Great article from NYT's by Paul Bloom on happiness, and the tension between long and short-term goals.
Check it out I think it does a really good job summarizing the internal conflict we see in our everyday life, and in the larger decisions we make as well.
Personally, I find that it is the long-term Socrates which has far too much control over my personal Homer. But its an interesting struggle all the same.
About Me
- Chris Pham
- Chris works for Autonomy Corporation - the innovative leader behind meaning-based computing.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Boston Common
I've been spending the past few days visiting Boston, and I've been pleasantly surprised. Although it is still located on the wrong ocean, it has earned its right as one of America's great cities.
The morning was proving ominous, however my friend braved the clouds to meet up with me at South Station. Located downtown, and near Chinatown, this area of Boston is bleak and little more than lifeless. A few pubs and clubs line the streets, but they are mostly empty spare the occasional drunk party.
From there we had lunch at one of the ubiquitous sea food restaurants near the harbor. Sea breeze and salty air garnished crab crakes, a 2 lb lobster, and clam chowder, quickly drowned by a tasty, albeit bitter, Harpoon IPA. Nothing beats the simplicity of fresh seafood with loads of butter.
After lunch we decided to head up to the North End, the Italian District of Boston. All along the way we spotted cute cafes and stopped in a combination cafe/art exhibit to grab a Vietnamese coffee, water, and a little rest. Not too far a way a steady procession goes marching by, a tribute to Saint Anthony. The cobblestone streets take me back to the narrow streets of Capri for a moment, and the parade marches on. As we make our way into the heart of the district the crowd begins to thicken, and the booths appear from both sides. Fried dough and a collection of trinkets that would satisfy any gypsy. We exit near Madison Square Garden, and I try not to shudder when I think about Celtics fans. or Red Sox fans. or Patriots fans.
Making our way back into the city, I cannot help but to admire their infatuation with water features. In a city which the water with inveritably freeze over, I cannot understand how they would find so much space for the, but there you have it...from the zero edge pond next to the gargantuan christian science church to the many little fountains the children play in all over the city. How the maintain during the winter, I can only guess.
Eventually we make our way out to the suburbs of Boston, just south of Cambridge. Here it looks more like small-town USA, the East Coast you see in classic movies. I can't help but to be caught up in the neighborhood feel, as the playground is filled with an equal number of kids and adults lounging in the waning light of the afternoon. I grab an iced tea from Dunkin Doughnuts, discover they have jelly-filled munchinks, and believe myself to be the next Columbus...nay Einstein. Brilliant!
We wind up our day getting lost, skirting Newbury street, and back on the Metro toward Malden. My friend graciously offered to host me for the night, and her dad picks us up from the train station, along with her adorable niece.
Her home is a testament to Vietnamese-American culture. It has been a long time since I've been in such a home, for after tonight I must admit that my home is more like a house. Although it is not large, nor obnoxiously fancy, there is a quiet comfort here, a lived-in casualness. Utterly unpretentious, it is not the self-conscious American style, but filled with the unconditional love and heartbreak of family. The ceilings of the living room are lined with countless photos, a testament to each person's importance. A very large altar is set-up beyond the TV. The kitchen, perhaps most tellingly of all, is immaculate. The warm wood of the dining table calls you to sit down, and the plastic feel of the tile sticking to my feet reminds me of simpler times. I am served rice with fish and beef, along with squash soup. Impressively, the squash came from the garden just outside. Simple and filling.
I was just getting done with the dishes when my friend's niece came ambling by with a Monopoly play-set, perhaps not so innocently. I saw through her immediately, so we started to play. Unfortunately, we could only get through a few turns before she had to go home, but I hope that was enough to satisfy her. I know that as a kid I always wanted to play games, and the adults who played them were the best. I probably would have kicked her butt anyway.
The sleep over and the smell of a Vietnamese house is reminding me of my grandma, simple times, and the joys of child hood. I hope I can make my way out here again.
The morning was proving ominous, however my friend braved the clouds to meet up with me at South Station. Located downtown, and near Chinatown, this area of Boston is bleak and little more than lifeless. A few pubs and clubs line the streets, but they are mostly empty spare the occasional drunk party.
From there we had lunch at one of the ubiquitous sea food restaurants near the harbor. Sea breeze and salty air garnished crab crakes, a 2 lb lobster, and clam chowder, quickly drowned by a tasty, albeit bitter, Harpoon IPA. Nothing beats the simplicity of fresh seafood with loads of butter.
After lunch we decided to head up to the North End, the Italian District of Boston. All along the way we spotted cute cafes and stopped in a combination cafe/art exhibit to grab a Vietnamese coffee, water, and a little rest. Not too far a way a steady procession goes marching by, a tribute to Saint Anthony. The cobblestone streets take me back to the narrow streets of Capri for a moment, and the parade marches on. As we make our way into the heart of the district the crowd begins to thicken, and the booths appear from both sides. Fried dough and a collection of trinkets that would satisfy any gypsy. We exit near Madison Square Garden, and I try not to shudder when I think about Celtics fans. or Red Sox fans. or Patriots fans.
Making our way back into the city, I cannot help but to admire their infatuation with water features. In a city which the water with inveritably freeze over, I cannot understand how they would find so much space for the, but there you have it...from the zero edge pond next to the gargantuan christian science church to the many little fountains the children play in all over the city. How the maintain during the winter, I can only guess.
Eventually we make our way out to the suburbs of Boston, just south of Cambridge. Here it looks more like small-town USA, the East Coast you see in classic movies. I can't help but to be caught up in the neighborhood feel, as the playground is filled with an equal number of kids and adults lounging in the waning light of the afternoon. I grab an iced tea from Dunkin Doughnuts, discover they have jelly-filled munchinks, and believe myself to be the next Columbus...nay Einstein. Brilliant!
We wind up our day getting lost, skirting Newbury street, and back on the Metro toward Malden. My friend graciously offered to host me for the night, and her dad picks us up from the train station, along with her adorable niece.
Her home is a testament to Vietnamese-American culture. It has been a long time since I've been in such a home, for after tonight I must admit that my home is more like a house. Although it is not large, nor obnoxiously fancy, there is a quiet comfort here, a lived-in casualness. Utterly unpretentious, it is not the self-conscious American style, but filled with the unconditional love and heartbreak of family. The ceilings of the living room are lined with countless photos, a testament to each person's importance. A very large altar is set-up beyond the TV. The kitchen, perhaps most tellingly of all, is immaculate. The warm wood of the dining table calls you to sit down, and the plastic feel of the tile sticking to my feet reminds me of simpler times. I am served rice with fish and beef, along with squash soup. Impressively, the squash came from the garden just outside. Simple and filling.
I was just getting done with the dishes when my friend's niece came ambling by with a Monopoly play-set, perhaps not so innocently. I saw through her immediately, so we started to play. Unfortunately, we could only get through a few turns before she had to go home, but I hope that was enough to satisfy her. I know that as a kid I always wanted to play games, and the adults who played them were the best. I probably would have kicked her butt anyway.
The sleep over and the smell of a Vietnamese house is reminding me of my grandma, simple times, and the joys of child hood. I hope I can make my way out here again.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
On Teaching
I recently applied to Teach For America, a 2-year scheme designed to offer college graduates a chance to give back through teaching before entering the workforce. That got me thinking about education, and more specifically, education reform.
There are many issues that plague the American education system, one which ranks relatively low worldwide. Short school years, an agrarian schedule, indifferent parents, and poor teaching all feed into a system which is inflexible and does not reward excellence. It seems that American parents cannot be all that much different than the average parent worldwide, so the delta cannot exist here. The problem, I think, is more acute.
Teachers. As a student not long out of public school, I know how lackadaisical or even incompetent public school teachers can be. Although there are a few teachers I can name who had the passion and professionalism to make an impact on my life, the majority of teachers fell into either two categories: incompetent or indifferent. This is, most likely, due to how the incentive system is structured for teachers. After three years of employment teachers can receive tenure, basically employment for life. The Economist recently reported that only 1.8% of all teachers are denied tenure. 1.8%!
This means that 98% of teachers will eventually be guaranteed employment for life. How would this spur competition, or attract top-level talent when good and bad teachers alike are treated equally. In the land of meritocracy, I cannot see a system that more clearly distorts the market. Teacher's unions argue that their profession is different than others…but how? Every profession is employed at the whim of their employer, and if they perform poorly then they are fired. The same should be true of teachers.
Another common belief is that teacher's salaries are too far depressed to attract the most talented. I agree, however, this is directly linked to the tenure-based system that is currently in place. By freeing the labor market from the shackles of the union's lopsided rules, the best and brightest teachers could be adequately awarded for their dedication and the worst could be paid less or let go. Once there is a system in place which reflects a teacher's performance, then and only then, would it make sense to boost the gross amount of money going to teacher's salaries. Otherwise, we would only be paying more for the same performance.
Education, as many have experienced, is the great equalizer. If only teachers unions understood how important that is.
---
Follow up: Although this post focused mainly on how ridiculous the system of public education has become, that does not take anything away from the teachers and administrators who do their best every day to improve the profession and the lives of the students around them.
Boston
Walking through Boston on an overcast summer's afternoon, I can feel the distinctly American vibe emanating from the city. This preeminent college town feels so much homier than New York, and distinctly cleaner than Philadelphia. With a personality all its own, Boston is quickly becoming one of the more memorable cities I've visited.
Boston Commons, a sprawling park in the midst of downtown, is a magnificent testament to parks and recreation. Not a few minutes away is Newbury Street, a mix of hometown charm of Mill St. in Tempe and the blatant commercialization of the Magnificent Mile in Chicago. Blend these together with one of the largest Chinatowns in the nation, plenty of bars and clubs, and downtown Boston does not leave much to be desired.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Econo-post
There's been a lot of talk since Recession 2.0 started about the death of the dismal science (economics). The central tenet to the argument is that economists failed to predict or forestall such an event from happening.
I think that this can be debated, for there are a few economists who predicted the massive housing bubble. Because the majority are wrong does not make the science moot. If Copernicus could prove his fellow contemporaries wrong without discrediting cosmology, then so too can Roubini tack against prevailing economic winds without killing them. The hard truth is that the dismal science is also an inexact science. It is based upon extreme assumptions (rational expectations, perfect information, etc.) that do not exist on the ground, because the world is not a perfect place.
There are, however, few alternatives. The models which economists have created are largely academic, but are useful in themselves. They are simply as imperfect as the world around us.
Economists will never be able to perfectly predict human behavior or factor in every variable. For that you'd need a crystal ball, some tea leaves, and a little bit of magic. What you should get, though, is a new set of expectations for economics. Dismal, indeed.
Joe and Julie
Apparently blogging can be hard business, because I am pretty scarce at it.
Well, let's get on to a couple of movies I just saw, classic examples of cinematic bile.
GI JOE
Starring that insufferable guy who dances in movies all the time, and a few busty females, this movie is perfect if you need to find a way to self-induce a coma. Be prepared to suspend your belief, lose your hearing, and perhaps, even your faith in good script writing. There are more clichés in here than…well…I have ever seen before. If you combined the worst parts of Star Wars (new versions), Ironman, and You Got Served, I'm pretty sure you land somewhere near GI JOE. However, there are enough explosions and ninjas in the movie to make it palatable to watch till the end.
Bottom Line: Like a good rollercoaster, mildly nauseating.
Julie and Julia
Based on a blogger who is way too obsessed about herself and Julia Childs. I just don't understand how becoming unhinged enough to become emotionally dependant on a cook book's author makes a good story, but apparently Hollywood thought so. Although we follow modern day Julie and old school Julia (Childs) through their supposedly parallel adventure and subsequent self-expression through cooking, there is little in the way of similarity between the two figures. The most outstanding factor being that with-the-times Julie is completely dysfunctional. The only interesting bit is the unsatisfying jaunt through a constantly crowing Julia Child's efforts to write and publish her first cook book. The acting is done well, though is hindered by a subpar premise to begin with.
Bottom Line: You paid for the filet, but got a sirloin. It's still meat though, right?
As always, I promise to write more soon. Goodnight Saigon.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A Year On
It's been almost a year now since I started my journey from San Francisco to Brazil, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Philly and back home to Tempe again. And subsequently, it has been about a year on for this blog as well. I therefore, offer a toast in this self-congratulatory, if not nostalgic, manner.
It might be odd to reflect on a year in the midst of one, but when are not? A few memorable moments in the past year:
- Enjoying a sunny day and cool night in the red wood forests an hour outside SF, listening to local bands
- Riding with my head out the side of the trolley across Rio's favelas as the rain begins
- Arriving in HCMC, wearing rolled-up Penn sweats because the humidity is too much
- Going knee deep in the terraced rice paddies of Sapa
- Partying the night away in Philly, shouting and chanting in celebration
- Teaching my sister how to drive, and pretending not to care if she kills me
- Hanging out by the pool with old friends and wasting time well
- Hiking Camelback Hill for the umpteenth time, but never getting tired of it
- Wandering the beaches of San Diego, watching fireworks light the sky
And a million other moments. Luckily, I have been blessed with friends and family who love me, an aptitude and determination to do well in life, and the ability to enjoy doing so.
Every time I come home, I am reminded of how much I miss it. While I am away, I must admit, I am not one to become nostalgic. I can be content in most situations. But there is an energy, a familiarity with old friends and family found nowhere else. I hope to be able to keep such ties strong as the swift current of life carries me forward. I can only express my sincerest gratitude to all those who have and continue to share in my journey and I am honored to be a part of yours.
So a year on, and where do we go from here? I do not know. The future will always be a mystery, and the past will have always been spent. What I have learned, is this: Life is like a pitcher of beer. Best enjoyed with those you love. Who are you drinking with tonight?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Time of Change
It seems like when it rains, it pours.
Big Aristotle is traded to the Cavs for 10 million in savings, and the option to buy out a washed-up Ben Wallace.
Injury-prone Amare Stoudemire looks to be moving to Golden State's 7th pick of Stephen Curry, Latvian 7-footer Andris Biedrins, and possibly Brandan Wright.
http://www.azcentral.com/members/Blog/PaulCoro/56269
Farrah Fawcett dies, followed by the supernatural pop icon Michael Jackson.
Follow BBC coverage here:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7753036.stm
Big Aristotle is traded to the Cavs for 10 million in savings, and the option to buy out a washed-up Ben Wallace.
Injury-prone Amare Stoudemire looks to be moving to Golden State's 7th pick of Stephen Curry, Latvian 7-footer Andris Biedrins, and possibly Brandan Wright.
http://www.azcentral.com/members/Blog/PaulCoro/56269
Farrah Fawcett dies, followed by the supernatural pop icon Michael Jackson.
Follow BBC coverage here:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7753036.stm
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Ferris Bueler's Life Off
Check out this documentary, about the education systems of America, India and China.
There is an ongoing debate as the world flattens and foreigners begin to gain more technical skills than the average American, specifically in Math and Science. Americans are afforded a shorter school year and school days, which produce a 1 year deficit in instruction over 12 years. Some may see this as time which American kids use to socialize themselves into society, build upon skills outside of the classroom, and learn to make decisions on their own time. To others, this is an opportunity for American sloth, the decline of the American mind, and the passing of an era when the ROW was in shambles.
Unfortunately, the effect of education policy take at least a generation to see. Furthermore, the high quality of American colleges, immigration, and the nation's system of innovation may soften the harm caused by a school calendar which has not been altered since our Agrarian Age. As the world begins to compete with America, it is time for her to step up her game. Competition can make us all better.
There is an ongoing debate as the world flattens and foreigners begin to gain more technical skills than the average American, specifically in Math and Science. Americans are afforded a shorter school year and school days, which produce a 1 year deficit in instruction over 12 years. Some may see this as time which American kids use to socialize themselves into society, build upon skills outside of the classroom, and learn to make decisions on their own time. To others, this is an opportunity for American sloth, the decline of the American mind, and the passing of an era when the ROW was in shambles.
Unfortunately, the effect of education policy take at least a generation to see. Furthermore, the high quality of American colleges, immigration, and the nation's system of innovation may soften the harm caused by a school calendar which has not been altered since our Agrarian Age. As the world begins to compete with America, it is time for her to step up her game. Competition can make us all better.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thomas Jefferson
Here's an interesting letter from the man who wrote the Declaration of Independence and the 3rd president of the United States. In it Jefferson refutes the establishment of religion in government.
In one famous Jefferson quote he demonizes the role of private banks as institutions which will one day, own everything. Which is ironic considering the face he currently gives to our currency.
On the other hand, it seems as if Jefferson proposed that the banking industry stay a free market in a letter to Albert Gallatin. This sentiment is, perhaps, even more germane to the situation we face today.
Although we may feel that the tasks we currently face are unique to our day and are Herculean in difficulty, it is clear that we have been dealing with many of the same issues since the country's inception. Our growth depends on great men (and women) to push a path forward. And if you ever need be reminded of one, just pull out your lucky two-dollar bill.
In one famous Jefferson quote he demonizes the role of private banks as institutions which will one day, own everything. Which is ironic considering the face he currently gives to our currency.
On the other hand, it seems as if Jefferson proposed that the banking industry stay a free market in a letter to Albert Gallatin. This sentiment is, perhaps, even more germane to the situation we face today.
Although we may feel that the tasks we currently face are unique to our day and are Herculean in difficulty, it is clear that we have been dealing with many of the same issues since the country's inception. Our growth depends on great men (and women) to push a path forward. And if you ever need be reminded of one, just pull out your lucky two-dollar bill.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Economist, Einstein, and Extremism
Here's a great post from one of the Economist's Democracy in America's Washington Correspondents that is pretty lucid on the extremism of today's politics.
Basically, the tenet is that MSM's (Main Stream Media) degradation into biased segments (read Fox News and MSNBC) has given platform to extremism on both ends of the political spectrum. Broad sides by the left or right against extremist portions on the opposite side only result in the entire party taking offense. And the Digital Age has enabled a Providence even Monsieur Dantes would find swift.
The general consensus by moderates of all stripes is to deny the existence of the most offensive members of their particular pattern. True believers in communism are probably as rare as true believers in killing abortion doctors. That does not mean they do not exist. In calculus sometimes limits DNE, but it is important not to underestimate the limits of human stupidity.
Einstein may have put it best, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."
But this does not solve our problem, the continuing cycle of extremist politics. As The Economist article mentions, the ushering in of the internet may have unintended consequences. Human psychology trends us to process only what we already want to believe. That's why reading about your team's last second loss over the cover of the morning's newspaper is so painful, or liberals like to watch MSNBC and conservatives, Fox News(still trying to find out who watches CNN). So the creation of countless new channels creates a self-reinforcing cycle of information.
Also mentioned in the post is the credence given to anyone who can type. Bloggers, posters, and Tweeters are all given airtime on MSM channels which are trying to stay relevant and produce 24-hours of programming every day (After Bush leaving, the singular largest reason why Comedy Central has so much material). And when the average internet user hits the internet, there is no differntiation between opinion information and objective information because many of the sites look and even sound alike. MSM channels themselves do not do much to differentiate the two, just watch Mad Money for a few seconds.
So are we doomed? No, of course not. The Wisdom of the Crowds will, hopefully, work over the course of a population of over 300 million. That is not to say that the system will be perfect, that there will be no aberrations. The point is that the process is unnecessarily destructive. To that end, we must call on Old World civility, a trusted friend (and one that not even the most clairvoyant may always heed, Mr. Daily).
There are also outlets we may turn to which do their best to keep journalistic integrity: Bloomberg, The Economist, and to a lesser degree, BBC.
Shake hands, look 'em dead in the eye, don't raise your voice, and maybe you can save the world.
Basically, the tenet is that MSM's (Main Stream Media) degradation into biased segments (read Fox News and MSNBC) has given platform to extremism on both ends of the political spectrum. Broad sides by the left or right against extremist portions on the opposite side only result in the entire party taking offense. And the Digital Age has enabled a Providence even Monsieur Dantes would find swift.
The general consensus by moderates of all stripes is to deny the existence of the most offensive members of their particular pattern. True believers in communism are probably as rare as true believers in killing abortion doctors. That does not mean they do not exist. In calculus sometimes limits DNE, but it is important not to underestimate the limits of human stupidity.
Einstein may have put it best, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."
But this does not solve our problem, the continuing cycle of extremist politics. As The Economist article mentions, the ushering in of the internet may have unintended consequences. Human psychology trends us to process only what we already want to believe. That's why reading about your team's last second loss over the cover of the morning's newspaper is so painful, or liberals like to watch MSNBC and conservatives, Fox News(still trying to find out who watches CNN). So the creation of countless new channels creates a self-reinforcing cycle of information.
Also mentioned in the post is the credence given to anyone who can type. Bloggers, posters, and Tweeters are all given airtime on MSM channels which are trying to stay relevant and produce 24-hours of programming every day (After Bush leaving, the singular largest reason why Comedy Central has so much material). And when the average internet user hits the internet, there is no differntiation between opinion information and objective information because many of the sites look and even sound alike. MSM channels themselves do not do much to differentiate the two, just watch Mad Money for a few seconds.
So are we doomed? No, of course not. The Wisdom of the Crowds will, hopefully, work over the course of a population of over 300 million. That is not to say that the system will be perfect, that there will be no aberrations. The point is that the process is unnecessarily destructive. To that end, we must call on Old World civility, a trusted friend (and one that not even the most clairvoyant may always heed, Mr. Daily).
There are also outlets we may turn to which do their best to keep journalistic integrity: Bloomberg, The Economist, and to a lesser degree, BBC.
Shake hands, look 'em dead in the eye, don't raise your voice, and maybe you can save the world.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
My Type
One of the greatest challenges in life is the balance of ambition and joy. My soul suggests that once I find my passion I can accomplish both at once. My head tells me how unlikely that is to happen.
Ambition is a demanding mistress. She calls on you in all hours, demands your utter devotion, and will more than likely cheat on you with the next guy. You have to talk to her, reason with her, study her. Endless hours of work and toil. And she might not even stay with you. Sucks. But damn does it feel good when she’s fulfilled. (But she is never satisfied)
Joy is out there doing exactly what you want to do. She’s rock climbing, and wakeboarding, and hanging out on the beach. She’s out there, traveling the world, laughing at shows, and contemplating history’s greatest masterpieces. She’s perfect and you always want to be with her. And she’s always where you want to be.
Somewhere, down the road, I’ll find my girl. For now, I stand on the intersection of almost and there.
Ambition is a demanding mistress. She calls on you in all hours, demands your utter devotion, and will more than likely cheat on you with the next guy. You have to talk to her, reason with her, study her. Endless hours of work and toil. And she might not even stay with you. Sucks. But damn does it feel good when she’s fulfilled. (But she is never satisfied)
Joy is out there doing exactly what you want to do. She’s rock climbing, and wakeboarding, and hanging out on the beach. She’s out there, traveling the world, laughing at shows, and contemplating history’s greatest masterpieces. She’s perfect and you always want to be with her. And she’s always where you want to be.
Somewhere, down the road, I’ll find my girl. For now, I stand on the intersection of almost and there.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Air-E-Zone-Ah
I always love coming back home because of that warm embrace, the air wraps you up and swallows you into the heat. It is a dry, scorching thing. Hard to understand unless you have been tempered through the furnace of many Sonoran summers. I like to think we natives are a special breed, a steel in our spine helps us to take hold of the fire. Its like every time we opened our car's doors, sat on our black leather seats and felt the second degree burns...we built a certain stamina, perhaps a healing-coping ability others lack. Wolverine would be proud.
The real wonder of it all is the dryness. It takes the usually dull medium of air and gives it a little life. The smell of the eucalyptus trees along the side of the road makes my run bearable. The trees waver in the wind, pause to give respite from Apollo, and lifts my spirits with a gentle perfume. Lamentingly, I cannot stay all day.
The clouds have begun to roll in, an unusual occurrence in May. The monsoon season does not start until late July, but the smell of rain and damp earth intoxicates me. I know that I am home, in the Valley of the Sun, where the air balks at the mention of rain. The smell fills the air, up into the grey, conflicted bowl above me. The clouds gather at its edges, like a pack of wolves tumbling into its center.
Smooth edges of the rubberized asphalt stretches out into the horizon. Man has certainly become master of his domain here. The rows of subdivisions do not end. I don't mind this, for a while at least.
The real wonder of it all is the dryness. It takes the usually dull medium of air and gives it a little life. The smell of the eucalyptus trees along the side of the road makes my run bearable. The trees waver in the wind, pause to give respite from Apollo, and lifts my spirits with a gentle perfume. Lamentingly, I cannot stay all day.
The clouds have begun to roll in, an unusual occurrence in May. The monsoon season does not start until late July, but the smell of rain and damp earth intoxicates me. I know that I am home, in the Valley of the Sun, where the air balks at the mention of rain. The smell fills the air, up into the grey, conflicted bowl above me. The clouds gather at its edges, like a pack of wolves tumbling into its center.
Smooth edges of the rubberized asphalt stretches out into the horizon. Man has certainly become master of his domain here. The rows of subdivisions do not end. I don't mind this, for a while at least.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Belated Mother's Day
Here's a sweet link for all the mothers out there.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/72434/saturday-night-live-motherlover
Its funny that we need a holiday to celebrate people in our lives, when we should be doing so every day. Why do we need Mother/Father/Take-your-daughter-to-work days? Hallmark calendar corporate manipulation or universal values? In any case, it at least gets us thinking.
Anyway, its the end of the school year and things are drawing to a close. I've wrapped up finals, celebrating, and most of my room, so I will try to get back into writing soon. In the next two weeks there are only three activities I plan to pursue: reading, running, and writing.
I'll leave you with a quote from Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen that I found particularly interesting, "As I grow older, much older, I will experience many things, and I will hit rock bottom again and again. Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet."
http://www.hulu.com/watch/72434/saturday-night-live-motherlover
Its funny that we need a holiday to celebrate people in our lives, when we should be doing so every day. Why do we need Mother/Father/Take-your-daughter-to-work days? Hallmark calendar corporate manipulation or universal values? In any case, it at least gets us thinking.
Anyway, its the end of the school year and things are drawing to a close. I've wrapped up finals, celebrating, and most of my room, so I will try to get back into writing soon. In the next two weeks there are only three activities I plan to pursue: reading, running, and writing.
I'll leave you with a quote from Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen that I found particularly interesting, "As I grow older, much older, I will experience many things, and I will hit rock bottom again and again. Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet."
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
At the Feet of My Grandma
The stories about Vietnam always told of how hard it was for them all. At least that life of poverty, where, in my mind, they barely had enough money for shirts and shoes, had been long past. That journey, I am sure, had been difficult. And this, her final journey, must also have been. Yet I hope she will, again, find happiness on the other side.
---
The machine whirred…sighed…stirred….exhaled. As I lay on my side, staring at the once vibrant life of my grandmom, an unyielding tremor reverberated across her room, shaking me. Her chest rises slowly. Whisper, cough, drip. A slow procession of family members trickles in and out. I hope I never see this for me. Click.
Memories start to drift. The mornings where she used to take care of me. Walking to the bus stop with her. Eating her gift to all the grandchildren: bread, butter and sugar. Red xoi. Jumping on her bed. That time she saved me from the department store escalator, among other hazards, real or imagined. We all smile.
A call at 5 a.m. wakes me up to the worst news I have ever heard. Thankfully, not hours earlier, I had been able to say a few last words. Later I would look, but I could never find them again.
As I arrived to her house, a fresh day had broken, and the crisp Arizonan sunrise had already begun in earnest. We take turns in her room, honoring her memory. Orange erupts from the gray outside. A Buddhist hymn plays in the back ground. She is taken from her home in the early morning, and the grieving sobs turn into more desperate wails. A primitive, heart-felt sorrow. The sound scares me. Suddenly, we are all barefoot on the driveway, watching the ubiquitous white utility van drive away.
As Cameron told me, death is a part of life. And he should know, he’s a nurse. Who can say if, in this immaturity of mine, I actually understand that. But maybe I am beginning to.
No matter, grandma has built a large, strong, and loving family. And there is no greater feat.
---
The machine whirred…sighed…stirred….exhaled. As I lay on my side, staring at the once vibrant life of my grandmom, an unyielding tremor reverberated across her room, shaking me. Her chest rises slowly. Whisper, cough, drip. A slow procession of family members trickles in and out. I hope I never see this for me. Click.
Memories start to drift. The mornings where she used to take care of me. Walking to the bus stop with her. Eating her gift to all the grandchildren: bread, butter and sugar. Red xoi. Jumping on her bed. That time she saved me from the department store escalator, among other hazards, real or imagined. We all smile.
A call at 5 a.m. wakes me up to the worst news I have ever heard. Thankfully, not hours earlier, I had been able to say a few last words. Later I would look, but I could never find them again.
As I arrived to her house, a fresh day had broken, and the crisp Arizonan sunrise had already begun in earnest. We take turns in her room, honoring her memory. Orange erupts from the gray outside. A Buddhist hymn plays in the back ground. She is taken from her home in the early morning, and the grieving sobs turn into more desperate wails. A primitive, heart-felt sorrow. The sound scares me. Suddenly, we are all barefoot on the driveway, watching the ubiquitous white utility van drive away.
As Cameron told me, death is a part of life. And he should know, he’s a nurse. Who can say if, in this immaturity of mine, I actually understand that. But maybe I am beginning to.
No matter, grandma has built a large, strong, and loving family. And there is no greater feat.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Guilty Guilty Guilty
I am getting particularly outraged over the current outrage. People need to take a sober minute before expressing such rage. In today's economic downturn, corporate America has sure to have played a large part. But personal responsibility should still be accounted for. All of these people complaining need to look in the mirror first.
Over-leveraged in you own personal finances? Don't blame the banks that did the same thing.
Borrowing against your house to live? That is basically cheap money from China. Don't complain about Chinese ownership of our government's debt.
Ever buy from Wall-Mart? Don't complain about the lack of mom and pop shops.
Don't take the bus or ride your bike? Don't whine about global warming.
Had a bonus last year even though your company didn't do well? Don't scream about AIG.
Corporate America, imperfect as it is, is a function of the demands of real America. Our anger should be tempered by our own personal responsibility first.
Over-leveraged in you own personal finances? Don't blame the banks that did the same thing.
Borrowing against your house to live? That is basically cheap money from China. Don't complain about Chinese ownership of our government's debt.
Ever buy from Wall-Mart? Don't complain about the lack of mom and pop shops.
Don't take the bus or ride your bike? Don't whine about global warming.
Had a bonus last year even though your company didn't do well? Don't scream about AIG.
Corporate America, imperfect as it is, is a function of the demands of real America. Our anger should be tempered by our own personal responsibility first.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
To Do Lists
Sometimes I feel like my life is one To Do List after another. Here is today's sample:
1. Work Out
2. Redeem SW Airlines Miles
3. Sign up for Relay for Life
4. Update Craigslist Ad (we're subletting if you're interested)
5. Edit Foster's Brewing Memo
6. Review Marketing Simulation
7. Finish reading Legal Studies tort cases
Between six hours of class, running three hours of study hours, Twitter updates, responding to e-mails, and eating, I'll find time...to make tomorrow's To Do List.
1. Work Out
2. Redeem SW Airlines Miles
3. Sign up for Relay for Life
4. Update Craigslist Ad (we're subletting if you're interested)
5. Edit Foster's Brewing Memo
6. Review Marketing Simulation
7. Finish reading Legal Studies tort cases
Between six hours of class, running three hours of study hours, Twitter updates, responding to e-mails, and eating, I'll find time...to make tomorrow's To Do List.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
In Like Lions, Out Like Lambs
Its kinda hard when you don’t understand. The problem with life is that we all only grow one way, one perspective in a countless number. The empathy needed can be breathtaking. In travel I have been blessed with meeting a wide cross-section of people. Additionally, I have had the fortune of growing up in a privileged house and have been admitted to a gilded college.
It is only after meeting people who have not had these luxuries, which do not study in the confines of the ivory tower, do I begin to understand how much I do not understand about people. One day, I’ll know how much I don’t know, but I don’t think that will be any day soon.
There’s a lot to learn out there, but perhaps the most important is knowing all that you don’t know. It may be daunting, but to succeed that’s probably necessary. To hold on to that hunger. Too often, especially here at Penn and in the Ivy’s in general, we lose that spirit which got us here in the first place. We are owed nothing, and we will have to continue to claw for every inch we get.
It is only after meeting people who have not had these luxuries, which do not study in the confines of the ivory tower, do I begin to understand how much I do not understand about people. One day, I’ll know how much I don’t know, but I don’t think that will be any day soon.
There’s a lot to learn out there, but perhaps the most important is knowing all that you don’t know. It may be daunting, but to succeed that’s probably necessary. To hold on to that hunger. Too often, especially here at Penn and in the Ivy’s in general, we lose that spirit which got us here in the first place. We are owed nothing, and we will have to continue to claw for every inch we get.
Twitter-up
In the midst of school its harder and harder to come by time for blogging. Shortened it up to Twitter, check it out at username WasteLndWharton.
Other than that just came back from spring break, boring this time around. A year ago though, different story. Here's what I can remember from one of the more adventurous nights.
---
In what is to be a tumultuous night of rowdiness, we head out to the local pubs. Not to be outdone by anyone, there we obligingly get rowdy.
On that dark night in Mexico, Scott and I begin to make our return home. Walking back, we encounter Nate.
‘Hey, guys, we have got to get out of here,” he says.
Scott begins to interject, but the sudden urge to order another drink by Nate precedes his comment. There is little he can do to object, other than to look on. Nate, swallowed in the haze, begins to make his way toward our friend, Maggie. Her boyfriend, also on the trip, and her had been having troubles. Nate probably noticed.
The ensuing altercation was timid at best. The reality was that Nate did not know, nor care, in his state what was going on or who it was with. Maggie left with her on-again off-again and we continued our raging.
By this time, I am deep into things, and ready to go home. Perhaps too much fun was being had.
‘Quiero ir a la casa,’ I mimicked the accent as well I could.
‘This place is dying. Let’s go.’ Scott managed.
Our trio heads down the one road, for it is a one road town. There is not much for us to talk about, yet we manage to yell at each other anyway. For a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is his haze, Nate begins an argument with Scott on a trivial and purely academic matter. Who drank more should never be litigated between friends, especially by fists. Unfortunately the brawl breaks out onto the street, and I am entangled between two friends. Rolling on the dirt, we collect an entourage of on lookers. They cheer, hoot and holler until the police come to break us up.
Nate runs. And runs. I see him off into the night, while Scott and I do not manage to do anything more than stare. The five-oh, upon us, start in the incessant use of flash lights. There is nothing worse than flashlights with cops. I try my Spanish, developed over four long semesters at Penn, but I fail spectacularly. They push us up against the wall, and search us.
His hands start at my legs and work its way up. My knees. I’m feeling ok. My thighs. A little nervous. Thanksfully, he skips the groin region and begins on the upper body, skipping his way through. He knows I’m unarmed, but the show works. I’m scared out of my wits.
In the end, he smiles, looking innocently at both of us. I look into his eyes, not knowing what he wants. He seems an honest man, but I have heard enough about cops in Mexico to know better than to sit here and do nothing. I offer him what is left in my wallet, a whopping 8 dollars. Slyly, I try to slip it into his hands. He refuses. I am baffled, and I ask him to take it, openly. My best use of Spanish in the night behind me, I insist by simply pressing the bills into his hand.
Scott and I are shaken, though probably not rightly so. The drama of the night had begun to get to us.
‘Shit man…what just happened? Where’s Nate? I think he ran off out of town,’ Scott began, ‘I think we should get off the road. There are cops all over here and they’re just waiting for two tourists like us. Its not safe to get back on the road, plus I have no freakin’ clue where we are.’
‘Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, when we came into town the ocean was on our left, so if we follow the beach, with the ocean to our right, we should make it back to our beach house, right?’
Scott agreed, and we set off to find the beach. Trudging the sand of Rocky Point, we begin to realize how the area got its name. Our sandals are bare relief from the pointed edges of some of the most painful rocks that hid in the sand. It is dark. Stumbling, the long walk taxes our spent energy, but we remain alert. Someone approaches, silently. Scott and I stop in our tracks. We duck down behind the sea wall, a solid concrete affair separating the beach from the nearby dirt lot.
Breathing heavily, we wait. Tense, our muscles twitching to make a run in the opposite direction of this creeping stranger, we wait longer. Three long minutes pass as we wait for the Creep, and we see him in the shadowy light of a nearby post. College student. Drunk. Scott and I laugh off our foolishness and continue home.
The sand had gotten no easier to walk through in the meantime. Scott, in a rugged disbelief of our situation, begins to pick up the pace.
‘You know, we started off tonight with like fifteen of us. Now its just you and me. They all suck. I bet they’re all in bed right now. Psch, this is spring break,’ Scott rambles.
A steady silence is all that I can manage.
Wham! Flood lights come on not 20 feet away from us, blinding us in an unnaturally bright light.
‘What the ---,’ Scott exclaims.
Three men with machine guns stare at us, yelling in indistinctive Spanish. I respond to the best of my abilities, but give up. My Spanish professor, Senora Mendez, would be ashamed.
Clad in camouflage, they carry what looks like MP5 sub-machine guns. Black boots, funny green clothing, and stern voices work to intimidate us into submission.
I get a quick look at my interrogator, not wanting to seem too defiant less he think I need a bullet to think about. In his late thirties, I imagine this man lead a lifestyle more comfortable than most here in Mexico. His skin, dark and tanned, had not been beaten by unyielding sun from working in the fields or leathered from the winds while living on the streets. It was old from experience and the stress of his work.
Hands behind my head, I tell him I have no money. In an all too familiar manner, we are once again searched. This time my wallet is pulled from my pocket. I explain that I gave all of my money to the previous two cops already. He laughs. I can see the humor in our epic misfortune. I wish I could share in the quick laugh. At least, it seems to lighten the situation. I look over at Scott, and he is being given the same treatment. My guard laughs again. He pats me on my back, and lets us go on our way.
Scott and I are perplexed at our amazing luck. Petrified of moving on, we return to the town. It is decided that we needed a drink to celebrate not being killed. Since I have no money, Scott pulls out his wallet to pay for a couple of beers for us. Little did he know, but the Mexican Army had confiscated over $200 from him. They left him with about nine dollars. We spent it on the beers at the bar and about 12 for the road from a walk-through beer distributor.
Walking home some time later, Scott almost falls into a construction yard, about 2 feet from impaling himself on the dirty steel of a half-built house. We reach our beach house, in a sprint of relief. Scott and I both cut our feet in the last 100 feet, but we do not care. As soon as we reach the stairs however, another man with a flashlight approaches us.
Screaming bloody murder Scott and I run our way upstairs to the balcony of our house. We look down at the man with the flashlight, our security guard, and begin to scream raving obscenities not to be reprinted.
The next morning we find ourselves in our respective beds and ready for another day of spring break.
Other than that just came back from spring break, boring this time around. A year ago though, different story. Here's what I can remember from one of the more adventurous nights.
---
In what is to be a tumultuous night of rowdiness, we head out to the local pubs. Not to be outdone by anyone, there we obligingly get rowdy.
On that dark night in Mexico, Scott and I begin to make our return home. Walking back, we encounter Nate.
‘Hey, guys, we have got to get out of here,” he says.
Scott begins to interject, but the sudden urge to order another drink by Nate precedes his comment. There is little he can do to object, other than to look on. Nate, swallowed in the haze, begins to make his way toward our friend, Maggie. Her boyfriend, also on the trip, and her had been having troubles. Nate probably noticed.
The ensuing altercation was timid at best. The reality was that Nate did not know, nor care, in his state what was going on or who it was with. Maggie left with her on-again off-again and we continued our raging.
By this time, I am deep into things, and ready to go home. Perhaps too much fun was being had.
‘Quiero ir a la casa,’ I mimicked the accent as well I could.
‘This place is dying. Let’s go.’ Scott managed.
Our trio heads down the one road, for it is a one road town. There is not much for us to talk about, yet we manage to yell at each other anyway. For a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is his haze, Nate begins an argument with Scott on a trivial and purely academic matter. Who drank more should never be litigated between friends, especially by fists. Unfortunately the brawl breaks out onto the street, and I am entangled between two friends. Rolling on the dirt, we collect an entourage of on lookers. They cheer, hoot and holler until the police come to break us up.
Nate runs. And runs. I see him off into the night, while Scott and I do not manage to do anything more than stare. The five-oh, upon us, start in the incessant use of flash lights. There is nothing worse than flashlights with cops. I try my Spanish, developed over four long semesters at Penn, but I fail spectacularly. They push us up against the wall, and search us.
His hands start at my legs and work its way up. My knees. I’m feeling ok. My thighs. A little nervous. Thanksfully, he skips the groin region and begins on the upper body, skipping his way through. He knows I’m unarmed, but the show works. I’m scared out of my wits.
In the end, he smiles, looking innocently at both of us. I look into his eyes, not knowing what he wants. He seems an honest man, but I have heard enough about cops in Mexico to know better than to sit here and do nothing. I offer him what is left in my wallet, a whopping 8 dollars. Slyly, I try to slip it into his hands. He refuses. I am baffled, and I ask him to take it, openly. My best use of Spanish in the night behind me, I insist by simply pressing the bills into his hand.
Scott and I are shaken, though probably not rightly so. The drama of the night had begun to get to us.
‘Shit man…what just happened? Where’s Nate? I think he ran off out of town,’ Scott began, ‘I think we should get off the road. There are cops all over here and they’re just waiting for two tourists like us. Its not safe to get back on the road, plus I have no freakin’ clue where we are.’
‘Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, when we came into town the ocean was on our left, so if we follow the beach, with the ocean to our right, we should make it back to our beach house, right?’
Scott agreed, and we set off to find the beach. Trudging the sand of Rocky Point, we begin to realize how the area got its name. Our sandals are bare relief from the pointed edges of some of the most painful rocks that hid in the sand. It is dark. Stumbling, the long walk taxes our spent energy, but we remain alert. Someone approaches, silently. Scott and I stop in our tracks. We duck down behind the sea wall, a solid concrete affair separating the beach from the nearby dirt lot.
Breathing heavily, we wait. Tense, our muscles twitching to make a run in the opposite direction of this creeping stranger, we wait longer. Three long minutes pass as we wait for the Creep, and we see him in the shadowy light of a nearby post. College student. Drunk. Scott and I laugh off our foolishness and continue home.
The sand had gotten no easier to walk through in the meantime. Scott, in a rugged disbelief of our situation, begins to pick up the pace.
‘You know, we started off tonight with like fifteen of us. Now its just you and me. They all suck. I bet they’re all in bed right now. Psch, this is spring break,’ Scott rambles.
A steady silence is all that I can manage.
Wham! Flood lights come on not 20 feet away from us, blinding us in an unnaturally bright light.
‘What the ---,’ Scott exclaims.
Three men with machine guns stare at us, yelling in indistinctive Spanish. I respond to the best of my abilities, but give up. My Spanish professor, Senora Mendez, would be ashamed.
Clad in camouflage, they carry what looks like MP5 sub-machine guns. Black boots, funny green clothing, and stern voices work to intimidate us into submission.
I get a quick look at my interrogator, not wanting to seem too defiant less he think I need a bullet to think about. In his late thirties, I imagine this man lead a lifestyle more comfortable than most here in Mexico. His skin, dark and tanned, had not been beaten by unyielding sun from working in the fields or leathered from the winds while living on the streets. It was old from experience and the stress of his work.
Hands behind my head, I tell him I have no money. In an all too familiar manner, we are once again searched. This time my wallet is pulled from my pocket. I explain that I gave all of my money to the previous two cops already. He laughs. I can see the humor in our epic misfortune. I wish I could share in the quick laugh. At least, it seems to lighten the situation. I look over at Scott, and he is being given the same treatment. My guard laughs again. He pats me on my back, and lets us go on our way.
Scott and I are perplexed at our amazing luck. Petrified of moving on, we return to the town. It is decided that we needed a drink to celebrate not being killed. Since I have no money, Scott pulls out his wallet to pay for a couple of beers for us. Little did he know, but the Mexican Army had confiscated over $200 from him. They left him with about nine dollars. We spent it on the beers at the bar and about 12 for the road from a walk-through beer distributor.
Walking home some time later, Scott almost falls into a construction yard, about 2 feet from impaling himself on the dirty steel of a half-built house. We reach our beach house, in a sprint of relief. Scott and I both cut our feet in the last 100 feet, but we do not care. As soon as we reach the stairs however, another man with a flashlight approaches us.
Screaming bloody murder Scott and I run our way upstairs to the balcony of our house. We look down at the man with the flashlight, our security guard, and begin to scream raving obscenities not to be reprinted.
The next morning we find ourselves in our respective beds and ready for another day of spring break.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Oh, See Are
There hasn't been much time lately to write, mainly because of OCR. What is this terrifying acronym you may ask?
It stands for On-Campus Recruiting, and usually it is the process by which Penn students interview and are selected for internships between their junior and senior years or, in the fall, full-time offers to companies.
Life for a Penn student, and Wharton in particular, can be especially driven. Some might even say that the state of the economy puts additional pressure on an already tattered labor market. Here's a little sneak peak into the competitive world of OCR.
The first stage involves thorough research. Companies list their openings on Penn's database in December and students must comb through the myriad of companies and industries. Being a business oriented school, most of our jobs revolve around finance or management consulting.
Next, a few of the largest companies will hold information sessions during the first few weeks of school to engage students to apply to their firms. For us students, that means wearing your best suit to class so you can get to that info session right afterwards. Its a good chance to press the flesh, meet employees, and perhaps make a contact or two that'll get you the coveted interview. I can usually tell the quality of the company from the inevitable buffet of finger-food, which usually serves as dinner for us (since we just did come class).
First-date over, we move on to more serious stuff. Students return online to submit their love letters...err resumes and cover letters. Dozens. Then we wait. And wait.
The news starts to trickle in....good for some, mostly bad for others. Those who are lucky enough to strike an interview now need to (and have been) getting prepped.
For investment bankers its a series of hard questions, testing your knowledge of the markets, accounting, and finance. For management consultants its case questions, looking at how you solve business problems. Interviews last only about an hour, but can include multiple rounds, groups, written tests, behavioral questions, and brain teasers. A well prepared student must be ready for everything they can throw at you. In addition to looking at your skills the companies are looking at your 'fit', or how well you'll assimilate into their culture.
From there its on to another round, if you're selected of course. This round will focus more on technical skills. It's not uncommon to hear of students being flown out to headquarters for final rounds, returning later that day. Even for us just studying business, the travel starts immediately. In a jumble of a couple of weeks the cuts and offers fly by. The efficiency of such a process cannot be tamed.
This creates a unique environment. One where someone can walk around campus all day with a suit and never be questioned. Where you're not sure if your friend will tell you about his last interview (because we're technically competitors). However, it does push all of us to be at the top of our game. Competition really does bring out the worst, and the best.
It stands for On-Campus Recruiting, and usually it is the process by which Penn students interview and are selected for internships between their junior and senior years or, in the fall, full-time offers to companies.
Life for a Penn student, and Wharton in particular, can be especially driven. Some might even say that the state of the economy puts additional pressure on an already tattered labor market. Here's a little sneak peak into the competitive world of OCR.
The first stage involves thorough research. Companies list their openings on Penn's database in December and students must comb through the myriad of companies and industries. Being a business oriented school, most of our jobs revolve around finance or management consulting.
Next, a few of the largest companies will hold information sessions during the first few weeks of school to engage students to apply to their firms. For us students, that means wearing your best suit to class so you can get to that info session right afterwards. Its a good chance to press the flesh, meet employees, and perhaps make a contact or two that'll get you the coveted interview. I can usually tell the quality of the company from the inevitable buffet of finger-food, which usually serves as dinner for us (since we just did come class).
First-date over, we move on to more serious stuff. Students return online to submit their love letters...err resumes and cover letters. Dozens. Then we wait. And wait.
The news starts to trickle in....good for some, mostly bad for others. Those who are lucky enough to strike an interview now need to (and have been) getting prepped.
For investment bankers its a series of hard questions, testing your knowledge of the markets, accounting, and finance. For management consultants its case questions, looking at how you solve business problems. Interviews last only about an hour, but can include multiple rounds, groups, written tests, behavioral questions, and brain teasers. A well prepared student must be ready for everything they can throw at you. In addition to looking at your skills the companies are looking at your 'fit', or how well you'll assimilate into their culture.
From there its on to another round, if you're selected of course. This round will focus more on technical skills. It's not uncommon to hear of students being flown out to headquarters for final rounds, returning later that day. Even for us just studying business, the travel starts immediately. In a jumble of a couple of weeks the cuts and offers fly by. The efficiency of such a process cannot be tamed.
This creates a unique environment. One where someone can walk around campus all day with a suit and never be questioned. Where you're not sure if your friend will tell you about his last interview (because we're technically competitors). However, it does push all of us to be at the top of our game. Competition really does bring out the worst, and the best.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Presidential Sleeper Hold
I'm heading to Washington in a few days for the inauguration and it is going to be exciting. It is estimated that over 2m people will descend upon our capital to witness Barack's first moments as POTUS.
The nation, if not the world, holds with bated breath. In these steadily deteriorating times Barack Obama represents the hope and optimism of the American spirit. His story, in itself, is history. No matter left, right, center or apathetic, we all need to come together to solve the complex issues facing us today. Barack and his ideas may not always be the rights ones. But his process is. Inclusion, soft power, moderation, and pragmatism must rule the day.
It is in this spirit which I seek to celebrate history, and I hope the rest of you will too. Whether it is in Arizona, Philadelphia, Vietnam, or anywhere in between, this is an exciting time for ourselves and our world. Our challenges has brought us this shining opportunity. Let us seize it by the throat.
The nation, if not the world, holds with bated breath. In these steadily deteriorating times Barack Obama represents the hope and optimism of the American spirit. His story, in itself, is history. No matter left, right, center or apathetic, we all need to come together to solve the complex issues facing us today. Barack and his ideas may not always be the rights ones. But his process is. Inclusion, soft power, moderation, and pragmatism must rule the day.
It is in this spirit which I seek to celebrate history, and I hope the rest of you will too. Whether it is in Arizona, Philadelphia, Vietnam, or anywhere in between, this is an exciting time for ourselves and our world. Our challenges has brought us this shining opportunity. Let us seize it by the throat.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Standing Water
It is interesting the paths which we travel. So often we profess that our friends and family are how we measure our wealth, yet we leave them for our jobs, education, growth, and ultimately, our sanity.
I don't know how to explain it, but it makes sense. As much as friends and family means, living life is more than sitting around a campfire and singing songs with them. It is our own personal growth, forging ourselves from depth of challenges. In the past few years I do not think that I have stayed in any one place more than six months at a time. This nomadic lifestyle is chaotic. But it is also exactly what I need. There is always change, and there is always challenge. Nothing bothers me more than to become stagnant.
In the coming months I will be going through OCR (On-Campus Recruiting). Hopefully, it will only help me grow.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Morning After Pills
The early light peeks in through the windowsill, creeping up on my consciousness. There is a vague sense of being overheated. The dull thud of a coming headache plods slowly along, steady as a train. That daily dose of morning disorientation sits in and the cogs in my brain begin to turn, creaking ever so loudly. The warm comforter hugs me back into the world, my bed landing me back into reality. Rust and dirt cake off the thoughts in my mind.
What I do recall is enjoying seeing 2008 off. It is too bad the welcome to 2009 must be inversely correlated. As with all nights out, you only really pay the morning after. Nothing two Tylenol couldn't cure.
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