fingers

A dream that comes back in snippets occasionally - about fingers. Five of them (ok, 4 and a thumb). I'm walking through Home Depot, for some reason looking behind a shelf/display, and seeing 5 severed fingers just sitting there on top of an old spool of wire. The spool is dusty, but the fingers are fresh (but not oozing, which is clearly a continuity problem in my dream). There's no one around, so I pick them up, thinking "someone is gonna need these"

From there, I wander around the store, 5 non-oozing fingers in my hand, sometimes doing my shopping along the way, not trying to conceal the fingers, but I recognize how disturbing it might be for people to see severed fingers in a fellow shopper's hand. The thing is, I don't have a speck of self-consciousness in this... I'm ok with the fact that I have someone else's fingers in my hand. I came by them honestly, and I mean to do good by them. It's just kinda weird that they were just left there. You'd think someone would care about them more.

One "dream symbolism" site says: "To dream that your fingers are injured or have been chopped off, denotes your anxieties about your ability to accomplish some demanding task or perform in some waking situation." and "To see a wire in your dream, symbolizes your short but frequent journeys. To see old or rusty wire in your dream, signifies your bad temper." and "To see a spool in your dream, symbolizes your need for order and structure. Things need to be neat." And if I paid attention to horoscopes and other malarkey, I would say "[shrug] well, 2 out of 3 ain't all that wrong"

... but see, they're not my fingers. Is it a conservation thing? (trying to clean up a little and just waiting to walk past a garbage can) It is anxieties about someone unknown to me? (someone else's fingers)

Or is it just weird middle-of-the-night meanderings of my brain? It's not lost on me that there seems to have been product placement/branding in my dream. Who put that in there?

print media vs. bloggage - now I understand...

I've often been puzzled by the enthusiasm over the past few years - I mean, bloggers as a news source? Are you kidding me? I mean, seriously folks... who is kidding who? When boneheads like me can do something as silly as what is essentially composing an email to themselves (and then, in a fit of narcissism, showing the whole world), how seriously can you take it?

I was a hold out for the vaunted prestige of print journalism... until about 5 minutes ago. You see, I thought "These folks have the momentum of professionalism behind them - careers, printing presses, advertisers... the whole shebang. Surely they know what they're doing." Well, that was until today during my morning constitutional. I was reading a copy of Road Magazine that I picked up from a newsstand. I'll admit, I was enticed by the glossy shiny bike porn pictures. But when you actually read it, they have 8th graders writing the articles and interviews. Seriously. For a magazine that must pay gobs of money for the photos (and I'll admit, they're pretty damn good photos indeed), you'd think they would actually read what they're writing and realize how tepid, dry, and inane it is. If I want short, declarative sentences that describe nothing, I'll read Hemingway.

And this is when I realized that the Rise of the Blog is not necessarily because of its innate superiority, but more because most print media has set the bar so low.

At least some rags have decent online writing. And for the fun about dudes and dudettes riding bikes, it's Smithers, Vanderpoop, et. al. I might not live anywhere near Cali, but that Vanderhoot, he sure is fun to read.

And to make matters worse, the evening news no longer contains actual news - just crime, disaster, and scandal, followed by sports and weather (translated into emotional responses in the viewer of "be afraid, be afraid, be afraid, buy things you don't need, take an umbrella"). The same seems to be true of local newspapers. Every Monday, the Ann Arbor News newspaper delivery boy delivers free copies on my doorstep to try to get me to subscribe. It's the local rag, but it's a crappy paper (and I'm annoyed by the litter on my doorstep). The Detroit News and Free Press aren't much better. Where are the decent local newspapers? The Chicago Tribune ain't exactly local, but it's midwestern and decent. It might be in for some changes though... And going out to either the East or West Coast for news obviously is problematic in the context of "local".

Ok, damn, I'm blathering. Blue skies outside. Good time for a long ride.

Daywatch

Coming in June... part 2 of the Nightwatch trilogy - Daywatch. If you didn't catch Nightwatch and are a fan of the epic-battle-between-good-and-evil set-in-a-modern-day-shoot-em-up with-cool-soundtrack-and-reluctant-hero type of movie, you should definitely check out Nightwatch. Getcha started, ya know?

(of course, the whole "Chalk of Destiny" thing sounds a little too much like Bulletproof Monk or Tenacious D, but I'll give the Russians the benefit of the doubt and see it anyway)

to save or not to save

A weekend that includes spring cleaning, and the pile of mail that I have ignored for the past week or two. Among them, a thank you card for a wedding gift. For about two seconds, I pondered "is this something people save?" I'm genetically predispositioned to packrat-itis, but there's a rudely pragmatic and non-sentimental streak in me too - so bad that I had to be put in my place once by a friend-in-law who witnessed me disposing of a birthday card she sent me a few weeks previous. My reasoning: "why should I hold onto a $2.50 card that just has 'Hope you have a great one!' in it? I mean... the sentiment is nice, but I feel no emotional connection to this card" Her objection: "well don't do it in front of me..." (ok, I learned my lesson, I'm a tactless nob)

The thank you card at least had two sentences in it by way of thank you, but it went in the trash anyway. As much as I love my paper shredder though, I didn't shred it. 'Cause that would just be callous.

I fingure I have to draw the line somewhere.

road trip...

Haven't been out of town in a while (ok, a couple weeks). The summer has a finite duration. I, like all living organisms, will eventually die.

Put all of those things together, and the appropriate action is to hit the road and see more of the world now, while I can. I went to Minneapolis-St. Paul to visit with Fred and Mona about a year ago, so how 'bout going there again? Go riding the hilly bits with Fred before going out to Cali for Death Ride.

Sounds like a plan. I'm a-lookin' forward to it.

Now, all I've got to do is hope Matthew and Sandra bought a similar house out in Portland (similar in that they're enlisting manslaves to lift and tote and scrape paint and move furniture and such) so that I can have an excuse to road trip out that way and fuss around in Portland.

... is/does not _____

They lend themselves to cliches, so I write them down. Sometimes, I even type them... these things, they creep into my head and somehow I manage not to say them aloud. I'm still pretty lucky about keeping them inside my head - I haven't said them to the people I thought them at.

Having Seniority does not mean necessarily having Skills.

Being there is not the same as working.

Training is not the same as education.

Education is not the same as intelligence.

Education is not the same as creativity.

Keep saying "not my job"... eventually none of them will be.

How I Luvs My Glasses (or...How Spring Vegetation Makes You Pretty)

Went for a long ride in the dirt, and while there's a certain amount of hassle with getting gear together and into the car to go out to the good trails, I discovered today that the eyewear I was hating on the road (the bottom of the frames really get in the way of looking over my shoulder), I'm lovin' on 'em today.

Ok, maybe it doesn't look bad now, but when I came down the hill and around the bend, got clocked in the face with a surprise branch and it wrapped around my neck before ripping away, I was a little surprised at how easily I bled. It was just a branch and leaves, fer cryin' out loud.

Thus is the story about how I'm so happy with having eyewear. I still have both my eyes, neither collected any twigs along the way, and they still function quite well, thank you very much.

weekend movie review

Saw a couple movies/talkies over the weekend - only one good.

Fast Food Nation: blech.
Gerg Kinnear is a funny guy, and the fast food shenanigans amuse, but you saw everything you needed to see in the trailer when the exchange goes "...and the fecal coliform counts are off the charts. Do you know what that means?" "uhm.. not really" "There's shit in the meat."

Spiderman 3: another stinker. Just waaayyy too preachy with the "revenge is not the solution" and "we all have the capacity for good or evil, and it's up to you to choose" messages. And even though he's part of the baby-faced white-boy twink trio (along with Jake "I can't quit you" Gyllenhaal and Elijah "someone take this ring from me" Wood), Tobey MacQuire just isn't that interesting to watch. The transition between good/evil spiderman was fairly lame and he didn't sell it worth crap. And all the silliness with side mini plots took way too much time.

The Last King of Scotland: The one redeeming spark in the weekend. Forrest Whittaker rocks. And that Idi Amin? Big-time nutjob, lemme tell ya. Just go see the movie. If you don't know much about him, check out the Wikipedia entry for him first. The bit about deciding on his title cracks me up: "His Excellency President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea, and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular" The saddest part of it all - the people of Uganda celebrate his rise to power after his coup against Obote... and the echoes of other celebrations of the vicious-dictator-after-vicious-dictator cycles of coup in African/South American countries. I'd wail to the skies "when will we learn!?", but we ain't quite learned in this country on not repeating mistakes, so it's not like it's anything not seen before.

burf.

Did some ridin' today... but none of the normal roadie hoosey.

Met up with G to go ride some of the unofficial trails out on the east end of AA - basically public or Uni land that people have walked/rode on enough that they turn deer trails into human-passable trails. Some of it might technically be... uhm... without invitation for the landowner... but I can't imagine, other than maybe stumbling on a meth lab, that anyone would care. Of course, if we strayed onto the golf course, we'd probably be shot on sight, 'cause you know how those golfers get about people that don't ascribe to latest fashion. Anyway, a little sunshine, a little muck (still a little squishy down by the river), but a good time for a couple hours.

Then she scooted off to a musical extravapalooza with the family, friends, and neighbors, and I caught up with Pete downtown for a smoothie, a coffee, and then to go to my first Ann Arbor alleycat race. Now, while I don't really identify with the bullhorn-brigade fixie hipsters, a bike is a bike, and were all just a bunch of kiddies on two wheels havin' some funs. Me, I was caffeinated and chompin' at the bit for the go-go-go. I was still on the knobby bike, and when I paid in and got the map with checkpoints, realized that it would be a total pavement non-stair-jumping kind of a thing. With 30 minutes to go before the start, I scootched home, swapped out the dirty bike for the road bike, and came back. This particular event was of the out-and-back to checkpoint (4 times) variety, which, while I enjoyed it, might have preferred a looped or meshed or more interpretive/creative checkpoint distribution. Where choices of route are more up to the individual, and can make/break your time. Of course, the checkpoints were all along decent roads, most with bike lanes, so that was nice for safety, but heck, proper lane usage and complete stops at signs ain't exactly one of the biggest priorities in one of these kinds of things, knowhahumsayin?

So now you're wondering: "so... how'd you do?" Dismal. I blame... myself. On the way back from the first checkpoint, I did a stupid cut through a parking lot, had to get up a curb in a tight spot, and burfed it pretty hard, pinch-flatting the rear. I had a tube, but no pump. So now this basically turns into a brevet for me. I'm walking/jogging back the last mile from the checkpoint to home base, scouring my brain for bike shops around here (yeah, at 5:30 on a Saturday?) or gas stations. No dice. But, I go back to home base, and decide I'll ride the flat [gently, please] about 5-6 blocks to a gas station that might have air. Change the tube, and off I go. 2nd checkpoint and back, and then my stupidity kicked in. Tried a shortcut in a part of town I don't know well and overshot the turn, ending up on Plymouth instead of Broadway. Had to go way out of my way, and deal with hills I shouldn't have needed to, adding to my failings.

Never the less, there was the last checkpoint, the jam to the finish line BBQ, and a solidly mediocre middle-of-the-results finish. Pissed about my mechanical, bio-mechanical, and navigational stupidities, but was cranked up on endorphins by the finish, so all happy-go-lucky. Some grilled meat and salty chips later, yackety-yack with fellow riders, and all a good time.

Pete smoked me, by the way - and on his coaster-brake Schwinn cruiser. His knowledge of Arb shortcuts, other navigational oddities, and robustness of steed won him a nice 6th. That, and he's a gonzo badass who has a bunnyhop on that cruiser that... shit... I'm still in awe of. Tip o' the cap you, Herr Peter VonGonzo.

Alberto/Ollie/middle east, hate crimes, and seatbelts

I don't normally wax political, but I just can't resist.

A couple weeks ago, when Gonzales was testifying that he "can't recall" this, and "can't recall" that... surely the connection to the Ollie North testimony during Iran-Contra isn't lost. Didn't Ollie sort of have to fall on his sword on that one? How come Gonzo isn't? (I love this picture of Gonzo and Dubya, btw. All it really needs to complete the train is Cheney pulling Dubya's strings as Dubya manipulates Gonzo's.)

But wait... Iran-Contra? Wasn't Ollie selling weapons to the same country that Dubya is now saber-rattling with? And back a couple decades ago, wasn't there a significantly cozier relationship between Bush (41st) and Saddam Hussein? And now look at it... they just can't be friends anymore. Not to dig at a sore spot, but back when Afghanistan was all Soviet-ized and the U.S. was messing around with the Mujahideen to tinker with their government against the U.S.S.R., we found out 20 years later that it came back to bite us in the ass.

Call me crazy, but why the hell do we keep getting involved with countries/revolutions/cultures that we don't really understand? (By involved, I mean that in the teasing, flirting, no-strings-attached, "I promise I'll respect you in the morning if you just let me stick it in a little" kind of 'involved') And even worse, when it's nowhere ear a balanced relationship - culturally, economically, militarily, etc. Sure, we're all gushy over happy relations with Vietnam these days, but I don't see N. Korea being our friends any time soon. I really wonder what's kind of messed-up shenanigans are going on in Africa right now that we're going to hear about in 10-20 years. Maybe are we backing some rebels right now against some government, and along the way those rebels become brutal dictators themselves? Shee-it.
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And as the House passes the Hate Crimes Prevention Act of 2007, Dubya suddenly is making noises about keeping his veto pen warmed up? What the hell... the guy hasn't vetoed a damn thing in the first 6 years, and now all of a sudden he's poo-pooing everything that comes his way. Could this possibly be just to distract from all the other BS that seems to be falling down around his administration? Or is this just a last-ditch method of exerting republican legislative control - that the republicans can't control what's going on in Congress, but since democrats don't have a supermajority, the veto is still a potent tool to avoid actually having to communicate across the aisle in Congress.
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And it gives me great pleasure to hear NJ Gov. Corzine apologizing to his constituents for not wearing a seat belt in the crash that put some serious hurt on him. Sure, he was being driven by a NJ State Trooper, and troopers get lots of driving training, but still - no one is invulnerable. The thing that's most remarkable? Corzine broke ribs and legs and ended up on a ventilator. His driver, the trooper that was seatbelted, basically walked away from the accident with cuts and bruises. Of course, a trooper and governor getting into an accident driving 90 mph kind of adds to the whole notion of setting a bad example. It's not like they were trying to flee from paparazzi or anything.

randoms

In my non-posting-for-a-while, little things been building up... like the recent book club selection The Brief History of the Dead, which, though initially promising, was ultimately disappointing. Too many concepts not fleshed out. Too many suspensions of disbelief required. Too many ideas included when they were only fleeting distractions and would've better been left out. I did like the cover art though, which reminded me of an "empty coat" sculpture at the Walker Art Center sculpture garden... which is, by the way, a pretty damn nice place. I wish there were more sculpture gardens in the world. Especially in the world near where I live, dammit.

My folks live near the Skokie Northshore Sculpture Park and it's pretty nifty to have something like that right in the neighborhood. Especially since it essentially is re-purposing land-fill-ish land that borders one of the sanitary canals (er... I mean "water reclamation district"). When I was a kid, it was just this crappy stretch next to the canal. Now it's a perfect place for a post-dinner walk. Except of course, that I don't live there any more. That's a bummer.

And lastly, while rummaging about in some old photos, I came across this little gem... (if you're squeamish, probably best not to look at the full-sized photo). Kind of wacky, that a bird would get caught like that. I mean... it's not like the bridge is moving fast or anything. Not like the bridge can deviate from its course... Slow and ponderous river-spanning monstrosity, but somehow this avian dumbass managed to get killed by... a bridge. It probably better for the survival of the species that this one won't get to breed any more. A pigeon-ey kind of Darwin Award.

my new weight-loss plan

Get sick. Don't eat for 2 days.

It's really that simple.

I went to the doc after my sore throat and body ache didn't go away, and yup, it's official: streptococcal whatchamohoosey. But on the way in, I got my stats taken and when I stepped on the scale I thought... "hey, that's not right - that's my butt nekkid weight, not my shoes + keys + clothes + whatever weight". Well, that's what you get for not eating. Not that I'm gonna miss the 5 or so pounds or anything, but it's not like it's gonna stay off once I'm feeling better.

On the downside, I'm really pissed that I missed a couple days of killer sunny Michigan spring weather while I was inside laying in bed in feverish pain. But, I'm glad I now have drugs that will make me non-infectious, and healthy to boot. And apologies to anyone I might have unknowingly infected over the past week. Sore throat? Go get you some antibiotics.

Flandis sounding kinda weak

so said Floyd:

This is yet another in a series of malicious actions by USADA that tramples my right to have my case heard in fair and just way... I’m infuriated by the behavior of USADA and the LNDD. Together, they have turned this proceeding into a full-scale attack on my civil rights and a mockery of justice.

... persecution complex, anyone?

It's not your civil rights that are being attacked, buster. You're engaged in business arbitration. You haven't been arrested or charged with a crime, bound into slavery, or been prejudged based on race, gender, religion... you've been accused of cheating in a competition. There's a difference. I for one really hope he didn't do it, not because I care about Floyd, but because I want cycling to be a clean(er) sport (than it seems these days).

I do indeed hope the USADA arbitration comes quickly so this can go to the CAS... and then it'll be over. How much possible flailing about can there possibly be over a couple of cups of piss? Test it, confirm it, guard against error and fraud and technician bias... these are not difficult concepts.

post-bonk Orange-gasm

What is it about oranges these days? I am obsessed. Some days, I have 4 or 5 of 'em. And when I eat them, it's not pretty. It's an orgy of sweet juicy orange pleasure. I can't imagine what I look like (an expression of crazed mania? a dark and predatory glare? glorious and thankful delight?) but I know that I don't know how I seem. All my attention is on the orange. And how quickly I can shuck the rind and get it stuffed into my pie-hole. Like pistachios - the rate-limiting step is the peeling more than anything.

Take today for example. I rode the Waterloo route this afternoon, and even though I took food and tried to eat smart on the way (yes, I've run out of gas on that route before), I still bonked and suffered the last 15 miles. But when I got home, eyes dry and burning, I was all about the oranges. 1 was good. 2 was better. 3 was damn fine. I had to stop myself because it tripped my "this might be a bad thing when it goes too easy and too quickly" sensor.

In other news - I was on the way back home on HRD and I passed what looked like the Tuesday AAVC group ride heading out. It was nice to see tons of folks out rollin' along, but I'm thinking that 30-35 people bunched up is not exactly a good way to go. Sure, take your space on the road and roll strong in traffic, but with that big of a group, on that 2-lane, no-shoulder/no-escape-route, potholed-and-cold-patched road? Safer to split up a bit, don't you think? When the bunch is 4-abreast in a random diamondy shape, when cars pass... maybe they're gunning it? Kinda makes it sketchy for whoever is riding on the left side, no? I'm just sayin'. Bigger than 20 people: maybe split it up. Now if only the route would change by 3 blocks to avoid that dude in Dexter who yells at everyone rolling through that stop sign. Or, maybe just change the route to avoid rolling through the stop sign to begin with? Call me crazy...

Everything Falls Apart

... and no, I'm not talking about the Hüsker Dü song (but thems some fine, fine tunes that I haven't listened to in a long damn while).

Everything is just... falling apart. Yesterday I was utterly incapacitated by what I thought was food poisoning. Basically, I was unable to stand or walk for most of the day in between the 7 vomit and 4 diarrhea episodes. (how do you count it when you have to puke in the wastebucket because you're still sitting on the toilet? Count one each? Count it by who got there first? Or by volume?). I recently on a lark bought a raw honey spread, and thinking it might be food poisoning, called my county health department to report it. The kind and understanding health professional suggested that my symptoms sounded more like Norovirus than food poisoning. (and apparently there's a Farmington strain too! Named for Farmington Hills! right here in Michigan! how proud we all must be...[sigh])

Since I'm much better now, I'm guessing it was the virus, but I'm not having any unpasteurized anything any time soon. I do like Louis Pasteur and his invention. I think it has saved a lot of people from pain and early death. Not only did he develop/refine the germ theory of disease but he discovered chirality too. How frickin' cool is that? I LOVE that. So to all you raw-milk-drinkin' "cherry-juice-is-a-cure-for-cancer" homeopathy crazy-talkers: keep that crazy talk at home. I got no tolerance for ya, and if you start in with it, I'm gonna share my feelings with you in an enthusiastic way.

So yeah... not only was I hurtin' furious yesterday, I come home today to find the floor lamp with a blown bulb.

And then the desk lamp has a blown bulb.

While I'm changing the desk lamp, it breaks off in my hand. What the hell - two in the same day? Coincidence? You think I should stay away from the computer for a while?

SRAM-alama-ding-dong

I finally just decided that the forces of Want exceeded my financial prudishness. Gimme, Gimme, Gimme, and I plunked down my dollars.

The SRAM Force build kit is coming in about a week, and soon, grasshopper, soon, I'm gonna be all DoubleTap™ey-ish. More with-it in the 21st century, yes I am. I've been a proud retro-grouch with a fetish for Italian parts, but I think I'm gonna give the boys and girls in Chicago (and Taiwan, or India, or wherever they manfacture) a chance at my velo-pleasure-receptors.

In other parts news, it seems that there's rumors of carbon fork breakage. In this, I'll remain a retro-grouch for a while. Stems? Bars? Steerer tubes? pretty damn important to keeping your ass upright and on the bike. Granted, in the famous Hincapie wreck in Paris-Roubaix due to a broken steerer, it was an aluminum steerer (and not carbon) that probably was compromised in a previous crash... but still. I'm just not there yet. One day maybe, but not just yet.

This Film Is Fucking Wonderful

I don't know how to start this... Well, ok, how about this: You should see This Film Is Not Yet Rated.

Seriously. Move it up to the top of your Netflix queue, go see if Blockbuster has it, watch for it in your local independent theaters.

(Thanks to Pete and Laura for recommending this movie to me, by the way...)

It's this really surprising and illuminating documentary about the MPAA and specifically the ratings system that movies go through (you know, that G, PG, PG-13, R, NC-17 thing). The secrecy involved, the arbitrary and inconsistent way ratings are handed out, the ties to the movie industry and government lobbies.

Some of my favorite parts:
- The glaringly uneven treatment that the ratings board gives to sex vs. violence. (Lots of violence and killing is ok as long as there isn't blood on-screen, but a glimpse of pubic hair is indecent?)
- In a phone conversation between the head of the ratings board and the director of TFINYR , the ratings board person says (paraphrasing) "We [the ratings board] don't create values, we reflect the values of the culture we live in"... which would mean that if the culture was predominantly racist incestuous pedophiliacs, they would reflect that and defend their decision on "cultural values" grounds?
- Uneven treatment of hetero sex vs. gay sex. Great scene where they split-screen show identical shots from different movies. The camera angle is the same, the amount of clothing is the same, the depicted motion is the same, but if the people on screen are the same sex it gets an NC-17 rating and the hetero scene gets an R rating.
- The "surprising" revelation about industry connections (and presence of christian clergy?!) in the supposedly independent ratings appeal board.
- Interview with Matt Stone about South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut where a scene was replaced and it changed the rating... the part where they find the tape of Cartman's mom in a German scheisse film. Previously the tape was of her fellating a horse. Though nothing was actually shown, talking about bestiality is apparently worse than talking about coprophilia. Horse cocksucking is indecent, but shit-eating is OK? How they came to that conclusion baffles me too.

And a curious devil's advocacy thought about censorship and libel though... if you make a documentary about an organization that is hidden from the public eye (and will not comment or reveal anything about themselves) does that mean you can essentially print/publish anything you want about them? If you make slanderous or libelous statements, the aggrieved party would have to sue you to stop you, and then in court there's the question of proof of whether the statements are true or not (and thus malicious libel, or just reporting the facts), which would reveal the hidden information. So they can't really sue because then they wouldn't be able to keep their secrets... wacky, hunh? I'm not saying that TFINYR is a work of fiction or that it's credibility is in doubt, but the nature of the secret organization means that the investigation of the secrecy itself cannot be verified for accuracy or bias.

GPS disruptions and your DNA

While it probably didn't affect you, me, or our respective GPS receivers, a solar flare/eruption back in December probably messed with somebody who was doing some surveying work that day (and they probably couldn't just call a Solar Flare Mulligan...). But what really caught my eye in the article was the seeming common sense in contrast to many other irrational exuberances of technology dependence.

"... society cannot become overly reliant on technology without an awareness and understanding of the effects of future space weather disruptions," said Anthea Coster, Ph.D., MIT Haystack Observatory.

... and golly, what will be do if global warming extends into space and starts [gasp!] affecting space weather? Will Al Gore make another movie - this time about how many times he's given a presentation about Universal Warming?

Seriously though... in related irrational exuberance, now that the human genome has been sequenced, we blaze forward into a new world swimming in biotechnology. The question becomes: will we be able to maintain privacy and not have genetic prejudice in society, the workplace, the health care system, or the courts. Often, science and technology advances faster than policy and law do. Problematic, but understandable - speculating about the potential vs. actual difficulties and then codifying in law, while uncertain of the result, is a bit dodgy.

Perhaps this is where the imagination of science fiction comes into play... I mean, what exactly DO you do about manned space exploration when the length of the trip is measured in years? Why, one solution is to train astronaut families, right? Stable family units that are a self-contained emotional support system, with deep-seated loyalty among the crew already built in? Obviously, one thing we've learned is to not have treacherous non-family member Dr. Smiths on the crew. And be careful of robots that might temporarily go evil too. And you definitely gotta be careful about accidental astronaut love triangles among the crew too. 'Cause we all know how that ends up: space diapers and pepper spray.

who in their right mind DOESN'T like goatcake?

In honor of spring thaw, Stacey had a little shindig yesterday that I was really sorry to miss the beginning of. Why? Not the scavenger hunt, since my style of scavenger hunt is the city-wide version. Not the dancing - I'm not so much with the dancing - I'm more of a twitcher.

But mostly, I'm so sad to have missed the Goatcake while it was still intact. Who doesn't like sculpted cakes with blood-sacrifice neo-pagan symbology? I mean sheesh, yah gotta be a baby-eatin'-commie or somethin' to not like that.

I don't bake much, but next potluck I go to, I'm bringin' artfood, dammit. Rye-crisp Taj Mahal with Hommus reflecting pool? Maybe a Feta cheese Venus De Milo? Or perhaps something a little more modern?

And if the pot of coffee I just finished has its way with my nervous system, my mind is going to start dreaming up animatronic light-and-sound-show edible beverage fountains.

wherever did my memory go?

If anyone finds my memories, would you mind returning them? Thanks.

I say this because I was browsing a friend's Netflix queue. I was adding comments about things that I liked and didn't like, hoping to spare them the pain of bad/unwatchable movies and wasted time. This led me to wonder and poke around in their history and see what they rated how.... which led me to wonder and poke around in my own history to see things I had watched (sort of a reversed cinematic ego-surfing).

While there's lots a remember watching, and even enjoying... did I even watch The Longest Yard? I don't remember it. Was it because beer was involved? And what the hell possessed me to get Mean Girls? For some reason, I can't remember the plot of Seabiscuit, though there sure was enough media buzz at the time that I should know it by osmosis.

But I am happy to report that I remember, enjoyed, and am happy to recommend: Crash, Secretary, Audition (caution: squirmy Japanese horror), 21 Grams, Oldboy, Traffic, and the new Battlestar Galactica series, to name a few.

tacky and obnoxious... a night at The Majestic

It all started off well enough... going to see The Ragbirds and Bump last night at The Majestic.

Ragbirds started off and were OK, but honestly? I've seen better shows of theirs. A fairly short set and a small early crowd. Nice enough, but not exactly ass-kicking, either.

Bump was new to me and didn't really grab me much. Sure, there were some interesting blends of electronica, groovish funkness, and (oddly) shred-like guitar, but it was far to much in the middle. Might have been mixed badly? Or my expectations were different? A steady wall of sound with no distinctive anything I could latch on to. No consistent groove, no noise sculpting, no driving bits... nothing I could grab hold of. Guitar/keyboard guy had lots of keyboards but didn't do much with them (which says to me that he's spending more time with gear than with sound). Bass guy was in the background and MIA, sonically as well as physically. Guitar dude with his astronautica-schtick was off somewhere else. Drummer was punchy, tight, but knows how to take a step back too ... definitely knows what he's doing.

I don't know if I'd pay much money to see them again, but technically we didn't pay to get in this time (yes, tickets were bought, but unused - anyone want some tickets? "I got two! Two tickets! Who needs em?!"). G and I walked into the wrong part of the bar-megaplex at first, so we had been "carded" and already had wristbands when we walked into the theater lobby. I just flashed it and kept walking, expecting the ticket-taking to be further up the way. I guess they assumed by either my decisive striding or the wristband that someone else had gotten our tickets. (Note to self - next show at the Majestic, get wristbands down the street and try this trick again. Gate-crashing helps offset overpriced skunky beer expense.)

Knowing that there was a middle-band (second opening act? or is the first band the opening band for the opening band?) Midtown Underground didn't seem like it would affect the other band experiences at the time, but I can't lie to you, dear readers... they stunk it up like a fart in an elevator. An elevator that's stuck between floors, with the fire department on strike and no hope of a rescue anytime soon. For the record: I don't need to hear any more shouts-out from the 8 white boys on stage about how they're gonna get the pahhty stahhted and kick it old skool, nowhahumsayin'? When the drummer doesn't realize he's got a bridge or a solo and he doesn't notice that we noticed that he didn't notice, and the sax player spends more time flailing and posing one-handed playing a single note, and the frontman's obnoxious ego is so large though he has no actual skill... yeah, they were that aggravating.

BUT, not nearly as aggravating as all the chippies about in their bar skank uniforms. What IS it about the oh-so-original black heels, jeans, black knit top, floozy hair and optional mini-purse over the shoulder and under the armpit? They were everywhere. And each and every one with a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air, whooping it up in a half-constipated shuffle-dance to keep ridiculous shoes, unflatteringly tight jeans, a drink, a purse, and "whooo!" all in play, somehow still just "needin' to cut loose and get my groove on cuz it's Fri-dayyy! whoooo!".

Hey you - yes you... white girl with a stench of desperation about you - let's not kid each other. You're not actually having fun. You're pretending to have fun because that's what you think you're supposed to do and all your other blackshirtbluejean friends are here. But it's so much work, and I can see the strain it's putting on you. Put down your burden. It's OK, really it is. Take a rest.

I promise I'll still pretend to think you're cool if you just give up and... be yourself.

"there's no such thing as bad weather..."

".... there's only inappropriate attire." And guess what? My attire is particularly inappropriate for riding in this weather.

It was 60 degrees just a few days ago, so when my eyeballs saw this, I thought "bah, 33 degrees ain't so cold... I'll just layer up and tough it out. Besides, if I'm heading off to the trail, once I get in the trees it won't be so cold, will it?" Well, not noticing the wind gusting to 30 was a serious failure of attention on my part. From my hands to my waist, I was toasty. Even my head was warm. But my cheeks (all 4 of 'em), thighs, and toes were feeling tingly, chill, and numb, in that order. Oh yeah, and as soon as I dropped off the pavement and onto trail, two other bad things happened... (1) "ouch, that hurts" (2) [squish] goes the muck.

Looks like I won't be riding on dirt for a while - not only is wet, mucky, and erosion-ey spring here, but my shoulder still ain't feelin' right 95% of the day, I'm fine. But when I do certain things, it's clear I ain't 100% yet. Seeing as how my only bike for the dirt is hard nosed and hard tailed, blasting around on the bumpedy-bump is just gonna have to wait a while.

oh, meeeoooww.

Oh, how I loves the bike porn. It's not just the glamour shots and the shiny bits and the juicy paint jobs... Over at Vanilla, they sure do some pretty stuff, and it's the subtle little things that are making me goosebumpy today:

Not only the little red details on the seatstay bridge, but the fender attach points inside the fender under the seat stay bridge and on the back of the seat tube. Subtle, meaningful, nice.

And then the sexy-as-hell seat stays, with the schweet cable routing. [mmph] (bites lip)

And who isn't a sucker for chrome? It's not just the cutouts on the lugs, the polish and paint detail at the edges, just all together it just... works.

ok, cold shower time.

You don't have to *solve* the mountain

A little revelation I had last week about the nature and effects of problem solving...

I'm an engineer. By inclination, education, and experience. I have this tendency to solve problems, come up with widgets that address this or that shortcoming. When something is difficult or inefficient or wasteful, I start thinking that there's a better way of doing it and want to do it right. I think of problems and the need for solutions.

So what's the revelation? There's a difference between a problem and an obstacle. Sometimes in life or in work, there's an obstacle, and sometimes it's a problem, but regardless, it's an impediment to moving forward. The distinction though is that a problem (a design flaw/defect, dependent factor, puzzle) is something that needs to be changed to be able to go forward, where an obstacle (long slow tedious work, sensitive personalities, deadlines, high-cost tooling) is something that really just needs to be gotten past. It doesn't always need to be fixed because once you're past, you might never have to deal with it again, and "fixing it" is a waste of time if it doesn't ever recur.

Just get past it. You can't fix the mountain, and you don't have to. You just have to get over the mountain.

'Tucky Travels

Got back from Mammoth Cave Kentucky last week... a fun enough adventure, but not exactly life-changing experience either. On a scale of 0 to 10, I'd give it a 6.5, maybe 7. No catastrophes, no ecstasies either.

Got kind of a late start on Sunday, leaving around 11-ish, and for the 6-7 hour drive, that unfortunately meant setting up camp (and then cooking dinner) at the park in the dark. This would become a theme for the week: being too optimistic about time, and thus perfecting my skills at pitching a tent and cooking/cleaning without the benefit of sunshine. And while camping is certainly a cheaper way to travel than hotel, I wasn't exactly happy to pay $17 per night in the main campground. $17? For what? A plot of dirt? Sure, there's running water and toilets, but no showers (gotta pay $2 at the store for that). Whatever.

Monday was Cave Day, and I, surprisingly, got an early start. (whenever I'm sleeping somewhere new, I usually wake a dozen or so times in the night). And thus, began my second disappointment. The Wild Cave Tour is weekends only, and sells out months in advance. Crapola. Instead, I picked the Grand Avenue and Historic tours. And this is where I have henceforth solidified my new policy about trails, routes, tours, and vacations. If it is a "wilderness" area and it DOESN'T have safety warnings... it's probably pretty boring. Anything that has paved trails, is stroller-accessible, and has bathrooms nearby is likely to be jammed with slow-moving groups of retirees and children bouncing all over the place. I'm not hatin' on your sprogs, I just happen to be child-free, healthy, and adventurous. When I'm looking for grandeur of nature, I would rather it wasn't corrupted by constant yelling of 5-year-olds. It wasn't just me... the kind, gentle, mother-of-two who couldn't get her point across to the non-parenting parents of the uncontrollable child, even after resorting to shouting over her shoulder at least five times "Kid! I can't hear...will you SHUT UP!"... she wasn't enjoying the distraction, either. It is also, I found, very difficult to take casual photos in caves. Flashes wash things out, or fail to illuminate the nifty dark recesses. All I was left with was random shots of the backs of heads of my fellow tour-goers. If you want to see pretty photos, buy the postcards.

The Historic Tour was pretty interesting - about how the cave was used as a residence 4000 years ago and then more or less abandoned 2000 years ago by Native Americans, then re-discovered explored back in the 1800's by settlers, how it went from being a tourist destination to an industrial saltpeter operation, then becoming a tourist destination again, imagining exploring massive chambers by the light of a feeble oil lamp, etc. After 7 hours of tours, I realized that sunshine wasn't going to last forever, so I got the bike together and went on a quickie ride. Half hour out and back... then dinner and sleep.

Tuesday was Bike Day and Backpacking Day 1. The whole point of going to Kentucky, along with the 80-degree temps and one-day drive, is that it has a few hills (ok, more than SE Michigan). So in the morning I pack up my tent, organize food for 3 days of packing, organize bike stuff, and head off to the trailhead where I'll park my car, go for a long-ish ride, then come back and hike off in to the wilderness. The ride, she was a decent one. As I was rolling away from the car I thought "hmm, planning to be out for at least 4 hours... should I have put on sunscreen? Nahh... I'll be fine..." Well, I crisped a little bit, but the good news is that my teensy-bit of sunburn is turning into a very respectable start to my tan lines for the season. A decent ride was had. I was fortunate to find that the area around the park has rather smooth roads, with fairly light traffic - probably due to there being no heavy truck traffic and fairly mild winters. The shoulder ain't none too wide, but what with all the plants budding and whatnot, it was a pretty ride. Most all the car/truck traffic was easy to get along with - with the requisite one asshole shouting something out the window as he passes in his jacked-up Ford penis-substitute. (why is it that assholes on the road always seem to be driving Ford vehicles? GM, Chrysler, Toyota, Honda, none seem to attract the Asshole Gene quite as much as Ford Trucks).

So nothing gonzo about the ride, just putting in base miles with some of them uphill, and after getting back, stowing the bike, and a brief snack/rest put on the pack and head off on the trail. While it was nice that backcountry permits at this park are free (compared to out West - where I'd imagine the backcountry fees help offset the occasional cost of having to rescue someone injured, lost, or stranded) the trails themselves aren't that interesting. Unfortunately, I neglected to register on the map that there are occasional dirt roads through the area, and after hiking 5 miles with a full pack, crossing a road is aggravating. "If you can drive to this spot, why am I hiking it?" This gets back to my new policy about accessibility - a.k.a. "If It's Easy, It Can't Possibly Be Interesting"

Anyway, I got to the first backcountry site, and lo and behold a spring flowing out of the side of a hill, right next to the campsite. The last time I went packing was in the desert. Where getting water was sketchy. This was luxury. All the water you could drink, and not having to worry about whether there will be water anywhere near the next campsite. Heck, I crossed stream after stream on the hike. So why was I carrying 4 liters? Habit, I guess. Better safe than sorry.

I got there in just enough time before sunset to gather some firewood, so after cooking dinner I had a cheery little fire, stared at the sky for a while, and went to bed. 4am rolled around and the first few pitter-pats of rain was joined by "oh, shit... my gear is outside", but after some quick barefoot half-clothed pack-grabbing, I was back in my tent with gear safe and dry, when the pouing rain lulled me right back to sleep. After a leisurely breakfast the next morning, off I go to the second site by the river, and though it was pretty, it seemed that the further you get from the trailhead, the more likely people are to leave garbage all over the place. I ended up packing out 2x more of other peoples garbage than I created myself. Aggravatin', lemme tell ya.

I really wanted to go for a swim. I hadn't showered in a couple days, plus it was hot and a little sticky, and I hadn't gotten all of the road grit from the ride off me. But the Green River is... opaque. And, it seems, I'm a pussy. Apparently, when I'm alone out in the wilderness, I have an attack of age and responsibility. As in - when the edge of the river has rough and sharp rocks on the bottom that I can't see, and then suddenly the bottom drops away, I get a case of the willies. Imagining spraining an ankle, or stabbing my foot on something when I'm miles away from anything other than a basic first aid kit kept me close to shore. I guess I need to find a Cross-Country Adventure Buddy for these trips... it's nice to find solitude, but it's also nice to share the load, tell stories, and have backup in case one does something stupid and injures ones self.

I had gotten to campsite #2 mid-afternoon, so I spent the whole afternoon lounging about. I made some tea, sat and watched the river, constantly fussed with the little ThermaRest chair I got last year (it's more comfortable than rocks, but never quite right), and read the last half of In A Sunburned Country which, while humorous, started to grate on me with the same funny story/revelation over and over again. Yes, Australia is full of poisionous critters that will be happy to kill you. Yes, Australia has a huge and desolate interior. Yes, modern Australians are on average an amazingly warm and generous bunch of folks. We heard it in the first 100 pages... get on with it. In contrast with those two product disappointments, I'm very happy with my new MSR Dragonfly. After borrowing Jake's Whisperlite last year, I realized I really need to get my own stove. A stove that can reliably burn white gas, kerosene, gasoline, diesel, or jet fuel? Works for me.

Heading out the next day on the way back to the trailhead and the drive home, I passed by the strangest little cemetary. Yes, it was old, but why do some of the headstones just look like just a plain rock with no engraving? And why are they all spaced so closely together? Turns out to be a children's cemetary. Very few of the headstones indicate a life longer than 4 years. Some even have dates of birth and death the same day or only a few days apart. And they're all in the mid-1920's. Just kind of odd at the time to stumble onto this. Was is an illness that swept the area in that time? There's a regular cemetery at the historic church near the trailhead - why are the children's bodies buried 2 miles away up in the hills? Ah, mystery.

And in the end, a non-climatic journey home. I decided not to stop in Fort Knox (can't take a tour anyway), Louisville (don't really care much for baseball bats), Cinncinati (I'll see it some other time), or anywhere else. So here I am. Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

anyone see irony here?

Really? There's drugs that make you skinny? Or people who take certain ones sometimes ignore, say, for example... food? And [gasp!] there's people in Hollywood taking drugs? Golly, I'd have never guessed.

The irony is that the two magazines were right next to each other in the checkout, just waiting for me to take a picture.

Somebody fetch me my Pulitzer.

you heard it there first...

Yet another reason we loves the bike.

And the reckless girls.

And the outcast women.

just a sunny day for a ride...

Well, I fixed that squeaky cleat/pedal problem... not with skill or style or crafty solutions. Oh no, I fixed it by using the flat and flexible tool: the credit card.

I'm not sayin' that entry-level Look circa 1994 has anything wrong with it, but the cleats was gettin' a little wore out, some chunks busted out o' dem, and I swear thems was rattlin' a bit. (Damn, I've already got Kentucky creepin' in tuh me)

So I went for a ride, and golly if the SpeedCookie lollipops aren't a little more snug on the snap-in than the worn-out cleats I'd been riding on (why didn't I do this a year or two ago? Fucking hell, I must be lazy.) Positions might need a little tweaking (duh), but in general they work just fine. Hooray for SpeedPlay. Of course, the only color they had at the LBS was blue, and now I'm a little too blue on the bike for comfort. Blue frame, blue bar tape, blue pedals, blue helmet, blue jersey today, blue long-sleeves. I swear, I'm not fashion-focused... really, I'm not. But the blue thing has to stop.

Oh... and thank you Mr. Sunshine and Mrs. Blue Skies for being 62 degrees today. We will be happy to see you more and more in the coming months. Don't be a stranger. We likes you. We likes you lots.

library killin' my mood

I just decided this week that I need to get out of town.

Just for a while, a little bit, a jaunt.

Somewhere warm, please. Maybe some camping, take the bike, do some riding... find somewhere hilly and warm. Where is it warm? Somewhere close, somewhere I can drive. Somewhere I don't need to plan too much. I can sleep in my car if I need to, camp when I can, hotel if I must.



The weather people are telling me Kentucky. My National Parks annual pass is still good... what's in Kentucky? (other than moonshine stills, baseball bat factories, and inbred toothless wonders).

Mammoth Cave. So that's where I'm going. But I figured I should plan a little bit, and stopped by the library to look for guidebooks and the like. What I found is that I couldn't find the Kentucky section. It should be right *here*, dammit... so I look at the catalog, and lo and behold EVERY single travel book about Kentucky is checked out, and judging by the due date, checked out by the same person. Damn you, fellow Kentucky traveler. Don't you know that I don't plan ahead and you're messin' with my last-minute spur-of-the-moment plans? Grr.

Art and Sex (de la Heinlein)

Also known as "today's installment of Notable Quotables" - in this case from Stranger In A Strange Land... which was kind of a good thing to read. I'm a little aggravated with all the dystopic science fiction out there with post-apocalyptic whachamajiggers. SIASL isn't exactly utopia, but there's a utopian imagining to it.

On Art:

"Because the world has gone nutty and art always paints the spirit of the time. Rodin died about the time the world started flipping its lid. His successors... failed to see was that the master [Rodin] told stories that laid bare the human heart. They became contemptuous of painting of sculpture that told stories - they dubbed such work 'literary'. The went for all out abstractions."

Jubal shrugged. "Abstract design is all right - for wallpaper or linoleum. But art is the process of evoking pity or terror. What modern artists do is pseudo-intellectual masturbation. Creative art is intercourse, in which the artist renders emotional his audience. These laddies who won't deign to do that - or can't - lost the public. The ordinary bloke will not buy 'art' that leaves him unmoved. If he does pay, the money is conned out of him, by taxes or such."

"Jubal, I've always wondered why I didn't give a hoot for art. I thought it was something missing in me."

"Mmm, one does have to learn to look at art. But it's up to the artist to use language that can be understood. Most of these jokers don't want to use language you and I can learn; they would rather sneer because we 'fail' to see what they are driving at. If anything, Obscurity is the refuge of incompetence."

On Sex:

"...the ethics of sex is a thorny problem. Each of us is forced to grope for a solution he can live with - in the face of a preposterous, unworkable, and evil code of so-called 'Morals.' Most of us know the code is wrong, almost everybody breaks it. But we pay Danegeld by feeling guilty and giving lip service. Willy-nilly, the code rides us, dead and stinking, an albatross around the neck."

"You too, Ben. You fancy yourself a free soul - and break that evil code. But faced with a problem in sexual ethics new to you, you tested it against that same Judeo-Christian code... so automatically your stomach did flip-flops... and you think that proves you're right and they're wrong... Sex should be a means of happiness. Ben, the worst thing about sex is that we use it to hurt each other. It ought never to hurt; it should bring happiness, or at least, pleasure."

"The code says, 'Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife.' The result? Reluctant chastity, adultery, jealousy, bitterness, blows and sometimes murder, broken homes and twisted children - and furtive little passes degrading to woman and man. Is this Commandment ever obeyed? If a man swore on his own Bible that he refrained from coveting his neighbor's wife because the code forbade it, I would suspect either self-deception or subnormal sexuality. Any male virile enough to sire a child has coveted many women, whether he acts or not."

there is something seriously wrong with me...

... I just footnoted¹ an email.

And this was just a friendly email to a friend. Granted, it was about legal ideas, but still. My parenthetical speaking/writing style has reached a certain level of horror now. Especially since i kind of like the idea of footnoting².


¹ ok, technically, they might be endnotes, but whatever.
² you can have clarifications, thus being accurate or complete, without destroying the rhythm of the sentence/argument/idea.

exception to The Roth Rule

I have a rule about movies, and since I'm here, I'll be happy to share it with you, kind reader. It's called the Roth Rule. It all started when I noticed that there are some actors that just never seem to disappoint - no matter what the movie is about, and even if it's not in your preferred genre, if that actor has a significant role in the flick, it's usually pretty good. I'm talkin' Tim Roth, Edward Norton, Naomi Watts, Anthony Hopkins, etc... Either they're so skillful that they can buoy a movie up by their sheer genius, or that they somehow manage to choose to work only on films that are really good and turn out well.

Perhaps you see where this is going... I caught a stinker today. Tim Roth in Invincible. Sure, I'll accept that Zishe Breitbart was a hero to Polish Jews ever since his career as a strongman in pre-war Germany and Poland... but for cryin' out loud, the movie sucked. Terribly, terribly. Not a single person other than Roth could act worth a damn. You know how one bad actor can screw a scene up so badly that it pooches the whole movie? Imagine a cast of dozens, screwing it up constantly. Maybe it just shouldn't have been an english-language script. Maybe it just should have been in Polish or German. Then they wouldn't be as crappy on-screen. Nevertheless, you can safely ignore this movie, and I'll start re-constructing the Roth Rule to accomodate outliers. Thanks, and have a nice day.

goodness gracious, St. Patrick

I swear, I was not planning to get goofy yesterday. Really, I swear.

It all started so sedately... a little jaunt up to Brighton to hang out with Jake and Colleen and Tim and Mary up at Pete's brewery/bottling plant (what the hell is the place, anyway? it's not Local Color anymore, but the brands remain...). Knowing they were gonna be starting at 8:00 am, I took my time getting there and caught the down-slide late in the afternoon after all the gonzo fuck-yeahs would be blotto and passed out in corners (why doesn't urban dictionary have an entry for "fuck-yeahs"? not like I care enough to make one myself...). Hung around for a while, drank some beers, made some chitty-chat, took a survey and corrected my long-standing statistic that ~1/3 of people know their blood type (apparently just about everyone that goes to Pete's parties seems to know their blood type) had a difference of opinion with Col about the notion of a "couple", got beat down in some beery ping pong, yadda yadda... but ultimately wasn't exactly feelin' it, knowwhahumsayn?

So back to AA/Ypsi and to TC's to see a bunch o' bands and drink some chewier beer. (Sorry Pete, but ya needs ta work on making fuller beers... rounder on the tongue) Caught up with a buncha buncha folks there - the other Pete and Laura, Matt, Dave and Laura, (there's lots of Petes, lots of Lauras, lots of Jeffs on the roster these days), Andre, Stacey, Gerry, Georgina, Shannon... and had quite the fun time. The Ragbirds played, and damn if they ain't fun. For the record, and contrary to G's protestations, I am NOT a closeted hippie. Nor do I plan to embrace the "hippie within" or any such thing. I am all about the punkrockmusic, dude. Can't a boy just like a funky beat or a wheely boppy jig every now and then? (FWIW, since The Drovers ain't around no more, The Ragbirds are welcome to move into that empty musical spot I've had vacant in my ears for a while. Part of it might be the joy of the live show, but that's more than OK with me)

So yeah, in the bar, and some blond overly-happy smiley woman who needed group hugs all the time while we were over on the band side of the bar was kinda distracting (in a bad way) - I'm thinking she's another personal example to me why I keep my personal drugs limited to caffeine and alcohol. I can only imagine the horror I would sow if I was into x and started getting really friendly and aggressively huggy with random people - I get misinterpreted enough and a big dude like me grabbing people I don't know... just might get me a trip to the pokey. And the beer in lockup is really really bad (or so I hear). So yeah, and there was this other really REALLY yummy woman with the curly light-brown hair and the half-tattoo poking out under her shirt sleeve, boppin' and movin' around right there in front of the sound board, and I just couldn't take my eyes off her... ugh, I am SO kicking myself for not making a point of at least telling her how cute she is. And the tragedy of it is that she was there with/left with this dude who was so incredibly boring all night (yes, when one is locked-on and staring at pretty people, it's hard not to notice people they're with too). Fucking hell, I'm such a wuss.

So the bar's "please go home now" lights come on, and everybody goes over to Andre's house, where much hilarity and fun ensues. I never would have thought 5 people would have fit on that smallish couch... but if ya stack 'em right, anything's possible. ;) And Gerry got out the guitar and played some tunes, and Dave joined in, trading the guitar back and forth every couple songs with another guy (Sean? Steve?) until about 4:00. Quite the good time, what with the wine, the women, the song... a fine, fine time.

... until this morning when I woke up at 9:00 dehydrated like crazy. And so in a bizarro-groundhog-day type way, I showed to the MI DNR stewardship workday late, hungover, and a little grumpy from lack of sleep. But the fresh air and sunshine be good for me, and I'm all fresh and bubbly now. I just don't really understand why it is I manage to drink that little bit too much, and it's always on the nights before going out to work in the parks. Weird.

quotables

Anthony Bourdain guest blogs and tells us about Rachel Ray:

Complain all you want. It’s like railing against the pounding surf. She only grows stronger and more powerful. Her ear-shattering tones louder and louder. We KNOW she can’t cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So...what is she selling us? Really? She’s selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough. She’s a friendly, familiar face who appears regularly on our screens to tell us that “Even your dumb, lazy ass can cook this!” ... Where the saintly Julia Child sought to raise expectations... Rachael uses her strange and terrible powers to narcotize her public with her hypnotic mantra of Yummo and Evoo and Sammys. “You’re doing just fine. You don’t even have to chop an onion--you can buy it already chopped. Aspire to nothing…Just sit there. Have another Triscuit…Sleep….sleep….

And along the same lines from this guy named (dis)pencer up in MSP:

you have to be one of cyclings "hardmen" to win the big spring classics.
you can't expect to survive if you are prone to falling down, or if you really enjoy disappointment and making excuses.

... looks like I'm in an unforgiving mood this afternoon, and ain't havin' none o' dat mediocrity goin' on.

Literally, a cure for cancer

I just got out of a public forum/panel discussion at the library about the issue of HPV vaccine and legislation in Michigan for mandatory vaccination for 6th grade (11-12 year old) girls. While I respect that opinions, personal beliefs differ about vaccination, we're talking about literally A CURE FOR CANCER. (ok, a prevention, but still...)

The anti-science factions (and thanks to Dr. Timothy Johnson for specifically calling it what it is - which is a supernatural anti-science, anti-reason movement) that oppose vaccination neglect to notice that Polio is not longer an epidemic, and tetanus is no longer prevalent in the US. Some will ask "what's Merck's motivation, and aren't they just profiteering?" Yes, they are a company, and yes they need to make money. But I ask - what is the motivation of the anti-vaccine, anti-science crowd? To build a theocracy? I will be more than happy to deal with opposing a company - that's not scary. A country run by religious believers in the supernatural and lacking even the pretense of reason? That would DEFINITELY be scary.

They make their arguments about a vaccine that teenagers would get which might promote sexual activity... Hey, guess what - 77% of teenage girls under the age of 19 have had vaginal sex. And even if they're a virgin until their wedding night and maintain a monogamous relationship with their husband forever and ever, that doesn't mean that he hasn't been infected with HPV and could give it to her (resulting in her cervical cancer). Another applicable statistic: 80% of Americans, by the age of 50, are carrying some form of HPV around in their bodies. You, me, and those boys and girls over there. Think about that for a second. Oh yeah, and then there's the developing world, where even access to a pap smear is an issue. How many people are dying there that could be saved by a vaccine?

a seeming week of foolishness...

Starting off with my stellar move on Monday crashing on the ice rink and bashing my shoulder into the ice (which, it appears was not just going to hurt for a day - I'm grumpy in multiple little sessions every day this week when I do something that makes it hurt)... all the way to today when I showed up for the friday MatSE colloquium when it wasn't even scheduled for this week. (in my defense, it only took a couple of minutes, after being uncharacteristically early, of sitting in an empty hall to realize that no one else was coming). Oh yeah, and earlier today? What was I thinking... I went to a seminar in the physics department because it was titled "LHC Physics". You know, the LHC - that nifty thing at CERN. Uhm, I love Big Science, but post-graduate level high-energy particle physics? I was pretty much out of my depth by the second slide. Amazing how difficult some of those problems are by the sheer numbers - trying to detect one event in 10,000,000,000,000.

In between those events I'll include admitting to picking some stinkers at the Blow Out in Hamtramck on Thursday. The results of wanderings:
Harwell - uh, we were 2 people in an audience of 4 in this tiny bar. The other two were the sound guy and a girlfriend of band member. Seemed like a good idea when I was shopping for bands. The singer had issues though, and the music just wasn't as interesting as I originally thought.
Johnny No Stars - timing is everything... they're only doing 45 minute sets, so by the time we left Harwell and got to the other bar, they were done. Whoops.
The Red Shift - thought it would be some straight-ahead punk, but they were far more concerned with their punk cred and having the right punk/ska accessories (ties, spikey belts, Vans, etc.)
Broken Sunday - I wouldn't buy an album of theirs, but would probably see them live again. Their frontman had presence and charisma on stage, even though he was just this tiny little dude. Band had it together and the sound didn't suck, so the show was good, but the music could stand to be more interesting.
Heroic Villian - ah... this would be the straight-ahead punk I was looking for. Not something I can listen to for hours, but fun show. Lack of pretense on the band's part, and they seemed to be having a whole lot of fun. Bassist dude was pretty much over-the-top on his stage antic jumping around, so fun to watch too. Poorly-quoted Quote of the Evening would be from G: "so, how do you dance to this?" ... this, of course, is what you get when you take a jam-band-loving hippie to a punk rock show. :)
Wildcatting - Sort of a heavy rock version of an instrumental jam band...think of it as early-Rush/Yes meets Phish/Dead. Might have listened longer, but put getting tired with the smokiest bar, and it's a recipe for "hey, you want to get going?"

Wallace, Gromit, and Aardman (a fireman chasing an igloo)

Been a while since I've watched Wallace & Gromit, but this afternoon was a screening of The Holey Trinity at the Michigan Theater with a preview cheese-tasting on your way into the theater. The cheese tasting was disappointing (really just a cheese-teasing, in my opinion). Nevertheless, I was there with Jeff & Jill & kids, and it was kinda cool that, for Aiden and Sadie's first-ever movie theater experience, they went to a theater that has a real live organist that plays before the movies, and an opera pit too. Of course, every movie after this for their entire lives will be cheap and tawdry after being introduced to the gilt ceilings and red velvet curtain of that historic building. Warren might have issues with the audio there, but luckily I've managed to see past that and my joy at the grandeur of the place is undiminished.

I'd make some sort of snide comment hassling people who are making snide comments (uh, that'd be me too) vs. people who work for change (i.e., if you think the audio sucks so bad... what are YOUR great ideas, hmm?), but I'm above that. Ok, no I'm not. I guess I shouldn't be too rude to the guy who educated me about three-point lighting (or "hair lighting" as it may be known in da biz) on Saturday. But yeah, I'm just gonna go ahead and be hassle-y.

Back to the toons... If you haven't seen the original Creature Comforts, it's available on YouTube here. Damn great stuff - the jaguar from Brazil being my favorite, but the turtle interview with the other turtle on the hamster wheel in the background is pretty funny too. There's a new Creature Comforts apparently coming to CBS (as a series?). And back to YouTube, there's another one with the comedy that is the tragedy of politicans here.

Let's not forget Shaun the Sheep, either.

Death Ride, to be a 4, etc: a plan for 2007

In the interest of committing to something simply by the act of saying it, writing it down - here it is, a plan for the bike for 2007

It starts with a single event: the California Death Ride. 125 miles, 15,000 ft climbing 5 mountain passes. Hurrah. If Fred's thoughts on it aren't just manly bluster, there's a suggestion of doing it back-to-back the Sunday after... for a 250 mile 30,000 ft 10 pass weekend. That'd be pretty wacky. And along the way to that are the "training" events - Godzulla and some sort of cabin-camping, riding, training camp week long thingie in Wisconsin.

So those are the events - but the year long project-to-be (and I'm going out on a limb here) is to get licensed, and after doing time in races over the summer, get myself from a Cat 5 to a Cat 4. I've been in a few races over the years, I'm a competitive kind of guy, and so the only real challenge here (aside from those silly details like intentional instead of incidental fitness, skill refreshing, and staying away from crashfests in the 5 races) is getting organized and following the calendar I make for myself.

OK, there it is. The plan for 2007. Not much detail, but some high points to hit. Along the way I'll work on how it's shaped on a finer scale.

blah.

Haven't posted in a while - I guess there just hasn't been a whole lot going on that I want to post about. I didn't post a review of Beer Fest, but I'll get to that and just backdate the post (feels like cheating, but if I can bend time, that will lessen my pseudo-guilt about my perpetual tardiness). Went skating Wed. at lunch, thinking about going today... One thing on my wish list: how do you do a hockey stop? I'm not from "skating stock" - it's not part of my DNA. (but I'm a quick learner). It's just that there's something I feel I'm missing - do you curve into the stop like a french curve, jump into it, disconnecting from the ice and then chiseling, or do you skew off one foot and then bring the other around? Ah, one of these days I'll commit enough attention to it.
In the meantime, blah-dy-blah, whatever.