Skiing has always been mixed hat for me-- mostly because I've never picked up the hat to try it on. Few products of Georgia become ski stars, and probably fewer know the difference between sweats and snow pants are or what "good" snowball snow is (these distinctions became painfully aware to me in the collegiate tundra of South Bend).
But, relationships have a funny way of reminding you what you "love to do." Dating someone from Colorado, for instance, makes skiing less a luxury and more a prerequisite to participating in holiday traditions.
Before you judge my people as close-minded GRITS ("Girl Raised In The South," and probably the number two most popular southern bumper sticker to "Obama is a socialist"), I'd like to remind you that I have branched out into winter sports. Cross-country skiing has become one of my favorite any-weather sports, probably because you work so hard you forget it's actually cold outside.
No, it's not the snow that gets me about alpine skiing. It's the speed. I am not one for jumping off cliffs into rocky bodies of water (or any type of water unless it's a swimming pool), skydiving, thrill-seeking, starting my own business, or (sorry impatient passengers) driving over the speed limit. You might call me boring, and you'd be quite right. I take risks in my own way, just ways that prefer to remain anonymous.
So, in my slightly boring, safe world, I haven't exactly been pining to speed down a tree-covered mountain. My only ski updates as a kid were about how Sonny Bono and Michael Kennedy died running into trees, and I would take my chances hiking slowly through them, thank you very much.
Going fast didn't kill me. I skied for the first time this weekend without hitting any trees. I hit my butt pretty hard and took a few hits in my pride, as well, but the trees remained painted on the tranquil backdrop as I whizzed by (okay, slid by).
If you ask me today, post-ski, if I "wanna go fast," I would tell you that I retain my (endearingly?) slow ways, a far cry from Ricky Bobby's drive that propelled him NASCAR fame. Hiking through the peaceful woods beats rushing down a mountain any day-- even if it's too cold for roses that I can stop and smell.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Warmth in the . . . where?
SUNY Albany's heat and hot water are out today-- for "minimum of four hours." Good thing I'm at home today, reading and treating myself to a balmy 60 degree apartment (please disregard freezing hands post below).
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Distributism
While brushing up on early nineteenth-century Europe today (it's the class I TA for, so I hope the brushing up goes quickly), I read about Distributism for the first time.
Distributism is the idea that an "ism" exists somewhere on the spectrum between socialism and capitalism. The founders of the concept, two Catholic British thinkers named G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc (Belloc is also part French, for full disclosure), believed that too much capitalism concentrated wealth in the hands of a few. Not many people who have witnessed the past few decades of world history can argue that huge capitalist systems tend to make only a handful of people very wealthy.
Chesterton and Belloc believed that if everyone had access to property-- be it land, tools, or otherwise-- each individual would care for his or her property more diligently than if it belonged to someone else.
A great example is land; if someone owns their own farm and the family works the farm themselves, they will probably have higher crop yields than if migrant workers are underpaid to pick someone else's crop (environmentally, this idea of providing ownership to install responsibility foreshadows Garrett Hardin's 1968 "Tragedy of the Commons").
If a farmer owned just a few hectares, if a writer owned her own computer and printer, if a barber owned his own shop, if a teacher owned her own classroom, then perhaps they would take greater pride in their tools and in the product that came from them. The government wouldn't own everything as in socialism, which would (ideally) prevent corruption. Likewise, a few corperations wouldn't own everything, and ultra-wealthy capitalists wouldn't dominate the world's goings-on; there would be too many empowered stakeholders participating in politics and economics.
It's a philosophy of how society can function in the middle of the poltical spectrum, and one I would certainly like to learn more about.
For now, lest you think I want to do away with government, I'll leave you with this reminder that while ownership can be a partial solution, it's certainly not the be-all-end-all (courtesy The Distributist Review):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QDv4sYwjO0&
Distributism is the idea that an "ism" exists somewhere on the spectrum between socialism and capitalism. The founders of the concept, two Catholic British thinkers named G.K. Chesterton and Hilaire Belloc (Belloc is also part French, for full disclosure), believed that too much capitalism concentrated wealth in the hands of a few. Not many people who have witnessed the past few decades of world history can argue that huge capitalist systems tend to make only a handful of people very wealthy.
Chesterton and Belloc believed that if everyone had access to property-- be it land, tools, or otherwise-- each individual would care for his or her property more diligently than if it belonged to someone else.
A great example is land; if someone owns their own farm and the family works the farm themselves, they will probably have higher crop yields than if migrant workers are underpaid to pick someone else's crop (environmentally, this idea of providing ownership to install responsibility foreshadows Garrett Hardin's 1968 "Tragedy of the Commons").
If a farmer owned just a few hectares, if a writer owned her own computer and printer, if a barber owned his own shop, if a teacher owned her own classroom, then perhaps they would take greater pride in their tools and in the product that came from them. The government wouldn't own everything as in socialism, which would (ideally) prevent corruption. Likewise, a few corperations wouldn't own everything, and ultra-wealthy capitalists wouldn't dominate the world's goings-on; there would be too many empowered stakeholders participating in politics and economics.
It's a philosophy of how society can function in the middle of the poltical spectrum, and one I would certainly like to learn more about.
For now, lest you think I want to do away with government, I'll leave you with this reminder that while ownership can be a partial solution, it's certainly not the be-all-end-all (courtesy The Distributist Review):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QDv4sYwjO0&
Friday, December 3, 2010
Neil Diamond Christmas
I grew up a passive music listener. My mom loved to socialize us into her music, so whatever was on her radar usually went for the rest of us. Like many other projects of hers, this one worked; I still prefer Chicago and the Beatles to most contemporary music.
When it came to Christmas music, I passively adhered to her musical preference just the same. And this has ruined the way I sing Christmas carols. Why? Two words, one man: Neil Diamond.
I don't even know what song Neil Diamond is most famous for. Sweet Caroline? Maybe. My mom loves his music in any form-- every drive to Pittsburgh (we drove up every summer to see family), we would put in out Neil Diamond cassette tape while driving through the tunnel (I have no idea which tunnel, and if you aren't familiar with Pittsburgh and would fault me for that, check out this and maybe you'll think differently). When we gloriously emerged from the tunnel, we'd raise our voices in unison with Mr. Diamond as we sang, "We comin' to America (today!)."
Seeing as my sisters grew up in Georgia, I'm not sure what this says about the status of the South within the U.S. in the 1990s. No matter our confusion of what constituted "America" and how long we had been in it, we loved Neil Diamond's song that welcomed us there in Pennsylvania.
If you are a fan of Neil Diamond, you know what I mean when I say his songs make you want to sing . . . differently. This urge isn't so much that he is an incredibly talented singer, but more that singing along to Neil requires pauses, syllabic intonations, and a strained drama that most singers find too cheesy to actually belt out. Not Mr. Diamond. Thank god, no.
Of course, he retains his trademark style in his Christmas album--another staple of my Mom's music collcetion. Just listen to some samples of his Christmas fare to get a taste of how none of your favorite songs will never sound the same again. The best part is, if you slow down your own singing and change it to a deep, slightly-talking singing voice, you, too, can sound like Neil Diamond!
After his impressive infiltration into my Christmas song repertoire, I learned that Neil Diamond is actually Jewish. He also does a lovely (diamond-esque, of course) version of Adam Sandler's Chanukah song.]
Despite my somewhat comical view of Mr. Compacted Coal, I really do like his singing. I just sometimes wish I could sing "Morning Has Broken" at church without wanting to do Neil's version, a version that makes me sound like I'm the actor in the emotional climax of a musical and don't realize the orchestra is going faster than me.
Unfortunately, my mother conditioned us strongly enough to her music that I have a hard time question my affinity for him. Thanks Neil. Good times never seemed so good . . . (so good! so good! so good!)
When it came to Christmas music, I passively adhered to her musical preference just the same. And this has ruined the way I sing Christmas carols. Why? Two words, one man: Neil Diamond.
I don't even know what song Neil Diamond is most famous for. Sweet Caroline? Maybe. My mom loves his music in any form-- every drive to Pittsburgh (we drove up every summer to see family), we would put in out Neil Diamond cassette tape while driving through the tunnel (I have no idea which tunnel, and if you aren't familiar with Pittsburgh and would fault me for that, check out this and maybe you'll think differently). When we gloriously emerged from the tunnel, we'd raise our voices in unison with Mr. Diamond as we sang, "We comin' to America (today!)."
Seeing as my sisters grew up in Georgia, I'm not sure what this says about the status of the South within the U.S. in the 1990s. No matter our confusion of what constituted "America" and how long we had been in it, we loved Neil Diamond's song that welcomed us there in Pennsylvania.
If you are a fan of Neil Diamond, you know what I mean when I say his songs make you want to sing . . . differently. This urge isn't so much that he is an incredibly talented singer, but more that singing along to Neil requires pauses, syllabic intonations, and a strained drama that most singers find too cheesy to actually belt out. Not Mr. Diamond. Thank god, no.
Of course, he retains his trademark style in his Christmas album--another staple of my Mom's music collcetion. Just listen to some samples of his Christmas fare to get a taste of how none of your favorite songs will never sound the same again. The best part is, if you slow down your own singing and change it to a deep, slightly-talking singing voice, you, too, can sound like Neil Diamond!
After his impressive infiltration into my Christmas song repertoire, I learned that Neil Diamond is actually Jewish. He also does a lovely (diamond-esque, of course) version of Adam Sandler's Chanukah song.]
Despite my somewhat comical view of Mr. Compacted Coal, I really do like his singing. I just sometimes wish I could sing "Morning Has Broken" at church without wanting to do Neil's version, a version that makes me sound like I'm the actor in the emotional climax of a musical and don't realize the orchestra is going faster than me.
Unfortunately, my mother conditioned us strongly enough to her music that I have a hard time question my affinity for him. Thanks Neil. Good times never seemed so good . . . (so good! so good! so good!)
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