I borrowed a Danger hiptop (T-Mobile calls it a "Sidekick") from work for the weekend, and I have to admit, aside from shoddy cell coverage, that it's damn cool - web browsing (I'm composing this entry on it right now), AIM, email, and a phone all in one device. More at Hiptop.com.
I gathered some airport statistics from Airports Council International, and drew up some charts which I found interesting. The first is a graph of total passenger activity by airport, (ranked in descending 2000 order) and the second is the percentage change thereof by year, and also for the whole timeframe (2000-2002). US airports with heavy Asian traffic suffered the most (LAX, SFO, MSP) during this period, with other domestic hubs also faring poorly. Airports with the highest increases were located mainly in Asia and Europe (HND, AMS, MAD, HKG, BKK). As the first chart shows, there's been a global slowdown over the past few years.
It’s Labor Day weekend. As far as we’ve drifted from trust-busting, the New Deal and the heyday of union power, we still have this remarkable vestige to remind us that... we don’t really care about the history behind it, so long as we get a day off. In Germany, they observe this holiday somewhat earlier, (coinciding with the long-standing festivities surrounding spring’s full bloom - originally a pagan fire fiesta), drink beer with a 10% alcohol content, and dine on roasted suckling pig. Germany celebrates labor day on the first of May along with most of the world’s industrialized nations, and as America itself once did. Strangely, despite being one of the prime movers behind the inception of a workers’ holiday almost universally recognized on May 1st, President Cleveland dictated in 1887 that the first Monday in September should henceforth be set aside for this purpose. This proved to be convenient, as it later allowed Labor Day to be distanced from the now dyspeptic May Day, rife with communist connotations after the myriad red scares of the 20’s, 30’s, and onward. May 1st became Loyalty Day - a day each American still proudly honors by remaining utterly unaware of its existence and (5 times out of 7) not receiving the day off from work.
So, I thought to myself, what could I do to commemorate a holiday expressly designed for the oppressed workers of the world? How could I recapture the shimmering hope and palpable, pulsating empowerment of the labor movement from a time when 50% of the workforce belonged to a union? What would be my homage to the trampled, downtrodden proletarian of yore working 18-hour days in a sweatshop, dreams deferred to the point of insignificance?
Then it came to me, as these things usually do, in the form of an email invitation from a friend: I would go to the Hamptons - a place so synonymous with blue-collar accessibility and working-class solidarity that I could nigh feel it begging me, in a highly-anthropomorphic voice reminiscent of the gruff, earthy, and noble tones of a hard-working longshoreman or coal-miner, to come embrace the ethos of the labor stratum on the forgiving loam of its glory-steeped shores.
After a couple o' months and two visits from the Dell technicians (who bear stunningly little resemblance to their TV coworkers), my computer appears to be again working. This makes me positively ecstatic, and should result in several positive outcomes:
1) increased blogging
2) warmer lap for winter
3) prompter email responses
4) daily repeated playback of Sade's "Smooth Operator" while romancing myself in a full-length mirror (a man could get lost in those eyes).
I'm not dead. I'm just preoccupied, and since my computer's still broken, I have to post from work, where I'm especially busy.
I wasn't too busy, however, to notice yesterday that the NYU kids are arriving. I walk past two residence halls on my route home, and after a few months of laying dormant, they are now crowded with arriving parents and "students".
I watched them transform themselves last year, from fresh-faced kids looking pretty much like your average college freshman to:
1) obnoxious trend junkies hoping to catch the eye of some recruiter from Williamsburg with an invitation to join that oh-so-hipsclusive club soon after.
2) noxious fashion junkies hoping to follow in Lauren Weisberger or Plum Sykes' high-heeled footsteps if it (or the anorexia) kills them.
3) bibulous budding music scenesters who equate iconoclasm of dress with talent.
4) brooding bookish McSwooners hell-bent on breaking through that paper ceiling of mass adulation, but not at the expense of lit cred.
These are all fine ambitions, but their outward displays need to be tempered significantly, which I suspect the remainder of college does for some. I wish this year's class the best of luck in duplicating the efforts of their predecessors, and I look forward to mocking them, silently but with malice, anew.
I hate to admit this, but the blackout was immensely enjoyable. Highlights included drinking at candle-lit bars, relaxing on my roof with an eerie view of the darkened skyline, attending an impromptu bonfire in Tompkins Square Park, and a nice (and free) bus ride followed by a day in Central Park. Some pictures are below.
The jet lag is not as bad as I was led to believe, but is still in some ways inconvenient. Take, for instance, my inability these past few days to sleep past 6:30. Lots of people wake up this early, but usually because it's necessary for whatever morning ritual constitutes preparation for arriving at their occupation with reasonable punctuality. I, however, now have a surplus of time and don't know exactly what to do (suggestions not welcome). One beneficial mitigating tactic is walking to work, which is nice, even in the deplorable climes of late.
This morning I pulled out the big gun: television. There's no better way to kill time. And not normal killing either: it uses a sandpaper garrote and slowly chokes the life out of time while it holds time's face up to a mirror so time can see what it looks like when asphyxiating. Then it eases off, giving time the fleeting hope that it might make it through the whole escapade alive. But TV's a rat bastard without remorse or regret, a cold killing machine sent back in time to aide the rise of the machines. Just when time thinks it has a chance, television whips out the soldering iron, and time realizes it's only going to live long enough to experience its own little private Burning Man festival (which it turns out takes several hours - television gets off on this). As if that weren't enough, TV then makes it look like a suicide (don't ask).
Anyway, has anyone watched "Headline News" lately? They had an interview with Arnold Schwartzenegger (captioned "Running Man" - 'cause he's running for governor of California, and he was in that movie, "Running Man"... get it? You have to move pretty quickly to keep up with these mass-media types, so don't feel bad if it's a little over your head) which was so much more than a fluff piece. I mean they were asking some penetrating, hard-hitting questions, and when Arnold gave responses that might be considered evasive they kept pressing and pressing until he eventually broke down and wept silent tears of torturous anguish. They'd obviously done their research, bringing up some of the legal quandaries and moral issues at the center of the whole gubernatorial recall campaign. Arnold, who's no slouch in his own right when it comes to constitutional law (J.D. from Yale: first in his class) looked positively flummoxed by the anchor's deft inquiries!
Ah, must I mask the horror of reality with blatant lies?
Yes, I must. If you had seen it, you would be delusional too.
I picked up a couple of T-shirts (the ones with the wacky English) for folks while in Japan. They read as follows:
(1)
The day filled in the benefit.
The day when the heart was set to one. We
step toward a leg,
and
we follow marks and enter in the light
of re-union
Listen to my talk. Two talks.
One is the glory
which fell. One
is the tale of
affectation.
It got angry
and the
roof in the
world was out
of order.
But
we
looked
good.
(2)
feel + inclined
it was love at first sight
Stood before the door repatedly ,and it knocked. how is the door of your heart opened if it carries out? Many key are fitted over a keyhole. Until a duplicate key is found. I want you to accept me. I want to turn out to be you for each other.
Now I'm back in the good ol' US of A, where we always abide by the letter of the Geneva Convention. On that note, I propose we file charges against 20th Century Fox and United Airlines for producing and airing From Justin to Kelly, on the basis that it constitutes an egregious crime against humanity.
