It might seem silly to write a post about beach hair when it is fully obvious that I live in a land-locked state and made no effort to leave it this weekend much less cross the two to three states that would be required to get to a beach.
But nonetheless, following tradition of at least two of the past three years, I decided to spend my birthday on a beach. At Boulder Reservoir, yes, but a beach, nonetheless, replete with sand and lifeguards and squealing sunburned kids on a beautiful Colorado day.
And I came home with the best beach hair. I love beach hair. Curls and waves that fall splendidly over skin that hangs somewhere between burned and tanned. It falls so nicely, much more nicely that it ever manages to after the shower, and curls so beautifully.
It was a great topping off to my birthday. Now for some yummy Indian food.
06 July 2009
30 June 2009
Ni hao!
All term, it seems, China just keeps coming up. Every subject in macro seems inexplicably tied to China. Perhaps inexplicably is the wrong word. They own a great deal of debt, provide us with all sorts of little trinkets and are growing at a ridiculously fast rate and using up a good deal of the world's oil.
So, China's where it's at, folks. Ni hao!
With that, I'm going to introduce the blog of a good friend who is on his way to that part of the world. Michael has been selected as a Henry Luce Scholar and will be spending the next year in China working with a professor at a university in Beijing on international policy issues. How cool is that?
You can read about Michael's adventures here. I know I will be!
So, China's where it's at, folks. Ni hao!
With that, I'm going to introduce the blog of a good friend who is on his way to that part of the world. Michael has been selected as a Henry Luce Scholar and will be spending the next year in China working with a professor at a university in Beijing on international policy issues. How cool is that?
You can read about Michael's adventures here. I know I will be!
25 June 2009
What to do?
It is probably not generally advised to tell people that look up to you, people who are supposed to learning from you, that you might not actually have any desire to continue doing what you're doing. While I am occasionally irreverent as regards the content of my course and the usefulness of simplistic economic models that I present to my students, I think it's probably best not to let them know just how down on the whole subject you are.
Nonetheless, I found myself admitting things to my students yesterday that I have been holding back even from myself lately when one asked me whether I was going to continue teaching once I finished my degree.
"I like teaching," was the first, and totally truthful, but still-lacking-the-caveat answer. "But I still harbor dreams of being a photographer. Or a pastry chef."
By this point, my students must have been thoroughly confused. They already know that where I did my undergrad, that I used to perform salsa dancing and that I lived and worked in Venezuela as a journalist. You might think the jumps there are rather significant, but imagine this coming from someone who is supposed to be an authority to you on a subject you need to graduate.
I can't imagine that it sounds good.
In contrast to my stated opinion, though, I am still on this track. Despite all my bitching and whining over the past three years, I am still working on a PhD in Economics. Despite my love of confections and ice cream, I have a hard time seeing myself working in a restaurant. And despite my love of darkrooms and photographs and catching inspired moments, the instability of artistry doesn't mesh well with my need for constancy.
So, what do I do? Do I keep at it? Do I abandon it in hopes that I really could manage to do something else? Is there some middle ground that I just don't know about?
Or do I just continue to scare generations of young college students as they mill through my classes with dreams of things I'll never do?
Nonetheless, I found myself admitting things to my students yesterday that I have been holding back even from myself lately when one asked me whether I was going to continue teaching once I finished my degree.
"I like teaching," was the first, and totally truthful, but still-lacking-the-caveat answer. "But I still harbor dreams of being a photographer. Or a pastry chef."
By this point, my students must have been thoroughly confused. They already know that where I did my undergrad, that I used to perform salsa dancing and that I lived and worked in Venezuela as a journalist. You might think the jumps there are rather significant, but imagine this coming from someone who is supposed to be an authority to you on a subject you need to graduate.
I can't imagine that it sounds good.
In contrast to my stated opinion, though, I am still on this track. Despite all my bitching and whining over the past three years, I am still working on a PhD in Economics. Despite my love of confections and ice cream, I have a hard time seeing myself working in a restaurant. And despite my love of darkrooms and photographs and catching inspired moments, the instability of artistry doesn't mesh well with my need for constancy.
So, what do I do? Do I keep at it? Do I abandon it in hopes that I really could manage to do something else? Is there some middle ground that I just don't know about?
Or do I just continue to scare generations of young college students as they mill through my classes with dreams of things I'll never do?
24 June 2009
A little lighter
We're still about a month short of the 40th anniversary of the first moon landing, but I think given the heavy events we've all been reading about, it might be appropriate to share this now. Enjoy!
Buzz Aldrin's Rocket Experience from Buzz Aldrin
Buzz Aldrin's Rocket Experience from Buzz Aldrin
23 June 2009
Which lens to buy?
Ever since I received my Nikon D50 as a Christmas present a few years ago, I've been complaining about the aperture of the lens. For all its faults, the totally manual film camera I had been using for years has a great piece of glass on it that opens to f/1.4 and still takes beautiful, sharp shots. Already armed with two lenses, it always seems silly to try to add another to my arsenal, but of late I've been toying with the idea of buying a 50mm f/1.4 lens for my digital camera. I have heard of many people that use such a lens exclusively and are very happy with the results. BW's wedding photographer raved about his and recently BZ's adviser's wife did the same.
The problem is that it is just so darned expensive. The f/1.4 is $340 on B&H. To complicate the matter, the 50mm f/1.8 is only $130. Why the big difference? I'm not really sure. Do I need that extra bit of aperture? Would I use it, definitely. Do I need it, I don't know!
Thoughts are welcome from fellow photographers. I'm just not sure whether it's worth it to spend the money.
The problem is that it is just so darned expensive. The f/1.4 is $340 on B&H. To complicate the matter, the 50mm f/1.8 is only $130. Why the big difference? I'm not really sure. Do I need that extra bit of aperture? Would I use it, definitely. Do I need it, I don't know!
Thoughts are welcome from fellow photographers. I'm just not sure whether it's worth it to spend the money.
Getting tear gassed
My good friend and former editor used to say that getting tear gassed was the event that marked getting your Venezuelan citizenship. A Venezuelan himself, though mostly raised abroad, this was always a little bit tongue-in-cheek as the people he was telling this to were primarily expats doing the journo thing for awhile (or for a long while), but in another sense it was profoundly true. I remember getting tear gassed at an opposition protest along a major highway that ran through Caracas, running from the riot police past burning tires and ebullient protesters. Only minutes before I had tried to talk to one of the police, a woman, just as scared as the men around her who mirrored her armored, shielded presence but perhaps a little more defiant. She wouldn't talk to me and I was shooed away and managed to move back a bit before the canisters were opened on the crowd.
I was with several other journalists amidst a crowd of students and mothers and fathers. When we walked away, when we'd realized what happened, we were all ecstatic. Despite lacking the ability to ever truly "be" Venezuelan, there is a solidarity and a sense of righteousness that comes with being tear gassed. The adrenaline rush of not knowing exactly where you are or whether you're headed in the right direction, but believing firmly that you're on the right side is only enhanced by the affront of being dispersed, of being told you're not allowed to speak or work for something you desire or need, or deserve. Even though I like to say I was in Venezuela as an objective observer, being tear-gassed can only bring you down on the side opposite that of the one who pulled the pin.
There have been any number of interesting articles and videos to come out of Iran in the last few days. I sit here wishing I had spent more time to learn the Arabic alphabet, even though I know it would help little for actually understanding the Farsi. The video of the death of Neda is tragic, of the hoards advancing on the retreating riot police both exhilarating and frightening. Two of my favorite journalists to hate, Anne Applebaum and Christopher Hitchens, have pieces in Slate that tell us we can no longer ignore Iran, and neither can its mullahs.
With the bans imposed on print and TV coverage, it is hard to know exactly what is going on inside Iran. Though many are heralding the Twitter Revolution or the Facebook Revolution, that depiction unfortunately only reinforces what the opponents of the protests would have you believe, that this is a revolution for the technologically savvy, the rich, and the young, those who are out of step with the Iran of today. Of course, you could also say the opposite, but who's really to know?
Our president is in an unenviable position of how to address this situation with the world looking over his shoulder. On the one hand, Christopher Hitchens is right, they meddle in our affairs, why not meddle in theirs? and perhaps more importantly, this young, technologically savvy group of Iranians make up the generation we'll have to face down the line if we screw up our part. On the other hand, the ruling power are most certainly meddlers and likely to punish meddling down the line if we screw up our part.
All in all, there is this little bubbling of excitement deep inside. It's reminiscent of running from tear gas, it hints at the rush of standing for something. It boils a little faster when I think of the women who are there protesting, more loudly and harder than the men even, who realize just how much there is to win, and how much to lose.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/persian/iran/2009/06/090621_ag_street_clashes.shtml
I was with several other journalists amidst a crowd of students and mothers and fathers. When we walked away, when we'd realized what happened, we were all ecstatic. Despite lacking the ability to ever truly "be" Venezuelan, there is a solidarity and a sense of righteousness that comes with being tear gassed. The adrenaline rush of not knowing exactly where you are or whether you're headed in the right direction, but believing firmly that you're on the right side is only enhanced by the affront of being dispersed, of being told you're not allowed to speak or work for something you desire or need, or deserve. Even though I like to say I was in Venezuela as an objective observer, being tear-gassed can only bring you down on the side opposite that of the one who pulled the pin.
There have been any number of interesting articles and videos to come out of Iran in the last few days. I sit here wishing I had spent more time to learn the Arabic alphabet, even though I know it would help little for actually understanding the Farsi. The video of the death of Neda is tragic, of the hoards advancing on the retreating riot police both exhilarating and frightening. Two of my favorite journalists to hate, Anne Applebaum and Christopher Hitchens, have pieces in Slate that tell us we can no longer ignore Iran, and neither can its mullahs.
With the bans imposed on print and TV coverage, it is hard to know exactly what is going on inside Iran. Though many are heralding the Twitter Revolution or the Facebook Revolution, that depiction unfortunately only reinforces what the opponents of the protests would have you believe, that this is a revolution for the technologically savvy, the rich, and the young, those who are out of step with the Iran of today. Of course, you could also say the opposite, but who's really to know?
Our president is in an unenviable position of how to address this situation with the world looking over his shoulder. On the one hand, Christopher Hitchens is right, they meddle in our affairs, why not meddle in theirs? and perhaps more importantly, this young, technologically savvy group of Iranians make up the generation we'll have to face down the line if we screw up our part. On the other hand, the ruling power are most certainly meddlers and likely to punish meddling down the line if we screw up our part.
All in all, there is this little bubbling of excitement deep inside. It's reminiscent of running from tear gas, it hints at the rush of standing for something. It boils a little faster when I think of the women who are there protesting, more loudly and harder than the men even, who realize just how much there is to win, and how much to lose.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/persian/iran/2009/06/090621_ag_street_clashes.shtml
21 June 2009
Coincidences
It's funny how life sometimes comes up to smack you around, to remind you where you came from and what you've been through. It is not necessarily a bad experience, but it definitely takes you back, and aback, at that.
A good friend of mine made a big move last week and at some point during our last dinner together (gaw, that sounds so ominous), she mentioned that she might be getting together with one of my ex-boyfriends. "Is that okay?" was the hurried caveat.
I had no problem with it, of course, but for some reason it started eating at me. Why, so many years later, would I care? I have a boyfriend, a career track, a life that exists, whole and complete, without him. But somehow my friend seeing him was almost the equivalent of him showing up on my doorstep to flaunt his new life.
But should that bother me either? Of course not. But it had this funny way of making that period in my life seem incredibly real and present, and thus capable of exerting influence, when it had felt just the opposite for a long time.
The feeling subsided after a few hours and I no longer felt anxious or weird about it. But just when it was starting to feel normal again, it would happen that I passed by his old place of work only to find it gone. I did a double-take and even left my friends for a minute to see whether I had imagined it. It turned out to be at my own peril, as the group almost left me while I went on my mini-excursion.
I asked someone later who appeared connected enough to know what had happened to the place. What was his name, she asked me, Mike? David? I couldn't remember. He moved on, has a new place. Elsewhere. It's really cute. He's happy.
She went on about it for far longer than I needed, but at the same time, it felt like a good answer. Though I cared very little for Mike or David or whatever his name was, I'm glad he is happy. And I think it's a nice answer for my ex, too. Maybe one day, my friend will tell me that he has a new place and that it's cute and he's happy. But for now, I can probably just let him be that way in my head, and the memory of him can go back to living in my past.
A good friend of mine made a big move last week and at some point during our last dinner together (gaw, that sounds so ominous), she mentioned that she might be getting together with one of my ex-boyfriends. "Is that okay?" was the hurried caveat.
I had no problem with it, of course, but for some reason it started eating at me. Why, so many years later, would I care? I have a boyfriend, a career track, a life that exists, whole and complete, without him. But somehow my friend seeing him was almost the equivalent of him showing up on my doorstep to flaunt his new life.
But should that bother me either? Of course not. But it had this funny way of making that period in my life seem incredibly real and present, and thus capable of exerting influence, when it had felt just the opposite for a long time.
The feeling subsided after a few hours and I no longer felt anxious or weird about it. But just when it was starting to feel normal again, it would happen that I passed by his old place of work only to find it gone. I did a double-take and even left my friends for a minute to see whether I had imagined it. It turned out to be at my own peril, as the group almost left me while I went on my mini-excursion.
I asked someone later who appeared connected enough to know what had happened to the place. What was his name, she asked me, Mike? David? I couldn't remember. He moved on, has a new place. Elsewhere. It's really cute. He's happy.
She went on about it for far longer than I needed, but at the same time, it felt like a good answer. Though I cared very little for Mike or David or whatever his name was, I'm glad he is happy. And I think it's a nice answer for my ex, too. Maybe one day, my friend will tell me that he has a new place and that it's cute and he's happy. But for now, I can probably just let him be that way in my head, and the memory of him can go back to living in my past.
18 June 2009
Babies, babies everywhere
It seems that I everyone I know is having a baby today! Congrats to the G family and the B family and very soon to the Mc family. Can't wait to hold all those little suckers!
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