Waste, Excess, and Consumption By the Numbers
September 24, 2007
I came across an amazing photographic artist by the name of Chris Jordan. I cannot even begin to fathom how he creates his pieces, or how many dozens of hours of work went into each one, but they are truly amazing. Jordan's apparent hope is to give us some concrete idea of what the statistical numbers we hear all the time are really about. For example, when you hear that 1.5 BILLION dollars a week are being spent by our government to fund the war in Iraq, sure it sounds like a lot of money. But really, you have NO IDEA how to process such a staggering quantity of ANYTHING. You have never seen a billion of anything in your entire life, with the possible exception of blades of grass in a field, grains of sand, and the like. Have you ever seen 2 million soda cans, 8 million toothpicks, or 426,000 cell phones? Nope. So, go check it out right now. Chris Jordan has taken upon himself the task of translating these almost-meaningless numbers and statistics into tangible, concrete representations, usually laced with acid irony. His finished pieces are enormous wall murals and triptychs, which, as Jordan explains on his website, really should be seen in person for the full measure of impact and appreciation (mostly due to their staggering sizes).
 Above: 426,000 Cell Phones.
The actual piece is about 250 times larger than this (60 x 100 FEET)
Anyway, this stuff is interesting and highly relevant, especially if you happen to be a statistician, accountant, or anyone else dealing with huge numbers. Go check it out. Labels: artists, consumerism, economy, guns, photos, war
posted by Shag at 10:18 AM
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The Popov Society Rides Again
March 1, 2007
 On the weekend of February 24th, 2007, the esteemed members of the Popov Society (est. 1997, Syracuse NY) came together for their first official winter session.
The meeting was held at the borrowed mountain getaway of Justin Guinan, Doctor of Veterinary Butorphenology and host of this winter's activities. In attendance were myself, "Surly" John Tomaselli, "Pukey" John Laughlin, "Commander" Craig Peterson, "Jeffy Jeff" Jeff Feligno, Brian "Voice of Reason" Rickard, and a dog named Roxy.
The Popov Society typically meets annually during summer months for sessions involving camping, drinking, listening to music, swimming, and other activities too banal or frowned-upon-by-society to mention. The Society was formed in the spring of 1997, when several college students living in the same complex became friends through a series of chance meetings. Almost every member managed to become violently ill from ingesting Popov Vodka, with the curious exception of "Pukey" John, who did not puke at all until a single non-Popov-related incident years later, when he passed out and vomited on the Doorborough couch.
Highlights of the weekend's activities included:
 The assembly of one of the two mystery puzzles contained in a murder mystery game called "C is for Chocolate".
- A violent attack from a Satanic ladybug.
- Somehow managing to hit myself in the face rather hard with a refrigerator door. My head still hurts and it's 6 days later.
- Wondering if Mike Mursch was going to surprise us by appearing over the vast horizon on a magic carpet, blasting Boston and drinking Iron City Beer.
- Reading through the book version of "Puppetry of the Penis" that we discovered in the basement.
- Discovering the existence of "Bruce Porn Road" only a few miles from our location.
- Eating smoked venison sticks, thoughtfully provided by "Pukey" John.
- The presence of an actual
Swiss German cuckoo clock.
 The tentative plan of the Popov Society is to revisit the Stamford, NY house in late June of this year for the summer session, as opposed to the usual camping trips to Arkville or to the Pennsylvania border for mud-soaked weekends at Soaring Eagle Campground. The presence of running water, showers, indoor toilets, and pre-existing shelter make this new location the most popular one yet.
If we return, I have every intention of exploring Bruce Porn Road, as I have read there is a pretty good hike along a gorge nearby. In the meantime, enjoy the photos from our weekend sloth-fest. Labels: books, photos, Popov Society, travel
posted by Shag at 5:00 PM
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The cuckoo clock actually came from Koblenz, Germany - but close enough.
jgguinan@yahoo.com father of
jtguinan@yahoo.com
By Dad-Dude @ 2:51 PM, July 28, 2007
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Apologies Dr. G.! At any rate, thanks so much for letting us use the place, we had a great time. Hopefully we didn't destroy anything too important...
By Shag @ 7:59 AM, July 31, 2007
Roller Derby Kicks ASS!
February 11, 2007
Last night Becky and I went to the Roller Derby. If you haven't been to one, you are missing out on one of the most intense and insanely enjoyable ways to spend an evening that I can think of.
It. Kicks. ASS.
I am no sports fan by any means. I enjoy a good hockey game from time to time, but most other sports, professional or otherwise, seem to have fallen prey to the unfortunate syndrome of the modern-day participants having outgrown the rules that were crafted close to a century ago. A sort of athletic inflation, if you will.Roller Derby is quite different than anything you've seen, I guarantee. Two teams of badass women compete for points in a bout with an amazingly simple set of rules.
A bout (the overall match) is made up of three 20-minute periods. Each period is filled with 2-minute "jams" in which one member from each team (known as the "jammer") tries to pass all members of the opposing team at least once without getting blocked or knocked out of bounds. For each opposing player the jammer passes after initially taking the lead, a point is awarded. Although the blocking techniques can result in some brutal collisions and spills, there are formal rules as to how the blocking is done. Elbowing, tripping, or any sort of pushing with the hands is forbidden, and will eventually result in the offender being sent to the Penalty Box. This leaves a wide variety of techniques by which the "blockers" may prevent a jammer from passing by. Collisions with hips, full-body obstruction, and "booty blocking" (named so for obvious reasons) is allowed.  All technical explanations aside, this would be fun to watch even if you had no idea what was going on. But the rules and general gameplay are thoughtfully explained and demonstrated before each bout, for the edification of the entire audience. This is one of the excellent aspects of going to see the Boston Derby Dames play: It is an open and friendly event that can appeal to anyone. There's no inherent rivalry between teams, no anger or outrage from fans, and there's plenty of music, beer, snacks, and helpful banter from the announcers to make it virtually impossible not to have fun. Anyone who knows me will recall that when it comes to sports, I don't care. At all. In my younger days, I was a big fan of the Boston Celtics, and Larry Bird was and is my greatest all-time sports hero. But as the 80's gave way to the 90's and the domination of the sport by  players like Jordan and Shaq, I lost interest. Basketball is still a good game, but the problem is that the players have gotten too good for the rules, and eliminated much of the challenge, teamwork, and fast-paced strategic execution that used to amaze me. I still think the net should be raised one foot in order to keep the evolution of the game congruous with that of the athletes.I played Little League as a kid, and liked baseball a lot. I saw Roger Clemens pitch for the Red Sox in his rookie year, and was amazed at his skill. But in the last decade, I have soured on pro baseball as well. My gripe is that pro baseball players, like most modern-day professional athletes, have been conditioned to think that because they can throw a ball or run fast, that they are better than anyone else. The reason is money. A pro athlete today can expect to make millions of dollars a year, be considered a priveleged celebrity, and, in extreme cases, be the stars of bad films, rap albums, and outrageously high-paying product endorsements. I have never felt that athletes should be comparable with movie stars. Actually, I don't even think movie stars should be treated like movie stars. The word "professional" implies that you do what you do because it's your job, not because it makes you a superstar millionaire. Do I sound bitter and jealous? Think what you want, because I'm not. I will be the first person to encourage people to seek out employment that they will enjoy for the rest of their lives, and if you happen to make millions doing it, more power to you. My issue is that professional sports, along with acting, singing, and other hyper-glorified professions, project standards and aspirations to the average person that are unreasonable, misleading, and loaded with almost certain disappointment.  But all that is a topic for another day. Back to the point, seeing a Derby bout is fun and family-friendly, in the same sense as going to a minor-league baseball game would be. The tickets are inexpensive, and you can't help but be swept up by the fast-paced action and intensity of each jam. It's a relatively low-to-no-frills event, there are no cheerleaders or celebrities singing the National Anthem. Certainly there are merchandise sales, advertisements, and contests, in a sense. But it's all very down-to-earth; Advertisements come from local sponsors (largely roller-skating rinks), merchandise is reasonably-priced. In my opinion, Roller Derby is to sports what punk rock is to music. Its own existence is a statement in and of itself. It really doesn't matter how great you are, who wins or loses. Stripped down, simplified, and a venue not only to perform, but to simultaneously and expressively be yourself and reinvent your own image and personality. Skaters, referees, and even the announcers sport descriptive aliases that sound like something out of professional wrestling-meets-Mad Max. Oh, and don't be intimidated by all the Bettie Bangs, tattoos, fishnet stockings, and piercings. You don't have to shop at Hot Topic to enjoy a Roller Derby. It's not a rave or a poetry slam, but a simple and straightforward sport that has evolved into the perfect athletic outlet for the modern young woman (especially the modern young woman with a colorful name like Goldiboxx, Maura Buse, or Wanda Whipya). Flat-track Roller Derby got its start in the 1930's, originally designed as a simple length-based race around a track. Inevitably, collisions and inadvertent injury ensued much to the excitement of the audience (who, I imagine, would otherwise have been bored to tears), and the concept was reimagined as a co-ed contest with the same basic rules as are used today.  Roller Derby never really caught on as a major sport, but enjoyed spikes of popularity in the 1950's, 1970's, and of course, in the 1990's on the now-defunct TNN's "Rollerjam". (TNN is now Spike TV, and is basically a televised version of Maxim Magazine. It's no surprise that sweaty short-skirted roller-chicks crashing into each other was a precursor to what the station is today.) The national Derby league that includes last night's Boston Derby Dames is called the Women's Flat Track Derby Association. It is primarily owned, operated, regulated, and moderated by the skaters themselves. In a world where corporations pay millions to put their name on a home run or instant replay, this is impressive to me. The whole enterprise is a refreshing and engrossing pastime, and I certainly intend to go to as many bouts as possible as they are announced. If there's a WFTDA team near you, I demand that you go check it out at once. Here are some photos from last night's bout between the Boston Massacre and the Philadelphia Liberty Belles, themed "Slaughters of the Revolution!". (Sorry about the quality, it was very dark at the venue.) Labels: movies, photos, sports
posted by Shag at 5:52 PM
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