So, uh, I really haven't had really had the time or energy to update the blog recently. However, I've had time to play ultimate frisbee and have my photo published in The Tech.
I've spent most of my time here playing soccer, joining random pick-up games that are going on at Brigg's Field or the Astroturf. Last night, I played with 15 Turks from Boston University, and tonight with 8 Kazakhs from the Cambridge area. I assume the Asian nationality du jour tomorrow night will be Uzbek. I've never played on AstroTurf before, despite hailing from the city where it was first implemented in a major sports stadium.
I have mixed feelings about it. After playing on the surface, I looked up its properties and player reactions to artificial grass. Generally, soccer players hate AstroTurf because the ball bounces too much, it's harder on the joints (therefore making them more prone to injury), and it causes terrible abrasions. Newer generations of artificial turf much more closely resemble real grass, but MIT's field has the original stuff.
My impression is that the AstroTurf installation at the Institute is extremely soft. In fact, compared to the fields where I played pick-up soccer in Houston, it's like walking on marshmallows. It's great. I generally play either goalkeeper or striker. Opposites, I know, but playing both roles gives you knowledge about how your opponent thinks and will act, which is a huge advantage for keepers against fowards as well as forwards against keepers. Anyways, this summer I really honed my goalie skills, learning how to make diving saves. The form was easy enough to master. I found the psychological block the hardest to overcome. Before diving, I would freeze up. My reflexes were good, but I was deathly afraid of the landing. Jumping as fast and as high as you can is difficult, knowing you are going to land on your ribcage. But I had no such block on the artificial grass! Even after experimenting and blocking some great Turkish shots, and finding that the landing hurts worse on AstroTurf, I was still flying left and right. The fall is cushioned, but you'll be in for a terrible scraping. I have a quarter-sized abrasion on my right hip, the result of a save over the crossbar of a rocket of a shot, and a rough spot on my right knee from a sliding tackle near the goal.
There's something about this weather. In Houston, we played outdoors in the baking sun. The temperatures were always above 97 degrees Fahrenheit, and I'd be able to take in a liter of water no problem after only 45 minutes of play. After about an hour and a half, I would have to quit, completely tired out. Here, though, in the beautiful 60F weather, I can sprint all around the field for more than three hours, barely breaking a sweat with almost no thirst at all. I guess all that Houston torture was worth something--I'm a juggernaut in weather less than 75 degrees.
So if you look at the time stamp, you will notice that this was posted sometime around 5:00am. This is because a) I don't feel like sleeping, b) I haven't blogged in a while, and c) I have something to blog about. But I could have written this at about 12am. I'm really writing this past 5am because for the past four hours or so I went on a campus tour. It was amazing. I met this great guy called Jack who showed me these cool hiding spots. Now I know where to run when I start smelling the bacon as I pull an epic hack.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Arrival/First Day
The flight was relatively uneventful. I sat next to a girl who is starting a Masters degree program at Boston University. We talked for a bit, and after I picked up my bag at the carousel I stopped to say bye. Her boyfriend was there to pick her up, and they simultaneously asked me if I was taking a cab. I said yes, that was the plan, and then again in unison they asked if they could give me a ride! I graciously accepted...I wonder if this means I can say that I hitchhiked to campus? That's what I've been telling people here...
They dropped me off right in front of the Big Dome. I followed signs to the orientation check-in...which apparently is closed until Friday. So I had no idea where to go today, until I remembered that international students came up a few days earlier (so they all had the chance to check in), and I had become Facebook friends with Evgeny, an Israeli international student who is doing the same program as me. I sent him a message as soon as I got computer access and luckily he came through and told me where to go this morning.
So today I met up with the other 16 kids in the Discover Urban Studies and Planning Freshman Pre-Orientation Program (DUSP FPOP). We had a (free) breakfast in the Urban Planning department's main classroom, where we learned a bit about the courses and about urban planning in general. Then we had a (free) lunch with ice breakers. Then we got (free) $10 subway passes, which we used to go to the Roxbury and Jamaica Plains neighborhoods, which were the traditional Black and Hispanic neighborhoods, respectively. We met up with a Masters in US&P from MIT who showed us some rejuvenation projects he was working on. We learned that we were probably the first tourists to enter those areas in years...
Then we went back to downtown, explored the Common and the large library. We then walked to the Prudential Center where we got (free) access to the observation deck, 50 stories above the city. Next we went to a Thai restaurant for a (free) dinner, and that was our day.
They dropped me off right in front of the Big Dome. I followed signs to the orientation check-in...which apparently is closed until Friday. So I had no idea where to go today, until I remembered that international students came up a few days earlier (so they all had the chance to check in), and I had become Facebook friends with Evgeny, an Israeli international student who is doing the same program as me. I sent him a message as soon as I got computer access and luckily he came through and told me where to go this morning.
So today I met up with the other 16 kids in the Discover Urban Studies and Planning Freshman Pre-Orientation Program (DUSP FPOP). We had a (free) breakfast in the Urban Planning department's main classroom, where we learned a bit about the courses and about urban planning in general. Then we had a (free) lunch with ice breakers. Then we got (free) $10 subway passes, which we used to go to the Roxbury and Jamaica Plains neighborhoods, which were the traditional Black and Hispanic neighborhoods, respectively. We met up with a Masters in US&P from MIT who showed us some rejuvenation projects he was working on. We learned that we were probably the first tourists to enter those areas in years...
Then we went back to downtown, explored the Common and the large library. We then walked to the Prudential Center where we got (free) access to the observation deck, 50 stories above the city. Next we went to a Thai restaurant for a (free) dinner, and that was our day.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Best Of?
Someone on Facebook suggested that blogger wannabes should link to the most relevant posts, so here you are (in chronological order):
Welcome
Application Story
Role Models
Marriage Predictions
Packing
Eagle Scout Speech
Chicken Little (a ridiculous play)
Vamping
College Radio
The Wedding
So, uh, that's half of my posts. I don't mean to exclude the others. Just wouldn't want you to miss these.
Welcome
Application Story
Role Models
Marriage Predictions
Packing
Eagle Scout Speech
Chicken Little (a ridiculous play)
Vamping
College Radio
The Wedding
So, uh, that's half of my posts. I don't mean to exclude the others. Just wouldn't want you to miss these.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Family
Previously I said that I hate my [extended] family sometimes. It's not their personalities that are annoying, not in the least. In fact, I love them. My cousins are all wacky and cool, and the various aunts, uncles, and cousins of my parents are so kind and loving. The only problem is that these people are extremely conservative Muslims.
I can't blame them. Almost all of them grew up in Pakistan, and most went to school there. Surrounded constantly by the older generation of devout Muslims, they didn't really have much room for freeing their thoughts. Almost everyone prays five times a day. Old traditions die hard. To this day, some of our generation are expected to marry cousins.
None of this is too terrible. They generally keep to themselves, and won't force anyone to intermarry. On the one Friday we were in Canada, I was the only male who didn't go to the big group prayer. Clearly the others noticed, but thankfully they didn't say anything. It doesn't even bother me that the parents try to force religion on their kids. I have a feeling that one of my second cousins also is not very religious, because once she refused when her mother told her it was time to start a-prayin'. So some of the younger folks are resisting in small ways--also good.
But I was livid when the males were forced from the room because some lady had to dance without her head covering. I felt stifled, like ignorance was being pushed down my throat. It was here that I really bonded with my dad's cousin Aamir. We had a nice chat about religious fanatics and assimilation. It was refreshing to find someone in the family other than my parents who isn't a blind follower.
I attribute this skeptical view on Islam, and religion in general, to the fact that both my parents left Pakistan for their educations: My dad to MIT, my mom to Tulane. This opened their minds in ways that a Pakistani university could never do. True, my dad had a religious phase when I was about 10 that lasted about a year. He made me go to mosque every Friday, but that quickly let up. Despite my involvement with the Boy Scouts, I realized that I did not believe in a higher power. I harbored this inside for about two years before telling my parents. I think it was a relief for both me and them, because they were suspecting something was the matter for a while. They took it well, my mom even saying she'd rather me be an atheist than a preacher.
But no one else knows.
I can't blame them. Almost all of them grew up in Pakistan, and most went to school there. Surrounded constantly by the older generation of devout Muslims, they didn't really have much room for freeing their thoughts. Almost everyone prays five times a day. Old traditions die hard. To this day, some of our generation are expected to marry cousins.
None of this is too terrible. They generally keep to themselves, and won't force anyone to intermarry. On the one Friday we were in Canada, I was the only male who didn't go to the big group prayer. Clearly the others noticed, but thankfully they didn't say anything. It doesn't even bother me that the parents try to force religion on their kids. I have a feeling that one of my second cousins also is not very religious, because once she refused when her mother told her it was time to start a-prayin'. So some of the younger folks are resisting in small ways--also good.
But I was livid when the males were forced from the room because some lady had to dance without her head covering. I felt stifled, like ignorance was being pushed down my throat. It was here that I really bonded with my dad's cousin Aamir. We had a nice chat about religious fanatics and assimilation. It was refreshing to find someone in the family other than my parents who isn't a blind follower.
I attribute this skeptical view on Islam, and religion in general, to the fact that both my parents left Pakistan for their educations: My dad to MIT, my mom to Tulane. This opened their minds in ways that a Pakistani university could never do. True, my dad had a religious phase when I was about 10 that lasted about a year. He made me go to mosque every Friday, but that quickly let up. Despite my involvement with the Boy Scouts, I realized that I did not believe in a higher power. I harbored this inside for about two years before telling my parents. I think it was a relief for both me and them, because they were suspecting something was the matter for a while. They took it well, my mom even saying she'd rather me be an atheist than a preacher.
But no one else knows.
The Wedding
Finally, the wedding post. I've been putting this off for a while now because I don't know where to start. And I have lots to talk about.
My immediate family flew in to Toronto for my cousin's wedding. The one getting married, Raees, is a first cousin, the middle of three brothers. Their mom is my dad's sister. The bride's family traditionally organizes the wedding. Most of them live in Canada, and most of our side lives in Pakistan, so the turnout was heavily stacked in favor of the girl. Representing the Hussains were my sister and parents, the groom's immediate family, and the families of two of my dad's cousins. Four of my grandmother's brothers also attended, but most live in North America. My dad's parents weren't able to attend, so you will notice in some of the pictures the groom is on the phone--he's talking to them.
There are four ceremonies in a Pakistani wedding. Each is supposed to occur on consecutive evenings. I won't get into the purpose of each ceremony right now. Suffice to say, almost all wedding traditions were borrowed/stolen from the Indians so many of us profess to hate.
First up was the Bhari, which is only for the women. The groom's women go to the bride's women and present the dowry. I don't really know what happened. It's a girl thing.
Second was the Mehndi, for which all my cousins were practising. At the Mehndi, the groom's family and the bride's family present dances that they have practiced in a sort of Pakistani danceoff. I found that I couldn't dance without wearing a Darth Vader mask, so I respectfully abstained. The bride's family immediately created some friction when they asked all the men in the audience to leave during part of their dance routine, in which a normally hijab'd woman had to take off her head covering to break it down. What the hell? Did you think I was going to rape you if I saw your hair? I'm 18, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but did you really need to be protected from the salacious eyes of the 7 year olds as well? Give me a break. It seemed this was strikingly idiotic only to my dad and one of his cousins. Sometimes I hate my family.
Third was the nikkah. All of the pictures in the album are from the nikkah, except for those of the baby. This is the ceremony in which the couple are officially hitched, both legally and religiously. A preacher preaches, a Koran reader reads from the Koran, and the engaged couple is married. Then everyone eats. Hurray! Except the bride's family took the liberty of putting together mindless and sickeningly over-enthusiastic speeches praising the girl. They even made a Letterman style video of the Top 10 Things You Should Know About Sarah. *gag* Everyone was crying, making scenes. Whenever the camera man focused on particular people, they started crying. The cameraman wasn't that ugly. Fake people are annoying.
Then the fun really started. This was the first Paki wedding that I've attended since I was a toddler, so it was pretty much all new to me. I didn't know about a very funny tradition that the Hussains have...
As in most cultures, on the wedding night the couple gets their groove on. In Paki weddings, the groom and the bride are handed over to the guy's family to drive them to the Site of Consummation. Normally this just means an uncle drops the two at a hotel and helps them bring some luggage to the room. No big deal. Everyone knows what occurs shortly after. That's what normally happens.
Here's what goes down in the Hussain family.
The twenty people closest to the groom pile into cars, following the couple and the designated driver to the hotel. Everyone helps with bags and congratulates the newly married. I appoint myself guru and teach Raees everything I know about sex. This takes thirty seconds.
Things get weird when the whole party follows them up to the room. Wanting to get one last look at their cousin as a virgin?
No.
Someone blockades the door. Another demands money. The bride is shocked. She has no idea wtf is happening. Rabble ensues. Now the adults are getting into it. Give us money or the door stays closed. I have nothing on me! Well then, let's go back to the cars.
This is at 1 am. Some of us were shouting. Thankfully, no one complained.
In our wedding finery, we go to Tim Horton's. We run a $70 tab on coffee and donuts, picked up by the groom's credit card. We have commandeered the entire coffee shop. The adults loudly share stories of previous consummation pranks as the bride still has a shocked/awkward look on her face. You can see tired horniness in the groom's eyes. Finally, he gives in. Everyone under 20 receives a $100 bill (he was lying). We return the couple to their room at 4am.
The best part was hearing about the more elaborate pranks. One time, the family got access to the room beforehand and sawed halfway through each of the bed legs. When push came to shove, the bed collapsed. The wife had to go to the emergency room. She required 13 internal stitches. They are still married.
I made my cousins promise me that the prank on me will be epic. I will be ticked off no matter what, but it will help if I'm impressed, too.
Hanging out with the cousins was awesome. They haven't changed much in the 4 years since I last saw them, and I'm looking forward to seeing all of them-and more-in December for the final ceremony of the wedding (we wanted to have at least one part in Pakistan so that our side could show in force).
Pictures here.
Gmail account required, I believe.
Taken with a film SLR. I had a photo CD made when the film was developed.
My immediate family flew in to Toronto for my cousin's wedding. The one getting married, Raees, is a first cousin, the middle of three brothers. Their mom is my dad's sister. The bride's family traditionally organizes the wedding. Most of them live in Canada, and most of our side lives in Pakistan, so the turnout was heavily stacked in favor of the girl. Representing the Hussains were my sister and parents, the groom's immediate family, and the families of two of my dad's cousins. Four of my grandmother's brothers also attended, but most live in North America. My dad's parents weren't able to attend, so you will notice in some of the pictures the groom is on the phone--he's talking to them.
There are four ceremonies in a Pakistani wedding. Each is supposed to occur on consecutive evenings. I won't get into the purpose of each ceremony right now. Suffice to say, almost all wedding traditions were borrowed/stolen from the Indians so many of us profess to hate.
First up was the Bhari, which is only for the women. The groom's women go to the bride's women and present the dowry. I don't really know what happened. It's a girl thing.
Second was the Mehndi, for which all my cousins were practising. At the Mehndi, the groom's family and the bride's family present dances that they have practiced in a sort of Pakistani danceoff. I found that I couldn't dance without wearing a Darth Vader mask, so I respectfully abstained. The bride's family immediately created some friction when they asked all the men in the audience to leave during part of their dance routine, in which a normally hijab'd woman had to take off her head covering to break it down. What the hell? Did you think I was going to rape you if I saw your hair? I'm 18, so I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but did you really need to be protected from the salacious eyes of the 7 year olds as well? Give me a break. It seemed this was strikingly idiotic only to my dad and one of his cousins. Sometimes I hate my family.
Third was the nikkah. All of the pictures in the album are from the nikkah, except for those of the baby. This is the ceremony in which the couple are officially hitched, both legally and religiously. A preacher preaches, a Koran reader reads from the Koran, and the engaged couple is married. Then everyone eats. Hurray! Except the bride's family took the liberty of putting together mindless and sickeningly over-enthusiastic speeches praising the girl. They even made a Letterman style video of the Top 10 Things You Should Know About Sarah. *gag* Everyone was crying, making scenes. Whenever the camera man focused on particular people, they started crying. The cameraman wasn't that ugly. Fake people are annoying.
Then the fun really started. This was the first Paki wedding that I've attended since I was a toddler, so it was pretty much all new to me. I didn't know about a very funny tradition that the Hussains have...
As in most cultures, on the wedding night the couple gets their groove on. In Paki weddings, the groom and the bride are handed over to the guy's family to drive them to the Site of Consummation. Normally this just means an uncle drops the two at a hotel and helps them bring some luggage to the room. No big deal. Everyone knows what occurs shortly after. That's what normally happens.
Here's what goes down in the Hussain family.
The twenty people closest to the groom pile into cars, following the couple and the designated driver to the hotel. Everyone helps with bags and congratulates the newly married. I appoint myself guru and teach Raees everything I know about sex. This takes thirty seconds.
Things get weird when the whole party follows them up to the room. Wanting to get one last look at their cousin as a virgin?
No.
Someone blockades the door. Another demands money. The bride is shocked. She has no idea wtf is happening. Rabble ensues. Now the adults are getting into it. Give us money or the door stays closed. I have nothing on me! Well then, let's go back to the cars.
This is at 1 am. Some of us were shouting. Thankfully, no one complained.
In our wedding finery, we go to Tim Horton's. We run a $70 tab on coffee and donuts, picked up by the groom's credit card. We have commandeered the entire coffee shop. The adults loudly share stories of previous consummation pranks as the bride still has a shocked/awkward look on her face. You can see tired horniness in the groom's eyes. Finally, he gives in. Everyone under 20 receives a $100 bill (he was lying). We return the couple to their room at 4am.
The best part was hearing about the more elaborate pranks. One time, the family got access to the room beforehand and sawed halfway through each of the bed legs. When push came to shove, the bed collapsed. The wife had to go to the emergency room. She required 13 internal stitches. They are still married.
I made my cousins promise me that the prank on me will be epic. I will be ticked off no matter what, but it will help if I'm impressed, too.
Hanging out with the cousins was awesome. They haven't changed much in the 4 years since I last saw them, and I'm looking forward to seeing all of them-and more-in December for the final ceremony of the wedding (we wanted to have at least one part in Pakistan so that our side could show in force).
Pictures here.
Gmail account required, I believe.
Taken with a film SLR. I had a photo CD made when the film was developed.
Watchmen
I, like everyone in the known universe, saw the Dark Knight recently. Preceding it, there was a trailer for Watchmen, a movie based on the graphic novel of the same name. Thinking nothing of it, I enjoyed the latest Batman flick.
Later that night, I logged into reddit to find that a link to the trailer occupied the number one spot on the front page. Redditors were raving about the novel, calling it the best comic ever written, and speculating about the movie. The general consensus was that the preview looks awesome. With such a hubbub I had to see what the deal was.
Everything I read raved about the novel. I had to read it. Not wanting to spend money, I checked if there was a .torrent for the book and sure enough there was. I read the first two chapters and then got a bit annoyed. The book was excellent, no doubt about it. But I was having trouble concentrating on the screen. It was a scan, so the colors weren't very rich. I wanted to hold something in my hand.
I went to Barnes and Noble, and they didn't have it in stock. Neither did Border's, so I reserved a copy from the shipment that was due in a week. A couple days later I got a call--the book was so high in demand that they wanted a credit card number over the phone, or else I would lose my copy. Two days later I got another call telling me that I could pick it up.
I read the 400 page book in 2 days. I couldn't put it down. All I did for two days was pack and read. It's amazing. Rorschach is a god. My favorite superhero. The way his mask is constantly morphing creates such an air of mystery. It's kind of creepy, too. He's always cool, always calm. He speaks in jagged sentences, except when he writes in his journal. In his diary, his sentences are flowing and descriptive. This makes sense-just like the black and white of his mask, everything about his is either something or its opposite. Everything is either right or wrong; there is no gray area in any situation.
The book is so well written. At any time, there are four stories going on at once: The past group of superheros, the present group of superheros, a fictional comic within the comic, and the boy reading the comic next to the newsstand guy's commentary on the current events of the world. The ending ties it all together in a twist that no one could have seen coming. This book is a must-read for anyone. It was my first graphic novel, and unfortunately I doubt anything else in the genre could be as satisfying.
I too wait impatiently for the movie (which Alan Moore has disowned, calling his book "unfilmable").
My favorite quote from the book, written by Rorschach in his journal:
Later that night, I logged into reddit to find that a link to the trailer occupied the number one spot on the front page. Redditors were raving about the novel, calling it the best comic ever written, and speculating about the movie. The general consensus was that the preview looks awesome. With such a hubbub I had to see what the deal was.
Everything I read raved about the novel. I had to read it. Not wanting to spend money, I checked if there was a .torrent for the book and sure enough there was. I read the first two chapters and then got a bit annoyed. The book was excellent, no doubt about it. But I was having trouble concentrating on the screen. It was a scan, so the colors weren't very rich. I wanted to hold something in my hand.
I went to Barnes and Noble, and they didn't have it in stock. Neither did Border's, so I reserved a copy from the shipment that was due in a week. A couple days later I got a call--the book was so high in demand that they wanted a credit card number over the phone, or else I would lose my copy. Two days later I got another call telling me that I could pick it up.
I read the 400 page book in 2 days. I couldn't put it down. All I did for two days was pack and read. It's amazing. Rorschach is a god. My favorite superhero. The way his mask is constantly morphing creates such an air of mystery. It's kind of creepy, too. He's always cool, always calm. He speaks in jagged sentences, except when he writes in his journal. In his diary, his sentences are flowing and descriptive. This makes sense-just like the black and white of his mask, everything about his is either something or its opposite. Everything is either right or wrong; there is no gray area in any situation.
The book is so well written. At any time, there are four stories going on at once: The past group of superheros, the present group of superheros, a fictional comic within the comic, and the boy reading the comic next to the newsstand guy's commentary on the current events of the world. The ending ties it all together in a twist that no one could have seen coming. This book is a must-read for anyone. It was my first graphic novel, and unfortunately I doubt anything else in the genre could be as satisfying.
I too wait impatiently for the movie (which Alan Moore has disowned, calling his book "unfilmable").
My favorite quote from the book, written by Rorschach in his journal:
Dog carcass in the alley this morning, tire tread on burst stomach.
This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face.
The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown.
The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout, "save us!"
...and I'll look down and whisper, "no."
College Radio
Now that I'm all worked up about music, I guess I'll do my planned College Radio post now.
Today while driving I was listening to Houston's corporate classic rock station, KKRW 93.7. They play a generally good mix of music, but the advertising is so obnoxious and frequent. They cut to commercials every two songs or so. Anyways, the DJ actually played a respectable set of music, at least five songs long. It went something like "Let it Be" by the Beatles, then a Bad Company song, and then something by Hendrix. Great, we surpassed the 2 song average. Except then the DJ played "Every Breath You Take" by the Police. I don't hate the Police or anything, even though all their songs sound the same. But there is something so wrong about playing those three well-matched songs and then going into the pseudo-reggae creepy confessions of Sting. It made me very angry.
This wouldn't happen on college radio. The ads would not be obnoxious and would probably be subtly read by the DJ. At least half, if not all, the commercials would be for goings-on around campus, justifying the break in music. And the sets are thought out and uninterrupted for half hours at a time. They'd never follow the Beatles' "Hey Jude" with Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" (it's happened on KKRW, it was terrible). Thank god for WMBR's Night Fly "In Blues We Trust", and for internet streaming. As mentioned earlier, Nuri Nuri's show on KPFT is amazing. KTRU Rice University Radio is also very good. KTSU, run by Texas Southern University, plays some awesome soul/gospel sets. It is the only FM station I have ever heard play Coltrane. And not just any Coltrane, I'm talking Ascension, which has two ~40 minute songs on it. To the person who is not a fan of jazz, this album in particular would sound like noise. And they played it. This would never happen on the "smooth jazz" bullshit radio stations that every major city in the United States is plagued by.
Today while driving I was listening to Houston's corporate classic rock station, KKRW 93.7. They play a generally good mix of music, but the advertising is so obnoxious and frequent. They cut to commercials every two songs or so. Anyways, the DJ actually played a respectable set of music, at least five songs long. It went something like "Let it Be" by the Beatles, then a Bad Company song, and then something by Hendrix. Great, we surpassed the 2 song average. Except then the DJ played "Every Breath You Take" by the Police. I don't hate the Police or anything, even though all their songs sound the same. But there is something so wrong about playing those three well-matched songs and then going into the pseudo-reggae creepy confessions of Sting. It made me very angry.
This wouldn't happen on college radio. The ads would not be obnoxious and would probably be subtly read by the DJ. At least half, if not all, the commercials would be for goings-on around campus, justifying the break in music. And the sets are thought out and uninterrupted for half hours at a time. They'd never follow the Beatles' "Hey Jude" with Led Zeppelin's "Immigrant Song" (it's happened on KKRW, it was terrible). Thank god for WMBR's Night Fly "In Blues We Trust", and for internet streaming. As mentioned earlier, Nuri Nuri's show on KPFT is amazing. KTRU Rice University Radio is also very good. KTSU, run by Texas Southern University, plays some awesome soul/gospel sets. It is the only FM station I have ever heard play Coltrane. And not just any Coltrane, I'm talking Ascension, which has two ~40 minute songs on it. To the person who is not a fan of jazz, this album in particular would sound like noise. And they played it. This would never happen on the "smooth jazz" bullshit radio stations that every major city in the United States is plagued by.
Vamping
In all of music, there is no greater joy than the return to vamping from an extended solo. Vamping is using a repeating riff over and over again. It's very frequent in blues music, the most common phrase being the famous four note "dum da-dum da dum," featured most famously in George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone."
In blues, the typical strong structure is vamping+lyrics, followed by chaotic soloing by the guitarist and/or bassist and/or drummer, then a return to vamping and a closing verse to finish it all up. It's that return to the ostinato that really turns me on, so to speak. The best example is in Cream's live version of "Crossroads." Music scholars have tried to find the cue that all three band members used to simultaneously return to the main riff from chaotic improvised dueling bass, guitar, and drum instrumental break (the one beginning at ~2:30, not to say that the previous one is child's play). But there isn't one. It's insane. One minute everyone is shredding, then everyone simultaneously moves to the bridge, with no obvious cue, and before the audience knows it, Clapton is singing again. That's music. It's the unseeable, unhearable bond between three artists at work.
Other great examples of the return to vamping, in no particular order: The Marshall Tucker Band's 10 minute live version of the blues staple "Everyday I Have the Blues." The Allman Brothers Band's "Black Hearted Woman" from their debut self-titled. Albert Collins' "I Ain't Drunk (I'm Just Drinking)," which is hilariously matter-of-fact. ZZTop's "Just Got Paid Today," my favorite song from the little ol' band from Texas. The Doors' "Light My Fire," which is tragically abbreviated by many of the corporate radio stations. Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love," in which the riff returns after a jungle-noise break and blistering guitar/drum interplay. Deep Purple's "Highway Star," one of the best songs for the open road. Guns 'n' Roses' "Sweet Child o' Mine," from Appetite, one of the hardest rocking albums ever. And, most recently, Wolfmother's "White Unicorn," from their stunning debut.
In blues, the typical strong structure is vamping+lyrics, followed by chaotic soloing by the guitarist and/or bassist and/or drummer, then a return to vamping and a closing verse to finish it all up. It's that return to the ostinato that really turns me on, so to speak. The best example is in Cream's live version of "Crossroads." Music scholars have tried to find the cue that all three band members used to simultaneously return to the main riff from chaotic improvised dueling bass, guitar, and drum instrumental break (the one beginning at ~2:30, not to say that the previous one is child's play). But there isn't one. It's insane. One minute everyone is shredding, then everyone simultaneously moves to the bridge, with no obvious cue, and before the audience knows it, Clapton is singing again. That's music. It's the unseeable, unhearable bond between three artists at work.
Other great examples of the return to vamping, in no particular order: The Marshall Tucker Band's 10 minute live version of the blues staple "Everyday I Have the Blues." The Allman Brothers Band's "Black Hearted Woman" from their debut self-titled. Albert Collins' "I Ain't Drunk (I'm Just Drinking)," which is hilariously matter-of-fact. ZZTop's "Just Got Paid Today," my favorite song from the little ol' band from Texas. The Doors' "Light My Fire," which is tragically abbreviated by many of the corporate radio stations. Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love," in which the riff returns after a jungle-noise break and blistering guitar/drum interplay. Deep Purple's "Highway Star," one of the best songs for the open road. Guns 'n' Roses' "Sweet Child o' Mine," from Appetite, one of the hardest rocking albums ever. And, most recently, Wolfmother's "White Unicorn," from their stunning debut.
Chicken Little: An Intergalactic Epic in Two Parts
Characters:
Chicken Little: Diane Tubiera
Henny Penny: Sara Gueory
Darth Vader: Ahmed Hussain
Dread Pirate King: Shannon Largman
Scene I
(CHICKEN LITTLE is sitting on the ground, playing with her X-wing, when a piece of space junk falls on her head. She is surprised.)
CHICKEN LITTLE: “Oh no! The sky is falling! I must tell Henny Penny!”
(CHICKEN LITTLE runs confusedly, trying to find HENNY PENNY.)
CHICKEN LITTLE: “Henny Penny! Henny Penny! Where are you Henny Penny?”
HENNY PENNY: “I’m right here! What happened?”
CHICKEN LITTLE: “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
(DARTH VADER appears on the side of the stage, unbeknownst to CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY.)
CHICKEN LITTLE: “I was just minding my own business when some sky fell on my head. See, it hit right here! Right there!”
(CHICKEN LITTLE points out a spot on her head)
HENNY PENNY: “Oh no! We must go tell the Pirate King about this horrible event!”
DARTH VADER (to audience): “Hey! Guys! That was not really the sky. It was actually a broken part of my space plane. I don’t want them to tell the Pirate King. I might get in trouble for littering. Hold on! Let me try to stop them. Hehe!” (to CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY) “Hey now. No need to tell the king, right? In fact, why don’t you come with Darth Vader to Darth Vader’s spaceship? Darth Vader has candy and magic horses!”
CHICKEN LITTLE: “Sounds like a good idea.” (to AUDIENCE) “Should we go with him?”
AUDIENCE: “NO!”
CHICKEN LITTLE (to AUDIENCE): “Do you think he really has candy and magic horses?”
AUDIENCE: “NO!”
CHICKEN LITTLE (to AUDIENCE): “Alright, we won’t go with him then.” (to DARTH VADER) “No! We won’t go with you!”
DARTH VADER: “This is unfortunate, but Darth Vader does not let you choose.”
(DARTH VADER lunges for CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY, but he misses. CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY push him down, and after making him fall, they run off stage. DARTH VADER gets up and chases after them)
Scene II
(The DREAD PIRATE KING is sitting down. CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY run in.)
DREAD PIRATE KING: “Aye, what be shivering your timbers?”
CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY: “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
(Enter DARTH VADER)
DARTH VADER: “That was not the sky! That was a part from Darth Vader’s Jedi-destroying spacecraft!”
DREAD PIRATE KING: “Arrrrrr. You be a dirty littering villain! Me parrot concurs. Aye. Your pants, they smell o’ poo.”
DARTH VADER: “How dare you insult Darth Vader? Darth Vader must regain his honor. Darth Vader challenges you to a dance-off. Darth Vader needs a beat. (indignantly:) Darth Vader said, Darth Vader needs a beat!”
(“What is Love?” by Haddaway begins playing. DARTH VADER dances.)
DREAD PIRATE KING (when DARTH VADER has finished): “Arrrrr. That be all? Avast ye scum ridden weevil shagger. The Dread Pirate King is gonna keel haul you and grow barnacles on ye starboard knacker.
(“U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer begins playing. DREAD PIRATE KING dances.)
DREAD PIRATE KING and DARTH VADER (when DREAD PIRATE KING has finished; addressed to audience): “So, who is the victor?”
CHICKEN LITTLE and HENNY PENNY: “The King!”
DARTH VADER: “Darth Vader accepts defeat. Darth Vader is ashamed for what he has done. Please accept Darth Vader’s apologies.”
DREAD PIRATE KING: “Arrrr, have thee no worries. We will make merry like men who ‘ave robbed that scourge the Royal Navy. Let us all dance.”
(“Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)” by C+C Music Factory begins playing. Everybody dances in a Ring-Around-The-Rosie formation.)
DREAD PIRATE KING: And verily, everyone lived happily ever after.
Fin.
---
I sincerely hope you are wondering, "WTF?" This is a play my friend Shannon and I wrote together for our Theatre Arts class in our senior year. The assignment was to perform any children's story or fairy tale for the kids at the YMCA day care right next to our high school. Every other group in every theatre class, including our own, did traditional renditions of such classics as Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood, and the Three Little Pigs. We didn't. We wanted to be as hilarious as possible. Since we were to perform in front of teenagers and toddlers, the only humor applicable was absurdist, which has almost universal appeal (uppity critics will frown upon such antics, but they're really just trying to contain their roaring laughter). Our costumes were the best in the class (the teacher had no problem pointing this out). The two girls were decked out in feathers, one all yellow, the other all white, with matching beak masks. Shannon had baggy pants rolled up to his knees, a shiny shirt, the classic eye patch, a parrot, and the typical hat. I had the Vader mask (luckily, this was assigned right before Halloween), black cape, black pants, and motorcycle gloves. Shannon nailed the Rasta/Pirate hybrid accent, and I did a respectable, if I may say so myself, James Earl Jones voice. My stage fall was perfect. The dancing was side-splittingly crazy.
Eagle Scout Speech
Purely for the blogger selection folks, here's my Eagle Scout Award speech (figure this is the easiest way to show it to you guys). I was the first, and am currently the only, non-white and non-Christian to achieve Eagle from this Scout troop. A couple of fellow brown folk are on their way, so Allahspeed to them. It's a hardcore conservative Christian, Republican, homogeneous group of people. I'm a closet atheist with an Islamic veneer to these fine citizens, so I wanted to leave with a bit of a splash.
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I guess I'll get started right away with the thank yous. Dr. Leever, Mr. Gagnon, Mr. Mueller, (etc) for your never-ending dedication. I'd like to especially thank Dr. Grove and Mr. McDonald, because without their guidance in my first months of scouting I would never have made it here. Mr. Mayo and Mr. Jones, thank you for your help with planning my project. Without your direction, it would never have happened. And of course, thank you Mr. Jungeblut for starting me off on the right foot.
Next, I'd like to thank all my friends for helping with my project when everything seemed to be going wrong. Thank you Athar Uncle for your invaluable advice and generous lending of tools. Thanks most of all to my family, to my mom, my sister, my grandparents, and of course my dad, who was instrumental in motivating me finish my project. And finally, thank you, Ms. Cox, for getting me into college.
To all of Troop 642—thanks for the experience. I was trying to remember the one thing that will stick with me most for the rest of my life, and I realized that it is something that I have already been doing subconsciously for a while now. When we were setting up camp upon arrival at Fort AP Hill for the 2005 Jamboree, everyone was tired and sweaty in the intense sun, stifling humidity, and hellish heat. I remember, fondly, when it took me longer than three seconds to tie a taut line hitch on one of the fly stays, Mr. Gagnon erupted: “IT DOESN'T TAKE TWENTY FREAKING MINUTES TO TIE A TAUT LINE!” Thinking back, any time I have needed to tie rope to anything, I've used that taut line. I've used it in physics labs on multiple occasions, including one time when the rope did what it was supposed to and slipped, ruining the first trial of the experiment. I even once implemented the taut line to make intersecting loops at the ends of two ropes to join the ropes into a single long one, rather than using the square knot. And, most recently, I used the magical knot to outline my Eagle Project with twine. Of course, it slipped again, but thank you for that, Mr. Gagnon.
Thank you to all the friends, family, and strangers who made it out here tonight to help us celebrate. I tried to think of an anecdote with profound implications, but I came up empty, so tonight I will leave you with a couple of quotes. The first is from a piece by the distinguished composer, vocalist, and multi-instrumentalist Sly Stone. He said, paraphrasing, that you have to be thankful to the lord, but thoughtful too. A notable suggestion, but then Talib Kweli, one of the greatest poets of our day, comes along thirty five years later and makes it clearer: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. Just because the lord is my shepherd don't mean I gotta be no sheep.” Thank you and good night.
---
For what it's worth, the troop leaders had a good laugh at this. Guess it went over their heads.
Packing
Hm, so I haven't blogged at all in the past week. But I have a good excuse...trying to pack for college and figure out which parts of the dorm supply list to ignore and reading Watchmen (post coming soon). It's boring, and I've had ideas for blogs, but haven't had the energy to actually write them out. So here are ~3 in quick succession.
My closet has vomited its contents onto our living room floor, not yet folded or organized in any discernible fashion. Surrounding the pile I have various articles pieces of luggage, cardboard boxes, and one old flimsy plastic footlocker that I haven't used in the three years since I last went to Scout camp. I wish packing was more like Tetris (it should be, shouldn't it??) and less like work. I'm afraid to leave behind any winter clothes. Having lived in Houston all my life, I don't know if I'll be able to handle the cold.
One night I slept in a forest without a tent or sleeping bag in freezing rain. The temperature was 25F and the fire went out shortly after midnight. With soaked wood and lacking a flashlight or fire-starting equipment, there was nothing much I could do except assume the fetal position and pray the night away. I had layered up, a "waterproof" and "windproof" "jacket" on top of sweaters on top of shirts, in the hopes of being able to take stuff off if I got hot. I never removed anything I was wearing. I was cold.
Don't want anything similar to happen to me ever again. Even though that was for a wilderness survival class, and Boston is a city, the cold scares me.
My closet has vomited its contents onto our living room floor, not yet folded or organized in any discernible fashion. Surrounding the pile I have various articles pieces of luggage, cardboard boxes, and one old flimsy plastic footlocker that I haven't used in the three years since I last went to Scout camp. I wish packing was more like Tetris (it should be, shouldn't it??) and less like work. I'm afraid to leave behind any winter clothes. Having lived in Houston all my life, I don't know if I'll be able to handle the cold.
One night I slept in a forest without a tent or sleeping bag in freezing rain. The temperature was 25F and the fire went out shortly after midnight. With soaked wood and lacking a flashlight or fire-starting equipment, there was nothing much I could do except assume the fetal position and pray the night away. I had layered up, a "waterproof" and "windproof" "jacket" on top of sweaters on top of shirts, in the hopes of being able to take stuff off if I got hot. I never removed anything I was wearing. I was cold.
Don't want anything similar to happen to me ever again. Even though that was for a wilderness survival class, and Boston is a city, the cold scares me.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Alternative Sleep Patterns
This morning I went to sleep at 6:30 am. This is probably the worst it has become, but consistently for the last month or so I have lain down in bed with a pale blue sky. It doesn't matter, really, since it's summer, but it's still screwed up. The worst part is, live in a house that is not kind to people with alternate sleep patterns.
My grandfather wakes up at 6:00 to go on his morning walk. I heard him go down the stairs right after I took my shower. It was a bit surreal realizing I had gone to bed after he had woken up.
Then today at the obscene hour of 11 am, someone rang the doorbell (washing machine mechanic-ours [and, thanks to its malfunction, my mom] has been on the fritz since we got back from Canada two days ago). Normally this pisses me off, because if I wake up within an hour of the time I'm actually supposed to rise, I can't get back to sleep. But I thought of this blog post and was back dreaming in five minutes.
I just woke up, it's 12:18, and I'm about to leave for lunch with my dad's friends (a Friday tradition). Then it's off to soccer. I guess it's alright that I didn't get much sleep. I've found that tiredness helps me play through the pain.
Man, that sounded emo.
My grandfather wakes up at 6:00 to go on his morning walk. I heard him go down the stairs right after I took my shower. It was a bit surreal realizing I had gone to bed after he had woken up.
Then today at the obscene hour of 11 am, someone rang the doorbell (washing machine mechanic-ours [and, thanks to its malfunction, my mom] has been on the fritz since we got back from Canada two days ago). Normally this pisses me off, because if I wake up within an hour of the time I'm actually supposed to rise, I can't get back to sleep. But I thought of this blog post and was back dreaming in five minutes.
I just woke up, it's 12:18, and I'm about to leave for lunch with my dad's friends (a Friday tradition). Then it's off to soccer. I guess it's alright that I didn't get much sleep. I've found that tiredness helps me play through the pain.
Man, that sounded emo.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Serb Names and Condoms Mash-Up
Man, I love Serbian names: just look at this list. My kid is definitely going to be named Vladislav, Miroslav, or Dragomir. They inspire manliness and a bit of Grand Theft Auto IV bad-assery. The last names are cool, too. Eighty percent of the surnames end in -ić, as well as all of those of the Serbian national football team's starting players.
PS This fascination started thanks to my friend E. Svabic. She has one of the coolest names ever.
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I just got back from Canada for a cousin's wedding (more on that later). I noticed something very odd in the restrooms of Toronto's Pearson International Airport. They have these vending machines run by a company called Protocol that dispense Protocol-branded knock-offs (such as Calvin Klein cologne and Tylenol) and condoms. Seriously, what kind of brand-building marketing move is this? Selling your counterfeit perfume (quote: "Protocol's version of Calvin Klein's Man Cologne") next to your condoms. This does not make me trust you.
Who buys condoms in airports anyway? And in the departure lounge restrooms? Wouldn't it make more sense to put them in the arrivals area? As far as I know, there's not an epidemic of people having unprotected sex on airplanes...and in Toronto, Canada? I mean, it would make sense in, say, Amsterdam or Bangkok or Austin or Hollywood...but Toronto? It's tied with Branson, Missouri for most harmless city ever!
PS This fascination started thanks to my friend E. Svabic. She has one of the coolest names ever.
---
I just got back from Canada for a cousin's wedding (more on that later). I noticed something very odd in the restrooms of Toronto's Pearson International Airport. They have these vending machines run by a company called Protocol that dispense Protocol-branded knock-offs (such as Calvin Klein cologne and Tylenol) and condoms. Seriously, what kind of brand-building marketing move is this? Selling your counterfeit perfume (quote: "Protocol's version of Calvin Klein's Man Cologne") next to your condoms. This does not make me trust you.
Who buys condoms in airports anyway? And in the departure lounge restrooms? Wouldn't it make more sense to put them in the arrivals area? As far as I know, there's not an epidemic of people having unprotected sex on airplanes...and in Toronto, Canada? I mean, it would make sense in, say, Amsterdam or Bangkok or Austin or Hollywood...but Toronto? It's tied with Branson, Missouri for most harmless city ever!
Open Source
I've been fooling around with Ubuntu Linux for a while now. About a month ago, I stumbled upon a piece of software called Ubuntu-Tweak that puts a lot of configuration options right at your fingertips. Without the software, these tweaks were either impossible to achieve or were scattered all around the many GNOME menus. After some meddling around with Tweaks, I noticed that after selecting one of the options for power management (such as running the CPU at low power to increase battery life), it was impossible to go back to "normal." I posted a polite comment on the developer's website.
I opened up U-T today and was greeted with a message that a new version is available. I checked the change log, and there it is: ten days after submitting an informal request, it was included in the software (amongst several other changes as well).
This is why I love open source software. The developers actually have the motivation and the means to accept and respond to user comments. Rather than filling out a form on a corporate website and hoping for an update months down the line, the result was next to immediate. It also feels really good to have contributed to someone's project, and to know that they won't use my suggestions just to make more money.
I opened up U-T today and was greeted with a message that a new version is available. I checked the change log, and there it is: ten days after submitting an informal request, it was included in the software (amongst several other changes as well).
This is why I love open source software. The developers actually have the motivation and the means to accept and respond to user comments. Rather than filling out a form on a corporate website and hoping for an update months down the line, the result was next to immediate. It also feels really good to have contributed to someone's project, and to know that they won't use my suggestions just to make more money.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Marriage Predictions
As we prepare to move on to college, most of us past Houston city limits, our minds are firmly planted on the future. I was thinking about your futures today. Specifically, I was wondering how my chronically romance-challenged friends would do in marriage.
Jessie: Jessie will spiral into a deep anti-social pit of nonstop Halo 3 playing. Here he will meet xDarkxSlayerxPwnsxSpartans. She will indeed pwn him many times, surpassing the Mount Kill-aminjaro level and reaching with ease the Killionare award. Jessie has fallen in love by this point. He finds out her AIM screen name and begins the online courting process. She turns out to be even better than he expected—she's a Linux user and has lots and lots of Jessie's kryptonite, ass. They will get married and have three boys named Ron, Paul, and Keynes.
Maryann: After completing her undergraduate and medical education, she will begin a four year residency at Methodist Hospital. Eventually becoming her parents' bosses, she will meet a handsome young surgeon on her clinical rotations. He will ask her over for dinner, and it will be love at first bite for our little Maryann. She will proceed to eat four portions of pasta immediately before cleaning out the entire fridge, freezer, and pantry. The young man will let her sleep on the couch, thus sealing her love for him. She will marry him, sleeping and eating all day long, in heaven for the rest of her life. At the 25 year DeBakey High School Reunion, she will introduce her husband to Jessie and me. We will realize that she has married our best friend Avneesh, chef extraordinaire and all-around good guy. It is at this point we realize how sterile and separate our school and neighborhood circles of friends were.
Avneesh: Avneesh will spend one mediocre year at the University of Houston before transferring to Babson, where he and I will hit up the Wellesley parties every weekend. At Babson, Avi will realize that his true passion is medicine and not running food businesses (actually, it was a forced change of plans after India institutes a law that every family that once lived in the country must produce at least one doctor). With the help of my dad's letter of recommendation, he will be admitted to Baylor College of Medicine where he will specialize in proctology and marrying little Asian girls.
Pablo: Pablo (the atheist Jew) will game the system again and go on Birthright, bringing his number of trips to Israel for which he questionably qualified to two. While interning at a Hassidic school thirty feet from the Wailing Wall, he will marry a girl so strictly Jewish that she will force him to wear all black clothes with a black top-hat looking thing. He will then divorce her and use the wardrobe his wife provided to make money as a street performing Abe Lincoln impersonator in Washington, DC. The Dead Kennedys will see his act in front of the Lincoln Memorial and will immediately offer him a job as their guitarist, since their previous Abe impersonator had just left the band. Together with their Washington, FDR, and JFK impersonators, they will skyrocket to mainstream fame. His mom will see one of their new music videos on MTV while flipping channels and be proud that her son finally became an Orthodox Jew.
Me: Quite clearly, I will marry Megan Fox. When I meet her, I will tell her straight up that her movies suck. She'll appreciate the honesty and we will elope in Tahiti.
Either that or I will be forced to marry one of my cousins.
Jessie: Jessie will spiral into a deep anti-social pit of nonstop Halo 3 playing. Here he will meet xDarkxSlayerxPwnsxSpartans. She will indeed pwn him many times, surpassing the Mount Kill-aminjaro level and reaching with ease the Killionare award. Jessie has fallen in love by this point. He finds out her AIM screen name and begins the online courting process. She turns out to be even better than he expected—she's a Linux user and has lots and lots of Jessie's kryptonite, ass. They will get married and have three boys named Ron, Paul, and Keynes.
Maryann: After completing her undergraduate and medical education, she will begin a four year residency at Methodist Hospital. Eventually becoming her parents' bosses, she will meet a handsome young surgeon on her clinical rotations. He will ask her over for dinner, and it will be love at first bite for our little Maryann. She will proceed to eat four portions of pasta immediately before cleaning out the entire fridge, freezer, and pantry. The young man will let her sleep on the couch, thus sealing her love for him. She will marry him, sleeping and eating all day long, in heaven for the rest of her life. At the 25 year DeBakey High School Reunion, she will introduce her husband to Jessie and me. We will realize that she has married our best friend Avneesh, chef extraordinaire and all-around good guy. It is at this point we realize how sterile and separate our school and neighborhood circles of friends were.
Avneesh: Avneesh will spend one mediocre year at the University of Houston before transferring to Babson, where he and I will hit up the Wellesley parties every weekend. At Babson, Avi will realize that his true passion is medicine and not running food businesses (actually, it was a forced change of plans after India institutes a law that every family that once lived in the country must produce at least one doctor). With the help of my dad's letter of recommendation, he will be admitted to Baylor College of Medicine where he will specialize in proctology and marrying little Asian girls.
Pablo: Pablo (the atheist Jew) will game the system again and go on Birthright, bringing his number of trips to Israel for which he questionably qualified to two. While interning at a Hassidic school thirty feet from the Wailing Wall, he will marry a girl so strictly Jewish that she will force him to wear all black clothes with a black top-hat looking thing. He will then divorce her and use the wardrobe his wife provided to make money as a street performing Abe Lincoln impersonator in Washington, DC. The Dead Kennedys will see his act in front of the Lincoln Memorial and will immediately offer him a job as their guitarist, since their previous Abe impersonator had just left the band. Together with their Washington, FDR, and JFK impersonators, they will skyrocket to mainstream fame. His mom will see one of their new music videos on MTV while flipping channels and be proud that her son finally became an Orthodox Jew.
Me: Quite clearly, I will marry Megan Fox. When I meet her, I will tell her straight up that her movies suck. She'll appreciate the honesty and we will elope in Tahiti.
Either that or I will be forced to marry one of my cousins.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Toronto
We arrived in Toronto at about 4:30pm. Our hotel is connected to the terminal, so we quickly dropped our bags off and took a cab to city center. There my mom met up with one of her friends who was also visiting Canada. I hung out with them for a while and then walked about fifteen blocks to see one of my friends who was in Toronto, too. She took me to a great Greek place she had discovered. She gave me a quick rundown about public transport in the city so that the next day I wouldn't have to pay cab fare to see her.
The next day I took the airport bus, which picks up right in front of the hotel, to Kipling subway station. She met me here, having taken the bus from her house. By this point it was pouring rain, so we ducked into the underground and emerged at Queen's Park, right in the heart of the beautiful University of Toronto campus. I brought my camera, but torrents of rain were falling from the sky, so I didn't even attempt to get good photos. Good thing she brought an umbrella—I had only my hoodie. We then walked up Spadina street through Chinatown. She wanted to take me to Kensington Market, where we would grab lunch, but in the rain she missed the turnoff. I had to get back to the hotel in about an hour to meet some cousins, so we darted into a Tim Horton's for donuts and then hopped on a streetcar (instead of walking) back to the subway station.
The system is very efficient. The modes-of-transport interfaces (bus to subway, streetcar to subway etc) are “sterile.” For example, there is no way for pedestrians to access the bus drop-off area at Kipling Station. Bus passengers must exit straight into the station. Thus, you don't have to pay for the subway again if you are continuing on the train. The bus ticket buys access to the subway. The trams run underground into the subway stations, so that is slightly easier to organize. The result is that despite transferring up to two or three times, the cost to go downtown from the outskirts of Toronto is the flat-rate fair of $2.75 one way, as compared to upwards of $50 in a taxi. The system is not the same in other cities, where you have to pay for a bus ticket as well as subway tickets if you want to transfer. No wonder so many people take public transport here; it's fast, cheap, and easy enough for a tourist to figure out.
The next day I took the airport bus, which picks up right in front of the hotel, to Kipling subway station. She met me here, having taken the bus from her house. By this point it was pouring rain, so we ducked into the underground and emerged at Queen's Park, right in the heart of the beautiful University of Toronto campus. I brought my camera, but torrents of rain were falling from the sky, so I didn't even attempt to get good photos. Good thing she brought an umbrella—I had only my hoodie. We then walked up Spadina street through Chinatown. She wanted to take me to Kensington Market, where we would grab lunch, but in the rain she missed the turnoff. I had to get back to the hotel in about an hour to meet some cousins, so we darted into a Tim Horton's for donuts and then hopped on a streetcar (instead of walking) back to the subway station.
The system is very efficient. The modes-of-transport interfaces (bus to subway, streetcar to subway etc) are “sterile.” For example, there is no way for pedestrians to access the bus drop-off area at Kipling Station. Bus passengers must exit straight into the station. Thus, you don't have to pay for the subway again if you are continuing on the train. The bus ticket buys access to the subway. The trams run underground into the subway stations, so that is slightly easier to organize. The result is that despite transferring up to two or three times, the cost to go downtown from the outskirts of Toronto is the flat-rate fair of $2.75 one way, as compared to upwards of $50 in a taxi. The system is not the same in other cities, where you have to pay for a bus ticket as well as subway tickets if you want to transfer. No wonder so many people take public transport here; it's fast, cheap, and easy enough for a tourist to figure out.
Role Models
What's the deal with parents complaining that celebrities are bad role models? They complain that the world's most popular rapper has been shot almost ten times, that one of the most talented soul singers of our time sings about and needs rehab, that some Disney channel star posed nude, that the daughter of the Achy-Breaky Heart guy posed on a magazine wearing nothing but bed spreads...
First off, who cares? Second, it's a sign of lazy parenting. A mom should have the courage to tell her daughter that people are messed up, that people make bad decisions, and that the best way to avoid getting into a mess is to always think about a choice before acting. Instead, they expect anyone who has ever been famous to act as perfect angels, because they would rather let the television do the parenting. I don't mean to justify what these people have done; famous people can be really fucking stupid sometimes. It's just that there's nothing bad about a negative role model. I'm a pretty pessimistic person, and even I view these screwed up celebrities as an opportunity to teach a child a lesson.
First off, who cares? Second, it's a sign of lazy parenting. A mom should have the courage to tell her daughter that people are messed up, that people make bad decisions, and that the best way to avoid getting into a mess is to always think about a choice before acting. Instead, they expect anyone who has ever been famous to act as perfect angels, because they would rather let the television do the parenting. I don't mean to justify what these people have done; famous people can be really fucking stupid sometimes. It's just that there's nothing bad about a negative role model. I'm a pretty pessimistic person, and even I view these screwed up celebrities as an opportunity to teach a child a lesson.
From the Air
I am on the plane now, an Embraer 145J. I've always loved the configuration of this aircraft-3 seats across, so that one is both a window and an aisle. That's my seat. It provides for a beautiful asymmetry.
I'm typing this from my brand new Lenovo Thinkpad. I won't bore you with the technical specifications of this laptop, but it is a beast. I've got it dual booting Vista (ick) and Ubuntu. I haven't booted into Windows since the day after the computer arrived in the mail. All my worst fears about Vista were confirmed. Compared to Ubuntu, it's slow and clunky. My printer worked out-of-the-box with Linux, but not Windows, which speaks volumes about the third party operating system's readiness for prime time.
Now the heartland of the midwest passes by slowly and gently under us. Time to finish up Seinfeld Season 2!
I'm typing this from my brand new Lenovo Thinkpad. I won't bore you with the technical specifications of this laptop, but it is a beast. I've got it dual booting Vista (ick) and Ubuntu. I haven't booted into Windows since the day after the computer arrived in the mail. All my worst fears about Vista were confirmed. Compared to Ubuntu, it's slow and clunky. My printer worked out-of-the-box with Linux, but not Windows, which speaks volumes about the third party operating system's readiness for prime time.
Now the heartland of the midwest passes by slowly and gently under us. Time to finish up Seinfeld Season 2!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
My Application Story
I have an interesting MIT “story.” It wasn't my first choice school until very, very late in the game.
I first started researching colleges to build my list in August of my senior year. We had done the campus visits—the Eastern seaboard trip to hit the Ivies, the midwest trip to hit the Chicago and St Louis schools. Nothing really stood out to me. Then I did more research on the University of Chicago. Man, they are weird. I liked it a lot; it stood out to me. Plus, I was confident I could get in, so I decided to apply early action.
My dad was not happy about this. Not one bit. He went to MIT for undergrad school and was convinced that it was the only institution I should even consider attending. At that point, there was nothing wrong with MIT. It was just my dad's school, and he was pushing me, so naturally, being a teen, I resisted his influence. He made me promise to apply EA there, too (thankfully both schools have non-binding policies).
I put off the MIT application until the very last minute. Tried to rehash as much of my Chicago essays as possible. But man, did I perfect the UC application. I knew I would get in. I was almost certain that I would get rejected from MIT, and I let my dad know. He got mad at me. “You should have more confidence!” “Well, they should accept more than 13% of their applicants then, thank you very much.”
I got accepted into the University of Chicago early action, and life was set for me. Two days later, I was deferred by MIT—no big deal, wasn't even considering it. I even sent my deposit and housing application to Chicago.
Except then I got into MIT in March. This complicated matters considerably. It was family meeting time, and I realized how brash my decision was. My dad didn't force me to go to MIT, don't get me wrong. He just had me reconsider.
So I did. I compared lots of things, made a checklist. We visited both universities (again). The schools were pretty much tied in terms of campus culture and workload. I want to major in economics on a pre-med track, and the schools are numbers 1 and 2 in the country in terms of their econ departments. So another tie there. In retrospect, I don't know why I was so gung-ho about Chicago. Every quality of that school is duplicated at MIT, from the sense of humor to the academic rigor and prestige. A coinflip would have been a worthy judge. At this point I went to my teachers and counselors, trying to find an unbiased opinion (obviously could not trust my dad). I learned that MIT has an acceptance rate to medical school one and a half times that of Chicago. Looking over the course requirements, it became clear that Chicago is a liberal arts school with a strong science department, while MIT is a science school with a strong liberal arts department. I liked the MIT approach better. And I guess in the end, it's pretty cool that I'm going to the same place as my dad. I have the chance to room in the same dorm, as well. That means a lot to our family. In the end, I'm extremely pleased with my decision, and Chicago was very nice about my rescinding the decision. They even gave me a refund on the deposit.
I guess at this point it may become clear that this is not the typical MIT application story. From what I've read/heard, everyone has been living and breathing it since freshman year of high school. Is it ironic or fitting that I, a legacy admit, wasn't enamored until two months before the response deadline?
I first started researching colleges to build my list in August of my senior year. We had done the campus visits—the Eastern seaboard trip to hit the Ivies, the midwest trip to hit the Chicago and St Louis schools. Nothing really stood out to me. Then I did more research on the University of Chicago. Man, they are weird. I liked it a lot; it stood out to me. Plus, I was confident I could get in, so I decided to apply early action.
My dad was not happy about this. Not one bit. He went to MIT for undergrad school and was convinced that it was the only institution I should even consider attending. At that point, there was nothing wrong with MIT. It was just my dad's school, and he was pushing me, so naturally, being a teen, I resisted his influence. He made me promise to apply EA there, too (thankfully both schools have non-binding policies).
I put off the MIT application until the very last minute. Tried to rehash as much of my Chicago essays as possible. But man, did I perfect the UC application. I knew I would get in. I was almost certain that I would get rejected from MIT, and I let my dad know. He got mad at me. “You should have more confidence!” “Well, they should accept more than 13% of their applicants then, thank you very much.”
I got accepted into the University of Chicago early action, and life was set for me. Two days later, I was deferred by MIT—no big deal, wasn't even considering it. I even sent my deposit and housing application to Chicago.
Except then I got into MIT in March. This complicated matters considerably. It was family meeting time, and I realized how brash my decision was. My dad didn't force me to go to MIT, don't get me wrong. He just had me reconsider.
So I did. I compared lots of things, made a checklist. We visited both universities (again). The schools were pretty much tied in terms of campus culture and workload. I want to major in economics on a pre-med track, and the schools are numbers 1 and 2 in the country in terms of their econ departments. So another tie there. In retrospect, I don't know why I was so gung-ho about Chicago. Every quality of that school is duplicated at MIT, from the sense of humor to the academic rigor and prestige. A coinflip would have been a worthy judge. At this point I went to my teachers and counselors, trying to find an unbiased opinion (obviously could not trust my dad). I learned that MIT has an acceptance rate to medical school one and a half times that of Chicago. Looking over the course requirements, it became clear that Chicago is a liberal arts school with a strong science department, while MIT is a science school with a strong liberal arts department. I liked the MIT approach better. And I guess in the end, it's pretty cool that I'm going to the same place as my dad. I have the chance to room in the same dorm, as well. That means a lot to our family. In the end, I'm extremely pleased with my decision, and Chicago was very nice about my rescinding the decision. They even gave me a refund on the deposit.
I guess at this point it may become clear that this is not the typical MIT application story. From what I've read/heard, everyone has been living and breathing it since freshman year of high school. Is it ironic or fitting that I, a legacy admit, wasn't enamored until two months before the response deadline?
Traveling and the Crazy Obsession
So here I sit in the departure lounge, waiting for my flight to Toronto, Canada for a cousin's wedding. Actually, the wedding is in a podunk little town about an hour and a half out of the big city. We're spending a day and a night in Toronto and then heading for Waterloo. I'm meeting my friend for dinner and a short walk around downtown.
Fortunately, the Travel Gods decided that I did not need to be given a “random search” today. I get pulled aside almost every time we travel. My name's Ahmed Hussain, so I don't blame them, but they should have the balls to at least admit that the searches aren't random-number-generator random. I always get the dreaded quadruple S's written on my boarding card. SSSS. The first time I got it, I was traveling with some friends. Not knowing why I had this anomaly on my boarding pass, we mused as to what the letters could mean as we waited in the long security line. We eventually settled on “super sexy strip search.” Oh boy, that wasn't even the half of it. The first half, at least. The second half was true. I always get taken to that special room. My carry-on bags get tested for bomb residue.
This has happened since I was about 10 years old. When I travel, I specifically wear clothes that are easy to take off and put on.
That being said, I still love to travel. I've had this fascination with airplanes ever since I was little. I can recognize any airplane from any angle. My friends make fun of me for my obsession with liveries. Love those, too. I love the way they change over time, or how the simplest schemes result in the most striking aircraft (looking at you, KLM). I guess it's somewhat crazy, but I can't help it, really. Airplanes are just so cool. And the strangest thing is, I haven't got the slightest interest in military aircraft. Back in elementary school, when it was actually cool to dig planes, everyone had a favorite fighter jet—the Eagle, the Hornet, whatever. In first grade, I thought the Airbus A340 was the coolest thing in the world. I still do, actually. Long and slender, it's the most graceful plane that requires the “heavy” air traffic control identifier. Almost as capacious as the 747, it's the subtle workhorse. I usually don't tell this to people. I could get institutionalized for saying that.
Fortunately, the Travel Gods decided that I did not need to be given a “random search” today. I get pulled aside almost every time we travel. My name's Ahmed Hussain, so I don't blame them, but they should have the balls to at least admit that the searches aren't random-number-generator random. I always get the dreaded quadruple S's written on my boarding card. SSSS. The first time I got it, I was traveling with some friends. Not knowing why I had this anomaly on my boarding pass, we mused as to what the letters could mean as we waited in the long security line. We eventually settled on “super sexy strip search.” Oh boy, that wasn't even the half of it. The first half, at least. The second half was true. I always get taken to that special room. My carry-on bags get tested for bomb residue.
This has happened since I was about 10 years old. When I travel, I specifically wear clothes that are easy to take off and put on.
That being said, I still love to travel. I've had this fascination with airplanes ever since I was little. I can recognize any airplane from any angle. My friends make fun of me for my obsession with liveries. Love those, too. I love the way they change over time, or how the simplest schemes result in the most striking aircraft (looking at you, KLM). I guess it's somewhat crazy, but I can't help it, really. Airplanes are just so cool. And the strangest thing is, I haven't got the slightest interest in military aircraft. Back in elementary school, when it was actually cool to dig planes, everyone had a favorite fighter jet—the Eagle, the Hornet, whatever. In first grade, I thought the Airbus A340 was the coolest thing in the world. I still do, actually. Long and slender, it's the most graceful plane that requires the “heavy” air traffic control identifier. Almost as capacious as the 747, it's the subtle workhorse. I usually don't tell this to people. I could get institutionalized for saying that.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Bluesbomb?
Every Blogspot URL has been taken: ahmed, ahmedh, ahmedmh, ahmedhussain, mrmojorising. These are my ol' standbys. When naming this blog, I even turned to a random string generator for xkcd-esque inspiration. In fact, this blog was very close to being xziz.blogspot.com. Has a nice ring to it.
Then I remembered what I love most in the whole wide world except for the Internet and Anthony Bourdain: the blues! So I tried blueshound (nope), blacknblues (nuh-uh), blackandblues (no). Howlingtheblues was available, but not catchy. Bluesexplosion (any JSBX fans out there?) was taken, and the closest thing is bluesbomb, so here you are. I kind of like how it the Bs bookend and separate the two words.
I play a couple of instruments. I know my way around the blues scales on the piano and harmonica, and I can improvise fairly decently on both. One of my biggest inspirations is a hometown hero of mine named Nuri Nuri. He hosts a radio show here in Houston called the Blues Brunch, which is absolutely fabulous. I don't know how a Palestine Muslim a) obtains an encyclopedic knowledge of the blues; b) gets to Houston in the first place, or c) starts hosting a radio show. I just know that I want to meet this man sometime, because he may be the only person I will ever meet who loves Electric Mud as much as I do. Ever since my dad introduced me to his show, I have been religiously tuning into the stream from my computer every Sunday. I look up every artist on Wikipedia and obtain as much information about them that I can, in the hope of knowing half as much about the blues as that man. Every Sunday, our bandwith usage goes through the roof as I go on a torrent downloading binge for as much of the music I can find.
Perhaps I could work on one of the blues-oriented shows at WMBR? I've been listening from my computer, and none seem to be "true blues;" all have some funk or original rap mixed in. It's not a bad thing, but it's no Nuri Nuri.
Then I remembered what I love most in the whole wide world except for the Internet and Anthony Bourdain: the blues! So I tried blueshound (nope), blacknblues (nuh-uh), blackandblues (no). Howlingtheblues was available, but not catchy. Bluesexplosion (any JSBX fans out there?) was taken, and the closest thing is bluesbomb, so here you are. I kind of like how it the Bs bookend and separate the two words.
I play a couple of instruments. I know my way around the blues scales on the piano and harmonica, and I can improvise fairly decently on both. One of my biggest inspirations is a hometown hero of mine named Nuri Nuri. He hosts a radio show here in Houston called the Blues Brunch, which is absolutely fabulous. I don't know how a Palestine Muslim a) obtains an encyclopedic knowledge of the blues; b) gets to Houston in the first place, or c) starts hosting a radio show. I just know that I want to meet this man sometime, because he may be the only person I will ever meet who loves Electric Mud as much as I do. Ever since my dad introduced me to his show, I have been religiously tuning into the stream from my computer every Sunday. I look up every artist on Wikipedia and obtain as much information about them that I can, in the hope of knowing half as much about the blues as that man. Every Sunday, our bandwith usage goes through the roof as I go on a torrent downloading binge for as much of the music I can find.
Perhaps I could work on one of the blues-oriented shows at WMBR? I've been listening from my computer, and none seem to be "true blues;" all have some funk or original rap mixed in. It's not a bad thing, but it's no Nuri Nuri.
Watershed Moments
Guess I'll get this going by saying that I'm a true citizen of the Internet. I have been for about a year and a half, which is about when I started spending more than an hour on the computer every day. It all started when my best friend Jessie introduced me to reddit. It's an awesome community, similar Digg, but much better and in many ways more democratic. At their cores, both sites are about users finding, submitting, voting, and commenting on interesting articles, stories, or pictures. Reddit, though, has a much cleaner interface, quicker loading times, and no system whereby votes on stories can be bought and sold.
I quickly became addicted and started commenting and submitting stories. My comments always did well, but my stories did not. Thus my karma (relying solely on votes on submissions, they are akin to experience points) remained at a paltry 1. Today, however, I submitted an article about Ford's new 76 mpg diesel car. Six hours later, I logged back into reddit and found the little number next to my name now at an astronomical 13! My story was on the second page of reddit! I could hardly believe it; after a year of trying, I had broken the 1-karma glass ceiling!
For what it's worth, karma points aren't. They're totally useless. They don't matter. But it feels so good.
Jessie has 140 karma. I never was the popular one : (
Also, today I paid my first bill for my MIT education. It was truly a family event. Everyone gathered around our kitchen table, watching as I set up a payment account on my brand-new Thinkpad (more on that later!). My dad then sprinted to his computer, ready to read the activation email and follow its instructions for paying. My mom, sister, and grandparents migrated to my dad's study after he called us in to watch him give the first of many payments.
Time for the sappy tie-in: I remember the day Jessie told me about reddit. My English teacher passed back a personal essay. The grade was an A, and on top, she wrote, "This would be good to expand for a college application." And that was the first time I had thought about the application process.
So, first bill, first karma point. It was too nauseatingly fitting. Then I saw the post about the application process for becoming an admissions blogger. The omens were there, so here we are, my shiny new blog.
I quickly became addicted and started commenting and submitting stories. My comments always did well, but my stories did not. Thus my karma (relying solely on votes on submissions, they are akin to experience points) remained at a paltry 1. Today, however, I submitted an article about Ford's new 76 mpg diesel car. Six hours later, I logged back into reddit and found the little number next to my name now at an astronomical 13! My story was on the second page of reddit! I could hardly believe it; after a year of trying, I had broken the 1-karma glass ceiling!
For what it's worth, karma points aren't. They're totally useless. They don't matter. But it feels so good.
Jessie has 140 karma. I never was the popular one : (
Also, today I paid my first bill for my MIT education. It was truly a family event. Everyone gathered around our kitchen table, watching as I set up a payment account on my brand-new Thinkpad (more on that later!). My dad then sprinted to his computer, ready to read the activation email and follow its instructions for paying. My mom, sister, and grandparents migrated to my dad's study after he called us in to watch him give the first of many payments.
Time for the sappy tie-in: I remember the day Jessie told me about reddit. My English teacher passed back a personal essay. The grade was an A, and on top, she wrote, "This would be good to expand for a college application." And that was the first time I had thought about the application process.
So, first bill, first karma point. It was too nauseatingly fitting. Then I saw the post about the application process for becoming an admissions blogger. The omens were there, so here we are, my shiny new blog.
Welcome, MIT Blogger Selection Committee!
I have kept blogs in the past, but haven't maintained them for any extended periods of time. Plus the only readers were my close friends, so it made it all a bit pointless. It's difficult to be motivated by 7 page views.
But this is something new, and I'm very excited about it. I have a lot to reflect on, and I hope to update this blog at least every other day until (and past) the deadline with fresh content to show that I can keep this going. And I'm sure that with such a radical change--new city, new school, new way of schooling--my potential MIT Admissions blog will not go stale.
But this is something new, and I'm very excited about it. I have a lot to reflect on, and I hope to update this blog at least every other day until (and past) the deadline with fresh content to show that I can keep this going. And I'm sure that with such a radical change--new city, new school, new way of schooling--my potential MIT Admissions blog will not go stale.
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