Airplane movies
For some reason on my flight to Turkey I was compelled to watch not one but two thrillers that take place on an airplane. I’m not sure my seatmates were altogether thrilled.
Flightplan is more-than-decent. Jodie Foster is excellent as a mom on the verge of hysteria having lost her child on a massive new airplane clearly modelled on the double-decker Airbus A380. I can’t think of when I’ve seen Foster in a role coming apart like that. The suspense is remarkable given the oft-voiced point in the movie “how can you lose a child on an airplane?” And there’s a twist that only Sept. 11 could give us.
No less surprising was Red Eye, Wes Craven’s slow extrication from the horror genre he’s so comfortable in. Yes, you can make a compelling movie two-thirds of which takes place between two people sitting in plane seats. It isn’t as clean as Flightplan, but it has its moments and Cillian Murphy is perfect as a charming seatmate psychopath. Wes Craven does a good job substituting the latent fear of dying because a madman killed you in your dreams with the post-9/11 fear that you never quite know who you are sitting next to on an airplane.
Of course none of this matters. The countdown is on for Snakes On A Plane . You think losing a child on an airplane is tough? How about getting away from several hundred snakes? Kudos to the studio for merging title and plot synopsis in one pithy phrase — a sure sign that this will be a winner.
Also a tip: if you are watching a movie on your laptop when dinner arrives and you have a backpack, just prop it up between your knees. Take the laptop off the tray table and rest it on the pack, stabilizing it with your knees. Watch, eat.
Group effort
Working together as team with no “I” in sight these four blurbs make up a single post. Let us applaud their selflessness.
- I received an e-mail today congratulating Ascent Stage on being a rare Googlewhack, a search result wherein two terms exist only on that page. My whackedness? Jabberwockys and biosphere. Not jabberwocky singular, mind you; that returns lots of results. But the plural plus biopshere is all mine, baby.
- Coming home from Sunday dinner at my sister’s last night I spotted a Macintosh G4 sitting, crying really, in the middle of our alley. As my wife recounted to me later — I blacked out a bit in excitement — I swerved into our garage nailing a few lawn chairs and boxes, jumped out of the car without shutting the engine off, and neglected the children in their seats to save the lonely tower. It has no video output and something in it shakes around, but everything is where it should be: HD, memory, chip, etc. It is almost certainly hot as it has Property Control bar code on it, but if I found it in the alley it’s mine right? I mean, this is the law of the street. The alleydwellers who pilfer our trash are part of our ecosystem. We don’t call them thieves. How do I get this thing repaired without getting thrown in jail?
- As I have a Marco Polo-esque (perhaps Alexander-esque?) series of travels coming up I have ripped a bunch of DVD’s to my laptop hard drive. Really this was a series of tests on the Mac and PC to see what’s the best way to do it en masse. The short answer is that it is a !@*&load harder to do than MP3’s. Sony, for instance, renowned for being reasonable in their anti-copying efforts, load their DVD’s up with blank dummy cells that throw most rippers for a loop. This is surmountable, but only after hours of corrupt ripping and a healthy dose of cussing.
- I’ve begun blogging internally inside IBM. Like I need another timesuck, but hey I gotta tell some people the stuff I can’t tell the loyal readers of Ascent Stage (yet)!
Spring Fest
Chinese around the world today welcome the Year of the Dog during Lunar New Year festivities. By some accounts the transit of people inside the PRC to see loved ones for the long holiday is the largest migration of people on the planet. If the density of human bodies in airports and rail stations when it isn’t Chinese New Year is any indication, these accounts are to be believed.
I’ll be in China frequently this year with dispatches posted here accordingly. Here’s hoping Year 4703 is a prosperous and happy one!
≠ Constantinople
I’m headed to Istanbul for work next week. My first time there. I’ve yet to meet anyone who has visited and not been bowled over by the place. Having travelled extensively in Europe and moderately in the Middle East and being a lover of nearly everything Mediterranean I am more than a little excited. I’m still trolling for tips on things to do. I’ll have an entire day to myself and I plan to make the most of it. For one, I’ll be searching for an authentic Turkish bath house — a task made a little easier because of some tips I received at the Turkish consulate today.
And there you have a key difference between the Turkish consulate and its Egyptian and Chinese counterparts. The Egyptian consulate (at least in Chicago) verily prints money from travellers with their bizarre fee structure and impersonal, single bank teller-like operation. The Chinese consulate, in contrast, is massive and patrolled (currently against Falun Gong protesters). Remarkably the Chinese have brought all the splendor of Maoist architecture to the interior of their Chicago offices. By the time you reach the window you’re ready to be collectivized. And do not mess with the schoolmarmish window attendant. I believe you will lose your pinky for doing so. (I wonder if consulates, like DC embassies, are technically on foreign soil and obey foreign laws?)
But the Turkish consulate was different. Open, airy, and not unlike a travel agent office. The clerk greeted me personally and led me to his office to fill out the paperwork. The detail so craved in other visa applications seemed secondary. I figured I would have to pay an expedite fee just to get my visa (and passport!) back on the day I left. But he asked if I would like it back at noon. Regular cost. Hey sure.
When I returned later in the day the clerk asked me to have a seat and tell me why I was going to Turkey. (I had no time, but I did anyway.) He was the nicest old guy, giving me tips and telling me that, unlike Chicago cops who love to ticket out-of-towners — he specifically said people from Wisconsin — Istanbul cops love foreigners. In retrospect I think he was either encouraging me to commit a crime in Turkey or testing to see if I was a criminal seeking asylum in his country. From this discussion came the Turkish bath recommendation. Not a tourist bath house, mind you, but where the locals go. No English spoken.
Perfect. Just what you want when surrounded by naked men.
Joey, have you ever been to a Turkish prison?
Globalization
T+ 1 hour since bedtime. Four-year-old comes tramping down the stairs. Wife asks him why he keeps getting out of bed.
“Because I have things to tell you.”
She says, “Please save these things for morning.”
Pause. Thinking. He rejoins, “But it’s morning in China.”
And this is, yet again, why I am not the best at discipline. I crumble in the face of genius or creativity. I’m also ashamed to admit that he probably derived that bit of logic from my morning declarations of “it’s happy hour somewhere, glug-glug.” (Kidding. I don’t drink in the morning. Usually.)
Entropy of winter
I’m of what you might call the local school of meteorology. Yes, yes, I understand that butterflies cause nasty weather halfway around the globe and that my Right Guard has carved a hole in Earth’s jacket of O3. And I understand that tornados do not actually chase people nor hurricanes punish communities for being un-Christian. Yet, I can’t shake the sense that weather behaves locally.
For example, consider the bizarre mid-winter temperature spike here in Chicago.
Weather, being just a manifestation of energy, obeys the first law of thermodynamics and so it follows that weather, like energy, is not created or destroyed, just moved around. A scientist would tell you that someplace else in the world is getting screwed because Chicago weather was so different in January.
But not me. I’m more local. I don’t trust the balmy weather because I know the conservation of energy is local to Chicago. Why would the weather gods punish anyone but us for our high-energy month? We’ll suffer a below-zero March or four feet of snow in April. Chicago weather punishes its own. We’re part of a closed system. Bundle up!
Where are they now?
It isn’t an overstatement to say that my life would be different if not for Anucha Browne-Sanders. According to the headlines today I’m guessing Isiah Thomas might say the same thing. Anucha used to work for IBM and she brought me my very first project, what became the State Hermitage Museum website and the thousands of digitized images on it. Anucha was larger than life to me. Fresh out of grad school I was naive and eager where Anucha was bold and forthright. She had heard of my group’s work and so she brought an IBM executive down from New York to see if we actually had the goods to deliver. We did and I went to Russia with Anucha and the rest is a history that I consistently mark as my professional beginning.
So now she and Isiah Thomas take their quarrel to the public. I really never liked that guy, but who knows. Guess I’ll follow it in the press like everyone else.
Formula
Like a zoologist giddy with insight after long weeks of observing primates in the jungle, I have had a breakthrough. I will now share with you one of the secrets of parenting.
- If the two-year-old is silent he is about to do something bad.
- If he is laughing he is currently doing something bad.
- If he is crying he just finished doing something bad.
Use these non-visual clues to establish your own timeline of wrongdoing and tailor your parental strategy accordingly.
Matera
The most interesting city in Italy, in my opinion, is not even on 5% of tourist itineraries. Matera is a gem protected by being nowhere near the sea or a navigable waterway in a region, Basilicata, which is still struggling to shed the image of bumpkin backwardness held by its northern Italian compatriots. Matera was centuries-old before Rome was founded and is known primarily for i sassi, troglodytic caves carved from the soft rock of the hillside. It is impossible to tell where the hill leaves off and man-made structures begin. Carlo Levi famously exposed the plight of the impoverished populace of Matera and Basilicata in Christ Stopped at Eboli and since then things have improved. The Italian government moved residents out of the caves a few decades ago and set about to rehabilitate and modernize them. Though most of the caves are abandoned, some Materans are now moving back in, some own them as storage, and at least one hotel exists built into the rock.
Now comes word that Matera has a new use for the rock-hewn dwellings: data-haven. A company called Datacontact is using the caves to house their servers and a call center. It makes some sense. Physically the servers could not be better protected inside the mountain. Though in a tectonically active area, the sassi have survived in their current form for over a millennia. Geographically too the placement is sensible. Labor is plentiful in Basilicata marginale, as regional natives mockingly call themselves. One hopes that this geographic marginalization (and associated prejudices that accompany it) will matter less in a the virtual world of telecommunications. After all, in a network there is no such thing as a margin.
And lastly a cookbook recommendation: A Mediterranean Feast. Got this as a Christmas present and it is a wonderful introduction to the food of the whole region. Southern Italy, being a cross-roads of the Mediterranean, is a hodgepodge of cultures and influences not known in the more European northern regions of Italy. Greek, Roman, Norman, Albanian (more on that later!), Spanish, Muslim — all mixed together. So this cookbook, as a much a regional history as a culinary guide, is particularly illuminating about the myriad influences that define Basilicatan cuisine. This weekend I made Lucanian roast chicken with homemade wheat pasta. But really that was just an excuse to try Mark’s reconstituted apricot tart recipe. Apricots, of course, being a favorite fruit in Egypt and so wonderfully in keeping with my OCD-like focus on the Mediterranean basin. Tip #1: add some orange juice and even a splash of sweet liqueur to the water that will rejuvenate the dried apricots overnight. Tip #2: Don’t try to force wheat pasta through a capellini-sized extruder die. The wheat is too dense and the angel hair holes too small. Your machine will blow up. Trust me.
You may notice that this entry belongs to a new blog category, sub-category really, called Basilicata. I’ll be posting more on this region throughout the year. Though there’s been one travelogue written on the region recently, the instep of the boot is fascinating and unknown to most. Just like Ascent Stage.