Home from camp

I picked up Natalie from Gwynn Valley on Tuesday.  She had an excellent time there, and has in particular gotten excited about riding horses.  Naturally, I have scheduled time with a certified financial planner to map out the ramifications of this newfound love.

No but seriously.  I now have a new picture on my desktop.  It's a little small, I need to go back to the camp website and buy a higher quality one.  But I think you get the point from looking at it. She is very happy.

When I look at the picture, I almost instinctually sit up straighter, as part of a shared posture improvement drive Mary and I have embarked upon recently.  I also try to concentrate more on my work to bring home them ducats, at least when I'm not blogging.

Final thoughts on World Cup winners and losers

I just need to say once more, the biggest loser of the World Cup was not France, not Italy, but the Fox Soccer Channel.  And our buddies at FSC did nothing to earn this maltreatment at the hands of FIFA.  The worked diligently and enthusiastically to pump up the volume leading into the tournament, and then got served up... still images.  It was sad to watch them try to wax eloquent about still photos, when ESPN and ABC and FIFA.com got to show all the highlights.

If I wasn't having a strange allergic reaction to my couch right now, I'd be in their watching Premier League reruns from 2007 just to show my undying devotion.

High seriousness

Morrissey is like the Steve Martin of rock and roll.  Not every record is great, but he is remarkably consistent, and he can veer into territory where others dare not tread.

As in below:

Always be careful when you abuse the one you love
The hour or the day no one can tell
But one day "goodbye" will be "farewell"
And you will never see the one you love again

Hmmm.  Morrissey's writing about death, again. Nobody else writes songs about death like this.

I think it's because heterosexual people in the developed world don't have the same experience of death that gay men who came of age in the 80s did. And secular straight people don't have a ritual or devotional context for dealing with or thinking about death, outside of movies.  And, perhaps, Morrissey.

And in the back, his drummer, pounding out a furious, improbable beat, as if to underscore the speed of life's passing.

The Talent Given Us

Rarest of rarities, multiple recommendations in a single day.  Rent The Talent Given Us.  It has a different pace than most.  Watch the whole thing.  Then watch the credits.  Then watch the short about the making of the film. 

I'd rather not say more.

A new contender

I am pleased to say that I have been blown away by another book, to wit, Peter Hessler's Country Driving.  The book divides into 3 sections:  the first is about driving along "the Great Wall" (actually, lots of different great walls) in China's hinterlands.  The second is about the village of Sancha, north of Beijing, where Hessler and a friend rented a small house for some years to get away from the city. The third is about a factory in a new city in a "development zone" in the South of China.

When I read the review, I remember thinking the driving around part would be interesting. It was kind of good, but -- like Rory whatever his name is's The Places In Between and Patrick Leigh Fermor's A Time of Gifts, the review was more spellbinding than the book itself.  The second two sections -- where Hessler settles down and gets to know a place and its inhabitants -- are brilliant.

The best way to think about it is to compare him to Michael Lewis -- and he is the rare active nonfiction writer (of my admittedly limited sample) who compares favorably to Lewis (OK.  Michael Pollan does too).. Lewis is attracted to exceptional people and situations, and is a brilliant stylist. He is, in fact, all too often blinded by his own virtuosity.

Hessler, by contrast, is a simply a keen observer with the patience to sit and watch things change over time. Yes, he writes well, but mostly he cares about what he writes about, and it comes through. The section about Sancha, where he befriends a family and in particular their young sun, reaches a rare intensity when the boy gets quite ill and the author becomes an extremely active participant in saving the kid's life. When reading Lewis's The Big Short, I stayed up late reading because the writing and the narrative were engrossing.  When reading Country Driving -- and in particular when the kid was sick -- I stayed up late reading because I needed to know that the kid was going to be OK.

All I can say is that, as soon as I post this, I'm going to Amazon to put Hessler's other books on my wish list.  I'll be sure to buy them soon.



*Speaking of Lewis, I heard him speak at Sungard's New York City day a few weeks back. Again, he's brilliant, but it was basically Charlie Rose live, only the guy he was sitting with wasn't as good as Charlie Rose.  He dialed it in, gave us the 25-minute synopsis of his book, and then walked off.

once more, My Brightest Diamond

Code of conduct

I went to the dry cleaner today to pick up some shirts. They were ridiculously expensive to freaking launder and press.  Thanks to jah that I mostly wear t-shirts these days. In any case, I take comfort from the dry cleaner's Code of Conduct, as posted on its wall, which states that it does not engage in "gender-based pricing."  Excellent.

Prediction -- Germany vs. Spain

I haven't watched any of the game yet, though I'll tune in for a little. I want to go on the record as saying that -- though I'd prefer Spain to win, I think Germany will take it today.  I think the overhang of the debt crisis will be reflected on the pitch.  Germany is strong now and calls the cards in Europe.  Spain is a supplicant.  I think this dynamic will play out on the field.

Sadly, I think much the same thing happened between Ghana and Uruguay.  Uruguay believed in itself -- in this context -- and did what it took to win, however nasty.  Ghana did not believe in itself at the penalty line.  It was a failure of will.

Doubtless many will censure me for this Nietzschean logic.

Trip to the mountains

This weekend we drove out to Asheville, and then Brevard, to take Natalie to camp.  As I had mentioned.

I had gotten Natalie all excited about not just going to camp, but also about staying in a relatively fancy hotel.  The Hilton Biltmore Park did not disappoint, though it was right next to an interstate.  Natalie was quite impressed that both the area around the sink (the vanity, or whatever) and the window ledge were made of granite, though I don't think they actually were.

The beds were quite nice though, and they were placed a fine distance apart.  So I introduced the kids to the fine art of jumping from bed to bed.  Graham was first to get into it, while Natalie maintained an ironic distance.  This could not be sustained for long.  Soon they were both diving from bed to bed in time together, innovating a wide range of knee-bouncing techniques.

We went into Asheville, and had a fine meal at the Early Girl eatery (which Marvin later told me was owned and run by our boy Butch's brother).  This place rocks. Very mellow, welcoming, and understated, the kind of place Chapel Hill desperately needs.  Out on the streets of Asheville, there was a wide range of buskers and tourists.  I could tell that Natalie thought the street performers were wierd and distasteful.  She is at that phase.

The next day we set off for Brevard and Gwynn Valley.  It was as lovely as I remembered it, and strikingly open air, much more so than I recalled.  It seems as if there are no actual windows in the whole place, including the dining hall. Only screens. Natalie was quite nervous by the time we got her to her cabin, and very ready for us to get out of there and let her meld with her peers, which, as the picture above seems to indicate, she seems to have done.  Before we left I bought a hat and a t-shirt(which I am wearing now). I also waded in the creek.

Graham, unfortunately, had a major tantrum moment after we dropped her off.  Having been up till 10 the night before, a lack of sleep had something to do with it. Leaving his sister at camp was also a factor.  Mostly he wanted to get back to the hotel, bounce on the beds, and watch Liberty's Kids.  All of which we did, in due time.

Sunday, however, was more his speed.  As planned, on the way back we stopped by the Guilford Courthouse National Battle Ground site, the turning point of the southern campaign of the Revolution, where the Brits enjoyed a pyrhhic victory but began their inexorable slide towards humiliation at Yorktown. We were pleased (if underwhelmed) to see that our stimulus money had put a fresh coat of asphalt down on the parking lot and all the roads through the woods. But that's a matter for another blog.

Graham was totally psyched to watch the videos about the war, especially the one which depicted the broad narrative course of the war up to the Guilford Courthouse battle.  The 30-minute movie about the battle, which featured a bunch of pretty talented and dedicated if sporadically superannuated reenactors, was a little too naturalist and bloody for our youngun. We should have heeded the parental guidance sign posted outside the auditorium.

All told, it was a hit.  Graham informs me that we need to get back there soon, possibly for his birthday, and that we will only visit revolutionary war museums that have similar videos.

Gwynn Valley

Taking Natalie to camp at Gwynn Valley this weekend. I'm so excited for her. An awesome place.

Revulsion

I must say that, thinking back to the last acts of the Uruguay-Ghana game, all I can feel is revulsion.  I mean, I didn't really care who won, I was fine with either one. They're both underdogs.

But then Ghana, by a miracle of miracles, actually headed the ball into the net on the last play.  It was going in.  The Uruguayan did what he had to do, he hit it with his hand, and got a red card.  But Ghana had it going in.

And then Ghana collapsed, to its great shame.  But they had really won, and lost only to a clever bit of rules arbitrage, really a heads up play by Suarez or whatever his name was, but it just wasn't fair.  And I don't think it's good for the sport.  But soccer isn't going anywhere.  You really can't hurt it.

Digital Concepts $20 camera from Sakar International of Edison New Jersey

Natalie needed a cheap camera to go to camp.  The camp recommended a disposable camera, but Mary hated to do that, so she bought a $20 camera from Sakar International of Edison, New Jersey at Rite Aid.  DO NOT REPEAT HER MISTAKE.

For some reason to make the camera work you need to install software on your computer first, and then install from there onto the camera.  The installation disk wheezed.  Just to copy some inert *.png files, it practically froze up.  After about 30 minutes it had not completed the install. I used Task Manager to force it to stop.

It seems to have messed up a script on my Windows Active Desktop.  It may have tampered with my Trend Micro Anti-Virus (I'll ask the IT support guys tomorrow).  For all I know it sprayed all kinds of viruses and spyware all over this cheap brick of a Dell my employer gives me.  Resist the siren call of the digital camera that seems to cheap to be true. It probably is.

Right now I'm going to back up all my files.

Running and Blockus

Last night was a little cooler here in the Piedmont. Graham and I went out by the lake for some running races and, if you'll believe this, he beat me every time!  Amazing.  No but seriously, he is getting faster.  We must encourage this running thing.  Low tone resolves from the bottom up. It was the case with me too, I excelled first at running, then at other physical stuff.

In other news, Natalie and I played our second game of Blockus last night.  The first time we played it resulted in a dead tie as we each got all our pieces down, which made us realize that we needed to get more players in to make the game more challenging, so we invited the unsuspecting Mary.  Natalie and I both kicked off trying to get strategic on the other, but Mary didn't know anything about the game.  In the end, Mary humiliated both of us, crushing us by multiple squares.  She claimed to know nothing, but I think in fact she had been practicing on the sly.

Toy Story 3 -- a scary part

This is a very good movie, even in 2-D. I will confess that I am a pure sap (as many of you may have figured out), so I am very reachable by a sweet little story about friends and growing older and moving on etc.

If you can believe it, it was my first time to the movies with Graham. Thankfully, it wasn't insanely loud. For many years we wouldn't take him to the pix for fear his sound sensitivity would kick in, but this was OK. 
I wouldn't have expected this movie to have a scary part (plot spoiler here), but as all the toys are staring down the maw of an incinerator and they join hands in resignation to their fate in a very 9/11 way, it was difficult to figure out how they were going to get out of it, even though you knew they had to just so the movie could go on.

Graham, however, didn't really know that at a core level, and he was terrified.  He was crying from fear. I held his hand and told him it was going to be OK, and I wanted to scoop him up and put him in my lap, but didn't, for fear he might think he would lose face in front of Natalie and Makenna (both rising 5th graders) and Josh (going into 3rd). I should have picked him up.  Man, you hate to see your kids scared like that.

Historical temperature data at weather.com

When I look up historical average temperatures at weather.com, they always seem lower than what we experience. I'm pretty sure that's because they're working with a relatively long data series, back to the forties or something.  The problem, of course, is that global warming is a very real thing, so the data skews cooler than what's going on outside.

Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have the historical data to work with, and it is directionally accurate. It's just that it's less helpful than it could be.

Southwest Airlines Flight 933 -- Family boarding

Caroline.was flying back to Boston today, actually Providence, so as to avoid regional jets.  Southwest is the one that flies the fat boys on such short hops.  So I take her to the airport.

After waiting around in the cattle pen that always precedes boarding SW, everybody lines up by those little posts.  Caroline being 12 and traveling alone, I figure they'll let her pre-board. You can forget about that:  "If she's 12 she's not considered flying unaccompanied, she can board with the families," says the nice lady.  OK, I think, that's not too bad.

So they let Business Select customers board.  Well, that makes some sick sense, I think,  business before families, sure.  And then they let all the "A" Group passengers board.  That's maybe 40-50 people.  So I figure I just missed something and insert Caroline into the queue around B10, where she would be supposed to be if she were an adult.

But no, now they announce "all families with children 4 or under."  NOW is the time for family boarding.  After half the plane is already on.  Got it. So Caroline gives me a little hug while the boarding bitch is trying to her along.

Thanks Southwest.  Thanks a lot. It all makes perfect sense now.

Teenage poetry slam

After a feast of pulled pork at Bullock's, Natalie and I went to Duke for the poetry slam at the end of cousin Caroline's poetry camp.  Baldwin Auditorium was not well cooled, for sure, and many a teenager took the stage to trot forth their poetic stylings.  There was much talk of flying, nestling in pillows and falling asleep, flesh hanging from limbs like baby pigs after napalm bombings (OK, only one of those), domineering mothers.  Some kids wrote about friends who died of cancer, or how much they loved their dads (that was an awesome poem).  There was much angst and hinting of sexuality, but not much sweating or thrusting. Rhyme and meter were rare, and rarely coincided with much talent. After the poems by the popular kids, there was much whooping.

Caroline's poem rocked, and I captured it on "film" for posterity.

Obama seeks more Ass to Kick

President Barack Obama, apparently not feeling that he had kicked enough ass for one week, has summoned Malian referee Koman Coulibaly to the White House after the official's questionable call of an unspecified penalty resulted in the canceling of the US's go-ahead goal against mighty Slovenia in the World Cup:  "The American people demand an explanation, and we demand accountability.  However I may sympathize with Mr. Coulibaly for being skinny and having a funny name, we cannot allow for such a travesty of justice to deny us the victory which should rightly have been ours." 
The President, on the recommendation of key advisors including David Axelrod and most likely Larry Summers, though possibly Paul Volcker or even Peter Orszag, is considering a demand that FIFA set aside funds to compensate possible victims of this heinous crime, which could include t-shirt vendors and bars who might have derived income from elimination round games had the US progressed, in the event that England defeats Slovenia and the US fails to defeat Algeria, or if England should score enough goals to progress on the goal differential in the event that both of the group's final games result in a draw.  Obama continued:  "The businesspeople of this great country of ours will not be deprived of revenue opportunities that should have been theirs, had this egregious misjudgment not occured."  Rumors abounded as well that Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid were in preliminary talks with Tim Geithner about possible release of TARP funds, and/or were writing some compensation for potentially harmed into the pending financial reform legislation.

Lonely Hearts

Tonight we started Lonely Hearts, a 2006 noir thing with Travolta, James Gandolfini, Salma Hayek, and some sick fuck who looks like Jim Carrey. It's a stylish thing, but nasty and formulaic at once.  Then again, when you've watched thousands of movies, they all start to run together.

Analysis makes paralysis -- in the lunch line

There is a guy at the lunch counter where I get my sandwich who is so painfully deliberate that it's, well, painful.  Every step in making a sandwich takes more time than it should.  When he cuts into the sub roll (always "whole wheat," mind you), he lacks the confidence to cut towards the ends, and then pushes them open a little by hand.  When he puts cheese and meat in the sub, he nudges each piece in individually.  When he wraps the sandwich at the end, he doesn't seem to have developed a technique for wrapping it, he seems to be doing it almost anew each time, despite the fact that he's been doing it for months.  I tend to order simpler sandwiches when he's minding the counter.

I don't mean to bust on the guy too hard.  He has a job. He comes in to work. He may have anxiety issues, he may be on meds, he may be doing as well as could ever be hoped.  He may sense my impatience and get freaked out.  I should probably strive harder for zen calm when I order from him.

I do wonder why store management puts him in a customer-facing role.  Does he do worse in back prepping chickens?

Mostly, I view him as an object lesson in confidence, or the lack thereof.  Most people, when they do things over and over, come to believe in their ability to do them. He doesn't seem to. Belief in oneself is key to any process improvement.  It's his manager who should be paying attention and encouraging him.  And, I guess, in the absence of management, maybe his customers.