killing trees in the meantime

In protest and in defiance to LeeAnn's claim that all the halfwhaters' fingers have been my claimed by gangrene or some freak accident involving margarita glasses, piranhas, and a lot of silly string, I decided to return from my leave of absence. My fingers are fine, thank you, if not a little tired. I'm still keeping up my travel blog, which has now become a "random thoughts while i'm bored at work" journal about reimmersion and the pointless differences between my two favorite countries.

Girls who haven't seen each other for a long time talk about weird things over dinner, sitting streetside in twilight Isla Vista. Namely paper toilet seat covers. Europe doesn't generally stock toilet paper or seat covers in their bathrooms, but back here in sanitary America I have recently become aware of a little seat cover trick. Apparently it is not necessary to take the extra three minutes to carefully punch out the middle, as the paper just dissolves on contact. I have officially become a voracious tree killer and paper seat cover user in response to this revalation. Thank you friends.

The trouble with summer

I can't sleep. This happens all the time during the summer. I stay up to the point where I'm too tired to get ready for bed, so I just stay up a little longer.

Now it's almost 3:30 in the morning and I'm not getting up early tommorrow like I wanted to.

In my defense, I had to read a couple of articles today for some research I'm going to start this week.

Then again, at 2 am I was playing sudoku and talking on aim.

Whatever, I'm jsut gonna blame the heat.

Then again, it's a lot cooler than it has been in the past.

I just can't win.

Slave of Duty

I've decided to begin facing this summer as if I am the average, bright-eyed bushy-tailed American college student out in big wide world for study and travel abroad. As an 11-day stay in Italy has just been tacked on to my summer itinerary, this should give Halfwhat some fodder, since, once again, my fellow bloggers appear to have been rendered incapable of posting because their fingers claimed by gangrene or some freak accident involving margarita glasses, piranhas, and a lot of silly string.

By nature, I'm perpetually bashful and afraid--I don't like to make a stir, I don't like to have public trouble, I hate to be late, and I don't like it when my answers don't fit in the squares or the choices provided on applications--and I can't quite decide which sort of foreign excursion would bring out the best in me: one in a country where I look like everyone else, can linguistically pretend to be a native as far as describing what I like to eat and where I'm going, and have family and friends scattered here and there; or one in a completely enchanting and novel place where I can't speak a word, look a tourist (four-fold, with my family at my side, and perhaps more on tours), and don't know what there is to eat or where I'm going. It's comfort versus curiosity, and I wonder which one I care more to satisfy.

In France, I believe I shared a tiny tale of watching five big Americans plop themselves down in a cafe near Notre Dame Cathedral and butcher the French language as the waiter replied to them in English. I know that the only thing that kept me going in Paris was being able to figure out the Metro system, reading the map, and having an elementary French vocabulary; at least "Pour aller au..." and the sense to say "s'il vous plait" and "merci" as often as possible. (Also, it probably also saved me to be able to say, "How much is all of this?" when I accidentally knocked over a basket of asparagus in a grocer's shop while I asked him how to get to the Funiculaire of Montmartre, which we didn't ride.)

I'm terrified of not knowing Italian, of being Taiwanese, and being in big groups of tourists. Apparently, trips in September are calmer than the overdrive months of June and July, but I know I still will be wrought with the guilt of being an intruder and an ear and eyesore. I guess I can comfort myself with the fact that I'll contribute to their economy both by buying things and probably by being robbed.

To pay some attention to the here and now, I have a test for which I am not prepared and an assignment to do which must be done now or never. It's rather ridiculous that even with only one class, I still seem to avoid devoting the proper amount of time to studying.

Traveloguer, I am not

Souperlindz, travel journaler extraordinaire, who kept us fed heartily with internationally flavored running commentary of her journeys through many countries and many months, should be congratulated for her work. I have been in Taiwan for almost two months and not produced a single substantial insight or quirky story.

I don't have as many pictures available as I would like, but I've discovered that the jarring sensation of stopping a moment to photograph it is becoming less and less appealing. The photos I have taken are on film (thanks, Norman!) and I am still anticipating getting back to the States to find that I have seven rolls of overexposed or poorly lit or generally awful photos. No matter, my cousin's friend Tomoo took some beautiful digital photos of our trip to Green Island that you might sink your teeth into.



A little over a week ago I went with my cousin, his girlfriend/fiancee-to-be, and his middle school friend Tomoo to Green Island (off the eastern coast of Taiwan) and Taitung (Taipei is "Tai North," Taitung is "Tai East). It was outrageously hot and I bought a correspondingly outrageous straw hat which I also wore under my scooter helmet throughout our one-day stay in Green Island.


Steve, Me, Jessica after sunrise on Green Island

This photo was taken as we left the vista from which we'd planned to photograph the sunrise on the morning we were to leave Green Island. We got up at 4:35 only to find as we arrived around 5:00 a.m. that there were already three groups of tourists there. The sunrise itself was a bit anti-climactic, as (mercifully) there were clouds off the coast, I suppose preparing the way for Mr. Bilis, who was supposed to hit Taiwan sometime in the next week.

Mr. Bilis turned out to be a fairly quiet typhoon. A little rain, a little wind, but no holiday or disaster. It's alright, we've got another one coming.

There's not much to report on the ultimate front, although I have learned much about diagonal stacks and ho stacks and catching swilly silly stuff and throwing IOs and OIs. I've been getting terrifically tan (or skin cancer, as some like to call it) and playing disc with a few more random frisbee-fetching vagabonds: a Bella Donna sophomore named Eyleen and Nancy Sun's little brother Jeff, a senior at Yale, as well as some more British, Costa Rican, and Hungarian pickups.

This trip has been bittersweet, but I have gotten used to the weather, and learned a bit about Chinese, family, boys and girls in their late 20s and early 30s, how Bob Dylan feels, Chinese medicine, stray dogs, riding buses, and choosing what to wear when it rains.

That's all from this side of the Pacific for now. My last two bits of wisdom: if you stick ginger in a cat's nose, it'll pee, and that pee can be used to drive out earwigs. Western doctors don't tell you these things!

Full grown.

Happy Birthday, Ray!

I'd post a funny picture of him, if only I was on my own computer.

Goals

Short-term Goals
- Fixing my Right Leg
- Boost Endurance
- Knowing/being able to figure out where my handlers want me to go
- Hops
- Less Falling. More Running.
- Every range of throw. Then developing the know-how for OI and IO.

Mid-range Goals
06-07 Season
- Recruiting a solid 18+ roster for Quasar 07-08.
- Top 5 College Regionals Showing with Quasar, 07.
- Not losing to Northeastern or BU or Yale. Like, ever. Beating MIT. Like, at least once.
- Lefty flick. Teehee.

Long-term Goals
- College Nationals with Quasar, 09.
- World Games 2009: Kao Hsiung, Taiwan

Forget it. I don't know how to write in English no more.

Alright, well that was an awful, disjointed, often grammatically incorrect post. In summary: I started playing on Friday and Sunday, am happy to be getting dirty, tired, sore, and bruised again, and will be playing like a 26-year-old, 6-foot tall man when I get back to Boston.

I'm keeping up alright, though I'm out of shape. My throws, honed on the hours in the Law School Quad, in front of the Science Center, and in the MAC Quad, still have a long way to go, but are progressively getting more accurate in scrimmage situations. Defense is a new game now. I think I may have to learn to effectively poach sooner or later (and conversely, learn to recognize it quickly when I'm being poached), and how to effectively call for help. I think I may have to learn to effectively... uh... well, mark.

I had some pretty good flow with the guys who didn't throw it miles over my head (and even some of those who did), but perhaps in a game I'll still only be good for a deep cut to the break. I guess I'll find out next week.

A rundown on the teammates I've met:

Geoff - Australian, in Taiwan for 3 years working for Industrial something or other, pretty fluent with the Australian accented Chinese. Muscular guy, my guess is late 20s, early 30s. Fun and a defensive badass, as Quasar might put it. Point blocked basically everybody at the first practice I went to.

Craig - American, in Taiwan for 2 years or so as a Kingergarten English teacher, knows only enough vocabulary to get around and not starve. Had a "Freakshow " Jersey on at practice (which, with some superficial Internet stalking, could either be Singapore or U. of Delaware). Handler. Calls the shots as he wants them.

Gerritt Something - Toronto..an, in Taiwan for I don't know how long, 32 years old. Well built, says "aboot," goes up for everything. Don't know much about him yet.

Erich the Swede - Swedish, been in Taiwan for a few months and staying in Taiwan for a few months longer, 30 ish. Experienced, bad knee and elbow and back. Handler. Looks like he could kick your ass in a military way.

Mikey - Mr. Nice Guy. An American in Taipei 10ish years. Past his prime but a fierce runner for 10 seconds at a time when he cares to be. A jolly little man with a round belly and a chipmunky smile. Eager to teach new players.

CK - From what I saw, a skinny kid who can do disc tricks and run fast. Don't really know much else.

Josh - VP of Dahon, makes folding bikes. Stanford Grad '90, former captain, last year playing with Stanford '92. Now 30 ish? Captain of the team. Big on teaching. Big on getting really pissed off when people don't work as hard as he does. "If you guys aren't going to f-cking run I'm taking a f-cking point."

Old Dan - 20 something studying Chinese Art History at National Taiwan University. Formerly of Rutgers.

New Dan - Junior-to-be studying Chinese for the summer at National Taiwan University. Currently of Case Western. An excellent cutter with good feet and a knack for getting into the endzone when on the receiving end of a dubious, almost in the endzone throw. Said he'd heard of Quasar (!).

Henry - Taiwan born, to America at 10, Johns Hopkins grad, back here for work. Into proving his machismo.

Morris - Taiwan born, Canadian grown, back here for work. Newbie and really sweetly naive about it.

Tina - "Peanut". Junior Wellesley Handler. Little girl with lots of spirit and little inclination to run. Also studying Chinese at Shi Da. Wants to start a womens team.

Steffi - Taiwanese 20 something, maybe early 30s working for Josh at Dahon. Fast and spunky.

I'm pooped and confused as to what language I'm thinking in. Better luck with this English thing next time.

Weird, huh?

The girl in picture isn't me. If you look close enough, you can tell. Still weird though, eh?

You know you're not posting enough when you have trouble remembering your blogger password

A homeless-looking guy came up to me in westwood yesterday. I mean homeless-looking as in he had no teeth and smelled, because who can tell the difference between a hipster trying to look like he's homeless and someone who actually is homeless these days? He was carrying a tennis racket in his right hand and asked me "If you get hit in the head, can you get up?"

This is after I've been having really paranoid dreams about random people shooting at me. One of them was a clown and it was while he was getting off an elevator and I was planning on getting on. Almost comedic, I suppose. Anyways, this guy triggered all sorts of paranoia in my psyche and I end up being really direct with the guy, saying "you are NOT hitting in me in the head with that thing" and I ran off.

Honestly, being in LA, sometimes I feel like I just came off the bus from Kansas.

By the way, about the comic. It's completely unrelated to this post, but it made me laugh. I don't want you all thinking I'm a complete downer or anything. Any more Brian Regan fans out there?

Sharing. Is Caring.

Elvis Costello - My Aim is True
Mediocre Vocalist. Awful Cover. Great Album.

AAAAAAAllison, I know this world is killing yoooouuu
Oh, AAAAAAAAAlllison, my aim is true.

Plug.

Paul Curreri - Songs for Devon Sproule

Good man. Good album. Listen!

The Twilight is Falling Much Harder Tonight than Ever Before

I, like Douglas Adams, am a huge fan of towels. They are by far the most under-utilized utility known to modern man. Simple to obtain, simple to maintain, simple to replace if the need arises. They can clean up messes, be used as wrapping to protect les choses fragiles; they can be tied up to suspend, dry off pool water and tears, they can be used for makeshift warmth when you crowd around the bonfire after a day in the ocean. They don't complain; they take abuse well. Even if frayed and dirtied, you may still rinse them, wring them, hang them on a rack where they will drip until dry, and there's nothing left, and they are ready to be reused.

They promised rain

But the sky brought sun!

These are the things that give me illogical hope. It rained for a week without pause, and the forecast promised another week of the same. Yesterday, though, the sun came out, I turned in my paper, danced like an epileptic fool to the Blanks, and this morning, Annenberg served watermelon! It is funny how completely Annenberg can control the mood of the freshman class. They know that serving fresh fruit (pineapple! watermelon!), ice cream, and additions to the salad bar make us really happy, so they save it for reading period and finals period and parent visiting weekends. If deprivation leads to appreciation, I guess they gotta do what they gotta do.

"Stop looking; it's not pleasant"

During a rousing game of Apples to Apples a few nights ago with my roommates, roommate's sister and sister's friend, I was talking to Samy and he mentioned that he was reading about the Abu Ghraib Scandal. I took a look a look at Salon.com's coverage of it, and promptly became a rather depressing addition to the game.

279 photos of despicable, disgusting, and utterly disheartening evidence of total disregard for human life. Conducted in the name of protecting my liberty and me. They held (hold?) prisoners there under suspicion of involvement in all sorts of bombings and conspiracies, and yet many of them were "ghost prisoners:" "whose imprisonment and death would not normally have been included in official prison records," and who may or may not have had roles in the crimes. Yes, I've heard that the MPs weren't given any orders but to "keep the prisoners awake;" yes, I've heard that they were "under unimaginable stress " and that they're not to blame. Yes, I've heard that they were "just a few bad apples." And if anyone thinks these statements are an excuse, they are despicable, too.

All this after my own mother has shown her bright and shining colors as a prejudiced American who believes that Muslims can have multiple wives and drape them in burkas while they stroke their beards and plan the destruction of all things good and pure.

And yet I can't bring myself to allow my terrified and constant sadness at the situation to decompose into anger. Forgive the Anne-Frankishness, but really, I like to think to myself that those specialists were deranged, mentally insane or unclear, actually under duress or at least so much stress that they were not acting in their right minds. I know that those specialists were at one point good to people in their lives; they have values, they are human, they had some logic turning in their heads that validated their actions in their view. I'd like to think they didn't knowingly hurt, kill, and humiliate. And my mother? My mother is not evil. My mother is not so irrational, not always; she cares about her family, she strives to be a good and virtuous person. And even if both of their systems of logic fall short of perfect or perfectly good, who am I to judge?

I don't know what to think or do about inhumanity as an American governmental standard or bigotry as a family sentiment. Maybe I should just give a shit and be articulate for once, create an argument as to why every American should see these photos and weep or why even Asian Americans should feel comfortable allowing Muslims into their homes and families, and share it with whatever powers that be.

But then again, who's going to listen? Whatever is going on in the Middle East, or anywhere else prisoners are being held, under American forces or otherwise, we'll only hear a little bit of it, 3 years and thousands of unnamed corpses later. And what good's an argument over guns and troops and government sanction? What good's an argument over your family's convictions?

Amazing.

I ran into a fire hydrant.

JEN'S ALIVE!!!

Haha, I don't know for how much longer though. I'm scared I have some sort of encephalitis or something that's attacking my cerebellum. I fell down for the second time from just nothing but my body being weird. That's right, that's the first place I go to: degenerative brain disorders. Not lack of sleep, not poor nutrition, but mad cow disease. Then again, when I found a lump in my throat, I was scared I had cancer. I'm crazy.

Worst thing is that the second fall was in a middle of a run. I had no phone to call someone to get me. So I had to run home with blood running down own both my legs from my knees. It was probably a very bizarre image.

Going back to crazy, no old men have hit on me lately, but a younger guy did last week at the free clinic. I know, I know, not NEARLY as weird as an old dude, but the guy TRIED to look like an old dude by growing a ratty little mustache. Yeah, you're right, it's a lame story. Um, I saw a strange girl's nipples when she flashed me and Joe as he was driving me home. But I think she was more hitting on him then me, so that's doesn't count either. Okay fine, no interesting people hitting on me stories right now, but that should probably be a good thing.

P.S. I love that Milhouse clip you posted leeann.

I'm sorry!!!! I have some ridiculous pictures that I may think about posting. I've been crazy busy lately. Mostly becuase I've been keeping myself busy. One of my bestest friends just had her 21st birthday and the party was crazy. When I'm not studying for finals I'll post at least one picture so you guys can see how we do it at State :). We went to a club downtown, which is the first time I've been down there and it was soooo much fun. Tonight I went to the Padres game (baseball news!) and the Padres won! That's their 9th straight win, pretty darn good! It was a little weird, but I guess it always is kinda weird hanging out with someone for the first time after you break up. There! Now you're updated. I'm done with finals one week from tomorrow and my Jenna gets back two days after that! Why isn't Lindsey back yet?!?! :(

I'll try to post more next week. Alright, Jen- GO!

JEN AND JULI ARE YOU DEAD?

Post because:

1. West Coast news is the best kind of news.
2. Reading my posts is not fun for me.
3. I'm boring .
4. I'm sure Jen has good stories about old men hitting on her.
5. I'm boring.
6. I'm sure Juli has fun party pictures and lots to say about baseball.
7. I'm boring.
8. Lindsey's saying all she has to say on her other blog.
6. I'm boring.
7. The Half What contributors list names four!
8. I'm really pretty boring.
9. I need to think about something other than frisbee.
10. You are cool. And I'm so damn boring.

Back to the Future

As an addendum to my previous statement, I learned this weekend that there IS a future in sport ...when you're sitting on a sideline.

At half of an incredible game by the Harvard men (Regionals Champions, on the way to Nationals for the second year in a row), I went to watch the womens finals between Darthmouth and Tufts.

My coach looked over at me and said,
"Three more years, LeeAnn."
"What?"
"Three more years and you'll be in this game."

I just smiled and sighed. We were knocked out on the first day of the tournament, losing to Yale and Vermont. I played a few points, but as a rookie mostly watched from the sideline as the veterans failed to meet their own expectations and we as a team failed to hold our seed. We weren't expecting to win a bid to nationals, but we wanted, expected, and with harder running and at times a different attitude, could have earned a second day, which would have meant three wins instead of two. There were a lot of tears, and not of joy or relief. There was just too much sadness on the field.

And then for hours afterward, all we had was talk about the future. Saturday was over, and what we could do but watch the other teams and try to figure out what stood between us and them? A bigger roster, a better mental game, a consistent warm-up routine that wakes and pumps us up, a different mentality toward risk-taking, good dumps, and at this point? Something that always reminds us how much fun ultimate is. The point and a half I played in the Yale game, I was up on my toes defending a girl with a gemini tattoo on her neck; I didn't bite when I knew she was faking, I beat her to the dump cut she was supposed to make, didn't bite again when she faked again, beat her again to the dump cut she was supposed to make, and I saw her get frustrated. Then I think there was a turn, and I remember running upfield and thinking, damn... this is fun!

Granted, it's easier for me to go out on the field, nothing on my shoulders, only one point to think about, and have fun running around and beating my girl, but what happened to that feeling of being exhilirated instead of frightened of what the next point might bring? Instead of dreading fucking up, why not get pumped to lay out? I'm sure I'll feel differently when I'm a senior or a first-year grad, banking on a bid to nationals, playing my last tournament ever... but I hope that even then I'll be psyched to go up against whoever the current superstars are, and be psyched to get a layout D (have yet to do that) or go deep for Nina or watch Lucy pump us up with pom poms. I hope all of the rookies this year will come back to play. I hope some scoped current freshmen will come play as sophomores. I think with enough coercing and personal favors, some of these things will happen...

Another odd thing I noticed--less to do with playing ultimate than being a part of an ultimate community, was the pervasion of ultimate couples. On day two, I tried to find myself a place on the sideline, somewhere between Kolthammer and Lucy, Mack and McDunks, Katie and Sam, and Jefe and McCrazy's flirtations; keep in mind that Harvard Men's (regionals champs!) coach Josh McCarthy and Tufts Women's (regionals runner ups!) coach Sangwha Hong (?) are also married. I not only felt young and short-- but a little pathetic playing with a disc by myself.

Anyhow, on to the nearer future: this summer, I'll be in Taiwan studying at National Taiwan Normal University and I've contacted the Taipei team (Renegade) about playing. It looks to be fun and probably low key as they only practice once a week and sometimes meet up a second time. One of the coordinators is a former captain of the Stanford men's team, though many of the players probably have just about as much experience as I do, and I know I've still a lot to learn, so I'm looking forward to it.

And that's all. The weekend's over.

Time to turn my attention to my nearest future: FINALS.