Oh That's So Ironic

I got an email today from Norton Anitvirus titled: How To Get Rid Of Your Junk Mail!. The irony of the situation was unavoidable as I followed the instructions to unsubscribe myself from future mailings.

Again, I'm sitting in an airport, so again I fire up the ol' blogger. It's too early to call anyone, and there's nothing interesting on facebook. Admittedly, I feel pretty self-conscious right now sitting here on my little netbook, blogging away with my noise-reduction headphones, sipping my Starbucks vanilla late, being all trendy and hip. If I had a Timbuk2 satchel, square-framed glasses, and some classic Russian literature next to me (with post-it page reminders), you would not be in the wrong to slap me upside the head, sending my headphones flipping through the air in perfectly ironic little twirls.

But I don't. So please don't hit me.

In fact, despite my hipster-guise, I am most likely going to be quite the popular guy at Delta gate #20. Because I am a ticket-holding passenger in an airport one day after a flight-cancelling snowstorm. That means if I am willing to change my plans, I stand to make a nice little profit on my ticket. I brought sidewalk chalk and a poster-board with me for just this occasion. Next to me sits a sign that says "Please have all offers in written form and signed", and the chalk outlines the a switchback line. I await the throngs of desperate wealthy business travelers who will sign away the keys to their BMW to make that all-important meeting in Minneapolis today (I only accept 2006 models and later, unless proper and present warranty information is disclosed). So please, form an orderly single-file line. No personal checks.

And please stop knocking my headphones off. They are quite expensive.

Blog-o-sphere

I felt that it would be mildly appropriate, and notably pun-worthy, to add to the blogosphere while I am high in the troposphere. This is the first time that I have been able to enjoy wifi internet on an airplane, and I can tell you right now, it is awesome. Thank you Skynet... I mean Google, for your seemingly charitable contribution of free internet. I hope that when you activate all of our laptops with your secret Google-Signal and they grow legs and little laser-beam-mind-melting-death-rays to enslave humanity, you will remember the kind words I have spread on your behalf. If I see John Connor, I would be happy to report him directly to you.

This experience of in-flight internet just seems too good to be true for a cheapskate, back-row flier like myself. I've never flown first class, never used an in-flight phone, and never purchased any food (since the time I got food poisoning from the fish). So to have instant access to the world of facebook, gmail, and facebook makes me feel like I living in a lap of luxury. 

Sadly, my first reaction when I heard about the wifi (which is presented on a bumper sticker "Free Wifi!" on the exterior of the plane next to the entrance bulkhead) was that of relief. I have never been on a flight without thinking, even if just for a fleeting moment, that this might be my last days on earth. But now, if something goes tragically wrong with the plane, I will be able to at least send out a quick email, or maybe a facebook post like "Whelp... I had a good run!" followed shortly by "P.S. better watch out if you live in the Buffalo, NY area". Afterward, I would have a few remaining seconds to friend some random people, so they really freak out when they look my name up the next day.

But that's the alarmist in me speaking. After all, in Malcolm Richard's book "The Tipping Point", he outlines how many checks and balances go into keeping a plane safe. He points out that a total of 7 things need to go wrong for a plane to actually go down. For some people that seems like a lot. I would still feel better if that number were closer to 250, or if the plane were only made out of 6 pieces. "You know we're sitting on four million pounds of fuel, one nuclear weapon and a thing that has 270,000 moving parts built by the lowest bidder. Makes you feel good, doesn't it? "

Happy Holidays everyone. Travel safely, and keep an eye on your laptops...

Feel like you missed a reference or two? Stop having such a productive life and watch more movies. Most notably: Terminator, Transformers, Airplane!, Armageddon

While I think that Ethan and Joel Coen swung and missed on their last venture "A Serious Man", it looks like they are back on track with "Tru Grit". I think they took a step backwards into the realm of the Josh Brolin/western/all-around-bad-ass aura that won them an Oscar. If there are two things that the Coen brother's can do well, they are rural-set films (No Country, O' Brother), and Jeff Bridges (Lebowski, Hyundai commercials).

Just like I don't usually want to read the book before I see a movie, because it ruins the experience, I don't think I want to watch the original "True Grit" first. Actually, after watching the trailer, I don't think I ever want to see the original.

Cram Session

Arduous, vexed, spent

Organic Chemistry: hard

Haiku's are easy

Racing

Ski racing isn't what it once was for me. In the past, I would spend countless hours of my spring summer and fall training: running, rollerskiing, and weight lifting. Actually the hours weren't countless, they were in fact very counted. And not only were they counted, but they were categorized, organized and analyzed. Did I do enough intervals this year? How much of my distance training was done above a heart rate of 160 BPM?

Now, however, ski training is something that happens when I get too antsy to sit still on front of a book or computer. In fact, I wouldn't even call it "training", but more of an attempt not to lose every ounce of general fitness that I once possessed.

I was looking forward to starting off this year's racing schedule off with a nice little 6K. Hardly a race, it's more aptly labeled a time-trial. So when I lined up at the starting line with about 6 other skiers, I was content in knowing that we could cruise through the race at a very reasonable pace, and I could successfully hide how truly out of shape I am.

That idea, went straight to hell when I realized that one of the six skiers has ACTUALLY BEEN TRAINING! I know, right? In a situation like that, the only reasonable thing to do is let the faster skier move ahead and realize that it doesn't make sense to kill yourself on what is essentially the first hard workout of the year.

Well, "reason" and I sat down together a long time ago and amicable agreed to never set foot in the same room. So I had no choice but to make my poor legs and lungs follow this far better trained athlete for as...long...as...I...possibly...could... (spoken in a gritty voice through clenched teeth).

No "citizen racer" is going to beat me! I said to my self, in scolding tone. Sadly, it took me until lap 4 of 4 to realize that I am now a "citizen racer" as well. And as I glided past the finish line in 2nd place, bent over my knees like I was just hit in the chest by a sledge hammer, reality struck me. It hit me pretty hard too, because I was in the lodge for 20 minutes after that with my head on my arms at the table, trying with ever ounce of my body, not to die of self-inflicted injuries.

I can just see "reason" laughing over there in the corner (in a different room). And reason keeps telling me not to go back next week...

Testing. Testing 1-2

It's been a long while since I posted on this ol' thing. I'm not sure what's making me sit down and start typing again. Maybe it's the countless hours the left side of my brain has monopolized my thoughts with physics, ochem, and biology. Maybe it's the topsy-turvy schedule of shift work at the hospital. Or, maybe, just maybe, this is the last gasping, dying breath from the right side of my brain before it atrophies, emulsifies, and then drains out of my ear during some final cram session at 3AM. Whatever the reason, it feels good to string together some sentences that aren't work-related. Also, if you aren't following the whole "right vs. left" side of the brain theme, please watch the entertaining and informative anatomy lesson by The Dream (below).

It does seem, however, that I might run into problems with blogging again. Whereas before I was working slow, tedious, sanity-questioning hours at a bank, I am now pleasantly happy with my employment. I also am fairly content with my classes, and living situation. I can't rely on my new "content life" musings to match up against my caffeine-binge blog entries of maniacal gonzo-ism from yesteryear. Where Hunter S. Thompson had his LSD, mescaline, and acid, I was armed with 2 gallons of freshly consumed free bank coffee and the prospect of not needing to budge a cranial neuron for the next six hours (this totally explains why HAL went insane "I'm sorry Dave, but I cannot deposit that").

Aaaaanywho. Here's to hoping that I can get this blog back up and running, maybe even get the traffic back up to it's glory days (12 hits/day!). Now go ahead and watch the aforementioned "The Dream" video below. The Dream may be a huge tool, but he can put out some great babymakin' music, that's for sure.

Video Update

Part I:



part II:

Part III: And The Shoes Fit So Well That I Pulled a Forest Gump

Or at least that's a really good excuse for not posting a blog in God-knows how long. Actually it's really easy to see how long. About 4 months. Yikes.

Truthfully, I have been disposed of for the past six months. It's actually a long story. But it's an amazing story. Full of wonder, excitement, thrills, laughter, sadness, and a little bit of nausea. Some would even call it epic. But it isn't for the faint of heart, so read on at your own risk:

It all started back in September...

I was what you would call a 'returning student'. After graduating St. Olaf in '06 and receiving a perfectly functional diploma and a perfectly adequate degree, with a perfectly sizable student loan, I decided, out of the blue mind you, that I needed more. There was something missing. Economics had grown stale with the economy, and solipsism reeked in the ranks of those who utilized it. I wanted concrete answers, not just theories and probabilities and graphical interpretations. So I turned to science.

Science, it seemed, was the only refuge from the calamity. So, with great purpose and fervor, I registered online at the University of Minnesota to take classes in Biology, Physics and Chemistry. Classes that would sharpen my mind, broaden my horizons, and crush my sense of intellectual confidence. I told Wells Fargo that my experience with them was invaluable, and that I appreciated everything that was done for me, and I hoped that they would not be slighted by my decision to leave. They said whatever. I'm sure I will be missed. I said farewell to my cubicle as I left. Wait... was that my cubicle? Or is that mine over there? Damn, they all look alike. I think this one was mine...

But what of science? Of the great celestial spheres, and the humors of the human body, and the magical forces that pulled the Sun across out sky by a chariot of flaming horses? This was the new direction of my life.

So there I stood, in front of the Tate Hall of Physics. New shoes on my feet, headphones in my ears, and backpack on my... well, on my back. It was time to learn how the world really works. So I summited the marble steps and crossed the precipice. Opening a door that would would lead to the most unexpected and remarkable adventures ever to grace the thoughts of man...