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Procrastination happens. Let’s acknowledge that and stop running away from it. The more effective habit to attempt control of is how we procrastinate. Currently my default procrastination method is to go on the computer. I check my five websites (Facebook, Gmail, Google Reader, Huffington Post, and the Youth Dance Weekend registration list) and then run through them again. I go play a half-hour game of Cities & Knights of Catan online. I listen to music and play mahjong or yahtzee or sudoku. These activities are next to useless, and don’t move me closer to any of my goals.

So why wait for New Year’s Day to make resolutions? I want to change my default procrastination method to the making of music, and I want to make that change by December 31st, 2010.

What’s your default procrastination method? Does it further your goals? What would you like it to be instead?

I’ve been having a discussion on Facebook about private property and theft, sparked by my dismay at the capturing of the Barefoot Bandit in the Bahamas. Not to get into the details of the argument here (I was defending my romanticization of his story, and asserting that owning a plane or a yacht is barely less selfish than theft) I am struck by how much my behavior toward others is influenced by the way they present themselves. If someone argues with me in a tone that I don’t like, I am very likely to dig into an opposing position, with little regard for what the argument is over. Conversely, if someone states something in a fashion that I deem courteous and responsible, I will treat their position much more respectfully.

Do you do this too? I’m not sure how I feel about it; logically arguments should be taken at face value. I would not be surprised if arguments presented derisively are more often fallacious, but it’s not a necessary connection. I don’t know. What do you think?

[This is an account of my most recent adventure, barely edited from the form in which I related it to friends this morning on gchat.]

Last night I went to the Palo Alto contradance. I knew three people there: the two friends I’d come with, and another exuberant tall young guy who I’d met just twice. The size of the crowd and the quality of the music were wonderful, but the number of young dancers was not. I had been grumpy earlier in the day due to hunger and miscommunication and low productivity, but had cheered up upon hanging out with my friends for dinner. I became glum again from not knowing people at the dance and the slight differences in style in this region. But then, just as I was having a conversation with my friend about how I didn’t know many people at the dance and wished there were more young people, I saw standing in the doorway my friend Mia. She’d just arrived with a whole passel of other young New Mexicans on their way back from the Mendocino American Dance Week. Some of my favorite people from last year’s Youth Dance Weekend were there, as well as new lovely people who I hadn’t met before. Needless to say, they made my evening.

But they were flying home this morning! And also, I had already concluded that it was too late for me to take the public transportation home. Therefore, I decided to latch on with them and sleep wherever they slept. The thing was, they didn’t have a sure place to sleep yet. Stuart Kenney (a central musician from my home dance and a sweetie of a guy) was there with them (he’d been staffing the dance week) and he hooked them up with the place he was sleeping…in a haunted warehouse.

So, after the dance I crowded into a minivan with all these radiantly wonderful friends, squashed next to this big-deal musician and organizer. He was telling crazy and amusing musician stories, and I just glowed with grins at all these awesome people I’d met up with. We got to the place we were supposed to sleep. It was right next to San Francisco International Airport, and it truly was a warehouse, high shelves of boxes and all. In the corner of it was a martial arts dojo. Our hosts ran the place, a husband and wife pair who taught martial arts and shipped educational materials from the same building. She demonstrated some sword forms while people were getting their stuff out of the minivan. He was really chill, one of the organizers of the dance week my friends had just been to. And…he told us about how the place was haunted. “But don’t worry,” he said, “the shaman guy who haunts the place is friendly. You’ll see something out of the corner of your eye, and when you turn to look at it you’ll see this little Kokopelli guy watching you, then scamper off. Just in case you hear noises in the night, I don’t want you to freak out.” I didn’t see anything, but I certainly heard something a few times! Bangs as if someone was banging into the shelves or the lights, and some barefoot footsteps, at like 3am when everyone was asleep, and from out in the dark warehouse part, not from the mat where everyone was sleeping. One of the other guests said he’d been off sending an email after most people had gone to sleep, and upon standing up to go to bed, he felt and heard a WOOSH right next to him; apparently he’d startled the ghost. We all spooned close: four young New Mexican dancer women, Stuart, and me.

So. Sleep. Not much of it. Cuddling. Lots of it. Though because they were all exhausted from their dance week, it was the sort of low-intensity cuddling you do with a sleeping person so as to not really wake them. We got about six hours of sleep. Stuart had gotten up extra early for a separate flight, but the rest of us piled into the minivan, and all the New Mexico folks (everyone except me and two others who I didn’t know that well, Jubal & Chelsea) got out at the airport, and we had many hugs and goodbyes. Then the rest of us headed to Oakland, drove around looking for parking, then walked around looking for food (at 9:30am on a Sunday). We found a place, where we got a very eclectic breakfast (french toast, Chinese noodles, a waffle, ramen, and green tea) and talked about crossover contra and contra gossip. It was great fun. Chelsea & I had met a couple times before. She’s an inveterate traveler, and budding organizer of crossover contra dances. Jubal is a southern guy who’s got his fingers in a bunch of different genres, but plays with a well-known contra band. He’s a great guy, and we’d never met before. After the wonderful discussion over breakfast, we found our way back to Berkeley, where they dropped me off at my hosts’ house, and we went our merry ways.

[This is probably the biggest single adventure of my trip, and will likely stand out as a climax. In one week I will have just attended my good friend’s wedding in Denver, Colorado, and will be departing for a forty-eight hour train trip back to New England. I’m glad to get the chance to share the account of such an adventure here!]

Yesterday I spent time with two friends who I hadn’t seen in a while, one a former college roommate and the other a friend from dancing who once came to visit me for two hours at college…at one in the morning. We had a blast; they’re working at Facebook and Google respectively, and are both great guys (and tall!)

It’s a funny thing, though, taking friendships that existed in your past and bringing them into the present. I have changed so much since college, as have both of these friends. And yet, we got along very well, and it was great to see them.

Next weekend, I’m going to the wedding of a friend I’ve known since third grade. For the past seven years, we’ve barely seen each other, perhaps once or twice a year. And because we’ve known each other for so long, We’re able to pick up where we left off and hang out without the slightest feeling of awkwardness.

How do these things work? Friends come and friends go; I’ve accepted that much. And it’s great when friends come back into your life, but it’s weird too. Our old impressions of them last, and because our friends change, sometimes those impressions don’t fit snugly anymore. It’s like returning home after being gone for a long time: it’s wonderful and comfortable, but different. It makes me contemplative. What are your thoughts on the matter?

Tonight in Oakland, only a mile or two away from where I was staying, there were riots protesting the Johannes Mehserle verdict. It was reminiscent of the 1992 Rodney King beating to many observers. What did I do while windows were being smashed and fires set in the streets? I played kickball. It was fun, though my host’s friends probably aren’t people I would choose to be friends with myself.

But my point is, nearby violence reminds me to be thankful for the relative ease of my life. I’m thankful for my luckiness at being born into a privileged class. I’m thankful for my healthy relationships with friends and family. I’m thankful for growing up in an environment that values equality and justice. I’m thankful for my current good health. All of these things are extremely easily overlooked, so whenever the opportunity arises, please join me in feeling gratitude for whatever your own blessings may be.

I’m also thankful for the opportunity I am presented with today. I happen to have one friend who works at Facebook and two more who work at Google, so today I am visiting Silicon Valley and the physical homes of the two biggest pillars of my online world. This is a pilgrimage for me not unlike visiting my parents’ childhood homes or meeting my favorite blogger. I am grateful to the point of shock that I am presented with such an opportunity. I will report back on my findings.

Karol Gajda is the shit. His post today, “How To Be More Confident” had lots of great tips and makes good points, like this one:

4) Don’t Use Alcohol As A Crutch

This is a mistake almost everybody makes when attempting to gain confidence and I’m no exception. I have used it too, but it doesn’t work.

The problem is if you use alcohol as a crutch, you will always need it as a crutch. Hence it being called a crutch. 🙂 It’s a temporary solution and does nothing for you in situations where there may not be alcohol. Break your leg every day and you will always need a crutch to walk, right? Drinking alcohol is like breaking your confidence’s leg.

Does that mean you can never drink alcohol? No, I’m not stating that at all. Drink away! But drink when you don’t actually need it as a crutch anymore.

I wish I had read this article when I was in high school or college. I had a huge problem with social situations then, and felt it was due to a lack of confidence.

But now I’m not worried about having confidence anymore. How did I get over it? Here are some of the ways, in bullet form!

• First of all, Karol is right that the more you stretch yourself and the more experiences you have, the more confident you will be. Thus, the older people are, the more confident they tend to be. Or at least, they usually behave more confidently.
• Secondly, take pride in your areas of interest, your pursuits, and your specialized knowledge, even if they’re totally outside the mainstream. If you present them matter-of-factly and not defensively, other people will find them interesting and they’ll like you. I know a lot about celtic music, politics, environmentalism, fantasy books, blogs, Firefly, Lost, and certain webcomics. These are all topics of conversation that I am comfortable excited to delve into, and if a conversation meanders in one of those directions, I know I’ve got it under control.
• But exclusively talking about your esoteric interests is a sure recipe for boorishness. That’s why I’ve learned how to ask people about themselves. As Karol says, nobody cares about you as much as they care about themselves, or framed in a more positive light, everyone is well-equipped to talk about themselves. Ask people about themselves! They probably do interesting stuff, and some of that interesting stuff might excite you as well!
• When you’re hearing about your new friends’ lives, make connections between what they’re saying and things you know about. This is similar to the perennial college game of “Oh, you’re from ___? Do you know ___?” but can be about ideas even more than about people. Weave your web of knowledge!
• The former tip works best in 1-on-1 and small groups sitting around not doing much. If you’re in a bigger group or your group is doing something active, my favorite way to have fun and show confidence is by throwing out wry or witty comments once in a while. Take that commentary that’s funny in your head and say it out loud in as succinct a way as possible. Have you ever seen Mystery Science Theater 3000? Something like that, just don’t be mean to other people.
• Finally, a big factor in being confident is having a supportive community in which you’re loved and respected. Or even more than one! Families can be great for this, and for me the contradancing community is an indispensable one. It gives you an enormous boost knowing there’s somewhere social you can go where you can just relax and be yourself.

And that’s it! Most importantly, be yourself and don’t be ashamed. Hope this was helpful! Go have fun and be social!

Yesterday I went to the Legion of Honor museum in San Francisco. It was free on the first Tuesday of the month. Thus, I didn’t feel obliged to “make the most of” my visit and stroll around for hours staring at paintings, desperate to figure out why people find that activity appealing. Instead, I saw what I went there to see, the cast of Rodin’s The Thinker, followed my bliss to look at the rest of their extensive Rodin collection, and then left. I had a blast.

I decided I like Rodin’s work a lot. Something about sculpture grabs me more than other forms of fine art, and Rodin’s pieces are full of dark, tragic emotion that appeals to me. Also, I can see why the Burghers of Calais are among his most highly regard work. They are so detailed (they’re about a foot tall) and imbued with these expressions of despair which are extraordinarily realistic and emotive. I think my favorite of the less famous sculptures was The Prodigal Son. The emotion is so vivid; you can just imagine him screaming to the heavens. I also liked The Mighty Hand, because I recognized it as a minor inspiration for Nicole’s senior show.

It’s great identifying something you really like (Rodin) from within a field of things you generally don’t like (art in museums). I wish upon you similar experiences.

One popular perception about happiness is that there’s some benefit in having both ups and downs in your life, so that you have better perspective on the good bits and can enjoy them more. My question in this post is whether that same theory might apply beyond the study of happiness to other areas. Did having a totally crap president like George W. Bush make electing Barack Obama easier? Without a doubt. As short-term as the lessons sometimes are, humans do learn from mistakes and thus mistakes aren’t all bad, because they are one of the quickest ways to improve at whatever you’re doing (as long as those lessons are in fact learned).

But what about bad things that don’t come from any mistake on the part of the person who’s experiencing them? Is there any utility to those situations? I’m thinking about witnessing a car crash or a mother hitting her child. Can any good come of this? I think so, and it follows pretty closely in line with personal mistakes: we learn lessons from others’ mistakes and bad behavior as well. Witnessing an accident frightens us into driving more safely. Witnessing abusive (or just crappy) parenting inspires us to strive for our own parenting ideals more. Or at least we can learn from these bad experiences this way. It’s not quite as reflexive as from our own mistakes (though less obstructed by hubris) but it’s pretty natural.

Finally, there are bigger bad things, like seeing suffering homeless people or reading news about the BP oil spill. How can these possibly be good? It’s harder to see, but one benefit of both these systemic ills is that they can inspire activism, which is a good thing. But really, the whole trick in this exercise is that you have to find the silver lining yourself. It’s always there sooner or later. Encouraging and focusing on the positives rather than on the crappiness of whatever happened is a major aspect of an attitude conducive to happiness.

I had the unfortunate privilege last night of being within close earshot of an argument between my hosts and their daughter, who is basically my age at 23. She had been out with friends all day, having fun on a lake, but she said she would be back “sometime in the late evening” and had actually returned around midnight. They had gotten quite worried, almost to the extent of calling her friends’ parents. Afterwards, I chatted with the daughter and her mother (the less riled-up parent) about the whole situation. I felt that while more communication would have been good, their reaction was a little overprotective and extreme.

But then, they reminded me of a crucial difference between where I grew up and here: their neighborhood is right on the border of one of the highest-crime cities in the country, whereas the most my town usually has to deal with is drunk college students burning cars after sporting events.

Violent crime has vast, pernicious effects on everyday life. I became aware of some of these effects on poor, working-class neighborhoods through the wonderful documentary series Unnatural Causes. But it hadn’t occurred to me before last night that it’s a big problem in middle-class places too. How do we combat the root sources of crime? I haven’t studied this very much. But I think that livable and nurturing communities can certainly help, and I’m excited to learn about how planning can contribute to the solution.

Do you have any stories of innovative changes that successfully addressed the root causes of crime and led to a decrease in the topline crime statistics? I would love to hear them.

Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day. It is a day that Americans left and right think about this country and what it means to live here. For the almost two-thirds of the country that feels we’re on the wrong track, it’s not a wholly positive consideration. Me, I’m concerned. My country is engaged in aggressive military behavior around the world, especially in Afghanistan, which is nearly tied with Russia for its record of destroying invading armies. My country seems incapable of accomplishing any political progress even in the most nominally ideal political conditions. My country is blind to its addiction to oil, even while the news is filled with images of oil-soaked wildlife. My country is in a horrific state educationally, economically, and environmentally. My country cares more about celebrity conflict than about the wellbeing of our neighborhoods. My country is so self-centered and thoughtlessly arrogant on days that aren’t devoted to its remembrance that it’s hard to be too enthusiastic about a holiday that promotes more of that feeling.

And yet, my country is a place where the fundamental basis of the law is fair and populist. My country is overall a place of great privilege, and that would be wrong to dismiss or overlook. My country is full of people who are friendly, well-meaning, and hospitable. My country is a place where people want a better world, even if they’re not sure what that means or what they need to do to get there. My country is a place where people can come together for positive purposes, if only briefly.

But the real reason I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else is that all the people and places that I know and love are here. On my trip, I’ve realized that while the majority of my friends and acquaintances are in the northeast, there are wonderful friends scattered all over the country. And I will be thinking of you tonight, friends, when the fireworks are going off. You are the reason I am happy to be an American.