One Soldier

We keep hearing from the Bush Administration that the situation is improving in Iraq. They cite the large turnout for elections and the drafting of a constitution. Perhaps there is some validity to their claims. But every day, new soldiers are being sent to Iraq. One of them will be writing about it here. If you don’t have a friend or relative in Iraq, this running diary is the next best thing. At least for me, the war has become in many respects just background noise on cable news. This is a powerful reminder that Americans are fighting and dying for us everyday.

2000

2000 American soldiers have been killed in Iraq. By the time you read this a few more will have died. It took four fewer months to hit 2000 dead as it took to hit 1000 dead. Does anyone think it’s going to slow down anytime soon?

Do you remember back when we launched our first offensive in March? Fox News was covered in American flags and gleefully describing how easily we were capturing large sections of Iraq. If someone had gone on TV and said that less than three years later 2,000 American soldiers would be dead and many times that would be seriously injured they would have been labeled Un-American. But that is what has happened. Is it Un-American to feel anger over the death of some of our bravest men and women? 2000 young American men and women have died. How many more will die? 3000? 4000? 10,000?

Read more about it here.

Poem of the Week

He was among my father's favorites, but sadly I did not discover the genius and power of this poet until I was studying for my English Comprehensive Exams at Kenyon College two years after my father had passed away. There's a lot I feel I've missed out on having my father die when I was only nineteen, but I feel quite acutely how much I would have enjoyed discussing this poet and his poems. It's only human to want to feel a connection to your past, to your ancestors. That's part of what makes this poem so powerful to me. I'll write more about it after the contest has neded for this week. Enjoy!


Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.

Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus. This would I say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.

Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head

Druid. What would you, Fergus?

Fergus. Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.

Fergus. A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

Fergus. I see my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things
-A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold -
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.Ah!
Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

Didn't I just read that?

As my perceptive readers have surely already noticed I recently wrote two blogs about the same event. Am I going crazy? Was that an early senior moment? Have I lost my short term memory a la the Memento guy? No, no plus raised eyebrow, and no. Actually, as has happened many times to me after writing a long email to a friend, my post failed to go through and was deleted. At least, so I thought. I discovered, after rewriting the post tonight, that the original post had been successful uploaded to the blog.

So now, dear readers, you are in the unique position of seeing two retelling of the same story by the same person. Judge for yourself. In my opinion, this proves the old adage that the second time to write something it comes out better because you’ve had time to take a look. Perhaps that will make you feel better the next time Yahoo deletes an email you spent half an hour writing.

New Tourist Attraction

I went out Friday night with friends from Ridgewood. 201! Represent! Just kidding. Anyway, after sucking down two dollar PBRs down in the Lower East Side, we decided to move on uptown to Jakes Dilemma. In case you’re unfamiliar with Jake’s Dilemna, it’s exactly the same as the Gin Mill, Brother Jimmy’s and the other bars that cater to Yuppie NYC twenty somethings with large disposable incomes. There always a good time to be had,; alcohol and classic bar songs will always see to that, but I usually feel a bit silly afterwards having spent another night amid black tank tops and stripey shirts scene that is the current NYC nightlife. But I digress.

So, there I was, standing around with a bunch of friends, covertly scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone worthwhile around. This trio of Asian girls caught my eye. Totally cute, but oddly attached to each other. It was a rare moment when one of them was not holding hands or otherwise attached to another. And occasionally, all three would huddle up like a pint sized football team and confer for several seconds. Anyway, after a few minutes they disappear to the back of the bar and I forget about them until they return a while later. I glance over occasionally until suddenly one walks over, grabs my arm and motions for me to come over. She says something, and holds up what looks like a camera, so I naively assume she wants me to take a picture of her and her friends. Actually, she wanted her friend to take a picture of me and her. What could I say? A few seconds later that’s exactly what happened. Then, one hastily asked for my name before they all scurried out.

Should I consider myself some sort of tourist site now? My friends wasted no time letting me know how hilarious the situation was. And I wasted no time turning my cheeks a rosy red. Ahh, New York. You never know who you’ll meet.

Friday Night

Went out last night with a bunch of friends from Ridgewood. 201! Represent! Anyway, at the popular bar "Jakes dilemma" I found myself shyly smiling at a trio of Asian girls. They seemed to be having a good time, likely having consumed multiple vodka cranberries earlier, but were curiously very attached to each other. Every couple of minutes they would put their heads together like a pint sized football team in a huddle. They're hands and arms were always connected and they were passing a single beer back and forth. Then, to my surprise and slight shock, one walked a few steps over to me, gently grabbed my arm while holding up a camera and asked if I would take a picture. At least that's what I naively assumed. Actually, they wanted to know if they could take a picture of me with one of them. I didn't really see how I could say no. With a camera phone no less, they snapped two shots of me and one of the girls. Then said thanks, quickly asked for my name and then scampered out of the bar. My friends, who of course had been watching the whole thing, quickly asked, "What the hell was that?" I shrugged my shoulders; who knows?

What Good is a Blog...

If you can't promote your friends. Go here to learn all about the life and times of one Grace Yi-Ting Lee. A self styled ABC (American Born Chinese) her family orginally came from Taiwan, bought raised young Grace in the lovely suburb of Ridgewood. We met while attending Ridgwood High School and bonded in the back of the Latin classroom. I enjoyed checking our answers together, by which I mean I would see if I got the questions right by asking Grace.

After graduating from RHS, Grace traveled north to Dartmouth University where she received a degree in History. Currently she is continuing her education at The University of Texas School of Law and LBJ School of Public Affairs. Besides studying, Grace enjoys consuming alcohol, returning impulse purchases, practicing the art of omphaloskepsis and really hopes to meet an attractive, intelligent, moderate Republican. Her live journal is current, off beat and always a satisfying read. Enjoy.

Where's David Madden...

When you need him. Ok, it's not that urgent, or even necessary, but I have a question regarding hurricane names. I was reading an article on Yahoo and discovered that, "On Monday, Wilma became the Atlantic hurricane season's 21st named storm, tying the record set in 1933 and exhausting the list of names for this year. The six-month hurricane season does not end until Nov. 30. Any new storms would be named with letters from the Greek alphabet, starting with Alpha." My questions is this: Since there are 26 letters in the alphabet, why are there only 21 possible names? I know, I could google this, but I was curious whether any of my readers, (I'm pretty sure I have readers) know this off the top of their heads.

Sidebar: Stephen Colbert, on brand spanking new and hilarious Colbert Report brought this up as a "Threat to America." He warned, as Bill O' Reilly has been known to do, about current threats to the American way of life. Apparently "Greek Hurricanes" are on the list.

Sidebar: For those of you not fortunate enough to go to Ridgewood High School, David Madden was one of the smartest kids I've ever met. We took four years of Latin together and he seemed to know everything. Turns out, he really does know everything, as he was Jeopardy champ for several weeks. Now that is a tradition of excellence.

Sidebar to a Sidebar: "Tradition of Excellence" was displayed in large letters on the side of Ridgewood High School for all to see. It really is a public school, in a town so wealthy, it acts like a private school. Kids graduate in white tuxes or white dresses and you should see what the school sends to each and every college its students apply to. Very impressive, if you like that sort of thing.

Tuesday

Today was my day off from the Tennis Club and I must say I did not exactly make the most of it. I did work for a solid hour on a short story, and thought I made some good changes. We’ll see what people think. Anyway, I had big plans to walk through Central Park on my way to the Met, but instead I just took a nap and then it was too late to make it before closing. Oh well, there’s always next Tuesday.

It’s weird having my “weekend” on Tuesday. In some ways it’s nice. I get a random day off, so it’s easy to take care of errands, go on adventures (see my ambitious goals for today), etc. But, then again, nobody else is free, so I have no one to adventure with, or just sit around with and watch Law and Order.

Ok, I guess I don’t really have much interesting to report. At least it’s stopped raining, that’s something we can all be thankful for.

Poem Winner

Ms. Shanna Spinello who tells me she is "Proud to Not Know the Offspring Song."
Nevertheless recongized William Shakespeare as the poet and was kind enough to send me her favorite sonnet.

When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon my self and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least,
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate,
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

I'm not writing you a paper...I'm at work. All I really have time to say is
that every week my favorite changes...so to be fair, I chose an old standby.
Thanks to Meg Schaeffer for making it an acting warm-up. Always nice to walk
into a freshmen lit class with a few sonnets under your belt.

Fashion Tips

Just got back from my two nights, one day trip to West Chester, PA where I visited my good friend John and his lovely girlfriend. They were kind enough to feed me Tuesday night and give me run of her apartment which to my delight contained a TV, a DVD player and the first season of Lost. It’s amazing how quickly a day can go by on the couch.

Anyhoo, John just wrote to thank me for coming and to make a fashion recommendation.

"You should also look into buying some G-Unit sneakers. There is nothing
like having a big huge joke on your feet at all times. If I could I would
wear them to work. Be careful though...they're like the OG Jordans...you
can get mugged for 'em.

John is a wise man. Check out his Friendster testimonials for proof.

Belated Poem of the Week

Now renamed "Poem of the Fortnight."

In keeping with our theme of the pain and heartbreak of love, I move to far more well known poet. I first read this poem in middle school and was reminded of a classic Offspring song. Bonus points if you can name that song. Both answers to be revealed shortly. Enjoy.

WHEN my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O! love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.

Vinny and the Jets

To the delight of New York Fireman and sportswriters everywhere, Vinny Testaverde’s return allowed chants of J-E-T-S to continue prodding the New York football Jets to victory, and ensured the continuation of such witty headlines as “Vinny and the Jets,” and “Vinny, Vedi, Vici.” In a movie script story, Vinny, 41 years young, called the coach from his Long Island house after watching the Jets number one and number two quarterbacks go down with injury, and needed just six practices before leading the Jets to a dramatic victory over the previously undefeated Tampa Bay Buccaneers.

So hope has returned to beleaguered Jets fan, who are all too familiar with losing seasons. Now at 2-3, the Jets stand a mere one game behind Division leading Super Bowl Champs New England. Of course, such hope is fleeting, as a crucial divisional game looms this Sunday against the Buffalo Bills. But for us long suffering Jets fans, hope that we might qualify for the playoffs and then maybe win a few round is all we ask for.

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Weekend

It started off a bit auspiciously as I took a wrong turn on Rt.17 on the drive home from work while the rain came pouring down. But once back in New York, I quickly found a parking spot and rushed home to shower before meeting friends at the subway station. A relaxing night of drinking and carousing ensued starting with free wine and Chinese at the Columbia Kitchen and proceeded to friend’s apartments and various bars in the Columbia area. It seemed a fine start , but little did I know the trouble has already begun.

I woke up Saturday to the sound of rain and discovered as I dressed for work that in my recent move to New York I had neglected to bring any rain gear. So, I got a bit soaked on the way to my car and was looking forward to turning on the heat full blast for the drive out to Jersey. But when I got to my car I noticed a few items were sitting he drivers seat and others were strewn about the car. At first bewildered, I slowly realized my car had been broken into. Had I left the door unlocked? No, the right rear vent window was smashed and broken pieces of glass covered one of the seats. I sat in the car as a sickening feeling of violation crept into my body. Anger, fear, frustration, helplessness. I joked to myself it was almost enough to make someone Republican.

At least my car hadn’t been stolen, I thought to myself. I’d drive to work, then go home and figure out what to do. But then the other shoe dropped; my car wouldn’t start. It would turn over for a half a second and then die. Crap. I tried again. Nothing. I waited a few seconds and tried again. Nothing. I check my watch, not enough time to catch a train. I called my brother. Thankfully, the Yankee game has been rained out and he was willing to pick me up. To expedite the process, I told Sean I’d meet him at 95th and Broadway right off the exit from the Henry Hudson. It speeded things up, but got me even wetter. I got to work a bit late, but they understood and four hours later I was back at home being consoled by Mom. Moms are always good for that.

So what did I lose? Just about every CD I own, which if you know me, isn’t too too bad, certainly less disastrous than it would be for some friends of mine. But still really sucks and even worse, my tennis bag had been stolen along with all three of my good rackets, and a “Kenyon Tennis” sweatshirt, one of my favorites.

And luckily, after I took the train back to the city, I got my car to start. (I think I had stepped on the gas in the morning and flooded it) Then had a good time at a party on Canal Street, which I’ll write more about later.

The luster of living in the city has left for now, but I’ve got my first New York experience under the belt and am no worse for wear- though about to be out about 150 for a new window.

New Blogger

You can admit it you saw her next to Bush and thought she was old school, not cool enough to have a blog. But check it out. Live and in color is Harriet Mier's blog.

Update: This is a parody.

Friendster

I admit it. After years of resistance, I joined and subsequently became addicted to Friendster. It wasn't long before I added to my internet friend validation site addiction by joining The Face Book. I suppose it's inevitable that I'll eventually expand again and try MySpace.

Anway, Friendster recently added a new option allowing you to see who has viewed your profile in the past month. This change was done without fanfare, so most people were unaware of the option to adjust your personal setting so people would not be able to know you had looked at their profile. As a result, when the big change was made, I was able to see just about everyone who had recently looked at my profile. Among the viewers: an ex girlfriend's ex boyfriend, a high school friend's ex-girlfriend, a 31 year old woman in a relationship, a random hot girl whose profile I had looked at a few days ago.

I am a big fan of the change, but others are dismayed. One girl writes:

Well this is Fuckin Humiliating

what good is friendster if you cant view all ofyour friends and their friends
without worryingabout the ramifications. i mean, this is how I occupy most
of my work hours as pathetic as it is.

For my part, I like being able to see how has looked at my profile, even if it hardly matters as I look at many profiles just for the heck of it. However, I did change my personal settings so that people can't know I looked at their profile. Make of that what you will.

Tuesday Tuesday

Tuesday is currently my day off, so after sleeping in for the first time in what seems like ages and then lounging around the house, I packing up a few more things and headed into the city. There was an unexpected delay at the GWB for some construction, but after that I coasted into the UWS and found a parking spot right on my block. Score!

My goal today was to set up my room and it was a lot easier than I thought. First, I cleaned, which is a rare activity, but it felt good to know I was moving in to a spic and span room. Then I unpacked all my clothes, hung up a few posters: my large reproduction for Caspar David Freidrich's "The Wanderer and the Sea," and a odd picture of a bar filled with dogs I purchased my senior year of college at the second hand store in Mount Vernon. I mentalled sorted the different locations for additional desks, futons, etc and came up with a workable idea. We'll see how well it all works out.

Having finished the room, I turned on the baseball game (The Red Sox are losing!) and started reading "Bobo's in Paradise" by David Brooks. It's good, but not as good as I hoped.

Now I'm getting hungry, so I'm going to turn the water for pasta. Life in the city has begun, and I like it.

Poem of the Week Winner

And the winner is...JP Hufnagel who has a quite bit to say about everyone's favorite latin lyric poet.

Like...pop-punk bands, Catullus exposed me to things I knew next
to nothing about, but desperately wanted to experience-namely, love and all the
drama that goes with it. "Let us live, and let us love..."said Catullus to his
lover..."Give me a thousand kisses," old Catty said. That sounded pretty hot to
me, who had only recently discoveredthe art and science of kissing (Thanks,
Random Girl From Toronto Who I Met While Vacationing With My Family!).

In my favorite Catullus poem, Number 85, he says:

"I love and I hate, 'why do I do this?' perhaps you askI don't know, but I feel,
and I am tortured."

I'm not sure why, but at the time, I really wanted to feel that intensely
about another person. The drama and confusion seemed like the price of being
in love. And if Catullus tended to overdo the tortured artist bit, well, that
only made him more authentic in my eyes. The fact that he'd written dozens of
poems about the same girl treating him like crap seemed indicative of his
devotion, not of his immaturity. The way that Catullus described love was how
love was SUPPOSED to be as far as I was concerned. Later that spring, I
would meet my first real girlfriend, with whom I had a very intense, butless than
stable, relationship for the next two years. Back then, I thought our
on-again, off-again, manipulate-each-other's-emotions thing was literary and
kind of cool, and I partially blame Catullus. Having studied Classics
in college, I have had many occasions to revisit Catullus. I have to say, he
holds up a lot better than Sublime ever will. The economy of his language,
his really cool use of meter,and the blunt way in which he expresses himself
are still reallyappealing to me. At the same time, his perspective on love,
of which Iwas so enamored at seventeen, seems rather narrow and silly and,
well, false. Like I said, you can't go back, bro.

So as you may have inferred from our favorite Catullus poems, JP and I were not exactly lady killers in high school. JP actually figured out who the poet was after I told him the first line. No great feat you say. Well, he then proceeded to recite the entire poem...in latin. Very Impressive.

Anyway, stop by next week for the second Poem of the Week.