On the superficiality of politics and the meaning of design, or: What I want to be when I grow up, pt. 2.

I've just finished reading The Cheese Monkeys by Chip Kidd, the assistant art director and an editor-at-large at Knopf, and I must say that it has been as insightful as it was frightening. Insightful in that it gave voice to things I had known only intuitively, and frightening in the scope of what I don't know. You know, the kinds of things that one would, say, learn in art school? But that's crap, because I worked this week with two top tier professionals in book design and they didn't get a degree in design. Their talent is of course undeniable, and in the words of Mr. Kidd himself, makes all the difference in the world. Do I have it? Did I ever? Or was I just always fooling myself and everybody around me?

Last night I had trouble sleeping because I kept critiquing my book covers. All week I've heard praise, along with a few tweaks, and listened to our resource people be quite generous in telling me that my covers were 'lovely' and 'beautiful', and that they wouldn't say that I had talent if they didn't mean it. But over and over in my mind I kept saying 'But I'm not good yet! I can't be! Yes, they look nice. But do they look inspired?' For that, friends, is my goal. To reach the sublime, to capture the essence, so that upon glancing at the cover, or the spread, or the whatever, one's only thought is

"Of course."

I'm a rather humble guy when it comes to this stuff (indeed, I felt extremely embarassed whenever somebody started talking about my covers: 'Talk to the sales or editorial or publicity people; they actually worked this week! I just dicked around in a design lab until I felt like it was presentable!') but I don't think I'm out of line to say that as far as the technical stuff is concerned, I'm getting it down pretty good. All of my picked-up typographic knowledge (ascenders and descenders; x-heights; the difference between the Didot/Bodoni families and, oh, say, Garamond perhaps?) served me well, and my thorough knowledge of InDesign and PhotoShop allowed me to transfer exactly what was in my mind onto the screen, and then to the page.

But that's the problem. I knew what I was capable of doing, or what I brought to the table and out of the technology at hand. I still don't know whether I felt myself reaching for an idea because I knew that I could take something from a lesser branch and through the magic/curse of desktop publishing, still be able to create a work of suitable design. (Though each cover does have a great idea behind it, esp. 'Devil's Chord' and 'Pin Factory.') There's a reason why Sara Eisenmann (who hired Chip Kidd at Knopf!) has been said to say that CPC students who come in with little or no design background usually do better at the covers. It's not hard to understand: they don't know what's possible yet. They don't know what the programs are and aren't capable of doing; they're not thinking in terms of kerning or halftone screens; the purity of the mind can allow for a greater reach of ideas. When they asked me how to curve text into a circle or a wavy line, I had to express my apologies, for I never did that before, and thus did not know; though I had always wanted to learn, I never took the time to explore those possibilities. I knew what I done before, and that was enough. It cannot be anymore.

You can take all of this for what you will; it is after midnight and I've yet to get a full night of sleep during this most intense week of my life. As for the title? I've yet to read a single daily newspaper or read more than a few stories from the NYTimes.com that wasn't World Cup or Book/Arts-related since I arrived in NYC. And I'm not freaking out. In fact, I'm somewhat relieved to know that the world can continue on without my spending three hours a day on political blogs. Spend enough time talking about a fake book on the Republican Revolution and you realize that it's all crap anyway; the conservative/liberal dichotomy, the perceived 'traditional values' or 'progressive wave', and the 'It's 900 days until Bush is out, and then everything will be well again!' No it won't! The problem isn't Bush. It's never been Bush. It's the system that allowed him to become president. It's the system that says that two parties are enough, thank you very much. It's the system that encourages a flag-burning amendment to come to the floor every fucking year and keeps the words 'minimum wage' from even being uttered within earshot of Congress. I realize I'm ranting here, and the point isn't that this is a thunderbolt from the great blue; it's that I'm done. Not with the ship of state, mind you; I'll still keep up on the goings-on, and chit-chat and vote accordingly. But as far as the game is concerned, put me on the bench, coach; it's not fun anymore, and I'll be damned if I'm going to do something that isn't fun.

Let others write their screeds, and I'll even respond occasionally, but I've got enough on my plate with this design business. And if I work really really hard, and spend more money on formal classes, and catch a few breaks, then maybe I'll actually get into a position where I can spend the better portion of my life racking my brain and body over a sketchpad and a cinema display. Ideas, when given expression on a page, or a sign, or a façade, have more power than we can possibly know. They are the very essence of meaning, and inevitably, invariably, bring us up to the ranks of the inspired.

Ultimate New York Friday.

7am Run in Riverside Park.
8:20am Breakfast in the J-School.
9am Final copy-edit for the prospectus of Hudson University Press.
10:50am Final printing of HUP catalog, designed by yours truly.
11am Magazine orientation meeting.
12pm Prospectus complete and ready for submission.
1pm Walk into Columbia University Security to report that my iPod nano has been stolen from the desk in my room sometime in the past week.
2pm Emerge in Union Square Park at 23rd St., spend next 15min. or so finding my way to the Strand Bookstore.
3:15pm Leave Strand, head south on Broadway towards SoHo.
3:30pm Get to Spring St., find the bakery I've been wanting to try for years to purchase a croissant (my new favorite breakfast food!), a brownie, and a cup of Earl Grey.
4pm Emerge in Rockefeller Center at 49th to find a place to sit down and eat my treats. Walk away thoroughly unimpressed by both the locale and the food.
4:15pm Get in line for Target Ticket Free Friday at the Museum of Modern Art on 53rd.
4:30pm Get in the building.
4:40pm Get through the checkroom.
5pm Leave behind the actual museum to check out the bookstore.
5:30pm Exit MoMA after looking at half the exhibits (with resolve to come back at a later date and see the rest), check out the Design Store across the street.
6pm Enter Niketown at 57th and 5th. Consider buying a Netherlands ballcap; realize I never look in good in ballcaps. Consider buying a NY Niketown t-shirt; realize that I can no longer wear anything larger than a small without looking like a loser.
6:30pm Leave Niketown, and with weary legs, push on to 59th and Columbus Circle to come back to Columbia. An already full train is forced to disembark all of its passengers due to mechanical failures, and what seems like half of humanity packs itself into the next one, with me in the middle.
6:55pm Exit at 110th and Cathedral Parkway, go down the block to a walk-in Chinese place (which I have been craving all week).
7:15pm Satisfy craving for General Tso's Chicken back in the dorm while I regale all who will listen about my iPod travesty. Proceed to make everybody both hungry for real (read: non-Columbia) food and paranoid about leaving valuables in our locked dorm rooms.
8:35pm Still unsure of my plans for the rest of the night; seriously considering just reading, but worried about others having fun without me. Being in New York City, I really need to get to used to this feeling to preserve my sanity.

He must be stopped.

Is it me or is this man getting an inordinate amount of press lately?

No. 6.

Colophon: Artwork found at this website. Type is Gotham Extra Light, from H&F-J, and Didot (standard).

No. 5.

Colophon: Artwork found somewhere on the internet (I know, I'm getting worse at this). Type is Jenson, Onyx, Bulmer, Runic, and Poplar. Colors are Pantone 292 and 294.

No. 4.

Colophon: Can't remember where exactly the images came from; it took me two days to find them. Typeface is Flood.

No. 3.

Colophon: Image via Wikipedia. Typefaces are Bodoni, Latin, and Cyclone, which is from Hoefler & Frere-Jones.

No. 2.

Colophon: Image by myself. Typefaces are Adobe Garamond and Didot.

No. 1.

Colphon: This is a fake book cover; this is not in print, nor is it for any commercial or promotional use whatsoever except in a course project. Image from Express Train. Typefaces are Gotham and Cyclone, and are from Hoefler & Frere-Jones.

By the way.

I made my first trip to Central Park yesterday on my little field trip to the Museum of the City of New York. I of course got lost, and spent a good 40 min. traversing the park before getting to 5th Ave. The trip itself was a bust; I found no good artwork at that museum (but I did get in for free!) or at the Museum of El Barrio. But I got to see a bit of the Park and that's always a good thing.

The most ridiculous night ever.

Until tomorrow night. Seriously, fuck publishing.

I can get away with saying that after 1am in the morning.

Intensity.

This is my first wireless posting ever, thanks to my lovely MacBook. I'm writing this from the World Room of the Graduate School of Journalism, where the Pulitzer Prizes are awarded every year, and which serves, since Friday night through this Saturday, as headquarters for the Hudson University Press ("Jerry Orbach is our dean!"). This workshop is absolutely intense, but only for everybody else; they're all dealing with numbers and math and editing press releases and stuff like that. I just design six covers, and on this, the second day of workshop, I already have two pretty much locked in. I'll try to post them later in the week when they get finalized, but let's just say, these are most definitely portfolio material.

The most beloved cover so far is the one that nobody thought I could pull off. For a book titled The Devil's Chord, I wanted to stay away from satanic imagery and instead show the devil at play. I thought it would be great also to stay away from stock photography (which sucks when pulled off the internet) and do my own. I went out and found some faux parchment paper and hand-drew this tritonal chord onto it, and after three attempts, I managed to set it on fire, get it into position where the flame starts to engulf the staff and notes with one hand, and aim the camera with my other hand to take the photo (without my fingers in the frame), all the while it started raining. With absolutely no editing to the image, it became the cover, and has met universal acclaim. My other cover, a black & white subway photo I found on the internet, has also received lots of compliments due to the (of course) selection of typeface, and the way I balanced text in the tonal areas of the image. I'm working with a couple of legends in the business, and I can't wait to get started in the morning and start researching our other titles. As Dean Orbach would say, "Kick-ass."

Holy. Shit.

This workshop is gonna be insane. ETA: I never changed the time settings on here; it's still on Central Time, so everything I post is really one hour later. Thus I was talking about getting done with the first night of workshop at 1:45am after sitting in a conference room for six hours coming up with book ideas. Natch.–10:20am

Exile, pt. 2.

I found out this afternoon that I will be a design director in our book workshop, which starts tonight. I still don't know what kind of house I'll be working for, but I know that I will have to do six book jackets (and potentially a catalogue or other promotional materials), and will be pretty much sequestered away from the rest of my group for six days while tucked away in a special studio with two professional designers (meaning that I won't learn much about the rest of the process, but oh well). This is so exciting I can hardly stand it. Now I just hope I can live up to the hype.

Zach Braff is God.

I'm already blocking off 15 Sept. on my calendar. So should you.

Turn on the bright lights, pt. 2.

Times Square, for those who have never seen it at night, is amazing. It's actually quite small, but is the most incredible intersection of humanity and commercialism I've ever seen. I was already a committed capitalist, and while trying on Swatches, I knew I had joined the winning team.

Anyway, as impressive as that was, I'm still in love with the subway. I found a book last week at Strand called 'The Island at the Center of the World' about when the Dutch ruled New York, and now I want '722 Miles' about the building of this incredible system below the streets. I get the same feeling of excitement and wonderment watching the subway train roll toward me as I do when I stick my head out of our 9th floor bathroom windows to look up and down Broadway. I wonder if I'll ever lose that feeling. God I hope not.

And so it begins.

I just applied for what would be a great entry-level job, using my professionally-revised resumé. I'm going to Times Square to celebrate by looking at bright lights in this wet night.

Bracketology: On crack.

Dan Shanoff today has perhaps the greatest idea ever in all of sports, and maybe in all of anything. As the column is updated daily, I'll post the salient details for expanding the NCAA tourney to be truly perfect:

My only problem is that I think the floated proposal of doubling the field from 64 to 128 teams doesn't go far enough. My plan?

I call it "Ultimate Madness": Expand the field to include all teams.

Start with this: Modestly expand the current D-1 RPI listing of teams from 334 to 336 by promoting just two teams from Division 2. That makes the rest of the numbers work.

Then the fun begins, starting with the elimination of conference tournaments, replaced by something a lot more fun, exciting and fair:

Step 1: When the regular season ends, the top 32 teams in the country are seeded and given a bye into the classic 64-team "Big Dance." Earning a bye week is the incentive to play hard in the regular season.

(And we still have the drama of the "bubble" as teams jockey for a spot in this Top 32 field.)

Step 2: The leftover 304 teams are seeded into a "Little Dance," held during the 10 days previously reserved for Championship Week:

The weakest 64 play two preliminary games to find 16 teams to join the remaining 240, rounding out the 256-team "Little Dance" bracket. (Try that in your office pool!)

The benefits are obvious: Every fan enjoys a stake; smaller schools get way more exposure; big schools can prove they belong in the ultimate field of 64; revenue for TV partners and the NCAA would be astronomical.

Step 3: Within simply 3 games played over a week, this 256-team field is narrowed to 32, then seeded with the Top 32 teams into the conventional 64-team bracket we all know and love.

The Top 32 teams might be rested, but the "Other 32" have been battle-tested by anything from 3-5 games -- gaining momentum, generating fan buzz and finding chemistry that would lead to more Big Dance parity.

Step 4: Play the 64-team Big Dance as usual.

All of a sudden, every game is up for grabs: The traditional 16-vs.-1 game isn't the lock it used to be: Not when the 16th-seeded team is truly the 64th-best team in the country.

And because I'm in a cut-the-bullshit mood tonight.

The coolest guy on the planet. 'No Reservations' is the most refreshing show I've watched in a long, long time.

"A pretty grisly scenario."

John Updike in the New York Times Book Review. If you're not registered, you should be. [Courtesy of Mr. Chip Kidd.]

Chip Kidd. Even just the name is bad-ass.

"My problem with Andy Worhol is that this guy takes the fucking Campbell's soupcan or Brillo pad box, exactly, with every single detail the same, and just because he makes it Art with a capital 'a' can make a million fucking dollars and not give a cent to the guy who fucking made the soup can or box in the first fucking place. I mean, Jesus, think of the son of a bitch at Brillo, fucking Brillo, who designed the box and dies, penniless, in his unheated attic apartment!"

"I don't do much lawyering for my books. I go up to the editor in chief and show it to him. If I say 'You should like this, here's why' then I just sound like an asshole. And I can't stand next to the table in the store and tell those people why they should like it. It has to stand on its own legs."

"Jackets do not sell books. Bookstores sell books. Jackets, hopefully, get your attention for long enough to make you pick it up. After that, the jacket has to stand aside to the book and the author inside."

"My teacher said 'You have to eat the world with your eyes.' In New York, your eyes are burping all the time."

"Being Japanese, I think they're just too polite to reject anything I design."

"Either show or tell. To do both is treat the audience like they are fucking idiots."

"The lady said she was developing graphic novels to target the 12-16 year old girl market. Art Spiegelman responded 'I try not to think of my audience as targets to shoot at.' I agree with him totally."

"Whether you should go to grad school for design is based on natural talent. If you have the time and ability to learn it on your own, to study others, and to develop your own visual language, then fuck school. The most essential thing is to learn what's been done, and why it's been done."

Oranje crushed.

It would have been the best football match I've ever seen, had it not been the absolute worst one. The number of referees that FIFA will be looking at to call the final is dwindling down with every game, it seems. Bleh, watching that just leaves a pit in your stomach.

Bigger than my head.

I ate a slice of pizza tonight that was almost unimaginably huge. And almost impossibly cheap. For $2.75 I got a slice of cheese pizza that was 1/8th of the jumbo pizza, which means 'you don't want even want to know how big the entire pie is.' This is going to be a weekend fixture, I can already tell. Especially since everything else is rather pricey in this city.

Something else that's big? The bookstores. I took a trip down the 1 to 42nd St.-Times Square station, then got on the NR to Union Square. A few of us walked around in the drizzle until we got to the Strand Bookstore, famous for its 18 Miles of Shelves. I spent a good deal of time just looking through the sale boxes, let alone browsing through the history and political shelves (and I didn't even make it to the design books). Great deals and sales on these books too; I got a few books about NYC, and forgot to pick up a box of really nice postcards for the 2nd round of mailings back to Lawrence.

From there, we simply looked for the nearest place to eat as it was pouring heavily outside, and thus I had my first (and hopefully last) trip to Quizno's. Walking down Broadway, we crossed over through NYU and Washington Square Park, before coming back up 5th Avenue with the Empire State Building rising above us the whole time. Meeting up with a classmate, we went west at 14th St. at the upper edge of the Village, then headed north to the Chelsea Piers to watch the Argentina:Mexico match. After overtime, we came back along 23rd St. to the 7th Avenue station for the 1 back to Columbia, and then had our slices of heaven.

All in all, a good day to really get out into the city and start realizing just how big and yet how local New York is and can be. If only it hadn't been so damn wet; the entire week was perfect warm, sunny weather while we were stuck here for 'class', and on our free weekend, we get this shit. I think I'm gonna kick back in the lounge downstairs, watch some TV, rest my legs from traversing the city in wet flip-flops, and reconstruct my resumé in a new word processor since I don't have Office on my MacBook. This is gonna be a good summer.

Fifteen hundred miles..

To meet up with a friend from Kansas who's living in a Columbia dorm two blocks away while interning at MTV. Interesting how things work out.

Tonight was our first staff happy hour; drinking is very big here, or maybe just among people in publishing. Afterwards I came back and then went out with said friend from Kansas; we ventured down the block to a restaurant where I had spring rolls and a milkshake. Oh, and literally next door to my dorm, in the student union, is the Socialism 2006 convention. I love this place.

Tomorrow, I get lost downtown. I've been looking forward to this for years now.

Rule of thirds.

Okay, one more crack at the World Cup. Now that I've had a chance to see the teams in action (unlike the NCAA tourney, where you have an entire regular season, plus conference tourneys to see who's hot), I want to take the knockout teams and play it through, because matchups are sooo crucial to this thing.

Round of 16 Germany:Sweden, Argentina:Mexico, England:Ecuador, Holland:Portugal, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:Ghana, Spain:France

Quarters Germany:Argentina, Australia:Switzerland, England:Holland, Brazil:Spain

Semis Argentina:Switzerland, Holland:Spain

Vice-Championship Switzerland:Spain

Championship of the World Argentina:Holland

Triple option.

I want to hate this. It just screams 'We are way too indebted to Nike to stop this now!' But the more I look at it and see the various options (Oh, I suppose the yellow helmet with the whites might not look too bad), the more I appreciate the ambition of the design. I still think the metal grating shoulder print only works on the whites, but I am glad they kept the Thunder Yellow; I might be like the one in every thousand people who like it, but I've long since gotten used to being 'that one'.

Observations.

I forgot to mention this last night, but I found the diner that was used on Seinfeld. It's actually called Tom's Restaurant, and the inside looks nothing like Monk's on the show, but the sign is very neon. Also, when crossing a street in New York, you do not stand on the curb, but instead about four feet out while hoping the driver coming toward you doesn't get all twitchy, as you really have only a few inches of space to spare. Oh, there are a lot of dogs and their owners out at 6:45am in the park. Just in case you were curious.

New York's Finest.

I saw my first two NYPD blue tonight. They happened to be standing at the corner of 108th and Broadway as I was jaywalking across.

Today was a good day, a transitional day of sorts. Today I started really paying attention to what is truly possible in publishing, and how I might get there while also dealing with the knowledge that I can really only do it in New York City. We met with a senior editor this afternoon in small groups to discuss the manuscript that got sent to us a month ago (I found out that mine is indeed being published, but it has an amazing, yet still probably embargoed story). Then we listened to a panel of all of the editors, then had 'Sherry Hour' of wine and crackers while gathered around the editor who most piqued our fancy. Then a short dinner led into another panel, this one of recent CPC alumni who are now working as editorial assistants all over NYC. Their advice – "Don't worry! The job will come! And living in NYC is do-able! Even though I had to live in a Days Inn for two weeks while finding an apartment! But you'll get it, and you'll find out your spending priorities quickly!'

I have no problem subsisting on a life of cereal in New York City: I've done it for five years now anyway, not because of money, but because I freaking like cereal that much. I can go without cable or even a TV, I don't drink Starbucks anyway, I don't wear Diesel jeans, and living in a small room with flatmates is not beyond my capabilities. As long as I have occasional access to the internet (outside of work) and a gym membership, I'm good. I'm taken care of, because most of my time will and must be spent on my career. The next two or three years of my life determines whether I can make this work: if I can't design, I'll know it soon enough. But I'm not going to crash out because I can't afford to live here. Could I make a living somewhere else? Possibly. But then we get into the meaning of 'living', and I'm not up for that tonight.

Anyway, I'm excited for the weekend. Tomorrow morning I'm getting up early and running in Riverside Park. I'm going to buy Chip Kidd's book (along with some Columbia t-shirts) and spend tomorrow night reading that and doing homework. Friday we have the evening off, so I'll probably go out with classmates. Saturday and Sunday we're on our own for meals, which was my rationale for taking a quick stroll on Broadway tonight, to see what little markets and bistros are there (and there are plenty, believe me). One of those days I want to go downtown to Chelsea or the Village and get lost for a few hours. I'll save Central Park for another weekend.

It's 10:21pm here and I'm listening to the sounds of New York. I'm ready for the rest of my life.

On owning my first laptop.

Seriously, trackpad? WTF?

Wisdom.

We listened to Robert Gottlieb tonight. He never speaks publicly. Ever. But he's a legend as an editor (Bill Clinton, Joseph Heller, Katharine Graham, Michael Crichton, John LeCarre, Robert A. Caro, Toni Morrison), and he gave me enough material to take three pages of notes, the most I've taken in a looong time. The verdict? I can't wait to get into this industry. And I've still yet to meet and listen to Chip Kidd, which happens Monday night; I'm going to be in the very front row for that one.

"What is publishing? Making public your enthusiasm for a specific book. It's that simple, and it is anything but simple."

"'I loved this book so much, but I couldn't tell anybody. So I made a cup of tea and sat down and told myself!' That's the publishing impulse. But now it's all marketing and chains."

"The rule in publishing is that you have to do everything right, because you don't know what will make the difference. Even then, sometimes it just doesn't work."

"Don't try to edit something you don't like. It only ends in tears. Your job is to make something better than what it is, not other than what it is."

"All of the executives left Simon & Schuster at that time. Six of us, of which I was the youngest, ran the house, because nobody told us we couldn't."

"Every editor's memoirs would begin with the same line: 'And so I said to Leo, don't just write about war, write about peace too.'"

"You hold the professional trust of the writer; you must tell him the things he himself knows, but is trying to deny."

"Editing Bill was great. I would write in the margin of the manuscript 'This is the single most boring page I've ever read.' And he would write in response 'No, page 311 is more boring.'"

"Book publishing is tedious, it takes years for the returns, and there are a hundred steps, any of which can go wrong, and all of which will."

"The hardest thing about reviewing ballet is How do you conveigh with words what uses no words? To say what is unsayable?"

"The more you read, the better an editor you should be. Don't be in awe of fiction; much of it is garbage. The most successful authors are often the best, and that is comforting. It has to be. After all, imagine the alternative."

"You have to have the attitude of 'We're here to publish the best. Let somebody else do the second best.'"

"None of you will ever have to deal with a Caro for as long as you live. The level of detail was almost inhuman."

"You're as good an editor on your first day as you are on your last. It's just an application of taste to words."

The words my mother never wanted to hear.

"I went downtown, on the subway, by myself. I love this city."

I told my mom that after I returned to the 116th St. stop for the 1 train from my mid-day excursion to the Apple Store. I took the train to Columbus Circle, which is an amazing sight to walk out from under, then traversed the width of Central Park along 59th St. to the corner of 5th Avenue and walked into and then beneath the huge glass cube. The kind lady at the store guided me along my purchase of a white MacBook (with accompanying free 2G iPod nano!) and the requisite software, and then I made the return trip. All of this happened in time for lunch at noon.

You may be asking yourself, How so? Because our morning session only lasted an hour and a half. This thing really is not living up to my expectations so far, but hey, it's New York, Fucking New York, and I'm getting over my fear (sorry mom and dad, that I broke my promise. But sooner or later I will be hitting up Times Square, at night, by myself. So brace yourself). Anyway, I can't say that this course isn't interesting, but there's not much of it; we listen to a guest speaker for an hour or two, then we have three hours (or more) of downtime until the next one. I know things will pick up when we get to the week-long workshops, and I really shouldn't be complaining. After all, it's more time to watch the World Cup.

Oh, the Rec center isn't nearly as good as the one at KU, there was still lukewarm water in the shower this morning, and the meals here are really hit or miss. But Riverside Park, just two blocks away, is amazing; I'm thinking I may take an early run Saturday morning, and then go down to Chelsea or the Village to spend the day walking about. This may turn out alright.

Second day in.

I have eight minutes until evening lecture, but I'd like to fill you in on vaunted Columbia University: it's tiny. Also, it sucks. The buildings are crap, we eat on paper plates (our one entree selection at lunch and dinner; breakfast is a continental buffet in the room where the Pulitzers are announced), there was no hot water in the showers this morning, and we just now got our computer lab. Which isn't stopping me from making an excursion to the Apple Store in midtown at my earliest convenience, which will probably be the three and a half hours of downtime we have tomorrow afternoon (we had nearly six hours total today for lunch and dinner; why not squeeze the schedule into five weeks instead of six, then?), so that I can get a MacBook. No witty closing line tonight; gotta go learn about book reviewing.

All that you can't leave behind.

I left my apartment this morning as the Campanile chimed 7am. I walked out and took a last look, suitcase in hand, tears on my cheeks, and listened to the bells ringing out over a silent, overcast Lawrence Sunday morning.

So I'm here, and I think it'll be fun, but I really fucking wish I had brought a computer with me. Every place that I've been told contains a computer lab, um, doesn't. I'll just have to flirt with somebody and use theirs shamelessly I guess.

It turns out that plane travel isn't as horrifying as I like to think it is. Though I've found that I have to keep my nose in my book during takeoff and ascent, else I start hyperventelating upon looking out the window.

People in New York City are the scariest drivers ever. The entire concept of the turn signal is completely foreign to this town.

My room smells. And the door is kinda broken.

I knew I was in NYC when the driver was bringing me through Harlem, and I saw the street sign for 'Malcolm X Blvd.'

That's it for now. I have to go find out what happened to my other suitcase. American Airlines hasn't called me yet, and that doesn't bode well for the person I'm gonna have to call.

Goodbye, pt. 2.

Soon soon they will be born again in the sun
Soon too soon they will be wonderfully done
with each other
She looks away from him now
into the great American night
and seems to see very far
unless it's just contact lenses
making her eyes
so shiny
There is a great crowded bluff
in Lawrence Kansas
that looks a long way
into the astonished heart
of America
–Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Ultimate campus tour.

I will never forget this. You three are the most amazing and wonderful people I could have ever hoped to meet.

Even though my feet smell now. Luckily I'm throwing away all of my bedding stuff in three and a half hours.

Mala Leche.

Watching USA:Italy at Tim's:

Tim: See, the problem is that American fans aren't aggressive enough about soccer. The ref knows that the Italian fans could kill him after the game.
Ryan: He's taking advantage of our ignorance.
Tim: Exactly. This is where George W. needs to step up and be like "I'll invade your ass. I may not know where your country is, but that doesn't matter."

Tim: Yes, because deliberately elbowing somebody in the face, and being a split-second late on a legal tackle are equally worthy of the red card. Fucker.

Tim: This is why Americans hate soccer. Any other sport you're encouraged to screen the opposing players to help score.
Ryan: Maybe we were right all along. Damn, that's a thought that's gonna fester when I try to sleep tonight.

Announcer: If the USA can pull off the win, as the underdog to a talented Italy team, nobody will be talking about the referee or the red cards.
Ryan: I'll take that bet. Moron.

Announcer: It's the 90th minute, you have a substitution left, the US should bring on somebody like Eddie Johnson to give some fresh legs.
Ryan: Hey Tim, why didn't you start talking about that twenty minutes ago!?
Tim: Fuck me! Yes, that's a fantastic idea! Bring on a substitute with fucking 30 seconds left in the game!

Ryan: I like how Musberger comes back from the commercial ranting about how the ref was suspended in 2002. No introductions, no 'Welcome back to post-game', just straight up invective. God I love sports.

[Hats off to Lee for title inspiration.]

Unlimited.

So I changed my service today on my cell phone from the 1000 texts/month to a media package that gives me 1mb of internet plus 200 texts. This is solely so that I can keep up on World Cup scores, and on NYC weather, while in class. But when I switched, the lady told me that they were running a free promotion and that I got unlimited texts for the first month with the media package. I said 'So that's for this month?' She said 'It's for 30 days, so it runs from June 16th until...wow, actually it says here until August 13th.' So ladies and gentlemen, you haven't even begun to Facebook me enough yet.

Closing time.

My schedule for the next 90 hours or so:
Today In Lawrence with TV and computer, but limited food.
Tomorrow In Lawrence through lunchtime, then home to Humboldt for evening with car and remaining electronics.
Friday Back in Lawrence after lunch, with no car, TV, computer or much of anything beyond what I'm taking to New York City.
Saturday In Lawrence all day, same conditions apply.
Sunday Leaving approx. 7:45am after breakfast downtown with my mom, who is taking me to KCI.

So if you want a meal or a drink with the Rt. Honorable Minister of the Church of Beer, or to drive him to said place for food and drink, or to invite him over to watch World Cup matches or movies, let him know. Cause you can always come back, but you can't come back all the way.*


*That line has no relevance, but I wanted to quote Bob Dylan at least once on this blog.

For all you doubters out there.

One day, one damn near empty apartment. Thanks, of course, to the fine strangers who will carry away anything marked with a 'free' sign, including the sign itself.

The ten boxes in my living room...

Are telling me that it might not be such a terrible thing for the world's books to be digitized and accessable through a central mainframe onto portable e-paper screens.

Seriously, moving is a bitch.

On picking the USA to advance out of group play.

Surely by now you've heard. And yes, I did pick our boys to place second in the group-both times. But I want to make it very clear that it was not out of jingoism or because I picked up the Landon-graced cover of SI. It was simply and solely because I thought that if any manager in the World Cup could get past all of the crap that this team has had to deal with, it would be Bruce Arena. He has been the mastermind behind the US surge of the past decade, and I felt sure that he would prepare these players, some of whom play internationally while the others toil in MLS, for the rigors of the Group of Death. But as in any sport, the coach can only do so much; the blame for yesterday's game clearly rests on the players who allowed the Czechs to get in deep, and get in fast. I knew if the USA was to have any chance at advancing, they'd have to get at least a draw (and a precious point) out of this game; after watching Italy:Ghana yesterday, I think it might well be a tall order to not go 0-3-0.

Oh well, they say that you should root for your home team and then have a stand-by in case; I pick the Dutch. I can't say as to why, but when we're talking about a nation known internationally for sex, pot and dykes, do you really need a reason?

The greatest decision I may ever make.

I will not cut my hair for the rest of the summer. If all goes as planned, some lucky publishing house will have hired an orange fro by this winter.

Too bad they didn't 'accidently' burn it down again.

For the love of God, you've got to be kidding.

Six days out.

I have lots of things to do before I leave Sunday morning. First among these is finishing the last couple of advance assignments, having to do with magazine circulation. But a very close second, and more pressing in my mother's eyes, is packing everything in my apartment and moving it back home within the next three days. Right now, though, I'm having way too much fun uncovering mp3s I had on my computer back in high school. There was more Creed than I'm comfortable with admitting, but holy crap, 'Firestarter', 'Mrs. Jackson', 'One Armed Scissor', 'South Side', 'Stan', 'Voodoo', 'Hemorrage (In my hands)', 'Original Prankster', and of course the classic 'It Wasn't Me'.. where have you guys been!?!

TIP KU 06: The Pool.

For those of you who have no idea what TIP is, you can skip this. But I wanted to go ahead and make some predictions on how the first term will go, as it started today:

First kid to get written up: The boy who will streak naked into a now-off-limits girl's floor.
When it will happen: It probably already has. If not, then 7am tomorrow.
First doorway to have a finger stuck in it: Fraser Hall.
Exclamation upon this happening: 'Gadzooks, that was most inopportune and vacous of me; thou art doltish! Kindly please do open this entryway back up again that I might extract my forefinger and put a cold compress on it, posthaste!'
First couple caught making out: They probably already have. If not, then lunch tomorrow.
First trip to Watkins: Tuesday.
First trip to hospital: First 'ultimate' evening activity.
Location of first 'lost' kid: Hastings. Seriously, where else?
First broken bone: In honor of the World Cup, a metatarsal.
Kids who will boogie at the first dance: 30%.
Kids who will be reading at the first dance: 25%.
Action deserving of the first gold star: Finding the secret five-min., no stairs route from Oliver to Fraser.
Instructor to make their kids walk while holding lanyards: Mackey. He's old-school like that.
First evening activity to get suspended, then reinstated: Lacrosse. (Ha! Ha! I'll never get hired by Duke again.)

Dominance.

One of the more common arguments among sports fans is who is most dominant in their sport, ie: Lance in cycling, Tiger and Annika in golf, Tim Duncan in basketball, etc. I think the case can easily be made right now for Rafael Nadal in tennis: at the tender age of 20, he has just stared down a modern great in Roger Federer and came back from a set down to win his second consecutive French Open (his sixth win in seven meetings, fifth straight over Federer), his 17th title overall, and now 60 straight wins on clay. This kid's got a gleam in his eye.

Meanwhile in Paris.

This fourth set of the men's French Open final between Nadal and Federer may be the best I've ever watched. Two giants of the game, after lopsided opening sets, are slugging it out and it is magnificent to witness. The thing I've always loved and wondered about in tennis is the hyooge changes in momentum, such as Federer winning 6-1 in the first set today and then Nadal coming back to reverse it in the second set. After all, it's not like in team sports where you can bring in a reliever out of the bullpen or a specialist off the bench; they're the same players they were in the previous set, with the same strengths and weaknesses, and no advice from their coaches during play. They must adjust themselves, in real time, on the court. [Case in point, Nadal had six unforced errors to start out the match, while Federer had none; at the start of the fourth set, Federer had 47 to Nadal's 21.] Which is why tennis is a most glorious sport. Anyway, I hope Nadal can pull this one into a tiebreaker and take it home; always root for the guy in capri pants.

10K in 53'15".

I'm back, baby! Now watch me lose all of my endurance, strength and flexibilty because I'm too afraid to go outside and work out in NYC.

Freaky deaky Dutch, pt. 2.

Orange collared jersey + white shorts = classic. Orange shirt + orange shorts + orange socks = a few too many magic brownies.

Six minutes later.

1:1

Goddammit, this is gonna be a fun tournament. I'm off to lunch; don't get into any riots, at least not without inviting me.

Five minutes in.

So I may have been a little hasty with my prediction of today's Germany:Costa Rica match. It's already 1:0, and there was a near-goal two minutes into the match. It's gotta be the ball.

Backed-up.

Blogger has been fucked for the last day or so. So while I have a chance, here are some things I have accumulated over the last couple of hours.

• Being the tennis fan that I am (it's my favorite sport to play, though I haven't stepped onto a court in over a year now *tear*), I enjoy the hell out of the Grand Slams. My #1 dream growing up was to win Wimbledon, as Pete Sampras was and probably will be the greatest athlete ever in my eyes (I've modeled much of my game after him), and I loved the serve and volley action on the grass courts as much as I loved the keen upper crust English-ness. But lately I find my loyalties switching to the red clay of Roland Garros, site of the French Open. I've really come to appreciate the sheer stamina and the tactical fortitude that players must have to win on the much slower surface; there's a reason some have recommended that the French Open have three set matches for the men through the quarters (unheard of in the Slams) to save them from ubiquitous five-hour matches early on, like Rafael Nadal (sooooo awesome) had in the second-round last week. Anyway, here's a look at why the clay is so tough, and why I'd really like to play on it sometime soon and try it out.

• As if I needed any more reason, I'm really gonna miss Lawrence.

• The new UniWatch column on ESPN.com today focuses on one of the best reasons to watch the World Cup: the 'kits', as they're called in Europe. I know I mentioned Portugal as having my fave uniforms, but seeing all of them in one spot, I have to go with the Netherlands (the primary and alternates complement each other so well), followed by Italy (typography rules!) and Mexico (ditto, plus the underprint on the front stripe is great historical touch).

Harder than it looks.

One of my assignments for CPC|NYC06, as I've taken to calling it, was to make a list of my favorite and most influential books (with a very short description of each). It took me about an hour to narrow it down, so here goes.

The Art of Looking Sideways Alan Fletcher – A treasure trove of inspiration for the artist, the bohemian, the designer, the literati, and anybody who simply takes joy in creativity.

Soccer in Sun & Shadow Eduardo Galeano – His short vignettes on the history, players, goals and very soul of the game are a welcome respite from the current business culture of sport.

In Praise of Athletic Beauty Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht – I read this right before coming to Columbia, and found it utterly absorbing in detailing emotions that I always felt, but never named.

The Sun Also Rises Ernest Hemingway – One of the few books I can just pick up and read at any page, his sparse, blunt style is absolutely transfixing. Also, everybody gets drunk.

Theater of War Lewis Lapham – Quite simply the best essayist today, this book is an arrow to the heart of all that has gone wrong in the American Republic over the past few decades.

Our Dumb Century The Onion – Intricate revisionist historical humor at its absolute finest; the headlines are the draw, but the devil, like always, is in the details.

The Fountainhead Ayn Rand – The only one of her works that doesn’t leave the taste of bile in my mouth, so, I guess that means something.

Strange Rumblings in Aztlan Hunter S. Thompson – Actually a long article for Rolling Stone, this is the kind of journalism that we should, my goodness should, see more of.

To the Finland Station Edmund Wilson – The best history I’ve ever read, Wilson illuminates a grand narrative of revolution in an era when that actually meant something.

Rolling Stone: The Complete Covers Fred Woodward & Jann S. Wenner – As a design, history and rock & roll junkie, I practically have this memorized. The whole thing.

Things I love, #62.

KEXP's Song of the Day podcast, for delivering an always great, sometimes amazing track to my iTunes every morning. Through them I've been introduced to Band of Horses, Rogue Wave, Common Market, The Gossip, Blue Scholars, among many others. The last two days picks have been singularly wonderful: "Chariot" by Page France, and "Rise Up in the Dirt" by Voxtrot. The first has those lifting lyrics that sound so corny when just read out loud; the second has those vocals that shift directions in an instant. Both together are making music fun again.

He's so good.

Stephen Colbert, giving an inspired commencement address this past weekend.

There are so many challenges facing this next generation, and as they said earlier, you are up for these challenges. And I agree, except that I don’t think you are. I don’t know if you’re tough enough to handle this. You are the most cuddled generation in history. I belong to the last generation that did not have to be in a car seat. You had to be in car seats. I did not have to wear a helmet when I rode my bike. You do. You have to wear helmets when you go swimming, right? In case you bump your head against the side of the pool. Oh, by the way, I should have said, my speech today may contain some peanut products. ...

I mean even these ceremonies are too safe. I mean this mortarboard...look, it’s padded. It’s padded everywhere. When I graduated from college, we had the edges sharpened. When we threw ours up in the air, we knew some of us weren’t coming home.

Worst night of sleep *ever*.

So I didn't go back to bed until 2:30am, but it still took me a while to get to sleep. I remember waking and laying in bed, probably about 3:30 or 4am, because of a dream and being irrationally frightened at the thought of a possible curse/hex, notably of somebody coming into my apartment and killing me or of my heart exploding in my chest (so, uh, thanks Lee for the story about the girl with the failing liver). I woke up for good just a few minutes ago at 6:15am, 45min. before my alarm. So I downed a Clif Shot with some Gatorade, and I guess I'll go ahead and go to the Rec. But yeah, that's the last time I take a monster nap in the afternoon followed by coffee at night when I've been having trouble with a regular sleep schedule for the past three weeks. I mean, damn.

Still awake.

And there's not much going on in the world that I can gather on the internets. So I guess homework it is. Hopefully I can get a few hours of sleep before I'm up at 7am to run 10K at the Rec.

It's probably worth mentioning that I did come to a decision about NYU, and that decision is a 'no.' Seventy thousand dollars of debt is not something I want to be saddled with just to become a newspaper reporter; I had already decided to try my hand at publishing for the time being, and if that's not working out so well, then go back to grad school. Besides, I think my next step in academia should be a graduate certificate in design, as that's really what I want to do most of all. I've been going back and forth on it for a long time now, but I am going to put a portfolio together this summer and apply for Fabrica; if NYU can make room for me, surely Italy can too.

On my first cup of coffee in nearly four months.

Why did I pick 9pm to drink it? Fuck me.

Freaky deaky Dutch.

I've been watching this all day. Nothing gets one in the mood for the World Cup more than some guy orgasming from watching another man kick a goal. That being said, I sooo wish I could reproduce that yell after he repeats Denis Bergkamp's name for the five millionth time.

I was going to do this later in the week, but I'm afraid I'll forget before the first kickoff at 8am Friday morning. After receiving more counsel on the matter, I'm revising my bracket a bit. At this point, I'm just gonna go with a basic layout rather than hyooge grafs.

Group A Poland, Germany (By virtue of a German draw with Costa Rica in the first match, at which point the team gets booed off the field of the new Allianz Stadium in Munich by the home crowd.)
Group B England, Sweden
Group C Argentina, Ivory Coast (Er, Cote D'Ivoire)
Group D Portugal, Iran
Group E Italy, USA
Group F Brazil, Australia
Group G Switzerland, France (Curse the French!)
Group H Spain, Ukraine

Round of 16 Poland:Sweden, Argentina:Iran, England:Germany, Portugal:Ivory Coast, Italy:Australia, Switzerland:Ukraine, Brazil:USA, Spain:France

Quarters Sweden:Argentina, England:Portugal, Italy:Ukraine, Brazil:France

Semis Argentina:Italy, Brazil:England
Vice-Championship Argentina:Brazil
Championship of the World Italy:England

Really? In Kansas City?

The Kansas City Star unveiled their full new redesign today, after a couple weeks with just the feature sections. At that time I was underwhelmed, but predicted that upon holding the smaller, bolder paper in my hands, I would love it. And I do.

I'm glancing through and I must say I'm impressed; the entire news hole feels much livlier and readable than before, especially on the inside pages with the notorious pyramid ad stacks. The use of Gotham is well done to say the least, though I fear it may be getting on par with Interstate in the pantheon of sans serifs that newspapers use to look modern and edgy. But the use in terms of subheads and in the sidebars and other elements, such as the daily Top Ten rundown, is great; I *heart* the flush right by-lines; and I'm glad they're keeping the all caps headline for each section's main story, since Gotham Condensed is much cleaner than whatever typeface they had before. As far as the color, it's not quite a wallpaper feel like the European papers are going to, but it's getting there; those new presses will give the Star so much capacity for color and photo reproduction that I imagine they'll be pushing the limits in no time.

However, fonts and color are worthless if they distract or cover up the news; the big question is always that of reader-friendliness, on making the newspaper easier in getting the information you want and guiding you towards the information you need (but didn't know about). On that, the Star has succeeded in spades. Every element has been seemingly reimagined, at least on the design side; I just hope that they follow it with content worthy of the presentation. However, as great as the whole package is, and I think that in America it may now be the best designed newspaper (the Sunday Toronto Star holds the continental distinction), it still doesn't knock the Guardian off the top spot in redesigns. The Guardian wanted to go beyond the typical newspaper into the realm of daily magazine; they took a hyoooge gamble with hundreds of millions of pounds in new presses to go with the still rare Berliner format; and they have the content to put out (I believe) the best English-speaking newspaper in the world. I do like how the Guardian went blue for their new masthead, and after today, so will the Star. Imitation is the best form of flattery. But seriously, Kansas City, you are so lucky.

WTF?

The world is going to hell in a bobsled.

Two weeks out.

Fourteen days from now, I will be on a plane to New York City. I still have like eight advance assignments to complete, and I've yet to start packing and moving from my apartment back to Humboldt. And all of my friends from TIP last summer are in town again or will be so very soon (Whit! Lee! Tiffany!), while old friends are still here (Mischa! Julie!), and I have to plan my last 36 hours in town to be with them as well as the congregation of the Church of Beer (Joah! Jeff! Annie! Tim!). I'm gonna be exhausted when I get to New York; luckily I'll have eight hours of class each day to catch up on sleep.

The most important article you will ever read.

I am NOT kidding. Rolling Stone delivers yet another brilliant story that the mainstream media refuses to look at. Surprise, surprise.

Angles.

Today at Chipotle:

Joah: 'Match Point' sucked.
Ryan: Really? I had heard things.
Joah: It was just bad.
Ryan: But Scarlet Johannson is hot.
Joah: She is, but Ryan doesn't think so.
Ryan: It's like people who think Angelina Jolie is gorgeous, when she really isn't.
Joah: You have to get her at the right angle.
Ryan: With a sledgehammer.

One quarter of humanity.

That's how many people watch the World Cup. I just filled out my bracket, which is far more intensive than the NCAA tournament as you have to predict scores in the group stages in order to determine who moves on based on goal differential, beyond the points for wins and draws. Anyway, my bracket is crap, but I'll give it to you anyway.

Nothing terribly shocking in the group stage, except that Ecuador wins all three matches and takes Group A over Germany, who barely squeaks past Poland by a goal. In Group B, Sweden as well goes undefeated, with England making it out of group stage (just in time to get Wayne Rooney back). Argentina and Holland tie at seven points apiece, but the Argentines use their extra firepower to take the top slot in Group C. Portugal (my sentimental pick due to the greatest uniforms I've ever seen) carries Group D, with Mexico also making it to the Round of 16. I think the USA, despite many doubts (most of them credible), will indeed manage to get out of the group over the Czech Republic thanks to a win over Ghana in the final group game; Italy scores a barrage to sail into the knockout stage. Brasil, of course, also gets a clean sheet and allows only one goal, to Japan, who capitalize on the weakness of the group to take second in Group F. For the second straight Cup, France will falter in group play with Korea and the Swiss going through within a point of each other. And in Group H, Spain takes a lacklustre grouping for a spin, and Ukraine beats out Tunisia on the differential.

That sets up the Round of 16, as follows: England over Ecuador; Argentina over Mexico; Sweden over Germany; Portugal over Holland; Italy over Japan; Korea over Ukraine; Brasil over the USA; and Spain over Switzerland. In the quarterfinals, Argentina adds to the heated fiery hellish inferno of a rivalry by beating England; Portugal overcomes Sweden in a goal-fest; Italy finally chooses to clamp down in route to beating Korea; and Spain's run comes to an end against Brasil.

The semi-finals will see Argentina dispatch Italy, and Brasil, barely, sees off their colonial masters, as Portugal exposes chinks in the gleaming armor. Portugal rebounds to defeat Italy in the third-place game, while Argentina, in an absolute delight of a final (much unlike four years ago), matches Brasil blow for blow, talent for talent and wins the Cup, their third.


Sadly, I will be in class while most of this happens. Do enjoy it all for me.

NYU.

So it turns out, for those of you who haven't been in the loop over the past week, that I got accepted into New York University for graduate school after all. I just opened my official letter about three minutes ago, but I got the email last Thursday. What happened was I applied for the Cultural Criticism and Reporting masters program within the department of journalism during winter break, but I really doubted my chances and subsequently forgot all about it, especially after I got into Columbia for the summer.

That is, until this email hit my inbox at about the exact time that I was handing in my final assignment here at KU, a term paper critiquing Tom Friedman's obnoxious book Lexus and the Olive Tree for my mentor, the amazing Professor Antonio. I was informed that due to the extraordinary number of people who applied for the CRC program I was turned down, but also that my application was indeed so impressive to the committee that a slot had been saved for me in the general News Reporting program, should I want it. All I had to do was tell them to reprocess my application, and I would have four weeks to decide to enroll.

Now there are several worthy factors to consider, namely 1) I just spent the last few months talking about how ready I was to get out of school for a while, and started looking forward to a career in publishing. Now I again have thoughts of journalistic and literary glory hanging in front of my face, when I had nearly resigned myself to a career of management and number crunching (as most book editors are now expected to do). 2) Is it worth the certain tens and tens of thousands of dollars in debt that will certainly accrue from living and studying in the heart of Manhattan over the span of eighteen months, though I managed to get through my undergrad without any debt? 3) I'm pretty sure it's too late to find campus housing, so I'll have to delve into the most notorious apartment living scene in the nation, and do so in short order. Had they informed me of my acceptance a month earlier this could've played out differently; middle of May is kinda late in the game to be telling somebody to get ready to move across the country and enroll.

I'm still unsure as to what I'll do. Honestly, I can't imagine turning it down, especially considering that I'm also going to Columbia and will thus be able to combine both the publishing experience there with the MA in news reporting. I'll keep you posted, but for now, speaking of Columbia, I gotta start my homework. I have enough advance assignments to potentially do more work leading up to my arrival in NYC than I did in this past semester. No offense, Professor.

Hello, Grey's Anatomy.

Goodbye, West Wing. No, tonight's season finale wasn't another Two Cathedrals, but that was television as cinema. This was television as itself, and at its best.

Loans.

The federal government, and the private banks, can all suck it when it comes to student loans. So what if it's a six-week summer continuing education course with no hours or credit? Wankers.

United.

I saw United 93 this evening. There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said by New York magazine or Rolling Stone or the countless newspaper reviews of this movie, so I'll just have to tell you what I felt.

Last year for Western Civ 2 we had to read a Holocaust narrative, All But My Life by Gerda Klein, as our final book of the course. Crimes against humanity have been a particular interest for me over the years stemming from my passion for WWII history, but I had never read anything that dealt with the Holocaust on a personal level. Reading All But My Life, I had to put it down every few pages and get up and walk around because of the sheer dispair that I was experiencing. That I knew what was going to happen, and that it was sixty years and a lifetime ago did not help me become a dispassionate, objective reader; if anything it did the opposite. I knew these people were going to die, and that I was powerless to stop it.

So it was with the film tonight. The underlying message for all of the administrators and air traffic controllers was clear enough: what the fuck do we pay you for? But if the movie has a political tone, that is it. The rest of the film is as magnificient as it is excruciating; the climactic twenty minutes, showing the final phone calls, the last prayers to God (on both sides), and the struggle to take back a plane spinning from the heavens down to its fated resting place, could well be the most unforgettable twenty minutes ever filmed. Though I could feel tears streaming down my cheeks, I was as powerless to stop them as I was to stop that plane.

Is it too soon for a movie about 11 September? Of course it is. For those of us who experienced that day, who tuned in the horror of an act of war before our very eyes, who listened to commentators trying not to blow their shit, who gave blood or who simply stood outside that next morning to listen to the silence of the skies, it will always be too soon. This is why we have art, and why we must hope to God that those who make that art have the understanding, empathy and decency to help us realize that while we may be powerless, it is just for a moment in time. Indeed, we have only that moment to spare.

The E to the 1.

I just spent a good portion of time looking at my Not For Tourists guidebook to New York City, specifically the information on getting to Manhattan from either JFK or LaGuardia. I proceeded to spend several minutes staring at the MTA subway maps and tried to figure out some earthly way to get from the E train coming in from Queens to the 1 train that runs the western length of the island and would take me to the appointed destination of Columbia station, right across the street from my summer dorm. Then I said 'Fuck it, I'll spend the forty bucks to have a car pick me up. It would be good to not die on my first day in New York.'

Today on 'How low can the president go?'

31%. Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln that's insane.

Sex.

A blog post even better and more inspired than the Times magazine article it's based on, which was already pretty damn good.

Shoot me now.

The most sickening thing I've ever read. Seriously, a third of all college-aged people in America can't find Louisiana on a map? Three-quarters think English is the most widely spoken language in the world? Over 40% couldn't identify Iraq, Iran, Israel or Saudi Arabia?

Maybe using proportional representation to get more people to vote isn't the best idea in the world.

Yearbook Day!

They arrived, and they far exceeded my expectations. Bring on Columbia.

"Those things are secret for a very important reason: they're super depressing."

Ladies and gentlemen, I present the largest cojones on the planet. All the more striking compared to the shriveled ones of our media. Except for the Boston Globe; but even so, they're still following in the wake of a fake newsman.

Don't let the door hit you, Pt. 2.

To follow-up on yesterday's polling data, it turns out that of the 31 red states in November 2004, there are now four. I can't imagine that allowing for even more pollutants into the summer heat will help. But then again, I'm sure that Exxon's $36 billion in profits will be used to help restore the atmosphere of our cities, ease the health effects on children, and help working people with their daily commutes.*

*Hahahahahahhahahahahhahahahahhahahahaha!

2960 Broadway.

My address this summer while in NYC. *unintelligible mumbling*

I may faint.

Changes in a minor key.

Slight shift in font, but since I use a Mac with untold number of typefaces on it, I don't know if you will see it. If you have it, you'll see Optima; otherwise it may Georgia or that blasted Times. Anyway, I was getting tired of the Futura (which is what it was supposed to be since the last template change) and wanted something a bit more restrained. Also, more linkie down at the bottom with some of my favorite sites. Do enjoy.

Don't let the door hit you.

Goodness, the president set a new record today: lowest approval rating ever in the CNN poll. Beating, of course, the record he set last month. And the month before that. Hmm, there's a pattern here.

It's worth mentioning that his disapproval rating is at 60%. Clinton had numbers that high...oh I'm sorry, those were his approval ratings when it turned out that he got his winkie wacked and Congress didn't think that was proper, no sir not proper at all. Unlike refusing to fire your incompetant secretary of defense, leaking sensitive information about a CIA operative for political retribution, and playing 'Hey guess what red button I have my finger on?' with the Iranians. Asswipe.

Mr. Scarrow.

Yesterday while at the house in Humboldt, on the phone:

NRA Lackey: Mr. Scarrow?
Me: Um, yes?
NRA: I'd like to thank you for your past support of the National Rifle Association!
Me: ...
NRA: Now sir, how would you feel if the UN came into your home and took your guns away?
Me: Um, that would never happen.
NRA: Cause you wouldn't let it happen!
Me: No, because I study politics six hours a day and it's impossible.
NRA: Now, England and Australia strengthened their gun laws and their crime rates skyrocketed.
Me: Yeah, that's not true and you know it. Besides, the UN thing is a ridiculous assertion.
NRA: You don't think an amendment could get passed that would take away our gun rights?
Me: Well it takes 2/3rds of the states and 3/4th of Congress to amend, so, no I don't. Besides, organizations like the NRA routinely ignore the first part of the 2nd Amendment about the 'well-regulated militia.'
NRA: You don't think gun rights is an important point?
Me: Not when you're making ridiculous assertions just to raise money and send extremists to Congress. How about gun safety? Where is the NRA in pushing gun manufacturers to research DNA palm readers that would allow only those who own the gun to shoot the gun? Where are the trigger locks?
NRA: Now sir, I don't fully agree with all of the positions of the NRA either. But my gun rights are important to me.
Me: And I understand that. I'm just saying that the UN can't do the things they're supposed to do, let alone take away the guns of American citizens, so it's patently absurd to suggest otherwise.
NRA: Well sir, thank you for your time and you have a good day.
Me: Good day!

A cause I believe we can all get behind.

Get it? 'Behind'? Heee.

Just this morning I was thinking about how we should combine sit-ins with make-outs. This is on the right track.

Air Force, representin'.

Where be the glow sticks and the half-naked tequila-soaked girls? (Takes a while to load, but so worth it.) Via the cartoonist behind the best serial comic on the web, Questionable Content.

Res publica.

This essay from Michael Tomasky is really really good, but it is worth noting that I wrote a strikingly similar term paper about two and a half years ago called 'On the Death, and Rebirth, of Liberalism.' I'm just sayin'.

And while we're on the subject of a new American politics, these are some great articles from New York magazine (on the shortlist of publications I'd looove to work for in a few months, hint hint) about the prospects of a third party. While I am totally and completely in favor of a Purple Party (despite my devout hatred for that color), I think the only way it happens is for a third party to capture people's attention but still lose because of the first-past-the-post and electoral college structures; then maybe we can get some honest to God discussion about proportional representation in this country.

'I can’t believe it every day, that I can get up and people will pay me to write.'

As an addendum of sorts to my column of this morning, this interview courtesy of the Morning News.

Grafs.

I was taught, way back when, that a paragraph was to consist of at least two sentences. When I sent my latest column into the Kansan, it was four carefully constructed paragraphs, not every sentence for itself. Unless they were trying to fill space in the actual paper, I just don't get it. And I've been doing this for oh the better part of a decade.

Damn it to hell.

Just when I was about to swear a blood oath to curb my Facebook addiction, they have to add a feature where you can update your status and see the status of your friends as well. This may well be the end of me.

Where I make gross stereotypes of faiths in different parts of the country.

I didn't expect so much religosity in North Dakota, until I remembered the summer of '97 and that if you were stuck in such barren wasteland, you'd probably be praying too. See also, Utah and the Panhandle.

Further down below, I like the fact that there is a county in Utah in which no Catholics were reported. Methodists are also not that popular out there; just because we like our church services to end before the noon football games isn't cause for hostility, thank you. Kentucky apparently has no Jews. When did Idaho become Quaker country? Wyoming has waaaay more Muslims then I would have ever imagined. Watch out guys; Dick Cheney comes locked and loaded.

Song geekdom.

This new album I just downloaded off of iTunes from a band I never heard of an hour ago has the best, and longest song titles I have ever seen. Check out some of these from Panic! At the Disco's A Fever You Can't Sweat Out:

"The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage"
"London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines"
"Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off"
"There's a Good Reason These Tables Are Numbered Honey, You Just Haven't Thought of It Yet"

This goes along with my long-stated case that the best bands are the ones who don't use song titles as the album title too. I didn't say it was a substantial case, but it does exist.

This is not the way it should be happening.

When I finished the yearbook, I thought that was it. No more font angst. No more 'what ifs'. No more thinking up catchy titles.

Except that apparently my brain didn't get the memo this weekend, and I couldn't help but think about what I would do if I had the book for yet another year. This is primarily because:

'What if' I had gone against everybody's advice and pushed my idea for the greatest yearbook ever: an Annie Leibovitz style monograph of student portraits done in black & white, with all of the names saved for the back of the book?

And also because: this may be my most favorite typeface since I started studying them.

And then there's this quote that goes so great as a title for the portrait idea: "That we walked past each other every day, and never knew it until now," from Colson Whitehead's book The Colossus of New York.

Of course this truly is all for naught. There is no way in hell I can do another yearbook, so it will instead be the unfulfilled dream. Wow, I'm really feeling the deja vú right now.

On making spaghetti for Easter.

Much more reasonable than $22 for brunch downtown; for that price I'll go fish and poach my own salmon. Although the endless rack of lamb is rather tempting.

Karma.

So after the dancing and jumping around upon hearing my big news, I celebrated New York City the way that I think anybody should: with Chinese takeout. The next day, though, I realized just what I have ahead of me the next two months:

Making arrangements for subleasing my apartment.
Moving out of said apartment.
Packing my books so that they don't disintegrate in our home attic.
Managing to still stay in Lawrence through mid-June.
Possibly going on a road trip after finals week.
Determining what to take to NYC that I may live for six weeks.
Finding luggage suitable for carrying all of it.
Figuring out how to get it there.
Waiting for Apple to come out with their black MacBooks.
Buying one of them while I still have the student discount.
Getting a new suit for the (hopeful) job interviews.
Getting dress clothes for the (guaranteed) cocktail parties.
Paying tuition for the course.
Obtaining a student loan to cover it all.

There is no question that this is indeed karma for having only one class this semester. But if given the choice between planning for six weeks in New York City or a slate of finals, then karma ain't got nothin' on me.

Now I'm not a math major...

But somebody wanna explain how three presidential candidates can combine for 104% of the vote?

Oh Delta Force, I again thought this was your year, but alas, Ignite, even though I know of at least three people who thought that meant they were pyromaniacs, swept through thanks to the Greeks. "We're not KUnited with a different name" my ass.

And please be sure to read Mischa's letter to the editor from today's Kansan; she blows the doors off of the J-School, and we're all the better for it.

Immigration.

Anybody who thinks that reason will prevail clearly hasn't met the current crop of Congressmen.

Turn on the Bright Lights.

I GOT IN!!!!!

Interpol, clear out your summer schedule cause you and I got a date in New York City. In a purely heterosexual yet lyrical sort of way, of course.

Sleepless in Lawrence.

Okay maybe it's not quite that dramatic, but my sleep patterns have been in chaos lately. My body is waking me up at 7:30am on the weekends no matter what time I went to bed the night before (2am this past Friday and Sat.), and yet on weekdays I struggle to get out of bed before 9am even when I set my alarm for a generous 7am. It's to the point that it's actually easier for me to spring out of bed at 5:20am to go to the Rec a couple mornings a week.

And there's no telling what's causing this, whether it's my body rebelling against me after all of the stress and work I did with yearbooks and unnecessary classes, or whether I'm truly becoming a nervous wreck because I don't know what my future holds (this is the week I found out about Columbia; as if it would kill them to send the letter a few days early), or because I'm laying awake thinking about certain friends who I wish would talk to me about things going on their lives. Damn my empathy!

On-deck.

I'm sure each of us has wondered at some point what song we would choose if there was a massive, omnipresent stereo that played said song when we walked into a room. It's the same thought you have while at a baseball game listening to the players choices while they're stepping up to bat. In the last few weeks I've been intrigued by this as I've discovered that on Myspace, you can upload a song to play when somebody clicks on your profile (which can be annoying if you're like me and already listening to something while browsing). So I got to thinking about what song I would choose if, in fact, I had a Myspace account.

I spent (literally) several hours of meticulously plowing through my iTunes and making an shortlist that exceeds the limit of being an actual shortlist during the last day and night. Bear in mind that I considered a number of objective factors such as lyrical eloquence, genre of music that most people would identify with me, political messages, and strength of electric guitars. I also had to decide whether I want my song to have a strong hook at the beginning (ie: 'The Mexican' by Babe Ruth), be a 'fun' song ('Coin Operated Boy' by the Dresden Dolls), or be nice listening while reading my probably lengthy profile ('Glósóli' by Sigur Rós). With all of this at stake, I think I've settled on it:

'White Rabbit' by Jefferson Airplane.

In the end I rejected those three options and went with a classic late-60s San Francisco Sound, a song that builds and builds to an irreversable climax with lyrical brilliance and unmistakable drug influence. That it was a favorite of Mr. Hunter S. Thompson may have also played a subconscious role in this decision.

Others on my "shortlist" were 'Not an Addict' by K's Choice; 'Lorca's Novena' by the Pogues; 'In the Sun' by Joseph Arthur; 'Hallelujah' by Jeff Buckley; 'French Disko' and 'Bullets' by the Editors; 'Obstacle 1', 'Obstacle 2', and 'C'mere' by Interpol; 'Thunder Road' by Bruce Springsteen; 'Positively 4th Street' by Mr. Bob Dylan ('Like a Rolling Stone' shall never be debased by gratuitous Internet playing); 'Diamonds on the Face of Evil' by Ugly Casanova; 'Abilene' and 'Crazy and Losin' It' by Abileen; 'Contact' by Citizen Cope; 'Pass the Ammo' by Mac Lethal; 'I'm a Playa' by Tech N9ne; 'Going the Distance' by Cake; 'Golden Age of Radio' by Josh Ritter; 'Just Like Honey' by the Jesus & Mary Chain; 'The Last Great Punk Rock Song' by Say Anything; 'It Ended On an Oily Stage' by British Sea Power; 'The Seed (2.0)' by The Roots and Cody Chestnutt; 'Hell + High Water' by Rainer Maria; 'Set You Free' by the Black Keys; and 'Lebanese Blonde' by Thievery Corporation. That's about 1/3 of the list, but I think you got the point of the exercise.

Mischa, something else for the bulletin board.

As a straight, white guy, I say ditto.

My God.

Because it worked so fucking well the first fucking time. The entire article makes your head spin; Sy Hersh is a national treasure.

If Congress doesn't stand up to the president's insatiable lust for war, then the Republic is over. I'll take my books and head for South America, or New Zealand, or my handcrafted hammock shop thank you very much.

Not like a Rolling Stone.

And just like that, the dream died. In order to make the deadline I would've had to send my application packet out tomorrow, so this afternoon I set about making the 5-10min. introductory video with Joah, and with her invaluable help and support, we had the makings of a damn good video. However, iVideo would have none of it, or at least none of the audio, as the video format was the only one that is unable to import sound along with the footage. So with no ability to reshoot with a proper camera and figure out iVideo in time to make a DVD, all the while finishing up the rest of the packet, my hopes of appearing on MTV with a shot at my ideal job at my ideal magazine have been dashed. And even though I knew I was probably a longshot, I still feel amazingly bummed tonight.

Oh, and congratulations Keith. But it doesn't reduce the fact that your state still has bugs, Bush (Jeb), and Bobby Bowden.

The greatest Lawrence day ever since ever began.

Great Harvest Bread Co.
Au Marche
Urban Outfitters
Cocoa nibs
Great Danes
Love Garden
Feminist postcards
Vanilla & raspberry gelato
Wood wind chimes
An hour and a half trying on vintage dresses, shirts, and jackets (I just did the last one, thank you.)
Seventy-eight degrees

Thanks Mischa!