Fans of Star Trek (the original series) will recognize this photo as the Doomsday Machine, an intergalactic Great White Shark that consumes anything and everything in its path. (Forgive me, Trekkies, if I have oversimplified the nuances of this menacing device/organism/concept.)
I'm going out on a limb here, but the limb seems strong enough to support me: tapered, cylindrical shape? Glowing, fiery tip? Is the inspiration for this fairly obvious? (I suspect the original concept had it devouring only items in refrigerators and pantries.)
I’m all for commemoration. Great people who have achieved great things against great odds are worthy of our gratitude and respect. What I don’t understand is the necessity to commemorate these people by naming streets after them.
Over the last year, Portland experienced a seething debate over the proposal to rename Interstate Avenue “Cesar Chavez Boulevard”. The debate frequently devolved into a racial argument, as if a failure to support the change was a veiled commentary on the acceptance of Portland’s Latino population. Others accused the city of attempting to put a faux feather in its cap while pushing their plans on less affluent neighborhoods. (The shortest discussion in Portland history would have been a proposal to rename NW 23rd to be Cesar Chavez Blvd. The thought of that happening is downright laughable.) Eventually, the city council voted that 39th Avenue should be renamed for Cesar Chavez. (Local activists have threatened that if the name change was approved, they would propose that the city rename NW 23rd to "Richard Nixon Ave.")
I didn’t support the change to Interstate, or to 39th, but it had nothing to do with Latinos or Cesar Chavez---it had to do with simple logistics. Quite simply, why must we commemorate our heroes with a street name? Portland has done it before, in 1989 when Union Avenue became Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd, and in 2006 when the city, sans discussion, abruptly renamed Portland Blvd. as Rosa Parks Way. Great people who achieved great things---but why impose on every business on a miles-long road to reprint their business cards, stationary, web sites and advertising collateral? Why require a wholesale update of every local yellow pages directory? Why require ODOT to refashion every highway sign that makes reference to the street in question? The ripple effect of changing a street name is full of tremendous costs to every business (and even homes) on that street, along with huge costs to the city. (There are literally hundreds, even thousands of “39th Ave” signs posted at every street corner on that avenue, which stretches north to south across nearly the entire city.)
I live near Columbia Park. This lovely park isn’t close to Columbia Blvd, is even further from the Columbia River, and as far as I can tell was arbitrarily named. If the city wanted to rename it Cesar Chavez Park, that would be splendid. City maps would require updating, but otherwise, the financial impact on citizens would be completely minimal. The park would be every bit as enjoyable, and it could serve as ground zero for any local Chavez celebrations---something that’s harder to do on a street full of cars traveling 35 miles per hour.
Renaming streets seems like the quintessential example of government ridiculousness, incurring huge expense for a highly visible but barely symbolic gesture. Case in point: Every day my bus travels past Rosa Parks Way, where the “Rosa Parks Way” street signs have been fastened just above the “Portland Blvd” street signs, rather than replacing them. This seems like little more than lip service to Ms. Parks, since three years later, dual identity seems to contradict the whole point of the commemoration. And if we aren’t even going to fully commit, why pretend otherwise? Let the letterheads remain unchanged and find a way to wholeheartedly show our respect.
At work, we listen to NPR on a "boom box" radio that likely appeared in a K-Mart sale flyer in 1982 with starbursted pitches like "AM/FM/cassette" and "convenient compact size" (translation: bass-less 3" twofers---not much boom in this particular boombox). It works fine for the limited sonic frequencies produced by Noah Adams and Ira Flato, so we never give the machine much thought beyond the functionality of the "on" button.
Today Blair decided we should utilize the cassette feature, especially since there was a cassette already in the player: Fragile, by Yes. (While I'm fairly sure it was inserted by one of our prog-rock -loving coworkers, it seemed entirely appropriate that this archaic machine would feature a circa-1972 album behind its clunky mechanical door, and I prefer to think it had never housed another cassette.)
As it started, we talked about an article I had seen in which a woman talked about giving a walkman to her iPod-steeped teenage son, who inquired about the device incredulously: How do you switch to the next song? How do you access the other albums in the machine? ("It plays only ONE album? Wait, it plays only half the album? What do you mean, 'flip it over'?") We laughed about how dated cassette technology had become despite all of us growing up when tapes were the pinnacle of convenience.
We reveled in the strains of "Roundabout", "Long Distance Runaround", and all of the other titles that never made any mixed tapes of my youth. A short time later, Blair noted that the music had stopped, but there was still lots of tape left on the cassette. Immediately, we began troubleshooting the issue---"the battery light is on, that might be a factor", so we assumed it had been unplugged, but investigation revealed that the cord was still firmly planted in the socket. We spent a full minute pondering what could possibly be wrong, as mystified as cavemen trying to troubleshoot a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner.
Finally, Blair pushed eject, and as he removed the tape, a long magnetic fettuccini appeared, dangling between the cassette and the player. The player had "eaten" the tape. This would have been bad news 20 years prior, but today, we delighted in the disaster: The frustrations of tapes being dragged to their death by dirty capstan pins was a concept that had escaped our collective memory. As Blair stuck a pencil into the cassette cog to recoil the cassette, our retro cassette flashback was complete.
I encountered a light-hearted example of communication failure last weekend while having breakfast at Laurelthirst, where many of the breakfasts are numbered and available in two forms – two-egg scrambles or three-egg omelets – and several options for sides. A couple sat at the next table and the waiter was taking their order:
Woman: “I’d like the #6, please, as a scramble, with a biscuit, and hash browns.”
Man: “I’ll have the same thing, except a #5.”
I understand what he was saying---also a scramble, also with a biscuit, and also with hash browns. Yet to say you want the same thing as the #6, except you want a #5, is like saying, “My wife drives a Malibu. I drive the same car, except it’s a Taurus.” Both may be sedans, both may be automatics, both may have a CD player and power locks and fold-down seating and scores of other similarities --- but they’re not the same car.
I suspect the waiter would side with me on this clarification, as I saw him write “2” next to the #6 order, then scratch it out when he realized that it wasn’t the same thing at all.
Did the gentleman placing the order succeed in simplifying his order? He probably saved a few seconds, so if that’s a measure of success, perhaps. But to me, it still seems like a strange way to order the #5.
Listening to OPB news this week, I heard a story about a triple slaying in Oregon, and a particular factoid caught my ear. I visited OPB’s website and found the attached article, which included the line that had piqued my interest:
“Thompson said all four knew each other, and the three victims were unemployed.”
Is the reporter implying that their unemployment was a contributing factor in their deaths? Oregon’s unemployment rate at this time was 12.2%, so being out of work is hardly an exclusive club. Would it have been worthy of note if they were all Democrats? Sagittarians? Fans of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond”? Do unemployed people now have to worry about murder along with rejection, foreclosure, and eventual starvation?
I have reread the article several times, looking for the link between their employment status and their murders. All I could find was the fact that “Thompson” said they were all unemployed---and “Thompson” makes no previous appearance in the article. Thus, I’ll chalk this up to amateur reporting and careless editing.
I'm not usually one for hat commentaries -- most hats look awful on me, and you know what they say about people in glass houses -- but I saw a hat this weekend that's worthy of note (a near-replica of which appears here), as it manages to inexplicably combine two contradictory hunting-hat ambitions:
1) Camoflage, the holy grail of hunting garb, a pattern that allows the wearer to stealthily disappear into the bush and brush and wait for prey. The goal of camo? To avoid being seen.
2) Safety Orange, the day-glo eyesore that announces to fellow hunters, "I am not prey, as is made obvious by my rarely-seen-in-nature-color outwear." The goal of safety orange? To ensure that you are seen.
Therein lies my confusion with this self-contradictory chapeau: orange camo? This is failed functionality at its best---in fact, I can't even think of an apt analogy: A sign that says "stay back" in a font so small you have to get close to read it? A restraining order written with invisible ink? Perhaps there is a legitimate reason, but it seems to me that it's simply a gratuitous use of hunting cliches. Camo says, "hunting enthusiast"; orange says "hunting safety"---so what does orange camo say? "Hunting accident."
NASA launched The Kepler this week, a space probe designed to look for planets that may share earth’s atmospheric characteristics, and thus the capability of sustaining life. According to a news story on FoxBusiness, "Kepler is designed to find the first Earth-size planets orbiting stars at distances where water could pool on the planet's surface. Liquid water is believed to be essential for the formation of life.
Anyone who pays attention to NASA's efforts knows that water is the holy grail for NASA scientists. That’s what we were looking for on Mars, among other things – such as Martians. That's what we're looking for everywhere, with only the thinnest veil hiding the fact that we are actually looking for new places to call home. (Wise planning considering we're unlikely to get our security deposit back on this planet.) Check any NASA staffers Christmas wish list and "water" will be near the top.
I am no scientist, but I am amazed that we are able to think so far outside the box as to create a solar-powered space probe designed to observe the orbital patterns of satellites around 100,000 different stars, yet our imagination is unable to comprehend that “life” on other planets, in other galaxies, may not look like what “life” looks like on earth?
Experts explain that certain planets cannot support life because they are too cold. But that means too cold for the type of life we associate with earth. This seems like a serious limitation on our thinking---that the rules as we know them here apply everywhere, to everything. It's like spending the money to fly across the Atlantic, training across Europe to get to Italy, then looking for an Olive Garden because, well, isn’t that what Italian food looks like?
I am assuming there is some logical reason for this thinking---the immutable laws of science neither bend nor break in environments with different gravitational and climatic atmospheres. But there is so much in our existing world that gives cause for questioning those laws, or at least our ability to comprehend those laws: We have no explanation for psychic visions, for reported ghost sightings, for the emotional complexity of falling in love, or the certainty we feel about the existence (or lack thereof) of god. And it's not just the metaphysical world: We are regularly discovering new species of life in remote rain forests, a prehistoric shark found swimming alive, organisms living in the direct path of 572 degree thermal vents in the 36,000 feet deep Mariana Trench who "show an incredible resistance to temperature extremes by having different proteins which are adapted for life under these conditions."
I'm not saying we shouldn't be looking for water elsewhere in the universe, I'm just concerned that our obsessive focus on this single commodity might impede our ability to recognize elements that do not fit our preconceptions. It's like looking for mayonnaise in the refrigerator: We've used the same brand of mayo for years, so I know the label completely; if we buy a different brand, the jar still looks very much like mayonnaise, but it takes me forever to find it in the fridge because it doesn't look like the thing I'm expecting to find. I can look right at the jar and not recognize it because it doesn't look like the narrowly-defined item I am hoping to find. I hope NASA isn't making that same mistake.
Too much bad news. That’s what callers to a radio show were saying this morning, that the media’s constant reinforcement of bad news makes the struggling economy a self-fulfilling prophecy. But with the daily news of mass layoffs, business failures and escalating unemployment, how do we put a positive spin on the news?
Quite simply---invert the numbers:
Oregon unemployment has risen to 9%? Then let the headline be:
Oregon employment continues to hover at 91%
A major manufacturer lays off 5% of their workforce?
Major manufacturer continues to employee 95% of staff
Down Jones drops 2%?
Dow Jones industrial average retains 98% of value
See? The “facts” are the same, but a steady flurry of numbers above the 90th percentile offers a more reassuring backdrop to our economic concerns. In fact, it doesn’t have to stop with economic news:
Mayor Adams lies about relationship with 18 year old man?
Sam Adams tells truth about more than 99% of his relationships.
Well, okay, that sounds weird. Maybe it should stop with economic news.
Regular readers know that I am enamored of simplified study guides. Whether long form Idiot's Guide books, or short form laminated placemats, I enjoy the oversimplification of massive ideas into small, digestible bytes. (Sorry, pun unintentional.) As I scoured Amazon recently for something completely unrelated, I chanced upon "Faith Charts", a product that summarizes concepts of Catholicism into convenient six-page documents. The first that I encountered was The Bible at a Glance.
I grew up Roman Catholic, and got the impression from my priests and catechism teachers that I should read the bible, not study a Cliff Notes version that offers a chapter-by-chapter synopsis along with quick bios of central characters and roots of the the major dramatic conflicts. The Bible at a Glance seems to cater to the laziest common denominator of the 21st century human by offering a shortcut to reading history's ultimate best-seller. As I recall, the Bible is often referred to as "The Word of God"---frankly, it's a bold act for the publishers of this piece to assume the task of editing God's word to a size smaller than many direct-mail brochures.
This Faith Chart begins, "What is the Bible?" Frankly, that's a rudimentary start, akin to a pamphlet on brain surgery starting with, "What is the brain?" I can't find a good image of the other contents, but according to Amazon, The Bible at a Glance covers "what it is, who wrote it, how to read it, the books of the Bible, where to find..., and more!" My favorite part (seriously) is that the illustrations throughout are all stained glass images, providing both vivid color, stylized images to support the text (so Joseph and Mary don't accidentally look like stars of a new Fox drama), and the familiar of the churches of my youth.
This summary strikes me as a strange concession to modern appetites. I understand we're all strapped for time, but commitment to a religion isn't like committing yourself to the TV show Lost: For that, a little org chart to understand Ben's relationship with Daniel Farraday's mother is a beneficial tool. The Bible is the word of God---considering that the reward is eternal life, perhaps the long version is worth the time it takes to read it?
Peculiarly, I could find only three titles in the Faith Charts line: The Bible at a glance, Catholicism at a glance, and St. Paul at a glance. Frankly, I immediately thought of the bumper sticker, "Jesus is Coming..and boy, is he pissed." Taking a backseat to St. Paul in the Faith Charts publishing chronology probably isn't going to help with that problem.
I attended a party on Saturday where a woman informed me that I looked strikingly similar to Eddie Izzard. My first thought was, "Heck, I'll take that."
My enthusiasm for being compared to a man who once spent much of his public life in drag (and maybe still does) comes from the fact that I like Eddie Izzard. His stand-up is fantastic, he's the best thing about Ocean's 12, and I don't care that the stranger at the party was comparing our fleshy faces rather than our comedic skills. I'll take Eddie, because the last time someone said I looked like a celebrity, it was Chris O'Donnell.
With half-hearted apologies to Batman's Robin, I don't want my name and Chris O'Donnell’s to appear in the same sentence. The man is the acting equivalent of a one-hit wonder, and it's the kind of hit that makes people say, "Hmmm, can you hum it again? It's not ringing any bells." Sure, stalk him on IMDB and it looks like he's been "working", but if anyone knows him (and by anyone, I mean me), it's from those dreadful Batman movies of the 1990s. He's an example of Hollywood's genetic recycling process, where a man with enough acting talent to pass high school drama and with eyes as blue as Newman's can be heralded as the next Paul Newman, at least until he stinks up the screen so much that everyone decides that Leo Dicaprio or Emile Hirsch is a better next Paul Newman. (Wait, or is Emile Hirsch the next Leo Dicaprio?)
I once met an older woman who looked stunningly similar to Lauren Bacall, and I said so, and she smiled back, "Lauren Bacall is much older than me." I immediately scrambled to explain that she didn't look like Lauren Bacall today, she looked like the iconic Lauren Bacall---the essence, not the particulars. I'm sure she got that a lot, but I wonder if she felt about Lauren Bacall the way I do about Chris O'Donnell, and had to go through her life wincing as strangers made a pointless comparison to a movie star. (She really DID look like Lauren Bacall, much more than I look like Chris O'Donnell.) Personally, I don't think I look like either of these guys, but at least with Eddie, I can see the eyebrows are similar and his face could use a diet, so there's that, though it's hardly enough to warrant a call-out. (He actually looks more like my brother Tim.) But if I have to be compared to a celebrity, I'm happy to have it be a foul-mouthed drag queen. To paraphrase Little Nicky, I'm no George Clooney, but I’ll take Eddie Izzard over Clint Howard any day.
