not a bad day...

Regardless of the late start I got on the day, I gotta say that it shaped up pretty well.

Started with the emails back and forth that look like will get me a good recommendation on a job with a company I've been thinking about for a while. Good, that.

And then the bikey shtuff... first of all, a big Thank You Hug to the collective staff of the Infrastructure Planning and Street Maintence (and whoever else) at the City of Ann Arbor for the updates to Packard Rd. Been a pain in the ass in many ways, the construction project to bolster infrastructure (water, etc.) for the SE corner of the city resulted in new pavement that includes (ta daa!) bike lanes. They went from 2 lanes each way to 1 each way with a shared turn lane, and Full Sized Bike Lanes. Which kicks ass. Happy taxpayer, I am. And really has very little effect on traffic flow, given the feeder streets to that section of Packard and usage patterns. I realize that this is only 1 mile or so of changes, but it's a step in the right direction. Oh yeah, and it's right outside MY house. Now if only Morgan and York would fix the damn neon sign. It's incredibly tacky to be in such disrepair, and it's not like they don't bank large amount of cash from their froofy booze-n-cheese business. Pony up for the maintenance bucks, guys. The asphalt road is showing you up, and it just lays there.

For those interested in urban planning and transportation alternatives, check out the Ann Arbor Non-Motorized Transportation Master Plan. It's a long slog through a long document, but brings up all kinds of interesting planning, safety, and usage pattern factoids.

Other bikey news. It was absolutely perfect weather. 60 miles run through Waterloo, no bonking. Nice.

Bikey chit chat: rolling through Waterloo I ran into up Brian (Sociology grad and part-time wrench slinger for Two Wheel Tango) and we rode back eastward together. Plenty of chance to chat, and while we were talking for most of the way, my sore shoulders and post-ride cough gave me the distinct impression that he would spank me big time in a higher-stakes ride. Talked about this and that... lamented the fact that the Bloomer Park Velodrome is so far away, but so so fun. Now where in Washtenaw county could we put one? I mean, there's gotta be at least a couple hundred people that would be interested, what with the thousands of bike folks on the Ypsi/AA/Saline/Dexter/Chelsea axis. I'd love to make a comment about how Brian, as a part-timer, does more for the cred of the shop than Dennis (owner) does with his Mr.-Grumpy-doesn't-seem-to-want-you-as-a-customer attitude, but I'm not negative like that. or am I?

So then it was a christening of my new pressure cooker with with some cow peas, bacon, garlic, and kale, and a smidge o' red red wine for the glass. Gotta tell you, I do make a damn good bean dish, if I may say so m'self. The one thing I just love about kale, other than it's apparent surface hydrophobia, is that it takes abuse like no other leafy green I know. You can cook the snot out of it (i.e., toss it in and forget about it for a while) and it just takes the punishment and comes out tasty and nicely textured. It must have a little bit of masochist in it.

So I'm gonna head out and see Eastern Promises tonight just to try to cap it off with a flourish. Viggo makes a good movie, David Cronenberg (History of Violence, Crash, eXistenZ, The Fly) does really good stuff, and Naomi Watts? Well even if she hadn't pulled me in and ripped me a new one in 21 Grams, she is so... meow. Mmm, pretty. Throw in some Russian Mob intrigue and some prison ink, and I'm ready to be entertained.

will you shut the fuck up? (seriously)

As a shout out to everyone who was near/with/around me at the Medeski, Martin, and Wood show at the Detroit Jazz Fest, and who might have had the pleasure of observing the balding tubbo greaser turn around and complain vehemently that I was disturbing him with my talking at a free, outdoor, attended by thousands Jazz Fest... I offer the following counter example:

When you are in a library studying, set your phone to silent/vibrate. If someone calls you when you're in the library, and you simply *must* answer it, please try to keep your voice down. And when that conversation appears to be going to continue for more than a minute, go out to the lobby, or outside, or how about... GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME.

I mean seriously, folks. I understand the ubiquity of telecommunication devices. I take pleasure in a couple of them myself. I realize that the world changes and we must change with it. I realize that as information is more and more available electronically from your computer at home, the nature of the library is also changing. I realize that the engineering library is used by students as a meeting place to work on projects together, and there's a certain amount of conversation that goes with that.

But I have to draw the line somewhere. Noise and interruption has permeated so much of our daily lives that we tolerate it far too much.If there were one public (secular) place left in the world where you can go and pore over books in peace and quiet, where is that? The library. Deep in the shelves, far away from the high traffic areas.

But today, across the table, this guy first of all has to call his buddy about this great story BBC-Online has (but apparently can't email to him). And then a few minutes later takes a call and proceeds to go on for over 10 minutes about this or that dance/social event organization. I didn't feel I was in a position to bitch him out there in public because I'm not a tuition-paying student, but now that my ire is up, I remember that I'm a taxpayer, and a guest of the University to boot. And next time I think I'm going to share my feelings with those that are telephonically manners-challenged. And fuck 'em if they don't like what I have to say about their annoyances.

the Tofu Offset

Overheard on the radio today, and in digi-print here... it's the Tofu Offset. A very 21st-century revitalization of 16th-century Roman Catholic indulgences.

The notion of carbon offsets and cap-and-trade ideas have always bothered me on a fuzzy and nebulous (yet fundamental) level, but it wasn't until the sarcasm and humor of the Tofu Offset came along that it was made clear. That what really bothered me was people believing they could de-guilt themselves financially.

I have to give credit to the people who invented these carbon trading companies - sounds like a pretty good way to make money off people's personal guilt... about their inability to actually make change in their life, about their desire to fit in with other people (regardless of the inanity), about their laziness in taking an easy way out. If you actually believe something is worthwhile, then how about actually DOing it?

Of course, this gets me in trouble all the time when I shoot my mouth off.... so there's that problem for me to work through.

There's an analogy in here somewhere about truthiness and that if something is said enough times and with enough conviction that somehow it changes the facts. But the end result is that you can't offset emissions in the physical world with cash in the abstract financial world anymore than you can offset your pudgy waistline with a Cheeseburger Offset.

got mead?

El Batcho Numero Uno. Batch the First. Zee Ertsten Batchenheit. Gruppo Uno di Mead-olio.

The quickie bottlings I did the other weekend of Batches #2 and #3 (test batches, mind you) I hereby declare didn't count. These, they're gonna sit for a while, relax, condition, etc. etc. I definitely noticed a difference between the taste of the initial bottlings (test bottlings, we'll say) a month ago, and what resulted after it sitting around was much improved. So I'm gonna do more of that.

And as I racked batches 4 and 7 tonight, I tasted the same kinds of things - it's very "young". Raw. Surely lots of yeasties floating around in it.

The good news? Well, I think I'd have a different opinion of #1 if I hadn't brought some to the Pesto Party. Turns out Jeff's friend (and Cheryl's co-worker?) Colleen is an experienced amateur meader, and I couldn't stop picking at her brain all afternoon - we talked shop, likely to the extreme annoyance of bystanders. While I don't ever think we got to the bottom of that question about legislative action vs. judicial precedence, we did find out that we have tons of beer, outdoor-sey, and opinionated things in common, so chances are better than average that we'll run into each other at a local pub and get to revisit the question. Of course, if there's beer involved, I really wonder whether we'll get anywhere on the topic then, either. What with all the yak-yak-yak that I seem to indulge in, not to mention Georgina's enabling enthusiasm for conversational dynamics.

While I think that Colleen's and my tastes are wildly divergent (I like the sweeter and she likes the dryer ones), she had encouraging things to say about #1. If her sincerity was affected because of my "well, here's the first batch... I think it might suck buuuut...." or if she truly liked it, the effect is the same when positive comments come from people with more experience than I have. I feel ok about my first efforts, and since it's fun fussing with the whole thing, I'm not planning stopping any time soon.

Oh yeah, and I end up with a bunch o' hooch at the end... there's that going for me.

So... the bad news. Batches #5 and #6 just don't seem to be doing anything anymore. I thought they might be done with primary fermenting, but when I stuck my nose in the carboy, they still smelled really sweet, and there was only the tiniest amount of lees in the bottom. These, of course would be the batches that I screwed up the proportions on - they had an original gravity off the scale, meaning > 1.200, which = "way too much". I'm actually wondering if the yeasties didn't just... give up (imagine the chorus of 100 million little yeast bacteria bemoaning "geez, there's just way too much sugar to work on in here, I quit.") Regardless, it'll give it another try tomorrow - another yeast starter going, I'll dilute the batches in half, pitch some more yeast in, and see if it can't get going again.

integration vs. innovation

What does how we think say about each of us? Not what we think, but how we think.

I walk and talk. I ride a bike. I shower. I sit. I eat. I sleep. I drive. And I hear about/from other people - about when they had this inspiration or that revelation. For some, figuring things out comes from talking through them - not necessarily (but maybe sometimes) because of dialog with another, but just by speaking the words and engaging the verbal brain, the process works something in the clickety-clack and out pops this new thing. For others, it's standing in the shower and the hot water and noise pouring over them smooths over the distractions to find the nugget of Nouveau. Sometimes riding a bike or running works the ideas through to previously undiscovered vistas.

This started out being about riding the bike - on a long ride my brain is more likely to integrate quietly in the background, and conspicuously, not spontaneously innovate. That the long stretches jostle everything around and new information settles in the cracks making itself comfortable, producing a compact solidity that makes room for new things to come in afterward, but keeps new synthesis from poking through to the top. I love the metaphor, but the consequence is not exactly something I'm that keen on. It's been far too easy over the years to adapt to my circumstances, and sometimes I wonder exactly who I am anymore. That I'm too much of an integrator.

At the same time I'm still prickly and argumentative for the sake of argument - to a fault at times. Maybe that's just my inner teenager rebelling for the sake of rebellion and to make its mark on the world. Opposing anything and rejecting everything, good and bad regardless.

But when it comes to the new, everyone has their own style. For me requires a substantial amount of monotony. Digging ditches. Putting Tab A into Slot B and pasting to Sheet C, over and over. I guess my brain has to have the opportunity to wander a bit and clear out the everyday business before getting to somewhere new. I often find that point... somewhere 10-20 miles east of Benton Harbor. On the way to Chicago, it's that point where I've had about 2 - 2.5 hours in the car, a cup of coffee or two, there's not much traffic or distraction, I'm settled enough into driving that I don't feel tired anymore or uncomfortable yet. Of course, I don't go that way that often, but it's predictable enough that the brain be warming up right then.

If only I could turn make it on-demand inspiration...

Bacon-palooza

I've had this idea rolling around in my head for some time, and I know there's support for it in some circles (and opposition in some), but how to make it work... just haven't got that figured yet.

So Bacon-palooza would be an adjunct to an existing party. A side stage. A party auxilliary. Half of a party. Not enough of an excuse for a party itself, but a significant contributor thereto. Basically, a festival of bacon. There's garlic festivals, no? Well what about that most delicious of crispy meat bits? Lots of people (non-vegs, of course) like bacon, and how often to you have an opportunity to celebrate the types of dishes that can "feature" bacon? There's gotta be a recipe for bacon pudding out there somewhere. And bacon chips and salsa. Or how about chips and bacon salsa?

We're not talking about just a salad with hot bacon dressing or a bacon pizza, those are vegetable and bread dishes, with bacon on them. I'm looking for creativity here. Yes, cholesterol counts will skyrocket in the days and weeks after. But unless you've got one foot in the grave already, you'll be fine. And if you've got one foot in the grave already, shouldn't you be out getting some exercise and eating sensibly instead of reading stupid blargs on teh interwebs?


Why? Because everything tastes better with bacon... including bacon.

Halloween is coming up, and plenty of football-season party excuses... thoughts anyone?

(and as far as Maggie is concerned... she's been giving me the silent treatment for months now. If she's going to insult me, I'm not very likely to care about her feelings, now am I?)

back among... the Clean People

Back in town amongst all you freshly washed, shaven, and brushed people (saponophobes, The Bearded, and bald(ing) people excepted)... I am returned.

Rivers, somewhat less choked today than it was a week ago by the evil and invasive Russian Olive: qty 1.











Desert landscape, adored and absorbed: a whole bunch.

Water consumed personally over said week and passed through body one way or another: 10-12 gal.










Miles driven cross-country back and forth: 3600 (...mas o menos)

Bugs squashed on front of car along the way: 1.2 gagjillion

*poof*

Gone, I am.

On walkabout.

This boy has a date with a river. See y'all in a week or two.

more oddness...

Last night's dream included... Hillary Clinton campaigning door-to-door for the upcoming presidential election. I was at the home of my childhood, mowing the lawn (though I apparently owned the house now, and my parents had moved on), and Hilary Clinton just walks right up, nonchalant, with no entourage and no paparazzi. Just a quiet day in the suburbs where she's getting the word out that she's running for office and would like me to vote for her.

Wacky.

Isn't that odd...

In the Land of the Boring and the Waiting (for other people's things to happen) comes the ponderable: Hearing. We learned early on as kids how people (at least with more or less normal hearing) determine where a sound is coming from... that one's brain, through a high-resolution internal timer can tell that the sound arrived at one ear before it arrived at the other, and thus determine whether it is to the left or right of the direction the head is pointed. It's not too much of a stretch to also say that distance can be inferred by the difference in strength of the sound. i.e. If the sound is far away, the difference in distance between your ears is small, so they should hear it the same. But if it's close, the distance between your ears is more significant and the softening of the sound over that distance is noticeable.

But what about front to back and up and down? In this model, ears are point receivers and there's only two of them. There's a plane of symmetry, and since we can't rotate the fleshy flap of our outer ear (like a deer) a sound in front should sound roughly the same as the sound in back. So how do we know? Surely you can tell when a sound is in front or back, right? So how do we do it? Any audiologists out there want to shed some light on the matter?


And then there was this... Windows apparently eating itself.


Ah, the circle of life.

Consolidation (or: how I learned to pack up glassware and love the paper shredder)

Having become tired of my chronic low-grade packrat-itis, I finally made good (or, at least better) on my intention from years ago. My intention to use the Automatic Document Feeder on the scanner I got and scan in all that paper that I've been hanging on to for so long, but thought would have some use (i.e. in the event of a banking collapse, IRS audit, survey of electricity prices from place to place, etc. etc.) Think of it as the Paperwork Reduction Act of 2007.

Yes, they were silly reasons to not throw out all that crap, but at least now I have a clear conscience about it. Digitizing years of stuff, and then shredding like a madman. I'm not sorting or anything, just jam it all in there and burn to DVD. Think of it as a digital shoebox. Along the way I must have tripped the thermal overload on the shredder a dozen times while shredding so much that it filled up 6 packed paper grocery bags with crosscut shredded paper. But now it's mostly gone, and when new stuff comes in, it can go straight to the digital shredfest.

But as I made the keep/scan/shred decisions for a lot of things, it was like a walk down memory lane. And along the way, what did I find? The time, she's a-movin'. The letter to the Chicago Police from after my car was broken into ... that was 2001? And I lived here at this address? I haven't lived here in *this* apartment 6 years, have I? Sheesh. And exactly what was I saving all those blank checkbook deposit slips for? Maybe 'til I had a shredder to shred them with. Those long trips to Ireland, my lost passport, my transcript from the Uni... they seemed only yesterday, but it was a long, long, time ago (relatively).

It ain't exactly over - the tough spots that I've been avoiding are still looming: Car crap and medical/health insurance. Stuff that is all sorts of shapes, so a pain to scan, but don't want to throw it all out at once because there might be some weird billing or history thing that could crop up. Besides, having the dossier on my self or car would be useful later on, methinks. Right? (or is that just the kind of thinking that gets me file drawers full of crap?)

The other benefit from the "clean bench" policy? I'm finally doing something about the dustables. That bunch of stuff that I thought would be appropriate to rescue from Grandma's house after she died, but that has only sat on a shelf collecting dust, annoying me with it's dust collection ability. Sure, I need to remember where "my people" are from and the ornaments of culture, but it doesn't mean that I need to keep boiled egg cups and uselessly small wine glasses to be able to do it.

What was I waiting for all that time? And the other waiting? What's with that? ahh... but that's probably better suited to another time and place.

Gouge Away

So it's late, and a micro-nap earlier this evening seems to have put me into a state of sleeplessness. So I'm up, and tossing and turning, and wondering about that gouge in the space shuttle tiles.

They say it goes all the way through the outer heat shield tile. I'm thinking that's a bad thing. (...but I'm no rocket scientist. [ba-dum])

Gets me wondering about the odds these days. There were 5 shuttles at one time. Two of them became spectacular fireballs that the crews didn't survive. Now about those other 3... I'm wondering at what point NASA starts working on a new design. It's clear that the shuttle is necessary/important (i.e. servicing ISS, bringing astronauts home) or else it wouldn't be flying. But at what point do you say that the vehicle is past its prime? And if, heavens forbid, this shuttle doesn't make it home in one piece, that means there'd only be 2 left. Which makes the notion of a orbital rescue somewhat dodgy indeed.

Missions are planned until 2010 in order to finish assembling the ISS - and it also seems that it's almost all shuttle flights that are sending the goods up there. A couple Russian trips, but mostly shuttle.

Did you know that the Russians had a space shuttle too? Golly, it sure looks a lot like the NASA version. Rumor has it that there was a bit of engineering sharing between countries on this one. I guess it makes sense in the realm of "both nations are participants in the space station and there should be redundant vehicles."

But definitely something of a different approach to getting it pointed at the sky by assembling it horizontal and then lifting it into position. We'll never really know which is a better launch procedure - Buran's shuttle only flew once. It apparently was capable of totally unmanned flight, including landing, and it seems they were even almost finished building the second one, but the program was discontinued, and what's left belongs to Kazakhstan.

And in the free-association that goes on in the wee hours of the night/morning, the two things that come to mind when I hear Kazakhstan? Borat and Vino. The former made me feel sorry for the people mocked in the movie. The latter, not as much - I can't decide whether it's the continuing variety of doping cases or the stupidity of his particular one that's making me feel numb to it.

Le Hooch

Though it's become quite popular and all the kids are doing it these days, I don't presume to have the patience or attention span to brew beer at home. Not to mention that there's tons of breweries out there doing a fine job and I can get a variety of their products at lots of local places.

But what I can't get my hands on, that I do so enjoy? Mead. Yeah, like what the Vikings and other such hearty folk be drinkin' while they be pillagin'. There's the Redstone Meadery that I almost went to when I was out in Boulder last summer. And of course, there's probably lots of meading going on among those SCA people, but I just don't go that way. The thing is, my true motivation is essentially financial. Redstone's meads are about $20/bottle. That's ridiculous. Especially when it goes down really smooth and eaaasy.

So I went out and bought 12 lbs of honey, some yeast, a carboy (big glass jar), a big stock pot, some stoppers and whatnot, and off I go. The mix has been bubbling away fermenting their little yeasty hearts out on the counter for a couple days now. The unexpected discoveries? Damn if it doesn't take a long time (hours and hours) for 3 gallons of almost-boiling liquid to cool off (I'll have to get me a must/wort chiller). Oh yeah, and holy crap... talk about luscious sweet floral scents - when you have steaming honey/water mix, all these remarkable scents come off it. At one point when cooling, it was even "buttery". I kid you not. Like sweet, but luscious... butter.

Along the way, one thing I don't get riled up about much: interstate commerce laws applying to internet wine sales. But I gotta say, whoever is drawing the mascot over at Free The Grapes? Splendid work.

Shackles The Bondage Grape. How many mixed messages are there in there? Who cares. I just love the little hands, and fighting stance, and grumpy frown, and chin but no nose. He's like Hoffa, on the town square, fighting for freedom and a living wage. But he doesn't have a megaphone.

And he's a grape.

Crapola. Haven't been too bike-thusiatic the past week or so, until this weekend. Went for a couple hours of ridin' in the dirt out at the Poto yesterday, and was all ready to be pavement-ey this morning. But it looks like it's gonna rain all damn day. Fricken-frack.

It's what I can't have that I want the most right now - dry pavement.

aren't they just the *cutest*?

Seen today while at a stoplight - the UPS truck that comes around the corner, to encounter the Fedex truck also doing rounds in the same neighborhood... the tap-of-the-horn-tip-o'-the-cap, the bleep of the hey-howya-doin'...

It's like a real-world version of Sam the Sheepdog and Ralph the Wolf punching in (or out) for the day.

Bacon-pa-looza

For some reason I got it in my head to soak and cook some black-eyed peas, but without a plan for a meal. So I find myself looking in Bittman, and find out that I need some slab bacon or other pork product... and off I go to the Kroger around the corner. What I find, and cannot seem to live without, is a spectrum of the salted pork products, which I find myself chuckling at when I got home. Sure, all the Vegans and Veggies will be horrified, but hopefully this is somehow set off by the recent delight I have found in tempeh. And if I ever need to defend myself against roving bands of veggies, I'm sure Matt, Jeff, Warren, and other bacon enthusiasts will back me up on the pork product issue.

As I'm slicing the fat off the salted pork, I can help but hear the line "richest creamiest fat in the world..." repeating over and over in my head.

While seeking out aformentioned pork products, I walk past this label, and double-triple-take ("as the vivacious feline makes her way into the delta of the alleyway" - 10 points and a slice of bacon to whoever can name the song without reaching for a search engine. Bonus points and a full breakfast if you know the whole song/poem) as I pass by this label. I swear the first time I saw it, it was Dirt Green Tea. "Now who the heck would want any of that?"

And then this afternoon in the bank parking lot, I walked over this sad little scene. This poor little pipe fitting, forever embedded in the asphalt, never to be a proper pipe fitting in the wild and woolly world out there. How very, very sad.

So yeah, that was my afternoon/evening.

Oh yeah, I got on the bike and went to crit practice. It was hot out. My fitness is lacking. I was slow, and fell off the back lots of times.

Let's not talk about it... mmmkay?

(still) too many

Yesterday on the Diane Rehm Show, author Alan Weisman was talking about his new book and associated topics. The premise of the book and conversation had to do with what the earth would look like if humans weren't around any more, how long it would take for ecologies to re-establish and stabilize, how long human monuments would remain... things like that. Along the way, the unavoidable issue of (over)population came up.

Overpopulation has been a long-standing gripe for me. There's a whole collection of problems that lead back to this one simple fact: there are too many humans on this planet, and they don't seem to notice that it's a problem.

We're producing ever-increasing debris and garbage. We're struggling (and even fighting wars) over sources of energy. We're gobbling up land needlessly and shitting all over it. And by "we" I mean all of us humans. And few notice or seem to care - everyone just wants to breed, breed, breed. When there is no food, no space, no peaceful places, one should not produce new children.

Consider China for a moment - about a billion people (uhh... I mean 'consumers'). 60 years ago, the government even put in place a one-child policy to avoid the pending meltdown that would occur due to over-population. Unintended consequence: with a preference for male children, China now has a large population of young and middle-aged single men, whose female counterparts may all have been married off already. I don't think I need to explain how a couple million rowdy boys can be a serious political stability problem. (it even makes a cameo appearance as a plot device in Shadow of the Hegemon) ... and that even before talking about all the other wacky situations China is facing.

Heck, even the Dali Lama knows it's a problem - though for him, it's more of a problem reconciling his environmentalism with his love for every human life (so he says, in "10 Questions for the Dali Lama"). Me, not so much with the paradox reconciliation.

There's just too many people on the planet. It was 6,000,000,000 in 1999. 7 years later, it's around 6,600,000,000. Think it's going to stop growing any time soon? If only...

Icelanders/shark

Seems like a lot of work to eat an animal full of toxins. Don't they have baby seals to eat?

Walmart-ification

The saddest thing about the Wal-mart-ification of America? Not that every product sold was outsourced overseas, has a design lifetime of 1 year, is non-repairable/disposable, and gives you cancer... and not that every job will be as either a cashier or a greeter at Wal-mart... it's that we'll all be shopping at Wal-mart, which, given what I've seen at their stores, means the average waist measurement of the population will be 52 and we'll have to use walkers and canes to walk because we'll have lost the ability to move under our own power.

not-so-criminal

Technically they're still probably guilty of trespassing and illegal entry, but still, it's pretty funny.

Death Ride wrap-up

It was good. Hard. Long. Getting on the bike at 6:00 am and rolling back to the cabin at 6:30 pm makes for a loooong day. Fred described it best: "You know what it's like to go for a 4-5 hour ride and think 'that was a long ride', but in this case, it's a whole day that disappeared while you were on the bike."

The track here shows the route - out and back to the far side bottom of Monitor Pass, same for Ebbett's, and then to the top of Carson's and then back. 127 miles total. Max speed: 53.6 mph



We got in on Thursday, assembled from various flight schedules, picked up luggage, bikes, and drove to the cabin. Along the way, little would we know that the playing of Rammstein's Amerika would result in it becoming the theme song for Team Old Style. We got unpacked at the cabin and went for a Massive Dinner and grocery shopping trip. Ate at a Basque restaurant family-style. That means sit down at long tables and food just starts showing up. No need for a menu - your only choice is what kind of meat you want, otherwise you eat what's put in front of you. And then food just keeps on coming... and coming... and coming...

Needless to say that with all the "Got Picon?" joke-y shirts and bumper stickers and such, some of us were compelled to try it. Not exactly going to become a household name anytime soon, but definitely better than moutai. A little bit of Port, some soaking in Diana's hot tub, some more Port, some staring at the stars, and then Team Old Style vent off to schleep.

Friday morning saw us putting bikes together by the light of the morning sun. Beautiful scenery, but dudes be looking pretty rough around the edges early in the morning. Faces only a mother could love. Figured we'd go for a ride to loosen the legs a bit and see what the countryside looked like - went for 40-miler with 3000 ft of up in it, out to Markleeville and the hot springs (beautiful, by the way) and then back past the cabin and out along Airport Rd, which is... duh, by the airport (basically, a strip of asphalt that has FAA signs on it - not much else).

So then we get to the sketchy bit - on the map when I was plotting a route for the GPS to guide us through, I thought "hmm... the dotted line usually means dirt road. Looks like this road suddenly becomes dirt. Think we should re-route? Nah. Just power through. It's only 1-2 miles of dirt. How bad can it be?" Well, it was the chunkiest bunch of buried sharp rocks I've ever had to dodge on a road bike with dainty tires. Steve apparently dodged all of 'em except one, so he got the first and only (as far as I know) flat of the trip. Good time for pictures, and I gotta say, if you're going to flat, you might as well flat in a nice little valley next to a pretty little lake.

So then we get back from the warmup ride and go to registration and find out that, contrary to our imaginings, registering as a team (even an ersatz one) does not simplify registration. It actually was more than frustrating, and there were other "teams" in the same boat. They told us to come back at 9pm and it'd all be sorted out. Annoying, to say the least. But the good thing was that there was lots of pretty eye-candy at the registration expo. I gotta say, I could get used to showing up at events for endurance athletes. Death Ride, dirt-triathlon, crit... damn there's a lot of toned, tanned, beautiful women hanging out wearing snug/skimpy clothing over their hardbodies. Meeeow.

With time to waste, we figure it's a good time to shop for brake pads and cassette for Andrew (his pads on the Cane Creek brakes were heinously hard and slippery), grab a coffee, and then head over Monitor Pass (the first one on the route for the event) to go to the casino with the all-you-can-eat spaghetti dinner. Along the way, seeing the road and the climb, that's when Andrew started metaphorically shitting his pants about the ride. He hadn't been getting any training in because of work and new baby at home, was feeling out of shape and heavy, and seeing the length and grade of the climb had him moaning and keening in the back seat. Eventually we got to the casino, it was a no-go for spaghetti, so we found a pizza/pasta joint down the road and ordered a shitload of food. 5 dudes polished away: 2 orders of spaghetti/meatballs, 2 orders of ravioli, 1 order of lasagna, and 2 pizzas. It was... a lot. All in the service of preparing for a long day ahead. Some burping, farting, and registration details later, we were tucked away in bed for a good night's sleep and a 4am wakeup.

The next morning was early. We elected to wait until the sun was up so that we wouldn't have to carry lights, so we hit the road at about 6:00. While still together on the Montior Pass climb, we got a kind fellow Death Rider to snap a photo of us while we were still all riding together. It's silly to try to stick together over 130 miles - people's rhythms on the climbs just don't match up, and everyone needs to go at their own pace. But for the first pass at least, we were reasonably together.

Later on in the day saw us catching up with each other at the rest/feed stops, and in at least one instance, Steve and Karl seem to have met up in the porta-potty.

Of course, some of the times we would meet up because someone was just getting to the top, and the other had already been down the other side and had come back up, but still, it was nice to be able to catch up and see how everyone was feeling. And it may have seemed silly getting matching jerseys before the ride, but it sure is easy to spot your buddies in rest areas and when they are blasting down at you at 50 mph. Not only that, but we got more than a few nice compliments on our stylish Old Style jerseys. So there. Team Old Style in tha' hizzie.

Technology-wise, what I feared might happen, happened.. the battery in my Garmin 305 wasn't up to the task of a 12-hour day. I got the "battery low" message at the start of the 5th climb, but wanting to record the high-speed descending, I turned it off for the climb and turned it on before blasting down (thus the missing 17 miles at mile 95).

When it comes to blasting down, I might weigh 200 lbs, and that's a non-trivial thing when you're trying to turn the 39x23 up the 10% and 12%. But when the direction is down? Oh, it's a different story. It's awfully easy to go fast down the hill.

I don't have balls big enough to let go and bomb down Ebbett's at Stupid Speed - there's some wacky bits on the way down. But Carson is wide open, and though it was open to traffic, there wasn't much (traffic). Besides, who in their right mind is going to try to pass a cyclist in the middle of the lane going 50 mph when there's oncoming traffic? None that I saw. Motorists were really pretty easy-going on the road. Heck, there's 3000 cyclists out there. By the time they got to passing me, they were used to the idea of bikes on the road.

So yeah, back to the "it was a long ride" part - my tender sitting places hurt a bit on Saturday night. Not to say that there weren't breaks from pedaling to be had - water and food stops at the top and bottom of each mountain pass. But at the top of Carson's Pass when I got back on my bike, clipping in and sitting down... yoinks. Cabin proprietress and masseuse extraordinare Diana tells me that it wasn't a sore muscle, but likely a tissue bruise (and we'll call it "minor", I know she meant to say so, even though the word didn't come out of her mouth)

So did I mention that I was pedaling a 39x23 on this? Yeah, that was stupid. Manly and awe-inspiring... but stupid.

Sure, it gave me something to brag about later at the cabin (i.e. "you buncha weines with your compact cranks and 11-27s... sissies, all o' youse."), but for many, many hours I would finding myself riding next to people spinning a much easier gear (triples, or 34x28s) and silently lust for their gearing. Oh yeah, and the simple fact that I could see what their gearing was means that I could see the right side of their bike (meaning that they were to the left of me, meaning that they were passing me). There's meaning in there somewhere, I'm sure of it. Regardless, when I back out the calculation of a 39x23 being 143 gear-inches, at 7mph on the up-sections, it would appear that I was climbing with a cadence of about 50 rpm. Not so good in the long term leg health, but my knees have felt fine during and ever since. Lucky, I guess.

But more importantly, it was pretty. Fun and pretty. Sure, slogging up the mountain is work. But when you turn around and tuck in and blast down the mountain faster than you've ever been, you very easily forget about the previous 2 hours of slow climbing that it took to get there. The views were amazing. The instant camaraderie with 3000 other people was unexpected, but in a day of shared suffering and exhilaration, a rather nice thing.

A couple days after getting back from the ride, someone asked me "so.. would you do it again? Maybe not next year, but some other time?" My free-association response: "I'd do it again next month if it wasn't so damn far away. Where do I sign up?"

overdue happenings

Been a while, I know. Just haven't exactly felt bloggish. Plenty been going on though...

At the moment I'm sitting in the Vegas airport on my [cough] 4 hour [gack] layover between Detroitia and Reno. Hey, at least they've got the free WiFi here - I sure as hell don't pay for access in airports. Internet access sure is handy when you're wringing your hands for 4 hours holding out hope that my bike got loaded on the plane at DTW and will make the transition in Vegas. AND I'm hoping it doesn't get murdered by the baggage handlers. You see, I'm heading out to ride the bike in the California Death Ride.

I'm certain of two things:
- There's no possible way that I'm trained up and "ready" for a ride like this. There's just no mountains in Michigan to practice on.
- Of all of my admirable qualities [ahem], tolerating pain and discomfort are two of them... along with stubbornness, of course.

These, along with my charming personality, shall see me through the day.

So what's been going on lately? Well, Andre had a birthday a couple weeks back, so he had a party. I entertained my aspirations of animatronic cake sculpturing, but discovered that maybe I was setting the bar too high for my second cake ever. I learned that buttercream frosting is NOT a good idea for a summer party - it just gets too thin when the temps go up. Imagine that, a forsting made predominantly out of butter... melts. Who'da thunk it?

Much carousing and fun was had. Folks got out instruments and played for a while on the back porch. Ok, who am I kidding, "a while" = 'til 2 or so. Gerry and Sean were guitaring, Dave with the keyboardin', and varying other people bopping in and out on the tunes. Dave played ALL night - I was worried that he might be glued to the keyboard, but it just seems that he be liking to play and don't like to stop. Hammed it up for the camera, too. (thanks Dave!)

I can't tell exactly what happened here though - either Warren got assaulted by his own accordion, or the mood lighting and relaxing effects of beverages made Accordion a little extra amorous, and this should have been a "private" moment.

Sheesh, hippies these days.

Stacey had a party a couple days later to celebrate the 4th and all things Americana, including such cocktails as "Old Fashioneds" and Manhattans. All sorts of hot-dish-esque American foods too - the pigs-in-a-blanket apparently were a hit, and the veggie-dog versions went over pretty well too. Of course, the kids got to 'em first, so that might explain things. And while Stacey might complain about not wanting people posting pictures of her, she can rest assured that, while I'm shameless about sharing some of them, the picture staring down into her cleavage will never leave my computer. See? It's all upside from here.

On the 7th (7/7/07), Jimmy organized another alleycat in Ann Arbor. It being a nighttime race was cool, especially since then there's this crazy train of silly bike people with blinky light charging through downtown terrorizing pedestrians and pissing off motorists in a mad dash to beat it to the next checkpoint, or beat out other racers, or whatever. I'm normally really quite law-abiding and peaceful, but when there's a race on, I let my good example self stay home (heck, there really wasn't even a prize, but winning be what matters and people and things are only obstacles in the way). Most motorists don't know what to do when they encounter bicyclists on the roads (other than yell or throw shit at us) so I think of it as removing the necessity for them to make a decision. I'll only be going into oncoming traffic for a second or two, and I'll be through the intersection faster than they can decide what to do.

So this was a scavenger-hunt format on the theme of the seven deadly sins, with mostly picture-taking to prove you were there, but at gluttony, you had to down 10 saltines without drinking anything before leaving the checkpoint. Which sucked. Riding hard, all out of breath and cottonmouth-y, then 10 crackers? I guess I'm glad it wasn't fat-free matzo or anything.

Things I learned this time? When there's a starting sprint to a checkpoint for dice roll to decide where to go first, you gotta be the first one to hit that. Standing in line behind other people who are already riding off makes me antsy as hell. So yeah, that's the occasion for the balls-out sprint. Oh yeah, and when you get in and take 2nd place, check the cameras of the team that took first. I swear, those dudes weren't even sweaty, and it was a hot night - did they even hit all of their checkpoints? I say this afterwards, but didn't think of it at the time, and Jimmy wasn't really checking, electing more for the honor system than anything else. Dang. Coulda had 1st. Next time maybe.

Funny thing, I *just* saw the baby-faced young guy (on the team that took first) out at the track a couple days previous when I went to "beginner's night". I was kinda bummed out because by the time I got there it was threatening to rain, and by the time I got changed, it rained. We waited, and it stopped and almost dried out, but then it rained again, and that sucked. Ah well, I'll have to wait until some other week. The track looks like fun. I don't know if I've got what it takes, but heck, what can it hurt? (oh yeah, legs and lungs, that's right...)

Alrightey, time to get on a plane. Cross your fingers and wish the baggage handlers luck in getting the bike on the same plane that I'm on.

Dexter Crit race

Well, a big old lukewarm is what I've got for you, dear readers.

Felt ok-ish, stayed in it near the front, didn't crash, didn't crash anyone out, but didn't bring the cheese home, either.

No great mysteries either - the crux of the biscuit was in the last lap, halfway through the lap, going up the hill before the downhill S-curve and straightaway finish. Fairly obvious spot to put on the oomph for the finish, and I even thought about it during the warmup laps. I knew it, but blew it. I'm the kind of guy that doesn't have a whole lot of "pop" - it takes me a while to wind up to full speed. So since there's not a lot of passing in the S-curve, and the straightaway is pretty short, I probably should've started pushing earlier up the hill instead of responding to other people making moves and watching them from behind.

Aaaaanyway... mid-pack finish for me on a field of 20-25 dudes - and now I know now - I need to remember to go early, go often. (er.... ok, maybe just early).

All in all, it was fun. Me likey.

There ain't nothin' going on in MI for a while until the Ada Crit... might have to go to Ohio for racey-poo. (or, maybe I should go see what that track thing is all about) Then again, there's Death Ride in a few weeks... maybe instead of working on fast, I should work on putting on distance and that up-the-mountain thing. Bah. Whatever. The wheels-on-the-bike-go-round-and-round...

preparing to...

... I don't know, have something to say? (bizarre, yes, but bear with me)

You see, last night I made my virtual way over to the sign up spot for the Dexter Crit and, along the way, to USA Cycling (to get that license thingie). So I'm committed. In shape or not, psyched or not.
Saturday, me be racin'.

So though I've been putting miles in all season, it's all been friendly group ride miles. You know, where etiquette matters and smooth and polite is the order of the day (town sign sprints excepted, of course). So... I figure I better get my fast-n-hard-cornerin' brain in the mood, so I went to the Velo Club crit practice last week and this week. Last week, I was feeling like a punk because I couldn't hang on when the speed cranked up in the last lap or two. This week, the same. But it's a mixed group of people, everyone from newish dudes like me to Cat1/2s. So I wasn't the first to fall off, I'll say. And that if you're not in the lead group going into the finish, it seems that folks are calm and don't exactly sprint for 6th. (it's a practice race, ya know...)

So what's my point in all this? Well, since this is the first race I've entered in... 12 years? (yikes) ... I have NO IDEA what to expect out of the Cat5 race. Compared to riding with the big-lung/big-leg dudes? I guess I'll be preparing to say:

a) how surprised I was at how slow the race was
b) how surprised I was at how fast the race was
c) how good I felt (if I did well)
d) how badly I felt (if I did poorly)
e) all of the above

Am I nervous? Yeah, sure. Am I worried? No, I guess not (worried about what?) Anxious? Sure.

Hell, I could go 'round and 'round for hours like this. I need to quit thinking like it's life-or-death. It's just ridin' a bike around town, goin' hard and tryin' to do it harder and faster than other dudes.

Right?

Freakonomics

I picked up Freakonomics from the library a while back. Interesting, but not nearly as fascinating as I was led to believe by the Really! Great! Reviews! And! Radio! Interviews!

While it satisfies some of my hankerings for complexity, it does so at a rhetorical level, making a point about how fascinating X, Y and Z are because the author is so revolutionary in thinking of them this way. And if you're wondering: "So... is he saying that 'Freakonomics' falls into the category of 'mental masturbation'?" Yes.... yes I am.

Regardless, I'll just say that if the popular buzz of 2005 (when the book came out) does anything for people looking at life's events in a more nuanced way, then I guess it has done some good. Would I recommend it? Sure. It's a relatively short/quick read - good for bedtime or bathroom reading, or if you're the voracious-reading type, it's maybe a day or two diversion from whatever you're using to tide yourself over until the final installment of Harry Potter and the Splendiferous Obsession With Countdowns comes out in hardcover. (hey Wendy, yes, that means you... And I have just three little words of tenderness to say to you: gimme some cheesecake.)

Notable Quotables that stuck out in my brain enough that I made note of them:
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When discussing how Experts are not necessarily always working in the best interests of their clients - i.e. Real Estate Agents, Cardiologists, Political/Journalist Consultants - pg 148: "[an] expert whose argument reeks of restraint or nuance doesn't get much attention."

How true. And how sad. Like the evening local TV news - if it bleeds, it leads. No actual news, just violence, tragedy, and scandal.
----------------
In the chapter about how the Ku Klux Klan behaves in a incentive-based way like Real Estate Agents selling houses, he talks about how the Klan incentivises docility in the black community by terrorizing people - pg 62: "and there are few incentives more powerful than the fear of random violence - which, in essence, is why terrorism is so effective."

When I read that, I'm not seeing how the threat of terrorism is used by terrorists, but how the threat of random violence by some sort of unknown... somebody... is used by Bush, et. al. as a tool to get whatever they want. As long as people are constantly made afraid, and afraid of unknown random violence, they will become docile and compliant.

Ever notice how the middle setting of the threat advisory is "Elevated"? Essentially, on a scale of 1 to 5, the middle/average still is designed to cause fear. Makes you really wonder who is terrorizing whom.

What are YOU afraid of today?

(and how can someone else use that fear to manipulate you?)

sex and taxes

OK, so I know my life is lacking in some ways, but I assure, I have good reason to have been searching tax documents this afternoon. Really, I swear, it's not because I couldn't find anything better to do.

And along the way, searching for the things I want, I notice all kinds of other things... that are irrelevant, but nevertheless fascinating... Did you know: being a paid informant is income-tax free?

From the 2007 Federal 1099-MISC tax form instructions:
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Fees paid to informers. A payment to an informer as an award, fee, or reward for information about criminal activity is not required to be reported if the payment is made by a federal, state, or local government agency, or by a nonprofit organization exempt from tax under section 501(c)(3) that makes the payment to further the charitable purpose of lessening the burdens of government. For more information, see Regulations section 1.6041-3(I).
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... so does this mean that if Larry Flynt set up a 501(c)(3) and found out something about a Senator that ended up just happening to be illegal where they did it (e.g. polygamy, sodomy, adultery, bestiality, necrophilia), the person who gives up the info gets the $1M tax-free? How funny would that be?

dork crush

Holy crap... I saw "Pipedream" at the St. Paul science museum, checked out this guy's stuff, and I just have to say that I got a big old mental boner looking at his work. Check out some of his projects at www.taomc.com.

I am so gushing... I think I want to be this guy when I grow up. I looked at his mini-CV and wondered "why did he give up a career in internal medicine?" Well, it's pretty obvious... if you can make a living out of doing cool stuff like this... well, I can definitely understand giving up a lot of stuff.

notable quotables

mental debris of late, accumulating and peeking out here and there...


"Nearly all men can withstand adversity. But if you want to test a man's character, give him power"

- Muneer Malik
(president of the supreme court bar association in Pakistan speaking at a seminar and addressing the Musharef/Judicial situation, but telling a truth that applies far and wide)

"'You don't need to' I say, 'you are normal.'... I cannot say the rest, that I think, that he is easy in his body, that he sees and hears and tastes and smells and feels what others do, so his reality matches theirs."

- from The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon
(while about the interior world of a man with autism, the notions of consensual reality in the "normal" world apply too)

"He was a fierce satirist of his own culture, but nursed what he called a 'romantic love' for the U.S. For him, the country represented a vigorous modernity, unencumbered by history."

- blurb on the wall about artist George Grosz next to his work on display at the Walker Art Center (which seems so relevant in these days... while the U.S. is a relatively new nation compared to old world european nations, we're accumulating baggage and becoming encumbered by our own history more and more)

"It's really easy to get out of the habit of intimate socializing"

- excerpt from The Amazing Adventures of Captain Bland and Dr. Sabbatical

"You there... able-bodied lazy rich white girl. Yes, you... You are not old, injured or incapable. Pick up your fucking feet when you walk. You are lazy shuffling moron, and showing contempt for the soles of your shoes (and the pavement) only proves how spoiled and worthless you are."

- Me

buncha assholes

So here we are in the lovely Twin Cities of Minnesota, G and I... me with the lounging about town, her with the work, digging in the archives and public records. Staying with gracious hosts Fred and Mona for the week and cavorting about town on occasion. Yesterday morning, she's leaving in the morning to go out into the wild and woolly world when she comes back in with just a single sentence.

"The bikes are gone"

What? (the fuck?)

Her bike was missing along with one of Fred's. (After a phone call, it seems Fred rode into work, but hers was definitely gone.) We'd brought our bikes along as a way of getting around town (and me, I was of the mood to put on some miles too), and were parking them in the garage, right near Fred's bikes. The garage where Fred keeps all his bikes. And overnight, someone went to some trouble to break in, and took her bike. After more than a year of bikes being stored there, the fuckers pick THIS week to break in, when the out-of-towners are visiting. And while there's beau coup pricey bikes around once they were in the garage, they steal the one with the most sentimental value to it's owner. Fucking assholes.

We made a police report and all that but there's harsh reality - it's not likely to be recovered. There's just too many places it could go, so many bikes in this town, it's not so unique a bike it doesn't get lost in the multitude of other bikes, and cops don't exactly consider it as seriously as they would violent crime. Nevertheless, my font of anger bubbles about such things.

I think back to the days back at the shop I worked at in my youth. Occasionally, a bike belonging to a shop regular or employee would get stolen, a bike near and dear that was known around town. The word would go out on the street, and every now and then, bike people would get lucky and someone would see the bike somewhere. Revenge and reclamation ensued, whether it be a confrontation, a call to the police, or chasing the fucker down and knocking their sorry ass off it.

If it could happen more often, the Brutal Reclamation...

My angry self tells me this.

In the place where there used to be trusty transportation, a light breeze, and a smooth rolling along, there's sadness and pockets of anger.

But there's memories, too. Lots of old ones. And a couple of new fresh ones that are happy and good. There's more memories to come, with a bike that will come anew to a home that's already ready to welcome it.

roll-a-dahby/run-run-run the weekend

An action-packed weekend it was... Not only did I get flashed (and offered to have the sweat licked off me) by ****y [Who shall remain nameless, to protect the guilty. You know who you are, Madam Feistiness.] during the Normal Park yard-sale-a-palooza, but Stacey and I went to the Derby. Roller Derby, that is.

It seems that Detroit has quite the roller derby league going on, and it's a nationwide phenomenon to boot. I didn't quite know what to think going into it. There's so much pagentry and attitude about it, I was partly suspecting that it was more entertainment than competition - a la WWF/WCW/world-wrestling-whatever. But after the first period, I got a better idea of what's going on in the rink (er, I mean "flat track" - do they have banked oval derby leagues? apparently so). In the second period, skaters were starting to work harder so the spectacle of it gave way to the competition of it. And regardless of the fact that Stacey and I didn't have nearly enough tattoos to be considered as part of the cool kids, it was a pretty good time. You know there's hilarity to be ensuing when a couple hours before going out, sitting on Stacey's porch with folks drinking beer, T says "you're going to roll a doobie?" "uh... no, we're going to The Roller Derby." Freudian slip of the ear? You be the judge.

And then on Sunday came the Dexter-Ann Arbor Run. I didn't run (translation: "hell with that.. running is too much work"), but volunteered to help out with lead-biking the course for the half-marathon and calling in times as the leader passed mile-markers. I wasn't expecting to get soaked by rain on the ride out to the start in Dexter though...

Anyhoo, I'm not a runner, but this I do know: when a runner can hit the 10-mile mark at 47 mins, they are a bad-ass mofo. Sub 5-minute miles for 13 miles? Wow. The dude who won (Alene Reta) was leading from the start - a group of 4 off the front in the first 1/2 mile split to 2 by the 4th mile, and then Reta started slowly pulling away from home-town favorite Brian (who had quite the cheering section along the course, I might add), adding about 5 seconds of lead every time he passed a mile marker.

Pretty big turnout for what seems like a local thing - thousands of people. I heard a bunch of different numbers - there was a bib# 3000 among the marathoners apparently, but registration was 2300. In the 10k, Suzanne said she finished mid-pack at 900th, and if you guess at the number of 5k-ers, I'll go with something on the order of 5000-8000 people total. And then at the end of it all, it rained again. But I had already been wet and gritty for a couple hours already.

After the running stuff, a shower, and a disco-nap for me, some folks met up at Connor O'Neill's to celebrate Suzanne's birthday and running of the 10k. Fred was in town for a wedding and came out and hung out, drinking beer and chatting with Georgina and I in multiple pubs about multiple topics, which was so much more than fun. Quite the fortuitous opportunity - Fred getting to meet and chat with G before our roadtrip up to the Twin Cities. I'm pretty stoked about it, and am not only glad that we'll get to hang out with Fred and Mona and the kids (in between my goofing off/riding the bike/touristing, and G's intensely worky researchy city-archive-digging), but thankful to them being gracious hosts and putting us up for the week. Heck, I'm even stoked to be manslaving to progress their house remodel/redecorate/rewhateveryoucallit.

Management and The Condor

A couple weeks ago I was giving some customer training to plant floor folks (hourly union skilled tradespeople) when the small talk in between training tasks drifted to the vagaries and ineptitudes of management. Since I'm in a position of getting supervised/managed and have had to be supervisory/managerial myself, I found my self fence-sitting and doing devil's advocacy work. And what I heard was something I have heard at least a dozen times before. That management has no idea what's really going on, middle managers get cycled in and out and have no experience, that they're just messing up the works. To which I ask: "Well, if you were in their position, how would you handle it? What would you do differently?" The response comes, like it always does: "Just get out of the way, stop trying to tell people what to do and just everyone do their jobs the way they know how."

On it's face, sure, there's not much to argue with... if people know their jobs, trusting them to be conscientious and diligent should result in a smooth running machine of industry. People are happy, the plant is productive, everyone wins, right? I don't doubt that it's possible for 10, 20, 50 people to work in an egalitarian environment, in a flat structure, where everyone contributes their experience to decision-making. There's plenty of examples of co-ops, kibbutzes, etc. where that works.

But put 1000 people on the same shift into the synchronized human/machine organism of industrial manufacturing, and there just have to be organizing principles. Someone to resolve disputes, someone to coordinate schedules, someone to decide between equivalent options, someone to look out for safety, someone to distribute paychecks. So even if the Standard Argument ("just get out of the way and let people do their jobs") were put into play, eventually the functions of management would evolve anyway out of necessity. And engineeering, and product development, and marketing, and accounting, etc.

It seems I'm siding with management today. Call me an pawn of The Establishment, but how often can one have revolution after revolution and not end up in a state of constant upheaval? And what makes revolutionaries think that they won't, in time, be revolted against themselves? That somehow their received wisdom is more perfect than that of those they overthrew?

Why, you ask, would I be blathering about this now? I saw "Three Days of the Condor" last night, and at the end, as Condor confronts Higgins about why all the killing went on, what possible purpose the cold war intelligence games have, and Higgins makes a relevant point:
---------------------------
Condor: "What is it with you people? Do you think not getting caught in a lie is the same as telling the truth?"

Higgins: "No. It's simple economics. Today it's oil, right? In 10 or 15 years, food, plutonium. And maybe even sooner. Now what do you think the people are going to want us to do then?"

Condor: "Ask them."

Higgins: "Not now, then. Ask them when they're running out. Ask them when there's no heat in their homes and they're cold. Ask them when their engines stop. Ask them when people who have never known hunger start going hungry. You want to know something? They won't want us to ask them. They'll just want us to get it for them."
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I guess what I'm trying to say is that, when there's someone planning or anticipating the future, there will always be those who will pass judgment after the fact. But the question I ask is: If you were in their place, in the same situation, balancing the same issues, with the same pressures, what makes you think that you would have come to a better solution? One that is the best result, the least evil, and in the time required?

Hindsight is 20/20, and I'm as guilty as the next in Monday-morning quarterbacking, but I guess what I'm saying if that for Management to be able to trust Labor's intentions to "just do their job because they know what to do", Labor needs to trust Management's intentions the same way.