Daylight is much more flattering on the “Golden City,” and I enjoyed the short, squat, stone architecture as I made a trajectory to the Moscone Convention Center. The Moscone Center is located in a more upscale business part of town with museums galore, restaurants and consumer offerings encircling it. I checked into the meeting, loaded my talk onto their servers and enjoyed the rest of the day. Monday afternoon was when I was to speak and I won’t bore you with the details; however, I will say that speaking is always more glamorous in one’s imagination than it is in reality. Unfortunately – fantasies of finishing the talk, being given a standing ovation, and someone telling you that they were so impressed that upon completion of your degree, they would like to offer you a job at “the institute” just never happen. The talk turned out fine – not a whole lot more can be said.

All in all San Francisco was a pleasant place to spend a few days. Besides the conference, I was able to check out the Museum of Modern Art, unexpectedly cross paths with a friend that is now a professor in Sweden, absorb some science, and enjoy the San Fran ambiance.

Now I have to study like crazy for comprehensive exams on Monday.

So – without further ado, enjoy the photos.

Snap shot of part of the procession.

My friend, Xenn.

Skeleton

Spectator donning her fantastic costume

Family

There are a few different routes one can take from Tucson to Salt Lake, but in my mind, the prettiest is to head north to Flagstaff, take 89 through Navajo Nation and upon arriving at the very well-known Panguitch, UT you head west and intersect I-15 just south of Beaver, UT; It is then a straight shot to the north. The drive up was one of relative tranquility. The familiar trek through Navajo Nation always produces conflicting emotions in me. As a geologist I find the nude landscape a marvel and inspiration. Just like an artist consumes the naked curves, musculature and soft flesh tones of a model that is unencumbered by human textiles with his/her brush strokes, a geologist equally admires the subtle structures, stratigraphic and facies transitions unencumbered by nature’s textiles. That is the part of me that loves Navajo Nation. The other part of me says, “Man! We really hosed the Native Americans.” We stick them in a place with little to no agricultural value, little to no hunting and gathering value, and then people still pass judgment that they have not thrived as a nation…? That is what the other part of me thinks.

On a more light-hearted note, I am pretty sure that Mt. Carmel, UT would be a fantastic place to retire, for anyone who is searching.

After about 13.5 hrs of driving we landed in SLC and my very hospitable sister put us up for our extended stay. It is always a pleasure to catch up with Kelsi, discuss life’s complexities and world problems and just generally enjoy each other. It also helps that my kids LOVE Kelsi to death. Kelsi helped take care of the kids, while I was catching up with old friends, completing Best Man duties and while Holly and I attended the wedding itself.

Prior to the wedding day Greg and Pat (long time friends) and I met up to hang out some. We went to Promontory, UT (Location of the completion of the Trans-Continental Rail Road), the Spiral Jetty, and of course, Smith and Edward’s. Why Smith and Edward’s, you may ask? Only because it is the best store in the US of A and they have everything from a Tank outside to canes made out of bull penises. That night we met up with Dave and friends for pre-wedding celebrations.

The next couple of days were a whirlwind of preparation and execution of nuptial activity. Dave’s wedding was absolutely phenomenal and the reception afterward exuded the very essence of celebratory. Emilia (my 4 year old daughter) cut a rug like few people can and I joined her in her enthusiasm until my body gave out.

The next day was relaxed as we prepared to leave back home, visited my two Grandmothers and Aunt, and spent some more quality time with my little sister.
The drive home was scenically beautiful and about half-way home I was confronted with the same emotional conflict that presented itself on the way up.

Congratulation to Dave and Lindsay and thanks to all the old friends, new friends and family members that made the trip an excellent one.

Road trip route

**Nota Bene
A road trip of this length in such a limited amount of time should be avoided by the elderly and people with heart or blood pressure problems or any other dangerous medical condition. Furthermore, it should never be attempted without an absurd amount of caffeine or without an iPod loaded with excellent music that spans a wide variety of genres, a number of audio books, and PodCasts that can fuel you through long days with hands posted at 10 and 2.

After filling my belly full of breakfast on Wednesday morning, I secured the ball cap, kissed the kids and jumped into the vessel that I would be traveling in for the following days. I had to be in the Black Hills of South Dakota the following evening, and folks, it is a looong drive from Houston to South Dakota.

Heading north on I-45 I settled into a groove that would take me through Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska and into South Dakota. I am continually romanced and fascinated with the rural American countryside, as many of you know, and her enticing whisper began to draw me into daydreams filled with me and my family finding a forgotten plot of land, working in a family farm, keeping bees, and pursuing a life where we forget the world and the world forgets us. Day transitioned to night, and I figured that it was time to find a place to sleep. Beloit, Kansas was fast approaching and it became the destination for the evening, a forgettable destination occupied by silos and truckers, so forgettable that I am actually not 100% sure that it was Beloit that I stopped in. Not knowing the location of a camp ground and everything appearing to be private land, I decided to check into a motel. The front desk receptionist informed me that there were no available rooms, which I found peculiar, but I was powerless to do anything about it. It turns out that Beloit is a popular stop for cross-country-driving professionals. I took a moment to weigh my options and decided to sleep in the back of the Jeep in the motel’s parking lot, this being preferable to chasing down another motel or sleeping in someone’s grain field. In the morning, I emerged out of the Jeep, appeased my appetite with the motel’s continental breakfast, jumped back in the Jeep and headed down the road.

Angry clouds, steady rain and flooded rivers occupied the scenery of the day. A colleague of mine was working in the Black Hills, and we had scheduled a rendezvous where he would show me the area and point me to the stratigraphic horizon that interested me. We met up in Hot Springs, SD and then made our ways up through the back mountain roads to settle in for the night and prepare for the next days work. The night sky provided a spectacular, ear shattering thunderstorm. The stay was nice, and the company was great, but the weather was less than ideal, supplying cool working conditions the next day but heaps of mud. However, the South Dakota stop was successful and after a killer Reuben sandwich at a local restaurant I was ready to set a westward trajectory. I was about to be within the boundaries of Wyoming, a state that I often miss. The rain continued into the evening and stretched into Wyoming. Driving through the Powder River Basin and on to Buffalo, WY I was cordially greeted by green rolling hills with snow covered mountains as a back drop. I landed in Johnson County, home of Buffalo and the location of the Johnson County War, a showdown between ranchers and big cattlemen that took place in 1892. I spent the night and in the morning I collected my sought after samples with the 10 pound sledge.

Heading south, I would soon be in my previous hometown of Laramie. I saluted familiar territory as I zipped by on I-25 through Casper and then to the Wyoming back roads and isolated outposts of Medicine Bow, Rock River, Bosler, which is now essentially a ghost town, and then into my beloved town on the high plains, Laramie. After reacquainting myself with the layout, I met up with my old office mate and friend, Jason. He was kind enough to let me crash on his couch for the evening, but not until after we caught up on each others lives and solved about 98% of the world’s problems. It was a good evening of R&R.

Vernal, Utah was the next stop on the list and held key rocks in the grasp of her proximities. I set out west on I-80, a stretch of road that I have driven many times, in fact, too many times. At Rock Springs my destination turned south, over the Uintas, down into Flaming Gorge and then into Vernal. I sampled my targeted strata, hoisted the stones into the back of the Jeep and then I made my way into town. I wish I could say something exciting about Vernal itself, but in all honesty, there is not a hell of a lot that is exciting in Vernal. The landscape on its outskirts, however, demands awe, reverence and contemplation. In addition, I had a great friend that I knew was in the area doing field work, and we arranged a meeting. I met Will in his campground north of town and we had a great deal of catching up to do. Our conversation was much needed and very enjoyable. I spent the night in his 1980s canvas tent that was a monstrosity to the aesthetic eye but nostalgic to say the least. Morning would come soon, and I had a decent amount of mileage to cover.

Salt Lake City was my next pit stop and I had some rocks that I needed to pound off some cliffs near Price. After doing that, I headed straight for SLC where I would meet up with Kelsi, my little sister. It was really good to see her, and she has a sweet place just northwest of downtown. Dog parks, life quandaries, conversations about our futures, pasts and presents, and a delicious dinner filled the evening. The couch was comfortable and I was ready to barrel all the way to Tucson the next day.

Tucson is a long way from Salt Lake City, and the road was starting to quickly fray my nerves. As my nerves began to get the better of me, I was repeatedly saved by the aforementioned podcasts and music. A lot of Navajo Nation and desert traveled below my wheels, but finally I made it to Tucson, and it was good to sleep in a bed for the night. In the morning I swang by my office on campus and unloaded about 300 pounds of rock, rock that would sooner or later relinquish secrets and stories of a world far from ours.

Leaving Tucson in the afternoon, I decided to make the day a short one and crash at my little brother’s place in Las Cruces. Again I was granted a fun filled evening with stupendous discussions and a good meal. I hit the sack a bit early knowing that Cruces to Houston would test my patience the next day.

Houston bound, I steeled my mind and calmed my nerves with the knowledge that I would soon see my kids and Holly. The reunion was excellent and much awaited. It is good to spend the days with the ones you love and not be isolated in a metal box on wheels with nothing to think about but the thoughts created, recycled and rehashed by your own mind.

I wish I would have been able to meet and spend time with even more of my friends while I was on the road, but my schedule preventing me from rendezvousing with many.

My mind recognized her, but the feeble gray organ could not seem to make a linear story as to why she was standing there. This sequence of events had ended in something that turned my world upside down, and I was having trouble piecing together the shattered mosaic. Amber and I greeted, embraced, put her suitcase in the trunk and I climbed back in the car still trying to make sense of the evening…. Did we still have to pick up Dan’s pocket knife? Of course not! This was the b-day surprise and Holly had orchestrated a serious event indeed. Amber had flown out for a b-day celebration and Kelsi and Mark were coming too. The Painter siblings were to be gathered to celebrate in the Sonoran Desert. We were to converse, relax, raise hell, and generally enjoy life, and that we did.

The weekend was filled with a torrent of hot tubing, county-fairing (which nearly stopped my heart), getting massages, board gaming and general bs-ing. It was really terrific. In a world where things get busy, priorities get skewed, and chaos ensues, it is a great thing to have siblings who love each other, a love that is not conditional and is not hindered by each others differences or uniqueness.

A huge thanks to Holly, Amber, Kelsi and Mark for making my 30th a birthday a killer celebration.

However, at the end of the book the author starts talking about violent movies, video games and crime statistics that did not seem to add up to me and I decided to do my own investigation.
I downloaded USA crime statistics from 1960-2009 from the internet, and I crosschecked the number with FBI reports to make sure that the data were accurate. I then made some graphs.

Grossman’s claim was that during the span of one generation, violent crime increase 5 times and he blames this rise on movies and video games. He is correct that from 1960 to 1993 violent crimes increased by about 5 times (4.75 to be exact); but what happens afterward? Violent crime decreases dramatically, so in one generation we have had a net rise in violent crime of 2.8 (~3 times). This number is still startling, but lets think on this some more. Isn’t the 90’s – the 2000’s when ultraviolent video games began to boom? So we have a decrease in violence during a time of increase in ultraviolent videogames and movies. This clearly contradicts Grossman’s conclusion.

Do not get me wrong – I am not advocating that we all go out and play gratuitously violent games and watch gore-fest movies. I am just saying that the data do not support Grossman’s assertion and that violence may be an issue more complicated than a “violent media” diagnosis.

Below is a graph (click the graph for an enlarged and readable view). It is also interesting to note that robbery and aggravated assault exhibit the most extreme rise, while murder and rape show a less dramatic fluctuation.

Violence per capita through time

Any other hypotheses about the rise and fall of violence?

In a long moment of distraction, I found some interesting things on the web.

The Federation of Egalitarian Communities

After browsing some of these communities I was drawn by some and startled by others, and it got my mind churning.

Bare with me and I’ll attempt to write in a way that does not come off as, “wow, dude, a commune would be totally awesome, yea… you know?”

I am seriously considering doing this, but similar to many cases, capital, risk, and social pressure are all against me. There is a wide spectrum of communalism, and I personally feel that the lower end of that spectrum is more sustainable. So here is what I am thinking:

1) A small group of 4-6 households get together and communally purchase a parcel of land: This land is owned by all of the participants (zoning laws may be tricky and an attorney will surely have to be involved)

2) Then each household is responsible for building their own house/dwelling (these will be privately owned)

3) One large and central communal kitchen will be built (owned communally)

4) Now-Each household has their own private jobs and finances etc., but a monthly fee is charged to each household to cover property expenses, communal food, and future development expenses.

5) community chores (land upkeep and cooking) will be equally distributed

6) all property decisions will be decided in an egalitarian way.

7) In addition to individual household incomes, ideas for community businesses could surely be discussed (e.g. bed and breakfast, apiary, livestock sales).

Will this ever happen? Its hard to say, but it is really something that I want to pursue. Will there be complications? Absolutely. Would it be rewarding, cost effective, socially engaging, and a great life experience? You betcha’!

So – who’s with me?

Having made arrangements with my parents to leave the kids with them, we drove to Los Alamos, got them settled in, and headed to the airport – destination? St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands.

Owing to a general lack of geographic familiarity, the airlines decided to take us from Albuquerque to Phoenix then to Philadelphia and onward to St. Thomas, leaving Albuquerque at 6:30 pm and arriving at St Thomas at 12:30 pm the next day.

We stepped off the airplane and were greeted by warmth and humidity that, to me, was very familiar. The air we breathed beckoned us to put on the sandles, relax, contemplate the nature of humanity, enjoy our collisions with those around us and to make those collisions a bit softer, and this is what we did. Checking into the hotel, we soon rendezvoused with the rest of the Lester tribe and began to plan our week. Our hotel was right on the the beach on the south side of the island, the weather was glorious and we geared up for some serious relaxing.

A couple of highlights on the trip were our all day sailing/snorkeling trip and our 6 mile hike that we took on St. John through national forest. For those who have not ever been sailing, let me just say this, “GO SAILING.” I had never been sailing and it was an experience to remember. It is hard to put a finger on exactly why it was so appealing, meaning that it was probably the sum of many things. Maybe it was the nostalgia, lack of a roaring motor, music choice of our crew, beautiful surrounding, excellent company, or maybe it was something that transcended the sum of these things. The wind was dutiful and pulled us along as we island hopped, occasionally anchoring the boat to discover a subaqueous jungle that was truly inspiring.

The last day of our stay we took a ferry over to St. Johns. We hiked through what is now national park and examined the ghostly remnants of the Taino people, remnants that presented themselves to us in the form of petroglyphs. We also were able to browse around the ruins of old Danish sugar plantations, their haunting slave quarters, and one of their sugar mills. In the national park, I read that at one point St. John was inhabited by 2000 persons, only 100 of which were non-slaves.

Upon boarding our aircraft that was continental-US-bound I felt an emotion that seemed strange, forgotten and unfamiliar. That feeling was one of complete calm and relaxation. The week was a powerful tincture for my soul.
Thanks to Russell and Sharon for the excellent vacation and to my parents for wrangling our kids for a week.

Preparing for the sailing

at the bow

Taino whispering

Sugar Mill

I know a decent amount about my forefathers all ready; and you may be tempted to ask, why do the test? Well folks. We are not talking about genealogy here. We are talking about tracing the path of your Y chromosome back 60,000 years ago to the dawn of humans. After leaving Africa, where did your ancestors travel to?

Knowing that my ancestry is European-heavy on both sides, that my great great grandfather emigrated from Wales, and that my last name is Painter, I fully expected to receive the news that after leaving Africa and passing through Mesopotamia, my family then migrated to Europe about 40,000 years ago and remained.

I was wrong. My Y-chromosome shows that my paternal lineage is of the haplogroup J2 (M172).

What does that mean? It means that my youngest genetic marker (10,000 years ago) is in fact Mediterranean.

National Geographic says, “Today, descendants of this line appear in the highest frequencies in the Middle East, North Africa, and Ethiopia, and at a much lower frequency in Europe, where it is observed exclusively in the Mediterranean area. Approximately 20 percent of the males in southern Italy carry the marker, along with ten percent of men in southern Spain.”

Below is a migratory map of my Y Chromosome. I wonder when my Y chromosome traveled from the Mediterranean and ended up in Europe.

The Journey of the Painters' Y chromosome

We spent the days ascending the slopes of the mountains to gain a better vantage to try and crack geologically complex puzzles, and the nights were spent performing the usual campfire rituals beneath the moonlit sky. Other than a Big Horn Sheep that watched us from a ridge and our occasional communion with the many tarantulas, we were virtually alone in Nevadan desert. Here are some photos of that desert.

Notice the stark contact of the thrust fault as marked by the black Cambrian limestones (older rocks) sitting on top of the red Jurassic sandstones (younger rocks)

Desert friend

Aztec Sandstone (Jurassic sand dunes)

Another friend

Ordivician limestones

complex fold geometries