January 31, 2006
Tuesday's wrath
It's karma. Again. I guess I should have learned Bobby Fuller's lesson. You fight the man, the man wins. Monday was great? Hey, Tuesday'll make up for it.
Two things I learned today:
1) Don't speed in St. Lucie County.
2) One month does not equal 30 calendar days.
I put off paying for my ticket. No real reason. Well, I take that back. I'd rather hold onto my money as long as possible. It's laughable that the fine is reduced from $200 to $180 if you take the driver improvement course. That's not even enough to cover the cost of the course, which is itself worthless. My driving skill or lack thereof is entirely uninfluenced by your sensationalist propaganda and skewed statistics. I won't even claim to be a great driver, since all people believe themselves to be above average. I'll just say this: I've never been responsible for an accident. I remain focused, vigilant, and skillful when I drive. So my speed breaks your arbitrary rules a minority of the time. You catch me, I pay the fine. That's what you care about anyway, right? Your money?
Anyway. I called the county clerk's office today after digging up their number (it's not on the citation) and having a couple of calls ring indefinitely with no answer. After finally being transferred to the correct administrator, who probably hates their job just as much as I hate calling them, I was informed that I was a day late. "But I thought I had a month!" "You have 30 calendar days, sir." "That's not a month?" "No." I pulled out a calendar and counted the days myself. Sure enough, to get back to the same day of the month in two back-to-back months with 31 days, you need...you guessed it...31 days. "I'm sorry, sir, but this means you can't take the driver improvement course." Thank god for small favors. "And you'll have to pay the full fine." Ok. Sure. Whatever. Let's just get this over with. "And you'll have to take four points against your driving record." I'll admit, that one stung a bit. "Plus, there's an eighteen dollar late fee." It took every ounce of composure in every corner of my body to remain calm. "So can I just give you my credit card number?" I whimpered. I won't tell you what I wanted to say.
I tried my best not to let that color the rest of my day, but reading the news didn't help my mood. I'm sure I've told you before that I do my best not to spread negativity, so I hope you'll accept my apology for relating this tale. I just had to air it out. In the grand scheme, I know, this is nothing. I live the life of a king in one of the most affluent countries on earth. Said life is not without its humbling, perspective-furnishing moments, however.
One other quick note: the clamor for new photos on flickr from those who appear in said photos has reached a dull roar. I know busyness is not gonna fly as an excuse, but if you only knew the sheer volume of activity I try to fit into life. I'm literally typing this as fast as I can in a half hour I stole from my obligations tonight. But I'm not complaining. Oh no. Just offering up a white flag with a message that reads "I'll get those photos up as soon as possible. I promise!"
I can't part without giving a shout out to those who've helped me through today with their kind words and actions. You know who you are. Thank you.
To everyone else in the world, and I mean all of you, I hope your Tuesday was better than mine.
January 28, 2006
Muzzled
Below is a link that represents just one example of how the current administration applies surreptitious pressure to further its own agenda in spite of overwhelming evidence, scientific or otherwise. In this case the topic is climate change. Link courtesy doctor vince.
Dr. Hansen, a top scientist at NASA's Goddard research facility, is fighting the man.
See also the editor's take on the Fed's response to the NY Times story here.
January 27, 2006
Meme-a-licious
So I looked up the article on memes after Lay-c blogged about it, and my mind is blown. Someone please tell me if they can wrap their head around that one. It's just as well that she tagged me, though. I sense it could be a gentle prod along the lines of, "Hey, where are all those entries you promised? Huh? Here, take a mulligan." Thus I present you with a bit of frivolous entertainment while I sit on these unfinished entries, debating whether to post them.
Four jobs I've had:
1. Professor of Thermodynamics
2. Barista
3. Assembly line worker
4. Aerospace Engineer
Four movies I can watch over and over:
1. The Princess Bride
2. Apollo 13
3. The Fifth Element
4. Spirited Away
Four places I've lived:
1. College Grove, TN
2. Knoxville, TN
3. Clearwater, FL
4. Merritt Island, FL
Four TV shows I love:
1. LOST
2. The Daily Show
3. Aqua Teen Hunger Force
4. Saturday Night Live
Four places I've vacationed:
1. Treasure Cay, Abaco, Bahamas
2. Les Sables D'Olonne, France
3. Florence, Italy (high five, Lacey!)
4. Prague, Czech Republic
Four of my favorite dishes:
1. Thai Thai Sushi Boat
2. Tofu Coconut Curry
3. Pad Thai (wow, I had no idea how much I love Thai food)
4. Salmon. You fix it, I'll eat it.
Four sites I visit daily:
1. msnbc.com
2. Flickr (double high five, lay-c!)
3. lay-c.com/[insert fami-lay member here] (high five again!)
4. WIKIPEDIA!
Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Chicago
2. On my island (lay-c might be there too!)
3. Space
4. The Swiss Alps
Four bloggers I am tagging:
1. Sholeh Loehle
2. Naseem Kourosh (as if you have nothing better to do, right Nazzy?)
3. Delara Zargarpoor
4. The fabulous Ezra Freelove
Thanks, lay-c! HIGH FIVE!
January 19, 2006
Passage to Pluto
Here's a sobering thought: when the New Horizons probe reaches Pluto, I will be thirty-six. Many of the major milestones of my life will take place as the little spacecraft that could slings its way past Jupiter and out into the dark, desolate, frigid reaches of the Kuiper Belt. It's mind-boggling that we have to wait that long for the fastest spacecraft in history to find its way to the last planet. Stranger still is the fact that some of the scientists directly responsible for this project won't be around when it arrives. In the wry words of the 70-plus-year-old project manager, "Some of us will have retired, and some of us will have expired."
It seems like such a long time. I mean, all of my friends will be married with children? AAAAH! But for the solar system it's the blink of an eye. Pluto will have scarcely moved in its 248-year trek around the sun. Imagine now how long it's going to take to get to another star. Proxima Centauri, the closest star to the sun, is four light years away. That means that even if we could travel at the speed of light, which Einstein says is impossible, it would take four years to get there. New Horizons travels at 36,000 mph. The speed of light is six-hundred and ninety-six million miles per hour. That's eighteen thousand times faster than the fastest thing we've ever launched. Which we launched today.
This probe is very exciting. It's the "first probe to the last planet" as Nerdular Nerdence puts it. If all goes as planned it stands to explosively expand our knowledge of the littlest planet. But it's only a baby step in the grand scheme of human exploration of the cosmos. There's so much out there! LET'S GO!
January 16, 2006
January 04, 2006
Memento
I reached into the left pocket of my brown-leather thrift-store jacket tonight only to discover a receipt. I’ve never been one to throw anything away; it’s a genetic gift from my pack-rat grandfather, to be sure. Even as I worry it between my fingers now, I can’t believe how long it’s been since I last wore this jacket. February 2nd, 2003. Nearly three years. Why did I find this? Why today?
Three years. One little scrap of paper and the curtain falls, the vast expanse of the past 1066 days laid out at my feet like a valley from a mountaintop. How can it seem simultaneously so short and so long? Four cars, three girlfriends, two houses, a career? Three years is a lifetime.
Let me see if I can braid this together as beautifully in words as it is entwined within the cobwebs of my skull. The receipt is from Lady Godiva, a true British pub, British-run and British-owned in, of all places, Tennessee. Three years ago I spent twenty-five dollars and fifteen cents on fish, chips and beer with my then-girlfriend while wearing the same jacket that I have on at the moment these words pour forth from my fingertips. She’s now and has always been one of my best friends, and is now happily married to a great man who dotes on her and provides for her every want and need. I care deeply about them both, and pray for their continued and permanent happiness.
As I was pulling the receipt out of my pocket to write this, I noticed the shark’s tooth I just got yesterday at Largo Cargo, a kitsch-store in the Keys. Heh. Sharkboy indeed. I emptied it from the wallet where it was stashed and was just about to place it in a polished-gem dish when I noticed what was already there: a tiny pewter horreo that I’d taken off my key chain after nearly losing it at a picnic. It is special enough to me that I no longer carry it around for fear of its loss; it reminds me of the girl from Spain who gave it to me almost two years ago. An horreo is a traditional granary typical of her native region of Spain; the charm she gave me is a symbol of her home, and by extension herself. I hope she’s doing well, getting close to finishing her language studies in France. How I lament that we’ve lost touch. Her intelligence, beauty and irresistible charm are no doubt serving her well wherever she finds herself today. Undoubtedly as much has happened in her life in the intervening two years as has occurred in mine. Though she could tell you about it in around four more languages than I could.
Instead of placing the shark’s tooth with the lonely key chain, it seemed more appropriate to set it down nearby, right next to the purple shells I collected at Playalinda (Spanish for beautiful beach) shortly after my arrival in Florida. It’s been a year, but for some reason I have never put those shells away; they have remained out on my kitchen countertop undisturbed. As I mentioned earlier, I almost lost that key chain at a cookout last January. What you didn’t know was that it was a swing-dance get-together. The whole reason I went to that shindig was to see a girl I’d met the Friday night before. We had hit it off so well that people were asking us at the picnic, less than 48 hours since we’d met, how long we’d been dating. It was within less than a month that I found myself, in the same park where the picnic was held, giving her my heart and reveling in our first kiss. We were enveloped by a dreamworld that seemed to be our own personal Monet. My heart came in the form of a necklace I had created from the most flawless violet shell I could find on Playalinda, a necklace that I had had every intention of mailing to Spain before I met her. The shell was from the beach where days after I gave her the necklace we spent the day together in utter bliss. The beach is where I realized that yes, this is the only person I’ve ever wanted to marry. The details of our eventual split are not worthy of mention. But to this day she still has that shell, regardless of whether she’s long since thrown it away.
And now resting together in my kitchen and on my heart are the receipt, the horreo, the other shells and the shark’s tooth.
Cómo cambia la vida.
January 02, 2006
Sharkboy
Outside the bonfire and good cheer beckon, so I'll try to keep this short, but I had to tell the story while it's fresh.
We just returned from snorkeling the only living coral reefs in the U.S., off the coast of Key Largo. It was a red-letter day, full of benevolent signs on a trip already rife with omens:
Our captain was an old salt, with a sunburn so deep it could outlast five winters. Our divemaster was laid back, with sun-creased laugh lines betraying his deep-rooted good humor. We snorkeled three spots in all, including a stop at the "Christ of the Deep" statue. I've been diving in a few nice spots around Florida and the Bahamas, but never have I seen so many barracuda.
Excerpted from wikipedia:
While barracudas sometimes follow snorkelers and scuba divers across the reef, which can make one feel uncomfortable, there exist no substantiated reports of unprovoked attacks.
The first one really startled me, about four feet long and ten feet away. I'm used to seeing them flash by at 30mph, but perhaps the cooler water slowed these guys down. Or they could just be lying in wait; there was plenty of prey. I thought he would be the biggest, but no. Drifting nearby I spotted a barracuda as long as I am tall and about as big around as my thigh. It's so unnerving to see these monsters within a fathom, calmly eyeing you as their mouths open and close, jagged teeth overlapping. Being the genius that I am, I followed the big guy toward a wall of coral, leaving the other snorkelers behind. With yards I found myself surrounded. I spun around, but by now they were behind me too. So as calmly as I could I began to count. Somewhere around 25 I lost my nerve and high-tailed it back to the others, nearly swimming over a three-foot length of razor-sharp silvery menace. But that wasn't even the best part.
By the end of the third dive, we were all shivering but happy. I came out of the water triumphant, having seen what everyone there wanted to see: a shark. I'm now two for two in saltwater: the very first time I went snorkeling (in the Bahamas) I witnessed two six-foot and one nine-foot bull shark in a feeding frenzy. So I not only attract lightning (that's another story), but sharks too! These guys always manage to sneak up on you, and it's always from behind. Today it was over my left shoulder. I caught a quick glimpse of movement and my head jerked to the side: there he was. The sheer terror at first blush is impossible to describe. Imagine an eppy to the heart, like in Pulp Fiction. I pushed frantically and ineffectually back against the water before I could even think. All it would have taken was one quick push and I could have reached out and touched him. It was as if he was laughing to himself, "Hey, watch me scare the ever-lovin' bejeezus outta this guy!" But fear quickly gave way to excitement, and I composed myself and snapped a quick shot on Mary's camera. I wound the dial quickly for another, but lo, that was the last one. What luck!
From wikipedia:
This species is social, aggregating in favored areas, often near dropoffs at the edge of a reef, or in atoll passes where there is a strong current. They are often curious, will investigate human scuba divers, and have been implicated in attacks...
I followed him for a few yards as he moseyed along, trailed by scavengers. He was just cruising; it was awe inspiring, like watching a Ferrari creep past a dance club, flanked by sportbikes. So confident was the shark that he had no need to display his strength or speed. "I own this reef," he said with every undulation of his caudal fin. He was just there to be seen, to check me out, see what was up. I swam in awe of his sheer beauty and in reverence to the millions of years of evolution that led to this 6-foot example of one of the masters of the sea. This reef shark alone had made the trip worthwhile, and he only came along during the last five minutes of the last dive!
You would think that would be where the excitement ends, but no. If you'll remember earlier, our crew was pretty nonchalant. So there was no problem when about twenty of the passengers crowded onto the bow to escape the stench of the vomitorium (aka below deck) and to enjoy the warmth of the sunset. No problem, that is, until the dolphins showed up. "Oooh, dolphins!" you say. Yeah. Ooooh dolphins. Don't get me wrong, they were beautiful, the dual porpoises breaching in our wake, putting on a show for the two-legged mammals, flaunting their intelligence. Well, they were obviously more intelligent than us, because all it took was for one person to yell, "Oooooh dolphins!" and all twenty people on the 10-foot-tall bow ran to the starboard side. Suddenly there was a moment arm between the center of buoyancy and the center of mass. Translation: WE ALMOST CAPSIZED THE BOAT. I'm not even exaggerating. The Starboard railing, previously ten feet off the water's surface, was within a foot of dipping in beneath the waves. The deck was pitched at greater than 45 degrees. I'll never forget the mad scramble and screams as people slipped and slid toward what was certain to be their watery doom while the stronger ones madly climbed to the top, er, port side of the boat. It was their movement and the quick thinking of the skipper that kept us afloat: a tight 360 and everyone regained their footing, the boat slowly righted and we all caught our breath. Everyone sat in stunned silence as the filmstrip reel of their lives was slowly taken off the main screen flashing before their eyes. Couples embraced. Parents squeezed their children. And the dolphins high-fived each other and swam into the distance, like the squirrels in the GEICO commercial.
We cruised smoothly back to the slip, got a restaurant recommendation from the first mate, rinsed the chunks* off our gear, and walked right across the street to the Holiday Inn. There are no words to describe the feeling of soaking in a hot tub after a day spent in wintry waters. It's like feeling the mercury rise in the giant thermometer that is your body. We played and splashed under the waterfall in the pool, jumped back in the spa to watch the sky turn seven shades of pink, then rinsed off and hit the road.
By the time we all sat down at the greatest restaurant in Key Largo to gorge ourselve on the finest seafood this side of Miami, we realized what a day we'd had. And that's when I knew I had to write it down. Make the trip to my house this year and I might just have to take you to the Keys.
*yeah, that kind of chunks. The blown kind.
Epilogue
I guess that wasn't so short after all. And how could I forget? After we arrived back at the hostel from Hobo's (whoops, did I just let the name slip?) and before I had told anyone about the events of the day, I got a text message from Sholeh (aka Cassandra, aka Sandy Bottoms). I'd spoken to her the day before about the snorkeling trip. I will transcribe the message here, verbatim, just to demonstrate her prescience.
"Btw-i had a nightmare last nite that you got attacked by a shark and i had to call 911. it scared the crap out of me."
Trust me, Sholeh. He scared the crap out of me too.
January 01, 2006
To new beginnings
I celebrated the passing of another arbitrarily defined Gregorian timescale in Miami this year. The last day of 2005 was imbued with a special glow; three events fell into place last night as the year offered its final kiss goodnight. I had been talking up all the great aspects of Miami during the drive from my house, including the plethora of amazing cars to be seen. We're staying at a hostel in Florida City, and the final leg of our journey to the swamp was accompanied by a bright yellow Lotus Elise, one my ultimate dream cars. It was a good omen.
We showered up before meeting more friends at Bayside, navigating moderate traffic en route downtown. There was a snarl surrounding the waterfront, with lines of cars snaking in every direction. We slowly realized that the line we were in was to a garage that was already full, and the slowdown was due to the tight u-turn required of everyone in line. As we crept up to the turnaround, I spotted a truck coming from ahead of us. "Jared, was that guy looking for a spot in that ground-level lot, or did he just leave a space?" "I think I saw him backing up," Jared replied. I gave up my spot in the conga line to check it out, and lo, what should greet us but an empty spot within 30 feet of our destination. To top that, the fee was $3 rather than $20!
Although it took a couple hours to be seated, we were rewarded with authentic Nicaraguan cuisine at Los Ranchos, even scoring a outdoor waterfront table thanks to the savoir-faire of the beautiful and talented Delara. As we were seated we realized that the wait wouldn't give us time to finish dinner before the countdown. Oh well. We were resigned to our fate; it was good one after all.
As I finished the best pan-seared Red Snapper of 2005, boat horns began to sound across the water. Someone started a countdown nearby, and as the odometer clicked over, fireworks expoded in a brilliant blaze over Biscayne Bay. People rushed out of the restaurant and crowded around our table; we had one of the best views of the display right where we sat.
We finished the evening in South Beach, dancing the night away at the Clevelander, watching improptu capoeira demonstrations in the street, observing the beautiful people on parade and gawking at the Porsches, Maseratis, Ferraris, Bugattis, Rolls and Bentleys lining the street. At this moment I'm blogging from a hostel on the edge of the glades, daydreaming about snorkeling in the Keys tomorrow. Wish you were here, kids. It's gonna be a great year.