The freeze-thaw this season has produced an extremely large amount of ice. Our walkway in front of the house was covered in about 4 inches of solid ice after a few weeks of the cold-warm-cold cycles. These weather patterns have also created the worst pothole season in my memory… which is where this story begins.
On the 28 of February, while coming down the steep Franklin Avenue hill in the dark, I hit a giant pothole associated with a manhole cover. If the pothole were described in dental terms, you’d call it an “insufficient margin with recurrent decay”. I was going about 25 miles an hour, and for a few seconds after I hit the hole, I thought I would be able to regain control. That, alas, was not possible. I don’t really remember the instant between bobbling my front handlebars and hitting the ground. I do, however, remember the sound of the 1000 denier Cordura of my Chrome Metropolis (the best bike bag I’ve ever owned, period) sliding along the ground and slowing me to a stop. BZZZZZZZZZZZ is my first memory after being upright — it echoed in my head as I slid along the asphalt. Slowly, headlights came up on me and my bike, and I looked down at the yellow street line directly below my head. I should have broken my arm was all I could really think. Thankfully, I only suffered some serious road rash. The friction with the roadway actually heated up my garments enough to melt parts of my jacket and gym shorts (which I had on beneath my scrubs, preventing me from ending up shorts-less). The large soft tissue trauma on my right elbow seems to be calcifying a little bit, but I think my joint will make a full recovery. This is important because you can get so far behind so fast in these dental lab courses… I am very very thankful my right arm made it through the crash in one piece. So thankful.
One of the drivers of the cars behind me must have called the city, because the hole was actually fixed not more than 3 days after my accident.
I am really really looking forward to warmer days with more sunlight, so I can see the road. Once the street cleaners go through, I get to once again ride my good bike: a 2009 Specialized Allez Double. I am EXTREMELY excited to hop back on the skinny tires.
Readers of
this column know that I’ve been critical on health care
and other matters. Obama is four clicks to my left on
most issues. He is inadequate on the greatest moral
challenge of our day: the $9.7 trillion in new debt being
created this decade. He has misread the country,
imagining a hunger for federal activism that doesn’t
exist. But he is still the most realistic and reasonable
major player in Washington.
David Brooks is a GREAT columnist. I’d love to hear him speak somewhere, sometime.
From “the more things change, the more they stay the same” desk at tumbledry HQ: a quote that, I think, you may find applicable. (I hope Katy finds it enlightening, as well):
I will not go for a doctorate, because it would be of
little help to me, and the whole comedy has become boring.
Can you guess the source? I just got screwed over on a lab practical; I’ll tell the whole story when I have more time. Spring break is days away.
Mykala and I finally managed to attend our first ethnic Wednesday event (that’s the Dan-Ryan-Emily trip to a local non-crappy non-american restaurant) yesterday, and it was a complete success. Halfway through dinner, as the subject turned to marriage, Mykala turned to look at me and asked “Am I nicer to you now than I was when we were dating?” I guess I was a little surprised at the question, but without hesitation answered “yes, definitely”. We had fun dating, but marriage seems a lot better. That reminds me of this quote from a recent “Room for Debate” discussion at the New York Times called For Women, Redefining Marriage Material:
In this new model, which I have called “hedonic
marriage,” couples who have similar preferences and
desires for balancing work, fun, and family are
well-suited. This new model of marriage thrives when
households have the resources to enjoy their lives. Not
surprisingly then, marital happiness is much higher among
the college-educated and divorce has fallen most sharply
for them.
The definition of that “hedonic marriage” seems a bit limited, though. I really think when you can have a thoughtful, measured, meaningful discussion about the world around you… that’s when your marriage has great potential. Those discussions, that wordplay, those debates… they don’t rely on age, beauty, or mobility — they’re a romance for the head, and that’s the strongest kind.
Phenology is the study of periodic plant and animal life
cycle events and how these are influenced by seasonal and
interannual variations in climate.
It turns out that phenology rose to prominence amongst scientists in the early 1700s and then took off as a general pastime in the mid-1800s. What better way to show off your wealth (I’m not so busy that I must always work) and interest in science (I am recording numbers) than to help other scientists track the data underlying the seasons? But then:
The Phenological Reports ended suddenly in 1948 after 58 years, and Britain was without a national recording scheme
for almost 50 years, just at a time when climate change
was becoming evident. During this period, important
contributions were made by individual dedicated observers.
The naturalist and author Richard Fitter recorded the
First Flowering Date (FFD) of 557 species British
flowering plants in Oxfordshire between about 1954 and
1990.
Perhaps it sounds like the pastime simply fell out of fashion, but I think a sudden end to a 200 year tradition of phenology points to a deeper trend: we increasingly live at odds with nature. That is, we prefer to fight the trends of seasons than embrace them. I hear of far more trips to warmer climates in the winter than investments of similar amounts of disposable income on skiing equipment. Why would people stay and investigate the nuances of their own surroundings and seasonal rhythms when they could jet off elsewhere? Given our relatively recent gift of easy and safe global travel, the siren song of the unfamiliar (and warmer) triumphs over lashing yourself to the mast and recording winter’s course.
I’m frequently looking for songs to play that can be described as achingly beautiful. Thankfully, I’ve the perfect example of that today. It’s a song by José González from his 2007 album In Our Nature called Fold.
Mykala and I left the St. Louis Park Costco at sunset this evening. I got 110 servings (10 pounds) of Old Fashioned Quaker Oatmeal for $6.89. With horse-sized servings of cereal in the trunk, we set out for home. As you head into Minneapolis from the west, past the mansions on their faux bluffs just south of 394, your view opens up. Thanks to fortuitous timing, I had a perfect view of hundreds of little birds dotting the sky, on their way to roost. Skeleton trees, not yet pushing nascent leaves into the cold world, looked as though they’d jumped the gun and sprouted big berries: extended families of birds were waiting for sunset in the shelter of the branches.
It’s hard to stop, but when you do, you realize that you are small and everything else is big. This is an important thing to understand.
In Manhattan, the brutally competitive nursery and
kindergarten admissions process is leading many parents
to sign up their toddlers for therapy. “Preschool
admissions tests loom large,” said Margie Becker-Lewin,
an occupational therapist on the Upper West Side. “In
many cases, parents know there is nothing wrong with
their child, but they feel caught in the middle.”
As soon as there’s someone who disagrees, or even just
dithers or can’t decide, conformity is reduced. Some
studies have found conformity can be reduced from highs
of 97% on a visual judgement task down to only 36% when
there is a competent dissenter in the ranks (Allen &
Levine, 1971).