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.
Monday, December 12, 2011
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.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
A dedication to my friend
I have never much liked the notion of "best friends". In fact, I tend to sneer at people who use the term. For better or worse, though, everyone has one. Whether he or she is a best friend of convenience, proximity, dependence, or pure genuineness, often that friend is all you have.
I lost my best friend at an early age. He died when I was 17. I suppose his death is one reason I cringe at the use of the term. Maybe, actually likely, I have never fully recovered from his death. It is something I think about often.
This week, I am sad to say, I have lost another one.
My friend Derrick was an unbelievably smart, very funny man. He was infectiously engaged in whatever he was doing, and he tended to avoid those who were not. He was a master of quips. I have never forgotten the story of how he met his fiancee. They met at a party in college, and she introduced herself:
"Hi. My name is Kitty."
His reply? "What, is that a euphemism?" She laughed, as that's just what you are inclined to do around him. Derrick liked people who could make fun of themselves, and so they naturally clicked. He was to marry her next year.
Derrick was no stranger to tragedy. His father died in a car crash when he was 15. He remembered his father fondly, often referring to him as "Pops" in stories, which always reminded me of the Albert Finney character in Big Fish. The memories were full of exaggeration and flavor, but I suspect that is exactly how he remembered them. One day, he uncharacteristically wept when remembering his father saving a run-over cat. Even then, he talked of his father leaping off their porch (like Superman) when he witnessed it. Let me tell you, there was a not a dry eye in sight as he told the story.
Derrick and I referred to each other as "phone friends". We rarely saw each other after college, but he is one of the few people where you could go a year without talking with him, and still start up the conversation exactly where you left off the last time. I marveled at this.
I have dealt with a lot of loss in the past couple of years, more than I imagine most who are reading this realize. This one has just been devastating for me. I have caught myself multiple times this week reminiscing one of his gloriously exaggerated stories. It begins with him being stuck in a business meeting, late for an anniversary date with Kitty. His meeting adjourns at 6:45, more than an hour after it was intended to last. He races down the stairs, because the elevator is broken. He dashes across the city street in the pouring rain, running...running...running to the restaurant where he's reserved a table for 6:30. He enters the restaurant soaked to the point of shoe-squealing. He searches the restaurant, desperately hoping to find her. Fortunately, she's there, and he takes the engagement ring out of his sopping pocket.
Kitty later told me he asked her at an Applebee's on a Sunday, with clear skies. But he happened to tell her the same story before he asked her, but it was about his Pops. Kitty knows the circumstances, but she remembers the story.
Derrick taught me that the most important thing in life is perception. "If you don't like a memory, tell it the way you want it. Soon, that becomes the memory."
As for you, Derrick, I won't have to change a thing.
I lost my best friend at an early age. He died when I was 17. I suppose his death is one reason I cringe at the use of the term. Maybe, actually likely, I have never fully recovered from his death. It is something I think about often.
This week, I am sad to say, I have lost another one.
My friend Derrick was an unbelievably smart, very funny man. He was infectiously engaged in whatever he was doing, and he tended to avoid those who were not. He was a master of quips. I have never forgotten the story of how he met his fiancee. They met at a party in college, and she introduced herself:
"Hi. My name is Kitty."
His reply? "What, is that a euphemism?" She laughed, as that's just what you are inclined to do around him. Derrick liked people who could make fun of themselves, and so they naturally clicked. He was to marry her next year.
Derrick was no stranger to tragedy. His father died in a car crash when he was 15. He remembered his father fondly, often referring to him as "Pops" in stories, which always reminded me of the Albert Finney character in Big Fish. The memories were full of exaggeration and flavor, but I suspect that is exactly how he remembered them. One day, he uncharacteristically wept when remembering his father saving a run-over cat. Even then, he talked of his father leaping off their porch (like Superman) when he witnessed it. Let me tell you, there was a not a dry eye in sight as he told the story.
Derrick and I referred to each other as "phone friends". We rarely saw each other after college, but he is one of the few people where you could go a year without talking with him, and still start up the conversation exactly where you left off the last time. I marveled at this.
I have dealt with a lot of loss in the past couple of years, more than I imagine most who are reading this realize. This one has just been devastating for me. I have caught myself multiple times this week reminiscing one of his gloriously exaggerated stories. It begins with him being stuck in a business meeting, late for an anniversary date with Kitty. His meeting adjourns at 6:45, more than an hour after it was intended to last. He races down the stairs, because the elevator is broken. He dashes across the city street in the pouring rain, running...running...running to the restaurant where he's reserved a table for 6:30. He enters the restaurant soaked to the point of shoe-squealing. He searches the restaurant, desperately hoping to find her. Fortunately, she's there, and he takes the engagement ring out of his sopping pocket.
Kitty later told me he asked her at an Applebee's on a Sunday, with clear skies. But he happened to tell her the same story before he asked her, but it was about his Pops. Kitty knows the circumstances, but she remembers the story.
Derrick taught me that the most important thing in life is perception. "If you don't like a memory, tell it the way you want it. Soon, that becomes the memory."
As for you, Derrick, I won't have to change a thing.
Monday, July 11, 2011
SFTR: Yukon Ho!
In two weeks, I will be in Canada.
Canada is the butt of many an American joke, but in many ways, Canadians have the last laugh. Two of the most beautiful cities in North America are in Canada: Ottawa and Montreal. I'm guessing that Vancouver will be among the top tier cities after I visit for the first time. The Canadian Rockies are simply glorious, the maritime regions are postcards in the making, and the people -- well, they're among the kindest I have ever encountered.
I'm beyond thrilled to be returning to Canada. One of my favorite vacations was my trip to Ottawa and Montreal back in 2006, even though it included a car crash (Dyer, IN). My opinion is that Ottawa is the most beautiful city I have ever visited (though that list is unfortunately short) -- Parliament Hill is a stunning sight, full of outstanding Neo-Gothic architecture. Montreal is just a thrillingly diverse city, and Toronto remains shockingly accessible despite its enormity. Niagara Falls was as advertised, and a trip across Ontario remains one of my favorite road trips of my life.
That trip marked my first time out of the country, and I haven't left the US since then. Before embarking on what I hope to be several trips to Europe and Oceania in the next decade, I wanted to visit this country once more to experience the "outdoors" side to the country. I have several hikes planned, and I intend to devour as much of the Granville Island food market as I can.
Vacations for me are glimpses at lives I will not have. Travelers learn this very quickly; there is so much out there to experience and to learn. The wonder of travel is that you get to live these experiences, if only for a little bit. The curse of travel is that you realize you will never be able to live all of it for a lifetime. Travel makes you acutely aware of the small sliver of experiences available in a lifetime. It is depressing, but it is absolutely invaluable to me. Without these experiences, I would not appreciate what I have as much, or dream of what I could have.
I'm an alpine lakes and snow-capped peaks guy. Banff is synonymous with paradise for me. Some head to the beaches; I head to the tundra. We all have our utopias. The tops of mountains seem to be mine. It'll be wondrous to visit some in a country not my own.
I am not a religious man, but I am a spiritual one. I've often described my hikes and travels as transcendental experiences -- I still remember my first visit to the Wild Basin in Rocky Mountain National Park as the longest stretch of my life of pure happiness. I've had such experiences elsewhere, including Carmel Bay in California, Washington Pass in the North Cascades, Lake Superior in Minnesota, Lake Champlain in Vermont, the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park, Wupatki National Monument in Arizona, and (recently) Upper Chicago Lake in Colorado. The one constant with these places is that I remember every small detail -- the sound of the crashing waves in Carmel, the reflection of sunrise in Superior, the stillness of the air at Upper Chicago Lake, the passing cars at Washington Pass, the floating clouds above Highline Trail -- for me, these images are the memories I cling to hardest. They are but glimpses of pure happiness. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me happier than these experiences.
I love my job, the science I study, the people I know -- but these experiences, notably solitary ones, are what make me happiest, and what I strive for more than anything else. I have no illusions about my professional aspirations; I have no wish to be remembered eternally. I only hope that, before I die, I can have more of these moments, in faraway places -- glimpses of lives I will not have, lands I will not inhabit, experiences I will never relive. My goal is to travel. Not lofty, without ambition. I only seek to see as much as I can, in what little time I am given.
Canada taught me this, and so I owe her a revisit.
Canada is the butt of many an American joke, but in many ways, Canadians have the last laugh. Two of the most beautiful cities in North America are in Canada: Ottawa and Montreal. I'm guessing that Vancouver will be among the top tier cities after I visit for the first time. The Canadian Rockies are simply glorious, the maritime regions are postcards in the making, and the people -- well, they're among the kindest I have ever encountered.
I'm beyond thrilled to be returning to Canada. One of my favorite vacations was my trip to Ottawa and Montreal back in 2006, even though it included a car crash (Dyer, IN). My opinion is that Ottawa is the most beautiful city I have ever visited (though that list is unfortunately short) -- Parliament Hill is a stunning sight, full of outstanding Neo-Gothic architecture. Montreal is just a thrillingly diverse city, and Toronto remains shockingly accessible despite its enormity. Niagara Falls was as advertised, and a trip across Ontario remains one of my favorite road trips of my life.
That trip marked my first time out of the country, and I haven't left the US since then. Before embarking on what I hope to be several trips to Europe and Oceania in the next decade, I wanted to visit this country once more to experience the "outdoors" side to the country. I have several hikes planned, and I intend to devour as much of the Granville Island food market as I can.
Vacations for me are glimpses at lives I will not have. Travelers learn this very quickly; there is so much out there to experience and to learn. The wonder of travel is that you get to live these experiences, if only for a little bit. The curse of travel is that you realize you will never be able to live all of it for a lifetime. Travel makes you acutely aware of the small sliver of experiences available in a lifetime. It is depressing, but it is absolutely invaluable to me. Without these experiences, I would not appreciate what I have as much, or dream of what I could have.
I'm an alpine lakes and snow-capped peaks guy. Banff is synonymous with paradise for me. Some head to the beaches; I head to the tundra. We all have our utopias. The tops of mountains seem to be mine. It'll be wondrous to visit some in a country not my own.
I am not a religious man, but I am a spiritual one. I've often described my hikes and travels as transcendental experiences -- I still remember my first visit to the Wild Basin in Rocky Mountain National Park as the longest stretch of my life of pure happiness. I've had such experiences elsewhere, including Carmel Bay in California, Washington Pass in the North Cascades, Lake Superior in Minnesota, Lake Champlain in Vermont, the Highline Trail in Glacier National Park, Wupatki National Monument in Arizona, and (recently) Upper Chicago Lake in Colorado. The one constant with these places is that I remember every small detail -- the sound of the crashing waves in Carmel, the reflection of sunrise in Superior, the stillness of the air at Upper Chicago Lake, the passing cars at Washington Pass, the floating clouds above Highline Trail -- for me, these images are the memories I cling to hardest. They are but glimpses of pure happiness. Nothing, and I mean nothing, makes me happier than these experiences.
I love my job, the science I study, the people I know -- but these experiences, notably solitary ones, are what make me happiest, and what I strive for more than anything else. I have no illusions about my professional aspirations; I have no wish to be remembered eternally. I only hope that, before I die, I can have more of these moments, in faraway places -- glimpses of lives I will not have, lands I will not inhabit, experiences I will never relive. My goal is to travel. Not lofty, without ambition. I only seek to see as much as I can, in what little time I am given.
Canada taught me this, and so I owe her a revisit.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Postcards from the Edge
You know what's difficult about addiction? Everything.
I was going through a journal I wrote during college, after I was instructed to keep one as a means of coping with withdrawal. I've kept it after all these years, despite my predilection for hating diaries and hating even more that I succumbed to it. I no longer use or really need one, but learning of Betty Ford's death tonight, I was inclined to reminisce about a darker time in my life.
What is addiction? To an addict, everything. To a recovering addict, everything. Still. Always.
Betty Ford should be remembered for many reasons, but her courage above all else. An addict perceives everything through the very thing he/she is addicted to. Ford fought back, and helped others in the process. That is amazing.
I was going through a journal I wrote during college, after I was instructed to keep one as a means of coping with withdrawal. I've kept it after all these years, despite my predilection for hating diaries and hating even more that I succumbed to it. I no longer use or really need one, but learning of Betty Ford's death tonight, I was inclined to reminisce about a darker time in my life.
I was staring at the mirror. All I was hearing was the drip-drip-drip of the faucet and the whiny sound of the restroom fan. I wasn't sure how much time had passed. I was hypersensitive to sound. Each droplet falling from the faucet sounded like a bomb. A plane flying over my apartment sounded like an approaching tornado. And the fan continued to change pitch, now slightly lower.
Thirty minutes had passed before I came out of it. I wasn't even aware my roommate had returned home. I don't think he noticed, but I doubt he would mention it if he did. I'm not really sure why it happened, but it seemed I was stuck in time -- awake and comatose. The drip-drip-drip will haunt my dreams for days.
A couple of days ago, I was playing a video game. That's all I remember about that day. As I'm writing this, I can't remember really playing the video game at all. I've played that game so many times, that I'm not sure if I should. But soon it was over, and it was the next day.
I'm still not sure how I should be acting, but I go to class, talk to my roommate, hang out with friends, and keep a smile on my face. I've recently begun going to bars, and after the initial trepidation -- it almost seems like a new life. They check for my ID, and my involuntary reaction is to say, "Oh, I'm the designated driver." I'm not sure if there's such a thing as a "new normal", but if there is, this is what it is.
I don't say much at the bars. I generally listen to others, laugh at jokes, and watch the slowly draining steins. I still wonder why they drain so slowly, but the urge to drink has been replaced with something more fundamental. My urge is to be like them without having to do what they do to be like them.
I can't stand montages on TV. So pedantic, so melodramatic, so manipulative. But damned if I don't live these moments in super slow motion, with the same hypersensitivity as the mirror incident. Gulp-gulp-gulp, just like the drip-drip-drip. The clink of glasses, the ding of an ice cube hitting the bottom, the unmistakable sound of an opening beer bottle, the rising bubbles -- magic to the senses, even after everything. I still see and hear all of it as magic.
Mostly, I just observe. Gulp-gulp-gulp.
[Name omitted] keeps telling all of us that recovery is a lifelong process. I've always wondered if recovery is a misnomer. I see it as substitution. I had one life, and it wasn't working. So now I have another, and I don't know if, in the end, it will work. I'm pretty sure that staring at a mirror for thirty minutes without being cognizant of it is not "recovery". Then again, I haven't changed my new life yet, and I haven't gone back to my old one.
What is addiction? To an addict, everything. To a recovering addict, everything. Still. Always.
Betty Ford should be remembered for many reasons, but her courage above all else. An addict perceives everything through the very thing he/she is addicted to. Ford fought back, and helped others in the process. That is amazing.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Conversations with Strangers
After a very troubling 48 hours, I've come back to the blog to cope. So tonight I will write about some bright spots in an otherwise rather terrible couple of days.
I've been spending most of my free time either running in place (gym) or surfing the Al Gore invention for trip ideas. Arizona really pulled a number on me. I absolutely loved the Great Smoky Mountains during spring break, and after my somewhat spontaneous, way-too-brief visit to Arizona a couple of weeks ago, I've been in travel bug mode ever since. After a euphoric week ogling photos from the phenomenal road trip, I've now entered the "post afterglow" stage of traveling. Strangely, it feels like the five stages of dying. Can denial manifest itself as web browsing? It would appear so.
Usually, I start with New Zealand. It has always been the country I've wanted to visit most. I thought the Lord of the Rings films were overrated, but the scenery was spectacular. It seems rather unfathomable that there are places on this planet so stunning, even though my own country is full of them. So I spent a couple of hours looking at photos of Fiordland National Park, Mitre Peak, Routeburn Track, Fox Glacier, Kepler Track, etc. Then I looked at plane tickets. Guess I'll have to move on (for now).
Then I move on to Switzerland. Ah, the Alps. So beautiful, so peaceful, so expensive.
Then Norway. Oh, Oslo, you don't have a lot of letters, but you require a lot of green.
Right now, it's Iceland. Had to watch a TV show shot in Iceland this evening. Some clips of the Ring Road. What a gorgeously desolate, strangely alluring country. I can't pronounce basically any natural attraction, but I'd photograph the hell out of them.
Iceland is pricey, but definitely the tamest of places I've seen so far.
Thing is, I'm going to Canada next month, and probably Mallorca this fall, and maybe Mexico in January. Shouldn't this satisfy me?
No, a traveler is never satisfied. "Don't tell me what a man knows. Don't tell me what a man says. Tell me where he has traveled." Hopefully, soon, I won't be afraid of these words.
---
It occurs to me that television is about to get very exciting. White Collar returns in a week, Burn Notice later this month, and No Reservations and Breaking Bad in July. After a spectacular second season of Justified and third season of Parks and Recreation, these shows have much to live up to. (Not to mention the glorious final episodes of Community in its very fine second season.) On the other hand, Supernatural had its worst season, and House has become a total disaster. The season finale of House was astonishingly bad -- unforgivable, actually. I'm not sure I'm sticking around for Season 8. Fortunately, Margo Martindale redeemed everything, and made Justified a contender for my favorite drama right now -- at least Mad Men level quality.
Television is constantly panned by people who don't have a clue. Right now, it is infinitely better than film. More reliable, more thought-provoking, more intelligent, more daring. Writers, directors, and actors at the top of their game, giving performances of their lives. All you have to do is click the remote, and do a little research. There's more out there than American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. What is popular is commonly not what is good...
---
The soundtrack to Solaris (2002) by Cliff Martinez is finally available on YouTube. A strange, ambient, quiet, beautiful set of pieces that make the movie far better than it deserves to be. I absolutely love this soundtrack, particularly "First Sleep", "Is That What Everybody Wants?", and "Will She Come Back?" A travesty that such an interesting work is overlooked in the movie music industry.
---
It was 101 on 1 June where I live. Why is this a positive thing? Well, my air conditioner works. Never mind. All negative.
---
Tomorrow is Friday, and I'm having ham, egg, cheese, and a croissant. That's good enough.
I've been spending most of my free time either running in place (gym) or surfing the Al Gore invention for trip ideas. Arizona really pulled a number on me. I absolutely loved the Great Smoky Mountains during spring break, and after my somewhat spontaneous, way-too-brief visit to Arizona a couple of weeks ago, I've been in travel bug mode ever since. After a euphoric week ogling photos from the phenomenal road trip, I've now entered the "post afterglow" stage of traveling. Strangely, it feels like the five stages of dying. Can denial manifest itself as web browsing? It would appear so.
Usually, I start with New Zealand. It has always been the country I've wanted to visit most. I thought the Lord of the Rings films were overrated, but the scenery was spectacular. It seems rather unfathomable that there are places on this planet so stunning, even though my own country is full of them. So I spent a couple of hours looking at photos of Fiordland National Park, Mitre Peak, Routeburn Track, Fox Glacier, Kepler Track, etc. Then I looked at plane tickets. Guess I'll have to move on (for now).
Then I move on to Switzerland. Ah, the Alps. So beautiful, so peaceful, so expensive.
Then Norway. Oh, Oslo, you don't have a lot of letters, but you require a lot of green.
Right now, it's Iceland. Had to watch a TV show shot in Iceland this evening. Some clips of the Ring Road. What a gorgeously desolate, strangely alluring country. I can't pronounce basically any natural attraction, but I'd photograph the hell out of them.
Iceland is pricey, but definitely the tamest of places I've seen so far.
Thing is, I'm going to Canada next month, and probably Mallorca this fall, and maybe Mexico in January. Shouldn't this satisfy me?
No, a traveler is never satisfied. "Don't tell me what a man knows. Don't tell me what a man says. Tell me where he has traveled." Hopefully, soon, I won't be afraid of these words.
---
It occurs to me that television is about to get very exciting. White Collar returns in a week, Burn Notice later this month, and No Reservations and Breaking Bad in July. After a spectacular second season of Justified and third season of Parks and Recreation, these shows have much to live up to. (Not to mention the glorious final episodes of Community in its very fine second season.) On the other hand, Supernatural had its worst season, and House has become a total disaster. The season finale of House was astonishingly bad -- unforgivable, actually. I'm not sure I'm sticking around for Season 8. Fortunately, Margo Martindale redeemed everything, and made Justified a contender for my favorite drama right now -- at least Mad Men level quality.
Television is constantly panned by people who don't have a clue. Right now, it is infinitely better than film. More reliable, more thought-provoking, more intelligent, more daring. Writers, directors, and actors at the top of their game, giving performances of their lives. All you have to do is click the remote, and do a little research. There's more out there than American Idol and Dancing with the Stars. What is popular is commonly not what is good...
---
The soundtrack to Solaris (2002) by Cliff Martinez is finally available on YouTube. A strange, ambient, quiet, beautiful set of pieces that make the movie far better than it deserves to be. I absolutely love this soundtrack, particularly "First Sleep", "Is That What Everybody Wants?", and "Will She Come Back?" A travesty that such an interesting work is overlooked in the movie music industry.
---
It was 101 on 1 June where I live. Why is this a positive thing? Well, my air conditioner works. Never mind. All negative.
---
Tomorrow is Friday, and I'm having ham, egg, cheese, and a croissant. That's good enough.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Graduation Day
This week, I will attend my (hopefully) final graduation. Sadly, I'll be attending many more graduation ceremonies, just not mine. Actually, I'll probably find those more enjoyable, since I will have taught some of them prior to graduating. Nevertheless, my disdain for these ceremonies is well-known and deeply felt.
However, I am compelled to attend, primarily out of being voluntold to by my dear mother. Happy Mother's Day. So I will attend, and smile for the camera, and perhaps earn my third volume of Severe Convective Storms. This time, I am promised a hooding, which I guess is supposed to tantalize me into attending the ceremony. "You only get hooded once!" O....k, but doesn't that just mean I only get a Ph.D. once, which is not necessarily true anyway?
Graduation day, for me, has always been about the other people, not the one graduating. Commonly, this sort of thing would irritate me, but not in this case. Graduation is a process of community. Ultimately, it falls on the individual, but there is no way that individual can graduate without the love and support of his mentors, peers, and family. Graduation SHOULD be about the other people. It is an accomplishment for those who have helped almost as much as the graduate himself!
To this end, I wish to thank those who have helped me along the way. I'm pretty sure I would not have made it without my fellow graduate students. Who else would I get to complain to about the little things, or even the big things? Who else would I eat my second plate of Pad Thai, or third plate of fajitas at Chelino's, or fourth plate of everything at Himalayas? Who else would understand my rants on RKW theory, or on irresponsible storm chasing, or the latest bureaucratic nonsense at the Intergalactic Weather Center?
The administrative assistants deserve all the credit in the world. I'm not sure how often Celia or Nancy or Marcia or Judy or Becky saved my metaphorical behind, but I'm relatively certain the equivalent number of tropical cyclones in a year would require usage of some Greek letters no one has heard of. Anyone graduating anywhere should shake hands with the school staff and say thank you. You would not have made it without them, even if you didn't know it.
Having mentors as wonderful as mine is not just a rarity, but an absolute privilege. There is no question that the quality of my advisors was instrumental in me getting to where I am. Lance, Mike, Chuck -- thanks for everything. In particular, for still putting up with me.
And to my family -- especially my dear mother. This one's for you.
So I will attend graduation, smile for the cameras, receive...something, and go on my merry way. I'll do this for you, because you've earned it. All of you.
However, I am compelled to attend, primarily out of being voluntold to by my dear mother. Happy Mother's Day. So I will attend, and smile for the camera, and perhaps earn my third volume of Severe Convective Storms. This time, I am promised a hooding, which I guess is supposed to tantalize me into attending the ceremony. "You only get hooded once!" O....k, but doesn't that just mean I only get a Ph.D. once, which is not necessarily true anyway?
Graduation day, for me, has always been about the other people, not the one graduating. Commonly, this sort of thing would irritate me, but not in this case. Graduation is a process of community. Ultimately, it falls on the individual, but there is no way that individual can graduate without the love and support of his mentors, peers, and family. Graduation SHOULD be about the other people. It is an accomplishment for those who have helped almost as much as the graduate himself!
To this end, I wish to thank those who have helped me along the way. I'm pretty sure I would not have made it without my fellow graduate students. Who else would I get to complain to about the little things, or even the big things? Who else would I eat my second plate of Pad Thai, or third plate of fajitas at Chelino's, or fourth plate of everything at Himalayas? Who else would understand my rants on RKW theory, or on irresponsible storm chasing, or the latest bureaucratic nonsense at the Intergalactic Weather Center?
The administrative assistants deserve all the credit in the world. I'm not sure how often Celia or Nancy or Marcia or Judy or Becky saved my metaphorical behind, but I'm relatively certain the equivalent number of tropical cyclones in a year would require usage of some Greek letters no one has heard of. Anyone graduating anywhere should shake hands with the school staff and say thank you. You would not have made it without them, even if you didn't know it.
Having mentors as wonderful as mine is not just a rarity, but an absolute privilege. There is no question that the quality of my advisors was instrumental in me getting to where I am. Lance, Mike, Chuck -- thanks for everything. In particular, for still putting up with me.
And to my family -- especially my dear mother. This one's for you.
So I will attend graduation, smile for the cameras, receive...something, and go on my merry way. I'll do this for you, because you've earned it. All of you.
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