Tomorrow's the day. We get on a plane and head to Park City. On Sunday, we head north--two Harleys and a Cayenne, 2 kids, 4 adults. Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Lava Hot Springs. Should be fun.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Off to Yellowstone
Tomorrow's the day. We get on a plane and head to Park City. On Sunday, we head north--two Harleys and a Cayenne, 2 kids, 4 adults. Grand Tetons, Yellowstone, Lava Hot Springs. Should be fun.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Death of Cracker Nation
Maureen Dowd hit the nail on the head this morning. There have been signs these past few months that the downtrodden souls of Cracker Nation (Bill Maher coined the term recently) have gone from "wanting their country back," to really laying it on the line: we don't and won't accept your Black president.
Hopefully it only takes a few years to watch this ugliness die a painful death under the glare of the camera lights.
When it gets depressing, realize this: the more headlines that Limbaugh, Beck, and Wilsons of the world get, the faster this fire burns itself out.
Hopefully it only takes a few years to watch this ugliness die a painful death under the glare of the camera lights.
When it gets depressing, realize this: the more headlines that Limbaugh, Beck, and Wilsons of the world get, the faster this fire burns itself out.
Friday, September 11, 2009
09/11/09
Eight years after the 9/11 terrorist attack, I reflect back on that day. I was sitting in a political fundraising meeting at a local restaurant with my 2-month old sleeping in a baby carrier under the table when the attacks happened. I drove home oblivious to what had happened until my mother-in-law called me and told me to turn on the television. I immediately called my parents, who were living in the Netherlands while my dad served as a visiting professor at the law school of the University of Utrecht.
We should all pause and reflect on that day. I read something interesting today by someone who refuses to call 9/11 a tragedy. It was not a tragedy, he argued... it was an atrocity.
Below is a re-post of something I wrote this year.
Now, there's an attention-grabbing title for you!
Gotta work my way into this one. A while back, I wrote about how conferences make me really depressed. I often read the entire enterprise as a text when I go to these things--right down to the nylon name badge holders, bags, rubber chicken meals and freebies from vendors. My reading of the way these items weave themselves into a narrative centered on the theme of the professional gathering is really depressing: none of us is interesting, nothing we are doing here matters, and we are all going to die. Every piece of conference ephemera--note pads, conference programs, little pens, lapel mics, plastic pitchers of water--the whole depressing thing reminds me of our insignificance and mortality. The worst part is listening to people sharing ideas after sessions, getting excited about what it all means. (I'm a teacher for heaven's sake--that kind of talk is supposed to be uplifting for me; instead, I think back to Winston Smith chatting with Julia about the updates to Newspeak after a Party meeting). I've stopped sharing this observation with my fellow conference-goers, as they invariably find it off putting, annoying, or just depressing.
So... my Dad's bag. You see, my Dad was an Assistant Attorney General in a previous administration--he ran the largest department of the DOJ (Criminal Division--now you can narrow it down and figure out who he is if you're good at Googling, and you'll nail it if you are good at timelines based on historical events). So, I am sure my Dad wasn't depressed or philosophical at the "Strengthening the Public Safety Response to Terrorism" conference in 1998 while he was AAG. But check out the graphic on the bag! I mean, whoa!
Three years before 9/11, but five years after the 1993 World Trade Center Bombing, some graphic designer plopped this hastily-constructed design on a nylon bag. Not only is the bullseye on the right building--it's eerily in the right spot. Part of me wonders if that guy or gal remembered making that design on the morning of September 11, 2001. It's just freaky.
Well, my Dad still uses this bag. He did agree that the image on the bag is a little ominous. But so far I am the only one who is really weirded out by it.
[My guess is that the phrase "freaky terrorism bag" might get picked up by some Homeland Security web worm--if you're reading this, please read the whole thing and realize there isn't anything dangerous here!]
We should all pause and reflect on that day. I read something interesting today by someone who refuses to call 9/11 a tragedy. It was not a tragedy, he argued... it was an atrocity.
Below is a re-post of something I wrote this year.
My Dad's Freaky Terrorism Bag
Now, there's an attention-grabbing title for you!
Gotta work my way into this one. A while back, I wrote about how conferences make me really depressed. I often read the entire enterprise as a text when I go to these things--right down to the nylon name badge holders, bags, rubber chicken meals and freebies from vendors. My reading of the way these items weave themselves into a narrative centered on the theme of the professional gathering is really depressing: none of us is interesting, nothing we are doing here matters, and we are all going to die. Every piece of conference ephemera--note pads, conference programs, little pens, lapel mics, plastic pitchers of water--the whole depressing thing reminds me of our insignificance and mortality. The worst part is listening to people sharing ideas after sessions, getting excited about what it all means. (I'm a teacher for heaven's sake--that kind of talk is supposed to be uplifting for me; instead, I think back to Winston Smith chatting with Julia about the updates to Newspeak after a Party meeting). I've stopped sharing this observation with my fellow conference-goers, as they invariably find it off putting, annoying, or just depressing.
So... my Dad's bag. You see, my Dad was an Assistant Attorney General in a previous administration--he ran the largest department of the DOJ (Criminal Division--now you can narrow it down and figure out who he is if you're good at Googling, and you'll nail it if you are good at timelines based on historical events). So, I am sure my Dad wasn't depressed or philosophical at the "Strengthening the Public Safety Response to Terrorism" conference in 1998 while he was AAG. But check out the graphic on the bag! I mean, whoa!
Three years before 9/11, but five years after the 1993 World Trade Center Bombing, some graphic designer plopped this hastily-constructed design on a nylon bag. Not only is the bullseye on the right building--it's eerily in the right spot. Part of me wonders if that guy or gal remembered making that design on the morning of September 11, 2001. It's just freaky.
Well, my Dad still uses this bag. He did agree that the image on the bag is a little ominous. But so far I am the only one who is really weirded out by it.
[My guess is that the phrase "freaky terrorism bag" might get picked up by some Homeland Security web worm--if you're reading this, please read the whole thing and realize there isn't anything dangerous here!]
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Good Points
From this good article.
- Regardless of your running pace, run with a fast cadence of 180 to 190 steps per minute or higher.
- Run with an upright posture and a slight forward lean.
- Strike the ground below your hips and not in front of them to reduce braking. (Wearing lightweight, low-to-the-ground shoes with minimal midsole cushioning helps reinforce this stride.)
- Strike the ground at the midfoot, not the heel or the toes -- the actual impact area will vary based on body type -- and allow your heel to naturally settle to the ground.
- When starting a new stride, develop the habit of picking up your leg instead of pushing off the ground.
- Use a compact and fluid arm swing, keeping your elbows bent at an acute angle and your hands close to your chest.
- Keep your head upright and steady and your eyes looking forward.
- Be "present in the moment" to allow yourself to concentrate on your stride but stay relaxed and don't overanalyze. The more you adhere to good form, the quicker it will become second nature.
- Consider getting custom insoles to further your gait enhancement.
- Land at the midfoot and allow the heel to settle to the ground.
- Instead of rolling through a stride and pushing off, lift your leg to begin a stride.
- A key to natural running form is high cadence with short strides, regardless of pace.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Singles Going Steady
One of my vinyl treasures, this is a great post-punk collection from The Buzzcocks. I can still remember spinning this for the first time on my JVC LE-600 turntable! Last night we were watching Entourage, and "Why Can't I Touch It?" was the outro in a very appropriate and excellent way. Bravo! Or, HBO, I should say.
Okay, so this is on LOUD right now, and Owen rode his scooter up to the window to say "I love this song... it's from Shrek, remember?" Yes, there was a cover of "Ever Fallen In Love?" in that movie. I guess I never realized that lots of Buzzcocks songs are questions.
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