Trouble in Cameroon

A friend just notified me that Cameroon is having some major problems originally stemming from a taxi strike. Here's the article from IRIN for those of you who are interested.

Dart League Week 5: The End is Nigh

Last week we suffered our worst loss since, maybe ever. I'll have to check on that. We lost 32-11 behind all-around poor team performances. Part of the problem was probably the snowstorm. And part of it was the discordant singing of our adversaries, which I found to be thoroughly unpleasant and annoying. Our captain went as far as to plug in his ipod and put headphones on to block out the distractions. Hostiliy was thinly veiled on both sides of field. And another part of the problem was probably our low handicaps, and the noise, and forgetting the score sheets, and getting stuck in the snow, and starting a 1/2 hour late, and wet socks, and superdelegates, and bright lights, and bad beer, and the subpar service. And on and on and on.

Excuses are coming faster than defeats these days. And that's saying a lot.

Iowa Connection to the Oscars

My girlfriend just informed that, Diablo Cody, the lovely woman who just won the Academy Award for screenwriting, is from Iowa. As Wikipedia points out, she received her media studies degree here in Iowa City and was a dj at KRUI 89.7 FM.

Cornucopia, The Horn of Plenty congratulates her on her success and wishes her well with her future endeavors.

Go Hawks.

Making Link-Love with the UIMA

So, I just began using google analytics today, which is basically an online data collection tool that enables you to see which sites are linking to your site and what-not. Since my readership consists of about 10 people, all of whom are known to me, I never really figured it was worth my time.

But yesterday I decided to run it just to see how it worked and what kind of information it collected. I was very pleased to learn that, just in the last few days, one of the sites that linked to Cornucopia, The Horn of Plenty, was the University of Iowa Museum of Art Blog Art Matters. Apparently someone had stumbled across my post of the Robert Wilson Voom show at the Museum of Art and decided to link to it, along with two other blogs, in a quick post called "Web Chatter on Voom."

What's more, a fair number of people actually picked up on the link and came over to visit. Isn't that nice? Thanks for coming. Who knew that google analytics could tell you so much?

So, I figured I'd return the favor and send a little link-love to Art Matters so that those of you who are interested in a more comprehensive coverage of the Voom show or any other shows coming to the U of I can take a peak. It looks relatively new blog (their archives go to this past January), but they're already doing a good job of posting photos from events and keeping it updated frequently.

And if you still haven't gotten over to the show (this means you Em), you've got until March 30th, so set a date now.

A Fantasy I've Been Having of Late. Or, What I Think About When I've Accomplished Nothing on a Sunday Morning

There's a particularly optimistic saying that goes something like this: everyone is the best in the world at something. Though I may never realize this dream, I think I know what I would be best in the world at. I would make an awesome patient at a mental health facility.

Hear me out.

I think what go me started thinking about the idea was several years ago when I was talking to a good friend of mine. That good friend had recently spent several days in jail on account of an unfortunate drinking/driving decision. When we showed up to pick him up (or, as we called it at the time "spring him") from jail, he detailed his several days of captivity. The majority of his time he spent reading and working out and laying in bed. He explained that he found it to be incredibly boring, but the entire time he was thinking "you know who would like this? Nick Gregory."

And it's true. His description of jail almost made me a bit envious. One week to spend away from work, away from the world, to read and write and think and have all of your meals prepared and served to you. There was certainly something appealing about the rigid daily structure and the odd sort of freedom that jail had to offer.

And so, in theory, I'm pretty sure that I make a perfect inmate. There's just one hitch, the prospect of jail/prison is terrifying. I've seen those "inside the slammer" shows on A&E, and I'm not sure that's the kind of nurturing, life-affirming environment that I'm looking for.

So, if I were to create a list of the benefits and drawbacks of penitentiary life it would look something like this:

Benefits: structure, food, reading time.

Drawbacks: shankings, gang violence, race wars, feces throwing and perpetual fear.

If, god forbid, I was ever sent to prison, I would request to be placed in a room by myself and have zero contact with the other inmates. Though the reading time would be great, I still need interpersonal contact with other humans. Despite the obvious upsides of the institutional life, I just don't think I'd be able to thrive in that kind of environment.

Luckily penitentiaries aren't the only heavily structured institutional settings that America has to offer. I quickly ran through the list: the Army? Too much yelling and hierarchy. The monastery? Too much assigned reading from one source. And that's when it hit me: I would make an excellent patient at a mental health facility.

In my mind, I would take to this kind of environment like a fish in water. It's the perfect fit. I was thinking about this fantasy the other day while studying, and I'm pretty sure that if I ever lived in a mental health facility my life would look a little bit like this:

I wake up at the crack of dawn. On the "outside" I had always been a late-riser, but on the inside, with no late night distractions, I finally become that child of the morning I always knew I could be. The sun is just peeking into my locked-from-the-outside room. It takes little time to dress because I have chosen to wear the scrubs that are provided to all the patients. I like the simple garment because it takes the guessing work and st res out of part of my morning. No longer must I hand-wring in deciding whether to go with the sweater or the button up-shirt. The choice is made FOR me. I love it. For some reason it seems like a very democratic way to go about things. I remember in high school writing a persuasive paper in favor of school uniforms. I still believe that, in institutional settings, a uniform dress code is the best way to go.

Next I knock lightly on the locked stainless steel door that leads to my room. I like this stainless steel. It makes me feel protected and special. A man's home is his castle. And my castle is impenetrable. Or at least inescapable. Which for me, is probably better. I remember on the outside, sometimes someone would call up and say "Hey you want to go have some beer?" I would have loads of homework and a paper due, but setting aside my better judgment, would agree. Now, if I get that same call, it's easy to do the right thing because, once again, the decision is made FOR me. I've finally found a way to protect prudent, far-sighted Nick, from impulsive, short-sighted Nick.

Gary, the morning guard, opens my door. As is our morning ritual, I say "Howdy captain," and give him a high five. He responds in kind and shoots me a grin from ear to ear. I know I am his favorite because I have never once tried to urinate on him.

And even when people do try to urinate on Gary, Gary does not, like a penitentiary guard, get angry or vindictive. Instead, he is understanding. That's the kind of place we're in: a nurturing, helpful, gentle place. We're here to help each other out. And that's why I love it.

I proceed to the cafeteria, where, like every morning, I am the first to arrive. The food smells incredible, and what's more. . .it's ALL FREE. Throughout my life, I have been an ardent defender of high school cafeteria food and those who prepare it. This is no different. I shamelessly praise the quality of the food and watch as the cooks pile extra hashed browns onto my plate and wink at me.

I read the morning papers from cover to cover as I eat and watch my friends shuffle in for another day of self-development and evolution. Throughout the day I read and work out at the physical therapy center. There is a gym there, and I am one of the best basketball players at the facility. I play enough every day to be in excellent physical condition.

I have successfully lobbied the board of supervisors, through an elaborate power point presentation, to purchase a ping pong and a billiards table. There are a number of patients who spend a great deal of their time doing nothing but playing ping pong. The tournaments are intense and like everything else, accompanied by inappropriate yelling. My overall record at the ping pong table is 563-94. I collect statistics and publish monthly data on records and have created a complex formula for deciding power rankings within the institution. Each month's winner of the power ranking wins a gold trimmed certificate, also paid for ($2 a piece) by the board of supervisors. Many of the psychiatrists have attributed the progress of their patients to their newly-acquired obsession with ping pong.

For those patients who have difficulty with the game, I help teach them the basics and spend hours mastering the simple, zen-like back and forth of the game. I experience all of the fun and camaraderie that Jack Nicholason found in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," but without incurring the ire of those in charge of the facility. In fact, I actively try to ingratiate myself into their good graces. I think that currying their favor will give me the best drugs and most smiles in the hallway. They treat me gently and encourage my various pursuits and over-rejoice in my triumphs.

I usually meet with my psychiatrist once a day. My psychiatrist is a bit like Robin Williams from Awakenings, or if you prefer, Robin Williams from Patch Adams. The cinematic reference is fitting, because, as it happens, these therapeutic meetings play out a bit like clips from Woody Allen's most beloved films. I explain my deepest thoughts, and obsessions, and my psychiatrist often encourages me to superimpose my own psycho-analysis onto his. It is this kind of productive partnership that produces the most successful and rewarding sessions. I honestly believe that the psychiatrist enjoys these sessions and, though he would never admit it, considers me something of a friend. He has to fight the urge to invite me to dinner with him and his family because that would be a gross violation of the doctor patient relationship.

The bill for these cathartic analytic sessions? Zero dollars and zero cents. While Woody is paying hundreds of dollars an hour for his outlet, I get my own personal, daily psychiatrist to help me work through the perpetually mysterious and confounding pathways of the human mind. No thought goes unspoken, no behavior unanalyzed, no feeling undissected. In fact, I am as fit mentally fit as I am physically. During the day, basketball for my body, in the evenings, therapy for my mind. My entire existence has been nurtured and encouraged and I am finally approaching something akin to a Nirvana on earth.

And, having finally reached that Nirvana, having climbed to the top of Mt. Nicholas and looked at the view, I feel as if I am ready to face the world. I decide to be discharged (I have voluntarily committed myself) and a huge party is thrown in my honor. People messily eat cake and dance awkwardly to the chicken-dance song. My friends, the staff and the patients offer me hugs and cards and drawings for the road. Gary unlocks the door to the outside world and bids me farewell. A single tear can be seen dramatically rolling down his cheek. "Good bye" captain, I say. And he smiles and gives me one last high five for the road.

That Saturday night, February 24th, for the first time in years, I stay up all night watching movies. Specifically, I watch High Art and I, Robot. I get up at around noon and begin writing a blog post. At 1:15 I still haven't finished the damn post as it begins to take on a life of its own. I think: "It's nearly 1:30 pm on a Sunday morning and I haven't accomplished anything today." And then I realize what my life is missing:

Just a little bit of institutional structure.

A Futile Attempt to Break the Language Barrier

I met with my language buddy today to speak for 1/2 hour before enslaving myself to an essay for the remainder of the evening.

Here is an exchange that we had in English at the end of our meeting which I thought was kind of humorous:

Me: "Thanks for speaking with me today."

Buddy: "Thank you too."

Me: "Next week I'll be sure to bring my A-game."

Buddy: "What does that mean?"

Me: "Um, I wasn't too alert today, I was making all sorts of mistakes. Next time I'll do better."

Buddy: "Oh, I see."

We had just spent 1/2 hour speaking in Spanish. Sure we made all sorts of mistakes and pauses and searched around for very basic words, but there was very little miscommnication between us. Then, in switching back to English, which we have both spoken since birth, I immediately say something that is totally incomprehensible to her.

Go figure.

Dart League Week 4: The Losses Begin to Accumulate. The Time to Despair is Now.

We had a rough night at Martini's tonight. Final score: 29-14. Highlights: I went 4-2 and played passably. My individual record improved to 6-2. But I'd trade it all in for a championship. Darts isn't an individual game, it's a team game. I have a paper to write. I'm going to bed.

Paying It Backwards: A Horrible Miscarriage of Charity

So, I'm standing in line at Kum and Go. I have two items in my hands: a gallon of 1% milk and a twix candy bar that I impulsively picked- up after seeing it displayed attractively near the check-out counter. There is a man in front of me, maybe 25 years old, who is holding around four 20 ounces of Pepsi-Cola. As a supporter of Coca-Cola, I instinctively distrust him.

Despite our manifest differences, I politely take my place in line behind him. Just as he is about to move forward to purchase his shitty Pepsi products, a woman approaches, sees the line that has formed, and stops. He looks at her and says with a warm smile "You can go ahead."

Please note that this offer is made with neither my input nor consent.

Now, I'm all for paying it forward. If this man was the only one in line, I would have no problem with his action because he would be the only person adversely affected by his own act of chairty. If I had just completed my purchase and then saw him do it, I might even respect him for it . But the fact that he decided to assist one stranger at the expense of another I find completely unacceptable.

Imagine this, I see Old Lady 1 robbed at gunpoint. I arm myself, find Old Lady 2, rob her and then give the proceeds to Old Lady 1. Have I done something good or admirable or respectable? No, I've acted like a moron and conferred a net benefit of zero on those whom I have interacted with.

Someone needs to tell this guy that being first in line doesn't make you the KING of the line. It does not vest you with any special powers or permit you to decide who goes first, second, or third.

I guess I could have been the one to explain this to him, but unfortunately, I didn't act when I had the opportunity. I could have objected, I could have said somethign like this: "I don't agree with what is happening right now." Or "Sir, I think you're misunderstanding what it means to pay it forward." But I didn't. To be honest, I was just too dumbfounded by his gall, his confidence in the pure selflessness of his actions, that I didn't know how to react. And the worst part about this whole thing? That smug asshole is going to go to sleep tonight thinking about what a great thing he did today by letting that woman go ahead of him.

God I hate Pepsi.

American Gothic

It has come to my attention that I still haven't posted the photo of my Halloween costume from last year. I'd like to rectify that mistake right now. Above, you will find my beautiful girlfriend Emily and I giving our interpretation of the heartland classic, American Gothic. We're Gothic. We're American. It works.

Dart League Week 3: Gut Check Time

I can tell this year things are not going to be quite as easy as they were last season. We're going to have to bite and claw for every point, focus on each toss, go in for the kill when are opponents are down. In short, unlike in the B League where we won 10 straight, we can't afford to get lazy.

Last night, once the dust settled and we wiped the sweat beading on our brows, we looked up at the scoreboard: a 27-16 loss. The loss was against the number 1 team in the league. They politely told us that we were the first team to keep them under 30 points this year, but under their hollow, condescending praise, I could hear a different message. That message: "Welcome to the A League."

After last week's loss against Shakespeare's, that makes two defeats in a row. It's gut check time. It's time to figure out if we deserve to be playing with these guys or not. If we're good enough to be here, then we've got to prove it. If we're not, well, we might as well hand in our gear (darts, beer) right now.

I just paid for new darts, and God knows I'm not going to stop drinking beer, so that only leaves one option.

See you next week.

Note:

Despite the loss, we were able to muster some highlights. Murray went 4-2, and he and Brad have yet to lose the final game (worth the most points). And I had a hat trick (3 bulls eyes in three darts) and my first ever league 9 mark (triple 17, triple 15, triple 15) to cinch a victory in a tight match.

Short Film Apology

So I just went and watched some of the short film. I don't think I realized how jumpy the clips became when I uploaded them. It's kind of a pain to watch. The original clips are smooth as silk. I'll try uploading them to a different program soon and see if that works better. Stay tuned.

A Complete Video Weekend: A Short Film by Nick Gregory

After the Robert Wilson show, I decided to do a little video work myself. Yesterday I created a 9 minute short film that's entitled "Wine Tasting with Nick Gregory." I can't seem to post it because I worked with jumpcut instead of youtube, so follow this link to enjoy the fruits of my labor:

http://www.jumpcut.com/fullscreen?id=13ED22F2D77511DC9C00000423CEF5F6&type=movie

New York, Los Angeles, Moscow, Naples, and Iowa City

That's a list of the first 5 cities that get a peek at Robert Wilson's new video portrait show that's making the rounds. Apparently Robert Wilson did some work at the Univeristy a couple decades ago and he's always had a soft spot in his heart for us ever since. I went a couple days ago with my friend Jesse and we oohed and aahed and reflected and giggled the day away at the University of Iowa Art Museum. Above is the video portrait with Steve Buschemi.

The show consists of around 30 different celebrities, movie stars, dancers, animals, and non-celebrities posing for what appear to be still photos, but on closer examination are video portraits. You'll see Johnny Depp trying to keep his fingers absolutely still, and, for the most part succeeding, until a blink of the eye gives him away.

In some of the portraits, like the humorous, suspense filled take on Brad Pitt in is underwear, the movement is more prounounced. But in others, the only thing that keeps you from thinking that the shot is a still frame is the slow, shallow breathing of the subject, or a reflexive twitch of a muscle. It's almost like walking through one of those Scooby Doo castles where the eyes of the old portraits of barons begin to follow you around. In fact, the entire show, like Scooby Doo, or a haunted house, has a kind of faux-macabre feel to it. The premises are kept as dark as possible to intensify the brilliant colors of the portraits, and each time you take a blind turn you run into another creepy character (my favorite was the sad/bored talking black panther. What a beautiful, dangerous-looking animal). Of course, the cuts don't last forever, so it's always interesting to see how he's going to loop a 2 minute of 5 minute cut back onto itself.

The show is called the Voom series because all of the portraits are on crystal clear HD "Voom" television sets. Extremely impressive. My friend must have noted 3 times that it felt like you could reach in and touch the subjects. That's technology for you. What CAN'T it do.

So, if you're in the area I highly recommend checking out the show. In fact, give me a call and we can go together. I miss that beautiful talking black panther already.

Cornucopia is Officially a Special Interest: What I Expect from My Money

I just made my first EVER donation to a political campaign. Now, I officially consider myself "special interest" and I expect to be catered to as such.

Here are my demands from Barack Obama: represent the interests of ALL Americans and make the kinds of progressive changes that we, as a nation, can be proud of.

Oh. . .and please, please, please. . . don't fuck up the general election.

But that last bit shouldn't be a problem. You just keep doing what you've been doing for the past20 years or so and the people, including the 100's of thousands people who have contributed to your campaign, should be begging you to take the post in November of 2008.

And now, I leave you with a youtube clip of what looks to be some kind of study abroad trip in Shanghai by people whom I am unacquainted with. But notice the song that it's synced to: we got the money!

I don't even know the real name of this song, all I know is that it's on one of the Pavement albums that I listen to every once in a while and it is not called "We've got the money," although that appears to be the only lyric. Anyway, it's the perfect soundtrack for the self-congratulatory feeling I have right now.

Buying influence never felt better. . .

That Law Dic is a Bit Wordy

One of the things I don't like about law school is the way it restricts the way I express myself. Given, these restrictions are self-imposed, and probably due mostly to a certain degree of neuroses, but they exist nonetheless.

Allow me to explain. As a non-law student, I think I typically peppered my speech, as many people do, with law related terms and phrases.

For example, two years ago I might have been involved in a conversation like this with a friend:

Friend: Yeah, so the old lady was on my case again.

Nick: Really? What was it this time?

Friend: I forgot to pick up some garlic salt at the grocery store like two months ago and she's finally getting around to pointing out my admitted failure.

Nick: That's a shame. You'd think some kind of statute of limitations had run on that.

Friend: I wish.

HA! And that would be a perfectly acceptable conversation for pre-law school Nick Gregory to have because a phrase like "statute of limitations" is widely used and has made its way into the social vernacular of America.

But fast forward to now. Now, I would feel incredibly uncomfortable saying that exact same thing in a similar social context. In fact, if one of my law school friends said something like that, I'd probably think something like this: "Does everything you say or do have to be about law? Is that it? Have you no other means in which to express yourself? Experiences from which to draw from? Insights with which to convey your wisdom?"

And then I'd walk away thinking "what a prick."

And that's basically the problem I have. The use of law related terms by people uninvolved in the study of law is all fun and games and can often be quite appropriate. But the use by people actively studying the law lends an obsessive quality to those same terms, as if every minute of their waking life must be dedicated to legal-speak.

Today, here's what a similar scenario would look like (dramatization, not based on real events):

Friend: The old lady is accusing me of flying to Nicaragua every week to use drugs and be promiscuous.

Nick: What kind of evidence has she offered in support of this claim?

Friend: Evidence? Oh, I see, you're going all lawyer on me now.

Nick: What word would you want me to use? I think it's quite appropriate and a word that I've probably used freely since about the age of 11. Plus, you used the word accuse, that could probably be considered a law word too.

Friend: Whatever. Prick. Thanks a lot for the help.


Because I fear disapproval and hostility, I'm going to avoid this certain-to-happen scenario. And, in an odd counterintuitive twist to immersing myself in the law, I'll actually be using commonly uttered legal terminology less than I would before law school. Because I don't want to be a prick.

And, as we all know, being a prick, well, that would just be criminal.

Iowa City Celebrity Sighting

A few days ago I was attending a panel discussion with famous whistle-blower Daniel Ellsberg. The discussion was great and filled with all sorts of anecdotes and analysis of the extent of freedom of the press.

There were probably about 20 people who had stuck around for the panel discussion and the Q and A session that followed it. The moderator was taking questions about the first amendment when someone all of a sudden shouted out "How long am I going to have to listen to Pat Buchanan?"

People looked confused, so the man began to explain himself. Ultimately his question, if I interpreted it correctly, was concerned with the ownership of the airways, and who decides what kind of content is broadcast around the nation.

You don't need to know the response to his question. All you need to know is that that man was none other than John Heard, who, among other things, played the father of Kevin in Home Alone.

That is all I have to say about that.

Welcome to Beautiful. . . Guanajuato!

It's official. I'll be spending part of my summer (June 1 -- an undecided date in July) studying international law related things in Guanajuato, Mexico.

I had been seriously considering doing the study abroad that the University of Iowa does in France, but the plunging dollar and my newfound love of spicy food forced me to take a long, hard look at programs south of the border. In doing so I found the perfect fit: magical Guanajuato.

Here's what my limited research has revealed to me about Guanajuato thus far:

1. Guanjuato is home to some of the most productive silver mines in the world.

2. It is a several hour bus ride from Mexico City

3. The word Guanajuato means "place of frogs," in the local indigenous language.

That's it. I'll be supplying more information after picking up a tour guide. For those of you interested in Guanajuato, here's the link to the wikipedia write-up.

Adios!

Dart League Week II: An Undefeated Season Comes to an End

We are now 1-1 for the spring season. Last night was an awful, inexplicable 26-17 loss at the hands of cross-town rival Shakespeare's Ravens.

Things you need to know about this season:

1. After dominating the B League last season, we've been bumped up to the A League. The money is the same, but the A League carries with it significantly more prestige and a larger fan base.

2. Though last year I fared much better in team dart matches than individual, this year is proving to be the opposite. As of last Monday, I am still unbeaten in individual matches, taking a 4-0 record into next week.

More statistics will be forthcoming as they are released.