Is it time to re-think OpenDoc?

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about human-computer interaction. In my quest to learn the art of iPhone app development (which, mind you, is going poorly; I can't seem to get out of the blocks, as they say), I attended a CHIFOO presentation given by James Keller of Small Society, a local iPhone development agency of some note. Wearing a different hat, I've also been chipping away at a bit of science fiction for the last couple of years. I started it as a short story, but it seems to be heading for novel length all on its own. I'm not sure what length it will end at, but, like Spalding Gray's Monster in a Box, I'm just waiting to see how it comes out. The story involves people living and working on the moon, and I addressed the difficulties of interacting with a modern computer while wearing a space suit.

So, as I said, I've been thinking a lot about HCI lately. My thoughts took me back to a concept that Apple held forth back in 1992 called "OpenDoc." To quote Wikipedia:

The basic idea of OpenDoc was to create small, reusable components, responsible for a specific task, such as text editing, bitmap editing or browsing an FTP server. OpenDoc provided a framework in which these components could run together, and a document format for storing the data created by each component. These documents could then be opened on other machines, where the OpenDoc frameworks would substitute suitable components for each part, even if they were from different vendors.[2]

Browsing an FTP server. Um... yeah. Well, like I said, it was 1992. The latest release of the software, which never made it out of the 1.x series, came out in 1997. In short, it was a neat idea, but it didn't last, partly because of the "giant" (1 MB) footprint it took to load up the basic framework. There were other problems, such as problems opening documents that used elements for which you had no component, a poor implementation of a transportable file format, and (probably the biggest hurdle) competition from Microsoft. Indeed, OpenDoc was a direct response to Microsoft's OLE (Object Linking and Embedding). If you've heard of OLE but never OpenDoc, it's because Microsoft won the war. So far, anyway.

But perhaps OpenDoc was an idea ahead of its time. The basic concept, as stated above, was to create documents with an ad hoc set of tools that the writer calls up as they need them. Need to write a letter? Bring up a text editing toolset. Graphics? Call up a painting palette. In a connected, post-web world, this seems very achievable. Vendors like Google could provide a basic environment for document creation, much like they do with Google Apps now. But if the document format were changed to be non-proprietary and standard, and the basic environment allowed for other vendors' tools to be loaded and used, then small development shops, open source project groups, and even competing large companies could provide add-ins via remote services that would be transparent to the user. From the user's perspective, they would add widgets to the environment, selecting the widgets from a catalog of those available from all over the web. Using the tools at their disposal, they would create complex documents of all types (text, graphics, spreadsheets, web pages, etc.) and save them into a storage system, share them, or publish them for broad consumption.

Storage in the modern era doesn't have to be in a monolithic, single-source file system, either. We're already seeing storage services based in the "cloud" model. Current offerings are targeted at large firms and their IT services, but there's no reason they couldn't be scaled down to accommodate individual users. The idea of cloud-based storage is that it de-couples the location of the data from the application acting on it. Users of web-based e-mail services are familiar, whether or not they know it, with having their data stored "somewhere," but not having any physical access to it. For most people, where their data is stored really doesn't matter just so they can have access to it when they want and they can feel secure that no one is looking into it without permission.

Notice that I keep mentioning "data" instead of "files." Since the dawn of computing, people have been getting used to the idea of discrete files containing individual datasets. We open and close files, save files, organize files (well, okay, not so much), attach files to e-mail messages... We're lost in a forest of files, and frankly the concept is outdated for most purposes. People create and consume content, and today, the vast majority of the consumption is done via the Internet. None of the web-based services such as e-mail, message boards or blogs use traditional file systems in any way that's perceivable to the content creator or consumer (the writer or the reader, if you prefer), and those systems are thriving. In an online, connected world, there is no reason to manage files any more, only content. If a discrete piece of content needs to be exported from the cloud for some reason, a file may be the storage method to use. But saving something to a file should be the exception rather than the rule. Users need to realize that there's a new set of rules; ones they've been working under for some time.

From a technical perspective, an open standard is needed to describe the complex content that people are going to create. This is the only way to be certain of interoperability across editing environments, toolsets and storage systems. XML is a viable format to choose as a base to build from, and its possible that current schemas like ODF would support the system with little or no modification.

For users, the shift in the way they do things wouldn't necessarily have to be that great. As I said above, many people (possibly most computer users) already use some form of online content creation tool. And Microsoft Office products have for years used OLE to embed objects from different applications into documents, for instance inserting an Excel spreadsheet into a Word document. Users who need to be able to work offline or work behind a firewall could have the option to cache toolsets or work in an editing environment that's installed as an application.

The general ideas and practices to support a modern implementation of what OpenDoc set out to do have been around for quite some time, and the infrastructure is now here to support a more integrated approach to content creation and distribution. Microsoft, who won the early technology battle with OLE, has focused more on building on their Office suite than changing the way people use computers. But when you have a product that is in a leadership position for the market it's in, deciding to make a sea change in the way the product operates is not a decision to be made lightly, or at all, so it's understandable that they've held course. But for others, the story is different.

Almost twenty years after Apple released OpenDoc to the world, it's time to re-evaluate the pros and cons of the technology and see how they can be re-addressed in this post-web, connected world of online editors and cloud-based storage. It may not be Apple that creates the next great shift in the way we work, but they're in a good position to bring it about. Open source development could certainly produce the technology, but the mindshare of the computer-using world would have to be changed to accept the new way. Google is probably the logical choice to carry the banner, with their existing Google Apps suite, and an uncountable number of users around the world. But if they build it, will anyone come? I certainly would. How about you?

Congratulations to the New Orleans Saints!

For the first time ever, the New Orleans Saints have won the Super Bowl. And they did it by playing out-of-the-ordinary ball. I mean, it's one thing to try and run on the fourth down from the 2 yard line rather than kick a field goal, but it's quite another to try for a two-point conversion after running in a touchdown. Who does that ever, let alone in a Super Bowl game?

The Saints played outstanding ball today. They didn't let their mistakes phase them, and just stayed focused on moving the ball down the field. After a slow start, they took possession of the game early in the second half and stayed with it for the balance of play. The biggest excitement was Tracey Porter's interception and 74 yard runback for a touchdown, setting the final score at 31-17 Saints. Their defense held the Colts at bay by blocking passes, pinning receivers to the field, and sacking Manning, the Colts' much-feared quarterback.

I'm no sports fanatic. I could hardly care less about which teams are where in the ranks, let alone the statistics that go on ad infinitum regarding the players' performance. But one thing I like is watching a good football game. And tonight's Super Bowl was just that. Thank you, New Orleans Saints, for bringing a well played game to television.

Oh, and we should give a nod to the Colts. Thanks for showing up and giving the Saints something to mop the field with.

Oh, snap!

iPad Redux

As long as I've waited for something like the iPad and its competitors to come along, I can't help but marvel at (and comment about) all its detractors, most of which haven't even gotten one in their hands yet, let alone used one significantly.

I'm not exactly a fanatical Apple fanboy, though I do own several Macs, a couple of iPhones, and a host of Apple accessories (well, between my wife and I we do, anyway). I'm coming up on two decades in the technology field, and at the time I made the switch to an all-Mac home life, was well enough educated in the ways of computers and operating systems to make an informed choice. I strongly believe that the best system is a heterogeneous, single platform implementation if all the necessary components are available. As such, once I went Mac, I never went back (my progression, in case you're wondering, was Windows --> Linux --> Mac OS X).

I say all this to lay off the detractors who will read this and say, "Oh, he loves anything Apple does." Not true. Case in point, I think they really screwed the consumer by leaving the microphone off of the iPod Touch. I understand why they did it, but it was cheap on their part. The small percentage of people that would actually hack the thing to use as a telephone aren't in the crowd that AT&T wants as customers anyway, so why disable an otherwise decent product that way?

But I digress. The iPad (I would have preferred "iSlate," but prefer "iPad" to "iTablet") as shown has its ups and downs, but even if Apple didn't knock it out of the park on the first swing, they've definitely hit a triple. Sure, it doesn't have multitasking, but neither does the iPhone, and I can be on a phone call and check Google maps at the same time. Or I can browse the web while listening to music from my library. No, I can't listen to Pandora or use any two third-party apps at the same time, but that's a software fix. We're sixty days out from release of the product. My bet is no later than this summer, we'll see an iPhone OS update that includes multitasking for third party apps. The testing for these apps will be rigorous by necessity, as any runaway background processes could really compromise core functionality of the device (if you can't receive phone calls because your WoW client has taken over all available memory, that's a problem).

The iPad is also, in this flagship version, missing a USB port. Remember back when Apple was the first manufacturer to stop putting floppy drives in machines? Oh my god, how are we going to get files from one place to another? Do you care now? I didn't think so. Comparing a USB port, which enables a variety of peripherals, to a single-format storage device isn't quite fair. My point is that Apple, as a designer, has an understanding of what the intended use of their product is. They've tested, talked to focus groups, and refined their design until it fits exactly where they want it to. If people watching the release announcement can't understand how on Earth they're going to print out Word documents from their iPad, then a) they're probably missing some key pieces of information, and b) they probably don't get the big picture. As a veteran technology implementor, I see this and other similar devices as a great leap forward to the Holy Grail of a paperless office. Oh, we'll never actually get there, but we can get closer. Do you know how many reams of paper are printed, handed out in meetings, only to be completely ignored and discarded as soon as the meeting is over? Mid-sized corporations could easily save $500 in reproduction and disposal costs over a year just by handing these things out to their management staff. So, if the iPad can't connect to a printer, maybe it will force people to re-think the way they handle documents.

The issue about lack of storage expansion, via some form of flash memory slot, sticks in my craw as much as it does many others. But really, given the history of Apple's consumer devices (iPods, iPhones), did anyone really think they were going to be able to buy a base model iPad, drop a flash card in it, and bypass the purchase of a premium model? Not likely. But as I pointed out in my previous post, storage probably won't be as much of an issue as people suspect. If the iPad comes with the ability to stream music and video out of shared iTunes libraries, then an AppleTV takes on a whole new role in a house with an iPad in every kid's room, one in the den and one in the living room.

Overall, I think the most egregious omission from the design of the iPad as shown is a web camera. Again, it probably has to do with the lack of AT&T's network ability to handle the load of millions of simultaneous teleconferences. AT&T has recently announced that they are beefing up their network to better support iPhone traffic, which to me smacks of a "wait and see" attitude regarding the availability of a Verizon-based iPad. Sticking with us? We'll enhance our network. So Apple has two aces in the hole now: threatening a switch to Verizon and threatening to drown their network in video traffic by including a web cam in a future version of the iPad.

So, no matter all the bilge being pumped around regarding the horrible design Apple has shown called the iPad, I'm still anxious to see how it plays in the coming months. Techies decry its lack of expansion capability and its inability to do two things at once. The greatest segment of its target market, though, doesn't include someone who can wax philosophically about the pros and cons of the A4 processor versus the Atom. Instead, the most prevalent purchasers of the iPad will be people that like technology without being technologists; those who want to reduce the amount of crap they carry around with them, and could have probably replaced their laptop with a netbook, but were looking for technology that worked more like they did rather than just a bit of shrinkage. I predict that people will find quickly that they really never print from the thing, and if they need to, there are work arounds; that the storage issue isn't really a big deal; and that the form factor is perfectly right-sized for ninety percent of the things they do with the thing. It won't replace people's laptops, nor will it replace their phones. The iPad is designed to do what it's going to do well: fill in a gap in the technology continuum that has been open for far too long. And if someone really needs a tablet that does something the iPad doesn't, then there will be a wide field of competitors to choose from.

I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

iPad Arrives

After an exhausting amount of speculation, denial, anti-marketing, and fanfare, Apple released the much-anticipated iPad. They say it's sixty days out, which will give developers time to tune up their apps for the new format and release new ones. It will also bring sales of competing e-Readers like Amazon's Kindle to a screeching halt.

Somewhere deep in the archives of Slashdot, circa 2006, I described what I wanted in a handheld device. It needed to be about the size of a Steno pad in all three dimensions, be able to run some basic business apps (e-mail, calendar, doc viewer, note taker, etc.). Bonus points for music and video, but they weren't that important. I didn't want a physical keyboard, but wanted the option, via Bluetooth or something, to add one. Someone responded and said, "Oh, what you want is the PADD from Star Trek: The Next Generation." Well, yes, that's it. Just like that. Four years later, here it is. I seriously doubt Mr. Ive saw my post and said, "Hey, great idea." I'm sure it had been cooking in the Apple oven for years prior to that, and my post in the deep recesses of some tech-head website didn't change the tide of technology. Rather I mean to say that I've known what I wanted for years, and I'm glad to see that it's finally here.

The $499 base model price tag is nice to see, particularly as the world doesn't really have disposable income right now. Bargains are wanted, and Apple provided. When I got my iPhone, I was sure that I needed the 16 gig model, as I was going to be doing a lot with it. Well, I've got about 1000 tracks of music on it, some video content, a bunch of apps, 500 or so photos, etc., and I just broke over 8 GB of usage after almost two years. If need be, I could delete about half of that and not be missing anything (I almost never use it as a music player, for instance). Knowing that, I can bet the 16 gig iPad model would suit me just fine, at least until the next revision comes along.

About that next revision: Gotta have a camera. Forward facing at that, so it can be used to video conference. I'm shocked that they didn't include one in the flagship model, but I'll bet it had something to do with AT&T's lack of ability to support the amount of network traffic they have now, let alone a bunch of people video conferencing on their iPads.

So, I've got two months (more like three; I rarely buy anything right out of the gate) to come up with $500. That's unlikely to happen, but I can always hope. I'll let you know what I come up with.

Eighty Percent Spiderman

It's funny what you can learn about yourself on the web. I had no idea I was anything like Spiderman. Now, Green Lantern, heck I can see that...


You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man		80%
Green Lantern		60%
Superman		55%
The Flash		55%
Robin		50%
Iron Man		45%
Batman		40%
Catwoman		40%
Supergirl		33%
Wonder Woman		33%
Hulk		25%
You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

Rest in Peace Barbara Dee Still, 1948-2008

Death has closed its icy grip around my heart once again. Yesterday, April 20th, my aunt, not yet 60 years old, lost her long struggle with cancer. Wife, mother, grandmother, aunt.

I mentioned previously that when my grandfather met and married my grandmother, he had three children and she had two. "Aunt Barb" was the youngest of the three of my grandfather's kids. Her middle name is like mine, and from the same source. Or, rather, mine is like hers, as she came first.

A scant six weeks after I was born, Aunt Barb gave birth to Melissa Jane, the first of her two daughters (she had no sons). "Lissa" and I two were the first of nine grandchildren for Dee and Dorothy Winters. Three years later, Holly Christine came onto the scene as grandchild number six.

I grew up in a town just a handful of miles from where Aunt Barb, Uncle Tom, and cousins Lissa and Holly lived (I once rode my bicycle out there, but the treacherous farm country roads made it something I didn't want to do a second time). Being so close, we spent a lot of time with them, and this included my other aunt and uncle and their three sons, all of which lived in the same town I did. We were a close-knit family back then, and even today haven't entirely lost all the ties, though we're spread out across the country.

One of my favorite memories from growing up is of a trip to the coast for a four or five day vacation of camping, playing at the beach, fishing, and just general mayhem. Aunt Barb and Uncle Tom packed their two kids, two of their neighbor kids, one of our other cousins, my sister and I into a couple of vehicles, bolstered each others' resolve, and headed for a house they had rented near the beach and one of the many Oregon coastal lakes. What were they thinking? We all had a blast. By the end of the trip, all the kids were calling Aunt Barb, "Mom," as it was easier than the mix of "mom," "Aunt Barb," "Mrs. Still," or whatever else we were all calling her.

The title of "Mom" fit her pretty well, too. She lived her life very focused on her family, often putting her own needs to the side in favor of what someone else needed. She loved to cook, and even operated a small event catering business "on the side" in addition to a career of more than thirty (maybe forty, I've forgotten) years at the post office.

I think the thing I loved most about Aunt Barb was that she was quick to laugh. Not to say that she didn't know when to be serious, but life just seemed to amuse her. I think her favorite phrase was, "oh, what the hell?" Her laugh was something hard to describe, but I heard it often enough that I'll always remember it.

Barbara Dee Still, born Barbara Dee Winters to Dee and Shirley in 1948, is survived by her husband Tom, daughters Melissa and Holly, and four beautiful grandchildren. There is no question in my mind that she rests in peace, and is probably watching over us all, amused at the whole spectacle. She will be missed by everyone who knew her.

One Ring To Rule Us All

The 2008 presidential election primary campaigns have hit their strides, with only the most hardened contenders hanging in there. There continues to be uncertainty in both parties, uncommon this long after Super Tuesday, when nearly half of the states hold their primary elections and favored winners often emerge.
The most recent casualty of the race, Mitt Romney, was running a strong race, but has "suspended" his campaign in the face of John McCain's juggernaut rise through the cluttered Republican field of candidates. That left Mike Huckabee, the come-from-nowhere governor of Arkansas and Baptist minister who is arguably where he is because a spark of attention he got from Stephen Colbert. It's not that Colbert, however much he'd like to take credit, "made" Mike Huckabee, but the attention he got on Colbert's show boosted his campaign enough that people knew his name. That got him enough popular mind share to get some airtime that he has used very, very effectively to deliver a homespun, conservative Christian message that is increasingly popular in hometown America. And with Romney out of the race, he's the only serious competition for McCain. His strategy at the moment seems to be winning enough delegates to keep McCain from achieving the critical 1,191 votes it takes to win the Republican nomination before the National Convention in September. He said as much in his speech after the "Potomac Primaries" poll closings, suggesting that something may happen to the elder Senator between now and then; he stopped short of calling such a race-changing event, whatever it may be, a miracle, but the implication was certainly there.
The other Republican still holding on is Congressman Ron Paul, the popular Constitutionalist who seems to average around four percent of the vote in every primary, mostly culled from the Internet where his plain-spoken sensibility is only overshadowed by Senator Barack Obama. Congressman Paul is clear and vociferous about his message, and hasn't wavered throughout the whole campaign, something that the other candidates from both parties have a hard time claiming. Unfortunately, in this era of quips, buzzwords and an endemic shortened attention span, the Congressman's call for a "return to a constitutional government" has the sound of stodginess. It's clear by now that, short of "a critical event" such as one speculated on by Governor Huckabee, Ron Paul's chances for winning his party's nomination are slim. His dogged continuation on the campaign trail in the face of such overwhelming odds shows that he's committed to getting his message across. Hopefully his supporters realize that they're spending money to promote the message, not the candidate.

Arizona Senator John McCain, the Vietnam war hero with over 22 years' experience in Congress, appears to have his party's nomination locked down.  He swept the Potomac primaries, though not without fighting down significant popular support for rival Mike Huckabee.  Maybe if the Senator took up playing guitar he could appeal to the young conservative crowd better, and seem a little more "down home" to the rural voters to give himself a little more breathing room.  His speech after the polls closed was filled "I" this and "I" that, once referring to himself four times in one sentence.  The speech sounded as much like an Oscar acceptance speech as anything, with him spending a lot of airtime recognizing cronies in the audience and giving a nod to his opponent.  From there the speech turned to gloom and doom about how his particular brand of dogma was better than "theirs," and had all the panache of a wet blanket.  He was obviously reading it from a teleprompter, and it looked on a couple of occasions like it was the first he'd seen what he was reading.  Overall, it wasn't a good showing.

Over on the Democrat's side, it's a tight race between Senator Barack Obama and Senator Hillary Clinton, with a scant few delegate's votes separating the two. Obama, with his sweep of the Potomacs, pulled ahead of Clinton after trailing her for most of the race. Pundits have called it a deadlock or stalemate because of the closeness of the race, but it's likely that Obama has just hit his stride late in the game, and in the final stretch toward the DNC finish line is going to continue to widen his lead. Many political analysts have pointed out that Obama "sort of grows on people" as his message settles in. Clinton, on the other hand, seems to be losing momentum as she coasts along on her liftoff blast without any fresh material, giving time to her detractors to dig deep into what she has said so far.  Jules Verne thought in 1865 that we could land men on the moon with a space capsule fired from a huge gun. While it may be possible, we found that the more likely way to get there is with a rocket, continuously pumping fuel into a reaction chamber until you achieve sufficient velocity to hit your target.

Barack Obama seems to be taking just such an approach.  Or, at least, his burn is clean enough that there's no sputtering and backfiring.  Where Senator Clinton looks consistently more worn and frazzled at each successive speech, Senator Obama looks as strong as ever, with a strong, clear voice and a Kennedy-esqe tempo that combine to give his message of hope, the "yes, we can" that is his campaign cry, a ring of truth that people can easily recognize.  It may seem cliche, but people intuitively know when something is right; when a message "rings true," there's no need to pick it apart, no need to see if there's a wolf under the wool.

In the 2004 election, I remember hearing one of John Kerry's speeches where he pulled off the same tenor and tempo trick that is the hallmark of any great orator.  I remember thinking that, if he could do that same thing every day for the rest of the campaign, he would have a chance of beating George W. Bush.  As it turned out, his speech was a one-off.  Never again did I hear him speak in that same fashion, and in the end, President Bush won re-election in a sweeping victory.  Senator Kerry may not have had a chance either way, but on that day he had the nation's ear and he let go of it.

Speaking in Wisconsin after the Potomac polls closed, Barack Obama wore the Ring of Truth. His speech was filled with hope couched in a nest of "we" references that spoke to the thousands of supporters surrounding him in the stadium.  And those supporters looked like America, or at least the one I know.  They were a mix of races, genders and age groups, and by the look of their clothing, they came from a variety of backgrounds and career paths.  This is in stark contrast to the room full of old white men in rumpled suits that surrounded John McCain.  And, where McCain's supporters clapped politely at a few junctures in his speech, Obama's crowd cheered like it would raise the roof of the building.

Barack Obama is offering us, the American people, a message of hope couched in language of unification for a broken country that is dying at its core while highwaymen rob it of its resources and warlords send its young to perish in a desert for no good reason.  It's a message of hope that the voice of Middle America will be heard above the din of the lobbyists and special interest groups, and it's a message of hope that we can, together, build our country back to a level of heath and education that will make us strong again, respected in the world again, and again the envy of the rest of the world.  He delivers this message with a clear voice, a fierce and powerful voice, a voice that carries the ring of truth.  One ring to rule us all.

Cars, cars, cars

We went to the Portland Auto Show last Friday, actually shopping for a new car instead of just gawking the way we've done in the past.  The needs of the cafe are putting a toll on our Volvo station wagon, a 2001 V70 T5.  Semi-monthly trips to Costco to pick up cases of soda, soy milk, tuna and whatever else is required put a heavy burden on the suspension and brakes, and all the in-town, stop-and-go traffic is wearing out the engine.

With gas prices the way they are, our knee-jerk reaction to look for a "green" oriented vehicle has become more of a driving force, so to speak.  Unfortunately, most vehicles that are extremely fuel efficient from a "miles per gallon" perspective, such as the Toyota Prius, lack significantly in load carrying capacity.  What we really need is a small SUV, with emphasis on the "utility" and not so much (if any) on the "sport."  There's a wide range of options in this class of vehicle, and almost every one of them is rated at 15-17 m.p.g. in the city, a scant increase over the 14-15 m.p.g. that our Volvo's on-board computer shows we're getting currently.

There are a few SUVs that are green-oriented, including the Jeep Liberty Diesel.  We like the idea of a diesel, since there's a biodiesel filling station just blocks from our house.  But the Liberty Diesel only gets around 19 m.p.g. in the city, and Jeep is so unhappy with the overall performance of the engine that they're going to stop using it.  Many auto manufacturers, from Honda to Land Rover, are saying that they'll have diesel SUVs available in the U.S. "real soon now," but they always seem to be about eighteen months away from showroom floors.  These vehicles are expected to perform in the 22-24 m.p.g. range for city driving, and over 30 m.p.g. on the freeway, both excellent numbers considering the class of vehicle.

With diesel out, we looked to the scant few available hybrid SUVs.  The Ford Escape Hybrid, with its upscale Mercury counterpart, is getting rave reviews for its ability to get 30 m.p.g. in city driving.  The cargo area is a little smaller than we were looking for, but reasonable.  We could never make a full shopping run to Costco with anyone else along, but that rarely happens anyway, so it's a manageable issue.  Beyond the cargo capacity, though, the quality of the interior put us off.  For a vehicle priced around $30,000, the interior had a distinctly cheap plastic feeling one would expect from a low-budget Hyundai or Kia (mind you, I realize that both those manufacturers make higher-end vehicles that are nicely appointed).  After many years of driving Volvos, we're used to a little more refinement in an interior.  We're willing to let luxury go in favor of better fuel economy, but the interior of the Mercury Mariner Hybrid seemed like it was about as sturdy as an egg shell.

The next stop sent us looking at the Toyota Highlander Hybrid, currently ranked highest in "ooh-ahh" factor when discussing such things.  Rated at 27 m.p.g. in the city, it drinks a bit more than the Escape, but is quite a bit larger and has much better appointments than its domestic cousin.  The Highlander has a third row of seating, with a seven passenger capacity, and is fully decked out with fun options like an electric lift on the tailgate (nice when your arms are loaded).  Unfortunately, the price reflects all the finery.  At $45,000, the Highlander Hybrid is about 50% more expensive than the Escape Hybrid.  Our Volvo wagon was around $44,000 new, but we didn't buy it new and paid less than half the sticker price for a four-year-old car.

We were a bit in despair as we prepared to leave, not wanting to pay what seemed like an exorbitant price for the Highlander, yet not wanting to put up with the cheap-feeling interior of the Mercury.  We were caught in the middle.

On the way out, I spotted the Saturn display, which I'd previously missed.  Before going to the show, I'd done quite a bit of research into the vehicles I was interested in, and had more or less written off the Saturn Vue Hybrid because it's not a "true hybrid," as it uses what amounts to an oversized alternator and battery to help the engine along at appropriate times.  But in the final analysis, it's rated at 25 m.p.g. in the city (32 on the highway), and is priced starting just under $25,000.  We could almost buy two for the price of a fully-outfitted Highlander, and the fuel economy is comparable, considering the Highlander's highway rating of around 23 m.p.g.

The interior of the Vue is not exactly luxurious, but the plastic trim feels sturdy enough and not like it will fall apart on first contact with a solid object.  There's plenty of cargo area, even with the rear seat backs up, and the suspension is nice and firm (we load tested it with over 500 pounds of people sitting in the cargo area and over 300 in the front passenger seat).  The seats are comfortable enough, particularly with the upscale leather option (fully loaded with all available options, the Vue Hybrid is priced just over $27,000).  We're looking forward to taking one for a test drive.

One would think that, particularly given the Northwest attitude toward all things environmental, car dealers would stock up on hybrid vehicles before showing them off at a local car show.  But finding a hybrid SUV to take for a test drive is a serious challenge, and finding one to purchase is even more difficult.  The Saturn dealers keep telling us it will be the end of February before anything but a showroom model is available.  That, to me, seems like an odd way to sell a car.  Luckily, we have the option of waiting.  The Volvo isn't exactly falling apart, it's just been a little abused.

The other car-oriented thing we've been doing lately is shopping for a small delivery vehicle for what we hope becomes a significantly expanded catering business at the cafe.  We think we've decided on the Miles ZX40.  After Oregon tax breaks for businesses buying an electric car, the net cost would be about $15,000.  That's a lot of money for something to zip around downtown delivering sandwiches, but the fuel savings over time (the cost per mile to drive the ZX40 is in pennies) combined with the customer goodwill for being a green-minded company creates quite an offset for the initial purchase price.  And, compared to the other all-electric vehicles available, I actually fit behind the wheel comfortably (I could barely get into our out of the Zap three wheeler).

I'll post an update as our quest to find new transportation continues.  By the way, the '65 Jeep Gladiator pickup project I've been working on is slow going.  We're stalled out on getting the new(er) steering column in.  I went and bought a welder yesterday so we could fabricate a couple of brackets.  I would have rented one, but over the years I've found several instances where I needed a welder for this-or-that, and decided that now was the time to just buy one.  My friend Jared, who's been doing a lot of the work on the Gladiator lately, is on the hook to get me started with welding skills, but from what I hear, practice is the only thing that will make you any good at it.  My sister is a certified welder, and once had a job building microbrewery tanks.  She and I figured out long ago, though, that we can't learn things from one another, as we're both stubborn and impatient.  Better for me to learn from someone who isn't a member of the family.

1984 All Over Again

I just got home from seeing something I've wished for half my life: Van Halen, complete with David Lee Roth, in concert.  Well, "complete" isn't quite the word, but more on that later.  The last time I saw Van Halen in concert was circa 1990 with the Monsters of Rock tour.  That was during the "Van Hagar" days, with Sammy Hagar on vocals.  Sammy had laryngitis that day, and the headliner part of the show was a disappointment (The Scorpions, who were on just before Van Halen, were great)

Tonight's show was at The Rose Garden Arena, here in Portland, which doesn't have the greatest sound in the world (okay, for concerts, it sucks), but it's the largest venue we have and it was needed.  I got tickets today, from Tickets Unlimited.  Given that I got them day-of-show, I can't complain too much about the bundle of cables hanging in front of us at the corner of the stage, other than to say I can't believe riggers can't come up with a better way to run those things.  Other than the cables, the seats were good.

I'm sorry to report that the band wasn't as tight as they could be.  Diamond Dave seemed to forget the lyrics to a couple of the songs, and there were times when everyone seemed to stumble around on the bridges, trying to find the beat that was there just a minute ago.

Thirty years after a lot of the music they played came out, David Lee Roth can still handle the vocals.  His signature falsetto squeaks came out fewer times, but he's not in his twenties any more.  Just like it was 1984, Roth jumped and kicked regularly throughout the show, showing that the years haven't slowed him down much at all.  He really seemed to enjoy his re-found position as the frontman for a band that helped define rock n' roll in the late seventies and early eighties.

Alex van Halen doesn't look like he's changed since the last time I saw the band in concert.  I think he's wearing the same headband.  A several-minute-long drum solo showed that he's still got it.  Alex has always been a somewhat better than average, but not phenomenal rock drummer.  He hasn't lost anything.

I hardly recognized Eddie van Halen with his short hair and no cigarette hanging out of his mouth.  Oddly, during a long guitar solo, where he was the only one on stage, he started by sitting on the edge of the stage and playing some discordant melody that seemed to wander around aimlessly.  He drifted from that to some of his signature fretboard tapping, but there was nothing about it that seemed any better than things I've seen my neighbor play (my neighbor is a professional guitar player, but he's not Eddie van Halen).  But then he got up, signaled "excuse me a second" to the crowd, and went over to the control pedals.  Stomp, stomp, stomp, he reset the pedals, jammed a chord, and his guitar screamed.  From there, he went on a frenetic romp that included stealing one of Alex's drum sticks and using it to hammer the strings right over the Humbucker pickup.  After discarding the drumstick into the crowd, he fell into more fretboard tapping, this time showing us that he is still Eddie van Halen, guitar hero.

Eddie, Alex, Dave and... who?

The biggest surprise of the night was Wolfgang van Halen, son of Eddie and Valerie Bertinelli. Sixteen year old "Wolfie" has replaced founding band member Michael Anthony as the bassist.  I feared that Eddie's choice to put his teenage son on stage in place of the veteran Anthony meant that the senior van Halen had "jumped the shark."  It was not the case.  I guess growing up van Halen means that you've got the music already in you, and it sure came out.  The biggest surprise of the biggest surprise was that young van Halen harmonizes with his father to sound just like Eddie and Michael did in 1976.  Hey, hey, hey!

Even though the overall synergy of the band wasn't as good as I'd hoped, I still had a great time.  I snapped some pics of the show with my phone camera.  I'll put them up as soon as I can extract them from my piece-of-crap Samsung SPH-900.  The tour has been extended into 2008, and tickets for the second leg of the show have just gone on sale.  This must mean that David and Eddie aren't fighting, and things are going well.  Considering all the sold-out shows on the roster, I'm sure the money is good, and welcomed by a band that has faltered for years without a solid frontman.  Hopefully they keep it together long enough to produce another album.  I can hope, right?

Update for the a.m.

I got some sleep, and decided there was more: I have to say that I miss rock concerts.  I've been to a few over the last few years, all of them here in Portland.  I don't know if things are the same elsewhere, but this "assigned seating" is for the birds.  It should be an option for the bleachers, but GA on the floor should be available, too.  I've mentioned this to a few people, and it seems that the advent of "mosh pits" where people have gotten seriously hurt by spun-up slam dancers made promoters think twice about  general admission tickets.  I hate to sound like an old man, but "back in my day" the worst you had to worry about most nights was getting elbowed in the face while people on the rail dove for guitar picks that came flying off the stage.  I loved the feeling of being packed in, waving back and forth with the crowd, everyone moving as one giant, band-adoring entity.  At the aforementioned Monsters of Rock tour, I remember hollering to my buddy Jac, standing right next to me.  "Check it out!"  We were packed in so tight I could pick both feet off the floor and not fall down.  More than once, girls I'd never met before asked to climb up on my shoulders to get the perfect view.  Being tall has its advantages, I guess.  None of them ever took their tops off while sitting on my shoulders, but I saw it happen a few feet from me.  I can't imagine that happening at last night's concert at all.

Last night, as at many other concerts I've been to in recent years, security guards made sure that no one leaves their assigned seat area.  Stand in front of your seat and you're fine.  God forbid you should move over into that somewhat larger, completely unused space ten feet to the left because you feel the urge to let loose and dance.  Some guy with a flashlight will appear immediately and hustle you back to your seat, saying, "Stay there or leave."  They don't seem to care if you're getting drunk or smoking a spliff, just don't do any of it outside of your designated space.

I've got to put a call out to the guy who was standing right in front of us.  About every fifteen minutes, on cue, he would let out the most horrendous stink I've encountered in years.  I don't know what he ate before the concert, but it obviously died a horrible death and was taking its revenge.  Listen up, buddy: the restroom is at the top of the stairs.  Do us all a favor and go take a crap.

Okay, enough of that.  Van Halen is back together again, at least the most important parts.  Rock concerts, at least here in Portland, are lame.  I've got to start going somewhere else, like Seattle or The Gorge.  There's nothing else to say.  Back in my day, things were better.

Beware the City of Portland

Okay, so it's not the whole city, it's the City of Portland Water Bureau.

On Thursday, November 29th, I received a notice from them that my payment was overdue.  The postmark on the envelope is November 26th even though the "printed on" date for the notice is November 21st.  It must take them quite a while to get things in the mail. The due date on the reminder is November 28th for service billed through October 11th.  October 11th?  I was out of town on vacation then, and it's likely that the bill got lost in the slew of mail I had waiting for me when I returned.  Okay, I accept the $0.47 "Water Late Carrying Charge" and the $1.22 "Sewer Late Carrying Charge, as well as the $5.00 "Reminder Letter" charge.  I was late, after all.

Considering I got the notice on November 29th, and it's tough to pay a bill before you get it, I figured we'd send them a check this weekend and all would be fine.  Oh, no.  It's not to be.  Today, December 1, I receive an shutoff notice from them with a "Pre-shut off notice" fee of $10.00.  The print date on it is November 28th.  So they printed this shut off notice before I even got the first notice.

A couple of years ago, Solimar Systems installed a new high-speed printing system that was supposed to take care of the horrible delays in the billing system for the Water Bureau.  It evidently works very well, generating lots of income for the Bureau in the form of shut of notice charges that are seemingly unavoidable.  Well, except by paying your bills on time.

Note to self: don't trifle with the City of Portland Water Bureau.

Book Review: Devlin's Razor

Devlin's Razor is a novel of The Continuing Time by Jodi Moran.  Other novels in this series, by Daniel Keys Moran include the trilogy Emerald Eyes, The Long Run and The Last Dancer.  Devlin's Razor is a murder mystery surrounding the character Harry Devlin, who is referred to as The Prophet Harry in the other novels.

Devlin's Razor differs dramatically from the trilogy noted above, as well as other stories in The Continuing Time like LeftBehind, in that it is not science fiction.  There are no cyborgs, space travel, laser weapons or alien races; the whole story could have taken place last year in Los Angeles and it might not have made the news.  Still, it's a good story, and well worth reading as a background piece for the other stories or as a standalone novel, whether or not you're a fan of either of the Morans.

I've commented elsewhere that Devlin's Razor is told in the voice of The Sunset Strip novels, such as Terminal Freedom that was written by Daniel and Jodi together.  This is yet another departure from the rest of The Continuing Time stories, though given that Jodi Moran wrote Devlin's Razor alone, it's understandable.  While the change of voice doesn't detract from the story being told, it is a distraction for a reader looking for the more hard-edged writing from, say Emerald Eyes.  Devlin's Razor isn't exactly a rollicking, headlong crash of an adventure, but more of a character-filled whodunnit that seems like a colored-in version of a game of Clue.

The story of Devlin's Razor follows the painter Harry, accused of the murder of Phil Sullivan, the owner of the restaurant where Harry works as a waiter.  Phil is married to Gayle Eris Sullivan, the leader of the Eris commune that eventually becomes the root of the Erisian cult, which plays heavily in the other novels.  The murder case is investigated by two of L.A.'s finest, Detective Ted and Detective Joy, who are drawn about as two-dimensionally as possible.  Throughout the story, you don't get the impression that they, nor any of the other police characters, exist outside of their interaction with the plot.  This two-dimensionality extends somewhat to the other characters, though not nearly as much.

Harry lives with his girlfriend Iselma, who at one time had an affair with Sullivan and is currently having an affair with Sullivan's lawyer.  Iselma is petulant and selfish, and it's hard to say why Harry loves her so much, particularly given that he's aware of her indiscretions, a point that figures heavily into the detective's case against him.  Most readers recognize that things would be better between Harry and Iselma if they would sit down and actually talk to one another.

The supporting characters in the story are the most fun aspect of the whole book.  Normally I tire of large casts, as I can't keep everyone straight.  These characters, though, have such distinct aspects to them that they're easy to follow.  There's Harry's cousin Spike, the Catholic priest and one of Harry's best friends.  Harry and Spike are joined by Swami Dave, the eternally happy Hare Krishna, Julian the wise and always stoned Vietnam veteran who lost his legs in the war and spends 90% of his time on the bottom step of Harry's apartment stairs, and the twisted lawyer Jack, who plays as the main antagonist to the story.

One thing Jodi Moran does a very good job at is giving subtle clues throughout the story that support the big reveal at the end.  I don't read murder mysteries very often at all, and I was surprised how it all fit together.  Fans of the genre may feel differently, finding that the real culprit's identity was obvious fifty pages back.

Devlin's Razor will likely be published only in electronic format, though there has been mention of a "print on demand" service making hardcopies available.  If you're looking for an easy-to-read murder mystery packed full of interesting, if not deep characters, or if you've always wondered who The Prophet Harry was when reading novels of The Continuing Time, look no further.  If you're looking for hard-edged science fiction, with characters like Trent Castanaveras and Mohammed Vance, wait for AI War, Daniel Keys Moran's next novel to be  published next year.

Adventures in Dentistry, and Other Miscellany

With the exception of an update or two to the essay about my grandfather, it's been a year, more or less, since I posted here.  I've been saving up, and it's time to let you know what's been going on.

In the last year, I turned 40, got a new job, bought a motorcycle, paid off the note on the cafe, and took another trip to Hawaii.  Oh, yeah, and got some dental work done.

Pretty Blondes with Sharp Tools

Normally dentistry isn't something that people like to talk about much, which is understandable due to the amount of discomfort and the horrible invasion of privacy involved.  I mean, really, having someone stick their hands and a set of sharp tools into the largest, most important orifice in your body* is terribly invasive on both a physical and emotional level.  It's no wonder that dentists rank right up there with politicians as most reviled for their professions.  But I digress...

The new job brought new dental insurance and the need to find a new dentist.  Since she's really good at this sort of thing, I asked my wife to find a dentist for me.  She recommended one based on their office's proximity to mine and that "the receptionist sounded cute."  I made an appointment for what would be my first cleaning in sixteen months.

As a side note, I'll tell you that, not only is the receptionist cute, the office is veritably swarming with beautiful women, the preponderance of them being blonde haired and blue eyed.  This includes one of the two dentists at the office.  I predict more regularity in my adherence to the cleaning schedule for my teeth.  But, as I said, that was just a side note.

I've been surviving, as it were, for years with cracked metal fillings in my mouth, something I had waved my previous dentist off from, as the insurance I had at my last job wasn't good enough to cover the lion's share of the costs to repair them.  The new insurance is much better, though, and it seemed like a good time to get them fixed.

The latest technology for doing this sort of thing is fascinating, at least to me.  It's called Cerec, and is a wonder of modern system integration.  The dentist (or her assistant) took pictures of my teeth with some special kind of camera that got right up against each tooth.  Multiple images from several angles were captured and then fed into a computer that proceeded to make a 3-D model of my teeth from the photos.  With the "original state" captured, they numbed me up and carved out the metal amalgam from four of my teeth (there are many more; I had a terrible time with cavities as a kid).  Following that, more photos created another 3-D model of my teeth without the fillings.  Subtraction of the second model from the first left the computer with a model of the missing pieces from the teeth.  These "missing piece" models were sent to a bench-top CNC mill that proceeded to carve fillings out of small blocks of porcelain.   A little bit of cement and some fine-tuning of fit later, I had brand-new non-metallic fillings in my teeth.  At a quick glance, you can't tell that they aren't natural.  The whole process took about two and a half hours for the four teeth.  I, for one, was amazed.

* Yes, level of importance for bodily orifices is subjective.  YMMV.

Getting Things Straight

I never had braces as a kid, even though I had among the crookedest teeth in my school.  As an adult, I've attempted to embark on the journey of straightening my teeth on several occasions, but, for a variety of reasons or excuses, hadn't actually gotten under way.  During my first visit to my new dentist, I was given information on Invisalign, an alternative to traditional wire braces.  They seemed a good fit for my needs, and so I chose to pursue that option.  One huge advantage: everything would be done at the dentist office, with no referrals out to orthodontists.

After installing the porcelain fillings, silicone-like castings were taken of my teeth and sent off to the Invisalign mothership where more 3-D models were created, this time of all my teeth.  A few weeks later, a set of plastic trays arrived at the dentist's office along with a nifty animation of how my teeth would progress over the forty weeks it will take to straighten my teeth.  Yes, forty weeks, not three years that wire braces were going to take (three years is 156 weeks, if you want direct comparison, nearly four times as long).  A few little buttons were glued to the sides of four of my teeth to act as handles for the trays to grip while doing their work.  I wear the trays at all times except when I'm eating or drinking anything but water, and change traysets every two weeks.  Each progressive tray set is slightly different than the last, and the change from the first to the last goes from the crooked teeth I have now to the straight teeth I'll have in nine months.

As for discomfort, the worst part is taking the trays out so I can eat.  I expect it to get better over time, but right now it really wrenches at my teeth to remove the trays.  Wearing them is only slightly uncomfortable.  If you push on one of your teeth with your finger, you will feel what I feel in all my teeth while wearing the trays.  Not too bad overall.  I've had the trays just over a week, and so far am really happy with the product.  I can brush and floss normally, and when the trays are in, people don't even know I'm wearing them unless I point them out.  If you're in need of braces, I'd ask your dentist about them.  The cost is about the same, and the results, assuming they work as advertised, are the same as well.

I Caught Me a Hog

Every day since I sold my last motorcycle twenty years ago I've wanted another motorcycle.  This year, I finally bought one.  It's a 1995 Harley Davidson FXDL Dyna Lowrider with around 46K miles on it.  At this point I don't need to worry a lot about depreciation, as it will be worth what I paid for it for many years if I take good care of it.  Of course, I have the bug now.  I put running boards on to replace the passenger pegs and a backrest pad so Jen could ride in comfort (she loves the bike, by the way), a different set of highway pegs to accommodate my size twelve feet, and switched the shocks out from the cushy ones the previous owner had to the stock ones, which they provided in the sale.  It's not going to stop there, I can tell you.  A better seat will be the next upgrade, and eventually forward controls so I can shift and brake with my feet on the highway pegs.  I've been thinking of going to a two-into-one tailpipe setup so that I can put larger bags on for travel, and going from the fixed small plexiglass windshield to a removable larger fairing with a radio.  Before 1995, the Dyna Lowrider was called a "convertible" because it could easily switch from being a road bike to a street cruiser.  I like that concept and will try to expand on it as I modify the bike.  The one downside to this being a long-term bike for me is that the frame is a little short.  If I can't adjust the fit by modding the seat, I may need to trade it for a Softtail or Road Glide.  Of course, Jen wants me to get a Road King, which she has fallen for.  Time will tell.  It's good to have a bike again.

DKM Writes Again!

Every year or so, I do a Google search on Daniel Keys Moran, my all-time favorite science fiction author (his rank as my favorite was arrived at in a complicated fashion, and there are a lot of authors that I like for a variety of reasons.  Some have a better command of language, but DKM has a great sense of story).  Mr. Moran, for a variety of reasons, was away from the world for several years.  This fall, I did a search and found him again.  And guess what!  He's writing!  I'm all a-twitter about it, really, and I'm not the only one.  If you want evidence, read the comments attached to his blog posts.  If you just want to read his writing, go here.  I suggest starting with the novel Emerald Eyes.  For an easily-digestable sample, check out the short story Realtime.  It's not in The Continuing Time universe like the trilogy of Emerald Eyes, The Long Run and The Last Dancer, but it's closely related and in the same voice.

I've had the privilege in the last few weeks to proofread one of his novels, Devlin's Razor, soon to be published.  It's written in conjunction with his sister, Jodi Moran.  I'll post a review of it as soon as I finish with this update.

New Job

Last June would have marked my eighth anniversary working for Portland General Electric, our local electric utility, which rose to some level of national recognition as one of Enron's holdings.  I say "would have," because in May, while on vacation, I interviewed for a job with a wind power company also headquartered in downtown Portland.  I hadn't even been looking for a job, which is, I suppose, when opportunities are most likely to come along.  Things went fast, and before I was finished with vacation, I had accepted the position I interviewed for.  IT people experienced in energy are somewhat rare, particularly in Portland, and I'm certain that helped solidify their desire to employ me.

I've always been a proponent of renewable energy resources, and with our declining supply of natural gas, we've got to figure something out.  I still hold out hope that nuclear will make a comeback, and think that helium-cooled pebble-bed reactors are the next big thing in that arena.  Until then, expect to see wind farms cropping up in your neighborhood.  If you want electricity to remain affordable, support their construction.

Anyhow, after about six months at the new job, I'm really liking it.  The company is dynamic and fast growing, and we're part of something larger, having recently been purchased by Iberdrola, one of the world's largest providers of renewable energy.

The Gladiator Project

Just over a year ago, I bought and drove home a 1965 Jeep Gladiator pickup for $500.  I say, "drove home," because it's significant that it was drivable.  The margin was slim, to be sure.  I've been working on it with the help of friends for some time, and much progress is being made.  Pictures are available in my photo archive.  New gauges are in, as well as a replacement steering column, a rebuilt carburetor, and a new distributor with electronic ignition.  By the time I'm done, I should have around $3,000 in a solid work truck with a classy look to it.

That's it for this update.  Hopefully the next won't take a year to put in place.  No promises, though.

The Life of a Great Man

Ed Bradley passed away yesterday after a long battle with Leukemia that he kept secret from the world. Watching his CBS co-hosts being interviewed last night, it was clear that they were stunned, and will miss him greatly. I will too, even though I never met him.

By the time Mr. Bradley joined 60 Minutes in 1981, I had been watching the show for most of my teen-aged life; it was a requirement of life growing up in my grandfather's house that the TV would play 60 Minutes at 7:00 p.m. on Sunday. It was his favorite program then, and it probably still is. Over the years, my interest in watching the show has come and gone, but even after 25 years, I somehow thought of Bradley as "one of the new guys" on the show. Still, I've always thought that if, for some wild reason, 60 Minutes was going to interview me, I'd want it to be Ed Bradley asking the questions. He always seemed like the kind of guy that was just having a conversation with his subject rather than poking a spotlight into the dark places in their lives (I think Mike Wallace is an outstanding journalist, but I would feel very uncomfortable being interviewed by him). Now, it seems, no matter how famous I might become, someone else will have to interview me.

That was yesterday, and this is today. Today is the day my grandfather, 38-year fan of 60 Minutes, starts what hospice calls "comfort care" that will last the rest of his life, which will be another few weeks. He's been dying of cancer for the last several months (it was too advanced by the time it was discovered to fight it), and now, two weeks before his 88th birthday, it seems the end is near.

I'm sad for my grandfather's passing. It's a selfish sadness, because I don't fear for him and what is to come, but for me and how I'll live my life without him. For better or worse, he made me the man I am, and I'm happy with that. That, by the way, is something I've never told him. I have to do that soon, as there's a tradition of things not going unsaid between us and time is short.

I'd like to take a little time to tell you some things about him, much like an abstract sketch of a very rich and well-lived life. He was born Alonzo Debs Leland Winters, third child and only son to Ivan and Melinda Winters, in 1918. His two sisters, Velda and Marie, nicknamed him "Deelee," a name mostly used to keep their much-younger brother in line ("Deelee! Come here!" or "Deelee! Stop that!").

At the age of 17, just after his mother's passing, Alonzo "Deelee" Winters joined his father, a cook on a Merchant Marine ship, as the cook's mate. A couple years later, he joined the U.S. Army and went off to fight World War II. At enlistment, knowing that having a name like Alonzo Debs Leland Winters would bring more grief than it was worth, he legally changed his name to Dee Lee Winters. Years later, my mom would name her first born son James after her brother and Dee after her father.

It's my understanding that, shortly after I was born, my grandfather saw me in the hospital, the first of his nine grandchildren, and said, "That's a Zeke if I ever saw one." From that day forward, I was "Little Zeke" to his "Big Zeke." That lasted until I was in high school when, hearing me call him "Zeke," the neighborhood kids thought that was his name and started using it. Not wanting intruders in our exclusive club, I decided that I would rather not use the nickname than share it with anyone. After all those years of calling him "Zeke", I couldn't just start calling him "Grandpa;" I had to come up with something else. After mulling it over for some time, I landed on "Pappy," a nickname that has stuck ever since.

In 1951, Dee Lee Winters, a young body and fender man and divorced father of three, met and married Dorothy Louise Day, widowed mother of two (his "older woman" by a whole eight months). The two struggled to make ends meet their entire lives, sometimes living in a travel trailer with the two kids they had custody of, sometimes both working to pay the bills. They always had a garden, for the love of the Earth and the low cost of the harvested produce, and there was always food on the table. Family came first, always.

One day when I was a teen, a call came from his sister Velda that her husband had passed away. She found herself mired in a collection of junk (or "junque" as Pappy likes to write, for its association with "antique") from which she had no way of digging herself out. "I'll be there this weekend," Pappy said as he hung up the phone. Seeing the import of the situation in his eyes, sensing an adventure, I said, "I want to go," not even knowing where or what was happening. That weekend, we spent three days at hard labor sorting out a lifetime of pack-ratting (an affliction that affects our entire family), tucked away at night in the spare bedroom in Aunt Velda's attic. For him it was somber duty, helping pick up the pieces left after a sudden death in the family. For me, it was a grand adventure for a hero and his sidekick, spiced up with an opportunity to peek into a storehouse of family history.

The trip to Stanwood was just one of many adventures we had over the years. Another year we decided to take an early fishing trip over to Eastern Oregon to one of our favorite spots, Paulina Lake. We figured to get there early before all the good ones were caught; just one quick weekend away from the distractions of small-town living. We got there Friday night after a long drive, got camp set up and the boat in the water, then bundled up in our sleeping bags in the back of the truck. Our decision to make an early trip showed its folly as we shivered all night with the cold. The next morning, happy to be up and moving and looking forward to the rising sun, we found Pappy's denture cup frozen solid, his teeth suspended in a giant ice cube. "What now?" I asked, wondering how he was going to get through breakfast. Always the innovator, he whipped out a saucepan, fired up the gas stove, and got some water boiling. After a few minutes the teeth were free of their binding. With a toothless, yet triumphant grin, he fished the plates out of the pot and popped them in his mouth. As quick as they went in, they came out again. It seems they got hotter than he'd thought in the pan, and his cold fingers didn't register the temperature when he picked them up. His gums sure did, though. With a hoot of laughter that comes out when he catches himself (or someone else) doing something silly, he set the teeth down to cool on the picnic table and went about making breakfast. I don't remember whether we caught any fish or not that trip, or anything else about it. But I've retained the important bits. Funny how those things go.

I could go on for hours, recounting every adventure we had together, as well as most of the adventures he had growing up during the Great Depression or during World War II. I listened with rapt attention as he told each story over the years. He got his dentures as a young man, the result of a case of trenchmouth he caught in Burma during the war. His first car was one he and his buddies built out of parts salvaged from the junkyard. They drove it all over, causing mischief until the car fell apart and was returned to the junkyard where it was born. Once we bought 50 Sequoia redwood saplings at an auction and planted them around the perimeter of the five-acre hobby farm, Barefoot Acres, we lived on for a time. One happened to be right over a spring, and it grew at twice the rate the others did. It was well on its way to being a towering giant by the time my grandparents sold the farm and moved to Salem.

My grandfather spent over 20 years in the auto body repair business, with short stints running bicycle shops and a lawnmower repair shop, and has crafted more wind chimes and wooden gizmos than most people have seen. He raised five children, has nine grandchildren, and I've lost count of the great-grandchildren. Everywhere he's lived, the Earth has been enriched by his hand, and those around him by his heart. His regrets in life have been few, and, if you count the people that love him, his successes have been many.

I'm going to miss him when he's gone, my Big Zeke. Jen and I hope to adopt children one day, and I just pray that I do as well with them as he did with my mom and my uncle, and in later years with my sister and I. I'm sad to think that my children won't know him, except in whatever way he is reflected in me. I can tell them stories, but hours of stories just won't impart what five minutes of talking to him will. He has that way with people.

I'm going to see him tomorrow. I'll print this essay and take it along to show him. I hope he doesn't want me to read it to him, as I'll just end up crying. But like I said, the tears aren't for him, but for me. Selfish, aren't I?

Update: On December 9th, 2006, Dee Lee Winters passed from this world to the next, two weeks past his 88th birthday. A week prior, I was at his side and said my goodbyes. The drugs and the cancer had put him in a mental state where he couldn't track well enough to either read my essay or hear it read. I told him the important parts, though. "You made me the man I am, and I'm pleased with what I've become," I said, words so simple that took so much strength to impart because of their finality. He paused for a second, contemplating. I could see in his eyes that he was going to object, then decide that it wasn't the time for frivolity or false modesty. At last he nodded. Still not willing to take all the credit, he said, "You've got a good soul. You've done well by yourself and your family." Everything after that is a blur now, except the wordless final goodbye as I knelt by his bedside and held his hand. Neither of us was willng to admit that it was the last time we'd see each other, but we both knew. We also knew that there were no words large enough to be useful. So, with a squeeze of his hand, still massive after the rest of him had wasted away, leathery and course and warm and loving all at the same time, I rose, took my jacket and walked away.

Now, three and a half months later, two weeks past my 40th birthday, I've not yet cried. What I'm waiting for I couldn't tell you, I'm just waiting. I miss him so much. My grandmother, my last remaining grandparent, puts on a brave face and tries to live from one day to the next. I don't think things get easier for her as time passes, she just gets better at carrying the burden. She's a strong woman, though, and will make a life for herself without her mate.

My life goes on. Spring is coming, life blossoms around me fresh and new. I think this year I'll plant a garden, albeit a small one. And I'm going to try and go fishing with my dad. One thing I need to do for sure, though, is watch more 60 Minutes.

An Epiphany

It's election day, in case you didn't notice. Of course, with all the political ads coming from every conceivable media source, including what passes for news media in this country, I can't help thinking about what's to come in the next two years. Puzzling along about that and a myriad other things the other day, I had something of an epiphany. Follow me here, I think you'll like it, whether or not it's realistic.

In January, 2009, lame duck President George W. Bush will grant pardons to Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and Deputy Chief of Staff Karl Rove. A tidal wave of confusion will wash over the country as the media digs into just what they're being pardoned for. The data won't be available, though; the documents describing the crimes for which they are accused, and were secretly convicted of, will be sealed by none other than Chief Justice John Roberts. Since Justice Roberts is young (he turns 54 in January, 2009), his term on the bench and his seal on the documents is expected to last for years; long after the rest of the country has ceased to care what happened during Bush's last years as President.

This may all sound preposterous, and all you law-mongers out there may rail about how this can't happen because of this or that. To that I respond, yes, it does sound preposterous, but you just wait and see. It's about as likely as President Bush getting assassinated, and they made a movie about that.

[Update: The day after I posted this, Secretary Rumsfeld resigned his post at the White House. Coincidence? I think not!]

[Update: Today, August 13, 2007, Karl Rove resigned his post at the White House. Unfortunately, it's probably so he can go lead the campaign for the next GOP front-runner. Or kill doves. Hard to say which.]

The Morning Star

Just in case you're wondering what I've been up to since April when I last posted, well, it's been a busy time. We (Jen and I) went to Hawaii for the first time. Wow, what a place. We stayed at the Marriott Ocean Beach Club timeshare resort. Scott and Kathy went with us, and we all had a great time. So great, in fact, that Jen and I bought into the resort.

But that's not the real news. After returning from Maui, we finalized the purchase of The Morning Star Cafe in downtown Portland. We took over from the previous owners on September 1, 2006, and we've been pushing the rock up hill ever since.

By far, the most difficult part of owning a cafe is dealing with employee issues. The previous employees, save one, decided that they didn't like the regime change and all quit. This seems to be due in significant part to the previous owner being absent from the scene for most of the last year, leaving the Morning Star to run itself. It did so well enough, but having managed the place by themselves for some time, the employees didn't like Jen's hands-on, "I bought it, I'm going to run it" management style. Well, good riddance to them.

We've got a new crew now. The one employee that came along with the purchase that's still with us had only been on board for three days when we took over, so we count her as new. She stuck with us through hard times when she was the only employee and we had so much business that we turned some away. We gave her a fat bonus for that, and a raise to boot. I can't help wishing she'd cut off the dreadlocks and get rid of the pierced lips, but her performance so totally overshadows those negatives that they hardly blip on the radar.

One issue we can't seem to get past with all of our employees is timeliness. There's not one of them (four total) that shows up on time consistently. When they get there, they work hard and work well, but the place opens at 6:00 a.m., and showing up at 6:10 or 6:30 doesn't give us the confidence we need let go of the responsibility of opening. These are the travails of small business ownership, though. With luck things will get better. Without it, well, we'll never get to use that timeshare we bought.

A Dream

Last night, in a dream, I laid my head on an old man's lap and wept for the state of mankind. "They're so... inhumane," I sobbed.

When I awoke, I knew the old man to be God, and that it was not a dream.

Brokeback Mountain: A Story of Addiction

I finally went to see Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain, last year's sleeper hit that has been the talk of every group from coffee shop pseudo-intellectuals to film critics (are they really two separate groups? You decide).

Note: The following text may spoil some aspects of the movie for you whether you've seen it or not.

Ang Lee has directed a mixed bag of films. I loved Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but couldn't believe I sat through the entire reel of The Hulk. In general I like Lee's direction style, and he certainly can't be expected to fix a bad script like The Hulk. And the writer, Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove brought an edginess to the romantic notion of the cowboy that we hadn't seen before, with an epic length was very engaging. So, with all the hype over Brokeback Mountain, I was expecting a good film.

As it turns out, Lee delivered excellent direction that, paired with the acting talents of Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhall (the latter of whom, for all the movies he's made, is unrecognizeable to me), had the makings of an excellent film. This is in the same way that a good chef can take a couple of primary ingredients and make a five star meal. Of course, primary ingredients aren't all that go into a dish, and two good actors and a director can't make a film palatable.

The film is a series of vignettes spread out over twenty years of Ledger and Gyllenhall's torrid and illicit love affair. The idea that two run-of-the-mill cowboys stuck on a mountainside for a summer in 1963 could find passion in each other's arms isn't an unreasonable leap, and many a Hollywood film is based on flimsier circumstance. The rest of the film takes that premise and runs it through a wringer, asking the viewer to accept sample after sample of two decades worth of lies, both to each other and those around them, while their relationship and their humanity degrades to a bleak ending. It's a perfect parable about the effects of addiction on the lives of addicts and those around them.

Somewhere in the middle of the film, I found myself nodding off. Not a good sign. At least all the footage of the Wyoming mountains is beautiful.

One thing that seriously bothered me about the film was a shot made famous by the trailers, that of Ledger standing in a field with a sky lit by fireworks behind him, the perfect portrait of the all-American cowboy. Oh, it's a great shot, and would be perfect in a lot of other films, just not this one. Ledger's character is anything but someone we would hold up as a fine example of our society; indeed, we would be embarassed to admit he was one of ours.

I bet I know what you're thinking, and you're probably wrong. For me, it has nothing to do with Ennis Del Mar's latent homosexuality. People are people, and they find love and attraction wherever they find it; it makes no matter to me. It's unfortunate that society in 1963 Wyoming wasn't accepting of people, but it doesn't change the basic facts of the choices these two made.

In the firework-laden scene, Del Mar (Ledger) had just finished beating the crap out of two drunk bikers in front of his wife and two daughters whose honor he was evidently defending. This much was fine enough, and within the one small vignette of the Fourth of July celebration, warranted the proud stance. But Del Mar, by this point in the movie, is a barely-employed drunk who has been cheating on his wife for several years. Indeed, at his first opportunity to say anything about his relationship with Jack Twist (Gyllenhall), when his wife Alma (Michelle Williams) asks if they'd cowboyed together, he lies and says they were old fishing buddies. From there, it's one lie after another, built on the same premise, to a woman he supposedly loves.

I may be in some sort of minority, but after I had been with my wife for four years (the amount of time between Del Mar and Twist's parting on Brokeback Mountain and their next meeting), I didn't want anything to do with any past lovers, and none of them had been anyone I was embarassed to tell her about. My point is that I chose to be with her, leaving my single life behind. After four years of no contact, Del Mar and Twist can't keep their hands off of each other, and Del Mar immediately turns to treating his wife Alma like some random piece of furniture, like some junkie back on the needle after a long repast. It takes years for Ennis and Alma to get to divorce, but the marriage is unhappy going forward right from there.

In general, I don't like tragedy as entertainment, but worse than that to me is infidelity. Brokeback Mountain is just another film that pretties up the antics of a couple of people who wreck their own marriages because they can't or don't want to keep their hands off of each other.

I know it goes against the basic model of the progressive male that I'm supposed to have become after the enlightenment of the 90's, which is held up by the ongoing popularity of "political correctness," but it's just against my nature to enjoy something like this. I'm supposed to understand that some people are so overcome by their emotions that they just can't control what they do; that we should understand their plight and feel empathy for their unrequieted love. I don't buy it. Good people are ones that stick to their convictions and honor their committments. People who lie and cheat, who are destructive to those around them, are not honorable and shouldn't be honored. Understanding that people have failings is one thing; holding them up as great people who are in a bad situaton is quite another. Please, Mr. Lee, don't feed this to me as part of the archetype of American life, it's one I can't appreciate.

Winning Immunity

How many times so far this year have you been sick? I grew up as a generally healthy kid, getting the occasional cold or flu, but nothing out of the ordinary. These days, though, it seems like every couple of months, there's some other local outbreak of illness and sooner or later I'm catching it. "Oh, there's something going around," people say, as if it's a foregone conclusion that we're all going to get sick again. I, for one, am tired of it. I don't know what I'm going to do about it, but I'll figure out something. Any positive change is better than nothing.
Container World
We city dwellers seem to live out our existence in large containers full of other people. We ride the bus or train to work, sit in cubicles, sometimes with up to three others in the same space, surrounded by people in their own cubicles. Inevitably there's someone somewhere in your department coughing and hacking because they've got a cold, spreading germs like a rainbird waters the lawn.
On the bus this morning, a friend of mine was complaining between coughs that he had been hit with whatever the illness of the week is (my wife and all my neighbors have had it, as well as several coworkers. I'm next, I just know it). My friend sounded terrible, as if he should be home with a cup of hot tea and a bowl of soup. Why would he go to work and spread it around? He evidently hadn't been at the new job long enough to accrue enough "sick days" to take time off, and as an hourly employee, if he's not working, he's not making money. It's tough to pay the mortgage without a paycheck, so off to work he goes.

So how do we battle this societal snowball? Liberals will tell you that we can package mandatory sick days into some national health care bill, forcing employers to incurr even higher per-employee overhead, thus driving the same employers to wring every last drop of productivity they can out of their workers, which will end up making them all sick more often. That's no fix. Conservatives, on the other hand, will figure out how to make a tax cut for giving employees time off for sick leave, which is essentially giving a tax break for randomly occurring productivity loss, which takes the responsibility for productivity off of the organization, again protecting their profits. That's no solution either.
How about we push for some un-legislated social reform, where people take responsibility for themselves and their affect on others by staying home when their sick?
Oh, wait, this is America, where taking responsibility for one's actions is... Oh, can't someone else do it? I'm overworked.

Where did the summer go?

What a summer it's been! I can't believe it's gone already. So much has happened, both in the world and for me personally, it's hard to keep track of it all.
Essay Interruptus
I started a post on the situation in Iraq some time ago, and was just working myself up to a froth of enthusiasm in my writing when Katrina hit. Along with the rest of the nation, I forgot (at least temporarily) about the situation overseas and concentrated on what was going on at home. We watched in horror as the situation worsened and FEMA failed to do its job. For that matter, most public service organizations failed to do their job. That is, with the exception of the media. I'm not the first, nor will I be the last to comment on the outstanding job the media did on reporting about the disaster. There's hope for that den of iniquity yet.
I have to take a moment to call out my pride for my wife's participation in the relief effort. It wasn't TV-quality heroism, but she and our good friend Kathy definitely did their part.
The story goes that we're somewhat more closely associated to a particular person in Louisiana than we are to Kevin Bacon (a friend of ours has a sister in law who... well, that's where I lose it). This particular someone has something to do with a children's charity in Baton Rouge, and they are getting a lot of refugee traffic; displaced children who may or may not have parents left after Katrina came through. By e-mail, a call went out for supplies specific to their need, and after three or four forwards, Jen and Kathy had a hold of it. The two of them have spent over a thousand dollars and many hours of otherwise useful time gathering, packing and shipping food, clothing, school supplies and whatever else seemed appropriate down to Baton Rouge. However much good the Red Cross is doing in the region, I can't help but think that the timeliness and direct response of everyone who answered the call in that e-mail was more help than could have been received from any large, general relief organization. I don't recommend responding to every call for help that comes in, as I'm sure scams are running amok on the Internet, but do a little research, figure out how to help, and do something. It's good for everyone.
Las Vegas, Round One
In May, we went with a group of friends to our favorite vacation destination in the western U.S., Las Vegas, Nevada. Of the eight of us going (four couples), only Jen and I had been there recently enough to know one end of The Strip from another. Two of the couples had never been at all.
The most straightforward thing to say about the trip is that friends don't necessarily make good traveling companions. Over our five day stay, we generally had a good time, but Vegas is one of those places where you have to turn yourself up to eleven to really get into the groove of it and experience it the way it's designed. Most of our crew seemed content to sit by the hotel pool and drink cheap cocktails rather than go out and do much. The times we did get out, communication within the group was so bad that often one couple or another got left behind somewhere to fend for themselves. Too many hours were spent looking for one another rather than doing things, and I'm not sure that anyone's expectations were really met for the trip overall. Cap that with one couple announcing that they had a bun in the oven (yay!), causing her to be somewhat emotional (hormones) and him to be very reactionary (more hormones, I suppose) made for a long trip.
Mind you, at the end of it all, we're all still friends, and the trip wasn't a total bust. But for future trips (read below), we're using a new ruleset when selecting travel partners, and setting expectations for everyone up front. When you try new things, you learn new things. Using what you learn is the trick, right?
These Things Happen in Threes
I have to say that I'm feeling a bit assaulted this year with the scythe of death. In April, my father-in-law Clark, who had been in a slow decline of health for several years, but was still living life, suffered a massive heart attack while at home. His wife, Nova, was quick to call the ambulance, and they were quick to respond, but it seemed that God had other plans for him, and, after three days of various attempts to revive him, he passed away with his loving family at his bedside, the lot of us crying and holding onto each other. It was Easter Sunday, which, as I remember, is Clark's favorite holiday. It's just like him to settle on that day for his time to go.
A few weeks later, in May, my mom's husband (my step-father, as it were), suffered a massive stroke while at home (why do doctors always use the word "massive"?). His wife (my mom) called the ambulance promptly, and they were prompt to respond, but again, God had other plans for him, and after only two days of various tests, he passed away with loving family in attendance. It was no particular holiday, but then Percy didn't care much for holidays anyway, so it was appropriate. He and Mom had been together for nineteen years.
After Percy passed away, two people within the scope of two days said to my wife, "Ooh! You know, these things happen in threes!" What a terrible thing to say, even if were true. Well, as it stands, Death struck a third time in my family.
Just last month, in September, after many, many years of declining health, my grandfather (my dad's father), passed away quietly in the nursing home where he resided. A year ago May, his wife passed away due to the long term complications of diabetes. Grandpa, ever the pragmatist (though not to the degree that Grandma was), was simply waiting patiently to go be with the love of his life. They had been married more than fifty years when she passed away, and he was somewhat lost without her. My one regret is that I wish I'd known them better. Listening to the people talk about them at both memorial services made me realize just how much we had in common with one another, and just how little we knew each other. It was a realization made too late, and I'd do things differently if I were able.
If there's anyone in your life that you wish you knew better, just get to know them. In my experience, people aren't as hard to get to know as you might think, and common ground is plentiful. Regrets are tough to swallow, and they rarely digest, instead sitting like a lump in your stomach until you finally cough them up.
The Yard Project That Won't End
After experiencing two family deaths in five weeks, I came to a realization that things around the house weren't getting themselves done, and that I should quit lazing around and get a few things done. A couple of years ago, we put a patio in our backyard and surrounded our front yard with a retaining wall. The front yard was more or less re-landscaped, but the backyard looked more like a jungle than anything else, and the huge mound of dirt excavated from the space the patio went into had more or less eaten what was left of our lawn space, now an overgrown weed patch.
Since my back was still having problems from the car wreck last December, I decided that hiring the work done was the only way it was going to happen. A neighbor knew a guy who did general laboring and put us in touch. After a little negotiation, a crew showed up and started working. With very little fuss, the backyard was stripped bald and the mound was distributed into spaces we were going to make raised gardens in. Hey, this is looking good, I thought. Progress is exciting.
To make a long story short, it turned out that Diego was a roofing contractor by trade, and just did general labor stuff when things were slow. I can't remember exactly how it went, but it wasn't long before we had a new roof ordered. From there, my wife insisted we paint the exterior (it needed it badly). Well, since the new roof was going on, how about putting a roof over the porch? Yup, that'll look silly with the brick facade. Tear that out. What's going up around the raised beds? We went from 2x6 lumber to stacked stone in short order. The extra expense was worth it, because it sure looks nice. Then sod went down in the back, and barkmulch kept the mud down until we can get bedding plants in. Things are really looking up.
But the cold weather is more or less here, and in Portland, when it starts to rain, it generally doesn't end until June except for one week in February where you get teased with clear, cold skies. Well, it's starting to look like that weather is here, and the house trim isn't painted, the pillars for the porch roof aren't done, the storage shed isn't built, the slate tile covering the area the brick was removed from isn't up, and we still don't have any bedding plants. Did I mention that the front of our house has no lighting? It's just over ten weeks until Christmas, and we have family coming for the holidays. Aaaahhhhhhh!!!
Las Vegas, Round Two
The second trip to Las Vegas this year was to celebrate Jen's 40th birthday. This time around, we stayed on The Strip, at The Aladdin. I'll say briefly that, while the casino and mall are nice enough, I wouldn't stay in the hotel again. It's not a bad hotel, it's just not a good one either. For the money you pay to get a room there, the room should be much nicer, and not reminiscent of a Motel6.
Once again, we found ourselves out of sync with our traveling companions, but not to the degree we had been on our previous trip. We had one good meal at The Commander's Palace in the Aladdin. The food there was excellent, and worth every bit of the large sum of money we spent on it. Another night, we ate at one of Emeril Lagasse's fish restaurants in the MGM Grand and about half of us weren't impressed at all. Couple that with Jen having an attack of food poisoning from something she ate earlier in the day, and the meal made for somewhat less than a fond memory. The wine was good, though.
I think I'm more or less done with Vegas for a little while at least. Our tastes in things to do and places to go run just high enough that we need to have a more flexible budget when we go there again, and, frankly, I find the trips down there essentially run between waiting around for something to happen and rushing to get to the next happening thing. I want my next vacation to involve a lot of lying around on a beach with nothing to worry about for a week or so. After I've become bored by that, maybe we'll schedule another trip to Sin City. And when we do, we're going to go in style.