James Mack's Weblog

Today was a good day at the model airport. Not for me, so much, but more for the people I was helping out. Rojan has been rocking it with his Raptor 50 and T-Rex, and is sure to soon surpass both me and the rest of our field in flying ability in the coming months. My Dad's Airtrax saw some frustration due to some trim and engine issues, but it appears that we're converging on a balanced setup. I showed up with the wrong combination of muffler and fuel and glow plug for my (second) new Caliber 5, and didn't end up doing much flying of anything of my own. But you can't win them all.

Afterwards, I dropped myself into the driver's seat of my car to head back home, but I paused a bit before swinging my legs under the steering wheel and shutting the door to the rest of the world. The whir of an electric fuel pump caught my attention as it drew the remaining fuel from a pilot's tank after the day's flights. I was captured by the sound of gears meshing, undulating slightly as small bubbles passed through the line. It was almost musical.

Then, I realized, it was musical. The sound was reminiscent of the background loop on the first track of Yo La Tengo's tenth album. Their music pulls not from intensity and cacophony, but from the ambience that's persistent as we trudge through our everyday lives. I guess it made me think that if you look hard enough, you can find something beautiful, without stuffing earbuds in your ears or staring at the glow of a television. Just stop and pay attention.

As I shut the door to my car, the rest of the world disappeared outside carefully placed seals and sound insulation, leaving me alone in a vacuous interior of black vinyl, bird's eye maple, and the subtle red glow of the instrument cluster. On my way home, I listened to the asynchronous whine from the two turbos just ahead of the firewall, the slight tick as the synchronizers in the transmission fell in step, and the subtle feedback through the steering wheel as the front tires found pebbles and irregularities in the road surface. And of course, the whole time, I left the radio off.

Last night, I went to a Matson Jones show at the Aggie Theater in Fort Collins. The first thing you see, hear, or feel about Matson Jones is the pair of cellos that define half of this quartet. This duo is skillfully blended with an upright bass and drum kit, and the sonorous tone of the instruments are polarized by the piercing, distorted voices of the two female vocalists. I initially feared that such a novel combination would tire quickly, handcuffed by the inflexibility of the rhythm instruments which had fiercely grabbed my attention just moments earlier. Yet, they manage to escape the appellation of "one trick pony" through creative arrangements and dissident lyrics. And there's something simply infectious about four bass lines.

The night was well supported by a cache of local bands, including D. Biddle, Munly and the Lee Lewis Harlots, and another band that I regretfully missed the name of, for they weren't officially on the bill. Munly was particularly interesting, a high energy anachronism who seemed to be trying to keep one foot in the wild wild west and another in the goth/punk movement. They certainly gave Matson Jones a run for their money as the highlight of the show. Our $6 tickets were low in cost, but high in value.

And because I have a few photos that I don't want cluttering the front page, I'll drop the rest of my experience into the extended portion.

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The life of Nick Drake, by most accounts, ended far too early. A purveyor of introspective rock/folk in the late sixties and early seventies, he was intensely shy and self-critical, and seemed to always be just shy of breaking through to success. He died in 1974 due to an overdose of antidepressants he had been prescribed, opening speculation of suicide, despite reports from his friends that he was getting progressivly happier in the weeks before his death. The speculation was fueled, however, by the content of his songwriting, such as these lines from "Fruit Tree":

Fame is but a fruit tree
So very unsound
It can never flourish
'til its stalk is in the ground

and these from "Pink Moon":

I saw it written and I saw it say
Pink moon is on its way
And none of you stand so tall
Pink moon gonna get ye all
And it's a pink moon

The truth behind his death will likely never be known, but his music has enjoyed a posthumous revival in recent years. Initially featured on a Volkswagen ad, and later part of the Garden State soundtrack, he finally entered popular consciousness. His music is not out of place in today's music scene, and might be likened to more recent singers such as Iron & Wine and Jeff Buckley (who happens to be another similarly premature loss). Perhaps his posthumous success will provide some sort of redemption, but if nothing else, he left us with more than we had the day he was born.

His story also serves to remind me just how precariously I'm often perched between satisfaction with what I've done and the drive to improve upon it. Nick Drake habitually fell upon the darker side of that line, unable to find value in what he had done within his lifetime. I believe a certain amount of dissatisfaction is healthy, but like most attributes, it must be kept in check by finding pride in my accomplishments, whether or not they happen to be perfection.

I'll close with the lyrics of one of Nick Drake's songs which ended up on the Garden State soundtrack. I highly recommend that you try to get yourself a copy of the song itself, because reading the lyrics of a song is like reading half the pages of a book. You get an idea of what's going on, but the experience is incomplete.

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To date, I haven't really given any direct musical recommendations, despite the fact that I spend a lot of time searching for and enjoying new music. Perhaps I'm a bit shy, and don't really want to make too firm a stand for something that somebody else may not appreciate. Plus, I'm sure there's resistance to scribing this down with a bit of permancence, because I'm likely to look back in the future and think "I can't believe I recommended that."

Therefore, this post is a bit of an experiment. As part of the perpetual amorphousness that charactertizes this weblog, I'm going to go out on a limb and make my first recommendation in Stars' album "Set Yourself on Fire". I know it's cliche, but the easiest way to describe Stars to the unfamiliar is by comparing them to another popular indie band; Death Cab For Cutie. Like Death Cab, it's clean and mellow electronic rock set against vocals with an uncanny ability to stir emotions through subtle emphasis and suspense. The twist is that Stars sports both a male and female vocalist, and they play against each other quite reminiscent of Ben Gibbard's work on The Postal Service. It's catchy, fun, and well-executed, and I recommend it.

Something which isn't quite so out of place in this context is a mention of song lyrics. I'm sure a few of you will figure out why.

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I promised a number of people, including myself, that I'd give a recount of my trip to Cape Canaveral and Kennedy Space Center for the New Horizons launch upon my return. It's a week later than I had hoped to deliver on that promise, but I'm sure the delay will be soon forgotten.

In summary, it was an amazing experience, and one that has re-energized my enjoyment of the work that I do and given me a great deal of personal satisfaction in the work I have done. Before the launch, everything seemed abstract and escoteric. Who cared the smallest iota about interstellar dust? But now, after all the media attention, I need only mention one thing: "We're going to Pluto!".

I can't thank the SDC group enough for the company during the week down in Cocoa Beach. Nothing beats hanging out with a bunch of like-minded engineers and physicists, especially those who are laid back and fun loving. You made my trip.

So, without further adieu, I offer you the recount of my adventures. You may need to click the "Read more..." link to see the rest.

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Unfortunately, this post is photo-free, because I'm at work without access to my library. I may be present here at work, but my mind has already taken off to another place and time. Tomorrow at noon, I leave for Florida for 5 days of fun with good people, and more importantly, to experience an Atlas V rocket blasting off on its 9 year journey to Pluto. I'm going to bring my camera and take plenty of photos, and hope to have a story to tell when I return.

The past week has seen quite a flurry of activity surrounding SDC here at LASP, due largely to the efforts of our new EPO staff getting attention from the local media. On Tuesday, a reporter from the Daily Camera stopped by to interview the team for an article for the Sunday paper. On Wednesday, CBS channel 4 news came by to get some video for a short story on Wednesday night, along with a longer one slated to air the day of the launch. I'm feeling slightly famous and important, and the pride in my accomplishments has unexpectedly swelled.

Keep an eye on the news. You just might see me.

I can't claim to be the originator of the title of this posting; it belongs to the project manager for the CIPS instrument, Mark Lankton, who used it in reference to "Habemus Papam" ("We Have a Pope!"), the exclamation when a new Pope has been ordained. Peeping through the cleanroom window this morning, I saw the fruits of our labor over the past few years, standing upon its handling fixture. I'm not sure if it's beautiful, it actually looks like it's been through a lot and come out somewhat haggared, but it finally has a shape and an identity that existed only in our imaginations before. To be honest, I'm only faintly moved by it, having been stripped of ownership in its design and construction, though I do appreciate its significance to the team and to the lab.

Something that did move me, however, was the scene when I made the right turn from the bike path onto the gravel utility road on my way to work this morning. Looking westward, I was confronted with an intense rainbow set starkly against an inky black sky. The photo fails to capture the image in my mind, staring at the blackness where the foothills used to be, beguiled by the strip of color spread across the landscape, and stopping for just a moment to appreciate the serendipity.

Today marked my first useful escapade with the B.O.B. bicycle trailer my parents had given me for Christmas, after I had mentioned my uneasiness with driving my car 3-5 blocks to get my groceries each week. Not surprisingly, it turns out that using a bicycle trailer to replace a car is neither practical nor economical. Instead, using a trailer on a bicycle exemplifies the quixotic nature of Boulder and its inhabitants; doing something which belies better sense in the name of an honorable cause. And after my maiden ferry of vittles from Whole Foods to my home without gasoline power, I feel like I've found something good.

It's no accident that I framed the photo of my B.O.B. along with my car. It's my favorite "My other car is..." bumper sticker equivalent. I've never been a bike lover because I think cars are evil. For me, cars are intrinsically fascinating, an homage to inventiveness, excitement, and curiosity. I guess I feel like they're even a bit sacred, and using them for such trivial tasks as hauling an armload of groceries a few blocks betrays their true worth. So my car sits in the garage, reserved for twisty roads on Sunday mornings, full throttle benders on an open highway, and closing the gap to distant places.

It's a new year, an arbitrary landmark where we inevitably evaluate where we've been and where we're going. I don't make new resolutions this time of year, because I'm always making resolutions, and don't need an added burden at any point of the year. Right now, my mind turns to music, as it often does, and the soundtrack playing consists largely of Josh Joplin (who I really wish would tour again), with "Hard Year" and "Mr. New Year's Day", along R.E.M.'s "Bad Day". I guess that might be a bit melodramatic, probably a fleeting ruse, but I feel like the last year and a half has been a bit rough on me.

On the positive side, however, I went to Bill's New Year's party last night, which seemed like the first time in ages that we had gotten together to do something. I had a good time, not being a complete stranger due to a large contingent of paintball associates, along with some interesting new people to talk with. And I feel like it's a step towards making sure the next year isn't quite like those prior.

And now, for some song lyrics.

Josh Joplin-Hard Year

The sky is the color of white hot iron
The sun is long over due
The snow is falling, hopeless and perfect
And I am waiting for you
CHORUS: A new afterthought, a stupid idea
I stayed home all day, and wished you were here
It's been a hard year

No one is safe in a country of spies
The landlord is taking down names
This building is broken, it's windows are worthless
And no one ever complains
CHORUS

BRIDGE: The inks spots of birds shifting in flight
A long afternoon turns to night
And I see the sun through a crack in the sky
And just like that it all passes by
It's been a hard year

The front page pictures are already old
The dishes sit in the sink
Seven long days spent in bed
And I haven't slept a wink
CHORUS

I got sick late last Thursday, and today (Wednesday) I decided that it had lingered longer than reasonable, so I went to the doctor. I was told that the likely culprit was a secondary bronchial infection which auspiciously took hold during my initial infection. So I have been introduced to a new friend, a macrolide antibiotic known as Azithromycin. Hopefully I will be full strength tomorrow or Friday, but today, I enjoyed the down time.

And with that down time, I must say that I recommend Steve Carell's "40 Year Old Virgin". Maybe I relate. A bit.