Results. So I just got back from my last workout before my week-long vacation in Kansas and Missouri. I did Check Your Legs I, which is 3 rounds for time, each round consisting of 25 bodyweight squats, 25 lunges on each leg, 50 switches, 12 jumping squats, and 25 kettle bell swings with a 50 lb. kettle bell. You do all of this while wearing a weighted vest with 10% of your body weight. Since I'm in a bragging kind of mood, I've embedded the ranking for this routine. For the record, Millie is a mother in her mid 40s who absolutely dominates everyone else at the gym. I'm quite proud of myself today.
LogsItAll.com Custom Ranking
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Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Blogger of the Narcissus
WTF. So I was gonna hit up the ATT store with my old man this evening to transfer my cell phone service to my own plan, as well as pick up a new phone while I'm there. My current model has been a P-O-S since day one, despite how cool I thought it was at the time. Of course when I arrive at the store, my dad has his signature disapproving look strapped on nice and snug. Turns out their "system" is "down" and they haven't been able to do much of "anything" all day. Which begs the question, what the hell were they doing with the store open all day to begin with? That shit is weaksauce.
This also begs another question: Why do you care? Or perhaps more appropriately, why do I think you care? It's because aside from masturbation, there is no more self-centered act than blogging. I believe that what happens to me and what I think about it actually matter to people. And the anonymity of the internets implies that I believe there are random people out there who don't know me but really should. Thank God I'm here to give them what they don't know they want. This is what confused me about blogs when I first heard about them, way back in the summer of '04.
One of the girls I interned with in the Office of Admission at the U. of Richmond was telling us that she would blog about her roommate issues. Of course, she had a link to her stupid little blog in her AIM profile. (Do kids even use AIM and its profile feature anymore?) Anyway, I said, "Obviously, your roommate can just click on your blog when she's going through AIM profiles and see that you're not-so-anonymously talking smack about her. Why don't you just talk to her face to face?" I didn't pay attention to her answer because, as it turns out, there really was no one out there who wanted to listen to what she had to say, and my impression of these "web-logs" was forever cast.
By "forever," I mean about four years. I think part of my interest stems from my eventual forsaking of the mainstream media and adoption of the Netroots as one of my primary sources of information. Corporate media have no incentive to present the facts as they are. Example: If the unwashed masses believe that the presidential election isn't even close at this point in the race, why should they watch the news? In order to keep viewership up, there is too much incentive to fabricate a narrative that suggests that the race is in fact a close one. This will keep asses in seats and eyes glued to the TV sets. This is only one example of the many failures of the mainstream media market.
Back to blogs, though. I'm obviously not in the business of debunking media myths and dispensing truth from my electronic soapbox, unless you believe in the truths of manginas, pounding nerds, and Crossfit.
If you do, welcome, brother/sister, you have a home here.
For me, I like the idea, even if it is only an idea, that there is an audience for my thoughts. For example, look at the iPod game I just posted. I enjoy sharing aspects of my life with others, even if the others really only exist in my own mind. This shouldn't be seen as contradictory to my distaste for cell phones/cell phone culture, though. Cell phones allow anyone to drop in on your life at any given moment. There is no sense of control there. With this space, I can control what is shared, how much is shared, and how often.
In that spirit, here's something I think is worth getting off my chest. As progressive, cosmopolitan, and well-informed as I like to think I am, I'm just as susceptible to ignorant BS as the next guy. In fact, I often wonder if I'm just another one of the unwashed masses, subject to whichever way the wind is blowing. And yes, I acknowledge that this thought betrays a certain sense of elitism. One of the key pieces of evidence I use to arrive at this conclusion is the fact that between 2003 and 2005, I dabbled in various forms of conservatism. Perhaps the pinnacle of this dalliance came in the fall semester of 2004. WARNING: This may upset you, regardless of how you know me now. It's some pretty awful stuff. The circumstances are explained in the link, so here it is...
LINK
Again, not one of my prouder moments. And yet here I am, still angry of course, only now I consider myself a leftist. Am I a slave to the grass always being greener on the other side? A decided turn in the general public opinion of things? Let's face it, it's pretty easy to call yourself a progressive these days. You're not exactly taking a courageous stand by criticizing conservatives. In this sense, I'm not exactly entitled to call myself a DFH, as I did in at least two previous posts. That would imply that I was in the opposition when the country was thirsty for A-rab blood (and oil), appalled at the idea of two men marrying, and generally disdainful of those who disagreed with the status quo. Essentially, I was the type who made DFHs what they were. Not exactly something I'm chomping at the bit to take credit for, but I like to think that I'm at least conscious of where I fit in now and how that correlates to where I've been in the past.
This also begs another question: Why do you care? Or perhaps more appropriately, why do I think you care? It's because aside from masturbation, there is no more self-centered act than blogging. I believe that what happens to me and what I think about it actually matter to people. And the anonymity of the internets implies that I believe there are random people out there who don't know me but really should. Thank God I'm here to give them what they don't know they want. This is what confused me about blogs when I first heard about them, way back in the summer of '04.
One of the girls I interned with in the Office of Admission at the U. of Richmond was telling us that she would blog about her roommate issues. Of course, she had a link to her stupid little blog in her AIM profile. (Do kids even use AIM and its profile feature anymore?) Anyway, I said, "Obviously, your roommate can just click on your blog when she's going through AIM profiles and see that you're not-so-anonymously talking smack about her. Why don't you just talk to her face to face?" I didn't pay attention to her answer because, as it turns out, there really was no one out there who wanted to listen to what she had to say, and my impression of these "web-logs" was forever cast.
By "forever," I mean about four years. I think part of my interest stems from my eventual forsaking of the mainstream media and adoption of the Netroots as one of my primary sources of information. Corporate media have no incentive to present the facts as they are. Example: If the unwashed masses believe that the presidential election isn't even close at this point in the race, why should they watch the news? In order to keep viewership up, there is too much incentive to fabricate a narrative that suggests that the race is in fact a close one. This will keep asses in seats and eyes glued to the TV sets. This is only one example of the many failures of the mainstream media market.
Back to blogs, though. I'm obviously not in the business of debunking media myths and dispensing truth from my electronic soapbox, unless you believe in the truths of manginas, pounding nerds, and Crossfit.
If you do, welcome, brother/sister, you have a home here.
For me, I like the idea, even if it is only an idea, that there is an audience for my thoughts. For example, look at the iPod game I just posted. I enjoy sharing aspects of my life with others, even if the others really only exist in my own mind. This shouldn't be seen as contradictory to my distaste for cell phones/cell phone culture, though. Cell phones allow anyone to drop in on your life at any given moment. There is no sense of control there. With this space, I can control what is shared, how much is shared, and how often.
In that spirit, here's something I think is worth getting off my chest. As progressive, cosmopolitan, and well-informed as I like to think I am, I'm just as susceptible to ignorant BS as the next guy. In fact, I often wonder if I'm just another one of the unwashed masses, subject to whichever way the wind is blowing. And yes, I acknowledge that this thought betrays a certain sense of elitism. One of the key pieces of evidence I use to arrive at this conclusion is the fact that between 2003 and 2005, I dabbled in various forms of conservatism. Perhaps the pinnacle of this dalliance came in the fall semester of 2004. WARNING: This may upset you, regardless of how you know me now. It's some pretty awful stuff. The circumstances are explained in the link, so here it is...
LINK
Again, not one of my prouder moments. And yet here I am, still angry of course, only now I consider myself a leftist. Am I a slave to the grass always being greener on the other side? A decided turn in the general public opinion of things? Let's face it, it's pretty easy to call yourself a progressive these days. You're not exactly taking a courageous stand by criticizing conservatives. In this sense, I'm not exactly entitled to call myself a DFH, as I did in at least two previous posts. That would imply that I was in the opposition when the country was thirsty for A-rab blood (and oil), appalled at the idea of two men marrying, and generally disdainful of those who disagreed with the status quo. Essentially, I was the type who made DFHs what they were. Not exactly something I'm chomping at the bit to take credit for, but I like to think that I'm at least conscious of where I fit in now and how that correlates to where I've been in the past.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Fun and Games
This actually looks pretty cool. I've tried someone else's and it was impossible, even though there were plenty of songs that I knew.
Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 3: Bold/strike out the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Italicize the last song to be guessed.
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like the game post your own!
Step 6: If I did yours, do mine.
1. Who's that knockin' on the door
2. You jump, jump here, you jump, jump there
3. We're on our own, cousin
4. Think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now
5. See them walking hand in hand across the bridge at midnight
6. Breaking my back just to know your name
7. I thought I saw a man brought to life
8. Oh you shook me, you shook me all night long. (Harder than it looks)
9. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'
10. Such is the way of the world
11. On and on and on we'll stay together, yeah
12. God on high, hear my prayer
13. I hope you're happy, I hope you're happy now
14. All winter we got carried or way over on the rooftops just got merry
15. No one ever made me feel like someone, 'til him
16. When we laugh indoors the blissful tones bounce off the walls
17. By the time the buzz was wearing off
18. Ain't seen a night, things work out right, go by
19. There was a man on the road about an hour ago
20. I should warn you, when I'm not well, I can't tell
21. Lady sing the blues so well
22. Well a young man ain't got nothin' in the world these days
23. M-e-t-h-o-d-o-f-l-o-v-e
24. In another town, don't let me forget
25. And when it rains on this side of town it touches everything
Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 25 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing.
Step 3: Bold/strike out the songs when someone guesses both artist and track correctly. Italicize the last song to be guessed.
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like the game post your own!
Step 6: If I did yours, do mine.
1. Who's that knockin' on the door
2. You jump, jump here, you jump, jump there
3. We're on our own, cousin
4. Think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now
5. See them walking hand in hand across the bridge at midnight
6. Breaking my back just to know your name
7. I thought I saw a man brought to life
8. Oh you shook me, you shook me all night long. (Harder than it looks)
9. Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin'
10. Such is the way of the world
11. On and on and on we'll stay together, yeah
12. God on high, hear my prayer
13. I hope you're happy, I hope you're happy now
14. All winter we got carried or way over on the rooftops just got merry
15. No one ever made me feel like someone, 'til him
16. When we laugh indoors the blissful tones bounce off the walls
17. By the time the buzz was wearing off
18. Ain't seen a night, things work out right, go by
19. There was a man on the road about an hour ago
20. I should warn you, when I'm not well, I can't tell
21. Lady sing the blues so well
22. Well a young man ain't got nothin' in the world these days
23. M-e-t-h-o-d-o-f-l-o-v-e
24. In another town, don't let me forget
25. And when it rains on this side of town it touches everything
My Little Talking Crack Pipe
Addiction? I've been thinking about addiction lately. No, I'm not a drug addict. I'm very careful about which and how many vices I keep; narcotics is not one of them. Nor do I know any drug addicts. At this point, I think it's too early to tell if I know any alcoholics. If I do, it's a private matter, and for the few I suspect, it still hasn't been that long since graduating from college, so I can't be sure. Take a look back at the copious amounts of alcohol either you or your friends consumed in college. Remember the odd times of day and circumstances under which these kids drank? Now apply that to adult life. Perhaps no greater double standard exists than the one regarding alcohol consumption by college students versus working adults. It doesn't surprise me that so many people come out of college full blown alcoholics. In their minds, all they're doing is business as usual. Think about that the next time you find yourself pre-gaming for your niece's first communion.
Yesterday, I lost my cellphone. This may not seem like it falls under the same categories of addiction, like alcohol, sex, or black tar heroin, but not having my fix rendered me non-functional, unable to get through the day normally. I sacrificed the majority of the day to looking for ways to get that fix. An hour after arriving at work, I drove back home and turned my house upside down looing for the damn phone. On the way back, I stopped by the ATT store because I was already prepared to buy a new phone, but because I also wanted to transfer service, I couldn't do even that without my dad being there to sign off. I'm still on the family plan - weak.
By the time I got back to work, it was after 11am. I spent the next hour between my car and the school, thinking I may have left it there while locking up after the film shoot. No dice. 12pm = lunch, and there's no way I was giving up my hour, regardless of the circumstances. I may have put in a total of one hour of honest work before leaving at 3pm for the ATT store again to pick up a temporary replacement, which happened to be a fantastic Nokia model. Fast forward to getting home from locking up the school at 8pm, the cleaning lady having left several hours ago, and there's my God-forsaken phone staring up at me from the center of the kitchen table.
Looking back, it's pretty stunning that my life stopped in its tracks because I didn't have my cell phone. I don't call or text on a regular basis. The whole home purchase thing means I've been making and receiving more calls than usual, but nothing huge. In fact, I've spent way more time complaining about my phone than appreciating its utility. Am I the only one who is against the idea of any- and everyone having 24/7 access to me? I find it intrusive, and I'll never feel like I have 100% me-time so long as I've got that phone in my pocket. By removing the phone from the equation, though, I felt cut off, nervous, and insecure.
Perhaps the phone's most useful function is as a security blanket.
Yesterday, I lost my cellphone. This may not seem like it falls under the same categories of addiction, like alcohol, sex, or black tar heroin, but not having my fix rendered me non-functional, unable to get through the day normally. I sacrificed the majority of the day to looking for ways to get that fix. An hour after arriving at work, I drove back home and turned my house upside down looing for the damn phone. On the way back, I stopped by the ATT store because I was already prepared to buy a new phone, but because I also wanted to transfer service, I couldn't do even that without my dad being there to sign off. I'm still on the family plan - weak.
By the time I got back to work, it was after 11am. I spent the next hour between my car and the school, thinking I may have left it there while locking up after the film shoot. No dice. 12pm = lunch, and there's no way I was giving up my hour, regardless of the circumstances. I may have put in a total of one hour of honest work before leaving at 3pm for the ATT store again to pick up a temporary replacement, which happened to be a fantastic Nokia model. Fast forward to getting home from locking up the school at 8pm, the cleaning lady having left several hours ago, and there's my God-forsaken phone staring up at me from the center of the kitchen table.
Looking back, it's pretty stunning that my life stopped in its tracks because I didn't have my cell phone. I don't call or text on a regular basis. The whole home purchase thing means I've been making and receiving more calls than usual, but nothing huge. In fact, I've spent way more time complaining about my phone than appreciating its utility. Am I the only one who is against the idea of any- and everyone having 24/7 access to me? I find it intrusive, and I'll never feel like I have 100% me-time so long as I've got that phone in my pocket. By removing the phone from the equation, though, I felt cut off, nervous, and insecure.
Perhaps the phone's most useful function is as a security blanket.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Food, glorious food
Cuisine. I just got through eating one of the most delicious meals I've ever had. You know who prepared it? This guy. With my folks out of town for their annual Cape May vacation, I'm on my own for meals, and I wanted to avoid blowing too much money on takeout. Now that I've sorta opened up and started eating many more vegetables and other non-meat, non-starch foods, I've got a great opportunity to start experimenting with many new ingredients. Not to mention that my impending nuptials mean that I will no longer be relying on the culinary expertise (or lack thereof) of my mother. I actually look forward to being responsible for preparing meals for myself and the future Mrs. KB. For brevity's sake let's call her "W" or "the Dub" from here on in.
Tonight's bill of fare started with a modified version of Whole Foods' Genius Salad. The recipe isn't anywhere online, but those who have eaten at Whole Foods probably know that it consists of broccoli, baby spinach, walnuts, red peppers, chicken, and some sort of oil that I haven't quite figured out. It's all raw (except for the chicken) and quite nutritious. My take on it was that I went heavier on the baby spinach, used olive oil, and to make up for the blandness of the baby greens, I splashed a healthy measure of balsamic vinegar. The result was extraordinary, and luckily I made enough to possibly last me until Friday.
The main course consisted of BBQ all-natural chicken cutlets that have been marinating in BBQ sauce since I got up to go to the gym this morning. The flavor was overwhelming in the best way possible. The cutlets were smaller than I'm used to, so they cooked more than I normally would have let them, but at least they were extra smoky. I also grilled some green and red peppers, some red onion, and some green squash, all touched up with a mixture of olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Earlier in the day, I ran some errands, which included picking up a few new pairs of boxer briefs, some low-cut socks, and a fantastic new ipod dock. There is certainly something to be said for preparing food while listening to some of your favorite tunes. It's like that one kitchen scene from The Big Chill.
Next up, either salmon or kebabs, Jemaine style.
Tonight's bill of fare started with a modified version of Whole Foods' Genius Salad. The recipe isn't anywhere online, but those who have eaten at Whole Foods probably know that it consists of broccoli, baby spinach, walnuts, red peppers, chicken, and some sort of oil that I haven't quite figured out. It's all raw (except for the chicken) and quite nutritious. My take on it was that I went heavier on the baby spinach, used olive oil, and to make up for the blandness of the baby greens, I splashed a healthy measure of balsamic vinegar. The result was extraordinary, and luckily I made enough to possibly last me until Friday.
The main course consisted of BBQ all-natural chicken cutlets that have been marinating in BBQ sauce since I got up to go to the gym this morning. The flavor was overwhelming in the best way possible. The cutlets were smaller than I'm used to, so they cooked more than I normally would have let them, but at least they were extra smoky. I also grilled some green and red peppers, some red onion, and some green squash, all touched up with a mixture of olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Earlier in the day, I ran some errands, which included picking up a few new pairs of boxer briefs, some low-cut socks, and a fantastic new ipod dock. There is certainly something to be said for preparing food while listening to some of your favorite tunes. It's like that one kitchen scene from The Big Chill.
Next up, either salmon or kebabs, Jemaine style.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Put the Lotion in the Basket
Decisions. I would like to point out that I've been working at the same place since May '07. I just found out today that the work day ends at noon on Fridays during the summer. Let me repeat. I've been putting in 3 extra hours each week throughout the summer since I started. I believe I'm owed some overtime pay. Am I that detached from the ins and outs of my workplace or am I so ingrained already that it's just assumed that I know crap like this? Either way, it worked out nicely because I was planning on cutting out early today to go house hunting (or cavorting for condos???) with my fiancee and future mother-in-law.
Our journey took us from Springfield to Montclair and back. Rather than conduct our tour of Essex and northern Union County in a gas guzzling caravan of two or three, the three of us were chauffeured around by our real estate agent in her Prius. Not bad, even though my back sweat was sticking to her leather interior. Being the DFH that I am, I appreciated our agent's generous offer to take us around herself.
Two units we saw were in Springfield. They were hopelessly and, in my opinion, uselessly far from any public transportation, much less any semblance of a town center. I am a DFH. This means, among other things, that I judge all towns and cities according to how consistent they are with the Gospel of Jane Jacobs. I also believe in Peak Oil Theory. A home is only as good as how optional driving is in the area. If we're talking about buying a home as an investment, the forward-thinking approach for me is to make sure you won't require a car do to any little thing besides go for a lap around the block. The more centrally located, well connected areas will become most desirable, while the farther removed suburbs and exurbs will become the new slums.
We saw two units in Montclair, a very hip, desirable town. One was feet away from the train station, and the supersonic train whistles would never let you forget it. Not to mention it was laid out in a way that made it completely useless as a full time residence. The second unit in Montclair was in a beautiful 1920's converted apartment building. We knew there would be trouble, though, when we could hear a cat whining behind the door before we even walked in. I didn't clock us, but we made it in and out of that crap hole in record time. The twenty-something cat lady living there turned the place into a filth den that rivals Buffalo Bill's basement of horrors. Ironically, Bill was a dog lover. Thank God we didn't stumble upon Ted Levine dancing around with a man-gina. (The 2:30 mark). Which reminds me, hooray for new seasons of Monk and Psych starting tonight.
We saw two other units in Springfield that were on a central road and less than a mile from the Short Hills train station. There is a jitney stop nearby, as well as plenty of NJTransit bus stops. One unit was particularly well suited to our needs, and since we were already together in the agent's office at the end of the day, my fiancee and I put together a preliminary offer sheet. Despite losing a condo in South Orange less than a month ago just when we were ready to close, we figured there's no sense in sitting around and waiting for the right place to pass us by just because we're still licking our wounds. The thought of starting this whole process all over again is already quite draining, though.
Our journey took us from Springfield to Montclair and back. Rather than conduct our tour of Essex and northern Union County in a gas guzzling caravan of two or three, the three of us were chauffeured around by our real estate agent in her Prius. Not bad, even though my back sweat was sticking to her leather interior. Being the DFH that I am, I appreciated our agent's generous offer to take us around herself.
Two units we saw were in Springfield. They were hopelessly and, in my opinion, uselessly far from any public transportation, much less any semblance of a town center. I am a DFH. This means, among other things, that I judge all towns and cities according to how consistent they are with the Gospel of Jane Jacobs. I also believe in Peak Oil Theory. A home is only as good as how optional driving is in the area. If we're talking about buying a home as an investment, the forward-thinking approach for me is to make sure you won't require a car do to any little thing besides go for a lap around the block. The more centrally located, well connected areas will become most desirable, while the farther removed suburbs and exurbs will become the new slums.
We saw two units in Montclair, a very hip, desirable town. One was feet away from the train station, and the supersonic train whistles would never let you forget it. Not to mention it was laid out in a way that made it completely useless as a full time residence. The second unit in Montclair was in a beautiful 1920's converted apartment building. We knew there would be trouble, though, when we could hear a cat whining behind the door before we even walked in. I didn't clock us, but we made it in and out of that crap hole in record time. The twenty-something cat lady living there turned the place into a filth den that rivals Buffalo Bill's basement of horrors. Ironically, Bill was a dog lover. Thank God we didn't stumble upon Ted Levine dancing around with a man-gina. (The 2:30 mark). Which reminds me, hooray for new seasons of Monk and Psych starting tonight.
We saw two other units in Springfield that were on a central road and less than a mile from the Short Hills train station. There is a jitney stop nearby, as well as plenty of NJTransit bus stops. One unit was particularly well suited to our needs, and since we were already together in the agent's office at the end of the day, my fiancee and I put together a preliminary offer sheet. Despite losing a condo in South Orange less than a month ago just when we were ready to close, we figured there's no sense in sitting around and waiting for the right place to pass us by just because we're still licking our wounds. The thought of starting this whole process all over again is already quite draining, though.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Casting Call
Creepy. I'm looking for some 14 and 15 year old girls. The younger looking, the better. Yeah, that's right, I'm rounding up extras for a classroom scene in a short film being shot next week at the school where I work.
Two weeks ago, a former classmate of mine who is now at film school at Columbia University, wanted to know if he could use our school for a short film he is producing. Titled The Sage, the film is about a young woman who is failing at her job as an 8th grade history teacher. The ghost of Frederick Douglass visits her one day and inspires her to become a better teacher and a better person. The End. Did I mention that Don King - the Don King - is cast as Frederick Douglass? You have to admit, the resemblance is a bit striking.
The director, Alexandra, came by yesterday to scout classrooms. She is very professional, organized, and enthusiastic, and she couldn't be more grateful for letting her use our building. Being the nice guy that I am, when she mentioned the need for extras, I volunteered my casting director services. Now I'm looking for 10 kids, mixed gender and ethnicity, that can pass for 8th graders. Since I work at an all-boys school, I've got plenty of candidates that I can turn to. Not so much with the girls. I don't know too many teenage girls. That's probably a good thing in the grand scheme of things, considering the people who do, but that doesn't help me out with this situation. Help would be appreciated.
Two weeks ago, a former classmate of mine who is now at film school at Columbia University, wanted to know if he could use our school for a short film he is producing. Titled The Sage, the film is about a young woman who is failing at her job as an 8th grade history teacher. The ghost of Frederick Douglass visits her one day and inspires her to become a better teacher and a better person. The End. Did I mention that Don King - the Don King - is cast as Frederick Douglass? You have to admit, the resemblance is a bit striking.
The director, Alexandra, came by yesterday to scout classrooms. She is very professional, organized, and enthusiastic, and she couldn't be more grateful for letting her use our building. Being the nice guy that I am, when she mentioned the need for extras, I volunteered my casting director services. Now I'm looking for 10 kids, mixed gender and ethnicity, that can pass for 8th graders. Since I work at an all-boys school, I've got plenty of candidates that I can turn to. Not so much with the girls. I don't know too many teenage girls. That's probably a good thing in the grand scheme of things, considering the people who do, but that doesn't help me out with this situation. Help would be appreciated.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
DFH
War. I don't read a lot of fiction. This is not by design. I read what I find interesting, compelling, and relevant. After all, we only have so much time on this Earth. Often, this leads me to history and the social sciences. I recently started to re-read a favorite of mine from high school and the work that may have set me on this path. Dreadnought is an epic account of the geopolitical goings-on from the middle of the 19th century until the day before the beginning of World War I. For such a great scholarly work, you wouldn't expect it to bring historical events to such a personal level. Robert K. Massie provides in-depth character studies of all of the monarchs, prime ministers, chancellors, admirals, etc. that shaped and were shaped by this unique time in history.
I mention my latest read because of a passage that I read today. I didn't realize the Karl Rove play book existed before the man was ever born:
"[Joseph] Chamberlain roamed the land, hammering on a single issue: the conduct of the [Boer] war. His purpose was to convince the electorate that a Liberal victory would mean the political defeat of British arms in South Africa. His theme became, 'A vote for the Liberals is a vote for the Boers!' (Emphasis mine). This charge was shouted from platforms, proclaimed by billboards and placards. Posters depicted prominent Liberals kneeling in tribute to [Boer] President Kruger, helping him haul down the Union Jack, even urging him to shoot British soldiers. One Liberal M.P. attacked in this fashion had lost two sons in the war and was actually visiting their graves in South Africa when the election was held."
Let's see. Over-extended nation state meets their military match in a rag-tag group of insurgents whose land was unjustly invaded by aforementioned nation state. Come election time, the nation's war hawks lambaste the leftists for being pussies and wanting to "lose" the war and portray progressive candidates as friends of the enemy. For good measure, they wrap themselves in the Stars and Stripes - errr . . . I mean Union Jack - and cruise to victory.
Those dirty f---ing hippies, when will they learn?
I mention my latest read because of a passage that I read today. I didn't realize the Karl Rove play book existed before the man was ever born:
"[Joseph] Chamberlain roamed the land, hammering on a single issue: the conduct of the [Boer] war. His purpose was to convince the electorate that a Liberal victory would mean the political defeat of British arms in South Africa. His theme became, 'A vote for the Liberals is a vote for the Boers!' (Emphasis mine). This charge was shouted from platforms, proclaimed by billboards and placards. Posters depicted prominent Liberals kneeling in tribute to [Boer] President Kruger, helping him haul down the Union Jack, even urging him to shoot British soldiers. One Liberal M.P. attacked in this fashion had lost two sons in the war and was actually visiting their graves in South Africa when the election was held."
Let's see. Over-extended nation state meets their military match in a rag-tag group of insurgents whose land was unjustly invaded by aforementioned nation state. Come election time, the nation's war hawks lambaste the leftists for being pussies and wanting to "lose" the war and portray progressive candidates as friends of the enemy. For good measure, they wrap themselves in the Stars and Stripes - errr . . . I mean Union Jack - and cruise to victory.
Those dirty f---ing hippies, when will they learn?
Monday, July 14, 2008
You're such a meathead
Meat. I understand that as first impressions go, my previous, first-ever blog entry betrays a certain je ne sais quoi. Actually, I do know what it is and it's meatheadedness, at least according to my future wife upon reading said entry. You can thank her for the title of this entry. You can thank Ogre and the Alpha Betas for showing the rest of us wannabes how it's done and pounding nerds whenever the opportunity arises. I learned in college that the amount of meat packed onto one's frame is directly correlated to the amount of meat one packs into the cranium. The more one talks about lifting, the less one wants to talk about reading, thinking, etc. Perhaps exercise redistributes body stuffs that would otherwise be used as brain cells? Maybe I was just born with natural disadvantages on both fronts. In fact I'm certain of that.
So for the sake of purging red meat from my otherwise gray matter, let's discuss something else. Tampa Bay Lightning franchise centerman Vincent Lecavalier is a wealthy man and is set to become an even wealthier man by way of $85 million over the course of the next 11 hockey seasons. The deal will take him up to his 39th birthday. Naturally, my first thought is that I can't relate to what it feels like to be swimming in money - literally if Vinny ever felt so moved to drain his swimming pool from the fresh Pellegrino he fills it with everyday and try something new.
Something else I can't relate to and that provides better food for thought is the feeling of being the best in the world at whatever it is that you do. Be it hockey, academia, medicine, pounding nerds, whatever. There is always a supremely elite class of performer who knows a feeling that no one else can truly know. One question that comes up is whether everyone has this one thing yet only a select few are lucky enough to unearth it. The idea is rather exhilarating and even egalitarian in a sort of kindergarten-eque, "you're all special" kind of way.
Life is a grind, though, and we only have limited time to explore our talents and capabilities before it's time to get serious. I feel like that time is shrinking, too, with our capabilities and roles being defined, either by others or ourselves under pressure from others, much earlier in life. I already sense this becoming an impossibly long entry, so I'll pick this up later. Suffice it to say now that conventional views of success and education are completely out of whack with what is actually needed from our promising young people.
Sincerely,
So for the sake of purging red meat from my otherwise gray matter, let's discuss something else. Tampa Bay Lightning franchise centerman Vincent Lecavalier is a wealthy man and is set to become an even wealthier man by way of $85 million over the course of the next 11 hockey seasons. The deal will take him up to his 39th birthday. Naturally, my first thought is that I can't relate to what it feels like to be swimming in money - literally if Vinny ever felt so moved to drain his swimming pool from the fresh Pellegrino he fills it with everyday and try something new.
Something else I can't relate to and that provides better food for thought is the feeling of being the best in the world at whatever it is that you do. Be it hockey, academia, medicine, pounding nerds, whatever. There is always a supremely elite class of performer who knows a feeling that no one else can truly know. One question that comes up is whether everyone has this one thing yet only a select few are lucky enough to unearth it. The idea is rather exhilarating and even egalitarian in a sort of kindergarten-eque, "you're all special" kind of way.
Life is a grind, though, and we only have limited time to explore our talents and capabilities before it's time to get serious. I feel like that time is shrinking, too, with our capabilities and roles being defined, either by others or ourselves under pressure from others, much earlier in life. I already sense this becoming an impossibly long entry, so I'll pick this up later. Suffice it to say now that conventional views of success and education are completely out of whack with what is actually needed from our promising young people.
Sincerely,
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Yes, I do think I'm better than you, and so do people like me
KB 2.0. That's been the theme of the past month. I joined a Crossfit affiliated gym in South Orange called RunJumpLift, and the results so far have been amazing. I'm not built to get big or anything like that, but I love the rush of a good hard workout and realizing improvements from week to week. I have to admit, when I first walked into this place for a 2-week trial, I was skeptical. What I saw amounted to a converted auto garage with a few basic pieces of workout equipment and free weights sitting against the walls, some pullup bars, and a rather intimidating set of truck tires and sledge hammers. All of this amounted to about one step above the Italian Stallion's arrangements in Rocky IV.
Of course, part of realizing said improvements rests on the right kind of diet, and I've noticed my performance improve significantly since I started to eat like I actually cared. Admittedly, I've never eaten well in the traditional sense. On second thought, I've always eaten well, just not healthily. I'm talking wings; I'm talking Mexican food; and hell yes, I'm talking anything from Sheetz at all hours of the day and night. Indeed, a freakishly fast metabolism has been one of my life's joys. Yet lately, I've found it easier than anticipated to forsake all types of delicious food. Could it be that my competitive impulse is so strong that I would sooner give up the best sloppy joe in the country than add a minute to my Barbara time? It would appear so, and based on how ridiculously well things have gone so far, I don't see myself turning back any time soon.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Cliff Bar in front of me with my name written all over it.
Of course, part of realizing said improvements rests on the right kind of diet, and I've noticed my performance improve significantly since I started to eat like I actually cared. Admittedly, I've never eaten well in the traditional sense. On second thought, I've always eaten well, just not healthily. I'm talking wings; I'm talking Mexican food; and hell yes, I'm talking anything from Sheetz at all hours of the day and night. Indeed, a freakishly fast metabolism has been one of my life's joys. Yet lately, I've found it easier than anticipated to forsake all types of delicious food. Could it be that my competitive impulse is so strong that I would sooner give up the best sloppy joe in the country than add a minute to my Barbara time? It would appear so, and based on how ridiculously well things have gone so far, I don't see myself turning back any time soon.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a Cliff Bar in front of me with my name written all over it.
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