http://www.news.ucdavis.edu/search/news_detail.lasso?id=7227
This happened in student housing, in a different area from where I live. I ride through there every day.
Notice that all versions of events I have heard so far are very protective of the police even though they just killed a kid.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Friday, December 03, 2004
Upcoming days
Schedule:
Friday: Snowboarding at boreal, into the night. Play squash with pretty girl at night.
Saturday: Snowboarding at Sierra-at-Tahoe. Possible fresh snow.
Sunday: Rest, Sleep, Study, Projects
Monday: Snowboarding at Northstar-at-Tahoe. Fresh snow. Come back, give a very long presentation to class (mini-lecture, my first of the kind). Prepare morrow's test
Tuesday: Test, and then catch up on sleep.
Oh what a schedule! Yes I agree. Strainous, but I don't mind. I am even looking forward to it. And so now I got to bed anticipating days of fun.
I finished Pride and Prejudice. I understand why this is a worldwide favourite. Jane Austen's judgement of character is one of the best I have read. Actions make sense, and their reason are so exposed that I could not prevent bursts of laughter. This is a writer who wouldn't write about men talking to men only scenes, because she had never witnessed them. And to this attention to details, we owe such works as P&P.
Jane Austen is from a different breed of writers; ones that don't believe deaths and explosions necessary to a good story. I have been appalled at the success of Dan Brown. But I am prejudiced. Deeply so. The Da Vinci code is written horribly; a formula applied constantly and consistently. I wish that good writers would come forth, and show the world that classics get written; that they are not just the product of another age.
PS: Does anyone have advice on giving lectures? I was told by the professor to tell what I thought would interest the class. This relates to the marketing project I have mentioned. Papa, you should know one thing or two about the subject; delivery and content. And most of you are students with opinions on the matter.
Friday: Snowboarding at boreal, into the night. Play squash with pretty girl at night.
Saturday: Snowboarding at Sierra-at-Tahoe. Possible fresh snow.
Sunday: Rest, Sleep, Study, Projects
Monday: Snowboarding at Northstar-at-Tahoe. Fresh snow. Come back, give a very long presentation to class (mini-lecture, my first of the kind). Prepare morrow's test
Tuesday: Test, and then catch up on sleep.
Oh what a schedule! Yes I agree. Strainous, but I don't mind. I am even looking forward to it. And so now I got to bed anticipating days of fun.
I finished Pride and Prejudice. I understand why this is a worldwide favourite. Jane Austen's judgement of character is one of the best I have read. Actions make sense, and their reason are so exposed that I could not prevent bursts of laughter. This is a writer who wouldn't write about men talking to men only scenes, because she had never witnessed them. And to this attention to details, we owe such works as P&P.
Jane Austen is from a different breed of writers; ones that don't believe deaths and explosions necessary to a good story. I have been appalled at the success of Dan Brown. But I am prejudiced. Deeply so. The Da Vinci code is written horribly; a formula applied constantly and consistently. I wish that good writers would come forth, and show the world that classics get written; that they are not just the product of another age.
PS: Does anyone have advice on giving lectures? I was told by the professor to tell what I thought would interest the class. This relates to the marketing project I have mentioned. Papa, you should know one thing or two about the subject; delivery and content. And most of you are students with opinions on the matter.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
What transpired on the week-end
I spent the last few days in the semblance of a ghost town. The only real conversation I had with members of the community was with a man who claimed his name was Karl, and that he was a Marxist. I declined his invitation to dinner; he laughed like a maniac and left.
This Marxist, I have observed, has attached himself to a girl who is very fond and proud of her pink clothes collection; perhaps his sacrifice, for it is one to rid the population of this girl, is his first contribution towards the common good. Before it, the pink-wearer, aptly named Madeleine, had come and presented herself, and a friend of the same kind, to me. She had sat down and crossed her anorexic legs appropriately, and had spoken of little things. She is Australian, she says. And in a way she is, but I prefer to see her as a blight on all of us, not just on Australia. But this gentle Karl has wooed her with his maniac laugh, and his constant flow of insults, and now she does not come to my door anymore.
As I said in the previous post, most of my friends went home for the week-end. At this hour, none of my suitemates are back. But the building is filling up. Two friends, from all I know in Davis, stayed back:
Thomas, of which I have extensively talked about. He was my host for the first few weeks of my stay in the US. He is going to Australia for a year soon; off to Wollongong on exchange.
Hayley, a girl which I have briefly mentioned before; she is a potential snowboarding partner. A charming girl working hard to get into vet school.
I spent Thursday, the actual Thanksgiving day with Thomas. He took me to his grandmother's place, where we had a family dinner. And what a family! It is a credit to Thomas that he has come out alright. His mother came out briefly, to demand that we turn off the lights. When she saw me, she came and gave me a hug; a strange kind too; she snuggled up against my chest, and held herself tightly for a few seconds. I did not know what to do. Thomas was ashamed but I did not want to give him reason to be, so I was very civil to his mother, without returning that same longing contact. She did not have dinner with us; instead she stayed in her room, in the dark, and watched TV, while Thomas, his grandmother and I ate in the living room. Thomas' grandmother is the picture of the benevolent loving woman. She can't shake hands; it makes her emotional; she kisses people. She walks slowly around the house, preparing food, petting the cats, arranging the table, and making sure that Thomas has all he needs. She speaks slowly, and then only to say pleasant things; when her daughter comes out and turns off the light, she calmly lets her, and turns them back on after she's left.
Thomas said: "I have a simple family", and he does, but of what contrasts! His grandmother practically raised him; he tells me that he goes home to see her. He calls his mother 'Jill', and his grandmother 'Grandma'. His sister is off somewhere in the army. His father his elsewhere again. I don't really remember where. But Thomas has come out the stronger for all this. He stands upright, remains largely unphased through most situations, and knows when to offer a helping hand.
Dinner itself was largely uneventful; I ate the American way. I stuffed my plate with every dish but pie; mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, fruit salad, olives, bread, and more than I can recall. Apparently, had I been a good American, I would have had a few servings; one was more than enough. I couldn't move for a few hours afterwards.
It was when Thomas dropped me off that I met Karl the Marxist. The rest of the days were spent largely by myself, and sometimes in the company of Hayley. A very pleasant company for sure. My plans of going snowboarding never came through; and for the better, since I went to a traditional thanksgiving dinner instead.
Now since I have started this post, and through the many interruptions that have come my way, three of my suitemates have come back. There is noise in this place. And it finally dawned on me that I really should be doing some homework. Ah well, I am sure that I'll find time to do it all.
Something else: something a bit random: browsing through the firefow crew's picks, I have found http://www.bartleby.com/ Entire books are available for free; and good ones too, mainly classics.
I have been reading Pride and Prejudice; it is very enjoyable. Jane Austen makes usual events very interesting; she understands the motives and drives behind all our little actions, and she exposes them shamelessly. It is like watching a play, and knowing the why of everything.
This Marxist, I have observed, has attached himself to a girl who is very fond and proud of her pink clothes collection; perhaps his sacrifice, for it is one to rid the population of this girl, is his first contribution towards the common good. Before it, the pink-wearer, aptly named Madeleine, had come and presented herself, and a friend of the same kind, to me. She had sat down and crossed her anorexic legs appropriately, and had spoken of little things. She is Australian, she says. And in a way she is, but I prefer to see her as a blight on all of us, not just on Australia. But this gentle Karl has wooed her with his maniac laugh, and his constant flow of insults, and now she does not come to my door anymore.
As I said in the previous post, most of my friends went home for the week-end. At this hour, none of my suitemates are back. But the building is filling up. Two friends, from all I know in Davis, stayed back:
Thomas, of which I have extensively talked about. He was my host for the first few weeks of my stay in the US. He is going to Australia for a year soon; off to Wollongong on exchange.
Hayley, a girl which I have briefly mentioned before; she is a potential snowboarding partner. A charming girl working hard to get into vet school.
I spent Thursday, the actual Thanksgiving day with Thomas. He took me to his grandmother's place, where we had a family dinner. And what a family! It is a credit to Thomas that he has come out alright. His mother came out briefly, to demand that we turn off the lights. When she saw me, she came and gave me a hug; a strange kind too; she snuggled up against my chest, and held herself tightly for a few seconds. I did not know what to do. Thomas was ashamed but I did not want to give him reason to be, so I was very civil to his mother, without returning that same longing contact. She did not have dinner with us; instead she stayed in her room, in the dark, and watched TV, while Thomas, his grandmother and I ate in the living room. Thomas' grandmother is the picture of the benevolent loving woman. She can't shake hands; it makes her emotional; she kisses people. She walks slowly around the house, preparing food, petting the cats, arranging the table, and making sure that Thomas has all he needs. She speaks slowly, and then only to say pleasant things; when her daughter comes out and turns off the light, she calmly lets her, and turns them back on after she's left.
Thomas said: "I have a simple family", and he does, but of what contrasts! His grandmother practically raised him; he tells me that he goes home to see her. He calls his mother 'Jill', and his grandmother 'Grandma'. His sister is off somewhere in the army. His father his elsewhere again. I don't really remember where. But Thomas has come out the stronger for all this. He stands upright, remains largely unphased through most situations, and knows when to offer a helping hand.
Dinner itself was largely uneventful; I ate the American way. I stuffed my plate with every dish but pie; mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberries, fruit salad, olives, bread, and more than I can recall. Apparently, had I been a good American, I would have had a few servings; one was more than enough. I couldn't move for a few hours afterwards.
It was when Thomas dropped me off that I met Karl the Marxist. The rest of the days were spent largely by myself, and sometimes in the company of Hayley. A very pleasant company for sure. My plans of going snowboarding never came through; and for the better, since I went to a traditional thanksgiving dinner instead.
Now since I have started this post, and through the many interruptions that have come my way, three of my suitemates have come back. There is noise in this place. And it finally dawned on me that I really should be doing some homework. Ah well, I am sure that I'll find time to do it all.
Something else: something a bit random: browsing through the firefow crew's picks, I have found http://www.bartleby.com/ Entire books are available for free; and good ones too, mainly classics.
I have been reading Pride and Prejudice; it is very enjoyable. Jane Austen makes usual events very interesting; she understands the motives and drives behind all our little actions, and she exposes them shamelessly. It is like watching a play, and knowing the why of everything.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Thanksgiving week-end
Hi,
I came back from school today to find my suite empty. Where a few hours ago, there had been a couple playing, a friend listening to music, and another writing poems, there was nobody.
Nobody on a Tuesday.
It is thanksgiving week-end and people go home to their family. This is one of the sacred holidays. Families have an early dinner together; this is a rare occasion to enjoy food, and talk as a family.
You see all these TV shows that picture the thanksgiving dinner as a touchy time for a family; they aren't used to so much closeness, it seems. And when a three hour seated dinner, with the TV off, comes along, they don't know how to interact.
No one in my suite watches much TV. I am glad, because here TV occupies a special place in a household. It is as much an expression of freedom as a car; not having a TV is met with an incredulous look; well what do you do when you're bored?; I walk past your windows, and I see your TVs on; someone watching; a mind gone, stolen by the small screen.
But interestingly enough, in social contexts the TV is forgotten, even though it remains on. Dinners are eaten with the TV on; I can't do that myself. My eyes are attracted to the movements on the little screen; my ears chose explosions over dinner conversation. I have not learned to split my attention the way people do here. I must appear at times rude; I answer my hosts absent-mindedly, and I know that they have made an effort to accomodate me. But the TV booms louder than they. Asking them to turn it off would be another faux-pas. Like telling their third child to stay quiet.
This long week-end is the first real break we got since the start of the quarter. Since I do not have class tomorrow, I have 6 days off. It is like mini-holidays. In a lonely suite.
I know one person who is not going back for the week-end. I hope we will go snowboarding together on Thursday. I would have to share the slopes with the thanksgiving families; dodge the unstable meandering women, the show-off men, and the kamikaze kids. Skiing or snowboarding in such cases takes on a whole different feeling. It is not me against the mountain; it is me and the mountain against them, the ones defiling it. I do not like slowing down; and so I get to slalom through a dynamic race; one that shifts somewhat randomly. Intermediate skiiers are the most dangerous; they believe they are good, and they believe they are in the right.
Not everyone goes skiing. These intermediate skiiers are upper middle-class god-fearing white families, who hold the firm belief that they are better than most. And indeed they usually own the flashiest car, the prettiest front lawn, and the greatest number of columns on the facades of their greco-roman mansions. In truth they are the lucky mediocrity; the ones that have made it to the top of the rest. Being the king of the nothing means a lot here. It is the revised American dream. The benefits of corporate, suburban, consumerist America.
And these consumers bring their business to the slopes enough time to believe that they are good. But you are a danger I tell you. You forget that you are sharing the slopes; that others exist. That snowboarders aren't punk kids; that falling isn't a crime; that remaining an intermediate skiier is a choice and not a given. Turning slows you down; go straight I tell you. Fear less, and let the slope take you. Let the wind rush past you; let it encase you in its semblance of protection; let it deafen you. Hear nothing but the thud of your pulse. Thud it says, you are scared. Thud, it says again. You are going fast. Can you see? Thud. Are your eyes watering. Thud, Thud, Thud. You fell. Well get up and try again. Next time you won't fall. You'll make it all the way down, and look back behind you, proud; I did that. I can't do it, but I did it. I went faster than I ever did before. I could have broken an arm. Hell, I could have broken my neck. I am going to do it again.
I will migrate to the lonely black slopes. These people are afraid; that is why they hide behind their trucks, their columns, their neat front lawns, their secure jobs, their smiles, their facades. They see a little black diamond and they dare not approach. There I will sit and look at the lake. I will get up and attack the mountain again. You and I will battle.
Until I reach the bottom, and see the line to the chairlift.
I came back from school today to find my suite empty. Where a few hours ago, there had been a couple playing, a friend listening to music, and another writing poems, there was nobody.
Nobody on a Tuesday.
It is thanksgiving week-end and people go home to their family. This is one of the sacred holidays. Families have an early dinner together; this is a rare occasion to enjoy food, and talk as a family.
You see all these TV shows that picture the thanksgiving dinner as a touchy time for a family; they aren't used to so much closeness, it seems. And when a three hour seated dinner, with the TV off, comes along, they don't know how to interact.
No one in my suite watches much TV. I am glad, because here TV occupies a special place in a household. It is as much an expression of freedom as a car; not having a TV is met with an incredulous look; well what do you do when you're bored?; I walk past your windows, and I see your TVs on; someone watching; a mind gone, stolen by the small screen.
But interestingly enough, in social contexts the TV is forgotten, even though it remains on. Dinners are eaten with the TV on; I can't do that myself. My eyes are attracted to the movements on the little screen; my ears chose explosions over dinner conversation. I have not learned to split my attention the way people do here. I must appear at times rude; I answer my hosts absent-mindedly, and I know that they have made an effort to accomodate me. But the TV booms louder than they. Asking them to turn it off would be another faux-pas. Like telling their third child to stay quiet.
This long week-end is the first real break we got since the start of the quarter. Since I do not have class tomorrow, I have 6 days off. It is like mini-holidays. In a lonely suite.
I know one person who is not going back for the week-end. I hope we will go snowboarding together on Thursday. I would have to share the slopes with the thanksgiving families; dodge the unstable meandering women, the show-off men, and the kamikaze kids. Skiing or snowboarding in such cases takes on a whole different feeling. It is not me against the mountain; it is me and the mountain against them, the ones defiling it. I do not like slowing down; and so I get to slalom through a dynamic race; one that shifts somewhat randomly. Intermediate skiiers are the most dangerous; they believe they are good, and they believe they are in the right.
Not everyone goes skiing. These intermediate skiiers are upper middle-class god-fearing white families, who hold the firm belief that they are better than most. And indeed they usually own the flashiest car, the prettiest front lawn, and the greatest number of columns on the facades of their greco-roman mansions. In truth they are the lucky mediocrity; the ones that have made it to the top of the rest. Being the king of the nothing means a lot here. It is the revised American dream. The benefits of corporate, suburban, consumerist America.
And these consumers bring their business to the slopes enough time to believe that they are good. But you are a danger I tell you. You forget that you are sharing the slopes; that others exist. That snowboarders aren't punk kids; that falling isn't a crime; that remaining an intermediate skiier is a choice and not a given. Turning slows you down; go straight I tell you. Fear less, and let the slope take you. Let the wind rush past you; let it encase you in its semblance of protection; let it deafen you. Hear nothing but the thud of your pulse. Thud it says, you are scared. Thud, it says again. You are going fast. Can you see? Thud. Are your eyes watering. Thud, Thud, Thud. You fell. Well get up and try again. Next time you won't fall. You'll make it all the way down, and look back behind you, proud; I did that. I can't do it, but I did it. I went faster than I ever did before. I could have broken an arm. Hell, I could have broken my neck. I am going to do it again.
I will migrate to the lonely black slopes. These people are afraid; that is why they hide behind their trucks, their columns, their neat front lawns, their secure jobs, their smiles, their facades. They see a little black diamond and they dare not approach. There I will sit and look at the lake. I will get up and attack the mountain again. You and I will battle.
Until I reach the bottom, and see the line to the chairlift.
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Third time in three weeks
And I have done it again. For the third time in a row, I have gone snowboarding this week-end. The good news is that this time, I went with someone of my own level, and I was able to push myself a little.
The first week I went, Ronald, an Australian I met, came with me. Since there were only the two is us, I felt obliged to stick with him. But he had grossely overstated his ability, or there had been some kind of misunderstanding. His idea of an intermediate skiier didn't correlate with mine. As a a result, I waited for him more than I actually snowboarded. He estimated his fall count to 50. By the end of the day, I had only tackled a couple of mogul runs.
The second time I went, I took a deutsch friend: Renske. One to add to my address book: a charming girl, with a sense of humour, and an open personality. Away from home, I have mentioned before, fellow countrymen become instant family. Other internationals, ones in the same mess, become fast friends. They know; we know together. That second time skiing, we went with another new friend. An American I met in a group. A guy I called on Friday, and who said: stuff all this work I have to do, we're going. And so the three of us went. The guy wasn't bad, but he was more interested in jumps that in boulders and trees. Still together, we raced down the mountain. We had to wait a little for Renske, who had admitted she wasn't very good, and who was truly trying to get better. By the end of the day, she was going down moguls! Still I was waiting.
Yesterday was different. I went with three others. I got a call on Thursday: "Albert, we are going snowboarding on Saturday: do you want to come?" I said yes, and off we were. The driver was a guy from LA, driving all the way up to see the girl who invited me. A bad situation it seemed at the offset. Thrust in to act as a buffer of sorts. It shows you how much I want to go snowboarding; I take dodgy rides. In fact it wasn't like that. Although the guy probably likes the girl, he is hiding it well and is very friendly. We took some other girl: a young and innocent freshman. She and I sat in the back of the car; all my Australian friends, if you feel lonely, come to the United States. You will be hot property; a silly accent makes me dark and mysterious. Exotic (laugh on Mathilde). I was nice to the girl. It happened that she was a bad snowboarder and that on the first run, she caught an edge on a flat and slammed her head on the ground.
On falls: falls are painful when:
1) You go slow
2) You hit a tree
3) You get hit by someone else when you are going slow and they are going fast
Hence, you can undertand why beginners get into more pain that advanced riders: they are afraid to go fast, when it is easier to fall and hurt oneself at low speeds (like on a bike).
Since she was falling a lot, Jimmy (the other guy) and I went off to test out our machoness. We raced down the groomed section, and we took on the moguls and the boulders. Moguls are bumps; going down them is like doing a set of squats. We did that all morning; when we needed a rest, we tested out how fast we could go.
To do that, pick a steep slope, preferably groomed. Point your snowboard straight down, bend your knees, and go. Speed is thrilling; I know that I probably won't fall, but I am very afraid of it nonetheless. Doubts creep in; when I change edge, for example. But my body and board haven't betrayed me; faithfully they keep me alive. I mentioned that falling at high speeds does not hurt; sliding into trees at high speeds does. There is always a constant blur of them on either side of the slopes. The speed becomes a thrill when I focus on what could go wrong.
Eventually we met the girls. They were at the top of the mountain in the first aid hut. The freshman girl had kept on hitting her head on the ground and had a mild concussion. She got towed down the mountain behind a snowmobile.
Talking to Jimmy, we found that we both had had concussions snowboarding; I can't remember my first jump ever, and he had a similar experience. Page (that's her name) has joined our ranks.
Enough about snowboarding...
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
A week's worth
Hey all,
the election is not a hot topic anymore. Political issues are not discussed here anymore. Instead we now talk about the weather, and midterms, and papers due. I only have two midterms left, and they both should be easy. The workload is greater than it is in
We have started our marketing campaign. Good Credit + Knowledge = Power is our slogan. We had our first event last week and thirty people came. That is thirty in five hours. And today we had our second event: I would venture that less people came today. Probably because I told less of my friends to come. The campaign is not going too well at this time. I am learning the hard realities of working in teams. Academically, I am sure that these people would perform. But when asked to accomplish real tasks, and to meet certain objectives, they freeze, afraid of taking an initiative. At the same time, they dislike being told what to do, and they resent not knowing what they should be doing.
A conversation I had with a girl in charge of Personal Resources today illustrated that. She started by bitching about the group coordinator micro-managing, and when I asked her why she hadn't done what she was meant to do, she talked about her heavy timetable. I asked her a few simple questions about her tasks, like "do you know what we need to do to send mass emails?" and she answered that she didn't. She didn't have time and so had done nothing, and yet was bitching about the coordinator, who herself was working at least two hours a day on the project, slogging through reluctant administrations.
The advertising department talks about cute animals and other images we could use. And when they didn't meet the deadlines we had set them, they stopped doing anything altogether. Their job, done by someone else to meet the deadline, was over, they seemed to think. Advertising is a little more than about creating cool images: it is especially about publishing the ads in time for events, and whenever appropriate. It is about finding where to advertise. They learned all that for the last test; have they realised that theories can be applied? The bottom line: no ads have been published…
But I am learning much from these small failures. Firstly, not everyone is suitable for a job. Selection is crucial. Secondly, managing a team requires certain skills. I work hard to acquire these skills. I would say that setting goals, establishing hierarchies, and involving members to motivate them, are important. Thirdly, expectations must match realities. I expect more of these people than they can feel they can do, and there is their limit. Not what I think they can do, but what they think they can do when confronted with a situation.
Enough said about that. On Saturday I again went snowboarding. I can truly push my board further than I can go. It is not the board which doesn’t hold, but me who can’t keep up with the board. This means that I see myself racing through trees and slaloming between boulders in the near future. I got stuck between two major boulders at one stage, and instead of pointing my board down and going with it, I slid down, and then kept on going. It was one of the last runs of the day; I was tired; but still next time, I will jump from the top of the boulder and hope for the best. I hope that next time, I will have a proper snowboarding partner, one that can follow me wherever I go and one that is not obsessed by jumps and rails.
I have met a girl who might meet this profile. Tonight she invited me to the movies. To the movies. I felt eminently American for a little while then. She has an American accent, drives an SUV, and goes to the movies. We saw the Incredibles; it was better than I thought it would be. It is a movie about superheroes coming out of forced retirements. It is part of the new wave of comedy, and is sensibly politically correct. Go see it if you want something light and amusing.
Well enough said for tonight, my eyes are burning of tiredness,
until next time,
Albert
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Opportunities
I am now at my twelfth educational instituiton. Every change offers new opportunities. Realising that has made this trip very interesting so far.
I have started a project in marketing. 13 of us market credit education, and citibank as a responsible lender. Together, we spend time bickering. In little groups we decide what will happen.
http://citibankproject.blogspot.com/
And tomorrow is our first event: we will have a workshop style place where we will teach students about credit. We offer them free food so that they want to come in.
I am in charge of strategy for this campaign, and I've found it very interesting. I've looked at our group's resources, strengths, opportunities and weaknesses to work out the most effective strategy. An effective strategy maximises the number of impressions given specific resources. Impressions are estimated by surveying the student population after the campaign, and finding out how many know of our efforts.
Managing people is harder than I thought. No one likes receiving orders, but no one likes to do any work, and no one does any work unless they are given orders.
Saturday I went snowboarding. One of the resorts I have a season pass to opened early. The snow cover was decent, and I was able to test my new board. I am not going to go into much detail. That would make some of you envious otherwise. Apparently the season will be great this year.
In the spring I am going to go to Washington DC. I had an interview for it today. They had fourty applicants for fourty-five places. They like to act like they can choose among us. And we pretend along with them. But they have a quota to fill and we know that. Going to DC is another of these great opportunities: I intern into a company/organisation of my choice, for four days a week, write a long paper for one day a week, and visit the rest of the time. And all that in the pleasant spring climate.
I have started a project in marketing. 13 of us market credit education, and citibank as a responsible lender. Together, we spend time bickering. In little groups we decide what will happen.
http://citibankproject.blogspot.com/
And tomorrow is our first event: we will have a workshop style place where we will teach students about credit. We offer them free food so that they want to come in.
I am in charge of strategy for this campaign, and I've found it very interesting. I've looked at our group's resources, strengths, opportunities and weaknesses to work out the most effective strategy. An effective strategy maximises the number of impressions given specific resources. Impressions are estimated by surveying the student population after the campaign, and finding out how many know of our efforts.
Managing people is harder than I thought. No one likes receiving orders, but no one likes to do any work, and no one does any work unless they are given orders.
Saturday I went snowboarding. One of the resorts I have a season pass to opened early. The snow cover was decent, and I was able to test my new board. I am not going to go into much detail. That would make some of you envious otherwise. Apparently the season will be great this year.
In the spring I am going to go to Washington DC. I had an interview for it today. They had fourty applicants for fourty-five places. They like to act like they can choose among us. And we pretend along with them. But they have a quota to fill and we know that. Going to DC is another of these great opportunities: I intern into a company/organisation of my choice, for four days a week, write a long paper for one day a week, and visit the rest of the time. And all that in the pleasant spring climate.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Post Election
Something interesting happened. Something that shocked California: California's glamour did not woo America.
America the rebel, has not followed California's lead. America has voted for Bush. America has voted against abortion (prolife is the positive term), for the war in Iraq, for tax cuts, against medicare, and for religion.
And it seems that this has come as a surprise to the rest of the world. The result clashes with the view we get back home. What view do we get, you ask? We get what California wants us to know, we get what New York broadcasts. And what other view is there, then? The view of deep America: the states hidden between the two coasts. The states that drive the economy, and represent the real America. The church going, god fearing America. The America that doesn't travel.
Some fun statistics: 90% of Americans do not own a passport. 50% of Americans have never travelled more than 70 miles from their birthtown.
And where do you think these Americans live?
Bush's campaign was simply brilliant. It was nice to be here and see it happen.
Bush sold himself as: prolife, religious, righteous, moral, with integrity, driven, steady, safer.
And in all these points he was undefeated.
By the time America went to the poll, Bush was the choice of America's heart. Kerry embodied anti-bushism. And with Bush standing for such values, Kerry had little chance.
Bush's campaign was run by Karl Rove: here's what the BBC had to say about him:
Karl Rove's candidate won the election by a narrow margin. The FBI found out that the bug had been bought by Rove after the election, and the fact was then of little importance.
Check these links out:
http://www.famoustexans.com/karlrove.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_Rove
It has been four days since the results came out, and California is quiet. No one cares anymore. Everyone knew that Bush would get elected.
Aside: California continued its unique position as a leader of not only the US, but a large portion of the innovative world, by voting yes on proposition 71. The state will fund $3 billion towards stem cell research even though it is broke. Bush does not support the innitiative but can't do much.
America the rebel, has not followed California's lead. America has voted for Bush. America has voted against abortion (prolife is the positive term), for the war in Iraq, for tax cuts, against medicare, and for religion.
And it seems that this has come as a surprise to the rest of the world. The result clashes with the view we get back home. What view do we get, you ask? We get what California wants us to know, we get what New York broadcasts. And what other view is there, then? The view of deep America: the states hidden between the two coasts. The states that drive the economy, and represent the real America. The church going, god fearing America. The America that doesn't travel.
Some fun statistics: 90% of Americans do not own a passport. 50% of Americans have never travelled more than 70 miles from their birthtown.
And where do you think these Americans live?
Bush's campaign was simply brilliant. It was nice to be here and see it happen.
Bush sold himself as: prolife, religious, righteous, moral, with integrity, driven, steady, safer.
And in all these points he was undefeated.
By the time America went to the poll, Bush was the choice of America's heart. Kerry embodied anti-bushism. And with Bush standing for such values, Kerry had little chance.
Bush's campaign was run by Karl Rove: here's what the BBC had to say about him:
KARL ROVE
Republican campaign mastermind Karl Rove helped return George W Bush to the White House. The 54-year-old has charted Mr Bush's political rise since his first election as Texas governor in 1994. Mr Bush has acknowledged him as "the architect" of his latest success. Described by many commentators as brilliant, Mr Rove resolutely focused on the Republicans' conservative religious base.
He went into the campaign intent on coaxing the millions of Christian conservatives who had not voted in 2000 to go to the polls. He consistently played on deepening cultural division by emphasising Mr Bush's religious faith, his position against gay marriage and expanding embryonic stem cell research.
Mr Rove refused to listen to critics who argued that a more centrist position would be need to win the election, and it appears to have paid off. Many voters cited moral values as a top reason why they voted.
I heard an interesting story about the man. Once in a tight election race, he called the FBI and told them that he had found a bug in his office. The media "heard" of it, and soon enough people were thinking back to Watergate. "No," in a redneck accent "we don't want people like that..."Karl Rove's candidate won the election by a narrow margin. The FBI found out that the bug had been bought by Rove after the election, and the fact was then of little importance.
Check these links out:
http://www.famoustexans.com/karlrove.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karl_Rove
It has been four days since the results came out, and California is quiet. No one cares anymore. Everyone knew that Bush would get elected.
Aside: California continued its unique position as a leader of not only the US, but a large portion of the innovative world, by voting yes on proposition 71. The state will fund $3 billion towards stem cell research even though it is broke. Bush does not support the innitiative but can't do much.
Monday, November 01, 2004
The Election Campaign
Some of you might be aware that there is a war raging in this country. One between two parties and their partisans. A war that uses real conflicts to inflict blows; a war that attemps to shame its participants; a war that draws from the poor to swing the rich.
Defamatory, Insulting, Lightly Veiled, blows are exchanged, and yet no clear winner has emerged.
That is until tomorrow.
California is a very liberal state; here, everyone puts down Bush. And why is that, you ask? California is very a self-conscious state; very susceptible to world opinion. Arnold is doing a good job, but everyone here is ashamed that he was elected; why, you say, they voted for him. Well, they did, but they like to make fun of themselves. Ah, we are so stupid here, they say. And they all say it, even the ones who voted for him.
California does not support Kerry. California hates Bush. All the tourists agree. And who is Kerry, but Bush's opponent? And the puppet of a massive backlash?
A backlash only tamed by an excellent support team. Yes everyone hates Bush. And yes they all think that Kerry is the one to vote for. But, all that television air is filtered by Bush's team. Nothing illegal. Just pure craftiness.
And so it is that all these Californian liberals have nothing to watch but republican propaganda. Kerry is always shown on the defensive. He does well, but he defends.
During the presidential debates, there was little doubt across the nation that Kerry was dominating. One on one, Bush is reduced to pretentious insignificance. And yet he smiles knowingly.
He knows. He knows that his support base is faithful, and he plays them. Christian, against abortion, against gay marriage, he follows the trend of his party. But he is also a creator. Bush has instilled fear in the American public.
Terrorism: a word that is heard constantly here. From back home, this obsession is a little comical. Here, it is predominent and seminal. His whole campaing stems from a cult of fear.
When Kerry dared insinuate that terrorism has gained too much importance and that the economy deserved more attention, Bush's strategists jumped on the opportunity, and using their vast media connections, inundated the public with a flood of non-sense. Kerry's written words were blown up, and showed to the credulous public as the proof of the man's incompetence.
And can the American public be blamed for its response? Haven't they been brainwashed into mindless acceptance since the 11th of September 2001? Haven't they agreed to the patriot act?
Today the polls show no clear winner. The candidates are spending time in the swing states, claiming votes with their smiles. The election might not be as close as it was four years ago, but at this stage analysts stand divided.
Back to Bush's supporters: they vote. Which is not the case of Kerry's supporters. Hence, in the college world, and on stations like MTV, campaigns have run to "rock the vote", or in other words, to encourage a wider portion of the electorate to go and vote.
The results are coming.
Defamatory, Insulting, Lightly Veiled, blows are exchanged, and yet no clear winner has emerged.
That is until tomorrow.
California is a very liberal state; here, everyone puts down Bush. And why is that, you ask? California is very a self-conscious state; very susceptible to world opinion. Arnold is doing a good job, but everyone here is ashamed that he was elected; why, you say, they voted for him. Well, they did, but they like to make fun of themselves. Ah, we are so stupid here, they say. And they all say it, even the ones who voted for him.
California does not support Kerry. California hates Bush. All the tourists agree. And who is Kerry, but Bush's opponent? And the puppet of a massive backlash?
A backlash only tamed by an excellent support team. Yes everyone hates Bush. And yes they all think that Kerry is the one to vote for. But, all that television air is filtered by Bush's team. Nothing illegal. Just pure craftiness.
And so it is that all these Californian liberals have nothing to watch but republican propaganda. Kerry is always shown on the defensive. He does well, but he defends.
During the presidential debates, there was little doubt across the nation that Kerry was dominating. One on one, Bush is reduced to pretentious insignificance. And yet he smiles knowingly.
He knows. He knows that his support base is faithful, and he plays them. Christian, against abortion, against gay marriage, he follows the trend of his party. But he is also a creator. Bush has instilled fear in the American public.
Terrorism: a word that is heard constantly here. From back home, this obsession is a little comical. Here, it is predominent and seminal. His whole campaing stems from a cult of fear.
When Kerry dared insinuate that terrorism has gained too much importance and that the economy deserved more attention, Bush's strategists jumped on the opportunity, and using their vast media connections, inundated the public with a flood of non-sense. Kerry's written words were blown up, and showed to the credulous public as the proof of the man's incompetence.
And can the American public be blamed for its response? Haven't they been brainwashed into mindless acceptance since the 11th of September 2001? Haven't they agreed to the patriot act?
Today the polls show no clear winner. The candidates are spending time in the swing states, claiming votes with their smiles. The election might not be as close as it was four years ago, but at this stage analysts stand divided.
Back to Bush's supporters: they vote. Which is not the case of Kerry's supporters. Hence, in the college world, and on stations like MTV, campaigns have run to "rock the vote", or in other words, to encourage a wider portion of the electorate to go and vote.
The results are coming.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Four weeks ago
Four weeks ago, I wrote to you. Now I need to catch up. Things have happened; America is becoming normal. I am almost used to it. Two nights ago, I drove a Lexus back from Sacramento. Driving on the right side did not phase me. It wasn't exactly normal either, but I am getting there.
Let me tell you about my study life:
I am taking four classes. Four classes is what most people take. Some take three and graduate in five years, or they take classes in the summer.
One of these classes is on pavement engineering, which in American means, how to design roads, landing strips and port docks. I am taking this class mainly because I have to. I have to do a certain amount of courses that relate to my degree, and since I have done most of what they offer, I am stuck with this course. But it's not that bad; the teacher is a nice man, who really believes in what he is teaching.
Another of these courses is entitled "Energy and Environmental Aspects of Transportation". Every time I talk about this course, I hear a compassionate sigh. But this is actually one of the most interesting course I have ever taken. It deals with the upcoming energy crises, and with the different courses we can take to prevent them. We had guest lectures on biodiesel, ethanol and the clean air act. The latter is a measure taken by Californian legislators to raise fuel economy standards, through a legal loophole at the federal level. Following the oil embargo of the 70's, the US introduced standards that required car manufacturers to meet certain fuel economy standards by 1985 (26 mpg for cars, and 20.9 mpg for light trucks, from about 14 and 10). The manufacturers complained loudly, but the law remained and the standards were met. Since 1985, powerful lobby groups and the rising popularity of light trucks (SUVs-4WD, and trucks-utes), have lowered the average fuel economy. Bush does not plan to act; so California decided to intervene, and has mandated a lowering of greenhouse gas emission by 30% in the next ten years. GHG emissions are directly related to fuel economy.
The guest lecturers had drafted the legislation; they told us they expected about 9 law suits from the car industry, and they showed us how they had prepared for them.
I am also taking a intermediate microeconomics class: i skipped the beginner class, but this is still a joke. Economists pretending to know maths. The teacher had trouble dividing 300 by 4. The class doesn't understand what indices are. But I reckoned that I'd need this basic knowledge, so I do it anyway.
And finally the most interesting of all my classes: marketing. Simply put, it is a fascinating topic taught by a mesmerising teacher. A teacher nice enough to give me a ride back home one night after talking to me for an hour on marketing decisions. And the guest lecturers he brings in! They have all gone through his classes and are very successful. Forget empty theories; this is about people who teach what they practice.
On the marking system:
They have midterms! all of them. What a surprise. It means that last week was rather annoying, with its host of tests and assignments due. And the tests are mainly about the readings, which means that I've had to buy the textbooks. I am back at school, which is what uni is called here anyway.
And midterms aren't exactly MIDterms either: they're more like THIRDterms. Yes there are two of them. Another set coming in only a few weeks,
And there, I have dealt with the study side of my American experience,
Albert
Let me tell you about my study life:
I am taking four classes. Four classes is what most people take. Some take three and graduate in five years, or they take classes in the summer.
One of these classes is on pavement engineering, which in American means, how to design roads, landing strips and port docks. I am taking this class mainly because I have to. I have to do a certain amount of courses that relate to my degree, and since I have done most of what they offer, I am stuck with this course. But it's not that bad; the teacher is a nice man, who really believes in what he is teaching.
Another of these courses is entitled "Energy and Environmental Aspects of Transportation". Every time I talk about this course, I hear a compassionate sigh. But this is actually one of the most interesting course I have ever taken. It deals with the upcoming energy crises, and with the different courses we can take to prevent them. We had guest lectures on biodiesel, ethanol and the clean air act. The latter is a measure taken by Californian legislators to raise fuel economy standards, through a legal loophole at the federal level. Following the oil embargo of the 70's, the US introduced standards that required car manufacturers to meet certain fuel economy standards by 1985 (26 mpg for cars, and 20.9 mpg for light trucks, from about 14 and 10). The manufacturers complained loudly, but the law remained and the standards were met. Since 1985, powerful lobby groups and the rising popularity of light trucks (SUVs-4WD, and trucks-utes), have lowered the average fuel economy. Bush does not plan to act; so California decided to intervene, and has mandated a lowering of greenhouse gas emission by 30% in the next ten years. GHG emissions are directly related to fuel economy.
The guest lecturers had drafted the legislation; they told us they expected about 9 law suits from the car industry, and they showed us how they had prepared for them.
I am also taking a intermediate microeconomics class: i skipped the beginner class, but this is still a joke. Economists pretending to know maths. The teacher had trouble dividing 300 by 4. The class doesn't understand what indices are. But I reckoned that I'd need this basic knowledge, so I do it anyway.
And finally the most interesting of all my classes: marketing. Simply put, it is a fascinating topic taught by a mesmerising teacher. A teacher nice enough to give me a ride back home one night after talking to me for an hour on marketing decisions. And the guest lecturers he brings in! They have all gone through his classes and are very successful. Forget empty theories; this is about people who teach what they practice.
On the marking system:
They have midterms! all of them. What a surprise. It means that last week was rather annoying, with its host of tests and assignments due. And the tests are mainly about the readings, which means that I've had to buy the textbooks. I am back at school, which is what uni is called here anyway.
And midterms aren't exactly MIDterms either: they're more like THIRDterms. Yes there are two of them. Another set coming in only a few weeks,
And there, I have dealt with the study side of my American experience,
Albert
Switching to Blogging
I have decided to switch. I am now a blogger and it will take me some time to get used to it. I've put my long emails in here because I wanted to use them. From now on, I'll try to be more consistent and less lengthy,
beware, it might not happen,
Albert
beware, it might not happen,
Albert
From wild party to wild party via LA
Hello again,
I left you a few weeks ago, on a Thursday, the day I test drove that wide range of cars. Much has happened since then, so read on if you are interested.
The following day, Thomas and I drove to Concord, Jimmy's hometown, where Jimmy's mother took care of us for a couple of nights. Concord stands half an hour away from San Francisco. Going there was a way to save accommodation and food expenses. On the Saturday we went to San Francisco, where we walked around the tourist circuit: SF is a very enjoyable town. It sits on a peninsula sandwiched between the bay and the ocean. Its location brings a frequent fog, that even in the worst of Summer, mellows the temperatures. Its two bridges, the bay and the golden gate are both understandably very famous: they are massive, and from an engineering point of view, they are avant-garde, if obsolete. The bay bridge spans several miles; it takes ten minutes to drive through it, and there is an island in its middle. The golden gate rises out of the fog, majestic in its stature. High-rises are concentrated in the financial district, a typical city centre. Around it though, San Fran sports townhouses lining steep streets. The neutral colours coupled with the homely look and the mild population density makes SF a very humane town. SF can be likened to a townhouse Paris (for the looks and the street feel), with a better weather and a better location, and, of course, better people. Ah its people. Yes, SF is a gay town, and so proud of it. But it's not just that; it's the town of the young and rich, the artists escaping LA, the writers seeking inspiration, the hippies keeping their tradition alive, and the others: the ones who put lifestyle over success. Opportunists, go to LA. Live in constant pollution, in swelling traffic, and dream on, while your body succumbs to frustration. But you who enjoy life, and see it as more of a celebration than a struggle, join your Franciscan community; they're waiting for you.
And all this from a day in the town? The place smells fresh, looks good, and feels energetic; hence the million or so tourists that come every week-end. I actually spent two days in SF. The second was at Dave Matthews Band concert for charity in golden gate park. DMB is a band whose success is hard to believe; their sound, while pleasant, is nothing exceptional; my neighbour in Perth played just as well. But they have embodied a whiplash movement; DMB came through at a time when only rap was made. They fulfilled the need for change and they have ridden the wave of their popularity, making more pleasant songs for ten years now.
I left Concord with a group of about twelve people, and with the rest of the bay area we converged onto SF. That day, there was a bicycle race (Lance Armstrong pulled out at the last moment), a baseball game, a football game and a concert. Trains were packed, roads became gigantic parking lots, occasionally moving, cable cars barely struggled up hills, and we made our way towards the park, slowly. People streamed towards the polo field; we walked past centenarian trees, down a wide grass clearing, us twelve, and the rest in their thousands. We entered the polo field, and made our way, a hundred meters or more from the stage, but only a third of the way down the field. The field and the stands surrounding it filled up. We sat down, laying our blankets, marking our territory, and joining the gigantic picnic/concert. A bit later, a group of exuberant gays sat next to us, and for the rest of the concert, they stripped, danced, and squealed like little girls.
Soon beer flowed, and weed invaded the stadium. 80,000 hippies waiting for the band to come out, basking in the sun, eating, getting drunk, getting stoned, laughing, relaxing, sleeping. The band came out three and a half hours after its schedule time, but no one cared; people stood, clapped, dance, enjoyed the music. The band jammed for almost three hours; Santana joined them, and he added his electric guitar to the violin and the rest. They jammed together. We cheered, we stood, we slept; mainly we enjoyed the whole feel, and let the atmosphere, more than the drugs, loosen our minds.
It took a long time to leave after the band finished. Buses were full, and we missed most of them. But we got back. Exhausted, Thomas and I drove back to Davis. This was on Sunday. On the Tuesday, international orientation started. I socialised for two days, before, bored with it, I stopped attending. Internationals come from all over to study here; some hope to transfer to Berkeley or UCLA, others do their PhD here. I have become a little bit more familiar with the place. Campus is huge, dwarfing any I have been to previously. And the buildings follow the trend. The ARC, activities and recreation centre, is a new building that stretches over 14000 square meters; it was recently finished and cost USD46.5 million dollars. All that money to sport. The civil engineering building is another example; four floors with four meter high ceilings. And brand new.
This was two weeks ago now. Last week, from Monday to Friday, I went to LA, to visit Lucien, a friend who had helped me last time I came to the States. I caught the train there; trains here are much more pleasant than the greyhound bus system. They're roomy and the people don't seem so ganglike. A couple of guys came up to me and we had long chats. The train doesn't go all the way into LA; I had to catch a bus from about two hours outside downtown LA. It took three quarter of an hour to go from the outskirts of LA to downtown LA, and that was travelling mostly on highways. Downtown LA is a fair way from the coast and LA's famous beaches.
LA looks like suburbia gone wrong; nice suburbs are heavily patrolled, the middle class gathers onto the thin fringe, and the rest, well it's better that they not know what they're living in: disguised poverty waving the flag proudly. A tourist here sees Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Bel Air and Malibu; that tourist is stunned, so stunned that, commuting between these points, he does not look to the side of the highways. That tourist leaves LA and spreads the word; go there, you'll love it, he says. Disneyland was hectic but so much fun, he might add. He might tell you about Venice beach, and its open gym, there right in front of everyone. What he won't tell you, is that a street removed from the beach, sandwiched between million-of-dollars home, there exists streets in which I felt like I was back in India; cables dangled from concrete boxes to concrete box, over dimly lit stinking streets. He won't know that, because the dream doesn't mention that.
The all-destroying dream. It is not the typical American dream. It is the dream of fame, that wicked dream. Ambition, I welcome. But that which happens there is wrong; it is the sacrifice of the self to ideal. Over ten million people live in the LA area. I wonder how many, of these, aspire to be writers, actors, directors and producers. No wonder the porn industry is centred around LA; girls failing in normal movies can still "make it" if they take their clothes off. Lucien, the man I was staying with, is a prime example: a bright man from the Ivory Coast who got a scholarship to study in the US, he is now 41 and still pursuing Music. I honestly believe he has talent. But is talent enough to make it in LA? And the strength of the dream is such that Music remains paramount; he is swimming upstream, along with the rest. And there is no one waiting at the top. A long road for a lonely stage.
Since then, I have come back and moved in to an American dorm. This is suitstyle accommodation. 3 rooms, five people, two bathrooms and a lounge. Apartments repeated around a pool in my case, and courts in others. A dining common in the middle, where all three meals are served, with a wide variety of food. This style is not typical: what you usually see on TV is hall-style dorms: people share a room and use a community bathroom at the end of the corridor on their floor. The latter type is a bit more social, and leads to crazy parties. Where I live is a bit more like Dead Man On Campus. Crazy parties happen in fraternities. A frat is a brotherhood set up for some bogus reason, intent on setting drinking records, and getting as many girls as they can. To do that, they live in run-down houses, buy a lot of alcohol and invite girls, the innocent ones, to share their drinks. The girls that stay don't remain innocent. To hide their real purpose, frat brothers invite "everybody". That is how I went to two of those parties.
I can safely say that they were the easiest place to get a girl that I have ever been to. They jump on everybody. And on people with accent, they swarm. A little bit sickening actually. All I have to do is say something, anything. Hello. You're ignorant. And I get the same response. Oh, I love your accent, ohhh (moan). And then it's a snowball effect. Girl after girl after girl.
If you think that is a good thing, think again. Imagine yourself in the same situation. You are in a noisy and dirty place; and they act so happy to see you, all of them. Even the ones you could never care for. It's a bit like the evening after Easter lunch; chocolate lost its appeal.
Classes have started. I am taking two managerial economics classes, mainly because I can. The campus have finally come to life; here roundabouts are a foreign concept, but the civil engineer in charge of Davis' roads is from Hungary, and she imported them. They replace all-way stops on campus, but since no one knows the rules, they are absolute chaos. I've seen a bus half-way through one stop, and let people to its right through.
Chaos happily replaces emptiness. The courses I take seem interesting enough so far; they are far more general than their Australian counterpart.
I think I have finally caught up. Today was my second day of class. I don't have many hours but I already have a few assignments.
Awaiting some news,
Albert
I left you a few weeks ago, on a Thursday, the day I test drove that wide range of cars. Much has happened since then, so read on if you are interested.
The following day, Thomas and I drove to Concord, Jimmy's hometown, where Jimmy's mother took care of us for a couple of nights. Concord stands half an hour away from San Francisco. Going there was a way to save accommodation and food expenses. On the Saturday we went to San Francisco, where we walked around the tourist circuit: SF is a very enjoyable town. It sits on a peninsula sandwiched between the bay and the ocean. Its location brings a frequent fog, that even in the worst of Summer, mellows the temperatures. Its two bridges, the bay and the golden gate are both understandably very famous: they are massive, and from an engineering point of view, they are avant-garde, if obsolete. The bay bridge spans several miles; it takes ten minutes to drive through it, and there is an island in its middle. The golden gate rises out of the fog, majestic in its stature. High-rises are concentrated in the financial district, a typical city centre. Around it though, San Fran sports townhouses lining steep streets. The neutral colours coupled with the homely look and the mild population density makes SF a very humane town. SF can be likened to a townhouse Paris (for the looks and the street feel), with a better weather and a better location, and, of course, better people. Ah its people. Yes, SF is a gay town, and so proud of it. But it's not just that; it's the town of the young and rich, the artists escaping LA, the writers seeking inspiration, the hippies keeping their tradition alive, and the others: the ones who put lifestyle over success. Opportunists, go to LA. Live in constant pollution, in swelling traffic, and dream on, while your body succumbs to frustration. But you who enjoy life, and see it as more of a celebration than a struggle, join your Franciscan community; they're waiting for you.
And all this from a day in the town? The place smells fresh, looks good, and feels energetic; hence the million or so tourists that come every week-end. I actually spent two days in SF. The second was at Dave Matthews Band concert for charity in golden gate park. DMB is a band whose success is hard to believe; their sound, while pleasant, is nothing exceptional; my neighbour in Perth played just as well. But they have embodied a whiplash movement; DMB came through at a time when only rap was made. They fulfilled the need for change and they have ridden the wave of their popularity, making more pleasant songs for ten years now.
I left Concord with a group of about twelve people, and with the rest of the bay area we converged onto SF. That day, there was a bicycle race (Lance Armstrong pulled out at the last moment), a baseball game, a football game and a concert. Trains were packed, roads became gigantic parking lots, occasionally moving, cable cars barely struggled up hills, and we made our way towards the park, slowly. People streamed towards the polo field; we walked past centenarian trees, down a wide grass clearing, us twelve, and the rest in their thousands. We entered the polo field, and made our way, a hundred meters or more from the stage, but only a third of the way down the field. The field and the stands surrounding it filled up. We sat down, laying our blankets, marking our territory, and joining the gigantic picnic/concert. A bit later, a group of exuberant gays sat next to us, and for the rest of the concert, they stripped, danced, and squealed like little girls.
Soon beer flowed, and weed invaded the stadium. 80,000 hippies waiting for the band to come out, basking in the sun, eating, getting drunk, getting stoned, laughing, relaxing, sleeping. The band came out three and a half hours after its schedule time, but no one cared; people stood, clapped, dance, enjoyed the music. The band jammed for almost three hours; Santana joined them, and he added his electric guitar to the violin and the rest. They jammed together. We cheered, we stood, we slept; mainly we enjoyed the whole feel, and let the atmosphere, more than the drugs, loosen our minds.
It took a long time to leave after the band finished. Buses were full, and we missed most of them. But we got back. Exhausted, Thomas and I drove back to Davis. This was on Sunday. On the Tuesday, international orientation started. I socialised for two days, before, bored with it, I stopped attending. Internationals come from all over to study here; some hope to transfer to Berkeley or UCLA, others do their PhD here. I have become a little bit more familiar with the place. Campus is huge, dwarfing any I have been to previously. And the buildings follow the trend. The ARC, activities and recreation centre, is a new building that stretches over 14000 square meters; it was recently finished and cost USD46.5 million dollars. All that money to sport. The civil engineering building is another example; four floors with four meter high ceilings. And brand new.
This was two weeks ago now. Last week, from Monday to Friday, I went to LA, to visit Lucien, a friend who had helped me last time I came to the States. I caught the train there; trains here are much more pleasant than the greyhound bus system. They're roomy and the people don't seem so ganglike. A couple of guys came up to me and we had long chats. The train doesn't go all the way into LA; I had to catch a bus from about two hours outside downtown LA. It took three quarter of an hour to go from the outskirts of LA to downtown LA, and that was travelling mostly on highways. Downtown LA is a fair way from the coast and LA's famous beaches.
LA looks like suburbia gone wrong; nice suburbs are heavily patrolled, the middle class gathers onto the thin fringe, and the rest, well it's better that they not know what they're living in: disguised poverty waving the flag proudly. A tourist here sees Hollywood and Beverly Hills and Bel Air and Malibu; that tourist is stunned, so stunned that, commuting between these points, he does not look to the side of the highways. That tourist leaves LA and spreads the word; go there, you'll love it, he says. Disneyland was hectic but so much fun, he might add. He might tell you about Venice beach, and its open gym, there right in front of everyone. What he won't tell you, is that a street removed from the beach, sandwiched between million-of-dollars home, there exists streets in which I felt like I was back in India; cables dangled from concrete boxes to concrete box, over dimly lit stinking streets. He won't know that, because the dream doesn't mention that.
The all-destroying dream. It is not the typical American dream. It is the dream of fame, that wicked dream. Ambition, I welcome. But that which happens there is wrong; it is the sacrifice of the self to ideal. Over ten million people live in the LA area. I wonder how many, of these, aspire to be writers, actors, directors and producers. No wonder the porn industry is centred around LA; girls failing in normal movies can still "make it" if they take their clothes off. Lucien, the man I was staying with, is a prime example: a bright man from the Ivory Coast who got a scholarship to study in the US, he is now 41 and still pursuing Music. I honestly believe he has talent. But is talent enough to make it in LA? And the strength of the dream is such that Music remains paramount; he is swimming upstream, along with the rest. And there is no one waiting at the top. A long road for a lonely stage.
Since then, I have come back and moved in to an American dorm. This is suitstyle accommodation. 3 rooms, five people, two bathrooms and a lounge. Apartments repeated around a pool in my case, and courts in others. A dining common in the middle, where all three meals are served, with a wide variety of food. This style is not typical: what you usually see on TV is hall-style dorms: people share a room and use a community bathroom at the end of the corridor on their floor. The latter type is a bit more social, and leads to crazy parties. Where I live is a bit more like Dead Man On Campus. Crazy parties happen in fraternities. A frat is a brotherhood set up for some bogus reason, intent on setting drinking records, and getting as many girls as they can. To do that, they live in run-down houses, buy a lot of alcohol and invite girls, the innocent ones, to share their drinks. The girls that stay don't remain innocent. To hide their real purpose, frat brothers invite "everybody". That is how I went to two of those parties.
I can safely say that they were the easiest place to get a girl that I have ever been to. They jump on everybody. And on people with accent, they swarm. A little bit sickening actually. All I have to do is say something, anything. Hello. You're ignorant. And I get the same response. Oh, I love your accent, ohhh (moan). And then it's a snowball effect. Girl after girl after girl.
If you think that is a good thing, think again. Imagine yourself in the same situation. You are in a noisy and dirty place; and they act so happy to see you, all of them. Even the ones you could never care for. It's a bit like the evening after Easter lunch; chocolate lost its appeal.
Classes have started. I am taking two managerial economics classes, mainly because I can. The campus have finally come to life; here roundabouts are a foreign concept, but the civil engineer in charge of Davis' roads is from Hungary, and she imported them. They replace all-way stops on campus, but since no one knows the rules, they are absolute chaos. I've seen a bus half-way through one stop, and let people to its right through.
Chaos happily replaces emptiness. The courses I take seem interesting enough so far; they are far more general than their Australian counterpart.
I think I have finally caught up. Today was my second day of class. I don't have many hours but I already have a few assignments.
Awaiting some news,
Albert
First set of news
Hello all,
right now, I am listening to Democracy by L Cohen. Sail on, sail on, oh mighty ship of state, he says, past the reefs of greed to the shores of need through the squalls of hate, democracy is coming to the
Back home, I didn’t really appreciate the song, but now I feel it and for the little I’ve seen, I start to understand it.
I caught the plane on Friday at
A couple of weeks, I contacted someone regarding a room they had advertised on some community listing. This person was going to go on exchange to
Jimmy (his name) spoke with a soft American accent; he did a lot of the speaking; I was tired. When I saw his car, I experienced my first real American moment. A 1966 Ford Mustang, purple, with a shiny body. As I was to learn in our three hours drive, through accordion traffic, the body doesn’t make the car. He was a lot more interested in the motor, and he told me much about it; all I got was that it had the power of a corvette, and made as much noise as a truck.
That first day in the
In the house, I awkwardly stood around, unsure of what I should do with my bags, before confidently walking towards another housemate and meeting her. I then went to campus, Jimmy driving. It is a very large and green campus. Roads crisscross it, but they are only for authorized vehicles and bicycles. There are bike circles: the local equivalent of roundabouts; an intersection unknown to Americans, and replaced by all-way stops. The buildings are modern and clean; they do not aspire to any type of aestheticism. My main interest in this first visit was finding out where North was, from a variety of points.
Jimmy also drove me through downtown
They say that
This was a tournament; buy in was set at three dollars; since I had never played I was invited in for free. Beers appeared, alcohol flowed, and the game was played. It took a long time for the first person to go out: more than two hours. Soon after, there were about six of us left. My chips at times stacked up and at others vanished into another’s pile. The joke was made that it would be funny were I to win. When they were only three of us left, the joke was not deemed funny anymore. When my pile reached enormous proportions, people looked strangely angry at me. They muttered to themselves, keeping their complaints to themselves. When I won, my hand was shook, I was congratulated, they left, but no one was really happy. I had won $18. The next day, the grudge was over, we all went for pizza, another game was played, I came second, and did not lose any money.
On food: well I have to say it, but mum was right. Americans eat very badly. Forget
Sunday was the day before this girl’s 21st birthday; stereotypes decided to all converge on the house. First in the name of a gay guy called Joey, and his fat but straight friend called Amy. Joey was indeed a very nice person; he is black (sort of), fit, has done a lot of Tae Kwan Do fights, and also very open about his sexuality. “This girl jumped on me at a party, and she started undoing my belt, and I said ‘What are you doing?’, ‘What are you doing!?’, ‘Stop that, I like boys’”. The birthday girl is a bisexual women’s studies major; she hates sexist jokes, and becomes aggressive at any hint of a challenge. The others vary, but they are mainly typical American men. The birthday girl, at someone’s request, had brought Edward Penishands, an interesting porn parody, that we all watched, mostly in fast forward. No one cared. The others then went out, since she was now twenty one, the legal drinking age.
Monday after the usual recuperative morning/afternoon, we headed out to
Tuesday and Wednesday I did things that I had to do with the campus to keep my visa valid. I also played basketball; a very different sports from any I am used to. Shepherding is allowed, and it changes the game dramatically. On Tuesday I was marking this player who started insulting people as soon as his team started losing. He seemed like a ghetto guy. Tattoos in street ball are very common; talk is rough, raplike.
Today, and Adrien will love this, I went to an autoshow: Autoshow, GM in motion. Amazing.
It was a different concept from usual shows: there were 50 or so vehicles available to drive on small race tracks. A driver after registering, gets in line when there is one, and drives the car on the track. With a couple of notable exceptions, the driver is alone. The show is held by General Motors, but competitors’ vehicles were also available. Thomas got invited to this show because he is with Visa. He is allowed to bring as many guests as he wants with his invite. Driving is free, food is free, drinks are free, entry is free. There is nothing to pay. The key is knowing about it.
Let me tell you about my new driving style. We first went into the passenger car section; there were cars like the Camry and its GM competitors, but also cars with bigger engines. I first drove a Chevrolet Grand Prix. I went around the track a little fast, a bit like I’d drive if I was in a hurry to get to class. I got out, spoke to Jimmy, and he reckoned that the track was good enough to test the vehicles. I drove a few others and found it pretty enjoyable. I then went in a car with Thomas driving and I understood what they meant; tyres squelched in the corners. That was driving a little harder. So slowly, as I worked my way up to the Corvette, I increased my driving speed. The Pontiac GTO was rather nice; it looks very similar to some Holden cars. I went on to Luxury cars, still waiting to drive the Corvette. BMW, Acura, Pontiav, Lexus, Saab: I all drove you, a little harder each time. I then went in line for the Corvette.
The Corvette, according to Thomas who has a lot of practical and theoretical knowledge, is a bit like a low-end Ferrari. Look it up. It’s a very nice looking vehicle, selling for only $50,000. It is mass-produced, hence the price. I could only drive it once, and that accompanied by a staff member. I’ll try to describe it. I got in and took in the luxury. Good seat, good vision, comfortable reach to the pedals. I drove it the starting line and I waited for the man in front to get further ahead. I had checked out the course. It went straight and then a small chicane followed by a hairpin turn, a straight, hairpin turn, hairpin turn, straight finish. I had calculated that I could go straight through the small chicane without hitting a cone.
On the starting line, I pushed down the pedal, and the car rushed forward. The cones were coming fast, really fast. Through the chicane in a split second, I broke hard, turned accelerated in the turn softly (which would come to a flooring acceleration with a normal car), accelerated hard, broke and turned, the car started sliding (yeah!), let go, it righted itself, and went on... What a ride! After it, I wished I had driven it harder, and to make amends, I drove every subsequent car to the max, except for one:
The Hummer. Adrien knows what it is. If you don’t, check it out. It’s an army vehicle, illegal in
This was in the afternoon; there were less people, so I drove a variety of cars. Many 4WD. Verdict: on a road, the BMW X5 is the best. It handles better that most lower cars. I was taking turns with it without breaking, my foot floored on the straights. (By the way, each section had different tracks.) For passenger cars, the GTO was very good. I had to go very fast to make it slide out. But there was a nice surprise: a Saab Wagon (2.3 something). I drove that thing many laps. No one wanted it but me. It doesn’t look good, but it’s a joy to drive. You start by accelerating and it feels like nothing much... until the turbo kicks in. It got to the point where I felt like I was in Gran Turisimo. Cones came fast; I was leaning forward, trying to take professional turns at the fastest speed possible (the answer to this, except in rally driving, is before the wheels slide out); my hands were constantly moving the steering wheel one way or the other; my foot stayed on the accelerator as much as possible. It was like a game, but a lot better.
I’ve played poker again; won $3 over the $2 buy in. Some people don’t think; they're really just giving me their money.
Tomorrow I am going to San Francisco. Sunday I am going to a concert there: Dave Matthews band,
until next time
Albert
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