Two excellent birthday gifts.

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One: The ways in which I have been spoiled today, culminating in a lovely sunset and cool evening (the end of summer?).  From chocolate chip pancakes to delicious mattar paneer, this was a very yummy day. And there was also a fun dinner at Joe Squared last night, complete with French lager, Czech lager, Irish stout and chocolate cake.

Two: What I said I wanted since spring (when we decided to have a baby).  I wanted Mrs. FP to be pregnant, and I wanted to know.  With my party three weeks ago and the best news I ever received two weeks ago, I thought my birthday would be anti-climatic.  But it wasn’t.

Thanks to everyone who made this three weeks of awesomeness. I am a very fortunate 30-year-old. Ahem, 29-year-old (again, ahem).

More dissertation work.

I finally heard back from my dissertation director.  As  you can imagine, impending parenthood has us wanting to defend and be finished!  But I have more work to do.  Among several options is to incorporate Emerson into the work.  So now I have to read a lot of Emerson this fall.  Damn.  Emerson.

While that’s certainly pleasant reading, I hadn’t planned on needed to do so much.  One option was to use the Nietzsche scholarship I worked on for a long time but didn’t because I felt like including research for its own sake was a waste of time.  But, I forgot.  A dissertation is a HOOP to jump through, like the other hoops from my MA and PhD programs.  It’s relevance to knowledge and truth is slight and fleeting.  At least, it can relate to them, but has to relate to other thinkers’ relations (and their relations to other thinkers’ relations!).

So while I enjoyed digging in, taking notes and brushing up on my Emerson today, I remembered why I decided that I did not want to be a “working philosopher.”  There’s little philosophy in it.  Thoreau wrote:

There are nowadays professors of philosophy, but not philosophers. Yet is admirable to to profess because it was once admirable to live. To be a philosopher is not to have subtle thoughts, nor even to found a school, but so to love wisdom as to live accordingly to its dictates, a life of simplicity, independence, magnanimity and trust. It is to solve some of the problems of life, not only theoretically but practically.

I don’t mean to single out every single academic philosopher.  Certainly I had (and have) professors who genuinely inquire[d] even when it’s not for publication or a conference, and I knew (and know) some students of the same suit.  But these good folks stand out.  This is not encouraged or rewarded.  This is something you do for yourself.  And I had/have trouble spending my time reading something for a paper and then reading it again for my own investigations.  While there are people (and I think I’d include my director) that can balance this in their heads/hearts, I have never been able to.  Whether this is a weakness in my major or myself remains to be seen, but I suspect that philosophy majors who don’t want to hear about what hoops they’re going to be asked to jump through would say the latter.

Japanese beer is very good.

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Went to a “Japanese Steakhouse” for my brother’s and sister-in-law’s birthdays last night.  Had delicious beer and very good food.  Ate mushrooms like mad.  The cook nicknamed me Johnny Be Good and joked that I was able to knock-up Mrs. P with us both being vegetarians. Had chocolate/peanut butter/ice-cream cake. It felt like my birthday; my tummy was so happy.

Green roof, quick shots.

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There’s a retro-fitted green roof at the university I’m assigned to via AmeriCorps.  We’re doing some awesome stuff, including some new photo cells and single-stream recycling. I’m on the Sustainability Task Force and am helping draft the action plan. We have leaders who are into drastic changes. In response to complaints about the motion-sensitive lights in the halls and offices, one gent said, “Get used to it. This is the way things are doing to be.” I hope we’ll keep up with not being afraid of somewhat radical changes.

Photo Friday: School.

My wrist predicts the weather.

Seriously. The other night when we had bad storms right around dinner time, my wrist was aching. It had been sorta sticky and stiff all afternoon. By midnight while I was lying in bed reading (hours after the rain cleared), my wrist was fine. I am entirely too young to have two trick toes, a trick wrist and a right hand that still doesn’t make a fist. I’m not even 30 until the 30th. This is funny, though.  And I’m taking 30-40 people on a walking tour tomorrow in the afternoon, when they are calling for storms.  So I guess I’ll know if any are coming.  Wrist, don’t fail me now!

I’m getting an acoustic bass.

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I starting playing bass  in 1994.  It was a big part of my identity as a teenager. I was in a BAND. You know the feeling? I played in the folk group and choir in high school. It was a badge of honor to lug my bass and amp down the hallway in the morning once a week, to the awe of the cool kids who thought all I could do was make weird art and not suck at gym in the baseball unit. I met two of my best friends through playing (through another friend who introduced us) in bands, and I met my wife in 1997 at a party we played at. This used to be something very very important to me.

But my playing has dropped off a lot lately, largely due to the whole apartment living thing.  I mean, you can’t just grab an electric bass and giant amp (and my amp is very very very loud), tune it and play like a mandolin in an apartment in the city.  Not unless you hate your neighbors.  And unplugged electric basses are no fun at all. I picked up mandolin in 2001 when I started grad school.  I thought I’d play quietly and still be able to enjoy making music.  But I’ve honestly never put the effort into learning it well enough to be able to really jam.  I mean, with D, P and I, we can pick a key and jam for an hour without stopping.  I could never do that on a mandolin — only on bass.

I’ve always wanted an acoustic bass.  But they were either pieces of crap (i.e., acoustic guitars with longer necks) or mega-expensive.  This is still largely the case, and obviously, an AmeriCorps/grad student/expectant dad can’t drop $2,000 on an acoustic bass guitar.  There are some relatively affordable acoustic basses on the market these days, ones that are designed to be basses from the start. And I have a bit of birthday money that I’d rather not just spend on bike tires and coffee and beer.

Plus, there’s the impending little one. Will Daddy play “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and “Say It Ain’t So” on a mandolin that he doesn’t really play for Baby, or will Daddy compose soft music for baby on an instrument that he’s moderately proficient at? I mean, I don’t mean to toot toot too my own horn, but I think I was a pretty good bass player. I mean, sharing whatever modest talent I have with Baby would be magical. I don’t have the time, energy or motivation to master a mandolin in the next eight months.

Plus, we don’t get to have dudely music nights anymore. With acoustics, this could be become a delicious reality again.

I think the pregnancy is making me braver?

Or, at least, less afraid of everything?  Or maybe so afraid of the BIG THING that everything else seems trivial.  Or maybe I’m more comfortable with not caring about stupid things like my appearance.

Examples:

Calling someone a bad name that included the word “ugly” and a reference to her height because, well, she deserved to receive some grief.  This was followed by a night of shame over freaking out like that.  And a morning of being angry about being treated condescendingly that replaced any shame.  Tip: Don’t be condescending to people just because you have the time to be.

Digging through piles of clearance stuff at a store where I saw really need wooden toys in the same place a few months ago.  I was manic and didn’t care but still only found a busted doggy and ducky, neither of which were worth buying.

Wearing polo shirts/Tevas to meetings where I should be wearing at least at tie, if not a suit.  Also wearing a thick beard to said meetings with high-ranking university officials (high enough to get my fired).  At least I tucked my shirt in.

Leaning back in my chair with my hands over my head at meetings, staring out the window.  I probably did this before (ADD), but now I know it.  And drawing cartoons of the people present that they can probably see.

Actually threatened to break my still not fully function right hand over someone’s head if he attempts to break a certain banishment (long story) of which he himself was the author and which it is not my place to break or occlude said banishment — but where it is my place to support the banished party.

Ate breakfast with my luxuriously-round belly out because I didn’t feel like walking to my bedroom to get a shirt.  I never ever ever do anything without a shirt except sleep and swim, and I don’t do either much lately.  My 20s and my belly have not been friends.  (Although apparently this makes me awesome?)  Maybe my impending 30s and my belly will like each other more.

I have acquired the habit of yelling and waving at pedestrian-ignoring cars.

My non-healed injuries from this spring don’t worry me as much as annoy me.  So what if I still can’t make a fist with my right hand, put weight on my left wrist or walk/cycle to much before my toe starts killing me?  The thought of toe surgery is less scary and more of an annoyed case of, “Wait, how much longer will I be in crutches because of that stupid driver?”

These are probably not big deals to some people, but I’ve discovered that I am extremely fearful and anxious, despite my coffee-zen demeanor.

We’re Pregnant!

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Good thing I’m not scared of holding babies anymore! Mrs. P. took two tests Thursday night after the Ravens’ first score. The second (taken later, actually) was much darker. They’re still showing positive. So far as our blessings continue, Baby Pragmatik is due in April. John III or Charlotte. (Long story.) I’m still catching my breath.  And reading Daddy books.

Little Z and me.

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Me with my good pal’s son, Zack Jr. last weekend at my birthday party.  Dang, little Z is gonna be a heartbreaker.  Look at those blue eyes!  Little Z joined Zack, Dan and I at Dunkin Donuts the other night for an after dinner treat.  This was the first time I held a baby without worrying about him pooping on me, which is good.

An awesome 30th birthday party.

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My family and friends threw a fantastic party last weekend for my Dad and I.  Papa turned 60 on August 2nd, and I turn 30 on August 30th.  It was awesome.  Great food, two cakes, two kegs of beer, very excellent company, hand-painted signs (mine had a bike; Dad’s had a Mustang) — it’s own name: JOHNAPOLOOZA (since we have the same name).  A lot of people put a lot of work into a very nice evening.  And I only got thrown in the pool once.  My youngest brother, well, he went in three times.  The last time, my sister-in-law and I just flipped him over the side.

My father and I look much more alike when I’m not bearded. He looked exactly like me in his 20s. I keep trying to convince him to grow a beard, but no luck. I think 30 years in the military have him liking to be clean-shaven.  But now you see where I get my extreme hairiness from.

(Photo Friday: Young and Old, coincidentally.)

An Underground Wanderlust.

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I love where I live. I love Baltimore. I love my job, the places I get coffee during the day, my bike ride to work. I love my friends and family and social networks in Baltimore. I love my apartment and relaxing and reading here.

But I feel deeply infected with some kind of restlessness. Maybe it’s because it’s summer and I work in higher education. Maybe it’s the whole trying to have a baby thing but of course not knowing when/if it’s worked. Or it could even be that I haven’t been able to get away from my normal life for more than a day or two at a time for too long. Even that the stupid person who ran my foot over prevented me from going on my favorite camping trip of the year over Memorial Day.

I can’t tell where this wanderlust is coming from or what will slake it. Extended travel is out of the question for at least the next year, save a trip to Illinois for dissertation defenses. We might be able to get away for a day or even a long weekend, but that’s it. I don’t think I’m going to get to go camping until October, and then I have to help run a large camping trip — so it will be more work than relaxing.

I know — who gets to travel as much as they want to? I should feel lucky that I get to travel the little bit I do.

Where I’ve been.

bikestand0809Mourning and covering the coverage of the recent cycling fatality in Baltimore.  In case you don’t live here and have no way of knowing, a cyclist was killed by a truck Tuesday.  The truck and driver haven’t been found.

Aside from being a cyclist, aside from the fact that this cyclist was on his way to the university where I work, aside from my own use of that intersection, aside from my wife knowing him from her old job — why am I so personally upset about this?  (As is the violent loss of life isn’t enough?)

I saw him.  Lying on the ground.  Not five minutes after it happened.  I don’t want to think through the details too much or share them.  But what I saw was…disturbing.  I’m not a person who sees a lot of dead bodies, especially not of people who died a terrible way.  Combined with being sick and having things to do for work even though I’m technically on vacation, I’ve not been myself this week.

Read more here and here.

There’s a memorial Sunday at 6pm.  Stay tuned to NBBB for more details.

A third of Europeans never use the Innernetz.

Holy smokes, that must be why they’re happier than us?  Or is happiness conducive to not wanting to be online all the time?

BRUSSELS (Reuters Life!) – One third of European Union citizens say they have never used the Internet, compared with 40 percent in 2007, an EU study showed on Tuesday.

In the report on the digital economy in the 27-nation EU, the European Commission also said more than one in four Europeans had never used a computer and 40 percent had no Internet access at home.

(More.)

Washington was awesome, but now I’m sick!

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I will certainly get to posting photos/etc. from my short trip weekend.  But now I’m tied to hankies, tea and athletic shorts. I’m ignoring all warnings about the bad flu, but remind me I said that.

You might think someone who’s “into” cycling would have a lot of those tight pants.  Nope.  None.  The only ones I have a loose and light.  What’s funny is that all the athletic type shorts I own are gifts and also from the universities/college I attended.  My undergrad ones are missing and, frankly, illegible.  My MA pair, well, I can’t wear them outside.  They cling, uh, the wrong way.  It’s not decent.  No.  Not at all..  I’m wearing my Doc pair tonight.  You can kinda read them.  I got them for my 24th birthday.  Six M-F-in years ago.

What the hell do I need all these nylon shorts and degrees for?

My brain is a little fevered.  Excuse me.