Gotham?

Saturday night: Villanova had just polished off Pitt in the Elite 8 and Maggie and I had just polished off several beers and a plate of "mesquite chicken quesadilla rolls." We were en route to the subway, headed back to Brooklyn for some delicious pizza, when we spotted the Empire State Building, jutting upwards into the fog. It looked eerie, as though Batman might leap into view at any moment. So I took a picture.

Obviously I picked Villanova

At least Duke won't be winning the tournament this year. That alone is enough to put me in a very good mood. Other great things include:

• It's Friday
• Really dense, cool-looking fog this morning
• A sesame seed bagel with cream cheese
• Leaving work at 10:45 am
• Going to Brooklyn to visit Maggie and Alex
• A possible nap on the bus??
• 65 degree weather
• Feeling very comfortable about possibly joining Westmoreland UCC
• Having a respectable president (this will absolutely never, ever, ever get old)

I haven't been to New York since last summer, for my great-grandmother's funeral. In fact, I've only ever really been there to visit family. We've done some limited sight-seeing, but I've never really hung out in "the city" with friends. Supposedly they have delicious bagels and pizza there. Although I generally detest New York snobbery (or really snobbery of almost any sort), I will dutifully taste these things and report back.

It's the start of a weekend of plentiful food, basketball, and windbagging. I have a feeling this will be very, very good.

Beneath the pale moonlight?

This one's just instrumental. It bears a striking resemblance to Fieval's lonesome but hopeful crooning in An American Tail, an excellent movie.

Good news from New England

Vermont’s legislature voted recently to allow civil marriages for gay couples. The bill’s passage was overwhelmingly supported in large part, I’m sure, because of emotional testimonies like this. There are many politically divisive issues for which I can see the merits of both positions, but gay marriage is not one of them. I’ve written at length about my thoughts on this matter. Maybe I’m too empathetic in general, but I do not understand how anyone could be unmoved by that 17 year old kid’s narrative. Yet I have friends – generally decent people - who would probably snicker at that video.

At least I’ve been moved to complain about bigotry by good news this time. I agree with Andrew Sullivan – the best way to overcome the barriers of inequality is via legislative action. Decisions reached in this fashion represent the will of the majority and are, in that sense, unassailable. With each passing year, a younger, more tolerant generation is coming to prominence. Hopefully more states will follow Vermont’s example.

Spring thaw

Last week, I traveled to Penn State for an annual architecture recruitment fair. Our company is doing pretty well, but we’re not currently hiring. It’s kind of depressing to have to tell that to all of these kids, particularly when I know they’re hearing the same thing from all of the other firms as well. It’s just a bad year to be graduating from college and looking for a job.

Aside from disappointing scores of college students, I got to watch the Terps upset Cal in the tournament. Luckily they showed almost the entire game on TV, since the one they started out airing (UConn) quickly became a blowout. I was watching in the bar at my hotel. There were maybe three other people there, until some rowdy, grizzled old Maryland fans appeared. Their TV was lagging about five seconds behind mine, so every time something exciting happened, I could expect a sharp, delayed whoop from across the room.

Friday was the first day of Spring, and when I woke up and looked out the window, it was snowing State College. The snow continued to fall throughout the morning, but it didn’t stick. One on one interviews with students were fine, but still kind of a bummer. Lunch at Jimmy Johns was ok, although I feel as though I could've found something better in pedestrian friendly downtown. And because nothing goes with snow like ice cream, I bought a half gallon tub of “Mint Nittany” flavored deliciousness to take home with me, packed with dry ice to survive the four hour drive.

Yesterday it was beautiful outside. It was the first day in months that we were able to comfortably sit on our sunny front porch. Wearing a t-shirt and sandals, I napped, read the newspaper, and feasted on farmers’ market bread, fruit, and cheese. Flowers are beginning to grow in the garden. Ivan, the potted ivy sitting on the railing, is looking less dead. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of Samia and Yolanda. Today is colder, but I am very, very excited about the inevitable spring weather to come.

Finding four-leafed clovers

Aside from drinking Guinness and pinching those who don't wear green, something I've always associated with St. Patrick's Day is luck. It's sometimes difficult for me to accept the idea of luck. Much like with the concept of fate, it is uncomfortable to think that my ability to influence my own life is limited. Regardless, it is indisputable that the world can be unpredictable. What is important is how one chooses to react to this broad range of situations. I feel that if you're able to find something redeeming about both big breaks and unfortunate turns alike, bad luck loses some of its power. And when something unexpectedly great happens, all the better.

There's something about March

I didn't used to like March very much. Unless Easter falls early, there are no days off of school. My birthday is six months away. The weather is kind of crummy and St. Patrick's Day is only fun once you're old enough to drink.

But that was before I paid much attention to college basketball. There is nothing quite like the NCAA tournament. Those first couple of days are frenetic and amazing - when games are on TV from dawn 'til past bedtime and when the success of your bracket makes you care about matchups like Dayton vs. West Virginia. Cinderella teams make for great stories (as long as they are not upsetting the Terps) and raw emotion makes everything more compelling.

Maryland made the field this year, a rare pleasure the past couple of seasons. As I am filling out my bracket, I am left to ponder several questions: Is it worth probably losing money to send a 10 seed to the championship? Will Binghamton pull off the upset? Can I really pick a team with the mascot "Lumberjacks" to lose in the first round? I may end up filling out two brackets, but if I had only shot, then yes, Maryland would obviously win it all; yes, Duke would bow out in the first round; and yes, Stephen F. Austin would march into the sweet sixteen.

Because between Selection Sunday and the first games on Thursday, it's all about hopeful euphoria. This kind of reminds of my perpetual optimism surrounding the Orioles each Spring Training - another one of March's saving graces. Once the tournament begins, reality will sink in, game by game. But until then, the fans of 65 teams are allowed to indulge in these dreams. In baseball, teams have 162 games to revert to form. Alone, each win is insignificant, because it usually takes 90 to have a special season. In the NCAA's, it only takes six. That's what makes the tournament so magical - each and every team is just a short winning streak away from "One Shining Moment."

Anything is possible. Let's dance!

I'm a new day rising

I... I'm a new day rising,
I'm a brand new sky to hang
the stars upon tonight.
I... I'm a little divided,
Do I stay or run away
and leave it all behind?

It's times like these you learn to live again.

I like music a lot - particularly its power to impact emotion. Similar to the way I post photos of traveling under "Places I've Been," I think that I'll periodically post songs here under "Musical Interludes." Aside from being a direct rip off from NPR, this is also simply another way to express myself. My gchat status messages are frequently song lyrics. They're not necessarily a direct reflection of my mood, but something about each particular piece speaks to me at a certain moment in time.

Don't feel sorry for the lamp, it has no feelings

Most people who know me know of my strong distaste for contemporary art. I think often artists reap too much credit for producing something weird. Despite looking unconventional, it’s stale and unimaginative – being off-beat for the express purpose of being strange is no more creative than producing a watercolor paint-by-numbers masterpiece.

But this is something different. Rune Guneriussen is a Norwegian photographer whose subjects are household objects placed in natural settings. This juxtaposition of man-made versus natural is inherently somewhat interesting to me. These are not, however, just photos of objects strewn about. Guneriussen transforms each into a fairly profound expression of human emotion. This artistic anthropomorphism allows a cluster of lamps to evoke the feelings of an arduous trek and a pair of chairs to take on the characteristics of an epic battle for supremacy. This reminds me of the movie The Brave Little Toaster or of those old Ikea commercials that scold you for feeling sorry for abandoned furniture.

It’s a treat to click through Guneriussen’s website and look at the different shots. I’ve pasted two of my favorites below – one is the aforementioned journeying lamps, the other a “campfire” scene that makes me yearn for similar camaraderie.

© Rune Guneriussen

"All I wanted to do was go on a nice hike..."

If you shout that through clenched teeth, you might recreate the start of my day, 11 years ago, at Utah's Bryce Canyon. My dad, angry that it was beginning to rain, took out his fury on us kids. Because we had stayed up late the night before, watching some combination of cartoons, MTV, and Beanie Babies for sale on the shopping channel, we were at fault for the crummy weather. We drove from Ruby's Best Western Inn to the trailhead anyway, and the rain had stopped by the time we arrived.

Crab dip, with a side of activism

Tonight I attended a young professionals potluck gathering. Delicious dishes included enchiladas, deviled eggs, and salad with chunks of a mild cheese (fresh mozzarella?) and bread cubes mixed in. I brought crab dip, and will post the recipe below. It was great to get a chance to chat with some of the other young people at church (a topic to which I will devote a much more extensive posting later), and the idea of potluck dinners appeals to me a lot in general. The young professionals group meets monthly, and there is typically a guest speaker, often a member of the church, who has something interesting to share. After dinner, everyone gathers in a circle of comfy armchairs and listens.

This week's guest was a woman named Beth, who works now at the Brookings Institution, but has spent much of her career living abroad, doing humanitarian work with a number of organizations, including the UN. A large part of her focus has been on refugee women. Beth spoke at length about her experiences, using several specific stories to help us understand her line of work.

In one, she told of a woman whom she met in Geneva, who had escaped Somalia by walking through the desert, carrying her 2 year old son. Arriving at Djibouti, she was raped repeatedly by the border guards before being allowed to enter. When she met Beth, she was going back to Somalia to try to find the infant she had been forced to leave behind because she "could only carry one." A second story centered on the deep satisfaction Beth received from buying a displaced schoolteacher a new pair of glasses, leading her to spin in circles in the street, crying "I can see!" in Portuguese. Still another focused on aid workers, resolutely continuing to provide help despite terrifying threats by local warlords.

One of the things that struck me most about Beth was the tone of the conclusions that she's drawn from these experiences. She told us that people frequently ask her how she copes with such a depressing line of work. Indeed, wherever there are humanitarians in the world, there is likely some sort of heartbreakingly incomprehensible disaster present as well. But Beth asserts that it's a wonderful job, that seeing firsthand the good she's been able to do is exceptionally gratifying. There's something impersonal about donating money to charity. You know you're doing a good thing, but you never get to see the tangible result. Not the case with humanitarian work.

Following her stories, Beth answered questions. The discussion roamed from Iraq (she's sad that sectarian violence has driven out nearly all of the country's intellectuals, but encouraged by Obama's rhetoric on increasing civilian aid) to how she got involved with this line of work (she was a college professor who visited Switzerland with some surplus grant money) to what her office looked like in Geneva (it had a view of sparkling snow-capped mountains and a little coffee pot in the corner). I really enjoyed listening to her chat - it felt very grown up, yet almost collegial at the same time. I'm looking forward to more experiences like this with this young professionals group.

And now, the crab dip:

1. Mix well, in a microwave-safe bowl: one 8 oz block cream cheese, 1/2 c. mayonnaise, 8 oz. crab meat (imitation flake crab works fine and is much cheaper), chopped scallions, chopped parsley, slivered almonds, 2 tbsp white wine (or cooking wine), 1 tbsp horseradish, and a dash of Worcestershire sauce.
2. Cover and microwave 4-6 mins, or until hot.
3. Stir again.
4. Serve with slices of a baguette or crackers or both.

72 hours with Mickey

In reality, I only spent about 30 seconds with Mickey himself, which is apparently more than most visitors to Disney World get with the popular and elusive mouse. This lucky sighting came around 10:30pm on Saturday night, after a full day of crowds, fast passes, and overpriced (but tasty) food. We had sped back to the Magic Kingdom via ferry boat from dinner to try to catch the nightly fireworks display. Seeing only half of it (mostly from the boat), we then ditched the parade and spent the last 90 minutes or so before closing trying to take advantage of thinning lines. Griffin and I spun in the teacups and found a kiddie rollercoaster called Barnstormer that we rode about 4 times without getting off. Before heading back to Main Street to meet up with everyone else, we explored a life size re-creation of a Colorforms set that I owned as a child - Mickey’s Country House. It was there that a “cast member,” picking up trash in front of a building tucked in the garden, said, “Come on in, guys!” Five minutes later, we and the couple of other families who followed us met Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

When my parents announced a few weeks ago that they wanted to take a family trip to Disney World, I was very skeptical. The fact that I was so excited to see a short man dressed up in a mouse costume explains why. Disney makes people crazy. A strange competitiveness is roused within normally unobjectionable people, as they jockey for spots in line, good photo ops, and, of course, the chance to meet costumed characters. All of this occurred in the Magic Kingdom – screaming kids, frazzled women snapping at strangers, parking lots full of hundreds of strollers (literally). The “place where dreams come true” can really be kind of a nightmare, if you let it get to you.

But then you see some of what makes Disney so appealing: a four year old kid running up to tightly hug a favorite character around the legs as his older siblings pose for a picture, perpetually smiling employees who wish people a happy birthday (apparently many people choose to spend their birthdays here), and the great care that goes into making every ride an experience (including long waits in line made more bearable by themed, transport-you-to-another-world queue shelters and details like subtly moving tombstones at the Haunted Mansion). There is something intangible about this gigantic plot of land in Florida that makes it more than just a cleverly designed, all-encompassing theme park. Disney is so ingrained in our culture, it’s almost as though people crave the experience of visiting – they are excited to come and are more forgiving of the bad parts. I will not pretend to be immune from this. The first thing I did upon entering the park? Pushed through the crowd and stood up on a raised curb to take a photo of Cinderella’s Castle. Then I had Kayla take one with me in it.

Sunday was colder (meaning 60 instead of 80) and it rained a little. While we were riding the Tower of Terror and exploring the Honey, I Shrunk the Kids playground (one of my favorite spots, featuring larger than life blades of grass, a dog nose, and a tub of Play Dough), snow was falling from DC to Maine. Our flight was canceled and, after some stressful milling around, we managed to re-rent a car and go to a hotel to spend the night.

The replacement flight was not until Monday evening, so we spent the day at Epcot. I used to hate Epcot as a kid, because there are not many rides there. It’s true; it couldn’t be more different from the hectic Magic Kingdom. But as an adult, that is potentially a great thing. In Epcot, you don’t have to weave back and forth to walk. A gigantic lake is surrounded by mini country showcases, highlighted by abundant kiosks and cafes selling delicious worldly food. And the education-tinged rides that used to bore me are kind of interesting now. It still feels like Disney, as the country showcases are impeccably quaint and the staff, plucked from their home nations, are painfully forced to wear stereotypical garb and hawk things like frozen margaritas beneath a faux-Aztec temple and “Maelstrom: A Viking Adventure on the High Seas.” But the sunshine, relaxed pace, and lack of open container laws more than make up for this.

I was disappointed that I missed out on the snowstorm, but I can’t complain about an extra day in Florida and I’m glad that I decided to go in the first place. And even though there’s something disgustingly corporate and fake about Disney World, there’s also something distinctly magical. I’m not embarrassed to say that I had a great time. In fact, I considered buying a pair of mouse ears (to share with Denise), but they were $12, so I did not. I’m not quite that entranced.