Buzz Off

Dear Google,

Please don't add twitter-esque crap to my Gmail account without prior, written consent. I realize the market for social-networking software is sorely lacking and that its difficult for people to stay in touch these days... wait, nope.

Use this button, turn off Buzz...

Crosswalk Etiquette as a Reflection of Culture

Doesn't that title just grab you? Make you yearn for that 0ft-sought-after-yet-never-quite-grasped insight into crosswalks and societal norms?

No? Good, because nothing written here will ever encompass anything that people yearn for.

My observations are quite simple and obvious to anyone who has lived in both the northeast and the west coast, but I hope they serve as enlightment for those who don't have this experience:

• In the northeast, your only hope of crossing a busy street is to find a crosswalk that is actually accompanied by traffic lights. No one will ever voluntarily stop to let you cross. Ever.
  
• Because of the previous point, northeasterners are exceptional at darting across streets and through traffic, middle fingers at the ready, a hearty 'fack you!' ready to be let loose from the confines of their lungs. Rarely do they ever heed traffic signals or consider that 'jaywalking' might actually be a crime. That would be absurd.
  
• In California, when you encounter a crosswalk that is not accompanied by a set of traffic lights, they have installed special devices that cause all oncoming traffic to spontaneously brake as soon as you step onto said crosswalk.
  
• Yet, when crossing at intersections with traffic lights on the west coast, it is forbidden to cross if the Red Hand is displayed, as opposed to the Blue Walking Guy. To cross a street in violation of the traffic signal, even with no cars in sight, clear to the horizon, is to risk becoming the victim of vigilante justice by fellow law-abiding pedestrians. You will be lucky to escape with only the sting of incensed stares and judgmental denouncements.
  

Important Data

Walter Fredrick Morrison: 1920-2010

Tonight we mourn the loss of a hero.

Walter 'Fred' Morrison was the inventor of the 'Pluto Platter', the forerunner to the frisbee, created in 1948. In 1957 Morrison sold the rights to his design to Wham-O, the company which now produces flying discs under the trademark name 'Frisbee'.

Of course we all know that Discraft is the preferred disc of ultimate players everywhere, but Wham-O's sub-par design is certainly not the fault of Morrison.

I cringe to think of where my life would be without Mr. Morrison. Sure, my liver would be more functional, I would likely have a better short-term memory and most definitely would be able to bend my knees without any pain... but I wouldn't trade the parties, the east coast scavenger hunts, the ruined hotel rooms, the Kan-Jam, the landsharks, the heckling (oh the heckling!), the 18 hour van rides, the sub-freezing Live, Freeze, or Die's or the sweltering Wildwood's for any of that.

So tonight ultimate players, disc golfers (please don't call it 'frolf'), hippies and you people on the beach who embarrass yourselves with your 'barbecue backhand' raise a toast to the man who started it all. Here's to Walter!

Chips & Whiskey Do Not a Dinner Make

But they'll do in a pinch...

While we're on the topic, if you've ever considered a career in diplomacy and don't feel like taking the Foreign Service exam, read this.

I introduced former Secretary of Labor (and current public policy professor) Robert Reich to a moderate sized crowd of people tonight. Ignoring that I almost called the Dean of Public Health by his first name as I took the stage and only occasionally glanced at the audience as I read my pre-formed dribble, I think I did ok. I hate public speaking.

If you're not familiar with Reich's work, this video just about sums it up...

Some Brief Super Bowl Thoughts

• Dear God, please let the Saints win. Please, please, please. My hate for the Colts is only superseded by my love for the Patriots (and even then, only marginally). Thanks to Rex Ryan, I don't even hate the Jets that much.
  
• Peyton Manning is just the kind hateful robot that would deny his own storm-ravaged hometown their first Super Bowl victory. And after he was done giving lip-service to what a good game it was at the press conference, he'd go home and choke a kitten. He's sick.
  
• Its been wonderful to watch the rise in criticism of, and hate for, Colts fans, or as KSK has dubbed them, the 'fat humps'. As has been stated many times by other writers, they are a fanbase of fast-food munching, self-entitled whiners, and once Manning retires, they will likely lose all interest in their mediocre franchise. As a Boston sports fan, I know what its like to be loathed by the rest of the country, and I've come to relish it. What makes criticism of Colts fans so much better for me is that they simply can't understand why on earth anyone would disparage their mundane midwestern existence.
• It will be even more interesting to see how long it takes the country to begin hating the Saints once they win the Superbowl. With a championship under their belt and Katrina fading quickly from popular memory, they'll be left with nothing but their drunken, cajun, Bourbon Street identity. Without the underdog sob-story they're nothing but Boston fans without the Irish-Catholic guilt.
• Saints Defense: Drill Peyton Manning into the ground. Blitz. Blitz all day. Yes he will burn you for a couple touchdowns, but he'd do it anyways even you're running nickel and dime packages all night. Knock him down. I'm envisioning something like this...

• And lastly, if Obama is adept enough to weigh in on the need for a college football playoff system, surely he understands the importance of having Monday after the Superbowl be an observed holiday? Pull out that agenda item leading up to elections and I gauarantee you'll get some swing votes in red states.

Addendum 2/8/10:

• Thank you Super Bowl for being entertaining, and thank you Barack Obama for issuing an executive order that it be a close game. [Skip to the very end of the interview]
  
• More importantly, thank you Tracy Porter for making Peyton Manning's face do this...

• You can all now feel free to hate on the Saints... 'who dat' is only entertaining for so long.
  

Quarter Life Crisis, Blogging Too Much, and Finding a Hobby (Perhaps Blogging?)

When I was in high school my associates and I kept a notebook that detailed much of our plans directed at world-domination. We kept this notebook hidden in the attic of a church. I wonder where it is now, and if anyone is profiting off our brilliant ideas. It was green. If you have a green notebook with plans of this nature in it, please mail to the following address:

[Address redacted... what was I thinking?]

Thanks for the fruit basket, whoever you are.

My 25th birthday draws closer, and I'm excited about finally having lower car insurance rates, especially now that for the first time in my life I don't own a vehicle. Sure I don't need one to get around the Bay Area, but I have realized that its awfully difficult to escape beyond the confines of the BART system without your own motorized vehicle. Thus Steve's recommendation that I join him in becoming an owner and steward of old-school Land Rovers hasn't fallen on entirely deaf ears. In fact, his suggestion is playing very well into my current quarter-life crisis that has me simultaneously wanting a dog, a Land Rover, and total freedom from future career concerns. I figure all three are likely mutually-reinforcing, as I can certainly see myself not worrying about having a job once I graduate as long as I have a truck to sleep in and a dog that can keep me company (and warm).

Also, I completed and uploaded my fellowship application for funding my summer internship working with the UCSF malaria lab on a new malaria eradication project in Zanzibar. Should the fine folks at the Center for Global Public Health see it fit that I receive several thousand dollars to chase mosquitoes on the beach for three months, I will be just a bit surprised. It's actually quite an incredible project that is being funded by the Gates foundation, the first of its kind. I find that I continually fall ass-backward into advantageous situations that neither my work-ethic (or total lack thereof) nor my karmic balance would seem to warrant.

Lastly, it has been suggested that I need a new hobby (fixing old Land Rovers being a recent suggestion). At present time I tend to half-ass what you might call my hobbies, and so I now wonder, if I half-ass them, are they hobbies? Something for all of you with time on your hands (or feet) to ponder. I would venture that my current hobbies would be (1) coaching ultimate, (1.5) drinking, (2) trying to find time to cook, and occasionally doing so, (3) scraping by in school, and (4) keeping Eduardo company by writing entirely too often in this blog.

I've brainstormed some new hobbies, listed below in no particular order, I will be choosing 1-2 new hobbies soon based on their feasibility. Roughly one month after this selection, I expect that I will have to revisit this list and choose again... and again.

• Purchasing, fixing, and maintaining an old Land Rover [with the help of Land Rover Steve]
• Paying attention and working diligently in all of my classes
• Riding my bike for purposes other than commuting to school, the bar, and people's houses
• Hot-Air Balloon pilot lessons
  
• Actually investing time (not simply thought) in grocery-shopping and cooking
• Training for club ultimate tryouts in April, which will be meaningless if I go abroad for the summer... except that getting into good shape probably isn't meaningless in and of itself
• Engaging in a hyper-active letter writing campaign to Richard Branson in order to find work as a steward aboard a Virgin Galactic space ship
• I saw an ad for renting a sailboat to live on at the Berkeley marina. Mayhaps I could be a pirate? I'll have to figure out how to sail.
  

It is extremely likely that I will continue my pattern of dabbling in everything and obtaining expertise in nothing. At least I'll be able to carry on good conversation at cocktail parties.