Googles for meaning

Coming back from Texas is always a little like getting shoved back into the swimming pool. There's the hit of the cold water, a sudden inability to breathe, and some flailing of the arms. Eventually I relax, though, and remember: oh yeah, I know how to swim in this.

But right now, I'm still in shock, still eating the leftover turkey my mother bagged and wrapped for me before I left, still forgetting what it's like to be a son.

And during this transition, weird thoughts spring up in the rift marks. Who am I? What am I doing here? What's the meaning of life, or at least the meaning of my life?

I'm turning to Google, the presence to whom we 21st century dwellers make our supplications heard. Help me, Google. How many times a day is that thought uttered, either silently or -- in the worst of panicked moments -- out loud?

Googling "meaning of life" is a bit too vague. I'm not going to play that game.

But I will play this game: Googling "what is life but" (quotes required) and seeing how people fill in the blank. How would you?

Here are the top hits that make sense:

1. "a series of small things" (source)


2. "the attempt of human beings to be happy and contented in a world with which all its ill, has a mass of sun and waters, of trees and flowers, of beauty and love" (source)


3. "a play in which everyone acts a part until the curtain comes down" (source)


4. "the sum total of all our little moments" (source)


5. "the angle of vision... what a man is thinking of all day" (source)


6. "a series of shocks" (source)


7. "the flower or the fruit which falls when ripe" (source)

I like the more developed among these, the others not so much. #2 and 7 in particular have the right feel to salve my wound. Good thoughts to have as the new year rolls around.

One more exercise: Googling "what are we but". Here again are the top hits that apply:

1. "the intersections of race, ethnicity and culture" (source)


2. "alone, lost inside our houses" (source)


3. "intrinsically irrational beings with no hope for finding happiness at all" (source)


4. "fictions of God" (source)


5. "a shadow of a shadow" (source)


6. "the sum of our experiences, our interactions with the people around us, and the character embedded in our genes" (source)

Wow, dear reader. Stew is making himself even bluer than he was when he started writing this post. #2, 4, and 5 make me want to steal antidepressants. Those are not happy thoughts to bring into the new year. I'd group #3 with them but the almost clinical assessment -- and the irony that the author, that none of us, can speak objectively about such a thing -- make it humorous.

I'm going to carry #7 off the first list with me today. I can live with being a fruit. (You girls can be flowers.)

Museum highlights

I've decided to share some highlights from two museums I've visited recently, the Detroit Institute of Arts and the Dallas Museum of Art. These aren't the typical highlights that PR people would point out, merely things that caught my eye as I walked around. The fact that they caught my eye probably says more about me than it does about them. But that's art, right? A dialogue between the artist and the viewer. Apologies in advance for the lo-fi quality.

First, selections from the Detroit Institute of Arts:

Seated scribe. Egyptian, between 1391 and 1353 BCE. I'm familiar with this posture. The guy's back is probably hurting after 3300 years.


St. Jerome in his study. Jan van Eyck. Flemish, ca. 1435. St. Jerome spent time in the desert then returned to translate the Bible into Latin. Sounds like graduate school.


Virgin and child enthroned. French, ca. 1300. With the gesture Baby J is making, I'm surprised the work's not Italian. (Merry Christmas, by the way!)

Now, selections from the Dallas Museum of Art:

Figure of a buffalo (pinetau). Indonesian, 19th century. Hard to tell from the picture, but this figure is about one-inch tall and hence very cute. As we've learned from the Japanese, almost any animal can be made cute (i.e. kawaisa-ed) by endowing it with big eyes and indistinct bulbous features.


Death Seizing a Mother. Kathe Schmidt Kollwitz. German, 1934. This lithograph scared the bejeezus out of me when I first saw it. Whoa, is that a ghost in the reflection?! Oh, whew, that's only me taking the picture.


Stele of Uma-Maheshvara. Central Indian, 12th century. This carving shows the integral relationship between Shiva and Parvati, symbolizing destruction and fertility. And Shiva copping a feel. Hey, who let this filth in here?

Finding the words

Oh, Bush. You always seem to find the words when I can't.

"We have been changing our force posture around the world to reflect the threats of the 21st century, and that has been a very important reform."

That's a good idea. I've been sitting all afternoon, and it's about time I changed my force posture too. There. You know, I do feel better!

"I also believe that the suggestions I've heard from outside our government, plus people inside the government -- particularly, the Pentagon -- that we need to think about increasing our force structure makes sense."

What a coincidence! I've been wanting to increase my force structure too. It's just that I've just been so busy. But, hopefully... after New Year's, right? I'm glad we can talk like this.

[Whole transcript here]

For in this sleep...

"You go to sleep now. I'll chase the demons that bring nightmares from your dreams."

I typed this out tonight over IM to a friend of mine who goes to bed hours before I do.

The sentiment came as I was thinking of something I'd seen earlier in the day while visiting the Detroit Institute of Arts. There, mounted high on one of the walls, is a painting entitled "The Nightmare":


It turns out this painting is relatively famous, and I have to admit, my heart jumps a little to think the city of Detroit -- has-been that it is -- owns such a work. The Tate in London borrowed it for an exhibit earlier this year and still hosts an online click-able analysis of the work here. Sigmund Freud supposedly owned a print of it.

The painter, a Swiss man by the name of Henry Fuseli, painted it in 1781 soon after he moved to London, just in time to spur on the Gothic movement. Later Fuseli would have an affair with Mary Wollstonecraft whose daughter would go on to write Frankenstein -- you can read all about it here.

But historical significance aside, I love the idea that a nightmare is a little Gollum-like creature you can chase away or have someone else chase away for you.

When I was young I used to be afraid of the dark. A large dresser sat in the corner of my room, and in the darkness I'd often imagine creatures of impish sizes and indistinct features creeping out of the bottom drawer. I had a night light -- a 5-watt bulb which screwed into the bottom of a lamp shaped like a hot-air balloon -- but even this wasn't quite enough to allay my fears.

To remedy the situation my dad would often sit in the hallway outside of my room and read the newspaper until I fell asleep. In my drowsy half-consciousness I'd hear him turn the pages -- most likely the Business section with its columns of numbers -- and know he was still there. Or I'd hear the loose door of the linen cabinet reassert itself against the frame and know he'd leaned back against it to consider something amongst those numbers.

Sometimes I'd startle and ask into the dark, "Daa-ad?" And from the hallway light would come, "Yes?" And then I'd be asleep again.

By morning the hallway light would be off and the night light too -- a sign one more check had been made on me -- but by then the bluish hue around the edges of my curtains told me I'd made it through the night and more light was on its way.

I can't remember exactly when we -- my dad and I -- stopped doing this. Maybe by second grade when I remember falling asleep to the times tables which I was trying to memorize. (The 6es still have a place in my heart.) And at some point I started staying up past my parents' bedtime, so the hallway light would already be off by the time I went to bed.

But, as some can attest, I still like to fall asleep with a bit of light on. And every so often I'll wake in the middle of the night, look past the foot of my bed, and think of my dad sitting out there, chasing away my own demons.

Detroit techno survival guide

Some nights you go out, have a drink and get home at 1 or 2 a.m.

Other nights you drive out to Detroit, dance to techno until 2 a.m., go to the after-party, dance to more techno until 5:30 a.m. and finally make it home some time after 6 a.m.

Tonight I had the latter.

But before you all start worrying, let me reassure you: I am a professional. And as a public service to all who might want to indulge in this Detroit specialty, let me share some advice.

Like any day trip, a night trip to Detroit requires some preparation. In fact I have a checklist I use everytime I go. You might want to print this out for future reference.

In a dark-colored backpack or satchel of some kind (more on this later), pack the following:

• Ear plugs

These help you get through 6-8 hours of otherwise ear-bleeding decibal levels. Don't worry -- you'll hear the beat just fine, and you can always take them out to hear tracks (or people you like) in full volume.

• Bottled water

A must because water isn't always free at these places. You're bound to get thirsty at some point, especially if you're dancing the whole time, and you'll be glad to have a few bottles of water stashed in the car.

• Food (protein, carbohydrate)

Great at 2 a.m. in the transition between rounds. Keep it high-quality too -- you don't want to get bogged down from high-fat, high-sodium fast food garbage. I go with hard-boiled eggs and cereal.

• Hand sanitizer

This clear, ethanol-based goo allows you eat or drink in your car without fear of disease. The places you're going to are inheritors of raver culture and not always, ahem, hygenic so a little self-defense against the microbes is a good idea.

• Contact lens solution, contact lens case, and spare eyeglasses

Hours of exposure to cigarette smoke can make for watery eyes and an unpleasant drive home. (This is Detroit, after all, not New York.) Getting out of your contacts can help.

• Analgesic of some kind (Tylenol, etc.)

Handy for the drive home if you find the music, smoke, and late hour have conspired to turn your brain on itself.

The dark-colored backpack allows you to stash all your items on the floor of your car without drawing attention from passersby. Some of these places are not in the best parts of Detroit, and a little discretion can go a long way to making your old beater less attractive than the shiny BMW parked a few spaces away.

Speaking of cars, obviously you'll want to make sure that yours is in good condition with a full tank of gas. A street map of Detroit can be a godsend in case you get lost, say, on the way to the rumored after-party. If you do need to consult the map, do so at stop lights without turning on your interior light. And lock your doors.

The implied scariness notwithstanding, I've had great experiences in the birthplace of techno. While a lot of cities chase the flavor-of-the-minute -- I hear Reggaeton is popular right now -- Detroit sticks to its guns (no pun intended). Follow a few simple guidelines, and I'm sure you'll be a fan of music in the "D" too.

P.S. To the Euro-looking guy with the up-turned collar and long greasy hair who crowded into my space around 3 a.m. at The Works: Yeah, I was making fun of you when I said "This reminds me of the time I was in Ibiza! And Mallorca was just like this!"

Bad grammar

I went supine with a lupine and ended up with a kumquat in my pocket.

She went for the genitives with her sly missives and asked what I was made of.

Despite being prolix I fumbled the clitics, found myself face-down in a narrow ditch, woke up downtown to rain sounds.

Now I've got injuries on top of my penuries and a sore assonance as was happenstance to go with a kumquat in my pocket.

[Actual grammatical terms: supine, genitive, clitic, assonance. Lupa, the root of lupine, is also a fun word with double meanings. You can read more about it -- and see pictures -- here and here.]

Little battles

People who know me know I like to work irregular hours.

Take tonight, for example. Having just crested 7 pm, I'm still here in the Medical Center, a fact I'm perfectly comfortable with. After all, I come in later than most people and expect to stay later than most people. (I always thought the worst of Ann Arbor comes out during morning rush hour: inch-thick ice on windshields, sardine-packed parking lots, students crossing the street willy-nilly, &c.)

Anyway, lately my routine has been disturbed by this: an incessant hammering taking place one floor up as the 7th floor of Medical Science Building II gets remodeled. The hammering has been starting every night around 6:30 pm, and the thin floors add freakishly to the effect. Bits of exploding concrete cinder block fall with localized high-pitched staccato. Sometimes they sound right above me, sometimes behind me to one side. Sometimes they start at one corner of the ceiling and skitter to the opposite corner.

Add to these plinks the continuous pounding of the sledge hammers echoing through the floors and you have what I imagine Hell sounds like, sans the screaming.

In an effort to combat this auditory menace, I've started up with the ambient music again, usually either Drone Zone on SomaFM or one of the loops on iSerenity. I can't be entirely sure I'm winning. Ambient noise sort of sounds like another version of Hell, one with repeating noises and indistinguishable murmurs. Maybe like what a baby hears in the womb. Wouldn't that be ironic if the sounds of Hell were the same as the sounds of the womb?

Tack this on to yesterday's post, and -- oh, great -- now I'm seeing things and hearing things.

UPDATE (9:58 pm, 12/11): The hammering has stopped now but been replaced by the sounds of a circular saw and chunks of metal hitting the floor. I can smell something burning, perhaps the coating on the metal as it aerosolizes from the friction. What's this? Yes, I feel... yes, slightly dizzy, a little light-headed.... Mother, the purple in the car went, shoe bake. In a gyve the silver mist on heads of state. Feeling so sleepy.... I'm just gonna rest my eyes....

UPDATE 2 (1:53 am, 12/12): Well, I've come to and the place is silent. Either the guys upstairs are on a break, or I've died and somehow ended up in a place that looks exactly like where I was. Now that's a scary proposition of the afterlife: it's exactly like your current life without all the other participants.

UPDATE 3 (3:10 am, 12/12): Okay, being here is officially scary again. Hammering has recommenced, except this time it's much, much closer. Debris has started falling from the ceiling, and somehow a crumpled-up package of Salem Lights has fallen through the ceiling onto my colleague JCR's desk. I will take a picture to document.


A horror story is running through my head, one vaguely remembered about a student on North Campus, probably an engineering student, who came in one morning to find a slab of concrete had crushed his desk! Seems the workers had made an error the night before. If I don't make it through the night, it was nice knowing you all! One thing is certain: I am no longer asleep!

UPDATE 4 (3:33 am, 12/12): A large section of PVC tubing has just come crashing down through the ceiling, onto JCR's desk and then onto the floor. JCR's desk is now covered in all kinds of industrial detritus. I will take a picture to document.


For the moment the hammering has stopped, but I'm wary of where it will start up again. If I make it through this, remind me to tell you all about the time the tornado blew the roof off the house I was renting in Louisiana in 1999!

Seeing things

I was out on the bike today, a rare winter day of sunshine and mild temperatures. An hour into my ride, I stopped in a parking lot and snapped this picture:


I call it "Calvary, or the Lights at the Pioneer High School Football Stadium". (For more information on the tau cross and its religious significance, go here.)

M.I.T.

A few days ago I ordered a new CompactFlash card for my digital camera. It arrived in the mail today, and as I was struggling to open the impenetrable fortress of blister packaging that surrounded it, I noticed these words printed on the back in little letters: MADE IN TAIWAN. Yay! Finally something not made in that country whose name begins with a C and ends with an A. You know the one I'm talking about. No, not Croatia. Czechoslovakia's not even a country any more, silly, so stop playing. No, not Colombia either.

Sometimes you appreciate the little things. Like when the temperature outside drops to 18 degrees F (wind chill 4) and you think about the tropical place your parents came from. That place might not be your home, but it's your birthright.

One unfortunate thing about living in America is that everyone seems to have forgotten he or she comes from somewhere else. I've tried to be a student of this phenomenon: How many generations does it take to lose all connection to that other place?

I can't recall the number of times people have described themselves of "Irish-German" ancestry or "something-dash-something else" ancestry but come up blank when pressed on specifics. Wouldn't it be nice to have another place on this planet where you could go if you ever needed to pull the ripcord on your American life?

Bedouins dance on my taste buds

Folks, there are now two periods in my life: the days before I went to New Yasmeen Bakery in Dearborn, Michigan and the days after. That division came yesterday.

Don't get me wrong: Ann Arbor has its share of Middle Eastern bakeries/delis. For the rest of my life I will be grateful to Exotic Bakeries for providing a nearby place where I could get hummus, tabbouli, and majaddara with a smile and dip pita bread away with abandon. And how could I forget the grocery store Jerusalem Market around the corner from EB where I could always stock up on frozen patties of falafal?

But even these places kowtow to New Yasmeen (ext. review here). In fact every Middle Eastern deli, grocery store, and restaurant that I've been to in Southeast Michigan, save for one, uses pita bread from New Yasmeen. How much of an endorsement is that?

In this post-NYB era, I've already seen many wonders:

A 50-foot deli counter. (I only show the non-dessert half here.)


Chicky shawarma sandwiches for $3.18.

Baby pita bread. Baby pita bread!


If you ever find yourself within, say, 500 miles of Southeast Michigan, you should stop by. And after you're done at New Yasmeen, wander east on Warren Avenue to another place where I went buggy-eyed, Shatila Bakery:


Shatila's not a deli, though, so I'd recommend getting your shawarma on at New Yasmeen and then going to Shatila for sweets (ext. review here). Just like I did.

By the way, what day is it? It's Day One in my post-NYB life.

Crazy or Bluetooth?

I was having a coffee and saw a woman at another table waving her hands and mouthing words. She had long gray hair, and her clothes were baggy and slightly disheveled. But then I realized, given the current state of technology, I had no idea whether she was crazy or Bluetooth-enabled.

I'm waiting for the day when you'll be able to get an intracochlear Bluetooth implant. Then there really won't be any way to tell the difference between those who talk to themselves and those who talk to themselves.