Live from UWEC

I'm visiting Eau Claire, and Claire is presently taking her final exam of the semester. I came into this computer lab to check my email and remind myself the order of the electron shells (Wikipedia tells me it's s p d f g—Claire and I couldn't remember g). I managed to get around to it eventually, but I first managed to get myself involved in editing a cover letter for one Joseph T. Jensen, who is graduating this weekend and is searching for a job in the mortgage-lending business. I helped him with his wording (active voice!), cleaned up his punctuation, and showed him that there are better fonts than Times New Roman. I always get a kick out of people's reactions when they're looking over my shoulder as I write/edit.  I'm sure I'd react similarly if I had the change to peer over the shoulder of Stephen King or maybe Thomas Pynchon, whose exquisitely-written Against the Day I'm beginning to read.

Ruining the barrel

While I'm always pleased when someone gives Apple—a company that seems monomaniacally determined to dull their customers' intellect—a good bashing, this site run by Greenpeace is perhaps too depressing to be purely amusing. Despite my utter disdain for iPods, iTunes, and Mac OS, I've been very impressed with the new MacBook's size and power, so I'm frustrated to learn that it's a mini eco-disaster. Hopefully Apple will clean up their act soon: I'd like to have my options wide open when I buy my next notebook in three or four years.

I am the very model of a modern mage or general

Year of the whale

It took me 349 days, but I finally finished Moby-Dick.  I have no doubt the sluggish pace can be attributed to the long passages of plotless descriptions of whales and whaleships which made the middle third of the book a real chore to read.  I did, however, greatly appreciate the plot, dialogue, and overall excellent prose in the first and last thirds.

Digression exemplified digitally

I'm trying to find the adverb form of the word 'analog' in the "opposite of digital" sense. The dictionary isn't immediately clear, so I'm Googling for the answer. I came across this message board, where one Nate Branscom asks the same question. He receives a multiplicity of uncited and unsupported answers before the conversation digresses into a conversation about audio formats in the 1970s or something like that. Go ahead: take a look and see if you have the patience to follow the winding thread.

No surprise here...

What American accent do you have? Your Result: North Central   "North Central" is what professional linguists call the Minnesota accent. If you saw "Fargo" you probably didn't think the characters sounded very out of the ordinary. Outsiders probably mistake you for a Canadian a lot.
The Midland
The West
The Inland North
Boston
The Northeast
Philadelphia
The South
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

...but I do pronounce "orange" (a frequently used word here in Syracuse) with two syllables. I worked to kick the Midwestern monosyllabic "ornge," while I was dating Marget, whose beautiful pronunciation of the word made me dissatisfied with my own.

BC@SR

Talking with my good friend and fellow alum Sameer Agrawal, I learned that my old school and first home away from home, Simon's Rock College of Bard, will be changing its name. It has used a variety of names over the decades, and the newest one will be "Bard College at Simon's Rock." Apparently a lot of alumni are upset, and that's understandable. Many alumni spent their most formative years there, and I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling that a disproportionately large amount of my growing-up occurred in Great Barrington. We want it to remain a time capsule because its painful to imagine otherwise. But change is inevitable, and in this case we must ask ourselves that age-old question: What's in a name?

We know that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and surely the same will be true of Simon's Rock; it will remain the place we've loved. But I will go on to say that the name change will make the college a more attractive rose. I think back to my very first contact with the school: I received a small blue postcard in the mail asking me to apply to the Acceleration to Excellence Program. I took one look at it, saw the name "Simon's Rock," and threw it in the recycling. I threw away my first message from the school purely on account of its name. By that point in my life I had already distanced myself from my Christian upbringing, and I didn't want to attend a Christian school. Fortunately my mother came across the card and did a little investigation at the public library. I count her recovery of that little blue card as the most fortuitous event in my life, and as an A.A. recipient, a Dolliver R.A., and a yearbook editor I'd like to think that it was fortuitous for SRC too.

But it didn't need to come down to that. Had "Bard College at Simon's Rock" been written on the card I probably wouldn't have recycled it. And I'm betting a similar story has unfolded many times without such an improbable intervention. How many excellent students have we missed because of our misleading name? Maybe some market research could tell us, and I don't know if there have been polls or surveys conducted. I hope so because the school should always be making the most informed decisions. For me, an alum with no official say in the matter, my personal experience is more than enough. I can embrace 'BC@SR' wholeheartedly.

Make no mistake: I wouldn't be so supportive of just any new nomination. I support this move because I think the board has selected an excellent name. Unlike the old "Bard College of Simon's Rock," the newly-minted "Bard College at Simon's Rock" quite elegantly leaves the place-name alone. That bit of land off of Alford Road—that place full of winding wooded trails, that place with a well loved community garden, that place with mismatched buildings, that place where we did so much growing up, that place that was every bit as important as the formal lessons taught there—that place remains 'Simon's Rock.' The academic institution located there is taking the name of Bard College, but it's at Simon's Rock, and the new name makes no bones about it.

Drink up for better health

Nate and I share a lot of the foods in the fridge, but we've each got our own juice. Nate's a firm believer in the power of Tahitian Noni, which purports to solve any number of health issues. I can appreciate its deep currant flavor, but, always the skeptic, I stick with more vitamin-rich juices, specifically the two Goodness from Bolthouse Farms. Claire introduced me to Green Goodness a couple years back, and I've kept it in my fridge as a green vegetable substitute and ROCKSTAR mixer ever since. I just spotted Blue Goodness in Wegmans for the first time Saturday. It's heavier to B vitamins but lacking in A, so it won't be a regular purchase for me. Still, it's unmistakable blueberry flavor will make it hard to pass-up.

Love shack!

This current residence is my first "real" apartment in the sense that the building isn't school owned and it isn't filled with students. In fact, Nate and I are the only students in the building. The difference is usually quite notable: the place is quiet during the work day, the muted sounds of TVs replaces explosively loud AIM pings, and smoke—whether it be from cigarettes, marijuana, or burned popcorn— is entirely absent. The floors don't need to be an indestructible linoleum, and we can save money by conserving energy since electricity isn't included. I like it very much.

Still, it's frequently obvious that the real world isn't all that different from the collegiate one. One of our neighbors is a professor, which definitely gives the building a not-so-far-away-from-campus feel. And I've mentioned our downstairs neighbor Norm, who is in many respects a frat-boy with a job. The fourth apartment (the other one on our floor) is no exception. Jay and Kelly are a young couple (dating, not married), who both seem to have a serious night life. They're often out as late as Nate and I are (although certainly having more fun), and conjugal activities happen within a few minutes of 1:30 am more often than not.

We know this because they don't really do anything quietly. They don't often make a ruckus like Norm, but they're not subtle. They're loud on the stairs, both vocally and in step, they're loud loud in the bedroom, both vocally and rhythmically. My bedroom is on the stairwell, so I get most of the former; Nate's bedroom borders theirs, so he gets most of the latter. Still, they don't seem to confine themselves to the bedroom, so I get a dose of the aural experience with some frequency (not unlike my time in Broadway). I've had some good chuckles with both Nate and Jean-François about some of the particulars, which may or may not find their way into another post down the line. At this point it will suffice to say that it's rather inescapable due to its volume.

This evening we were eating our supper in our main room, which is in the back half of the apartment building, and the moans started to issue through the wall. Nate looked at me incredulously. "In the kitchen?" he asked in a hushed voice. I decided that a gentle deterrent was in order. I raised my voice and rambled randomly: So I said to Withers, 'I say! the slope of the tangent of the circle is clearly less than the hypotenuse of the triangle!' And of course what could Withers do but admit that I had a point? 'Quite right you are!' he said to me. Really he was a right good chap about it and didn't let a little thing like that get him down for even a moment!

This seemed to prove sufficient, since the moaning came to an abrupt stop. Well, if I was pleased with myself then, the satisfaction was certainly not to last. At three this morning, our doorbell buzzed for a solid twenty seconds. Shortly after it stopped, a whole party of people came stomping up the stairs, carrying on loudly. They seemed to spend all of two minutes in Jay and Kelly's apartment before turning around and heading back out (this time the boisterous talk was accompanied by a harmonica). Nate and I both fell back to sleep promptly, but both of us are hoping it was a one-time event and unrelated to my dinner time theatrics since we generally like both of them when we have actual contact with them.

Turkey and ham with Netskis and Wellingtons

Thanksgiving 2006 played out a lot like Thanksgiving 2005, with the exception of transportation. Chris was already down at the lake house, so I rode with classmates Alex and Nico. I was also a little more ambitious with my cooking: in addition to the cranberry sauce that went over so well last year (see below), I made a butternut squash cassoulet that seemed to get a good reception even though it didn't make it to the table in the condition I had hoped. (I cooked it only part way, with plans to cook it more upon our arrival, but navigation issues delayed us a full hour, thus reducing further cook-time.)

Dinner was excellent again, and afterwards Uncle Jimmy treated us to a very impressive performance of "Alice's Restaurant" (at the correct tempo, no easy feat!). All of the extended family left before too long, so Chris's parents joined the four of us future architects in a game of Trivial Pursuit (with a 1981 "Genus I" edition board). Nico and Sarah got into an early lead, but never managed to snag the orange wedge. Chris and Alex accumulated their pieces in a slow and steady fashion, but Ed and I managed to comeback from last place and take the game at the very end (which is my kind of exciting end!) Over the course of the game, I was reminded that:

• The Battle of Hastings occurred in 1066.
• It was Vincent van Gogh who cut off his ear (not Pablo Picasso, whose name I carelessly blurted out while Ed was putting away leftovers).
• There are 32 named points on the compass rose. (Wikipedia tells me it works like this:
  270.00° West
  281.25° West by North
  292.50° West-Northwest
  303.75° Northwest by West
  315.00° Northwest
  326.25° Northwest by North
  337.50° North-Northwest
  348.75° North by West
  360.00° North
  I had guessed 16, since I didn't understand the "___ by ___" directions.)
• There were two guns of Navarone.

So, it was both an an enjoyable and educational day. Now to educate you, dear reader, here's the recipe to my now-traditional sidedish:

Cosmopolitan Cranberry Sauce
3 limes
1 orange
½ c. water
12 oz. cranberries picked over
1 c. sugar
¼ c. orange-flavor liqueur
1. Zest the limes and the orange. Juice the limes (and orange if desired) into a measuring cup, and add water to make ¾ c. liquid.
2. In 2-quart saucepan combine juice, sugar, cranberries, and zest; heat to boiling over high heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, uncovered, 5 minutes or until most cranberries pop and sauce thickens slightly, stirring occasionally. Remove saucepan from heat; stir in liqueur.
3. Refrigerate in a covered container at least 3 hours; freeze to expedite the process if necessary.

This was adapted from a recipe in Good Housekeeping. I almost always make a double batch.

Passing

I'm saddened to learn of Robert Altman's passing on Sunday, but I'm pleased to remember that his A Prairie Home Companion was the cinematic highlight of my summer and an appropriately poignant finale to his career.

The best of both worlds

I switched to Internet Explorer 7 tonight, and it's very promising thus far. I'd been giving Firefox a second chance this past month, but I found it to be as buggy and crash-prone as it was two years ago when I first tried it. Microsoft, as usual, seems to have done a very good job of incorporating the best ideas of their more creative competitors into a useful package. It's good to have tabs and stability. It even seems to be able to handle AJAX as well as Firefox can. Mozilla's got nothin' on it now!

San Narciso 49ers

I just finished Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49, my first novel from the author. I liked it; my most significant critcism is its brevity, for found myself done before I had a chance to make myself at home among its pages. This shouldn't be a problem with his newest novel, however: Against the Day, due out Tuesday, boasts a thousand pages (slightly more or less, depending on which sources you believe).

Mead over merlot

I attended the second in a series of preparatory meetings for the semester abroad (which for me will be a year from now). I was expecting another informational meeting like the first, but I instead found a simple response form for us to declare our intended destination. I've been waffling between Florence and London for about six months now, and I didn't mark my choice the moment I got it, but really when it came down to it, London was increasingly intriguing, and I've never doubted that it would be the more comfortable fit. I'm sure I'll be missing out on the Tuscan cooking, but I'm confident that I'll find some very pleasing drink in the Square Mile.

Voops!

My classmate has a copy of Single Grape Wines on her desk. I was initially confused about the contents of the book however, because I read the title off the spine, which calls the book "Single Grape Vines" (a substantially less useful subject). It would seem to me that if there was any part of a book that deserves double proof-reading it's the title.

Poll worker charged with assaulting voter

By Jessie Halladay, The Courier-Journal

LOUSIVILLE &ndsh; A poll worker at the United Auto Workers hall on Fern Valley Road was arrested after he was accused of assaulting a voter Tuesday, said Lt. Col. Carl Yates, a spokesman for the Jefferson County Sheriffs’ Office.

Jeffery Steitz, 42, was charged with interfering with an election and fourth-degree assault, said Yates.

The incident happened about 10:30 a.m. when the poll worker wouldn’t process the voter’s ballot because he had not cast votes for the judge elections, Yates said.

The voter, William Miller, apparently cast a ballot that did not go through the voting machine, Yates said.

When Steitz, who was being paid to work the election and assist voters, looked at the rejected ballot, he told Miller it didn’t go through because he’d left all the judge elections blank.

After Miller insisted that he did not have to vote for the judges, Steitz allegedly assaulted him, Yates said. (Voters can cast ballots in any or all of the races, as they see fit.)

Steitz is accused of choking Miller and then pushing him out of the polling place, said Paula McCraney, a spokeswoman for the Jefferson County Clerk.

Another worker at the location called the main election office to report the incident and election officials sent sheriffs’ deputies to relieve Steitz of his duties, McCraney said.

When deputies arrived, Miller came back inside the polling place and asked that charges be filed against Steitz, McCraney said.

Yates said once the charges were filed Miller was allowed to cast a new ballot.

Claire Left And I Reminisce Electronically

Michael was kind enough to drive Claire and myself to the airport this morning so that we could say our good-byes and she could fly back to MSP. As we approached the terminal I told him we were looking for Delta check-in. His response was "Don't expect luggage to arrive." Sure enough, Delta managed to make Claire's day a difficult one. Upon arriving in Cincinnati, she discovered that her connecting flight had been canceled, and she was being moved to a Northwest Airlines flight four hours later. Only after she specifically requested a meal voucher did they give her one. And, upon arriving in MSP, she had to wait an additional 45 minutes for her luggage to catch up with her since Delta hung on to that themselves, even though they gave Claire over to NWA.

Fortunately, the frustrations of her trip home were atypical of the weekend as a whole. We generally kept things simple and at home. We cooked most of our own meals (Claire made pad thai and pancakes, I baked cookies and chocolate martinis, and we teamed up to make spinach lasagna). We watched a film on DVD instead of going to the movies (Y tu mamá también was the Road Film of the week). We got plenty of sleep and did a bit of homework when we got ourselves sufficiently motivated. Our one dinner out was a disappointment (due to outrageously slow service), but the potluck we hosted for my classmates was a success. All in all, it was a lovely weekend, and I expect the six remaining weeks until the end of Claire's semester will seem all the longer for it.

The toaster is toast

Last year I posted about the ambitious prose accompanying my Toastmaster Toaster. Apparently the words were all the thing had going for it, since the thing stopped working without warning a month ago. Last week I finally got my hands on its replacement (with help from Alex, who drove me to the UPS depot). This time I invested a little more cash with hopes that I'd get a longer-lasting bread-crisping companion. I selected the KitchenAid KMTT200 (how's that for a catchy name?), in plain ol' silver. It's downright classy, if not as posh as my parent's KitchenAid PRO LINE Series toaster. It certainly recalls for me William Jay Smith's wonderful little poem "The Toaster":

A silver-scaled dragon with jaws flaming red
Sits at my elbow and toasts my bread.
I hand him fat slices, and then, one by one,
He hands them back when he sees they are done.

This was one of a score of poems I memorized in Mrs. Tobler's second grade class. It's one of the few that has stuck with me totally intact.

The Man Behind The Curtain

I just did something I rarely do: I clicked on a banner ad. I feel that I made a solid decision, as this website both amused and astounded me. Amused and astounded you ask? Yes. I was amused by the content, and astounded when I realized that it was an advertisement for a porduct of Microsoft, a company from which I've never before seen the slightest sign of a sense of humor.

DSC-III

While a handful of posts to this blog have included pictures taken with one of my digital cameras, I've yet to give the devices themselves much attention. My first camera, the DSC-P71, was a dual-graduation gift from my parents (as a congratulations for earning both an Associate in Arts and a High School Diploma in the spring of 2003). Its 3.2 mega-pixels served me well through my first year at Madison (including my first trip to Scandinavia) and my summer at Columbia University.

After returning from NYC I took my camera in for an alignment, since the blue was being recorded slightly offset from the red and green. Best Buy declined to fix "Li'l Digi" (as Marget and I had called it), so I was allowed to select a new camera from the shelf. Picking the DSC-P100 was an easy choice. The upgrade cost me the price of new batteries, but I was able to reuse the old case, which housed the new, smaller camera reasonably well. That 5.1 mega-pixel beauty served me for over two years, earning me a few bucks from James Block's political campaign shoot and gaining attention with a photo in a major newspaper.

Like the P71 before it, the P100 ended its days with me on the road. It was my constant companion in Los Angeles, but I made a last minute decision to stow it in my checked luggage when I discovered that we'd be flying home on rather small planes. I certainly regretted the decision when I arrived home to find the case in my bag and the camera missing from the case. My pilfering claim is still being processed, but I couldn't waste time in finding a replacement. Thus, on Monday UPS and Amazon.com connected me with my new photon-collecting friend: the DSC-T30. While I'm pleased that it boasts a cushy 7.2 mega-pixels, I'm still getting used to the feel of it, and it'll be while before I stop missing the old camera. I get rather attached to these things.

Form follows function

I'm still pretty happy with the overall appearance that this blog has had since late 2004, but its functionality hasn't been all that fabulous. I just couldn't put up with the linear archive any longer. I'm adopting this modified Blogger template, and I will attempt to tweak it until it more closely resembles my own design.

The Return

On my way home I looked up into the night sky and watched a plane descending slowly for landing at Hancock, its magnificently bright lights casting beams a quarter mile ahead of it.

Plumtree is back from Florida. I'm back from L.A. It's time to get back to it.

Driving Force

I've agreed to help out Martin Houge, the professor who led the Landscape in Flim course I took last semester, on his semesterly film series. This semester will be centered on Road Films. We finalized the lineup over the past couple of days. Our schedule will be:

07 Oct - Easy Rider
14 Oct - Two-Lane Blacktop
21 Oct - O Brother, Where Art Thou?
25 Oct - Sans toit ni loi (Vagabond)
04 Nov - Y tu mamá también
08 Nov - Stranger Than Paradise
11 Nov - Badlands
18 Nov - Vanishing Point

I'll be hanging posters and running the projector, which shouldn't be too bad. The fun part will come as we plan next semester's theme and line-up...

Understandable

While Googling around for information on UV radiation in LA I came across this friendly message:

Bonjour,
le service est indisponible momentanément...
Merci de votre compréhension.

This service is temporarily unavailable...
Thank you for your comprehension.

Scissors cuts paper, questions unnerve architects

I went to the Syracuse Connective Corridor open formum yesterday.  Four teams of architects presented their visions for our city, and the audience submitted questions to a moderator who posed a few of them to the presenters.  I asked the second team about their ideas for preserving parking availability since their plan calls for the reclamation of a number of parking lots for green spaces.  After receiving the questions all members looked nervous, and one fellow said softly to his teammates, "Do we rock, paper, scissors for it?"

Since 1984

Happy twenty-second, Claire!

Boom-da-da-boom-da-d—

I was walking back from the Warehouse, and a Ford Excursion with chrome rims rolled up at the red light next to me. The bass it was putting out easily surpassed anything that I've ever heard from an automobile, and I think I could even hear the glass of the car behind it and the windows in the building next to me vibrating. The twenty-something driver was looking rather pleased with himself, and the girl in the front seat seemed impressed—until the light turned green, that is. Almost as soon as the signal changed, the SUV stalled, the music went silent, and all I could hear were the usual sounds of a car starting up. I guess he must have diverted a little too much juice to his beats.

Syracuse international

Syracuse has been in full party-mode this past month. We've had a Latino Festival, an Irish Festival, and now we have Festa Italiana. This most recent one was only a half block away from my apartment, so I couldn't possibly miss out on the fun. (Nate and I strolled through the Irish festival a few hours before Plumtree died). I ate a light dinner so that I could sample some foods, but I still wasn't able to try everything I would have liked. I greatly enjoyed some "Greens Gentile" (escarole, sausage, broccoli, cherry peppers, and cheese) from Gentile's Restaurant and cooled my mouth with some gelato (which wasn't anything spectacular). Tonight I'm going back for the bacon-wrapped scallops on a stick, which will hopefully tide me over until the next big party: Oktoberfest!

Computer Over

The hard drive of plumtree, my primary computer, died today. I'm going to be stuck with quidnunc, my old Dell, for the next three weeks. quidnunc has no wireless, so updates to this blog before early October may be infrequent. (So what else is new?)

Wish me luck.

For whom?

I've always been one to look at the dedication pages of books, and I'm usually please when I find one that is interesting due to the presence of a familiar name or a bit of humor. In the last few days I've eyed the one in Francis MacDonald Cornford's translation of The Republic a few times. It reads:

TO
F. C. C.
in gratitude for many hours
patiently given to the amendment of this version
by one whose sense of good English
in a never failing guide

which I don't consider very interesting, although somewhat preferable to

For Louise, again, always

which precedes James C. Scott's rather excellent book Seeing Like a State. Today my real estate development textbook arrived, and I was pleased to find a freer spirit at work:

This book is dedicated to the memory of Jim Graaskamp—
dynamic, insightful, slightly opinionated,
and one helluva guy.

It sounds like a good way to be remembered to me.

A trip to Wal-Mart

I'm not a Wal-Mart fan, but Nate's parents (who eat organic foods and buy their cars based on Consumer Reports reviews) don't choose to fight that particular battle, so to Wal-Mart we went, and I wasn't as pained as I might have been. I did try to complete my more significant purchases at Minneapolis-based (and Guthrie-sponsoring) Target, but I bought a few little things from the Evil Empire, one of which was a rubber stopper for our kitchen sink. It took much looking, but finally I found one (while looking for something else, actually). The package had no brand name, but was simply marked "Sink Stopper." On the back it had a list of features to recommend it:

· PVC Material
· Flexible Snug Fit
· Unique Soft Grip
· Convenient Octopus Design

Yes, the thing is molded to look like an octopus sitting on top of a disc. Moreover the octopus has a face with two circles for eyes and one for a mouth. I seem to remember a Beanie Baby with similar anatomical incorrectness, but this one's a whole lot creepier. Yes—I think 'creepy' is definitely more accurate than 'convenient.'

Thems Fightin' Words!

Last night all grads were invited to Blue Tusk for a pre-semester drink. The restaurant and bar serves many drinks (Chris got a drink she calls "Sprite with two cherries"), beer is definitely their forte. I'm guessing they have around 5o beers on tap. I'm always tempted by Guinness, but I decided to try a War of 1812 Ale Sackets Harbor Brewing Company, since a truck bearing their logo had graciously waited for me to cross a street earlier in the day. I'm still to new to beers to review them seriously, but I liked it, and I liked the name. In some respects it reminded me of Bender, made by my hometown brewery Surly Brewing Co. I susptect there are a good number of beers out there that go by some fightin' words. Maybe I should try the locally brewed ImPaled Ale, made by Syracuse-based Middle Ages Brewing Company.

The Moose Are Safe In This Wood

Our attempt at a class trip to Ithaca may have been unsuccessful from the standpoint of attendance (only five of us went, and my own presence was due to some last-minute coaxing from Chris), but the food we found on the road kept our spirits high. We saved our appetites for Moosewood Restaurant, which seems to have achieved fame in its creation in 1973, especially among vegetarians and vegans. The quasi-vegetarian menu (a seafood dish seems to be offered most meals) is perfectly sized at five entrees and a handful of soups, salads, and sandwiches. I had Sante Fe chowder, a tomato and mushroom pasta dish, and a roasted plum teacake, and all the food very good casual fare. The chefs of the Moosewood seem discontent to keep their creations to themselves, and the restaurant has an impressive array of foods to go and cookbooks for at-home enjoyment, although the books are a little out of my price-range at present.

The drive home was supplimented with icecream from Doug's Fish Fry, which was enjoyable and reasonably priced. I regret to say that we passed by a place called "Googer's Cakes and Things" without stopping. It may very well have been closed, however, since word has it that Googer has moved on to bigger and better things...

A Pose By Any Other Name

After an afternoon at the beach we took a dinnertime siesta and then regrouped at Carousel Mall to see Little Miss Sunshine at the Regal Theater on the third floor. Chris, who's been my angel-of-transportation this week, drove me, and we arrived with enough time to head into Victoria's secret to find a pair of underwear that would satisfy the requirements of a coupon she'd had in her purse. I hung back for the first couple of minutes she was checking tags, figuring I'd be more in the way than anything. Eventually I did jump in, digging through the disorganized piles (in an ultimately fruitless search), but while I was waiting during those first two minutes I noted a rather prominently displayed add featuring model Heidi Klum. Black and white photos of Ms. Klum posing in a smooth black brazier were completed with the following quote, attributed to the model herself.

"Now I have a bra named after me."

Which got me to wondering: what's the bra called? The 'Klum'? The 'Heidi'? Sadly the 'Klumcupper' seemed out of the question. 'Heid' & Chic'? No. Then I joined in the search for panties (solid color; pink, white, or black; $5; and, of course, a size and cut to suit Chris's tastes), and bras had to be forgotten.

But not for long. Thumbing through the newest edition of The Week when I got home, I found a tidbit lifted from this bit in New York's Daily News:

Elle's shock over 'Body' double Klum

Is Heidi Klum a 'Body' snatcher?

Fellow supermodel Elle Macpherson, who's been known as "The Body" ever since Time magazine dubbed her that in a 1986 cover story, has every reason to think so.

This week, Klum has been claiming the title for herself in a saturation Victoria's Secret ad campaign for The Body bra. "They call me The Body—and now I have a bra named after me," the German hottie claims in TV commercials.

But not so fast, Fräulein Klum!

"We saw that and were like, Oh my god!" Elle Macpherson Intimates spokeswoman Melissa Edwards told Lowdown yesterday. "We were initially flabbergasted."

Now it's a battle of the supermodel moguls—Macpherson, the 42-year-old, 6-foot Aussie mother of two, against Klum, the 33-year-old, 5-foot-9 mother of two (with one on the way).

Elle's flack, Edwards, invoked the 1986 Time cover and added: "We have numerous press clippings in the office referring to her as 'The Body.' Everything from Harper's Bazaar to Vogue to the recent Sports Illustrated calls her that. In terms of public record, that name belongs to Elle."

Macpherson markets her own skin-care line, "Elle Macpherson The Body," along with a lingerie brand and a fitness video titled "The Body Workout." Klum—who was once called "The Body Two," in deference to Elle—is a relative Heidi-come-lately, and didn't hit the United States until the late 1990s. Both Klum and Macpherson have been favorites of the Sports Illustrated annual swimsuit issue, and both appeared in the mag's latest.

But what's up with "The Body" doubling? A spokeswoman for Klum and Victoria's Secret didn't respond by deadline to detailed messages.

This had me really confused, because I was absolutely certain that "The Body" referred to retired Navy SEAL, ex-professional wrestler, and former Minnesota governor Jesse Ventura! This led me to recall his expressed desire to be reincarnated as a 38-DD bra. I momentarily panicked, but Wikipedia says he's still alive. Whew. I need sleep. I never thought a trip to Victoria's Secret would have me in such a tizzy.

Good News Wasn't New By The Time I Realized It Was Good

I've had Modest Mouse's Good News for People Who Love Bad News on my computer for over a year now. I wasn't too sure about it at first, but that savagely delightful track "Satin in a Coffin" kept me coming back. Now the whole album is sounding good. I'm usually slow to warm to the albums I like the best and the longest, but this has been an unusually long thaw. Maybe my disdain for bad news stood in the way. Have you listened to this well crafted piece of music? Let me know. Maybe we can get a half dozen responses.

Indirect deposit

I'm trying to arrange a direct deposit of my TA stipend to my checking account. My initial attempt was foiled due to a shortage of forms at the TA Information Fair. Fortunately, I was told by the guy running the payroll table, I would be able to take care of the whole thing online at myslice.syr.edu. Unfortunately, I discovered today, I don't have access to employee on-line services for reasons unknown. Fortunately, I was able to find a printable PDF of the direct-deposit application which will serve the same purpose. Unfortunately, my printing account in the Warehouse has been deactivated until the school year begins, and there are no buses up to the main campus until that same time.

I've also been informed that the wireless network may be deactivated here in the Warehouse for the entire remaining week. I'm praying that doesn't happen, because I have no idea what I'll do if I'm without furniture, transportation, internet, and a grocery store for a whole week.

Spanish For 'Cacophony'

Working on the fifth-floor of the Warehouse I was listening to a new track from the Mars Volta when a raucous chorus of honking cars from outside overwhelmed the music in my headphones. I looked out to see the visible portion of Fayette Street filled with cars draped in Puerto Rican flags and dozens of go-carts weaving in and out down the line. A bit of Googling led me to the most probable source of the commotion. Let's hope that the noise I heard was not the end product of the one-hundred thousand dollar grant from the New York State Music Fund.

3,289 Pages Later...

I'm back in Syracuse after spending my summer as a lifeguard and bookworm. I'll be returning to Moby-Dick, which I left on the shelf for the months I had access to the the Hennepin County Libraries' collection. During that time I read:

The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
The Penelopiad by Margaret Atwood
On Writing by Stephen King
Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King
Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez
For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway
Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell by Susannah Clarke

Hemingway's book was the least recommendable. I found that the word-for-word translations of Spanish phrases and the awkwardly omitted obscenities stifled the simple and elegant story. I'm hesitant to declare Clarke's book my favorite, but I will say I had the most fun reading it. I didn't quite get around to reading the Domesday Book, despite its new availability online.

Guts

I found another mutilation on top of Chair 1. This time it was...chunkier.

Blood but no guts (thankfully)

I started my day at work at Chair 3, and upon climbing to the top I found myself surrounded by dried blood, tufts of fur, and piles of feces. I can only guess that an owl deemed the guard-stand to be an ideal place for its nocturnal nibblings, which as an abstract idea has a decided appeal to guy who did his fifth-grade animal report on great-horned owls. The reality, however, was quite a different thing, especially for a guy who passed on every science-class dissection except (ironically) the owl pellet. Shredded remains or not, I'm glad to be working in the middle of a nature reserve. Of course, getting to watch a mother duck leading her seven ducklings across the pond a few nights a week certainly helps to offset the occasional unpleasantness.

First Rush

Claire and I celebrated our one-year anniversary this evening with a trip to the new Guthrie, which had its grand opening last weekend. The first official production, The Great Gatsby doesn't open until 21 July, and previews don't even begin until the fifteenth, but a touring production by the Druid Theatre Company of Galway, Ireland, is breaking in the McGuire Proscenium Stage this week. The rather complicated run of DruidSynge involves the presentation of some combination of plays, varying nightly, by writer John Millington Synge. Claire and I saw one-act The Shadow of the Glen followed by the more famous The Playboy of the Western World. Claire and I both struggled to follow Shadow on account of the actors' thick brogue but enjoyed Playboy, which offered more meat to the plot, more time for adjustment to the accents, and more cushion for those lines that were lost upon us.

If the show itself lacked accessibility, the overall experience in the new Guthrie made up for it with a vengeance. The new building was both gorgeous and functional [I'd like to address the architecture in a separate post], and the enthusiasm among the other attendees was noticeable. Claire and I, being on a tight budget arrived without tickets and instead took our chances with the rush line, which sells all tickets at $15 a piece starting 30 minutes before the start of the show. I made certain we arrived early, and we claimed the first spot in line, making us the first Friday night rushers for the new theater. The manœuvre paid off: we snagged sixth-row center-section seats (valued at $55 a piece). After the show Claire and I enjoyed magnificent deserts at the Level 5 Café and enjoyed each others company at the end of the endless bridge, overlooking the Mississippi river.

I'm looking forward to returning to the new Guthrie. And, of course, I'm looking forward to spending another year with Claire.

A decade of May

I made my annual visit to Dr. James F. May this morning, knowing well that it may be the last with my soon-to-be-retired orthodontist. I was still a bit saddened to hear him tell me that future check-ups will no longer be necessary. Trips to the orthodontist, while never fun, have been a reassuring routine in my life for over a decade. The first appliance he installed was a trans-palatal arch, which he and his staff tweaked every month through 1996. On a cold January day of the following year he installed my braces, and from the start of 1997 to the summer of 1998 they cranked on the braces too. After the day of emancipation (in late July, I recall), my visits with Dr. May became ever-so-much more pleasant. Since then he's checked my retainers' fit annually, and has always found it to fit well, and our appointments have been brief, happy affairs. I may not see him again, but I suspect Claire (another patient of his) and I will reminisce on Dr. May (and the suffering through which he put us) for years to come.

New Jacks

My mother and I ate at the newest Original House of Pancakes in the world today, a mere 400 minutes after the doors opened. We both enjoyed the fare; she had pecan pancakes and I had coconut pancakes with a side of ham, and everything on the table—right down to the orange juice and freshly made tropical spread—was vastly superior to anything I've had at a Perkins, Shoney's, Denny's, or IHOP. The dining room was light and beautiful, the lofted ceilings accented with dark wood trim. I had a few quibbles with the use of stone, but I suspect there would be no apparent problem to a less architecturally-minded person.

Fine dining (bread and water)

At a recent auction my dad bought a 100-dollar gift certificate to Tiburón Caribbean Bistro for 115 dollars, the profits going towards ALS research, and this evening we dined at the downtown-Minneapolis restaurant. It was dead when we arrived, but that was to be expected at 5:30 on a Monday evening, and was certainly no indication of the quality of the experience. The atmosphere was pleasant (a large, snaking aquarium divided the bar from the dining room), and the food was excellent. There were a great number of appealing options, so I ordered all four courses from the chef's June specials, which may be a first for me in spite general feeling that specials should be ordered as often as possible. This month's spotlighted country is Cuba; although I can't attest to the authenticity of the food's nationality I can attest to the deliciousness of all four courses, which were: Fried Plantains with corn salsa, queso fresco and topped with lime sour cream; Lobster Stuffed Avocado Salad a light and refreshing salad, served on a bed of field greens drizzled with a light balsamic dressing; Mojo Chicken with a warm avocado mango salsa—sautéed chicken breast with a sweet citrus glaze served on a bed of coconut rice; and Fried Ice Cream topped with chocolate and mango sauces and fresh berries, and served in a fried cinnamon tortilla bowl. I'm hoping a return trip in a later month can be arranged.

Later this evening I went to Kinkos to print photos and to Cub Foods to pick up water for Laura's forthcoming graduation party, and I decided to grab some bread while I was out. Since my local Great Harvest bread store closed during the past semester, I've been having a great deal of difficulty finding a loaf a whole wheat bread that doesn't have that Wonder Bread consistency that afflicts all of the rectangular, presliced loafs in the bread isle. Byerly's the local upscale grocery store has "artesian" breads of excellent texture, but each one uses soccer-mom-safe white flour. Whole Foods has good bread, but its even more expensive than Great Harvest's Honey Whole Wheat. So this summer I've been turning to Cub Foods for my staple food. That's right. Plain ol', brown-bagging, florescent-lit Cub Foods. For some reason they've started carrying high-quality take-and-bake loafs from the New French Bakery in Minneapolis, and the price ain't bad either.

I was, however, slightly chagrined to find myself going through the check-out line with only bread and water, which seems only a step above the chips and soda the solitary young white male shopper behind me had in his basket.

Guns and love disastrous (five illuminations)

(I)
I'm sitting on Chair 1, guarding a moderately busy beach during an uneventful three o'clock safety brake when the boy approaches me. He's four years old.
Are you a lifeguard? he asks.
I am, I answer.
Do you have to be able to swim?
I have to be able to swim a whole mile!
Do you like being a lifeguard?
I do. Does he want to be a lifeguard when he's older?
He answers without the faintest hint of a smile. No. FBI agent. He reveals a squirt gun which has been tucked into the back of his swim trunks. Holding it in the air he turns and runs.

(II)
The water is cool and clear early in the day, but with the strong June sunshine and a frenzy of activity it becomes warm and cloudy by midafternoon. As the sun sinks, it becomes a calm place, even a private place if only up to a foot below the surface. But those deeper areas are enough, and occasionally we lifeguards must remind lusty young couples that the beach is a family-friendly facility—that is to say it is a place meant for the raising of existing children, not the making of new ones. What percentage of copulating couples do we catch? Who knows. We occasionally learn of some incidents only from patrons more observant or simply closer to the action than we are. Sometimes such reports come from children, but, thankfully, their own innocence protects them when we fail. We were displeased, if not exactly alarmed, this evening when a child told us of a couple in the water "kissing and fighting."

(III)
The boys were in the shallow end, pointing their fingers at each other in the manner that has allowed children to engage in bloodless gunbattles for generations. Perhaps these fellows of ten and twelve weren't armed with the plastic facsimiles that have supplanted the fingers and the imagination for this most recent generations, but the older of the two had certainly acquired a modern, gory idea of gunbattles. While "Bang! You're dead!" sufficed for Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang, who were no doubt raised on nearly bloodless war movies like "Kelly's Heroes," which dispatches dozens (hundreds?) of Nazis without a single bullet wound. This boy spoke in a manner more fitting of young Marvin's demise in Pulp Fiction. His younger duelist was quieter, so I heard only one side of the imaginary showdown:
"I shot you!"
"I killed you!"
At this point the boy's mother cried, "John!"
"I shot your head off!"
"John!"
"I blew your face off!"
"John! Don't talk like that!"

(IV)
I'm riding along Weaver Lake Road, on my way to Claire's house (she's back from the jungle), and I'm gaining fast on young couple walking side-by-side down the center of the path. I shout my customary bicycle on your left, and the girl (who I see is no more than sixteen) casts look over her shoulder. She starts to move to the right, and realizing that her male companion has not heard she begins to pull him towards her. Feeling her tug, he turns to her for a kiss, but she pulls him past her, and he takes a stumbling step onto the grass, evidently perplexed until I fly past.

(V)
A hundred yards farther down the road I come to a stop at a red light. I cast a glance around the intersection and see a large black SUV with windows proclaiming in fingerpaint JUST MARRIED. Inside the groom is at the wheel talking animatedly. The bride is gazing out the passenger side window with a look of resignedness. The light turns green, the bride blows me a kiss, and we ride on.

The reel deal

After two or three years of gentle pestering, I finally convinced my dad to buy a reel mower for our lawn. He took the first crack at it over the weekend when I was busy working at the pond, but tonight I got a chance to try it out, and I was as pleased as I anticipated. It didn't cut quite as perfectly as the gas-powered Lawn Boy, but it didn't do too shabbily either. It was quiet, consumed no gas, and generated no exhaust (which I missed slightly, as the fumes tend to keep the skeeters away). Perhaps the best part was the increased work-out; after a school year of minimal activity every little bit of exercise is welcome this summer.

Oddly enough, I can't find even the slightest mention of their "Classic" mower on the Scotts website. Goodness knows I can find as many chemicals as I could possibly want to spread around my lawn. I'm glad to see Scotts has their priorities in order.

Corruption Of Cocoa

I've been wondering this for a few months now: Are Hershey's Kissables the worst use of chocolate ever? A coworker of mine brought in Kissable cookies—nothing impressive, but not too shabby—but even that level of attention and effort wasn't enough to overcome the nasty taste of those retched candy pieces. Having seen better candies disappear after just a few months, I can only hope this scourge is gone by the end of the summer.

Aspiring Sleuths

I've had a lot of fun with Google's Da Vinci Code Quest over the past 24 days, and I'm very much hoping that I made the final phase, if only because it will give me a couple more puzzles to play; I don't think I stand a chance of winning the speed competition for the grand prize. Both the daily puzzles and the official site play a bit like a Myst game, albeit without the ingenious subtlety of the Riven chapter. Maybe I can pick up Myst IV on the cheap this summer to keep from going through puzzle withdrawal.

Change Of Address

I signed the lease on an apartment with fellow architecture student Nate Chesley. We'll be living on the fifth and sixth floors of 317 Montgomery Street, just a nine-minute walk east of the Warehouse. We're quite excited.

Album with depth

UPS delivered Tool's new album, 10,000 Days, to me yesterday afternoon, and I'm quite impressed. The 11-track disc has—I'd argue—seven complete songs, and the sequencing seems perfect. The title track is actually the second half of the 17-minute "Wings for Marie," a song to vocalist Maynard James Keenan's departed mother, and not only does it feature the band in top form, it includes the most poignant use of a weather soundtrack that I've heard in any piece of music.

The packaging almost lives up the the contents. Unlike anything I've seen, the case folds open to form a stereoscope, which allows the enclosed booklet to be viewed in 3d. I think the lenses would have been better placed inside, so as not to dominate the closed cover, but this is a small detail, and I'm generally appreciative the exquisite—if tiny—artwork.

Power out

I poured my cereal and opened the refrigerator to find the power off. I didn't open it after grabbing a yogurt yesterday morning, but somehow the breaker built into the outlet was tripped since then. Everything in the freezer seems okay, but the refrigerated goods are only a few degrees cooler than room temperature. I'm looking forward to moving out of this place.

Slow Cooked

The class made plans to go to Dinosaur Bar-B-Que after the lecture yesterday, but most folks ditched out and went early. Elizabeth and I showed up at the end of the dinner and got our food to go, finding the wait-time to be exceptionally short. Most of the dishes they serve seem to involve one of three foods (shredded pork, beef brisket, or chicken-breast), so even the entrees are quickly assembled. I had Pork Carolina sandwich, and found that it was easily the best BBQ I've had. The sauce is kept to a minimum to allow the taste of the slow cook meat to shine on its own. The only downside is that it reawakened my desire to go down south and experience the whole spectrum of this cultural phenomenon.

Eye of the storm

A snow that is almost a rain is falling on Syracuse, quieting what might otherwise be a raucous Friday night. In fact I forwent the Devo dance party being thrown by my classmates and instead headed to the Inn Complete where I sat by the fire and imbibed two pints of Guinness, my favorite of beers, while reading Moby-Dick.

But what has happened in my long silence? Michael and I, partners from the start of the semester, had a successful midterm review. Our analysis of power dynamics in the Palazzo Barberini led to a number of interesting iterations and some snazzy graphical analysis. Alas, we had to part ways when we returned from spring break in order to better accommodate the class as a whole, as certain partnerships had to be avoided and other maintained. Spring break was quite pleasant. I met with members of the Minneapolis office of SmithGroup, and I am very much hoping that they will be able to offer a summer internship. I completed my taxes (and sent Uncle Sam a check for what I owed), did homework, and caught up on sleep. Claire started her break on the Friday of my own, and we enjoyed each other's company, both on our own and with my family. The first day back at school I, along with my teammates Kirby and Miep, led an hour long discussion of the film Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring, which seemed to go well.

Who knows what the rest of the semester will hold, but for now I can say that life—while hectic—is good.

Princess To Go Smoke-Free?

We can only hope. How ship holiday turned to hell: "A smoldering cigarette is thought to have started the blaze..."

No Flower

I suspect the Syracuse chamber of commerce would never adopt it, I've taken to thinking of this place as "Skunk City." I see (and smell) more of the li'l guys each month than I had in my whole life before arriving here. Part of me wonders if drunken students are responsible for triggering a number of the sprays that taint the campus area, but I've smelled skunk downtown too. Tonight I saw a particularly white and fluffy one under my bedroom window as Mary and I drove by, and thankfully I was careful as I approached my apartment because it was very near my door. I gave it time to wander down to the other end of the building before hurrying inside, my kitchen being wholly devoid of tomato soup.

Muster Stations

This article reports on a fire aboard the Star Princess, on which my family sailed during our 2002 Alaskan and 2005 European vacations.

One-two punch

I brushed with Colagate; then I switched to Tom's of Maine. I guess I'm back with Colgate now.

I computed with a Dell; then I switched to an Alienware. I guess I'm back with Dell now.

Since 1985

Happy twenty-first, Kyle!

Thinking(?) outside the box

The back of my Life cereal box asks me to unscramble the following emotions exhibited by Curious George: CORUIUS / HYPPA / SDA. I know cereal box games cater to a very young crowd, but this is just DEPRSSEING.

Sleepless But Successful

I've been busy and in need of sleep all week, but things actually went pretty well. The critics seemed to favorably view the work that Michael and I pinned-up on Wednesday, and my interview with SmithGroup was pleasant and left me hopeful. I interviewed with a vice president of the D.C. branch, so I still need to connect with the folks in Minneapolis before I know the status of the situation. I like the company's work (especially their terminal in Detroit), and their Minneapolis location is extremely close to a Maple Grove Transit downtown drop-off point, so I won't need to drive to work. I'll be a happy camper.

The Sud'

There's something both amusing and likable in the sight of three young black men dressed in expensive, baggy Sean John clothing, over-sized gold chains, and white-on-white Yankees caps sitting aboard the bus in silence, working the Sudoku.

Stowaway

Last night was the architecture school's Black & White Beaux Arts Ball, an event that brought in numerous undergraduates in evening gowns and fine suites, a smattering of faculty in pantsuites and sportcoats, and lump of graduate students in a rather casual array of black and white. I had no intention of attending owing to a lack of time and funds (admission was $18), but since I hadn't left the studio since getting lunch around noon I found myself on the inside of the warehouse without ever passing through proper admission. By chance I was wearing a white shirt, so my attire drew little attention. There was an open bar from 10 to 11, and since I didn't pay I didn't want to abuse it, but I also noted that the ball was impeding my passage to the bus, and I thought a complementary screwdriver would balance things out. I think my trespass was excusable, because not only was there very little Absolut in my drink, I can truthfully say that upon discovering my illicit presence the president of the Architectural Student Association pardoned me for it.

$1.012907 In Change

Class was starting, and Aaron (our professor) and I were still in line for food, so he gave me some cash to pay for his meal while he went upstairs to start the session. His total came to $5.01, and I didn't have a penny, so dished out what looked like 99 cents in change. Interestingly enough, among the pennies was not only a Canadian penny (which are not that uncommon this close to the border) but a two-cent Euro coin, which is the same size and color as an American penny. I didn't want to burden the professor with change, so I gave him two paper ones. Calculating my total when I got home, I discovered that I actually came out ahead, since the strong Euro more than made up for the weak Canadian dollar. Of course this assumes that I someday get to use the Euro cent.

E-Education

My Landscape in Film class is one of a handful of courses I've taken over the years that is dependent on online resources. At Madison I utilized web resources to read countless PDFs, flip through art history "flashcards," and even enjoy a semester of videotaped lectures on landscape architecture. This course, however, represents the first time that I've been required to submit my work online. The course website both provides course information and allows for discussion on message boards. You can check out my first post if you're just not getting enough new material here on the Life and Times (although I suspect you could find much more interesting material elsewhere).

Starting Line

Once again, the semester began with a jolt. Everyone is working flat-out to get a jump on the studio project. I'm as busy as (or busier than) last semester, but the greater emphasis on digital representation is putting me more at ease.

I've begun working with Randal Korman, and I've got some exciting projects ahead of me. My first task was a simple one: I had to find a copy of the photo of architect James Stirling shown below. Fortunately I'd seen it in professor t.l. brown's class last semester, and he was kind enough to share the file with me.

Wrong Way

I think most of us have seen the pretty annoying ads that use half-destructed fonts to tell us that piracy is a form of theft. I am among the many who ignore them, although my inattention comes from the fact that I buy all my movies and almost all the music I plan to listen to in the long term. I also like to buy my software, even the expensive stuff like Adobe Creative Suite, which I recognize represents a lot of hard work from talented people. It's also nice to know I can reinstall and update the software reliably should the need ever arise. So when I learned that I would need Autodesk's 3ds Max this semester, I came home to find the best price. Even the academic edition is pricey, but I was willing to pay. Then I looked at the agreement form I'd have to sign, and I discovered that the academic version (which is the only one I can afford) is altered to mark everything I print as "academic version," which sounds pretty tacky. I don't know how I'm supposed to take that, but I can't help but feel it's a big ol' slap in the face for trying to do the right thing. Sorry, Autodesk, but you're not getting a dime from me.

How perfect perfection can be or The whole "twenty-one" thing (part III)

I had my first tapped Guinness tonight, and it surpassed all my expectations. I've found that Guinness poured from the can is better than Guinness drunk from the can or Guinness that's been in a bottle (no matter how it's served), but the stuff on tap was a whole new experience. Anne told me this when I first had a Guinness back on St. Patrick's Day, but I didn't realize just how right she was. I think my home of the future will have Guinness on tap in the kitchen. Hopefully I'll never feel compelled to move to Ireland.

Foothold Gained

The Indian computer whizzes were able to fix my problems by manually installing some out-of-date updates, which allowed the newer updates to install correctly. I've been able to move on from there myself.
Indians: 1
Microsoft: 0

Clean Slate

I reformatted the Quidnunc (my old Dell notebook) today. This is the forth time I've done so (the last was documented during my first month of The Life and Times), but the process never gets easier. This time I'm having problems with the Windows Update, which can't seem to install the latest version of (get this) Windows Installer. Yes, it can't install the installer.

I'm currently in an SU lab, letting two Indian students delve into technical details that only irritate me. We'll just have to see what happens. I'm thankful that Plumtree (my new Alienware notebook) is doing well, and can see me through this rough patch.

Venitian hilarity

Claire and I ended our time together with a trip to the cinema to see Casanova. My previous prejudices against Heath Ledger were assuaged by his appearance in Brokeback Mountain, which I can respect even without having seen it, and I'm quite glad they were, for Casanova was one of the funniest movies I have ever seen and certainly the funniest I've seen since The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra. The film had the makings of a Shakespearean comedy: a tangled web of romance, an entertaining villain, sight gags, clever quips, and the right timing. Claire and I even got one laugh from the end credits. I also enjoyed the on-sight cinematography in Venice. Last weekend we watched Top Hat, a favorite film of mine, and we couldn't help but notice that the Hollywood mock-up of Venice looked more like the freshly painted sets of Munchkinland than the City of Canals. Casanova delivered the real thing and was better for it.

Employment

I have received the welcome news that I will be a research assistant to one of the faculty of the School of Architecture this spring. I'll be working about ten hours a week for Randall Korman, with whom I've had a few pleasant encounters during the fall semester. He is one of the few full professors in the school, and his biography is most impressive:

Randall Korman is a native of New York City where he received a bachelor of architecture degree from The Cooper Union. From 1972 to 1974 he worked as a graduate intern at the Institute for Architecture and Urban Studies in New York City. He received a graduate degree in design from Harvard University in 1977. His professional experiences include employment in the architectural offices of Peter Eisenman, Michael Graves and Kenneth Frampton.

His teaching experiences include two years as instructor in the Department of Architecture at Carnegie-Mellon University and as a visiting critic at the University of Texas and Kanto Gakuin University in Yokohama, Japan. He joined the faculty at Syracuse University in 1977. Since then, he has taught at all levels of the undergraduate and graduate programs and has organized foreign study programs in Austria, Italy, Great Britain, and Russia.

Between 1980 and 1982 he founded and taught in the Syracuse University School of Architecture Florence Program. Since then he has served as the head of both the undergraduate and graduate architecture programs, and in 1989 returned to Florence as the director of the Florence Center. From 1992 to 1997 he served as the founding director of the National High School Student Architecture Design Competition.

He is an imposing figure, but I'm optimistic about working with him.

Clear Water

I returned from my second of two trips to Eau Claire, Wisconsin this morning. The first was a quick two-nighter in December, coming home with Claire for break. For that visit we stayed in Claire and Melissa's dorm room on campus, but this time we were staying in an off-campus house with Claire's friends Robyn and Marissa, which provided the comfort of some extra legroom. Highlights of this second visit were our tour of the Leinenkugel bewery (where I sampled their Creamy Dark and their seasonal Apple Spice beers) and our meal at Flavor of India (possibly the best restuarant in any Days Inn anywhere).

The Whole "Twenty-One" Thing (Part II)

I managed to get carded at Cub Foods yesterday when I stopped to pick up AriZona iced green tea and Mike's Hard Lime for our New Years Eve Party. The cashier, a middle-aged woman, looked saddened when she saw my license, and she told me that she didn't want to believe that someone with my birth-date was already old enough to drink, but the computer had indeed approved me.

The party was a great deal of fun. Claire and I joined my parents and a four couples from church in playing Hand & Foot, a canasta-type card game. The party ended quite soon after midnight, which granted Claire and me some quality together time before she leaves tomorrow and allowed everyone else to get to bed.