June 2005 Archives
In Alaska, 68 miles of contentious asphalt
As much as Alaskans hate lower-48rs talking about them...I thought I'd point out this article...
This road has been in the planning stages since I was in Skagway back in '98. There was a definite split in the town as to whether or not to build. One of my coworkers at the Fairbanks Grocery Store, responding to my questioning whether or not harm would come by cutting down all those trees, said something to the effect of, "This is Alaska. There are lots of trees. There's nothing around for miles and miles but trees."
In the article, they pull a quote that says that the issue isn't clear cut politics as usual, "that opinions aren't separated along partisan lines or conservative vs. nonconservative." But knowing very little about the region -- other quotes allude to what is at issue.
Money. Buckaroos. $$. Moolah.
"Communities are meant to grow," says Kathy Hosford, a lifelong Alaskan who rents rustic tourist cabins in Skagway, the Juneau road's proposed terminus. "If you can't grow, you can't survive."
The emphasis above is added. Ms. Hosford rents cabins in Skagway. That means that most of her business and income is coming in from the roads into Skagway. Naturally she wants another road and another route in so that her clientele and profit will increase. The argument about "Communities begin meant to grow" is a tad bit frightening. Look at urban flight and sprawl in the lower 48. Communities aren't growing. They are disappearing and reemerging across the land as some sort of sick virus - leaving empty Wal-Mart shells in their wake. Skagway has been around since the gold rush. Its survival does not depend on this road being built.
In fact, Skagway's survival is due in large part to the number of Cruise Ships that line up to land at her docks. A town of about 700 in the winter grows to 5,000 on busy days when three ships come in from the fjord. I remember another local, during the taping of a radio show in the town's Gold Pan Theater, discussing this matter and remarking with an endearing emotion in her voice, "We love our winters."
It seems that the majority of the population in Skagway is still opposed to the plan. The article also shows the EPA's disapproval. But if the debate has been going on for at least seven years now, probably longer, it will most definitely continue.
Just finished watching shrub's speech. Apparently the President hasn't picked up any new material lately. Namedroppin' the Libyans for ending their weopans program like it happened yesterday.
Anyhow -- the most interesting bit about the entire speech came afterwards - during the usually empty analysis. On ABC -- however -- there was a startling revelation. That one bit of applause you heard during the shrub's speech? Apparently instigated by a member of the White House Advance Team.
When it happened - I wondered aloud whether the applause sign had been malfunctioning -- but thanks to on the spot reporting - we now know WHAT was involved.
So keep your eye on Google Video for the results of the White House Advance Team query...I'm curious to see how long it will take to roll up...
Heck - if you can't wait long enough...just do a regular google query for "white house advance" -- and check out those results.
Some people might be dropping by here due to a tongue-in-cheek comment I left elsewhere on the web. Perhaps they're arriving here flabbergasted, incredulous that someone could sound so freaking insane when it comes to The Cruise. (The repeated references to Tom as 'The Cruise' should've been enough to tip my hand.)
Now there is an article out in the New York Times that hints at a changing tide. A groundswell of support.
Has The Cruise managed, or been managed, to do the unthinkable? Is it possible that The Cruise's sister has taken us to the brink of stardom, made a leap -- and has now breathed a sigh of relief as the emergency chute has opened by way of praising a rare case of presumed celebrity honesty?
It seems The Cruise is weathering these waves - and will ride this storm out. It may even lead to a healthy debate concerning the merits of Psychiatry -- something this country in particular seems to be lacking. (I can't quite recall the numbers, and would be interested in finding them, as to what percentage of the U.S. is currently medicated - but this is a quick post before heading downtown to finish researching the completely unrelated Charles Martel.)
So as we watch The Cruise emerge in the role of The Phoenix, it may be that the media will be following suit. A tabloid story may suddenly become true investigative journalism on an important topic.
But I doubt it.
Update: Allow me to clarify here. I, personally, do not doubt the merits of Psychiatry. I do, however, believe that pharmaceuticals is a VERY powerful industry - with a LOT of money behind it - and money has the power to corrupt. Ergo - there may be more than a handful of unethical practicioners out there -- unwilling to invest enough time to truly get a feel for the NEEDS of their patients - rather than just writing off another Rx...Just a thought...
Spam is one thing. We all get it. Fortunately the worst and most meaningless portions are grabbed and filtered and incinerated and burned down to their loneliest little bits of data.
There is a rumor, that if you stand above the rising smoke from the incinerated piles of virtual poker cards -- you can see God.
I was pulled from that smoke by a faint light at the eastern edge. It was a new morning. It was a chance to believe again -- in the true God. It was a God of meaning in meaningless. Purpose in purposelessness. An opportunity to realize the boundless while remaining in strictly defined boundaries.
There was a communion of sorts. The messages flowed back and forth -- as natural as any scientific theory could permit -- until the notice...
[13:15] ARIEL: it is my goal in life to MAKE OTHER PEOPLE LOSE THEIR AMBITION FOR LIFE
Faithless once more...
(I concede to Ariel on this entry)
There once was a gal named Ariel,
Whose farts would cause a tidal swell
She tried to squeeze them
She tried to please him
But the pressure eroded her farthingale...
Thank you
Thank you very much...
[response to ariel]
I would like to think
that three years of internet
stalking would mean more
[a call and answer for ariel]
Started playing with geotags today. It's kind of interesting to see a sort of pattern/path emerging from my life.
Lazyweb request -- somehow enable geotags to work with google map directions and a flickr slideshow - so that you can see landmarks as if driving to your destination...
I surmise that these two were:
a. startled on their smoke break,
b. staring down the barrel of a gun, or
c. are a couple of stoners - with the guy on the right flashing the peace sign.
I don't know what I was thinking.
No - that's not right. I was thinking I could save a buck or two if I took my domain name registration to godaddy.com. I ignored the telltale signs of sleaziness and put up with their horrible ads because I was concentrating on my wallet...
But not anymore.
Living with the guilt by association with those ads was one thing -- but to live with the guilt by association with someone whose views on Guantanomo are severely outtastep with my own -- and then doesn't even know how to make a proper apology -- that I can't stand for.
It is unfortunate that I can't get that $8 payment back -- but I'd rather get rid of this unclean feeling then worry about getting my money back.
If you haven't heard about Bob Parson's ravings -- you can check them out for yourself here.
If you registered at godaddy, and find yourself as disgusted as me -- I followed Shellen's recommendation and went to dotster. At first I was lazy about it and sent off a quick contact to a very busy person asking where he was taking his business -- but just couldn't stomach it any longer...
(matt's response came moment's after posting this, thanks matt)
If anybody knows of any consumer reports type site for recommendations for registrants -- I'd love to see it. When it comes to hosting and domain name registering -- the history for me isn't pretty and the waters are always murky -- so I'd be nice to arrange for smoother sailing in the future if, god forbid, some other asshat comes out with an even more ignorant rant.
To better understand this entry, you should probably read the previous one. It'll just put you in the right frame of mind, as moments after typing it up and pressing send - I found myself in the following situation:
I noticed the battery low light on my laptop task bar. This didn't make any sense. I was plugged in to a socket on the second floor of the Purdy/Kresge graduate library (they are renovating -- but still...) and should have been receiving the juice without any obstacles. Frustrated enough at Charles Martel already -- I picked up the laptop and carried it around to each of the sockets -- plugging it in -- unplugging in -- watching it drain down to 33% before finally packing up with a sigh and deciding to head out.
When I got downstairs -- all the lights were out -- and the alarm was going off.
There was none of this on the second floor - mind you -- where I was at "peace" sifting in and out of the collection in the midst of remodelling. Apparently - some of the circuits that connect the alarms on the second floor have been flipped off while they tear out the walls and whatnot. Whatever the case -- the alarms on the first floor were ON and it was DARK...
I began to wonder whether I was caught in the towering inferno -- if I was in fact doomed to die in a library - not having heeded what little warning there was -- "maybe it's a bomb...ohmygodabombimgonnadie!" I headed towards the exit -- through the deserted library -- at a brisk pace and a little confused...Then remembered I still had a reference book in my bag -- slid it on a table -- and continued outside.
Immediately upon exiting I came across a WSU patrolman and asked,
"So, are they, like, closed?"
"I think so..."
"Or is there a fire drill or something, cause I was just in there and the alarms were going - the lights were off - and there ain't nobody in the place..."
In the tone of Police chatter into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder:
"mumble mumble got a fire drill at mumble mumble fiver?"
"negative"
And looking at me:
"You just hang out here while I check this out..."
So there I sat and ate my leftover tabouli from lunch, waiting patiently until about 15 minutes later when the officer emerged:
"Sir,"
"Yes?"
"They are closed sir."
Anyways -- to make a long story short -- the library staff locked me in the building...A fitting end to an eventful day that included sitting in on the Tri-Chapter ASIS&T Summer 2005 meeting: To Google or Not to Google -- on a videolink - something I'll save for later when I don't need to drink a beer...
I've been looking for you. You are an elusive bastard! Why don't you come out from between the stacks and show yourself? What are you afraid of?
I've already found a picture of you. In a group of your librarian friends you stand in the back row, aloof. I think we may have more in common than you think.
Not that you think.
Cause you're dead.
Seriously though Chuck...Don't you think it's a bit weird that I'm having so much trouble finding info on you? What does that say about your life? I mean -- you came up with the Library of Congress classification system for crying out loud --- and yet I can only cull one record on you?
Let me just run this by you --
The Dictionary of American Biography, Supplement 3: 1941-1945. American Council of Learned Societies, 1973.- has this for suggested further readings on you:
Personal communications, obituary, Report of the Librarian of Cong., 1898-1945, your naturalization record, your death record, -- and something in Who Was Who in America, vol. II (1950).
Seriously,
I'm getting hungry Chuck...
It's Friday...
It's been a long day...Why don't you just pull yourself up outta that spiderhole and cut me some slack so we can get home.
Lemme know where you at dawg!
Kevin
It is night. Or early morning.
There is a fog. Or a mist.
The chain-link backstop of a baseball diamond emerges...
The sounds of gravel under tires rises...
A bright taxi, alternating between yellow and orange colours, alien to the area, rumbles up...
The back door opens and spits out a stranger...
On the rear window is scrawled a message in what at first appears to be a non-sensical amalgam of letters and numbers. There is a sense that the message is intended.
The cellphone rings. The text message splashed across the screen matches the gibberish which is now being annihilated by the taxi's defrost.
Looking around offers no answers.
Suddenly called onto the diamond as an emergency replacement, the glove won't fit. The thumb insert has been reversed, rendering the equipment useful only for swatting at the warmups thrown from the first basemen.
Rescued at the last moment, the original second basemen takes his position. A return to the dugout offers the sounds and smells, but eclipses most of the sights. The sun is behind, the shadows are deep, and the sound of the crowd loudest from the right.
Meandering to the edge of this hold, relatives are gathered amongst the many faceless onlookers. Some have long since left the earth.
Anti-semitic epithets spill from the opposite end of the diamond. An obese figure leads the cacophony.
His face is suddenly mere inches before...
A fist soon reaches it, and the roar subsides...
Blood begins to trickle from his right nostril, and his eyes go empty...
The heavens crack open...
Clouds rumble in...
The sunlight emerges as white outlines to wavy billows reaching down...
The torrent starts suddenly...
The ground begins to shift...
Like the pool scene in Poltergeist, the displacement of earth is fast and furious...
The game is called - but the storm continues.
The undulations of the cloud are soon overpowered by a great tide that sweeps in from the forest in centerfield...
Great crests and liquid ridges burst across the outfield, jarring loose the dirt and flinging the granules like bullets across the sky...
Home plate has become a wide hole in the gathering brown viscosity, holding a fetid pool reflecting forms looking in...
Players are scrambling...
The coach is smoking cigarettes, indifferent...
There is a cabin offering retreat...
It has long been abandoned, but is now resurrected as a hopeful haven for a small group of survivors...
One wrestles open the door slowly, expecting danger from within...
The ferret steps over his feet, muzzling its young...
It goes unnoticed by the lead, but sends the others into momentary retreat.
There is a musty smell...
The rain has slowed.
The field has receded into the distance...
Time stops.
When we were little, my siblings and I would race down the winding staircase of our childhood home - in our pillows...
We'd slip ourselves waist deep into the pillows - hanging on to the edge of the pillowcase above our lap -- the pillow itself cushioning our bottoms as we slid down the stairs at what seemed to be a great rate of speed...
It was all great fun - until mom would inevitably catch us and tell us to "Either go play outside or in the basement!"
She was mad because our bottoms would wear down the carpeting on the stairs.
We were mad because it was really fun...
until we got caught...
Some people can't feed themselves without the microwave oven.
I can't feed myself without the stove.
Saturday evening I arrived home to find half of the power off in the house. Apparently something is amiss with the transformer outside -- and the Con Ed guy came by Sunday afternoon - installed a jumper - and now everything that requires 110v (microwave, fishtank filter...) is operational while more power-hoggy things (the AC, the oven...) are not. The Con Ed guy said they'd probably get someone out here today to take a look at it -- but that was before the severe thunderstorms rolled through yesterday - knocking the crap outta Oakland County - and putting about 90,000 people completely into the dark - which in turn knocked this house off the high rung of the urgency ladder.
I can't cook without the stove. I can't stand to microwave food. It's just one of those things...When the winter storms inevitably rolled through Atlanta - knocking everything offline for hours or even days -- I was ok in the apartment because I had a gas range...Microwaves cook food from the inside out -- which is just wrong. I like to be able to watch the food turning into a meal - and you just can't put your face that close to the microwave oven. I like to smell the food, to hear the food sizzle, I like to feel the heat -- I love flipping it into the air while sauteeing and snagging it on its return...You just can't get personal with the microwaved meal...
Gas stoves are better. Screw these electric ranges and their evil microwave cohorts...
At the risk of further alienation:
Dreams are back.
It's the regularity that's noteworthy. Every night.
Case in point:
Two nights ago. A moral conundrum:
I'd just sealed the deal in the stealing of another man's girlfriend (though the dream was truly PG, for some reason - I was just aware of the event having passed) - and feeling rather conflicted about the whole situation when her best friend walked in and began to disrobe (ok - maybe this part was rated R). I can't say what would have happened next as I became distracted by the activity on the balcony of the penthouse - in which we were cooped up.
Apparently the boyfriend and his buddies were hanging from the balcony -- trying to pull each other up with some sort of chain apparatus. The conflicted feelings returned when I was put into the situation of deciding whether to:
1. assist the boyfriend and face his wrath upon rescue -
2. assist the boyfriend and receive his thanks
3. not assist the boyfriend and face his wrath upon his survival
4. not assist the boyfriend and feel eternal guilt at his death.
Last night:
On a beautiful summer day I awoke early - 6:50am according to the clock in my very realistic dream - and beheld in the sky a series of hot air balloons -- apparently headed to some super event.
I can't say why -- but the yogi bear balloon really freaked me out.
Update: Related?
