Sawat dii!!!

"Hello" in Thai. So I'm finally here in southeast Asia, more specifically I'm writing from a small internet cafe in one of the tiny alleys behind Khao San Road, here in Bangkok, Tighe-land.

Despite getting a pretty solid 7 hours of sleep last night, I still feel a bit fatigued from a combination of the 3 hours of sleep I got on my last night in Philly before the trip, the 13.5 hour flight from Newark to Tokyo, followed by the 6 hour flight from Tokyo to Bangkok, and also the fact that here in Bangkok we are exactly 12 hours ahead of the clock in Philly (meaning that I'm typing this at 9:20pm Friday night in Bangkok, while it's currently 9:20am Friday morning at the double-deuce and Spruce). But, in spite of any fatigue or jet lag, I'm loving the fact that I'm here. But bear with me if my prose in this entry is not quite up to par; I'm just gonna go in chronological order so I don't miss anything.

So last night (i.e., Thursday night), Paul and I met up near the baggage claim in the brand-new (and beautiful) Bangkok airport. Because our hotel for the first night was already booked, and it is located near the airport, we were hooked up with a pre-arranged van ride to the airport to the hotel. Once we got there, a hotel worker slid open the door to the van, bowed with his hands pressed together in a greeting of namaste, and said sawat dii khrap, thereby greeting us. We went up to the room, and after taking turns in the shower, hit the sack by 2am.

This morning we got things started at about 9:30am. We brought our backpacks down to the front desk, and then went for a walk to get some food. I had a bowl of egg noodles with roasted pork in brown broth, healthy and very tasty way to start the day. After that, we got a taxi to take us to our next hotel, located off of the famed Khao San Road, for better or for worse, main street for the backpacker crowd. The cab driver was a guy who asked us to call him Mr. Pao, and he was a really nice guy who spoke pretty good English. We took advantage of the half-hour car ride to ask him lots of questions. During the ride, Paul mentioned to me that there had been a bombing the other day here in Thailand. So I asked both Paul and the driver where the bombing had taken place; the cab driver said that it was in Bangkok and that it had to do with the ongoing demonstrations regarding the prime minister. The cabbie also warned us not to wear red or yellow, because those are the colors of the two respective political parties that are in disagreement. Fortunately neither one of us was wearing either color, and I'm pretty sure I didn't bring any shirts of those colors. The cab driver also pointed out a road where some demonstrators were camped out; of course by total accident Paul and I walked down that very same street later in the day, no bombings much to our relief.

The hotel that our cabbie delivered us to is called Sawasdee Banglumpoo Hotel, and it's located amidst a maze of back alleys, lined with vendors' stalls, selling everything from leather products to food to bracelets to cds to sandals. And as narrow as these alleys are, we learned when we got here that the Thais are skilled enough to drive motorbikes through these alleys, somehow managing to avoid the shoppers. The road itself that lends itself to the hotel's address -- Khao San Road -- is lined with all sorts of street-front restaurants and bars, with signs everywhere. Now that it's nighttime, it looks like a smaller, Thai version of the Vegas strip -- all the signs and lights and people just sitting at roadside tables and also walking by on the street.

After checking in to our room, we began our exploration of the city of Bangkok, and as any journey truly begins, we started one step at a time by setting off on foot. Navigating by the useful maps in our Rough Guides book, we slowly and not-always-certainly made our way to Chao Phraya River. From there we actually accomplished our plan of riding a boat down the river to get us closer to our first cultural destination: Wat Pho.

Wat Pho is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and it surely deserves that recognition. It's centerpiece is a 45 meter long statue of the Reclining Buddha. The smile itself is 5 meters wide. The enormity of it can only be appreciated live, and its beauty was breathtaking. Because it is a holy Buddhist site, we had to take our shoes off before entering the building in which the Buddha reclines. The statue was the color gold and its feet were inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. Also very interesting was seeing Buddhist monks walking through and taking photos of the Buddha with their digital cameras -- welcome to the 21st century.

But Wat Pho is really a large complex of temples, fountains, and courtyards, all within the confines of a white wall about 15 feet high. After leaving the Reclining Buddha, we started walking around the compound, and that's when I thought to break out my iPod to listen to the songs "Shambala" and "Boddhisatva Vow" from the Ill Communication album by the Beastie Boys; the first track is an acid jazz track that begins with the chanting of Buddhist monks and the second track is MCA's hip-hop track laid-over the subtle background of the chanting, dedicating himself to the Buddhist faith. Hearing those tracks in the heart of a holy Buddhist site was something very special. And I will always think of Wat Pho when I hear those songs.

Right before leaving, I pointed out a small temple that we had not yet entered. And boy was that a good decision. When we started to take off our shoes, a couple of guys said that we couldn't go in because there was a film being made inside the building. We looked in and saw a couple of beautiful young women who were getting make-up put on by others. After much cajoling and many attempts to get information, we eventually got the name of the film. But we did it by asking one of the guys to take our guide-book to one of the attractive actresses and have her autograph it for us. She did so, writing the name of the film as "In Search for Sunshine"; she signed her name as Miss Thailand Universe 2006. So we met a star!

Anyway, time is getting long here, and it's nighttime in Bangkok, so we oughtta live some life. Our afternoon and evening after the visit at Wat Pho consisted mainly of walking around, lost for much of the time, but not minding it since we were exploring the city. We ended up eating at a restaurant where we were the only "white" (European-descent) people. There we had our first taste of Chang beer. Then we got a taxi to Hualamphong train station to buy tickets for an overnight train to Chiang Mai, which we will take tomorrow evening at 7:20pm.

Alright, amigos, thanks for checking in. I will continue to post everyday if possible. With love from southeast Asia. Peace!

Bangkok, Thailand -- early morning

I met up with Paul near the baggage claim upon arrival here at the Bangkok airport. Now we're at Queen's Garden Hotel near the airport. Paul just got out of shower; now its my turn. Be right back . . .

Wow, what a great feeling after a nice, warm shower and a thorough brushing of teeth. Well, it's now time for bed. Gotta rest up to begin the trip in earnest.

Tokyo, Japan -- evening

I'm here in Asia! It's 5:38 p.m. and I just finished eating a bowl of udon with shredded beef at a small restaurant near my departure gate in Narita Airport. My flight to Bangkok should begin boarding in about half an hour, with a scheduled 7:00 p.m. departure time.

I'm realizing now that it's a bit hard to concentrate, quite certainly as a result of travel fatigue. Due to my normal last minute preparations, I didn't get to bed until just before 3:30 a.m. on Tuesday night. Part of that, though, I must say, was due to watching Barack Obama's historic victory speech on television. It was about 11 p.m. when ABC news projected that he had won enough votes to win the presidential election. Then, at midnight eastern time, after John McCain's gracious concession speech, followed by plenty of commentary by the news anchors, Obama took the stage in Chicago's Grant Park.

Anyway, by the time I was done watching that, then shaved, packed, and took a shower, it was nearly 3:30 a.m. My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. And that's when things got moving, up until and still through the present time.

After breakfast and last-minute check of everything, I walked to 30th Street Station. I had to wait a little over half an hour to get onto an 8:30 a.m. train heading north to Newark-Liberty Airport. Even then, I recall feeling tired. And now, my eyes feel tired, and as of the last time I looked in a mirror, they're a little bit red.

On top of the travelling, though, the jet lag may have much to do with my fatigue. While its already Thursday evening here, the sun having set earlier as I was running around between Terminals 1 & 2, back in Philly it's still Thursday morning; I imagine the sun will be rising there very soon.

The flight from Newark to Tokyo was a direct, 13.5 hour flight; it covered 6830 miles, nearly halfway around the globe. Surprisingly, though, the flight didn't seem so long, mainly because I was in and out of sleep almost the entire time. When I didn't have my eyes closed, I did about ten pages worth of reading, I ate two in-flight meals and a snack, and I listened to some music on my iPod.

Well, I should get packed up here since boarding should begin soon, and I ought to move closer to the gate. Next time I write, I'll have to re-count how I tried to find Paul here in Narita, but was ultimately unsuccessful. I really would have liked to have seen him, since travelling solo like this, especially for so many hours on end, tends to depress me just a little bit. Then again, that probably has much to do with the fatigue too. But hey, I can now say I've been to Asia! Alright, off to Bangkok.

Praise be to GOD

Obama has won!

El viaje continua...

The journey continues...

And so, once again, I take flight to see another part of God's great creation that we call planet Earth. This time, the winds will carry me to southeast Asia, where I hope to find some tender-lovin' care in TLC: Thailand, Laos, Cambodia.

As always, a trip like this provides me with an opportunity for self-reflection, a chance to step away from my life here and figure out what my heart tells me is the right direction to take at this point in my life.

Quotes are a good way to set the tone for a journey of any kind. And so I offer a few, for your enjoyment and for my own edification:

"The boy felt jealous of the freedom of the wind, and saw that he could have the same freedom. There was nothing to hold him back except himself." -- The Alchemist, by Paulo Coelho, page 28.

"'There is only one way to learn,' the alchemist answered. 'It's through action. Everything you need to know you have learned through your journey.'" -- The Alchemist, page 125.

"It's a good thing to drink when dancing, because dancing stops you from getting drunk, and alcohol keeps you going." -- The Age of Reason, by Jean-Paul Sartre, page 240.

"Yes, this is the place where we must breathe, dream and lengthen the hours through an infinity of sensations." -- Invitation To The Voyage, in Twenty Prose Poems, by Charles Baudelaire, page 33.

"Every man carries within him his dose of natural opium, incessantly secreted and renewed, and, from birth until death, how many hours can we count that are filled with positive joy, with successful and decisive action?" -- Invitation To The Voyage, pages 35-37.

Now, as if the website you've been so kind to visit right now isn't enough, may I direct you to my travel companion's very own travel-blog? Check out Paul's site HERE.

Finally, I'd like to THANK YOU for checking-in. I truly and sincerely mean it when I say that every one of you is with me on this trip. Any time I leave home, I can't help but think about and appreciate the people that I've left behind; by your very existence in my thoughts, and by virtue of my physical presence in southeast Asia, so shall you be in southeast Asia too. And to those of you whom I've lost touch with, I hope that we can re-connect when I return to U.S. soil. Although my time on the internet may very likely be limited while I'm overseas, I'd still very much love to hear from you, either by posting a comment here or else by sending an email to my personal account.

And so, with that being said, let this humble ambassador from Philadelphia get ready to continue on my journey. Up, up, and away!!!

PHILLIES WIN THE WORLD SERIES!!!

In the seven and a half years that I've been living in the city of Philadelphia, I have never seen anything like what I saw and experienced last night. As the title clearly indicates, the Philadelphia Phillies won the 2008 World Series, clinching the championship last night with a 4-3 Game 5 victory against the Tampa Bay Rays.

I watched the game here at the double-deuce and Spruce. I cooked a nice dinner for Diana and I to eat during the game: spaghetti with tomato basil spaghetti sauce, into which I mixed in a) roasted garlic-flavored chicken sausage, b) diced tomatoes with garlic and olive oil, and c) chopped spinach. Over the top of the finished product we sprinkled some parmesan/romano grated cheese. Along with the food we drank a glass of sparkling apple cider. As we sat down to eat, we listened to the end of "Star/Pointro", a song off of The Tipping Point album by Philly's very own hip-hop heroes: The Roots, then we turned that off to listen to the (anti-Philly-biased) commentary by the Fox sportscasters. So the scene is set, right?

Even before the game began, you could sense the anticipation in the air in the city of Philadelphia, like the feeling one might have to hear the ticking of a bomb. And as the game wore on -- one run by the Phillies, which was then matched by the Rays to even it up, and then the go-ahead run by the Phillies to make it a 4-3 score -- you could somehow feel the excitement building in the air; it was like the static ions building up in the air during a thunderstorm. And then lightning struck! Brad Lidge threw the final strike for the final out in the final game of the 2008 World Series.

The city exploded. POW!!!!! Like a bunch of kids busting out the double-doors on the last day of school before summer break, all the two-fifteeners inside the neighborhood bars sprinted out into the streets the very moment after Lidge released that final bolt of lightning. As my upstairs neighbor, Corey, told me later, a group of guys went streaking up Spruce Street moments after the game's conclusion. Carhorns started sounding-off across the city. The pops and crackles of fireworks were heard from all directions.

Diana and I went outside to the stoop to check out the scene. Groups of people were walking by on the sidewalks, dressed in Phillies red. Cars went driving by, heads sticking out, yelling and screaming. People from other buildings came outside to see the scene from ground level. A minute later, my upstairs neighbor Corey came down, drinking a bottle of beer, and joined us to talk about the game and the electricity that was so palpable in the Two-One-Five.

After several minutes of talking and soaking in the atmosphere, we came back inside to warm up momentarily. I put on some warmer clothes and closed up shop, and Diana and I went to get her car back from my man Fred at the local garage near my gym. We drove down the double-deuce to Chestnut Street, and drove that for just two blocks, although it took us about ten minutes to make it that far because of all the slow traffic, and because there were people literally walking down the middle of the street. I stuck out my hand from the passenger seat to exchange high-fives with all the party people. Racially and ethnically it was a mixed crowd, but besides that petty difference, it was really one crowd: Philadelphia pride. And that's what this city is.

Smiling ear to ear, we turned on 20th, then again on to Market Street. We took that down to 16th Street, which was as far as we could get before there were just mobs of people walking down, across, and in the middle of the streets. Driving north on 16th, passing over JFK Boulevard, we looked to our right-hand side, toward Penn Square (surrounding City Hall), and we were astounded to see a sea of Philly-humanity: a jubilation congregation.

As we had seen on Fox 29 immediately after the game and then again later that night, there were massive crowds that had spontaneously gathered on Broad Street. Here's a video of what it apparently looked like at ground level; be sure to play through to the end because there's some crazy shit in there; check it, check it out:



I love the city of Philadelphia. And at no other point have I felt the unity and pride of this city so beautifully expressed than it was last night. Sure, there might've been some crazy shit, as the video showed, but some of that is expected from drunkards feeding off of the natural high that was already floating in the air around the city.

But I love a city that puts its collective middle finger up to the national sportscasters and sportswriters who sold out the Phillies before, during, and yes, even after, the World Series. The Phillies won, plain and simple, they were the superior team in all aspects of the game, and it wasn't even close: a 4-1 game series advantage, and it wouldn't have taken much to make that single loss into a Phillies win.

A lot of people, especially fucking New Yorkers, like to try to shit on the city of Philadelphia. But there's more heart in this city than the materialistic "i gotta be somebody" cities of New York and Los Angeles, or the yuppie "my parents are rich suburban snobs" cities of Boston, Baltimore, and Washington, DC. There used to be a mural above a shop on 20th & Market Streets that said "heart" over "capital." (as an aside, click HERE for an interesting Catholic analysis regarding the priority of humanity over capital). I'll choose the heart of Philadelphia over the empty souls of those other cities.



Philadelphia: the heart of a champion, humble and hardworking, tough outer shell but a compassionate inner soul. The Phillies showed the world that teamwork wins championships. And that the heart of Philly is its greatest strength and beauty.

Finally, in honor of that spirit, here's the archetype of Philadelphia's soul to inspire you:

Sarah Palin booed

Check out the video below of Sarah Palin being booed loudly at the Philadelphia Flyers home opener against the New York Rangers on Saturday, October 11th. Click HERE to read an article in the Philadelphia Daily News about Palin getting booed.

Sarah Palin is not competent to be vice-president or president of the United States. A major component of either position is foreign policy, and she simply has no grasp on international politics. No sane person can disagree with either part of that statement (for the latter part, please cf. Palin's interview with Katie Couric). Thus, logic leads to the following conclusion: anyone who votes for McCain-Palin on Election Day is out of their mind. To friends and strangers alike, I will lose respect for you if you vote for McCain-Palin.



You gotta love the honest reaction of the Philadelphia crowd.

saSQUATch

That's a pretty stupid title, I know, but I couldn't think of anything more clever to incorporate the word "squat." Earlier tonight I went to the gym for a leg work-out. I did squats and lunges; here's how I did:

Squats:
1) 135 pounds, 12 repetitions
2) 185 pounds, 10 repetitions
3) 225 pounds, 8 repetitions
4) 245 pounds, 5 repetitions

Lunges:
1) 20 pound dumbbell each hand, 24 total repetitions (12 each leg)
2) 30 pound dumbbell each hand, 20 total repetitions (10 each leg)
3) 40 pound dumbbell each hand, 16 total repetitions (8 each leg)

My final set of squats today was the most repetitions I've done at that weight since I was in college. My personal best, set back then, was 315 pounds at 2 repetitions. I don't look to repeat that level of performance, but if I continue to get stronger, I'd like to reach 275 pounds for at least a couple repetitions. But even if I only maintain my current level of performance, I'll be content; that's not too bad.

A bilingual United States of America

As this article (click HERE) explains, the Oprah Winfrey Show is going bilingual, i.e. it will be presented in Spanish in certain television markets.

I've said it before and I'll say it again now: globalization is not only an exporting of the U.S. culture and primary language to the rest of the world; globalization is a two-way street, which necessarily means that the U.S. is changing and evolving to the influences of other cultures and languages too.

In the area of language, then, this means that Spanish will become more and more prevalent -- and eventually mainstream (coexistent with English) -- throughout the United States. There are, unfortunately, plenty of cultural conservatives and plain racists who do not want to accept this reality. But a reality it is nonetheless.

As much as I wish this evolution would take place for reasons of cultural respect and exchange, the real reason -- as we can easily see from a savvy businesswoman like Oprah -- is money. The Spanish-speaking market in the United States is growing quickly and those who are quick to adapt to these cultural and demographic changes will reap financial rewards as a result. Whatever the reasons, though, the end result will be the same: a bilingual Estados Unidos de America.

text message to DG

Buenas noches mi linda princesa, tu eres el amor de mi vida. Te extrano cada momento que no estemos juntos, como una flor extrana las caricias del lindo sol.

Los Amigos Ya Son Visibles

Last night's concert was amazing. A group of my friends came to support the let's-have-a-good-time cause. And I feel pretty confident saying that we accomplished our mission. The music was non-stop and it was highly energetic and infectious, as is the nature of the music of Los Amigos Invisibles. My only minor complaint is that I feel the volume was a tiny bit too high; I think that last year's show at World Cafe Live was at a slightly lower volume level. But hey, that's a very minor point, so we're all still happy!

This morning, in anticipation of Evan and Paul coming into town, I wanted to take care of a couple things at the law library. I got done around 12:30pm, and the weather being so beautiful here today (72 degrees and sunny), I decided to walk back to the Double-Deuce and Spruce.

So I'm walking down Walnut Street and, as I'm on the 1200 block, I look across the street to the other sidewalk, and who do I see? The drummer and lead guitarist of Los Amigos Invisibles just walking down Walnut. So right there I cross the street, and as I'm crossing Walnut, I cup my hands around my mouth, and yell, "Amigos Invisibles!" They stop and look at me, I shake their hands, and then we talked for about five minutes. I told them that I saw their show last night, and had a really good time, that they did a great job. I also said that I would've loved to see them tonight down in DC, if not for a couple good friends (see supra) coming into town this evening. I asked them if they had ever played in Costa Rica, and they said yes, at Playa Tamarindo; I told them that it is a bit touristy there, but it's a really nice place. They explained to me how the style of their shows are different in the United States compared to Latin America, and how that usually means an indoor solo show versus an outdoor show with accompanying acts. They also seemed to imply that the songs that they play may also be a bit different. I told them that my family is from there, and that my mother is there right now. So the lead guitarist asked me in Spanish, "Eres costarricense?" and I replied, "Naci en Colombia, pero mi mama es de Costa Rica. Hace tiempo que estoy viviendo en Philly." And he simply replied, "Ay carajo." Haha! It was so cool to see and meet those guys after just seeing them play last night. I told them that this was my third time seeing them. They asked me my name and I told them, and they said it was nice to meet me. I wouldn't have minded hanging out with them for a bit, so I asked what they were up to, and they said that they were actually getting ready to drive down to DC in a little bit. So that was that.

But hey, from last night to today, things are rolling along nicely. I've gotta thank God for blessing me. As the Beastie Boys sing, "life comes in stages, take the good with the bad." Well, it's always more fun when you're in a good stage, and I feel like I'm just at the beginning of a good stage. The trip is coming up so soon, and I know that it will be an incredible experience, and to come back I hope to be blessed with a full-time gig again. And then, God willing, all I'll need is to find true love. And I'm truly hopeful for that. In the meantime, though, I'm just gonna keep on doing my thang, and see what happens.

Saw Los Amigos Invisibles at World Café Live for $15.00.

Los Amigos Invisibles

Listen up, friends! / Oye amigos!

One of my favorite groups, Los Amigos Invisibles, is performing tomorrow (Thursday) night at 7:30pm at World Cafe Live, 30th & Walnut Streets. / Uno de mis grupos favoritos, Los Amigos Invisibles, esta tocando manana (jueves) a las 7:30 de la noche en World Cafe Live, ubicado en la 30 & Walnut.

I've seen them live twice before, both times here in Philly: October 29, 2005 at the TLA and November 9, 2007 at World Cafe Live. / Los he visto dos veces antes, las dos veces aqui en Philly: el 29 de octubre, 2005 en el TLA y el 9 de noviembre, 2007 en World Cafe Live.

Their music is versatile and multifarious; different songs can be labeled as acid jazz, funk, disco, latin jazz, and/or dance. As LA Weekly said: ""Los Amigos Invisibles have taken the rhythmic sass in salsa, the bass-heavy fun in funk, and even the note-bending bile in acid-jazz, and mixed it all up to produce an infectious beat. They've put the joy back into dancing, sending a warm current into the cold alienating waters of industrial strength techno."

Su musica es versatil y polifacetico; piezas diferentes pueden ser catalogadas como acid jazz, funk, disco, jazz latino, y/o baile. Como dijo LA Weekly: "Los Amigos Invisibles han quitado el descaro ritmico de salsa, la diversion del bajo bien-bajo de funk, y hasta el mal genio de las notas-torcidas de acid jazz, y los han mezclado todo para producir un ritmo infeccioso. Ellos han repuesto la alegria en el baile, enviando un corriente tibio en el agua frio y alienado del techno de fuerza industrial."

If you're in Philadelphia, or at least happen to be passing through tomorrow night, then please think about stopping in. I can guarantee that you will have a good time. These guys put on an amazing show. As much as I love their music on cd or playing from my iPod, this is one group that I can truly say sounds even better live. You don't wanna miss this opportunity, party people!

Si tu estas en Philadelphia, o por lo menos estas pasando por aqui manana en la noche, debes considerar venir con nosotros. Te puedo garantizar que vas a pasarlo super-chevere. Estos maes van a poner un show fantastico. Lo tanto que me encanto la musica de ellos en cd o escuchada por mi iPod, este es uno de esos grupos que puedo decir verdaderamente que suenan mejor en vivo. Ustedes no quieren perder esta oportunidad, fiesteros!

And in case you need any more convincing, check out the video for their song, "Una Disco Llena," which happens to be my favorite song by these guys:

Y si tu todavia necesitas mas para convencerte, chequea este video para la pieza, "Una Disco Llena," que por casualidad es mi pieza favorita de estos maes:



"SIEMPRE MIA TU SERAS, SI ME BESAS AL BAILAR."

Windows closed

This morning was the first time that I took out the screens and closed the windows in my apartment since the last time I had my air-conditioning on for a hot day in the summer. Today was a little bit chilly in the morning. And now tonight, it's feeling even chillier. So autumn really is coming now!

Yesterday I was out and about, and walking around the city. I realized in the mid-afternoon that I still hadn't eaten breakfast yet (I'd had a second round of coffee around noontime, due to a completely restless -- and totally worth it -- weekend). So I went into Goodburger, on the 1700 block of Chestnut Street, to get a quick meal. I've eaten there once before, probably about two months ago, not too long after they first opened. I recommend it. Anyway, it was there that I was very fortunate to catch -- coincidentally -- the last two innings of the Phillies game, in which they were victorious over the Milwaukee Brewers, thus winning that series to move on to the NLDS (the National League Division Series).

And speaking of the NLDS, it starts this Thursday right here in the Two-One-Five. With all respect to Michael, I hope the Phillies make a statement and handily handle (that's a handful!) the Dodgers. We all know that this city is desperate for a championship. And especially with the prospects of a good Eagles' season going quickly down the tubes, we've gotta send all our good karma in the Phillies' direction. (Or better yet, in the economy's direction, whatever direction it may be -- but let's save that topic for another time).

Okay, amigos, time to figure out what's for dinner. "I'm audi, so check me."

Hunt for Green October

Hey there,

Last night I was thinking to myself that I've been so intent on posting old entries from my handwritten journal that I haven't posted anything in the present. So here's your update of the day:

The "green" in the title refers to money, since I'm still waiting for word on a start date for the next project. They had set it for this past Monday, but then called me at nearly 9pm last Saturday night (while I was in the middle of finishing a bottle of red Chilean wine) to tell me that it was being pushed back indefinitely. And that's the status still today. Let me tell you that I'm definitely ready to get back to a regular schedule (my body feels uncomfortable when I'm irregular) and back to making some dolla dolla bills, y'all.

I just officially picked up a new client this morning, though, so it's all good in the hood, at least for the time being.

Besides the job situation, everything else is pretty chill here at the double-deuce & spruce. Autumn has arrived and as you may remember from last year's entry around this time, this is my favorite time of year.

And just as autumn is a time of transition, so may it coincide with my personal life as things seem to indicate a transition there too. I won't speculate too much on that here, since that's not my thing on this site, but also because I'd rather let things unfold naturally without too much analysis or prediction.

Finally, I'm getting a bit more excited for the SE Asia trip with Paul. We've met once to do some initial planning. And since then, I've compiled a lot of info from various people into a single cheat-sheet travel plan. Paul and I will probably get together soon to fill-in some of the holes in that plan. But you can be sure that we'll be posting updates like mad once we're over yonder. And that's when you'll be entertained beyond all expectations.

Okay people, that's all you get for now. I will, in fact, keep putting up old journal entries at my own leisure. Thanks! And have a great weekend.

1st ever text message to DG

Hey, whats up?

real quick . . .

• i'm spending a lot of time uploading old entries, so be sure to browse through the blog archive in the years 2002 to 2004 for the latest entries
• don't be afraid to vote . . . i know you're reading this, so you're able to vote . . . c'mon, someone's gotta break the ice. and while we're on the topic, i just now read that the phillies have moved to a 1/2 game ahead of the mets
• if anyone has any advice on se asia, please send it my way
• this is enough bullet points for one night . . . don't wanna contribute too much to that negative image of our beloved city of philadelphia :-)

The end of a chapter

Today was the last day of the project. It was a good run: from October 22, 2007 until today: almost 11 months. That's not bad, considering that when we were hired they told us that the project would last only six months. But, despite this, it still sucks to be laid-off.

The warning signs had been there. We had one huge, seemingly neverending assignment that kept us mind-numbingly busy for nearly three weeks. Everyone wondered what, if anything, could possibly be on the other end of this assignment. There were rumors and speculation that the project would end once we got through all these documents. Trying to maintain my sense of optimism, I shut my ears off to what I interpreted as the annoying pessimism of unsubstantiated rumors. In the end, I was wrong. And I have to say that the gossipers seemed to barely veil their happiness when they found out that I was wrong -- but at what cost, I asked myself: we've all lost our jobs! Talk about a Pyrrhic victory.

There are a lot of great things that I took away from this job. First and foremost, I'm so grateful to have met so many nice people that I now consider friends. If there was one major thing, besides a girlfriend, that my life was missing here in Philadelphia, it's a circle of friends that live locally, especially within Center City. I think I can say that I have that now, and I'm very happy for it. I truly hope that I can do my part to maintain these friendships.

Secondly, I'm happy to report that I was able to do some things financially -- as a result of the project -- that I could have only dreamed of a year ago while I was waiting for the results of the bar exam. Among these, I have to be most grateful for being afforded the opportunity to catch up on all my rent and bills, of which I was at least two months behind at the time the project began. Along these lines, I'm very thankful that I was able to save up a significant rainy-day fund, which I knew would provide security for the inevitable period of unemployment and any other period of financial instability or emergency.

Thirdly, but directly on the tail of the financial benefits of the job, I'm so happy to have been afforded the chance to travel -- one of my great loves of life. Earlier this year, due to the flexibility of the job and the money that I was able to earn and save from it, I was able to travel to Egypt, Germany, and for one afternoon, the Netherlands. And not only that, but in less than two months time, I will be traveling to southeast Asia, hopefully to Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. These incredible experiences -- of which so few people in this world are able to enjoy -- are a direct benefit of my employment at the project. For this I feel truly blessed.

The ending of project was certainly bittersweet. During the last couple hours of work today, many of us exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. And at the very end of the day, there were lots of hugs. It was really nice, and I don't take for granted the camaraderie and genuine feelings that were expressed in those hugs and warm handshakes. Towards the end of the day, the project lead, Lakisha, stood up to say a few words in recognition of the friendliness exhibited on the project and the fact that so many people, in her words, "gelled" on this project like no other that she has ever been on. I thought that was a very classy move on her part to say those nice things and it meant a lot to me that she said that.

But, all things must come to an end, and so it goes for this project. As one door closes, so shall another door open. It's just a matter of getting my bearings so that I can locate this next door. One thing is for sure, though: all those good things that I mentioned above can never be taken away from me, because they're now a part of me, and for that I'm a better person, and thus in turn I'm a very thankful person.

To all my friends from the project, thanks! and please keep in touch!

"I like my sugar with coffee and cream"

That's a line from the Beastie Boys' song, "Intergalactic," off of their album Hello Nasty. And that line reminds me of something that happened earlier today.

As I often do, I went out for a late morning walk across Arch Street and down through the concourse and food court of the Comcast Center, which connects underground to Suburban Station. And like many train stations, there are plenty of places to go for a quick meal or a snack. Or in my case, for my morning coffee.

So I get to Dunkin Donuts and step up to place my order with the young woman standing behind the register. I say, "medium coffee, with sugar, no cream." So she turns to an older man who is standing right, and I mean right, next to her, and she says, "medium coffee, with sugar, little cream." So I speak up and say, "No, no: no cream, just sugar." But behind the counter and out of my line of sight, the guy must've poured some cream into a cup, because the girl says to him, "no cream." So the guy tosses the cup in his hand and grabs a new, second cup and begins to pour out some coffee. But I say right then, jokingly, as if to reaffirm what the girl has said: "just sugar, no cream, no coffee." As soon as I say that, the guy begins to move as if he will pour out the contents of this second cup and then grab a third, new cup. But I say, "no, no, I'm just joking, I want coffee with my sugar." And both the girl and the guy look at me stone-faced, clearly not understanding what the heck I was talking about, probably being accustomed to customers either tired or rushed to catch a train, and not really used to any attempt at humor, especially the hard-to-detect, dry-and-sarcastic kind.

Needless to say, I got back to the office with my coffee. It had just the right amount of sugar. And no cream.

Need Change?

I was walking down Walnut Street earlier today. On the southern side of the 1400 block (between Broad and 15th Streets) and between Lush and the Bank of America ATM, there was a group of three modern-day hobos, i.e. train-hoppers, the color of brown from head to toe: clothes, skin, hair, and all. I'm not saying that they were of African descent; no, by all outward appearances, they were almost certainly of European descent. I'm merely saying that they were totally brown, kinda like Pigpen from The Peanuts.

Well, of these three hobos, the one sitting in the middle was young and healthy-looking. He was holding a sign that read: "I'm like Obama. I want change." Pretty good pun, huh? I got a good laugh from that one.

The Chairman says...

Just about every night now I'm tuning in to the Olympics. And every night, right around the 9 o'clock hour, they check in with Bob Costas at the "International Broadcasting Booth." They have him sitting at this desk, with a shot of Tiananmen Square in the background, and over his left shoulder (on our, the viewers', right-hand side) is a clear shot of the larger-than-life portrait of Mao Tse-Tung hanging from the Tiananmen Gate. This got me to thinking about a book that I read three summers ago, during my first summer of law school. The book: "On Guerrilla Warfare" by Mao Tse-Tung.

In the spirit of intercultural exchange, engendered and inspired by the Beijing Olympics, let me offer you some quotes from that book:

Political power comes out of the barrel of a gun.

The first law of war is to preserve ourselves and destroy the enemy.

Historical experience is written in blood and iron.

Without a political goal, guerrilla warfare must fail, as it must if its political objectives do not coincide with the aspirations of the people and their sympathy, cooperation, and assistance cannot be gained. The essence of guerrilla warfare is thus revolutionary in character.

Evil does not exist in guerrilla warfare but only in the unorganized and undisciplined activities that are anarchism -- Mao quoting Lenin.

Guerrilla warfare is the primary war strategy of a people seeking to emancipate itself -- Mao quoting Chang Tso Hua.

Guerrilla strategy is the only strategy possible for an oppressed people -- Mao quoting Kao Kang.

The people must be inspired to cooperate voluntarily. We must not force them, for if we do, it will be ineffectual.

Military action is a method used to attain a political goal. While military affairs and political affairs are not identical, it is impossible to isolate one from the other.

We further our mission of destroying the enemy by propagandizing his troops, by treating his captured soldiers with consideration, and by caring for those of his wounded who fall into our hands. If we fail in these respects, we strengthen the solidarity of our enemy.

[T]he fundamental axiom of combat on which all military action is based [. . . : c]onservation of one's own strength; destruction of enemy strength.

In all battles and wars, a struggle to gain and retain the initiative goes on between the opposing sides, for it is the side that holds the initiative that has the liberty of action. When an army loses the initiative, it loses its liberty; its role becomes passive; it faces the danger of defeat and destruction.

The book clearly demonstrates -- in its 114 pages (which are really less, since the first 40 pages are a scholar's introduction) -- that Mao was a pragmatic politician who understood the basic principles of politics, which necessarily included a seemingly instinctual, yet well-thought-out and logical, understanding of the masses and the practical need for concentrated, mobile military action to harass the establishment's armed forces in the campaign to gain popular appeal, and thus political strength.

Despite the brevity of the book, one is struck with the simple power of Mao's thinking. And as a result, one is left to understand how Mao continues to convey such influence, even authority, over China -- its government, society, and its people -- and at a more basic level, why you and I saw his face looking at us from the exterior wall of the Gate of Heavenly Peace into our living rooms over the course of these 2008 Olympics.

Noticias

Estimados lectores hispanohablantes:

Este noviembre voy con mi amigo, Paul, al sureste de Asia. Mas especificamente, vamos a intentar a visitar los 4 paises de esa parte del mundo: Tailandia, Laos, Cambodia, y Vietnam.

Estoy emocionado porque esto sera mi primera vez en Asia. Realmente, mi primer toque en Asia sera en Japon porque tengo un cambio de vuelos ("lay-over") en Aeropuerto Narita, que es el aeropuerto de Tokio. De ahi, voy y llego en Bangkok, la capital de Tailandia.

Otro evento mas temprano es el concierto de Tortured Soul, uno de mis grupos favoritos. Haga clic AQUI para visitar el sitio de ellos y escuche unas piezas de Tortured Soul. El concierto es el proximo jueves, en Newark, una ciudad al norte del estado de New Jersey, que queda muy cerca, solo unos kilometros de New York City.

Tortured Soul es un grupo de tres maes: uno en la guitarra baja, otro en el keyboard, y el baterista, quien tambien es el cantante. La musica puede ser clasificada como house o electronica, por el sonido del keyboard. Pero tambien puede ser clasificada como soul, por la voz y la forma de cantar del cantante. En total, es una combinacion que me gusta mucho.

Finalmente, les digo que tengo ganas de ir a un partido de football ("futbol norteamericano") de mi universidad de derecho: Temple University. La universidad esta ubicada en el norte de la ciudad de Philadelphia. Por un acuerdo con el equipo profesional de football aqui en Philadelphia -- los Philadelphia Eagles (Aguilas) -- el equipo de Temple juega todos sus partidos en casa en el estadio profesional de los Eagles. El estadio se llama Lincoln Financial Field, y es uno de los mejores estadios en todo el pais. Fue construido muy recientemente.

En la temporada pasada, el noviembre pasado si me acuerdo bien, yo fui con mi amigo Bill a un partido de los Temple Owls contra los Penn State Nittany Lions, en Lincoln Financial Field. Penn State es mucho, mucho mejor que los Owls, y ellos ganaron. Pero los Owls lucharon hasta el final contra un rival mas fuerte y con mas "armas," es decir, mas jugadores mas atleticos.

El primer partido en casa de los Temple Owls es el 6 de septiembre. Quiero aprovechar de ver un partido en Lincoln Financial Field, sin pagar tanto como ir a un partido de los Philadelphia Eagles. Y a la misma vez, quiero apoyar mi universidad, la universidad donde estudie derecho.

Bueno, ticos, nicas, boricuas, y cualquier Fulano de Tal, espero que todo este bien con ustedes. Espero que sigan visitando mi sitio aunque sea casi siempre escrito en ingles. Y finalmente, espero que todo este PURA VIDA, MAE!!!

Doesn't it suck when . . .

. . . you've just gotten out of the shower, feeling all fresh and clean, when you suddenly realize that you have to take a monster shit? And then, during the long, protracted process of taking that monster shit, you seriously debate whether you should get in the shower all over again, in order to re-clean what was just re-dirtied?

I guess you could call that a shitty night.

Wade to Kobe Dunk

Click HERE to see the Dwyane Wade to Kobe Bryant alley oop from the USA-Greece basketball game in the 2008 Beijing Olympics.

How sick was that?

Women are equals of men -- social conservatives should quit resisting it

Woman-centered, not fetus-centered

In the United States, the debate around abortion has been tactically centered -- intentionally -- around the concept of the fetus. That is to say that not only all discussion, but more importantly, all thought and consideration of abortion begins with the fetus as the protagonist and the anchor around which any debate begins and develops. This 'framing of the issue' -- strategic as it is -- is meant to distract most people from the real protagonist: the woman who has become pregnant.

The effect of this tactical shift from woman-centered to fetus-centered analysis is noted in the book, "Backlash," by Susan Faludi: "[a]s the fetus's rights increased, the mother's just kept diminishing." (p. 432). The end result of this intentional tactical shift by social conservatives from woman-centered to fetus-centered discussion was that, "by the close of the '80s, a fetus actually had more legal rights in some areas than a live child." (p. 430).


Liberty for all, not control by some over others

A woman's right to decide whether or not to abort her pregnancy -- and her concomitant rights to 1) professional medical advice to inform her decision and 2) professional medical services to care for her in the event that she does decide to abort her pregnancy -- are inextricably tied to the concepts of sexual independence and reproductive freedom.

Sexual independence is a facet of the American idea of liberty; sexual independence is personal liberty within the realm of sexual behavior. This means that women have the same scope of sexual freedom allowed men, and that either gender is free to make decisions regarding their sexual behavior without an obligation to consult the opposite gender. As this relates to abortion, as it is presently considered in the United States, this necessarily demands the elimination of the primacy of male family control. And in basic terms, it is important to keep in mind that control is the antithesis of freedom.


Pro-choice does not mean pro-abortion

Those who are pro-choice can be described as those who are in favor of abortion rights, which does not mean that they are proponents of abortion. This is a critical distinction which many social conservatives would prefer to blur; it is a critical distinction which Angela Y. Davis points out in her book, "Women, Race & Class," on page 204.


Reproductive freedom, not reproductive control

From "Women, Race & Class", page 202, by Angela Y. Davis:

When nineteenth-century feminists raised the demand for "voluntary motherhood," the campaign for birth control was born.

"Voluntary motherhood" was considered audacious, outrageous and outlandish by those who insisted that wives had no right to refuse to satisfy their husbands' sexual urges.

Birth control -- individual choice, safe contraceptive methods, as well as abortions when necessary -- is a fundamental prerequisite for the emancipation of women.

Legal analysis of abortion: Roe v. Wade

Any time I hear or read anything from an anti-abortion/anti-reproductive rights proponent about Roe, I wonder to myself whether they have ever read the actual Supreme Court opinion. This is only my own personal presumption, but I would presume that the answer is 'no.' I have a feeling that many of these proponents believe that the court opinion is simply the length of a short paragraph, something like: "Abortion is legal because we say so. We can easily change our opinion later if you elect a Republican president though. Thanks, the Supreme Court."

From "Backlash", regarding Roe: "[t]he landmark ruling is simply a return to status quo. The right to an abortion -- practiced in one form or another since colonial times -- had never been restricted until the last half of the late 19th century." (p. 421). In fact, "[i]n 1800, abortion was legal in every state and popular opinion on it largely neutral." (p. 422).

The fetus-centered analysis, mentioned above and which comprises today's popular opinion, however, is in sharp contrast to the logical consideration of the U.S. Supreme Court, a consideration all the more important because it carries legal force and authority. The Court has unequivocally ruled that "a woman's life and health must always prevail over the fetus's life and health, direct quote 439 U.S. 379, 400." (quoted in Backlash, p. 444). Furthermore, "[t]he courts have long held that parents cannot be compelled to take actions to benefit their children's health." (p. 440). Nevertheless, the weight of popular opinion -- to which the courts are subject to influence being that they are made up of real people -- led to a deterioration of that position; from Backlash: "[b]ut when it came down to a choice between the health of the mother and the rights of the fetus, the fetus began to win out." (p. 440).


The moral of this story:

"All of women's aspirations -- whether for education, work, or any form of self-determination -- ultimately rests on their ability to decide whether and when to bear children. For this reason, reproductive freedom has always been the most popular item in each of the successive feminist agendas -- and the most heavily assaulted target of each backlash." (Backlash, p. 422).

Doesn't it suck when...

. . . you've just wiped your ass and you realize that you must've been careless in folding the toilet paper because you also realize that you actually wiped your asshole through direct contact with your finger(s)?

I guess you could call that a shitty day.

The Redeem Team

Just finished watching the USA men's basketball team, a/k/a "the Redeem Team," win their first Olympic game against the men's national team from China. It has been said that this was the most-watched game in the history of basketball. And I set my alarm and woke up this morning with the express purpose of watching this game.

And what a game it was! The first half was a nail-biter; I was literally sitting on the edge of my seat, as China hit 3-point shot after 3-point shot, and the Redeem Team kept in the game with solid interior defense and athletic play on the offensive end. And even sitting by myself in my apartment at the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I could just feel the intensity and excitement through the television screen. The game really had the electricity of an NBA finals game 7.

In the second half, Team USA pulled away from China by relentlessly applying pressure defense, oftentimes leading to steals or defensive rebounds off of bad shots, and by pushing the ball up the court in order to take advantage of its greater speed, athleticism, and deeper bench. For me, the most exciting aspect of the game was seeing the NBA's three most dynamic and athletic scorers (with the possible exception of Iverson) on the court at the same time and playing with notable chemistry and selflessless; the three stars, of course: Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dywayne Wade. All 3 looked fast, strong, and sharp, as individuals and as teammates.

There were so many amazing plays. But the one that stood out to me as totally sick was a fast-break where Kobe was handling the ball, and just after he crossed the elbow on the right-wing, he flipped the ball up in the air with his left hand, and LeBron elevated over a Chinese player, and simultaneously grabbed the ball in mid-air with his right hand and, in one decisive motion, slammed the ball through -- and I mean through -- the hoop, with the Chinese player still standing on the floor beneath him. Let me tell you: It. Was. Sick. After that play, the screen flashed to a shot of President Bush in the stands, and he looked thoroughly impressed.

This was the first time that I'd had a chance to see the Redeem Team play. I was happy to see how well they played together, even while I can see that they have some room for improvement. But, all in all, I can definitely say that that game made me proud to be from the United States, undoubtedly still the world's most dominant country in basketball.

From the Gayborhood to Dubai

I watched the Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics last night. I had decided that I wouldn't go out to meet my friends until I watched the delegations from the United States and Costa Rica walk into the Bird's Nest during the Parade of Nations. Throughout the procession I cooked and then ate dinner: pasta shells with roasted garlic spaghetti sauce and two, chopped roasted garlic Italian sausages.

Once the CR delegation came into the stadium, I got ready to head out. In honor of Team USA and the start of the Beijing Olympics, I wore my red-white-and-blue Nike Prefontaine sneakers and my gray t-shirt with the G.I. Joe insignia, including the red-white-and-blue striped box next to the subtitle, "A Real American Hero."

From the Double-Deuce & Spruce, I walked straight down Spruce Street to Valanni's, a restaurant just below 13th Street. I went there first because the text that I had received from Park a little bit more than an hour earlier said that the group was there. So I walked in and looked around; I didn't recognize anyone there. As I walked out, I looked at my phone, noticed a missed call, and was about to check my voicemail, when I simply looked across the street and saw the gang seated at an outdoor table in front of Mercato. So I walked over briskly, wet my right pinky finger, and with the all-important element of surprise, gave Park a wet willy.

I sat down with the bunch there while everyone finished off their food. I had a couple glasses of wine and a few nibbles of dessert. It's important to note here that the reason that everyone gathered for a night on the town was the imminent departure of our friend, Park, who is set to relocate to Dubai, United Arab Emirates, just this coming Monday. Our night out was a chance to have some fun before he takes off, and to let him know that we're gonna miss him.

Everyone else having finished off their food and the 5 bottles of wine that they BYOB'ed, we gathered up the troops to hit the town. We walked down Camac Street all the way over to Walnut Street, until doubling back half a block down Quince Street between 12th and 11th to go to a practically unmarked bar called the Bike Stop -- a bar which, unknown to me, is apparently renowned in the Gayborhood.

The Bike Stop could've been a bar out in the exurbs for all appearances -- it was very dimly-lit, it was filled with a bunch of biker-looking dudes, it had a pool table on a raised platform on the far side of the bar, and there was classic rock music from the 1980s. But once your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you realized that the appearances revealed the bar's Gayborhood nature -- some guys were shirtless, either with or without leather suspenders, and there was not one lone woman inside the place (until we showed up with 3).

Park had explained to me that the basement of the Bike Stop was a destination in its own right; the word was that it was filled with gay guys four rows deep in total darkness and that you would have to grope your way through sweaty bodies to get to the bar. Of course once we got to the Bike Stop, I asked Park which way to the famed basement to find out if the basement was really as intimidating as its reputation indicated. Before walking down the stairs, Park noticed the sign that said "no cologne and no sneakers allowed"; neither one of us could quite figure out why those two things were prohibited. And despite the fact that I was wearing my bold tricolor sneakers, we went down anyway. So what did we see? To be honest, it really reminded me of the basement of the house I lived in on Water Street during my senior year of college: dank, dark, and cement-exposed walls. It was not, however, totally dark, nor did we have to touch anybody to get around. Other than the very strange, inexplicable feeling that all these quiet men were lined up around the cement wall waiting for some kind of performance to take place, and that there were only men down there, it wasn't weird at all.

Needless to say, we didn't stay down there too long. Park's girlfriend had come down just a couple minutes after us, and after milling down there for a few minutes, we decided to go back upstairs to play pool. The group of us played for about an hour or so. The table that we played on was so terribly slanted toward one corner that it made for some miserable games; it was funny at first, but by the end it was annoying.

So we left there around 1:30 and went directly to Knock. It was a very nice place; I was told that this is a prime location for gay professionals to meet. We all stood around and chatted for a while. But the real story there doesn't begin until right before we left, at about 2:30.

From what I understand, Park had ordered a glass of wine during last call right at 2:00am. He paid for it and may have had a couple sips of it; the glass of wine was sittting on the bar. In the bartender's haste to clean up after closing, however, he accidentally cleared Park's glass of wine. Partly because Park had paid for the wine and had not finished, but also, I suspect, because Park wanted to make a point of having his glass of wine on his last night out in Philly before his grand trip, he demanded another glass of wine to replace the one that had been taken. The bartender poured him another glass, but at that point, the owner came around to find out why a patron could be demanding any alcohol a half-hour past last call. Park had little patience (or sobriety) to explain the whole story, and the owner was put-off, saying that it was against the law to serve alcohol past 2am. So Eric steps up and says to the owner, "We are the law." And James, sensing the tension -- and obviously not knowing to whom he was speaking -- says to the owner, "Hey buddy, why don't you beat it." Right then, I walked out of the bar to meet up with the other half of our group, who were already waiting outside on the sidewalk. Surprisingly, and fortunately, things inside simmered down and the misunderstanding was cleared up -- Park downed his whole glass of wine and the three guys came right out to meet us on the sidewalk. Crisis had been averted.

Without belaboring the details, I'll say simply that we all said our good-byes and best-wishes to Park. His flight to Dubai leaves on Monday. He intends to begin a blog once he gets there; of course I'll post the link.

From the corner of 12th and Locust, four of us -- Eric, Alex, James, and me -- walked west up Locust, since we all live in the general Rittenhouse Square area. For the first couple blocks of our late night walk we saw several trannies walking the streets in search of business. Immediately after crossing Broad Street, I saw two girls and a guy up ahead, so right before we passed them, I said, "look, here are a couple more trannies;" the look on the girls' faces was one of pure indignity, but the four of us laughed our asses off. Then, on the 1500 block of Locust, as we approached Misconduct Tavern in fact, I saw that there was a chain-link chain hanging across part of the sidewalk. So I kept talking to the guys, pretending that I wasn't looking ahead, and purposely ran into the chain, feigning surprise and pain; we all laughed our asses off some more before going our separate ways.

Notes from the Underground

It's 8pm on 8/8/08, and I ate a date that tasted great, but that shouldn't affect my weight of 88 kilos, or the fact that I hate hate (but I guess that means that I do hate, then, right?). But wait, do two wrongs make a right, or shall I state: do two hates make a great? My pate now grates from this constant state of contemplate. Hey mate, at least it's still 8/8/08.

"The gull sees farthest who flies highest." -- from Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach.

"Apuntale a la luna, aun si fallas alcanzaras las estrellas." -- from a Johnny Walker billboard along the road from San Jose to Limon, in Costa Rica, 2002

That last quote gives me occasion to remind you, kind reader, to click the link on the blog archive to your izquierda for 2002 entries. I've been adding them steadily, transcribing them from the journal that I kept during that time.

The Opening Ceremonies of the Beijing Olympics will be televised shortly, after which I'll be going out with some friends later tonight. I'll let you know how that goes.

Double-Deuce & Spruce

Many of you have been hearing this term used more and more across the city of Philadelphia. And many of you have been thinking that you would like to use this term too. But you want to find out more about it before you start using it like a native "two-fifteener" (another hot buzzword these days). Well, of course you can count on Philly 215 to help you out; so here you go:

The "Double-Deuce & Spruce" refers to one of today's hottest (and, not coincidentally, one of the most important) intersections in the city of Philadelphia. It is rumored that, if one stands in the mathematical, pinpoint center of that famed intersection, one can hear the whispers of the illustrious Benjamin Franklin, one of our city's and one of our nation's greatest forefathers. And this intersection of which we speak can be located by truthseekers and pilgrims alike by picking apart and analyzing the buzzword itself: "Double-Deuce" is a slang, hip, streetspeak version of what proper grammarians refer to as 22nd Street, and "Spruce" is a rather straight-as-an-arrow, clear-as-Philly-tapwater version of what the bourgeoisie calls Spruce Street.

Now that you understand what "Double-Deuce & Spruce" represents (at least in theory, but not necessarily in practice -- for that you have to live near the epicenter itself), go on with your bad self and spread the good word. And by doing that, you'll be that much closer to being a "two-fifteener," which in turn is defined as a veritable resident of Philadelphia, the connotation being that you are strongly in favor of taking this city boldly into the 21st century by supporting everything and everyone that promotes -- as it has been dubbed by National Geographic Magazine -- "America's Next Great City."

Female Genital Cutting in Egypt

I recently read an article on msnbc.com that caught my eye for two reasons: 1) it was about Egypt, a country that I visited earlier this year, and 2) it was about female genital cutting (FGC), a topic about which I wrote a paper in my third year of law school.

The article is entitled, "Effort in Egypt fights against mutilating girls: Genitals cut on 96 percent of married Egyptian women; girls face same fate." Click HERE to access the article.

Now, before I go any further, I have to address the anticipated (properly or not) protest of one of my friends who often visits Egypt and is sometimes highly critical of his Egyptian friends for not being conformist enough to Egyptian (or more accurately, Islamic) practices. If my assumption -- that he supports, or at least condones, female genital cutting -- is incorrect, then I apologize.

If my assumption is correct, though, then consider this, kind reader: FGC is a cultural practice, not a religious (i.e., Muslim or Christian) practice. As the article indicates, both Muslim and Christian religious leaders have spoken out against FGC. Also, the fight against FGC in Egypt is being led by Egyptians: Egypt's parliament in June voted to ban female genital cutting as part of a law protecting children; and last year, the Egyptian Ministry of Health prohibited licensed medical professionals from performing FGC. These measures are not only laudable, but significant, when one considers that Egypt is the country where FGC is most prevalent.

Reading the article reminded me of a paper I wrote for my "Current Issues in Family Law" class in my third year of law school. My paper was more generally about the reluctance of U.S. asylum law to recognize, and thus grant, asylum on the basis of gender-based persecution. Here's an excerpt from a section entitled "Gender-Based Violence: History and Policy":

"Family violence has historically been perceived as a private matter. Considered as such, it was inappropriate for the state to get involved because of the doctrine of family privacy. Family violence was rarely conceived of as a social problem, or as having roots in women’s subordinated status in society.

The historical reality, however, is that violence against women is a manifestation of historically unequal power relations between men and women. Violence against women in general, and domestic violence in particular, serve as essential components in societies which oppress women, since violence against women not only derives from but also maintains the dominant gender stereotypes and is used to control women in the one area traditionally dominated by women, the home.

Victims of gender-related persecution have been largely unable to overcome the cultural stereotypes and gender inequities that pervade asylum law. Although women and children constitute 80% of the estimated twelve million refugees worldwide, the majority of applicants for asylum in the United States are men."

And from the section of the paper entitled "The History and Reality of Gender-Based Persecution" comes this excerpt, which mentions FGC:

"Perhaps the most pervasive forms of gender persecution are rape and other forms of sexual violence. There are, however, other forms of gender-specific persecution, including cultural and religious traditions inhibiting women’s right to life, liberty and security, such as female genital mutilation, honor killings, dowry deaths, and other traditional practices harmful to women’s and girls’ health. Included in this last category are forced abortion, compulsory sterilization, and forced pregnancy."

The bottom line here is that I support efforts to overcome the mystique surrounding certain entrenched cultural practices by exposing their basis in unequal and discriminatory cultural assumptions, as well as exposing the very real harm -- bodily and psychological -- that they pose to its unwilling victims. And so I support these efforts by the Egyptian government -- and the supporting voices of religious leaders -- to end female genital cutting among all Egyptians, Christians and Muslims alike.

Feeling Irie? Jah mon!

One of my good friends, Ethan, recently came back from a vacation (with his wife Christine) to Jamaica. Here's a good story that he passed along, properly quoted at his request and re-printed here with his express, written permission. :)

"I got friendly with a bunch of the locals (It was a very [Frank E. Speaks] moment)...they taught me some Patoi (the local slang dialect)...the thing that impressed me was that they have no word for "bad". Whenever you ask anyone how they are doing it is always Irie. Me being Me asked what happens when everything is not Irie...they actually had to think on it for a few mins and couldn't come up with anything. The one guy told me that everything is Irie and even if it isn't, it will be again soon so looking fwd to that moment...everything is Irie."

I love this philosophy. It's one that I think we'd all be healthier to adopt. Urbandictionary defines "irie" as being "at total peace with your current state of being. The way you feel when you have no worries."

The word and concept of "irie" reminds me a bit of the unofficial national motto of Costa Rica: "pura vida." Pura vida is literally translated as pure life. But its true meaning is much deeper. Pura vida is used as a greeting, such as saying hi. Pura vida is also used to say what's up. But pura vida ultimately means life is good, everything's chill, I hope you're doing alright and chilling too, so take it easy and go good!

In the spirit of this post, I wish you the very best for a wonderful day. Be irie and pura vida mae!!!

Promise Fulfilled (or, Nine Lives)

Yo people, I told you in my penultimate post that I was gonna fill you in on the happenings of Saturday night. Since I didn't fulfill that promise in my last post, I'm gonna do it now.

I caught the EL to Frankford Transportation Center. I got there a few minutes early, so I just hung out at a bus shelter at the corner where Bustleton and Frankford Avenues intersect with Bridge Street.

After a few minutes, I saw Mike's red pick-up pull up. So I ran across the street and opened the passenger-side door. A guy already in the passenger seat slid over on the bench seat so that I could get in. Mike introduced me to him and vice versa. Then Mike prompted the guy to show me something, so the guy lifted up his t-shirt to show me a shit-load of scars all over his abdomen. As he saw the look on my face, the guy told me that he'd been shot 9 times. He explained that he was shot in broad daylight, around 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, on the street in front of a bar underneath the EL; he was shot for trying to prevent a fight between his friend and some guys whom he didn't know. From what he told me, he tried to put himself between his friend and one of the other guys, in an attempt to prevent the incipient fight, but the other guy interpreted that as him stepping up, and seemingly without any hesitation the other guy pulled out a .45 caliber and fired 9 times into his midsection. People went scrambling in all directions. And though there were police already there, they were somehow unable to catch the shooter. An ambulance came to the scene and one of the EMTs said to this guy, while slapping him across the face, "nigger, you gonna die." Miraculously though, they got him to Temple Hospital, where he was operated upon, and after a week of unconsciousness, woke up to discover that he'd survived.

Simply amazing. And even more so when considered in light of the fact that a few years ago this same guy was involved in a car accident on I-95, which resulted in him being ejected from his seat through the front windshield and thrown across the median into oncoming traffic from the opposite direction. He survived that too. I looked the guy in the face and asked him, "how many lives do you have?"

After Mike dropped off this cat with nine lives, we drove back to our original destination: Casa Brasil. Located at 6222 Bustleton Avenue (not far from the Boulevard), Casa Brasil is a solid, buffet-style, Brazilian restaurant. For those not familiar, Brazilian cuisine (not unlike that of its neighbor, Argentina) is renowned for its fine meats roasted on a spit or rotisserie, called "churrasco." A server will cut the meat as you prefer, anywhere between well-done and medium rare, and with more or less fat. This time I got some pork slices and sausage. On the side, I got yellow rice with black beans, green beans, and a bacon-wrapped drumstick. All of this, and stacked high on my plate, for less than $10. Talk about a solid, all-around healthy, and filling meal.

Post-dinner we stopped back at Mike's place to drop-off the truck, then we caught the 66 bus back down to the FTC to catch the EL into Center City. We went to Mission Grill, at 18th and Arch, for the birthday party of a girlfriend of a guy who Mike is friends with (Kevin Bacon has gotta be involved here somehow, right?). It was a good night; we got a chance to talk to some different people, as well as catch up with each other. And about Mission Grill, I've been there before, and must say that I really, really like the decor: mission-style, very Spanish-colonial California.

So that's about it. I was gonna write some more shit, but this is enough shock and awe for now. Besides, I've gotta go figure out what to do about dinner: I'm thinking eggs with ham, topped with mozzarella cheese, and with a whole wheat bagel on the side, topped with whipped cream cheese. Whaddaya say now, I got the skills to pay the bills!

Boring....or the prevalence of sand in my life

Here's what today was: sleeping, eating, laying down on couch, television, 3 loads of laundry, food-shopping, cooking, and now blogging. Well, I guess it was Sunday, my I-don't-have-to-run-day. But that's not such a great citation since it wasn't my fun-day, as the song lyrics indicate.

So what the hell else shall I write about? Lucky for you, I've been thinking about that question for a lil' while. And I have an answer: the prevalence of sand in my life. To illustrate:

Just last Thursday I finished the book "Dune" by Frank Herbert. In case you're not a sci-fi geek, Dune is a landmark science fiction novel. It's about a boy named Paul Atreides who grows up to be the leader of Arrakis, which is a desert planet. Ahhh (light bulb shines brightly over your head): a planet of sand AND thus tied to the theme which I have already noted. Although not of the highest literary value in terms of writing technique or style, it is still no doubt a very entertaining novel, and one which does a good job of raising several broader issues within the context of the sci-fi plot. These broader issues include the environmental (e.g., how a planet can manage, and even positively exploit, its limited natural resources), political (e.g., the necessities of power politics and the tactics necessary to gain and maintain political power), religious (e.g., the commonalities between various religions and the effect that space travel may one day have on religion and religious beliefs), and others.

Because of the readability of this book and the way that Herbert ties in some interesting issues that certainly remain pertinent today (especially environmental concerns), I do recommend this book.

While reading the book (and still right now), I set the desktop background of both my work computer and home computer to desert images: "Wind" and "Red moon desert" respectively.

In the book it was interesting to hear descriptions of how the Fremen, or desert-dwellers of Arrakis, developed technology to cope and adapt to the harsh conditions of the desert. For example, "still-suits" which helped to retain the body's moisture and recycle it through mouthtubes.

The imagery that Herbert used also brought me back to my experiences in Egypt earlier this year (see my earlier posts by clicking on "March" under the "2008" tab in the Blog Archives to the left of your screen, and scroll down to the posts between the 5th and 24th of that month).

It's really difficult to put into words the thoughts and feelings, and inner reflections, that one has out in the Sahara. The vastness of the desert is overwhelming, and for that reason, quite humbling. But in its way, it is very beautiful. Its size and simplicity seem to send a clear message to humanity to respect God's power to create and destroy. Perhaps -- if I may speculate -- that is why Islam plays such a central and pervasive role in Arab culture and society: the ever-present reminder of Allah's power over planet Earth and humankind.

Leaving you to ponder these deeper questions of existence, I leave you some visual images of reference. And for me personally, some visual images of remembrance:

NoLibs

For those who aren't in the know, the term "NoLibs" refers to Northern Liberties, a section of the city located roughly in the northeastern part of Center City. NoLibs is bounded by Spring Garden Street to the south, Girard Avenue to the north, Front Street to the east, and 6th Street to the west.

Last night, after hitting up the gym for a quick leg work-out, I headed out to catch the trolley at 19th and Market Streets, then transferred to the EL at 15th Street to head eastbound up to the Spring Garden stop. I was going to meet some friends at a highly-acclaimed restaurant up that way, Bar Ferdinand, which I've been meaning to hit up for a while.

Once I got there, I realized that I really should've gotten off at the Girard stop of the EL, since Bar Ferdinand is located just a couple blocks south of Girard. But the text message that I'd gotten earlier told me that I should get off at Spring Garden; oh well, it allowed me a pleasant walking tour of NoLibs' de facto main street: 2nd Street, along which are lots of bars, restaurants, and local threads shops. Second Street there really embodies the spirit of Northern Liberties: upscale alternative urban counterculture, i.e., hipster. (By the way, please read urbandictionary's definition of "hipster" HERE, hilarious shit and so on-point!).

Bar Ferdinand was definitely very hip, nice decor, quite upscale, a lot of good-looking people. I found my friends sitting at a long table directly in front of a mosaic mural with the Black Osborne Bull of Spain (El Toro Negro; the unofficial national symbol of Spain) right in the smack-dab center of the mural; it was really nice. Since the restaurant only serves tapas -- and I ate just one (mejillones con chorizo) -- I had to stop at Rustica Pizza back on 2nd Street, closer to Fairmount, to get 3 slices of pizza to completely fill me up.

After hanging out at Lisa's for a little while -- so everyone could have a breather before going out for the night and so I could finish up my pizza -- Claire and I decided to leave to catch the EL back to Center City. After having drank a very refreshing cup of Pepsi with my pizza, though, I was determined to find another cup of Pepsi: and not merely a plastic bottle of it, but another fountain drink of Pepsi. Wow! Well, that was a long and harrowing journey that eventually led to Drinker's, where I gave up and just ordered a cola, hoping that it would be Pepsi. I asked the bartender if it was Coca-Cola or Pepsi, and to my surprise he said that it was neither, but was instead a local, Philadelphia-produced cola. After doing a quite cursory search on Google (as if you need a link to Google, right) to find out the name of this local cola, I couldn't find anything. If you know what it's called, then please let me know!

Anyway, back to today. In just a little bit, I'm heading out again to once more catch the EL. This time I'm taking the line to the eastbound (northern) terminus: Frankford Transportation Center. Mike is picking me up there and we're gonna get some eats up that way before heading back down to Center City for a couple drinks. That story to be filled out tomorrow, so check back in y'all.

Flip-Flops

This afternoon, after work, I went to Urban Outfitters (which, incidentally, began in 1970 as a store called "The Free People's Store" right here in Philadelphia) on Walnut Street to take advantage of their sale of flip-flops: 2 pairs for $10. Considering that I've been needing to pick-up flip-flops, this turned out to be a great opportunity. I got a brown pair and a blue pair.

Afterward, in the spirit of getting some stuff that I need, I walked a block down Walnut to City Sports. I've really been in need of some athletic shorts to play basketball and work-out at the gym. I was in luck. I picked up a pair of navy blue Nike basketball shorts.

After that, I walked over to Rittenhouse Square to sit down on a bench and enjoy the really beautiful weather (mostly sunny; 88 F / 31 C). Of course, on a warm and sunny Friday evening, the park was packed with people hanging out and walking through. It was the kind of scene that really makes me happy and proud to live in the city, and so close to the park itself. After sitting and enjoying the scene for a little while, I decide to call Paul to talk to him about, among other things, our trip. We both agreed that we have some planning to do. And Paul suggested that at some point while we're over there we should rent motorcycles and just go riding through the countryside to see where we end up. I told him that I love that idea, that's what it's all about!

Well, in a little while here, I'm heading off to Northern Liberties to meet some friends. I'll let'cha know how that all pans out.