Straight to…

Ill make this one short.  I’m a little sad today.  My new favorite team (Ecuador) just blew their game yesterday.  Jerks.  No jumping on the hoods of cars with my flag this time.

On top of it, my real favorite team (Brazil) also blew their game.  Where can I turn for something to celebrate around here?!

Ecuador Wins!

Yeah, I know, this news is a day or two late.  I wanted to be sure you received the true nature of my enthusiasm.  (I still havent found a dance school, but close!) 

Conveniently, for my consumption of turistic experiences, the place everybody comes to celebrate big wins is right down the street from where I live on Victor Emilio Estrada.  They hold celebratory mosh-pits and toot car horns repeatedly (the fans, not the unsuspecting families that happened to get stuck pitside in traffic) while parked in the street bumper-to-bumper.  The main, strikingly-yellow pit takes place right in front of a marvelous cerveceria known as El Manantial (the Spring).

I received answers telling me there are from 3 to 6 more games before Ecuador makes it to the finals of this round (you can tell the nuanced precision of the die-hard fans I am working with here).  And as I jest about my inability to be enthusiastic for a soccer game, I must also report that I have ditched my fidelity to the all-powerful Brazil (just for this month, you gotta blend in as a traveler) and I am now a fan of Ecuador!  We’re going straight to the World Cup baby!

Squirrell Highway

It’s probably a mutated gene I picked up somewhere in youth.  My mom used to yell, "Come here, come look!" and I would come running down from my room, probably expecting a dragon or something equally as dramatic based on the tone of her voice.  But, no dragons, it was always a deer.  Or should I say, another deer.  Sometimes they were does, sometimes bucks, always brown and always seemingly uninterested in my family’s voyeurism.

I don’t have anyone to yell to here in my ex two-car cottage.  So, I have submitted to mom’s second action in the situation: ‘Where is the camera? I’ve got to get a picture!" 

My camera is in a sock.  I call it the case, but it provides for an easy draw, which, even on my fastest of days, is no match for the speed limit on Squirrel Highway. Squirrels are kinda brown too.  Though often I don’t get the chance to focus directly on them.  It is more likely that I see a sinuous blur or a rash of leaves settling outside my door just after a calamitous thump.  You can get my drift by looking at the picture above.  What I have captured in this picture is a typical passerby on Squirrel Highway, though, as you can see, this little monster has disguised himself as a slithering dragon to the lens of my camera.

Nonetheless, I find myself just as persistent as mom.  Every time Mr. Squirrel tutters across my roof or throws himself blindly (and with great tact) into the branches of a nearby tree, you can find me ready—camera in hand, sock at my feet—for a chance at the next great photo for my archives.  And, as soon as I live within range of a possible witness to this exposition of stealth and cunning nature, they will be sure to hear me calling.

The “Danger Zone”

If you are a friend of mine you may be familiar with a conversation like this:

YOU AND ME: <40 minutes of solid discussion>
YOU: Why yes ben, What you said does sound very reasonable and I…
ME: Uh, Oh! Danger Zone! Danger Zo…
<click>

While the Silicon Valley flourishes in some technologies, others (AT&T Wireless for example) have pockets of disintermediation.

Taxes and Brushes with Fame

This April 15th, I had the pleasure of celebrating taxes in good company.

For concern of any stray tabloid-employds, I will not publicly assert any of the names of the involved parties, though I will mention that included in these parties was a hero in the world of economics and his wife.

Unfortunately, I did not get to, as they say, shoot the bull, with this particular Noble Laureate, however, I did have the chance to direct him and his wife to the restroom.  Let me tell you the story.

As there was a high price tag on the event, volunteer work was quite a hot item and I was one of the first on the list.  Furthermore, getting to the event just a tad late placed me in the “limbo” category of the volunteers - all of the roles were already assigned by the time of my arrival.

I was meandering with a sophisticated presence near the entryway when they approached.  They first looked behind a plant and then down a dark hallway; that is when I made my move.

“Are you looking for the restroom?” I rhetorically questioned.

Quickly, as the dark hallway exposed itself as simply a repository for chairs, the couple changed directions.  The wife looked my way and smiled with an inquisitive affirmation.  Surely, she had not heard a thing I said but, positioned awkward and available in the middle of the side of the room, I could only have one purpose.  I continued in a bit louder voice,  “Right at the other end of the hall on your left.”

Without breaking stride, she cordially replied “Thank you,” as she looked back over her shoulder and the wake of their high-speed trail came upon me as a small breeze from the elbow down.

Found a Perch

As I packed the final boxes and moved them into the truck, Dad and Zon bid me farewell and left for their walk.  Hah, I bet you thought I was the one leaving!

No, no, it seems i have overleft my welcome.  Now it is just assumed that I’ll be moving somewhere else again in the next month and trying to use it as leverage to get hugs and cookies.  What’s wrong with goodbye hugs!? 

It was probably in the inchoate stages of my travels that i began forming this delusion.  I assumed that no matter how far I was going that when I got to the kitchen I would be bombarded with love.  Furthermore, i assumed that upon arrival to my destination, no matter how precisely i packed my bags, there would always be a treat Mom managed to sneak into one of my boxes. (I wonder what the airlines would say about this…).

But it wasn’t the love that was missing, Dad and Zon both yelled ‘see ya dude’ over their shoulder as they took off.  And though there was no See’s Milk Chocolate with Marshmallow at the bottom of my guitar case, i found a gift card surreptitiously waiting in my wallet to treat me at Trader Joe’s.

All that I’m trying to say is that if you travel a lot, there comes a time when a trip to the airport gets treated like a night at the movies. 

My new perch is downtown Palo Alto.  I live in the cottage (garage) of a Shingle Style house with Carpenter Gothic interiors (i’ll work on figuring out what this means too) in Professorville (though I am only a lecturer).  Close enough to home that I don’t feel like i’ve left, close enough to work that I don’t feel like i’m there,  and close enough to Stanford that i can still feel like i’m climbing the ladders of academia.

Tree Hunting

The phrase at the end of the clip reads:

    Pa-ri-zek /puh-ree-zeck/ n : a little stump.  You know, when you cut down a tree:     what you have left.

This is how a nice Czech girl once explained me the meaning of our last name.  It is only fitting for the abridged (in length and in frames-per-second) story I share with you here.  It is the story for the season and a story of the journey my family took this year in order to fill our living room with pine needles.

So, without further ado: seb_2004DecXmasTreeHunt.mov

It is only a specimen of the video’s original quality but byte-brevity is necessary from this remote land-line that I work.  Happy Holidays.

Foreshadowing January

I had my first nightmare about teaching economics last night.  It was my first class and it took me over a half an hour to take role.  I first handed the role sheet around and afterward, I decided to call it aloud.  Unexpectedly, everyone’s name was spelled something like ‘Ooogggcckkknnnn.’  How the heck do you pronounce that?  And then, regardless of whom i called on, another student would ask me a simple question I couldn’t answer and while I wasn’t answering the question I would lose the role sheet amongst the variety of torn papers I was holding.  As the role call drew out toward infinity, my fear of the lecture portion of class increased because I knew that I would have to explain a few things using the chalkboard and, go figure, the entire front of the room was barricaded with desks so I could not approach the board.

The prelude to teaching principles courses: what trauma.  I could only imagine what my nights would be like if I got a job in a truly savage job like commercial fishing in Alaska or a route as a US postal worker.

Ikea

In the many homes in which we have stayed, I have come to believe that IKEA may be the Tupperware phase of home furnishing.  Or maybe it is something much bigger.

Frameless beads with headboards, bookshelves, miniature beanbag chairs and placemats with holsters for the silverware have all served as tools in the houses in which we have stayed, and they have all been from IKEA. 

Does this IKEA phenomena only appear in life on the cusp of ones studies and the work world, or is it much deeper than this?  I must admit my sample set is quite biased: friends from college who are now working.  I am about to start working. The lone fact that my family has a barn-full of salvageable dusty things (and this comment makes no assumptions of the quality or orderliness of said barn; it is an excellent, well ordered barn with the potential for horses and is currently being slabbed, a project that I cannot wait to see) may label me in another furnishing group, yet I must also admit that this sample set has invoked a small fear in me.  Am I also about to acquire grave instincts to start ravaging the nearest IKEA?

Museums

My vision is to be able to tell you of all the marvellous places I am finding and re-finding, and give their longitude and latitude,  to upload pictures with real space/time coordinates (within 26 feet or so), and finally, to include the direction you should face!  Perhaps utopic, though i am just a common dreamer.

Madrid is still the encantador.  Between the de novo ambience of Cafe La Palma and the constipated woopie-cusion seats you can try shoes on from in the Camper outlet store, I am continuously amazed.

I also discovered a trick I would like to share with any of you not so hot on classical art (perhaps a ‘dirty trick’ for those of you who are) yet nonetheless fancy peeking at what all the hype is about. 

Short for time, Amanda and I swung by the Museo del Prado just to get a postcard (and as a second hint for abridged tourism: the gift shop is often a good place to start if you are unsure you want to purchase a ticket to enter a museum or not).  We learned, to my poor recollection, that the gift shop is in the center of the musem and they will let you in for 20 minutes, without a ticket, to tend to any shopping impulses on premise.

Noticing their fault in not recognizing our intentions to speed through the museum at some uncanny pace, we entered the gift shop and precariously bought the first thing that looked like it might satisfy my intended goal.  Maintaining regular breathing techniques, we purchased the postcard an quickly, not haphazardly, began our 17 minute ‘free’ tour of the museum!

In this 17 minutes, albeit a tad rushed, we enjoyed works by Goya, Velazquez and even my favorite work in the musem, The Garden of Earthly Delights, by Hieronymus Bosch.

Also, all of our museum viewing has lead me to a philisophical question—or maybe just a curator-istic one:  How do they choose what color to paint the museum walls?  Any insights into this mystery would be greatly appreciated.

Campus Bike Laws Like US Foreign Policy with Cuba

Dear Campus Police,

Kindly, this past week, you warned the campus bicyclers of their boundaries.  And in appreciation of this altruistic behavior, I wish to help you understand why your actions are superfluous.

The prohibition of victimless crimes leads to deadweight loss (please, come over to the Economics department and I will be happy to explain this to you with fancy graphs and mathematical equations).  That is, by enforcement of your law, there is a portion of the net social benefit that neither you the policeman, nor us, the bicyclers, can attain.

Prohibition also leads to the reduction in the quality of a product, or in this case, the act of riding a bike.  For example, these restrictions will not deter bicyclers from biking innocently to where they need to study, it will only give them incentive to bike faster and more surreptitiously, leading to an increase in fatalities (or small scrapes) and a decrease in the attention they lend to operating their bicycles with efficiency.

Furthermore, the transfer of revenue from the bicycler’s pocket to the campus’ will place a financial burden on the average bicycler.  In the long run, the quality of the bikes we own will diminish because over time we will have less revenue to invest in their upkeep and maneuverability.

Also, I wish to comment on the placement of various bike racks that incite us bikers to inflict harm upon ourselves.  These bike racks are located in areas that we cannot legally access on our bike.  This is much like Americas immigration policy with Cuba.  We place an inhibiting trade embargo (no bicycling laws) on their country (campus).  It is extremely dangerous to cross the Florida Straits (space between ok zone and bike rack).  Yet, if the Cubans (the bikers) arrive on US land (the bike rack) they are given citizenship (allowed to park their bike).

These revenue-accruing acts that you are paid to carry out originated in medieval England.  The King learned that the punishment of victimless crimes was a great method to gain revenue.  These crimes were defined as acts that disturbed the Kings peace and permitted the sheriff to collect a fine.

I am aware we have only an interim King at the moment, though maybe you could explain to him, as I have to you, the negative externalities that arise from your duties.  Perhaps he will recognize your ingenuity and relieve you of such education-intrusive decisions.

Sincerely,

A concerned biker