So it goes.

no one else could hear its call

2012-02-20T23:08:00.002-05:00

"Then, all at once, he thought of the ocean - the ocean he had seen from the deck of the ship that brought him from Japan to Manchuria. he had never seen the ocean before, nor had he seen it since. That had happened eight years ago. He could still remember the smell of the salt air. The ocean was one of the greatest things he had ever seen in his life - bigger and deeper than anything he had imagined. It changed its color and shape and expression according to time and place and weather. It aroused a deep sadness in his heart, and at the same time it brought his heart peace and comfort. Would he ever see it again? He loosened his grip and let the bat fall to the ground. It made a dry sound as it struck the earth. After the bat left his hands, he felt a slight increase in his nausea.

The wind-up bird went on crying, but no one else could hear its call."

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami

Puppy Porn

2012-01-22T22:50:00.002-05:00

We got Shimu from our neighbors and one of Shimu's litter mates recently had puppies. This is his nephew. It was a little difficult getting anything in focus with this little guy running around incessantly and trying to steal Shimu's toys and blanket. It's hard to believe Shimu used to be that size.

Post School, Work, & Wolverine

2012-01-20T16:45:00.001-05:00

It's an odd feeling being back home and done with school. Suddenly the timeline for all my plans is so much longer. Career goals, savings, personal projects, and other things concerning life now extend for, well, forever. There's no significant foreseeable interruption (God forbid I go back for a Ph.D.) and it's a new feeling. I took a look around my house and found some pictures of myself from my childhood. It's an interesting thing to be able to see how much I've changed both outwardly and inwardly. These are a few photographs from the early '90's:

If it isn't clear, I'm the littler one in the first picture with my older brother. I appear to be wearing some awesome looking boat shoes and some sweet corduroy overalls. As I got older I went through some pretty embarrassing phases (let's all of us forget the long AZN bangs period). It's only been very recently that I've felt as though my personality has stabilized somewhat into a state where I can build and grow on a foundation of sense and willingness to change. As much as I dread, if facetiously, getting older, I look forward to opportunities to challenge myself and become more of a complete human being.

Speaking of entering real adult life, I recently accepted a position at a prominent development consulting firm. I really like the company and the work they do and it's encouraging to be going into a job knowing that I want to be with them for the long haul. I haven't started yet though, so how it will actually play out remains to be seen.

On another note, I recently picked up a pair of Wolverine's 1000 Mile Bradford Oxford. It took me a long time to track down a pair in my size (they were a one season release back in 2010). They are fantastic. They're made with Horween Chromexcel (like the Oak Street Trail Oxfords) and it smells and feels so good, it probably wouldn't take much convincing for me to eat them... Or, you know... I'll just wear them. I'm totally sold on Wolverine now though. Once I start getting paid again, I may have to pick up a pair of 1000 Mile boots.

2011 Retrospective

2012-01-02T14:12:00.002-05:00

2011 was a good year. Some firsts, some lasts. Traveled. Good friends. Finished school. I've put together a handful of shots I've taken this year of memorable moments:

Unfortunately, it kind of cuts off right after the summer. I haven't had much opportunity to take my camera out very often this last semester or be very active on here. Here's hoping I'll have a lot more to share here in 2012.

So, I've finished graduate school with a Masters in Global Development Economics and the job hunt is underway. I'll refrain from any speculation or moaning on that subject for a while.

On a more personal note, I've mentioned that I've learned a not insignificant amount about myself through my time in grad. school. I think I've changed a good bit for the better, but have also stagnated in some other areas that could do with some improvement. That's a bit cryptic, but suffice it to say I plan on taking greater initiative in being deliberately mindful about some areas of my life that I've not given as much thought to as I have in the past (...that's not any less cryptic.) If nothing else, I think I may at least be a little less tightly wound. Maybe...

I hope everyone had a great New Years and has a happy, healthy, and adventure-filled 2012.

Poor, College Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T13:27:00.001-05:00

I waited a little too long to book a flight home this year and they got a little too expensive. So I opted to stay in Boston, seeing as how I'll be home for good next month anyway. I also have a decent amount of work to do, but I will likely designate a few days to do absolutely nothing. See below, my plans for today: leftover Bon Chon, play Skyrim, catch up on non-school reading, and I just downloaded 50/50 and Warrior. I am also going to do my laundry. Tomorrow, while everyone is shopping, I think I will go see The Muppets and/or Hugo.

I'm thankful for whatever it is in me that hopes beyond hope that someday I might do something of worth for the good of the world. As contradictory as my life is, it's been a subtle, but galvanizing and self-correcting force in my life and I don't think I'd like where I'd be without it. Friends and family too, probably.

Four more weeks of school and I'm done forever.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

October Frost

2011-11-16T21:59:00.001-05:00

I spent the majority of this past weekend at the library writing a paper. Saturday evening, I took a break to grab a slice of pizza across the street with a friend. It was a warm evening, unseasonably so for this time of year, and the air smelled sweetly of decaying leaves. It was dark as we were walking back to the library and our work. On the way, there was a small group huddled around a dark mound wedged in between the curb and a car. As we got closer, we noticed a concerned, elderly woman standing just outside the group with her hands clasped tightly in front of her chest. Her husband had fallen into the small space at the base of the curb and a number of passers-by were attempting to help him out and up.

Our pace slowed, watching to see if we could offer our assistance. After some doing, the gentleman was on his feet, so we continued back across Comm. Ave. to the library. Comm. Ave. is a large, busy two way road divided by the T tracks. When we got to the median, I looked back to see that the elderly couple were beginning to cross. We waited for them to reach the median safely and continued ahead by a few steps, just in case. Once they were across safely, the woman approached us to ask if we knew where a particular conference hall was, where an Amnesty International event was being held. We did and we escorted them to the building in question, which was just a couple of blocks down. While walking, we learned that they had been married for over 50 years. The wife was born October Callum, but goes by Toby. Her husband is Wesley Frost. That makes her October Frost and that is just the prettiest name.

She told us about the time she drove from Boston to Alaska and how she'd like, one day, to drive across America and write about the names of places. I told her about my cross-country trips and we shared stories from the road. Before too long, we saw them back to their car and we parted ways as they effused thank-yous. My friend and I made our way back to the library and I sunk my evening in one of my last assignments ever, hopefully. It was a pleasant diversion and I imagined what it would be like not only to have lived such a long life as happily as they have, but to have gone the majority of it with someone you love.

Winter In A Hurry

2011-10-30T17:21:00.002-04:00

It seemed like we only had a couple of weeks of pleasant Fall weather. Winter showed up mighty early this year. I had to unwrap my peacoat from the plastic, baby suffocating garment bag today, but any excuse to break out The Hill-side gear is fine with me.

Batman, Snow, & Mint

2011-10-30T00:35:00.002-04:00

As is usually the case, I'm not very active on here in the middle of the semester. Once I get into the school groove, it's just week after week of trying to keep my brain alive without anything interesting going on. This weekend is Halloween weekend, so presumably the entire contingent of able-bodied college partiers should be out in force tonight. It's also snowing. Winter showed up in a hurry and I don't think all the sexy-"something" costumed coeds are going to appreciate that tonight. I, on the other hand, have opted to stay inside today, rather than venture out. I've done nothing today except apply to jobs and play Batman: Arkham City (which is fantastic). I'm getting to the point where I care very little about school work and can only think about the unsettling prospect of long-term unemployment as I'm on the brink of reentering the job market. So, if you are in a position to get or help me get a job, now's your chance to be my best friend.

On a similar note, I was looking at my finances earlier and it's really nothing except horribly depressing and each time I look is even more depressing. I'm a Mint.com user so I have my data neatly arranged for the couple of years since I started using it. Here's a chart of my net worth for about two years. It starts close to a year after I started working and shows a basically symmetric rise and fall of my savings on either side of the start of grad school. For privacy's sake, I left out the actual values.

...

I NEED A JOB.

* - The chart does not include my student loans. If it did, it would be even more depressing.

Oak Street Bootmakers

2011-10-06T16:50:00.003-04:00

I recently picked up a pair of Trail Oxfords from Oat Street Bootmakers in Chicago. In somewhat of a recent development, I've begun to be drawn to the appeal of high quality, American made goods. Denim, leather goods, shoes. The Hill-side, Tellason, Tanner Goods. This is in part thanks to guys like Ryan over at his Simple Threads blog. I've been on the lookout for a go-to, durable pair of shoes I can wear with anything and is not a sneaker. I stumbled on Oak Street and was immediately sold. Since I received them, they've rarely left my feet (except when Boston is being Boston and the weather is gross, which, admittedly, is fairly often). They're exceedingly comfortable and the Horween leather is like butter.

I'm not going to be attempting to break in to the fashion blogosphere, but I just thought I'd share in case any of you guys are looking for a handsome, comfortable shoe that can be dressed up or down. Definitely check out Oak Street. As an added bonus, before I pulled the trigger, I had a nice, extended email conversation with the owner/cobbler himself, George Vlagos. George answers all emails personally and is the kind of person you always want to speak with at a business.

Nova Scotia (v): Halifax, Cape Breton, & Irene

2011-09-12T23:34:00.011-04:00

From Peggys Cove, Halifax is less than an hour drive away. While following the coastal route was straightforward and more or less devoid of any opportunities to get lost, making my way into the city was a little trickier. Without my phone or a detailed map, I aimed myself toward Halifax and hoped for the best. I took a couple of wrong turns, but I made it to downtown Halifax before too long. Halifax is pretty small and actually not that interesting. I've been to cooler cities. I checked out a few major tourist sites, including a large fort-topped hill in the center of the town. I then went down to the boardwalk to grab something to eat. You can see the two snack shacks: beaver tails (?!) and fish and chips. Silly Canadians. I had previously considered spending more time in Halifax, but I didn't feel compelled to. After lunch, I got back in my car and headed out for Cape Breton.

Up until then I had been on the coastal route, but the road to Cape Breton crossed the interior of Nova Scotia. Most of the population seemed concentrated in the outer edges of Nova Scotia and the interior was mostly empty and pock marked by lakes. I didn't make any stops and got to the island a little before sunset. I got on the Cabot Trail, which is the road that loops around the park, and headed counter-clockwise. It was too late to attempt any hikes, so the next series is just views of the winding, cliff-top coastal roads and the sky and ocean in different stages of the sunset.

At the northern tip of the park, there is a small town with a couple of restaurants and an inn. I ate dinner there, which consisted of fish that had been caught that day, and then doubled back to where the trail hit some of the highest points in the park. I attempted to do some astrophotography, but my poor 40D is showing its age. It doesn't seem up to super long exposures anymore and was never really able to handle very high ISOs. I got a handful of too-noisy shots of the Milky Way and a couple of star trails, but they're not really usable. If you want to contribute to the "Buy Brian A New Camera" fund, please let me know.

After a couple of hours of wandering around in the dark, I made my way back to the mini-town and parked my car and slept until just before sunrise. I woke up and immediately made my way to the eastern coast to catch the sunrise. After a little while of making my way down the eastern loop, I turned off into a small fishing village that was just beginning to stir and the fishermen were preparing their boats for the day. At this point I'd accumulated more than enough pictures of lighthouses, but at the of the road was another lighthouse atop a low headland overlooking the water. The clouds and morning sun created a backdrop I couldn't leave unphotographed.

I continued south from the village for a bit and turned off again to follow a beach trail on foot. It led to a rocky outcropping that jutted out into the water. I went up onto the rocks and stood at the edge as the waves crashed violently on the darkened stones below me. The sun was climbing steadily in the sky and the clouds broke the fledgling sun-rays into light and dark, blue and red. The coast arced forward on either side of me and I wondered at what motivates me to drive thousands of miles just to be alone, surrounded by rocks, trees, and water.

From there I made my way to the trailhead of a hike I had planned on doing. Unfortunately, as soon as I parked my car, Irene crashed the party. The rain began lightly - a light mist that was almost imperceptible enough for me to still consider doing the hike - but Irene soon extinguished the clean light of the new day and cast it into the murky darkness of late evening. Storm clouds rolled in thick and unforgiving and the rain became hard and pelting. I had originally planned on staying the entire day in the park, but knowing that the rain wouldn't stop until Irene had passed, I decided to just start the drive back to Boston. There wouldn't be any point in staying. So, I dialed in and drove the 15 hours back to Boston straight, passing through the entirety of Hurricane Irene.

The return journey was pretty uninteresting - nothing but black skies, wiper blades, and the barely visible tail lights of the cars ahead of me. Just as I made it back into the city, the sky cleared. I got back to my apartment, plugged myself back into the internet and found out what had happened in the world in the previous five days, and passed out. Another road trip over, but as a bonus, here's a shot of what my passenger seat looks like during these things:

Ten Years Ago Today

2011-09-11T12:14:00.004-04:00

I was in my tenth grade history class. Our room didn't have a TV and no one had come in to to tell us what had happened. My teacher finished his lecture and when we filed out into the hallway, it was eerily quiet and deserted. There was always an odd feeling of having done something wrong or being somewhere I wasn't supposed to be when I found myself in an empty hallway. Puzzling at the absence of the usual inter-period cacophony and gridlock, my classmates and I sidled down the hall, peering into the adjacent classrooms. It wasn't long before the solemn expressions and images of plumes of smoke told us what we had been so blithely ignorant of moments before. While we were engrossed in European history, other classes had been interrupted by news of events that would come to dominate the tone of the following ten years.

The next hours were spent silently watching coverage of the attacks in chemistry. The silence was broken periodically by parents nervously plucking their child out of class, someone quietly sobbing into their desk, or a cellphone ringing louder than any phone had ever rung before. School was eventually dismissed early and I went home knowing everyone I knew was safe, but not how profoundly the world had just changed.

Nova Scotia (iv): Lunenburg, Mahone Bay, & Peggys Cove

2011-09-09T01:21:00.005-04:00

I woke up in my car in Lunenburg right before sunrise. I rubbed the grogginess out of my eyes and the stiffness out of my neck and made my way down to the docks. Lunenburg is an historic port town and is known for its jewel-toned buildings. The brightly colored homes, sailboats, and the warm, yellow light of dawn made for a very painterly scene.

Before the sun rose too far above the horizon, I got back into my car and continued along the coast. Just down the road was Mahone Bay. Another small historic town, Mahone Bay is mostly known for its three prominent churches from the 1800's: Trinity United, Saint John's Lutheran, and Saint James Anglican. The churches are often seen on postcards and travel ads for Nova Scotia.

The third in this succession of Nova Scotia landmarks was Peggys Cove. A small fishing village, with a population of less than 50, that is home to the "most photographed lighthouse in North America." After you turn into the village and pass the small wooden houses, stacks of lobster cages, and grounded rowboats, the road ends in a small gravel turn off. Over a small grassy hill is an expansive rocky plateau that leads to the ocean. At the edge of the plateau overlooking the powerful, crashing waves is Peggys Point Lighthouse. As I approached it, the fog was still dense and I could only make out the dark outline of the monolith. The mist began to dissipate and the lighthouse and shore began to resolve and flush with color. It's easy to see why it's so prolifically photographed. Peggys Point is as iconic as a lighthouse can get.

I passed through these three scenes in only a couple of hours. In the remainder of the day I passed through Halifax and drove north to Cape Breton. I'll get to those next time.

On another note: I've completed my first week of the semester. It's been rainy and cold all week and I've been somewhat distracted for various reasons. Fortunately, it's supposed to clear up tomorrow and, hopefully, so will my disposition. I will use the weekend to recharge and brace myself for the prospect of doing school work again.

Nova Scotia (iii): South Shore

2011-09-06T09:58:00.010-04:00

Upon arriving at the ferry at Saint John, I found it suspiciously empty. It was then that I learned that Canada is actually one hour ahead of the United States. I thought I had made it to the ferry an hour early, but I actually arrived five minutes late and watched as the Princess of Acadia sailed out into the Bay of Fundy in the murky, overcast dusk. So that evening I found a hotel room and grabbed dinner at a local bar and got my last full night's rest and shower for the rest of the trip.

As it turns out, it was fortunate that I missed the ferry the previous evening. The clouds had dissipated and the next morning was clear and sunny. I arrived at the ferry extra early to avoid any complications and boarded the Princess at 11am and sailed at noon.

After making landfall in Digby, I set off along the coastal road going counter clockwise. The coast is peppered with countless turnoff loops, tracing the contours of the shoreline, that weave in and out of fishing villages and tourist watering holes. I made my way through many of them, but the more interesting ones weren't until the next day closer to Halifax. I did find a nice secluded lighthouse over a rock strewn beach covered in wildflowers. It was near sunset and the beach was shrouded in mist and the light was diffuse and ghostly. If you look closely, you can see the light refracting in the mist and creating a small, faint rainbow around the lighthouse in the first shot. As I explored the beach the lighthouse let out a deafening blast every 30 seconds. It took me several minutes to stop flinching at it.

As night fell, I drove for as long as I could without falling asleep. I made it all the way to Lunenburg, which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and parked my car on a secluded side street and got a few hours of sleep. I'll pick up here in the next post, but now I have to go to my last first day of class. For now, here are some shots of the sunset over the bay:

Nova Scotia (ii): Precipice Trail

2011-08-30T23:55:00.007-04:00

The Precipice Trail is actually in Acadia National Park in Maine not Nova Scotia. I read about this particular trail while looking into Acadia National Park and was drawn by the descriptions of ascending the sheer, vertical face of Champlain Mountain. It's billed as a "non-technical climb" and ominous signs warned off the height-phobic.

The trail begins with a straightforward rock scramble, but once it reaches the base of the mountain it becomes extremely vertical. While normal trails ascend in switchbacks of more forgiving grades, Precipice immediately launches into a series of climbs and ladder-like portions that zig-zag up the 1,000 foot cliff. The trail itself is only a little over a mile long, but it was pretty strenuous. Not having worked out much this summer, I reached the summit with quivering quads and calves on the verge of cramping.

I left Boston a little before Hurricane Irene arrived and essentially raced it up the coast. I beat it to Nova Scotia by a few days, but I'll talk about that later. In Maine, I think I got the very tip of it. There was partial cloud cover that got heavier as the day wore on, but, while on the hike, the sun came in and out. The summit was, at regular intervals, enveloped by passing clouds - the thin sliver of the forested shoreline and ocean intermittently obscured like different stages of a Hiroshi Sugimoto seascape series. The ocean, of course, is also what made this hike so different from the others I've been on. It's quite a difference to see an endless expanse of water from height instead of mountains and forests. Descending was considerably more unnerving. Lowering yourself over a rock ledge trying to find the first foothold then looking down to see 1,000 feet of nothing below you is not something you can quite get used to.

I had to hurry down, against the protests of my worn out legs, because I had scheduled my visit to Acadia to leave me enough time to get to Saint John, New Brunswick in time for the last ferry of the day to Digby, Nova Scotia. I returned to my car exactly on schedule and the drive to Saint John went smoothly, but I missed the ferry for a very stupid reason. I'll explain why in the next post. In the meantime, I'm driving home tomorrow to drop off the car and will be hanging out for a few days before flying back to Boston to begin my last semester of school, hopefully ever.

Nova Scotia (i): 2,641, 750, 37, 512*

2011-08-29T00:21:00.004-04:00

I got back from Nova Scotia a couple of hours ago. I headed home a day early because Hurricane Irene decided to make her appearance. The numbers in the title are thus: 2,641 miles driven (that's from MD->Boston->NS->Boston), 750 pictures taken, 37 episodes of This American Life listened to, and what seems like 512 bug bites (maybe an exaggeration). I just took my first shower since Thursday and am now going to go sleep in a bed for the first time in three nights.

Stay tuned for more. For now, enjoy this super posed shot of a sunset over the Atlantic from Cape Breton.

Yukon Ho!

2011-08-23T23:03:00.003-04:00

Well, I'm going to the opposite end of Canada from the Yukon. Tomorrow I'll be packing the car and heading up to Nova Scotia. I'll be making a stop in Boston to drop off my stuff at my apartment and then continuing north. I'm going to try to fit in the Precipice Trail in Acadia National Park if I have time before making the 8pm ferry from Saint John, New Brunswick to Digby, Nova Scotia. From Digby I'll be looping around the southern tip of NS and making my way to Halifax and then to Cape Breton Highlands National Park. I'm looking forward to the open road, ocean, horizon, forests, and hours of This American Life.

Stay tuned for pictures/stories.

Pig Racing, 80 Pound Pumpkins, & Demolition Derbies

2011-08-21T01:04:00.002-04:00

I went by the Montgomery County Agricultural Fair today. In addition to the titular attractions, it was full of novel things like a bunny barn, amateur dog shows, tractor pulls, camels, and all the usual rides and fried foods you'd expect. It was kind of alarming to see how overweight (and white) the majority of the people there were. Although, it probably shouldn't have come as a surprise considering the words "FRIED DOUGH" are prominently displayed in flashing lights everywhere.

While taking a picture of a cooking demonstration, the instructor looks at me and suggests I should send the picture to his mother. After a brief pause and a chuckle he adds, "Oh, never mind. She's dead." What kind of joke is that?!

Summer's End

2011-08-18T16:47:00.003-04:00

Summer's coming to an end. I finished my internship last week. I've had a week to do absolutely nothing except sleep and eat. I'll be going back up to Boston for my last semester in a couple of weeks. Before that, I'll be taking a week long road trip to Nova Scotia to check out the coast, Halifax, and Cape Breton National Park. It'll be nice to be out in the open air again. For all those that haven't visited me in Boston yet, I'll only be there until Christmas!

It's been a good summer. It'll be my last summer vacation ever. To commemorate, here's some gratuitous puppy action:

Bancroft, Brandywine, Black & White

2011-08-06T19:15:00.003-04:00

A friend and I went by the abandoned Bancroft Mills factory complex on the banks of Brandywine Creek in Wilmington, DE. It's a row of 100+ year old textile facilities and are just begging to be explored. If I'd had more time, I'd have tried to find a way inside them. Unfortunately, they're currently in the process of being renovated into upscale condos. The cost of progress.

Spain (v): Barcelona

2011-07-26T23:23:00.013-04:00

My train pulled in to Barcelona at around 9:30 in the evening. Thanks to the efficient and immediately comprehensible metro system, I was able to find my way into the city to join the others easily. When I arrived at the apartment, it had been over 24 hours since I'd been doused in Sangria in the madness that was Pamplona. I dropped my bags and ran for the shower to scrub away the now hard shell of sugar, sweat, and dirt that encased every inch of exposed skin. Afterward, I'd never felt so clean in my life.

Barcelona is the most normal city I visited in Spain. Certainly very different from any city I've been to in America, but it seemed the most real. There was still beautiful architecture and sun-soaked beaches, but it also had contrast. It had dirt. There was poverty. There were areas that weren't absurdly pristine. It felt more lived in.

That evening, the group decided to go to a club. Having traveled all day and not having had any real rest for two days, I opted to roam the city on my own for a while and get some sleep. I walked to a street known as La Rambla, which is a major tourist area. It extends into the city from the harbor and is lined with tourist shops, street vendors, and restaurants. It was brightly lit and even at 1am it was densely packed. As I headed back to the apartment around 2am, all the cafes and restaurants I passed were still filled with customers. Nothing showed any signs of slowing down.

After a few hours of sleep, I woke up to go catch the sunrise at the beach while everyone else was recovering from their adventures that evening. I left the apartment at around 5:30am and, as I made my way to the beach, the clubs and bars were just emptying out. Young people stumbled out of dark, now silent halls of soon to be forgotten bacchanalian revelry. They emerged in various states of disarray and disheveled-ness and hobbled haltingly, supported by each other, down sidewalks in the half-light of predawn. When I arrived at the beach, a 20 minute walk away, I discovered a mass of spent and happily exhausted partiers sprawled on the sand. I overheard multiple guys breathlessly and emphatically avowing to their friends that that was, in fact, the best night of his life.

On my way back from the beach, the city had almost emptied of its evening denizens. Streets and squares I had just passed through that were crowded and filled with slurred speech and uninhibited laughter were deserted and blanketed in silence. It was almost unsettling - I felt almost like I was the victim of some kind of reverse flashmob.

After returning to the apartment and waiting for the others to wake up, we took the metro to the Gaudi cathedral. I don't know enough about it to say anything meaningful about its history or Antoni Gaudi himself, you can look that up easily yourself, but it was a pretty imposing structure. Still unfinished, it kind of reminded me of the undersea palace in "The Little Mermaid's" Atlantis. The exterior has an organic mass of figures and details. The interior was cavernous and extravagant. It was teeming with tourists and hardly felt like it could ever serve as a place of worship.

After some other general sightseeing, that evening we went to Montjuïc - translated in medieval Catalan as "Hill of the Jews." It's a large hill on the south side of Barcelona with gardens and a large castle at its summit. Unfortunately, I had only brought my 50mm because I was tired of carrying around my camera bag. I was not expecting the spectacular views from the top of the hill, but I did what I could. I was also so focused on the panorama from there and the sun setting (as seen in the shot at the top of the post) that I neglected to take any picture of the castle.

After we finished being awed by the view of Barcelona, we set out to find the cafe that someone had read was supposed to be located behind the castle on the opposite side of the hill. We walked along a dirt path that stretched out along the eastern hill face overlooking the Mediterranean. Not really knowing what we were looking for and with the light fading quickly, the walk around the hill seemed to stretch on. When we finally made it there, we were relieved and pleasantly surprised to find a charming open air cafe with another fantastic view, this time of the Mediterranean. It's called "La Caseta del Migdia" and I definitely recommend trying to make your way out here if you're in Barcelona. It's off the beaten path and it was a refreshing change from the tourist heavy sites we'd been to that day. We sat in canvas chairs at wooden picnic tables sipping whiskey, wine, Coke, and vodka Fantas.

Soon after we arrived and began enjoying drinks and plates of meat, cheese, and bread (which seemed to be all we ate in Spain), a Flamenco band and dancers began performing. I went to take some shots of the small stage where the dancers spun and stomped along with a guitarist and an older woman who sang/spoke rhythmic phrases and shouts (like a caller at a square dance...?). I moved around to the rear of the stage to get some shots with a rim light, but the older woman turned around, pointed at me, and yelled "El paparazzi!" She pulled me on stage and made me take pictures of all of them. It was pretty awesome and only reinforced the theory that everyone in Spain loves me. After that incident, they continued to perform. The main pair, if I had to describe them, were probably as stereotypically Spanish and sexy as you could be. I don't really know how else to say it. The rest of the time there I sat sipping whiskey out of a plastic cup, watching the dancers move hypnotically, and just soaking in the warmth and other-ness of that experience. It was a great evening.

We made our way back down the hill in the dark and back to the apartment. After a short rest, we went to a club by the beach for a little while. There wasn't anything particularly memorable about that. I left early to shower, pack, and go to the airport to catch my 8am flight. I successfully navigated more trains, shuttles, and confusing Spanish airports and made it back to America (not without spending the rest of my euros to buy crispy M&Ms at Duty Free) after eight great, mostly memorable days.

As good a time as I had in Spain, the first thing I did when I landed in Philly for a short layover was eat Chik-fil-a and it was glorious.

"The world was not wheeling any more. It was just very clear and bright, and inclined to blur at the edges."

The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway

Spain (iv): Pamplona

2011-07-20T21:40:00.021-04:00

"Then we crossed a wide plain, and there was a big river off on the right shining in the sun from between the line of trees, and away off you could see the plateau of Pamplona rising out of the plain, and the walls of the city, and the great brown cathedral, and the broken skyline of the other churches. In back of the plateau were the mountains, and every way you looked there were other mountains, and ahead the road stretched out white across the plain going toward Pamplona."

Of course, modern day Pamplona bears little resemblance to the one described in "The Sun Also Rises" (few things do resemble their Hemingway counterpart). As we arrived in Pamplona after the hour-long bus ride from San Sebastian, we passed first through a modern downtown urban center. High rises, office buildings, a modern bus station. If not for the sea of white clothes dotted by red bandanas like flecks of blood, Pamplona seemed terribly ordinary (that is, for Spain). As we made our way out of the bus station and to the historic district, the crowds grew thicker and the tall, utilitarian architecture gave way to the elaborate and detailed. Throughout the town, I noticed that a blue cartoon bull cutout watched down from certain balconies. This is the mascot of the company kukuxmusu, ostensibly the official souvenir purveyor for the Festival of San Fermin. Their t-shirts and other paraphernalia depict cartoon bulls (with giant balls) in the running, often in surprisingly violent circumstances. I somehow neglected to pick anything up at one of their kiosks. I also wonder how their sales do the other 51 weeks in the year.

We weren't planning on finding lodging for the night (nor could we have given how many people were there), instead we checked our bags at a municipal luggage storage service, targeted at tourists like us, and gave ourselves into the mercy of the festival crowd. The Festival of San Fermin is a week long celebration of Spanish folklore and centers around the running of the bulls and bullfights. It attracts over a million people a year and it is absolutely ridiculous. Partying begins in the late afternoon and lasts until the bull run at 8am the next day. The city cleans the apocalypse of a mess each day until it happens again. When we first began wandering the town it was pleasant and seemed well maintained. Little did we know of the disaster that would befall this place in a matter of hours.

Like I mentioned before, every where I went in Spain, people would grab me and talk to me and then ask me to take their picture. You'll notice the guys in the second picture from the bottom and how they are casually lugging around bottles of sangria. That would come into play in a big way at the bullfight.

We made our way to the arena and did a lap getting a feel for how much the scalpers were asking for tickets to that afternoon's bullfight. We found an old man seated under a tree that offered a reasonable price and bought our tickets. We headed inside while the air hummed with anticipation as before a college football game between rivals. We found our seats among the concrete steps that filled the circular tiers above the dirt stage at the center and waited for the fight to begin, happily oblivious to what we had just gotten ourselves into.

As people steadily packed themselves into the arena, the stands turned albino with chicken pox. I started to feel something dripping on me. My first thought was to look up to see if it were raining or if there were a leak. It was sunny and there was no roof over me. The dripping continued sporadically, but more and more frequently. Having given up trying to locate the source of the drip, I ignored it. That is, until a group took their seats in the row above ours carrying a giant bucket with its lid taped on with clear masking tape. My curiosity was promptly satisfied when the tape was ripped off and the reservoir of sangria inside began filling the plastic cups that were dunked vigorously into its murky, purple depths. It was then that I recalled the pink and purple stained people we saw in San Sebastian. I finally located the source of the dripping. It was a squirt gun. Filled with sangria. A portly bearded man several rows back in the adjacent section was joyously spraying his fruity, fuchsia payload indiscriminately around his general area. As revelers filed in, so too did the number of similar sangria buckets increase. More squirt guns appeared. Spray bottles, toilet brushes (dipped in buckets and waved), or just hurled cups fueled a sustained deluge of sangria for the entire two-hour duration of the bullfight. Needless to say, I have almost no pictures of this lest my camera get a cup of sangria in the face.

My seat neighbors, two guys named Innaki and Innaru, knew we were tourists and as an apology for pouring cups of sangria down my back, offered us cups of it out of their own personal bucket. I passed the first batch of it down the line to the group, but throughout the rest of the fight I think I consumed enough sangria to last me a lifetime.

"Outside the ring, after the bull-fight was over, you could not move in the crowd. We could not make our way through but had to be moved with the whole thing, slowly, as a glacier, back to town. We had that disturbed emotional feeling that always comes after a bull-fight, and the feeling of elation that comes after a good bull-fight. The fiesta was going on."

As memorable as it was to endure the storm of sangria and celebrate with my newfound Spanish friends, the bullfight itself was a little upsetting. Like the city itself, the fight conveyed little of the bravery or romance I envisioned. It was not the spectacle of honor or physical artistry I had hoped for, instead I felt repulsed by the slow, ritualistic slaughter of a strong, proud animal by the small, fearful men in flamboyant outfits. Each bull (of six) reduced to fatigued, confused shells of themselves until they are put out of their misery by the matador and unceremoniously dragged out of the arena by a pair of yoked horses.

"There was much wine, an ignored tension, and a feeling of things coming that you could not prevent happening. Under the wine I lost the disgusted feeling and was happy. It seemed they were all such nice people."

The remainder of the evening passed in a happy, sangria induced haze among the crowds in the now riot of a city that bore little resemblance to itself only hours before. We passed the night in a quiet corner of the town away from the still raging festivities and rested for a few hours before attempting to find somewhere to watch the running of the bulls. As we made our way there, we waded through throngs of still energetic partiers at 6am. I should note that every open cup of sangria I saw made me flinch as if it were about to be emptied over my head. We arrived at the route for the run, but underestimated how early to arrive. Without any clear vantage points, I pushed and squeezed my way to the barrier. I waited there the remaining hour while being pressed against the wooden planks of the fence by the undulating tides of the ocean of the now drunk and dingy, pink stained whites, all wanting to catch a glimpse of the bulls.

When it actually happened, it was silent and over before I knew it started. If you look closely in the last shot you can see the black coat of the bull, but that's as much as I saw. It was somewhat anticlimactic, but damned if the preceding 16 hours weren't some of the most memorable of my life.

"In the morning it was all over. The fiesta was finished... The square was empty and there were no people on the streets. A few children were picking up rocket-sticks in the square. The cafes were just opening and the waiters were carrying out the comfortable white wicker chairs and arranging them around the marble-topped tables in the shade of the arcade. They were sweeping the streets and sprinkling them with a hose."

The streets weren't so much being sprinkled with a hose that morning as being pressure blasted by fire hoses mounted on street sweepers. We had to jump over literal rivers of runoff and garbage. We retrieved our luggage and the rest of the group made their way to the Avis to take a car to Barcelona. Having joined the trip later in the planning process, I was to take a train. Delirious from the chaos of the festival and lack of sleep, I tried to hail a cab to the train station that lay just outside the town. Failing to do so, I decided to walk the two miles there. Not exactly sure how to get there, I blearily followed signs and walkways in what I hoped was the general direction of the Renfe station. Thankfully I found myself there after an hour or so. It was small and quaint. There was a little cafe and a sunbathed courtyard. I regret not taking any pictures of it, but I spent the following 4-5 hours passed out in a chair until my train to Barcelona arrived.

Spain (iii): San Sebastian

2011-07-16T20:41:00.019-04:00

"Even on a hot day San Sebastian has a certain early-morning quality. The trees seem as though their leaves had just been sprinkled. It is always cool and shady on certain streets on the hottest day."

When we arrived in San Sebastian, it was overcast and much cooler than it had been in Madrid. We wore light jackets as we crossed the town to our hostel by the beach. San Sebastian, like Madrid, is almost unbelievably picturesque. The streets are lined with Parisian apartments dotted with intricate wrought iron balconies. The atmosphere had the tranquility of a place perpetually on holiday. As we emerged on the other side of the town from the train station the street opened up to the small, crescent shaped enclosed beach. An inlet from the Bay of Biscay bottlenecked by two large hills, one topped by a castle and the other by a large statue of Jesus. Even under the clouds, the beauty of this place was almost hypnotic in its ability to make the outside world seem very far away.

"I looked around at the bay, the old town, the casino, the line of trees along the promenade, and the big hotels with their white porches and gold-lettered names. Off on the right, almost closing the harbor, was a green hill with a castle... On the other side of the narrow gap that led into the open sea was another high headland."

We strolled along the harbor for a while admiring the place until dinner. We made our way to the back alleys at the east end of town for our first pintxos crawl (pronounced pinchos - the Basque variation of Spanish uses a lot of X's). Pintxos is tapas, more or less. The main difference is that, unlike tapas, pintxos are traditionally skewered to a piece of bread. The cultural intricacies are beyond me, but pinxtos bars are a lot of fun. Both nights there we made our way to several different pintxos bars and procured a smattering of small dishes accompanied by wine. If you ask me, I couldn't tell you the name of any of the dishes, but most ranged from very good to delicious. Everything is very casual and the crowd usually spills out into the street. The quarters are close and conversations blend into one another. The nightlife ends much earlier than it did in Madrid (12-1am as opposed to 3-4am), but it's a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend an evening.

We began the following day by hiking up the eastern hill to the Jesus statue. It didn't take as long as I had thought it would, but the view from the summit was breathtaking. After taking in the view and taking pictures, we made our way down and stopped at a small hillside cafe overlooking the bay. It was run out of a small hut by a middle aged man and his 3 or 4 dogs. The dogs were calm and socially aloof in the way that only dogs that aren't doted upon and are simply treated as members of a social group can be. Not pleading or unctuous, they regarded us indifferently as we maneuvered about them. As I stopped to take a few shots of them, the owner of the cafe handed me a strip of paper with his email address. He motioned to my camera and then his dogs and, through one of the spanish speaking members of our group, asked me to email him some of the pictures of them. I nodded vigorously, happy to oblige such a genuine request for a simple service that I hope will brighten his day.

While we were enjoying some ice-cold Cokes and Fantas (made with real sugar, as I mentioned before - I drank so much soda on this trip to take advantage of this as much as possible) enjoying another fantastic view of the town and bay, the sun made its first appearance. As the clouds burned off and pillars of light filtered through, color slowly began to creep back into San Sebastian. The sky and water regained their azure clarity. The green in the hills grew lush and verdant. The red tiled rooftops burned fire red. As we watched the sun warm the town, we grew eager to return to the beach that was so lukewarm the day before. We rushed down the rest of the way and back to the hostel to change. The next few hours were spent sunbathing out on the sand and getting pummeled by powerful, 10 foot waves.

One thing I always hope for is to catch the edge of a weather system during sunrise/sunset. This results in solid cloud cover or empty, featureless skies more often than not, but with the clouds rolling out of San Sebastian, I knew that the sunset would be spectacular. That evening after the beach, we walked around the town for a bit. We found ourselves at a church atop a small hill overlooking the rooftops. From there I could see the water and the clouds that had parted just enough to provide room for the light to play off of them at different elevations producing a wide range of reds and oranges. We made our way down back to the beach, admittedly at my insistence so I could capture the sunset over the water, and I spent the hour there taking it in while the others went to a shop and returned just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The following morning we caught a bus to Pamplona, this time making sure to leave enough room so as not to repeat the harrowing dash to the train in Madrid. I was sad to leave San Sebastian. It was tranquil and rejuvenating. I don't think I could stay there for longer than a brief time, but it's certainly a place where I'd like to vacation again. At the bus station, we encountered numerous groups of people arriving from Pamplona. Many wore the all-white garb of San Fermin and many of those were covered in splashes of red and pink - an ominous signal of what we could expect in Pamplona. I fully expected Pamplona to be a very different experience than it was in San Sebastian - not relaxing so much as frenetic and chaotic. It turned out to be a bit crazier than I had imagined, for reasons that will become clear in the next installment.

"We drove out along the coast road. There was the green of the headlands, the white, red-roofed villas, patches of forest, and the ocean very blue with the tide out and the water curling far out along the beach... Back of the rolling country we were going through we saw the mountains we had come over from Pamplona."

Spain (ii): Madrid

2011-07-14T00:00:00.009-04:00

The first city of the trip was Madrid. I'll begin this by saying that Madrid was the least interesting of the four cities. Not that it was unenjoyable, but Madrid is surreally pristine and uniformly beautiful as to render it almost boring. Of course, it wasn't boring. Walking around the city was like a crash course in European architecture. A good portion of my pictures is comprised of bottom-up, street level views of stunning buildings and monuments that were littered generously across the city.

Our first meal was lunch in an open air courtyard at the Plaza de Santa Ana. We sat under a canvas shade and I had a pork shoulder and chorizo sandwich while we drank wine and basked in the warmth of the Spanish afternoon. As we lingered there, my mind couldn't help but find itself envisioning Hemingway's characters idling their days away in the same manner. While the setting may have evoked the imagery, I knew in my heart that there's no real connection with the tragic-romance of Hemingway's tortured protagonists. I was a tourist, not only in place but in literary spirit. My generation's listlessness holds little of the gravity of his. And I knew it. In the same way that my friends will sometimes debate which "Friend" we are (am I Ross, Chandler, or Joey?), our conversation turned to facetiously determining which of us was Jake Barnes or Robert Cohn or Lady Ashley. I don't think I honestly want to identify with a wounded, impotent bullfighting aficionado, but the allure of the romance of that era still instills a subtle ache of nostalgia, but, being there, it was enough to exist in the vestigial illusion of common experience, if but for a moment - slumming in the footsteps and suffering of a lonely Jake Barnes.

I say that Madrid was the least interesting because most of our time there was spent doing conventionally tourist activities. Walking around, looking at things, eating and drinking. While this is ostensibly what we did in the other cities, there were moments that definitely stood out as unique to those places that Madrid seemed to lack. Nevertheless, Madrid is still beautiful. The Plaza Mayor was unlike any place I've been to before (which isn't saying a whole hell of a lot). The Main Post Office was the coolest post office I've ever seen. We also caught a cable car to the outskirts of the city. This took us across an arid plains that resembled something you'd find in Africa. It was interesting to see how concentrated Madrid really is and how empty the surrounding area is. We visited the Prado Museum. It's collection was impressive, especially the Goya exhibit. Not a whole lot of pictures from inside this place, what with the old Spanish lady guards running and throwing themselves bodily infront of my camera to prevent me from taking a picture of Goya's "The Drowning Dog." Which is just as well, since I've never really understood the purpose of taking pictures of art. Like pretending to be a Hemingway character, it's a facsimile simply representing a further decay in meaning.

Our last night there we got drinks at a rooftop penthouse back at the Plaza de Santa Ana. We were there at about sunset (which is at around 10pm in Spain) and there was a cool breeze. I stood leaning on the railing with a glass of Macallan and watched as the city lights blinked on one by one and the evening glow enveloped the square below. Conversations, laughter, and soft music from the restaurants drifted upwards unintelligibly cutting through the quiet on the roof. We lingered there for a while enjoying the calm and warmth of wine and the evening.

The following morning consisted of a mad rush to the train station and just barely making the Renfe to San Sebastian. We made it, literally, with seconds to spare. And, as I've mentioned, with Madrid being my least favorite city of the week, I'm looking forward to revisiting the rest of the week. San Sebastian is next and among the most beautiful places I've ever been.

Spain (i): the fiesta was finished

2011-07-12T00:32:00.011-04:00

"In the morning it was all over. The fiesta was finished."

I'm back from Spain. Seven days, 1900 pictures, a ruined pair of shoes and hat, and four cities later and I'm home. It was a whirlwind week and I don't think I'll be making a dent in any of the pictures or thoughts I have about it tonight. I have to preempt the jetlag and get some sleep so I can go into the internship tomorrow and not die. Spain was great, but I'm always happy to come back to America. I'll be following this up in the coming week with more stories and images (including a copious use of Hemingway quotes), but I'll leave this off with some general anecdotes and observations:

When I try to speak Spanish it comes out French and in an Italian accent. If you're Asian and have a big camera, everyone wants to talk to you or have you take their picture. The Spanish metro system is reliable and consistent, but their airports suck. Spanish cities are drastically different at night than during the day. One of my favorite travel accessories is my Washington Nationals hat - a great conversation starter for other Americans. For the locals, I find it much easier to be friendly when I don't speak their language. I can also get away with things by pretending to be a dumb, monolingual tourist (which is what I am). The vending machines in Spain are refrigerated and their Kit-Kat bars are amazing. Soda with real sugar available everywhere is amazing. Nobody drinks water in Spain. Pamplona is insane.

Spain!: A Prelude

2011-07-01T11:57:00.002-04:00

In a bit of a spontaneous decision, I decided to accompany a group of friends on their trip to Spain. I'll be there from July 3rd to the 11th (they're going on to France and the Netherlands afterward, but I can't swing that much time off of the internship). We will be hitting Madrid, San Sebastian, Pamplona, and Barcelona. We will be in Pamplona during the Running of the Bulls and I'm going to do my best to participate without getting gored or trampled. The dilemma, though, is: how will I take pictures if I'm busy trying not to die?

Anyway, here is a look at what I'll have on my person at all times during the trip:

Of note: Of course "The Sun Also Rises" and a Moleskine so I can do my best Hemingway impression. A spare camera for places that aren't ultra-tourist friendly. Perhaps most importantly, chemical-free zinc-oxide based sunscreen because I am allergic to everything else.

This is also the first time I'll be leaving the country that's not going to Korea with my family. I'm very happy to finally have something stamped in my passport. Hopefully this will be the first of many. If you want a souvenir, shoot me an email!

the nature of magic

2011-06-24T01:32:00.002-04:00

"It was at these times that he began to understand, after all those years of study and performance, of feats and wonders and surprises, the nature of magic. The magician seemed to promise that something torn to bits might be mended without a seam, that what had vanished might reappear, that a scattered handful of doves or dust might be reunited by a word, that a paper rose consumed by fire could be made to bloom from a pile of ash. But everyone knew that it was only an illusion. The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so throughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place."

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, Michael Chabon

Home

2011-06-17T14:22:00.002-04:00

I've been home for a few weeks now. It's been quiet. Seen some friends here and there. Started an internship. Slept a lot. Read a lot. Have had a lot of time for rest and reflection. No exciting plans yet for the remainder of the summer, but hopefully something memorable will materialize. I want to see stars. The horizon. Mountains.

all of these are in me

2011-06-16T23:39:00.004-04:00

"I get out of bed, go over to the window, and look at the night sky. And think about time that can never be regained. I think of rivers, of tides. Forests and water gushing out. Rain and lightning. Rocks and shadows. All of these are in me."

Kafka on the Shore, Haruki Murakami

you'll be grown before that tree is tall

2011-06-05T00:34:00.005-04:00

I saw Terrence Malick's new film, "The Tree of Life," today. It was one of the most stirring movies I've seen in a long time. I may, though, have been in the minority in the particular theater I was in. Most everyone else in the theater was old and white and I suspect were there simply because "Midnight in Paris" was sold out. The elderly couple next to me were especially vocal about this. The husband repeatedly asked whether "fish was OK for dinner" and if his wife had "had enough yet?" There were a handful of walkouts and a general sense of incredulity at how anyone could be enjoying the film.

I thought it was beautiful, elegiacally profound, and heart breaking. The premise is simple, but timeless in the true sense of the word. It's about a boy, Jack, and his family. A harsh and severe father. A kind and gentle mother. How our parents can shape our affections and hatreds. As an adult, Jack remembers his past after learning of the death of a brother and meditates on life and death in the universe since the beginning of time. Scenes of a family in the midwest and the boy as a grown man are intercut with breathtaking images of cosmic events, prehistoric Earth, and the oceans. The creation of the universe and star-birthing supernovae. The rise and fall of the dinosaurs. The life-giving and destructive force of water. All images of natural phenomena that both destroy and create life. The natural cycle of life is unchanging and the film explores how the human struggle to control nature creates conflicts within ourselves. It's not until Jack is able to accept the immutable nature of life and death that he is able to forgive his father and shed a lifetime of burden. Malick writes - "When he sees all that has gone into our world’s preparation, each thing appears a miracle—precious, incomparable."

The film resonated with me. It was somewhat apropos of what has been on my mind recently. I'm struggling to reach a place where I can be mindful of things without needing to control them. A place where I can be happy without needing to know that happiness is attained.

here was proof

2011-06-02T00:52:00.006-04:00

"Really - I'm O.K." And he was, too, except that he could find no explanation for why the song had affected him so grotesquely. He had supposed for years that he had no secrets from himself. Here was proof that he had a great big secret somewhere inside, and he could not imagine what it was."

Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut

I think, in a lot of ways, this school year has been more educational for me personally than academically in the sense that I've learned more about myself than I have in my classes. It's been a combination of a lot of things, but I think I'm able to see some things about myself now that I haven't been able to in the past. I've cultivated an image of myself for myself over the years. It's been one of a person of impeachable cognitive ability to deal with all things dispassionately. I think I've spent too much time looking at things in too wide a context. Things get lost in a sea of diminished relative consequence and emotional subtlety is cast aside. I haven't suddenly concluded that this kind of perspective is altogether wrong, but over the course of this year, under various circumstances, I've realized more and more the cost of neglecting subtlety. I've discovered I'm not as immune to anxiety and regret as I once thought. In not engaging with the fleeting disappointments and small tragedies that are a part of investing emotionally in the daily minutia, I've not developed a sufficiently visceral sense of empathy for others or myself. When I try to indulge that part of me now, it's a little jarring.

A list of things I'd like to do. One, see the aurora borealis. Two, become more of a relatable human being. I want to wake up and I want to be that man.

/Don Draper

Excerpts (i)

2011-05-30T14:27:00.003-04:00

I write in a moleskine sporadically. This is an excerpt from my road trip last July:

July 23, 2010 - 1:51 am
Dark clouds lit by a rear full moon frame the sky.
In the distance, on the horizon, lightning flashes illuminating the milky blue expanse.
It's something out of a Cormac McCarthy novel.

School Year End & Sunrise

2011-05-25T18:18:00.002-04:00

My first year of graduate school ended on Monday. It went by very fast, as these things usually do. There have been the standard festivities involving food and drink, but this morning some of my classmates and I went out to the Mass. Ave bridge to watch the sunrise over the Charles River. After a week of unseasonable cold and rain, it was warm and summery today and walking there at 4:30 am was quiet and relaxing. It was a great way to unwind.

We headed back around 6 and were pretty tired and hungry, but Andre wanted a picture of himself jumping over a bench.

I'm now on my first summer break since 2006. My plans aren't finalized yet, but hopefully I'll be able to do something productive and/or fun. I hope everyone else does as well.

Eye Of The Storm

2011-05-14T23:35:00.009-04:00

I mentioned in the previous post that I'm done with my finals, but still have a comprehensive exam (a test that covers all the core econ material for the year and is a requirement for graduation) left. That's over a week away, so I'm doing my best not to think about it for a few days. A classmate had a big BBQ today at his gigantic house, dubbed "The Manor," a little out from BU. It's an old, stately looking house that creaks and has bats living in the walls, but the backyard is perfect for BBQs. The weather wasn't the best, but it was still a nice way to take our minds off of things.

My classmate and his roommates prepared the general BBQ fare (burgers, brats, ribs, and steak), but also somehow managed to ship 60 lbs. of live crawfish overnight from New Orleans. The afternoon became a swarm of people hovering over a table piled high with steaming crawfish, sucking the innards out of the diminutive crustaceans while their remains littered the floor around our feet.

It was a relaxing day. It'll be a few days yet before I venture back to the library, so until then I'll be catching up on sleep and doing absolutely nothing, while trying not to compulsively check for grades online.

Sail Away, Sail Away

2011-05-13T21:08:00.003-04:00

A list of some of the words and names I'd like never to hear again: autoregressive conditional heteroskedasticity, polynomial distributed lag, Dickey Fuller, Breusch Godfrey.

I had my last regulation final this morning. I still have a take-home test due tomorrow and a comprehensive exam on the 23rd, but I have a bit of a reprieve now. A little after the test a couple of friends and I went sailing on the Charles River. One of my classmates had taken the sailing class this semester and is allowed to check out sailboats. So we spent a little while hanging out on the river. It was a nice way to unwind after a hectic week. It was a small boat so too much maneuvering wasn't really an option, but I took as many shots as I could without capsizing us. This was also the first time I've ever worn boat shoes on an actual boat.

The semester's not quite over yet, but it's close. Summer's around the corner and I'm not really sure what I'll be doing, but I'm looking forward to a break.

he thought he was an angel

2011-05-03T22:44:00.011-04:00

I recently started watching Mad Men and am about halfway through season 4. It's not quite what I expected. From what I knew of Don Draper secondhand through pop culture references, I saw in him a powerhouse of a man that ruled Madison Avenue. What I really got was a broken shell- the veneer of male dominance a thin curtain shielding the profoundly sad boy inside. Don Draper cheats on his wife because he doesn't know how to be happy with what he has. In the last episode I watched, titled "The Summer Man," Don Draper begins writing a journal in an attempt to address the chaos inside himself. He begins somewhat innocuously, "A list of things I'd like to do. One, climb Mount Kilimanjaro. Go anywhere in Africa, actually." The next line begins a more poignant stream of uncharacteristic introspection: "Two, gain a modicum of control over the way I feel. I want to wake up and I want to be that man." I haven't kept track, but that may be the first instance of his explicitly expressing genuine dissatisfaction with himself. Later in the episode he continues elegiacally:

"When a man walks into a room he brings his whole life with him. He has a million reasons for being anywhere, just ask him. If you listen, he’ll tell you how he got there, how he forgot where he was going, and that he woke up. If you listen, he’ll tell you about the time he thought he was an angel and dreamt of being perfect. And then he’ll smile with wisdom, content that he realized the world isn’t perfect. We’re flawed because we want so much more. We’re ruined because we get these things and wish for what we had."

Don Draper is the perfect caricature of the American man. Unreasonably handsome, aggressive, and self-assured while also supremely discontent and unable to take responsibility for himself. There's little I can say about Don Draper that hasn't already been dissected by students of American media already, but it's been almost cathartic to see him get to this point. It's hyperbole, but I sometimes see parallels between the process in which Don Draper slowly comes to terms with his fundamental unhappiness, thereby allowing himself to pursue real happiness, and the process of entering adulthood and understanding the truths of my own flawed and broken nature. It's hackneyed and melodramatic, but it's there.

I'm late to the game, but I'd recommend Man Men to anyone that hasn't already seen it.

Spring On Comm. Ave.

2011-04-30T00:05:00.006-04:00

It took me a while, but I finally got around to taking some shots of the campus. The trees finally started to bloom here last week so it was a good time for it. BU's campus is long and narrow, running alongside Commonwealth Avenue. It's not much to look at, but the center of it has a nice quad area and courtyard adjacent to Marsh Chapel. The quad here is called "the BU beach," so named because, if you lie on the grass and close your eyes, the traffic on the road sounds like the ocean. Yeah, it's lame. The shadowy dungeon on the bottom left is the Economics building. Dismal Science, indeed.

Only a week of class left before a month of exams. Crazy.

Shotgun* Wedding

2011-04-14T01:07:00.004-04:00

Today a classmate of mine from Taiwan got married. It was not planned. His girlfriend, also from Taiwan, has been in town for a few weeks and they decided to get hitched before she flies back tomorrow. So a group of us rented a car and drove to Hartford, CT where there is no waiting period for a marriage license. So, I played impromptu wedding photographer.

After getting their license and fashioning their makeshift rings, the ceremony was held in an adjacent room and presided over by an elderly woman who could not for the life of her pronounce Chinese names (or stop talking about her grandkids).

It was an interesting day. Also, it may come as no surprise to those who know me, but I would be a terrible professional wedding photographer. I am not very good at corralling people into looking sentimental and sincere. So, if you're in the market for a demanding, impatient photographer for your engagement shoot, you know who to call.

* - I was just informed that the actual meaning of a shotgun wedding is a wedding forced due to an unplanned pregnancy, which makes the title of this post a misnomer. No one was pregnant in this instance - just an impulse wedding.

Spring At Last

2011-04-10T17:12:00.007-04:00

At long last, it's starting to warm up in Boston. I wasn't able to make it back down to DC for the cherry blossoms this year, but in the spirit of spring I thought I'd a share a few shots from previous years. Everyone else is doing it.

Hard to believe it's April already. Just a few weeks of classes, finals, and a comprehensive exam (blerg) left and it'll be summer. Whether or not I actually have something to do over the summer remains to be seen, but it will be a welcome break. Less than a year back in school and I'm already pining for vacation!

On another note, in the past month, under various circumstances, I've helped shoot several conferences at Harvard. While not the most artistically compelling work, there were some interesting images. I may share some soon.

Broken Flowers

2011-03-25T23:47:00.004-04:00

I saw a lot of these rose (?) trees in Mississippi during my week there.

Unlike previous blogs I've had, I've steered away from focusing on any overly personal, political, or philosophical pontificating with this one. Perhaps I'm not quite as angst-filled as I once was, but I feel some soul plumbing coming on some time in the near future. I've found myself in an odd place in recent months. I feel that I've not focused on taking stock of myself to the extent that I'm normally accustomed. It's kind of snuck up on me - the realization that I've become less consciously mindful of myself. While not necessarily positive or negative, it deserves some attention.

Mighty Mississippi (Alternative Spring Break)

2011-03-21T02:20:00.007-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, a classmate mentioned that the Alternative Spring Break program at BU still needed chaperones for a number of their trips. Without any other significant plans for my break and on somewhat of a whim I volunteered. So, this morning I returned with sunburns, mud-encrusted Nikes, and a stiff neck (from two 36-hour van rides) from a week in Natchez, Mississippi.

Excluding myself, our group consisted of 10 undergraduates averaging around 20 years old, 9 of which were girls. Not a social dynamic I'm normally accustomed to (I've never heard so much Beyonce and Rihanna in my life), but it wasn't unbearable. We spent the week volunteering at the Natchez Children's Home, but only some of our time was spent working with the kids. The majority of the week was spent helping prepare a garden for planting, general landscaping, and some interior work. Much of this work was in the company of the home's resident handy-man, Calvin, a former-mechanic turned Baptist preacher, and Buddy Miller, an aged, eccentric, independently wealthy southern farmer.

I don't think I had any clearly formed expectations of what kind of work I'd be doing when I elected to come on the trip, but getting to work with my hands was a nice reprieve from school. As I'm cresting the middle of graduate school, it's been easy to get stuck in high-minded ideas of approaching development and poverty from the mindset that theory and math are the major tools for change, but this week has been a helpful reminder that there is a lot work to be done that is not intellectually glamorous.

On another note, the culture in small-town Mississippi is archetypal of what one might expect the south to be like. People are welcoming and involved, waistlines are larger (I saw a KFC BUFFET), and there is a confounding mix of intransigent conservatism and a disarming lack of political hostility. A reporter from a local paper, the unexpectedly named Natchez Democrat, came to the home one day to write a piece on our trip (the story can be found here). I'm quoted saying something pretty inane and the writing is comparatively pedestrian (it's no NYT or Economist), but the amazing part was that the following day almost everyone we encountered had read about us. The story had run on the front page and we were the big news of the day (next to the unprecedented changes to the historical tableaux/pageant). It was a little surreal.

I can't say that I don't miss having a week to relax and do nothing, but it was a rewarding experience. Now I need to go listen to something that will drown out Rihanna's "S & M" from my brain.

Incidentally, I also turned 25 a little over a week ago. What up, quarter life.

New York Eats

2011-02-21T12:49:00.004-05:00

After having lived in New York City for a time and deciding it wasn't for me, the only reason I ever go back is to eat (and see friends, I suppose). Case in point, I made absolutely no effort to do anything except make it out to different restaurants this weekend. Well, that's not entirely true. The city is eminently photogenic, but despite the brief spring-like day on Friday, winter-fatigue is still deterring me from pursuing any outdoor adventures.

This weekend I checked out several new places. The first, however, was not new. My first stop after arriving was the Madison Square Park Shake Shack. There are few things more relaxing than sitting in the park on a warm afternoon with a burger and fries. All Shake Shack haters should return their friend cards immediately.

Two hours later I had a second dinner at Pulino's. The latest in the McNally restaurant empire of Balthazar and Minetta Tavern fame. It was good bar pizza, but certainly nothing to write home about in NY. Also, it was super yellow inside so nothing came out that well. Brunch on Saturday was at Freeman's. A very charming, rustic "colonial American tavern" hidden at the end of a nondescript alley. I won't really comment on it, since a couple of friends have gone and reported in greater depth here and here. My friend and I got stuck in a dimly lit corner anyway, so I wasn't really able to take advantage of the natural light in the less sequestered areas.

That evening I had dinner at Totto Ramen. Totto is my favorite kind of place to eat. The wait was a bit excessive, but I always prefer the small, intimate places without pretense and the only presentation is watching bowls of ramen being assembled while the other guy individually blow torches each piece of deliciously fatty pork. The ramen itself is comparable to the other NY greats, but the pork was definitely the best I've had. I stopped by Totto's sister restaurant, Hide-Chan, as well, but it was surprisingly substantially inferior.

I also got soup dumplings at Shanghai Cafe before I left. New York represents a dilemma for me. I often don't really want to go, but my stomach wins out. There's going to be a day when I'm too old and tired to care enough to sit on a bus for four hours to gorge myself. Regardless of when that happens, I will come back to visit Dom DeMarco at least one more time before he retires.

Winter Madness

2011-02-06T00:37:00.004-05:00

I saw somewhere that this winter is approaching the top ten snowiest winters in history for Boston. I've gotten to the point where I just don't really want to go outside anymore. My energy levels are low and I have little motivation to do school work or socialize. Instead, I've spent quite a bit of time sitting in my room spacing out while thinking about Spring and open fields. I've also been alternating between spending hours at the gym and then eating entire pizzas. I guess they balance out?

I really just want to get out of here for a while. Wanderlust. I've always liked that word.

Sunrise At 10,000 Feet

2011-01-25T00:11:00.004-05:00

Without the time or energy to spend multiple days camping in Yellowstone midway through a 4,500 mile solo road-trip, I instead spent a marathon day and a half driving around the entire park seeing as much as I could. I spent that night driving around Lake Yellowstone (the highest lake in North America) hunting for spots to attempt star-trail photography. One thing I failed to account for when packing for my trip was that, even in July, it is really cold overnight at high elevations. At around 10,000 ft. up, it was in the mid-30's when I attempted to take a short nap in my car by the lake. After about an hour of shivering under all the clothes and towels I had packed, I gave up and headed to the spot where I would catch the sunrise.

Leaving my car in a small turn off, I made my way through a patch of woods in the pitch-black moments just before dawn. Alternating between using my flashlight and walking blind in the dark, I savored that childhood impulse to run from invisible assailants lurking in the inky shadows around me. I emerged from the woods just as the pale pinks and oranges of early morning were spilling over the mountains at the opposite end of the water. I don't know why I refuse to dress warmly when I know I'm going to be in the cold only temporarily, but I sat down in the dirt there in shorts and a t-shirt, shivering while I waited for the sun. At 6:17 am on the morning of July 25 there was only the soft, warm glow radiating out from the horizon up across the sky and down over the clear, calm waters toward my feet, only the sounds of my trembling, foggy breaths and the lake's gentle waves that are so different from the ocean's roaring crashes. The world did not exist outside of that moment.

While talking with a friend the other day I mentioned, somewhat facetiously, that I wished I could just skip 2011. Not because I expect it to be particularly unenjoyable, but because this one year represents a task to be completed before I move on to the next stage in my life and career. It's always the anticipation of things that make them more than they are. I think that's why I like road-trips so much: it lets me continually surprise myself with anonymous, road-side moments of quiet serenity that let me tune out the rest of the world.

Winter Break (iii): San Francisco Eats

2011-01-20T16:58:00.006-05:00

Some of my friends consider me a foodie because I like to find new/hip places to eat. This isn't exactly true, since I don't actually know anything about food or its preparation. I just know when something tastes good and is cheap. With some food blogs a part of my daily internet reading, naturally I've cultivated an affinity for non-chain restaurants. That said, most of my trips are planned around seeing and eating things. I already covered the seeing of San Francisco. Here's the eating:

1. The first place I ate was at Katana-Ya, a ramen place near Union Square. Unfortunately the lighting inside was really dim and purple-y so nothing came out that well. I ordered the chasu ramen, which seemed to be the thing. It was good, certainly better than anything in DC or Boston, but paled in comparison to any of the excellent bowls you can find in NY.

2. Lunch the next day was at Farmer Brown's Little Skillet. I'll go ahead and say that this was my favorite meal of the trip. Nothing super complex or fancy, just sublimely satisfying soul food. As you can see, it's just a window shop without any seating. I took my chicken and waffles and walked the couple blocks to the benches by the bay behind Giant's stadium. Sitting by the water with the sun in my face, warm breeze on my skin, and a giant piece of fried chicken in one hand and a waffle in the other just made me smile.

3. I had dinner that night at Una Pizza Napoletana. Having been to Anthony Mangieri's NY shop before he fled to the west, I knew what to expect in terms of the food (which was excellent neapolitan pies), but I really liked the space there. While his NY operation was tiny and cramped, the SF space was very open. Vaulted ceilings and a large cordoned off area for the brick oven and preparation table. It was clearly designed with the intention of exhibiting the art of Mangieri's pie making.

4. Dinnered the following night at The Monk's Kettle in the Mission. The wait for this place was excessive, but the abundance of bars in the immediate vicinity make it easier. Admittedly, the food here wasn't spectacular. Passable, but the main draw was their drink list which totaled to approximately a bazillion different kinds of beer.

5. On my last day there I met a friend from high school for dim sum at CityView Restaurant. Probably the best dim sum I've ever had. Which isn't saying too much, since I haven't had dim sum an extraordinary amount of times. The soup dumplings, however, were comparable to what I've had at Joe's Shanghai/Shanghai Cafe in NY. Needless to say, I ate a lot of them. The catch though, which I should have picked up on judging by the cleanliness of the place, was that it was not as shockingly cheap as I usually am surprised to find dim sum to be upon receiving the check. Still, it was good and I don't regret it.

A good variety. San Francisco is not a bad food town.

Winter Break (ii): San Francisco Sights

2011-01-18T00:20:00.009-05:00

I was in San Francisco from last Thursday until this morning. A short trip to bookend my winter break. I went from a foot of snow in Boston to 65 and sunny. They say 70% of America is covered in snow right now and it looked like it on the flight over.

Beyond the western mountain ranges, California enjoys an almost otherworldly mildness. It was a nice break from winter to walk around in a t-shirt for a few days. I stayed with my friend/pseudo-cousin, Sally, and spent most of my time walking around and eating. While she was at work I wandered through the many neighborhoods peppered throughout the undulating hills around the city. San Francisco is full of vaguely distinct hipster streets and everywhere the subtle hint of marijuana lingers in the air.

In New York I sometimes dread having to cross several long blocks between avenues, but in San Francisco I came to dread turning a corner to find myself facing a 45 degree incline. The toll the hills took on my body notwithstanding, the constantly changing elevation promises an interesting backdrop virtually anywhere you look. Certain higher spots provide some spectacular views. I climbed the highest point at Telegraph Hill, but unfortunately Coit Tower was closed for renovations while I was there. It was nice, nonetheless.

Yes, that's the Full House house at the Alamo Park. That row of houses is called "The Painted Ladies." Then, of course, there are the bridges, both Bay and Golden Gate. Sally and I biked across the Golden Gate bridge to Sausalito on Saturday. The weather was beautiful. I'm told I lucked out there as it's been rainy recently.

It was a really pleasant ride. I rarely have the opportunity to ride a bike. There's nothing quite so nostalgia inducing like riding a bike on a warm, sunny day. The trail ended in Sausalito, where we took the ferry back. Sausalito reminds me of pictures I've seen of the Greek islands. Colorful houses piled on top of one another on dramatic hills by the water. On the ferry ride back, we were treated to a stunning sunset over the Golden Gate bridge. I stood there clicking my shutter for a good 20 minutes.

San Francisco is a beautiful city. Not only that, it has some pretty good food. I will share some of what I stuffed my face with in the next post. All in all, a nice way to close out winter break.

Snow Day

2011-01-12T15:58:00.002-05:00

Like everyone that's no longer in K-12, my enjoyment of snow is somewhat diminished. It just adds some extra hassle to going about your day, but it's nice on days where I have nowhere to go. I just hope it doesn't interfere with my flight to San Francisco tomorrow.
I went up on my roof to get a few shots. I was kind of afraid that I'd step on some snow too close to the edge and find that there was no roof there, but I managed to survive.

The Maltese Falcon

2011-01-08T00:45:00.004-05:00

Besides the word maltese, the title of this post is entirely irrelevant (The Maltese Falcon is a 1940's Humphrey Bogart noir/detective film). The week I moved to a place closer to work in June 2009, my mom bought a maltese puppy from a neighbor, ostensibly replacing me. She kept the name they had given him: Shimu. He's almost 2 years old now and still a spoiled little baby.

The door to my bedroom at home doesn't latch completely and can be pushed open. Shimu discovered this early on and every morning the first thing I hear is him sprinting down the hall from my mom's bedroom (where she keeps him at night) and my door being thrown open from the impact of a tiny, fluffy white cannonball. The first thing I see is his eager, impish face peering over the edge of my bed. It's a little annoying to be woken up so raucously every morning, but I admit it's pretty endearing.

When I'm home, he's the person/mammal I end up actually spending the most time with since he just hangs out in my room/bed/lap. Whenever I leave, he sits in my room alone for a couple of days before he realizes I'm not there.

Winter Break (i): Home

2011-01-07T04:03:00.004-05:00

I basically spent the past two weeks at home sleeping, eating, and meeting friends (to eat with). It was a great time, but it went by in a blur. I can hardly believe I'm back in Boston already. The next two weeks of winter break will be over before I know it too. Blerg.

Home visits usually involve at least one jaunt across the National Mall. For New Year's Eve, I had fully intended to do absolutely nothing, but a friend and I decided to hang out in Baltimore at the last minute. It was fun and low-key. We got to catch the fireworks at the Inner Harbor.

My time at home was generally not that eventful, but it was restful and pleasant. I've been back less than a day and already can't stop thinking about school, getting a job so I can feed myself, summer internships, what to do about housing next fall... but it's OK! Two more weeks of freedom!

The precipitous drop off in the frequency of posts in the past couple of months was mostly due to the workload picking up, but I should have a bunch of stuff to put up here in the coming weeks.

Semester End & Sunset

2010-12-21T14:47:00.004-05:00

Had my last final yesterday. Semester one of graduate school is over. I've had enough of the library for quite a while. The past 4 months really flew by. Definitely an interesting experience. New city, new challenges, new friends.

The first real snow of the season started while we were taking our test. Some of my classmates from California had never seen a substantial snowfall before. There are some easy metaphors of the cleansing renewal of the soft blanket of white powder over the campus in there, but I'll leave them alone. We headed out to Sunset Grill & Tap in Allston afterward to celebrate. Like all hip places, the lighting was pretty dim so the shots are fairly grainy.

I'm heading home for a couple of weeks tomorrow. Having a winter break will be nice. I haven't had this much time off since before I started working 2.5 years ago. The holidays should be nice.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Young Me, Now Me

2010-11-16T01:25:00.005-05:00

I haven't been very active here (or on Flickr) recently. A combination of the encroaching cold, midterms/homework, and having done the same things repeatedly with visitors has left me without a whole lot of new things to share. I'll have to be more creative in coming up with things to put up here.

The title of this post is a reference to the excellent blog/project, Young Me/Now Me, in which people recreate old baby/childhood pictures of themselves. Unfortunately, I have not done this. I do, however, have a bit of my past. On my way to Wyoming last July, I made a point of finding my old elementary school in Evanston, IL (just outside of Chicago).

I attended Willard Elementary from kindergarten through 2nd grade. I have some surprisingly lucid memories of this place. Recess in the snow, scraped knees, friends, bullies, Mrs. Bee (Bartholomew, really) and her bee themed room, and, of particular relevance here, where and how I hurt myself doing stupid things. The cement stairs pictured were where we lined up to enter the building. One morning I happened to be running up those stairs and slipped on ice which resulted in me cracking my chin on the corner of a cement step. I vividly recall making my way to the nurse's office trailing blood behind me. The swings at the bottom were where I attempted to imitate the older boys that were doing back-flips (sort of) off of the swing. I tried and, of course, failed. I landed on my chin, again, and somehow bit down into my tongue, immediately filling my mouth with blood. Once again, I made my way to the nurse spitting mouthfuls of blood everywhere. The yellow spiral slide is actually where my brother jumped off and broke his arm. I remember this because I thought it was great that I got to leave school early when my mom came to take him to the hospital.

As these things usually go, seeing this place again, I was struck by how small it all seemed. It's provided some interesting symmetry with some of what I've been thinking about lately. Being in graduate school, I'm constantly reminded of how vastly more intelligent or ambitious than me some people are. Not that this sends me into crippling self-loathing, but it recalibrates the expectations that I have for myself. Those swings were a major fixture in my life for a couple of years, but I outgrew them. Later on, as most teenagers tend to, I thought I was a lot cooler and smarter than I actually was. Now, it's both sobering and illuminating to be presented with another imposing obstacle. Maybe some years later I'll look back and marvel at how I could have been so daunted by it, but for now I'll just have to try and do a back-flip off of it.

The Emerald Necklace

2010-11-01T02:26:00.004-04:00

So I've finished my first set of midterms. It's been a busy few weeks. Certainly an interesting experience to be reliving this part of student life again.

I made it out to the Arboretum today. Walked down the Emerald Necklace, which is a series of parks that starts from the Boston Commons and makes a 5-6 mile loop to the south. While it was very nice, I think I'm a little foliaged out.

On another note: there are a lot of things that I've been enjoying about grad school so far. I feel like it's been challenging and I'm learning valuable things. I've also been more social than I've been in the past. Boston's a nice town. But from time to time, the thought occurs to me that this is a very big gamble. There's no guarantee that this will pay off financially in the end. Not that that's the most important thing to me, but it is something to consider. Being in the Development Economics program, conversations about future careers with others aware of what development entails usually involve the preclusion of financial success as a motivator. So, the real question is whether or not this particular degree will pay off in the sense that I'll be able to make a positive impact in the world afterward. I think in college, the prospect of doing substantive work was never real to me because I always knew in the back of my mind that I'd probably be going back to school. Now that I'm here, I find myself having to contend with the fact that this is where I've cast my lot and will soon have to deal with the fruits of my labor, or lack thereof. It's a bit daunting, but not something I'm entirely unprepared for.

Corey Hill

2010-10-16T19:21:00.007-04:00

I was going to go to the Arnold Arboretum today, but the forecast was calling for rain. As it turned out, today was a sunny and pleasant, albeit windy, Autumn day. Having already resigned to spending the day indoors doing homework and maybe studying for my midterms, I instead took a break and walked to Corey Hill Park. Corey Hill is a park at the top of a large hill about a mile from my apartment. You have to walk up Summit Avenue to get to the top of the hill and it's a bit of a hike. I don't envy the people that have to make that trip everyday.

It's a charming little park. The views weren't as spectacular as I was led to believe, but it was nice. There was a lot of nice light filtering through the changing leaves.

On another note, the past week has seen several late homework filled nights. With a couple more assignments coming up and midterms next week, I have, and will continue to, consumed an exorbitant amount of snack food (Trader Joe's Cats Cookies are crack). It's a little interesting to note how foreign doing homework felt at first and how quickly and naturally I fell back into a pattern of procrastination. It's not been too bad though and hopefully my first tests since May 2007 won't be either. YAY, SCHOOL.

(Definitely went a little bokeh crazy here.)

Scenes From Boston (ii)

2010-10-12T20:28:00.003-04:00

This past weekend was the last in a long string of weekend visits from people back home. While I appreciate seeing familiar faces, it's been admittedly a little tiring and I'll be glad of some time to catch up on work and sleep. That said, these weekends have been good opportunities to go out and see a lot of different things in Boston (and a lot of the same things over and over again, haha).

There was an Oktoberfest at Harvard Square on Sunday and a parade. I have no idea what the purpose of the parade was, but these alien/monster guys definitely accosted me. Also, Freedom Trail and Faneuil Hall/Quincy Market again. I did get to check out the South End and the ICA, which was pretty cool. I will have to go back and explore the South End some more.

A good weekend, but a busy couple of weeks filled with homework and midterms coming up. Yay, school.

Mount Monadnock

2010-10-10T22:44:00.003-04:00

I went hiking here yesterday with a friend that had invited me to join his group. Mt. Monadnock is a hike in New Hampshire a couple hours outside of Boston that, according to Wikipedia, is one of the most frequently climbed mountains in the world. Thankfully, the weather was gorgeous and the leaves have started to change. It was beautiful, although I didn't take as many pictures as I would have liked while I was busy trying not to fall off of rocks or lag too far behind the group.

Boston is actually visible from the top 70-80 miles away. I wasn't really able to get anything more than pixel-y blobs on the horizon though.

I'm going to try and make it out to the Arnold Arboretum near here next weekend. I should be able to take in a lot more foliage then.

Boston Public Garden

2010-10-03T03:46:00.002-04:00

After a week of heat, humidity, and rain it was really nice to have cool, early Autumn weather today. I stopped by the Public Garden. Saw a few wedding parties, a Quidditch game, and an old homeless man with squirrels crawling all over him.

Scenes From Boston (i)

2010-09-26T00:26:00.002-04:00

A lot of walking around this weekend. Went by the Museum of Fine Arts (courtesy of the Smithsonian "Free Museum Day"), the Sam Adams Brewery, the North End a couple of times, and an evening walk on the Massachusetts Avenue Bridge.

The leaves are beginning to change color. I'll hopefully be able to catch some nice New England foliage soon.

Fenway

2010-09-22T00:44:00.005-04:00

I went to Fenway tonight to catch the Red Sox/Orioles game. It was interesting to see the difference in energy levels among the fans here as compared to Nationals Stadium. Boston fans cheer wildly for singles and jeer scathingly at errors. I guess people are more involved when you're not consistently in last place.

I also caught "The Town" last night. It was cool to recognize all of the places around Boston that appeared in the movie. It makes me want to go watch "The Departed" and "Gone Baby Gone" again.

Oh, and the Orioles won 9-1. Suck on that, Boston. Way to go, Maryland.

Harvard Square & Homework

2010-09-19T00:41:00.011-04:00

Went by Harvard Square with a visiting friend today. The afternoon and early evening were fairly overcast, but I caught a little light through the cloud cover before dark.

In other news, I am now pretty bad at doing homework (or at least equally as bad as I ever was), which can be evidenced by the fact that I'm doing this while my books lie open in front of me. Also, relearning calculus is like riding a bike after a long time. A really crappy, uncomfortable bike with a chain your shoelaces keep getting stuck in.

That said, it's a little surprising how my memory of undergraduate economics is colored by the couple of weeks of graduate economics I've had so far. In my microeconomics class we've been going over identical concepts to the ones covered in my freshman microeconomics class, except the level of analytical rigor is so much greater. Instead of simply drawing supply and demand functions and understanding their mechanics graphically, we're now asked to derive these behavioral theories mathematically. I keep thinking about this particular xkcd comic:

317 St. Paul & Beacon Hill

2010-09-15T00:08:00.003-04:00

As has been customary, here are a few shots of where I'm living while in Boston:

It's an old building in an old neighborhood. Some oddities remain that show its age, like an intercom system (that doesn't work) that looks like a turn of the century telephone, but it's not without it's charms. I don't think I'll mind holing up here for the next year and a half.

Today, I made it out to Beacon Hill to explore and grab lunch at The Paramount. The afternoon had a bout of rain that produced some very dramatic clouds. It cleared up before too long. Beacon Hill is a quaint historic neighborhood that's very photogenic and The Paramount is a small, but great eatery. I'd definitely go back. I hear their breakfast is excellent. All in all, a pleasant day.

Cross Country Redux

2010-09-10T15:32:00.013-04:00

Since April 2009, I've gone on three separate cross country road trips. Despite enduring D.C. traffic for years, I really enjoy driving. Perhaps less so in the monotony of freeway traffic, but I find it a calming experience. Driving is primarily an observational activity and once the mania of urban/suburban life peels back, there are few things I find more peace in than driving through an idyllic countryside and watching America unfold through my windshield. Without a plane to catch or reservations to keep, being on the road affords a liberating sense of anonymity. I find it much easier to quiet my mind and be still during these times.

I'm disappointingly untraveled abroad, but through these trips I think I've seen more of America than most have. I'm happy to say that America is gripping and diverse. Rolling through new cities, wandering around national parks, or just stopping to admire the desert, with just a few tanks of gas I've found more than enough beauty and adventure within our own borders.

As if to illustrate the wandering spirit of the road trip, this took much more time and ended up being way longer than I had anticipated. As I went back through my archive of photos and retraced my steps across the country, I felt a similar sense of meandering.

Boston So Far

2010-09-09T20:49:00.017-04:00

So, I moved to Boston on August 21 with the help of a few friends. Since then, my time has mostly been spent complaining about the weather, looking for good food, and wandering around the city and the surrounding areas by myself. Thankfully, the whipping rain and miserable heat (compounded by a lack of AC) have given way to the coolness of the onset of Autumn, I've found a few decent spots to grab a burger and pizza, and I've been pleased to discover that Boston is a nice place to walk around. It has the interesting quality of feeling at once decidedly urban and accessibly small. An abundance of historic architecture imbues a sense of history and narrative.

I'd grown somewhat tired of walking around the city by myself and I hadn't started class yet. Without the opportunity to meet and make friends, I'd lost some motivation to continue to explore on my own. Thankfully, a couple of friends, that I knew from elsewhere, were making a day trip on Labor Day to Cape Cod and were kind enough to invite me.

Cape Cod, as it turns out, is beautiful and exactly as I imagined New England beaches to be: clean, serene, and rich white people. Also, Provincetown is super gay. Pink houses with burly dudes in flamboyant costumes dancing on the porch to club music kind of gay. But, otherwise, a nice town.

I started class this Wednesday and it's been an unusual experience. Being in school voluntarily and being responsible for financing it is a totally different experience than it was in college. Also, getting back up to speed mathematically is giving my brain a workout it hasn't had in years. And, wouldn't you know it, instead of doing the readings for my lecture tomorrow, I'm spending time getting this blog back up. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to keep this space updated with the goings on here in Bean Town.

Homework time!