I think this photograph is by far the best I have taken so far this year. And I took it with my iPhone. Take that, Nikon D70! Photography is not about technology but rather inspiration and opportunity and timing and mostly life.

Wait, shit, the iPhone is technology. *runs away*

• bellalogica.com
• briancalle.com
• carlylestout.com
• claremontultimate.org
• decielo.com
• drewd.com
• esplainit.com
• frisbase.net
• frisbolero.com
• hotbombdotcom.com
• lei-out.com
• loveroni.com
• noodlepop.com
• trinastout.com
• whitscott.com
• zoomfocusclick.com

Some of these I obviously hold for other people (and some of those perhaps a bit awkwardly). A few of them represent personal projects or sites for friends that never came to fruition. I spend approximately $150 per year on these “properties,” plus another few hundred in site hosting costs. And I receive approximately zero (0) return on investment.

Regardless, I cannot stop myself from registering a new domain name when I have a new idea. I think a strong component of this compulsion is my perception of the scarcity of good domain names. I contributed a whiz-bang 2.0ish domain name to my work the other week, and was a bit miffed that I hadn’t conceived of it myself.

My newest acquisition is hotbombdotcom.com. See, some of the Claremont Ultimate kids took to congratulating successful hucks or exciting throws by saying, “Hot bomb dot com slash Gordy slash Jughead slash SWEET.” Or something like that, I don’t really remember. hotbomb.com has never been available but I think this domain is the next best option. .net is for suckers, and doesn’t work with the rhyme.

So, now, what I want to build is a little hotbomb application that automatically parses the URL to show photographs and text. Think hotbombdotcom.com/krump/lull/PFL: the script finds a photograph tagged with ‘krump’ and another with ‘lull’ and then displays crazy, colored text of any other URL component strings for which no photographs are tagged. Awesome.

Do you have thoughts on what I should do with any of my other domains? And when am I planning to change 2008 from the year of conception to the year of execution? We shall see.

And then I remember that I talk all the time about movies I just have to see, and that I watch every single trailer on the Apple site. And then I never ever actually go to see a movie. Huh.

Oh, except for Planet B-Boy. I talked all the time about how I had to see it. And then I saw it. And it was amazing. Watch the trailer and check out Ichigeki’s team routine:

And now go see the movie. Do it!

DarkCash HorseLove from Carlos d'Avis on Vimeo.

Laura commented on my previous post, noting her appreciation for the photograph above and, lo, I was motivated to write again of Europe. She mentioned the toothless nature of the sculpture, while I found its lack of eyes even more stirring (and appropriate to my recent discussion of Blindness). The British museum website has a concise but illuminating description of the Knidos lion and its history, dating back to 200 - 350 BC.

The photograph is from my final afternoon in London, spent wandering about the British Museum, the edifice in which the British Empire proudly displays all the artifacts that it has… collected from around the world. I walked into the very first display hall and was greeted by a thick crowd of tourists around one case. What could be in this case, I wondered.

I got closer and, oh, right, it was the Rosetta Stone.

Strong work.

I quite enjoyed the breadth and depth of art and artifacts the museum offered. Still, I found it somewhat difficult to accept the appropriateness of these works having been removed from their native cultures and countries. I find elitist the notion that “The White Man” conquering cultures or nations have a responsibility and unique capability to preserve the world’s wonders. On the other hand, I would not have wanted any of those works I perused to have been lost to age, weather, political turmoil or other unforeseen elements. How horrible is it that the Catholic church went around covering or knocking penises off of ancient Greek and Roman sculpture?¹

Does anyone have any thoughts on this matter? Or did all my discussion put you to sleep:

1 I have heard this in the past but now I went looking for sources supporting this claim and am having difficulty finding any. Does anyone know if my claim is accurate? Or do you have examples of other regimes or groups destroying or inadequately preserving art and artifacts?

I read two books by Saramago last year and loved both. He is truly a master of fiction. Please see A Beautiful Smudging and Re-Approaching a High School Level for more of my thoughts on Saramago.

Defective Yeti posts fairly infrequently. More prolific must-subscribe websites include kottke, dooce, Daring Fireball, Shorpy, and A List Apart (I guess this last one isn’t as prolific). Do you have any additions to this list?

Gwyn is an old friend, from Massachusetts and Claremont, and I as much as promised that I would visit her in London, making such a claim long before I had actually purchased airfare or planned dates. I hadn’t seen her since Christmas 2006, and that’s just not acceptable, right?

So, when I found out that Gwyn was living in London less than a mile from my host, Stylish, we were quite pleased. I took an evening to walk to her flat, from which we headed to Masala Zone for a long, leisurely and delicious dinner. We talked and talked, catching up on everything you can’t communicate over instant messaging.

How happy was I to have dinner with Gwyn?

Fantastic.

Gwyneth will return to Boston to graduate this spring and then return to Switzerland for work and love. She may be sneaking in a Santa Cruz visit to her brother, Emlyn, and perhaps we will meet again on my home shore.

I stayed in London with a Hook teammate from Paganello 2007. My gracious host was Alexander Dunnett, more commonly known as Stylish. This peerless fellow studies Energy Systems Engineering at Imperial College in London, obsesses over music (his own and that of others), and plays (to steal from his lexicon) bangin’ Ultimate with Clapham.

I am lacking in photographs of Stylish in his natural environs but have a brilliant one from Italy that I will feature later. Regardless, I had an amazing time hanging around with him while we ate and drank and discussed music, Ultimate, energy, technology and any random bit of this beautiful life. Stylish fixed some delicious lamb, vegetables and potatoes one night, capped excellently with tea and then whiskey. I responded on my final night in London with a bottle of Malbec, chicken enchiladas, and a chopped fresh salad halfway to salsa-ville. I have no end of appreciation for Stylish’s hospitality, and for this time with him.

Stylish brought me out to Tour 0 at Wimbledon on Saturday and Sunday to pick-up with Flump, playing with Hook teammates and friends (Manny! Sam! Kaleigh!). Stylish suited up with Clapham, Ham and Harry with Brighton, and Dirk with Fire of London. Playing with Flump was a great time, despite a few difficult losses, and I quite enjoyed the athleticism and enthusiasm of the team’s younger players.

The other, and perhaps primary, goal of my Tour 0 attendance was a reunion with the inimitable Paul Robustelli. Paul and I ate brains together in Claremont but he now works at a PhD, computationally identifying protein structure, at Cambridge and captains Strange Blue, the institution’s Ultimate team.

Paul is pictured above at Stylish’s flat, drinking morning tea before we headed back out to the English wind, rain and mud. On the night before, Paul accompanied Stylish, Flembo and me for a pint at a dirty weatherspoon, along with the rest of Flump, and then for some amazing fish and chips (and whirled peas).

I quite enjoyed my opportunity to reunite with Ultimate teammates, old and older, and meet new friends in the London disc community. I said my goodbyes to Flump and to Paul on Sunday but I will surely return to visit them all again.

I had had a busy and stressful week at work and left late on Wednesday evening (March 12th), providing little time to eat at home and change and pack for… not my trip but rather mixed pick-up Ultimate at Bobby Morris that evening. Great. I played lackluster, tired from work and preoccupied with upcoming travel. Upon my return home, I cooked some dinner, talked to my housemates, and found myself at 11 PM or so, totally exhausted.

No problem, I thought. My flight leaves from Seattle, through Chicago and on to London, at like 3 PM tomorrow. I’m just going to bed and waking up early in the morning to prepare. I’ll have plenty of time.

And so I awoke a bit before seven that next morning, loaded up some laundry, poured a bowl of cereal, and settled down with my laptop to answer outstanding e-mails and plan my departure.

So I took a look at my flight itinerary, apparently for the first time since I had bought it. Huh. That doesn’t say 3:00 or 3:30 or 2:00 or even 12:45. That says 8:30. AM. ANTE EFFING MERIDIEM.

Which, if you’d like to know, was around 63 minutes or so from that moment of terrible shock and panic and clarity, with my second load of laundry still spinning in suds. Did I mention that I still had shopping to do at REI?

There goes my trip to Europe, all because I imagined a departure time…

I took a few moments to tell my housemates and freak out a little bit. And then I decided that I was going on this trip one way or another. I took a deep breath, and called American Airlines. No, there was no way I could make my flight. Yes, I’m glad I called so you didn’t cancel my whole itinerary. Sure, I’ll wait while you calculate the price to change my flight to a later time. Excellent, I would be happy to pay fifty forty-seven for that change.

Except, of course, the airline representative meant $5047, not $50.47. I guffawed (been looking to use that word) and begged for some other option. She responded that my only chance was to head to the airport ticket counter and throw myself at the feet of some airline employee. Fantastic.

Luckily, Claire was off work that day and could drive me around (Thank you, Claire! Always a lifesaver!). I calmed myself, finished my laundry and packing, ran around the corner for some toiletries, and got ready to try my luck. Claire and I executed a brief stop at REI for Clif Shot Bloks¹, extra SmartWool socks (argyle!) and some tech boxer briefs. She then dropped me at the airport, a bit before high noon, and promised to chill in the cell phone waiting lot until she heard some news from me.

I got in line at the AA ticket counter, and scoped out the available employees. A middle-aged, kind looking woman appeared the most promising. Maybe she has a son, I thought. Maybe she’ll think I’m cute. Maybe she’ll understand the stress of my week and want to help me. Maybe, maybe, this trip will not be a failure. The other employees, all older and male, were less promising but I stayed focused all the same.

And my time came, and the woman smiled and called me forward. With my huge pack on my back, and passport and printed itinerary in my shaking hands, I leaned despondently on the counter, effusing exhaustion and despair and searching for sympathy in her eyes. Marilyn, her name was Marilyn.

I explained my situation and emphasized the difficulty of my week and last 24 hours especially. Was there any way, I asked, if I could fly standby on one of these later flights to London?

Standby isn’t allowed on international flights, she told me. She’d have to go talk to her manager.

And so Marilyn headed around the corner and behind closed doors to discuss with her manager. I breathed deep, trying to stay optimistic and focused, and waited for an extremely long ten minutes. Countless passengers came and went at the other counters, blissfully unaware of the ridiculous situation in which I had placed myself.

Marilyn finally reappeared and approached her console, all business. She logged a few keystrokes and then looked up and smiled. I have you confirmed, she said, on a flight to Chicago this afternoon and then on to London. No charge.

My eyes widened, and I smiled in utter disbelief.

We all have bad days, she said. Enjoy your trip.

Victory!

¹ I love these, especially for travel. They’re easier and more satisfying to eat than energy gels/goo and will never explode in a bag, leaving a sticky, goopy mess all over clothing, books, travel journal, etc. See Shot Bloks for more information.