The New Cold War (?)

You've got to wonder what world leaders would give to spend one day inside the head of Russian president V. V. Putin. For those of you who haven't really been up-to-speed on the whole thing, the United States is undergoing the early stages of extending an anti-ballistic-missile (ABM) shield over Eastern Europe. Russia is, predictably, kicking and screaming over the whole thing, since this is essentially their backyard. The U.S. wants to place interceptor bases and interceptor radar stations in Poland and the Czech Republic, ostensibly to counter missiles that, in the future, Iran or other nuclear-capable countries might launch at Europe.

Anyone with access to basic scholarly materials on American foreign policy should have serious doubts in the U.S. government's explanation for the new missile shield. Iran's most advanced missile, the Shahab-3, does not have the capability to reach the regions being brought under the U.S. missile shield (this according to a 26 May, 2006 article in the New York Times).

Some have speculated that within eight years, Iran could strike Western Europe. But why? Iran's quarrel is with the United States. Striking Western Europe would only convince the rest of the world that they are another nutty North-Korea-type regime, and that Bush was correct all along in calling them a part of the Axis of Evil. Likewise, what quarrel does Western Europe have with Iran? The possibility that any European countries would throw in their lot with a U.S. invasion of Iran is extremely low. Europeans are having enough trouble stomaching Iraq, even in the U.K. My conclusion from all of this is that the possibility of Iran having a reason to fire a missile at Europe is, at best, remote.

Iran does play a role in the construction of the shield, though. That connection runs through Moscow (a statement a former professor of mine has mad oh so many times). Given the Russians' historical ties with Syria, and their developing ties with Iran, it makes sense to me that Russia is trying to supplant, or at least counter, the United States' tenuous position in the Middle East. I believe that Russia is trying to do with Iran what the U.S. tried to do with Iran during the Nixon years. Nixon wanted "Twin Pillars" of Iran and Saudi Arabia. Russia seems to be adopting a similar strategy using Syria and now Iran. They are publicly helping Iran to construct a "civilian" nuclear plant, and have also sold Iran short-range missiles (and control systems) which are nuclear-capable.

Why would Russia do this? Well, if Russia were to establish a more powerful presence in the Middle East, it could start to develop an even scarier hold on the European energy market (more on the extent of this later). This grandiose maneuvering, especially involving the Middle East and oil/gas politics, is how the Soviets acted during the Cold War. Many (myself included) say this is evidence of Putin's desire to bring Russia back to superpower-style geo-politicking. Only Russia can no longer be a superpower in military terms. Their economy just cannot support it. Today, what they do wield is one very potent economic weapon -- oil and gas markets.

First, we all know that Russia is a major player in the European energy market: Germany imports 40% of its gas from Russia, Italy 33% (source). Second, Russia has proved it is willing to use gas prices as a political lever, most notably in Ukraine, where gas prices doubled after the pro-democracy government of Viktor Yushchenko took power. Third, the Russian government consistently bids to control the outputs of former states of the U.S.S.R. For example, instead of going across the Caspian, through the Caucasus and into Turkey, the gas from Kazakh and Turkmen fields (some of the world's largest reserves) will now be through Russia. Check out this BBC article, which explains it pretty well. Fourth, Russia is clamping down on domestic production, hassling international companies. According to a front-page article in the 6 October 2006 New York Times, the government has threatened foreign companies with increased "health and safety checks" which would slow shipments, and the revocation permits based on environmental threats posed by the extraction process (incidentally, Russia has an absolutely peachy-keen reputation for protecting the environment...).

What does all this have to do with missiles? Putin is obviously aware of the massive economic sledgehammer Russia has available to it he wanted a quarrel with the Western world. Russia's policies towards Iran and the rest of the Middle East are an extension of this. They already exert considerable control over the West's oil supplies. If they could gain enough clout in the Middle East to start influencing export policy, serious economic problems would be presented to the nations of the so-called Western Alliance. To me, it seems that this process has already started with the arms transfers and political maneuvering between Russian and Iran.

The United States, though, has military means to threaten Russia, and is doing so by installing these ABM systems. Reagan felt that the only way to deal with the Soviets was through hard-nosed military means. Given the character of the current administration, it does not seem far-fetched to assume that this military threat of an ABM shield is a Reagan-like response to Russia's economic chest-thumping in the energy markets.

The more I think or read about the issue, the more I realize that the missile shield isn't really about missiles. I don't even think the construction of this shield has much to do with threats of Russian missiles. Like so many things these days, it's about energy. The construction of the missile shield is an attempt by the U.S. to show Russia that any bid to grab Europe by the throat economically will be met by military force. I refrain from passing judgment on whether or not this is the appropriate way to address this problem. My purpose in writing is that I'm not sure what we hear on television and read in newspapers/magazines reflects a broad enough view of the situation. I'm not saying I'm right. If anyone wants to disprove anything I've said, I'd be smarter for having heard the argument. Just consider for a second that... gasp... the American government's statements are, as one person might say, highly dubious.

--That's the end of that particular string of thoughts. Here begins a different one.--

Putin responded to the U.S. plans by conducting a ballistic missile test launch. It was a new missile which was fired across the entirety of the Russian mainland, launched from Plesetsk (in the extreme north-west near Arkhangelsk) and hitting its target on the Kamchatka Peninsula (in the Far East). He says, according to the BBC, that this is a "response to maintain the strategic balance in the world," in a "new round of the arms race."

Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. You cannot win. I mean, seriously...? A new arms race? I used to think Putin was a really smart, but sort of evil, guy. But this is retarded. First, guess what, the top Russian scientists are not in Russia any more. Under the U.S.S.R., you could keep them there. But now they're all gone. Though, who knows, it's very possible that the security services have provided "incentives" for scientists (and their families...) to stay. I have no evidence to support that, other than the general nefariousness of Putin's government.

Second, the economy can't really support this game of "play superpower," especially with the war in Chechnya. The Russian government isn't exactly swimming in money, and it has enough post-Soviet crap projects to finish -- simple shit like roads, power plants, and taking care of its hordes of geriatrics. Booting up the arms race again would be more than shooting yourself in the foot, it'd be like shooting yourself in the foot just as you got the casts off of two broken legs.

Third, as just discussed, Russians don't need real weapons. They have gas. And they could have Europe by the balls if they tried hard enough. So what's with the pissing contest?

Deleted Scenes!

Hey everyone, I realize that I never actually posted my account of the Purple Valley party. I think I was scared people at my job would see it or something, but I am in and up out that bitch, so here you go.

For those outside of the ultimate community, Purple Valley is a tournament up in Williamstown, MA. It's 30 minutes past nowhere, but renowned the ultimate world over for its insane party. This year of course was no different, other than the obvious fact that I now drink and would actually enjoy being at a huge party rather than being simply overwhelmed by it, as in years past. Either way, g-dub has a tradition of having party buddies, just to prevent anything really bad happening, and (ostensibly) to prevent people from getting lost on an unfamiliar campus.

I think you can sense where this is going, but here goes. Max and I were party buddies, and so we all set off from the dorm at which we were staying, and arrived presently at the party. The party is themed every year, and this year it was "holiday," so we had to pick our favorite holiday and go dressed appropriately. We picked Fathers' Day, and since the tournament email stated that the party would likely get pretty warm (because they had to contain all the sound by closing the windows), I decided to dress accordingly. A KMart stop on the way up yielded a complete costume: a beater, some boxers, some slippers, and tall work socks. Done and done. Not only that but I'll be the most comfortable guy at the party.

Indeed that's how it turned out. I had my to-go bottle filled with Stolichnaya and I was well on my way to enjoying myself. Periodically, I look around for Max, just to make sure he's not grinding with some ugly girl (it's happened before, necessitating a pick-and-roll to get him out of Gigabyte's apartment). All is well, I talked with the Wang for awhile, and met Caitlin Redding for the first time. This was awkward because I didn't realize she knew everyone on Pitt, and I probably said some things I shouldn't have. Either way. Then I caught up with the guys and did some cheers back by the bar. Then, I arrived at UrineCon-1 and I knew the line for the one men's room is like 15 people long. I'd been told that coming back in after going outside was a highly dubious proposition, so it looked like I'd have to find someplace to pee inside the Student Union type house thingy where the party was raging.

The basement appears unguarded, so under the premise of "trying to find a water fountain," I went downstairs and began exploring. I found the room with all the furnaces and water heaters and stuff in it, and thought "Score." But upon closer inspection I found that there is a darkened space BEHIND the oil storage tanks, so that seals the dirty deal, and I take one of my more satisfying pisses of all time. I walk out and there's this guy bleeding the lizard on the wall right near the doorframe. Not only that, but he introduces himself to me as "Hey, I'm Chris from Tufts," while he's still doing the deed. Highly awkward, but I shook his hand (again, as he was pissing - not sure why this didn't strike me as odd at the time) and walked back upstairs chatting with him.

Back to business, I go to find more vodka, deal with that, then get some water from the bar. By now, I haven't seen Max since before I went searching for someplace to pee, so I start looking. Nowhere to be found. I mean, the kid is Big Jack size with a shock of blond hair not easily missed... and I can't find him. Of all the people I ask, Ethan has seen him, but he said he saw Max leave... by himself. Well this is just great, I've lost my party buddy, and he's by himself. At this point, I really thought there was no way he could go anywhere where we couldn't find him -- no keycard = no dorm access = this will suck for Max if we don't find him.

Anyways, at this point I figured I'd just stay at the party, assuming he'll probably turn/lurch up somewhere. This doesn't happen, but I wasn't about to go looking through the Massachusetts woods for my clown party buddy without a keycard, clad in my boxers and a beater. Once a bunch of us were ready to go (including Tufsky, who had the keycard), we all leave and try to find our dorm. This turns into a 40-minute ordeal of walking down unfamiliar and unlit roads, arriving at dorms we've never seen before, and listening to Rhino bitch the whole time about having lost his turkey baster (part of his Fathers' day costume). Moomi and I decide that a Max search party is in order, but that even Max is not worth freezing like an Eskimo corpse. Back at our dorm, I threw on some real clothes, and we were just about to go out looking for him. I'm legit worried at this point, so I call and... his phone rings in the bag next to me. Greeeaaaattt.

So now fully clothed, it's back to the party. Nothing doing there, even after a thorough check of the whole building, no Max. Then we walked around campus for about an hour (maybe more) shouting for Max and trying to see if there are other parties to which he may have wandered. Obviously, he couldn't be in some random dorm, since he has no way of getting in.

Then I get a call from a neurotic Coworker (who had already flipped out at me for losing my party buddy in the first place)... and tells me she has somehow found Max. Moomi and I haul ass over to the dorm where the women are staying, but Max did not go back with of our women. Somehow he found his way into someone else's room in that building, onto some guy's couch, and had taken up residence there. When asked if he wanted to go back to our dorm or not, the answer was a violent head shake 'no,' and a lethargically insistent "soooo collllddd...!" But Moomi and I were having none of that, so we put a sweatshirt on him, pulled him upright and dragged him out of the dorm, apologizing to numerous residents along the way.

After a short walk back to our dorm, we deposit him in the hallway by the bathroom door, outside of the suite we're staying in. I try to get my own shit in order, find a blanket for Max, and walk back out into the hallway to give him said blanket when I encounter Nerd McGee, a resident of the building at which we're staying. Nerd McGee proceeds to get on my case about "random guys" sleeping in "HIS house, not [mine]," blah blah blah. I'm patronizingly nice to him, so that by the end of his rant, he feels like a jackass for having been so mean in the first place. Ha! Game, set, and match STIRA. Go masturbate to your World of Warcraft, you prick.

Moomi and I both decide, though, that it's probably best if we don't leave him in the hallway. Unfortunately, though, the floor is literally covered with corpses of our teammates. So Max just decides to sit down next to the door, and flop onto Cortez, who is passed out as well. Literally, he's more or less blanketing Cortez at this point, and refuses to get up. This will not stand, and I propose just carrying his carcass over to the open hallway by the other restroom, inside the suite. Moomi tries to carry him sack-of-potatoes style, and Max makes some horrible wretching noise, so stamp a big red A on that for "Abort." Since Cortez was still covered with a meatblanket, Moomi grabbed Max by the torso and I grabbed his legs, and we started carrying him over all the passers-out. I tripped over Mickey, sending some Maxparts cascading onto Davis, who was draped over a recliner. Some mild groin pain later, we have him into the proper hallway.

I gave Max whatever blankets I could find, then put on every piece of clothing I brought with me so that I would be warm too, and I finally laid down, at like 3:30am. But that's not the end of the story (just a couple more paragraphs).

I woke up at 4:30am because my groin was hurting me again, or something, and I look over and no Max. "WHAT THE FUCK," I say audibly, provoking some dazed stirring by Boshanks and Shed. I grabbed my keycard and walked around looking for him among the body piles. No Max. Previous spot in the hallway? Nothing. Downstairs in the lobby? Nothing. Outside in the freezing cold? Nope. I walked back upstairs, telling myself that I've done all I can, and as I walk into the room... Max is fucking standing up against the corridor like a goofball, listing back and forth with his eyes open. At this point I am literally bewildered beyond all description, so I just ask him if he wants to go to sleep, and after the response of "Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea," I go to put him back in the same spot in the corridor.

Enter Boshanks, who is in my spot now. I throw Max down in the old spot, re-blanket my absurdly wasted party buddy, and finally lay down to actually go to sleep. I doing so, I took the only remaining spot, which puts my head next to Max's knees and my feet in Boshanks' face. I was denied a night of drunkitude, I would not be denied a spot to sleep, no matter how awkward it was for others. Time: 4:45am. I need to be up in 3.5 hours. Faaaantastic. I go to sleep and, aside from getting kneed in the head about three times, the rest of the night proceeds as nights should. Uneventfully.

One more paragraph -- the piece de resistance. The next morning, the female tournament director, who lives in the suite we slept in, pops her head out the door as I'm walking by getting ready, and says "Hey, can I speak to your captain?" Sure, I say. I am immediately sure that this is one of those things where I should be glad I didn't get elected captain. Once Ben came back, I stand in on their conversation and she says "One of your players peed on my floor last night." Tufsky inquires "Which one, do you know?" She says, "I don't know, some tall blond kid." Ask Tufsky to reenact my reaction, but Max definitely peed on her floor. That would explain where he was when I woke up at 4:30, and why he was in the room when I got back. The funniest part I guess is that he was sleeping directly across from the bathroom door, but chose instead to go down the hallway, hang a right, open a random door, and piss on the tournament director's floor. Priceless.

It ain't over 'til it's over

If needed, I can ascribe my lack of blogging in the past month to a lot of things. But first and foremost, the mental stress of graduating and leaving GW has been the most taxing event of my life. I hate to spin a sob story but here's the honest truth.

As I drove home with all of my life packed away in Rubbermaid containers and duffel bags, I couldn't listen to the radio. Every song I heard reminded me that I was leaving, and how upset I was over that fact. Much like that song "Always Something There To Remind Me," in every song there was... always something there to remind me. Arriving home, I felt a kind of release. Even though it is terrifying that college was over, I was glad that graduation week was finally over.

It should be a happy time, but I really can't feel any joy over graduating. Woohoo, I was magna cum laude. Woohoo, I had two majors. Woohoo, I finally get a degree. Whatever. These weren't the important parts of college to me, and they shouldn't be.

The last week, as I said, was probably the most psychologically grueling experience of my life. There was at least one night, after trying desperately to get people together to do something social, I ended up watching some crappy movie on TBS and falling asleep in my going-out clothes. On one of the last nights that I was at GW... what a depressing scenario. People had various reasons, some legitimate, some downright hurtful, for not being available. But in the end, it was frustrating because what am I going to do? Get mad and leave GW having been acrimonious towards my good friends? Obviously not an option, even though rage was devouring my insides with more rancor than Rosie O'Donnell attacking a bacon cheeseburger.

Had all my friends been the same age as me, this would have been a lot easier. It must be said that until your back is essentially against the wall, and you face leaving undergrad head-on, one cannot understand that last week and how I acted during that week. I know that I let this pressure get to me, and I was very intense about getting together with people. I'm not apologizing, because I think that if a person were in my position, they would understand. Unfortunately, my best friends are not in that same position, so my actions might have seemed over-the-top to them. I hope that their end-of-undergrad experience will prove my assumptions wrong, and their departure will not be as gut-wrenching. But mine was absolutely terrifying, admittedly interspersed with some great times. I just hope everyone understands why I was the way I was during that last week.

There are people deserving of thanks, people who really helped me get my mind off things and focus on having fun. Ruddiger, Lasky, Nir, LHers -- my Atlantic City crew. Penny slots + cocktail wenches + you guys = lots of fun. Nir, winning all of your change off of you after you loaned me a quarter to bet against you in Rock-paper-scissors was the crowning achievement of that trip. A great story to be sure.

Ruddiger was the man all week long -- always keeping me apprised of plans, calling when he said he would, getting girly drinks with me at McCormick & Schmicks happy hour, and of course hanging out too. Thanks buddy, if everyone carried themselves as you did over the course of my last week... man, it would have been a good week. I owe you a lot of gratitude for being there.

Gigabyte, Jenny, Scott, Cheese, and A-ron -- thanks for coming to Russia House with me for the last time. Mr. Bingle, you were there too, and it sucks that you got turned away.

I know I'm going to miss out on seeing all of my closest friends finish out their careers next year, or, for some, their continued journey through college. I told one of my friends that my biggest regret about finishing school now was that I didn't get to see how he turned out as a player and as a person. That's still absolutely true for him, and for everyone else the same sentiment applies. All I can say at this point is thanks for all the great times, and for being there for me when I really needed you. I just hope that when you need someone to talk to, even if I'm in Indiana, Russia, or who knows where, that you'll seek me out. No compliment is more flattering to me than when someone seeks my counsel when they are troubled. In the end, anyone who knows me well knows that my friends sit steadfast atop the list of my hopes and concerns, no matter where I am or where they are.

Email me. IM me. Give me a call. Write a letter, hell, send fucking smoke-signals. Really, the only cure for the type of separation anxiety I'm going to continue feeling over the next few years... is to keep in touch. Don't ever worry that you're "bothering" me if you see me online or want to give me a call. I'll let you know if it's a bad time or I'm feeling peevish... I mean honestly, when has candor ever been an issue? Nothing makes me happier to get an IM, email, or phone call from someone totally out of the blue. So that's it. I really don't have much else to say. If you think this was overly schmaltzy, fuck you. I don't get super-emotional (read: girly-emotional, anger is not included in the "I-usually-don't-get-emotional" category of emotions) but all of this needed to be said. Thanks for everything.

Fans of the blog who aren't really connected to me IRL ("in real life" for all the nubz0rs out there) -- don't worry. The vitriolic and only-sometimes comedic stream-of-consciousness crap-o-rama that is my blog will be updated more often in the future, since I have little else to do other than sit at home, do manual labor, eat, sleep, and think. Oh and starting 5 July I'll be in Russia, so look for travel bloggery from then until 10 August. If I can bribe enough officials to get a glimpse of the internet, that is...

As some other songs said, life is a highway... and do the walk... do the walk of life.