The Hiawatha light rail line

But it doesn’t end there. Out in the industrial zone east of downtown there’s a locomotive manufacturer “Motive Power.” They manufacture and refurbish electromotive diesel locomotives. I’ve noticed several Union Pacific heavy EM diesels lined up outside the big barn awaiting any manner of work. I don’t drive by Motive Power all that often, but while back i noticed a nifty streamlined loco with a snazzy paint job sitting on a siding. Stopping at a traffic light i could take a better look. Metro Transit was painted on the side. Metro transit…. where had i seen that before? Then one day realized the refrigerator magnet holding my mortgage bill up where i can’t forget to pay it also said “Metro Transit” in the same font and color scheme. D’oh!

So again i ask what are the odds? Of all the places we could have moved after annette finished her phd at the University of Minnesota we ended up where the diesels destined for the commuter rail of Minneapolis are produced.

But here’s the thing: Boise has one of the saddest public transit system on the planet, yet we have oodles of under-used rail connecting all the communities of the valley and beyond, and we have a local factory that produces diesel locos. But do we put them to use here? No, they’re shipped to, among other places, Minneapolis.

And this is one of the hardest realities to swallow coming here from larger cities; places that have not achieved a certain population density are inevitably behind many curves and often seem hopelessly out of touch with reality. And for anybody who believes that lower population densities guarantees a better environment for their precious children I suggest they visit, oh, Kellog, or any of the myriad other former mining centers where companies could dump all manner of toxics with impunity. Don’t forget, the government didn’t put the Idaho National Laboratory and its 57 nuclear reactors where it is because the commute was convenient for the scientists.

The nation has two kinds of retailers these days: those bracing for a grim holiday season, and Wal-Mart.

I’m going to hope against hope there’s another category: retailers who don’t sell crap but offer products and services that enable “ordinary” people to, for a change, not buy shit and give it as a gift. These would be, oh, craft supply places, online frame vendors like the very good American Frame, and little one-person shops like me who can take digital files and make archival prints.

I know it’s a tall order to ask Americans to revert to our primitive ancestors and actually make something and then give it as a gift. Obviously little Timmy wants a Wii, not a little picture of his grandmother who died last year. A book of photos from some family event would obviously seem a consolation prize to most kids. What about a cd of grandfather reading a series of personal letters interspersed with some music?

I’ll be the first to confess that “christmas” for me meant only one thing: stuff. My “family” had no meaningful rituals around “the holidays” beyond the exchanging of stuff. In fact i had to make a booklet for, oh, 2nd grade or something around that time explaining the wonders of christmas. My booklet was a list of the loot i was hoping to receive. I was so strapped for ideas that i used “a new bicycle” twice to fill the required number of pages. I recall my mother when she saw what i’d made, “nothing about family?” NO, of course not, i was just a kid, we’d never done anything thus far as a family, what makes christmas any different? Looking back i see how much i missed.

Maybe, just maybe, this “season of giving” will revert to something more meaningful than an exchange of crap made in Indonesia to replace last year’s crap from Malaysia that’s completely worn out.

Sure i’ve got self-interest on the line here. I admit that. I would love to produce a slew of prints for people and actually begin to off-set the money i paid for this beast of a printer. But more than just spit ink onto paper i’d like to participate in something that might actually last more than ten minutes after the wrapping paper is in the trash.

That retail is the last gasp of our economic engine scares the hell out of me, but whatever comes will come whether i’m scared or not, so i plan to, in the words directed at me by my co-worker, “nut up” and take the ride. Maybe a few years of “sorry Billy we can’t buy you that, how about this book instead” might prove a turning point in our country’s history.

And, oh, if you’re looking for that perfect gift, i’ve got several old-school black & white prints for sale… and i hope to have more by Thanksgiving. Only… oh… a bunch of shopping days left. Hah!

As i’m sure everybody knows the unit is very small and snazzy. It’s the same footprint of the Apple Mini, but half the height of a mini. Set up initially took all of 5 minutes, but i was stumped at the point where i needed to configure the device via iTunes. A cursory google search pointed out one must click “look for Apple TV’s” in iTunes prefs… i had the wind at my back after that.

But why does this evoke nostalgia you might ask. Well, after getting everything all set up and watching a few back episodes of Mad Men i began to experiment with other menu items. I instructed the box to connect to the iTunes store and then found the “all HD” movie section. I set about perusing. Considering the number of movies out there in the world the iTunes selection is paltry, but most of the biggies are there. And after only a few moments i stumbled across Altered States.

We first meet Emily at the party.

I saw Altered States when it was first released in a big theatre on Long Island. Probably at “Roosevelt Field” mall. Three things happened during that movie. First, i instantly fell in love with Blair Brown. Second the idea of becoming a college professor and having a college professor wife began to take shape. Third, i realized there were other people, Paddy Chayefsky being one, who felt there might not be much beyond the reality we can see. It was comforting seeing a mass-market movie that jived with what i lived at home. My father was an outspoken atheist who said much of what Christopher Hitchens would later publish. The overarching themes of Altered States; that there is no absolute truth, that death may very well be “terrible” and that outside of existence there is…. nothing, reminded me of any of the standard afternoon conversations i had with my father.

Emily begins to realize what Eddie has been talking about.

I would have argued against Ken Russel to direct the screen version. His ham-handed special effects and personal need for blatant religious imagery clobbered the story at times. But his relentless pacing, manic editing and penchant for over-the-top camera work interspersed with unexpected long takes gave the film a unique visual style that, on balance, worked. And Blair Brown led an excellent cast (William Hurt’s big start) that seemed pitch perfect for each other. Charles Haid, best known as Renko from Hill Street Blues, adds the unintentional comic relief with a series of scene-stealing monologues.

Moments before worlds collide.

That’s the nostalgia… that i saw this movie (a movie that most of the people i knew either hated, found too weird to care about, or felt should be banned for suggesting there might not be a friendly god) at a time of my life where i was utterly clueless about the future, still a virgin (*sigh* Blair… *sigh*) and not not feeling particularly confident about anything. It’s not nostalgia for my past per se, it’s nostalgia about being so worried then, so fearful and yet so much worked out pretty well.

I’ve never met Blair Brown. I’ve never stalked her either, so i guess that indicates a certain amount of good judgement on my part.

But you see, this is what Apple is really selling with the AppleTV. It’s not a video device, it’s a time travel machine. It’s what Kodak’s “wheel” was transformed into by Don Draper when he, in an almost mystical reverie, explained it’s not a wheel, it’s a “carousel.”

Halloween was last night. It came and went with no problems. Kid-count was, by my estimation, lower than last year, but Annette was attending to them this time, so my count is probably off. 

What’s the real story today? Listen:

Jeff's house across the street, winter, 2007.

Our neighbor across the street’s name is Jeff. He’s a skinny-as-a-beanpole man i would guestimate to be in his late 50’s. We’re not best buds or anything, but we used to talk as neighbors do from time to time. He likes cats. He has a pure white non-albino shorthair that sits in the front window from time to time. I call her “ghost” but i don’t know her real name. Mora likes to hang at Jeff’s place and often sits on his concrete walk. I’ve asked him repeatedly if she poops in his yard or anything. He, with what i’ve come to recognize as a typical economy of language, says no and she’s welcome anytime.

He studies and collects flags. He has a flagpole out back and changes what’s flying weekly if not more frequently. Some i recognize. Some i can look up on the net. Now and then, if i catch him, i’ll ask what’s up the pole. “Oh, that… that’s a civil war marching flag from ….” He goes on for some length explaining the significance and proper use of the flag. 

Jeff is a clinic administrator at the local prison. The prison is located about 5 miles south of Boise on, ironically, Pleasant Valley Rd. He once referred to it as “the pleasant valley country club.” Years earlier we had another neighbor down the street who had a creepy teen son. Jeff dryly pointed out “expect i’ll be seeing him at work any day now.”

Annette served with Jeff on a suicide prevention committee while she was still employed by Boise State. She said he was just about the only other person there who didn’t come to hear themselves speak. I picture the two of them, on opposite sides of a meeting, sharing one or two exasperated glances.

I suspect he is divorced and often projects a certain level of world-weariness. Yet that weariness departs when he speaks about the Idaho backcountry. He and i spoke several times about the Idaho City yurts. We both liked the view from the outhouse at Whispering Pines. He accurately and enthusiastically described the view from the ridge en route to the Banner Ridge yurt. He traveled extensively. He would disappear for weeks at a time only to reappear one Monday morning. Again, if i happened to catch him, he’d say “i was hiking in Patagonia… just great.”

He also jogged every day. He’d depart for work fairly early and return usually before i would and go jogging down the street, around the cemetery and then back home. Could set your watch by him.

Oh, and he was, I suspect, an audiophile. The UPS guy once delivered some boxes that, i think, said Denon or Onkyo or something like that. On days when our departure for work synced up i could often hear jazz playing in his car. He always had a walkman on when mowing his lawn.

Jeff’s house was dark for weeks a little while back, but it was no surprise since he’d mentioned once how fall was his favorite season to hike. And then i saw a car in the drive i’d seen many times before. I suspect it belonged to his son who was often accompanied by a young woman with wonderful long curly hair. As it happened that woman was coming out carrying a box. I crossed the street toward her.

“Hi, i’m Jeremy… i’ve seen you here a few times, i was wondering what Jeff has been up to.”

“Oh… hi… i’m his daughter-in-law. Uh, Jeff died. Almost a month back. Complications from diabetes.”

We spoke a bit more, but i was effectively stunned… and, to my own surprise, unable to form a sentence. I was so sure she would say he was off camping in Tiera Del Fuego or something. I mumbled something inspired from “Six Feet Under” and headed back across the street.

City of the Future, indeed.

I’m older now, i own a house, i’m “on the grid” as it were and i’m a bit player in the financial shell game of wall street. So i look to the future with a mixture of concern and amusement, not with the rather mindless terror so many seem to be exhibiting of late.

But i can’t help thinking about what i would do if both annette and i lose our jobs. Employment in this valley is already sketchy and state government, the largest employer, is girding for across the board cuts. My job is entirely expendable. However i cost virtually nothing and provide a useful service to my employer. Certainly others can do what i do, but i can do it faster, better and with more value-add. Right… i’m making the “quality” argument. We all know that quality is first thing to be eliminated by government in a down cycle. Still, i cost very little and i produce. I’ll cling to that notion for a while.

But i keep coming back to the question: what would we do? The concern is part and parcel to the question “where is it better to live during a down cycle?” Is it better to live in NYC or Boise. If employment is the litmus test for a place then there’s no arguing for Boise. NYC has and will always harbor more employment opportunities than all of the intermountain west. But what about everything else? Precious little food is grown in the five boroughs of New York. Everything in Manhattan arrives by fossil fuel powered vehicles. But if the price of oil continues to drop the cost of trucking in supplies will remain under control and thus the cost of living in NYC probably shouldn’t escalate beyond its already steep price.

What about everything other than employment and food? What is better? To work 12-14 hour days at a job taken largely out of necessity in order to afford the food and shelter needed to survive, or live out in the banana belt of Idaho buying food from local producers, or, and this is the kicker, producing a percentage of your food yourself. In Idaho the option to join forces with neighbors and share the various burdens of a down cycle economy is more realistic than in the canyons of New York.

A beautiful duck's egg

My neighbors and I are thinking of goats and chickens. I’d like to come up with a way to keep ducks, but their need for water is problematic out here in the desert. Many people hunt so buying meat is only a matter of who you know. Many small farms only a short distance from where i’m typing this will become far more economically viable in a global recession. Maybe a reboot of the economy combined with a serious re-thinking of what exactly we are all living for might be the transformative events of this new century.

Beautiful sunset this evening. My wife is flying down from Seattle and ought to have a smooth time of it. I’m still employed… (might not be after the first of the year, or certainly after June 30, 2009) Oops, i looked.

I’m more impressed i made it to day 1300 in Boise and i’m largely doing just fine. My finances and outlook and approach to web design and photography mirrors my brain wave pattern since i started taking sertraline. In fact it brings to mind a tv commercial i saw years ago that showed (or purported to show) a typical teenager’s eeg waves. The first screen showed this alarming spiky, erratic pattern reminiscent of an oscilloscope hooked to a cd playing a song by Sonic Youth. The next screen purported to show the same brain after smoking some unnamed quantity of pot. Smooth, rounded waves ebbed and flowed like waves at the seaside. HOLY CRAP! I don’t even smoke pot but wanted that pattern. Such was the immediate reaction of everybody i know who saw that commercial.

Wedding rings on martini glass made of ice

So i can’t affect the global financial landscape. So what. I can control my own spending and i can control, to a certain extent, my own earning. I can honestly say i own all the material things i have ever truly wanted, i know what my value is to the outside world, i have no unsecured debt, my house increases in value with every degree the temp drops over night (assuming the furnace keeps working), and my wife is flying down from Seattle and staying for a week. I covet nothing. No worries, mate.

But what about this: OPEC announced a production cut today. True, the cut is meaningless since they already exceed their stated quota by a bazillion barrels per day and the price of oil didn’t even burp, but what if the US really jumped on this as an opportunity. OPEC announces a production cut, the US announces dramatic conservation measures that build on what consumers are already doing (driving less). Basically we flip OPEC the bird and accelerate down the road we’re already on. The geezers who run big oil must be losing at least some sleep.

In the spirit of admiration and “nothing should be perfect” here are a few continuity goofs i’ve noticed. Actually, continuity seems to be a bit of an issue on this show, but the strength of the actors and the meticulously layered scripts make it easy to forgive errors such as these.

The following screen grabs were all made by me and are reproduced here without any permission whatsoever.

Were i on the crew i’d be cursing this evil chin strap.

Chin strap in place

Reverse of previous scene, chin strap up on helmet

Next scene, facing shot

Two-shot, facing right after previous

Betty enters from the stables

Scene following entrance scene above

Then, from last night’s episode… pretty minor, but because the way Roger draining his glass in one go is featured i found it ironic that the reverse would show the glass refilled and even shimmering a bit.

Gulp

Empty

Reverse, hey presto!

Ok, the above example is nit-picking, but i watched the scene four or five times… the whiskey was clearly shimmering in the first reverse shot.

Finally, i include this last grab just for myself.

A wonderful scene

Meanwhile let’s check in with the girls: