Tecki on the spot

¡Hola!

Reporting on location from Barcelona.

The flight in was every bit as restless and uncomfotable as we could have hoped. Nothing like entering a foreign city where you barely speak the language after very little sleep.

The trip from El Prat airport was an exciting adventure in multilingual public transit. Several transfers and broken spanish conversations later, we arrived at our hotel. A pretty little place, no agua caliente, but the beds are comfy and the rooms are clean -- especially after the maids get done with their slamming and whatnot. It sounds like they rearrange the furniture every time they clean, or that´s the impression we got as we tried to take a nap.


But, post-nap, we found ourselves enjoying the winding maze of streets in the barri gotic, never minding that we had no idea where we were at any given time. Maybe a little worried late at night, but everyone was out and about. We had great food for lunch and dinner, and enjoyed bebidas in a little bar where a squat old lady held a running dialogue with no one in particular. Lots of characters in this town.

Well, time to go out and explore some more. Especially want to ride the metro a lot to justify the expensive barcelona cards we bought. The more you ride, the more you save!

¡Hasta luego!

Clickity Clack

I was dismayed to read the news yesterday from Durham. The FTA rejected the Triangle's request for funding the Regional Rail project between Raleigh and Durham.

Apparently we can spend billions of dollars to build freeways that clog up with traffic, spew pollution into our neighborhoods and cut through communities like open wounds, but we can't channel a few million for a clean, efficient rail line that will encourage smart growth, reduce congestion and pollution and generally improve quality of life.

Fortunately, the TTA is intent on trying again. I only hope that the state's two republican senators, who previously supported and now apparently oppose the line, get back on board. I can tell you all right now that the Triangle needs that line and more, and I don't even live there.

The traffic is already terrible, and the sprawling development, spurred on by roads and highways, has created a devastating, desolate landscape. As one of the fastest-growing regions in the country, the Triangle needs to embrace smart growth and mass transit now, before all that's left are lifeless parking lots and freeway interchanges.

Redemption Songs

Jesse Helms' medication wore out unexpectedly during an armwrestling match with Bono in Charlotte last night. the former senator was heard shouting about "libruls and Irishmen" taking over the country moments before aides ushered him out of the room.

No matter how many times I see a photo of them together, it always comes as a shock. Fighting AIDS in Africa almost makes up for the "white hands" commercial ... well, not really.

But keep trying Jesse.

Filth and Depravity

The V-chip wasn't enough. America's parents need to have specific family-values TV bundles so they can sleep secure in the knowledge that the electronic babysitter won't corrupt their little woogums.

It's about time.

If they get their family bundle of approved, squeaky-clean channels, maybe they'll stop trying to censor and cancel all the other shows on TV. I myself am not into all the filth and depravity, but I do like a good action movie now and then. And shows like The Wire, where the grit and obscenity are just reflections of real life.

Thing is, I don't care what you watch. But these family groups do. They can't seem to turn off the TV every once in a while, or take the remote from the kids, or the TV out of their bedrooms. So that means the rest of us can't watch anything they think is inappropriate for their kids.

Until now?

Of course, I don't really believe that this is the end. These folks just use kids as an excuse. They won't be happy until we're all watching Blue's Clues, Fox News and Good Morning America.

Better Dead than Red

Will I get a chance to see Butterstick before the communist masters ship him to China Elian-style two years from now?

Outlook hazy.

But, what's up with them wanting to take him anyway? They're up to their ankles in baby pandas! And we all know that it's all bamboo and playtime while the cameras are out, but once the press leaves, it's back to the sweatshop for those little cuties, sewing tiny stuffed versions of themselves for mass consumption here in the West. Is that the kind of life we want for our little Stick?

I think not.

Besides, the Chinese government's claim is bogus: How can they own Butterstick, when he was born right here in the US of A? Let me guide your attention to this little thing we like to call the Constitution, Mr. Chairman: If you're born here, you get automatic citizenship. No exceptions.

Let's make a deal: The Chinese can have Butterstick's parents back, especially that deadbeat dad of his who probably hasn't so much as looked at his son since he was born. It will be a tough separation for the Stick when his mom gets stuffed back in that crate, but she'll know it's best for her little boy.

Sniff.

Old Man Winter is a Bitch

Things I will not miss about MD: Winter.

Especially the last few weeks of Fall that truly belong to winter. This really ought to be its own season around here, kinda like brunch, only sucking.

Autumner? Fallter? Wintum?

The local weather people have read the chicken entrails and determined that conditions are right for another icy bitch-slapping from the Cold Meiser tonight and tomorrow. Good time to stay home and drink hot chocolate, not to drive around the Bawlmer Beltway.

It'll be another episode of Prius vs. The Snow when slush hour comes around. Fun Fun.

But worry not, gentle readers. Though I was born in the NC, I will drive with care.

Thanks given

Thankful for:
Kendra
Our families' continued health
Kayla
The great state of NC
Cheerwine
Stuffed portobello caps
Sugar cakes
Moravian tea cookies
The Panthers beating the Bills
Hybrid cars
Leaving early enough on Wednesday to miss the exploding tanker truck on I-95
The music of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash
Butterstick

The year of the Turkey

We just got back from the NC yesterday. Took the back way down 301 and 3, way away from the infamous post-Thanksgiving clusterfuck around the district. Some bizarre old motels and enough drive-through liquor stores to drown an entire nation's sorrows.

And they wonder why drunk driving is such a problem in southern Mary Land.

Saw Walk the Line with my parents. Dad sang along every time Joaquin Phoenix hit the stage, probably the happiest he's been in a long time. Mom liked it too. I can see how some folks would call this Cash: Behind the Music, but I think any weaknesses in the film disappear in the sheer power of the storytelling and the performances of both Phoenix and Witherspoon. The movie conjures up a lost world when stars drove their own cars and were happy to get a nice ranch house and a half-acre lot. It brings out the power and emotion of Cash's earlier songs and revitalizes his music for future generations.

In other news: Was chased by deranged turkey. Possibly grieving for his millions of slain brothers and sisters. Or just plain mean. In either case: Turkeys do not make good pets.

We spent some time reliving our childhoods in Old Salem. Even though we never went together, it was like having a shared memory. We didn't pay the fee to look inside the historical buildings. I've seen the whole candlestick-making routine before, when my parents paid for it. We did wander for a while and buy sugar cake. We didn't actually know what sugar cake was until after we'd paid for it. They brought it out, fresh from the oven, and placed a tray on the counter. Sweet and hot and oh so good. Moravilicious.

Bastards!

A panda-crazed public crashed servers and, possibly, killed one or two National Zoo staffers in the rush to gobble up all the Butterstick viewing tickets before I could even get a cup of coffee. Several mothers were sold into slavery, also many sets of eye teeth are reported missing.

DC Metro police and Zoo interns are currently cleaning up the carnage along Connecticut Ave. Massive triage in the Zoo Bar. Starbucks has been torched. Police are advising all residents and visitors to avoid the area between Cleveland Park and Woodley Park Metro stops until further notice.


Every day from here to January 2 is booked. Solid.

Bastards.

I hope you enjoy all the nose-twitching, bamboo-munching Buttertastic cuteness.

Bastards.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

We needed some things from the store anoche, but we didn't go to our usual Giant on York Rd. The Super Fresh in Hampden is closer, so we figured, what the hell, it's just M&Ms and stuffing ingredients. No big deal.

Turns out they've been renovating. They knocked down a wall and quintupled the size of the produce section. With all the new, muted colors (read: Whole Foods, Earth Fare), pleasing signs and hip new logo, the dirty old Super Fresh is mutating into superfresh. We seriously thought we'd stop going to Giant when we saw it.

New store, same customers. Everyone else insisted on cutting me off whenever I got more than a foot from Kendra and creating cart-blockades in random aisles just for fun.

By the time we reached the bread aisle, we encountered two dirty, gibber-jabbering tykes with an empty cart. They just wandered around, shouting about needing bread. Kendra tried to help them, but couldn't understand their peculiar little language -- perhaps a local Hampden dialect. I had to pull her away, her concern outlasting my patience. They zoomed by in the cart afterwards, no bread in hand and no parents in sight.

No one knew how to use the self-check-out machines, and most were ringing up a cart-load of groceries, completely defeating the purpose. We did as the computer told us and went to the cashier for our change, but she just looked at us like we were stupid. She gave us the coins, but the rest of our change was just sitting there at the machine, waiting for somone to yoink it.

All in all, not worth missing half of Everybody Hates Chris.

Needles

I just got back from more than 2 hours of waiting for a flu shot at the supermarket. 2 hours. For those of you playing at home, yes, my lunch hour is only that: an hour. However, I called in on my trusty cellphone, and all is well.

First off, they started late. 30 full minutes. There was only one woman to do it all: take money, sign forms, answer questions, poke you with the needle. The store people gave us each a big book of coupons, but since we don't shop there, the savings aren't being passed on to us.

They didn't run out of shots. At least, not before I got my turn. There were 70 shots available, and about 50 or so people signed up when I left, with more trickling in.

If you see a coughing bird, run. That's all you can do.

Tunes

I've peeked out beyond the the safety of my cd collection lately and tuned into some radio broadcasts from around the country.

Who let Fiona Apple out of her cell at Charter Pines? When she says she just had to break the window, I believe her. Still, the songs they're playing right now on WTMD actually sound pretty good, in a girl-interrupted kind of way. Time for tofurkey.

Speaking of blasts from the past, Joan Osborne's (sp?) one song playing the airwaves right now really hits the groove. It has a great roots-rock feel. I'm actually surprised. I really thought she was one of our generation's one-hit wonders.

Matisyahu. I know. Just another hasidic raggae-rapper. Not sure if I can wrap my head around this, but it beats all those Jesus-freak rockers clogging a huge chunk of the commercial airwaves right now. This guy actually has talent. Turns out that God is the greatest producer of all. Who knew?

Inalienable

The Rat makes a good point about the government's role in protecting property rights. Rights are not granted by the government, period. We have rights whether the government acknowledges them or not. Letting the government grant rights means letting it take them away at any time.

Black people had the right to equal treatment and opportunity way back in the days of slavery, despite the many laws that said otherwise. Women always had the right to vote; the government just finally acknowledged the fact in the 1920s. Of course, it is easy to say that our rights are inalienable, but why are they?

Despite what Jefferson wrote, we really can't say that our rights come from our creator when most of us can't agree on what version of what god to worship, or even whether to worship one at all. We seem to all agree that we have these inalienable rights, but where do they come from? If not a divine spark or the government, then where else? Is there a single source, or do we derive our rights from multiple sources?

The best I can figure is that we have these rights because we can conceive of them and agree upon them. We've spent millennia fighting wars and debating to come to a consensus on what rights we have. Of course, the flaw in that argument is what happens if the majority decides that a minority does not have a right, even when that minority has a legitimate claim?

What do you think, folks?

It takes an Urban Village

Every day I pass by the same empty parking lot by the metro station at Northern and Wabash, and every day I wonder when the state will finally decide to stop wasting that land waiting for commuters who never come and turn it into a mixed-use, pedestrian-friendly neighborhood centered around that metro station.

Streuver whatnot and Rouse are already renovating that mill near the Woodberry light-rail station, why can't the same be done at this station?

Not only should the parking lot be redeveloped, but the entire area around it. The ugly NorthWest stripmall down the road could be completely rehabilitated as an urban village. A little catalyst in the form of state investment could generate a huge payoff for the city, especially the West side.

O Great Pumpkin!

Success!

No trick or treaters this year, for the third year in a row. We used to be sad that they didn't show up, but quite frankly, I'm just a little tired of handing out my hard-earned candy to a bunch of ungrateful kids I've never met.

It's not like Christmastime when they pretend to be good all of a sudden so Santa will bring them toys. Have they ever washed my car, raked leaves or offered to walk the dog?

This side entrance is the perfect trick-or-treater deterrent.

Look folks, you chose to have kids, you give them and their pals the candy-candy. When I have kids I'll dish out the sweets like anyone else, but don't come a' knockin' on my door every October 31 with your hands out until little Andrew and Addison show up.

In fact, since Baxter and his folks dropped by unexpectedly, all Great-Pumpkin like, I'd have to say that this was the Best Halloween Ever!

To be, or not to be ...

Having an idea isn't enough. I thought a while ago that it would be neat to print some Butterstick T-shirts and sell them around the district and in DC- or Zoo-centric circles across the country.

After all, I could build the foundation of a vast fashion empire on the basis of my massive international blog following.

Unfortunately, as with many of my ideas, someone else actually did something about it.

Cafe Press is selling some nifty Butterstick T-shirts, and the proceeds go to support the National Zoo, and, for all I know, even to bribe the Chinese government into letting our little cutiewootums stay in the US of A.

At any rate, I thought folks who care might want to take a look.

Free Butterstick!

Back in the Day

Lisa Loeb is playing on WXPN.org

Am I in High School again?

Damn ...

Yes, I've decided to broaden my horizons and set temporarily aside bluegrass and songs about NC that make me homesick for my beautiful blue mountains.

Unfortunately, KCRW is several time zones behind us, and I really don't care how the morning taffic is progressing in the greater Santa Monica region. So no Nic Harcourt for now. His morning show hits here around lunch time.

But the kids at Penn State are doing fine this morning. Nothing spectacular, but some good tunes for a friday as we wait for news of big things to come. And those of you who are waiting know what I'm talking about.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for Chemistry.

Breaking News!

Now, I may be wrong here, but I don't recall in my quarter of a century of living in NC before moving to the Free State ever reading an article about an 8-year-old killing a bear on the first day of hunting season.

Or any other animal, for that reason.

Maybe the Black Mountain News has reported on a similar incident, but never the state's major newspaper (I'll let the Observer and News-Observer people handle the debate on relative circulation sizes.), let alone the local TV news channel. And a quick search suggests more.

So I hope that the next time a Marylander gets the idea to make fun of southerners, and especially North Carolinians, for being rednecks or somesuch, they remember the articles in The Sun and other fine news establishments across Mary Land today.

The pot, the kettle ... you get the idea.

Unsung Heroes

I was cleaning out my portion of the dresser yesterday when I finally decided to reduce my considerable collection of white T-shirts.

As I did so, seeking out the ones in the proper size(M) and dumping the older, bigger ones from my younger, bigger days, I began to realize just how important these unassuming little shirts are.

The basic white T, bought in packs of three or ten, depending on where you go, really are the workhorses of the American male wardrobe. They absorb our sweat so the more expensive, nicer looking shirts and sweaters on top won't smell. When you paint a room, work on your car, shampoo the carpet, wash the car, or pack up and move, you don't reach for the $30 dress shirt you were roped into buying by the overly aggressive salesman at Men's Wearhouse.

You put on a pair of jeans and one of your trusty white Ts.

After a long life of hard work, protecting you from paint, soap, sawdust and oil, soaking up copious amounts of sweat and getting shoved unceremoniously into the bottom drawer, what do they get? The lucky ones go on to Goodwill, where working class folks and philosophy majors will pick through them, taking them on for a while.

But, in the end, when the fibers no longer hold together in a recognizable fashion: Rags. For oil, for spills, for the dog to chew.

Let us take a moment to remember those unsung heroes of the masculine dresser.

I want my Btv

Butterstick:

Even cuter on video

This, this makes streaming video worthwhile.

It's about time.

Where America Used to Shop

Why did I go to the Mall, anyway?

It wasn't really raining, just a little drizzly. I had my trusty Nature Conservancy umbrella. But no, I just couldn't hack it in the dreary cold around Lake Winimiwhateverthehell. Not today.

So, is today a school holiday in Mary Land? Did the power go out in the HoCo schools?

Man, damn teenagers. They're everywhere. Wandering around in little clusters, eating fast food. Whippersnappers.

I ducked into the least-cool store I could find, figuring I could at least get something for Dad for Christmas. Unfortunately, the Man Department at Sears wasn't particularly inspiring. Lots of powertools he probably has buried in the garage already, and nothing says "Merry Christmas Dad" like a pint of premium Motoroil.

I guess those days are over.

To all my dogs

A quick word to all my readers, whatever portion of the 5 or 6 of you still do anyway.

The Canine Flu that hit NY and NJ is now in DC and will likely come to Maryland soon.

Unlike the Avian Flu, this only affects the animal for which it is named.

This is especially for you, Baxter. Be careful out there, since there is no cure yet.

A filmstar named Sue ...

Why am I just now hearing about this?

A new movie about Johnny and June Carter Cash? The Ring of Fire writ large across the silver screen?

Joaqin Phoenix? Reese Witherspoon?

Move over Potter, I know where I'll be November 18.

Peaceful Mountain

It's Official: Butterstick's new name is Tai Shan, translated from the Chinese into "Peaceful Mountain."

It could have been worse.

I think I went to High School with a Tai Shan ...

Butterstick update

As of yesterday, our bouncing baby boy weighed in at 12.7 pounds, for a grand total of 50.8 sticks of butter -- and growing!

The rigged election to choose a name for our beloved panda cub has ended, and the winning Beijing-approved name will be announced in a ceremony on Monday. Jugglers, Kung Fu and whatnot. Oh, and crafts for the kids, but that's a given.

Raining in Baltimore

The weather is taking a turn, sliding deeper into the Fall and on to Winter. With the clouds and rain and chilly air, the rundown buildings of this beleaguered city have once again lost the charms afforded them by cheery weather. It's easy to be optimistic in Baltimore when the weather's good.

Now everything is turning dreary again, and the streets seem cold and forbidding.

Time for Christmas shopping!

Jinkies

What is up with the Eastern Shore?

Once you cross that Bay Bridge, man, it's like a whole other state. Flat, spooky-ass place. Like driving into an old Scooby Doo episode. Creepy old farmhouses, roadside stands and a few strip malls, that's it. It's a long way to drive just to get to the beach.

There's no way this is all part of the state of Baltimore, The Wire, NSA and the DC 'burbs. Although, Wallace did have to stay with his grandma on the Shore before they capped him.

If you go, for whatever reason, check out Ollie's Discount Store in Salisbury. The prices are so low because they never turn on the airconditioning. It's a prehistoric Wal~Mart. Concrete floor, hand-made shelves. Mark my words: if Ollie discovers marketing, he'll give the crowd in Bentonville a run for their dirty money.

Damn man.

Did you see that haunted farmhand? Like, let's get outta here!

He said, she said ...

It was a glorious few weeks there. The media shouting at officials, questioning responses, doing their jobs. Some of us had hoped it would never end, even after the floodwaters receeded.

Oh well.

It didn't take too long for reporters to stop asking tough questions like: "Is that true?" or "Are you shitting me?" Any story, no matter how controversial, has devolved back into merely quoting offical talking heads, never substantiating or even questioning the statements they parrot back to us.

Instead of simply telling us that the republican said these tax cuts or whatever will be good for the economy and that the democrat says they won't be, how about actually doing some research and tell us who's right? Don't just tell me "And activists disagree," then cut to a commercial. Are they right to disagree? Are both sides wrong? Are there other sides?

Can you even spell Google?

When did reporters go from the most cynical people in the country to the most trusting?

Bon Voyage

A & D have begun their long trip around the world. A whole year -- something out of a Mark Twain travelogue.

Good luck on your way to the land of California, and all that lays beyond.

Your plants are doing well in their new home.

We look forward to seeing your travelblog.

Share the Pain

I thought I should clarify my musings on the potential rebuilding of New Orleans, lest folks think me heartless.

The predominantly black Ninth Ward isn't the only low-lying neighborhood in New Orleans. Turns out that some of those others happen to be where the white folks live.

Now, as far as I'm concerned, all of these high-risk neighborhoods should be demolished, and the residents should be given fair compensation to rebuild elsewhere. But my fear is that only the Ninth will go down forever, while the whiter neighborhoods will be rebuilt. Although the folks living there will eventually be washed out again, that still isn't fair.

I hope the leaders of New Orleans will treat all neighborhoods equally when deciding where and where not to rebuild. Some will definitely have to go. No matter how historic, no matter how close people are tied to those areas, they belong to the waters. To rebuild would be too dangerous, and would only delay the inevitable. Demolishing them would be a tragedy, but letting people move in again only to be drowned in some future flood would be a greater tragedy.

A Butterstick by any other name ...

Why does the National Zoo ignore the one true name of its new panda cub? Washington-China, Peacefull Mountain? What the hell is that?

The party leaders in Beijing must be behind it all. Apparently a name like Butterstick would only remind poor, overworked Chinese sweatshop workers of what they don't have.

We can't let such a cutie-wootie cause riots in the streets.

As far as I'm concerned, though, he'll always be Butterstick to me. Even when he weighs enough to eat a million of them in one sitting.

Is it safe to come out?

Barring any new calamities, the reconstruction of New Orleans will now begin in earnest. Like most bloggers, my opinion is, of course, invaluable:

Never been there, but I understand it was a fairly pedestrian-friendly place. That's great. To build on that, the city and the region should follow new urban policies to encourage just that kind of development, only strong enough to withstand a Cat 5.

This is a great opportunity for the city to not only rebuild its quaint streetcar system, but also to create a comprehensive rapid-rail system to move people in, out and about the city quickly and efficiently -- and with an eye toward evacuation, should it be necessary once more.

I think at this point, we can all agree that the 9th Ward is in a hell of a spot. Twice flooded in the space of a month, I doubt many people would want to return. The government should buy out the folks there and turn the neighborhood into an urban wetland to absorb future floodwaters without risking lives or property.

The massive housing projects should be bulldozed. Concentration of poverty might make the white folks on the rich side of town feel good because they can't see the poor brown people anymore, but it doesn't fix the problem. Concentrate on building mixed-use nieghborhoods that include people of many income levels and prevent the concentration of poverty. That can be the first step toward breaking the cycle of poverty.

And for god's sake, build the levees right! Otherwise it won't matter how pretty the city is.

Worst of Baltimore

I can't blame the folks in Baltimore for voting the One World Cafe as the Best Vegetarian Restaurant in Charm City. Baltimore's never been known for good food, and people round these parts still act like vegetarians are something they heard about on the Discovery Channel, but never expected to see in person. The fact that One World even is vegetarian is something of a minor miracle.

With all that against them, Balti-Mos can't be expected to know good vegetarian food. They're lucky to find something that wasn't made with crab guts. These poor souls have been deprived for too long.

That's why I'd like to accept donations for a fund to bring these suffering fools to Asheville, where they can feast on delicious dishes from the Laughing Seed, Salsa's, Lucky Otter and all the other fantastic veggie and veggie-friendly restaurants in that mountain utopia. While we're at it, let's help their carnivorous friends and family discover Asheville's excellent non-veggie cuisine. Even they will finally know what real food tastes like.

We can't stand by while another Baltimorean suffers through a bland, tasteless entree at One World. Or the humiliation of eating a weak-ass salad while everyone around them enjoys a hearty, deep-fried crab-cake lasagna stuffed with hamburger and soaked in bacon grease.

Can't you please give a call?

We shall rise again

The pillars of southern culture must be rebuilt.

No matter the cost.

Brave New World

Move over Rand McNalley.

For BD, Google Scholar was a big hit, but I have to admit that I'm hooked on Google Earth.

Man, this is something. I can fly around the Grand Canyon, Manhattan, Antacrtica, you name it. Not every city has 3D buildings yet, but the natural features, like the mountains around Asheville, are awesome.

I know it's weird, but hear me out.

Dad travelled for a living, so maps were a big part of growing up. Not just because of the ever-growing collection of maps left over from from his travels, but also from wondering about all those exotic places he went to, like El Salvador, Israel, Little Rock.

On family trips, my sister and I were the navigators. I'm sure our directions were useless at first; we were probably given maps just to keep us busy. But we learned, and as we did so, our fascination grew. They tell stories, they fire the imagination.

What can I say?

Vertebrates

It was nice to see the media actually doing its job during the Katrina disaster. Questioning officials, disputing bad information, expressing outrage and righteous anger. This was real J-School stuff, what all those fresh-faced kids back at UNCA are all about before The Man wears them down.

Time Magazine even decided to investigate Michael Brown's resume to see if he really had all the emergency-response experience he claimed to have (he didn't). Time patted itself on the back for that one, but as Kendra pointed out: Where were they when this clown was hired? Why didn't they investigate his resume before thousands of Americans died of hunger and exposure in the Gulf Coast? Could it be possible that other public officials, or even private officals, have lied to us? I'm sure this new guy thay have running the FEMA knows his stuff, but already NPR is saying "according to his resume ..."

Jesus.

I'll forgive the media for trading real reportage for access and free doughnuts at the press briefings if they'll just do their jobs from now on: Question, repudiate, investigate. The bloggers are too full of themselves and have the journalistic ethics of, well, folks who work in their pajamas. What we need are some old-fashioned, Perry White, cigar-chewing, alcoholic reporters with little press cards in their hat bands to badger the powers that be.

Although, from the looks of the cliched post-catastrophe reporting, it don't look good.

The Rescuers

Donate now to help the Humane Society rescue pets left behind in the Gulf Coast

Hey, I just learned how to turn an image into an external link!

The Wheels on the Bus

The folks in Charlotte got the idea. Even in a region so addicted to driving and physically dependent on car travel, by dint of its sprawling landscape, people are leaving the car at home.

One man-in-the-seat they talked to figures it would cost him nearly $200 in gas and parking fees to commute each month, but it only costs him $44 a month (with senior discount) to take the bus, and would cost non-seniors $88.

High gas prices alone didn't increase ridership in Charlotte. The city made a concerted effort to improve and expand transit service. In the short term that meant nearly doubling the number of buses. In the long term, they've already broken ground on a long-awaited and much-needed light-rail system that should be done by 2020.

If it can happen in Charlotte, it can happen anywhere.

Get on the Bus

Options.

That's what it's all about. I'd just like some options, a choice. That's all.

It would be nice, as gas prices shoot for moon, to have the option of taking a bus or train to work. Unfortunately, like many Americans, I don't have that option. This country's love affair with cars is taking its toll this week in the wake of Katrina, and our governments, from the federal level on down, have done nothing to prepare us for the current problem.

Officials who have done absolutely nothing to build up our public transit infrastructure in the last 50 years -- Officials who built freeways instead of subways, who let developers sprawl all over the landscape in a confusing mess of strip malls and parking lots -- are now telling us to conserve gas and drive less.

Damn. Wish I could. Even with a hybrid this $3.699+ gas is too much. I can't walk, because nothing is built anywhere near anything anymore. Forget about getting to work. There isn't so much as a bus from Baltimore to Columbia. Oh sure, they plan on building a light-rail line out this way ... and if I'm still here in 2040, I'll buy a ticket.

Let's get it together folks. Want to save money on gas? Tell your politicians to start building transit.

Oh, and I hear the car dealers in Charlotte have all sold out of hybrids.

Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans?

They played this today on KCRW.org. If there was any doubt that the city should be rebuilt, they are layed to rest.

I hope Dennis Hastert was listening.

Do you know what it means to miss new orleans
And miss it each night and day
I know I’m not wrong... this feeling’s gettin’ stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss covered vines...the tall sugar pines
Where mockin’ birds used to sing
And I’d like to see that lazy mississippi...hurryin’ into spring

The moonlight on the bayou.......a creole tune.... that fills the air
I dream... about magnolias in bloom......and I’m wishin’ I was there

Do you know what it means to miss new orleans
When that’s where you left your heart
And there’s one thing more...i miss the one I care for
More than I miss new orleans

(instrumental break)

The moonlight on the bayou.......a creole tune.... that fills the air
I dream... about magnolias in bloom......and I’m wishin’ I was there

Do you know what it means to miss new orleans
When that’s where you left your heart
And there’s one thing more...i miss the one I care for
More.....more than I miss.......new orleans

Lyrics by Eddie DeLange and Louis Alter

The Levee Breaks

The news from New Orleans and the rest of the Gulf just keeps getting worse. Reports from the city itself tell a story of destruction on a comicbook scale, the kind of all-encompassing devastation that levels fictitious cities when writers run out of ideas. Can't figure out any new villains for Batman? Lets destroy Gotham with a cataclysmic earthquake. People are bored with Superman? Lets kill him and crush half of Metropolis for good measure. People love disasters!

First the Hurricane-force winds and driving rains, now the levee has indeed broken and Lake Pontchartrain pours into the city like an enormous, festering, overflowing bathtub. Looters have set themselves to the task of destroying as much of what's left of the city's economy before what's left of the National Guard can force them out to dry land. Power is out, food and water are scarce and lawlessness rules the land. Plagues of locusts may soon invade the city for all we know.

I can only hope that the dire predictions of the chattering classes prove false. That New Orleans will not be abandoned, that the Cresent City can be resurrected and throngs of drunken revelers will once again party long into the Bourbon Street night. We can't allow New Orleans to become the American Pompeii. The city can be rebuilt, and the surrounding marshes and coastline restored to provide better protection from future calamities. It won't be easy without super powers, and it will take more than just a few monthly installments. But it can be done, and hopefully will.

Who's famous from UNCC?

Hurricane reports have been too much. Can't really formulate any coherent thoughts on the devastation, the deaths, the intrusive news coverage of weeping victims.

Until I can get my head around Katrina, here's a little answer to the eternal question:

Forget Clay Aiken.

Here's a former 49er who allegedly murdered his girlfriend, then hid out in Atkins' Tower.

The kids at The Times must be plotzing over this one.

I scream, you scream ...

I love Ice Cream. Some scientists in Europe or some country where they study things like this determined that eating ice cream activates endorphines in your brain and sends happy waves to your pleasure center so it's practically a drug.

With that in mind, we bought an ice cream maker at the C & B a few weeks ago. Nothing brings a smile to your face like watching all that creamy bad-for-you-but-you-can't-help-yourself goodness swirling around in ever thicker gobs. Just add the mixins!

The peppermint tasted grat, but the texture was all wrong. We abandoned the healthy milk for full-on milk and cream for the next batches. What do you do when Breyers stops making your favorite flavor? You gather together some chocolate-covered almonds and coconut shavings and make it yourself, that's what.

But, the greatest of all flavors is the ice-cream version of the Jack Daniel's Chocolate Chip Pecan Pie.

Mmmmmm ... Ice Cream and Tennessee Sipping Whiskey ... a potent combination. Note: call Lynchburg.

All the News That's Fit to Print

There's a story about rampant crime and soaring drug problems in today's NYT, so of course the dateline says Baltimore. The shocking thing about this particular story is that our recently minted police commish's stepdaughter is a drug addict.

Wow.

Who needs HBO to watch The WIre?

Time used to be it was cool to see your city or state in The Times, but that was back in NC. Sure some stories were the typical northeasterners-looking-down-on-southerners stuff: "Racist does something stupid," "Rednecks are different from the rest of us," "what's up with NASCAR?" That sort of thing. But every once in a while, something positive, or at least diffferent. Like Charlotte talking about taking down the overstreet mall, or mountainbiking in Asheville. Or Gov. Easley watching King of the Hill to stay in touch with his good ol' boy roots.

Hmmm. Maybe Martin O'Malley should go up to Times Square and give them a piece of his mind. Or start his own blog like Tony Williams in DC.

Texans I don't hate

I could probably count on one hand the number of Texans I like, and James McMurtry definitely makes the cut. I first heard his roots rock on WNCW back in our Asheville days (sigh), and loved his rollicking music and intricate lyrics.

Thank god for the Web. I just learned on WNCW's online stream that he's releasing a new album, "Childish Things," on Spetember 6. It includes We Can't Make It Here, a great song available for download on his official Web site (no lawbreakers here!).

Download it only if you want to buy his album, because you won't be able to say no once you hear it!

Polish class

As some of you know, I've been taking a Polish class at the Community college in Catonsville. Finished last night. We had our final exam. It covered everything we learned from the beginning of the semester, so it was pretty tough.

A few people got hurt trying to screw in the lightbulb, but I did okay. Almost walked into the bar, then saw the door at the last minute. A close one for sure.

We also had to list 5 scams and how to avoid them, like the "Corner in the Round Room" hoax. I got a pretty high score on cleaning the house before the firemen show up, but I've always been pretty orderly. Singed my pants a little at the last minute, but you should have seen this other guy.

We had a little disturbance when the German class in the next room broke in and tried to take our desks. We managed to fight them off, but they still took the desks, and a few chairs too. We had to finish the class sitting on the floor. We could hear some grumbling from the Russian classroom, but the bell rang, so we all went home.

Magic District Rats

Everytime we escape Smaltimore for the District, we find another new reason to make the move permanent.

Better mass transit, better restaurants, more stores, more places to walk to without getting jacked .. and falafel.

So I hear Baltimore indeed has falafel; so I have heard many things about that blighted city that have proven false. Perhaps this will be different, but I doubt there is anything in Charm City that comes close to the divine inspiration of Amsterdam Falafel in Adams Morgan.

A hole in the wall falafel shop with only 3 things on the menu: Large and Small Falafel and French Fries, the perfect urban experience. This is what a city is. Walk around all day, eat great food from another country, and take the train when you're too tired to walk. Charm City's gots nothing on DC in this respect.

With an eye to the south, we wait for the housing bubble to burst.

Bubble Puppy

Stomp y'all's feet and holler, for the Southern Sampler has arrived!

Ever since Oxford American went under a few years ago, then came back, each Music Issue since constitutes a minor miracle. And I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it's available in Mary-Land, that bizzarro limbo world not quite South and not quite North.

The magazine of southern culture, skids and all, puts out a fantastic CD each summer chock-full of the most eclectic mix of southern music you'll ever hear.

This means not just blues and bluegrass, but a wide array of musical genres stretching across genres, generations and thousands of miles. Elvis and Erykah, yodelers and cowboys, even psychedelic rock.

The CD alone is worth it, but read the magazine anyway, okay? Like expanded liner notes, it covers each artist in-depth with great photos and art, plus a few extra articles on music in general.

If you buy only one southern magazine with a CD, make it this one.

Burkarama

We saw the movie Osama a few weeks ago on the recommendation of a coworker. For those of you who don't know, Osama is the story of a young girl who is forced to pose as a boy because of Taliban restrictions on women. This was the first movie made in Afganistan after the taliban were ousted in 2001-2002, and critics of all cultural and political stripes fell over themselves to praise the film.

The problem with movies created after decades of religious-fundamentalist rule is that quality tends to go downhill. Just look at what Hollywood's been churning out lately.

The story jumps from one scene to another with no sense of order or place. The acting, understandably, is god-awful. I'm sure they literally grabbed people off the street in these towns and put a camera in front of them. Even with subtitles it was hard to understand what was going on.

Even though the movie illustrated the horrible conditions that Afgans, especially women, had to endure under taliban rule, the flat and lifeless characters hardly illicited any sympathy. The girl, renamed Osama, cries through most of the film and never stands up for herself or, really, does much of anything.

I have to say that I'm impressed these folks managed to produce a movie at all under post-war conditions. Unfortunately, their good intentions have gone for naught.

A much better story about life in Afganistan is The Kite Runner, a fantastic novel by Khaled Hosseini that traces the life of a boy who grew up in relative welath before the soviet invasion, fled to the US with his father, then returns years later during the taliban years to seek atonement for a terrible sin he committed in his youth. A movie is in the works, and should be coming out next year or the year after.

City Mouse

The news is comforting. Articles appear, here and there, stating that retailers and developers are rediscovering the city as people give up their tract homes in sprawling nowhere suburbs for close-in, urban neighborhoods. Even Baltimore, still suffering from decades of neglect and abandonment, has found new life as young couples flee the suburbs that were supposed to keep them safe as children. Not enough to stem the tide of suburban sprawl, but a start.

Despite what some conservative critics may say, cities, not small towns, are the true foundation for our civilization. Centers of commerce, art, culture, philosophy, science and technology, they are the incubators of human enterprises, the engines of our economy, the cradles for our greatest artistic achieivements. I don't pretend that cities are perfect. Crime, poverty and corruption are common from New York to Asheville, but are not merely urban phenomena. Crime threatens all communities, large and small, some of the most devastating poverty can be found in mountainside trailer parks, and corruption depends on power and greed, not population density, to thrive.

Each aspect of daily life is cut off in the Sprawl. Nothing can be reached on foot; homes, offices, stores and schools are segregated from each other across miles of freeway. Each person is isolated, divorced of human connection except, sometimes, the family. This isolation destroys community and slowly kills the institutions of democracy that bind us together in common cause. It is no wonder that the progressive values of community, tolerance and cooperation are disappearing while selfish self-interest and intolerance creep into our cultural and political life.

When Americans began to abandon cities in the 60s and 70s, we were abandoning our civilization itself. As we rediscover and rebuild our cities, undoing the mistakes that made us leave in the first place, we will also rediscover and rebuild our civilization.

Panda Update

Excerpts from the Panda Blog at the National Zoo in Washington, DC

TUESDAY
Father panda returned home from long day of sunning self on rock while tourist took pictures. Almost sat on cub. Mother Panda took a swipe at him. Ate bamboo.

WEDNESDAY
Orangutans came to visit new baby, brought covered dish. Mother panda not welcoming. Much growling and poo throwing.
Covered dish appears to be some sort of cobbler. Peach?

THURSDAY
Second intern died trying to take cub's temperature. The one with red hair. Jacob? Use of small stuffed panda from gift stand as decoy did not work as planned. Excellent photos taken of cub while mother panda preoccupied with Jacob! Very cute!

FRIDAY
Father panda sleeping. Mother panda has stayed up all night with cub, rocking back and forth, eyes wide open. Jason (not Jacob) removed from Panda pen. Zoo hat is still missing.

High on a Mountain top

Great blue mountains rise up from the earth,
breathing mist and fog
Sleeepy giants rolling over the horizon,
teaming with life,
crawling with ghosts.

We lay cradled between them,
children of giants,
proud and safe.

27 Candles

Happy birthday to me! What a wonderful thing to realize that your birthday has arrived!

Wait, that's not right ... Where's the cake and candles? All the boxes wrapped in colorful paper? What do you mean I have to go to work today? I want to go out and ride my new bike!

What new bike?

Oh no you didn't ...