As one who has dealt with the loss of friends at too young of age multiple times, I readily can assure everyone that it never gets easier. It only gets tougher to deal with as you age. The double-edged sword of mortality is that it makes life significant but overwhelmingly temporary. A death of a loved one merely serves to remind you of the perilous nature of your own existence and your experiences in its duration.
As mentioned in a previous blog post, the death of my friend Derrick last year put me in a tailspin, of which I am only now beginning to recover from. What appears to have affected me so much is the cruel suddenness of it. Whereas most deaths of friends and family have been long-term, this was the first that was a complete shock. Of course, in some ways, that may be a blessing in a terrible disguise. I doubt Derrick saw it that way, and I sure as hell did not.
The bogusness and total truth that is the five stages of grief I can now see fully in quasi-objective hindsight. The miserable flight to and from Derrick's funeral to the complete blur of the few weeks afterward -- for which I have few if any lucid memories -- to the rage during Christmas season filling the survivors in this merciless new reality.
I began to reload the tank this spring, but it has taken a lot of time and a lot of pensive lack of productivity. Nevertheless, I can now look back on the days I spent with him with a smile rather than with a bitter taste of melancholy. I can write about it without weeping uncontrollably. I can now see the point of living, working, and talking to people again. I just feel better. "Life is for the living," according to someone who probably lived at some point and did not at most others.
I refuse to be "OK" with Derrick's death, or Rachel's, or Phil's, or Maxine's, or Marla's, or ... the point is I now accept the reality that comes afterward. The crushing blow of life's bluntly infinitesimal nature is its greatest gift. An infinite existence has no meaning. The impact of another person is simply without substance if time is without definition. Yes, it is painful to live a life without these people, and this pain will be cumulative with the inevitable news of others in the future.
Now, though, I shudder at the alternative. Is that "healing"? If so, I am healed. If not, I am broken, but at least I have some duct tape.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
The day I discovered a life without religion
I don't talk about religion very much (anymore), as I've learned that in order to follow through on my belief that it's really no one's business but my own, I should probably live like it. Others are much more open about it. This is fine, I suppose, but more often than not, I just don't care what anyone believes (in a religious sense) and certainly don't care what anyone thinks I should (or should not) believe.
I've also discovered that most people are not interested in changing their views, despite persuasive arguments and (more importantly) evidence opposing their belief structure. Most simply are interested in spreading their views like cheese whiz in the wind.
I open with this because this post will be about religion, and specifically about the day I discovered that I am not religious. The purpose, however, is not to encourage others to follow my path, or to become atheists, or to keep on fighting the good fight of believing or not believing. I post this simply as an explanation to a couple of people who have recently asked.
I discovered I was an atheist in high school. There was no metaphorical light bulb, no epiphany during a long, sleepless night. I was a skeptic from an early age. For example, I never recited prayers with others, found repeating the Pledge of Allegiance in elementary school odd and (later) cult-like. I thought singing hymns was corny, listening to sermons borderline tedious, and reading the Bible a source of constant confusion.
I grew up in a christian family, in a christian town, in a secluded part of rural America. Speaking out or against the prevailing belief structure of the community was not done. It may not have been dangerous, necessarily, but it certainly was ill-advised. As a result, I had no one to talk to, and given my age and relatively lower-middle class upbringing, no access to information that may have provided some sort of comfort or corroboration.
But I reached the tipping point by posing a question. If I somehow grew up in complete isolation from the rest of the world, would there be enough evidence for me to "discover" the religion I grew up with? By complete isolation, I mean forever without other human contact, no access to religious texts, etc. Although I am certain I would have found the world mystifying, I could never really come up with examples to lead me to discovering evidence of the god most religions I was familiar with were touting.
This question led me to a second. These religions almost universally require belief without evidence (faith) for admittance into some sort of supernatural, posthumous promised land. Well, how would I know that if I hadn't been in contact with others during my lifetime? Would this god give me a free pass for being blissfully ignorant?
These hypothetical examples did not really sit well with me. Taking "other humans" out of the equation did not really lead me to discover the same things. This would not be true of other things. For example, I could independently discover scientific evidence without access to other scientific work on the subjects of interest. At that point, I had convinced myself that I should be skeptical of anything that I would not think of or not be able to prove in isolation from others.
On this day, some time during my sophomore year in high school, I discovered a life without religion. This status has not changed.
I've also discovered that most people are not interested in changing their views, despite persuasive arguments and (more importantly) evidence opposing their belief structure. Most simply are interested in spreading their views like cheese whiz in the wind.
I open with this because this post will be about religion, and specifically about the day I discovered that I am not religious. The purpose, however, is not to encourage others to follow my path, or to become atheists, or to keep on fighting the good fight of believing or not believing. I post this simply as an explanation to a couple of people who have recently asked.
I discovered I was an atheist in high school. There was no metaphorical light bulb, no epiphany during a long, sleepless night. I was a skeptic from an early age. For example, I never recited prayers with others, found repeating the Pledge of Allegiance in elementary school odd and (later) cult-like. I thought singing hymns was corny, listening to sermons borderline tedious, and reading the Bible a source of constant confusion.
I grew up in a christian family, in a christian town, in a secluded part of rural America. Speaking out or against the prevailing belief structure of the community was not done. It may not have been dangerous, necessarily, but it certainly was ill-advised. As a result, I had no one to talk to, and given my age and relatively lower-middle class upbringing, no access to information that may have provided some sort of comfort or corroboration.
But I reached the tipping point by posing a question. If I somehow grew up in complete isolation from the rest of the world, would there be enough evidence for me to "discover" the religion I grew up with? By complete isolation, I mean forever without other human contact, no access to religious texts, etc. Although I am certain I would have found the world mystifying, I could never really come up with examples to lead me to discovering evidence of the god most religions I was familiar with were touting.
This question led me to a second. These religions almost universally require belief without evidence (faith) for admittance into some sort of supernatural, posthumous promised land. Well, how would I know that if I hadn't been in contact with others during my lifetime? Would this god give me a free pass for being blissfully ignorant?
These hypothetical examples did not really sit well with me. Taking "other humans" out of the equation did not really lead me to discover the same things. This would not be true of other things. For example, I could independently discover scientific evidence without access to other scientific work on the subjects of interest. At that point, I had convinced myself that I should be skeptical of anything that I would not think of or not be able to prove in isolation from others.
On this day, some time during my sophomore year in high school, I discovered a life without religion. This status has not changed.
Friday, January 27, 2012
SFTR: New Orleans in Nutshells
I have learned many things from my recent experiences in New Orleans. Here is a select list of these important findings.
--If the song "Silent Lucidity" plays in a restaurant before the meal is served, it will probably be a top 5 meal of the year.
--A homeless man does, sadly, feel shame in leaving a urine stain on the sidewalk.
--Bad saxophone players cannot ruin good beignets.
--The last place I want to be on a hot summer day is in a New Orleans streetcar.
--There are good tapas in America.
--Giving an oral presentation after less than one hour of sleep is extremely hazardous to your health.
--Chad's Lemma #2043: Do not eat hash browns after 1 am local time.
--There is a reason bone marrow has been identified as Anthony Bourdain's death row meal.
--There is an important difference between ham and jamon. It is best to learn this distinction early in life.
--The phrase "who dat?" should not be used publicly in jest.
--Providing me free things is a precursor to public embarrassment.
--When attending the Avenue Pub, it is best to bring long sleeves and a history of sleep.
--As much as Brian Eno's music wants to put me to sleep, it has a history of exceptional failure.
--Fountains can and sometimes do produce fire.
--When a person named Angela tells you the next streetcar stop is yours, add two more stops.
--There is no such thing as a free lunch.
--The term "huge ass beers" is a misnomer.
--I really, really like gumbo.
--Amateur photographers need only stroll in the French Quarter to realize they are really no good.
--For instant entertainment, take your mother to Bourbon Street.
--Duck is quack, not wack.
--If the song "Silent Lucidity" plays in a restaurant before the meal is served, it will probably be a top 5 meal of the year.
--A homeless man does, sadly, feel shame in leaving a urine stain on the sidewalk.
--Bad saxophone players cannot ruin good beignets.
--The last place I want to be on a hot summer day is in a New Orleans streetcar.
--There are good tapas in America.
--Giving an oral presentation after less than one hour of sleep is extremely hazardous to your health.
--Chad's Lemma #2043: Do not eat hash browns after 1 am local time.
--There is a reason bone marrow has been identified as Anthony Bourdain's death row meal.
--There is an important difference between ham and jamon. It is best to learn this distinction early in life.
--The phrase "who dat?" should not be used publicly in jest.
--Providing me free things is a precursor to public embarrassment.
--When attending the Avenue Pub, it is best to bring long sleeves and a history of sleep.
--As much as Brian Eno's music wants to put me to sleep, it has a history of exceptional failure.
--Fountains can and sometimes do produce fire.
--When a person named Angela tells you the next streetcar stop is yours, add two more stops.
--There is no such thing as a free lunch.
--The term "huge ass beers" is a misnomer.
--I really, really like gumbo.
--Amateur photographers need only stroll in the French Quarter to realize they are really no good.
--For instant entertainment, take your mother to Bourbon Street.
--Duck is quack, not wack.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
SFTR: The Maple Leaf Adventure
I used to write these blog posts daily, or almost that often. I just do not have that kind of time anymore, and I have no expectation for this to change in the foreseeable future. However, I was touched that a couple of you have written me to encourage me to continue writing occasionally about my travels. One day, I hope to publish something about my travels, perhaps with a focus on my photos, but I cannot see when that will happen. As such, I resort to the ubiquitous blog approach. I'm an everyman, I guess.
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This past summer, I spent a wonderful week in southwest Canada. My mother joined me on a 5000+-mile road trip to Vancouver and the Canadian Rockies with the start and end point of Lincoln, NE. When asked, I describe the trip as the vacation of a lifetime. Cliche, I know, but it certainly was the most wonderful week of traveling I have ever experienced. As much as I look forward to flights to Europe and Asia in the near future, there will always be something about the road trip that remains closest to my wandering soul. Here are a couple of short vignettes regarding the trip...
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Short Story 1: Vancouver, BC
Getting to Vancouver required 27 hours of driving between Mother and me. We had a stopover in Ogden, UT (beautiful), before driving to one of my favorite routes in the US: Interstate 84 (western US). There is something special about the vast landscapes of northeast Utah and southern Idaho, the dry hills of eastern Oregon, and the steppes of northern Oregon that thrill me like no other freeway in the country. We reached the Washington Cascades by dusk, and had a painless transition to Canada.
We arrived in Vancouver around 11 pm local time. We stayed in a small hotel in the downtown area that was once an apartment complex. The floor was "close to burgundy", according to Mom, and the rooms smelled of very old cigarette smoke. As pleasant as this sounds, I loved the hotel. It seemed strangely authentic. The hotel was what I expect hotels in major cities to be like. My experiences in New York City, Toronto, and Montreal have been very similar. Cosmetically, the hotel is a zero, but figuratively, they are strangely appealing -- even quirky.
As Mom and I escaped the lung cancer early the next day, the beauty of Vancouver emerged. There are some cities that deserve a nighttime arrival. Las Vegas comes immediately to mind. The blinding light that spans the horizon driving over the mountains to the south is one of my most memorable traveling experiences. Vancouver does not deserve this approach, however. The key to Vancouver's beauty is its symbiotic relationship with nature. The towering mountains to the north, the deep blues of the water, and the high-albedo glass of the man-made towers all gel in such a magical way. Vancouver at night is beautiful, but Vancouver in daylight is sublime.
We first walked to Stanley Park, and during the trek, we gradually realized just how stunning of a place this was. We emerged from the glass towers to a beautiful and big city park that provides endless views of the skyline. Really, this is the best way to appreciate the city. It's big, it's beautiful, and it knows it.
After a six-mile walk around Stanley Park, Mom took a short nap, leaving me to experience downtown on my own. After stopping for an obligatory Asian meal, I walked to Canada Place. It turns out that Vancouver thrives when the sky behaves. The views of the city in the hours just before sunset are some of my most treasured. There is something electric about the photos I took here. The beautiful blue sky, the stunning glass towers, the alpenglow, and the complementary water all seemed vibrant and alive. It's a walk that I remember fondly and fiercely today.
I've talked about these moments before. Transcendental experiences, which are virtually always unplanned, that only observing can provide. The fact that I was alone at the time made it all the more mystical. It was as if I was the sole arbiter of this confluence of events -- that I was somehow manufacturing this scene. I'll never forget it.
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Short Story 2: Lake Louise at Dusk
A trip to Banff National Park requires a stop at Lake Louise. It is the quintessential tourist trap, but the natural beauty of the scene overwhelms the man-made nonsense. It is absolutely one of the most beautiful places in the world, and I remember thinking as I watched the mystical clouds left over from a passing shower that I may never see something as beautiful again.
At the time, the magic of the scene overpowered the obviously depressing conclusion I had just made. If I were to never see anything so beautiful again, would my travels from here on forever be "almost as good" or "second tier"? I walked in the streets of Banff that night, asking myself, "What do I do from here?" Will I ever see anything as satisfying again? Not a question I wanted to be asking myself at age 29.
Then again, I had briefly forgotten what travel is about. The best moments, the most cherished memories, are the spontaneous ones. I would hardly call Lake Superior the most beautiful place in the world, but a drive at sunrise to the tune of "The Fortress of Solitude" will be one of the greatest vacation moments I will have. It's not always about scenery, in other words.
The following day, Mom and I returned to Lake Louise to hike the Plain of the Six Glaciers trail. We reached the top of the trail after a glorious two-hour hike through the beautiful snow-covered spires outlining the lake. And at the top features a beautiful log cabin offering tea and assorted snacks. The meal with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the logs already exceeded the lake scene the previous day.
I know people who exclusively travel in a small area surrounding their home. I know people who won't travel outside of the US, even though they have the financial capability to do so. Here I am, in this treasured moment, rain falling in the fog-laden mountains. Nowhere else in the world I would rather be. A neighboring table features a family of four from Japan. The other side of us, two lifelong friends hiking all over the world share some hummus. Below us, a group of sixteen kids is treated to a hearty lunch and hot cocoa from their proud adult leaders. Nowhere else in the world could I have had this experience.
Lake Louise is beautiful, but the memories only begin with the photographs. What I vividly remember are the moments, like this one. All at once, everyone sighs. A glacier clinging to the mountain has calved, and a thunderous cascade of melting ice flows down the cliff. The pitter-patter of rain was our universal applause.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Christmas Letter 2011
Greetings:
The year 2011 is about to close, so it is again time for the Christmas letter.
The year began with me starting a new job as an assistant professor at the University of South Alabama. Strangely, the year ended with me still in the position.
The job has been fun but also quite a challenge. I enjoy teaching immensely, but a first-year professor has very little quiet time. I had to prepare two classes in two weeks, and then try to keep up the rest of the semester. With two conferences during the semester, I was drowning by February and was saying "glub, glub, glub" by May. The unspoken truth about being a professor is that your life disappears in work, and you spend the rest of your life trying to reappear. After one year, it is not clear whether I will reappear. But I'm having a lot of fun trying.
I teach physical meteorology, radar meteorology, and severe weather. Exactly none of the classes have gone smoothly, and I still have much to learn about teaching efficiently and effectively. However, the students make it worth it, though they have this uncanny youth to their appearances that I can only comprehend in my quickly fading memory.
I have lived in Alabama before, but Mobile is a whole different beast than Huntsville, except for the color red. I know that genetics has a sense of humor, because I cannot see the color. Makes sense, given my political leaning. But as politically red as this state is, it's more of a "Roll Tide" hue. I've been asked ad nauseum if I'm a Tide or Tiger fan. When my response starts with "boomer", I get the nearly universal response of "who?". Well, after this football season, I guess that makes sense.
I like Mobile. A lot. The food scene is great. Aside from a scary-bad menudo incident at my favorite Mexican restaurant in town recently, I've rediscovered my love of pho and absolute obsession with duck and all things foie gras. Nevertheless, they seem to talk about the seafood here most. To end the year, I will be partaking in a seafood buffet in Biloxi, MS. Thirty dollars, and thirty new pounds. What are New Year's resolutions for, anyway?
It has been a very hard year for me personally. Besides moving to an entirely new place and starting from scratch, my closest college friend died suddenly in October from a pulmonary embolism. Derrick was an inspiration in many ways, but I remember most fondly his storytelling ability. If something that happened to him wasn't interesting enough, he would just make a new one up. He ended up with the nickname "Big Fish", from the movie of the same name. His death was devastating, and it has taken a long time for me to get over it. I suspect I never will.
I have traveled quite a bit this year. For spring break, I spent the weekend in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and had my first bread and breakfast experience. It was wonderful, and the snowy hikes were amazing. My second time there, and it will not be my last.
In May, I returned to Norman for my last graduation. I then went with my friend Somer to Arizona to visit Petrified Forest National Park, Wupatki National Monument, Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument, Grand Canyon National Park, Meteor Crater, Walnut Canyon National Monument, and beautiful Sedona. All were firsts for me -- not sure if any were firsts for Somer. She seemed to enjoy herself, though, which is amazing given she was in a car with me for four days.
In June, while attending a conference, my friend Charlotte and I visited my sister in Denver and friends in Boulder. We also hiked ... a lot, and much of it was in snow. The first hike was to the Chicago Lakes, and I nearly died from altitude sickness on the way back. Maybe it was that very steep snow-covered hill to the Upper Chicago Lake that my compadre wisely avoided. Our next hike was the ill-fated Lake Isabelle or Isntbelle. We're not sure, since we hit an avalanche-prone area just short of the finish line. Charlotte was in shorts with feet of snow on the ground, yet I looked much more out of place. My life story, really. We also visited Mount Evans on the clearest day I've ever seen up there. There were bighorn sheep and mountain goats, which Charlotte promised and I dismissed as not going to happen. My life story, really.
In July, I took the vacation of a lifetime to Vancouver and the Canadian Rockies with Mom in tow. It was a 27-hour drive to Vancouver, but our effort paid off. Vancouver is one of the most beautiful cities in North America (behind perhaps only Ottawa). Our visits to Stanley Park, Granville Island, and Gastown were particularly memorable, but taking a walk near Canada Place at sunset was probably my favorite city experience ever.
We then trudged along to Banff and Jasper National Parks. We stayed at a quaint bed and breakfast in Banff for two days and a rustic hotel in Jasper for the next two. During the day, we basically hiked. A lot. We went to Sulphur Mountain, Moraine Lake (the most beautiful lake I have ever seen), Lake Louise (a close second; pictured), the Plain of Six Glaciers (tremendous hike), Bow Lake (another stunner), Peyto Lake (life imitating a postcard), Athabasca Glacier (first time I touched a glacier), Athabasca Falls, Maligne Canyon, Medicine Lake, Maligne Lake, Path to the Glacier (including Angel Glacier, Cavell Glacier, and Cavell Pond -- all of which were jaw-dropping), and Parker Ridge overlooking the fitting finale of Saskatchewan Glacier. As I said, this was my absolute favorite vacation. This is a must for any outdoors fan.
Over Labor Day, I visited Washington, DC. I had a great time reminiscing my MDL internship days with Valery. I saw Donna and fiance for the first time in a while. I had a great day on the National Mall. Great trip.
In the next year, I plan to go to New Orleans at least three times; Charleston, SC; another Colorado bonanza; Alaska (including Denali and Kenai Fjords); and a Northeast trip (including Montreal and vicinity). More stories and photos to come.
Here's hoping your 2011 was great, and your 2012 will be even better.
The year 2011 is about to close, so it is again time for the Christmas letter.
The year began with me starting a new job as an assistant professor at the University of South Alabama. Strangely, the year ended with me still in the position.
The job has been fun but also quite a challenge. I enjoy teaching immensely, but a first-year professor has very little quiet time. I had to prepare two classes in two weeks, and then try to keep up the rest of the semester. With two conferences during the semester, I was drowning by February and was saying "glub, glub, glub" by May. The unspoken truth about being a professor is that your life disappears in work, and you spend the rest of your life trying to reappear. After one year, it is not clear whether I will reappear. But I'm having a lot of fun trying.
I teach physical meteorology, radar meteorology, and severe weather. Exactly none of the classes have gone smoothly, and I still have much to learn about teaching efficiently and effectively. However, the students make it worth it, though they have this uncanny youth to their appearances that I can only comprehend in my quickly fading memory.
I have lived in Alabama before, but Mobile is a whole different beast than Huntsville, except for the color red. I know that genetics has a sense of humor, because I cannot see the color. Makes sense, given my political leaning. But as politically red as this state is, it's more of a "Roll Tide" hue. I've been asked ad nauseum if I'm a Tide or Tiger fan. When my response starts with "boomer", I get the nearly universal response of "who?". Well, after this football season, I guess that makes sense.
I like Mobile. A lot. The food scene is great. Aside from a scary-bad menudo incident at my favorite Mexican restaurant in town recently, I've rediscovered my love of pho and absolute obsession with duck and all things foie gras. Nevertheless, they seem to talk about the seafood here most. To end the year, I will be partaking in a seafood buffet in Biloxi, MS. Thirty dollars, and thirty new pounds. What are New Year's resolutions for, anyway?
It has been a very hard year for me personally. Besides moving to an entirely new place and starting from scratch, my closest college friend died suddenly in October from a pulmonary embolism. Derrick was an inspiration in many ways, but I remember most fondly his storytelling ability. If something that happened to him wasn't interesting enough, he would just make a new one up. He ended up with the nickname "Big Fish", from the movie of the same name. His death was devastating, and it has taken a long time for me to get over it. I suspect I never will.
I have traveled quite a bit this year. For spring break, I spent the weekend in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park and had my first bread and breakfast experience. It was wonderful, and the snowy hikes were amazing. My second time there, and it will not be my last.
In May, I returned to Norman for my last graduation. I then went with my friend Somer to Arizona to visit Petrified Forest National Park, Wupatki National Monument, Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument, Grand Canyon National Park, Meteor Crater, Walnut Canyon National Monument, and beautiful Sedona. All were firsts for me -- not sure if any were firsts for Somer. She seemed to enjoy herself, though, which is amazing given she was in a car with me for four days.
In June, while attending a conference, my friend Charlotte and I visited my sister in Denver and friends in Boulder. We also hiked ... a lot, and much of it was in snow. The first hike was to the Chicago Lakes, and I nearly died from altitude sickness on the way back. Maybe it was that very steep snow-covered hill to the Upper Chicago Lake that my compadre wisely avoided. Our next hike was the ill-fated Lake Isabelle or Isntbelle. We're not sure, since we hit an avalanche-prone area just short of the finish line. Charlotte was in shorts with feet of snow on the ground, yet I looked much more out of place. My life story, really. We also visited Mount Evans on the clearest day I've ever seen up there. There were bighorn sheep and mountain goats, which Charlotte promised and I dismissed as not going to happen. My life story, really.
In July, I took the vacation of a lifetime to Vancouver and the Canadian Rockies with Mom in tow. It was a 27-hour drive to Vancouver, but our effort paid off. Vancouver is one of the most beautiful cities in North America (behind perhaps only Ottawa). Our visits to Stanley Park, Granville Island, and Gastown were particularly memorable, but taking a walk near Canada Place at sunset was probably my favorite city experience ever.
We then trudged along to Banff and Jasper National Parks. We stayed at a quaint bed and breakfast in Banff for two days and a rustic hotel in Jasper for the next two. During the day, we basically hiked. A lot. We went to Sulphur Mountain, Moraine Lake (the most beautiful lake I have ever seen), Lake Louise (a close second; pictured), the Plain of Six Glaciers (tremendous hike), Bow Lake (another stunner), Peyto Lake (life imitating a postcard), Athabasca Glacier (first time I touched a glacier), Athabasca Falls, Maligne Canyon, Medicine Lake, Maligne Lake, Path to the Glacier (including Angel Glacier, Cavell Glacier, and Cavell Pond -- all of which were jaw-dropping), and Parker Ridge overlooking the fitting finale of Saskatchewan Glacier. As I said, this was my absolute favorite vacation. This is a must for any outdoors fan.
Over Labor Day, I visited Washington, DC. I had a great time reminiscing my MDL internship days with Valery. I saw Donna and fiance for the first time in a while. I had a great day on the National Mall. Great trip.
In the next year, I plan to go to New Orleans at least three times; Charleston, SC; another Colorado bonanza; Alaska (including Denali and Kenai Fjords); and a Northeast trip (including Montreal and vicinity). More stories and photos to come.
Here's hoping your 2011 was great, and your 2012 will be even better.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Wheel of Rants
Home from a lovely but work-filled weekend, I wish to rant on a few things that I've come across recently...
A friend recently mentioned how much he hates it when people put copyright information on their photographs (specifically, so that it completely distracts from the image). I couldn't agree more. I've always thought the copyrighting of photographs to be a sign of hubris, but that's not what bothers me about the incorporation of the copyright tag on photos. To me, every single pixel of the image is a necessity. Why in the world would any serious, or even semi-serious, photographer want to inject something so inharmonious into the image? I've always had the same problem with artists signing their work. This completely demystifies the art. Leave the creation alone. There are other ways of signing the image.
If people are so worried about others infringing upon their copyrighted imagery, there are a substantial number of alternatives that prevents self-vandalizing of the photographs. First, you could only provide the image to the public at a cost. That is, make people pay for the right to look at and/or have your photographs. Second, place a copyright note on the webpage in which it is provided. No need to do this on every single image you present -- yet it still covers all of the images you provide. Third, prevent people from copying/pasting your imagery elsewhere. This is done on several reputable sites, and is certainly a nice way of enforcing your copyright in a more active manner. The list goes on.
But what you've done, in my mine, is destroy your own art -- your own creation. Basically just to say that you made the art. Hubris self-vandalism.
My thoughts on photography -- share it. I keep the photos for memories, and share the ones in which I don't mind sharing the memories. If someone wants to claim it as their own -- strange, yes. But I'd probably consider it a compliment.
By the way, there is no better way to improve a mood than by going to a photo website (like flickr) and going through a slideshow of something that makes you happy. I usually choose "glacier", "mountains", "Canada", "Norway", "fjord", or "alpine". You may have your own list.
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I understood the divisive nature of Tim Tebow when he was in college. Every single damn announcer mentioned him, even in situations in which his inclusion in the conversation made sense to nobody. The negative attitude toward him was one of overuse.
Now? I don't get it. Although several players/coaches have expressed doubts, whose opinions I value much more than a typical layman, the vitriol with which the general public and several (unqualified) television announcers have shown when panning Tebow's efforts is sickening. Who the hell cares, anyway? Or, maybe I should be asking, why do you care so damn much? He's playing football, not curing cancer. Tebow may be a particularly stirring example of a religious athlete, but he is far from the only one -- and not even the most zealous. And his leading of a team that has made a string of victories against almost uniformly underwhelming teams is hardly a miracle. But it does prove that he can lead a team, and win in the big leagues. We should be happy for him, not metaphorically throw him under a bus in a jealous rage.
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You know, I love Alec Baldwin as a performer. And who knows what happened on that plane, but if the stories of his behavior on the plane are true, I certainly would have clapped when he was escorted off, after yelling for a half hour that he was probably making me miss my layover.
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I have recently become a fan of trip hop, but in this discovery, I've learned just what a fine line I draw between good music and absolute garbage. There is a strong association with the inclusion of the harpsichord, particularly if joined by a solo violin. I've also reaffirmed my general hatred of songs with lyrics, which explains in part my embracing of the trip hop genre.
I'm not sure why I hate so much music, really. There is an abundance of high-quality lyrics out there, but it's often complemented by the most unoriginal music. Then, there are those songs where the music is outrageously good, or at least fun, but the lyrics are a complete joke. It seems incredibly difficult, and incredibly rare, that both are better than embarrassing. I guess I'm too demanding.
I'm usually booed out of the conversation when I express my usual disdain toward a particular song or band, but I'm also often asked what makes for a great song or piece of music for me. I'm not really sure, but most of my favorite songs fall into a few categories:
1) Classic rock ballads with very few lyrics (e.g., "The Rain Song" by Led Zeppelin)
2) Piano sonatas, particularly Beethoven-era (Appassionata, e.g.)
3) Short trip hop pieces with a piano and a female voice (e.g., "Greenland" by Emancipator)
4) Post-1990 rock without the use of drums (or very little use of drums; e.g., "Just One Thing" by Finger Eleven)
5) Any soundtrack by Thomas Newman or Bear McCreary (American Beauty, Road to Perdition, Battlestar Galactica (2003), The Walking Dead)
6) Any song with inclusion of the gamelan or erhu
So if I don't like your song, just remember, my musical taste is eclectic and certainly mock-worthy.
A friend recently mentioned how much he hates it when people put copyright information on their photographs (specifically, so that it completely distracts from the image). I couldn't agree more. I've always thought the copyrighting of photographs to be a sign of hubris, but that's not what bothers me about the incorporation of the copyright tag on photos. To me, every single pixel of the image is a necessity. Why in the world would any serious, or even semi-serious, photographer want to inject something so inharmonious into the image? I've always had the same problem with artists signing their work. This completely demystifies the art. Leave the creation alone. There are other ways of signing the image.
If people are so worried about others infringing upon their copyrighted imagery, there are a substantial number of alternatives that prevents self-vandalizing of the photographs. First, you could only provide the image to the public at a cost. That is, make people pay for the right to look at and/or have your photographs. Second, place a copyright note on the webpage in which it is provided. No need to do this on every single image you present -- yet it still covers all of the images you provide. Third, prevent people from copying/pasting your imagery elsewhere. This is done on several reputable sites, and is certainly a nice way of enforcing your copyright in a more active manner. The list goes on.
But what you've done, in my mine, is destroy your own art -- your own creation. Basically just to say that you made the art. Hubris self-vandalism.
My thoughts on photography -- share it. I keep the photos for memories, and share the ones in which I don't mind sharing the memories. If someone wants to claim it as their own -- strange, yes. But I'd probably consider it a compliment.
By the way, there is no better way to improve a mood than by going to a photo website (like flickr) and going through a slideshow of something that makes you happy. I usually choose "glacier", "mountains", "Canada", "Norway", "fjord", or "alpine". You may have your own list.
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I understood the divisive nature of Tim Tebow when he was in college. Every single damn announcer mentioned him, even in situations in which his inclusion in the conversation made sense to nobody. The negative attitude toward him was one of overuse.
Now? I don't get it. Although several players/coaches have expressed doubts, whose opinions I value much more than a typical layman, the vitriol with which the general public and several (unqualified) television announcers have shown when panning Tebow's efforts is sickening. Who the hell cares, anyway? Or, maybe I should be asking, why do you care so damn much? He's playing football, not curing cancer. Tebow may be a particularly stirring example of a religious athlete, but he is far from the only one -- and not even the most zealous. And his leading of a team that has made a string of victories against almost uniformly underwhelming teams is hardly a miracle. But it does prove that he can lead a team, and win in the big leagues. We should be happy for him, not metaphorically throw him under a bus in a jealous rage.
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You know, I love Alec Baldwin as a performer. And who knows what happened on that plane, but if the stories of his behavior on the plane are true, I certainly would have clapped when he was escorted off, after yelling for a half hour that he was probably making me miss my layover.
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I have recently become a fan of trip hop, but in this discovery, I've learned just what a fine line I draw between good music and absolute garbage. There is a strong association with the inclusion of the harpsichord, particularly if joined by a solo violin. I've also reaffirmed my general hatred of songs with lyrics, which explains in part my embracing of the trip hop genre.
I'm not sure why I hate so much music, really. There is an abundance of high-quality lyrics out there, but it's often complemented by the most unoriginal music. Then, there are those songs where the music is outrageously good, or at least fun, but the lyrics are a complete joke. It seems incredibly difficult, and incredibly rare, that both are better than embarrassing. I guess I'm too demanding.
I'm usually booed out of the conversation when I express my usual disdain toward a particular song or band, but I'm also often asked what makes for a great song or piece of music for me. I'm not really sure, but most of my favorite songs fall into a few categories:
1) Classic rock ballads with very few lyrics (e.g., "The Rain Song" by Led Zeppelin)
2) Piano sonatas, particularly Beethoven-era (Appassionata, e.g.)
3) Short trip hop pieces with a piano and a female voice (e.g., "Greenland" by Emancipator)
4) Post-1990 rock without the use of drums (or very little use of drums; e.g., "Just One Thing" by Finger Eleven)
5) Any soundtrack by Thomas Newman or Bear McCreary (American Beauty, Road to Perdition, Battlestar Galactica (2003), The Walking Dead)
6) Any song with inclusion of the gamelan or erhu
So if I don't like your song, just remember, my musical taste is eclectic and certainly mock-worthy.
Friday, November 11, 2011
The rise and fall of false heroes
Everyone in the college football world has an opinion, many very strong opinions, regarding the fallout from the Penn State scandal. As some are aware, I have very strong opinions on the matter. However, it is fair to say that my opinion should only be regarded as my own, as one who has never attended Penn State, who has no ties to any of those involved, and little knowledge of the actual goings-on that led to this week's events.
However, I am compelled to write my own thoughts because I think this issue speaks to a lot of others that need some intense scrutiny, despite the obvious ones at Penn State.
For example, it bothers me to the nth degree that everyone thinks they know what Joe Paterno did or did not know. At best, we've heard vague descriptions of the conversations he had and of the various (sometimes very specific) policies in place regarding the alleged child rapist Joe Sandusky. Therefore, it is not fair and illogical to claim that he didn't know anything. However, the extent of his knowledge remains a fair (and legal) question that necessitates investigation. Paterno is no longer obligated to stay quiet, under the purview of Penn State. He is no longer employed by Penn State. He may, however, be obligated to stay quiet owing to legal concerns. Otherwise, he should have no qualms about stepping forward and disclosing his knowledge of the situation from beginning to end. At the very least, he owes his fans and Penn State alumni an explanation, and perhaps more importantly, the alleged victims and their families.
On the other hand, those using the "what about Sandusky?" argument to claim that Paterno has been victimized by the public, I think, are instead, to some degree, motivated to clear Paterno's name prematurely. Sandusky is an alleged child rapist. Of course he is the biggest villain here (again, alleged); to think otherwise is simply absurd. Note that he is charged with a crime, whereas Paterno is not. Legally, Sandusky is in a much graver situation than Paterno, as he absolutely should be. This argument reeks of being a diversion, or a distraction of some sort. As Sandusky is not (and was not the time the scandal broke) a coach for Penn State, the focus on him in the world of college football is simple: he's a (potential) child predator. Arrest him, and move on.
As one who watched the events at Penn State unfold over the news this week, what I saw was a chess match between Paterno and Penn State officials. That dance simply exacerbated the scandal (which was already going to be the worst in college football history), and made it a crisis of chaos. In what could end up being the perfect metaphor, no one had the guts to do the right thing -- and remove everyone involved from Penn State's coaching staff (and superiors) immediately. Paterno preemptively struck by announcing his retirement, but the situation was already out of control. This was not an issue that was going away, and his continued employment would only bring more attention to it. Paterno should have and could have taken the high road, and immediately have resigned. Instead, the ugly events of Wednesday unfolded.
This brings me to another point. There was no other option but for Paterno to step down or be fired immediately. His guilt of anything is not of principal concern in this situation. College football (and universities, in general) is (are) a business, and business decisions can be made without the justice system making decisions. Therefore, there is a right and wrong decision to have been made here. As college football consists of recruiting students, and the notion of coaches either enabling the rape of or actually raping young children on premises, the only business decision to be made is to remove everyone involved. The fact that a grand jury has already reached decisions on this matter with some of the people involved is more than enough reasoning to make the right and only decision of firing the coaches and superiors involved.
The riots after Paterno's firing are another ugly stain on this scandal. Maybe riots is hyperbole; I actually think it is. But there is no question that many, many students (and others) protested, and some violently, Paterno's firing. This is completely unacceptable, and frankly, appalling. It speaks of religious zealotry -- how football is so important to so many people that they overlook the more important matter of child rape. As expected, families of the alleged victims are reported as being "offended" by the riots -- probably a euphemism. People have right to their opinions, of course, but the public has every right to respond with our own. The insulting response of these students (and others) shows a naivete, an ignorance, that fundamentally reeks of (some) sports fans' priorities that are astoundingly jaded.
Should Paterno be demonized? I don't know. As I said, my knowledge of his actual knowledge is limited, at best. However, there is little doubt he knew "something", and that alone leaves me incredibly uncomfortable. Should his legacy be tarnished? Yes. To what extent, I do not know. But this is an issue of child rape, and however much he knew, he did not do enough. Some have provided the "you don't know what you would have done" excuse. That bothers me fundamentally. If there was even potential of someone molesting/raping children, or even "acting inappropriately" around them -- we should ALL be compelled to immediately notify the proper authorities. To do otherwise is unthinkable, to me. This is a topic in which zero tolerance absolutely applies. Some may relish Paterno's fall from false heroism. No one should. But it also does not mean he should remain on the pedestal.
Finally, I think it is high time we start putting sports in perspective. It always amuses me when Americans make fun of Latin Americans or Europeans for their rabid fandom (and sometimes violent fandom) of soccer. I'm no longer amused. Now, I'm simply saddened. We easily note the faults of others, but not ourselves. Perhaps our zealotry with all things football should be placed in a similar perspective. At the very least, perhaps our propensity for propping up false heroes should be examined. Because, inevitably, some of the mighty fall -- and fall mighty far.
However, I am compelled to write my own thoughts because I think this issue speaks to a lot of others that need some intense scrutiny, despite the obvious ones at Penn State.
For example, it bothers me to the nth degree that everyone thinks they know what Joe Paterno did or did not know. At best, we've heard vague descriptions of the conversations he had and of the various (sometimes very specific) policies in place regarding the alleged child rapist Joe Sandusky. Therefore, it is not fair and illogical to claim that he didn't know anything. However, the extent of his knowledge remains a fair (and legal) question that necessitates investigation. Paterno is no longer obligated to stay quiet, under the purview of Penn State. He is no longer employed by Penn State. He may, however, be obligated to stay quiet owing to legal concerns. Otherwise, he should have no qualms about stepping forward and disclosing his knowledge of the situation from beginning to end. At the very least, he owes his fans and Penn State alumni an explanation, and perhaps more importantly, the alleged victims and their families.
On the other hand, those using the "what about Sandusky?" argument to claim that Paterno has been victimized by the public, I think, are instead, to some degree, motivated to clear Paterno's name prematurely. Sandusky is an alleged child rapist. Of course he is the biggest villain here (again, alleged); to think otherwise is simply absurd. Note that he is charged with a crime, whereas Paterno is not. Legally, Sandusky is in a much graver situation than Paterno, as he absolutely should be. This argument reeks of being a diversion, or a distraction of some sort. As Sandusky is not (and was not the time the scandal broke) a coach for Penn State, the focus on him in the world of college football is simple: he's a (potential) child predator. Arrest him, and move on.
As one who watched the events at Penn State unfold over the news this week, what I saw was a chess match between Paterno and Penn State officials. That dance simply exacerbated the scandal (which was already going to be the worst in college football history), and made it a crisis of chaos. In what could end up being the perfect metaphor, no one had the guts to do the right thing -- and remove everyone involved from Penn State's coaching staff (and superiors) immediately. Paterno preemptively struck by announcing his retirement, but the situation was already out of control. This was not an issue that was going away, and his continued employment would only bring more attention to it. Paterno should have and could have taken the high road, and immediately have resigned. Instead, the ugly events of Wednesday unfolded.
This brings me to another point. There was no other option but for Paterno to step down or be fired immediately. His guilt of anything is not of principal concern in this situation. College football (and universities, in general) is (are) a business, and business decisions can be made without the justice system making decisions. Therefore, there is a right and wrong decision to have been made here. As college football consists of recruiting students, and the notion of coaches either enabling the rape of or actually raping young children on premises, the only business decision to be made is to remove everyone involved. The fact that a grand jury has already reached decisions on this matter with some of the people involved is more than enough reasoning to make the right and only decision of firing the coaches and superiors involved.
The riots after Paterno's firing are another ugly stain on this scandal. Maybe riots is hyperbole; I actually think it is. But there is no question that many, many students (and others) protested, and some violently, Paterno's firing. This is completely unacceptable, and frankly, appalling. It speaks of religious zealotry -- how football is so important to so many people that they overlook the more important matter of child rape. As expected, families of the alleged victims are reported as being "offended" by the riots -- probably a euphemism. People have right to their opinions, of course, but the public has every right to respond with our own. The insulting response of these students (and others) shows a naivete, an ignorance, that fundamentally reeks of (some) sports fans' priorities that are astoundingly jaded.
Should Paterno be demonized? I don't know. As I said, my knowledge of his actual knowledge is limited, at best. However, there is little doubt he knew "something", and that alone leaves me incredibly uncomfortable. Should his legacy be tarnished? Yes. To what extent, I do not know. But this is an issue of child rape, and however much he knew, he did not do enough. Some have provided the "you don't know what you would have done" excuse. That bothers me fundamentally. If there was even potential of someone molesting/raping children, or even "acting inappropriately" around them -- we should ALL be compelled to immediately notify the proper authorities. To do otherwise is unthinkable, to me. This is a topic in which zero tolerance absolutely applies. Some may relish Paterno's fall from false heroism. No one should. But it also does not mean he should remain on the pedestal.
Finally, I think it is high time we start putting sports in perspective. It always amuses me when Americans make fun of Latin Americans or Europeans for their rabid fandom (and sometimes violent fandom) of soccer. I'm no longer amused. Now, I'm simply saddened. We easily note the faults of others, but not ourselves. Perhaps our zealotry with all things football should be placed in a similar perspective. At the very least, perhaps our propensity for propping up false heroes should be examined. Because, inevitably, some of the mighty fall -- and fall mighty far.
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