moment of clarity

more great moments in rockstardom

2009-03-29T20:11:00.002-05:00

Worth clicking through to the full-size version [Youtube]

and... go Gators

2009-03-14T00:16:00.003-05:00

At first I thought Congress might not be up to the job of saving the economy and the country. But now I realize I was wrong.

(full disclosure: my parents went to Florida, so I root for them in the years Stanford doesn't make the BCS)

sweep the leg

2009-03-13T23:55:00.004-05:00

I haven't heard Bat for Lashes' music, and I believe "Daniel" is a single and not a proper album, but the cover is pretty hilarious.

neil young

2009-03-04T11:06:00.002-06:00

what a performance.

the Colombian Captain Nemo

2008-12-15T14:23:00.004-06:00

via BoingBoing:

"Portocarrero's vessels measured up to 60 feet long and were outfitted with complex ballast, communications and power systems, officials said. They were typically powered by 350-horsepower diesel engines, and the four-man crew had state-of-the-art radio, GPS and satellite telephone communications.

The subs have a range of 2,000 miles, more than enough to get from here to Mexico's Bay of Tehuantepec, a favored destination, Borrero said."

In Colombia, they call him Captain Nemo [Los Angeles Times]

the finish line is near for Gags

2008-12-10T22:59:00.004-06:00

The Eugene Register-Guard has a great article about Frank Gagliano, who will soon retire from coaching after 48 years. I had the privilege of running for Gags for a tiny little bit. What a great man (to say nothing of a great coach). We will all miss him and we wish him the best.

"Teter, who first met “Gags” with The Farm Team in 2001, had this to say shortly before the Trials last June:

“There is an interior and an exterior to Gags,” she said. “The interior is he cares so much. He’ll cry with you and be sad with you, but he’ll also be happy with you.

“I also love his exterior. He’s very tough. He gets pissed off and throws things, but what that does for me is demand that I perform in practice and meets, because I would never want to let him down, or myself down, by giving up.

“He holds me accountable. I can come out to practice and have a bad day and he’ll say, ‘Toughen up, stick it out, get through this workout.’ And I know he’s sticking it out, too, because he’s right there with us every single day.”

The Finish Line is Near for Gags [Eugene Register-Guard]

the man, the myth, the legend

2008-12-08T16:14:00.002-06:00

“Harold Ramis is the yardstick of what you want to reach for, of people’s bodies around you going into convulsions of joy while your brain is thinking and your emotions are deeply tied in to the characters, and you’re going, ‘Oh my God, This is the best two hours I’ve ever spent.’ ”

Annals of Hollywood: Comedy First [The New Yorker]

a few important things for your day

2008-11-20T22:01:00.004-06:00

First and foremost, some "hot cat-in-box action" via Boing Boing:

There's plenty more at http://www.youtube.com/user/mugumogu. Warning: you can spend hours on this.

Second, here is the single weirdest piece of concert footage I have ever seen, from David Bowie's 1987 "Glass Spider" tour. The song is "Fashion." I defy you to comprehend.

And finally, to celebrate the long-awaited release of "Chinese Democracy," here is an old Rolling Stone article on the making of Guns 'N' Roses' magnum opus, "Appetite for Destruction." Teaser:

"Axl rose was lying nude inside a Manhattan recording studio's darkened vocal booth, working out some unorthodox last-minute overdubs. Tape was rolling, and he knew something wasn't right. Beneath him was a cute nineteen-year-old stripper named Adriana Smith, who happened to be his drummer's girlfriend."

The Making of 'Appetite for Destruction' [Rolling Stone]

this is what happens, Larry

2008-11-08T16:09:00.001-06:00

This is what happens when you find a stranger in the Alps:

a handy map of san francisco bay

2008-11-03T05:46:00.002-06:00

via Strange Maps

autumn leaves

2008-10-12T21:26:00.004-05:00

I am officially on board for East Coast Autumn. (East Coast Winter: you're next.)

Photos from Lake Willoughby, Northeast Kingdom, Vermont:

hola, amigos

2008-10-04T14:58:00.006-05:00

I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya, but due to popular demand, it's time to resurrect the blog. If you're reading this, you probably already know that I moved to Boston to go to business school at the Big H, and right before that I spent the summer spending time in Arkansas, Eugene, South Dakota, Montana, and Europe. The common theme between all these places (and for the most part, Boston too) is that I am new to all of them. It's all been one big adventure. I'll try to chronicle some of the better chapters here.

rave and rant

2007-12-10T00:19:00.000-06:00

RAVE: Marin Headlands

Sometimes you find astonishing beauty right under your nose. I've been hiking in the Marin Headlands several times--it has the absolute best view of San Francisco, and there are gigantic WWII-era gun emplacements bored through the hillsides--but when you're walking it's difficult to get off the beaten path. For some unknown reason, I've never run there until recently. My friend Josh and I went over there the last two weekends, and as luck had it, the weather was absolutely spectacular both times. (The alternative, I'm told, is pea-soup fog.)

Today we parked where Bunker Road meets the Coastal Trail, ran up the Bobcat trail almost to the FAA beacon, then down to Tennessee Beach via the horse stables. Tennessee Beach is a tiny, narrow beach surrounded on both sides by high cliffs. There is a small pond just inland from the sand. How many other little gems are hidden on the Marin coast?

Marin Headlands trail map [National Park Service]

Other Raves: Brunch, morning runs, dive bars

RANT: City Parking

Parking is tight near Josh's place in the Marina. So tight, in fact, that I had Josh get out of the car when I was parking, so I could avoid blocking a driveway by squeezing up close to the car in front of me. I ended up about two inches away, without touching the other car's bumper in the process. I was proud. I am a parking ninja.

Imagine my surprise when I returned to a note on my windshield. The car in front of me was gone, but its owner left an angry message claiming I scratched her bumper. I gave her a call and explained very nicely that I did not touch her bumper, I went to great lengths to avoid it, and that the damage was just as likely done by the car there before me. She remained agitated and said she would refer the case to the DMV. Go ahead, angry lady--that's part of life in the big city. And I didn't touch your bumper, so you're not getting anything.

Other Rants: Sewer backups, Caltrain delays, darkness at 5 pm

bike expedition

2007-06-28T01:17:00.000-05:00

Minutes from this week's bike expedition
(Pride + Golden Gate + Richmond)

Manifesto courtesy of Andy:
"A sleek BMW drives by, sliver, with a brown leather interior. The trophy wife in the passenger seat, still young and unspoiled, can't take her eyes off you. The ease and self-assurance of your movement remind her of the possiblities she gave up when she married for money, and she considers the possibilities with a young, vital urbanite such as yourself. Her husband notices this. He wants to speed up, but the street is too narrow. He is stuck behind you, fuming. You are indestructible."

Date:
6/24/07

Participants:
Hill
Boos
Doll
Reid

Route:
http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=1077890

We had grand plans for Sausalito and Tiburon. Circumstances (homemade sangria! Staple gets a cold!) forced us to put those plans on ice. Fortunately it was still a gorgeous day and we could see plenty even though we stayed closer to home.

First stop was the Pride Parade. It's a pretty big deal in San Francisco (Market Street and the entire Civic Center gets shut down), so we decided to check it out. The 861 boys set out at around 2:00 and met Evan at El Castillito, at Church and Duboce. We all proceeded to ride down the middle of Market Street towards the Embarcadero, in the aftermath of the parade. As you can imagine, the people-watching was ridiculous. My favorite part about the whole affair is that it's exploding with color--everyone is decked out in their brightest. It's the most colorful day in the most colorful city (see picture):

Nick described the experience of careening down Market, avoiding streetcar tracks, police motorcycles, and inebriated exhibitionists, as "real-life Paperboy."

We took a left at the Ferry Building and continued down the Embarcadero. We took a quick detour down Bay Street to Columbus to avoid pedestrian hell at Fisherman's Wharf. Once we were safely at Aquatic Park we continued through Fort Mason, down Marina Green, and past the Warming Hut up to the Golden Gate Bridge. Here's the Bridge from Crissy Field. This is where I get to run every morning if I want. Sometimes I can't believe it myself:

We crossed the bridge as a massive container ship passed under. The ship wasn't being guided by any tugs, and I was amazed at the accuracy required to guide the ship through the bridge channel without assistance--ships that size take miles to stop, and lots of time to maneuver at all.

Here you can see the ship's wake, and get another taste of what a ridiculous day it was:

Here's another picture looking up at one of the towers. Amazing:

After getting back to the San Francisco side, we decided to check out the Richmond on our way home. We got some excellent dim sum at a little takeout place at about 8th and Clement. They had a bucket of chicken feet sitting outside. I had three potstickers and a steamed pork bun for a grand total of $2.30.

Then at Nick's urging, we walked a block or so to Green Apple Books. Their website is down, so I'll throw up the Yelp link instead. This is one of the more amazing bookstores I've been to. It's not as big as the Strand in New York, and I've never been to Powell's in Seattle (Nick's favorite place), but Green Apple is hands down the best bookstore in the City. Green Apple has two locations on the same block (the original and the Fiction Annex), two creaky old wooden staircases in the main location, and more old cheap used books than I've ever seen in one place. I even found a two-volume unabridged hardcover copy of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, which I have sworn to read before I die, but it wasn't quite in the condition to justify the $40. That's going to be a "life purchase" someday. Instead I picked up a James Joyce anthology for $6. I've never read Joyce and it should be a good starting point. Nick got a whole bunch of stuff as is his custom at bookstores.

We were at Green Apple for nearly an hour, and I could have easily spent four. However it was getting late so we bombed down 8th Ave back to the park and headed for home. Evan gets the trooper award for riding all the way from Noe Valley. Justin gets the spirit award for buying a bike two days before the ride and keeping up the whole way. We're looking forward to the next one.

Future expeditions:
- Sausalito/Tiburon
- Tire Beach
- Berkeley

baron davis: hero to millions

2007-04-29T15:25:00.000-05:00

The man they call "the Black Santa."

Baron Davis' Kick-Ass Bullet Fedora [The Basketball Jones]

Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

2007-01-30T22:47:00.000-06:00

If you read only one thing this month, make it Michael Pollan's fantastic article, "Unhappy Meals", in this week's New York Times magazine (registration required, but you can always try BugMeNot). It's about how the rise of food science and "nutritionism" has led to the American obesity epidemic. Excerpt:

"In the years following McGovern’s capitulation and the 1982 National Academy report, the food industry set about re-engineering thousands of popular food products to contain more of the nutrients that science and government had deemed the good ones and less of the bad, and by the late ’80s a golden era of food science was upon us. The Year of Eating Oat Bran — also known as 1988 — served as a kind of coming-out party for the food scientists, who succeeded in getting the material into nearly every processed food sold in America. Oat bran’s moment on the dietary stage didn’t last long, but the pattern had been established, and every few years since then a new oat bran has taken its turn under the marketing lights. (Here comes omega-3!)

By comparison, the typical real food has more trouble competing under the rules of nutritionism, if only because something like a banana or an avocado can’t easily change its nutritional stripes (though rest assured the genetic engineers are hard at work on the problem). So far, at least, you can’t put oat bran in a banana. So depending on the reigning nutritional orthodoxy, the avocado might be either a high-fat food to be avoided (Old Think) or a food high in monounsaturated fat to be embraced (New Think). The fate of each whole food rises and falls with every change in the nutritional weather, while the processed foods are simply reformulated. That’s why when the Atkins mania hit the food industry, bread and pasta were given a quick redesign (dialing back the carbs; boosting the protein), while the poor unreconstructed potatoes and carrots were left out in the cold.

Of course it’s also a lot easier to slap a health claim on a box of sugary cereal than on a potato or carrot, with the perverse result that the most healthful foods in the supermarket sit there quietly in the produce section, silent as stroke victims, while a few aisles over, the Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms are screaming about their newfound whole-grain goodness."

This is fascinating, thought-provoking, and makes a hell of a lot of sense. It also makes me feel a little bit better about just making a giant salad every night.

Also, I want to extend long-overdue congratulations to Ryan Hall for absolutely obliterating the American Record for the half-marathon in Houston a couple weeks ago. He ran 59:43, which is 4:33 per mile for over 13 miles, and puts him near the top of the all-time world list at the distance. Simply mindblowing, and it couldn't happen to a nicer guy.

morning run

2007-01-11T23:58:00.000-06:00

Any day you see the sunrise is a good day.

This morning I was out the door for a run just after 6:00. I went my usual way up Masonic en route to Crissy Field, and when I dropped down into Lover's Lane in the Presidio it was still dark. Lover's Lane is a soft, wooded path, and it's lighted, so it's one of the rare places you can run on dirt at night. I was barely onto the trail when I was met with an unreal howling, ferocious and eerie, piercing the pre-dawn quiet. Two hundred meters downhill was a tall man with an enormous German shepherd, straining at its leash and barking like crazy as all the neighborhood dogs joined in.

When I got down to the man he stopped me and said, "I wouldn't go that way if I were you." I'm not used to having to change routes, and when I asked why, he replied, "Because there's a pack of coyotes down there, and they're in a frenzy." I looked past him, and sure enough, two hundred meters off I made out a group of four or five coyotes running in frantic circles, wailing and braying. One of the coyotes jumped and twisted in the air, but each time quickly landed to rejoin his pack-mates.

I've been up close to lots of animals on runs, including horses, cows, deer, rattlesnakes, foxes, and the odd tarantula, but I've never been up close to a coyote. I've seen them many times at Rancho San Antonio and the Dish, but only at a distance, and only a brief flash of fur which vanished into the underbrush. However, this morning it was clear that if I had gotten much closer they might have ripped me to shreds.

I turned around, went up the path, and went the long way down the road to Crissy Field. At the Warming Hut, I stretched for a minute in the quiet cold and watched a container ship sail out under the Golden Gate, its engines at a deep rumble. Then I turned and ran back down along the shore as dawn broke over the city.

essential listening for the tenor saxophonist

2007-01-02T23:10:00.001-06:00

Once upon a time, I tried to be a tenor saxophone player. I didn't get very far, but along the way I met a very nice bassist by the name of Greg Ryan. I asked him, "How do you learn to play jazz?" He said, "By listening"--and wrote out a list of essential albums.

I've held on to the handwritten list for over ten years, growing my library piece by piece, and by now I've been able to listen to most of the albums on it. It's by no means comprehensive (there's no Lester Young or Dexter Gordon, for starters) or authoritative (there are many other essential jazz recordings by these artists and others), but it's a very good list.

If you are interested in jazz, I highly recommend checking these out. Incidentally, Greg Ryan is the person who first told me about the great hard bop pianist Andrew Hill. Check out "Black Fire" and "Grass Roots."

Greg's list, presented in no particular order:

Miles Davis

Milestones
Kind of Blue
E.S.P.
Nefertiti

Joe Henderson

Page One

Sonny Rollins

Night at the Village Vanguard, Vol. 1 & 2

Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers

Ugetsu

Wayne Shorter

Speak No Evil

John Coltrane

Blue Train
Coltrane

Hank Mobley

Soul Station

Paul Motian

On Broadway, Vol. 1 & 2

james brown, 1933-2006

2006-12-26T01:28:00.000-06:00

Now he belongs to the ages.

two baseball-related items

2006-11-15T23:52:00.000-06:00

I was talking with a friend at lunch today about how we both miss baseball season already. Only three long, dreary months until pitchers and catchers report...

That said, here are two baseball-items to warm your soul.

1) F*&% the Fremont A's, I'm Ghostriding my Volvo

Whether you're into ghostriding or hyphy in general, or if you hail from the Bay Area's favorite parking lot with a mayor, this is for you:

Ghostriding the Volvo [YouTube]

2) Frank Thomas is a Turd Monkey

Now that the Big Hurt is looking to sign with the Blue Jays, this expression of playoff frustration is looking better and better:

This is on the bathroom wall at the excellent Toronado on Haight Street (make sure to grab a sausage or two from Rosamunde next door). The Blue Jays, in addition to being Major League Baseball's black-sheep lone Canadian team, cheerfully rejected my numerous attempts to get into a game for less than full price the last time I was in Toronto.

Dear Blue Jays: I understand you have a brand to manage, but when it's the bottom of the 8th and you're getting blown out by the Yankees, letting in the harmless fan with a used ticket stub who just wants to add to his list-of-stadiums-visited is the only decent American thing to do. Oh, wait.

As it stands, here's my (pathetically small) list-of-stadiums-visited, in roughly chronological order, with approximate date of first visit:

Candlestick Park, San Francisco Giants, 1987 (first baseball game)
Oakland/Alameda County Coliseum, Oakland Athletics, 1987 (fell in love with the A's)
Le Stade Olympique, Montreal Expos, 2000 (Louie outclassed at beer-drinking by girl from Georgetown; energetic love-hate heckling relationship with Mets right fielder Derek Bell as it was an empty weekday game and we were the only Americans there)
Pacific Bell Park, San Francisco Giants, 2001 (hopefully Cisco Field will be as grand)
U.S. Cellular Field, Chicago White Sox, 2006 (return of Frank Thomas to Chicago)
Wrigley Field, Chicago Cubs, 2006 (pilgrimage every fan should make before they die)

Thanks to the Blue Jays for preventing the Canadian sweep.

Toronado Pub [Toronado.com]
Frank Thomas is a Turd Monkey [Flickr]
List of Major League Baseball Stadiums [Wikipedia]

ok go!

2006-10-17T21:04:00.000-05:00

this is the coolest thing I've seen in a long time.

OK Go - Here It Goes Again [YouTube]

before they were stars

2006-10-11T23:16:00.000-05:00

Lately there's been a lot of noise about YouTube, the wildly popular video-sharing site that just got acquired by Google for about $1.6 billion. A lot of the noise has been about the two principal founders and how fantastically rich they have become. This is nothing new. However, there is an interesting subplot surrounding Jawed Karim, a third founder who left the company to finish his master's degree at Stanford. Most of the articles focus on how he's not going to be as rich as the first two; don't worry, though, he's still getting a nice chunk of change.

The interesting part is that most of my friends and I knew about Jawed Karim way before YouTube was even a twinkle in the the three soon-to-be-millionaires' eyes. You see, way back in the days of Napster, before anybody knew or cared about the RIAA, Jawed created a LAN-crawling program called MP3 Voyeur. It was in wide use throughout my freshman dorm, and to those of us with T1 lines and empty wallets, Jawed was a hero. No need to spend time clicking through every folder on the network neighborhood to find Doggystyle or "Paradise City;" just run MP3 Voyeur, sit back, and select the files you want, available immediately over a lightning-quick local connection. This is how we found, for example, the legendary "Andrew K's Smooth Shit" folder of over-the-top makeout songs.

It's refreshing to know that YouTube is a logical evolution of MP3 Voyeur, and it's good to see the man cashing in by staying true to his roots.

With YouTube, Grad Student Hits Jackpot Again [New York Times]
MP3 Voyeur [jawed.com]

rally caps, people

2006-10-11T23:00:00.000-05:00

The A's are down 2-0. Everyone needs to start following Rich's example.

(Except for the part about being at work, in Korea, 16 hours in the future. That's a tough act to follow.)

from the land of ten thousand lakes

2006-10-03T23:57:00.000-05:00

Amazing game today. I'm still somewhat in disbelief that the A's were able to take one from Santana in the Metrodome. Thank you, Frank Thomas. Chicago misses you, but you're ours now.

There's still a long way to go and I'm very nervous. To pass the time, here's some reading material for both sides:

Pro: Athletics Nation
Con: Ken Macha is a Moron & I Hate Him

Either way, there is nothing better than playoff baseball.

an historic day in faceball

2006-10-01T22:47:00.000-05:00

First things first: I've moved back to the Bay--work decided to bring me back from Chicago. My last night there I went to a Cubs game, which was the best way to leave, I think. My first night, I took the Red Line up to Addison and circumambulated Wrigley as a ritual offering, so it was fitting that I went out the way I came in.

My last few days or so were pretty eventful--saw HORSE the Band open for the facemeltingly hilarious Dragonforce (and convinced Brad and Sally to go, which was also pretty funny). HORSE were awesome beyond my expectations. It was a pretty giant show at the Vic Theater. At the other end of the rock spectrum I got to see pat's band play their very first show. They were also outstanding. They played a short but intense set, and when you're as intense as the Black Ladies you end up with great pictures like this (photo credit to Emily):

Also went to El Jardin and a sweet loft party with Mario and Joyce, threw an omelette party with a bunch of people at my place, and went to the aforementioned Cubs game on my last night. Really good times. Chicago people, I will miss you. Come visit.

Anyway I'll be moving up to San Francisco shortly, so if you're looking for a roommate or know someone who is, let me know.

But I digress. On to the pièce de résistance...

continue reading »Many of you have heard of Faceball, and if you have not, I encourage to you check out the link for historical context.

Colby and I were playing Faceball late Friday afternoon (making up for lost time), when a red Toyota minivan drove through our game. Since we play in the parking lot, this isn't an unusual occurrence. However, Colby has sharper eyes than I and as the van passed he yelled, "Hey, that's Steve Young!" I checked, and was skeptical at first, but soon realized that Colby was right, it was Hall of Fame quarterback and 49ers legend Steve Young:

Yes, that Hall of Fame legend Steve Young.

He stopped in the parking lot and we ran inside and grabbed a Sharpie. We went up to him as he was unloading his three kids from the van, confirmed that it was him (question: "Hey, are you Steve Young?" response: "I am"), and got him to sign the faceball. He was holding his baby carrier in his right hand and signed with his left. He was definitely not happy that we were there, but he was very gracious and we left him alone after that. We walked the ball around the office to an ovation.

It was really cool to think that we were just minding our business, playing catch with the football in the parking lot, and right there at the same time was one of the best humans ever to do what we were doing. I loved watching him play.

The ball has been retired permanently from Faceball, and will become the perpetual trophy awarded to the current champion. He didn't join us for a game, but hopefully Steve Young's celebrity endorsement will give Faceball the legitmacy it needs to become a truly global sport.

on tomatoes

2006-09-24T17:55:00.000-05:00

"The first ripe, locally grown tomatoes still come as a shock. They stimulate all the senses at once, and place us firmly in summer. And they are a reminder of how far agriculture has drifted away from seasonality. When tomatoes are available in the supermarket year round, we lose that keen anticipatory yearning for the juiciness of summer. Instead, we accept a pale approximation of a tomato, a tomato completely severed from our daily reality, grown by farmers thousands of miles away."

--Alice Waters, Chez Panisse Vegetables

Hood to Coast - Part 1

2006-09-22T00:15:00.000-05:00

It's been almost a month now, so I think I've had time to fully process the madness that was Hood to Coast. First in a series.

The Fred Meyer Hood to Coast Relay is the world's largest relay race. It's pretty simple: there's twelve people on each team, you start at Timberline lodge on Mt. Hood in Oregon, and run until you get to the ocean. Each team has two vans, with six runners to a van, and the twelve of you hand off the "baton" (actually a little blue slap bracelet) in order until you get to the end.

There are 36 legs in the race. Each runner runs three legs, which add up to about 15 to 17 miles total. All twelve runners take turns in the same order, so the first runner runs legs 1, 13, and 25, the second runner does legs 2, 14, and 26, and so on. Along the way you run down the mountains, through the forests, through the farmland, through Portland proper, and through the remaining countryside until you hit the finish line, on the beach in a little town called Seaside. You run through the dark of the night and the heat of the day. It's 197 miles all told.

This may sound crazy, and it is. But the Hood to Coast has been run each year for 25 years. This year there were over 1000 teams, which means 12,000 runners, plus drivers, etc. There are male, female, mixed gender, masters, corporate, and who knows how many other divisions. Most are recreational teams, and some of them have been running the race for as many as 22 years in a row. Something keeps them coming back. The Hood to Coast is a big deal in Oregon--everybody knows about it, and if you haven't run it yourself, you probably know someone who has.

How did I get involved in all this?

continue reading »Well, I've wanted to run the Hood to Coast for years. There was often talk of putting together a Stanford team, but that idea never would have flown when we were in college--it's too much, too close to Mammoth and the cross country season. Talk of an alumni team fizzled quickly when most of us either moved away, got jobs, or started running for a living. Plus, the logistical challenge involved in getting twelve people to a race, including van rental, hotel, figuring out the course (no small challenge), and taking care of a thousand other little things, is daunting enough to rule out all but the most serious attempts.

Enter Gleukos, a sports drink manufacturer out of Portland, who sponsored the Farm Team this past season. They are very nice people and wanted to put together a team to win the race, as part of a PR effort for their product. (Marketing plug: Gleukos is a sports drink that contains glucose rather than the usual fructose/sucrose, which is supposed to be absorbed faster by your body than other types of sports drinks. We used the stuff and it is good.) The Gleukos people contacted Gags and the Beast, and they assembled a crack group of Farm Team alumni and a few other folks.

The "Gleukos Fast Fuelers," in order of race position, separated by van:

1) Brendon Mahoney
2) Luke Meyer
3) Jason Lunn
4) Mike Wallace
5) Sean Graham
6) Patrick Boivin

7) Tommy Greenless
8) Jonathon Riley
9) Stephen Donahue
10) Tom McGlynn
11) Andrew Hill
12) James Nielsen

Now I'm not about to go writing all about what everyone has done, but there are a few serious studs on that team. You can look them up if you want. Long story short, we thought we had a very good chance at winning. I was a bit nervous about keeping up--although I'd been running a little bit, and doing a workout here and there just to pass the time, I wasn't in very good shape. So I started a four-week crash training program and looked forward to race day...

to be continued

small moments

2006-09-12T22:32:00.000-05:00

A moment on a Southwest flight from Chicago to San Jose via Las Vegas (where we landed but were not allowed to de-plane, sorry Louie). A man a couple rows in front of me--older, stocky, weathered face, gray bushy beard, t-shirt, tan shorts, permanently furrowed brow--like someone who's spent too much time in the desert--had kicked off his sandals to relax during the flight. He got up to go to the bathroom in his bare feet and returned trailing a long sheet of toilet paper down the aisle, attached to his foot. We all stared in awe. He was completely unaware until a lady walking down the aisle took mercy on him.

A moment riding the Brown Line back to the office from the Loop. I saw an elementary school playground that had recently been demolished. The Bobcat was still mired in the mud along with the remnants of the play structures. It was drizzling. A bunch of kindergartners with their teacher were pressed up against the wooden fence, peering through slats in the board and wondering at the destruction. It reminds me of when they destroyed the great old wooden-and-chain-link playground at my elementary school and replaced it with the rubberized safe bullshit kind. Safety takes all the fun out of it.

A moment on the Vegas->San Jose leg of the same flight, when I suddenly realized that I was talking rudimentary particle physics with the cute Ph.D. student next to me. And they say EE isn't good for anything.

faceball

2006-09-07T00:13:00.000-05:00

Once in a while a sport comes along that is so revolutionary, so uplifting, so downright compelling that it becomes more than a sport; it becomes a phenomenon. It is so full of passion, so brimming with human drama, so alive with excitement that it captures the hearts and minds of young and old alike. The rise, fall, and redemption of larger-than-life figures are played out on the world's grandest stage, before an adoring and insatiable audience. That sport is Faceball.

Faceball historians trace the game's origins to an interoffice game of catch in early 2006. Tossing the football back and forth proved too tranquil for the fiercely competitive participants. Yours truly decided to see how close to his body he could make a catch, "without letting the football hit me in the face." This new pursuit, while a worthwhile diversion, soon lost its thrill.

The true moment of revelation came when Colby Smith, known to the ages as "the Father of Faceball," decided to assign a basic, three-tiered scoring system to the game. Other ancillary rules were soon developed, and modern Faceball was born.

The game reached its zenith in 2006 with the first quadrennial World Cup of Faceball, when the game reached new heights of popularity throughout the United States and the developing world. The inaugural Cup was won by the aforementioned Smith, who breezed through pool play and the elimination bracket, and handily dispatched this author in the championship game.

Henceforth, the ancient and venerable Rules of Faceball:

I. Basic Rules

Faceball is played with a regulation NFL-size football. If only a Nerf ball is present, see Section V.1.
The two participants are separated by roughly thirty feet, or other suitable agreed-on distance
Participants take turns throwing the football at one another, with the challenger going first. The thrower receives points based on accuracy
The recipient must catch the ball as close as possible to his or her body, without moving or flinching
The recipient must not move the ball after the catch is made, in order to "frame" the ball and allow determination of the score for that throw
Basic scoring is as follows:

The game is played to exactly 21 points. No more, no less.

5 points for a face shot. Face shots are determined by the following test: "Was that going to hit me in the face?" If the answer is Yes, then it's a face shot. If the throw was just going to graze your cheek, it's 0 points, but a re-throw
3 points for the torso (below the face and above the belt). Shoulders and arms do not count
1 point for the legs, from the belt to the knee, including the kneecap
2-point penalty if the recipient drops a reasonably catchable ball. The penalty is added on to the score for the throw, and can be declined by the thrower if circumstances dictate
0 points for all other throws

II. Scoring Nuances

The game is played to exactly 21 points. If a throw causes a player to go over 21 points, then 5 points are subtracted from that player's score, and play continues
Typically matches consist of the best two out of three games, although shorter and longer matches are common

III. Overtime

Like in baseball, the player who throws second (the "home team") gets a chance to throw even if his opponent reaches 21. If the second player ties the game at 21, the game goes to overtime
In overtime, the first player to score a face shot wins. Just as before, the player who throws second has the chance to match and force the game to continue

IV. Suggested Guidelines and Fair Play

Playing outdoors is courteous both to your officemates and to fragile office equipment
In the spirit of good sportsmanship, participants traditionally shake hands after a match
Trash-talking is highly encouraged before, during, and after the contest, and at all other times

V. Real Man's Faceball

If you play with a Nerf ball, the only acceptable way to play faceball is to let the ball hit you IN THE FACE. No moving. No catching. Just let the ball hit you, and take it LIKE A MAN.
This is Real Man's Faceball and it makes you feel alive!

the green fields of the mind

2006-09-05T23:46:00.000-05:00

At last!

It's everything they say it is, and more.

continue reading »It's sad to say that I'm writing this almost two weeks after my first Cubs game, but I'm still sleeping off Hood to Coast, and I haven't even begun writing about that yet. But Wrigley is first in the queue, because Wrigley is a church, the church of Baseball, and holy places should be treated with respect.

It doesn't matter what team you root for growing up; there are three ballparks you must visit before you die. They are Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, and Wrigley Field. There are others which until recently were on the short list of venerable ballparks--like the old Tiger Stadium, which is still standing but scheduled for demolition this fall, and Old Comiskey, which is long gone--but none others can match the history and tradition of the Big Three. Now I have two to go.

My first night in Chicago, a month before baseball season, I took the El up to Addison and circumnavigated Wrigley on foot. It was the only landmark I had in the whole city, and was my reference point for navigation while I was scouting places. (That Craigslist ad offering a room for rent in a house with two early-20's female flight attendants who share a room, and live a half block from Wrigley? Yeah, it was probably fake.)

So I felt I could do nothing more appropriate than pay tribute, despite the absence of actual baseball, and I vowed I would go see a game as soon as humanly possible. However, an unavoidable combination of circumstances along with a series of poorly-timed Cubs road trips prevented that. So I was very excited when I had a night when the team was in town and I could get off work at a reasonable hour, and I started feeling like a little boy again. Between the jet planes, capture the flag, and baseball, that's happening quite a bit these days.

Everything they say is great about Wrigley--the Friendly Confines, the sight of the grass for the first time, the ivy, the manual scoreboard, the Old Style in paper cups, the girls in Cubs jerseys, the seventh inning stretch, the rooftops--well, it's all true. There's nothing like it.

Forthwith: pictures.

Every game is sold out, but since the Cubbies are so bad (what else is new?), tickets are easy to come by. These cost us 20 bucks, were acquired with zero hassle, and were pretty decent seats in the lower deck. (I paid something like $14 to sit in the tippy-top row at US Cellular, but it was a highly anticipated series against my Oakland A's, featuring the return of Frank Thomas to the South Side.)

The view from our seats.

The manually operated scoreboard, the bleachers, and some of the Chicago skyline. The A's lost, by the way.

During the seventh inning stretch, the crowd unites in a traditional spiritual entitled, "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." The extended fingers represent one strike of the three necessary to retire a batter. The home team was shamed, 6-3, at the hands of the Phillies.

My friend Ryan is a Cubs fan and was distraught. I repped Oakland so I didn't care. Note that I wore the one article of clothing I have with any sort of bear on it.

In conclusion, Cubs games are awesome. In case you want more of a fix, here's some excellent writing about baseball:

John Updike's account of Ted Williams' last game. From the New Yorker.

A. Bartlett Giamatti's classic essay The Green Fields of the Mind. Evan, it's the second result on Google!

we apologise for the delay

2006-08-30T00:36:00.000-05:00

I haven't given up, there's just a lot going on. In the next few days, expect a full account of my first visit to WRIGLEY FIELD as well as a multi-part epic on the incredible HOOD TO COAST.

In the meantime, here is a frivolous link to occupy your time: Six Horrifying Parasites. Sleep tight!

planes

2006-08-21T22:14:00.000-05:00

The U.S. Navy's Blue Angels were flying this weekend at the Chicago Air & Water Show. I went to the beach on Saturday to watch, along with Tom, Brian, Bradley, and a host of other folks who were in town this weekend. For the uninitiated, here is what a Blue Angel looks like:

Naturally, I didn't take this picture, but you get the idea. The air show itself was pretty awesome. On Saturday morning I went for a run along the lake, and out of the fog rumbled a B-1B strategic bomber on its side, making a banked turn back to the North Ave beach. It's huge, and majestic, and it soared along for a while as I stopped and stared before it disappeared into the fog. To give you the scale of things, here's a B-1B. When it's banked and flying low, it's even more impressive--it's got a 137-foot wingspan when the wings aren't swept. And it's loud.

The airshow was great, but the preceding two days were even better, since the Angels were doing practice runs. I first became aware of this as I was walking back from the El after a meeting, and a solo F/A-18 flew directly overhead at near rooftop level with an absolutely terrific roar. I had no idea it was coming, but when it was gone I was smiling and giggling like a little boy. I used to go to airshows with my dad when I was younger, and during Fleet Week in San Francisco you can walk up the hill from my house and see them flying out of Moffett Field. Like most little boys, I had a thing for planes, and it resurfaces every once in a while. It sounds trite, but they fly so fast and are so impressive that one can't do anything but marvel.

The loft where I work is right near North Avenue, close to the beach, which is the focal point of the airshow. Since my coworker was traveling, I moved operations from the dining table to the desk near the window, where I could see the diamond and the two solos do their passes not far above the taller apartment buildings nearby. According to their website, Blue Angel maneuvers go from 15,000 feet all the way down to the 50-foot "sneak pass," so they were really down on the deck. During the air show, one of the solos did the sneak pass over the lake and flashed by so fast and so low that it was kicking up water--and of course, only when it was gone did you hear the tremendous BOOM! that followed.

Occasionally the flight pattern would take them right over the loft. I had all the windows open so I could hear and feel all of it, and the Angels delivered by shaking the windows, rattling glasses, and generally thrilling me to the core. I was in a happy mood all weekend.

on your marks

2006-08-16T23:35:00.000-05:00

To get things moving, I'm going to do a quick Brent-style recap. What have I done since relocating to Chicago? Well, a lot:

I've left the friendly confines of Webster St., ridden the El, crashed a med student conference, grilled brats at one in the morning, gone to two Sox -A's games but no Cubs games, met a bunch of complete strangers who turned out to be awesome, walked everywhere in the city...

continue reading »...got tired of that and bought a sweet ten-speed at Working Bikes, been to Vegas for the first time, attended my first lacrosse game, won $300 in a road race, eaten some quality pizza and Polish sausage, saw my little sister graduate from college, nearly got killed by a Puerto Rican dude when Jon refused to take his coffeemaker, worked a ton, went shopping on Michigan Avenue (totally against my will), spent a week in New York City, found out I'm living two doors down from a minor celebrity (TV's "the Bachelorette"), played Capture the Flag in the streets (twice), took a picture at the Shit Fountain in Wicker Park, had my I'm-finally-okay-with-retiring-from-running moment, watched the Fourth of July fireworks with 500,000 other people on North Avenue beach, had lunch with my cousin, helped crew a 38-foot racing sailboat, met Boots Riley of the Coup, barbecued on the South Side, attended the first house party I've been to where a trampoline was present, eaten at McDonald's, played pickup baseball many times, been inducted into a bike posse, seen some awesome concerts (Gogol Bordello, Boris, the Intonation festival, Of Montreal, the Coup, and most of all Sleater-Kinney for the last time), hit the town in the legendary Mystery Machine, eaten a real Philly cheesesteak, had dinner at Ali Baba's, ridden my bike as fast as possible through nearby Cabrini-Green, run the lakefront, seen a free concert at Millenium Park, attended both days of the Upright Citizen's Brigade marathon in NYC, cooked for an entire weekend with Mari and Emily, gotten sprayed by Buckingham Fountain, played NHL '94, and, mainly as a result of moving here without knowing anybody, been putting myself out there and generally being a total badass.

It's been a lot of fun.

Things still on my list:

Go to a Cubs game. This is the single most important thing I can do while I'm in Chicago and I haven't done it yet. I'm always out of town when they're in town. It WILL happen. Fortunately, they suck, and scalped tickets are cheap. Wrigley is the church of baseball.
Hit the museums. The Art Institute, the Field Museum, MoCA, etc. Saving these for when it turns cold.
The Second City. I live about one block south of the Second City and there's really no excuse. Improv usually doesn't do much for me, but after seeing UCB with Jon and Tim in New York, I'm excited.
Find some decent Mexican food. La Pasadita is closest, but it's no La Costena. Actively soliciting suggestions.
See a show, or many shows, at the Empty Bottle
Eat a sundae at Margie's.
Wiener Circle between the hours of two and four a.m., or Tim will disown me as a friend.

You can expect further adventures to be documented, and posting frequency to pick up.

A final word: many of the links above contain pictures. If you're in one, and you don't want to be, email me. I'll take it down, no questions asked.

the plunge

2006-06-23T00:37:00.000-05:00

well, it's time for a blog. I've wanted to do this for a while, but never got around to it. Why? I'm not sure. Everyone has a blog these days. But it's been a long time since I've done any significant reading and writing, and I want to get back into it.

continue reading »The reading I'll have to work on. I read voraciously as a child and it's still one of my greatest joys, but when high school came around, reading became less about pleasure and more about work. But writing, well--sometimes it's a matter of having an outlet. It's good to have an outlet.

It's even better to have a captive audience and I don't expect that here, but if anyone reads this, I hope you're enjoying yourselves. There's too much happening in Chicago, San Francisco, the country, the world, and inside my little head to ignore.

Finally, a shout out to Brent Schulkin and Vital Node, the blog to which this fragile little offering owes its existence. No Brent = no This Blog. Good stuff.