I recently bought a coffee table book called The Art of Manliness for a Christmas gift exchange coming up. The book argues for a return to the ideals of manliness as embodied by Theodore Roosevelt and Benjamin Franklin. The book isn't trying to ignore or counter feminism, it is simply throwing its weight into a comeback of old-school masculinity updated for the modern era.
It advocates chivalry, hats and the man hug while proffering advice on how to braid your daughter's hair, start a fire with sticks and practice good etiquette on Facebook. While I differ on many things in the book there is no doubt that the median American male is woefully deluded with regards to what it means to be a man.
Manliness is not about being dirty, stupid, crude or wearing earth tones. There was a time when all significant intellectual contributions were produced by men, when male friends professed love for one another, when they spent just as much on their clothes as women and knew how to dance. While I applaud womens' increasing level of education, status and pay, I believe firmly in reversing trends towards men becoming less civilized.
The first threat to manliness is homophobia. Only 35 years ago "flamboyant" shirts were the height of men's fashion. Years ago, gay subculture wisely appropriated components of 19th century Dandyism. Heterosexual guys are too concerned about not "looking gay", "talking gay" or "acting gay". An entire wing of English vocabulary has been red-taped as "gay", including the word gay itself. Sometimes even including vocabulary itself. Everybody needs to chill the fuck out. I refuse to allow my self-expression to be hemmed in by subcultures I don't identify with, particularly ones with such good taste.
Being confused for being gay has a simple fix. Fears of such confusion are never primarily motivated by practical considerations. Furthermore, there is no necessary conflict between being (or seeming) gay and being manly. As the Greeks understood, homoeroticism reeks of manliness. That and the simplicity of interacting with men make homosexuality attractive to me, such that I occasionally find myself regretting my orientation. Though Jill finds me frustratingly heterosexual, I normally find my admittedly unidirectional sexuality rather enlightened.
I like things that are pretty. I'd like to look pretty, not to mention ostentatious and self-assured. I find myself buying the most radical clothing offered to men. Fuck earth tones. I got a pair of tight-fitting bright red pants over Thanksgiving. My mom thought they looked gay, but red pants are rock star pants in my book. Truth be told they're more scene than gay anyways, but I shouldn't care because that's missing the point. Wearing bright colors is fucking badass, whether it's pink or lime green or purple or fire engine red. "Paisley Dress Shirt" has been on my Christmas wish list for three years in a row, but good ones are damn hard to find.
Having a large vocabulary and physically touching men are also things hampered by homophobia. I've found it interesting how little physical touch is required to inspire paranoia in friends of mine; a brush of the shoulder, touching someone's hair or physically guiding someone's body or hand are all socially innocuous when done to girls of proper familiarity. Also, I've gotten my fair share of raised eyebrows for my vocabulary from strangers with whom I'm conversing. Men and women, gay and straight, should all feel entitled to the full range of the English language.
The second threat to manliness is the feminist movement. Make note that just as with homosexuality this is in no way a disparagement nor a complaint against feminism. Much of masculinity and femininity are necessarily defined by sexual dimorphism. That is, by natural opposition. Masculinity consequently includes being big, strong, emotionally stable, analytical and aggressive. However, this opposition extends into the more arbitrary aspects of sexual distinction. The aspect I am most concerned with is studiousness.
It used to be assumed that men were the most intelligent, artistic and studious sex. Science has since contradicted most of this and society has demonstrated womens' equal capacities. Unfortunately the culture of masculinity, once so gloriously self-celebrating and productive, has begun to stigmatize learning, creativity, demonstration of intellect and other formerly manly academic endeavors. This is reflected in statistics showing boys earning lower average grades and having lower admission rates to college despite studies showing that they are still just as smart as girls.
The fact that boys are told, whether explicitly or implicitly, that getting good grades is neither cool nor manly is an inadmissible sin both for its effect on men and on society as a whole. We must work to change culture to celebrate true men as being academically driven and fashionable, not boorish slobs.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Craft Breweries: Style and Iconoclasm
Inevitably, as I continue my exploration of craft beers, patterns begin to emerge in the flavor profiles of American craft beers. I've got a feel for some of the most popular styles. However, with the possible exception of IPA's, American's innovation and resistance to convention has kept the craft brew world in a constant state of flux. In fact, the strongest patterns in craft beer that I've found are breweries' identity. Many breweries, particularly the ones who got their start with a winning formula, have a distinctive style that is distinguishable throughout their beer lineup.
The first brewery that deserves mention of this is Sierra Nevada. They earned their name on the strength and influence of their Pale Ale. Its sharp bitterness set it apart from Pale Ale's British forbears and inaugurated an industry-wide trend towards heavy hopping. That the floral hops were belied by an unsung malty sweetness, I think, was the key towards its enduring status as one of the most respected craft beers in the business.
I got my hands on a few other styles by Sierra Nevada in recent months. Unfortunately, they're shamelessly derivative of their flagship Pale Ale. Their Stout is pretty good, it just tastes like a Stout version of their Pale Ale. Less can be said of their Anniversary and Celebration Ales, which taste is as if the Pale Ale was just amped up into an IPA. More gravity, more hops, until the original balance that made the Pale Ale so beautiful is flagrantly destroyed.
Samuel Adams, on the other hand, manages the tricky feat of finding new ways to present a winning formula. This may have to do with the fact that their trademark style is malt-driven rather than hop-driven. By varying malt composition and gravity, the two seasonals I've tried have been even more impressive than their famed Boston Lager. Their Octoberfest has a higher gravity, greater charred character and a more substantial hop backbone than their classic brew. Their Winter Lager calls itself "a Dark Wheat Lager". It has a thick buttery richness that warms the soul.
New Belgium seems to revel in a charred undertone that characterizes their beer. The most prominent example of this is their near-black 1554, but see if you don't find the same dark note in sunnier beers like Fat Tire and summer seasonal Skinny Dip. I'm all for it though, because it's that subtle char that really sets their amber ales off. All three of these beers come highly recommended, particularly if you're serving them with food that's got some of its own char.
Anchor is a San Francisco brewery that I've found I just don't like very much. Something about the creamy-toasted quality that underpins their generally light-tasting beer rubs me wrong. The creaminess isn't justified by the light hops and malt, and the toasted quality just seems out of place. I found that of their flagship Anchor Steam and I had the exact same criticism when I tasted their Bock. It was the striking similarity in Anchor's treatment of these two ostensibly different styles that inspired this investigation into the internal stylistic conformity of so many craft breweries.
For some breweries, their trademark style works well and imparts a continuity to their broad range of beer styles. For others, this identifying stamp acts as a straightjacket that prevents their other offerings from ever escaping the shadow of the breweries' flagship beer.
I'd also like to talk about some new leads I've found in the craft beer world. I have only cursory knowledge of the following breweries, but one of their beers came out and spoke to me. These are American originals that I look forward to following up on.
Dogfish Head is a name synonymous with American beer's iconoclasm. Dogfish Head stands in proud opposition to the stylistic uniformity evident in the aforementioned breweries. Talk about bizarre, yet exquisitely crafted beer. This endorsement was mostly inspired by their 90-Minute IPA. I am sick of American IPA's, but this didn't taste like any IPA I'd ever had. Sure it was hoppy and alcoholic, but the standout quality of the 90-Minute IPA was that it was creamy, estery and sweet. I'm not sure I want more, but they obviously had an off-the-wall idea in mind and they hit the nail on the head. Incidentally, I've never felt wealthy enough to purchase any Dogfish Head with my own money; their experiments are expensive.
North Coast's Red Seal Ale follows in the footsteps of Sierra Nevada by pairing striking bitterness with understated fruity sweetness. Red Seal is in fact even more aggressively bitter than that iconic Pale Ale. I'm a sucker for a good red and these guys really struck the perfect, bleeding-edge balance.
Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale has a buttery-sweet quality to it similar to Samuel Adam's Winter Lager that is practically chewy like a cookie. This quality underlies the Amber Ale rather than forming the foundation of its flavor the way it does the Winter Lager. It was the distinctive, appetizing flavor and the light touch that made the beer stand out to me. I've sworn to get my hands on some more beer from Anderson Valley ever since.
Sudwerk is a Davis brewery with pretty decent distribution in the Central Valley. Excepting the Czech Pilsener Urquell, they make my hands-down favorite Pilsener. The brewmaster came to speak to my Beer and Brewing class (as well as Ken Grossman of Sierra Nevada, Dan Gordon of Gordon Biersch and the brewmaster of the Fairfield Anheuser-Busch brewery). He said that he was really into the flavor of the grains in beer, and it shows. The Sudwerk Pilsener tastes of grain in all its exalted glory; the bitter-sweetness, the earth, the dry grass. Yet, in Pilsener fashion, this is also an imminently drinkable beer whose subtlety and originality can be just as easily overlooked.
Unlike most American Amber Ales, Alaska's Alt Style Amber has the sweet, smooth, malty quality of a German beer. I have an affinity for American takes on Central European styles, because Central European aesthetics are so understated and American craft brews so boldly creative. For this, Samuel Adams, Sudwerk's Pilsener and Alaska's Amber earn extra accolades.
Buckbean's Schwarzbier also falls into this category. Few American breweries attempt the black lager style. I encountered it in the middle of an Apple House beer tasting of Bocks and Dark Lagers, and this Nevadan beer certainly stood out from the German Schwarzbier offering. The German one was a smooth and mellow meditation on dark malt, whereas the American was characterized by the distinctive, nutty flavor of mesquite, with the darkness only a backdrop.
You can find an earlier post about craft beer here.
The first brewery that deserves mention of this is Sierra Nevada. They earned their name on the strength and influence of their Pale Ale. Its sharp bitterness set it apart from Pale Ale's British forbears and inaugurated an industry-wide trend towards heavy hopping. That the floral hops were belied by an unsung malty sweetness, I think, was the key towards its enduring status as one of the most respected craft beers in the business.
I got my hands on a few other styles by Sierra Nevada in recent months. Unfortunately, they're shamelessly derivative of their flagship Pale Ale. Their Stout is pretty good, it just tastes like a Stout version of their Pale Ale. Less can be said of their Anniversary and Celebration Ales, which taste is as if the Pale Ale was just amped up into an IPA. More gravity, more hops, until the original balance that made the Pale Ale so beautiful is flagrantly destroyed.
Samuel Adams, on the other hand, manages the tricky feat of finding new ways to present a winning formula. This may have to do with the fact that their trademark style is malt-driven rather than hop-driven. By varying malt composition and gravity, the two seasonals I've tried have been even more impressive than their famed Boston Lager. Their Octoberfest has a higher gravity, greater charred character and a more substantial hop backbone than their classic brew. Their Winter Lager calls itself "a Dark Wheat Lager". It has a thick buttery richness that warms the soul.
New Belgium seems to revel in a charred undertone that characterizes their beer. The most prominent example of this is their near-black 1554, but see if you don't find the same dark note in sunnier beers like Fat Tire and summer seasonal Skinny Dip. I'm all for it though, because it's that subtle char that really sets their amber ales off. All three of these beers come highly recommended, particularly if you're serving them with food that's got some of its own char.
Anchor is a San Francisco brewery that I've found I just don't like very much. Something about the creamy-toasted quality that underpins their generally light-tasting beer rubs me wrong. The creaminess isn't justified by the light hops and malt, and the toasted quality just seems out of place. I found that of their flagship Anchor Steam and I had the exact same criticism when I tasted their Bock. It was the striking similarity in Anchor's treatment of these two ostensibly different styles that inspired this investigation into the internal stylistic conformity of so many craft breweries.
For some breweries, their trademark style works well and imparts a continuity to their broad range of beer styles. For others, this identifying stamp acts as a straightjacket that prevents their other offerings from ever escaping the shadow of the breweries' flagship beer.
I'd also like to talk about some new leads I've found in the craft beer world. I have only cursory knowledge of the following breweries, but one of their beers came out and spoke to me. These are American originals that I look forward to following up on.
Dogfish Head is a name synonymous with American beer's iconoclasm. Dogfish Head stands in proud opposition to the stylistic uniformity evident in the aforementioned breweries. Talk about bizarre, yet exquisitely crafted beer. This endorsement was mostly inspired by their 90-Minute IPA. I am sick of American IPA's, but this didn't taste like any IPA I'd ever had. Sure it was hoppy and alcoholic, but the standout quality of the 90-Minute IPA was that it was creamy, estery and sweet. I'm not sure I want more, but they obviously had an off-the-wall idea in mind and they hit the nail on the head. Incidentally, I've never felt wealthy enough to purchase any Dogfish Head with my own money; their experiments are expensive.
North Coast's Red Seal Ale follows in the footsteps of Sierra Nevada by pairing striking bitterness with understated fruity sweetness. Red Seal is in fact even more aggressively bitter than that iconic Pale Ale. I'm a sucker for a good red and these guys really struck the perfect, bleeding-edge balance.
Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale has a buttery-sweet quality to it similar to Samuel Adam's Winter Lager that is practically chewy like a cookie. This quality underlies the Amber Ale rather than forming the foundation of its flavor the way it does the Winter Lager. It was the distinctive, appetizing flavor and the light touch that made the beer stand out to me. I've sworn to get my hands on some more beer from Anderson Valley ever since.
Sudwerk is a Davis brewery with pretty decent distribution in the Central Valley. Excepting the Czech Pilsener Urquell, they make my hands-down favorite Pilsener. The brewmaster came to speak to my Beer and Brewing class (as well as Ken Grossman of Sierra Nevada, Dan Gordon of Gordon Biersch and the brewmaster of the Fairfield Anheuser-Busch brewery). He said that he was really into the flavor of the grains in beer, and it shows. The Sudwerk Pilsener tastes of grain in all its exalted glory; the bitter-sweetness, the earth, the dry grass. Yet, in Pilsener fashion, this is also an imminently drinkable beer whose subtlety and originality can be just as easily overlooked.
Unlike most American Amber Ales, Alaska's Alt Style Amber has the sweet, smooth, malty quality of a German beer. I have an affinity for American takes on Central European styles, because Central European aesthetics are so understated and American craft brews so boldly creative. For this, Samuel Adams, Sudwerk's Pilsener and Alaska's Amber earn extra accolades.
Buckbean's Schwarzbier also falls into this category. Few American breweries attempt the black lager style. I encountered it in the middle of an Apple House beer tasting of Bocks and Dark Lagers, and this Nevadan beer certainly stood out from the German Schwarzbier offering. The German one was a smooth and mellow meditation on dark malt, whereas the American was characterized by the distinctive, nutty flavor of mesquite, with the darkness only a backdrop.
You can find an earlier post about craft beer here.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Negative Energy and Thick Skin
The following is an excerpt from a letter to a friend and makes reference to my recently posted Articles of Faith.
In September I had a close college friend attempt to rip a hole in my entire approach to life and dump me as a friend. The reason he said he wanted to divorce himself from me was that my negativity brought him down. I still respect him, I believe he had my interests at heart, and I tried hard to internalize his criticisms (and I think I succeeded). However, he was looking to produce some sort of breakdown or epiphany in me and he was ultimately disappointed.
More and more, I'm starting to enjoy thinking of myself as a person with "negative energy". After all, the world needs its yins and yangs. One of the articles of faith I did not include that I expect most people might is faith in the search for happiness. I've never thought of happiness as a philosophical end-goal. Sure I chase it, but it's almost reflexive. I don't encourage myself to chase it. Partly, I'm probably unrestrained enough in requesting/grabbing what I want that I have never needed to encourage myself to embrace happiness. I seize it unrepentantly, even at the expense of others. Self-love is a bitch.
I'm a critical if not a negative person. I've received my fair share of criticism, because I've asked for it (usually not explicitly, but in the way I carry myself), but it rolls off me like water off a duck. I also dish it out like a mofo. I feel guilty for some instances, but not most. I maintain my intellectual honesty (possibly another article of faith?) and don't do it out of spite or malice to friends or strangers (the rare enemy beware, though). But in my head people can separate objective opinion from malicious intent. That's not always the case, and even where it is, a concerted assault on someone's assumptions and manifestations of person usually produces a negative reaction.
This is not the first friendship I have lost because of my critical nature and I doubt it will be my last, so I'd like to gently warn you that I not only have the capacity, but the inclination to be ruthlessly critical of people, particularly those closest to me. The terseness I sometimes evidence is the product of being raised by a scientist. I have acquired tact through the years, but evidently not enough, so if I ever come across too strong, tell me.
In September I had a close college friend attempt to rip a hole in my entire approach to life and dump me as a friend. The reason he said he wanted to divorce himself from me was that my negativity brought him down. I still respect him, I believe he had my interests at heart, and I tried hard to internalize his criticisms (and I think I succeeded). However, he was looking to produce some sort of breakdown or epiphany in me and he was ultimately disappointed.
More and more, I'm starting to enjoy thinking of myself as a person with "negative energy". After all, the world needs its yins and yangs. One of the articles of faith I did not include that I expect most people might is faith in the search for happiness. I've never thought of happiness as a philosophical end-goal. Sure I chase it, but it's almost reflexive. I don't encourage myself to chase it. Partly, I'm probably unrestrained enough in requesting/grabbing what I want that I have never needed to encourage myself to embrace happiness. I seize it unrepentantly, even at the expense of others. Self-love is a bitch.
I'm a critical if not a negative person. I've received my fair share of criticism, because I've asked for it (usually not explicitly, but in the way I carry myself), but it rolls off me like water off a duck. I also dish it out like a mofo. I feel guilty for some instances, but not most. I maintain my intellectual honesty (possibly another article of faith?) and don't do it out of spite or malice to friends or strangers (the rare enemy beware, though). But in my head people can separate objective opinion from malicious intent. That's not always the case, and even where it is, a concerted assault on someone's assumptions and manifestations of person usually produces a negative reaction.
This is not the first friendship I have lost because of my critical nature and I doubt it will be my last, so I'd like to gently warn you that I not only have the capacity, but the inclination to be ruthlessly critical of people, particularly those closest to me. The terseness I sometimes evidence is the product of being raised by a scientist. I have acquired tact through the years, but evidently not enough, so if I ever come across too strong, tell me.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Articles of Faith
I tried to compile a short list of principles that underlie my actions and thoughts. It requires a good deal of "internal vigilance" to keep from using cliches and really get at one's core, because one has to strip every impulse down to its origin. I found that things like selfishness, love, peace, the greatest good or indeed, goodness itself, broke down upon extended analysis.
Faith itself, and as is implied by that, Risk.
Self-Love.
Human Cleverness, Individual and especially Collective.
Inwardly, Vigilance and Outwardly, Sincerity.
Common Humanity.
I assume that Faith would be found in anybody's complete list. The act of assumption is the basis for thought itself. Its corollary, Risk, is the basis for action.
Self-Love provides for a number of things including self-interest, the basis for human striving, and ego-centrism, which is an essential assumption for worldly understanding. Also self-confidence, which is the basis for intellectual assertion, power and leadership. Leadership is essential for people to organize into groups and institutions while intellectual assertion is essential for the expansion of human knowledge, so indirectly, Self-Love is instrumental in the creation of civilization.
This brings us to Collective Human Cleverness. My faith in religion, culture, media, science and vicarious wisdom of all kinds is grounded in a respect for the ability of humans to recognize the greatness of others' ideas. These ideas go through a process of dissemination and selective breeding that requires the conscious and unconscious participation of a huge number of individuals. Because of the imperfections, biases and stupidity of so many people this process doesn't seem perfect; yet it has a twisted sort of perfection analagous to the beauty of evolution. This blog plays a small role in contributing to that beautifully twisted mass consciousness.
Obviously, Individual Human Cleverness exists and can be considerable. However, I also have faith in a subtler, less explicit aspect of the human intellect: intuition. Let us not forget that for all our flaws, the simplest human mind puts even the largest supercomputers to shame in terms of both design and sheer processing power.
I believe in Inward Vigilance, which is to say I believe in skepticism, curiosity and clarity. About what and for what don't really matter as much, just do what's in front of you and try to limit the number of excuses you can make for yourself. It was inward vigilance that wrote this post.
Outward Sincerity is not something everybody adheres to. For many people sincerity is too much in conflict with the stronger principle of self-interest or even altruism. My sincerity is certainly compromised, but I am an earnest person, and where I am not sincere I strive to find ways that I can be so without too much damage to my other ideals.
I guess I kind of book-ended my list with gimmes. Common Humanity sounds as cliche as love or peace, but I can't think of a way around including it. Disagreements are either products of differing assumptions or of poor communication. That is to say, given the correct circumstances, I could be a terrorist, a member of PETA (as if there's a difference) or a fundamendalist Christian theocrat. This article of faith explains my keen interest in equivocating about Obama or Proposition 8.
So that's my list. I challenge you readers to try and distill your own articles of faith and post them as a comment. Don't tell me you are free of faith, because that's a boldfaced lie, and if you seriously write something as banal as "love" or "peace" without a thoughtful rationalization I promise you a swift kick in the rear.
Faith itself, and as is implied by that, Risk.
Self-Love.
Human Cleverness, Individual and especially Collective.
Inwardly, Vigilance and Outwardly, Sincerity.
Common Humanity.
I assume that Faith would be found in anybody's complete list. The act of assumption is the basis for thought itself. Its corollary, Risk, is the basis for action.
Self-Love provides for a number of things including self-interest, the basis for human striving, and ego-centrism, which is an essential assumption for worldly understanding. Also self-confidence, which is the basis for intellectual assertion, power and leadership. Leadership is essential for people to organize into groups and institutions while intellectual assertion is essential for the expansion of human knowledge, so indirectly, Self-Love is instrumental in the creation of civilization.
This brings us to Collective Human Cleverness. My faith in religion, culture, media, science and vicarious wisdom of all kinds is grounded in a respect for the ability of humans to recognize the greatness of others' ideas. These ideas go through a process of dissemination and selective breeding that requires the conscious and unconscious participation of a huge number of individuals. Because of the imperfections, biases and stupidity of so many people this process doesn't seem perfect; yet it has a twisted sort of perfection analagous to the beauty of evolution. This blog plays a small role in contributing to that beautifully twisted mass consciousness.
Obviously, Individual Human Cleverness exists and can be considerable. However, I also have faith in a subtler, less explicit aspect of the human intellect: intuition. Let us not forget that for all our flaws, the simplest human mind puts even the largest supercomputers to shame in terms of both design and sheer processing power.
I believe in Inward Vigilance, which is to say I believe in skepticism, curiosity and clarity. About what and for what don't really matter as much, just do what's in front of you and try to limit the number of excuses you can make for yourself. It was inward vigilance that wrote this post.
Outward Sincerity is not something everybody adheres to. For many people sincerity is too much in conflict with the stronger principle of self-interest or even altruism. My sincerity is certainly compromised, but I am an earnest person, and where I am not sincere I strive to find ways that I can be so without too much damage to my other ideals.
I guess I kind of book-ended my list with gimmes. Common Humanity sounds as cliche as love or peace, but I can't think of a way around including it. Disagreements are either products of differing assumptions or of poor communication. That is to say, given the correct circumstances, I could be a terrorist, a member of PETA (as if there's a difference) or a fundamendalist Christian theocrat. This article of faith explains my keen interest in equivocating about Obama or Proposition 8.
So that's my list. I challenge you readers to try and distill your own articles of faith and post them as a comment. Don't tell me you are free of faith, because that's a boldfaced lie, and if you seriously write something as banal as "love" or "peace" without a thoughtful rationalization I promise you a swift kick in the rear.
Friday, November 6, 2009
On Vegetarianism
I should warn you that I am a cold-hearted bastard and I would like to remove sentiment from all but my most personal interactions. The following was originally written as a response to Rob's post Tony the Tofurkey.
I am among those who asks each vegetarian I meet why they are vegetarian. There are many reasons, and some are more justifiable than others. It allows insight into the minds of people in addition to being fun to discuss.
It's true that most people couldn't kill a chicken set before them. I could do it, but I'd have a hard time. After all, I've never done it before and I've had chickens as pets. I interpret this reluctance as weakness, as disconnection from our roots. In times when food was less abundant, people had no moral quandaries about killing for food. Evolution and culture discouraged cannibalism but they couldn't deny the practicality of a nutrition-rich food source like animal flesh. I can't either and I have the additional concerns of cuisine. Chicken is delicious.
The apparent hypocrisy of a woman eating a hamburger with her precious dog in her lap troubled me for a time, but I've realized that the worth of anything is determined by our emotional attachment. I don't care much about far off murders or grandmas dying of cancer. I care about my grandma and my people. That other grandma is a statistic to me, as are far off murders. Those deaths represent tremendous loss to someone, but when diluted by perspective, how could I care? That's not my job. I will deal with my tragedies as they come and I will help those I know or meet with their tragedies.
That is to say the dog in her lap is worth more than enough to her to justify her protectiveness. Neither human life nor animal life has any intrinsic worth. It should be unsurprising that from a singular perspective different lives should merit different worth. The chicken on the farm is worth more dead than alive and thus we kill it, or pay for it to be killed.
I know I and everyone else is perfectly capable of slaughtering a nameless animal. Our grandparents were certainly capable, and I can find no fault in their actions. We just don't have opportunity or incentive to. I don't mind other people doing my dirty work for me, because I don't think it's "dirty work" in the pejorative sense. I will jump at the opportunity to kill an animal for food, with the greater motivation being intellectual curiosity and the second motivation being a desire to overcome my own resistance to what I am already comfortable with in theory.
Regarding the trophic level issue, first of all, chickens require 3 pounds of grain for one pound of meat or egg. That can be lower grade grain that we would not eat, which explains the fact that grain at the store can cost as much as chicken per pound. Furthermore, man can not subsist on bread alone, as we well know. Do you sincerely think that the hoops vegans jump through to meet their nutritional requirements are free? Do you still think it inefficient to eat some chicken with your rice? Furthermore, I thought it was widely known that human starvation is a problem of distribution and overpopulation, not supply. The food you don't eat will not magically find it's way to that starving child's hands.
I am among those who asks each vegetarian I meet why they are vegetarian. There are many reasons, and some are more justifiable than others. It allows insight into the minds of people in addition to being fun to discuss.
It's true that most people couldn't kill a chicken set before them. I could do it, but I'd have a hard time. After all, I've never done it before and I've had chickens as pets. I interpret this reluctance as weakness, as disconnection from our roots. In times when food was less abundant, people had no moral quandaries about killing for food. Evolution and culture discouraged cannibalism but they couldn't deny the practicality of a nutrition-rich food source like animal flesh. I can't either and I have the additional concerns of cuisine. Chicken is delicious.
The apparent hypocrisy of a woman eating a hamburger with her precious dog in her lap troubled me for a time, but I've realized that the worth of anything is determined by our emotional attachment. I don't care much about far off murders or grandmas dying of cancer. I care about my grandma and my people. That other grandma is a statistic to me, as are far off murders. Those deaths represent tremendous loss to someone, but when diluted by perspective, how could I care? That's not my job. I will deal with my tragedies as they come and I will help those I know or meet with their tragedies.
That is to say the dog in her lap is worth more than enough to her to justify her protectiveness. Neither human life nor animal life has any intrinsic worth. It should be unsurprising that from a singular perspective different lives should merit different worth. The chicken on the farm is worth more dead than alive and thus we kill it, or pay for it to be killed.
I know I and everyone else is perfectly capable of slaughtering a nameless animal. Our grandparents were certainly capable, and I can find no fault in their actions. We just don't have opportunity or incentive to. I don't mind other people doing my dirty work for me, because I don't think it's "dirty work" in the pejorative sense. I will jump at the opportunity to kill an animal for food, with the greater motivation being intellectual curiosity and the second motivation being a desire to overcome my own resistance to what I am already comfortable with in theory.
Regarding the trophic level issue, first of all, chickens require 3 pounds of grain for one pound of meat or egg. That can be lower grade grain that we would not eat, which explains the fact that grain at the store can cost as much as chicken per pound. Furthermore, man can not subsist on bread alone, as we well know. Do you sincerely think that the hoops vegans jump through to meet their nutritional requirements are free? Do you still think it inefficient to eat some chicken with your rice? Furthermore, I thought it was widely known that human starvation is a problem of distribution and overpopulation, not supply. The food you don't eat will not magically find it's way to that starving child's hands.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Scary Movie Month
October has a lot going for it. Among those things is my third annual tradition of Scary Movie Month. Like many of you out there, I never really liked horror films. I didn't really get why people watched them. So, I decided that just like I'd done with so many kinds of music, I'd teach myself to like scary movies. I looked up the most critically acclaimed films, downloaded them, and approached each with an open mind.
That was October of 2007, and by the end of the month I'd hated some and been quite impressed by others. I didn't yet love horror movies, but the next year I was compelled to continue what I had begun and was left a bit more intrigued than the year before, which brings us to the third annual Scary Movie Month.
Ginger Snaps
October 2008:
Hocus Pocus
This has to be in contention for the ultimate Halloween movie. It manages the tricky feat of being simultaneously light, creepy and thrilling. All hail Bette Midler and Disney. How could a movie this good not earn accolades?
Evil Dead
Obviously I had to watch this with my interest in zombies and cult films. Bruce Campbell is a pip, but I'm not sure I was prepared to appreciate the movie's outlandish sense of scare and style.
Nosferatu
I suppose this is the first silent movie I've watched. This is the original vampire movie and it gets a lot of kudos for pioneering the genre. I found it amazing how much of the movie's montages and imagery had been appropriated to Mel Brook's Young Frankenstein, since spoofs are bellwethers for influence. The movie is good, if a little slow. Unlike Dracula (which was based off the same book), vampires are compared to plague-bearing rodents rather than suave seducers.
Frankenstein
This classic turned out to be everything I'd hoped. It's both scary and heart wrenching in that old horror way.
Near Dark
Rotten Tomatoes gave this rave reviews for its straddling of genres (vampire/western/family), but I didn't see what made it a classic. It's a solid movie, just not spectacular.
Halloween
Apparently the original Halloween was an indie movie and it started the slasher style that defined horror for the next two decades. This movie is all about building suspense rather than violent gore and it does it very well. Brandon thought it was too slow. I think that's mostly a quibble with the genre rather than the execution, though.
October 2009:
Alien
Matt Wingert was trying to tell me about Alien and Aliens and how they differed. Mid-explanation, he just gave up and said, "You need to watch both of them." So that's exactly what I did when Scary Movie Month rolled in. I watched one after another. Alien is a suspenseful slasher with a similar cadence to Halloween.
Aliens
Where Alien was suspenseful, Aliens is riproaringly intense. The movie is a repeated pattern of action, terror, suspense, that spirals higher and higher. What can I say? I found it intensely gratifying. At the beginning I noted feeling genuinely scared and that fear kept snowballing into the kind of claustrophobic horror that is as traumatizing as it is satisfying.
Slither
This movie is lauded for it's worthy tribute to various classic horror movie styles. Nathan Fillion (from Firefly) stars in this genre romp. By the end of the movie, I was thoroughly disgusted and scared. In a good way, of course, but this isn't for the faint of heart.
Rosemary's Baby
After watching this I must have noticed like five cultural references to the movie. This is Roman Polanski's classic about a woman who believes she's been impregnated with the spawn of Satan. There's no terror, really, just a lot of unsettling horror.
Young Frankenstein
In Mel Brooks's low-brow fashion, this is a parody of Frankenstein and indeed all things horror. I told Jill that after watching this she hardly needed to see the original.
Nightmare Before Christmas
Season-appropriate and by Tim Burton, this was a must-see. Obviously I'd watched it before, but this was the first time I recognized this movie for its full greatness. This isn't just a great Halloween movie, it's a great Christmas movie, a great animated movie and a great musical.
Satan's Little Helper
This independent film is about a boy obsessed with a video game called "Satan's Little Helper". He dresses up as Satan's Little Helper for Halloween and goes out "to find Satan". He finds a serial killer in a Satan costume, befriends him, and takes him home. What ensues can be left to your imagination, but I assure you it's worth your while. Surely this is a testament to power of the Halloween mask.
That was October of 2007, and by the end of the month I'd hated some and been quite impressed by others. I didn't yet love horror movies, but the next year I was compelled to continue what I had begun and was left a bit more intrigued than the year before, which brings us to the third annual Scary Movie Month.
I think I'm starting to genuinely enjoy horror and the thrill that it endeavors to produce. I still don't anticipate becoming a fan of the Saw saga, Hostel or the recent House of Wax (bits of each I've seen). The gore-as-terror equation never really made much sense to me. Gore is an enhancer of terror rather than it's generator. It's the fear of harm that drives the scariest movies rather than the actual harm. Don't think I don't relish the satisfying crunch of bones, squelch of flesh or spurt of blood as much as the next moviegoer. I do. It's just supposed to be the ominous warning to the hero/heroine that if they don't run like crazy they'll be next, and it's this epiphany and the ensuing flight that make for the white knuckled ride we look for in modern horror.
Keep in mind that Scary Movie Month is intended as a fulfillment of October rather than a straight out scream-fest. I included movies that have little to do with Halloween and little to do with horror. Even the definition of horror has changed (from King Kong to said gore-fests), and I've endeavored to keep my operating definition as broad as possible.
These are the movies that I've watched these past few years.
October 2007:
Shaun of the Dead
Zombies are my favorite horror movie monster. They don't feel pain, they increase logarithmically and they fucking eat brains. Brains, man, brains. Also all that crap about social commentary is pretty cool. Shaun of the Dead was an obvious choice for its preeminence within that genre and its relative modernity. It's hilarious, sincerely scary and all that, but I'm not sure it lived up to the considerable hype. It's a classic, no doubt, but it probably won't ever make my facebook list.
28 Days Later
An obvious followup to watching Shaun of the Dead because its also about zombies, also British, also from the mid 00's and also critically acclaimed. This movie rocked my socks. It has a good blend of humor, commentary, terror and emotional heft. If there's one movie that I recommend you watch from this post, this is it.
Donnie Darko
While gripping and occasionally scary, this is no horror movie. This is a psychological thriller. What struck me most about Donnie Darko was its serenity and its perfect absorption of that magic month, October.
Ginger Snaps
A Canadian indie film made in 2000. This is a well-rounded horror film that builds from a comparison between werewolfism and girls at puberty. Don't mind the 80's effects, this is a solid movie.
The Lost Boys
This vampire film draws the comparison between vampirism and teen angst. It's a fun 80's movie that you have to watch if you have any interest in Santa Cruz, where it was filmed.
Freaks
This is a 1930's cult classic. It was made before regulations prevented filmmakers from exploiting people's deformities for gain, or whatever, so it's on one level a literal freak show. Overlook the bad acting and you'll find a horror movie with heart.
Hocus Pocus
This has to be in contention for the ultimate Halloween movie. It manages the tricky feat of being simultaneously light, creepy and thrilling. All hail Bette Midler and Disney. How could a movie this good not earn accolades?
Evil Dead
Obviously I had to watch this with my interest in zombies and cult films. Bruce Campbell is a pip, but I'm not sure I was prepared to appreciate the movie's outlandish sense of scare and style.
Nosferatu
I suppose this is the first silent movie I've watched. This is the original vampire movie and it gets a lot of kudos for pioneering the genre. I found it amazing how much of the movie's montages and imagery had been appropriated to Mel Brook's Young Frankenstein, since spoofs are bellwethers for influence. The movie is good, if a little slow. Unlike Dracula (which was based off the same book), vampires are compared to plague-bearing rodents rather than suave seducers.
Frankenstein
This classic turned out to be everything I'd hoped. It's both scary and heart wrenching in that old horror way.
Near Dark
Rotten Tomatoes gave this rave reviews for its straddling of genres (vampire/western/family), but I didn't see what made it a classic. It's a solid movie, just not spectacular.
Halloween
Apparently the original Halloween was an indie movie and it started the slasher style that defined horror for the next two decades. This movie is all about building suspense rather than violent gore and it does it very well. Brandon thought it was too slow. I think that's mostly a quibble with the genre rather than the execution, though.
October 2009:
Alien
Matt Wingert was trying to tell me about Alien and Aliens and how they differed. Mid-explanation, he just gave up and said, "You need to watch both of them." So that's exactly what I did when Scary Movie Month rolled in. I watched one after another. Alien is a suspenseful slasher with a similar cadence to Halloween.
Aliens
Where Alien was suspenseful, Aliens is riproaringly intense. The movie is a repeated pattern of action, terror, suspense, that spirals higher and higher. What can I say? I found it intensely gratifying. At the beginning I noted feeling genuinely scared and that fear kept snowballing into the kind of claustrophobic horror that is as traumatizing as it is satisfying.
Slither
This movie is lauded for it's worthy tribute to various classic horror movie styles. Nathan Fillion (from Firefly) stars in this genre romp. By the end of the movie, I was thoroughly disgusted and scared. In a good way, of course, but this isn't for the faint of heart.
Rosemary's Baby
After watching this I must have noticed like five cultural references to the movie. This is Roman Polanski's classic about a woman who believes she's been impregnated with the spawn of Satan. There's no terror, really, just a lot of unsettling horror.
Young Frankenstein
In Mel Brooks's low-brow fashion, this is a parody of Frankenstein and indeed all things horror. I told Jill that after watching this she hardly needed to see the original.
Nightmare Before Christmas
Season-appropriate and by Tim Burton, this was a must-see. Obviously I'd watched it before, but this was the first time I recognized this movie for its full greatness. This isn't just a great Halloween movie, it's a great Christmas movie, a great animated movie and a great musical.
Satan's Little Helper
This independent film is about a boy obsessed with a video game called "Satan's Little Helper". He dresses up as Satan's Little Helper for Halloween and goes out "to find Satan". He finds a serial killer in a Satan costume, befriends him, and takes him home. What ensues can be left to your imagination, but I assure you it's worth your while. Surely this is a testament to power of the Halloween mask.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Rules of the Road: Davis
Davis prides itself for being the only city in the nation with a platinum rating (though that sentiment is actually a bit out of date) from the League of American Bicyclists. Among the qualifications for this distinction is the degree of lawfulness displayed by the city's bicyclists; obeying traffic signs, not riding on the sidewalk, etc.
However, the preponderance of bicycles has beaten automobiles and pedestrians into submission. There are so many bikes on the road that other forms of transit become habituated to deferring right of way to bikes. By nationwide standards Davis bicyclists get away with murder. Even normally uptight townies generally ignore many traffic laws that apply to bicyclists, like stop signs. I've compiled the de facto Rules of the Road for Davis bikers for your viewing pleasure.
There's a saying around here that according to bikers, traffic signals are stop signs, stop signs are yield signs and yield signs are decorative. That might not give the uninitiated an accurate picture of how things work here, though.
Bicycles have right of way over cars because cyclists are fragile and over pedestrians because getting hit by a bike hurts like a bitch. This is the crux of the double standard that produced Davis traffic rules. This first rule forms the logical basis for much of the following.
Bicyclists can at will change from using pedestrian priveledges (like riding on sidewalks) to vehicle ones (like riding in regular car lanes when the bike lane is inconvenient). As per the aforementioned right of way rule, this means that pedestrians will stop and make space for you to pass if you, technically illegally, ride on the sidewalk.
The second fundamental rule of Davis biking is that bicycles need only obey laws when enforcement is imminent, in contrast to cars. This includes Bicycling Under the Influence, as previously discussed. However, bikes, just like cars, assume all blame should their liberties with law cause a crash.
This comes up most frequently on the issue of riding the wrong direction in bike lanes. I performed this maneuver routinely when I lived at Kingston Apartments, because my formal path involved a left turn at an intersection followed by crossing left over the street and I figured that was bullshit and I'd just cross early to the left bike lane and turn left into the sidewalk. This worked out fine for me, but I almost got creamed by someone doing it recently. As my eyes began to cloud over with rage at the near miss, I heard the offending bicyclist yell, "Shit, sorry!". This I deemed to be adequate appeasement, but if we'd collided and the impact had bent my front rim I would have asked him to cough up the $60 replacement.
Back to intersections:
Traffic signs are treated as traffic signs when there's enough traffic to mandate adherence, but bikes are permitted whatever liberties they can safely get away with, which includes flexing their de facto right of way.
Four way stops, which are the bread and butter of the Davis downtown, again need only be paid attention to if there are physically cars in your way. During heavy traffic bicyclists slow down and stop to wait for their opening, but if a car is going your direction you are perfectly entitled to ride in its shadow without so much as a touch of your brakes. Because cars defer right of way to bikes to such an extreme, an aggressive bike can easily forgo waiting its rightful turn if it finds a small opening. Cars will stop in the middle of the intersection just to let that overeager cyclist through without harm.
That's the skinny on Davis bike traffic. Remember, with great power comes great responsibility, so don't forget to treat the little people in cars and on foot with their due respect. In our privileged position we should strive to make traffic flow as smoothly and efficiently as possible to the extent that it doesn't interfere with our own self-interest.
However, the preponderance of bicycles has beaten automobiles and pedestrians into submission. There are so many bikes on the road that other forms of transit become habituated to deferring right of way to bikes. By nationwide standards Davis bicyclists get away with murder. Even normally uptight townies generally ignore many traffic laws that apply to bicyclists, like stop signs. I've compiled the de facto Rules of the Road for Davis bikers for your viewing pleasure.
There's a saying around here that according to bikers, traffic signals are stop signs, stop signs are yield signs and yield signs are decorative. That might not give the uninitiated an accurate picture of how things work here, though.
Bicycles have right of way over cars because cyclists are fragile and over pedestrians because getting hit by a bike hurts like a bitch. This is the crux of the double standard that produced Davis traffic rules. This first rule forms the logical basis for much of the following.
Bicyclists can at will change from using pedestrian priveledges (like riding on sidewalks) to vehicle ones (like riding in regular car lanes when the bike lane is inconvenient). As per the aforementioned right of way rule, this means that pedestrians will stop and make space for you to pass if you, technically illegally, ride on the sidewalk.
The second fundamental rule of Davis biking is that bicycles need only obey laws when enforcement is imminent, in contrast to cars. This includes Bicycling Under the Influence, as previously discussed. However, bikes, just like cars, assume all blame should their liberties with law cause a crash.
This comes up most frequently on the issue of riding the wrong direction in bike lanes. I performed this maneuver routinely when I lived at Kingston Apartments, because my formal path involved a left turn at an intersection followed by crossing left over the street and I figured that was bullshit and I'd just cross early to the left bike lane and turn left into the sidewalk. This worked out fine for me, but I almost got creamed by someone doing it recently. As my eyes began to cloud over with rage at the near miss, I heard the offending bicyclist yell, "Shit, sorry!". This I deemed to be adequate appeasement, but if we'd collided and the impact had bent my front rim I would have asked him to cough up the $60 replacement.
Back to intersections:
Traffic signs are treated as traffic signs when there's enough traffic to mandate adherence, but bikes are permitted whatever liberties they can safely get away with, which includes flexing their de facto right of way.
Four way stops, which are the bread and butter of the Davis downtown, again need only be paid attention to if there are physically cars in your way. During heavy traffic bicyclists slow down and stop to wait for their opening, but if a car is going your direction you are perfectly entitled to ride in its shadow without so much as a touch of your brakes. Because cars defer right of way to bikes to such an extreme, an aggressive bike can easily forgo waiting its rightful turn if it finds a small opening. Cars will stop in the middle of the intersection just to let that overeager cyclist through without harm.
That's the skinny on Davis bike traffic. Remember, with great power comes great responsibility, so don't forget to treat the little people in cars and on foot with their due respect. In our privileged position we should strive to make traffic flow as smoothly and efficiently as possible to the extent that it doesn't interfere with our own self-interest.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
End of Summer Melancholy
There's always a certain melancholy associated with the break between school and summer. Part of it was mixed feelings about school, but more of it, I'm now realizing, was the loneliness from most friends being on vacation. At the same time, it's also a time for unprecedented partying if you're still in Davis. There's nothing like a half-blacked-out night followed by a long day with nothing to do and no personal contact for some sobering self-reflection. Also, a lot of emotion comes from the hunger from forgetting to eat, which happens when you spend an entire day doing nothing.
It's the kind of melancholy that makes you squirm. Like you want/need something so desperately but you don't even know what it is that you want. That makes you want to do anything to slow the flood of thought. It's the kind of melancholy that makes you feel physically sick, and by the way I might be coming down with something. Sleep is always the most obvious solution, but part of having nothing to do is being irritatingly well-rested. Other solutions are television, talking with friends in person or via telecommunication, and drinking yourself silly.
Sometimes I want to lash out and hurt people around me. It's not an emotional desire so much as a cognitive one. I feel like people take my self-possession for granted and that their lack of control is attributable to laziness on their parts. And maybe, maybe, if you took the same liberties as they do they would respond and treat you with all the attention that you don't get but feel you deserve. But I've found that you cannot get away with the actions of others if you aren't in the same headspace as they are. If you do something malicious on intellectual whim that other people do in passion, you will be held accountable in ways that the passionate person won't be. In short, the world expects of us what we can give. Furthermore, and this should be obvious to everyone: everyone sometimes thinks they deserve more attention than they do, and to base short term actions with long-term consequences on angst and whim is rarely a sound course of action.
It's the kind of melancholy that makes you squirm. Like you want/need something so desperately but you don't even know what it is that you want. That makes you want to do anything to slow the flood of thought. It's the kind of melancholy that makes you feel physically sick, and by the way I might be coming down with something. Sleep is always the most obvious solution, but part of having nothing to do is being irritatingly well-rested. Other solutions are television, talking with friends in person or via telecommunication, and drinking yourself silly.
Sometimes I want to lash out and hurt people around me. It's not an emotional desire so much as a cognitive one. I feel like people take my self-possession for granted and that their lack of control is attributable to laziness on their parts. And maybe, maybe, if you took the same liberties as they do they would respond and treat you with all the attention that you don't get but feel you deserve. But I've found that you cannot get away with the actions of others if you aren't in the same headspace as they are. If you do something malicious on intellectual whim that other people do in passion, you will be held accountable in ways that the passionate person won't be. In short, the world expects of us what we can give. Furthermore, and this should be obvious to everyone: everyone sometimes thinks they deserve more attention than they do, and to base short term actions with long-term consequences on angst and whim is rarely a sound course of action.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Why Having a Girlfriend is Awesome
Someone to go to the farmers market with
Physical contact
I'm allowed to stare.
Another kind of shampoo in my rotation
Lazy Saturdays
Help on Restaurant City
Cooking from recipes
Physical contact
I'm allowed to stare.
Another kind of shampoo in my rotation
Lazy Saturdays
Help on Restaurant City
Cooking from recipes
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Summer's Nights
There's no common time so romantic as a summer's night. This is even more true in Davis, where night is the only comfortable time of the day. You may think I'm being dramatic, you may think I'm not being fair, but it's been true to me for years. Ignoring human-made holidays and momentary variances in weather, when you're really talking about the time and not anything else, there is nothing so persistently magical as when the land is cool and dark. The possibilities for mischief and holy moments stretch out like fingers across a wide, rounded back.
My obsession with music has passed. It came to me in the morning, ravaged me all day, and went along its way in the evening. Now that it's night, I'm not sure I'm sad it has gone nor am I convinced that it won't return, but I'm glad it came and left me full of color and taste. I'm haunted by its echos. Not the myriad minor bands that I strove to categorize and appreciate, but by the great bands, the bands that formed the only recognizable soundtrack to my college experience.
I'm finally riding my new bike Smoky again. He's inky black like night and dirty like me in summer. Road bikes are such a pleasure to ride. The other bikes get you from place to place, but without the exhilaration of Mercury's speed.
There's something creepy about the progression of summer nights from late spring to early fall. It likely has to do with the apprehension I've viewed the end of all things with, particularly things so open and beautiful as summer. Even now, I'm sensing the approach of September in the dark air. A sweeter smell, maybe? Not like spring's heady pollen, but a deeper, melancholy, more earnest kind of sweetness that has replaced high summer's smell of baking dry tan grass.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
On Media
This post is not inspired by the death of Walter Cronkite. In fact, he can be only viewed as the catalyst of this post in the most roundabout of ways. I've been planning on writing this for a long while, and the last person I planned on mentioning was the iconic anchorman of someone else's generation. I am, after all, generationally-minded, and this is a commentary on the media of my generation, not my parents'. However, it would not have been without Walter Cronkite's death that Jon Stewart would be named America's Most Trusted Newscaster, and if that isn't a headline worthy to catalyze this post, I don't know what is.
When I started high school, I started to read the Los Angeles Times. I read the front page and the funnies practically every day for those four years. I'd delve deeper into the paper as time permitted and every week I read the Food section. The Times was one of my great high school loves.
With a firm understanding of political events gleaned from the paper, I started to watch the Daily Show my senior year. It inspired me to pay attention to mainstream TV News when my parents watched it. I finally had an explanation for why public discourse was so stilted and myopic. I realized that the events told in the Times were only half of the story, how events were extruded through televisions into people's brains was an incredibly important component to understanding public opinion. You see, most people's only source of news comes from the major TV News networks.
Never mind the "rich people control the world through media" bullshit, TV News is just not very informative. I never really watched it because it was boring. It took five or ten minutes for the TV to tell me what I could have gleaned in thirty seconds from skimming a news article. During "breaking news", a similar quantity of information is conveyed over the course of a few hours. Worst of all, the feedback between giving the people what they want and people wanting what they know produces what's known as the news cycle. And of course like a sorority house, all the networks' cycles sync up so that every channel provides a practically identical set of stories.
This willingness to follow results in a hulking mass of media might that answers to the whims of chance or whoever is smart enough to lead it around, and this kind of media tends to amplify the public's natural fickleness and retard their critical thinking. The truth is that mainstream media does not appreciably help the left nor the right. Rather, it changes the rules by which they play. If a trumped up scandal can be dropped on one's opponent at the opportune time, such that that is all anybody's talking about on election day, plus ten points for you!
Thus, it came to pass that I blamed the media more than the Bush administration for the invasion of Iraq. I watched coverage of Hurricane Katrina with disgust. I found the overplayed empathy obnoxious. Anderson Cooper should try harder to be an anchorman, not a saint.
When it comes down to it, it's the show that once followed profane puppets that tells it like it is and challenges both the people they report on and the populace they serve to think. It's not surprising that the Daily Show's preeminence is not obvious to everyone. The show's reliance on the world to provide material means that it is inconsistent and there's always plenty of low brow humor, but damn, when John Stewart went on Crossfire, I was starry-eyed with admiration. The man single-handedly had a show cancelled, but it wasn't his power that impressed me, it was his unabashed intellegence and his willingness to call a spade a spade on the rare occasion it's necessary. It was the same qualities that make him a such an amazing interviewer. I won't pretend like all of his interviews are riveting, but at their best they are the most intelligent conversations on television.
On a more somber note, my first media love is dying. The LA Times is smaller every time I go back home. I hear the quality has suffered too. When I left for school, I planned to read the Christian Science Monitor online in lieu of the Times. It's a well-written, relatively unbiased (certainly more neutral than the Times) and most importantly free online newspaper for those of you raising eyebrows at the name. Unfortunately, school was distracting and reading online just wasn't the same. I mean it's great if you want to google current events for something specific, but to get a good, reputable overview is a little trickier. Maybe I'm being picky or maybe the CS Monitor just isn't as good, but I think I'd read the news more if the Los Angeles Times was delivered to my door, skinny or not.
I think what will really happen is that smaller papers will stop printing altogether and having the paper delivered to your doorstep will become a luxury. I don't think the fee vs advertising business model question has been settled, but I and my age bracket certainly prefer advertising, so I hope time will see that win out.
Amateur blogs like this aren't a good source of news, but they're a nice digestion point, and some blogs like the Davis Vanguard are going professional and competing with established newspapers for quality reporting. I think a little turnover will be beneficial to everyone except some mediocre newspapers.
When I started high school, I started to read the Los Angeles Times. I read the front page and the funnies practically every day for those four years. I'd delve deeper into the paper as time permitted and every week I read the Food section. The Times was one of my great high school loves.
With a firm understanding of political events gleaned from the paper, I started to watch the Daily Show my senior year. It inspired me to pay attention to mainstream TV News when my parents watched it. I finally had an explanation for why public discourse was so stilted and myopic. I realized that the events told in the Times were only half of the story, how events were extruded through televisions into people's brains was an incredibly important component to understanding public opinion. You see, most people's only source of news comes from the major TV News networks.
Never mind the "rich people control the world through media" bullshit, TV News is just not very informative. I never really watched it because it was boring. It took five or ten minutes for the TV to tell me what I could have gleaned in thirty seconds from skimming a news article. During "breaking news", a similar quantity of information is conveyed over the course of a few hours. Worst of all, the feedback between giving the people what they want and people wanting what they know produces what's known as the news cycle. And of course like a sorority house, all the networks' cycles sync up so that every channel provides a practically identical set of stories.
This willingness to follow results in a hulking mass of media might that answers to the whims of chance or whoever is smart enough to lead it around, and this kind of media tends to amplify the public's natural fickleness and retard their critical thinking. The truth is that mainstream media does not appreciably help the left nor the right. Rather, it changes the rules by which they play. If a trumped up scandal can be dropped on one's opponent at the opportune time, such that that is all anybody's talking about on election day, plus ten points for you!
Thus, it came to pass that I blamed the media more than the Bush administration for the invasion of Iraq. I watched coverage of Hurricane Katrina with disgust. I found the overplayed empathy obnoxious. Anderson Cooper should try harder to be an anchorman, not a saint.
When it comes down to it, it's the show that once followed profane puppets that tells it like it is and challenges both the people they report on and the populace they serve to think. It's not surprising that the Daily Show's preeminence is not obvious to everyone. The show's reliance on the world to provide material means that it is inconsistent and there's always plenty of low brow humor, but damn, when John Stewart went on Crossfire, I was starry-eyed with admiration. The man single-handedly had a show cancelled, but it wasn't his power that impressed me, it was his unabashed intellegence and his willingness to call a spade a spade on the rare occasion it's necessary. It was the same qualities that make him a such an amazing interviewer. I won't pretend like all of his interviews are riveting, but at their best they are the most intelligent conversations on television.
On a more somber note, my first media love is dying. The LA Times is smaller every time I go back home. I hear the quality has suffered too. When I left for school, I planned to read the Christian Science Monitor online in lieu of the Times. It's a well-written, relatively unbiased (certainly more neutral than the Times) and most importantly free online newspaper for those of you raising eyebrows at the name. Unfortunately, school was distracting and reading online just wasn't the same. I mean it's great if you want to google current events for something specific, but to get a good, reputable overview is a little trickier. Maybe I'm being picky or maybe the CS Monitor just isn't as good, but I think I'd read the news more if the Los Angeles Times was delivered to my door, skinny or not.
I think what will really happen is that smaller papers will stop printing altogether and having the paper delivered to your doorstep will become a luxury. I don't think the fee vs advertising business model question has been settled, but I and my age bracket certainly prefer advertising, so I hope time will see that win out.
Amateur blogs like this aren't a good source of news, but they're a nice digestion point, and some blogs like the Davis Vanguard are going professional and competing with established newspapers for quality reporting. I think a little turnover will be beneficial to everyone except some mediocre newspapers.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Birthday Time!
It's been a year now since I started the Dilettante. A lot has changed. I kinda expected my Senior year to be the best year of college the way it was the best year of high school. I mean, my last year of high school was really awesome, like if there were four beans and three were dark and one was shiny white, that would be my senior year of high school. So I went into this year with an expectation for it to be the best of college, but conscientious of the probability that this senior year wouldn't shine on the same order of magnitude as the last one.
And of course, that's exactly what happened. It was a good year, and this blog certainly played a role in making it good. What do you call it when the act of detection alters what you're trying to detect? Last summer I had every reason to be relaxed, happy, and optimistic. I had a research job that was pleasant and engaging, I'd just turned twenty-one and was exploring the world of alcoholic beverages with Brandon and I had plenty of free time to write blogs and do stuff to write blogs about.
This summer is different. In some ways it is better, but it certainly isn't as unremittingly pleasant as the last. I've got more free time, but it feels like less. I've got a girlfriend that I adore, but she spent the first month of summer in Spain and I missed her like crazy. And of course, there's the whole no-longer-being-a-student thing. I'm looking for a job this summer. I need something to support myself with and something to fill out my research experience for grad apps. That need has cast something of a pall on the rest of this summer.
Obviously my post rate hasn't returned to last summer's steady clip, but you're reading this, so obviously I've managed to keep this blog alive and limping along. Coincidentally, the Dilettante reached two thousand unique hits almost simultaneous with its birthday, so I think all in all I have something to be proud of here. I hope you're still enjoying my writing. I certainly am, when I get around to it. Remember to comment when you feel inspired. Feedback is essential to improvement, and it doesn't hurt my ego either.
And of course, that's exactly what happened. It was a good year, and this blog certainly played a role in making it good. What do you call it when the act of detection alters what you're trying to detect? Last summer I had every reason to be relaxed, happy, and optimistic. I had a research job that was pleasant and engaging, I'd just turned twenty-one and was exploring the world of alcoholic beverages with Brandon and I had plenty of free time to write blogs and do stuff to write blogs about.
This summer is different. In some ways it is better, but it certainly isn't as unremittingly pleasant as the last. I've got more free time, but it feels like less. I've got a girlfriend that I adore, but she spent the first month of summer in Spain and I missed her like crazy. And of course, there's the whole no-longer-being-a-student thing. I'm looking for a job this summer. I need something to support myself with and something to fill out my research experience for grad apps. That need has cast something of a pall on the rest of this summer.
Obviously my post rate hasn't returned to last summer's steady clip, but you're reading this, so obviously I've managed to keep this blog alive and limping along. Coincidentally, the Dilettante reached two thousand unique hits almost simultaneous with its birthday, so I think all in all I have something to be proud of here. I hope you're still enjoying my writing. I certainly am, when I get around to it. Remember to comment when you feel inspired. Feedback is essential to improvement, and it doesn't hurt my ego either.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Eulogy for the Ash Maiden
The Ash Maiden was stolen in May. I'd forgotten where I'd parked her, so by the time I'd checked all of the possible places she could have been, realizing that she had been stolen was a little anticlimactic. She was locked, but that's never seemed to stop professional bike thieves before, so I didn't have any illusions.
Bike theft statistics tell us that the average Davis student will have their bicycle stolen once in the four years they attend university, so my experience is in perfect keeping with the norm. I hear about stolen bikes on a periodic basis on Facebook. People always seem so angry, finding the most horrible words they can think of to describe the faceless thief. I haven't been so disposed. My reaction to finding the Ash Maiden was not anger, just sadness.
My lock was flimsy, but I wasn't going to get a new one. When I got her I figured she was either too shabby to steal or I'd suck it up. I have no regrets.
I can't imagine what the thief must have looked like or been thinking when they took her. They must have had good taste. When I tell people of my loss I have either been met with "I'm so, so sorry. I know how much that bike meant to you" or "They took that piece of junk?" Actually, the Maiden was probably worth a hundred and fifty dollars. That value was stoked by the popularity of converting old road bikes to fixies. Anyways, I hope she ends up in a good home.
No object has ever so eloquently embodied my four years at Davis. Biking has been my simplest pleasure and substitute for wave riding. Both Howard and Brandon eventually switched to road bikes after seeing my passion for riding the Maiden long and hard every day. Incidentally this is also the conclusion of the longest-running inside joke we had. The Maiden embodied our household's dumpster-chic aesthetic with her pervasive rust, grinding gears, hand-made bullhorns and junky extra reflectors.
Early in my freshman year I rode with Caius from Daly City to Santa Cruz, an amazing adventure that deserves retelling on this forum. In my four years riding her, I crashed four times. In no instance did I collide with another bicyclist or car-- every one was completely on me. Two were from taking turns too aggressively, the other two for occupying my hands with things and then trying to brake one-handed. I never got to compete in an organized race on her. I never biked the entire length of the American River Parkway, or to Berkeley on her. I hardly ever rode her with a proper bike light.
I bought a new bike on Craigslist, a black road bike for $180. I dropped another $80 on some basic accessories-- bike light, a decent seat, a new inner tube, a lock. We're provisionally calling him Smoky, because he totally reeks of cigarettes. I didn't even know bicycles could carry smells. The change of gender was conscious, btw.
Bike theft statistics tell us that the average Davis student will have their bicycle stolen once in the four years they attend university, so my experience is in perfect keeping with the norm. I hear about stolen bikes on a periodic basis on Facebook. People always seem so angry, finding the most horrible words they can think of to describe the faceless thief. I haven't been so disposed. My reaction to finding the Ash Maiden was not anger, just sadness.
My lock was flimsy, but I wasn't going to get a new one. When I got her I figured she was either too shabby to steal or I'd suck it up. I have no regrets.
I can't imagine what the thief must have looked like or been thinking when they took her. They must have had good taste. When I tell people of my loss I have either been met with "I'm so, so sorry. I know how much that bike meant to you" or "They took that piece of junk?" Actually, the Maiden was probably worth a hundred and fifty dollars. That value was stoked by the popularity of converting old road bikes to fixies. Anyways, I hope she ends up in a good home.
No object has ever so eloquently embodied my four years at Davis. Biking has been my simplest pleasure and substitute for wave riding. Both Howard and Brandon eventually switched to road bikes after seeing my passion for riding the Maiden long and hard every day. Incidentally this is also the conclusion of the longest-running inside joke we had. The Maiden embodied our household's dumpster-chic aesthetic with her pervasive rust, grinding gears, hand-made bullhorns and junky extra reflectors.
Early in my freshman year I rode with Caius from Daly City to Santa Cruz, an amazing adventure that deserves retelling on this forum. In my four years riding her, I crashed four times. In no instance did I collide with another bicyclist or car-- every one was completely on me. Two were from taking turns too aggressively, the other two for occupying my hands with things and then trying to brake one-handed. I never got to compete in an organized race on her. I never biked the entire length of the American River Parkway, or to Berkeley on her. I hardly ever rode her with a proper bike light.
I bought a new bike on Craigslist, a black road bike for $180. I dropped another $80 on some basic accessories-- bike light, a decent seat, a new inner tube, a lock. We're provisionally calling him Smoky, because he totally reeks of cigarettes. I didn't even know bicycles could carry smells. The change of gender was conscious, btw.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Max's Black Bayou
The Black Bayou is a drink inspired by swamp water. Dark, fecund and mysterious, I imagine drinking this with the sunrise after a long night. It tastes dirty in all the right ways. To make, you'll need:
dark roast coffee at room temperature (stale/burnt coffee is fine, just make it strong)
bourbon
pastis or other anise-flavored liquor
peychaud's bitters
preserved fig in syrup
Fill a mug half full of old coffee, toss in a shot of bourbon, a dash of peychaud's, a dollop of pastis (a quarter shot or so) and a preserved fig. Sweeten to taste with fig preserve syrup. Make sure to use strong coffee, otherwise it'll taste a little dilute.
The coffee is earthy, the bourbon is woody, and the anise and bitters are herbal. Don't knock it till you try it. It's really kind of a soothing drink. My thanks to my dad and, as always, the Apple House tasting team for their help.
dark roast coffee at room temperature (stale/burnt coffee is fine, just make it strong)
bourbon
pastis or other anise-flavored liquor
peychaud's bitters
preserved fig in syrup
Fill a mug half full of old coffee, toss in a shot of bourbon, a dash of peychaud's, a dollop of pastis (a quarter shot or so) and a preserved fig. Sweeten to taste with fig preserve syrup. Make sure to use strong coffee, otherwise it'll taste a little dilute.
The coffee is earthy, the bourbon is woody, and the anise and bitters are herbal. Don't knock it till you try it. It's really kind of a soothing drink. My thanks to my dad and, as always, the Apple House tasting team for their help.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
My UC Davis Graduation
I graduated friday from UC Davis with a Bachelor of Sciences in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology. This Fall, I apply for graduate school, but right now I enter the troubled American workforce. I'm applying for lab-oriented jobs for the coming year in Davis to support myself and bolster my grad application.
However my fortunes turn out, I'm going to have a lot more time. Juggling heavy coursework, friends, worms, and romance has taken its toll on this blog. In the next few weeks I intend to post a series of college retrospectives.
However my fortunes turn out, I'm going to have a lot more time. Juggling heavy coursework, friends, worms, and romance has taken its toll on this blog. In the next few weeks I intend to post a series of college retrospectives.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Food Pairings: A Pauper's Pretension
I recently went morel hunting with the Davis Mycological Society in the low Sierra. After arriving home with my quarter pound take, I searched recipes to make with morels looking for an easy food pairing to create a meal for friends. To my disappointment, the reams of morel recipes that I found were uniformly built around college-unfriendly ingredients like foie gras, veal and caviar. The very idea that morels might fall into the hands of a pauper like myself seems to have escaped the folks at the Food Network and other recipe sites.
My haul:
The gourmet revels in the delicacy of outlandishly priced ingredient paired with still more outlandishly priced ingredient, but I was taught a different sort of gourmet; a gourmet more in keeping with American ideals. Brilliant food pairings are not limited to gourmet ingredients and establishments. Ratatouille is a peasant dish highly regarded by the culinary elite (notably in the movie of the same name), built around the synergy of bell peppers, squash and eggplant. So too with the Cajun "holy trinity" of peppers, parsley/celery and onions. That world-class food can only be had at world-class prices is a myth of gigantic proportions perpetrated by ignorance and pretension.
Great cuisine is simply about food combinations that sing. They are frequently as simple and ordinary as peanut butter and jelly or Santa's favorite midnight snack, milk and cookies. Too often do people forget that they need not look far to find grace and delight in food. I'd like to share with you some of my culinary discoveries that have brought me cheer through my college career.
While the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is already an American classic in its own right, there's nothing like washing it down with tea to add another dimension to your next noon banquet, as I discovered last summer. I particularly enjoyed "natural" peanut butter, apricot preserves and whole wheat bread with earl grey tea. I like that "natural" peanut butter doesn't have any sugar added and that whole wheat isn't overtly sweet in conjunction with the extra-sweetness found in preserves, because it emphasizes flavor separation. The apricot is brightened by the citrus oils in earl grey, and the tea complements the nuttiness and dryness of the peanuts and bread. If you normally freeze your bread, you'll find that toasting it also adds to the ensemble's flavor.
The single most important dish in my college diet has been potatoes with cheese. I take one large or two small russet potatoes, poke fork holes in them every inch, and nuke them 4-4.5 minutes one side and 2-2.5 on the reverse. I slice about 3 slots into them and insert slices of medium cheddar cheese (pregrated cheese won't smell as good or layer heavily enough). I add cheese until its about 2/3 the volume of the potato. I nuke it again until the cheese is gooey (about one minute). The dish goes great with beer. But beware, the combination has proven to be a powerful narcotic. This sort of lunch almost invariably ends with deciding to take a nap.
A classic meal passed down from my Wisconsin heritage is beer and bratwurst with rice and sauerkraut. I get my bratwurst from the Davis Meat Lab when I can, because it's great value. I brown the sausage in a pan for a couple of minutes, then add a can of beer. I check back to replace water and turn the sausage every fifteen minutes or so until they're cooked through. Ideally, I let the beer cook boil down to a thick goo and use it on the sausage and rice. That stuff is delicious. Serve it all with another beer. I've found light lagers to work best.
A snack I've enjoyed since I discovered prunes has been eating them with superdark chocolate. You can buy canisters of store brand prunes for cheap, and they have better flavor than the expensive ones you find at the farmer's market. You can find cheap superdark chocolate at Trader Joe's in packages called "Pound Plus". Seventy percent cocoa solids is the way to go. Just take a nibble of each and let the magic unfold.
I've also found that coke goes phenomenally with coffee. Pepsi Kona and Coca-Cola Blak are testaments to industry's awareness of the synergy, but both products failed to catch on in the US. I like to alternate sips of coffee with coke. Hot quenched by cold, bitter by sweet and vice versa. Their dark flavors meld beautifully.
Most recently, I discovered the wonder of anchovies on pizza. No frozen brands sell anchovy pizza, so I keep my cupboard stocked. The true wonder of anchovies is their interaction with pepperoni. The similar flavors expand on each other and set off the pizza at large.
My haul:
The gourmet revels in the delicacy of outlandishly priced ingredient paired with still more outlandishly priced ingredient, but I was taught a different sort of gourmet; a gourmet more in keeping with American ideals. Brilliant food pairings are not limited to gourmet ingredients and establishments. Ratatouille is a peasant dish highly regarded by the culinary elite (notably in the movie of the same name), built around the synergy of bell peppers, squash and eggplant. So too with the Cajun "holy trinity" of peppers, parsley/celery and onions. That world-class food can only be had at world-class prices is a myth of gigantic proportions perpetrated by ignorance and pretension.
Great cuisine is simply about food combinations that sing. They are frequently as simple and ordinary as peanut butter and jelly or Santa's favorite midnight snack, milk and cookies. Too often do people forget that they need not look far to find grace and delight in food. I'd like to share with you some of my culinary discoveries that have brought me cheer through my college career.
While the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is already an American classic in its own right, there's nothing like washing it down with tea to add another dimension to your next noon banquet, as I discovered last summer. I particularly enjoyed "natural" peanut butter, apricot preserves and whole wheat bread with earl grey tea. I like that "natural" peanut butter doesn't have any sugar added and that whole wheat isn't overtly sweet in conjunction with the extra-sweetness found in preserves, because it emphasizes flavor separation. The apricot is brightened by the citrus oils in earl grey, and the tea complements the nuttiness and dryness of the peanuts and bread. If you normally freeze your bread, you'll find that toasting it also adds to the ensemble's flavor.
The single most important dish in my college diet has been potatoes with cheese. I take one large or two small russet potatoes, poke fork holes in them every inch, and nuke them 4-4.5 minutes one side and 2-2.5 on the reverse. I slice about 3 slots into them and insert slices of medium cheddar cheese (pregrated cheese won't smell as good or layer heavily enough). I add cheese until its about 2/3 the volume of the potato. I nuke it again until the cheese is gooey (about one minute). The dish goes great with beer. But beware, the combination has proven to be a powerful narcotic. This sort of lunch almost invariably ends with deciding to take a nap.
A classic meal passed down from my Wisconsin heritage is beer and bratwurst with rice and sauerkraut. I get my bratwurst from the Davis Meat Lab when I can, because it's great value. I brown the sausage in a pan for a couple of minutes, then add a can of beer. I check back to replace water and turn the sausage every fifteen minutes or so until they're cooked through. Ideally, I let the beer cook boil down to a thick goo and use it on the sausage and rice. That stuff is delicious. Serve it all with another beer. I've found light lagers to work best.
A snack I've enjoyed since I discovered prunes has been eating them with superdark chocolate. You can buy canisters of store brand prunes for cheap, and they have better flavor than the expensive ones you find at the farmer's market. You can find cheap superdark chocolate at Trader Joe's in packages called "Pound Plus". Seventy percent cocoa solids is the way to go. Just take a nibble of each and let the magic unfold.
I've also found that coke goes phenomenally with coffee. Pepsi Kona and Coca-Cola Blak are testaments to industry's awareness of the synergy, but both products failed to catch on in the US. I like to alternate sips of coffee with coke. Hot quenched by cold, bitter by sweet and vice versa. Their dark flavors meld beautifully.
Most recently, I discovered the wonder of anchovies on pizza. No frozen brands sell anchovy pizza, so I keep my cupboard stocked. The true wonder of anchovies is their interaction with pepperoni. The similar flavors expand on each other and set off the pizza at large.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Beginning of Summer, The End of Spring
I caught a couple of deals on fruit this weekend at the grocery store that had the distinct whiff of summer.
Ever since my time at Albertsons, I've eagerly awaited the few weeks of early summer that raspberries are sold for under three dollars a pint. This was the first of those weeks and once more I reveled in the delicacy of my favorite of all fruits. I also bought some mangos on the cheap and made a mental note that strawberries have hit their bottom-out price of a dollar per pound.
Lastly and perhaps most significantly, cherries all over Davis have acquired the red hue that signals the conclusion of Spring Quarter. I took as many cherries as I could carry back from my Gardening, Orchards and Land field trip today, stuffing my belly, my pockets, my camera case, and my pant cuffs with the rosy jewels.
I associate this time with my homeland's May Gray/June Gloom, about a month of overcast weather that once signaled the end of school and the coming of summer. The end of school season has always had a grim psychological potency to it, but that's true now more than ever.
I graduate June 12th and a million pop culture sentiments about the mixed emotions that come with graduation swirl around in my mind (The Graduate cheif among them). I missed the application deadline for graduate school, so I've decided to find a lab tech job in Davis to support myself for the year and apply to grad schools this fall. I just resigned my lease on Saturday with my roommates. I picked up tickets for my family to attend commencement last Wednesday. I make a final presentation of my lab research next Friday. I wrote up my Curriculum Vitae on Tuesday.
Damn, graduation's scary. I need some cherries.
Ever since my time at Albertsons, I've eagerly awaited the few weeks of early summer that raspberries are sold for under three dollars a pint. This was the first of those weeks and once more I reveled in the delicacy of my favorite of all fruits. I also bought some mangos on the cheap and made a mental note that strawberries have hit their bottom-out price of a dollar per pound.
Lastly and perhaps most significantly, cherries all over Davis have acquired the red hue that signals the conclusion of Spring Quarter. I took as many cherries as I could carry back from my Gardening, Orchards and Land field trip today, stuffing my belly, my pockets, my camera case, and my pant cuffs with the rosy jewels.
I associate this time with my homeland's May Gray/June Gloom, about a month of overcast weather that once signaled the end of school and the coming of summer. The end of school season has always had a grim psychological potency to it, but that's true now more than ever.
I graduate June 12th and a million pop culture sentiments about the mixed emotions that come with graduation swirl around in my mind (The Graduate cheif among them). I missed the application deadline for graduate school, so I've decided to find a lab tech job in Davis to support myself for the year and apply to grad schools this fall. I just resigned my lease on Saturday with my roommates. I picked up tickets for my family to attend commencement last Wednesday. I make a final presentation of my lab research next Friday. I wrote up my Curriculum Vitae on Tuesday.
Damn, graduation's scary. I need some cherries.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Thirtieth Hour
I pulled an all-nighter not for my essay, not for a stupid game I'm newly addicted to, but for the inspiration to write you this. Feel blessed. Actually don't. I was kidding.
I love the loopy feeling of being fucked up by fatigue. It might be my drug of choice if it weren't for the vague notion of my head slowly imploding that assures me with a whispering voice of the certitude that I will come crashing down tomorrow.
Candy tastes amazing and I'm hardly concerned about anything. Perhaps tellingly, my most pressing concern right now is the progress of the aforementioned pernicious game. I have the craziest ideas and then I notice they aren't that crazy. Everything's at once magnificent and dull. Like, one of these jelly beans tastes like carrots and it's wonderful.
My NPB professor is talking about the horizontal vs vertical tradeoff in sound localization and all I can think is, "Why doesn't the owl have three ears?"
I love the loopy feeling of being fucked up by fatigue. It might be my drug of choice if it weren't for the vague notion of my head slowly imploding that assures me with a whispering voice of the certitude that I will come crashing down tomorrow.
Candy tastes amazing and I'm hardly concerned about anything. Perhaps tellingly, my most pressing concern right now is the progress of the aforementioned pernicious game. I have the craziest ideas and then I notice they aren't that crazy. Everything's at once magnificent and dull. Like, one of these jelly beans tastes like carrots and it's wonderful.
My NPB professor is talking about the horizontal vs vertical tradeoff in sound localization and all I can think is, "Why doesn't the owl have three ears?"
Thursday, April 30, 2009
On Partisan Differences
This is an edited version of a comment I made regarding my friend Kern's blog post comparing liberal and conservative ideologies.
Both parties/philosophies appeal to a range of socioeconomic classes and intellectual levels. It's a common fallacy of both sides to only notice the lowest level of the opposition's appeal. Rush Limbaugh continuously explains to his listenership why liberalism has a more basic, superficial appeal. I think most of my readers will find that Rush appeals to, in turn, an intellectual level beneath us. That's not to say his criticisms of liberalism are invalid. They are valid. He's just selecting the dumbest, most extreme targets within the liberal camp.
Taken too far, it might sound like there aren't differences between Democrats and Republicans or Liberalism and Conservatism--and there are. The media structure is a case in point. However, we mustn't forget that both parties must necessarily appeal to the lowest common denominator (and the highest) to stay afloat, albeit through different but equally reprehensible means.
Part of my generation's confusion is caused by the fact that the parties act differently depending on whether they're in or out of power. The parties are generally more hypocritical and aggressive when they're in power.
Remember that at the ideologies' cores lie different foundational assumptions about the world. Liberals assume that glitches of the free market are efficiently repaired by bureaucratic intervention. They assume people will do things whether they're illegal or not. They assume people need help to survive hardship and to rise to the top. They assume that laws reflect realities.
Conservatives assume that bureaucracy is less efficient than free market. They assume laws proceed from morals. They assume laws are effective. They assume that enabling is the greater danger to not helping. They assume people will survive hardship and that cream rises to the top.
All of those assumptions are flawed, but grounded in seeds of truth. Frequently, liberals and conservatives battle over the position of an optimization curve (ie the Laffer curve) that is poorly defined. In the absence of solid statistics pointing out the obvious answer to a dilemma, people resort to their assumptions, and this is where most political disagreements originate--from the gray areas. If it was black and white, we'd be in agreement.
Both parties/philosophies appeal to a range of socioeconomic classes and intellectual levels. It's a common fallacy of both sides to only notice the lowest level of the opposition's appeal. Rush Limbaugh continuously explains to his listenership why liberalism has a more basic, superficial appeal. I think most of my readers will find that Rush appeals to, in turn, an intellectual level beneath us. That's not to say his criticisms of liberalism are invalid. They are valid. He's just selecting the dumbest, most extreme targets within the liberal camp.
Taken too far, it might sound like there aren't differences between Democrats and Republicans or Liberalism and Conservatism--and there are. The media structure is a case in point. However, we mustn't forget that both parties must necessarily appeal to the lowest common denominator (and the highest) to stay afloat, albeit through different but equally reprehensible means.
Part of my generation's confusion is caused by the fact that the parties act differently depending on whether they're in or out of power. The parties are generally more hypocritical and aggressive when they're in power.
Remember that at the ideologies' cores lie different foundational assumptions about the world. Liberals assume that glitches of the free market are efficiently repaired by bureaucratic intervention. They assume people will do things whether they're illegal or not. They assume people need help to survive hardship and to rise to the top. They assume that laws reflect realities.
Conservatives assume that bureaucracy is less efficient than free market. They assume laws proceed from morals. They assume laws are effective. They assume that enabling is the greater danger to not helping. They assume people will survive hardship and that cream rises to the top.
All of those assumptions are flawed, but grounded in seeds of truth. Frequently, liberals and conservatives battle over the position of an optimization curve (ie the Laffer curve) that is poorly defined. In the absence of solid statistics pointing out the obvious answer to a dilemma, people resort to their assumptions, and this is where most political disagreements originate--from the gray areas. If it was black and white, we'd be in agreement.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Picnic Day
So last week was Picnic Day, the greatest annual event in Davis. Every year a hundred thousand people or so flock to the university's (and city's) open house. Live music blasts from five stages at any given moment, all of the departments put on events and every imaginable animal show finds a place here. Undergraduates wander drunkenly through crowds of visiting families. This year my family came; that is, my sister, mom and the Norrises, family friends whose daughter is a freshman here. Everybody slept in my living room and everybody was delightful.
I joined KDVS for the Picnic Day Parade. The weather was a perfect, cloudless low 80 degrees (the last one I was in was a sodden death march).
I thanked Allison for babysitting my family and began to show them around. The sheepdog trials are the most awesome event at Picnic Day, which is saying something.
We lounged in the grass and watched the incredible spectacle. The dogs work like their lives depend on it.
I slipped off to chat with to Jill and her mom, who were by then pleasantly tipsy. We lounged in the grass some more and her mom, Ra, snapped a couple of pictures of the two of us. This one was a keeper.
I met back up with my unit for some more grass-lounging as we listened to the Battle of the Bands, where school marching bands take turns playing songs until they succumb to exhaustion.
I later showed the Norrises my radio station, capping off my favorite Picnic Day yet.
I joined KDVS for the Picnic Day Parade. The weather was a perfect, cloudless low 80 degrees (the last one I was in was a sodden death march).
I thanked Allison for babysitting my family and began to show them around. The sheepdog trials are the most awesome event at Picnic Day, which is saying something.
We lounged in the grass and watched the incredible spectacle. The dogs work like their lives depend on it.
I slipped off to chat with to Jill and her mom, who were by then pleasantly tipsy. We lounged in the grass some more and her mom, Ra, snapped a couple of pictures of the two of us. This one was a keeper.
I met back up with my unit for some more grass-lounging as we listened to the Battle of the Bands, where school marching bands take turns playing songs until they succumb to exhaustion.
I later showed the Norrises my radio station, capping off my favorite Picnic Day yet.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
On Values
People unconsciously cultivate their sense of self-worth through their assignment of value. They tend to value the traits they possess. Thus, the meter they judge the world by shows them in the most favorable light.
I value cleverness, curiosity and rationality because I perceive myself to possess those traits. When I judge others, I usually find myself superior in the qualities I value. I don't value organization, athletic prowess or piety very much because while I can see the usefulness of such traits, I do not have them.
I see this tendency in everyone: successful entrepreneurs value business savvy, stylish people value fashion sense and pilots value good flying. While such worldviews are not objectively correct, they serve a vital purpose in individuals' psyches.
It works both ways, of course. Striving for a quality tends to enhance it and that fixation tends to positively distort the quality's worth. This is useful, because it has a tendency to encourage people to develop their unique talents. The artist works to become more creative and the scientist to become more observant.
There is a crucial exception to this tendency. Whenever individuals strive to be something they're not, they act out the axillary to the self-worth principle. This axillary is less influential, but it is also vital in regulating human life. Poor people aspiring to wealth, cubicle-bound employees writing the great American novel and introverts desiring charisma all provide for motion and adaptation in themselves and society.
The balance between these two tendencies mostly leaves people with a net sense of self-worth, but not everyone. I won't pretend like I understand depression, but I will clarify that these are tendencies, not rules impervious to circumstance.
I value cleverness, curiosity and rationality because I perceive myself to possess those traits. When I judge others, I usually find myself superior in the qualities I value. I don't value organization, athletic prowess or piety very much because while I can see the usefulness of such traits, I do not have them.
I see this tendency in everyone: successful entrepreneurs value business savvy, stylish people value fashion sense and pilots value good flying. While such worldviews are not objectively correct, they serve a vital purpose in individuals' psyches.
It works both ways, of course. Striving for a quality tends to enhance it and that fixation tends to positively distort the quality's worth. This is useful, because it has a tendency to encourage people to develop their unique talents. The artist works to become more creative and the scientist to become more observant.
There is a crucial exception to this tendency. Whenever individuals strive to be something they're not, they act out the axillary to the self-worth principle. This axillary is less influential, but it is also vital in regulating human life. Poor people aspiring to wealth, cubicle-bound employees writing the great American novel and introverts desiring charisma all provide for motion and adaptation in themselves and society.
The balance between these two tendencies mostly leaves people with a net sense of self-worth, but not everyone. I won't pretend like I understand depression, but I will clarify that these are tendencies, not rules impervious to circumstance.
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Slice of Good Friday Mania
Today is Good Friday and I feel good. Really good. One cup of coffee and I feel like a demigod: potent, wise and I can practically see Fortune's broad grin beaming down at me. If this is what cocaine feels like, I ought never to try it.
I'm surprised it took me this long to find coffee. My first tentative steps towards the drink left me jittery. Somehow, its effect changed once I drank it with frequency. My hat is off to the people who predicted that. A coffee addiction sounds like fun. I haven't acquired one yet, but I hear it takes a little time.
My neurobiology professor is talking about sodium channels and action potentials and all I can do is silently laugh at the the phrase "refractory period". I wonder if I'm the only one in class who finds that uproarious. I guess information transmission is a beautiful thing...
If I was born to be anything, it was a critic. I love to make fun of people. Of course, it's a sign of familiarity and affection, but that's always been a tough sell for people who didn't grow up in a family like mine. Maybe one of the hangups is the ambivalence implicit in my critiques-- I'm as likely to say something flattering without prompting as harsh. I impose objectivity on unusual circumstances and it throws people off.
I'm surprised it took me this long to find coffee. My first tentative steps towards the drink left me jittery. Somehow, its effect changed once I drank it with frequency. My hat is off to the people who predicted that. A coffee addiction sounds like fun. I haven't acquired one yet, but I hear it takes a little time.
My neurobiology professor is talking about sodium channels and action potentials and all I can do is silently laugh at the the phrase "refractory period". I wonder if I'm the only one in class who finds that uproarious. I guess information transmission is a beautiful thing...
If I was born to be anything, it was a critic. I love to make fun of people. Of course, it's a sign of familiarity and affection, but that's always been a tough sell for people who didn't grow up in a family like mine. Maybe one of the hangups is the ambivalence implicit in my critiques-- I'm as likely to say something flattering without prompting as harsh. I impose objectivity on unusual circumstances and it throws people off.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Sensualist Dream
My fellow blogger Rob challenged some friends to write a paragraph with the title "Sensualist Dream", whatever we thought it should be. Here's my submission.
Curled up in my bed, comforter wrapped around me, I gradually become conscious of the world. I can hear rain on the roof and sense the light of the muted sky. I am curled up, wrapped around my blanket and my blanket is wrapped around me. The walls are insubstantial, they are only half there. Now only a third, now a quarter. Soon I will forget there were walls at all. I am a cloud, floating on the sea, drifting away. I notice delicate conformational changes in my cloud. Finely tuned responses to invisible forces around me, my form moves in perfect concert with my environment. A passing bird wouldn't suspect my cloud as anything but ordinary. My cloud begins to take interpretive liberties with its reciprocation, flowing more and more freely, assuming wilder and wilder forms. Maybe a giraffe, now a ballerina, now a simple, beautiful girl. Her very curves caress and embrace me wholly. I linger on that moment. The pattering rain reminds me of the preciousness of every moment. I think of the dew-cool land stretching out in all directions. I think of the hills near the bay, green with rain, rolling endlessly, hiding oaks in their seams, and the blessed inhabitants of that Eden, the fluffy sheep. The fluffy sheep don't believe in time. I don't either. The fluffy sheep bah in unison, at first very quietly, but with increasing volume until it feels as if the entire world has joined in. The fluffy sheep have crowned me king. King of the dew-cool grass, king of the sky, king of the hills and of the oaks hidden in their seams. King of all things conceived, king of all the worlds pulsing, exhuding, emanating from my cloud. My clouds' wisps are fractals. Worlds within worlds, thoughts within thoughts, my realm is bounded cozily by infinity. I take to tracing the outline of my realm. The vast expanse yawns ahead of my walking figure. My pace quickens. Faster and faster, until I am rushing with my thoughts sprawling rampant alongside me, like a stampede of animals fleeing wildfire, the desperate glint of animal fear in all their eyes. Squirrels, rabbits, deer and bears alongside each other, fur flying, trampling each other, the desperate agony of flight overshadowed only by the threat of fiery death. Outlines of some animals blur into phantom streaks of outreaching terror, others burst into flame, flying like torches through the night. I can hear the torchlight like a million needles, like grim laughter. Hopelessness grips me and my will falters. I allow the wildfire to overtake me. Like a wave, it overtakes me all at once. Yet, it does not burn. The flames licking my flesh are pleasantly warm. I lean back into the feeling. The flames lick over all my body. I close my eyes and withdraw into my mind, searching for patterns in the sensation. The heat intensifies gradually, almost imperceptibly, to a pleasant burn, then hotter. Pleasure begins to flicker back and forth with pain, but still the heat grows. I fight to keep my attention on the good in the feeling, but the intensity makes my task increasingly difficult. I can only perceive the heat as pain. Barely tolerable, my skin begins to sear. Every nerve ending in my body screams with pain. My mind's order begins to break down and writhe. My mind joins in screaming chorus with my skin. My muscles capitulate soon after, thrashing against the unbearable scorch. Then, just as suddenly as that wave of wildfire had overtaken me, the inferno vanishes, leaving all but the vestigial glow of heat on skin. Like a sunburn, I feel all my skin radiate heat off, to my blanket, and reflect back onto my skin. I bask in my oven of afterglow, pondering life's caprice.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Max's Old-Fashioned Cocktail
Given its name, the Old-Fashioned is unsurprisingly among the most venerated of cocktails. I was initially discouraged by my spectacular failure at making them early last summer (using an abridged form of the IBA recipe). It wasn't until I went home for Christmas break and my Dad made some for the family that it felt like I had even the remotest understanding of the drink.
There are intense debates concerning what constitutes a "real" Old-Fashioned and recipes vary wildly. Some call for many citrus fruits, some call for just a lemon twist for garnish. Some specify that you muddle those garnishes, most not. Some include sweet vermouth, but most only have Maraschino for color. Some demand adding soda water while others damn to hell those infidels who would do so. Bitters are used for most recipes and the whiskey choice varies considerably from Canadian to American Sour Mash to Bourbon to Rye.
My father's recipe included a juiced slice each of lime, lemon and orange, with liberal application of maraschino juice, Jim Beam, and diet 7up. The result was rather confused and watery for my taste, but it did impress on my mind the importance of citrus fruit, the lack of which had doomed my first attempt at the drink. I surveyed the various online recipes and came to understand the ins and outs of making this classic cocktail. The defining principle is the balance of liquor, sour, sweet and bitter within the drink. The resulting drink is too well-rounded to be edgy, but too beautiful to ever truly go out of style.
I put together my own recipe using Meyer Lemons, a citrus fruit that I adore in general and that is particularly suited to Old-Fashions. I found that Rye works better with Meyers' floral aromas and I decided that muddling is deliciously Californian because of the emphasis on fruit. As always, my regards to the Apple House Taste-Testing Team (aka my roommates).
1 large slice Meyer lemon
1 teaspoon granulated white sugar
1 Maraschino cherry
1 teaspoon Maraschino cherry juice (you can substitute the sugar with a couple more teaspoons)
2 dashes bitters
ice
1 shot Old Overholt Rye Whiskey
Add lemon, sugar, cherry, juice and bitters, then muddle ingredients, juicing and crushing the lemon and dissolving the sugar. Mostly fill the glass with ice, then pour whiskey over the concoction and stir till ingredients are mixed and ice equilibriates. Enjoy!
There are intense debates concerning what constitutes a "real" Old-Fashioned and recipes vary wildly. Some call for many citrus fruits, some call for just a lemon twist for garnish. Some specify that you muddle those garnishes, most not. Some include sweet vermouth, but most only have Maraschino for color. Some demand adding soda water while others damn to hell those infidels who would do so. Bitters are used for most recipes and the whiskey choice varies considerably from Canadian to American Sour Mash to Bourbon to Rye.
My father's recipe included a juiced slice each of lime, lemon and orange, with liberal application of maraschino juice, Jim Beam, and diet 7up. The result was rather confused and watery for my taste, but it did impress on my mind the importance of citrus fruit, the lack of which had doomed my first attempt at the drink. I surveyed the various online recipes and came to understand the ins and outs of making this classic cocktail. The defining principle is the balance of liquor, sour, sweet and bitter within the drink. The resulting drink is too well-rounded to be edgy, but too beautiful to ever truly go out of style.
I put together my own recipe using Meyer Lemons, a citrus fruit that I adore in general and that is particularly suited to Old-Fashions. I found that Rye works better with Meyers' floral aromas and I decided that muddling is deliciously Californian because of the emphasis on fruit. As always, my regards to the Apple House Taste-Testing Team (aka my roommates).
1 large slice Meyer lemon
1 teaspoon granulated white sugar
1 Maraschino cherry
1 teaspoon Maraschino cherry juice (you can substitute the sugar with a couple more teaspoons)
2 dashes bitters
ice
1 shot Old Overholt Rye Whiskey
Add lemon, sugar, cherry, juice and bitters, then muddle ingredients, juicing and crushing the lemon and dissolving the sugar. Mostly fill the glass with ice, then pour whiskey over the concoction and stir till ingredients are mixed and ice equilibriates. Enjoy!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The California Aggie
UC Davis is not a school with a reputation for journalism. It shouldn't be expected to have a stellar student periodical. Yet it is slightly embarrassing that I myself am a better writer than most of the California Aggie's staff. And it's not just me. Guest editorials and letters to the editor consistently outshine the general staff's contributions.
Two Aggie columnists have something interesting to say and are more-or-less capable of articulating it. Michelle Rick works the sassy/clever approach for her column. Though the approach is deeply cliché and sometimes interferes with the actual content of her articles, she otherwise executes it well and, let's face it, it's a medium whose principle objective is to entertain rather than to inform. While I appreciate her talent, her flippancy and posed coolness have earned her one of my friends' undying hatred. Lior Gotesman on the other hand is a solid, if stereotypical, advocate of philosophy. He's hostile to thoughtless consumerism and passionate about the meaning of life. It would put me to sleep if it wasn't interestingly written.
The columnists have improved since last year to the point of consistent mediocrity (except columnist/editor-in-chief Richard Procter who is an excellent writer). There is no low hanging fruit for me to pounce on. The same cannot be said of the Aggie's editorial section.
Zach Han is the worst writer I have ever seen published. He generally chooses topics immediately after they have been beaten to death by mainstream media. He then manages to demonstrate misunderstanding of even TV news' terribly oversimplified explanations of current events. It's as if he took a fractured understanding of a Fox news report, applied some ill-conceived restructuring and then imposed some asinine moral summation he'd heard from a passerby. To add insult to injury, he goes out of his way to use big words and complex sentence structures beyond his apparent reach. The result is a series of syntactical and logical errors that confound the flow of his insipid conclusions. I am appalled by Zach Han's writing on so many levels that just thinking about it makes me see red.
In diametric opposition to Han is the finest Aggie writer I have come across, one James Noonan. There is no minority perspective so persecuted or valuable at a liberal university as the intelligent conservative's and James Noonan is living proof. He writes articulately and fearlessly, exposing hypocrisy and waste in our university and country. Noonan is no partisan hack, though. One of my favorite articles was his caustic assault on Bill O'Reilly.
Unfortunately, Noonan and Procter are in the stark minority at our campus paper. Most Aggie readers pick it up for the Sudoku rather than its bumbling calendar section, comic strips, articles, columns or commentary on world events. I find myself reading it more to mentally shred the writing than for information. Instead, I've taken to scrounging the faculty and staff's weekly periodical, Dateline UC Davis.
In contrast to the Aggie, Dateline UC Davis is interesting, competent, informative, coherently structured and unobtrusively written. It is especially good for finding seminars, guest lectures and Mondavi Center events. It also finds fascinating campus research to report and thoughtfully probes into campus trends and occurrences. By trying for less, Dateline is ultimately more useful to students than the paper the students directly fund.
Dateline is produced by the full-time UC Davis News Service, so its professionalism shouldn't be surprising. I just have trouble legitimizing the university staff having access to higher quality campus information than students. Furthermore, I have trouble understanding why the Aggie can't tap into the student potential that letters to the editor assure me exists.
Two Aggie columnists have something interesting to say and are more-or-less capable of articulating it. Michelle Rick works the sassy/clever approach for her column. Though the approach is deeply cliché and sometimes interferes with the actual content of her articles, she otherwise executes it well and, let's face it, it's a medium whose principle objective is to entertain rather than to inform. While I appreciate her talent, her flippancy and posed coolness have earned her one of my friends' undying hatred. Lior Gotesman on the other hand is a solid, if stereotypical, advocate of philosophy. He's hostile to thoughtless consumerism and passionate about the meaning of life. It would put me to sleep if it wasn't interestingly written.
The columnists have improved since last year to the point of consistent mediocrity (except columnist/editor-in-chief Richard Procter who is an excellent writer). There is no low hanging fruit for me to pounce on. The same cannot be said of the Aggie's editorial section.
Zach Han is the worst writer I have ever seen published. He generally chooses topics immediately after they have been beaten to death by mainstream media. He then manages to demonstrate misunderstanding of even TV news' terribly oversimplified explanations of current events. It's as if he took a fractured understanding of a Fox news report, applied some ill-conceived restructuring and then imposed some asinine moral summation he'd heard from a passerby. To add insult to injury, he goes out of his way to use big words and complex sentence structures beyond his apparent reach. The result is a series of syntactical and logical errors that confound the flow of his insipid conclusions. I am appalled by Zach Han's writing on so many levels that just thinking about it makes me see red.
In diametric opposition to Han is the finest Aggie writer I have come across, one James Noonan. There is no minority perspective so persecuted or valuable at a liberal university as the intelligent conservative's and James Noonan is living proof. He writes articulately and fearlessly, exposing hypocrisy and waste in our university and country. Noonan is no partisan hack, though. One of my favorite articles was his caustic assault on Bill O'Reilly.
Unfortunately, Noonan and Procter are in the stark minority at our campus paper. Most Aggie readers pick it up for the Sudoku rather than its bumbling calendar section, comic strips, articles, columns or commentary on world events. I find myself reading it more to mentally shred the writing than for information. Instead, I've taken to scrounging the faculty and staff's weekly periodical, Dateline UC Davis.
In contrast to the Aggie, Dateline UC Davis is interesting, competent, informative, coherently structured and unobtrusively written. It is especially good for finding seminars, guest lectures and Mondavi Center events. It also finds fascinating campus research to report and thoughtfully probes into campus trends and occurrences. By trying for less, Dateline is ultimately more useful to students than the paper the students directly fund.
Dateline is produced by the full-time UC Davis News Service, so its professionalism shouldn't be surprising. I just have trouble legitimizing the university staff having access to higher quality campus information than students. Furthermore, I have trouble understanding why the Aggie can't tap into the student potential that letters to the editor assure me exists.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Davis Rain
My freshman year at college I wasn't sure that it was possible to get sick of rain. It probably isn't in Southern California. That winter it rained for a month straight and in a brief moment of weakness I yearned for the sun's glare.
It's been raining for about three weeks now without indication of letting up. I'm still enjoying it. My favorite place in the house has become our bathroom because it's the only room with a skylight. You can hear each raindrop hit the glass and gaze up at the mottled grey sky. Never has pondering on the throne been so prime.
I photographed a drippy faucet at work in the Chem Dispensary. Davis water is so hard that most faucets on campus have an impressive encrustation around their taps. This one was particularly spectacular.
The soil in Davis is completely waterlogged. Every pore seems to be oozing moisture and green has been sprouting in unusual places. The weather's starting to warm in spite of the relentless rain, some trees are blooming and in between rainstorms I'm noticing some telltale signs of the Davis spring.
We're not there yet, but the hints have gotten me thinking wistfully of the coming season's heady atmosphere and raucous enthusiasm. It's the time when we revolt against winter's heavy cares and stop giving a shit about school. It's the time when possibilities stretch out. Indeed, spring is the season of Picnic Day.
I won't, as is fashion, be getting wasted this Picnic Day. My mother's visiting. Surely we can appreciate Picnic Day as a multifaceted event that can be enjoyed in many ways? I'm crossing my fingers for sunny weather, though. That KDVS parade I participated in a couple of years ago turned out to be a death march.
It's been raining for about three weeks now without indication of letting up. I'm still enjoying it. My favorite place in the house has become our bathroom because it's the only room with a skylight. You can hear each raindrop hit the glass and gaze up at the mottled grey sky. Never has pondering on the throne been so prime.
I photographed a drippy faucet at work in the Chem Dispensary. Davis water is so hard that most faucets on campus have an impressive encrustation around their taps. This one was particularly spectacular.
The soil in Davis is completely waterlogged. Every pore seems to be oozing moisture and green has been sprouting in unusual places. The weather's starting to warm in spite of the relentless rain, some trees are blooming and in between rainstorms I'm noticing some telltale signs of the Davis spring.
We're not there yet, but the hints have gotten me thinking wistfully of the coming season's heady atmosphere and raucous enthusiasm. It's the time when we revolt against winter's heavy cares and stop giving a shit about school. It's the time when possibilities stretch out. Indeed, spring is the season of Picnic Day.
I won't, as is fashion, be getting wasted this Picnic Day. My mother's visiting. Surely we can appreciate Picnic Day as a multifaceted event that can be enjoyed in many ways? I'm crossing my fingers for sunny weather, though. That KDVS parade I participated in a couple of years ago turned out to be a death march.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
On Waste and Creativity
Happy One Thousand Views to my remaining loyal readers out there. I wish the Dilettante had arrived at this auspicious occasion in better shape. I wish my posting wasn't so infrequent as of late, but I assure you that my priorities are honorable and well-considered.
Today John Lazur and I sparred over the concepts of wasted time and uncaptured creativity. I will confess, the conversation struck a nerve in me.
It came to a head because I was in a bad mood. We humans are essentially empirical beings. Our actions generally follow trial and error rather than active thought. Moods are consequently essential for dislodging our path from false minimums. So though John had been harping on me for awhile, it wasn't until today that I brought the issue to a head.
One of the most haunting aspects of my college experience has been the dogged feeling that I have neither grown nor improved upon the flawed person I arrived at Davis with. This is partly a product of the wholesale romanticization of the college experience perpetrated by our elders. Many people recall their college years being formative ones that combined crazy adventures with dizzying intellectual growth.
There was nothing so depressing my freshman year as reflecting on how much I must have been missing. It was consequently with considerable joy that I discovered and embraced KDVS and music the next year. Having an organization to identify with and access to amazing resources, I felt that KDVS was the first thing in college that I was doing right.
The crash in my grades precipitated by this newfound outlet seems in retrospect to have been inevitable. The boundless possibilities that I was so keenly aware of suddenly came crashing around my head as I was forced to recognize my own limitations. This was exacerbated by my realization that Davis was short of interesting, intelligent people. Apparently those with the big ideas, those that could get themselves past the bullshit and hang-ups of pseudointellectualism, had been handily whisked away to better colleges. I knew such people existed because I had known them in high school, but I found that Davis students were overwhelmingly either depressingly stupid or depressingly tunnel-visioned.
I found exceptions, though. One by one I cobbled together a collection of outliers that transcended the Davis norm. These people were about as smart as me and nearly as unique. Leo Protas was witty and affable, though we never completely connected. Adam Kendall and John Lazur were hung up on their brand of militant atheism, but were otherwise fascinating individuals. Allison was of course perfectly stimulating, if inaccessible. The two girls I've dated in the last couple of years, Kylise and Jill, also were dynamic discoveries of mine as well as a few other individuals that I never capitalized on. These exceptions ended up being impossible to congeal into a group, but my essential needs for thoughtful conversation had been fulfilled through patience and a keen eye.
That said, it has been remarkable how few hijinks my roommates and I have gotten up to considering that we have no shortage of ideas. We never formed a band. We never got anything to grow but a bit of sad garlic in our double-size plot at the Experimental College Gardens. We never started a bike repair shop out of our apartment. We never syndicated a "modern art" chain museum with forged art by fictional artists. We never hosted a clandestine bike race. We never used the library computers to fake ad hits for revenue on Howard's blog. We never fixed the stable of abandoned bikes that we "reclaimed" from campus. We never dressed up as each of our favorite Starcraft units for Halloween. We never killed and ate a duck from the Arboretum. Verily, our active minds have been sorely wasted through our years at college.
I started this blog as an outlet for my creativity, but for every post on here there are two unused post ideas. The truth is that a terrifically low percentage of my creative ideas are ever brought to fruition. The process of creation is a painful, abortive one. Partly, it forces me to only try the most worthwhile among them, but there is also no process that reeks so desperately of waste as creation. Every nougat of inspiration that fails to connect, every plan too oversized for real life and every idea that doesn't receive due time weighs heavily on my mind.
I suppose that we must in hindsight content ourselves with the best we can do rather than the best we think we can do. However, I will be the first to advocate setting one's aim continuously above one's capabilities. Discontentment is the price we pay for productivity and it seems a minor one-- usually. When discontentment overwhelms us we must remind ourselves of the calculus we once made so carefully in plotting our life approach. We must remind ourselves that some variation in fortunes and morale are to be expected along the way, and that if we only trust to our former selves we will ride them out successfully. If we did our calculus correctly, there will be no bright sunlight on the other side, simply a manageable cloudiness. We will continue to take what solaces we may and we will march on into the future, bearing our continuing frustration as our continuing pride. Satisfaction is for the weak.
Today John Lazur and I sparred over the concepts of wasted time and uncaptured creativity. I will confess, the conversation struck a nerve in me.
It came to a head because I was in a bad mood. We humans are essentially empirical beings. Our actions generally follow trial and error rather than active thought. Moods are consequently essential for dislodging our path from false minimums. So though John had been harping on me for awhile, it wasn't until today that I brought the issue to a head.
One of the most haunting aspects of my college experience has been the dogged feeling that I have neither grown nor improved upon the flawed person I arrived at Davis with. This is partly a product of the wholesale romanticization of the college experience perpetrated by our elders. Many people recall their college years being formative ones that combined crazy adventures with dizzying intellectual growth.
There was nothing so depressing my freshman year as reflecting on how much I must have been missing. It was consequently with considerable joy that I discovered and embraced KDVS and music the next year. Having an organization to identify with and access to amazing resources, I felt that KDVS was the first thing in college that I was doing right.
The crash in my grades precipitated by this newfound outlet seems in retrospect to have been inevitable. The boundless possibilities that I was so keenly aware of suddenly came crashing around my head as I was forced to recognize my own limitations. This was exacerbated by my realization that Davis was short of interesting, intelligent people. Apparently those with the big ideas, those that could get themselves past the bullshit and hang-ups of pseudointellectualism, had been handily whisked away to better colleges. I knew such people existed because I had known them in high school, but I found that Davis students were overwhelmingly either depressingly stupid or depressingly tunnel-visioned.
I found exceptions, though. One by one I cobbled together a collection of outliers that transcended the Davis norm. These people were about as smart as me and nearly as unique. Leo Protas was witty and affable, though we never completely connected. Adam Kendall and John Lazur were hung up on their brand of militant atheism, but were otherwise fascinating individuals. Allison was of course perfectly stimulating, if inaccessible. The two girls I've dated in the last couple of years, Kylise and Jill, also were dynamic discoveries of mine as well as a few other individuals that I never capitalized on. These exceptions ended up being impossible to congeal into a group, but my essential needs for thoughtful conversation had been fulfilled through patience and a keen eye.
That said, it has been remarkable how few hijinks my roommates and I have gotten up to considering that we have no shortage of ideas. We never formed a band. We never got anything to grow but a bit of sad garlic in our double-size plot at the Experimental College Gardens. We never started a bike repair shop out of our apartment. We never syndicated a "modern art" chain museum with forged art by fictional artists. We never hosted a clandestine bike race. We never used the library computers to fake ad hits for revenue on Howard's blog. We never fixed the stable of abandoned bikes that we "reclaimed" from campus. We never dressed up as each of our favorite Starcraft units for Halloween. We never killed and ate a duck from the Arboretum. Verily, our active minds have been sorely wasted through our years at college.
I started this blog as an outlet for my creativity, but for every post on here there are two unused post ideas. The truth is that a terrifically low percentage of my creative ideas are ever brought to fruition. The process of creation is a painful, abortive one. Partly, it forces me to only try the most worthwhile among them, but there is also no process that reeks so desperately of waste as creation. Every nougat of inspiration that fails to connect, every plan too oversized for real life and every idea that doesn't receive due time weighs heavily on my mind.
I suppose that we must in hindsight content ourselves with the best we can do rather than the best we think we can do. However, I will be the first to advocate setting one's aim continuously above one's capabilities. Discontentment is the price we pay for productivity and it seems a minor one-- usually. When discontentment overwhelms us we must remind ourselves of the calculus we once made so carefully in plotting our life approach. We must remind ourselves that some variation in fortunes and morale are to be expected along the way, and that if we only trust to our former selves we will ride them out successfully. If we did our calculus correctly, there will be no bright sunlight on the other side, simply a manageable cloudiness. We will continue to take what solaces we may and we will march on into the future, bearing our continuing frustration as our continuing pride. Satisfaction is for the weak.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Craft Beer
I have a new hero and his name is Ken Grossman. He just finished giving a guest lecture at my Introduction to Beer and Brewing class and he is the cofounder and owner of Sierra Nevada Brewing Company. He's handsome too, a true American Hero. He sits on the right with Sierra's since-retired cofounder Paul Camusi.
This instigated the following recounting of my beer discoveries:
Sierra Nevada Pale Ale- With it's consummately American "Cascade" hops and striking bitterness, this beer played a major role in forging the style known as American Pale Ale. Though there are many close contenders for the best beer of this category, my house's taste-testing has firmly set this classic at the top of the heap.
Pilsner Urquell- I'm as much of a fan of drinking local as the next person, but you can't ignore the rest of the world and you certainly can't boycott a drink so self-assured and likeable as this. It's sweet yet balanced and perfectly approachable.
New Belgium's Skinny Dip- As is the tendency with New Belgium, the makers of Fat Tire, the malt has a fair bit of caramel, even bordering on subtle charring. It was that element in this summer ale that blew my mind with it's grilled vegetable undertones.
Gordon Biersch's Marzen- Another California beer institution, Gordon Biersch's Marzen is more accessible than Sierra's Pale Ale. It's sweet and fruity and malty. Recommended for those of you not yet entirely won over by beer.
Leffe- This Belgian beer completely baffled me at the get-go. It embodied everything I disliked about beer. It's corn syrupy and has a back-of-the-mouth bitterness that seems plain sneaky. Over the course of drinking it my assumptions underwent a paradigm shift. It's so bad it's good and it's so deliberately carried out that I can't help but admire it. That said, it's not the sort of thing I expect to buy much of.
Jill, who is no beer enthusiast, was elated at the beer and bought an entire six pack. Then she realized she didn't love Leffe as much as her memory had built it up. Take this as you will.
Shiner Bock- A lecture about various types of beer left me most excited about the existence of dark lagers, particularly Bocks. I went to the store and bought the only Bock on the shelf and it was glorious. I can't say anything about the merits of the brand due to my limited experience, but what a great style of beer.
Kirkland Beer- Howard came home from winter break with a selection of Kirkland beers. What will they think of next? Howard reported paying seventy five cents per bottle. As you might imagine the product was quite good but not definitive in any way. It's a great way to drink distinctive beer a greater proportion of the time.
As it is, our household vascillates between craft beer and mainstream lagers. I have nothing bad to say about domestic lagers, except that they taste much better if you haven't had them for a while (PBR in particular). My professor, Charles Bamforth, is always talking about how they are extremely finely made beers, though they have very little flavor. He explains that companies have little incentive to skimp on ingredients because ingredients compose a minor component of a beer's wholesale value and that the beers lack flavor because demand favors inoffensive beer. You silly, silly people.
This instigated the following recounting of my beer discoveries:
Sierra Nevada Pale Ale- With it's consummately American "Cascade" hops and striking bitterness, this beer played a major role in forging the style known as American Pale Ale. Though there are many close contenders for the best beer of this category, my house's taste-testing has firmly set this classic at the top of the heap.
Pilsner Urquell- I'm as much of a fan of drinking local as the next person, but you can't ignore the rest of the world and you certainly can't boycott a drink so self-assured and likeable as this. It's sweet yet balanced and perfectly approachable.
New Belgium's Skinny Dip- As is the tendency with New Belgium, the makers of Fat Tire, the malt has a fair bit of caramel, even bordering on subtle charring. It was that element in this summer ale that blew my mind with it's grilled vegetable undertones.
Gordon Biersch's Marzen- Another California beer institution, Gordon Biersch's Marzen is more accessible than Sierra's Pale Ale. It's sweet and fruity and malty. Recommended for those of you not yet entirely won over by beer.
Leffe- This Belgian beer completely baffled me at the get-go. It embodied everything I disliked about beer. It's corn syrupy and has a back-of-the-mouth bitterness that seems plain sneaky. Over the course of drinking it my assumptions underwent a paradigm shift. It's so bad it's good and it's so deliberately carried out that I can't help but admire it. That said, it's not the sort of thing I expect to buy much of.
Jill, who is no beer enthusiast, was elated at the beer and bought an entire six pack. Then she realized she didn't love Leffe as much as her memory had built it up. Take this as you will.
Shiner Bock- A lecture about various types of beer left me most excited about the existence of dark lagers, particularly Bocks. I went to the store and bought the only Bock on the shelf and it was glorious. I can't say anything about the merits of the brand due to my limited experience, but what a great style of beer.
Kirkland Beer- Howard came home from winter break with a selection of Kirkland beers. What will they think of next? Howard reported paying seventy five cents per bottle. As you might imagine the product was quite good but not definitive in any way. It's a great way to drink distinctive beer a greater proportion of the time.
As it is, our household vascillates between craft beer and mainstream lagers. I have nothing bad to say about domestic lagers, except that they taste much better if you haven't had them for a while (PBR in particular). My professor, Charles Bamforth, is always talking about how they are extremely finely made beers, though they have very little flavor. He explains that companies have little incentive to skimp on ingredients because ingredients compose a minor component of a beer's wholesale value and that the beers lack flavor because demand favors inoffensive beer. You silly, silly people.
Monday, February 2, 2009
25 Facts About Max
Like so many things, my first reaction to the "25 Things" meme was haughty but after a few weeks continued exposure to people's various lists I came around. Without an obvious route to entertaining the audience I think writing about oneself is poor form. That may come as surprise considering my particularly intense self-love and the very fact that I write a blog. However, I feel that, properly done, blogs manage to entertain while simultaneously wallow in self-absorption. It's become apparent that "25 Things" share that quality. Thus, I present 25 Facts About Max:
1. I am didactic. I'm always explaining things to people whether or not they're curious, because if they aren't curious, they ought to be. I'm enriching their lives!
2. I am a critic. Like a movie critic, except of everything.
3. I love to argue. Or at least I have a hard time not instigating arguments and a hard time extricating myself from them. I enjoy the exchange of ideas and the friendly competition.
4. I love getting schooled in an argument. Of course I'm disconcerted at first, because that rarely happens, but it's nice to be reminded that I still have things to learn. Props to Aaron Robinson for schooling me in history this past October.
5. If I thought I had the talent my ideal job would be writing.
6. I'm so sick of hearing about and seeing Obama everywhere. Stop beating him to death! Nobody can hold up to these obscene expectations. He is not Jesus.
7. I bicycle everywhere and almost always take the stairs. This is motivated by impatience rather than by health or environmental considerations.
8. Apparently I have a bit of a lisp. I had no idea until this past summer when I was listening to a recording of my radio show and I mentioned to Brandon that it almost sounded like I had a lisp, and he was like, "Yeah, you do a little."
9. I'm an Eagle Scout. Everyone seems surprised to hear that one. Go figure...
10. I was taught to try anything once. I think my parents meant food, not everything. My dad was pretty disconcerted when I took a puff of his friend's cigar when offered, like I'd transgressed some bond of trust. I'm just extending the rule he taught me so well.
11. That said, addictive substances scare the crap out of me. It has only recently occurred to me that a coffee addiction might be a net positive.
12. I approach my life very analytically. I approach my politics very analytically. People tell me it comes off cold when I approach lifesaving legislation as a numbers game, who knew?
13. That said, I believe logic to be a flawed system. Socrates is a douche.
14. I am a moral relativist and do not believe that any principle is absolute.
15. I consider creativity to be a major component of intellect and I consider intellect to be the most important quality in a person.
16. I grew up in a household culture where we constantly made fun of eachother's quirks and flaws. I love people who can take that sort of abuse and I love still more those who can also dish it out.
17. In the early stages of my music obsession I sold my soul to allmusic.com for it's wisdom. Even now, you'll find my opinions of albums and artists to suspiciously mirror star ratings found on the site.
18. I'm fascinated by the androgyny of glam rock. I think it'd be totally badass to dress like the New York Dolls.
19. Four staples compose the majority of my calorie intake: frozen pizza, potatoes with cheese, chili with rice, and beer.
20. Freshman year I was named "honorary asian" by a group of asian kids on my floor, cause I was better with chopsticks and ate weirder stuff than they did. Later they revoked it, but it was for personal reasons. They just didn't like me anymore. Or maybe I sucked too much at Smash Bros...
21. I grew up helping my dad make wine, yet I prefer beer. Oh the shame. But wine is such a heavy drunk.
22. I own 31 vinyl LPs because it's trendy, but I don't even have a record player.
23. I think we are in the midst of the greatest golden age the world has ever seen.
24. The justification for every financial corner I cut (and I rarely buy required textbooks) is that I am saving up to travel.
25. My first kiss was within the last six months.
1. I am didactic. I'm always explaining things to people whether or not they're curious, because if they aren't curious, they ought to be. I'm enriching their lives!
2. I am a critic. Like a movie critic, except of everything.
3. I love to argue. Or at least I have a hard time not instigating arguments and a hard time extricating myself from them. I enjoy the exchange of ideas and the friendly competition.
4. I love getting schooled in an argument. Of course I'm disconcerted at first, because that rarely happens, but it's nice to be reminded that I still have things to learn. Props to Aaron Robinson for schooling me in history this past October.
5. If I thought I had the talent my ideal job would be writing.
6. I'm so sick of hearing about and seeing Obama everywhere. Stop beating him to death! Nobody can hold up to these obscene expectations. He is not Jesus.
7. I bicycle everywhere and almost always take the stairs. This is motivated by impatience rather than by health or environmental considerations.
8. Apparently I have a bit of a lisp. I had no idea until this past summer when I was listening to a recording of my radio show and I mentioned to Brandon that it almost sounded like I had a lisp, and he was like, "Yeah, you do a little."
9. I'm an Eagle Scout. Everyone seems surprised to hear that one. Go figure...
10. I was taught to try anything once. I think my parents meant food, not everything. My dad was pretty disconcerted when I took a puff of his friend's cigar when offered, like I'd transgressed some bond of trust. I'm just extending the rule he taught me so well.
11. That said, addictive substances scare the crap out of me. It has only recently occurred to me that a coffee addiction might be a net positive.
12. I approach my life very analytically. I approach my politics very analytically. People tell me it comes off cold when I approach lifesaving legislation as a numbers game, who knew?
13. That said, I believe logic to be a flawed system. Socrates is a douche.
14. I am a moral relativist and do not believe that any principle is absolute.
15. I consider creativity to be a major component of intellect and I consider intellect to be the most important quality in a person.
16. I grew up in a household culture where we constantly made fun of eachother's quirks and flaws. I love people who can take that sort of abuse and I love still more those who can also dish it out.
17. In the early stages of my music obsession I sold my soul to allmusic.com for it's wisdom. Even now, you'll find my opinions of albums and artists to suspiciously mirror star ratings found on the site.
18. I'm fascinated by the androgyny of glam rock. I think it'd be totally badass to dress like the New York Dolls.
19. Four staples compose the majority of my calorie intake: frozen pizza, potatoes with cheese, chili with rice, and beer.
20. Freshman year I was named "honorary asian" by a group of asian kids on my floor, cause I was better with chopsticks and ate weirder stuff than they did. Later they revoked it, but it was for personal reasons. They just didn't like me anymore. Or maybe I sucked too much at Smash Bros...
21. I grew up helping my dad make wine, yet I prefer beer. Oh the shame. But wine is such a heavy drunk.
22. I own 31 vinyl LPs because it's trendy, but I don't even have a record player.
23. I think we are in the midst of the greatest golden age the world has ever seen.
24. The justification for every financial corner I cut (and I rarely buy required textbooks) is that I am saving up to travel.
25. My first kiss was within the last six months.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
New Year's Update
I've got a girlfriend. I've been dating Jillian Miller for a couple of months now and things are going very, very well. Those counting will realize that that makes Jill my first girlfriend, so on top of absolutely adoring her I am also flushed with the elation that comes when everything is brand new.
I'll be doing a lot of reading this quarter due to my humanities heavy course load. Good literature always makes me want to start writing. Not blogging, mind you, I've always wanted to write the next great American novel. I will too. I've already got the plot outline so now I'm just fleshing it out. It occurred to me that the basic outline is a straight rip from the Star Wars saga, but no worries, most literature is anyways.
After two months of riding Brandon's bike while I procrastinated fixing a simple flat, I'm finally back on the Ash Maiden. After Brandon's beautiful monstrosity, the Maiden feels like a toy in my hands. I forgot what it feels like to fly.
I'll be doing a lot of reading this quarter due to my humanities heavy course load. Good literature always makes me want to start writing. Not blogging, mind you, I've always wanted to write the next great American novel. I will too. I've already got the plot outline so now I'm just fleshing it out. It occurred to me that the basic outline is a straight rip from the Star Wars saga, but no worries, most literature is anyways.
After two months of riding Brandon's bike while I procrastinated fixing a simple flat, I'm finally back on the Ash Maiden. After Brandon's beautiful monstrosity, the Maiden feels like a toy in my hands. I forgot what it feels like to fly.
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