dirty birds

Originally written 12.01.2002

Ok, so British and Scottish drinking culture seems really, really pervasive. Some of these kids can really take in the alcohol as well. Take for instance my flatmate Iain. He is quite a big fellow, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised last night when he managed to drink more than 3 liters of some inexpensive cider alcoholic beverage. Well, by the time he was past his first liter, he was properly pissed. Not only that, but he was talking incessantly about doing his hair so he could “pull a dirty bird” at some club in Edinburgh called Opium which sort of caters to the alternative, nu-metal crowd. Apparently, the dirty birds really go for a unique haircut. Another flatmate, Marco, and I first gave Iain an astro-boy type doo, but that wouldn’t do it. Neither would the Sum-41-lead-singer-esque style that we tried next. Only liberty spikes would do. This seemed to be a point of particular anxiety, and after a bout of uncharacteristic whining, we helped him put his hair into liberty spikes. He did the front, and did a pretty good job (evidently, he’s spent hours on this in the past), while Marco and I did a slightly less than stellar job on the back. Even still, it was good enough to pull a dirty bird. Okay, so to clarify (because initially, I was probably about as confused as anyone reading this is now), a dirty bird is sort of a dirty girl. Yeah, and I thought the whole “bird” thing was just a stereotype. Apparently it’s a full fledged member of the lexicon. So, I asked, how do you identify a dirty bird? Apparently, said Iain, a dirty bird is a girl who’s ready for anything, anywhere. And how do you tell that? How to avoid mistaking a non-dirty bird for her fouler sister? Well, I guess the strategic placement of hands during the club experience serves as a means for dirty birds to make themselves known to potential mates. As for the term “pull”, I thought it better not to ask for the details. I assume it has the ambiguous connotation somewhere between the phrases “hook up” and “score” in the American vernacular. Iain insisted that with his well coiffed appearance he would easily pull a dirty bird (which is a fairly easy task to begin with) and that he would be sure to make her scream “Geoff!” in a coital exclamation. Gladly, an altercation at the club and subsequent ejection from said club foiled any passionate midnight utterances of my forname. All of this spectacle was pretty amusing, but I also found it a bit unnerving. Sure, it’s all between consenting adults, and, as I was told, it’s not like it’s unprotected. Still, such a primal, frivolous exchange of human sexuality seems a bit cheap and seems like it perpetuates the objectification of women. People can argue that the objectification is mutual, and therefore, no harm, and no foul. Perhaps things are different in the UK. It has been my observation, however, that the pressure to gain acknowledgement and validation through sexuality, is far greater for young women for young men. For young men, it’s recreation, an extracurricular collegiate activity that doesn’t go on the resume. But for young women, it seems like society has placed some artificial, added, significance to the acceptance of one as a sexual partner. Exploiting that inequality, even ignorantly, seems somehow wrong. So, at least for me, I’ll leave the dirty birds for someone else.

A bit of an update, it seems that I got the totally wrong impression from Iain’s drunken rantings. I don’t think he was really intent on scoring a bird, he was just talking shit, which, except for maybe Pete, is the official pasttime of 29/5 Sciennes

moving in

This was originally written on 05.01.2002.

We left the hotel around 10:30 by cab. I had slept in more than I had wanted on account of a late night spent writing journal entries and e-mailing people from the internet cafe, but I still had ample time to try to score as much free breakfast food as I could. I wasn’t able to eat much though, maybe its the heavy Scottish cooking or just nerves, I don’t know.

After running around for a while trying to find the office, we got the keys to our flats. When I eventually maneuvered the bulk of my baggage into the flat, I found the place to be vacant and a letter from Erin waiting for me by the mail slot. The flat is nice enough-the carpet seems new, the furniture level, no roaches, etc., but by some cruel twist of fate, I’ve ended up in one of the few residences without internet or phone access in the rooms. Really lame. Oh well. I’ll have to subsist on internet cafes or other sources of access for the next six months. I went out for a while to pick up some things for the room: some drawing pins for the Edward Gorey calendar, hangers for the closet, and a plug adapter for my laptop. I cam back and put the room in order. Its actually nice to have so few possessions that its possible to set up the room in 15 minutes. I tried to read for a while, but eventually just took a nap, thereby killing my plans to check out the university’s science and engineering campus.

I finished reading Franny and Zooey. I really liked it. In the past weeks, Salinger has definitely become one of my favorite writers. He creates characters that are really interesting and human. They’re people that you seem to know, or at least wish you knew. So, Franny and Zooey are two seperate short stories (perhaps Zooey is too long to be a short story, but I think it reads like one anyway) which essentially are different parts to the same story. Franny and Zooey are brother and sister, the two youngest of the Glass children, all of which were (big surprise) incredibly precocious as children and are now coming to terms with being incredibly precocious in a world that can be dumb, egomaniacal, and at the least annoying. While away at college, Franny becomes frustrated with her life, her studies, her boyfriend, the world in general, I guess, has a nervous breakdown, and begins to explore some odd religious practice that she read about from one of the numerous religious and philisophical books provided by her older brothers. So the entire 200 pages or so of text take place in a few hours in terms of the narrative, but despite the slow pace, its really enjoyable. The characters are clever, in just the right way, not annoying, and one finds oneself really indentifying with Franny and her frustration, and contemplating Zooey’s advice as if he were your elder brother instead of Franny’s. Salinger seems to like writing about the unspectacular moments in life, the minor catastrophies, but despite the lack of intense drama, I’d rather read about Holden or Franny or Zooey any day over Hemingway’s hollow men. That’s the thing. Salinger’s characters are anything but hollow and when Zooey starts talking about the futility of blanket angst, the dialogue almost strikes too close to home:

"What I don't like at all is this little hair-shirty private life of a martyr you're living back at college-this little snotty crusade you think you're leading against everybody. ... Don't spring on me, now-for the most part, I agree with you. But I hate the kind of blanket attack you're making on it. I agree with you about ninety-eight per cent on the issue. But the other two percent scares me half to death. I had one professor when I was in college-just one, I'll grant you, but he was a big, big one-who just doesn't fit in with anything you've been talking about. He wasn't Epictetus. But he was no egomaniac, he was no faculty charm boy. He was a great and modest scholar. And what's more, I don't think I ever heard him say anything, either in or out of a classroom, that didn't seem to me to have a little bit of real wisdom in it-and sometimes a lot of it. What'll happen to him when you start your revolution? I can't bear to think about it-let's change the goddam subject. These other people you've been ranting about are something else again. ... I've had them by the dozens, and so has everybody else, and I agree, they're not harmless. They're as lethal as hell as a matter of fact. ... But what I don't like ... is the way you talk about these people. I mean you don't just despise what they represent-you despise them. It's too damn personal, Franny. I mean it. ... It's exactly like this damned ulcer I picked up. Do you know why I have it? Or at least nine-tenths of the reason I have it? Because when I'm not thinking properly, I let my feelings about television and everything else get personal. I do exactly the same thing you do, and I'm old enough to know better."

A few things I forgot to write about yesterday regarding differences between Edinburgh and the US. Yesterday, on the walking tour of campus, I noticed all these security cameras. Today, I noticed even more, in the dining room of a restaurant of all places. I guess those in the UK have a lower expectation of privacy than those in the US (though recent tests of cameras in city centers in the US seem to indicate we’re heading in the same direction). I also noticed lots of little kids running around with Slipknot, Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park shirts. Sheesh.

new places

This was originally written 04.01.2002. I didn’t have net access to post it until now

I’ve been in edinburgh for 2 days now and I’m starting to feel my way around the city. I don’t feel like some tourist on a school trip but at the same time, I don’t feel like its like my city yet, like I do about Columbus, or Austin.

When I arrived at the Glasgow airport, after a six hour plane flight from Newark, I was struck with a familiar feeling; the feeling that the place one is visiting is not all that different than the place that one just left. I first experienced this on my first long trip away from home, a school trip to Florida when I was in 5th grade. I remember leaving the airport by bus and being somewhat underwhelmed. Other than the occasional palm tree, it wasn’t all that different from Pennsylvania. I had a similar feeling when I first entered Scotland, I mean, one sterile airport is the same as any other sterile, right? The further I got away from the airport, however, the more I got the feeling that I was in a very new and different place indeed.

Obviously, the whole driving on the left side of the road is a bit different. Furthermore, rather than the cow which is a common site around the countryside of central Pennsylvania, one finds the sheep to be omnipresent. I am told that in Scotland, sheep outnumber humans two to one. As we drove into Edinburgh, I was struck by how old everything was. Despite the occasional Starbucks or KFC, the buildings resemble the ancient tenements which define the city, and many of the city’s narrow treets and alleys are still paved in brick. Just for reference, the University of Edinburgh, where I will be matriculating next week was founded in something like the late 1500’s. In addition, the city has a castle. Yes, a freaking castle, in its center.

Edinburgh, at least the part of it with which I am now familiar, is pretty cool as cities go. There are plenty of shops and cafes and a ton of pedestrian traffic giving the city a busy feel, but not to the extent that its stifling or overwhelming like NYC. I’ve been walking around a bit, just trying to find my way between places I’ll need to go without a map. The center city is pretty clean, nothing like Columbus, though I’m told that the economically marginalized sections are on the perimeter of the city.

Yesterday was pretty uneventful. There was a short, basically useless, walk around the neighborhood near the hotel. After that, I found a pretty good vegetarian/vegan restuarant called Bann where I got good, moderately priced, and filling bean burrito-esque dish. I wasn’t brave enough to try the vegan bangers and mash, but there’s always other meals. I think it’s going to be pretty easy to stay vegan while in Edinburgh. Even the hotel restaurant had vegetarian options. vegan/vegetarian options are usually labeled as such, and turbinado sugar seems to be offered everywhere. I still haven’t found the food co-op or good dumpsters yet. Maybe that will be my mission tomorrow.

Today I had to sit through multiple presentations by various university departments. The presentation on Scottish cutlure, history, and geography was really good and I learned a ton, though I doubt I’ll remember much. After the obligatory meetings let out, I went skating in a plaza near the university where I eyed a ton of skaters earlier during the day. When I got there, there were still a good number of kids, despite the fact that at four PM it was already growing dark. Evidently the Edinburgh police don’t really care much about skaters. I guess they don’t care that much about marijuana use either, because while I was skating, I saw a couple of young kids smoking weed rather conspicuously in one of the corners of the plaza. The skate session was good, but I had to end it because, I confess, I wasn’t yet aclaimated to the cold,
dark environment. I skipped dinner so I could make it back to the hotel in time to meet the group to depart for the musical

We saw Andrew Lloyd Weber’s musical, Sunset Blvd. Midway through the musical, some poor girl scurried up the aisle only to vommit repeatedly and then collapse right in front of us. Well, the musical was only slightly better than the unannounced spectacle of indigestion displayed before us. Maybe it was the off-broadway cast, or maybe I am forever biased against musical theatre, but I found the plot to be predictable, the characters cliched, and the writer, in many instances, clearly trying too hard to be ever so clever. I’ve grown to appreciate musicals mainly for their value as spectacle and the sets and some of the conventions, like a car chase simulated with some clever use of lighting, the set design, and coreography were very well done.

I’m a little bit lonely. There are a bunch of kids who I flew over with, and am in orientation with, as run by the US school who administers the study abroad program. The kids are nice enough, I guess. They all seem to be a similar type. Caucasian, upper middle class, and go to primarily small liberal arts institutions or larger universities well known for their “resort” qualities. At least quite a few of them knew where Carlisle, PA was located. There were the familiar presence of the white hats, and fraternity letters, but at the same time, most seemed to be accustomed to traveling, if only throughout the US, which seemed to grant them a bit more breadth, and therefore a bit more
tolerance than many of the breatheren left stateside. They were nice kids, pleasant kids, but when it came down to it, at days end, they just wanted to hit the pubs. So, they weren’t my kind of kids. For me, validation of shared experiences is of great importance in friends and aquintences, and I’m not one to spend time doing something I find boring or offensive just for the sake of being around other people. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try to contact some of the kids Dana gave me a lead on.

• Bann UK
  5 Hunter Square (Near the intersection
  of North Bridge and High Street)
  Edinburgh

  Scotland

  EH1 1QW

  +44 (0)131 226 1112

  www.urbann.co.uk

the lads

I met my other flatmates yesterday. Rob seems like an average, good natured sort of kid. Pretty mainstream, I guess you’d consider him a bit of a jock in the US. I think he’s from Manchester, and he allegedly has a penchant for fighting, though I wouldn’t think it from looking at him. Marco is from Abberdeen I think, and he’s crazy. He’s super animated and wants to teach primary school, which I think would suit him. I guess he’s really into Mr. Bungle, which also seems to suit him. Pete is a pretty interesting guy, and he likes to talk, which is alright by me. We had a rather lengthy conversation about computers the other night. He seems cool, but makes me a bit uneasy. He sort of reminds me of some kids I knew freshmen year who I found to be nice enough, to me at least, but always caused me to keep a certain degree of vigilance. Ian is the last flatmate, and the one I met first. He skates, snowboards, and is into post-hardcore, metal, emo, etc. Awesome. He seems to be quite a nice kid as well and is really funny. For instance, he always likes to imply that Rob is a brawler which makes Rob all embarresed which I find hilarious. So, I think it should be interesting. They’re all freshmen, which is a bit odd, but I think it’s better in some ways. I think when people come off to school for the first time, they tend to be more respectful of one another on account of the new, shared experience. Kids who would never be around each other under normal circumstances can somehow manage to co-habitate without any major loss of blood. So, that ought to make things work out a bit better for me.

matriculation

On monday, I went to see my director of study (the equivalent of an academic advisor) and got my classes scheduled. I still have to schedule the individual modules, but otherwise, I’m straight. I then had to hike all the way back to center city to hand in my paperwork so I could get my matriculation card. Evidently, they do all that stuff by hand, and there is a bit of a delay before you can get your matric card. This sucks because you need the card to get access to the CIS labs and to use the library. I found my director of study to be very nice and helpful, almost the antithesis of Supowit (though I confess that I rather like the fellow in a surly sort of way). I also found the lecture to be super organized and well paced which seems to be a rarity in the US. All the course materials are promptly placed on the web, which I also find to be helpful. My other classes haven’t started yet, but I’m looking forward to them as the reading list for the computer security class looks awesome.

meet and greet

So I met some kids today. I don’t like to be superficial, but clothing and style in general is more than just shelter from the elements or a suck for cash, it also serves as a semaphore of sorts for kids with whom one might get along. So, at the universities international student orientation, I eyed the kid in the cardigan and saucony sneakers with interest. We ended up seated next to one another in an info session. Heard of Zegota? Of course. Where are you from? He studies at Haverford (which for the unfamiliar is a small, liberal arts college just outside of Philly). Been to Killtime? Which one? Singapore Vegetarian Chinese? Thumbs up! Franny and Zooey? All time favorite book! So, he seemed like an interesting guy. At least someone to go to shows with. We exchanged contact info and decided to go scope some shows some time.

When I got back from grocery shopping, one of my flatmates was back (the flat had been empty when I arrived yesterday). He was seated in the common room holding a new snowboard. Excellent. “Do you drink much?” he queried. “Not at all,” I replied. “Are you straigt-edge?” he asked. He wasn’t but at least he knew what ut was, which in a land where pubs are as omnipresent as house music, and there is a Whiskey Heritage Center, was good enough for me. He said he had a lot of respect for sxe kids, and had cut back his drinking a bit himself since his high school days. It turns out that in addition to snowboarding, he skates and listens to post-hardcore, metal, and emo. Awesome. He was the best possible roommate to meet first, because the others seem pretty crazy. Two are rugby players, which according to my flatmate is the UK’s equivalent to the US jock. The other, in addition to the being a jungle mc, has also popped too many pills, smoked too much hash, drank too much, and gotten violent enough as to smash another flatmate’s stereo. Oh yeah, he also allegedly gets so drunk he passes out and pisses himself as well. So, it should be a really interesting six months. At least the whole skateboarding housemate streak continues on. The skater and I continued talking about skating and music for a while. Just as was the case in Austin, skateboarding seems to be a common bond that spans ages, states, and now continents. I’ve met quite a few friends through skating, and even though I’m no Tony Hawk, I’m glad it’s a part of my life.

Note: This is the first of my Edinburgh journal entries that I’ve posted to the web. I’ve written others, but they’ll be out of sync as I am stuck in luddite hell at my flat with no internet access and no phone.

you don’t have to eat meat to be strong and wise

At least that’s what the sign in front of Kalpna restaurant in Edinburgh said, though I’m inclined to agree. It seems one has to be a bit wise to find vegan groceries, however, and strong as well to carry them back to one’s flat. I went shopping today for some groceries and had a hell of a time. This might sound like the prattle of a soon to be senile grandmother, but it really is hard to try to find things in a new supermarket. Especially one in a different country without the same names, and sometimes without alltogether, as the products I buy in the US. Peanut butter? Bagels? I had to go down the street to the natural food store (which sucked compared to the Clintonville co-op) to get my soy milk, but otherwise managed passably. There are a great deal of vegetarian options in the UK, though considerably fewer vegan ones. All of the burger patties, fake sausages, and fake cold cuts had eggs in them. From what I hear, the dumpster scene isn’t so hot either (though I’m sure the wet weather has something to do with that). I might have to be a bit freer in this whole freegan thing if I am to subsist. But, as the guy at Strange Brew said, it isn’t about being holier than though, its about doing the best that you can to be cruelty free.

dog poop

The original plan was to bomb local cigarette retailers with images and words from the infect truth site, but their stuff didn’t really meet our needs so we made our own flyer. Also, the copy machine at giant jammed so we weren’t able to make very many copies. Still, we managed to put up a few flyers.

The flyer can be downloaded here.

the following was something i wrote for a zine that was going to be put
out by my brother and i. we never finished the zine, so i thought i’d put it
up here.

xcraft dayx

the equation is simple. a dining room table full of dubiously obtained craft
supplies plus no pesky adults to complain about making a mess equals a ton of
fun and some great hand made gifts and toys for boys. we’ll show that
bitch martha stewart who the true craft denzians are.
we dumpstered, stole, and crafted back the holiday season.
though my involvement was reserved to a few candles and abortive
attempt at a cardboard model of the sweet life, christine, adam, and ryan made a
crazy number of crafts.

basic candle making

you will need:

• 2 pots for the double boiler – one must be able to easily sit inside the
  other.
• parafin wax – you can get this at a craft store or in the canning section of
  a
  grocery. who knew that this stuff was good for things besides waxing curbs. one
  package is good for about one large candle and a dozen or so votive
  candles.
• wicks – can be ummm, purchased from a craft store like ben franklins or
  jo-ann
  fabrics
• candle coloring – again, available at a craft store
• candle scent – ditto
• a candle mold, mold release, and mold sealer

or

• an old glass or jar
• a liquid measuring cup or other container with a spout – used to pour the
  hot wax into
  the mold a big bowl to clean off wax
• a pencil, chop stick, or similar item – to hold the wick straight while the
  candle
  sets

directions:

• chunk up the parafin into small pieces so that it will melt easier. do the
  same with the coloring and scent (a little goes a long way).
• pour water in the larger pot, then place the smaller pot in the larger pot.
  put the double boiler on the stove and crank up the burner. add the parafin to
  the inner pot and heat the wax. never put the wax directly into a pot. we’re
  talking big time fire hazard. as the parafin melts, add the color and scent.
  to make the candles, the wax needs to be about 180-190 degrees farenheight.
• while the wax is being heated, prepare the mold. spray mold release into
  the
  mold so you can get the candle out when you’re done. if you’re using an old
  glass or jar skip this step since you’ll just leave the candle in the mold.
• cut wick so it’s a little more than the inch above the desired height of
  the candle. you’ll cut them shorter later, but for now you need enough length
  to wrap it around the pencil while the candle sets
• place the wick in melting wax for a minute or so until it is saturated with
  wax. pull it out and let it cool.
• straighten the wick. if you’re using a mold, push the wick through the
  hole at the bottom of the mold and apply enough mold sealer to make sure the
  damn thing doesn’t leak (like mine did). wrap a small portion of the other end
  of the wick around the pencil and rest the pencil on the edge of the mold or
  glass.
• once the wax has reached the right temperature (or has been melted for
  a while, no need to be super-exact), pour it quickly from the double boiler into
  the pouring container. being careful not to displace the wick, use the pouring
  container to fill the mold or jar. save a little wax. re-heat this later and
  use it to fill in the indentation around the wick that is left as the candle
  sets.
• sit around and wait for the candle to dry. to clean off wax from the
  utensils, pour boiling water over them to get rid of the wax and then wash with
  soap and water. use a big bowl for the boiling water dunk and discard the waxy
  water somewhere other than the sink. wax isn’t good for drains. alternately,
  put the utensils in the freezer and the wax peels off pretty easily.
• it takes quite a number of hours for the candle to completely harden,
  particularly if the candle is large. be patient and when it’s done, trim the
  wick to about a quarter inch.
• burn your candle and be glad that you didn’t have to purchase it from some
  overly perky teenaged girl or martha stewart inspired middle aged woman at the
  mall. (disclaimer: i’m sure that there are a number of very nice, intelligent
  people employed as candle sales associates. i’m sure that there are even a good
  number who are not teenaged girls or middle aged women. still, i am always a
  bit unnerved whenever i have to venture into a bath and body works or similar
  establishment

leaving

time flies when you’re having fun. the last 3 months were an amazing time,
but
were perhaps the shortest 3 months that i have ever lived. i got to have a
girlfriend and best friend in the same time zone and i got to listen to tons of
music, eat vegan food, see shows, and skate. i had spent the week between
finals and going home alternating between hanging out with erin and hanging out
with the sweet life kids. the original plan was to hang out in columbus and
then return to pa along with erin to spend some quality time together in central
pa before saying our goodbyes. well, the best layed plans, to exploit another
cliche, sometimes go awry. erin’s gargantuan tonsils demanded immediate
attention and i was faced with the ominous notion of an unexpected goodbye
looming in the near future. i spent my last day in columbus just kicking around
columbus with erin. i like this girl so much and i always find myself wanting to
make the time i spend with her epic, like something out of a movie. the rainy
sunday was slow and quiet, but still i found a clock
counting down in my head. the camera didn’t zoom in, and the theme didn’t
sound in the background. there was just a quiet, reluctant exceptance that
sometimes things aren’t easy. i said goodbye to erin as her parents pulled up.
i went home where my housemates were providing a vegan feast: mushroom soup,
salad with feux creamy italian, mashed potatos, stuffed peppers, brown rice, and
a cake. sweet life indeed! we ate until stuffed and sat around by candlelight
after the power went out. christine and katelyn volunteered to drive me to the
airport to pick up tim. we had a sign and everything. christine ran to him and
embraced him as if they were long seperated lovers. tim was too lagged to
respond. the next day i finished loading the car and met with my computer
science buddy erin dean for a brief goodbye before starting the dreary six hour
drive back to pa.

hiking

columbus is flat. central pa is not. one of the things i miss most about
my hometown is the fact that the appalacian trail runs through the middle of
the village. its a popular spot for through hikers to have provisions mailed to
them, and some of the villagers even open their homes to some of the hikers for
a meal or a shower. i went on a brief walk through some woods and fields with
my mother. it was good to have some time alone with her and talk with her in a
way that just doesn’t seem to be able to be reproduced in long distance phone
calls. i told her about my trip to scotland. she told me about her
job. the air was cold and clear and the view looked like a scene out of one of
the pasteural landscapes that i had seen in the gallery the day before. home
town scenary and mothers. the things that we take for granted.

old friends

it’s always hard for me to get back in touch with kids from central pa. i’m
horrible at staying in touch amidst the turbulance of school and i feel like of
a bit of a jerk waltzing back into carlisle. its obviously no big deal, but i
just can’t help but feel like a bit of a prodigal son. i would have
procrastinated the inevitable phone call by hanging out with tim, but he was in
minneapolis. so, i called patrick and we got together a couple of times and just
had some random fun: computers, home brewed car mp3 players and other nerdy
stuff; culture hacking; sushi; and watching skate videos. always a blast. i got
together with peter, went thrifting, watched some movies, and talked about books
and music. between peter and patrick, i always leave pa with a long list of
things to check out.

two days after christmas i finally got around to calling alicia. lucky
thing i did because she was going back to philly the next day. alicia is one of
the few people from good old boiling springs high school that i see with any
regularity anymore. we played in a band together and got into
trouble in high school before i went off to study computer science and she went
to study painting. we went to a new diner in carlisle where she gave me tips on
traveling in europe and we got kicked out to make room for customers who would
order more than coffee. what were we to do? the menu wasn’t exactly vegan.
at least the big tip that alicia left might make them think twice in the future.
we went back to my house and listened to a cd of our old band. i copied some
music for her and we talked about school, music, our respective travels, and old
times.

media

i don’t always have a whole lot of time at school so on break i try to cram
months of media consumption into a few days.

• one flew over the cukoos nest
• lawrence of arabia – brilliant, homosexual, and egomaniacal young soldier
  t.s.
  lawrence leads an army of arabs against the turks. epic desert camera shots and
  a great cast make for an interesting account of power, ambition, and fate.
• the manchurian candidate – i knew that frank sinatra was quite the crooner,
  but
  an actor? who would have thought it? i’m glad i stayed at home to watch this
  one with the folks. this chilling thriller about a comunist plot to use the far
  right to control the american government serves as a pointed metaphor for the
  gross political manipulation so prevalent in our culture. sinatra does a fine
  job, but better still is angela lansbury in a role that is the absolute
  antithesis of her murder she wrote persona.
• farenheit 451 – three words. read the book. the only thing that this film
  is
  good for is mystery science theatre fodder.
• evasion – this book isn’t revolutionary. the idea of social change
  scavanged
  from a dumpster or pilfered from a strip mall is ridiculous. but what this book
  offers isn’t so much a blueprent for revolution but its definitely a breath of
  fresh air. ideological inconsistancies be damned, those of us who feel
  suffocated by consumer culture can’t help but root for the books anonymous
  protagonist. furthermore, this travel narrative falls firmly in the tradition
  previously established by writers numerous writers. however, it really shows how
  much america has changed since kerouac published the accounts of his travels.
  local color and americana have been replaced by homogenous strip-mall capitalism
  and the only way to gain any meaningful experience on the road is to engage in a
  no holds barred war against the encroachment of consumer culture.
• 9 stories – i was formerly familiar with only one of Salinger’s works, The
  Catcher in the Rye. well, this collection of short stories is every bit as
  good as his famous novel. it features nine vignetttes of the seemingly mundane
  aspects of human life. however, Salinger manages to craft characters that can
  be both reprehensible and noble. he often uses children as characters which is
  a refreshing departure from the often hackneyed exchanges of adult characters.
  the nine short stories are quick reads and all of the are imensely enjoyable.

micosoft digs its own hole

From the Politech mailing list:

Since Microsoft cannot charge the usurious upgrade prices on which their revenue growth, and therefore their shareholder value, depends without substantial feature expansion, the component count must grow linearly (50 new features) if not geometrically (10% new features) per unit time, the quality control costs for them face a cost curve that becomes untenable at some point, the only question being when not if.  Therefore, the greatest punishment you can possibly impose on Microsoft is to forbid them to break up their code base intoi ntegrable product lines as it marries them to a costc urve that will kill them in due course.

This argument is particularly lucid. The only problem is that Microsoft is no doubt intelligent enough to break their code base up as they approach critical mass. Unfortunately, it is doubtful that many will be aware of , let alone care about their reversal of policy.