tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57529750450859312202024-03-05T02:43:30.617-08:00Adventures in San Francisco and Beyond7 months, living in Ecuador, exploring the the Andes, driving across the US from coast to coast and back to fabulous San FranciscoCraighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-33671836674735494872011-04-14T06:58:00.000-07:002011-04-14T06:58:39.929-07:00Space Balloon IIFriday morning, my kids will be launching our second balloon probe into the stratosphere. Follow our <a href="http://ikaros.xrg.us/livestream.html">progress live</a>.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-26624972769196584432010-05-27T21:06:00.000-07:002010-05-27T21:10:37.513-07:00Space Balloon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2M6qN2jNkOiB-q7LuLIwQSalyeQKTY4_xf4D0-bCDM0m0v4MaxCr_OyQ3PtYRWBB6_PqlOr1XsAMcsGJooMAgg0H7Vms8zyYCS0XQ3rjgBwafeUPdO0M7UBiVWb5n47PCfVlGMUuICj7/s1600/Ikaros1-14.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm2M6qN2jNkOiB-q7LuLIwQSalyeQKTY4_xf4D0-bCDM0m0v4MaxCr_OyQ3PtYRWBB6_PqlOr1XsAMcsGJooMAgg0H7Vms8zyYCS0XQ3rjgBwafeUPdO0M7UBiVWb5n47PCfVlGMUuICj7/s400/Ikaros1-14.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476168395257928018" /></a><br /><br /><br />I just finished up the most awesome project with some students from my school... we sent a weather balloon with a video camera, probes, and tracking equipment into the stratosphere and successfully recovered it. You should check out video, photos, and information about the mission:<br /><a href="http://ikaros.xrg.us/">ikaros.xrg.us</a>Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-55650006705555649222008-11-06T07:46:00.000-08:002008-11-06T07:59:48.967-08:00"Yes on 8" it is.After a night of partying in the streets of San Francisco, feeling unbelievable pride in my country, I awoke to see this picture which made me feel ashamed of the state I've adopted as home. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTjPC0ZvUWaxhjLV7HMwIpT4lYftJGbFmPKd5viYO3-VUf5kVLCrDn2x67TKJ3cwMdi5L6rbMO8rXRnsma7lSIX5-d6AnEReFOXD_VM5onuVJ0zwX2_t6zN0xkvGXvEYpCNZHO78-Eodb/s1600-h/43202678.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTjPC0ZvUWaxhjLV7HMwIpT4lYftJGbFmPKd5viYO3-VUf5kVLCrDn2x67TKJ3cwMdi5L6rbMO8rXRnsma7lSIX5-d6AnEReFOXD_VM5onuVJ0zwX2_t6zN0xkvGXvEYpCNZHO78-Eodb/s400/43202678.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265571823376089954" /></a><br /><br /><br />I want to say something to the people cheering in this picture, <a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/local/la-me-gaymarriage5-2008nov05,0,1545381.story">Bob Knoke, of Mission Viejo, Amanda Stanfield, of Monrovia, Jim Domen, of Yorba Linda, and J.D. Gaddis, of Yorba Linda</a>: <br /><br />"How can it make you so happy that I will never be able to marry someone I love? It isn't just that it looks like you are laughing at the misfortune of others, because it's beyond that; this is something you did to us. It feels like you've punched me in the stomach and are standing back to cheer about how great punching me is. How can I see the fervid enthusiasm on your face as anything other than hateful and vicious cruelty?"<br /><br />I have to remind myself that these people probably aren't sadists in their everyday lives. And that makes it even more baffling that they can take such obvious pleasure in hurting others. They obviously think marriage is a really good thing, otherwise what would be the point of gloating 'You can't have it! You can't have it!'<br /><br />It's like I'm a game of keep-away, where it's great fun not to let us gays have the ball. And what really scares me is that once you're playing keep-away, you might as well let it turn into a game of smear-the-queer.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-43105800479857716052008-04-07T18:47:00.000-07:002008-04-07T18:52:21.771-07:00SpamMy last post, for some reason, has received a number of spam messages in the comments. If you see a message on a blog that says "please click here," don't click on the 'here." It leads to a nasty site that messes up the size of your windows, pretends to be scanning your computer for viruses, and then presumably installs something evil on your Windows machine. I'm not sure if this started to appear because of the topic of my last post, or if it's just hitting the most recent entry. I guess with this message, we'll see.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-42513872463552966082008-03-28T12:31:00.000-07:002008-03-28T12:52:45.667-07:00Spock.com Review: No, it's just creepy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKalXWXjG6flk-2mQFr-V0-Cvf6abMya21wdZkgb5p6SAd7dFJrtvO0ANTbWJxqFlSmorXNPXPCSZbKePayYOQZwiY5CKOepU4vVQymmfDEjJmDic7j-xSNQEgf2ex394t7setIm6gATDi/s1600-h/my+profile.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKalXWXjG6flk-2mQFr-V0-Cvf6abMya21wdZkgb5p6SAd7dFJrtvO0ANTbWJxqFlSmorXNPXPCSZbKePayYOQZwiY5CKOepU4vVQymmfDEjJmDic7j-xSNQEgf2ex394t7setIm6gATDi/s400/my+profile.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182878032144139362" /></a><br />I recently came across a new search and networking site, <a href="http://www.spock.com">spock.com</a>, that's getting some buzz. Right off the bat, let me say that the way I discovered it creeped me out. I noticed that my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4J4-4AjVBoU&fmt=18">youtube video of the bigwheel race</a> was linked to by a stranger's myspace and was the <a href="http://www.myfoxboston.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;?contentId=3026135&version=174&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=TSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1">video of the day</a> on the Boston Fox affiliate. Curious about who else might be mentioning me, I googled myself and found a link to <a href="http://www.spock.com/Craig-Butz-RxmFU1RA">a whole page dedicated to me</a> on spock.com, with a picture, info about my likes and dislikes, pictures of my friends, links to my wikipedia contributions, teaching portfolio, youtube videos etc. I had no idea this page existed. I certainly didn't create it...<br /><br />The biggest difficulty in starting a social networking site is that for it to be useful, it has to reach a certain critical mass. On one hand it's easier for new sites to reach this point than it was in the days of sixdegrees and friendster, because people understand the concept and see the value. On the other hand, the market is crowded now and you need to be offering something exceptional to generate new registrations.<br /><br />Spock.com gets around this problem by creating a critical mass of usefulness without needing anybody to sign up. By combing other social networking sites and the internet at large, spock.com has created millions of profiles of people who aren't even aware the site exists. And since their userbase is potential employers and stalkers as much as the people being profiled--they bill themselves as a "people search engine"--it's already useful to at least the first segment of their users, the people who are searching. The question is how the site deals with the second group, the people who are profiled. That's where it gets troubling.<br /><br />What's powerful about this site is that it figures out that info from multiple sources is all about the same person and puts it in one profile. They are far from perfecting this though, so there are a couple less-complete profiles for me, and my main profile has a link to information about when I was picked by the Detroit Red Wings in the 1983 NHL draft. Even if you don't know me, you can figure out that that isn't the same Craig Butz. But did you know I have a Ph.D. in education and have been the director of a charter school in Las Vegas?<br /><br />Because a profile isn't just a random list of links like a Google search, it becomes more likely that users will believe inaccurate information they see on spock.com. Grouping the information into profiles inherently makes a claim that it's all about one person, otherwise what would be the point of the service? When most of the information is accurate, it adds to the credibility of the page as a whole. Because the whole page is credible, it's easier to assume that individual facts are--a psychological effect called "credibility by association."<br /><br />The fact that all of the information they cull is "already out there," stuff that would show up in a google search anyway, is little consolation when you examine the details. While I've published all kinds information about myself, and have always realized that you can piece it together if you want to, I expect some control over its context. If I check a box saying I'm single, I know I'm putting that bit of info on my myspace page, not my teaching portfolio. If an employer or potential client does go snooping on myspace or facebook, they know from the context that they're looking into my personal life, and I expect them to have different expectations about what they find than for my professional actions. When it's all lumped together by spock.com, you lose the ability to make those distinctions for the people you interact with. You no longer get to have a professional life distinct from your personal life. Teenagers figuring out who they are, trying on identities, can no longer have a home-self distinct from their school-self, a version of themselves that they present to friends in person that's different from the one they reveal to people they've met online. Maybe someday such different selves will seem old-fashioned, but I think most people today expect to be able to present themselves differently in different contexts. A tool that undermines that ability isn't good for most people.<br /><br />When I emailed my concerns, spock.com's answer was for me to register with the site. There are two problems with this solution. First, most of the people profiled don't know their profile exists. Second, even if you register (giving tacit approval to the contents of your profile) you aren't actually allowed to delete inaccurate information, or stuff you just don't want included. You can only "vote down any incorrect information." What's reported about you is determined democratically! How can democracy be bad?<br /><br />Even if we were to accept that what's public in one context should be public in all, the model assumes that the information about you is still coming from you or from credible and well-intentioned sources. Unfortunately, anything written about you on the Internet by anyone is fair game for inclusion. In fact, if the bots are doing what they're meant to, it's inevitable. There are already horror stories. <a href="http://www.wired.com/techbiz/startups/news/2007/08/spock_reputation">Wired reports</a> on a blogger covering the Mark Foley scandel being automatically tagged a pedophile. In the comments to <a href="http://www.appscout.com/2007/06/spockcom_its_creepy_its_coolyo.php">another article</a> about the site, a high school teacher complains that an angry student created a spoof myspace profile about him. While he was able to get myspace to remove it, the bogus information had already made it into his spock profile. Imagine the potential for a kid to be bullied relentlessly through this site. Since it's an information popularity contest, they would have little power to stop the terrible things that kids say from being included on their own profile page.<br /><br />Spock.com isn't the only site that has to deal with vandalism. But it's one thing for wikipedia to grapple with it when their notability rule disallows articles about most of us. The potential consequences aren't much more severe than some kid including the wrong dates for the Civil War in a report. When the entire content of the site is real living people, the company is risking people's reputations in a way that could seriously damage their lives.<br /><br />If you have an internet presence, they're compiling a profile on you whether you like it or not. In response to my request to have my profile removed, the Spock Team said, "If I were to remove your Spock search result you will eventually be reindexed." The only way to influence your profile is to register. What an incredibly coercive business model! The draw for registered users is to gain some influence over a profile that will exist whether they want it to or not. Unfortunately, this aspect is unlikely to change. For the service to be useful, they need to rope people into registering. While they're doing a better job than most of attaching information to the right person, it's unlikely they will ever be able to automate the process perfectly. Ultimately, I'm the only machine that can tell whether a page is about me or not. <br /><br />If I don't want there to be a page about me at all, there is an alternative. They told another peeved profilee that she could be permanently deleted by completely removing herself from all social networking sites. They've decided that you don't get to choose whether or not to be a part of spock.com. The only way not to be profiled is not to allow any mention of yourself on the internet.<br /><br />It is true that other sites, like <a href="http://www.zoominfo.com/">zoominfo</a> are doing similar things, but none in such an intrusive way. Spock Networks apparently thinks of this as being more successful.<br /><br />Many people certainly do want tools to check up on those around them, and <a href="http://www.spock.com/jay">Jay Bhatti</a> and <a href="http://www.spock.com/jaideep">Jaideep Singh</a> hope to profit off that craving, whether it's wise to feed it or not. The question, I guess, is whether they'll put their energy into building safeguards against the blatant potential for their site to be abused, something which will be technically difficult and likely to decrease the site's usefulness as a search tool, or whether they'll stay on track to develop it into the best privacy-invading search tool in existence.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-38267875315110792942008-03-24T08:39:00.000-07:002008-03-24T12:16:21.863-07:00Big Wheel Race<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4J4-4AjVBoU&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4J4-4AjVBoU&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br />My view of an annual Easter event that pretty well captures the quintessence of contemporary San Francisco.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-75208105156680391542008-03-23T20:51:00.000-07:002008-03-23T21:13:41.815-07:00Easter FunIf you didn't come see and taste for yourself, you missed out. Brunch was a fantastic success, with a spread of at least 20 dishes, including white bean garlic polenta with porcini and parmigianno, tomato and fennel pizza, figs stuffed with gorgonzola and walnuts or wrapped in prosciutto, leek and arugala quiche, and coconut cranberry cookies. Yes, you should have been here. Even more important were this years Peeps decorations: a Peep wonderland (me) and a giant Peep rosary (Eileen.) Since our peep wreath a couple years back survived long enough to become our Christmas wreath, I suspect you have a little bit of time to come and appreciate the marshmallowy magic.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2ASnpvDgA_Bd-8yT_Mtuow9sNrBvNPpU9XS9dRe81j2es7NUV-bQW2rkgSUC1wy0QJQl37QMvmeK79mOOVADFlNpar6cZM1dvTTP1FsjI6e8maAwLpZOQyl8mGeTAU5LsgJe9KuDSj2E/s1600-h/IMG_0189.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha2ASnpvDgA_Bd-8yT_Mtuow9sNrBvNPpU9XS9dRe81j2es7NUV-bQW2rkgSUC1wy0QJQl37QMvmeK79mOOVADFlNpar6cZM1dvTTP1FsjI6e8maAwLpZOQyl8mGeTAU5LsgJe9KuDSj2E/s400/IMG_0189.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181154500422960178" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_gp_CNcBhZ7ett76R3Z2TMYrmeiz0eHwO1psqEEsZdtysU9Sfl_0v8cpi123QSMTvQ3Wa_nrgDmshGdfSb77VfKsMJTT2Q3IOMVwCdSn5y8MfI3lChxcdz63f2Y3J9fCuNmxtPUb2pCy/s1600-h/IMG_0191.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_gp_CNcBhZ7ett76R3Z2TMYrmeiz0eHwO1psqEEsZdtysU9Sfl_0v8cpi123QSMTvQ3Wa_nrgDmshGdfSb77VfKsMJTT2Q3IOMVwCdSn5y8MfI3lChxcdz63f2Y3J9fCuNmxtPUb2pCy/s400/IMG_0191.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181154504717927490" /></a>Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-6555481913942583642008-03-20T17:39:00.000-07:002008-03-20T17:47:45.872-07:00Cornucopia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQiNzrpv4VYA_eqpoaclwvAkI2eiRjrG-pLTaYj3i2gkJqM1uS-X6AKH14BPE_i63BFODisFF6Klr75QXISAjnsJ-4-PS00BxhPMSEHjG-LHPrKM58Imr-KkhxgILK9as5zn-1t9b41w6r/s1600-h/IMG_0185.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQiNzrpv4VYA_eqpoaclwvAkI2eiRjrG-pLTaYj3i2gkJqM1uS-X6AKH14BPE_i63BFODisFF6Klr75QXISAjnsJ-4-PS00BxhPMSEHjG-LHPrKM58Imr-KkhxgILK9as5zn-1t9b41w6r/s400/IMG_0185.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179988691680003106" /></a><br />For those of you in the cold, I thought I'd share a picture of how much produce you can get for $25 in San Francisco in March, if you know where to look. For those of you who live in SF, I can't give this great find away unless you interrogate me in person, which will be easy if you come eat some of this bounty at Easter brunch.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-56481835270181065422008-03-18T22:20:00.001-07:002008-03-18T22:35:16.761-07:00How the St. Patrick's Day fire didn't start<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGabBwRk7XB1HmnqE3qA82Pl1x9cNXSqOn_bP-wiCrikTQKxolYN_8XjHsDZPADUDyudz7pRWBcr6sLFC3ni_Dae3izW4u7xzjv6-VLNxgoiA0aEixllK2JTgA9GOJIo1EFOKu0OVtK9lS/s1600-h/IMG_0183.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGabBwRk7XB1HmnqE3qA82Pl1x9cNXSqOn_bP-wiCrikTQKxolYN_8XjHsDZPADUDyudz7pRWBcr6sLFC3ni_Dae3izW4u7xzjv6-VLNxgoiA0aEixllK2JTgA9GOJIo1EFOKu0OVtK9lS/s400/IMG_0183.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179319202162403298" /></a><br />For those of you who've seen a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4AJzDgWFLE">christmas tree burn</a>, you know that there is almost nothing more flammable than a christmas tree that's still around in March. So I was pretty astonished to see this one, completely uncharred, lying amid the sad mess of burned and smoky stuff that had been thrown from the <a href="http://craigiest.blogspot.com/2008/03/fire-down-hill.html">burning apartments</a> on Valencia Street. Bizarre.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-21888556623840420382008-03-17T19:07:00.001-07:002008-03-17T19:14:07.106-07:00Fire down the hill<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjQJC4WyUDtp16F7xu3daATgmCAqWlQTMT7_qLXj-f8LzdmlHXt6BtvbSblzY9XaXCtvpPVhEtN4zZidjeRVMMaldOEn9Qs7-6izr2VmPLRxB66rE9kdsmH1kE3ddWiLhp2a4wueT8jvP/s1600-h/photo-773640.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnjQJC4WyUDtp16F7xu3daATgmCAqWlQTMT7_qLXj-f8LzdmlHXt6BtvbSblzY9XaXCtvpPVhEtN4zZidjeRVMMaldOEn9Qs7-6izr2VmPLRxB66rE9kdsmH1kE3ddWiLhp2a4wueT8jvP/s320/photo-773640.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178897651122300882" /></a></p>The way we find out about breaking news on the side of Bernal Hill is <br>by listening for the sound of hovering helicopters. This evening they <br>are out in force because of a four-alarm fire on Valencia by the Dovre <br>Club. Our roof provides a good view of the smoke, but the fire is just <br>behind the hospital.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-79427694276138050922008-03-17T15:18:00.000-07:002008-03-17T15:23:35.482-07:00Deterrence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfNHa1ZwjL18D-HQ7IGuOfHjrrexHY09TGvDRZpI5yGx5PJYwfiNF_ZeyZu7ppZcQYtoycPPSMd4OA2ny52VYcAtbXnE8gI0mgyLprpn5zoiBZUSYcccU77p1Eg_r-_brHNpSY4DUuqgw/s1600-h/IMG_0168.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfNHa1ZwjL18D-HQ7IGuOfHjrrexHY09TGvDRZpI5yGx5PJYwfiNF_ZeyZu7ppZcQYtoycPPSMd4OA2ny52VYcAtbXnE8gI0mgyLprpn5zoiBZUSYcccU77p1Eg_r-_brHNpSY4DUuqgw/s400/IMG_0168.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5178839596049360834" /></a><br />I saw this sign on someone's house the other day. I wonder if it's really true. The sign seemed a little permanent and like it had been up for a while. I suspect it's just a ploy to keep people from letting their dogs poop in the yard.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-30980432538209261072008-03-15T00:00:00.000-07:002008-03-15T00:04:00.286-07:00Marshmallowiness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTRALaZ0JMizkZwtqmTVDeRxYd-SdJM66ZsKF_uFI8VU4CGl2ZZ0GWrKdPSjmvBlRve5mCOP98aKI_dzEvPsQCV_57cVzmMCyP0HbspV7Pfe0TPMLtTqR_jTsJ9fLRLmo-t3WiIND1B2G/s1600-h/IMG_0174.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTRALaZ0JMizkZwtqmTVDeRxYd-SdJM66ZsKF_uFI8VU4CGl2ZZ0GWrKdPSjmvBlRve5mCOP98aKI_dzEvPsQCV_57cVzmMCyP0HbspV7Pfe0TPMLtTqR_jTsJ9fLRLmo-t3WiIND1B2G/s400/IMG_0174.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177860549664303010" /></a><br />We bought some peeps this evening. You'll have to come to Easter brunch to find out why.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-52420512561057228372008-03-10T11:39:00.000-07:002008-03-10T12:50:03.934-07:00Approaching GraffitiI got <a href="http://www.boingboing.net/2008/03/10/interesting-antigraf.html">scooped</a> by <a href="http://boingboing.net">boingboing</a> today, when they posted a picture of the exact same sign in the bathroom of <a href="http://www.littlestarpizza.com/">Little Star Pizza</a>, where I had dinner with friends on my birthday Saturday:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF8itddrNtf6N79YLjfkERNTsehRMYvJngDgCHlDypLZmeWiazcsdJLsSwxGrVN8NsF-CLDtmdI8f1KPpXdeEGK7lGdaFmvDQrXZlhz3TFYlbQjXGtiKMyagGCCIGGvrpvD82eDLJXoY9/s1600-h/IMG_0164.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmF8itddrNtf6N79YLjfkERNTsehRMYvJngDgCHlDypLZmeWiazcsdJLsSwxGrVN8NsF-CLDtmdI8f1KPpXdeEGK7lGdaFmvDQrXZlhz3TFYlbQjXGtiKMyagGCCIGGvrpvD82eDLJXoY9/s400/IMG_0164.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176185864606181250" /></a><br />As David pointed out, the message, which is still terse, even if it does try to engage the "'artist's'" intellect, does seem to have worked, as the restroom was graffitiless. So, it was all the more amusing to see the restroom at the <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/500-club-san-francisco">500 Club</a> a couple blocks away, where they seem to have taken a different approach to dealing with tagging:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpwoGUS6k5ZlNFXfKdxi4Fl614VVp10YyFRMkoMZtjp8CrihQ6-Um7axko5jeWf1EMs5EvxR-GI621s0J2SLCvwAcN6Imsdn1z5mEnrjIdXy3mnmZe8gywlG6yHI-3rOT1Q66fCPZOdqG/s1600-h/IMG_0165.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpwoGUS6k5ZlNFXfKdxi4Fl614VVp10YyFRMkoMZtjp8CrihQ6-Um7axko5jeWf1EMs5EvxR-GI621s0J2SLCvwAcN6Imsdn1z5mEnrjIdXy3mnmZe8gywlG6yHI-3rOT1Q66fCPZOdqG/s400/IMG_0165.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176201231999166354" /></a><br />I'm not going to take sides, just say I'm glad both exist.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-37182555167818421442008-02-13T23:11:00.000-08:002008-02-14T00:19:05.127-08:00Roll Sound... Background Action...For the past few weeks, San Francisco has been abuzz with movie talk. <a href="http://imdb.com/name/nm0001814/">Gus Van Sant</a> is in town making a biopic about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harvey_Milk">Harvey Milk</a>, the SF supervisor, and probably the first openly gay elected official in history, who was assassinated along with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Moscone">mayor</a> by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dan_White">another board member</a> in 1978. Part of the history of gay liberation in the City is marches, protests, and celebrations in the streets. Hundreds of volunteers came out last week to recreate some of these mass events for the cameras, a good number of whom had participated in the actual events 30 years ago.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeiIIJZVUC8P44yXQGO3Fn7AF7SSnmeSx-JLUHzkFee0WjePf_Uvo2GxbtnBUfm3DLD130YmGMnmBynK_mUFS3J0iDUUBae_L63PVRIz7TbIjtq7c-vIFcI9wOwLJ8mYKUK9ONoFd1z79/s1600-h/IMG_0076.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmeiIIJZVUC8P44yXQGO3Fn7AF7SSnmeSx-JLUHzkFee0WjePf_Uvo2GxbtnBUfm3DLD130YmGMnmBynK_mUFS3J0iDUUBae_L63PVRIz7TbIjtq7c-vIFcI9wOwLJ8mYKUK9ONoFd1z79/s400/IMG_0076.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166737894116798370" /></a><br />They'd restored the theater marquee, unrenovated store fronts, and parked 60s and 70s cars on the streets. After being introduced to some cast and crew (<a href="http://www.retroweb.com/freaksandgeeks.html">James Franco</a>--swoon) and watching an earlier <a href="http://imdb.com/title/tt0088275/">documentary</a> about Milk, hundreds of extras filled the intersection of Castro and 17th, where bright lights were shining down from the rooftops on every side. They lit some shots with piercing smokey flares, making it seem dramatic even before the music is added.<br /><br />There was also a lot of standing around, but it was pretty interesting seeing the movie-making process first-hand. And I got to see Sean Penn in a couple shots.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFl0IHxStOFgczDWRjodkxGeOhGz8-4WUomi_XCJ8QSOsvvR-KZGLp7UoP9brz0V5Qol970yBAcoQI1ugHuDTCQcsJFSMczGdUyBm2lp5sdDTH2ZRxQVoxa0PDoG4EyAAk3KBBNSRAjrC/s1600-h/IMG_0085.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFl0IHxStOFgczDWRjodkxGeOhGz8-4WUomi_XCJ8QSOsvvR-KZGLp7UoP9brz0V5Qol970yBAcoQI1ugHuDTCQcsJFSMczGdUyBm2lp5sdDTH2ZRxQVoxa0PDoG4EyAAk3KBBNSRAjrC/s400/IMG_0085.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166746247828189106" /></a><br />I found myself standing right next to Emile Hirsch, and saw gay icons <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cleve_Jones">Cleve Jones</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_flag_%28LGBT_movement%29">Gilbert Baker</a>. At one point <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Princess_Leia_Organa">Carrie Fisher</a> even showed up to promote her one-woman stage show. Overall, a pretty cool thing to be a part of.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-24890991605875234072008-02-12T23:18:00.004-08:002008-02-13T00:40:14.879-08:00Allemande Left and a Right Left Grand<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVHM-_GDTNP9cesS26IbgPiHMM8-TainfOovVdrTwMJTNWmqjLPyRqqdO2mzmYOjLWRlNqDHj7csD4gFieVOVRrvCxOHriI1a7l8UCsrkKJcW_RjmxZ74FpL7WCeyT9Ff5GVIOnyWnkvm/s1600-h/IMG_0102.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiVHM-_GDTNP9cesS26IbgPiHMM8-TainfOovVdrTwMJTNWmqjLPyRqqdO2mzmYOjLWRlNqDHj7csD4gFieVOVRrvCxOHriI1a7l8UCsrkKJcW_RjmxZ74FpL7WCeyT9Ff5GVIOnyWnkvm/s400/IMG_0102.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166364146062700434" /></a><br /><div>It's sort of ironic, coming from the rural midwest, that it's only in San Francisco that square dancing has become part of my life. Every year there's a wildly popular dance at the <a href="http://www.swedishamericanhall.com/">Swedish American Hall</a> in the Castro that we always attend. It's full of midwest-transplant gays, geeks, and hipsters reveling in post-ironic pleasure. It's part of the wintertime <a href="http://www.sfbluegrass.org/">bluegrass and old-time festival</a> that balances the summertime <a href="http://www.strictlybluegrass.com/">Hardly Strictly Bluegrass</a>. This year <a href="http://www.myspace.com/thefreighthoppers">the band</a> came from North Carolina and the <a href="http://www.opb.org/programs/artbeat/videos/view/35-Bill-Martin-Square-Dancing">caller</a> did a great job of teaching a bunch of clueless Californians fast and getting us to do some sort of complicated seeming dances.</div>Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-79800234237778442762008-02-08T11:15:00.001-08:002008-02-08T11:29:49.708-08:00Payphones<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9ic89twX0HK8LZ9IjxTCGscvavVsdeGOHqMv4KciULTqhsZrbxuelrdh64CNWRhc80Rid-iMfBio3HC2-ffmJt4_4IcAISJkop2FwtxdL__FMbCXCE1P4Z9Qd4OssMIepU0_GuhqtRGk/s1600-h/IMG_0091.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm9ic89twX0HK8LZ9IjxTCGscvavVsdeGOHqMv4KciULTqhsZrbxuelrdh64CNWRhc80Rid-iMfBio3HC2-ffmJt4_4IcAISJkop2FwtxdL__FMbCXCE1P4Z9Qd4OssMIepU0_GuhqtRGk/s400/IMG_0091.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164659430417580450" /></a><br />I noticed this former bank of telephones in an Oakland <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bay_Area_Rapid_Transit">BART</a> station. I forget that there used to be rows of pay phones in public places. The architects of this "modern" transportation center foresaw six people needing to talk on the phone at the same time, standing next to each other along the wall to do it. Now a single phone remains, with nobody using it. I wonder how they decided that the fifth phone should be the one that stayed. Did the other five get removed all at once, or were they phased out one at a time as demand decreased. Perhaps as they wore out or were vandalized, they just pulled them out instead of repairing them. How much longer till they get rid of the last remnant of the pre-cellular age, leaving just a mysterious row of unneeded metal panels?Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-73439220869376408442008-02-07T10:30:00.001-08:002008-02-07T10:32:53.612-08:00Is 'HELO' an election anomaly?<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QbOar_cnLY0&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QbOar_cnLY0&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br />You see reports of voter fraud even during these single-party primaries. Even though I can't really imagine anything fishy in Bernal Heights, since my polling place is literally on the other side of my block, I thought I'd go make a record of the polls opening at 7am. The last time I voted, I got there just at opening and thought it was a treat to witness everyone raising their right hands and swearing to uphold the constitution, the first voters being asked to verify that the ballot boxes were empty. The election workers were a very old lady, a middle-aged immigrant woman, and a teenaged girl. It was all presided over by an no-nonsense, in-charge dyke who was startlingly official and efficient. This Tuesday it went a little less smoothly, as the woman running things admittedly was doing it for the first time. She was concerned that the ballot reader, which read '0' on the back, was greeting us with a "hello" instead of saying '0' on the front as well. Whoever she called didn't think it was a problem, but who knows. Maybe a friendly election robot is how they lull us into letting our votes not be counted!Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-41803834728079240742008-01-24T14:11:00.000-08:002008-01-25T17:46:37.851-08:00HomeThe idea of home is a recurrent theme in my thinking, something I've written about before. Feeling at home isn't something confined to your house. I'm intrigued by what defines the boundaries of home, and I think about it in a couple of different ways.<br /><br />The first time I drove from the Atlantic to the Pacific, the summer I toured the country in my Geo Metro--which I'd converted into a micro-mobile home by taking out all but the driver's seat and replacing them with a bed, cooler, and all my stuff--I had a startling experience when I got back to Columbus, Ohio. For two months, I'd been continually barraged with the new. Covering 11,000 miles through the Northeast up to the eastern tip of Maine, all the way across the country to the northwest tip of Washington, down the coast to San Francisco, back east across the desert and plains, I was, except for in a few previously visited spots, constantly experiencing sights I'd never seen before. I got used to not being used to anything. Constant newness became normal. So when I started heading up I-71 from downtown Columbus, a road I'd traveled hundreds of times, suddenly, unexpectedly I realized I wasn't exploring anymore. I recognized every exit sign, though I'd never been conscious of them before. For a few minutes <span style="font-style:italic;">familiarity</span> was strange, since <span style="font-style:italic;">strangeness</span> had become familiar. Home, I realized, is where you aren't exploring, where things aren't new.<br /><br />Home is about familiarity, but familiarity doesn't have to be literally knowing a place, as in the above example. It's true that on that long unfamiliar drive I felt a little bit at home when I passed through places I'd been before, even if it had been only once, like Canon Beach , Oregon. But I also felt at home when I got to new places that only seemed relatively familiar. Without planning, I drove up into Quebec for one night, where the signs weren't just in a different language that needed to be translated at 120 km/h, but were different shapes and colors from the US and even the rest of Canada, where the roads were laid out differently, and everything seemed generally confusing. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was disorienting. When I drove across the provincial line into Ontario the next morning, things suddenly seemed normal again and I felt strangely at home, though I wasn't even in my own country. The same feeling hit me when I crossed the border from the roadless desert of Bolivia and suddenly found myself on a perfectly modern, paved, striped, signed, guard-railed highway in Chile. Even driving from the Rockies in Colorado, across Kansas and Missouri into Illinois, at some point near the Mississippi, as the trees get larger, the summer air gets more humid, I've been struck with a feeling that I'm in my own native environment. I remember as a kid driving into Ohio on family vacations, and my parents reminding me that we were not home yet. But Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio all look and feel pretty much the same, so when you've been far away for a long time, the feeling of home starts to creep into you hundreds of miles ahead of the destination, where things become familiar even as they remain unknown.<br /><br />California, my more recent home, is not the Midwest. Driving back here a few weeks ago on I-8, I crossed the Colorado River into California at Yuma, Arizona. In the confusion of traffic I didn't even notice a sign or realize I was in California for several minutes. Even then I drove for another half an hour before I thought, "Oh, California, that's where I live. I'm home!" Driving the highway between towering sand dunes in warm winter air, I felt like I was still in the midst of adventure. Though I love the variety of landscapes, I don't imagine I will ever be able to think of all of California--deserts, mountains, beaches, fields and forests--as home. It's really only when I pass the wind turbines on the Altamont Pass, standing as sentries at the entrance to the Bay Area, that I start to feel like I'm getting close. It's the view from the Bay bridge, passing the Abercrombie and Coke billboards, zigging by Potrero hill, down the branching Cesar Chavez/Bayshore ramp, around the back of the hill and over Cortland that makes me know I'm finally home.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-48393205288486867232008-01-18T14:23:00.000-08:002008-01-18T14:34:31.471-08:00Southern RadioI decided to avoid the mountains and stay warm on my drive to California, so I had to drive through the Deep South. I risked the high blood pressure and listened to some local radio across Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas so I wouldn't run out of podcasts on my 1GB iPod Shuffle when I got to the big empty places where there aren't any radio stations at all.<br /><br />The first thing that disturbed me was Christian political talk radio. In California, people know that religious conservatives exist, but the media maintains some sort separation of Church and State. You just don't talk about God while you're talking politics. Even in the Midwest, people seem to have their beliefs and have their politics, but at least pretend publicly that law is some sort of civil contract not determined by religion. But driving through the South, I heard talk show hosts openly explain that their pro-gun, pro-war, pro-death penalty, anti-abortion, anti-gay, anti-immigrant politics were right because that's what the Bible says. One caller to a Christian political program suggested that we should deal with "illegals" by deporting them and forcing them to sign a "contract" that says that if they are ever caught in America again, they'd be executed. The explicitly Christian host didn't think that was going far enough. He said we should implant them with chips like they put in pets, except explosive, so that if they ever cross the border, the chip will instantly explode and kill them. I took a deep breath, prayed my car wouldn't break down, and switched to a music station.<br /><br />There apparently is a whole genre of ultra-backwoods country music that's popular way down south that I was completely unaware of, despite living in the hills of Southeastern Ohio for a decade. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The lyrics speak for themselves: <br />(Song titles linked to Videos on YouTube, which you have to listen to, though the videos sort of ruin the hillbillyness of the songs with their Hollywood slickness.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AlrFOBmdVI">A Different World</a> by Bucky Covington<br /><i>A song of nostalgia for lead-based paint, getting the belt, and prayer in school.</i><br /><br />We were born to mothers who smoked and drank<br />Our cribs were covered in lead-based paint<br />No childproof lids<br />No seatbelts in cars<br />Rode bikes with no helmets<br />and still here we are<br />Still here we are<br /><br />We got daddy's belt when we misbehaved<br />Had three TV channels you got up to change<br />No video games and no satellite<br />All we had were friends and they were outside<br />Playing outside<br /><br />School always started the same everyday<br />the pledge of allegiance, then someone would pray<br />not every kid made the team when they tried<br />We got disappointed but that was alright<br />We turned out alright<br /><br />No bottled water<br />We'd drink from a garden hose<br />And every Sunday,<br />All the stores were closed.<br /><br />It was a different life<br />When we were boys and girls<br />Not just a different time<br />It was a different world<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b52SDopaMZY">International Harvester</a> by Craig Morgan<br /><i>Kinda catchy, even if he's proud of the 3-mile line of cars behind his combine.</i><br /><br />I'm the son of a third generation farmer<br />I've been married 10 years to the farmer's daughter<br />I'm a God fearing hardworking combine driver<br />Hogging up the road on my p-p-p-p-plower<br />Clug-a-lug-a-lugin 5 miles an hour <br />On my International Harvester.<br /><br />3 miles of cars laying on their horns<br />Falling on deaf ears of corn<br />Lined up behind me like a big parade<br />Of late to work road rage jerks<br />Shouting obscene words flippin' me the bird<br /><br />Well you my be on a state paved road<br />That black top runs through my pay load<br />Excuse me for trying to do my job<br />This year ain't been no bumper crop<br />If you don't like the way I'm driving<br />Get back on the interstate Otherwise sit tight and be nice<br />And quit your honking at me that way<br /><br />Cause I'm the son of a 3rd generation farmer<br />I've been married 10 years to the farmer's daughter<br />I got 2 boys in the county 4-H<br />I'm a lifetime sponsor of the FFA<br />Hey that's what I make I make a lot of Hay for a little pay<br />But I'm proud to say<br />I'm a God fearing hardworking combine driver<br />Hogging up the road on my p-p-p-p-plower<br />Clug-a-lug-a-lugin 5 miles an hour <br />On my International Harvester.<br /><br />Well I know you got your own deadline<br />But cussing me won't save you no time Haus<br />But this big wheel wide load ain't going any faster<br />So just smile and wave and tip your hat to the man up on the tractor<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QytPoRLEhF0">What do ya think about that</a> by Montgomery Gentry<br /><i>A true expression of the love-your-neighbor, do-unto-others Southern Christian culture.</i><br /><br />Heard it through the grapevine<br />My new neighbor don’t like my big red barn<br />’47 Ford, bullet holes in the door<br />Broke-down motor in the front yard<br />I've got a mind<br />To paint a plywood sign<br />And nail it up on a knotty pine tree<br />Saying "I was here first,<br />This is my piece of dirt<br />And your ramblin’ don’t rattle me"<br /><br />Some people care about <br />what other people think<br />Worry ‘bout what they say<br />Let a little gossip <br />Comin’ from a loose lip<br />Ruin a perfect day<br />Saying “blah, blah, blah”<br />Just a-jacking their jaws<br />Gotta let it roll of my back<br />I don’t give a durn <br />What other people think<br />What do ya think about that?<br /><br />I wear what I want to<br />Overalls, work boots<br />Crank my music up loud<br />Like to sling a little mud<br />On my four-wheel drive<br />Trick on into town<br />Shoot a little eight ball<br />Down by the pool hall<br />Drink a beer with my friends<br />Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you<br />‘Cause we all get judged<br />In the end<br /><br />You know, I don’t give a damn <br />What other people think <br />What do you think about that?Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-46963919748351161312008-01-15T15:11:00.000-08:002008-01-15T15:20:37.121-08:00Latin America's got nothing on these politicsGoing through all the mail I missed for the past six months, I found my ballot for the November San Francisco mayoral election. I was amused by the list of candidates, which lists occupation along with name. Besides a profesor, a doctor, a couple of journalists, and some other boring jobs, the following people wanted to run the city:<br /><br />Michael Powers - Nightclub Owner<br />Grasshopper Alec Kaplan - Taxicab Driver<br />John Rinaldi - Showman<br />Harold Hoogasian - Florist/Coffee Farmer<br />Gavin Newsom - Mayor of San Francisco<br /><br />The guy's name is "Grasshopper"? What's the heck is a "showman"? You can grow coffee in California? "Mayor of San Francisco" just fits right in there, doesn't it?Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-86172483088886968782008-01-13T15:04:00.000-08:002008-01-13T15:22:19.600-08:00Negative StarsI write this from perhaps the crappiest hotel I've ever stayed in (besides that place in Uruguay with thousands of cigarette burns on the floor), the redundant "Budget Inn Motel" in South Tucson, Arizona. (Incidentally, in South America, a motel is a place that "rents rooms by the hour.") I'm 1900 miles into the hard push across the US to get from Asheville to San Diego in two and a half days. The highway roars just outside the window. On the back of the door, there's painter's tape, and someone has scrawled in both sharpie and crayon "Ck out tme 10: AM." A heating vent has been taped over. A thin layer of spackle barely covers boards, nails, and tape patching a 2-foot hole in the wall. Someone thought it wise to paint the tiled shower, which is now peeling, just like the plastic trim along the floor. A hole in the ceiling reveals where there used to be a light fixture. It's not only run-down, but years of repairs have been quarter-assed at best. <br /><br />But I don't mind. I really just need a place to sleep for a few hours, and the bed is fine. I passed up the $40 chains to save $15 knowing what I'd be getting into. The only thing that disturbs me is that the places I've stayed in South America, usually for $5-15 per night, were almost all nicer than the local budget motels of America, even ones much less crappy than this.<br /><br />Driving through El Paso, I got one clear view of a residential hillside in Juarez, a slum of border-town hovels that could not exist in the US. As a prosperous nation, that level of housing isn't allowed. (If you can't afford any better, you have to live on the streets.) I would expect that the bottom rung of short-term accommodation in the US would also be held to a higher standard than in Latin America, but apparently not. I know hotel rooms are going to cost more here. What I don't get is that if such run-down dumps can stay in business here, where people expect an elevated standard of living, why do South American hotels owners keep there places so much better maintained in a place where people are used to living much more modestly, and how do they afford the upkeep while charging 80% less?<br /><br />I'm sure there are answers in labor costs, competition, the relative costs of starting a business, and my own culturally-adjusting expectations, but I just thought I'd point out the paradox before being lulled to sleep by the woosh of cars and trucks on I-10.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-75039092359310120782007-12-22T11:32:00.000-08:002007-12-22T11:49:20.650-08:00Ohio!I'd been planning this since mid-November, but hadn't said anything since I wanted to surprise my parents, but I'm back in the States. Flew up Thursday through Houston and entered through the collosal immigration center at George H. W. Bush airport. My entry interview:<br /><br />Immigration Officer: Good Morning.<br />Me: Morning.<br />IO: (Takes passport.) What countries did go to?<br />Me: Ecuador, Bolivia, Chile, Peru.<br />IO: What was the purpose of your trip?<br />Me: Tourism.<br />IO: Did you go on a cruise?<br />Me: Um, no?<br />IO: What were you, just tooling around all over the place?<br />Me: yeah.<br />IO: What's your job?<br />Me: I'm a teacher.<br />IO: (Hesitates.) OK. (Returns passport.) Uh, welcome home.<br /><br />Kerri picked me up at the Columbus Airport and drove me to Mount Vernon. My folks were very surprised. Mom couldn't stop squeeling "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!" Dad said my she hadn't been so excited since they found out they're going to be grandparents.<br /><br />The plan is to completely overload myself on America by driving to New York and DC after Christmas and then make my way back to San Francisco. Already noticing funny things, like I got to Mount Vernon, and realized I'd driven the whole way without buckling up--got used to riding in taxis that didn't have seatbelts. And I've already dropped my toilet paper in the waste basket instead of the toilet! Little things to adjust to...Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-75072327128419242522007-12-19T21:55:00.000-08:002007-12-19T23:00:24.823-08:00A Day in DecemberI went down to the old town the other day to find a couple Christmas presents. It was interesting to see what life is like here the week before Christmas. You do see strings of lights in windows here and there, and in the new town, where people have money and there are tourists, you see some decorated trees. The supermarket up there is selling various prepackaged gift boxes. Down by the La Marin bus station, there's a huge temporary store set up in an alley selling candy candy candy. You can pick your type, or scoop out of an enormous bin of mixed chocolates, lollipops, and animal crackers. The animal crackers seem to be important and are a part of every store's mix. For those in a rush, they have baskets of candy ready to go. It seems more like Easter.<br /><br />Walking around, it was mostly just a normal day in Quito, but thinking about how different Christmas gets in the States--all the lights, the gaudily decorated malls and streets, the inescapable recorded carols--I started noticing the things I've gotten used to here. Just down from my apartment building, there's a little restaurant that serves meat and corn-on-the-cob (Ecuadorian style: bred for starch, not sugar, and weeks overripe) cooked on a little charcoal grill right in the doorway. The man is often standing there with a blowdryer in hand, getting the coals nice and hot. When Kerri saw this on her visit, she started laughing. It took me a minute to figure out what was so funny.<br /><br />Down by the bus station, there was a row of three women and a man, sitting at sewing machines under the overpass, in case you needed any alterations or repairs done. The three women's machines were black with gold decoration, the style that was common in the States before World War II, though perhaps still produced here. The man's looked like it was from the 50s. How I'd wished I'd wished a tailor was so easy to find in Chile when my back-pack had a growing hole in the top.<br /><br />I stopped in a tiny store to get a snack and bought a baggie of chochos, white disk-shaped beans, salted and topped with chulpis, crispy-friend corn kernals, and a tomatoless salsa of onions, lime juice, and cilantro. Later, I got llapingachos, fried mashed potatoes with fried egg, avocado, shredded lettuce, and beets. It wasn't cheesy and lacked peanut sauce, like it often comes with, but it still filled me up for a dollar.<br /><br />I stopped in the supermarket, where they were playing christmas carols, among them, strangely, "Favorite Things" from the <i>Sound of Music</i>. Outside, a guy was juggling flaming torches in the intersection. I walked over to La Floresta to meet a friend and see one of the few Ecuadorian movies ever made, <i><a href="http://us.imdb.com/title/tt0951297/">Qué Tan Lejos</a></i>. It was a bit surreal, because I'd been in about half the places it was shot in. The characters travel from Quito to Cuenca, a trip that ends up taking a lot longer than expected. It's a really good portrait of the country, and I hope I can find it in the States to show people where I've been living. Unfortunately, the director has been reluctant to put it out on DVD, because in Ecuador, there's no such thing as non-bootleg DVDs. You just go into the corner CD/DVD shop and buy a computer burned copy of whatever for $1. Blockbusters you can get before they even appear in theaters in the US.<br /><br />A couple beers with Meagan in the theater lobby/cafe, and a $2 taxi ride home. Such are my South American wanderings this week.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-9158308077275242082007-12-15T14:17:00.000-08:002007-12-15T14:17:26.729-08:00Tables and ChairsEleven years ago, shortly after I returned from my first Latin American adventure, six weeks in Guadalajara, Mexico, I remember walking into a Don Pablo's restaurant and being struck by how they'd gotten the decor right. It wasn't just the concrete floor and rough masonry. They'd selected really typical furniture--rectangular formica-topped tables with chrome trim, and chrome-tube chairs with vinyl seats and backs. Something along these lines, except removed from the Pottery Barn catalog ambiance:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv5oSJem02j_j4XkiKXIRcc6MGxvh77DCTUXxPEXDTG5has0OEZ27wnf-aC-amZI30bN0n5cczn6rbGuO20xQC2v2OXZFB7fmWKpCJ8Ntg-CaPkdYXclkVSWQriUt7XjV45-A9GsmZL0i-/s1600-h/cr2388.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv5oSJem02j_j4XkiKXIRcc6MGxvh77DCTUXxPEXDTG5has0OEZ27wnf-aC-amZI30bN0n5cczn6rbGuO20xQC2v2OXZFB7fmWKpCJ8Ntg-CaPkdYXclkVSWQriUt7XjV45-A9GsmZL0i-/s400/cr2388.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142916125289475682" /></a><br /><i>(photo from <a href="http://images.channeladvisor.com/Sell/SSProfiles/20055297/Images/cr2388.jpg">ebay auction</a>)</i><br /><br />You have to forget that such furnishings have since become retro-cool. Decades-old, with torn and taped vinyl, stained formica, and rust-dotted chrome, they were definitely down-scale, but along with bare incandescent light bulbs, they created a particular developing-world feel, more modest than you would ever find in a dining establishment in the States, but charming nonetheless. So while I'm sure Don Pablo's seemed a lot less beat-up and a lot more sanitary, I was impressed by its authenticity. I'm pretty sure they've since rethemed in the interest of blending into suburbia, but initially, at least, they got it right. <br /><br />Here in Ecuador, there are lots of those kinds of modest restaurants, family run joints offering a set menu of something like soup, rice, vegetable, chicken or beef, and a banana for $1.50. But they've switched to oppressively white compact fluorescent bulbs, and you sit in the sort of plastic chairs that have become popular patio furniture in the US. This is a pretty typical looking place, though from the sand/gravel floor, I'd guess it's an outdoor place at the beach:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgGI9WQKGvUyy9aUcXf3X4qKXb7nQCaCPPi3-mbvuCojmewXQUqGywyHkx_bxCB8VUR56iezoDxiIbyS6n8O0RYKfDq1I1njfgE4vyLUmw-c94FYq5FRF3K2-3lKqcvGCERuyeHFisCcw/s1600-h/434814807_fc64711ab4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgGI9WQKGvUyy9aUcXf3X4qKXb7nQCaCPPi3-mbvuCojmewXQUqGywyHkx_bxCB8VUR56iezoDxiIbyS6n8O0RYKfDq1I1njfgE4vyLUmw-c94FYq5FRF3K2-3lKqcvGCERuyeHFisCcw/s400/434814807_fc64711ab4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142917031527575154" /></a><br /><i>(photo courtesy of <a href="http://flickr.com/photos/alt1040/434814807/in/set-72157600027957415/">Alt1040</a>)</i><br /><br />I don't know when these things were invented, but they've only become widespread in the last decade, so I suspect that they've replaced the kind of tables and chairs I saw in Mexico in the mid-90s. I don't think it's an improvement. I'm sure they're cheap (likely manufactured by an even poorer labor pool in Asia), and that's certainly the main concern of a lot of people setting up businesses here. In a place where the average yearly income is about $1000, and people find it worthwhile to keep a restaurant open that only has a dozen customers a day (paying $1.50 for their meal, remember), the start-up cost for your business has got to be a few hundred dollars at the most. I suppose it's good that cheap plastics make this possible for a lot of aspiring entrepreneurs, but the aesthetic loss is really unfortunate. They're fine on a deck, but they can't match those holdovers from the 50s. They certainly aren't going to last as long. If this is the face of economic development brought about by globalization, it's not making the world a more livable place.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5752975045085931220.post-75200067716892744712007-12-10T10:39:00.001-08:002007-12-10T13:22:25.057-08:00New Fruit (#9)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAVa-3n9-JKZrqTk3xwVDNqrU63pn5I42S1r1Ze8_1lq02ZaQmG0SLeCAC9eNbcRRPVfS5aYJl1BAlt2zhX_qmAj18sqI29qijhZBp18aMP5qX5K7DdL_oOIBg9b6U5g5vG6lm1UjTHrA/s1600-h/800px-Courge_de_Siam.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAVa-3n9-JKZrqTk3xwVDNqrU63pn5I42S1r1Ze8_1lq02ZaQmG0SLeCAC9eNbcRRPVfS5aYJl1BAlt2zhX_qmAj18sqI29qijhZBp18aMP5qX5K7DdL_oOIBg9b6U5g5vG6lm1UjTHrA/s400/800px-Courge_de_Siam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5142415993527725650" /></a><br /><i>(photo courtesy of <a href="http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Utilisateur:Céréales_Killer">Cereales Killer</a>)</i><br /><br />Another very big fruit, the SAMBO looks a like a mottled watermelon, though it's more closely related to zucchini, pumkin, and squash. I had a heck of time finding any information about it online under that name. It must be an Ecuador thing. Makes me wonder if the term has any relationship to the racist American stereotype of a <a href="http://www.chgs.umn.edu/histories/otherness/otherness3-2.html">watermelon-eating African-American</a> of the same name. The scientific name is Cucurbita ficifolia.<br /><br />I didn't buy a whole one because you can buy slices <i>empacado</i> in a plastic bag. They don't have strict rules about putting health claims on packaging in South America, like they do in the US, so the package has a box that sort of looks like a surgeon general's warning labeled "Health Benefits." It says, "Besides giving you energy..." [Energy (aka calories) is a favorite selling point down here. Cookies are healthy and good for kids because they give them energy.] "...it is used to combat illnesses of the mind because of the phosphorus it contains, and as food for people suffering from high cholesterol." (To put these claims in context, I heard a 15-minute spiel on the bus for a vitamin powder that largely contained radishes, which the guy called "the healthiest food in South America.")<br /><br />Unlike a watermelon, the flesh is totally white, and it has rows of soft, white, unripe seeds. Fully ripe, it's supposed to be a juicable fruit, but less ripe, as this must be, it's treated like a vegetable. When I opened the bag, a certain tanginess rose to my nose. In texture and flavor, it's more like a cucumber than a squash, but a little juicier. In my mouth, the tang becomes more distinct, though still mild. It reminds me of miracle whip, or the light mustardiness of deviled eggs. It would probably be nice as a salad, salted with tomato and parsley, or the crunchiest parts rolled into sushi instead of cucumber.Craighttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13274617481491683956noreply@blogger.com0