardly any american goods to be found. This is because in most american towns, there is no longer an option. There is no other place to shop. People take what they can get even though it's their very own jobs they're screwing themselves out of rather than drive the, in most cases super long, distances it would require to come across a real alternative. Also, these are the same people who are becoming poorer at a fast clip (because their jobs are in mexico and now they have to work for wal mart) so they can only afford to pay the lowest possible price to get the goods they need. What can these people do? Not much now. I would argue that people who really are poor have few choices but to buy where they can. Once a person does have some discretionary spending money, however, i feel like it's their duty to shop elsewhere if for no ther reason than to keep our options from homogenizing any more than they have. I have spent most of my life being poor (compared to americans, not the chinese) so i too am in the habit of buying shit from walmart. now that i have a little more money though, i'm trying to stop; to buy in town; to use other options. i dont ever want to be in the position where walmart controls what is available to me.
how's that for rambling. i should write this somewhere else rather than make you read it all. i shoul d put up a blog or some shit. feel free to tell me i dont know what i'm talking about. you'd probably be right.-m