When Christmas trees grow up

Back in February of 1997 I asked Darian to find a good home for my little Norwegian pine that had fulfilled its duty as our holiday centerpiece. She planted it near the edge of the field bounding the south and west flanks (respectively) of Kresge and Porter colleges at UCSC (University of California at Santa Cruz). I didn’t half-think the little thing would survive but the bugger has flourished — so much so that it’s now visible from space! Check it out:

Latitude: 36°59′44.82″N
Longitude: 122° 4′2.26″W

Over the past decade I’ve stopped by the field during the several occasions I’ve found myself back in the area. You know, to pay a visit. The biggest shock came in 2003 after I’d just come back from Japan; I hadn’t seen the tree in years and when I went to where I knew it should be I couldn’t find it. That’s because I was looking for a sapling that had since grown several meters in height.

I’ve heard rumors that UCSC’s unbridled expansion will eventually spill over into the field, gobbling up Darian’s garden and possibly my tree, as well. Hold tight, friend, and if that dark day does come, make them curse it as they struggle to rip your deep roots free of the earth!

Thank you for flying, Aloha

With the sudden announcement of Aloha Airlines’ bankruptcy at the end of March, Hawaii lost its oldest airline (61 years) and Aloha’s employees lost their jobs (1,900 and counting). Not to make light of this event, but all the news coverage got me thinking about my own fictitious airline that I based on Aloha: Paradise Air.

When Grandma and Grandpa took us kids to Hawaii in the early 80s, we used to play a game whereby each of us would stake out a corner of our hotel room and set up shop. Todd, Andy, Jenny, and myself had each created a “business” that we’d operate to barter with the others for goods and services. Kid-o-nomics. (I think somebody had a carnival, which was fairly ambitious.)

My great idea was to provide transportation to and from all corners of the room on a fleet of paper airplanes I christened Paradise Air. I still happen to have one these planes (number 22, the “Mighy Mo”!), and here she is. I guess part of me always wanted to be a pilot.

Standin’ at the crossroads

Last weekend I went to the annual HITESOL (“high tee-sol”, the Hawaii chapter of Teachers of English to Speakers of Other Languages) conference, mainly to attend the jobs panel. Talk about a wake-up call. Sitting there amongst the other under-employed, we listened to reps from some of the major language programs in town recite the same bleak litany: $18/hr (classroom time, but what about prep?); no benefits; chance of part-time work available (dependent upon enrollment); send in your resume, we’ll keep it on file. The gathering felt like a transitionary, “back to work” program for the down-on-their-luck. It’s times like these that the reality of your situation sharpens into focus right quick. The epiphanic moment.

Plainly put, Honolulu suffers from a glut of ESL teachers. And it’s not hard to understand why: for reasons that may seem obvious (upon first consideration), not everyone who comes here in pursuit of a degree returns to their point of origin (myself included). You’d think this would make for an employer’s market, but with so many teachers shuttling from job-to-job with one eye constantly on the lookout for any opportunity, the labor pool is in such a state of flux that long-term planning is all but futile. (Just yesterday I was asked if I’ll be available to teach this July. Get back to me June 30th…)

There are a few coveted full-time teaching positions here, but snagging them often boils down to networking, being in the right place at the right time, and plain ol’ dumb luck, leading to one all-important question: is it really worth it? Do I love teaching so much that I’d be willing to chase down a few hours here and there for far less money than I could earn waiting tables or schlepping suitcases?

Of course I’m being facetious, but at some point — if you’re lucky — you reach a crossroads where it becomes necessary to choose which it is you’ll nurture: your passion or your pocketbook. The truly fortunate among us somehow manage both, while economic reality and family responsibility force others to worry about getting food on the table first. No dishonor in that. At the moment, however, I find myself in a curious position somewhere in between — about to face unemployment, yet due to that very fact, free to determine the arch and trajectory of my next endeavor. And while I still have a bit of wiggle room before things become dire (which is itself relative), I need to be honest and ask myself if full-time teaching is where my talents and interests truly lie. I’ve known some fantastic teachers over the years; I just don’t think I’m one of them. As I’m fond of telling people, I’m not very efficient when it comes to putting a class together: whether it’s a warm-up activity or an entire lesson, I spend way more time on preparation than is feasible and in the end I’m rarely satisfied with the result. That’s no way to go through life, especially if you have a chance to do something about it.

Don’t get me wrong: I really do love the creative challenge and interaction that teaching presents. That said — and in the interest of full disclosure — I should mention that I’ve been teaching on a reduced schedule over the past several years. (The balance of my time going towards tech / curriculum / admin duties.) Having the luxury of time to invest in developing a single class each term has been wonderful. However, I’m afraid that full-time teaching would result in more harried preparation, stress, and reduced overall-enjoyment on my part, which would surely manifest itself in the classroom. I had a taste of this recently and it wasn’t ideal, let me tell you.

One option would be to continue on to a Ph.D. Not too long ago, Brian landed a sweet job in Nagoya, Japan (with a much more favorable salary-to-teaching hours ratio than you could ever secure with an M.A.). My hat’s off to him, but I don’t think I could pursue another degree at this point in time in good faith. (I’m having a hard enough time as it is finishing up my current program.) The original plan four years ago was to return to Japan and teach at the university level, but now I’d have to reexamine any motivation for wanting to do so. A lot of people, it seems, end up teaching English under the oddest of circumstances — again, myself included — and accrue a kind of momentum that becomes harder to shake off the longer you stay in the profession.

Plus — and I hate to say this — I’ve just eclipsed the maximum “preferred age” for most university teaching positions in Japan (I won’t go into detail about why that is… We’re talking about Japan, after all). But I’m not going to use that as an excuse to feel sorry for myself. I don’t think I’d actually be very happy teaching in Japan; even at the university level, contracts tend to be short-term so there’s always going to be anxiety over where the next opportunity for work will be. And, the last I heard, I’m not the only one with a career in this marriage.

(As an aside, I was recently asked to return to Kurume — as an ALT [assistant language teacher] at a senior high school, no less; I had to think carefully about how to tactfully turn down the invitation. I’m not saying I’m above that kind of work anymore, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d be pulling my hair out trying to re-direct such a misguided approach to English-language education from within. No, I think I can be much more effective from outside the system.)

After the jobs session had wrapped up, I changed back into my cycling togs and started for home with a lot on my mind. I thought a ride up and around the Tantalus / Round Top loop might do me some good so I dropped off my stuff at the apartment and filled up on water before heading back out.

Right where the road forks, at Baker Park, there was a group of kids playing touch football. It was really weird because as I rolled past, settling in for the climb ahead, the ball was snapped yet not one among them said a word; all I heard was the skiffing of bare feet on the drying grass. It was a great sound, full of promise and good memories. Just what I needed.

Good-bye P-House

On Sunday, February 17, Birmingham’s grand dame —the Parliament House hotel — was demolished to make way for the future. Opening its doors for the first time during the strife of mid-60’s “Bombingham” Alabama, the Parliament House represented new hope and became the hip hang-out spot. Anybody who was anybody passing through town stayed at the P-House, myself included.

My connection to the place can be traced directly to Case, who worked there for a time as night auditor while attending UAB in the early ’90s. Because of the hotel’s toll-free 800 line, Case and I spent many a late-night hour on the phone together. So yeah, I have a bit of a soft spot for the old gal.

(Case, what the hell is going on here? First they sink the Deyo and now the P-House exists only on Google Earth’s outdated satellite photos. Talk about erasing your past…)

(History of the hotel)
(Parliament House demolition photos)
(local news story)
(implosion video)
(Birmingham library digital collection)
(photo of Casey working at the P-House)

Spring is here!

Only in its third year, the Amgen Tour of California has already become the unofficial harbinger of spring (in my book, at least). I have to admit not being able to muster much enthusiasm for the race in 2006 (too early in the season, too short, too local, etc.) but I’m starting to come around. The field this year has quite a few heavy hitters, including the return of The Lion King: Mario Cipollini, coming out of retirement at age 40!

Now, I don’t follow professional road racing year-round. I prefer to ease in beginning with the Tour of California and slowly build up through the spring classics, leading up to the Tour de France in July. (By the end of the third week, though, I’m left feeling pretty spent — all those nights of getting up at 1 and 2 in-the-morning to watch live coverage… but I wouldn’t have it any other way!) Thus, it’s always a bit of a surprise come February when I’m faced with all the changes that have taken place in the off season. This year the re-shuffling is crazier than usual.

First, Cipo is cycling again? (Who saw that one coming? I sure didn’t. Does this mean we’ll see the return of the zebra suit?) And there’s a bunch of new teams I never heard of before, plus some old stalwarts that have disappeared: Discovery, gone; T-Mobile, now Team High Road. (I won’t say I’ll miss those pink jerseys, but they certainly were iconic.)

With Discovery’s disbanding, Johan Bruyneel has now gone over (defected?) to Astana. Astana! Remember Vino and and the doping accusations that forced the team to abandon the Tour de France last year? And Johan’s taken Levi and Alberto with him. Things are so discombobulated that Astana’s website is johanbruyneel.com, where there are photos of Johan still wearing a Discovery shirt. (Discovery’s old fansite, The Paceline, now seems totally lost at sea. With the tagline “The official fan club of Lance Armstrong and the Discovery Channel Pro Cycling Team”, I think it’s past time to abandon ship.)

What may take even more time getting used to is seeing George (Hincapie) riding for the former T-Mobile squad. At least Tom Boonen is still wearing his trusty blue Quick Step kit, which is a reassurance.

In Germany: “not a big deal”

Earlier this month, Harry Richard Landis, one of the last two surviving American veterans of World War I, passed away in Florida. (Nate, thanks for reminding me of this.) I know it’s rather grim to track these sort of things, but I also see them as cultural milestones. And, for a few minutes, I don’t mind reading and thinking about the Great War, the suffering endured by so many, and the effect of its outcome on much of today’s geopolitical strife.

When I heard the news I recalled an earlier story about the passing (on January 1st) of the last-known German veteran of the War To End All Wars, Erich Kaestner (pictured). I found this equally fascinating, if not more so, due to the fact that Kaestner’s death was kept rather quiet in the German press. (It wasn’t even reported until weeks after the fact.) As Der Speigel observed, “the German public was within a hair’s breadth of never learning of the end of an era.” No thanks to the German Defense ministry, either, which doesn’t maintain records on World War I veterans.

Even Kaestner’s family didn’t make much fuss over their father’s latent notoriety. It seems they would have been happy to forget the whole matter — if only were it not for those pesky requests from Americas seeking an autograph. (Kaestner didn’t reciprocate.) Son Peter reflects on the matter thusly: “In Germany, in this respect, these things are kept quiet — they’re not a big deal.”

(Link to Harry Richard Landis article)

(Link to Erich Kaestner article)

Please, do NOT save Ferris

(First off, if you like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or keep a special place for it in your heart, don’t take personally what I’m about to say.)

Oh my god, does this movie suck.

I don’t know what inspired me to request it from the library in the first place. (Perhaps it’s the fog of 80’s nostalgia I’ve been trying to negotiate my way out of after watching the entire run of Freaks and Geeks over Christmas vacation.)

I should have known better, too, since I remember not liking the movie back in The Day. Which is odd, too, since in 1986 Ferris had everything going for it that I should have identified with: suburban-Chicago kid in his last year of high school skirts the system to create his own adventure writ large and, in doing so, shows the adults it really is better to be 18, clever, carefree, immoderate, and iconoclastic — rather than submissively get in line to don the “square” mantle of adulthood without so much as a last stand. I mean, that was my life (only off by a year). So why didn’t I buy into it?

Probably because this movie sucks. (And it’s not that I just don’t get it, either, though I’m willing to reconsider. If anyone could forward me a critical review that elucidates some brilliant and subversive sub-text that I’m just not picking up on, please, by all means clue me in.)

Yumi and I suffered through the first 40 minutes before ejecting (both literally and figuratively). I can understand why Yumi didn’t connect, but I’d watched the movie in it’s entirety at one time and so had a history with it. Guess I’ve just outgrown the genre. Or, more likely, little that I identified with in 1986 has much relevance to my life these days. Duh.

While I was at it, I thought I’d also give Caddyshack a screening — seeing as how I’ve never watched it. (!) Fortunately I didn’t pay to see this movie in a theater because that would have been time and money out right out the window. That said, it was tough to watch — neigh, endure — in the background even as I busied myself with other things. At this rate I think I’ll forgo other “period” films in the same vein that somehow got by me. Porky’s, anyone? I think I’ll just stick with Turner Classics.

(By the way, this is why I don’t care to recommend films or books to other people. I know there are legions of Ferris fans out there — my cousin being one of them. For me, though, I know a film just isn’t working for me when all I can think about are the other things I could be doing instead of watching it.)

Dave Fogeybeard or How I Yearned to Stop Growing and Shave the Beard

This Dan Fogelberg album cover creeped me out just enough to take action. (No comment on why I would have been looking at a Dan Fogelberg album in the first place.)

Adrian Cardoso Crain

I just found out this morning that Chad and Denise became parents on December 31st, and to prove it, here’s Adrian Cardoso Crain! I’m so happy for the two of them, but was surprised (and a little ashamed at myself) to learn that Denise had even been pregnant. (!) Guess it has been a while since we last spoke… In any case, this is great news. Here’s one little boy who has a lot to look forward to with Chad and Denise for parents, don’t you think?

Sailing off forever into that good night

I admit to having been a little surprised at the news that Netscape Navigator — the venerable browser that was, for many of us, our first portal into this new dimension and space called the Internet — will be quietly taken off life support next month. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s lasted this long. What began as huge leap forward in browser technology (remember even wondering what a ‘browser’ was?) soon became hampered by proprietary short-sightedness and more versions than you could shake a stick at.

But I used to love seeing that old Navigator splash screen upon startup. In the early days, at least, that image of a ship’s helm rising up out of a dark sea horizon, set against a starry sky of shooting meteors and plotting tracks… oh, it was enough to get the adrenaline pumping, let me tell you. It really did feel like you were setting off on a journey into the unknown: not sure where the voyage would take you, but with the knowledge that it would almost certainly be good. (I wonder, though, how many accumulated hours were spent staring at that hypnotic, pulsing “N” while sitting out the agonizing wait of unbearably-slow page loads…)

I especially enjoyed reading the Netscape odes and reflections on BoingBoing — one writer wonders how we got copies of Netscape if we didn’t have browsers to begin with! Hmm… how quickly we forget. (Link)