Ciao!

Grease under my fingernails

I took apart The Motron today. It took four hours, but she's almost ready. My workhorse pulled its weight in Cinci, now she's ready to tackle the great plains.

She's faster now, w/ a larger front sprocket (from 9 teeth to 11). The brake pads are in good shape. The clutch cable's adjusted to give just a bit more slack. I took the piston & cylinder apart, decarbonized the head and piston, checked the rings, and polished the cylinder.

I still need a new petcock. I also want to replace the throttle cable, the grips, and speedo cover. But it's all coming together.

Sometimes you just need to get a little dirty to feel good again.

Posted by Miguel at 08:41 PM | Permalink

Mopeds of Hazard

Cincinnati was amazing. Fifteen Decepticons from Kalamazoo caravaned to visit The Bombardment Society for the "Mopeds of Hazard" rally. In total, about forty mopeders met up during the weekend for riding, food, partying. It was great — even though I got horribly sunburned (and I thought I wasn't supposed to burn).

Friday:
We loaded up the bikes and were on the road shortly after 10am. One pickup truck, one large van, two Volkswagen Golfs (another pickup truck followed at 3pm). Two rest stops and seven hours later, we arrived in Covington and began unloading. Brandon and Bianka from South Dakota had arrived shortly before us. Chris Salmonson and Justin, coming down from Dearborn, would meet us later at Brian Philip's house.

About a half dozen TBS members met up w/ us at Chris Rice's house and we rode down from there to Habañero's for burritos. Later, we rode all over Cincinnati. There were so many of us, we took over the streets. A hornet's roaring swarm descending on an unsuspecting populace, too dumbstruck to do anything but smile and wave from the sidewalks.

Saturday:
After dispersing to three different houses to sleep, we gathered at Brian & Casey's in the morning. A few bikes needed tinkering after some problems from the previous day, but nothing too serious. At least not yet (Dan's Carabela would take a fatal blow later that day, a shattered front sprocket).

We rode to breakfast/lunch at The Anchor Grill, a Cincinnati legend, where I had one of the best hamburgers in my life. The Anchor's been open 24 hours non-stop for the last 57 years. It was the epitome of the small, local greasy spoon.

A sizeable Vespa and Lambretta scooter escort joined us as we rode from one Cincinnati park to the next. Frankly, I prefer to ride w/o an "escort" — we're Moped Army, "we take care of our own!" I was proud each time Abbey, Caleb, or Dave threw themselves into an intersection, blocking traffic while the rest of the pack went through.

The late afternoon was beautiful, as a much-needed gentle breeze rolled in; our sunburned bodies took a break from the punishment. We slowly wound our way back towards the Kentucky side of the Ohio River, towards Devou Park. The grill was lit, the food arrived, and it was a laid back barbecue. Sporadic groups took off to explore the park, engines roaring.

The rest of the night was low key. A few of us rode out w/ Emily, Kelly, and Kelly to Graeter's Ice Cream, which was advertised to us as "the best ice cream ever". Yeah, it was good. Wow.

Just before midnight, some of us went to Plush, a sort of "neo-mod" dance club. I was tired, but knew I made the right decision walking into the red room, seing the chandelier, and hearing The Stone Roses' "Elephant Stone" churning up. It's been a while since I've danced w/ such frenzied abandon.

Sunday:
The last day. We dragged ourselves out of bed (or couch, or floor) w/ reluctance. Brian Phillips lived a block down from Sunflower Coffee House & Beer Garden — thank God! Simon and I walked down for our necessary caffeine fixes.

From there we rode back over the bridge — away from Cincinnati for the last time — and back into Kentucky. While some people went to Waffle House for grits and whatnot, I managed to taste Skyline Chili, a Cincinnati landmark. Chili on top of spaghetti tastes much better than it sounds. Much better.

Our last moped ride was a 34-mile round trip tour along the bank of the Ohio River on Highway 8. It was a glorious summer day, and we pushed our bikes to the limit, racing independently along the course. It was a great ending to a weekend rally.

We were sad to leave, but we packed up the vehicles and headed back to Michigan. Thanks to everyone in Cincinnati for showing us a good time. You guys are the best. ♥

Posted by Miguel at 02:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Bloggers unite!

Posted by Miguel at 04:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Not-so-last-minute road trip

I hit the road for Cincinnati in a few hours. We meet at 1977 Mopeds at 9am, hoping to be on the road well before 10am. I've known about this trip for some time, but somehow forgot to plan for it until the last minute. Weird. I'm slipping. At least The Motron is fixed and ready.

Posted by Miguel at 03:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Hello, goodbye

Ali came into town today. It's always great to see her again. She's moving from Berkeley to New York in just a few days. I'm sure she'll love The City.

Posted by Miguel at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Sizzle

This much heat is unbearable. Why is Michigan just hot/cold w/ no in between stages? I flee my apartment for air conditioning. I miss my long sleeves and light sweaters. Sigh.

Tomorrow I put The Motron back together (I blew out the compression). Finally! I'm really excited to have a fast, zippy moped again. Don't get me wrong, I love my Bianch-Snark. But it's only geared for top end right now (that needs to be fixed, pronto) and not good for really getting around. Especially not in Cincinnati, where I'm spending this weekend. Hua!

Posted by Miguel at 11:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The rights of the guilty

Does my brother Andy deserve to die? That question raced through my mind during a conversation I had tonight. He does, after all, work for a large multinational corporation (DuPont). Sure, he's just a lowly college intern lost in a maze of cubicles. But he works in their logistics division (supply chain management). He's made a choice. He works in a corporate setting for a Fortune 500 economic behemoth. Is he one of the "guilty"?

No. He doesn't. Neither did any of the 2,795 people who died at the World Trade Center on 11 September 2001. No matter what their profession. Bus boys and wait staff. Corporate clerks and elevator operators. Janitors and security guards. CEOs and marketing directors. Firefighters and medical staff. People waiting below in the subway station and elementary school tour groups.

This is the first time I've ever posted about 9/11. I avoided the topic. Enough has been said about it.

But my night's conversation sparked my thinking. Sure, thousands of people die everyday. And I concede that, perhaps, corporate greed has killed many people over the years. And that's not good. Granted. But. There's a dramatic difference between an accidental explosion at a chemical plant in India and the deliberate destruction of thousands of persons — almost randomly.

It's the difference between a drunk driver plowing over two kids on the sidewalk (manslaughter) and the same driver stepping out of his vehicle and shooting the kids dead (murder). It's a small comfort to the victims, perhaps. Dead is dead, after all. But. The difference comes down to intent.

The most striking part of the discussion, however, hinged on the idea that some of the victims of 9/11 may have "had it coming". Did they? The question hinges on two parts: A) Who decides who is guilty? B) Which ones were guilty?

Was David Rodriguez-Vargas, a 44-year-old Dominican bus boy guilty? Was Anna Laverty, a 52-year-old legal secretary guilty? And what was firefighter Matthew Barnes guilty of?

If you're wondering where I got the above links, they came from The New York Times. After 9/11, The Times printed biographies and pictures of every victim. Every one. It took months. The entire information is permanently up online here. Every bus boy, window washer, phone operator, receptionist, restaurant chef, lawyer, secretary, corporate exec, tourist, EMS worker. Every one. Every face. Every story.

But let's shed sentimentality. Dead is dead. And perhaps there truly are no innocents. We're all guilty of something. So. Who decides who deserves to die? That's the main question. I don't think I have that right. I don't even think society does (I oppose the death penalty).

The problem w/ the "had it coming" argument is that it depends on some one to make that decision. That person. There. That one. He deserves to die. By what right is that decision made?

More disturbingly, if we can brush aside a tragedy because some "guilty" people died in the process. Then we turn to a cold mathematical ratio. How many "innocent" people are we willing to sacrifice to kill some number of "guilty" ones? How much collateral damage are we willing to accept? Ten-to-one? Twenty-to-one?

If that's the case, then don't oppose the war in Iraq. Don't oppose cluster bombs. After all, they kill the guilty, too. Surely Husein had it coming. He is/was a mass murderer. But how far does the guilt run? To his sons? To his generals? To the clerks in his ministry of agriculture? The conscript in the trenches? Surely they are just as guilty of participating in Hussein's brutality as the clerks and cubicle dwellers at DuPont, Nike, Mobil, or Lockheed-Martin.

But I refuse to believe that. My brother isn't guilty. He just works at a job. He's no more guilty of any so-called corporate "crimes" as are the factory line workers at General Motors or the phone receptionists as Exxon or the thousands of Americans who routinely call their stock brokers.

And that's why 9/11 was so brutal. Some one, small group of individual persons decided that Americans — all Americans (never mind that non-Americans died, too) — were guilty. Guilty of crimes against their perverted version of religion. Guilty of eschewing their narrow ideological beliefs. They decided. And by what right?

Posted by Miguel at 11:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

The rumors were true. Today, Apple made some major announcements. These include a preview of the new OS (Panther). A new iChat w/ integrated videoconferencing. And a final release version of Safari (Apple's web browser). Oh. And did I mention the new 64-bit G5 Power Mac? Wow.

Posted by Miguel at 03:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Rock'n'roll I do

I just came back from what might've been the best, funnest wedding I've ever attended. Allison Spicer and Eric Gielow finally got hitched! The ceremony was outdoors in Kalamazoo's beautiful Crane Park. A beautiful, sun-filled afternoon.

Posted by Miguel at 11:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Bienvenut

Dave & Emily are back from their European adventure. I really missed having the two of them around. And I'm also glad that Ursula's gone and my two cats are the only felines in the apartment. But seriously, welcome back Dave & Emily! I'm looking forward to a party featuring Emily's homemade guacamole.

Posted by Miguel at 09:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

The solution

I'm going on a moped trip. Across the US. Over 2,000 miles. I think that's just what I need right now. The planning's already begun. Team Minarelli will go the distance. Oh, yeah. Crossing the American prairies on an iron pony. Clearing my head under that big Montana sky.

Posted by Miguel at 11:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

The problem

I'm delaying packing up my apartment, prolonging the inevitable. Sure, I still have two months before I board that silver bird headed south. Then I'll live a year in Bolivia. But I should be packing, boxing up my books and knick knacks, preparing my winter sweaters and laying out my suits and ties. My head knows this; but my body is slow to follow its advice.

I can't wait to leave, I really can't. Six years of grad school preparing for my dissertation fieldwork in La Paz, waiting for a grant to fund my research project. And just when I was about to change my mind about it all. Wham! It all came together. How could I not be excited?

Part of the anxiety is project-related. There's no way I can hide from this. Sure, there's the "typical" (or so I'm told) jitters that doctoral students face before they go "into the field". That's part of it, no doubt. Am I capable of sticking to a year-long independent research project, on my own, far away from my colleagues and mentors? Will I find the archival materials I desperately need? Can I successfully implement a textual analysis of twenty years of printed material?

But there's something else. And this is the scary part. The Bolivia that awaits me is not the same Bolivia I left barely two years ago. My dissertation focuses on the relative "success" of Bolivia's democratization. It hinges on the idea that Bolivia has had a stable democracy — a feat when compared to its history and the recent experience of its most similar neighbors, Ecuador and Peru. I expected to look for the causes of Bolivia's stable, coalition-building political norms. Specifically, I hypothesized that Bolivia's unique electoral system was an important catalyst.

Instead, Bolivia is now in the middle of one of its most pressing political crises since 1982 (the year the last military dictatorship stepped down). In February, only months after its inauguration, the current government was rocked by violent unrest — as the military clashed w/ mutinied police — leaving dozens dead and much of the capital in chaos for days. In the wake of the so-called "February war" the extremely fragile MNR-MIR governing coalition has been overly strained. Goni has been president less than a year and his government has been utterly ineffectual — especially when compared to his first term in office (1993-1997). Since February, rumors of possible early elections continue to circulate.

So that's my dilemma in a nutshell. A country I care about (and not just academically!) is potentially falling apart at the seams. Don't get me wrong, I'm confident the military won't come to power again. At least not directly. But the presence of strong populist leaders mean the country could descend into chaos. This is a very real danger. And then what? Truth is, I don't even know.

So. I sit and wait. I'm still waiting to find out from the Fulbright people on the terms of my grant. I don't know what my budget is. I don't have my visa/passport situation figured out. I don't have an airplane ticket. I'm waiting on bureaucracy. And I'm waiting to see if Bolivia falls apart before I get there.

In two months, the question of "what explains Bolivia's democratic stability" might be irrelevant. That's a serious problem for my dissertation. But. It's also a serious problem for my soul. I was born in Bolivia, and a large part of my heart will always reside there.

And that's my commitment to democracy. I'm no hippie. While I study democratic theory, I've never been concerned w/ democracy as a purely abstract concept.

I remember growing up as a kid in a dictatorship, watching generals in dark sunglasses giving speeches on TV. I remember that every day at school, five times a day, we were made to march in unison singing martial songs. I remember soldiers w/ machine guns patrolling city streets. I remember the pockmarked walls of the university in La Paz, marked from the day the air force attacked the students and drove them from the barricades w/ canons and rockets. I remember that the head of internal "security" for the dictator was an escaped Nazi, Klaus Barbie, the "Butcher of Lyon".

I don't want Bolivia to look like that ever again. I didn't want Iraq to look like that. I don't want Iran to look like that. I don't want Zimbabwe to look like that. I don't want Burma to look like that.

And so I sit and wait. And drink lattes from the comfort of my neighborhood coffee shop. I guess I should count my blessings.

Posted by Miguel at 11:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Stupid math tricks

My friend Vanessa just posted this math trick. I know Sam and Andy will love this. Try it:

Posted by Miguel at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I now pronounce you ...

The groom fainted and the best man broke down crying. I'm not making this up. My cousin Lisa's wedding was the oddest wedding I've ever been to. I'm sure she'll only remember it as a blissful event — perhaps punctuated by a few "memorable" moments — but it turned into quite a hoot.

First of all, I should state that this wedding drove home the point that weddings are not an appropriate time to give a sermon (especially not a long one). Weddings should be short, simple, sweet. The wedding couple don't need advice one way or the other, I don't want a long spiel on the joys of wedded bliss, and the audience just wants to congratulate the happy couple, eat some food, and dance the hokie pokie. Thank God I'm not a Lutheran.

It was at this point, during the sermon, that Scott (the groom) fainted. He just up and collapsed, silently crumpling up shortly after the "man and wife" climax. Groomsmen scampered over to him, as Lisa held his hand in shock. Scott's family was prepared for this contingency and produced pints of water (they also drank pints of water themselves). Meanwhile, the Coates-Coppens side of the church did its best to suppress the rising giggles.

At the reception, the groom's best man tried to give a toast (actually, a soliloquy) and broke down into tears. Three times. He had to stop, collect himself. Three times. Other groomsmen consoled him and urged him to continue. My relatives heckled him w/ "don't faint on us!" OK, just a small hint: A good way to avoid this is to actually make a toast. As in, under 50 words or less (emphasis on less).

The food was great, seeing family was great, the dancing was fine. The bride-groom dance was standard, which is fine. OK, so Scott doesn't really know how to dance. That's OK, most people don't. It was still romantic and happy because you could see that Lisa & Scott really love each other and that's all that counts.

The father-daughter dance, however, was spectacular. My family has more than its share of good dancers. But Uncle Mike. He's one of the best ballroom dancers I've ever seen. It's not that he does lots of fancy moves or showboating. It's just the way he and Aunt Carol glide across the floor w/ an effortless grace and perfect footwork you just don't see very often.

The other great part about weddings is watching Grandma dance The Hustle w/ her sisters. They huddle around in a small corner of the room and show each other their moves, these 70-some-year-old biddies suddenly transformed into teenyboppers. All laughter and bright eyes.

Yeah, it was a great wedding. Lisa and Jason were my favorite cousins growing up. OK, so they were actually my aunt and uncle (their mother is my mom's aunt, my grandma's much younger sister). But we used to run around Pratt Lake in golden summers. Now we're all grown up.

Posted by Miguel at 04:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Super History

I'm gonna post something about the absolutely crazy wedding I went to. I will, I promise. But I wanted to at least point out that next week (23 June, 9pm EST) the History Channel will show a documentary on the history of super heroes. Be sure to vote for your favorite in their "Who was your favorite comic book super hero?" poll. I voted for Batman, of course. The website's got other goodies, so check it out. I'm proud to say I scored an 8/10 on the comic super hero trivia quiz.

Posted by Miguel at 10:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's not late, it's early

Yeah, I know. I used to update my weblog more frequently than I have the past week or so. And I'd like to say I've been really busy or something. But that's not it. One can always make time. But one can't always make stories. See, nothing really interesting has happened in the last week or so.

Not to sound like I'm bored or sad or anything. I've just been a bit of a homebody the past several days. Sleeping in so late my parents would be devastated. (One day I actually woke up at 8pm.)

I've been doing some boring stuff. Planning my trip to Bolivia mostly. See, as disorganized as I often am, I'm also a bit of an anal retentive type. Those that know me know that I have a "master packing list" I use when I travel. That's right. A list. And, yes, it's itemized. So I've been working on that. A packing list is all nice and dandy for a vacation, a trip, an excursion. But I'll be gone 10 months (or more). That's more like moving. And I can only really take two suitcases and a carry-on. So this is a challenge. How do I fit everything I could potentially need (and not just clothes, mind you) in that much space (not to mention the weight restrictions). So I've been working on my packing list.

Friday I'm leaving on a bus to visit my parents. From there, we're going together to a family wedding. And from there, I'm driving them to the airport. They're going out west on vacation — the Grand Canyon and all that — and then taking a train back. I think it's a great idea.

So my cousin Lisa (well, second cousin actually) is getting married. I think that means that now all my Coates cousins are officially married. That's everyone. Except the three Centellas boys. Huh. I'm really glad we don't get the "so, when are you settling down" speech at family functions. I think everyone knows none of us are in any hurry. I sure as heck am not.

Don't get me wrong, I think marriage is a fine institution. If you find someone you're compatible w/, then by all means, tie the knot. And I'd love to be married someday. Have some kids. Not "little" kids, mind you. I'm not into babies. I'd rather just meet my children at age three (when they can talk and listen to instructions). Too bad that's not really how it works, eh?

So anyhow. I guess I'm just rambling now. It's late. I'm trying to pack for my trip to Saginaw (shudder), make sure my cats get fed while I'm gone, and figure out how I'm gonna wake up in time to make my 11am bus.

Next week, I promise more posts and crazy theories. Also, perhaps, some news from the real world of politics and current events. Also, my adventures in Chicago w/ Corine.

Posted by Miguel at 04:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Dunce caps

I took an online IQ test while watching Test the Nation on FOX tonight. A pretty silly show, if you ask me. But I only took one IQ test in my life (shortly after moving to the US before entering 6th grade). So I figured I'd give this not-so-official version a shot.

Posted by Miguel at 09:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Oops, bad political scientist

I was going through the Bernhard Center on campus today and discovered that there was an election. And, yes, I'm a political scientist. Yet somehow the fact that there was an election today completely escaped my attention. What was the election for? Who was running? Why didn't I get the memo?

I'm ashamed to admit that I was in too hurried to stop and find out. And since I'm registered to vote in my neighborhood precinct ... Well, I didn't vote. If anyone can tell me what this election was about — or if I should even care — please let me know.

Posted by Miguel at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The dating scene

I missed my potential rendezvous w/ a Spanish grad student Friday. If only everyone in the world had cell phones. Actually, I couldn't remember if I was supposed to call her back — or if she was supposed to call me back. And so it goes, the complex ritual known since the earliest days of time. I'll call her again Sunday afternoon.

Posted by Miguel at 10:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Birthdays, plastic bags, lingerie, and poker

I've not blogged in a while. I was busy part of that time. Or, more precisely, kidnapped by agent BayFM. I'll get to that in a minute. But mostly the days have been rainy and cold, all 'round unpleasant and dreadful weather. This is compounded by the fact that I'm temporarily broke, which is always uncomfortable. I've about $900 due me from a few sources. And it's late in arriving. If only one of my debts didn't clear, I'd be fine. But all of it? And I don't get paid for another two weeks.

So what have I been doing in the meantime?

Wednesday. I didn't realize it was Bay's birthday when I called her. No one told me. So she picks up her phone and I say "Hey, Bay! Do you know what day it is?" And she responds, excitedly, w/ "Yes!" And then I add "Yeah, it's new comics day." So she comes over to pick me up and drive me in the pressing rain out to The Game Shop so we can pick up the new issues. Only after I read Upson's LiveJournal — while I waited for Bay — did I learn it was her 24th birthday.

Bay pulls up to my apartment. I grab my corduroy jacket as I step out to meet her w/ a "Happy Birthday Bay!". A little too late, perhaps. But I still meant it. So I picked up her comics for her (hey, it's the least I could do). And from that point on I was kidnapped.

My kidnapping wasn't all that bad. It basically involved me hanging out w/ my friend Bay, and various assortments of other friends and well-wishers throughout the day. We stopped at WIDR for Bay's radio show (Plan B), which was birthday-themed (it's a talk show). Her mother guest starred on the show, along w/ Sarah Simpson and myself. Basically, we just exchanged birthday stories from our pasts.

From there, we drove out to The Ground Round, which is a pretty poor restaurant. I was desperately craving Vernors (or any ginger ale). The waitress suggested mixing Sprite and Coke. Excuse me? That's not ginger ale. I think anyone knows this. I also ordered a chicken burrito, which was mostly onions and definitely not a burrito.

The rest of the evening was pleasant, including a lengthy conversation at Bret's house about my ultra-rational (or some would say "crazy") environmentalism and the distinctions between animals and human beings. There was a brief intermission where we ate yellow cake w/ chocolate frosting (after singing the required "Happy Birthday" song). During the conversation, Bay asked me if I would be her adoptive father if (God forbid) anything should ever happen to her Aba. This, of course, made me feel both complimented and old.

Thursday. While the boys prepared for poker night, the girls decided to have a girls-only lingerie night. Since I obviously went to play poker, I've no idea whether "girls' night" was a success or not. But rumor is they just sat around eating brownies and watching HBO's Sex & The City. Which is no comparison to serious poker playing. And. Yes. Once again, I walked away w/ nothing after a game of 7/27 broke me. But I had a good run at it.

I went home to find my cats playing w/ a plastic bag. Sophie's the most curious of the bunch, and she was pouncing and attacking a black plastic bag from yesterday's comics. I should've known better, but I let her keep it up, amused at her pouncing while Annie and Ursula curiously watched. Until.

Sophie's head went through one of the bag's handles and she suddenly had a plastic cape. You'd think this is funny and "playful". Nope. She freaked out and started tearing blindly through the apartment at full speed. This meant tackling Ursula and slamming into doors, walls, furniture. And in one fell swoop, three days of Ursula slowly becoming a well-adjusted social cat went out the window.

Before I could catch Sophie and rescue her, Ursula had jumped so high up a window that she ended up holding on — by her claws — to the top. She was trapped, couldn't get down. And she wasn't going to let me help her. I'd have to wait for her to just, well, let go and drop. She hissed, spat, moaned, and shat. Sophie cowered under the bed. Annie (the most nonchalant creature you'll ever meet) just sat where she'd been from the start and looked at me and sighed.

Posted by Miguel at 11:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Surprise visit

So the phone wakes me up at 10am. It's Tim Kuehnlein. And he's in Kalamazoo. I could hardly believe it. I hadn't seen or spoken to Tim in months. He sort of disappeared for a while after leaving Western (and I don't blame him). Plus he's not a phone or email person.

Anyhow. So here I am on the phone w/ one of my oldest and best friends from the early days of grad school. I mean, there were originally five of us in our cohort who palled around together (there were one or two others, but they didn't pall around as much). Of course, grad school "palling around" mostly means getting together to discuss the weekly class readings. But we also got together for drinks and such. We had a regular table at The University Roadhouse every Thursday night. (Ah, good times.) Six years later and there are only two of us left (and for the year-and-a-half Katia was in Russia it was just me). So. Yeah. It was great to see Tim again.

Tim's enjoying teaching at Alpena. We talked about the joys (and hassles) of teaching. I filled him in on the little bit of departmental gossip I actually knew (I avoid my office like the plague, so I'm not very knowledgeable of these things anymore). And then we just talked, you know, about life, politics, whatever. I'm always amazed at how easy it is to catch up w/ a long-lost good friend.

After coffee, we joined up w/ Greg and Christy for a small lunch. Yeah. All in all, a pretty nice day.

Posted by Miguel at 08:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Blog brothers

Sam finally has a weblog! And w/ comments and everything. There's not much on it yet, but I'm expecting more. So far, he's getting ready to race his custom Nissan NX 2000. And look out for the adventures of his intrepid sidekick, Novalí, the cutest niece on the planet.

Both my brothers (Andy is the other one) are much more organized, adventurous, charismatic, and brilliant than I am. On the other hand, I'm a better speller. So their blogs might be more interesting, in more ways than one.

;-)

Posted by Miguel at 04:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

El rancho gato

I live w/ some of the pleasantest cats you'll ever meet. They don't hiss or bare teeth. Just all-around nice girls. But these last few days have been interesting. Why? Because Dave flew to France to visit Emily (which is great for them) and I volunteered to look after Ursula.

Posted by Miguel at 04:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)