LOTS.
I reiterate: Things are bad. Let's hope a bit that they don't get as bad as they reasonably ought to.
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Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tragedy. Show all posts
Thursday, October 9, 2008
How bad? Pretty bad...
So the DJIA fell approximately 45,000 points this morning, the S&P lost 322% of its volume, and the TED spread just hopped up about 800 basis points. What does this mean to the uninitiated in global economics?
I reiterate: Things are bad. Let's hope a bit that they don't get as bad as they reasonably ought to.
I reiterate: Things are bad. Let's hope a bit that they don't get as bad as they reasonably ought to.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Money
We're looking for objects of blame, be they the "greedy bank executives," George Bush, the Democratic Party, or irresponsible borrowers like you and me.
Well, my guess is that we all bear a certain amount of responsibility for this mess. It's not over yet.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
In the Grand Scheme of Things
"The chronicles of Jerusalem are a gigantic quarry from which each side has mined stones for the construction of its myths and for throwing at each other."The above quote comes from Meron Benvenisti, a former deputy mayor of Jerusalem. It reminded me a bit of an exchange that I had with a former professor when I informed them about an upcoming trip to Turkey. It went a bit like this:
ME: Yeah, I'm going to be hanging around Istanbul and we'll go down along the coast then inland through Konya and then finish up outside Ankara. It's gonna be sweet!
PROFESSOR: Isn't Turkey full of Muslims? Aren't they a bit violent? I heard they have a lot of terrorism issues there.
ME: Umm...no. It'll be fine. Seriously.
A year or so later, I was working with my boss to organize a student trip to Jerusalem and I ended up discussing the trip with the same professor:
ME: Yeah, I'm working to put together this student trip to Jerusalem. We'll tour through the Old City and see the Temple Mount and then go touring through Bethlehem and maybe even visit Ramallah in the West Bank. It's gonna be sweet!
PROFESSOR: Yes, it totally does sound sweet. I'm sure you'll have an awesome and inspiring time!
ME: Umm...yeah. You know that...oh forget it. Thanks.
I have a greater chance of being crushed to death by a vending machine than I have of being killed by a terrorist, anywhere. I fear heart disease, cancer, credit card debt, drunk drivers, and bad decisions by leaders.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
4000
4000 today in the Fertile Crescent
From Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen:
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
From Laurence Binyon's For the Fallen:
They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
You enter a tunnel of blinding white light...
Gary Gygax died today.
I thought of the time during that ridiculous battle that we were losing badly; I levitated Karl up to that floating purple dragon, Mortus, and he rolled a supercritical and killed it. We were in the gym back in high school. I think I actually shouted out loud when he rolled that 20. Destroying Mortus removed quite a few obstacles, including, in a strange way, the good dragon guy whose name escapes me. In any case, we came away from that battle with more money that we knew what to do with. Of course, it also set in motion a chain of events that would push Karl's character further and further away from mine, and eventually lead to me being installed as DM.
Then there was the Ice Cave expedition with my cousins and the twins.
Filling coffee mugs full of dice at Gen Con 1999.
Downloading maps from wizards.com with every intention of using them.
Playing Baldur's Gate all the way through in three weeks during detasseling season.
Attempting to write a full history and theology for the world that I inherited from Ian.
Tying cloth around my monk's fists, dipping them in grain alcohol, and lighting them on fire in the hopes of causing extra damage to a squad of assassins, only to burn myself half to death.
Drawing the World map with Karl in his basement. I wonder if it is still there.
Sifting through vintage guidebooks at Paper Escape.
Finding my uncle's First Edition rulebooks in the basement at the old farm.
Years later, bringing those same rulebooks to Gen Con 2001, where I had them signed by the man who hosted what would become the first Gen Con in his basement in 1966. Telling that man what an honor it was to meet him, just like thousands of kids that day had already done, and still being treated as warmly as I could have hoped.
Despite all its pop-culture baggage, Dungeons and Dragons has been, and will be, a significant part of the development of a great many people. For some, it was a way to escape the doldrums of daily life. For others, becoming someone (or something) else was a dangerous, exciting proposition. Say what you will, but D&D is an ingrained part of the lives of many successful people.
And we joke about the passing of Mr. Gygax, as I'm sure he would expect, with classic lines: "I guess he failed his save vs. death!" or "Must've run out of HP…"
He's gone to the great inn in the sky, to relax in front of a roaring fire with elven rangers and Halfling thieves, evil human wizards and paladins of pure heart, mysterious sorcerers and half-orc berzerkers. They will quaff tankards of mead, and recount the glory days of d20s and diamonds, goblins and gold pieces, and the overwhelming happiness that can come from sitting with friends and imagining yourself to far away lands.
Rest in peace, Mr. Gygax.
(July 27, 1938 – March 4, 2008)
I thought of the time during that ridiculous battle that we were losing badly; I levitated Karl up to that floating purple dragon, Mortus, and he rolled a supercritical and killed it. We were in the gym back in high school. I think I actually shouted out loud when he rolled that 20. Destroying Mortus removed quite a few obstacles, including, in a strange way, the good dragon guy whose name escapes me. In any case, we came away from that battle with more money that we knew what to do with. Of course, it also set in motion a chain of events that would push Karl's character further and further away from mine, and eventually lead to me being installed as DM.
Then there was the Ice Cave expedition with my cousins and the twins.
Filling coffee mugs full of dice at Gen Con 1999.
Downloading maps from wizards.com with every intention of using them.
Playing Baldur's Gate all the way through in three weeks during detasseling season.
Attempting to write a full history and theology for the world that I inherited from Ian.
Tying cloth around my monk's fists, dipping them in grain alcohol, and lighting them on fire in the hopes of causing extra damage to a squad of assassins, only to burn myself half to death.
Drawing the World map with Karl in his basement. I wonder if it is still there.
Sifting through vintage guidebooks at Paper Escape.
Finding my uncle's First Edition rulebooks in the basement at the old farm.
Years later, bringing those same rulebooks to Gen Con 2001, where I had them signed by the man who hosted what would become the first Gen Con in his basement in 1966. Telling that man what an honor it was to meet him, just like thousands of kids that day had already done, and still being treated as warmly as I could have hoped.
Despite all its pop-culture baggage, Dungeons and Dragons has been, and will be, a significant part of the development of a great many people. For some, it was a way to escape the doldrums of daily life. For others, becoming someone (or something) else was a dangerous, exciting proposition. Say what you will, but D&D is an ingrained part of the lives of many successful people.
And we joke about the passing of Mr. Gygax, as I'm sure he would expect, with classic lines: "I guess he failed his save vs. death!" or "Must've run out of HP…"
He's gone to the great inn in the sky, to relax in front of a roaring fire with elven rangers and Halfling thieves, evil human wizards and paladins of pure heart, mysterious sorcerers and half-orc berzerkers. They will quaff tankards of mead, and recount the glory days of d20s and diamonds, goblins and gold pieces, and the overwhelming happiness that can come from sitting with friends and imagining yourself to far away lands.
Rest in peace, Mr. Gygax.
(July 27, 1938 – March 4, 2008)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Vitamins
I eat a lot of them. They're good for many things. But that didn't stop my glasses from breaking the other day. Yes, they just snapped right the hell in half. Terrible business, really. They were broke like a 1932 Oklahoma wheat farmer. Oooh...too soon? Naturally, I was miles away from home, without contacts, with a bus to catch, during a snowstorm.
OK, the snowstorm was made up, but the rest is real. One of the people at the Potluck looked at my broken specs and said:
I responded in the affirmative, and I added that now, without the benefit of 20/20 vision, I wouldn't be able to defend against knife attacks. To which this same person responded:
It led me to think about how my glasses have defined me since 1993. Surely, the advent of contact lenses almost a year ago changed many things. I can wear sunglasses now without looking like I belong in some dystopian future in a bad B-movie. I hope the new vision-aids come in soon, or I may be left unable to see clearly.
Or worse, unable to defend against knife attacks.
OK, the snowstorm was made up, but the rest is real. One of the people at the Potluck looked at my broken specs and said:
Did that just really happen?
I responded in the affirmative, and I added that now, without the benefit of 20/20 vision, I wouldn't be able to defend against knife attacks. To which this same person responded:
I don't wear glasses, and I still can't defend against knife attacks.
It led me to think about how my glasses have defined me since 1993. Surely, the advent of contact lenses almost a year ago changed many things. I can wear sunglasses now without looking like I belong in some dystopian future in a bad B-movie. I hope the new vision-aids come in soon, or I may be left unable to see clearly.
Or worse, unable to defend against knife attacks.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Intersections
I went to Sidney’s this morning for coffee in the usual manner. Ordered a “Shot in the Dark,” which is basically their Peruvian blend with espresso. I explained that I had been born in Peru. This elicited some interested hoots from the wonderful coffee-ladies. Naturally, full disclosure necessitated that the truth be explained, and it was.
“Not really. It’s a small town in Illinois.”
But it became interesting again, right.
“Mom’s a soil scientist, dad’s a forester.”
Got my coffee and went my way. As I was crossing 14th Street, sans WALK signal, I was almost creamed by a pickup truck. This is no joke: if the driver hadn’t been paying attention, he would have turned me into a road-pie. It certainly didn’t help that I was wearing the following in brown: shoes, socks, pants, shirt, and tie. It wasn’t so much getting plowed-up by a truck that would have been embarrassing, it would have been that I was spending my time crossing the street thinking about stopping in at Sidney’s for coffee on a weekend. Maybe if the coffee-ladies weren’t so cool, I wouldn’t have almost got crushed.
Moral of the story: I didn’t have an adrenaline rush; no emotional response whatsoever besides humor. There was a mad smirk on my face as I made it across the street, though. Weird.
“Not really. It’s a small town in Illinois.”
But it became interesting again, right.
“Mom’s a soil scientist, dad’s a forester.”
Got my coffee and went my way. As I was crossing 14th Street, sans WALK signal, I was almost creamed by a pickup truck. This is no joke: if the driver hadn’t been paying attention, he would have turned me into a road-pie. It certainly didn’t help that I was wearing the following in brown: shoes, socks, pants, shirt, and tie. It wasn’t so much getting plowed-up by a truck that would have been embarrassing, it would have been that I was spending my time crossing the street thinking about stopping in at Sidney’s for coffee on a weekend. Maybe if the coffee-ladies weren’t so cool, I wouldn’t have almost got crushed.
Moral of the story: I didn’t have an adrenaline rush; no emotional response whatsoever besides humor. There was a mad smirk on my face as I made it across the street, though. Weird.
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