GOOD READ
I'm too tired to provide context.
9/13/11
9/12/11
Some French Action
My lovely maman sent me this poem this morning to start my week. Glorious!
L’Aube
J’ai embrassé l’aube d’été.
Rien ne bougeait encore au front des palais. L’eau était morte. Les camps d’ombres ne quittaient pas la route
du bois. J’ai marché, réveillant les haleines vives et tièdes, et les pierreries regardèrent, et les ailes
se levèrent sans bruit.
La première entreprise fut, dans le sentier déjà empli de frais et blêmes éclats, une fleur qui me dit son nom.
Je ris au wasserfall blond qui s’échevela à travers les sapins : à la cime argentée je reconnus la déesse.
Alors je levai un à un les voiles. Dans l’allée, en agitant les bras. Par la plaine, où je l’ai dénoncée au coq.
A la grand’ville elle fuyait parmi les clochers et les dômes, et courant comme un mendiant sur les quais de marbre,
je la chassais.
En haut de la route, près d’un bois de lauriers, je l’ai entourée avec ses voiles amassés, et j’ai senti un peu
son immense corps. L’aube et l’enfant tombèrent au bas du bois.
Au réveil il était midi.
9/7/11
9/6/11
Just traipsing the internet...
In addition to severely burning my rice tonight and getting absolutely soaked by the remnants of Lee on a run, I read this:
A City Divided (from American Prospect magazine)
The piece visits a lot of points that I feel like are always coming up in conversations here about the Two DCs (Although I totally disagree with the opening assumption that you can judge socio-economic status based on dogs! I mean look at Watson... One would assume Gen and I are foppish English country gentry). I also like Matt Yglesias' response.
On a much lighter note - I miss when our zoo had a cute panda :(
9/5/11
Some grad school lessons thus far
Soooo I began graduate school a few weeks ago. Which (in addition to reacquainting myself with my college beer/pizza belly, being constantly disheveled, and having scarily ginormous bags under my eyes) makes me an expert on graduate students.
I've already gleaned some notable observations/lessons beyond the "Do everything with Confidence" and the whole graduate students are suckers for all things free point (I saw people in the lobby fighting over brown key lanyards being distributed by our Health Services office yesterday ... really guys?).
1) Forget parents, depressing headlines, hypochondriac reactions to mosquito bites, scary neighborhood German Shepards, etc. The real fear mongering, stress-inducing scourge in my life right now is... my peers. When it comes to ongoing academic pressure and the looming, far-off-but-kinda-close need to find a summer internship, graduate students totally freak each other out. It's not Career Services that worries you, or your professors, or reading that nine zillionth article about how bad job prospects are these days.... it's just overhearing a classmate state that they are tidying up their resume a bit, have obtained a study guide from the T.A., or are getting their business cards printed and then suddenly everyone goes in to frantic panic mode a la "
2) Everyone bitches a lot. I can't tell yet if it's therapeutic or detrimental but it's certainly a bonding mechanism.
3) Students all seem to have those super thin macs. Me writing out my notes on legal pads stolen from my old job makes me a big time cave man/loser.
4) You experience a dramatic increase in caffeine and alcohol intake and can always excuse it by relating it to "networking." e.g. I have to haughtily down my 3rd pricey cappuccino of the day because someone who used to know someone who used to work somewhere I might want to work some day wants to meet for coffee. OR despite this intimidating pile of syllabi, I need to head out and try margaritas at that new Mexican place with all my new best friends because I just can't miss out on making connections during the first week.
[In relation, earlier I ran into a classmate who casually mentions she had a few Irish coffees this morning in order to successfully pass her Indonesian proficiency exam. She passed with flying colors.]
4) After working life with its pretty certain routines, this new daily schedule feels tremendously bizarre. In one day, I'll have class 8-10 am and then again 6-9 pm and in between about 79 hours of reading and three events with speakers. Unfortunately, this these-hours-already-don't-fit-
7) You drop things due to your new financial restrictions. My strategy has been the ever so obvious, eliminating things I can do myself (e.g. manis) and the things I already have one of (sadly this fall I will no longer will buy flats for every shade of the brown scale). Unfortunately, judging by the glasses I bought last week, I'm still not very good at being thrifty.
8) Within 2 days, everyone seems to know 3 things about everyone else in the program - A) where they live in the city B) what concentration they are and [thus associating them with stereotypes about that concentration] and C) are they single and/or in a failing relationship and likely soon to be single.
9) Rocco makes it hard to get anything done...
"There is nothing."
Watching this in connection with a class. It's a few years old but worth a watch. Maybe a few small government extolling republicans should watch it...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPKGZreusoQ
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPKGZreusoQ
9/3/11
Labor Day Weekend
Well, we are officially back to regular programming. So many, many thanks are owed to my beautiful girlfriend for getting us started again. One thing that is unusual about this blog is that it is only at its best, and creative regular, it seems, when Nadia and I are far away from each other. During the summer while Nadia was in St. Louis, we blogged...well, never. Many things were started and half-finished, but nothing was ever posted. That's on track to change now that Nadia and I are both back in school. Expect the unexpected from us. Expect, well...ramblings on anything and everything.
But in the meantime, I am taking most of Labor Day Weekend off, rather than the "off days" I usually take which still involve self-absorbed research, writing, and schoolwork. I am swearing off serious work until Tuesday in honor of the holiday weekend.
Although the history is largely ignored by most people today, Labor Day began as a Federal holiday in 1894. It was, at the time, considered an empty Congressional gesture to mollify workers in the wake of tremendous social, economic, and political unrest during and after the Pullman Strike by railroad workers in Chicago that spring. The thought of the U.S. Military being mobilized to disperse striking workers, killing 13 citizens in the process, may seem completely foreign to us today. But in reality this type of thing is all too common even in today's world, and the recent riots in London should be a wake-up call to "first-world" nations who believe that socio-economic influenced violence cannot sprout at their doorstep.
I'm continually amazed how much we take for granted, and how much of the history of labor relations in this country has simply disappeared from public consciousness over the last century. The battle of labor versus management, the tension between the individual rights and the collective, are conflicts that continue to define us and shape the direction of our country to this day.
"Labor Day" is like drinking a tall-glass of Congressional Kool-Aid. It rolls off the tongue easily, evoking images of picnics and hot dogs and the end of summer at the lake or beach. We begin the summer with Memorial Day, a somber holiday, and we end the summer with Labor Day, a last triumphalist hurrah before we face the hard facts of Fall. Perhaps the feelings that each evoke should be reversed at times so we remember why these holidays exist in the first place. Take a moment this weekend to think about what the history means and how people fought for their rights, and to make the world a better place for their children and their children's children.
But in the meantime, I am taking most of Labor Day Weekend off, rather than the "off days" I usually take which still involve self-absorbed research, writing, and schoolwork. I am swearing off serious work until Tuesday in honor of the holiday weekend.
Although the history is largely ignored by most people today, Labor Day began as a Federal holiday in 1894. It was, at the time, considered an empty Congressional gesture to mollify workers in the wake of tremendous social, economic, and political unrest during and after the Pullman Strike by railroad workers in Chicago that spring. The thought of the U.S. Military being mobilized to disperse striking workers, killing 13 citizens in the process, may seem completely foreign to us today. But in reality this type of thing is all too common even in today's world, and the recent riots in London should be a wake-up call to "first-world" nations who believe that socio-economic influenced violence cannot sprout at their doorstep.
I'm continually amazed how much we take for granted, and how much of the history of labor relations in this country has simply disappeared from public consciousness over the last century. The battle of labor versus management, the tension between the individual rights and the collective, are conflicts that continue to define us and shape the direction of our country to this day.
"Labor Day" is like drinking a tall-glass of Congressional Kool-Aid. It rolls off the tongue easily, evoking images of picnics and hot dogs and the end of summer at the lake or beach. We begin the summer with Memorial Day, a somber holiday, and we end the summer with Labor Day, a last triumphalist hurrah before we face the hard facts of Fall. Perhaps the feelings that each evoke should be reversed at times so we remember why these holidays exist in the first place. Take a moment this weekend to think about what the history means and how people fought for their rights, and to make the world a better place for their children and their children's children.
A Saturday Poem
A Dark Thing Inside The Day
So many want to be lifted by song and dancing,
and this morning it is easy to understand.
I write in the sound of chirping birds hidden
in the almond trees, the almonds still green
and thriving in the foliage. Up the street,
a man is hammering to make a new house as doves
continue their cooing forever. Bees humming
and high above that a brilliant clear sky.
The roses are blooming and I smell the sweetness.
Everything desirable is here already in abundance.
And the sea. The dark thing is hardly visible
in the leaves, under the sheen. We sleep easily.
So I bring no sad stories to warn the heart.
All the flowers are adult this year. The good
world gives and the white doves praise all of it.
Linda Gregg
So many want to be lifted by song and dancing,
and this morning it is easy to understand.
I write in the sound of chirping birds hidden
in the almond trees, the almonds still green
and thriving in the foliage. Up the street,
a man is hammering to make a new house as doves
continue their cooing forever. Bees humming
and high above that a brilliant clear sky.
The roses are blooming and I smell the sweetness.
Everything desirable is here already in abundance.
And the sea. The dark thing is hardly visible
in the leaves, under the sheen. We sleep easily.
So I bring no sad stories to warn the heart.
All the flowers are adult this year. The good
world gives and the white doves praise all of it.
Linda Gregg
9/1/11
And... we're back!
Apologies for the absence.
Usual thang... got really busy (travel/moving/work/school/everyday we shufflin/etc.) and then got kinda lazy and then sort of forgot we had a blog. THEN there was the infamous DC earthquake (We were at a sushi restaurant... Gen kept eating as though nothing was hapening, I thought the world was ending...) and there was a flood of internet chatter in connection with that (not to mention the Hurricane that followed) and I remembered BB42 and felt sheepish.
So anyhow, we're back and committed and voila below some photos to recap our summer of fun.
Fact 1) Watson is still uber cute.
Fact 2) Midwestern touring galore.
Fact 3) I still take not very good amateur artistic nature shots in Ithaca.
Fact 4) We done went a lil country
Fact 5) Gen almost killed me with fireworks.
Fact 6) We went to maybe our favorite concert of all time.
Fact 7) I already want to burn some of my textbooks and miss summer.
7/7/11
Best American Novel Ending of All-Time
Wow, this is awkward. I haven't posted anything to this blog in a month. And believe me, there are so many things to tell! Between starting a new job, Nadia arriving in Missouri, a boot-stomping 4th of July at the Lake of the Ozarks we have enough to write a novel at some point. I promise that expositions and whimsys from yours truly will make a comeback. Speaking of novels, name the following novel ending...certain things have been edited to prevent the obvious answer:
Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for G's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an æsthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of G's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of D's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
G believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning----
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for G's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an æsthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of G's wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of D's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
G believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning----
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
6/30/11
Happy Birthday Claudette (or is it Clef?) !
A very HAPPY belated BIRTHDAY to the best singer of Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You that I will ever know.
6/29/11
mmm mead
Wikipedia can clearly not always be trusted. Confidently cited information sometimes rings bogus. Whether made up or certified factual, wikipedia entries are a treasure trove of silly information. I hope the below from the "honeymoon" wikipedia page is true.
[the source cited is the illustrious sounding Wassail! In Mazers of Mead written in 1986 by Robert Gayre and published by Brewers Publications. ]
Stand forewarned, moving forward, I plan to give all of my friend's a months worth of mead as a wedding present. And, having tried mead at the Maryland Renaissance festival three years ago, I can tell you... it's best left to the dark ages.
6/28/11
Street Art
We watched Exit Through The Gift Shop last night. Anyone see it? Thoughts?
We enjoyed it. Amusing send up of the art world's pretensions and also entertaining introduction to a world, its characters, and its products (some fantastic, ranging from moving to laugh out loud goofy, and always impressively original murals), which we knew next to nothing about about. Not to mention it reminded Gen of his fight the man long haired middle school sk8ter boi days. By the end we had totally lost track of where the hoax ended and where it began.
Relatedly, I saw this article today which I found amusing -- Soviet War Statue
We enjoyed it. Amusing send up of the art world's pretensions and also entertaining introduction to a world, its characters, and its products (some fantastic, ranging from moving to laugh out loud goofy, and always impressively original murals), which we knew next to nothing about about. Not to mention it reminded Gen of his fight the man long haired middle school sk8ter boi days. By the end we had totally lost track of where the hoax ended and where it began.
Relatedly, I saw this article today which I found amusing -- Soviet War Statue
 |
| the mural street art-ified |
We've been traveling and adventuring...
... and unable to post frequently as a result. Voila Walt to wholeheartedly summarize the mood:
Song of the Open Road
 |
| as a I whisper, "Camerado, I give you my hand!" |
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes.
These are the days that must happen to you:
You shall not heap up what is called riches,
You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve.
However sweet the laid-up stores,
However convenient the dwellings,
You shall not remain there.
However sheltered the port,
And however calm the waters,
You shall not anchor there.
However welcome the hospitality that welcomes you
You are permitted to receive it but a little while.
Afoot and lighthearted, take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before you,
The long brown path before you, leading wherever
you choose.
Say only to one another:
Camerado, I give you my hand!
I give you my love, more precious than money,
I give you myself before preaching or law:
Will you give me yourself?
Will you come travel with me?
Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?
Walt Whitman
6/21/11
Do Right Ancestors
This is my great-great grandmother, an accomplished Belgian equestrian. I'm told we have an Olympic medal somewhere that she won in riding but I'm not sure if that's just family lore...
6/20/11
Around my French table with Vladimir
Some book recommendations....
1) I can’t stop paging through this cookbook discovered in my parents' house and hoping someone will make me everything in it....
Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan.
Our chef, Ms. Greenspan (no relation to Alan... whew.), had me at the cover photo of poulet roti, and I was putty in her hands 15 seconds in (upon discovering that she has three different kinds of rillettes described lovingly in the apps section). Her photos are mouth watering, the recipes look delicious, clearly directed and practical, and before each recipe she has a paragraph or two of context (which I appreciated heartily as a non-cook) where she expands enjoyably- describing a region, featuring commentary on general French culinary philosophies, or noting how the particular dish is served in a favorite Parisian bistrot, etc. Delightful! Gen please get over your prejudices asap put your fine booty in gear and whip me up a lil je ne sais quoi (ok I do sais quoi... please see the dessert section) from the motherland.
2) I've also really enjoyed paging through Verses and Versions: Three Centuries of Rusian Poetry selected and translated by Vladimir Nabokov
It's basically a collection of Nabokov's translations of prized Russian poetry (alongside the original Russian), featuring both his amusing and insightful backgrounds on the various authors (e.g. on Afanasiy Fet, "Fet - the spirit of the air a wispy cloud, a butterfly fanning its wings." and on Fet's critics, "Fet was harried, spat at, spanked, mocked, insulted in such a thorough fashion that it is a wonder he never lost his head..."), and also a small collection of his notes on translation and poetry. I'm always fascinated by translation and the question of what is lost from the original language (and of course also what is gained from the translator ... particularly when it's someone like Nabokov).
6/18/11
The Border War and Moneyball Trailer
With the advent of the St. Louis Cardinals-Kansas City Royals series this weekend, the battle of the hearts and minds of Missourians begins. This is kind of like the Civil War skirmishes on the border of the two states but updated for the 21st century. In other words, there is no love lost between the two states and the two municipalities have stark and deep-rooted differences in terms of culture and worldview, but the fight is no longer waged with guns and border raids, but in vicious slander and libel broadcast in print and over the internet.
About half of Kansas City and all of St. Louis sit in the Show Me State, the state of Missouri, the 18th most populous state in the Union. The St. Louis metro area has an edge in population at 2.8 million to Kansas City's 2 million, although the gap is not that large, and even less if you include Lawrence, Topeka and St. Joseph in Kansas City's metro. Both are midwestern cities with midwestern sensibilities - outdoorsy, socially conservative in general, skeptical of the intentions of more liberal coastal states. In turn, both also have a bit of a chip on the shoulder - St. Louisians have an inferiority complex to Chicago, Kansas Citians have an inferiority complex to everyone.
Both stand as the home of distinctly American culinary traditions - toasted ravioli and St. Louis-style pizza in St. Louis, and slow cooked barbecue in Kansas City. Both have proud, rich baseball traditions - St. Louis as the home to the second most successful franchise in MLB history, Kansas City as the home to the most successful franchise in Negro League history, one of the most successful minor league teams in history, and one of the most successful expansion MLB teams in history. And hey, they've treated one of Missouri's own - Albert Pujols - with tremendous hospitality over the year (although we'll see if that changes next year when he signs with his hometown Royals).
So why the animosity? These are two teams that play in separate leagues that meet up only twice a year. I prefer to see us not as rivals, but as brothers who spar once in awhile, but ultimately belong to the same crazy family with XXX signs along I-70, wonderfully liberal alcohol and fireworks laws and a step-brother named Springfield they're both a bit embarrassed by.
Anyways, sticking with the baseball theme the trailer for the upcoming film Moneyball starring Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Robin Wright has been released. For those of you who have not read the book by Michael Lewis, you should. You don't have to be a baseball fan to appreciate the story. Nadia, you can just borrow my copy.
About half of Kansas City and all of St. Louis sit in the Show Me State, the state of Missouri, the 18th most populous state in the Union. The St. Louis metro area has an edge in population at 2.8 million to Kansas City's 2 million, although the gap is not that large, and even less if you include Lawrence, Topeka and St. Joseph in Kansas City's metro. Both are midwestern cities with midwestern sensibilities - outdoorsy, socially conservative in general, skeptical of the intentions of more liberal coastal states. In turn, both also have a bit of a chip on the shoulder - St. Louisians have an inferiority complex to Chicago, Kansas Citians have an inferiority complex to everyone.
Both stand as the home of distinctly American culinary traditions - toasted ravioli and St. Louis-style pizza in St. Louis, and slow cooked barbecue in Kansas City. Both have proud, rich baseball traditions - St. Louis as the home to the second most successful franchise in MLB history, Kansas City as the home to the most successful franchise in Negro League history, one of the most successful minor league teams in history, and one of the most successful expansion MLB teams in history. And hey, they've treated one of Missouri's own - Albert Pujols - with tremendous hospitality over the year (although we'll see if that changes next year when he signs with his hometown Royals).
So why the animosity? These are two teams that play in separate leagues that meet up only twice a year. I prefer to see us not as rivals, but as brothers who spar once in awhile, but ultimately belong to the same crazy family with XXX signs along I-70, wonderfully liberal alcohol and fireworks laws and a step-brother named Springfield they're both a bit embarrassed by.
Anyways, sticking with the baseball theme the trailer for the upcoming film Moneyball starring Brad Pitt, Jonah Hill, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Robin Wright has been released. For those of you who have not read the book by Michael Lewis, you should. You don't have to be a baseball fan to appreciate the story. Nadia, you can just borrow my copy.
In the tradition of Mainstreamed Wonkiness...
... found the below very informative. Maybe a bit too political science-y (it is co-authored by Jason Brownlee after all), but such is the nature of the BB42 beast. Early Observations on Post-Mubarak Egypt
It seems that between the events in Syria/Libya/Yemen, Canadians surprising everyone and passionately rioting (not to mention proving that Mounties aren't just for show), and our summer of sex scandal galore, no one in the media is talking about Egypt anymore.
ok and now I stop trying to be a credible blogger and just share cartoons I found funny.
A Sentimental Saturday Poem
A Prayer
Let me do my work each day;
and if the darkened hours
of despair overcome me, may I
not forget the strength
that comforted me in the
desolation of other times. May I
still remember the bright
hours that found me walking
over the silent hills of my
childhood, or dreaming on the
margin of the quiet river,
when a light glowed within me,
and I promised my early God
to have courage amid the
tempests of the changing years.
Spare me from bitterness
and from the sharp passions of
unguarded moments. May
I not forget that poverty and
riches are of the spirit.
Though the world know me not,
may my thoughts and actions
be such as shall keep me friendly
with myself. Lift my eyes
from the earth, and let me not
forget the uses of the stars.
Forbid that I should judge others
lest I condemn myself.
Let me not follow the clamor of
the world, but walk calmly
in my path. Give me a few friends
who will love me for what
I am; and keep ever burning
before my vagrant steps
the kindly light of hope. And
though age and infirmity overtake
me, and I come not within
sight of the castle of my dreams,
teach me still to be thankful
for life, and for time’s olden
memories that are good and
sweet; and may the evening’s
twilight find me gentle still.
— Max Ehrmann
Let me do my work each day;and if the darkened hours
of despair overcome me, may I
not forget the strength
that comforted me in the
desolation of other times. May I
still remember the bright
hours that found me walking
over the silent hills of my
childhood, or dreaming on the
margin of the quiet river,
when a light glowed within me,
and I promised my early God
to have courage amid the
tempests of the changing years.
Spare me from bitterness
and from the sharp passions of
unguarded moments. May
I not forget that poverty and
riches are of the spirit.
Though the world know me not,
may my thoughts and actions
be such as shall keep me friendly
with myself. Lift my eyes
from the earth, and let me not
forget the uses of the stars.
Forbid that I should judge others
lest I condemn myself.
Let me not follow the clamor of
the world, but walk calmly
in my path. Give me a few friends
who will love me for what
I am; and keep ever burning
before my vagrant steps
the kindly light of hope. And
though age and infirmity overtake
me, and I come not within
sight of the castle of my dreams,
teach me still to be thankful
for life, and for time’s olden
memories that are good and
sweet; and may the evening’s
twilight find me gentle still.
— Max Ehrmann
6/15/11
Pretty much what you'd expect
From "Measuring up the Republican Field;" fundraising with respect to conservative ideology (and this post compares to Nate Silver's recent findings on similar questions)...
Hmmm.
Well, the good news is that this is the sunset I saw on a walk in the neighborhood the other night (taken from my blackberry all you I-phone naysayers!)...
Hmmm.
Well, the good news is that this is the sunset I saw on a walk in the neighborhood the other night (taken from my blackberry all you I-phone naysayers!)...
6/14/11
In upstate NY
 |
| speaking of cats.... |
Some recommendations from the last two days:
- Good recent series on Brazil in The American Interest. A lot of different perspectives.
- Keith Richards autobiography Life (endlessly entertaining and surprisingly well written... he's completely fascinating)
- I think this should be required reading for everyone in the IR/ID field, it rang very, very familiar and accurate- http://shotgunshackblog.com/2011/06/03/pretty-on-paper/
- Barbara Kingsolver's La Lacuna (ok so maybe she's cheating a bit by making her protagonist friends with historical figures like Leon Trotsky and Frida Kahlo ... there's certainly a lot of name dropping that goes on and his life is exaggeratedly touched by every important historical event of the period - e.g. his Mom dies in a car crash because she's rushing to see Howard Hughes land his plane - but the book is a lot of fun precisely because of all this historical "context," gorgeously written, and it's a thought-provoking meditation on art, friendship, and concepts of national patrimony... among other things).
Articles that irritated me recently (try to guess why):
- Bloomberg Businessweek - God's MBAs: Why Mormon Missions Produce Leader
Before I turn back to my pile of reading, a special shout out to my Dad as Father's Day approaches...
6/12/11
Sunday Poem
Miracles
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of
the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with
the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—
the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
Walt Whitman
Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of
the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.
To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with
the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.
To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—
the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?
Walt Whitman
summer miracle of watching Watson "swimming"
6/7/11
Interactive post round II
Alright, so I really enjoyed reading responses to Gen's post in May asking readers to answer the same handful of questions and so here please partake in a second round. I promise these answers won't get deleted this time.
1) What is a book you have read more than once and always enjoyed?
2) What music do you listen to that would qualify as embarrassing and/or that others probably wouldn't guess that you enjoy?
3) What is a time that you have been afraid?
4) What issue(s) get you on your soapbox?
5) Share a favorite quote.
l promise to supply my answers tomorrow but gotta run...
1) What is a book you have read more than once and always enjoyed?
2) What music do you listen to that would qualify as embarrassing and/or that others probably wouldn't guess that you enjoy?
3) What is a time that you have been afraid?
4) What issue(s) get you on your soapbox?
5) Share a favorite quote.
l promise to supply my answers tomorrow but gotta run...
6/5/11
Reunite and Rejoice
You hear people say all the time that they don't want to live in the past. The past is gone, it is the future that matters. But I think that, more often than not, is a half-truth at best and a cop-out at worst. Don't we all want to live at least a little bit in the past? Don't we all want to remember those moments when the sun shined brightest, when those who have passed on were still with us, when the hole-in-one dropped, where we were when the wall fell/Saddam died/the Red Sox won the World Series? Don't we all save the scribblings and trophies and photographs that remind us?
That's why Princeton reunions is such an interesting and fun event for me. It's a reminder of a seminal time in my life and one for which I am extremely grateful - college. For those of you who are unaware of the implications of this event beyond the typical college reunion, Princeton University reunions are the most well-attended college reunions in the world. This year, in addition to boasting a member of the Class of 1925 in attendance, Princeton reunions once again proved itself the world's largest annual alcohol consumption event (the Fifth Year Reunion tent alone went through over 400 kegs of beer in three days).
Class of 1925, the man behind these beautiful Scottish bagpipers is nearly 110 years old...amazing dedication. Photo courtesy of the Princeton Alumni Weekly.
To say that this is a college reunion is a gross understatement; it is an alternate universe where for a weekend the real world disappears. This world is experienced vicariously through academic panels with distinguished speakers, reminiscing on college memories with friends, cover bands from all decades that take you back to sophomore spring lawn parties, art exhibits that make you feel like a college student again, a parade of hideous orange and black costumes that present the Princeton diaspora to the world, and a massive fireworks display that make even the most grizzled, cynical, and weathered alumni feel like kids again. This world is fueled by catered meals and unfathomable amounts of free alcohol. For one weekend, an entire university campus is transformed into an outdoor party worthy of Rome.
This year, however, as I walked up to the registration tent for my 5th college reunion, I realized for the first time that Princeton reunions is much more than the pomp and spectacle weekend prior to the pomp and circumstance of commencement. Reunions is an event that is independent of time, allowing me to live in the past, present, and future simultaneously. At face value, reunions was a whirwhind of standard two-minute conversations with hundreds of acquaintances (how are you? what are you doing these days? oh my goodness, you're engaged!? Congratulations!, etc.) mixed in with hour-or-more rendezvouses with very good friends (hey, do you remember that time we got shit-faced and set off fireworks inside your car?! (tremendous laughter) Man, that was stupid.) But in-between these interactions, my mind with constantly, persistently preoccupied with the most vivid memories of the four years I spent at Princeton. I saw myself studying in the library, biking across campus, drinking beers on the Tiger Inn lawn, agonizing over Japanese literature in Jones Hall. I visited old friends I have not seen in many years, my professors, an alumnus of the Class of 1941 who I struck up conversation with a few years ago and remain in touch with, my old college facilities director, an Italian man who still speaks very little English and this year was given an honorary degree for his thirty-year commitment to Princeton. So for one weekend, I relished an abridged version of my college experience.
Gen fills a beer in the Tiger Inn taproom, the site of many a long college night. This was the final day for the taproom before it is torn down and renovated (nostalgic tear).
Yet at the same time, I was supremely conscious of how today's Gen, age 27 years, is no longer the Gen of circa 2002-2006. I'm older, wiser (hopefully), more cautious, more career-obsessed, more focused on my future. I am happily in love with a new wonderful woman who just happens to be the beautiful, intelligent, Francophonic co-author of this blog. I moved to New York City to wander into one career path, only to switch gears midway, to switch back again in Washington, DC, and then pull a fake-out switch...ending up in business school in St. Louis. In the years since I've graduated, a minority has been elected President, Three 6 Mafia has won its first Academy Award along with Martin Scorsese, and Osama bin Laden has been killed. So, a lot has changed for me and my place in this spinning world.
Leaving the fifth reunion tent, smartphone in hand. Back in my day, we didn't have fancy phones. We had flip-phones like the ones that Nadia and Cory Landerfelt still use.
And as for the future, well at this fifth reunion for the first time I felt that I could safely and carefully pack away a lot of my Princeton experience in the closet, metaphorically speaking, for safe-keeping and remembrance. I'm in graduate school, so I no longer need to lean on my undergraduate degree for applications. I'm starting a new job in a new industry where no one cares that I went to Princeton. And after having lived in New York, Washington, DC, and St. Louis for the past five years, I have experienced the rude awakening that Princeton is not the real world. And by not the real world, I mean not even close. Very few places in this world have student dwellings with gorgeous gothic architecture, subsidized meals, tap-rooms with flowing beer every evening, worldly accomplished guest speakers daily, and average SAT scores north of the 98th percentile. Very few places are as ethnically, politically, and lifestyle-diverse as Princeton. And very few places are as economically privileged as the students, faculty, and alumni of Princeton University. Perhaps I am sounding sadly typical and naive, and in a way you are probably right. I can't help but feel sheepish about my mindset during my college years...As if living in castles, taking classes in cathedrals, and partying in mansions could even pass for normal.
The fact of the matter is, when you are five years out of Princeton, you feel old. Perhaps it's because it is the first landmark reunion after graduation that everyone goes to. Perhaps it is because my friends who entered medical or law school upon graduation now have titles such as "Doctor" and "Esquire". Perhaps is particularly because I was asked by an undergraduate while casually filling my beer and making conversation, "Soooo...how are the first five years out?" I think I had what would be classified as a panic attack trying to answer this question. The point is, in aggregate, such things make you feel old, and not only because all of the undergraduate guys these days wear tanktops and look like they are 14 and the undergraduate girls wear bikinis and look like they are 12. I'm dead serious. This was an odd phenomenon.
I feel older, with my compass pointed toward the uncharted waters of the future, because Gen Gillespie, Princeton University Class of 2006, no longer defines my life. This is not to say that I am blind to my past -- I am fiercely proud of what I accomplished at Princeton. I was handpicked out of Salina South High School, in Salina, Kansas -- the only student from Salina to ever attend Princeton. But ultimately, history is history. It is a small thread of the fabric of the now, and now is all that matters. Now, it is Gen Gillespie, Intern at Company Awesome, Gen Gillespie, MBA candidate, Gen Gillespie, boyfriend of Nadia. Princeton is the past...I lived it once, that was good enough. Today, the future has so much more potential, at least until online registration for my sixth reunion opens next spring.
An Ode to Reunions
People tell me
How they thought it was
Way back then.
They tell me
How they remembered it.
And I tried to say
It wasn't exactly like that.
We were boys and girls
Flesh and blood
And we played in the sunshine
Studied in the dark
We went off the wall
We had fights, and we made love.
We sang songs and drank beer.
Before games.
We were real. Yeah. We laughed and cried.
We felt pain. And we felt joy.
There was a lot wrong with the world.
There still is.
But we weren't sad, man.
We had the times of our lives.
We tell them that for five years.
They hear. But they didn't understand.
They tried to understand, but you had to be there.
That's why Princeton reunions is such an interesting and fun event for me. It's a reminder of a seminal time in my life and one for which I am extremely grateful - college. For those of you who are unaware of the implications of this event beyond the typical college reunion, Princeton University reunions are the most well-attended college reunions in the world. This year, in addition to boasting a member of the Class of 1925 in attendance, Princeton reunions once again proved itself the world's largest annual alcohol consumption event (the Fifth Year Reunion tent alone went through over 400 kegs of beer in three days).
Class of 1925, the man behind these beautiful Scottish bagpipers is nearly 110 years old...amazing dedication. Photo courtesy of the Princeton Alumni Weekly.
To say that this is a college reunion is a gross understatement; it is an alternate universe where for a weekend the real world disappears. This world is experienced vicariously through academic panels with distinguished speakers, reminiscing on college memories with friends, cover bands from all decades that take you back to sophomore spring lawn parties, art exhibits that make you feel like a college student again, a parade of hideous orange and black costumes that present the Princeton diaspora to the world, and a massive fireworks display that make even the most grizzled, cynical, and weathered alumni feel like kids again. This world is fueled by catered meals and unfathomable amounts of free alcohol. For one weekend, an entire university campus is transformed into an outdoor party worthy of Rome.
Gen fills a beer in the Tiger Inn taproom, the site of many a long college night. This was the final day for the taproom before it is torn down and renovated (nostalgic tear).
Yet at the same time, I was supremely conscious of how today's Gen, age 27 years, is no longer the Gen of circa 2002-2006. I'm older, wiser (hopefully), more cautious, more career-obsessed, more focused on my future. I am happily in love with a new wonderful woman who just happens to be the beautiful, intelligent, Francophonic co-author of this blog. I moved to New York City to wander into one career path, only to switch gears midway, to switch back again in Washington, DC, and then pull a fake-out switch...ending up in business school in St. Louis. In the years since I've graduated, a minority has been elected President, Three 6 Mafia has won its first Academy Award along with Martin Scorsese, and Osama bin Laden has been killed. So, a lot has changed for me and my place in this spinning world.
Leaving the fifth reunion tent, smartphone in hand. Back in my day, we didn't have fancy phones. We had flip-phones like the ones that Nadia and Cory Landerfelt still use.
And as for the future, well at this fifth reunion for the first time I felt that I could safely and carefully pack away a lot of my Princeton experience in the closet, metaphorically speaking, for safe-keeping and remembrance. I'm in graduate school, so I no longer need to lean on my undergraduate degree for applications. I'm starting a new job in a new industry where no one cares that I went to Princeton. And after having lived in New York, Washington, DC, and St. Louis for the past five years, I have experienced the rude awakening that Princeton is not the real world. And by not the real world, I mean not even close. Very few places in this world have student dwellings with gorgeous gothic architecture, subsidized meals, tap-rooms with flowing beer every evening, worldly accomplished guest speakers daily, and average SAT scores north of the 98th percentile. Very few places are as ethnically, politically, and lifestyle-diverse as Princeton. And very few places are as economically privileged as the students, faculty, and alumni of Princeton University. Perhaps I am sounding sadly typical and naive, and in a way you are probably right. I can't help but feel sheepish about my mindset during my college years...As if living in castles, taking classes in cathedrals, and partying in mansions could even pass for normal.
The fact of the matter is, when you are five years out of Princeton, you feel old. Perhaps it's because it is the first landmark reunion after graduation that everyone goes to. Perhaps it is because my friends who entered medical or law school upon graduation now have titles such as "Doctor" and "Esquire". Perhaps is particularly because I was asked by an undergraduate while casually filling my beer and making conversation, "Soooo...how are the first five years out?" I think I had what would be classified as a panic attack trying to answer this question. The point is, in aggregate, such things make you feel old, and not only because all of the undergraduate guys these days wear tanktops and look like they are 14 and the undergraduate girls wear bikinis and look like they are 12. I'm dead serious. This was an odd phenomenon.
I feel older, with my compass pointed toward the uncharted waters of the future, because Gen Gillespie, Princeton University Class of 2006, no longer defines my life. This is not to say that I am blind to my past -- I am fiercely proud of what I accomplished at Princeton. I was handpicked out of Salina South High School, in Salina, Kansas -- the only student from Salina to ever attend Princeton. But ultimately, history is history. It is a small thread of the fabric of the now, and now is all that matters. Now, it is Gen Gillespie, Intern at Company Awesome, Gen Gillespie, MBA candidate, Gen Gillespie, boyfriend of Nadia. Princeton is the past...I lived it once, that was good enough. Today, the future has so much more potential, at least until online registration for my sixth reunion opens next spring.
An Ode to Reunions
People tell me
How they thought it was
Way back then.
They tell me
How they remembered it.
And I tried to say
It wasn't exactly like that.
We were boys and girls
Flesh and blood
And we played in the sunshine
Studied in the dark
We went off the wall
We had fights, and we made love.
We sang songs and drank beer.
Before games.
We were real. Yeah. We laughed and cried.
We felt pain. And we felt joy.
There was a lot wrong with the world.
There still is.
But we weren't sad, man.
We had the times of our lives.
We tell them that for five years.
They hear. But they didn't understand.
They tried to understand, but you had to be there.
Speed Recommending
Some other joint recommendations from the last few weeks:
DC Events:
Asian Heritage Festival on the Mall - it's nothing special (despite awesomely being officially titled "Fiesta Asia!")... pretty much your typical outdoor fair with stands featuring various forms of protein on skewers and fried everything, "experts" leading workshops (sushi chef! small Indian women teaching children how to weave baskets!), and trinkets/jewelry/obligatory bob Marley beach towels/Nepalese flags. That said - Go purely to (1) watch the DC Public Schools do their Karate demonstration which is pretty much the cutest/funniest thing I've ever seen and (2) see how places like Kurdistan and Azerbaijan sell themselves as tourist destinations.
Jazz in the Park at National Gallery of Art's Sculpture Garden - Ok everyone living in DC/VA+MD burbs has heard of this by now and this is really a plug for our friend MK's impressive photography on her blog and flickr account. Quelle artiste! First stop - Dcist.com ... next stop - world pictorial domination!
Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams in 3D at Georgetown Cinema -- we could write an entire blog entry about what a fantastic cinematic experience this is. It's a flawed movie... clearly needed some editing to cut the superfluous, a bit all over the place, and no doubt bizarre. But the superfluous is what makes it endlessly entertaining and the visuals of the chauvet cave itself - including mind blowingly beautiful art preserved for 30,000+ years make the movie entirely unforgettable.
[the kind of friend Werner would love]
Roosevelt Island in the Potomac River - The hike itself is pretty mediocre (it is after all the potomac and you do see trash bags floating down the river) but the monument area is kinda cool and it's always nice to get out of the city a bit.
Gen on the bridge to the Island
Current Woodrow Wilson House exhibit on American women rebuilding efforts in France 1917-1924. Our nations used to get along so well! Well, at the very least, rich American socialites just wanted to get out of the damn house and save peasant children in Picardy.
Taking the Bolt Bus - I'm not really sure if this fits into this category and I realize I'm late to the Bolt Bus party but it was a recent discovery for us to take the Bolt Bus up the east coast rather than Amtrak (and save 100+ bucks). It only took 4 hours, has internet, was quiet/clean/civil, very well-run, and we were able to buy ticket super last minute. Previously, I associated east coast bus rides with the trauma of the china town bus (which deserves an entire entry in itself), so this was a welcome find.
GASTRONOMY:
We are on an epic Trader Joe's Vegetable Masala Burgers kick - it's like an Indian buffet experience in the form of a small patty and tastes good with everything.
Two awesome new coffee discoveries - the newly opened Peregrine Espresso on 14th street (bomb espresso) and Filter (bomb coffee and looks like a good place to study) in Dupont.
The collared greens and the biscuits at Eatonville in the U st. area (we did brunch there so can't speak to dinner and lunch but beyond these items, I didn't think much else was that good and it was all entirely too salty.)
Newly opened Tsunami Lounge on 14th st in Logan area - clearly the timing on their name is unfortunate but the sushi was yummy and affordable and better than a lot of local spots I've been too. Plus you have a nice view of the 14th street corridor and the friendly waiter gave me shitake miso soup on the da house. hollaaa.
Bistrot Lepic in Georgetown - we went with my Dad for dinner when he was in town recently. The food was solid, not great, but definitely solid French bistrot fair which is rarer in Georgetown's ooo la la we think we're so Francais scene than you'd think (for the love of dieu, having table cloths from Provence doesn't really make sense and having creme brulee on the menu does not justify your lack of a croque madame!) and the atmosphere was lovely. The upstairs wine bar looked great for a date and had live music.
Teaism's ginger scones .... holy sacre bleu. so good. Can't stop coming up with an excuse to walk by and get one.
I'M A TECH GODDESS:
NASA app for iphones. Ok I don't really know how to use an i-phone but Gen keeps sending me pictures and factoids from this and they are pretty freaking sweet. Plus anything that can keep him entertained for a whole 4 hour busride when I'm hogging the one Economist we have between us gets my blessing.
Jon Stewart ripping Donald Trump and Sarah Palin for their NYC pizza faux pas - Really wish I knew how to post videos
Amazon's cloud stream service which has allowed us to easily share recent finds including the new My Morning Jacket album Circuital, Eddie Vedder on the Ukulele, and, obviously, soundtrack to Sons of Anarchy Seasons 1-4.
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