Come to Holland, MI where you can downhill ski in our urban city!

I was called out on my consumption orientation yesterday.  I’ve eaten and enjoyed meat my whole life, but during dinner last night I wasn’t sure and my poker face was no help.  I’m not ready to subscribe to one camp or another.  Then “it” was said: “you are a vegetarian.”  But, I’m not ready.  I want to change my affiliation for each new food encounter but society frowns on those that are indecisive or misrepresent themselves.  Why would you try to be something that you’re not?

Why? Because it’s much more interesting for the rest of us. Conflict! Intrigue! Gossip fodder! Go ahead and surpass awkward and head straight to bold.  If Holland put out a magazine that featured a group of seniors sitting smiling on a sidewalk on its cover, it might be authentic, but I probably wouldn’t read it unless the pages accidentally opened because some sort of coffee spill made it cling to the napkin I was using to wipe up the mess.  The saturated area would swell and give the paper that damp bubble that pills like a sweater when wet but feels extra crunchy when dry.

If something contradicts itself an even number of times, is it true?

Holland took the opposite route. It put out a magazine cover that screams of an urban identity and downhill skiing.  Wow! Now this was a magazine I couldn’t pass up.  I even picked it up with bare hands from the free stack near the coffee shop bathroom and paged through, vigorously looking for the place where the secret urban mountain is located.

Would the urban mountain have good hot chocolate? Tattooed people? Democrats?  Would it be a haven for the apres-ski set? Are there other half-French words I could learn there? Are there sandwiches named after movie stars?

I’ll skip ahead.  We all know that Holland didn’t deliver on the urban mountain, but kudos for the generative cover. In this era of diminishing print media ID magazine has shut down but Holland magazine was packed with enough intrigue to get me to page through.

I wonder if the urban mountain has any vegetarians?

Maybe next year Apolo Ohno will shave his soul patch.

I hurled my body down an icy chute yesterday in a day of luging that just might have made the entire state of Michigan worth it.   In order to luge, you lay down on two big blades and the flimsy hammock that connects them and flex your entire body.  To turn, you look the direction you want to go and use your calf to lean your outer blade into the curve.  In order to stop, you sit up and pick up the front of the blades, or, in my case you allow yourself to continue to hurl until you smash into a giant foam cube.

I wish foam cubes had a greater presence in life.  Awkward conversation with someone you wish you were friends with? Lean over into the giant foam cube.  In the middle of saying one of those sentences that you can’t figure out how to end so you keep adding more and more words hoping that some kind of closing magically comes out of your mouth?  Fall face first into the giant foam cube.  Giving a presentation and a booger accidentally floats out of your nose? There should be a giant foam cube for that too.

It’s a subtle sport, the luge, and Michigan should be proud to be home of only one of three such tracks in the country.  I’d like to take part in more sports that can only be done here, but I’m not sure what they are – any ideas?  What would a Michigan triathlon look like? Deer hunt, snowmobile, luge?  Each state should design its own sport.

My whole body hurts today.  I wonder if the Olympians hurt this much after their races? Speaking of hurting and Olympics, it’s that time of year again – time for me to get teary while watching the Olympic torch relay on TV.  Each runner with an emotional story – it’s like watching a hyper-condensed version of Extreme Makeover Home Edition – waterfalls.

The Olympics are in Canada and the US government has its commercials on TV in case Americans get any crazy crazy ideas about not coming back, or don’t realize that Canada is a different country.  The spots are reminders to bring a passport if you go see the games, and the website they’ve created for it is www.getyouhome.gov.  The embedded subtlety, that getting home is more important that going out and seeing the world, is on par with that of a luge turn.

Our country and Apolo’s facial hair may always stay the same, but if you’re looking for something new, let Michigan deliver you down a hill on a luge.  We have foam here.

Hello again, chin fuzz.

I’ve taken to straddling our space heater.

I’ve lived in Michigan long enough that I have routines now.  In the dark dark Michigan morning:  I wake up. I lay in bed looking up.  I stand up.  I waddle over to our space heater.  I straddle our space heater and let warm infuse me from all directions.  I venture beyond our space heater and into the day.

I wish my space heater had a saddle on top.  In fact, more things should have saddles.  I love the craftsmanship embedded in a great saddle, but I’ve never taken to the large animals that are under them.  Heaving a heavy saddle over a horse sounds great, save for the horse.  In fourth grade I went to a week of horse camp with the Girl Scouts.  I was most interested in how cool I would look in my tall, leather riding boots, walking all over town and leaning nonchalantly on walls in public places, but once at camp those boots ended up materializing as chunky rubber overshoes.  I tested into the most beginner level of horses named Heineken, and he and I walked in slow, clockwise circles for five days.

Heaters always look like heaters, except when they look like other household appliances.  Who hasn’t let his or her fingers linger a little longer over the toaster on a cold morning?  I learned a tip from some Michigander friends – after cooking something in the oven, leave it open as it cools off – free heat.  Hot showers are an obvious good idea except if you have hair that’s equivalent to a shammy when it comes to retaining water.  A head in the midst of evaporation is as uncomfortable as those pants that are just a smidge too tight.  If you stay perfectly still you can convince yourself that everything is just fine.  Move the slightest bit and sirens go off.

Twenty-two wisdom-infusing years have passed since my special time with Heineken.  I just bought a new, fantastic pair of boots

In ten years I will live in Winnipeg and work as an ornithologist.

Happy New Year 2010 from Holland, MI. Photo by Ty Kennedy-Bowdoin.

I’m sure the town of Holland is preparing to drop the ball and ring in the new year, and a quick read of the Holland Sentinel’s reader comments about New Years Eve activities shows that my fellow citizens are either drunk driving, sleeping, or at church:

“I don’t have much planned for the new years. Probably will just get a case of beer and ride around town for a while.” -love to fish

“What is the make and model of your car and plate number on the back? I want to be sure to stay out of your path.” -DReading

“Nothing planned, doubt I’ll even be awake at the new year.” -brewsky

“Watch night service at church, what else?” -Tim Eno

I’m a designer, living in West Michigan, and it’s a blue moon tonight, but it’s snowing and I can’t see it.  On TV, Jennifer Lopez is wearing a full body alien skin suit that makes her crotch look like a barbie doll crotch.  Everything is arbitrary, and I’m happy to embrace it. I don’t know where I’ll be in another decade, but here’s a recap of some prevailing thoughts of the decade past and where I thought I’d be in ten years for ever year since 2000.

2000: I stayed up late splaying Snood with my girlfriends as we realized for the first time in our lives that our democracy was no longer democratic.  I will live in New England and work as a Geology professor at a liberal arts college.

2001: I was mid-air with my family on September 11 and think it’s strange that a large number of country music stars came out with America songs within a week.  I will live in the mountains and work as a Geology professor at a liberal arts college, and become an Olympic snowboarder, or at least be able to ride a half-pipe.

2002: I spent most of my time doing Kung-fu. Why do anything else? I will be a blackbelt.  I will need to balance snowboarding with martial arts. I will live in the mountains and work as a Geology professor, somewhere.

2003: Hakuna Matata. Santa Cruz has parades for even the most obscure of occasions. I will have a house near both the ocean and the mountains and oscillate between excelling at snowboarding and surfing.

2004: I will be a science writer for the New York Times, and make movies about geological phenomena.  I will champion the Adobe Creative Suite to scientists around the world.

2005: I submitted a TV sitcom screenplay to a contest with one of my girlfriends. It was called “The Job” and chronicled the absurdity of work.  “The Office” comes out in the next week.  I will write Hollywood screenplays while making animations about geological processes.

2006: Vans, hoodies, cruiser bikes, surfing, and too much organic sausage.  Why think about the future?

2007: Design teaches me an entirely new way of thinking. There are no good restaurants in Palo Alto. Everything seems attainable again but I don’t sleep much.  I will design constantly.

2008: Will mustaches ever be in style?  I will be cool enough to talk at TED. I will become a professor of Design. I will never work at a company again unless it’s my own.

2009: I wish Holland had restaurants as good as the ones in Palo Alto. I’m working at a company that’s not my own. I got married! I will write a design romance novel, live both overseas and in San Francisco, have two kids, and work as a designer on the projects that interest me.

Bring it on, 2010. In the meantime, I’ll start learning about Canadian birds.

Are you also wrapping presents using recycled and worn paper from last year and listening to Paula Abdul?

Right now, this very minute, is the time of year when traditions come out to play.  I am trying to partake in as many traditions as possible this year.  For the the 21st year in a row I galloped with 600 strangers through a theater.  I also attempted the high note on the second verse of Noel.  As I sat in the Christmas Eve service at Unitarian church tonight listening to the minister tell a version of the Christmas story where Mary, Joseph, and Jesus were only alluded to, I became excited with the layers around me.

Yes, I was wearing two sweaters, but I’m referring to the deep layers of meaning that happen in proximity to pipe organs.  Though, for the sake of full disclosure, one of my sweaters is a bit short in the torso, and I end up tugging it down over my never-ending trunk.  The other has sleeves that end one inch before they should.  When I realized that wearing them together would negate their differences and keep me warmer, I did a tiny jump and played it off as a fashion decision.

Wedged into the pew with my two sweaters and family I listened to simple tales of the past as I looked at the backside of the head of a living Wikipedia entry. Tim Berners-Lee, the individual that actually invented the World Wide Web, was two pews up, singing ‘Oh Come All Ye Faithful’ as if he hadn’t made this mind-blowing contribution to the world.  My mom poked us a few times to tell us it was him.  I wonder what he gets his kids for Christmas? The future? Outer space? Eternity? It must be hard to top the internet.

I don’t know what they’re doing in Holland tonight, but I saw the Christmas parade a few weeks ago.  I think ‘parade’ in Dutch must mean, ‘semi truck with lights.’  Allow me to share with you, the sweet sweet sounds of Christmas in Holland:

Merry Christmas to everyone.  To Tim, an extra thumbs up.