Equations

I had a chat with Mike today. It’s always good to talk to him for a long time. It gives me a chance to type lots of crazy things and such. He mentioned that his cousin and sister were both twenty-one now. That blew me away. It seems that every week I see or hear something that reminds me how old I really am.

And I know I’m still very young, but I’ve come quite a long way. We’ll see in another year or two how many are left from my class who haven’t “settled” at least a bit. Weird.

The Old Days were, of course, good, but I’m convinced that these days are 1000s of times better. It’s Tim’s theory of XAll days previous + XToday = XAll days previous + 1. It basically states that in terms of happiness and experience, each day equals all other days plus one extra unit of something (not sure what). In this fashion, each day we live is just a little more than the aggregate of what we’ve already lived. Sweet, I guess.

But for now, it’s a question of figuring out how to chart the progress of the 1978 Communist Revolution in Afghanistan. This is not at all easy.

Additionally, things are just peachy.

Since They Wanna Know

In case it hasn't been gazed upon: http://www.breakaleg.tv/video/2007/7/25/the-pilot-part-1.html - Yes, it's that good, and it just gets better.

It occurred to me that I should really be listening to more rap. This is, of course, difficult given the recent loss of the ENTIRE COLLECTION of my music. I just happened to hear a few tracks from Obie Trice's last CD, and it reminded me of just how good he might be. Of course, Eminem tends to attract people like that to him.

I have a thing for underground hip-hop stuff like Bus Driver and many of the Chicago groups, but even mainstream acts tend to surprise. Take Clipse, for instance. "Hell Hath No Fury" was a tour-de-force, and the fact that I heard NPR reviewing it favorably only lends credence to the abilities of Pusha-T and Malice. I present "Ain't Cha," which besides making me want to rock back and forth in my seat, also contains this wondrous first verse:

Rugers spare I drapes, baking pies, baking cake
Hustling them E's and that C's and that H
While you probably talking frantic on the tape
N***az in the hood ain't tryna to hear "Man it was a mistake"
To call you a bitch, not a bandit at ya wake
Epitaph reading how much damage you could take
While I'm on the boat with ya bitch, salmon on the plate
I know why you liked her, the head it was great
Loving these bezels sets, change with no space
86 karats, you know how much digging in the planet this could take?
Patent leather BAPEs...Uh, uh! Closet like planet of the BAPE!
Monkey see, monkey do, monkeys following in place
Like I'm living in an episode of Planet of the Apes
You're watching the evolution of one of rap's greats
You n***az tryna take my place? Neva happen...

Naturally, some of this might not be exactly as it was meant to be seen, but these lyrics-sets are often heard rather than straight from the group. If you look closely, you can see what I'm talking about. Pusha-T actually raps from the end of the line. And it's all about the long a sound, of course, but I point special attention to the line about digging. Wow.

Anywho, I'm sure that this track (just like every Clipse song) has something to do with hustling coke. But seriously, this is some good stuff. I end this with a little bit of one of my faves, who managed to absolutely slay one of my other faves on his own track:

Since I'm in a position to talk to these kids and they listen
I ain't no politician but I'll kick it with 'em a minute
Cause see they call me a menace; and if the shoe fits I'll wear it
But if it don't, then y'all'll swallow the truth grin and bear it
Now who's these king of these rude ludicrous lucrative lyrics
Who could inherit the title, put the youth in hysterics
Usin his music to steer it, sharin his views and his merits
But there's a huge interference - they're sayin you shouldn't hear it
Maybe it's hatred I spew, maybe it's food for the spirit
Maybe it's beautiful music I made for you to just cherish
But I'm debated disputed hated and viewed in America
as a motherfuckin drug addict - like you didn't experiment?
Now now, that's when you start to stare at who's in the mirror
and see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrased
And I got nothin to do but make you look stupid as parents
You fuckin do-gooders - too bad you couldn't do good at marriage!
(Ha ha!) And do you have any clue what I had to do to get here I don't
think you do so stay tuned and keep your ears glued to the stereo
Cause here we go - he's {*Jigga joint Jigga-chk-Jigga*}
And I'm the sinister, Mr. Kiss-My-Ass it's just a RENEGADE!

Etruscans

I remember one night when we still had the dining room table set up. This was, of course, before the dining room became the study and the study became the bedroom. We were playing a game of Gin. I like this game; it's got just enough capacity for aggravation to make it really interesting.

We were drinking pre-mixed Cosmopolitans with SKYY vodka. They were OK, I guess. Jets to Brazil was probably playing in the background, and I know there was some form of incense at work in the air.

Fast forward two years: I'm waking up at 4:40 a.m. and hopping in the shower. After having some toast, a banana, my vitamins, and a glass of tomato juice, I sit down where that dining room table used to be. I spend about half an hour browsing the morning's news, then slip on a shirt and tie and head out the door to go to the office. It's cold outside, and my footfalls are a steady clip-clap on the cement leading up to my building.

As I reach the third floor, I pause outside of Room 320. That's where it all started; where we trace it back.

And nowadays, I think of my times in that building, and the good (and bad) work that I did there. I think of warm nights back on the balcony at the apartment, and of the various move-ins and move-outs that accompanied my time there.

And I smile.

Nunc ubi Regulus aut ubi Romulus aut ubi Remus? Stat Roma pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus.

Regulations Are Important

143 MILLION POUNDS OF BEEF RECALLED.

That's enough to make two hamburgers for every living person in the United States. This is the beef that goes into school lunches - lunches that are eaten by little kids. Am I a vegetarian? Yes. Am I a militant vegetarian who pushes my beliefs on others? Not usually, but it's stories like this that make me want to outlaw cheap meat. Maybe if we were made to pay what meat really costs, in terms of energy, our environment, and our health system, we wouldn't be so cavalier about eating it all the time.

This is the largest beef recall in U.S. history.

You can't mistreat broccoli.

How Close We've Come

I stumbled (again) upon the story of Stanislov Petrov, the Russian officer who didn't press the Big Red Button back in 1983.

Full story here.

Little things like this usually make us wipe our forehead and shout "Whew! That was close!" The funny thing is, both the Russian and American arsenals are still on hair-trigger alert. My guess is (and I don't know about our Russian friends) that we're using Microsoft Windows to power our systems; I expect full nuclear catastrophe at any time. This winter might be colder than most, but nuclear winter is way, way cold.

The Gin Game...and Beefeaters, Anyway

Went and saw Paragon Theatre's production of The Gin Game by D.L. Coburn tonight. I caught the #7 north to 24th and Downing, then just walked over a few blocks. Stopped in to the coffee/ice cream shop to get a cappuccino.

As I sat in the Crossroads Theatre before the show admiring the set (it was really cool), I was struck by a very, very strong wave of something. I'm not sure what it was, but it made me want to rush out to DIA and get on the first flight to Heathrow. I haven't heard the London Calling for a time, and I guess I just forgot what it felt like. I could feel the sunlight in Kensington Park and the light rain that fell on me in Maida Vale. There was an urge for Strongbow Cider and shawarmas. And for that smiling Romanian girl who worked the Italian Restaurant on Queensway.

As much as I want to go traipsing about the ruins of Persepolis or climbing through the underground cities of Central Anatolia, there's still that magnetic something calling to me (screaming to me) to come back to the Square Mile, to Portobello Road, to Marble Arch, to Blackfriars, to the Tower, and back to late nights with Adam, Melissa, Matt and all the others.

Quando hominem taedet Londinii, eum taedet vitae.

There's Whiskey in the Jar

I quite accidentally ended up at Whole Foods this morning; just woke up in the Bulk Foods aisle. Weird, right? Anywho, I roamed about the place and picked up some sodium-free Nu-Salt. Apparently, it uses potassium chloride instead of the NaCl version. Picked up a bottle of High Country ginger kombucha, and finally bought a bag of mate. I'd put the accent on the final letter, but I still don't know how to do it with the keyboard.

For this I am eternally sorry.

Since I had some free time, I traipsed through the bakery/deli section, which has never been done. They sell Field Roast stuff! There was lots of bread. As I walked to the registers, I caught a wave of nirvana from somewhere. My guess is that it came from the bakery, but there's really no certainty.

I checked out and hopped onto the patio to drink the kombucha in the bright, bright sun.

Almost two hours later, I bought new blue jeans. As they say in Wigan...