Toast for Brekkie

Sunday Picnic

Or as the French say, "pique-nique." Peek neek. I'm not joking.

I've been riding this wave of good fortune since somewhere around, oh, December 19th and it hasn't crested yet. Last week I received a care package in the mail from the happy little smurfs at the USBNC. I'm sitting here right now with their cookies in my tummy and their spirit on my mind. Not only did I receive most of the major Baha'i writings, but a badical "world citizen" t-shirt, some incredible edible treats, and a card signed by everyone that nearly brought me to tears. Thanks you guys. I heart you all.

Then this weekend happened. Friday I went swing dancing again, as promised. It gets better every time. I wasn't very motivated when taking ballroom and latin dance a couple months ago, but that was probably since I was the youngest student by about 20 years. I look forward to swinging all week, not least because of the great people there.

The same people who invited me to the picnic yesterday. The pictures below should tell the story pretty well. I knew it was going to be a good day when the sun came out and the puffy white clouds accompanied me on the drive to Orlando. At the riverside park it was beautiful, 75 degrees and breezy. We played dance football (crazy, right?), freeze tag, and several other games invented for people a third our age. I'm proud to say I was the winner of the chubby bunny contest, with 12 marshmallows. Sorry, no pictures of that. Not too sure you want to see Rabid George. Get it? Bunny? Rabid? Nevermind.

You all should have been there. This is the kind of fun awaiting you.

Ailleurs

I could easily devote all my time and the entirety of this blog to music. I must admit that at times I fall prey to lure of hoarding good music to myself in a vain attempt to claim it or make it feel more special via the exclusion of others. If you live long enough, however, you realize that exclusivity is a hollow comfort; the mask eventually begins to itch. It is in this spirit that I would like to introduce you to an artist very dear to my heart--one that in an older frame of mind I might never have shared. Her name is Keren Ann.

To give credit where due, Mandar was the first to introduce me. It used to be difficult to get her albums into the US, ordering either from France or Canada. But she's released an English album on Blue Note so you should be able to find the first two records as her reputation grows on this side of the pond.

With influences like Françoise Hardy and Serge Gainsbourg, as well as John Lennon, Chet Baker, Nick Drake and Suzanne Vega, it should quickly become evident why I am head over heels for this singer/songwriter. Her lyrics are inspired--poetic in a way that I refuse to mar with my words. Her melodies are timeless; it seems as though you've always known them. Every one of her pieces breaks my heart, then mends it. Hers is the voice of an angel.

For a dreamy look into the world of Keren Ann, you should begin here, with the video for Ailleurs. Let me know what you think. I already know I'll cherish her music as long as I'm alive.

Katie 80

Just a quick one: do yourself a favor and go check out the latest entry from Strongbad, dreamail. I've seen 'em all, and this is one of the best since Trogdor.

Starfruit

One advantage to living in Florida is the backyard tropical fruit that people bring in to work. I enjoyed this starfruit as an afternoon snack today (not for brekkie). Mild in tropical flavor, fibrous with some celery overtones, very juicy and fun to eat.

I like to move it

I've spent the last two nights dancing and I've reached a conclusion: I need more moves. Don't get me wrong, when they play "Hey Ya" or "Stayin' Alive" or "Billy Jean," I'm there, I'm down, I can get funky. But when the beat boys start throwin' down, I'm outclassed. I can't even do the worm. Is there such a thing as hip hop dance lessons?

Friday night was my first time swing dancing, and those guys and gals are incredible. It's so smooth it looks choreographed. There's an interesting vestige of this sort of dancing, though: the man leads, the lady follows. Is this something we should be worried about? How about a feminist perspective on this? When you watch, it looks like the lady is doing all the work; when you try, it quickly becomes obvious that there is great responsibility on the part of the guy giving the commands. Firm but fluid, snappy but not rough. Indeed, given the right lead, many girls can do things they didn't know beforehand just by following along. Is this really an area that needs change, or can we acknowledge the beauty of two people moving in unison and let it be?

I wish this weekend didn't have to end. And I owe the last two nights of fun to my new friends Lou and Eric, pictured with me below. I fully intend to learn how to swing dance as well as these guys; I'll keep you posted as to how it goes. To all of you out there: I encourage you to bust a move today.

"C" is for Cookie

I meant to add in my anti-Palm entry an argument my mother has always had: you can't make a sheet of paper disappear. You have to burn or shred or crumple it. Data, on the other hand, are so easily lost that most of us from the information generation take it as an everyday occurence. OS crashing, program hanging, corrupted files, failed hard drives. And the blog entry I just lost when trying to upload a file because I mistakenly hit "create new entry" instead of "show me the html." How about you show me a computer that logs every entry: an 'undo' function for everything. Just to add a little Tao here, that's something Palm can do. It logs every letter instantaneously; there's no saving files.

The reason you're really here, though, is the cookie update. I did in fact follow through on the promise of cookies to the riddle solver, and Doncky Face got his favorite, oatmeal raisin. Except I substituted craisins for raisins and added pecans. I would have a nice rosy picture of the finished product, but it was lost in the Great Memory Wipeout of aught-five. So you'll have to settle for a pic of the package I sent out last week. And Ben will have to tell you if they were any good.

I also extended the riddle prize to my coworkers, though on a vastly shortened timescale: two minutes. Nonetheless, they prevailed, and white chocolate macadamia was had by all. I found the note below today in the empty container. I guess they were pretty good.

Napoleon goes bowling

You know that scene in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure where they take the little Corsican to the local bowling alley and it's nothing but gutterballs? Remember what he said? That was me this morning when I found out my Palm died over the weekend.

"Died?" you say, "Like, just the battery?" Well, yes and no. Yes the battery died. But no, it wasn't only that. Remember those pictures I promised? Gone. My contacts, calendar, preferences? Gone, but unlike the photos, thankfully backed up. Silly me, I expected some sort of backup battery to bleed current to the memory. Gosh, Palm, is that too much to ask?

Now, I've done this before. With this same device. I took a series of photos over a weekend and didn't bring the charger along. Juiced the battery to the point where it warned me every time I took a new photo. So I powered it off and left it that way, and all was well at work Monday for the HotSync.

Not so today. My best guess is that after I shut it down on Sunday it self-started Monday to remind me that it was a holiday. But rather than shut itself off when I didn't respond (as I was asleep) it merrily displayed the reminder until 0% power. And all my precious photos were no more.

This wouldn't be so bad if there had been some warning. I went back and read the fine print of the user's manual and they say that a loss of data can occur if the battery is fully drained. What kind of crap is that? I routinely use my cellphone to the last drop of power, and it doesn't erase all my contacts when I recharge it. Lame, Palm, LAME.

So I apologize for the false promises. I've already been through the five stages, but I still wanted to vent here. I was going to post a self-portrait with a sad face, but the damn thing is still charging.

Holy Huygens Probe, Batman!

Oh MAN I can't believe I forgot about this in the steamy nightclubs of Orlando. They did it! The Huygens probe landed on Titan! Go ESA!

There are rocks. Rocks! Pebbles, or methane, or water ice, or something, they're still analyzing the photos. We couldn't see through the atmosphere with telescopes, so the probe has shown us some amazing things. Drainage channels, a possible shoreline, and liquid seas of methane and other hydrocarbons?! This is a BIG deal, people. I won't even go into the aerodynamic complexities of designing parachutes for an atmosphere we could only speculate about. But I'm so excited! Titan is Saturn's largest moon and the only moon in the solar system with a significant atmosphere (even Mars has less than 1% of Earth's atmosphere). In fact, of bodies the size of Earth, its only competitor is Venus, whose surface temperature is 900 degrees Fahrenheit, hot enough to melt lead (not to mention the intense surface pressure crushed Soviet probes within seconds). Contrast that with Titan's surface temp of -292 F. Kinda makes you happy to be on Earth, huh? At least here the oceans are water and not supercold "paint thinner." Still, science fiction springs to mind, with future explorers making pitstops at Titan to refuel their rockets from oceans of cryogenic methane.

Some sites to check out include the Cassini mission homepage at JPL and of course news sites like cnn. There's even a blog by a cnn reporter. I love it when journalists get as sappy as I do.

And as a post script to my previous entry, check out this study of consciousness and faith...they even talk about world peace, fundamentalism, and the failure to abandon beliefs in the face of irrefutable logic. Awesome!

Duality

Church/State, Science/Religion, Reason/Spirituality

I've been with my parents in Orlando (partying, if you can believe it) since Thursday. I should have pictures for you this week. They've just introduced me to Boston Legal, and there's a case this week about creationism vs. evolution. Funny, I ran across an article on this topic last week at cnn.com. We also saw Flight of the Phoenix tonight, in which a character said something to the effect of, "Spirituality is not religion. Religion divides people." And remember in the previous post I went on about discovering things about our origins in comets?

I must admit I'd be all fired up about this in the past. Like most people get fired up about their beliefs regarding the origins of life. I think people don't like being confused. And they don't like change; there is comfort in constancy. So they choose to believe what someone else says about how it really happened, or a few might invent or amalgamate their own story. You would think scientists would be more willing to accept new ideas. But it's a human trait to get stuck in a rut, to want to believe "things are the way they are" and not have to make your brain hurt anymore.

Mostly now I'm just discouraged. One way that I've avoided this sort of confusion (please don't think that I'm supporting creationism here--I have faith in science) for the past several years is separating myself completely from spirituality and religion. This has not been a good plan. Perhaps it's just as difficult to hash out these issues in my head as it is for the courts to do so in the case of the separation of church and state. It's all well and good that I feel a renewed sense of spirituality. But what about the people I encounter everywhere I go with no apparent reason or faith? Or those who forsake one for the other, as I am guilty of doing? Is it arrogant to say that many people don't seem ready for world peace? Help me out here.

Of Ravens and Writing Desks

Here's a little something to brighten your Tuesday. I came up with this as I was drifting off last night. First person to give the answer I'm thinking of gets made-from-scratch cookies in the mail. Riddle me this:

Like my instruments, I am both sharp and blunt. Who am I?

Star Brek

Where No Man Has Gone Before. I got this email from my Very Funny friend Ben today:

Subject: Star Brek: Where No Man Has Gone Before
Date: Mon 01/10/05 08:56 AM

Well George, you're a star now. I guess. I was just trying to figure out how I could incorporate Brekkie into the subject line and this was as good as it got.
Read your blog. Very nice. Can't believe you'd never heard of FOB before. Never heard of synchronized douching though.
It was good talking with you yesterday, just wish I had more to talk about. Maybe my New Year's resolution should be to be more exciting and engaging, NAH!
Here's the addy for my page.

www.geocities.com/bobocowan/main.htm

Enjoy.
-Ben.

To know Ben is to laugh. You should check out his site, it's a fledgling just like this one. But funnier.

Speaking of hilarity, I came across a term today that describes what I subjected my yard to this weekend: lawn mullet. You know, business up front, party in the rear? I'm gonna have to dig up those old pics of my transition from shoulder-length hair to Mr. Clean. I ran through several hair styles in the interim, including a glorious three hour stint with a dog, a mullet, and a pickup truck.

The Life Aquatic

Boy, I'm just post-happy today, aren't I? Not to be confused with post-modern. Har.

I just saw Wes Anderson's latest film. Have you seen this guy? He's more than a little eccentric. But if you're familiar with Bottle Rocket, Rushmore, and The Royal Tenenbaums, you knew what to expect, right? Well, maybe.

Bill Murray is back, as is Owen Wilson. And apparently ol' Wes had a few more dollars at his disposal this time and the result is some pretty wacky marine effects. At first I was a bit puzzled. Indeed, compared to Rushmore, the laughs, while still out loud, were fewer and more subtle. And of course the trailers had deflated most of the funnier lines.

But what I came to realize by the end of the film was surprising. First, it's that this isn't simply a comedy. This is one of the childhood dreams of the director, laid out before us in the technicolor imagination of youth. We get a peek inside Anderson's head at age 11 1/2, when he read and watched everything he could about Jacques Cousteau, and was probably a junior member of the society. We get a chance to see, in characteristic fashion, just how things might have played out in the filmmaker's own little reality. We even see Anderson's bitterness toward his father. It's funny. It's touching. And in my mind, it's a masterpiece.

Why use such a strong word for a film I didn't like as much as Rushmore? Because it was art. Art isn't about whether or not you like it. Honestly, I don't think Wes had me specifically in mind as he was creating the film, and I doubt he cares what I think about it. And let me just open a can of worms here, but who really finds Picasso's cubism appealing to the eye? You're right, though, that's missing the point. Art is about creativity. Art is about challenging the status quo. Art is about whether or not and how well the artist gets his point across. And it is here in the modern art of filmmaking that Anderson is without peer. Everything about this movie, from costumes to dialogue, from cinematography to plot, conveys the singular, cohesive vision of the director. Not a scene is out of place. Not a detail overlooked. This is why I call it a masterpiece, and this is why I think you should see it if you haven't already. You may not like it. But, like Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, that doesn't make it any less perfect.

Calling all Chicagoans

Not that you would, but you could. Come to visit me that is. US Airways is running promotional fares to sunny Florida. I checked, and it's $98 round trip (plus taxes of course). Ninety-eight bucks. Are you tired of the snow yet?

I didn't forget you Texans, either, but it's $198 from Dallas. I know you were just here, but you could come down for a weekend. Ain't no thang.

I need more cowbell

I'm listening to Brazilian Electronica while reading redundancy management documents at work today. Given the rhythm section, there's only one man I can think of: Christopher Walken.

Lend me your ears

It's difficult in the nascent period of anything, be it a job, a relationship, or a blog, to determine just how much and what to say. From what I've seen of bloggers the spectrum is wide, from the minutiae of daily life (as the title here ironically implies) to some desperate attempt at belabored profundity. I'm sure to fall somewhere in between.

I continue to be impressed with my new friends and with life in general. When things are going well, you really have to breathe it deeply, you know? And it makes small setbacks much easier to smooth out. For instance, I wanted to have some kickin' pictures of the External Tank moving from the Turning Basin to the VAB for all of you today, but got stuck reviewing schematics. Nas was kind enough to counsel me through it, as she is wont to do with many of her friends, natural born mentor that she is. And our vocabulary sparring today helped take my mind off the missed opportunity.

I'd like to share with you a word I didn't know existed until today: synecdoche. Go ahead, look it up. I'll wait.

Ok, back? If you knew it already, you must leave a comment. Nas knew it, and I was duly impressed. I can't believe there's a word for that concept! What's even stranger is the pronunciation. It helped to have the audio file online. Think "Schenectady." I'm resolved to using synecdoches as much as possible in everyday conversation now. "Taste my steel, knave!"

There are two other things I've been obliged to mention. The first is FOB. I'll see what I can to do explicate this little inside joke, but of course you know it's never funny if you have to explain it. I was recently informed during my twenty-minute crash course on Persian history and culture that FOB is not just everyone's favorite synonym for 'deception,' but also an acronym for "Fresh Off the Boat." It's used in reference to people who have yet to or refuse to assimilate to their new country's customs and language. Those already familiar with this term had a field day when Dannon recently truncated their trademark phrase "Fruit on the Bottom." Hilarity ensued.

The final topic of the day is siesta. After hearing so much about them recently, I relented and took a little catnap yesterday evening. I awoke so refreshed I had to share the news. Nas and I shortly concluded that naps could be the key to world peace. How could you kill your neighbor when they're all cute and groggy? It's no wonder I envy Spanish culture so much.

Blogger, Label Thyself

A long, long time ago, I can still remember discussing the seed of this idea with Lacey. It's taken a year, a graduate degree, and a meeting of minds in Orlando to see the light of day. I'd like to begin with a shout out to everyone's favorite lady, the illustrious Dr. Graves. I could write essays on all the ways she personifies cool, but suffice it to say that without her creativity and expertise that you would not be reading these words. I can never hope to be as hip as Lacey, and I know my blog won't stand against hers in terms of quality, design, photography or content. But I prefer not to think of it as a competition; it's more of a monarch/subject relationship, and I seek to bring glory to the crown. Let it hereby be declared that another blog has been annexed to the queendom of lay-c.com, and may it grow and prosper in reflection of its origins. Long live the queen!

Oh, and as for the title, I can remember the original requirements:

Post regularly
Be thoughtful
and no "I had toast for brekkie"

I find that only too fitting a title. And I think the best way to begin is by allowing Lacey's original post to stand. I'm not one for too much "meaning" or "purpose" anyway, right?

P.S. Don't expect things to stay the same. Change is afoot!

George, welcome to the blogosphere

Well here it is, the long-awaited blog of The George. Feel free to delete this entry later, as you will probably want to make your own first entry and make it full of meaning and purpose. Right? Anyways. If you have any questions, you know where to find me. And for the record, I'm annoyed that T9 does not have "blog" in its vocabulary.