Celebrating Greatness

Once again it's been a while since I've updated this whole business. I'd say it's because I charge for my best material, but that would be a lie.

First things first, I need to shout out my boy BTB for his first piece of published (as in printed, not just strewn up on the internet) journalism. Even if you might not have too much vested interest in the Seattle City Council race, I suggest you give it a read. I admit to some obvious bias in reading most anything Bryan writes, but don't let that influence you.

Now I am traditionally pretty aloof and a non-follower of news and contemporary non-fictional journalism, but thanks to Facebook I saw that my old Freshman-year roommate had produced this story on the effect of drug cartels on migrant workers filtering in from Mexico. I am fairly certain this is not Sacha's first piece to reach print, but it's the first thing of his I've read since he asked me to read one of his Latin American History class papers eight years ago. Jesus how the time flies. I remember thinking there was a certain alluring flair to his language then and I'd say it holds up now but who cares what I think, go read for yourself. The story is bolstered by the fact that it isn't your conventional rush-to-press type headline and had a good quantity of research put into it, but I think this is all about what good journalism is and why, I hope, people continue to realize that sometimes we have to pay for news. The internet is great for quick breaking news, and print can't really keep up because I can post to my damn blog/twitter/facebook faster than the New York Times, LA Times, Chicago Tribune, Boston Globe, etc can get anything through the presses but, at least for me, it's as much how the story is told as it simply being told.

With so much emphasis on being the first to report, a lot of research is sloppy, and the real depth and full story behind each story can be rather decidedly lacking. This is not a groundbreaking observation. Thousands if not millions of people have been realizing this for a while now. What are we going to do to maintain "quality" journalism? Well, I don't really know, so it's a good thing I'm not in charge.

But enough of that brief tirade, I'd like to pay some brief homage to my not namesake Jeremy Roenick, who will be announcing his retirement from the NHL in the coming day(s)/hours. The puckdaddy blog sums things up pretty well for the uninitiated on what made Roenick so special. He was and is accessible and a character and not in the circus-type depressing way Starbury seems to be sadly drooping to. With Joe Sakic having retired as well it's truly marking the end of the era of hockey players I followed in yesteryear. I still enjoy hockey yet, somehow, with the information more readily at my fingertips than ever, I just haven't managed to follow it like I did a decade and more ago. Regardless I tip the hat I don't wear to Roenick and a little late to Sakic as well, another recent retiree.

Roenick's retirement got me thinking about my favorite current athlete, regardless of sport. Try as I might, I couldn't come up with just one. My allegiances are generally bizarrely developed, based entirely on a vibe and gut feeling I get about someone. It makes it difficult to articulate why I like certain athletes, but at least fairly stolid in supporting them (there is a better word than the dry and boring "stolid," but it escapes me). So rather than a list of my favorite athletes, where I would be sure to accidentally leave off a few names, I will instead present to you my new favorite name in sports: Dudi Sela. "Oh man, are you playing with Dudi tomorrow?" Makes me think of Dudi's alliterative cousin, "Poop Purveyor." Yes, oh yes, may my love of potty humor never die...

Veggie Pizza is Hard to Beat

It's confession time: I love the internet, but goddamn do I ever hate it. File that one under obvious. When I'm editing, or even when I'm not, I tend to piss away gargantuan amounts of time on the net. Now this isn't exactly anything unique to me, but remember in my description I said I'll be griping. And so, when I hopped onto a Boston-bound bus this weekend, I opted not to bring my laptop, even though I was riding in style on the Bolt which offers free wifi and a lower death and explosion rate than either Fungwah or Lucky Star. I feel like the laptop makes you that much more antisocial as well, even if I was rolling with my iPod.

It's also nice to come back and have a few more emails than usual awaiting you and getting to sift through them over a bowl of tasty breakfast cereal. And in the interest of making the mundane a little more exciting, I really dig this video, which I believe is of German origin where two blokes go about their normal day and execute a bunch of slick tossing and timing moves. I guess it could be doctored and whatnot, but sometimes it's nice not to be the cynic and just enjoy the magic.

Speaking of magic, it's hard to beat a weekend filled with friends and sunshine in a city like Boston. My frequent travel companion, booze, was on hand as well, this time incarnated as freshly brewed iced tea and Jim Beam. I hadn't had this in years and either my palate changed (likely) or I just forgot how delicious it was. Regardless, I recommend it highly.

Speaking of booze, here's a little snippet about teenage alcohol problems in Italy courtesy of my buddy Bryan. Yes. Though unrelated, I feel compelled to also link to this excerpt about cops busting other cops in a drug bust down in North Carolina. Classic shit right there. Credit once again to the Boneyard, my number one news source.

And last but certainly not least, PDA. I'm not talking "public displays of affection" or even "personal digital assistant" (yes, I had to look that one up, I couldn't for the life of me remember what that shit stood for), no, this is my brand new terminology "public displays of athleticism" (©Jebbo, July 2009). While in Brazil I found myself periodically dropping to the ground to partake in some push-ups with my local buddy Marcos. Stateside I've long been a fan of pull-ups on any sort of available area. This can include trees, awnings, New York City scaffolding, and bars in subway cars. It can even include the bars at a local playground as I observed several monsters pounding out sets when I finished up a run in McCarren Park a couple of weeks ago. Of course, I was thinking to throw in some pull-ups myself, so it was nice to have the camaraderie of this outdoor gym to balance out looking the fool doing pull-ups on scaffolding at three in the morning. I can't tell you precisely why, but I've long found pull-ups intensely satisfying, and I will admit that inebriation can add to this, and I will close by saying I highly recommend you give it a try; it will spice up your life.

Next step is to needlessly hurdle garbage cans, potted plants, and other street obstacles which I periodically attempt whilst running. I close with a photo of professional runner Martin Fagan and his sweet-ass tats (I dig the bats, and the brick backdrop). Rock over London, rock on Chicago...

Indian Takeaway

Not sure whether the recently arrived humidity is to blame for my bizarre nightmares and restless sleep last night, but it's certainly to blame for my appearance of having gone swimming after my run yesterday afternoon. This is the Jersey summer we all know and...loathe. But as much as it saps energy both physical and mental, there is a familiarity to it from which I can still derive some comfort, at least more comfort than dreaming I am a failed waiter who cannot remember his customers orders or how to write them down even. There needs to be a some form of moderate version of a nightmare to define dreams such as this where one really has no call to be frightened and yet finding yourself oddly gripped by panic. For now let's call them slightmares (©Jeb, 7/17/09 12:01pm).

I want to take a moment to finally link to this photo of Jenny Barringer and Gelete Burka at the Prefontaine Classic 1500m. I'd have just uploaded it but the pros who took the photo seemed to not want me to download or hotlink it, so rather than dinking around, I put up that link, which I promise is worth a quick view even if you don't give a shit about running.

In silly sports news from a week or two ago (I'm really on top of my blogging game), Lebron James was dunked on by a high schooler at some camp he hosted. Apparently Lebron did not want anyone to have footage of this and all video evidence has been confiscated. Sports bloggers are pronouncing the sauce weak, citing as well Lebron's reaction to losing to the Orlando Magic, but all I'm saying is "slow news week." As much as this scrutiny and analysis is known to come with the territory of being a well-compensated celebrity, it still sucks a bit of ass in my estimation. But then, I don't have to read about it...

I'd much rather stumble upon goofy paparazzi (paparazzo?) photos of what you might call interesting celebrity fashion choices. Somehow I don't think I'd live it down if my friends saw me wearing either of the following get-ups...

Cristiano Ronaldo


Ed "Chuck Bass" Westwick

Doesn't mean I still might not show up somewhere looking like that. And even though this isn't really that long, for the sake of short attention spans I will wait until my next entry to cover one of my new favorite things: PDA.

Frosted Lucky Charms

Recently returned from Brazil aka Brasil, it's time to get back on track. Dear diary, I've been meaning to write in you I just haven't had the proper motivation or, in some instances, internet connection.

As my first trip out of the country (unless you count Canada, but that is contiguous with the US), Brasil was a big deal for me. Seeing how I did and do not speak Portuguese and I traveled in the northeastern part of the country (where far fewer people speak English than in the South), it's pretty amazing what you can get by on. It also helps that our host had a host of connections by which we were able to travel safely and comfortably. The two things (well one, but with two meanings) people told me when I told them I was going to Brasil were: a) be careful, as it is rather dangerous in Brasil, with muggings, murders, and kidnappings; and b) be careful, as the women in Brasil are often very beautiful, sexually free, and like gringos.

I admit, I'm tempted to write a bit of a travel log, but as I already have a 34+ page paper one, I don't think I'm really going to do the country justice. Still, I will drop a few highlights: a) the exchange rate; b) the women; c) the booze; d) the food; and e) the partying.

Each American dollar will get you two Brasilian reals. This is good.

The women are frequently gorgeous but just like America, there are plenty of creatures. The women, though, are, in general, much friendlier than women here.

Booze is cheap cheap cheap in Brasil, and I liked this. Normally not a fan of pilsners, that's all they really drink in warm Brasil. But they serve it colder than cold and it is crisp, refreshing, and delicious. I have a soft-spot now for Skol. The other thing frequently consumed in Brasil is cachaca which, to me tastes like a combination of whiskey and tequila. Not really my thing, but I slowly grew accustomed, and it was astonishingly cheap at ~$1.75/liter bottle converted. This is often the main constituent to a caipirinha, accompanied by lime and cane sugar for some equivalency to a margherita. Apparently these have been trendy in places like NYC for some time, but I am not trendy, so I did not know.

You can get meat on a stick all over the place, macaxeira (yuca), salty queso, churros [that don't suck and are cooked fresh and are infused with dolce de leite or leite condescendo...shitdamn those are good], etc. I'm trying to keep this short, you know? Their ketchup sucks. Someone should import American ketchup. Maybe they wouldn't like it there, but man, I would.

This country can truly party. Lots of people have heard of Carnivale and how it stretches two-plus months, but even during all of July there is another festival held pretty much all day every day where people perform the traditional forró. With cheap booze, friendly people, and periodically ridiculously attractive women, you can see why you might be encouraged to party here.

Anyway, I don't think I remotely did this country justice but, bottom line: you should take a trip there if you have the chance. And a happy belated Independence Day to everyone...I know my liver might still be recovering.

Mystikal

My good buddy Tom upbraided me for the decided lack of humor in my entries here, and he's totally right. Since a time I can't recall precisely, posts have taken a more "daily summary" shift. So here's a little something on a tasty dessert offering.

Initially I was tempted to call this simply "The Most Ill-Named Dessert of All-Time," but you always need to leave a little room at the top. That said, prepare yourself for one of the more oddly-named — and oddly delicious — entrants to the dessert market. Chocolate meets vanilla with that familiar cookie-crunch center, but takes things to an entirely new level with a mint chip and ice cream cone nose and flying saucer eyes. Yeah, that's right bitches, I'm talking about the Cookie Puss.


The likely progenitor of Cookie Puss. Fudgie played horse, while this guy played donkey, leaving Cookie Puss the sterile mule, contributing to his rarity.

I don't really know exactly what Papa Carvel was thinking except maybe a contrasting character to make Fudgie the Whale sound a little less ridiculous. Or, given the connotations of "fudge," maybe he was appealing to heteronormativity (incidentally, the theory of heteronormativity nearly won Einstein the Nobel Prize before he banged out that relativity business. To increase the length of this parenthetical I feel compelled to mention—though it was not my proudest moment—that as a weensy-bladdered youth I once relieved myself in the bushes outside Einstein's Princeton, NJ home).


Fudgie is an alcoholic.

Cookie puss will fade into history then as one of the odder creations but, having eaten nearly an entire one on my own at an office party for St. Patty's Day 2008 (come on people, I couldn't just let it melt), I've gotta say he's udderly delicious.

To truly prepare yourself for eating some c-puss though, you need to check out these classic Carvel ads for the creature in question: yes and yes.

Shit, I have a plane to catch...count it...

Good Times Great Oldies

It feels like ages since I've dropped a post in here and the last week's events would seemingly offer plenty of material. I'll kick things off with a little shameless self-promotion of my most recent race. Since concluding college I've raced rather sparingly. Immediately following my last race (Thanksgiving) I ended up injuring myself, and I followed suit here so, not knowing when my next run or race might be, right, that self-promotion thing. The local paper also put together some photos of the event here. Booooooooring...

The next race I had planned was actually this past weekend, the now annual tradition of a WesTech graduation beer mile. Shout-out to the AgBat on his victory in a cookin' 6:10 and to Nick "Saturday Night" Holowka for his competitive spirit bringing that time so low even if post-race crime scene analysis would show failure to complete at least one beer and a resultant DQ. Wish I could have run it boys, but you made it a lot of fun to watch.

The true beauty of it all was the reuniting of the Stable Boyz and subsequently many other old friends. Basking in the resplendent beauty of Western Mass tugged at the dichotomous heartstrings that draw me to cities and people even as I am pulled toward the simplistic wonder of the outdoors. It was probably instilled in my youth on family camping trips even if I was likely grumbling about bugs while it happened. I still grumble about the bugs, but it's worth it. Hobbling down highway 112 from the Vermont border down into Colrain Mass after an ill-advised run was probably the best I've felt about any running injury I've ever incurred. Just a little more time to soak in the beauty.

The sweet (actually it's bitter, but you know what I mean) taste of a McNeill's Duck's Breath on cask even at it's now jacked up $4 (this is Brattleboro, VT after all) with some BYOIndian is the kind of simplicity I feel gets lost all too frequently in the materialistic society we've grown to.

But yes, the people. I spent about forty-eight hours on the campus of my alma-mater for the first time in a year and it really did feel great. To walk by an enormous backyard BBQ and waltz in seamlessly, that atmosphere is a big part of why I ended up where I did. They've changed a lot of my favorite things, for the worse in my estimation, but when a dozen or more of your good friends congregate and you can kick it with some legit undergrads/recent grads, it brightens my soul in an indescribable way. I'm actually not satisfied with the quality of education and guidance I received at school, but the people I met there made the experience more than worth it and I would never dream of changing where I ended up attending school. I always found that it allowed me to embrace who I was, who I am, or even maybe just who I thought I wanted to be. Look for some of those words when I speak at commencement next year...

I don't really know where all this post is going, it just felt like some of these things needed to get down. Same reason I've been trying to take more pictures of late. On the near final leg of my travels, on a Metro North train bound for Grand Central Station I must pen what I deem amusing banter between three elderly folks seated behind me and John "Diddlemonster" Kraus. Nearing the end of our journey I thought to reach up to grab my bag but thought better of it as it rested above said eldlerly folks' seats. Now it could have been coincidence, but as soon as I turned around their conversation turned to beards when one man began, "You should grow a beard Tom."

This was followed by Tom's precious response: "I feel like a beard is for someone who's accomplished something, that you can't grow one until then. Look at all those guys in the Middle East that have beards... they're all assholes." There was a nice little hiss of emphasis on the esses that I'm not sure how to replicate written down. The jury is out on whether I've accomplished enough to have earned my beard or if I'm just an asshole from the Middle East. I just think it balances my eyebrows...and shaving is kind of a hassle.

Dear Wesleyan,
It's always worth it for the 3rd Floor Olin Bathroom and the Freeman shower...

Will People Ever Stop Shooting Each Other?

In what appears to be an isolated incident, a Wesleyan University student was shot and killed yesterday by an unknown gunman while she was working at the café at the campus bookstore. An article I just read and link at the end of the following paragraph says it may not be an isolated incident, but that remains unsubstantiated for now. This story was all over the news and gets extra special attention from me as it took place at my alma mater. I received several emails about the incident and the facebook status message of many of my old schoolmates was something referencing it as well. I hate the news report manner in which I opened this entry, but I can't think of how else to put it.

It is indeed a terrible thing, and you feel for this girl's family and friends. What else can you say to those most closely affected? You think about it, and you let those people know, but words...words fail. With the possibility that it was an angry and/or disturbed ex-boyfriend that perpetrated the crime (fostered by the caption in that Fox news link), I couldn't help but be reminded of a shooting that took place at a mall in my hometown less than two years ago now. I just read through my thoughts on that, and a lot of them hold true for this. There will always be outliers in the mental community who, when pushed, will take extreme actions such as this, but I really do think we need to take a step back and look at the culture that fosters incidents like this. When or if we'd be able to eliminate all such incidents it is hard to say, but we need to strive towards it. I wrote the words that follow before reading this update on the shooting. An italicized addendum follows.

I do wonder how much talking might help. As a generalization, many of us crave attention. Even if it is not the search for mass celebrity, we probably want the attention of those close to us. We like to feel like we count, like we amount to something, and the nature of that is context, the context of our peer group, our culture, our family, our friends. This is not to say all such incidents can be resolved through dialogue, but for all that the digital age has increased our ability to communicate, the nature of what we are communicating about seems to have dropped down several notches. Think of any argument you've ever been in. Rarely is an argument resolved quickly, and it often devolves into one party having the final word. It seems idiotic, but I know I've been there. Somewhere it is supposed to say that we are mature for knowing when to stop, but we want to say our piece. We hope that it sinks in with the other person. Being right would be an added bonus, but so much of it amounts to just letting it out.

Actions speak louder than words they say, and it's hard not to believe that. Sometimes the extreme actions taken by individuals, that is their voice, their last gasp that instead comes out as a shout. Some individuals are disturbed enough that nothing short of locking them away or medicating them might prevent their taking horrendous action but I like to believe more than we think can be done through a cultural revision. What that constitutes and where that starts, those are difficult questions. Being nice and listening to others have roots in good intentions, but that alone can start to give people the wrong idea. That can foster misinterpretation of the strength and importance of a relationship.

Reading that second article only makes this all the worse. The precise nature of the relationship between the suspect, Stephen Morgan, and the victim, Johanna Justin-Jinich, is not stated, but it seems as if there could be smatterings of what I just alluded to. Justin-Jinich had already filed harassment charges against Morgan two years ago. It's plausible she was friendly towards him to begin with (worked at a café, described in that article by a classmate as having "a great smile"), he got the wrong idea, and when perhaps she wasn't fueling his obsession, Morgan took things to a whole new level. But I don't really want to make any assumptions about this case. The mind is complex and for all that we connect on many things, every mind is different. Why I want to avoid assumptions has basis in this second article as well.

I took the "angry ex-boyfriend" angle from the caption of a Fox news article, and if I go with this NBC coverage I will be confirming a targeting of Jewish individuals. That might be the case, but if NBC can't substantiate their source, I think it should be left out rather than planting these strange seeds in our, or at least my, mind(s). I admit I am bothered as well that there is a history of harassment from this man and that wasn't an initial clue. Perhaps there had been no contact between suspect and victim between then and now. How much would talking to the suspect bring to light. Regardless of his true thought process, he can say whatever he wants. We can't crawl into his mind or anyone else's. Would we want to? I don't even know how to put a period on my own musings, so I close instead with some words from the Pixies, a question: Where is my mind?