An argument against vegetarianism

I was sitting in my car in the Steak 'n Shake parking lot eating my grilled chicken salad, and for a few moments I understood how vegetarians feel. There it is, a chuck of a former living thing, sliced up, sitting on vegetables and dressed in honey mustard for my consuming pleasure. An advance civilization descending from the stars might consider it barbaric.

Our ancestors hunted and gathered, subsisted on what filled their hunger. Eventually, they learned to domesticate animals and farm. The surplus generated by these innovations allowed some of the population to do things other than procuring food and specialization began.

Fast forward to today, most of us buy our food, taking no part in its production. Most of us don't bother to think about the animals that die so we can live. Among those who do, some are disgusted by the systematic breeding and killing of animals to feed the ever-growing human population and decide to do the right thing by boycotting animal meat.

My conclusion is thus that vegetarians are people who forget their heritage. It follows that vegetarianism is bad if you believe forgetting one's heritage is a bad thing.

Disclaimer: I don't care if you forget your heritage. What you eat is none of my business.

And my conclusion is...

It doesn't need a reason to die.

The Recently-Closed Cap

Have you ever had the problem of picking up a container of supplements, but don't remember if you had just taken it? Well, I think they should make caps that indicate whether it had just been closed, i.e., you have already taken pill and put down the bottle. I call this the Recently-Closed Cap.

On an unrelated note, the hopelessly cellar-dwelling Boston Celtics acquired Ray Allen from Seattle on draft night and have a deal that will be finalized any minute now that will bring Kevin Garnett from Minnesota. That would be three stars-of-the-franchise who are in their prime -- if late prime -- together in a likewise hopelessly mediocre Atlantic Division; that is obscene.

Certainly some sports writers will soon argue that we have seen this experiment before, that concentrated star power does not translate into automatic championships, citing the Portland Trail Blazers of the early 2000's and the 2003-04 L.A. Lakers, which added Karl Malone and Gary Payton to their championship tandem of Shaq and Kobe. But this is different. Allen and Garnett are two good-natured superstars who can play with Pierce. I think this will work. Danny Ainge's first good move since he took charge in Boston could just revive a franchise that has fallen on hard times since Larry Bird retired, if only for a few seasons before the "aging team" label starts to fly.

What's the word

It appears that my body has a natural cycle for connecting morning and evening sleep-side. With long summer days, this is in fact a crepuscular-nocturnal schedule.

Achievements of the day

1. Got the damages on my car from the damn deer more than two years ago appraised

2. Outlasted two comps in Starcraft (1+ hour)

3. Had a civilized conversation with my mother (1+ hour)

Two headlights, one headlight, no headlights

How can both of my headlights go out three nights apart, the first going the evening of my inspection? Getting it fixed has some urgency now that I essentially can't drive at night, which is essential.

Another awful packing job

Among things brought: bowling ball, book, shot glasses

Among things forgotten: pillow, sheets, towel, cell phone charger

On Qatar

Sitting in a TGI Friday's just chatting, the conversation drifted to the alleged high concentration of gay men in Qatar.

From the official stance on homosexuality, the covering of women, and the assumption that everyone is necessarily heterosexual, Alex concluded: In Qatar they're prison-gay, not really gay.

Departing: The happiest days of my life

You can tell me the title isn't true all you want. You can say, dude, you spent the past year in fucking Qatar. Qatar. Sure, you've been getting trashed in Europe every chance you've got. You said yourself the country sucks; nine months mostly spent there can't possibly be that good. The happiest days of your life? I don't buy it.

And I'm not selling it.

[Aside: The Qatar Airways business lounge, as wonderful as it is, does not serve alcohol in the morning. Ouch.]

I guess there are some tangible things in this country that I will miss. The huge apartment I don't pay for and the constant reckless driving stand out right now.

Sitting in the business lounge, I'm mostly suppressing the few drops of tears that are threatening to come in the name of friends. That's what I will and am missing most dearly.

[Boarding. May or may not pick up again.]

[Picking up in Frankfurt ... after some pretty consistent drinking.]

I was planning on adopting my friend Ryan's plan of staying up throughout my time in the air to enjoy my business-class flights. But by the time I was leaving the Qatar Airways business lounge in Doha I was beginning to doubt if I could bear staying awake and in thought for twenty-some hours.

Wine was the solution. (And is.) Onboard my Doha-Frankfurt flight, I saw Happy Feet and then basically zoned out/passed out listening to amazing music. Nothing I haven't heard before, but it sure was nice to have full albums of Pink Floyd, Beatles, U2, and Led Zeppelin on the flight. It wasn't even an upper-class-only thing; economy totally has the same stuff, only on a smaller screen, not that it matters when you're going for music. Only just discovered it on my last flight, though; I totally would have listened to music on my flight back from Italy last month. (If you're flying Qatar Airways at some point, it's in On-Demand Music under Interactive.)

I only just realized that when you're not flying economy, it doesn't matter how long the layover is. Short (as Tim had it) would actually be hectic; long, on the other hand, gives you time to get liquored up, enjoy life, and possibly miss your flight. Awesomeness. I don't remember what happened when I was in Heathrow on the way to Qatar last August, but I don't think I made it to the business lounge; perhaps it was a short layover.

[Don't get me wrong, I still miss my friends in my half-trashed state. Alcohol's just numbed it for now, which is pretty much imperative. But as we all know, alcohol changes nothing, at least not in the good direction.]

[By the way, Marjorie, when I was going to back fetch my laptop someone else approached the computer I was using (there aren't many) and I told him it's okay, just log me off. Which is why I'm typing up this part of the entry now and not drunk-chatting with you. I hope you'd forgive me.]

The inconvenience of modern communication

Well, here's a thought. It's awfully inconvenient that I run halfway across the world and I'm still just a phone call away. Actually, I'm not. But it troubles me that I have to take the additional steps to save myself.

Wait, what else sucks? If someone writes you an email and you don't write back within a few days, you're clearly blowing them off. Back in the good ol' days -- you know, when pigeons delivered your mail -- you don't hear back from the other side of the mountain for a while. If you happened to find respite on the other side of the world (or just the other side of the world), it's yours and yours alone.

Then again, if it weren't for modern communication, would I be here in Qatar? Of course not.

Steve's (utterly unrelated) three points

Being grown up is loading the dishwasher instead of washing the fork you need.
Alternately: Being grown up is cleaning your apartment even though you pay someone to clean it.

Windowless lecture halls are great for light shows.
Alternately: Don't cheat if your exam is in the morning -- your proctor is cranky and hopes you fail.

Finals week means a break from everything -- somehow it is more true now than ever.
Alternately: Finals week means nothing on the agenda -- I'm not going to work unless I feel like it.

Qatar sunrise

After an hour and 15 minutes of playing the Line Game, I drove to Diary Queen to get fries. Day was about to break; I contemplated driving out to the Corniche to catch the sunrise. Instead I came home, ate my fries and smashed a couple of mosquitoes in the bathroom.

It's been nearly two years since I last saw the sun rise. I suppose that must mean that life's been good for a while. I missed the actual sunrise, but the view from my balcony shortly afterwards is not bad.


And since I'm blogging now and I don't blog often, I'd like to mention that you know it was a pretty good night when you wake up mid-afternoon and find your apartment looking like this. (No, I remember.)

From Napoli, Italia

So, spending one week up in the mountains quickly went out the window after I spent all my cash on my way there and somehow expected to find an ATM in a village of 300. Actually, I went out of my way for something I really wanted to do only to find many things I ran away from -- no money, no internet, nothing to do, no one understands me, don't understand anyone, knocking on your door in the middle of the night for fear that you had too much to drink; that kind of thing. That's why I had to leave.

I had to drive to the coastal town of Agropoli to plan my escape; a 45-minute drive away, it was my nearest gateway to the internet.

The other Italian word (other than grazie) that's been pouring out of my mouth is dove (where); there is no word more useful when you're lost in Italy. The construction Dove è ... [say place's name and/or point to name on map]? is pretty much priceless. I used it plenty when I was trying to find Serramezzana, a village few outside of its 10-mile radius had heard of.

I made the Amalfi Coast drive -- windows down -- on the way to Naples. I don't know which I said to myself more along the way: "Wow..." or "Holy shit..."

Naples is a shady town. I'm actually in a nearby town called Portici. It's shady here, but some kid at the hostel tells me Naples is shadier. I'm staying here for two nights, thinking about hitting Pompeii tomorrow. I'll be back in the Eternal City for my final four days in Italy.

Also, worried that I had been taking too many pictures (I only have a 128-mb memory card from 2003), I discovered that my laptop has a CompactFlash reader. As a result of this fortuitous discovery, I'm able to share with you the following long before my return home. (Click for full-size originals.)

Serramezzana, where I stayed for two nights.


This is Agropoli. You ain't seen nothing yet.


That was so good that I wondered if I was high.


Coming down from the village. You can see the Amalfi Coast on the Sorrentine Peninsula on the other side of the Gulf of Salerno.


Greenery, coastal town, sea, sky. There is nothing more pleasant to the eye.


I kept pulling the car over and getting out to take pictures.


This is in Agropoli. I had to stop for this one.


The funnest drive ever begins. (I might have held my breath the entire way.)


This and the rest of the way: no caption will suffice.







Maiori, where I got the best ice-cream cone I have ever had.


When a tour bus turned a corner much tighter than this one coming the other way, I was pretty sure I was going to die.

An exercise of self-understanding

I once arrived at the conclusion that I only find enough motivation to blog when something significant/fascinating/cool has happened and my life is lame enough that I have nothing better to do than write about it. To that end, I'm pleased that entries are sparse.

I suppose I am here tonight in defiance of that conclusion. Indeed, I did something cool fairly recently -- going to Dubai with a group of good friends is pretty cool, but I understand that I'm not a good enough writer to do the trip any justice by writing about it. Besides, I'm certainly not in lame mode right now; my second semester in Qatar has kept me moving.

I'm not here to write about any of that.

For the last week or so, I've been harboring what may be a pretty cool idea. It'd be a long entry for my blog, actually.

I thought, what is life but a series of encounters with individuals (well, among other things). What a cool idea it would be list a few of them, maybe a hundred, maybe rank them, and write a paragraph or two about the impact each of them has had on me. It would be an exercise of self-understanding. So there would be no running into some of them in the future and realizing how much they mean to me but how few of my thoughts I have spared for them. So I will be able to look at them in the eye and think to myself, you have something to do with who I am, and I have not forgotten.

Perhaps significantly, I realize there are many from whom I have veered away, some consciously, some inadvertently. There are individuals whom I want nothing to do with, some who view life with bitterness and distaste, and some who embody everything I don't want to be. Nevertheless, even those who fall into these categories have had an undeniable hand in shaping the person I have become. Somehow, a peculiar satisfaction comes with the strange realization.

Ranking individuals would, of course, be strictly arbitrary. A cloud of people come to mind. If I were to spend days sifting through these individuals for a top-100, I would undoubtedly conclude that every one of them has had an impact on a different aspect of my life. Predictably, though, two names loom above the rest. Many who know me well would find them obvious: my father, who is dead, and Marianna, who I am certain will not stumble upon this.

I could write a book about each of them, although for neither I would know where to begin. I could write freely about both perhaps because both are lost, both just memories.

As for the rest, I realize I could not do the same. Not on a public forum such as this one, even if no one will read it. Perhaps it would be unfair. Maybe some of my thoughts are best kept to myself.

But maybe I will scribble it away somewhere anyway. I read last night that maybe "Adulthood is a glacier encroaching quietly on youth. When it arrives, the stamp of childhood suddenly freezes, capturing us for good in the image of our last act, the pose we struck when the ice of age set in." Maybe I'll write it while it's still worth writing about, while I may still wake up not believing anything I wrote the night before. I will be gone years from now and maybe someone will find it in my drawer.