Finding the Fun

Courtesy of myklroventine (Flickr)

It occurred to me today that I have had a serious dearth of fun for the last couple of years, and I think it’s time for a return to the days of yore.

Of course, I am pretty particular when it comes to fun-having. Other people are rarely involved. Sometimes there is a sense of adventure involved, like exploring a foreign city alone, or doing something completely new and kinda crazy, like Zoobombing. I think crosswords are pretty awesome fun, especially the New York Times Crossword, Monday through Wednesday. Or watching Marx Brothers movies or the like.

These days though, I have to keep to a schedule so much that my mind is turning to mush. No time for crosswords or movies. In my spare time, I’m trying to slowly chip away at larger goals, like getting rid of a bunch of the stuff cluttering up my house, and working on my publishing portfolio. Of course there are all of the things necessary to perpetuate the drudgery of every day living: grocery shopping and laundry-tending on Sundays, my job (including the two hour daily round trip), taking Atticus to the park every morning, and so on. And a couple of budding friendships seem to have turned sour.

Have you been in this situation? What have you done to reintroduce fun into your life? Got any ideas to share?

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Motherlode of Maps!

After I read The Car and the City, I went looking for more information about the author, and inadvertently struck a motherlode of informational graphics and maps produced by the Sightline Institute in Seattle!

(Click on the maps for a larger version.)

What I particularly love about these graphics are that they all refer to Cascadia, seen here:

Ever been curious about life expectancy in our region?

How about seeing the clearcutting of the central Cascades?

Consider the lost range of the gray wolf:

In addition to maps, there are informative charts and other graphics, like this comparison of the Dow Jones average to the median Oregon income:

(OUCH!)

Sightline has tons of other maps and graphics available, and they have a clear free use policy, as well as low, medium, and high-resolution versions available for download. What a great find!

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Books to Read on the Bus

Spring continues to offer some pretty chilly mornings in Portland, so I’ve been riding the bus more than I care to admit. One of the things I like to do when I ride the bus is read, which offers a perfect environment for the titles I’ve been delving into lately.

So without further ado, here are some great books to read on the bus (since you probably shouldn’t read on your bike):

• The Car and the City
Out of print, but available sometimes through Powell’s or always online as a PDF!

This report may have been written in 1996, but it still holds up as a succinct summation of why urban planning that is solely dedicated to the car is completely unhealthy. What’s even better is that the content focuses exclusively on the northwest (including British Columbia), meaning I was painfully familiar with all examples cited. As I was reading the first couple of pages on the chapter about sprawl, I had an enormous urge to read it verbatim to the Clackamas County Commissioners, as the copy precisely describes the clusterfudge that my county currently finds itself in:

Sprawl requires longer and wider roads, more sewer pipes, more electric and water lines, more television cables, and more stormwater drains. Extending this infrastructure to each new dwelling on the edge of an existing neighborhood–assuming housing is built at urban densities of twelve units per acre–costs about $23,000. In suburban-style tracts with three houses an acre, the cost of infrastructure raises by half. In “exurban” developments–those tucked into the countryside beyond the suburbs–the cost doubles.

Sprawl necessitates more and bigger garages, and more public parking spaces, each built for upward of $1,000 plus whatever the land costs; in parking garages, construction costs are more likely $15,000 per space. Sprawl pushes fire, ambulance, and police services to their limits. It makes trash and recycling collection–and postal delivery–more expensive. It lowers the effectiveness of workers and businesses because it leads to traffic congestion: in the Seattle area, time and fuel lost to traffic jams is estimated to be worth $740 million a year.

Taxpayers pick up the tab for billions of dollars of these increased costs because governments subsidize both driving and sprawl with handouts, tax breaks, and uncompensated services. Sprawl is even a losing venture for local governments: a 1993 review of research literature showed that residential development on farmland is usually a drain on government revenue because the increased property taxes and development fees do not cover the extra costs of public services. Even shopping center development is often a revenue loser, counting the extra police and fire service required and the unplanned strip development that tends to follow.

Just finished this one yesterday morning, and I’m tempted to not give it back from the place I borrowed it.

• Atlas of Oregon

A treasure trove of cartographic proportions. Maps showing sprawl, historic native lands, watersheds, and more. Okay, this one might be a little too big to read on a crowded bus unless your neighbor doesn’t mind having the edge of a book in their personal space. Fascinating nonetheless!

• Pedaling Revolution

Just started reading this on my way in yesterday morning. Released by OSU Press and written by Oregonian reporter Jeff Mapes, the writing style is engaging. Generally I’m not a fan of journalism, with its priority on short deadlines, “the scoop” and sensationalism over being factual. However, when I opened this book to have a peek, I came across the beginning of a chapter detailing Multnomah County Bike Fair, the pinnacle of bike existence for many of the people I associate with. Since he was covering an event I’ve been to several times, I was hooked. Who doesn’t want to see how their peeps are represented in print?

• The Constant Rider

This started as a zine about Kate Lopresti’s adventures on Portland’s TriMet system, but there is now a Constant Rider Omnibus available from Microcosm Publishing! You’ll read about Kate’s story of fainting on the MAX one summer morning and getting an unusual memento from one of the responders; the guy who hit on her during not one, but two different bus trips; and watching a TriMet operator buy unmentionables at Meier and Frank…what a read!

Originally I discovered this zine in an exhibit at the IPRC, and was fascinated about the brilliant idea of someone publishing stories of crazy people she met on the bus. Later I read almost all of the existing issues by checking them out of the IPRC zine library.

• How to Live Well Without Owning a Car

Pure and simple, this is an awesome book. If you’ve ever dreamed of going carfree, this book provides a world of practical ideas for making it as easy as possible. The author has spent years of carfree time living in cities not known for their alternative transportation options, so I am doubly impressed by author Chris Balish. You will finish the book inspired and completely ready to take the plunge into carfreedom.

• Divorce Your Car!

This book was more in-depth about the systematic dismantling of the nation’s streetcar systems by auto manufacturers than I’ve come across before. If I forget about the mentions of my employer in the book, the coverage given to walking or biking kids to school, or any of the other cool topics contained between the covers, I will always remember this book as the one that gave me my first significant look at the Great American Streetcar Scandal. The damage of which, incidentally, we’re still trying to slowly erase, some 60 years later. Boo.

In addition to all these fine reads, I hope to soon read Car Sick: Solutions for our Car-Addicted Culture and Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (and What It Says About Us) soon. I’d also like to eventually read the work of Donald Schoup and John Pucher. Schoup has done extensive studies about the real price of “free” parking, and John Pucher is a vivacious fellow who looks at the public health impact of land use policies, particularly regarding active transportation. (I had the chance to watch him give a presentation at PSU last year and although he said he had two hours of sleep, he was charming, lively, and interesting–a pleasure to watch!)

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Happy National Library Week!

New York Public Library (courtesy of wallyg)
New York Public Library (courtesy of wallyg on Flickr)

Bookish hasn’t been around that long, but clearly–without a book, we’d just be ish

Go to your local library right now and fork over some cash in appreciation of National Library Week!

The libraries I frequent are (in order) Ledding Library of Milwaukie, Multnomah County Library (highest circulation in the US!), and of course my dear Watzek Library at Lewis and Clark. I also love and use the research library of Oregon Historical Society.

If libraries were good enough for Andrew Carnegie, they’re good enough for you, by jove!

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Heathen Heather

As part of my larger effort to try new things, today I decided to go to a service at an Anglican church! I was craving some sparkly robes, incense, Latin, and organ music, and heck, it was Easter. Marie served as my secret Catholic decoder ring, helping me figure out where I should go.

St. Mark Altar
St. Mark Altar

After much research, I ended up at The Parish of Saint Mark, located in a lovely part of northwest Portland, for the High Solemn Mass of the Feast of the Resurrection (translation: fancy service on Easter). I knew that I would have all the pomp and circumstance I could ever hope for, as I had attended once before, in 1996, when I was working on a show that had rented a room at the church for a performance space.

Seating myself as inconspicuously as I could and still maintain visibility, settling in and taking off my squeaky vinyl raincoat jump started my self-consciousness. Ten minutes before 10am, the room was dead quiet and mostly filled with silent elders. By the end of the service, the place was mostly filled with people of many age groups…and I had more similarly self-conscious heathens surrounding me.

There were sparkly uniforms. There were pointy hats. There was lots and lots of incense. There was stained glass. Romanesque architecture. Candles. A choir. A huge pipe organ with a magical spinny star whose purpose I didn’t understand, but enjoyed nonetheless. (Unfortunately, no Latin. I mean, with all those Latin church songs we learned in high school choir, I was really looking forward to showing off, reciting my Kyrie Eleison and Agnus Dei!)

Pipes with Spinny Star
Pipes with Spinny Star

About an hour and fifteen minutes into the two hour service, when the guys in the “H” and “Y” sparkly robes started doing stuff at the altar that I couldn’t see, I started getting antsy. My boredom was momentarily relieved during communion when I was still able to go to the altar to receive a blessing (ulterior motive: get a closer look at that architecture, and what they’re all playing with up there!). After that, though, I just kept thinking that it’s a tragedy that the pipe organ and choir are in the back because they’re far more interesting and I couldn’t get a good look at them; and oh-em-gee, this is a fun once-every-thirteen-years sort of thing, to come see Medieval High School Musical with the sparkly costumes and music, but if I had to come every week I would honestly die of boredom. I mean, c’mon people, hasn’t anyone thought of updating church services for the 21st century? Perhaps a little something like Clapton in Tommy?

After the service, everyone headed over to the parish hall, where there was a ton of food! (Aha! A *real* reason to come to church: to bake things for others, and for free food!) There, I saw a cake that reminded me of my favorite episode of The Simpsons, called “Lisa the Vegetarian:”

Please Lisaaaaa...Dont Eeeeeat Meeeee!
“Please Lisaaaaa…Don’t Eeeeeat Meeeee!”

During the service there was one choir piece that sounded rehearsed, despite the group not keeping their S-es in “Jesus” together (this makes it sound to a listener like “Jesus-s-s-s-s-s-s”). That having been said, listening to the choir and the awesome organ during this time was the only moment I felt even remotely spiritual during the service. Most of the time I was alternating between self-consciousness and being fascinated by the floor show.

But, it was a fun diversion. Perhaps next week I’ll go to temple!

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Visiting the NOAH Center

Derry
  

Derry beckoned me from inside her private room at the NOAH Center with a wagging tail and smiling eyes. I obeyed her call–within milliseconds I was talking to her through the hole in the plexiglas, reaching in to scratch her, and inching closer as she stuck her nose out of the hole to sniff me. After a few minutes of this, a staff member let me enter, to play with her and work off some of that black lab puppy energy.

Earlier, while en route to Vancouver BC, I had passed a sign on I-5 that suggested I turn off for the “NOAH Center and Off-Leash Area.” As I whizzed by the rustic-looking building, I saw a readerboard that told passersby “We need cat litter!” I was intrigued and vowed to stop in on my way home.

NOAH Center Building
NOAH Center Building

It turns out that NOAH’s highly-visible location is intentional, as the organization finds their big readerboard sign facing the highway is very effective at getting word out to their community as well as passersby (like me!). They also make a special effort to be a positive part of the surrounding community, offering a low-cost spay/neuter clinic, behavior classes, and facilities that are open to the public.

That’s not all that’s completely awesome about this organization.

  • NOAH specifically takes animals that are at high-risk for being euthanized by animal services in the area.
  • Rooms are not like kennels–they look more like unfurnished offices, and include an entry to an outside dog run, and a dog-level hole in the plexiglass for interacting. Even the cats get access to an outdoor area!
  • The facility holds a fairly small number of animals. Most of the dogs and cats got their own space, with just a couple of rooms of two dogs, who I suspect were bonded. While I was visiting, there was never a headache-causing cacophony of barking and foul smell like I’ve often encountered at Oregon Humane Society.
  • The outside dog runs are open to the public and their doggies! The organization owns 17 acres of surrounding woods as well for pup walks. If only I had Atticus with me that day!

After visiting all the dogs, I headed over to the cats. I said hello to Lucky, who was roaming freely around the building, but I soon met and fell in love with Ms. Cleaner, an affectionate calico whose curiosity about my camera was second only to her love of getting head scratches.

Ms. Cleaner
Ms. Cleaner

Having the animals so accessible to be touched by visitors serves a dual purpose: providing much-needed socialization and relaxation for the animals, and providing a bond for humans, making them more likely to adopt.

If you know me at all, you know how I pretty much have never met an animal I didn’t like. So besides Derry and Ms. Cleaner, I wanted to take Edison home–a gentle husky mix with short, stubby ears that made him look more like a teddy bear than a dog. Unfortunately, my doggy clearly wants to be an only dog, and Ms. Cleaner has flea allergies, so I went home empty-handed. (GOOD NEWS: According to the NOAH website, it looks like Derry has been adopted! Yay!)

Next time I’m in northern Washington though, I’m definitely going to stop in again, likely armed with a wish list donation.

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Culture Shock

It wasn’t apparent I was having culture shock in Canada until after I returned.

Looking back though, the signs were there. Being the only person who didn’t laugh at something a child said, because I was the only person in the house that didn’t speak French. Not having eaten a tajine before. Desperately looking for a vendor at Granville Island who looked like a native English speaker so I wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to understand their accent, or wonder if they were fully understanding what I was trying to tell them. Having an uncomfortable time talking with a friendly Spanish traveler also because of his heavily-accented English. Just being awfully quiet in general, for fear of looking like the stupid American.

Since my return home, I have noticed the following:

  • Canadian drivers are much more polite than even Portland drivers.
    I could ride my bike on Commercial Drive, which is a lot like Hawthorne, and not only were there no aggros, but plenty of car drivers were looking out for my safety! Whoa! I did get honked at once though, on Victoria Drive…by what else? A guy in a ca. 1975 Chevy pickup! The honk was a lot shorter and more polite than when I’ve been honked at in Gresham, for sure.
  • There are way more old trees in Portland than in Vancouver.
    On Wednesday I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor’s office watching the falling rain when I realized that from my limited sightline, I could see at least three trees that were clearly over 50 years old. Vancouver has a lot less of this because the city is so much more dense. The trees they do have are deciduous and not conifer, which is more native to the Pacific Northwest. This is a drawback, as the safety is palpable when you are ensconced in the northwest’s mighty firs.
  • Dang, I eat a lot of processed food.
    Perhaps it’s because I was staying with people who were clearly slow foodists, but I expected to have stomach issues that never happened…until about a day after I got back. The meals I had in Vancouver included homemade awesomeness by my host’s husband, who made things I had never even heard of before, using whatever happened to be lying around the house. Since my return, I’ve noticed just how much of what I put in my mouth comes from a box or a bag. Yeesh!

As soon as I crossed the border back into Washington, the weight was lifted. I knew that although the highway sign said 70, it was okay and even expected to go 75. I could pay attention to the big numbers (miles) instead of squinting to see the little numbers (kilometers). At the border, I had a conversation with the US guard about Voodoo Doughnuts. Like taking a few days to break in a new pair of boots and then putting the old ones back on, I was relieved, and totally comfortable again.

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Granville Island Hates Me

Less than 24 hours after my bike fall at Granville Island (my neck still hurts, incidentally), I had another ill-fated encounter that has led me to the conclusion that Granville Island hates me.

Last night I decided to visit the Granville Island Public Market for breakfast on the way out of town. After bading goodbye to my hosts, I got in my car and made my way down to the waterfront for what should have been about a five minute stop. I even parked in a one hour zone on the pier.

After grabbing a egg and cheese bagel from one vendor and a chocolate glazed doughnut from another, I started patting my pockets while walking toward my car. Something was missing.

Where were my keys?

Oh crap. Of course something like this would happen in a foreign country! And with my darling iPhone inside too, rendering me nearly disabled in the situation!

Now, if you know me well at all, you probably know how common it is for me to lock myself out of my car. That’s why I have a hidden spare! Except I was skeptical about the safety of the neighborhood I was staying in, and thus put my hidden spare inside the car, so it wouldn’t get stolen during my stay. D’oh.

I tried to find either a pay phone or an English speaker that I could understand. When I thought I finally had the latter, turns out I was dead wrong, but at least the Frenchman selling cheese was big-hearted, and helped me find a member of the Granville Island security team.

The Granville Island security guys called a towing company for me, and one particularly nice fellow even stayed outside with me and kept me company while I waited.

We talked about the similarities between Vancouver and Portland. The 2010 Olympics. The self-involved nature of Americans versus the more global awareness of Canadians. The weather. I told him how embarrassed I was about this happening, particularly during what was supposed to be a very short stop before heading back home for the day. My security guard friend even used the word “d’oh!,” despite Canadians being more formal in their speech.

During the long wait, I mentioned how fortunate we were that the weather was once again clear and sunny after some serious early morning showers. Fierce winds were forecasted for the afternoon though, and as we stood talking the winds were already picking up. And imagine, me without my jacket!

When the tow truck guy finally found us on the island, it only took him about five minutes before my door was unlocked and only a few more before I was on my way. The security guard and I wished each other well, and I started the long journey home, over an hour late, with a neck so stiff I could barely look behind me to change lanes on the freeway.

What conclusion would you draw from these two negative incidents happening at the same place, so close together? It seems Granville Island has an evil curse or something. Or, the lesson to be learned once again, is that it is completely wrong to have a car in Vancouver.

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Heather + Wet Metal Tracks = BOOM! (and a Hurty Neck)

Today was another cold, wet day here in Vancouver. After a couple of great meetings downtown in the morning, including having lunch with the crew of Momentum Magazine, I decided to use the rest of my last day to check out the famous public market at Granville Island.

Even before I got there, the nice pants I was wearing were getting pretty wet. There wasn’t any covered bike parking next to the market, so I settled for putting my homemade waterproof seat cover over my beautiful Brooks saddle before heading inside.

Oh boy, was it an awesome market. It’s too bad I had just eaten lunch, because I’m pretty sure I could eat a hole through the place under the right circumstances, much like Wakko Warner. Miniature cakes. Gelato. Fresh produce. Handmade bamboo baby hats. Like Portland’s Farmers Market, except every day of the week, and inside a building!

After enjoying a cup of jasmine tea, a dry peanut butter chocolate chunk cookie and drying off a bit, I decided to head back to my hosts’ house. I discovered my waterproof seat cover was leaking, threatening to endanger my beloved Brooks saddle, but wiped most of the wet and started riding off into the rainset.

As I navigated the island to find my way back to the seawall in the cold rain, heavier now than ever, I moved over on one of the narrow streets to let a car pass me. Looking down, I saw another set of rail tracks that had been mostly covered by asphalt–the few roads on the island seemed to be full of them.

Of course, rail tracks are a prime danger zone for cyclists. And wet metal is really slippery. And, my friend, I think you know what’s coming next–and not just because you read the title of this blog post. : )

I took a spill. My head hit the pavement but most of the hurt was in my neck. My knee got a little scraped, but I didn’t ruin the nice pants I was wearing, unlike the last time tracks swallowed my wheel and I tore through two decent layers of clothing (ask me to show you the scars!). I immediately got back up on my bike, with that weird post-fall bitter taste in my mouth.

Once on the seawall again, I discovered that my shifters had been knocked a little out of place, but I later adjusted them back to their rightful place. I used most of the rest of the ride home to grumble under my breath (tongue only partially in cheek) about the rain, and rail tracks. And the steep hill I had to climb to get home. And the weight of the extra stuff I took today in my bag.

And just about everything else. But mostly my fall and the rain. Once home and into a dry pair of pants, sipping a cup of warm tea, and checking in with the intertubes, things were right as rain again in Heatherland, despite having pain in other places in my back since that time.

Looking back, this is the third bike crash I’ve had, and the third that has only involved me–no cars. Two of the three have involved rail tracks, and to be fair, I had a near-crash in December involving the tracks in front of my office. If I was Stephen Colbert, rail tracks would definitely be going on the Threatdown.

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A Library to Take Your Breath Away

You thought that this blog perhaps should have been named “bikey” instead of “bookish,” right? Well let me tell you about my trip to the Vancouver Public Library today. It still makes me a little misty-eyed thinking about it.

Today I decided to try biking the seawall up to Stanley Park, and possibly a little additional exploration as well. I asked my hosts about if there was a nearby library branch I could check out, and they suggested I just head to the main branch–”it looks like a giant coliseum.” After navigating the sunny day congestion along the seawall and trying to make my way toward the library, I was stopped at a light, casually looking around, and I gasped in realization. It was right in front of me, and it really does look like a giant coliseum!

Coliseum-er, I Mean Vancouver Public Library
Giant Coliseum-er, I Mean Vancouver Public Library

After locking up my bike I discovered a recessed fountain, and then a crevice-like path to follow to access the interior. Next, the atrium:

VPL Atrium
VPL Atrium

At this point you’re not inside the library, but the building offers a warm area with coffee shops and cafe seating, which both protects visitors from Pacific Northwest rain as well as taking full advantage when the sun makes a cameo appearance.

Once inside the library, I instantly found the information desk, thanks to some really clear signage (signage is really hard to do well!). The man I spoke with was very friendly and gave me just the right amount of introductory information, and didn’t seem too put out as I expressed my awe of the amazing building. A short conversation later, I had taken a couple of brochures, and was on my way up to the special collections room on the seventh floor.

Two display cases flanked the entrance of the special collections room: one displaying many antique-to-modern copies of L. Frank Baum’s Oz books, the other with many antique-to-vintage copies of Lewis Carroll’s Alice books. 

Alice Speaks with the Cheshire Cat
Alice Speaks with the Cheshire Cat

In addition to the library’s collection of antique children’s books, they boast a photographic archive of first nations and Vancouver history. I took away several pamphlets to use as reference in my future photograph research.

As I explored the room, I eventually came to the window that overlooked that gigantic atrium. While looking over and seeing so many using the reading desks on floors below gave a sense of humanity to what is often seen as a cold and anti-social place, having an entire wall made of glass meant it was rather dizzying to look all the way to the ground.

Eeek!
Eeek!

Doesn’t it figure that the Canadians would build the best and coolest public library building ever? Once again, they totally win out in terms of funding for important community centers, not to mention arts and humanities. But there’s hope! My hosts mentioned that Salt Lake City copied this building for their own library a couple of years ago. Let’s hope other US cities don’t just continue to copy this building, but will soon start uniting form and function for the good of the people. This building proves that it can be done.

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