February 2003 Archives

There's a trite old saying that goes, "If you don't like the weather in Texas, just wait five minutes, and it'll change." It never seems to be the case in the summertime, when I long for rain because the variety helps keep me sane, but this past week seems to live up to the saying.

The weekend was gorgeous, thankfully, after a long week of wet and miserable days. Highs were in the 70s, and we spent most of Saturday and part of Sunday out enjoying the beautiful day.

By Monday, it was chilly and wet again, but no one expected the ice storm that ensued. I haven't seen this much ice in Austin ever -- and it hasn't melted yet. We in Texas are notorious for our inability to deal with "inclement weather." Although we've had freezing temperatures a couple of nights this winter, they were dry evenings, so there was no precipitation to freeze on the roadways. Once water starts freezing on the roads, the city shuts down. Always. There are always so many collisions in a short period of time that there's no other option, really.

I can't say that I minded the unexpected day off from work.

I spent much of the morning outside in my pajamas taking pictures of the ice. It's quite the novelty in my neck of the woods. Care to see why? Compare the picture from Saturday with those from Monday and Tuesday.

It isn't so much that I have nothing to say as that I'm not sure this is where I want to say it.

Love,
Rachel

My coding partner and I managed to write a perl script today. I should mention that neither of us actually know perl. We basically took a script that did something similar (download a bunch of mainframe data into a spreadsheet), figured out what the statements did, and adapted it to our needs. I'd liken it to taking a document in Spanish and a basic dictionary and turning it into passable Italian. We figured out how to test our code right before the end of the day and figured out that our logic almost works. If we're feeling productive, we might be able to get our code working perfectly before the introductory perl class we're taking tomorrow morning. Heh.

It was a hell of a way to end my day.

Politics are wearing me out. Is that an unreasonable thing for me to say? In fact, that's a gross oversimplification. At the moment, life is wearing me out, and life is masquerading as politics, and politics as life. It's really one big jumbled mess. The difference is, when work wears me out, as it's wont to do from time to time, I can take a day or two off to recharge. But when the world ties itself into a big jumbled mess, I'm along for the ride.

They've reimplemented security measures at work again. There's nothing like lockdown to make me feel like I have to be concerned for my personal safety -- that is, except for being told to have several days of food, water, and first aid supplies on hand in case of a national emergency. Have you stocked your pantry yet? Mine's disgracefully empty. I've never been an alarmist.

I've been doing my share of demonstrating, but I'm starting to get tired of watching other people protesting. I managed to get myself caught in the traffic snarl around the Erwin Center this evening, when former-President Clinton was scheduled to speak. Aside from the hideous traffic, I found myself a captive audience for the Young Conservatives of Texas. Young I may be (relatively, at least), but conservative I most certainly am not. It stands to reason that their arguments fell upon deaf ears in my car.

But I'm tired of it. I'm exhausted. It horrifies me that heads of government can't be bothered to reason with one another. It bothers me that we're all on this tiny planet together, but people still want to blast other people into oblivion. It bothers me that no one gives a flying fuck what impact their war is going to have on people who never wanted to involve themselves in it in the first place.

At Philosophers' Rock, there's a plaque that reads:

I wish you might be here and go with me on a sunny afternoon to Mt. Bonnell or up Barton Creek. Everywhere it is beautiful. I think we could settle most of the world's problems to our satisfaction. And a thousand years from now friends such as we will wander over these same hills inhaling the same scents and feasting their eyes upon the same beauty, and maybe the identical matter that composes our bodies now will nourish the worm that feeds the mockingbird whose songs will go thrill over the green fields.

Roy Bedichek, 1878-1959

Another Sunday evening, another week I'm not quite ready to begin yet. I'm starting to think this is a trend.

When I made my first little foray into public display of my politics, this guy kept riding over the Congress Ave. bridge and booing us. "Disgraceful!" he shouted. "If it weren't for war, you wouldn't have the right to protest anything."

And I kept thinking to myself, "He's completely missing the point."

I'm not anti-American. I never have been. And in my opinion, the most important right afforded to me by the Constitution is the freedom of speech. It's misguided of that guy to think that I underestimate it. It also seems like faulty logic for him to assume that asking for peace now is going to undermine our freedom of speech -- as though Saddam Hussein is planning on coming to the U.S. to take it away from us himself. Somehow, that seems highly unlikely.

In general, I tend not to pay attention to alarmist rhetoric from either side of the political spectrum. Lately, the things I've been hearing outside of mainstream media have led me to question that policy.

I studied media as an undergraduate and as a graduate student, long enough to know that people believe the information fed to them by what they believe to be a reliable source. Network news qualifies in this scenario, but freedom of the press only extends to a press that works outside of someone's political agenda to deliver accurate information. Mainstream media has been squarely in Bush's camp, with regard to war and weapons inspections and terrorism. The straight truth is that if a news story isn't picked up by one of the five major news networks (NBC, CBS, ABC, FOX, or CNN), 99% of the American population will never know about it at all. The slightest hint of information will be shot down as "leftist propaganda," and that'll be the end of it. (One of the greatest victories of the internet, in my opinion, is that this information will continue to circulate on a global scale in some venue, but that's the topic of another rant altogether.)

The state of my country today puts me in mind of an Ani Difranco lyric:
"I'm gonna take all my friends
and move to Canada,
and we're gonna die of old age."

This song has been playing in my head a lot lately. I especially like the protective bent of the lyrics -- not only is she intent on self-preservation, but Ani plans to take her loved ones with her, to ensure their safety as well. It's not easy to live in a country that takes it upon itself to police the rest of the planet, for better or for worse, and the idea of leaving based on political principle, though entirely unrealistic, has become less and less whimsical everytime I've discussed it. I can actually give you a basic overview of the immigration laws for Canada, but that, too, is a subject for another rant.

But when it comes right down to it, America is home. It's the place I grew up, and I can't imagine living anywhere else. It's sort of like the old house I lived in growing up -- the windows were drafty, the natural gas pipes leaked a bit (this wasn't really a problem, since the house was so poorly insulated that the natural gas dissipated before it could cause us any lasting harm), and there wasn't a square corner in the place, but it was home, and I couldn't imagine leaving it.

The analogous question in my mind remains, though: if I knew a hurricane were coming, could I possibly stay?

It's after midnight, but I don't want to go to sleep yet, as that would signify the end of my weekend. Instead, I'll tell you what I remember.

When Challenger was lost in 1986, I was nine years old. Jo Ann remembers it in much more detail than I do, but I remember that it was a rainy day, and that we were sitting in a little portable building in uncomfortable wooden desks. At nine years, I wasn't really able to piece together the significance of the whole tragedy at first, but seeing the news reels of the exploding shuttle playing in an almost continuous loop when I got home helped me realize its importance. I remember my mom being there when I got home from school -- unusual, since school let out much earlier than her job did -- and she was watching the newscasts. They continued for a very long time that night.

Until September 11th, the Challenger explosion seemed to be the main "where were you when..." question for those of my age group. In my mind, it was dwarfed as a landmark experience from that day on.

Yesterday morning -- Saturday, that is -- I woke up late and did a quick check of my usual web reads. The only hint I had of the Columbia disaster was a cryptic e-mail about the loss of seven souls. I think that my mind connected the message with violence in Europe or the Middle East, and I didn't think much of it.

The news, when it came, arrived via Romania, of all places. C yelled, "Rachel, go to cnn.com!" I asked why, and she replied (very tersely, for her) "Just go!" She was talking to her parents on the phone.

I was shocked when I found out what had happened. I don't remember the thought of terrorist involvement ever entering my mind, but I read almost immediately that terrorism had been mostly discounted as a cause of the disaster.

Right then, a large boom shook the house and the power went off, turning off my computer. C and I both yelled in surprise, and both of us momentarily thought a piece of the wreckage had fallen. It wasn't until later that I found out that the tragedy had happened a couple of hours prior.

It was a gorgeous day -- warm and sunny with hardly a cloud in the sky -- and it struck me as ironic that national tragedies always seem to happen on unseasonably glorious days. I knew that the Capitol's flag was at half-mast, and I wanted to take that picture, vivid against the blue sky, as a memorial. As we made our way around town, first to the Capitol and then geocaching in a beautiful, tranquil park, I was struck by the increasing number of flags flying at half-mast, as well as by the constant talk of it on people's lips.

It's hard for me to isolate the reason why this tragedy, this loss of seven souls, hits us so hard when the crash of a small plane with seven passengers aboard might rate scarcely more than a mention. I don't mean to dispute the disparity -- only to acknowledge it.

Maybe it's that the space program is a high-profile project with extensive news coverage. Maybe it's that astronauts are revered as heros, as brilliant and courageous souls. Maybe it's that they're pioneers, an esteemed few who are chosen to race amongst the stars and dance through constellations.

Maybe it's that every child dreams deep-down of growing up to be an astronaut someday.

The Texas Capitol's flag flies at half-mast following news of the space shuttle Columbia's explosion over north Texas.