Cosmo Shane

Thought for the day

2011-08-24T21:34:00.001-04:00

I pretend to be a food snob, but I like a tupperware bowl full of sugar-free Jell-O instant chocolate pudding as much as the next girl.

Letter to a Congressman

2011-07-24T09:17:00.000-04:00

If the U.S. Treasury gets downgraded because of the idiocy of 535 people vying for power in 2012, I am moving to Europe (or Canada, or Mexico, or China. Hell, I would rather move to Greece). I've never written to my Congressman before, but this situation is ridiculous. Alexander Hamilton is crying from his grave right now...

Dear Congressman:

I am dismayed by the performance of Congress over the past few weeks in regards to the debt ceiling. It is quite clear that your objectives are political rather than economic. It seems to me that the Republicans (and some Democrats) in Congress are playing with the economic future of this country for relatively short-term political purposes.

I am twenty-two. I just graduated from college and am starting my adult life. For the last three years I've dealt with the downward spiral of the American economy and fear of joblessness after graduation because of an economic crisis. Neither I nor the American people are ready for another crisis to be imposed on us by irresponsible lawmakers.

I can forgive Wall Street for 2008. Financial institutions have poured money into our economy for the last century. In major cities around the country, they create the wealth that provides a tax base that keeps streets clean, public transportation working, and props up the cultural institutions that give our country character. Furthermore, Wall Street is built on risk. We as an American public accepted that risk when we let our industrial economy be exported. Relying on finance as a major source of our country's wealth (which I didn't hear anyone complaining about in boom years), means accepting that markets are cyclical and every once in a while they are going to crash. It does not take an economist to learn that. Just open a history book.

But I cannot forgive Congress for this insane brinksmanship over the debt ceiling. The impending economic troubles that 535 individuals in Congress are going to inflict on our country (my country) is inexcusable. Has anyone in Congress consulted any economists on this issue? Sure, you and your colleagues have paid lip service to the need for a deal, but thusfar the President is the only person who appears to be moving anywhere on the issue. From my perch here at home (which I admit is a limited view, but the public's view all the same), I see a President willing to compromise and a large group of Republicans holding him hostage by forcing him to either accept 100 percent of a crazy austerity plan or risk being blamed for an economic crash that is sure to impact his numbers in 2012, not to mention 300 million Americans for who knows how long.

That kind of politics makes me sick. Look past 2012 to 2020 or 2030. There are two ways to balance a budget: spending cuts AND revenue increases. It would be irresponsible not to use both options available to ensure that young people get to have the same American experience that their parents and grandparents did.

Regards,

Shane Ferro

Things alive and dead

2011-06-08T23:25:00.000-04:00

I have found it difficult to write lately. There is too much going on in my life. I have not been able to process it, let alone write about it. Instead, I've decided that I should take a page from the book of one of my favorite blogs, The Awl and create "listicle without comment."

Today's lists:

Things I have seen dead while riding my bike this week.

1. mice
2. rats
3. possums
4. skunks
5. snakes
6. squirrels

Things I have seen alive while riding my bike this week:

1. cows
2. dogs
3. bunnies
4. bluejays
5. crows
6. quail
7. squirrels

The only comment: So glad that the snakes weren't alive.

Let's stop using words whose meanings we don't know

2011-03-03T20:28:00.000-05:00

Example #1: Shari'a

Today's post is dedicated to certain members of the Oklahoma and Tennessee state legislatures. And also to the Awl, which is my favorite blog ever.

Two things

2011-02-27T09:52:00.000-05:00

First, look what weather.com brings us this morning! With the exception of rain on Monday, it is shaping up to be a fantastic almost-Spring week of weather above freezing!

Second, I wrote about women and opinion journalism at the Columbia Political Review. And how I never give up hope that my byline might actually make me a living someday.

Shamelessly pushing my own material

2011-02-21T15:23:00.000-05:00

I wrote a web feature for the Columbia Political Review, which is here. It's part of a larger series that I will be doing about the media and politics for their website.

The People of the Book

2011-02-13T00:27:00.000-05:00

*Disclaimer: This post is not meant to in any way reflect the religious views of the author, nor offend the religious views of anyone else for that matter. It is, rather, a generalized, secular musing on religion and culture in modern society. Furthermore, I'm not looking to try to solve the world's problems, or even tell anyone how to think. I've just been thinking about this lately and decided to write my thoughts down.

Speaking of thoughts, you know you are destined to be a lawyer when your disclaimer is longer than your blog post.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Jews say, "The Christians are not right,"
and the Christians say: "The Jews are in the wrong;"
yet both read the Scriptures;
and this is what the unread
had said too. God alone
will judge between them in their differences
on the Day of Reckoning.

- The Qur'an; Sura 2: The Cow, verse 113

What exactly is it that causes so much violence among people of different religions? I am taking a class on Islam, so I've been doing a lot of reading of the Qur'an lately. There is a respectful tolerance of all "People of the Book" that pervades the holy Islamic text. It is explicit and outright, in a way that it isn't in the Bible (understandably because of several centuries worth of timing issues).

The Qur'an basically lays out the fact that Jews, Christians, and Muslims worship the same diety in different ways. Each religion has a slightly different interpretation of the revalations made to the prophets. People who practice Islam believe in the prophets of the Old Testament: Abraham, Ishmael, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses. They even believe that Christ was a prophet - they just happen to believe that he was in the same category as the others rather than the literal son of God. Beyond that, they believe there was another prophet in the seventh century in Arabia, and his name was Muhammad.

Regardless of the arguments over the later prophets, God is God is God in all three major monotheistic religions and this diety serves the totality of those who believe in Him; rather, they serve him.

Why is it, then, that some people who identify themselves as "good Christians" are distrustful or afraid or hateful of Muslims (or Jews, for that matter)? The most common answer to this is probably, "because they hate us, or they want to kill us."

First, this is categorically not true. To quote the great philosopher of NBC television, Aaron Sorkin, Islamic extremism is to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity (West Wing, Season 3, Isaac and Ishmael). There are 1.5 billion Muslims in the world, and the grand majority of them are "People of the Book." They are people with a moral foundation based on the fact that what they do in this life will affect how God will judge them for the next life - just like all of the Christians out there. If they are truly followers of the Qur'an then they see Christians and Jews as "believers" in God who happen to worship differently.

In the verse above, from the second sura (chapter) of the Qur'an, there is a lesson that should not be unfamiliar to any Christian: God alone can judge people at the Day of Reckoning. It is not up to us to judge the worth of 1.5 billion people who happen to believe that God dictated the words of the Qur'an to Muhammad between 610 and 632 instead of some guys writing down the scriptures of the New Testament a few centuries before that.

The more I read of the Qur'an the more that I realize the differences between Christians, Muslims, and Jews have nothing to do with religion (not that I didn't know that already, but it becomes more apparent as you become more familiar with the teachings of different religions). The hatred, the fighting, and the wars come from distrust of The Other. We are programmed to be distrustful of people who are different than us. We are tribal, clan-like creatures, and the development of our subconscious isn't going to evolve as quickly as the world has globalized. Religion is just a scapegoat for our mistrust of people who live differently than us. There are things about these people that we don't know, and therefore don't understand, and therefore fear.

If you buy that assumption, then the question becomes, how do we fight ignorance? How do we fight an ugly thing in the recesses of our minds that we can't even quite pin down?

Ironically, the answer probably lies in a place banned by one of our most trusted democratic values. The religion clauses of the First Amendment prevent us from seriously educating the population on religion (except in certain cases in Texas - joke). There is no way to teach the Qur'an in public schools to children who are minors. There is no way to force students to continue their education beyond the age of eighteen.

This is a tricky caveat of our system. I truly believe in the power of the first amendment as a guide for a democratic society. I would fight to the death for my right to express myself in whatever way I so choose; to believe in Xenu and immortal souls which originated from a volcano; and to stand and shout moderately nasty things as passers-by during a protest. I love the first amendment. Yet, it's hard to deny that it presents with a few shortcomings. Religion is such a tough subject. It's so entrenched in our culture - in a way which reserves the right to suspend logic - that is keeps our society from being dictated by reason.

Anyway, that is just my opinion today. I reserve the right to change it at any point in the future.

So it's 15 today...

2011-01-22T09:57:00.002-05:00

Yeah, that happened. And I don't mean Celsius.

If you want to know about the deep fryer I got for Christmas

2011-01-14T16:58:00.000-05:00

I'm starting a new blog! It's about edible things and will be written in conjunction with Rudy. But I will be keeping this blog (I know, I update so often...).

Bringing Paris Home

2010-11-16T14:22:00.002-05:00

I don't even know what to say but SUCCESS. I succeeded not only in making bread, but making really fucking good baguettes of the type I have only tasted in Paris. I am not even quite sure how I did it. It took 3 days, endless kneading, and was completely worth the 10 minutes that it took me to devour most of what you see in this picture.

Now, won't you ask me, "Shane, dear, aren't you gluten intolerant? Isn't white bread anathema?" And my answer would be, "Absolutely. This amount of AP flour will make my tummy hurt for the rest of the day. AND I DON'T EVEN CARE." That is how good these are.

My life is complete.

Of Mice and Women

2010-11-09T15:14:00.001-05:00

I am a New Yorker. I am tough. I am totally cool with huge rats running beneath me when I am standing on the subway platform.

What I am not okay with is a mouse in my bedroom. The way it scurries across the floor when the room goes quiet makes me scream. Loudly. And trying to sleep when I know it is there is damn near impossible. I discovered that I was sharing a room with just such a rodent Saturday morning, when I went to grab a protein bar for my ride and found one half-eaten in the box. There is a difference, however, between having evidence that it's been there and seeing it for yourself. Over the weekend, I filled out a maintenance request for pest control, and slept soundly since I didn't see or hear anything else.

Yesterday was a different story. Having relocated my box of bars to a high high high shelf, the mouse no longer had anything to feed on. The pest control guy came yesterday, and sniffed around my radiator. But the cover requires a screwdriver to remove, and he had nothing with him, so he set a trap and bid me good day. Everything was peachy until last night, around 8:30, when I shut off the sounds on my computer, things got quiet, and the mouse decided to come looking for food. In the middle of my room. It peeked its head out from underneath my desk, and sitting on my bed I caught a glimpse of it and screamed bloody murder. It's completely irrational to have such a fear of such a small animal that poses me no harm. I accept that, but I am afraid anyway. Other people (boys) are just going to have to accept my point of view. I don't like things that dart to and fro.

It's also hard to explain exactly why I am so afraid, but it has something to do with the dorm room set up. When we had mice in the kitchen at home it was no big deal. Partially because my dad dealt with it. Partially because they were in the kitchen. NOW THEY ARE IN MY BEDROOM. I spend time in here sleeping, eating, working, and pondering the big questions in life. It's a small space. There is only room for one person. Not one person and a mouse. I'm the kind of obsessive person who can't sleep unless all is well in the world. I don't want to hear mice scurrying across the floor as I try to go to my comfortable place and fall asleep.

Anyway, after seeing the mouse, I decided to do a little more to lure it to the trap. It didn't appear that there was any bait in the trap. So I went to the kitchen to grab a small piece of cheese. Unfortunately, as I was dropping it onto the trap so it wouldn't close on my finger, the trap SNAPPED shut on the cheese, breaking it in half and causing me to scream for the third time that night (there had been a second mouse sighting before getting the cheese). I called housing for help. They told me to come pick up some more traps. My nerves being frayed as they were, I was extremely happy to find out that the office of housing services gives out glue traps, rather than snap traps. So there would hopefully be no more loud noises for the evening. Of course, to put up the glue traps I would have to get close to the mouse (mice?).

I was just lucky enough to be heading back into my building at the same time as a guy I know well enough to ask for help. As he does not possess the same irrational rodent fears that I do, he was able to set them under my desk near the radiator, with a smear of peanut butter in the middle. He is the hero of the evening.

As soon as he left, I packed a bag as quickly as I could and headed out the door. Riding the 50 blocks to Liz's in 40 degree weather sounded like a much better idea that sticking around waiting to hear a mouse get stuck on a big thing of glue.

And such is life. The glue traps are still sitting in my room. Although I am moved back in, I am not quite brave enough to check if they caught anything. I'm waiting for the Columbia Facilities man to come back and look for me (and inspect the radiator). Please, come back sir. Save me from my own imagination.

UPDATE 11/16: The glue traps didn't catch anything. The exterminator instead came and patched up the hole between my wall and the floor next to the radiator. So no mouse death at my hands, but no more mouse either! Hasta la vista, Jorge!

Autumn is here!

2010-10-07T10:13:00.000-04:00

Thursday is both my favorite and my least favorite day of the week. Thursday is my favorite morning. Thursday is my least favorite afternoon. I have the most class and scheduled time on Thursdays, and the least amount of time during the day to sit around and think about all of the things that I am not doing. But Thursday morning is the farmer's market on Broadway and 114th St, and furthermore, the one day of the week that Ronnybrook Farms is outside my door ready to sell me the best milk and yogurt that I've ever tasted.

This is how it goes: 7:30 my alarm goes off. At 8 I actually rouse myself after the usual three snoozes on the alarm. Maybe I'm lazy. But maybe I really just like hearing Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue" blaring out of my cell phone (it's my alarm ring). By 8:30 I've eaten and have freshly-brewed coffee in-hand. I search through the NY Times website for something interesting to read. About 8:45 the caffeine is cycling through my bloodstream and I decide it's time to do the work that I set my alarm so absurdly early for (8am is early in college-speak). My keyboard goes clickity clack for an hour as I try to come up with something that resembles a finished piece of writing. Then, I decide I better head outside so that I can get through the farmer's market and be back before I need to leave for class. So I throw on a sweater and some flip flops--because it's that perfect kind of weather this week where you can do such a thing and feel like you might once again be living in Cailfornia--and head up the street to 114th and Broadway.

I have to say, the lady that works at Ronnybrook is possibly one of my favorite people in the world. She always has a smile on her face, and sometimes even gives me a discount. Plus, she comes bearing the maple vanilla yogurt that is closer to chocolate chip cookies than that bland Yoplait shit on the scale of one to delicious. Then, I work my way down the line. I grab some apples, some butternut squash, a head of purple cauliflower, and some greenbeans from Samscott. And a mini pumpkin. Because, bitches, it's Halloween. My last stop is Meredith's Bread for a loaf of spelt bread. It's delicious, and it doesn't make me feel gross all day long. What more could you want from a bread?

Finally, I go home and pat myself on the back for being productive in the morning. If you were wondering if I had a point, I don't really. But fall is here and I'm excited! Perhaps I'll make butternut squash soup here pretty soon.

GF Meatballs

2010-09-25T19:49:00.000-04:00

I'm back! It's for real this time, or so I would like to think. My life's been a bit tumultuous in the past few months. As a good Ferro child, I've kept it all welled up inside. I'm breaking through it again. I want to write again. I'm cooking a lot and need somewhere to keep my recipes. Tonight: Gluten Free Meatballs. Meatballs are so easy, I can't believe I don't make them more often. And delicious. Nom nom. If you are on a gluten free diet, it's not totally necessary to make them with breadcrumbs, especially if you like them on the meatier side. These don't hold together quite as well as a traditional meatball, and it gives them a bit of a different texture, which adds up to something between a meatball and a slider. But when is beef, starch, and seasonings not a good mix? Never.

1 lb. ground beef (I used 85/15)

1/2 cup cooked rice (I used the precooked brown stuff from Trader Joe's)

1 egg, large

1/8 cup green onion (the white part), minced

Spices to your taste (I used soy sauce, pepper, and sesame seeds)

Scramble the egg in a small bowl. Put all of the ingredients in a medium-sized bowl. Mash it up until well blended. Spoon out the meat mixture and roll into balls. Cook to your taste. They can be grilled, cooked in a skillet, put in the oven, thrown in the slow cooker with some broth and a few veggies for a nice soup, or probably even microwaved.

I promise.

2010-09-14T21:31:00.000-04:00

One of these days I am going to come back to my blog.

Someone please remind me this is self-inflicted pain

2010-08-12T08:07:00.000-04:00

Two days ago, I did the previously unthinkable: I woke up and thought to myself, "I think I'll run today." That may not be quite so unthinkable if you knew me in high school or even freshman year in college. But now it's a bit different. I haven't run since the last time my bike was out of sight for an extended period of time, that being last December in Paris. That was almost eight months ago.

Why all of the sudden did I feel like picking up my shoes and bobbing up and down on the uneven pavement of my Chinatown neighborhood for 40 minutes? There are a few reasons, but they mostly boil down to the fact that I've been cycling nonstop since I returned from Paris in January. In addition to being just plain tired of cycling, I've also been living downtown, which requires a 20-30 minute, 70 block cruise to Central Park if I want to even think about having a nice ride on my bicycle. I usually go after work, which means I commute to the park through rush-hour traffic. Add in the extra annoyance of the "protected" bike lanes on 1st and 2nd Avenues, which far from making me feel safe actually have me thinking about how a head-on collision with a delivery boy would feel at 15 mph, roughly every three blocks. Not fun.

Being fed up with two months of the slog from here to the Park, not to mention only being able to go to the park to ride, I picked up my running shoes and thought to myself...hmm, no commute to start, better views, able to explore the neighborhood...and 20 minutes later I found myself in Brooklyn. Which was really great, until I started heading back to Manhattan. It's not usually the best idea to test your running shape by setting out on a 40 minute run that doesn't really have an early exit strategy. But I wanted a view, so I headed to the Manhattan bridge, which is about 5 blocks from my apartment.

The problem is that the Manhattan Bridge is segregated: bikes on one side, pedestrians on the other. But there is no super clear signage about that. So I started running up the ramp closest to where my street dumps out onto Canal St., which I now know is the bike-only lane. I thought something was fishy when I didn't see ANY pedestrians near the ramp, but there was a nice-enough-looking hipster fixing the whole foods backs roped to the back rack of his bike midway up the ramp. I asked him, quite clearly, whether the ramp was for ONLY bikes, or if pedestrians were allowed too. "Oh, both," he said. Okay. Taking his hipster-word as fact, I set off running again, up the bridge.

Yes, up. Being that both Manhattan and Brooklyn are more or less at sea level, bridges over the east river are basically man-made hills. That was my second "Oopsies, maybe not the best idea for my first run in 8 months." But I put one foot in front of the other and continued on. Of course, the hipster was wrong. Once I got onto the bridge I could see quite clearly I was the douche running in the bike lane, and all of the other runners and walkers were having a grand old time across 4 train tracks and 3 lanes of cars on the other side of the bridge. That meant that in order to minimize my self-hatred as a generally cyclist-friendly person, I should stay as close to the rail as possible, and just continue running in a straight line until it was possible to cross over, meaning in Brooklyn, over a mile away over a hill.

In the end it turned out to be worth it. When you are running, unlike when riding, it's generally possible to take in your surroundings without crashing into a pole or another person. So you can appreciate the wonderful sunset over lower Manhattan from mid-East River.

It was so wonderful, in fact, that I decided to do the same run again last night, taking care to actually go over the correct way this time. I thought it also might help alleviate some of the soreness in my quads from the first run. WRONG. It was a great run. It was beautiful. But as far as helping me be able to walk today, not so much. I woke up this morning feeling like a truck ran me over. I stumbled into the kitchen barely able to stand. I may be forced to skip class today because I'm not totally convinced that I will be able to make it down two flights of stairs in my building plus two more in the crowded subway station. The running gods are punishing me for ignoring them for so long.

But still, I think that photo's worth it. And I'll probably run today.

The weather is mocking my walk to work

2010-07-29T08:06:00.000-04:00

Oh, and your apartment is the size of a closet, too.

2010-07-20T08:31:00.000-04:00

"Hi. May I please speak to _____?"

"I'm sorry he's in a meeting/on another call/not available. Can I take a message?"

"Sure. My name is Shane Ferro. I am a reporter from Real Estate Finance & Investment. I received a press release about ____ and I'm calling to follow up and perhaps ask a few questions to whomever is available."

"Right. Well let me get your contact details and I'll have him call you back [in a week, or a month, or never]."

That's a cold call right there. An endless series of Hello, and My Name Is... That's what you do when you are a new journalist. You make cold calls and you wait. You wait sitting by your phone and wondering what you should be doing. Your list was so long an hour ago, and now that you've got ten calls into ten people, none of whom actually were available to talk, your list is gone and you are left with a blank word document and an abundance of time.

That is, of course, until they start calling you back and then you've got three interviews for the same two hour window. Then you have three stories to write with only an hour left until you are supposed to go home, knowing if you leave it until tomorrow you are going to forget half of what they said that was important. But you go home anyway, because after all, you are just an intern and you don't get paid enough to stay longer. So then you go into work in the morning and you in fact, have forgotten most of the juicy stuff that was said, and then you feel like a bad journalist until you remember that you are, after all, just an intern and not a journalist at all.

And then, just as you feel like you are getting a grasp on what this is all about. You actually understand the meaning of CMBS and you know a guy at Prudential and a guy at CBRE and a few guys in London. Someone actually CALLS you for once. Well then, that means it's over. It's September. Time to go back to school and forget everything you learned and file this away on your resume as an "experience" with a reference and a phone number and that's it.

That's it. You're done. No more.

Welcome to summer in New York.

The Great American dessert

2010-07-10T15:04:00.000-04:00

Two days straight of making pie. "Why..." you might say, "would you be making pies at the tail end of a major heatwave in your crappy little apartment with barely-working air conditioning?"

That's a very good question. This is why. The Great American Pie Off. I found this in Time Out NY on Thursday and decided that it was an opportunity that I just couldn't pass up. On Thursday after work I broke out the mixing bowls, went out and bought a pastry cutter and a rolling pin, and set to work making dough. It's been a while since I made a pie crust: longer even than it has been since I've blogged (!). Beyond the simple fact that I wasn't sure I remembered how to roll out pastry dough, I was also unsure about how the dough was going to react to the hot/humid conditions, so I wanted to make sure I had time to make more than one pie. So Thursday night was crust night, last night was the first try, and today was potentially reserved for the final try.

Sure enough the first one I made came out less-than-spectacular, though that was more because I didn't put enough flour in the topping than anything else. In the picture it actually looks pretty good, but in reality the topping is soft and greasy rather than crunchy and delicious, so I opted for cutting into this one and making another for the contest. It came out much better.

And now it's off to the races! Or to the Pie Off, rather...

Seriously? What is this world coming to??

2010-06-14T22:09:00.000-04:00

Look at this fucking fire escape view.

2010-06-11T23:18:00.000-04:00

I am sitting on my terrace (read: fire escape) watching the night pass by. And pass by it has. I am half a block from The Box, a swanky burlesque club, and half a block in the other direction from Freeman's, a swanky restaurant/cocktail bar, and a block and a half from the Bowery Ballroom, not to mention all of the other LEs bars and dives frequented by Manhattan's finest bros and hoes.

Let's just say if I had a better camera that could handle night shots I would have a lot of material for Look at This Fucking Hipster [dot] com.

In other news, I have spent the last few days working on a new website that, like my current environs, is very swanky. I am hoping to be live by the end of the weekend.

Last days home

2010-06-06T23:44:00.002-04:00

Hanging out at the Tour of California

2010-05-24T14:32:00.003-04:00

I had a great time at the Tour of California circuit race yesterday. In my typical unable-to-focus state, I spent time in a few different places. I started at the TO Mall, where the racers came to check in (and sign autographs). As you can see above, the tiny red carpet is where I got most of my up-close-and-personal shots of the racers. I was situated such that the racers walked right past me up the stairs to the stage to check in, then subsequently turned to face the crowds, giving me a perfect ass shot. You can see what I'm talking about if you skip to the photo of Mick Rogers.

Dirty clothes

2010-05-20T00:19:00.000-04:00

I'm doing laundry right now and it's one of the most exciting things that has happened to me in a long time. Not only did I not have to hoard quarters for a week, but I also don't have to walk down 5 floors to a scary basement. AND I don't have to have wet clothes hanging over every surface available in my room. I can actually hang them in the laundry room.

Project memory lane

2010-05-18T13:42:00.000-04:00

I'm working on two things while I am home for the next three weeks: one, not sitting around the house being bored all the time, and two, cleaning up the mess that is our photo closet.

Lounging with my pillow collection

2010-05-18T00:29:00.000-04:00

So it's over. I'm home. This morning I sent in my final paper of the semester. I now lay in my own bed at home, listening to the weird sounds that my house makes and thinking about high school. I am looking at my pillow collection. Most of the time I forget that I have a rather intense collection of decorative pillows. Maybe because it is a tiny bit embarrassing. Or because they are impossible to bring to school. Anyway, they are kind of cool. I don't really remember where I got any of them. Only that they are here in my room now in a variety of different colors, . They take up a lot of space. They aren't useful since they are too decorative to be used for actual pillow functions. They therefore represent everything I would hate to have in a New York apartment. But I guess that is what the suburbs are for.

Thoughts from a sleepless brain

2010-05-16T15:23:00.000-04:00

California is a funny place.

The train station at the Burbank airport (yes, it exists) is MAYBE a quarter of a mile from the baggage claim. All signs point to you getting a shuttle there. You realize once you get on the shuttle that the walk to the shuttle is half way to the train station. And you spent 5 minutes waiting for the one specific shuttle. You should have just kept walking.

There is no easy pedestrian access to anything.

When you get off the plan, you are embraced by a warm, fuzzy combination of smog and fog that just screams childhood.

Less than 3 hours until I'm home.

Finals week almost half over.

2010-05-11T21:56:00.000-04:00

Je suis fatiguée.

Fin.

Louisiane

2010-05-09T21:55:00.000-04:00

I started writing a fabulous blog entry about New Orleans. And then I got distracted thinking about Cajun French. And I watched this. And it was a little bit hilairous (while also terribly sad). And then I decided I should maybe do my homework. Fin.

Don't let the terrorists win

2010-05-04T10:08:00.002-04:00

Some people may have heard that there was a bomb found in Times Square on Saturday evening. Terrorism usually scares people. That's what it's meant to do. Even Saturday night was probably not so much about the bomb as it was about the threat of the bomb. Because it almost happened, the city will spend millions of dollars on new security protocol and this and that will, while perhaps not actually doing any good, will at least make us feel safer. There has been one terrorist attack carried out in the past 10 years. I would say that's a pretty good record. Zero in the past five years (assuming this foiled one doesn't count). The thing is, no one can know whether that number is low because NYC isn't a target, or because the security system we already have works pretty well. Since we can't know, we will throw money at it to make people think that someone knows.

I digress. How the City of New York spends its money is not really my business until I stop being lazy and change my voter registration status from its current headquarters at 1051 Rancho Vista Lane. I am much more worried about the way that others fear death-by-terrorism. I know that my maternal grandmother is rolling over in her grave right now; she would have been on the phone with me the first thing Sunday morning when she turned on the news, worried about my vulnerability to terrorism. The first thing I probably would have said to her would be that there's no need to worry about my safety if we are talking about things that go on in Times Square. I avoid the area like the plague. I don't even like to switch trains at 42nd St. But beyond that, though living in New York probably ups my risk for being near a car bomb as opposed to Ventura, that's like saying by putting two of my toes in the tide as it comes in I upped my risk of being attacked by a shark as opposed to standing on the dry sand.

You see, the number of mortalities in New York City every year is somewhere around 50,000 and 60,000 every year. That's 550,000 give or take a few thousand in the last decade. The number of people that have died as a result of terrorism in the city: 2,746 (according to the City of New York). All of those deaths were related to the World Trade Center disaster. While I'm not trying to discredit the lives of those people who did die in that terrorist attack, my point is that they were a mere 0.5% of the deaths this decade. And that's taking it way back just to be able to have a straw to grasp. The number of terrorism-related deaths in 2008 (the latest numbers available): 0. The number of terrorism-related deaths in the past 5 years: 0.

By contrast, almost half of the deaths reported in 2008 were caused by heart disease (24,000 out of 54,000). Or even, I could be one of the 388 people who died in 2008 as a result of "accident falls." Or the 390 who died of "injury from firearms" (not including homicide or suicide). I don't really go around playing with firearms. But it's entirely possible that I could have an accident fall. I'm not exactly the most stable person to grow a pair of legs. I occasionally trip over cracks in the sidewalk. Way more occasionally than I see other people trip now that I think about it...

On a slightly more serious note, there are 320 people who died in 2008 from motor vehicle accidents. Since I don't see it anywhere else, I can only assume that this means bike accidents as well as car accidents (and many probably include both unfortunately). That's a valid concern perhaps, though I still see the puny 320 out of 54,000 (out of the 8.3 people still alive here in the city) as a better chance to take than the 24,000 that die of heart disease. Biking is a short-term risk perhaps, but a long-term investment in my health.

Now, if I was really going to take a good, educated look at this data, I would need to zone in on my age group. The leading cause of death for residents of NYC between the ages of 15-24 is homicide (164 in 2008), and then accidents (84). But then you break that down into sex, and you realize that of that 164 homicide number, only 12 of those were female. The leading cause of death for 15-24 females is cancer, sitting at a hefty 32 people in 2008. And the thing about cancer is that, well, who says they are worried about their ___ who lives in NYC because she might die of cancer?

*Disclaimer: I am not a statistician. Nor am I a sociologist. I realize that there are a lot of ways of interpreting data, and the risk assessment process for vulnerability to terrorism may be slightly more complicated than "it hasn't happened in the last 5 years so the risk is 0..." My source for these numbers is here. And the larger NYC vital statistics resource website is here. Notice how the website splits space between mortality statistics and most popular baby names. How cutesy.

Also, how cool is this?? I'm just glad that I didn't live in New York between 1830 and 1930...

Source: New York City Department of Health

Bike racing according to Murphy's Law, aka a day on the train to NJ

2010-05-03T09:51:00.000-04:00

Yesterday's route:

Room >>> Bike ride to Penn Station >>> Arrive at Penn Station dripping with humidity >>> Walk around the maze of Penn Station to get to NJ Transit >>> NJ Transit to Metuchen >>> Train station to Carrie's house >>> Car from Carrie's to Colts Neck, NJ (involving multiple U-turns to to poor highway planning and signage) >>> Ride around to warm up only to be told the race starts in 5 minutes >>> Race hard in circles, mostly on roads, one time in the dirt due to poor turning abilities of the cat 4 field (Bingo square) >>> Narrowly avoid a crash in front of me for the second time of the two times I've ever had an uphill sprint finish in a race >>> Privately celebrate my top 10 before looking for my teammates >>> Realize my teammates are nowhere to be found >>> Ride around in circles, finally find one >>> embark on an epic journey to find out if any race official or organizer knows who crashed and what hospital they were taken to >>> Realize no one knows anything >>> Finally figure out it was indeed my teammate, and the other one must be in the ambulence with her >>> Spend 20 minutes trying to figure out what hospital she could be at >>> Spend 20 minutes driving to the hospital >>> Accidentally walk into the senior care center, the hospital is down the road >>> Walk in the hospital to find another cyclist being treated. Not my teammate. >>> Another half hour to get to the second hospital, where we have finally confirmed we know someone >>>Arrive only to find the entire parking lot blocked off by a fundraising event >>> Park in emergency parking >>> Sit in the hospital for four hours waiting for someone to realize we are sitting in a hallway with a bleeding person >>> Realize sitting in the hospital is fruitless >>> Two people walking three bikes from the hospital to the train station >>> Have many thoughts about how the Shore kind of looks like Carpinteria >>> Finally get a train going to Penn Station >>> Sit in train for almost two hours >>> Train to subway, local only of course >>> Room! Shower! Bed! >>> FIRE ALARM >>> Stairs down >>> Wait >>> Stairs up >>> Bed.

That being said, I think the fire alarm was the worst part of my day. All of my skin is intact. And I couldn't have spent the day with better people. So I'll label it an "exciting day." Not good, not bad, but certainly exciting.

A pleasant jaunt along River Road this morning

2010-05-01T22:57:00.000-04:00

Today on my normal Saturday ride, I took a moment or two to collect real proof that I don't spend all of my time in an urban jungle. Sometimes I venture out into the suburban forest. Occasionally I see trees that weren't planted by Olmstead. And so I present to you the best of a spring morning in Piermont, NY.

Tweed from below.

The Tappan Zee Bridge in the distance. My favorite bridge north of Manhattan because I like words that start with "Z."

A state park. That I've never been to, but I ride near it sometimes.

Trees, oh my!

It was a sunny day today

2010-04-19T21:41:00.005-04:00

Things that happened to me today:

-- I got in a pseudo-argument with a guy in my Law, Science, and Society class about whether or not FGM is analogous to plastic surgery. He tried to tell me that most of the plastic surgery done in this country is to fix people's hideous disfigurements that would otherwise leave them ostracized from society. I told him that while I didn't have numbers, I was absolutely sure that I was right. After growing up in Southern California, moving to New York, and being rather fluent in the culture of the American television industry, I probably overestimate the number of people on the planet who have undergone cosmetic surgery. But I am not naive enough to think that there are enough hideous scars on the planet to pay for the kinds of cars that populate a cosmetic surgeon's office parking lot (besides, those people just build lairs under the Paris opera house, or are secretly Gerard Butler).

Sure enough, when I looked it up, of all plastic surgery done in 2008, 12 million surgeries were cosmetic and 4.5 million were reconstructive. More interesting perhaps, of hte cosmetic surgeries, over 5 million were Botox. Breast augmentations are the most common invasive surgeries at just over 300,000. Of reconstructive surgeries, 3.8 million of the 4.5 million were tumor removals. Only 160,000 were scar revision (full report but the American Society of Plastic Surgeons here). Booya. It is interesting to me that more people get poison pumped into their faces than get tumors removed from their bodies.

I won't say much on the subject of FGM, mostly because the jury is still out for me (read this if you are flabbergasted as to why I would say such a thing). On the one hand, I certainly wouldn't want it done to me. One of the major issues, and the reason I was arguing it's nothing like plastic surgery in this country is the lack of consent before the procedure. But then again, there is a sort-of generation-gap of consent in that mothers consent for their daughters up to 95% of the time after going through the process themselves. There is also an argument to be made for "consent" being irrelevant when it is something that you have to do in order to become a full member of a society. Not to mention arguing the consent angle begs the question of male circumcision in this society, which is certainly not consent-based. Nor would talk of banning it be legitimately heard. So, onward and beyondward with things from today.

-- I went to the doctor to see why I felt like my uterus was going to explode during both of my races this weekend (I've ticked off "DNF" to my series of humiliations for the season. If I get a "crash myself out" I've got bingo). She told me that I was probably fine and perhaps I should get more electrolytes. But do her a favor and try avoiding dairy for a couple of days. Three hours later, as the first spoonful of my Monday fro yo hit my lips, I remembered this request. Having already shelled out $2.25, I decided that dairy-free must be starting tomorrow.

-- We talked about blackface in Music Hum. I was appalled at the number of people who had never heard of it or didn't know what it was. Has no one seen the third episode of season three of Mad Men? It's just shameful. After feeling superior for roughly 4.3 seconds, I learned that blackface theater was the first form of entertainment to be seen by the entire country, because the troupes traveled around the country, rather than just performing locally. This helped to support a growing nationalist spirit in the late 1800's. Basically, it was the American Idol of Reconstruction. The question is, did Geib not tell me this, or was I not paying attention? I refuse to believe that Bailey could have failed me. Perhaps I forgot.

-- Backstreet Boys were playing in Duane Reade. I walked out significantly happier than I walked in.

Hiatus. Over.

2010-04-14T09:57:00.002-04:00

This one is for Noah.

It's all about cycling now

2010-03-09T08:08:00.000-05:00

I've been writing, just not here. But here and here.

Off to the races muffins!

2010-03-04T18:46:00.000-05:00

When I get stressed, I bake. When I have to have food prepared for a whole weekend, I also bake. Since I couple these two issues with having absolutely no money in my checking account, I searched high and low for a recipe that included only ingredients that I happen to have at the moment. This recipe originally called for butter, but olive oil (which I actually had) seemed to work just fine, and was a heart-healthy option.

These are my "off to the races!" muffins.

Ingredients
2 small ripe bananas, mashed
4 oz plain yogurt
2 small cooked sweet potatoes, skinned and mashed
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup applesauce
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups flour (all-purpose or gluten free mix)
1/2 cups oatmeal
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

Method
1. Preheat the oven to 375° F. Line two standard muffin pans with paper liners. In a large bowl, combine the bananas, yogurt, sweet potatoes, and sugar. Mix on high speed until lightened in color and texture, about 3 minutes. Add the oil, applesauce, eggs and vanilla and mix until well-combined, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl when necessary.

2. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, oatmeal, salt, baking soda, cinnamon and nutmeg. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix on low speed until just combined.

3. Spoon the batter into the muffin cups, filling them a little more than halfway. Bake for 18-20 minutes, until a tester inserted into the center of a muffin comes out clean.

Adapted from here.

This morning

2010-03-02T08:36:00.000-05:00

6:30 am. Black ice. Crunch. Ouch. Full day ahead and still have to do my actual workout. I believe I'm unfortunately going to be stuck in bitch mode until March 13th. Ugh.

Conveniently, I think Al Gore should go away but leave his message on the table.

2010-03-01T09:08:00.001-05:00

Al Gore has an Op-Ed piece in the New York Times this morning. I saw that and I laughed a little inside. Al Gore's public history is mostly hilarious. I think people on both sides of the aisle laugh at Al Gore, if for different reasons. That being said, he made some salient points about climate change, addressing two of the most glaringly inaccurate public assumptions of late: 1. that the controversy over the data of one specific study somehow disproves 150 years of science pointing towards anthropogenic climate change, and 2. that two weeks of snowstorms in the Northeastern U.S. are enough evidence for conservative pundits to declare climate change a hoax.

He basically goes with, a let's calm down and go back to actual facts people argument. But as I got to the end of the rather lengthy piece and found myself nodding along with the points he was making (until he made some allusionary statement about the truth being inconvenient, at which time I simply buried my head in the crook of my arm and groaned), I began to question the effect of this article. In recent weeks, after feeling assaulted by the misinformed media questioning climate change, I welcome a well-reasoned Op-Ed piece on this issue. It was definitely needed. But in the Times coming from Al Gore? There is too much political controversy surrounding his political persona for anyone to take him seriously. He made his point in An Inconvenient Truth. After that, you are either for him or against him. He has political credentials, not academic or scientific ones. Therefore, if you are politically against him you are automatically going to be inclined to be against all of his ideas. That's just the way that the political system works here in the United States. So the argument becomes political fluff, making the Times' readership (most of whom I'm going to guess don't have much trouble buying the climate change argument anyway) feel better about themselves without actually making any moves towards reaching the people who could use convincing.

Climate change is an issue that really gets to me. I mean, it really gets my panties in a bunch. I spend a substantial amount of my time studying it. The science behind it, its effects on world weather patterns, the potential global economic problems that it could cause, the different ways of predicting what is going to happen, and how to deal with what is happening.

The first thing that sends me into a tizzy is when people refer to it as "global warming." As in, "Gosh, it's snowing outside, this must be proof that global warming is a myth made up by Al Gore." [It's funny because I started writing this post before Gore's Op-Ed showed up in the Times.] One, this is a logical fallacy. Two, just because Al Gore made a movie about it doesn't mean that he was the first one to believe in anthropogenic climate change. Three, the term global "warming" comes from the fact that there is an observed (very real and not debated at all) warming of the AVERAGE temperature of the earth. The question is why it is warming, not whether it is warming. And AVERAGE means over the whole earth, over the whole year. One snowstorm in Washington, D.C. does not a colder Earth make. But anyway, the term "global warming" was acknowledged as a misnomer quite a few years ago. It's climate change. Because there is a lot of climate changing going on that goes beyond you feeling like this summer was warmer than last. Changes in rainfall patterns are much more worrisome than two or three more super hot days in the summer (not really an indicator of climate change, that's regular weather patterns people).

In the words of this morning's piece:

The heavy snowfalls this month have been used as fodder for ridicule by those who argue that global warming is a myth, yet scientists have long pointed out that warmer global temperatures have been increasing the rate of evaporation from the oceans, putting significantly more moisture into the atmosphere — thus causing heavier downfalls of both rain and snow in particular regions, including the Northeastern United States. Just as it’s important not to miss the forest for the trees, neither should we miss the climate for the snowstorm.

You would think that basic high school math and/or common sense would be a prerequisite for getting a job sharing your opinion with the world. For example, let's take some of my favorite people, Bill O'Reilly and Sarah Palin. O'Reilly recently sat down with once-governor of Alaska Palin and discussed her exercise routine, terrible taste in movies, and a recent vacation that her family took to Hawaii (real policy concerns, ya know?). The discussed how terrible it was to go on vacation because they are so famous. And he suggested that next time she book a private Caribbean island, or go to Botswana. From that conversation I might assume that both understand the basic concept that there are places in the world that are on the whole warmer and more pleasant than say Washington, D.C. or Alaska. They are generally further towards the equator than we are here in the northern part of the country. What I don't understand is how one could reasonably make a conclusion about global temperature from one snowstorm in the winter (snow is normal!) in Washington, D.C. when one clearly understands that there are many different places in the world, and they all have weather too.

That point being made, there are veritable arguments against anthropogenic climate change; that being that it's not anthropogenic (doesn't stem from human industry). Well, that's pretty much the argument. Because doubting that the climate is changing is kind of like trying to argue that 2+2=5. You might be able to make some theoretical math argument for it, but in the real world, if you have two apple muffins and two blueberry muffins, you don't have 5 muffins. Thousands of years of climate data, plus basic physics, shows that the climate of the earth changes (remember Ice Ages?). This is a really cool map that shows a bunch of things, including changes in the orbit of the earth around the sun and the stages of glaciation (more or less ice in polar regions) over the last 1,000 years. All of these things vary. They go up and down. "Climate change" as such is not a new phenomenon (again, remember those things called Ice Ages?). So, therefore, there is an argument that climate change is not anthropogenic. But there isn't an argument that climate isn't changing.

Now, that's not to say that there is a strong argument that the climate change isn't anthropogenic. There just is one that can be made scientifically and intellectually. But the thing is, there is this thing called the greenhouse effect. It's not really new. We've known about it since the 19th century. We know basic physics. And basic physics tell us that if the radiation that gets to the earth from the sun were to be the only warming effect on the planet, California would feel more like Antarctica. So there has to be something else going on. That is where this nifty little map comes in. There are a bunch of gases in the atmosphere. Gases are made up of molecules. Molecules interact with energy (heat, radiation). So part of what the atmosphere does is reflect some of the energy coming in from the sun. Electromagnetic radiation, which is light, which is the energy coming from the sun, is emitted from the sun in different wavelengths. Some wavelengths get through the gases in the atmosphere without interacting with the gases. Some don't make it. The earth absorbs energy from the sun. Then it also emits radiation. The same thing happens going out. Some energy goes through the gases, some gets radiated back to earth, some get absorbed by the gases in the atmosphere. That extra radiation is what makes the earth a hospitable planet on which to live.

The problem comes with the exact count of molecules in the atmosphere. Each of the different kinds of gases (there are a lot of them: water vapor, methane, carbon dioxide, CFC's, ozone, etc.) have a different absorption rate of energy at different wavelengths. Carbon happens to absorb a lot of energy at the wavelength that the earth emits it. That's why we talk a lot about carbon in the atmosphere and not a lot about methane and water vapor (even though those are important, too). The general idea is that the more carbon that is in the atmosphere, the more of the earth's radiation will be absorbed, and the warmer the planet will get.

Two questions stem from this. The first is the carbon question(s): why is there so much carbon, isn't carbon good, aren't we made of carbon?

Carbon is good. If you think back to basic chemistry or biology, life is made of carbon. Carbon is the basic component of organic material. We definitely couldn't live without carbon. But we need water, too, and that isn't really relevant to whether we should be waterboarding people. Too much can be stifling.
Wikipedia has this great little diagram of the carbon cycle. I think the basic question, though, is where does all this carbon come from that we are talking about, and why do us libs get so excited about it and "green energy" and all that crap? A lot of the excess carbon in the atmosphere comes from burning fossil fuels: oil, coal, natural gas. They are called fossil fuels for a reason. They are made from dead plant and animal life. Compressed for hundreds of thousands of years. Yes, you do burn dead animals when you drive a car. So see the very bottom of the carbon cycle, where the carbon appears to be stored in the ground? We are digging that up and burning it, putting it directly into the atmosphere. So there is more than there would normally be in a regular cycle. Because we are burning fossil fuels faster than they were created.

So we know we are disrupting the carbon cycle. Not really disputable. We know that carbon molecules absorb a lot of radiation from the earth. More carbon + lots of absorption = more energy on the earth. Which, theoretically, will lead to warmer temperatures. That's when it gets tricky. The earth is not a regular kind of place. What happens at the equator is totally different than what is happening 30 or 60 degrees higher in latitude. There is still the question of how much warmer it is going to get. How is that warming going to affect water evaporation of the oceans, leading to more rainfall in certain places and potentially less in others? That's where the scientific debate is right now. That's where there are real questions. That's what we should be talking about rather than letting ignoramuses who never bothered to pay attention in high school science or, furthermore, simply google the greenhouse effect, sway our opinions.

Come on, America. We are supposed to be good at science.

For more on the climate debacle currently going on outside the mainstream American press (for fear of stirring up the ignoramuses, I suppose) see the extensive coverage by The Guardian in the UK. The homepage is here.

P.S. First image comes from a powerpoint by John Mutter for my Science of Sustainable Development class. The last two are wikimedia commons.

Rain, rain go away...

2010-02-22T09:51:00.000-05:00

I look at this and I die inside a little. There will be lots of mud wrestling with the bike this week.

Less than full faith and credit

2010-02-21T18:53:00.001-05:00

The freedom of speech
The freedom of the press
The freedom of religion
The freedoms of petition and assembly
The right to keep and bear arms
No quartering of soldiers
Protection against unreasonable search and seizure
Probable cause for warrants
The right to a grand jury
Protection against double jeopardy
Protection against self incrimination
The right to due process
Protection against property seizure without just compensation
The right to a speedy and public trial
The right to an impartial jury of peers
The right to be confronted with witnesses
The right to counsel
The right to trial by jury
Protection against excessive bail or excessive fines
Protection against cruel and unusual punishment
The enumeration of Constititutional rights
Other rights to the people and to the states
The right to privacy (implied by others)
The right to citizenship for all persons born or naturalized in the United States
The right to life, liberty, and property through due process
Protection against the State infringement of the rights and privileges of citizens of the United States

These are the civil liberties guaranteed to the people by the Bill of Rights (plus that sticky 14th amendment). In my Law, Science, and Society seminar last week our professor asked us which of our civil liberties we would be willing to give up in the name of "security." I put security in quotes because it is such a relative term. It is one of those things that you can only really be sure of when the worst happens. But I digress.

Civil liberties. It's a very politically charged phrase. The funny thing is, how many of us can really say that we even know what our civil liberties are? When my professor asked the class to start naming them we came up with the first amendment (speech, press, religion, petition, assembly; they roll off the tongue quite nicely in that order. I figured that out when memorizing them for AP Gov). One or two more got put on the table. In typical Columbia fashion, someone tossed out "The right to bear arms," snidely and pompously. But really, those of us with an internet connection were furiously googling the Bill of Rights to find the decent portion of them that we had forgotten.

I thought to myself, "It's pretty great to have so many rights so ingrained in the system that functioning citizens studying American politics (there are several poli sci majors in my class) at a top tier university in this country don't even feel the need to know them offhand." A part of me died inside knowing that there was no way I could name all of the rights enumerated in the first ten amendments. Past number three they get a little fuzzy. Just because I've never needed the luxury that is due process doesn't mean that I shouldn't have my civil liberties down pat. So I listed them above.

Now on to the fun part. The question we were given on which to ponder this week was which ones we would be willing to give up, even a little bit, for the promise of enhanced governmental security. My initial gut reaction was none of them. Someone decided to get smart and threw out "quartering of soldiers." But would you really? What's the definition of a soldier? How would you like to be forced to board FBI agents in your home? Or soldiers traveling between bases? I treasure my right to live in privacy.

Other liberties get even more philosophical. Part of this question goes back to another question, which our professor asked us closer to the beginning of class, "How many of you trust government?" I was amazed at the amount of hands that shot up into the air; at least half of the class. On a side note, I don't think any of those hands were the poli sci majors...

Me, I am a registered Democrat. It's not a secret. I like Obama. I voted for him. I traveled hours and stood in sub-zero (Celsius) temperatures for hours on end to see him speak at his inauguration. But do I trust government? Absolutely not. Sure, I believe that it has a function, and I believe that it's a necessary establishment, and that it can do good things, and that some governments are better than other governments. But I in no way would use the word trust. Government is too big to trust. I don't trust bureaucracy. And I don't think that there is anything wrong with that. It wasn't made to be trustworthy. 5th grade social studies vocab word: checks and balances. Our government was designed to be too bulky to function properly. That is what keeps our Constitution in place.

But my distrust of government stems not only from its bulk, but also from its extensive history of stepping over the line and denying its own citizens their rights. The historical record isn't so kind to the US government. Just looking at the history of the last century I don't see how anyone could possibly trust our government. There was the first Red Scare, the second Red Scare, Japanese internment camps, McCarthyism, Cuba and the Bay of Pigs, Vietnam, Watergate, the Smith Act, Iran-Contra, the list goes on. I understand that this is a country of 300 million people. When something threatens the security of the nation in one way or another, it is politically advantageous for those in power to take action. They need to look like they are handling the situation. Unfortunately, "handling" the situation in the past 100 years has involved putting a lot of innocent people in jail for doing things as innocent as throwing Communist leaflets out a window on the Lower East Side of New York. It has criminalized simply advocating support for political enemies or ways of thinking that run counter to our particular brand of democracy.

The more that I study, the more that I realize that America is not about right and wrong. It's not about morals or evils or righteousness or even the people. It's about the legal process. That is what has kept the country together for 200+ years. The Constitution and the common law. So as I think about giving up rights, I think about the blow to the legal process that it represents. And that to me is the greater security threat than any terrorist attack that I could ever imagine.

Tortilla Flat

2010-02-19T17:08:00.002-05:00

You may or may not know that I come from Southern California. You also may or may not know that I love tacos. Not this kind of taco, but real tacos made with seasoned pork or beef or fish, a little cilantro and onion, some spicy salsa, and a fresh tortilla. These are tacos. The kind you can get on the side of a dusty road in Baja.

I have long lamented the lack of good Mexican cuisine in New York. Mama Mexico on 100th St. and Broadway just doesn't cut it for me. So when I read about Nixtamal in Queens, making tortillas out of freshly ground corn masa rather than harina, I was immediately obsessed. Unfortunately, I was also about to embark upon a road trip with my dad, then a quick turnaround packing for Paris.

Today I finally made the journey out to Corona. And I think the photos speak for themselves. It was better than a trip to Rosarito Beach.

Coffeegasm

2010-02-15T10:05:00.001-05:00

My hatred for Monday morning is as of yet unsurpassed.

...until I discovered this (thanks for the tip, Bwog). Mmmm. Coffee-gasms make even the worst Mondays bearable.

Proving that when I used to tell people that the blog was cool to write for I wasn't lying through my teeth

2010-02-12T11:39:00.000-05:00

Weekend Romp is back! For several different reasons, I don't write my weekend column for the Spec anymore. I do still occasionally write terrible long-form journalism for them. But I am trying to cut down on that, too. Despite my attempts to cut myself off from Spectator, after less than a month back in the city I realized that I can't live without Weekend Romp. It gives me an excuse to do crazy things on the weekends and go to random corners of the city that I otherwise can't really justify going to when I've got 3 papers to write and a test on Monday (hypothetically). It also keeps me from becoming a regular at 1020. So Weekend Romp lives on in the SpecBlog realm. Rumor has it that some grand web redesign is coming down the tubes. But some grand web redesign is always coming down the tubes at Spec, and hopefully it won't mess with my ability to post. The carpet's been the same for 25 years, but the website changes annually.

On the plus side, now that I am no longer writing my columns at 10 pm on Thursday nights before they appear in Friday morning's paper, I can now take some time to think about them and not come up with something like this, but go with something more like this. The moral of that story? Don't talk about clothes. Talk about lack of them.

Thoughts on the semester

2010-02-10T11:26:00.000-05:00

I decided it is finally time for a decent post. I did promise my grandmother to keep updating the blog.

The school year has begun in full. I am nearly finished with all of the administrative stuff that is required to come back from study abroad. I am back on my bike, training 6 days a week. I am creating my own training plan.

This is the first time in my life that I am taking 5 courses that I really enjoy (read: French requirement, done!). As much as I complained about having to take PE, I am really enjoying squash. See above: training 6 days a week still doesn't qualify to get out of PE because my sport is designated "club." Though, to be fair, most club sports have a drinking:training ratio that is quite a bit higher than the cycling team. So I am taking squash, which is an hour twice a week with the tennis coach, getting sweaty in a little white box. The first day that we played I went diving for balls and got really competitive. I then ended up ramming myself into the side walls and could barely walk for the next three days. I have since learned to control myself and sometimes just let the point go.

I am also taking the history of western music, which is one of my last core requirements; my professor is great and it's virtually the same material from the music appreciation class I took at VC during high school. Then there is the science for sustainable development. Climate and carbon and global systems, oh my! My two favorite classes are Law, Science, and Society as well as a seminar on the first amendement and censorship.

However, the best thing about this semester so far is quitting Spectator. I no longer have to be cooped up in the Spec office 4 nights a week dealing with difficult writers, attempting to make witty headlines, and worrying about how to make our page sound at least half-way intelligent. My last obligation to Spec for now is finishing an article that will be running in tomorrow's magazine. It has been my nightmare for the last three weeks. I learned something in writing it, though. I learned who really has the power at a volunteer organization. And it isn't the people who spend their nights slaving away to put out the paper. When I was one of those people, I didn't want to see it. I spent hours upon hours coming up with ways to better organize the paper, to train writers, to attempt to get something more out of the institution. But now that the tables have turned and I am just some writer, I realize why all of the planning is more or less fruitless. When you require work from dozens of volunteers every day to turn out content, you have to work on their schedule. You can try to impose requirements. You can ask. But the volunteer editors have absolutely no leverage over the volunteer writers.

It is sad, but totally true.

Gad-get excited!

2010-02-09T18:55:00.001-05:00

As I sit here tapping away on my new netbook, listening to Vampire Weekend on the new speakers, I am very much feeling like Christmas came months early this year. Then I remembered--that's right, Christmas came really late this year. But it is still pretty awesome. Pretty pretty too, actually.

And as an added bonus for the day that I don't actually have to go to class/outside, IT'S SNOWING!

Also, I write about wine now

2010-01-29T17:31:00.001-05:00

Not whine, but wine.

How do you fit all of your worldly belongings into 116 sq. ft.?

2010-01-29T17:28:00.002-05:00

You stack things. Everywhere.

What Jersey Shore can teach you about life

2010-01-10T09:03:00.004-05:00

1. If you want to make a good impression, don't get s***faced on the first night in a new house with 7 new roommates.
2. It's not a good idea to wear a thong into a hot tub when you don't know the other people on the deck.
3. GLT - Gym-Laundry-Tan.
4. Bartenders do great things.
5. In every hour-long episode of your life, there should be a fight on the boardwalk.
6. Shave at the last minute, haircut the day-of, it's in the Guido handbook, you wanna look fresh.
7. "If a girl's a slut, she should be abused."

Welcome home

2010-01-06T08:06:00.004-05:00

My first interaction in New York City (assuming anything before customs isn't really NYC) went something like this: I was starving, and standing in line at the only kiosk open for a diet pepsi and an apple. There were three people in front of me. One random person already receiving their coffee when I arrived, and two women: middle-aged, short, portly. They were standing next to each other, but the one on the right was probably next in line. So when the first person turned and walked off with his coffee, the lady on the right opened her mouth to start asking for tea while the woman on the left attempted to push her bag of chips at the attendant. Lady on the right did NOT like this. "Excuse me, I was on line first, wait you turn." Boom. The lady on the left seemed quite shocked by brass New York-ness. She also seemed quite foreign, and the distinct Anglo rules towards the queue probably didn't entirely register with her. But still, that's New York. And it got me so excited to hear it that it was hard for me not to hug lady on the right. (I refrained; she probably would have slapped me).

Writer's block, reader's heaven

2010-01-03T04:31:00.000-05:00

Sitting around drinking coffee and reading. That's what I'm doing in London, that's what I'll be doing in New York, that's what I will definitely be doing in Ventura (yay for Peet's!). Life really doesn't get any better than that. I've been waiting for so long to be able to do it. I would be writing, too, only I've got end-of-the-semester writer's block. Probably a bad thing since I still need to write a few more pages for my memoire. But oh well. I will owrry about that when I hit the US. Until then, no worrying about anything except for how I am getting to Charles de Gaulle on Tuesday morning.

Chance of rain : 90%

2009-12-25T06:22:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure what Merry Christmas means right now. We've gone and bastardized all of our traditions to hell, and just when we were going to have the picturesque white Christmas, it warms up 3 degrees, rains, and we are stuck with slushy gray Christmas.

Knock knock. Who's there? Plato.

2009-12-21T05:22:00.000-05:00

Saturday night, it was roughly 11 pm, and I was making my way towards St. Michel for one last hurrah at the Canadian bar (yes, you read that right). I am sitting on a bench next to guy-with-10,000-lbs-of-luggage waiting for the 4 train, reading Plato and Platypus Walk into a Bar...understanding philosophy through jokes because I went a little crazy at W.H. Smith yesterday (yes, Shakespeare and Co, I cheated on you).

The guy looks over at me, I can tell he's lurking. I make sure to keep my head down. Then he speaks, in English with an accent I can't quite place. But not French. "What is that book about?" Or something of the sort.

I tell him philosophy. With a French-ish tint to the word. Since it's the same word, I am hoping to convey to him that he can also address me in French. He continues in English, to my annoyance, to say something to the effect of, what, philosophy so late at night? At this point I've gathered that he's pretty fluent in English, and not French. And if such is the case, how is it that he can't read the stupid cover of the book?

"Jokes," I say, defending myself, "It's about jokes, too." Oh, he says, okay. I just couldn't read something so intellectual so late at night.

Well, I wanted to say, then we have no business talking. But I stuck with the "it's got jokes in it."

Then, he made an effort to advance the conversation. I, trying to read my "intellectual" book, did not so much appreciate. "So, what do you think of the metro system?" Seriously? What do you think of the metro system? I told him that it got me where I needed to go. It wasn't as nice as the London system, but more extensive. He did one of those things where he didn't completely understand my point, and nodded in agreement while saying something completely contrary to what I had just said about London.

Trying to live by the categorical imperative, I didn't tell him he was an idiot. I smiled and made sure that I entered the train through a different door, and continued reading my philosophy jokes.

I then made my way to a Candadian bar, where I proceeded to have a conversation with some guy about football, which turned into why he hates the rive droit, and could never live anywhere except for Montparnasse. When Minnie arrived, I was somewhat relieved, because he was about 10 years too old for me to even think about it, but was also a little disappointed. I am finally to the point where I am comfortable having a conversation in French. And I was talking to a real, live French person about something unrelated to school.

Instead, Minnie, Jess and I had a grand old time with a couple of French Candadians that came to watch Montreal play the NY Islanders (hahahaha. Long Island is still funny). They stuck around for a few too many drinks, and I found myself at a café sharing an 8 euro bowl of ice cream with Jess at 5 am waiting for the metros to open.

I'm a little proud of myself for finally having the out-all-night night, the day before everyone leaves. On the other hand, I'm still tired.

And the band continues on...

2009-12-15T15:20:00.003-05:00

I've showered at least. And, techinically, written something in English.

A small note on how my life is going right now

2009-12-15T09:01:00.001-05:00

Things I would like to do right now:
- Sleep
- Shower
- Get through the rest of Confederacy of the Dunces and Anna Karenina
- Write something in English
- See my family
- Ride my bike

Things I would not like to do right now:
- Write 5 more pages of French
- Polish 45 pages worth of French
- Sit around Reid Hall
- Worry about a presentation that is "only" 15 minutes worth of on-the-spot French about some scientific things that I really only pretend to know about, going either before or after Minnie who actually knows about them
- Continue going to class tonight and for the rest of the week because the end of the semester is no reason to stop teaching
- Think about my grades this semester

On the bright side, the below freezing weather has at least brought the sun out to say hi for the first time since around mid-November.

On an even brighter side, I had the best experience in the metro this morning. I was sitting there, reading my book, acting normal(ish), and some rather lanky guy gets in at Rue Saint Maur (stop 4 of 10 before my correspondance) with a suitcase. He decides to stand in such a way that his ass is directly in my face. At first, I was surprised, then I decided that his ass wasn't so bad. That is, until he took his hand and (no, he's not really going to do that is he??) started picking. Yes, picking. Adjusting, if you will, though a little far back for that kind of adjustment. I was momentarily startled, and intrigued. My eyes wandered from ass-hand-man to scan the rest of the car. Thank God, some guy across the car from me had also seen it. We made eye contact, and both started laughing hysterically. I put my head back in my book, hoping that Ignatius P. Reilly could save me. But no, I couldn't stop laughing. When I got to 10 out of 10, I was still laughing. It wasn't until the awful stench of Parisian sewer hit me as I was walking from the 4 to the 3 that I finally wiped the smile off of my face.

This would have been a great story--but the fun didn't stop there. Towards the end of my morning journey, as I was walking near the Luxembourg Gardens towards the Institut Géographique at the Sorbonne, I passed a woman getting money out of the ATM. I started with the normal bottom-up size-up. cute black boots, interesting stripey tights/hose, and... and nothing. The skirt that should have been there simply wasn't. I know that leggings-as-pants have somehow made their way into mainstream acceptance, but these were decidedly more sheer than leggings. Definitely ho-siery. The kind that have been through a few wears, are a little more stretched in places that when you first bought them because you aren't a stick figure -kind of ho-siery. I continued upwards : leather jacket, beret worn in a French-French way, not off to the side all ghetto-like. I don't understand why this woman wasn't wearing any pants. Still don't.

Toutefois, I shrugged it off and continued walking. This is the city, after all.

Day complete.

Random thoughts that have come to me after a day of paper-writing, plus the Menorah Mobile!

2009-12-13T11:34:00.001-05:00

I am obsessed with this drink that i have concocted. Lots of drip coffee, a little bit of cocoa powder, some milk, and a spoonful of sugar or honey (depending on my honey stores; low, at the moment).*

I am obsessed with it for several reasons, one being it allows me to mix up the coffee schedule a little bit. The second, though, being that I'm infatuated with how good it is. Not like "I just drank straight sugar" good, but a real quality beverage. It kind of reminds me of the Peet's mocha (reason #3 for obsession). Obviously, I use good coffee. I really lucked out with my famille d'accueil. My host dad keeps having to go to Latin America for business trips, and keeps bringing me back fantastic coffee. I love him. But the cocoa powder is what really impresses me. I bought it at Franprix, which is the crappy grocery store down the street. The New York equivalent is Morton Williams, the Ventucky one is probably that crappy little Vons on Telephone between Wells and Kimball. Anyway, it's no Whole Foods. But--then again, this is France. So the result of a splash of milk and two teaspoons of grocery store variety cocoa powder is absolute deliciousness.

Which brings me to my next point: Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. Now, maybe my standards have improved since I am in France. But I think the reality is simply that Starbucks is terribly disappointing here. For one thing, do they only put 1 shot in their talls everywhere? Because 1 shot of espresso + 10 oz. of scalding whole milk is actually kind of gross. If you get it with an extra shot it's better. But they still scald their milk. AND they don't put foam on it at all unless you ask for a capuccino. A latte should have at least a dollop. And I swear that their coffee is even more overroasted here than it is in the US. Once again, referencing above, I've lucked out on the coffee that I've been drinking at home lately, but still. I am fairly certain that the coffee isn't THAT bad at the Starbucks on 114th.

Anyway, I could be looking forward to Peet's more than I'm looking forward to Christmas. And I might have to swing by Abraço on my way back from JFK. Right...JFK. JFK to where? Still have yet to figure out where I am staying between Jan. 5th and Jan. 8th. Should do that.

In other news, it snowed here this morning. Leading to much screaming from the grandbabies as we were eating breakfast this morning, some playing outside in a skisuit from Sixtine, and me nearly freezing my toes off while running this afternoon. I forgot that the difference between 45 degrees and 35 degrees actually does matter.

The tree is finally bare (and you can kind of see that it's snowing...look in the lower left corner over by the trash).

* Note that despite being in France for months, picking up on the whole language thing, adopting the tendancy to capitlize only the first letter in titles, eating after 8 pm, and not ordering anything apart from what is explicitly written on the menu, I still CANNOT get rid of the Oxford comma. I GIVE A FUCK ABOUT AN OXFORD COMMA, Vampire Weekend, I do. It should be there.

OMG. As I was posting this the first time, the most exciting moment of my week passed by my window. A MENORAH MOBILE. With music blaring out of the speakers. This is better than the second coming. I didn't get a great photo, as it was moving as I was trying desperately to find the camera icon on my iphone. For a better photo, see here.

Just in case you haven't seen this yet

2009-12-11T03:15:00.002-05:00

Yes, I use omfg.

2009-12-10T10:42:00.000-05:00

Omfg. Buche de Noel. Should be illegal. (photo: wikimedia commons)

On cultural differences

2009-12-03T10:51:00.006-05:00

I am a big hypocrite. I have made a language pledge. Je ne parle QUE français jusqu'à 18 décembre [correction appended. It's been a long day]. I will not speak english until dec. 18th. Of course, here I am, writing in English. Mais les mots qui viennent de la bouche seraient que français. But the words that come from my mouth will only be French. I am really making an effort to make my French as good as possible before I leave. But at the same time, I have figured out in my time here (well, over the last 4-5 years I guess), that if I don't write things down, I will explode. We are talking guts everwhere, heart over there on the other side of the street, person walking behind me covered in brans and bits of skull -kind of exploding.

Much like the type of exploding that Minnie and I have discussed might happen to Long Island some day (three hours is a long time to sit through a lecture about natural catastrophes without coming up with some funny notes with your neighbor about catastrophes that would make the world a better place). Only then, Long Island *surfers* would be come Connecticut surfers. Maybe, though, it would just sink after it exploded and become like the Great Barrier Reef. Just think of it: Long Island, the 8th natural wonder of the world. Fantastic. Home to the first scuba-diving mafia. Wow, I got really off track with this whole "exploding Long Island" thing. my mind has come up with some interesting things since I have been in France. It's the language thing. It's inspired creativity.

On Thanksgiving, I called Rob and Sam, and at some point in the conversation Rob asked me what about the culture that I would adopt. I was somewhat caught off-guard by this question, trying to think of the things about the French culture that are different from American culture (more specifically differences between Paris and New York). What I was thinking at that moment, and I still believe, is that Paris and New York are somewhat like fraternal twins. They don't look exactly alike, but occasionally without seeing each other in the morning they end up with the same outfit on. Much of the cultural differences here I cannot bring back to the United States. I mean, I could go around speaking French to everyone, but that would just be annoying and make me look even more pretentious than people already think I am. I can't stay home all day Sunday and have a bug party with my family because my family lives in California. The bread isn't good enough to walk around with a baguette in my hand (not to mention the whole gluten thing--I don't really eat bread here unless I get invited to a fondue party). And while I could adopt the idea that religious symbols shouldn't be worn in schools, I don't think that would get me very far. I could also start drinking only espresso, but that would just get expensive. Don't even get me started on the whole not-exercising thing. Everyone knows that just turns me into a (bigger) bitch.

It was only a day or two later that I realized that there will (hopefully) be one difference that I do bring back. I only wish that it was raw milk cheese, but that's still illegal in the US. RELAXATION. Not relaxation in the straightforward definition of it, because I've got enough stress going on in my life with family problems and 50 pages to write in French (yeah, I've already got 25 of them done, but still). But the idea that I don't have to have 1000 things going on in my life to feel fulfilled. I don't have to rush from one thing to the next, in an endless cycle of busy-ness like I'm am a little bumblebee. Obviously, the reason that I don't have a million things going on here in France is because of the situation : I am not here long enough to get involved in most things, I was a little slow on the uptake, I live 45 minutes away from where I got to school so lots of free time is taken by commuting, and I wanted to have ample time to travel. But at the same, it is a very French thing to relax a little bit more in life. I have tried to adopt that, and it's getting me far. N'inquiète pas. Don't worry about it. I love that phrase, along with pas de souci. No worries. Don't get your panties in a bunch.

I've already started adopting that ideal for next semester, by dropping out of the turkeyshoot race. Trying to be an editor at Spectator would stroke my ego, but not do much more on the positive side of my life. I know how to be an editor, I know how to manage things. What I don't know how to do is get through a semester feeling like I did more than scrape by. The big decision was between cycling and Spec. I knew that I couldn't do both after last semester ended up with me depressed and in therapy. So, I thought about it. Spec meant being proud of myself, working hard and late for little gain, other than my name on the masthead. Cycling means 9 weeks of laughter and my best friends, plenty of exercise, and a complete break with my intellectual side. I don't know how that was ever a competition. Healthy and happy vs. unhealthy and miserable. I am really excited for spring 2010.

So, Rob, there you have it. I won't bring home the eating dinner at 9 pm or the love for fois gras or even the esteemed raw milk cheese. But I will bring the outlook on life. Pas de souci, pas de souci.

L'identité nationale

2009-11-30T16:24:00.003-05:00

"Le débat de l'identité nationale" is all the rage right now in France. And by that, I mean the meta-discussion of whether France should even be having the debate over their national identity is all the rage in the French media right now. Perhaps the lede of the Times article on the subject said it best:

PARIS — France, a nation endlessly fascinated with itself since at least as far back as the Gauls, is again engaged in a bizarre and deeply political debate over its identity.

There was a poll done this weekend which came up with some interesting results. More than 2/3's of the French population (in the range of 72%) think that this is a ploy by President Sarkozy and the UMP (the center-right party) to drum up support for next March's regional elections. This is important because out of the 22 régions in France, only two are controlled by the right (and one of them is Corsica--oh, Corse, you aren't really French). The rest are controlled by the left, notably the PS, Partie Socialiste.

However, 57% of the population, meaning at least 15% of the people that think this is a UMP ploy, STILL think having a national identity debate is a good idea. Oh, the French. The intricacies of their culture make me laugh. Until I start thinking about it, and realize how alike our cultures are. The roots of the national identity debate are a changing demographic and waves of immigration. If we were to have a similar debate be proposed in the United States, the results of such a poll might not look so different. Of course, because of different definitions of the words "equality" and "liberty," the poll results would probably look quite a bit different when broken down by race, class, state, gender. The French don't have those distinctions (legally speaking). They only have "les citoyens" and "les étrangers."

Which is fine. Although, as a result of that very black-and-white distinction, the national identity debate makes even less sense to me. But then again, I am not française. I am a white, female, Roman Catholic(ish), California/New York, city-dweller, liberal thinking American. So I just don't understand.

Oh, Sunday

2009-11-29T04:34:00.000-05:00

It's raining, as it is apt to do in Paris these days. And I am inside, holed up, doing homework. And listening to 90's music.

Sometimes

2009-11-28T06:56:00.000-05:00

Sometimes, I like to tell people that I am a farmer's daughter and I grew up on a farm in southern california. It's rather hilarious to judge their reactions. They don't know that I'm afraid of dirt. :) And this is Indiana, not anywhere near where I am from.

L'ode to rugby

2009-11-28T05:18:00.001-05:00

ast night I found myself at Stade Jean Bouin to watch Stade Francais play Stade Toulon. There are many reasons that I have fallen in love iwth rugby since being here. But this photo really sums up the most important of the reasons:

Who wears short-shorts? Rugby players wear short-shorts. And pink, in the case of Stade Francais. Then they get really violent with absolutely no padding, and run around kicking the crap out of each other for an hour and a half. And people pay money to see it, and it's fantastic!

(Photo: Presse Sports, by way of Stade Francais website)

And then they do things like scrum. It's funny because on the way to the game last night in the metro, we were discussing the female equivalent of porn. We came up with ice cream. But obviously, the answer was right in front of us. Rugby. No other game in the world combines pink short-shorts with bleeding from the head and calls it a good time.

[Photo: Independent (U.K.)]

en français et anglais

2009-11-24T09:46:00.002-05:00

Finally some new material! In French! And in English!

Nostalgia

2009-11-23T04:11:00.003-05:00

I was reading this article that my sister published this morning when I got a really vivid image of childhood rushing back to me. I have a feeling that this could be the start of a lifelong thing, reading Nancy's articles, but I digress.

There is a line about never having a Spice Girls faze, and then it goes on to divulge that her first CD was the soundtrack from Dexter's Laboratory. I remember that. I remember that mostly because we went to get our first CD's together. My mother took us, we went to the mall. I picked out Spice World, and Shaunacy, Dexter. This was shortly after I came to the conclusion that a taste in music isn't something that just comes to you in order to make you cool/when you become cool/when you become a teenager. It's something that you have to work on and develop. It was a mind-blowing conclusion to come to as an 8-year-old. It would take work to be cool. I started that work with the Spice Girls.

I remember unwrapping my CD as soon as we get in the car. We were driving around the back of the mall, back by the trees and the garbage cans. Of course "the mall" at this point predates the construction of 2nd floor and gigantic parking apparatus. Back when it was called Ventura Mall, rather than "Pacific View." It also predates the period when I actually lived in Ventuckalicious. My knowledge of the town was fairly limited: there was that "other" skating rink where I started skating, the mall, St. Bonnie's where my cousin went for a while, and Pierpont Racquet Club/smelly beach. Oh, and the rope swing at Harbor Beach. Never forget the rope swing. I didn't know how these places were linked, though. I just got in the car, put my head in a book, and a chapter or two later we were there.

Anyway, we were driving through the back parking lot, and I remember my mom asking me (in a mom-like way, and before I knew that she knew the word fuck), why in the world I was opening it. This may have predated the Volvo and its CD player. I replied that I just wanted to look at it. And promised not to leave the trash in her car. I may have lived up to that promise. This was about time that I stop thinking of the pouches behind front car seats as personal trash cans. But no promises. I can't remember if Shaunacy followed my lead in unwrapping hers. The crinkling of the wrapper is always contagious. But it's possible that she followed instructions. She always had more patience than me.

After many painful minutes of trying not to leave residue on the case while trying to get off that annoying sticker off the top of the CD, I finally succeeded in taking my first CD into my grubby little paws. Of course, my hands have rarely ever been grubby, and I had seen my parents hold CD's enough to know how to do the two finger thing, with the pointer through the center piece and the thumb on the outside. And that's it. That was my first CD. Spice World by the Spice Girls.

Shortly afterward, I was hanging out with my grandma, and in some stroke of insanity she decided that we should rent a video. One of the two or three times in my twenty years with her that I saw her VCR in use. No idea how the two of us got the stupid thing to work. But I, of course, rented Spice World the movie. There are only two things that I remember of that movie. The first is wondering, an hour through, when the previews were going to be over and the movie with the real plot was going to start. The second was when the bus jumped the bridge. That was pretty cool. But that was pretty much the end of my Spice Girls faze. I had discovered 'NSYNC. And a cute little girl named Britney.

Wh-aaa?

2009-11-19T08:59:00.003-05:00

I decided that I'm no longer in such a place that I need to use my blog extensively as my therapist. Therefore, I no longer need to block my blog from being posted to the entire world on Facebook.

Yes, this is a logical fallacy as my blog is also open to the entire world. But there are only a handful of people that read it if I don't post it to facebook. I found that I would write things very personal, and as a result of Facebook people would add comments that were pedantic and only served to depress me more. Now that I'm posting things about France (and arguably more mentally stable), publishing my blog seems more efficace.

Notice I got lazier as time went on with this one.

2009-11-19T06:54:00.003-05:00

In the spirit of non-existent Thanksgiving, and after reading Nancy's blog (which I feel I must at least try to live up to, malgré tout I will never be the rapper she is), I have decided to bring some optimism into my life. Not that I'm not optimistic, I am. I just feel that enumerating the list might just make me a little happier.

Of course, this "Paris is great for these reasons" list is shortly to be followed by "Paris is great, but...I still love New York for these reasons"

1. The architecture. Nothing can beat the sheer beauty of Paris. It's buildings are diverse in some ways, but uniformly beautiful. I try to spend as much time as possible walking with my head up (which can sometimes cause bumping-into-people problems). But it's so worth it.

2. The changing of the leaves. Not that this doesn't happen in my part of the world, but something about the beauty of the colored trees against the beauty of the buildings makes it striking. There is also a better blending of the nature with the landscape here. There are trees on the streets, rather than just in Central and Riverside parks, and I live in a house with a courtyard, which means I can really see the day to day change. I remember the evening when I looked outside and realized that the green vines growing against the living room wall had turned a vibrant pink.

3. French. I am going to miss French a lot. It's frustrating, and hard to understand, and I am far from fluent. But at the same time, it's a gorgeous language. More often than not when I get lost during a lecture, it's not because I can't understand, but rather that I've fallen into the beauty of the rhythm, just enjoying the sounds instead of comprendre them. And yes, sometimes I can't think of a word in English, so I just use the French. I also have a great appreciation for the opportunity that I have to speak French all the time. I am finally starting to notice my French getting better, so I want to use it all the time. I can't believe that in just a month I won't be able to use it every day.

4. Reid Hall. There is the small-school atmosphere that I don't have at Columbia. It reminds me a little of foothill, where I felt that I trusted some of the staff more than most of the students. There is just enough bureaucracy to remind you that you aren't the only person in the world, but also plenty of room to find an administrator's office to cry in when you find out that your world is breaking down and you have bedbugs in the same day (theoretically, of course).

5. Europe. I love the fact that I can plan 3 weeks ahead of time and be pretty much anywhere in western europe for generally less than 200 Euro (of course, add getting to and from the airport and staying places and museum fees and the bottom line starts creeping up, but still, cheaper than from New York).

6. Meeting new people. This is pretty much my favorite thing in the world. Anyone that knows me well knows that I'm a fantastic ice breaker (woot for high school leadership) and good at the first steps towards developing new friends. It's when it gets to that middle stage where I tend to drop the ball and not be the best communicator. Bu, luckily, when you are in places for a short amount of time, that is never necessary.

7. The appreciation that I have for my own culture. Maybe this is cliché (thanks to Hansie for this realization), but I really have discovered what it is about my own culture that I love. This was just one more (giant) step in the direction of self-discovery. But now I know so much about what's really important to me. See corresponding post for this.

8. My host family. They are just awesome. And so many people got crappy housing situations, so I just have to count my lucky stars (mes étoiles de chance). Especially because they have an American coffee maker and let me use it whenever I want. It might as well be my personal coffee maker save for the few times they have guests for a meal and make some for afterwards. Also, the grandbabies. They are basically what I see Riley and Logan being in about 3 years. And so adorable.

9. Raw milk. SOOOOO good. Raw milk cheese is the thing (my) dreams are made of.

Now, on to the American in me. Things that I am thankful to be going back to:

1. My BIKE! And the ability to ride it whenever I want. And all the things that go with exercising 6 days a week. And the GWB, and 9W, and River Road, and Piermont. Mon Dieu, you have no idea how many times in a row I would climb Tweed to be able to get back on my bike.

2. The cycling team. I miss them so much. Probably more than I miss my bike itself (maybe?). Liz and Rob and Sam should all have their own numbers here, but that's not very efficace, is it?

3. Living near campus. Taking the smelly and dirty metro 40 minutes each way each day really cramps my style, and my sleep schedule.

4. A kitchen. While I technically have one, my family is usually using it, and I feel awkward making things that aren't microwavable. I am pretty sure they think I am a cooking failure.

5. Sushi. M2M, where are you????

6. Coffeehouses. Café culture there is here, but coffeeHOUSE culture there is not. It's French. It's all about the conversation, not about the coffee. The Starbucks here can't even make a proper latte. I need an Abraço latte so bad it hurts. I need someone who knows how to make a heart in the foam.

7. The New Yorker and its relavence to me. Mon Dieu I miss living in Manhattan. Also, file under this heading, Time Out and NY Mag

8. People, people, people. God, I miss you people so much. I feel like the holidays are going to be difficult to get through. When did I get so emotional?

9. English Literature. Reading, writing, playing with words in my home language. It's harder to have fun with words that you don't know the meaning of intrinsically.

Pumpkin Risotto

2009-10-30T14:06:00.004-04:00

I have to do something to celebrate Halloween...

2 tbsp. Olive Oil
150 g Aborio Rice
150 g Pumpkin Purée
dash nutmeg
2 dashes cinnamon
dash garlic
sea salt, to taste
pepper, to taste

Heat olive oil in a large skillet. Add salt and add rice. Let cook in oil for 2-3 minutes. Add water just to cover rice, let simmer until water is nearly gone, add more water. As rice simmers, add spices and pumpkin. Continue to add water bit by bit until rice is cooked, stirring continually (about 2 cups of water, over 20-30 minutes).

Les livres

2009-10-24T04:12:00.009-04:00

One of the strangest things that I have found about France is that it has driven me to once again become the voracious reader that I was in elementary and middle school. Perhaps this is because I have more time. In general, I am only taking four classes. And more specifically, I find myself on the metro for at least an hour daily to get to those classes, so therefore reading is a practical way to pass the time.

Reading is also something that I like to do when I am not stressed out. Here, I don't feel the constant pressure to get on my bike for 30 miles, do reporting, write an article, write an essay, and do the 100ish pages of academic reading (NOT the kind of reading that I'm talking about here) that needs to be done in order for me to continue existing at Columbia.

While this is all true, I think that I've also found myself reading more because it's comfortable. In a world where know relatively few people, and like even less of them, reading allows me an escape into whatever culture and experience in which the plot happens to be set. It's not that I don't like it here, I love it. It seems that every time I walk outside something happens to me worth talking about. I've been storing them up for when I decide to write the next Great American (expariate) Novel. Even so, it's still uncomfortable to be in a foreign country with few friends. So I delve into Anglo-literature.

Yesterday, I was sitting in my Stylistic class really lost. There was just something about the text that we were reading that I simply couldn't connect with. I understood the meanings of each sentence, after working with it for a while, but I still didn't get the point of the article. It was like I saw five different points, but I didn't see how they connected to become a star.

In the middle of class, my professor began circling to hand back essays from the week before. When he handed me mine, and leaned in to begin discussing, my mind just went blank. And then I felt myself trying to fight back tears. All I could see were the marks on my paper, and the grade. The worst part of being in France is the grading of my French. For some reason Columbia will not allow a person to take any language class for a pass/fail grade. Not matter if you have fulfilled the language requirement, if you have no interest in the major, if you are just trying to learn for your own cultural interest. It is impossible for me just to want to learn French. I have to excel at French. Ca m'enerve.

So, when it gets too much for me, I read.

The Mannekin Pis, among other things

2009-10-21T14:23:00.005-04:00

While much of Brussels is rather ugly, there are brief points of architectural glory. The residential parts of the city remind me a little of San Francisco. There are long, narrow, and individualistic houses (that all kind of go together), and plenty of pointiness to the roofs.

This is a globe made out of old shells, a really interesting commentary on global violence.

How can you not think that these little Belgian kids are cute? We noticed early in the day that there were a bunch of sout-looking kids running around, and then, in front of the pissing boy fountain (see below), a group of them asked us for a picture--for us to take a picture of them. We figured out that they were on a scavenger hunt (we think). Otherwise, we are just creeper-cougers.

The Mannekin Pis (Dutch for Pissing Boy). Well, obviously many replicas of the actual mannekin pis, but I like him better in color. See here for history, as I don't have time to go into it.

Every once in a while they dress up the Mannekin Pis, and then when they are done they put a copy in a small corner room of the city museum. Photos are prohibited.

Excerpts from my letters home

2009-10-07T07:16:00.002-04:00

Hey, so I feel like you asked me how France was a long time ago and I never replied. It's been a little crazy here. Not so much crazy as just exhausting. I'm tired all the time, even though I don't really do much, and I think it's just being exposed to different culture and a different language all the time. And when people ask me how I am I don't really know how to reply. The first things that come to mind are the complaints: things that are different, things that I wish were better, but I tend to skip over all of the really awesome things that I am beginning to take for granted, like casually walking by architecture every day that is older than the United States, and feeling like I improve every day with my French, even as I am getting more frustrated by my lack of fluency. So...Paris is an emotional roller coaster. But I am doing my best to deal with it proactively. I write as much as possible (though a lot of times I skip writing to watch American television). But now I'm doing this journalism project in French, so I am being forced to write, to think about journalism and my writing, and to try to build a bridge between this weird new place the life that I know that I love...

Le week-end dernier, j’ai dormi beaucoup pour que je puisse me rattraper les heures de dormi perdu le week-end avant. Mais la dernière semaine, j’ai aussi commencé les cours actuels. Les premières trois semaines (après de l’orientation) étaient plein d’un cours intensif de la grammaire. C’était horrible, mais c’était la même chose tous les jours. Quand les cours actuels ont commencé, tout est devenu un peu plus difficile parce que maintenant mon horaire est différent chaque jour, j’ai les lectures, les devoirs plus compliqués, et l’anxiété de trouver un cours à l’université, ce qui est un procès fou et désorganisé. Nous pouvons choisir un cours d’une de trois universités différents dans le système universitaire de Paris, et toutes la trois commencent les semaines différentes. Et le cours que je pense que je voudrais m’inscrire ne commence pas jusqu’à qu’après le jour à fixer l’inscription de tous les cours pour Reid Hall/Columbia. C’est fou.

So, how's life? Life here is a little crazy. It's basically the complete opposite of life in New York. I live in a house, and we have TWO whole bathrooms (and a washing machine!), and school kind of sucks so I don't really pay too much attention to it. There are a lot of grammar nazi's running around. But the wine is good, and so is the cheese. I went to a wine tasting class the other night, and learned how to talk about wine in French, which is just about the most pretentious thing one could ever know how to do, so of course I will be doing it often.

How is your life? Any good classes this semester? Have you eaten anywhere interesting lately? I miss knowing the restaurant scene. I also miss variety. Salad, beef, and chocolate mousse/creme brulee is getting old. As are sandwiches for lunch. But I really can't complain...

Bier, et plus

2009-09-30T06:42:00.003-04:00

Ah! So many stories to tell. I can start with this one, but it really doesn't do justice to what really happened at Oktoberfest. It leaves out the grimier details--not that the trip itself was grimey. It leaves out things like the experience of sleeping on the floor of the hotel room because we had one king bed for 5 people (but only 88Euro a night!), or the incredible discomfort of sitting in one place for 6 hours straight, standing up on benches just to get away from the overweight 40-year-olds continuously blowing smoke in my face. It also leaves out the best detail: an unmentionable name that made staying out until 3 AM worth it, even though I knew I would be getting up at 8.

And other details to come, when I'm not late for a rendez-vous halfway across the city.

This one time, on the metro...

2009-09-17T18:04:00.002-04:00

Communication is something that I have really been paying attention to lately. It's really interesting how much you can pick up from non-verbal cues. Tonight, while waiting for the subway, I noticed a young guy, early twenties, walk onto the platform with his grandparents. When the train came a minute or two later, I of course made sure to jump in the same car (fate can't happen without opportunity, bien sur).

Because of the other people in the car, grandpa was sitting in the back of the car, grandma was sitting in the middle, grandson was leaning on the wall next to grandma, and I had the perfect view smack in between all of them. Grandson was playing cool, arms crossed, looking more like security detail than anything else. Grandma was getting frisky, though. She kept saying something to grandson, and trying to get him to sit down on one of the empty seats around her. When that didn't work, she focused on grandpa. She patted the seat beside her, waved him over, and gave him what can only be described as a seductive look. Grandpa wasn't having any of it. She thought about it for a second, then decided to get a little more animated with her gestures. She tried again to elict a response out of grandson. He cracked a smile, and as she was laughing, she threw her head back and knocked her head against one of the poles behind her.

At this point, I could no longer pretend not to be watching. We made eye contact, and both started laughing as the train pulled into my station. Just as I was about to get up, she waved. I smiled and waved back as I exited. I feel like I made a new friend.

My life is average. Except it's SOOOOOO not.

%$#?!?!?

2009-09-13T04:23:00.003-04:00

I am not a huge fan of English right now; rather, I'm trying to force myself not to be, but this caught my eye this morning. I read it and it made me rather triste. I love Maureen Dowd for addressing it, as well as just being rather awesome and a bit bitchy in general. It's not something that we can afford to ignore. Part of me thinks that trying to pretend that it doesn't exist just gives it tacit approval to continue. And yet addressing it would be a politically unstable move.

I wonder if race is something that we can ever overcome. I think that it's human nature to fear change and differences. That is not to say that it is right to act on that fear, or that somehow that makes it okay. But just because it is wrong, and tout le monde knows/is taught that it is wrong, doesn't mean that it will go away. There are still people that steal, rape, murder. There always will be. It is not like smallpox, it can't be eradicated (can it?). At the same time, condoning it doesn't help the situation. We have made great strides since the 1960's. I guess I'm just a little depressed that some people could still have such thoughts.

Attempting to get back on the horse.

2009-09-10T13:45:00.003-04:00

I went running today. A first since I've been here. The first cardio I've gotten for two weeks. And thank God, I was going out of my mind. The problem with exercise here is that 1) no one does it. Ce n'est pas vraiment francais..., and 2) when they do, they run within the confines of a park. This isn't a total surprise, since it's rare (and weird) to see people running down the streets of New York, too, but it becomes a problem for a person like me who doesn't live very near to a park, and lives up on a hill, to boot.

I tried to run once before, last week, but not only found the stadium I was told "tout le monde" runs in closed, but also had some knee pain, so I gave up and walked home. Today, I finally found the motivation to get up and try the nearest park to me, Parc des Buttes Chaumont. It's about a mile and over a hill, and because I've had a couple of Velib' mishaps trying to go places when I wasn't entirely sure of the route, I walked. I was a little nervous because the park's name describes it's terrain: Chaumont Heights/Hills. However, I didn't find it incredibly difficult. Perhaps simply because I was so happy to be getting my HR over 120 for the first time in ages (in my defense, I probably walk at least 3 miles a day, plus up and down metro stairs several times a day).

Because I didn't know where I was going, or how the neighborhood would change on the way there, I decided to leave the iPod at home and be a little more alert. Unfortunately, that also meant that I have no idea how far I went or even how long I ran. I'm guessing somewhere between 3 and 5 k, like 20-25 minutes, which was decent for my first try in weeks, with hills included.

I'm off to Reims tomorrow, so no exercising again (but plenty of champagne caves). Perhaps Sunday I'll try again.

Ce n'est pas trop fort. Jamais.

2009-09-04T03:49:00.003-04:00

Every time there is coffee in the coffeepot when I wake up in the morning (because my family hasn't left for work yet), and I reach for it, I am inevitably warned "sorry, our coffee is very strong." It happened to me the first morning with Beatrice, my host mother, and again this morning with Carlos (her partner). Both times I laugh. I say, "rien de cafe c'est trop fort." No coffee is too strong.

And so it goes with me in Paris. I have yet to find many cultural adjustments that don't suit me. Sure, the lack of exercise that people get around here is a little intimidating. But it's not unheard of to go for a run. It's possible, I will just have to try a few different things before I find what works for me. Plus, my genes are finally catching up with my. My knees were hurting yesterday when I was trying to run (love ya parents, how many knee surgeries do y'all have in total?).

And yesterday I got and activated my bank card, so I can now use the Velib', Paris's (almost) free bike service (definitely free as in free speech, not quite free as in free beer, unless you switch every 1/2 hour). There are stations everywhere, including one on the way to each of the two metro stops that are close to me. I won't be using it today though, in the pouring rain. What I will be doing today is gathering some of the things on my growing list of "things I need," including, but not limited to, an umbrella, a mirror for my room, a camera better than my iphone, a pair of boots, more scarves, possibly a coat, though not quite yet, and a swiffer (maybe). And a stain-remover pen.

Don't let me forget to write about these at some point.

2009-09-02T14:25:00.002-04:00

I haven't forgotten. Just been busy. During orientation week, we had three different excursions, called "parcours" with a French professor. I was in the "vie politique" group, which went to the Pantheon, Cemetaire Pere Lachaise (saw all of the hommages to those that died in concentration camps, a different one for every camp, in the WWII section), Hotel de Ville (office of the Mayor of Paris), and the museum of the history of immigration, which most people didn't like but I found fascinating.

Below are two photos of the great hall at Hotel de Ville (which is normally closed to the public, as a working public building), the Pantheon, and a photo that I took of my street, which is very normal, residential, and Parisian.

Finally gone...

2009-08-29T07:22:00.002-04:00

It's 7:22 am and I'm awake. Why is this? Probably because I'm using an extra (and not very nice) sheet set for a pillow, having packed all of mine and moved them into storage yesterday. My room is almost completely empty, save for a few things that I either need to take with me or have forgotten to pack.

I am a little depressed at the thought of leaving, but I think it partly has to do with the fact that the weather has been so bleak the past few days. It has just been spitting rain--not enough to stop you from doing things, but enough to make going outside somewhat unpleasant.

I've basically had three days straight of running errands. Have I complained yet how much I hate moving?

On the road

2009-08-20T23:09:00.001-04:00

A little outdated. From Wednesday morning:

On the road again. We are currently in western Virginia, heading down interstate 81 towards Tennessee. This is most certainly Thomas Jefferson's America. Nothing but green pastures and corn fields, the type of place where people drive diesel trucks and go to church every Sunday. I'm surrounded by national battlefield parks and rolling hills concealing caverns.

I've been in the city so long that I feel like I barely know how to conduct myself in this situation any more. I find myself a lot less tolerant than I was on my last 2000 mile vacation through a handful of flyover states. I no longer understand why there is nothing open past 6 pm and why I can't find an iced Dunkin' coffee every 5 feet.

The first shock to my system came our first night. We set out for the D.C. area around 2 pm on Monday, putting us in the thick of city rush hour traffic by the time that we got there. After sitting in it for about 2 hours (I started throwing my water bottle around the car in frustration), we finally checked in, and found a restaurant to eat at, some 20 miles away. 45 minutes later, we come upon it to find it closed. With some quick GPS searching, we find another seafood place closeby. In a secluded little marina in the middle of nowhere we find something between a marina restaurant and a sports bar, with a menu to match. Walking outside to the deck, I was hit with a cloud of cigarette smoke. Virginia has not banned smoking in public buildings, apprently. And why would they when EVERYONE smokes?

The crowd was just a little trashy, and the only things not coated with butter on the menu were the house salad and the caesar salad. I have a feeling that I will be eating a lot of chicken caesar salad with the dressing on the side on this trip.

But I'm gradually easing into embracing the fat. Last night, in Winchester, Virginia, at a little place in the old town called Cook's Tavern, I had a really nice filet with blockberry sauce and barbecue baked beans. Disregarding the huge gobs of packaged cheddar cheese that came on my appetizer house salad, it was a really good meal. The sauce was a little spicy, a little fruity—kind of like a barbecue glaze. I was really impressed—and my steak was wonderfully rare. It could have been a little more tender, but that's just splitting hairs.

Both nights so far we have stayed at the Hampton Inn, in the grand tradition of mother. The beds are as nice as I rememeber, and always with cable and free wifi, but the continental breakfast has suffered a bit (economy?). Even so, life could get a lot worse.

As far as attractions go, we took the metro into DC yesterday to go to the Newseum. As a journalist, I have to say that I was slightly disappointed with the content. It was flashy, sure, and had some interesting exhibits, but it was definitely geared towards those without a great knowledge of the industry. The attention was definitely on the aesthetics rather than substance through most of the 6 floors of space. The two major exceptions to this were the Pulitzer Prize photography exhibit and the 9/11 corner. In those two places I was really challenged to think about what journalism is, and some of the major ethical and personal challenges that come with being a journalist.

There was a 10-15 minute loop video running about 9/11, a documentary of various journalists, mostly television and radio, that covered the story that day. It had particular significance for me, now thinking of myself as a New Yorker, to see the kind of destruction that wreaked havoc on a neighborhood that I now know and love, just 8 years ago. It became real for me, much more than it was real for me when it was happening when I was twelve years old and a continent away.

The Pulitzer's, too, were moving. There are so many photos of life just before death. To be that photographer...so see those kinds of horrors, and then to relive it over and over every time you see your picture.

Anyway, we've just arrived in Staunton, VA, the site of President Woodrow Wilson's Presidential Library and Museum....

The museum was really a hit.

Road Tripping

2009-08-18T22:26:00.002-04:00

John Brown has got to be my favorite crazy American historical figure. Emphasis on the crazy...Harper's Ferry was pretty cool today.

2009-08-14T14:31:00.001-04:00

Slept in until 9:30
Watched Greek over breakfast
Cleaned my chain and two cassettes while watching more Greek
Rode in the park without traffic
Talked to my mom on the phone for more than five seconds
Came home and watched Mad Men while having lunch
Showered
Am off to get my last timesheet squared away

It's the middle of August and it finally is summer vacation.

Shane Ferro
shaneferro@gmail.com
(805) 766-0480

It's all about performance...

2009-08-13T13:38:00.000-04:00

Can't say that I'm upset that they lost...but it sure was fun

2009-08-11T14:22:00.002-04:00

Il fait chaud.

2009-08-11T12:03:00.005-04:00

I am inside the nightmare that is the French Consulate Visa Section. It's what you get when you mix French culture, American students, a handful of foreign nationals, and the New York population size. That is, a shitshow. The employees, for their part, were much more hospitable than I expected them to be. Everyone I spoke to was pleasant; though perhaps that was because I was one of the few people in there with my shit together.

Even so, my appointment was for 9:30. Not wanting to need to make another by arriving past 9:29, I arrived nearly 20 minutes early. I was promptly turned away.

--What time is your appointment miss? [puzzled look]
---9:30, sir.
--And what time is it now? [staring, condescendingly]
I bring out my phone. It shows 9:13.
---I have to come back then?
--Yes, miss.

There are a couple of things wrong with this. The first being that the visa section of the French consulate is at 10 74th St., between Madison and Fifth Ave. There is nothing within a five block radius of the place that is not another consulate, a private residence, or a doctor's office. The second problem, on my end, were the heels I was wearing. Not a good choice. Someone told me that I should dress up, it would make a good impression, just in case something was not perfect with my application. The problem with that logic was that wearing a suit dress and heels on the hottest day of the summer with 15 minutes to kill on the Upper East Side is basically the equivalent of torture. The closest place to sit (and calm my nerves) would be a coffee shop. The closest one of those would be on Lex., at 71st or 77th, a full 5 blocks away. With nothing else to do and dying for some air conditioning, I started walking. I had been walking about 7 minutes when I spotted the coffee cart on 76th and Lex. I made do with that and started walking back, not wanting to now be too late for my appointment.

It's funny how perspective can change so suddenly. As I was heading back, with the red glove blinking at me across Madison Avenue at 74th Street, I came upon a bench. Just a random bench on the northeast corner of 74th and Mad. And this morning, that bench was a piece of heaven for the 30 seconds I waited for the light to change in my favor. And waiting for the light put me in the perfect position to arrive just as the guard was opening the door for the 10 or so other people with similar appointment times. As I was the last one in, and we had to be checked in a 3x3 foot square before heading through the metal detector, there was no wall space left for me to squeeze into as I walked into the door, meaning I had to stand in the middle of the box of doom, also meaning that I got to walk through the metal detector first, meaning that once we were allowed to pass I was free to walk up the stairs and get in line first. That piece of ridiculous timing probably saved me a good half hour.

Once in line, I proceeded to wait. And wait. And wait...as one by one people were received for application check, photo, and fingerprinting. The waiting area was a bit scattered. There was the line for those to be received, but also room for those whose applications had been received to wait for another person to call them to receive the rest of their documents. That's where things really seemed to go south. No one had every document they asked for. Or they couldn't believe that they had to wait 2 weeks to come back for the stamp, or they couldn't quite speak English or French well enough. So after finally being scanned and fingerprinted and strip-searched (j/k about that one) and charged $70 for the privilege, I was told to go wait in the waiting area to be called for the remainder of my documents. I miraculously found a seat and prepared for another eon of waiting.

To my surprise, I was called up just five minutes later. Obviously noticing that the line was getting longer as more people filed in for their 10:30 appointments behind some of the 9:30's that still hadn't been helped, people were beginning to be called up three at a time. I got lumped in with a girl that I had previously seen waiting for at least a half hour, yet who didn't seem to notice when her name was finally called and never showed at the window, as well as with an Algerian girl who clearly didn't speak English, but did not seem too excited to speak French, either. She mostly stared in disbelief as the woman asked her for various documents that she did not have. My own process went rather smoothly--I had all of the required documents, and copies of them, and was handed a receipt that told me to come back in 10 days to finalize the process. I will most definitely be showing up at 8:59 in comfortable shoes and a breathable dress. Insanity.

Two hours later, the poor Algerian girl is probably still there.

Time crunch

2009-08-10T09:11:00.002-04:00

I spent a significant portion of my weekend on this. Yankee game tonight. Visa application appointment tomorrow. Intro to IR final Thursday. Full week. Not full sentences. Later.

Remember the Schlieffen Plan?

2009-08-04T13:57:00.002-04:00

And Schlieffen? Let's just take a moment to remember the good times...

In the same vein, this summer has been named the Manhattan Project. For more information on this development, (who, what, where, when, why), email me.

Hint: It arguably ends in tragedy.

Dear summer schoolers and annoying high school students:

2009-07-30T16:42:00.005-04:00

I am the anti-cell phone police in the 3rd floor computer lab in Lerner. Don't even think about it. I will give you dirty stares, and even tell you to get off in an aggressive whisper. Ironically, I'm also the one annoying people by continuing to use the keyboard that squeaks with every stroke of the space bar.

Have a nice day!

Everything in my life tied to the weather

2009-07-29T15:01:00.002-04:00

I distinctly remember leaving my apartment this morning. I thought to myself as I was one flight down the stairs: "It's supposed to rain today, I should go back and get my umbrella." However, I was in a hurry to get out of the sweatbox, so I left without it. I am now sitting at Starbucks on 19th and Park, several blocks from any train that could get me towards home, watching the streets flood before my eyes. And, for the second week in a row, I am out without an umbrella in a downpour wearing my thin cloth shoes. Something tells me that I won't be track racing this evening.

This weather is something of a metaphor for my life. Cliche maybe, but it's a shitstorm that I'm stuck in without an umbrella, clear of any easy public transportation. Maybe I could take a cab in an emergency, but I'm not privledged or rich enough to really afford that.

Now that you've got that visual, I'm tired of discussing my problems. There are many strange business-looking people sitting to my left in Starbucks. They are dressed for meeting, but studying the map and snapping photos like tourists. And the guy that just walked past the window obviously was in too much of a hurry to use his umbrella after buying it that he forgot to take the rather large and obvious tag off of it. Hehe.

Sometimes, I wonder if it's appropriate to carry around a rather loud umbrella if it doesn't match your outfit? I think the girl that just walked by me with an olive green dress and a magenta umbrella proves that, no, it is by no means appropriate.

The thunder is rattling the windows. It's telling me to be less judgmental. It's voice sounds a lot like Alex Castillo when he tells me that I'm judgmental, but in a way that really just eggs me on. :)

I will write at least 141 characters. Will power.

2009-07-22T00:23:00.004-04:00

It's amazing how many times a day I can feel the need to fill 140 characters on Twitter about my life, and how little patience I have for sitting down to write a full blog post. What happened to the pages upon pages that I used to fill in my commonplace book? I guess part of it is being channeled into my therapy sessions, and the other part gets repressed when I get home at night having been out all day at work and school and the like.

I hate to think that life may well be getting in the way of my creative juices. Blasphemy. I must do something about this. Perhaps those precious days between my road trip and leaving for Paris I'll have some time to block out the world and revive my engines. Scary to think that I'll be able to fit it in only a few days. But I have to, right?

Eggless, butterless, gluten free, low fat, [but still fun] cake brownies

2009-07-13T22:01:00.003-04:00

I just made THE best brownies (that a calorie conscious athlete could want). Actually, they are somewhere halfway between a chocolate cake and a brownie, but they are low in fat and delicious, with an interesting almost bouncy texture.

I got the idea from one of the guys on the MetLife cycling team that I hung out with in Massachusetts last weekend, Corey Masson. He made brownies at the Fitchburg race using greek yogurt and applesauce, which were much appreciated after racing for an hour AFTER kissing the pavement that day. I don't have his recipe, but I made some stuff up and took some from the little monster's vegan cookbook (obviously modifying it enough to be not vegan, though I guess soy yogurt might work if it was strained)...

1 1/2 cups flour (gluten free or otherwise)
3/4 cup cocoa powder
1 1/2 cups sugar (probably doesn't need all of this, next time I might try only 1 cup)
2 T. corn or tapioca starch
1 t. baking powder
1/4 t. baking soda
1/2-1 t. coarse sea salt (because this is the best baking secret ever, Sam)
1 6 oz. cup greek yogurt (I used 2%)
1/4 cup applesauce (unsweetened)
1 cup milk (I used 2% again)

Mix the dry ingredients, make a well, add the wet ingredients, stir until mixed. Bake in a 9"x9" pan for 30-40 minutes.

Now back to reading about game theory.

Countdown to Paris: 7 weeks

2009-07-13T17:18:00.002-04:00

I finally booked my airline tickets to Paris, even though it still hasn't quite sunk in that I'll be going there for a whole four months in just a few weeks. I think it might be a little bit like moving to New York. It didn't quite hit me until I was looking down on the Valley after taking off from Burbank. Even as I am in the air over the Atlantic the feeling will be fuzzy. Then orientation will be like a vacation, then school will hit and I'll be too busy to notice, and by the time it's time to leave I will finally realize that I live in Paris.

Eat carbs, just not Tasti

2009-06-30T10:14:00.003-04:00

I was sitting in an exam room, the second one I'd been in in two days (ER yesterday for dehydration!), and the doctor was laughing at me. It's a little bit funny, because just a day or two before I had been thinking that I don't have enough humor in my life lately. But to go to the doctor with what you think is a serious problem and have him laugh it off--I was a bit taken aback. So I did what I do in any uncomfortable situation. I started laughing.

And so this was me dealing with (maybe?) the bane of my existence for the past year and a half or so: the fact that I'm gaining weight. And I don't know why. And I can't seem to stop it. I've baffled the nutritionist at Columbia. I've worried the people around me with my slight obsession/mild depression. And I go in to this guy and he laughs at me. He tells me that I'm fine, I'm healthy, and yes, it is possible that cycling could make me gain that much in muscle. And also, stay away from Tasti-D-Lite, they lie about their calories by a factor of 4 or 5 (he knows me so well already!).

Then, at the end, he gave me the kicker: if you want to lose weight, stop cycling. And there it is, the ultimate question. And it isn't even a question. Yes, my body type makes me feel inferior in a city where 2 is the new 4 and 4 is the new 14 (extra points if you know who said this), and shopping isn't quite as fun in SoHo as when I arrived in New York pre-cycling, but really all that is putting me down is my own vanity. And when he put it like that, I knew that it was time to drop it. I may dislike my muscular structure, but I also love love love racing. And I'm sure that I'll continue to struggle with this, but at least I know that I have an answer that lets me continue to do what I love without trying to starve myself or cut out all carbs, even during racing season (seriously, another doctor told me to do that).

And while decidedly not twiggy, I am still a New Yorker. Hi, my name is Shane, my therapist's name is ... Blogger.

2009-06-23T14:51:00.000-04:00

It's been raining for 2 weeks straight

Finally a breath of fresh-ish, sunny air. But have I spoken too soon?

Winning, again.

2009-06-14T23:37:00.002-04:00

What kind of Laker fan leaves LA 10 hours before they win another championship??? I guess the kind that has work and business trips to take. It probably would have been more heartbreaking had they actually been playing in LA. Being as the game was in Orlando, I'll live.

So excited!!!

Raining, pouring

2009-06-05T14:30:00.002-04:00

When I look out the window and the rain is dripping down, sometimes it makes me feel like I am crying, or that I should be. But then I look at the latte that I just made for myself and it makes me happy again.

The one where I don't have any emotions for four days, just races

2009-06-01T09:16:00.003-04:00

It was a long week. Then it was an even longer weekend. I certainly recovered from my research mind-block. If there was such a thing as "over-racing" I think I might have done it. As there is not, I'm just tired and ready to slow down for the week and mentally prepare for next week.

My left calf is sore. Not the right one, just the left one. Either my right one is quite a bit stronger than my left one, or my cadence was slightly off-kilter at the track yesterday.

Thursday: Ride twenty miles out to a race, crit race for 20 miles or so, ride twenty miles back home.

Friday: Ride slow, attempt to freshen up the legs with 2 laps in the park.

Saturday: Wake up at 4:30 am. Race for 3 laps in the park. Practice my sprinting by getting 2nd in the prime, winning the race. Ride home. Eat something. Ride another 40ish miles. Lay on the couch the rest of the day, until Jake's with Ben.

Sunday: Wake up at a more normal time, ride the single speed to Columbia. Ride home. Take bike on Subway all the way to Flushing. Ride to track. Ride/race on track from noon to 3. Ride back to the subway. Collapse after getting home, fall asleep on the couch pre-7pm. Wake up just in time to watch Menchov eat it in Rome.

Monday: Wake up and wonder for a second why everything hurts. Remember. Look up track bikes on the internet. Ponder how to best present it to my parents that I need one. Remember that I should probably go to work soon.

Adult oatmeal

2009-05-29T14:29:00.003-04:00

Perfect for dessert after a long twilight race/ride:

1/4 cup of raisins
1/4 cup red wine
1 packet oatmeal of your choice (I like cinnamon)
water and/or milk

Place raisins in a small container (tupperware, gladware, etc.). Fill with red wine. Let sit for 12-24 hours.

When ready to make oatmeal, boil water. Drain raisins, or simply spoon them out of the container with the wine (and drink the wine).

Add oatmeal and raisins to a bowl, cover with boiling water. Let sit for 2-3 minutes or until thick.

Yummy.

The one where Shane races with the boys

2009-05-29T14:28:00.002-04:00

Last night's race report.

Almost allergen-free chocolate chip cookies

2009-05-26T22:02:00.003-04:00

1/2 cup vegan margarine (Earth Balance)
1/3 cup natural salted peanut butter (smooth or crunchy)
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1 large egg
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. coarse salt
1 1/2 cups gluten free baking mix
1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

In a medium bowl with an electric mixer, mix together Earth Balance, peanut butter, and sugars until well blended.

While still holding the mixer, add egg.

Pour in the vanilla, baking soda, baking powder, and salt.

Add baking mix, 1/2 cup at a time. Do not overmix.

Switch to a rubber spatula and mix in the chocolate chips.

Bake for 8-9 minutes.

The one where things go wrong in the morning

2009-05-25T22:18:00.002-04:00

I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go. I got up early this morning, a feat since I was emersed in a book last night and couldn't turn the lights out until much later than the 11pm that I "went to bed." I had my good breakfast of peanut butter toast to prepare me for the intervals I was about to do. I had some coffee, kept the reading around the internet to a minimum, and donned a kit, sunscreen, and HR monitor.

Then I remembered that I needed to lube my chain, as it had been grumbling in the back for quite some time. After dropping a significant amount of lube on the chain and cogs while backpedaling, I started to shift. I shifted some more. Then my shifter broke. It started to make a weird, not quite the click of switching gears noise, and I realized that the chain was stuck in my 40-12. So I looked at the shifter, and the cable just came out. And now, twenty minutes later, I'm sitting here in my chamois writing in my blog, waiting for Mod Squad to open instead of riding my bike.

On the plus side, since Mod Squad doesn't open until 10, I probably should just work from home until after lunch, which means that I can just sit here on the couch doing my research rather than showering and getting dressed and dragging myself all the way down to 68th St. Alternatively, I could do fixed gear intervals, but that doesn't sound very fun, even in the park.

What exactly, may you ask, is it that I do? Well, I tell people that I do a lot of Googling. Which is true, to a certain extent. As a research assistant, my job is to gather as much information as possible, mostly through help from Google. But it's a little bit more complicated than that. I am researching free and open source software policy in Iceland for a project with the Software Freedom Law Center. So I am attempting to find very specific information that I'm not sure actually exists. I rely a lot on European Union and Nordic Council data.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I am going to Iceland in June. And I will be in the Arctic for the summer solstice. Yes!

Spring Quinoa

2009-05-25T21:44:00.004-04:00

I made this for my vegan feast today. I like it because the ingredients have some depth, and it has a lot of protein for those meatless friends of mine. Quinoa has 9g of protein per serving--the most of any grain. It is also colorful: red, green, and yellow; and has enough flavor to stand up to a red wine.

Spring Quinoa

1 tablespoon olive oil
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup red quinoa
1/2 cup white quinoa
2 cups water or broth
5-8 spears asparagus
1/2 can garbanzo beans (chickpeas)
4 artichoke hearts
cayenne pepper, to taste
salt, to taste

1. Heat olive oil in a medium-sized saucepan.
2. Add garlic, cook for 1-2 minutes.
3. Add quinoa, sautee in oil for about 1 minute.
4. Add water and spices. Bring to a boil over high heat.
5. Bring heat down to medium and cook quinoa with pot covered until water has disappeared (about 15 minutes)
6. When water is almost gone, stir in cut asparagus, chickpeas, and artichoke hearts.
7. Serve warm.

Dancing with myself

2009-05-18T09:11:00.002-04:00

I am standing in my room, dancing around in an outfit that my mother probably wouldn't approve of, when it hits me--I think I am living out my dream. The semester ended for me last Wednesday. On Friday, I moved across Morningside Park (Harlem, the horror! j/k) to my new apartment with my friend Liz. Yesterday, I finally finished decorating. I've got a whole closet to myself (half of it devoted to my shoes), a full bed with no dip in the middle, every shelf in the place filled with books, and posters of my favorite works of art up on the walls. I am standing in front of the mirror, dressed like a total hipster in tattered jeans and a tank top that shows my bra straps (it's a cami today). Behind me I can see my board of theater tickets and extended line of restaurant cards. Then, of course, there is Peter up on the wall, staring me down like he's Elvis or something.

Anyway, enough with the narcissism. This stuff is all great, but it only serves to remind me of how little of the city that I have actually seen. I've been looking up dance to go see tonight all morning, and am rather miffed that the first day that I have in a VERY LONG TIME to go hang out in the city is a Monday, when the majority of the city is dark. Oh well, I guess that just means more time for me at MoMA and the Guggenheim.

Now I am watching the cat attempt to figure out how many pairs of boots that I have at the bottom of my closet. I hope cats can count above 10...