pyrotechnics

Tin Man (aka stone-lord, aka the original robot) taught all of us how to breathe fire with 151. It was as awesome as the photograph indicates. Despite everyone's intervention ([action]!! shake your fingers off! it's still on fire!!!), I burned my hand a bit. Now if Cup had lit her harp on fire during Iron Man, I would have gone through several more pairs of pants.

*photo taken by bowline... he wasn't any less drunk than the rest of us, but somehow he was the only one able to time the pictures correctly.

too much bad medicine still rocks

Visiting college friends in the home of galdur and cup. I love these people... every time I see them, they make me feel like a celebrity... and I feel like they are all far too interesting themselves to be so intent on what I have to say. I hope I can give them half the kind of pleasure I get. However, this is highly doubtful on this trip: In the 7 or so hours that I spent conscious around everyone, all I did was eat their food, drink their booze, and de-flower both of their bathrooms. (My New Year's resolution is to actually start refusing shots. Also, when I'm too drunk to stand up, I should probably try to have fewer "serious conversations" with ex-girlfriends like lady of the lake.)

We've been getting together every summer since we all graduated. Hellmouth, galdur, & the epic artist made a DVD of our last ToN... I love it. (We're all huge dorks.) If any of us run for public office, I'm sure you will see scenes from it on youtube.

Cup has a harp. She can play Iron Man on it. Rock!

of fur-face and stinky-foot

In Zelienople staying with my aunt and uncle. These are their grandkids, my cousin's kids. Apparently my brother bizzle and I ruined their Thanksgiving because we weren't there. I'd like to think that I get along so well with little kids because of the same reason that babies love Denzel Washington... but since kids call me names like fur-face, there's a major hole in such a theory.

boys night out

Me, the original slamina, bird, fritz, and mikey all went out for beers last night. All 5 of us worked together at summer camp, although I'm the oldest of the bunch (fritz worked his first year during my last). We stayed in a cabin at the camp so we wouldn't have to drive home. We're sporting 40s of Yuengling in the photo above... they don't serve it in Arizona, so I get pretty excited when I get to have the beer of my youth once again. It's a delicious $2 on tap at the Blue Mountain and around here, you ask for it by simply saying "lager." We spent the night reminiscing about our golden years working on camp staff... as well as buying Milwaukee's Bests for some random crazy vietnam vet named chubbs at the bar.

There's a lady who is currently suing the camp, claiming that the campfire ceremonies are too loud and devalue her neighboring property (which is a single-wide trailer). Last summer she, while ridiculously drunk, came out and screamed obscenities at 10-year-old kids. When we drove by her land on the way to and from acquiring 40s, we all screamed out the window and laid on the horn.

fritz, as the only one underage, was our DD for the night. He actually works as an intern for the police, going to bars and trying to get served. If the bartender gives him a drink, the police come in and bust them with a major fine for serving minors.

over the top

It's tradition for my brother and I to arm-wrestle at family gatherings. This year was the first year in several than I beat him on Christmas Day (I won the right arm, and we called it a draw on the left arm). But the very next day, in the cabin, he beat me, so I suppose his honor is intact.

Like Cindi Lauper sings it

Christmas. It used to be a lot different... when I was little, I could never sleep on Christmas Eve, and I tore into my presents with abandon. Now, if I want something, I just buy it. So on Christmas morning, the first thing I do is pick up the gifts I got for other people and hand them off. Christmas is now, for me, an excuse to take a break, breathe, and hang out with family.

Here's one of the traditional Christmas photos for my dad's side of the family gathering. Since my dad is one of 7, there's no way to fit everyone into one picture. These are the male cousins, plus bird in the middle who is engaged to a cousin. Missing are D, who was with a girl he's sort of dating that is 28 years old to his 19 (we hate her), and his older brother M, who is stationed in Iraq.

'Dorf Nostalgia

Me & my little brother bizzle (aka the original slamina), back in my former bedroom at the old 'Dorf homestead. I keep telling him to trim his beard so he looks less like a billy goat. bizzle's girlfriend mini-peep is also staying with us for the holiday. It's kind of fun having a semi-crowded house, since I live alone back home in Tucson... I think my parents are really enjoying it too.

Tonight bizzle, mini-peep, and me went to lady r and world leader pretend's house in Harrisburg for a little holiday party. I hadn't seen these people for a year, and they're always magnificent hosts... lady r made delicious fondue and a host of other munchies, and they had gifts for all of us guests. I got a bad-ass pirate pen, with a skull and crossbones that lights up when you write with it. It will occupy a place of honor in my office at work, next to the pen that makes monkey sounds when you squeeze it. (I swear that some gifts were simply made to be given to me.)

I've been taking a serious vacation away from everything, including this blog. Maybe you should too ;).

The Flying Monk

In my last years of high school and my first year of college, I actually toyed with the idea of becoming a monk. I'm not religious or anything: I just liked the idea of sitting alone and thinking all day long. I even did some real vocational research, spending a morning interviewing a real-life Catholic monk at a Pennsylvania monastery. In the end, of course, I decided that I could never be a monk because I like women too much.

Flying on a plane gives me of some of that monastic solitude. I know that on a plane, you're technically surrounded by people and even screaming babies, but I always feel isolated, tens of thousands of feet about the earth. My cross-country flight today gave me opportunity for some monkly soul-searching, and also the discoveries (from the New Yorker) that I should read Thomas Pynchon and see the art of Olafur Eliasson. Of course, it also gave me a sore back, stiff legs, and grogginess.

The Faux-Historical American University

The Caltech campus is quite pretty. This was a surprise for me: I half-expected no-nonsense robots, with no time to admire the scenery and smell the flowers. It reminds me of Harvard: I assume the builders were going for the same sort of British university feel, trying to recreate that ancient academic tradition in a country that's hardly two hundred years old. Although Caltech is white and cheery to Harvard's green-gray stony dampness.

The green also reminds me of my years at Penn State. Between College Ave and Old Main, there is a stretch of broad sidewalk fully shadowed by these towering ancient elms, with green lawns stretching unbroken to either side. Underneath these massive trees you always felt completely cloistered from the noise of the gray world... it's a physical manifestation of the uncomplicated intellectual peace of academia.

It seems to me that astronomy departments at every university host a telescope dome on the roof of their building. You can't use them for science since the surrounding universities and cities cast far too much light pollution. But you can use them for teaching, and I honestly like them most just for the idea that astronomy didn't start with people in offices, toiling before computers... it began with the romance of a night alone with glass and stars.

Back in Tucson tonight, then to Womelsdorf tomorrow...

City of Smog-Angels.

It's strange to feel like the only person on the plane who's not on holiday. I'm in Pasadena for work, visiting some collaborating astronomers. My advisor and I only arranged the trip a week ago, so it's all very sudden for me... but it's been a solid trip so far. I went out tonight with a big group of local & visiting astronomers... I always love hearing British people tell stories over non-British drinks (like margaritas). I only hope that I have the same effect when I tell stories in foreign countries over sake or gin.

Tonight I'm staying in the Vagabond Inn. I'm not sure if this makes me a vagabond, or it just indicates that I need to be on the lookout for them under the bed.

Three flights, three days...

Zwack Futyulos

Last night, #2 threw a little party. The occasion? Her grandmother was moving and wanted to clear out the liquor cabinet, so she gave it all to her granddaughters. The strangest liquor present was the bottle of Hungarian apple brandy held above. It was pretty tasty, and it was a good night. The neighbors had to come over and ask us to quiet down when the Bon Jovi sing-a-long was a little too loud around 1:30 am.

Today, I saw The Holiday... yes, it's true: it's a chick flick. But although a significant amount of the movie was lame and scripted, I mostly kind of liked it. Jack Black's character was much more like me than any of his previous roles, clearly indicating I'm getting closer to being a rock star as each day passes. But honestly, I find that sometimes, you just have to go and see a chick flick, maybe for some sort of breadth in life. And by "you," uhhh... I mean me. When I was 15 I spent the summer as a counselor at a Boy Scout camp. Five weeks into the summer I required a serious dose of femininity, so I called some friends and organized a trip to see Ever After. All the friends decided to no-show to set me up with a girl, so that she and I saw it alone together. That girl was bungle, and we dated until college.

No such luck this time.

Tomorrow I'm flying to Pasadena...

It sure beats working

Photo evidence indicates that I have a hole in my pants. Also, my golfing form is terrible. Just compare nop.bot and the diamond's follow-through to mine. I drive a golf ball like I swing a bat at a baseball... and apparently this results in slicing the ball somewhere between 20 and 60 degrees off target. But honestly, I don't have much desire to get better at golf, and I don't expect that I'll ever buy my own clubs. It's just an excuse to be outside with my friends.

When I'm tired, depressed, or just not in the mood, it's necessary to remind myself to buckle down, watch Action Jackson (the 1988 classic starring Carl Weathers) for motivation, and get out there. Action is always better than inaction, and almost everything is worth trying once. Like golf, for instance. (But not skydiving, because that's just scary.) I think it was the great Gurney Halleck who once said: Not in the mood!?! Mood is a thing for cattle, and making love, not for...

Last night was a perfect example.

don't worry mom, there are veggies there too

I am a bachelor. I'll take the simpler pleasures.

It's ironic... in my last serious relationship, it was always a sticky point when k-luv would ask for a night all to herself. I just wouldn't get it: I mean, why would she want to spend free time alone instead of seeing me? How could she choose [the equivalent of] sitting at home alone, with Scotch, dark beer, a bacon & cheese sandwich, a lit mag, and Leadbelly on the stereo... when we could have been together?

It makes a lot more sense now.

I'm going golfing later this afternoon. My dad says: Golfing, huh? I don't think you can do that: it's a Republican sport. My father is a registered Republican, and though he never reveals for whom he votes (It's a secret ballot! I'm not telling you!), he only quit the NRA because my mom made him. In all fairness to his judgment... I'm terrible at golf.

every day should call for a themed costume

Wednesday night = Cigar & Bloody Mary Night (CBMN) at nonstop b.opp's house. There are rarely cigars or bloody marys, but we show up every week regardless. Anyway, last night before CBMN, #1 (aka monkey) calls me up:

#1: Yeah, so I wanted to ask you... [nonstop]'s place is kind of classy now, with his bar, so I was thinking of dressing up for it, you know?
me: YES! I'll do it. That is a genius idea.

There really aren't that many opportunities for me to dress up, being a grad student and all... so I'll take any chance I get. There we are above, #1, nonstop, and me, looking our classy best. The suit I'm wearing was actually what my dad wore when he got married. It doesn't fit my dad any more, but it fits like it was tailored for me.

And meanwhile, while we sipped out martinis, the schemer described his plan to become the kicker for the Arizona football team. That'll be me! he cried out. I'll be that guy threatening the 1st-string kicker with a knife!

I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday

Kicking & Screaming is amazing. (I'm talking about the 1995 Noah Baumbach film, which is most definitely not the new Will Ferrell soccer-coach toolshed of a movie). It's more than a little dangerous for a graduate student / possible lifelong academic. I saw it for the first time last night, and it's immediately cracked my top 5*.

When I go to a movie rental place, I usually wonder how there can exist so many movies, especially when around 80% of them are genuinely shitty. But the truth is, I'm a total sucker for this simple formula: a mostly good but obviously flawed precocious guy, and a sweet but increasingly fed-up girl. This doesn't have to be presented all that well to make me ridiculously wistful. I think most movie-makers know this, because you find this equation in a huge variety of films (from John Hughes to Rocky, as well as 4 of my top 5). And why does it usually put me into wistful daydreaming for days? Welcome to my life... or at least, what I make of it. Some part of me knows that Grover and Jane are actually far less of me and k-luv than I'm making it out to be... but the majority of my brain simply dwells in that nostalgia.

*along with Dead Poets Society, High Fidelity, Magnolia, and Last of the Mohicans

The Tucson Circle

I love 80s night. If you live in Tucson and you have not been to Club Congress on Monday night... you've missed out. There is a stage. You will see me on it. Especially if they play Billy Idol. And the best part about being a guy who likes to dance is that most girls seem to like that you actually enjoy moving with some kind of rhythm, even if you're terrible at it. I know that nonstop b.opp would agree. Although k-luv (above) has told me I have all the moves of a male stripper...

People say that Tucson has a million people when you include the whole surrounding area, but you wouldn't know it from the small circle of young people. Two examples:

1. nopbot has been fact-finding about a cute girl he saw at a concert. In less than a week, he managed to identify 5 different people who know her, but are all unconnected from each other.

2. I was talking with an ex we'll call S, whose sister's roommate just happened to start dating a friend of mine. This isn't that unusual, but things got weird when S said, "oh yeah, I was actually invited to hang out with your ex K [who now lives in San Francicso] while she was visiting Tucson for the weekend."

That's just far too middle-school for me.

With any luck, they're creating mutant turtles

They're doing some sewer work in my neighborhood. This is the view down the street. According to the flyer they gave me on Saturday, nothing can go down any drains in my house or "raw sewage will come up the pipes." I'll take their word for it. People at work keep asking me, "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home recovering from your marathon?" There's not a lot of reason to be in a house where one accidental flush or running faucet could cause raw sewage to creep up and attack.

I don't know what's causing all of the steam, but my theory is that it's some by-product of the super-secret Ooze.

3:54:07

I ran the Tucson marathon today. I'm pretty tired. I was extremely happy to see how many friends came out to wish me well and congratulate me at the finish. Special thanks to nopbot, who ran the last 7 miles with me and kept me going. (I'm not sure I could have done the last 3-4 miles without him.) The Diamond also ran the last mile with me and took photos as I finished (though he's right behind me in the photo above).

There were taiko drummers about a half mile from the finish. They were a huge boost for me as I came up the home stretch. I wish that taiko drummers accompanied me all the time: I cannot think of a single situation in life that a constant taiko drum soundtrack would not improve.

Mystery, Arizona?

I went to see the Icecats (U of A club hockey team) play rival ASU last night. Five minutes into the first period, there are already two fights. After a ten-minute pause for a clean up crew to scrape the blood off the ice, hockey broke out once more. By the end of the first period, another fight had broken out, and ASU was winning 4-1. It looked like it would be a long, boring, fight-filled, lopsided game. (And it's pretty weird to see hockey players toss the gloves and start throwing punches in the same place that you once saw the Dalai Lama give a lecture).

But somehow the Icecats came back, and they were down only 5-4 in the third period. With 90 seconds left, they pull the goalie, and with an ASU penalty they have a 6-4 man advantage. They're crashing the net like crazy, and the clock's ticking down... until with one second left, four or five people are lying down in the crease, and an Icecat player just lobs a little shot up over the pile and into the net. It was amazing. The stadium erupts, the U of A players form a dogpile, even the coach--who our former-UofA-undergrad companions informed us has been here for like 30 years--looked excited. But the ASU team just gets up and leaves. The photo above shows the scoreboard, tied 5-5, with one second left. The U of A team is milling about the ice, but the ASU team is gone. Apparently, they thought the game was over and the tying shot was too late, so they were the winners. And they just left. By doing so, they forfeited... with one second left. Ridiculous. I felt terrible for the ASU players. Instead of a tie, their coach pulls them off the ice, and they have to forfeit with only one second left.

Don't get me wrong, the Icecats were pretty terrible. They would consistently swing and miss at the puck, check themselves into the boards, and fall down on their asses. I used to go to hockey games at Penn State, and even the intramural teams there were as good as Arizona's best. But I've never seen a more compelling hockey game, and the Icecats and Sun Devils were certainly evenly matched. I'm glad that in the end, my university's team turned out to be the good guys... it's nice to finally be able to heckle ASU with something better than, hey, your astronomy program sucks!

oh-ee-oh-ee-o!

Last night I went with some friends to the Great Cover-Up, a 3-night series of local bands playing covers. The shows run for 3 nights (last night was the 1st night), each band has only 30 minutes, and they have to pick the band to be covered from a list (with bands covered in previous years entirely off-limits). All the proceeds go to a charity for domestic violence victims. The band above is Infernal Racket, covering Morris Day and The Time (Jungle Love!!!). I'm pretty sure the lead singer grew the mustache just for the show. It. Was. Awesome.

The cover of Tower of Power was somewhat less awesome. With the floor filled with awkwardly dancing 30-40-somethings, I fully expected to catch someone snorting cocaine in the bathroom.

Africa, & the ivory tower

The Fiery Ox* is my best friend from where I grew up. He's in the Peace Corps in Lesotho, a tiny mountain country landlocked by South Africa. We've been writing each other, but really not enough. I'm fascinated by what he's doing: I get the impression that the Peace Corps is much less about young Americans helping poor countries, than it is about poor countries helping young Americans. He was never given an outlined plan or schedule. Instead, he's just been planting vegetable gardens and teaching a bit at the primary school, interacting with locals along the way. His letters make it sound almost normal, but other sources I've read indicate that Lesotho is extremely poor, with all the motivated people moving to the South African cities, and everyone who remains living simply on subsistence farming. This summer he finishes his tour of duty, and I think we might go traveling about Africa together.

And now, my life: a highlight from CBMN at nonstop's house last night:
nopey (to the only girl present): So when are you going to introduce me to your hot friends?
loompa: Well, let's see... there's [this one]-- oh no, wait, she's off the market. Yeah, her father just passed away...
la grizzle: Sounds like she could use a new man in her life! (along with a chorus of similar responses around the room)

*Fiery Ox is actually the English translation of a Lenni Lenape name that I picked for him when I was his Vigil guide, way back in the day.

25 oz of microbrew goodness, mug form

What I love about No Anchovies: I walk up to the bar, and they say "Brown?" I nod, and receive my very own Action Jackson mug, filled with Nimbus Nut Brown Ale. A couple times, when it hasn't been the usual bartender, they'll look at me and say "Action Jackson, right?" I'm usually too pleased to answer.

What I hate about No Anchovies: People being shot.

The Beaver & the Squirrel: When the nut was gently molded and made whole again

A few nights ago at Plush, I met a guy who is hoping to study alternative energy at Berkeley. We got into a long conversation about how Tucson is not a place like Berkeley/SF, in terms of fun stuff to do, political views, conservation, etc... The picture above is from my most recent visit to the bay area: that's me & the Sunshine Rider at the Japanese tea garden inside Golden Gate Park. I was on my way back home from China, and I originally planned the trip to visit with k-luv in SF. When she & I split up, Sunshine Rider was kind enough to step up and host me instead, only a few weeks in advance. He knew how to show an old friend a good time: (1) a long night of drunken comaraderie, including a botched pool break-in and will you make out with me if I take my top off?; (2) wandering around Golden Gate with massive hangovers, where the first ten people we walked past all offered us drugs; (3) an in-house bartender, who made me omelets and even made my Chinese liquor reasonably drinkable; and (4) cheese, which I was seriously craving after 2 weeks in China. Sunshine Rider was both my RA in college and the organizer of the party at which I first got drunk. His birthday was on Saturday, so... happy birthday! (four days late)

Anyway, I love the bay area. I think it would be awesome to do a postdoc at Berkeley. However, the place best for me academically is probably the Carnegie institute in Pasadena, since I'd be able to do a ton of observing in Chile. I'm a little nervous about living in LA for even 2 years... but really, I've only been there for a very short visit, so I'm not really giving it a chance. Perhaps I should see if Dr A can handle a visitor for a weekend...

*The title is in reference to the epic of Tyrillion written here.

spyware for the forces of good

The Hater* recently turned me on to last.fm. It is awesome: it figures out what you're listening to, then gives you all kinds of recommendations on new music and local concerts. It even plays a "recommended radio" for you, where it just plays full song after full song of stuff it thinks you will like, and you can skip songs you don't. I was craving a fix of new music, and last.fm has me fully satiated. I highly recommend it. (And if you do it, feel free to make friends with "slaminaaction" to see what I listen to.) Rock!

I still remember when my first college roommate and I would sit around coming up with lists of potential punk covers over games of techmo bowl. Needless to say, we've grown a lot in our musical tastes since then, as he reminded me at his wedding last June.

*Note that despite the Hater's nickname, he has transcendant musical taste. He's only made one slip-up: denying that Live: Throwing Copper defined a generation. Hating on Live will get you that sort of blog-persona-nickname.

Two years later...

(First off, I've been bad about taking photos... this movie comes from Nopey @ booyakashah. But in all fairness, I did buy him his ticket for the show...)

I saw Calexico last night. I think it's impossible to live in Tucson for any length of time and not love seeing Calexico perform. They were awesome, with a couple extra performers they use for their big Tucson shows: a hardcore Mariachi trumpet player and another guy who has this huge, booming, operatic voice. I first saw Calexico with k-luv (also known as nunchucks), and I loved it... but seeing as it was also a very good 2nd date, I've always been not quite sure if it was just a mediocre band made incredible by a fantastic evening. Well, now I know... they really are that awesome. I was also very proud to be the k-luv of the group, pulling in several other friends to check out the gospel of musical goodness that is Calexico in Tucson.

Plus... I got to spend much of the evening hanging out with new, fun people. And it all culminated in a late-night Grill stop. The only thing better than the late-night diner run is the late-night diner run with Bodington's on tap.

Merhaba! Serefe!

It turns out that the Surly Barnacle was featured in a Weekly article that hit the newstands the same day as his birthday. Here, his wife, the Roller Derby Queen, shows the cover of the issue (she was also featured in it). They're both very educated on religion, and have strong well-formed opinions... so I'm glad they got to share them, even if the article did sensationalize a bit. For further education on religion, I recommend the "Religionklok" episode of "Metalocalypse" on youtube. (Thanks to the Sunshine Rider for turning me on to this hilarious show.)

The other guy in the photo is helping me pretend that I'm Turkish. See, on several occasions traveling outside the US, I've had people tell me that I look Turkish. I think I should run with it. So far, he's taught me two words. I'm hoping I can get by mostly with syllabic sounds. My tutor: yeah, Turkish is sort of a mix of French and German, with a touch of Arabic. I challenge you to find any other description of a thing as a "mix of French and German."

carpe diem, boys, sieze the day

Pop quiz:

Let's say you're at the supermarket. On your shopping list are breadcrumbs, cheese, sour cream, and a, ahem, delicate item from the pharmacy. Also, let's say, for instance... you are a single heterosexual male. On the pharmacy side of the store, you notice a very attractive young woman. She is carrying an excellent satchel-bag, excellent enough that even if she wasn't gorgeous, you'd still want to compliment her on it. But this girl is gorgeous, and you're hoping that telling her about the bag will lead to laughter, mutual attraction, and perhaps even, a long way down the road, an act which requires said delicate item. Do you:

a) Buy the delicate item and talk to the girl anyway, hoping she won't notice or won't care.
b) Talk to the girl, but not purchase the delicate item for fear of embarrassment, which at worst may include being laughed at in derision / a kick to the nuts.
c) Walk away, brain paralyzed, too nervous to either buy what you came for or talk to the girl (who has certainly noticed you looking at her by now).

Once upon a time, a girl on a first date asked me, "So, what do you like to do?" It took me some time to answer, but eventually I said, "well, as much as I can, as often as possible." And of course, I meant that in a Boy Scout / Dead Poet Society way, as only a polite, mild hedonist. But in truth, I'm still stuck on (c). I'd like to stand up on that desk with sweaty-toothed Uncle Walt... but I'm still working up to it.

he only fights because his village needs him

Yesterday was the Surly Barnacle's birthday. He's the smug looking one in the Detroit hat. Trust me, he's usually much surlier (he is wearing a Detroit hat, after all). We had a good night, culminating in the post-midnight diner tryst. At some point, I decided to try to write down a few of the funniest conversation pieces we had, but the Diamond called me on it (Dude, great idea, because nothing's more fun than reliving that funny thing we just said...). See, I've always regarded the end-of-night diner run as one of the benchmarks for the truly glorious night out, and it just hasn't happened enough lately. It's a magical place, and not just because they play Crimson and Clover or Eli's Comin'. And you may be surprised that the magic just isn't there when you roll up for brunch or (gasp) dinner.

At some point in the evening, we decided that Wiretap, as our only man on the inside, needs to play American savior to a certain Bulgarian sister / potential immigrant. As far as I can tell, it would be good for all parties involved.

It's actually cold enough for it

This is my lucky hat. I got it in Chile for something like $3, and the seller insisted that it is made of alpaca. I have no reason not to believe him, especially since the pattern looks sort of like alpacas with their babies on their backs and chunks of their chest cavities missing. Since everyone knows that alpacas carry their babies on their backs, and have a common problem of chest collapse. Anyway, I show the knuckleball grip in the photo for two reasons: (1) scale, and (2) to detail that my lucky hat isn't actually very lucky. I used to wear it to softball, and one day with Krakatoa (now known as Wiretap) at the plate, I was taunting him with the old knuckler. Krakatoa was not impressed, and proceeded to hit the ball halfway to Cambodia. A month later, I was in left field with the hat, taunting Krakatoa once again with my trademark booty-dance. This time, he managed to launch the ball over my head, over the fence, lodged about twenty feet up in a tree. "That's my memorial to your little dance, [action]!" he proclaimed. I think there's a lesson to be learned in all this, but I've absolutely no idea what it is.

you'll find the action hero's handbook in my living room

Saw Casino Royale last night... I was entertained. Afterwards, it made me nostalgic, which ought to defy logic for a Bond movie. But I got to thinking about a piece I wrote about a war started by a woman from a Victoria's Secret catalog, sort of Helen-of-Troy style. At least, that's what I think it was about. I have a hazy idea that it was pretty good, and worth working on some more. But I'll never really know, since the only saved copy of it is sitting on my old computer... which I donated to Goodwill two or three months ago. So now it's in the possession of some random stranger. Or maybe just gathering dust in a warehouse.

christmas cards

I've wanted to send Christmas cards for the last couple of years, but like many things requiring organization, I never got around to it. I still remember how awesome it was to get a few Christmas cards from a family I stayed with in England when I was 12. So far this year, I took the first step: the Christmas card picture. I'll tag it with some cheesy line like "From my home... to yours: Merry Christmas!" I'm not sure if this is too corny to send to the little old ladies back in Womelsdorf, who were always so nice to me when I was a wee-bitty kid. And a part of me wonders how many people who receive it will ask, hmm, how come there's no girlfriend/wife? I remember him being such a nice young boy... I should probably just take Seltzer's advice and use less shirt in the picture.

Congratulations to Dr. GBC Mittens, who after 8(?) years of hard work, finally realized the dream. Or at least woke up from the dream, with a Ph.D. in hand.

I miss the water... every day

The best time of my life was when I was a canoe guide for a summer in Minnesota. I'm always surprised that my favorite period of life isn't mainly about a girl. (Truthfully, all that summer I wrote letters to a fantastic girl, and she even visited for a weekend... but I think my favorite parts weren't even about that.) And sometimes I wonder that my favorite period of life has nothing at all to do with my current job and future in astronomy. But maybe this isn't a problem: maybe these sorts of experiences are all about the perfect place at the perfect time, and maybe it was simply the perfect time in my life to be a canoe guide...

The picture is actually from my last water-trekking trip, in Pumalin Parque, Chile, last January. Juanfe, the guide, took this photo as I kayaked out of one of the fjords. I remember that after I finished being a canoe guide and I returned home to PA, I told myself that I'd go on a week-long water-trekking trip at least once a year. I've fallen somewhat short, doing 2 trips in the 3.5 years since then. I'd blame my career in astronomy, but really, the only reason I was in Chile to go sea kayaking was because I was there on a NSF-paid observing trip at a Chilean telescope... so really, I can't complain. Thanks for your tax dollars.

before the pilgrims, there was no alcohol?

I've spent the last 2 Thanksgivings with friends, on the other side of the country from my family, and I love it. I mean really, at this point, these people are my family anyway, except that it's not as embarrassing to drunkenly discuss sex. And even though the host & hostess didn't let me deep fry a turkey like last year, it was still a glorious holiday.

shf: Dude, look at all this food.
me: Yeah, there's like what, 15 trays of sides? Two turkeys and a ham? And 8 pies? So basically, everybody gets half a tray, a quarter pie, and lots of turkey and ham.
shf: I swear, this is my favorite holiday.
me: Hmm... maybe if we dressed up too, then it would be my favorite holiday.

Then I remembered that back in the day, we actually did dress up for Thanksgiving. I was an Indian, but the Pilgrims thought they'd be all clever and dress up like Chaucer's pilgrims in the Canterbury Tales. I thought the Pilgrims were pretty lame until they began sharing the Knob Creek. Just like on the first Thanksgiving...

bill murray v bruce lee

In the words of the s-process, I would call my trip to China an "enriching experience." It was filthy and crowded, with super-aggressive people trying to scam you or sell junk, and the cities smelled mostly like a mix of diarrhea and vomit. But every now and again, I'd find one of these grand, impressive parks and finally have a chance to relax. Really, the best parts of Xi'an and Beijing were those that reminded me most of Kyoto.