My Kind of Town: Most people identify with a certain big city. Generally, it's the big city nearest your home. You use it as shorthand to say where you are from when you are from a town nobody outside your circle could place. Often you maintain a loyalty to the sports teams and familiarity with the local geography. For me it is Detroit, but I don't want it to be Detroit anymore. Detroit is pathetic. I want it to be Chicago. (I suppose, technically, it could be Ann Arbor, since Ann Arbor is reasonably widely known. But Ann Arbor is hardly a big city.)

Problem is, I can't really justify it. Chicago is within driving distance, but it's four times further than Detroit. My only history with Chicago is a few long weekends, as opposed to being born and raised in or near Detroit. If someone asked me where Dexter, MI was I could say "Oh, about four hours east of Chicago," but that's way too contrived. I could wear a Cubs cap and prattle on about Da Bears, but there's nothing worse than manufactured team loyalty. No sir. I can't do it, and that saddens me.

Still, at least I could consol myself with a spur of the moment weekend in Chi-town. One of my faves, The Fairmont, was running a special via Expedia. Amtrak tickets were available. (I even got business class on the way back.) And most importantly, I looked at my Outlook calendar and I saw no free days for weeks, except for the upcoming Friday; it was perhaps my last chance for spontaneous travel. Plans were laid and triggers were pulled.

As I have almost certainly mentioned before, when it makes sense time-wise, Amtrak is vastly superior to air travel, and I don't just say that because of the metaphorical impaling I took at the hands of the airline industry trying to get to and from Harrisburg (above).

You can arrive five minutes before the train leaves if you want to cut it that close. No one will check your bag for hidden 4oz liquids, ask you to take off your shoes, require picture ID; for that matter, they don't even check to see if you have a ticket until the train is underway. Even the tightest coach seat on the train has plenty of legroom. There are no seat belts; you can get up anytime you want, even during takeoff. There is no turning off of unapproved electronic devices. In fact, there are a/c plugs in next to the seats for recharging your phone or hooking up your laptop. The lavatories are about four times the size of those in a plane and there are two in each car. No one is blocking the aisle with a beverage cart -- there is a caf‚ car with lots of food and drink choices and it even has it's own seating so it doesn't feel like eating at the drive-thru.

The only thing they need to do to make it perfect is have assigned seats. That and speed up the trains so I could take it even when my destination was far off. If we had a lattice of high-speed train lines, say 200-300 mph, I would be done with the airline industry for good.

Oh, and have Hooter's girls as conductors. That too.

You arrive at Union Station in Chicago, which is utter bedlam. (By the way, why is it that virtually all big city train stations are either "Union Station" or "Penn Station"? Is there a reason for this apart from total lack of imagination?) From there it's about a $10 cab ride to your hotel, as opposed to a $50 ride from O'Hare.

My hotel, the Fairmont, is not the most luxurious hotel in the city, nor is it the trendiest. But I have settled on it for a few reasons. First, as always, excellent service. Second, location: in this case that means a shot at an excellent view of either the waterfront or the cityscape, but more importantly, you are on the north edge of The Loop giving you ready foot access to virtually anywhere in the downtown area you'd want to go. Millennium Park is just around the corner, the Art Institute is a block or so further. It's twenty minutes to the River North area or all the way up the Magnificent Mile. Lastly, for the workout junkie, the Fairmont is attached to the Lakeshore Athletic Club which is one of the finest health clubs I have ever been in, and I've been in a few, plus it's free if you are a member of Fairmont's President Club which, in itself, is free to join. The Fairmont Chicago makes me happy.

View from my room at the Fairmont (342K)

One unusual aspect of this trip was the bad food. After my mid-afternoon check-in I was hungry for lunch so a slid a few blocks over to Ada's, a place I remembered as being a top notch Jewish deli. (I once had to watch the season final of The Sopranos there because my hotel at the time did not have HBO.) Let's just say it did not measure up to my memory this time. I recall delicious potato-pancake style bread and nicely stacked meats. This time I got unfresh corned beef on what must have been store-bought rye. I was also a bit queasy the rest of night for which the sandwich may or may not have been at fault.

The other disappointment was Lou Malnati's. I wanted some real Chicago style deep dish and was wondering what the current sentiment was for the top joint. A friend of mine insisted Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder Co. was not to be beat, but that was a cab ride away and too much trouble. Citysearch.com's editor's choice was Lou Malnati's which is in River North. So at lunchtime on a rainy Saturday I trolled on over and snagged a seat at the bar. The verdict: good stuff, but really no better than your basic Uno's or Giordano's. I guess it's wrong to call it a bad food experience. It was ace Chicago Dish, and that is always good, but it was disappointing in that I was hoping for something special. Kick-ass spinach bread, however.

By the way, although it may be heresy not to pick a Chicago or New York joint for the top slot, the very best pizza I have ever had was at Pizzeria Paradiso in Dupont Circle, Washington D.C. It's not deep, but they use the same fresh ingredients and semi-sweet tangy sauce that the better Chicago joints use, except they don't drown it in molten mozzarella. They use feta with a light touch. As good as it gets. But I digress.

About Millennium Park: The City of Chicago really nailed this one cold. Of the unending number of urban renewal and upgrading projects that go on around the country most are boondoggles and white elephants. Most city administrations are so unimaginative, out-of-touch, and downright corrupt that these things become laughable slapstick before ground is broken. Millennium Park, in contrast, is a triumph.

Firstly, there is an open air amphitheatre designed by Frank Gehry. It is a substantial and strikingly contemporary piece of sculpture in and of itself, looking like an unfolding aluminum cloud. Emerging from it is a lattice of metal tubes that extend out over the lawn and somehow seem to amplify the skyline. Just a very cool place to be.

The amphitheatre and lattice (280K)
The Chicago skyline through the lattice (329K)

During my visit they were running free concerts (classical mostly) under the guise of the Grant Park Music Festival. (Why the Grant Park Music Festival is held in Millennium Park as opposed to Grant Park, I don't know.) People were picnicking and bottles of wine were in evidence all across the lawn as folks reclined lazily and enjoyed the music. I plopped myself down and joined them briefly. I was not enamored with the music that night -- I think it was an orchestra from Mexico City, there in honor of Mexico/USA gold cup soccer final being played down the road at Soldier Field. They were obviously very talented, just not to my taste. But I was quite happy to chill there in the cool green grass.

Equally sweet are the other dramatic sculptures. At the forefront of the park stands what is affectionately referred to as The Bean: a large metallic, well...bean -- an oversized elliptical shape made of highly reflective stainless steel. Like the lattice over the lawn in front of the amphitheater, it offers and altered perspective of the city's skyline in reflection. Nifty.

The Chicago skyline in the Bean (231K)
Self-portrait in the Bean (226K)

Then there are the two brick monoliths. But they are not monoliths, they are fountains and video screens. That is to say the inside facing monolith walls are filled with LEDs of some sort that project the video image of a face. It's difficult to describe, but exceedingly clever. The wall displays the face of a seemingly average person, one suspects it could have been one of the locals picked up off the street, just subtly changing expression until at one point, the image's lips are pursed and water spews out of its "mouth". Very fun. Kids love it and scurry around in the water. Again, it seems perfectly integrated with the city itself, spraying water to counteract the sweltering city heat while displaying the faces of the perfectly average folks who look like the same sort of people walking by at any given moment.

Face in the Monolith (431K)
Spitting Monolith (424K)

In addition to the sculptures, there is a decent open air restaurant/bar which is always crowded and seems like a happening hangout. There's a lot more too; you could probably spend an entire day exploring Millennium Park at a leisurely pace. It has instantly moved into the upper echelon of my favorite places list.

Just to the immediate south of Millennium Park is another of my favorite places: the Art Institute. I suspect I have written about it before, but if I haven't let's just say it remains one of the best and brightest lights of the museum world, comparable to anything NYC has to offer and a perfect place to spend a couple of hours, which I did.

And while we are on the topic of recommended cultural activities, I give top recommendation for the architecture boat tours that are run by the CAF (Chicago Architecture Foundation). You can really get a sense of the sort of thought and creativity that has gone into much of Chicago's development. There's a contrast for you: the "hog butcher to the world" turns out to be long time hotbed of artistic enterprise. It's very easy to see the skyline as just another city skyline, but this tour does a good job of highlighting the decision making process that went into a number of the buildings and how it was balanced with aesthetics. (Interesting note: the doyen's suggestion that the famed Chicago fire that destroyed much of the city actually provided a hidden blessing in that it let them rebuild from a clean slate. Would that contemporary New Orleans took the same attitude.)

A number of tour operators run architecture tours up the Chicago River, but to be on the safe side, I would stick with the ones run by the CAF.

A beautiful city on an ugly day (504K)
Bridge abutments near the Wrigley Building (443K)
The Sears building soars into the clouds (483K)
It's lonely at the top (311K)
Condos for sardines (479K)

There was also a touch of the absurd in store for me. The morning before I left, I headed down to Navy Pier and happened on to a speedboat tour of the lake on a boat called the Sea Dog. I was hoping for a roller-coasterish ride along the Lake Michigan shore, but it was disappointingly gentle. It got even more gentle when the motor overheated and we found ourselves adrift. The crew handled the situation with aplomb, as if they had dealt with it a hundred times before (hmmm...). Another Sea Dog speedboat was called on to tow us in. So onlookers were treated to the sight of two ultra high performance watercraft limping back into port at a snail's pace.

Just another day at Navy Pier (390K)
The garden at Navy Pier (421K)

The entire trip was a mixed bag of fun and disappointment. After most such trips, I would be left feeling lukewarm or mildly frustrated. But somehow, Chicago makes me feel like it was great. I sure wish it was my city.

The End of the Family: I have a long history of commenting HBO series, so now that the dust has settled on The Sopranos I suppose we can recap the big theories about the ending. (I am assuming you saw it.)

Theory number one is that Tony is dead. As Bobby Baccala said in the first episode this year, "They say when it happens, you don't even hear it coming." That would be the meaning of the instant black. That is what Tony experienced, one second he is having a completely innocuous dinner with his family, the next he has ceased to exist. This theory is bolstered by the tension over the shady characters in Holsten's and the fact that there would be a nice symmetry considering he just had Phil Leotardo killed in front of his family.

The problem I have with it is that it is too easy. Is the ultimate lesson of The Sopranos "When you least expect it expect it" or "If you're going to be a gangster, you're likely to get shot"? I don't think so.

Theory number two is that the whole sequence is meant to show that although Tony goes on as before he is always going to live in fear. Fear for himself and fear for his family. The tension is the last scene is unresolved. It just hovers there. For all Tony has done, his punishment is to never know when it's coming, to never have peace. Folks also point out that this leaves the door open for a future movie or reprise of the series.

This is the weakest theory as far as I'm concerned. I provides no meaningful reason for the instant black ending and again, it just doesn't jibe with the timeless themes that David Chase has really tried to emphasize.

The theory I subscribe to is that it doesn't matter, see? Tony got whacked/Tony went on as before -- it doesn't matter. That's not what The Sopranos was about. Ever.

David Chase has said time and time again that The Sopranos is about family. Now you add that to the recurring theme of the show -- criminal level self-delusion -- and you have your answer. It doesn't matter.

The ultimate scene of the entire series actually happened the week before in Dr. Mefli's office. She finally realizes what an abyss Tony is; that she has made no progress; that she has been used in the service of Tony's dysfunction. She kicks Tony out, acknowledging her failure, and he turns to her declaring, without a hint of irony, that what she is doing is "immoral." (Note how he instinctively starts the charade again with A.J.'s therapist.)

Tony is hopeless. Whether it was referring to himself as a "soldier" or a "captain of industry" he could always build a fortress of justification around himself. But what about the family? Carmella, whose conscience once tortured her and sent her to therapy and to her priest desperate for redemption doesn't even think about it anymore; she just focuses on her real estate career. A.J., who for a brief moment seemed to gather up the courage to act in some way, is bought off with a BMW and two-bit job in the film business. He was never much for self-reflection anyway. Meadow is headed for a career civil rights law, convinced that the horrendous criminality all around her is really just a figment in the collective imagination of a prejudiced society. In fact, the final sequence where she is struggling to park her car but eventually fits into place is, I believe, the final symbol of that.

Their apparent happiness is just more self-delusion. Tony's criminality, and the need to live with it every day without being destroyed by guilt, has claimed its ultimate victims, the ones he most wanted to save. Whoever came through Holsten's door didn't matter. As Carmella from Season One might have said, they are all going to Hell. The moment of potential salvation is gone. One minute everything is fine, but once the moment for salvation is past, it's all over. Instant black.

Three more things:

First, this marks the end of the mob as an American movie paradigm. How can it not? Even if you're another Scorsese or Coppola, there is no way you top The Sopranos with a two hour film, even if you add in four hours of sequels. The genre is done. Everything that could have been said has been said. (With the exception of the inevitable "courageous" film about two gay wiseguys.)

Second, Gandolfini has pulled off what is almost certainly the greatest extended acting tour de force in history. Not an episode went by where I was not amazed by the pitch perfect emotions and manners and delivery. Even in the episodes when the script was weak, Gandolfini sold me. Just flawless. His performance should be watched closely by every student of acting from now on.

Third, I have never seen such an intelligent and popular debate over a work of art in my lifetime. I have seen intelligent debates, always within niche populations. I have seen popular debates: Who shot J.R.? But I have never seen a debate that was both until now. This is Chase's lasting legacy.

[Update: After writing everything above, I was pointed to a long and extremely detailed analysis of the last episode, which makes an extended case that Tony is dead. It invokes the symbolism of the Last Supper, oranges, and Members Only jackets. It makes a very compelling argument which, if true, would make me think less of the ending. I'll stick with my explanation for now, although it is nice to see that someone was more obsessed than I was.]

What Are You Saying?: As a Sopranos replacement we have John from Cincinnati from David Milch, creator of Deadwood. I yield to no one in my admiration of Milch. He is one of two people working in film and video who actually try to use the English language for artistic and even poetic purposes, rather than utilitarian dialog and narration (the other is David Mamet). But I have to admit it's hard to get a handle on John from Cincinnati.

We have interesting, well fleshed-out characters in a fairly dysfunctional community which is good. We have the dialogue which, while not soaring to the heights of Deadwood, is still characteristically lovely and playful. We have a delightful element of humor. But the premise seems muddled. Milch has stated that John... is about "borders" and how people react to crossing them. One of the borders is between the natural and the supernatural. And there is a strong supernatural element to the show -- one character levitates on occasion, one comes back from the dead, the title character is clearly magical (along with mentally disabled) in some way or another.

Having seen four episodes now I have no inkling whether this is going to mesh into a coherent narrative. It could; it took a few episodes in before I "got" Deadwood and nearly a whole season before it all come together, so I certainly not writing off John..., but the supernatural element scares me. That is such a big booby trap -- it's a deus ex machina waiting to happen; it's an invitation to focus on the mystical weirdness instead of the humanity of the characters.

Obviously, I am passing no judgment yet. I guess we'll just have to wait. Here's hoping Milch works his magic and clarifies things before the season is out. Fact is, even as it stands it's better than 90% of everything else on the tube.

Photo Slop: Just some leftover photos I've snapped over the past few weeks, mostly in and around Dexter and Ann Arbor.

Memorial Day in Dexter (totally Norman Rockwell):
Horsin' around (372K)
Hey Bulldog (318K)
Girl Scouts (286K)
Big red band (377K)

Summer in Ann Arbor:
On the lawn at Top of the Park (352K)
Kids at Top of the Park (340K)
Dancin' at Top of the Park (341K)
Teens at Top of the Park (373K)
Former teens at Top of the Park (260K)
Hanging troll (309K)
Very creative alley graffiti (478K)
Our new best friend (300K)

Rural Scenes (from nearby Chelsea):
Rural scene (369K)
Another rural scene (336K)
Yet another rural scene (429K)
Rural sunset (379K)
Another rural sunset (480K) (I made tis one my computer background at work)

Are you sick of my photography yet?

The Month That Was - May 2007: You will have already noticed the quick and dirty redesign. This place should look a good deal cleaner now. The business of having boxed off sections was so 2002. Cleanliness and simplicity are the watchwords these days; better to keep focus on the content. Also things should look a little better in IE7 now; specifically the Google bar at the top should not obscure anything.

Memorial Day was perfect. The earlier portion of the big weekend was a rainy mess, but Memorial Day itself was about the best weather I have ever encountered in my life. And so the summer begins.

Tons of pics this month. And some additional reading: something I have been promising to write for a while: a guide to a Michigan summer vacation -- just in time to stop you from making Disney reservations. On with the show...

Last in line to review Moneyball
Photo slop: DC edition
Vegas: Hooter's as a leading indicator
Wasps be gone
Omit needless basicallys

The 95-MPH Brushback of Reason: I am almost certainly the last person on the planet to read the now classic baseball tract, Moneyball. I was a fool for not reading it sooner; now I'm all geeked about it but it's old news to everyone else.

In case you've been living in a cave, Osama, Moneyball is about how stats geeks finally got a foothold in professional baseball after years of dwelling on the fringes and in the rotisseries. You see, for many years, stat geeks knew that virtually everything everyone thought they knew about baseball was wrong. All the conventional old-school myths, the inane platitudes and clichÇs announcers constantly spew -- it's almost entirely rubbish.

In Moneyball, the heroes are the people who stormed the castle of the ultimate old boys club with only facts and truth on their side and managed to survive. Longtime readers know of my penchant for playing the odds, for following reasoned probability and analysis despite a universe that always presents the enough random chaos to make you feel like you've gotten a wedgie from a bully for being so smart.

The godfather of all this is, of course, Bill James, who not only had the insights, the timing, and the outright defiance required to get the whole thing started. Anti-social and quite prickly, James went around for years on his jihad and gathered some brilliant followers, but was never able to break through the wall of ignorance. His story is really quite inspirational for anyone who believes in reason and ideas and finds they have to fight an ignorant, thoughtless, and even hostile status quo. According to James: "It is a wonderful thing to know that you are right and the world is wrong. Would God that I might have that feeling again before I die." For most of us that would not be true. It would be insufferably lonely and frustrating.

But James' concepts grew slowly in visibility over the years -- to a great extent only after he exited the battle -- until the perfect storm of Billy Beane's personality, Paul DePodesta's computer, and the Oakland A's financial realities allowed these ideas to be put into practice. Even despite the remarkable successes the new way of thinking has achieved, there is still overwhelming pressure from the old boys club to de-intellectualize the game.

I may have a colored view of this as it is a concept so valued by me, but it would be difficult to imagine someone coming away from Moneyball without an appreciation of the energy and passion author Michael Lewis brings to the table. The characters he describes are, well, characters. And he doesn't mince words about folks on the wrong end of the debate.

From the afterword:

The game itself is a ruthless competition. Unless you're very good, you don't survive in it. But in the space just off the field of play there really is no level of incompetence that won't be tolerated. There are many reasons for this, but the big one is that baseball has structured itself less as a business than as a social club. The Club includes not only the people who manage the team but also, in a kind of Women's Auxiliary, many of the writers and the commentators who follow it, and purport to explain it. The Club is selective, but the criteria for admission and retention are nebulous. There are many ways to embarrass the Club, but being bad at your job isn't one of them. The greatest offense a Club member can commit is not ineptitude but disloyalty.

To this day there is enormous resistance to statistical based analysis. For how long it can continue I don't know. There are basically two types of successful baseball organizations anymore. One of them pays attention to its stat geeks (A's, Blue Jays, some others). The other has more money than god and just buys whatever it needs (Yanks, Red Sox). But the small market clubs that just send out beat up old players to scout for talent are doomed whether they want to admit it or not.

I would tell you that if you ever have had a passing interest in baseball Moneyball is a must read, but if you have a passing interest in baseball, you have already read it.

Photo Slop DC: I took an all too brief weekend down in DC to visit missus Kate and Anna. Stayed up in Dupont Circle for the first time (usually I stay down by the mall) and I wouldn't hesitate to stay up there again.

I have to give my highest recommendation to the Hotel Palomar. It's one of the Kimpton group of hotels that are my absolute favorites -- free wine and snack happy hour every day; eclectic, irreverently styled with animal print bathrobes, just for kicks. A hip, happenin', groovy-cool place.

I had the best pizza I have ever had in a little spot called Pizza Paradiso. Sweetest tomato sauce ever, reminiscent of the sauce at Pizzeria Uno but without the heavy-handed crust or mozzarella (I had feta). Truly spectacular. It goes on the must-do list for future visits.

My celebrity story is that I was in the Corcoran visiting an exhibit on the history of modernism, which was a mixed bag, when who do I spot out the corner of my eye but none other than Mr. Ben Stein -- you know: "Beullar? Beullar? Anyone?"; Win Ben Stein's Money; Clear Eyes, etc. Ben is political journalist and something of a bigwig economist in his spare time so I can only guess it was for professional reasons he was in town.

He was enthusiastically watching an old video about the 1939 New York World's Fair called "The World of Tomorrow" which was an extended old black-and-white promotional film for the Fair. I'm pretty sure Ben, like me and everyone else watching, stood in awe of the total lack of irony, cynicism, or negativity. How very different things are today. Could anyone born after 1960 even imagine such a sincere narrative tone?

By the way, in real life Ben doesn't look nearly as nerdy as they make him look on TV. He was dressed in a perfectly conservative dark blue suit like a proper DC insider, although he finished his ensemble with a pair of brown suede Pumas. Dude has his own style.

Meanwhile, trolling around the city, I brought my camera...



• No idea what this building is, but it's in Dupont Circle

• Lion in front of the Corocoran

• Another beautiful building I can't identify from memory -- DC is an architectural treasure trove

• The Eisenhower Building (I remembered this one)

• A shot of the metro, highly stylized in Photoshop

• Pigeons in motion

• Kids, don't be hippies or this is your fate

• The White House from Layfayette Park -- I love how this one flows from the girls on the lawn to the protester to the tourists to the White House to the Washington Monument

• I love the detail in this tree blossom

• A very tall tree in the National Zoo

• More flowers, enhanced slightly in Photoshop

• A shot of the Smithsonian Castle that I mangled in Photoshop while trying to make it look more gothic (I have a lot to learn)

• Through the WW2 memorial, past the reflecting pool to the Jefferson Memorial

• A huge panorama of the WW2 memorial - you'll have to expand it to real size in IE to get the full effect (I need to remember to take the camera off Auto before I get all creative)

• This would have been a great street scene if it was in focus

• Another street shot -- the confluence of signs cracks me up

• A Dupont Circle panorama - be sure to expand

• The young girls next to me on the lawn posed absolutely perfect with knowing it

• Older girls this time, also posing perfectly (also perfectly self-referential, isn't it?)


I took a ton more pics than that, I may link up some more next month. I 've been taking photos at such a rate I can't keep up. One day, maybe I'll be good.

Still Worried About The Vegas: More evidence that the Vegas bubble has burst. Apparently Hooter's is sagging (heh-heh). According to my peeps over at Hotel Chatter, Hooter's Hotel and Casino is struggling and looking for a buyer. Faced with anemic revenues the current owners are running for cover. This doesn't surprise me. Hooter's is a bit off the beaten path, and more importantly, it was a flawed concept from the start. Hooter's runs restaurants and a small airline. They have succeeded by taking mundane, unpleasant experiences such as eating deep fried pub food or getting packed into coach seats like sardines and distracted their customers from their discomfort by surrounding them with flirty women of ample cleavage. This is their core product. Essentially, Hooter's tag line could be, "You have an ugly task before you, so here are some boobs to take the edge off."

Problem one is that visiting Las Vegas isn't what you'd call unpleasant, even in a slightly sub-standard property like Hooter's. So you've removed one half of the equation -- the ugly task part -- from the start. Problem two is that large-breasted women falling out their shirts are already in oversupply in Vegas. The whole business model collapses (so to speak). So much for your competitive advantage.

Hooter's is a minor loss, though. The biggest blow to the future is the total breakdown of the "Harmon Corridor." Harmon Ave. is a main thoroughfare that runs perpendicular to Las Vegas Blvd. (The Strip). It was going to be the next big area of hotel and casino expansion. The Clooney's late project, Las Ramblas, was going in there as was the new W hotel. Clooney's project famously fell apart when he and his partners realized that while it would be cool to say you own a hotel in Vegas, the day-to-day running of it and making a profit were actually hard work. So they folded and sold the property to the Starwood guys so they could have an even bigger W hotel. Now the Starwood guys have packed it in and the whole dream of Harmon Corridor is in the crapper.

Actually, the more I think about it, this may be a positive development. One thing I previously identified as a red flag for Vegas' future was overbuilding. Maybe it's good the Harmon projects fell apart before they had actual buildings to worry about. I'm still worried about the future, but I have more hope now for a gentle landing than an outright crash.

Wasp, Where is Thy Sting?: By now, we all know what's up with the dwindling bees, but what about the wasps? Every summer I can count on one thing: the area I live in will be wasp central. There is always nest in between the gutter and the outside wall just outside my balcony. There is always a nest in my garage -- I tend to leave my car outside in summer, so there is not much garage activity to disturb them. There is always a nest in the base of this one light pole at work, where the metal is slightly twisted giving them a safe little gap. Not so this year. Not only are they not in their usual places, they aren't anywhere at all. Not even hovering menacingly around public garbage cans like they always do. I think I can safely say I have not seen one wasp all year. Weird.

Not that I mind. I hate the ornery little buggers and am glad to be without them. I'm just curious how it came about.

Basically, Cut It Out: Just stop saying "basically" every other word, OK? "Basically" is the new "you know" or "it's like".

Basically, as I write this, I basically just got out of a meeting where basically everyone interjected a "basically" basically four or five times per sentence.

You know who you are. Just stop it.

The Month That Was - April 2007: Well look a that. It's now been almost two months since I did any traveling. That's unheard of. Not even a weekend away. Wow. I'll need to rectify that soon.

Apparently I did a lot of reading this month because that seems to dominate the posts.

Giving Up
Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream
Link Slop
The Return of the Sopranos (and Entourage)
NFL Round-Up (fans only)

I Give Up: I did something I very rarely do but should do more often, and that is to stop reading a book before I finish it. There have been plenty of books in my life that I continued to slog my way through because I felt a duty to finish what I started. Why? What exactly is the pretext for continuing a book if you cease to be interested in it? Life's too short, isn't it? It might be because I felt like I would have wasted my money if I didn't. This month I found two books for free online, and in both cases I decided not to finish them. We'll see if I ever do this for a something I actually purchase.

You can get Kafka's Metamorphosis just about anywhere online (it's lived way past any copyright expiration) but Gutenberg.org is as good a place as any. I feel silly describing the story because if you are familiar with literature you know that it's about a man who wakes up one morning and finds he is a gigantic insect, if you didn't know that, well, how silly would I sound describing it to you?

Generations of serious readers have drawn all sorts of inspiration from it and discovered all sorts of meaning and symbolism in it. Haruki Murakami, whom I wrote about last month, is certainly one of them. I don't doubt there is depth there to be found, but it turns out I can't be bothered with a book unless I can get into the story and the characters. No one in the book seemed very human; they all came across as merely dramatic devices, not actual people. Anyway, after a couple of chapters I felt no compulsion whatsoever to keep going. Maybe if I was younger and my tastes were in the formative stage I might have hauled through it and tried to take it to heart. As it stands, I'll probably just have to make it through life unable to engage anyone in a serious discussion about Kafka. Pity.

The other book was one I recall having been assigned in a 10th grade English class, not reading, and faking my way through the subsequent exam -- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, by Robert Pirsig. It's available at something called VirtualSchool.com and there is a ton of background info on a nicely done wiki.

It is only superficially about motorcycle maintenance and it is only marginally about Zen Buddhism. It is intended to be a philosophical tract about the conflict of deterministic and the intuitive, the romantic and the classical, and how it resolves into a search for value. During a road trip from Minneapolis to San Francisco, the author uses his interaction with his companions, his motorcycle and the landscape as a springboard for a series of explorations (which he calls "Chautauquas") along these lines.

Approaching the book again in adulthood, it held some promise. The framework is a story about his relations with his companions, his son, and his history of mental illness, which was reasonably interesting (again, I find myself mainly looking at story and characters). He was also doing a decent job as a travel writer.

But, oh the philosophical diatribes! It was strictly adolescent level stuff (I now understand why it was assigned in 10th grade) blown way out of proportion and loaded down with pomposity. That combined with his annoying habit of picking apart every word and action of his companions and turning it into some sort of character flaw, well the whole thing just put me in mind of another book I once read that had a mildly interesting story that was completely crushed by philosophical obesity: Atlas Shrugged. I did force myself to finish Atlas Shrugged many years ago. Not so Zen.... I was done with it after finish maybe one third. That, my friends, is wisdom ascendant.

Arcadia Found: The book I did finish was Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream, by John Derbyshire. It is the story of one T.C. Chai, a former Chinese Red Guard who managed to escape to freedom in Hong Kong and eventually a solid happy life in the U.S. In alternating chapters, the first half of the book is taken up with a description of Chai's current life in the U.S. and his Chinese past.

Chai's past is alternately heroic and despicable. As a member of the Red Guard he was a pawn in Mao's purges and movements. He was a bully at best, and at worst was complicit in a particularly heinous act against an innocent for which he is convinced he will pay dearly for in this life or the next. (Ironically, it is also the beginning of his yearnings to emigrate.) When disillusion and hopelessness set in deeply enough he manages to summon the courage to swim though four miles of ocean straights to freedom in Hong Kong.

As a young man in Hong Kong he becomes infatuated with, and successfully pursues, a demure beauty, Selina, who is already betrothed to another. Although she remains committed to her pre-arranged marriage, their affair turns to love. After their inevitable break she lingers in his memory as the only epic and passionate love of his life, even after twenty years time, a completely agreeable marriage to another beautiful woman, and the arrival of an infant daughter.

Upon coming to the U.S., Chai decided to totally embrace America, in contrast to many of his immigrant cohorts, including his wife, who seem to keep their new country at arm's length. In the interest of thorough assimilation Chai has immersed himself in the literature and history of the West, and the U.S. in particular. He has passed through an obsession with Samuel Johnson, among others, and is now on to President Coolidge, the plain spoken, optimistic, Yankee moralist. In a minor way, this makes Chai is a bit of a tedious fellow; there is a touch of condescension in his tendency to frown on those of differing sentiments.

From a chance encounter he suddenly finds that his Hong Kong paramour now lives nearby, or at least within driving distance. Despite the years that have passed Chai finds himself courting infidelity and seeking out the lost dream of his youth. Luckily for him, his subtly perceptive wife connives to save him from himself with a little help from the ghost of Calvin Coolidge. The plot is slight and common (a wise woman saves a man from himself) but serviceably, if not gracefully, rendered.

The real treats here are Chai's ruminations on culture, immigration, fidelity, history and aging. (We actually don't get to the whole mid-life crisis plot until halfway through the book.) Derbyshire excels at calm and steady descriptions of disturbing emotion. His depictions of the horrors of the times of Mao are so even keeled that when you cringe at the events, you know it's the event and not the prose doing it to you. Equally heartfelt are the feelings of gratitude that Chai, and a number of the Chinese characters, express in having escaped the horrors of Mao and living the comparatively idyllic middle-class American life. In the character of T.C. Chai, Derbyshire has created a man in full -- good and evil, joy and despair, pride and regret, yin and yang. To wit, here is a brief self-reflection:

Perhaps I should begin to cultivate one of those long wispy beards. But I have lived some, I have not led a bookish life. I have watched helpless as my mother died. I have been a peasant, a soldier, a factory worker, and an intellectual. I have swum for my freedom, I have said farewell forever to a girl I loved beyond all reason. More: I have fought in battle, I have killed a man - or at any rate, tried to. I have committed rape, I thing I recall reluctantly, and with deepest shame. May Heaven forgive me for that.

Well, my pedant's cap came to me not from a life spent in libraries and lecture halls, but after suffering borne and suffering inflicted. I can wear it with dignity and humility, as it should be worn, not with the empty arrogance of the merely credentialed.

That's a beautiful passage. Profound and rather dark sentiments presented with refined neutrality so as to cause the reader no easy judgments.

Chai is certainly one of the most fully developed characters I have encountered in a novel. He doesn't really fit into a literary pigeon hole. In fact, as one enters the second half of the book and the plot goes from observations of Chai to the emotional mechanics of infidelity, the mid-life crisis aspect of the story seems a bit out of place, as if it is unworthy of the depth of the preceding topics. I would have been happy just to follow Chai's extended observations on how the Chinese and Western worlds differ as it is played out before him in the course of his day-to-day life.

Occasionally Chai can be a bit annoying with his habit of treating trivial events to be highly indicative of national culture -- both U.S. and Chinese -- but by and large his opinions are genuine and original, which makes the book worthwhile in and of itself; the product of a mature open-mindedness as opposed to low-rent moral relativism. It's a very intelligent and well thought out read, told with great clarity and excellent humor.

I give Seeing Calvin Coolidge in a Dream my highest praise of the month: I finished it. You will too.

(Marginally related aside: I am looking for a copy of a book entitled The Ugly Chinaman, by Bo Yang. I have only seen English translations sporadically around the web and they are running round-about $60-90. There is no way I will pay that much for a book (without the chance of hocking it on eBay for twice that in the future) so if anyone knows where I can get a copy for a reasonable price, please drop a dime.)

Link Slop: I haven't done a round-up in while so here we go:

• As it moves from a focus on chefs and food to quasi-reality gimmicky shows, the ongoing decline of The Food Network is described in cruel and profane terms by chef Anthony Bourdain. More recently: his take on the Food Network Awards. Killer stuff.

• I have developed a minor addiction to Ask Metafilter. Metafilter was an ancestor of many of the "Web 2.0" social networking sites that get so much press. It's not the same model really, but the spirit is the same. But the sister site, Ask Metafilter is the real gem. Site members can ask any and all sorts of questions (requests for info or opinions dominate) and the hive mind attempts to reply. I check in every 2 or 3 days to see what's been asked and invariably find some enlightening link to satiate my intellectual curiosity. A cut above other such sites in my view.

• Another addiction I have is Google Reader. It's really just a simple RSS reader, but like webmail, it's a big boon to be able to read it from home/work/road/wherever. Dead simple to set up, I have a ton of news sites of various flavors set up (blissfully free of politics) and it is my main source of information about the world. It's still beta so there is the occasional minor glitch but, like other things Google, it demonstrates how simple is better.

Is This the End of Big Tony?: I don't know what to make of the start of the end of the Sopranos. Everybody is waiting to see who gets whacked and we've gotten a lot of NY/NJ war set up, abut what's really interesting to me is how they are starting to close the books on some of the characters.

Uncle Junior's life ends up with him as a medicated half-wit in some nursing home. Johnny Sack is in the ground unable to accomplish the one thing most valuable to him, providing for his family. Paulie will never be more than an ass-kissing buffoon with nothing more than an ability to keep Tony from killing him to show for his life. Carmella cannot be happy with her success selling her house, too concerned about the shortcuts she took in the building of it and how they might come back on her (can you say "metaphor"?) It looks like A.J. is now being set up for something or other. These guys are all coming to ruin, one by one.

You see, my bet is that Tony doesn't get whacked (although I don't doubt there will be at least one juicy killing) and at the end, things go on as before, but we will have seen that the family with a dark secret is irreparably damaged and probably unsalvageable -- the wages of sin, and so forth. That would fit with the theme of the show more than any grisly massacre. The world will be loudly disappointed, but the tiny minority of people who appreciate great drama will not.

On the other hand, I could be wrong and the finale turns out to imitate Cleaver, but I don't think so.

I've also been watching the new season of Entourage. It's a lightweight sitcom; basically a male/West Coast counterpoint to Sex and the City. The four leads wander the city like children in a toy store of hedonism. No judgment is passed about their narcissistic lifestyle -- which is OK with me. It's just a lightly humorous fantasy after all. If it did not come on immediately after The Sopranos I'd probably never see it, but man does not live by brow-furrowing drama alone.

NFL Round-Up: Checking in on my two NFL teams -- in the AFC we have the Dolphins setting us up for a big dose of kool-aid. To wit:

• Last year's first round pick, Safety Jason Allen, was a non-factor, but that was because he held out of camp and never caught up with all the learning a rookie needs to do. He may live up to his promise this year.

• Last year's seventh-round pick, D-Tackle Rodrique Wright, was a first considered a first round talent until he was found to be concealing a wrist injury. He's all better now and may turn out to have been a steal for the Fins.

• Joey Porter was signed at linebacker after being released by the Steelers. Porter is a top talent, or at least he was; he's not getting any younger and Fins have plenty of, ahem, "well-seasoned" players. Of course the upside is the potential for high comedy from a guy who celebrated his signing by going to the Palms casino in Vegas and having his entourage assault another NFL player at a poker table. Those who believe the Fins needed "attitude" are rejoicing about this.

• Joey Harrington is gone and Duante Culpepper is likely on the way out leaving Cleo Lemon
as the top QB but there is a good chance that Trent Green may be signed.

• In one of the most profoundly stupid picks in the history of the draft they used their 9th pick to take wide-out Ted Ginn. Ginn should have been lucky to go late in the first round or early second. Just awful. I can't even contort myself enough to find any justification except possibly it was just a bad mispronunciation of "Quinn." Oh wait...I'm supposed to be finding reasons to be positive, aren't I? Um...Ted Ginn may get healthy for training camp.

I'm sure I'll drink the Fins Kool-Aid again this year, but it will be that nasty green Kool-Aid, and it'll have dead bugs in it. Oh well, let the Cleo Lemon to Ted Ginn era commence. The sooner it starts, the sooner it's over.

In the NFC, the Lions remain the Lions. If Kitna stands tall in Martz' schemes and the receiving core doesn't underachieve, we could have a very entertaining offense this year. Might be fun to watch. I have a certain amount of sympathy for Matt Millen. He drafted wide receivers three times in four years, two of which were total busts, then he's standing there on the clock with the second pick and the player that stands head and shoulders above the rest is a wide receiver. So that makes a wide out first round pick in four of the last five years. This could only happen to the Lions. Let me quote Mike Tanier over at Deadspin.com:

According to an NFL Network report, Lions offensive coordinator Mike Martz convinced Millen to select Johnson by explaining how he would use the receiver in his offense. "I plan to have Jon Kitna throw footballs to him," Martz explained. "Gosh, I never would have thought of that," Millen replied. "Now back to my Spider-Man coloring book. Staying between the lines is ever so hard."

Meanwhile, Drew Sharp of the Detroit Free Press has already made the prediction that Lions will go 3-13. Way to go out on a limb there, Drew.

In direct contrast to the remedial mind of Matt Millen, when it come to off-season moves the Pats are on another level. I can already see them as the odds on favorite, what with their loaded up receiving core. The Randy Moss thing looks controversial, but it's not. If he turns out to be a bust or a locker room cancer, they are so stacked at that position they can sit him or cut him and still be six receivers deep. It's Belichick's league, we just watch on TV. I guess you can accomplish a lot if you don't waste any thought on your appearance. (Seriously, Belichick must get endless pleasure from being in the same division as Miami. What an advantage to know that you can just sit back and wait for 25% of your division to systematically hang themselves.)

Oh and by the way: Did I not completely and perfectly ID Michael Vick as a cretin years ago when I started my Sick of Vick campaign in his rookie year? What a heaping pile of pot-smoking, bird-flipping, Valtrex-snarfing sleaze he's turned out to be.

The Month That Was - March 2007: Hey, look at me! Posting on time for a change. Aren't I a good boy? Can I have a bigger allowance?

Kafka on the Shore
More Worry About Vegas
Saying No to Michigan
Photo Slop
X-Treme Warrior

Life Could be a Dream: Every Haruki Murakami book I've read (that would be Wild Sheep Chase, Dance, Dance, Dance, Hard-Boiled Wonderland, and Wind-Up Bird Chronicle) is set in a universe that has the same disjointed, quasi-rationality of a dream. Things seem to be going along normally then an animal talks to you, or it rains seafood, or you have sex with a ghost. And just like in dream, there is no mystical narration to clue you in that you are not in the midst of reality; surreal events occur and are described with the same matter-of-fact observational voice that might describe a morning shave or a traffic jam. It has been said that one of Ernest Hemmingway's great talents was to use simple, direct narration to plumb the complexities of human emotions. Similarly, Murakami nails many forms of unreality, from fairy tale playfulness to the downright creepy and harrowing, with little more than very pedestrian language. Kafka on the Shore is more of this. An extended exploration of memory, regret, and how we are all driven to change by our past, the story fits well with Murakami's style.

All the characters in Kafka are haunted by their past. They are trying to progress in their lives and their pursuits of happiness while their past exerts its pull against them. That pull can be completely debilitating, alleviated only by death; it can be energizing through the compulsion to escape; it can just sit there hovering, forever influencing deeds and words.

There are two major plotlines. One involves a 15-year-old runaway boy trying to escape from his egomaniacal father who has cursed him with an Oedipal fate regarding his erstwhile mother and sister. He ends up living in what is essentially a haunted library eventually fulfilling that fate...in a certain way. The other involves a brain-impaired, illiterate septuagenarian who can speak with cats and has a certain holy, Zen master way about him -- kind of like Peter Sellers in Being There. The old man finds himself compelled to pursue a fate he is to feeble-minded to understand, he just knows it when it comes. These two characters are mystically linked in a specific violent action that propels them both towards their ultimate destiny. Events cascade to an inevitably disappointing ending. How do you end a dream without waking up and finding plain old reality there waiting for you?

Leaving aside the deeper end of things, the book is a joy to read just on cursory level. The scenes bristle with energy and Murakami creates throwaway characters that are more interesting than many a writer's protagonists. A school teacher who is disturbed by an X-files-worthy occurrence is merely ancillary character but utterly affecting. A simple, blue-collar truck driver has only a supporting role but his transforming epiphany of the beauty and potential of the world (when he is exposed to Beethoven's Archduke Trio) is brilliantly told.

Along with sorrow and violence, there is much good humor and a bit of outright absurdity. Johnnie Walker (yeah, the guy from the Scotch ads) makes an appearance as a mutilator of cats. Colonel Sanders turns out to be a pimp for a Hegel quoting hooker. Typical of Murakami, pop culture references are laced throughout.

To me, one of the most curious things about Murakami is that I like reading him so much. He does not really employ many of the stylistic features I tend to value -- clarity of narrative, respect for normalcy, descriptive brevity, a contrarian mindset -- but his mastery of impression, thematic (if not narrative) clarity, and characterization is a thing to behold.

The fact that he has a back catalogue that I haven't fully explored makes me quite happy.

What I Said About Vegas: Remember when I cited the deficient disaster that is McCarran Airport when posing the possibility that Las Vegas had peaked? Check out this youtube of a luggage carousel. Good grief.

That, however, pales in comparison to having a giant, laser-shooting Michael Jackson sculpture in the desert be the first thing you see as you fly in. Words fail me. Maybe life really is just a Murakami novel.

Saying No to Michigan: I have lived all but a couple of the distressingly numerous years of my life in Michigan. I was born in Detroit, grew up in Southfield, and have spent pretty much my entire adult life in the greater Ann Arbor area. Needless to say, I like it here. I like Michigan a lot. And it gets better each year as global warming turns the winters into minor inconveniences.

If you look beyond decaying Detroit and its utterly indistinct suburbs (and ignore the lesser lost cause of Flint), Michigan is a real gem. The west, central and northern areas of the State are loaded with lakes and forests and ski slopes and golf courses and perfect little towns with main streets that just beg to be walked down to the ice cream parlor at dusk on a warm summer evening. Really, there are probably a thousand reasons that your family summer vacation would be better spent in Michigan than Orlando.

Now it's beginning to look like tourism may soon be the only industry of consequence in the future. By any realistic measure, Michigan is falling apart economically. Unemployment is consistently well above the national average -- close to double at times. We are at the bottom in revenue growth -- effective mired in near recession while the rest of the country practically booms. Population is dropping -- figure we lose about 40,000 people a year. Businesses are flying out of the state at an alarming rate -- longtime residents and big employers Comerica and Pfizer recently decamped.

All this fiscal pathos most glaringly reflects in the housing market: you're lucky if your investment in your house has merely remained stagnant over the past few years. I have friends who have sat on two mortgages because they got caught with a new house before closing on the old one. At first they didn't worry, figuring they might have to cover both payments only for a month or two. Now it's more than a year later and they are worried and they are not at all confident in breaking even after the extended time doubled up on mortgage interest.

Probably the most depressing development is that the current government in Lansing is talking about having to raise taxes to cover budget shortfalls. That is the first step toward utter destruction. Practically every economy that goes in the toilet has started down this path: Commerce is horrible, tax revenues drop, budget shortfalls require tax increases, tax increases scare even more businesses away, population drops, so tax revenue doesn't come despite the increased rates, there are more budget shortfalls, so taxes are increased... It's easy to see Michigan marching steadily down this path. I don't know where it all ends. A crisis of some sort perhaps, like New York City in the '70s (can we hire Rudy Guiliani?), or just an agonizing endless degradation, like Detroit.

But bad times are also opportunities. Real estate is cheap. Cost of living probably won't rise too much, if at all. Getting restaurant reservations is easy. Of course, all that is only good if it is eventually going to turn around and I'm really not confident that it will any time soon. As much as I have ragged on New Orleans of late for mismanaging its future, I can't say things are run any better up here. Like I said with respect to New Orleans, voters always get what they ask for, whether they want it or not. We have no one to blame but ourselves. I just hope we are smart enough not to let the raises-taxes/budget-shortfall spiral get started, or I may end up having to live out the remainder of my hopefully numerous years somewhere else.

Photo Slop: Yes, I have used my new camera: just baby steps, slowly learning the ins and outs. To do so I did a bit of a wander around the greater Dexter, MI area to get into the swing of things. I was surprised at how rural this area still is. It kind of inspired me to go for a rural rustic starkness, but I never quite achieved it. For your perusal (most of these are around 400K):

• [pic] A cropped shot of a huge transformer complex just down the road. I like all the detail that was picked up with such clarity.


• [pic] A train came barreling toward me. If I was clever I would have a better idea how to get a sense of the movement.


• [pic] The same pic halftoned in Photoshop.


• [pic] A self-portrait (sort of) in the woods.


• [pic] Testing for close-up detail. This is just moss on a big rock, but it made me think of the impeding spring thaw.


• [pic 1][pic 2] This is a granary about halfway between Dexter and Chelsea (the first city to the west). I have driven past it several times and it always stands out as a striking site in the middle of farmland. I doubt I have done it justice.


• [pic] This is just the wooded area and stream abutting a municipal park about half a mile from my home. The browns and grays in this picture are the characteristic Midwest colors once winter takes hold. In a month or two, it'll be so green and thick you can't see through it.


• [pic] This is the Old Mill in downtown (so to speak) Dexter. Rustic.


• [pic] Same pic in black and white and aged somewhat by Photoshop. Not quite the early twentieth century feel I wanted to get.


• [pic] Lonely corn silos. Again not exactly the stark rural scene I had hoped for.


• [pic] A beat up old cart in someone's backyard.


• [pic] Same pic in sepia.


• [pic 1] [pic 2] Two shots of a big old tree backlit by the afternoon sun. My old point-and-shoot would have gacked on this.

More to come, I'm sure.

Going to X-Treme: For those of you in Michigan (I would call you my homies, but that's soooo MySpace) and California who have Comcast cable, keep a look out for a reality show entitled X-treme Warrior on Comcast Local (channel 8 in MI, I think). It's a reality style boot camp for women, kind of like Survivor minus no bug eating, that was held both north of the Detroit suburbs and at some locale in California.

Those of you who read my weekly football column were likely entertained by my favorite correspondent, Tinkerbell. Well, it seems Tinkerbell took some time off to participate in this madness. Her money quote: "It was hell."

Visit the site and watch the trailer: the one pointing the rifle at you in the beginning is Tinkerbell. During the course of the show she managed to break her nose in two places and spent a good long time wandering around with gauze wedged up her schnozzola. Should provide some comic relief.

The show premieres at April 11 6PM on Comcast Local in Michi and 7PM on Comcast SportsNet in Cali. Do check it out.

The Month That Was - February 2007: As usual I can't keep promises. I said that other than these blog entries, I was going to write nothing but fiction, and sure enough I failed. I made a spur of the moment trip down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, which you can read about here. Alas.

U.S. Airways' Website From Hell
Worried About Vegas
I Got a Nikon Camera
Readings

U.S. Airways Demon Web Site: I am absolutely convinced that the designers of the U.S. Airways website are deeply disturbed individuals.

The U.S. Airways website is infuriating. For many years, when I was boycotting Northwest, I made U.S.Airways my first choice. Even back then, their website was a disaster. It would hang at random points when try to make a reservation. And even if it didn't hang, it would let you go through the multiple screen process to the very last step where you would click "complete reservation" and it would give you an error that the system was unable to make the reservation and unceremoniously place you back on the home page where you had to start the entire process over.

It got so bad that at one point I dashed off a witheringly sarcastic email to customer service that began, "After giving it careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that your website sucks!" I didn't get a reply.

Well, since I made my reservations through Expedia this time, I didn't have to worry about setting up the reservations, but I always make a habit of checking on-line the day before in an effort to get the prime seats. This I still had to do through USAirways.com.

The seat selection process seems to work fine. I was able to select exit seats (very cool) on the aisle -- always my first choice when flying coach. Except when I went to print the boarding passes, I found that I had not been assigned the seats I had chosen. They seemed to have assigned me random seats (including one in the last row directly across the aisle from the loo, thank you very much).

Huh? Wha? It turns out that U.S. Airways policy is that they will not assign exit seats on line. They will let you select them just like any other seat, but they'll assign you something random instead. Ha Ha! The joke's on you, stupid customer!

Fine. Well, I would prefer not to sit in the rear of the plane across from the loo, so I log back in to select the best non-exit row seats I can get. What an idiot! Did I really think it would be that easy? You see, once you have a seat assignment, you can't change it until you actually get to the airport and have it done by a gate agent. Gack!

WTF? I mean...WTF? What company in their right mind creates a system that encourages and entices their customers into spending a half hour to do something that, in reality, is just saving time for U.S. Airways, then pulls the chair out from beneath them thereby screwing themselves in the process. What a complete waste of time!

You know that old web meme Bastard Operator From Hell? Well U.S. Airways clearly employs the Bastard Web Site Designers From Hell. Seriously, I design software for a living and I have made every bone-headed mistake you can make, but I've never managed this level of inanity. This cannot be the result of incompetence -- it is malicious. It is the purest form of evil, done without excuse just for entertainment. There is a searing cauldron of boiling jalapeno sauce awaiting these clowns in the afterlife.

No wonder U.S. Airways is bankrupt.

Late Update: Since this little encounter, U.S. Airways appears to have been attempting to upgrade their reservation system. It looks like they mangled the proceedings again this time hammering the poor sods who try to get anything done at the airport kiosks. Surprise.

Ward, I'm Worried About the Vegas: Sshhh, don't tell anybody, but Vegas may have peaked. It is a fear I have. Tell me if I'm wrong.

The recent violence during the NBA All-Star game is really only one part of the concern. Oh it was bad. Shootings at strip clubs, a near riot at MGM, a brawl in a Wynn nightclub (Wynn, of all places!).

One of the key features of Vegas is that despite the Hieronymus Bosch-ian atmosphere, you feel safe there. You certainly can't go into a casino and cause trouble. It is not tolerated. Everything is monitored and security is everywhere. Yes, there is the occasional drunken idiot, but such situations are addressed swiftly and surely. Inside these casinos it is possible to indulge in just about any form of sin you want, provided to don't bother anybody else. Cross that line and you're out. It's really a remarkable thing, and worthy of an essay in and of itself.

Even outside on the Strip I have always felt pretty safe. I have walked the length of the Strip from Mandalay Bay to the Venetian at 3AM and not felt threatened at all. Safety is key to Vegas; it's what keeps average people coming back to sample the naughtiness. To be really successful, the naughtiness must be accessible to Mom and Pop, not just those who are bad-ass enough to survive. It is a perfect confluence of financial and moral priorities. That's why the shenanigans at the NBA All-Star game were so troubling. Bring that kind of thing to Houston or Atlanta and it's just another night. Not so in Vegas.

But that situation is easily remedied by simply not playing host to that event again. As long as things get back to normal I don't think the city will suffer. The long term trends that make me think Vegas has peaked are three-fold.

1. Infrastructure. McCarran Airport is completely out-gunned. Flying in on Northwest -- which lands at a midfield terminal requiring a shuttle ride to get to baggage claim -- I don't think I have ever waited less than 45 minutes to get my bags. A 45 minute wait for a cab into town is also a strong possibility. The security lines for flights back home are so long that where most airports suggest checking in 90 minutes early, at McCarran they recommend up to three hours. These huge delays essentially mean a dead day for travel on either end of trip. That's a big price to pay and there are no signs that it is being addressed.

Another thing that is very lacking in Vegas is mass transit. There is the monorail, which is inconvenient and limited. There are periodic threats to expand it all the way south to the airport and north to downtown, but don't hold your breath. I will admit they are doing a bit better here having implemented The Deuce, a well-run commuter bus service that runs up and down the Strip all the way to downtown.

But transportation needs to be a lot better. Getting visitors from their flights to their hotels and getting them around town should be top priority for the city. Orlando completely kicks Vegas' butt in this regard.

2. Macau. One thing that first timers to Vegas are often surprised by is the number of Asians gambling in Vegas. Not Asian-Americans, actual Asians from Asia. For a few years now, Vegas has benefited from a wave of Asian affluence that has translated to Asian high-rollers and Asian wannabe high-rollers flying across the Pacific and dropping piles of cash at Pai-Gow and such. Asian pop musicians regularly schedule shows in Vegas -- you'll see posters for them and say "Who?" It's been a huge inflow of cash for the city.

Now Macau (for the geographically challenged, that's in China, near Hong Kong) is billing itself as the new Vegas. In reality, it's not even close to that -- yet. But Wynn and MGM and others have properties opened there. More are sure to come. At some point it will necessarily eat into Vegas revenue. If you're an Asian gambler out for a few days of excitement, why fly all the way to Vegas when Macau is likely no more than a three or four hour flight? (Note to self: Time for a trip to Macau to check things out.)

3. Overbuilding The building boom in Vegas over the past decade has been like nothing the world has ever seen. And even now, there is no sign of it stopping. MGM is building something called City Center, which is an attempt to recreated Greenwich Village on the south Strip. It is an incredibly large project that will include hotels and clubs and shops. Not to be outdone, Harrah's/Caesar's has plans for something similar at mid-strip. Both companies have been buying up properties and scheduling renovations and re-workings in prep for an upcoming battle royale.

The two premier independent properties - The Venetian and Wynn - are building add-on properties to their existing enormous sites. The boom is steadily moving north, devouring what is left of the old rat pack properties and going full-on high-end all round.

It doesn't stop there. High-rise condo complexes are going up at an equally fast rate. And all this new building means construction jobs and service jobs, and all those new workers need to be housed and need grocery stores and car dealers and the various stuff of life to go with them. It has been a historic boom. You can check out Vegas Today and Tomorrow to get an overview.

But it is also possible that it has been a bubble. And if it is a bubble, the combination of loss of Asian business, insufficient infrastructure, and oversupply of building could bring about a very large pop. We don't know. I don't think there has ever been a test to see what the limits are of humanity's desire to sin in safety (which is the bottom line product of Vegas) but we may find out sooner rather than later.

And that's why I'm worried. It's also why, if you are one of the few who has never seen Vegas, you should go to see it soon, while it's at its (possible) peak. For the time being, it is something truly historic.

I should write up a newbie's guide to Vegas, shouldn't I? (No. No, I shouldn't. I should write fiction.)

I Got a Nikon Camera, I Love to Take a Photograph: After threatening to for ages, I finally stepped up. I upgraded from my ancient Kodak point-and-shoot. The Kodak served me well and I was able to take some good pics over the years, but its limitations got too, well, limiting. It fails miserably at night pics. It has a pretty narrow angle, so all my landscapes had to be made by stitching together multiple snaps in Photoshop which has its own pitfalls. It was a great starter camera and it served me well, but it was time to move on. I splurged on an SLR.

Actually, an SLR wasn't my first choice. My top pick was a Sony DSC-R1; a very SLR like camera but with a fixed lens. The main reason it was so attractive was the lens itself. It could go from a very, very wide angle to a 5x zoom. (I find zoom overrated and wide angle underrated for my needs.) A similar lens for an SLR would have cost more than the entire Sony camera.

The problem was that these models have been inexplicably discontinued by Sony, in favor of their own line of SLRs. The only place I was able to find these cameras was eBay and as usual, some sellers were fairly sketchy in the feedback department and digital cameras and supplies are a notorious playground for scam-meisters.

Instead, I began researching SLRs with the understanding that I wanted a kit lens that had a big range, since I really don't know where I'm going to go with this whole photography thing. I plan to spend some time learning the ways in which this camera lets me be creative, but there's the outside chance that a good deal of the time I'll just use it in automatic mode, meaning the lens that came with it had to be as versatile as possible.

Also, I was unconcerned with megapixels. Unless you are going to print huge prints -- and I have never made a print, just posted to the web -- you really don't need more than 5 or 6 megapixels. At 6 megapixels you can create a 7x10 print at 300 dots per inch; that's an exceptional quality print. And you can even get a perfectly satisfactory looking (say 150 dpi) 11x14 if you want. Now, things like cropping come into play (I tend to be a cropper) as does original image quality, but on the bottom line, I would economize on megapixels.

Well, I ended up with a Nikon D70s. It has a pretty good range -- excellent wide angle, only so-so zoom (around 4x equivalent), but it was a little more versatile that other SLRs I looked at. I saved a bit of money by buying the D70 which has been superceded by the D80 which has 10 megapixels vs. the D70s 6, and a few other advantages that weren't worth the extra money for me. I ordered from beachcamera.com which had the cheapest price coupled with the most reliable rating at pricegrabber.com. Of course, I subsequently went out and bought a 2gig memory card and carrying case. (The spending never ends, does it?)

I've only started to learn how to use it, but you can expect to be inundated with photos over the coming months and years.

Readings: Last month I said I was going to talk about what I have been reading, but I really don't have much interesting to report.

I continue my multi-year quest to work my way through the entire 20 novel Patrick O'Brian Aubrey-Maturin series (link: Patrick O'Brian at Amazon). I recently completed novel number 15, Nutmeg of Consolation. They continue to be entrancing, and I continue to believe they will, in time, be seen as one of the great literary achievements of the 20th century, although in tone and topic they are very much 19th century novels.

Do not take up reading them other than at the beginning and do not underestimate the days and weeks of your life you will spend plowing through them. However, if you are willing and able to put in the time and effort, you will be rewarded with wonderful stories centered on two of the most complete characters in the history of literature.

I have been using Ian Fleming's original James Bond novels as my staple distraction for airplanes and hotel rooms. They are uneven, but they are what you might call quality escapism. They don't require a lot of involvement, yet they aren't embarrassingly shallow like most genre fiction. At times they are a fascinating look into the mores of a bygone era and Fleming was a better than average stylist who knew how to structure a story. These books bear varying resemblances to their associated movies and of course have none of the campy irony, Bond having yet to become a cliche.

If you're interested, I would suggest starting at the beginning with Casino Royale, of which I wrote a review ages ago. Most of the remaining efforts are above average episodic action thrillers -- like I said, good travel reading. If you want to take a short cut, the exceptional selections from the series are what might be considered the "Blofeld trilogy": Thunderball, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, and You Only Live Twice. These might benefit from a back to back reading and will cover whatever humanity there is in Bond's character. (link: Ian Fleming at Amazon)

At the moment I have just dived a few chapters deep into Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore. I won't even begin to try to describe it yet, but I'm sure you will hear all about it once it is digested. You can read my now ancient review of a couple of other earlier Murakami books over at Slashdot (of all places). I sense that this one will along the same lines.

The Month That Was - January 2007: I know it's well into February, but my first post about new year: and so the worm turns. That's a strange aphorism and I have no idea where it came from. I"m sure Wikipedia could tell me but I don’t really care. Already things have changed for the better from 2006 in at least one area, but it’s a personal spot that I am not about to take public at the moment -- maybe in the future. Anyway, the trend is up.

The football column is officially over for another season and I have, for the time being, sworn off hotel reviews. Having revised Misspent Youth (I swear that book always seems about halfway finished no matter how much or how little time I spend on it), I am now copy editing the Business As Usual again for the umpteenth time in anticipation of a new publisher picking it up once I remove it from the evil dirtbags who call themselves publishers that have it now.

Without further ado, let's get it started.

Ice Storm
Chilly Down South
Living in the Past
Lousy is as Lousy Does

The Ice Storm: As I write this it is 4 degrees here in Dexter and everything is covered in a thin film of the dirty salt that was used to melt the ice on the roads that was left over from the recent ice storm.

And a particularly nasty ice storm it was. For those of you with no experience in the north, ice storms occur when the temperature is just cold enough to start the rain to freeze before it falls. Everything gets soaked by this water that is just a hair's width from turning to ice, then the temperature drops a bit more and it freezes solid wherever it's wet. If this continues for a couple of days, the ice builds up on all the wires and branches and the weight starts causing things to collapse. A huge tree branch collapsed over the road right in front of me -- had I been about fifteen seconds earlier it would have fallen atop my roof, or worse, smashed my windshield.

But generally, the people who suffer most are those whose power lines collapse. There were folks who were out of power for 3 or 4 days. All the area hotels were filled up. People were buying day passes to health club or the YMCA to take a hot shower. Others were looking like the GEICO Caveman. It was a mess of epic proportions.

Luckily, I only lost power long enough for the clocks to reset, but my company was powerless for a full day, and so I got a free day of hooky. If there is an upside to an ice storm, it’s that it makes the world look like it’s made of crystal. So naturally I used my hooky day to take some snaps.

Iced Tree
Weighted Branches
Winter Barn
Frozen Fruit
More Frozen Fruit
Need to Thaw the Paper

Chilly Down South: I made a relatively brief trip down to Sarasota for some family business, followed by a couple of all-too-quick nights in Savannah with Miss Kate and Her Royal Highness.

Sarasota was chilly (for Sarasota, it was balmy for single digit Michigan). I think it was in the low 60s and rainy one day. As I think back, this is probably the first time I've been down that way during high season; for whatever reason I usually end up down there in the middle of the summer heat. Sarasota disappointed me a bit this time, and not just the weather. One advantage of off-season visits is that the traffic is not at all bad, but in the heart of the winter when the old folks congregate -- wow. Get ready to sit and wait a bit before you head off down the road at a solid twenty mph under the speed limit.

The other thing I found disappointing was that they took down this enormous sculpture of the famous Life magazine cover that I mentioned back in May. It was only temporarily there to begin with, but there was a move afoot to make it permanent which would have been a great icon for the city. Naturally, the cranky old seniors griped enough about it that they let it go.

Did manage to have a nice long lunch overlooking the beautiful Sarasota Bay, which was probably the highlight. Also, stayed at the delightful Hibiscus Inn Suites. I got this via a recommendation at Trip Advisor and it sounded like something special. It is, in fact, a motel. That's right, Mr. Hotel Snob himself managed to reserve a room at a motel; pull you car up to the door and be careful crossing to the pool that is in parking lot just next to the main road. Uh-oh.

But Hibiscus Suites is a great place. The rooms are actual suites with separate bedrooms and kitchenettes. The place is well kept up. Free wireless throughout. Continental breakfast every morning. A full slate of HBO channels. Good location. Best of all, the service was great and the staff exceedingly friendly. It’s not cheap; it's roughly in line with an actual hotel of the same standards, but I highly recommend it. It would work especially well for an extended stay. I’d give it a full review but I am swearing off hotel reviews for the time being.

The other notable thing about Sarasota was the car I rented. I used National and planned to reserve a mid-sized sedan. I quickly discovered that luxury class cars were only a couple of dollars more, so I upgraded, expecting a Caddy or a Lincoln -- standard livery issues. Nope, I got an Infiniti G35, and a bright red one at that. Sweet ride. It's got push button starting, which is a bit of a gimmick, and a big LCD in the middle of the dash that operates as the radio, satellite nav, environmental control, missile defense system, etc. Strong engine, good handling, but I don’t think I would buy one. There was significant throttle lag, minimal headroom (and I am not a big guy), and frankly, I'm just a lot more comfortable with non-digital controls. Still, it impressed the hell out of everyone.

On the way back I made a quick detour to Savannah to meet up with the ladies. They didn't arrive until after midnight on Friday due to a late and delayed flight, and had to fly out before sunrise on Sunday, but we did get to take the tours on Saturday and wander the city a bit. Savannah remains exceedingly charming, even with temps in the 50s.

At dinner, Kate and I ordered a bottle of wine and the clueless greenhorn waiter proceeded to bring three glasses, including one for the fourteen-year-old Miss Anna. She was quite delighted to have a glass unquestioningly poured for her and we allowed her to have a sip or two and then quickly emptied her glass into our own. No doubt the story will be somewhat embellished when she tells it in school and will scandalize the soccer moms of Reston, VA for weeks to come.

It was a nice little break for me. But I'm still casting about for travel possibilities this year. The suggestion box remains open.

Living in the Past: I am amazed by how much my movie watching habits have changed over the years. Like every young adult, I used to get geared up to see the new releases. I'd follow what was coming out and when and often go to theatre to see it first run. Goodbye to all that.

First, I have very little use for new movies. There are so many fine films from years past that I could likely go the rest of my life fully entertained if the entire industry collapsed.

Second, like any artistic endeavor, 95% of all films suck. OK, maybe only 10% suck profoundly, but the overwhelming majority is just complete waste of time. And there is virtually no way to get a valid advanced read on them. You certainly can't get it from the trailers, which are perfectly honed to create the desired impression. You can't really even get it from criticism since, like the films themselves, most criticism is bad: some criticism is bought, and the remainder? Well, we know what opinions are like, don't we? (Actually criticism becomes much more valid after you have seen the movie, when it becomes a conversation about the film rather than a desperate evaluation of whether it is worth your time.) Theatrical film releases are dying because nobody wants to spend $10 for a 95% chance at wasting two or three hours of their lives, except maybe teenagers.

Perfect example: Peter Jackson's remake of King Kong. It got a ton of hype, had a killer trailer, and garnered generally good reviews. Here's the thing: it's lousy. It's three hours long, the entire first hour and fifteen minutes or so are character establishment, and the characters aren't all that interesting. Then it turns into a big budget action flick with amazing computer-generated effects, but the action is really no better than any of the ten other big budget action flicks with amazing computer-generated effects that come out any given season.

It came on HBO last Saturday and I was feeling a bit burnt out and lethargic so I decided to watch it instead of be productive. It certainly functioned as something that required no productive effort. Not even thought. I completely validated my policy of not watching new movies, though.

In contrast, one of the gazillion channels on Comcast Digital recently re-ran the old '70s classic Midnight Cowboy. It is showing it’s age, but it is still a remarkable film (not for the kids -- I believe it actually got an "X" rating back in the day; it’s a nasty "R" these days). It is still a very affecting human story, not just based on the eventual sentimentality the viewer feels for the characters, but for the way it captured the humanity of the lowlifes at the center. It's extremely unlikely that anyone involved with the production was ever a dirtbag, penny-ante con man, or a cowboy gigolo wannabe, yet both characters seem genuine and fully formed. That's talent. Even though I had seen this movie before (but not for many years), it is an aspect of it I had not considered.

Anyway, the point is not that Midnight Cowboy is better than King Kong. It's that newness means nothing to me. I don't care that Midnight Cowboy is from a bygone era and I really don't care that much that I have seen it a couple of times in the past; it was the better way to spend time. Are there new films that are as good as Midnight Cowboy? Probably, but it's not worth the effort it would take to sort through all the crap to find them. Better to let time sort that out. I suspect that is going to be the general circumstance for me, forever. I am sure I will stumble on new films to enjoy once they've aged a bit and show up on-demand, but I don't need any more new movies. They are plenty I haven’t seen yet, and plenty to revisit and find newness in.

This is another way of saying I'm getting old and I don't cotton with all this new-fangled noise. Actually, the problem is that there is very little new. Facts are rearranged, but little is different. When you're young everything is new and all the humanistic insights of the arts are fresh. When you're old(er), something really and truly new only comes along once in a while. Meanwhile, you understand that pretty much all the insights have been out there for all the ages. So living in the past is just as good, only cheaper and less annoying.

More Lousy New Stuff: TV stinks to high heaven at the moment.

• House has gotten so ludicrous that Hugh Laurie can’t even save it.
• HBO's Rome has stared its second season and it is dreadful and dire. It needs to be cancelled before it turns into Oz or worse. They have even ruined Pullo and Vorenus.
• I gave in to the hype and watched the season premiere of 24 which was unspeakably bad. Really, one of the worst pieces of drama I have ever seen.
• I almost got sucked into Ricky Gervais' Extras which is good for a guffaw or two. It adheres to the current fashion in comedy -- the Humor of Awkward Discomfort (you can include Curb Your Enthusiasm and Borat in that too), which I find trying after a couple of episodes. I may continue to tune in for the celebrity cameos, which are a stitch.
• No more NFL. (When do two-a-days start?)

So now what? Well, let's see, The Sopranos last eight episodes come April. Not much until then. Lucky I have all those movie channels otherwise I might have to do something worthwhile with my time until then.

Next month, I promise to cut down on the film and video and maybe offer a couple of comments on what I have been reading.

The Month That Was - December 2006: Good bye to 2006. Don't let the door hit ya.

It's a Wrap
Mouse House
Plane Stupidity
Pod People
Where To?