Just a Diary Entry: Good Times Weekend / Sprawl MMX

Despite the annual plunge into 110+ degree days, I pulled off a thoroughly enjoyable weekend down here in Sunny Azz. After Friday afternoon's ill-timed* afternoon class, I trekked down to my advisor Jason's place for the summer Bio & Society Society (that's right, BS Society, so clever) BBQ featuring philosophers and real life scientists. Andrew, Shannon, Mark&Amy (currently a singular entity), Jake, Chris and, natch, Jason comprised the relatively humanoid spectrum of the attendees, with grad students of the predictable social-tic genres rounding out the crowd. Beck was kind enough to make the trip after work, only to suffer the consequences of conversation crafted by people involved in parsing arguments, manipulating snake glands and staring at plants for hours per day in secluded quarters. Straight from the If You Thought Med School Party Conversations About Exams Were Bad Channel, we heard all about whether a snake's decision to bite is a conscious one, whether a goatee indicates that one is an evil twin or "just that we are in the evil universe right now," a not-so-appetizing nickname for facial hair beneath the lip - let's just call it a "malphemism" - and a "who can top whom" competition of gross-out tales culminating in a strip club narrative of venereal disease and necrophilia. Oh, these were ungood times. Nonetheless, we managed an enjoyable evening by singling out the few normals in the crowd and munching away on sausage, pita bread, grilled sweet corn, apple pie and the tasty beverages of our choosing (coke nada for me, as I had SLUGgin' to do in the morning - yes, I am starting to be that guy [hangs head in shame]).

* - Seriously: Friday afternoon classes? Whose idea was this? IMHO, the only sort of viable workplan for a Friday afternoon involves a margarita and blasting Erasure. See Rice comma 2000 comma Danimal's Balcony. Right now, for one more painful week only, I'm locked up helping students with paper topics from 2:30-4. Surely there are worse things in life. But equally surely there are better. That involve Erasure.

Beck and I escaped by the appointed 9 pm Beck bedtime and caught a Wire episode before bed - I should note that we are mowing that series down, and I'll try to write something with a fresh angle at some point. Saturday started HEXTA early with a wake up, eat a carby breakfast, go to the fields at 6:45 for a 7:30 warmup before SLUG. Beck had CE all day that fortunately started at noon, so she got to sleep in a bit. Kinda a crappy way to spend a day off for her, though, and worse it left me on my lonesome for the day's and evening's social activities. Egads.

SLUG went really well - for the first time, I got bitchy about the time of the game (we had World Cup to watch afterwards) / RSVP process and required people to sign up ahead of time or pay an extra five dollars to pay. This also carried a five dollar penalty for no-showing (the collection of which will undoubtedly prove challenging). Consequently, I was able to set and balance the lineups well ahead of time, and with the extra time to balance things out, I actually did a reasonable job. And then... Cole no-showed (cough, cough, five dollars), leaving one of the teams decidedly short-handed in the talent department. I pulled a little bit of an ornery "this is not my problem; if you want to get mad, get mad at Cole" line, which may or may not make me a bitchy individual but got across my overall lesson of personal responsibility w/r/t Sprawl. Of course, a new guy from Florida, Fernando, showed up late, and as he wasn't on the mailing list and is new to the area, it would have been *really* bitchy of me to charge him an extra five. Fernando is quite the decent player, so Cole's absent talent was at least partially replaced, and the game roared on. Lesson lost. So it goes. At least we started at 8 for once!

Good, tight game with few turnovers* - dark took the first game 13-12 on serve, and white took the second game 13-6. A wind had kicked up right around 11-6 in the second game, leading white (my side, btw) to throw a Z that dark couldn't crack. We continued the trend in the overtime game to 3, got a few bad turns out of their hands, and took a 2-0 lead. They eventually cracked the Z to make it 2-1, then threw one at us that Garret, Trant and I devoured for the 3-1 win. So, you'll note, my losing streak was not one, and I am back on the sunny side of life: 11-1 in 2010 in SLUGs (and my personal game in this one was just fine, with a few big IO hucks, only one turn (on which a "new" guy** made an impossibly bad play), and some breakmark throws taboot). Huzzah.

* - So, a forty-to-fifty year-old experienced player who will remain nameless showed up to compete... and played more than his share, didn't know the offense, blew his mark, didn't go to the disc, and turned an easy possession over on the goal line. I am generally not one to directly turn people away from our weekly competitive scrimmage - I try to let people figure out whether they belong - but wow, hombre did not get it and accepted no empirical evidence. And you'll note that when you lose a game 13-12 on serve, and one dude contributes three turnovers in a game that features no more than ten per side... well, this entirely contradicts Justin G's thesis that individuals cannot lose team games, but there you have it. Look at me, keeping up the bitching throughout a post. To be fair, this behavior aggravates me independent of whether said offender is on my team at the scrimmage. Sure, come out and play, but know thy role - I'm not going to call myself the primary cutter in a game with All the Young Dudes, you need to dump it back to a handler in key situations. Rant over.

** - Yeah, same guy.

Even better, almost everybody came out for pizza at Venezia's and the World Cup USA-Ghana game afterwards. Exciting atmosphere - we all had a good, relaxed, USA-cheering time and hung around until the end of regulation. Of course, I tried to rush home before the start of the two fifteen minute OT periods, only to turn on the tele at home to find the U.S. of A. down 2-1. Oof. So not a great end, but a good athletic playing and watching morning regardless.

Came home to scrub dishes and the pool and generally hang with the dogs. Aforementioned frisbee pal Garret was having a non-frisbee shindig at his house in Tempe that night, so I ran to the store to buy beers and ears (of corn). Beck was still stuck at CE, so I trekked down to Tempe to be the seventh wheel of a couples' party - 'twas okay, 'cause I had a great time playing water volleyball, eating turkey/salmon burgers, and generally chatting with a bunch of really nice folks who all turned out to work at ASU. Garret (and Amanda, his Pippen) have a lovely house, and it's recently been augmented by a RIDONCULOUS outdoor surround sound HD home theater system that, oh yeah, resides just beyond the pool. We watched a few minutes of Pirates of the Caribbean at all kinds of epic, neighbor-disturbing volume before my 5 am wakeup time and a waiting Beck necessitated my departure. Great to hang with the Westlakes and friends in a non-Ultimate environs - I'd like to thank them on behalf of the group, and hope my semi-sleep-deprived solo-self passed the audition. Seriously, thanks for a fun social evening.

Beck sadly enough worked on Sunday, so I spent the day doing chores - more pool-scrubbing and some lawn-mowing - then caught a Cubs game, did some reading and waited for PM Ulty to roll around. Oh, right, and decided the fate of Sprawl. No, really, I finally got a hold of JD and went over tryouts, the roster, everything - it involved a fair bit of deliberation, mulling over, insert your term here, but we whittled things down to a traveling roster of 21 that we believe maximizes chances for our Natties aspirations. I can't go into details for all of the obvious, authenticity-destroying-yet-feeling-sparing reasons, but sure, I'll list the initial roster below (note that it's already changed, as people have backed out. D'oh). That was a stressful endeavor, one that continues to be stressful, but yeah, I feel we got the job done. The reviews thus far are, I don't know, mixed? Not a whole lot of bitching to our faces, and some people who say we more or less "got it right," so I suppose we did okay. Definitely the sucky part of the captaining gig, and naming the alternates whom we choose to replace the no-goers to particular tourneys will continue to be an ulcer-inducing pain. Comes with ye olde territor-e, though.

That was me being entirely nondescript about a process that was more stressful than perhaps I'm willing to let on, but there ya have it. Anyways... we *finally* had a good turnout at Sunday pickup, despite the 108 degree weather and a water-logged (!*) field, so I got another heady workout in on the weekend. A little awkward to play pickup with guys whom I had already "cut" or "accepted," but I got through it okay. Actually, on the physical end I did not get through it okay - my knee got wonky toward the end, and stayed wonky to the extent that I was unable to practice Monday. D'oh. The beat rolls on. I rushed home post-pickup to yet another delicious grilling meal from the Beck. Nice cap to a fun weekend, even if I did not get to spend quite as much of it with my SLF as I might have liked.

So yeah, good times, and then back to the grind of ASU on Monday. It's stupidly hot lately - over 110 pretty much every day - and my enthusiasm for, among other things, the 0.7 mile walk from my parking lot to my office, has started to wane significantly. Sentiments for another post. In the meantime, here's the Sprawl roster as of that Monday morning. That Monday night involved more of the awkward non-referencing the disappointment and/or joy of not-making / making the team, and my injury / inability to practice made the whole experience relatively miserable. Ah, I whine with the best of them. Time to stop typing. More reports later...

Sprawl MMX Initial Roster (6.27.10)

--------------------------------

1. Eric Bay

2. Cole Cairl

3. Justin Dhein

4. Kyle Gerschutz

5. Justin Gries

6. Aaron Harczynski

7. Will Holt

8. Nyet Jones

9. Joe Kauffman

10. Josh Kohl

11. Vince Noe

12. Dixon Oates

13. Rob Ozdoba

14. Bryan Paris

15. Ian Phillips

16. Josiah Roberts

17. Tom Studer

18. Jason Trant

19. Andy Wade

20. Garret Westlake

21. Jia Xie

The Aftermath / The State of Nyet

As mentioned, the hits just keep on coming. Beck had Thursday off, so after returning the mountain of papers that Jenny and I graded (in SA / Austin and over the past week) to the class that afternoon, I met her at SMOCA so she, too, could enjoy the Close portraits and the design-in-music exhibit. This was the day after the Jon Spencer Knee Explosion, so I couldn't really walk around the museum very well, but I enjoyed the second time just as much as the first. Home for some delicious (and light) codfish and broccoli dinner, and we got ready to get back to the grind on Friday.

Elaine (Beck's 5th year college roomie) and her new husband Jamie met us with D/C at the Biltmore's showing of Dr. No, the original James Bond movie. Interesting to see both what passed for special effects and good dialog back in 1962 (not to mention the exquisite old school sexism). Enjoyable enough, especially over Red Devil and followed by a stupidly colossal MoJo chocolate mocha mint concoction. After another working day, we met the same crew (plus E/J's friends Mike and Anna) at Barrio Cafe, a neighborhood fancy Mexican place that we've been meaning to try since we got here. Good if stupidly expensive, Barrio at least gave us a good environment to wait an hour-plus to be seated and enjoy some quality grub. The plan is to have Elaine and Jamie over for burgers tonight, too.

And lest you think that the train of family / friends is over, co-captain Genevieve is going to be in town this coming weekend. Yay! We're headed down to Tucson to play in Uoma Donna, a fun co-ed Ulty tourney that includes general silliness as well as good Ultimate (as well as a "two point for cross-gender hucks from behind the half field line" rule, which always makes for hilarity). Getting Genevieve to fly in and forming a siiiiick team has been a plan in the works for a few months now, so my general level of pissedness at potentially driving down and sitting on the sidelines is extraordinary. I've probably ranted about it enough, but the timing of this sucks, and it supersucks that after all the disciplined eating at working out and general effort at preventing this from happening, here I am again with a busted knee from trying to be a club Ultimate player. I'll spare you more because I'd hate for this to become VhinBallad - you know, whatevs. I'll have fun with G et al - my plan is to rest / ice and try to get the swelling down by Wednesday, see how it takes to a league game, and then evaluate whether I think it'll stand up to a full weekend after that. I'm going to try to make a doc's appt. in there, too, because as my dad points out, knee effusion is decidedly un-normal (even though I think I've got subclinical effusion *all-the-time*, so this may just really be a flare-up-plus). I'm trying to stay upbeat about it, but the usual frustration is settling in nicely today. D'oh.

Otherwise, I am suffering the rush of the late semester. Not worth going into details, but there's enough work to do that I should probably stop blogging now. Actually, it's not terrible; just a couple big assignments and all the TAing left to be done, and hopefulyl I'll pull it off. I'm not going to worry.

Alright, to that end, here we go. This post feels boring; sorry for that. Time to grab some food and get back to work. Here we go (incidentally, Alex O. pressed all game long and didn't score. Ah, well).

NOW That's What I Call Club Ultimate, Vol. 2: Sprawl NYF 2010

I shouldn't fail to mention that in the midst of the all the Sprawling, co-captain Genevieve and her special man friend Pete stayed with us. She was playing with one of the Phxation split-squad teams; he was playing with the aforementioned lame out ASU alumni team. AS is usual with tourneys, we didn't get to hang out a whole lot, but beck and I enjoyed having them stay with us and traverse our animal-laden home terrain. Here's an action shot of the G-child accompanied by an Awwwwww shot, both courtesy of super photographer Joanne:

I should also not fail to mention that D/C had a birthday dinner / party on Saturday night. We couldn't get to the dinner on time because of the frisbee, but Christina had e-mailed us a few times and kept sending texts that she really hoped we could make it for dessert at their place ... which was fine, but a little odd as we had already planned to meet them at their house afterwards. It was as though you called someone to say "Okay, I'll see you at the movie" and they replied "I really hope we see you at the movie!" Um, okay. :) Turns out their was a method to the madness (or at least a hormonal explanation?) - over some delicious cheesecake and pie, we were very excited to find out that D/C is now D/C+ and are roughly ten weeks along! Yay! Congrats to the happy couple, and we look forward to thoroughly spoiling your offspring.

Back to the disc: Sunday started off with a showdown with the Tucson guys in the form of Arson/Monsoon featuring a few of the people we tangled with in the finals of Hoasis (with the noted absence of Grob). If the Nyet-Dhein-Cole combo beat them at Hoasis, the Sprawl combo overwhelmed them. I was nervous going in, realizing that Saturday's opponents had turned out to be a little lacking, and wondering what the quarters would hold. No worries needed - the D just swarmed, got the disc and did not give it back. It was 4-0 before anyone had blinked, our D had not turned it over ... when we turned an endzone possession over that would have made it 5-0, the general sentiment (and the actual quote heard*) was "Wow, they made a mistake." We didn't make many - 7 turns total, and our D pretty much ruled the game. A quick 13-3 win gave us time to watch the B+ squad battle it out with Le Tigre, the team I played with at NYF last year**. This time around it was still the core of Jamal and a few older guys, but they also had some of the Sweet Roll stalwarts (whose names I don't recall). The B+ guys tried hard to set up a semis rematch, but Le Tigre/ Roll rolled, so we were going to be facing some of our big rivals on the way to the semis.

* - Speaking of, well, speaking, with the other team I mean, I did nearly none of it this weekend. I think I made one call (on Jose in the B+ game, who pretty gratuitously ran into me - it wasn't bad, just dumb, and you can see it early in the video on the previous post) all weekend and generally kept all my fiery discussion to our huddle. BUT one thing happened in this game that was funny while I was not in the game (and thus not "making a call") but on the sideline. We pulled it, the disc was floating clearly out of bounds, but after the receiver on the other team made the brick call, he caught the disc about five yards out of bounds. By rule, he had to play the disc where it crossed the sideline - you have to let it actually land out of bounds in order to make the middle call (for the hopefully obvious reason that you don't want people calling out of bounds on close discs and then catching them such that you would never know; plus it gives you a time advantage to catch the disc and run to the middle of the field. Regardless of the rationale, the rule is very plain). So as he started to walk it to the middle, I pointed out that hey, wait, you have to play it there. Grumble, grumble from the other team - it was 10-2 at the time, why are you being so particular, etc. But my favorite was the classic Ultimate comment, "Are we gonna play Ultimate, or are we going to play the rules?" I was trying to be in nice mode, so I said to go ahead and take it to the middle, but know the rule, and the captain from the other team actually sincerely thanked me for the good spirit. Anyways, that was the height of controversy from me this weekend, so yay for that.

** - Interestingly enough, the "red-headed guy" I mentioned clocking in that past is Ian who is now running with Sprawl. Great dude, great player, and *that* is part of the general coolness going on - we're attracting players down from Flagstaff! Hope we can keep this up.

Again, I got a little nervous - the Sweet Roll players were stud dudes, probably the best competition we had seen so far. What I forget in these situations is that our DUDES - BP, Rob, Dhein, Griesy, Cole, and Dixon in particular - are way more than two tall dudes can handle. Our guys all brought the fire, AGAIN - we started on O for the first time on the weekend, but quickly went up a break 2-0, then traded to 4-2, then ran it to 6-2 before making our first turn. Our big guys shut their big guys down, and we AGAIN were just way too much for them, with another stellar across the lineup effort. Only five turns* in this one, most coming well after the game was decided, and we clubbed our way to the finals 13-4. Lots of excitement for this one as most of the other local teams (ASU alumni, Phxation teams, etc.) were done playing by this point, so we had a sizable crowd and a lot of people giving the "when did Sprawl get good?" quotes. Even Vince, who quite moronically decided to play with ASU Alumni this weekend, was kicking himself a bit over not playing with a team that had finally worked itself into something of a crisp machine. Anyways, Le Tigre was very gracious in the loss, wishing us luck against PBR Street Gang in the finals (and Jerrel asking me to hurry up and turn 33 so I can play in the masters series).

* - I made my first turn of the weekend in this one on a backhand huck to Griesy that he pulled up on and couldn't catch up to. I do not regret it, as it was exactly the throw I wanted to make. As all handlers know, it is always the receiver's fault, but on this one I thought I laid out there for him well enough. Ah, well.

Ah, the finals - PBR Street Gang is a San Diego team placed 15th at nationals last year and actually made some noise, beating semifinalist Ironside in pool play and GOAT along the way. They brought a limited but quite talented squad to NYF and looked to be some serious competition - Dhein and I had been excited all week to see what we could do against a nationals-caliber bunch. We ended up playing a tense, action-packed finals that was one of the more exciting Ultimate games I've seen / been a part of. The skinny is that we lost by a single break, 14-12, but more importantly quite obviously demonstrated that we can hang with these guys, no question. The game was (obviously) a lot tougher than the rest of our weekend's games, and there were quite a few differences that took hold when playing an elite team:

1. They killed, killed us on 50-50 discs. Just had tall dudes who went up and got it. They were generally more tenacious on discs in the air than I've seen in quite some time, and this was easily the difference of the game - they made more plays than we did. This is a decided weakness of ours, and something we will work on (it also would have helped to have another goon on our side, VINCE!)
2. Their hucks were actually accurate and all playable. Other teams threw it away deep way more often than these dudes did.
   
3. They broke us pretty easily. We need nastier marks, no doubt.
4. They were the first team to resort to junk defenses - half-zones and poaches - to slow us down. This on the one hand is good because it means they could not stop us in a straight man to man setup, but it's bad because we didn't react to it fast enough. But the latter is actually fine because we were using this weekend to work out the kinks in our O - phase two is to adjust to the weird things that D's try to do against us.
   

So we've got a lot of work cut out for us, but this was a fantastic chance to see exactly what we're going to need to work on. Look forward to running into these dudes a few more times this season.

I'll put up some videos, highlights and photos of finals in a separate post, as this is getting long.

Are Than Ow? / Pickup Line

Good times on the home front - Beck had both of the weekend days off and a quarter marathon to run on Sunday, so we took it relatively easy on Saturday - hit up Lola's and dominated the NYT Saturday (!) puzzle over mochas and pastries. (No Saturday morning frisbee por moi because most of the Phoenix disc scene was in L.A. for Lei-Out, a beach tournament I attended last year with the Tuftsmen. I stayed home this year to cheer on Beck in the P.F. Chang's race). We ran by the Phoenix Concention Center (I think) to grab Beck's race paraphernalia and enjoyed the spectacle of the alien master skinny race that had descended on Phoenix for the weekend. I ended up circling the downtown block while Beck ran in to avoid the ridiculous "EVent Parking" charges, and I had a grand time trying to figure out the logic of the one-way streets of downtown Phoenix. Came home to watch a disaster (locally speaking, anyways) of a playoff football game b/w the Cards and the Saints. Speaking of his holiness, I'm pretty sure Warner got sainted at one point during the game:

Yowsers. Fortunately, the debacle was tempered by some ridiculously delicious and, I'm sure, healthy chipotle-velveeta-sausage dip and chips. Mmmmm ... the second game did not fare much better, with some idiocy before the half by the Ravens allowing the Colts to run away with things rather handily. In fact, this play pretty much exemplifies the kind of day the bad boy Ravens had:

Oops. I ran over to the Parlor at some point to grab some carbo-loadage for Beck and a pizza for myself. All in all a groovy day - we went to bed pretty early for the early-to-rse that needed to happen on Sunday morning.

Took Beck to the starting line in downtown Phoenix at about 7:45 AM, hitting a mass of traffic. Something like 30,000 people were participating in the marathon and half-marathon, and I'm pretty sure all of them drove themselves down there. I ran back to the house to take care of the animals, drove to the local Circle K to get Beck some post-race electrolytes, and drove to our pre-determined spot on McDowell Rd., approximately at the 10K mark. Dan & Christina nicely met me down there, though the McD's breakfasts they brought were, I think, a direct taunting of the running masses. We got to enjoy the antics of the surrounding spectators - one group just yelled out things people had on their jerseys or pointed out things about people's clothing ("Yeah! Go Penn State! Yeah person wearing pink socks!") while a dude acroiss the street was offering "Free High Fives" to the racer, complete with a homemade sign and an excessively anthusiastic voice - Dan guessed that this guy was in marketing and not engineering. As a side note, I am not sure what inspires people to watch foot races - it's one thign to cheer on someone you know, but to just stand there and yell at a morass of strangers? I mean, props for supporting them, but there are more exciting things to do with your self. Among other things, the constant motion of a crowded footrace can actually induce some "moving ground" optical illusions, further proving that Descartes was right and we cannot trust our senses. (Ftr, *if* you are going to attend a race with teh sole purpose of telling jokes along the side, please spend the previous evening writing some clever one-liners. The racers may only hear you once along a 13.1 mile course, but I heard your repeated junk for an hour and half! UGH).

It didn't take Beck and hour and a half to do the 10K - she got placed in about the 15th wave of runners and so started at 9:00 instead of 8:30 as scheduled. She ran a solid 1:05 10K, which is awesome. We congratulated her and headed back to the car I had parked around the corner. After a shower and some recovery, we spent some Lux bucks on a well-deserved late breakfast. And conquered the NYT Xwd, nasty Avatar clues notwithstanding.

Caught the end of the sixth of seven bad playoff games so far, this one involving the utter embarassment of the Cowboys. I couldn't take another crappy viewing, so I headed down to a fun game of afternoon pickup instead - got some great running and silly layouts in for the first time in a few days. It's supposed to rain a lot this week, so I'm not sure if we'll get Sprawl in; glad I got a chance to at least stay moderately in shape. Cam ehom eot some delicious Chinese food - not P.F. Chang's, but close enough.

And now I'm taking in my last day before classes kick back in tomorrow. Should be good to get back in the swing; I've got lab and Jenny's course to TA tomorrow, and plenty of my own work to do. Routine will be good. But until then, I'm going to enjoy my MLKJr. Day and the dreaded, dreaded birthday eve eve. Sprawl might be off tonight; hope not, but playing in the cold and rain can be pretty miserable anyways. We need the work, though. We'll see...

In Light of Evolution, or Pinkə at Sacklə

So big disclaimer - I have to be relatively careful here, unlike my normal shoot-from-the-hip express thyself with impunity style, because I'm guessing that if Christastrophe can track me down using google analytics, these high power science types can probably do the same and squash me like the academic piss-ant that I am. So take the following commentary as you will.

This past weekend I traveled* to the OC to attend the Sackler Colloquium sponsored by the National Academy of Sciences entitled "In the Light of Evolution IV: The Human Condition."** It's a rather prestigious conference with a number of big deal speakers and a bit of an odd format. There's only one lecture hall, all of the speakers talk in it in succession, and you spend a serious amount of time listening to said talks: eighteen 50 minute talks over two days, with some coffee breaks and lunches and dinners sprinkled inbetween. The topics are all over the map, though at least in principle centered around evolution and the human condition. Long days and a ton of interesting information, though there are some interesting dynamics going on that I'll try to capture here.

* - You will recall that I had a flight delayed by three plus hours and was inserted into a dream world of gorillas, Suns girls and Grant Hill. I wasn't lying:

See? I *told* you the cheer outfits were absurd. Though, as Beck will tell you, nowhere near as absurd as the one we witnessed on lovely 24th street in Phoenix lately. Sheesh. That one is definitely NOT making an appearance in the Ballad.

** - "Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution" is a rather famous and oft-referenced quote / series of essays by Theodosius Dobzhansky, a sort of grandfather of evolutionary biology and the "modern synthesis" aka neo-Darwinism (or whatever the least offensive term is these days). He's known as "Doby" to his close friends and/or the kind of people who casually drop such tidbits in their lectures. I, ftr, do not know him as "Doby." Having read a whole lot of biology over the last few years, though, I'm going to have to agree. :) I mean, seriously, your genome is something like 30% mobile elements, pointless little sequences that do nothing much more than wreck other genes. Something like 1.2 million of them have been copied and copied and copied over the millenia. And your genome is also largely composed of remnant pseudogenes, no longer functioning sequences with all components of genes that are rendered inactive by accumulated mutations / errors / etc. So, um, show me a car that has a ton of the same random part strewn about it occasionally causing other parts to break, show me a bunch of other parts that would have worked in older models but no longer do, explain to me why an engineer would do that, and then we can start talking about intelligent design. Sound good?

The most obvious thing is that it's a non-specialty conference - you've got paleontologists, anthropologists, evolutionary biologists, biochemists, primatologists, evolutionary psychologists, geneticists, and the list goes on and on, all as speakers, let alone the variety of people in the audience (see, um, biology-based ethicists aka Nyet Jones). So you've got power player speakers, all of whom come from decidedly different backgrounds, some disciplines which have beefs with one another - most notably evo bio and evo psych, but also social scientists and "hard" scientists generally. But you've also got decorated experts in all of the fields sprinkled throughout the audience. The overall effect? First, there was an extreme air of deference. I'd venture that 95% of the questions that were actually asked* were of the softball variety. No serious challenges to claims, concepts, underlying methodology, none of the stuff I hear on a daily basis at talks at school. This was cool, on the one hand, because the oneupsmanship that goes on elsewhere can get a little tired. But on the other, it seemed that a lot of ideas went down completely unchecked - I would have enjoyed some interdepartmental wrestling, though I can understand why they perhaps did not want to foster that. I also saw a whole lotta hat-tipping and cultish lust for all things science. I get that it's a science conference and I shouldn't really be surprised, but I could have a used a bit more articulation with humanistic notions of "The Human Condition" subtitle.

* - This was a problem - speakers were given 50 minutes, and while the conference as a whole was run exactly and admirably on time, most of the speakers ran over by a minute or so and permitted little to no time for questions. I don't know if this was by design (i.e. people didn't want to have to answer a lot of q's in that environment; that seems unlikely, though, as these were all dynamic speakers at ease in front of the crowd and see the above notes on deference) or if people were just taking the long talk format to riff as much as they wanted. It definitely did not foster a whole lot of give and take - I asked no questions, but I probably would have chimed in on two of the talks in particular had there been more opportunity. Anyways, weird format, not to mention a little long-winded at times, and I would have preferred maybe 35 minute talks with fifteen minutes for Q & A or extended jamming or something. As it was, you had to try to grab people in coffee breaks or at dinner, and especially with some of the big-time guys (e.g., Ayala), it's hard to break into a crowd of ten people to have a real conversation over a ten minute coffee break.

The second effect, though, was a bit more disappointing. For the most part, the talks stuck to pretty surface level, survey course style accounts of research. I think people knew they were delivering talks to a broad audience - which they were - but as a consequence, some of the stuff presented amounted to summaries of a disciplinary approach or a life's body of work, and if you were familiar with the speaker's work already, it came off as a whole lot of stuff you already knew. Which, if you've flown far, spent several days alone in a hotel room etc. to hear, can be a bit irksome. Not that this held back the conference - I heard a lot of really cool stuff and learned a lot from the people I didn't know - but the people I specifically went to hear largely failed to deliver something that I hadn't already gleaned from reading their publications. Ah, well.

So, aside from my usual negative Nelly intro - long talks, surface talks, too much nicety to really hear what's going with scientific takes on the human condition, too much sitting in a single room* - the conference was quite nice. I had to cab it to and from the hotel, but otherwise, all transportation was taken care of - buses to and from the hotel (which was the shwanky Newport Beach Marriott) to the very posh Beckman center. We were served two excellent breakfasts and dinners and a wine-drenched banquet dinner as well as lots of gourmet coffee and snacks throughout both days. No complaints at all about the amenities; they were quite ridiculously good.

* - Holy footnotes Batman - but it's worth noting that I had Vietnam-style flashbacks to med school this past weekend, what with the single lecture hall, the power points, the fifty minute lectures, the occasional nodding off at a too-monotone discussion ...

There was time to chat over meals with various people, though as noted, with all the people there who already knew one another, it was sometimes a little tough to grab a table with a person you might want to talk to. I definitely would like to go to the next conference with someone I know - I was all by my lonesome, and while I'm okay at striking up conversations with strangers, it's a lot easier to join conversations in progress. The best chats I had were with groups of other students / professors at meals who all knew one another - I tracked down some of the interesting philosophy people in attendance, and it helped a ton to have them already engaged in various conversations and just slide in with a comment rather than doing the usual game of I'm so-and-so and what do you study? So that was cool - I met some UC Irvine people doing various things with monkeys and morality, people I might be interested in thinking back and forth with over the coming years. But man, in the other conversations - there were a whole lot of highly specialized scientists there, and let's just say that there isn't a whole hell of a lot for a guppy biogeographer and an ethicist to talk about. At one point I listened to a twenty-plus minute speech on a student's beetle dispersion statistical analysis, and while it was highly impassioned and clearly the awesomest thing in the world to that guy, I felt very out of place. Like a guppy out of appropriate biogeographical evolutionary niche, if you will. Still, I said "ethics" and generally got enthusiastic responses - seems a conference on the human condition grabbed people who were at least seemingly interested in how biology and evolution can speak to ethics. On occasion, of course, I said ethicist and either got sort of "Oh, a philosopher" type reactions or people who felt ready to comment on the entirety of my discipline based on a book they had read one time. I always find that wacky - like I would challenge a genomics expert on his area of study because I took a genetics course once? Seriously, somebody was trying to tell me, "well, morality is all based on fulfilling hardwired desires, so that's really already figured out." Oh, okay. Thanks. I'll go tell the postmodernists. Vague insults aside (one prof tried to ask me what my experimental design was going to be, and I'm still not sure if he badly understood me explanation of my interests or if he was being a colossal empiricist dick), people were generally welcoming and friendly. A good time, despite my inherent distaste for those type of "let's network" environs.

The last thing to add before jotting down a bullet summary of the talks is to note that I do not like traveling by myself. Most people probably don't, but there's something quite lonely about the empty dark hotel room, no matter how Marriottish it is. There was a mall nearby, so I walked around there quite a bit (in the pouring rain - 50 degrees and wet all weekend, thanks a lot southern cali!) during the little down time that I had (Thursday night and after 4 on Saturday), but otherwise it was a lot of hotel room hanging out, reading and watching TV / DVDs. (I did catch the ESPN 30 for 30 on "The U," which was quite awesome. I now realize why I spike on the Ultimate field - I'm a 'Cane at heart!). Anyhoo, I was very glad to be back with the Beck and the dogs come Sunday. We (minus the S/W) grabbed some dinner and football with D/C and had a great time - good to be home.

Okay, point by point, lecture by lecture - I can't believe you're still reading!

• E.O. Wilson - who is as rock star evo biologist as they get - gave a talk called The Four Great Books of Darwin. I've heard so much of this stuff in my HPS course lately that I wasn't thrilled at the topic, but he did an admirable job. He did give a little dig - told this joke about how mathematicians achieve their peak in their teens, physicists in the 20s, chemists in their 30s, biologists in their 40s-50s and philosophers never. Well, Mr. Wilson, I believe after all these years, you're still all wet. So there. Phbbbt. :)
• All of you high power scientist career breakers, that previous comment was a light-hearted joke. Please don't end me.
• Bernard Wood, paleontologist, gave a great talk on the evolution of hominids. The primary point was that it is very difficult to take a fossil specimen and place it in the evolutionary tree appropriately - it's hard to be sure if any given species is in direct human lineage or is an offshoot of one of the branches.
• Kristen Hawkes, anthropologist, talked about human longevity and the evolution of post-menopausal life. It's 1, not a recent development, and 2, something we don't share at all with the apes.
• Juan Luis Arsuaga spoke on human ape-relatedness and effective uniformity in the fossil record
• Douglas Wallace gave an interesting talk about energy as the fundamental concept of human life, talking extensively on the evolution of mitochondria and how, among other things. lack of mitochondrial ox-phos uncoupling for thermal purposes accounts partially for why Kenyans are so good at marathons. Lively speaker.
• Anna DiRienzo spoke on genetic variation and its service to evolution in the presence of local environmental factors.
• Sarah Tishkoff gave a very cool talk on tracking human genomic lineage in Africa.
• Mark Baxter spoke on the above-mentioned mobile elements and their historical dynamics in the human genome.
• Carlos Bustamante gave a statistically technical talk on personalized medicine and the human genome - lots of cool stuff on being able to track human migration over the millenia via genomes.
• Morris Goodman, another rock star, gave a general talk on evolutionary evidence in human lineage
• John Avise gave the banquet lecture entitled Non-intelligent Design: Inside the Human Genome. 'Twas a general refutation of the notion of the design (also referenced above) in the human genome given all the mayhem and utter failure that is evident within it. His argument was well-supported, but I wonder about his audience - who's going to be swayed by this who isn't already swayed by, say, back pain? He also closed with a rather wacky notion (shared by Ayala, I gather) that evolutionary theory is actually a gift to religion, as now reli doesn't have to account for many forms of human misery as it falls under the domain of science. "They" can focus on meaning and spirituality and morality/ethics and all that stuff. I have alluded before to the chapter 7 phenomenon - where the science writer delivers a perfectly cogent argument and that tacks on some bizarre, ungrounded humanities oriented commentary at the end. This was it par excellence - it implies that you could completely undermine the metaphysics of a religion and leave it largely intact for those "types of things science can't do." Which is, in a word, dubious - you're basically asking for a tacit admission of a God of the gaps who can only cover non-empirical ground. I think that's a bit dismissive of the role of religious narratives in the belief structure - anyways, not to go all hypercritical on this, but I just thought that was a weird tag on to an otherwise finely put point, that the genome is riddled with evolutionary evidence that makes no sense if viewed from an intelligent design perspective.
• Saturday morning opened with a fantastic talk from Nina Jablonski called The Skin That Makes Us Human, an account of melanin evolution in different climates. This was probably up there for the best talks of the weekend (for me) - just really drove home the point that skin tone is a magnificently malleable trait, and the interplay between UV protection and Vitamin D synthesis dictates not just skin color but hair color, distribution, etc. The *malleable* point was huge - there have been numerous independent evolutionary events that have changed population's skin colors, which indicates that relative to a lot of traits, skin color, aka one of the primary determinants of race, is actually one of the more fleeting characteristics of peoples when considered on evolutionary time scales. If one were to start with an ethical premise that treatment of others not be arbitrary - and then note based on scientific evidence that one of the main things we use to differentiate peoples is that highly "temporary" trait - I think one has something resembling an logico-empirical stance that racism is idiotic. I'll need to come up with a more eloquent way of phrasing that at some point, but it was quite a lovely point in a conference that occasionally wandered off the "Human Condition" topic.
• Ajit Varki gave a very detailed, fascinating talk on unique patterns of sialic acid biology (i.e. cell surface sugars / potential antigens) and the evo histories of certain ones that appear in humans but not other species (and their impact on disease). Science-detail heavy, but quite sharp stuff.
• Peter Richerson gave a largely apologetic talk on how culture evolution studies are some 75 years behind bio ones. He alleged that variable climate seemed to spark human cultural development. Dubious? Maybe. This was essentially a claim that cultures follow Darwinian rules, which always treads a bit in meme territory for me - is it the cultures undergoing evolution, or the people who practice them? Unclear.
• Francisco Ayala, another fretboard burner rockstar biologist, gave the weirdest talk of the weekend (again, for me). It was called The Difference of Being Human, but focused entirely on the biology of ethics. The claim was that ethics can be split into two concepts - the capacity / proclivity to judge right and wrong, and the actual instantiation of what determines to be right and wrong. Ayala claimed the former is biologically / evolutionarily determined (the capacity for abstract thought, anticipation of action outcomes, the ability to contemplate and choose possible alternatives) and the latter, the particularities of what is right and wrong, is largely culturally determined. It's a distinction between capacity and code. (Ayala further claimed that he could make a similarly structured argument for many human cultural practices - aesthetics, religion, etc.). To be honest, the first part was unremarkable - it was supported by top notch biology, to be sure, but it was just a typical "humans are unique animals" type argument that alleged that this was key to our moral foundations. He also alleged that our bipedal gait permits tool development which drives brain development which drives more tool development, etc., which results in our big, abstract thought conceiving brains. The second part was simply bizarre - after a brief run through the history of ethics, he alleged that our ethical beliefs are largely cultural, and that the successful ones are determined by natural selection. This was essentially an argument that moral peoples will be more evolutionarily successful than non-moral ones (or maybe cooperative groups will outdo non cooperative ones) without a specification of what being moral means. The obvious question here is how this articulates with an endorsement of moral relativism, since it seems to boil down to a rule that survival will trump other concerns. I wanted to ask this, but didn't get a chance as some other grad student made an ill-advised challenge to Ayala's criteria for moral capacity (the student made a fair point, but got shot down in front of everyone for being unable to properly articulate it). Anyways, I'd be interested in reading Ayala's books - he is a former Dominican priest, so one imagines he has some moral philosophy / theological chops, even if it didn't come across in this lecture too much. In short, I found this very superficial and reeking of chapter 7-ness, though I am also confident that Ayala has probably outlined the idea better in other venues.
• Leda Cosmides gave an utterly boring talk called Whence Intelligence that didn't seem to have much to do with intelligence but rather a "mental module" of cheater detection. I should qualify that - it was boring because it was a *survey* on cheater detection, the literature of which I am already profoundly familiar and find problematic for a whole truckload of reasons. So perhaps for people unfamiliar with her work it was interesting; I can't speak to that, because all I heard were arguments and evidence that have been in play for some fifteen years. She was one of the people I was most excited to see because I am fairly familiar with the back and forth that she and anti-evo psychologists have undergone, so I wanted to hear something of a response to the challenges or a take on how this affects our conception of the human condition. I got neither, so her talk was something of a letdown.
• Terrence Deacon gave an overly long talk called Whence Language, and I will pay you handsomely if you can explain how this said much about human language. It was a lot of stuff on birdsong, to be sure, but again missed the larger point of things for me.
• And finally, Steve Pinker closed with a talk on the Evolution of the Mind. Pinker was the show closer, the guy I had come to see, and he gave a somewhat demure performance and more or less rehashed some of the things from his popular works on language and the blank slate of the mind. He was stunningly non-assertive - of all the people there, he seemed the most keenly aware of the differing theories from his own present in the room that afternoon. I doubt he was nervous, but he was a lot less lively than in, say, his Colbert Report appearances. The talk included thoughts on the intelligence measure G and our lack of ability to pinpoint its genetic underpinnings and our pervasive use of metaphor in language which he points at as evidence of a generalized preference for abstraction. He specifically made a point that though a large percentage of our mental association is sensory driven a la Proust, there is a certain percentage that comes about via this metaphoric, structural brain associations. He also argued that while skin colorations and other specific biological traits are important for explaining our multiple niche compatibilities, our mind is largely the thing that permits our varied dominance of earth's nooks and crannies. He made a slew of other Pinker-typical, interesting points, too. It was odd that he read his lecture from notes and again, gave a very soft-spoken presentation of ideas. He was also the only person who got challenged (really) in the Q&A afterwards - people griped with the specifics of his notions of intelligence inheritance. All in all good stuff, but again, the survey nature of the talk was disappointing - I'm glad I got the chance to hear such a pop scientist celebrity talk, but I was genuinely surprised by the low key feel of it.

Phew. So that's it. Definitely a good experience, but also definitely one that good use some tweaking. I was probably most fascinated by the meta-anthropology at play - scientists talking to scientists, wheeling and dealing, trying not to stick foot in mouth and some wielding their cachet like 50 Cent at da club. Fascinating. Hopefully next time I will be a bit more of a participant observer and not just an observer - I feel like a did a good job socializing and as mentioned met a few people who might be interesting to work with, but I can definitely work on shmoozing profs and figuring out a way to convince them that an ethicist / non-strict scientist is worth their time. Things to work on. Until next time, that's the lyrical tale of the past weekend with Nyet and the OC. Looking forward to more interesting conferences to come.

The Crying of Parking Lot Lines

Oh, Scottsdale, you inconvenient slut, you.

Last night, Beck and I trekked over to L.A. Minor to see the "Ultimate Green Scene," an open house event at "the mixed-use, luxury residential project, the Optima Camelview Village." It's a huge, flora-smothered complex smack in the middle of Snotsdale featuring over-the-top amenities, 1.4 million dollar condos, etc. For all the lushness (luxury- and plant-wise), they entirely failed to explain what was green about the place. Ah, well. Xtina had helped out with one of the art exhibits and sent us an e-mail about the event, but due to some miscommunications over text, phone and e-mail, we went down there at 4 instead of the 6:30 she had planned on. Beck got cold* and hungry, so we got back in the car and looked around Collagenland for a place to eat. We settled on Stax, a burger joint. Our troubles started in the parking lot.

* - B: "I'm cold!" N: "Here, take my sweater; I've got a long sleeve shirt on underneath." B: "No." N: "Why not?" B: "I'm fine with complaining." N: "HRC**! HRC!"

** - neologism courtesy of iPMeghan. It stands for "Help-rejecting Complainer," an apparent frequent feature of humans everywhere.

Beck parked her itty bitty and thoroughly plastic Prius *slightly* to the right of center in a parking spot at the end of a row. I got out of the passenger's side, opening the door slowly and sliding out so as not to touch the car next to us. We started walking to Stax when behind us, a loud, shrill voice announced to the night:

"I really hope you didn't door my jeep!!!"

We all but ignored the voice, primarily not realizing that it was directed at me but also subconsciously, I am sure, refusing to recognize the use of "door" as a verb*. Unsatisfied, the wobbly an utterly Slutsdale-clad lady repeated her invective:

"I REALLY HOPE YOU DIDN'T DOOR MY JEEP SINCE YOU PARKED SO CLOSE TO IT."

* - In drunk skank's defense**, I realized I have used the word "door" as a verb, too, but only in the passive construction. It refers to when you are biking in Boston along the right side of the lane and a parked car's driver opens his driver's side door to exit as you pass; the proper construction is "I got doored on the way to work this morning," and every biker in the world will know what you mean. Just for the record, the proper response to getting doored - should you anticipate the action in time - is not to slam your brakes but to deliver a 20 mph forearm shiver to the driver in question. This, hopefully, will serve as Pavlovian reminder the next time they decide to exit their car on a busy street without checking the traffic behind them.

** - Or, as Beck noted this morning, "You can verb anything."

Okay, she got our attention. She was a typical Scottsdolt specimen, free to yell anything as passers by on account of her beefcake date (who, to his credit, ignored this exchange entirely). Beck politely responded, "What!!?!?" and the lady continued yelling, "You parked way close to it and he got out so slowly, I'm just warning you better not have doored my jeep." Flabbergasting, and I especially like the suspicion based on the fact that I had done the appropriate thing and exited the car carefully. WTF, crazy lady. Beck had slowly unholstered the Iron Fist and was about to discharge her God-given right to bear arms when I pulled her away and said, "Don't worry, your car is fine." Eskiho slams her door shut; Beck watched them pull out to make sure they didn't do something stupid to our car. Just an idiotic exchange, and as Beck noted, it's bizarre when you're traipsing around the earth assuming people are going to be decent and they just open up on such unfounded, hostile notes. So thanks for putting a senseless damper on our evening, moron; really appreciate it. Maybe next time you can actually check for a scratch on your car before demonstrating your esteemed IQ to the public.

And many, many apologies for exiting my car carefully. How DARE I!

AR: Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend (2008)

As trendy in the late 2000s as, well, vampires, NYC-based Vampire Weekend erupted on the indie pop scene in 2007 / 2008 and, um, the hipsters didn't stand a chance. It will save a lot of effort just to list their utterly true list of oft-made-association words, so here goes: afro-pop, preppy, effortless, chamber-pop, ivy league, Paul Simon's Graceland, baroque, erudite, nonsense lyrics, clean, catchy, catchy, CATCHY. Beck, D/C and I were lucky enough to catch these guys in Tempe last year where they were kind enough to play their album in mixed up order (plus maybe one non-debut album song) for us. Amazingly, this is one of the few times when hearing a rather note-for-note take of an album in a live setting did not disappoint but entrenched the already head-entombed songs even deeper into my consciousness. Like I said, CATCHY - just ask the Beck, who keeps a copy of this CD in her car at all times (and puts it on the iPod whenever I ask her to DJ - given that VW is not an audiobook or NPR, this should be rather striking). Their live show brought a ton of energy, and since we were at the tail end of their US tour (on which I imagine they had played that exact set of tunes a hundred plus times), I was pretty impressed that they delivered such a gripping, memorable performance. Then again, they were not exactly lacking in the fawning female audience members department, so it's not like they lacked proper motivation.

VW impresses as an exceedingly immediate album; it reminds me a lot of The Strokes' debut in its first-listen memorability and quick, direct appeal. VW owns a clean sound - synths, strings, that trebly lead guitar, and the crisp drum/bass work all stand out brilliantly. They took their time crafting the album, and it paid off greatly - this is one of those "every note in place" efforts, and more importantly, there is nary a clunker tune to be found. In lieu of the usual track by track account of great albums, I'll just insist that you get a hold of this one and let it infect your brain, too. The only tune I don't just love on this disc is "One (Blake's Got a New Face") because of that shrill tagline; it's just too much afro and not enough chamber for my tastes. Everything else ranges from solid to great to excellent - I'm sure people differ greatly in their favorites, but given that I'm hooked on ten of eleven tracks, the ones that get me song-stuck the most are "Oxford Comma," "M79," and "The Kids Don't Stand a Chance." Even saying that is silly; there's not a one on here that doesn't transmit those uplifting essence-de-cool-breeze grins.

All of that praise deservedly heaped - something in the nonsense lyrics and the over-hookiness of this one paradoxically holds it down for me. Almost as if this were too easy - if they can just spit out these brain viruses with this afro-chamber-indie formula, then surely some experimentation could *really* kill. So that's both a very minor detractor for this disc and a selling point for the band - they absolutely owned this sound and crafted a debut package of gems; it'll be interesting to see what happens when they expand beyond this great but somewhat contained sound/style.

Status: Recommended
Nyet's Fave: "Oxford Comma"

AR: The Beatles [The White Album]

The Beatles - The Beatles [The White Album] (1968)

Well, this is just silly. The Beatles has long been my favorite album, making me about as unoriginal as possible, as plain as, say, a white album cover. It all started long ago when my dad made playing "Birthday" a tradition for all of the Jones-Ellis birthday gatherings. Every birthday gathering - and there were lots of them over the years, what with the 8 people involved - featured an impromptu dance party that lasted a glorious 2:43. If I'm not crazy, this was usually followed by an album switch to some more Beatlemania era stuff, typically "Twist and Shout." I essentially have an infinity of memories of my mom and aunt dancing like crazy to that one. Dad always played "Birthday" on his original vinyl copy on our living room stereo, and even after he had switched off to Please Please Me, he would leave the double LP cover out and open to the four famed pictures:

Something about it - the stark pictures, the simple lyrics listed in black font against a vast plain background - gave off an aura of mystique. Plus, sheesh, a double album, FOUR sides of Beatles songs - and my dad so obviously loved it, I didn't know how this could not be the best album of all time. I'm sure we listened to it a lot, as these songs have always felt deeply ingrained in my being. But my earliest memories center around the "Birthday" plays and "Twist and Shout" following it. Sometimes after "T&S," Dad would put the White Album back on with the first side first, order-proper-like. I must have had to go to bed pretty soon after the time "Birthday" was busted out, because I don't remember ever getting past "The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill." I do, though, have a very distinct memory of reading along with the lyrics to figure out what the ridiculous falsetto voice was saying ("But when he looked so fierce..."). So, to sum: I don't know the first time I heard this album; I know we must have listened to it all the time, but my most distinct, episodic type memories focused around birthdays. There ya have it.

Until one time, when I had to have been older than twelve (as this memory is very clear and from the new house), my dad put on the usual "Birthday," only we all got distracted by the candle-blowing and so no dance party broke out. So "T&S" didn't follow - Dad just left record 2, side A (or Side Three, I guess, is the appropriate parlance) playing. And out from the stereo bellowed a reverb-soaked "Yes I'm LONELY ... Wanna Die!" Whoa. Hey and the what now? Surely I had heard the song before, but it was very particular moment - pre-TIP, lonely middle school days, and suddenly it sure sounded like even the freaking Beatles had an urge to scream at the world. I don't mean to portray myself as this little black-clad hipster - I didn't even know who the hell "Dylan's Mr. Jones" was at that particular moment - but that scream, the snarl of that guitar, spoke in very big ways. So I definitely sat down and listened to the album-in-full then, fell in love forever, and even managed to steal my dad's CD copy of The Beatles for the next several years until I was gifted my own for high school graduation.

So that's the background, or at least part of it. Again, part of me feels particularly stupid for trying to review an album that is so fundamental to my constitution and one about which so much has been written already. It's still in the number one overall spot; it's not just Desert Island Recommended but will already be playing when I get to the Island. I don't know, coconut transistors or something. They'll figure it out.

All of which is to say that this is a beyond fantastic album, *even though* it's not a perfect one. Sure, there's some filler. There are two of the worst "tunes" in the Beatles catalog as the big finale. It's totally unfocused, stylistically all over the map, and all reports are that the songs were essentially composed-in-solo; no magic L-M collaboration going down here. Still, somehow the looseness, the quilty patchwork quality all comes together. Even if the songs are solipsistic islands, the sheer talent and ear of the four individuals is most definitely there, and the album-as-a-whole is an excellent "collaboration." I could wax indefinitely, but after all these years, The Beatles are still my favorite band, and the unending variety here still constitutes my favorite collection of their work. I'll give this super-album the track-by-track treatment, and I'll try to recount associated memories as I, er, remember them. Here goes:

"Back in the USSR" - "BOAC" was an NYT Xword puzzle answer recently, and I had to laugh - who in the hey would not know that? There was a time when I believed a rumor that the White Album was a track by track parody of all kinds of other popular bands of the day; this one was so obviously a poke at the Beach Boys and surf-rock bands that the opening track tended to lend the theory some credence, (though it obviously falls apart soon afterwards). But this is, natch, not just a parody - they arguably pull off surf better than the originals, and pepper it with a slew of typical Beatlish witticisms. Love the overhead plane sounds throughout, the supersilly "Georgia's Always on My Mind" nod, and the screaming guitar work throughout. I really like the high pitched trills over the last verse; in typical fashion, they keep each verse unique with a little touch here and there. Great rocker, and an all-time fade-in to start an album. And actually, a great fade-out, too, as plane brakes give way to...

"Dear Prudence" - the tripping bass and haunting, hypnotic repeated guitar line of a fantastic John ballad. "DP" builds slowly from sparse beginnings and has various sounds join the ranks throughout the tune - you'll notice the bass gets more active as the song rolls on, multiple new electric guitars join the fray, backup vocals crawl on top of the main lines. I am sure I will reiterate this time and again in Beatles reviews, but they unfailingly take simple verse-chorus-verse constructions and subtly alter each part, adding little flourishes in each component to the point that the song takes on a structure that overarches whatever primary structure is happening. The last minute of this song in particular adds a kitchen sink of things to essentially the exact same lines as the song's opening, but the dynamic is wildly changed - what was initially a reserved ballad is an over-the-top triumphant sing-along. Listen in particular for the ever-heightening guitar line behind the last "It's beau-tifu-uh-uhl / And so are you-oo-oo." I've often thought that when people say that a modern indie-pop, chamber-vocal kind of band sounds "Beatles-esque," they really mean, "sounds like the last minute of 'Dear Prudence.'" It is quite a beaming, signature sound, and I've waxed on long enough about this classic.

"Glass Onion" - An aggressive, driving, almost sinister backbeat number. It's famously self-referential - "Strawberry Fields," 'Paul is dead' rumors, "I Am the Walrus," "Lady Madonna," "Fixing a Hole," and "The Fool on the Hill" all make appearances, as does one of the world's plainest marijuana references, "a dove-tailed joint." My favorite part of this song is the wordless bridge, where instead of an additional verse you just get the same vamped chords. It's a plain-faced instrumental break without a solo that just lets the anger simmer; great stuff. "Glass Onion" also joins the long list of Beatles tunes that collapses into a trippy, psychedelic symphonic outro, this time with some strings playing an out-of-left-field, cinematic dirge. They are an abrupt shift from the pulse of this song, and an even more abrupt shift occurs with the intro to

"Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da" - The goofy, bouncy sing-along that splits a lot of opinions. I've always had a soft-spot for the theme song to that TV classic Life Goes On. I mean, sure, the maracas are ridiculous, the lyrics nonsensical, the horn lines (while cool) intentionally whimsical, and the whole thing generally smacks of toss-off camp. It just goes to show, though, that Beatles toss-offs are really good, really catchy, and still interesting. I've heard it suggested that this is Paul's foray into ska / reggae: um, okay (update: this checks out; apparently the titular expression comes from Jimmy Scott, and the "Desmond" is Desmond Dekker. Who knew?) It does pull off a certain carefree vibe, and I do like the toy-piano flourishes towards the end and all the whimsical laughing throughout. This isn't my favorite track by a long shot, but it's still some fine pop craft. And seriously, who doesn't have a crush on Becca Thatcher?

"Honey Pie" - Speaking of toss-offs... actually, I enjoy this trippy pscychedeligoofoff track. Short, self-contained, it's the great-great-grandfather of rap album skits - totally pointless, but definitely makes for a transition.

"The Continuing Story of Bungalow Bill" - one of my favorite White Album tunes to play on guitar, and yes, even including that out-of-left-field classical/Spanish guitar riff at the beginning. It's a campfire kids' song with a goofy narrative of tiger-hunting, Captain Marvel, and some Ono backing vocals, if I'm not mistaken. Has a nice juxtaposition of foreboding verses with the ultra-light sing-a-long chorus. I enjoy that this song appropriately devolves into the single horn line and the campfire self-congratulatory applause which is suddenly interrupted by "Hey-o!" and the majestic piano over guitar chungs of

"While My Guitar Gently Weeps" - George's first contribution is a gorgeous, dark ballad that notoriously features absolute lead guitar devastation by Slow Hand himself, Mr. Eric Clapton. The verses ("I look at you all / See the love there that's sleeping") are wistful, while the bridge (? - "I don't know why / Nobody told you...") sections are profoundly lilting. This is just fine, fine songcraft; everything fits wonderfully. But when you take that and throw one of the all-time sets of raging, passionate guitar solos over it, you have the first of quite a few five star tunes on this album. With all apologies to "Something" fans, this is George's best song for the Beatles, imho.

"Happiness is a Warm Gun" - This sub three minute tune packs a ton - a spooky/ethereal opening ("She's not a girl who misses much..."), an accentuated upbeat guitar attack with some of the odder lyrics you've ever heard ("a soap impression of his wife which he ate and donated to the national trust"), a dirty, dirty guitar lick with drug-fix lyrics, a running guitar bridge ("Mother Superior jumped the gun" ) and - because why not, at this point - a freaking classic '50s ballad doo-wop progression with lyrics about masturbation (see title), complete with doubletime mid section. What? Exactly. This is as pastichey as the already pastichey Beatles ever got, and it created a song with a bizarre, march ahead structure. One of my all-time favorites, btw. (Pause). Guuuuuuuuh-uh-uhn!

"Martha My Dear" - straight from the vaudeville era school of "Your Mother Should Know" comes this quick Paul ditty, the first of two such anachronistic earlier 20th century radio tunes that McCartney put on the White Album. This one starts off with just the piano, adds strings, then a tuba, then a full horn section, then full Beatles band proper. The third verse is an instrumental break that highlights the independent sweetness of the melody. Paul's bass is particularly great, and the song is tight and short enough to serve as yet another pleasant diversion from anything resembling a cohesive style.

"I'm So Tired" - Yet another one of my all-time favorite Beatles tunes, this is a run-ragged, haggard, insomniac John delivering exactly the half-asleep vocal of the song's title. In the verses, anyways; the choruses feature an irritated, sleep-deprived man who is losing his grip and lashing out at the lover (or perhaps really, the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi) whose ill-treatment won't let him get that rest. A nice, thematically divided song, "IST" features a dreamy bass, a snappy, snare-drum driven chorus, some really slick guitar fills (subtle, but listen for 'em during the chorus) and one of the all time great British slang words used to describe "Sir Walter Raleigh / He was such a stupid get." Two minutes and a VVCVC structure make for a tight, excellent song.

"Blackbird" - A fingerpicked classic solo folk song from Paul that is not just impossibly lovely, but one of the few intricate things I can play (an admittedly simplified version of) on acoustic guitar. I was taught WAY back in the day by good friend Caren VW, who busted this number out at an impromptu acoustic session at one of our college nerd-recruitment experiences in high school. Some guy had been pretty obnoxious all day (w/r/t his smarts - I believe he bragged about AP scores at one point) and was playing something, probably "Come as You Are" by Nirvana, when Caren snagged the guitar and lit up the room with this. Nice, and a total destruction of any nerd-fest-nookie potentialities that "rock star" thought he was achieving that evening. Anyways... the original is an intimate tune with twittering birdsong in the background. Plain, pretty, and sedate, with an allegorical set of lyrics that sit inside the quick 2;15 neatly. It was, indeed, wack Charles Manson interpretations notwithstanding, written in response to racial tensions in the US ("black" "bird" = "African American" "woman," allegedly), though obviously without the violence component. It's terrible that this and other songs on the White Album - "Piggies" and "Helter Skelter," notably - were co-opted for such murderous purposes. I'd actually forgotten about that until I looked the album up online, which may speak at least a little to the simple beauty of the song that doesn't really send the listener toward world referents anyways. Keep an ear out for the root G note that is played over and over and over in this song; also keep an ear out for the "foot-tap" percussion which is reportedly a physical scratch on the master tape. You don't get that in ProTools, eh?

"Piggies" - I lack a sophisticated musical vocabulary and so I think anything with a harpsichord and strings sounds "baroque." But this really does smack of Renaissance Festival Faire. It's completely out of left field and is one of the most poorly disguised allegories in the history of pop. Still, the rock bridge keeps it interesting, the pig grunts render it non-standard in a "Good Morning Good Morning"-nod way, and the emphatic, over the top ending is appropriately ridiculous. I'll tolerate it, George :). Especially since straight out of that melodramatic chord we get...

"Rocky Raccoon" - another acoustic folk narrative that I have learned over the years on guitar. It's the same chord progression / picking pattern over and over (though again, the rhythm is subtly altered from verse to verse) telling the love-trianglish story of Rocky, Danny, McGill/Lil/Nancy. My dad has always sworn that this entire song is just a set-up a terrible pun at the end about Gideon failing to "help with good Rocky's revival." The harmonica, saloon hall hoedown/breakdown bridges, sorrowful backing vocals, and the organ-fade into the next tune are nice touches. Great, goofy tune, and one of my favorite to play. In fact, chroniclers of the Nyet legend are sure to know that I regularly played "RR" at Lovett College Musicale events, often inserting the famed (and thoroughly unprintable) Lovett College Cheer for the middle bridge. Matches the rhythm, you see. My friend Brett would accompany me by playing "The Beer" onstage, essentially standing there grinning and occasionally taking a sip. We also had a special affinity for the "called himself Dan" line which I sang in the voice of Christina of D/C fame. These were good times.

"Don't Pass Me By" - another goofy country stomp, this one written and sung by the inimitable Ringo Starr. It's driven by a raging fiddle line and features an oddly sad narrative (given Ringo's beaming delivery) about a girl who was in a "car crash / and [she] lost [her] head." Silly, which seems to be the theme of this part of the album, as the next song is

"Why Don't We Do it in the Road?" - the goof-off, though subtly ominous and murky blues number. It's straight up 12-bar blues and blows by in 1:42. It's also only Paul and Ringo, possibly leaving their personal tendencies unchecked by the, ahem, more serious Beatles. Two lines are repeated throughout the song and get progressively heated. I've always enjoyed the drum opening on this one.

"I Will" - A lovely Linda ballad, this is just a pretty guitar ballad / ode to Paul's wife. Pretty direct and sincere/sappy, I heard this at a wedding recently and it just sat perfectly. It's notable for a vocal bassline behind the jangling guitars and the excellent line "Make it easy to be near you / For the things you do endear you to me" which sounds like it might be syllabically awkward but rolls off flawlessly.

"Julia" - one of John's most haunting, best ballads, this quiet, acoustic solo number is just he. It's contemplative feel brings Side 2 to a great close, and the lines "Half of what I say is meaningless / Though I say it just to reach you" are classic, even if they are stolen.

"Birthday" - I've talked about this one enough in the intro, I think, but it is one of the all-time rockers. I can also crank this one out on electric guitar, too, and it is so fun to run off the signature lick and pretend I'm partying with the Ellis-Joneses or at ShowBiz Pizza or whatever. I love the vocal-less passages (with the screamed 5...6...7...8!!!) and the solo on the bridge is short but divine. This should, obviously, replace all other songs as the official BDay anthem. Duh!

"Yer Blues" - Wicked, existential despairing blues; it's been charged that this is somehow a parody, but for all John's soul-screeching, you'll be hard pressed to convince me of that. It's a relatively standard though absolutely raging blues tune, with thrilling fills and violent breakdowns - perhaps completely unsurprisingly, I LOVE that line that John sings to me that he feels so suicidal "just like Dylan's Mr. Jones" and later that "he hates [his] rock n' roll." The song breaks into a half time party at that point, and the bubbling moog (I assume) organ that comes screaming and the following psychotic guitar solo absolutely KILL. And then a trick which has popped up repeatedly - the first verse is replayed with the vocals barely audible until the song fades out. A quite strange effect, as this spins this angst-song into the realm of the ghostly. One of my all-time Beatles tracks.

"Mother Nature's Son" - a sort of classic Paul tune that does manage to capture the pastoral theme of its title. A simple, pretty guitar part backed by thumping drums and a light symphonic section, this one is highly reminiscent of "The Fool on the Hill." "Doo-doos" and humming fill some of the verses and give off the impression of a Paul solo act. The second acoustic that enters toward the very end provides a really nice harmony. This is about as shmaltzy as I can take from Paul; "The Long and Winding Road" off of Let it Be carries this style just a bit too far.

"Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey" - is one of the more ebullient, frantic and uplifting songs from the John wing. You can practically see him shaking his head jubilantly back and forth through "Come on it's SUCH A JOY!" The track is filled with yelps and screaming guitar licks; even the polyrhythm of the drums adds to the out-of-control party ideal expressed here. The title is, natch, a little goofy, and hearing the vocals ramble on spasmodically is delightful. The instrumental bass rumble near the two minute mark is one of *those* moments for me. This song really sounds like it belong somewhere back in the "And Your Bird Can Sing" part of the catalog, but it's a welcome addition here.

"Sexy Sadie" - definitely a John song, but the multiple passages and all-over-the-map instrumental contributions make his yet another classic "Beatlesque" tune. It opens with a reverberating piano and progresses to John's accusatory lyrics (originally intended, it seems, for the Maharishi) backed by Wah-wah-wah-wah vocals. Keep an ear out for some Beatles-divinity at the 0:54 mark ("One sunny day...") with a subtle guitar ringing and rounding out the sound. There's a ton going on here with countervocals, guitar running against piano, the lead vocal going atmospheric... quite an interesting song.

"Helter Skelter" - I specifically remember making a last-ditch effort at swaying Mike NTPB from his pop music oriented ways by (ironically, I note, this being the most popular band ever) playing this one very loud for him and trying to get him to guess who had written it, when it was recorded, etc. It didn't work, though I think he was surprised to learn that music made in 1968 sounded remotely like this. Famously a response to the Who's effort to write "the nastiest track ever" or somesuch, Paul penned this Black Sabbath-esque metal number and let it absolutely rock out. It's a blast of a song to play, and it is definitely the nastiest thing in the Beatles catalog. I don't know how many times my dad has busted out the Ringo-screamed "I got blisters on my fingers!" line as a joke. This is quite an angry tune, an all time metal classic, and Exhibit 1A in Paul's defense against accusations of just writing "Silly Love Songs." The even more plodding, even darker and bluesier version on the Anthology disc is also a must-hear. Five star tune.

"Long Long Long" - from the loudest, RAWKingnest to a reserved dream tune from George. He wakes up a bit midsong ("So many tears..."), but this is still one of the most meditative tracks on the pair of discs. It's a little tonally mundane, which is fine given its serene aspect, but makes it less memorable (especially considering what it's surrounded by). Weird experimental ending wakes the listener up just in time for...

"Revolution 1" - the doo-wop and original version, this will forever sound very, very slow to me since I was raised on a raging electric lead during Nike commercials. There's a brass band backing the lead in addition to all of the "Shooby-doo-bop" vocals, and the full effect is a psychedelic pastiche. John got himself into a spot of trouble by following the "you can count me out" line with an ambivalent "in?" The song, obviously, is quite anti-revolutionary, but that little vocal flourish gave the Anti-establishment kids an "in" and made this one of those songs that split parents and youth. The guitar lick alludes to simpler "Day Tripper" times, and it's a singular winner. Fantastic song, though again, the single version is forever the "real" one for me.

"Honey Pie" - the other vaudeville Paul tune. The scratchy record effect employed at the beginning is a nice touch; otherwise this is another catchy Paul tune that nails the British 1920s (or so) genre with swelling clarinets and tuba-ish bassline. I don't know if I ever listened to this without picturing Paul in a top hat with swinging cane. Catchy tune, Paul through and through.

"Savoy Truffle"- another raucous, somewhat sinister tune about, allegedly, a wide variety of chocolates. This a great George single in the "Run for Your Life" style with a buzzing horn line providing all kinds of, sorry, delicious runs through the tune. It has another self-referential moment in the "We all know ob-la-di, bla-da / But can you show me where you are?" I've got no clue on that one. Something has always sounded bitter about this song to me; still, it's catchy and energetic and features George's usual punctuated guitar fills and fiery, contained solos.

"Cry Baby Cry" - Simple acoustic ballad with some rather obscure lyrics (e.g., "The king of Marigold was in the kitchen / Cooking breakfast for the queen"), a murky line from what the wikipedia tells me is a harmonium, and a build of piano chords. Yet another lovely melody in this song that swells and adds band members throughout the process; this nursery-rhyme sort of song is the last track on the album that actually features the Beatles as a band proper. "CBC" ends and an abrupt ditty from Paul creeps in ("Can you take me back where I came from / Can you take me back?"). It's a complete non sequitur that adds to the mystery of the song and transitions effectively to

"Revolution 9" - In my junior year of high school, I listened to music right before going to sleep practically every night. One night in particular this album was in my player, and I must've drifted off fairly early on. So let's say I went to bed around midnight. At about 1:20 in the morning, in the pitch black, this experimental tape look number came on. I was snapped awake from the middle of some severely inappropriate sleep cycle in the most disorienting way possible - I didn't know where/who/when I was, all I knew is that a scary voice was stereo-tracking across the room calmly saying "Number Nine." And I specifically remember "Block that kick" and the cackling sounds of laughter popping up, too. And lasers, and TV western sounds, and you get the idea. Understandably, I was terrified, and it took some mad scrambling about the room and the slamming of a stop button to restore sanity to the world. That's one of maybe three times I've listened to this tune in my life (the fourth being at this very moment), and I've never quite forgiven it. As madhat tape-splicing excursions go, it's effective, but it's hardly worthwhile beyond its novelty. Listen - at your peril - for Yoko (I think) saying "You become naked" towards the end; this line had to be the inspiration for the non sequitur "I become naked" from the Pearl Jam experimental oddity "Bugs"from Vitalogy.

"Good Night" - I have listened to Revolution 9 more times in my life than I have listened to this song. I absolutely hate it; it's a terrible lullaby that had no business on this album. Damn you, Ringo!

Phew. 30 tracks, the last two overt stinkers (or one "art track" and "one icepick-to-the-temple-schmaltzy" track). But all of the others make for an exquisite, heterogeneous masterpiece. This review has dragged on quite long enough; suffice it to say that even though healthy portions of this album are goofy or toss off, the whole thing coheres via some still-unparalleled musicianship and songwriting. I'll leave with another view of the White Album classified by my five and four star song rankings; everybody has different favorites off of this, and the variety just lends itself to different faces of the album being loved by different people. What a great pair of discs, and like Tommy Lee Jones in MIB, I look forward to repurchasing it every time a new music medium comes out.

Five Stars: "WMGGW," "HiaWG," "YB," and "HS"
Four Stars: "BitU," "DP," "GO," "IST," "B," "RR," "J," "B," "EGStHEfMaMM," and "CBC."
Three Stars: Everything else except "WHP," "R9," and "GN."

Status: Desert Island Recommended
Nyet's Faves: "I'm So Tired" and "Yer Blues"

P.S. Oh, and since this is in the Phish series, the 10.31.94 performance of the White Album in its entirety was perhaps the truest-to-the-original album cover by the band (though they were pretty true to the original with Dark Side, too). They don't extend or jam on much of anything. But they pulled the cover off off with aplomb and a TON of energy. Some of the notable, um, Phish-nicities: Trey alters the lyrics to talk about Phish animal characters in "Glass Onion;" "WMGGW" smokes in "Trey is a Jedi" fashion, and Phish continued to cover this tune well after the show (I caught it 7.15.2000); "Don't Pass Me By" is played in a wacky doubletime / bluegrass style and appropriately sung by Fishman; "Birthday" is played in a weird minor key repeat of the main riff and features a spoken word birthday wish to one of the stage managers; "HS" is played in a really abrasive, dissonant manner and breaks down into an a cappella "I've got blisters on my fingers" choral close; their take on "Rev 1" is somewhere between the tempos of "Rev" and "Rev 1;" "CBC" is another one that made it into the Phish rotation (you can hear it on Hampton Comes Alive); Rev 9 involved an extended vacuum solo and, supposedly, some Fishman nudity; AND the band had the good sense to skip "Good Night" because it's a terrible, terrible song. This also happens to be one of the original Phish bootleg tapes I got from the very kind Phish community leader Ellis Godard, and I'm forever grateful for that.

Texas Two-Steppin' and a Duke Jansen Weddin', Pt. 1

Finally, a moment's reprieve from fetus=slave arguments and students griping about their essay grades*, and now I can recount our trip to South Central Texas. Last Thursday, Beck and I got a ride to the airport from friend Xtina (of D/C fame) and headed down to the balmy 95 degree tropics of San Antonio, TX., where my dad picked us up and took us back to good ol' Shavano.

* - It's time to play our favorite game, "Was That Ironic?" A student turned in a 1400 word essay for an assignment that was explicitly restricted to a 800-1200 word range. He heartily contested his grade when he received a C- for his essay; he thought he had written an A paper that was docked to a C- solely for missing the restrictions (more accurately - he was docked from a C to a C-). He requested an explanation of his grade. I wrote him an e-mail detailing the mistakes in his paper, documenting the times and places when/where he could have learned about the word restriction, and explaining all the ways in which he could have been more succinct in his paper. The e-mail, largely focused on the ways in which brevity is superior to gratuitous floridity, was itself 1600 words long. Now, WAS THAT IRONIC?

We hit up the Cafer aka Alamo Cafe the first night, meeting up with Deb, Pat, Ron, my mom and dad for the traditional authentically suburban Tex-Mex fare. Good times, and I got to explain the vagaries of the Bio&Soc program at ASU to a nacho-munching audience. Pat was very excited about a "Yarn Crawl" she was going to be doing in SA and Austin over the next few days; this is the same as the sport of "extreme bar-hopping" except that the product is wool socks rather than vomit. Yeah! This enticed Beck, of course. Deb and my mom are reading Infinite Jest, which I am very excited to learn; I reread it this summer and just finished going through its study guide, Elegant Complexity. Of course, now I am probably under some sort of obligation to not spoil things for them, so I'm not sure how I'll approach my long-promised-not-yet-delivered commentary. Considering I bought the book for my mom in 1999, she's now on page 70 or so, AND the book is roughly 1400 pages (if you consider the 6 pt. font of the footnotes) all told, it'll be a brief 190 years before I can post something without fear of spoilage. Hmmm... maybe I'll just put a warning at the top of the post. I think this was also the night when Matt Holliday took a flyball off his crotch and cost the Cardinals a playoff game; Grandpa swore off baseball immediately.

Friday was our faux-Thanksgiving; Beck and I made a quick grocery trip in the AM. On the way, we went to the yarn store to pick up some 3-gauge needles; we were a bit pressed for time, so Beck swore she was going to go in and out in two minutes. She told the people at the counter that she only wanted needles, her poor husband was in the parking lot breathing SUV-dioxide, and she didn't have time to talk shop, and they STILL tried to sell her cashmere yarn laced with caviar and Faberge eggs. I think the debate over whether knitters are evil capitalist bastards can be safely concluded. Beck and I then hit up the new wannabe Wegman's HEB superduper market and grabbed ingredients for Beck's caramel-tinged pumpkin pie. We ran home so Beck and my mom could get pedicures.

My dad and I had planned on going to the driving range, but between the unreasonably hot* Thursday and Friday evening, a Nor'therner blew through and dropped things down to the rainy low 50s. Ugh. My dad and I opted for a trip to the JCC instead, where he thoroughly mangled me in a couple of games of HORSE (though, to be fair, I haven't touched a basketball in 10 months, and my game was entirely oriented around lying-on-the-floor shots. And I did hit an unanswered half-court shot, so phbbbbbbt). Fun times, though the little jogging around I did did a number on my knee. I am in knee (I am in) pain (I am in love) for something new.

* - That's right, a Phoenician complaining about hot Texas. There had been highs of 85 in Phoenix the week we left, and we don't have this BS "moisture in the air" thing. Yeah, my blood is thin in a way that can't handle humid hot or cold of any kind. If I sit perfectly still, I'll be fine...

Later in the afternoon, Aaron and his girlfriend Kristen rolled in from Austin to enjoy our Faux T-Day. She's a children's lit-focused librarian, in case you're one of the few people who read this blog who doesn't already know that, and a great gal taboot. I mean, seriously, into Guided By Voices AND Dave Eggers? AND tolerant of the A-child? APPROVED. Next topic. No, seriously, it was great to meet / get to know Kristen over the weekend; she's a welcome addition to the clan.

Deb and Beck had made a variety of rubs and marinades for the turkey-substitute pork tenderloins. The menu for dinner Friday included those 'loins, stuffing, green bean casserole, cranberry-Jello salad, dinner rolls, and scalloped potatoes. My brother also made some ridiculously good pesto for an appetizer, and I'm pretty sure some of it found its way into the main meal as well. Delicious stuff, and 'twas followed by Beck's delicious pumpkin pie, a chocolate satin pie, and a chocolate-pecan pie. I ate way too much, which is a general truism about time spent at my parents' house; I always leave a greater person.

Saturday, we all, at separate times, headed up to Austin. Aaron was headed up early to get ready for his play, my fam was meeting Kristen's fam for an early lunch, Pat was headed up to get intoxicated on lamb fur before the play started, and Beck and I were meeting Carrie, Ryan, Harrison (the toddler not the Ford), Brett, Matt, Ebit, Ben, and Noah for lunch at Rudy's. Yeah, more eating! Great BBQ, great seeing old Rice friends, and I even had the privilege of playing a whole lot of the "drop the toy truck on the ground over and over and over and over and over*" game with Harrison. We went straight from there to Aaron's play, the Tom Stoppard classic Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead. The leads were AWESOME; especially Rosencrantz (no, wait, Guildenstern). Seriously, I spent a lot of the time wondering what precisely the difference between this high school production and any community or professional level production would be, and with few exceptions (cough cough The Player cough), I saw no difference. Bang up job by Aaron et al., even if the vast majority of the audience was left clueless by the goings on (hint - it helps a lot if you've read Hamlet recently, and it helps even more if you've been reading a 1400 page novel loosely based on Hamlet, too). Thoroughly enjoyed it, and we booked it out of there to Aaron's apartment to get ready for the wedding. Which is as good of a place to take a break as any.

* - And over.