What are the realities of drilling in the coastal region of the Arctic National Wildlife Reserve (protected area of Alaska)?
Best sources......
Corn, M. Lynneand Bernard A. Gelb. "Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR): Controversies for the 108th Congress." Congressional Research Service. The Library of Congress.
Brown, Patrick. "Preserving Wilderness vs. Stimulating Economic Growth and Ensuring the Security of U.S. Oil Supplies: A Study of the Arguments for and Against Drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge." Critique: A worldwide journal of politics. Providence College. Spring 2005.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Presidential Debate Live Blog: International Relations
Foreign Relations....yet another time for the candidates to use the same phrases they've used for months.
7:02 McCain: How economic stress will affect our nation's ability to be a peacemaker. Obama was wrong about the surge. "We don't have time for on-the-job training." Never heard that one before.
7:03 Obama: How economic stress will affect our nation's ability to be a peacemaker. McCain says there's a lot of things I don't understand. That's true. I don't understand how we invaded Iraq in the first place. . . That's at least the second time Obama's said that this debate.
7:07 McCain: How would you use military force? Requires someone with a cool hand and knowledge. President Reagan, my hero. Reagan's who we have to thank for all this deregulation.
7:09 Obama: Should we pursue Al Quaeda in Pakistan? We should end the war in Iraq so we can focus on Afghanistan. We have to change our policies in Pakistan. We can't coddle a dictator.
7:12 McCain: Teddy Roosevelt was my hero. Wait...wasn't Reagan your hero? How many heros are you allowed to have? "Use force and carry a big stick...but talk softly." Not exactly the quote, but I'll take it.
7:02 McCain: How economic stress will affect our nation's ability to be a peacemaker. Obama was wrong about the surge. "We don't have time for on-the-job training." Never heard that one before.
7:03 Obama: How economic stress will affect our nation's ability to be a peacemaker. McCain says there's a lot of things I don't understand. That's true. I don't understand how we invaded Iraq in the first place. . . That's at least the second time Obama's said that this debate.
7:07 McCain: How would you use military force? Requires someone with a cool hand and knowledge. President Reagan, my hero. Reagan's who we have to thank for all this deregulation.
7:09 Obama: Should we pursue Al Quaeda in Pakistan? We should end the war in Iraq so we can focus on Afghanistan. We have to change our policies in Pakistan. We can't coddle a dictator.
7:12 McCain: Teddy Roosevelt was my hero. Wait...wasn't Reagan your hero? How many heros are you allowed to have? "Use force and carry a big stick...but talk softly." Not exactly the quote, but I'll take it.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
This I Believe . . .
I remember the wheelchair the most.
And the white blanket that was always wrapped around his shriveled legs. The way his mouth contorted when he spoke. The way he bossed everyone around. And how he yelled and yelled.
“Lu!!!!” he would shout across our house, like a dog-owner calling a disobedient pet. “Lu!!!!!”
“I’m right here,” my grandmother would say with a warm smile as she strode to his side.
Sometimes she would only be a few feet away.
It was hardly a good first impression.
I met my grandfather when I was 7. I mean, I’m sure we were introduced long before when I was younger, but that was the first time I really met him.
Papa Ed we called him, and from the minute I laid my 7-year-old eyes on him, I knew I hated him.
I saw how he treated everyone in our family. Barking out orders. Everything was about his needs – what he wanted. He even yelled at me. I couldn’t help but hate that old man in the wheelchair.
He died not long thereafter, crippled by cancer from a lifetime of smoking. I wasn’t sad, even though everyone at the funeral talked about how great of a loss it was. All I could think about was much better off my grandmother was now that he was gone. How much better off everyone was.
When I was young, I made a mistake.
I never really met Papa Ed. After years of fighting a debilitating and painful disease, I had met the ghost of a man that had died long before. And yet I judged him. I couldn’t help but wonder how my father could have grown up with this man as his father. Years of stories around the dinner table taught me the inaccuracies of that first impression. He had been a well-respected rocket scientist. He had been a loving father, and a caring husband.
I never really grasped the power a first impression can have until I pored over the whole story a decade later. I always suspected there was something important about first impressions – otherwise my mother wouldn’t have harped on the subject before every job interview. I just didn’t know the extent.
I based entire perception of who my grandfather was on a few short moments. Looking back, I’m filled with regret. I regret not mourning my grandfather’s death. I regret being so quick to judge a man who had to endure the mental pain of knowing his days were numbered in addition to physical pain he felt.
And that is why I believe everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. Every time I meet someone for the first time, I try to remind myself that I’m only meeting their avatar, the brief Cliffnotes version of who they are. Or simply an extension of how they’re feeling at that particular moment. I think everyone deserves a grace period, and if they mess up, a second chance.
Because sometimes that first meeting is all you get.
And the white blanket that was always wrapped around his shriveled legs. The way his mouth contorted when he spoke. The way he bossed everyone around. And how he yelled and yelled.
“Lu!!!!” he would shout across our house, like a dog-owner calling a disobedient pet. “Lu!!!!!”
“I’m right here,” my grandmother would say with a warm smile as she strode to his side.
Sometimes she would only be a few feet away.
It was hardly a good first impression.
I met my grandfather when I was 7. I mean, I’m sure we were introduced long before when I was younger, but that was the first time I really met him.
Papa Ed we called him, and from the minute I laid my 7-year-old eyes on him, I knew I hated him.
I saw how he treated everyone in our family. Barking out orders. Everything was about his needs – what he wanted. He even yelled at me. I couldn’t help but hate that old man in the wheelchair.
He died not long thereafter, crippled by cancer from a lifetime of smoking. I wasn’t sad, even though everyone at the funeral talked about how great of a loss it was. All I could think about was much better off my grandmother was now that he was gone. How much better off everyone was.
When I was young, I made a mistake.
I never really met Papa Ed. After years of fighting a debilitating and painful disease, I had met the ghost of a man that had died long before. And yet I judged him. I couldn’t help but wonder how my father could have grown up with this man as his father. Years of stories around the dinner table taught me the inaccuracies of that first impression. He had been a well-respected rocket scientist. He had been a loving father, and a caring husband.
I never really grasped the power a first impression can have until I pored over the whole story a decade later. I always suspected there was something important about first impressions – otherwise my mother wouldn’t have harped on the subject before every job interview. I just didn’t know the extent.
I based entire perception of who my grandfather was on a few short moments. Looking back, I’m filled with regret. I regret not mourning my grandfather’s death. I regret being so quick to judge a man who had to endure the mental pain of knowing his days were numbered in addition to physical pain he felt.
And that is why I believe everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt. Every time I meet someone for the first time, I try to remind myself that I’m only meeting their avatar, the brief Cliffnotes version of who they are. Or simply an extension of how they’re feeling at that particular moment. I think everyone deserves a grace period, and if they mess up, a second chance.
Because sometimes that first meeting is all you get.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Diagnostic Essay
Every time I walk through the hallway that connects the living room to my bedroom, I always glance at the same photo on top of a file cabinet standing guard nearby. The photo of my family at Game 6 of the 2002 World Series in Angel Stadium (then called the Edison Field of Anaheim) is one of my favorite photos because it takes me back to that magical night, drops me into a seat, hands me a pair of “Thunder Sticks,” and inevitably puts a smile on my face. Just a quick glance and I’m back. But of course, that’s nothing special. All photos capture moments and make them easier to remember. What makes this photo different is the power of the feelings that it captured, that it makes me feel and re-live those feelings every time I see it, and most importantly, that it does the same thing for the three people closest to me.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve seen the picture so many times or because it was such a powerful and memorable experience (probably a bit of both), but I can easily recall the picture by memory. We stood with our arms around each other’s shoulders – Dad, myself, Mom, and my younger brother from left-to-right – in the Upper View section, and the meticulously manicured infield and Right Field line shone below us. We were dressed completely in red. We didn’t own any red Angels gear then (the team had just switched from their primarily blue uniforms that season) so we wore the reddest clothes we could find. I was wearing a new hat that I had just bought at the start of my freshman year in High School. My dad was holding a pair of the “Yes We Can” Thunder Sticks they gave to all 45,000 fans in the stadium. And it was loud. Everyone but me had white cotton balls in their ears because it was so loud. The game was about to begin.
Although we were all smiling when that photo was taken, we wouldn’t be for long. The Giants scored 3 runs in the 5th, added another in the 6th, and another in the 7th. The Giants led the series 3 games to 2, meaning a victory would make them World Series Champions. I was about as depressed as you could possibly be. I remember feeling a stabbing pain in my stomach like I hadn’t eaten in days.
The Angels came to bat in the bottom of the 7th down 5 to 0. One quick out. I wanted to leave. Troy Glaus singled. Then Brad Fulmer. The Rally Monkey, the Angels loveable mascot, came hopping onto the DiamondVision. Thousands of fans stood up and started cheering, swinging stuffed monkeys above their heads. I was almost too depressed to notice, but I knew I had an obligation to root for my team, and I started to cheer along with them.
Then the impossible happened. Scott Spiezio hit a 3-run home run down the Right Field line, the same Right Field line captured behind us in the picture. I’ve never yelled louder, jumped higher, or slapped as many hi-fives with complete strangers. And neither had my parents nor my brother. The home run sparked a rally, and the Angels would eventually win the game 6-5. The comeback was the largest in World Series history for an elimination game. They would go on to win Game 7 as well; becoming the first World Series Champions in franchise history.
Meaningful photos allow us to re-live powerful events. Photos capture moments and create a tangible experience. But perhaps most important, is that you can share that experience with others. Photos have an amazing power to strengthen bonds between people. Every time I pass the photo on the file cabinet on my way from the living room to my bedroom, I remember the joy, wonder, depression, shock, and amazement of that incredible night. I also remember that every time my family passes that photo, they feel it too. And inevitably, I smile.
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