I abandoned this blog almost a year ago . . . I feel like I've been drifting for a while. Finally, I recognize the place I'm in. I've been here before. . . . . but time has passed and things aren't the same.
19.5.08
One Year Later. . .
I abandoned this blog almost a year ago . . . I feel like I've been drifting for a while. Finally, I recognize the place I'm in. I've been here before. . . . . but time has passed and things aren't the same.
15.7.07
The Denmark Debacle
Runner up for post title: "Dude! You got a Dane. . ."
Overall, I'd have to say that my trip to Denmark was a mixed bag. The Danes are an interesting people. My Pakistani cab driver described them thusly: "they are rich, but Denmark is a small country, and the people are small minded". Interesting. They seem to be very proud of their culture and heritage. My impression is that this involves brotherly regicide, surprisingly diminutive statues of fictional characters, extremely beautiful architecture, and some nice pilsner. What's more, their economy combines a confusing mixture of outrageously high prices and a relatively worthless currency. So a sandwich costs 47 kroner which is about 7 euro or 10 dollars. As a tourist I found that this creates a sort of perceptual dissonance which is mildly annoying.
Anyways, I flew in to Copenhagen starving to death at about 9:30 pm on a Tuesday. I got to my "hotel". The motto of this place is "The Cheapest Rooms in Copenhagen". 65 euro a night. Not really that cheap yo. and the room looked like a water heater closet(exaggeration). I put my stuff down and went searching for something to eat. Everything was closed. At 9 fucking 30.
I recruited some loafing street children to find me a place to eat. While this gave me fleeting delusions of gangsterdom, the children were ultimately unsuccessful. Luckily, I remembered that Ben Allee had told me that Copenhagen had an odd abundance of Seven Elevens. The kids pointed me to one and I bought dinner at the sevie just like my sophomore year of undergrad.
To my extreme chagrin there were no nachos. I only had a hundred kroner so I bought three beers some honey roasted peanuts and a bag of gummy bears. Back at the "hotel" I set up my desk and ate/drank my dinner.
The next day I woke up and worked on the presentation a bit. Mark had given me the email of a friend he had living in Copenhagen, so I called her at around 2. We met up and hung out for a while. She's cool, although she seems to talk exclusively about how every man she comes into contact with tries to get in her pants. What's with that? Signals like this confuse me. Ultimately when I meet a woman for the first time, and she can't stop talking about her sex life, it's a turn off. In my experience these women are usually batshit crazy.
Anyways we had a couple of beers and then she took me back to her place and proceeded to show me every picture in her three photo albums. It was actually quite entertaining, but when it was over I got the hell out of there. We made some plans to go out to a club the following night, and I walked back to the hotel in the rain.
The next day I walked over to Copenhagen Business School where I presented my paper at a panel on "Markets and Justifications". Inevitably these panels have vague, dubiously meaningful names. Admittedly my presentation could use some refinement and clarification, but at this point, I've presented twice, and I feel like I can draw some conclusions about the way my work has been received. In a room full of political economists and economic sociologists, I'd say about fifteen percent had any clue what the fuck I was talking about.
Have you ever tried to teach Hegel to disinterested undergraduates? I swear the grad students, post-docs and professors in this room looked exactly the same. Obviously, it's not because I'm smart and they're dumb. It's because:
1) my topic is really fucking esoteric and hard to explain
2) I'm not the best public speaker. I'm not bad, but let's face it I'm no Cato
3) I don't yet have a "take home message". I think this is the kicker.
After the presentation I ran into my undergraduate adviser from Reed. This guy is everywhere. As usual we had a really great talk and I came away thinking that maybe I'll be able to pull all of this shit together yet. I need to get deeper into the relationship between cognitive sociology and behavioral finance to tease out where my work fits into the broader theoretical scheme of the sociology of markets project before I get into the specifics of the rise of shareholder value. So that my perspective is distinct and my points are clinically precise. This is the only way to put together the dynamite dissertation I have tumbling around in my brain.
The rest of the day was spent attending various panels.
After the panels were over, there was a dinner reception at the Copenhagen city hall. Pretty fancy digs. Nice food and some interesting dinner conversation about how prices are determined in the wine market.(Incidentally this is a topic that I have discussed about one million times. Get wine anywhere near a group of economic sociologists and they just can't help themselves.)
This is where the group of friendlies formed. If you ever went to camp you know what I"m talking about.
Through some mixture of the social interaction patterns, prior ties to individuals and institutions, and symbolic interaction you end up with a group of people who become your social circle: Mark my friend from the institute who studies the Lottery, a professor from a school in Illinois studying Islamic finance, a British postdoc studying accounting and a Brazilian girl studying Corporate Social Responsibility(CSR). Everyone and their mom is hot for CSR these days.
After dinner we went out for a beer. These people turned out to be pretty cool. The beer ended at about 10 and I was supposed to meet my local guide-from-the-night-before at midnight. Two hours to kill in expensive, rainy Copenhagen. What to do?
Seven Eleven Skol!
If you happen to be in Denmark and are looking to kill some time, or if you're a wealthy and unimaginative alcoholic you might want to try this entertaining and inebriating way to see Copenhagen.
1.First, go to the central train station in downtown Copenhagen.
2.Pick a direction and start walking.
3.If you see a seven eleven, go in and buy a can of beer.
4.Open your beer and keep walking.
5.The next seven eleven you see, chug your beer.
6.Go in and buy another.
7.Loop steps 4 through seven until unable to speak or see.
Now you're charming!!
I drank a few beers and walked around. Went to see the little mermaid. She is indeed little. So many drunken foreigners. Finally I met up with the lady and we went to a hiphop club. For the record, if you ask whether or not I like something and I say "it's okay." I mean it's okay for you. So clubbing isn't really my thing, and neither is hip-hop. But I was determined to make the best of things. The loudness made it difficult to hear what the girl I came with was saying, but I'm pretty sure it was something about some guy who was hitting on her. We bought a whole bottle of Vodka, and sat down. Watching scantily clad late-teen girls dance around is surprisingly little fun, and the girl kept asking me "Which one do you like?" This totally freaked me out, so I pounded three quarters of the Vodka bottle and took off.
Obviously the next day was a little rough. But I hauled my ass out of bed and went to a few panels. After the reception that night we went back to a hostel where some of the peeps were staying. Canadian political scientist, hot Brazilian CSR girl, Minnesota law and society girl, British post-doc accounting guy, Islamic finance guy, lottery guy, hot French CSR girl, and I drank several beers. A good time was had by all.
The worst part of the trip, of course, was the end. As a complete moron I am incapable of accurate and effective planning. Consequently, I mistook the time of arrival at destination on my flight itinerary for the departure time. Too much time bull-shitting with cute French CSR girl. When I realized my mistake I hopped in a cab, but the traffic was horrible. Despite my efforts, I arrived too late and was forced to mortgage my future to buy a last minute ticket back to Cologne. Losing all that $$$ made me feel like JeZeus just took a shit bleeding marijuana dump all over my head.
This always happens when I travel, and yet I can't stop.
When I'm traveling and JeZeus dumps out all over me at least I can keep going and put it behind me. Maybe I don't get dumped out on as much when I'm sedentary, but when I do I have to wade around in it until I can clean it all up.
Anyways I got the flight home. Copenhagen to Frankfurt, and then Frankfurt back to Cologne. UUUEEEGH. Frankfurt. When I got to the Frankfurt airport it was a madhouse
as usual. What's more, in true German corporate fashion Lufthansa will fuck you in the ass whenever possible. The Frankfurt airport experience combines the ease and efficiency of German bureaucracy with the fun of repeated and uninvited financial sodomy.
Sitting in the madness I tried to tune it all out and focus on getting home to my bed, my wireless internet access, and my waiting guitar. Ah. so nice. Then something strange happened.
I had my headphones on, so I experienced it as a shift in all peripheral and background sensory input. Suddenly the madhouse had turned calm. It was like the eye of the storm. I look around to find that I am surrounded by old people. Sitting quietly. Too quietly. At first it was a little like the birds. I had a brief vision of airport dwelling septuagenarians roaming the gates, harvesting organs from the young and exhausted.
(This scratches the surface of my subtle unease around all old Germans: Is that leather that Grandpa's wallet is made of? If I opened the Ark of the Covenant would his face melt off? You know what I mean.)
My whole flight was old people. The whole flight. Whoa. Maybe this happens when you fly into Orlando from Tempe or something, but it's never happened to me. Anyways, my initial unease faded and the whole thing changed from the Birds into more of a Cocoon deal. Which made me Steve Gutenberg. But where is Tahnee Welch's hot hotness?
Hell I'd even settle for one of those animatronic Dolphins.
When we finally did get into Cologne, I had to take two trains to get back to my flat. So tired. On the first train, seven German teens got on and sat all around me. They offered me a swig out of a liter coke bottle. When I declined, the youth specified that the mixture contained Vodka as well as soda. Again I declined. If somehow I could only decline such meaningless social engagements without actually having to communicate in any way, . . . and simultaneously avoid being rude. Anyways, this of course opened up the opportunity for them to ask where I am from and what I am doing here.
Whenever someone asks me where I'm from I always say California. Saying Oregon confuses them, and trying to specify the exact amount of time I spent in Portland, Eugene, Berkeley, and Brooklyn is way too much. Whenever I tell a German that I am from California they have one of three reactions:
1)Liar! Why would anyone ever come to Germany from California?
2)Cool! California must be really nice, I wish I could go there.
3)Hey, what about Arnold?
The teenagers opted for choice 1. Another problem I have is trying to explain why I am in Germany. Do I say that I am a student?
Germans in my position call themselves scientists. Which is cool, but I feel strange calling myself a scientist given my proclivity for using imprecise words and phrases such as "douchebag" "Fuckin'A" and "Fuckin'A Right".
Sometimes I say that I am a researcher. Sometimes I say that I am working on my dissertation. Most adults are okay with that one. Sometimes I say that I'm a sociologist. This is actually better here than in the US. But inevitably they will ask me what exactly I study.
In anticipation of this secondary question I often just say I'm an economist to avoid the inevitable confusion that results from a brief explanation of what I do. Ultimately, trying to explain any of this is a pain in the ass so I just told these kids that I was a student. They asked how old I am and I told them I'm twenty eight. Their response (translated by the one who spoke English):
"If you're twenty-eight why don't you have a job?"
Crushing. I comforted myself by drinking a can of Carlsberg I found in my bag and rode the train back to Eherenfeld. Walking from the train station back to my flat I actually felt like I was coming home for the first time since I left Brooklyn.
Not so bad after all.
Overall, I'd have to say that my trip to Denmark was a mixed bag. The Danes are an interesting people. My Pakistani cab driver described them thusly: "they are rich, but Denmark is a small country, and the people are small minded". Interesting. They seem to be very proud of their culture and heritage. My impression is that this involves brotherly regicide, surprisingly diminutive statues of fictional characters, extremely beautiful architecture, and some nice pilsner. What's more, their economy combines a confusing mixture of outrageously high prices and a relatively worthless currency. So a sandwich costs 47 kroner which is about 7 euro or 10 dollars. As a tourist I found that this creates a sort of perceptual dissonance which is mildly annoying.
Anyways, I flew in to Copenhagen starving to death at about 9:30 pm on a Tuesday. I got to my "hotel". The motto of this place is "The Cheapest Rooms in Copenhagen". 65 euro a night. Not really that cheap yo. and the room looked like a water heater closet(exaggeration). I put my stuff down and went searching for something to eat. Everything was closed. At 9 fucking 30.
I recruited some loafing street children to find me a place to eat. While this gave me fleeting delusions of gangsterdom, the children were ultimately unsuccessful. Luckily, I remembered that Ben Allee had told me that Copenhagen had an odd abundance of Seven Elevens. The kids pointed me to one and I bought dinner at the sevie just like my sophomore year of undergrad.
To my extreme chagrin there were no nachos. I only had a hundred kroner so I bought three beers some honey roasted peanuts and a bag of gummy bears. Back at the "hotel" I set up my desk and ate/drank my dinner.
The next day I woke up and worked on the presentation a bit. Mark had given me the email of a friend he had living in Copenhagen, so I called her at around 2. We met up and hung out for a while. She's cool, although she seems to talk exclusively about how every man she comes into contact with tries to get in her pants. What's with that? Signals like this confuse me. Ultimately when I meet a woman for the first time, and she can't stop talking about her sex life, it's a turn off. In my experience these women are usually batshit crazy.
Anyways we had a couple of beers and then she took me back to her place and proceeded to show me every picture in her three photo albums. It was actually quite entertaining, but when it was over I got the hell out of there. We made some plans to go out to a club the following night, and I walked back to the hotel in the rain.
The next day I walked over to Copenhagen Business School where I presented my paper at a panel on "Markets and Justifications". Inevitably these panels have vague, dubiously meaningful names. Admittedly my presentation could use some refinement and clarification, but at this point, I've presented twice, and I feel like I can draw some conclusions about the way my work has been received. In a room full of political economists and economic sociologists, I'd say about fifteen percent had any clue what the fuck I was talking about.
Have you ever tried to teach Hegel to disinterested undergraduates? I swear the grad students, post-docs and professors in this room looked exactly the same. Obviously, it's not because I'm smart and they're dumb. It's because:
1) my topic is really fucking esoteric and hard to explain
2) I'm not the best public speaker. I'm not bad, but let's face it I'm no Cato
3) I don't yet have a "take home message". I think this is the kicker.
After the presentation I ran into my undergraduate adviser from Reed. This guy is everywhere. As usual we had a really great talk and I came away thinking that maybe I'll be able to pull all of this shit together yet. I need to get deeper into the relationship between cognitive sociology and behavioral finance to tease out where my work fits into the broader theoretical scheme of the sociology of markets project before I get into the specifics of the rise of shareholder value. So that my perspective is distinct and my points are clinically precise. This is the only way to put together the dynamite dissertation I have tumbling around in my brain.
The rest of the day was spent attending various panels.
After the panels were over, there was a dinner reception at the Copenhagen city hall. Pretty fancy digs. Nice food and some interesting dinner conversation about how prices are determined in the wine market.(Incidentally this is a topic that I have discussed about one million times. Get wine anywhere near a group of economic sociologists and they just can't help themselves.)
This is where the group of friendlies formed. If you ever went to camp you know what I"m talking about.
Through some mixture of the social interaction patterns, prior ties to individuals and institutions, and symbolic interaction you end up with a group of people who become your social circle: Mark my friend from the institute who studies the Lottery, a professor from a school in Illinois studying Islamic finance, a British postdoc studying accounting and a Brazilian girl studying Corporate Social Responsibility(CSR). Everyone and their mom is hot for CSR these days.
After dinner we went out for a beer. These people turned out to be pretty cool. The beer ended at about 10 and I was supposed to meet my local guide-from-the-night-before at midnight. Two hours to kill in expensive, rainy Copenhagen. What to do?
Seven Eleven Skol!
If you happen to be in Denmark and are looking to kill some time, or if you're a wealthy and unimaginative alcoholic you might want to try this entertaining and inebriating way to see Copenhagen.
1.First, go to the central train station in downtown Copenhagen.
2.Pick a direction and start walking.
3.If you see a seven eleven, go in and buy a can of beer.
4.Open your beer and keep walking.
5.The next seven eleven you see, chug your beer.
6.Go in and buy another.
7.Loop steps 4 through seven until unable to speak or see.
Now you're charming!!
I drank a few beers and walked around. Went to see the little mermaid. She is indeed little. So many drunken foreigners. Finally I met up with the lady and we went to a hiphop club. For the record, if you ask whether or not I like something and I say "it's okay." I mean it's okay for you. So clubbing isn't really my thing, and neither is hip-hop. But I was determined to make the best of things. The loudness made it difficult to hear what the girl I came with was saying, but I'm pretty sure it was something about some guy who was hitting on her. We bought a whole bottle of Vodka, and sat down. Watching scantily clad late-teen girls dance around is surprisingly little fun, and the girl kept asking me "Which one do you like?" This totally freaked me out, so I pounded three quarters of the Vodka bottle and took off.
Obviously the next day was a little rough. But I hauled my ass out of bed and went to a few panels. After the reception that night we went back to a hostel where some of the peeps were staying. Canadian political scientist, hot Brazilian CSR girl, Minnesota law and society girl, British post-doc accounting guy, Islamic finance guy, lottery guy, hot French CSR girl, and I drank several beers. A good time was had by all.
The worst part of the trip, of course, was the end. As a complete moron I am incapable of accurate and effective planning. Consequently, I mistook the time of arrival at destination on my flight itinerary for the departure time. Too much time bull-shitting with cute French CSR girl. When I realized my mistake I hopped in a cab, but the traffic was horrible. Despite my efforts, I arrived too late and was forced to mortgage my future to buy a last minute ticket back to Cologne. Losing all that $$$ made me feel like JeZeus just took a shit bleeding marijuana dump all over my head.
This always happens when I travel, and yet I can't stop.
When I'm traveling and JeZeus dumps out all over me at least I can keep going and put it behind me. Maybe I don't get dumped out on as much when I'm sedentary, but when I do I have to wade around in it until I can clean it all up.
Anyways I got the flight home. Copenhagen to Frankfurt, and then Frankfurt back to Cologne. UUUEEEGH. Frankfurt. When I got to the Frankfurt airport it was a madhouse
as usual. What's more, in true German corporate fashion Lufthansa will fuck you in the ass whenever possible. The Frankfurt airport experience combines the ease and efficiency of German bureaucracy with the fun of repeated and uninvited financial sodomy.Sitting in the madness I tried to tune it all out and focus on getting home to my bed, my wireless internet access, and my waiting guitar. Ah. so nice. Then something strange happened.
I had my headphones on, so I experienced it as a shift in all peripheral and background sensory input. Suddenly the madhouse had turned calm. It was like the eye of the storm. I look around to find that I am surrounded by old people. Sitting quietly. Too quietly. At first it was a little like the birds. I had a brief vision of airport dwelling septuagenarians roaming the gates, harvesting organs from the young and exhausted.
(This scratches the surface of my subtle unease around all old Germans: Is that leather that Grandpa's wallet is made of? If I opened the Ark of the Covenant would his face melt off? You know what I mean.)
My whole flight was old people. The whole flight. Whoa. Maybe this happens when you fly into Orlando from Tempe or something, but it's never happened to me. Anyways, my initial unease faded and the whole thing changed from the Birds into more of a Cocoon deal. Which made me Steve Gutenberg. But where is Tahnee Welch's hot hotness?
Hell I'd even settle for one of those animatronic Dolphins.
When we finally did get into Cologne, I had to take two trains to get back to my flat. So tired. On the first train, seven German teens got on and sat all around me. They offered me a swig out of a liter coke bottle. When I declined, the youth specified that the mixture contained Vodka as well as soda. Again I declined. If somehow I could only decline such meaningless social engagements without actually having to communicate in any way, . . . and simultaneously avoid being rude. Anyways, this of course opened up the opportunity for them to ask where I am from and what I am doing here.
Whenever someone asks me where I'm from I always say California. Saying Oregon confuses them, and trying to specify the exact amount of time I spent in Portland, Eugene, Berkeley, and Brooklyn is way too much. Whenever I tell a German that I am from California they have one of three reactions:
1)Liar! Why would anyone ever come to Germany from California?
2)Cool! California must be really nice, I wish I could go there.
3)Hey, what about Arnold?
The teenagers opted for choice 1. Another problem I have is trying to explain why I am in Germany. Do I say that I am a student?
Germans in my position call themselves scientists. Which is cool, but I feel strange calling myself a scientist given my proclivity for using imprecise words and phrases such as "douchebag" "Fuckin'A" and "Fuckin'A Right".
Sometimes I say that I am a researcher. Sometimes I say that I am working on my dissertation. Most adults are okay with that one. Sometimes I say that I'm a sociologist. This is actually better here than in the US. But inevitably they will ask me what exactly I study.
In anticipation of this secondary question I often just say I'm an economist to avoid the inevitable confusion that results from a brief explanation of what I do. Ultimately, trying to explain any of this is a pain in the ass so I just told these kids that I was a student. They asked how old I am and I told them I'm twenty eight. Their response (translated by the one who spoke English):
"If you're twenty-eight why don't you have a job?"
Crushing. I comforted myself by drinking a can of Carlsberg I found in my bag and rode the train back to Eherenfeld. Walking from the train station back to my flat I actually felt like I was coming home for the first time since I left Brooklyn.
Not so bad after all.
10.7.07
A Brief Note
To all of you who have sent me messages in the last few weeks,I appreciate your correspondence and will return my own words and thoughts in kind in the near future. It is the cyclic inevitabilities of business as usual that interfere with both my dutied replies and the committed cataloguing of my experiences in the form of this blog. Until I get my affairs in order, I will leave you with something that fell out of my ass:
The Intra-Subjective Times
Events of recent days have been followed by a flurry of statistically significant departures from seasonal moving averages of most of the prime indicators yo.
Self-Reflexive anxiety was up 10 percent upon excessive dwelling on the social consequences of speaking and thinking exclusively in a language that has lost grammatical gender.
OH Shit! The world weariness index jumped 12% on the realization that we have to write a dissertation. Productivity has been extremely volatile with the daily standard deviation in output increasing for the fourth week straight.
BIZ
All of you are of course familiar with the macro cyclical structuring of business as usual. Business as usual usually progresses cyclically. Which is to say that there is a high degree of volatility in exactly how much business is getting done.
The frugality center of my brain raised interest rates for a third time this week in a concerted effort to curtail the excessive off the books spending that are the hallmark of an overheating procrastinatory academic climate. Chief Economist Dr. Wallet of the Financial Accounting Bureau has applauded these measures as necessary belt tightening:
"This sort of unabashed consumption of leisure items, whilst the shadow of credit card debt looms ever larger, portends impending financial collapse. The actions we have taken cannot work alone. The Financial Accounting Bureau is working closely with the Office of the Subconscious to ensure a speedy recovery."
Minutes later the normally laconic Office of the Subconscious issued the following statement:"Until further notice dreaming will focus on protestant anxiety and the sublimation of sexual desire for productive purposes. Furthermore, any pleasant or hedonistic imagery will be interrupted by a foreboding and uncharacteristically sober Benjamin Franklin."
Biological Processes and Romance:
Alarmists in the demographic community point to the steady aging of the cellular population and the statistically significant increases in life expectancy that could be gained through the adoption and enforcement of a pro-marriage policy.
When asked about recent events, the The Press Secretary of the Brain Cells had this to say: "Maybe you guys aren't as close to the eyes as we are, but you'll just have to trust us, every thing's fine. All we need is a surge of creative power and motivation." When asked about where such a windfall of dynamism might come from the Secretary cited the likelihood of divine intervention "Something will come along. It always does."
The Intra-Subjective Times
Events of recent days have been followed by a flurry of statistically significant departures from seasonal moving averages of most of the prime indicators yo.
Self-Reflexive anxiety was up 10 percent upon excessive dwelling on the social consequences of speaking and thinking exclusively in a language that has lost grammatical gender.
OH Shit! The world weariness index jumped 12% on the realization that we have to write a dissertation. Productivity has been extremely volatile with the daily standard deviation in output increasing for the fourth week straight.
BIZ
All of you are of course familiar with the macro cyclical structuring of business as usual. Business as usual usually progresses cyclically. Which is to say that there is a high degree of volatility in exactly how much business is getting done.
The frugality center of my brain raised interest rates for a third time this week in a concerted effort to curtail the excessive off the books spending that are the hallmark of an overheating procrastinatory academic climate. Chief Economist Dr. Wallet of the Financial Accounting Bureau has applauded these measures as necessary belt tightening:
"This sort of unabashed consumption of leisure items, whilst the shadow of credit card debt looms ever larger, portends impending financial collapse. The actions we have taken cannot work alone. The Financial Accounting Bureau is working closely with the Office of the Subconscious to ensure a speedy recovery."
Minutes later the normally laconic Office of the Subconscious issued the following statement:"Until further notice dreaming will focus on protestant anxiety and the sublimation of sexual desire for productive purposes. Furthermore, any pleasant or hedonistic imagery will be interrupted by a foreboding and uncharacteristically sober Benjamin Franklin."
Biological Processes and Romance:
Alarmists in the demographic community point to the steady aging of the cellular population and the statistically significant increases in life expectancy that could be gained through the adoption and enforcement of a pro-marriage policy.
When asked about recent events, the The Press Secretary of the Brain Cells had this to say: "Maybe you guys aren't as close to the eyes as we are, but you'll just have to trust us, every thing's fine. All we need is a surge of creative power and motivation." When asked about where such a windfall of dynamism might come from the Secretary cited the likelihood of divine intervention "Something will come along. It always does."
26.6.07
Preemptive Post
So I sent out a mass email. The first one I ever sent. The intended purpose was to tell everyone about the blog I started. However, I, of course, neglected to include a link to my blog. Why did I do this? Maybe I'm a dumbass and I just forgot, or maybe it's my unconscious self-loathing for both having a blog, and sending a mass email about it. Perhaps my deep seated humility prevented me from carrying out this act of shameless self promotion. One thing's for sure, I'm writing this post to preempt whatever witty remarks Tom or the rest of you suckas might choose to leave about it in the comments. HAHAHAHA!
Now, it's off to a conference in Denmark where I hear there is something decaying.
Now, it's off to a conference in Denmark where I hear there is something decaying.
25.6.07
Hairendipity Baby! (a.k.a. Whoever heard of a beardless Jesus)
Now, I'm not a religious man, . . but sometimes, when you least expect it there is a sequence of events in which the muddled path we walk becomes clear. Suddenly the booming voice of God echoes in the interrelation of irrellevent minutae.
And you just know what you have to do.
And the voice said:
"GROW A BIG BUSHY BEARD!"
I don't really know if I can grow a bushy beard, but I've always kind of wanted one. I never tried because: 1) it seems like they limit your opportunities with the ladies and 2) during the growth period you look crazy. But I've heard the calling, and so, in exactly 14 days I will take the hirsute vow. I will not shave until I once again set foot upon the soil of my homeland. This is a brief chonicle of the events that opened my eyes to the need for such a journey.
Genesis: The GodSPAM
It started the other day, when I was checking my email. While I don't get a lot of SPAM, I do get some, and though I usually just delete it all sometimes I like to save the ones with the more inspiring headlines. I had just signed in and took a look at the inbox. I had only one new message and sure enough it was porno-spam.
"Hairy Teens"
Not terribly inventive. . . . junk it
then I noticed the other two spam emails that I had saved
"Moustache Reckless"
"RE: Dreadlock Hatred"
Whoa. I had a brief vision of Lieutenant L.T. Smash's 50ft Mantis hippy freakout. burn down the babershops. Whatever. I was getting ready to go out to a bar with some of my German buddies. Shower, shave, eat a pork chop and head out.
Exodus: The QueerBeard
After some seven beers and a few Jagermiester shots we made the dubious decision to follow our female associate to a lesbian bar. Now, there are probably good lesbian bars out there, but I never get to go to them. All the ones I've been to have played excruciatingly painful 80's pop music.
Eh, the beers were only a Euro.
So I hit the bar. The bartender had the sweetest biker queerbeard ever. Almost like that meathead from American Chopper, but longer. I couldn't stop looking at it, its swaying was almost hypnotic.
I mean, it's not like I'm clean shaven. I have the short beard which I shave down to George Michael pink panty facial stubble when it gets too long.
Not the manliest but the ladies seem to like it alright.
After more excessive consumption I headed home.
NYC this is not.
At 4:30 am the trains are extremely infrequent. It is however perfectly legal to drink in public, so I grabbed a road beer, and headed out the train station, hoping the wait wouldn't be long.
I got lucky.
Revelation: The StinkBum
As soon as I got on the train it hit me.
The stinkiest stink ever to emanate. It was the horrid pestilence stench of the apocalypse bearing down on me. That's when I saw him. Down at the other end of the traincar.
A bum.
It kind of took me by surprise. You don't see many bums in Koln. Whenever I get drunk and pass out at the train station I'm always alone. I thought that made me the bummiest guy in town.
Hey, I have no problem with bums. Or with stinky people.
I've gotten pretty ripe in my day, but this was insane.
Worse than that time I sat next to Moses on the Greyhound and he crapped himself.
But it was a big traincar, and I didn't want to make the guy feel bad, so I just sat down at the other end of the car. The guy was dirty. Really fucking dirty. He had a big bushy beard and a tangled mass of muddy dreads, and was furiously scribbling something in a ratty notebook.
I recently bought the latest clutch album and since have been going through my Clutch obsession cycle. There I was on the train listening to Fallon scream and pondering what the revelation of Pestilence might contain.
Listening to "Burning Beard" and watching him puor his heart onto paper, it happened.
I experienced the mystic shift, and the world rotated to reveal the insights that this seemingly meaningless series of events held for a deeper understanding of Ultimate Reality. I went something like this:
Fallon: "Every day I wake up I drink a lot of coffee and watch the CNN"
I wonder if Pestilence over there knows he smells like The End.
Fallon: "Lobsterbacks attack the town again"
I'll call the fattest dread Famine, the pointiest one War, and the flatish back-of-the-head mullet-dread Death.
Fallon: "Beams of Darkness streak across the sky"
Whatever he's writing it must really be important. It looks like he's gonna rip right
through his notebook paper.
Fallon: "Every time I look out my window same three dogs looking back at me"
He really does look kind of like what you might imagine John the Baptist looked like before he climbed into Jordan's waters.
Fallon: "The power of the Holy Ghost!"
Say what you want about Schizophrenia, but those guys are motivated!
. . . . .
Fallon: "Oh this Burning Beard, I have come undone!"
Pestilence
Fallon: "It's just as I feared, I have, I have come undone."
QueerBeard
Dreadlock Hatred.
Moustache Reckless?
Fallon: "The power of the Holy Ghost cooooooomes to town"
Hairy Teens!
That's it! I've gotta grow a big ass raving derelict beard!!Q@#!
I stepped out of the train station into a thunder storm. . .
then my iPod broke.
drunk, I tried to fall asleep but I couldn't get that song out of my head
so I looked up the video on YouTube.
and I knew it was all true
14 Days Remain
And you just know what you have to do.
And the voice said:
"GROW A BIG BUSHY BEARD!"
I don't really know if I can grow a bushy beard, but I've always kind of wanted one. I never tried because: 1) it seems like they limit your opportunities with the ladies and 2) during the growth period you look crazy. But I've heard the calling, and so, in exactly 14 days I will take the hirsute vow. I will not shave until I once again set foot upon the soil of my homeland. This is a brief chonicle of the events that opened my eyes to the need for such a journey.
Genesis: The GodSPAM
It started the other day, when I was checking my email. While I don't get a lot of SPAM, I do get some, and though I usually just delete it all sometimes I like to save the ones with the more inspiring headlines. I had just signed in and took a look at the inbox. I had only one new message and sure enough it was porno-spam.
"Hairy Teens"
Not terribly inventive. . . . junk it
then I noticed the other two spam emails that I had saved
"Moustache Reckless"
"RE: Dreadlock Hatred"
Whoa. I had a brief vision of Lieutenant L.T. Smash's 50ft Mantis hippy freakout. burn down the babershops. Whatever. I was getting ready to go out to a bar with some of my German buddies. Shower, shave, eat a pork chop and head out.
Exodus: The QueerBeard
After some seven beers and a few Jagermiester shots we made the dubious decision to follow our female associate to a lesbian bar. Now, there are probably good lesbian bars out there, but I never get to go to them. All the ones I've been to have played excruciatingly painful 80's pop music.
Eh, the beers were only a Euro.
So I hit the bar. The bartender had the sweetest biker queerbeard ever. Almost like that meathead from American Chopper, but longer. I couldn't stop looking at it, its swaying was almost hypnotic.
I mean, it's not like I'm clean shaven. I have the short beard which I shave down to George Michael pink panty facial stubble when it gets too long.
Not the manliest but the ladies seem to like it alright.
After more excessive consumption I headed home.
NYC this is not.
At 4:30 am the trains are extremely infrequent. It is however perfectly legal to drink in public, so I grabbed a road beer, and headed out the train station, hoping the wait wouldn't be long.
I got lucky.
Revelation: The StinkBum
As soon as I got on the train it hit me.
The stinkiest stink ever to emanate. It was the horrid pestilence stench of the apocalypse bearing down on me. That's when I saw him. Down at the other end of the traincar.
A bum.
It kind of took me by surprise. You don't see many bums in Koln. Whenever I get drunk and pass out at the train station I'm always alone. I thought that made me the bummiest guy in town.
Hey, I have no problem with bums. Or with stinky people.
I've gotten pretty ripe in my day, but this was insane.
Worse than that time I sat next to Moses on the Greyhound and he crapped himself.
But it was a big traincar, and I didn't want to make the guy feel bad, so I just sat down at the other end of the car. The guy was dirty. Really fucking dirty. He had a big bushy beard and a tangled mass of muddy dreads, and was furiously scribbling something in a ratty notebook.
I recently bought the latest clutch album and since have been going through my Clutch obsession cycle. There I was on the train listening to Fallon scream and pondering what the revelation of Pestilence might contain.
Listening to "Burning Beard" and watching him puor his heart onto paper, it happened.
I experienced the mystic shift, and the world rotated to reveal the insights that this seemingly meaningless series of events held for a deeper understanding of Ultimate Reality. I went something like this:
Fallon: "Every day I wake up I drink a lot of coffee and watch the CNN"
I wonder if Pestilence over there knows he smells like The End.
Fallon: "Lobsterbacks attack the town again"
I'll call the fattest dread Famine, the pointiest one War, and the flatish back-of-the-head mullet-dread Death.
Fallon: "Beams of Darkness streak across the sky"
Whatever he's writing it must really be important. It looks like he's gonna rip right
through his notebook paper.
Fallon: "Every time I look out my window same three dogs looking back at me"
He really does look kind of like what you might imagine John the Baptist looked like before he climbed into Jordan's waters.
Fallon: "The power of the Holy Ghost!"
Say what you want about Schizophrenia, but those guys are motivated!
. . . . .
Fallon: "Oh this Burning Beard, I have come undone!"
Pestilence
Fallon: "It's just as I feared, I have, I have come undone."
QueerBeard
Dreadlock Hatred.
Moustache Reckless?
Fallon: "The power of the Holy Ghost cooooooomes to town"
Hairy Teens!
That's it! I've gotta grow a big ass raving derelict beard!!Q@#!
I stepped out of the train station into a thunder storm. . .
then my iPod broke.
drunk, I tried to fall asleep but I couldn't get that song out of my head
so I looked up the video on YouTube.
and I knew it was all true
14 Days Remain
22.6.07
Distraction
So today I went to a four hour seminar on sociology and financial markets. It was pretty interesting, but at some point I got tired of the endless droning. Daydreaming of tatoos and what Neil Fallon would do if he had to present a study on the performative aspects of Portfolio Management Theory. No yellow jackets can keep the bored grad student from doodling. Check out my note pad:
I am particularly fond of the Zombie.
There was this Autralian woman who was presenting last. She has a general reputation for being batshit crazy, so I kind of expected her to do somthing strange. Instead she just whispered to her chum like a shchool girl the whole time. Speaking of third graders. I was tempted to ask her to share with the class. I guess it wouldn't have been that surprising if she wasn't an old professor lady. Maybe it's an Australian thing. She would just loudly blurt out shit while other people were talking. What the fuck? Professor of Emotional Finance at OutbackUniversity's Hogan Scholl of Business.
After a day full of this I was ready to go home. I picked up two bottles of Serbian Wine (1 euro a piece!) and proceeded to drink them both by myself with only my guitar to keep me company.
Some people say there's somthing wrong with drinking alone, I say, those people have self esteem issues. Who better than you to keep you company? I guess I had my guitar. That sort of counts.
I am particularly fond of the Zombie.
There was this Autralian woman who was presenting last. She has a general reputation for being batshit crazy, so I kind of expected her to do somthing strange. Instead she just whispered to her chum like a shchool girl the whole time. Speaking of third graders. I was tempted to ask her to share with the class. I guess it wouldn't have been that surprising if she wasn't an old professor lady. Maybe it's an Australian thing. She would just loudly blurt out shit while other people were talking. What the fuck? Professor of Emotional Finance at OutbackUniversity's Hogan Scholl of Business.
After a day full of this I was ready to go home. I picked up two bottles of Serbian Wine (1 euro a piece!) and proceeded to drink them both by myself with only my guitar to keep me company.
Some people say there's somthing wrong with drinking alone, I say, those people have self esteem issues. Who better than you to keep you company? I guess I had my guitar. That sort of counts.
21.6.07
Fill in the Blanks.
Here's a short exercise you can use to write your first introductory post. Fill in the blanks:
My name is _CrAcKademic!_ and I'm the owner of the _CrAcKademic!___ blog.
I decided to start this blog because _______the people deserve to know what's going on here________ .
Here is a bit of background about me: ___I am a grad student, and as such am surrounded by conceptually obfuscated douchbaggery___.
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