I'm really, really glad I felt compelled to sit at the base of an obelisk in the piazza last night as the sun was setting and sketch the interaction between the basilica and buildings on a side street [Had I a scanner, I'd show you what I mean].
I had been running around Termini station and Via Cavour, trying to find a place to make copies of my passport. In the meantime, I found myself a bottle of 2007 Chianti for 3eu and a mozzarella ball for dinner, which were safely tucked away in my bag. On the way back to enjoy my loot, the piazza caught my eye (not such a difficult feat, as it covers an entire block). But more importantly, as I looked up at the basilica, what popped in my head was there are no rules for you in Italy. Meaning, you can do whatever you like, and no one will know any different. So heck, I had my sketchbook! Why not go draw the basilica?
I sat down at the base of the obelisk in the piazza, and grabbed my sketchbook. Fading light from the sunset was casting a very slightly pink shroud over the square, and particularly on the western edge of the basilica. Buildings across the street, nondescript besides their heavy black shutters and harsh angles, reflected the light, and groups ate dinner at the base of them under awnings in black and white. It was perfect, one of those moments when you actually can feel the things you're seeing (forgive the lack of good working here, but you probably know what that is like).
And then, as I was packing up my sketchbook, the young man sitting near me, who had been reading a book (in English, I noticed), turned to me and said (something like) "mi scusi, para inglese?"
For a second, I just laughed, then answered 'yes, of course I do'. The entire day, I had tried to ask for things/directions in Italian, and I would be answered in English, or I would start saying something in Italian, and I would be cut off entirely in English. I thought I must have accidentally written "English only, please" on my face or something. And here I was, being asked if I spoke English. Awesome.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but we ended up talking for two hours at the base of the monument, as the sun set completely and the glow changed from pink to yellow-orange from streetlights around us. People strolled across the piazza with gelato, and then with beer; some got rowdy, buses roared by, traffic lights became a noticeable presence. And still we talked, and talked, and talked. About anything and everything, life and meaning and what it means to have goals and love, how little of our lives can really be planned. At one point we exchanged how we got to be at that specific spot in the world at that particular time... who we were, what we did, where we came from... it turns out he was American, and part of an installation sculpture in Venice for a week, because he was a runner...
I think the greatest part of this was the fact that our conversation was honest, no-holds-barred, why and how and where in the world. There was no expectation that we would meet ever again, necessarily... we went here, there and everywhere. So we both talked from our deep places and dreamed things. I learned quite a lot in those two hours that I'll never forget, about ambition, life plans, fear, knowledge, talent, and using what you know to better everyone around you. I learned more about myself by talking to him. That was an incredible gift.
Sometimes, just sometimes, chance things turn into absolutely wonderful things. And sometimes you have to just pry open the shutters of your mind and heart, and trust a stranger with it for a little while. You never know what you'll learn.
And Brian, if you read this, keep dancing.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
mozzarella di bufala no. 1
[because I'm sure there will be another]
Well. What a 52-hour-long day it's been.
Or day, in general, regardless of length.
In the twelve hours I've been in Rome, I have visited enough palazzos that there's no way I'll ever be able to count them (Francese, Navona, Spada, Sant' Ignazio, Santa Maria Maggiore, and others).
I have seen more tourists thank I care to see for the rest of my life.
I've been mistaken on the street for exactly three people, the last of whom was "Christina", to a lady who stopped in her tracks with jaw hanging. Needless to say, I felt compelled to set her right, but my meager-fake-Italian-plus-jet lag-and-sleep deprivation only allowed a 'no', squeaked out as a mouse caught in the line of fire of a very hungry cat. Fortunately she didn't pursue it; as of that point I may very well have been easily convinced that I was, in fact, her long lost cousin Christina.
[As of 4pm] I was sitting on the steps of a monument to a dude I don't know and/or recognize, and I've grown tired of trying to translate Latin, which is, unfortunately, rather dead to me (though I wholeheartedly maintain it is NOT a dead language). I am in some piazza or another, which I would need to rise and walk the perimeter to find out, next to what appears to be the Irish consulate (unless the flag is just faded) and a plaque stating "deipare virgini et S. Gregorio magno". Which, in my memory, translates to 'the beatific virgin and St. Gregory the Great.
I've had a lunch of mozzarella di bufala and violet artichokes and a glass of vino rosso at Obika, a mozzarella bar on the Campo de Fiori that actually just opened a branch in midtown (Manhattan). A lovely conversation with a British lady who lives in Paris, and her daughter, 13-ish, who goes to a bilingual school. It was great to overhear their conversation, as it drifted back and forth between French and English.
I made it to the Campo de Fiori just in time; after having dropped my bags and about fifty pounds of airplane dirt, I hiked it over there to make it before 2pm, when the stalls close. It's a big open-air market with fruits and vegetables, open Mon-Sat 8-2pm... just made it! The foods were exquisite, beautiful little berries and pesca, artichokes, lettuces, dried pomodori, peppers, and, since it was ridiculously hot, a granita stand.
Lounging in the shade of fountains seems to be a Roman pastime, and I can understand why- the heat simply won't go away, and even a breeze is seldomly cooler than hot and dripping.
Or perhaps it's just a pastime of the Roman tourists.
People are wandering around with 2L bottles of water and cones of gelato, cups of cold watermelon and granita. It's a glorious summer's day. I'm off to wander aimlessly, and see what I run into.
Since it's Rome, I'll probably run into quite a lot.
Well. What a 52-hour-long day it's been.
Or day, in general, regardless of length.
In the twelve hours I've been in Rome, I have visited enough palazzos that there's no way I'll ever be able to count them (Francese, Navona, Spada, Sant' Ignazio, Santa Maria Maggiore, and others).
I have seen more tourists thank I care to see for the rest of my life.
I've been mistaken on the street for exactly three people, the last of whom was "Christina", to a lady who stopped in her tracks with jaw hanging. Needless to say, I felt compelled to set her right, but my meager-fake-Italian-plus-jet lag-and-sleep deprivation only allowed a 'no', squeaked out as a mouse caught in the line of fire of a very hungry cat. Fortunately she didn't pursue it; as of that point I may very well have been easily convinced that I was, in fact, her long lost cousin Christina.
[As of 4pm] I was sitting on the steps of a monument to a dude I don't know and/or recognize, and I've grown tired of trying to translate Latin, which is, unfortunately, rather dead to me (though I wholeheartedly maintain it is NOT a dead language). I am in some piazza or another, which I would need to rise and walk the perimeter to find out, next to what appears to be the Irish consulate (unless the flag is just faded) and a plaque stating "deipare virgini et S. Gregorio magno". Which, in my memory, translates to 'the beatific virgin and St. Gregory the Great.
I've had a lunch of mozzarella di bufala and violet artichokes and a glass of vino rosso at Obika, a mozzarella bar on the Campo de Fiori that actually just opened a branch in midtown (Manhattan). A lovely conversation with a British lady who lives in Paris, and her daughter, 13-ish, who goes to a bilingual school. It was great to overhear their conversation, as it drifted back and forth between French and English.
I made it to the Campo de Fiori just in time; after having dropped my bags and about fifty pounds of airplane dirt, I hiked it over there to make it before 2pm, when the stalls close. It's a big open-air market with fruits and vegetables, open Mon-Sat 8-2pm... just made it! The foods were exquisite, beautiful little berries and pesca, artichokes, lettuces, dried pomodori, peppers, and, since it was ridiculously hot, a granita stand.
Lounging in the shade of fountains seems to be a Roman pastime, and I can understand why- the heat simply won't go away, and even a breeze is seldomly cooler than hot and dripping.
Or perhaps it's just a pastime of the Roman tourists.
People are wandering around with 2L bottles of water and cones of gelato, cups of cold watermelon and granita. It's a glorious summer's day. I'm off to wander aimlessly, and see what I run into.
Since it's Rome, I'll probably run into quite a lot.
Friday, August 19, 2011
Chic-a-go, Chica-a-a-go, what a wonderful town... do do do do
Okay, another tip for the traveling masses: don’t fly internationally out of O’Hare. Or, if you plan on it, don’t get to the international terminal until the very last possible moment. There is absolutely nothing here, and it opens at 13:00. Ah, poor planning, me.
I am revisited by a similar group of travel-weary individuals… this time wandering aimlessly around, every single person doing a full lap of the terminal before realizing the duty-free and newsstand at the entrance were, indeed, the only shops/food/retail available after the hour-long security line. The indignation on people’s faces is obvious, and both pitiable and a bit hilarious.
I have to say, though, it is nice having the run of quite a large terminal. I never really understood the herd mentality of finding your gate and hovering around it with everyone else. They’re not liable to move the flight forward, only backward… all the same I’ve got a row of comfy seats with chargers in between all to myself and I’m juicing up. And I had plenty of privacy for chatting with the popski.
In a vain attempt at staying awake this morning (if I go to sleep at 5pm Chicago time/2pm Berkeley time, it’ll be midnight Rome time), I was serenaded by two young women conversing in Italian (on my ipod, an Italian language course). Not a whole lot stuck, of course, except that one sounded like Anne Hathaway; Italian is indeed very similar to Spanish; and the use of pronouns in Italian is ridiculously complicated. Though I did learn how to say one phrase that I’m guessing I’ll find will be very useful [forgive the spelling, it’s an audio lesson]: ‘mi piache mangare la pasta’… “I like to eat pasta”. Yes, this will be very useful. How did they know that of all of the useless stuff they told me about months and weather, the one they did give me about food would actually be something I’d use? Now if only I could figure out how to change that to “I like to eat cheese”, we’d be all set.
I also had a chance to catch up with the New York Times Dining section (I buy them every Wednesday, but rarely do I get a chance to finish reading them before the next week’s comes out). And the one from August 10 was RIDICULOUS. First off, there was a reference to a Henan province specialty called the “four treasures”- stuffed boned quail inside squab inside chicken inside a duck, at a place called Uncle Zhou (BOWEN???) – “think of it as the Henan forbear of the turducken”. AMAZING. Especially as someone stopped me the other night to ask the name of the pecumple we made last year for the CEE thanksgiving dinner. THE IRONY.
But wait, it gets better. In the same issue, there was an entire section about ways to prepare eggplant, which I will refer when I get a chance… which I know will be of great interest to one person I know (at least, if he’s reading this).
There was also an entire article on ricotta and fresh cheeses in Italy. Thanks, New York Times, for reminding me what kinds of foods I should be seeking out when I’m on this trip, something I did not get a chance to do myself.
AND TO TOP IT OFF… a full-page article about fishermen in PT. JUDITH, RI! What?? Is this like the NYT Dining section written specifically for me? (In case you didn’t know, I have very strong ties to Galilee… and it even mentions the Block Island Ferry).
TBC… Gotta catch my plane.
When the boogie man comes out at SFO
Well, then.
It's now... oh... about 3:47am, Pacific Standard Time. I'm sitting here in the San Francisco airport, outside the security gate, as I have been for the last three hours or so. Note to my fellow travelers: apparently, no matter what, you cannot enter the terminal until the day you’re supposed to leave, and at SFO, the earliest possible time to enter is 04:30.
And why, you may ask, am I sitting in SFO at 3:47 (now 3:52) in the morning? Well, dear friends, here is a lesson to the wise: don't ever decide it's a good idea to take a flight that leaves at 6am. It is worth the extra $100 to leave at 10am, believe you me. But unfortunately, the NSF was only so generous with their $$, and since my travel budget for the year was shot in about February, here we are at SFO at (now 3:57)am. And of course, I wasn't thinking about how much of a burden I would be putting on the poor soul who would be dragged into driving me to the airport. SO. It turned out Megan was going to SFO to pick up some friends at midnight anyway, so I thought I'd save Margaret the trouble of driving me there at... well, exactly this time, to tell the truth.
I have to say, we are a sad bunch, those fifty or so of us huddled outside the Delta security gate, waiting, trying to sleep curled up on the floor or across a row of four seats with dividers in-between. The metal between the seats is cold because they’ve kept the A/C on, and cars keep driving by the glass windows, their lights flashing in the faces of the travel-weary.
It’s like a living graveyard of waiting; semi-comatose walking dead keep passing by, wondering what’s next and when they’ll be released from this pseudo-prison. There is a curious ad hoc culture here; beware of getting up to go to the bathroom, as your seat will be taken from you by a group currently huddled on the floor. Do not speak loudly, do not laugh, do not open bags within a 20ft radius of a curled up body. It is more a culture of trust than I have seen in recent times, at least in American airports; people sleep on the floor next to their bags, which could be stolen out from under their noses in an instant.
On one of my walks along Terminal 3, I twice passed another rambler, carrying a poster tube much like my own. I felt I had to ask where he was headed- possibly to another conference? Our exchange was surprisingly terse, given the fact that neither of us had anywhere to be for an hour or two. But no, he was just headed home to the other coast.
The intimacy that develops in such short periods of time always surprises me. In most situations, I would not think to stop a guy in an airport and engage him in conversation about a topic that only by the slightest chance could actually reveal a connection between us. And yet I was compelled to, by his mere proximity and the recognition that in a way, we were in exactly the same situation. I’ve also noticed this intimacy, the feeling that you begin to know and feel for everyone surrounding you, on long-haul flights. Even though that guy’s baby was crying half the night and the woman in front of you was making disgusting smells all twelve hours, by the time you leave you’re all joking together, and when you see them at the baggage claim you sincerely hope that they find their luggage quickly and get home safe; on most flights you wouldn’t even notice the people around you.
Or maybe it’s just me.
Looking forward to a good 18hrs more of travel, woohoo!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Travelers
Yesterday at lunch, the various EFM members who weren't gone or working (we tend to have an interesting trickle in and out during the day) sat around the campfire and told ghost stories. Oh wait. No, that's what I was wishing had happened. We were actually sitting out at the green circle at Northgate, some of us on the handy concrete rim, and the rest perched uncomfortably on the chronically wet grass, switching butt cheeks every few minutes to as pants became increasingly saturated.
And we were talking about traveling.
More specifically, Lauren (henceforth referred to as "Skippy") was discussing the "fake" Great Wall she had just visited, as well as random traveling bits. Apparently you can't actually visit the real Great Wall, and on top of that, the only 'real' parts left are rather remote and local villagers tend to dismantle it in bits to build houses (B: "those bricks must be good, they've lasted this long already!") Who would think?
Margaret told a story about traveling in Morocco and almost being stabbed, which managed to capture the interest of everyone there, as well as the occasional passer-by (or at least the crow with a cough). It was harrowing, it was dark, and we all wanted to run home to mama... actually, I believe the full story, published after leaving Morocco for the express purpose of not scaring the crap out of parents and friends stateside, can be found here.
Well. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Rome, and I have to say, it's a little bit harrowing, though most likely because of the fact that I haven't given it much real thought. At the same time, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to be thrown alone into a culture and language I don't understand and immerse myself for a little while.
International travel is one of those things I'm incredibly grateful for. The more places I go, the more cultures and people I am rammed up against, the more sweaty packed subway rides, bargaining at market stands, and discussions with random old people in old run-down plazas, the more I realize that we're really all the same. And the more I realize that politics seem to do far more worse than good, because Jose Schmo living in Madrid and Jean Paul au Hasard in Montreal certainly don't care about the international strain between their nations (though perhaps Canada was a poor choice). If one were to visit the other's home town, and they met on the street, chances are they would try to interact in a polite manner, home-boy would certainly help out the foreigner if he was trying to find a cafe. We're all people, and we do all want a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (well, I put it that way because I am American; otherwise, liberté, égalité, fraternité or one of numerous other freedom songs). It's only when our own country's political opinions are forced down our throats, or it becomes extremely personal for some reason, that layperson in country X begins to actually hate layperson in country R.
What a life we lead. At least the science is the same...
Well, as I'm off to go do this thing, I may not post anything for a day or two, but I'll certainly try! And pictures of gelato (for the random SCAMP/ PME CFO), and hopefully some lovely Italy! It turns out my hotel doesn't have wireless in the rooms, so it'll be a little interesting trying to get a place to do so... perhaps a cafe which I will be pointed to by Guiseppe Casuale even though I'm American. Or maybe I can pretend to be Canadian. That went over slightly better in NZ the first time...
In the meantime, to make your workday slightly happier, check out this ad from forever ago. It's pretty friggin ridiculous, and reminds me of the Crisco cookbook I found in a pile of old National Geographics from the 40s in our attic on BI, which claimed that "Crisco will give your children sweet dreams". Right, this one is about Cola.
Arrivederci et pace~
And we were talking about traveling.
More specifically, Lauren (henceforth referred to as "Skippy") was discussing the "fake" Great Wall she had just visited, as well as random traveling bits. Apparently you can't actually visit the real Great Wall, and on top of that, the only 'real' parts left are rather remote and local villagers tend to dismantle it in bits to build houses (B: "those bricks must be good, they've lasted this long already!") Who would think?
Margaret told a story about traveling in Morocco and almost being stabbed, which managed to capture the interest of everyone there, as well as the occasional passer-by (or at least the crow with a cough). It was harrowing, it was dark, and we all wanted to run home to mama... actually, I believe the full story, published after leaving Morocco for the express purpose of not scaring the crap out of parents and friends stateside, can be found here.
Well. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Rome, and I have to say, it's a little bit harrowing, though most likely because of the fact that I haven't given it much real thought. At the same time, I'm looking forward to the opportunity to be thrown alone into a culture and language I don't understand and immerse myself for a little while.
International travel is one of those things I'm incredibly grateful for. The more places I go, the more cultures and people I am rammed up against, the more sweaty packed subway rides, bargaining at market stands, and discussions with random old people in old run-down plazas, the more I realize that we're really all the same. And the more I realize that politics seem to do far more worse than good, because Jose Schmo living in Madrid and Jean Paul au Hasard in Montreal certainly don't care about the international strain between their nations (though perhaps Canada was a poor choice). If one were to visit the other's home town, and they met on the street, chances are they would try to interact in a polite manner, home-boy would certainly help out the foreigner if he was trying to find a cafe. We're all people, and we do all want a chance at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (well, I put it that way because I am American; otherwise, liberté, égalité, fraternité or one of numerous other freedom songs). It's only when our own country's political opinions are forced down our throats, or it becomes extremely personal for some reason, that layperson in country X begins to actually hate layperson in country R.
What a life we lead. At least the science is the same...
Well, as I'm off to go do this thing, I may not post anything for a day or two, but I'll certainly try! And pictures of gelato (for the random SCAMP/ PME CFO), and hopefully some lovely Italy! It turns out my hotel doesn't have wireless in the rooms, so it'll be a little interesting trying to get a place to do so... perhaps a cafe which I will be pointed to by Guiseppe Casuale even though I'm American. Or maybe I can pretend to be Canadian. That went over slightly better in NZ the first time...
In the meantime, to make your workday slightly happier, check out this ad from forever ago. It's pretty friggin ridiculous, and reminds me of the Crisco cookbook I found in a pile of old National Geographics from the 40s in our attic on BI, which claimed that "Crisco will give your children sweet dreams". Right, this one is about Cola.
Arrivederci et pace~
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Randomosity No.1
After four hours of sleep for the last several nights, I am sitting at my desk in the EFM office, listening to the birds chirp in the trees as the sun spills over my hands happily typing away... oh wait, no, that's the grinding sound of the roofers on Hesse, and, my bad, the fluorescent light from the O'Brien lab basking its glow on this cold, foggy morning. I guess I'm a little confused. I'm not the young whippersnapper I used to be, and four hours will not quite do it (oh, how I long for the days of undergrad... one of the Top Ten Reasons I Came to Harvey Mudd College was "sleep deprivation is fun and easy"(number 3? 5? Mudders, some help here?)).
So... why?
This morning was uber eventful...
Amanda got in last night at 12:15am at the Downtown Berkeley BART station. After a reheated slice of Cheeseboard Pizza (henceforth referred to as 'chzbrd'), which had gotten very cold in the five hours the poor girl had to wait in Denver before finally getting here, a re-design of my blog bkgd and another hour of talking, we decided to go for the 4.5-hr sleep cycle, (our bodies sleep in 90-min chunks, [check it out]) though I don't think we actually made the 4.5-hr mark.
[side note: we had spent one morning on the way to Stanford discussing this topic, another one of the random things they taught us at Mudd (along with the importance of learning your personality type and how you interact with others (MBTI) [don't know yours?] disclaimer: no guarantee that this is a good test). And to be fair, the discussion was actually mostly me babbling trying to stay awake while Amanda dozed in the passenger seat, occasionally making small noncommittal sounds of assent. But she remembered enough to want to try it out.]
And after dropping her off at 6am, I took a nice long run to try to wake up since today was meant to be an early fieldwork day in the Delta with Wayne (he's trying to help the smelt). But we found out we can't actually tow the Golden Bear (the EFM Whaler) with Enterprise rental trucks, so... we're now sitting in the office as people randomly trickle in, waiting to hear back about whether we can use the Blue Beast... still waiting...
In the meantime, I'm playing with the background. Anyone who has read a post over the last few days will notice the random nature of the images... first wooden spoons, then a wave coming in on the beach at Clay Head on BI in the early morning, and now... well, now I think we've found a winner. The current background you see is actually SCAMP profiles of turbulent kinetic energy dissipation rate (ε) at 10cm resolution in a 20m water column over a period of about four hours on 20 October 2010. [To give proper credit, this work was supported by NSF Grant DGE 1106400]. aka, this is my research.
I have also come to a conclusion: I'm not going to write anything else that's just blabbering to myself and wasting time. I will only write interesting-ish random things about topics you might want to read about. And I will try to avoid being cryptic. Because no one deserves to read boring crap about someone else's life. What a waste of time! That's why there are so many blogs out there.
Along that line, I will never write something boring... oh wait... I think this post qualifies... oh crap I'm drowning in the meta-ness of it!
I'm So Meta, Even This Acronym
PS Success! I have officially been added to Margaret's workday blocked websites list. Need it? I understand... Chrome Nanny LeechBlock
So... why?
This morning was uber eventful...
Amanda got in last night at 12:15am at the Downtown Berkeley BART station. After a reheated slice of Cheeseboard Pizza (henceforth referred to as 'chzbrd'), which had gotten very cold in the five hours the poor girl had to wait in Denver before finally getting here, a re-design of my blog bkgd and another hour of talking, we decided to go for the 4.5-hr sleep cycle, (our bodies sleep in 90-min chunks, [check it out]) though I don't think we actually made the 4.5-hr mark.
[side note: we had spent one morning on the way to Stanford discussing this topic, another one of the random things they taught us at Mudd (along with the importance of learning your personality type and how you interact with others (MBTI) [don't know yours?] disclaimer: no guarantee that this is a good test). And to be fair, the discussion was actually mostly me babbling trying to stay awake while Amanda dozed in the passenger seat, occasionally making small noncommittal sounds of assent. But she remembered enough to want to try it out.]
And after dropping her off at 6am, I took a nice long run to try to wake up since today was meant to be an early fieldwork day in the Delta with Wayne (he's trying to help the smelt). But we found out we can't actually tow the Golden Bear (the EFM Whaler) with Enterprise rental trucks, so... we're now sitting in the office as people randomly trickle in, waiting to hear back about whether we can use the Blue Beast... still waiting...
In the meantime, I'm playing with the background. Anyone who has read a post over the last few days will notice the random nature of the images... first wooden spoons, then a wave coming in on the beach at Clay Head on BI in the early morning, and now... well, now I think we've found a winner. The current background you see is actually SCAMP profiles of turbulent kinetic energy dissipation rate (ε) at 10cm resolution in a 20m water column over a period of about four hours on 20 October 2010. [To give proper credit, this work was supported by NSF Grant DGE 1106400]. aka, this is my research.
I have also come to a conclusion: I'm not going to write anything else that's just blabbering to myself and wasting time. I will only write interesting-ish random things about topics you might want to read about. And I will try to avoid being cryptic. Because no one deserves to read boring crap about someone else's life. What a waste of time! That's why there are so many blogs out there.
Along that line, I will never write something boring... oh wait... I think this post qualifies... oh crap I'm drowning in the meta-ness of it!
I'm So Meta, Even This Acronym
PS Success! I have officially been added to Margaret's workday blocked websites list. Need it? I understand... Chrome Nanny LeechBlock
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Solving global climate change one Trager at a time
If Jason Trager can't raise $30 million for sustainability fellowships in Berkeley, it simply cannot be done. Or so he explained thoroughly over coffee, an amazing cappuccino that made Margaret ridiculously happy so that she just wanted to get back to work, and a brownie, a part of which I found inexplicably placed in my hand, this afternoon at Nefeli.
And at the same time, if he cannot raise $30 million for sustainability fellowships, there's no way we're ever going to solve global climate change.
You know what? I think he might be right about that. If he can't raise that kind of money for a cause so inextricably tied to the Berkeley ideal, both the local mentality and the national/international image of Berkeley, then there's no way we're ever going to be able to get enough people interested in making a difference in the way we live on this fragile earth. That's not to say the two are the same, or that the students who would be supported by said fellowships would solve the world climate crisis, but when it comes down to it, $30 million isn't very much money.
And if anyone can do it, Jason Trager can do it. This guy is so passionate about his ideals of sustainability that he really seems to embody the principles themselves. You listen to him talk about this, and there is no doubt in your mind that
1) he's 100% right
2) he genuinely thinks fixing these problems is possible (which is an attitude many scientists and engineers lack) and
3) he could certainly talk a Fortune 500 Chief Exec into directing oodles of (probably tax-deductible) dollars into his cause.
So good luck, Trager. I sincerely hope that we can, if not "solve" global climate change (this is not actually physically possible, at least not in the amount of time humans will walk the earth), at least we can begin to reign in our hugely negative impacts. The most important thing, though (as of right now), is to educate people about what's actually happening.
It's hard to imagine, but there are actually people out there still who think global climate change is a "theory" which a rational person can choose to believe in. If you happen to be one of these people, please, please, I beg of you, read the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report from 2007: [here's the summary]. Unfortunately, the powers that be in the international community (US, China, India, and other nations with manufacturing and oil interests) have put such hard restrictions on the IPCC that the strongest words they can use are high agreement and much evidence, rather than blatantly stating 'dude we're friggin killing the earth'. But everyone who considers themselves educated and in any way qualified to discuss the topic should at least read the report. And unless you're incredibly set in your opinion before considering evidence, it should be able to speak for itself.
And by the way, let's please stop calling it "global warming". It's actually incredibly misleading for all of those people (who won't read the report) who think a cold winter in a mid-Atlantic state disproves global climate change entirely. Thus, a plea: use the term "global climate change". kthanksbye.
So, kids, lessons for the day:
1) Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle, but most of all, REDUCE (why don't people remember this is the most important of the three?) [need help remembering it?]
2) Be super passionate about whatever you care about and a CFO from a Fortune 500 company might give you mad $ to support your cause [or maybe these guys]
3)Let's try to walk lightly upon this earth; it's the only one we've got.
And at the same time, if he cannot raise $30 million for sustainability fellowships, there's no way we're ever going to solve global climate change.
You know what? I think he might be right about that. If he can't raise that kind of money for a cause so inextricably tied to the Berkeley ideal, both the local mentality and the national/international image of Berkeley, then there's no way we're ever going to be able to get enough people interested in making a difference in the way we live on this fragile earth. That's not to say the two are the same, or that the students who would be supported by said fellowships would solve the world climate crisis, but when it comes down to it, $30 million isn't very much money.
And if anyone can do it, Jason Trager can do it. This guy is so passionate about his ideals of sustainability that he really seems to embody the principles themselves. You listen to him talk about this, and there is no doubt in your mind that
1) he's 100% right
2) he genuinely thinks fixing these problems is possible (which is an attitude many scientists and engineers lack) and
3) he could certainly talk a Fortune 500 Chief Exec into directing oodles of (probably tax-deductible) dollars into his cause.
So good luck, Trager. I sincerely hope that we can, if not "solve" global climate change (this is not actually physically possible, at least not in the amount of time humans will walk the earth), at least we can begin to reign in our hugely negative impacts. The most important thing, though (as of right now), is to educate people about what's actually happening.
It's hard to imagine, but there are actually people out there still who think global climate change is a "theory" which a rational person can choose to believe in. If you happen to be one of these people, please, please, I beg of you, read the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change report from 2007: [here's the summary]. Unfortunately, the powers that be in the international community (US, China, India, and other nations with manufacturing and oil interests) have put such hard restrictions on the IPCC that the strongest words they can use are high agreement and much evidence, rather than blatantly stating 'dude we're friggin killing the earth'. But everyone who considers themselves educated and in any way qualified to discuss the topic should at least read the report. And unless you're incredibly set in your opinion before considering evidence, it should be able to speak for itself.
And by the way, let's please stop calling it "global warming". It's actually incredibly misleading for all of those people (who won't read the report) who think a cold winter in a mid-Atlantic state disproves global climate change entirely. Thus, a plea: use the term "global climate change". kthanksbye.
So, kids, lessons for the day:
1) Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle, but most of all, REDUCE (why don't people remember this is the most important of the three?) [need help remembering it?]
2) Be super passionate about whatever you care about and a CFO from a Fortune 500 company might give you mad $ to support your cause [or maybe these guys]
3)Let's try to walk lightly upon this earth; it's the only one we've got.
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