Inauguration

I’m fortunate to have been in seventh grade precisely when I was. Every four years in October, my middle school’s seventh-grade social studies classes held an election unit. Students were selected to be presidential, senate, and gubernatorial candidates; there were campaign managers, Secret Service agents, lobbyists, fundraisers, and speech writers.1I got to write my speeches on large cue cards like they use on SNL. It was good-natured, well-constructed, thoughtful, and impactful. Twelve years old was a good time for this, too: we were mature enough to engage with some of the policies but not cynical or set in our ways beyond whatever influence our parents had over us. I don’t recall any personal conflicts. Everyone focused on embodying their roles as best as possible, and I had a tremendous amount of fun.

I don’t remember who the seventh graders elected in 2008, but I know who America elected. It was the first election I felt conscious of, and I can still feel the palpable excitement, the Yes, We Can stickers in the hallways, the sense of progress and accomplishment that came with a relatively young African American man making it to the White House.

My biology teacher that year was a snarky man who was a bit tough on us—my older sister hated him, and my parents weren’t that pleased during conferences—but I got along with him fairly well because I was a know-it-all, especially during that year of my life. He was, in retrospect, definitely gay during a time when that would still be considered taboo in the affluent suburbs of Minneapolis. I can’t speak to his personal politics—Obama’s campaign opposed gay marriage in 2008—but this man felt strongly and optimistically about the result of the election. It so happened that Obama’s inauguration was during biology class, and he canceled the lesson so we could watch it.2To be clear, it’s possible that every teacher did this. I don’t remember. But my teacher made a point of declaring the importance of this event.

I remember being awestruck by the vast crowd gathered on the Mall, Yo-Yo Ma playing on stage, and a general sense of wonderment, pomp, and import surrounding the proceedings.

Today—as this post is published—will mark the second inauguration of a gaudy man who is an affront to the office he holds. He lacks the care, professionalism, solemnity, strength, tact, or humanity one should maintain to be a respected president. Backed by the money of ass-kissing CEOs and surrounded by incompetent and ill-experienced hangers-on, he’ll once again ascend to a reality show version of the presidency that suits his impressions from television. For every thoughtful moment from the Obama and Biden inaugurations that celebrated the beauty, diversity, and progress of America, we’ll see a funhouse mirror version worthy of a man who has no resolution to problems beyond grandstanding and ill-begotten money.

I have no clue whether the last three elections resulted in units for seventh graders in my old middle school. I’d like to believe that the teachers there managed to run something valuable despite the troubling and divisive rhetoric, laying a foundation for a future generation to have some hope of pushing past whatever comes after the next four years. But it’s a shame that they’ll be subjected to this flashy and distasteful inauguration that relies on a foundation of hate and disgust rather than well-earned pride and hope for the future.

  • 1
    I got to write my speeches on large cue cards like they use on SNL.
  • 2
    To be clear, it’s possible that every teacher did this. I don’t remember. But my teacher made a point of declaring the importance of this event.

Year of Opportunity 2024 Review

At the start of this year I wrote this about the Year of Opportunity:

Characterized by a desire to explore and treat new experiences with more positivity and excitement, I hope to make the most of what could be our final year living in California while also increasing my appreciation for the life I’ve built.

It certainly was our final year in California, and that shifted my mindset to focus not only on the opportunities in San Francisco but also any that would be available once we moved.

Continue reading “Year of Opportunity 2024 Review”

A Sad Baseball Boy

I’ve had this print of a painting for around twenty years.

I bought it at a garage sale in my neighborhood as a kid, and I’ve brought it with me everywhere I’ve moved since. Despite having it for so long, I’ve never closely looked at it until writing about it now. Doing so revealed two things: The painting is titled Troubled Pals, and the artist is Keith Ward.

Once I realized that, I tried to track down anything else about this painter or painting. The first result was a painting with a similar setup but an adjusted setting.

I found this version less impactful—what’s tough in this situation? Is the implication supposed to be that the boy doesn’t have enough money for the dog food in question? The problem is unclear compared to the baseball version I have.

Plus, I think the dog in mine is cuter.

I was able to find a few basic biographies of Mr. Ward on sites that posted his artwork. In short, he lived 1906–2000, was born in Kansas, but mostly grew up in California. He spent his early career out east after attending art school in New York, but eventually ended up back in California. This blog post from 2007 is the most comprehensive overview of his work and style I could find.

There’s no exciting revelation here, but I’m happy to know a bit more about this print that’s always been near my desk.

The Sunday Paper

Wake up to a slight chill in the air, a quiet morning with leaves strewn across the sidewalks, brown and red and orange and yellow, preparing to crinkle later that afternoon once the morning dew glistening upon them evaporates. Throat is a bit scratchy. Pull up the covers for an extra moment of soft warmth before stretching out, rolling to the side, bare feet on wood floor.

Wipe eyes, grab some water, and go shut the window accidentally left open overnight leading to this moderate discomfort and grogginess. On second thought, it’s going to warm up today. Not too much. Just enough to keep the window cracked and let some warmer air make its way through.

Out the door, to the kitchen, striding gently and quietly so early in the day, trying to avoid the edges of the floor that habitually creak.

Ah, warm relief from the living room rug. Remember back, just a minute ago, when the sheets were pulled up, everything protected against the air that is fondly referred to as “crisp.” The thicker patterns in the rug shield against drafts from the windows—also left open—that spill across the floor.

Walk to the window and peer outside to see new piles of leaves collected on the sidewalk, listen to the birds chirping as the sun breaks through the mild canopy of the neighborhood, and smell the slightly humid air. Eyes cast about, taking it all in, then rest on the small red plastic bag at the base of the porch stairs.

The Sunday paper has arrived with its bold headlines, Associated Press blurbs, comics and box scores, and hyper-localized reporting. It is quaint and fun and supports a good cause; it is the perfect reading material to skim through on a calm, quiet morning.

Impressions From Cross-Country Road Trips

Driving east from Minnesota is a lot of the same, but that sameness is plenty of forested beauty.

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Though my opinions may change after more of these journeys, I found it striking that there seemed to be so little difference as we crossed state lines. Parts of Pennsylvania had more hills as we went over a nominal mountain range, and the speed limits could vary wildly (along with the respective tolls) with each new border, but nothing distinguished Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, or New York from each other en route to Connecticut. They all shared gentle curves and slopes, tree-lined interstates with hefty medians, a calming aesthetic for a journey from where, to me, feels like a cultural halfway point between the East and West coasts when, in reality, I’m starting nearly two-thirds of the way across the country.

Contrast this with driving from San Francisco to Minneapolis. You leave the Bay Area and hit freeways with speed limits of 70 miles per hour that pour you into a hot valley. You see agriculture, you see nothing, then you hit the Tahoe area and suddenly there are huge hills and trees to give you one final bit of hope and beauty before Nevada.

There’s nothing but impossibly straight rows narrowing to the horizon, interminable and dizzying in their length. Suddenly, you pass into Utah, where salt flats bank the roads and great rocky outcroppings loom in the distance. You work through the interchanges of Salt Lake City and notice the rigid structure of the street exits marking your distance from the temple, then you’re back into wonderfully steep dips and climbs through rocks that hint of the red that is so well-known in the southern part of the state.

Eventually, you reach Wyoming, full of prairie and hills and thick winds and single-laned highways and barred interstates that could be closed without notice due to weather, forcing you to turn back to the town from which you came. If you brave that, you make it to South Dakota which is much of the same but with billboards attempting to bring you to monuments, stores, and corn palaces.

Finally, after a final long stretch, the speed limit eases as you pass into Minnesota and everything appears somehow lusher and calmer, kinder and cooler. There are suddenly lakes and rivers to drive across, small towns dotting the western expanse of the state where farmers and factories share the load of supporting their communities. Eventually, this becomes suburban and then urban as you approach the Twin Cities, but still rooted in a Midwest interstate system.

I’m used to that trip and its distinct views. As I drove east, I was waiting for the change in each state, something to really drive home that I was somewhere else beyond an adjustment in license plates and who was monitoring the toll roads. Instead, I received a range of speed limits from 50 to 65 miles per hour for no apparent reason and a sharp increase in speed traps in western New York.

When I hit Connecticut, everything condensed, speed limits dropped, and I was on local highways where I rarely exceeded 45 miles per hour. Those roads were covered in trees and most of the houses were set back a bit, providing what I assume is a good compromise between accessibility and noise for the homeowners.

It’s amusing driving around here compared to the Midwest. We are ten or twenty minutes away from most large stores we’d care to shop at, but only because there’s a bit of traffic and the speed limits are uniformly at or below 40 miles per hour. It feels like a scale-model version of where I grew up, yet there’s a glaring lack of cycling infrastructure that could fit so perfectly in a place with rigid driving speeds.

I’m excited to drive back and forth across the eastern part of the United States in the next couple of years. It’s a distinct vibe from driving in California, and the change of pace is refreshing.

Erin’s Completed PhD Thesis

My wife, Erin Gilbertson, officially has her PhD in Biological and Medical Informatics from the University of California, San Francisco. You can read her entire thesis, entitled Machine Learning Insights into the 3D Genome: Diversity and Gene Regulation in Human Populations, online here.

I’m incredibly proud of all of her work. It’s been amazing watching her grow, learn, persevere, and succeed in so many aspects. I’m thrilled I’ve been some part of that journey.

Literal Comfort Food

Much like two years ago, Erin and I made it back to the Minnesota State Fair for a few hours. We didn’t eat much. However, walking through those busy streets that look absolutely packed from above but are fairly navigable on the ground was an absolute joy and comfort that helped smooth the transition away from San Francisco.

The spirit of The Great Minnesota Get Together inhabits everyone there. I felt light despite the cookies and corn dogs. I was calm and cool while roasting in the sun. Everything is a little nicer, a bit more joyful and fun at the fair. The familiarity of the fairgrounds, the pleasant conversations at a few booths, and the overall pride for our state all made a huge difference in my mood and outlook after a difficult couple of weeks.