Barry Larkin

A great article on arguably my favorite athlete of all time:

http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/hof10/columns/story?columnist=stark_jayson&id=4777032

Some Dam Recognition

http://www.ocala.com/article/20091230/ARTICLES/912301005/1402/NEWS?Title=Good-eating-in-Marion-often-worth-the-drive

Guatemala

Late March/early April trip:

http://www.time.com/time/travel/article/0,31542,1890061,00.html

Townes Van Zandt

To Live is to Fly by Townes Van Zandt

Won't say I love you, babe,
Won't say I need you, babe,
But I'm gonna get you babe
And I will not do you wrong.
Living's mostly wasting time
And I'll waste my share of mine
But it never feels too good,
So let's don't take too long.
You're soft as glass
And I'm a gentle man;
We got the sky to talk about
And the earth to lie upon.

Days, up and down they come
Like rain on a congadrum
Forget most, remember some
But don't turn none away.
Everything is not enough
And nothin' is too much to bear.
Where you been is good and gone
All you keep is the getting there.

To live is to fly
Low and high,
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes.

Goodbye to all my friends

It's time to go again
Think of all the poetry
And the pickin' down the line
I'll miss the system here
The bottom's low
And the treble's clear
But it don't pay to think too much
On things you leave behind.
I will be gone
But it won't be long
I will be a'bringin' back the melodies
And rhythm that I find.


We all got holes to fill
Them holes are all that's real.
Some fall on you like a storm,
Sometimes you dig your own.
The choice is yours to make,
Time is yours to take;
Some sail upon/dive into the sea,
Some toil upon the stone.


To live is to fly
Low and high,
So shake the dust off of your wings
And the sleep out of your eyes;


Shake the dust off of your wings
And the tears out of your eyes.

Dam Diner

Dad and I rode our motorcycles to the Dam Diner on Saturday morning. I had inexplicably never been to the legendary breakfast dive.

Corporate Boys

Corporate Boys by Five O'Clock Heroes

Come line and mount on the pavement
No need to find a replacement
Heart flaws become just the usual
Soft porn his late night perusal
The lines are touched with a finger
So close it keeps you believing
Then pull back into position
And thrown back into the system...

How I love my life
Yes I'm sure i'll be back home by nine
And I'm oh so sure
That my money's clean and mind is pure!

Corporate boys
They don't have no time
Early morning start
Then back home in bed by nine
Corporate boys
They don't hesitate
Early morning start
Then back home they sit and wait

They play upon their computers
Those numbers mean nothing to us
Then out for lunch and a cocktail
The boss wants attention to detail
Back home there's nobody waiting
No girl no family meeting
You sit down and order a take out
You eat, drink, you talk, and you veg out...

How I love my life
Yes I'm sure i'll be back home by nine
And I'm oh so sure
That my money's clean and mind is pure!

Corporate boys
They don't have no time
Early morning start
Then back home in bed by nine
Corporate boys
They don't hesitate
Early morning start
Then back home they sit and wait

And if you feel like you can't get no-one
Just turn it off and switch it back on
Turn turn back on

Wooh!

Corporate boys
They don't have no time
Early morning start
Then back home in bed by nine
Corporate boys
They don't hesitate
Early morning start
Then back home they sit and wait

New Place

Prescience

"All the while, Walt Trowbridge, possible Republican candidate for President, suffering from the deficiency of being honest and disinclined to promise that he could work miracles, was insisting that we live in the United States of America and not on a golden highway to Utopia.

There was nothing exhilirating in such realism."

-Sinclair Lewis, It Can't Happen Here (1935)

Jaguars

There are a number of reasons why the Jaguars are not selling tickets; lack of enthusiam for the team is not one of those reasons. I think the crux of the problem is two fold:

1) College football is king in North Central Florida.

2) The economy is in rough shape.

The first problem is not going to change. College football is king. A family who goes to the Gator game on Saturday is unlikely to get up early and attend a 1:00 Jaguars game on Sunday. Doing both costs too much and makes for a grueling weekend. When faced with a choice between college and professional football, the vast majority of North Floridians are going to choose them Gata.

The second issue deserves some perspective. Jacksonville was hit hard by the economic downturn. But, the economy will not remain in the gutter forever. Things will never be like they were four years ago but they will turn around and have already started to do so. There is no reason to make a knee jerk decision about relocating the franchise.

Jacksonville loves the Jags. Two years ago this team went deep into the playoffs and nearly knocked off the undefeated Patriots. That year, Dad and I rode up to see them play the Raiders in the last game of the season. Jacksonville had all but clinched a playoff spot and the Raiders were abysmal. It was a meaningless contest. Still, the game was sold out and NOBODY was scalping tickets. There was not a seat to be had. So, elite media, don't tell me that Jacksonville can not or will not support an NFL team.

Atlantic City

Well now, everything dies, baby, that's a fact
But maybe everything that dies, someday comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in atlantic city

-Bruce Springsteen, Atlantic City

Let go...

Bobby Bowden

I want to like Bobby Bowden. I want to believe he is a nice old man who was good for college football. And, if you asked my opinion on the man fifteen years ago, I would have had nothing but glowing things to say.

Unfortunately, like many childhood impressions, the curtain was lifted long ago. Florida State has been one of the dirtiest football programs in history. Good riddance, Bobby.

Townes Van Zandt

I saw Steve Earle perform this song. He prefaced it by saying, "If this song doesn't scare the shit out of you, you are not heavily medicated enough."

Lungs by Townes Van Zandt

Well, won't you lend your lungs to me?
Mine are collapsing
Plant my feet and bitterly breathe
Up the time that's passing.
Breath I'll take and breath I'll give
Pray the day ain't poison
Stand among the ones that live
In lonely indecision.

Fingers walk the darkness down
Mind is on the midnight
Gather up the gold you've found
You fool, it's only moonlight.
If you try to take it home
Your hands will turn to butter
You better leave this dream alone
Try to find another.

Salvation sat and crossed herself
Called the devil partner
Wisdom burned upon a shelf
Who'll kill the raging cancer
Seal the river at its mouth
Take the water prisoner
Fill the sky with screams and cries
Bathe in fiery answers

Jesus was an only son
And love his only concept
Strangers cry in foreign tongues
And dirty up the doorstep
And I for one, and you for two
Ai'nt got the time for outside
Just keep your injured looks to you
We'll tell the world we tried

"When I hear the word 'culture', I reach for a gun."- Hitler

Russian Roulette: A Short Story

"Mr. Davis? Can I talk to you about, Will?"

Will hadn't been to class in a while so I was curious and concerned. Betsy and I walked just outside the classroom door, always a tricky position. Was she really concerned about Will or just setting a screen for one of her classmates to conduct some mischief? Betsy wasn't one to worry about. She kept to herself unless Will was kind enough to grace us with his presence. They weren't romantically involved; Will would like that but Betsy was engaged. Sixteen years old and engaged, full of the certainty that comes with being young and in love.

We had a connection, me and the two loners. I think it was rooted in music but you never know what kids identify with. My theory is based on the assent and interest in their eyes when I made a music reference. To Will, the 1990s were the glory years of music. I once made a disparaging comment about that decade, said that the 90s produced very little good music due to a lack of civil unrest, an opinion no doubt taken from some critic and voiced in class to make a point about some period in world history, exploited for the moment. Will looked confused. To a disaffected music loving kid who was now subjected to shitty pop-punk, the 90s sounded like a glorious, grunge infused time when young people made angry noise while sticking it to authority, all the while smelling like teen spirit whatever that was. I wanted to take back the comment.

It's not that I lost him. He was listening to my lecture, devouring it. It's that I lost a piece of our connection if only for that moment. Plus, he was right.

"Will isn't doing well," Betsy told me.

"OK, what's up?"

"I was at his house last night and he started acting strangely. He had a gun, a revolver. He was playing Russian Roulette."

"Was he drinking, doing drugs?"

"No, well, I don't know. But he has been talking about suicide lately and I think he will do it."

"Where were his parents?"

"They aren't around much, haven't been for a while. It was rare for him to be at home. He usually bounces from place to place. He stayed with my family for a while but my parents couldn't take his erratic behavior so my Dad finally made him leave."

This would not be the last bombshell my students would drop on their unsuspecting teacher but it was the first. I told Betsy I would talk with the administration about Will's situation and struggled to stay calm while offering condolences, balancing the need to maintain authority with the essential "I'm cool; I get it and will not judge you or your friend" quality. She sounded satisfied for the moment but I wasn't. I was not qualified to deal with suicide attempts and apparently neither was the County School System. Will was on his own, too old to qualify for help from Williams High School, too young for the real world, lost in the cracks.

No Commentary Needed

http://politicalticker.blogs.cnn.com/2009/04/19/axelrod-suggests-tea-party-movement-is-unhealthy/

Doubting Slumdog Millionaire

Slumdog Millionaire is underwhelming. It is not a bad film just medium, pedestrian. The fact that it was nominated, let alone selected, for Best Picture is confusing. I have not seen all of the other nominees so I can't comment on whether they were more deserving but I have seen two films from last year that were not nominated, Doubt and The Wrestler, and can say unequivocally that both are better than Slumdog.

The story centers around a poor Indian boy from Mumbai, a slumdog, who by chance ends up on the Indian version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Much to the chagrin of the show's organizers, he gets all the questions correct despite having no formal education. The authorities assume he is cheating since no slumdog could ever get these questions correct. Through the course of his interrogation we learn how he knows all the answers. I guess the point of the film is that life isn't all about education and status. Life experiences are educational and we should not draw conclusions about people based on their upbringing. That's all good but it is not an original theme nor is it a particularly inspiring or original take on an old theme. There is no creative cinematography and the script is not particularly good. The film is just average. It leaves you uninspired and slightly unsatisfied.

Dreams From Malcolm X

In an effort to better understand our Premier and what he may have in store for our future, I am reading his first book, Dreams From my Father. I attempted to push through it before the election but was so frustrated by the pretentiousness and self importance of the book that I quit reading it after thirty pages. This time I am resolute and open minded, taking his words in their most favorable light and hoping to be proven wrong.

I am currently eighty pages deep and the hatred this man spews is getting more vile by the page. Barry Obama was not born in Harlem nor was he raised in South Central L.A. He was born in Hawaii, spent his childhood as an expat’s son in Indonesia, and returned to paradise for high school. His account of his experiences in Indonesia does not speak of a child subjected to racism and poverty. His step father had plenty of money in Indonesia; he loved Obama and treated him as one of his own. After his mother split with his stepfather, Obama moved to Hawaii to live with his white grandparents. He attended a prestigious prep school and lived the life of a middle class white man, which he was. The outside observer would be tempted to see Obama’s childhood as normal, even pleasant. But, he was not content to have food on the table, a loving support system, and a first class education. The budding Premier is bitter at the father who left him. He takes the few racial slights he incurs as life altering events that cause him to retreat to his room, pouring over and identifying with, Malcolm X.

His hatred has a clear origin. He describes his mother as the classic liberal- anti American, cynical. Obama recounts an exchange between his mother and her Indonesian husband. Lolo, her husband, is asking her to attend a meeting with some American oil company representatives. She is defiant so, Lolo, confused, says that she should feel comfortable attending because these are her people. “These are not, my people”, she replies. Taking this in the light most favorable to Barry, I read him as trying to say that his mother was not a fan of big business oil types. But, read in the context of his pity party, the underlying message is clear: America is bad.

The book makes this much clear: Obama does not like capitalism. He sees it as a tool that white people use to oppress black people. He sees it as the implementation of American arrogance. He despises our way of life and does not identify with the American way.

Age and maturity have made me more intelligently patriotic. I still believe America is the best place on earth but I do not blindly support American foreign policy, whether promulgated by a President I support or not. Each aspect of American life should be scrutinized and, if lacking or flawed, improved. But, capitalism is still the best way to further individual freedom. Socialism and communism have failed miserably in this goal and will not suddenly work on a 300 million person melting pot.

“You show me a capitalist and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.” –Malcolm X

Granada 3/7

Journal

I'm glad we got up so early. I felt a little rough but once the day started, things were bueno. We saw all of Granada by about noon.

We climbed a 17th century bell tower, perused the market, and visited a Nicaraguan cigar factory. The factory was run by a local who spoke English fairly well and loved talking about his craft. We each bought cigars that would cost $20 in the States for about $2 a piece. After the cigar factory we went to a Granada Tiburones (sharks) baseball game. For $2.50 we sat in box seats behind home plate, the best seats in the house. The game was pretty well attended. The cheap seat were on either side of a barbed wire topped fence.

Mas Nicaragua en Photo

Classic

I am a University of Florida fan unless they are playing the University of North Florida but my old biases occasionally come to the surface. I tell you that in the interest of full disclosure. All I wanted out of life, from the age of seven to eighteen, was to play baseball at Florida State University (and make love, or what I thought was making love, to Kathy Ireland). Naturally, when I watch Florida State play baseball, I have to manufacture the hate that I am supposed to feel for them. That being said, Florida State has the uniform thing figured out and Florida is well behind the curve. I'm watching Florida-Florida State right now and our boys look like a team from the late eighties-early nineties that is failing miserably at being trendy. Think Rick Pitino's old Kentucky uniforms. Did the denim Uni's come to mind? They should have. Ron Mercer in a Canadian tuxedo, that's what the Florida baseball players look like.

Granada

Journal

I am exhausted. We took the chicken bus from Managua to Granada. They pack you into these old school buses. There was a crazy Australian on board who started in L.A. and was working his way down through Central America.

My first impressions of Granada were not so favorable. The bus station we got off at was in a dirty, run down part of town. We decided to hail a cab and head to the city center. The center was considerably better Granada is dripping with charm. I can't wait to see it during daylight.

We went into one hostel that was booked. Luckily we found an American who pointed us in the right direction, hostel row. The hostel we settled on is basic but pretty nice, cleaner and nicer than a lot of places in Europe. The guy at the front desk spoke very good English. $30 for a night.

Dinner was average. It was at a Mexican place. The whole meal, for both of us, cost $20. After that we went out for a couple of drinks. We tried two sleepy bars before going into the Moon guide recommended, "Zoom". Gator memorabilia decked the walls. It turns out, the proprietor is from Florida, a huge Gator fan. he served up the local rum and filled us in on the details regarding baseball. Granada has a very proud baseball tradition. The minor leagues are a bigger deal than the majors. The local team is called, Los Tiburones, The Sharks, so named because Granada (in lake Nicaragua) boasts the only freshwater sharks in the world. The baseball stadium is just outside of town and we are honored guests for tomorrow night. For $2.50 we can sit just behind home plate.

First Day of Our Trip to Nicaragua

Journal

I feel like a 17 year old on the brink of his first prom. No I don’t. I feel like I have done this a million times. Of course, I haven’t. I have never been to Central America, never been to a place where the exchange rate is in my favor and I have to worry about drinking the water.

The similarity is that I have been to both Italy and Spain where you have to struggle with the language barrier. I feel a lot better about the language this time because I have been practicing Spanish and, having taken Spanish in college, came into my studies with at least some background. It should not be as difficult as struggling through Italy.

Travis is in good spirits. He seemed a little stressed just before we boarded but quickly calmed himself. American Airlines is no Jet Blue or even Air Portugal. The planes are old and dirty. The flight attendants are in a perpetually bad mood. The boarding process is chaotic and frustrating. The plane is full and the mix of people is surprisingly eclectic. I’m glad we are starting in Granada (a picturesque, largely war spared colonial town). It should be a nice warm up before tackling Isla de Ometepe and some of the poor places to the North.

Retrospective Thoughts

My neighbors immediately left and right on the plane were both Nicaraguan. The guy on the right wanted to talk about all the clubs we could go to in Managua and the girl on my left was floored that we had chosen her homeland to visit. I thought she was going to be one of those people you don’t want to sit next to and probably would have been just that had I not broken the ice. She was constantly fidgeting and sighing before I spoke to her. I don’t remember how it started but I quickly learned that she spent her childhood in a little town outside the capital of Nicaragua but grew up in Tampa. Liliam swore by Nacatamales and - to my great surprise since every guide book says it’s a must see - had never been to Ometepe. I suppose this is due to the difference in the perception of time and distance enjoyed by the Nicaraguans. An hour is an eternity in the land of lakes and volcanoes.

It costs $1.00 to get from the capital, Managua, to Granada which is situated about an hour south. You get what you pay for. The buses are always a few minutes late (although they are much more efficient that you might think) and are often standing room only. They are old American school buses, yellow cheese style. Foreign travelers affectionately refer to them as, chicken buses, because people will bring their livestock or bicycle or whatever they are carrying onto the bus with them. I saw a guy grab a bicycle from a boarding passenger, climb to the top of the bus, drop the bike off up top, and then crawl back into the bus through a different door while the bus obliviously continued on its route. It looked like a scene from Speed, if Speed was set in Central America and the stakes were much lower. At each stop, vendors board and sell you all kinds of homemade treats. My first experience with Nicaraguan cuisine was a little bag of really spicy roasted peanuts that cost about $0.10. They were pretty good. The first purchase gave me confidence that I could eat the local fare without too any problems. That proved largely true. My stomach stayed slightly upset for the duration of the trip but not so much that it affected my mood.

The Chicken or the Egg

Many writers are also alcoholics. This is presumably because they have a lot of idle time on their hands and they succumb to the not entirely untrue belief that alcohol limbers the mind.

I wonder whether Hemingway would have been more prolific had he eschewed the booze. Was his genius fueled by booze? Certainly, many of his stories came from episodes of drinking and we would want for their entertainment had he not been drunk all the time.

The same inquiry can be made into F.Scott Fitzgerald's life and work or, to take from another discipline, that of Mickey Mantle. We could name hundreds of greats who seemingly drank their gifts into the ground. But for every Hemingway there is a Waylon Jennings, a talent who got off of drugs or alcohol and started making art that was inferior to their inebriated work.

Is the genius fueled or inhibited by alcohol?

Nica, Nica, Nica

Travis and I are going to Nicaragua during my Spring Break.

"You're going to Nicaragua?!!!"
"Watch out for the Contras."
"Don't we have an embargo against them?"

Opinions die slowly. My father warned that it takes a long time to disprove a negative reputation. His words (once again) ring true. Central America's second largest country, Nicaragua has been through a great deal of political and social turmoil, suffering in the name of revolution or equality.

I was raised in a time when popular opinion believed that the U.S. backed Contras were working to oust the evil socialist Sandinistas; communism and socialism had to be quashed at any cost. I envisioned a Soviet satellite, a place from which Khrushchev or Gorbachev would ultimately stage their attack on the U.S.

Nicaragua clearly had ties to the Soviet Union but the Nicas probably did not deserve the punishment effected by U.S. support of the Contras. The Contras had no chance against the State military/police without U.S. support. Nicas are worse off from the havoc wreaked on their country. Socialism has had many casualties and I am afraid the U.S. will be next on that tragic list. But, socialism can work on some limited level in a small state. The Sandinistas may have successfully provided for their people if the U.S. had not opposed Ortega's government.

While foreign policy requires a case-by-case analysis, an isolationist paradigm is gaining ground on the battlefield of my opinion.

New Year's Resolution watch:

-Played guitar for about thirty minutes

-Iced my knee and did a little yoga. I was late for class so I skipped my pelvis stabilization exercises. This cannot become a habit.

-Did about forty five minutes of Rosetta Stone and looked up words in my Spanish phrasebook throughout the day.

Balkan Cafe

When I first returned to Jacksonville, I was still on a Balkan obsession high. I was reading two books about the Balkans and preparing to write a paper about the conflict for use as my advanced legal writing graduation requirement. My enthusiasm has since waned and been replaced by a fervor for Nicaragua (more on that in a later post) but at the beginning of January I needed a place to get my Balkan fix. Google provided immediate answers. There is a Balkan restaurant in Jacksonville called, creatively, Balkan Cafe. The owner/operators are from Bosnia but have lived in Jacksonville for many years. They were understandably surprised by my interest in Balkan cuisine but took the time to explain the menu and answer all of my questions about their homeland.

Ednan and his father run the place. Inspired initially by a warm response to his father's tailgating performances at local Balkan soccer games, the two opened Balkan Cafe about a year ago. Ednan claims that Jacksonville has the fourth largest population of Balkan people in the U.S. Whether this is true or not is for someone else to discover. I am content taking the Balkan people at their oft embellished word.

The food was typical Balkan fare: sausage wrapped in a pita with a side of ajvar (red pepper sauce), eaten with one's hands. Ednan even told me where to find ajvar. There is a European grocery on Beach Boulevard that sells about ten different varieties of God's nectar. I went home stuffed and eager for a return trip.

New Year's Resolution Watch

I am back. Nederland Ned lay dormant while I got situated this semester but I am committed to doing interesting things and writing about them.

My first post will be a New Year’s Resolution watch. I will dedicate at least part of every post to my progress in achieving my New Year’s Resolutions.

As you may recall, I had three of them: 1) Learn Spanish, 2) Play more guitar, 3) Run a marathon.

1) Learn Spanish

-I have been doing my Rosetta Stone lessons nearly every day. The weekend lessons have been sparse but I make time for lessons during the week. I have supplemented the lessons by watching Spanish language movies with English subtitles. Y Tu Mama Tambien and Pan’s Labyrinth are the only ones I own so far but Amores Perros is on the way. I welcome any other suggestions. Most Europeans I know say they learned English by watching American television and movies with subtitles. The movie plan seems to have had an impact on my performance thus far. Granted, this may be due to the fact that I have been extremely focused on Rosetta Stone and have been doing it for at least thirty minutes, sometimes up to an hour per session. Regardless, I am pleased with my progress.

2) Play more guitar

-This one should be modified to, “play guitar every day.” I have been doing just that and its effects are profound. Guitar soothes me. Even a few minutes worth of mindless strumming can be therapeutic as it takes me away from my reality and into some parallel universe full of mediocre music. Like Spanish, guitar is more fulfilling with practice. I have learned to play “our” song, I’m Comin’ Home by Robert Earl Keen and have been working on some simple picking.

3) Run a marathon

-This one is going to be the most difficult. My knee is already sore and I only have three workouts under my belt. I think the same knee that was mysteriously hurting in Prague is acting up once again. My workouts have been slow with plenty of time between them because I do not want to hurt myself and get set back like I did on the last marathon attempt. My new shoes feel good and fit well and I am in good spirits. I subscribed to Runner’s World magazine and have been doing some core strengthening exercises as recommended by the magazine.

I will give myself an A- so far. The first few days of the new year were not particularly productive since I was in New York and more interested in spending time with Jami than accomplishing any of the above goals. Jacksonville has yielded greater progress.

My only real criticism is that school and my job search have not been given appropriate attention. I need a job and I need to graduate from law school so these two things should be given greater focus.

I'm Back

January was a pretty busy and interesting month. On New Year’s Eve, at about four o’clock, Jami and I had no plans. She mentioned that My Morning Jacket was playing Madison Square Garden and that some of her co-workers were going. I figured it was a long shot but looked into tickets just in case. There was an ad on craigslist.com for two tickets so I called the guy. He claimed to have several tickets in several price ranges. I settled on the $40 ones and hoped for the best. It seemed sketchy but Jami made a good point, it was like playing a $40 hand of black jack. Worst case scenario we buy fake tickets, are out $40, and end up celebrating the New Year at her apartment like we planned.

The tickets were real and the show was incredible. Our seats were in the lower part of the second level. My Morning Jacket was awesome. They played new stuff, old stuff, and covers. The only negative came right before midnight. The band showed some sort of film while they took a break just before midnight. It was in black and white and initially flashed commercials like you would see in a movie theater in the 1950’s. About ten minutes before midnight, the Star Spangled Banner started playing with several pictures of soldiers and then a picture of Barack Obama looking up at the sky with a waving American flag in the background. Just after Premier Obama’s likeness, an actor came on the screen dressed in a military uniform with a Hitler haircut and moustache. In rousing Hitler style, the speaker went on about the end of consumerism, a new day in which the workers of the world will unite and overthrow the evil corporations. I was offended but not surprised. The kind of music I listen to is not patronized or performed by libertarians. These shows are almost always communist love fests that I endure because the music is really good. And, that is the beauty of music; it is what you want it to be. Plus I tend to overreact to anything that even smells of socialism. Jami on the other hand, does not get bent out of shape about politics and generally thinks of it as something about which she is ill-informed. It was her reaction to the film that made clear its blatant communist/fascist nature. She was outraged by the ignorance and gall of the band and its followers. The roof came off the place when this Hitleresque figure gave his rousing speech denouncing the individual and praising the collective effort. I mentioned this to my father who pointed out that we are witnessing a cultural sea change. Americans no longer want individual freedom or responsibility, they want the paternal government to make decisions for them, to take care of them. I hope we are able to survive this zeitgeist.

Resolute

I never make New Years' Resolutions. I have always treated them like diets, ineffective and cliche. If you want to lose weight, change your lifestyle; don't go on some miracle diet. If you want to learn a language, just do it; don't wait for the new year. This year I realized that there is nothing wrong with using the new year as a marker. Lifestyle changes are no less important because they come under the resolution banner.

I have limited myself to three resolutions. When I started teaching, my mentor, John Kerley, suggested that I limit my classroom rules to just three maxims with a series of classroom procedures. Kids can't keep up with more than three rules. Each teacher has their own, sometimes conflicting, set of rules and students are expected to remember each of these. It is an impossible request to make. If you give them three rules and post them prominently, they have no problem keeping up with what is expected.

Here are my three rules/resolutions:

1) Learn Spanish
-I am committed to becoming proficient in Spanish. I will not set a time table for accomplishing this goal but 2009 will be ano nuevo for my Spanish.

2) Play more guitar
-I love playing guitar but never do it. I know the same chords and can play the same songs as six years ago. This will change in 2009. In addition to playing for myself, I will even learn songs by Jimmy Buffett and other insufferable musicians so that I can play for people with poor taste.

3) Run a marathon
-I lost a lot of weight in Holland and, while some of that has been regained, am now light enough that I should avoid some of the small ailments which plagued last year's attempt.

Cheers and good luck in the New Year.

Obamaclypse

I don’t understand the fuss. Driving through New York City may be difficult or frustrating if you are a girly man who still nurses at his mother’s teat and won’t go outside without his trusty pooch to protect him from the big, bad world. Jami had to move and had only one day in which to accomplish this task due to some thing called, work, so I took to the streets of Gotham in a U-Haul. It was not that bad. All you have to do is talk in a New York accent, honk a few times, and cuss public officials. Freakin’ Guiliani! Honk! Freakin’ Bloomberg! Honk!

It took all day but we moved her into a pre-war (WWII) art deco building, formerly a hotel. She and her roommate, Nicole, are sharing a studio apartment conveniently situated between the U.N. and Grand Central Station. Only U.N. diplomats may park on her street. It’s very New York.

Driving a U-Haul through the City was a piece of cake compared to road tripping across Europe. It is just like driving anywhere else in America except (as Jami so eloquently put it) in New York you are only responsible for what is ahead of you. It actually makes a lot of sense. You are responsible for what is in front of you. If someone hits you from behind, it is their fault and you are allowed to punch them in the face, man or woman, day or night. There are no lanes, and just that one rule. Red lights don’t matter. It gives hope to post Obamaclypse America. Yes we can live without rules.