2010/1/26 article
Applying to this Master’s program is a grueling, tedious process. There are endless heaps of red tape and paperwork: not a mechanism for deterring those unworthy, only those unwilling.
The whole process seems backwards to me. I ought to be used to bureaucratic bullshit by now because I’ve had to deal with it my whole life. It’s so unnatural, however, that I don’t see myself ever acclimatizing to such foul weather. In this region, the gutters run with sewage through narrow, crooked streets.
Perhaps this means that I still possess, in some small degree, a sliver of my soul. I should count that as a blessing, but in this process it is more likely a curse. Dorothy made it to Oz, eventually, though the girl who left was not the same one who arrived in a whirlwind, and the path she took was anything but direct. I’ve made a few friends along the way, but friends can only point you in the right direction. You’ve gotta travel the roads on your own two feet.
So I trudge along, my shoes coated with muck, and choke down the impulse to click my heels and wish myself home. It just makes me look silly. Besides, it never works, and my wishes won’t change the system. The only recourse is to do what they say. Fill out this form, submit that application, sign here, file it in the office all the way across town. Wait a week. Hear good news and see it promptly reversed. My own personal battle with the flying monkeys of bureaucracy.
The deadline for the program was today, but it seems like I won’t make it after all, despite my best efforts. We might have made it if the roads weren’t closed on the Base for the snow, but that is out of my hands. More waiting and fruitless emails must entail.
Maybe I’ll play video games, instead. It would certainly make my afternoon more interesting. At least in that world, a soul isn’t an impediment. Plus, if I have to fight flying monkeys I understand their tactics, may even have a badass-lookin’ sword to fight them back.
(The wonderful illustration is by Skottie Young)
2010/1/24 short
Here’s the scoop on Banksy at Sundance. The world renowned film festival is “getting back to it’s roots” this year. I’ve always been a fan of Banksy’s work and I’m sure his film won’t disappoint.
If you’ve never heard of Banksy, he is often referred to as a “guerilla street artist.” Here is a related Banksy narrative at Esquire from a few years back. Esquire always does the most wonderful investigative journalism narratives, and this one reinforces the idea of the anonymous artist that is Banksy in an endearing and somewhat informative fashion:
When I exited the bookstore, a backpack-wearing kid with baggy pants, a Krylon-paint T-shirt, and headphones walked past me. On the back of his backpack was the graffiti tag PEACE NOT WAR. I approached him and asked him if he knew Banksy, and with a smile he said, “Everybody knows Banksy, but nobody knows Banksy.”
Update: Banksy rocks Sundance. No surprise there!
2010/1/21 excerpt
You can read the first chapter of this book here at Scribd. To give you an idea:
As the conservative columnist George F. Will has written, today “we honor Jefferson, but live in Hamilton’s country.”
This is no cause for celebration. In fact, the triumph of Hamiltonianism has been mostly a curse on America. The political legacy of Alexander Hamilton reads like a catalog of the ills of modern government: an out-of-control, unaccountable, monopolistic beaurocracy in Washington, D.C.; the demise of the Constitution as a restraint on the federal government’s powers; the end of the idea that the citizens of the states should be the masters, rather than the servants, of the government;
And on and on. An eye-opening book which I simply cannot put down and which you absolutely must read if you have any interest in history, economics, politics, or the past, present, or future of the United States.
2010/1/21 photo
But I don’t mind promoting them. They make some of the best outdoor gear on the market.
2010/1/21 short
No one sells Dr. Pepper. Not restaurants, not gas stations. You can’t even get it in the checkout line at the grocery store where they have individual cans of everything from Ginger Ale to Cherry Pepsi. They still make Cherry Pepsi? Who drinks that anymore? The fridge full of Pepsi products is missing the best one, the only one worth drinking: Dr. Pepper.
With the exception of Texas, of course. In Texas you find Dr. Pepper as readily as crack cocaine in Compton, because it’s made there. You can even get these little glass bottles that they call Dublin Dr. Pepper (see, Dr. P was invented in Dublin, TX): the original recipe. They make it with cane sugar. But you can only get those in Texas. And in the rest of the world? Forget about it. I buy Arizona Iced Tea instead, because, apparently, only Texans have good taste in soda.
And yes, I said soda. Not pop, or coke, or cola. It’s soda. Deal with it.