Hey Mom,
I'm fine. Louisiana is nice, I think. I'm mostly staying with Memeem (my grandma), which is going pretty well. I'm enduring her micromanaging and in turn she's been super sweet. Uncle Pierre is a peach. Most of the fun I've had here, I can chalk up to him. Chris (my cousin) has gotten old enough that he's interesting to talk to. I'm totally at peace with the weather, but not the mosquitoes. The food is alternately amazing and, y'know, Memeem's frozen tidbits reheated plus pickled carrots.
I've been going to church with Pierre's family, which makes me a little nostalgic for when we used to go (how much should I give at collections? $5?). The actual work of putting together the family's land records is tedious and organizationally challenging, but it's kind of fascinating to dredge up all the family history.
So that's how I've been doing,
Max
Some anecdotes from my time here:
We shot an alligator that was in our lake. It took a few tries, but the third shot was "Swamp People good" and killed it dead. Unfortunately we fumbled on the collection and the alligator sank like a stone. So, no alligator steak for us.
We cooked half a pig in what is called a "Cajun microwave" (large metal box with coals on top that cooks by radiative heating). I will never forget the image of my uncle Jacques stepping out from under the roof into light drizzle, looking skyward as he very slowly chewed some morsel of pig, an expression of perfect ecstasy written across his face.
I drive my late grandpa's Lincoln town car (executive edition). Yes, I feel like a bad ass.
I listened in on a detailed discussion of how pretty much all animals taste good.
Instead of enduring the heat and humidity, I've mostly been enduring the arctic winter of Louisiana air conditioning. There is no reason for the thermostat to be set at sixty-five, guys.
We picked up some box lunches from a gas station mart that tasted better than any "Cajun" food you can find in California. It's roughly the equivalent of going to a taqueria in SoCal. Pork, beans and (dirty) rice.
Everybody is warm and friendly and knows how to have a good time. The parties are all-ages and always a blast.
We had a discussion of how some people in a small subdivision were angry at a black guy for moving in because it would lower their property values.
The clerk of court's office charges $1 per page of legal documents you print out and I've been printing hundreds of pages at a time, but nobody is going to count the pages for you or second-guess how many pages you say you printed. It would be called the honor system if it needed a name here. Have I mentioned that Ville Platte is a small town?
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Monday, July 25, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
January Update
Quite a few things in my life changed with the new year.
Howard finally moved from Davis. He's helping his parents out for awhile and then he's going to move to Santa Barbara and live with his sister.
I got a new girlfriend. Her name is Sarah. She is cool and things are going very well. We went to San Francisco last weekend and had a blast. Props to Mereb for his restaurant recommendation (Burma Superstar). I bought some random stuff in Chinatown (6.50 a pound for dried shiitakes!). We hung out with Matt and Cory and I finally got to see at least a part their brewing process.
I got a pea coat and an mp3 player for Christmas, both of which have been in near-constant use since I returned to Davis.
The mp3 player has caused kind of a music renaissance in my life. Basically, it's allowed me to listen to music of my choosing at work and in transit. I've been able to give a lot more music my undivided attention and I've started to intensively research and download music again. I've been working on developing a taste for emo and the Rolling Stones. Somewhere along the way I acquired a taste for Sunny Day Real Estate, Supergrass, the Beta Band, Fleetwood Mac's Tusk, the Jayhawks and the Vapors. I also reaffirmed my relationship with the Shoes and Wilco, finally listened to John Cale's solo work and finally acquired the two fabled power pop albums by the Searchers that I had been looking for since last spring.
Amidst all the fun and turnover, the application deadlines for various graduate programs have been rolling in. Which is why I'm apologizing for not posting anything else this month. It's not that my mind is not brimming with good post ideas, it's that I can't justify making good on them when I could be doing something so urgently useful. So, wish me luck. Heaven knows I can use all the help I can get to turn in a few halfway decent applications by their deadlines.
Howard finally moved from Davis. He's helping his parents out for awhile and then he's going to move to Santa Barbara and live with his sister.
I got a new girlfriend. Her name is Sarah. She is cool and things are going very well. We went to San Francisco last weekend and had a blast. Props to Mereb for his restaurant recommendation (Burma Superstar). I bought some random stuff in Chinatown (6.50 a pound for dried shiitakes!). We hung out with Matt and Cory and I finally got to see at least a part their brewing process.
I got a pea coat and an mp3 player for Christmas, both of which have been in near-constant use since I returned to Davis.
The mp3 player has caused kind of a music renaissance in my life. Basically, it's allowed me to listen to music of my choosing at work and in transit. I've been able to give a lot more music my undivided attention and I've started to intensively research and download music again. I've been working on developing a taste for emo and the Rolling Stones. Somewhere along the way I acquired a taste for Sunny Day Real Estate, Supergrass, the Beta Band, Fleetwood Mac's Tusk, the Jayhawks and the Vapors. I also reaffirmed my relationship with the Shoes and Wilco, finally listened to John Cale's solo work and finally acquired the two fabled power pop albums by the Searchers that I had been looking for since last spring.
Amidst all the fun and turnover, the application deadlines for various graduate programs have been rolling in. Which is why I'm apologizing for not posting anything else this month. It's not that my mind is not brimming with good post ideas, it's that I can't justify making good on them when I could be doing something so urgently useful. So, wish me luck. Heaven knows I can use all the help I can get to turn in a few halfway decent applications by their deadlines.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Berkeley and The Lost Coast
I visited Caius for his graduation ceremony and to go on a backpacking trip in the Lost Coast.
I finally got to meet his friend Claire, who's about as cool as I could have imagined. Caius's parents took us out to a delicious dinner and then we went home to Caius's coop and watched Carl Sagan, which was a campy trip. Saturday I had more interesting, thoughtful conversations in one day than I typically have in a month. I could probably write a handful of posts from what I discussed that day alone.
Caius's commencement that morning would have been pretty boring if not for his friend David, who I sat with. We chatted with his family afterwards at the reception. His graduation was extra special for the fact that Caius had dropped out of school for a year with no plans to return. Evidently his dad had promised to quit smoking if Caius ever graduated. Here's wishing him good luck.
That afternoon Caius and I took a nap and did yoga on his coop's roof. We checked out the "free pile" in the basement. We played dress-up for awhile, Caius picked out a shirt and I found a messenger bag in new condition. We also ate greek yogurt with honey in a broken, tilted couch hung outdoors on a rope that was reminiscent of a Dali painting. Caius and Claire and I had indian food for dinner accompanied by an intense discussion about the philosophical contrast between Pilsner and IPA. That night I chatted with Claire for a while and was *gasp* impressed by Stone IPA, which I guess has been due for another chance (John Lazur has called it his favorite beer). I got to meet another longtime friend of Caius's while we packed for our trip.
We left the next morning for the Lost Coast. We stopped along the way at a secret hot spring that's only accessible at low tide. About 500 feet down an incredibly steep bluff later we arrived to find about 35 mostly naked people crammed into the area of two VW bugs. I teetered a little, but I couldn't really imagine letting the opportunity slide, so I squeezed myself in. The spring had been dug out by hand and every day after high tide someone would siphon the cold seawater out. The temperature was perfect and everyone was friendly (you have to be when you're packed bare cheek to bare cheek). To top it off, an old guy passed out chocolate and strawberries to everyone.
The Lost Coast is breathtakingly beautiful. Most of the pictures I've found online were taken when it's sunny, but when we arrived at Shelter Cove, the mountains were wreathed in marine layer. The black sand in the cliffs and on the beach contrasted sharply with the deep green of the mountains. The pictures are courtesy of Caius's friend Kaija and you can find the rest of her photos from our trip here.
The vegetation ranged from fennel and cow parsley in the canyon openings to pine trees, ceanothus and manzanita up into the mountains. I've also never seen so much poison oak in one place. Poison oak was the one common denominator between all of the plant communities we passed through, from ridge-line chaparral to sand dunes. I got pretty good at dancing between branches with my frame-pack.
We were thirteen people, mostly from Caius's coop, Loth. All the food would be vegetarian, and the trip organizers had brought such luxuries as soy milk, broccoli and kale. I should note that every meal we had was incredibly delicious, partly because of the nature of backpacking, but partly because the food was excellent. No matter how crazy it was to bring something like kale or to forgo nutritious meat, our diet ended up being a lot closer to my at-home diet than my dad's summer sausage, nuts and dehydrated mashed potatoes. Also, despite my fears about all of the water and non-calories we were taking up, my pack weight was never enough to bother me much. I had much more trouble with the rocks and sand on the beach.
We camped the first night in Shelter Cove, not too far from our cars. We woke up to the sound of raindrops on our tents. That kind of set the tone for the day. We packed up and started walking down the beach. We found washed-up dead sea animals of enormous size, including an almost-fresh sting ray, two octupus, two chitons, a bunch of starfish and what looked like the remains of a grouper. The ten miles of beach that we planned on crossing that day were impassable at high tides, so we shivered for a couple of hours at a canyon opening for lunch while the wind did it's best to blow rain under our tarp and the tarp into the sky.
Lesson learned #1: It rains a lot in the Lost Coast.
Lesson learned #2: Waterproofed nylon isn't waterproof.
By the time we rolled into camp that night, everything I owned had been soaked through with rain. Actually, one thing was dry. A pair of socks I'd stuffed into my upside down camp cup was the only dry fabric I owned. Words cannot express my joy at finding those socks, which possibly illustrates how thoroughly demoralized we were by the end of that day. We huddled under our tarp, cooked and changed our clothes for any marginally drier ones we might have. Soon we shivered off to our tents and into our damp sleeping bags.
The next morning was cloudy and dewy, but the rain had finally stopped. We hung our clothes on trees that morning in hopes that they might dry, to little effect. Once we got walking, the dew on the grass quickly soaked my already wet sneakers to the point of squelching. We hiked up the canyon and forded the stream a couple of times. Thanks to my coop companions' liberal attitude towards nudity I managed to cross both fords without getting my clothes any wetter than they already were.
The next three miles were about the steepest switchbacks I've ever seen. You had to go slowly so your feet wouldn't slide back. I passed the time with a conversation about agribusiness and human rights (my answer was no, neither food nor technologically advanced seeds are or should be basic human rights).
That night the sky was clear and we crowded around the fire to dry our clothes by. It was pretty cool watching sleeping bags, shoes, socks and shirts all steaming away. A few of us decided to sleep on the ridgeline under the stars (who's perfect glory was only marred by my lack of glasses).
When I woke up, the sky had turned the faintest gray. I wondered if oncoming dawn had already obscured the stars or if those were clouds I was looking up at. A raindrop on the face answered my question. I yelled, "Wake up, guys, it's raining!". We hurried to pack our sleeping bags and scurried down the hill as the drops quickened and thickened. Soon we were in tents and fast asleep again.
By the time we woke up, things had progressed into a steady downpour. The hollow we'd camped in was slowly turning into a pond. We divided up our food for two groups: the one that would continue across the mountains to where we'd parked our cars (including Caius) and the group that had to turn back to get home for things (including myself and three others). Two long Caius-hugs later and the four of us were marching down the ridgeline against driving rain and gales that threatened to throw us off the ridge. Once again I felt the familiar sensation of my rain-jacket hemorrhaging water into my clothes beneath. The four of us tore down that hill at a near-run (quite a feat considering the precipitous angle).
We arrived at our first camp in the early afternoon. By that time, the rain had stopped and our clothes were just starting to dry, though both I and another had slipped in the increased river flow at the fords. Our goal was to camp in a canyon about four miles from where our cars were parked, but we were making such good time we'd started daring to hope we might make it to our beds by late that night. The tide forced us to break for dinner, but the sun came out while we were cooking, for the first time since our trip had started. It was amazing how quickly clothes dried under actual sunlight. The latitude pushed nightfall back almost an hour, but we still had nine miles of cobblestone and sand to cross.
The canyon opening we'd planned on camping in looked like something from a fantasy book in the twilight of sunset. We sat there awhile while the other Eagle Scout on the trip filtered fresh water. The trees arched over the stream to create a tunnel into the increasing darkness of the canyon, while the mist from the waves gave everything a hazy sort of aura about it.
As I think you might already suspect, we ultimately agreed to make our bid for home that night. I was pretty eager considering that my right ankle had settled into constant pain from all the abuse I'd heaped on it through the trip. I passed the time and pain of the final stretch again in discussion with postmodern socialists. By the time it was properly dark we'd finished with cobblestones and the moon had come out, so we never needed flashlights. The last couple of streams were too dark and too wide to completely jump, but we didn't really care because we knew we'd be able to take off our shoes soon enough.
A whirlwind of a car ride later and I was in Davis just before dawn broke. I took a long shower and curled into the warm bed I'd dreamed about all week.
I finally got to meet his friend Claire, who's about as cool as I could have imagined. Caius's parents took us out to a delicious dinner and then we went home to Caius's coop and watched Carl Sagan, which was a campy trip. Saturday I had more interesting, thoughtful conversations in one day than I typically have in a month. I could probably write a handful of posts from what I discussed that day alone.
Caius's commencement that morning would have been pretty boring if not for his friend David, who I sat with. We chatted with his family afterwards at the reception. His graduation was extra special for the fact that Caius had dropped out of school for a year with no plans to return. Evidently his dad had promised to quit smoking if Caius ever graduated. Here's wishing him good luck.
That afternoon Caius and I took a nap and did yoga on his coop's roof. We checked out the "free pile" in the basement. We played dress-up for awhile, Caius picked out a shirt and I found a messenger bag in new condition. We also ate greek yogurt with honey in a broken, tilted couch hung outdoors on a rope that was reminiscent of a Dali painting. Caius and Claire and I had indian food for dinner accompanied by an intense discussion about the philosophical contrast between Pilsner and IPA. That night I chatted with Claire for a while and was *gasp* impressed by Stone IPA, which I guess has been due for another chance (John Lazur has called it his favorite beer). I got to meet another longtime friend of Caius's while we packed for our trip.
We left the next morning for the Lost Coast. We stopped along the way at a secret hot spring that's only accessible at low tide. About 500 feet down an incredibly steep bluff later we arrived to find about 35 mostly naked people crammed into the area of two VW bugs. I teetered a little, but I couldn't really imagine letting the opportunity slide, so I squeezed myself in. The spring had been dug out by hand and every day after high tide someone would siphon the cold seawater out. The temperature was perfect and everyone was friendly (you have to be when you're packed bare cheek to bare cheek). To top it off, an old guy passed out chocolate and strawberries to everyone.
The Lost Coast is breathtakingly beautiful. Most of the pictures I've found online were taken when it's sunny, but when we arrived at Shelter Cove, the mountains were wreathed in marine layer. The black sand in the cliffs and on the beach contrasted sharply with the deep green of the mountains. The pictures are courtesy of Caius's friend Kaija and you can find the rest of her photos from our trip here.
The vegetation ranged from fennel and cow parsley in the canyon openings to pine trees, ceanothus and manzanita up into the mountains. I've also never seen so much poison oak in one place. Poison oak was the one common denominator between all of the plant communities we passed through, from ridge-line chaparral to sand dunes. I got pretty good at dancing between branches with my frame-pack.
We were thirteen people, mostly from Caius's coop, Loth. All the food would be vegetarian, and the trip organizers had brought such luxuries as soy milk, broccoli and kale. I should note that every meal we had was incredibly delicious, partly because of the nature of backpacking, but partly because the food was excellent. No matter how crazy it was to bring something like kale or to forgo nutritious meat, our diet ended up being a lot closer to my at-home diet than my dad's summer sausage, nuts and dehydrated mashed potatoes. Also, despite my fears about all of the water and non-calories we were taking up, my pack weight was never enough to bother me much. I had much more trouble with the rocks and sand on the beach.
We camped the first night in Shelter Cove, not too far from our cars. We woke up to the sound of raindrops on our tents. That kind of set the tone for the day. We packed up and started walking down the beach. We found washed-up dead sea animals of enormous size, including an almost-fresh sting ray, two octupus, two chitons, a bunch of starfish and what looked like the remains of a grouper. The ten miles of beach that we planned on crossing that day were impassable at high tides, so we shivered for a couple of hours at a canyon opening for lunch while the wind did it's best to blow rain under our tarp and the tarp into the sky.
Lesson learned #1: It rains a lot in the Lost Coast.
Lesson learned #2: Waterproofed nylon isn't waterproof.
By the time we rolled into camp that night, everything I owned had been soaked through with rain. Actually, one thing was dry. A pair of socks I'd stuffed into my upside down camp cup was the only dry fabric I owned. Words cannot express my joy at finding those socks, which possibly illustrates how thoroughly demoralized we were by the end of that day. We huddled under our tarp, cooked and changed our clothes for any marginally drier ones we might have. Soon we shivered off to our tents and into our damp sleeping bags.
The next morning was cloudy and dewy, but the rain had finally stopped. We hung our clothes on trees that morning in hopes that they might dry, to little effect. Once we got walking, the dew on the grass quickly soaked my already wet sneakers to the point of squelching. We hiked up the canyon and forded the stream a couple of times. Thanks to my coop companions' liberal attitude towards nudity I managed to cross both fords without getting my clothes any wetter than they already were.
The next three miles were about the steepest switchbacks I've ever seen. You had to go slowly so your feet wouldn't slide back. I passed the time with a conversation about agribusiness and human rights (my answer was no, neither food nor technologically advanced seeds are or should be basic human rights).
That night the sky was clear and we crowded around the fire to dry our clothes by. It was pretty cool watching sleeping bags, shoes, socks and shirts all steaming away. A few of us decided to sleep on the ridgeline under the stars (who's perfect glory was only marred by my lack of glasses).
When I woke up, the sky had turned the faintest gray. I wondered if oncoming dawn had already obscured the stars or if those were clouds I was looking up at. A raindrop on the face answered my question. I yelled, "Wake up, guys, it's raining!". We hurried to pack our sleeping bags and scurried down the hill as the drops quickened and thickened. Soon we were in tents and fast asleep again.
By the time we woke up, things had progressed into a steady downpour. The hollow we'd camped in was slowly turning into a pond. We divided up our food for two groups: the one that would continue across the mountains to where we'd parked our cars (including Caius) and the group that had to turn back to get home for things (including myself and three others). Two long Caius-hugs later and the four of us were marching down the ridgeline against driving rain and gales that threatened to throw us off the ridge. Once again I felt the familiar sensation of my rain-jacket hemorrhaging water into my clothes beneath. The four of us tore down that hill at a near-run (quite a feat considering the precipitous angle).
We arrived at our first camp in the early afternoon. By that time, the rain had stopped and our clothes were just starting to dry, though both I and another had slipped in the increased river flow at the fords. Our goal was to camp in a canyon about four miles from where our cars were parked, but we were making such good time we'd started daring to hope we might make it to our beds by late that night. The tide forced us to break for dinner, but the sun came out while we were cooking, for the first time since our trip had started. It was amazing how quickly clothes dried under actual sunlight. The latitude pushed nightfall back almost an hour, but we still had nine miles of cobblestone and sand to cross.
The canyon opening we'd planned on camping in looked like something from a fantasy book in the twilight of sunset. We sat there awhile while the other Eagle Scout on the trip filtered fresh water. The trees arched over the stream to create a tunnel into the increasing darkness of the canyon, while the mist from the waves gave everything a hazy sort of aura about it.
As I think you might already suspect, we ultimately agreed to make our bid for home that night. I was pretty eager considering that my right ankle had settled into constant pain from all the abuse I'd heaped on it through the trip. I passed the time and pain of the final stretch again in discussion with postmodern socialists. By the time it was properly dark we'd finished with cobblestones and the moon had come out, so we never needed flashlights. The last couple of streams were too dark and too wide to completely jump, but we didn't really care because we knew we'd be able to take off our shoes soon enough.
A whirlwind of a car ride later and I was in Davis just before dawn broke. I took a long shower and curled into the warm bed I'd dreamed about all week.
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.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Face Paint
Face paint is officially awesome.
Face paint is infinitely superior to masks. Breathable, flexible and compact not to mention emotive, face paint has the capacity to radically change your appearance with little money and full artistic license. Face paint can be deeply creepy or frightening without being static.
Of course, at college Halloween parties like the ones I visited this past weekend in Isla Vista, looking creepy and/or frightening is rarely the objective. For girls, Halloween is generally treated as an excuse to wear as little as possible. While guys are permitted a bit more wiggle room, considering Halloween mythology it is remarkable how nonthreatening the vast majority of costumes are. Come to think of it, Santa Barbara girls are no strangers to face paint, but the frightening result is sadly inadvertent.
I am a huge fan of holiday spirit and a hot nurse outfit just fails the Halloween litmus test. What happened to the desire to be thrilled by the holiday? Maybe these girls just thrill themselves at their own daring. I imagine standard costume-picking conversation to go something like this: "No way, that's just too slutty. I mean, that's over the line, even for you.""Oh, but yours is way sluttier than mine.""At least ours aren't as bad as so-and-so's.""Yeah!"
Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter and I'm not opposed to cleavage. I'm just waiting to see a rabid playboy bunny with nasty, big, pointed teeth.
And I assure that you will find a truly creepy or frightening costume to be deeply rewarding. You are a living part of the Halloween dream. I was talking to this girl that night as a mime and she was quite friendly, but when I started hitting on her she practically ran away. Not one hundred percent sure that was the paint...
So dress not to impress, but to terrify those around you. I demand monsters! It is your holiday duty just as come December it will be to spread holiday cheer. Dress as a skeleton, a vampire, a zombie, as Frankenstein's monster or a sinister rabbit of pure evil, just recall what makes Halloween Halloween and not another costume party.
Face paint is infinitely superior to masks. Breathable, flexible and compact not to mention emotive, face paint has the capacity to radically change your appearance with little money and full artistic license. Face paint can be deeply creepy or frightening without being static.
Of course, at college Halloween parties like the ones I visited this past weekend in Isla Vista, looking creepy and/or frightening is rarely the objective. For girls, Halloween is generally treated as an excuse to wear as little as possible. While guys are permitted a bit more wiggle room, considering Halloween mythology it is remarkable how nonthreatening the vast majority of costumes are. Come to think of it, Santa Barbara girls are no strangers to face paint, but the frightening result is sadly inadvertent.
I am a huge fan of holiday spirit and a hot nurse outfit just fails the Halloween litmus test. What happened to the desire to be thrilled by the holiday? Maybe these girls just thrill themselves at their own daring. I imagine standard costume-picking conversation to go something like this: "No way, that's just too slutty. I mean, that's over the line, even for you.""Oh, but yours is way sluttier than mine.""At least ours aren't as bad as so-and-so's.""Yeah!"
Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter and I'm not opposed to cleavage. I'm just waiting to see a rabid playboy bunny with nasty, big, pointed teeth.
And I assure that you will find a truly creepy or frightening costume to be deeply rewarding. You are a living part of the Halloween dream. I was talking to this girl that night as a mime and she was quite friendly, but when I started hitting on her she practically ran away. Not one hundred percent sure that was the paint...
So dress not to impress, but to terrify those around you. I demand monsters! It is your holiday duty just as come December it will be to spread holiday cheer. Dress as a skeleton, a vampire, a zombie, as Frankenstein's monster or a sinister rabbit of pure evil, just recall what makes Halloween Halloween and not another costume party.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Central Coast
Before the start of school I visited Southern California for a few days before embarking on a road trip with my mom and sister up the central coast to drop Bri off at UC Santa Cruz for her freshman year. As you can imagine, the trip necessitated some serious photography. Not one to shirk duty, I nearly filled up both memory sticks and ran through three sets of batteries.
We camped in San Simeon State Beach on our first night and the next morning we went for a walk.
Later that day, we stopped to see an elephant seal colony.
After camping in Big Sur, we arrived in Santa Cruz. Waiting in a line for unloading directions I noticed Brandon's distinctive political bumper stickers on the red minivan in front of us. His brother happened to be moving into the building next to my sister's.
Though Bri had been freaking out about the move the entire trip and we bailed on her that evening, when we brought her her mini fridge the next morning she already seemed to be flourishing.
Mom and I left up Pacific Coast Highway on a pilgrimage to Mavericks. We found the surf shop that held exclusive rights to the name in the middle of an industrial section of Princeton-by-the-Sea, a fishing village just north of Half Moon Bay.
In all of my travels through California that week I didn't find a town nearly so charming as this harbor hamlet. I resolved to spend a summer there if I get the chance.
Those rocks are a half mile out to sea and are threaded by the brave surfers of Mavericks. The biggest rock is almost two stories high. That day I was repeatedly informed that it was too flat to surf. Everybody there seemed to have a distorted understanding of the term "flat".
We camped in San Simeon State Beach on our first night and the next morning we went for a walk.
Later that day, we stopped to see an elephant seal colony.
After camping in Big Sur, we arrived in Santa Cruz. Waiting in a line for unloading directions I noticed Brandon's distinctive political bumper stickers on the red minivan in front of us. His brother happened to be moving into the building next to my sister's.
Though Bri had been freaking out about the move the entire trip and we bailed on her that evening, when we brought her her mini fridge the next morning she already seemed to be flourishing.
Mom and I left up Pacific Coast Highway on a pilgrimage to Mavericks. We found the surf shop that held exclusive rights to the name in the middle of an industrial section of Princeton-by-the-Sea, a fishing village just north of Half Moon Bay.
In all of my travels through California that week I didn't find a town nearly so charming as this harbor hamlet. I resolved to spend a summer there if I get the chance.
Those rocks are a half mile out to sea and are threaded by the brave surfers of Mavericks. The biggest rock is almost two stories high. That day I was repeatedly informed that it was too flat to surf. Everybody there seemed to have a distorted understanding of the term "flat".
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Train Ride
A week ago I returned to the land of my upbringing. It was probably my last trip home from Davis by train.
Given the choice between air and rail, I will choose the train. Sure it will take a full day and sure I love airplanes, but there is a certain leisure to rail car. Seats are spacious and there's a plug for your computer, but the clincher is just idly watching the land go by.
It's the same reason I love road trips, but it provides a radically different perspective of California. People don't put Billboards by train tracks. There is, in fact, zero effort made to beautify the scenery. Trains pass through the grimiest, greasiest parts of town and view only the backs of buildings. There's a romance to the disembodied wharf pilings, weeds, stacks of paving stones and piles of rusted scrap metal so common along rail routes.
Of course, traveling through California by train also has long stretches of extreme classical beauty. It's hard to avoid in this great state, but I managed to sleep through them.
The most memorable thing I saw passed too quickly for me to catch a photo. There was a teenage boy sitting on a roof, watching the train go by.
Sometimes photography is an art of ideas. Juxtapositions and new ways of looking at the world. It isn't hard to use a camera the way it is to draw or to play an instrument, you just need sharp focus and a close frame. I think that's why it's such a popular amateur pursuit.
Othertimes it's about being at the right place at the right time or being invisible. That's when photography becomes something requiring patience and skill. That's when I go back to words.
Given the choice between air and rail, I will choose the train. Sure it will take a full day and sure I love airplanes, but there is a certain leisure to rail car. Seats are spacious and there's a plug for your computer, but the clincher is just idly watching the land go by.
It's the same reason I love road trips, but it provides a radically different perspective of California. People don't put Billboards by train tracks. There is, in fact, zero effort made to beautify the scenery. Trains pass through the grimiest, greasiest parts of town and view only the backs of buildings. There's a romance to the disembodied wharf pilings, weeds, stacks of paving stones and piles of rusted scrap metal so common along rail routes.
Of course, traveling through California by train also has long stretches of extreme classical beauty. It's hard to avoid in this great state, but I managed to sleep through them.
The most memorable thing I saw passed too quickly for me to catch a photo. There was a teenage boy sitting on a roof, watching the train go by.
Sometimes photography is an art of ideas. Juxtapositions and new ways of looking at the world. It isn't hard to use a camera the way it is to draw or to play an instrument, you just need sharp focus and a close frame. I think that's why it's such a popular amateur pursuit.
Othertimes it's about being at the right place at the right time or being invisible. That's when photography becomes something requiring patience and skill. That's when I go back to words.
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