Reposting from something I shared with a local Bozeman listserv:
The local unit of the Forest Service has released its draft forest plan which will guide the administration and development of forests surrounding Bozeman, Big Sky, and Livingston for the next 10 – 15 years. The Forest Service is seeking comments from the public on this document as it begins developing planning scenarios. If you care about how our nearby forests are managed, I’d encourage you take a few minutes to share your opinion with the Forest Service.
If you have an opinion regarding the portion of our nearby forests designated as “primitive” (no motorized/mechanized travel), or for motorized versus non-motorized use, this is your “speak now or hold your peace for the next 15 years” moment.
Gallatin Valley’s population will increase by at least 50% between now and the next iteration of the forest plan. It’s important that this plan provide sound guidance for managing our forests as demand for recreational use increases (50%+ increase) commensurate with our population growth while preserving our forests and recreational opportunities for future generations.
The plan section describing the Forest Service’s “Recreational Opportunities Spectrum” for motorized and non-motorized uses across the whole of both Custer and Gallatin National Forests is on page 75. The motorized/non-motorized areas for the Bridgers, Bangtails, and Crazies are described on page 134, and for the Madison, Henrys Lake, and Gallatin areas on page 139.
The most useful comments will be those which can be directly incorporated into a planning scenario. E.g.:
“Create a scenario in which at least 66% of forest acreage in the Bridger/bangtail and Crazy Mountains Geographic Area is designated for non-motorized use.”
“Create a scenario in which the full extent of the Madison, Henrys Lake and Gallatin Mountains Geographic Area currently designated as Wilderness Study Area is Recommended Wilderness.”
Unfortunately, the article is sensationalized to the point of being misleading and misses the real story: not that we’re growing, but that we have a say in how we grow. People read the article come away thinking “omg Bozeman is going to be as big as Salt Lake in 2041!” which just plain wrong. The SLC urban area has 1m people and the Wasatch Front is home to 2.5m people. Even assuming an exaggerated population growth rate of 4%, it’ll take 80 years for the city of Bozeman to grow to 1m. Wilkinson plays word games with his reader, comparing the population of Gallatin County to the portion of SLC contained within the historic city boundaries—by which logic “Salt Lake City” has a population of less than 200,000, rather than the 1.19m+ reported by the U.S. Census Bureau. City to city, Bozeman’s has 45,250 residents to SLC’s 1,186,000. Region to region, Gallatin County has 105,000 residents to the Wasatch Front’s 2,468,000.
Wilkinson’s article centers around putting some actual numbers theoretical growth rates. The “Rule of 72″ makes it easy to estimate how long it takes for a population to double: just divide 70 by the integer compound growth rate. At 2% growth, the population doubles every 35 years (70 / 2 = 35). At 3%, we double every 22.5. At 4%, we double every 17.5.
Gallatin County’s growth rate is 2 – 3%, not the 4% that Wilkinson claims (nor the 8% that he absurdly intimates). Over the past 40 years, Bozeman’s growth rate has been 1.81%, and Gallatin County’s 2.53% (source: Bozeman Transportation Master Plan, 2016).
Bozeman’s recent Transportation Master Plan provides a table of various estimates of population growth, based on the rates provided by an assortment of professional demographers:
To the best my knowledge, the estimates above are based on demographic trends alone. Bozeman’s growing distances from where the majority of people live to the city’s primary amenities (downtown, the GVLT trail network, etc), combined with growing traffic congestion, diminishing air quality, crowding at Bridger Bowl and at the trailheads are all actively reducing amenity value of living in Bozeman, even while housing prices (especially in the parts of town with ready access to the city’s best amenities) continue to climb. Moreover, Bozeman’s recent dramatic growth has been fueled in part by the rapid growth of the MSU-Bozeman student population headcount, growing from 12,000 to over 16,500 in the span of the last decade–a trend which is not projected to continue. All of these factors are likely to depress Bozeman’s growth rate in addition to demographic reversion to the mean. Bozeman’s growth rate from 1970 to the present was < 2%, and sober professionals seem to think that this is the growth rates of 2 – 3% will prevail in the foreseeable future.
At a 3% growth rate, it’s over 75 years before Gallatin County hits the 1m mark. At 2%, it’s 115 years.
And let’s consider these numbers in a little bit of context. To read Wilkinson’s description, SLC-like levels of population will bring doomsday and the apocalypse all in one. While I’d rather live in Bozeman than SLC, I’ve considered SLC, and my friends who live in SLC are happy and active, and enjoy their lives substantially as much as I enjoy mine. And let’s not forget that, as Bozeman/Gallatin County grows to 200k+ by 2040, the Wasatch Front is expecting to grow to 4.7m.
The real story (that Wilkinson somehow misses completely) is that the impact of this growth will vary dramatically based on the policy and land use decisions that we make. If we grow at current Gallatin County density rates (approximately 0.7 acres per person), we’ll convert 100,000 acres of land from agricultural use to housing and commercial use as Gallatin County’s population doubles in the next 25 years (for context, the developed extent of the city of Bozeman is currently ~10,000 acres, and the “triangle” area from Bozeman to Four Corners to Belgrade ~50,000 acres). If we develop at Portland, OR levels of density, doubling our population in Gallatin Valley would only 14,1477 of additional land being converted for development. At current Bozeman densities, we’d convert 20,000 acres of land.
In my view, the real story here isn’t that we’re growing, and growing quickly–but rather that we have a choice in our land use and development patterns, and those choices will do more to determine the impact of that growth than the rate of growth.
To get a sense of what this looks like, consider the two growth scenarios below, excerpted from the the excellent “Gallatin Triangle Planning Study” published and hosted by Future West. The areas in yellow and orange show new development / land conversion.
The first scenario is likely growth between now and 2050 based on a planning policy that favors dense development (densities like current Bozeman density):
The second scenario shows growth based on the densities prescribed in the Gallatin County growth policy:
Of the two, one of the Gallatin Valleys looks much more like a place that I’d like to live in 50 years. We have that power, and we have that choice. You can start help today by making sure you vote in Bozeman’s municipal election (Mehl, Cunningham and Areneson all support growth policies that favor dense, sustainable development), voicing your opinion to City and, especially, County Commissioners, and spreading the word.
President Trump has issued an executive order declaring a “review” of the national monuments established in the last 20 years. Many (including myself) fear this “review” is a pretense for dramatically reducing the scope of federal protection for many of America’s most historic and inspiring lands.
The review requires a public comment period, which is open from now until May 26th. You can read more about our public lands and submit your own public comments from this Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance page:
My comments are below. I would encourage you to submit your own today!
Bears Ears National Monument contains scores of thousands of archaeological resources of significant historic interest. These lands and riches warrant the highest measure of protection. The area’s estimated 80,000+ ruins, rock art, and other remnants of the area’s human history prior to the arrival of Europeans deserve protection both from willful removal or destruction as well as from destruction by natural resource (or even recreation) development. No one disputes this statement. At issue is the size and boundaries of the monument, and whether the current border are the “smallest area compatible with proper care and management of the objects to be protected.”
I have myself spent weeks hiking the mesas, canyons, and valley floors of Bears Ears National Monument. I’m less acquainted than many living in San Juan County, but more familiar with these lands than most voicing an opinion in the matter.
I agree with the Utah Diné Bikéyah that the current boundaries of Bears Ears do not adequately protect the objects to be protected. This is true for two reasons. First, the current boundaries exclude a significant concentration of the area’s ruins and archaeological sites. Second, significant scale is in and of itself required for the proper care of the fragile and precious resources contained within.
The current national monument boundaries exclude many areas rich with human history, including Recapture Canyon and Montezuma Canyon. I spent part of April exploring and camping in these areas outside of Bears Ears. In both canyons I found both a dense concentration of remarkable relics from the Ancestral Puebloans–impressive structures, and many pieces of beautifully glazed pottery and enigmatic earthenware. The Utah Diné Bikéyah sought protection for these areas, and rightfully so. The current review should consider expanding the boundaries to protect these areas.
Boundaries drawn only to the edge of concentrations of archaeological sites are of little value for conservation. During my recent month in the area, I noticed a dramatic difference between the ruin sites located close to roads and developed areas, and those protected by a buffer of wild space. The more accessible areas were aseptic, denudes the blanket of traces of habitation (pot shards, piñon nuts, corn cobs and the like) present at most backcountry sites. As awesome and impressive as many of the area’s structures are, it is the rich detritus of everyday life–the pot shards and remnants of cultivated corn–that creates a compelling and profound sense of connectedness to those who inhabited these lands before us.
Allowing looters and uninformed visitors to gather and steal these vestments of collective history fails the “proper care and management” test. One management option would be monitoring or patrolling (an approach taken elsewhere, such as Mesa Verde National Park). Given the vast dispersion and number of the area’s 80,000+ archaeological sites, protection via law enforcement is an unaffordable fantasy. A more realistic management approach is to pad these sites and their objects with additional protected land, limiting access to those who value these fragile sites enough to work to get to them.
It is, of course, proper that locals have a voice and say in the management of the lands in which they have greatest stake. A quick glance at the demographics of San Juan County (which you don’t see reflected in the membership of the Stewards of San Juan County) is that approximately half the county’s residents are Native American. The BENM monument enshrines into law a process that gives the tribes who inhabit (or whose ancestors inhabited) this area a real voice in the use and management of these lands.
It’s also proper that those living outside of San Juan County have a voice in the use and management of these lands. Do not all American’s have a stake in our national parks, national monuments, and all our federal lands? This in the purpose and ingenuity of our federalist system of governance, that the desires of a few can be balanced against the interests of the many. I ask only that, in the great tradition of democracy, my voice be given weight equal to all others expressing an opinion, and that the majority opinion be heeded.
I first visited Comb Ridge six or so years ago, during a rambling summer of exploring Utah’s nooks and crannies. My atlas marked a small archaeological site a mile or so off of the nearest dirt road. Intrigued, I hiked off into the trail-less wild to have a look for myself.
I remember very clearly that moment of surprise and delight when, rounding a corner, I suddenly and unexpectedly stood in front of structures built into the wall ahead. I still carry with me that feeling of novelty and discovery from finding shards of clay pots (still bearing the imprint of the woven reeds used to make it) and the small husk of a cob of corn, abandoned some 800 years before. Here before me, quite out in the wilds, were the artifacts I’d been accustomed to seeing in display cases at Mesa Verde or Hovenweep.
That powerful and profound experience still inspires a sense of connectedness and admiration for the Ancestral Peubloans who inhabited that canyon grotto many years ago. It’s that same experience that inspires my current desire to become an advocate for and defender of the newly appointed Bears Ears National Monument (which contains Comb Ridge).
That same inspiration has brought me back to the desert. I was lucky enough to have a fascinating but sobering conversation this morning with Josh Ewing, Executive Director of Friends of Cedar Mesa. Expecting a sense of triumphalism, his deep unease and concern caught me off guard.
“Being named on the internet is the death of an archaeological site.”
As an advocate for the conservation of the area’s archaeological resources and sites, he describes the situation with Bears Ears as being “likely the worst possible situation.” Publicity for the monument is dramatically increasing visitation (including to many sensitive archaeological sites). Unfortunately, there is no concomitant allocation of resources to meet to flood of visitors. Suddenly, the very precious resources that inspired the protection of the monument are in immediate danger of being loved to death. The little structure for for educating visitors on visiting archaeological sites respectfully is not yet in place.
Ewing described to me the sobering and disappointing experience of recently revisiting one of his formative sites, a site that inspired him to fall in love with the area and dedicate himself to its conservation and preservation. “Ten years ago,” he tells me, “the site was thick with pot shards and artifacts. On my recent visit, there was not a shard to be found, a wall of a structure had been pushed over and destroyed, and people had been digging in the kiva.”
The BLM has limited resources for education and conservation. Given the charged politics of the situation, the BLM is hesitant to act. Congress is threatening to defund any activities associated with Bears Ears. Although the inclusive process for creating a management plan is laudable, it will be years before a management plan is in place.
The best approach for the time being seems to be to funnel visitors toward the areas with the least danger of being impacted, or the areas where private organizations and the BLM can appropriately greet visitors with education on respectful visitation.
It’s important that we, while acting as advocates, find ways to promote a message of respectful visitation.
In January and February I burst my ski ego. Racing for CMU’s ski team humbled me, being both out-skied and out-drank by a group of fun-loving undergrads. East Coast ice is tricky, especially after 4:00 am Fireball shots. Oh, college.
Practice at Seven Springs
Mark, taking his "senior" run at Sawmill.
Sloane, showing off her bases at regionals.
March brought me and friends to the Arizona for a hairball trip down the Upper Salt River.
The Upper Salt River Crew
The landscape we traveled through remains my favorite of river passageways. Pity we only managed the first 20 miles of it, owing to a certain incident in which I flipped my boat and lost the oars during the very first stretch of river where we weren’t stuck on rocks. Camilo’s ingenuity and paddle-guiding prowess saved the day, along with Anne’s optimism, Saskia’s graciousness, Jason’s steadfastness, Jon’s fun-loving enthusiasm, Gordon’s hearty good cheer, and Sagar’s selfless support of his friends (dispite near hypothermia, stomach illness, closed roads, flat tires, and other mishaps).
Anne takes in the morning desert on our last day
The trip coincided with my brother-in-law Tory’s 40th birthday, providing a wonderful occasion to celebrate him and reconnect with coworkers from Arizona Pain Specialists.
Happy 40th Birthday Tory!
My light load in January and February to accommodate travelling every weekend to a ski tournament corresponded to a heavy load in March and April that nearly sunk me. I made it out (and, to the best of my knowledge, passed all of my classes).
Hope's a doctor!
May took me to Seattle to celebrate Hope’s graduation from med school and for a sailing trip to Blakey Island with quadlings.
The Blakely Island Crew. Thanks, Gordon, for hosting!
I spent the summer working for CREATE Lab under Randy Sargent, building visualizations of environmental data on a planetary scale, e.g. the animation below of the seasonal advance and retreat of vegetation (green = vegetation, white = no vegetation). I loved the work, and the lab challenged me every day to think about the values I brought to work and how to affect positive change.
Austin? Austin. I went to Austin to revel in Erik’s last days of bachelordom. Austin is a super fun place. Enough said about Austin.
I spend most of the winter, spring and summer running. I’m not surprised by this, given the lack of mountains around Pittsburgh. I ran the Pittsburgh Marathon in Boston-qualifying time in May, and attempted to outrun old age in July by participating in the Never Summer 100k ultramarathon with TJ.
I should note that after the 100k race, I’ve barely run (or done anything active) at all. Good riddance.
Despite the day’s lows and highs (literal and figurative), I failed to outrun old age, which found me on July 26, in the company of good friends and amazing food (Abram, those squid-ink steam buns with pork belly still haunt me).
September brought me back to Colorado for Erik and Amanda’s wedding. Although I’m not much one for weddings, Erik managed to squeeze a lot of fun into the weekend, in addition to the lovely ceremony. I’m privileged to have been a part.
This fall I upped my concert photography game, taking concert photos for The Cut Magazine and The Tartan Newspaper (both CMU student publications). I’ll miss Pittsburgh’s amazing access to live music.
Metric at Thrival in September
Lucius at Mr. Smalls in October
Somewhere along the way I’ve fallen in love with transit and transportation. This summer I published a project on Pittsburgh’s bus’s that picked up some local press coverage (including Pittsburgh’s mayor). In October, I found out that I had my first academic paper accepted for publication in the Transportation Research Record (TRR Paper …).
And, somewhere along the way I fell in love with Pittsburgh. The city is gritty and burgeons with character. Old, diverse, up-and-coming, and fun, Pittsburgh is a real treat of a city. My suggestion for the future: let’s round off Colorado at an even fifty 14ers, and move the extras next to Pittsburgh.
I enjoyed sharing Pittsburgh with my parents in May, and my siblings, Rachel, Andrew, Grace, and Judah this fall.
My dad, at the National Aviary
Judah, Jenny, and Grace on the Rachel Carson Bridge
I’m not sure I fell in love with Pennsylvania in the same way that I fell in love with Pittsburgh, but I did enjoy poking around in its hills a bit.
In December, I wrapped up my time at Carnegie Mellon University, having learned the skills I had set out to acquire, broadened my mind and worldview, and having made a host of wonderful friends.
Students walk across the Randy Pauch Bridge on the CMU campus
Anne, Abram, Sagar, Jon and Ken surprised me for graduation, appearing in my local bar and leaving me (to this day) entirely flabbergasted.
This fall I interviewed for a bunch of jobs I didn’t want, before finally interviewing for one I did actually want. As luck would have it, they liked me as much as I liked them. I’ll be starting as a transportation data scientist with High Street in May.
Once again, 2016 was book-ended by soul-searching and snow-playing with friends in the Montana backcountry.
The past two weeks have been a whirlwind tour of PA, WY, CO, AZ, MT, CO, VA and DC. I’m currently packing my bags in preparation for departing to France for ten weeks of furiously skiing uphill wearing spandex.
I’ve included here only a thin sliver of the friends and experiences that enriched my life in 2016. I’m grateful for the privilege of grad school and all my friends and peers who I made and miss already.
I was hungry. I went to the pantry. All I found was a box of penne noodles. Okay, that’s a start. Add noodles to a pot of salted boiling water, then back to homework for ten minutes.
[ten minutes later]
Okay, noodles are done. What’s in the fridge? Empty, except for a few cans of Duquesne Pilsner, a big tub of mayo, and a sad looking bottle of sriracha. Money.
Back to the pantry. Let’s see. Black beans? No. Tomato paste? Not going to help. Oh, what’s this pile of packages? Maybe a pesto mix packet? Too much to hope for? Hollandaise sauce mix, hollandaise sauce, and, oh! a foil packet of tuna. Probably ten years old. Fine. This stuff never expires, right?
This is going to be weird, but who cares? I’m hungry. Nobody is going to judge me.
Hey! This isn’t terrible. More mayo. More noodles. A minute in the microwave to bring everything up to the same temp, then it’s back to homework with weirdly-satisfying sustenance.
A casserole is born!
Mark’s Saturday Night Casserole
Time: 15 minutes (5 active)
Serves: 1 desperate college student
1 lb penne noodles, cooked a la dente
1 package or can tuna. Preferably at least five years old.
1 oz desperation
Put mayo and siracha in bowl and stir with fork to combine.
Add tuna and mix.
Add pasta, and stir with fork until pasta is coated.
As many of my friends are aware, I’ve spent the last number of years honing my pizza craft. It’s still a work in progress, but I think I’ve made strides in the right direction. My friend Kelli provided a generous write-up of my pizza a few years back.)
I wrote out the current state of my recipes for a school recipe book this afternoon. I thought I’d post these dough and sauce recipes here, as well, in case anyone else is interested in making great pizza at home!
For Pittsburghers, all of the ingredients below can be obtained at the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company in the Strip District. PennMac is worth visiting, in its own right.
Pizza Margherita (Photo credit: Kelli Donley)
Prep Time: 3 days (2 hours active)
Dough ball (see recipe below)
Red sauce (see recipe below)
Fresh basil, 10 – 12 leaves
Fresh mozzarella, one 8 oz ball
Two hours before baking, remove dough balls from refrigerator and allow to come to room temperature
One hour before baking, place baking stone in oven on the highest rack, turn oven to highest heat setting. Allow oven to preheat for 60 minutes before baking.
Flour counter and dough ball generously. Flatten dough ball to 13 – 14” diameter circle (there are lots of good instruction videos on YouTube for this step, or use a rolling pin)
Ladle 1 c. red sauce onto crust
Arrange basil and mozzarella on crust in random pattern
Transfer to baking stone, and bake 6 – 8 minutes (depending on oven temperature) until cheese is boiling and crust is lightly brown
Note: if you do not have a pizza stone, you can use a baking sheet. Preheat the baking sheet in the oven and remove immediately prior to placing pizza on baking sheet (using extreme caution). Place crust on pre-heated baking sheet, then build ingredients on the crust.
An extended cold fermentation in the refrigerator develops better tasting crust. This recipe is best if made three days ahead of time, but is still good if made the morning before baking.
Yields 5x 345g dough balls
Time: 2 hours (30 minutes active)
1000 g “00” bread flour (this can be obtained from PennMac or online)
650 g Water at 80 * F
1 tsp active dry yeast
30 g olive oil, plus 20 g water
20 g salt
10 g diastatic malt (optional—promotes browning when baking in home ovens which do not get as hot as real pizza ovens)
Combine flour, 650 g water, and yeast in the bowl of a stand mixer. Cover and let stand for 20 minutes
Add remaining ingredients. Using stand mixer, knead dough using dough-hook on medium-high speed for 8 minutes
Remove dough to lightly floured counter, and divide into five portions of 325 – 350 g each
Fold portions into balls and let rest, covered, for 20 minutes
Stretch each ball and fold back into ball shape. Place in greased 1 qt container
Place dough balls in refrigerator and allow cold fermentation for up to three days before use
Time: 15 minutes
Yield: ~ 1 quart sauce
28 oz can whole san marzano peeled tomatoes, drained, then crushed
3 tbsp tomato paste
1.5 tsp salt
juice of one whole fresh lemon
1 tsp thyme
2 tsp fresh oregano
pinch black pepper
1 tsp garlic powder
2 tbsp Fresh Basil
Bring sauce to a simmer. Hold at a simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add basil.
As part of preparation for an upcoming interview, I’ve been prompted to think about instances where I’ve had a personal impact. One instance that comes to mind is the struggle for The Procrastinator Theater’s home in the Strand Union Building. I led the student fight to ensure that the renovated building had the projection booth necessary for the projection equipment that provides a “theater experience” when viewing movies at ASMSU Procrastinator Theater on the Montana State University campus in Bozeman. This is just one story in the countless annals of individual contributions by committee directors to the joint history and success of student government provided services at MSU.
The Procrastinator Theater is a student-run movie theater on the campus of Montana State University, Bozeman. “The “Pro” is service of Associated Students of Montana State University (ASMU), and an organization of which I was steward for a year. Established in Linfield Hall 125 in 1991, “The Pro” has become an MSU campus institution, showing independent and second-run movies, and hosting events like the annual Rocky Horror Picture Show. Beloved by students, it’s fun, cheap, and a good alternative to drinking in the dorms.
For its almost-20-year history prior to my arrival, the Pro had operated out of an old lecture hall in the Ag building (Linfield 125), with a projection booth built in the back that accessed via a rickety ladder.
Running The Procrastinator for a year was the most fun job I’ve ever had, and I did it well. Relative to the year before, in my year attendance doubled (the first year-over-year increase in attendance in ten years) while net operating costs declined, thanks to some combination of Ryan Flynn’s creativity and pre-show entertainment, increasing screenings and marketing, the addition of a concessions operation, and engaging with community partners (including the Bozeman Film Festival) to bring more events and attendees into the theater.
At that time, the Strand Union Building (SUB) was in the midst of getting a much-needed face-lift. One of the major selling features in the campaign to get the generation of students prior to mine to vote to tax themselves $60 / year (or, future generations of students, rather) to pay for the building upgrade was the promise of a beautiful new theater for the Procrastinator, with new projection equipment, a bigger screen, and state of the art sound system. (And while the students dreamed of a new, beautiful film screening room, campus administration and facilities dreamed of a beautiful “showroom” auditorium for campus events.)
The Pro would move to its new home in the SUB the year after mine. My task was to lay the groundwork for a successful move. As I inspected the blueprints for the new space and discovered that, in the interval between when students had last been actively involved with the building design and the current plans, considerable changes had been made. In particular, Procrastinator Theater no longer had a projection booth.
The elimination of the projection booth was intended as a cost-savings measure, predicated on two assumptions (by facilities): 1) the movie industry would be switching to digital projection, and 2) as a consequent, the projection booth could be replaced with a ceiling-mounted, consumer-grade projector. These assumptions, it happens, were wrong on both points. Not only would it be five years before the non-theatrical movie distribution channel from which The Procrastinator rented its films would be able to distribute and screen digital prints, but also, when the conversion to digital occurred, and digital movie projectors are just as big, heavy, and hot as their analog counterparts. A ceiling-mounted consumer-grade projector would never be able to provide a theater experience. This came at a time when attendance at The Procrastinator had been in decline for ten years straight, reflecting the trend in the industry as a whole.
In short, we needed a projection booth—without which there wouldn’t be a movie theater. So I led a a charge to halt current construction in that part of the building and literally go back to the drawing board and to make a projection booth once again part of the construction plans. What happened? Well, three things:
I did my research. Was digital projection viable? If not, what would be required of the projection booth, and how could that be funded? There were lots of important details about HVAC and fire suppression, and what the minimum requirements were of a projection booth were to be able to show movies in the new theater.
It culminated with a final presentation with representation of facilities, the architects, the builder, and student government, in which I laid out the necessity for a projection booth, the architects presented their revised drawings, the builder presented the change request expense estimate, and student government presented its resolution to make it happen.
In the end, the change happened. Student government kicked in $31k, facilities matched this, and the final $31k came from the contingencies fund for the construction. When construction finished that summer, David Keto (the new ASMSU Films director) moved The Pro to its new home in the SUB, delivering on that promise that had been made to the generation of students before mine for a beautiful new home for the Procrastinator Theater.
Today, The Procrastinator has now been operating for 25 years. This week it’s showing Finding Dory, and still providing cheap, alternative entertainment to MSUs current student body.
In the end, student organizations have very little institutional memory. I’m not sure if the current director of the theater even knows there was a big fight back in 2007 for the space it now enjoys, and that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I loved that theater, campaigned intelligently and successfully for the theater, and today future generations of students continue to enjoy cheap, quality alternative entertainment on campus as a result.
Unrelated but related: in rooting through some old documents, I found my records of movie attendance figures for 2007 – 2008. Here’s a snapshot view:
Six months into learning to run, I guess I get to claim my first running injury. I sprained an extensor during a training run last weekend (on the brutal Rachel Carson Trail), and ran 36 miles on it yesterday. I wasn’t sure how it was going to hold up. Answer: not great. I can still discern the outline of an ankle, under that pulpy mass. Alas–I’m not alone.
Injuries are endemic to running–to the point, in fact, where many non-runners associate distance running with destroying one’s body. Some have blamed Nike (et al) and the advent of the modern running shoe–and in a sense, perhaps they’re right. I think that the surety of getting injured from running boils down to two things:
1) We’re not conditioned for what we set out to do. Not a lack of training, but conditioning. We’re creatures of comfort, knowledge workers, armchair jockies. It’s not the demands of running a hard race or pushing hard during a workout–it’s the contrast between being sedentary 92% of the time, and then making strong, specific demands on a body conditioned to the contours of an ergonomic desk chair. The body’s had no opportunity to develop the strength necessary to protect itself. (I herniated a disc in my lumbar spine in the same manner–throwing myself into trail work without adequate transition. It’s not that cutting on a two-man saw and lifting 100+ lb logs necessarily leads to injury–but it’s liable to if you’re a 140lb weakling with little recent experience lifting anything. The protective muscles just aren’t adequately developed.)
2) Modern shoes. They’re not the culprit–they’re just enablers. Modern shoes turn our feet into little tanks, and let us beat on our feet and our bodies in a way that evolution never prepared us for. Cushioning itself isn’t the enemy. Cushioning just allows the body to absorb bigger impacts. If running barefoot or in minimalist shoes results in fewer running injuries, it shouldn’t surprise–doing so also concomitantly results in fewer podium finishes. Refer to #1. Modern running shoes are technological marvels that allow us to exceed what was physically possible prior to their advent. If you want to spare yourself from injury, steer clear. Running shoes are aid. Running shoes are doping. Still going to strap those weapons of joint destruction to your feet? You’re going to get yourself hurt–but you just might pick up a few ribbons along the way. What were you saving your body for, anyway?
A letter arrived yesterday from the Social Security Administration. Making an exception to my usual mail-handling approach of letting letters wither, unopened, in a heap, I opened this government agency notice hastily. Instead of the bad news I expected (“Dear Mr. Egge, your Social Security Number has been revoked!” or, more probably, “Dear Mr. Egge, you owe us money!”), inside I found a notice of my paid social security taxes, and a promise that, someday, should I become disabled or retired, I will receive payments in kind. Nice!
I also found in this charming little missive a yearly summary of my entire taxed earning history. Apparently, yes, someone is tracking these things! Here the mail randomly brought me a document created by a government agency with fourteen years of information about my earnings. Being the data nerd that I am, I immediately entered this data into a spreadsheet and began creating charts.What correlations or insights might I find?!
But first: a brief digression into the ebb and flow of happiness through changing circumstance and the passage of time since becoming a sentient being (which I consider to have occurred for me at around the age 16). My last years of high school were golden. Breaking up with my high school girlfriend and starting college brought me bitterly low. Going abroad my sophomore year restored me. I returned with a new-found sense of self, and enjoyed three halcyon northern years rich with friendship, intellectual engagement, “college” shenanigans, and the occasional adventure.
The working world found me in 2009. My employer was generous but my situation was not: I worked hard at a stressful job and made good money, but struggled to find community. It wasn’t until I finally fled Phoenix that I recaptured happiness in life. Oh, Colorado–what a difference you made! Newly (financially) destitute from being the co-owner of a not-yet-profitable small business, I quickly found myself rich in community and adventure.
Something changed for me in 2014. All my life I’ve been a hack–smart, but listless and lazy. Maybe too smart for my own good–to the extent that I never really had to work hard for anything. I’ve skated by far more often than I’ve done things right. Without my deserving it, life and luck have nevertheless blessed me with opportunities, and I’ve been smart enough to never say “no.” But saying “yes” and succeeding on an above-average quantity of underutilized, directionless intelligence is a different thing from setting one’s course in life.
January 2014 found me running a small business by day, and slinging burgers and fries in the hot kitchen of a nearby bar at night. My hours between were spent daydreaming and sketching concepts, menus, and floorplans for restaurants. Bored of medical billing, I cast about for “what next,” and found myself flirting seriously with the idea of opening a restaurant in a mountain community, becoming a pizziaolo, and settling into the rest of my life as a committed ski bum.
A well-timed visit from a friend ripped me from my mountain-town torpor. Without intending to (or having any idea of the impact it would have), Bri reminded me of the world outside the snowy mountains. In a way, I appropriated her grad school and worldly aspirations, picking up studying for the GMAT about the time she left off. I studied for the GMAT through the summer while beginning, for the first time, to conceive of a path of my own in life.
Running the Rim Rock Marathon on November 1st, 2014 marked a change of epoch. My previous marathon attempts had been about as intentional as everything else in my life to that point–saying “yes” to opportunities, and then trying to skate by on natural ability. I didn’t finish my first marathon, and walked much of the last six miles of my second marathon.
The thing about marathons is that you can’t run a marathon on pure natural ability. One must train, be disciplined, intentional. And in the months leading up to the Rim Rock Marathon, perhaps for the first time in my life, I was. Disciplined. Intentional. The last six miles were (and remain) the toughest thing I’ve done–but I ran them in good time and finished because I’d trained and prepared for those last six miles. That day marked a manifestation of a change in myself long in the making, from my listless and lazy former self to someone who sets goals and works hard to achieve them. (It’s hard to be happy in life when you have a poor image of yourself. Call it the environment I was raised in, but I’ve always disdained lazy people. What a relief of burden, then, to finally cast off this self-loathing of my lazy self!)
My first year of grad school has brought its own attendant hardships (mostly the stress of working harder than I’ve ever worked before), but also the reward of learning, and the sense that–ha!–for once, I’m actually working hard for something I’m excited and care about. My happiness in grad school hasn’t necessarily been, say, equal to the three weeks spent rafting in the Grand Canyon last May–but my contentment with life these past eight months has been off the charts.
Well, that’s a long tangent. Back to my income data. Reflecting on the last fourteen years (reviewing the notable events on my timeline), I assigned a subjective “happiness” score to each year. I then plotted these points against my income data:
Well, there you have it. A completely subjective (but seemingly scientific by virtue of there being “data” and a graph!) affirmation of the idea that money doesn’t buy happiness.
Searching for other quantities of self, I dug up a few others. For example, I’ve tracked my number of ski days per season in recent years:
It was also easy to pop into my photo library and count how many photos I’ve taken each year over the past number of years. Photos are a proxy for adventures and other memorable events. The data from 2014 on is skewed, however, since I bought a “real” camera in 2014 and have taken considerably more photos ever since:
How does this all add up? Let’s take a look at the correlations:
Measure vs. Happiness
Pearson Correlation Coefficient
Days Skied vs. Happiness
Income vs. Happiness
Photos Taken vs. Happiness
Unsurprisingly, perhaps, we see that the number of days spent skiing are strongly correlated with happiness. Income, as it happens, is strongly negatively correlated with happiness (in fact, the correlation is stronger than the skiing effect)!
My retrospective assessment of 1-10 scale happiness in years prior is interesting, but too subjective. There may be an art to happiness–if so, paying attention to it seems like a logical first step toward getting better. From this month, I’ve set up a Google-Form-based “Satisfaction With Life Scale” survey, which I’ll complete for myself monthly. So, the next time I get an unexpected letter with data about myself in the mail, I’ll have a slightly more objective basis from which to measure it.