Please Smash My Guitar

My ability to play guitar has not reached its potential, nor will it ever. There is room for improvement. There is a giant cavernous abyss for improvement.

They say you're supposed to train your weaknesses, so I'm working on "finger-picking", which may sound dirty to the uninformed and immature - shame on you and your filthy mind. The song I have chosen for practicing this technique is Such Great Heights by Iron and Wine (actually by Postal Service, but I'm using the Iron and Wine cover, so there). You may recognize it from the soundtrack to Garden State.

Yes, I know. Believe me, I too want to punch myself now. Garden State soundtrack? Iron and Wine? I might as well just grow my hair out, buy a $30 Che Guevara t-shirt, and feign outrage over social injustices in third world countries over my Venti Iced Mochacchino. Goddammit, why'd I have to choose "Such Great Heights"? Well it's a pretty little number, and my skill level is actually improving a bit, so it'll be okay.

I'm actually thinking of playing at the Open Mic night that Will and I have been attending every week. It seems to be pretty low-key, with the talented ringers getting as much applause as the hacks. Being a hack, I wouldn't mind cutting my teeth in such a setting. In fact, I've even started writing a song for the occasion, because I don't think they really want to hear me cover Journey.

Writing about this musical endeavor has brought an image to mind that refuses to be shaken: the scene from Animal House where John Belushi finds a ballad-singing guitarist and responds appropriately. It is an odd duality to face; I am simultaneously excited to flex my creative muscle and compelled to mock myself as an emo hipster also-ran.

Dizzy, Revisited

The following is the phase plane for three activations of a certain biological system (have to be careful here, don't want to be scooped). It's isn't immediately obvious why this phase plane behavior is so patterned, especially not over three trials. In fact, it was totally unreasonable to expect anything like this structure... and yet, here it is.



I knew I was onto something back in January, but I had no idea it would be so... so pretty? Have I reached the point where I look at variability, see underlying structure, and think "beautiful"? Cool.

edit: For my lay audience...
Notice how the 3 dots are sort of chasing each other, like dogs in a park. There is no reason to expect them to chase each other; in fact, we would expect them to mind their own business, or run around willy-nilly, or maybe even twitch a little. We definitely don't expect them to chase each other.

edit #2: For my engineery audience...
Sal asks, "so what's the take home message?" to which I respond "my thesis just got a whole lot more fun"

Blasphemy!

My classmates and I are taking out a prospective grad student tomorrow for dinner. On the department's dime. Life is good.

So we're sending emails back and forth, coordinating the time and place for this outing. Here is an excerpt from the latest...

---

"We have reservations at Delta's... for 6:30pm under 'Nicole'.
They have karaoke at 9:30 so if people want to stay and show off their singing abilities that would be great (feel free to invite others to meet you for a night of singing fun)."

---

Ahem. Thursday night. Karaoke. At not Harvest Moon?

Infidels! Blasphemers! Heathens and heretics!

It's fun to exaggerate. But no, I will not be attending karaoke at Delta's. In fact, hell no.

Weekend Update

Throughout the weekend, I kept thinking to myself "this event alone is worth a blog post". Well, it's Monday now, and as I sit down to write a little something for you, it is just too much.

Conceding defeat, I will update you on my weekend in the form of listed blurbs. Sorry. But hey, there are some pictures! So, that'll be swell!

+++My friend Jamie directed a play, The Pillowman. It was a low-budget college production, and there were only seven actors. I attended on Friday night, and I was very, very impressed. Jamie warned me beforehand, "this is a dark comedy... very dark", and she was right. The play's drama swept me up, it was riveting and moving and profoundly disturbing. I found myself laughing, but feeling guilty for laughing... that's probably what they were going for, so kudos to them. Also kudos for their endurance; the scenes were each about 45 minutes long!

+++Jamie had also invited me to the cast party, held at her house. I know her housemates from the Karaoke, so I was looking forward to it... until they told me that the theme was "No Clothing". Nudity was also banned, but the clothes had to be made of material that is not clothing, so skin was an inevitability. I've been to toga parties, blacklight parties, and Hungry Hungry Hippos Parties, but I'd never been to a party like this. Fortunately, I am quite comfortable with near-nudity, and my evening in a cardboard loincloth was an absolute blast.
Note the cardboard sixpack
+++I had to leave early, because I was racing in Philadelphia on Sunday. And by "early", I mean really f'in late. They say that what matters is how much sleep you get two nights before the race, and I woke up on time, so no harm done. The race was exactly what I expect from a collegiate race, and my fitness is exactly where I expect it to be at this time of the year. My performance on the penultimate climb has me optimistic, knock on wood. Also, I proved that a faux-hawk can survive an hour in the team's new Rudy Project helmets, thus making them the best helmets ever.

+++Still gross from the race - the young'uns asked me repeatedly to clean the snot off my face, and these are guys whose tolerance for grossness is unprecedented - I drove to Bensalem to meet up with Shoshi, my "little sister" from Case Western Reserve. We went to Neshaminy Mall (is it weird that I was excited to be near Neshaminy? No, it is not) for smoothies and coffee. I groaned and creaked like an old man, but it's been 15 months since I got to see Shosh, so I was beside myself.
+++Then I had to say goodbye, because there were things to do back in Jersey.
This photo breaks my heart every time I see it. I hate saying goodbye to my little sister.

+++After a much-needed shower, I was ready for my weekly man-date with Jay #1. It was business as usual, by which I mean we ate, drank, and were merry. It is a fantastic tradition we have going, if only because exotic beers are half-off on Sundays at Old Bay. Also, Jay's not so bad to hang out with. Also there was a band.


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In an email tonight, Jamie said "I hope your lack of sleep... didn't affect your performance at your race!" It was a sweet sentiment, but there is only one possible reply:

Oh please! This weekend was an adventure, and a rare one at that. I can't imagine sacrificing any one part of it, even for the benefit of another.

Don't Fear The Blogger

Thesis: There is a stigma to blogging, and that stigma is stupid.

More to follow when I have time.

Lucky

Folding a never-ending pile of laundry affords a nice opportunity for thinking, assuming I don't totally zone out. Late Wednesday night, the small mountain of Downy-fresh clothing in my basket, coupled with the soul-crushing dearth of televised entertainment, gave me ample time to let my mind wander.

I started thinking of a list of material goods I could/should buy, a list of my Wants and Needs. It wasn't intended for publication on the blog, and so it will remain. However, taking a step back, one feature of the list jumps right out:

My list of Wants and Needs is incredibly short.

I am a lucky man.

Granogue is Nigh: An Open Letter to Jay #1

Dear Jay,

Registration for Granogue (the MTB race, not the cyclocross race) opens on Monday. The race is May 3. The suffering will start at 9am.

It is on, Jay. It is so on.

There are other races going on that day, I guess. We'll cheer/feed Charlie, of course, and any other Rutgers racers who aren't riding the sport class. But oh, Jay, the Sport Singlespeed race... this will be our Waterloo, our Gettysburg... nay, our Armageddon. Let this be the ultimate battle between Good and also-Good.

May 3, Jay. May 3. Yes.

Love,
Don

Poor Will

Poor Will couldn't race this weekend because of back surgery.
Poor Will was sick with a cold on his birthday.
Poor Will just had his blog post stolen... by me.

It's okay, though, because his alternate post is rather excellent, a well-written essay on the arrogance that is seemingly ubiquitous among the fast guys in our sport. The topic may be low-hanging fruit, but Will still climbed to the top of the tree with this post.

Posts this good are rare. They are especially noteworthy when they come from a blog that is most famous for being the first result from a Google image search for "fat guy".

Seriously. Search Google Images for "fat guy". As of this writing, the first link is from wcuk.wordpress.com

Poor Will is fat, too.

In The Pack

"To extend yesterday's metaphor:
Yesterday, I didn't drown. Today, I actually managed to doggy paddle. I rode in the pack the whole time, and while it wasn't comfortable, I think I've proven to myself that the challenge of racing B's can be overcome.

I am happy with how I raced today."

I put the above in quotes, because I wrote it all in my head while still racing.

Fitness..........Check
Handling........Check
Focus............FAIL

Off The Back

From 2005-6, every collegiate race I did had unpleasant results. I'd start with everybody, try my hardest, and inevitably lose contact with the pack. I'd chase for a while, and then I'd get pulled out of the race. I didn't know what was going wrong, only that I was suffering a most disgraceful defeat every time I toed the line.

You may recall that last March, I was overwhelmed by a newfound ability to race. Will had "never seen someone so happy to finish dead last in the pack". By the end of the month, still racing in the C division, I was reporting my races with dismissive nonchalance. I was comfortable in the C's, and this comfort continued through the summer as I raced the corresponding non-collegiate 5 and 4/5 races.

This year, I've moved up to the B's. I'm not intimidated, though. There is only one way to improve, and that's to venture beyond your comfort zone (gah, am I getting repetitive?).

So. I lost contact with the pack. Shades of 2006. And yet, a silver lining:

I didn't get dropped, per se - that is, I didn't run out of energy and find myself unable to keep up with the pack. Instead, I raced a tactically stupid race, tailgunning (riding at the back of the pack) for 3 laps. The onus was on me to move up, and I didn't (and to no small degree, couldn't). When someone 5 spots in front of me let a gap open, I was, like everyone around me, suddenly dropped.

Rather than panic or give up or do any of the counterproductive nonsense I used to do, I formed a chase. A rider trying to catch the pack alone is screwed, but a group stands a chance.

We never caught the pack, my little band of chasers. Skidmore, UVM, Drexel, Bard(?) and I took turns in the wind, minimizing our losses over the ensuing 30 minutes. We eventually finished (no small feat on a 0.6 mile course), although this would not have been the case had the race been but one lap longer.

It truly does suck to ride off the back. I want to be the protagonist at the front of the pack, perhaps even the (dare I say it?) winner... not the gasping, grimacing, doomed chaser earning pity-applause from the spectators. This was not how I wanted today to go.

Then again, I will allow myself to take a little bit of pride. Just a little. A dash, perhaps, or even a pinch. I threw myself in the deep end today, and while I wasn't quite swimming, I definitely didn't drown.