Resurrection!

L wanted to see the blinking-disk icon. So I hit the power button and....

IT BOOTED!

Mac blues

ok, things seem a little better in the light of day. I'm not saying that I've come to terms with the loss yet, but I'm no longer despondent.

The mac is dead?

Long live the Mac.

It looks like Eugene's current heat wave may have killed my Macintosh 7100av. I attempted to boot up tonight (thought I'd watch a 10pm cop and/or lawyer drama before heading to bed fed through the vcr hooked up to the av card: a method that has served as my television for the past 7 years) and I'm getting the dreaded floppy disk with a blinking question mark:

So I guess I can't say 'sort of' anymore when people ask me if I really don't have a television. Now I really, really don't have one. I'm not kidding around. I mean it this time. Unless I go to Fred Meyer or Target or a garage sale next week. Actually: I could probably pick up a real replacement pretty quickly. Who needs a dumb CRT?

sigh.

And I guess I won't ever be able to convert those old Claris Works files over to MS Word now.

It's just blinking at me from across the room. All sad like and forlorn.

Poor thing.

I should throw it out the window.

I could buy two laptops and a decent desktop for what I paid (er, took out a payroll loan at NWU) for it in 1995. 11+ years. Not a bad lifespan for a personal computer. I even still had it hooked up to the web: I used it to prove to Qwest that their DSL modem was dying last year.

OK, I hit the emergency power button. The screen is blank. Last time this happened I booted from CD and resuscitated it, but a few years back I discovered the CD drive was dead. I had a spare, but it didn't work either. I figured it must be the bus that the drive was connected to.

The green power light is still on the monitor. It's the original. Still bright and in focus.

Yes, I tried re-booting. Yes, I reset the PRAM.

Geez, I'm getting a little choked up. I can't even seek solace: L is down with a migraine. It's hot out (although blessedly less than in recent days) and I'm all alone up in the attic. Maybe I should go for a walk, clear my mind. Although that might just make me reminisce about all the good times we had. It came with voice recognition right out of the box: that's funny, just yesterday NPR had a story about how far it's come. I remember sitting in an old apartment, long before L walked back into my life, with a woman I was desperately trying to date, speaking to the Mac in measured tones, speaking its name before every command: Theo (I was reading Dear Theo at the time, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I was trying to impress this girl by reading Dear Theo at the time.)

I attempted to make my first map with it. By stitching together screenshots of Mapquest. I was going to measure gentrification in Chicago based on the density of SUVs parked on the street.

How oddly prescient.

Ooh: I also tried to draw a map of the businesses around Green Lake in Seattle: it was an attempt to learn Illustrator. Lame!

Geez: I'm like despondent. Earlier I was thinking about what a lovely evening I had tonight: a little tennis, dinner at a friend's, trimmed the hedge a bit (whoo hoo: #2!). And now this.

Well fuck.

oops. sorry mom.

I think I'll just go to bed.

Damn: I'm not kidding. I think I'm gonna cry. It's like the cat died: you know it's just a cat; you've sworn to yourself you'd never give it dialysis; you'd put it down at the first sign of struggle: no sense in prolonging the agony; get a new one at the pound for $20, etc. But when push comes to shove: I've moved the damn thing 8 times (3 more than the cat!); made space in all of my homes for it; spent some good quality time with it. Granted I've never had to pick up its barf or clean its litter, but still: it's like a member of the family.

sigh.

I almost feel dirty touching my Windows machine to type this post. Maybe that's it: Am I afraid this will be my last Apple? Will I never go Mac again? Have I gone completely over to the dark side?

Someone help me!

A bit more windy memories

I still have a little art commentary to give on the Chicago trip, but before I do that I'd like to mention my recreational reading from my time at home.

I went looking for The Devil in the White City before I left Eugene, but all 7 copies were out of the library. I've been wanting to read this for a while, inspired initially by two ladies who came to the library looking for maps of Chicago from the period (and were thrilled to find a commemorative atlas from the Fair). I picked one up in Chicago and loved it. The simultaneous story of the 1893 World's Fair and a serial killer, this book is a must-read for those who wonder what Chicago, Hyde Park, and the original trolley suburbs were like in the post-Fire boom. It covers a lot of biography of Daniel Burnham too. I devoured this book, finishing it up in a coffee shop in Wicker Park on my way out of town.

Two nights previous, I was handed a copy of Crossing California, a novel about growing up Jewish in West Rogers Park in the late 70's and early 80's. I can't vouch for the cultural and religious aspects, but it captures the time. I am almost exactly contemporary with a couple of the characters, and my memories of bafflement at some of the events of 1979 (hostage crisis, Reagan getting elected, Jane Byrne as mayor) described are perfectly reflected in Muley and Jill. Thank you Julie for the loan, and thank you Adam Langer.

Adding to the effect was the fact that the best meal I had during the visit was cooked in West Rogers Park by my friend Kevin. Kale with ground pork and mushrooms over polenta. Green tea and romano (if memory serves) put the polenta over the top. I have an official request in for the recipe. While leaving, I noticed the Fondu Stube, and thought: 'This is kind of a strange neighborhood for a nostalgia restaurant.' Well, it's not a throwback: it's been there since the first fondue craze, as it features in the book.

Bunny

By the way: the bunny was brilliant. Thanks to AZK for the loan of several cookbooks. Carving them up reminded me of dissecting cats in high school: I guess all small mammals have a similar internal form.

Rose petals

Wow, they really do strew rose petals in the path of a princess.

A very nice event, if a little anti-climactic. The folks in the library just studying were mostly nonplussed. The actual dedication ceremony was not overblown or overly long. Actually, it was blessedly short. There was an excellent turnout of staff: I'd say fully half of the chairs were filled by people who work there. Others looked like community folks who were curious (or who had curious children). I did notice that one of my regular internet surfers was there, and slightly better dressed than usual. I guess he got the memo.

At the end, while we were looking at the books, L asked if it would be bad form to drink the princess' orange juice or water, which looked untouched. I said definitely yes, but then 2 minutes later someone picked up the OJ and guzzled it down.

If there's ever any Polish dignitaries in the library, I would hope that someone would come to me (or better yet, the Slavic bibliographer, who's a native) and ask for a little coaching on pronouncing names. I presume that if we still had a SE Asian librarian she would have been asked.

Princess and the pea

There's just so much that could be said about preparations for our library's visitor tomorrow. It's funny, because every joke we've made has been topped by the truth. I've been hesitant to repeat things I've heard for fear that it's just wild exaggeration, but no: we really have been asked not to use the locked staff bathroom, as it has been prepared for the princess.

Earlier in the week I came across one of our facilities guys painting a hallway in the basement. "Dude, don't you have something better to do?" I asked snarkily, "The princess isn't coming in the basement."

"Oh yes she is," he replied. He pointed with the brush behind him, "She's coming in that door, turning right here, and going down to the media studio." He was painting the first ten feet to the left, then turning around to go down the corridor she is actually walking through. I guess that explains the distinct stopping point in the clean carpet just outside my area: it's around a corner.

On the up side, I was told that there is a slush fund for visiting dignitaries, so a lot of the carpet cleaning and bras rail polishing that's been going on isn't coming out of our budget. But a lot of the front office folks (as well as our painting friend) have been putting in major time on this: that can't be cheap.

Maybe this could be developed into a strategy to get deferred maintenance done: invite a princess every year to visit a different department of the library. Of course, in my area the duck tape would undoubtedly gum up the works in the carpet machine.

After our movie tonight we decided that yes, we'll get dressed up and go. You never know, she may need a map.

Pondering recipes

I'm trying to decide what to do with some 4H bunnies that are burning a hole in the freezer. There's this. There's also a stew recipe in one of my standard cookbooks. Annie offered up a couple cookbooks last week--I should have borrowed them when I had the chance.

So if the loyal readers have any suggestions, let us know.

More big city envy.

Is it really ok for me to be trained as an urban geographer when I'm such an obvious fan of big cities?

My week in Chicago started out with a trip to the far western suburbs, past a line of 15-story office buildings I've never seen before. Not only do I not remember the last time I was that far west on the east-west tollway, I'm not even sure I've ever been there. The old friend I was visiting lives in an in-fill subdivision between Naperville and Aurora. There was a time that Aurora was sort of a stand-alone town, but those days are long gone. I think they were pretty much gone when I was growing up, but now it's continuous development straight through. What was most striking was how much obvious sense the office buildings lining the tollway make. Granted, it makes sense only when you are in a car. In fact, it is the most car-specific landscape I've been in for quite a while. It made me long for a tripod and a van to stand on top of, just so I could somehow show the lack of walking space.

Now I see why everyone is interested in doing 'walkability' studies. They're looking to quantify how bad it is.

The wedding, the ostensible reason for the trip, was a lovely affair. My first Unitarian nuptuals. The groom's
uncle, a Catholic deacon, was given the floor and managed to refute every tenet of Unitarian (non-)theology in about 45 seconds. I'm glad the clergy at my Catholic-wedding-with-a-Mormon-guest-speaker kept their daggers in their sleeves. Someone else was heard to remark over dinner: "So, this is how democrats get married."

Hung with some old friends, and a couple new ones, afterwards. Overall a lovely time.

The next day it was back to the western suburbs for father's day dinner. My father insists he's never had to re-charge his I-pass, but it seems to be we racked up at least $10 on it over the past couple months. One thing I didn't realize is that the tolls for users of the little gizmo are only half the posted cash tolls.

On Monday I drove the honeymooners up to O'Hare and then bid farewell to the parents, sibling, and nephews with a dinner at Denny's. Better gastronomic tourism lay ahead. To aid the trip, I moved into the honeymooners now vacant house. I think the dogs appreciated the company. This let me bike to the Midway el stop
. It was actually a great ride, taking exactly a half hour along 52nd Avenue, through the Ford City West parking lots, over the Cicero bridge, and then down Kilpatrick straight into the Kiss'n'Ride lot. Riding through Oak Lawn, Burbank, and then Westlawn was slightly freakish. There are a lot more older homes than I remember--somehow my years on the North Side made me forget that.

Speaking of memory, after doing the ride twice I came to a strange realization. When I dream about this part of Chicago, the landscape is actually a little bit more accurate than my conscious memories of it. I did take a little detour through my grandmother's old neighborhood and did drive by the house I grew up in. During each excursion, I found myself relying more on instinct than on actual memory. Only later did I realize that the instinct comes from recurring dreams as to which streets go through, which ones have business strips, and which dead-end in railroad tracks, industrial buildings, or other obstacles.

OK, enough psychoanalysis.

My first day out I spent an afternoon in the 'traditional' gallery district along Superior Street after having lunch with a high school friend. Mariella Bettineschi's digital photos on glass didn't move me, but Michelle Keim's large scale prints of industrial sites at night were stunning. Catherine Edelman has been the standout photo gallery for as long as I've been interested in these sorts of things, and she's still going full steam ahead. I don't think I've ever seen a bad show there. In the side gallery hung a few prints from a duo, Clark and Pougnand, who photograph people in elaborate tableaux, sort of a Gilbert and George for the new millenium. Wow. But the Keim is what sticks out in my memory. If I was making a lot of photos, these would be the photos I'd be wanting to make.

A sculpture show caught my eye and dragged me straight into the Andrew Bae Gallery, which specializes in Asian artists. Keysook Geum's wire dresses were amazing. The photos on the website don't do them justice. Run don't walk, straight to Andrew Bei.

Finally, there was Elena Dorfman at Schneider. I don't know if this gallery is newer than Catherine Edelman, but it showed up on my radar a little later. Things here tend to be a little edgier (just a little though), but Dorfman's portraits of sex dolls and their owners were surprisingly NOT edgy. I'd say they were tender, and presented what I would have assumed to be a fairly hard-core fetish community as just another sub-culture, like people who collect plush dolls. Granted, life-size latex plushies, but
hey, we've all got our quirks.

There were some more night photos here too, big cityscapes. But after the Keim, they seemed a little too much for above the sofa. Still, awfully nice.

This post has waited long enough. I know my (three) loyal readers are itching to hear these details. They will just have to wait for the rest of them.