tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33700018548041541182024-03-27T14:59:19.322-05:00 Letter From JoshuaChrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.comBlogger242125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-6093005576562128442016-07-06T06:12:00.001-05:002016-07-06T06:19:51.980-05:00Pulling up rootsWhen you're a kid, and your parents talk about things that happened twenty, or thirty, or more years ago, it seems like an impossibly long time. Now that it's been an impossibly long time since I was a kid, I find myself saying these sorts of things all the time.*<br />
<br />
Large Southern University has been at the center of my life off and on for an improbably long time, given that a younger me once moved 8 times in one year. I found my professional calling there, met my closest friends, learned more than I can even begin to describe. It is as much my home as the house I grew up in.<br />
<br />
Later this month I will leave my office for the last time, and start a new adventure in a new place -- one with seasons, terrain, and a single digit student-to-teacher ratio. Biscuit and I will be leaving for the Show Me State, after almost 30 years in Bayou Country. I will be working on a campus that one can see all at one time, after spending most of my life on one that takes 45 minutes to walk across. My new job is 90% teaching, where my current is almost 100% research. I guess what I am saying is, it's going to be different.<br />
<br />
I am excited about my new job, and the move. It is closer to family (when did that become a desirable thing?), day trip distance to some of my favorite places, and I love to teach. Did I mention I will be teaching game development?<a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2011/09/my-dirty-little-secret.html" target="_blank"> I like games</a>. The town seems nice, and our new house has a garage. And a basement.<br />
<br />
As much as I like it when things change, one doesn't live anywhere this long without filling up a life -- at least if you're doing it right. We will miss our friends, and the food, drive-through daiquiri shops, neighborhood parades, Mardi Gras, and much more. Mostly I will miss familiarity. It's good to know where everything is, and the parts of town to avoid when driving there. I've been getting my hair cut by the same person for twenty years (there I go again). This move will mean a new dentist, vet, dry cleaner, and HVAC service company. Restaurants, paint stores, and neighbors all need to be rediscovered and integrated.<br />
<br />
Years ago, I was amazed -- and frankly a little concerned -- when my <a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2008/11/honor-thy-father.html" target="_blank">75 year old father</a> decided to start a new firm. Now I think I get it. Opportunities come when and where they will. We can choose to do what's next, or we can stay planted, clinging to the familiar. For me, it's time for a change. In the words of the immortal Roy McAvoy (Tin Cup), you ride her until she bucks or you don't ride at all.<br />
<br />
Wish us luck, and if you're ever in flyover country, stop in for a glass of tea and a shot of white lightning. But definitely call first. I may be out trying to find a front license plate holder.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* Don't even start the "I have underwear older than that" contest. I am simultaneously proud and horrified at how well prepared I am for this game. I really need to clean out my drawers (heh).Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-51074204872985808932015-10-19T09:51:00.001-05:002015-10-23T06:59:11.704-05:00A world without work?The Best Boss I Ever Had told me that he liked to hire smart, lazy people from middle class backgrounds. In those days, a middle class upbringing was assumed to come with a pre-installed work ethic and sense of personal responsibility. The intelligence and laziness meant that you weren't particularly comfortable with the work ethic, and would expend enormous effort to find an easier way. Our shop was a wonderland of labor saving innovations and idiot-proofing.<br />
<br />
This would not be a completely unfair characterization of Baby Boomers as a group, and I believe we may have ruined the world because of it. To be fair, we didn't start this process by any means, but we certainly accelerated the trend, and we have taught our children and grandchildren to be really good at it.<br />
<br />
Take garbage trucks as an example. Not too many years ago, three men rode a giant trash compactor up and down the street, banging cans on the back to make sure everyone was awake. Today in most places, one driver in a truck with a robot arm has replaced that three person crew. The savings are divided between the millionaire who invented the arm, the international conglomerate who built the truck, and the waste disposal company. Oh, and property owners. Everyone with trash to pick up pays less for it than they otherwise would.<br />
<br />
This is how free market capitalism has always worked. Someone comes up with a better/cheaper/faster way, and everyone wins. Except people invested in the old system. Omelet something-something eggs, right? The sons of displaced armorers, whalers, and buggy whip makers would adapt or go for soldiers, and civilization marched on, better and stronger.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the disruption now is so widespread that there is no place left to go. The entire middle class is invested in the old system. Displaced sanitation workers are competing with former factory workers, administrative assistants, shop owners, and bank tellers for a dwindling number of barista openings. Machines are already <a href="http://www.ajronline.org/doi/pdf/10.2214/ajr.182.2.1820481">reading your mammograms</a>, <a href="http://time.com/3605924/amazon-robots/">packing and shipping your Amazon order</a>, and <a href="http://www.reedmc.com/automated_underwriting.htm">approving your loan applications</a>. Within a very few years they will be <a href="http://www.wired.com/2015/10/gm-has-aggressive-plans-for-self-driving-cars/">driving your cars</a>, <a href="http://www.washington.edu/news/2012/04/05/children-perceive-humanoid-robot-as-emotional-moral-being/">caring for your children</a>, and y<a href="http://www.popularmechanics.com/technology/robots/a15242/robot-baristas-cornell-coffee/">es, making your skinny vanilla chai latte with extra shot and non-fat whip</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/IrZm1CUydzo" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<i>PewDiePie owns the most watched YouTube channel on the planet. This real life Beavis makes professional athlete money for doing this. <b>Warning</b>: NSFW. </i><i>Also, you will probably find this incredibly stupid if you are a grownup with a job.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
An old friend calls this phenomenon the robot economy, and you are not going to believe how much it will change the world in the next quarter century. Not only will the garbage truck no longer need the driver, your can will bring itself to the curb. The only real growth sector in the economy now is twenty-three year olds figuring out ways to either eliminate jobs or entertain us. Even that may <a href="http://www.sci-tech-today.com/story.xhtml?story_id=10000AFKWDHS">soon become the work of computers</a>.<br />
<br />
So what of work? If you were raised with that middle class work ethic I was going on about, or you watch Fox News, you are uncomfortable with the idea of people sitting around the house watching cat videos, instead of going to an office somewhere to do the same thing. But once there is literally nothing productive left for us to do, what other choices are there? Seriously. Not a rhetorical question.<br />
<br />
And then there is the future of money. If we don't have jobs, how can we be good consumers? The opening salvos of this dispute <a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2014/08/why-arent-reformicons-pushing-a-guaranteed-basic-income/375600/">can be seen in today's politics</a>, though without anyone publicly acknowledging the long term structural problem. We have become consumers of information more than things, and today's economy seems to trade in attention, a fixed (and some would say dwindling) resource. Even with <a href="https://cornyblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/04/fixed-stomach/">free market innovations</a>, this hardly seems like a sustainable model.<br />
<br />
I think this is the top economic question of this still-somewhat-new century. More than one war will be fought over what comes next. Fought mostly by computers, of course. The rest of us will probably just do whatever our <a href="http://www.infowars.com/a-chip-in-the-head-brain-implants-will-be-connecting-people-to-the-internet-by-the-year-2020/">implants</a> tell us.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-26938768014087397232015-07-20T13:55:00.001-05:002015-07-22T13:32:27.392-05:00Die another dayI died on Friday, albeit at a younger age.<br />
<br />
A college campus is a time machine. At least once a week I see someone from my youth, un-aged, and unaware of their role in my past. They are typically not exactly as I remember, but seeing a forgotten walk, smile, or turn of phrase will send me instantly back to high school or college, reliving incidents momentous or trivial. One day I was sitting on the school bus with Lisa. A week or so later I was looking into the first friendly face I saw when I started college four decades ago, hundreds of miles from home.<br />
<br />
Sometimes they are enrolled in my classes, and I gain insights that I couldn't have had when I knew their older dopplegangers. I have an inkling now why Joey wanted to be a Marine. I can make an educated guess why Vickie always wore that sad face when she thought no one was looking, and why Valerie never dated much.<br />
<br />
Once in a great while, they are me. We know from science fiction that it is dangerous to encounter one's past self, though to this point I haven't found it to be a problem. We do tend to work a little harder on these kids, pushing them to avoid the pitfalls that we fell in, or grab the opportunities we let slip away. It almost never works. I think one source of confidence for teachers is that we learn that youth is youth, and the mistakes we made were more or less inevitable. They accompany youth as surely as sagging skin and stray hairs come with age.<br />
<br />
Ben was me with a harder life, and was consequently stronger with more scars. Like me, he had wandered a bit in his youth. Like me, a setback had put him on the path that he was seeking all along, and he had nowhere to go but up. He was going to be a college professor, and he would have been a good one.<br />
<br />
Ben was my student and my friend. He was my "there but for the grace of God."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZDAwrcw59Q/Va1Az9pAtfI/AAAAAAAADbE/uKki19Is7TE/s1600/ben_guitreau.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cZDAwrcw59Q/Va1Az9pAtfI/AAAAAAAADbE/uKki19Is7TE/s400/ben_guitreau.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Vaya con dios my friend. We will not see your like again.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Last year Ben started having problems with heartburn and occasional sore throats. The doctors at the clinics he could afford told him to take antacids and change his diet. By the time he put together the money to buy insurance and get proper tests, the clock was ticking on his final half year. He managed to finish his degree, and he was enrolled in graduate school this Fall, but I think we both knew he wouldn't be there.<br />
<br />
Ben's story of redemption ended prematurely early Friday morning, and I have been at loose ends since I heard. This is not how his story is supposed to end. Besides being robbed of the triumph he earned, he left behind some people who really needed him to survive. But whether God, the Fates, or simply cosmic dice, I know by now that there is no term in this equation for what we need. We get what we get, and it's up to the survivors to make sense of it.<br />
<br />
I suppose the sci-fi writers are right after all. As my father used to say, we learn something new every day.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-40302140710583098132015-05-23T11:30:00.001-05:002015-05-23T11:37:30.116-05:00Now what can you do for my aura?So, last Thursday night I stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night to service a biological imperative,* as is the habit of men my age. My next recollection is of struggling up from the bathroom floor, with Biscuit standing next to me asking what happened.<br />
<br />
I had sipped one or three beers and mostly skipped dinner the previous evening, but I really didn't have that much, officer, I swear. With no other explanation forthcoming at 3:00 am, I put it down to low blood sugar and fading stamina, made sure there were no bones sticking out, and went back to bed.**<br />
<br />
The next morning I sat up, put my feet on the floor, and immediately fell backwards across the bed. I have experienced bed spins before, but never when it was light outside. I took another run at it, albeit more carefully, and found that once I got upright, things were more or less normal after a minute or so. Any significant change in the orientation of my head, however, sent the room spinning and started the process over.<br />
<br />
A quick consult with Google pointed to some combination of stroke, heart disease, diabetes, and possibly a brain tumor. Or inner ear problems, which (spoiler alert!) turn out to be much more common, but don't get as much internet traction. Of course I only ever take ill on Friday. I determined to wait out the weekend, assuming I would either be dead or getting better by Monday. It turns out there was a third option, and I spent the weekend like a drunken sailor in a hurricane, stumbling from one handhold to the next.<br />
<br />
I don't have a regular cardiologist or neurologist, as they are expensive and frightening. I do have an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and she has never used the word "catheter" in my presence that I recall, so I went to see her. I think everyone in the office knew what was wrong about five seconds after I walked in, but they are nothing if not thorough, so I got a blood pressure check, another stroke test, a few hearing and ear tests, and a good listen through a stethoscope. Apparently they also have the Google. Right before leaving the room, the nurse said, "She will be in shortly. She's going to align your crystals!"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-46ABRFQP4ik/VWCpSMdBbzI/AAAAAAAADVc/KU3GC_N5NZk/s1600/blurry_7975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-46ABRFQP4ik/VWCpSMdBbzI/AAAAAAAADVc/KU3GC_N5NZk/s400/blurry_7975.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view of the world for much of the last week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After eliminating the scary possibilities, the doctor tested me for what she already knew was wrong with me, which is something called <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/vertigo/basics/definition/con-20028216">benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, or BPPV</a>. Unlike ED or RLS, positional vertigo is not something made up by drug companies, but a real thing that happens to a lot of people. Apparently, tiny rocks (the crystals) in the inner ear wander into a neighborhood where they are not welcome, and the social tension causes a miniature riot when you move your head.<br />
<br />
She put me in Bugs Bunny's barber chair, raised me to a height guaranteed to break something if I fell off, and had me lie back and turn my head to the side. If she said "cough" I was out of there, dizzy or not. Instead, she held up a finger for me to stare at, and when I turned to the left and one finger suddenly became three, she said, "There it goes!" with a look like an arsonist at a bonfire.<br />
<br />
The treatment turns out to be something called the <a href="http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/liberatory-maneuvers-for-vertigo-epley-maneuver">Epley maneuver</a>. While this sounds like a British military technique that probably involves a bayonet, it's just more lying down, turning the head, sitting up, and getting dizzy. It doesn't fix the problem exactly, but relocates the tiny crystals to somewhere less annoying in the ear until they resorb. Also, I learned a new word. Re-sorb.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty much back to normal now, with occasional bouts of walking like a mildly drunken landlubber in normal circumstances when I forget and do something stupid like lie down and then stand up. I haven't tried driving yet. Maybe today. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
<br />
<hr />
* I'm pretty sure this is why they are called the "wee hours."<br />
<br />
** Biscuit made me smile and blink, and whatever else you are supposed to do to check for stroke before she would let me go back to sleep. Apparently I passed, or she just got tired.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-30883209831238792312015-05-10T08:57:00.002-05:002015-05-10T08:58:07.151-05:00Simple happinessFinal exams were last week, and a few days ago I was contemplating a post to bookend the <a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2014/08/are-you-ready-for-some-chaos.html">back to school diatribe</a> I wrote nine months ago. It would have detailed the fundamental and visible ways that the end of the academic year differs from its start. The mood on a rapidly emptying campus is a mix of elation and indifference born of exhaustion. There are no novices on campus now, no wasted steps, and virtually no one is in a hurry. Traffic is practically bearable. Summer's oppressive heat has been replaced with Spring breezes.<br />
<br />
This is where it all went wrong. By the next day, when I got serious about writing, it was 89 degrees and humid. The magical state of inspiration was shattered. My disillusionment was beyond what the change in weather alone would dictate. I groused like my grumpiest Facebook friend.<br />
<br />
I think this is one reason that grownups can't often achieve the same unabashed happiness that kids get out of five minutes on the merry-go-round.* Adults have complicated lives, with too many degrees of freedom in their bliss equations. Kids don't worry about tomorrow, or regret the road not taken. They are zen, unstable and uncaring. The rest of us bind our happiness to innumerable threads of achievement, entangled and often pulling against each other. Food, shelter, career success, happy and well adjusted children, regard of our peers, romantic bliss, must all coexist before we allow ourselves untainted joy. We must scale to the top of Maslow's pyramid to be unburdened, while an 8 year old is good with a hot dog and 15 minutes in the pool.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bluegrassplaygrounds.com/img/merry-go-rounds/carousel-mat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.bluegrassplaygrounds.com/img/merry-go-rounds/carousel-mat.jpg" height="304" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The playground may be rubber, but at least none of these kids are texting.<br />
Image from <a href="http://www.bluegrassplaygrounds.com/img/merry-go-rounds/carousel-mat.jpg"><i>here</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I am not sure how much of this behavior is learned, and how much is a natural consequence of the way we are wired. There is a lot of gray matter surrounding the happy place in our brain. I'm sure it's there for some reason. And there is definitely a hormonal component. Self doubt and regret seem to come with puberty.<br />
<br />
The good news is that I think the capacity for simple pleasure returns with age. Ask an eighty year old what makes them happy, and they are likely to say a good bowel movement, or a day in the garden. Our family gatherings used to devolve into stress-filled group therapy sessions. These days my family laughs through most of our time together. I have watched my mother's happiness threshold for holidays like Mothers Day moderate from -- unachievable, really -- to lunch and a call from her kids.<br />
<br />
So it seems there is hope for us all, even my grumpy Facebook friend. Have a simply happy Mother's Day, everyone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<hr />
* I realize merry-go-rounds are much too dangerous for today's children. Do iPad games and Disney shows produce the same giggling elation? A question for another day -- and someone with kids -- I suppose.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-24407113495517077272015-04-02T06:51:00.001-05:002015-04-02T07:01:36.209-05:00Life without a laptopMy personal laptop suffered a massive stroke this past weekend. It is not completely dead, at least not yet. It powers on and the little Apple shows up, but not much productive happens after that. I am doing what I can to make it comfortable and save what memories remain, but it's only a matter of time before we pull the life support.<br />
<br />
While tragic, this doesn't exactly leave me cut off from the virtual world. I have an embarrassing number of computers and tablets at work, and a few more at the house. But this is the machine that I commune with early in the morning, that keeps me company while I watch TV, and that sits with me when I am sick. It has been my near-constant companion since -- apparently -- mid 2009. Plus, it knows a lot of my passwords.<br />
<br />
I have already learned something from the experience, though. I don't have the same relationship with my phone that the young people do, and the laptop has been my go-to device for killing time. Over the years, I have used the big machine more like kids use their phones, as a cure for boredom and an habitual source of distraction. Without it, I feel more focused, and I am spending more time out of my chair.<br />
<br />
Much of my professional work involves Tangible Computing, and the Internet of Things, concepts so powerful that they defy explanation. Seriously, I can't explain them. I have been trying for years. What they promise is a future where -- let's say a decade from now -- Google will use your habits at home to adjust the thermostat in your office. They might even tweak the temperature based on what clothes you put on before you left the house. Your coffee cup will tell the robot at Starbucks what you want, and pay for the transaction. Your car may inform you that the restaurant you entered as a destination is frequented by your ex, and there is a 42% chance that they are there. And you won't have to do anything! It will all happen automatically. In fact, you won't be able to stop it.<br />
<br />
If you are much over 30, this probably all sounds terrifying and horrible. Much younger, and your attitude is likely to be more positive. Either way, the future is coming, ready or not. The idea of computing as an activity one does with a machine will be as much a part of the past as talking on the phone in a specific room, tethered by a curly cord. The world of Star Trek will be with us much earlier than anyone believed, at least where technology is concerned. The social justice and peace thing will probably take much longer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/gadgetlab/2012/10/kitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/gadgetlab/2012/10/kitten.jpg" height="164" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was going to add an image of the inside of a computer, but this seems infinitely more appropriate. <br />
<i>Image from <a href="http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/gadgetlab/2012/10/kitten.jpg">here</a></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
What is unclear is what this will do to the way people think. It is possible that technology will sink naturally into the background, allowing us to live a more intentional life. Some of our current research is in this direction, creating environments that change subtly with conditions, the way the sky changes color due to time and weather. Given society's history, it is more likely that our connected environment will attract and manipulate us in ways subtle and profane, and that we will become even more distracted than the kids who walk in front of my car every day, never looking up from their iPhones. Maybe that thermostat will cool the room an extra couple of degrees during the morning, so that I am a little more susceptible to the suggestion of a vente mochaccino.<br />
<br />
My intellectual interest is in making sure all of this works together in some reasonable way. If my refrigerator is going to catch me up on my [insert favorite social media platform here] feed, then it damn well better remember what I came into the kitchen to do, because I certainly won't. I think this post is a good example of that phenomenon.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to what will have to serve as the point of all this. I am going to fix or replace my laptop, but I don't think I will keep it so close to me. I need to understand this brave new world to the extent I will participate, and my MacBook is no more a part of it than a rotary phone, or cable TV.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-8519496386176274252015-02-01T06:58:00.001-06:002015-02-01T06:58:58.225-06:00Freeing up a Sunday nightThe last football game I attended with my father was a little over 20 years ago on the day after Thanksgiving. The home state Hogs were playing the Tigers of my alma mater in my home town. Dad had two extra tickets, and my brother and I jumped at the chance to see a game with the old man, even though both teams were terrible that year, and the game was essentially meaningless.<br />
<br />
The temperature was in the mid-30s with a cold drizzle at game time, and it was raining hard by the end of the first quarter. The game was not going well for the home team, and the situation was plainly not going to improve in the second half. Soaked, freezing, and miserable, my brother and I decided that a hot shower and a cold drink were called for, so at half time we told Dad we were leaving. "All right, then," he growled from under his poncho, showing no inclination to join us. He didn't call us pussies out loud, but it was clearly implied. He stayed until the bitter (30-7) end, and never mentioned the game to us again.<br />
<br />
This is a long way of saying that football is important in my family. We all played growing up. My parents had season tickets most years. When other girls were hanging David Cassidy posters, my sister kept an autographed picture of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joe_Ferguson">Joe Ferguson</a> on her bedroom wall. I think <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archie_Manning">Archie Manning</a> was on my mother's list. She still watches football every Fall weekend between naps, and both of my brothers are active on the sports blogs.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/host.madison.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/4/29/429c084b-7167-5f0c-80f2-85d42aecb003/52c73f1ced241.preview-620.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/host.madison.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/4/29/429c084b-7167-5f0c-80f2-85d42aecb003/52c73f1ced241.preview-620.jpg" height="276" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The trouble started when they moved the game indoors. Image from <a href="http://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/host.madison.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/4/29/429c084b-7167-5f0c-80f2-85d42aecb003/52c73f1ced241.preview-620.jpg">here</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So it's not a trivial thing for me to skip the Super Bowl. I have watched them all* since Super Bowl -1 (the 1965 NFL Championship game). I saw a few epic games, and more than a few I could have done without. I watched the Packers, Colts, Cowboys, Dolphins, Cowboys again, Steelers, 49ers, da Bears, Broncos, and the rest put it all together and grab the big prize. I suffered with the Bills through four straight Super Bowl losses. I even lived long enough to see my Saints make it to the big dance and win.<br />
<br />
I have been falling out of love with big time football for a while now, but I seem to have passed my personal tipping point. It's not just the concussions and other health problems. A lot of people work jobs that are every bit as dangerous for way less than $10 million a year, though when <a href="http://www.thepostgame.com/blog/daily-take/201501/1985-chicago-bears-mcmahon-dent-ditka-brain-injury-nfl-football-hbo">Ditka says the game is not worth the risk</a>, that gets my attention. It's not even the animal abuse, domestic violence, and murders. They select these people for aggressiveness and violent tendencies, then pump them full of drugs and give them more money at one time than most of us would earn in three lifetimes. Am I the only one who is not surprised when some of them don't act like model citizens?<br />
<br />
No, the camelback straw for me was watching the Patriots clearly think it was funny that someone caught them cheating. Worse, I found myself laughing along with them.** It seems to have finally dawned on me that the NFL owners not only don't care about the players or the fans, they don't have any respect for the game. Through scandal after embarrassment, the league shoots a big finger at the fans, lights another cigar with a billion dollar bill, and watch the money-machine keep cranking.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/xNEM3WUfGjY/0.jpg" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/xNEM3WUfGjY?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
I am not trying to start a movement or anything. I expect everyone I know to watch the game, and I wouldn't expect them to choose differently. I know that neither the sponsors nor the league will notice me gone. My personal choices are the only way I have to shape my world, so I am making this one. Who knows, maybe I'll be back next year.<br />
<br />
My father loved football for what it taught young men about leadership, teamwork, sportsmanship, and perseverance through pain and heartbreak. He liked how the game brought families together, and gave manly men some way to express emotions. He loved the game itself. I don't think he would like how professional football is being run. He would probably still watch, and while everyone else was standing around eating snacks and discussing commercials, he would be glued to the biggest television in the house, watching every play to the bitter end. But he would definitely grumble about the erosion of respect for his favorite sport.<br />
<br />
All right, then.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* I may have missed one or two being on the road or working, but if I did I don't remember, so they must not have been important. I am also a little fuzzy on the particulars of the 1965 NFL Championship game, other than that it was in color.<br />
<br />
** I'm not picking on the Patriots especially. I wasn't particularly enamored of <a href="http://ftw.usatoday.com/2015/01/marshawn-lynch-nfl-media">Marshawn Lynch's eloquent defense of his personal right to privacy</a>, either. There is not a team in the league with clean hands. New England are just the latest, and their "what's the big deal" attitude is particular galling to me.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-41481374405276506612015-01-29T10:13:00.000-06:002015-01-31T05:59:09.955-06:00The good craic: Part 3Sorry, got distracted by the holidays and a conference trip to Palo Alto, which is like Beverly Hills for techies. Wait, different story. Now where was I? Oh, right. <a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.ie/2014/11/the-good-craic-part-2.html">We had just left Ballybunion</a>.<br />
<br />
The Dingle peninsula was our final destination in Ireland, other than the lovely airport Radisson in Shannon. Normally, by the time vacations are winding down I am ready to get home. I could easily have stayed in Ireland another month, so Dingle had that feeling of last call at a bar that closes much too early.<br />
<br />
The drive from Ballybunion to Dingle was predictably lovely, though it did necessitate another trip to Shannon. I was getting the hang of this driving on the left, and Biscuit was getting used to riding a few inches from brush-clad stone walls, so the stress level was down considerably. We wheeled into roundabouts with nary a hesitation. Wheeling out was a bit more of a crap shoot, and we got lost a couple of times, making for some snippy exchanges in the car, but for the most part we had a relaxed trip.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-svMlWQq7qMA/VKKpItetqaI/AAAAAAAADR0/Jb05uz7a9EA/s1600/IMG_7803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-svMlWQq7qMA/VKKpItetqaI/AAAAAAAADR0/Jb05uz7a9EA/s1600/IMG_7803.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">There is a lay-by about halfway up the Connor Pass where one can stop, get some pictures, and change pants, if necessary. The yellow line in the picture marks the edge of the road, not the center.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Which was good, because we had decided to take the Connor Pass into Dingle town. I'm not sure why anyone ever chose to put a road through this thing. It's tall and steep and cold and wet and terrifying. And beautiful. Not to be missed if you are in the neighborhood. I don't know what you're going to do if you meet another car on one of the long single lane (even by Irish standards) stretches, but I'm sure you will figure something out.<br />
<br />
<div>
</div>
Given the rapid decline in tour buses since we arrived in Ireland, we were a bit surprised to find Dingle town packed with people. And I mean Disney World, Jersey shore in the summer packed. It turns out we had arrived on the final day of the big <a href="http://www.dinglefood.com/">Dingle Food Festival</a>. Every building with a kitchen had a table set up where one could line up to buy sample portions of whatever they were featuring that day. We had some pork sliders and Guinness, a few other tidbits and a pint of Murphy's, and eventually a handful of Tums with a pint of Beamish. It was great fun, but four hours was about all I needed of 75,000 people crammed into a town built for 2000, so we were not disappointed that the festival was drawing to a close.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mqqKU1Oa25o/VIWkuzxLcPI/AAAAAAAADNU/rCDNoUfa3uo/s1600/Dingle%2BTown%2B7892.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mqqKU1Oa25o/VIWkuzxLcPI/AAAAAAAADNU/rCDNoUfa3uo/s1600/Dingle%2BTown%2B7892.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When we got to Dingle Town, this street and sidewalk were bumper to bumper and elbow to elbow, respectively. By the following morning, things had calmed down considerably.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We spent the next morning driving the Dingle peninsula. I can't begin to describe the beauty and history of this place, and there are WAY too many pictures to include here. I will have to let a couple of representative shots be sufficient.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O8LWvhPjSNs/VKKq4BwSicI/AAAAAAAADSA/7jNN3Junr68/s1600/IMG_7811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-O8LWvhPjSNs/VKKq4BwSicI/AAAAAAAADSA/7jNN3Junr68/s1600/IMG_7811.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thatch is a fairly new innovation on the Irish timeline, and the trees have been gone for much longer. Many of the old structures are made entirely of stone, of which there is plenty.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jd1MuvLeqzQ/VMoxsNZ711I/AAAAAAAADSs/jgneHaXH_lo/s1600/SAM_0897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jd1MuvLeqzQ/VMoxsNZ711I/AAAAAAAADSs/jgneHaXH_lo/s1600/SAM_0897.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the nicer roads in the Irish countryside. Most were narrower, and lacked the generous hard shoulder pictured here. The road up Conner pass was about 3/4 as wide, with a sheer wall of rock on one side and nothing but air on the other. Meeting a tour bus coming around one of these curves was quite a thrill.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kp5LkFBCqMU/VMOZR0OcBcI/AAAAAAAADSU/QAFIavI7veY/s1600/IMG_7864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Kp5LkFBCqMU/VMOZR0OcBcI/AAAAAAAADSU/QAFIavI7veY/s1600/IMG_7864.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallarus_Oratory">Gallarus Oratory</a>. It is believed to be a chapel built somewhere around 900 CE, give or take 300 years. They say it is still keeps out the rain, at least as well as it ever has.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4rVoFWhhI7s/VJDZa2xG4jI/AAAAAAAADQk/-jtKCPARlOs/s1600/Blasket%2BIslands%2Bat%2BSlea%2BHead%2B7843%2Bmed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4rVoFWhhI7s/VJDZa2xG4jI/AAAAAAAADQk/-jtKCPARlOs/s1600/Blasket%2BIslands%2Bat%2BSlea%2BHead%2B7843%2Bmed.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The small peaks on the horizon are the <a href="http://www.dingle-peninsula.ie/blaskets.html">Blasket Islands</a>. The island population declined through emigration during the 20th century, until last residents were evacuated in 1953. The <a href="http://www.heritageireland.ie/en/blascaod/">Blasket Centre</a> was an unexpected high point of the day's tour. Also, it's fun to say "blasket" after a while.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9iMD07-zGMk/VIWlKR5ONRI/AAAAAAAADNc/GEnj0k9fVmU/s1600/Dingle%2BPub%2B7881.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9iMD07-zGMk/VIWlKR5ONRI/AAAAAAAADNc/GEnj0k9fVmU/s1600/Dingle%2BPub%2B7881.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner on our last night was at the Dingle Pub. Good traditional Irish food and drink. I think the staff were a bit burnt out from the food festival, but they were efficient and friendly, which is all you can ask. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The trip home was blessedly uneventful. I was greatly relieved to turn in the Skoda with no new dents or scratches, and the flights were relatively on time and drama free. We definitely hope to go back to do the east and north of the island someday.<br />
<br />
Thanks for coming along. <i style="color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Sláinte</i>!Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-49852250812968995292014-12-24T19:00:00.000-06:002014-12-24T19:00:01.385-06:00Season's GreetingsMerry Christmas! I hope you're not offended that I used the C-word, but in my defense, I am not a particularly religious holiday observer. I attend Christmas Eve church services when we are at one mother's house or another, but this holiday has always been about presents, decorations, family, and goodwill in my book. You show me a day when every store in America is closed,* and I will show you a secular holiday.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_JBKsSkl8HQ/VJbP7F-UP7I/AAAAAAAADRI/Rs_FyW9JKH4/s1600/IMG_6878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_JBKsSkl8HQ/VJbP7F-UP7I/AAAAAAAADRI/Rs_FyW9JKH4/s1600/IMG_6878.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I suspect Christmas gains at least some of its power from its ties to the winter solstice and the beginning of a new year. Combining the message of peace and goodwill with the reflection and renewal of year's end creates a potent cocktail of emotion. Evergreen foliage, drinks made from eggs and cakes full of fruit, red, green and gold color scheme -- it's a Technicolor holiday for sure.<br />
<br />
Life is a chain -- a line made of circles -- and this is the time when one link is closed and the next begun. Not coincidentally, December and January see more funerals than any other months of the year. (The most births are in August.)<br />
<br />
There is comfort in the constancy of the seasons, and a reminder that history repeats, or at least rhymes. Boxing up an old year and opening a shiny new one flavored with Christmas cheer brings a sense of relief and hopefulness, despite the fact that exactly nothing has changed except the date. Our traditions fortify these feelings.<br />
<br />
I haven't written as much this year as some others, either professionally or here. I have always been a cyclical journalist, so I am neither particularly surprised nor distressed. Writing for me is inherently reflective, and I have been looking forward and outward this year, acting more than thinking. My career change to academia inspired a great deal of self examination. I feel now like I am finding my identity, and steadily becoming a more competent professional me. My home life is as pleasant and stable as it has been at any time in my life. In short, I am currently too happy and boring to have much to write about.<br />
<br />
But life is change, and this year is likely to see its share. A number of potential disruptions are floating about, personally and professionally. Career opportunities, home projects, unexplained rashes. I may buy a new car. And there will be the unexpected gifts from the fates. The quiet times never last forever, partially because I get bored. I try to savor the constancy while it lasts.<br />
<br />
I hope you have a great holiday season and a wonderful 2015. Let's be careful out there.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* With the exception of Asian restaurants and movie theaters, of course.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-43877036178361924752014-12-07T07:00:00.000-06:002014-12-07T15:53:06.785-06:00Infamy passingIt has been three years since the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pearl_Harbor_Survivors_Association">Pearl Harbor Survivors Association</a> officially disbanded due to the advanced age and ill health of its remaining members. Their dwindling numbers at the commemorations is a tangible reminder that the event that defined my parents' world -- and to a great extent mine as well -- is on the verge of receding into history. Within a decade, or maybe two, all who remember the worldwide conflagration will be gone, or entombed in rapidly failing bodies.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/USS_California_sinking-Pearl_Harbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/USS_California_sinking-Pearl_Harbor.jpg" height="500" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/USS_California_sinking-Pearl_Harbor.jpg"><i>here</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I don't think we can imagine what December 7, 1941 meant to this country. We like to make comparisons to 9-11, and the general idea is probably similar, but the scale of the attack and ensuing conflagration make 9-11 look like a convenience store robbery by comparison. No one said, "Go back to the mall and try to live normal lives" on December 8th. The nation transformed itself in a matter of months into a weapons factory of almost unbelievable productivity. Factories were converted (in many cases literally overnight) from making cars, stoves, or clothing to production of bombers, artillery, and parachutes. Millions of men left farms, factories, and offices to join the fight, and millions more <a href="http://www.nationalww2museum.org/learn/education/for-students/ww2-history/at-a-glance/women-in-ww2.html">women shed their aprons to replace the men at work, or wear different uniforms</a>.* Everyone was expected to do their part, and those who shirked were labeled bums, or cowards. Roosevelts and Kennedys fought and died with everyone else, though they probably wore better fitting uniforms than most.<br />
<br />
More Americans died in an average two-week period -- and on a few unfortunate single days -- than were killed in ten years of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. The Army Air Corp (forerunner of the Air Force) lost about 80 heavy bombers and over 600 men in a <a href="http://www.historynet.com/world-war-ii-eighth-air-force-raid-on-schweinfurt.htm">single raid</a>. Over a million Germans and Russians are believed to have died at Stalingrad alone, and best estimates are that more than 20 million Soviet citizens and soldiers died during the course of the war.<br />
<br />
When it was over, much of the industrialized world was in ruins, with the notable exceptions of the United States and Soviet Union. It is no coincidence that those two nations dominated commerce and politics for the next half century. The first salvos of the Cold War were fired even before the war in Europe was concluded, and more than one Allied leader recommended pushing the Soviets back within their borders. If America were not still embroiled in a vicious battle in the Pacific, they might have tried it. As it is, some strategic German cities and facilities were bombed in the closing days of the war expressly to deny them from the communists.<br />
<br />
I spent several days recently with a colleague who grew up not far from Berlin. His parents were about the same age as mine, and the war shaped their lives absolutely. The habits they formed were imprinted so strongly that they have not faded to this day. For instance, if there is food on their table it must be eaten before anyone gets up. Leftovers are not a luxury they could afford.<br />
<br />
I try to take a few minutes to reflect every year on the anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. (Some years go better than others.) It is a day commemorating sacrifice and war, situated between major American holidays of gratitude and peace. The people who experienced that war learned to be thankful just for living another year. Peace was a tangible goal to work toward, not an abstract concept discussed in church.<br />
<br />
The Pearl Harbor generation shaped our world, and our expectations of our world, for better and worse. The world -- and Fox News -- will miss them.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* This surge of responsibility, and disillusionment when it was unceremoniously taken away at war's end, planted the seeds for the Women's Liberation movement.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-84239430300086857082014-11-26T06:45:00.003-06:002014-11-27T18:40:38.189-06:00The Good Craic (Part 2)<a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-good-craic.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">When we last saw our intrepid travelers</a>, they were dealing with an unexpected itinerary change. After leaving the bored, gum-snapping ticket agent at the Aran Islands Ferry office unsatisfied*, we returned to the Doll's Cottage to take advantage of our remaining hour of free wifi and some informed advice. We consulted with Sean and his other guests (a crazy-for-hiking German couple, and a nice American school teacher traveling with her two adult children), and decided we would check out <a href="http://www.shannonheritage.com/BunrattyCastleAndFolkPark/" target="_blank">Bunratty Castle</a> and then spend the night at <a href="http://www.loophead.ie/" target="_blank">Loop Head</a>, unanimously declared the most beautiful place that no one goes to in Ireland. We set the GPS for Bunratty** and headed back toward Shannon for the second of what would end up being four times.<br />
<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EvdxkaRotrY/VFoY29SO_lI/AAAAAAAADLA/Wl30vixE0fw/s1600/Bunratty%2BCastle%2B0601.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EvdxkaRotrY/VFoY29SO_lI/AAAAAAAADLA/Wl30vixE0fw/s1600/Bunratty%2BCastle%2B0601.png" height="640" width="482" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bunnratty is a fully restored Edwardian castle surrounded by historical buildings, livestock, and agricultural machinery. Think Jamestown or Williamsburg, but quite a few centuries older. It is a miracle that we managed to get this picture of the castle with no one in front of it. One of the guides told us that she sees a thousand people on an extremely slow day. They have medieval dinners in the evenings. I think it's blackbird pie and typhus, but I didn't look at the menu that closely.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After a drizzly but pleasant couple of hours at Bunratty, we made our way to Loop Head via the Coast Road (aka the scenic route). We were bound for a "wonderful B&B" Sean had recommended at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carrigaholt" target="_blank">Carrigaholt</a>. We were almost there when we realized he had never told us exactly where it was or what it was called. Fortunately, we started seeing signs for a place called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeukiAo2ZlU" target="_blank">Glencarrig B&B</a>. It was getting late, we were tired and a tiny bit grumpy, so it seemed good enough.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It turned out to be better than good enough. Luke and Mary Aston live about a mile from town, and Mary runs the Glencarrig guesthouse for her husband's charter fishing business. Had it been summer we probably couldn't have gotten a room, but in early October we were the only people in the place. The guesthouse is separated from the main house (connected by the dining room), so it was very much like having a cottage to ourselves. Mary recommended <a href="http://www.thelongdock.com/carrigaholt_home.htm" target="_blank">The Long Dock</a> for dinner, so we headed back to town.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_XpbS8xrTcU/VFDYv6MrEhI/AAAAAAAADJU/4gTj99EO4uI/s1600/Carrigaholt%2B7720.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_XpbS8xrTcU/VFDYv6MrEhI/AAAAAAAADJU/4gTj99EO4uI/s1600/Carrigaholt%2B7720.png" height="456" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our room at Glencarrig. It is hard to believe that this whole country isn't covered with condos. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Downtown Carrigaholt is three pubs and a stop sign, and we were at the end of a long day. We really weren't looking for much except edible dinner and sleep. It ended up being our favorite night in Ireland. After a relaxed supper of local seafood, Biscuit asked about local music. Live music shuts down with the season in all but the most tourist of towns, but we asked anyway. They sent us next door to <a href="http://www.lonelyplanet.com/ireland/carrigaholt/entertainment-nightlife/other/morrissey-s-village-pub" target="_blank">Morrissey's Village Pub</a>. There was no music, but before we could turn around the locals called us in, made a spot in the center of the bar, and treated us like long lost friends. We had a wonderful night talking about life in Ireland, life in America, what sort of snacks sheep would like (nuts), big tech companies, fracking, and it gets a little fuzzy after that. We may have had a pint or two too many -- at the insistence (and expense) of the locals.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
After a slow start in the morning and a much needed full breakfast, we drove off to see the sights of Loop Head. Once again, the pictures can tell the story better than I.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-urmbBMdsW0s/VFoc1QcAlSI/AAAAAAAADLM/wgkFfCW8HBM/s1600/Loop%2BHead%2BLighthouse%2B7726.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-urmbBMdsW0s/VFoc1QcAlSI/AAAAAAAADLM/wgkFfCW8HBM/s1600/Loop%2BHead%2BLighthouse%2B7726.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lighthouse at Loop Head. It is every bit as lonely and beautiful as this shot might lead one to believe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTMYyn56G_c/VFDVb7Et9pI/AAAAAAAADJA/PMx348Rn22M/s1600/Bridges%2Bof%2BRoss%2B7780.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dTMYyn56G_c/VFDVb7Et9pI/AAAAAAAADJA/PMx348Rn22M/s1600/Bridges%2Bof%2BRoss%2B7780.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bridges of Ross. There used to be three bridges, but one fell in the sea.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AArtRPyYw/VGNYRIYAXCI/AAAAAAAADMM/UyKVH_4HniE/s1600/Loop%2BHead%2B7792.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a7AArtRPyYw/VGNYRIYAXCI/AAAAAAAADMM/UyKVH_4HniE/s320/Loop%2BHead%2B7792.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The coast at Loop Head may not be quite as spectacular as the Cliffs of Moher, but it was close, and we didn't see a single tour bus while we were there. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5yrc1RO_zA/VHXHEkFrR1I/AAAAAAAADM0/LC3WssUForM/s1600/Skoda%2BBridges%2Bof%2BRoss%2B7796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A5yrc1RO_zA/VHXHEkFrR1I/AAAAAAAADM0/LC3WssUForM/s1600/Skoda%2BBridges%2Bof%2BRoss%2B7796.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The parking lot at the Bridges of Ross. We spent close to an hour there and never saw another person. There were three cows, but I believe they were locals. This was typical of our time at Loop Head.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
Our last stop in Ireland was to be the Dingle Peninsula. We had originally planned to start the drive to Dingle somewhat late in the day from the Aran Islands ferry, so we scheduled an overnight stop in Ballybunion to break up the drive. More gorgeous coast, this time with golf courses. More good food and local music.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C22lmnzA2-Y/VGNas5lHn_I/AAAAAAAADMY/NkEpGsICsF4/s1600/Ballybunion%2Bbeaches%2Bpanorama.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C22lmnzA2-Y/VGNas5lHn_I/AAAAAAAADMY/NkEpGsICsF4/s320/Ballybunion%2Bbeaches%2Bpanorama.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ballybunion is a golfing resort that is perhaps not as popular as it was before the crash. Consequently, there is plentiful lodging, quite a few pubs (open and closed), and of course beautiful coast, ruins, etc. The women's beach is to the left here, with the men's beach on the right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This is getting long again, so I will save Dingle for another day. I assume you quit reading it ages ago, in any case. There is only so much of someone else's vacation that any of us can stomach. Since you won't be paying attention, I'm definitely going to talk about you in the next post.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<hr />
* No, I mean we left unsatisfied from our visit. Not that she was unsatisfied. Because, well, that's just not going to happen, know what I mean? What? We're not doing phrasing anymore?<br />
<br />
** Bunratty is the setting between "stun" and "electro-convulsive therapy".<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-63030502530633014432014-11-05T06:25:00.002-06:002014-11-06T20:26:29.195-06:00The good craicBiscuit and I try to take a trip every few years around our wedding date to congratulate ourselves on continuing to put up with each other. This year we chose Ireland as our destination. Biscuit has wanted to visit the west coast of Ireland since she saw <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0045061/" target="_blank">The Quiet Man</a> as a girl, and I am all about rocks, ocean, and pubs.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We didn't want to spend the whole time in the car, and most Irish roads resemble bike paths, so it was apparent from the start that we wouldn't be able to see the whole country, compact as it is. After a ton of internet research (hers), and a few ill-informed opinions (mine), we decided on stays in Galway, Doolin, and Dingle, with a side trip to the Aran Islands and an overnight stay in Ballybunion.*</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The trip was super-relaxing, I didn't hit anything in the Skoda (look it up), and I'm full up on scenery for at least a year. I will let the pictures do (most of) the rest of the talking. We took over a thousand photographs between us, and at least half of them are worth seeing. Here are some of my favorites, with a few shots thrown in for narrative purposes.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Shannon</h3>
After a surprisingly comfortable British Airways flight from Dallas to Heathrow, we caught a surprisingly uncomfortable Aer Lingus flight to Shannon, the "other airport" in Ireland. They lost my bag somewhere along the way, and by the time we finished filling out the paperwork, customs was deserted and we walked out of the airport unmolested. After a bit of a wait at the rental agency, we headed off to Galway, with me trying to remember to stay on the left side of the road.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_u7QoZ-49TM/VFA_KvGs1HI/AAAAAAAADHs/HHkgv9Ym0xw/s1600/IMG_7498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_u7QoZ-49TM/VFA_KvGs1HI/AAAAAAAADHs/HHkgv9Ym0xw/s1600/IMG_7498.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shannon airport from the rental agency car park. There is a Radisson hotel that is actually closer to the terminal than this, out of the frame to the right. We stayed there on our last night in Ireland. As hotels go, it was very close to the airport.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Galway</h3>
<div>
We spent our first two nights in Galway at the <a href="http://www.parkhousehotel.ie/" target="_blank">Park House Hotel</a>. The hotel was well located, with private parking (which we really came to appreciate in Ireland) and helpful staff. My bag arrived about four hours after we did, so I didn't have to spend ten days in the same pants. We were asleep before it was dark both nights, awake through the middle of the night, and asleep again through the morning, which kept our time wandering the city somewhat limited. We did manage a nice drive around Connemara, and even had time to find <a href="http://www.discoverireland.ie/Arts-Culture-Heritage/nora-barnacle-house-museum/71419" target="_blank">Nora Barnacle's house</a>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rc8XpBAcy_I/VFBFPbyYXkI/AAAAAAAADIE/dzth0OK-FUY/s1600/Galway_7527.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rc8XpBAcy_I/VFBFPbyYXkI/AAAAAAAADIE/dzth0OK-FUY/s1600/Galway_7527.png" height="512" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Galway is the fourth most populous city in Ireland (75,000 and some), a college town, and a seaport since 1124. The River Corrib flows through the city and into Galway Bay.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--JN3JXYzHVo/VFBG19aepuI/AAAAAAAADIQ/kqf7GHDJVk4/s1600/Galway_7541.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--JN3JXYzHVo/VFBG19aepuI/AAAAAAAADIQ/kqf7GHDJVk4/s1600/Galway_7541.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did I mention I like pubs? This one is across the street from John F. Kennedy Park, and served the best hamburger I have had in a while. Our hotel was across the street about halfway up the block. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9nNdVB1deo/VFBE3qsRCHI/AAAAAAAADH8/FpGtU2bXP4w/s1600/Galway%2B7531.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r9nNdVB1deo/VFBE3qsRCHI/AAAAAAAADH8/FpGtU2bXP4w/s1600/Galway%2B7531.png" height="456" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It seems about half of Ireland comes here to shop. This area between the park and the sea is restricted to foot traffic for several square blocks. I mostly bought beer. And an umbrella.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Doolin and the Burren Way</h3>
We left Galway on the third morning and drove down the coast to Doolin in County Clare. Doolin is known for traditional Irish music and is very near the <a href="http://www.cliffsofmoher.ie/" target="_blank">Cliffs of Moher</a>, so it's a pretty popular tourist destination. Luckily for us, the tourist season ends on October 1st, and the crowds were fast disappearing. The town consists of a harbor, three pubs and some wool-centric souvenir shops. Since it's too warm for sweaters where we live, we focused on the pubs. We enjoyed some good food, great traditional Irish music (we even tried to dance once), and the best stout I have ever tasted.<br />
<br />
We stayed at <a href="http://www.dolls-cottage-doolin.com/" target="_blank">Doll's Cottage B&B</a> in Doolin, owned and operated by Sean O'Connor. Sean's parents Gus and Doll had owned <a href="http://www.gusoconnorsdoolin.com/" target="_blank">Gus O'Connor's Pub</a>, a fixture in town and less than a hundred yards (or "meters") from the B&B. As an itinerant chef and storyteller, Sean is an ideal host, as long as you like to listen and don't mind opinions. We had a blast, and he was very accommodating, even offering us a ride to the Cliffs of Moher to start our hike. The room was generally clean, with a few dusty spots in the corners that let you know it was the end of a long tourist season. This was common with the accommodations on our trip. I had the impression that all would be spic and span again come Spring.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
For our full day in Doolin, we walked from the Cliffs (about 3 miles distant) back to Doolin village along the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burren_Way" target="_blank">Burren Way</a>. I can't begin to do justice to how simultaneously relaxing and stimulating it was. The weather was grand, and there were sheep and donkeys besides. Combined with the pub experience the night before, this had to be our favorite 24 hours of the trip.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r5IgvjA2iUo/VFTA5Wfat4I/AAAAAAAADJ8/Q4LIIZL0Nfs/s1600/Cliffs%2Bof%2BMoher%2B7583.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-r5IgvjA2iUo/VFTA5Wfat4I/AAAAAAAADJ8/Q4LIIZL0Nfs/s1600/Cliffs%2Bof%2BMoher%2B7583.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cliffs of Moher, a breathtaking stretch of coastline. The combination of active erosion, strong winds, and poor survival instincts send a few people over the edge every year. The authorities finally relented and put some barriers in the most heavily trafficked sections. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ALgoRUrBU_s/VFS_oS7BtWI/AAAAAAAADJ0/yePTTg2AQmA/s1600/Cliffs%2Bof%2BMoher%2B7618.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ALgoRUrBU_s/VFS_oS7BtWI/AAAAAAAADJ0/yePTTg2AQmA/s1600/Cliffs%2Bof%2BMoher%2B7618.png" height="428" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is reputed to be the landing spot for Harry and Dumbledore in their search for a horcrux. I didn't see the cave, but I assume the entrance is concealed by magic.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--o_k-MbueFI/VFgzvKfotvI/AAAAAAAADKY/rIqx6rdbEpw/s1600/OBriens%2BTower%2B7586.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--o_k-MbueFI/VFgzvKfotvI/AAAAAAAADKY/rIqx6rdbEpw/s1600/OBriens%2BTower%2B7586.png" height="422" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">O'Brien's Tower at the Cliffs of Moher. You can hardly throw a sheep in Ireland without hitting some medieval structure or ruin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XuEXrKT5nMQ/VFTFiwHDR1I/AAAAAAAADKI/62WPhBfmcGc/s1600/Doolin%2B7661.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XuEXrKT5nMQ/VFTFiwHDR1I/AAAAAAAADKI/62WPhBfmcGc/s1600/Doolin%2B7661.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view along the coast toward Doolin village. The village is near the center of the distant coast. The harbor is toward the left of the frame, </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFwZ-hgAizU/VFDZLIRWLeI/AAAAAAAADJY/mYpYK4NUluA/s1600/Burren%2BWay%2B7699.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gFwZ-hgAizU/VFDZLIRWLeI/AAAAAAAADJY/mYpYK4NUluA/s1600/Burren%2BWay%2B7699.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case the seaward view isn't holding your attention, this is what the other direction looks like. Biscuit and I talked a lot about what it would have been like to grow up in one of these houses.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B0-Tt0x6NyY/VFoPsU7dcuI/AAAAAAAADKo/Yx3LSHnqnlQ/s1600/IMG_7647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-B0-Tt0x6NyY/VFoPsU7dcuI/AAAAAAAADKo/Yx3LSHnqnlQ/s1600/IMG_7647.jpg" height="425" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donkeys! You can see that they are already walking toward us, hoping for carrots, or beer or something. Also, cow butts.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a9l28Gbc5Dc/VFDcemJYiCI/AAAAAAAADJk/Ip2TFuZbS_4/s1600/Burren%2BWay%2B7671.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a9l28Gbc5Dc/VFDcemJYiCI/AAAAAAAADJk/Ip2TFuZbS_4/s1600/Burren%2BWay%2B7671.png" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back along a section of the coastal path. As you can see, we have left the barricades far behind.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xLFn-B0JVf8/VFoPtgnXSTI/AAAAAAAADKw/OBX8e3W3y3A/s1600/IMG_7702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xLFn-B0JVf8/VFoPtgnXSTI/AAAAAAAADKw/OBX8e3W3y3A/s1600/IMG_7702.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doolin village. Gus O'Connor's pub is the two story building to the right of the frame. Doll's House B&B the reddish house with the bay window. I think that's Fitz's Bar at the right edge but it was always dark when we were there. And people were drinking.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
The next morning we were scheduled to travel to the Aran Islands and spend the night on Inis Mór. Unfortunately, we woke to rain and tropical storm force winds, and were disappointed to learn that the ferries would not run "for at least a couple of days." It was by far the biggest disappointment of the trip, and we were left with 36 hours to fill.<br />
<br />
Whatever would we do? Could we find something else fun to occupy our time? Would the 2 euro umbrella we bought in Galway survive? How many times would I go to the wrong side of the car before remembering it was right hand drive?<br />
<br />
Find out in the next installment of The Good Craic! (This is getting long, and Biscuit is growing tired of me crippling our internet connection uploading gigantic pictures, so I will take up the second half later.)<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<hr />
*Do you love the names of these towns, or what?</div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-16737955214037236852014-10-27T22:08:00.001-05:002014-10-28T08:03:55.672-05:00Kids are the futureThis past Thursday I was privileged to evaluate fifteen or so student proposals to "deliver news to communities using social media." The contest was conducted through the Mass Communication* School, with the winning proposals receiving a cash grant, presumably to help complete the project.<br />
<br />
I learned a few important things. First, this group of Mass Comm. students are ambitious, innovative, and as dedicated as one could reasonably expect of 20 year olds. Their proposals were generally well thought out, though they had a blind spot when it came to creating original content, or understanding why commercial entities would not be excited about someone else aggregating their original content for free.<br />
<br />
Another thing I learned was the virtues of being able to do everything on one's phone, without ever having to look up, rely on another device, or interact directly with another person. Seriously, I heard this repeatedly, to the point that I was a little frightened. I knew that these kids relied on their phones more than old people believe can be healthy, but I didn't realize that the people shaping tomorrow's media believe heartily that this is a good thing.<br />
<br />
Perhaps the most important thing that was confirmed for me was that reading is boring. I heard repeatedly how tedious it was to wade through New York Times articles, long e-mails (with bullet points, no less!), or even verbose Facebook messages. A minute is entirely too long to watch a video. We should be able to put the salient points of any news story into a clip no longer than 45 seconds, and usually more like 15.<br />
<br />
I really don't know what this means for our media future, but I know that it seems like what we see will be shorter, more immediate, and more personal than social media and smartphones have wrought to this point. Good luck, young ones.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* What used to the Journalism School.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-7126367757577492802014-09-20T08:02:00.000-05:002014-09-20T08:02:25.891-05:00Just wordsI feel surrounded by Death,<br />
and the Promise of Death.<br />
<br />
Too many dear to me have lost friends,<br />
and mothers, sons, and fathers,<br />
in what seems the space of an afternoon.<br />
<br />
Others have been sentenced, and<br />
now they wait.<br />
And I wait with them,<br />
counting under my breath.<br />
<br />
I cannot help.<br />
My cup is empty<br />
in the face of such loss.<br />
Their pain overwhelms me.<br />
I fear my own weakness.<br />
<br />
My thoughts move unbidden to places where this<br />
much death and more is truly the work<br />
of an afternoon. Families and friends<br />
wiped away, each day after day.<br />
<br />
How do they do it? How do they stand?<br />
How can a soul face so much death and live?<br />
<br />
Ebola, ISIS, Russian Separatists.<br />
They are only words to me. Pictures on a screen.<br />
But every day they deliver Death,<br />
and the Promise of Death.<br />
<br />
Call it tragic.<br />
It is the Way of Things.<br />
These are the<br />
rules of our existence.<br />
<br />
So, this is middle age.<br />
Perhaps I should have taken more<br />
risks in my youth, though I am<br />
not sure what else I could have done.<br />
<br />
I will recover. I will find my feet.<br />
I will help as I can.<br />
<br />
But it won't be today.<br />
Today I am paralyzed by Death,<br />
and the Promise of Death.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thumbs.imagekind.com/1447574_650/Mt-Holly-Cemetery-Little-Rock-Arkansas_art.jpg?v=1224610380" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://thumbs.imagekind.com/1447574_650/Mt-Holly-Cemetery-Little-Rock-Arkansas_art.jpg?v=1224610380" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from <a href="http://thumbs.imagekind.com/1447574_650/Mt-Holly-Cemetery-Little-Rock-Arkansas_art.jpg?v=1224610380" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-75608093532733220292014-08-27T11:42:00.003-05:002014-08-27T11:42:26.774-05:00Are you ready for some chaos?Back to school time is my least favorite season of the year. There, I've said it. It's not that I don't like the approach of Fall. It's my favorite season. And I don't really hate the return of the academic year. I try to appreciate all of my days, valuing each as the gift from Bokonon that it is. Some days are easier than others, but generally I feel pretty good about the results.<br />
<br />
But, being on a major college campus during the transition from summer tranquility to the busiest time of the year comes with no shortage of aggravations. Like the first cool breezes that foretell the arrival of autumn*, the precursors show up about a month in advance. Advanced orientation begins for incoming students, and one starts to see guides walking around campus holding large numbered placards, trailing several dozen lost looking former high schoolers, still sporting the latest styles of their home town.<br />
<br />
By two weeks before school, college-sponsored camps and programs begin, and traffic around campus starts to pick up. The organized orientation groups are replaced by family groups, the parents regaling their kids with outdated wisdom and stories of past college glory. A short round woman and her short round son** stopped me in the student union a couple of weeks ago, and she demanded to know if there were anything to eat in the building besides McDonalds and Einstein Bagels.<br />
<br />
Me: "Sure. If you go through that door there is a place where you can get a built-to-order salad or sushi."<br />
<br />
Them: (blank stare)<br />
<br />
Me: "Further on there are plate lunches, po-boys, and other sandwiches.<br />
<br />
(crickets)<br />
<br />
Me: "You will also find Panda Express, Chick-Fil-A, ..."<br />
<br />
Her: "OH THANK GOD!"<br />
<br />
And they wandered off without another word. This is a pretty typical -- and thankfully not that common -- interaction. For the most part it's people meandering from one side of the sidewalk to the other, or stopping dead in a group in the middle of a hallway, squinting at their phones.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.wbrz.com/images/news/2013-02/traffic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.wbrz.com/images/news/2013-02/traffic.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Next comes rush week, generating hordes of identically dressed hopeful Greeks-to-be. The surreality of the whole thing is evident in the array of Hawaiian shirts, jerseys, and whatever other ridiculous garments the participants are required to purchase and wear. This is also when it starts to get hard to get a meal or cup of coffee on campus.<br />
<br />
The green flag drops on move-in day, when every street on campus is infested with bumper to bumper Suburbans and U-Haul trailers packed with more crap than will ever fit in a dorm room. Crosswalks become kill zones, and the exhaust from a thousand idling SUVs provides the little extra push to turn the humid August air into toxic steam you can breathe. On the plus side, I am thinking it could give me superpowers.<br />
<br />
After a month of this, the actual start of classes is almost a relief. Almost. Traffic now backs up several miles from campus, and every sidewalk and passageway is filled with students in a great hurry, most going the wrong way. I won't leave my office for at least two weeks, and it will be a month or so before Thirsty Thursday infects the rest of the calendar, and attendance drops by a quarter or so. By the middle of October, enough students will have stopped going to class that I will be able to walk the campus again. I might even be able to get lunch if I don't go between 11:00 and 3:00. By February, many will be back in their home towns or working full time at Chili's, and I will be looking forward to summer.<br />
<br />
<hr />
*Which won't actually show up here for another two months.<br />
<br />
** Seriously, I thought they might be Weebles.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-15471951191218447722014-08-11T20:51:00.002-05:002014-08-11T20:51:28.785-05:00The Research AbidesOur Center hosts a two month research program every summer for thirty or so undergraduates, and a lesser number of high school students and teachers. It's a surprising amount of work for those of us who volunteer as mentors, but is also a fair amount of fun, and always satisfying. The students come from all over the country, from colleges of all descriptions.<br />
<br />
My mentat this summer is a student from our school who just finished her freshman year. She is intelligent, ambitious, overprivileged (drives a nicer car than I do), and reminds me of my favorite philosophy professor's observation that, "no one on Earth knows more than a college sophomore." She had a great time and tied for first in the poster competition, but that's not important right now.*<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://www.castingfrontier.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/movies_big_lebowski_the_dude_jeff_bridges_movie_desktop_1280x1024_wallpaper-43039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.castingfrontier.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/movies_big_lebowski_the_dude_jeff_bridges_movie_desktop_1280x1024_wallpaper-43039.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">I do all of the grocery shopping. <i>Image from </i><a href="http://www.castingfrontier.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/movies_big_lebowski_the_dude_jeff_bridges_movie_desktop_1280x1024_wallpaper-43039.jpg" target="_blank"><i>here</i></a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We built a rapport, since she exudes the insecurity inherent to being nineteen and I am generally awesome. During one of her daily drop-ins to my office she mentioned that I had acquired a nickname among the summer students. She said something about her mentor, and several of the students replied, "You mean Jeff Bridges?" She is too young and normal to know <a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2009/08/name-abides.html" target="_blank">which of his roles had likely inspired the comparison</a>, but I knew immediately. I guess there are some things we really don't live down.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* And don't call me Shirley.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-83508665232275981342014-05-15T06:40:00.000-05:002014-05-17T08:28:47.661-05:00Finding your passionThis is commencement week at Large Southern University. Young people around campus are busy gluing glitter to their mortarboards, figuring out how to conceal booze under their gowns, planning their graduation blowouts, and realizing that they should have been looking for a job already.<br />
<br />
The last time I cared about who was speaking at commencement was my own graduation, but I am sure whoever it is this year will exhort the new graduates to "follow your passion." I remember a <a href="http://www.npr.org/blogs/money/2013/05/09/182403459/i-know-im-supposed-to-follow-my-passion-but-what-if-i-dont-have-a-passion" target="_blank">news story published last year</a> that centered around this universal commencement advice. One new graduate, concerned that he had not yet found his one true calling, sought advice from an economist about what to do. As our young protagonist pointed out, some people find their passion early in life, while others search for decades, or forever. (Spoiler alert: this is another area where economists were sure they could provide an answer, but in the end were as clueless as the rest of us.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cms.cerritos.edu/uploads/Connections2007/Commencement.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cms.cerritos.edu/uploads/Connections2007/Commencement.12.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow your dreams, no matter what others tell you. Now put on this identical garb and line up to receive a certificate of your worth as a person. <i>Image from <a href="http://cms.cerritos.edu/uploads/Connections2007/Commencement.12.jpg" target="_blank">here</a></i>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I could have been the poster boy for the (vocationally) passionless. After abandoning uninspired attempts to live up to the potential that people constantly told me I possessed, I drifted through several careers, pursuing goals of the moment, and prone to fits of depression. I realized later that my problem was not that I didn't have a passion. The problem was (to quote a friend) that I felt like a raging failure because I didn't have a passion, and everyone else had one. Didn't they? A lot of my friends had Volvos and college degrees, so I assumed they had driving ambitions.<br />
<br />
The first days of Spring of the worst year of my life found me unemployed, almost unmarried, far from friends and family, and an unwelcome guest in my own house. I loathed myself, my life, and my prospects more than I have at any time before or since.* By the time my birthday rolled around I had divorce papers,** a crappy apartment, a crappy sales job, a few pieces of donated furniture, and an old station wagon with a slow leak in the right rear tire.<br />
<br />
By the Fall I was back in school, and working odd jobs to pay the bills. My apartment was still crappy, but I had a new tire, and designs on the hot girl at the opposite end of my building. I had also stopped worrying about finding my passion. I was so busy trying to survive, and working to accomplish my next objective, that I really had no time for self-absorption. I was content with the satisfaction that came with learning something new, acquiring a new skill, or making a new friend. I learned to enjoy my own company again, and to appreciate the days as they passed.<br />
<br />
Along the way, I fell in love with computer science. I realized that my passion had always been learning new things, understanding how the world works, and thinking hard. CS is a perfect fit. It's not that I only care about computer science because I stopped worrying about my passion, but I do believe that focusing on what I have and enjoying who I am, rather than what I wish I had or who I would rather be, has made it easier to stay committed and enthused. Corny, I know, but no worse than "follow your passion."<br />
<br />
<hr />
* Much better now, thanks for asking.
<br />
<br />
** Served on my actual birthday. The ex claimed it was an accident, but my lawyer was certain it was intentional.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-23174894761348879252014-05-12T23:00:00.000-05:002014-05-13T18:58:57.198-05:00The mother of all daysWhen I called my mother yesterday and asked her how Mother's Day was treating her, she replied, "I'm having a wonderful day. I have all my children here with me, except one."<br />
<br />
This is hardly a first for my mother. It is actually an improvement over all the years we drove hundreds of miles to be home for Christmas, only to hear, "It's just a shame Eldest Brother couldn't be here." A double-edged guilt sword that would make any mother proud, it admonished Eldest Brother for his absence, while letting the rest of us know that our presence wasn't quite enough to make this one count.<br />
<br />
One of the blessings of growing older is that these too revealing pronouncements amuse us now. They are almost a family tradition. This sort of thing frustrated me greatly when I was younger. The worst years were those when I was old enough to see clearly what was being done to me, but powerless to stop it, despite the fact that it had been years since I had needed to borrow money from my parents.<br />
<br />
Now I feel the years counting down, and I know that too soon I will have only memories. On the occasions that my siblings and I gather we will reminisce about our years as decorations in my mother's holiday tableaux. And we will miss her.<br />
<br />
Be nice to your mama whenever you can manage it. She gave you everything you will ever have. If you don't believe me, just ask her.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-55748134505450624332014-04-30T18:00:00.000-05:002014-05-01T16:41:43.453-05:00Science for the hard of thinkingI went to a lecture on quantum computers last Thursday, given by a famous Canadian molecular chemist.* Despite being a professional computer scientist, I know fuck-all about quantum computing, and I have to admit that this hour and a half did little to change that. I mean, I know probably 85 or 90 percent of the words this guy used, but I don't think he was using them right. I felt like I was listening to someone read Lorem Ipsum while they flipped through Powerpoint slides of B-2 bomber schematics.<br />
<br />
I was in good company. Of the fifty people in the room, only one seemed to be following along, and he was clearly a vampire, which I consider cheating. (Tall and very thin, pasty and pale, indeterminate age, hair like Bill Compton, you do the math.) Two others recognized a concept and asked a question, but they were obviously grasping and we pitied them.<br />
<br />
Computer scientists generally don't know much about quantum computing, even though it's supposedly our future, which makes it fun to bring up in faculty meetings and watch everyone try to fake it. In fact, the only people who know anything about this seem to be physicists or molecular chemists.<br />
<br />
In spite of all that, I quite enjoyed the talk. Freed from comprehension, I was able to focus on the trivia I found interesting, and marvel at what science has become.<br />
<br />
First, I think we should establish -- and I can't stress this enough -- that quantum anything makes no sense whatsoever, and quantum computing is no exception. I felt a lot like someone trying to imagine what bathrooms would be like if we were built inside out. So even when I found a familiar concept it was immediately inverted and set on fire. Under water. It sounds like quantum computers will not calculate things so much as tell us all the things we could calculate if we had that kind of time, and then pick the correct answer from a set that never existed.<br />
<br />
I did get a few interesting (to me, at least) tidbits, though I couldn't begin to tell you how they relate to the topic, or even what the topic was, if I'm being honest. It all started with a thing called a neutron interferometer. The idea is simple really (clearly a lie, but always how they start these things).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://uwaterloo.ca/institute-for-quantum-computing/sites/ca.institute-for-quantum-computing/files/styles/body-500px-wide/public/uploads/images/quantumdevice.png?itok=PhfND-Yr" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://uwaterloo.ca/institute-for-quantum-computing/sites/ca.institute-for-quantum-computing/files/styles/body-500px-wide/public/uploads/images/quantumdevice.png?itok=PhfND-Yr" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This apparatus is machined from a single crystal of silicon that costs north of 50,000 Canadian dollars. After months of machining, it is practically guaranteed not to do anything useful. (Image from <a href="https://uwaterloo.ca/institute-for-quantum-computing/programs/neutron-create" target="_blank">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
First you take a single crystal of silicon** about the size of a football, and machine most of it away. The idea is to get exactly parallel surfaces that are precisely spaced and smooth to the atomic level. Since this is plainly impossible, almost none of them work. Apparently this guy has a cabinet full of these things that are good for nothing, but much too expensive to throw away. The fun part is that no one tells the grad student spending two years of his or her life creating this thing that it won't work. They let it be a surprise.<br />
<br />
Recently someone invented a machine to address this issue of non-workiness. The part I remember is that it uses a single cut facet of a large diamond to grind away 6-8 angstroms (ten-billionths of a meter) of silicon on each pass. After (I assume) about a millennium, you will have a working interferometer. I got a mental picture of someone's engagement ring stuck in this gigantic laser-driven Dr. Evil death ray, but that may not be exactly what it looks like. If it works out, they expect the graduate student suicide rate to decline precipitously.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nist.gov/pml/div682/grp03/images/Use-of-Quantum-Error-Coding-in-a-4-Blade-Neutron-Interferometer_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.nist.gov/pml/div682/grp03/images/Use-of-Quantum-Error-Coding-in-a-4-Blade-Neutron-Interferometer_1.jpg" height="400" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As you can plainly see in Figure 1, the hypothetical neutron does or does not go one way or another as it passes through each blade. Once the non-existent particle passes through the apparatus, assuming it has possibly taken the path we have not observed until now, we will be able to tell something. I guess. Figure 2 shows the graph generated by the passage of the midi-chlorians through the aether. (Image from <a href="http://www.nist.gov/pml/div682/grp03/images/Use-of-Quantum-Error-Coding-in-a-4-Blade-Neutron-Interferometer_1.jpg" target="_blank">here</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The idea behind this thing is that you shoot an individual neutron (a ridiculous idea to begin with) at one end. The crystalline structure will cause the neutron wave form to deflect one direction or another. Because a magic crystal is stuck on one path, you will be able to tell something about which way the non-existent neutron went once you look at it and it starts to exist. Or something.<br />
<br />
One more fun fact. These things are crazy sensitive to vibrations and temperature change, so they spent six years and a crap-ton of money building three spring-mounted nested rooms and a special table to eliminate virtually all external interference. About the time they finished, someone figured out that if you just add a couple of extra fins to the crystal thing, noise wouldn't be a problem, so the room is unnecessary.<br />
<br />
The guy also talked about some lattice of carbon and chlorine atoms that I think was supposed to be the computer part. There was something about stable free radicals and electron spins effecting nuclear spins, but by then I was feeling lightheaded and it all gets a little fuzzy. I never did figure out how that part connects to the neutron cannon we started out discussing.<br />
<br />
I probably shouldn't admit it, but I love this part of my job. Every day I get to talk to people who are doing crazy shit with government money that not a hundred people on the planet understand. There is not much of it that you can do in your garage anymore, and most people think the work is preposterous, but if we ever get our flying cars it will be because of these guys.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* I know, contradiction in terms, right?<br />
<br />
** The stuff that Star Trek pizza monster was made of, not the stuff they put in boobs.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-72911978802521051692014-04-27T07:30:00.001-05:002014-04-27T12:08:39.767-05:00Up for airDidja miss me? I did.* I should probably make up some story about traumatic amnesia, or accidentally hiking across the border into Crimea and being taken into custody, but who has that kind of time?<br />
<br />
In fact, I have spent most of this past year doing things. Not particular things. The focus has been more on the doing. I tend to write when I'm feeling reflective, and -- oddly enough -- not so much during creative periods. My medium of creation is source code, grant applications, project collaborations, and business lunches. My inner child is sent to his room, and the storming part of my brain is kept on a short leash. I think very little about myself during these times, and go days at a time without so much as glancing in a mirror.<br />
<br />
Eventually I start to feel ways about things again, and the urge to put something down on paper, or whatever this is, returns. I have felt it coming for a while now. The culmination was probably the trip home for my uncle's funeral last week. He was a bit of a self-important blowhard and alienated a lot of people, including his kids, but somehow his passing seems to have washed much of that away. We had a wonderful time catching up with relatives who haven't spoken in years, and my uncle's shortcomings barely came up. Except for his toupee. We talked quite a bit about that.<br />
<br />
There is a lot changing in my professional life right now -- turning of the academic year, new management, shifting roles all around -- and I will be shifting my priorities as well. Hopefully, I can use the uncertainty to break some bad habits, and maybe even become less habitual over all. I like being productive, but it's very hard to live in the moment going full speed.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* I never really planned to stop posting here, any more than I planned to write this post since before about five minutes ago. I may not write another one for a year, for all I know. What I do know is that I like having this outlet when I feel like writing, and for now I plan to keep it.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-32848191932257443532013-09-14T17:27:00.000-05:002013-09-14T17:27:57.377-05:00A very good yearDaisy Fae's <a href="http://daisyfae.wordpress.com/2013/08/08/letter-to-my-16-year-old-self-2/" target="_blank">reprise of her letter to her sixteen year old self</a> reminded me that she had encouraged me to write one of my own. I was originally resistant, mostly because my sixteen year old self was militantly uninterested in advice from his elders. But what the Hell? Let's give it a go.<br />
<br />
Dear Clueless,<br />
<br />
Try to relax. <i>They can't see you.</i> They see a good-looking, wicked smart athlete and passable actor who lives in a beautiful house with a pool. They don't know that the house and pool were largely built by subcontractors who couldn't pay your father what they owed him, or that the three acres was given to your parents as newlyweds because the owner "just wanted good neighbors."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Y6sFMcoqS4/UjBezA8mxMI/AAAAAAAACRg/OHJ8UBfOA88/s1600/Chris+-+ABC+800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="276" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8Y6sFMcoqS4/UjBezA8mxMI/AAAAAAAACRg/OHJ8UBfOA88/s400/Chris+-+ABC+800.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What are you going to tell this kid that he would possibly listen to? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
People don't seem to remember that your house was in the country a decade ago, and your best friend in second grade was the son of squatters who lived in one of the shotgun houses where the Interstate runs now. Your mother has done a very thorough job of disguising her heritage, so no one suspects that her parents are Opry-loving hillbillies who only recently installed running water inside their Ozark farmhouse, or that they still have no telephone. Your father is a respected architect now, not the second son of an alcoholic carpenter.<br />
<br />
Only your teachers, and those with older siblings realize that you are far less athletic than your brothers. Even they can't see that performing in front of people mystifies you, however much you love it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oc_qtCHJAlw/UjBftF-MR1I/AAAAAAAACRo/3SZehWYrCAk/s1600/readers-theater.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="275" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oc_qtCHJAlw/UjBftF-MR1I/AAAAAAAACRo/3SZehWYrCAk/s400/readers-theater.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girl to your left is suffering greatly. Much more than a few hours after senior banquet will be able to erase. She will die too young. Help her if you can.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
No one (including you) understands the pressure you feel to excel academically. Try to find the words to explain that curiosity is not the same as ambition, and that you will need some time to find your way. Curiosity will always win with you, anyway. It works out best when it is pointed in a productive direction.<br />
<br />
Because they can't see you, they don't know your intentions. Most people don't mean to hurt you. They just have no idea how their words and actions impact other people.Your sensitivity is your greatest strength. Try not to lose it. I know it hurts, but try to remember that it's not always about you. Assume everyone else is as lonely, clueless and self-involved as you are. The people who seem the meanest are often having the hardest time.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
There are a few people who truly see you. You know who they are. They are the friendships you can't explain. Like the quiet friend of the girl you are crushing on, and the guy next to you on the bench. Treasure them, and try not to lose touch. They will be important to you later in life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AKNcSkYPiJk/UjBfxNQyzmI/AAAAAAAACRw/jx128UkDQ00/s1600/CB_PV_Football_0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AKNcSkYPiJk/UjBfxNQyzmI/AAAAAAAACRw/jx128UkDQ00/s400/CB_PV_Football_0043.JPG" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The triple threat: nearsighted and dead slow, with hands of iron.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While we're on the subject, you could do with a little remembering that other people's feelings matter, too. Sometimes it is worth losing a friend for your principles, but not as often as you think. And just because you can date three girls at once doesn't mean it's a good idea, even if you have been up front with all of them. You're not missing anything. You know who is worth the time, and it matters, even if she says it doesn't.<br />
<br />
Oh, by the way, many people consider you handsome. I hesitate to tell you this, since your ego is enough of a problem when you think you are only average-looking. But you are going to find out one of these days, and maybe it will encourage you to look elsewhere for your shortcomings.<br />
<br />
Oh, and when you get to college, don't start smoking. She won't really notice, and she's not worth it anyway. Which reminds me, not everything has to be about sex. To be fair, I'm going to have to say that in the letters to all of my past selves, but it starts with you.<br />
<br />
Most of all, try to enjoy it. I won't say these are the best years of your life, but they are definitely only for a limited time. Unlike McRib, they won't be back. And try to take it easy on the weed. </div>
Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-90973101735696593022013-08-20T07:46:00.000-05:002013-08-20T21:46:46.014-05:00Extra dark roastBuckle up, this is going to get gross. Seriously, I had to wait a few weeks before I could even write about it, so if you're the least bit squeamish, I would suggest skipping this post and coming back for the next one. (I'm looking at you, <a href="http://15minutelunch.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Johnny Virgil</a>.)<br />
<br />
I have never been a morning person. I sleep deep and wake slowly, despite my tendency to rise earlier with each passing year. I am terribly unfocused and uncoordinated for at least an hour after getting out of bed. The invention of the drip coffeemaker with built-in timer was a godsend for me, and (mostly) ended years of pots with no coffee, no water, grounds spilled everywhere, or (my favorite) coffee all over the counter because I forgot to replace the carafe. Now I can stumble out of bed, pour a cup, and sit quietly until the world starts to make some sense.<br />
<br />
The other morning at breakfast, Biscuit said something about the coffee smelling funny. She's a bit of a super-smeller, so this sort of thing happens often. Some days the coffee smells funny, some days it's the air conditioner, sometimes it's me. She especially dislikes the smell of vinegar, so we don't clean the coffeemaker's plumbing as often as we might. I normally wait until she is out of town, but she hasn't been traveling much lately, so it has been a while. I noticed a bit of an odd taste, but nothing remarkable. We discussed possibilities for a while, and the conversation moved to other things.<br />
<br />
Just before leaving the house, as my routine dictates, I began preparing a final serving of coffee in a stainless travel cup to sustain me through the remainder of the morning. As I tipped the carafe to pour, coffee began to splatter on the counter, as if the lid of the carafe were mis-installed. When I turned the carafe to diagnose the problem, I saw two antennae protruding about two inches from the spout, attached to a bullet-shaped head.<br />
<br />
Those of you have spent more than fifteen minutes near the Gulf coast are likely familiar with the large cockroaches that are common here, often euphemistically called <i>water bugs</i>, or <i>palmetto bugs</i>.* It seems one of these critters had wandered into the carafe during the night and gotten a nasty surprise come wakeup time.<br />
<br />
I reacted like any red-blooded American male in that circumstance. I whipped the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ka-Bar" target="_blank">KA-BAR knife</a> from my boot, stuck the little guy on the end, crunched him between my teeth, and washed him down with the remaining coffee. Okay, what I really did was throw carafe and mug into the sink, dance in a circle like a four year old convinced by his older brother to drink Tabasco, and try not to throw up. The dance was very similar to the one I did when one of these same roaches ran up my leg and into my cargo shorts about a dozen years ago, except this time my hands were flailing around my head instead of slapping at my area.<br />
<br />
It turns out that I didn't need another cup that morning. For a few hours I thought I might never need any more coffee ever again. I threw all the affected parts into the dishwasher and set it to <i>Obliviate</i>. I would have put my head in there had I been able to close the door.<br />
<br />
I had decided to spare Biscuit the trauma and carry this secret to my grave, but the next day when she remarked that the coffee tasted better again, and began conjecturing on causes, I broke down and confessed. She did not thank me for my honesty, but handled it better than I probably would have done.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ip1FdF7Ejrg/UhNjk69AGaI/AAAAAAAACMM/NEkQSzFZM08/s1600/coffee-scream.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ip1FdF7Ejrg/UhNjk69AGaI/AAAAAAAACMM/NEkQSzFZM08/s400/coffee-scream.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Artist reconstruction</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We have discussed any number of ways to avoid repeating this particular recipe, but in the end we put it down as a freak occurrence and returned to our normal routine. I have never had a bug in my coffee before, so it stands to reason that I can expect forty more years to pass before the next one. By then I probably won't even notice. I can only hope this is not some new fad that the teenage roaches are all daring each other to try. If it happens again I am definitely switching to tea.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* There are four or five types of large roaches that inhabit the American Gulf South. Palmetto bug and water bug were originally common names for particular species, but are now used regionally to describe any giant, disgusting, flying, disgusting, frightening, disgusting cockroach. At least three of these species are common where we live. Luckily, most live outdoors and only wander inside when it gets very hot or very wet. Did I mention it gets very hot and very wet here? We all like to pretend we never have them in our own house, but I've seen them in the Louisiana governor's mansion. We find cats to be the best defense.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-35136093369432238992013-08-13T19:46:00.001-05:002013-08-20T07:47:29.584-05:00In BrugesThe black comedy <b style="font-style: italic;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Bruges" target="_blank">In Bruges</a></b>* somehow found its way to the top of our Netflix queue a couple of years ago, and Biscuit has been determined to visit the eponymous Belgian city** since we watched the opening credits. We had a free weekend during my recent conference trip to London, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Bruges attracts huge numbers of tourists, and a couple of days seemed like about all we would need.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WoB3ufrvft0/UgodI6nliWI/AAAAAAAACK8/2ji5uN_EPHs/s1600/London-skyline.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="190" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WoB3ufrvft0/UgodI6nliWI/AAAAAAAACK8/2ji5uN_EPHs/s400/London-skyline.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All photos courtesy of Biscuit. She had a new camera and more free time than I, so she was designated official trip photographer. This is part of the view from the top of St. Paul's Cathedral in London.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
About an hour northwest of Brussels by train, Bruges is the capital of the Belgian province of West Flanders, which you may know from the <a href="http://www.arlingtoncemetery.net/flanders.htm" target="_blank">WW I poem about its fields</a>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OgG6OrieDNg/UgodBaCdFpI/AAAAAAAACK0/r-6hvuK5Ido/s1600/canal_boat_0197.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OgG6OrieDNg/UgodBaCdFpI/AAAAAAAACK0/r-6hvuK5Ido/s400/canal_boat_0197.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruges rose to prominence as a seaport. A half hour canal tour is one of the ''must do" tourist activities.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<a href="http://visitbruges.be/" target="_blank">Bruges</a> was a city of some significance during the Middle Ages, with its heyday in the first half of the last millennium. Much of the medieval architecture remains, and every stretch of the city center holds some new marvel. It is a perfect spot for a fantasy stroll, at least until around 9:00 AM when the buses start delivering day-trippers. By mid-afternoon the squares look like Disney World. Most of the gawkers are gone by 7:00 or so, which makes for nice evening strolls, too.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nz2jOHnBaW8/UgocSHrddOI/AAAAAAAACJ0/Nm2YeZhovvY/s1600/bruges_0190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nz2jOHnBaW8/UgocSHrddOI/AAAAAAAACJ0/Nm2YeZhovvY/s400/bruges_0190.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Church of Our Lady was built primarily before 1500. The 400 ft. spire is still one of the tallest brick towers in the world. The carvings and sculptural details make it easy to believe it took three hundred years to build. Oh yeah, and there is a sculpture by Michelangelo inside, if you're into that sort of thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2khhhcdfGz0/UgocUZ6vdpI/AAAAAAAACJ8/V4HqSA5u7F8/s1600/bruges_0207.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2khhhcdfGz0/UgocUZ6vdpI/AAAAAAAACJ8/V4HqSA5u7F8/s400/bruges_0207.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A courtyard below the church, and one of the city's ubiquitous horse drawn carriages. The horses seem to enjoy the tours quite a bit more than the drivers.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-64epoQf6kD8/Ugoc1AyoliI/AAAAAAAACKk/Z_8dPBDe1gA/s1600/bruges_canal_0228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-64epoQf6kD8/Ugoc1AyoliI/AAAAAAAACKk/Z_8dPBDe1gA/s400/bruges_canal_0228.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the evenings and early mornings, it is hard to imagine a better place to sit and relax than beside one of Bruges' canals.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWFGRyi-d80/Ugoc414HrTI/AAAAAAAACKs/3zirMsBRN6o/s1600/bruges_canal_0311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RWFGRyi-d80/Ugoc414HrTI/AAAAAAAACKs/3zirMsBRN6o/s400/bruges_canal_0311.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">During the fat part of the day the canals are more loudspeakers and motorboats than oases of quiet contemplation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
One should also be ready to pay tourist prices for everything. It hurts a little less counting out Euros, but the € is not what it used to be, and it stings to pay eight or ten of them for a few bits of chocolate. I did, of course, because Belgian chocolate is delicious. I just didn't buy any for anyone else.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5wfOoFLLS1c/UgocvlcaGlI/AAAAAAAACKc/8VaftUN_HCU/s1600/bruges_0221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5wfOoFLLS1c/UgocvlcaGlI/AAAAAAAACKc/8VaftUN_HCU/s400/bruges_0221.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some dufus standing in the way of a perfectly good picture of the Provincial Court. If you click through you will see some of the crazy detail on the building, which seemed to derive from the "proud grandmother's living room" school of architecture. An hour before this picture was taken, this square was so crowded you could hardly walk through it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fWi75jruYsA/Ugocij41QnI/AAAAAAAACKM/7hsZLO8hxDA/s1600/bruges_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fWi75jruYsA/Ugocij41QnI/AAAAAAAACKM/7hsZLO8hxDA/s400/bruges_0308.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Belfry of Bruges is the city's most famous landmark, and dominates the center of town. It also figures prominently in the movie. It has burned several times, though not while we were there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QNzJj-maskg/UgocauZdsiI/AAAAAAAACKE/n-oxQoRIaiM/s1600/bruges_0253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QNzJj-maskg/UgocauZdsiI/AAAAAAAACKE/n-oxQoRIaiM/s400/bruges_0253.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the seaport during the middle ages. With yet another bell tower. You can't swing a German tourist in this town without hitting a cathedral or medieval church.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As usual, Biscuit did a wonderful job finding a hotel. The <a href="http://www.grandhotelcasselbergh.com/" target="_blank">Grand Hotel Casselbergh</a> is only a couple of blocks from the Provincial Court, but far enough off the square to lose most of the crowds. It wasn't cheap, but our room was huge by European standards, breakfast was free, and the service seemed first rate.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MMf7XKqdrpg/UgodKf_bLsI/AAAAAAAACLA/aMqnugLz6Ak/s1600/hotel_view_0189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MMf7XKqdrpg/UgodKf_bLsI/AAAAAAAACLA/aMqnugLz6Ak/s400/hotel_view_0189.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our hotel window. Luckily, most of the noisy stuff was the other direction, so it was surprisingly quiet where we were. Not counting the tour boats on the canal, of course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bOUDLqrO-cI/UgodSu5V9MI/AAAAAAAACLc/p0A5i7zVoxI/s1600/hotel_window_0235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bOUDLqrO-cI/UgodSu5V9MI/AAAAAAAACLc/p0A5i7zVoxI/s400/hotel_window_0235.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view <i>of</i> our hotel window from the canal. Ours is the top window on the right, I think.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We found a small French restaurant for lunch one day, and it was marvelous. I never knew that I could like fennel so much, or that its licorice taste would go so well with fish. Other than that, we mostly ate in pubs. Mussels and fries doesn't really have the appeal for me that it seems to have for some people, even if you say it in French.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mfpLiKn1oKA/UgrQyzH2xeI/AAAAAAAACL4/CTx7z4LUADA/s1600/le_buhne_0219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mfpLiKn1oKA/UgrQyzH2xeI/AAAAAAAACL4/CTx7z4LUADA/s400/le_buhne_0219.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le Buhne had seats for about a dozen people. The proprietor was a wonderful mature French lady, and everything we ate was wonderful.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0kJAE2BE5Os/UgodLppY6lI/AAAAAAAACLM/eKjbAK4qoz8/s1600/bruges_dog_0317.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0kJAE2BE5Os/UgodLppY6lI/AAAAAAAACLM/eKjbAK4qoz8/s400/bruges_dog_0317.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This may be the <a href="http://www.jaunted.com/story/2011/8/26/103944/190/travel/Bruges'+Most+Famous+Son+is+a+Bit+Furrier+Than+You'd+Expect" target="_blank">most famous dog in Europe</a>, or at least the most photographed. He apparently spends most of his time hanging out in this window, and every tour boat pauses for people to take pictures. He left for a few minutes around checkout time -- apparently he has duties at the front desk -- but returned promptly.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I doubt we will ever feel the need to go back, but we both had a wonderful time. It was a nice counterpoint to the week in London. And we got to ride the EuroStar through the Chunnel, so that's one I can check off the list.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c1KTGf0wpo8/Ugocr-WMyQI/AAAAAAAACKU/2TORhvz6uAM/s1600/bruges_0313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-c1KTGf0wpo8/Ugocr-WMyQI/AAAAAAAACKU/2TORhvz6uAM/s400/bruges_0313.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We had a little time to kill before our train back to London, so we sat by the canal and relaxed. Actually, Biscuit watched the dog and I relaxed. That bridge is like 500 years old or something. After a while you get numb to the fact that this was a big city when Columbus was begging jewels from Queen Isabella.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
I don't really have much else to say, but I promised <a href="http://daisyfae.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Daisyfae</a> I would post pictures.</div>
<div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6-m81fIwKA/UgodS1bHm2I/AAAAAAAACLg/TiNJuj8fkgk/s1600/swan_0290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O6-m81fIwKA/UgodS1bHm2I/AAAAAAAACLg/TiNJuj8fkgk/s400/swan_0290.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If we ever go back, it will probably be so Biscuit can visit the swans and baby ducks. Biscuit likes animals.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr />
<br />
* Think <i><b>Grosse Point Blank</b></i> with better scenery.<br />
<br />
** The Belgians spell it "Brugge" but the movie uses the English spelling, so I'm sticking with it.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-48788961118541419932013-07-26T07:32:00.000-05:002013-07-30T07:15:12.738-05:00Inheriting the EarthI came to my current career as an academic relatively recently. I may occasionally bitch, but I really like it, and I intend to do it until someone makes me stop. People ask me what I like about it, knowing that it's not the money or the prestige. The work is endless, the politics are as bad as any corporation, the bureaucracy is stifling, and I'm sitting in an office chair that is likely as old as the building it's in. But that describes most every job I've ever had.<br />
<br />
I like the work, I like being on campus, and I like the people. One thing I like about the people is that they are smart. And many of them are good, in the old fashioned sense of the word. I was reading <a href="http://www.today.com/money/sometimes-boss-really-psycho-6C10732488" target="_blank">an article yesterday about how a disproportionate percentage of bosses are psychopathic bullies</a>* when I realized something that may outweigh even the smartness and goodness. With a few exceptions -- mostly in the non-academic parts of the organization -- our campus has very few Montgomery Burns' in management or leadership positions. We have our share of Michael Scotts, but that just makes it fun to come to work.<br />
<br />
As a boss, I'm what you would call an agreeable sort. An employee told me once that my greatest talent was the ability to chew someone out without them feeling like they had been in trouble. I think he meant it as a compliment. Anyway, I have never seen the need to be a bully or a weasel at work, and I don't really like being in the sort of environment such people create.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.politico.com/global/news/110417_donald_trump_yelling_ap_328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://images.politico.com/global/news/110417_donald_trump_yelling_ap_328.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything I need to know about business I learned from <br />
beating up other kids in kindergarten. <i>Image from <a href="http://images.politico.com/global/news/110417_donald_trump_yelling_ap_328.jpg" target="_blank">here</a>.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Too many businesses love these people. Bosses proudly use words like "aggressive" and "decisive" to describe their abuse of the people around them, and their complete disdain for any life outside of the office. They win big (usually on the backs of what a former colleague called the "worker bees") because they take big risks. They lose big as well, but usually manage to deflect that onto someone else, or jump ship before the hammer falls. <a href="http://www3.nd.edu/~cba/Nice--JPSPInPress.pdf" target="_blank">Agreeable leaders tend to do just as good a job</a> -- without the drama -- but that doesn't really seem to matter in our "nice guys finish last" society.<br />
<br />
Campus has largely been a haven from that sort of thinking. Our leaders are mostly painfully polite. Our meetings are civil and pleasant, even when we argue. The last chancellor who asked someone to cancel their vacation got fired.**<br />
<br />
This is one thing -- though far from the only thing -- that worries me about the current trend to make educational institutions more businesslike. Put aside the small detail that <a href="http://www.jamievollmer.com/blueberries" target="_blank">schools don't operate like businesses</a>, and treating them as if they do will not produce desirable results. I'm afraid that the push for "results" will bring larger numbers of "aggressive self-starters" to the academic world. While that may sound like a good thing, I promise you it is not. I just hope it takes a while. I would hate to have to start another career.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* Surprised? Yeah, me neither.<br />
<br />
** He didn't really get fired for that. It was just a typical example of his style, and one of his final acts.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3370001854804154118.post-40645217126813504332013-07-17T09:47:00.002-05:002013-07-17T10:19:53.261-05:00Taking a breathLast night I finished a grant proposal that has dominated my time and attention since returning from a conference two weeks ago. Before that I was planning my conference presentation, and the trip in which it was wrapped. Before that was packing for <a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2013/06/joys-of-moving.html" target="_blank">a move that still hasn't happened</a>. Before that more stuff, intermingled with various committees, student interactions, and family events. The last time I recall being without a looming deadline was the day after Christmas, and<a href="http://letterfromjoshua.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-melting-pot.html" target="_blank"> I was shoveling snow</a>.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WjYxTMYlRPE/UORWfL8ChdI/AAAAAAAABKg/C0aepoYvJi8/s1600/IMG_6878.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WjYxTMYlRPE/UORWfL8ChdI/AAAAAAAABKg/C0aepoYvJi8/s400/IMG_6878.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I think we all remember the great Christmas blizzard of oh-twelve. Am-I-right?</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This afternoon I will attend the first of a half dozen impending meetings that will kick off a half dozen new projects, with deadlines stretching from September through next June. Summer school ends in two weeks, then (hopefully) a new work home, then a brand new academic year. More conferences and special events, more proposals, more websites, more papers, more students, more to-do lists and deadlines. Somewhere in there I will need to fit jury duty*, medical appointments, shopping trips, and more family visits. This afternoon it all starts again.<br />
<br />
But not this morning. This morning I am taking a breath. My head is empty, and I will do my best to keep it that way. I plan to close my door, sip coffee, and maybe eat a Pop-Tart. I am not reading e-mail, and I will think very hard before answering the phone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GRmXCv68HK8/Tj1stu1ZlTI/AAAAAAAAA4c/-5F-e4FE2AU/s1600/IMG_0455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GRmXCv68HK8/Tj1stu1ZlTI/AAAAAAAAA4c/-5F-e4FE2AU/s400/IMG_0455.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Ahhhh.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
If there is time later, I may spend a few minutes contemplating a life where days like this are common, rather than a biannual exception. Days where we wake up thinking, "I wonder what I will do today?" without a hint of sarcasm. Days that routinely include walks, and sunsets, and afternoon naps. With benefits.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I had the rare privilege of choosing this life for myself, and I am grateful for it (almost) every day. But we all have our fantasies.<br />
<br />
Here's to breathing.<br />
<br />
<hr />
* If you want to make sure you never serve on a jury, go out and get yourself an advanced degree. I'm not sure I know anyone with any sort of degree that has made it to the jury box, but a Masters or Ph.D. will just about get you laughed out of the courthouse. They say it has something to do with wanting to "better reflect the makeup of society at large," or something along those lines. I'm not sure what it says about our justice system, but I can't imagine that it's good. Of course, they still make you report.Chrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11458043604859768732noreply@blogger.com2