I'm so delighted after I finished reading a story (http://www.startribune.com/12853301.html) that Minneapolis as the most literate city in America. The study used several indicators to scale over 60 major US cities. Of those indicators, the number of newspapers, book stores, and public libraries were all seemingly sufficient in Minneapolis to accelerate it past last year's winner, Seattle. St. Paul was not far behind at at third.
The reason for such excitement is that upon reading stories of this nature, my faith in the capacity for critical thought and intellectual advancement increases. I can validate this study in a very non-scientific way by commenting on the observations of a good friend of mine who maintains the well-manicured nooks of Half-Price books in St. Louis Park (disclosure: my hometown--go Orioles!).
He reports incredible movement of both new and used books at this location. In fact, as he reports, they often are the second highest in revenue of all location nationwide, just behind the original store in Texas. Quite simply, St. Louis Park's Half-Price Books is the undisputed leader among other locations in the region. My friend asked me once, "Pete, the neighborhood you grew up in consumes so much literature, non-fiction, and other media. It's incredible."
My only response was that as I was growing up in St. Louis Park, I rarely interacted with a parent that didn't have a solid grasp on current events, history, law, even some familiarity with the annals of architecture. I was exposed to formidable minds and intellectual expectations. I remember a book appearing on every one's coffee table when I was a kid, Thomas Friedman's "From Beirut to Jerusalem." Again, disclosure: Friedman is a Parkee. But that alone stands as testament to my argument which I am finally arriving at: communities marked by the mass consumption of intellectual media often produce children bearing the distinct ability to think critically.
Well, that was a wonderful trip though la-la land.
That argument doesn't seem to hold water anymore. Some of my peers I interact with (not so much discussing my friends here) are often at a loss for words when I reference the most basic of cultural icons, like Kenneth Starr or Steve Jobs. Their attention is focused intently forward. Material goods trump intellectual goods as conversational pieces. Lohan and Spears are brought up with the same frequency that Reagan and Gorbachev were in the 1980s.
But the worst part is, I'm getting there too. If my peers cannot discuss why Dick Cheney is so frightening to the sanctity of civil rights, then what will it matter when they are lost so long as the subject has been pacified with an iPhone.
The news tries very hard too. So much so that know every other headline spells a doomed future in a feeble attempt to scare readers into subscriptions. But their yelling becomes so monotonous it's easily filtered out as the sound of that student screaming "Don't taze me bro" tunes in. Question, did anyone watch the video all the way through and listen to his question before he got the preemptive shock that could stop a 900 pound gorilla? It was actually a good question. Poorly delivered, yes, but a good question.
I'm overwhelmed, and due to this, I don't even try to explain the complex, or the historical perspective that informs us of our troubled future to my peers. But there's a sparkle at the end of this doldrums. It's just a matter of getting there. That small amount of light being emitted can only be one thing: awakening. And what better place for it to start than Minneapolis.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Trick or... hey, no one is here.
As I lay back in my comfy love seat after a considerably painful experience removing my wisdom teeth today, I am blessed to find time to once again keep up with this blog.
Last night, I took a good friend's son out for Halloween. He is three and obsessed with the good looks, web-shooting power, and smarts of a one Peter Parker. The costume my friend got for him was no less obsessive: a uni-body spandex number with well-articulated pads resembling muscles over the top half of the torso. My fine three year old friend had "guns" as one candy-giving neighbor exclaimed as he approached the door.
Strolling the streets, I noticed a significant absence of house lights, which normally illuminate the streets quite sufficiently. My presumption was correct in that the homes were not interested in little ghoulish visitors. I find this to be very reasonable for some homeowners, however the frequency of these homes seems to be increasing with each passing Halloween.
In addition the visitations at each home seemed to increase in awkwardness. When I was three and running around, the neighbors brought us in for a short cup of coffee and prodded and poked at our costumes with interest. It was all very community-oriented in estimation. And then some kid was taken seriously ill with poisoned candy a decade or two ago in some remote part of the country and the whole concept of Halloween drew an ominous glare from the overzealous paranoia of the American public.
Upon returning the home base last night, three pieces of candy were to be inspected and then authorized for young Spiderman's consumption. Indeed, I remember my mother inspecting candy herself, though rarely did it pass an inspection as it would have been consumed in the "taste-testing" phase my mother insisted on.
Regardless, all the candy I noticed last night seemed contained in its original wrapping. No home-cooked popcorn balls like I used to receive (when the great panic set in, this particular house in my old neighborhood kept producing them, only they would attach their name, address, and phone number to each item, which still drew ire and they stopped--a shame too, they were very good).
As we move closer and closer in proximity to one another in cities, the greater the distance between neighbors seems to grow. It would seem Americans are socially stupid, awkward, perhaps the best word: terrified. I find it disheartening. When I lived in St. Peter during college, I befriended a number of St. Peter residents an was invited to their home for dinner on more than one occasion. Everyone knew each other and strangers were looked upon with cautious optimism. The point really falls into distinct view: as urban Americans, we bought into the terror machine so easily I find it pathetic. Lest we not forget our president's swift hijacking of September 11, 2001 in order to terrify us into submission giving way to two wars, a crippled economy, and the TSA (they still haven't confiscated the small pocket knife on my keys in my pocket!).
That's a bit outside the scope of this pithy, sorry, but it really irks me. Moving on, as we plug into more and more social networking sites, I can safely say we're all losing the capacity to talk face to face and interact on a personal level. It's saddening because I'm a very social person and believe me, my computer, though well appreciated as a tool in my life, doesn't talk back. If you ever find the time, research exactly how many poisoned-candy incidents there were in US history. I think you'll come to the same conclusion I have: I'm keeping my front light on for those trick-or-treaters.
Last night, I took a good friend's son out for Halloween. He is three and obsessed with the good looks, web-shooting power, and smarts of a one Peter Parker. The costume my friend got for him was no less obsessive: a uni-body spandex number with well-articulated pads resembling muscles over the top half of the torso. My fine three year old friend had "guns" as one candy-giving neighbor exclaimed as he approached the door.
Strolling the streets, I noticed a significant absence of house lights, which normally illuminate the streets quite sufficiently. My presumption was correct in that the homes were not interested in little ghoulish visitors. I find this to be very reasonable for some homeowners, however the frequency of these homes seems to be increasing with each passing Halloween.
In addition the visitations at each home seemed to increase in awkwardness. When I was three and running around, the neighbors brought us in for a short cup of coffee and prodded and poked at our costumes with interest. It was all very community-oriented in estimation. And then some kid was taken seriously ill with poisoned candy a decade or two ago in some remote part of the country and the whole concept of Halloween drew an ominous glare from the overzealous paranoia of the American public.
Upon returning the home base last night, three pieces of candy were to be inspected and then authorized for young Spiderman's consumption. Indeed, I remember my mother inspecting candy herself, though rarely did it pass an inspection as it would have been consumed in the "taste-testing" phase my mother insisted on.
Regardless, all the candy I noticed last night seemed contained in its original wrapping. No home-cooked popcorn balls like I used to receive (when the great panic set in, this particular house in my old neighborhood kept producing them, only they would attach their name, address, and phone number to each item, which still drew ire and they stopped--a shame too, they were very good).
As we move closer and closer in proximity to one another in cities, the greater the distance between neighbors seems to grow. It would seem Americans are socially stupid, awkward, perhaps the best word: terrified. I find it disheartening. When I lived in St. Peter during college, I befriended a number of St. Peter residents an was invited to their home for dinner on more than one occasion. Everyone knew each other and strangers were looked upon with cautious optimism. The point really falls into distinct view: as urban Americans, we bought into the terror machine so easily I find it pathetic. Lest we not forget our president's swift hijacking of September 11, 2001 in order to terrify us into submission giving way to two wars, a crippled economy, and the TSA (they still haven't confiscated the small pocket knife on my keys in my pocket!).
That's a bit outside the scope of this pithy, sorry, but it really irks me. Moving on, as we plug into more and more social networking sites, I can safely say we're all losing the capacity to talk face to face and interact on a personal level. It's saddening because I'm a very social person and believe me, my computer, though well appreciated as a tool in my life, doesn't talk back. If you ever find the time, research exactly how many poisoned-candy incidents there were in US history. I think you'll come to the same conclusion I have: I'm keeping my front light on for those trick-or-treaters.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Culturally Designed Tragedy
A former University of Minnesota, Mankato student was found dead in an apartment near campus this morning. Authorities believe, though not conclusively, that Amanda Jax's 21st birthday celebration the night (and perhaps day) before is to blame. Excessive alcohol consumption is no longer an isolated event where the untried drinker becomes very ill and never again finds him or herself in such a state. It's a cultural institution, one almost as culturally compulsory as attending college.
I attended Gustavus Adolphus College, about ten minutes up the highway from Mankato. The drinking culture there was no different. In fact, I would venture to presume it's no different at any campus save Bethel College in Arden Hills and the smaller unaccredited Bible colleges salted throughout the state. I wrote a piece for the "Gustavian Weekly" my junior year about the consumption.
Without going further, I must disclose that between high school and present day, I was a pack a day smoker and fierce Puritan when it came to alcohol use on account of rampant alcoholism in my family (in the last year, I've backed way off from it, a delight to many around me actually, and can be found having a beer or gin and tonic at local bars once or twice a week). I was stalwart in my position, castigating those who drank excessively and berating their behavior publicly in the newspaper.
I was lauded by the administration (the director of Safety and Security even considered framing the article for the wall of his office). I was laughed at by the students (one wrote to the paper that quite simply, I needed to get a life). And so I closed my mouth out of embarrassment.
Until now. I can't say it enough, after spending a considerable amount of time with slightly younger crowd than myself in the last year, I have observed the stupidity with alcohol is perhaps not even equal to when I was in school, but very likely worse. It's cyclical and of course addictive. Now, in the case of Amanda Jax, her past was riddled with instances of poor choices and a steady pattern of alcoholism. Regardless, is it not worth taking into consideration the environment that has been fostered that approves of dangerous consumption with ease?
In the most cynical and jaded of responses I can have, I find myself reducing the entire matter to the principles of Darwin. Put simply, those not of the capacity to benefit society may very well find themselves removed from it. But Amanda Jax was studying to be a nurse, of which Minnesota and perhaps the country still suffers a shortage of. And believe me, nurses will do more in a week for their patients than I will for my clients in a lifetime. How on earth can this not be regarded as outright tragedy. And without a finger to point in blame except the one on your hand pointing inward.
I attended Gustavus Adolphus College, about ten minutes up the highway from Mankato. The drinking culture there was no different. In fact, I would venture to presume it's no different at any campus save Bethel College in Arden Hills and the smaller unaccredited Bible colleges salted throughout the state. I wrote a piece for the "Gustavian Weekly" my junior year about the consumption.
Without going further, I must disclose that between high school and present day, I was a pack a day smoker and fierce Puritan when it came to alcohol use on account of rampant alcoholism in my family (in the last year, I've backed way off from it, a delight to many around me actually, and can be found having a beer or gin and tonic at local bars once or twice a week). I was stalwart in my position, castigating those who drank excessively and berating their behavior publicly in the newspaper.
I was lauded by the administration (the director of Safety and Security even considered framing the article for the wall of his office). I was laughed at by the students (one wrote to the paper that quite simply, I needed to get a life). And so I closed my mouth out of embarrassment.
Until now. I can't say it enough, after spending a considerable amount of time with slightly younger crowd than myself in the last year, I have observed the stupidity with alcohol is perhaps not even equal to when I was in school, but very likely worse. It's cyclical and of course addictive. Now, in the case of Amanda Jax, her past was riddled with instances of poor choices and a steady pattern of alcoholism. Regardless, is it not worth taking into consideration the environment that has been fostered that approves of dangerous consumption with ease?
In the most cynical and jaded of responses I can have, I find myself reducing the entire matter to the principles of Darwin. Put simply, those not of the capacity to benefit society may very well find themselves removed from it. But Amanda Jax was studying to be a nurse, of which Minnesota and perhaps the country still suffers a shortage of. And believe me, nurses will do more in a week for their patients than I will for my clients in a lifetime. How on earth can this not be regarded as outright tragedy. And without a finger to point in blame except the one on your hand pointing inward.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Bridging Gaps
When I35W fell into the Mississippi over two weeks ago, several opportunities presented themselves to average Minnesotans, politicians, and federal leaders. To average Minnesotans, the opportunity to become a hero in the face of freakish and macabre events availed itself. And like hearty Minnesotans, the opportunity was seized by many. Individuals having been hundreds of yards, perhaps miles from the scene rushed over to aid and rescue the victims of poor engineering and a derelict state government; working with great energy and sense of duty among the other rescue workers, these folks were heroes born of their humanity.
And after any talk of heroes, one must not forget the press, with their excited sensationalism. Anderson Cooper and his crew flying in Minneapolis, perhaps for the first time as this city enjoyed national obscurity before the embarrassment of having an interstate bridge fall like a broken Erector set into the largest river in North America. They sensationalized. They told stories of blind brutality carried out by vile politicians, angry citizens, and a remorseful Governor who quickly reversed his position on a gasoline tax increase. Yes, the media did their duty, exploiting the pain, and intense emotion, and now, they will exploit elsewhere, like a nomadic group of vikings, emotionally plundering each critical event that brings a community to its knees. Minnesota, hopefully, swiftly, falling back into obscurity.
And then there was the opportunity that politicians saw. The DFL, a golden opportunity. Finally, something tangible to rally around and ride the final hopes of a failing national party into the ground. Assigning the total blame of death upon the tight-pursed leaders of cheap government. Yes, they took their shot.
But the most devastating opportunity, which was missed likely on account of total idiocy, was the President's. George W. Bush had a gas tax increase bill in front of him. He had the opportunity to show the House Committee of Transportation, led by a Minnesotan Democrat, that he cared. And maybe that he's right and that the increase will do nothing, but truly, it doesn't matter. People need to feel the support of their government as they travel across wobbly bridges. And how! The bill was vetoed.
Whatever possibility for this president to perhaps ride the coattails of hindsight into a mediocre review in the history books is lost forever. George W. Bush will fade into the same color of history that Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover occupy: the color of failure.
And after any talk of heroes, one must not forget the press, with their excited sensationalism. Anderson Cooper and his crew flying in Minneapolis, perhaps for the first time as this city enjoyed national obscurity before the embarrassment of having an interstate bridge fall like a broken Erector set into the largest river in North America. They sensationalized. They told stories of blind brutality carried out by vile politicians, angry citizens, and a remorseful Governor who quickly reversed his position on a gasoline tax increase. Yes, the media did their duty, exploiting the pain, and intense emotion, and now, they will exploit elsewhere, like a nomadic group of vikings, emotionally plundering each critical event that brings a community to its knees. Minnesota, hopefully, swiftly, falling back into obscurity.
And then there was the opportunity that politicians saw. The DFL, a golden opportunity. Finally, something tangible to rally around and ride the final hopes of a failing national party into the ground. Assigning the total blame of death upon the tight-pursed leaders of cheap government. Yes, they took their shot.
But the most devastating opportunity, which was missed likely on account of total idiocy, was the President's. George W. Bush had a gas tax increase bill in front of him. He had the opportunity to show the House Committee of Transportation, led by a Minnesotan Democrat, that he cared. And maybe that he's right and that the increase will do nothing, but truly, it doesn't matter. People need to feel the support of their government as they travel across wobbly bridges. And how! The bill was vetoed.
Whatever possibility for this president to perhaps ride the coattails of hindsight into a mediocre review in the history books is lost forever. George W. Bush will fade into the same color of history that Andrew Johnson and Herbert Hoover occupy: the color of failure.
Friday, July 20, 2007
When the Smoke Cleared
Well, for what I think is now a comfortable margin of success, I'm prepared to make this stunning announcement that will in no way affect any of your personal lives, but still, here it is: I quit smoking. About two months ago (okay, seven weeks, but I have to grasp here for some encouragement).
I quit for three reasons. Quite simply, cost, health, and increased human interaction. I can't afford this $5.00 a day. That's my monthly rent twice over and then some in a year's time ($1,800.00). Starting to bike more often also nudged me toward it. I struggled up meager hills and found myself gasping for air as angels from heaven prepared for my departure from the world.
Purchasing an entry-level road bike upon quitting for two weeks afforded further encouragement. It became the new addiction. I joined a new club. Left the smokers for the snobby road bikers who I, in all actuality, give care less for and continue to poke fun at with their spandex and synthetic-fiber shirts with the little pocket on the back so they can answer their cell going 25 mph around the lake ("Honey--I'm biking, I can't talk right now." Why did you even answer your phone, polyester bike-ninja man?).
That's tangential, my apologies. I was returning to a legitimate point. I entered a new class of people. The non-smokers. I'm considered friendly, tolerable now. And now I understand it. There really is a whole majority of the population that's willing to poo-poo the smokers to the point of ostracizing them.
It's actually rather pathetic. It's a bad habit. It's no different than constant binge-drinking which seems to be all-the-more acceptable than smoking. And people are willing to draw judgement on this one thing. A therapist friend of mine explained how smoking is often a sign of childhood or adolescent trauma. For many (including myself really), it was a safety behavior. No different than the rocking motions often observed in autistic children.
And perhaps this does translate to others unconsciously (smokers are traumatized people). After all, it is nicely built into the lexicon of characters that the stressed out, angered, or generally "edgy" are always puffing away.
I'm not sure how I should draw my conclusions here. Being honest, I'd rather not be judgemental toward anyone, smoking or not. Alas, I'm human, but my judgement errs on the side of tolerance: you only live once, it's just how long you want to.
I quit for three reasons. Quite simply, cost, health, and increased human interaction. I can't afford this $5.00 a day. That's my monthly rent twice over and then some in a year's time ($1,800.00). Starting to bike more often also nudged me toward it. I struggled up meager hills and found myself gasping for air as angels from heaven prepared for my departure from the world.
Purchasing an entry-level road bike upon quitting for two weeks afforded further encouragement. It became the new addiction. I joined a new club. Left the smokers for the snobby road bikers who I, in all actuality, give care less for and continue to poke fun at with their spandex and synthetic-fiber shirts with the little pocket on the back so they can answer their cell going 25 mph around the lake ("Honey--I'm biking, I can't talk right now." Why did you even answer your phone, polyester bike-ninja man?).
That's tangential, my apologies. I was returning to a legitimate point. I entered a new class of people. The non-smokers. I'm considered friendly, tolerable now. And now I understand it. There really is a whole majority of the population that's willing to poo-poo the smokers to the point of ostracizing them.
It's actually rather pathetic. It's a bad habit. It's no different than constant binge-drinking which seems to be all-the-more acceptable than smoking. And people are willing to draw judgement on this one thing. A therapist friend of mine explained how smoking is often a sign of childhood or adolescent trauma. For many (including myself really), it was a safety behavior. No different than the rocking motions often observed in autistic children.
And perhaps this does translate to others unconsciously (smokers are traumatized people). After all, it is nicely built into the lexicon of characters that the stressed out, angered, or generally "edgy" are always puffing away.
I'm not sure how I should draw my conclusions here. Being honest, I'd rather not be judgemental toward anyone, smoking or not. Alas, I'm human, but my judgement errs on the side of tolerance: you only live once, it's just how long you want to.
Friday, June 29, 2007
A Win for Modesty
Today, the Minneapolis City Council unanimously approved a measure to restrict the size of homes built by placing the designs within proportion to lot size. Several other suburbs have adopted similar measures such as Edina and Minnetonka, as the Star-Tribune reports. And I couldn't be happier thinking about all the psychological connotations that the decision carries.
As the title of this text suggests, I think it's a sign of a possible resurgence among Minnesotans to readily accept and operate their daily lives within the limits of "Minnesotan Modesty." Once thought long gone with the arrival of the "I need a large vehicle because it snows a lot, a large home because I don't want my children having to share rooms, and an enormous boat that I can't afford because I want a large boat that I can't afford" crowd, modesty is perhaps returning, very slowly.
Likely, I think it's due to the price of energy steadily rising over the last decade, and especially since Katrina. But I'd like to think it has something to do with a cognitive shift in Minnesotans. Maybe we're ready to embrace the cultural history of German and Scandinavian roots where penny-pinching and creativity we seen as admirable traits.
But the economy suffers as a result. It's a terrible paradox as we see consumer-spending drop because people don't have money and those who do are saving instead of spending it. Credit card companies are quite possibly the owners of many individuals' critical objects in life (computers, phones, cameras, etc.). It's troubling.
Believing all things are still equal (at least in the world I walk around in), penny-pinching may actually do something for the economy. It may actually spawn second economies. Case and point: craigslist. Everything from bicycles to stuffed animals make their way onto the site and with surprising success rates, manage to get picked up. Not only is it better for the economy, it's incredible what it does for the environment when these things are not recreated and rather recycled.
Returning to my point, the mansions are unnecessary, wasteful, and frankly, serve as testimony to a misguided American ideal of bigger is better. What ever happened to the rule of going up North? Leave the campsite better than when you found it. Seriously, quit leaving the McMansions behind. After all, we can't afford the energy bills on them.
As the title of this text suggests, I think it's a sign of a possible resurgence among Minnesotans to readily accept and operate their daily lives within the limits of "Minnesotan Modesty." Once thought long gone with the arrival of the "I need a large vehicle because it snows a lot, a large home because I don't want my children having to share rooms, and an enormous boat that I can't afford because I want a large boat that I can't afford" crowd, modesty is perhaps returning, very slowly.
Likely, I think it's due to the price of energy steadily rising over the last decade, and especially since Katrina. But I'd like to think it has something to do with a cognitive shift in Minnesotans. Maybe we're ready to embrace the cultural history of German and Scandinavian roots where penny-pinching and creativity we seen as admirable traits.
But the economy suffers as a result. It's a terrible paradox as we see consumer-spending drop because people don't have money and those who do are saving instead of spending it. Credit card companies are quite possibly the owners of many individuals' critical objects in life (computers, phones, cameras, etc.). It's troubling.
Believing all things are still equal (at least in the world I walk around in), penny-pinching may actually do something for the economy. It may actually spawn second economies. Case and point: craigslist. Everything from bicycles to stuffed animals make their way onto the site and with surprising success rates, manage to get picked up. Not only is it better for the economy, it's incredible what it does for the environment when these things are not recreated and rather recycled.
Returning to my point, the mansions are unnecessary, wasteful, and frankly, serve as testimony to a misguided American ideal of bigger is better. What ever happened to the rule of going up North? Leave the campsite better than when you found it. Seriously, quit leaving the McMansions behind. After all, we can't afford the energy bills on them.
Friday, June 8, 2007
"Retirement, What's That?"
Sure, we've heard the joke a number of times from our parents. Believing Social Security will be defunct and the economy in a perpetual state of collapse, they believe they will be working forever. When I say "we" I speak of (not for) the Echo-Boomers (or the more lackadaisically named Generation Y). And we shrug thinking to ourselves, "Well, so be it. Maybe they'll miss out on all that travel they've been planning, but they'll die with a smile on their face because they're at work." This brings up three areas of interest for me.
Firstly, I guess people my age (twenty-somethings) are traveling more. It's not uncommon to quit your job out of college after a year or two and take all that unused salary to travel around for a few months, or even years if you can stretch it. I did. And it was terrific. I'll never regret doing it. Especially as we continue walking to the vicious drumbeat of globalization.
Secondly, I'm noticing that here, and perhaps elsewhere, retirement spells death. I unscientifically attribute it to the Northern European work ethic. Life is work. No work, no life. My grandfather held many different occupations from a fire-fighter, to mayor of Parshall, ND, to Physics instructor. All the while continuing to help his colleagues on their respective farms. He retired at the age of 77 in 1994. It was front page news in the Montrail County News. Arthur Hedberg retires! Who'd a thought?!
Arthur (widowed in 1982, sixth months after my birth) traveled for a year and a half, visiting his children across the country. In the fall of 1996, he came to my father's house for an indefinite stay (my father had been encouraging him to live with us, and not alone in rural North Dakota). Considering it, he passed away in our home over Thanksgiving break. Very quickly in fact. Massive heart attack. After the initial shock, my father said something that surprised me: "He should have never quit working."
And finally, as I was reading the Star-Tribune this morning, I read a report that the Baby-Boomers are working far past typical retirement age. They don't want to stop. And they have plenty of encouragement for and against retirement. Many employers are pushing for retirement. They're older employees, and hence more expensive employees. But my generation seems to have fewer and fewer competent individuals. Now, the story didn't express this. I did. I find that my generation is not interested in what our parents are telling us. Moreover, I think it's very much attributable to the technological divide. We don't trust them. We became the teachers.
Experience is invaluable. The Baby-Boomers have it. We want it but have no patience to acquire it. What are we Echos to do. The first step is to yank those headphones out your ears. The next step is to sit down next to a Baby Boomer and say, "I'm the idiot. I'm sorry I treated you like one when you couldn't find figure out how to burn a CD. Please tell me how I can make this world a better place."
Firstly, I guess people my age (twenty-somethings) are traveling more. It's not uncommon to quit your job out of college after a year or two and take all that unused salary to travel around for a few months, or even years if you can stretch it. I did. And it was terrific. I'll never regret doing it. Especially as we continue walking to the vicious drumbeat of globalization.
Secondly, I'm noticing that here, and perhaps elsewhere, retirement spells death. I unscientifically attribute it to the Northern European work ethic. Life is work. No work, no life. My grandfather held many different occupations from a fire-fighter, to mayor of Parshall, ND, to Physics instructor. All the while continuing to help his colleagues on their respective farms. He retired at the age of 77 in 1994. It was front page news in the Montrail County News. Arthur Hedberg retires! Who'd a thought?!
Arthur (widowed in 1982, sixth months after my birth) traveled for a year and a half, visiting his children across the country. In the fall of 1996, he came to my father's house for an indefinite stay (my father had been encouraging him to live with us, and not alone in rural North Dakota). Considering it, he passed away in our home over Thanksgiving break. Very quickly in fact. Massive heart attack. After the initial shock, my father said something that surprised me: "He should have never quit working."
And finally, as I was reading the Star-Tribune this morning, I read a report that the Baby-Boomers are working far past typical retirement age. They don't want to stop. And they have plenty of encouragement for and against retirement. Many employers are pushing for retirement. They're older employees, and hence more expensive employees. But my generation seems to have fewer and fewer competent individuals. Now, the story didn't express this. I did. I find that my generation is not interested in what our parents are telling us. Moreover, I think it's very much attributable to the technological divide. We don't trust them. We became the teachers.
Experience is invaluable. The Baby-Boomers have it. We want it but have no patience to acquire it. What are we Echos to do. The first step is to yank those headphones out your ears. The next step is to sit down next to a Baby Boomer and say, "I'm the idiot. I'm sorry I treated you like one when you couldn't find figure out how to burn a CD. Please tell me how I can make this world a better place."
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Spirituality and Culture
Dresbach, Minn. has been the backdrop for a tragedy for one Hmong family. A father, mother, and their two children went missing. Presumably now dead from drowning, a search for the bodies has been underway since Saturday.
Earlier this week, Hmong elders from the community along with family members performed a ceremony asking the deities in control of the waters to release the bodies.
Reading the story, I recalled my time working at Steve's Park Amoco (now BP) in Saint Louis Park. After working for there for two years after school daily, I was delighted to meet the new mechanic "Neal." We would soon come to know "Neal" as "Nhia." He was Hmong and soon after his hire, his nephew (of the same age) Meng began work.
The years that followed were marked with a heightened awareness to Hmong culture. Arriving with consistent frequency from Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia, the Hmong population has its roots in the mountains and foothills of Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam (Hmong literally translated means "hill"). During the US "conflict" in Vietnam, they were instrumental in their military aid and intelligence to the US. And in turn, we opened our doors.
In general, the Hmong population has assimilated (remove negative connotation with that word for cynics) very well. Learning English is considered paramount amongst the other pursuits for Hmong immigrants. Many go to college. Many are now working in government, and some even holding public office.
Back to my point. Major events in one's life are often accompanied by a ceremony to demarcate the occasion for posterity. We have weddings and funerals and the same is true for the Hmong population. With so many things in life, it's not the bigger picture that generates thoughtful conversation. The little things do. I noticed Nhia's bracelets. They appeared very much like the bracelets we wove in summer park programs.
He said they were for luck. They guarded against negative spirits and invited positive forces into his life. Then, in my infinite wisdom of twenty-something, I asked him "So do you really believe in all that stuff?" He was polite in his response: "It works if you believe."
Today, one of the bodies in the Mississippi River was recovered.
Earlier this week, Hmong elders from the community along with family members performed a ceremony asking the deities in control of the waters to release the bodies.
Reading the story, I recalled my time working at Steve's Park Amoco (now BP) in Saint Louis Park. After working for there for two years after school daily, I was delighted to meet the new mechanic "Neal." We would soon come to know "Neal" as "Nhia." He was Hmong and soon after his hire, his nephew (of the same age) Meng began work.
The years that followed were marked with a heightened awareness to Hmong culture. Arriving with consistent frequency from Laos, Thailand, and Cambodia, the Hmong population has its roots in the mountains and foothills of Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam (Hmong literally translated means "hill"). During the US "conflict" in Vietnam, they were instrumental in their military aid and intelligence to the US. And in turn, we opened our doors.
In general, the Hmong population has assimilated (remove negative connotation with that word for cynics) very well. Learning English is considered paramount amongst the other pursuits for Hmong immigrants. Many go to college. Many are now working in government, and some even holding public office.
Back to my point. Major events in one's life are often accompanied by a ceremony to demarcate the occasion for posterity. We have weddings and funerals and the same is true for the Hmong population. With so many things in life, it's not the bigger picture that generates thoughtful conversation. The little things do. I noticed Nhia's bracelets. They appeared very much like the bracelets we wove in summer park programs.
He said they were for luck. They guarded against negative spirits and invited positive forces into his life. Then, in my infinite wisdom of twenty-something, I asked him "So do you really believe in all that stuff?" He was polite in his response: "It works if you believe."
Today, one of the bodies in the Mississippi River was recovered.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Buses, Cars, and Bikes
I have three options when I wake up in the morning. The bus picks my groggy backside up less than three blocks from my house and takes on average about twenty minutes. My lonely car usually sits a block from my home and with parking and walking to work, takes roughly twenty minutes also. And then there's my new bike, found on Craigslist two weeks ago. Though I've been struggling to replace certain parts and adjust others, I'm finding that it takes an astounding twelve minutes door-to-door.
There's considerable savings in this as well. Round trip the bus is usually four dollars a day. Parking, with gas, probably works out to ten or twelve dollars a day. Biking is free monetarily.
Here's the rub: staying alive. Though the biking infrastructure in this town has merit, it's terribly underdeveloped. And I don't quite have the deftness or experience (and perhaps absurdity) to ride alongside the cars on the road.
I find my way though. Braking for blind entrances and driveways, intersections, and for pedestrians, I manage to stay alive. But the truth is, I'm often reminded of riding my motorcycle years ago. There are a great number of drivers (in cars) who seem to brush off the presence of motorcyclists and bikers as if they were simply a nuisance. It's really frustrating. They want to go fast and be somewhere. They feel safe and secure enclosed in a vehicle.
I'm out there all alone! And then a biker passes me and reminds me that we're growing in number, slowly reclaiming our lane and letting everyone know, if you run us over, I hope you have an umbrella policy, because we'll hire any number of Minneapolis attorney's salivating at the sight of a vehicle/biker altercation.
Mike Ceresi, thanks for the unintentional protection.
There's considerable savings in this as well. Round trip the bus is usually four dollars a day. Parking, with gas, probably works out to ten or twelve dollars a day. Biking is free monetarily.
Here's the rub: staying alive. Though the biking infrastructure in this town has merit, it's terribly underdeveloped. And I don't quite have the deftness or experience (and perhaps absurdity) to ride alongside the cars on the road.
I find my way though. Braking for blind entrances and driveways, intersections, and for pedestrians, I manage to stay alive. But the truth is, I'm often reminded of riding my motorcycle years ago. There are a great number of drivers (in cars) who seem to brush off the presence of motorcyclists and bikers as if they were simply a nuisance. It's really frustrating. They want to go fast and be somewhere. They feel safe and secure enclosed in a vehicle.
I'm out there all alone! And then a biker passes me and reminds me that we're growing in number, slowly reclaiming our lane and letting everyone know, if you run us over, I hope you have an umbrella policy, because we'll hire any number of Minneapolis attorney's salivating at the sight of a vehicle/biker altercation.
Mike Ceresi, thanks for the unintentional protection.
Wednesday, May 2, 2007
Hatching a Reputation
In my young history of political involvement, I recollect the power with which Mike Hatch, former Attorney General of Minnesota, wielded. Like any well-intentioned Attorney General, he was an ardent consumer-advocate, fighting commercial and personal level scams that attacked the ignorant, the weak, and often, the average Minnesotan.
As he resigned his high-level post a couple of weeks ago, a post established for him to facilitate the transition from his tenure into the new Attorney Generals, Lori Swanson, he leaves behind a sterling reputation polka-dotted with indelible failures.
He attacked insurance companies. He's the reason why I was asked where I wanted my driver's side window fixed when some punk from Edina threw a Hornets' hockey puck through it in February 2006 (Lou Park represent!).
He attacked solicitors. My friend's mother would often fight the telemarketers, or the credit card companies and their constant barrage of mail. She kindly wrote back letters informing each company she was not interested and wanted to be removed from any "lists." under normal circumstances, she would have fallen on deaf ears. But she knew this, and in a calculated move of brilliance, placed at the bottom of each letter "cc: Mike Hatch, Minnesota Attorney General."
She never heard from them again.
I think history will treat Hatch with respect. They will note his failures, and purported favoritism, perhaps cronyism, in handling the Attorney General's office during his tenure. But then again, to beat the bad guys, you have to know them pretty well too. And boy did he beat them.
As he resigned his high-level post a couple of weeks ago, a post established for him to facilitate the transition from his tenure into the new Attorney Generals, Lori Swanson, he leaves behind a sterling reputation polka-dotted with indelible failures.
He attacked insurance companies. He's the reason why I was asked where I wanted my driver's side window fixed when some punk from Edina threw a Hornets' hockey puck through it in February 2006 (Lou Park represent!).
He attacked solicitors. My friend's mother would often fight the telemarketers, or the credit card companies and their constant barrage of mail. She kindly wrote back letters informing each company she was not interested and wanted to be removed from any "lists." under normal circumstances, she would have fallen on deaf ears. But she knew this, and in a calculated move of brilliance, placed at the bottom of each letter "cc: Mike Hatch, Minnesota Attorney General."
She never heard from them again.
I think history will treat Hatch with respect. They will note his failures, and purported favoritism, perhaps cronyism, in handling the Attorney General's office during his tenure. But then again, to beat the bad guys, you have to know them pretty well too. And boy did he beat them.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Wyatt Earp and His Cousin at Legends Bar & Grill
The Minneapolis-St Paul Star-Tribune reports this morning of a story involving a police officer and his cousin (the former on duty in plain clothes and the other, his cousin, a community police liaison) having a delightful cup of coffee.
As two armed men ominously emerged from the bathroom sporting the standard accoutrement of robbers (ski masks), Sgt. Bill Blake was crouched and ready to fire. His cousin reports he shouted "Police" to which the robbers responded by pointing their weapons at Sgt. Bill Blake.
Wyatt Earp never wanted any trouble. Just a clean town with legal gambling. And he was a hero because of his modesty (this prior to his revenge-fueled rampage after the OK Coral). Sgt. Bill Blake is no exception as he fired two rounds. One managed to shattered the gun in one robber's hand (this evidenced by fragments of the firearm found near the bar).
They fled. Sgt. Bill Blake chased them, only to return without them and in ultimate Samaritan fashion, make sure those in the restaurant were okay. One of the robbers actually turned himself in with minor injuries afterward.
Honestly, I still find it difficult to fathom that we allow free and open gun sales in this country. But there's a paradox here inescapable to either Democrat or Republican: what if the government decided to revoke your right to own one? Yes, we read stories more and less tragic than this one involving firearms, perhaps daily.
Arguably, we'd be reading such stories regardless of gun laws and ownership restrictions, but simply involving knives and other crude weapons (I read many of the English-language papers when abroad--it's just good daily reading yarn). By that same token, do we really know that? Just look to our cultural predecessors across the Atlantic. Their firearm laws are far more conservative than our laws. Yet there seems to be some nut who either owns an arsenal of freedom and the British authorities are removing the cache by the armful after arresting the bloke or an individual loses control over good sense and inhibition, locates a gun and rampages through a small town.
We're not alone in our problems. But when my younger brother in college is being asked why America is so violent and deadly by his Spanish language partner across the sea, he politely replies (in broken Spanish) that he has never seen a gun fired in person much less seen anyone shot.
My fear is not getting shot so much as it is when the government is at my front door saying "we repealed the Second Amendment. Hand over all your firearms." Though I won't have any to give them, I will certainly be terrified when the only people in our country with guns are government officials. I've seen that too. It's called Latin America.
As two armed men ominously emerged from the bathroom sporting the standard accoutrement of robbers (ski masks), Sgt. Bill Blake was crouched and ready to fire. His cousin reports he shouted "Police" to which the robbers responded by pointing their weapons at Sgt. Bill Blake.
Wyatt Earp never wanted any trouble. Just a clean town with legal gambling. And he was a hero because of his modesty (this prior to his revenge-fueled rampage after the OK Coral). Sgt. Bill Blake is no exception as he fired two rounds. One managed to shattered the gun in one robber's hand (this evidenced by fragments of the firearm found near the bar).
They fled. Sgt. Bill Blake chased them, only to return without them and in ultimate Samaritan fashion, make sure those in the restaurant were okay. One of the robbers actually turned himself in with minor injuries afterward.
Honestly, I still find it difficult to fathom that we allow free and open gun sales in this country. But there's a paradox here inescapable to either Democrat or Republican: what if the government decided to revoke your right to own one? Yes, we read stories more and less tragic than this one involving firearms, perhaps daily.
Arguably, we'd be reading such stories regardless of gun laws and ownership restrictions, but simply involving knives and other crude weapons (I read many of the English-language papers when abroad--it's just good daily reading yarn). By that same token, do we really know that? Just look to our cultural predecessors across the Atlantic. Their firearm laws are far more conservative than our laws. Yet there seems to be some nut who either owns an arsenal of freedom and the British authorities are removing the cache by the armful after arresting the bloke or an individual loses control over good sense and inhibition, locates a gun and rampages through a small town.
We're not alone in our problems. But when my younger brother in college is being asked why America is so violent and deadly by his Spanish language partner across the sea, he politely replies (in broken Spanish) that he has never seen a gun fired in person much less seen anyone shot.
My fear is not getting shot so much as it is when the government is at my front door saying "we repealed the Second Amendment. Hand over all your firearms." Though I won't have any to give them, I will certainly be terrified when the only people in our country with guns are government officials. I've seen that too. It's called Latin America.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Cleanliness is next to Godliness: Minneapolis Ranked Fifth Cleanest City in the World by Forbes
Let's see, behind a couple of Canadian cities (Calgary and Ottawa), Helsinki, and Honolulu, Minneapolis has appeared to the reporters of Forbes magazine to be the fifth cleanest city in the world. I'm surprised and I'm not. Happy to have beaten out various other Scandinavian cities and a couple of Swiss cities in the top ten, perhaps a closer observation should have been completed before putting us at five.
Though I haven't been to the other three, Helsinki certainly can qualify in my mind. Walking the often damp street in air freshened by the Baltic Sea, the city is indeed clean. Certainly not without its fair share of street crime, but people were generally brisk in the step and all but happy to afford directions.
The only drawback was the sun's appearance (in mid November) of roughly four to five hours. And even then it was really only twilight in photon strength.
Back to my point. Yes, Minneapolis wouldn't strike me as a clean city necessarily. Walking the streets of Downtown regularly, it's not uncommon to find trash floating about in the middle of sidewalks, street, and sometimes the skyways.
We have homeless people too. But I can't say they're bringing down the appearance or general cleanliness of the city. Generally they're pretty harmless. Almost necessary extras in a Shakespearean play, if only for that one quip that makes you appreciate your post in life.
Forbes did their homework though. Making note of variables intrinsic to both cleanliness and environmentally conscious policy, Minneapolis was given credit for, "heavy use of bike lanes ... [and] a well functioning light rail and bus system." Good news for those Metropolitan Council folks.
Critical is my spin, however. So let's look a little closer than the Forbes folks perhaps did. 3M has been feeling the heat for their chemicals being identified in Minnesota waters (more specifically, Lake Calhoun!). Our skyscrapers remain nearly 50% lit at night (a colossal waste of energy--wait, money--in my opinion) and if you live outside of Minneapolis, owning a car is requisite to any normally functioning life.
Yes, we have a light rail, one. It goes to the shopping Mecca of the Continent, airport, and of course, Downtown Minneapolis. Our bus system is admirable, though. And as the morning bus I take gets more crowded it seems, by the week, I know that more light rail is not far behind the cloudy plumes of diesel smoke left in the wake of my bus.
Perhaps the reporter from Forbes noticed people fishing Isles inlet off Dean Parkway and thought people actually take their sunfish home and consume them. And they were probably right. But thinking about it yourself, would you eat the fish out of Isles?
http://www.forbes.com/2007/04/16/worlds-cleanest-cities-biz-logistics-cx_rm_0416cleanest.html
Though I haven't been to the other three, Helsinki certainly can qualify in my mind. Walking the often damp street in air freshened by the Baltic Sea, the city is indeed clean. Certainly not without its fair share of street crime, but people were generally brisk in the step and all but happy to afford directions.
The only drawback was the sun's appearance (in mid November) of roughly four to five hours. And even then it was really only twilight in photon strength.
Back to my point. Yes, Minneapolis wouldn't strike me as a clean city necessarily. Walking the streets of Downtown regularly, it's not uncommon to find trash floating about in the middle of sidewalks, street, and sometimes the skyways.
We have homeless people too. But I can't say they're bringing down the appearance or general cleanliness of the city. Generally they're pretty harmless. Almost necessary extras in a Shakespearean play, if only for that one quip that makes you appreciate your post in life.
Forbes did their homework though. Making note of variables intrinsic to both cleanliness and environmentally conscious policy, Minneapolis was given credit for, "heavy use of bike lanes ... [and] a well functioning light rail and bus system." Good news for those Metropolitan Council folks.
Critical is my spin, however. So let's look a little closer than the Forbes folks perhaps did. 3M has been feeling the heat for their chemicals being identified in Minnesota waters (more specifically, Lake Calhoun!). Our skyscrapers remain nearly 50% lit at night (a colossal waste of energy--wait, money--in my opinion) and if you live outside of Minneapolis, owning a car is requisite to any normally functioning life.
Yes, we have a light rail, one. It goes to the shopping Mecca of the Continent, airport, and of course, Downtown Minneapolis. Our bus system is admirable, though. And as the morning bus I take gets more crowded it seems, by the week, I know that more light rail is not far behind the cloudy plumes of diesel smoke left in the wake of my bus.
Perhaps the reporter from Forbes noticed people fishing Isles inlet off Dean Parkway and thought people actually take their sunfish home and consume them. And they were probably right. But thinking about it yourself, would you eat the fish out of Isles?
http://www.forbes.com/2007/04/16/worlds-cleanest-cities-biz-logistics-cx_rm_0416cleanest.html
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Minnesota Haze
As the Minnesota House of Representatives considers a bill that would ban smoking statewide (instead of the county and city bans we've been witnessing growing like tobacco in South Carolina), I was reminded of a day in February three or four years ago.
Every year, the Minnesota Private College Council organized a highly calculated and micro-managed lobbying day at the Capitol. Private college students from around the state (the organization is comprised of 17 private colleges and universities around the state and include all the standard Minnesota household names like Carlton, St. John's, St. Olaf, Gustavus Adolphus, etc.) would ascend the Capitol's meager hill and start hitting up their representatives and senators for a confirmed vote to continue the Minnesota State Grant funding.
The State Grant was a blessing for people like me who were always strapped for cash. It was really an enormous grant as well and the private colleges couldn't say enough of it as a benefit for students. But as legislation goes in an ever-increasing anti-intellectual society dominated by cutting taxes and funding nation-building projects, these grants were threatened. I dare make a pun here, but our college administrations did not want us to take this funding for granted.
Staring blankly at my Representative Ron Latz, formerly of 44A (and my former home), I realized I was being rude. Latz had just confirmed his support for the State Grant funding. But then he seized the opportunity of having real constituents in his office to prove his worth as a public servant.
He had just asked me what I thought of his very own bill that he introduced. A statewide smoking ban. I laughed. "Why on earth do you care about cigarette smoke. Shouldn't you be focusing your legislative efforts to put more patrol cars on the streets. Smoking may kill, but drunk drivers kill faster," I rocketed back.
He didn't like that. And rightly so. I'm brash for the sake of being brash at times, admittedly. Indeed, I had not considered the health of the individuals who work in bars and restaurants. Regardless, god forbid any new law create more difficult circumstances for a smoker, what might happen--I quit?
But then again, when I step outside to have a smoke during a happy hour, I somehow manage to start talking to a bar tender on break, having a cigarette.
Every year, the Minnesota Private College Council organized a highly calculated and micro-managed lobbying day at the Capitol. Private college students from around the state (the organization is comprised of 17 private colleges and universities around the state and include all the standard Minnesota household names like Carlton, St. John's, St. Olaf, Gustavus Adolphus, etc.) would ascend the Capitol's meager hill and start hitting up their representatives and senators for a confirmed vote to continue the Minnesota State Grant funding.
The State Grant was a blessing for people like me who were always strapped for cash. It was really an enormous grant as well and the private colleges couldn't say enough of it as a benefit for students. But as legislation goes in an ever-increasing anti-intellectual society dominated by cutting taxes and funding nation-building projects, these grants were threatened. I dare make a pun here, but our college administrations did not want us to take this funding for granted.
Staring blankly at my Representative Ron Latz, formerly of 44A (and my former home), I realized I was being rude. Latz had just confirmed his support for the State Grant funding. But then he seized the opportunity of having real constituents in his office to prove his worth as a public servant.
He had just asked me what I thought of his very own bill that he introduced. A statewide smoking ban. I laughed. "Why on earth do you care about cigarette smoke. Shouldn't you be focusing your legislative efforts to put more patrol cars on the streets. Smoking may kill, but drunk drivers kill faster," I rocketed back.
He didn't like that. And rightly so. I'm brash for the sake of being brash at times, admittedly. Indeed, I had not considered the health of the individuals who work in bars and restaurants. Regardless, god forbid any new law create more difficult circumstances for a smoker, what might happen--I quit?
But then again, when I step outside to have a smoke during a happy hour, I somehow manage to start talking to a bar tender on break, having a cigarette.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
On Being Amble
One of the pleasures in my life is working Downtown. The IDS Center may seem like an enormous glass cage on a bad day, but the Crystal Court is the ultimate "Town Square" of Minneapolis. This means that the new, improved, and exciting all premier here.
Today being no exception, Metro Transit (http://www.metrotransit.org/) and a couple of other municipal transit and park authorities gathered to attract the attention of current and prospective mass-transit riders.
I signed the "Commuter Challenge" with ease being the daily rider that I am. While more than happy to count myself among record numbers of riders in the metropolitan area, I really just want to win that flat screen television.
My efforts are not entirely selfish, to be sure. I spoke to a Metro Transit representative about the University Corridor, due to start tramming around in 2014. While I've heard the argument off-hand that salaries in St. Paul are lower than in Minneapolis, and there had been considerable recalcitrance to the proposed railway because of it, I was surprised when the representative could not speak the effect of this discrepancy between the cities, nor could she verify development obstruction because of it. The purported obstructionists believed a small economic meltdown would occur is a simple, fast, effective corridor would be available.
Moving on, she did make note of the double-edged sword that will perhaps lacerate business owners along University Avenue. Whereas business owners, regardless of property ownership, might find the downtime caused by construction a wonderful opportunity to close and refurbish their store fronts and interiors, the value of the property will likely sky-rocket once the LRT is in operation (as property has along Hiawatha), perhaps crippling their business in high rent or property tax debt. The question is, will the new pedestrian and rail traffic bring more customers than ever to the establishments?
Time will furnish such answers. And I have no patience. Not after living in Geneva and Warsaw. I can't convey my enthusiasm for light rail. When it works, it works. And my word, to live in a city where a car is not requisite to daily life? Where would we put the choir of angels who whisk away the noise, smell, congestion, and oft-aloof Minnesota drivers? I'm just not hearing them yet.
Today being no exception, Metro Transit (http://www.metrotransit.org/) and a couple of other municipal transit and park authorities gathered to attract the attention of current and prospective mass-transit riders.
I signed the "Commuter Challenge" with ease being the daily rider that I am. While more than happy to count myself among record numbers of riders in the metropolitan area, I really just want to win that flat screen television.
My efforts are not entirely selfish, to be sure. I spoke to a Metro Transit representative about the University Corridor, due to start tramming around in 2014. While I've heard the argument off-hand that salaries in St. Paul are lower than in Minneapolis, and there had been considerable recalcitrance to the proposed railway because of it, I was surprised when the representative could not speak the effect of this discrepancy between the cities, nor could she verify development obstruction because of it. The purported obstructionists believed a small economic meltdown would occur is a simple, fast, effective corridor would be available.
Moving on, she did make note of the double-edged sword that will perhaps lacerate business owners along University Avenue. Whereas business owners, regardless of property ownership, might find the downtime caused by construction a wonderful opportunity to close and refurbish their store fronts and interiors, the value of the property will likely sky-rocket once the LRT is in operation (as property has along Hiawatha), perhaps crippling their business in high rent or property tax debt. The question is, will the new pedestrian and rail traffic bring more customers than ever to the establishments?
Time will furnish such answers. And I have no patience. Not after living in Geneva and Warsaw. I can't convey my enthusiasm for light rail. When it works, it works. And my word, to live in a city where a car is not requisite to daily life? Where would we put the choir of angels who whisk away the noise, smell, congestion, and oft-aloof Minnesota drivers? I'm just not hearing them yet.
Gaia Found a Way, This Time
It's no secret to those around me on a daily basis that I have often fallen victim to media disease. It's an ailment that has be omnipresent since the dawn of Gutenberg and his press. Nothing sells like blood and fear. It's arguably the epitome of a cash cow in the field of journalism.
My latest symptoms include a dangerous obsession with and vulnerability to weather. No, I'm not fearing tornadoes, thunderclaps, or biblical hurricanes. I am paralyzed by the notion that by 2050, we'll find this planet to be a terribly overpopulated, water scarce, and pestilence-ridden home to blast-furnace heat. And devoid of polar bears.
Well, as long as my symptoms have shifted this way for a considerably long period of time (this began when I saw former Vice President Gore's film "An Inconvenient Truth" in Santa Monica during the 2006 July heat waves), I took small steps and actions.
I don't buy trash-can liners. Accumulating plastic bags at an astounding rate (since I just moved into a new apartment and find myself driving once a week to Ikea and Target because I never thought to purchase a pizza-cutter--who does?), my collection suffices for the aforementioned purpose. We've all heard it: "Why buy something you're just going to throw away?"
Downtown Minneapolis may be home to some of the most ample parking facilities known to the modern world, it doesn't change the reality that is costs ten dollars a day to park. I ride the bus, and can happily admit to doing so out of financial rationality.
All the light bulbs in my apartment are fluorescent. I have neatly placed all the incandescents in a small plastic bag which will be turned over to my landlord upon moving out. The other bag I'll be holding will be filled with my fluorescent bulbs, because I'll be reusing them in my next home.
Chicago is a popular destination for me as my brother resides there. Going roughly three or four times a year can be costly via air. Thus I opt for the Megabus (www.megabus.com). It's the poor man's way to travel, but the funky-hip edge of their advertising and comfort of their buses eclipses any pauper-ish sentiments that may arise.
The list is extensive. More to the point, it yields an important introspective conclusion: I'm cheap. Never mind about the earth, these actions have been taken out sheer penny-pinching. My behavior is so easily validated though. People around me call me cheap.
I fire back: "I'm saving the planet."
My latest symptoms include a dangerous obsession with and vulnerability to weather. No, I'm not fearing tornadoes, thunderclaps, or biblical hurricanes. I am paralyzed by the notion that by 2050, we'll find this planet to be a terribly overpopulated, water scarce, and pestilence-ridden home to blast-furnace heat. And devoid of polar bears.
Well, as long as my symptoms have shifted this way for a considerably long period of time (this began when I saw former Vice President Gore's film "An Inconvenient Truth" in Santa Monica during the 2006 July heat waves), I took small steps and actions.
I don't buy trash-can liners. Accumulating plastic bags at an astounding rate (since I just moved into a new apartment and find myself driving once a week to Ikea and Target because I never thought to purchase a pizza-cutter--who does?), my collection suffices for the aforementioned purpose. We've all heard it: "Why buy something you're just going to throw away?"
Downtown Minneapolis may be home to some of the most ample parking facilities known to the modern world, it doesn't change the reality that is costs ten dollars a day to park. I ride the bus, and can happily admit to doing so out of financial rationality.
All the light bulbs in my apartment are fluorescent. I have neatly placed all the incandescents in a small plastic bag which will be turned over to my landlord upon moving out. The other bag I'll be holding will be filled with my fluorescent bulbs, because I'll be reusing them in my next home.
Chicago is a popular destination for me as my brother resides there. Going roughly three or four times a year can be costly via air. Thus I opt for the Megabus (www.megabus.com). It's the poor man's way to travel, but the funky-hip edge of their advertising and comfort of their buses eclipses any pauper-ish sentiments that may arise.
The list is extensive. More to the point, it yields an important introspective conclusion: I'm cheap. Never mind about the earth, these actions have been taken out sheer penny-pinching. My behavior is so easily validated though. People around me call me cheap.
I fire back: "I'm saving the planet."
An Explaination
It was a difficult decision to make. Having just arrived at O'Hare in Chicago, I realized my absence was indeed yielding what many ex-Patriots refer to as "Reverse Culture Shock." Three and a half months gone (see link to travel blog, "Freelancing Eastern Europe"), wandering a number of European and South American cities.
I had lunch with an editor of a major daily in Minneapolis, who after considerable encouragement, persuaded me to distill my observations and understandings of this world down to words, on a local level. And here are the fruits of my labor.
I had lunch with an editor of a major daily in Minneapolis, who after considerable encouragement, persuaded me to distill my observations and understandings of this world down to words, on a local level. And here are the fruits of my labor.
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