Ostrich Headstand

I need to stop reading.

My most recent "pleasure reading" book was titled Evolution. It's a fictional account of the line of evolution from say 230 million years ago to some number of million years in the future. The book is episodic, each piece following the life of a pre-human (or post-human) primate ancestor and the spark of difference that caused a turning in the line that eventually led to humans. Perhaps it was a particular bit of insight about toolmaking, or simply a chance survival of an asteroid strike. But the key premise of the book is of course evolution.

The book is the work of a British scientist turned author. The accounts are fictional, but I think most Brits (especially the scientists, and probably most Europeans as well) take evolution as a given. In this country, we're not sure what we believe. Or at least there is no clear consensus throughout the nation.

That leads me to the next book. It was "pleasure reading" in the sense that it wasn't work-related, but it wasn't a work of fiction. The book is called Conservatives Without Conscience. It's written by John Dean, former White House consel to Richard Nixon. Dean, a man who considers himself a "Goldwater conservative" had left the world of politics shortly after the Watergate scandal and Nixon's resignation. However, recent attempts at revisionist history prompted him to reexamine the people who call themselves "conservative."

The book makes frequent reference to a set of studies around the personality types that make up the "conservative" mentality. The surprising finding is that by and large, these people frequently exhibit traits labeled as "authoritarian." That is, they place great stock in authority, often overriding their own conscience when directed by an authority figure, such as in the famous experiment where the person being tested is prompted by a lab-coated individual to administer electric shocks to a subject. Ostensibly, the subject is using the shocks as a means of improving memorization, and the person pushing the button (testee) is administering the shocks at the direction of the "authority" to try to help the subject. Meanwhile, the shockee is protesting and crying out in pain from the (fictional) shocks. Under the guidance of the lab-coated individual, the shocker keeps pushing the button. (This is a poor paraphrase of the study; for more, I refer you to Dean's book, and its extensive body of references.)

The other bit that I found to be the most disturbing was the part of the book which deals with the leaders of this authoritarian movement. Again, it cites academic research around the nature of these authoritarian individuals, and those individuals with a "social dominance orientation." These individuals are characterized by a teflon-coated resistance to the truth. They do what it takes to advance their own causes, no matter what the consequences to others. Additionally, these inviduals are most often male, and are further characterized by a sort of 50's "the woman should stay home, cook, and raise children" brand of misogyny.

The last section of the book cites examples of this sort of behavior in some individuals prominent in the public life over the past few years. Nixon, it should be pointed out, had enough of a conscience to resign the Presidency (in the view of Dean). These modern leaders, such as Cheney, De Lay and Frist aren't in possession of such a limitation.

Perhaps what was most astonishing (read: alarming) about the book was the sociological studies upon which the conclusions were based--this data is not just one guy sitting at the cafe; it's compiled from studies about the nature of obedience to authority, to the nature of authoritarianism. These people with the "authoritative" personality (let's call them "sheep" for lack of a better term--they respond to fear and view authority as the great protector to "keep me safe") tend to pass such traits onto their offspring; as they continue to galvanize the community with grass-roots movements empowering these individuals (to be clear, I'm not against political activism), their leaders (the social dominance oriented types) are cementing their power with ruthless efficiency, like the distric gerrymandering of Tom DeLay. I just wonder what the long-term implications for the nation as a whole will be....

Feels like time to stick my head in the sand.

Temporary Redneck (Day 2)

I woke up Sunday at the tournament to a pleasingly cool morning. But I knew it couldn't last. I wandered through the campground to answer nature's call (there was a porta-potty at the site), and standing in the morning sun as I waited for the queue to dwindle found me already warming up. I packed up my things and headed over to the fields early. I wanted to give breakfast a chance to settle before running around, and I also wanted to give myself plenty of time to migrate to the other fields if need be.

I found out our seeding order as I got in line for food. My frisbee full of potatoes, eggs and tofu hash, I found a place in the shade to chow down. I chatted with one of my teammates (a kid who went to The Farm!) and a few Cal students. Turns out that most of the fields I used to play IM or pick-up sports on are now gone. Oops. Buildings for students, or places for the ultimate team to practice? Guess it's the former.

Drove the six miles or so to Sky Park (usually devoted to the good kind of football, but ours for the weekend), and tried to claim what little shade there was. The only tree in the area was just a sapling, and not so good for shade. Even the little outbuildings didn't have much in the way of eaves. It was going to be a scorcher.

Oh wait, but what's this? High clouds?! Thank Zeus (or whoever)! Our first match of the morning was against the Chia Pets. Oddly enough, on the initial sign-in sheet, they were called the Chai Pets. Spell check has got to be good for something, right? A couple of players arrived late, so we started out a bit slow, but quickly found our groove. The match was like a seesaw, back and forth until the Pets finally opened a gap as the cap went on. The final score was 13-11 them. They cheered us by playing a shell game of "Where's the Beef?" By choosing the correct disc, we got to keep it (but not the Clif Bar that was underneath)! One of our players had a Sharpie, and we all signed the back of the disc. We eventually decided that it should go to our "Most Inspirational" player, a guy named Taylor. I almost scribbled on the disc a little picture of a pair of hands, with a number by each side to denote the handedness balance. By my count, there were about seven lefties on a team of 12 (or was it 13... I'll update this when I get access to the player list).

Anyway, we decided that we hadn't had enough abuse just yet, so we grabbed a team from the other field who were also disappointed about being out so early. We played a game of light vs. dark, and eventually attracted more players. The white team was composed of Y2K and Rubik's Cube players, calling themselves Y2Cube. The blue team was mostly made up of Beef players (I say "Top", you say "Sirloin!") and a few others from teams I can't remember. The game was fun, with the dark squad beating out the white team despite our obvious solar disadvantage.

Only now feeling worthy of beer, food and the creek, did we begin to disperse. I carpooled a couple of my teammies (one of whom was a lefty, so 2:1 ratio in the car!) to the store and then to the main fields, where semis and finals would be held. We got set up in the shade and set about feeding and rehydrating.

One of the teams (Pong) who hadn't yet delivered cheers to their opponents did so on Heckle Hill, during lulls in the final match. They were accompanied by a ukelele and the songs were bawdy, to say the least. The finals were played between the Sea Monkeys and "He Likes It! Hey Mikey!" Mikey likey the finals, they won 15-10 (or so). Oddly enough, Mikey were fairly low-ranked after Saturday's play, having to face off against the top-ranked, undefeated team, Sputnik. But the satellite came crashing down (something about having a first round bye), and Mikey took it all the way to the finals.

All in all, I had a lot of fun. I only had a brief lapse in sunscreen application, for a not-so-bad burn above the neckline of my t-shirt, and between the straps of my flippies. Thanks to my long distance training on the bike (eat often, drink often), I had plenty of energy throughout the weekend. Sadly, suffering through six hours in the saddle doesn't do a whole lot to tax the CV, so I didn't have a lot of wind. So this, like every, year, I swear that I'll be in badass shape for the tourney NEXT year.

Temporary Redneck (Day 1)

After my airport odyssey, I arrived in Boulder Creek around 11am on Saturday. The tournament had been under way for two hours. Thankfully, either to A's email, or due instead to the a small waitlist, I still had a spot on a team! This year was the 15th running of the tournament, and the theme basically centered around the idea of "15 minutes of fame." Team names were things like "Pet Rock", "Chia Pets", "Edsel", "Members Only", etc. I arrived to find that I was in the right place (there are two sets of fields, some about six miles distant), and that my team was called "Where's the Beef?" I ran over and proclaimed myself "fresh beef", and suited up to play.

And that's when the pain began. I figured that I'd try to jog a bit to warm up and get the blood flowing. That turned out to be completely superfluous, and in fact, somewhat detrimental. It was fin hot. Eitch Ay Double-You Tea. It was basically "on one point, off for two." My body was working so hard just to stay cool, and here I was adding on the load of running around like a ninny. It's a wonder that I (or others) didn't flop over from heat stroke or heat exhaustion. I did have to do quite a lot of running my head under the faucet, though. No surprise; the car thermometer claimed 112 when I went in search of food (and 60lbs of ice) midafternoon.

We had another game after the one during which I had arrived (which was my team's second), then a bye, then a fourth match in the fifth slot of the day. This one was really fun. We were on the west side of the field, which was gathering shade, and a breeze had come up. Both teams played a hard-fought match in the somewhat cooler weather. Unfortunately, we came up two points short. We ended the day 2-2, but we had beaten both of the other teams which were 2-2, so we were ranked 6th overall (of 15). There was also a "win chain" in our pool; a complete circle of team A beat B, B beat C, C triumphed over D, D won out against E, and E beat A.

After the last match, it was time for the showers. We get to cruise on into the school gym a little bit down the road at San Lorenzo Valley High. As I was finishing up my shower, another guy who had just arrived asked "did you get any hot water?" I replied, "after how hot it was today, I didn't even try." All of my toiletries had been in the car all day. Brushing with hot toothpaste? Not hot. Hot shampoo? This ain't VO5! Melty deodorant? Non-stick. And worst of all is hot Listerine. Tingle AND burn? Yikes.

I got dressed in my work clothes (all I had with me, silly business trips) and headed to the party, held at the Brookdale lodge. The keg had been tapped, and a few of my old cronies (players with whom I've played in pickup games for years in various cities) were hanging around. Chatted with them for a while, gave a listen to the cover band, then headed for the campsite. Set up my bivy with the aid of my kickass hand-crank flashlight. I didn't have room in my backpack for my work gear, a pad, a bivy, and a sleeping bag, so I settled on pad and bivy. And tights, if I really did need them for the cooler temps. Turned out not to be a problem in the slightest. Had a pretty good sleep overnight, until sunrise on day two....

Airports

After a week's work gig in Detroit, I had to make my way back to the Bay Area for a weekend ultimate tournament. The tournament was held in Santa Cruz, so the BA airport closest to where I needed to be was San Jose. I found a flight through Phoenix to SJC, easy peasy.

I drove to the Detroit airport on Friday evening, and got checked in. It was a warm summer day in Detroit, and I don't think the air was on in the terminal. I guess they're a bit more inured to it than we are on the west coast (particularly in Seattle), but I was sweltering. Waited for my flight (a US Airways / America West codeshare), boarded in US Air's characteristic "reverse pyramid" boarding style, got settled. I had that kickass exit row seat that doesn't have a seat in front of it. Amen. The four-something hour flight to Phoenix was uneventful. Napped a tad, read, listened to the iPod. On approach into Phoenix, I got a good light show; there was one of the daily "monsoon" thunderstorms in action.

When we arrived in Phoenix, it was about 8:30pm. I tried to call my dad, figuring "hey, I set foot in his home state, I should at least say 'hi'." Cell service had something else to say. I never even got enough service for my phone to realize that it had to update the time zone. Another thing I didn't get was food. The concession stands all closed right as our plane deboarded. Gee, thanks. No matter, Clif bars will do, for now; besides, it's time to board. Get on the plane, another exit row (aisle). I can see into the cockpit, well enough to notice a conspicuous absence. After about 20 minutes of waiting, the flight staff finally mentioned that "sorry, folks, we don't have a flight crew--they're en route from another flight which has been delayed because of the dust storm." (To be clear, flight attendants were on board, but no (co-)pilot.) At last our captain and first officer join us, and set about their pre-flight paperwork. Another few minutes later (departure time was scheduled at 9:25, it's now 10:40pm), the stewardess returns to the PA "well we've got some good news and some bad news. We've got a pilot, but because of the delays, we've missed our curfew into San Jose. This flight has been cancelled."

Twice through Phoenix in recent years, and twice stranded overnight. Last time was an ice storm in Dallas that prevented flights landing there. Anyway, I know the drill. Rather than trying to stand in line at the gate (like everyone else deboarding), I headed straight for the service desk a couple of gates away. I was first or second in line, and got my flight rescheduled, but they hadn't heard word yet about hotel accomodations. So I waited on the side. A couple returning from their trip to Cancun were standing near me, also waiting for hotel vouchers. We chatted for a while, watched people huff off (presumably paying for their own hotels, ha!), completely relaxed about the situation. No reason to get too huffy, the service staff were doing their part. A while later, I got my hotel voucher, and headed for the hotel shuttle. Slept just a few hours before I was back up to do it again.

Now this is where I bitch about Sky Harbor. Due to the large number of flight cancellations from the prior night, the number of passengers passing through the airport Saturday morning was huge. Much larger than it would ordinarily be, I think. Security was completely unprepared. There were only two (three?) lanes open out of a possible eight. Lots of people were delayed or in danger of missing their flights because of this. I even heard one of the "gatekeepers" say to someone "I saw you cut the line, you'll have to wait." Wow. Not exactly winning them with a smile, are we? By the way, Lindsay Davenport is really tall.

Then I found out what the code "SSSS" on your boarding pass means. I think it stands for "SSSSpecial", and it means secondary screening. Yay! Oddly enough, I think the extra screening actually got me through security slighly faster than the rest of the people. My things were fast-tracked through the X-ray, and even the extra swabbing didn't take that long. I then sprinted to my (nearby) gate, to find that it had only begun boarding. Oh, good.

I found my Cancunian friends, asked them how they slept, etc. When it was my turn to board, I found someone in my seat. Ok, I was reseated in a middle seat a few rows back. From this vantage point, I could see the (barely) five-foot, 100lb, middle-aged, arthritic Filipina seated in a middle seat in the exit row.

This is where I bitch about US Airways. They actually come to your seat and say the whole spiel about "you may be called on to assist us. You must read the emergency information card, are you OK with this? I need a verbal response..." and then they ask each passenger seated in the exit area individually. All you have to say is "yes", and then you're good to stay in that seat. Now there were other people in that row who could have wrangled the door in the case of a real emergency, etc, but did that tiny woman really need the fin leg room? Damn; do some screening of the people in the exit row, already.

Depart late, fly, arrive San Jose. Now I've got to collect my luggage, get to the rental car shuttle, and book ass down to Boulder Creek and pray that my spot in the tournament hasn't been given away. It's punshingly hot in San Jose, and it's only 9:40am. I melt while waiting for the rental car shuttle. The interior of the car itself is nearly smouldering as I get in. I strip off the work clothes that I had been stuck in for two days running and put on some shorts from my checked luggage. Much better. Ok, now, let's hit the road. Wait, how do I get out of here? I swear that they make you do like eight laps of the fin terminal just to get out of that stupid airport. A second fuck you to SJC, first the curfews where you won't let me land, and the jacked up exits where you won't let me leave. After that mess, the traffic over 17 into Santa Cruz seemed relaxing in contrast.

I did make the tournament. But that's another post.

The City of U-Turns

It's been at least two years (maybe three or four) since I've been to the Detroit area. It's funny the types of things you remember. For example, I found that as I left the Detroit Metropolitan Wayne County Airport, I immediately knew my way to the highway, and started recognizing landmarks right away. I even spotted the Middle Eastern restaurant that I ate at with the client's personnel last time.

One thing that slipped my mind from my prior experiences with the Detroit area was the thing with the U-turns. The road (it has a highway number, is it still a "road"?) past my hotel is four lanes wide, with a median that's approximately another three lane-widths in size. There's a lane-wide shoulder which becomes a right turn lane at intersections. I think crossing all of the lanes of the road is about a quarter of a mile. When roads this size meet, there aren't left turn lanes. To join this road (for both directions of travel), you keep right. If your intended direction of travel is to the left, soon after you turn right, you'll make your way to the left to hit a U-turn cutout. The signs posted before the turn look like curtain hooks. For both east and west, you turn right.

My first night in town, I was trying to find some food. So I turn right. I see something on the other side that catches my eye, so I move left to make a U-turn. But as I approached the turn-in (now on my right) for the restaurant, I overshot it, and discovered that it was my only opportunity. So now I had to change across several lanes of traffic again to make my way to the left to turn around. And do another U-turn to get to the restaurant again. Did it right this time, and now I have to go home. "Wait, was that my turn-in for the hotel? Yep, crap." More U-turns. Will I ever make a normal left turn again?!

More Lessons

I remembered two more things that I had realized during this, my most recent trip to Europe.

European Coke doesn't use high fructose corn syrup: Ok, so it seems silly putting all that in bold, but it's true. Coca-Cola is an international brand with worldwide distribution. And like the fast food companies, they have a vested interest in assuring the same customer experience no matter where the Coke was bottled. The interesting bit to me is that in Europe, the Coke doesn't have high fructose corn syrup listed as an ingredient. Just sugar for a sweetener. And it tastes the same to my palate, without the weird side effects of HFCS. Could it be that Coca-Cola in Europe is good for you? (Or at least not so bad?)

It's only driving in the U.S. that gives me road rage: Driving in Europe is much more of a privilege in most places, and not a "right." Cars are heavily taxed, gasoline is expensive, and there are easy alternatives to driving. As such, the drivers tend to be a little more careful, more considerate, more attentive. Just a couple days back behind the wheel in the U.S. and I find myself gripping the wheel a bit tighter and feeling a slight rise in blood pressure.

Lessons in Travel

I'm back now from my long European vacation. Four countries in three weeks and of course, a lot of fun. The weather in most of northern Europe this summer is unusually warm, and people are flocking to outdoor settings to enjoy it.

The World Cup is being played in Germany this year, with many tourists heading to the area to see their national teams play. The World Cup is played every four years, and I'd be interested to see workplace productivity figures for the month of June in those years. People wake up early or ditch work to watch matches. If they're not simply on vacation to attend the matches in person, that is.

During my trip, I also took away the following lessons:

Dollar tourism sucks: For some reason, I hadn't registered the fact that the Euro was now standing around $1.27, instead of the $1.10 that I was accustomed to. Now, I don't ordinarily go overseas with the intention of buying lots of loot, so this usually isn't a problem for me. It's just that the day to day expenses and the little bit of souvenir-buying I did hit my pocketbook a little more than expected. Fortunately, the Danish and Swedish Crowns aren't stacked against the dollar as heavily, so staying in those countries wasn't as bad.

We don't know how good we have it: Matthew and I rented a car to drive from Stockholm back to Copenhagen (but we had to return the car to Malmø, Sweden). The rental car had to be refueled before returning it. The cheapest fuel station I could find was 11.8 SEK/l. That translates to $6.43/gal. For a full tank of fuel, no less. Also, bridge toll across the Øresundsbrøn is 285 SEK or 245 DKK (about $41) one-way. Now, it's true that the bridge itself is about 7km, and the total crossing is approximately 15km. There are some discounts for frequent travelers, but there isn't a free direction, like with the Golden Gate or Bay Bridges.

Dining out in Europe is a completely different experience: In the U.S., we kind of focus on speed and efficiency when it comes to nutrition (should I even call it "nutrition"?). It's rare for Americans to go out for a true, leisurely dining experience. We are the nation that perfected fast food (think "microwaveable", too) and invented the drive-thru. When eating out, it's common for the server to visit the table once to take drink orders, a second time for food (both appetizers and entrees), then a perfunctory "how is everything?" visit, and finally a trip to simultaneously ask about dessert possibilities, and, failing that, to drop off the check. And it commonly seems that the check is accompanied by the statement "no rush on that." So when the server comes back again a few minutes later to say "uh, sorry, my shift is ending, can I cash you out?", it's an almost unwelcome visit. However, we, as Americans are kind of accustomed to this, and it's not uncommon to fall prey to this sort of social engineering and just go along with it. We pay our bill and go, and that's that.

Europe? Different world. You'll see your server pass through the restaurant, but they won't visit your table unless you flag them down, or until there are empty glasses to refill or empty plates to bus. It's a decidedly lower-pressure situation. The bill? It doesn't come until you ask for it.

It's said that you can sit in a cafe, order a cup of coffee and sit all day. The only place that I've found where this isn't strictly true is Dublin, where they often have two seatings for dinner. You can come in early without a reservation, but you may be asked "can you be out by 8:30?" Provided you can finish your meal before the table has to be cleared to accomodate the later seating, you're all set. Also, I like the implication here about the power of reservations. If you've got one, it's writ in stone. In the U.S., how many times have you made a reservation, and been asked to wait when you actually arrived at the restaurant? Bogus!

Biergartens rule: At the Chinesischer Turm in Munich, the biergarten routinely attracts diners to sit and enjoy the weather. There are a collection tables and benches, and a cafeteria-style restaurant serving German favorites and of course maßen of beer. You don't have to eat their food, however; you're welcome to bring your own picnic foods (and even candles!) to savor. Add a giant TV screen to the mixture, and you've got the perfect venue for enjoying the World Cup. While watching the match between France and Brazil, I was astounded to hear many chants of "Allez, les Bleus!" as well as people singing along with the Marseillaise. I can't say that I've encountered anything like the biergarten here at home. Awesome.

I might come up with a few more "lessons" as I ruminate over the trip, but this should appease my loyal readers for now.