It's (Once Again) the End of the World As We Know It

I've been remiss, I know. I'll see if I can be a better blogger this coming week.

As an amuse-bouche for a good week, here's a late-night/early-morning treat for you: a weather forecast of doom from the San Jose Mercury News!

This is slightly sinister, no? I'm not sure what is even sunnier than sunny, but I don't think it's a good thing. What is "and then some"? A tanning bed? A UV storm? A supernova? Twenty-four hours of daylight? Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria!

It's clearly going to be a week of Biblical significance in the Bay Area. I'll try to keep you posted.

Would You Take a Job at UCSC?

Fosco has to get up early tomorrow morning to make it to campus for a one-time seminar with a seriously important academic superstar. Said academic superstar is visiting UCSC tomorrow for a job interview in the History of Consciousness department and will be leading a seminar in the morning and giving a job talk in the afternoon. This is kind of exciting, especially since this academic superstar has done pretty important work in Fosco's specialty of queer theory.

And yet, as Fosco preps for this seminar, he can't help wondering: why would this scholar want a job at UCSC? Not that UCSC is Florida State or anything; but this scholar currently holds an endowed chair at the University of Chicago, one of the best universities in the country in one of the best cities in the country. Of course, it's entirely possible that this scholar is not realistically considering a job at UCSC and is hoping for this job offer as a bargaining chip to get a better deal from Chicago (sadly, that's the way the academic game is played). But assuming this scholar is actually interested in a job at UCSC, one might wonder what type of calculus goes into these kinds of decisions.

Just as an exercise in analysis, let's consider the comparisons:

• Location: Chicago v. Santa Cruz seems like a pretty easy choice; but let's consider that this scholar, like most of the major faculty here, would most likely live in San Francisco. Chicago v. SF is a much tougher call, especially if you take into account the difference in weather.
  
• Salary: UCSC will presumably be willing to pony up some cash here. But will University of Chicago be unwilling or unable to match it? I doubt it. In general, private schools (like Chicago) should be able to outspend public schools (like UCSC).
  
• Prestige: There is no question that U of C is much more prestigious institution--by a lot. However, this gap closes a little when you consider that the "History of Consciousness" department at UCSC has a pretty sexy academic reputation. Some of the most interesting and innovative contemporary thinkers in academia have been associated with this department over the years. Who wouldn't want to be in the (virtual) company of people like Hayden White, Donna Haraway, and Norman O. Brown?
  
• Resources/Facilities: UCSC is a public school in the middle of a major budget crisis. University of Chicago is a private institution with a largish endowment. Things here are pretty bleak financially; things there are, I would think, much better.
  
• Students: I don't want to be too harsh on the undergrads and grad students here at UCSC--many of them are first-rate (including people like Mere who any university would be lucky to have). But there is no question that U of C typically attracts higher quality students (on average).
  

Which means, I would have to think, that a decision to take a job at UCSC must be primarily about San Francisco or its weather (or some combination of the two). Of course, this is all speculation and there could be plenty of idiosyncratic reasons for preferring one job or institution over another. However, this kind of academic job-related decision-making process has always been quite fascinating to Fosco.

Live Dry (My New Motto)

Yesterday was a big day in Santa Cruz, as our humble downtown hosted the finish line for Stage 2 of the Tour of California bike race. That means that literally hundreds of viewers of the Versus channel got to see our town in all its hippie glory.


Sadly, it was an absolutely miserable day for a bike ride--in the middle of a "winter" storm that dropped almost six inches of rain in three days on Santa Cruz. Not to mention the high winds that presumably battered the peloton throughout the stage (which started eighty miles north, across the Golden Gate Bridge in Sausalito). But at least bikers aren't pussies like golfers and the race went on as scheduled (maybe it has something to do with the drugs?).

The Tour of California is actually a pretty major event, especially this year. Fosco used to follow pro cycling pretty closely and he can assure you that there are some really big names in this race. Essentially, you can think of the field as Lance Armstrong and Levi Leipheimer, plus a bunch of famously disgraced drug users (Floyd Landis, Tyler Hamilton, Ivan Basso, &c.).

How does Fosco know so much about these druggers? Well, mainly because a lot of these guys were his cycling heroes in previous years. And that should explain why Fosco doesn't really pay much attention to the sport anymore. It's just too dirty. Sadly, there are even days when Fosco doubts the purity of King Lance. (Although on good days, Fosco still believes that, as this article noted years ago, Lance Armstrong is just a physical freak of nature.)

Despite his disillusionment, Fosco had been planning to be on the sidelines near the finish line yesterday. I mean, how often does Lance Armstrong ride through your town? But then the weather got in the way. The older Fosco gets, the more he becomes like his mother: completely unwilling to get rained on. And while Fosco loves and admires Lance, it isn't worth getting wet to see him go cycling by (assuming I could see him at all in the peloton; and also assuming I would recognize him in full gear at that speed).

After making the decision to stay home, Fosco was trying to think of people he would be willing to stand in the rain to see. Not even Barack Obama makes that list. Actually, I don't know if anyone makes that list--no one living, at least.

UCSC on Colbert Report

UC Santa Cruz researchers have named a local elephant seal after Stephen Colbert. You can read all about "Stelephant Colbert" in this UCSC press release--humorously titled "I am elephant seals (and so can you!)" Well, the shameless bid for publicity paid off because last night on "The Colbert Report," Stephen led off the show by acknowledging UCSC (sort of) and his eponymous elephant seal:

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Stelephant Colbert the Elephant Seal

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Paul McCartney Appearance

Funny Political Videos
More Funny Videos

True, Stephen does actually call us the "University of Santa Cruz"; but that's close enough, right? And how about the graphical shoutout to the Santa Cruz Sentinel? This may be the most national exposure Santa Cruz has had since it was "Murder Capital of the World" back in the 1970s.

You know, last year Fosco had tickets for the hike to the beach at Año Nuevo State Natural Reserve to see the mating elephant seals. Sadly, it was pouring rain on that day and Fosco just let the ticket go to waste (as if he would hike two miles in the rain!). Maybe he should try again this year--especially since it no longer seems to rain in Santa Cruz. Imagine the great pix of Stelephant Colbert that he could get (because I'm sure that elephant seals all look very different from each other--just like Jonas Brothers...).

Surfing the Times

Someone on the New York Times editorial staff has a hard-on for surfers lately. In the last week, the Times has had two online front-page feature stories on surfing. However, Fosco doesn't really blame them. After all, Fosco lives just a few blocks from one of the most famous surf spots on the West Coast and he finds the whole sport/pursuit pretty fascinating (although the physical attractiveness of most surfers has been greatly exaggerated).

Fosco's favorite surf story in the Times actually dates from 2006. It was this article on the intrepid surfers of Lake Erie. Fosco is a Midwesterner by birth, and so he finds it fascinating that surfing is possible on one of the Great Lakes. And here's an image that has stuck with Fosco for over two years:

It was the kind of day that lives mostly in Cleveland surfers’ fantasies. Pushed by the storm’s winds, water the color of chocolate milk rose 10 feet in the air before slamming onto a beach of boulders and logs. The temperature was 40 degrees and falling. One surfer, Vince Labbe, climbed onto his board only to get blown backward by 40-mile-an-hour winds.

"Water the color of chocolate milk"! I love that image. It's absolutely disgusting. But at least the waves must be nice, right? Well, not really.

The strongest winds and waves come in winter, just before Lake Erie freezes. Waves up to 10 feet have been surfed, but the largest swells are usually chest-high. Instead of curling into a vertical wall, the waves are round like haystacks, and they collapse onto the shore like soggy paper.

Wait. It gets even worse.

Surfers learn to avoid ice chunks the size of bowling balls. Some wear goggles to surf through freezing rain, which can sting their eyes like needles. That is a bad idea, Mr. Labbe said, because the goggles freeze to their faces.

Surfers watch their friends for signs of hypothermia, urging them to leave the water when their eyes glaze over and their words slur. Ear infections are a common affliction.

And you thought Pacific "surf bums" were deluded... Surfing in Cleveland is clearly an insanity on par with something out of the DSM-IV (or Mormonism).


Happily, the Times published a second article on the Great Lakes surfing scene last week, with an article on surfing Lake Superior. Believe it or not, surfing Superior is actually colder than Erie.

“It’s warmer in the water,” said Markus Barsch, 21, a tree trimmer from Ashland, Wis., and one of a dozen surfers who had shown up to shred on a 20-degree day.

Surfing in a snowstorm may sound like a direct route toward hypothermia or certain death. But on Lake Superior, where surfers ride all months of the year, thick wet suits, gloves, hoods, booties and petroleum jelly smudged on exposed skin all form a protective shell against the crushing cold encountered by wave catchers in what is one of the world’s most unlikely surfing scenes.

What do you even say about something like that? Except "jeez."

Yet if you prefer warmer waters for your surfing, there are other dangers, according to today's Times article on the surf gangs of Oahu. It seems that the famous surfing sites on Hawaii's North Shore are under the control of a surf gang called the "Wolfpak." Seriously. However, before you laugh too hard, you should know that these are guys to take seriously:

The most notorious member is the group’s enforcer, Kala Alexander, a professional surfer with muscular tattooed arms and “Wolfpak” inked across his knuckles. In 2007, Alexander starred in “The 808,” a reality television series about the Wolfpak and the North Shore, and appeared in the films “Blue Crush” and “Forgetting Sarah Marshall.” But he has also gained fame for YouTube videos that show him pummeling surfers on the sand several years ago.

“The code is to respect other people,” Alexander, 39, said. “People come over here and don’t respect other people. You’re going to run into problems if you do that.”

That is what happened to Chris Ward, a 30-year-old professional from San Clemente, Calif., and runner-up to Kelly Slater last month at the Pipeline Masters. In November, Australian publications reported that Ward cut off a local surfer while riding a wave at Pipeline. He was banished to the beach, where a Wolfpak member smacked him in the head. Without providing details, Ward confirmed that the incident happened.

Dude, you so can't cut off another surfer. Yet while all of this may sound either a bit silly or a bit dangerous (depending on your temperament), there are those who argue for the necessity of gang control of the best surf spots as a way of keeping order:

As surfing has become increasingly popular, some say fear of violent reprisal ensures order and safety at congested and perilous surf spots like Pipeline.

“It’s a dangerous environment, and without a self-governing control pattern it would just be chaos out there,” Rarick said.

[...]

“It was crowded when I came here,” Alexander said about Pipeline. “A lot of people in the water, not much respect. Where I grew up on Kauai, you respect everybody in the water, especially your elders. Don’t step out of line. We just brought that mentality over here.”

Hey, remember the episode when Paulie said that about the Newark garbage business?

Actually, Fosco's favorite part of the article was his discovery that his (recently-married) college roommate Derek Ho was actually a surf star in Hawaii before Harvard:

At the time there was a void in the Pipeline lineup as those who regulated the waves during the 1990s, like Derek Ho, Johnny Boy Gomes and Marvin Foster, had grown older and moved on.

You know someone for fifteen years and this kind of thing still comes as a surprise.

Your Santa Cruz Weather Update

From that Weather Channel, here is this week's forecast for Santa Cruz:

Getting a little cold at the end of the week. Winter must be coming back. I'm glad I got some new gloves.

I wonder how the weather is elsewhere.

Your Santa Cruz Postcard

Warmish (low 60s) and sunny here today. Down at the beach, tide was really low, revealing some rocks that are underwater most of the year. Either this means a tsunami is coming or it means a tsunami is not coming.

Say, readers, what's the weather like where you are?

I can see your death...

Everything about America is now best expressed using a red and blue map, even your risk of dying from a natural hazard. For the purposes of this map, a natural hazard is anything weather- or geology-related (tornado, flood, earthquake, rockslide, snowstorm, Jim Cantore, etc.) Or, if you live in Kentucky, a natural hazard is what God sends to punish the gays. Either way, your risk of dying in one can be calculated (especially if you are gay--okay, not really).

At any rate, scientists have done the work (so you don't have to!) and have produced the following "death map":

Just as on any recent political map you've seen, blue is good and red is bad. The blue counties are counties in which people are less likely than average to die of a natural disaster. The red counties are more likely than average. The white counties are average. Gets it?

A few noteworthy observations:

• The lovely Bay Area is a big blue splotch (including Santa Cruz). What that says is that, even with our earthquakes, we're still outliving the rest of y'all.
  
• There is further evidence that Utah sucks.
  
• Getting stabbed by a smack-addicted tranny hooker is apparently not a natural hazard, because Las Vegas is a white county.
  
• Alaska and Hawaii are not included because neither state has ever reported a death from natural hazard (although that Greg Brady surfing incident was a close call).
  
• Arkansas is almost completely red, presumably because ATV accidents often involve some natural component (e.g., tree branches, dirt ramps, ponds, raccoons).
  

You may now plan the rest of your life accordingly.

Your Santa Cruz Postcard

A RIDDLE
Q: How can you tell when it's winter in Santa Cruz?
A: The tropical flowers are still blooming.

Suck it, snowmonkeys!

Your Santa Cruz (Mountains) Postcard

From the Santa Cruz Sentinel:


Take that, South Bend.

Your Santa Cruz Weather Update

Yes, it's hailing.

Why Fosco has a cold today

Yesterday evening was the first rain of the semester and so... well... things get a little weird here at UCSC when it rains.

As Gadamer once said: a tradition isn't really a tradition until there is nudity involved.

I think Gadamer also asked (in Truth and Method I believe): how many of your students have seen your penis?

Instant Karma

Remember yesterday's post, in which Fosco snottily disparaged less-pleasant climates and mentioned his perfect day at the beach? Well, all of the non-residents of Paradise can be pleased that Fosco has received his comeuppance for his weather-related haughtiness.

The picture below is not a photograph of two-thirds of a carton of curiously-hairy Neapolitan ice cream; rather, it is a picture of Fosco's upper thigh taken this morning:



Note the stark demarcation between the skin that was covered by Fosco's shorts yesterday (generally known as the groinal approach) and the skin a bit farther down (known today as ON FIRE!).

OWWWWW!!!

Fosco plans to spend the rest of the day as he did the morning: alternating between whimpering and smearing himself with aloe gel. Cooling aloe gel...

It's Not Raining Men

When Fosco was a youth and he lived in Rust Belt, MI, what kind of summer weather was worth complaining about? Usually, like 93 degrees with 85% relative humidity.

And when Fosco lived on the East Coast? He remembers some summer days in the Mid-Atlantic in the high-90's that were complete murder.

But, as everyone knows, complaint weather is relative. Now, living in Coastal California, it seems that it is entirely appropriate to complain about a... cloudy day.

In fact, such a cloudy day is worthy of an article in the regional newspaper of record.

Of course, this is not to say that the weather in the Cruz isn't odd... There is this whole marine layer that sits on the coast most mornings before the sun burns it off around noon. And even then, it lurks over the MoBay, waiting to return that evening. Fosco has been told that this marine layer is what keeps the coastal temps low, for which he is thankful.

It turns out, however, that the Santa Cruz area is something of a climatological curiosity. Fosco doesn't quite understand the science of it all, but it somehow involves a pressure inversion that produces a "Santa Cruz Eddy." You can read all about it in this journal article, written by Stanford researchers.

Oh, and incidentally, the forecast was correct: today was a beautifully sunny day and Fosco spent the afternoon on the beach.

And in the interests of full disclosure:

Fosco's friend is meteorologist Norm Sprouse with whom he is very close and whose advice he cherishes.