Farewell, my friend...

For Wanda.


(Tori Amos - "Gold Dust" Video link)

Wicked with Wanda

(Video link)

And thanks to Broadway Cares for caring all these years... it made a difference. It makes a difference.

Concert of the year

It's been a long time since I've enjoyed a concert as much as Adele's last Thursday...

(Video link)

All Summer In A Day

Leave it to Mom, she remembered the name of the story I referred to in my recent "My Life On Venus" post: Ray Bradbury's "All Summer In A Day." Apparently there was even a TV version (on YouTube parts 1, 2, and 3).

I watched the first few minutes, and it reminded me too much of the last month in Portland. And given that this week has been sunny, I think I'll wait to watch the whole thing. :-)

Priceless

Okay, this B.C. strip is spot on (especially considering my "Venus" post yesterday :-)

My life on Venus

When I was in elementary school we had to read a story about a bunch of kids living in a colony on a terraformed Venus. The process of altering the climate still had a long way to go, and the weather was nonstop, driving rain. Once every few years the scientists would adjust the conditions so that the rain would dry up for a day.

All but one of the children in the story had been born on Venus; the one exception was a girl who had arrived from Earth and who had experienced the warmth of sunshine on her face.

For some reason that I've long since forgotten, the native Venusians locked the Earth girl in a closet on the day when the rain stopped. They ventured out and enjoyed an afternoon in the open more than they could possibly have imagined. But when the sun set and the rain began again, they remembered the girl and, of course, felt guilty for their actions.

I didn't think about this story much until I moved to Portland. Now I sympathize with that Earth girl a lot. Especially when driving in the rain.

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, I did run across one thing that gave me a moment of delight today. A scientist has applied techniques developed for genetic analysis to identify patterns in human languages, and he made this fascinating claim:

Quentin D. Atkinson, a biologist at the University of Auckland in New Zealand, ... has found a simple but striking pattern in some 500 languages spoken throughout the world: a language area uses fewer phonemes the farther that early humans had to travel from Africa to reach it.

Some of the click-using languages of Africa have more than 100 phonemes, whereas Hawaiian, toward the far end of the human migration route out of Africa, has only 13. English has 45 phonemes.

This pattern of decreasing diversity with distance, similar to the well-established decrease in genetic diversity with distance from Africa, implies that the origin of modern human language is in the region of southwestern Africa, Dr. Atkinson says in an article published on Thursday in the journal Science.

Language is at least 50,000 years old, the date that modern humans dispersed from Africa, and some experts say it is at least 100,000 years old. Dr. Atkinson, if his work is correct, is picking up a distant echo from this far back in time.

Katrina... Japan... and then?

Watching the latest coverage from Japan, I can't help thinking about what a similar disaster would be like here in Portland.

We saw what happened in Katrina. And now Japan, one of the world's most advanced nations, is struggling with everything from the "simple" act of getting food and fuel to those who lost their homes to the complexity of preventing further catastrophe at the six Fukushima Daiichi nuclear reactors.

Scary.

Live TV : Ustream

(Video link)

Disquieting... and disturbing

I woke up today to the news that a 19yo here in Portland was arrested last night after attempting to set off what he believed was a car bomb parked near 25,000 people attending the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony in Pioneer Courthouse Square.

After watching MSNBC's video of the story, the next one that automatically played was a report on an imminent Wikileaks release of documents larger than any to date. I guess I'm a realist and recognize that compromises are necessary in life. You deal with that by setting boundaries on what you're willing to do. You decide, for example, that you may need to negotiate with some nasty people in order to prevent a crime, but rule out torture as a way of getting information to achieve that same end. Where the line is drawn is difficult and subject to disagreement, a situation that is unavoidable in a democracy.

Julian Assange, however, is a purist. A fundamentalist. And essentially an anarchist. Sometimes he makes my blood boil. Video here.

Meditations on distinguishing "the real" from "the fake"

In 2004 I saw one of my favorite plays, Naomi Iizuka's 36 Views, at Portland Center Stage. It dealt with the difficulty of determining what is real and what is fake in the domains of art and human relationships. Like the play, this New York Times article also asks, "Does it matter if it's a fake?"

And that’s what we’re looking for when we look at art, no? Something of value, deeper and more meaningful than a name or a number, which can’t be gotten out of a test tube or lab report, which, emotionally speaking, requires an effort on our part. It demands that we look for ourselves.

And then you never know what you might find. A “Virgin and Child With an Angel,” an early work by Francesco Francia, the Bolognese master and contemporary of Raphael, for years was said by the gallery to exemplify the painter’s training as a goldsmith. Its refinement was admired. Then an identical picture turned up. Gallery conservators examined their version and found that the tiny aging cracks on the surface had actually been painted, faked. Further studies revealed the use of latter-day pigments like chrome yellow, and an underdrawing that seemed more 19th century than Renaissance.

The work was a forgery. Science proved it. And so there it hangs in the show, on a wall of shame, surrounded like a mug shot by the evidence of its true crime.

But look, never mind what the label says, and you may notice something else about the picture, too, some other truth.

It’s beautiful.

Vespertine

Determined to not be late for an outdoor, dusk screening of E.T. at the Edgefield Lodge, I checked online to see what time sunset was. And as it so often happens on the web, one things leads to another, and before I knew it, I was having one of those I did not know that moments.

I had always thought dusk was more or less synonymous with sunset, just as dawn meant sunrise, but apparently not.

Dawn is when light first appears in the morning sky. Sunrise is when the sun breaks the horizon, and sunset, well... duh. Dusk is when the last light leaves the sky. This diagram explains it all:

The best part of my "discovery" was the word vespertine, a biology term that describes something of or related to the evening.

Tree of the day

Outside my office in Beaverton, Oregon.

Sometimes I just don't understand the world

A Portland middle school bans "out of control" hugging.

WTF?

Struggling on NW 23rd Avenue

When I first came to Portland for a business trip about ten years ago, a co-worker suggested dining on NW 23rd Avenue. It was winter, and the scene was enchanting: lights decorating the trees along this narrow street, a lot of people bundled up on the sidewalks, windows looking into warm restaurants.

When I first moved to Portland, 23rd Avenue was always a good street for a stroll, some shopping, coffee, and food. I almost bought a place nearby in 2002 but opted for the Pearl. After all of these years, I'm finally living in the neighborhood, apparently just in time to see the district experiencing a particuarly severe downturn. From the NW Examiner (pdf):

Last April, The Oregonian reported that 23rd Avenue was “fraying under the weight of the recession.... From every street corner between Everett and Raleigh streets—13 blocks—shoppers can spot a ‘For Lease’ sign or plywood-covered window.”

Those were the good old days. At the end of January, 23 locations on 23rd were either closed, temporarily closed or for lease.

Retail activity came to a near standstill when crews blocked off the southbound lane Jan. 4, but the worst is yet to come. Early this month, both lanes will be closed simultaneously in two-to-three block stretches as the street is excavated to its base, old streetcar lines are removed and a new street is built from the bottom up. That work is scheduled to finish in May, but business leaders are braced for it extending into June....

Some retailers are predicting that the vibrant shopping scene that once garnered national attention will be gone in the next few months. A recession seems like a heckuva time to tear up the street in a retail district...

Song of the day

"Under the Ivy" by Kate Bush, a song I first heard in Portland in 2002. And in further checking out Kate a few days later, I resolved a mystery from my junior high years: who was the woman who appeared one night on Saturday Night Live and sung a song that mesmerized me and had all the boys talking in the locker room the next day. It was Kate; she sang "Them Heavy People" on December 9, 1978. Turns out this was her only appearance on American television. Serendipity...

(Video link)

That episode also included Dan Akroyd's classic Julia Child skit. :-)

What happened?

I am finding it hard to believe that at this time ten years ago, I was planning a trip to South Beach to welcome in the year 2000, relieved and happy that I'd escaped being on call for any Y2K problems that might arise at work. And thinking about going platinum to welcome in the new millenium (I did).

I lived in San Francisco. It was a few short months before I bought my first home. The stock market was soaring. I was in love.

A year later I was single and still missing the man who'd also been my best friend.

And a year after that America was still recovering from the collective shock of 9/11. I was looking for a new home in Portland, feeling fortunate in a bad economy to be relocated to Oregon when my company closed up shop in the Bay Area.

In these past ten years I've gone to Australia and Germany twice each, England several times, and visited The Netherlands, France, and Italy. After a ten year hiatus, I returned to Mexico for the first time in 2007 and have been back many times since then. I've had some amazing trips and unforgettable moments with friends. I've loved again. And I've lost two special family members.

After moving to Portland, I eventually returned to SF. And then moved on to Vegas. And now I'm back in Portland. I quit my job before being clear about what I was doing next, and I'm still figuring it all out as I go. The economy is bleak once again, and each downturn we've had this decade has increasingly revealed signs that America's economic problems are fundamental and not the result of a simple boom and bust cycle. We've grown used to things that are unsustainable; we've become blinded to what's real.

I find it hard to believe that the aughts are coming to an end, that 2010 is around the corner, that this is the 21st century. Like many I know, I find myself thinking: it wasn't supposed to be like this, right?

I'm still muddling through. For the most part, we all are. But the problems we're facing together grow bigger and bigger: an economy that depends on China loaning us money, a climate that is gradually shifting toward one less hospitable, a creaking infrastructure that becomes increasingly vulnerable to collapse, near gridlock in Washington. More people. Limited resources. Technological solutions that have unintended consequences.

Hope and promise still exist, but shams and illusions and stubborness are obstacles in an interconnected world that loom larger than they once did when communities--and nations--were more self-reliant. We're all in this together yet still looking out for #1.

These thoughts are not meant to be wholly pessimistic, but where we turn down a new path--and whether we can muster the will to do so--are answers that I don't have, answers that I'm not seeing anyone offer.

LAST NIGHT I watched Ben-Hur, and afterwards I went to the web to research a simple question: what is the meaning of Christ's crucifixion? In an era of Google and Wikipedia, I've grown used to finding a quick, unambiguous answer to most questions. Last night's query was not such a case. And that reminded me of my general belief about the Bible, the one that's reinforced every time I stay in a hotel and open a drawer to leaf through the copy left by the Gideons. How does John 3:16:

For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

coexist with all of the apocalyptic fire and thunder of Revelation? How does a God who so loves the world destroy it?

My thought about the Bible is this: you can use it as a handy guide to pick and choose people to throw stones out. Or you can use it as a path to inquiry: what can I learn from these contradictions? How will I live my life? What kind of person will I be? It's an inquiry with no clear answers; with answers that mostly produce more questions. It's easier to throw stones or watch TV or vote "no." But too many stones and too much TV and too many "no's" give you a decade like the one we're now completing.

All of this was triggered by a couple of articles I've just read, one looking at President Obama's year of compromises and diminished goals (wasn't Reagan partially successful because he drew a hard line and then declared victory with whatever compromise resulted?), the other describing Tiger Woods' double-life as symbolic of so much of what's befallen us in these past ten years.

And before reading those articles I spent an evening having interesting conversations at a holiday party, mostly with people I didn't know that well. The contrast of the experience there and my thoughts at home about the wider world lead me to think that we humans are best in small groups. I haven't found a societal problem yet that hasn't been made worse by the sheer number of people on the planet.

This old house

I just drove by the house I owned here in Portland from 2004 to 2006. I had the whole place repainted, refinished the original oak floors, replaced every light fixture, had a new custom front door built, and remodeled the kitchen and both bathrooms. And don't even ask me about all the electrical and plumbing upgrades. I thought I was going to be there for a while, lol. The house was built in 1907, and I tried to remain true to its period character while making it very livable.

The house is now for sale. I felt gratified by the flyer:

Location, Condition, Perfection!

Pristine, perfectly remodeled 1907 home with gorgeous kitchen, living and dining rooms plus open bonus/office on main floor. Three bedrooms and bath up. Room to expand in basement. Flat, private back yard and deck. Walk to restaurants, coffee and groceries. This one is a gem!

Good to know I did something right (though maybe I shouldn't have moved!).

Road / runway / river

I wish I had a camera with me that was capable of capturing the blue atmosphere overlaying this view from the PDX airport.

Good ol' PDX

I just arrived at the Portland airport where a man is playing a grand piano in the open area just past the security checkpoint. It feels uniquely Portland... and it's a nice welcome home.

Wow... an E. coli outbreak in Portland's water supply

Apparently one of Portland's reservoirs is contaminated with E. coli, and residents on the west side have been told to boil water before drinking it. Unfortunately Tommy visited this weekend and has been sick all day... bad timing!

UPDATE

The Portland Water Bureau has provided a map of the affected area:

Looking forward to November 20th...

When the movie Precious comes to Portland... it looks great, and Mariah Carey gets a chance to redeem herself after that Glitter mess. (Thanks, Randy, for the heads up!)

(Video link)