hallworks's Xanga

Posting

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 22:33:05 GMT

I promise to post soon. Don't delete my blog Xanga!

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Wed, 11 Jun 2008 22:31:36 GMT

I'm bringing Xanga back - drop a comment if you're with me!

Jive Turkey

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 23:47:47 GMT

Thanksgiving is, by far, my favorite holiday of the year.

My family doesn't do much for Christmas, and during that time, we are often scattered all over the place.

Thanksgiving is the one time where my entire six-sibling family has the same goal in mind -- food and family fellowship.

They especially like the food part.

My mother is the only person in my life, right now, who appreciates the value of sweet cornbread, not this crackling cornbread that they try to push on you on the Southside.

I have the good fortune of having brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, and parents who can cook extremely well. Whenever we all get together for a meal, I am usually treated to heaping portions of mouth-watering desserts, tantalizing sides, and savory meats.

The variety of meats is always a sight to behold. At least a dozen creatures of the land and sea usually meet their fate at our dinner table. Of all the meats I look forward to, however, turkey is at the bottom of the list.

Since the inception of Thanksgiving, turkey has been an obligatory food, much like bitter herbs at Passover. Nobody likes the bitter herbs, but they eat them every year, nonetheless.

The same goes for turkey. I've met plenty of people who say they like cornbread, mashed potatoes, yams, and even cranberry sauce, but I've never met anyone who blathers on about how great turkey is.

First of all, turkey is about the most inconvenient bird to prepare, next to cooking an ostrich whole. Turkeys can weigh up to 25 pounds, take almost an entire day to prepare, and take up your entire oven in the process.

Turkey is so big, that there is no way humanly possible for even a large family to eat a whole turkey in a single sitting.

On day one, the turkey starts off as single entity. When it's warm and out the oven, it's okay, but not as good as ham, chicken, or ribs. By the second day, the turkey has had about 12 hours to sit in the refrigerator. It's colder and a little drier than the first day, but still fit for human consumption.

By the third day, the gravy and juices that once marinated the turkey have congealed to the sides of the pan. At this time, the turkey has most likely fallen pray to younger cousins and siblings who don't know how to properly operate a carving knife.

The hacked-up appearance of the turkey by day four is not visually appealing and by now, the gravy-Jell-O that has to be scooped on top of it to make it palatable isn't too pleasing, either.

By day five, if the turkey legs have not been eaten, the turkey is no longer something that can be sliced, but rather, a mass of crumbly turkey pieces that has to be harvested onto your plate.

By day six, people are no longer eating the turkey, but using it in turkey-based by-products, such as turkey salad, turkey soup, and turkey stuffing.

By the seventh day, the turkey is unrecognizable and you start to question whether you were really eating turkey at all.

If they could find a way to genetically shrink turkeys to the size of chickens -- which I believe are much tastier fowl -- I think I would enjoy turkey more. Turkey, however, is more of a holiday drudgery rather than a delicacy.

Furthermore, in the 250 years that Americans have been eating turkey at Thanksgiving, we really haven't found too many ways to spice it up.

I've seen fried turkey, baked turkey, and those slices of lunch meat that people call turkey, but that's it. I've eaten about 50 different variations on chicken which were all tasty and interesting in their own way.

Maybe it's untraditional, maybe it's even un-American, but until turkey gets a little more exciting, I'm going straight for the ham at Thanksgiving time.

Perhaps the biggest Jive Turkey of them all

The other side of the mountain

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 18:36:16 GMT

I've noticed that a lot of my columns are about travel. I guess part of the reason is because traveling to exotic places is one of the things that I miss the most about the life I had before working at a daily newspaper.

Don't get me wrong, working in Clayton County definitely takes you off the beaten path. During the course of my reporting, I've visited a goat farm, followed around Civil War re-enactors, installed insulation into walls, tailed politicians on a golf cart around Lake Spivey, dodged lunchtime traffic in Riverdale to interview picketers, and visited just about every church in the county.

My weekends aren't always as exciting, though. The crazy stuff I am asked to do in the middle of the week usually leaves me completely drained by the weekend, and sometimes I have a tendency to shut down.

When I lived in Japan for two years as a wage slave, my weekdays were stressful, too. To combat this, on the weekends, I would often pack three pairs of socks, three pairs of clean underwear, two shirts, and just take off wherever my economy-sized Japanese car would take me.

Sometimes, I would go to the ocean. Sometimes, I would look up in the mountains and see a plume of chimney smoke and follow it to the source. Sometimes, I would just get lost and find my way back.

I don't do that too often anymore. Gas is expensive, the mountains aren't so close, and there are a lot of places in Atlanta where you don't want to get lost. However, I got a chance to see some mountains again last weekend in Dahlonega, Ga.

Coming from Virginia Beach, Va., where everything is as flat as a pancake, and the highest peak around is a 100-foot-high mountain of trash (ingeniously named Mt. Trashmore), I always appreciate the mountains whenever I am near them.

Until last weekend, I had no idea that Dahlonega existed, but it really is a gold mine, literally and figuratively.

Only about an hour north of Atlanta on Georgia Highway 400, Dahlonega is actually the site of the first American gold rush, predating the 1849 gold rush in California. This quaint little mountain town sits atop a rich vein of gold, which is still being mined today.

I had no idea what to expect when I got there, but I fell in love with the town as soon as I crossed the bend and saw the Appalachian Mountains. I was starving by the time I got there, so the first thing I went to look for was food.

I stumbled upon the Smith House, an old fashioned inn, sitting on top of what was once a gold mine. In the far wing of the house, a glass barrier stands between you and the bottomless pit in which the miners once explored for gold ore.

On the bottom floor of the inn, the Smith House offered a smorgasbord of Southern-fried delicacies. For about $20, you are seated at a long oak table with complete strangers and offered mountains of fried chicken, ham, and pot roast, alongside mounds of creamed corn, mash potatoes, fried okra, and collard greens.

Passing around baskets of buttered rolls and cornbread, I felt camaraderie with the man across the table adjusting his pants and praying to make it through dessert.

After about two hours of food and conversation, I realized the day was quickly escaping me. As I waddled into the town square, I saw many people, young and old, shopping, eating, and enjoying life in this picturesque mountain village.

In a short distance, I was able to find all the things I crave when I am in Clayton County. An antique book store, a privately-owned coffee shop with an open mic night, a small private theater company, and a independent instrument store with sheet music, blues harmonicas, and just about every string instrument worth buying.

I was really amazed that all of these treasures existed only an hour away. It's easy to stargaze and dream of far off places, but going to Dahlonega reminded me that there are still adventures in my own backyard.

Bonking gracefully

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 18:25:54 GMT

My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, and my '92 Grand Marquis was running low on the $3-a-gallon gas that I had pumped into it that morning.

My mind was adjusting to the ending of daylight-saving time, and my body was coasting on a six-pack of mini-donuts and a bottle of orange juice, the only thing resembling food that I could purchase at the BP gas station on my way to Suwanee.

A few months earlier, I had scored a huge opportunity -- a chance to perform on the upcoming CD of an internationally-known, Atlanta-based jazz artist. Last Sunday morning, I drove up to a Suwanee recording studio for what would be an ill-fated session.

It's not like I didn't prepare. The week before, I had gone to the studio's web site, recorded the address, Google-mapped the coordinates, and left a half an hour earlier than the estimated driving time suggested.

The studio was on Buford Highway, which I now know is named Buford Highway because it goes all the way to Buford, Ga., north of Suwanee. The web site did not specify on which side of the expansive highway the studio was located, and I found myself on Buford Highway northeast rather than northwest, where I was supposed to be.

After getting minimal help from the studio engineer over the phone, I was able to make my way to the correct side of Buford Highway, and into the studio about 15 minutes late.

That was just the beginning of everything that went wrong.

When I entered the studio, I was expecting to see cigarette smoking, shade-wearing jazz musicians banging away at notes, anxiously awaiting my presence to begin the session. Instead, I was alone.

In the empty recording room, a thick sheet of soundproof glass was all that separated me from the artist, and the sound engineer on the other side.

Rather than a jam session, it was a "me" session. Under absolute scrutiny, my part was to be patched into the pre-recorded soundtracks, which I would have to listen to over headphones.

It was something I wasn't made aware of ahead of time.

I had recorded in the past, so while caught off guard, the idea of being patched in didn't bother me. However, when I opened up my violin case, my bow -- my $500, perfectly balanced, handcrafted, Brazilian Pernambuco wood bow that I bought when I decided to take music seriously -- was not in my case.

A large knot gathered in my stomach. I realized that I had left the bow on a piano in a practice room back in Clayton County, while practicing the night before.

I swallowed my screams. My thoughts strayed from my music to the idea of some jerk walking away with something precious to me that I couldn't easily replace.

I had two other bows to choose from in my case; the bow I used in elementary school, which was missing half the hair and chipped from sword fights in music class -- and a cheap, completely unused bow that came with an electric violin I had bought in Japan.

I had no choice, but to use the bow with hair. However, it was new, synthetic hair that wouldn't take to the rosin (hardened tree sap) required to keep the bow from sliding on the surface of the strings.

My violin was essentially strangled. I tried my best to play what I had rehearsed, but the artist wasn't satisfied. After playing the same four bars twenty times in twenty different ways, I was asked to pack up my case and go home.

Defeated, unpaid, and driving on fumes, I returned to Clayton County. I went to Best Buy and played Guitar Hero 3 for about an hour, so I could feel like a star and reflected on my missed opportunity to make it to the big time.

I felt like one of the many artists who have been booed off the stage at the Apollo. However, that same stage has produced Stevie Wonder, James Brown, Michael Jackson, and many of the artists whom people consider great.

Perhaps, it was a learning experience, a sign that I need to practice more, or just a terrible, random chain of events. However, some of the best artists are the ones who can bounce back.

I'll redouble my efforts and be ready when the next big opportunity comes along. In the meantime, I'll content myself with being a rock star on the Xbox 360.

An old friend

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 18:14:43 GMT

Music has always enhanced my life. It did in elementary school, when I got to leave school for half the day twice a week for a special music program in another county.

It enhanced my life in high school, when I got to perform with the Southeast Virginia Youth Symphony and meet one of my musical idols, Yo-Yo Ma.

In college, it gave me a lot more to talk about than the average student who spends his or her weekend drinking. Instead, I performed with Latin pop bands at Plaza Fiesta off Buford Highway and at high society dinner parties at sprawling mansions on Peachtree Battle.

When I left college and took an English teaching position in Japan, locals immediately took notice of my musical talents, putting me on stage in front of 1,000 people to perform a concerto with the school's music teacher -- only weeks after arriving there.

A few months later, I met a mandolin player from Alabama (who just happened to live in Japan with his Japanese wife) as well as a dobro player from Boston who worked at a Japanese technology company. We formed a bluegrass band called the Iide Mountain Boys.

Pronounced "ee-dey," Iide is the largest mountain in the Ou Mountain Range of Yamagata Prefecture, the snow-filled bowl that I lived in for two years.

In addition to playing at local senior homes, community centers, and a Japanese County Music Festival filled with ten-gallon-hat-wearing, Confederate-flag-waving Japanese people, I was also asked to play an outside concert during a fierce blizzard on a stage made of ice.

While playing music has thrown me into some awkward and odd situations, it has also opened up a lot of doors for me and introduced me to a lot of interesting people. It has also provided a source of balance in my life.

Usually, a good way to tell when my life is off balance is when it is devoid of music. Confronted by the gargantuan task of balance my job at the newspaper and having a life, I was starting to feel off balance until a recent opportunity came along.

About two months ago, without ever hearing me play, a local jazz artist asked me to play violin on several tracks on an upcoming jazz CD. This opportunity came about purely on the recommendation of a friend who is a backup drummer for the band.

I was honored that this sought-after jazz artist wanted me to be on the CD, but about a week after I said yes, I was terrified, because I was terribly out of practice. My violin case, a constant companion that defended me from bully attacks in my childhood and took me halfway around the world, had been sitting in my closet, practically unused for almost a year.

This was one of those opportunities that doesn't come along very often and I knew that if I didn't want to embarrass myself, I would have to put in some serious time in the practice room.

When I opened the case, it was almost like visiting a long-forgotten relative. I was hit with a rush of memories of adventures my violin and I had taken.

I came across my "spiralblock" and it brought memories of my dreaded lessons with Frau Gorzinska, my insanely strict Austrian violin teacher who left me wanting to smash my instrument after every lesson.

I came across a congratulations letter and a concert program from my senior recital. I remembered how three years ago, I was able to put on a well-attened, hour-long concert at the Schwartz Center for Performing Arts. But, by the way I fumbled through pieces I had once played with little effort, I realized that I had my work cut out for me.

For the first few weeks, I was frustrated and almost angry that I was made an offer that I couldn't refuse. However, I eventually realized that God was giving me a chance to cultivate my talents once more.

Most people are blessed with many talents, but often let them go to waste due to lack of money, time, or just out of pure laziness. However, some incidents in life spur us in our side and remind us just how much we are capable of when we apply ourselves.

While I still have some butterflies about it, I think that I'll be okay.

Overcoming fear

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 18:09:31 GMT

Pablo Casals, the famous Spanish cellist and conductor, preceded Yo-Yo Ma as the world's preeminent cello virtuoso. Until his death on Oct. 22, 1973, his skills on the cello were unmatched in the music world, and he had a long list of awards and honors to prove that.

Many people do not know that Casals struggled desperately with stage fright throughout his entire life. For a long time, nobody was better than Casals, but every time he made his way to stage, his palms became sweaty and his stomach tied up into knots.

I've listened to many Casals recordings, and it is amazing to me that someone with such flawless musical prowess could ever doubt himself.

While I am no Casals, either in music or writing, I recently found myself confronted by the same demons.

Recently, I found myself struggling to wake up in the mornings and do my job of being a journalist. I spent a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of restless mornings staring at my ceiling fan, dreading the tasks that were ahead of me.

There are a lot of things that go on behind the scenes of journalism that people who haven't worked in the media have no understanding of. Some of those things are wonderful and some of those things I wouldn't wish on anybody.

For one thing, a lot of people count on you, not just to do the work, but to get it done accurately and quickly -- all the time.

It's not like a lot of other jobs where you have an "in" box of tasks that can spill over into the next day -- if necessary. Ninety-five percent of the time, journalists operate in a state of now, and that's a lot of pressure.

There are many people who call and ask you to look into something, but there are many more who try to intimidate you into doing a story. Occasionally, I'll get ten phone calls and a slew of e-mails from a person with a particular ax to grind.

Those individuals attempt to rake the coals of what they see as investigative journalism, never realizing that we have to deal in absolutes, because the ultimate responsibility -- and liability -- of reporting a story falls on our shoulders, not theirs.

There's also the precarious tightrope that we walk with the public.

We have to know our sources, but not get too friendly with them for the fact that, at any time, we may have to write something unflattering about them. The very things that we are most passionate about are sometimes things that we can't have an opinion on, so that our fairness is not called into question.

There is also the great expectation that our writing will change the world for the better, somehow, when often, all we can do as journalists is highlight the problems of society.

Before I ever picked up a notepad and said that I wanted to be a journalist, I was a musician. I went to college and got a degree in performance, so I have a deep understanding of performance anxiety as it applies to the music world.

I never imagined that as a journalist, I would be confronted by the same issues.

It makes me think of all the people in history who were confronted by things that were bigger than themselves.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was only a year older than myself when he was asked to take over the Montgomery Bus Boycott in the 1950s. Solomon of the Bible was chosen over all of his older brothers to lead the entire kingdom of Israel. Nelson Mandela spent the majority of his prime imprisoned, but started a revolution from his cell that led the country out of nearly 50 years of Apartheid.

I am sure that all of those great leaders had many restless nights, but they were all chosen to lead because they had talents and gifts that applied to those areas. While nothing I do here compares to what they did, perhaps I have been put here for similar reasons.

It is easy to doubt yourself and to fear making mistakes, but a very wise man once said that an expert is only a person who has made every possible mistake in a very narrow field.

Whenever I feel the walls of anxiety closing in, I will remember that God has equipped me with the skills to do all that lies in front of me.

Secular government is better

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 17:56:22 GMT

One of the more interesting movies that I have seen in the last few years is "V for Vendetta."

Directed by James McTiegue, who worked behind the scenes on such moviesas "The Matrix" series and "Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of theClones," the movie describes a post-apocalyptic society in which manyof the world's major governments (particularly the United States ofAmerica) have collapsed.

In this movie, the one bastion ofcivility left in the world is the United Kingdom, which is ruled by atheo-fascist dictatorship that enforces curfews, controls the media,and polices morality.

Interestingly, though, the oppressive ideology in the film is not Shari'a (Islamic Law) or Communism, but rather Christianity.

Inthe movie, a strict interpretation of Christianity is forced down thethroats of the masses, so much so, that the main character, V, resortsto terrorist tactics to bring down the system.

Watching themovie, I wondered what kind of people would want to force one religiousideology on such a religiously diverse society.

Then I startedpaying attention to buzz around the 2008 United States presidentialelection, and realized that there are many candidates who want to dojust that.

It is important to note before I continue that I am aChristian with moderate political beliefs, and that, while I lean tothe left on some things, I definitely lean to the right on others.While I follow the majority of Christian principals, as an American, Iembrace the rights of those who do not share my views to live andworship according to the manner that they see fit.

I can'thelp but notice that, in this election, there are individuals who wouldlike to see all Americans follow the same Christian view, even thoughthis country has always been a place for people of many religions, orof no religion at all.

In the last several years, there has beena rise in the emergence of "values" candidates, running campaigns basedon the religious dogma of their voter base, more so than what theyactually plan to do to make America a better place for everybody.

In2000, while running for office, President George W. Bush, when asked ina debate who the greatest philosopher and thinker in history was, saidJesus Christ. At the time, it seemed quite an odd thing to say, butnowadays, candidates have started to express much bolder visions of aChristian America.

Arizona senator and presidential candidate,John McCain, is currently embroiled in controversy over a remark thatAmerica is a country founded on Christian principles, and that hewouldn't vote for a candidate who wasn't a Christian. Anothercandidate, Fred Thompson, remains in the spotlight for his negativeviews on gay marriages.

Kansas Sen. Sam Brownback, who recentlywithdrew from the presidential race, raised several eyebrows over hisinsistence on teaching Intelligent Design in schools, and his rigidviews on abortion.

Through these and others, one can see thatmany candidates have shifted from promoting pragmatic solutions toAmerica's problems, to promoting what makes Christians feel better. Thetrouble in that is that America is a country filled with Christians,Jews, Buddhists, Muslims, Atheists, and Agnostics -- many of whom havedifferent sexual orientations and follow their faiths with varyinglevels of enthusiasm.

America is now facing the same choice thatIslamic counties have been facing for centuries: to have a seculargovernment, or one based on strict religious principles.

EmoryLaw professor and Islamic scholar, Abdullahi Ahmed An-Na'im, arguesthat for democracy to exist, it must be secular and that non-seculargovernments actually cheapen religion by forcing people to follow itagainst their own free will.

An-Na'im says that governments canbe both religious and secular. For America to continue to be ademocracy, its leaders will need to create legislation that considersthe needs of all of its citizens, not just the ones who go to church.

The tao of a nerd

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 17:48:16 GMT

Recently, while finishing up one of my stories and listening to Chopin's Piano Concerto No. 1, in E minor, Op. 11, on my Sony Walkman, I learned from a fellow co-worker that I am officially a nerd.

So what? Nerds rule the world, just ask Bill Gates, George Lucas or Kanye West. They control what we see and hear, and even the mediums through which we do either.

Just think ... you are reading this column right now, so there. That's why I'm not afraid to do unabashedly nerdy things like go JapanFest in Gwinnett.

I had known about the event ever since coming to Atlanta in 2000, but had never gotten around to attending. I was always too busy. That hasn't changed, but this year, I decided to get myself out there, even if I had to battle samurai and ninja forces to get there.

Now JapanFest is not as nerd-tastic as an otaku convention (a gathering of individuals obsessed with Japanese animation), but it does bring out its fair share of eccentrics. You get your blond-haired, blue-eyed Americans wearing traditional Japanese outerwear, such as kimono and yukata (a more casual, summer version of the kimono), as well as a few of your cosplay folks (people who dress up as characters from Japanese cartoons and video games.)

It's a good thing that I was completely in my element. Before getting in my car and heading to Gwinnett, I unpacked a present that was given to me by an incredibly nice, elderly Japanese couple that semi-adopted me during my two-year stay in Japan.

The present was a jinbe, a kind of short set version of the yukata, worn during festivals and special occasions. I knew that if there was anytime in an American context that this uniform would be appropriate, this would be it.

I suited up, but not before praying to God that I wouldn't be pulled over and have to explain to the police officer why I looked so ridiculous.

Driving up I-85 North, my self-consciousness subsided and I actually felt quite comfortable driving on the Interstate in what was basically a bathrobe. As I made it closer to the convention center, I felt like I was returning to a home I hadn't been back to in a long time.

Somehow, I was able to convince some of my friends to meet me up there, so I wasn't alone in dork solitude. In fact, as I made my way to the gate, I found that I fit right in.

People were taking pictures and throwing the familiar "peace" sign that Japanese people seem to do in all their pictures no matter what the occasion. Girls were wearing cat ears, wooden sandals, and Hello Kitty accessories.

When I made my way inside, the venue was sweaty, crowded, and confusing, but it had many of the things I had been missing. I had a nutritious lunch of unadon (barbecued eel on rice) and washed it down with a can of calpis, a Japanese drink that tastes better than it sounds.

I also came upon what I miss the most about Japan -- hilariously awkward advertisements that occur when native Japanese speakers translate literal concepts into English. One advertisement that almost made me shoot calpis out my nose was an advertisement for Toto, a Japanese company which makes toilets.

A huge poster with the words, "Clean is Happy" featured a line up of different people of different nationalities, all with exposed rear ends. Each international tooshie had a smiley face painted on it, to illustrate how your behind feels after it is treated to the heated toilet seat, the bidet, or any of the other 30-some electronic features on Toto toilets.

My fondest memory of JapanFest, though, was when I noticed a former Fulbright scholar trying to teach a young boy how to use a kendama, a simple Japanese toy. It's basically a mallet with a pointy stick on top that is attached, with a string, to a wooden ball with a hole drilled in the bottom.

The point of the game is to position the ball onto the mallet using only momentum. There's a trick to getting the ball onto the stick, but the child failed miserably several times.

Being a nerd, I had a spare kendama in my bag and showed the boy -- as well as a small crowd that had gathered -- how to do it correctly. I guess the cool thing I learned about being a nerd that day is that you can be a teacher, too.

It's a small world, after all

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 17:34:15 GMT

Anyone who knows me very well knows, one of my guilty pleasures is maps. I love maps and have loved them since I was a child.

As a kid, I would pour through world maps, street guides, subway maps, nautical coordinates, globes, or anything else that broke the world down to scale.

My favorite maps were the ones that included terrain. I could run my finger over the Himalayas and know that they were larger than the Alleghenies. One of the maps I owned even had a gritty, sandy surface in places like the Gobi Desert, the Sahara, and the Sierra Nevada.

I had copies of the Mercator world map, which gives an unrealistic size bias to the Northern Hemisphere and copies of area-proportional maps, which showed that South Africa is really seven times the size of Texas and that the continent of Africa can accommodate three North Americas.

One of the more interesting maps I owned was a map of the Austrian U-Bahn, the subway system of Vienna. The map included routes of the trains and street trolleys that ran over it.

The system was so perfect. I was told by a teacher, who gave me the map, that the U-Bahn, with only six subway lines, could get people anywhere they wanted to go within the Vienna city limits in under 30 minutes.

I guess the reason I loved maps so much is because I have always had dreams of traveling to foreign places. The desire to travel comes from the fact that I have spent most of my life walking.

For the majority of my childhood, my parents never owned a car, and even when I was in middle school and we did have a car, we only had one car -- which my father took to work. It wasn't until after college that I owned my own car, so I have spent many hours walking for insane distances, waiting for inconsistent buses, and scowling at people who drive cars.

When I got to college and finally had the resources and means with which to travel, I got a little travel happy, taking jobs and internships wherever my passport would allow. Now it's been about six years since my first international flight and I have seen my fair share of the world.

Traveling anywhere outside of your neighborhood is enriching in many ways, but world travel is life changing. There are many positives, such as the ability to order food in several languages, a basic understanding that the world is bigger than America, and an understanding (and even tolerance) of cultures other than your own.

I guess the only negative is that it makes you an extremely nostalgic person. My home, car, desk, desktop, key chain, and even my MP3 player all bear keepsakes, given to me by precious people, who made the biggest difference in my life for small increments of time.

At times, when I am staring into the blankness of my computer screen, I imagine being able to travel and see those people again. Sometimes when I come home from work, I sift through my world atlas and retrace the steps I have taken.

That is why I was so intrigued when I recently discovered Google Earth. I had heard about the software several months ago, when it became available to the general public.

It took me a couple of months to pick up on it because I got busy with the job I currently have. However, about two weeks ago, I downloaded the software and I've been hooked ever since.

Google Earth does what no other map or mapping system has ever done, in that it really breaks the world down to scale. With a few simple mouse moves, you can zero in on any place in the world.

The technology is incomplete, in that the pictures are dated and there are many geographical areas that have not been clearly mapped. In many of the metropolitan areas, however, the detail is such that you can make out individual cars and even large trees.

The potential for the technology is great. I'll be waiting for the day that I will be able to see one of my friends waving to me from another country, or look at my father's car in the driveway to make sure that he made it home safely.