Senator Jeff Klein cyclist incident

All of this is from Gothamist. Please don't sue me.

State Senator Jeff Klein Curses the Wrong Cyclist

Ooh Mama, State Senator Jeff Klein—in the news recently for calling out restaurants with health code violations—just got his ass handed to him by Colin Beavan, who many know as No Impact Man for his very public effort to reduce his environmental impact to zero. Beavan was riding his bike near City Hall yesterday when a black Mercedes started drifting into him. To avoid being pinned between the Mercedes and the parked cars to his left, Beaven knocked on the Mercedes's window to alert the driver to his presence. That driver, according to Beaven, was Senator Klein (pictured), and Beaven's written an open letter to the pol about the ensuing exchange:

At this point, you brought your vehicle to an abrupt halt, not to avoid hitting me, but because you apparently needed to communicate something to me. You rolled down your window and said, "Get your hands off my car, you fucking asshole."

I said, "You were veering into me and going to crush me."

You said, "You better not touch other people's cars. You might find that touching other people's cars is more dangerous than traffic."

This gave me the impression that you were threatening me.

Read more here, including the letter.

"Existentially-satisfying pleasure"

Not presupposing that soulmates exist, or that there can be only one, or that the confessor has a potential soulmate or love in his or her life already, I am frustrated by this secret.

Let's say you do have someone in your life whom you could love and who loves you. Would you rather live in a fantasy world of television, which brings temporary pleasure, than have longer-lasting, more existentially-satisfying pleasure? Substitute anything in your life that applies for "television". Control, safety from hurt, pride, education, philosophy, fear of the loss of independence, habit... you continue the list.

I guess that the confessor does say that he or she would rather watch the fictional couple be together than meet his/her soulmate ("match"), implying that he/she would have to go out and find him/her; not necessarily, though. Sometimes the match comes to you, but you're unwilling to accept it.

Perhaps the confessor believes that the amount of pleasure derived from a great storyline (insert your thing here) is the ideal, and staying "safe" in that world is better than risking a relationship. Who knows? It's not. Ultimately, the pleasure we can access when we are with another, with the right one who loves, honors, humors, and challenges us, is better. It is a risk with the potential for ultimate reward.

What did William Sloan Coffin say about the prison of selfhood and union with life?

In the end, what will save your life?

Existentially-satisfying pleasure...I'm going to mull that over*. It relates to soul, heart, mind, and body, all of which are real, as is love, but sometimes hidden or incomprehensible (though not necessarily permanently).

*I want to say "mull over that", but I think that in this case, common usage defeats grammar.

Pastors, reclaim your rights!

The Alliance Defense Fund (defend your alliances!) is encouraging pastors to reclaim their First Amendment rights.

The new initiative will equip, protect, and defend pastors who wish to exercise their First Amendment right to openly discuss the positions of political candidates and other moral and social issues from the pulpit. Participating pastors across the country will deliver a sermon along these lines in their own churches Sept. 28.

The ADF claims they are fighting back against leftist intimidation and leftist groups' use of tax-exempt laws to censure pastors from speaking about politics.

I don't want churches telling people how to vote. It's not that I don't think that it's inappropriate for discussion (hey, ethics, old friend). I just don't trust humans enough not to be morons.

How's that for loving?

"How then does the divine benevolence display itself...?"

You readers who believe in a benevolent divine being, is there something that keeps you going in your belief? Do these things come from your intellect? Do they come from your heart? I'm not hoping for modern apologetics, which I sometimes find distasteful and intellectually dishonest, but your basic reason for believing in a good God.

pardon the masculine terminology:

"Is he [God or something like God] willing to prevent evil, but not able? then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?"

(oops - that's from Hume's Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion - I'll get you the page later)

I know there are others who believe in no deity, and still others who more readily see or believe in a malevolent god. Then, there are you who go back and forth or waver (which is not bad) among the positions. Yep. I like hearing what you have to say on it.

Me, I'll keep my thoughts out of it for now. I'd rather hear yours.

edit: I leave the anonymous option for comments on purpose.

Let's talk about this photo.













One might think, 'Eh, it's a so-so (?) Bottecchia. No big thing. You don't need a New York Lock.' Even so, this lock is really inadequate for this bike. Even if you don't know much about bikes, you must know that this isn't a POS Huffy from Wal-mart.

Taking it even further, it's got (at least) Campy cranks. I didn't check the other parts, though I know the brakes are Mavic.

Don't do that.

Seen outside the Yale Forestry School

Two notes for Wednesday

1. Note to gym-goers

If you can't control your weight, get a lighter weight.

Tonight there were a few guys lifting heavy at the gym. About half of the time, they were lifting really heavy, straining and all that junk. Cool. Way to be. Whatever. Slamming your heavy weights on the floor after you've grunted and heaved is poor form and practice. It's loud, and it's silly to do it even when it's just a 55-pound barbell. It becomes obvious that you're trying to draw attention to the fact that you're lifting heavy. Stop. It's annoying and disrespectful to your fellow gym-goers.

2. Good bike deed

Back in February, I won some pink bartape, donated by Yojimbo's, in one of the Tour Da Chicago stages. The tape didn't have any adhesive on it, and I figure Marcus donated it because he got it for free, or was compensated for it by the company. It worked, though, and looked pretty great on my green Voodoo Wazoo. The plugs/end caps did not stay in, though, and despite my best efforts to keep them on my bike, I eventually lost both somewhere on the streets of New Haven. Bummer, but I was just going to physics run its course and eventually get new tape.

I walked out of the graduate student bar tonight to my sweet, sweet Frankenstein bike*, and as I was unlocking it, I saw two silver plugs stuck in the end of my handlebars. I think it happened today, sometime in between going to the gym at 7:30 and getting my bike at 11. Someone saw the problem and went and got a solution, completely anonymously. I really love it, and even though this was not a safety issue, I appreciate an act that showed care for another.

edit: Now that I think about it, my bike was parked near one of New Haven's bike shops for a couple of hours yesterday. Perhaps a mechanic wandering on his lunch break saw the problem and acted.

*A sometimes-malfunctioning mix of Sram, Shimano, and Campy parts.

"Live for each other"

(listen to this)

It's not from a Hallmark Card. This phrase comes around occasionally. Sometimes it's the tag on my tea bag. Isn't that quaint? The eight-fold path from my Herbal Detox-i-tea.

Live for each other.

Ok.
Why?
How?
What?

Here's where that takes me in the midst of this transition, in a broader search to know how to live for each other:

Does willingness to be in service to others have to come from love? What role does obligation play? How can one be better at being loving when the sources of love are far away? Does it come from the self? Does it really actually seriously come from God?

I have times where I understand and believe that and where I felt love (in platonic [yes, both kinds], philial, romantic, agape, erotic, and familial ways) pouring out from my heart; sometimes feeling joy at its reception, sometimes longing for the other's reception of my love; not always sure about its reciprocation, yet feeling it from others, even before I knew how to give it. It's been those times when it's been easier to be kind or forgive.

Blah, blah, blah self-examination. Onward to the shadow of a point:

I think we find true satisfaction only in a few ways; real satisfaction, I mean. The satisfaction that makes you feel OK at the end of the day, that is fulfilling deep down, beyond possessions or status or appearance or ego or whatever else that you or I use to feel OK. One of those is through loving people. Another has come through in this "living for each other" thing, which is connected to loving people.

Yes/no?

Aaaand, because this isn't a diary, here are some non-emotional photo updates from this weekend in Florida:












My high school reunion

I am glad I went. Ryan Farley, Stephanie Vick, and I walked home 3.5 miles at 3 a.m. from Pelican Larry's. If I do that once per year (that is, go out to Pelican Larry's at all), that's sufficient. I think that most of the people who attended were married, and of those, at least half had kids. So, I got to play with babies and then give them back to daddy or mommy when it was diaper time. All the perks with no cost.

We went to a football game on Friday night, where we chatted with this man:











Our high school band director. He looks the same, except for the cornrows.

This is where I went to high school:

















This cold weather fascination that most of you have is weird.

Autographed Copy of Plato's Republic

1st edition of The Republic signed by its author. There is of course a reasonable amount of wear and tear, (light highlighting and underlining, dog-eared pages, back cover missing, etc.), but it is in overall good condition considering its age. First come first serve

I'm flying to Florida tomorrow to attend my 10-year high school reunion. I wasn't going to go to this. I didn't want to dive into a weekend where people are looking to compare their lives and look down on each other. I can get that right here without worrying about how I look or making small talk. I mean, I'm not a failure (is there really such a thing?), but when I left school I had wanted a few other things in place by this time. I've grown from then and realized that my priorities and needs have shifted a bit, so I'm more at peace with where I am than I was two years ago and thought I would be at age 28.

It was Alex who convinced me by chanting "come on...come on...come...on" and talking about missed opportunities etc. Jerk.

In the end, it's a chance to get away for a weekend, see some old friends, play with two amazing dogs, see my grandmother, and go to the beach. Oh, and wear fancy clothes for one night.


















Did you go to any of your reunions?

Classes are rolling. More on that later. I'm trying to feel community and nurture here, but when you're new in town, you kinda have to make it up yourself, especially the nurture part.

Mansfield

Just south of the old Winchester firearms factory
Just west of The Whale

Why?!

Encounters with ethics and philosophy have usually produced one of two responses in me:

'What are you talking about?' (Say this with question marks and exclamation points.)

or

'Why are you talking about it?' (Say this with a little bit of a whiny tone.)

Sometimes we have clear moral and existential questions that bear upon our lives, the relief of suffering, the formation and action of governments and other practical crap. Other times we have questions that just feel that they exist to a) exercise our brains (neat) or b) make us feel smart or worthwhile or c) let us show off in front of others so that we can feel any number of things. B) and C) have been reasons enough to keep me away from philosophy and philosophers, as they are rife with C especially. More on this later. Sometimes we have questions that are a mix of all of these and more, and I fear and love the questions that I can't just brush off because they simply exist to feed one's ego. (Your affirmation can come from elsewhere.)

I'm enrolled in an ethics class and a philosophy class this semester, and I am excited and apprehensive about them. Sometimes, when I read philosophy, and to a lesser extent when I read ethics, I feel like there's a game of verbal ping pong in each sentence and I am watching the ball go back and forth quickly while I am trying to catch the words, their meaning, their context, and while I am shutting out the background noises and thoughts that distract so well. I don't know if I am programmed to do these things.

The great and hard thing is that a work might stand in opposition to what I feel (I should write more on "feeling" later, too) and believe and aim for. R. Niebuhr had a small handful points in this morning's reading to which I wrote "ha!" in response. Of course the man is/was far more developed and educated than I, and I offer those "ha!"s humbly and with detachment from the need to be right in the situation, if there is a right at all. (What is the outcome, I ask you. That helps me determine what's right.)

Today it's hard to read with attention, perhaps I am a smidge hungover and extra tired, perhaps that my heart has been going up and down and pulled and pushed, perhaps because I haven't been in school in more than six years.

Given this struggle with ethics and philosophy, one might wonder if it's a good choice to consider strongly a concentration in ethics. Just consider, in keeping with my non-committal theme of grad school.

I'm listening to David Bazan wail "Hallelujah".

Solitude

I've carried a print-out of this poem by Thomas Merton with me since March 2007. I release it here:

If you seek a heavenly light,
I, Solitude, am your professor!

I go before you into emptiness,
Raise strange suns for your new mornings,
Open the secret windows
Of your innermost apartment.

When, I, loneliness, give my special signal
Follow my silence, follow where I beckon:
Fear not, little beast, little spirit,
(Thou word & animal)
I, Solitude, am Angel
And have prayed in your name.

Look at the empty, wealthy night
The pilgrim moon!
I am the appointed hour,
The 'now' that cuts
Time like a blade.

I am the unexpected flash
Beyond 'yes' and 'no,'
The forerunner of the Word of God.

Follow my ways and I will lead you
To golden-haired suns,
Logos and music, blameless joys,
Innocent of questions
And beyond answers.

For I, Solitude, am thine own Self:
I, Nothingness, am Thy All.
I, Silence, am thy 'Amen.'

Another Sun submission

In his fifty years, Bill hadn't gotten far by most people's standards. He had little schooling, and he parked cars at a second-rate restaurant. I parked cars there too, but I was just a kid. It was 1959.

As I moaned about the heat one July night, Bill shared some wisdom: "Did you ever plop a scoop of vanilla ice cream in the middle of a cantaloupe and eat it on a hot summer day? Now, that's nice."

I tried it, and it was nice. Damn nice.

He called his small house a "castle," his run-down car "Sweet Bess," and his plain-looking wife "God's jewel." I thought of other adults in my life: a doctor who was leaving his wife and kids for his nurse; a rich salesman who couldn't stay sober. Bill parked their Caddies and MGs, and they tipped him half a buck - a buck if they were drunk - and smiled at him as if he were some poor soul, never realizing he had the peace they yearned for.

Carl Koestner, Albuquerque, New Mexico
May 2006

Better

730 Rachel 28 F 2:04:44 (Net Time) 1:01:32 (Split) 2:06:20 (Time) 10:10 (Pace)

I don't know if Net Time means Chip Time. If so, great, because that's almost two minutes faster.

In last year's Chicago Distance Classic, which is a half-marathon, I got 2:27:41 for my chip time. That's a pretty good improvement, if I may say so, for a race that is .7 miles shorter. I'm no Pre, but I'm content with a 10:10 pace.

Within mile two, my legs said that they weren't that interested in running very fast today. I objected, noting how I excited I was to race the multiple times I woke up in the night. 'We effing trained for this, don't lose it because you didn't get your coffee.'

The race organizers had water at every mile, which is better than the CDC. They also gave away Gu at mile 7, which I held for the remainder of the race and started at mile 9. It was so sweet and I felt like I was having dessert. Icky?

It was a good course with four or so hills. I got to see some parts of town that I hadn't seen yet. There were individual families and organizations that added a few extra water and Gatorade stops along the way, including one older lady who worked by herself handing out cups of Gatorade on a stretch of road near the water. There were lots of folks cheering on the runners.

I don't feel like I got my high much, except for between miles 9 and 10. We had the most shade then, and the sun was really draining for the rest of the race. I didn't do much walking, unsure if taking a small break would re-energize me or just turn off the running momentum. (ugh. someone please teach me how to write again.)

I wasn't clear where the finish line was, unfortunately, so I didn't get to start my final sprint until about 50 yards away. I had more in me, mysteriously. Somehow, no matter how dog-tired you are by your 12+ miles, you can pull out a final, strong sprint. I really enjoy that.

Fruit, bagels, bread, cookies, ice cream, doughnut holes, and beer. I had half of a doughnut hole and two bottles of water. I couldn't stomach anything else. I want to believe that beer would feel great right after a really hard event, but it never has. So, next time we hang out, we can get that celebratory beer, ok?