Where everyone is a journalist.

Giving full credit to BB, who took these photos. We're actually sitting further back in the first tier of seats, behind the media and off to the right. I took some photos with my camera phone but have no free way to upload them onto my computer.

The moment, the time

Attending an Obama rally is like attending a rock concert. Not for nothing is U2’s “City of Blinding Lights” and “Beautiful Day” blared as a prelude. Like U2's music, Obama's rallies make you understand that there are problems in the world, but nothing we can't understand and face. I attended Obama’s rally in Baltimore for the Chesapeake Bay primaries, but last night’s rally in St. Paul completely eclipsed my expectations. I stood in line next to my dad, who couldn’t get over the mixture of old and young, black and white and Hispanic. As the line encircle Rice Park, the Landmark Center, and all the way to the NPR building, people celebrated. Everyone had these excited looks, knowing that they could say for future generations that they were there to see this. In line, we updated each other on the superdelegate count, laughing if someone offered information that was an hour old, only to be gently corrected by someone with more recent information. As we edged closer, we saw umbrellas and strollers, discarded before entering the arena. CNN estimated a crowd of 17,000 indoors with another 15,000 standing outside. I felt lucky to be in the arena at all.

What was amazing was the tone of Obama's thundering speech. As he spoke, I heard someone who was not just running for the presidency, but also now running the party as its de facto leader.

But what you don't deserve is another election that's governed by fear, and innuendo, and division. What you won't hear from this campaign or this party is the kind of politics that uses religion as a wedge and patriotism as a bludgeon...

(APPLAUSE)

What you won't see from this campaign or this party is a politics that sees our opponents not as competitors to challenge, but enemies to polarize, because we may call ourselves Democrats and Republicans, but we are Americans first. We are always Americans first.

Above all, Obama sounded gracious last night. Gracious toward Sen. Hilary Rodham Clinton and her noble, but technically still-continuing campaign. Gracious toward Sen. John McCain and his years of public service while subtly highlighting the differences. Above all, and what I appreciated the most, was Obama's graciousness toward the American people. Unlike Clinton's speech, whose points began with what "I feel," "I met," "I see," or "I want," Obama's speech carried what we must do. He spoke to the people of Minnesota and citizens of America without patronizing our intelligence that surprise! we need a politician who has been paying attention. We have a politician who is looking ahead to long-term solutions.

I sent a text message to a number of my friends who are Obama supporters, letting them know I was at the rally. One friend wished me a good time. Another assured me that had I missed this opportunity, there would be hell to pay. My favorite?

“That’s awesome. History my dear."

Forget cynicism

Thomas Friedman's Mother's Day column is sweet and sentimental. Here is an excerpt:

My mom’s other big influence on me you can read between the lines of virtually every column — and that is a sense of optimism. She was the most uncynical person in the world. I don’t recall her ever uttering a word of cynicism. She was not naïve. She had taken her knocks. But every time life knocked her down, she got up, dusted herself off and kept on marching forward, motivated by the saying that pessimists are usually right, optimists are usually wrong, but most great changes were made by optimists.

I like the last sentence. Happy Mother's Day.

Not just a pile of change

Caroline Kennedy's op-ed piece in the NY Times had me thinking. Much has been said about Obama's ability to unify, to hope, and to inspire. The word "hope" has been tossed around campaigns now as well as 8 years ago. I'll leave that word to the pundits and those that epitomize the word for themselves. I've already grown tired of the word "change." To me, it just symbolizes a difference and a break from our lame-duck president. What is intriguing is the word "inspire." I spent some time trying to think of any politician, here or around the world, that fits that description. Perhaps Nelson Mandela, one of my political heroes.

This brings me to a larger question. Does our vote constitute an endorsement of the candidate for who he or she is as a person, what he or she stands for, or the issues that he or she supports? [Note that I'm excited to be able to say "he or she."]

I know that I tend to vote on issues, a stance problematic in that I often don't agree with a candidate on all issues. Being far too young to remember the Kennedy era, I have grown up with an innate cynicism and suspicion of politics and politicians. For me, my mistrust of politicians extends deeper than a belief that federal politics are rooted in partisanship and special interests. I haven't felt as if my trust has been broken because I've never felt as if by voting, I've placed my trust in the candidate. Rather, I vote because I feel it's my meager opportunity to participate and by doing so, I take a stand on issues, if not the candidate. Interestingly, as Kennedy writes,

There is a generation coming of age that is hopeful, hard-working, innovative and imaginative. But too many of them are also hopeless, defeated and disengaged.

With this in mind, it seems a misnomer to describe the candidates as candidates for change, candidates of change, or candidates that have changed so many times that we don't know their true standing. It seems as if we are looking at candidates that operate under different ideologies rather than merely policy and personality differences. We've swung around to who defines a leader, rather than who merely possesses leadership. And that is a very exciting promise.

It's what we used to dream about

Rent is ending its Broadway run on June 1, according to the New York Times. Forgive my sentimental thoughts as I remember how I've grown up as the musical grew into a long-running hit. (Cliche: I watched the show on the eve of the millennium and thought about the future..... now with its close, I'm thinking about the past.....)

1999. At sixteen, I admit that I hadn't really thought about homelessness, sexuality, drugs, and premature mortality before the show and immediately after, I had few experiences in which to thoroughly understand those topics. The strains of optimism, idealism, and friendship that run through the lyrics were what caught my ear and to which I could relate.

2001. The musical is popular in school, and I'm glad that I've seen the show. Talk about wanting to fit in.....

2004. In college I'm starting to have a greater understanding of the issues of which I was unsure how to approach in high school. My volunteer experiences are shaping me and I'm glad that they did. However, I'm worrying that I'm trading in my idealism as I work towards climbing the career ladder. Rent also made excellent music for long trips.

2008. Being a recent college graduate, I look around at my friends and I can see who is pursuing an idealistic role in the world, who makes time for friendship and love, and who isn't. Who is like Benny and who is like Angel. I know I'm just as guilty as the next person about getting caught up in materialism and my own little world. Maybe just a reminder about those missed sunsets.... or another road trip.

plugged into the wall

Yesterday, I had a fantastic argument over a long-standing point. I lack internet in my apartment and for nearing five months, I have refused to discuss with Comcast or Verizon the merits of receiving it. By now, it's become more than an esoteric or financial point. It's become an experiment of sorts. Is it possible to have a good life without internet? For most of my friends (I'll call them of the young professional age), high speed internet at home is a basic need, right up there with food, and electricity.

The teasing cajolery always follows a similar course: Has my life been barer without internet? What do I do at night? Isn't it difficult to stay in contact with people? In essence, how do I live?

My day job keeps me away from a computer and doesn't permit me to use the internet for most of the day. I've condensed my online time to a mere 30-60 minutes per day. The initial concept was simple: make a list and stick to the essentials. I would make a list of tasks to complete on my heart-shaped post-it notes and check them off, one by one.

Last year, the vast majority of my news came from online sources. Now, I have to wait until I'm outside my apartment to read these sources or pick up the paper edition. All this of course competes with my email correspondence and blog time. Certainly, I spend less time on this blog. I also spend less time playing sudoku or reading blogs and personal networking websites. I haven't stayed up half the note browsing YouTube and Wikipedia, but what's the problem with that? Lacking the internet at home already feels like a throwback to a different era.

Last minute invitations and directions via email are not likely to be received in time. Personal correspondence has also changed. Succinctly, what would I do without a cell phone? When I first settled without internet, I called people very frequently. What was once spoken on instant messenger or other chat programs was relegated to emails or actual phone calls. In many ways, that's the nicest part. I've never been in the habit of doing snail mail, but somehow, actual emails or long phone conversations are more satisfying.

Do I accomplish more around my apartment without the internet? Yes. I can't check the weather online or look up driving directions. For these, I rely on more old-fashioned sources: paper maps, the TV, or simply looking outside the window. I cook more. I clean. I spend time with other people (although I would be doing that even with internet). I admit, I'm away from my apartment more than I may be if I had the internet. Mostly, it's due to the people who are less likely to visit since they can't check their email in my humble abode.

Have I survived this year without internet without a significant drop in comfort? Yes.
Am I glad that I did this? Yes.
Will I get internet next year? Yes.

On writing

I had a nice opportunity to step back and appreciate the merits of writing on Wednesday. In my creative writing class, we focused on humorous writing. Although our Dave Sedaris audio clip and story fell short, we focused on humorous events during the holidays. An upbeat way to end the class.

Plus, in closing, A included a great excerpt from "Letters to a Young Poet," by Ranier Maria Rilke. In particular, these words struck me for their beauty in themselves. Lately, it's been easy to immerse myself in technical writing and the elements of clarity, brevity, and content. This excerpt reminded me of the beauties of writing for one's self. Rilke suggests that this may be a tortuous path in itself. That being said, it's a good lesson for any field that one chooses, not just writing.

Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity. . . .

. . . For the creator must be a world for himself and must find everything in himself and in Nature, to whom his whole life is devoted.

Science and Politics

Coming over to Ireland, I read about Northern Ireland and the proposed power-sharing agreement between the DUP and Sinn Fein. It seemed plausible yet ridden with potential roadblocks and dependent on "if this, then that" actions. In light of the St. Andrews Agreement, people seem encouraged that the Belfast Agreement will finally reach its goals. The recent news about Ian Paisley and the DUP is a necessary step before March.

It seems to be when I least expect it that I hear people's thoughts on Northern Ireland, the Republic, and the St. Andrews Agreement. It might be over drinks or just a conversation that centers around science and moves to politics and back to science. Yet maybe that's why it is more interesting nonetheless. All comments are paraphrased from memory:

• We are one island, we should just be united. Great Britain is its own entity. But I don't really care about politics.
• Growing up the Troubles were going on. But it never really affected the Republic. You knew it was occurring it and accepted it.
  
• The local IRA was in control (esp rural areas) and had more power than the local police. Now the local police is having more power.
• You can barely tell when you cross the border. Signs may look different. But I doubt that we'll be united, but that may not be so important. What is important is to have more connections built between the North and the South.
  
• Clinton is a hero in Ireland.
  

I have so many questions for the Mitchells up in the North. Yet I find myself questioning their experiences- have you spoken with a diverse population? Experiences at a debate, were these representative of the majority or just those who are passionate about the issue? Acts of violence? Where? Who is involved? Maybe it's my background of having experimental controls and understanding parameters of a "result" but I feel like I need more information.

Yet I also acknowledge that my experiences have been limited, particularly with whom I have talked about "the Troubles." I want to keep listening to others' opinions. Not sure where it will lead, but it should be interesting to watch the news unfold in the next few months.

Can the social model survive?

The Working Time Directive debate may finally come to a head in the European Union. Much of Europe, particularly France, wants Great Britain to opt-in to the directive, rather than its current opt-out position. The UK is the most influential country in Europe to not limit its work week to 48 hours as the WTD states.

I realize that Europe has a different work ethic and lifestyle than the United States. Yet it appears to be so much of the politics between the European nations that pushes this debate. Is it little wonder that it is France, who has the 35 hour work week, is pushing to bring the UK into the WTD? The British work more than the French and less than the Italian, according to the IHT article. Interesting? Yes.

Moreover, a representative at European Reform Centre said that the workaholics in business and the financial sector will continue to work overtime, regardless of salary. Such legislation is designed to protect workers for their health and to protect those who could be used for their labor and paid little. That may be true, but what about the people who want to work more hours in order to earn more money? It limits the poor as to how many hours they are able to work a week and must survive on it. These are the people who are more likely to be on hourly wages rather than yearly salaries as the business people will be. Salaries allow more flexibilty and security as job attendance is not tied to the limited amount of money available. If a family emergency occurs, then the business people often have the resources to take days off, knowing that money will arrive home and work can be done early or immediately after return. Hourly wages allow less flexibility for the workers who need the money from each hour that he or she works. Such policies need revision and more careful analysis.

Reminds me of home

"Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them."
--Bill Vaughan--

One more day up in the canyon

"We are here to add what we can to life, not to get what we can from it." -William Osler-

A friend recently said that one of the qualities he most admired was the ability to live life to the fullest. I was thinking about that this afternoon, when I talked with T. T couldn't be more exuberant than when praising our creative writing class. He is 44 but looks to be 30. I consider him as an author and romantic at heart. He served in the police force for 13 years before succumbing to a crack cocaine addiction. He resigned and worked in a warehouse in order to make ends meet and continue to feed his addiction. Now, he's in an upward swing and in love once again. T regaled me with tales of his 3 year old granddaughter and how his relationship with his son has changed since he has come out of rehab. In a few months, he hopes to rejoin his old job and get married to his fiancee.

Walking back down Eager Street today reminded me of Mabija street. It's a typical Charm City street where people congregate on the front steps and stare at the racially different people who walk by. There are chain-link fences and brick rowhouses with brightly painted window frames. Paint is falling off the cheap liquor store on the corner. You can kick the empty metallic bags that once held individual servings of potato chips (regular and sour cream and onion, normally). More trash and other gristle lies on the sidewalks. The bricks are uneven, and I shudder to think of the effects on an auto's shocks. When I drive by this area at night, I'm always surprised to see the number of people who are just standing or sitting. Such constant inactivity is not necessarily off-putting, just unnerving. It's a different world.

It's not to say that I'm not extremely content right now. On the contrary, I am. I sincerely enjoy my somewhat surreal state. Today, I revisited, albeit briefly, Arisotelian ethics and the principle of virtue. I find inspiration in a statue in an institution that promises some of the best tertiary care in the world. In class, I find myself listening more than I talk. Education comes in the form of lectures, planned conferences, and the internet. It's a sheltered world, one that has more good than bad.

Many have said that they love to make a difference in the life of a child. I concur. Yet, today, out of my bubble, I felt as if I've added something to the world in the life of an adult. And this seemed more real to me than the rest of my day.

Five and a half weeks

Coming to Ireland, I set out to blog my experiences. For being a capitalistic meritocracy like the United States, Ireland does have its quirks that I've been adjusting to since I've arrived.

Irish time. It's not just a newspaper and it's not to the same extent as Italy or South Africa. Classes start at ten past the hour and if you are meeting a group of friends at the pub, expect them to arrive within a ninety minute window. Accordingly, it is smart to know if one person will arrive somewhat on time. Otherwise, I walk around the block a few times. I've had a taxi ride that gave me flashbacks of NYC cabbies and buses that drop me off with a few minutes before my train was to depart. Everything gets done in its own time. That's what the Irish tell me, I tell myself, and hope that Irish time won't fail me.

Food and drink. It doesn't bother me to go shopping more frequently for groceries, though I often wish that my fridge was larger. I continually tell myself that having a dishwasher is ample compensation. However, individual college students had this size fridge in their dorm rooms for one or two people. Not four. My housemates and I make it work, though it's the least ideal part of my townhouse. The Saturday market is fabulous for organic vegetables, hot curries (when I don't feel like cooking a hot lunch), and browsing homemade crafts. If only I could afford to buy more organic products....

Beverages really should have their own paragraph. With hour breaks between many of my lectures, my classmates and I will go have a cup of tea. Or lunch. Multiple times. The wet-cold weather is chilling, though hot tea or a pint does help. The first couple of weeks, my classmates and I were out at College Bar or City Centre for a pint (or more). Unfortunately, work is piling up and I'm discovering that Ireland is an expensive place to live. Pubs are great- cannot not say enough about the atmosphere to sit around and get to know people. (I've also gone out for coffee and dinner, so please don't think I only go drinking. There is no way I could ever outdrink the Irish.)

Having gotten back from my orientation trip in Dublin this past weekend, I've been thinking a lot more about how ingrained the American culture is in me. I need my time to talk with my American friends about arrival and adjustment experiences. We laugh about the cultural differences and slang. Yet I find that it's rather tiring to find out that there's still more slang that I don't know. Sometimes I can understand the general meaning, other times, I am worried that I dont' know and have to ask. Today I learned that calling someone a legend is not comparing him or her to Paul Bunyan or the Beatles. Rather, that person is brilliant (caution, not in the genius sense.) Easy enough. Until I come across the phrase "I'm chuffed." No context there. (It has a positive connotation.)

References to old TV shows go over my head and I only know the American TV shows. The other Mitchells and I were in the live studio audience at the Ryan Tubridy Show (similar to the Conan O'Brian show). I ended up telling only Derek that I was going to attend since I didn't realize it was a show that others watched. It was a good time- complete with the guest appearance of the Hoff. Yes, I was seen on television in the audience. The show is broadcast on one of the Irish TV networks, RTE.

I definitely miss the familiarity of my life at Kenyon. I miss having someone cook my meals and being able to walk across campus and recognizing the majority of people that I meet. That's not to say that I'm not having a brilliant time in Galway. It's just that sometimes I wish I knew more people. My classmates are my social network. Reminds me of Kenyon in that sense. However, I have my own place now and have more time to myself. More relaxing in general.

Don't get me wrong. I've found so many of the Irish students and people that I've met to be generous, friendly, and possess a good sense of humor. That sense of humor might be dark or sarcastic, but it is rarely malicious. The idea of buying rounds at pubs is so natural. That is one thing that I wish to improve throughout the year. Buying rounds without being rude or unaware. They don't say much about themselves but are nonetheless curious about others.

It's exciting to know the other Mitchells around Ireland. They will come visit me and I will visit them. Also, it is just good to know others on this island. I do think of Ireland as an island. Probably because I see the ocean every day.

Yes, I have seen Martin Sheen walking along the Concourse on his way to class at NUI Galway. No, I haven't talked with him.

Following Twins baseball isn't the same as being in the States, much less in Minnesota.

Dial M for Murder (or Minneapolis)

I couldn't resist the mention of the Twin Cities in The Economist. Apparently, Twin Cities' writers produce more than their share of crime noir literature. Advertising and journalism are deemed as two breeding grounds. Notwithstanding:

"...there is the weather, which is splendidly atmospheric. The Twin Cities have hot summers and wildly erratic autumns and springs—a gift to mystery writers in search of colour. Winter is grim. As Brian Freeman, who has published a crime novel set in Duluth, in northern Minnesota, explains: “What is there to do during those long winter months beside sit inside and think dark thoughts of murder and mayhem?”'

Wow. and I thought Ohio winters were grim.

Hypothetical replay

August 10, 2006

6:57 am: Car is packed. Nothing else can fit.
7:12 am: Start driving east.
7:15 am: Turn around to get sunglasses which are reminiscent of Sophia Loren.
7:17 am: Start driving east again. Prepare to have heart attack due to gas prices.

7:24 am: Realize that self has forgotten to pack bag with jeans and shorts. Panic sets in.
7:25 am: Co-driver refuses to let driver turn around to get said bag.
7:26 am: Driver remembers that entirety of underwear collection is in said bag.
7:27 am: Panic does not subside.

11:34 am: Pass traditional road landmark: a gigantic grinning pumpkin sitting atop a silo.
11:35 am: Call sister to inform her about gigantic grinning pumpkin.
11:37 am: Inform sister about missing bag. Demands immediate shipment to prevent self from wearing only mini-skirts until Labor Day.

1:01 pm: Sister calls back. Bag not found at home.
1:34 pm: Sigh of relief. Underwear must be safe in car.

Quantum Quotation

A few friends and I went to the new Guthrie Theater in St. Paul last week to see one of our favorite books performed onstage, The Great Gatsby. I do love much of Fitzgerald's writing. In the play's program, there is a great quote by E.L. Doctorow, describing Fitzgerald:

[Fitzgerald] jumped right into the foolish heart of everything.... he was intellectually ambitious - but thought fashion was important, gossip, good looks, the company of celebrities. He wrote as a rebel, a sophisticate, an escapee from American provincialism- but was blown away by society, like a country bumpkin, and went everywhere he was invited. Ambivalently willed, he lived as both a particle and wave.

And that's the nerdy quotation for the day.

A true midwesterner

I will echo K's earlier post that roadtrips are the way to experience the countryside. However, please conveniantly forget that the midwest lacks the public transportation that other parts of the United States and other countries rely on for their daily transportation. It is enough to drive through cornfields and come across the unexpected.

"For a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate [with] his capacity for wonder." --F. Scott Fitzgerald--

The countryside is gorgeous. Northern Minneota has its own charm that is unique from southern Minnesota and especially North Dakota.

Like a stream that meets a boulder

One of the highlights these past two summers has been the Great American Roadtrips. Vanilla coke, Starbucks Frappuchinos, goldfish crackers, cheez-its, RENT, Wicked!, the Dixie Chicks, and many more old friends.

Our last road trip of the summer (and our last one together for a very long time) was a visit to Bemidji, MN. In many ways, it's like a time warp. Northern MN has the smell of towering white pines and cold, freshwater lakes. And the summer camps there? Look like you've stepped out of The Parent Trap (the old one, with Hayley Mills)

Must admit, the Mississippi headwaters are anticlimatic in the extreme. Before I left town, someone suggested that K and I wear life jackets when we crossed the river. In truth? It barely covered our ankles. The famed headwaters trickle out of Lake Itasca in a sandy pool.

For those who enjoy the Great Outdoors vicariously, I've included photos of the 18 foot high statue of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Pictured below are the Mississippi headwaters themselves.

Lucky Liver Day

I missed a great photo op at the Twins-Indians baseball game. The mascots from a number of local businesses played a T-ball softball game beforehand. About 15-20 mascots were present, with two walleyes as the umpires.

Goldie the Gopher (U of MN), Crunch (MN Timberwolves), Mudonna (the cheeky pig for the St Paul Saints), Lynx mascot, and of course, T.C. (MN Twins) had an advantage, being accustomed to athletic sports. Having arms and legs and visibility probably didn't hurt either. I give credit to Spam and Turkey Spam for being cans with legs too. In comparison, the letter "K" and the Applebees' apple didn't quite make the cut.

What took the MVP honors was the large pink liver. Today was "Love your liver" day at the Metrodome, courtesy of the American Liver Association. Clearly, this was the largest and the hardest working organ on the field. With not too much visibility and essentially no arm maneuvering ability, this liver was tripping and falling and gamely chasing after "line drives."

So you can imagine my surprise when the liver smacked an inside the park HR. Touch-em-all, liver. You kept the game close.

Looking back

The few that I have talked with lately keep asking what my favorite city in Italy was. Each city has an entirely different feel, whether it is a small or large town and is located in the north or the south. Firenze and Roma versus Lago di Como and Positano.

Perhaps that is why K and I attempted to read the Italian newspapers (in Italian) and to understand the voting points of the latest referendum (June 25-26) and who is on what side. The regional loyalties and the backstabbing politics (as seen in football too) we began to see during our travels. We did not understand every point, but got the gist of the referendum; namely, that new powers would be given to each house in the Parliament, regional governments would be given greater decision-making power, and the prime minister would be given more political power.

Italian politics are confusing and exciting. As The Economist writes,

But Italians are not Spaniards. They traditionally reserve their loyalties not for their region, but for their home town or city. It was not, therefore, surprising that they voted to throw the measure out. What was surprising was the size of the majority (61%-39%), and the relatively high turnout of 52%—the highest in any Italian referendum for over a decade. This was not just a bill that most voters disliked; it was one they seemed determined to kill.

Calabria had a resounding "no" vote, against Berlosconi and against big business (Calabria is in the poor South, the "real Italy" as we were told).

So much more to read about. But for now, Italy is immersed in World Cup fever. On July 9, its streets will be deserted as everyone rushes for the nearest coffee bar and the country pursues its other passion: football.

KB Squared

Apart from jet lag, I'm still suffering from a bit of World Cup fever. It's a conspiracy that the games are on ESPN, so I couldn't watch the Germany-Italy game. I can just hear the horns honking in Roma right now.