Rosenblogger

Down the Series of Tubes

2007-04-15T01:55:00.000-04:00

It's been almost a year since I last posted anything, and I don't expect to post anything for a while. At this point I trust that no one reads this thing, so I could go off and say whatever about whoever and not fear the consequences. But I won't. I don't have the energy. Technically I don't have the time, but really I'd do most anything instead of what I should be doing. In fact, I've continued writing, but I haven't posted anything. Maybe I've been scared to, maybe I've just wanted this thing to die. This post does not ignore my DNR order. No, it's really just something to fill the space at the top of this little parcel of virtual real estate. Something to make this seem a little less out of date. Something to remind myself that if I want to, the echo chamber of the blogosphere is always open.
I don't have any further plans for this site, so if you've come across it regularly and had almost given up trying, now is probably the right time to stop. If you for some silly reason had a link to me posted somewhere, probably time to update the ol' Blog roll, eh? Of course, all this could change tomorrow. I could come up with the most fantasmagorical idea this side of the transmorgifier and decide to use the Rosenblogger as the HQ of my operations. But if you haven't come across this site randomly and actually know me, you know that fantasmagorical and I don't usually get along. So run on, do something worthwhile with your time. Don't read the news, it'll make you sad. Don't read other blogs, they'll only make you think you're special. I think the trick to plodding through the endless information cascade that surrounds us is to figure out precisely what impacts your life, and then be willing to completely ignore it. Just remember that halitosis didn't exist until the toothpaste companies said so.
The links on the right are all nice and updated, so don't say I never helped you pass the time. There's a whole wide (fake) world through those doors. Make it a great day. Or not. The choice is yours.

Joga Bonito

2006-06-08T00:47:00.000-04:00

I am a sucker for hype. Not Don King, "This will be the most splendiferous exhibitionism of boxing the world has ever seen!" hype. No, the hype that gets me is the hype that surrounds the Olympics, March Madness, Opening Day, and right now, the World Cup. Le Coupe du Monde for my French readers, and Fuβball Weltmeisterschaft for any Deutchlanders in ze haus. Hype that puts the event in its place but still elevates it to something greater than the literal games. For the Olympics, it's just a glorified track meet, but it's also a rare gathering of the worlds swiftest, highest, strongest. March Madness is never more than 63 basketball games, but at it's heart it's a 3-weekend holiday for guys everywhere, a time when gambling is the right thing to do, and Cinderella's Ball. Opening Day is just the first of a marathon 162-game season, but it's also the culmination of the Rites of Spring, a sign of summer's imminence and a great chance to play hooky. The World Cup has the Olympics' scope, March Madness' ability to anoint a team or player a saint of the game instantly, and Opening Day's calming sense that everything is as it should be as long as they're playing this game.
I should admit it up front that I am not a true soccer fan. (And yes, I will call it soccer, not football, futbol, fussball, or any other combination thereof. I do, however, reserve the right to call touches "nifty," report a score to be nil-nil, and generally use a bad British accent whenever I talk about a game.) I can't name all starting 11 for the Americans, let alone any other country--though off the top of my head: Keller, Onyewu, Mastroeni, Pope, Reyna, Dempsey, Convey, Beasley, and Donovan. Nine ain't bad, right? I admit I can't tell you all four teams ranked ahead of the US in FIFA's standings, but I know that we're vastly overrated, and it wouldn't be a stretch for us to go 0-2-1 and not escape group play. I also freely cop to an impressive inability to do much of anything with a soccer ball. I can juggle a couple of times, kick it (though neither that hard nor accurately), and sometimes even head it without having it hurt, but that's about it. When I see an MLS game on tv I keep on going, and only glance at a European league match long enough to know if I successfully deciphered the team abbreviations. If the combatants aren't ManU, Chelsea, Barcelona, Celtic or Bayern Munchen, I'm usually stumped.
Despite all of this, I still plan on watching most of the Group Round matches and all of the elimination matches. I'll be awake for 8am central time kickoffs and have a tape set for the 11am and 2pm starts when I have to go to work. I'll catch the ESPN Classic replays at 5pm of whatever I miss or just need another look at. I'll read everything I can about every player and team, even if I won't remember half of it come the Fourth of July--the day of the first semifinal. So the question remains: why am I so excited for this?
The simple answer is that I am a fan of sport, not just an American sports fan. I know there's a bit of snobbery in that, but indulge me. Even if most of America finds the game boring, low-scoring, and full of prima donnas, there's another large section of the population that says the exact same thing about a good pitcher's duel, and I think we all know how I feel about those. I know that many people don't care about the Olympics because we only hear or care about the athletes every four years and they compete in sports most of us will never get a whiff of (biathlon, this means you). But the World Cup players are there every day of the year on club teams (albeit mostly not in this country) and let's be honest, 3 billion viewers can't be that wrong, can they?
Finally, as I mentioned before, I'll watch because of the hype. Ronaldinho is the best player since Pele? I don't know if these "the next Pele" comparisons are commonplace, but they can't be as rampant as "the next MJ" comparisons are in the NBA (I'm looking in your direction, Jerry Stackhouse.) Ivory Coast's qualification helped forge a truce in their civil war? Didier Drogba must really have that country sipping his Kool-Aid. The Germans and Dutch hate each other that much? The $95 orders placed by Germans for pieces of Berlin's Olympic Stadium turf--which was grown in the Netherlands and imported--which they can destroy after the final game seem to put the whole Yankees-Red Sox thing in its place. Is "Randy English Defender" John Terry really that randy? Umm, judging by this, I'd have to say yes. Brothels of Berlin, look out. For everyone else, just watch out for Brazil. I hear they're pretty good at Joga-ing Bonito-ly.

1000 Words on Pictures

2006-06-05T01:03:00.000-04:00

I have one photo album. Sure, my parents have entire shelves full of photos, many of which include me. But there’s only one photo album in my room; an album full of pictures of me, taken by me, or pictures which are important to me. It starts simply enough with three pictures of me batting when I was nine years old. I don’t know whether I actually remember the games or I’ve looked at those pictures enough that I’ve reconstructed the games in my mind, but I also don’t know that it matters. I have the pictures, I have the memories, and they fit together in one way or another.
The album then jumps to 1998, when I traveled to the holy lands—one week in Israel, one week in Cooperstown. These pictures I know fit my memories, and not the other way around. Most of them have a back story, and if I wanted to I would write the story on the back of every picture, to be saved for posterity. But I don’t. I want to come across the pictures one day, see my former skin sepia toned and staring eagerly back at me, and reconstruct my memories then. No story I write now will be as real to me then as what my mind creates at that instant.
Barely half-filled at this late date, my album meanders through high school, a flip book made from four seasons of baseball swings. They look the same as the nine year old swings. I may be bigger, the bat may follow a slightly different trajectory, but my posture is still the same, my front foot is cocked so that the outside of my shoe is in the dirt, and my face still makes the same half-grimace that’s as ready to curve into a smile as it is a frown. I once used this flip book in place of video, and I actually did write down what the situation was, kind of pitch I saw and what I had done to each pitch. I no longer have these notes, so the pictures speak for themselves now. They speak to my size, my strength, and my perennial inability to wait back on an off-speed pitch.
My album has prom pictures. Guys and girls, mostly athletes, all trying to be excited to be in formalwear, all at least a little bit uncomfortable in the rigid shoes and equally rigid norms the clothes kept us in for the evening. The best picture from the entire weekend shows us gathered together for a brief instant away from a 3-on-3 basketball game or tanning in the late-afternoon sun of mid-May. Nothing formal, just 15 or so adolescents enjoying a weekend away from just about everything but food and friends.
Other than a few pictures taken on a leftover disposable camera during the summer following high school or freshman year at college, those are the last photographs I have. Sure, I’ve been in and taken plenty of pictures in the 2 years since then, but I don’t keep any of them in my album. These recent ones are just pictures. They don’t hold the same weight, in part because they are all completely weightless. They’re all digital, and they’re all relegated to a place on my hard drive, likely never to make it onto paper, never given a spot in my album.
I don’t mean to say that the pictures on my hard drive are worthless to me. On the other hand, they mean as much or maybe more to me than those in my album. But there’s a problem with digital pictures. They’re just pictures, not photographs. I can edit them as easily as any other piece of clipart. I can draw myself a six-pack or crop out an ex-girlfriend. As sentimental as any one picture may be, it loses its emotional weight when it appears during my screen saver between random shots of friends doing keg stands and glossy Hasselhoff pics I’ve saved to send to Gregor, That great picture from freshman year of me and all my friends in the quad? It’s just another blip on a microchip, no different from the file I’ve saved this entry to.
The sheer volume of pictures cheapens them in comparison to my photographs. I refuse to believe that enough has happened to me in the last 2 years versus the previous 18 that I should have 5 times more pictures of college than the rest of my life. I worry that one day I’ll look back at the sepia-toned images and wonder why my life was so boring, picture-worthy events happening only a few times a year. Will I become jaded in looking at my photographs, tell my children and grandchildren that “life was better, simpler” in my day? That it was a better time because we didn’t need pictures taken every ten seconds in order to remember what happened—though in college it certainly helped to have these pictures to refer to on the proverbial ‘morning after’. What about the kids growing up now, whose entire childhood will be reduced to a flashmemory card that is much more likely to get lost than the shoebox of old pictures my parents have? Are their lives doomed to be cheapened because the only photos they’ll be able to hold on to are school portraits and the couple of digital pics their parents spent the money to have printed on photo paper so they have something to frame on their office desks? Do parents still keep a framed picture of their kids on their desks, or is a screensaver slide show enough?
So for now, my album is static, stuck in the endless summer between high school and college. There are worse places to be, of course, but I’d like to look back at something that fills in the void between graduation and a wedding album. Maybe I’m just old fashioned, but I like my nostalgia analog, not digital.

Medieval Catapults and an F-22 Mock-up

2006-04-12T01:40:00.000-04:00

I can't explain it, and I don't think any other engineering student can, either. Why did we choose, at the naive age of 18, to go through college with 25 hours of class a week and a calculator as one of your best friends? How did we know that designing and building random things to aggrevatingly small tolerances would be fun? In short, what the hell were we thinking?
We were thinking about days like today, when I only had an hour and a half of class. Yes, 9am sucks the lifeblood out of me, but I slept through most of it, lifted and ate afterward, so my day didn't really start until around noon. My backpack was light, my stomach was full, and I settled in to do work in the GM lab. Labs in mechanical engineering are a funny thing. It's not like chem-bio or material science, where everyone goes in at their assigned times, runs an experiment, takes data, realizes some conclusion that's neither novel nor impressive, writes a painfully long, painfully boring (and in passive voice!) lab report, and calls it a day. Hardly. Our lab is an open area with about 10 computers, a bandsaw, sander, and drill press in one area, every nut/bolt/hammer/saw/straigh edge/whatever you could ever need in another area, and it has windows. Imagine that, engineers working under natural light! To top it all off, we can come in whenever we want/need to, because we do projects more than we do labs. Sure, we may not be building a better mousetrap or curing cancer, but what we're doing is still novel, and a lot of it revolves around some kind of competition, which makes it more fun.
Today Team Panzer (Haberman, Gregor, and I) finished our trebuchet finally. It's not that impressive, since the arm is only 60cm long and the pivot is only 60cm off the ground, but when you walk around Towne carrying this crazy truss-riddled acrylic thing, you get some odd looks, always a good thing. At any rate, we built this thing from nothing, designing it on the computer, running simulations on how far it would go, programming the laser cutter to fabricate it, the whole nine yards. We predicted that it could fling a marble (we hope to increase the size at some point by 9000% and launch cows at Wharton) a whopping 4.09 meters, and we had to test it in front of our TA and come within 10%. So when we launched it and it hit at 3.95 (-3.5%!!!), we were about ready to throw ourselves a party. All we needed was a big Mission Accomplished sign to hang off the nearest aircraft carrier.
[warning: awkward segue ahead...]
After that, Gregor and I went to work on the FSAE car. We're in charge of the body, so we've built a mock-up of what it's gonna look like out of foam that we can layup fiberglass or carbon fiber or whatever onto to make the shell. Though you can't really see it in that picture, we've sculpted the nose and the side pods (see the intake areas behind the front wheels here) in such a way that it looks more like thenew F-22 than a Formula One car. Needless to say, it's awesome. And once we've laid up onto it, the only thing that could make it not as sweet is all the drool that'll cover it.
Mechanical Engineering: we build warfare. Makes you feel safer, doesn't it?

F.U.B.A.R.

2006-04-09T15:12:00.000-04:00

The 3915 Unofficial Spring Fling Theme this year was "I didn't know you like to get wet..." and it was fitting in more ways than one. From cold, ugly rain Saturday afternoon, to beer spillage, to other illicit substances, Fling 2006 proved that when Penn needs to Party, very little can stop us. We're still trying to piece the weekend together (in a mostly PG-13 way, if you've talked to me you know where the holes are,) the same way we did for Fling '05. We need all the help we can get, since we were F.ucked U.p B.eyond A.ll R.ecognition for the better part of 72 hours.
I of course mean 'weekend' in the sense that it was the end-half of the week. After taking a midterm Wednesday afternoon and learning that the trebuchet we were supposed to build by Friday got pushed back to at least Monday, it was time to get flung. When the football guys at 41st and Pine tapped the first of their twelve kegs around 6pm, they thought no one'd show up and they'd be stuck with many a full keg. Who would disagree? It was Wednesday night, a low of 45, and a chance of rain. Hah. That didn't stop anyone. The kickoff party went at least 200 strong by all accounts, and no one seemed that cold. By the time the 5-0 showed up (for the third time that night, this time with a paddy wagon) around 1 am, there were 10 fallen soldiers around the back yard and a shitshow everywhere you looked.
Before I did anything Wednesday night, I knew I'd have to go to nine am class Thursday. It didn't stop me (see Penn and partying, above.) So to say I was hurting on Thursday would be like saying Napoleon hit a bump in the road at Waterloo. The ninety minutes of MEAM215 were the most uncomfortable since possibly ever. I couldn't keep my eyes open enough to see the slides, couldn't concentrate enough to finish the Sudoku--let alone take notes, but couldn't sit still enough to just fall asleep. When it was over, I made a beeline for the locker room, where I did pass out for a couple hours. Ahh. Much better. After a double lift I was done with everything that wasn't Fling-related for the rest of the weekend. Glorious.
The rest of Fling proceeded pretty normally. The highlights:
--- 3915's 2-story beer bong. The high point (literally and figuratively) was Friday afternoon, when it was warm and sunny, and we got a slow clap from a coach bus that passed by as we hit it from Bleakley's window down to the stairs in front of the front door.
--- Free Pat's Cheesesteaks last night on College Green. If you don't understand how scrumptrilescent that is, you need to come visit.
--- Fried Oreos. I'm drooling and 5 pounds heavier.
--- Chainsaws to the face. OK, this is a lowlight, but the moment when Noah coined the phrase was a highlight.
--- I'm sure there are other things, but like I said, the memories don't come flooding back like they should.

Spring Fling: It makes second semester worth it, the same way NSO makes first semester bearable.

The One Year I'm Not in a Pool...

2006-03-27T23:51:00.000-05:00

What, you thought I would make it all the way through March without at least once mentioning Bracketville? Oh, Rosenblogger reader (it's not plural, is it?) you know not that of which you speak. Or some such.
I'll start at the beginning. Faced with the daunting task of 90 minutes of thermodynamics and neither a sudoku nor crossword to calm my wandering mind, (let's be real, it was a Monday, I finished both no sweat during class earlier) Haberman and I pulled out the bracket and started penciling teams in. When it was all said and done, we were still faced with 70 minutes of thermodynamics, but we had reached several conclusions much more vital to our education than the mass flow rate of an adiabatic condenser. We anointed GW's Pops Mensah-Bonsu the tournament's best name, though Gonzaga's Pierre Marie Altidor-Cespedes recieved votes. We agreed that we missed Mateen Cleves and the Flintstones, though apparently I'm the only one who missed both Kapono Brothers. When we realized Maryland was stuck in the NIT, we almost wondered aloud, Who is Mike Jones? before realizing we could always reach him at 281-330-8004. We even would have agreed with The Sports Guy that betting on the play-in game (Monmouth/Hampton) proves you have a gambling problem, except Haren had already 1-upped him: When you want odds in March on whether you'll run the table in your next fantasy football league, (which already has $25 a man at stake,) then, my friends, you have a gambling problem.
After tense deliberation, and a phone call to Scott for a West Coast Update, the picks were settled and it was time to watch the glory. (I'm glad I didn't listen to you about UCLA sucking ass, looks like I'll beat you for the first time in... ever) And through the first three rounds, we might as well have written our bracket in stone. Montana over Nevada? count it. UW-Milwaukee? splappa. OK, so I had UNC losing to UConn, but ain't nobody have George Mason's Miracle Squad, and I'm gonna ignore picking Kansas to the elite 8. (Two notes here: 1, Bradley beat Kansas, and Pitt, apparently 1-on-5. Damn impressive. 2, this is the second year Kansas has screwed me, I had them in the elite 8 last year, too, when they lost to Bucknell in the first round. They've officially gotten Indiana-under-Bob-Knight status as most likely to shit a brick the first weekend.) All in all, I had 6 of the eight elites, and hitting .250 for the Final 4 is a victory this year.
Finally, some thoughts on watching the actual games. First, my Dynamics recitation has been permanently moved out of the computer lab because half the class had streaming video of the games the opening weekend. (what, you expected something different from a class full of engineers on St Patrick's/March Madness Orgy Day?) Second, a good game is a good game, and anyone who watches will be enthralled. Ask Gregor, who couldn't tell a Pittsnogle from a pick and roll, yet almost fell out of his chair when Texas and West Virginia played h-o-r-s-e in the last 15 seconds of their matchup. Or ask the parents and coaches who stood outside our locker room after our scrimmage Sunday, waiting for an extra ten minutes, completely clueless as to why 80 people were screaming like madmen on the other side of the door. (We were all crowded around the tv, watching the last 3 minutes of the George Mason-UConn game. Some people had picked UConn , some people's brackets were long busted and rooting for George Mason to bust more, and no one breathed while the last layup in regulation stood on the rim.)
So there it is. Another March, more than maddening enough to get me ready for Monday's Opening Day.
Eamus Catuli, AC 03-51-98. Next year is still a few years away.

The Ides of March Appear to Own Me

2006-03-15T23:43:00.000-05:00

No matter who you are, where you grow up, or whoever your family and friends are, a certain ethos will grow in you whether you like it or not. At a certain point you may like to change this ethos for some reason or another. This is known as a mid-life crisis. Deal with it. Until then, you get to live with the moral standard that's been fostered inside you, reap the benefits of the work you end up doing, and at times face the fears -- rational or not -- that your mindset leaves you with. I, fortunately, have not reached said crisis yet, so I get to live with/reap/face whatever it is that's going on around me.
And today gets to be a fear day. Here's my deal:
I've always been told or read or heard that there's no reason to get too specialized too quickly. Whether it's in school, in sports, or anything else, the ethos I've been instilled with is to do everything I can as long as I enjoy it. If that means play every organized sport (and plenty of unorganized ones too) until high school, fine. If that means majoring in mechanical engineering but still taking classes in philosophy, economics, history, whatever, it's all good. In applying to colleges, we all got the same advice from counselors and admissions officers alike: They'd rather see us doing a bunch of things well than only one thing, even if we do it outstandingly. Right now they call it well-rounded, later in life they call it being a renaissance man.
Problem is, I don't think it's possible to go through life truly well-rounded. I could only play all those sports for so long. Sure, I still play catch every so often, and if there's a dodgeball game I'm always down, but it's really all down to football at this point. And some day the same thing'll be true of my academic/professional life. One day I'm going to have to take one of the several things I study or do right now, and turn it into the One thing I do, whether or not I have minor hobbies. And that scares the crap out of me. Suddenly it won't just be ok to do it well, because it'll be all I've got.
I know that's a bit extreme, and that there's more to life than being a one-trick pony. But am I supposed to be honestly happy as just another engineer or whatever it is I end up doing? Haven't I also been conditioned all my life to be The Best at whatever I put my mind to? To compete, not to settle? Sure, Penn has chipped away at that ideal quite well, but this is still college, still a million miles from Real Life.
I know I have no solution to this, and that more importantly there probably isn't a solution. But it's the little problems like this, not quite a paralyzing phobia but gnawing at me all the same that get to me. And I know I'll roll over in bed one morning, see my plot in life, and either deal with it or have that spectacular crisis where I buy a BMW convertible and cry that I don't have hair to blow in the wind anymore. So until then, I'm done thinking about it. No use worrying about a future that's cloudy with a chance of meatballs.

The 10th End Hammer Stone

2006-02-25T00:47:00.000-05:00

Sure, this is about two weeks late, but I'm posting anyway.
The Winter Olympics own me. I know, I'll forget Chad Hedrick's name in a matter of weeks, and curling is just Canadian horseshoes, but that doesn't mean I don't watch every second I can. I've always put the Winter Olympics and ABC's Wide World of Sports together in my mind, and not just because of the Vinko Bogataj, the Slovenian ski jumper immortalized as "The Agony of Defeat." No, they go together in my mind because the Winter Olympics feature sports which, though we've all come to know and (sometimes) understand, we rarely if ever play. It's not the summer games, where everyone can stand in awe of a 9.78 second 100 meter dash or respect the power of a guy who clean and jerks 500 pounds. The Winter Olympics are a chance to marvel at the games that we've created and perfected, like the Biathlon (aka "The Norwegian Drive-by") or Skeleton.
Maybe it helps this year that I'm going skiing in a week, and that I had visited the Olympic luge and bobsled runs in Salt Lake City four years before those games in 2002. But I've always watched the games with more than a little excitement, starting all the way back with Alberto Tomba in front of the home fans in Albertville in '92, Johann Olav Koss dominating speed skating in Lillehammer in '94, up through Hermann Meier's ridiculous crash in Nagano in '98. And I'm sure it always helped to have more than a few inches of snow on the ground at home keeping me inside in February with nothing to do but watch Bob Costas add gravitas to anything and everything. But here I am in Philly, apparently land of the warm air (or global warming, whatever) and I've still watched curling or whatever else USA or MSNBC broadcasts live in the afternoon between classes.
Beyond all the skeleton nostalgia ("how sweet would it be to go sledding and feel so many G's that you can't lift your head up to see where you're going?!") and halfpipe jargon ("that was a sick ollie 720 mctwist!") the one event that gets me is the hockey. OK, so there'll never be another Mircale on Ice, but we don't need it anymore. The games were good in Nagano--when they first let NHLers in--and amazing in Salt Lake--the Canadians were a team of destiny, and the NHL stopped its season for two weeks so everyone could go, unlike 1998. This year hasn't disappointed either. Especially coming off the lockout, and with only one game a week on a channel not called OLN, watching high-class hockey has been a lot of fun. Sure, the US consistently missed the net and the Canadians didn't play poetic, free-flowing hockey like they should and have been bounced from the tournament. But the Swedish trikroners are sick like always, and Finland is fun to watch with Niitymaki and Nuuminen, even if they did steal all the vowels from the Czech guys like Jagr and Hedjuk. (By the way, how did we get 'Finland' from the Finnish 'Suomi'? Switzerland follows from Suisse and Spain follows from Espagna, but Suomi?)
So there are only a couple of days left, and most of the medals have already been handed out, but there's still time to see boblsedding, and both short and long track speedskating before they disappear until 2010 in Vancouver. Who knows, we might even catch those damn Germans in the medal count.

Nap Interregnum

2006-02-08T19:28:00.000-05:00

My life has degenerated into short bouts of life between naps. I've always been able to sleep like a champ, but usually I'm able to make up whatever sleep shortage I build up during the week by waking up at noon or later on the weekends. Now I get nap time more often than a kindergartner, and I actually fall asleep now. (Seriously, did anyone actually fall asleep when Mrs. Simo turned off the lights?)
Let's take a look at my last 48 hours, shall we? Monday night, after getting up for 7am run/basketball/lift, I had 6 hours of class, got home at about 7 after dinner, and passed out for an hour. Sleep #1. I worked until about 2am at which point I went to sleep, getting up 6 hours later to go my 9am. Sleep #2. After class and lifting, I came home and napped for 3 hours. Sleep #3. I did more work, stopped for some food, took a midterm, did more work, and finally passed out last night at about 2:30am. Sleep #4. After running and kickboxing at 7 this morning, I chose to stay in the locker room for an hour and nap on the ground rather than go get breakfast. Sleep #5. After 2 more hours of class, I came home, took another quick nap, had 3 more hours of class to finish the day, and here I am. I'll do whatever work is due tomorrow, and then pass out again, my 6th time horizontal in the last two days. These aren't little catnaps either. Every time I lie down, it's for at least 40 minutes, but usually 2 hours. Whatever doubts I had that I could go without food longer than I could go without sleep have been erased. The bad part about taking such copious naps is that it shortens already frighteningly quick days and if I don't wake up right can ruin an entire day. The sweet thing is that I've had some pretty ridiculous dreams, because when I nap I know I have to get up at a certain time soon, so my sleep goes REM, as opposed to when I go to bed at night and reach that completely unconscious state beyond REM.
Here's the kicker though: I still have another week and a half of this before things calm down, and I'm not even sure that I mind that this is how my body works. Some people (Doc V, Dave, robots, etc.) can keep on plugging seemingly forever. I am not one of those people. I'd rather be awake and productive for only 10 or 12 hours a day than drag a little on 6 or 7 hours of sleep. If you want to complain and tell me "you can sleep when you're dead!" I say I'll leave that to you. In the meantime, I'll be chilling somewhere, comfortably lying back with my hat tilted down over my eyes, waiting for consciousness to kick in again.

Double True

2006-01-26T00:48:00.000-05:00

I understand that all's well that ends well. And while I'm still not convinced that 2005 ended well, it has ended, and that should count for something. And with it gone, I have a confession; I saw most of it coming. Everything moves in cycles, and my life is no different. Thing is, my life doesn't so much cycle as thematically repeat. So 2005 from May through the end of the year was a rehash of the summer of '95 and then my sophomore year in high school. I was involved in 9 year-old baseball again and Chicago had another abnormally hot summer. OK, this time I was coaching instead of playing, but I missed the championship game all the same. And sure, the heat didn't kill anyone, but the drought threw us all off just the same.
And then came the fall. In the fall of 2001, in the second quarter of our third game (@GBN) I broke my left arm. Real nasty displaced break too, the x-rays are impressive--trust me, I hung it up in my closet that winter so I would see it every day to remind me what I had to come back from. A football season shot to hell. We were 2-0 coming in, lost that game, had our top playmakers moved up, and finished the year 4-5. And not to compare a broken bone to a friend's death, but this season was as good as over with Kyle's suicide. In the winter after my injury, Charlie Prieto reminded me that football isn't an easy game physically like baseball. You can't play football if you don't love it. It'll eat you alive. You can get away with playing baseball for no reason other than 'it's what I do' for a couple of seasons. He showed me that I had to make a decision and either commit to football or leave it behind. I ignored the choice and plunged as deeply as I could into baseball until that sophomore spring was over. I had a better than decent season, and came back to football refreshed.
So at Thanksgiving, I was facing a similar situation. A dreadful season over, a long winter ahead, and a single Spring that'll make or break things. So I slept. I slept 13 hours a day over break. Slept through most of my birthday. Slept through the rest of the family going into New York City and coming back. I just slept and tried not to think about anything. Now I'm back to football, refreshed.
I wrote about 2000 words on my flight home at the start of winter break, thinking I had figured it out. Thinking that I could write away everything that had happened, let the stress flow out of my fingers, out into cyberspace, let you soak it up, and dilute the pain. I saved the file, but I never posted it, and with good reason. I'm only worth a read when I'm cocky enough to think I know what the hell is going on. Thing is, most of the time I don't. But it's a lot easier to guess and iterate than to wait and guess right the first time.
And what of 2006? What year am I recylcing now? I can't tell yet. But I'm not worried about figuring it out.

Here We Are Now, Entertain Us

2005-11-01T22:37:00.000-05:00

A strange thing happens when you discuss music from half a lifetime ago; people get very uppity. But it's a good debate and I'm gonna go ahead and post my thoughts, feel free to make uppity comments. Some background on the debate first. My hard drive died last week. I have shit above my desk and some of it fell on my computer and my hard drive doesn't have shock absorbers. So Dell sent me a new one and I've been reinstalling programs and re-ripping music all week (I managed to save the music I had downloaded and wouldn't be able to find again otherwise, MASSIVE props go out to Dave for hooking me up with uber-safe mode to do that.) At any rate, tonight's ripping included Oasis' (What's the Story) Morning Glory. I was dumbfounded at the random King Lab memories and other such craziness it reminded me of.
I in no way mean to say that this is the Best Album Ever Made (that's a debate for another day centering around Zeppelin IV, In Utero, Chronic 2001, and Californication,) but I would like to posit it as The (capital T) defining album of people my age (basically those who are in college now, +/- a year). Defining how, you ask? It's the album which as a whole brings us back instantly and vibrantly to some of our most fundamentally defining times. For agreement on this (because this demands a discussion) I talked to Andy. He agreed half-heartedly and nominated Weezer's Blue Album on the platform that, for all the greatness of "Champagne Supernova" and "Wonderwall," the Blue Album was more complete, front to back.
Not content with easy King Lab alum agreement, I sought out the worldly (or at least national) views of other Quakers. I got massive disagreement, especially from the east coast, leading me to wonder if this is some kind of regional thing or even just another product of the Evanston Bubble. I'm still not sure.
So I'm gonna go ahead and post some other nominees I've gotten (and those I've rejected) before you get uppity that I'm neglecting your The (capital T) album. Note that because of the age restriction, the Seattle Nirvana/Pearl Jam grungefest of 1991-1993 is out because we were too young to comprehend its greatness, and the Britney Spears induced Pop Crapfest that began in 1999 and continues today is out because we (most of us) were enlightened enough to recognize it's crappiness. Also, albums like Smashing Pumpkin's Mellon Collie... aren't worthy, since, while everyone knows "Zero" and "Bullet With Butterfly Wings," how many people know about "Bodies"? Thought so. Ditto Radiohead's OK Computer and all Stone Temple Pilots albums. On to the list, comment as you will.
-Dave Matthews Band - Under The Table and Dreaming (1994)
-Sublime - Sublime (1996)
-Alanis Morisette - Jagged Little Pill (1995, and god I hate to put this up here because I hate it and the whole screaming-bitch music that followed it, but it was seminal and in the right time frame.)
-Soundgarden - Superunknown (1994)

An Open Letter

2005-10-17T19:05:00.000-04:00

To the purportedly "Good Guys" who Wear Black and their Legions:
Well done thus far. Honestly. From a purely baseball standpoint, dismissing the BoSox was a public service. And 4 pitchers throwing all but 2/3 of an inning over 5 games is really quite admirable. You bunted, you ran, you played some defense, and had the calls go your way, as the aggressor so often does. Fly that pennant with pride, you earned it, whether or not you tried your hardest to blow a 15 game lead.
But understand one thing: I am not rooting for you. I wish to see the city of Chicago as happy as the next person with some 847/312/773 pride. And if you were to win, the city would be ecstatic. The mayor would make it a holiday, give you a parade, canonize Ozzie, and make Pods' shoes the centerpiece of Bronzeville. Suddenly all the people wearing ChiSox gear around Cabrini would seem to be bandwagoners, a status very much less intimidating. Seeing you win may even be good for baseball, as it would give 2nd rate organizations hope and Bud Selig could claim it as parity. The Big Hurt surely deserves a title, if for no other reason than being one of the last 10-5 guys, even if he has been hurt most of the year and hasn't had a good season in a while. Plus, you'd be beating an NL Central team, so I should be happy as well. But the truth is I look at St. Louis like an older brother, where we might fight with them and we seem to hate each other, but we also have a lot of respect for each other and how classy both teams and organizations are. Houston I hate though, as much as Bagwell and Biggio may have earned it.
Despite all this, I need you to fail. Whether you get swept by a vengeful Cardinal squad or come up epically short in a knock-down, drag 'em out seven game series with that team from Houston, I need you to lose. The reasons are two-fold. First, heading into this century, there were three teams whose very history you would think would rid them of all their fans. Boston had kept its fans by coming agonizingly close so often and yet still finding heartbreak. The Cubs (pre-2003) had never really come close and fans fond of the Lovable Losers and the flowing beer at 1:20. There were the anomalies of '84, '89, and '98, but the entire stretch of 1946-1983 was more Cub-like, with only the '69 collapse breaking the trend. Meanwhile, what have you done? You've had success before with your Go-Gos and play the "what if" game after the '93 ALCS and the strike, but you've had no overarching theme or identity. You're the second team in the Second City and can barely muster a bandwagon even now. So to see you break your second-longest streak does no one any good. You show everyone it's possible to completely disgrace the name (don't act like 1919 never happened) and yet overcome it. You reward an owner who ran the greatest thing to happen to Chicago (his name starts with M and ends with ichael Jordan) out of town and replaced your homely little park with a monstrosity that looms like an angry mother in-law over I-94.
Most importantly, by losing you have the chance to unite the city. Follow me on this. If you lose, suddenly you can identify with your Cub brethren. Your baggage and failures will be on par. You can drown your sorrows at any bar, north side or south side, and there will never be another argument. When one team in the city does well, everyone will be happy, and when you need good vibes, you'll get more. You'll get more press. You'll be a national team with a story. The Red Line Rivalry will no longer be North Side vs. South Side and affluent vs. seedy, it will be a celebration of the eternal optimism of a city with broad enough shoulders that even the most painful losses can be shrugged off in favor of a Next Year that may be ours.
May fate hit you like a ton of bricks (for better or worse.)

Backwards in the Saddle

2005-08-14T23:22:00.000-04:00

Nothing in my room suggests the present, let alone the future. It's all posters from 1992 and hats from 2002. Outside of an "I [heart] Ben" shirt crumpled on my floor, you'd never guess I go to Penn. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be. Maybe your room is meant to become the physical representation of your past. Meant to become this sterile box which will sit dormant until one day, years from now, you realize you're beyond that, box it up, and throw it all into storage or an attic, out of your parents life except for the holiday or birthday meal.
Maybe this is why I never want to spend another summer like this. Never another summer underemployed without learning something valuable. Never another summer whoring out the little wisdom I have for money. Never another summer living vicariously through friends at home and abroad.
Maybe my room has held me back from writing all this time. There's nothing here I haven't written before. No stuffed friend I haven't dwelled on, hoping against hope it'll give me some answer. No wall sign I haven't re-read a million times, wondering whatever made me post it there in the first place, what that chapter in my biography would reveal about tme. No corner of darkness I haven't heard my elegy echo from. None of this is right. It's all an excuse. I'm full of them. Some are better than others, some are even true. But they all just mask facts, essences of situations largely of my own making. No, I haven't not written because my room is the same as it was a year ago. I haven't written because I've been cold, calculated, stubborn this summer. Scheduled, unoriginal, indifferent this summer. Books haven't opened my mind, lyrics haven't touched a nerve. But why should they? When life turns into a vacation, what's left when you spend your break working?
That's what this comes down to. I spent 8 months alternately studying and existing. Sure, there were tests and parties sprinkled in, but learning and living were the core. And I would be happy to go right on doing that with that group of people. A meal in New Jersey, laundry and some old friends in Evanston were trips, not vacations. A week in Utah--while not all went as planned--was amazing, but felt undeserved, an oasis in the middle of paradise. So now I've spent 3+ months neither living nor learning. Shogun, Ender's Game (a re-read), Freakonomics, Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules, nothing got close enough to my perspective to jar it. Out of Exile, Black Star, X&Y, none of their words got to me like "the little scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if only you could stop tonguing it, but you can't." And as much as I wish I'd never go through this again, I can't say it hasn't been worth it. Bank has been made, bridges have not burned. But I haven't written, and I think there's cause and effect there.
I believe blogging and writing in general is as potent as a religion, and may be more fulfilling to me. I heard of a baby-boomer discuss my generation as the most egotistical: "not only must you have an iPod to soundtrack your lives, you need a blog so you can tell everyone about it, too." Thing is, she's right. And why shouldn't we be? Our parents have laid such a life before us that to strive and succeed and move up from their position as Americans are wont to do would be pointless, "like retarded kids throwing ice cubes at the sun."
Two things sprout from hard times: selflessness and religion. Selflessness because we gravitate toward our own, and in mutual suffering we try to uplift those around us as we struggle to boost ourselves. Religion springs from the thought of a life where the work ethic and compassion of a hard life are rewarded by a power which has both the patiences and love to help the lowly individual. And when the "hard life" goes lacking? So does the need for a mighty redeeming power. This lack of fear (or loathing, or awe,) on my part leaves me with other attributes: I marvel at nature, but see mystery only in what I do not comprehend--I know someone sometime, will get it. What may be a magical black box to me will only be an vhs tape to someone else. I write, and talk, and communicate however I can as often as I can, because as I stand on the shoulders of giants, maybe I'll get lucky and the echo of something I yell will resonate somewhere and someone else will be a giant for it. I can only hope that when they hear it, a good song will be playing and they'll be able to tell everyone about it.

Don't Forget to Breathe...or Get a Tan.

2005-05-17T22:55:00.000-04:00

I've been back for more than a week now, so I suppose it's high time I plop something down here, especially since it's been a week since Ms. Jenkins implored me to do said plopping. Yes, I suppose that's as good a place as any to start. I went back to the high school last Monday. Saw Coach Johnson. (Who would have thought 5 years ago that I'd stay in close contact with a football coach, distance myself from the baseball program, and not think twice when I come back to the high school and want to see him? Funny how things change, but shit still works out.) Saw Ms. Jenkins. (Who would have thought I'd go to Penn on the heels of the son of my English teacher? Funny how opportunities manifest themselves.) Saw Doc K. (Who would have thought I'd hate chemistry with such a passion? Oh wait, everyone. But who would have thought that a picture of me, Solty, Staff, and Tyler asleep in chem senior year would have helped me get through the year? Yes, seeing that even when we were sleeping we were still capable of... of... terrific pre-game naps. But seriously, we slept through half that class and are all at some pretty respectable schools. We done good enough.) Didn't see Doc V, as he was at NU while the seniors took the AP test. (He still sent me this article. I nominate Seth Flaxman for the debate.)
What else... People are coming or are back. When we went to school, we only knew as much as our new friends showed us, and so unless they said so we never knew how much of themselves they left at home. But we've known our homies forever. Knew them before we parted, and will get to know them again now. We have to re-get-to-know them because we've all left something back at school. Even when school friends are in town for some small-world mingling, we're never complete. We're now two people, no matter how we fight it. The inside jokes don't work anymore, and the old speech patterns reemerge.
So now it's on to summer. For the 19th straight year I won't have a true summer. I'm no longer bitter anymore. At this point if I had it it wouldn't live up to the hype. So I'll just work from 8:30 to 5, play softball twice a week, coach some 9 year-old Trevians (shudder) thrice a week, lift thrice a week, and party ___ a week. Here's hoping I remember to breathe, this is looking more stacked than either semester at school.

There's a Fat Lady A Capella Group on Campus, and They're Singing

2005-05-02T23:29:00.000-04:00

What now? Two finals down (math, legal studies), two more to go (comp sci, physics) and then I go home. Just up and vamoose. In the span of 48 hours I'll go from DRL to a plate full of bagels and lox in Skokie. I'll never again be able to be bored and walk across/up/down the hall and find something to do for hours. Food will no longer be a communal activity. For the next four months no one will know what the fuck I'm talking about if I ask "McRerrand then Kirr?" For the next few months I can talk about juking, gettin swol, and getting treated and not have to pause, look sad, and say "sorry, Evanston thing." I'll climb into more cars than I climb stairs. Hallways will no longer have names. Shoes will be left at the door. I can't start a conversation at 1am about nothing, say nothing, feel like I've solved the world's problems at 3am, and wander back across the hall and into my bed.
Weekends will be a chore to plan again. No more people sliding little slips of paper under my door Thursday telling me about Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. And planning will be done by phone again, as Away Message Checkers Anonymous (there's a Facebook chapter at every school I think) take a vacation.
But seriously, here's the plan:
1. Get swol. 210-215 is the goal by camp, and that's gonna be a swol (not sure if it'll be ripped yet, that's TBD) 210.
2. Get paid. Got a job interview Monday with BJB Partners, lookin at other stuff too, this seems like as big a crap shoot as getting into Penn.
3. Come on back now, y'hear? I come back to campus around August 20, football camp for a couple weeks, then I move into the HOUSE. Yeah, 3915 Baltimore with The 5 Point Play (Dave Wernert), Yes (Brad Dulay), Triple Entendre (Bleakley), Noah (insert hokey poker nickname here), and Haren (just a crazy motherfucker, he is his own nickname). Simply put, it's finna be hot. I'm trading in an in-room sink for a single and a bathroom shared with 2 other guys. Basically it's gonna be the best shit ever.
Guess I should go to sleep or something, maybe study, maybe not.
So Long and Thanks for all the Fish.

The Winners Write History

2005-04-24T23:08:00.000-04:00

It's amazing how words stick in your own mind. Not your own words though, as they are as fluid in your mind as your thoughts until you voice them. But no, the words of others -- especially those who are supposedly in a position to judge -- reverberate in your head even when you don't think of them. Like "the little scratch on the roof of your mouth" Chuck Palanhiuk wrote about in Fight Club, the alleged wisdom of others has the uncanny ability to stain your thoughts. But you may never know it. I'm not talking about the really proverbial stuff you hear and get blown away by. I mean the little things that suggest change but don't ask you to do anything. The words that plant the seed in your mind that urge you to seek greener pastures which you have no business seeking out. The words that will haunt you as terrifyingly as Casper the Friendly Ghost but as potently as a gunshot to the gut.
I bring this up after reading Michael Lewis' latest rehash of Moneyball, this time in an article for the Sunday New York Times Magazine. If you don't want to read it, here's what it boils down to: 2 lefties--one a centerfielder, the other a 3B-- have never been power hitters but have had dazzling high school and college careers nonetheless. They make the minors, and all along are told that their ticket to the Show lies on the rainbow traced out by a 450' bomb to right field. Finally, Mark Teahen, the third baseman, makes it and is now playing for the Royals. And now, no one cares. the little voices have gone away. All along he's been told to seek greener pastures, but has never changed, and found them his own way. Meanwhile, the centerfielder, Steve Stanley, is floudering. He doesn't mind. Like he says, even if he goes down in flames, "at least they'll be my own flames."
And that's really the point of all of this. Take a little control of whatever you can, and everything that happens will be your own. And when you succeed, no one will care how you do it.

This is What I Get for Listening to Instrumentals.

2005-04-21T22:25:00.000-04:00

I need a book. I have a list of books waiting for me at some. So maybe I don't need a book so much as I need the idea of a book. Just words and ideas that aren't my own. I need a book so good that when the only sound in my head is jazz or urban ambient noise my ideas won't fall away. A book so good that it can distract me from any impending doom, even if the book is about impending doom. I need my mind to be able to wrestle with something that isn't so real-life, something that isn't so concrete. Just a little abstraction. I need to be able to stop thinking and just wander. Wander through the past, through the future, through the swamp that seems to be the present, I don't really care. I need to know of a place where things happen for transparent reasons, where people either have an answer or understand why they don't. A place where something is explicitly important. I don't need this place so that I can learn from it. I need it so that I know it doesn't exist, so that the real world will seem worth the confusion.
I need the summer. I need to be lazy. I need to feel no pressure to go out on the weekends, because it's all one big weekend. I need my days to progress in increments of more than 50 and 80 minutes. I need a job. Something to do so that when I'm lazy I can at least try and convince myself that I've earned it. I need a thought that stretches outside of my zip code. I need to learn something so rewarding that I'll remember and understand it without notes or the threat of judgment based on how well I can repeat it.
I need a lot of things, it seems. Maybe I only need one.

Flung

2005-04-17T13:56:00.000-04:00

It's all over, and I think it might be for the best. Not that Spring Fling '05 wasn't amazing, because it was. But because I obviously don't have the stamina to go out Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights and carnival it up all day Friday and Saturday. No napping skill could keep me going through that. So now it's over, and it's back to work. But not much of that left, either. One week left of classes (?!) and then 2 weeks of finals and then home. Damn. More on that some other day. This is about the glory that was Spring Fling.
I'm going to try to piece my weekend for you, and also for me, because it's hard to tell one day from another. They all run together in a montage of masses of people, greasy food, and mostly decent cover bands playing Sublime and Tom Petty. So then:
Although Fling doesn't "officially" start until Friday at noon, there was stuff Wednesday night. So, I went to the football/lax houses, re-found Emily Ratcliffe from NSO, hung out with her and her friends. Night 1, good times.
More of the same Thursday night, but now in greater numbers since people have finished up all their work due Friday and just need to make it to class to turn it in. So we rambled over to the Beta Deck. Good music, lots of people, a dance party inside the house that would've made Homecoming seem downright civilized. Although it wasn't that warm out, people were ok with just chillin outside and talking, gearing up for the madness of Friday and Saturday.
So Friday and Saturday. Supposedly 20,000 people pass through the quad over the two days, and I'd believe it. Friday we mostly walked around, got free food, including Fried Oreos, which, despite the fact that just saying "Fried Oreos" can make you fat, are completely worth eating. Friday night, Noah found himself at one with his bed, so Dave and I went to the Management100 TA house (yes, they're like a frat) among the Locust Block Party. It was pretty sad, and there were like 5000 people on this small block with small houses, so the PoPo shut it down by about midnight.
So there was a question to be answered Saturday: were we all already burnt out, and Saturday would be a bigger bust than Friday night, or would we be true champions of partying, reinvent ourselves, and come back with a vengeance and make Saturday a wothy end to Fling? We chose the latter. I spent the afternoon first destroying Noah and Dave in American Gladiator-style Jousting, then pummelling Noah in the boxing ring (oversized gloves in a moon bounce ring), then getting pummelled by Zoch in the ring (a Kicker beat me...a sad day) and Melillo in the joust (another punter beat me...a very rough afternoon).
Just when I thought the bitter taste of Zoch's right hook would be the last thing I remember about fling, Tom Cook saved the day, getting me onto the Beta deck again last night for an even bigger jukefest than Thursday. good times all around.
If you want to see pictures of any of this madness, let me know. And if you're from back home and want to party wtih us next year when we have the House, I can get 2 guest passes. First come, first served.

Win Some, Lose Some

2005-04-04T23:38:00.000-04:00

At least one team won today. Let's purge the wrong first: You can win them all, as long as "all" isn't 38 games. 37-2. One team with maybe a future Robert Horry against 6 future lottery picks. The Weber family will have to drown its sorrows in GBN's state title. At least Jon Scheyer will be there to help them out in a couple years. (I'm sure he enjoys being coached by Webers, so Illino.2s would be the right choice for him.) This feels like a Cubs loss, only it's just shocking, not saddening. So much possibility, so many hopes, but at least a century of history screaming that it can't be done, and history always catches up before you reach the finish line. Speaking of said baseball team, it's opening day. Ignore last night's little Boston/New York tussle. It's opening day for a reason, i.e. so you can ditch out on school/work/nothing to go see a game. It was interesting to walk around campus today. A Beautiful (capital B) day tailor made for baseball, or if you can't play, rocking a jersey around. And yet, unlike the fall when everyone and their mom had an Eagles jersey on, I saw one Phillies jersey and 3 hats on all of campus. I refuse to believe that this is just that bad of a baseball town, so there's only one option: it's a city full of fairweather fans, who while they'll curse Burrell's overpaid self and invent some awfully false way to blame something on the class act that is Jim Thome now, if they're fighting with the Braves in September for the division, they'll sing a different tune.
The people who did show their colors today were true fans who are probably suffering from separation anxiety as I am. I had Ernie's #14 on my back, Dulay rocked his A's warmup, Lance had his Phillies jersey on (ok, no separation anxiety there) and I saw a kid wearing a Houston hoodie--I had to restrain from punching him. I miss WGN. I know Chip and Steve are gone, but it's still the World's Greatest Network, television home of all things Ivy, Clark & Addison, and bleachers. So I've bought mlb.tv. In one orgasmic hour this afternoon I saw Junior Griffey face Pedro, Preston Wilson bomb one in Coors, and Zito get rocked by Sammy, much the the dismay of my fantasy team. I'll watch every Cub game in April on my computer, and if they're still in it I'll pay the $15 fee (cheap! and the picture quality is good, even if it pauses every few minutes to rebuffer) to see them duke it out in September too.
It's baseball season again, and whether or not I'm playing, it's a good thing. Eamus Catuli, and here's to a season that would make Billy Beane proud for my three fantasy teams: PTBNL (back home league #1 aka "The Friendly Confines"), Heilman's Old Style (Penn League aka "Kite and Aluminum Bat Society"), and I Miss 3B (back home league #2, aka "ETHS Alumni").

B3 CAR3FU1 OF TYP05

2005-03-30T21:31:00.000-05:00

q. Take a look at that. The letter q. Think about how you write it. Do you have a little squiggly coming off of it, or does it look like I've typed it? I know that's how I write mine. I think I'm going to change though. Maybe make it really artsy, y'know, announce that it's a q to the world and be damn proud of it. I mean, it's worth 10 points on a scrabble board. It's also the symbol for electric charge, and it should be very proud of that. Yeah, when a q is a q for an electric charge, it should be very obvious. Trust me on this. If you don't, then when you write it on paper that doesn't have any lines on it, it'll look a lot like a 9. And then if you look at that q later on, you'll actually mistake it for a 9. And then you'll be left thinking that the charge on an electron is 9 Columbus, not 1.6x10^-19 C. And then when you calculate stuff, you'll be off by a factor of 10000000000000000000. No, I would never do anything like that...whatever I won't complain, it lost me 3 points and I beat the mean either way.
Yes, I can laugh about that today, because today has been an all-around solid day. Not spectacular, just solid. Here's the breakdown: lifted, took a midterm (not physics, this was computer science, my last midterm of the year), ate, classed, met with my advisor about classes for the fall (more on that later), classed, threw (a baseball) on Franklin Field, classed, and came back. Not spectacular, but I was productive as all get out, and it was 70 out today (hence the throwing), which always helps.
So classes for next year. If everything goes well, here's what I'm looking at-- 5.5 credits: more math, statics and strengths of materials, intro to flight, MEAM lab, digital design, and history of the information age. Should be...interesting. Yeah, 5 weeks left here, more on that another time.
Oh, and big ups to Scott, it's his 19th birthday today, he's holding it down for the E on the W.

Lighthearted Material Within

2005-03-14T22:40:00.000-05:00

It's March. Several things need to be said.
1. Welcome to Bracketville. Stay as long as you can. Unfortunately, Penn won't. We're going to Cleveland as a 13 seed to face G and #4 BC. It'll be a blowout, he'll play, and possibly turn Steve Danley or Mark Zoller into the latest version of Dan Larkin. Oh Well. Fortunately, we don't have the wimpiest mascot in the tournament this year. No, that honor goes to a few schools. First, the Stanford tree is the greatest/worst mascot ever. As for the nickname, we do in fact have the wimpiest. Not even the Mocs of Chattanooga could save us there. Anyway, since I can't enter a pool, here's my Final 4: Illinois def. Wake, UNC def. 'Cuse, and ILLINO.1S def. UNC in the best game ever to feature 6 guards.
2. I want to be Tom Verducci. I won't lie about it. You write about baseball, basically only have a job 6 months of a year, get paid to go to Spring Training, hell he got paid to PLAY at Spring Training for the Blue Jays. Yeah, anyone that knows how I can get into that sort of thing, let me know. I'd like to think that my work on this site speaks for itself. If you don't think so, I'll speak for myself too.
3. Speaking of baseball, can I'm giving props to the following people: David Eckstein. Lance Berkman. Jim Thome. Vlad Guerrero. Eric Gagne. Barry Zito. Just a partial list of the guys that ball like they should, are good guys, (even if Gagne is from Canada and would rather play hockey and Zito's from a different planet and would rather be surfing,) and are proof that not all players take steroids. As for those who do, I'll be flipping back and forth between The Big Dance and CSPAN Thursday and Friday to watch them sweat bullets under one of the last domes that isn't a retractable roof.
4. Time's flyin a wee fast for my liking. I get back to Penn today, and not only do I have to be ready for football on Wednesday (Spring ball, and it's not baseball for once) but I have to meet with my advisor in the next few weeks to talk about next semester. I guess time not only flies when you're having fun but when you're not on campus too.
5. sCrUBS are fucked. Wood's hurtin, Prior's getting an MRI, Alou's gone, David Kelton will be an official bust by May, and St. Louis still has 4 lumberjacks. But hey, at least I might be able to get a ticket or two in August when they're mathematically eliminated before I leave for campus.
6. Philly air tastes thinner than 11,000 feet at Alta. Speaking of which, I give Alta my full Fred-McGriff-to-Tom-Emanski endorsement. Now all I need is that "Sports World" blue trucker hat and I'm all set.

Pushing the Envelope, Maybe Screwing the Pooch

2005-03-13T16:25:00.000-05:00

I forced myself to write over spring break. I didn't totally want to, but I've neglected to blog in a bit, so I tried to push something out. Vacations from a life that so closely resembles a vacation mess with me. It's not like when I went to Maine or Vancouver (the summers before my junior and senior years) and I needed a week or so to not care about anything but existing outside the 847. I just spent the week skiing--not really a calm way to spend my days. At any rate:

3.7.05
I'm Ted, and I have a problem.
(chorus) "Hi Ted."
I cannot say goodbye. Whether it's the "I've been hanging out with you all day today and will likely do the same tomorrow, but we have to part ways for a bit" goodbye or the "We've never been all that close but we enjoy each other's company and have no idea when our paths will cross again" goodbye, I just don't really do them. Sure, I'll say goodbye or see you later, (or try to get around it by leaving IMs with "peaceout,") but I'm not sure I've ever totally meant it. I've always felt one of two ways about a goodbye: one, I've felt that a goodbye would be too formal and final for the way I'm leaving or two, I never felt who or what I'm leaving deserves a goodbye. Yes, I feel you have to earn a goodbye, because I do not distinguish between a goodbye and a fond farewell. Until you make a positive impact on someone, all they can think at your leaving is "meh" or "good riddance," not goodbye. And when someone or something makes that positive impact on me, I'd rather not give a final goodbye. I'd much rather have some way to communicate how much they've meant to me while still only professing a "see you later," which carries with it a sincere hope that in fact, one day in the future we will meet again.
I'd like to take a moment here and acknowledge the ridiculousness that is this blog. I'm debating the merits of the goodbye. An institution which everyone takes part in, and yet I have no idea whether or not anyone else ever thinks twice about it or gives a damn what I think twice, thrice, and, umm, a bunch more times about them. Nevertheless, I'm going to continue to ponder this, because I think there's a deeper question than the semantics of a goodbye. The essence of a goodbye is the closure it brings. And I'm not sure I've really ever had closure, for just about anything.
How do you get closure? Well, you have to know exactly where you stand upon leaving. Will you be back? Should you expect never to meet again and push it all out of your mind so that future meetings can only be extraordinary surprises, not long awaited rendez-vous? But closure is a two-way street. What you're leaving has to know how it's gonna be, too. Otherwise, one side is left in the past, and that's how wars start. Louis XVI was living in the past, but the French people, not so much.
OK, I've thought myself into the ground. I need to stop. For now. This is a topic which, as I have to say more goodbyes, I'll probably learn more about, and hopefully I can be more insightful one day soon. So we both understand how I'm leaving? Good. Bye.

3.10.05
Uncertainty. Percent error. Standard deviation. Plus-or-minus. Tolerance. Ok, I get it. I'm wrong. And "they," in an effort to rub my nose in it, want me to take the time to quantify exactly how wrong I am. There's are lots of reasons why so many people are turned off by science, and I believe this is one of them. We don't speak in terms of our incorrectness daily. Upon getting married, no one says "I'll love you forever, plus or minus 14 years." As Prof. Beier pointed out, politicians don't say they're going to invade a country, plus or minus two. So why does science get stuck with all the wrongs? It doesn't, actually. The truly great science, the stuff that's subtle and has more nooks and crannies than an English muffin doesn't have any uncertainty. Kepler's laws don't say that the planets orbit in an ellipse, plus or minus a right angle. Oppositely polarized magnets don't attract 99 out of 100 times, it's an absolute. But what about quantum theory? you say, that's all about probability and uncertainty. (Yes, I know that's what you were saying. Admit it, you're a nerd.) What about quantum theory? It doesn't describe an orbital as the space where an electron will be found 90% of the time, plus or minus 2%. Quantum theory is absolutely certain about what it does not know. Its only uncertainty is how far it applies. And if you don't like that response, how about this: It's chemistry. Don't waste your time with it.
So back to the real world. Why not hold it to the same litmus test as science? (is that a pun or just a groaner of a reference?) If it's truly important in life, it won't have uncertainty. Love will be absolute. Unfortunately, death will be too--we can't have zero people rising from the dead, plus or minus 1%. But you will get a 10% raise, plus or minus the inflation rate. The Men's Warehouse (and Alan Alson?) will guarantee satisfaction, but will plan on 4-6% of all customers returning goods for lack of satisfaction. You will date the hot chick you saw working out after you share a Michelob Ultra, plus or minus 99.8% of the time.

**Afterword, 3.13.05: I saw Garden State last night. Funny that I wrote all about goodbyes before seeing it. I think I'd still write the same thing after seeing it, I would just focus more on Largeman's ellipsis/period debate. I definitely fall on the ellipsis side.

"You Would Fancy Leprechauns or Groundhogs"

2005-02-13T20:57:00.000-05:00

As related (roughly, this is definitely not verbatim. Pieces have been added, subtracted, and fancied up for your reading pleasure) to Raisa Reyes, circa 8pm eastern, 2/13/05:
"So think about the holidays we've got. Let's start with Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Veteran's Day. Veteran's Day, fine. We Celebrate it on a day that has meaning--November 11, commemorate the armistice on the day that it happened. That's all well and good. But do we want to remember all our soldiers on the day we settled the 'war to end all wars' even though all it really decided was that there would be a World War II? And is Veteran's Day even for all veterans? If so, then what's the point of Memorial Day, and why is it the last Monday in May? What great moment in history happened the last Monday in May? And then what's the deal with Labor Day?" "Never wear white after it, I know that much," she answers. "Umm...yeah...for the rest of us, who are we celebrating here? The janitors of America? They're all well and good, but then why do we give them their holiday right before school starts again? "So what are we left with? We'll keep Veteran's Day, and commemorate all our servicemen and women, past and present. But then we've still got 3 holidays celebrating the same thing. Memorial Day -- the first barbecue of the summer, time to get out of school. Fourth of July -- halfway through summer, time for another barbecue and the meat sweats. Labor Day -- last barbecue of summer, time to go back to school. Three pagan holidays disguised as a celebration of America. "Moving on into the fall. Halloween? OK, let's keep this too. There's candy, and it serves a purpose. You're 3/4 of the way done with the year, and you're probably realizing how much you still have to do this year. If that's not scary enough, let's put out a buncha creepy movies and let people with knives and masks run around more than usual. "Now Thanksgiving. Good idea, bad execution. Sure, we should celebrate the 'first' inhabitants of this fine land, but the fourth Thursday in November? Where'd we come up with that? The real deal here is obvious: pure American glutton, especially good for expanding all our stomachs in preparation for the holiday season. Completely unnecessary, and we've got my birthday going for us then anyway. And the holiday season doesn't matter for this discussion, because christmas is a religious holiday, so fuck it. Finally, we get New Year's, the 2nd most overrated holiday. At least we're celebrating an actual thing here though, as opposed to, say, Flag Day (?!). "Moving into the new year. Valentine's Day. The most overrated holiday ever. It's pseudo-religion meets Hallmark, Inc. And unless it's Flintstones meet the Jetsons or Jay-Z/Linkin Park, mash ups like this don't work well. St. Patrick's Day, fine, because at least there everyone can participate. March has nothing. March sucks. March doesn't even have April Fool's, which is the holiday where you think to yourself 'hey, it's April! April Showers bring Mayflowers and May means memor--first barbecue of the summer!' Not so fast, my friend. It's April fools for a reason. The calendar just punked you, cuz you've got almost 2 more months to go of shitty weather before you get to Summer. Suck on that. Finally, we're back to Memorial Day. To recap: Rename Memorial Day, the 4th of July, and Labor Day into Summer Worship Day I, II, and III. Keep Halloween, expand Veteran's Day, throw out Thanksgiving, ignore December, marginally keep New Years, and completely abolish Valentine's Day. I'll save Groundhog Day for another discussion, which will be titled "why a random Pennsylvanian rodent knows more about the weather than Tom Skilling and his 8000 weather graphics." At least it had a good movie, which is more than Halloween can say for itself.

Mmmm...id

2005-02-11T23:55:00.000-05:00

Be selfish. Do what you want to do. Feed your ego. Yes, it's time to embrace all those things that your parents warned you against and which your elementary school teachers gave you check minuses for. Not to spite them; there are better things to do with your time than spiting the people that taught you the most. And not because it can piss off people in power; there are much easier, more enjoyable ways to do that. Be selfish, do what you want to do, and feed your ego because it's the right thing to do.
I should probably add some qualifiers in now. I don't say 'be selfish' and expect you to stop sharing. "Plays well with others" is worth a check plus. I don't want you to do what you want to do when what you want to do is illegal or otherwise despicable. And I don't want you to feed your ego unnecessarily so that you go on undeserving power trips and alienate those around you. In other words, I offer these pieces of advice for use in the greater scheme of things, not on a day to day basis.
I believe that people's individual goals can, with few exceptions, advance the general public toward greater good. I believe that people, no matter what they do, will help those around them if they are given a chance to do what they want. Teachers, doctors, and the men and women of the military are not the only ones who, by doing what they want, help us all. Every single person, if they are happy in their work - which is most likely to happen when they're doing what they want to - will be helpful. Those lawyers everyone loves to joke about? If they love their work and strive in all its aspects to do their best, (i.e. help their clients make sure justice is upheld,) they aid the public at large by helping to create more explicit common law. The politcians that we regard as the scum of the earth? (Though why we would put the scum of the earth in charge is beyond me...) If making public policy is really their A-1 occupation, they can't do anything but help. Admittedly, some campaign and take office as a stepping stone to personal gain. But if it's a stepping stone, they're not doing what they want, so fuck 'em, they're not in this theory anyway. But those few who want so desparately to help mold the fabric of our society, they will either make policy that will directly help us all, or they will bring a minority voice to the debate and force the rest of us to be critical of our own ideas. A second opinion never hurt anyone.
So back to my point here: when you're stuck in a rut of your own making, look at the big picture. The rut you're in is just on the side of the road, it's not 8 miles from the freeway in a forest somewhere. There's no need to change direction and do what other people tell you to do. Even if they're right, don't do it just because it's advice from a trusted confidant. Come to your own conclusion. Then, if it's really going to help you and neither illegal nor out of spite, do it. Do it.
Ok, I'm getting off my soap box for now. Thanks for feeding my ego.

The Bank is Open

2005-02-09T13:11:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what the commentary on this is, but after last night, I'd have to say Evanston/New Trier takes a back seat to Penn/Princeton. I'll still bleed orange and blue, still scowl at the mention of a Trevian, and miss the days of "Ay Ayy Ayyy." But for at least the next four years, it's all about the Q men sticking it to the Kittens from New Jersey. I'm still hoarse from last night's game. How good was it? Well, it has a name. It's now officially "The Comeback Game." As soon as a game has 'The' in front of it, you know it's a classic. Granted, we didn't make either Sportscenter or College Game Night, but that's because 1, Princeton is in LAST place in the Ivy League and 2, ILLINO.1S was busy esacping Ann Arbor.
But I digress. The facts remain: Penn scored 35 points in the first 33 minutes of the game. Pretty damn sucky. Fortunately, we also scored 35 in the last 12 minutes. Penn trailed by 18 with 7:35 left in the game (up from 15 at the half) and still went to overtime. Final score: 70-62. 5-0 Ivy, a few wins away from Bracketville.
Know who else is going to Bracketville? The Illini. And before walking to the Palestra, I got to see a bit of their game at UMich. Dee Brown hit a 3, got fouled, make it And 1. I was dumbstruck. 4 point plays don't happen. I mean, sure there was DWhite against Niles West when he dropped 31, and Michael Jordan did it a couple times, but let's be serious. You just don't do that. But Dee did. And then Osmundson did it, while being tackled by some Tiger into the Penn bench--a better tackle mind you, than any they put on us in the fall. So here's my plan for March: Illinois gets the Midwest #1 seed, as expected. UPenn takes the 12 or 13 in the midwest, and Zoller (aka David Wernert) goes off and takes us to the Sweet 16, where we face Illinois at the United Center. I grab up many many many tickets through Penn, fly home, and take people from U of I who can't get tickets. It doesn't matter who I root for there, because Illinois would maul us by 50--and we wouldn't come back from it.
Yes, I know it won't happen, but I can dream, can't I? Some other highlights from the night that was at the Palestra...
Signs Including:
"Castro [hearts] Princeton" (This was held up by a kid in military fatigues chomping on an unlit cigar. I think it was in the same vein as the "Princeton eats babies" sign and the "F*** Princeton...and Bin Laden" t-shirts.)
"This Guy Hates You" (with an arrow pointing down onto whoever holds it)
"you're in Last Place" (this was held up by the Quaker, and in Overtime, the word "still" was added)
"Is that your acceptance rate or your winning percentage?"
"Go beat Cornell" (we usually chant "go beat Princeton" at the end of games as we destroy the other league teams)
"Princeton's biggest loss: Amy Gutmann" (At this point we all start chanting "A-my Gut-mann!!!!!" she stands up, whatever, nothing special. Then later in the game, she comes over by the student section and is cheering literally 2 feet in front of us. One of the guys--who shall remain nameless--near me was *ahem* out of it and giving it to the refs and Princeton players pretty rough all night long. Fortunately it was loud as all get up in the Palestra, so no one really heard him. But when President Gutmann was right in front of us, a particularly egregious foul call was made. He proceeded to ask the ref if his spouse knew of his infidelity, because it seemed like he was...fuck self-censorship. He yelled "Hey ref! Does your wife know you're fucking us?!" Good line, maybe. At a game, when the refs can hear you? probably in bad taste. At a rivalry game when your school president is 2 feet in front of you? Definitely not in your best interests. At any rate, the rest of us were about to fall over we were laughing so hard, and when the "De-fense" chant started up again, Pres. Gutmann seemed more intent than usual on having all the students yell it...you make the call there.)
The only downside to all this? Like the kids that were freshmen at UMich in 2003 for the great game against Ohio State, it can never get better than this. In four years of Penn basketball, short of a final four trip or something of that ilk, this is as good as it gets. Oh well, I'll deal.
*A note on the title: Begly hit a three late in overtime that was the proverbial nail in the coffin. From the top of the key he shot it (Pull!) with a hand in his face. It was ugly. You could hear us getting ready to groan. Then it hit the backboard and went in. We went nuts, and I started screaming that The Bank is Open. Still no word on whether or not he called glass...

We're Out! (can't buy me love...)

2005-01-26T21:17:00.000-05:00

If you don't know the reference, go watch The Beatles' "A Hard Day's Night" immediately. You have no excuse.
The question still begs though, what are we out of, and does this have anything to do with my astonishing lack of publishing thus far this year? Alas, I'm out of the Greek system (this time for good, though we'll get to that later) and it was public enemy #1a (the rest of my life being public enemy #1) that held me from my little cyberhamlet. What can I say? I had a rough go of it for a bit there, but shit works out. Don't believe me?
Over break, you might've noticecd I was bored and not totally enjoying myself. I had little else to do, and so began pondering my future, specifically where I would live next year. Long story short, Dave Wernert, Stephen Johnson and I were gonna have a flame ass triple in one of the high rises. Two TVs (small one for ESPN, big one for video games), 3 subwoofers (one for each computer) and a beirut table courtesy of DW. I had my living set, wasn't going to rush, let alone pledge, and could start second semester fresh, focusing on academics and football when I had to. Then I got back to Philly. I didn't rush for the first three days--open rush. Then closed rush started, and AEPi and Pi Kapp gave me invites, despite not giving them the time of day thus far. I went to the AEPi events because it was the weekend and I'm not anti-free food.
That's when things went astray. Suddenly my living situation was in question as Stephen Johnson left our group citing artistic differences, my time was no longer mine to organize, and I was moving ever closer to pledging AEPi. Even after resloving these issues--I'd pledge AEPi but the group would be reformed to live in the high rise with 2 new players from the college--I wans't out of the woods. I constantly needed to be reminded why I should pledge--not a good sign when making a decision of this magnitude--but plodded along nonetheless. I have since come back to my original realization that the Greek system and just don't get along, and as many things as I had on my plate to begin with, this was the straw that broke this camel's back.
So now I'm out again, this time for good. Letter of resignation and all. Though I suppose words are meaningless to frats, where oaths are all well and good but it's all about the physical processes, because they would not even grant me the one simple, explicit request I had: let my decision stand and let me go on my way. Within 4 hours of making my intentions known, three different brothers had already exhorted to me the prospect that I was missing out on "the greatest opportunity of my life." Last I checked, getting to come here to Penn is at the top of the polls. (And, like the Illini, not going anywhere soon.)
One final thing, especially with February and Spring Training around the corner. As Flisler pontificated on how he made it through the process, he remarked that he used Spring Ball as his escape from the pledging process. This struck me as funny. It's never occured to me that sport other than baseball could be that constant in my life. The one thing that, as far as shit may stray, will still be there, even if only for a few hours to divert my mind from the handbasket postmarked for hell I find myself in. I plan on keeping baseball as that one thing, though this will be hard without playing, WGN, or Paul Sullivan reporting for the Trib on the sCrUBS. I'll manage. There's always mlb.tv, right?

Mr. MMIV

2005-01-01T02:14:00.000-05:00

or, how I learned that New Year's Eve is overrated and Evanston is Lame.
I hope your times tonight were better than mine. I hope you were with the ones you care about. I hope you had time to reflect on the year that fell to the abyss of history without so much as a "so long and thanks for all the fish." I hope your night was what you expected. And after you enjoyed yourself so thoroughly tonight, I hope your year only gets better.
I, on the other hand, have nowhere to go but up. I mean, I enjoy hanging out at Scott's house, playing NFL Blitz and some pool, and then watching Happy Gilmore. I'll even admit that it wasn't that bad losing to him in said pool game 4-3. But it still leaves something to be desired. Between the two of us we got 5 or 6 drunk dials over the course of the night, mostly from people who claimed that their home towns were so lame, pathetisad, boring, etc. I laugh at these people now with the same cynicism I mock those who get cold when it's above freezing. (No offense Betsy, I know it's not your fault, you'd much rather be from Evanston.) Woohoo for the temperance movement and the old days when staying awake until midnight was an accomplishment.
Speaking of drinking, let's talk about New Year's Eve and the fire water. If the holiday resembles Rosh Hashanah at all--which would make sense, them commemorating the same type of event, after all--then there should be some follow up for reflection and amends. Or maybe the week between christmas and Jan. 1 would be this time, and then we could all start fresh in the new year. Not so fast, my friend. Instead, few people think back on the outgoing year any more than they can fit in a Top 10 countdown of some sort. And let's be frank, no one does a "Top 10 conflicts within my own psyche I solved this year or can solve in the new year" list. Nope, December 31 is now just another reason for people everywhere--not just college students--to get drunk, make out with someone they may or may not know, wake up the next day to comfort foods, football, and family, and have stories they can never live down.
So I suppose my final hope for the new year is that I hear about your story. And that, for better or worse, I never let you live it down. No, I'm not bitter or anything. This is only the 2nd worst NYE ever. Try sophomore year. In downtown Evanston (i.e. first night). In a freezing car. With two people I haven't seen now in over a year. Happy 2005.

Mental Cabin Fever

2004-12-29T01:25:00.000-05:00

I've never had a winter break like this. Beside the whole home-but-is-it-really-home-anymore drama, there's this issue of work. Through 13 years of public schooling when I had homework over break a decent part of the time, I rarely (if ever, I really can't think of a time I did) did any of that work before the last weekend of break. At first I felt lazy about it, and then I realized it worked well to get me back into the spirit of working my ass off in little spurts as opposed to being ducklike (calm and subdued on the surface, working like the dickens underneath). And when I didn't work for that week and a half, I always had the dark cloud of a project or paper hanging over my fun--it was very Lord of the Rings-esque. Now though, there is nothing. First semester is completely over. My gnawing problems now dissolve into "actually get out of bed or lie and stare at nothing for a while" or "If Ditka is god, how come his voice is different than John Facenda's*?" Like I said, epic questions.
Usually during my breaks I would start to get a case of cabin fever after a couple days. Or hours. Or minutes. I knew that there was nothing fun to go and do, but I knew the whole time I was inside watching And1 Streetball that I should be working. So I'd get restless and sift through the mess that was my room and pass the time until I could use the excuse that "but if I start working now I'll be interrupted by dinner just as I really get into the flow." I was a procrastinating master. I got so good I managed to forget about both the dark cloud and the physical cabin fever for a while.
Now I have nothing to procrastinate. And the physical cabin fever is pretty small since I can find people to hang out with or stuff to do. But like so many other things in our life (wave-particle, cash-credit, paper-plastic), there is a duality to cabin fever. After thirteen years sparring with the physical side of it, I have run smack into mental cabin fever this break, physical cabin fever's pesky sibling. In this cabin fever of the mind, I do things all day that occupy me, but nothing more. Nothing challenges me to think. The newspaper is absorbtion. The crossword puzzle is trivia and trivial, I either know a clue or I don't. And no one talks about bigger issues. It's all recycled stories from college that happened a few weeks or months ago but which we can tell each other because we haven't seen eachother in weeks or months. I think other people, whether they realize it or not, also feel this way, because I spent back to back nights playing scrabble against Scott and then Ravi because we were bored. Boredom used to mean TV, calling other bored people, or at the very peak of it, maybe a game of cards. Scrabble is uncharted territory here. But there I was, totaling up triple word scores and pondering what to make of the letters Z, K, J, Q, I, O, and a blank.
I also think that this has been building since before I left school. After almost 3 months of mingling, speechifying, and questioning, finals came and wiped us out mentally. If it didn't involve studying, food, sleep, or the occasional Halo2 diversion, it went unspoken. Two weeks passed when the sum of creative thought among a large group of very ingenious people amounted to inventing new epithets for the newly T.O.-less Eagles. While I enjoy physics and math and my seminar, my classes--and especially their finals--were a lot like a crossword puzzle. I either got it or I didn't, there was no google or textbook to look it up in, and when I was done I was done. It left me with a void. I don't think it's the thirst for knowledge, but rather a craving for original thought. Look at my previous posts: after Dec. 12--which coincided with reading days--I've been alternately incoherent and unfunny. At no time have I solved a problem or any magnitude or formed a thought where before there was nothing.
But that's all I want to do. I want to have a goddam thought in my head, and better yet, talk to someone about it. Again, I don't plan on saving the world here**, but I refuse to think that nothing in my immediate surroundings or the world at large has stood still for a few weeks here. Time waits for no man, so why should thoughts and communications lag behind?

*For John Facenda, AKA the Voice of God, listen to the preview for Track 3, "A Season Awaits" here.
**I'll leave the world-saving to AmeriCares, which you should help out.

***I've wanted to write something meaningful like this for a week or so now. I couldn't. I even went so far as to think that I had hit a blogger's block of some sort. I felt I had lost my muse (if I ever had it). I even went so far as to google and read over Homer's and Hesiod's invocation of the Muse from The Illiad and Theogony, respectively. Then I realized in my moment of Hubris that the muses do not speak directly to me. They speak to all of us every day in the interactions around us. It's just a matter of looking around and connecting the dots.

You've Come A Long Way, Baby.

2004-12-26T00:18:00.000-05:00

So. Six days left this year. What a difference 359 can make. Well, actually 360. This is a leap year, afterall. Seriously though, this is up there as "one of those years." Not because of what happened to the world at large, but rather the year of the end of high school and the start of high school I think is a watershed year for everyone. It just has to be. I mean, if this year isn't going to change things, nothing will. And since I wasn't able to capture the whole thing in this fine piece of cyberspace, I suppose an annotated recap is in order.
Jan. 1, 2004: After completing college applications 2 days earlier, I rang in the new year at Stafford's. A good time was had by all. 2004 ensues. Looking back, how big a waste of time were those Johns Hopkins and Lehigh application supplements? There's 10 hours of my life I'll never get back.
End of January: Last high school final exams: Chemistry, Physics, Economics, English. Again, what an epic waste, as I have or will take every one of these classes again at college. Second semester ensues.
February: Umm...yeah...it had 29 days, and my last baseball season started.
March: I celebrated my last Casmir Pulaski Day for a long time (single tear.) And then at the end of the month started getting into college. Wash U first, and then some other ones too. Congratulations and evil lunchroom comparisons ensue. Baseball games start.
April: I get into Penn, et. al. Senioritis ensues. Life becomes eat, sleep, go to school (but pay little attention), play baseball. At the end of the month I visited Penn, decided to go. (Tough choice looking back...what was I really debating about Tufts?)
May: AP tests...what an epic joke. The only AP credit I got was from BC sophomore year. Chem/Phys was worth the classes, not worth the however much money to take the test. Prom was...umm...well the weekend at the barn was fuckin sweet, so that makes up for it, right? Baseball continues, I hit home runs 1-4 of my life.
June: I get greedy and end the baseball season on about a 3-for-15 slide. But we beat New Trier again, so that makes up for it, right? Yeah, sure, why not. Graduation was anti-climactic like we all expected (so I guess it's not anti-climactic, is it?). Summer ensues. Sleep, eat, workout, work, quite boring.
July: Summer continues. America turns 228 years old, fireworks ensue.
August: I start this fine work. Amazing analytical writing ensues. Modesty ceases.

Samford and Sons

2004-12-19T13:25:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the east coast, now playing: Gonzaga vs. #3 Georgia Tech live starting at midnight. Yes, Las Vegas is on Pacific time, so they can do things like this at the Las Vegas Showdown. But even more important than that game--which Gonzaga won, I swear they're some giant killers--is that when a game is on still at 2am, ESPN runs its ticker with every score from everywhere for the day. That means that all 8 million teams that you only know because you make fun of their names when they happen to be the 15 or 16 seed that Illinois, Duke, or Kansas gets to destroy in the first round of the tournament get their three seconds of glory as their score runs across the bottom line.
Some of these scores and schools raise interesting questions. For instance, who wins when Howard plays William and Mary? Well, obviously William and Mary, they've got a permanent 2-on-1.
Why does Drexel insist on playing Syracuse when they can't beat us?
How come Rich Gannon gets to play the entire city of Detroit? Isn't that a bit unfair?
Elon?
What high school senior, when they're deciding where to apply, considers Coppin State? Where the fuck is Coppin State?
High Point? Exactly how high is it, and is it anywhere near Slippery Rock?
Wow, Wiley must really suck at basketball, because Lamar beat him 110-64.
How come Indiana University Purdue University Indianapolis is IUPUI but Indiana University Purdue University Fort Wayne is simply IPFW?
Last I checked Wyoming, Washington, Wisconsin, and West Virginia are the only states in the union that start with a W. So what gives, Weber State, Wright State, Witchita State?
OK, I'm not going to get started on mascots, maybe I'll leave that for another time. And for hats--I mean schools--like Stetson, or Old Dominion--where's the new dominion?--don't think I've forgotten about you. Now I'm going to leave with the best thing to come out of Wharton, possibly ever. Talking to high school seniors everywhere: "You have recently been accepted to Penn, Princeton, and your local Community College. After careful deliberation, you have narrowed your choices down to Penn and your Community College."

We Can't Train a Cat That Fast

2004-12-18T01:28:00.000-05:00

This world is going to Hell in a Handbasket. I know, I know, if you've seen Ocean's 12, (which you should, but not if it costs a redonkulous $10.25 like it does here on Friday Nights) you'll disagree with me (see this post's title). And since I'm not talking about politics, I guess you're right. I just really wanted to use the quote, so there it is. In the meantime, everything seems backward. And not the cool type of backward like when a DJ scratches a record and it sounds cool going backward. No, it's the backward like the American Eagle after you just drank the cheese from the bottom of the cheesefry vat.
1. Stare at something for long enough and it starts to make sense. This is obviously universal, but let's take my situation with chemistry. I hate it. It has been the bane of my existence since senior year, and was looking like my ticket to a Sub-3.0 and 3 nights of study hall a week. Then I spent Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Thursday night teaching myself the semester. I have no idea how the test went. (it felt like the SATs--I walked out of the room and was completely beat.) Nonetheless, before the test, I was comparing life to chemistry--something usually reserved for baseball. As Thursday wore on and my breaks became more and more frequent, I walked into Raisa & Ashley's room across the hall. On the spot, I compared this increasing frequency of breaks to the bunching up of the spectral lines of the Hydrogen Emission Spectrum as the freqency of the light increases. This was while I had an away message which read "I think there's a light at the end of the tunnel, but it might just be Blackbody Radiation." The nerdiness has hit a new high (low?) and I still have two more exams to go.
2. Well, now I don't have a 2 anymore, because I've spent the last half hour IMing Ravi about the Brawl (?!) at the Evanston -New Trier game tonight and other whatnot. Speaking of home, it seems (based on an extremely informal survey of the few peeps I IM regularly from back home) that people badly want to be done with finals, but aren't quite sure they want to go home. We're leaving Evanston behind, and no one seems too depressed about it.

PS Life is still confusing...road signs would be nice.

Reading Daze

2004-12-12T02:33:00.000-05:00

After a semester of relearning high school prerequisites, my final paper for my writing seminar ("The Meaning of Money") finally afforded me a glimpse of what--I hope--is more representative of what college can be. For more than 3 months, as we charted the history of money and compared the perceptions of money of different cultures, we were asked to write whatever we wanted. A couple of pages a week, just write about some aspect of money. This wasn't all that great, partly because it was so forced. But it wasn't all that hard either, because when you stop and think about, money enters in to more of our life than we'd like to think. (Is it surprising that a bus from Philly to NY that takes twice as long as a train costs half as much? Is it a coincidence that in as divisive election as the one we just had, more money than ever before was rasied and spent?)
Then, as a final assignment, we were asked to expand on any of these ideas. Choose something you're interested in, get some references, turn it into something formal. Sure, there'll be a grade at the end of it, but if it's really that interesting, it's worth it as knowledge for knowledge's sake. I chose to write on bank robberies in film, in particular how as money has evolved from gold to fiat paper money to electronic money, the good robbery films in Hollywood have robbed the most modern type of money. Yep, I got to talk about The Italian Job, the original Thomas Crown Affair, Fight Club, and even Office Space. And any paper that can reference Office Space is a good one. I know there are plenty of movies that are contrary to my point (the original Die Hard stole gold bullion, Great Train Robbery, 1903, stole $5000 cash, etc.) but I made my point and I'm gonna stick to it. Comment and disagree, or even better comment and agree.
But now the creative part of my semester is over, and I get to study for math, chem, and physics. Not that I hate these (well, Chem, maybe, but I got nothing against math and physics,) but it's just not as fun as pontificating from my tucchus on heist films. So, like any good little nerd, I read the New York Times to procrastinate. A couple pieces in the news right now I'd like to point out (and pontificate on a bit, if I may):
- They (I'm assuming some combination of the NTSB, FCC, and FAA, the article only says "Federal Regulators") are considering lifting the ban on the use of cellphones mid-flight. Yes, because it's so dire that we be in communication with everyone everywhere while we're stuck in a metal tube a few miles away from anyone that can do anything about anything, they're going to let us keep on talking through takeoff and landing. Y'know that guy on the train/bus/street that still doesn't know if people can hear him and annoys the crap out of the rest of us while he yaps about who-gives-a-flying-fuck-what? Yeah, he's sitting next to you for the next 3000 miles of transcontinental flight trying to yell over the roar of the 767's engines. Oh look! He's in front and behind you too! Have fun trying to get work done on your own or *gasp* read a book. Not that I mind, though. I can sleep through anything and have brand-spanking-new headphones to drown it all out.
- The Supreme Court has decided to hear Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios v. Grokster Ltd. Yes, the high court is going to decide whether [insert file sharing program here] is liable for helping me find such musical gems as "The Super Bowl Shuffle," (By a certain team from a certain town which, as of Super Bowl XX, is known simply as Da Bearss,) "Detachable Penis," (Remember King Missle, circa 1991?) and "We Didn't Go to Harvard" (a Cornell a capella group's ode to the suckiness of the Crimson, to the tune of 'We Didn't Start the Fire'.) I'm still not quite sure where I fall on this issue. I download, but I'm selective in what I get, and if anything I buy more CDs now because of it. Also, I'm not going to pay $15 for one song, as no one sells singles anymore and now that ClearChannel rules the airwaves, if it's older than 3 months and younger than Classic Rock it's not on radio. But the creators of this art deserve income, and if P2P sharing is really taking food out of their family's mouth, there's a problem. Again, comments are welcome.
- Laptops can reduce sperm count. Insert your own punchline, it's probably funnier than anything I've got.

Who Needs Actions When You've Got Words?

2004-12-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

I understand that was long (See below), but I can’t leave without mentioning sport. Like everything else, too much has gone on for me to just let it be.
1. That fan in Detroit got what he deserved.
2. Ron Artest has a serious problem, and it’s a shame he has to be put in situations which exploit it, but at some point on his road to stardom he must have realized that the public is a ruthless judge, jury, and executioner and prepared for it.
3. Baseball has a serious problem, and it needs to come down on Bonds, Giambi, and Sheffield (and give it time, but I’m sure Sosa will be found out at some point, too) before someone breaks a record. If someone can explain to me why it’s more ok for them to do something which is hazardous to their own health and slants the playing field toward them while Pete Rose did something which only tilted the field away from himself and ceased to exist as far as the MLB HOF was concerned, I’m all ears.
4. College football has a problem. At this point I’ve given up on the BCS, but as a student-athlete and someone who misses the orgasm that was January 1 in college football, a tournament is not the way to go. Instead, reinstate the conference-bowl game ties, and go old school.
5. The NBA, no matter how many college age stars they draft, will never be as good as college ball. In case you missed the Illinois-Wake Forest game last Wednesday which I offer as proof (no pro crowd filled with suits would rock orange, much less stand for the whole game and never shut up,) simply try this exercise: Watch or go to an NBA game. Then watch or go to a college game, preferably at a school that takes bball seriously, and sit—ahem, stand—in the student section if possible. Then, to make sure you’re not biased toward the last thing you did, go or watch another NBA game. You’ll come away hating both Bill Walton and Dick Vitale, but at least you’ll love the college game.

I'm Sorry it Came to This.

2004-12-07T22:11:00.000-05:00

There’s some saying about something where the best thing to do after you fall off a horse is to get back on. It’d be nice if I remembered the whole metaphor, allegory, whatever, but I don’t. Nevertheless, I’d like to get back to blogging now after more than a week off. I didn’t for a while, partly because I didn’t think I had much mental clutter. Then I came back to school, did a week of hard work—another reason I wasn’t able to blog—and now this week everything is coming together. Not coming together in a good way like a plan comes together, but coming together in weird, coincidental, “this is what it’s like when worlds collide” coming together.
I’ve also wanted to avoid the proverbial “here’s what I’ve been up to” recap blog. But, as much as I’ve tried to stop it, a lot has happened in the past 10 days. Not just to me, but to the world at large. Some things I’d like to vent about, some things and people I’d like to congratulate, and some questions I’m still left with. Mostly the latter, which is not a great feeling with finals coming up next week.
That’s as good a place as any to start, I suppose. It’s damn near the end of the semester here. Grades which will follow me for the rest of my life are about to be recorded. I’m not all that worried—I feel I know what I need to know—it’s just an odd, big picture thought that deserves reflection…Anyway, fuhgeddaboutit, school is school, and especially this semester since it was so similar to high school. I mean, c’mon. I took chem, phys, MV, and a money-based history class. Sounds a lot like my junior and senior years of high school. Only, this obviously isn’t high school.
It was never more obvious that this wasn’t high school than at home over Thanksgiving. Whoever said you couldn’t go home again is so full of crap it’s unbelievable. Home felt the exact same. Sure, the bed seemed softer now after sleeping on egg crates for a couple months, and the food tasted better after munching laxative-laced fries at least 10 times a week. But I was still bored and watching ESPN at night. The non-immediate family still seemed too distant—whether by age or state of mind—to really relate to like I’d like, while the close friends seemed oddly close after being hundreds or thousands of miles apart. Word still gets around between us, and along the same lines as always. The internet may have changed the volume of communication, but it hasn’t repainted the traffic lines. And worst of all, we’ve all changed. And while I’m almost positive we’ve all changed for the better by leaving Evanston, (or not, I’m not implicitly treating Ravi and Northwestern here, because Northwestern is not Evanston now that I see it from the other side,) none of us knew who to be around each other anymore. We all got along so well back in the day that there was a tendency to go back to that. But honestly, I wasn’t a big fan of most of “back in the day,” and while we’ve changed, I don’t think anyone has changed into an asshole, so why fake something that once was genuine?
Now, I’m getting ready to go back. Like most people, I’m keeping a countdown (T-minus 14 days at this point). But my countdown is days until I’m done with the semester, not until I see people, because if it’s anything like Thanksgiving, I won’t see anyone until more than 48 hours after I’m in town. I’m excited, but I’m treating it the way I treated the lag between taking the SAT and getting my scores: know it might be awesome, but be prepared for the worst.
Speaking of going home, the family, being a boy scout (“be prepared”), and today being December 7, the worlds really collided for me this morning at about 1 am. Yes, a day that will live in infamy, also the day before my grandfather’s birthday. He would be 84 this year. He died when I was just 3, and although I remember playing “Tink Tonk in the Land of Buddy Bots” in his and my grandmother’s apartment on Church St, I barely remember him. In fact, when I went home at Thanksgiving I made a point of looking through some albums that had pictures of him. I was shocked at myself when I realized how much grander he really was than I remembered him. Admittedly, I only had three years with him and they were not all conscious. Still though, here’s this man who I would like to think is proud of me and glad to know someone else in this family is moving down the math/science road, with whom I know I could converse at great length were I given the chance today, and yet the few memories I have of him are spotty and likely built up more from family stories than from my actual memory.
Throw all that in with the fact that tonight starts Chanukah, and it’s a strange feeling. I know what to do and what to say, though, admittedly, I could only come up with 2 of the three blessings when we lit the candles tonight—the schechecheyanu and the blessing over the lights—we needed Robbie to come up with the third. Yet this thing—my Religion—that is supposed to not only bind me to my family but also to those around me whom I may or may not know has a smaller affect on me than Catholicism does on Adam Hipp—a vehement atheist at Notre Dame. And worst of all, this is the first time I’ve really even pondered it, let alone contemplated it with any kind of worry.
I’d like to finish this by saying, “well, that’s where I am right now,” but I really have no idea where here is. At this point I’m just going to finish my 14 days—3 more days of class, 4 reading daze—ahem, days—and 4 finals over 7 days, and start thinking again about the real world when I get home.

Not Rain nor Sleet nor Hail nor Snow...

2004-11-25T01:35:00.000-05:00

It is known that Betsy requested it, and since let’s face it, I’ve been in the Philly airport for 4 hours already, if I leave within the hour I’ll be happy. So, I am bored in the meantime. Thus, I shall blog. QED.
Like any sane person waiting to get home for both a National Holiday and my birthday, I should be some combination of annoyed/angered/self-pitying. I can honestly say though that I’m only self-pitying, and that only because I’ve had friends back in ETown calling being like “yo, are we hanging out tonight?” And I have to say, “no, shit’s not cool…I’m stuck in Philly.” So yeah, I guess I miss people, but after 13 years, a lot seems to have changed in the last 3 months, and I’d like to find out what. But angered? Hardly. From the time I bought the ticket I could sense that this could really screw me. But it’s not Southwest’s fault it rained here today and sleeted in Chicago. And what is there to be annoyed with? I’m not losing any sleep—I’ve stayed up until 3am [whoa, pause for an hour to get on the plane] pretty regularly this semester. I found an electrical outlet near my gate, got most of my chemistry and physics labs done and watched some Family Guy with Tushar (he’s from Naperville and lives in Butcher, I met him on the Lady Liberty shuttle to the airport.)
And now I’m on the plane and I still get a kick out of it. Maybe it’s the mechanical engineer in me wanting to build one of these bad boys for myself, but I think that there really is something to be awed by here. In a cold hard rain, this metal tube with a couple fans on each side gets a switch flicked from inside and whoooosh, off you go. Feel the g’s, watch the rain slide away from the window, and watch the grid of Philadelphia—or Chicago, or New York, or San Diego, they all look the same from the air, a comforting feeling if you ask me—disappear. And then, while the strobe lights continue to flicker atop the plane and reflect off the engines and wings, suddenly you lose sight of them. You lose sight of everything. The same clouds that we alternately fear and marvel at are reduced to wisps that are chewed up by the massive turbines hanging from tapered wings. And after wondering at the violence going on on the other side of a 2 inch thick plastic window, you turn back into the cabin. It’s dark save the occasional overhead light and the soft glow of the no smoking and fasten seat belt signs. There are shapes moving in the distance (today they have on headgear of turkeys and pilgrims, but I think that’s a seasonal thing), but with headphones on they could be saying anything. Finally, I turn to my computer. 30,000 feet in the air, 15 minutes off the ground but an eternity away from anything meaningful to our landloving selves, and I have a picture of palm trees waving lazily while a mushroom cloud blossoms in the distance.
None of this is quite irony, and it’s not worth a chuckle, but a satisfied “hmm” seems to suffice. Happy Thanksgiving, I get a 25 hour birthday.

Harvard is Great...FOR ME TO POOP ON

2004-11-21T13:13:00.000-05:00

It's been too long, but I suppose that somehow makes up for the fact that Thanksgiving Break will be too short. I've got the LAST flight out of Philly Wednesday at 9:15pm. Why would I schedule such a thing? Well, it's cheap, and I booked it when I thought I'd still have Chemistry and my afternoon Physics lecture. Now I don't and I'm left with 7 hours of blah here. Maybe it'll be relaxing and a good decompression before I go home, but I'd rather just get home.
Wait...rather just go home? That's a change of tune for me. For the last week I've only been excited by association. Everyone around me is looking forward to this break, going home, seeing everyone, getting time off, but I really haven't been. I want to see everyone, and Thanksgiving dinner I can sense already is going to be one for the ages, but I honestly haven't been longing for this break the way I did even last year.
I think yesterday broke me out of that funk. I got to go see the Wynton Marsalis Trio with Alison, which was amazing. These are three young guys (drummer, bassist, and a pianist that must be ?uestlove's brother) who played here with Wynton last year and are now out on their own. They're set was about 90 minutes and was incredible. They played the good type of jazz where after the first 5 seconds of a song you feel like you're neck-deep and you never want to come out of it. Your mind wanders, you almost want to fall asleep but it's so good you make sure you don't. Like I said, awesome.
Yes, Michigan lost yesteday, But Iowa shat on Wisco to send Big Blue to the Rose Bowl, so all was not lost. Similarly, we beat Cornell to finish the season (I now get to enjoy my lone week off for the next year) while Harvard (fuckin Crimson) shat on Yale to take our Ivy Title. Dave Wernert (aka Damon Livingston IV, see link at right), Haren and I had loads of fun mocking OSU during the game. Let's be honest, any school where the head football coach is a professor, they get called for 3 too-many-men-in-the-huddle or too-many-men-on-the-field penalties and have only 10 men two other times, and the school's commercials feature students saying they came for the "ruh-SEARCH" (as opposed to the real word, REsearch) doesn't deserve a damn bit of praise.
Finally, in preparation for coming home, Dave and I figured out that the most fun this break is going to be coming home with all sorts of phraseology foreign to ETown. As a public service, I offer the following glossary/annotations on what I'll be doing out of habit:

Cheese--no matter what kind--is now simply "whiz"
Beer--not that I would ever be looking for some--is now simply Yuengling
Take trips to Wawa. Not White Hen (or any convenience mart)
Food is not in the dining room. It's at 1920, McClelland, or Hill
Swipe my Penncard at the front door and entering the last 4 digits of my SS# into the alarm. Then, before going into the dining room for Thanksgiving, swiping it again through the stuffing.
Claiming I got "sexiled" from my single in MY OWN HOUSE
Referring to my room as Rosenbaum 203
Walking around on the carpet (or in the shower) in flip flops
When people aren't home, writing messages on their door thinking they have a dry erase board there.
Referring to the Colts' destruciton of the Lions not by score but simply by saying "the colts are shitting on the Lions,"
Shit's not Cool.
Not having numbered streets, and using the Lake isntead of the "Skyline" to guide you.
Driving.
Asking people where they're from.
Not hearing "Jersey" as the answer to the above question.
Meeting at the Compass.
Before you go to sleep, asking your parents what time they have class tomorrow so you can expect to be awoken at that time and have to go back to sleep.

Oh, it's gonna be a fun weekend.

Whatchu Talkin Bout?

2004-11-16T22:18:00.000-05:00

No one has brought this to my attention with respect to the Rosenblogger, but I have noticed it. Maybe it's because few people actually read this, and those that do don't really care that much or aren't affected by it enough to mention it to me (judging by your lack of comments it could go either way, but the latter would make me sad). Nonetheless, after reading over some of my recent posts and even those of my fellow bloggers, I've found an odd trend. Namely the use of pronouns. Before you groan that I'm going to talk about grammar and click on the link to the New York Times, hear me out a bit.
Obviously there are classic pronouns that have their own titles, such as the Royal or Editorial We or the General They. But those are for formal writing and informal speech, respectively. Blogging resides somewhere in between, at the corner of formalized thought and informal writing. Thus, there has to be some new pronoun for us to use. While much of blogging revolves around the Authorial I--I had classes today, I feel like crap, I think I'm gonna go and kill myself, etc.--but much of it does not. Many bloggers (myself included) would like to say something meaningful, and I find it hard to do that when I refer to myself all the time. In my case this is because I don't believe that my individual experiences are anything more than individual experiences, and so I feel I must tie them to a broader public to make them worth their weight. In these cases I use We, but it is certainly neither editorial (in the sense that I speak for all bloggers) nor royal (though that'd be cool to be King Rosenblogger or some such title). I use We because it is what I think or see, and I am certain that others agree, whether they realize it or not. Whenever I'm unsure of my strength in numbers, I rely on I. Other times I'll switch to an almost general You. Maybe I mean you the reader, maybe not. Mostly though I have an actual specific person in mind as I blog, but if I actually blogged an entire entry adressed to someone, the rest of you would find it exceedingly strange. So I use You, in the hope that 1, the actual person will read this and be like "whoa, it's like he's speaking directly to me!" and shockingly, I will be. 2, I hope that someone else, a random reader (do I get those? are you a random reader?) or a blog-minder (yes, you. I know you are out there) will read it and take something more meaningful from my entry than had I written with a specific name.
I understand that it's kind of pathetic that I have reduced myself to blogging about pronouns. I wish I could write about the bigger picture right now, because there is some deep, tectonic plate type of movement going down. But for better or for worse, it's all just sliding along, not quaking. (Which, as a Quaker, is somewhat ironic. Ahh, punny.) Maybe soon life'll be that kick in the head Sinatra was talking about and all of my mental clutter will come pouring out. Until then, we'll talk to you later.

We Can Work It Out

2004-11-15T19:55:00.000-05:00

Behold the meaning of life. Don't see it? Not surprisingly, it's not right in front of you. You can't see it every day. Like the proverbial watched pot, if you look for it you will never get it. Life isn't meant to be dissected and analyzed in an effort to tear it down. You tear down what you can rebuild and improve upon. You can't rebuild life. The funny thing is, we end up pondering the larger questions (meaning of life? love? sky blue? inane ability of Barry Bonds to make 9 ounces travel 500 feet?) on the days when shit strays. When we do this, we end up looking for solace, but because we're at a point in our lives when the world seems to have forgotten us, solace is rarely what we find.
Everyone looks for this peace of mind in hard times differently. To each his own obviously, but I'd like to wane philosophical (akin to waxing poetic) about some methods. First, I believe that there is a commandment missing from the Top Ten. Call it 7a, right next to not stealing. Simply, Thou Shalt Think for Thyself. Although Fight Club and Communism would have you believe otherwise, you are in fact an authentic individual. No one else has ever gone through what you are going through. Why should their thoughts help you?* Second, you would not be having these deep thoughts if you didn't realize that you were in tough times. Well, you know it. If you think you know nothing else, you know you've got it rough right now. But that doesn't help you much. So ignore it. Go figure something else out. Anything. Just don't dwell on it. Like I said before, shit can stray. But it can also work out. No one pauses when it works out and congratulates themselves, so there's no reason to do the opposite.
I suppose we could just stop looking for the meaning of life. It would probably kick us in the ass as soon as we turn around though, so I'd be wary.

*Obviously, this is a deeply hypocritical statement. Here I am, saying that no one else's thoughts can help you through tough times while I dispense advice in the form of de-cluttering my brain. Well, like any good set of beliefs, I'm being self-contradictory. Like most of us do with religion, take the parts you like, and leave the rest behind. May your shit stray exactly as far as it needs to.

$#*%! Smaht Kids

2004-11-06T17:06:00.000-05:00

Rarely do you get a chance to play for a championship of any sort. To be the best at what you do, even if only for a time, is an opportunity not to be taken lightly. Junior year, the day off we had between beating GBN and New Trier was surreal. Just the knowledge that I had the chance to do something few before had ever done plastered a smile to my face. And now, as we get ready to face Hahvahd (smaht kids from bahstahn,) the glory gets stretched out over a week. We have the chance to join an exclusive club (yes, there is an actual Penn Football Champions Club, we get motivational emails from them every week) and put another ring on Coach Lake's fingers.
Yes, I know I won't play, and my role in preparing the team is rather minimal, but let me have my moment. Especially since, with 4 midterms and a paper due this week, practice and the game (and Libby & co.) are all I have goin for me. Also on a sidenote, I hate UGA and Auburn. Not like I know anyone there or really know much about the teams, but they're both in the top 5 in the nation, so ESPN College Gameday will be there next week instead of coming to our game. Not that it won't be crazy around here, but anytime ESPN wants to come and recognize the awesomeness of Ivy Football at Franklin Field is an extra fun time.

I Still Hate Politics

2004-11-03T02:19:00.000-05:00

7:45: But, whether because I’m insane or there really is something to it, I still trust the system. Better yet, most of my friends do, too. We volunteer, we stay informed, and today, we vote. And then, after we vote, we leave witty away messages encouraging others to do the same (this afternoon I had 50 people online, 40 of them had away messages up, and 30 of them had to do with voting). After all is said and done (including study hall, grrr,) we get together and watch the litigation—I mean, uh… tabulation—begin.
Also, today is this awesome occasion for two reasons. One, everyone and their mom writes about it today, and even if they've been writing about it for the past few months, they've saved something special for today, because it is special. Two, this whole quadrennial focus thing smacks of the Olympics. Every other day of the year, 90% of what you do on a daily basis is your choice, and no one's going to harrass you to do something in particular. Except today, when if you don't vote, you're looked at with rightful scorn. Plus, today you watch channels on tv you otherwise never would. Seriously, this is CSPAN's big moment, and the more ridic the election, the more fun they have.
****(pause here for study hall, I’ll keep writing once I get back to the room and watch the Daily Show—where “Stoned Slackers” like me get their news.)****
9:40: Tom just texted me. Not to tell me news of the election or to verify the rumor that Obama is gonna take Illinois by a 10-1 ratio. No, he just wants to know when I get back so we can kick off our election night viewing with the Daily Show. Is that good or bad?
****
11:00: Well, The Daily Show was good. John Stewart identified the mysterious 20% that voted for Alan Keyes as "people living under a rock with tinfoil hats," so that solved that mystery. But then we realized that Rob Corddry playing Halo instead of watching the returns might have been a good use of his time, because we won't know who wins until Thanksgiving. At the very least.
****
2:00am: People have finally left here, knowing that they won't know a damn thing for a while. I've finally turned it off, because I can't deal with Purple and then Green states. I like red, white, and blue. It makes sense. And if a state is "too close to call," shouldn't it be yellow? Like when the stoplight turns yellow, you're not sure whether to gun it or slow it up. But I digress. Tom just informed me that John Henry (Boston Red Sox owner) has told his pilot to get the jet ready. He's not sure where it's going or when it's going to leave, but it's going to be full of lawyers.
It has also dawned on me that should [the unmentionable] win and I don't move to Canada and start taking classes at UBC, (Vancouver is beautiful) [he] had better come through with that whole trip to Mars thing. I'm sure they'll need a mechanical engineer to figure out how to strap drawling political leaders to rockets. Where those rockets are going, we'll just aim for outer space and hope for the best(?)
In the epic words of Team America, "America, Fuck Yea"

Teach the World to Sing a Different Tune

2004-11-01T02:51:00.000-05:00

I should not be allowed to solve other people's problems or give them advice. Or, if I do, I should either wear a disclaimer around my neck or have one of those fast talkers read it after my discussions are over. Either way, I think what I say needs to be taken with more than a grain of salt. After all, let's consider my credentials. I'm 18. I'm in only the 2nd place I've ever lived for an extended period of time. I barely know most of the people I meet on a daily basis, and don't know a lot of the major players in problems they may have. And finally, I'm an engineer. That doesn't define my mode of thought so much as describes it, but nonetheless it belongs in my disclaimer. Maybe I can be available for answering math-science related questions and minor dealings. But relationships? Omens? Ethics? I'm more than willing to expound on these topics, but most of it is direct from my odd little mind (which becomes more and more cluttered as people pose situations to me, and thus I'm expunging the clutter now) or direct from the tucchus. Either way, not that trustworthy (even if you wish to go so far as to define me as a "good character").
Luckily, in math (especially calculus,) I have found one type of problem which I can solve fully for myself and others. So I've gone about solving these problems where ever I can. I would say I whore myself out, but I do it for free and I'd rather not consider myself in that light. Also, I'm proud to do it. I've found that teaching, beside an act for the greater good, is one of the two paths toward immortality. You can either come up with such a terrific idea that it - along with your name - live on forever, or you can teach those who change the world. So every person I teach, while helping them change the world, brings me that much closer to immortality. And if immortality is not a worthy goal, I'd like to hear a better one. Sure, call it egotistical to teach (ahem, tutor) for a reason like that, but with the shortage of truly good teachers (props to Mr. Benson, Mr. Eddy, Doc V, Mrs. Jenkins, et. al.) I think their motivations don't matter, so long as they do their job well. How novel would it be if everyone could be judged by the work they did or the ideas they produced, and not the type of person they were outside of it? I mean, assuming people aren't Charles Manson in their spare time, their actions should be the basis of their worth, not the motivation behind those actions.

Shitcago Sporting in the Spotlight

2004-10-28T01:10:00.000-04:00

You knew this was coming. I have to blog about the Red Sox winning the world series. It's like a fuckin rule. Let's start with some basics: this MUST BE "this week's sign of the apocalypse" in Sports Illustrated this week. I will buy the issue. The curse, if it ever existed, is officially dead, like Babe Ruth and Ted Williams. New England, with the championship contending Celtics and World Champion Patriots and Red Sox, is now the center of the American sporting universe. Has the Evil Empire moved a few miles north?
Next, let's consider where it leaves the rest of us, i.e. Chicago. Yes, we are the only city in the nation to have teams in all 4 major sports inside city limits, but if those teams all suck, is that really special? With the Red Sox off the schneid, Chicago is officially the home to the WORST teams in America. The Cubs and White Sox average a 92 year drought. OK, the Bulls had their dynasty. But for all intents and purposes, they're still locked out while the rest of the league plays and improves. Da Bearss are currently ranked dead last (yes, behind even the Miami Dolphins) in the NFL, and have made the playoffs once in the last decade. And there's really no point in talking about the Blackhawks. One, because the NHL barely exists anymore and two, because Bill Wirtz's organization doesn't deserve to be spoken of.
To recap: congratulations Boston, party it up until the Patsies lose this weekend. Congratulations and Sorry to St. Louis, an amazing team that had a bad few days. It happens to the best. Chicago, get your act together, and start by signing Nomah, trading Sammy, and drafting a pro quarterback.

I Hate Politics

2004-10-25T22:51:00.000-04:00

Yes, it's true, I despise politics. In a family of History and Poli Sci majors, I suppose this is some kind of blaspheme. But I do and will continue to unless the tone of the discourse changes. I hate the politics that claim that overly cordial or ingeniuously angry people discussing "issues" is true debate. For a further treatment of this, just listen to John Stewart skewer the Crossfire guys to their faces.
I hate the politics that force John Kerry to change his language. (I won't deal with whether or not he changes his message.) During primary season, Kerry granted an interview with Rolling Stone--an interview which, in an obviously political move, the magazine has since taken out of its online archives. This was before Howard Dean's campaign imploded and Kerry bent the primaries over. Several questions were asked of him, including his thoughts on Bush's dealings with Iraq. He vaguely outlines what he would have done, and then says flat out that he would not have voted to give Bush the powers he did had he known how the President would "fuck up." Compare that with the political gobbledegook in his latest interview with the magazine, as they toss up creampuff after creampuff. Now, I understand that "vulgar" language like that in his first interview may not be the best to use to win a campaign, but to repeat party lines over and over rather than answer interviewers concisely and emphatically speaks to politician's perception of the public as bumbling, no-memory idiots.
I don't mean to bemoan the democracy we live in or imply that there is something fundamentally wrong with it. Rather, I believe in the importance of the issues themselves. The easiest way to see this was during and after the presidential debates. The candidates mostly stayed on topic when direct questions were posed to them, and sometimes they had concise, legitimate solutions to problems they were asked about. It was not an argument in that they were trying to convince their opponent--as many people believe they should--but rather they displayed their plans for the nation and hoped that the public would side with them. Then afterrward, all the media wishes to talk about is who "argued better" or "looked more comfortable" and "brought up more talking points," rather than discussing the feasability of and rationale behind the candidates' platforms.
So where's this leave me? Well, hopefully it leads me off the mailing lists of the savage political humor emails circulating, (has a political cartoon ever changed a swing voter's mind?) and in debates on the actual issues of our day with some other well-spoken people.

Break Time (woo?)

2004-10-23T00:02:00.000-04:00

Off to fall break. It’s hard to feel like there’s a need for a break when the first 6 weeks of school have felt like summer camp. Not that I’ve been to summer camp since I was 9, but I feel like this is what it would be. The past week especially, when I came home from practice, dinner, or study hall each night and watched baseball until at least midnight. I usually didn’t have much homework but rather than go to sleep I’d lounge around and either play pool, hang out with the hall mates, or IM people in time zones where baseball games end at more reasonable hours.
More about this camp(y?) atmosphere though. I get to sleep in almost every day, since I only have 9am classes twice a week. The majority of us have bunkmates (roommates). Some of us are lucky and there was never an argument about who gets top bunk (who gets to sleep near the window?) and we’ve gotten along very well so far. There are others who were not so lucky, and their bunkmate got the top rickety bunk and is a restless sleeper. (Beds make noise sometimes. You do the math.)
Then there are all these little activities (classes) during the day. There’s arts and crafts—lab. Usually that’s pretty cool, until you finish your lanyard, put it on, and realize it irritates your skin to no end. There are the open discussions and mad-libs sessions (recitation) which can also be pretty cool. But these often get ruined by that kid that wants to put “dookie” in as a verb (TA’s pet). There’s some sports during the day too (football), but that’s really only fun when you play against other cabins (game days). There are always a bunch of jocks (everyone else on the team) and the lesser athletes (snappers and kickers) just sit on the side like “girlie men” and watch and tell jokes. And don’t forget about story time (lecture) when we all fall asleep and get our best rest because the grass around the campfire (auditorium chairs) are infinitely more comfortable than our beds.
The most obvious parallel is the food. Unfortunately I still haven’t found where the bug juice is in 1920 Commons, but I’m working on it. But more than the merits of grade C beef, the schedule is so different than the real world. Restaurants don’t close from 10-11 to change from breakfast to lunch, and they definitely don’t mind if you want to come around for 2 dinners. Sure, some of us have food and other goodies stashed under our bed (in mini-fridges) from our parents (from our parents), but not all of us.*
So now that I’ve carried this allegory as far as I legitimately can, it’s time to decide what to do with my break. Since I’m on the train to New York Penn Station (which, coming from Philadelphia, is rather funny) I guess I’m going to see Uncle Lee and family (wow, Corey and Hannah are 11 and 14, I’m feeling like the elder statesman I am at the kid table) in New Jersey. But is this a vacation when I should go around and do stuff, or is it just another weekend, this one in Montclair instead of at Camp JewPenn, when I just lounge around, sleep, maybe get some homework done, but maybe not?

Unfortunately, Affleck Remains Alive

2004-10-21T01:58:00.000-04:00

As mentioned last night, I [heart] Doug Mientkiewicz. OK, not really. But it's still fun to spell his name (it's up there with Grudzielanek) and while everyone else swoons over Captain Caveman (aka Johnny is My Homeboy), Manny "Alberto Einstein" Ramirez and Pedro "Who's My Daddy?" Martinez, I'll take the gold glover at first base.
There's insanity here, and I can't imagine being in Beantown right now. As it is there were a couple dozen of us in the Ware Cafe watching the game (maybe 2 or 3 Yankees fans were there and conspicuously silent), and after the game a couple hundred were running around the quad yelling variations on "Yankees suck", "ARod Blows", "Jeter Swallows", and "Go Cubs!" OK, the last one was mine, but you can't blame me for trying. And upon signing onto IM in the middle of the game, several people remarked to me that this is either a) this would have to be "This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse" in Sports Illustrated, or b) they could hear the Four Horsemen riding toward the east coast.
The best part of this week has been the insane lack of sleep. It's been 43 innings in 4 days, probably near 20 hours, and no one has gone to sleep early. It's such a problem the New York Times had to analyze it. But now it's over and we're left with... with... well, Boston awaiting the winnner of St. Louis vs. Houston.
Yes, two NL central teams not from da city of da big shoulders and a certain team who shall remain...Da Bea--I mean, the Cubs. So who's it gonna be? I don't really care, as long as the Red Sox don't break their curse this year. (It's not that I don't want them to win, just not before the Cubs.) If it's St. Louis, it's one of the greatest offensive lineups ever, a classy city, and an All-Red (as Jon Hasman pointed out, All-Commie) World Series. If it's Houston, it's Clemens vs. Boston, Bush against Kerry, and the hoity-toity northeast against Cocky Don't Mess With Texas. Should be good either way.
**Today's title is from The Sportspickle's endless mocking of Ben Affleck.

SWM Looking for 3 More Hours in the Day

2004-10-19T22:31:00.000-04:00

For a little while now, Pontiac has run commercials describing their product as “fuel for the soul.” It’s clever, it’s a good slogan, and to the car-nuts out there, it might just be true. But for the rest of us, it presents the question: what fuels us? In the past week, I’ve learned a lot about my drive and that of those around me.
Physically, it is painfully obvious right now (as I struggle mightily against the ever-increasing weight of my eyelids during another pointless study hall session) that I run on sleep. Food is good, sports are interesting, sex would be nice, but without sleep I am nothing. The problem is, my body still has not adjusted to the Student Standard Time Zone, where days run from 10am to 1am. I’m left napping in the library at lunchtime, napping for 2 innings during the Boston-New York game, all so that I might make it through Chemistry without napping. I can’t even blame procrastination (most of the time—I’m a sucker for playoff baseball, what can I say) for my problems. I do work Friday nights so that I might go out for a couple hours Saturday night and still get up early enough (read: noon) Sunday that I won’t be entering the week with a sleep deficit. One 6 hour night and suddenly I’m screwed until the weekend, and my weekend is thus lamer than Princeton…all the time.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the extra time I spend with my thoughts as I try to fall asleep, but either way I’ve begun to notice the habits of those around me, for better or worse. The largest difference I’ve come across has been that of clutter, of both the physical and mental variety. They, like knowledge of the speed and location of a subatomic particle at the same time, are mutually exclusive (hooray for the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle). There are those who need no organization to their surroundings, for their minds are as wide open and clearly marked as the Interstate system. Walk into their dorm rooms and at first you fear to tread—there are clothes, books, papers, foodstuffs everywhere—but fear not, for the owners of these rooms will trample their belongings all day but never lose a scrap of paper. Go next door now, see the immaculate room, with all texts vertical in a bookcase, sorted by subject, with everything else organized and cross referenced to the verge of anal-retentivity (it DOES have a hyphen!). You feel welcome here, it’s homely, the bed is made; sit on it. Its owner doesn’t mind the company, though inside he’s shitting his pants because you’re throwing him off, talking to him about stuff which, while very interesting, isn’t helping him do his homework. Just know that as soon as you leave, odds are he’ll forget (he’s sorry) and remake his bed. It’s his nature, for he has enough mental clutter for the both of you, and needs to keep the physical clutter under control to keep his sanity.

As mentioned earlier, I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep due to the saga that is the Sawx-Yanks ALCS. The insanity has only increased over the course of the series, though I get the feeling that they’re just trying to top last year’s madness by playing longer games, still setting up for the epic game 7 collapse. Fortunately, I know I’m not the only one that’s developed a mild case of Tourette’s to go with the insanity. As evidence, I present you excerpts from my IM conversation with Amy Cordell last night, who’s at BU:
Corkbatt: i [heart] doug mientkiewicz [as he comes up to bat with Ortiz on 1st]
acordell11: ohh here we go
acordell11: come on
Corkbatt: jesus what the fuck [as Ortiz—the house—tries to steal 2^nd]
acordell11: FUCK [as Ortiz is beaten to the bag by a horrible throw]
Corkbatt: he never tagged him! [replays show Ortiz was clearly safe...shoulda been his first SB ever, including little league.]
Corkbatt: BAD CALL
acordell11: fuck fuck fuck
Corkbatt: BOOO!!!!
Corkbatt: BULLSHIT
Corkbatt: BULLSHIT
Corkbatt: BULLSHIT
acordell11: asiofdgh alksjgh alksjdgfh akdsjfh aklsjfh dsalkjf
Corkbatt: OYW
Corkbatt: oye
acordell11: fuck fuc kfuck
-------------------------------------
acordell11: yeah well this sicusklf [It’s the bottom of the 13^th and there’s no end in sight.]
acordell11: agidfjghkghas
Corkbatt: fuck
acordell11: oh god
Corkbatt: do we sing take me out to the ballgame again? [as game heads into the 14^th inning]
Corkbatt: phew
acordell11: hahahahhhha

Eeek!on and Krzyzewskiville North

2004-10-13T01:21:00.000-04:00

I apologize. I'm going to try to fit 3 days worth of blogging into one late night (early morning?) session. Just know that it's been a prolific three days.
SUNDAY
Alcohol is for wimps. All you need is a headband. Preferably orange and blue, cocked, angled, and upside down. Or at least that's all I need. Because roundabout 10:30 Sunday night while I was doing my homework, switching from thinking cap to thinking cap, when I happened upon said headband in my desk drawer. I put it on and was unsane the rest of the night. Two things happened which are worth noting. One, I was contagious. Within a half an hour my entire hall had ceased to do work and was congregating in Ashley and Raisa's room waiting for the Econ Scream. Second of all, there was no reason for me to do half of what I did, but it didn't hurt anyone and was so anti- normal it was fun. Highlights included me trying to get a "Yankees suck" chant going at the Econ Scream in vain, James Bond-style "escapes" from Wilson first floor, mad rapping like Whoa (Big Pimpin, Grindin, BOB, all the classics). All for no reason.
By now you're wondering what the Econ Scream is. Well. Monday night was the first Econ 1 Midterm. So at midnight the night before it, everyone in the class (and many who are not) gets together on the Junior Balcony (right below my hall) and screams. It's a study break, it's a chance to vent, it's a nutty tradition. But people get into it, including the 3 streakers across the quad, including one on crutches. Word to the wise: if you're streaking on crutches, you will be caught.
MONDAY
Ho-hum, we beat Widener in football, I had a couple snaps, all of the quality variety. Pennpower.
TUESDAY
Time to showcase another of our wack traditions, this one being of the athletic variety. Our basketball team is good. (Puck Frinceton, we're winning the Ivy this year.) The Palestra is classic. Put them together, tickets are in short supply. What's the fairest way to distribute them? Here's an idea: Let's post a place to go on the pennathletics.com at a random time and have people run their asses off to get there. First come, first serve. Good way to get Ivy Leaguers some excercise. This year they posted the Location (the P on the turf of Franklin Field) at 11pm tonight. Franklin Field is at 33rd St. My room is at 37th. Between the time I refreshed the website and found out where to go and Raph calling me as I ran through the gates onto the field, 2 minutes. If that's not spectacular Jewish speed (see, I AM related to my father) I don't know what is. The run paid off, as I am #65 (whoa, my jersey number in football...) in line for tickets. That's right, I will be making D-I athletes cry all winter long from right behind the basket (probably, I choose my seats Saturday night, after staying in the Palestra overnight Friday).

Perpendicular Construction

2004-10-08T01:07:00.000-04:00

I think Jack Weatherford has some serious ADD. Maybe his editor doesn't mind inane tangents. Either way, it makes The History of Money aggrevating to read. Don't let the title fool you. It's not about money. It's random snippets from history, including brief references to money at the time. It's also mocking of the Greek Philosopical Trinity (note Caps) of Plato, Aristotle, and Socrates. It's also blatantly pro-Christian. Not that I'm anti-Christian, but noting that Rome's economy was berserk just like Roman society, where "the bizarre entertainments of the Colosseum and the persecution of the Christians seemed normal." is disconcerting, because isn't Fox's latest "man vs. beast" spectacle bizarre, and when is the persecution of anybody "normal"? I think this is one of those times when you just gotta say, "What the fuck?"
In this same chapter, (which is titled "The Premature Death of Money" and talks about how money fell along with the Roman Empire) let's examine a typical paragraph:

As Patroness of the state, Juno Moneta presided over various activities of the state, including the primary activity of issuing money. In 269 BC [note no E, I'm gonna go out on a limb and say he's down with G-O-D] the Romans introduced a new silver coin, the denarius, which they manufactured in the temple of Juno Moneta. The coin bore the image of the goddess and her surname, Moneta. From her first name, Juno, comes the name of the month Junonius, or June, the most auspicious month for marriage. Also from Moneta came the modern English words mint and money and, ultimately from the Latin meaning warning.

There's one thing and one thing only that this reminds me of: When Bart Simpson gives a presentation on Iraq for the model UN, he says that their crops include corn, "which the Indians call maize." It's just such a horrible aside that it's painfully (or in Bart's case hilariously) obvious that the presenter has no idea about the topic.
OK, I'm done ranting for now, though I'll contine to hate it throughout the semester, as this is one of the main books for my "Meaning of Money" seminar. Notice how nice it was to read this post, since it STAYED ON TOPIC? You're welcome.

Ignoring Split Infinitives, They're Going Boldly.

2004-10-04T21:44:00.000-04:00

I hope this is not the first (or the last) you hear about the X-Prize. But in case the networks glossed over this (like they do so over so many major scientific events) or you didn't go onto google today (they've dressed up the logo accordingly, like they do at major holidays--they have a sense of perspective,) I'll help you out. In May of 1996, this group in St. Louis started the project with the goal of galvanizing the private space sector the same way the Orteig Prize and Charles Lindbergh's ensuing flight helped to open the skies to commercial airlines. The contest is simple: $10Million to the first privately funded team that can take some sort of an aircraft that can hold at least 3 passengers 100km (62 miles, generally recognized as the limit of space) above Earth's surface, land safely, and make the same trip in under 2 weeks.
As tremendous as this is, there's a footnote to this type of space travel. When SS1 (the craft, officially Mojave Aerospace Ventures, LLC's entry SpaceShipOne) flew to over 360,000 feet (over 68 miles) today, they broke a 41 year-old record. Yes, do the math, and you realize that the US, in 1963, sent the X-15 (the great-great-nephew of Chuck Yeager's X-1) to space the same way SS1 got there. I'm not going to bash NASA and their amazing achievements, but it deserves mentioning that the United States of America had similar technology over 4 decades ago, scrapped it, and only now are we getting back to it, and only because of private interests. And you thought private interests were all bad...
So, congratulations to Pilot (capital P) Brian Binney and all of MAV, and hopefully these were the first two in what will be many private space flights. After I make my first few million dollars, hopefully the price will come down and I'll light a fire under my ass (literally).

Miles and Miles of Miles and Miles

2004-10-01T22:35:00.000-04:00

Libraries are intense. Or, more specifically, The Van Pelt-Dietrich Library is intense. But allow me to attempt to help you grasp the scale of this place.
First of all, it's not ugly. It's neither a large Rock, nor is it actually UGLI (as all students are allowed in). Instead, it's two buildings fused together to create this mammoth thing. From the outside it looks like about a 4 story building, rather nondescript, and would be just another college building if it didn't have The Button in front of it. Except it's not. It's actually about 6 floors, and everything above 2 is stacks.
Stack after glorious, mind-bending stack. Filled to the rafters, aisles barely large enough for a football player to navigate in both directions, and so perfectly long, straight, and uninterrupted that I could actually perceive the "vanishing point" I learned about back in Art 2-D when we did perspective stuff. What adds to the intimidation of this statement of a building is how it's organized. No, not just the simple Dewey Decimal System or even just the Library of Congress Call Numbers, but a combination of both and more than a dozen other "special" catagories. I think I passed one of these on the trek from 4 East to 4 West (if you think walking in a straight line for that long is easy, thing again.) There were at least 4 consecutive stacks (both sides of 4 rows, 2 aisles wide) of books. In Chinese. I'm sure there was a stack of Sanskrit somewhere, and when I get the chance I plan on finding it.
During my still brief time on campus, I've heard people talk about going to the library to study, and even Noah (my roomate, if you haven't been keeping up) goes there when he's not playing poker. Only after wandering around the 4th and 5th floors did I begin to understand their understatement. Walk a little way in any direction and I'd find a little (or not-so-little) oasis, a place where at 5'11" I could see farther than 8 inches in all directions, where books were not gathering dust and where--shockingly--there were other people, calmly sitting in leather chairs, knowing full well that if a SWAT team entered the building looking for them they'd have enough time to escape unnoticed without MacGuyvering a rope out of bindings and rapelling down the library's facade.
I don't write this because I'm in awe of libraries. ("Whoa, you mean people have actually read these books?") But rather, like seeing the Pacific Ocean, Michigan Stadium, or the Aurora Borealis (which I haven't seen but I feel like it's gotta be similar) for the first time in person, the only adequate response is a Neo-esque "...Whoa..." So, after digesting my whoa for a day, I write this.

Hurricane Ditka

2004-09-29T01:17:00.000-04:00

Hopefully you know the joke that goes with the punchline that is today's title. The more important question (yes, there's more to life than pondering Ditka's Omniscience) is who wins in a fight: UPenn or Hurricane Jeanne. Well, if today's any indication, tally one for the windy bitch. Let's tally the damage, shall we? The College Green is now college brown, as it's all swampy. Half the football froshes came in to study hall tonite drenched despite wearing some get-up involving underarmour, umbrellas, galoshes, plastic garbage bags, or some such combination. I know of or saw at least 4 cars which either started floating or were trapped on 33rd St. There's over a foot of standing water outside of Hill, and an inch in the dining hall. And the creme-de-la-creme, Alison (along with all the other residents of the Speakman and Butcher basements) are at the Sheraton tonight because there are several inches of water in their dorm rooms.
Aside from the whole "sucks to be them" thing, I personally enjoyed the rain today. It's always interesting how when it first starts to rain--and not just spit from the sky--dozens of umbrellas open on the same sidewalk in unison. I don't know if it's peer pressure or we're all just wired so similarly that we have the same tolerance for being rained on, but it's fun to see either way. Or the feeling of being so thoroughly drenched (like I was walking the 5 blocks from the David Rittenhouse Lab through the College Brown back to the quad) that an umbrella is more useful as protection from puddles than from rain. I know I'm a nerd, but feeling diffusion in action when only the cuffs of your jeans get wet, but in the 5 minutes it takes you to get to your rom and change, the waterline moves halfway up your thight. But the best feeling of all is when, despite the insane moisture (the essence of wetness), you can open your backpack, and pull your dry books (and calculator, computer, etc) out and marvel at the wonder of waterproofing.
So what have we learned today? College football stops for no man (or bolt of lightning), water is cool until there's too much of it, and umbrellas are useless in the fight against horizontal rain.

The Nod

2004-09-27T22:46:00.000-04:00

I thought the Nod was an international thing. Or if not a international, at least a thing among more than just Evanstonians. I'm sure you've seen or been a part of the Nod. There are two types, both very simple, but subtly different. There's the Nod Down, which is a simple hello, good to see you, see you later, end of conversation, often silent. There's also the Nod Up, which is much more friendly, and is often accompanied with a "sup" or "hey". This is usually a precursor to a conversation. It's also how you say hello to someone when you're walking toward them but haven't reached them. It negates the need for a handshake, because it immediately implies a personal relationship.
I don't have anything against the handshake, I just believe that, especially among peers, it's overrated. During high school and college especially, unless it's an awesomely complicated slap-snap-shoot-pound shake, it's unnecessary. I suppose that's a midwestern thing though, because the nod, and the good shakes are sorely lacking in these parts. Here there's a full nod (up and down), followed by a "hey" or even--gasp--a "hi" and a traditional handshake. I understand a lot of students are in Wharton and practicing to be CEOs and all that professional stuff, but c'mon. We're only 18-24 (the age bracket the officially defines cool) once.

Student Body Left

2004-09-25T22:42:00.000-04:00

Villanova 16, UPenn 13. It was rough, then it was glorious, then it was over, then it wasn't, then it was almost Cal-Stanford, then it was really over. {with apologies to Kurt Vonnegut, here goes} First loss in a couple years. So it goes. First loss at home in Franklin Field in a while. So it goes. Another loss to Villanova, we're still 0-since-1911. So it goes. We had a couple field goals blocked in the first half, and then one clanged off the upright, 9 points lost. So it goes.
Yes, the loss has me upset and sad and all, but I can get over that. There's the JV game Monday, and the Ivy season starts next Saturday against Dartmouth, so there's a lot to look forward too, not to mention the fact that Nova is ranked #11 in I-AA. What has me upset, and more accurately disillusioned, is the environment for the game. Franklin Field seats over 55,000, so while it's not the Big House (nothing is), if filled it would be a cozy place for us, and potentially hell for our opponents. But that'll never happen. It was a "big crowd" today--of 16,502. Evanston-NT could draw half that, and before you consider that incomparable, remember that Philly is a city of 1.5 million and Penn and Nova are two of the Big Five, so let's consider them to draw the hearts and minds of 600,000 people. The Evanston and New Trier townships however do not even combine for 200,000. The numbers just don't add up.
I'll admit that it is a non-conference game, and it is Saturday night, and get over it. But if I'm ok with the loss and the small crowd, I'm still not ok with our student section. I think they were over by the band, but I'm not sure, because they weren't standing like a normal student section. I didn't hear them much either, because they weren't cheering like a normal student section either. The only reason I'm pretty sure of where they were sitting is because they all seemed to leave after throwing toast at the end of the third quarter, (thus missing all 13 of our points and a very exciting finish,) a very juvenile, downright high-schoolish thing to do.

"I Ain't Yo' Play Toy!"

2004-09-22T22:28:00.000-04:00

They made a big deal during NSO about how everyone here at UPenn came from good schools and were probably among the tops in their class, and how we shouldn’t PMS when we don’t score above 98% on everything we do. I’m cool with that. Shit, I didn’t even score above 98% in Illinois standardized testing. But when it’s assumed that I won’t do well and preemptive action must be taken to save me that I have a problem. And that’s exactly what the football team—yeah, the football team—is doing right now. I’m sitting here in a room in the Nursing school with the other 40-or-so freshmen football players in a study hall. Yes, an old fashioned, high-school-esque study hall. Proctor, silence and all. It’s brutal.
Actually, scrap that, it’s not a high school study hall. No, this one has computers (though if I want on to the internet I have to sign out and go to the computer lab. I haven’t gone but I’m going to assume there are no dragon ladies.) It also has comfortable chairs, which is good, because I’m here for two and a half hours. Yep, that’s a 150 minute study hall if you don’t want to do the math. And, like most other classes in college, I don’t have this every day. No, I just have to be here from 7:30 to 10 every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. To add insult to injury, the Cubs are playing right now. Not only are they playing, but they’re on ESPN2, my first chance since I left Evanston (wow, three weeks, definitely the longest I’ve gone without seeing them since pre-1998) I’ve known since yesterday that they’d be on tonight, and had done homework accordingly. I only have about 10 pages to read for my seminar, but that was going to wait until 10:30, or whenever the Cubs disposed of the Pirates.
This study hall is no one time deal, either. It’s every week of the season. And then, during spring football second semester, I need only come once a week—if I have a GPA above 3.5. As far as I know, there are no other froshes in SEAS, so while everyone else has a chance to get out of a couple days of study hall, I am virtually guaranteed to have plans through the middle of my week the rest of the year.
Maybe this is some kind of weird team bonding experience. We all sweat together and become closer, and then go off and cram together and become a single unit. Oh wait, scrap that. Half of us have headphones jacked into our computers and are oblivious to those around us. This is just plain ridiculous. I need to get some good games on this comp… for now, FreeCell for now, FreeCell and Pinball will have to do the trick.

*Today's title is a shout out to Ms. Burts, the most hilarious study hall teacher at ETHS. And yes, I wrote this at study hall and posted when I got home.

Shanah Tovah, 5765

2004-09-15T22:55:00.000-04:00

I didn't even realize it when I posted last, but today really drove the "JewPenn" point home. After all, it's Rosh Hashanah, and a good portion of the student body will be at Hillel tonight or tomorrow. I don't see myself being among them. Nevertheless, I do have some things to say on the topic.
It's fitting that the new year comes so early in the solar calendar this year, coinciding closely with the start of the school year, my life in Philly, and my higher education career. Lots of new beginnings. A simple shechecheyanu here might suffice, but I doubt it. Hebrew, although I can read it (understanding what I'm reading is another story, and this is probably an important point,) has never done it for me as anything more than a symbol. Nevertheless, I feel it's a powerful symbol. Especially being a reform Jew, where I didn't grow up speaking it, where it was a challenge to learn enough to read from the Torah at my Bar Mitzvah, hebrew takes on an added significance. It's what connects me to the rest of my religion. Not ideas, because obviously every sect, and even every individual Jew has different opinions regarding most of the tenets of our religion. (Keep in mind the joke of the 2 Jews that started a town and were discussing where to build their temples and how they would observe. Finally they agreed to each build their own, and they'd both boycott the third.)
Additionally, the new year is about fresh starts--celebrate the coming year, atone for last year, move on. And that's what I've gotten here in Philadelphia. (I won't deal with the whole "brotherly love" cliche, since it's Greek and the Jews and Greeks tend to be combustible in combination.) I've been keeping in touch with a lot of people from back home--though they're no longer back home, but rather working on their futures at college--and I keep on hearing a similar story. Everyone's hanging out with other EUnits. Not that they're not making friends, they're just incorporating more and more people into their already steady group of friends who are at school with them. And with every story I hear and every one I tell, I'm more and more thankful that there's no one else here from back home. Not that I don't miss every single one of you--trust me, I do, and not just because I get weird looks here when I blast Kanye West--but there's something to be said for a brand-spanking-new group of friends, and maybe more imporatantly, acquaintances.
Acquaintances. That's funny. One of the things I heard as I left ETHS was that the one thing I would miss would be the acquaintances. The people you don't hang out with on weekends, that you might not have a class with, but whom you nod to in the hallway (that nod doesn't seem to exist here, I'll expound on whether I think it's because it's college now or because I'm in Philly now later) and if you sat down next to them at an assembly or something else, you could have a perfectly pleasant conversation. And while I do miss the ones I had back in Illinois, I make new ones here everyday. The people who know someone you know, live near you, or just have a class with you. The Acquaintances are the people that make it a small world (yes, I'm borrowing from Malcolm Gladwell and Six Degrees again, so sue me,) and Penn, despite being over 9000 strong undergrad, is still very much a small world.
That's a s good a segue as any back to the start of all this. Penn is a small world, albeit an odd one where Jews are a plurality (we have zero WASPs in our hall, but if you add up the halves, wholes, and honoraries, we have 4 Jews.) And in all of this, rather than feel more Jewish than ever, I don't. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I feel like less of Jew now that I'm here, but there hasn't been any heightened spirituality or religious zeal. And as for Yom Kippur, don't worry, the football game is a home game, but it's not until 7pm--after sundown--so I can fast, eat, and be on the field--even if there is zero chance of me playing.

Ready for Week 3 at JewPenn.

2004-09-14T22:30:00.000-04:00

Wow. I've been here for 2 weeks, and have successfully managed a week of classes. I feel special, and not just because I'm a long snapper. Speaking of which, I was in pads for the first time today. It was weird for a couple of reasons. 1, I haven't been in pads in over 10 months. But like Hipp (Adam this time) filled me in last nite, "It's like riding a bike buddy." And he's right. It only took about 5 minutes to tweak my snapping to fit into my pads (which are the smallest pair I've ever had,) and when we got into the tackling circuit I was able to bring about as well as ever (which is not that well, considering my 5 lifetime tackles.) And, if my yellow (like a kicker, but #99D. The D is for duplicate, because there's already someone--who actually gets in games) practice jersey number is right, I already have the cheesy line to go with the "hello, I'm a football player" line: last on your scorecard, #1 in your heart. Yeah, you know it's true.
So classes. I got lucky with football, in that they didn't try to completely rearrange my schedule. All I had to do was move a chem lab lecture from Thursday to Friday (yeah, it means I don't finish classes on friday until 5, but with practices running until 6 usually, I'll deal.) I didn't get so lucky with math. I was hoping to pass out of Math 114, because the description reads like MV calc in high school. It's not. There are 2nd order differential equations involved, and I don't know how to deal with those yet. So I'm stuck with a Russian prof and an Indian TA, neither of which I understand, and neither of whom makes class very interesting. As I've said before, Phys, Chem, and "The Meaning of Money," my writing seminar, are all good times. I've already read some Adam Smith and Karl Marx, which is a fun exercise after debating their ideas last spring in econ.
Ah, and an update for any of you concerned about my baseballing future: tryouts are actually tomorrow. I don't expect much, but I didn't expect much when I went to football, either. But even if I don't make it, i have people to live vicariously through: Stephen (a lefty self-proclaimed Rick Ankiel from south Jersey, he's all over the Eagles & Michael Westbrook's nuts) is trying out, and if they're willing to keep 2 big lefties (Terry Francona's son being the other) he'll make the squad. And also I think I should send out a MASSIVE shout out to DANIEL J. SOLTMAN who's made the Yale baseball team and has the fall to impress the coaches enough for them to keep him for the spring. As much as it would pain me to have him make the squad and terrorize the Quakers, if you know him you know it's impossible to root against him.
I also had a nice little Chicagoan moment today. After having to explain words like "Swol", "Treated", et. al. to people since arriving, Amy Inlander was psyched that I used the word "raw" when I wished her a happy birthday. (which you should do too, even if it's a little belated by the time you read this.) So, just to get my fix: this weekend is finna be ill, featuring some raw juking while the football team crosses coasts and treats the shit out of the USD toreros. eeee.

The Golden Age

2004-09-13T13:29:00.000-04:00

Breathing is hard in confined spaces, and I'm not even claustrophobic. But when the world around me wants to pile so much on that I become trapped in my ways, (even if I'm not set in them,) it's time to come up for air. Shit doesn't always work out, but I know from firsthand experience that curling up into the fetal position every time shit tries to go astray, makes everything hopeless. And so I'm going to try to face the day. In high school I found that life revolved around three things: Academics, Athletics, and the social life, and as I did more of one, another suffered. If you know me at all from that time, you can guess what I concentrated on, and what I let slip through the cracks. I heard a similar axiom during orientation at Penn, that college is classes, partying, and sleep, but you can't do all three. Thus far, I'd have to agree. But add athletics, as I have, to one side of the eqauation, and it doesn't take a math major (or even a possible math minor like me) to figure out that something's got to give. And tomorrow, something's going to give.
Now, we all have coping mechanisms. For some people they're subconscious, for others they're completely aware of they're actions in unusual circumstances. File me in the latter. When I'm nervous I laugh, when I'm intimidated I act stupidly, when I'm overwhelmed I try to shut myself off from the world. (As a side note, I know for a fact that I did this in high school and hurt people in doing so. If you count yourself among those so affected, I apologize.) Notice though, that nowhere in there is crying listed. I'm generally not a crier. About as far back as I can remember, the only major breakdown I've had over something that could be defended as "worth crying about" was this past June. Riding home after losing to Notre Dame in Solty's Volvo, I could no longer cope. I didn't all out bawl, but I had my hat pulled down over my eyes, couldn't talk, and as soon as I walked in the house I found my way onto the basement couch (the site of countless early-afternoon pregame naps) and didn't move for a good long time. When I lost it then, I lost it over the fact that I had just played the last meaningful game with the guys I grew up with, that it was the Sentinal of Childhood's End. Now, as I realize that maybe that was my last game for a very long time, I know I'll be having a rough go of it the next few days.
What? Didn't follow that? I know it was a rather long jump there, so allow me to fill in the gaps. I'm on the football team. I won't travel with the team, but it means I will dress for home games at Franklin Field. It also means that I'll be at practice everyday until the season is over in November. In high school, playing football and baseball was no sweat. I'd play football as long as the season went, and as soon as it was over and I was healthy again, I'd have 9 months (usually November-July) to play baseball. Not so much here. Baseball tryouts are later today. When, I'm not sure yet, but I'll find out soon enough. But no matter when they are, I probably won't be at them. I have classes all day until 3, and then the exam to pass out of math 114 from 4-6. Like I said before, the end of an era.
This is my problem, and I expect no help in the matter. I understand that tomorrow's actions will shape my future, and not in the same proverbial way as any other day. I understand the work, thought, and love I've poured into this game more than anyone else. With the help of a friend, I've come to realize that "There are two things that are pure in life: the Heart and the Game." (Smart beyond his years, that young Hipp is.) And considering the state of my heart (precarious at best), losing the Game is a big deal. I've heard and would like to belieave that college is about figuring out what path to tread in life, and that search often includes making mistakes.
While this may not turn out to be a mistake, it sure as hell feels like one now.

Attention: Bragging Ahead

2004-09-09T20:03:00.000-04:00

"He's got the art."
As a Penngineer, this is not the compliment I would have ever expected to get before the end of a week of classes. But that's the compliment Coach Bagnoli paid me today after seeing me snap. Needless to say, I'm now a Penn Football Player. What exactly this entails, I don't know yet. What I do know so far:
There were 5 of us trying to walk on. Alex (who I met yesterday when we went to have a musculoskeletal exam) from St. Louis who's also in MEAM, a soph who wrestled last year named Matt, another freshman named Lance, and I'm sorry but I can't remember the 5th guys name. So after we got a chance to stretch and they put us through some flex stuff, they ran us over the bags. If you don't know what that is, it's where they put this soft blocks on the ground that you have to run, slide, hope over or around. So then Bagnoli (who, besdies being the head coach is also in charge of special teams) took me over to make some punt snaps. At this point I started shitting myself. First off, it's been raining on and off all day, so I'm not sure what kind of grip I'd be able to get. Then, before we started into the flex stuff, I got a chance to snap a bit, and either wouldn't get it 14 yards or it would be wobbly and slow. I got over it and managed to snap 2 beautiful balls back (which I'm sure at least one broke .8), at which point Bagnoli had seen enough and gave me the OK.
So then we had to go to an NCAA eligibility meeting, which proved once and for all how much of a slave driver they are. I signed an agreement to not gamble (including fantasy leagues), smoke, take banned substances, or take money even remotely involved with me doing athletics unless I get OKd by the University or NCAA first. After that it was on to dinner, and now I'm back but we're gonna watch the NFL kickoff in a bit. It's one big football day for me.
I see only 2 big problems with all of this. First, I have to be careful I don't get a repeat of high school, when it was athletics, academics, and fuck the rest (i.e. social life). Second, I have to meet with the football academic advisor and completely change up my schedule so that I can get out to practice on time every day (2pm meetings, 3:30 practice). This will be a challenge, since no matter what section of Physics 150 and Chem 101 I take, there are 5pm and 4pm lab lectures, respectively, and my writing seminar meets at 2pm thrice weekly for an hour, and there are no other interesting seminars that are still open. We'll see what happens.

That's it, That's all

2004-09-07T09:59:00.000-04:00

Well, it's official. I know why I'm here. Or at least when my relatives ask me I have an answer that'll satisfy them. This morning I went to Towne 111 (Engineering HQ) and changed from CD (Curriculum Deferred, a nice way of saying "I have no fuckin idea what I'm doing, I just know that me and the arts don't get along so I'm in engineering) to MEAM. For those of you who are acronymaphobic, that's Mechanical Engineering and Applied Mechanics. Yes, in four years I'll be able to fix cars and wear light blue button down shirts with patches that say "Vito" or "Tony" or "Bruno".
No, not really, but I can dream (dream=nightmare) can't I? For a decision that is supposed to impact the rest of my life so drastically, it was ridiculously simple. After meeting with my CD faculty advisor and talking to him about it, I went back downstairs, told them my name, told them I wanted to change from CD to MEAM, and left. They change a few letters in my file on the computer, send an email to the appropriate authorities, and *poof* I'm in MechE.
Here's hoping the rest of college is this easy. But considering the mounds of books I have to go buy today, I doubt it.

ADRIAN!

2004-09-04T22:18:00.001-04:00

If you ever worried about the future of the world, please stop now. I have seen a glimpse of it, and there's little to worry about. There are those among us who may be petty, cynical, or superficial (or all of the above in some cases unfortunately), but they are the exceptions. At least they are here. Homer Simpson might procalim the hilarity of "nerds who don't know it," but we're nerds, we know it, and we revel in it.
We spent almost 4 hours last night talking about religion (Samir is Jain, Ashley's a Catholic School Girl--thus, as proven previously by the RHCP, she rules, QED--Betsy is "militant agnostic," and Sai and I secular jews), local slang (had to teach everyone about "swol", barrels, and the piece de resistance, "treated"), WarrenT, and movies (both Cult and Classic.) So that means we went to bed at 5am. Thus I had 3 hours of sleep when we went to the safety assembly (I thought I left security guards checking IDs and Chem/Phys back in Evanston, but apparently not) in Irvine Auditorium, where I promptly fell asleep.
And then today the university rented out the Philadelphia Art Museum (Rocky steps and all--I ran them like a baller) and we ate dinner outside looking east at downtown Philly (not an impressive skyline coming from Chicago, but the road from the library runs through a fountain smack into the capitol and it looks cool, I'll have pics at some point) and then had free run of the museum. And so we went around the Impresionist stuff (again, coming from Chicago it's not that impressive, but nice to mosey through the stuff anyway). And even those among us who are not arty-types and all were still capable of having coherent, intelligent conversations about what we were looking at and how it compares to what we've seen before. Proof again that, whether or not we like it, we can at least respect it. And that's important. There's something to be said here about our generation's ability (read: seeming impossiblity) to improve upon our parents generations and the gifts with which they've provided us, but that's a serious downer and something I think I'll save for when I'm depressed during the winter.
**Apologies if you don't like today's title, but having run the Rocky steps, I feel you should indulge me.

Hey, Hey the Gang's All Here

2004-09-03T20:49:00.001-04:00

"I didn't hear you say uno, I was describing my friend Brittany. I love Brittany"
"Then why don't you marry Brittney"
This was me to Betsy, who lives right above me, and who is in here right now playing uno with me, Samir (2 doors down) and Noah (the roomie). Who says college kids are mature? Certainly not me. The hall is awesome, we all get along (so far), despite the Haren's massive deuces in the bathroom and Warren's amp (fuck eleven, it goes up to 12). It's funny though. Noah and I obviously have a single that was pushed into a double. It's pretty damn crowded with just the two of us. And yet, everyone seems to come in here to hang out. As I type, there are 8 of us in this 9'x16' room right now. You do the math.
We've (as a hall, because we were all in the room) discussed why we all congregate here. Some say it's because we're centrally located. I think it's because we leave our door open and we always have some music playing (either my rap/rock/extremely-eclectic-whatnot or Noah's amazing jazz rock type stuff). Either way, it's really funny and crowded. So now we're deciding where to go, because it's ONLY 9 o'clock. Welcome to the college daylight savings time zone.

Exit Stage Right

2004-09-02T13:40:00.000-04:00

Ok, time to blog from the road. Ok, so not actually blogging, but rather typing it in the car and then posting later on. So right now we (my dad and I) just left lunch at the last rest stop in Ohio before we hit Pennsylvania. It’s 12:33 EST, so it would be kind of impressive that we’re almost in Pennsylvnia this early in the day, except that we left the house at 5am this morning (Chicago time).
The good news is that my dad and I don’t want to kill each other. Yet. There’s still time though, and I haven’t even started in with the rap playlist on my iPod. Since I really have nothing important to say, because (and politicians should take note of this) it’s impossible to help the world around you when you yourself are not stable. (I’m doin fine mentally, no massive breakdowns yet, I’m just still kinda zombiefied from insane lack of sleep.) So instead, I’m going to provide you all with the good stuff I’ve been awake enough to notice.
--Fangboner Road. I shit you not my friends, this road really exists, and 80/94 passes under it in Ohio. I’m sorry if you consider this immature, but I like saying Fangboner. Fangboner Fangboner Fangboner.
--Upon remarking about how well paved, marked, and laid out the expressway is through Ohio, my father used the term “snaps up.” Just let that sink in a moment. He’s not a mocha-sipping, poetry-writing Rastafarian. He’s my dad. And he wanted to give “snaps up” to Ohio’s department of transportation. I’m sure he’ll read this at some point, but that’s ok, he knows he dated himself.
--Truck drivers rock. I mean, they lug all the crap we need—and even the stuff we want that we have zero use for—all across this huge nation, and yet, when we’re out there sharing the road with them they’re perfectly amiable even though they could use it as their chance to exact revenge on us all.
--Despite popular belief, the roads around Chicago are not always bumper-to-bumper. At 5am on Wednesday morning it’s wide open from the junction to Comiskey.
--I’m not sure if the founding fathers decreed that Pennsylvania’s western border would be where all the fun rolling hills ended, but it sure seems that way. We’re now into Pennsylvania a dozen miles or so and it’s up and down through wooded hills, whereas Ohio, minus a few cornfields and rape shacks would be confused for Indiana, southern Illinois, Ohio, Iowa, Nebraska, etc.
--Oh wait, I take it back, I just passed a rape shack.
--Zelienople rest area. I’m stumped.
--Why do they make the semis that transport gasoline stop to fill up? Why can’t the just siphon enough off from the massive vat they’ve got hitched up into their tank? I understand that this means that gas stations wouldn’t get full shipments, but the shipments would get there faster, and thus, over an extended amount of time, siphoning into the tank from the trailor would likely be more efficient.
--I passed GOD on the road 3 times today. No, not that God, silly. Guaranteed Overnight Delivery.
Like I said, no amazing insight today. I’ll save it for tomorrow when I move in and do all that whatnot.

We Upgrade to Downsize You

2004-08-29T16:20:00.001-04:00

Music has always been a big part of my life. Not in the sense that I think musically (I'm no musical genius type person), but in the sense that I've always got a tune in my head. And luckily, I'm able to remember what song I was thinking about at some rather interesting points in my life, so it's almost like I've got a soundtrack to my life. Fortunately, I've got an iPod now, which only makes me that much more obsessed. I now have all 2060 songs from my family's CD library, my library, and the mp3s I've downloaded (shh!). I have playlists out the wazoo, everything from classical (no explanation needed) to Juke (which I hope will come in handy at UPenn) to Back in the Day (because sometimes it's nice to listen to Oasis, Green Day, and the Presidents of the USA back-to-back-to-back.)
All this is well and good, but the question is: Why do you care? Well, you might not. I really have no earth-shattering truths to reveal here. I mean, I do beleive that the music you listen to determines your attitude more than your attitude determines what music you listen to. And I do believe that pop cuture and ClearChannel are the spawn of the Earth. But all that will have to wait for a rant on another day. Today it is sunny, and I just found something new on the internet, and I'm taking this opportunity to share it with those who don't know about it, i.e. you.
What I know about that you should is this thing called AudioScrobbler. I only know about it courtesy of Dan Brunner's Blog (click on "The Peppermint Would" at right). But it's really pretty cool. You download this little file, it connects into your iTunes, and starts posting on the site what music you're listening to. Thus, if you like a certain kind of music (in my case rap) but don't have the connections to stay up to date on the good stuff, just search it for what songs are popular among the other users, and you've got a pretty good idea of what's good. And since this site isn't all that popular just yet, it's not overrun with little 11-year-old girls who only listen to Beyonce, Britney, and one (or worse yet both) of the Simpsons, and thus the popular songs and artists are generally good, worthwhile artists (such as Radiohead).
OK, that's it for today. Go forth and sign up, then let me know what your username is so I can find out about more cool music from you, because you, by reading this blog, are cool.
*Note: Today's title is from the song "Avengers" by the Perceptionists, Mr. Lif and Akrobatik. They've got a new album out, called The Razor, in honor of The New England Patriots and their home, Gilette Stadium.

Nerd Alert

2004-08-24T17:55:00.000-04:00

Be forewarned, my actions today shocked me in their stereotypicality (I plan on inventing at least 1 word per post from now on).
The last book I read was Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point, which I only came in contact with through the Penn Reading Project, where all '08 Quakers read the same book and then we talk about it during Orientation (which starts 8 days from now...whoa). thankfully, it was interesting, which isn't always the case with summer reading (i.e. Their Eyes Were Watching God). The main idea of his book is that there are social epidemics (in fashion, crime, literacy, etc) which act identically as disease epidemics, in that small changes to the environment can foster dramatic changes in the spread of the epidemic. It's a startling idea, and he obviously knows what he's talking about, though he sometimes tries too hard to drive home points and in doing so detracts from their power. The case studies that make up the 2nd half of the book are almost pointless, as they don't illuminate any new points, but rather serve as tedious reminders of points already explained in painful detail. It's still worth reading though.
Like I was saying, I haven't read anything since then. The rents tried to start me on Umberto Eco's The Name of the Rose, but afterr almost falling off the couch in the basement as I fell asleep, I decided I might want to save that for another time. And Mom's reading this like 1000 page book called Cryptonomichon (spelling?). At this point I don't have that kind of time, so that's not gonna happen either. But I still felt I should read something else before I depart for points east, whether it's mindless popcorn or some seriously deep shit. With that in mind, I went over to Barnes & Noble today. I wasn't completely sans-ideas, but I was open to finding something new. I've been trying to get my hands on Michael Lewis' Moneyball for a while now, but have been unsuccessful in doing so. So, I picked that up. Then I continued to peruse. Past Poetry (that's not summer reading), past mythology and folklore (I'll get to the Greeks later), past fiction and lit*, and finally to science. I ended up buying Mario Livio's The Golden Ratio.
Yes, as my summer ends, I'm reading about Baseball and Math/Science. While you might see this as masochistic to read alternately about something as fun and enjoyable as baseball and something as serious and strict as Φ, I see it as a good thing. I think it means that after all this time, I still want to read about two topics that hopefully will consume me for the next four years, and further proof that I'm ready to get outta here.
I'll let you know how both of these books turn out, though judging by it's bestseller status, my guess is Moneyball is worth reading.

*I have a problem with a lot of fiction, in that they try to be too real. A quick example--I'll post on this topic later-- Forrest Gump was "too real" because he supposedly interacted with presidents, set trends,etc. while Ellison's Invisible Man is not too real because, while the narrator was in a specific time and place in American history, he and the people he came in contact with were more ideas representing a type of person than they were actual or based-on-actual people.

Stay in Touch

2004-08-19T18:48:00.000-04:00

ttyl. For some reason, this ends IM conversations. Talk to you later? Doesn't that imply that we're talking now? And unless you're cool and have IM audio conversations, my guess is that no actual talking is going on. Admittedly, this is arguing semantics, and I don't mean to imply that I'm immune, because I ended IM conversations with my pen pal with ttyl despite never talking to or seeing her until last summer. Nonetheless, it brings up an interesting point. All the new modes of communication--email, texting, and most of all IM--have become integrated into our normal day, but we still talk about them and use them in old-fashioned ways. No matter how short the email, many people still format it like a formal business letter, and when we start IMs with "sup" we don't necessarily care what's up, we're just saying hello.
This brings me to a conversation I've had many times over the last week or so and will likely have many more times in the coming 2 weeks. The "see you later" convesation that was once the college goodbye. It was once a teary goodbye, a "thanks for the memories, have a good life." Not so much anymore. We all know we can "talk" whenever we want when we're at school. We know as we leave whether or not we'll see each other at my Birthday (this year it gets the capital B and a lot of turkey.) We can even "see" each other before then, since so many of us now have our digital pictures on the web somewhere.
And who knows, the distance can be a good thing. Arguments of he said, she said will be more cut and dry, because rather than rely on half-drunk (or totally drunk) memories, it's just cut and paste, and the case is cut and dry. Awkward silences that lead to awkward words which lead to bad words aren't so awkward online when there are 6 conversations going on at the same time to divert attention. And so when we all do talk, it'll be meaningful. I hope.

While I'm posting, I have a couple links to share. First of all, I can't wait for college. Second of all, there are people who are really really ridiculously good thinking. (My apologies to Zoolander.)

γρηγορότερα υψηλότερος ισχυρότερος

2004-08-14T00:39:00.000-04:00

The Olympics are underway yet again, and as the organizing comittee and NBC would like us all to know, the games are "back home" in Greece. I'm all about Greece. OK, not all about, but as a math/science person, proper respect is due to the ancients, namely Archimedes, Pythagoras, Socrates, and Aristotle (I count philosophy among the sciences). And yet, the essence of the Olympics and the drive for athletes is summed up by the IOC in 3 Latin words: Citius, Altius, Fortius. Faster, Higher, Stronger. I know these are the modern games, and we generally trace our roots back to the Romans and Christianity and thus, Latin, but this seems to be a grave injustice to me. So with the Olympics back in Athens this year, the Olympic creed should be in Greek. Hence the title to this post. Please correct me if I can't read it correctly, I only know the greek alphabet from the math I've taken, but I think that the transliteration of the title is "gregorotera, upseloteros, iscuroteros."

As long as we're talking about the Olympics, I have a few other points.
1. The defending champions from the Sydney 2000 games, the American baseball team did not even qualify for these games. Wow. And meanwhile, the Greek team, made up primarily of Greek-Americans, will be playing.
2. *Note, this will be my one and only mention of fashion on this blog. Savor it.* During the opening ceremonies, many countries entered wearing suits, ties, fedoras, or some combination thereof. Mostly these countries were ones where just qualifying is an achievement and medaling would make these people national heroes. Then countries like the US, France, Australia, etc. come in, rocking some fits. Yes, fits, as in the combo of choice for ETHS girls who think they're ghetto. And then guys like Iverson wearing their berets off to the side like the new trucker hat. Just because we expect to be there and expect to medal and walk all over the world in a lot of events doesn't mean we can't at least try and look classy.
3. Even though the cauldron (if you can call that white, banana-shaped wick a cauldron) is pretty cool since it moves, the best lighting I've ever seen is still from Lillehammer's winter games in '94, when an archer shot a flaming arrow into the cauldron from over 200 feet away. That was impressive.
4. Sports you probably haven't watched but might be worth your while: Team Handball (soccer for those of us who aren't tarsally(?) dextrous). Badminton (birdie goes fast. Very fast). Volleyball (indoor). Rowing (these are the best at their sport, and they're absolutely spent at the end of a race).
5. If you haven't noticed that link on the right, check out the SportsPickle. He's updating thrice weekly during the Olympics so he can expound on the greatness that is Michael Phelps (he's sarcastic, I'm not.)

Baller

2004-08-11T01:07:00.000-04:00

Padres 8, Cubs 6. I was there. I saw the brutality first hand. Keep in mind that I mean "saw" in a very loose sense of the term. I sat in Section 509, row 9, seat 105. For those of you who don't have Wrigley's seating chart memorized (don't mock me, I've been going to games for 16 years and have sat in every corner of the park), that means that I was about halfway down the leftfield line, in the 5th and last deck (the upper section of the upper deck), in the LAST row, 5 seats in. So I lost track of any high pop out or fly ball for half of its flight, including Nomah's first dong as a Cub, Sammy's first hit in his last 17 at bats, and Aramis Ramirez's why-couldn't-the-wind-gust-and-give-it-10-more-feet-to-be-a-homer flyout in the 9th.
Speaking of the wind, it was blowing out tonight, which was unusual because it was a cold night. Usually when it's cold the wind blows out of the north, which is in, because all major league parks are meant to face northeast (as you look out from home). This also meant that, sitting in the last row as I was, with only a chain link fence behind me, I had the chilly wind whipping at my back all night long (my Ernie Banks jersey did nothing to keep me warm. And for proof that I'm not just a wuss, Hattie was in a thick old writer's showcase hoodie and she was freezing too. So there.)
But this is not meant to be about another glorious night at the ballpark. This is about Greg Maddux, fame, money, and warming up. The man is amazing. Not because of how he does so much with so little (body size, velocity, etc.) but because he does what he does at all times. I had heard about his routine of throwing his pitches while he chases balls during batting practice. So, armed with a pair of binoculars (because even my eyes aren't good enough to see what he was doing in right field from my seats) I watched him during batting practice today. Besides normal 4-seam fastballs, he threw his changeup in to the bucket guy, and made sure he had a 2-seam grip on a ball he threw into the stands. Even when he's giving out souvenirs he's teaching and making himself better. All this was interspersed with a conversation with Matt Clement in right center. (Oh, to be a fly on the ivy during that conversation.)
Another thing about the first-ballot hall-of-famer. When he left Chicago after his Cy Young season in 1992, no one blamed him. Sure, Chicago was unhappy with his leaving, but the boos rained down on him out of jealous envy, not hatred for a traitor. He was the best at what he did, and the Cubs wouldn't treat him like it. It's OK for him to be humble about it, but his employer cannot use that to their advantage and try to underpay him. He knows what he's worth, even if he'll never say it, and that showed when he came back to the Cubs this year. If he had any ill-will toward the Tribune Co. for not resigning him in 93, his return would have been doubtful. But this time around they were willing to pay, and he came back, and is earning it, same as any other player.
Finally, I'd like to mention the author of the article on Maddux linked above, Tom Verducci. He's been writing for Sports Illustrated since I only looked at the pictures in it. He's a tremendous writer, one of the few remaining sportswriters knowledgeable and respectful enough of the game to be worthy of writing about baseball. At this point, unless it's a damn interesting topic, I rarely read the SI article on baseball not written by him. For proof, take his "Letter to Maddux" and the article on Manny Ramirez by Charles Pierce in the July 5 issue. QED.
OK, that about does it, except that if the Cubs lose again when I go to the game Saturday against LA I'm proclaiming myself jinxed and not going to another game this season (not like I could get tickets.)

Dividends

2004-08-07T00:39:00.000-04:00

It seems that this blog has potential. I recieved an email tonight from an eloquent friend of mine who I hope will set up his own blog soon. An excerpt:

after reading your initial post, I suddenly thought that there might be billions (no exaggeration) of important thoughts and ideas that, for one reason or another, the people who had them never passed on. To me, that's a really awful thing. How deprived are we, simply because we don't converse and write about the many things that cross our minds? How much knowledge and beauty have been lost because of it?

I figure that as the world becomes smaller, we all see and hear and experience more of the same things, and have likely had similar thoughts about the world around us. However, we spend so much time discussing trivialities (has the world ever been made a better place by watercooler chit chat?) that the authentic discussions are often lost. I hope that my blog, whether or not people agree with me, can act as a spark for others to share their thoughts, too. Whether they do it in person when they experience something with someone else or if they blog about it later on as I do, the discussion that will result can only be a good thing.

New Quark Flavor found; World Peace Ensues

2004-08-06T15:49:00.000-04:00

I wanted to make sure I get this link up soon, so this is my pre-emptive apology for bad writing. See, the NY Times does this horrible thing where after about 3 weeks you can only access an article if you pay money. As it is, you've probably got to have a login to get to this essay.
Anyway, this is an essay about the fact that physics no longer inspires the same shock and awe it did at the end of WWII (coinciding with the Alamagordo testing and the detonations at Hiroshima and Nagasaki) and in the 60s (during the space race and especially during the Apollo missions). One thing Overbye talks about is the Superconducting Supercollider which will never exist, thanks to red tape and general apathy towards "big science" on America's part. The SS was being built in Texas in the early 90s as a replacement (and an upgrade) to Fermilab's paricle accelerator. As the article says, it was cancelled in 1993 when congress pulled funding. What it did not mention, however, was how far along the project already was. The 40-mile ring had already been excavated and was ready for the tubing and magnets to be put into place. THEN congress pulled the plug, and since they couldn't just leave a big hole in the ground under Texas, they filled the hole back in at roughly the same cost to American taxpayers as finishing the project. Bureaucracy woohoo.
So now the US is going to be passed by Europe and it's Large Hadron Collider. When it opens at CERN in 2007, odds are most of the public will take little or no notice. But I believe that that day could be a bigger turning point in our history than anyone gives it credit. Since the start of the cold war, the arms race against Russia (a race we pointlessly continue although we're running against ourselves,) was not just about building bombs. Overbye himself is an example of the other race, a race for knowledge. We did whatever we could to get off the ground (literally) during the space race, including stealing scientists from other parts of the world. Now we've got no one to compete against, because everyone is our friend. (OK, they may not be in our fake little "Coalition of the Willing" if it still exists, but our scientists get along, just look at how amiable Stephen Hawking is.) But everyone is only your "friend" when you're in charge. the LHC could be a small but important step on America's road towards non-superpowerness. (it's a word, right? It is now.)
Superpower? whoa, how'd I come to that conclusion? Well, corny as it is, knowledge is power. And especially today, what with super-empowered individuals and all. (See Thomas Friedman's The Lexus and the Olive Tree for a full treatment.)
Wow, this turned out to be longer than I thought. Prolific I suppose. Feel free to leave any thoughts on globalization, why the US is willing to run a huge deficit by spending on war and No Child Left Behind but not big science, or why I give a damn about any of this.

A Word on an Ending

2004-08-05T00:53:00.000-04:00

Not much has ended in my life, and I consider myself lucky and blessed for this. Only two members of my close family have died in my conscious life, my Grandfather when I was 3 (and honestly too young to comprehend the emotion around me) and my great-grandmother this year (at roughly 100, we're not sure, but it was a life well-lived). And most things I have begun in my life have ended with either a thoughtful decision on my part or fair warning; soccer, saxophone, my life as not-an-only-child just to name a few. (I consider Libberash's departure for college and points east the end of this era.)
But this year, and more specifically this summer, has seen the definitive end of one era in my life, and possibly the end of another. I speak of my time in Evanston, and my baseball playing life. The first, admittedly, I had fair-warning for. I decided not to apply to Northwestern (another chance to laugh at them HAHA--sorry Ravi) so I've known for better than 9 months now that I'd be leaving Evanston soon enough. Leaving physically won't be difficult, but separating mentally from it and yet staying in close enough touch with the people that have defined my time here that I don't burn bridges might be. But whatever, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it (bad pun, deal with it).
Baseball, on the other hand, will be hard. It's not that my game tonight at Notre Dame with the Devils against the RiverBandits could be my last, because it won't be (at the very least I'll play with them again next summer.) But I'll never have the chance to play 3B behind Lucas as I did tonight (and in form, I botched the one play I had), or next to KTrash at 2B. Not to mention Solty (10 years holdin down the Jewish left side), Ricky, Staffdog, et. al. So whatever happens at UPenn, whether it's varsity, club, or bust, I suppose this is my sappy so long.

*Note: This is probably not an accidental train of thought. I spent about 8 hours today putting together a PowerPoint for the Skokie Indians reunion this weekend. When it's all done I'll see if I can get a link to it.

What's all the fuss about?

2004-08-04T18:23:00.000-04:00

OK, so I'm starting a blog. Apparently you care enough to read it, which is good I guess. So before I get to real, honest publishing, a few notes:
- This was going to be Rosenblog, but that's already taken. Fortunately, Matt Rosenberg does a good job with it, so I won't hold it against him.
- So what's this gonna be about? Glad you asked. After perusing the blogs of others, I've found that they mainly fall into 3 types: 1, "Here's what I did today blah blah blah..." These are great if your life is really that interesting that people want to hear about every minute of it OR if you have a stalker. Neither applies to me. 2, "I need to vent blah blah blah..." While I admit to writing as a means of venting my anger or frustation at times, I do this for myself and promise not to waste your time with my personal gripes. If I have something constructive to say I'll share, but I'll try to balance the bitching with the [whatever the happy version of bitching is, I can't come up with the word]. 3, "There's a lot going on, here's something I noticed and what I have to say about it blah, blah, blah." This is where I hope Rosenblogger will reside. This means that my posts may not be all that frequent, but when I do post I'll be prolific.
- Comments are welcome. If I get something wrong, I'll print a retraction (if the NY Times can do it, so can I). If I get something right, feel free to boost my ego. If you notice something that I'd find interesting and either don't have a blog of your own in which to post or are too lazy to post about it yourself and want me to, I might even do that.
So I guess that lays a solid enough foundation. Since this is what I'm basing everything else off of, I'm not going to allow comments on this post because it could be fatal to this still-infantile piece of real estate on the net.