Toast for Brekkie

Burnished

Since it's been suggested I cast off unrevised missives with greater frequency, I shall attempt to encapsulate (with some brevity, due to the late hour and my need for repose) a recent thought or two.

You may have noticed my recent writing binge. I can't explain it except to say that when you're in the vein, there must be an outlet. Like the needle in my arm today from which the donated blood flowed. The muse comes and goes of her own will. Best take advantage.

Can you tell I just watched the new Harry Potter film? It seems my brain slips as easily into a given syntactical structure as my tongue does into an exotic accent. We'll go with it and see if it lasts. It's only appropriate, since it was the film that triggered my epiphanies.

I must confess I've never read a Harry Potter book. Gasp! Blasphemy! Indeed, while we're in a spirit of disclosure, I admit I haven't finished reading a book in years. Something happened on the way to an engineering education...then a social life sprang into existence and, well, there hasn't since been much time for sitting alone. That's not to say I don't appreciate what Ms. Rowling has done to stir the literary pot, to awaken the minds of readers young and old the world over. In fact if I had to guess I'd say it was her own rapacious appetite for reading that provided her the vast lode of lore from which she draws such engaging and tightly-weaved stories. Even having only seen the films, and knowing that books are infinitely more detailed, I marvel at her ability to spin a yarn. There hasn't been such skill at creating an entire magical universe and such engrossing, intricate and flawless plots since Tolkien.

And if all that wasn't good enough, she wraps the whole lot neatly around a positive moral and thought-provoking allegory. To my point: toward the end (slight spoiler warning) Dumbledore tells Harry, "Now is the time that we must choose between what is right, and what is easy." The quote for all intensive purposes applies to upcoming tests of Harry's moral fiber. But for me it sparked the powder of some stones I've been mulling on what this generation refers to as technology, or what in the past may have been referred to as "the pursuit of leisure." It was all made clear in the context of wizardry.

There is virtue in doing things the hard way. It is a nonissue to drive 26.2 miles. On the highway it's over in less than half an hour. But to run 26.2 miles? That's a marathon. Technology, just like magic, allows us to do things that we wouldn't otherwise be able. But in so doing it robs such acts of their meaning. Hence the never-ending march of "progress." Keep in mind I have a blog, a moblog, several email accounts and a phone named Tyrone, lest you be tempted to shout, "Luddite!"

Imagine you're a Wizard and you'd like to cook a meal for a friend or loved one. Which would have more meaning? A spell that causes the kitchen to come alive and cook the most delicious repast in history within minutes, or an old-fashioned, perfectly flawed spread cooked from scratch by hand over the course of the afternoon? Which do you think the dinner guest would appreciate more? Now flash to images of owls carrying hand-written notes and suddenly you'll understand why I love the traditional post. Sure, it's tangible, pleasing not only to the touch but to the eye. But it's the arduousness that better demonstrates your ardor.

In email, for example, not only is it too easy to get away with negative sentiments, but the convenience also causes love to suffer. It's hard to mail a hand-written letter that lashes out at someone verbally, which is why it's a good exercise. Get it out on paper, then throw it away. But it's also difficult, and more importantly, it takes more time and effort, to send a love letter by mail. Since time is the most precious gift we have, a letter is a physical representation to the recipient that you value them enough to share more than a modest amount of your greatest gift. It's like packaging up a little piece of your life and loosing it on the wind, only for it to find its way into their hands, through their eyes and into their hearts. It's like magic. But better.

And I guess while we're on the topic of confessions and love letters, I might as well throw all caution to the wind and discuss a subject that has hereunto been a self-imposed taboo: relationships. It wasn't just the sweet adolescent blossoms of love in the film that triggered me; I've been having strong dreams and experiencing strange coincidences that have kept my most recent ex in my thoughts over the past week. Could be a byproduct of the conduit from the muse, but I have the suspicion I've been in her thoughts as well. And that we may soon meet again. Anyway, to the point: the death of a relatively major character in the film wasn't necessary to remind me of my own mortality, but it helped. And I made another connection.

This life could be over in the blink of an eye. I could be blindsided and never know that it happened. So what has gone before must be enough. I must be content with it. I spend so much time talking about how happy I have been, dreaming about how happy I hope to be. What about how happy I am? And given that those moments with another, even though they reside in the past, will never cease to exist, how happy I always will be?

That was what Harry Potter taught me. Everything will change, but contentedness is within. And there is virtue and demonstrable love in the slow, careful, difficult, and arduous. My thanks to you, Ms. Rowling, for the entertainment. But more importantly for the lessons in life.

From the hip

This morning the sky was brilliant pink as I pulled out of the garage. I thought to myself, "I'll get a picture overlooking the water at the park. It's only a mile away." By the time I got there, though, the angle of the sun's rays had swept across the sky and all that was left was a thin line of color by the horizon.

The view out my window for the rest of the day was gray, with occasional splatters of rain on the glass. The mood was understandably low-key, and I drug my body to the gym with more than a little harumphing along the way. The workout was good, though, and as always my energy level was increased and my mood raised by the end. It helped that the clouds broke right as the sun was setting.

I gathered my belongings in the locker room and stepped outside. "Oh god," escaped from my lips and I fell into silence. I stood transfixed just outside the building as the light poured over the horizon and illuminated the clouds that before had been invisible in the gray. It is no exaggeration that I have never seen such clouds in my life.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I think now that my experience with the sunrise subconsciously guided my actions. "You missed your chance before, don't miss this one." Indeed, had I paid closer attention I might have been better prepared. "The sunrise was great today, Junior. Perhaps the sunset will be too." I wish now I had listened. I looked around frantically for any nice palms trees to frame the sky or higher ground for an unobstructed view, away from the parking lots and street lamps. I quickly gave up, however, and started snapping shots where I stood. "I refuse to miss this looking for a better vantage point," I said to myself. "If I can't learn to be prepared, at least I can swing at the next pitch. Better to bunt and run than wait for the pitch that might yield a homer and risk striking out."

I watched as the colors grew richer and deeper, blazing oranges and crimson reds. People left work as if it was still raining. A few looked to the sky, but then back to the ground at their feet, plodding toward the car to drive home. A friend even stopped to joke that I can never resist taking photos. "Not with something like this!" I replied.

I played with Tyrone's white balance and color effects in a vain attempt to capture what my eyes beheld. No combination could yield the rich, deep hues of the sky. And I knew it was foolish to believe that the small details that stood out so starkly on my retinas would be captured by Tyrone's spunky 1.3 megapixels.

As time progressed I began to second guess my decision to stay. "Surely you could have found a hill or a tree," I mumbled. But each passing second further cemented my initial choice. "It's too late to move now."

I don't remember if it was on the way home or while I was standing there that it struck me. "This is a metaphor for life." You can't be prepared for everything. You can't always be in control, or have each moment planned out. When the really great things come along, how do you receive them? Do you step behind the curtain and rearrange your suit, comb your hair and return to stage? Or do you stand there and soak in the applause? Do you run to the car as the sun sets and desperately search for a photo op, hoping to capture that award winning shot? Or do you stand where your are and madly snap away, hoping one picture in twenty can convey a fraction of what you behold?

Of course by now you know my answer: take it as it comes. But was I right? Shouldn't I have risked the greater glory? Or maybe none of the above. Perhaps I should have simply stood there and took it all in, not try to capture the limitless beauty. Is it nobler to appreciate such grandeur in solitude? Whence the urge to share with others?

Ultimately the choice is made. No taking it back. No better camera, no better setting, no better foreground. Better than any photo I could take, however, is the realization that the sight triggered. As beautiful as the sky was, even the best camera on the planet, the human eye, couldn't capture it all. There were details that escaped me. But think of the greater picture: how many other people witnessed the sight? What were their thoughts? Did it lift their spirits? And I ask this: would the beauty of the sunset be diminished if no one had seen it? No. But isn't it more beautiful that it can be seen and appreciated?

Think of all the views of all the sunsets on all the planets in all the galaxies in the universe. It's too much to bear. It's effectively infinite. All that beauty and you'll never see it. There is no sunset that you will witness before you die on any other planet but Earth. Or is there? Skies of green and purple, sunsets of blue and teal. Every color you can imagine and some you can't. Every spectrum of radiation, every atmospheric composition. It's all there, some seen, some unseen, but each one enhanced by the knowledge and appreciation of its existence.

Drizzling Rain

Not every day can be the best day you've ever had. Mondays are especially tough after holidays. Today started with too little sleep, continued with overcast skies and rain, and ended with extra hours at work. But I have a bed to sleep in, a roof to keep me dry in a region without drought, and a great job. I even got some cardio in today (after a little encouragement) so I'm feeling great this evening.

In this spirit of balance, I'd like to share a few links with you. The first deals with a pet topic of mine: the shrinking middle class. It's this sort of socioeconomic imbalance (along with religious differences and classism, of course) that can be pointed to as a root cause for events such as the violence in France. Along with the erosion of the middle class we're also watching American liberty crumble one stone at a time. Still, even with all this going on, science marches on and we continue to make beautiful discoveries. Perhaps you can lend me some of your different eyes to see the positive side of these recent events. Somehow it's harder to see than the silver lining of today's rainclouds.

The Perfect Monday

Ever have one of those days you don't deserve? That was today. I thought the high couldn't get any higher after METRIC. Not so fast, junior.

I woke up to a glorious sunrise, still thinking about the soul that Sam and Shokufeh have just brought into this world. The day was warm and sunny, full of blue skies and puffy white clouds. I got to drive my friend Brian's Porsche, a 1999 Carrera, the newest one I've ever driven. Seth's was still just as fast, though. Speaking of whom, I found out today he's coming to visit for a week and interview for a job (cross your fingers!), and I can't wait. Vince scanned in his drawings from METRIC concert, which, along with my photos and videos, we plan to turn into a multimedia experience of the band's Orlando show. One of my dearest friends, Maria, called me during the middle of the day from Argentina. I haven't talked to her in months! If I can't save up the money soon, I might just have to sell my house to finance a trip to the southern hemisphere. I miss you, Mery. I had a great workout; it felt good getting back to the gym. I went to see Walk the Line, which was heart-rendingly good, with Timmy, who is heart-warmingly good. Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon deserve their Oscars. Timmy surprised me with a mix cd that is currently taking me on a heartbreaking journey. I immediately recognized his drawing on the cover: Where the Wild Things Are. Turns out we both have the same favorite childhood book. "What do you mean childhood? That's still my favorite book," he says. In googling the book, I just discovered Spike Jonze is making it into a film. Wow. Now imagine playing the cd and hearing Antony & the Johnsons, Iron & Wine, New Death Show, The Streets, Engineers, Solomon Burke, Sufjan Stevens, and Damien Rice--all new to me--right in a row. And I know that when I wake up tomorrow, after work I'll start a road trip that ends with a reunion with my family for Thanksgiving. The cd is just finishing...thank you so much, Timmy...

Sometimes happiness just sneaks up from behind and wraps you in its warm embrace. Sometimes heaven parts and a hand reaches down and folds yours around a pearl. Sometimes life is too beautiful to bear. I could just cry, cry, cry.

Ketching up

I've run myself aground. I'm sitting here on the couch, it is 5am, my ears are ringing, and I'm only plunging my body into further illness. But you must know; I must write.

I feel like I should start this out like a rapper at an awards ceremony, "I'd like to thank God..." If you've been following the moblog you're aware that the stars have conspired to pack four incredible concerts into my life in the span of eight days. Yes, I am supremely blessed. Yes, I fully appreciate it. And yes, you were all right, it did finally catch up with me. Just as I'm catching up with you now. While my body has suffered and finally relented to the sea of viruses we swim in, I have so much to say about Circo, Jarabe de Palo, Mute Math, MAE, and U2 (!) that I'm simply overwhelmed. Perhaps I can cobble together some stories when the flesh recovers. There is one to tell now, however, while it's still fresh.

My dear friend Vince is asleep in the guest bedroom, understandably knackered due to the drive from Tampa and sailing the tidal wave of energy that is METRIC. I'm grateful that the concert streak ended with these endlessly fabulous musicians, on their last show in the US tour no less. Could they be my favorite band? The ol' corpus sure thinks so. I was convulsing like an electrocuted epileptic ferret on acid. The music I thought I knew so well flowed from some other-worldly realm out through the fingers, toes and throats of METRIC into my ears, grabbed hold of my spine and shook it like a stubborn ketchup bottle. I was completely lost in it. My sense of self shuffled off and all that was left was the vibrating wave function, humming through space.

Of course, eveyone (especially the lesbians) at The Social was in love with Emily Haines: lead singer, keyboardist, and intelligent, saucy, politically-savvy sexbomb. I tried to give the three J's, James, Josh, and Joules, some love on flickr, but I'm sure they of all people know the main attraction. Plus I couldn't even see Joules behind the cymbals (sorry dude!). While mademoiselle's dancing was enough to ring anyone's bell, her stage dive brought the house down. Sorry, no pictures of that. I was too busy participating.

After the show it just kept getting better. I had the incredible fortune to meet and chill with the entire band. Josh saw me first and said, "Dude, you sweat more than I did!" I couldn't help but play fanboy, gushing about their performance, buying tshirts and getting autographs. I still have the biggest grin on my face. When Emily finally emerged from backstage I was plunged into a sea of French. There were so many French fans there it might as well have been a meeting of Alliance Française. And I was in heaven.

Vince is an artist, and he brought his sketchbook along to the concert. He managed a sketch for every song that METRIC played, and they are phenomenal. When he gets them scanned in (and blesses their release) you'll see my photos put to shame. Oh, and I have videos. The sound is of course clipped, but the visuals are great. I just need to find a host site and I can share that and more...including U2.

A couple interesting coincidences: 1) Vince really opened me up to Pink Floyd years back (stuff beyond The Wall and Dark Side of the Moon) and Emily incorporated lines from Another Brick in the Wall into the extended version of an encore song. 2) Before the show began, I noticed a t-shirt of Aquaman that reminded me of my close friend Kip from college, who had a radioshow as DJ Aqualad in Knoxville. Imagine my surprise, then, when the band made their entrance to the same Laurie Anderson song that Kip played at the beginning of every radio show: O Superman. I miss ya, buddy. You shoulda been there.

This was the best concert I will ever attend. Sorry Bono. You know I love you, man, but I had to sit 300 yards from you, and you weren't around to hang out after the show.

Three strikes

Ok, I admit it. It was bad karma to call the cops slow. Don't fret, though, the fundamental balance of the universe has just been restored: I got pulled over again tonight. Was I speeding? Yeah. If you consider 15mph speeding.

Strike one: I was riding a bike in a country dominated by cars and incredibly unfriendly to cyclists. The right to share the road is mostly ignored by motorists, and bike paths are largely nil. Cities are sprawling and ill-planned, with distances between places of interest all but necessitating automobiles.

Strike two: I was riding at night on the shoulder of a 45mph bypass road with no street lights. I was making my way via starlight, without a headlight or a red, blinking rear light. Admittedly not the greatest idea.

Strike three: Not so fast. I didn't strike out. When the cop pulled me over I cooperated, provided ID, demonstrated sobriety and let the officer do all the talking. I think it helped that I was wearing a helmet (which, ironically, is not even required of motorcyclists in this state). In the end he simply informed me of the Florida bike light law and told me to ride the rest of the way home "at my own risk." Thanks, buddy. I live my whole life at my own risk.

By now I know the drill. Of course the best defense any time you're stopped by the police is to quietly cooperate, no matter how righteous your indignation. But even though I got away without a fine this time, I still feel violated. Let's review the behavior of law enforcement.

Strike one: Talking to me as if I'm a five year old. Especially when you are obviously straight out of high school and younger than me. You know, I'd love to stand here all night as you combat the boredom of your job by telling me every local pedestrian and cyclist story from the past year. But is it really necessary to address me with such a supercilious tone? On top of that I got scolded for wearing a black backpack and black helmet while riding a black bike. "I didn't even see you until I was right on top of you." Well what if my skin had been black, officer? Perish the thought. I'd probably be moblogging this from the backseat of the squadcar.

Strike two: Treating me as guilty until proven innocent. Ok, so I'm riding a bike with no lights at 1:30am on my way home from a birthday party. Does that mean you should assume I'm up to no good? While the first cop ran my ID, a second pulled up. Obviously to provide backup. God knows how dangerous cyclists can be. As the second dude walked silently up to the scene, the first said, "You'll never believe it, Frank. We actually got a good kid here." "No such thing," Frank muttered matter-of-factly. A third cop drove slowly by. At this point I'm wondering if cycling is even legal anymore.

Strike three: Nope. The cops didn't strike out either. The first guy was pretty nice as cops go. He said his piece and let me go after a relative minimum of harassment. I was fed the same old line, "We're just here to protect you," but I'll let that one slide. On the bright side, at least you don't have to bribe cops in the US to get them to leave you alone.

So ends another arresting saga of my run-ins with the fuzz. I guess it's good to know there are three cruisers within thirty seconds of any location on Merritt Island ready to pounce on anybody dumb enough break a bike law. I feel safer already.

Halloween 2005

As of October I'd been in my house for a year, but it wasn't until last Friday that I threw a party. If you're aware the Swiss-watch-like regularity of festive events at my apartment in Knoxville during my tenure at one the nation's top party schools, this might come as a bit of a shock. Rest assured, dear reader, that the legend continues.

During the Hurricane party for Wilma, we realized that no one was hosting a Halloween shindig, so I suddently found myself with a great excuse for an inaugural fête. It went off without a hitch, replete with dancing, incredible costumes, and raucous merriment. Considering the 2am conclusion, however, the most pleasant surprise of the night was the absence of the local police force. I must have some cool neighbors. Or some slow cops.

Since Tyrone's flash only works within two feet, none but eight of my photos came out. However, during the week I was able to corral 73 other photos from my friends Lashanda, Ami, and Jessica, and they await your perusal here on the moblog.

I gotta give a shoutout to DJ Techgnome, aka Ami J, standard bearer of the funk. She and Brad kept the party rockin'. Word to Danielle for the decorations. And the party could not have been a success without the planning, funding, and post-party hazmat cleanup from the gnomes below, Jeff and Zoë. Monster props, you two.

It takes a village

Let's see a show of hands. How many of you were aware that two new moons have just been discovered orbiting Pluto? Ok, good. Now, did also you know that NASA is launching a probe called New Horizons in early 2006 that will fly by Pluto and Charon in 2015 (yeah, I know, it takes a helluvah long time to get to Pluto, even with a gravity assist from Jupiter)? I can already see your cogs turning. "Does that mean the spacecraft will be able to image the new moons a decade from now?" The answer: perhaps. The incoming trajectory should bring it relatively close to P2...wait, hold on. I'm getting ahead of myself.

About five minutes before leaving work today, I received an email out of the blue that the discoverers of Pluto's two new moons (say that five times fast) would be at the space center for a briefing. The turnout was surprisingly small (or not surprisingly, given the late notice) but the brainpower in the room was immediately evident. These weren't engineers. They were scientists. This was made painfully clear by the abrupt increase in the local density of ponytails, beards, and interesting choices in the area of apparel.

As it turns out, it's rare nowadays for an individual to be responsible for an astronomical discovery. We've pretty much exhausted the discovering potential of human-sized optical telescopes, so you don't run into many modern day Galileos. Exceptions do exist however, especially for ephemeral bodies like comets and NEOs (near earth objects like, say, a doomsday asteroid). But finding a several million year old moon, not to mention two of them? Not likely.

As we look further and further into the universe, we require larger, more specialized and highly expensive equipment. It takes groups (if not armies) of people to run places like Arecibo, Mauna Kea, and the VLA. As a result, observation time is shared. The competition can be stiff, especially for the best imaging equipment. Which just so happens to be in space.

The group that discovered the new moons was actually turned down twice by the Hubble Space Telescope mission planners (it's an ongoing process). Every week of viewing time on the aging telescope is booked well in advance. So the astronomers describe the moon-finding project, completed in only two Hubble orbits, as "the little mission that could."

The little planet of Pluto has a rich history of precovery. That is to say, when the official discovery of a celestial object is made it gives astronomers the necessary information to go back into historical images and say "Aha! See! It was there all along!" When Clyde Tombaugh discovered Pluto in 1930, the planet was subsequently found to appear in photos dating back to 1915. Same thing with Pluto's primary moon (or binary planet, depending on who you ask) Charon. And, surprise surprise, the two new moons, P1 and P2, can be found staring out of the grainy noise of years-old photos if you know just where to look.

P1 and P2 share some interesting quirks. They appear to be in the same orbital plane as Charon, in circular orbits, which is not too terribly special. What's peculiar is that they are almost precisely two and three times further than Charon from Pluto, with respective resonant orbits of 4:1 and 6:1. The resulting protection from gravitational perturbation causes Pluto's little mini-solar system to operate, as the team lead put it, "like a Swiss watch." The latest mathematical models of the system (and by latest I mean from last week) seem to indicate this happy little family has existed as such for at least tens of millions of years.

It was fascinating to hear these astronomers breathlessly describe their findings on the cusp of the confirmation of this discovery. Indeed, there are so many aspects of the two satellites yet to be discovered (their mass, emissivity, etc.) that there were comments bandied about based on back-of-the-napkin and top-of-the-head calculations even as the presentation progressed. It was not uncommon to hear phrases like "on the plane ride here..." and "after dinner last night..." or to have an audience member jump up, grab the laser pointer, and trace on screen the incoming path of the New Horizons probe in 2015.

Which brings us back to the beginning. I have no doubt that by the time ten years have passed the mission planners will find a way to send back to Earth images of our little friends P1 and P2, who by then will have long since been given proper names. What's even more exciting, though, is the thought of how many discoveries will be made in the intervening decade. It's easy to get caught up in everyday life, or if you think of the future, to simply sit around and wait for the next cameraphone/pda/mp3player. But the infant eyes of humanity grow wider each day. Unbeknownst to what seems like the majority of the population, a small cadre of extremely bright people is extending our awareness of the cosmos and our place in it. These are the real heroes. They may not look like rockstars, but hey. At least they dress better.