Rain, Moss, and Slugs

Another Reason to Love Noise-Cancelling Headphones

2010-08-31T12:05:00.000-07:00

The fragment of cellphone conversation I was treated to on the bus this morning before I managed to wrest my headphones from my bag:

Miss Mitchell?* No, honey, I haven't heard from Miss Mitchell in a while, not since she lost her house....Remember? That little girl's mommy turned her in to the State, and she lost her job and her house....Her house, down the street. You used to play in her yard when you were five....Yes, you used to play there all the time, and then that little girl's mommy told them Miss Mitchell hurt her even though she was hurt already....Yes, that was a long time ago. You weren't even in kindergarten then, and now you're going to be in third grade....No, she didn't want to move. That lady said she was bad and she lost her day care business and then she didn't have the money to stay in her house....It was mean of that lady to say she was bad and take her business away.

* Names have been changed to protect the (possibly) innocent.

A Reminder for the Cat

2010-05-25T10:30:00.000-07:00

Me, last night: "I know those are the claws of love--but they still hurt."

How Did I Spend My Coffee Break?

2010-05-14T14:07:00.000-07:00

Documenting the intersection of genetics and hair style, that's how!

The Birds

2010-02-09T18:02:00.001-08:00

This blurry photograph doesn't begin to do justice to the presence of crows at dusk on the UWB campus. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of them. Every single smudge you see in the sky here is a crow. The roofline seems to waver because the roof is full of crows. The noise is amazing--and, eerily, every so often it stops dead, and you find yourself walking through a completely silent murder of crows.

UPDATE (Feb. 11): One of my colleagues shot some video of the crows last night, which gives a much better sense of the situation than the photo above. You'll find his work here.

A Test of the Mobile Blogging System

2010-01-13T19:02:00.001-08:00

...with a bumper sticker I admired in the Seattle Central parking garage last night.

Friedl Dicker Day

2008-07-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

Today would have been Friedl Dicker’s 110th birthday. It would also have been my 14th wedding anniversary.

We didn’t discover the coincidence of dates until long after Friedl had become our household saint (a Jewish saint being somewhere between a cause for controversy and a contradiction in terms, and thus peculiarly appropriate to our union). As I remember it, she came into our lives by a fluke in 1994 or 1995, when we were both studying art history at SUNY-Buffalo. James was writing a paper on women weavers at the Bauhaus, and one night, procrastinating on whatever paper I was supposed to be writing, I started leafing through his books. Her name caught my eye.

“Friedl Dicker?” I said, displaying all the maturity for which I am even now renowned. “You should definitely write your paper on Friedl Dicker.”

James, being similarly dignified, let out a snort and grabbed the book from my hands. “Let’s just see what happened to Friedl,” he said, flipping to the short artist biographies in the back. “Hmmm…established a design studio in Berlin…moved to Vienna…forced to close her studio there in 1934…moved to Prague…married Pavel Brandeis…moved to Czechoslovakia…deported to Terezín in 1942, where she gave art lessons to the children in the camp…transported to Auschwitz…died in Auschwitz in 1944.”

“Oh, no. Poor Friedl,” I said.

Somehow, from that moment on, she became a part of us in both comic name and rich, complex, tragically truncated life. Even now, hearing her name reminds me of the best parts of the life we had together--the robust and resilient humor that transcended whatever circumstances we found ourselves in. That quality, I am glad to say, survived our transition from spouses to friends.

Friedl’s work and her story have become more widely known in recent years, largely a result of the efforts of Israeli art teacher and scholar Elena Makarova. A selection of the 5,000 children’s drawings Friedl hid at Terezín shortly before her transport to Auschwitz were published as I Never Saw Another Butterfly in 1964, and a children’s book about her work with the children in the camp, Fireflies in the Dark, was published in 2001. That same year, the Simon Wiesenthal Center and Museum of Tolerance organized a traveling exhibition of her and her students’ work; a biography by Makarova (Friedl Dicker-Brandeis, Vienna 1898-Auschwitz 1944) was published in connection with it.

In 2004, the Jewish Museum organized a celebratory exhibition of her art and correspondence. Might I suggest you visit the exhibition site in honor of Friedl Dicker day? My favorite piece reproduced there is the Atlier Singer-Dicker “Phantasius” toy kit design.

Human Mirror

2008-07-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

Go read this (and make sure to watch the video).

Note that Swedes were among the first to notice. Swedes are smart.

Cute and Deadly Slugs

2008-07-11T10:45:00.000-07:00

...can be seen here.

The above link has been shamelessly stolen from my friend Alex's blog. It was wrong of me, I know; I can only hope she'll remember that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and forgive me.

Speaking of "Shouts and Murmurs..."

2008-07-07T16:38:00.001-07:00

...you should read this.

Metro Loves You

2008-07-07T10:38:00.001-07:00

A rough transcription of the outgoing message you'll hear on Metro's Lost and Found Office phone line if you call when there's an overflow:

"Thank you for calling King County Metro Transit's Lost and Found Office. All of our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Your call is NOT in queue and will NOT be answered, and this is NOT a message line. You may call back a little later today or visit us online between the hours of two and five..."

There's a "Shouts & Murmurs" piece in there somewhere.

In Metro's defense, you get this message only if you're unlucky enough to call when they're completely overloaded. There is, as I eventually discovered to my relief, a first-tier overflow message ("Thank you for calling...there is currently one caller ahead of you")--and when you are at last granted an audience with the staff, they are very nice and can generally find whatever you've lost.

Moral:

Don't drop your cell phone on the bus as you leave. If you do, and you hear it drop, don't check for your wallet and your camera and then decide not to slow down the bus any longer because you can't imagine what else it could have been.

Note for the Concerned:

Some nice person did turn my phone in to the Lost and Found.

Better Living through Technology

2008-06-16T23:24:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning to discover a spider in my bathtub. As faithful readers of this blog may recall, such discoveries are not simply resolved chez Howard, the smush-and-flush approach being admired but not practiced in these parts and the cats being no help whatsoever. And so this morning, lacking time for an elaborate spider-relocation ritual, I heaved a sigh and trudged off to work showerless.

It wasn't until I returned home that I remembered last year's favorite Christmas gift leaning neglected in the corner--my very own spider-relocator! My Christmas-day experiments with the plastic dummy spider had been promising; nonetheless, now that the time had come to put it to the test with a living, scuttling arachnid, I was plagued with doubt. Would it be too forceful, leaving me with a gruesome lump of ex-spider mashed against the filaments? Or, worse, would it be too weak, letting a live and angry spider escape unexpectedly?

I should have had more faith. The device worked beautifully, scooping up the spider in one neat whoosh, holding it gently but securely all the way through the apartment to the hall. (This was helped a bit by the poor spider's instinctively rolling itself into a defensive ball.) When I released it, the spider scampered off toward my neighbor's door, presumably a bit stressed but otherwise unharmed. It was nothing short of amazing. I almost wish there were another spider in the bathtub so I could give it a second try.

Hmmm

2008-05-07T23:17:00.000-07:00

As I stumbled through my front door tonight, I realized I was murmuring, "Okay, I really need to stop talking to myself."

(I also need to start writing longer blog posts, but that's a different matter.)

Eavesdropping on an Epistemologist

2008-05-06T20:59:00.001-07:00

"You know, I only know what I know, you know."

Source: cell phone conversationalist on Metro Route 43 (toward downtown) this evening.

Not a Hallucination

2008-04-16T11:22:00.001-07:00

This morning, shortly after making my groggy way in to the office, I realized I needed milk for the thermos of coffee I'd thriftily brought from home* and made my groggy way down to the cafeteria. I stumbled over to the milk case and grabbed a pint--which promptly shrieked, "OUUUUCH! That HURT!"

The food service worker in the area behind the case was, fortunately, not seriously injured by the can she'd dropped on her toe.

* Yes, I should be praised for this. Coffee from home is much cheaper than coffee from the cafeteria!

Heartwarming

2008-04-15T16:43:00.001-07:00

So, last night, I'm lying in bed and I hear a large number of footsteps and a loud voice coming down the street. I heave a great sigh and am mentally preparing to restrain myself from sticking my head out the window and scolding the miscreants like the crazy old lady I am--when the footsteps draw nearer and I hear a much quieter voice say, "Damn, man, why are you so loud?" This statement was followed by a murmured chorus of support involving a fair amount of profanity and words such as "embarrassing" and "disrespectful." I looked out just in time to see the chastened offender and his crowd of keepers disappear around the corner.

I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually a dream.

2007-12-16T23:15:00.000-08:00

It's difficult to capture the magic of angel chimes in a photograph.

Another Reason to Love Marie Osmond*

2007-12-13T15:08:00.001-08:00

I was poking around on the web for a copy of Hugo Ball's great Dada poem "Karawane" on my coffee break today--and out of nowhere Marie Osmond started appearing in my results. It seems she recorded the poem for Ripley's Believe It or Not in the 1980s, and surprised everyone by reciting it from memory.

From what I understand, the clip that appears on UbuWeb is a bit mangled--Ms. Osmond did in fact recite the poem in its glorious entirety. It would be great to find the full version, because the clip is amazing. Listen to the conviction in those ü üü üs. Imagine what she must have done with the ba-umfs.

* I do realize that for some of you the title should be altered to read "A Reason..." I'm sorry. I'm also about a year behind the times in posting this--but in the immortal words of NBC, "If you haven't seen it, it's new to you."

All Done

2007-12-11T11:13:00.000-08:00

I'm delighted (and a bit surprised) to report that I completed my self-portrait project yesterday. Hurray! If you have time on your hands and a desire to spend it perusing my year in pictures, you'll find the set of all 365 portraits here, and the greatest hits edition here--and clicking on the picture above will lead you to some late-night thoughts about the effect the project had on me.

Current Favorite Bus Graffiti

2007-12-09T22:24:00.001-08:00

Christmas Spirits

2007-12-06T09:39:00.000-08:00

Out of nowhere, Holiday Christine has reappeared. Please be aware that she is dangerously full of cheer; even canned Christmas music and energy-wasting holiday lights appear to be powerless to call forth her Scroogelike tendencies.

Why I should be so happy about Christmas this year is a mystery to me. It's still the same overcommercialized religious holiday that it was last year, and I'm still unable to do many of the things that used to make the season fun for me. I especially miss hosting Luciafest.

Nonetheless, I'm just brimming over with goodwill right now. I'm even looking forward to doing my Christmas shopping--which starts tonight with the excursion in search of presents Warren and I have made together since we were in high school. The first item on my list is a contribution to the pile of replacement presents for a holiday party for kids in my (extended) neighborhood; the original stash was ruined in this week's flood.

Details about the Miller Community Center / Country Doctor holiday party situation are here. It sounds as if there has already been a tremendous response, but if they're overrun I'm sure they'll find a good use for the gift overflow.

My Favorite New Compound Word

2007-12-05T11:54:00.000-08:00

...is "happinessdotty," coined by Swedish amateur photographer Lena Möllergren to describe a feeling of glee. I may never use "giddy" again.

Breaking News

2007-12-01T15:56:00.001-08:00

This dusting of snow arrived just in time to enhance the Christmas concert I'm headed to tonight. I love snow.

What's Wrong with This Picture?

2007-11-06T23:29:00.000-08:00

(Not that I'm complaining.)

Perspective, Part III

2007-11-03T19:54:00.000-07:00

Don't worry, I'm not going to post about plumbing again until my plumbing is actually fixed. This probably means you'll be safe for some time to come.

I will try to post about something else sometime soon, however.

Perspective, Part II

2007-10-31T20:15:00.000-07:00

Another post about plumbing, you ask? I imagine you rolling your eyes.

Why, yes, I answer. You see, I have a very short list of potential blog topics in my head tonight, and while I know you must be dying to hear about How Much My Sinuses Hurt or Why I Would Trade Trick-or-Treaters for Drunken Barhoppers Any Day of the Year and Especially on Hallowe'en, I have taken the liberty of choosing Why My Plumbing Is Still Unfixed for your edification tonight.

Fortunately for you, it is a short post. My plumbing is still unfixed because the plumber was unable to operate a key--the key my manager left for him, the key that the manager and I were both able to operate successfully in a door unlocking re-enactment some hours later.

It is, of course, possible that the key is only a proximate cause. I would be willing to entertain the notion that the ultimate cause has to do with a curse and my sadly beleaguered head if my sinuses were less stuffy or the barhoppers less noisy.

Now, will you look at that? I've managed to work all three topics into a single post.

Disclaimer: Christine is far less crabby than the foregoing might imply. After all, there's a good possibility she'll come home to working plumbing tomorrow.

Perspective

2007-10-24T12:33:00.000-07:00

I had an interesting conversation with my twentysomething apartment manager yesterday. I've been having plumbing woes, and since I haven't seen a plumber in two weeks or heard from the manager in a week, and I still have a nonfunctioning shower and a leaky connector that requires the hot-water valve to be turned off except when the hot water is in use, I called for an update.

Said manager brought up two topics I found unsettling in the course of our conversation. The first was, I think, a good-hearted attempt to help me find better ways of coping with the lack of a shower. "So, ummm...how are you cleaning yourself?" he asked. I was so disconcerted that I actually embarked on an answer before realizing that I had no need or desire to share the details of my ablutions with a young man with whom I have only the most passing of acquaintances.

After an awkward pause, he introduced Unsettling Topic 2: "Now, have you had any flashes of inspiration about what you might have done to cause this [emphasis mine]?"

Unfortunately, I took this as a veiled accusation, and the visions of pecuniary consequences dancing in my head produced a rather sharp (if truthful) response. I didn't do anything; the plumbing is ancient, and it's hardly surprising that the diverter for the shower should just give out or that a connector should spring a leak.

Upon further reflection, however, I'm pretty sure the question wasn't indicative of a plot by the management company to shift maintenance costs to an innocent tenant. I think my young manager simply has yet to learn one of the basic lessons of life: things have a lifespan. Sometimes they are damaged through accident or maliciousness, but sometimes--well, sometimes they just fall apart because they're old.

It does make some sense that it's easier to understand this at 38 than at 22.

Edit:

After receiving a response or two to this post, I've realized a couple of clarifications are in order:

1. My poor manager is not in any way responsible for the extended delay noted above. He got a plumber out here very promptly; the plumber looked over the situation, muttered something about ordering a part, and disappeared. My manager has spent the intervening weeks vainly trying to reestablish contact with the elusive plumber, calling other plumbers to see if they have the (apparently rare) part on hand, and generally worrying about my showerless state. His only failure was keeping me in the loop.

2. There was not the slightest suggestion of leering in Unsettling Topic 1. It was an odd question, to be sure, but an innocent one; we were both alarmed by the turn the conversation took.

Filler

2007-10-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

Except for a tragic accident, the 35th annual Bath Heritage Days parade went off without a hitch.

--The Bath (Maine) Times Record, quoted in The New Yorker

Lest you think this post is all fluff, may I direct you to Hendrik Herzog's piece on Hillary Clinton's laugh in the self-same issue of The Best Magazine in the World?

Paving-Stone

2007-10-10T21:32:00.000-07:00

My intentions were good, but I am just too tired: no post tonight.

Rule of Thumb

2007-09-25T23:11:00.000-07:00

Singing to your cats is a clear sign that you're spending too much time alone.

If you feel a need to sing, though, might I recommend the following?

Kucing-kucing
Kucing-kucing
Kucing-kucing
KUUUU-CING!

Repeat as needed.

[Translation: "Kitties kitties kitties KI-IITTY!" The "c" in "kucing" makes a ch- sound. Extra bonus points if you address the final, singular "kucing" to a particular beastie.]

Oooh!

2007-09-24T17:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure how I managed to go so long without discovering that The Guardian publishes Top-Ten book lists chosen by prominent authors in its book section. I suppose this could have been a distressing discovery, given that I've long cherished a geeky little fantasy of developing a website with just such lists--but the "competition" has such a wonderful selection that I can't even be jealous. There are lists of smelly books, books in which things end badly, and books in which things end well. There are provocative lists (e.g., Peter Singer's top ten books on ethics) and silly lists (e.g., Joanne Harris' top ten "kids' books with kickass heroines," although I suppose that might qualify as provocative in some quarters). There's even a list of books about trains that are actually interesting.

And to think all I was looking for was more information about Robert Irwin--I just finished his Exquisite Corpse, which is great reading for former fledgling art historians.* It seems Mr. Irwin is an historian as well as a novelist, and as such he contributed a top-ten list of books on Islam to the cause.

*Now there's a top-ten list I could compile: Christine's Top Ten Novels for Former Would-Be Academics in the Arts and Humanities. A. S. Byatt's Possession, David Lodge's The British Museum is Falling Down...

Hello, My Name Is Christine and I Am an American

2007-09-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

I don't generally think of myself as an American. I don't have a love affair with my gas-guzzling oversized car or consider fast food "dinner" or spend the majority of my free time in front of the television (although I do have my share of televised guilty pleasures). If you detect a slightly superior tone in even this short list, you're on the right track; I generally, I'm afraid, hold myself a bit above my native culture.

My recent trip to Portland for a Vasa convention took some of the wind out of those snobbish sails. I'd booked a room in the convention hotel, the Portland Airport Sheraton, which is--it almost goes without saying--the sort of place I usually eschew in favor of a hostel or B & B.

At first, I was satisfyingly out of step with my surroundings. I took the train from Seattle to Portland and dragged my backpack and old-fashioned un-wheeled garment bag up to James' office. James and I went to lunch at a great sidewalk schnitzel joint, after which I retrieved my bags and took the lightrail out to the airport, where I picked up the free shuttle to the hotel. I took great delight in answering my fellow conventiongoers' queries about traffic with, "Oh, I took the train."

And, of course, the hotel was every bit as dismally pretentious as I'd hoped it would be. My room featured a flat-screen TV and a grand view of the parking lot. A vinyl folder on the desk detailed, in several tabbed sections, the various additional comforts that could be mine for a slight addition to the bill. I was quietly glorying in the horror of it when I noticed the power strip.

Now, for the first time ever, my packing list for this trip had included a section entitled "Electronics," which read in part

laptop
laptop charger
phone
phone charger
palm pilot
palm charger
camera
batteries
battery charger
mp3 player
USB cable

As I put together the list, I'd actually thought, "Perhaps I should bring a power strip." I hadn't--but in this one particular the Sheraton had anticipated my needs. Before long, I had my laptop, phone, and palm all happily plugged in side by side, and my mp3 player plugged in to a USB port on the laptop. It was just like home, only better...and that was before I discovered I could use the free wi-fi to watch streaming video via my Netflix account.

I was deeply reassured to find I liked the B & B I'd booked for my last night in Portland better, despite the lack of power strips and the inferior wi-fi service. If you ever need a place to stay in Portland, I highly recommend Portland's White House. It's lovely and on a bus line!

She Lives!

2007-09-20T22:39:00.000-07:00

I hope those of you I suckered into reading this blog with promises of "daily" posts will accept my apologies. I haven't been feeling so hot lately, and my trip to Portland took a toll on me--so I've been leading a highly edited version of my normal life over the past few weeks.

My health seems to be back on an upswing. What's good for the blogger is, of course, good for the blog, so if you haven't given up on me entirely, watch this space.

Arachnids Are Everywhere

2007-08-28T20:31:00.000-07:00

I really didn't want to know that water spiders exist, no matter how cool they are.

Another Glimpse Inside My Head

2007-08-26T00:17:00.000-07:00

I'm beginning to think there may be entirely too many glimpses inside my head here, but I can't resist sharing yet another dream. The setting was a bigger, fancier, but no less messy version of my current apartment. In the dream, I came home exhausted on a weekend afternoon, and as I collapsed on the bed I noticed a pile of different kinds of cheese on the bedside table.

"Oh, ugh," my dream-self thought. "I can't possibly deal with that until after my nap."

Then I reached up to take off the beret I was wearing over some sort of disorderly up-do.* As I pulled it off my head, a wedge of parmesan tumbled down from the nest of hair onto the pillow.

I think my psyche would like me to do some cleaning soon.

*Apparently I am a plus-size Sarah Jessica Parker in my dreams.

Arachnophobia

2007-08-23T11:52:00.001-07:00

I was late to work this morning. This was in part because I haven't been feeling all that well and woke up late, and in part because there was a spider in my bathtub.

I knew even before I woke up this morning that there would be a spider in my bathtub. I'm not psychic; the spider had been there for at least two days. I first noticed it around 2:00 yesterday morning, but let it be--and when I got up for work yesterday, I decided I could go without washing my hair, which allowed me to hope that the spider would simply wander off and perhaps be eaten by the cats.

I am, you see, arachnophobic. Spiders have taught me many useful things over the years--that keening is involuntary, that concerned neighbors may call the police when you let out a sustained shrieking wail in a suburban house with the windows open, that police called by concerned neighbors tend to be suspicious of claims that sustained shrieking wails of such alarming intensity can be caused by something as innocuous as a spider--but I have never managed to conquer the irrational fear they provoke in me. My reaction to them is intensely physical. Even looking at a picture of a spider brings on chills and nausea.

Being me, I don't stop at simple arachnophobia. Killing the spider doesn't solve the problem; it just leaves me with a dead spider, which in my world is worse: it is now both a spider and a corpse. The issue is not, or not just, having respect for living things. It's more a matter of the overactive and persistent imagination with which I've been endowed. If I flush the dead spider down the drain, I will shudder for weeks every time I run the water; if I throw it in the garbage, I will have visions of it revivifying itself every time I pass the trash can.

And thus I knew when I got up this morning I was going to have to find a way to transport the spider in my bathtub to greener pastures. The arachnid relocation required the sort of planning one might more readily associate with a military maneuvre in hostile territory or a daring tightrope walk over a vat of burning tar. My preparations were both physical (assembling cardboard and tupperware, donning a long-sleeved shirt, propping doors open) and mental (visualizing a successful outcome, taking deep breaths, having an extra cup of coffee). After about an hour's worth of obsessiveness, I had to admit I had done everything I possibly could to prepare.

I am pleased to report that the mission itself went off without a hitch. I threw the cardboard in the tub, gently shoved the spider onto it with the tupperware, picked up the entire business, and walked toward the door as slowly and smoothly as any bomb-squad member. I walked through the hallway to the propped-open door of the enclosed stairwell, put my burden gently on the ground, and twitched the tupperware onto its side while simultaneously jumping back as far and as quickly as I could. The spider skittered off into the darkness, I skittered back into the apartment, and it was done.

Even the aftereffects were mild. There was a bit of shuddering and gagging, to be sure, and I did compulsively clean the bathtub with bleach, but after a third cup of coffee I was able to get in the tub and get on with the day.

Engrossing Reading

2007-08-22T13:36:00.000-07:00

One of my more interesting work duties is to keep an eye on the political and ecological news in monkey and ape habitat countries. This morning, I was reading a rather grim National Geographic article about an emergency gorilla-protection force formed in the Democratic Republic of Congo to deal with the massacre of gorillas in Virunga National Park, when I discovered a link to something even more compelling: a blog maintained by Paulin Ngobobo, a ranger in the park. It's not always an easy read--conditions in the D.R.C. are dangerous for both gorillas and rangers--but there are some heartwarming moments too. Today's entry includes the first picture of a newborn male gorilla in a family that was not affected by the recent attack.

As it turns out, this is one of several blogs from the D.R.C. and Kenya supported by the Wildlife Direct project of the African Conservation Fund. For the most part, they're written by local conservation workers in their native language and then translated into English. Sadly, I only got to glance at the other blogs before the pile of paper on my desk started (metaphorically) howling for attention--but I'm looking forward to taking a closer look soon.

Farmer's Market Haul

2007-08-18T16:03:00.000-07:00

I feel all warm and fuzzy whenever I think about the Neighborhood Farmer's Market Alliance, which operates several weekly farmer's markets in various locations in Seattle. As Carissa puts it, it's one of the ways in which those annoying self-righteous technology-loving stereotypically-green Seattleites actually prove themselves useful. The markets support local small farms--and they're well-run, easy to locate, and generally packed with produce-seeking shoppers.

I usually meet a friend of mine at the U-District market on Saturdays. Said friend is out of town today, but I made the trek despite the lack of social incentive, and came away with a bunch of luscious, mostly organic, produce: tomatoes, yellow zucchini, carrots, bok choi, Japanese cucumbers, baby turnips, plums, and various fresh herbs. Good Seattleite that I am, I hauled it all back home in a reusable nylon shopping bag.*

You'd think that all this bounty would lead me toward healthier eating, but I'm not so sure that today's lunch was exactly a step in that direction. It featured the zucchini in a lovely pasta with a cream sauce and bacon on top.

*David Lindes deserves the credit for alerting me to the existence of reusablebags.com. Thanks, David!

The Gentle Art of Bureacracy

2007-08-16T22:59:00.000-07:00

Unlike many people, I'm generally a fan of bureaucracy. I believe that having policies and procedures set up is essential pretty much whenever you need to get a large group of people to work collectively, and I find knowing that I can look up a rule for just about anything I need to do oddly comforting. This may explain why I have managed to remain reasonably happily in the employ of the state for nearly half my life.

There is, however, an art to bureaucracy. It's easy to become enamored of rules for their own sake, and take things too far--as certain prisons seem to have done recently in setting up their approved vendor system for book shipments under the Department of Corrections' personal property policy. I do understand that books make excellent hiding places for other items. I also understand that prison shipping and receiving departments are woefully understaffed and probably perpetually overwhelmed. I'm just not convinced that defining used books as contraband and sharply limiting the flow of reading material to prisoners is the way to deal with these issues.

Three Favorite Sites

2007-08-16T11:19:00.000-07:00

1. The Seattle Weekly's "Uptight Seattleite" column. If you've spent any time in Seattle, you'll probably understand why I love it so.

2. The Jabberwocky Variations. This page has been online forever, and hasn't been updated since sometime in 1998--but it makes me happy every time I visit it.

3. Planetizen, where I feed my inner urban planning geek.

Placeholder

2007-08-15T20:52:00.000-07:00

All is well, but I think my body is finally going to let me catch some sleep--so off to bed I go. I hope to be back tomorrow; in the meantime, I give you this preview of my self-portrait for today, Day 245, taken just a minute ago.

Jam Karet

2007-08-13T22:56:00.000-07:00

Our title is an Indonesian phrase that translates to "rubber time." It's something we teach the students in our field study prep course each Spring, not because it's particularly useful vocabulary but because it explains a lot about how the culture differs from that of the U.S.

I've found myself living under jam karet for the past couple of days, working at a slightly slower pace and taking more breaks than usual. Yesterday's blog entry was a casualty of this low-key approach, alas, and I did have a nasty bout of insomnia last night--but even so it's been wonderful to have a chance to catch my breath. I'll get back to being a good clock-driven American tomorrow...or possibly the next day.

Asahel and the Tree of Promises

2007-08-11T23:56:00.000-07:00

The church around the corner from my apartment has had what I, at least, think of as a "tree of promises" sitting outside it for a few days now. It's a wire-coathanger structure with paper leaves, each containing a Bible verse involving some sort of promise. I find it a compelling object, even though I don't really know why it's there. On my way home tonight, I realized that it might well have something to do with a service planned for tomorrow, so I stopped to try to get a picture or two in the dark.

As I was shooting away (and muttering under my breath, for long-exposure hand-held photography is an exercise in frustration), a man emerged from the bushes a few yards away. I watched his approach with some concern. I wasn't worried for my personal safety--the church is on a busy street with lots of foot traffic, and he was hobbling to a degree that made me pretty sure I could outrun him in any case. My worry was that he would ask me for money, or tell me drunkenly that I was pretty, or in some way or another want some response from me that I was unable or unwilling to give him.

That didn't happen. We had a nice conversation, the kind of conversation I'd like to have with any of my neighbors but rarely do, and then we parted ways. As I was leaving, he asked if I would take his photograph--which turned out to be the best picture I took at the site. I hope at some point I'll be able to track him down to give him a print of it.

Musty, Fusty, Cucumber, and Grubby

2007-08-10T18:33:00.000-07:00

In 1991, the E.U., recognizing that laboratory tests fail to expose many acts of adulteration, instituted strict taste and aroma requirements for each grade of olive oil and established tasting panels, certified by the International Olive Oil Council, an office created by the United Nations, to enforce them. According to the E.U. regulations, extra-virgin oil must have appreciable levels of pepperiness, bitterness, and fruitiness, and must be free of sixteen official taste flaws, which include "musty," "fusty," "cucumber," and "grubby." "If there's one defect, it's not extra-virgin olive oil—-basta, end of story," Flavio Zaramella, the president of the Corporazione Mastri Oleari, in Milan, one of the most respected private olive-oil associations, told me.

--Tom Mueller, "Letter from Italy: Slippery Business" (The New Yorker, August 13, 2007)

This week's New Yorker is a treasure trove of geekiness. There's not only the surprisingly interesting story on olive-oil fraud quoted above, with the Beatrix Potteresque list of adjectives that form our title, but also a piece on a rare self-destructive disease known as Lesch-Nyhan syndrome, an NYC-centric update of Aesop's Fables, and a Talk of the Town bit by none other than Oliver Sacks which I fully intend to use as justification for my bryophiliac tendencies for the foreseeable future. (Consider yourself warned.)

I love the New Yorker. And I love my parents, who give me a subscription every Christmas as a gift.

(And, yes, this makes two posts in one day! Don't get used to it.)

Window on My Psyche

2007-08-10T10:25:00.000-07:00

My psyche throws up some truly odd images. Take the dream I had last night. As it began, I was at work, surreptitiously watching a 14-minute-long video of Paris Hilton confronting the instructor of an American Government class. Even asleep, I felt all the guilt one should feel at enjoying watching a human being in tears yowl, "But I'm smart too!"

Then the dream shifted, and I was in a photocopy room, removing someone else's discarded originals from the copier I wanted to use. The first one I picked up was an 11" x 17" sheet entitled "BETTER STUDY GUIDE," in large letters. I'd just put it aside in favor of a smaller sheet showing a magic-marker rainbow enclosing the words "Contract with America" above a group of dancing stick-figures when Newt Gingrich came storming into the room, muttering under his breath. He grabbed the drawing from my hands, gathered up the rest of the sheets, and stormed right back out.

A minute later, the hapless instructor of the government class came into the photocopy room.

"Have you seen Newt Gingrich?" he asked. "I think I insulted him."

Dreaming the Impossible Dream

2007-08-09T16:53:00.000-07:00

I've decided on a new goal: I will update this blog daily. Yep, daily. After all, I've managed to keep my 365 Days project alive for over 230 days, which would tend to suggest that a daily blog post shouldn't be beyond me.

Of course, I'm three days behind on posting my self-portraits as I write, so perhaps this suggests my daily commitment will lead me to post in bursts every few days--but even that would be far better than my current blog performance (to say nothing of my woeful record with more personal correspondence). My 365 Days performance would also tend to indicate that not every post will be particularly interesting, but I guess that's a risk we'll have to take.

Watch this space to find out what happens.

Hurray!

2007-07-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

Two of my photos were chosen for Schmap. (Click on the "Photos" tab above to see them as well as some other people's pictures.)

Good News

2007-07-03T13:04:00.001-07:00

I've just received a completely unexpected e-mail telling me that three of my photographs of the U.W. Medicinal Herb Garden have been shortlisted for inclusion in the next revision of the Schmap Seattle Guide. While there's no guarantee that they'll be chosen, and no fiscal reward for it if they are, I have to admit I'm thrilled.

Insert City Name Here

2007-06-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

No matter how long you have been here, you are a New Yorker the first time you say, That used to be Munsey's, or That used to be the Tic Toc Lounge. That before the internet café plugged itself in, you got your shoes resoled in the mom-and-pop operation that used to be there. You are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now.

--Colson Whitehead, The Colossus of New York

This is more or less exactly how I feel about Seattle. Not surprisingly, I'm quickly coming to adore the book--the rest of this chapter is a meditation on how your experiences shape "your" city, and the rest of the book is a tour of Whitehead's personal New York.

I've been thinking a lot about these issues because I've just recently been appointed to the Seattle Landmarks Preservation Board. The criteria for landmark designation are pretty exacting, which is probably as it should be--but one of the first nominations that came before me dealt with a place that is clearly a part of many people's personal Seattle, and it was hard to watch them struggle to find a way to preserve that piece of their city under the terms of the ordinance. It was also quite an experience to make a decision about the designation in front of a room packed full of people with passionate opinions both for and against it. The Board ended up being split on the decision; I voted in the minority, for designation, but I was comfortable with the Board's decision.

Five months and 11 days later...

2006-06-22T21:43:00.000-07:00

Hmmm. It's been a long time since the last update. Where has the time gone?

Alas, much of my time has been devoted solely to the gentle art of daily living. Although I'm getting better at managing my health, my energy's still pretty low, and I haven't been getting out as much as I'd like.

My Summer's off to a good start, however. As previously forecast, I switched to a new job at the UW last February; I managed to hit said new job at a point where several big projects were coming to a head, but things are settling down now, I'm settling in nicely, and I think I'm even beginning to see some small benefits from the quieter worklife.

I am positively delighted to be able to be back in school again. My quarters seem to be coming in MUP prerequisite themes this year; Spring was environmental science (with a 100-level online class and the UW Water Center's Tuesday morning seminar series), and Summer is American government (with POL S 202 supplemented by a class on state government at the Evans School, and a dash of GIS for kicks). I'm a little concerned about the workload this Summer; I'm taking vacation time for the first two weeks of the quarter (this week and next) and will also be using a few hours of vacation each week to go to class, but it may still be more than I can handle while still working. Fortunately, the Evans school class meets only during the b-term (mid-July to mid-August), so if I find my hands are full with the other two classes I can easily make it disappear.

2006-01-11T23:11:00.000-08:00

January 11.

How can I be 37? It sounds like such an advanced age, an age at which I ought to be wise or at least set in my ways. For me, though, it's an age at which I feel very, very young. The last year has made it ridiculously clear that I need to make big changes in how I live my life, something I find by turns frustrating, frightening, and hopeful.

The first of those big changes is coming right up: I'm turning in the job I've found so stressful over the past three-odd years for something I think I'll find less so. I gave notice at the old job a few weeks ago, and am slowly coming to terms with everything that will entail: leaving a group of people I've come to care about, turning away from a challenge, likely even taking a pay cut. It's been hard and wonderful to hear over the past few weeks that I'll be missed there. I'll probably be gone by the end of the month.

Where am I going? Well, it's reasonably certain that I'll be the assistant to the director of a much smaller program on campus, although nothing's final as yet. If it works out, I think it will be a nearly perfect job for me right now. I'll have a chance to learn some new things, but in a quieter environment; I'm hoping that will help me manage my energy better so I can start taking classes again.

In the meantime, I've been having a great birthday week despite my battle with a nasty respiratory thing. Mom and Dad took me out to an indulgent dinner on Saturday, the lovely Carissa organized a wonderful (and deliberately non-surprise) dinner tonight, and I've been showered with gifts and good wishes. Thank you all--I won't be complaining this year about having a birthday so close to Christmas.

2005-11-01T22:41:00.000-08:00

I carved my first pumpkin in more years than I care to contemplate last night. Far be it from me to boast, but I think it has a certain joie de vivre. Look for details of seed-roasting escapades soon on the Anderson Recipe Exchange.

2005-10-30T12:24:00.000-08:00

Painters and thieves seem to have a thing or two in common. I deduced this this morning, as I tried to open a window or two in my apartment...and found that the ones I'd found open were now stuck closed. Add that to the ladders lying about, my freshly-painted windowsills, and the incredible neatness of the presumed thieves in moving plant pots and plant pot feet, and I think I can come up with a hypothesis that fits all of the phenomena. Alas, it's one that would imply my home security system has yet to be tested (and one that means I'll have to ask the manager to ask the painters to reopen the windows on the east side of the apartment), but it does put paid to the master criminal scenario.

2005-10-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

Interesting. I have finally had one of the classic urban experiences I'd heretofore missed: I think someone tried to break into my apartment while I was at work today. Fortunately, they don't seem to have succeeded.

My first clue that something unusual had happened was to find that the plant pot "feet" I'd been using to prop open one of the windows of my sleeping nook were on the futon, and the window was closed. All of my windows are single-hung sash windows, and this particular one is quite loose in its frame. It was a windy day, and my first thought was that the window might have been banging against the frame and that my manager had come in to close it--which seemed unlikely, as I'd seen him in the lobby just moments earlier and he'd said nothing about it, but was nonetheless a highly embarrassing thought. (A year's worth of illness has not done much for the cleanliness of my living quarters.)

I didn't really think about an attempted break-in until I went into the kitchen for cat food...and noticed that the pots on the kitchen windowsill had been moved, and the window itself was unlatched and pushed up against the secondary locks I installed after Carissa's apartment was broken into. After I fed the cats, I checked and, sure enough, the other window on that side of the apartment was also unlatched and pushed up against its secondary locks. I can't really tell if whoever it was also tried the window over the doorway awning or the other windows in the sleeping nook, since I usually leave them open up to the secondary locks anyway, but it seems likely.

The funny thing is that instead of feeling pleased that the secondary locks actually deterred the would-be thief, I just feel vulnerable. I chose the locks--which aren't really locks, but hinged wedge-shaped stops nailed on to the frame a few inches above where the window sits when it's closed--knowing that they wouldn't hold up to a sustained attempt to break in. I figured it was unlikely that anyone would attempt to get in at all since my apartment is quite exposed, and I didn't want to worry about getting out in an emergency or fuss with keys if I wanted to open the windows. (The wedge stops can easily be flipped out of the way if I want to open a window all the way.) Even though I'm pretty sure that whoever tried to get in was a not-particularly-persistent robber who gave up upon meeting resistance, I have a disturbing mental image of said robber coming back with something to pry the stops out of the frame. And, worse still, somewhere in my head there lurks a master criminal who got in, found (without disarranging a thing) the extra key that I really don't think I had, and let himself out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. I know it's silly--but there you have it.

2005-01-09T22:05:00.000-08:00

Update: the ants have been vanquished! (I wouldn't want you to worry.) It took about a week to get rid of them, but the Dr. Bronner's solution was pure...magic. I still swab down the counters once a week; my kitchen smells like cloves and peppermint, and I haven't seen a single ant.

2005-01-09T21:34:00.000-08:00

I'm back...

I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be gone so long. The short version: I managed to overburden myself last quarter. I got a lot out of doing so--apparently, so much that I'm going to do it again this quarter!--but the workload made me slightly, well, insane. I never thought I'd enjoy driving myself crazy with statistics and economics. It might have been better never to know it was possible.

I've made a solemn oath to take better care of myself this quarter. To that end, I'm spending some time on Sundays cooking, making sure I get to the gym, learning to knit, spending more time with the cats, and updating this web log. (Is there a better way to keep yourself sane than keeping in touch with the people you love? I can't really answer that question, poor correspondent that I am--but I'll keep you posted.)

I have a lot on the schedule in the next few months. This is usually the worst quarter for me at work, and this year's going to be even worse than usual: two new training grant applications and two competing renewals in addition to the circus of admissions and recruitment.* As noted above, I've signed up for two Public Affairs classes on top of that, one on survey design and the other on media relations. I think they'll be great fun, but also a lot of work.

So far, though, the new resolution is working. I was away from the gym for a couple of weeks as the result of an unfortunate tendon injury, but I went back today. I'm finding knitting both compelling and restful; my first project is a scarf in two shades of red, and I think I'll even be able to wear it outside of the house if the cats don't take it over behind my back. I made a big pot of lentils this evening, using a Greek recipe I found on the web. (If you're interested, you'll find it here. You'll need to search for "lentils" or just scroll down until you see the "Bottomless Lentil Soup Pot." I used the cinnamon variation, boiled it down a bit, and put in some sundried tomato paste as I didn't have any passata to hand. It was, and is, wonderful--a good thing, since I'll be eating quite a few bowls of it this week.)

I hope you all are well. Take good care of yourselves, and let me know the latest!

*I can't help imagining The Circus of Admissions and Recruitment. If only we had a big tent and some lions!

2004-07-08T22:31:00.000-07:00

I still haven't managed to send out the link to this log--ack! I have, however, been busy, and not only working and attending class: I am battling an ant invasion in my kitchen. So far, I have great hope that the organic homebrew anti-ant potion I found on the web (Dr. Bronner's soap and oil of cloves) will be effective, but I'm reserving judgment, and the right to run out and buy ant traps, for a while yet.

I hope you are are well, and pest-free. If you have any ant warfare tips, let me know.

2004-07-03T12:20:00.000-07:00

I've posted pictures of the household (including a rather silly one of me) as a quick-and-dirty webpage. Don't worry, I'm not really planning to take over the world.

2004-07-03T10:58:00.000-07:00

Hmmm. It appears to have been a good thing that I never managed to send out the link for this log back in April.

Many things have happened since April. Perhaps the most surprising is that I've managed to make a decision about my future: I'm going to apply to the UW Master's in Urban Planning program next February. This has kept me very, very busy, especially as I somehow managed to skate through my entire undergraduate career without taking a single one of the six prerequisites for the program. This Summer, I'm taking an economics class from a 22-year-old and revisiting the algebra I haven't studied in nearly as long as my econ instructor has been alive. In the Autumn, it will be introductory statistics and an American government class; in the Winter, a math class; and in the Spring and Summer, some sort of coursework in environmental systems and cultural diversity. So far, I'm enjoying it all--even the math.

I'm also starting to get involved with the Capitol Hill Housing Improvement Program, a local Public Development Authority. I'm not sure whether housing issues will be a particular focus of mine yet, but I walked by one of their new project development sites (on Harvard and Denny) and was shocked to find that they weren't just planning to bulldoze the existing buildings and put up vinyl-clad monstrosities instead. I'm looking forward to finding out more about how they do what they do.

In other news: I have a new cat. Feffo is still going strong at 13, but my dear friend Carissa talked me into bringing home a second from the Seattle Humane Society in late May. I'd planned to come home with a four-year-old female tabby, but through circumstances beyond my control I ended up with a six-month-old long-haired Balinese mix, who is an adorable little puff of fur and teeth and claws. I've named her Annushka, which means she gets called "Nush" or "Nou." She runs around scattering fur everywhere, attacking Feffo's tail, ambushing me, and scratching the furniture. It's a good thing she's cute.

I'm still holding up at work, but it's been a rough Spring--just too much work all the time. I have a couple of applications in for new jobs on campus; I'm particularly hoping to hear back from my old haunt, the Department of Philosophy, where I've applied for a job that's similar to mine but less intense. I'll keep you posted.

I do plan to post on a more-or-less regular basis--perhaps once a week. Please do check back to find out what's going on--and if you write me I'll make a concerted effort to write back. I miss you all!

2004-04-14T19:35:00.000-07:00

It's taken me a while to succumb to the world of web logs--I'm still far too much of a purist to use "blog," although that may be the next standard to go--but I've been thinking of late that keeping a web log might be a nice way to atone for my sins as a correspondent. When I accidentally clicked on the blogger tool on my google toolbar, it seemed fated to be.

I wouldn't dream of opening this with a whine, but things are messy right now. I'm in the horribly busy season at work, and I'm also sick. To balance out that misery, I should note that I've also just finished reading the best book ever, Jane Jacobs' The Death and Life of Great American Cities. She comes out swinging--the first sentence reads "This book is an attack on current city planning and rebuilding"--and proceeds to demolish quite a few of the tenets of planning that were taken for granted in 1958 and are still with us now. It's amazing. I'm reading Christopher Alexander's A Timeless Way of Building now.

And why am I on this urban planning jag? I was inspired by a talk I attended last month about redeveloping Seattle's waterfront, which was sponsored by Allied Arts of Seattle (http://www.alliedarts-seattle.org/). It was wonderful to hear planning professionals talking about alternatives to the kinds of big-city development we've seen over the past few decades.

I hope you all are doing well--updates are always welcome!