Here and There

A friend posted a cool little map of all the states he’s been to. He also provided a link to the site that generates the maps for you. I couldn’t resist.

By the way, when I turned 30 two years ago, I wanted to have visited all 50. Oh well.

While we were in Seattle last weekend, it occurred to me: though I’d probably never move there, there’s a lot of things that town is doing right that San Francisco gets wrong.

So now that I’ve had time and distance to reflect more, I decided to write about it.

I can break into two basic categories: people and economy.

On the people tip, first I’ll just say that people in Seattle are nice. My girlfriend (who spent some time growing up and going to college there) and I noticed this several visits ago. But it had been about three years since we were there, and absence definitely made the heart grow fonder.

Everyone, from the people making your coffee, to friends and friends of friends, to people at the hotel front desk, to just random strangers on the street, they’re all just nice. No sticks up anyone’s ass or chips on any shoulders. Maybe it’s the weather that fosters a sense of community, the idea that we’re all in this shit together so let’s get along. Maybe it’s being surrounded by so much bad fashion, the stigma of grunge and flannel and Birkenstocks. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, you just don’t encounter self-indulgence the way you do in San Francisco.

Which leads me a second people-oriented observation: in Seattle, hot shots are hard to find. There is a fashion-conscious set out and about, but nothing that pretends it’s better than you. No one looks down their noses at passersby.

Contrast that with spike-belted, tattoo-sleeved, pretentious hat-wearing, five (or ten) o’clock shadow-sporting San Franciscans. Of course, there’s a lot more to it than appearance, but that’s what strikes you first.

So many people, guys and girls, walk around this city like they own the place, and they’re not about to share their toys. I just wonder: what exactly is it that makes them so cool? Maybe they’re in a band. Maybe they have a cush J-O-B. Maybe they date the hottest guy or girl in town. My response: So what?

My philosophy is, I don’t care what you do with your life, how much you contribute to the betterment of society. If you can’t be nice, normal, humble even, you’re useless. It’s just the idea of “cool” worn over an empty shell.

Pardon my ranting, but again, it was nice to visit a town that I believe has been contributing more to the human creative endeavor lately than SF, and not encounter anyone anywhere close to what I’ve described here.

Now on to the economic aspects. I quickly noticed in Seattle that there’s no shortage of neat little stores, cafés, and restaurants in neighborhoods citywide. From Fremont and Wallingford to Capitol Hill, Bell Town, and the Pine/Pike Corridor, businesses in Seattle lure a wide range of people, not just those who whimsically decide to take break from shopping at Neiman Marcus and hit up the more Bohemian shops.

So, I started to put two and two together. Why and how does Seattle have all this entrepreneurial innovation, while a new business in San Francisco, no matter the neighborhood, is a ritzy gallery or cuisine of nothing the common folk can afford? It’s got to be real estate and politics. Got to be.

I plan on looking into this matter more in-depth in the coming months. I want to know what people opening a business in San Francisco face, versus what people in Seattle are up against. It can’t be that Seattleites are more wealthy. My suspicions are:

1) There’s less bureaucracy in Seattle. Less red-tape. Fewer mindless neighborhood activist types. And of course…
2) A more realistic real estate market. A market that actually encourages innovation and fun.

I don’t know how many store fronts I’ve seen boarded up in San Francisco since my visit just before deciding to move here, back in April 2000. If I had time, I’d look into them all, get the story of why this is allowed. Of course, that’s a huge story that would take me to City Hall and phone conversations with wealthy property owners in other area codes, if not other states.

But maybe I’ll just have to become that investigative reporter I’ve always longed to read. With graduation just around the corner, maybe I’ll time.

Either way, I want to get to the bottom of why a less populous city like Seattle knows how to do this so much better than San Francisco. It’s a complicated question that I’m sure demands a complex answer.

On a similar note, Mark Morford’s column today perfect sums up a growing frustration we’ve been having: loving life in the city while simultaneously being fed up with just about every aspect of it. And the Sphinx riddle: how to have the best of both worlds, city and non-city. I’ll go on scratching my head and stepping on the broken glass, used syringes, and semi-dried loogies.

Ah, forbidden love.

Brokeback Mountain opens with a very peaceful, dull scene: a postcard slice of Americana. A truck crwaling at dawn over the hills of the middle continental, outside a town we learn is called Signal, Wyoming. The year is 1963.

A very chiseled, yet rugged Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) emerges in the cold morning breeze. He is soon joined by Jack Twist (played by Jake Gyllenhaal), an even more rugged, less uptight, but similarly cowboy-hatted individual. The men await the arrival of their employer, and as they wait, a few awkward but foreshadowing glances are exchanged.

The story gets going with the two young men herding sheep through the eponymous range. Over the course of an indeterminate amount of time (a few days or two weeks?), they grow closer. First, the stoic Ennis opens up over campfire, telling his spontaneous friend about his upbringing.

Next night, Ennis takes a few too many sips from the communal fifth of whiskey, and forgets to go play cowboy and protect the sheep from big bad coyotes. He drunkenly insists on sleeping outside, next to the campfire. Patent homophobia, especially after the jovial Twist invites him in to share the warmth (who knew if his plot was already simmering in his mind?).

One thing leads to another, and twenty years later, the men, now well-worn into their separate lives as husbands and fathers, are still participants in a love that hasn’t fully come to terms with itself.

This movie perfectly captures all the imperfections of love, whether we’re talking woman-man or same-sex. And amplify that perfection by the thousands when you set the tale in rural Wyoming circa mid-twentieth century, as this movie is.

I have a new favorite director, based on just two (and a half) of his films. In much the same quiet beauty that director Ang Lee lent to his 1997 film The Ice Storm, this movie doesn’t force any message down our throats. Instead, it eerily and effectively draws its audience into the lives of everyday people (I know what you’re thinking: bisexual cowboys aren’t exactly “everyday”), and tells a human story through them. Basic story telling. A morality play, you could say.

The message in this movie is that love is this beast that does nothing more than consume people, for better or worse, or for both.

One of the most telling scenes is when Jack and Ennis first see each other after their first fateful summer on Brokeback Mountain. It’s four years later, and Ennis is married with two kids. But when his teenage love shows up, he drops the family like a hot pot. He runs down the stairs to greet his friend, and they immediately and passionately proceed to do the tongue tango.

Lee’s make-out and sex scenes are so realistic, typically done in one shot and with objects blocking the frame. Especially in the tent, you get a real sense of place, emotion, and mood.

The leading men’s performances are breathtaking. This is the second movie in a row I’ve seen starring Jake Gyllenhaal, this one and Jarhead. Wow. I mean, Donnie Darko was a great film, don’t get me wrong. But I feel like I blinked and Gyllenhaal became a phenomenal actor.

Ledger’s performance in this movie was even more riveting, if only because it was the first time I’ve seen him act. His character was more complex, with more secrets, more conflict, more shame, and less words. Any time a leading man is a quiet guy, the actor is in for a challenge, and Ledger aced this one.

I feel obliged to end this review with a star rating or something. I was always more partial to the “out-of-ten” system. This movie gets an 8.5. It comes out in NYC and SF December 9.

Levi’s USA no longer sells any courduroy pants for men. This troubles me.

I’m in Seattle, and somehow I just knew I’d find a pair here. Sure enough, I did today at Red Light in Capitol Hill. I swear, I walked right in, went straight to the rack of cords, and there they were: within the five pairs of 33-inch waisted-pants was the pair of black Levi’s cords I’ve been after for a few years. As I tried them on, I actually thought about wearing them out of the store, little kid style.

Let’s see, what else can I write about? I know…

Just a general observation. I have a sneaking suspicion that the majority of Seattleites take their coffee houses for granted. Coming from San Francisco, it’s both refreshing and inspiring to see so much coffee being served all over the damn place. Sure, the grass is always greener (i.e., coffee SUCKS in the Bay Area), but I just appreciate a community that takes the art of coffee seriously. And it doesn’t hurt that it all tastes amazing, either.

Any other Seattle stereotypes I can touch on? Hmmm…

Oh yeah, it rained all day today.

Other than that, I think I’ve run out. I won’t be donning any flannel and going to the Soundgarden show. Nor will I hit up REI and strap on my Birkenstocks. Nope, we’re just gonna have dinner with friends and maybe go for drinks somewhere.

I’m on vacation and feel obliged to write. I’ve been following Jason Kottke’s travels through southeast Asia, and I’m amazed at how much this guy writes. I seriously wonder if he was time to see anything, because he’s always freakin’ writing about it.

So this is my first ever semi-obligatory travel blog.

Anyway, we’re up in Seattle tonight. Spent last night and most of today near Tenino, Washington at my girlfriend’s dad’s farm. It was nice to get in late last night, after some hellish traffic south of Portland, Oregon.

The air up here is amazing, and after the recent heat we’ve seen in the Bay Area, cooler temperatures were actually refreshing too.

Thanksgiving dinner was no let down. I won’t itemize what we ate, because it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Oh, except for this thing, which her dad grew himself:


After dinner, we went to a step-relative’s house, where we were greeted by a llama:

Then it was on to Seattle and the Seattle Pacific Hotel, which is where I am right now. Granted, I don’t travel half as much as I wish I did, but I’m really happy that the hotel has free (yes, free) wireless. The woman at the counter almost acted like I was from another planet when I double-checked that there was no charge.

Wireless Internet makes me happy. When I think about the ways in which we’re moving backwards as a species; when I reflect on what a let down the future of my childhood has turned out to be; when I rant about the things we can’t do, I say to myself, Well, at least they’ve managed wireless Internet.

I’d also like to point out, however randomly, that the very affordable Seattle Pacific was kind enough to leave a copy of this week’s The Stranger on a table in our room. For those not familiar, this is possibly the best free weekly in the country. Totally self-deprecating. Hilariously irreverent. Worth getting your hands a little dirty for.

I should be writing more in the next few days. Stay tuned.

I love Vice.

For those who aren’t familiar, it’s a magazine published out of Montreal and New York. But that’s the simplified version.

It’s more like the new definition of irreverence and comedy. Only, it’s not new. Each month for the past 12 years, Vice has lambasted and lampooned and pillaged and squandered, plundered, pilfered, and ravaged everyone and everything. (I’d love to see what they’d do to this page.)

Standard favorites include:

Vice Mail, where the editors basically set random readers up to have new ones ripped in a public setting. I tend to think it can’t get funnier than this section, until I get to DOs and DON’Ts.

Tidbits, in which the editors comment on artifacts of pop culture, typically products with names that either lend themselves to double entendres or are just goofy.

DOs and DON’Ts, in my (and many others’) opinion, the crowning achievement of the Vice endeavor. Never predictable, always viciously crude, and the funniest shit you’ll ever read and set eyes on.

The rest of the pages are filled with the most random (but obvious and engaging) mishmash of anything and everything. For example, I just read “Stalking for Beginners” in the Immersionism Issue (Vol. 12 No. 10). I flipped the pages to see a photo timeline of a Hasidic wedding, complete with veiled bride and a Hasid rolling a joint.

Did I mention it’s free? If you find it around town (typically in music stores and places like American Apparel), pick up a copy at no charge. You can also pay $30 a year to subscribe (get over it: you get a “free” CD each month, in addition to being lazy and having a wonderful magazine delivered to you).

I’m plugging the magazine so hard because I used to subscribe, and haven’t seen it since my subscription ran out about a year ago. I miss it, and realized just how much when I read the latest issue.

I don’t wanna give too much away. Though it makes good party conversation topics, Vice is best enjoyed alone. Go get it.

PS: Vice also published a collection of DOs and DON’Ts in book form. It makes a great holiday gift…

Tonight, I saw Ira Glass, host of NPR’s This American Life, and Chris Ware, comic artist and creator of Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth. They spoke in Berkeley, and the subject was storytelling.

I hope that introduction didn’t bore anyone, or discourage you from reading on. What I want to comment on, in addition to simply saying that the evening was totally inspiring, are a few comments Glass made.

First, in reference to some of his show’s stories about Hurricane Katrina, Glass said, “With coverage, you want to be there. If you’re the broadcaster, you don’t want to just offer the viewer or listener a glimpse in. You want to put them in, as close to the action or scene as you possibly can.”

Glass gave TAL, appropriately, props for doing just that with their reports from New Orleans in September. In clips Glass played for the audience tonight, reporter Sarah Koenig’s emotion came through in her real-time reactions to what she was seeing, namely tombs and caskets washed up to the side of the road. She also ended up laughing, surreally enough, when she saw a tree that destroyed a subject’s home completely. It was absurd laughter, the kind that comes out when you’ve seen the worst of all possible situations.

The other thing I really took to heart tonight was when Glass talked about the artificiality of interviews, in general. But he seemed to glide right over that point, and anyone who’s listened to the radio program knows it’s built largely around the interview.

I really appreciated that Glass said, “Interviews are like parties, and you [the journalist] are the host. You set the tone.”

I’m no pro (literally, haha), but I totally agree, and have noticed that in my own interviewing. I try to make it as much a conversation as I can. I try to relate to the person I’m talking with. I have questions in mind, sure, but I like to let the answers unravel as naturally as possible. I also like to interject humor, to make as personable a situation as possible, so that the person talking with me trusts me.

Okay, okay, enough about me. I promised a long time ago this blog wouldn’t be about me. Sorry.

I’ll end with the best quote of the night. UC Berkeley played USC in football tonight, and by the time we got out of BART, loud, big, obnoxious people in red shirts and red caps were every-freaking-where. Glass was talking about Katrina coverage, and said something about “the convention center and the Super…is it dome or bowl? I never remember.” The audience reminded him of the answer, to which he quipped back, “oh yeah, and by the way, USC sucks.”

*Today’s entry is a response to Tom Friedman’s column “Forgotten Center,” which ran in The New York Times. Because I’m not savvy enough to know how to link to articles in The Times, I will pull excerpts for your reference.

Dear Mr. Friedman,

I just read your column “Forgotten Center” in The Times. I agree with you that one thing our country lacks is a truly rooted discourse; that in a certain sense, the extremes have hijacked the two political parties. You write:

Clearly, the way voting districts have been gerrymandered in America, thanks to the Voting Rights Act and Tom DeLay-like political manipulations, is a big part of the problem. As a result of this gerrymandering, only a small fraction of the seats in the U.S. Congress and state legislatures are really contested anymore. Therefore, few candidates have to build cross-party coalitions around the middle. (bold is mine)

I take issue, however, with such a quick and easy comparison. Hillary Rodham Clinton, John Kerry, John Edwards, and Howard Dean (arguably the four most prominent Democrats on the national stage) are all close to the mold of Clinton centrists. While each may hold an opinion or two more liberal than Bill, they all fall closer to him than to FDR (our last truly liberal president).

In another paragraph, you write:

This is a real dilemma because a vast majority of Americans are just center-left or center-right. Many surely feel disenfranchised by today’s far-left, far-right Congress. (bold is mine)

I would argue that in today’s Congress, there are few far-left legislators.

The same is not true, though, for Republicans. Extremely conservative politicians have taken over that party, creating a situation in which Republican centrists like McCain or Giuliani start to look attractive to traditionally Democratic-leaning voters.

To me, another vital issue (in addition to gerrymandering, which has certainly wreaked its havoc on American politics) is the tacking to the right of the entire political structure. In order to defeat Bush 41, Democrats propped up their most centrist (and likable) candidate. That moment (and Dole’s failed candidacy four years later) nudged the spectrum just enough so that conservatives were able to grab the spotlight from the failed curmudgeons of the party’s past. Since the moment Bush 43 announced his candidacy, conservatives and evangelicals rejoiced, and we’ve been stuck with the situation we have today.

I don’t only blame Republicans. Democrats facilitated the slide by becoming DINOs (Democrats in Name Only). I only regret the fact that more Republican politicians couldn’t meet them in the middle.

…planks of wood, and if we were lucky, a Kodak Disc camera.

Not so these days.

Found this about the “fairness” craze in America. Hahahahahaha…love it.

For those not privy to picking up a copy of the latest two issues of [X]Press Magazine, you can now read what really matters most: my stories.

First, my review of Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything.

Then, the feature I co-wrote with Kristin Curtin, To Breed or Not To Breed, a look at the growing popularity of not having kids.

Last issue, I wrote a brief about what author Ariel Levy calls “raunch culture.” Fun stuff.

Since I’m graduating soon, I’m practicing shameless self-promotion here. I hope you, my devoted four readers, don’t mind.

Next entry—How good I am in bed: Confessions of my exes.

David Gong was a great dentist. I found him totally by accident, through the health plan I had several jobs ago. I first saw him in 2001, and knew right away I had finally found a doctor I liked and could trust.

I continued seeing him, every six months, even after I left that job and got onto a new plan. I paid that extra whatever-it-was for the privilege of visiting his office, being company to his pleasant and informative conversations.

Gong never talked down to me, the way some doctors do. He always had fun things to talk about, whether it was the latest Mac, cool stuff about photography and things he had shot, or deep sea fishing. He was the epitome of humble.

I had to give him up as a regular dentist when I decided to go back to school in fall 2003. I told myself as soon I graduate (next month), I’d give his office a call and get back on schedule. The last time I reminded myself of this need was about a month ago.

Then I got a letter saying they were sorry, but because Dr. Gong passed away, several other dentists were stepping in to take care of his patients. I was stunned. Besides being so full of life, Gong seemed on the younger side of “adult with kids.” I later found out he was 56.

Today, I randomly looked into the cause of death, and now, 12 hours later, I’m still in a bit of shock. Turns out I didn’t hear about this because I was in production for the school magazine last weekend, but Gong was shot and killed on Thursday, October 27 outside his office.

The shooter was a former patient who experienced gum disease, but hadn’t been to see Gong in several years. There were no official complaints or evidence of animosity.

After the point-blank range shooting, Gong struggled to get away, and fell to the ground. The gunman went over and finished the job, then got his own car and killed himself.

The whole thing is so disgusting and confusing and frustrating. It doesn’t change at all how I feel about guns: Of course it isn’t guns that kill people; it’s people. But the fact that someone capable of such a foul act was A) roaming the streets, and B) able to acquire a gun so easily is just flat wrong. What happened to the system that’s supposed to protect us? What happened to the mental health system that’s supposed to be there to treat people with problems?

I find it very, very difficult to believe a man can suddenly snap one day, walk out of his house, and murder his dentist. This story, as tragic as it is on its own, is indicative of how much the “system” fails all of us.

Like I said, I’m still in shock. Sorry for the downer.

The October 31, 2005 issue of The New Yorker contains an article by neurologist Oliver Sacks (author of Awakenings) about aphasia. Aphasia is a neurological condition, often brought on by stroke, head trauma, and brain tumors, in which the patient loses his or her ability to speak in language.

But I’m not here to give a science lesson. I’ll leave that to Sacks’s article and Wikipedia.

Instead I want to talk about something Sacks touches on in his article. Singing.

Sacks’s main character, whom he calls Patricia H., acquires aphasia late in life, but over the course of several years of being institutionalized, starts developing certain ways of communicating. One of them is singing.

Sacks writes, “Pat was able to get the feeling of the music, and some of the words, in a sing-song fashion. She started carrying a tape recorder with a cassette of familiar songs, so she could get her language powers working…

“Music therapy is invaluable for some patients with expressive aphasia, who, finding they can sing the words to a song, are reassured that language is not wholly lost, that they still have access to words somewhere inside them.”

This point isn’t huge for Sacks, but it immediately brought to mind my own experience with songs and music. I’ve always wondered why I have perfect pitch inside my head, but once I open my mouth, glass shatters and people cringe? Why are some people able to make a perfect translate between the melodies in their brains and the sound their mouths produce?

Why will I be able to always, always remember the words to obscure ’80s songs, and even some of the most random guitar and saxaphone solos from the same era, but I have no idea what I ate for lunch two days ago?

The answer is clear: songs and music occupy a different part of our brains than do language and representational thought. I’m so curious about how our brains work, so I promise after I’m out of school, I’ll look more into that difference, and I’ll report on it here.

Will someone please explain to me why Google Local sucks?

Before it went live a few months ago, Local was one of my most trusted and favorite of the Google buffet. Compared to sites like switchboard.com or MapQuest, Google Local (when it was still in beta) offered simplicity, speed, accuracy, and elegance.

Nix all that. Since going live, the address local.google.com takes a really amateurish amount of time to load. Even after it has apparently loaded, a cooling down period is needed until the user can type a query in the search field.

After sending the information, go make a sandwich or take a nap. Or better yet, just go ahead and force quit your browser, cuz you’re not getting an answer anytime this decade.

My hunch is that it has to do with Google’s incorporation of Google Maps (another superior service, on its own) into the Local platform. But is this some kind of an oil and water not mixing problem? I mean, really, double-yoo-tee-eff? Two perfectly good products that make strange bedfellows? It happens…

Is it also any coincidence that Google stock is pushing $400 per share? Are they somehow on gluttony auto-pilot? Please, someone riddle me these questions…

* For interested geeks, I’m on an iBook G4 1.42 GHz PowerPC with 1 GB DDR SDRAM. I’m running OS X 10.4.3, and use Safari 2.0.1 (412.5). Like I said, I’ve only encountered this clunkiness since Local went live a couple of months ago.

And by way of disclaimer, I’m fully ready to admit that I’m doing something wrong here. I just need someone to point out what that something is.