I qualified for the 2011 Boston Marathon the other week by running 26.2 miles at a 7:13 per mile pace in Virginia Beach. I don’t want to talk about the race very much, though I will. What I find much more interesting is getting ready for it; not the training, but the myriad rituals and arbitrary requests and obsessive details and adjustments one makes in the days and hours leading up to the race. Planning every meal for the week; pinning a number on four times to ensure symmetry and level, ultimately settling for ‘good enough’ after recognizing the absurdity of the pursuit; eating a pre-determined 500+ calorie low fiber breakfast, drinking a pint of water, and swallowing Gu packets, all at the respective pre-race time intervals: 152 minutes, 107 minutes, 38 minutes, 13 minutes. Each of these things have their very specific motivations because heyheynameoftheblog everything is important.

Mentioning those minutes has me thinking about the fallibility of memory and leads into a general distrust of first-person accounts as historical reports. All I know about the race is what I felt. Looking at the race map (http://www.shamrockmarathon.com/Assets/marathon+map+2010.jpg), I realize that my memories of events are all wrong with regards to time and distance. The concept of time is a funny thing in a marathon and remembering emotion is a funny thing at any time. Every time I try to recall a particularly delicious meal, wonderful kiss, or stunning accomplishment, I’m only recalling what I choose to remember. Mayhaps that’s why that $50 steak was a little more dry the second time you went to that restaurant, or that ex-lover you haven’t seen in years is annoyingly much more attractive than you remember. So perhaps take the full report with a grain of salt.

I’ve never felt happier than I felt crossing the finish line with 3:09:32 on the clock. (It really said 3:09:42 according to the automated results) In the quarter mile leading up to the finish, with the clock in sight, I began pumping my right fist in the air. In the half mile leading to the finish, I smiled the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled when running. My mother said it looked pasted on, or pained. It’s hard to put into words how thrilled I was, though. I keep remembering this euphoria, the heat that came from deep in my solar plexus and the electric current washing over my shoulders. Past the finish line, after yelling curses and fist pumping, I spoke to Race Number 400, who finished just ahead of me, and he said he’d only ever felt this happy before on his wedding day. I’m very glad I get to feel this way again at least once more in my life.

Other than that: I stuck with the 3:10 pace group for the first 6.5 miles. It really didn’t feel that long at all. One of the pacers talked too much. I couldn’t handle it, so I ran ahead and formed a group with two others, one an 18 year old Marine, the other a 23 year old teacher and track coach in Ramsay, NJ. We ran three abreast. I tried to tuck in behind others when I could, to draft and conserve energy. We picked up some others along the way and made our way to the half marathon mark with big smiles and easy strides. I don’t remember much other than the fact that we made conversation and passed beachy tshirt stores.

Then they picked up the pace. I could feel we were faster, but it just felt so easy up till then that my saying to slow down fell on deaf ears (“we’re not that far ahead of the 3:10 group”). Our group expanded and a triathlete told us we had a good 7:07 pace going. I was unhappy. The course was achingly flat and straight. I thought a straight line course would be nice, especially on the nice sorts of coastal roads you find down south, with tall, straight trees, some coniferous, some not. These things move faster in a car. I was miserable from miles 15 through 20. I lost track of which mile marker we were at between 17 and 18. I took a one bathroom break at mile 16, forcing me to briefly hit a 7:00 pace to catch my companions.

When I hit mile 20 I knew I could finish strong. That was my plan going in: if I could get to 20, I just had an everyday run ahead of me with the security of four packs of Gu in my pockets. I ate them at miles 20, 22, 24, and 25. The teacher and I ran mile 20 with a woman named Tracy who told us we could settle into 9:00 minute miles and still make Boston. This was encouraging, but a dangerous thing to say. I didn’t trust her math. I’m glad I didn’t. At mile 21, the schoolteacher from Ramsay, Stephen, who kept me alive for the previous 6 miles, dropped off. I offered him a Gu. He didn’t want it. He said he just needed water. Within sight of the mile 21 water station he just fell off my shoulder. I still feel badly about this. He finished in 3:19:58.

I ran the rest of the race alone, but in sight of others. In the last two miles there were three others I kept swapping positions with. A 44 year old with a fuel belt passed me at mile 23. His name was Sean, I think. He had at least three supporting friends on the course, swapping out his empty bottles with fresh Gatorade-filled ones. I didn’t lose sight of him till after mile 25. Starting around mile 24 a guy in stars and stripes shorts that many people called Rocky was my primary rabbit. He had also started in the 3:10 pace group. His name was Michael. I passed him. I gave him a big hug after the finish. Before then I was counting down the blocks, starting at 81st street. More people began calling out my name (“Enrico!”) and I chugged along to see Lauren at mile 24, thrilled to see Lizzie at mile 25 right when I was considering starting to walk because I thought I had a few minutes to spare, then was confused to see my dad at mile 26 because he had changed sweaters. When I saw I would cross at 3:09:30, not the 3:07:50 that I thought I might, I was surprised for a second. I’m so glad I didn’t walk like I wanted to. I didn’t think that at the time. All I thought of was the joy and relief of months of hard work paying off. Then I almost cried, and then I drank a quart of chocolate milk while leaning on mother, who kept me standing.

(10 days pass and I write the following past midnight)

My father arrived as I shuffled up the boardwalk leaning heavily on my mother. I remember marveling at how she didn’t seem burdened by my weight. If we can be cute, we can say that I shouldn’t be surprised as she did carry me for 9 months and then more as a tiny person. Then my sister found us and she called Lauren, who ran down the wrong street but eventually did find us. I was sitting up on a ledge, my sister and mom icing my feet, calves, and shins. This felt much, much better than I ever thought it would. I really can’t remember when my feet had begun aching, but the experiential lesson is that there really is a difference in road feel when wearing racing flats.

Anyway, there was an ice bath in a hotel and a lunch that was two lunches: a patty melt then a plate of sausage gravy and biscuits. I then came down with a cold that took me out for three straight days, couldn’t fall into a nap, then drove back to DC with stiff, heavy legs feeling wired and tired. Lauren and I met my friend K.Bo at Brickskeller, where I introduced Lauren to Oskar Blues Old Chub. That’s a great fuckin’ beer. Hugs were given, but I don’t remember much of note other than me bringing in a box of 7-11 tissues and blowing my nose on the race shirt on the whole drive up. When we left, our server said “that guy ran a marathon today!” to the table whose orders she was taking, and I received applause.

That detail about my sickness  could be made into a self-deprecating joke about how the strongest fall from the greatest heights or something about the body’s weakness. But no. If there’s anything I have really taken away from this it’s the first step towards some swagger. I was fast. I am fast. Maybe I’m not the fastest person you know, but according to age-grading, I’m local-class. That sorta means that maybe I’m the fastest person in any given town I’m in. That’s nice to know. And I made that myself.

Given those reasons, I was surprised to feel I wanted ashes smeared on my head the other day (for nostalgia) and why I’ve decided to give up something for Lent. I am sacrificing my jokes. Only some of them. Details after the jump.

I’m giving up my easiest jokes, those ones in my quiver that I am all too eager to whip out. I’m getting older and it’s time to retire some things or at least force myself to stretch my mind a bit. If I refer to one of the following in conversation, literally slap me.

1) Baby eating jokes. “The dish’s contrast in textures is a testament to molecular gastronomy’s genius. As far as I know, the only time creamy, sweet, crunchy, and juicy meet like this in a traditional slow-food savory dish is when you’re biting into a baby’s soft spot.” See,  mostly a gimmick.

2) “Is it because I’m Asian?” jokes. “The math you’re asking of me requires my calculator. It’s over there, inside my violin, which is inside my piano. Also, my dick is small.” Easy, cheap.

3) My “I’m 40% girl” jokes. “Don’t be surprised that we can talk about your boy troubles, French v. Belgian chocolate, Cynthia Steffe at Fashion Week, and that I’m not trying to get in your pants: I’m 40% girl!” I should recognize that I’m just a sissy. I should own up to it. Misha will say I should actually just own up to being gay. Speaking of which….

4) Anal sex jokes. Usually can be replaced with something better. Note the following excerpt from this toot: doesn’t hurt while you do it, but it kills you later. like indian buffet. Originally I was going to say “like drunken anal sex,” but the 140 character tested me. I think I’m a better person sans sodomy.

5) This is going to be hard: self-deprecating “this is why i’m scared of women” jokes. Stories about me not being invited to bat mitzvahs. Stories about being fat, long-haired, and the asexual representation of asian men in the media. Stories about being surprised to discover people with even less hair than me — oh wait, no, that’s only other asian men. OH NO I MADE AN ASIAN JOKE. SLAP ME LIKE THE BAD GIRL I 40% AM.

As with getting away with rape, timing is everything in comedy, so there should be exceptions. If I happen to be in a conversation about these things, that’s fine. Or if I just do it well and make you work for the laugh, like the joke about the cheerleader who sat down in class and there was a clatter because all these class rings fell out. See, that’s okay because you’ve gotta think about what’s going on there, how the rings got there in the first place. I hope Jesus appreciates this effort.

So I guess the Wittelsbach-Graff is less well-known and I’d like to talk about it. Background: the diamond that may have once been included in a dowry from the King of Spain and that topped the Bavarian royal crown for over 100 years had been in a private collection for 50 years before it was auctioned for $23.4M last summer, making it the most expensive diamond ever sold at auction. The buyer was London-based billionaire jeweler Lawrence Graff, who, upon winning, immediately declared he would re-cut the gem (and tack his name onto it). The re-cutting brought the size of the diamond down from 35.56 carats to 31.06 carats (!!) but upgraded its clarity and color from Very Slightly Included to Internally Flawless and Fancy Deep Grayish Blue to Fancy Deep Blue, respectively, in the opinion of the Gemological Institute of America. These ratings would improve its value on the resale market.

So I guess the question that such a re-cutting begged of me was what the fuck was this diamond now? Let’s talk about that after the jump, okay?

I certainly am not alone in feeling this is weirdly wrong. Quoting from this Times article, a lot of important-sounding folk sound quite upset about it.

Daniela Mascetti, a senior global specialist in jewelry at Sotheby’s: “The provenance of a gem is important in ways that are not true of other things. With the Wittelsbach blue, you knew how it came into existence and in a rather exciting way. You know who has worn it, what kinds of historical events it has gone through and what social upheavals it was present for….In a way, it is a shame to have altered what has been preserved for so many years. Do you still have the original stone found by Tavernier or cut in his time? Will that stone still be the Wittelsbach? In my opinion, it’s not.”

Hans Ottomeyer, director of the German Historical Museum in Berlin and an expert on the gem’s history, the stone Mr. Graff bought, recut and renamed is no longer in any sense the Wittelsbach. “It is nothing…. This was one of the foremost historic diamonds, a state diamond, worn not just by women but also men and by the sovereign.”

So a few ways to think about this. The first thoughts reminded me of the late Columbia University art history professor James Beck. He was a vehement critic of art restoration (differentiated from conservation, I suppose?) efforts. You can possibly learn more at the seemingly defunct website of his organization, Artwatch International (I’ve tried to register but cannot). To summarize briefly, the basic argument is that efforts to restore (most typically) Renaissance artworks is misguided, doing more damage to the works as guesswork has to be made regarding artists’ original intents, thus resulting in end products that reflect the aesthetic choices of the restorer more so than the artist. This interview from a 1987 People magazine (of all places!) regarding the Sistine Chapel restoration says a lot.

What exactly do you believe is wrong?

They are removing a layer, or layers, put on by Michelangelo himself. The assumption of the restoration team originally was that Michelangelo was a perfect painter, that he used fresco painting—that is, painting on wet plaster—in its absolutely purest sense and did not make changes on the dried surface. The Vatican team operated until very recently under the assumption that everything that is not fresco is not by Michelangelo. Consequently they could remove everything, including all the transparent layers put down by earlier restorers, and just get right down to the surface of the pure fresco. But we have evidence that Michelangelo did in fact correct and change and overlay.

But when I really think about it, I don’t have to draw so deep a parallel. A placard next to the Hope points out that the diamond has been around basically forever: it’s been around for mass extinctions, for the moving of continents. Beautiful as the sentiment is, I really disagree: what makes a gem a gem is the fact that it was cut and polished from a greater crystal. Just as the Hope was descended from but distinct from the Tavernier Blue, the current Wittelsbach-Graff is not the same but is descended from the Wittelsbach.

Even easier way to think about it: I carve a face into a walnut and give that to you. Then I take it back and carve that down to a mini horse. Same walnut? Sure. Same gift? I don’t think so. Quite simply, things are more than the matter from which they’re made. Guitars being finished to showcase the grain of the wood (daddy want), using recycled bottles to line a vegan handbag (oh canadians!) – these things are more than their raw stuff. Apologies to the idea of everything being all things at the same time (“this desk! your sandwich! all just stardust!”), but that’s pretty much impractical crazy hippie talk. While you can say that the beauty of the gem comes from within and that the jewel cutter only uncovers that, you’re still creating a new object.

But this raises more questions about whence the protests: if pedigree and history are part of the jewel as much as color and clarity, and re-cutting the diamond disrupts that timeline, what of ourselves? I am of course thinking about the old mind fuck about the actual age of our bodies as cells are renewed (15.5 years?).

Cells Frisén analysed from the rib muscles of people in their late 30s had an average age of 15.1 years, a similar lifespan to cells making up the body of the gut, which he found were around 15.9 years old on average. It seems our bodies are indeed in a constant state of breakdown and renewal – even the entire skeleton is replaced every few years, he says.

That’s another conversation entirely, though. Let’s just give Prince the last word.

I’m telling you this because I’m feeling very personally productive, efficient, and quite happy. Having multiple consecutive days of unplanned staycation (thanks, snow!) and being determined to actually do things, I’m getting them done on my own schedule that does not at all mirror the typical workday. That’s what I’d like to talk about: one’s own natural rhythms and work schedules.

While everyone says you can overcome your predisposed circadian rhythm and become either a lark or a owl through force of habit, it shouldn’t be a surprise that genes contribute to determining morningness and eveningness. First, though, here’s a good test for you, Adapted from an article: A Self Assessment Questionaire to Determine Morningness-Eveningness in Human Circadian Rhythms. by J.A. Horne and O. Ostberg, International Journal of Chronobiology, 1976, Vol. 4, 97- 110. Take it and then see what this might mean to you:

Using magnetic resonance imaging-guided brain stimulation, scientists tested muscle torque and the excitability of pathways through the spinal cord and brain. They found that morning people’s brains were most excitable at 9 a.m. This slowly decreased through the day. It was the polar opposite for evening people, whose brains were most excitable at 9 p.m.

Other major findings:

• Evening people became physically stronger throughout the day, but the maximum amount of force morning people could produce remained the same.
• The excitability of reflex pathways that travel through the spinal cord increased over the day for both groups.
• These findings show that nervous-system functions are different and have implications for maximizing human performance.

I scored a 12 or maybe a 14. Anyway, there’s a gene called Period 3 whose length is correlated to M/E. Long Period 3 genes are correlated with larks, short Period 3 genes correlated with night owls. Like all things, there’s a confluence of factors effecting M/E (let’s all say the big one now: environment), but at least one study suggests heritability.

For as long as I’ve been working, I know that the last two hours of my day are by far my most productive (and I assure you it’s not because of procrastination). These last few days, I’ve been most focused from 4:00 till about 7:00, hitting my typical post-dinner hour peak from 8:00 till 11:00, then falling asleep at 1:00 or 2:00.

Alright, if you want to laugh at the idea that I’m doing “work” on snow days, that’s totally fair. But it’s not like I don’t have personal productivity goals and I do notice at what time these things are getting done. Without going into details and as an excuse to quote LC!: “Some people give themselves to religion. Some people give themselves to a cause. Some people give themselves to a lover. I have to give myself to goals.”

So there’s plenty to say that the time of day I decide to tackle those goals makes a difference in whether or not they’re accomplished. For example, the easiest to talk about: sports. I’ve never liked morning races or matches. I feel that I’m strongest in the afternoon. I’m possibly right:

Results confirmed the existence of diurnal variation in anaerobic power output. PP, MP30 s, and MP60 s were significantly higher at 18:00 than 06:00 h, with gains equal to 8.2, 7.8, and 7.8%, respectively. Moreover, all the power output values recorded in the evening were higher than those recorded in the morning, indicating that fatigue induced by this exercise is not affected by time-of-day in male competitive cyclists.

Not trying to make excuses and again, emphasizing for the third time that determination and habits can overcome minor pre-dispositions, it’s still hard not to wonder how this would effect society’s work schedule given an increasingly mobile, independent white-collar workforce whose activities are not directly linked to market hours. Apparently I’m not the first 20-something to wonder this. (Dangit.) I do wonder whether M/E is related to age. And a quick search answers my question: it’s been noted, “bed time of 23:30 may be indicative of a Morning type within a student population, but might be more related to an Evening type in the 40-60 years age group.”

So yeah, it’s interesting that traits associated with morningness are also associated with conventional notions of success…. and maturity.

A Spanish researcher found that our preference for engaging in activities earlier or later in the day shapes both our perceptions and our interactions…. Early risers prefer to gather knowledge from concrete information. They reach conclusions through logic and analysis. Night owls are more imaginative and open to unconventional ideas, preferring the unknown and favoring intuitive leaps on their way to reaching conclusions. Social behavior diverges as well: Morning people are more likely to be self-controlled and exhibit “upstanding” conduct; they respect authority, are more formal, and take greater pains to make a good impression. (Earlier research also suggests that they are less likely to hold radical political opinions.) Evening people, by contrast, are “independent” and “nonconforming,” and more reluctant to listen to authority—which suggests that teachers may have several reasons to prefer those students who wake up in time for class. [via]

That last bit sounds a bit hokum-ish, very palm-reader-mystic-vague language, but still. Taking all these blurbs at face value, it really is amazing how interconnected are the systems that make up an individual. Sleep and how and why we do it is something so central to our lives that it’s easily overlooked or dismissed, but dang if the more you learn about it, the more you realize how critical it is to your identity and your health.

Speaking of which: so what of those who work the graveyard shift? It’s shocking to know how many Americans work the graveyard shift, and it’s even more shocking to know how harmful it is to them. They’re fighting millions of years of evolutionary development by not sleeping at night and the consequences can’t be more serious.

In a 24/7 world, such fatigue passes for normal. Twenty percent of American workers are night-shift workers, and the number is growing by about 3% per year, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. While the rest of society sleeps, police officers, security guards, truck drivers, office cleaning crews, hotel desk clerks, nurses, pilots and many others keep patients alive, streets safe and packages moving. But at a price.

These workers — and people with more conventionally sleep-deprived lifestyles — are known to be at higher risk for accidents, sleep disorders and psychological stress due to daytime demands, such as family and other obligations, that interfere with sleeping. Now scientific evidence suggests their disrupted circadian rhythms may also cause a kind of biological revolt, raising their likelihood of obesity, cancer, reproductive health problems, mental illness and gastrointestinal disorders.

The evidence for an increased cancer risk is so compelling that, in December, the International Agency for Research on Cancer, a unit of the World Health Organization, declared that shift work is “probably carcinogenic to humans.” [via]

That’s right, carcinogenic. Artificial light at night has only been around for a blink of human existence and let’s think a bit about this here: what is more profoundly unnatural than turning night into day? So a hypothesis that’s been kicking around for decades links exposure to artificial light at night to an increased risk of breast cancer.

The increased breast cancer risk in female night shift workers has been postulated to result from the suppression of pineal melatonin production by exposure to light at night. Venous blood samples were collected from healthy, premenopausal female volunteers during either the daytime, nighttime, or nighttime following 90 minutes of ocular bright, white fluorescent light exposure at 580 µW/cm2 (i.e., 2,800 lx). Compared with tumors perfused with daytime-collected melatonin-deficient blood, human breast cancer xenografts and rat hepatomas perfused in situ, with nocturnal, physiologically melatonin-rich blood collected during the night, exhibited markedly suppressed proliferative activity and linoleic acid uptake/metabolism. Tumors perfused with melatonin-deficient blood collected following ocular exposure to light at night exhibited the daytime pattern of high tumor proliferative activity. These results are the first to show that the tumor growth response to exposure to light during darkness is intensity dependent and that the human nocturnal, circadian melatonin signal not only inhibits human breast cancer growth but that this effect is extinguished by short-term ocular exposure to bright, white light at night. These mechanistic studies are the first to provide a rational biological explanation for the increased breast cancer risk in female night shift workers.

So I hope I gave you some things to bat around. We should all start wearing sleepmasks. And now that it’s after 3:00, I need to move onto something else and continue enjoying my snow day. I’ll probably have one tomorrow too. Rock out.

In December I had been listening to a lot of  The Mountain Goats. I’ll ask you to listen/read along to the track below, even if contemplating the utter loneliness of being the last of one’s kind is not really the best way to start a week.

I was reminded of a story I read years ago about two women who were the last speakers of a native language in South America. They lived on opposite sides of a Spanish-speaking village and rarely spoke to one another; they were not friends. Perhaps there was narrative bias effecting a protag/antag, but one was quieter and lived modestly and avoided attention (I believe when she was interviewed she was playing with her granddaughter) while the other woman advertised herself as the “true” last speaker of this language (she claimed the other woman spoke a bastardized version while the writer seemed to feel the other woman was the authentic one) and wouldn’t say anything in this dying tongue unless she was paid first. She refused to be recorded because it would, you know, disrupt her market scarcity. Yeah, that one seems kinda horrible, huh? Summary facts and more thoughts after the jump.

Anyway, what must that feel like, to be the last speaker of a language? To be the last one of anything, really? Can I blame that woman for profiting as much as she can off her most unique talent? Would I behave any differently? I want to know, but I really don’t.

Anyway, off to your right you should be able to see that I delicious bookmarked a bunch of articles about endangered language languages. Of additional interest may be George Mason’s speech accent archive (Misha and I spent hours listening to it in college.). The NatGeo page at languagehotspots.org also definitely keeps things interesting.

Turns out my instinctive thoughts are right: People have had to adopt the languages of their employers or rulers; young people have turned away from traditional ways, and many formerly isolated groups now have radios (and even televisions, with which those who can’t get actual broadcasts may nonetheless enjoy videos). Increasingly, people are turning to mainstream languages like English and Swahili. “The pressures of modern society are huge,” said Dr. Whalen, “and isolation is disappearing.” source

Of the estimated 7,000 languages spoken in the world today, linguists say, nearly half are in danger of extinction and are likely to disappear in this century. In fact, they are now falling out of use at a rate of about one every two weeks. source

6% of the world’s languages are spoken by 94% of the world’s population. The remaining 94% of languages are spoken by only 6% of the population. 133 languages are spoken by fewer than 10 people. The largest single language by population is Mandarin (845 million speakers) followed by Spanish (329 million speakers) and English (328 million speakers). source

I haven’t researched this so my opinion remains lovably ignorant, but I did talk to Derlen as soon as I got off the metro the other night. He makes some of my favorite jokes and he is also the smartypants over at Footy Finance and most importantly, he’s Chinese (well, first generation. I still trust him when he tells me that I don’t want to know what the delicious thing I’m putting in my mouth at dim sum is).

He thinks I should propose that Asia will all speak Chinese and that Brazil is gonna get their shit together and have the Americas all speaking Portuguese, thus leaving Europe just being old and driving small cars. That would be kinda hilarious, but no.

This is what I figure: something about saying there will be one dominant cultural anything in the future strikes me as reactionary in the sense that it’s just not reflective of (how I think?) the world and its communications work. It feels like it comes from that weirdly binary place of “oh no, they’re teaching Spanish in schools, this is the US of A, not the United States of Burritos.” (god, I’m so hungry right now, I’d love to live in the USB)

So do we have to define what we mean by having a dominant worldwide lf (I think “lingua franca” just sounds icky. So, lf henceforth.)? And has there really been one before 20^th-century English? I guess not, if we take worldwide to really mean worldwide. In the Western world, French is the obvious one before WWII, what with diplomacy and art and literature going back a few centuries. However, in that same time frame, German was big for economic activity and philosophy. And then there was Latin v. Greek back when people actually spoke those languages outside of classrooms and Greece, respectively.

Anna pointed out that we can say the British were responsible for spreading English around the world (‘hooray’ colonialism), but you can say the same thing about French and Spanish and the ‘charming’ efforts of the Dutch and Portuguese, and they’re obviously not as prominent these days. I’d have to say that it was post-WWII American leadership in diplomacy (hello, UN), culture (hello, Elvis), and technology (hello, exported cars, televisions, movies) that led to English being the lf.

With regards to economies, technology, and business, I hate saying I’m ‘afraid’ of China surpassing us because it stinks a little of jingoism when we should be thinking about the global community. But as today’s Times points out (and last month’s New Yorker pointed out earlier and harder), the writing might already be on the wall: China’s way ahead of everyone in developing and manufacturing wind turbines.

So the other night Derlen reminded me of the 100-year analog situation: China is sort of where America was 100 years ago, being rich in manufacturing resources and human capital and playing second-fiddle to the previous century’s major powers, but having certain advantages (hello, factory workers making $4100 annually while execs and scientists make western bank) that promise a speedy catchup. They may eventually overtake us economically (having 1.3 billion people helps), but there’s a lot more a country and its language needs to be the next American Idol English.

The gap in global leadership following the World Wars set the stage for 50+ years of an American (slash Soviet for a while) world. If the next wars between nations are going to be about water, well, not to sound insensitive (PLEASE enlighten me if I’m boorishly ignorant), but I doubt they’ll be as disruptive to America’s influence as the World Wars were to Europe. Additionally, if working alongside trade policy folks has taught me anything it’s that trade agreements are being unfairly written to keep power in the hands of those who already have it. These agreements are being written in English, so there’s an inherent score for English right there.

There’s also the big culture factor. What the hell has France done recently that leads so many people to still study it? Make Renaults and let Lance Armstrong ride rampant across their mountains? I think it’s fair to say that the cultural exports that go back centuries help keep French spoken around the world. English remains ridiculously dominant culturally, not just because of Coke and Disney, but also in the spread of a global youth culture grounded in traditionally English-speaking social movements (punk and hip-hop). Take a look at these Beijing hipsters with their tshirts and band names (significant because that’s how they identify themselves) printed in English. Listen to these Chinese underground punk rockers.

I’d like someone to address what IT and programming are like. Is there a language that doesn’t use English for its commands? (“I spent all day working in MySQL and walked into a room full of hot ladies and was like SELECT *”) How insidious of the English language, to make itself the language that the foreseeable future will literally be built with.

Anyway, I’ll agree that it’s likely that in three generations, Chinese will be offered alongside Spanish in elementary school classrooms. But barring some sort of disaster, English is here for a while. Unless maybe we got into a war with China. Monotheistic-God help us all from their ancestors; they know kung fu.

So I think the low-hanging big fruit that was a big deal this week is the NY Times’ metered pay plan. Quick background: they used to charge for ‘premium’ content, that service failed, but for the last few years the site has been totally free thanks to advertising revenue. I was surprised at myself for thinking that it seemed reasonable to charge users after a certain amount of ‘use’ because I’m someone who loves free stuff online, probably more than I should (don’t ask me the last time I paid for recorded music. :-/). Thoughts after the jump.

Anyway, it’s simple. Starting in 2011, The New York Times Online will be free to a point (maybe 10 articles in a month), after which one pays a flat fee for unlimited access. Details haven’t been disclosed, but I think I would pay as I certainly read the site a lot and with age, my sense of entitlement has thankfully diminished. I guess I’ve really “come to rely on their news…” but wouldn’t I be able to find a workaround? Now that the news finds you rather you finding it (hello facebook feed links), there’s always a workaround on the internet. For example, my super-simple tip for getting around WSJ/USA Today/any other time-sensitive articles after they’ve been blocked: google the title of the article and access the cached version. It works for articles going back years.

But, there are other reasons to pay, and not just for content. Think of paying suggested donations at museums. News organizations can maybe be thought of as institutions for the public good that put people on the ground and actually get the news. As I understand it, blogs just can’t replace the news. Blogs are better at ideas and analysis than hard info. The Times is a unique paper in a unique position (being by far the #1 newspaper site in the country) and may (uniquely) pull this off, but a few loose thoughts.

Quick hits: this will not be applicable to anyone else. The Times is just too big and the reputation as the paper of record so strong that, even if people can find news elsewhere, it and its critics (Ben, Manohla) and columnists (Frank, Paul) just differentiate it too much from other papers. Also, Twitter as a news stream is pretty legitimized, and the Times is the most linked-to news site on Twitter. When the pay wall goes up, I’d like to see how Twitter adjusts in the short-term. I’m also wondering how it’ll change the way we talk about the news in person: nowadays when you ask your well-read friends “did you see that Times article about that laughable Brooklyn subculture?” the answer is often yes. That’s not so assured now, huh?

I’m also intrigued by the establishment of the idea of a class structure vis-à-vis the newsreading public. Putting a quota on the free content, I think, will really draw a line in the sand between people who are serious about their news and people who aren’t. Of course that already happens naturally; some people read the first two paragraphs and move on, others will read the Times article then the “take it and turn it” response on Slate, then follow hashtags on Twitter, then read the summary thoughts in the Economist or New Yorker the next week. Along with making it harder to find superficial yet cogent news analysis, I wonder if putting up a paywall would take the Times away from the first step and make it one of the later steps in processing the news. For example, I’m thinking of the Room for Debate blog (in which esteemed, occasionally famous experts comment on the implications of a current event): this is something that only the Times could put together, and maybe that kind of specialized, in-depth product will be what people are paying the Times for (moreso than, god bless it, the Sunday Style section).

Is it silly to suggest a public broadcasting membership system (MOAR CANVAS BAGS) or (perhaps a good analogy) a Radiohead-style “pay what you want” system? Wikipedia met their $7.5 million holiday goal in a month, and let’s be honest, most Wikipedia articles wouldn’t have a reference to stand on if it weren’t for a Times article. I mean, just a thought. This doesn’t solve the ‘problem’ of monetizing the newspaper industry as a whole, but I wonder if the Times is the one news source around that would be able to get away with saying “you like us! can you spare a dime?”

Time for me to shut up.

Please go here please to give: firstgiving.com/ericruns

After the jump, more on what you can do for Haiti and some personal thoughts on this charity marathon business.

My old colleague and friend Laura does some amazing things if Facebook is to be believed. She’s spent a lot of time in the Gaza researching events for a screenplay (last I checked she’s at USC for screenwriting) and was in Cairo recently to protest Egypt’s closed border crossing into Gaza (due to the Hamas-led government). Point is, she’s one of those wonderful people who fights for underrepresented causes and is thus so on top of Haiti. She was spreading word about the inefficiencies and blocks that government interventions are creating: diverting mobile hospitals to DR, the installation of 10,000 troops taking priority over World Food Programme deliveries, etc. so I asked, other than give money to apparently inefficient organizations, what could one do. Off the top of her head, she replied:

1. Give money to direct aid organizations with local roots in Haiti, many of which are already desperately hard at work on the ground there now. I suggest three in the box under my profile picture. (eric note: Doctors Without Borders is one of them, so click above and donate)

2. Participate in actions calling for the IMF, World Bank and US lenders to DROP HAITI’S DEBT! Foreign debt, first to the French, then to the US, has been the single biggest impediment to Haiti’s development for the past 200 years.

3. Protest any violence by US/UN troops that occurs in Haiti.

4. Read and disseminate accurate news about Haiti, not racist crap from mainstream media. Democracy Now has excellent coverage. On Twitter, follow RAMHaiti for frequent updates from someone on the ground in Port-au-Prince.

That sounds good to me. What also sounds good are these tips on what not to do over at this blog: byecholocation.wordpress.com

So that’s the best of what I’ve got so far. As far as why I do this fundraising thing, eh. I don’t think it needs much explanation as it’s pretty straightforward. When I run, I do spend time wondering why I’m doing it. Like I say on the donation page, it’s kind of an egotistical pursuit. I guess that’s okay, that’s what hobbies are — I enjoy it, more than video games or sitting in the woods drinking beer and shooting things. Theoretically, it’ll save me and society a lot of money in healthcare costs as I age in pretty good shape. Even then, probably because it’s me and introspective self-flagellation is my real favorite hobby, I think about how I’m burning more calories and thus eating more food. On runs longer than 10 miles, I have to eat packets of goo and I end up with these packets of foil that you throw out along the way. I’m doing more laundry. I’m rotating between two pairs of running shoes, and it’s likely that after the marathon, they’ll be pretty much dead and need replacing. There’s just a lot of consumption involved in running a marathon. If I really wanted to live long, maybe I should just pursue a calorie-restricted diet. Maybe even do it vegan and organic, for the extra points. I like to think that we all want to end up being creators more than consumers at the end of the day. But I like to eat lots of donuts and slow-cooked meats and other things that we’re made to feel guilty about (goodness, we as a nation do have an eating disorder.). So, I guess, bothering lightly rallying my family, friends, and the occasional stranger about once a year and asking them for money to help others, well, it’s the least I can think to do until I make millions and set up my own charitable foundation. I do think people are naturally inclined to give, but sometimes these little personal things are a nice nudge. So if you’re sick of me asking for money for diabetes research, adult education centers, or African children over the years, well, there’s your explanation: straight up guilt, motherbitches. :p

A few weeks ago I was talking to my friend Prashant. He’d recently spent a month in Australia and was saying how cool it is that old men all over the world can talk about one major shared experience: serving in WWII. Everyone was involved somehow, and so on and so forth about the Greatest Generation and their shared experiences of hardships and struggles. And come on, I’ve seen Band of Brothers, so maybe I can imagine how the experience of being in war, no matter whether you were in the Pacific or in France, could provide books’ and lives’ worth of stories and points of conversation and relation. It’s pretty amazing, and it’s something ‘the youth of today’ will never have. Or not, was my response.

Something post-WWII generations have and something that we internet folks especially have: communications that have built culture. This feels like an obvious idea (obvious enough that there are a bunch of grad school programs I should attend that include those two terms in their names), but maybe it’s not. I’ve heard that, before radio got big, something like 20% of the voices a person would hear were in face-to-face interactions. Now the percentage that is face-to-face conversation is basically nothing compared to TV, phone, radio, recorded music, internet videos… So what does this mean?

Well, accents are fun. Could you imagine what it would have been like for a slow-talking Midwesterner to have first heard Roosevelt’s stentorian New England accent? But in listening to your peers, how many have very strong accents to the degree you hear in old recordings? Regional speech patterns won’t go anywhere (I hope), but I’d be willing to bet that generally, there’s a trend towards a mean, bringing us together in a different way.

I could point at Elvis and ‘where were you when you heard John Lennon died?’ and other examples of the rise of pop culture with the baby boom generation bringing about unifying experiences. I know exactly where I was when I learned Michael Jackson died and you probably do, too. But that’s more of a fun fact than anything that could be compared to a War. But then again, maybe it’s not. What about this? This was filmed in a village in Estonia. Estonia. And they get The Simpsons intro down perfect. I’m not able to go to the other side of the world and talk about a war, but I wouldn’t want to anyway – I’d much rather talk about the Springfield Tire Fire and it seems that I actually can.

We can talk about the internet vis-à-vis real world change. If we’ll be honest, it’s kinda failed to so far: much has been made of Twitter’s possibilities for activism, but its shining moment, Iran, was wiped out by Michael Jackson (oops. Sorry). Google’s attempt to break down the Great Firewall and their possibly forthcoming expulsion from China is making more news here than there. If the wars of the future are going to be more about information, well, we’ve certainly got lots to figure out. But what about the literally millions of dollars that have been donated to Haitian relief through text message donations in just 3 days? (the psychology of which interests me as folks already divorce themselves from cost when using credit cards v. cash. How much of our debt will cell phone carriers carry in a future of cell phone commerce?). I’ve been bad the last few days about keeping up on current event discussions about this (I hope they’re out there), but the point I’d like to make is that communications and culture is moving so fast and our problems are so big (hello global warming) it’s obvious to everyone (not just one generation) that we’re all in this (and by this I mean the world and all its good and bad, not just one struggle) together. I like to think it’s something I could talk about with a stranger in 40 years. Sure, it probably won’t make for a life-changing HBO miniseries, but it’s still frickin’ awesome.

We are happy to see that CT Democratic senator Chris Dodd has recently decided not to run for re-election in 2010. This man has clearly been in office far too long. Between the “sweetheart” Countrywide Financial loan he received, as well as the Fannie Mae/Freddie Mac, Irish Cottage and A.I.G. bailout controversies that he has been involved in, this man can no longer be trusted in office. His actions have been despicable, along with his explanations declaring his innocence. Dodd is guilty beyond belief and should be impeached. We’ll take his retirement though, if that’s all we can get.

We are also very disappointed in President Obama’s decision to support Dodd a couple of months ago. He should be ashamed of himself for defending this sleazeball. Dodd should have been left to twist in the wind. He sealed his own fate, and must realize that the people of CT have finally had enough of his dirty deeds. The end can’t come fast enough for his exit.

Goodbye Chris Dodd – don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

We have been following this whole NBC talk show quagmire that has been brewing over the past week or so, and have to weigh in with our own opinion on it. We feel that it is ridiculous for anyone to be blaming Jay Leno or Conan O’Brien at all for the mess that has transpired. The only blame should fall at the feet of Jeff Zucker, President and CEO of NBC. He has taken a once-proud network and reduced them to a laughing stock. He basically forced Jay Leno off The Tonight Show when he clearly wasn’t ready to give up the job, to make room for Conan O’Brien to take over. When Leno revealed that he really wasn’t ready to retire, Zucker suggested moving Leno to 10PM with a brand new show, which was clearly not a good time for a talk show to be airing, being that it would be up against dramas on other networks. It was a very risky gamble and has proven mostly disastrous, being that affiliates of NBC are losing a lot of money because of the poor ratings of The Jay Leno Show.

In the meantime, Conan has taken over The Tonight Show, but his ratings have not been that good, as well, losing every night to David Letterman. Part of this is because of the poor ratings from Leno’s show.

Now, regardless of what you think of Leno’s new show, or Conan’s version of The Tonight Show, the failures of either program are not entirely due to their hosts, but simply to the ridiculous situation NBC has created. It’s turned into one of the worst debacles in television history, and now they are trying desperately to fix their mistake. And that desperation act is what is making this whole situation that much worse.

They have told Leno that he can return to his 11:35PM slot, but his show would only be a half hour long (what can you really do in a mere half hour?), and The Tonight Show would be moved back to 12:05AM. Naturally, Conan is understandably not happy with this arrangement, and wants off of The Tonight Show altogether, to perhaps go over to Fox, who has shown interest in him. Leno, who initially agreed to being moved back to 11:35, is now upset with NBC, as well, because they have put him in a bad situation, by making him look like he is trying to screw Conan over, so that he will leave, and he can get his old gig back. It makes him look like he somehow deliberately orchestrated some coup, which is clearly not the case. He is also now threatening to leave the network, feeling that NBC did not honor their contract with him. Newcomer Jimmy Fallon is also getting screwed, by being asked to gladly suffer this debacle in having his show be moved back an extra half hour.

We have also heard that NBC may cancel Conan immediately because they fear he will continue to bash the network in his monologue. And Leno has also been taking his own potshots at NBC. Obviously, the truth hurts, and they would rather see Leno and Conan be painted as the bad guys, rather than themselves. How typical!

So there are clearly no winners in this situation, perhaps except for David Letterman, who is now #1 in the ratings. And, somehow, Jeff Zucker has gotten an extension on his contract, even though he has ruined the careers of two comedians, possibly ruined the name of The Tonight Show, and has made NBC look like total schmucks, not to mention Jay Leno. This is just another case of incompetence getting rewarded.

We’re not sure what will happen to The Tonight Show, The Jay Leno Show, or whether Leno or Conan will stay with NBC. We believe they should both look elsewhere, as NBC is not to be trusted to honor their contracts with either man.

NBC are the only villains in this story, and they learned the hard way that they should have simply left everything alone five years ago when they came up with this whole idea. Now, they want to throw two men under a bus. Only one man should be thrown under that bus, and that’s the man at the top.

Okay, it’s cold, but everyone doesn’t need to complain about it. Let’s get going, it’s 3:00. Not many here. Maybe fifty to a hundred? That’s a big spread. But hey, it’s pedobear! Someone actually bought the pedobear costume and wore it on a day that isn’t Halloween! Bless you! But pedobear isn’t being very pedo; I can be more pederasty than that. Come on kids, invite him to touch you, he wants to if he’s going to be in character. Which he’s not doing a good job of being. Shit. Well, time to ask a stranger to take my picture while I get taken from behind. Don’t overdo it, Eric. There should be a subtlety to staged semi-consensual anal rape. Okay, now people are being more aggressive with their poses. This is a No Pants Subway Ride, guys. Loosen up.

It’s 3:30 and still very cold outside and we can’t wait to take our pants off. Now we’re split into groups by birth month. I know January is statistically a populated birth month, so sure enough, this group is big. Oh, this guy is our group leader? This guy is very nerdy and being ostentatious in that very nerdy way by pointing out the obvious, like a guy who’s really unused to leading groups of people. He has a robust ponytail. His friend has a robust waistline. There are lots of nerds here. Groups of high school or college kids, too. Many couples or couples-in-waiting or pairs of friends who will always have unresolved sexual tension they’ll wonder about in five years time when they’re no longer friends. Damn I’m getting old. Damnit it’s cold. Are other guys worrying about penis shrinkage? I’m sure the many jokes I am hearing about it are more than 70% actual concern.

Okay, we have ten minutes to wait on the metro platform. Okay. I like that these PETA folks assume we’re going to be confronted by the police. Hmm. Knowing I will see you shortly without pants has me thinking I would date a vegan, but they’d have to understand I value fundamentals like leather goods (shoes, belts) and butter. Not possible. And I know that we’re going to all be sans pants in five minutes, but that girl with her pants still on but unbuttoned, wow, that’s sexy. I’m sorry. No, don’t be sorry. This should be semi-sexual, damnit. We’re all going to be checking each other out on some level. That’s why anyone wearing boxer shorts to the knees is copping out. That’s why I wore my tiger socks. Rawr, etc. I hope my penis shows up.

Let’s get on a train guys. We don’t all have to get on the same one, really. The point is emphasized if we spread out. Come on. Why are you huddling towards one end when your pants aren’t even off yet? Oh, you guys want the protection of being in a crowd? Okay. I guess that’s a very safe way to express low-risk rebellion. Can you guys at least quiet down? I thought the humor was the attention-grabbing-yet-understated-wonder-of-it-all. If you tell everyone you have no pants on, you’ve ruined the treat of them discovering “holy shit, those people don’t have pants on.” And yet I don’t want to be the only person on a whole train without pants on. I’ll be one of two, for the purity of it… but wait, what’s the purity of it? I don’t know if it’s subversive (totally not if it’s a ‘tradition’) or spreading unexpected laughs or unexpected fear to families, but for me, I guess, people like being pantsless in their homes. Just do what feels good while spreading serendipity. Yeah, I do hope my penis shows up. I’ll have to restrain myself from any, you know, checks and cradles.

Taking your pants off in a moving subway is harder than I expected. (I don’t know what I was expecting.) This big sleepy tough guy sitting next to me as I take off my pants is not giving off a good energy. I’ll resolve not to sit next to anyone with pants on, especially if it looks like they could eat my arm for lunch.

We’re transferring. I’m on a mission to distribute the pantslessness, so  I’m relieved that three others just came down my way. I don’t need to be the only one pantsless on this car. I’ll stay in and on the metro for as long as it takes me to listen to this album I downloaded this morning twice. God I love this fucking band. Which of these incredibly vivid and clever lyrics should be my status message when I get home? Wait, should I tell the facebooks that I’m pantsless on the subway? Anyway, I’m glad that the memories associated with this album are an actual experience and not just a commute or a drive back to NJ.

Hey, guy who is also alone playing Nintendo DS, I really appreciate you being here. There were a bunch others just like you except he was reading. We guys alone really pick a persona and stick with it, huh? Deep down, irreverence aside, are we solos actually attention whores that are peacocking? Probably. That’s why you’re sitting with your legs spread and I’m wearing red shoes and orange tiger socks. Given the looks I am getting, I can understand why solo girls don’t do this. Female photographer, thanks for paying attention to my shoes. I’ll pull out my New Yorker and complete your picture. Wow, you’re taking lots of pictures. Holy crap, I can see you focusing on my crotch since I’m just pretending to read. WTF, I’ll just pretend you’re trying to juxtapose my underpants and the high-falutin’ middlebrow reading I’m displaying for your camera. I hope my penis doesn’t show up too much. I’ll cross my legs and cover my crotch with my coat. I hope my ass and thighs don’t have stretch marks.

It’s cold here on this platform. I can move to keep warm. Wait, no I can’t. I’m usually obnoxiously showy when I listen to music. I play air drums or pull out a pick and air-play guitar lines. I hope it’s my douchiest habit. But moving my legs actually just makes things colder. I’m also afraid of any jiggling. I mean, given my choice of athletic activities, my legs are probably the least jiggly part of me, but still. I imagine everyone worries about jiggles if you’re alone and half naked, no matter if there are softer others around.

And speaking of softer others, I know, yes, most of us should maybe keep our pants on, guy on the phone telling his friends about this. You can totally laugh at us, group of high school kids. Making faces at us is just making us both uncomfortable, middle school kid. And tourist families averting your children’s eyes, I really am sorry. I think you should lighten up a bit, but I apologize for the other no pants-ers who are drawing way too much attention to themselves.

On the flip side, I’m amused by folks like myself that are reading and listening to music. Some are even wearing sunglasses. I’m sure we’re absorbing a lot of our media. Like a sponge absorbs a telephone. We are wrapping ourselves in cocoons of non-chalance that are actually signs that say “don’t pay me any attention at all. Really. Can’t you read my signs?”

But this no pants thing is really rather comfy. I could get used to this. Oh, it’s already 4:50? Wow. Time goes by quick when you’re listening to music on a subway and staring at asses. Here comes someone with a flier. Is it a debriefing? Oh no. He’s from MARNA, the Maryland Area Naturist Association. Nudists by any other name. You know what, this is the Smithsonian stop, and the mall at sunset is quite lovely. I’ll make this my stop. I’d like to feel warm again. I’m glad I don’t need to worry about my penis.

Anyway, that was my first and probably last no pants subway day. It was fun for what it was as a solo. It seems that going as a group encourages a lot of self-affected crap that is summed up by the DCist comment below, but then again, fun is fun and who am I to put pants on their pantsless party.

On my train yesterday, a girl and her boyfriend were pantsless. Instead of playing it cool and pretending they were going about their normal day sans pants, which is kind of the entire awesome point, they were smiling and looking at everyone on the train and talking way too loudly about their lack of pants. fail.

But really, how efficient is it? After some googling, I found that this provides as many near-substantive perspectives as any. I’d always like to know more, but that’s all I’ve really got for now in terms of substance. I can always talk more after the jump, so I do, including why I started to think about this particular issue that I know even less about than I usually know about things.

My friend had a nightmare experience flying over the holiday after the underpants bomber. They said, “I was talking to [INTENTIONALLY BLANK] last night and we agree: we are so over civil liberties! We should just start profiling!”

There was a jokey tone to this, but it was a sincere sentiment at the time. I was shocked and surprised, natch; I thought we shared that middlebrow enlightenment thing that holds civil liberties sacrosanct, not to mention a healthy dose of empathy for those that would be profiled.

Taking the suggestion at face value as a solution, though, I was reminded of one of Noah’s old tweets: “how long until the explosives are carried subcutaneously? How long until TSA screenings are indistinguishable from vivisections?” So I asked “is the answer to just throw more money towards technological solutions that introduce their own problems, then? (remember those x-ray body scanners? Wear your best underpants to the airport.) It’s a horribly inadequate solution, but if that’s the best we got…?”

Then we had to part ways. Then I saw this piece making the case that spending more money as it’s currently spent is not a solution.

So what then? I have no fucking clue. If I knew, I wouldn’t be blogging about it. That’s why I pointed you towards that Times debate blog first thing. Here it is if you missed it. You might find it long and boring, but it’s more interesting than me.

Have a happy weekend!

I think I mentioned it in the second post: I’m afraid I’m just asking and making pretentious questions and assertions. After a while, how long until this whole blog is just repeating itself not necessarily on topics but in thought processes? Like, “oh shit, if Eric mentions Jersey Shore, he’s going to take it to X-Y-Z.” So sit. Think like I would think (Something like “Um, ice cream truck. Pretty ladies. Pistachio, singular. Internet. Doot doot dooooo, what’s for lunch.”), then not read the rest of this because I’m joining the Jersey Shore talk bandwagon one month too late. Basically, I just want to know: after we’ve been down the Jersey Shore, where else can we go?

I can’t say anything new about the show. There’s a lot out there everywhere. We love it because it’s trashy for trash’s sake. Plenty has been written about Snookie getting punched and the portrayal of violence against women. On the topic of gender, one thing I’m curious about is male grooming to the extreme. In the last ten years, I think all guys have gotten prissier about hygiene – someone who 20 years ago would just use a bar of Ivory in the shower would perhaps be appalled by the multi-step grooming systems detailed on the backs of commonplace Old Spice Body Wash bottles (stuff like Step 1 Cleanse, Step 2 Exfoliate… Step 9. Apply eau de douche).

So much time is spent getting hairdos ready, getting tan, or getting the “perfect” body while the women are, in comparison, kinda soft, just confident they’ll get someone. Isn’t this the opposite of what we normally expect out of guys whose testosterone is boosted to unnaturally high levels?

But what I want to know is this. MTV has said that the show “depicts just one aspect of youth culture” and isn’t intended “to stereotype, discriminate or offend.” What I liked about reading initial reactions to Jersey Shore is that people didn’t know that this cultural community existed while I used to lift weights next to these guys in the suburbs (always amused by their benching twice what I could me while I leg pressed twice what they did. Go cycling.). If MTV actually wants to depict another aspect of youth culture, they can’t just stay at the Jersey Shore. So how many other sub-cultures are out there and where else can they go that seems exotic but safe? Follow around some good old boys in trucker caps and puffy vests drop pills into girls’ drinks at horse races? Go up to Nantucket and watch kids in bowties and Nantucket red pink pants do coke? Given various Italian-American groups protesting the show, they’d have to be careful and not do, say, ricers…

With regards to race, there’s a big bone to gnaw on at Racialicious regarding the whole “Guido” phenomenon and what this show’s protrayal of it means to white America:

Whites can watch the show and “otherize” the people portrayed because they are “Guidos” and not like other whites. Non-whites can watch the show and “otherize” the cast members for the exact same reason. In the cast claiming its subculture and, in turn, imaginary ethnic identity (imaginary in the sense that they seem to lack any real understanding of both old and contemporary Italian elements of culture), they differentiate themselves from other whites despite their being able to shed the markers of fake tans, gel, and extensions in order to simply be perceived as “white” whenever they wish, no questions asked.

Anyway, the Jersey/NewYorkTriState part of me wants to say, “See, the state’s potent! We are little, but mighty in the cultural landscape. Einstein, Edison, Bell labs, Springsteen, Kevin Smith, and Jersey fuckin’ Shore.” I really want other states and regions to have regional douche sub-culture equivalents. Let’s hope they’re found because you know you would watch them, too.

They are what they sound like: pocket sized projectors you can hook up to your laptop, ostensibly for PowerPoint presentations but more likely for videos of ducks getting erections (crazy). Last month, LG actually released the US’s first cell phone with a video projector (PC Mag video). So with this in mind, Noah pointed at the walls of Radegast and said, “In two years, those walls will be covered with YouTube videos, and it’s going to be beautiful.”

I don’t know if I’m able to disagree with him (he can talk circles and squares around me), but I was a bit frightened. I’m sure it’s partly because we were in that most face-to-face social environment that is the long-tabled beer hall, and I’m the third-to-last person I can think of to throw up the “oh no too much technology!” flag but where is the line here? Not in technological advancement, but in our ability to process it?

In this case, the first problem that came to mind was of audio. Transformers III competing with a Miley Cyrus sex video and kittens being cute (those will still be popular in 2012) sounds like something I’d want to listen to, but not in public space. But there’ll be a fix for that, and to be fair, I’m actually not worried that people will project everything everywhere; even if the kids seem all loud and showy and crazy tech savvy (goodness my age is showing), decorum and manners have adjusted with every new feature added to our mobile devices.

But then what? We go from pictures to videos to help me obi-wan kenobi you’re my only hope, but then where is the line? Did the aughts just leave us a nice path to start beating? What we can do now versus 10 years ago is kinda crazy, but not all that unbelievable compared to 10 years ago versus 20 years ago, pretty much because of the internets and cell phones booming (just think about how you got music and how you made plans with friends now vs. 10 vs. 20 years back).

But is this just kinda it? Is it ‘just’ that our devices are going to be more portable, more powerful, more responsive to needs and predicting needs (hello, fridge that tells me when to buy milk)? Will we just have really small things on our persons that tell us everything we need to know, and hopefully this stuff won’t break every two years? Information is going to be flying around and technology and design will make it work for us (I’m not worried so much about being old and unable to use things if old folks now are using Wiis and iPhones), so I wonder if what I wish for is magic and a future that will be unrecognizable to current predictions. Something Huge and Unforeseen that isn’t, like, the Singularity.

Casually explanatory neuroscience is all the rage. We’re learning that our brains are even more efficient at processing data than we thought, so I don’t know if volume is going to be a problem as much as rate – when are our communication technologies going to essentially terminate with regards to development of their underlying principles of delivery? Are people going to be comfortable if the next step is going cyborg? In the name of a faster, more convenient life, will we, say, stop reading about the weather on screens or superimposed visual fields and instead have a weather chip implanted that just makes us aware of the conditions?

Oh shit, I don’t know, I’m getting very tired of thinking and writing. I’m just excited for more awesome shit everywhere, but I want more of a mindfuck than can be supplied by a bunch of drunks watching kittens, Transformers, and Miley on the walls of a beer hall, and I want it not to scare me.

Lazy Sunday. But I should write something because I’ve missed a few days and it’s the last day of my… I don’t know what to call it. It’s not a vacation. It’s not a staycation. Some sort of parallel reality to my life in DC. I keep wanting to call it a fugue state, but that 1) is just my desire to be pretentious talking and 2) does injustice to the fact that all this friend and family love is actually a blessedly real part of my life.

I hate talking about feelings here, but I can’t help but do so after what has been a wacky and wonderful two weeks. I’m sitting here thinking about what to write (I am so not in the zone) and all I can think is annoying personal struggle garbage. Shit. I’m going to talk about tiny portable video projectors tomorrow to make up for it. But for now, I’ll make this an excuse to talk about happiness and people and distance and lord knows what.

For the last few years, it seems that people have written books about and made movies with sub-themes about happiness and what makes it. I haven’t gone out of my way to read or watch too many of them, nor am I old or studied enough to know if this MSM focus on happiness as a goal separate from “success” is a relatively new thing, but the refrain is that old fortune cookie about the richest people being the ones with the richest friendships.

This time at home cemented that. Friends (and family) ran and drank, there were lots of hugs and a few stories about drugs, some kids hooked up and some of us threw up, some made their new relationships public and some got engaged, and we ate together at small tables and big tables in memory of the past year and to the future bright and shining.

But for all the talk about coming back up here, I honestly actually do miss DC and the people I know there. And right now I’m just sort of hating that the impulse to surround yourself with the best folks you know seemingly all too often bumps into the conflicting ambition to make yourself. I’ve got the funny feeling that anyone who’s reading this has been on either end of a move that puts your sweetie many states or countries away for a professional or educational opportunity. Depending on where you’re from or where you went to school, core groups of friends often disband and never have a geographic center again. I’ve known plenty of folks who do the whole “live in one state, fly or train back to home and family for the weekend” thing. Why do we put ourselves through that? I mean, can we be real about this for a second? It fucking sucks!

So assuming that anyone reading this still doesn’t feel entirely “grown up,” do you wonder what it is that separates those that seem to have it all from those who, you know, maybe their husband doesn’t do it all for her, maybe he secretly hates his kids, maybe his job leaves him too exhausted to be as “there” for his loved ones as he wants to? Lives are full of bumps and detours, but I wonder if there’s a connection between locations and relations and feelings of life fulfillment until the point you settle down and make your own permanent home (which means your own family and all to most folks). Right now, I’m shrugging.

Life’s too complicated and lord knows no prescription is ever going to come from me (Join us. And together, we will find a cream.). There are some of you blessed folk whose careers are to create or connect or save and you don’t live at your job and that seems to be half the equation. I’m sure until I’ve got it down I’ll occasionally wonder if it’s a systemic thing. I’m thinking about Bhutan and its official government policy to increase not its GDP but its Gross national happiness. This is a real thing, check it out.

Again, no real point to this screed beyond perhaps figuring out my head and maybe wondering if whoever reads this runs into the same thoughts or lives these thoughts but hasn’t articulated them (because you’re maybe, you know, actually doing something with yourself). I just want to end it with this link to my old friend’s song. Chris and I used to talk about guitars and girlpains and outdoorsy things when we worked together. I’m glad he told me about his project blog: he’s writing a song every day for the next year. I wouldn’t have found his beautiful song about friends, wine, and instant nostalgia otherwise. Follow the link below and follow his blog because he’s a good one.

Day 3: We Should Come Back Here

I’m from New Jersey, and for the last week, I’ve been at my parents’ house in one of the nicer suburbs of New Jersey. Last I checked, downtown has a knitting store and a running store, which is next to a wine store. The movie theater’s marquee was built in the 1920′s and was featured as the last shot of many throughout the town in the opening credits of old NBC show Ed. I think specialty stores and old theater marquees that aren’t dilapidated tell you you’re somewhere safe, prosperous, and quiet.

But many, many times I’ve thought to myself how quiet this place is not. Most of my best friends live in New York but come back out and say how rejuvenating and quiet it is. I guess you could call it Vitamin Q. But sign me up alongside the grumpy old folks who just seem to never get enough when I want it, and I’m worried it’ll be impossible for most people to find in the future.

Out here in the Watchung Hills on the border of a wilderness reservation, you somehow always hear the hum of the highway. It’s New Jersey. It’s dense here. During the blizzard a week and a half ago, I stood in the driveway looking out at the snow and the lights and even then heard the distant rumble of snowplows and what sounded like the echoing whine of my wheels spinning out in the powder.

So what I’m concerned for is this: the exurbs are more developed everyday and more of our populations are moving to urban centers. People have written about the increasing difficulty of living in rural areas: lack of health care (especially for the elderly), rising transportation costs, the difficulty of finding a modern education for the decreasing number of youths. It’s also pretty well-documented that kids really are spending less time outside playing. I hate romanticizing things, and what I know about community management and urban planning begins and ends with what a few friends have told me (if I’m lucky, they’re reading this…), so I don’t want to talk about that.

I’m just a bit sad that Quiet, something that should be easy to find, will only be accessible to the well-to-do, the folks that would be able to afford to get out of the urban areas. I’m not at all outdoorsy, but hiking up Dragon’s Tooth or riding my bike along the edges of the Anza-Borrego Desert and listening to the wind or the cold… these are experiences that I’ll carry with me for life, and a lot of the experience was simply the quiet. I don’t know. I don’t know if We would necessarily lose anything by never being able to find a quiet place, but I think you and I miss out by being unable to step outside and hear only breath.

My favorite one of these maybe ever is The Only Ones’ “Another Girl, Another Planet.” I’m certainly in the camp that thinks this is one of the greatest pop songs of all time, even if the neverending fight in youtube comments about the original version vs. the Blink 182 cover makes me hate the internet.

Straight-forward, sing-alongable, and excitable with a perfect guitar solo, but from the first slurred line (“I could kill” or “I look ill”?) you think maybe he could be drugged out. And yeah, the band did have a little problem with this stuff called heroin. More oldies but goodies about drugs and pets after the jump!

When I was a 15 I thought Mark Kozelek was boring. Then I force fed myself the Red House Painters catalog (to be “cool,” natch. Also, for a girl.) and became a man. Anyway, “Wop-a-Din-Din” is about his cat, and it’s got that thing about Mark Kozelek — if anyone else sang it, you’d think it was silly crap, but he’s just so damn earnest.

Blur’s “Beetlebum” was maybe inspired by Damon Albarn sitting around bed doing heroin (always the heroin!) with his then girlfriend. The song has this sexy lull, making it a horrible PSA.

Finally, it’s the La’s! More jangle with hints of confused melancholy! And it’s about heroin again! I want more songs about chocolate chip cookies. Can this happen? (Cold pizza for breakfast has already been done by Christine Lavin) Anyway, introduced to a generation by Christian college radio faves Sixpence None the Richer, how many millennial teenyboppers in the late 90s knew the song’s provenance and did Sixpence find the situation delightful themselves?

SO MY QUESTION TO YOU IS can you please name other songs that play this trick? Particularly newer things. That might end up being every other love song of the last 50 years, but they’re just such fun…

Even though we are longtime Dallas Cowboys fans here at The Federation, we feel sorry that the Indianapolis Colts’ chance at a perfect season was ruined by such a bad decision by team president Bill Polian and head coach Jim Caldwell to deliberately bench their top players in the 3rd quarter against the New York Jets yesterday, in order to “rest” them for the playoffs. That decision cost them not only the game, but a chance to be the first team to potentially go 19-0. The New England Patriots came within a minute of achieving that distinction two years ago, only to lose the Super Bowl to the New York Giants in one freak play.

We think it is disgraceful to practically “throw” a game that the Colts clearly should have won. It is never acceptable for teams or players to lose on purpose. It’s one thing if the team had already lost a game during the year. But they hadn’t. They were on the road to perfection. And their leadership let them down. The decision would have been the correct one if the Colts had been up by 3 TDs, perhaps, but not when the game was as close as it was. They should have let QB Peyton Manning & co. stay in the game and fight it out.

No matter how much Manning or any of the other players toe the company line and say that this loss isn’t a big deal, and that winning the Super Bowl is the real goal (which, ultimately, it is), there is no way that they cannot be disappointed to have their chance at perfection taken away from them in such a manner. They have worked extremely hard all year, and deserved their shot. It is so difficult for any team to be perfect throughout an entire season (again, think of the 2007 Patriots) but to lose in this fashion is disgraceful. What kind of message does it send to their players? That it’s sometimes okay to deliberately lose?

We also feel sorry for their fans. They were clearly angry and disappointed with the decision, and rightly so. It must be very discouraging for them to see the head coach of their team decide that being perfect is not really important. It doesn’t inspire much confidence or inspiration. Plus, they pay good money to see players of Manning’s caliber on the field, and to do everything they can to win every game — not to play the final quarter and a half as if it’s nothing more than an exhibition game.

The question now is whether this will help the Colts to win the Super Bowl. But “Coltsthink” has failed by making boneheaded decisions like this in the past.
The Colts tried this end-of-season “preservation” approach in 2005 and 2007, and then lost their first playoff game each time. In 2006, though, when they were forced to fight to the end, they won the Super Bowl. Coincidence? Perhaps.

We realize that there is a chance that they could have lost anyhow to the Jets, or could lose next week against Buffalo (highly doubtful), and therefore their shot at perfection would have been lost one way or another. With their president and head coach making the decision for them, though, they will now never know what might have been.

I went to my first professional football game in something like 15 years last Monday. I’ve been going to a fair number of footy (soccer) matches in the past few years. I guess I’d like to say the energies are different.

There are books and entire fields of study devoted to European, specifically English, football fandom/tribalism/hooliganism. Supporters’ club memberships and tickets are passed down generations, the layout of the stands pits fans as well as players against one another (like in certain college stadiums/arenas, there are separate home and away areas), and, you know, these things and a million others lead to the violence and clashes.

We don’t really have that here. Going to soccer matches here is actually charming — I think fans act like they think they should act at soccer games. I’ve seen supporters clubs outside Giants stadium, a mass of over 100 people, chanting in each others’ faces as the cops stand on high alert. Fans heckle each other a lot (seats, bathrooms, concession stands), and there are always people asking “are we in the right section?”, i.e. with the right supporters. But most of the time, really, there’s an overall happiness just to be among genuine soccer fans. People wear jerseys from their favorite teams even if they’re not playing. Watching high-quality soccer is just a treat, which is why the tribal posturing is extra charming until actual fights do break out, which they do.

I was expecting this at the Giants-Redskins game I went to. When I took off my big winter coat, I expected to be booed for my Blue and Red ensemble. But no. Opposing fans sit next to each other. No heckling. Private celebrations and private groans. Maybe it’s because the game was a horrible blowout (GO G-MEN!), but well, I dunno. As always, more data is needed. After all, there was that scandal about Jets fans harassing and coercing women into Mardi-Gras style “reveals.” Perhaps Redskins fans are just soft (bless their hearts). This might warrant further research into the role sport plays in society (jesus, didn’t i already try to talk about that?), but not now. My tummy hurts and I want to write, nap, run, eat.

And so ends the worst blog post yet, I think. Not every one can be a Frank Sidebottom, sadly.

Anyway, I just got in from a quick run in 40 degree rain. If you’ve never run in that sort of weather, yes, it is pretty miserable. But only for a little while. As this Times article from last month (“Train the Mind to Run Right Through Winter”) points out, people that are new to regular exercise are typically the ones who give up in bad weather. Over time (for me it took years, to be honest), you really don’t mind it. In fact, the writer says, you begin to embrace it:

My friend Jen Davis, a physical chemist, uses a term from chemistry: Running on dreary days requires high activation energy, she says. In chemistry, activation energy is what must be added to start a reaction.

But those of us who exercise in all sorts of weather will attest that there is a certain thrill that can come from terrible conditions. “It makes us tough,” Jen said. She calls our runs in horrendous conditions “epic runs.” And she’s right. They are truly memorable, ones we actually recall fondly.

There also are epic bike rides, as Richard Armington will attest. Rich, a software engineer in Montgomery, N.J., rode 200 miles over two days in a cold rain recently.

Going forward, you hear about people’s ‘epic’ rides/runs and learn that the thrill comes from the discussion that comes with completing such an unnecessary challenge. Great, I’ve been there many times, I have friends that have been there, and sure we talk about it.

But if I don’t share my “epic” workout with someone, if I run or ride alone (which I almost always do), the explanation that the thrill is derived from the idea that it makes for a good story feels superficially bullshitty to me. I’m not super-satisfied with running 16 miles alone in 30 degree temperatures because it makes my status message look “cool” on facebook. It’s something deeper as real pain sets in and it becomes a struggle of attrition.

Sure, I guess it’s a man vs. nature thing. But I wonder if it’s something more specific even than that. When doing intervals and hard workouts, I know I can stop anytime, but I feel like I need to put myself through this suffering almost because modern life in general is so incredibly soft. I’m about to start reading this year’s hot running book, Born to Run, which examines long-distance running and makes the case that the human species evolved to be long-distance runners, that it’s fundamental to how we hunted and migrated. There’s a story the author lived through, in which he joins a group of indigenous people in actually running down a gazelle over the course of 10 miles. Now that’s fucking epic. We learn that over marathon distances, no animal is faster than us on foot, including horses. Nice.

Much like my reason for doing pull-ups is connected to wanting to be able to pull myself up for survival were I dangling from a ledge, I think the thrill and satisfaction that comes with completing an ‘epic’ workout is connected to some deep part of the brain that’s only massaged and tickled when you push yourself beyond what’s considered reasonable by modern standards. It’s like tapping physical and mental resources that are swollen with neglect,  areas fundamental to the survival of the species but now unnecessary for our daily survival.

There is no Big Hunt in the 21st century. But there are big runs and big rides from which you come back feeling famished but full of stories that feel worthy of painting on cave walls, and when you’ve had your fill of the modern cuisine of your choice, the nap that follows is something for the ages.

I guess they’re finding that dopamine, the neurotransmitter of the moment that is associated with feelings of well-being and reward, is actually fired in anticipation of reward, not when you actually get a reward. This could explain why that shiny new TV seems like such a non-transformative letdown when you actually sit down to watch your first football game on it after months of researching and saving, why habit and repetition cause dopamine “boredom.” Maybe Christmas is a bit like that. We outgrow toys and presents, some outgrow spending it with the family and move onto spending it with friends, some decide to stop celebrating it altogether. Then after New Year’s, there’s the post-holiday hangover as winter stretches on through March.

I don’t know that I’ve had an original thought in my life, but I’m definitely not going to talk about the most precious gifts in life being free. That’s no fun. Damnit, I like good socks.

But the last two years in review are kinda summed up by our shitty economy, and of course that effects Christmas and the consumerism that is a necessary part of its celebration (and it is a necessary part of Christmas as we know it. Put the Christ back in Xmas all you want, but motherfuckers still like tinsel and indulgent parties.). The numbers back up the sense that Christmas is being pared down. Only 77 percent of families are exchanging gifts this year, compared to 85 percent in 2005. This year, the most expensive item in the Neiman Marcus catalog is a $25k cupcake car that pales in comparison to past offerings like the $20 million submarine and $1.76 million chartered Virgin Galactic flight.

But as far as I can tell, people still get giddy when the manic piano kicks in before Mariah tells us she only wants us this Xmas. There’s the wonderful cultural push to have our young folks get out of areas like finance and back into creative and research jobs, things with more social rather than cash value. And so shit, despite my efforts, through the snowy haze you can see the outline of the trope about “the best gifts in life are free.”

But I’d like to take it just one little step further. Based on my stats, it’s a fair bet to say that if you’re reading this, I know you and I know you pretty well. My life is so much richer because of that. What I’m most thankful for this year and every year has nothing to do with Christmas.

You’re all so smart, talented, flippin’ hilarious, creative. I don’t know how I have friends who write books, rok the art werld, change people’s lives and change the world we live in in real, tangible ways. I’m just an unwashed guy watching basketball at my parents’ place, typing. I hope that doesn’t make my thanks to you for everything (including visiting this silly blog and reading it) mean anything less. Considering I have very little to give as far as presents go, I most want you and yours to have the merriest damn Christmas ever. I can’t wait to hit “publish” on this post so I can jump in the shower and head over to my cousins’ and gain a pound or two.

But if the most valuable gifts are the ones that are free, they’re the gifts that are part of our lives every day. We shouldn’t be thankful for them just on Christmas. I want to be able to wake up tomorrow and the day after that and the week after that and feel thankful. If I didn’t have a home, if my family didn’t have its happiness, if other friends didn’t have health, I think I’d still be alright, knowing you got my back. So, have a Merry Christmas – but more importantly, have a Merry Any Day.

Racing alongside a person and a machine that doesn’t know it’s being raced, I think of doing specialized workouts with labor analogs, I think of my years of endurance athletics, and I think of poor John Henry, the best man of many, dying in his race against the steam-drill. Then I think of John Connor fighting the machines, but I will stick to John Henry for right now, after the jump.

There’s a lot to take away from John Henry. It’s pretty obvious. I’m no folklorist, and there are plenty of themes that precocious middle schoolers would talk about. There’s anti-industrialism. There’s the noble pride of man’s work (though I doubt the real John Henry [of which there were many in the rail business but allegedly two 'real' possibilities in West Virginia and Alabama] found much reward in pride, and in many cases the race is a wager first and defense of character second). There’s dying while fulfilling destiny.

Traditional songs and bluegrass standards take it further. A lyrical sampling is very rewarding. You find some stuff about race in there, about love… I mean, obviously, he’s myth and legend, which means that, I suppose, he can be anything to anyone.

So gosh, where am I going with this? Looking over at that snowblower, gosh, is it the end of the American myth? Fuck, I hope not. I hate romanticizing that kind of bullshit. I only want to sweat by choice, not for money. I get to post this shit and things on Facebook at my white collar office job. And if one more person mentions technology leading to loss of soul while ignoring the relations it builds and doors it opens, I will taze them and force them to wear twigs and leaves and eat unwashed berries.

So if there is a point to my thoughts, it’s that I don’t care that we don’t have a John Henry for nowadays. That’s not a loss. We have popular culture. I guess that’s what movies and TV are for, why we have sports heroes and read comic books, right? They didn’t have those back in late 19th century coal country. Maybe it’s ‘sad’ if the American worker we all want to be is Peter Gibbons and that we can all relate to Jim Halpert, all awkward sexual tension and mild diffident humor. Yes, John Henry could kick both of their asses with one hand while driving in spikes with the other. Paul Bunyan took shits bigger than either of them. But that’s cool. I bet they wouldn’t have played with sock puppets, and that’s their loss.

I should get back to shoveling whatever this is….

1) Update daily, even during the upcoming Xmas/New Year’s vacation. Multiple times daily if I find good videos or podcasts (this one excited me sexually while driving down yesterday. It is so very safe for work. He uses the word ’twere. Do you hear that faint sound of fluids rushing? That’s the blood coursing through my loins.). That’s a bit of pressure for a very small audience,  but I need pressure in my life. Really.

2) Should I just keep asking stupid questions that are maybe only interesting to me? No, not just that. I should research and share and tell you about the stupid things I ask about. That might make it slightly more interesting and actually “educational.” Edutainment is what Nintendo Power called it when I was in elementary. That’s what I’m going for. For example, this page would have been great to have last January when I ran around Durham looking for shit for smoking, BUT I found out last month that the Walgreens $10 single burner has been updated in design. The internals are the same so you can still separate heating element from housing, but the housing is a big square bullshit (like you’d find at Target), so if you want that spare round design that is perfect for smoking, I’d advise going online. There you go, life lesson imparted. Now go forth and propagate.

3) Finally, pictures. I need more visuals. Here’s the best of what comes up when you google image search “unicorns fucking.”

You’re welcome. Possibly expect something about football on both sides of the Atlantic, John Henry, or dead languages later today.

So let’s talk avatars being more than just a gchat status icon or statues that the very geeky will buy themselves for Xmas. We won’t discuss the religious history.  I find myself wondering about the blending of real lives and avatars as the internet and social media in particular is woven more and more into daily life and the emerging culture (kids are the future!), especially for folks who have never played a video game ever.

My first question is one of personal historiography. I look back on Thursday afternoon through Sunday night as depicted in that album and I think “wow, yeah, that was kinda cool.” But was that my weekend, really? Over time, this might be all I remember of it because that is what’s on record — that’s what I’m choosing to put on record, like I’m trying to convince myself I have fun-to-the-max any old four days in December. So as we live and share more and more of our lives with the ether, perhaps editing for work-appropriateness and kool-kid factor, how do we separate our real selves from the projection when the projection really is us forging an idealized self-identity out of real-life components?

We don’t. I don’t think we want to. As my friend Kendra once pointed out, Facebook can make you feel horrible when you’re in a funk because you’re only seeing the exciting, good parts of people’s lives: the weddings, road trips, company parties. By putting these things on display, this is how we’re relating to each other, and as technology increasingly paves the way to establishing relationships with people exclusively through media, well the media is real, isn’t it?

Real avatars (oxymoron?) aren’t The Matrix or Second Life or WoW or Descartes or a brain-in-a-vat. By living more and more of our lives online, our avatars are becoming inseparable from ourselves. As seen in the Times article linked above, some kids are finding this situation unworkable, eliminating the online. But what about in 20 years? What’s the online/real-world balance going to look like then? Can you remember computers 20 years ago? Can you remember 12 years ago when having a cell phone was unusual? Oh, how exciting!

I realized the other week my twitter identity is someone who only tweets late at night, often drunk or sad or amused at concerts. The general inanity of match.com is almost always more fascinating than the people on it. And we’ve talked facebook already.

Maybe this is why I prefer phone conversations over text messaging, why despite being obvious an Facebook fan, I’ve been able to give it up in a second for long stretches (I kinda hate my new phone, btw: Facebook is too easy.). But for how much longer? Video-conferencing, telepresence, motherflippin’ holograms. People made a big deal of Esquire’s augmented reality issue. Might augmented relationships some day be able to serve as full substitutes for real-world relationships? Perhaps a sign: the number of Japanese men getting married to and sharing lives to non-living entities. We might find it sad, but their feelings of love, security, and support are real. There is no judgment here, just, you know, as always, sci-fi teaches us about ourselves in the future….

* Post title stolen from this book which I should probably read.

Sidenote: I think I use the words folks in writing too much. Writing is supposed to be like any activity in that you get better and faster at it with more practice, but I wonder if I am practice imperfectly. Time to read the big scary books sitting in the corner of my apartment and hope they efekt mai vox.