Man About Town

Keep Portland Weird!

2010-08-02T23:31:00.002+02:00

God Bless America!

2009-01-16T21:06:00.014+01:00

Over the last 60 years, construction on the largest man-made structure in history was begun and now approaches completion while drawing only the smallest attention from mainstream media. This incredible structure stands astride an astounding area of 1.0577 x 10¹⁴ square feet! The actual height and capacity of this great building is not yet known because construction is not yet complete, but the marketing department insists that the breakthrough materials and methods used for construction of this massive monument will provide only the highest quality of life for all 305 million of its occupants.

Among the proudest innovations is a new “environmentally friendly” recycling technique which allows the girders used to support the lower, more foundational levels to be removed and “recycled” into the basic structural members of higher stories. Taking inspiration from the financial sector, this technique works on the principle of diverted load whereby the girders, pillars, and other needless structural elements of the building are encouraged to “delegate” so as to make better use of their precious time and energy. This clever maneuver allows for the “promotion” of certain elements which appear to be unnecessary to higher levels in the overall structure. Thus, a considerable percentage of construction materials used on the wide and once-sturdy base, can be relocated to a slightly smaller upper level; and the process repeats.

When asked about the emerging shape of his new creation, the chief architect—an American born failed-plumber, turned failed-financier, turned failed-politician, turned chief architect—suggested, “I prefer to think of the whole scheme as less of a pyramid and more of a dome.”

Regardless of the shape, the American’s “Dome” boasts other earth-shattering innovations as well. “I think I’m most proud of the new insulation system,” commented Zephyr Hindenburg, head of heating, ventilation, and air conditioning. “We have achieved a system which completely shuts out all external fluctuation and influence. This allows us to heat the air inside and then recirculate that same hot air throughout the entire building without having to worry about the various climates outside these walls.”

Mr. Hindenburg refused to comment on the massive proportion of world energy used to accomplish this anti-climatic miracle, but did direct us to his mistress who is the head of the marketing department: “We have brilliantly invested the resources of only a small majority of the world into this single monumental structure,” said a busty Candy Honeywell, clad in a see-through tank-top and cutoff low-rise silk thong with half of the corporate logo microscopically emblazoned on the remaining fabric, “and because of that we have become not only the world’s leading outsourcing economy of construction labor, but also the chief technological innovators in dome-based construction schemes. Once this incredible building is complete, we won’t have to rely on the world for other input, oversight, or perspective—only natural resources. At the same time, we will have solved such inter-domal environmental problems as global warming with the massive cooling towers we’ve located in the Canadian wilderness. Together with the coal-burning power plants we’re building in the South American rain-forests, (internal) climate issues will be a thing of the past. What a brave new world we live in!”

But most experts around the world are concerned about the massively-myopic-lens-shaped structure because the foundation is already showing signs of major structural instability. The engineers responsible for the construction process were unavailable for comment on account of being too far above the ground overseeing construction of the upper levels to come down to earth and see for themselves. Nonetheless, we expect the first radio wave transmission regarding this issue to reach them in the next week and hope that a response will soon follow. In the mean time, the building is functioning beyond expectations in other ways—specifically in shutting out the outside influences of said world-wide experts. And despite the looming structural issues, the building’s owners—the Chinese scrap metal companies which have financed the construction—maintain a very optimistic outlook.

Until the construction reaches it’s final point, the inhabitants of the great monument remain blissfully settled inside its comfortable accommodations. Having never learned to speak a language except English, the single-language system has worked wonders in allowing this society to build its way into elevated national security; surely, a tribute to their lasting greatness!

Filling a few coffee moments

2008-12-24T01:36:00.002+01:00

…warming up.

Faith

2008-12-16T23:19:00.005+01:00

The iPhone 3G has been unlocked! All praise and honor due to the iPhone-dev-team!

That said, there is a cost to living on the technological frontier. You can't always do everything you want because not everything is available—or even known to be possible. So for us early adopters, we buy on faith.

Five months and five days ago, I stood in line for 7 1/2 hours to get a new iPhone 3G. My move to Spain was still planned then, and I knew the consequences. I can't take it abroad…as is. So I stepped out on a limb and bought the godPhone in hopes that faithful hackers would pwn it in time.

Six weeks and three days ago, I bought a plane ticket bound for Europe. The schedule is such that I'll land on The Continent on December 29th. As it stood when confirming my flight, I will be iPhone-less.

One week and five days ago, I cancelled my AT&T service, effective December 29th. I'm stepping into the great unknown world of a cell-phoneless existence. There was still only the veiled hope of a 3G unlock so I could use my iPhone when I get abroad. But my cell plan was cancelled on faith. (Without the fabled early termination fee, by the way. Just move out of AT&T's coverage area.)

But today dawns a new era of hope:

A new star is seen in the eastern sky!
Unto us a hack is born.
Unto us a pwn is giving.
And the overnment will be hot upon his trail.
His name shall be called Wonderful Communicator, Mighty iPod, Everlasting Battery (sic), Prince of Pwns.
And you are to give him the name, yellowsn0w, because he will save people from their cell-provider.

From My Cold Dead Fingers

2008-11-17T02:56:00.001+01:00

This is why I could never be President of the United States.

A Different Google Reader

2008-11-02T23:20:00.002+01:00

Google recently added the ability to read scanned PDF documents. This is impressive because it's one thing to show a picture of text and another thing for a computer to understand what letters and words are represented there. As mentioned in this article, this provides a poor man's way to get high-end OCR (optical character recognition) done on a scanned PDF one has. So this is my test of the effectiveness of that technique on a document I would love to have in text-form.

I'll update this post if/when the Google bot gets here and indexes the PDF. Thanks Google!

11/28/2008 EDIT: It took a couple weeks, but Google came through with it's Optical Character Recognition flag waving high. Here's a copy of the Google Cache which OCRed this scan of Bluspels and Flalansferes (1939) by C. S. Lewis. But oddly, the OCR/Cache ends mysteriously at just a paragraph (in each column) into page 14. What happened to the rest? Is the Google bot in the process of recognizing this as I type? Time might tell…

Pavlov's Ringtone

2008-10-10T22:51:00.004+02:00

How To Hate Music:

1.) Get a phone with programable ringtones.

2.) Set the beginning of your favorite song as the default ringtone.

3.) Use this phone for work.

4.) Work a lot. (Make sure your work includes people you don't like or want to talk to.)

5.) Begin to hate getting phone calls.

6.) Begin to hate the beginning of your favorite song.

7.) Instinctively cringe X% of the time when shuffling through your favorite playlist.

8.) Choose second favorite song and repeat from step 2.

The New Reading

2008-08-23T22:48:00.018+02:00

It's a well-respected virtue of educated society to be "well read." At the crux of this value is the "pleasure of allusion." When a vague reference to some ancient Greek hero or a madeleine is caught, there is a telepathic wink made between reader and writer. Obviously, the more you read—books of the right sort, that is—the more references you will recognize, increasing your pleasure of allusion… and the snowball of pretension goes barreling down the slope.

Being well read is also heralded for its liberal virtue of introducing new ideas and new perspectives. The premise here is that a person is incomplete to the degree which they haven't judged the ways and beliefs of others according to their own rational faculties. Thus, even if one goes around and around the library to ultimately find oneself back at their original ideological foundation, at least now it's "well grounded."

I suggest there is another sort of human experience which accomplishes the same thing as reading: traveling.

In a coffee shop yesterday, I saw on TV from the corner of my eye a building. It instantly and mysteriously grabbed my attention from other matters because I recognized this building! The volume was off and I didn't know what the program was about, but I knew it was about something familiar. A near-instantaneous process of memory began searching my archives of experience and presented me a picture. This picture--> Flooded with memories of sights and sounds and sensations and adventures, I remembered my travels in Portland, Oregon. That is where I took this picture, a picture of the building that was just on the television. And now I know where this TV program was filmed. As it continued showing a coffee cup, sack of beans, and latte art, I know what it's about. Even more, I understand it because I know the coffee culture of the Pacific Northwest quite well. Fond memories of happy days! Caught from a peripheral image of a place long left: The pleasure of allusion.

Along with the familiar places, a traveler reads foreign ideas. People in other places simply do things differently. Not all are created equal nor worthy of adoption by every wayfarer who wanders them by, but these concepts mid-westerners find so strange start to take a new form when considered in their native environment. I still sit sandaled sans-socks, but on cold and wet October mornings in Seattle, I admit that my toes were happy to wear SmartWool secured with straps.

So it seems we value traveling for the very same reasons we value reading: Each stretches us beyond our confines, broadens our horizons, and in the end, gives us something of which only we will ever know its value. T. S. Eliot said it so well: "The end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

So a telepathic wink I send to you, dear reader:

QQ

2008-08-22T01:48:00.010+02:00

For Immediate Release

Contact:

Ryan Wright

[this blog]

that email address --->

Ryan Wright, literati and blogger extraordinaire, invents an emoticon for eye-rolling.

I, Ryan Wright, hereby invent (actually, I invented it in December of 2006) an emoticon for eye-rolling:

QQ

This is long overdue! How many times have we all been in an IM or writing a forum post and needed to express sarcastic underwhelmment, but been stuck without an eye-rolling button on the keyboard? This problem has plagued mankind for far too long and I am happy to share my innovative solution with you, dear blog reader, right now. Go forth, dot your I's, cross your T's, mind your P's and roll your QQ.

To Do: Less

2008-08-22T00:56:00.008+02:00

I blame it on a particular college professor I had, that ever since I have shared his obsession with über-high levels of productivity. The formula/mantra goes like this:

Your Time = Your Life

-- therefore --

Wasting Your Time = Wasting Your Life

I don't disagree with this; and I still have nothing but the highest respect and fondest affection for my professor and friend. But, some lessons from Ancient Philosophy take longer to set in than others.

For a time, not wasting my time meant always having something to do and making sure that something was productive. So I armed myself with the latest gadgets and other tools to keep productivity and learning close-at-hand. Then I found better ways to organize these things so that they were even more efficient. I cut out the seconds it took to access an item and kept that thing close at hand so I could get to it instantly and waste no small iota of my time/life.

But something happened along the way. Now that I had all these things closer at hand, they were easier to access; so I would. I would access them very quickly. In between answering emails, my efficient system allows me to pop over to Google Reader and see what new articles are posted on my favorite news sites or friends' blogs. Reading an article from there, it prompts me to make a quick lookup on Wikipedia. And before I know it, the half-second it takes for the software to send an email which I was trying to fill productively has degenerated into an hour and a half of research into posthumously awarded Oscars or the latest developments in invisibility cloaks. This would not do.

My goal is increased productivity by decreased time wasting. For me, this meant eliminating some of the "productivity tools" which seduce my attention during those nanoseconds I had to kill. The result has been drastically increased productivity by means of self-imposed sensory underload.

Here's how I'm doing it: I'm starting with the goal of using my time intentionally. So this means eliminating multiple choice from my computing experience. I know where I want to go and don't need my computer reminding me of the other places I could go.

The links in my bookmarks bar and the programs in my Dock (I use a Mac), like Google Earth, cry out to me to come while away hours in their soft embrace.

No more! I removed the Bookmarks Toolbar from my web browser and set my home page to a blank page. Then I removed all icons from my dock (can't remove Finder or Trash; I wish!). A Mac user who follows me might ask

how I open documents, programs and websites. My answer: the old fashioned way. I use something of a command line interface. I actually type the address (or start it since Safari will autocomplete it) to the website I want to visit. This forces me to double-consider if that's where I should be going now, not be distracted by other places I could go, and keeps me from instinctively opening up the time-wasting can-of-worms that is Google Reader—unless I really want to spend my time reading news.

For programs and documents, I use Spotlight. This is brilliant! Spotlight is a faster application launcher than almost anything! With a "Command + Space" keypress, I get the prompt. It takes only the typing of a few letters for Spotlight to highlight exactly what I'm looking for. I open it and am off to the productivity races. This also results in instant access to what I need without the distractions of multiple choice along the way.¹

Observers of my screenshot examples in this post will notice that I've also set my desktop background to black and the OS X theme to a monochromatic one. What's more, I am writing this post in complete black-and-white. I find these choices help with productivity, but also aide in creativity—a subject for an entirely separate post soon to come.

¹ For my friends suffering on Windows computer who might want a similar experience, Google provides Desktop Search which will deliver almost the same experience as Spotlight.

Features of Habit

2008-08-13T21:34:00.011+02:00

It's amazing to me how much of life is directed by habit!

I have a lot of flexibility in my schedule—being self employed—so I am acutely aware of and masochistically guilt-ridden by how unproductive I can be. It goes deeper than that, however. Since moving out of my parents house, I have been my own man. I do what I want when I want. My life is ruled by my desires.

A great example of this is with food. I always eat exactly what seems most desirable to me at that moment. When faced with the perennial question, "Where should we eat lunch?" I quickly take stock of my mood and my options, then choose exactly the dish that will best suit my fancy. (In my mind: a restaurant = my favorite dish there) Missing from this description is any outside will. I might capitulate slightly to a friend who strongly prefers a certain place, but even then, only if I have good reason to think that location will satisfy my momentary urges. But all in all, every culinary experience is preceded by this internal taking-of-stock of the whims of that moment.

I thought this was where it ended. I thought that I was just rather picky and self-centered and that I wanted what I wanted, every time. Recent experiments have modified this perception.

I have recently started a self-directed program I am calling "A Week Without." In this experiment, I choose a certain feature of my life's experience and simply go without it for a week. The purpose of this exercise is to challenge the behavior directed by my desires and hopefully grow as a person. What I have discovered is that there is force behind my desires: habit.

Let's continue the example of eating. Almost without exception, following a meal, I wanted something sweet to finish it off. This is the "dessert" my health-teacher mother never let me have as a child. (Since moving out, I've hardly missed an opportunity.) I didn't think this was that complex. I finished dinner; I want dessert. But after further reflection, I noticed some other patterns behind this. After what was generally a salty dinner, I wanted something sweet. Then after something sweet, I would often want something salty again—to be followed again by the urge for something sweet. (This is a viciously American cycle, I'm afraid.) There was a recurring pattern of post-salty desire for sweet, and post-sweet desire for salty.

Enter: A Week Without. I decided to take a week without sugar. Even more, I wanted a week without anything sweet! This meant no artificial sweetner: no Splenda, no Nutra-Sweet, no polysyntheticsianoacrisugarate. Take it a step further: no natural sugar either. Nothing that tastes sweet. It was one of the hardest weeks of my life!

It was one of the most enlightening weeks of my life! I made it. I did a whole week without anything sweet and I learned several important lessons: First of all, sugar is everywhere! It is really hard to find a weeks worth of food that doesn't include sweet morsels—especially in the bachelor's lifestyle—but it is possible. Second, I learned that some foods are very sweet which I never noticed, like bananas and beer and Saint Louis City water (ok, maybe I was a little delirious).

I also learned that behind my momentary culinary cravings were years of accumulated habits—in particular, this salty/sweet pattern. I had never before stopped to ask myself, "Why do I want that bowl of ice cream?" or "Why do I want that candy bar?" The craving goes back further than just a desire, it goes back to habit. In the last 10 years, I've built the habit of alternating between the two. When I took a week to break the cycle, I found that I didn't want sweet things any more. At the start, I expected to finish my Week Without on the couch with a half-gallon of ice cream, a spoon, and no bowl. The opposite happened. I went more than a week without. Day 8 was sans-sugar. So was day 9. I just didn't want it very badly, and the experiment was more interesting to continue than re-establishing my high-caloric carbohydrate intake.

By Day 10, I started back in with sugar in my coffee (coffee without sugar was really tough!), but not my usual dose of 4-packs-per-six-ounce-cup. I took a single pack-per-cup and it was really sweet! Almost too sweet. Since this experiment, I've gone back to eating sweet foods, but to this day, I don't have but 1/10 the amount of sugar I used to; and I don't miss it. I don't desire it. I don't crave it.

My desires were shaped by the habits I had built, and this week taught me that overcoming those desires was mostly an issue of breaking the habits. I think this is true across the board. Our lives are determined by our habits in great degree! Why is it hard to wake up early? Habit. Why don't I read more? Habit. Why do I waste so much time on the computer? Habit. Why are my social interactions always the same? Habit.

Therefore, I'm continuing my Week Without programs and applying it across the board. I've done a Week Without Music and a Week Without Video. I'm currently in the middle of a Week Without Skipping a Workout (with only moderate success. This may take a few tries.). Each one tells me more about myself and works wonders for growing as a person. And what's behind each of these behaviors that I wish would change is some deep-seated long-standing habit. Want to change a behavior? Challenge the habit.

POSTSCRIPT: On a side-note, a side effect that I've found from my Weeks Without is that, depending on what I'm going without, it often feels like traveling. When you take a vacation, the whole idea is to get away from your normal routine. A Week Without gets you away from your routine. For example, when I did a Week Without Video, I had all this extra time. It was time I couldn't while away with movies or TV (by self-determined fiat), so I had to find other ways to relax. I read more. I went out more. I called old friends. I explored things around my city that I always wanted to, but never took the time. I went to the Art Museum. I drove through unexplored neighborhoods. I walked around my neighborhood for entertainment. And it all felt new and adventurous, like I was a stranger in this new land.

My! How much we miss when shackled to our own habits!

Metaphorically Doing Nothing

2008-07-01T04:04:00.011+02:00

I am reading an absolutely captivating book (for the linguistic nerds) called Metaphors We Live By, written by Lakoff and Johnson. The insights gained from a careful examination of how we use language are legion! Language both represents what we believe and shapes how we think. As an example, here is an excerpt:

In viewing labor as a kind of activity, the metaphor assumes that labor can be clearly identified and distinguished from things that are not labor. It makes the assumptions that we can tell work from play and productive activity from nonproductive activity. These assumptions obviously fail to fit reality much of the time, except perhaps on assembly lines, chain gangs, etc. The view of labor as merely a kind of activity, independent of who performs it, how he experiences it, and what it means in his life, hides the issues of whether the work is personally meaningful, satisfying, and humane.

The quantification of labor in terms of time, together with the view of time as serving a purposeful end, induces a notion of LEISURE TIME, which is parallel to the concept LABOR TIME. In a society like ours, where inactivity is not considered a purposeful end, a whole industry devoted to leisure activity has evolved. As a result, LEISURE TIME becomes a resource too—to be spent productively, used wisely, saved up, budgeted, wasted, lost, etc. What is hidden by the RESOURCE metaphors for labor and time is the way our concepts of LABOR and TIME affect our concept of LEISURE, turning it into something remarkably like LABOR.

Pistols at Dawn!

2008-06-25T05:54:00.009+02:00

A Couchsurfing friend recently emailed me asking for a place to stay for the weekend. When I saw that she was a freelance writer by trade, I challenged her to a duel: My city vs. Hers in prose of 500 words. What follows is after twenty paces, turn, and fire!

Gateway to Saint Louis

Once positioned third behind New York and Chicago as one of America’s greatest cities,¹ the tragic decline of Saint Louis in the 1960s and its recent re-emergence have reforged this since-forgotten jewel of America’s heartland. In its wake, the renewal of Saint Louis has left a legacy of rich history, vibrant society, and utterly breathtaking architecture.

Striking to the eye, Saint Louis presents an architectural richness which eastern cities like Boston and Philadelphia covet and western cities left behind. Neighborhood after neighborhood parades elegant Victorian Tudor brick homes whether housing the social elites or common Joes. The streets are filled with green and the city boasts the country’s second largest city park, Forest Park, which is home to world-class art and history museums, an award winning zoo, and science center—all of which are free and open to the public. For 8 months in 1904, Forest Park was the focus of the entire world as the Louisiana Purchase Exposition (a.k.a. “World’s Fair”) showcased the finest creations of mankind’s genius, be it architectural, technological, social, or artistic. The remnants of that magical era are still accessible today for the inquisitive visitor ready to be transported to where and when “The American Century” began.

Modern-day Saint Louis charms unsuspecting travelers with neighborhoods brimming with character and boiling with a vibrant social life. A myriad of fine restaurants line the main streets and out-of-the-way spots in each of Saint Louis’ unique neighborhoods. The Loft District of Washington Avenue sports a trendy strip of bars, clubs, and avant-guard restaurants among the historic buildings of the turn-of-the-century Garment District. The City Museum is just around the corner and defies all explanation but guarantees an unbelievable time! The Loop in University City is another sure-stop for any would-be visitor. This strip—named “One of the 10 Great Streets in America” by the American Planning Association—nourishes an eclectic mix of artistry, society, and history. Grab a root beer from Fitz’s and a table on the sidewalk and be ready to meet some friendly, loquacious passers-by. Or catch a concert across the street in Blueberry Hill’s Duck Room—the very place that Chuck Berry invented Rock and Roll and still performs every month.

No comment on Saint Louis can ignore its most significant visual feature: The Gateway Arch, commemorating the role this city played as the last enclave of civilization before a pioneer reached the Wild West. Saint Louis was the hub of westward expansion linking the old civilizations of the East coast to the new frontiers in the West. This legacy is breathtakingly commemorated in the Arch, an elegant historic form cast in modern stainless steel, which stands at 630 feet to greet all travelers as they cross the Mighty Mississippi. The Arch stands therefore not just as a gateway between East and West, but like Saint Louis itself, a bridge between our past and the bright future.

¹ Jacobs, Jane. The Death and Life of Great American Cities. 1961

Chasing Windmills

2008-04-11T03:24:00.006+02:00

Having arrived back home, I haven't been so moved to post on the old blog for reasons of general hum-drummery. But as of yesterday, I heard unofficial news from one of the professors on the admissions committee that may application has been approved. So in the forthcoming weeks I should hear final word, and then if my house can sell in time (here's hoping!), I will be off to study English Literature in Madrid, Spain this October. Yes, you read that right. It will be English literature in Spain. Let's all just enjoy the irony together, now shall we?

Among the many things that I learned on my travels in the last few months of 2007 is that I want to teach, and to do it at the college level. So this means back to school for me. Truth be told, I've been wanting to be back in school since I got out back in the day. So having amassed vast quantities of life experience, I figure it is now high-time to hide it all back in the classroom. The good news is that if everything goes according to plan, I'll graduate in a decade or less and continue on with the whole "working" thing as a college professor.

For those of you wondering how English Literature fits into the picture, I will take 2 years to get 2 masters degrees in it and use the time also to decide on a course of study for my PhD. At the moment, it's a toss-up between Literature, Religious Studies, and Philosophy. Anyone caring to weigh with an opinion will be given odds accordingly.

If you are the sort with an affinity for details, the program's website (through Saint Louis University--yes, in Spain. I know, it's even more confusing) can be found here. The location of the campus can be found here. And the good news about specialized school supplies can be found here.

Viva la España!

iWitness: The Kirkwood City Hall Shooting

2008-02-08T04:25:00.000+01:00

Inside my second favorite coffee shop, I was working on my computer when a bald man burst through the doors right in front of me and yelled to the entire room, "You better lock the doors, someone just shot some people across the street!"

At first nothing happened. No one really knew what to make of this guy. He said it again and explained a little more, "You'd better lock the doors! A man just shot the mayor and a bunch of other people in a city council meeting across the street." Now it started to sink in. Everyone in Kaldi's Coffee Shop scurried to the back as a barista locked the doors. The view out the large front windows was an eery quiet, but picturesque view of Kirkwood City Hall.

Some people ran out the back door and left, but most people huddled together in the back corner, each talking on a cell phone held in trembling hands. Books, computers, coats and purses were all left sitting on the front tables as we watched the first flashing red and blue lights come on the scene.

By this time a few other people had straggled in, quivering and telling of a man named "Cookie" who walked in to the council meeting and said he wanted justice before opening fire. No one knew what happened after that because the people who were in the City Hall meeting hit the ground and scrambled out to save their lives. But someone remembered seeing a police officer, the mayor and several others get shot. A woman in a red sweater said she was sitting right next to one of the victims in the meeting.

Feeling a little braver with the minutes that had passed, myself and a few others ventured toward the front windows. Police cars were everywhere. Police officers were everywhere--many of them with large rifles, laying prone and trained on the building. The first ambulance arrived but parked a short ways down the block; no one got out.

Inside the coffee shop, several people with computers started checking various news websites for more information. Only campaign headlines and other media knick-knack. A man in a bullet-proof vest approached the door and I let him in. "Keep the door locked, stay inside and don't let anyone in," he commanded. We all scurried into the back corner again.

More cell phone calls. More web scouring. More nervous waiting. Police now had yellow tape around City Hall. They seemed a bit more relaxed. The rifles were casually pointed in the air or dangling at their sides now. A barista turned on a television hanging in the corner. After a few minutes of reality TV, two news anchors interrupted the regularly scheduled broadcast to inform us of a developing story out the front door.

Information was scarce and generic. We waited inside with doors locked and watched as local news updated their websites with increasing information. Meanwhile, someone is telling of how someone told them that someone heard the gunman was still loose. Another heard he was dead. Another heard the mayor was dead. Another heard two police officers were dead. Someone mentioned something about Imo's Pizza and a collapsed man with a bullet wound. The voice of the barista came over the speakers and said that no one was allowed to leave.

As reporters were seen strolling and ambulances leaving, we all assumed the drama might be coming to an end. The two news anchors now had a bit more information, as did their respective websites: the gunman was dead. Just then the barista spoke again to the room. "We have just received word from the police that you all may now leave. You are welcome to stay until you feel safe, but if you do leave, please do not go out alone. Go in pairs and please be careful.

Some people started gathering their things, others traded rumors. The regularly scheduled broadcast remained obscured by the increasing faces of on-site reporters repeating all the same information. I looked out the front windows and saw them standing in front of cameras and holding microphones.

As I left, the scene in the plaza was surreal. I've never seen so many police cars. I've never seen so many reporters. I've never seen so many news vans, their network logo emblazoned on the side and little transmitting dish atop the 50-foot mast. Photographers with backpacks, long hair and long lenses stopped every three steps for another shot. More reporters stood in front of powerless cameras as technicians rushed to get everything plugged in. Everyone was being interviewed. Everyone was interviewing.

The tragedy that gave way to terror now gave way to a media torrent. Most of us who spent that last two hours locked behind glass doors for safety just wanted to go home. Some opinionated residents had come out on the street to voice their perspective on local politics and this or that public official who caused this tragedy. The voice of a nearby boisterous local grinding his axe is grating and hollow.

Driving home--and glad to do it--I have to wonder what drives a man to kill like this. Why so angry and why so violent? Why in this community again? And is there even anything anyone could have done?

Happy Will Smith Day

2007-12-21T04:36:00.000+01:00

Dateline: December 10th, 2007 - Hollywood, CA

With a tense excitement, hundreds of people line Hollywood Boulevard to pay homage to one of the greats. We now have confirmation of his greatness because today Will Smith's hands and feet will be immortalized in the cement sidewalk of Grauman's Chinese Theater.

Only the Hollywood A-list is allowed in the near proximity of the honoree, so I waited with the masses along the opposite side of the street. All's quiet on the southern front before Mr. Smith arrives. Each position this side of the barricade is guarded carefully for the view it affords. But at the moment there's nothing much to see--no stars here.

Then someone in the crowd starts yelling, "Tom! Tom! Tom!" The vocalist is joined by a handful of others, all shouting in choreographed unison. Following brief confusion, the pedestrian crowd realizes they are yelling toward Tom Cruise who has matriculated into the crowd across the street. As you can see from the 12-times zoomed pictures, these starry-eyed observers have a finely honed skill for picking out a celebrity at 500 paces. But never once did they succeed in getting Mr. Cruise to acknowledge their bellows.

Excitement peaked as a large, black SUV pulled up in the reserved space along the curb. No limo for this modest actor. The crowd cheers. Everyone is leaning over the strangers next to them to see around the vehicle and glimpse their first sight of the star. The deep amplified voice of the MC says nothing important, but in just the right ways to make everyone even more excited. The door opens, the crowd cheers, and out comes a small dog. The SUV drives away.

No one is really quite sure what happened, but disappointment is unanimous. Was this a joke? That Will Smith--he's such a kidder. But wait, here comes an identical SUV: sleek, black and oh-so-LA. Again the MC states the obvious with that professionally honed, booming voice. In mindless Hollywood fashion, the screaming continues. This time, it's for good reason. Will Smith rockets out of the car.

Taking incredibly large steps, Mr. Smith strides across the red carpet in Olympic time. He shook a couple hands but it didn't slow him down. Greeting a few particular people before taking the stage, Will kindly acknowledges the gathered crowds with an in-character hand to the ear. Then even before saying "thank you" or anything of the sort, he cups the mic close and begins a beat box, bouncing to the rhythm and pointed a craned arm in classic rapper style. Some things never change.

The crowd is completely under the spell of this classy entertainer as he speaks. The best actors in this town gain fame in their field by talent and luck. Today Will Smith is honored for not only rising to the top of the big-screen names, but his acclaim stretches across the music industry and TV screen as well. So the MC and self proclaimed mayor of Hollywood has it easy as he lauds the praises of this honored guest.

Following a non-literary, somewhat rambling, idealistic speech where he said that he wanted to use his fame and position to "change the world," Will set foot on the wet cement. Once finished, the MC again praises Mr. Smith, but this time for his penmanship and lack of errors in signing his name. (Apparently, they set the bar pretty low for Hollywood stars.) Continuing the gratuitous adulation, the "Mayor of Hollywood" declares this the best message any star has ever left in the cement in all the history of Grauman's Chinese theater: "Change the world."

For his final act as honorary mayor of Hollywood, the MC declares that "today is Will Smith Day throughout all Hollywood." The crowds cheer and Will poses for pictures with family, friends, and other honored guests. After losing sight of the star in the crowd of now semi-ordinary people across the street, I turn and walk down the walk of fame to spend this holiday in much the usual way.

Sabrage

2007-12-14T13:22:00.000+01:00

Did you know you can open a Champagne bottle with a sword? Or in the absence of the real thing, even a small kitchen knife will work. Watch where you point that thing!

Paying Attention

2007-12-10T07:27:00.000+01:00

Walking home one rainy night in Hollywood, I took this sad picture on the front steps of a local church...

The very next night, I took this picture...

Hooray for Hollywood

2007-12-08T22:33:00.000+01:00

Hollywood is quaint in ways all its own. I'm staying with an "actress" who lives right in the heart of all the action in Hollywood: just off of Hollywood Blvd. So this morning was like every other morning...

After waking up at noon (because we were out until 4am again last night), I wanted some coffee. A stone's throw out the front door and I'm walking with all the tourists along the Walk of Fame. The first Starbucks I found was way too busy, so on to the next one.

Along the way, I walk by the famous Grauman's Chinese Theater where only the most famous of Hollywood stars' handprints are set in concrete by the entrance. Next up: the Kodak Theater where many of the "Best Actor/Actress" Oscar winners have their stars. The fun thing about this little stretch is that at every hour of the day or night, you can find street performers dressed as Superheros or movies stars or some other character. This morning, Batman decided to walk with me for a bit. Yeah... we're tight. In this town, it's all about who you know.

Of course, it's often hard to tell who the real street performers are and who the crazy people are. There are many! And they can be found in much the same places: talking to no one on the streets, sneaking up behind you in line, or in Starbucks--but the street performers are usually on the other side of the counter.

So here I sit, sipping my coffee at a corner Starbucks. Across one street, the Children line up in front of a faux winter wonderland for the chance to sit on L. Ron Hubbard's lap and tell him what they want for Christmas and how much their parents are willing to donate to "the cause" for them to get it.

Across the other street is a Frederick's of Hollywood store--actually in Hollywood. Lingerie shops can be found in abundance here. This town is amazing because in Hollywood, even the store manikins have breast implants. Gotta admit: they know their market.

Hollywood To-Do List

2007-12-05T07:31:00.000+01:00

Tourist things to do while in Hollywood:
- See the famous Hollywood sign
- Photograph a movie star against their will
- Tour a movie studio
- Write a screenplay
- Go on strike
- Get plastic surgery
- Buy some REALLY big sunglasses
- Carve my name into a blank star on the Walk of Fame
- Flake on plans with friends
- Hand prints in cement
- Buy a white Bronco; Drive it down the freeway
- Witness and/or participate in a drive-by
- Buy a house; watch it burn
- Go insane; cuss at the wind incessantly
- Convert to Scientology

City of Roses

2007-11-15T07:06:00.001+01:00

Thanks to the mild climate and very soft rain, Portland is among the best places in the world to grow roses. Thus, the Internation Rose Test Garden is located here. One afternoon, I decided to let my camera stop to smell the roses:

...By Any Other Name

2007-11-15T07:05:00.000+01:00

Then I discovered a very fun little setting on my camera which allowed me to take some interesting and dramatic photographs in that same garden:
(Hint: They are even more dramatic full screen. Download and go nuts.)

The Art of Travel

2007-11-12T02:13:00.001+01:00

View Larger Map
Download/View in Google Earth

Having been a typical American, I think I can speak on behalf of the general population and say that we've lost the art of travel. Travel has become anything but. Like so many things American, the goal is to get it over with as quickly and unobtrusively as possible so that we can continue whatever myriad events populate our calendars. At best it's an interruption to the rest of what's important. At worst, we bring along the tools of our to-do list and travel time becomes "productive" time. I'm all for not wasting time--vehemently so! Instead, I'm suggesting that a new value be placed on the actual act of traveling.

Passenger train cars are studded with large picture windows along both sides. My recent 18-hour trip down the Oregon-California rails afforded me plenty of time to enjoy its displays. I didn't realize this until recently, but I think it's probably been about twelve years since I've sat and looked out the window of a moving vehicle. I've always been the driver--so of course I'm looking out the windows, but offensively and defensively. When you're a traveling passenger, you have the chance to look passively, and that makes all the difference. Even if the landscape is made of all familiar elements, something about their constant coming and going is hypnotic. I whiled away hours "seeing the world" out the window.

When day turned to night, the entertainment had to be found inside the train. Unlike an airplane where your interior movement is quite restricted, a train is a world of its own inviting exploration... Alright, it's more like a horizontal building all its own, but it's fun. Waiting for discovery on this trip were the dining car ("Reservations, please."), the cafe car, the observation car, and a long string of passenger cars.

The passenger cars were the setting for an interesting quest--the quest for a power outlet. You have strange needs while traveling. They're often basic needs you take for granted. At this moment, I needed a power outlet. At other times, the need is for a bathroom, or directions, or an all-night Starbucks. But now, I needed an outlet. I wouldn't have died if I didn't get one, but to do what I wanted, this is what I needed. When your traveling (as opposed to commuting or just going somewhere), you have the option to allow your thwarted needs to be an adventure and not a problem. I think this choice is largely what makes you a traveler instead of just a commuter. Then overcoming the problem is what makes "getting there half the fun."

This train, unlike those of previous travels, had electrical outlets in very short supply. Without an electrical outlet, my dear GPS device would not last through the night. It probably would have lost the scent about half-way through. Upon inquiring with the conductor (in his funny little hat--always a crowd pleaser), he said there was only one on the whole train. It was in the cafe car, and he had claimed it. I soon found it with his cell phone hoarding the precious electrons.

Upon further questing, I found that there was another behind the counter of the cafe bar, but alas, it was out of reach for a lowly passenger wanting to string a cord across the aisle. Refusing to believe this apparent state of affairs, I continued searching. It payed off when I discovered that there was exactly one outlet in every passenger car and mixed among the seats. Very accessible... for the person in that seat. Unfortunately, I was assigned another. On a train, the assigned seats are really more like a suggestion, so after making new friends with a socket squatter, I draped my cord along the wall and stated recharging. Problem solved. But after a little more roaming, I found an empty seat immediately adjacent to the plug in another car. Even better. I immediately staked my claim.

When the female conductor approached me a few moment later, I found out that this car was meant to be used by passengers getting on the train further down the line. But this obstacle was nothing a little sweet talking couldn't overcome. After making another new friend, also in a funny hat, I camped there over night, logging GPS coordinates all the way.

I woke up in Sacramento. Full battery. Breakfast was a disappointing 1000 calorie synthetic cinnamon roll I would regret very soon after. Not to be impaired, I relaxed in the observation car and took in the scenery for the rest of the trip and eavesdropped in on nearby conversations, all the while tracking our progress with the electronic breadcrumb trail in my pocket. It was a good thing, because when I noticed my position dot dangerously close to my destination dot, I scrambled to gather up my possessions strewn about. Packed and on my back, I hauled my bag and myself off the train to meet our destination--this adventure over for the time being, and on to another.

When not lost among "the rest of life,"¹ travel itself becomes an event of note. In times past, the single most defining experience of an entire lifetime may have been crossing a country, continent or ocean. In our time, familiarity has bread a lack of familiarity--some may even say a professional detachment. But I remain convinced that the art of travel is an option left open to anyone willing to embrace the adventure as one.

1 And by that, I mean exactly the opposite: "the business of life"²
2 If you read that phrase as anything other than "busy-ness," then you're not getting the clever word-play or the point!

Post-Portland Pondering

2007-11-11T02:29:00.000+01:00

During my whole time in Portland, I was trying to get a handle on the identity of the city. Normally, when I've gone to cities before, you have a sense for the attitude of the city at large. For example, Seattle very much still has a grunge attitude along with a coffee-drinking, bookstore-frequenting, software-writing kind of vibe. Vancouver has a cosmopolitan Canadian vibe: "eh"-saying, late-'90s-fashion-wearing, pedestrian-walking, downtown-living.

Portland is a problem. There's not a whole lot of vibe to Portland. Nevertheless, by the end of this post, I'm going to attempt it. But before then, an observation: to an outsider, Portland is billed on two things: 1.) Being a particularly "livable" city (although no one really knows what that means), and 2.) Having a world-class mass transit system. After spending more than two weeks living there, I have concluded that Portland is billed on those points because that's all there is to bill.

This is not necessarily a slight to the city, however. Probably one of the things that makes Portland so livable is the lack of tourists. But, there's really not a lot for a visitor to do. You can tour the Portland underground (made famous by such TV networks as the History Channel, Discover Channel, E!, etc.)... or you can go down in your basement with a flashlight and tell ghost stories. They will both provide the same effect--the latter being notable cheaper an less likely to incur the wrath of more conservative historians who question the "historical" stories told about the shanghai underground.

The only other thing for a tourist to really do is ride and marvel at the Portland mass transit system. If you've been to another major city before coming to Portland, this experience will feel a lot like riding a bus. A slight exception should be made for the MAX (Metropolitan Area Express). This feels a bit more like riding a European train because it's on rails. Put together, the bus system and the MAX (which includes an impressively long ride through a tunnel under Forest Park) make up Portland's famous mass transit system.

As nice as that sounds, imagine my frustration when, immediately upon arriving in Portland, I found that the public transit system couldn't take me to where I was staying. The house was well within Portland's urban growth boundary, but almost a 3 mile walk from the nearest public transit stop (only 1 mile if I left the house at 7am). Thankfully, my kind hosts had planned to pick me up.

Herein lies one of Portland's most redeeming qualities: I found the people there to be unusually kind. I suppose they are famous for this as well, but it's harder to point at. Every single person I met, whether staying with them, purchasing from them, walking past them in the park or sharing a meal together, was impressively personable and polite. I think this is somewhat common in the Pacific Northwest, but Portland all the more so.

If I had to describe the general vibe I get from Portlanders, it would probably be such: they're easy-going, MAX-riding, home-beer-brewing, direction-giving, city-walking, Sunday-hiking, fleece-wearing, sleeping-in, outdoorsy types.

Now, unless you think I didn't like the city, let me say for the record that Portland is a unique, beautiful, and... nice city. Don't expect a tourist spot. Don't expect deep history. If you're looking for a nice, affordable place on the West Coast to settle down, this might be it.

Overall, Portland is a nice place to live, but I wouldn't want to visit there.

Pictures of Portland

2007-11-08T00:50:00.000+01:00

Mt. Hood from the Pittock Mansion.

Again.

The mansion itself.

The view from my bedroom window.

A Portland street, showcasing it's famous mass transit system, the MAX.

Skyline over the water.

Entry and exit.

Just one local city park.

There are no single-colored trees in Portland.

Portland by night.

2007-11-02T02:20:00.000+01:00

If our lives are dominated by a search for happiness, then perhaps few activities reveal as much about the dynamics of this quest--in all its ardour and paradoxes--than our travels. They express, however inarticulately, an understanding of what life might be about, outside the constraints of work and of the struggle for survival.
- Alain de Botton

What I Was Missing

2007-10-25T09:12:00.000+02:00

I can hardly stand this! There are likely only a few travel experiences so amazing as traveling by train through the Pacific Northwest at the peak of Fall. I'm in awe. It's unbelievable!

There goes another river. We crossed over an old school truss bridge. Mountains off to the left. No wait--mountains off to the right. Wait, now it's the waters of Puget Sound. The sun is poking through the mildly cloudy skies to light them up like aerial fire. Now we're traveling through a valley--the very bottom--along a creek filled with yellow leaves and lily pads. We just crossed the creek. Now it's on the right. Evergreen trees mix in with the fall colors on the far bank. Off to the left again, we have rolling mountains of green, gold and bright red. This next hill is a brilliant green pasture with the perfectly quaint little farmhouse on top, surrounded by fence and horses. A little farther along is a run down old barn. It's perfect for this setting. The distant mountains off to the right make a silhouette against the now explosive sun-cloud canvas. Now they're all gone. I can't see a single thing. But the hum and clatter of the train's motion is much stronger. We're in a tunnel and the world is taken away in a blink. Then bright light, brilliant yellows and green pines again. A voice comes over the line, “Ladies and Gentlemen, as we rocket out of the Rocky Point Tunnel, I'm pleased to announce our arrival into Kelso/Longview. For those of you leaving us here, we'll open the doors between cars number 1 & 2 and cars number 5 & 6.” With a graceful deceleration and stop along with an audible sigh from brakes, the train comes to a total stop. There's not a single sound. It is deadly quiet. Less than a minute passes. If you weren't looking out the window, you wouldn't even know we started moving again. It is still silent. A train whistle. Clack... ... Clack... ... Clack...clack... ... Clack...clack... ClaClack... ClaClack... Clack-A-Clack... Clack-A-Clack... We're moving again.

Inside the train car, I'm sprawled across four seats. They're in pairs facing each other with a table in between. Spanning across the entire table are my travel amenities: my newly acquired laptop, day bag, half a dozen other electronic gadgets and an empty Black Butte Porter beer bottle I bought (when it still had beer in it) from the bistro car. They don't call it a “dining car”. The “in-flight” movie just ended. Evan Almighty (seen it). I might not even realize I wasn't sitting in my own living room if it weren't for the motion of the picture windows on all sides (now showcasing a 150 foot shear rock cliff on the left and a golden sunset over a creek and wetlands to the right). We just crossed over another creek atop another historic train truss bridge.

The train is due in to Portland in an hour and I can't tell you how sad that makes me. How unusual it is to not want the journey to end! It's strange to think that what I thought would be only an interlude in my travel experiences has proven to be such a highlight. This is by far, the most pleasant trip I've had! I can't believe more people (in this country) don't ride trains! Of course, if they did, I would have to share my four-seater living room.

We're crossing a highway now. I can't help but look at the diamond headlights and ruby taillights with a bit of contempt. Do they know what they're missing? As they're running around from place to place, strapped in behind the wheel, I'm lounging with my feet up and shoes off. But then again, before this week, I knew little other than that. I never considered taking a train. Why would I? I had a car. I flew in airplanes. And I will do those again. But one thing won't happen again--I will never again sit behind the wheel at a train crossing, waiting impatiently, so I can get on my way without feeling at least a twinge of jealousy for the lucky travelers riding in style. And when I hear the sound of that train whistle through the air, it will take me back to these fond Fall days of tracking across the Pacific Northwest.

Rails Over Roads

2007-10-23T21:17:00.000+02:00

The elegance of the rails is alive and well! I needed a ticket from Vancouver back to Seattle (on my way to Portland). It was about $3 more than a bus ticket and even though the train is only now pulling away from the station, it's been worth every penny.

There is a romantic allure to train travel that you simply don't have with plane, bus. or car travel. Maybe it's the bell I can still hear ringing; maybe it's the gentle sway of the double-decker car as it picks up speed; maybe it's the 25% occupancy leaving most seats empty for me to stretch out or the ~3 feet of legroom I have (no joke!); maybe it's the couple making out in front of me; or maybe it's the sun setting over the ocean shore where brilliant fall colored trees descend the mountains. Maybe it's all of this. But the experience as a whole is nearly enough to swear off plane travel entirely.

Ahh! There's the train whistle... And the familiar Ding Ding Ding Ding of the crossing signal as all the cars on the road stop for me. It is grand. It is magnanimous!

Here comes the ticket officer. I disappointed that he isn't wearing the funny little hat, but he's quirky and funny enough to make up for it. He says the customs officer will be through in an hour. Maybe he'll be the one pushing the perfectly-aisle-sized cart with beverage and pretzels. Or I suppose I could just walk to the dining car. There is no "Fasten Seat Belt" sign on a train.

Ahah! There's the conductor with the little hat. He seems to be just chatting with passengers. And that thunderous sound was a sister train going north on the adjacent track.

There's the whistle again. One positive side effect to travel by train is that, since you're still on the ground, you get to see a fair bit of the surroundings. We just drove (trained? rolled? tracked?) past the Paramount movie studio lots. Vancouver is known as Little Hollywood. Apparently, it is often much cheaper to film movies in Vancouver (before the dollar sank). "The Fantastic Four" was largely filmed here. I even ran across a film crew with their cranes and cameras and trailers while walking the streets of Vancouver's Gastown.

The only other time I've covered so many kilometers by rail was in Eastern Europe. This experience is much different here--it's North Americanized. Everyone has their own luxurious separate spaces, all facing forwards. In Eastern Europe, the train cars had separate little cabins with six seats each--three facing forward, three backward. So you're staring someone in the eyes the whole ride. There were no arm rests and chances were good that you would have the head of the smelly Russian next to you in your lap after twenty minutes.

Getting up for a stroll yielded some fine results. The dining car had good food for rather little money. People were sprawled out on the U shaped booths on each side of the car, taking advantage of the lack of passengers. Downstairs, the bathrooms were spacious and cleverly laid out. The drinking fountain came with cups. It's a smart little world in here.

Well, after the most enjoyable transit experience of my life, We roll into the station. I'm reminded a bygone era of turn-of-the-century elegance as the tracks back into the ornate historic station. The heyday of the railway has seen its end, but the end of the line on this rail trip has me on track for its elegance again soon.

Opportunity Cost

2007-10-22T19:12:00.001+02:00

Today takes me back to Seattle for a few days. It might be a chance to do, see or say the things I didn't while there before. I don't think there is ever really enough time. Even this time, I'll only be there a few days as a stopping point on my way to Portland. It's always a trade-off. Time spent in one place is time unavailable for another. Nonetheless, it's back into the States for me.

2007-10-22T06:15:00.000+02:00

Men work out their souls by strange rules, which other men, who have not journeyed into far countries, cannot come to understand.
- Jack London

Cool Town, Autumn in the City

2007-10-20T03:04:00.000+02:00

Vancouver in Motion

2007-10-16T05:41:00.000+02:00

This is a beautiful series of time lapse videos taken of Vancouver (not by me). They show the cityscape well. Notice how high in the sky the sun doesn't go.

Things Canadian...

2007-10-14T02:18:00.000+02:00

...intersections. (Lights for one street, stop signs for the other...?)

...native art.

...grafiti. (Look closely. Those are smart grafiti artists.)

...political party headquarters.

...apparel.

...Looney Dollar.

...geese.

Intermediate Impressions: Vancouver

2007-10-10T08:39:00.001+02:00

When I first pulled in to Vancouver on that rainy evening and looked out over the city, I was struck by a very different looking skyline. I had heard that Vancouver was a very modern city and expected something like a small New York. But I was disappointed. The skyline looked... wrong. I've since figured it out. Unlike most American, or even European skylines, the Vancouver skyline is dominated by residential high rises. So it has a very different feel to it. Combine that with the local ordinance limiting the height of downtown skyscrapers to protect the view of yonder mountains, and it makes for an unexpected cityscape.

Adding to the unexpectedness of Vancouver's appearance, but in an entirely pleasant way, is the natural beauty of this city. (Seattle shares this in common.) Vancouver is surrounded by mountains in the distance, flanked with trees in the nearness, and boasts beaches and bays in between. Parks are everywhere--large parks, right by/in downtown (which is impressive given the ridiculous real estate prices here). Stanley Park is even Vancouver's biggest attraction.

The parks are one obvious example of Vancouver being a pedestrian oriented city. Not being in the US, they don't suffer the affliction here of assuming everyone has a car and wants to drive it everywhere they go. So Vancouver is very much designed around the walking person. Many streets (outside of downtown) only fit one car, after the nearby residents park on the street, because Canadian studies have shown that pedestrians feel better about crossing streets below a certain width. They also don't like to cross driveways, so you won't find any here.

Since they're not driving, you won't find any Drive-Thrus, either. All the shops a neighborhood needs--because each neighborhood has its own local everything--are storefronts along the commercial district. They don't quite have the charm of European shoppes, but are leaps and bounds beyond the American plague of strip malls.

What minimal driving there is brings with it some interesting quirks. First of all, gas only costs about a dollar. But, mind you, that's a Canadian Dollar (which I can't believe is worth more than the US Dollar, about $1.03!), and it's buying only a litre. Do the math. It hurts.

The interplay between pedestrian and automobile is also curious for Americans. For one, pedestrians will jump right out in front of oncoming traffic. What's even stranger is that the cars always stop, let them cross and carry on like it's normal... because it is. If a driver is going through a traffic light, he or she is likely to find it more than just green, but blinking green. In other parts of Canada, this means a protected turn signal, but here in Vancouver it means that the light is pedestrian controlled and at any moment, you may have a pedestrian changing the light to "amber" before you must stop at a red light to let them cross.

Whether pedestrian or behind the wheel, there is really no guarantee what the Vancouverite will look like. This must be one of the most heterogeneous populations I've seen. The city is at least half filled with non-Caucasian Canadians, most of whom are Asian. Thus, Vancouver boasts the third largest Chinatown in North America, and arguably, the most authentic.

Regardless of their ethnicity, Vancouverites currently all share a very smelly problem: the garbage service for the city has been on strike for months. Consequently, since they're such nice Canadians, many other public services have gone on strike in sympathy. So the libraries are closed and many other city offices. But cross your fingers, because this week's vote may bring the long strike to a much anticipated end.

As a final thought, among the charming peculiarities that distinguish this nearby neighbour sharply from her southern counterparts, I have to say I particularly miss American bookstores. In Vancouver, they don't put chairs in their bookstores. Can you believe it? They expect you to come in, buy your book, and leave. Even if there's a Starbucks attached (yes, they're en force here!), the signs and scanners prevent you taking an unpurchased book to your table as you sip a latte. So while huddled on the floor of the "Cultural Studies" isle, I stumbled upon the insightful commentary below from a new book about the TV show, "The Simpsons." Coincedentally, the author makes deliberate note of the show's Canadian writers along with some generally insightful comments:

"I have to say that Canadians tend to be a good deal more introspective and self-effacing than Americans, much slower than their southern neighbors to celebrate their triumphs and much quicker to expose their flaws. This is a disposition, note, that is ripe for the development of satire. Another fundamental difference is that many Americans believe--are in fact raised to believe--that everyone else in the world lives like they do, or else wants to live like they do, and that the American way of life is compelling to pretty much everyone. Whereas Canadians are raised with the absolute certainty that not even their closest neighbours live like they do, nor want to, and that their way of life is not even particularly compelling to those neighbours. America's enormous global influence--politically and economically as well as culturally--and Canada's comparative invisibility confirm these beliefs to some degree. America sees itself everywhere, Canada almost nowhere. The former thus develops a highly insular and inwardly focused culture, the latter an obsessively outward-looking culture. And the place Canadians most often gaze out upon is their big, brash next-door neighbour. This has provided Canada with a point of view utterly unique in the world: Canadians are by nature and circumstance experts in American studies, nearly as well versed as Americans themselves in the society and culture of the United States, able to identify every cultural referent, able indeed to pass for Americans--to produce pop culture that an American audience frequently mistakes for its own. Canadians almost instinctively get American culture, but at the same time they are profoundly aware that they are not entirely of it. And this allows Canadians to be critical of it with a degree of detachment impossible for an American, even as their privileged point of view ensures that their criticisms ring true."

Happy Thanksgiving!

2007-10-09T09:23:00.000+02:00

I know it's October, but that's how they do things here in Canada. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, so we had the traditional Thanksgiving feast. I was invited by friends of a friend and it was a ball! It was just like in "the States," except there were no Pilgrims and I'm told you can't have a Thanksgiving meal here without Brussel Sprouts--which is really too bad, because I think their absence would have been the only way to enhanced the meal. Turkey, stuffing, potatos, rolls, squash, green beans, cranberry sauce, mulled wine, hot apple pie--the works. So I'll tell you this, the way to go would be to live by the border so you can be here in October and the States in November. There's a lot of fine food to be had with friends in Vancouver. Happy Thanksgiving!

Oh, Canada!

2007-10-06T22:56:00.000+02:00

Growing up in Michigan, I've been to Canada at least a hundred times. So it doesn't really seem like going to a foreign country. But it's a much different part of Canada, and as of last week, you need your passport to cross the border, so eat it. I'm going to Canada. I'm waiting in a bus station right now for my friend Bert, who is kind enough to drop me off in Vancouver, British Columbia, CANADA, "on his way" home to north Washington. Seattle is a gem for sure, and I may stop back in there in a couple weeks, but for now, I'm singing: "Oh, Canada! My home and native land..." (not really)

2007-10-06T04:21:00.000+02:00

Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity. They seem more afraid of life than death.
- James F. Byrnes

No One Travels Alone: Steven

2007-10-01T07:51:00.000+02:00

"Have a seat." Steven says. "We should pray here."

"What do you pray for?" I asked.

"I pray that I might grow roots here."

I found a mildly comfortable tree root to sit against, but got distracted by the mushy earth around it.

"Be careful," Steven warned, "that's someone's roots there." He laughed.

Steven is from Belgium. If they still had hippies, he would be one. Steven found his house on Google Earth last night and saw his town from the air for the first time. He arrived in the United States a little while back on the East Coast. Then he hitchhiked across Canada before descending into Seattle. I met him because we are staying with the same people.

"Do you want a beer?" Steven asks swinging his arm my direction.

"It's nine o'clock in the morning."

"Oh. Ok."

I told Steven that I planned to come out to Snoqualmie Falls today. "Can I come?" he asked. So I drove while he crocheted and we both listened to Regina Spektor.

Steven makes hats. It's a new skill he learned in Victoria. He told me that he left many good friends in Victoria. He was only there a few days. He must make friends quickly--he's fairly disarming. I think it's the accent. He speaks like he lives: slowly and with distinction--and always with a Belgian twist.

"I loved a girl there," he told me, not referring to sex. "I loved several. It's okay to love people you know. And when you do, you find that you love each of them differently. And those loves add something to your life to make something quite beautiful. ...I think people don't love enough."

We were on our way back up from the falls basin when Steven wandered off the path without warning.

"It's beautiful," he said. Then after a moment, asked, "Where are you going next?"

"I don't know. I suppose back to Seattle."

"Why are you in such a hurry? Why not sit here in nature and relax a while?"

After a pensive pause, I agreed. We walked further off the path into a glen. I find a fallen tree to sit on and Steven lays down on a muddy hillside. The occassional tourist that walks by stops to ask if he's ok. He smirks every time.

"Dude, are you alright?" She was right next to him and her volume didn't match the serenity of the scene.

"Yeah," he replies very quietly.

"What are you doing?" a little softer this time.

"I'm watching the trees."

"What do you see up there?" and the woman lays down in the dirt next to him, her friend frozen and staring a few feet away. After a short moment, the woman says, "He knows what's going on! This guy understands what it's all about!" She speaks with mock religious conviction before standing up and walking away, laughing.

Come rain or shine?

2007-10-01T07:30:00.000+02:00

What's wrong with this city?!? See this picture? That's looking straight up from the city street on which I'm walking. It's raining. Does that look like it should be raining to you? Welcome to Seattle. (But I still like the rain.)

Incedentally, I've been told that while it rains all the time, it almost never snows here. I didn't expect that. It has to do with the near-sea level elevation and the way the jetstream brings either cold, dry air from Canada/Alaska or warm wet air from the south Pacific. But the end result: No snow, more rain.

No One Travels Alone

2007-09-26T05:27:00.001+02:00

As I was putting my travel plans into motion, many people asked if I was going to travel by myself. I didn't know anyone who could or would allow such a big interuption to life's plans on someone else's timetable, so my answer was yes. I planned to hit the road on my own.

But there's something about the culture of travel that opens people up to each other in a way that's sadly missing in everyday life. I don't even mean between two travelers--even locals seem to sympathetically open up when they hear the other is on the road. Maybe it's the fact that everyone misses the people they left behind, or the reality of loneliness is much less denied, but the barriers between people are much thinner when one's on the road.

What this has meant to me is that, so far I have enjoyed the remarkable kindness of some phenomenal people! I am staying with two people who are unspeakably gracious. Not only have they welcomed me into their house and given me a place to stay (at no cost), but they've shared their food, shown me around and become friends. Also a new friend is another fellow couch surfer they had staying with them. Steven and I have adventured around and beyond the city, sipped coffee and talked about important things in life.

Then there is David and his wife Michelle, whom, after a chance meeting literally on the side of the road, became friends and showed remarkable kindness and hospitality. Add to all this quite a number of other new friends with whom I can enjoy a night out. Then combine all this with the small world bringing in St. Louis friends for a conference last week and local college buddies I hope to meet up with soon. It's enough to convince me that no one travels alone. So for anyone keeping track, my answer now is, "No, I'm not traveling alone; I'm meeting my friends along the way."

A Day in the Life...

2007-09-23T19:29:00.000+02:00

Having been on the road for a week now, I am compelled (by popular demand) to lay out for you what a normal day looks like. So that's what I will do; but you have to realize before I even start that every single day has, of necessity, so much uncertainty to it that the concept of a "normal day" is entirely artificial. Nonetheless, you asked for it, and I will tell.

I wake up on a couch. It's a futon, actually, and I've already woken up a few times already. (I don't mind.) I am staying with some very kind people I hadn't met before I arrived and the quiet bustle of their typical morning routine is enough to arouse my barely conscious attention for a brief moment. But now I am up and ready to approach the day.

I have a morning routine of my own. Everything I own fits inside my backpack, but the fitting is a trick and takes some time. I want to be a low-impact houseguest, so when it's all arranged, my possessions sit neatly as an upright and filled backpack in an inconspicuous corner. Armed with my daypack filled with electronic gadgets (which will have their own post in due time), a book, a journal and miscellanies, I take a walk to the bus stop.

I asked a few people I thought would know if Seattle's public transportation was any good. They said it wasn't. They were wrong. Other than the very rare occasion a scheduled bus doesn't show up, I find the Seattle public transit system to be efficient, ecconomical and convenient. From what I can tell, almost every part of the city is accessible this way (some by means of the "water taxi"), and their website makes planning your trip mindless. Even when one finds he needs to catch a bus at 3am, it's there waiting.

Even with the whole city open to me, my destination of choice via the metrobus is downtown. It's a beautiful cosmopolitan area perfect for people watching and finding whatever your heart desires. Most often, my heart desires coffee (the experience, not the drink). There are usually two or three of these coffee shop experiences per day where I unfold my keyboard, prop up my Nokia and milk the free WiFi for everything it's worth.

What would a day in a foreign city be without galavanting around as explorer? My favorite means for such is walking and taking it all as it comes. When in a bus or car, looking more closely at any new discovery must be a very decided action. You have to park (very tough in this city), get out to investigate, then return and re-enter traffic. So you stop less. When on foot, a curiousity is effortlessly explored. And such finds often include a great new cafe, a curiously cavernous bookstore, historic sites, interesting art, or new people to hang out with.

One peculiarity of my exploring preferences that I've found is that the exploration is done just as much when seated as when walking around. For an intellectual (meaning a person who enjoys thinking, not implying anything else), exploration is at least as much a mental pursuit as that of the traditional understanding. I can walk around the city all day and uncover phenomenal treasures, but without a backstory and historio-cultural context for my new discovery, it's merely pleasing to look at. This is why a significant portion of my day is spent reading about the things I've discovered.

Speaking of reading, several of my evenings have been whiled away in Seattle's eerily modern library or the commercial equivilent: Barnes and Noble. When you carry everything on your back, you have to pack light; so books are brought sparingly. Fortunately, books are available in abundance in this country, no matter what city your in. So the remaining half of Harry Potter that I didn't have a chance to finish is being chipped away at, one fine evening at the Barnes and Noble cafe after another.

I can't say where to fit this into the chronology, but each day includes a fair amount of various interaction with the people I've met. Sometimes this means hanging out with the people with whom I'm staying. Sometimes this means meeting up with old friends in town. And sometimes this means a night on the town with new friends I've met. This is perhaps the most unpredictable part of the adventure--and perhaps the most enjoyable.

The day ends as I find my way back to the futon (usually by bus). I sneak in as quietly as I can so as not to wake the other couch surfers. I unpack my bag, unfold my sheets, plug in my gadgets and fall asleep with only a small thought of what tomorrow will bring. After all, tomorrow is another day and so far, none have been like the last.

First Impressions: Seattle

2007-09-17T22:18:00.000+02:00

It's exactly like you imagine!

There really are bookstores everywhere. There really are coffee shops on every corner--but only half of them are Starbucks. I don't think I've seen the sun since I arrived. This hour is the first which hasn't rained, or at least drizzled. People really do wear socks with their sandals, and interestingly, coats with their shorts. A fleece and hiking boots seems to be the standard uniform around these parts.

My favorite is when all this comes together to form the quintessential Seattleite: hiking boots, tall wool socks, bare legs, khaki shorts, REI fleece vest over a long sleeve Banana Republic t-shirt, wearing a loose baseball hat advertising no baseball team he bought at Nordstrom's, with an umbrella in one hand and with the other, conscientiously throwing his Starbucks cup in the nearest recycling bin on his way out of the boutique bookstore where he had a meeting with his publisher as he heads for a hike in the nearby woodlands. The temperature is going up to 60 tomorrow, so he's going kayaking. When do these people get any work done?

There are a few things I am surprised at, however. Maybe it's the weather or the fallout from acid trips during the Grunge heydays of the 90's, but I didn't expect the large numbers of crazy people (many in their late 20's or early 30's) on the city streets begging money for beer and ice cream or trying to sell you used batteries.

At any rate, so far Seattle is a delight and the perfect place to begin my journey. Yes, the wind blowing in off the sound is chilly and rainy, but it's such a sensory experience that I find the best thing to do is savor it. What a rich feeling it is to have the cold fingers of raindrops gently brushing your face under the tree canopied city canyons. And the cold makes the caramel apple cider all the more satisfying as you recline inside and open a good book. Better make it a Venti.

A Tribute to the Saints

2007-09-17T21:07:00.000+02:00

Since moving out of my parents' house, the longest I've lived anywhere is 14 months--but that was before I came to Saint Louis. I have to say that I'm a bit of a restless spirit. I can't stay in any one place too long. I need to find something new, and particularly, something unknown. The side effect to this is that I've gotten pretty good at leaving--but that was before I came to Saint Louis.

Saint Louis had the distinction of being the largest city I've lived in to this point, but as my friend Bob says, Saint Louis is the largest small town you'll ever find. The city may sprawl broadly between the rivers and beyond, but that distance did nothing to separate the fine people I found there.

In the three years I spent and everything I did while there, the greatest mark was left by these disparate people. The California Kodatts really brought me there, found me a job, and were almost my only friends in the city for a time. The Roberts were my local family (among whom I even looked the part: "Is this Noah? My how you've grown!") with an endlessly welcoming Sunday table. The Journey became my home and revealed the rich, subsurface Saint Louis dimension with far too many good friends to name, but here are just a few: the brilliant compassion, surprising insight and silly British vocabulary of Peter; Bob's much cherished conversation, hikes, wine, free legal advice, and multi-faceted friendship; and Rebecca whom, among everything, I appreciate simply for who she is.

Saint Louis surprised me with her charm, but took me in with her people--especially the people who took me in. I left very dear friends when I left the McIntoshes' house. Cora is indubitably the sweetest and most darling little girl this city has ever seen! Ashley has crafted and welcomed me into the warmest southern home to be found in all the Midwest (and is a cook to die for!). And Jonathan, with the many fitting descriptions at hand, I describe most simply and most profoundly as my friend.

Other parts of this country have their charms and appeal, as I'm starting to see, but Saint Louis rightly sits in the prime of the heartland. It's not a description of geography though, at least not in my mind. With the dear friends whom I have, for the moment, left behind, when I think of home, Saint Louis is where my heart is.

Well weathered wanderlust

2007-08-30T20:58:00.000+02:00

Summer ends on September 15^th. Technically, it ends on September 21^st, but for me, it ends on the 15^th. I have a plane ticket meant to depart that afternoon. With the oppressive St. Louis summer scorcher ebbing toward Seattle's September sixties, the beginning of my trip spells the end of this summer. So bring on the Fall.

The tentative plan is to explore the western coast. Starting in Seattle, I hope to migrate southward along the coast to places including Vancouver, Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego. It may happen just like that, or I might find myself in Alaska in a few weeks. Or maybe even back home in three days. Either way, there is no adventure without a definitive sense of the unknown. So bring it on.

Here I dreamt I was a bus driver

2007-08-07T01:54:00.000+02:00

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. USA

Here I dreamt I was a bus driver. Just one in ten thousand. Yes, there are that many. When so many residents opt for public transport, their chauffeurs are in high demand. All of my friends are bus drivers. All of their friends are bus drivers. But it wasn't always this way...

Once I worked in a factory--a steel factory. Not forty years ago, I was part of the grandest industry on the planet. Hell, we built this planet. Well, we built this city. We built every city. "Pittsburgh steel," they would say. If you want to build them tall, you need that Pittsburgh steel. And for that, you come to me.

I was the mind behind the machines that built the machines. My job was to control the emptying of the LD Converter (you know, the machine that replaced the Bessemer converter in the smelting process). At my command would the giant vat of steel lay down and give up it's payload. I direct it into a mold to form parts of a crane, a girder, or a bulldozer. At times, I would even guide the molten metal into a smaller vat, from which is poured the block of the very engine driving my bus.

Those days are no more. When the red day came, none of us were left standing. I think I saw it coming but refused to believe it. I was the last of my friends to go. In the end we were all gone, and so was the industry that built America.

At the time, I remember so many people protesting outside my industrial office. Cleaner air is what they wanted. Is that worth a man's livelihood? How about the livelihood of ten thousand men? Say nothing of their families... I remember hearing a picketer speak of 21 people who lay dead from the polluted air. Surely it was an exaggeration. An anomalous weather pattern supposedly failed to blow away the "Pittsburgh Cloud" and over just two days, he said those people breathed in enough steel smoke to breathe their last. Surely that can't be true.

Talk of death always make me think of religion. There is a church I pass on my route which comes to mind. I always wondered what the inside looked like--the exterior demands that much of me. It's a black stone like none I've ever seen. It's beautiful, not in the least for it's uniqueness. Although, when I try, I remember seeing several others built of this same stone. But let me not get side tracked. This church I finally entered last week. It was a happy occasion, mostly. A friend was getting married, again. But what I remember of the ceremony was the inside of the church--built in a beautiful limestone, almost white. It was such a contrast to the volcanic black of the exterior. As I left, I touched the stones and found them disturbingly similar, inside and out. Both limestone, but the inside shown in it's naked beauty. The outside wore the mourning veil of one hundred years' soot.

My city wears the scars of our nation's progress. Someone had to do it. No one said they did it. Now many are undoing it. I am undoing it. Pittsburgh saw it's own Renaissance. In fact, we saw two. The government rallied, the populous voted and spent, then "The Smoky City" was reborn from its ashes. With successions of public works and cleanup programs, this old fort towne is alive again. Her economic lifeblood flows through the arteries of mass transit. We all ride the bus and cough a sigh of relief. The dark clouds have left alright but left their mark.

I am a priest of the new Renaissance. Each day, I atone for the sins of many; I atone for the sins of one--to propitiate the pollution we all produce. Come worship in this temple and sing the praises of our mother, the city. Generations past have made her live, but it was this generation that made her livable.

Here I Dreamt I Was a Traveler

2007-07-13T23:31:00.001+02:00

Saint Louis, Missouri. USA

Here I dreamt I was a traveler. The skyline is a brand new sight to see. What secrets lie among your canyons?
No matter. That's a question for another time. First things first. I've got only a few hours to find a place to stay. Yes, it may have been a good idea to call ahead, but one doesn't always have that luxury.

At a time like this is when you realize that information is an extremely valuable commodity. There are a thousand--perhaps a million--places to sleep in this town, but at the moment, every single one is out of reach. Some of these places are available. Some aren't. It's time to find out.

I walk the city strets pushing a little button every few steps. This button, or more specifically the LED light right next to it tells me when I am a rich man. It lights up! I have a WiFi signal. A wealth of information is soon at my fingertips. Checking my surroundings, I'm in front of a St. Louis Bread Company. "Hmmm... this place looks a lot like Panera."

In less than ten minutes, I've found a bed and an Asiago Cheese Bagel (but not in that order). By the time my bagel is gone, I also have a list of the best that St. Louis has to offer. The Arch, Union Station, The Botanical Garden, The Anheusier Busch Brewery, and (perhaps best of all) the many different neighborhoods with their unique styles and personalities.

Seeing the sights is a funny goal. It's all done now and I have some beautiful pictures on my camera's memory card to prove it. But it's done. Perhaps what I take with me most of all at this point is the sense of how these people live. Of course there wasn't time to settle down, learn their lives in full. But I know enough now to tell you that baseball is very important to these people. It's so important in fact that St. Louisans are even willing to venture downtown to see a game. What a gesture of support for the Cards! I've learned enough to tell you that St. Louis has a lot more traffic than Little Rock, but a lot less than Atlanta. And I've learned enough to tell you that most everyone has this conflict of a sad optimism about their city, which they can't quite articulate. Once a place of great industrialization, wealth and prosperity, St. Louis has lost most of its wealthy patrons and passionate advocates to the fallout of a 50 year suburban winter. So what's left is only the best of the political vultures fighting over the scraps.

As I board a two-winged ticket to the next great destination, St. Louis starts to disolve into the broth of past experiences. But one thing this foreign traveler will not lose to the doldrums of experience is the sense of what could be. This burden of potential is something that I will share with this fair city for decades yet to come.

A Picture's With a Thousand Worlds

2007-05-17T23:23:00.000+02:00

Pictures are great, but unless your subject is something iconic like the Eiffel Tower or the White House, it's hard to tell where the picture was taken. Fortunately, this is changing...

A brilliant site, Panoramio.com, invites you to upload your photographs and place them on a Google Map. Then they upload the best photos to Google to include in a special Google Earth Layer. All that means that you can open Google Earth and see pictures taken by normal people of whatever you are seeing on the map. It's a great example of how important not only the picture is, but also the location where the picture was taken. If you want to see an example of my Panoramio Pix on a web page, see the bottom of this one...

That's great, but if you have many pictures at all, it becomes really time consuming to manual locate them all. This is where GPS comes in.

I bought a Magellan eXplorist 400 the other day. This handy little GPS device will (among other things) track your location to within a few meters (usually). It also keeps track of what time you were at any given point. So when I use a little program like GPS Photo Linker for the Mac (in Windows, it seems the program to use is WWMX Location Stamper), it looks at the time the pictures were taken and where I was at that moment, then embeds the coordinates into the photograph. Now, when I upload the pix to Panoramio, they are automatically placed exactly at the place at which they were taken. Smart!

All this put together means that while traveling, I can sync my pictures with GPS data and do a quick little upload to show the world what pictures I have taken and where. It's almost like being there.

Counterintelligence: How to Travel Invisibly

2007-05-03T21:13:00.000+02:00

The most difficult question I've had to answer before I leave on my year-long trip around the world is whether or not to take my laptop. After much soul searching and planning, I decided to leave it at home. I'll take some other technology, but no computer. So how will I keep everyone updated, you ask? How will I get pictures off my camera? How will Ryan survive without instant technology everywhere? The answer is Internet Cafe's.

The danger of using an Internet Cafe is that I don't know who will be watching. Since it's someone else's computer, there could be software installed to record everything I do, including passwords for my banking sites, email and every other private piece of information. If this gets out, it could mean a very early end to my trip (as well as ruined credit and abject poverty).

Enter: MojoPac. This is a program which essentially lets you turn any computer into your own computer. I'm taking an external hard drive on my trip. Once I plug it in to the potentially compromised Internet Cafe computer, the MojoPac login box appears. Once I log in to MojoPac then not only do I have all my programs, pictures, and iTunes library with me, I also have a big black wall between what I do and the program meant to watch me. MojoPac isolates everything done in the MojoPac environment from the host OS (the infected Windows computer). It basically bypasses any surveillance software and goes straight to the Internet or other place without ever touching the host OS. So keyloggers (spyware) see nothing. If they're taking screen shots, they get a picture of a black screen--even if I'm logged in to my bank account in MojoPac.

In case you're keeping score or into these kind of details, I have tested MojoPac against the following keyloggers: Advanced Invisible Keylogger v.1.9, All in One Keylogger v.2.42, Ardamax Keylogger v.2.6, Dark Keylogger, Ghost Keylogger v.3.80 and Golden Eye v.4.50. It defeated them all.

While MojoPac may isolate you from existing keyloggers, if you'd rather get rid of them in the first place, Dewasoft's KL-Detector will help you find them--or at least confirm the presence of a software keylogger. KL-Detector is also free, unlike MojoPac. But neither of these programs will help with hardware keyloggers or people looking over your shoulder. So while this software is pretty handy, there's no substitute for an old fashioned glance over your shoulder.

Happy covert computing.

Traveling

2007-03-12T04:01:00.001+01:00

The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.
- St. Augustine