Observations & Thoughts from Our Recent Trip to Western Europe

My wifey and I recently returned from our two-week honeymoon in Amsterdam, Bruxelles (a.k.a. Brussels), and Paris (a.k.a. “the city of love!” as a jovial bartender in Bruxelles named Junior referred to it). Here’s some observations and thoughts I generated from our trip.

Wanna Have a Good Time at Customs in Holland?
Donning our backpacking packs, two sets of greasy hair from a transcontinental day of travel, a red carry-on suitcase and passports in hand, Mari and I must have appeared like two studious nerds ready to embark on a studious touristic visit of Europe. When it was our turn to approach the customs agent at Schiphol Airport, ten kilometers outside of Amsterdam, I took out the trip itineraries from our suitcase. They were tucked into a sheet protector. Before long, the agent gave us a 90-mph fastball over the plate: what was the purpose of our visit?

“We’re on our honeymoon,” Mari said.

It was ever so slight, but the agent crinkled an eyebrow.

“Honeymoon in Amsterdam?” he said in a classic European accent.

Throughout our entire trip—including an unplanned, eyeball-popping stroll through Amsterdam’s Red Light District—I would imitate the customs agent’s thick accent and say to Mari: “Honeymoon in Amsterdam?”

So there you go: if you ever find yourself flying into Schiphol Airport with your partner, just tell ‘em you’re on your honeymoon. They’ll think you’re freaks.

Toilettes
I encountered my first toilet seat sanitizer at the Schiphol Airport. I’d never seen one before; didn’t see one during my previous trip to Europe in 2003.

Throughout our vacation, here and there, I came across these sanitizers in the bathroom stalls. I found them refreshing to use. (To be transparent—perhaps a bit TMI—I’ve always been rather comfortable taking a crap in a public restroom.) I’m not a health scientist, or a versed germaphobe, but I’m willing to bet that they’re more sanitary than toilet seat covers. But more importantly—as far as I’m concerned—they negated the need for toilet seat covers; that means less paper and resources are being expended. Less waste is subsequently created, and this restroom practice is inevitably gentler on the sewage system with less waste to filter through it. I wish we used toilet seat sanitizers in the U.S.

On a related note, it was hard not to notice that the European restrooms I visited were more likely to have dual-flush toilets than public restrooms in the United States. I thought this was wise and practical as well. It was hard not to think of California when I used those dual-flush toilets. We’re currently suffering our worst drought on record. After reading Jared Diamond’s Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed this past spring, I learned that two environmental calamities tend to lead to a society’s collapse: deforestation and severe drought. It is key, on both the societal and individual level, to react appropriately to an environmental crisis. I think it’s great that water-free urinals seem to be more prevalent in California in recent years but why don’t we advocate the usage of dual-flush toilets to lessen our water usage? Why doesn’t our state government become more proactive about providing incentives for dual-flush toilets? (After doing some online research, I found that municipalities such as EBMUD have begun providing rebates to encourage consumers into purchasing high-efficiency toilets). No one knows how long this drought will continue but I think it’s imperative that our state and local governments mandate or incentivize the usage of toilet products that can significantly cut down our usage of water. This would be a reactive and preventative measure. (There will inevitably be more droughts.) From a historical standpoint, these are the kind of high-level government decisions that make or break their societies.

But back to more observations from our trip:

The Urban Cycling Capital of the World
Amsterdam is the urban cycling capital of the world! It was astounding to behold. Our third-floor apartment outside Amsterdam’s centre provided a superb view of a three-way major intersection. Every 5-10 minutes the #1 tram rolled by through the middle of the street. Two lanes of vehicular traffic flanked it along with accompanying bicycle lanes and sidewalks for pedestrians. (I like to call them “peds.”)

From what we observed during our four days in Amsterdam, it didn’t really seem to matter what time of day it was—morning, afternoon, or night, or what day of the week it was—but we almost always saw more cyclists than motorists and pedestrians COMBINED. Being a long-time urban cyclist, this was a monumentally fucking beautiful reality to witness. (Perhaps needless to say—and for various other reasons—I was quickly smitten with Amsterdam.)

No Monster Trucks Here!
The largest single-user vehicle we saw during our trip: a black Range Rover in Amsterdam. And it was a small one compared to the SUVs you typically see in ‘Murica.

Food in Amsterdam
File this under “Welcome Surprise,” but Mari and I ate some damn good food in Amsterdam. We had one so-so meal, and that was eating a doner kebab and frites from what looked like a fast-food chain restaurant.

“Don’t Mess with a Dutchman’s Dairy” (Our bike tour guide in Amsterdam said almost these exact words in recounting the hippie camp-out days in Vondelpark back in the 1970s.)

Speaking of food—holy shit! (or heilig stront!)—I had the yummiest yogurt and soymilk ever in Amsterdam. Mari concurred. I don’t know what they feed their cows, or where that soymilk came from, but sweet baby Jesus it was glorious. (And if you’re already thinking, no, it wasn’t the Amsterdam pot that skewed this subjective assessment.)

Bike Helmets in Europe
Hardly anyone wears a bike helmet in Europe—at least the three cities we visited. I can count on two hands the amount of people we saw wearing helmets. (In Amsterdam, where I often found myself staring out our window to watch street traffic flowing by, I saw a woman in her mid-late thirties wearing a helmet; two kiddos donning helmets rode behind her so clearly she was being a Proper Mama Cyclist. Other than those three, I think I saw two other cyclists wearing helmets in Amsterdam.) When I pointed out the lack of cycling helmets to Har, our kind host in Amsterdam, he smiled and said, “Yes, we’re free here.”

Never Saw a Used Rubber on the Sidewalk in Sodom (or Amsterdam’s cleanliness)
Amsterdam is famously known for its legalized prostitution and tolerance of marijuana usage but I wish it were renowned for its cleanliness. Sure, we saw a few empty beer bottles standing on the curb on Saturday morning, and some trash floating in the canals, but the city was surprisingly clean.

On a related note, Mari and I didn’t see any homeless people in or around the city’s center. It was a remarkable contrast to San Francisco. I’m not sure why this was the case; they do have homeless people in Amsterdam, but they weren’t visible during the daytime or off of Overtoom—the street we stayed on—during the night. Are they better cared for in Amsterdam? Je ne sais pas, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. The Dutch seem far more practical and humanitarian than your typical American.

Parks and Biergartens
Amsterdam’s largest park, the beauteous Vondelpark, has seven biergartens according to our guide at Mike’s Bikes. When I visited Munich back in 2003 I drank a stein at one of the lovely biergartens in the Englischer Garten. Why can’t we have beer gardens in parks in the United States? People are gonna brown-bag it at a park anyway, so why not civilize the whole act for everyone involved? Is it mentally impossible for Americans to think of a large civic park as a place for childrens’ recreation and a place for adult leisure? Although Mari and I didn’t indulge, a stop at the beer garden for a break from a stroll or cruise through the park can assuredly be chillaxing.

Domino’s Pizza

Domino’s in Amsterdam sold pizzas with hot-dog-stuffed crust. During our time in Amsterdam, Mari and I occasionally joked about going down the street to pick one up. But really, we thought it looked gross. ( Pizza Hut UK first began to sell hot-dog-stuffed pizzas in 2012. Thailand and Japan sold such pizzas before.) I can’t even picture it as stoner grub, man.


Coffeeshops (You know which ones I’m talking about)
Speaking of sweet mother green, it is difficult to find a regular coffeeshop in Amsterdam that, you know, serves coffee and croissants.

Marijuana in Amsterdam: Was it like the Outro of Jimi Hendrix’s “House Burning Down”?

In my humble opinion, marijuana in Amsterdam was as potent as the medical marijuana I have smoked in California. (It certainly inspired us to buy some sweets!) Maybe it was a smidge stronger? According to the Amsterdam.info webpage, “Dutch Nederweed contains about 15-18% THC, while foreign weed only contains about 7.5% THC.” Pure Analytics, a cannabis-testing laboratory states: “The Nor Cal cannabis market is characterized overall by THC-dominant cannabis with an average THC potency level between 16-17%.”

The Dude Abides

If Amsterdam wasn’t cool enough, their beer scene is superb. A pair of locals named The Cinema Brewers have a Lebowski Ale! It was pretty good, too. I may be fickle, but that pretty much made Amsterdam the coolest city on Planet Earth for me.

Smartphones
Before we embarked on our trip, Mari and I wondered if Europeans would be as absorbed with their smartphones as people in California. Our prediction: we would see slightly less smartphone usage in public areas; we figured this since Europeans tend to be more community-oriented whereas our hyper-individualism is a hallmark of Americana.

Although we only visited three major cities in three Western European countries—from what we observed—it seemed like Europeans were noticeably less entranced and beholden to their mobile contraptions. (For what it’s worth, I found that smartphone penetration—the litmus for smartphone usage—is a bit lower in most of Western Europe in comparison to the United States.) On the subways and trams we rode people didn’t get sucked a smartphone vortex for prolonged periods of time like many riders I’ve seen on BART. At the restaurants and cafes we ate at we never saw a pair of people convene only to thumb away on their phones for the majority of their meal. Instead, we rarely saw people on their phones in restaurants, let alone clicking away picture after picture of their food—or themselves—before devouring their meals. That’s not exactly standard behavior at all restaurants here in California but it is hardly an unusual occurrence nowadays. (A few months back, Mari and I sat next to a pair of Asian girls at Fentons Ice Creamery who hardly exchanged words during their meal. For the entirety of their meeting, each one clicked and navigated away on their smartphones. When their food was brought out, they were prodded into physical action, taking picture after picture of their ice cream, selfies of themselves with their food, pictures of their friend with their food, and in between, a few words were exchanged. Months before, we saw about three groups of young people doing the same thing at a trendy restaurant in Santa Monica.) We never once saw such antisocial behavior in Europe. Instead, people who met at terraces and cafes and restaurants convened to utilize their mouths, ears, and vocal cords to converse like human beings.

The Usage of Mobile Devices in Museums
Speaking of the usage of mobile devices, Mari and I had a difficult time viewing paintings on the main floor of Amsterdam’s Rijksmuseum without standing next to someone snapping a picture of the artwork with their cell phones. I saw a guy standing in front of a painting while he took his sweet time taking a self-portrait with his iPad. This behavior soured our experience. The museum seemed like a place where these cell-phone-totting idiots could take picture after picture of artwork they—in all likelihood—didn’t know jack shit about yet still felt compelled to document.

YouTube Ads
And speaking of iPads, Mari and I couldn’t help but notice that we hardly got any ads before playing YouTube videos in Paris. Ditto for Bruxelles and Amsterdam. Not that I kept count, but I’d say one ad played for every ten video clips I opened. (Wasn’t YouTube viewing in America once this delectable?)

Parisian Footwear
Podiatrists must make a killing in Paris. The City of Lights is truly obsessed with style and outward appearances. Thusly, women often wear heels and shoes that can’t be kind to their feet—like an older woman we saw in Le Marais with a huge bunion on the side of her right foot. (Pobrecita.)

I Love [Insert Name of City] shirts
On one of our last days in Paris, I saw a pudgy dude on the metro wearing a baseball hat that said “Paris.” That made me realize that I never once saw any Parisian wearing a “Je t'aime, Paris” or “I Love Paris” t-shirt, or similar paraphernalia. I find such shirts to be stupid. Apparently Parisians do too. Or, at the very least, they’re too chic to wear a shirt that their mere physical existence in Paris validates.

Best Time to Visit Paris
In my humble opinion, I believe fall is the best time to visit Paris. Here’s my supporting evidence:

1. The Jardin du Luxembourg was absolutely magnifique to see with the colors of autumn dotting the park’s foliage. (I had to summon energy to not take pictures of the park with all its fallen leaves of brown, crimson, and gold.) I don’t remember it being so exquisitely beautiful when I visited Paris during the hot summer of 2003.

2. French author Michel Houellebecq’s narrator in The Map and the Territory—a resident of Paris—says, “It is only in autumn that Paris is truly a pleasant city, offering short sunny days where the dry and clear air leaves an invigorating sensation of freshness.” See, there!

Le Cinema
Parisian filmgoers are a serious breed. At least that’s my hypothesis. Here’s what I wrote about my experience watching a film in Paris back in 2003: “The audience was perfectly quiet during the screening. Before, they were chitchattering loudly.”

On our last night in Paris, Mari and I watched Wim Wenders documentary about Sebastião Salgado. The audience chitchatted quietly before the trailers started, but they were quiet throughout the film. It was a reverent silence. The documentary had some horrific, disturbing, slit-your-wrists-depressing pictures. With the exception of one young man who left halfway through the film, the audience unflinching stared back at the celluloid images without leaving. I was impressed. The theater, with a capacity of about one hundred, was nearly sold out on a weeknight. I’ve been to my share of art house film screenings in the Bay Area for many, many years and I doubt I would ever see such a turnout during a weeknight. Who else but the French—and myself (and subsequently Mari)—would willingly spend a lovely evening watching a documentary with such depressing imagery?

Cops a la France
The French version of Cops is mighty different than the American version—and their law enforcement methods are far different than our brute, gun-totting ways. Mari saw an episode of Cops which centered on (drum roll please): a middle-aged man keying another person’s car. When a police van—which sort of resembled a family minivan—rolled up to the residence of the accused party, an officer and the car-keying Frenchy got into a shouting match; ultimately, that was the most violent moment of their encounter. Before long, another patrol unit rolled up for back-up. (This is a worthwhile place to remind you that the alleged crimes are: 1) keying a car, and 2) possible drunk driving.) The shouting match ended. The suspect was not bludgeoned, slammed to the ground, or even handcuffed. Instead, he confessed to keying the car and a Breathalyzer demonstrated that he was indeed driving drunk before he rolled up to his residence. From there he willingly walked into the backseat of the police van, which did not have a divider between the driver. A police officer took a seat beside the man. Shortly after, the van drove off to the precinct where he was fingerprinted, officially booked, then released after an officer gave him a stern lecture.

Can you imagine? This counts for a heated encounter between police officers and a law-breaking citizen in France. (Crazy fucking Frenchies!)

Seating Guidelines on the Paris Metro
The Paris Metro has seats by the doors. (Best metro I’ve ridden! Though we never stayed out late at night, we never had to wait more than five minutes for a train.) A sign above them states the seats are reserved, in order of priority for disabled war veterans, the handicapped, the elderly, and pregnant women. In practice, it’s probably a largely symbolic listing; I doubt there are many disabled war veterans riding the Paris metro nowadays, but I think it says something about their society that they are listed first. I respect that quite a bit.

Europe and the United States
The last observation I will note from our trip concerns three separate cycling accidents I witnessed. One was in Amsterdam during the bike tour Mari and I participated in; the second was in Amsterdam’s Vondelpark, and the third one I saw (and heard) in Paris while I sat at an Internet café. In each instance, in each locale—ranging from a canal crossing, popular urban park, and a side street in a super-posh part of Paris—a small flock of people stopped what they were doing to attend to the person who fell off their bike. Each time, passersby gasped and expressed concern before helping the fallen.

I have been a regular urban cyclist since 2005. I’ve had some spills—some minor, a few nasty ones. I had one in Golden Gate Park which was far, far worst than the one I saw of a middle-aged woman falling on a side street in Le Marais. When I fell, a man standing nearby hesitated a few seconds before asking me if I was okay. Although I was physically shaking from the hard fall (I was cycling over 22 mph when I hit an unmarked speed bump that sent me sailing sideways through the air), I told him I was all right as I took a seat to hunch over on the curb.

In Paris, a group of at least five pedestrians came to the woman’s aid. The sound of her bicycle clanging against the sidewalk had been loud. They helped her stand. I saw a few people put their hands on her back. The owner of the fashion shop/Internet café were I sat at sped over to the fallen woman with a chair; she placed the chair on the left side of the street, the part designated for cyclists so the woman could sit. It was humbling to see this communal reaction for a woman who merely lost control of her bike and fell on the sidewalk. From my experiences, I found it hard to imagine Americans ever reacting in this manner, let alone in a fast-paced metropolis like, say, New York City (which is the only American city that can hold a candle to Europe’s great cities).

On a related note, I observed, on a daily basis for one week that Parisians would go out of their way to hold the exit door open at the St. Paul metro station for the stream of people walking behind them. I pointed this out to Mari as symptomatic of a culture which is more community-oriented than our own in California. Maybe it’s different in small towns in California but I have never witnessed such considerateness anywhere in the San Francisco Bay Area or in the Southern California cities I have visited over the years. I have a hard time picturing New Yorkers doing the same at a subway station.

In all, I couldn’t help but feel that Europeans, in a wholly general sense, seem more considerate and compassionate toward one another. (Call me crazy, but maybe that’s partly why they don’t have nearly as many mass shootings as the United States?) Their police don’t kill people of color—and get away with it. Their governments provide universal healthcare for their citizens; I don’t think this is debated like it is in the United States; it’s simply a right their citizens have. Most European countries have far more generous laws when it comes to time off from work, especially for paternal leaves. With all this in mind—and there’s so much more that could be said—it’s hard not to juxtapose the United States and the European Union and come away believing that Europeans revere life more than Americans. By comparison, the United States is a wild, barbaric frontier where people are apparently only valuable if they’re working. (This is reflected in the fact that one of the first questions American strangers typically ask one another is what their vocation is.)

Though it was only two weeks, our visit to Western Europe gave me, for the first time in my life, the earnest desire to leave this country someday. Wouldn’t it be good to live in a country where my taxes aren’t being spent to maim and kill brown people on other sides of our planet? Wouldn’t it be a reprieve to live in a country that is not at constant war? Wouldn’t it be refreshing to live in a country where people understand and support policies to serve the social good? Wouldn’t it be a rejoice to live in a country where people—and their governments—do more to try to live within their means? Wouldn’t it be great to live in a country with a saner government?

I know I am simplifying this—even fetishizing these differences. But still. Still. A society's priorities are inevitably reflected in their laws, and the United States is fucking cuckoo-town, man.

Are you ready for some football?: my 2014 NFL Preview

Well, well, well; it’s that time of the year again when pigskins go zinging through the air, its every movement followed by 22 superhuman beings and packed stadiums all across ‘Merica. Last year, the Seahawks annihilated the statistically greatest offense of all time (though it clearly wasn’t in actuality; give me the 1994 San Francisco 49ers any day over a Peyton Manning regular season juggernaut) to bring the Lombardi Trophy to the Emerald City for the first time. Can they repeat again? Can the Seahawks cash in on the final season of Russell Wilson’s rookie contract before that loaded roster is imploded due to budget constraints?

Like everyone and their football-watching mother, I couldn’t stop myself from making predictions about how this season will shake out. How piss-poor will my predictions be this season? And could I luck out and correctly pick this year’s Super Bowl champion?

So, without further ado, I humbly offer my predictions for this year’s division champions and Wild Cards.

AFC East:
New England
Judging from ESPN’s listing of NFL predictions for this year , I don’t think any sports writer is picking anyone other than the Patriots to win this division. Even if Brady were injured and lost for the season, they would probably still squeak out a division title. That said, I think one of the Wild Cards will go to either the Dolphins or Jets.

AFC North:
Baltimore
As far as I’m concerned, this is the most intriguing division in the AFC. Although I don’t think the Browns have a legitimate chance of winning the division, I think all four teams can contend for it. At home, none of these teams will be a pushover. In terms of organizational pedigree both Baltimore and Pittsburgh have what it takes to win the division; Cincinnati certainly has the talent—except they have an average quarterback getting paid like a franchise QB.

So why do I think Baltimore is going to win it? In terms of offseason moves I think the Bengals are in for a moderate to serious let down; I think losing both of their coordinators—especially Zimmer on the defensive end—is going to hurt them. Plus, I have a feeling the offensive line isn’t going to be as strong as they have been in recent years, which means good defenses are going to expose Dalton for the poor pocket passer he is when under pressure. (Read Bill Barnwell’s excellent article about The Red Rifle .) By the end of this year, a more appropriate nickname for Dalton will be The Red BB Gun. (I predict that after this season the Bengals are going to pursue another franchise quarterback through the draft.) In fact, I predict that the Bengals are going to implode; this might be Marvin Lewis’ last season at the coaching helm if they fall to a 6-10 record, which I think is plausible.

Pittsburgh still looks so-so; you can’t count them out with a mostly healthy Roethlisberger, the best quarterback in the division. However, I think Baltimore is going to improve on both sides of the ball; best case scenario, their defense can resemble the mighty Ravens defenses of the recent past, and I think their running game is going to be significantly improved with Gary Kubiak as their offensive coordinator, which means Flacco is due for a comeback year.

In sum, I think Baltimore has the best mixture of talent and good coaching to win this division, which is why I’m picking them.

AFC South:
Houston
This division resembles the AFC North in that I don’t think any team—including Gus Bradley’s Jacksonville Jaguars—will be an easy team to defeat. Like the Browns, I don’t think the Jaguars are quite ready to contend for the division title, but they’re not too far off.

I think this will be the most mediocre division in the AFC. A 9-7 record could be enough to win it. Indianapolis, Houston, and Tennessee figure to be around .500 teams, but I’m going to go out on a teeny limb and predict two things: 1) the Colts magical run of winning close games in the Andrew Luck era is coming to a screeching end this year; they’ll break even—or worse—in tight games, and that will be enough to knock them off the top, and 2) Houston is going to make a significant bounce-back this year. From a talent standpoint last year’s Houston Texans were not your typical 2-14 team. They weren’t the 2011 Indianapolis Colts who went 2-14 with the likes of Curtis Painter behind center; the Texans lost a lot of close games last year and essentially gave up on their coach midway through the season. With JJ Watts and Clowney lining up in their front four, they’re going to be a nightmare for many teams. Their defensive line has two of the biggest freak athletes in this league, perhaps this planet.



I think they’ll finish 9-7 and squeak out a division title over the Colts, who can’t overachieve for three years straight. There has to be some sort of law of nature against that.

AFC West:
Denver
Not much to say here: the Broncos will win this division easily. Their defense should be improved; their offense will probably have a slight drop-off, but not much. The Chiefs will come crashing back down to mediocrity and I think the Chargers will easily be the second best team in this division. Losing Whisenhunt as their offensive coordinator will hurt but I think their defense is going to continue to improve. At the end of the 2013-2014 season they found their identity as a defense, and I think Pagano is going to build his defense from that experience. With a few more playmakers, I think they’ll be a middle-of-the-pack defense with a potential top-10 offense. Since the Chiefs and Raiders are going to suck, I think the Bolts will be back in the playoffs as a Wild Card.

And since the Raiders are my team, here’s a few predictions for my beloved Silver & Black: for the second straight season—and it pains me to type this—I think we’re going to finish 4-12; the team is improved but we have one of the toughest schedules this year. McKenzie’s going to keep his job thanks to what looks like will be a solid to good to possibly really good 2014 draft class (so far no cuts! No Tyler Wilsons! And I agree with columnist Tim Kawakami: Derek Carr is the best quarterback prospect the Raiders have had since Rich Gannon’s glory years.) but Dennis Allen will have to go. And thank god because I have never had any reason to believe that he could be a good coach.

AFC Wild Cards: Dolphins, Chargers

NFC East:
Philadelphia
Aww, yeah; Motownphilly's back again! If he stays healthy again, I think LeSean McCoy may lead the league in touchdowns this year. The Philly offense should be outstanding, and that defense has to get better at some point, right? In time, I think Jay Gruden will bring the best out of The Self-Absorbed One, RGIII, but I don’t have much reason to think he’s going to make a big comeback-splash this year when their preseason brought up the question: Has Kirk Cousins outplayed RGIII? Not a good sign. Having DeShit Jackson on their roster should be good for one victory but it won’t be enough to lift them over the Eagles. Eli should have a better season with a new West Coast offense but their defense is not like the one that recently won them two Super Bowls over the Patriots. And the Cowboys? Ha, they’re a joke, like their owner (though I wouldn’t be surprised if they have a top-5 scoring offense—but, they’re going to have one of the worst defenses in the league.)

NFC North:
Green Bay
I’m on the Cheesehead bandwagon, man; I have been for a few years since I predicted their Super Bowl winning run back in 2011. Last year I said I’d take Aaron Rodgers over Tom Brady or Peyton Manning and I’d still take him over those two this year. Despite playing half of their games in Lambeau Field, Green Bay could have the top scoring offense in the league. The question with them has always been: but what about their defense? Is it time for Dom Capers to go, or can he lead a top defense again? I have my doubts, but I think they’ll have a statistically average defense, which, coupled with a Rodgers/Eddie Lacy-led offense is going to be more than enough to top the Bears, Lions, and Vikings.

NFC South:
New Orleans
This is an interesting division. Will Mike Smith’s Falcons bounce back into the playoffs? Will Lovie Smith pull a Jon Gruden and maximize Tampa Bay’s talented roster enough to win the division? Or will Drew Brees and Sean Payton continue to do their thing and win this division?

I’m betting on the latter. The Saints defense should continue to improve, which is scary. And have you seen how accurate Drew Brees is?



NFC West:
Seattle
Arguably the toughest division in football. Despite a few defections, I think Seattle has too much young talent on both sides of the ball to stumble off their perch as the kings of this division. On the other hand, I think San Francisco could decline on both sides of the ball, especially their defense. With Aldon Smith suspended for the first nine games of the season and Navarro "Bad Motherfucker" Bowman already out for a chunk of time, the Niners are a Patrick Willis or Justin Smith injury away from possibly being a mediocre defense. And then the offense: are they really going to be a vastly improved unit if they switch to being a more pass-happy-oriented offense? Barring how the new defensive holding rules pan out, will this offensive transition really help them beat their West Coast nemesis whose strength is their pass defense (especially when Seattle has lost some of their DL depth, which I think may make them more vulnerable to a good rushing attack than last year’s defense)? I think too many things have to break for the 49ers to win this division, especially when St. Louis’ defense is continuing to improve to Tennesse-Titan-Jeff-Fisher-led heights. (The Rams might be improved with former Niner, Shaun Hill as their starting quarterback.)

NFC Wild Cards: San Francisco, Tampa Bay (I could easily put Atlanta here instead.)

As of right now, I think there are four legitimate Super Bowl contenders: Seattle, Green Bay, Denver, and New England. On the cusp (and in order): New Orleans, San Francisco, and Baltimore.

Super Bowl: Green Bay over Denver (Rodgers 2-0, Peyton 1-3 in the Big Game)

Clown Without Pity's 2014 World Cup Predictions

Well, well, well, even though I hardly watch The Fútbol, only tuning in for the World Cup and World-Cup-qualifying matches every four revolutions around the sun, I’ve decided to give this whole predicting-a-winner a whirl. To give you a glimpse of my epic prowess for predicting outcomes in this World Cup, I will confess that I correctly picked a whopping 9 out of the 16 teams that advanced out of the group stage. (I knew I should’ve picked the United States over perennial underachiever, Portugal! And what the fuck was I smoking when I picked Russia and Honduras to advance out of their respective groups?) Someone get me a plane to Vegas!

Okay, without further ado, here’s my ill-informed picks for the quarterfinal matches:

France vs. Germany

After they clocked Portugal in their opening match, a lot of people—including moi—anointed Deutschland as the favorite to win it all—aaaaaaannnd, then they tied 2-2 against Ghana. Against The Stars & Stripes they seemed to play at around 70% of their capacity; they kind of seemed to toy with the U.S.—content to play hard in spurts but almost unwilling to really, really push themselves. Going to extra periods with Algeria was one of the big surprises of the tournament for me. By the end of regulation time an upset seemed plausible, which was astonishing, but then Germany scored two minutes into the first extra period.

So will The Real Deutschland please stand up? Is it the squad that blitzkrieged the overrated Portugal squad 4-0, or the one with two not-so-impressive victories in their past two games?

And lest I piss off my French homies, let us not forget that we do have a game here, which means that an oppositional force must be pitted against Germany in order to create this thing we call a match. So what can be said about the 2014 French national team? They have scored ten goals in four matches while allowing only two goals—both to Switzerland. They scored five goals against a Swiss team that shut out Argentina through 90 minutes in their final match. I don’t think much was expected of them in this World Cup after their star winger with jacked-up teeth, Franck Ribery, went down with a back injury.

I think this is as far as France goes. The U.S. won’t be able to bail them out this time. (I promise you, this is my one bad historical joke I will allow myself.) Germany’s going to the semi-finals.

Colombia vs. Brazil

Oh sweet Jesus, this is going to be the game! I can’t wait until 1 p.m. PST on the 4th of July: the two best teams in South America (sorry, Argentina) will face off. Being an unapologetic supporter of New World teams in the World Cup, a big part of me pities that this match is happening before the semi-final round. But what a game.

So Brazil barely advanced to this stage. It would have been a disaster and monumental shame if this country that has gone to such pains to host these games would not even make it to the quarterfinal round, but the unforgiving goal post spared them twice in their last game against the scrappy Chilean squad. Though I was relieved they won, I don’t think any Brazilian could’ve left that game feeling chipper about their team’s chances in advancing in the tournament with a performance like that.

Brazil clearly lacks offensive chemistry. They lack a playmaker or two in the midfield who can make goal-scoring easy for Neymar or Porn-stache Fred. There’s no fluidity, beauty, or sabor to their offensive game. They hardly resemble recent Brazilian squads with stars like Ronaldo, Kaka, Rivaldo, Ronaldinho, Romario (to kick it a little more old school), or my boy, Roberto Carlos (check out the .54 second mark of this clip:)



Colombia, on the other hand, has the leading goal scorer in the cup, James “Bad Motherfucker” Rodríguez (check this goal out); their defense has been stout, and they’ve played a sexy game. In terms of cohesion and precision they’ve been superior to their South American veciños. From what we’ve seen in the past three weeks, Colombia is South America’s best hope to hoist the Cup, and I think they’ll continue to prove it by advancing past Brazil on their soil.

Belgium vs. Argentina

Like most folks I’m fairly certain of the outcome of three of the quarterfinal games, but this is the one I’m struggling with the most.

Let’s start with Argentina. Only one word is needed to sum up their hopes of advancing or winning this World Cup: Messi. La Pulga has finally had the strong World Cup performance we predicted in 2010. He notched four goals in the three group games and assisted on the goal that finally broke Switzerland’s defense in their first knockout game. Their opposition has been loading up in the backfield in hopes of countering Argentina’s attack. Messi regularly sees two midfield defenders rush at him whenever he gets the ball. For the most part, this strategy has worked to stifle their offense because La Pulga lacks play-making teammates on the wings who can make teams pay for doubling him. No Carlos Tevez (that dude could kick), and the 35-year-old Maxi Rodríguez isn’t an offensive threat. Of the eight remaining teams, no team is more dependent on one player to carry them than Argentina. Though it’s not the best analogy, ask the Cleveland Cavalier version of LeBron James how that turned out for him when his team advanced to the championship level.

As for Belgium, they have a stout defense; they’ve allowed two goals through four games. And here’s an impressive stat: their six goals have come from six different players.

With Mertens, Hazard, and the 21-year-old Lukaku—the difference maker in their match against the U.S.—Belgium has a couple of offensive threats. Unlike Switzerland, I think Belgium has the offensive depth and talent that can score on Argentina in a counter-attack. I think one of them will penetrate Argentina’s defense. Against Switzerland, Argentina kept up their attack throughout the game while maintaining their composure. In their four matches they have yet to trail an opponent and I question if they can keep the same composure against a strong defensive team like Belgium if they are not the first to score. I think Belgium will pull this one off.

Netherlands vs. Costa Rica

What an interesting match: the aggressive, foul-happy Orange floppers (I’m looking at you, Arjen Robben) against the Ticos from Costa Rica. Like Germany, the Netherlands announced themselves as favorites with a devastation of defending World Cup champion, Spain in their opening World Cup match. And like Germany, their play has been not-so-astounding since. It’s been kind of downward slope, methinks. During their last match, Mexico dominated the Netherlands in the first half, took the lead with a goal a few minutes after halftime, but then the Orange Crush dominated the ball and ultimately scored two late goals to snatch victory from a timid Mexican squad that stopped playing like they had when they took the lead. Van Gogh’s brethren exalted while the world was robbed of any more material from Mexico’s Miguel Herrera.

Like Mexico, Costa Rica has been one of the big surprises of the tournament—arguably the biggest surprise. Down a man, they hung against Greece and won in shootouts to advance to the quarterfinals.

Can they pull off another surprise? Maybe. Do I think they will? No. I think their surprising run ends here though god knows I’m fucking rooting hard for them because I don’t want Robben and his flair for dramatic flopping to advance.

Semi-finals:
Typically I resist making far-reaching (and ridiculous) bracket predictions, but what the hell; I don’t want to write a separate post for the semi-finals. For what it’s worth, here’s this fool’s predictions for the rest of the Cup. It has a healthy dose of wishful thinking but I do think this outcome lies in the realm of feasibility; after all, history often teaches us the most likely outcome and a European team has never won a World Cup hosted in South America; I don't think that will be broken in this Copa Mundial:

• Colombia over Deutschland
• Netherlands over Belgium
• Colombia over the Netherlands

Is it Friday already?

Today’s Depressing Thought

Back in February when we had summery weather in the Bay Area, I was walking home with my trusty bicycle. It was a sunshiny afternoon. Temperatures were in the low 70s in Oakland. I was wearing shorts and a light sweater. As I approached a cross street, a honeybee hovered past my head about a foot from me. It floated in front of me as I pushed my bicycle up the hill. With the sun out, a cheery tune playing through my headphones, a bee chillingly cruising past me, unafraid of my presence, I couldn’t help but smile. Maybe this unseasonable warmth wasn’t so bad? (While a few of my Bay Area Facebook peeps embraced the summer-like weather in February, I found it troubling. Droughts aren’t something to celebrate.)

And then, as I was about to step off the curb, I saw the bee descend lower and lower until it fell to the crosswalk.
I stopped to stand over it. Its wings lay on the concrete, its legs wiggling in the air. Oh no I thought, that smile wiped off my face. I hesitated, ready to put out my bike’s kickstand to step over to a nearby patch of shrubs to try to find a fallen leaf so I could scoop the little guy off the street and rest him on the grass where he could hopefully recuperate instead of get run over or stepped on. (I guess it’s worthwhile to mention that by default, although I catch myself now, I automatically think of most bugs and critters as dudes.) But then I thought: what’s the point? You can try to save one but there are so many others you can’t save. Just weeks before I had seen four dead honeybees lying on the sidewalk of one residential block in Fremont, something I had never witnessed in my childhood. Mass bee die-off, a.k.a. Colony Collapse Disorder, is in our modern lexicon. I kept walking up the hill, leaving the bee to die though it didn’t feel right. (It’s worthwhile to mention that the one time I have been stung by a bee is when I was a boy, swimming in a pool. I noticed a bee floating atop the chlorinated water so I cupped my hands beneath it to lift it out of the pool when the bee stung me.)

As I cycled home, I had a fleeting thought: what if our newest generation of parents—several of whom are my friends or colleagues—will become the last generation of grandparents on Planet Earth?

The future is far from bright and promising. Personally, I think you either have to be in complete denial or utterly foolish to hedge your bet on humanity surviving and thriving past this century with our 21st Century way of living. I think you have to be an idiot to believe that humanity can concoct and manufacture high technology solutions to solve the predicaments we face. That form of thinking—that we can somehow outsmart Mother Nature—is one of the principle reasons why our species has arrived to the dire state we find ourselves in.

Our planet is an organism that will continue on long after we peace out and join the extinction list (which we’ve done a bang-up job of populating in our cameo on this planet). Western Civilization has expanded and lasted too long with a core belief that nature is supposed to be this entity we are in opposition with instead of truly understanding that we’re merely a part of it.

There’s too many of us. Too many of us sucking up and depleting the world’s resources, which is basically what humans do. (I’ve been reading Jared Diamond’s Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed and it’s been sobering to read that this has been characteristic of our species for thousands of years at practically every corner of the world we’ve inhabited.) At our current global growth rate, how can we possibly attain enough freshwater to sustain all 7 billion-plus-of-us-and counting especially when corporations, mining companies, and nuclear power plants continue to pollute our freshwater sources with their money-grubbing endeavors? We can't even do that now; according to UNICEF, over 768 million people lack access to clean water. And sure, the United States can keep its gas prices down by waging illegal wars with petroleum-rich countries, ¹ but who will we bomb for water? Warfare over the attainment of power and influence in petroleum-rich regions has been rather serious, but can you imagine what it’s going to be like when humans are fighting over a natural resource we actually need to subsist? That’s gonna be ugly.

From Colony Collapse Syndrome to receding glaciers ² to higher mean temperatures at the global level to a dearth of originality in the arts (from music to visual art, it seems like humans are stuck in a constant feedback loop where what we’re mostly producing is recycled art or creating shit that has no heart because we’re afraid of being emotionally vulnerable at the most vulnerable juncture in our collective history), Mother Nature is providing us with signs that there is something terribly awry with our way of living. Our bodies do the same, providing us with signals of pain and discomfort to warn us that something is wrong.

Too many of us still aren’t paying attention, lost in the fog of the interwebs and our modern technologies, and it’s probably too late now.

---

1 Back in 1850, there were an estimated 150 glaciers in Glacier National Park in Montana. Today, there are only 25 glaciers in the park according to this U.S. Geological Research Survey webpage.^↩

2 In May 2014, according to GlobalPetrolPrices.com , Americans pay .97 cents per liter. In Australia the price is $1.41 per liter, $1.62 in Chile. The European country with the cheapest fuel prices is Poland which pays $1.78 per liter.^↩

My Cancer Playlist

American Boy
Estelle Featuring Kanye West



On April 27, 2009, the day of my mediastinoscopy, this song looped in my head when I awoke in the early morning dark. I’d been fixated on the song in the days and weeks leading up to the surgery. It’s so catchy it’s disgusting. And it’s upbeat. Not sad. Not desperate. Quintessential wallpaper music.

By then, the cancer whispers were blaring: first, a swollen lymph node popped up by my left clavicle in June 2008. Weeks later, a CT scan revealed an “abnormal mass of lymph nodes” between my lungs. Then my left calf became itchy months later, unresponsive to anti-itch creams. In November 2008, a biopsy of the swollen lymph node yielded a negative response but then three months later two swollen lymph nodes sprouted around the area where the previous one had been snipped out. All along, my doctor feared lymphoma was causing the swollen lymph nodes. Every other possibility had been exhausted.

There were a lot of things I didn’t want to think about then.


Emotion Sickness
Silverchair

During the weeks and days leading up to chemotherapy, I became obsessed with this song; it is Silverchair’s masterpiece—a startling, harrowing, epic rock-opera-like song complete with dramatic strings. When I first heard it ten years before, I was impressed by how thoroughly depressing the song was. (Daniel Johns—then only 20 years old—wrote the song while suffering from severe anorexia and depression. Years after he wrote the songs on Neon Ballroom, once he recovered from his eating disorder, Johns did an interview in which he confessed that he had contemplated suicide during that period.) But once my 30-year-old body became host to a Life-Threatening Disease in Residence, I felt like I truly understood the numb sorrow, the pleading, the desperation in Johns’ howls during the song’s climax.

One night, I closed my bedroom door and sat in front of my computer to watch the song’s music video. By then, the recycling basket beside my desk was filled with empty beer bottles. (I drank that night in hopes of peeling through the numbness that had enveloped me since I was diagnosed.) When the song reached its peak, the drums beating, the strings building, it felt like I was socked in the gut when Johns screamed “GET UP! GET UP!”—which I thought was “GET OUT!” Tears filled my eyes as I sat at my desk with this horrible thing growing inside of me.

This was the only song that ever cut through that shell.

Someday You’ll Be Sorry
Louis Armstrong

 

INT. BALLROOM – NIGHT

Dressed in a black suit with red tie and head shaved, I imagined myself striding into a large ballroom. The couples dancing in the middle of the room are elegantly dressed as though they were from the Roaring ‘20s. The room is softly lit by crystal chandeliers.

A jazz band plays at one end of the ballroom. The pianist plays the high, twinkly intro notes to Louis Armstrong’s “Someday You’ll Be Sorry.” Standing front and center beside a vintage microphone, Louis Armstrong blows his trumpet.

I make my way around the tables toward the Art Deco-style bar where several gentleman puff on cigars. Leaning my elbow against the bar, I face Mr. Hodgkins—my corporeal adversary—who sits on a stool. He wears a white button-down shirt, black bowtie, and vest beneath his black tuxedo jacket. His derby hat rests on the bar as he stares into an empty martini glass.

JUAN
Let’s dance.

Without turning to him, Mr. Hodgkins acknowledges Juan by shifting in his stool.

MR. HODGKINS
Must we?

JUAN
But of course. It’s our song.

MR. HODGKINS
Your song.

JUAN
No, it’s our song. If you hadn’t come into my life, it wouldn’t have meant what it does to me now.

I put an arm around Mr. Hodgkins and lead him to the dance floor. Hip to hip, we dance beneath a chandelier that makes the smoke around us look like a swirling veil. When Armstrong finishes his trumpet solo and steps to the microphone, I lean my cheek against Mr. Hodgkins’. I sing into his ear while Armstrong croons.

JUAN
“Someday, you'll be sorry. The way you treated me was wrong.”

Teary-eyed, I caress Mr. Hodgkins’ face.

JUAN
“I was the one who taught you all you know.”

We continue to dance to the light tempo while Armstrong flashes a toothy smile to the crowd.

JUAN
“There won't be another to treat you like a brother. Someday, you'll be sorry dear.”


In the Light
Led Zeppelin

Monday morning, during the week leading up to my second infusion, sweat poured down my face and moistened my bare arms as I cycled up a long hill toward USF’s Lone Mountain campus to attend a weeklong writing workshop. Led Zeppelin’s “In the Light” played through my headphones. Plant was singing the chorus before the song’s outro (Light, light, light…in the light). Page accompanied the vocals with ascending notes on his guitar, bringing the song to a peak as I neared the top of the hill. With not one cloud in the summer sky, sunlight pouring over me, I closed my eyes. My eyelids became warm blankets of bright orange. I imagined myself grasping that sunlight, imagined it to be like water seeping to my roots, my very core. I imagined myself becoming one with the sun’s light (which we are an extension of)—its warmth, its energy healing and nourishing me as I pedaled on.

I knew I needed this joy and love like never before.

Of Wolf and Man
Metallica


 

Friday mornings, before almost every single one of my twelve chemotherapy infusions, this song blared from my headphones as I marched out of my flat on Dolores Street to San Francisco General Hospital. My spirit roared to the nasty staccato riff that sound like dragon breaths, the thundering snare, the opening verse: Off through the new day’s mist I run / Out from the new day’s mist I have come / I hunt, therefore I am / Harvest the land, taking of the fallen lamb. I was the wolf. My corporeal nemesis, Mr. Hodgkins, was my prey.

I was so pissed off to live.


The Judas Kiss
Metallica

While racing my bicycle to and from grad school, or along the city streets, I would sometimes imagine myself hurtling toward Mr. Hodgkins in a motorcycle armed with machine guns by its handles, the city lights blurring past like flares shot into the sky. I was dressed in black—like death incarnate. Mr. Hodgkins stood in an enclosed parking lot in the heart of the city, waiting for me. His cackles echoed off the brick walls, daring me on. I would press hard on the pedal and sneer as the motor roared, the wind howling as I sliced through it, 80, 90, 100 miles per hour. You shouldn’t have fucked with me, I would say, my eyes fixed on him, pupils opening like pools of black.

After I mowed Mr. Hodgkins down, his derby hat flipping high up into the air, I would pounce on him and pound his skull, fist to face, fist to face against the pavement, his dark blood splattering over my knuckles, pouring out of his mouth and nose before I would bite and tear off his bloodied face, chomp by chomp, chunk by chunk, until he was a faceless pulp, and then I would stand and lean over his mangled corpse and scream and scream and scream (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!) until the concrete around him would splinter like broken glass.


“Raindrop” Prelude, Op 28, No. 15
Frédéric Chopin

December 4, 2009. A reprieve arrived: chemotherapy was over. Four weeks of radiation treatment awaited. I was saddened to leave my angels, my mothers, my 4C nurses, but I hoped I would never have to see them ever again.


Moonlight Serenade
Glenn Miller & His Orchestra

There I am, in focus, in the middle of the wide-angle frame, donning a black pea coat, gray slacks, the loafers I wore to work. It’s 5 o’clock, Thursday evening, first month of 2010. Downtown San Francisco, corner of Market and Montgomery. Watch as I part through the crowd funneling past me into the underground tunnels. Now see them through my vantage: a mass of silhouetted figures bathed in golden light, the sun setting behind them past the hills. This is my life, I think to myself while I listen to the timeless, lilting melody from Glenn Miller and his big band orchestra through my headphones. This is the world I’m still a part of. Now switch to a close-up of my clean-shaven face as the camera tracks backwards. My hair, in its rebirth, is growing.

On most occasions, I would have felt annoyed to walk against wave upon wave of humanity, hurrying to pile into crowded trains from their tiny cubicles. But I feel graced to be among them as they brush past me: chirping into their phones. Texting while walking. Marching with expressionless faces.

In my world, in my head, curious thoughts begin to dawn as the sunlight fades. I think to myself: someday I want to play and pass this song along to my children, fill our home with its peaceful rhythm. I think to myself: I want this song to play at my wedding reception. I want to play this song when I leave this town. And someday, when my sun is setting, I want to sit and close my eyes and listen to this song fill my heart like the sound of the ocean’s waves.

As I walk down the sidewalk, I play the song again and again—stirring those images, stirring those emotions. This is new for me—the desire to imagine a future.

I play the song, again and again and again.


I’m Still Standing
Elton John



Outside the oncology clinic, beneath a sweet drizzle I call my mother and father to share The Best News Ever: Mr. Hodgkins is officially dead. It is March 2, 2010. I have longed for this moment for almost one year. Throughout that time, I daydreamt of dedicating this song to Mr. Hodgkins, particularly the chorus:

Don't you know I'm still standing, better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I'm still standing, after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.


Pa' Llegar A Tu Lado
Lhasa de Sela



Back in 2009, less than two months before I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma, I began to date a bright, cute, and mildly nerdy Latina. We were both attending graduate school for creative writing. When we sat together at cafes in San Francisco, reading and writing like homework buddies, we often asked each other’s opinion on a line, paragraph, or word in the pieces we were penning. I felt at peace beside her. I fell in love with this dream of us being a brainy, driven duo of writers—like a Latino version of Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne.

That honeymoon phase new couples experience?: it was cut short by my dis-ease. It was the worst time to begin a relationship. And god knows my anger and drinking didn’t help either. Despite all that, we stayed together, off and on, for a tumultuous year and a half.

Near our end, I gave her a mix of music. This song made the cut. It should never be a song you dedicate to a lover. Never. In retrospect, it was our requiem:

Gracias a tus manos doy
Por haberme aguantado
Tuve que quemarme
Pa'llegar hasta tu lado


Nutshell (from their MTV Unplugged album)
Alice in Chains

Rejoining “the kingdom of the well”—as Sontag called it—was deliriously great at first, but there was fallout to reckon with. Fallout from lowering my head and pushing through grad school and that shitstorm of my life for over a year and a half and never relenting. Staley’s lyrics and wearied voice in this recording sounded like that feeling locked inside:

And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home.


I’ll Fly Away
Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch

Winter 2011. I was in Taos, New Mexico for my first artist residency. On the day I rented a neo-hippie white Volkswagen Bug to cruise out of Taos, past the Rio Grande Gorge, I saw the land and gray sky open before me, nestled by the surrounding mountains. This song came up on random play from my iPod. It was all so piercingly beautiful—being alive, listening to this immaculate song in a land that felt like home. I cried. It was a great day to die.


The Rain Song
Led Zeppelin

This is the springtime of my loving
The second season I am to know


I can close my eyes and listen to this song and feel myself float through the sky like a singsong leaf descending in the wind. Jones’ mellotron, coupled with sliding notes from Page’s Danelectro literally sound like a melody orchestrated by a quiet torrent of raindrops. There is something about the song’s peak; it feels triumphant with Bonzo’s crashing cymbals and Plant’s invigorated vocals. It feels like a spiritual cleansing—as though the band attained a long-sought freedom. And that’s what making it through that trying period in my life and being alive feels like for me.


Ventura Highway
America



May 21, 2013. A regular oncology check-up, except this time I’m bringing someone along to visit that part of my past, that part of my life I have kept to myself and few others: my girlfriend, Maria. I didn’t beg her to come. She wanted to come, and it’s weird but glorious to have someone beside me—to show the tranquil, tucked-away garden next to Ward 86; to meet my kick-ass oncologist, Terry, who teaches us “the oncologist handshake” (This is when the patient lifts his arm to rest his hand on the oncologist’s shoulder while the oncologist probes the patient’s axillas (a.k.a. the armpit) for any swollen lymph nodes.); and to have another person hear the yippee-skippee news that my good health remains. After the appointment, Mari and I became grown-up kids at The Exploratorium. All the while, step in step con mi compañera, I feel like this song—free and full with bliss from this exalted day that I have been blessed with, a day I could have never known awaited me when I sat in the reclining chair at the infusion ward four years before, staring out over the Bernal Hillside with chemo flowing through the IV pricked into my arm.


Mystery Train
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band

Train arrive, it’s sixteen coaches long,
Train arrive, it’s sixteen coaches long,
Well that long black train, take my baby and gone.

Mystery train, rolling down the track,
Mystery train, rolling down the track…

Survivor: Cagayan recap (thus far) & My Favorites to Win

Survivor: Cagayan is down to eight contestants: Woo, Tony, and Trish from the original Brawn tribe (for those of you at home keeping score on the three tribes that opened the season), Jefra and Jeremiah from the Beauty tribe, and Tasha, Kass, and Spencer from the Brain tribe—the one tribe, admittedly, that I found myself rooting for at the beginning. With the season finale a little over a month away, I figured it would be fun to put down my thoughts on the season and to lay down my odds to win it all.

Savvy? Great. Onward we go!

Since eighteen contestants have been The-Tribe-Has-Spoken downed to eight remaining players, let’s start by handing out (or bequeathing, if you prefer) awards to this season’s contestants:

Best Game Played
Week after week, up until last week, I would have to say that Tony has been playing the best game out on Cagayan. He found an immunity idol with some serious sneakiness (tricksy hobbitses!), has been competitive in most challenges (finished a surprising second in the first individual immunity challenge: the balancing act in the ocean), pulled that crazy spy-shack bit weeks ago which will inevitably go down as Survivor lore, turned the raid-the-opposing-tribe’s camp reward challenge victory into an absolutely brilliant trick that nearly got Jeremiah voted off by his tribe. In sum, this motherfucker has been straight balling on Survivor. He’s been outhustling everyone—which is good and bad—and he’s been cunning and perceptive and decisive. In all likelihood, his backstabbing of LJ during the last episode may cost him a chance of advancing, but until that Tribal Council blindside, Tony’s been playing the most outstanding game from a physical, strategic, and social standpoint.

Runner-ups: Spencer, Kass, and Trish (more on these three later)

Best Strategic Game
I think this has to go to Trish (Yoga Flame!), who has been a pleasant surprise. She’s the secret Grim Reaper of Survivor: Cagayan—maneuvering behind the scenes to procure the key tactical votes and flips to get people she wants axed off. Don’t believe me? Former Survivor contestant Stephen Fishbach credited her as the “the secret strategist of this season” in his Survivor blog. And here’s the evidence: Trish sided with fellow Bostonian, LJ, in the fourth episode to help blindside Cliff Robinson, which in turn helped to knock off the Medusa-like Lindsay into quitting the game. Then, after both tribes were merged, she was perceptive enough to see a fracture in the Aparri alliance and with a few words, after Tony failed to get Sarah back on their side with an array of promises, got Kass to flip on her alliance and knock off Sarah. For that key vote, Trish was the one who mobilized her alliance. During the last episode, I think she saw through Tony’s wheelings and sensed danger for their alliance before LJ had any idea that he was getting blindsided. Through and through, Trish has been perceptive, consistently persuasive with a host of contrasting players (like Kass, Tony, and LJ), and boldly efficient with her behind-the-scenes work in leading up to tribal councils.

She has done poorly in the challenges, which is why I don’t think she’s a threat to win it all, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes it to the final. And she won’t be a master coattail rider like Sheri from Survivor: Caramoan; thus far, Trish’s skills in reading people and anticipating moves has made her a quietly cunning but pivotal player.

Runner-ups: Kass, Tony, Spencer

Weakest Player Still Alive
Hands down, it’s Jefra. So far, the one thing she has going for herself is that she seems to be likeable, hasn’t gotten anyone to dislike her, but this means she hasn’t gotten her hands dirty, which is a task every single Survivor winner has to check off at some point or another. Along with Kass and Trish, she has been a weak player in all the challenges. I just don’t see any way she can win this game. Morgan was along for the ride, too, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Jefra is voted off soon by strategic alphas like Tony who can’t stand players who don’t deserve to progress further in this game. On the other hand, Jefra is my top candidate for The Next Sherri Biethman—an attractive woman who is taken to the final three simply because she is not a threat to win over the jury.

The Erik Reichenbach Award (for Dumbest Player of the Season)
This one’s easy: Garrett Adelstein is the clear winner. Honestly, his buffoonery during the first episode was jaw-dropping. It rivals Erik’s incredibly stupid move in Survivor: Micronesia:



Going home without playing an immunity idol + digging-your-own-grave-at-a-tribal-council-where-you’re-relatively-safe-if-you-can-just-keep-your-mouth-shut = pretty fucking stupid.

Odds to Win It All
So I looked around the interwebs—not too thoroughly, may I add—for betting odds on who will win this season of Survivor. To my surprise, I found nothing, as in I found no place where I could actually put money down and pick my winner. Despite this, I thought it would be fun to put down my favorites to win it. I’m no Las Vegas hustler, not even an occasional gambler so I offer no actual odds; I’m just putting down, from top to bottom, my favorites to win it.

And here’s my list:

1) Woo
2) Tasha
3) Spencer
4) Jeremiah
5) Trish
6) Kass
7) Tony
8) Jefra

Jefra’s non-candidacy has already been explained. Up until the last episode, Tony and Woo were my top two threats to win it all, but I think after backstabbing LJ he’s going to lose the trust of his alliance. The only way I see him surviving the next tribal council is: 1) if he wins the Immunity Challenge, 2) finds a hidden Immunity idol, or 3) finds the mysterious idol that Probst has alluded to a number of times in recent episodes. That’s the only way. Who wants to keep Tony in an alliance? His paranoia and wheeling-and-dealing is now right up there with a coked-the-fuck-out Tony Montana at the end of Scarface. You can’t trust a dude like him. Like Fishbach, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tony is voted off during the next episode. He’s the one big dog left in the game.

Kass, admittedly, has been my personal favorite contestant this season; I find her attractive—like a poor woman’s Elizabeth Shue, dare I say. She's incredibly smart and confident. I love how blunt and witty she is in her one-on-one camera interviews, and how forthright she has been with contestants themselves. In her interviews, it’s clear that she’s really thinking the game through. Even her decision to flip and knock off “Queen Sarah” was a tactical move, not an emotional reaction. Along with Trish, I think she’s played the most brilliant strategic game; it’s clear she’s a student of the game, and she seems to be able to step back from the game and enjoy it on a level that reminds me of Survivor: Caramoan winner, John Cochran, so I think she’s a threat if she can manage to compete and win a few Immunity challenges. But I think that’s a big “if” at this point. There’s no evidence to show that she can all of a sudden become a challenge beast; she’s been really bad at them so far.

Jeremiah’s a coaster; he hasn’t really gotten his hands dirty yet, and he doesn’t seem to demonstrate an aptitude for conniving that is requisite for winning this game. However, he is a legitimate threat in the physical challenges; he hasn’t pissed too many people off, so if he can get to the final three, I think he’s a contender.

Spencer—the Mitt Romney lover (for shame, young man, for shame)—has emerged as a true threat. He has a hidden Immunity idol, has been competitive to strong in the challenges, and he’s been smart and opportunistic with his votes and alliances. I think he’s been my favorite player to see pissed off, and he hasn’t really ticked anyone off yet. However, he’s not the most likeable guy, which is where he might lose the game if he manages to make it into the final three.

Similarly, I think Tasha’s played a careful, smart game. She’s flown under the radar, which is a quality that Cochran used to get far and ultimately win Survivor: Caramoan. Amongst the women—after winning the last Immunity Challenge—I think she’s the one legitimate threat to win it all. Other than not being a very strong strategic player, she hasn’t shown a weakness in her game. From a social, intellectual, and physical standpoint, she’s been a solid player.

Which brings us to Woo, who from the beginning (this can be verified by my fiancé, Lady Burgermante), has been one of my top three candidates to win it all. He’s a fan and student of the game: he has anticipated tribal merges, clues, and his ninja theft of Spencer’s hidden immunity idol clue was outstanding television—a candidate for Survivor lore. He’s one of the top physical threats, well-liked (so it seems), and I think he’s not quite flown under the radar but has managed to stay in Tony’s shadow, which is good for him. From a comedic/charismatic standpoint, he’s raised his level in the last two episodes, and I think he’s the quiet assassin left in the game. I think he’s capable of being a chameleon. If Tony is knocked off, I can see Woo shifting his game to another gear for the home stretch, specifically his strategic game. Of all the contestants left, I think he’s the only one with an extra gear, an extra facet to show. With everyone else, you know what they’re capable of, but Woo is the wild card in my eyes. I can see him aligning with Trish and someone else to go to the final. Plus, of all the players left, I can see him going on a challenge tear to ride into the final where I think a jury will recognize his strong overall play and reward him with the title of ultimate survivor.

Of course, he falls off a tree next week, so who knows what will happen next?

I can’t wait!

Concord Sucks (or All Hail the Penultimate Car-centric Suburb!)

It took me less than two weeks to abhor Concord, not only as a cyclist but as a motorist as well. Prior to this month, I had only been in Concord once in my life. Now that I work there, I traverse its streets five times a week, primarily as a cyclist but sometimes as a motorist. In large part, it’s been an agonizing experience. I grew up in Fremont, CA—another California suburb that was designed with vehicular traffic as its principle means of transportation—but man, that town has nothing on Concord when it comes to being a car-centric municipality.

Concord’s the least bike-friendly city I’ve seen in the Bay Area; it’s not even close. Back in February, I nearly cancelled my second interview with my current employer because after taking the 1.4 mile drive from their office to the Concord BART station to scope out the potential commute, I was scared of riding my bike along those streets. During that drive, I zipped down a few of their main streets such as Willow Pass Road, Clayton Road, Galindo Street, and Concord Avenue. Dear god, I thought, riding those streets on a bike would be suicide. There were no bike lanes. No shoulders to ride on the side of the road, and all the cars and trucks on those main streets were motoring. In most suburbs it is clear who the roads were paved for, but in towns like Concord it is abundantly clear. Along that drive to and from the office to the Concord BART station, as well as the drive off the highway to the office, I saw few pedestrians and no cyclists on the roads. I saw one or two guys riding their bicycles, but they were pedaling on the sidewalks, which was completely understandable. (Ultimately, I rode my bike to the second interview after I found a route to the office that avoided—for the most part—the main streets.)

In writing up this post, I googled “Concord” and “not bike friendly” out of curiosity. Amongst the top 10 hits were two articles on an accident back in 2012 that killed a father and one of his daughters while they cycled on the sidewalk of one of Concord’s main thoroughfares. The New York Times even wrote an article about it. In the April 2012 article, they stated that Concord—the largest city in Contra Costa County—had “less than three miles of painted, on-street bike lanes” at that time. That article was written two years ago but I’m willing to wager, backed by what I’ve seen on Google Maps, that the number of miles of on-street bike lanes is still about the same. During these past few weeks I’ve run some errands around Concord for work, and moseyed around some of the strip malls in the vicinity of my office and I have yet to see anything resembling a bike lane, or even sharrows. By comparison, Pittsburg—Concord’s municipal neighbor with a population of 63,264 (2010 U.S. Census) and 17.218 square miles—had 35 miles of on-street bike lanes in April 2012. With a total land area of 30.5 square miles, Concord is nearly double the size of Pittsburg, a suburb which, by the way, is not renowned as a cycling haven.

As a motorist, Concord seems to be a bit of a pain, too, especially if you’re driving along one of the many side streets and attempting to either cross the main street or make a left onto it. If that is the case, be prepared to twiddle your fingers on the steering wheel for a quite a while because those signals are poorly timed for saps like you. From my limited experience, it doesn’t seem to matter what time of day it is: commute time or early afternoon, those signals are timed to always give significant preference to motorists riding along the city’s main arteries; streets like Galindo, Willow Pass, or Concord Avenue. If you’re driving on those streets, that town was built for you, buddy boy, but if you’re a motorist, or a cyclist, or god help you a pedestrian trying to cross those busy thoroughfares, you will have to wait and wait for your opportunity—and once it’s your turn, the signals will give you little time to accomplish it. To help illustrate this, my 1.5 mile bicycle ride from the office to the train station takes about 12 minutes on average. Sometimes, I shit you not, I’d say about half of that time is spent simply waiting at a crosswalk or a signal so I can cross a main street. They’re the worst timed lights I’ve ever seen. Even in Fremont it’s not as bad. On their heavily-trafficked streets the signals are only poorly timed—and understandably so—during commute time to give preference to its motorists, not the whole fucking day.

All this begs the question: just who are the planners at the City of Concord? Have they ever taken public transportation? Have they ever had to take a bus in their lives? Do they believe bicycles are contraptions that should only be ridden for recreation along parks and trails such as the Iron Horse Regional Trail? (From what I’ve been told, it’s a beautiful 55-mile trail that runs from Livermore to North Concord, passing through cities like Concord and Pleasant Hill.) Do they think car-centric American suburbs are healthier for humans than walkable cities with infrastructures conducive to riding bicycles or public transportation like the ones littered throughout Europe, our civic forefathers?

I wish all the current and past city planners for the City of Concord were given missions, such as:

-Take an enjoyable stroll along the entirety of Clayton Street!, or
-Ride a bicycle, somehow or another, from the corner of Diamond Boulevard & Concord Avenue to the TJ Maxx on the corner of Clayton and Bailey Road; or
-Walk or take public transportation from Highlands Park to Sun Valley Mall.

I can’t help but think that if the knuckleheads who designed Concord attempted to traverse their human-made landscape by a means other than a motor vehicle they’d quickly and viscerally understand just how dehumanizing and wretched their civic constructs are. They would see how antithetical their planning is toward building anything resembling a healthy community. And better yet, I hope those short-sighted idiots with their fancy planning degrees will be there in 30-50 years when those suburban streets are barren, bereft of vehicular traffic, with abandoned gas stations and rusting cars littering the landscape they helped to create.