You're not fooling anyone, Disney

Normally pointing out obvious recycling in media is a job left to Jamie, who consumes roughly 3,967 times as much pop culture as I do (zing!). This time, however, I'm quite proud of my spot, so here it is.

You know the latest Pixar film, Wall-E? Remember the unique, original auto-pilot "Otto?" Here:

That's him, on the left. Brand-new (as of his launch 700 years before the movie takes place), state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line. Designed specifically for the Starship Axiom, his maiden voyage.

Wait... actually, come to think of it, that's not right. If I'm not horribly mistaken, the Axiom wasn't actually Otto's first posting. I believe he journeyed through space some 22 years ago (that's 124 years before he received orders from BnL in Wall-E). Only back then, his name was Max.

He's gotten a refit (looks like Apple bought the specs from Mattel and sleeked up the design a bit), but that's definitely the same robot.

And what? The 1986 film Flight of the Navigator was a Disney movie, too? You don't say.

Nico 1, Disney 0.

Maximum efficiency

Now that I have integrated a blogging application to my iTouch, my journey towards the most efficient possible level of unproductivity has reached a whole new phase.

In a related matter, I find the Twitter application superior to the actual Twitter website. And by the way, I totally had Twitter BEFORE it was cool.*

*or rather, before it was popular at Manchester, which to be fair was far after it was cool in more civilized parts.

Just a list

Since someone wants me to write about my break, TODAY I:

1. Made myself eggs for breakfast and felt accomplished.
2. Returned Mr. Velazquez's call (left a message).
3. Played Oblivion.
4. Learned some new songs on the guitar.
   
5. Went Christmas shopping (overheard: "Doing some last minute shopping?" We were STARTING our shopping).
6. Ate some superlicious food our neighbor brought us just because he's awesome. He also brought us an original painting and his baby. We didn't get to keep the baby.
7. Went to Hacienda and hung out with an insane number of people from my high school class. Well, I really only hung out with the people on my end of the table. Two drinks and you might as well have paid for a meal.
8. Came home and did this (nothing) until 2am.
   

This seems sort of Zen.

Complain!

....No. Este sitio es un de felicidad, y juré desde el comienzo que no iba a usarlo para tales cosas.

...reflect?

Que tontería. No sería genuino, lo que es bueno, pero tambien malo.

Don't blog!

ESO.

Doing right is more important than being right.
Extending a hand is better than saving face.
The permanent outweighs the transient.
The transient creates the permanent.
I am responsible for my own actions.
My priorities are not those of others.
These are things I should remember.

(mentí)

Well, according to ME...

I had a professor in Costa Rica who would assign his own writings for our class readings. In those writings, he would cite as sources other writings also by him. Our class sessions became four-hour long ego stroking sessions for him, and we were stuck in the uncomfortable situation of writing essays for Dr. Avruch in which we would use phrases like "according to Avruch..."

The bastard gave me a C on that paper.

Why you should never do research

I'm writing a paper that I'm kind of psyched about. Well, I'm psyched about the idea for the paper, and I'm psyched about finishing the paper. This whole in-between segment where I write the paper... well, as you can see, I decided blogging was more important.

I think my critical error here was deciding to write a good paper and thus heading over to EBSCOhost for some hardcore research. I immediately found a paper that expresses my ideas perfectly, and with far more impressive word usage than I could ever hope to achieve. At least, I think the paper expresses my ideas, because it's using some really heavy academic language that makes me quite certain that my Manchester education has in no way equipped me for more than two days of graduate school. If I have to read stuff like this on a regular basis, I'm finished.

In case you're still reading in hopes that I'm going to write something that will somehow apply to you*, I have a very important recommendation: Make a Pandora station based on Joni Mitchell. The resultant fusion of musical perfection will blow your mind.

I highly suspect that this energy drink (Amp Elevate, for "focus") I've been working on is not helping my paper get done. Nothing like externalizing blame for my own total lack of academic responsibility.

Concerning bailouts

I think I should just short-sell every company that has not yet declared bankruptcy or asked for a bailout.

Speaking of bailouts, I had to ask for a $135 one from my mom today to avoid an interest charge on my credit card. This is the latest development in a flip-flop from some conventional wisdom I had earlier in life: in previous years, I didn't let myself have much cash because I knew I would spend it. Now I find myself being much more careful with my cash than with my magic moneycard, so the latter payment method has been banished to a frozen existence.

You see that Visa*? That's what you get for taking my requested $250 limit and raising it to $3,800.

And still speaking of bailouts, if my math is correct, the $700 billion bailout to the financial industry could have been used to give each and every person in the United States $23,000. Talk about stimulating the economy... If we're going to come in and rescue institutions that have made terrible financial decisions and lost all their money, why aren't we willing to do this for individuals?

In fact, I think when I call my bank tomorrow to slip in my last-second payment, I'll ask about applying my share of the package.


*Actually, 1st Financial Bank USA is the responsible party.

Law enforce this

The title applies to a story I'm not telling.  You see, it's not at all interesting to read, a criticism I believe applies to most of my blog entries from the past year or so.  I was reading over my old Xanga stuff and realized it was WAY more entertaining than all this dry crap.  I should consider publishing under a pseudonym.

Meanwhile, I've realized that there is some value in allowing those truly shining moments of hilarity and wit, which I do sometimes have, to remain between me and the person I happen to share them with.  Trying to maximize my audience tends to minimize the joke, and relationships are more important than webpage hits anyway.

Don't throw rocks at boys or girls, as it could be considered a crime.  I think we can all agree on that.

Statistically speaking, it's pretty likely that the three dollars sitting on my desk has traces of hard drugs on it.  Creepy.

Let the record show that I did not agree to catsitting.

THAT's more like it.

Electoral maps and controversial signs

After a long hiatus from this particular news source, I checked out cnnpolitics.com and was delighted to learn that even they have the electoral map leaning to Obama (277 safe and leaning, meaning if he holds those and loses all the toss-up states he still wins. Knock on wood.) The New York Times, of course, shows the same results (they've generally been more generous in assigning leaning states). My curiosity peaked, I zipped over to FOX News. Their electoral map, at least as of Thursday night, is unavailable. Interesting.

Then, while over at FOX, I found the story about this sign:

Here's the story if you want to read it. The part I'm going to address here is that when people became offended by the comparison of Barack HUSSEIN Obama in a turban to John McCain in military garb, owner Robert Horr responded with the Clintonian high road, saying it shouldn't be offensive at all that someone is wearing a turban and why can't people just accept multiculturalism? It's a dumbass position to be taken by someone who obviously chose the image to be inflammatory and degrading - it's definitely the "terrorist vs. hero" psychology that he's going for here, so it sure shows a lot of nerve that he'd feign naivete.

Oh, one more thing: Horr declined to say who he's voting for. Are you kidding me?

Can I get a what what from the senior section?

If Sarah Palin had done this herself I might have had to vote for her. As it stands, I voted for Obama, but you should still watch the video.

Poetry

There once was a girl named Lauren
whose poetry kept her from snorin'
She bothered and bitched
to her bestest friend Nick
about the work she was deplorin'

The terrorist Obama

Amazing editorial in the New York Times about McCain and Palin's acceptance of, or even complicity in, a hate campaign against Obama. READ IT.

Predicting Pandoric behavior

Fact: Nine Days is a band that, while they achieved popularity in 2000 with The Madding Crowd, independently released three albums in the 90's and, in my esteem, is grouped in with my beloved "90's music." They are awesome and true to the spirit of the timeless music of that decade.

Fact: Simple Plan is a dumbass wannabe punk band that, while having some roots as far back as 1993, is clearly a 2000's band. Their music is terrible and has little to no artistic value whatsoever.

Conclusion: Pandora should not play Simple Plan on my Nine Days radio station.

Fact: Every damn time I play my Nine Days radio station, "I'm Just a Kid" plays.

New Conclusion: Pandora may have the technical aspects of intuitive play lists down pat, but it lacks the taste and soul I once gave it credit for having.

Good news.

Obama has the lead again.

The door closed, so I climbed in a window.

The owner of the coffee shop never replied to my query about work, so I got a job at the liquor store. Win!

Double standards, much?

I've kept my constant stream of blazing commentary about Sarah Palin surprisingly absent from my blog. However, I absolutely must post this article, which you absolutely must read. I Googled it and found it re-posted in about 834 thousand places, so I'm just going to assume copyright issues are moot.

This is your Nation on White Privilege
by Tim Wise

For those who still can't grasp the concept of white privilege, or who are constantly looking for some easy-to-understand examples of it, perhaps this list will help.

• White privilege is when you can get pregnant at seventeen like Bristol Palin and everyone is quick to insist that your life and that of your family is a personal matter, and that no one has a right to judge you or your parents, because "every family has challenges," even as black and Latino families with similar "challenges" are regularly typified as irresponsible, pathological and arbiters of social decay.
• White privilege is when you can call yourself a "fuckin' redneck," like Bristol Palin's boyfriend does, and talk about how if anyone messes with you, you'll "kick their fuckin' ass," and talk about how you like to "shoot shit" for fun, and still be viewed as a responsible, all-American boy (and a great son-in-law to be) rather than a thug.
• White privilege is when you can attend four different colleges in six years like Sarah Palin did (one of which you basically failed out of, then returned to after making up some coursework at a community college), and no one questions your intelligence or commitment to achievement, whereas a person of color who did this would be viewed as unfit for college, and probably someone who only got in in the first place because of affirmative action.
• White privilege is when you can claim that being mayor of a town smaller than most medium-sized colleges, and then Governor of a state with about the same number of people as the lower fifth of the island of Manhattan, makes you ready to potentially be president, and people don't all piss on themselves with laughter, while being a black U.S. Senator, two-term state Senator, and constitutional law scholar, means you're "untested."
• White privilege is being able to say that you support the words "under God" in the pledge of allegiance because "if it was good enough for the founding fathers, it's good enough for me," and not be immediately disqualified from holding office--since, after all, the pledge was written in the late 1800s and the "under God" part wasn't added until the 1950s--while believing that reading accused criminals and terrorists their rights (because, ya know, the Constitution, which you used to teach at a prestigious law school requires it), is a dangerous and silly idea only supported by mushy liberals.
• White privilege is being able to be a gun enthusiast and not make people immediately scared of you. White privilege is being able to have a husband who was a member of an extremist political party that wants your state to secede from the Union, and whose motto was "Alaska first," and no one questions your patriotism or that of your family, while if you're black and your spouse merely fails to come to a 9/11 memorial so she can be home with her kids on the first day of school, people immediately think she's being disrespectful.
• White privilege is being able to make fun of community organizers and the work they do--like, among other things, fight for the right of women to vote, or for civil rights, or the 8-hour workday, or an end to child labor--and people think you're being pithy and tough, but if you merely question the experience of a small town mayor and 18-month governor with no foreign policy expertise beyond a class she took in college--you're somehow being mean, or even sexist.
• White privilege is being able to convince white women who don't even agree with you on any substantive issue to vote for you and your running mate anyway, because all of a sudden your presence on the ticket has inspired confidence in these same white women, and made them give your party a "second look."
• White privilege is being able to fire people who didn't support your political campaigns and not be accused of abusing your power or being a typical politician who engages in favoritism, while being black and merely knowing some folks from the old-line political machines in Chicago means you must be corrupt.
• White privilege is being able to attend churches over the years whose pastors say that people who voted for John Kerry or merely criticize George W. Bush are going to hell, and that the U.S. is an explicitly Christian nation and the job of Christians is to bring Christian theological principles into government, and who bring in speakers who say the conflict in the Middle East is God's punishment on Jews for rejecting Jesus, and everyone can still think you're just a good church-going Christian, but if you're black and friends with a black pastor who has noted (as have Colin Powell and the U.S. Department of Defense) that terrorist attacks are often the result of U.S. foreign policy and who talks about the history of racism and its effect on black people, you're an extremist who probably hates America.
• White privilege is not knowing what the Bush Doctrine is when asked by a reporter, and then people get angry at the reporter for asking you such a "trick question," while being black and merely refusing to give one-word answers to the queries of Bill O'Reilly means you're dodging the question, or trying to seem overly intellectual and nuanced.
• White privilege is being able to claim your experience as a POW has anything at all to do with your fitness for president, while being black and experiencing racism is, as Sarah Palin has referred to it a "light" burden.
• And finally, white privilege is the only thing that could possibly allow someone to become president when he has voted with George W. Bush 90 percent of the time, even as unemployment is skyrocketing, people are losing their homes, inflation is rising, and the U.S. is increasingly isolated from world opinion, just because white voters aren't sure about that whole "change" thing. Ya know, it's just too vague and ill-defined, unlike, say, four more years of the same, which is very concrete and certain.

White privilege is, in short, the problem.

Tim Wise is the author of White Like Me (Soft Skull, 2005, revised 2008), and of Speaking Treason Fluently, publishing this month, also by Soft Skull. For review copies or interview requests, please reply to publicity@softskull.com

How are we to date?

The title of this post is a play on the title of a book by Peter Singer. If you already knew that, we might be compatible.

From time to time, Steve, Micah and I sit around our kitchen table with whiskey & coke (actually, Chill Cola, which is only $0.93/2 liter at Lance's) and have fantastic conversations. Last night, one of our topics was the nature of dating, and how our generation is stupid.

It's not possible to casually date these days, as is reflected on Facebook with the lack of anything between "single" and "in a relationship" (let's ignore "it's complicated" for the moment). One date, sure, but by the time you've gone out two or three times you've got a de facto relationship going, like it or not. Exclusivity is the norm and need not be explicitly established before it is expected.

This might be all well and good for high school, but it doesn't work out in college, and here's why: if dating is really meant to be a way of finding a life partner, dating exclusively is a great way to make sure you get it wrong. When you're buying a car, do you just test trive one model exclusively and then, based on that, decide whether or not you want that car? Well, maybe. But usually it's considered a more informed decision if you've spent some time with several and then gone with the one that really seemed to be best for you.

This isn't to boo-hiss exclusivity altogether, but shouldn't it take a while to get there? Otherwise, you're left with the immense pressure of trying to figure out whether the dating partner you're having a great time with is the "one and only" when you know nothing of what's out there on the field.

"Let's bring it back," said Micah of casual dating. I'm not sure Pirate House has that much authority over social dynamics, but maybe we should try. Otherwise, two of the three of us will probably be divorced by the time we're 35.

Home...?

I made my triumphant return to Manchester on Monday, effectively wasted Tuesday, and started classes (okay, class) today. I've seen many of my old friends and had some great conversations (and a couple good meals) already, but there are so many people I haven't seen, or have only seen briefly.

Coming back to campus after a year abroad is overwhelming. I do not have the time to catch up with everyone at once. I saw a good friend in the admin building today and couldn't even catch up and say hi, because I had so much stuff to do (before you study abroad, ask yourself how much you love mountains of paperwork).

I'm pretty excited about most of the classes I'm taking this semester. Elementary New Testament Greek, the only one I've had so far, is already looking to be way fun. I'm mostly taking it because I promised Dr. Bowman I'd take another course with him after under-performing in the last one, but I'm also pretty emocionado. Then there's Race, Ethnicity and Gender Group Relations; Philosophy of Civilization; Entrepreneurial Thinking; and, of course, Tai Chi. I'm supposed to be arranging a tutorial with Ken Brown, but I haven't managed to track him down yet (actually, I haven't really tried). If I don't, though, I can get it in next semester - I'd just rather have the 12 credit load then instead of now.

On the other hand, the 12-15 split really worked out for me sophomore year... maybe keeping it light while I'm dipping my toes back into the pool isn't such a bad idea.

Then again, course work at Manchester could only be considered a "load" in comparison with the utter joke that was my Mexican academic experience.

Speaking of Mexico, I celebrated my new stack of money ("three stack," to use the argot of my summer students) by sinning a bit at El Mezquite. I know I can't be making a habit of eating out, but I ain't trippin. Mike exchanged a couple phrases of Spanish with the guys at the cash register, so they decided to ask me if I spoke Spanish. Of course I'd wanted nothing more. I told them about my year abroad, and discovered that one of the employees there is from Xalapa! Que frickin chido.

Anyway, there's a lot to get used to here. I was a bit apprehensive about living off campus for what really amounts to my third and final year at Manchester, but now that I'm here I'm glad for the peace and quiet.

On loving enemies

I wrote a post for Young Anabaptist Radicals, which I duplicated in my own Footwashing and Four Square.  They're both good blogs, but of course I'd prefer you become an avid follower of the latter.  I personally consider it a good read, but I'm biased.

Follow-up

From: Jones, Stuart D. [SDJones@manchester.edu]
Sent: Tuesday, August 26, 2008 9:09 AM
To: Kauffman, Nicolas M
Subject: FW: SuccessNet Student Referral: General Referral

Scary???  You look great!  Very friendly, inviting, and warm picture. ☺  This is what happens when you become a student “model” for the College…we get to use your picture.  So you want a bribe huh?  Hmmmm.   I have no money, Nick!

Stuart

Stuart D. Jones
Dean of Enrollment
604 East College Avenue
North Manchester, IN  46962
800-852-3648
www.manchester.edu

Making the most of student services

SuccessNet

Student Referral

Thank you for your concern and willingness to refer a student to the
SuccessNet team for intervention purposes. In an effort to assist students in working through any problematic issue that may be impeding their success, we will follow up as quickly as possible with the most appropriate person.

Please fill out the following information and click Submit. All fields are required.

Student's first name: Nicolas

Student's last name: Kauffman

Your first name: Nicolas

Your last name: Kauffman

Please describe the identified problem or concern.

There's a scary-looking picture of me on the SuccessNet webpage.

Please describe what has already been done to address the problem and the persons involved.

The presence of a scary-looking picture of me on the SuccessNet webpage seems to imply that I at some point received the services of SuccessNet, and that I am scary. I am fairly certain the first item is untrue, and I have tried not to be that scary.

What, if anything, would you like SuccessNet to do?

Please send a KenapoccoMocha gift card or other bribe to MC Box 388. You can keep the photo up.

Either Stu Jones laughs, or I set a record for earliest community restitution assignment ever.

This was my 2am

I was finishing up some idle chatting via instant messenger about twenty minutes ago when, from outside, there came what I can only describe as a gunshot-like sound. I can only hope it was not that, but I can assure you it was some sort of explosive device, and definitely not a car backfiring. I will forever be mocked for typing "brb" (be right back) before I dove to the floor. If there was someone ending lives in the parking lot next door, then I, a potential witness, was clearly visible at my laptop in the living room, by the light of the lamp next to me.

I reached up and turned off the light, grabbed my computer and quickly made my way upstairs where, once I'd locked my door behind me, I placed my second lifetime 911 call (and the first one that wasn't due to something that was my fault). The operator sounded bored - either she was more confident than I was about things being okay, or she gets way too many calls about gunshots in Indianapolis. After making sure Casey was locked securely in her room (you know, in case someone's looking for witnesses), I went into the front room to watch the police activity.

What a joke. A police cruiser drove by once (maybe twice) without even slowing down, apparently to make sure there wasn't a dead body in the middle of the road. If there were someone dying in the parking lot, they would have gone entirely unnoticed.

I really, really wish the police had been more thorough in this case. Because when it became obvious they weren't going to, it became clear that I had to pick up the slack. I know everyone and his brother is thinking this was really stupid of me, but I went outside to check around. I really, really didn't want to, but I figured if I read about someone getting shot and bleeding to death right outside my house in the paper tomorrow, I'd know it was because I didn't do what I was supposed to do, and then I'd have to feel all guilty and stuff.

I didn't find anything suspicious. But then, I didn't exactly take my time out there (would you?), so I suppose I could still hear tomorrow about how I'm responsible for someone's death.

I'm going to bed.

I know you are but what am I?

As you may or may not have heard, John McCain found himself yesterday unable to tell reporters how many houses he owns. Luckily, Barack Obama's people did some research for him and concluded that he owns seven homes, valued at a total of $13 million. When Obama slammed him on his elitism, his campaign issued this response:

“Does a guy who made more than $4 million last year, just got back from vacation on a private beach in Hawaii and bought his own million-dollar mansion with the help of a convicted felon really want to get into a debate about houses? Does a guy who worries about the price of arugula and thinks regular people “cling” to guns and religion in the face of economic hardship really want to have a debate about who’s in touch with regular Americans?

“The reality is that Barack Obama’s plans to raise taxes and opposition to producing more energy here at home as gas prices skyrocket show he’s completely out of touch with the concerns of average Americans.”

In case you were curious, no, that statement does not in any way address the issue at hand. Nobody is saying Obama is poor, but I think it's pretty rich for the McCain campaign to talk about is wealth: McCain has way more money.

Then, the Obama camp (sadly) decided to try to link John McCain to criminal lobbyist Jack Abramoff. Here's the response from the McCain campaign:

“If Barack Obama wants to have a discussion about truly questionable associations, let’s start with his relationship with the unrepentant terrorist William Ayers, at whose home Obama’s political career was reportedly launched. Mr. Ayers was a leader of the Weather Underground, a terrorist group responsible for countless bombings against targets including the U.S. Capitol, the Pentagon and numerous police stations, courthouses and banks."

Do these two statements have anything in common?

Answer: yes. Neither one bothers to answer or address the accusation. Instead, McCain chooses the "I know you are but what am I" response, which is in both cases pretty pathetic - especially in the first case, where is own crime is far greater than Senator Obama's.

Can someone please answer a damn question some day?

Getting paid for my writing... sort of

Work Haiku #1
Locked up in this jail.
They say it's an office
but I know better.

Work Haiku #2
You stumble and fall.
I hold my hand out to help.
You throw mud at me.

Work Haiku #5
Tap tap clickity.
Soullessly slaving away,
wanting cheeseburgers.

Work Haiku #10
Tranquility is
a drop of water in a
pool of chocolate.

Work Haiku #12
I hear: ring ring ring
ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
SHE'S NOT AT HER DESK

Busted!

On more than one occasion, Dad has wandered into the den and snorted and Mom and me, sitting there tapping away at our laptops. Dad, I just have one thing to say to you:



When I decide to take a nap, I'm free of the shackles of technology.

Someone my maturity level

I was re-united with my two-year-old honorary nephew tonight. The kid is a blast, and I'd like to think I scored his favorite persons list. After all, he chose me over his parents to walk him across the parking lot every time.

I tried to teach him about 9/11 conspiracy theories using his play blocks. "What happened? Did the government secretly place explosives to compromise the building's integrity and then blame the collapse on an airplane?"

There's at least one picture to come when I can get it from Dalila.

Random thoughts and updates I haven't quite thought of yet

This comment probably doesn't really apply to those of you who read this, except to be something you can identify with, but I just want to point out that most people probably didn't realize that Czechoslovakia isn't a country anymore (and hasn't been since 1992) until John McCain mentioned it and the press slammed him for it. Similarly, I doubt most people knew that Iraq didn't border Pakistan. But when they spell it out on CNN, everyone gets to play geographer and talk about how dumb and out of touch McCain is, using these fresh tidbits of information.

I - we - knew these things already. We appreciated McCain's mistakes before the newscaster went on to tell us why they were mistakes.

I had to zip back through my other blog today and take out a comment that isn't public information. Whoops.

Also, today I went to various elementary schools with Amanda to check in on kids involved in the truancy court, and one of them had me sign in on their "Special Services Staff" sheet. I felt special. I also nearly died about thirteen times.

Two and a half more weeks of work.

I'm making salsa tonight. I just remembered. Also, I think I'm seeing Garrison Keillor at the state fair tonight.

Life is a newspaper

I wanna read it all night long.

If you're interested in people causing massive destruction to each other using technology, check out this New York Times Magazine piece on trolling.

You're embarrassing my movement.

Though I'm fairly certain I never signed up for it, I regularly receive in my inbox the GLN (Gay Liberation Network) news. And while I'm only fairly certain I never signed up for it, I'm entirely certain I asked to be removed from their mailing list. This was followed by a series of ridiculous communication about their difficulties "finding my e-mail address" as expressed in an e-mail to me and inability to get me off the list.

Why, you might ask, did I ask to be removed?

The GLN provides me what are, without much contest, the most hateful messages that appear in my inbox. They attack, slur, name-call and mud-sling those with differing views.

As a self-proclaimed member of the "queer community," I understand how it's very easy to get angry over stuff like this. But slamming people with messages of hate is exactly the sort of thing by which we feel oppressed, so why do we insist on perpetrating it?

Today they're sending me a copy of a petition for the Chicago Museum of Broadcast Communications to cancel an upcoming ceremony honoring James Dobson. The museum has stated that these choices are politics-blind, which the GLN slams as "calculated to attract right-wing dollars."

Come on. A Chicago institution isn't going to honor James Dobson to attract money.

I'm not a big fan of the guy myself, but I believe in recognizing the good in people and honoring their achievements. Should we turn our back on the good just because of the presence of the bad? I rely pretty heavily on relationships with people who have views different from my own, from co-workers and friends to my very own family.

And I get really frustrated to see that, at times, the most offensive communication is coming from allies to my cause.

You know how much I like linking you to cool things

Melissa has stated in the past that she always clicks the links I post because they tend to be so good. Just saying.

Why Math is taught in school.

Living in America

"Home."

How was Mexico?
Are you glad to be home?
Do you miss Mexico?
What's different between Mexico and the United States?
What did you learn while you were there?
Are you experiencing reverse culture shock?

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I. Don't. Know.

"You've changed in ways that nobody can expect or understand, and your friends are more interested in their breakfast than in hearing about it." Clare is an absolute Godsend in this house. Not only does she show concern for me, listen to me, and understand me better than I do myself: she does it all while having a British accent.

I'm not sure whether I want my friends to be more interested in my stories than their breakfast. The fact is, I don't know what to stay. I'm sure I have a story to tell, but I don't have the words to tell it, or the patience to look for them. I don't really understand what I'm feeling. I don't know if I miss Mexico or if I'm glad to be back. I've been pushing myself beyond my limits, doing everything I possibly can for fear of wasting my time... or maybe for fear of stopping to reflect and realizing how unhappy I am.

What I'm really dreading, though, is going back to Manchester. I've always been ready to go back to school at the end of a summer... even in high school, which as some know was a pretty bad time for me. But now, I don't want to go back. I don't want to be there, at all. I don't want to see all the people I left behind. And honestly, I would not be going back if it weren't for this scholarship... I feel like I'm obligated now. Like I would be an awful person if I left Manchester now, even if I worked to pay back the money.

What is all this? I don't know. I'm not liking it.

More required reading!

I firmly believe that everyone planning on voting in the upcoming election should be reading FactCheck.org on a regular basis. They call the candidates out on the misinformation they love to spread. And I'll happily note that, true to form, the Republicans tend to be a lot deeper in it than the Democrats.

Summer dreaming

I'm aware of my lack of posting frequency... I've been devoting most of my blogging energy to my summer internship blog because that one's an obligation.

Stacey visited last night/today!  I was pretty stoked about that... we make our ways from Mexico and Korea to meet in Indianapolis.

Tomorrow starts the very last week of the regular program, after which Casey and I will have our own nine-bedroom house.  We're already planning which rooms and bathrooms we're going to lay claim to.

No further comments at this time.

Space

Sometimes I live in the abandon, the vacuum that happens when all other life is pulled from a room, a conscientious soul extinguishes the light and I am all that is left, sitting on the dark carpet with near-invisible smiles and anarchy signs drawn in the fibers, peacefully awaiting the approach of the dogs that were once wolves circling in the shadows just beyond the recognizable.  The abandon is a respite and a curse at the same time, because nobody seems willing to share my solitude.  All paths lead away from me.

Kapoomf

Nobody loves on my blog no more.

Today I really coulda punched a kid in the mouf, which would have been hella ironic cuz of the "no fighting" lesson we's tryin' to give.

I felt like not writing properly.  I don't know why.

Yesterday I blew up about someone and remembered how witty I am when I'm really ticked off.  Also, I need to tell a different someone to be nice to me before I blow up at her.

Today I was driving home and I saw a guy standing by the road with a sign advertising $5 pizzas with no wait.  Domino's advertising strategy, while simple, cost me five dollars.  But it also gave me my next two meals.

Delusions

I wonder are you proud, cowering beneath the stairs as an unseen foe that you probably just made up walks the halls and keeps you from poking your privileged head out and seeing what the world actually looks like beyond your cute little corner with a comfy chair and a TV that only shows the McDonald's channel.  You hide from the truth, or pretend not to see it with its chewed up styrofoam cup jingling with what to you might as well be pocket lint because you're as likely to lose it between the cushions of your world as you are to get any use out of it, or you say that you don't want to make things worse as an excuse to refuse to make anything better, or you just flat out deny it by turning tragedies into numbers.  Drink the poison and eat the masks and pretend you live somewhere you don't and maybe the truth will go away.  The lie is better anyway.

Schools, not missiles

Read this one too.

Another NYTimes article

I am interested in law.  I am very interested in international law.  And I am absolutely fascinated by the jumble of criminal activity that is the Bush White House.

That is not a political statement.  This is separate of my political opinions, which are largely conciliatory these days in regards to President Bush.  It's just plain fact that the current administration is suspended by a web of misinformation and crime, and the web is coming apart strand by strand.

Anyway, here's a great New York Times article about this stuff.

Family and personality

"You and your mother carry yourselves in the same way," Clare told me over watery American beer. "You don't have to be talking or doing anything to establish your presence in the room."

"It's a good quality for a pacifist," she added.

I thought that was cool.

Accidental social commentary

Seen at a Salvation Army women's home, summer 2007.  Documented with camera phone.

In the last ten and a half hours

1. I biked to the BMV and renewed my driver's license.
2. I got my hair cut.
3. I closed a bank account.
4. I played my guitar.
5. I went to the dentist.
6. I saw Indiana Jones with Dad.
7. I had pizza and beer with my family.
8. I played X-box.
9. I got coffee with Liz.
10. I went to the bar with Andrew.

And, for good measure, 10.5: I wrote this blog.

Another moment of honesty

First, though I'm too lazy to post any links this time, I just want to say that McCain is getting on my nerves. Any time someone says something bad about him (e.g. Gen. Clark saying, rightly, that being a war hero doesn't make you a good president) he says something like "Oh, is this the kind of campaign Senator Obama and his surrogates and supporters want to run?" You like how he just threw Obama in to the mix, even though he denounced Gen. Clark's comment? C'mon McCain, are we really going to start holding the statements of supporters against the candidate? Because your supporters are out there calling Obama a possibly gay (married) Muslim (Christian) born in Africa (Hawaii). One of these days I'm going to really do some research into whether all political sides are created equal, because, while I try to call people out on being blatantly partisan, I seem to see a lot more ridiculous shit from the Republicans.

/politic (Boot, would that be a HyperPolitical Markup Language tag?)

This is my last post from Mexico. I can't think about that too much right now. I don't know what it means. I don't know what I experienced, what I'll miss, what I'm looking forward to, what I got out of this year, or anything.

I'm worried about coming back to Manchester.

I feel like most of my friends abandoned me this year. They easily forgot all about me. Some just didn't make an effort to stay in touch. Others actually chose not to respond to e-mails. I've spent the last few years running away - from Goshen to Manchester, from Manchester to Mexico - every time I start to feel unnecessary. To most people back home, I'm unnecessary. And for me, that is very, very hard to want to go back to.

I did it

I read this article in the New York Times and immediately dropped "Molinero" from my Facebook name in favor of promoting religious tolerance. Join the movement!

Classes are out... now what?

Mitch Daniels is polling ahead in Indiana. Was everyone in a coma these last four years?

Yesterday was my last day of classes here in Mexico. Or it would have been, had I gone to either of them - I slept through the first one. Ironically, my last day is the first time I did that (accidentally). I waited half an hour for the professor for my other class to show up, but he never did - at least, not before we decided he wasn't going to come and ran away. I can understand the "screw it, its the last day" sentiment, but when you're the professor?

Anyway, Im now into my last four-day weekend here before its back to America, with its high gas prices and expensive drinks. It doesnt seem real. I've spent ten out of the last eleven months living in Mexico, speaking Spanish, eating mole (pronounced mo-lay, as in a complicated Mexican sauce that includes chocolate and several million other ingrediants; not mohl, as in a tunneling mammal), and, well, making my life here.

Apparently only five percent of U.S. college students study in other countries. That's striking on its own, but a growing majority of these students participate in programs that last a month or less. I don't have the statistics on those of us left, but I wouldn't be surprised if more than half only do it for one semester - of the 18 students that did BCA Xalapa this year, only four of us were here the whole year.

That makes me feel pretty special.

Now I just have to write 16 pages about society, the environment, and "any Mexican national social issue."

Required viewing

http://mx.youtube.com/watch?v=jjXyqcx-mYY

My friends are required to see that video.

Footwashing and Four-Square

Today, shortly before 1pm central time, I created a new blog. Within an hour it had more traffic hits than any of my other websites... too bad it's the only one I don't post advertising on.

The blog is called Footwashing and Four-Square, and is about young Brethren life and everything even remotely connected to it. It may also be relevant to BBAs (Brethren By Association), or basically anyone else. The URL is http://fwfs.blogspot.com.

Search engine hits

I installed Google Analytics a week or two ago to track my site traffic, since I'm trying to break into some kind of readership for my other blogs (Idberry and the Online Earnings Challenge). Since it's free, I went ahead and installed it on this blog too. Funnily enough, I get more traffic for my personal ramblings than I do for my professional writing.

Well, when I went to check my stats today, I found a cool little surprise waiting for me: two site visits had been referred by a search engine, both of which were supposedly new visitors. One appears to have been a crawler that was backtracking links to thepolitic.com, but the other googled "pulqueria xalapa" (I'm the fourth page and the third site for that search term), read three pages deep and spent almost 20 minutes on my website.

I could assume this is someone interested in Xalapa who found my site fascinating, but I think I know who it is. I told her about the pulquería in Xalapa but never took her. In looking for it, she found my blog.

If you come back, I'm sorry I never mentioned you.

Observations about me and the world

Does anyone else think we might be making more dangerous enemies with this Guantánamo stuff?

Today on a stupid TV show my family always watches, a joke along these lines was made:

"Hijo, contesta la puerta, alguién está tocando!"
"No papa, no está tocando, está golpeandola. Mira, la toco y no sirve, hay que golpearla."

Hahahahaha. The joke works because there is no word in Spanish for "to knock." Instead, they use "tocar," which means "to touch." So the joke is "No Dad, he's not touching the door, he's hitting it! Look, if I touch it there's no sound." Doesn't work in English.

A few nights ago I packed half my luggage. I still have a week left here. I have never in my life packed for anything more than eight hours in advance. In fact, I think I finished packing for Mexico about fifteen minutes before I left for the airport. Perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me something.

Religion and Obama

Check out this article I wrote for the Young Anabaptist Radicals blog about the hyper-enthusiastic Obama movement. It's real short.

He broke a promise! He broke a promise!

I am extremely disappointed by the lack of discussion on my last entry. I was all ready to post another big long analysis too, this one about Roe v. Wade.

Before I continue, I need to link Seb's post on the Obama fist pound (or terrorist fist jab). Then I need to take a moment to sob bitterly...

Okay. All better.

I try never to use the word "hate" in reference to a person. I openly hate my anthropology class, getting up in the morning, driving at night, egg casserole, Microsoft, the Pentagon, Coca-Cola (the company, not the drink) and the fact that Manchester no longer bothers to have any full-time professors for my major, but I really make an effort not to let myself hate people.



Lou Dobbs regulalry challenges this effort (click that link for a treat). It's not just that he's a xenophobic loudmouth; there are plenty of those. It's the way he comes on CNN, a fairly well-respected news network, proclaiming himself as independent (which he is) and talking like his opinion is the only one that matters. I seriously do not understand why anyone agrees to go on his show - they get four words in edgewise, are belittled and told how wrong they are, and then it's on to something else. And it's all done on a news network from a non-partisan guy, giving the impression that somehow he's the straight talker, cutting through everyone else's bullshit.

I just get sick and tired of the complete lack of respect for anyone else and, what's worse in my opinion, a refusal to see any other side of an issue.

Last night's episode was no exception. This time, he set my blood boiling by talking about Obama's broken promise.

For those of you who somehow missed it, the big issue here is that Obama has chosen not to accept federal funding (and with it, spending limits) for his presidential election bid. No other presidential nominee has done this since the system was set up after Watergate, but it's really an issue because he previous indicated that he would accept federal funding, making this a flip-flop for him or, as Lou Dobbs said six times in his five minute mini-coverage (and unvariably in response to every other point his guests tried to bring up), a broken promise.

Let's get the facts on the table before we continue: Barack Obama did say on a questionnaire in 2007 that he would accept public financing for the general election campaign, adding that he would make aggressive efforts to come to an agreement with his opponent on the matter.

McCain and Obama have very different things to say about this. The McCain camp is hammering home that Obama broke a promise to the American people, while Obama's campaign points to the "aggressive" efforts part. The two campaigns have very different stories about how aggressive the efforts were.

I think, on a matter of fact, that McCain has this one right. I doubt Obama's people made very serious efforts to come to an agreement on public financing, what with his massive fundraising advantage and all. He did, in fact, go back on his word.

Who cares?

When I got my ear pierced my sophomore year of high school, I let my dad think I was agreeing to never get any other piercings or tattoos. I didn't expressly promise (I wanted to keep a window open), but I did allow him to pay for the piercing under that understanding. I ended up having to return the $15, but I didn't pay interest.

I broke a promise. But what should I have done? Gone my entire life not doing something I wanted to do because of a promise I made when I was fifteen? That's ridiculous. I probably shouldn't have agreed to those terms in the first place (though I didn't have a problem with them at the time), but the fact is I changed my mind.

Barack Obama changed his mind. And no, it wasn't the move that showed the most integrity: he's got his foot in his mouth, because he was acting like some champion of public financing before he found out just how much money he was capable of raising, and now he's completely reversing his stance and pretending that somehow his private donor system is better than the pubic one. And just to make his stance look better, he adds some false claims about McCain's donor base.

I was going to make some aside remark about how I wasn't just defending my candidate and how I have a record of playing devil's advocate and apologizing for opponents, but I think I just showed that.

Anyway, back to the broken promise. Get over it. The facts changed, Obama found he could get a LOT more money this way, and he changed his mind. It was a legal decision, an expected decision, and probably a decision most other people in his position would make. To reject all that private money would essentially be to handicap himself and voluntarily surrender one of the real advantages he has over John McCain.

Besides, George W. Bush promised to win the war in Iraq. I think we'll all be thrilled if he decides to break that promise and give up. Sometimes changing your mind isn't all bad.

P.S. - I promise that if John McCain wins the 2008 presidential election, I will be in another country by October 2009.

Moral issues: Gay marriage

I'm sure you're all aware of the California Supreme Court decision last month legalizing same-sex marriage in the state:

The 4-3 ruling declared that the state Constitution protects a fundamental
'right to marry' that extends equally to same-sex couples.

The majority opinion, by Chief Justice Ronald M. George, declared that any law that
discriminates on the basis of sexual orientation will from this point on be
constitutionally suspect in California in the same way as laws that discriminate
by race or gender, making the state's high court the first in the nation to
adopt such a stringent standard.

Those who read my blog regularly will recall that I was elated by this news, both as a gay rights activist and an amateur legal scholar. You see, it's times like these that you can rest assured that our system of checks and balances is working: it is the judicial branch's (sometimes unpopular) job to protect minority groups from the whim of the majority. When the California Supreme Court struck down a ban on interracial marriage sixty years ago, it was an incredibly unpopular decision (90% of Americans opposed interracial marriage), but one we now recognize as correct.

So what's so wrong with a ban on gay marriage (44 states have such laws)? I'd like to know what's right with them. Here are a couple of points:

Victimless crime, or society at risk?

An anonymous quote that I love goes like this: "A great law protects me from the government. The Bill of Rights has 10 GREAT laws. A good law protects me from you. Laws against murder, theft, assault and the like are good laws. A poor law attempts to protect me from myself."

A ban on gay marriage does not protect me from my government, nor does it protect me from you. Now, gay marriage opponents will argue that we're not trying to protect people from each other, we're trying to protect society from a fundamental change in the definition of marriage.

This is a load of crap.

I keep hearing quotes from anti-gay groups in California justifying the now illegal ban by saying marriage has always been an intersexual affair (tell that to Massachusetts, Canada, Belgium and the Netherlands). But since when is that a good argument for anything? If we could travel through time, I'm sure we'd hear people saying, "But it's always been illegal for Blacks to marry Whites," "But we've always had slaves," "But women have never been allowed to vote," and so forth.

Gay marriage will not hurt society or the "institution of marriage." If marriage can survive Vegas, I don't think a couple of dudes walking down the aisle is going to cause marriage certificates to spontaneously combust. And arguing that heterosexual marriages are cheapened by gay marriage is just plain stupid (unless the temptation suddenly becomes just too much). It's been legal is Massachusetts for years, and that state's still there. I guess God's been too busy to go all Sodom and Gomorrah on their ass, what with punishing the sin fest that is New Orleans and all.

Which brings me to my other point...

God said don't be queer.

I won't go into all the things that are wrong with this theology, because it's completely irrelevant. Fortunately for those of us who still like our communion wine (or those of us who prefer not to eat our savior), the United States is not a theocracy, much less a nation founded on the strictest principles of fundamentalist Christianity. In short, what God said (or didn't say) should have no bearing on a country who holds in the higest import the freedom of religion. It is essential to a free society that we base our law not on religious code alone, but on an extrareligious examination of the consequences of our laws and the freedoms we hold dear.

A Christian attitude

Finally, I have to say that I don't think it's particularly Christian of us to focus so much effort on trying to enforce a personal ethic. To quote one of my favorite Facebook groups that I'm not a member of, "Don't like gay marriage? Then don't get one and shut the fuck up." (Ironically, that's not a particularly friendly attitude either, which is why I'm not a member.)

Outlawing gay marriage will not reduce homosexuality, nor will it make the people who pass the law any better. In fact, it might just get them in trouble:

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you (Matthew 7:12).”

In having such a law, we are only succeeding in denying a civil liberty to a group of people. But also, in vocally supporting such a law, we are turning gay and lesbian individuals away from Christianity. Sinners or not, don't we want to bring all people closer to God? Imagine what would happen if we were as hard on people about gluttony as we are about homosexuality - we'd have to cancel our ice cream socials!

Whatever God really thinks about homosexuality, we should be a little more concerned with following the examle of Jesus, and listening to what he said was important: Love God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as you love yourself.

Maybe we should save this whole condemning homosexuality thing until we can just get that part right.

Amending the Constitution?

The fight in California isn't over.

But the scope of the court's decision could be thrown into question by an
initiative already heading toward the November ballot. The initiative would
amend the state Constitution to prohibit same-sex unions.

I think this takes the cake as about the shittiest move ever. The Supreme Court ruled that we can't oppress a minority group, so let's change the document they base their rulings on (non sequiter: Dad, it's okay to end a sentence with a preposition). After all, it's the only way to bypass that stupid check on majority whim.

You know what? I support a Defense of Marriage amendment.

I think we should amend the United States Constitution to guarantee the right to marry to all people, gay and straight, everywhere in the country.

Comment away!

Summer Service 2008

I've started up another blog that I'll use for all things related to my internship at Aftercare for Indiana through Mentoring this summer. Obviously I'm not doing the internship yet, but I posted an introduction and a few links to info about Scout Fuller and the summer service award. Check it out at summerservice2008.blogspot.com.

Nico gives advice. Hilarity ensues.

Boot, at least, will catch the reference in that title. Lemisia might.

Several weeks ago I went out for coffee with a friend, who was at the time dating not one but two Mexican girls (one of whom knew about it). Buddy, it's people like you taking more than your share that leave some of us short. Anyway, he explained to me the following situation: Girl1, who was not aware of Girl2, saw him and Girl2 dancing at a club and became upset. The next day, which was when we were having coffee, Girl1's friends were engaged in a "find out what's going on" storm of text messages. My friend had to shore up his position. "I know I could smooth this over," he told me, "but I definitely won't get away with anything like that happening again. And Girl1 is kind of dramatic, so this is kind of fun to watch. Advice?"

I thought for a moment.

"Well," I told him, "I used to work for a guy who once cracked open a TV, filled it with gunpowder, and ignited it. Moral of the story: sometimes it's worth losing a TV to watch it explode."

My friend considers this some of the best advice he ever got.

When living here feels good

Before I write up the quick post I brainstormed on my walk over here, I want to comment that this is one of the sadder things I've seen in the news recently. I know it's not proportional, but I didn't know the four boy scouts or half-million Burmese. I mean, I didn't know Tim Russert either, but he still had a small place in my heart.

These are some of my favorite moments:

Walking on the street, I pass a Mexican guide with gawking tourists in tow.
Tour guide: "Up that way is a McDonald's..."
Me (interrupting: "It's actually a Burger King."
Tour guide: "Are you sure?"
Me: "Yes."

Me: "Hi, we ordered a pizza that was supposed to be delivered an hour ago, and we're still waiting."
Pizza Hut: "We tried to deliver it, but that address doesn't exist."
Me: "Yes it does."
Pizza Hut: "Our guy went all over. The house numbers start at 100. There's no house 3."
Me: "I live there."

I love feeling like a native.

Epilogue: An hour and a half later, the Pizza Hut guy met me on the street a block from my house with the pizzas. I showed him where my house was, and he showed me the slip where the address had been printed wrong. Since my host mom ordered, I highly doubt she gave the wrong address, and they do confirm with the phone number, which I know from past experience gives them the right address in their database. I think they forge this stuff to avoid admitting a mistake, and sure enough, I had to pay for the pizza.

Less than three weeks to go

My time here in Mexico is winding down... I can't get my head around it. Rob told us that the two hardest things we'll do this semester/year are get on the plane to come to Mexico and get on the plane to go home. I never really had a problem with coming here... it's just not my style, I guess. And others may (and have) scoff and snicker at the idea that I think I'm (mostly) immune to culture shock, but I have witnesses who concur that I never really had a problem adjusting.

But going home... that's going to be tough. Mexico has become my life. I have evolved and become a different person than I was in the United States. I have made new friends and learned to dislike new people. I have new foods, new routines, new preferences. I have new emotions and opinions and mannerisms. How can I pack all that into a box and bring it home with me? I'm over my luggage limit as it is.

Soon I'll be home with all the friends who were my friends a year ago, and they will expect me to be the same guy they remember. I'm not him. I won't want to do the same things, I won't wear the same clothes, I won't hang out with the same people. I'm afraid it will be like when I go back to Goshen and realize just how bad my life was back then, and how good it is at Manchester. Is Manchester going to be a painful memory too, now that I've had Xalapa?

I like to run away. To leave everything behind. That isn't a problem for me... the problem is going back and seeing the pieces of that old life and not knowing how - or particularly wanting - to pick them up.

Here and now, in these last weeks in Mexico, I'm sort of torn between loving life and hating just about everything that's happening in it. Ironic, huh? I think the downside to this blog being read strictly by people who know me is that I can't write about any of them. If I do that, people will start avoiding me like the preacher on a Friday, and for the same reasons. Yet people are such an intricate part of my life, especially right now.

The Adventures of Nidgin Idberry of Frockleton

You may recall I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that an adventure story setting I was working on. Having given up on any hope of developing my artistic skills, I have decided to publish the story in the form of blog entries. It can be found at idberry.blogspot.com.

While it's unusual to leave comments turned on for a publication of this sort, I did so because I am interested in hearing feedback from anyone interested in reading it. I know it's not extraordinary writing - I have done plenty of publication-quality writing, and I find it to be really stressful. This I'm doing for fun, with more focus on keeping the story moving than on describing everything perfectly. And maybe I'll develop my writing style along the way.

My eventual goal is to get enough interest in it that I can find someone to help me turn it into a web comic and/or graphic novel. For now, we'll see if there's any market for web-based storylines that don't include pretty pictures.

(I also considered using legos and a digital camera.)

Warning: Minor spoilers from episodes 1-3 to follow. Scroll past the next paragraph if you're a stickler for surprises.

The story centers around Nidgin Idberry, a scrawny 15-year-old blacksmith's apprentice who is launched into an adventure across the realm of Jedya when the shop, which is also his home, collapses into a cavern beneath his hometown of Frockleton. The other main character I've introduced is Eryn Stahr, a mysterious girl who possesses some degree of magic ability and is apparently, for some reason, an enemy of the king.

End spoilers.

It is a fantasy-fiction adventure in that it is a medieval setting with magic, but I'm trying to tell it more as a fairy tale (albeit one that involves some degree of violence and is not recommended for small children). Maybe think The 10th Kingdom.

So far I've written four episodes, three of which have been published. The fourth will appear on the site Saturday at 10:40 AM (I forget which time zone).

Here's another link.

Sometimes you want to go...

I think the anti-personal American business culture has affected us physiologically; namely when it comes to our memories. I am always cheerfully impressed when I drag my bag of laundry over to the lavadaría and the guy working there (the lavador?) writes "Nicolas" on my claim slip without even having to ask. I only stop by once every two, sometimes three weeks, so it's not as if I'd really expect him to know me by name. But he deals with me enough that I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.

The shock came Monday when I stuffed my bag full of ridiculously dirty clothes (pants in particular I try to get a lot of use out of) and trekked the two blocks to the place, only to find that my usual guy wasn't there. It was another guy, who I vaguely recognized but hadn't seen in at least three months. And true enough, he didn't just fill out the claim slip without asking. He said, "Nicolas, ¿sí?" Maybe I'm amazed by the way you remember my name all the time.

I like to think I'm becoming better at remembering names, too. For example, "the hot dog guy," who Seb and I long ago named "Joey," is actually named Alejandro. But since I don't actually like the other two Alejandros I know here in Xalapa (my host brother in Cuernavaca isn't bad), I'll stick with Joey.

Soon I won't have any classes

A couple of months ago, I went through the painstaking process of scheduling for next year. I know you all have to go through that, but I claim that mine was doubly tough since I was also designing my own major and writing up paragraphs justifying each class that I was requiring myself to take. But, with the help of the amazing Tim McElwee and Lila D. Hammer, I managed to come up with a gleaming new schedule.

Last week I was alerted that POSC 385, Seminar on Anarchism, has been cancelled. I do not appreciate this, since it's one of the aforementioned classes that is a requirement in the declaration of major I just revamped. Frustration.

Today, I am informed that SOC 328, Social Movements, was also cancelled. This isn't one I wrote into my major - it's one that's required for all Peace Studies majors, regardless of emphasis. I'm already taking one class tutorial, which, by the way, probably costs at least an arm, if not also a leg, so I'm pretty much screwed here.

Authentic Mexico

I now have two good, thought-provoking posts hostage.

Tex related a story about some of the new summer program students who have began flooding Xalapa with their bermuda shorts and bad accents. A large group of Americans were in La Oveja Negra drinking mojitos, and one of them commented, "I feel like this is, like, authentic Mexico!"

Really? White people and everything?

One of my favorite ways to experience authentic Mexico is to go to the pulquería on the other side of the center. Pulque is an alcoholic beverage made from the maguey plant, a relative of the agave from which we get tequila. Mexico's indigenous peoples used pulque for rituals, and it remained popular under Spanish rule because a drunk population is easier to control. Pulque was widely consumed until fairly recently, when the beer companies started misinformation campaigns claiming it was detrimental to the health. Now, there are just a few pulquerías still scattered about.

Yesterday I rounded up what became a rather large group of foreign students to go for pulque. I had no money, but with Jon and SB buying I managed to sweet talk my way into three mugs of the citrusy beverage. On previous visits I'd only ever had one, so I didn't really realize what I was in for. But pulque is most definitely stronger than beer.

The fun began after most all the white people had left, leaving just Nick and me behind. We had only been alone for a minute or so when some Mexicans invited us to go talk with them. They were all in their mid-twenties and wanted to pick our brains about "what Americans think of Mexicans." Let me tell you guys: I sure get sick fo speaking for you.

It ended up being a lot of fun. We spent hours with them hanging out at one guy's apartment and talking, and I gave my phone card to one of them who calls his girlfriend frequently from pay phones.

This is authentic Mexico: you meet people, you befriend them, you talk and have a good time. I've found that, in general, people here are far friendlier than in the States - though sometimes they need to get some race resentment out of their system first (I find I'm often listening to someone I just met rant about how Americans treat Mexicans).

Striking again

I wrote a fantastic post yesterday but am holding it hostage because nobody's commenting again.

A creative history of Frockleton

Many who know me will know that I have essentially written a full fantasy fiction book series in my head, and simply lack the motivation to type up these best-selling novels. These books have a sort of solemn outlook, inspired in no small part by The Lord of the Rings. Perhaps someone reading this will understand that the sort of setting for a book series like that may not lend itself well to, say, a Dungeons & Dragons campaign setting, or even a more differently styled, fun-filled adventure story (contrast LOTR with The Hobbit and you'll see a remarkable difference).

Because of this, I have over the years brainstormed many a fantasy fiction setting (and one or two half-baked sci-fi settings). I tell you all of this to introduce something that's been drifting around in my head for years: The Adventures of Nidgin Idberry of Frockleton.

The adventures started back when I ran the old version of nickkauffman.net and was looking for content to spice up my site. I planned a chapter-by-chapter, fast-paced story packed with adventure and hilarity and wrote out the first chapter from scratch, never making any character plans or actually developing the world. The project never came to fruition.

That was not, however, the death of Frockleton. I'm not sure if I have any fan crossover, but I used to post a stick figure comic called Nickslife Comics on a Xanga account*. Considering what little effort went in to drawing up the MSPaint-produced comics, I had a surprisingly dedicated fanbase. With Nidgin's adventures still in my head, I drew up this comic, converting the first part of Chapter One into a visual adventure.

I put an awful lot of work into that comic, and the limitations of using such a format are clear. Nothing ever came of it.

Finally, we arrive at today: I have in the past week drawn a full map of Jedya and written descriptions of the various inhabitants. I've thought through the overall plot of the greater story, with a few cliché twists in there. And I'm considering publishing it chapter-by-chapter on a separate blog.

What I have to ask myself is, is there a market for this kind of story? What this really should be is a comic. Unfortunately, my drawing skills are limited to cubes, funny-looking trees, and something that is getting closer and closer to looking like a front view of the U.S.S. Enterprise (the Starfleet ship, not the U.S. aircraft carrier). The remaining sliver of hope is the observation that two of my favorite web comics, Penny Arcade and Three Panel Soul, both involve a writer-artist partnership.

So, does anybody know a good artist?

*The reason I'm not posting a link is that Xanga did not at the time allow image hosting, so all the comics were hotlinked to a folder on nickkauffman.net. I canceled my web domain, which wiped out the images. The original copies were lost from my hard drive at some point along the way.

Why you should fear me

Those of you who play obscene amounts of Space Cadet Pinball are probably familiar with the phenomenon in which you earn four extra balls and three replays on your first deploy and rack up about 12,000,000 points, only to have your second and third balls fail miserably. That happened to me, but I made enough use out of the first deploy to score 14,159,750 points, all just because it was raining and I didn't want to leave the internet café.

In blog-related news, I'm having a few issues with my element display that I hope will go away on their own, since everything appears to be in order on my dashboard. I added a feed from my Twitter account for those little thoughts that aren't detailed enough to deserve their own post, and a couple of corporate blog links. Also, after knowing about it for several months, I finally fixed the dead link to Anna Banana's site (she threw me off with the "www" addition to her URL).

They keep trying to save me

Most of my more dedicated readers will know by now that my host family are Jehova's Witnesses, and that they are at least slightly crazy. I believe that these are two separate factors that work together to make my housing situation more interesting, rather than being directly related.

This has not always been clear, and I can name one particular example in which the obfuscation became awkward. It was over winter break, and I was at home having the Kauffman family Christmas dinner with my aunts and uncles (and parents and brother). Conversation turned to my host family back in Mexico, and I immediately said "They're crazy!" Before I could elaborate with tales of lacking sanity, my dad interjected, "Yeah, they're Jehova's Witnesses, right?" True. But as far as I know, that's not why they're crazy. And again, before I could get any words out, my uncle Tim turned to me and told me he was studying to be a Jehova's Witness. It was an incredibly uncomfortable situation, and now I'm the intolerant one.

Anyway, I think there are things to be learned from the Jehova's Witnesses (or Testigos de Jehova). Today a nicely-dressed man caught up with me as I was walking between schools and said, "Una disculpa, ¿Usted habla inglés?" I said that I did, which is always risky if you're trying to get somewhere on time, and he pulled a copy of The Watchtower from his bag and handed it to me, explaining that this issue was about la creación ("What Does Creation Reveal about God?"). I told him I live with Jehova's Witnesses and didn't need to take one of his copies, but he said to go ahead and take it since it was already in my hand. I can't argue with that logic.

Most churches have some sort of theological pamphlet available. Off the top of my head, the Church of the Brethren has Messenger magazine, the quarterly Brethren Life & Thought, and congregational and district newsletters. But the Jehova's Witnesses pass them out to people like me on the street in a friendly, non-preachy way. Realistically, most of them probably go in the trash, but some of them are bound to be read. And this isn't blind fundamentalist preaching (no apologies) - they actually encourage you to study and develop your own thought (with the help of Church publications). From conversations with my host family, I think these people are better Biblical scholars than most average churchgoers (I'm proud to say that so far I've been able to hold my own in referencing scripture).

Oh, and readers: how many of you have allowed a father and son to share your house for a few days simply because they were seeing the same eye surgeon as you and lived further away? (I guess this only applies to people who have had eye surgery.)

¿Hay machismo en la lengua castellana?

Those of you who understand Spanish (or, as this particular piece more correctly calls it, Castilian) will appreciate this article one of my professors gave me earlier this year.

Dios: creador del universo y cuya divinidad se transmitió a su Hijo (varón) por línea paterna.
Diosa: ser mitológico de culturas supersticiosas, obsoletas y olvidadas.

Patrimonio: conjunto de bienes.
Matrimonio: conjunto de males.

Héroe: ídolo.
Heroína: droga.

Atrevido: osado, valiente.
Atrevida: insolente, mal educada o puta.

Soltero: codiciado, inteligente, hábil
Soltera: quedada, lenta, ya se le fue el tren.

Suegro: padre político
Suegra: bruja, metiche, etc.

Machista: hombre macho.
Feminista: lesbiana

Don Juan: hombre en todo su sentido
Doña Juana: mujer desconocida, cualquiera

Zorro: espadachín justiciero.
Zorra: puta

Perro: mejor amigo del hombre.
Perra: puta.

Aventurero: osado, valiente, arriesgado, hombre de mundo.
Aventurera: puta.

Ambicioso: visionario, enérgico, con metas.
Ambiciosa: puta.

Cualquier: cosa o persona indeterminada.
Cualquiera: puta.

Fulano: persona indeterminada.
Fulana: puta.

Callejero: de la calle, urbano, guía de la ciudad.
Callejera: puta.

Hombrezuelo: hombrecillo, varón, mínimo, pequeñito.
Mujerzuela: puta.

Hombre público: personaje prominente.
Mujer pública: puta.

Golfo: masa de agua marina parcialmente rodeada de tierra.
Golfa: puta.

Lobo: mamífero predador rapaz y feroz; hombre agresivo.
Loba: puta.

Ligero: hombre débil y/o sencillo
Ligera: puta.

Adúltero: infiel
Adúltera: puta.

Putin: jefe de estado ruso.
Putina: puta, putilla.

Hombre que vende sus servicios: consultor.
Mujer que vende sus servicios: puta.

Hombre de la vida: hombre de gran experiencia.
Mujer de la vida: puta.

Rápido: inteligente, despierto.
Rápida: puta.

One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song

I finally figured out how to embed YouTube videos in my blog and decided to celebrate with this piece of hilarity.

Nothing relevant

I re-read my last post today - something that I should do more often, as I often find grammatical errors - and noticed that I used the phrase "supersonic speed" in reference to my reading. I thought this was funny because "supersonic" means "faster than the speed of sound." This is a slightly awkward phraseology* not only because sound has nothing to do with this, but because the speed of sound is a fixed velocity at which sound waves travel through space (specifically, a standard oxygen/nitrogen mix at 20 degrees Celsius). I don't think this is comparible to speed of reading comprehension, as the nerve impulses in my brain are traveling at the same 20-30 m/s as in any other brain. (Reading speeds, while measurable, will no doubt vary depending on word complexity and context.)

I think I'll stop there, because I'm starting to ask the question "what does move faster when I read?" Off the top of my head, I think I remember hearing that speed reading isn't about reading lines faster - it's about absorbing more words at the same time. However, this tangent could lead into some pointless research and distract me from my writing.

I am happy to report that there is one person that truly understands me. God bless you, Billy Joel. (I was surprised to learn that he's slightly younger than my dad).

*Immediately after using the word "phraseology," I looked it up to see if it was a real word. I am proud to report that it is.

Which language is funnier?

K-Cizzle seems to be giving me crap for writing too much about politics and not enough about me. I cannot resist, however, expressing my excitement about my main man's endorsement of my backup man. Click the link for a class-A speech by John Edwards. In other political news, the California supreme court today ruled that a state ban on gay marriage is unconstitutional. It has always been my stance that the nearly nationwide exclusion of gay couples from marriage is one of the most shameful bits of injustice still alive in our legislature, and I get pretty worked up about it. For a smile, imagine me cheering out loud when I saw the news on CNN and then explaining to my Jehova's Witness host family why I was so happy.

Okay. I'm sorry, Kacie. Both of those things made me really, really happy. That's something about me, isn't it?

Sebastian and Sara Beth (no link because she hasn't updated since Thanksgiving) have both commented to me in the past over the fact that our personalities are often different depending on what language we're speaking. For example, I am widely considered to be hilarious in English, while most Mexicans who know me think I'm pretty quiet (there are more extreme examples, but none of you know the guy and then I wouldn't be writing about me). But it's definitely true. My host family thinks I'm a quiet guy who's completely devoted to his studies. This is clearly not true, but it can be hard to crack jokes in your second language.

Prime example: I got my hair cut three months ago - a rather drastic change from my ponytail-length locks. My host mom, shocked, said, "¡Te cortaste el pelo!" ("You cut your hair!") I gave her my normal reply to this comment, introducing my old joke to a new language: "No, alguién más me lo hizo" ("No, somebody else did it for me"). She did not laugh.

I pushed the event to the back of my mind, so it was not until a long time later that I suddenly realized why the joke wasn't funny. "Te cortaste el pelo" does not only mean "you cut your hair." Those exact same words would also be the translation for "you got your hair cut" or "your hair was cut." The words do not automatically imply that I did the action - they could simply be a passive way of saying the action was done to me.

Humor, though, is the least of my worries when it comes to crossover between English and Spanish. I have concluded that reading is a real problem for me, and I think I know why: in English, I am more or less a speed reader. I'm not one of those freaks you see on TV waving his hand across a page and absorbing every word, but I find that when I hand someone else a paragraph to read, I can read it to myself four or five times (or more) while they work on it once. I cannot do this in Spanish - at least not yet. But my eyes expect my brain to snatch the words off the page at supersonic speed, so they scan rapidly across the lines and leave me having no idea what I just read. In other words, how I'm trained to read doesn't work with a second language. I literally have to go one word at a time, absorbing about three before my habits kick in and I start zipping across the page again. Then I go back and read the next three words. By the time I've done this a few times, I'm thinking so much about how I'm reading that I've forgotten what I already read.

It sounds funny, but this has been a real issue for me.

Finally, I suppose I should put some kind of personal update in here for people who want to know what I'm up to. As always, I'm watching TV, interspersed with occasional bars and internet cafés. I've been at least mildly depressed for a month or two, and I'm really just looking forward to coming home and spending an entire four days with my family before I head down to Indianapolis to work (this will more than likely result in more depression, since I'm spending half my summer living alone in a city where I don't really know anyone).

There might also be one or two things bringing me down that I haven't mentioned.

And on that note, I'm out.

EDIT: Thank you John (and I suppose Elaine, though I don't know you) for this. Laughing out loud in internet cafés does invite stares.