Photographer

I got a new camera for my birthday/Christmas, which means I can now take my own pictures of tumbleweeds. Yay! My pick for the blog was going to be one with horses in it, but I went with reindeer and cacti instead.

Home on the Range

I arrived at the Denver airport (on time) yesterday afternoon to find the place looking somewhat lived in after the snowstorm that closed it down for two days. The line for security stretched around the baggage claim (pretty significant, given the size of the airport), and there were announcements asking people to wait until four hours before their flight to get in line. Four hours!

Two hours down the road, the snow was melted but my sparsely-populated hometown had made international news for its own severe weather: a tumbleweed blizzard. The wind had been high and this summer must have been a bumper time for tumbleweeds, because they piled up so high at the front of my parents' house that they rolled over the roof and filled up the back deck--my mom could only let the dog out the side door. (Disclaimer: I have no idea where this photo was taken. One would think that when tumbleweeds make the international news there should be lots of pictures of them online, but no such luck. However, this could very well be Pueblo West).

Each time I leave Pueblo (it's a little east of Pueblo West, for the uninitiated) I forget just how desolate and depressing this place is. Maybe it would help if I didn't always visit in the dead of winter, when it's brown and windy most of the time, with no natural greenery to alleviate the stark ugliness of the box stores and paycheck loan places and the lonesome stucco houses.

Soapbox II

What do you do when someone writes a near 4,000-word cover article about you, culminating in this take-down?

And now, like a mighty t-rex that has escaped from Jurassic Park, Crichton stomps across the public policy landscape, finally claiming the influence he has always sought. In this sense, he himself is like an experiment gone wrong--a creation of the publishing industry and Hollywood who has unexpectedly mutated into a menacing figure haunting think tanks, policy forums, hearing rooms, and even the Oval Office. And, ironically, this leaves Crichton in the very role he and the science-fiction genre have always derided: the hubristic man of opinions, the insider, the expert.

Well, if you're Michael Crichton, you respond like this (yes, you need to register to see the full article, but it's free and very worthwhile).

Is the pen, in fact, mightier than the sword? Discuss.

Santa's in Town

This afternoon I went to TOWWAS's Christmas show: two and a half hours of wholesome holiday revelry put on by a talented group of singers (and dancers). Then I headed to the Froggy Bottom pub with a couple of fellow audience members for an early dinner. It was five o'clock and we'd stumbled on a pub full of Santas: it was Santarchy.

There were male Santas and female Santas, an Elvis Santa, a cowboy Santa, a Trojan-helmeted Santa, and a pirate Santa. There was a Santa in a long brown cape, a Santa in a union suit, an Santa wearing a trucker hat, and a Santa with blonde dreadlocks. One woman was wearing a red dress reminiscent of the evil queen in Snow White; another was wearing a velvety red top befitting a Renaissance festival. I saw white-and-red striped tights and red fishnet tights, and numerous reindeer antlers. Some of the Santas were making out with each other indiscriminately.

At some point, after we'd finally managed to get some food from the harried waitstaff and were finishing up, the Santas all disappeared as if sucked up through a giant chimney. But in fact they'd used a less magical mode of transportation: I found myself walking behind four of them on the sidewalk after I'd left the pub. They were singing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town."

How I know I've been working hard in tae kwon do

1.) Two of my knuckles are raw
2.) My abs are still a little sore from doing pyramids in Saturday's class
(if you don't know what pyramids are, count your blessings)

I've finally graduated to the advanced class at tae kwon do after trying to catch up with lower-belt requirements since August (I came in with a red belt, but each school's belt requirements are different). So far there hasn't been a class as crushing as some of the ones we used to have in Ithaca (once, in a fog of endorphins, I nearly ran a stop sign and T-boned a minivan on my way home), but I'm fine with easing back in to things.

Christmas

Maybe I just haven't been paying enough attention in other places I've lived, but it seems like people--or rather, institutions--in DC are very into the Christmas decorating. Really more like solstice decorating, since it's mostly tasteful trees and wreaths and snowflakes, no Santas or nativity scenes. Tonight I came home to find two motorized white reindeer on top of the overhang that shades the door to my building, a giant wreath and Christmas tree in the lobby, and--my favorite--the bank of monitors at the front desk was wrapped like a present (though not the monitor part).

Unfortunately I couldn't take pictures of any of this because my digital camera is still dead, so I borrowed this one off of Flickr. Thanks, dustmachine! But not to worry: I'm getting a new camera for Christmas.