It's the Economy, Stupid.

Thomas Friedman may believe in pre-Columbus geography, but he's got this one right.

New York Times OpEd

I'd like to follow up Mr. Friedman's column with this video --

Harmless Sparks / Fewer Moving Parts

David Bazan is probably one of the greatest song writers in our generation. Go buy and listen to his stuff.

Writing Life

I finished up my auto-ethnography this week. It was a rigorous but beautifully ending assignment. I won't regret it. I'm just gonna throw it out there on the web for all interested in downloading it and reading. Excuse the weird formatting - blame it on the pdf converter. Here's the link.

Thanks!

http://www.mediafire.com/?jzipdmnnx4b

Ok, this is kinda nerdy....

Gapminder for all those that care about graphs and information.

Hydrogen as Alternative?

Lots of news out about the potential of hydrogen cars. Toyota has this new one in production too. There are still many issues that need to worked out before we all have the chance of getting on though. Some estimates range up until 2040 or 2050. I think that's too long to wait and we need to act faster. Hopefully, after our current gov. administration gets out, we'll be on the road to gaining hydrogen as a feasible alternative to gas.

http://blog.wired.com/cars/2008/03/hydrogen-cars-a.html

The Free Section

Yesterday, I went over to Ed McKay Bookstore in Greensboro with Jenna. It's her favorite place to go look for children's books to add to her classroom library. Since I have nothing I really need, I thought I would browse the free section. I found some nice little library additions of my own.

First, I found Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness which was recommended to me earlier this week by an old man I met in the coffee shop. Seems like quite a good book.

Second, I found J.Dimenna's album Awkward Building, which I am actually enjoying. It's not often you find a free CD that you really like. I'll definitely be heading back to the free section again.

I prefer Jon Foreman on his own

Death Cab Live Session

I'm talking to plants...

"I was born this past spring into a beautiful home. We both know that I am privileged to have spring up here. And our chances are probably the same - to find ourselves in such a position. Here amongst family and friends, situated perfectly so that at a quarter to eleven and half past two, the sun shines shines down on my limbs. And now you, the sun shines on you not so consistently. So be jealous of me for I know when the sun will come eveyday. I know i can count on the success it provides. I've now seven branches and more on the way. I will be the tallest tree in this whole forest."

"You simple, naive twig. Brag about your consistancy? Have you not seen a cloudy day? You will. Have you not felt winter? You will. Have you not noticed you're in a park, not the forest? You should. Have you not felt the sting of whiling string slicing you down to a stub? You will. Pride now, pay later. You'll learn."

Why am I talking to trees and holding them in contempt? Of all my options, I choose to give it a presumptive personality. And I did this because I'm jealous and need to avoid it. Give it a voice it will never have and tear it down to feel more alive. And still, nothin seems more alive than that little plant.

Through the Trees

Last week, I got back into the home studio and laid down a new song. Here's the demo:

http://www.filedropper.com/throughthetrees

Fishing Boats in Swansboro

My uncle David is a working artist and historian living in Wilmington, NC. He is featuring this watercolor of a fishing boat from Swansboro, NC. As always, its an amazing work:

Yesterday's Fathers Day celebrations went well. I spent the afternoon in Raleigh at my grandpa's house. It was good to catch up with everyone for a little while. If you missed Obama's comments on Fathers Day, you should listen/watch.

You Remind Me of Home

I wish we could do this for a living. I'm ready when you are.

Farming on the Z-Axis

Why are we not doing this:

Let's Get Clear About Healthcare

Aptera

What we all need:

Say Yes! to Obama

A few weeks ago, Chris Lowrance over at Yes!Weekly designed this cover. It wasn't used but I loved it.

Vive la Vida

I'm kind of in love with Coldplay's new single. They do it to me every time. Here it is (video) in case you've not heard.

Three Fourths of a Good Thing

The Busy World gathered for a busy photo shooting afternoon out in Durham a week or so ago with Rachel Self, the photographer. I've posted a few of the photos from that day. One of the members was too busy to make it out. See if you can spot who it is!

Life is Hard to Remember When You're Trying to Forget

I'm writing my life story for an extremely fast ethnography course this summer. The trouble is, life seems to be a random collection of stories, tied together by a few characters, of which you never can wholly know. With that difficulty, I'm attempting to construct some sort of coherent and hopefully entertaining story to have in hand for the rest of my life. The first chapter is about where I came from and my early memories. Most people can't go back any further in their minds than the age of four, and I am no different. So I wrote about what I could remember: Grandma, our lower/middle-class neighborhood, how big everything looked. I've just started on chapter two, a bit more indepth look at my relationships with my family. Here's a draft of a section about my dad and me:

The family: We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together. -Erma Bombeck

“Son, I’m proud of you.” My dad and I stretched out under a tent at night by Falls Lake after a long day of hiking, paddling and cooking.

“…thanks dad. That means a lot, you know.” We sat in the silence - the silence of nature that is, which is not the same as the silence of men. No, this silence consists of water lapping the edge of our cove, the crickets and frogs chirping and gulping and the swift breeze running quickly through the trees. The silence of nature can never be awkward like the silence of men. In nature, there is so much to admire, to become preoccupied, with its beauty. The problem with the silence of men is that there is nothing to become preoccupied with except your own thoughts – thoughts often negative because of their preoccupation of self.

“Man, I love it out here. Don’t you like listening to the all the noises”, my dad whispered, to not to disturb nature’s silence.

“Yeah”, I whispered back, “It feels good to get away from the city for a while.”

“Heh, you’re telling me.”

You see, my dad actually really deserved the opportunity to get away from the city, much more than I did. I usually just said that, even though we both knew that I had a much less stressful life. I was a pre-teen, and there is nothing stressful about that except for the fear of making a bad decision. Even then, my bad decisions did not have a huge effect on my life then or for the future. I stressed about what my friends really thought of me or how I was going to pass math class. My dad, on the other hand, had a real family to support with a real job. He had employees to manage and clients to pander to. He worked as a regional manager at Hardees’ Restaurant, founded in our hometown actually. His day normally started before six a.m. so that all the early birds (old people) could get their biscuits and coffee before their long day of doing nothing, cat napping, doing some more nothing, eating an early dinner and finally retiring to their bed shortly before the hour of eight o’clock. While they were all going about that routine, my dad was staying on his feet, constantly between different Hardees. His job was to make sure all of the managers were doing their jobs properly. Now my dad did not come from the corporate world to manage the unique individuals that staffed the restaurant. My dad, himself, started as an employee then manager before his larger position became available. It was in his early days as manager that he met my mom, an employee still in high school.

“What time do we need to get up in the morning?” I knew the answer the answer to this question before I even asked. Just in case you ever go camping with my dad, just know that he will be up with coffee before you’ve even thought about picking the nighttime crust out of your eyes.

“Well, I’ll be up to make breakfast. I’m sure you don’t need to sleep any longer than 8 or 8:30.” I knew what that really meant though: be up around seven or you’ll probably miss breakfast. I always worked futilely to set a mental clock or sleep lightly so that I could wake up when my dad did. It never worked, no matter what. I wished I could be like my dad. I hoped that I could at least turn out slightly like him, and then I’d feel accomplished as a person. I didn’t think this just because he could wake up early. I thought it because he was an all around great person. I don’t think I could ever write down all of the ways my dad proved this. His work never seemed to be mere work. It was a chance to meet someone new, start a new conversation, friendship, a chance to offer his help. By the time I was in high school, he knew all of the homeless people in our town by name. We often had over visitors to our house that were poor, drug-abused or helpless. A chronic homeless man would borrow our ladder to perform odd jobs for people around the neighborhood. A young mother and her baby found shelter in our house during a hurricane when her home was unsafe and she felt scared. My dad’s heart has for years been larger than anyone I’ve ever known personally. It is the piece of him that I want the most. And moreover, for this man to be proud of me, the self-consumed pre-teen boy, seemed ludicrous. His pride in me felt undeserved and at the same time, sustaining. It was a reflection of his love for me. Again, an example: to love because I have been loved first.

The silence of nature grew louder and sang to us. It didn’t take long for dad’s snoring to settle in. Dad always fell asleep before I did. So I laid for what seemed like two hours, to fall asleep to the battle of the nighttime soundtracks: snoring and nature.

-to be continued.