Hello

I've just finished my third semester of law school. I am now halfway to being a lawyer, whatever that means.

I haven't updated this blog in quite a while, I know. I've been busy. The semester has been intense. I took 5 classes, international law of development, international project finance, international business transactions, intellectual property and jurisprudence. For those of you keeping count, that's four I's and a J.

Anyways, I'm pretty tired from all that, so I'm going to sleep. Hopefully I'll be posting more than I have in the past few months now that I've got a break from school.

A Change of Pace

I got sick of writing so much, so I made some videos instead.


(Thanks for the webcam, Brittany.)


The videos are on youtube:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=7eld2M-jaQU

http://youtube.com/watch?v=xF3134i76gE

nothing in particular

it's been awhile since my last update...

is kind of a meta statement--too self-referential to be really meaningful.

so that's not how i will open this post
I can't believe I'm leaving Paris so soon--1.5 weeks, and I'm back in NYC, back in school, in a world so totally different from the one I now inhabit that i can barely comprehend it. Change is an interesting thing--sometimes we yearn for it, want nothing more than a change of scenery, are totally ready to plow into the unknown and experience something completely different, no matter what it may bring. Other times, like scared children, we cling to the present, or the past, unwilling to release the bird in our grip for the potential two in the brush.

Change is the genesis of transformation.

The only real question is, "are you ready?"

And the answer, as always, is elusive.

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All of my friends went on vacation at pretty much the same time, leaving me in a bit of a difficult spot. A social person, I feel somehow empty inside--maybe the word is lonely--when i don't have others around to share my experience with. Being suddenly without the group of friends I hang out with primarily makes me feel somewhat confused. Too often, my entire identity is defined by how other's perceive me. WIthout that mirror to hold myself up to, without others to communicate with, it's almost as if I don't really exist at all...

Of course that's not literally true. I continue to think, to be, even to strive. But when the meaning my actions contain is only the meaning I assign to them, it's as if the cup is half empty.

If hell is merely other people, then heaven is, too.

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I went out tonight with Chris, a friend I met recently, and who just moved to Paris 13 days ago. He's trying to get a job, but the French code makes it very difficult for a non-EU worker to get a work visa, so he might have to move back to Berlin if he can't find an employer who's willing to help him get one. We got a couple beers and talked Philosophy while sitting in the courtyard outside of the Centre George Pompidou, then went to an Irish pub for a couple pints of Guiness.

I spoke English with someone for a change, and got into topics so abstract that they are really impossible to communicate in a language one isn't fluent in. I found it refreshing to have an intellectual conversation with another person who was just engaged in it as I was. It's always a recurring theme for me--the best times I can remember all involve one other person, and an infinite number of ridiculous tangents going off into no-one-knows-where, in-depth examination of the very world in which we immerse ourselves. Thinking back, it makes me nostalgic for similar times I've shared with friends in the past.

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Well, this has turned into a bit of a silly post, with lots of nonsensical introspection and not much content.

Cheers.

Another Post from Paris

[Repost from http://leitnerinterns.blogpost.com]

Every day I come into work, it seems that the world has changed a little more, and I must revise the report I am preparing for the 2008 IT Outlook. Due to the nature of my project, the subject of my research is in constant flux. I feel like I am living on the cutting edge of the technological world as I continue to research the newest developments in the ICT industry and attempt to frame them in a way that will make sense, and will be valuable, to the many policy makers who will be reading my piece once it is published. Although I often wish I were more at the heart of things, doing substantial work rather than simply reporting on what others have done, there is something refreshing about working for an organization like the OECD, and knowing that what I do helps the reality of the world percolate up to those who are currently in a position to recognize trends and embrace change.

The past few weeks have been a bit trying--when I first started at OECD, I had two bosses, both of whom were very friendly, but which made me feel a bit uncertain about who to report to, and how to prioritize the tasks I was given. Since then, one of them has gone on paternity leave(congrats on your baby, Sacha!), and the other, a few weeks later, on vacation. Since last Monday, I have been totally unsupervised, as not only my bosses, but at least half of the OECD staff has gone on a month long break that occurs virtually everywhere in Paris during the month of August. Finding my own direction and continuing to produce my paper without the support of those far more knowledgable than me has been an interesting experience, but so far I feel confident that I'm on the right path towards completing my project. For all the long hours and constant revisions, it's nice to reflect and realize that I'm getting something done.

For those of you who prefer visual stimulus to mere words, here's a picture of La Défense(where the OECD offices are) as seen off in the distance, from my apartment. At the end of a long day, it seems somehow fitting that all I see when I look out my window is the place I work.

New Thoughts on Old Themes

Went to a party at Place Clichy. Arthur's flat. I had never been there before, but went after having a few drinks with Clement, his girlfriend Angel, and Yohann, who is one of the best guitar players I know. Arthur has a Wii, and I think we played every game on it. The only downside was that he only had one controller for some reason, so we had to alternate in order to play. I think I held my own at Wii bowling, where I teamed up with Angel and we won, and also Wii boxing. I didn't do so bad for having played only once before. I kept asking to play Super Smash Bros.(the Wii is backwards-compatible with Gamecube games), but Arthur kept saying we could after the next game. Thus, we played Wii sports all night long.

I also learned how to say "I don't care" about a million different ways. The most formal is "je n'ai que faire de ces sottisses." There's also "je m'en fiche," "je m'en tappe," and "je m'en fou," as well as "je m'en balincouie," which is considered extremely vulgar and should therefore not be used around anyone who is faint of heart, or coworkers, if it can be avoided. I'm not sure about the spelling of any of them, and I'm only slightly more certain of the pronunciation. French is hard.

I walked home alone, and was happy to find my way without problems. The nice thing about Paris, and what almost makes up for the fact that all the streets are crooked and change names almost every block, is that there are detailed maps on the back of almost every bus stop(except the ones that have been vandalized). Once you have a basic idea of what direction you're heading, finding your way anywhere isn't a big deal. It's kind of affirming not to get lost in Paris anymore. Like I'm really starting to know the place.

_______________

It's funny, from the moment I bought my scooter... Or even before--really, from the moment I decided I would buy a scooter, I knew that I would have an accident. And somewhow, I foresaw it happening 2/3 of the way through my summer in Paris. In August. I don't know how I knew, but I envisioned it, vividly. I thought of how pitiful I would be, laying by the road, injured and barely able to move as the rain poured down and I felt nothing but cold. My suit torn, my bones broken, adrenaline rushing through me as I tried to guess at the extent of my injuries. I feared that moment, yet somehow felt it was unavoidable. Ineluctable destiny. And at first, I drove safely. As safely as I could. I didn't lane split, or I did so only when traffic was stopped. I didn't speed. I paid close attention. I drove as if my life depended on it. I bought my scooter on June 1st, and told myself I'd avoid all etoiles, and Charles de Gaulle Etoile in particular, until at least my 25th birthday, on the 9th. And I more or less did this... Simply out of fear, I avoided every roundabout for over a week. I first entered Charles de Gaulle Etoile, a seething mass of clustered cars and chaos, the most dangerous spot of all the roads in Paris, on June 8th around 10pm, on the way to a party where I would celebrate my birthday. But after a few weeks with no incidents, and a growing awareness of how to control my vehicle, I got cocky. And then, 2 months later, out of the blue, an accident on a relatively minor road on a normal day, with the sunshine shining. Just as I thought, it wouldn't be my fault--a careless driver, not only failing to signal, but even forgetting to look where he was going as he turned suddenly. In truth, I don't know if he could have done better if he had been, in fact, trying to hit me. And quick reflexes, braking just in time, and I never even fell to the ground. I don't want to call it a miracle, but I think it was against the odds that it should play out so innocuously.

I feel lucky as all hell, and I think I've learned the lesson--from now on I must drive as if on eggshells. I must survive at least until the next round.

_________________

Here's a song: Steso Songs - The Worse

_________________

Anyways, santé to another day survived in Paris.

Scooter Accident

Coming home from work today, I had my first scooter accident, and, in general, my first motor vehicle accident in over 7 years. I was cruising down Pereire Nord behind some guy, he turned right without signalling, and I was able to slam my brakes and turn fully sideways before hitting his door. I laid down my bike, which slid a few feet and has a nice big scrape on the muffler now.

The guy got out, took a look at me, a look at his car, and we spoke for a few minutes. Since my French isn't so great, I didn't want to get into an argument with him, so I didn't bother telling him he cut me off. Instead, I just told him I and my bike were fine. He said he was too, we shook hands, and he drove off. I picked my bike up, looked around and found my bag, which had fallen out of the topcase when I crashed, and then put it back on the bike. I drove off too.

I can't believe I don't have a scratch on me, not even a tear in my pants or a scuff on my shoes. I was probably going 50 km/h, maybe slowed down to 30 before I hit him. I somehow managed to stay standing after I let go of the bike, which slid a few feet and never stopped running. I guess it's not so bad when you hit the car--I'm just glad the car didn't hit me.

And the best thing about it: I never had to fill out an accident report.

Insert Title Here

I'm not going to write about airports anymore. It's no longer interesting or funny. But, suffice it to say, my return to Paris was far more arduous than it should have been, and when I finally got back to my flat, I was utterly exhausted and slept for 12 hours straight.

My stay with Oiwi was excellent. He showed me all around Oxford, we hung out at some cool pubs, including this amazing mediterranean place where we drank mint tea and got drunk on sangria while eating tapas. We also went to the Musem of Natural History in Oxford, which while not nearly as large as the one in NYC, was quite amazing in its own right, with some very good animal and dinosaur displays, as well as a some very detailed and intriguing anthropological exhibits and antiquities. Above all, though, it was just nice to reconnect to an old friend.


_________________

Asked whether the glass is half empty or half full, I'm beginning to realize the glass may just not be living up to its full potential...

_________________

So, I sort of jumped back into this blog a few weeks ago, and I posted more in the month of July than I had the entire last two years combined. I don't really have a coherent vision for where this thing is going, so I'd love some feedback from anyone who's been reading. I know there are at least a few of you. Leave a comment if you have any suggestions on what you'd like to see--maybe more or less of something, or even a specific topic you'd like to see me write about.

Travel... Purgatory?

Well, at least the end is in sight this time. I made it to the right country without too much trouble--left my apartment plenty early so the obligatory delay on the RER didn't make me miss my flight. I even managed to be one of the first off the eplane, and the very first through customs. But when I got to the bus ticket stand, I was informed that I'd barely missed the last coach. I had no idea what the bus schedule was coming but, but I doubt that even if I had known that I could have made it. At any rate, I've managed to get stuck in yet another airport, this time Luton in London. Tantalizingly close to my final destination of Oxford and my buddy Oiwi. It's 11:30pm here now(12:30 in Paris), and the next bus doesn't depart until a little after 2:00am. If all goes well, I'll be in Oxford before 4am rolls around.

At least I'm not in Charles de Gaulle Aeroport--Luton's way nicer. For one, there are shops open even at this alte hour, including a mini supermarket(Marks & Spencer) where I got a cheese and chutney sandwich. And the internet kiosks, while a bit expensive at 1£/10 minutes at least have real keyboards. I gotta kill a few hours, and I am sleep as hell.

I really need to look into getting a personal helicopter. Or maybe a jetpack.

Crossing the Street

I walk down the sidewalk, light wind whipping my hair. The sound of passing cars and buzzing neon signs, the faint call of distant voices speaking surround me. The sky is dark, pitch black, but lights emanating from the city illuminate the clouds, wraithlike.

A busy street ahead. Heavy traffic, fast cars, chaos. I don't even pause as I step into it. I don't have to look to know the cars are slowing down. And why?

Not because of some innate, psychic bond between all humans, or love for fellow men. No, I know they won't hit me because I know they don't want to deal with filling out an accident report.

But if I'm safe, why do I feel the adrenaline?

Because I know. Deep down, buried in my throbbing, primordial animal brain, I know there's that one-in-a-thousand. Some rage-infused driver behind the wheel, who seeing me, will swerve, just right, hoping perhaps to break both legs before speeding off, maybe in some unidentifiable yellow cab. A state of war. And as I cross, I turn to my right, and stare down each driver, straight faced, are you the one? I dare you.

I woke up this morning and looked around. Was this me? My safe life, my comfortable house? My fucking silk pajamas? As if rising from a dream, I wondered how this came to be--the well decorated room, curtains matching the carpet, art on the walls, an antique dresser(empire mahogany and bird's eye maple, rose inlay. Inset brass escutcheon on top drawer, gilded hardware), the woman, my wife, still asleep next to me.

As if I had forgotten risk, foregone the days of wandering, my body now soft, my mind weakened by routine. The open bay window beckoned, yet beyond was nothing but a neatly manicured lawn, a well-kept garden, a stone fountain. Bougainvillea. My gilded cage, wrought by my own hands. What happened to the danger? The passion?

Needless to say, I skipped work today. Didn't even bother calling in sick. Wandered the city, places I've never gone before. Places I'd never go. Places I wouldn't be caught dead. Places I was sure I'd be found dead. Like a child looking for ill-defined adventure. To feel alive again.

And here I am, in the middle of the street, walking across antagonizingly slow as half the city shows me one finger in particular. But I don't give a shit--they're cowards, all of them. I want to pull them out of their cars, throw them to the ground. Let them know, viscerally: If our positions were switched, I wouldn't have even slowed down.

And why? Just to get a taste of that risk. Not the safe risk, not the weighed risk, not the kind with a possibility of a payoff at the end. A laugh at the consequences, a leap into the unknown, a certainty of disaster, a welcoming of pain. Hell, without the chance of some benefit, it's not even a risk--let's call it what it is: Sheer, stupid, ludicrous danger. Pressing a nerve, squeezing the adrenal gland, just to feel something. I want to feel something.

But all there is here are a bunch of scared sheep in cars. Sheep in metal clothing. Fire under the hood but blank stares in their eyes. And I realize there is no way to get that rush. That glamorous danger I seek isn't real, the passion nothing more than a lying promise bottled for my consumption by the media whores who want me to buy buy buy to fill my manufactured emptiness. I know I'm defeated before I ever began. This me that I am... This is the real me. Whatever vision I used to have is long since gone. I'll go to work tomorrow, explain away my absence, spend 8 hours alienating myself, then go home to my HDTV. It'll be like today never happened.

I make it to the other sidewalk. Traffic resumes behind me, a motorcycle roars by. I step around a pile of dogshit, and start walking home.

In this post, I ramble on about nothing in particular...

Finished reading 'arry Potta today--It was pretty damn intense. Won't say any more than that--I know I'd have punched someone who made me read a spoiler 24 hours ago.
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I got my first foreign speeding ticket in France. Apparently I got nailed by a traffic camera, b/c it showed up in the mail. I was going 83 km/h in a 70 zone. According to the letter I was sent, my infraction translates as: "Exceeding the speed limit by less than 20 km/h while driving a motor vehicle in an area with a speed limit greater than 50 km/h." I thought about just skipping the country, but I paid the 45 € fine instead.

Fuckers.
__________

Better news also came in the mail: British Air finally ponied up for the guitar they smashed on my way here from NYC. Received a check to the tune of 460 €. Still not happy about the whole situation, but at least I'm no poorer for it.



Rest in peace, old friend.

_________

And music news on a lighter note(har-har): Last night, i went to this crazy jam session place near Montmartre called 'The Garage' with Hady, Tony, and Hady's little brother. Tony and I brought our guitars, Hady's bro his bass, and Hady used the drumkit there--we rented a room for 2 hours and it was fully equipped with enormous speakers, microphones, preamps, everything we could need to rock out. I had to put in ear plugs, because I thought I was going deaf. By far the most fun I've had jamming with people ever--plugging in to some serious equipment makes a big difference.

_________

I <3 running in Parc Monceau

Photo: http://parispassion.canalblog.com

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Random thought for the day:

The only difference between a mess of contradictions and a balanced personality is situational awareness.

Trivial Trivialities Trivially Tinkering With Teh Thoughts

In case you were wondering:

The French word, "blague," is pronounced almost identically to the English word, "blog." Translated, it means "joke."

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And now, a pseudo-confession:

The truth is, I frequently plagiarize. In fact, everything I ever do or say is plagiarism. I simply can't think a truly unique thought. It's rather unfortunate, but I'm afraid that's just the way my mind works. I mean, all I have to go on are my sensory inputs from the world around me, which are hardly original. Further, they're all filtered through a complex system of language that defines the world I perceive. Add on top of that the rich cultural tradition I am descended from--all the literature, music, art, science and ephemera that a hundred generations past have built, and which fundamentally inform my worldview. It's really no surprise that nothing I ever think is original.

Nonetheless, I do resent the implication that I lift material from Cliff's notes.

__________

And now some pseudo-philosophical ramblings:

Karma

It's just cause and effect. There's no personal identification, although many incorrectly understand it to mean exactly that. There's no such thing as 'the universe taking revenge' on you or anything in that vein. The reason a bad action results in bad karma is simply because it hurts other. It's as simple as that--the cycle never necessarily affects the individual causing the harm. "This is what people mean when they say 'The world isn't fair." Often, people committing 'bad' actions get away without ever feeling the harm they cause. Perhaps they even reap some benefit from of it.

People also sometimes say that whatever harm or good you do will come back tenfold. This is also misinterpreted--the harm or good doesn't come directly back to the person causing it. But the energy, positive or negative, that is created whenever an action is taken, does spread. A person who has something stolen from them is more likely to become a thief. A person hurt often proceeds to cause pain himself. However, an enlightened person will be conscious of the pain cause them, and will avoid continuing the effect.

Some schools of thought hold that the ultimate goal is to completely end all karma--to halt it in its tracks and exist in a state of non-action. That's a little too metaphysical for me, and makes me wonder what point is. It seems to me that one should always attempt to halt the negative karma they encounter, but reciprocate, even multiply, the positive.

But maybe I just haven't acquired a taste for entropy yet.

In this vein, here's a hypo: You see a coat on television, worn by a character on one of your favorite shows. You immediately want it. You look in stores, online, you find it in different places for various prices, but all more than you can reasonably afford at the moment. You decide that once you have the necessary cash, you'll buy it.

The next day, it is out of your mind. You meet a couple of friends. One of them seems to wearing a new coat, similar to the one you wanted to purchase. He shows it to you, tells you he 'found' it in an open car. He didn't break into the car, but the window had been smashed--someone had broken in previously. And in the car, the coat, which he took. He shows you the tag. it is a designer label. It is, in fact, the precise coat you were looking at just a day before.

Later, hanging out as a group, your friend buttons the coat. Some of the other people you are with start laughing a bit--it is far too large for him. He asks you to try it on. You hesitate a moment, but ultimately don the garment. It fits perfectly. He offers to give it to you.


What would you do?

__________

And now some pseudo-US Foreign Policy: We owe it to the world. We must lead by example--we are proponents of a democratic society with a market economy. Our message is, and one which almost all Americans believe, is that it is possible to have an open and free society where people are able to contract for their labor and still live meaningful lives. If we are to take that message seriously, we must lead by example. We have the most money by far, and also the most helpful conditions in general. If we cannot succeed, no nation can. The alternative is a return to the dark ages--fascist rule and the vast majority as peons serving those who brainwashed them. We need to immediately improve our education and healthcare services. No more bullshit elections. A truly progressive tax that requires those benefitting the most from the system to pay something back to those who labor so that they may live extravagant lives. And fundamental respect for life and the right of individuals to live free from oppression.

It's all in the preamble. Seriously.

__________

Point:

It's all about planting a seed.

Counterpoint:

“When you think about it from a native plant perspective,” Oyster says, “Johnny Appleseed was a fucking biological terrorist.”
(From Lullaby, by Chuck Palahniuk)

15 million viewers can't be wrong

Heroes is rad.

Back in Paris

I'm tempted to write another long and rambling post about the rest of my stay in OR, but I think I'll just keep it short instead. Here are a few vital statistics:


Total days: 5.5
Hours in flight: 29
Planes flown on: 5
Hours in airports: 27
Number of airports: 4
Worst airport: Charles de Gaulle
Airports with free wi-fi: 1 (Portland, OR)
Lost luggage/Broken Guitars: 0
Miles driven(Kia Rondo rental)(total): 817
Miles driven(average per day): 148.5
Hours of sleep(total): 28
Hours of sleep(average per day): 5.1
Hours of sleep in rental car: 3
All-nighters: 2
Coffee: Lots
Beer/Wine/Gin and Tonic: Plenty
Hangovers: 0
Swims in the Deschutes River: 2
Stars in the Oregon Sky: Countless
Sunny Days: 5.5
Peak temperature: 100 °F
Cool haircuts: 1
French toast breakfasts: 1
Extended family: A whole bunch I hadn't seen in ages
Old friends reconnected with: >10
New friends: >20
New brothers-in-law: 1
Freaking awesome weddings: 1

just a thought

Ask not:
Who am I?

Nor even:
What am I?

But:
What is "I"?

Or more to the point:
What is "is"?

And now for something completely different

And now some pseudo-iambic not-quite-pentameter:

the truth i'm told is vast beyond belief
the lies inside revealed as caused by grief

____
attempts are made in passive voice yet loud
the active ones are nothing but a whisper
belonging to the friends above the fray
attempts are made by them to end delay

____
astride the fence the straddler waits 'til dawn
it never comes he waits and waits too long
he never knew which side to pick before
astride the fence the straddler hears no more
----

along the path i walk and then i wander
between the trees i weave and weave again
the thread i braid displays the road i took
it's all right there; you only have to look

a look inside reveals a mind unseen
seeing itself reflected in the world
it knows its thoughts and nothing else
it knows it knows yet doesn't know what that means

_________
harmonic strings vibrate in tune
free sounds trapped within
contrasting with lasting mementos
emerging from nothing like water
---------

it's never too late to change your entire outlook
the mistakes you made have no bearing on the now
the life you lead is determined by what you do
the sun in your sky must never be covered by cloud

----
constrained by the fire without
and fueled by the fire within
if you turn on your light, it will get outside eventually
potentially.
random walk through the inner density
flowing in intermittent leaps
pause go pause
go
-----

observing those one knows one cannot change
one know they are solely self-arranged
one sees and hears the movements of their mind
but never sees their underlying light

light light light
fire fire fire
redundant repetitive rethought renewed

a single leaf a single branch a tree
a lonely mountain sitting by the sea
the midday sun illluminates the scene
reflecting all the colors red blue green

shadow forms and manifests a whole
its body still and hidden from the world
the night's faint stars and moon do not dispel
the blinding darkness filling the infinite shell

a million independent shreds
are joined to spark a flame inside my head
disconnected and fluid and whole
they define
experience

continued presence
a mind unblocked by its pain
eternity now

Travel hell, 2nd Edition

As planned, I didn't go to sleep on Sunday night. I stayed up packing to try and make sure that I could sleep just the right amount at just the right time on the plane to avoid any jetlag. Unfortunately, the RER B(a metro line in Paris) had otehr ideas, and was delayed over 40 minutes getting me to the airport on Monday morning. I, and about 15 others on my flight, were turned away from the check-in counter, told it was too late. They wouldn't even let us try to get through security and to the gate.

I was put on standby for a flight an hour later that would have gotten me to OR roughly the same time. At 1pm Paris time, I waved to the plane as it left the gate, full, leaving myself and 5 or 6 other standby passengers stranded as Continental shut down for the day, telling us to come back 7 am the next morning to try to fly out on standby again. Rather than go back to my apartment, a 1.5 hour journey by public transportation, with no guarantee I'd make it back to the airport on time the next morning, I decided to tough out Aeroport Charles de Gaulle and make it my home for the next day and night.

Two of the other passengers, Adrienne and Ed, who were grad students on the way back to Houston(my connecting flight to PDX) from vacation and some neuroscience conferences in Brussels, chatted me up a while, but they ended up taking off to a hotel nearby. However, Cesar, a Mexican citizen trying to get back to Chihuahua via the same flight I missed, was planning the same thing as me, so we decided to team up to improve our odds of taming the fierce environment that we soon realized is probably the worst airport in all of Europe.

CDG is enormous. It takes an hour to walk from one end of the terminal to the other, and there are 3 terminals, each connected by a monorail sorta thing. Yet, every space is cramped. You can barely get two luggage carts abreast at most places, and the gates have seating for about 10% of the capacity of today's transatlantic jets. The airport was built for a time when it was a hub for many small flights, and is not suited for today's model of far fewer, far larger flights. Every chair in the airport is made of metal, with no padding. They practically all have armrests, making laying down impossible. Cesar and I managed to find a metal bench that looked more comfortable than the rest, but it was far from any electrical outlets, so we waited until no one was looking, and carried it about 20 meters to some outlets so we could charge our laptops(switching off on a power adapter I bought from an airport store--neither of us though to bring one, because we both expeted to be in North America before we'd have to charge). We bivouaced there, confident we had found the most optimal setup in the entire airport. This was a sentiment I confirmed throughout the night, as my wanderings int he terminal showed me dark visions of stranded business travellers in rumpled suits, heads tilted at unnatural angles trying to get comfortable on chairs designed to be implements of torture rather than welcoming waiting areas.

I played guitar for a while, opening up my case and making a sign that said:

Stranded!

Airport food too expensive!!

Please Help!!!!

A few people tossed me a few Euros, but airport crowds really aren't too sympathetic. At any rate, it was a good time, and Cesar sang along with some of the songs he knew(notably, Louie Louie, which also got the most grins from passersby).

Once I had collected a few Euros, I went off in search of food. Dining spots are few and far between at CDG. There aren't a lot of restaurants, their food is poor quality and expensive, and they close very early. I ate McDonalds there, something I haven't done in 15 years, because there just wasn't anything else available. It was awful and I think I'll avoid it for another 15 years. However, when I got hungry again around 11pm(as the McD's was my only meal that day), I was disappoitned to realize that even McDonald's had closed. I went everywhere in the terminal, a 2 hour trek for sustenance, but found nothing open. The airport was officially dead. I returned to the metal bench, where Cesar was watching one of my DVDs on his laptop. I broke out a clif bar I had in my backpack for just such an emergency. Cesar also shared a big bag of roasted peanuts he had acquired earlier. Mmm, dinner.

Bored out of my mind at midnight(did I mention that Wi-Fi cost 20 Euros, or about $30 USD for a 24 hour connection? I decided it wasn't worth it, which limited the ability of my computer to entertain me), I wandered over to a large group of French youths, looking to be mostly around 18-25. One of them had a classical guitar he was strumming on, so I asked him first if he spoke English, and when the reply came back negative, I asked in French if he'd like to jam. He nodded, so I brought over my guitar, and we played together for at least a couple of hours. I found out the group, mostly high school students from Bordeaux, was on some sort of humanitarian mission to Madagascar, and the other guy paying the guitar is about to finish up French law school himself. I told him a law student in the US, and we talked about what were interested in a little bit, though the depth of the conversation was limited by my french skillz(or lack thereof). At any rate, they were entertaining, and helped me kill time until around 5 am, when the nearly two days without sleep caught up with me and I had to catch just a quick nap. I was fully aware that if I slept even a little more than 2 hours that I'd probably miss my flight, but my eyes just wouldn't stay open.

Fortunately, I woke up on time, made my flight, got to Newark, and sprinted through customs and to my gate, barely making my 45 minute connection. 5 minutes later, none other than Ed and Adrienne, the couple who also mised the original Houston flight due to the Paris Metro, arrived ont he plane, red in the face and out of breath. They had the seats next to me, and seemed as relieved as I was to be on th plane. We laughed at the coincidence, and I congratulated them for making the connection. They were very nice and quite interesting, so we talked most of the flight, except for the 1.5 hours when Blades of Glory was playing as the inflight film(which was hilarious despite the tiny screen and the messed-up airplane audio). When I finally got O houston, I was excited for some good tex-mex, but disheartened to discover the worst airport burrito ever. I mad my connextion to PDX without problems. And after my mad dash in Newark, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my baggage actually made it, intact and with no delays, to my final destination. Apparently a baggage handler was running as fast as me. A festivus miracle.

Anyways, the rest of my trip has been great--I rented a car to drive into PDX, then spent a night at the bars with a bunch of old AEPi's, then went back to Seth's pad where I'm staying and we hung out until late, getting into one of those crazy conversations about life and the universe that only seem to happen when you meet an old friend after too long. I drove down to Eugene and stopped by LogicTools and Hillel before spending the evening with Brittany, then back up to Portland. On Wednesday, I had breakfast with Lach in P-town before driving down to Redmond.

I'm here to kick ass and chew gum. Fortunately, I've still got lots of gum.

Sacre-Coeur, 23 June 2007.

_______

I've been writing a lot more lately, and its making me feel very nostalgic about the website I put up when I was at Wasatch Academy. It feels good to be writing, kind of cathartic. Just putting something onto the screen is somehow liberating.

Enough about that: I'm heading back to OR for Felice, my sister's, wedding in eight hours, and I'm pretty excited to go back to the states for a bit. Even better is the fact that I'll have a few days of vacation, something that hasn't happened since Spring Break. At the end of the school year, I finished the writing competitionon a Thursday, packed up my apartment and flew out on Friday, arrived in Paris Saturday evening, and started work on Monday at 8am. Been going strong since. Needless to say, I'll be glad for the break.

Also very cool, I'll get to see a few people who I haven't for ages when I stay in Portland for a couple nights.

Right now, I'm contemplating an all nighter. It's 4am in Paris now, and my flight leaves at 12:55.pm If I go to sleep when I get to my seat, it will be 4am in Oregon. I can sleep for 7 or so hours, then wake up 3/4 of the way through the flight to Houston, at about 11am, OR time. Then, if I land in OR and don't go to bed until midnight or so, I should be able to get a full night's sleep and wake up without any jetlag. We'll see if it works.

Gotta finish up my packing, so I suppose I'll do that when I'm finished with this post. I'm stoked to be going back to Oregon for a while.

______________

And now, some pseudo-political nonsense:

On the Need for Marijuana Law Reform

The United States prohibition of alcohol in the 1920s and early 1930s resulted in large economic and social costs to the country at large. There were two primary effects of that prohibitions which severely undermined the American economy:

1) A vast amount of taxable income went unreported. As a result, it was not collected. This reduced operating revenue for the Federal and state governments.

2) The organized crime associated with bootlegging caused its own set of losses: First, there were significant policing costs--having to enforce prohibition meant diverting cops to that task and taking them off the street and preventing violent crimes. Further, the criminal organizations responsible for the majority of the bootlegging also perpetrated a variety of additional crimes which both increased the policing requirement(and further reduced funds and manpower available for other tasks) and came at a very high social cost as well.

The prohibition of marijuana is fundamentally similar to prior prohibitions of alcohol. There are related ideological roots and legal precedents. And there are similar associated costs, both economic and social.

Repealing current Federal marijuana laws would have the following beneficial effects:

1) It will allow states to decide how to regulate sales of marijuana, including complete bans if they wish. Allowing states to act as 'laboratories of government,' and try out new policies to determine their effects, the best solutions will eventually emerge. Further, by allowing states to determine whether or not to allow the drug, American citizens will be given better opportunities to live in areas with laws they agree with, thus maximizing choice in what kinds of places they want to live.

2) By heavily taxing marijuana, the Federal government could create a significant revenue source. This is money that could be used for pressing national concerns: education, healthcare, scientific research(from NASA to the National Insitutes of Health to the National Science Foundation), and other badly needed social services.

3) We could free valuable Federal police manpower to deal with more pressing national security needs. This would result in a significant boost to the effort in the war on terror. Further, by legalizing marijuana and allowing it to be sold and grown legitimately, we would take away a major source of funding from the criminal organizations(terrorist or otherwise) that profit from the marijuana prohibition.

The war on drugs has come at a significant cost to our country. Countless individuals have been jailed or otherwise severely penalized for growing marijuana and selling it. The systemic costs of supporting an overcrowded jail system full of non-violent offenders are a drain on resources badly needed elsewhere. We must repeal Federal marijuana laws, allow states to choose whether to proscribe or simply enforce age limits, and we must tax it, turning it from a resource-drain into a source of revenue.
______________

And now a random rant:

The stupid bitch of the week award goes to....
The Checkout Lady in the Express Lane of the Monoprix on Rue de Courcelles

Having never even heard the word efficiency(or, for that matter, efficacité), it's no surprise that this stupid bitch was totally inept. All the other lines were flying by--people with baskets full of groceries were moving far quicker than the sad few in the express line. But I stayed there, thinking that the short line in front of me would soon end. But it was interminable.

There were 3 people in front of me when I got in line. It took the checkout lady 10 minutes to get through the first two. At least three of her coworkers came and talked to her while she worked. And she had to stop everything to respond. She wasn't scanning or making change while they spoke to her--the act of speaking exhausted her mental resources. I inched closer. The line grew longer behind me. The woman ahead of me had 8 items, which she put onto the conveyer. The idiotic checkout lady scanned one at a time, very slowly, putting down the scanning gun between each item as she grabbed the next. Not only was she completely unable to multitask, she even lacked the ability to process single threads at any decent rate. I was the next in line. After the stupid bitch of the week spent 4 minutes checking out a woman paying cash for less than 10 items, I stepped up. I put down my single bottle of wine, and prepared to pay. I'm not going to go into the mind-numbing boringness of standing there: suffice it to say, it was just more of the same. How it could take her 3 minutes to complete the transaction, I will never understand.

Granted, 17 minutes isn't a lot of time, but having to waste it standing in line just because she was too retarded to do her insanely simple job really pisses me off.

I'm not bitter. I just think she should be fired. And possibly imprisoned.

______________

And now, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away:


Tie Fighter: |-o-|
Advanced Tie Fighter: (-0-)
Tie Bomber: (-o-0-)
Darth Vader's Tie Fighter: <-o->

X-Wing: >=[^]=<
Y-Wing: Y (lol)

Light Saber: =*========[&/&:::::]
Doubled-edged light saber: =*=======[:::::&*&::]=======+=

@-_-@ Princess Leia

Kinda Like This, Only Darker

Place de la Concorde
Photo: J.M. Schomburg


I walk down the corridor, my flashlight focused ahead, illuminating an elliptical path before me. All else is dakrness. As I proceed, a faint light emerges. It slowly becomes larger, and merges with my flashlight's pale beam, revealing itself to be a kind of doorway. It is the only egress as the corridor tapers ever narrower into a the circular portal. The aperture inches closer as I proceed, and it is surrounded by two statues, whose features become clearer as I approach.

On the right side, a mother and child, sculpted from stone of the purest white, with deposits of some sparkling crystal--a glowing, shimmering spectre. The mother looks tenderly down at the child, swaddled, content, a serene and edified look on its own tiny face.

And on the left: the god Bacchus, towering, a crown of laurels made entirely of grapes leaves. A barrel of the finest wine is slung over his shoulder, his huge chest and visage frozen in a perpetual laugh the likes of which no mortal could conjure.

I step through the open door into a courtyard. Directly in my path is a looming marble obelisk. I continue towards it. The pale light from the moon above reflects off its pallid surface; dark blue veins course through the stone. Shadow upon shadow.

I am halfway there. Behind me, there is nothing. To the left of me, a void. To the right, a deep chasm. I dare not look down. My gaze focuses intently on the pyramidal tip of the monolith, and the faintly visible hieroglyphics covering its surface.

I walk three times around the monument, and sit before it. I breathe.

A light flashes in the East.

I exhale.

metaphysical musings of a mellow mind meditating on a momentous mellifluous mural

Musée Marmottan Monet

And now some pseudo-scientific nonsense:

Space-time: an intricate relationship between physical distance and the amount of time it takes to get there.

The Universe's outer limits are defined by how far away light could travel from us in any direction. In this sense, it appears boundless--what could possibly happen to light along the way to make it stop? As far as we know, only a powerful enough gravitational force could ever stop a photon traveling through space(Excepting impact with a solid mass). So in a relativistic sense, the 'knowable' universe is strictly limited in a physical sense by the speed of light, and thereby the speed of the fastest possible information that could reach us.

Just a thought.

And now some pseudo-religious nonsense:

I. In the beginning, there was not much at all.

II. As time progressed, it became quite apparent that 'not much at all' is a little boring.

III. There was light. It emanated from every direction at once, in every direction at once. Everywhere it went it encountered space--it was as if an enormous gravitational pull that had constrained it--not for ages, not for aeons, but for a true, endless infinity, for there was no time before the light--was sudenly released. Immense energy flowed everywhere--to wheres that hadn't even existed a moment before.

IV. As light encountered light it became matter. Purest energy condensed, at first boiling hot into plasma, and slowly, slowly, into swirling masses that begot their own gravitational pull. All of the energy that existed before the Event became, in this way, reconcentrated throughout a newly constituted space-time continuum, and achieved its own light--the bright light of fusion, which, even still, was far paler than the light of the Event itself.

V. With time these stars became out of balance. The resources within them withered--Hydrogen turned to Helium, and Helium into Carbon, and so on, until finally, the very souls of the stars became so corrupt with heavy, immalleable iron, that they consumed themselves, and expired in enormous blasts. The cataclysms resulted in the complete destruction of the being of the stars, but each produced a light far greater than at any other moment in the stars' history, yet a light still far inferior to the first Event.

VI. And these heavier elements eventually recoalesced, forming their own bodies--bodies which could not live without the light of nearby stars. There was one of these bodies in particular, a swirling globe of iron, its core a fiery forge, yet one still far less intense as the cores of the forbearer stars, and is immeasurably less intense than the Event. It's outer crust cooled by the vacuum of space nearby--hydrogen and oxygen formed together to create water.

VII. The perfect mix of chemicals existed, inspiration hit, and life began. And life contained within it a fire, but a fire that burned far dimmer than the core of its planet progenitor. Immeasurably paler than the star that gave it energy on which to exist. And infinitely paler than the Event itself, the precondition for all of space-time.

VIII. This life began to effect the planet around it. It consumed some chemicals. It excreted others. And slowly, slowly, the thinnest, topmost layer changed--it became more and more habitable, and more and more lifeforms emerged--adapting from prior organisms into more and more complex ones. Self-replicating protein strands. Mitochondrian. Prokaryotes. Eukaryotes. Protozoans. Plankton. Multicellular organisms. Algae. Metazoans. Trilobites. Fish. Insects. Amphibians. Ferns. Insects. Reptiles. Dinosaurs. Birds. Viruses. Mammals. Primates. And humans.

IX. And within every human burns a fire. A fire, like all animals', far paler than the Earth's own, even more so compared to the stars, and infinitesimal compared to that which created it. Yet within every human is a fire that apprehends, and that reaches out to understand the universe around it. An intelligence which in its own way, though physically dim, specklike, shines far brighter than anything before it, save only the Event itself.

Alternate ending:

IX. And humans are a vaguely interesting species that really haven't done anything that cosmically significant at all, but have managed to cause some pretty ridiculous problems for themselves in their own little neighborhood.


In other news, Paris is still fun, and I've started a Flickr Account where I'll be uploading some pics.

And now, a roflcopter:

========+:::+========  \
    _ ____l___          --0-- 
   /O/  ___  0\_         _o  \                  
  (=   /_AM__   \_______/ /
(-:_________________lol__/
         \  \
    \____|__|_____

It's actually way faster than it looks.

Bon Soir from Paris

[Repost from http://leitnerinterns.blogpost.com]

It's been far too long since my last post, but I've been so absorbed at work, and at play, trying to live the life of a Parisian, that I've almost come to think that the world I left behind in NYC is simply an illusion.

But to snap back into reality for a moment--here is a glimpse into my life:

The OECD has been amazing to work with. It is a truly ideal setting, with an enormous staff of inspired, forward-thinking, internationally diverse, and talented individuals. There is a true sense that we are all working towards something great--despite wide divergence on the subject matter and focus within the different directorates and divisions of the organization. The building is located in la Défense, the major business district just outside of the city proper--an area of looming glass skyscrapers and modern art surrounding a plaza that looks like something out of a science fiction movie. Each day I work among the throngs of Parisian businessmen(and women!), the center of Paris' economic life and the locus of its productive workforce--a purposefully constructed business district which is far more focused than in any other city I have ever visited.


I have been placed in the Science, Technology, and Industry Directorate, in the Information Communications Technology division, one of the larger divisions within OECD. The division is responsible for tracking and analyzing the worldwide progress of technical development, and what firms, governments, and universities are doing in the field. I am working on the IT Outlook 2008--which is a biannual report detailing a wealth of data on the ICT industry and is one of the preeminent primary sources for statistical data in the field as well as an invaluable, and influential, tool for policy makers. My assignment right now is twofold--I'll be writing a module in the ITO that examines the emerging technologies that are currently being researched worldwide, and what their impact will be, especially in the developing world. A subsection of this module will be a report on the advancements in 'green' technology, and this will likely also be developed into a standalone paper a bit more in-depth than what will be published in the ITO. So far, it's been research, research, research, and while it's very challenging, it's incredibly stimulating--and quite intriguing to think that the work I'm doing now may have an impact on future policy.

Besides work, Paris has been treating me well--I bought a motorscooter so I can get around like a Parisian(i.e. very fast, and always *this close* to being run over by a taxi). I've managed to visit quite a few of the city's amazing parks, including the gorgeous Parc des Buttes Chaumont. I'm enjoying the free time of summer by going running everyday in the nearby Parc Monceau. I spent an amazing evening with two Canadians and an Australian who were passing through Paris, sitting on the steps of La Basilique du Sacré Coeur, drinking red wine and listening to the musicians who bring their guitars there every night. Sadly, however, my own guitar did not make it to Paris in one piece. It was completely destroyed when British Airways finally delivered it to me a day and a half late. The pictures are too frightful to post. However, that devastating turn of events quickly became an opportunity for me to visit the famed Rue de Douai, near Pigalle, an amazing street in the heart of Paris with guitar shop after guitar shop--literally over 30 of them within less than a kilometer. A guitar lover's paradise. I bought myself a new one, and I can happily report that there is nothing quite as enjoyable as playing a guitar on a park bench in Paris in the summer.

Finally, I've made friends with a group of French students who have all just finished lycée. They are helping me with my French and I'm helping them improve their already impressive English. Last week, they took me to an enormous outdoor fête at Parc du Champ-de-Mars, the large greenspace underneath and behind la Tour Eiffel. Tens of thousands of French high school students gathered there, drinking, shouting, dancing, and generally partying as they celebrated the end of le bac, the high school exit exam. It was incredible. That night, I also managed to perfect my French accent on the phrase "Ouru de vous rencontre," or "Nice to meet you," as I moved around the crowd and shared in the massive jubiliation of the Parisian youth until early in the morning.

This is, in a nutshell, my Paris experience thus far, and I eagerly await more. To Leitner scholars and dear readers--be well. À bientôt.

Day 2

I woke up early this morning, and was on the train into Paris by 8am. I started off in Pereire-Levallois, then walked down Avenue Niel, which is the street my apartment(which I'm moving into on Thursday) is located on. I passed by the Arc de Triomphe, then walked down the Champs Elysee, passing by la Louvre, the Jardin Tulieres, and also spent some time walking along the quai, watching the boats and admiring the bridges. It was overcast, but dry up until this point, when a light rain started, and slowly picked up. I investigated the area around Notre Dame, and after about half an hour walking in the latin quarter, I managed to find Shakespeare and Co., an amazing English Language bookstore owned by Walt Whitman's grandon, which I had visited last time I was in Paris(2000). I then proceeding back across the river, walked through the Marais until the Bastille, but by then the rain had gotten so bad I decided to take the train back to my Hotel.

Tonight, i went back to the pizza place, and talked with some guys who live in the area--two of the ones I talked to longest were Harry and Armand, who were very nice and helped me work on my french.

When I got back to the hotel, my guitar had finally been delivered, but it was completely destroyed. The headstock is snapped off, so I don't think it's possible to repair. I've filed a claim with British Airways, but who knows if they'll actually do anything. So, I'm in a bit of a somber mood.

Anways, I've got a big day tomorrow and it's pretty late, so I'm signing off.

Paris-Day 1

[The following is a repost from http://www.leitnerinterns.blogspot.com, the website for Fordham University Leitner scholars. I'll be posting here, on my personal blog, things that are less closely related to my internship with the OECD, which is the subject of my posts on the leinterinterns blog.]


I just arrived in Paris tonight, so I thought this might be a good time to write a first post. I'm very excited to be here, naturally, but I am completely exhausted from the past few days--because of a combination of the writing competition and packing up my entire apartment in a day, I've only slept about 9 hours since Wednesday. Also, I'm a bit bummed because my guitar is missing in action. The baggage handlers at Charles de Gaulle airport think it must have gotten stuck in London, and will hopefully arrive in a day or two. Nonetheless, as soon as I hit Paris, I was invigorated. I'm staying at a hostel for the next few days, until I move into my apartment. The hostel is right on the outskirts of Paris, in Epinay-sur-Seine, a nice area with a very suburban feel to it. I went exploring a bit after moving in, went for a long walk and relished being in a new place. It was overcast and lightly raining on and off, with a cool breeze that was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of New York these past few days. I had only been walking for about five minutes before someone stopped and asked me for directions. Of course, I had to let them know I was fresh off the plane and barely knew where I was, let alone where they were going. Still, the inquiry gave me an instant, and encouraging, sense of belonging. As I walked around, I started getting hungry(they served meals on the plane, but, well, it was airplane food and it didn't really do the trick), so I stopped into a cool little pizza shop. Inside, a crowd of locals was huddled around a thirteen inch(33cm?) TV watching a football match--they were all going absolutely crazy every time one of the players made a good play or someone scored. I watched with them while I ate and got pretty into it, and thoroughly enjoyed meeting some people who weren't tourists.


I'll be starting my internship at the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development on Monday, so I think I'm going to sleep in tomorrow(just a bit!), then spend the day exploring Paris. For now, though, I think it's time to sign off.

À bientôt,
Adam