southtocentral-blog

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people i owe

Alright folks. We're adults. Christmas and birthdays are not what they used to be. We should accept it and do something constructive about it. Economist Joel Waldfogel, among many others, describes gift-giving as a waste of resources, by pointing out that the utility you receive from a more-or-less randomly selected gift is almost never likely to be the utility you would receive from something you selected and purchased yourself. In the aggregate, with gifts from many people on a holiday, this waste is exacerbated. I've always had a problem with this, and traditionally I'd just not request anything for Christmas (after around the age 18). However, my loving parents never honored that wish and bought me stuff, which was usually not anything I wanted or needed. I really appreciate the thought and the effort, but overall I can't help feel like a whole lot of waste has been created and everyone (except the retailers) are worse off than they could have been.

So, I'm changing that system and I'm making sure compensation is corrected: I'm creating a database of people I owe, and making a new gift exchange. Throughout my years I've taken. I have received and I have taken, and very infrequently do I actually give back. Now, I can't exactly repay many of my physical debt because I'm a poor graduate student, so I let it all sit and marinate. Although what's really happening is that I'm becoming disconnected with acts or services that I've appreciated and want to pay back but I can't right now. Instead of requesting (or not requesting) a specific set of gifts, I'm going to request my gifts be given to other people, so that, in a way, my debt is paid back. It's a fully efficient economic system and I think it will make me much happier on the holidays. 

Running list of people and organizations I owe:

(1) Public Radio - I've listening to Austin Public Radio for 2 or 3 years now and never contributed. It's a great service and I've really appreciated it. 

(2) This American Life. Great podcast that I highly enjoy and have never paid for.

(3) Radiolab. Another excellent podcast that got me through my data entry job at TTI a few years ago. 

(4) A LOT of musicians. Sorry guys, the Mediafire frenzy of 2011 and previous torrent binges were quite out of control. 

(5) The guy who made Ad-Blocker. I didn't contribute anything for that service and they were asking for help :(

(6) Lisa, the admin assistant ran my book down to the library for me when I was late for class and saved me on a hefty late fee. 

(7) Old guy from Montana who gave me five dollars for firewood and some firestarter when I was in Oregon. Made my night and heart much warmer. 

(8) I bought some shorts from a thrift store in Bryan and was short a dollar or so. The lady let me buy them for that price when I promised I'd be back with the money. Forgot about it or was too lazy to head down there. 

Obviously some of these aren't feasible, and there are others too, that are long-term, like people who gave me scholarships. I guess it's more of a pay-it-forward deal, but some of the things like public radio, I think I'll ask family to send their gifts there instead. Of course, my parents are voting for Romney so donating to NPR on my behalf will show how much they really care. 

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I played guitar for this country band. We had this drummer for a while, was in class with the guy who started the band. The class was a kinesiology thing, like weight lifting or something. Explains the drummer, is why I mention this. The drummer had kind of spiky hair, like a tamer Jersey Shore do, maybe like a Connecticut beach party cut, I don't know maybe he was Sicilian. Anyway, one day, somebody said something about Bob Dylan, because that's what you do when you're in a garage with musical instruments, you talk about music rather than making music. So, we talk about Bob for a couple minutes. Drummer is silent, picking at his lip with a drumstick still sandwiched between his thumb fold and palm. So, he says, in a lull, "so who exactly is Bob Dylan?"

This man, this 20 year old man, holding a drumstick, sitting on a stool, behind a bunch of bangy-bangs was looking at us, asking us who Bob Dylan exactly was. It was like somebody asking you what makes girls and boys different, or like somebody in their 40s still hoping for a buck from the Tooth Fairy. It was fucking INSANE. Is what it was. I don't think I've ever been as incredulous and in fact, angry as I was at that moment. That this guy, this human being from the United States of America, raised in what I presume was a very typical upbringing in the Houston suburban area, had never heard the music of Bob Dylan (which in itself would be rare, but in fact not unheard of I suppose). No, not even that, he hadn't even heard of the guy's name before. 

So, not only did he not know the tune of one of the most well known, pivotal musicians of the (late even!) 20th century, he had never heard the man's name. 

"Blowin' in the wind? Times are a Changin? Like a Rolling Stone"? NEVER, blank stare, nope. 

Listen, the Wikipedia page on Dylan has nearly 400 references. His music is played, around the globe, on every classic rock station, every oldies station I've ever heard. I hear one of his songs once a week, or at least once a month. Once a year when I'm living under a fucking rock, the soundwaves muddy their way to my eardrums. Are you kidding me. 

And that's something I've never gotten over.

P.S. We fired him a few days later, quite literally because of this. Well, we found a better drummer. We made sure to ask the new guy what his favorite Dylan song was, and didn't really care what kind of noises he made with kit. 

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Sometimes I get so engrossed in whatever brain-sucking, money-grubbing task I'm involved in, that I revolve around my own brain, each cell in a centrifuge around itself in a pretty useless tornado of pointless cerebral panic. Anyway, the point is that I live in a fake, air-conditioned, highly-conditioned, in general, world. This world is separate from the real world outside the double-pane concrete dungeon six floors above dirt and limestone and what... magma? way down below, like iron and minerals, maybe a mortified patch of petroleum that's escaped discovery even now. ANYWAY, my brother was talking about planning a trip and I found that I didn't have any motivation to go anywhere in particular, that I was like a grey blob, a piece of luggage thinking, wherever. That's stupid, I've had a massive list for a long time of places I want to go, and am genuinely excited about going. In fact, a year or so ago, travel was all I wanted to do and I was thinking about making it a serious goal to cut a couple years and do it. I don't think I'm ready for that sort of non-commitment, but here's a list of places I want to go and maybe some why's.

Costa Rica, again, because God that place is amazing and I had a wonderful time. 

Iceland, because it seems accommodating and slightly odd. 

Detroit, to take photos and chronicle urban decay, and buy a house on the super cheap. 

Guadalupe Mountains, TX, because it's the only national park in Texas I haven't been to. I'm making this happen in December. 

Utah, because nature and stuff. 

Canada, near Banff and all that, because again, nature and stuff. 

I think Montana goes here too, including Yellowstone and all that cool stuff. 

I've never been to New York City or Boston, or anywhere in the NE, which is shameful. 

Savannah, Georgia, because a friend lives there and it sounds like a pleasant place. 

New Zealand and Australia because I speak English and like adventure. 

China, to the largest urban centers, the biggest mucky messes, and maybe some of the supposedly beautiful natural areas before they get swallowed up. 

Russia, to tour some old Soviet cities and buildings.

Eastern Europe because its next to Russia as I'm thinking about the globe. 

Turkey, because it's at a cultural crossroads and looks interesting. 

South Africa, because I don't know, like the Dutch settled there and whatever. Also the Boers are interesting and I want to learn more about their history. 

Speaking of the Dutch, the Netherlands, because the Dutch settled South Africa and the Dutch seem pretty nice and fun to be around. Well, mostly so I can go and dream that the U.S. used bikes as often as the Dutch and maybe learn a thing or two. 

I guess the U.K. at some point, but I'm not overly excited to go there now. 

Japan, because it seems totally bats. 

Hawaii seems like a nice spot. 

South America is beautiful, especially Patagonia. 

Antarctica because: gotta catch 'em all. 

Anyway, that's some motivation or just some record keeping. 

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edge city

I'm reading Joel Garreau's Edge City, a narrative on sprawl written in the late 1980s, following the first massive waves of urban flight and explosion of low density growth. As a reporter for the Washington Post, Garreau writes a readable book with a lot of historical context, personal anecdotes, and common sense appeal. I'm looking forward to the read and am taking notes as I go, some of which I will post here, for my own sake or anyone else interested in understanding how our cities have transformed and the impacts they have on our culture, our individual psyche, and our almost inevitable futures as citizen commuters.   

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Talking Heads 

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Don't look for too much substance, it's all about as thin as a garage door, but sometimes it's good to hear a jam. From School Knights ridiculously titled album "All Dawgz Go 2 Heaven." 

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icelandwantstobeyourfriend:

That’s me in the background.

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temporal lottery

There is a fairly high chance that I will be coming in to a large sum of time soon. I'm hitting the temporal lottery, looking at winnings of around 7 months. I do not plan to squander this gift. I want to invest it as wisely as possible, in myself, in my friends and family, and for, like, you know, the world in general 'n stuff ya' know man? That would be the goal, subject to monetary constraints of course. Expected range of available cash will be anywhere from $2,000 to $8,000. That certainly rules out extravagant jet-setting and nearly guarantees I'll be participating in some kind of labor-for-lodging program at some point. So, I've got ideas, vaguely, of working on organic farms, sleeping on couches, flying stand-by, but none of that seems entirely fulfilling or complete.

I need goals and I need inspiration for this great horizon of time. So, I pose to you, internet, if you're out there, the following question:

"If you had seven months, an 'expected range of available cash' of 2 to 8 thousand dollars, and a healthy body, how would you go about it? 

Feel free to incorporate the idea that these seven months will be your last. If anything, I'll have a grab-bag of adrenaline pumping activities to choose from. Also, you're invited for the journey for as long as you want to stick around. Email me if you want: bricenichols@gmail.com 

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I am the Corgi. The crab costume is the Texas heat. My face says "please stop this."

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nationalgeographicmagazine:

Umbrella Swami Photo and caption by Jay Dorfman A journey to India’s famed Kumbh Mela is like travelling back in time. For two weeks I roamed the town and backstreets of Northern India’s Hardiwar. Many of the members of the brotherhood of Yogis and Swamis life a live style that is steeped in a culture that is over 5000 years old. When I saw this other worldly vision making its way towards me I knew it was one of those moments that transcend a mere portrait. I held his gaze and he mine that was so quiet and intense that i fired a bracketed series of of four exposures and was actually able to render the photo as a HDR image.

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I'm thinking this concept could be applied virtually with computer graphics, giving planners and policy makers a clear (and colorful!) idea of traffic patterns and lane usage. 

architizer:

“Painting Reality” is an act of guerilla art, where cars are the paintbrush and the paint is water-based/ environmentally friendly (and comes in bright colors, too!). Click through for video!

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Midwest lo-fi, too cool for a new set of strings. Cool video though.

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Picked this beauty up for $30, Craigslist special. Gets its rechristening in a month and a day, New Mexico and beyond.

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Morning brew.

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3000 years

I saw Ahab at 11th and Guadalupe. Well, I heard him first. He was paraphrasing the Old Testament through a sandstorm larynx and slicing the heat with epileptic passion. He sliced deli meat air and I watched his hatred bounce off the back of a hijab. It was sunflower yellow, the hijab, flowing down a backpack bouncing on Bierkenstocks, and it sauntered north. 

Ahab wore cut off jeans and rubber sandals. He was tanned, the way you get when solar radiation bounces off concrete and glass, had permanent stains of the International school of architecture, smoked a cigarette faster than I'd ever seen before, and swayed like a madman. 

And here they were now, the Holy War Couple at the southbound bus stop, Manchaca southbound and I was 3 lanes away, on the north stop, fidgeting or yawning, feigning the typical urban disinterest or fascinated preoccupation with my shoelaces. I picked at fibers and heard Biblical banter flex into personal anecdotes, then warp to personal attacks and here was Ahab stamping across the asphalt, head whirling, a constant drag of nicotine and hands deciding whether or not to make fists. He looks at me and he says "three thousand years and Jezebel is still a f***ing bitch!" And he tosses his filter on the hood of a Crown Victoria, where it smolders against the windshield wiper. 

Jezebel's across the street and wipes her ancient face with her hijab, maybe sweat or tears, probably both, it's got to be damn near 105 out here on the street. She digs in her bag, this beige thing covered in dirt splotches and then just gives up, leans back on the bench and watches Ahab slip behind flashes of buses and taxis that shoot the sun across all kinds of angles and arcs, off towers and sunglasses, through skin and through time. 

When the southbound 3 grinds around to 11th, Jezebel pulls the sunny hijab across her lips, pale and chapped and pulls herself aboard, head down, in a timeless shuffle.

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Try getting this out of your brain.