kobayashi 'needl

Saavik: Permission to speak freely, sir?
Kirk: Granted.
Saavik: I do not believe this was a fair test of my command abilities.
Kirk: And why not?
Saavik: Because... there was no way to win.
Kirk: A no-win situation is a possibility every commander may face. Has that never occurred to you?
Saavik: No sir, it has not...

in one of the many star trek movies, there's a reference to a no-win scenario called "the kobayashi maru."

it's a character test for cadets, in which the trainee is faced with two bad tactical options, and has to choose between them.

this week, life imitated art at the spaceneedl household.

on one side, mrs. spaceneedl, taking the week off, with the children out of camp. on the other side, an excess of work at spaceneedl sprockets, with imminent deadlines tied to major trade shows.

mrs. spaceneedl: can't you just take friday off? summer's nearly over, you've taken no time off, and we want to spend some time with you.

spaceneedl's boss: the team needs to work longer hours to get everything done.

huh. these directives appear to be mutually exclusive, don't they? take the day off, deadlines slip, deliverables are imperiled. spaceneedl's boss questions priorities, commitment to work, and future of employment.

go to work, mrs. spaceneedl questions priorities, questions commitment to wife and children, questions future of relationship.

huh. call me crazy, but this appears to be a kobayashi maru scenario.

Saavik: Admiral, may I ask you a question?
Kirk: What's on your mind, Lieutenant?
Saavik: The Kobayashi Maru, sir.
Kirk: Are you asking me if we're playing out that scenario now?
Saavik: On the test, sir. Will you tell me what you did? I would really like to know.
McCoy: Lieutenant, you are looking at the only Starfleet cadet who ever beat the no-win scenario.
Saavik: How?
Kirk: I reprogrammed the simulation so it was possible to rescue the ship.
Saavik: What?
David Marcus: He cheated.
Kirk: I changed the conditions of the test. I got a commendation for original thinking. I don't like to lose.
Saavik: Then you never faced that situation. Faced death.
Kirk: I don't believe in the no-win scenario.

i don't believe in the no-win scenario, either. i do, however, believe in financial stability.

i went to work.

lots of work got done. boss was complimentary.

mrs. spaceneedl had a conniption.

sigh.

labor day weekend is coming up. after that, the children go back to school, fall travel schedules kick into gear, children are one year closer to college.

how does one change the conditions of this test? maybe i can take this friday off.

then again, it's possible the borg are already inside the perimeter, and resistance is futile...

sea what i mean...

Days precious days
Roll in and out like waves
I got boards to bend I got planks to nail
I got charts to make I got seas to sail

I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
She'll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
'Cause I've got boats to build

Sails are just like wings
The wind can make 'em sing
Songs of life songs of hope
Songs to keep your dreams afloat

I'm gonna build me a boat
With these two hands
She'll be a fair curve
From a noble plan
Let the chips fall where they will
'Cause I've got boats to build

-- jimmy buffett

cynics will tell you that the best two days of owning a boat are the day you buy it and the day you sell it.

so sad.

you never hear jimmy buffett complain about his boats, do you? sure, he probably pays lots of people to handle the maintenance and the catering and the bartending, but other than that, he's just like other boat owners.

okay, bad example. still, (and i'm projecting here) the many joys of boating must outweigh the upkeep. and the sea sickness. and the threat of the kraken.
else, why would people keep heading out to sea?

mrs. spaceneedl and i have been thinking about a boat. okay, i've been thinking about it, she's mostly rolling her eyes. think of the children, i tell her. think of the many wonderful childhood memories we'll be providing them.

think of the college education we'll be depriving them of, she counters.

think of the diving and the fishing and the crabbing, i tell her. think of the trips to the san juan islands and the sunshine coast. think of frolicking with orcas in their native habitat.

think of having your head examined, she advises.

yes, but that's the point. getting out on the water can be very therapeutic. it can calm the nerves and soothe the soul. it temporarily disconnects you from whatever troubles you on land.

like, your inability to acquire a boat.

full disclosure: we can't afford a boat. not the boat i want, anyway. because i see us cruising the seas in a floating four seasons hotel. with a gourmet galley and berths for four and a full bath and a crow's nest from which to scan the horizon for uncharted tropical islands.

also, in case you hadn't noticed, the price of fuel has gone off the charts.

what we can afford, comfortably, is the tandem sea kayak currently languishing in our garage.

less comfortably, we might be able to swing a lease on a boat, allowing us 12 days a year on the open water. there's also a 21-day option, which statistically is the number of days most owners use their boats in any given year. 21 days! that doesn't seem like so many. less than one weekend a month. and, what, the boat sits in the marina the other 344 days a year? are you kidding?

this leasing thing is starting to look pretty good.

for an extra stack of hundred-dollar bills you get 32 hours of instruction on seamanship. which is kinda important for people who have never even steered a motorized open-water craft. "how to avoid collisions with other craft, sand bars, and kraken" would be a good place to start.

Songs of life songs of hope
Songs to keep your dreams afloat

i have a dream. it's not a big dream. it's more of a wistful wandering. a momentary failure to concentrate on the concrete.

in this case, my little dream takes the form of a floating oasis, heading out to sea.

i'd appreciate it if no one sinks my float.

the prodigal son returneth

the boy came home today.

he's been at camp colman, near olympia, for the past week.

yesterday we received a letter from him that must've been written his first day away. it includes a couple of illustrations of a sad boy, and a mournful plea to rescue him from his asylum.

the letter, quite pointedly, was addressed to mrs. spaceneedl. that hurt, a little. i mean, i wasn't the one who signed him up for camp purgatory.

bygones.

at the risk of revealing the boy's heart of hearts, here's the gist of his letter...

"hi mom, i'm homesick already and almost cried. i wish you were here. p.s. please come pick me up, i'm not sure i'm ready for this yet.

"oh yeah, thanks for the chess game, book and cards :-)

"mail me back and say if you will pick me up.

"love (heart heart) preston."

the boy is a sensitive soul, easily wounded. he hides his vulnerability behind veneers ranging from bravado to indifference. for example, boarding the bus at the beginning of the week, he neither protested nor looked back. he gave no indication that he was facing anything out of the ordinary or even interesting.

it's hard to discern how he fared during the week. he hasn't offered up anything substantive (to me, anyway). does he want to go to camp orkila next year? no. did he have fun? i guess. what was the best part? i don't know.

it's like having a 10-year old teenager in the house.

he must've done something entertaining. the entire place is a fun factory. water sports, ropes courses, climbing walls, sports courts, an archery range. you can't swing on a giant swing without hitting something fun.

he's probably way over-tired. he probably couldn't find much to eat at camp. he probably would like nothing better than to go hang out with a friend and regale him for hours with camp tales.

dad, meanwhile, will have to settle for unresponsive responses and unsupported assumptions.

maybe someday mrs. spaceneedl will fill me in on the details from our son's first week away from home.

or, maybe i'll just go jump in a lake.

at camp colman.

that sounds like fun.

a pinch of this, a bite of that

The sun is hot and that old clock is movin' slow,
And so am I.
Work day passes like molasses in wintertime,
But it's July.
I'm gettin' paid by the hour, an' older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me over the limit.
I'd like to call him somethin',
I think I'll just call it a day.

Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.

I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
And be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
What would Jimmy Buffet do? -- alan jackson

welcome to the spaceneedl crabhouse, where we're more, and less, crabby than usual.

the crabs in question are in the fridge, on ice. and we're happy about it.

the crabs, we imagine, are not so sanguine about the arrangement.

that's life on the food chain.

there's plenty of dungeness crab to be had in this town. a quick trip to pike place market or fisherman's terminal will yield any size haul you can transport. same for your local qfc.

but where's the sport in that?

these crabs never saw the inside of a grocery store. they came right up out of the depths and onto the neighbor's boat. the "water witch" is a 21-foot outboard with a little trolling motor. it's not a big boat, but it will hold four crab pots on its deck.

and what a haul it seemed to be. four pots, full of crabs. well, hang on...most of them were females. back into the water they went. most of the males...too small. back in the drink. final tally...4 crabs.

but you know what? it didn't matter. what mattered was being out on the water on a beautiful day. what mattered was closing your eyes and feeling the sun on your face. what mattered was conjuring up every line from every movie having anything to do with the water.

"ye've got a debt to pay, jack. ye won't be able to talk your way out of this one."

"shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich. that's about it."

"we're gonna need a bigger boat."

back at the elliott bay marina it was too soon to lose the feeling, so we conducted a little tour of the boats. lots of boats. big boats. fancy boats. you know what... we need one of these boats.

this bertram, for example. or this albin. or, especially, this blackfin. yes, especially the blackfin, i think.

mm-hmm. that's exactly what we need. we can do some crabbing of our own. and some fishing, and some diving, and some fancy schmancy sunset cruising, with cocktails with little umbrellas.

after all...what would jimmy buffett do?

this lunch break is gonna take all afternoon,
and half the night
tomorrow mornin', I know there'll be hell to pay,
hey, but that's all right.
I ain't had a day off now in over a year.
our jamaican vacation's gonna start right here.
if the phones for me,
you can tell 'em I just sailed away...

what time is it?

I bought a cheap watch from the crazy man
Floating down Canal
It doesn't use numbers or moving hands
It always just says 'now'

Now you may be thinking that I was had
But this watch is never wrong
And if I have trouble, the warranty said,
Breathe in, breathe out, move on

According to my watch the time is now
Past is dead and gone
Don't try to shake it, just nod your head
Breathe in, breathe out, move on

-- jimmy buffett

the neighbors have a deck with unobstructed views of the olympic mountains. we've spent some evenings with them this summer, talking about transitory things, sipping wine, watching the sun settle behind the peaks.

the moment it does, the husband quietly marks the time, noting the sunset is a little earlier, and a little further south, than our last visit. and we all let out a little sigh, knowing that another summer is flowing past like a tide that goes out but doesn't come back in.

we have a similar view from our kitchen window. last night, amidst cooking and cleaning and scurrying around, i stopped and watched as the sun winked out. i silently marked the time, trying to capture the fleeting magic of a warm summer night. and i realized that no matter how hard i try, i can't seem to live in the 'now.'

how is one supposed to live in the now when it's over before you can even acknowledge it? the past is a long river of memories; the future is a waterfall just up ahead. you can't see beyond the edge until it's too late, and it wouldn't matter if you could, because you're going over. the 'now' is a futile attempt to grab onto a rock or an overhanging branch as you're swept along. you might catch something for the briefest instant, but the current immediately breaks your grasp.

for the past three weeks or so it's been sunny and near-warm and kind of timeless in seattle. each day has been like the last, in that the morning light comes early, the evening light stays late, and we've very purposefully tried to soak it up, charging our solar batteries for what's ahead.

this morning the clouds were back, and a very fall-like fog was moving through from the west. sound doesn't travel well through the mist, and the neighborhood was near-silent. very briefly, i was in the 'now,' and it felt like something moving past, and something slipping away.

i got in the car and drove toward the waterfall.

breathe in. breathe out. move on.

early july, 2008

"Oh beautiful, for heroes proved,
In liberating strife,
Who more than self, their country loved,
And mercy more than life,
America, America, may God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness
And ev'ry gain devine."


ray charles didn't write "america the beautiful," but he sang it like he owned it.

you can hear the insistent pride, and the certainty that whatever course this country set upon, it would be the right one, and it would be achieved.

these days, however, that certainty has been replaced by something else. something furtive and worrisome and pervasive.

even if you don't yet feel it in your bones, you get a sense of it in polls from across the country. americans say we're on the wrong track or our government is screwed up, or that the founding fathers would be royally PO'd at what we've done to their creation.

if you read the declaration of independence (have you read it? recently?), you may be surprised to find its noble passages comprise a laundry list of complaints. history has elevated those boys to near-mythological status, but the reality (no less impressive) is that they were just tired of being pushed around by the brits.

what might the franklins and jeffersons and washingtons have to say about a different government, say that of today's united states?

how would they view the activities of this country's 43rd president? would they say, "heck of a job, 43! just the way we drew it up!" or would they ask, "what the fuck is going on here, and why are you people just standing around doing nothing?"

there's an army reserve base not too far from our house. every so often i drive by the military cemetery there, with its quiet, uniform rows of white headstones. i wonder what those who fought and died in previous american wars would think of the current conflict in iraq. would they think, "yes, this is a just cause, for which we would lay down our lives."

or would they say, "hang on a minute, this isn't right. america doesn't fight pre-emptive wars. we don't sacrifice blood for oil. we don't torture. and we sure as hell don't take our eye off the ball while the real bad guys get away."

America! America!
God mend thine ev'ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

The line must be drawn here. This far, no further.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government..."

farm fresh fancy

summer came early this year.

here it is just june 29, and we've already had consecutive warm days.

woo.

hoo.

you have to understand, we don't count on summer weather until july 5. if we get sunny and hot anytime before that, people don't know how to act.

they complain about it being too warm, or too bright, or too dry.

it's none of those things, by any reasonable standard, but weather in the PNW is not comparable to the rest of the country.

just to the east, however, on the other side of the cascades, people depend on hot, sunny weather -- and not just for conversation.

they grow and transport and sell the stuff we in the urban areas like to call "food." fruits and vegetables and organic chicken and holistic cheese and steroid-free floral arrangements. yes, those are edible, too. (aren't they?)

we live within walking distance of the magnolia farmer's market. it's an enthusiastic conclave of noise and color and people and pets and politics that seems to send everyone home happy.

the strawberries and rainier cherries are amazing. huge and sweet and priced like gas is $4.55 a gallon or something. which is to say, startlingly expensive.

some of the customers grumble that it's all cheaper at qfc or albertson's. which may be true, but is wildly irrelevant, isn't it? at a time when food of indeterminate origin is packing a salmonella punch and maybe an e. coli gift-with-purchase, locally sourced comestibles are less a luxury than self-preservation.

if you can afford the luxury, that is.

we wonder, idly, what'll happen when gas hits $5.50 or $6 bucks a gallon.
it ain't cheap to drive a loaded-up truck over the cascades every weekend -- and somebody's gotta absorb that cost. whom do you suppose will be the first to blink: the growers, the customers, or the saudis?

it's a rhetorical question. for now.

so far the relationship is still mutually beneficial -- the vendors keep coming back, and the locals keep showing up, cash in hand.

but summer in the PNW is just beginning, and crops are coming in, and migrant workers are working full-time, and growers have a limited window to make what they can, and oh-by-the-way, oil hit $140 a barrel on friday.

if anyone can say they know where the tipping point is, you can bet lots of folks will be eager to hear about it.

our trip to the market yesterday was the stuff that summertimes should be made of. we put on shorts and t-shirts and sunscreen and walked around our neighborhood. children ran and played, adults sat back and watched, time slowed. it was warm and sunny and memorable and simultaneously indistinct...just another day, the way summer days are supposed to be.

we were able to set aside, for a few hours, what we think we know about prices and economics and markets and variables beyond our control.

summer has come early to seattle. we hope it settles in and stays awhile.

* * * * *

addendum: not many people in this neighborhood have air conditioning. around here, we just don't need it all that often. as a result, most people currently have their windows open.

if someone sneezes two doors down, we say "gesundheit."

and if the nubile next-door neighbor has a sleep-over guest...um, we hear that too.

we live in a great neighborhood.

my trip around the sun

i had a birthday this week.

never mind how many. a lot. okay?

among the handful of well-wishes, one friend asked, "so, how was your trip around the sun?"

it's a great question, i said. because, you know, i hadn't really thought about it like that.

what's happened with the spaceneedl family since last june?

first, the fundamentals. we're healthy. the mrs. and i have decent jobs. we have enough to eat, and we have a roof over our heads. these things put us in the ridiculously fortunate 99.99th percentile.

and that's enough. but it's not all.

we were disproportionately fortunate to do a bit of traveling in the last year. to hawaii (twice). skiing in canada. arizona. and a ferry ride to orcas island for thanksgiving. an embarrassment of frequent flyer miles (there's no such thing as frequent ferry miles, as far as i know).

we also traveled for business. to san francisco and vancouver and orlando and miami and san diego and baltimore and boston and denver and chicago and washington, d.c. for all we saw of these fabulous destinations, however, we might just've well been in wichita. (note: i'm sure wichita is a lovely town. really.) most often you go from the airport to a hotel to a convention center to a hotel to the airport and back home again. in between there's a lot of standing in a trade show booth.

it ain't glamorous...but it is a break in the routine, and this can be a good thing, in moderation.

extended cross-country travel also can lead to dvt, which is bad, even in moderation. (note: no one here has developed dvt. yet.)

my company moved further away from the spaceneedl estate, adding hours and dollars to my monthly commute. (note: gas prices are bad for us, but much worse for others who can afford it less. how nice it must be to have to choose between gas for the car to get to work and, say, food. or child care. or health care.)

mrs. spaceneedl took a new job, requiring a major logistical shift from her previous home-based position.

the effects of these changes are still being tallied. they're in our favor in the "paying our bills" column. they're a significant drain in the "having a life" category.

i can see these things clearly, as my eyes are now surgically enhanced. lasik is a fabulous thing. i can see the trees on the mountain ridge to the west. i can certainly envision the exceptional grapes growing in the vinyards at the bainbridge island winery. i can see some bottles of that grape juice on our wine rack.

i recommend the madeleine angevine.

a lot has happened here in the past twelve months. much has been done, leaving exponentially more undone. looking ahead to the next ride through the solar system, there are things i would like to change. i would, for example, like to spend some time at san juan county park.

i would like to be able to hear myself think, on occasion.

i want to spend less time commuting, more time communing.

i wish to be more patient with my son.

another ride is in the books. a new one winks and beckons. "c'mon," it whispers. "it'll be fun. i promise."

hang on, everyone. for as long as you can.

an avery day occurrence

suddenly the world seems such a perfect place
suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace
suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste
it all revolves around you
and there's no mountain too high
no river too wide
sing out this song and i'll be there by your side
storm clouds may gather
and stars may collide
but i'll love you until the end of time

come what may
come what may
i will love you
until my dying day

-- come what may, moulin rouge

* * * * *

i used to sing that song to my daughter on the way to day care.

i couldn't hit the high notes, but she didn't seem to notice. it was a heartfelt serenade, and sometimes i'd get a little choked up on the "until the end of time" and "until my dying day" lines.

she didn't seem to notice that, either.

last night was the annual dance recital for roseanne's dance academy. our third performance, hard as it is to believe. it feels like i've seen the four year olds perform "hopping bunnies" a thousand times -- a thought i shared with mrs. spaceneedl. "be nice," she warned me with a smile. she couldn't fool me. she'll have the infernal "hopping bunnies" chorus ringing in her ears for at least the rest of the weekend.

earlier in the day, the girl's drama club put on a performance of "the great kapok tree." it's the story of a hapless logger who runs afoul of an angry hoarde of animals in the amazon rainforest.

not to spoil the ending or anything, but the animals win.

and it occurred to me about halfway through the show that my daughter was up on stage, delivering lines in front of a crowd of people.

this is the same girl (albeit a later version) who came into the world refusing to breathe. it had something to do with the respiratory depressive effects of the stadol mrs. spaceneedl was given.

i stood there stupidly as our daughter was whisked away, and the nurse anxiously said, "breathe, baby!" time stopped, and we cried, and then the baby cried, and we had a little come-apart as it dawned on us the magnitude of the disaster that had just passed us by.

flash forward several years to last night, and the girl was the best jazz dancer on the stage. she was one of the very few who looked like she was having fun up there. she moved with grace and confidence and no, i'm not just saying that because she's my kid.

full disclosure: i may have been suffering from some kind of paternal myopia. as far as i could tell, she was the only one on the stage.

after, she sat with us holding a very nice bouquet of flowers, raptly watching the older girls performing longer, more intricate routines. it occurred to me that she'd prolly outdance them, too. not that i'm biased.

then "come what may" began drifting out of the speakers, and i became a bit of a mess. time and place and emotions got all cross-circuited, and i was obliged to keep myself together. thankfully, it was dark in the auditorium.

this morning, it's father's day, and i woke up to see a handmade card on my nightstand. "happy fathers day i love you" it said. "love, avery."

i have, over the years, occasionally asked my wife to explain why it was so necessary for us to have children. the question usually coincides with high-pitched shrieking, or egregious room-trashing, or dumping of hot chocolate in the back of the car. or other random childish behavior.

today is not one of those days.*

(* note: the day isn't over yet.)

may day, may day...

time flies, whether you're having fun or not.

how did it get to be the end of may?

how is half of 2008 already over?

how did my son get to be ten years old?

i mean this a couple ways:

one, it was only a couple years ago, i'd swear, that he was falling asleep in his crib, tenaciously holding onto the hand proffered through the rails by me or mrs. spaceneedl. he'd rub his fingertips over ours, as if he were memorizing every line, and if you tried to pull your hand away too soon, he'd wake up and have to start all over again.

it was annoying and achingly endearing at the same time.

eventually he'd fall asleep, and wake up smiling the next morning. the following evening, repeat, as needed.

i remember the routine very well, but i don't remember when it ended. i don't remember the last time i held his hand as he drifted off. more recently, he'd ask his mom or me to lay down with him and "sleep for two" (minutes), which is to say, fall asleep with him regardless of the actual minute count. but, there again, it's been awhile since that happened. he's getting too old for such things, it must be supposed.

how did my son get to be ten years old?

ah, yes, the other implicit meaning: how has the boy made it this far with the working IQ of a howler monkey? it defies explanation.

skinny as a rail, we get reports from school that he throws away most of his lunch, every day. this despite the efforts on our part to engage him in the lunch selection process, to preconfirm that, yes, he likes brand x protein bars and peanut butter sandwiches and chips and lemonade juice boxes, and a host of other items.

dumped, apparently, unceremoniously and untouched.

increasingly nearsighted, we get reports from his teacher that he won't wear his glasses in class. he'll squint painfully, briefly, in a half-hearted effort to read the board, then go back to drawing little battle vignettes on his notebook.

they're cool glasses, too, from the nike sports line, with the matching clip-on sunglass option.

unused, at the bottom of the backpack.

repeatedly reticent in his homework, we get e-mails saying he hasn't turned in assignments. the CDs containing Word files inexplicably go missing, allegedly stolen. we read the riot act, take away privileges, and threaten military school, without discernable effect.

beatings, i say. we must try beatings. mrs. spaceneedl is not amenable to the suggestion.

yesterday my son turned ten years old. how will he get to be 20? how old and decrepit will his parents be by then? it's too daunting to contemplate.

time flies. whether you're having fun or not...

the oh-no virus...

mrs. spaceneedl is headed to san francisco for a conference.

just before leaving, she received the following cautionary e-mail...

Dear Heart Rhythm 2008 Attendees and Exhibitors,

The Heart Rhythm Society has learned from the San Francisco Department of Public Health that there have been reported cases of what is suspected to be norovirus in the San Francisco area. A number of those affected were attending an earlier event at the Moscone Convention Center.

As you know, Heart Rhythm 2008 is scheduled to take place at the Moscone Center, May 14-17. The Convention Center and city health officials have put measures in place to disinfect the facility and are continuing with the current schedule of events. Therefore, Heart Rhythm 2008 is scheduled to continue as planned.

bla bla bla, We look forward to seeing you in San Francisco.

The Heart Rhythm Society

well. that's nice, isn't it?

and call me a cynic, but if the norovirus is "in the san francisco area," disinfecting moscone center is a big waste of time. anyone carrying said virus and entering said center will simply recontaminate everything.

similarly, anyone with the virus who works at the nearby hotels and restaurants and bars and on and on will contact many people who then enter moscone center, contaminating the shiny disinfected surfaces.

seriously, "disinfecting moscone center" is akin to bailing out the titanic with a butterfly net. you might just as easily hook a great white shark and go water skiing.

but wait, there's more! there's whooping cough in the east bay!

note: people in the east bay regularly make their way into san francisco, and the moscone center. will city health officials also disinfect for whooping cough? if not, why not?

while we're on the subject, why not inoculate attendees for avian flu? screen them for mad cow disease? survey them on their safe-sex practices? check their cholesterol?

so many disease vectors, so few cures.

build a bigger wall, adaptable viruses build a bigger ladder. or they dig a tunnel. or they go airborn.

and at the end of the day, it'll be something else entirely that gets you.

bon voyage, sweetie. when you get back, i'm off to orlando.

where hurricane season is just about to begin.

a model of restraint

somehow i got on the ipsos-voice nw survey list.

they want my opinions on all kinds of things, some of which i actually know a little about. and the things i know nothing about? i offer up opinions on those, too.

my own little 'operation chaos.'

today they were asking about the spaceneedls' travel plans for the next 12 months. tsk, that's easy...we have no travel plans.

because we're remodeling a bathroom.

instead of a luxurious stay in beautiful downtown wenatchee...we're remodeling a bathroom. instead of first-class, round-trip tickets to tacoma...we're remodeling a bathroom. instead of walking along the rain-drenched beaches of west seattle...you got it. remodeling a bathroom.

for reference, see the fabulous photo above. our new space will be very similar, in 1 /20th of the space. and 1/100th of the budget. also, no huge jetted tub. and if you could imagine, just one smallish window. tile, not plush carpeting. subtract out the fireplace. and the odd, non sequitur tree.

aside from those items, very similar.

mrs. spaceneedl, poring over an ikea catalogue, laments the dimensions of the room: "nothing's going to fit in here." she recounts a conversation with the contractor, who said "you just need a bigger house."

sure. from remodeling a bathroom to contemplating a new house in three weeks or less. we can afford a huge house, i tell her. we could buy a veritable mansion...in omaha. somewhere upwind from the stockyards, preferably.

so, okay, the house has some limitations. it was built in 1941, not anticipating mrs. spaceneedl's ambitious expectations. despite this--despite the non-negotiable budget and available space--we're still dumping our travel money (for the next several years) into a bathroom.

and why, one might reasonably ask? survey says...? the spaceneedls aren't very smart!

ding ding ding ding! that's right!

sigh.

in conclusion, and in answer to inquiries from friends and pollsters alike...where are the spaceneedls going on vacation this year?

we're going to the bathroom.

thanks for asking.

hazy shades of winter

i'd like to lodge a complaint with the management.

last saturday in seattle it was 79F and sunny. summer was here, man, and it was glorious.

today, a week later, we're on our third straight day of snow.

friday i drove home from work in near white-out conditions. it was like driving west on I-70, past the eisenhower tunnel, on the way to breckenridge. in january. fresh powder everywhere, and woo-hoo, the skiing is gonna be great.

yesterday, running errands around town, more of the same. big damn flakes, and people looking like the apocalypse was upon us. or like they were experiencing an earthquake in illinois.

things like this aren't supposed to happen. or, they happen so rarely that folks say, "what the hell is this?"

today, looking out the kitchen window. more snow. what the hell is this? i want my summer back.

most years in seattle, however, summer doesn't arrive until july 5. up to and through the fireworks on july 4, you can pretty much count on cold. and rain. and cold rain. it's tradition. some places they have fireworks and bbq. we have fireworks and umbrellas. and patio heaters.

but we expect this, and we gear up for it. we alternate layers of fleece and gore-tex. we alternate alcohol and caffeine. and we count on a brilliant, warm july 5.

it's what we signed up for when we moved back to the PNW. can't pretend we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into, ex post facto-like.

but...snow. three days in a row. and more forecast for tomorrow. in april.

i wanna speak to the manager.

* * * * *

update: it's now late afternoon, and the sun is out. suddenly the temperature is nearly 50. what the hell is this?

* * * * *

update II: the storm clouds are rolling in from the west. i'm getting whiplash.

five things

in his excellent book better, atul gawande suggests that there are five things one might do to make a positive difference in the world.

his advice was directed at medical students, but it translates nicely to those of us who are not future physicians.

for example, any of us can...

1. ask an unscripted question.

in the course of an examination, doctors routinely ask patients a rote list of questions. where does it hurt? how long has it felt this way? why did you stick your finger in there? and such.

how much more interesting, and potentially valuable, could it be to do the unexpected?

his conclusion was, "quite valuable." and not just in the exam room.

asked an apparently unrelated question, a patient might subsequently volunteer a detail important to his or her care. a colleague, given the same opportunity, might offer up a nugget that leads to a better treatment for that patient. or maybe it just leads to a mutual interest and a better relationship.

win. win.

2. don't complain.

gawande's observation: it's boring, it doesn't solve anything, and it gets you down.

all true. but it feels good sometimes, right? sure it does. but not as good as getting up and doing something about the problem. so, i conclude in my own little slice of the world, complain, but don't stop there. act. solve. feel even better.

(caveat: if you insist on sticking your finger in there, you give up the right to complain about it.)

3. count something.

gawande equates "counting" with observational science. the gathering and analysis of data. the science of observation can take many forms, however. me, i count the number of days i didn't exercise this week, and calculate how old and out of shape i became as a result.

at my current rate, assigning a negative life expectancy value to days missed, extrapolated over time, i figure i've got about a week to live. but who's counting?

4. write something.

"writing," the good doctor says, "lets you step back and think through a problem. even the angriest rant forces the writer to achieve a degree of thoughtfulness."

i can confirm this. in the nearly four years (four years!) i've been blogging, i've put up some angry rants. but in the process, i think i've become a passable writer.

even more importantly, i've gotten my head around a variety of subjects that, come to find out, are important to me. who knew?

another writer i know blames blogging for her lack of progress on other fronts, including a long-deferred novel. but for me, this writing has quite literally changed my life--for the better. i've organized my little brain in a way it never was before (and probably, none too soon).

5. change.

respond to new ideas. become an early adopter. find something new to try. don't be afraid to fail. because failure is an opportunity to improve.

in the course of their ski lessons, my children brag to each other how few times they fell. but as someone told me long ago, if you don't fall down, you're not trying hard enough.

change, as proposed by gawande, is an open invitation to fall down, over and over again. but that's not so bad, is it? as long as we get up one more time than we fall, we're ahead of the game.

(caveat: when expecting to fall, make sure you're not holding something sharp.)

in better, gawande describes scenarios that are, literally, a matter of life and death. from a polio outbreak in india to infants in the maternity ward to a young girl's cystic fibrosis, his illustrations are riveting. and often disturbing.

somehow, though, daunting as the situation might be, he never gives up hope. he simply gets up one more time than he falls down.

this may be about as well as anyone can hope to do.

heroes

Brave enough to be crazy
Strong enough to be weak
I see all these heroes with feet of clay
Whose mighty ships have sprung a leak
And I want you to tell me darlin'
Just what do you believe in now?

--don henley

heroes still exist.

i knew this all along, but the knowledge was buried beneath years of disappointment and disillusion.

when i was a kid, athletes were my idols. pete rose, for example. man, i wanted to be like him. to play the game like he did, all hard-nosed and relentless and steely-eyed. then pete gambled on the game, lied about it, and exhibited years of unheroic denial and cowardice.

all the good stuff was washed away by the bad.

there were others, as there are with any kid, but eventually all of them proved to be less than heroic. and i'll never forget how empty it felt to stop believing.

maybe that's the price of growing up. you can't be a rational adult and insist people live up to your impossible ideals and idolization. still, it left a void where once there was...what? inspiration? a jarring disconnect between, "i want to be like that" and "i don't want to have anything to do with that."

this week i discovered i can have it both ways.

for four days at a conference for emergency medical service (ems) professionals, i got to see, up close, who these people are and what they do. i got to see their idiosyncracies and reconcile them with the heroic work they do every day.

like prying small, broken bodies out of a wrecked minivan. or looking into the mess that was a face before someone put a bullet into it. or charging into a skyscraper that's about to collapse. we take it for granted, don't we, that "someone's got to do it"?

these are the people who actually do.

as heroes go, some of them aren't my cup of tea. some of them are a little surly. some of them can get a little loud and obnoxious at the pub. some of them look down their nose at "civilians."

that's all fine; while i wouldn't necessarily want to hang out with those particular guys, i'd love to buy them a round of beers. any time, anywhere.

because they're heroes.

then there's the other side of the coin. the majority of ems folks are just the nicest, most intelligent, most endearing people you'll ever meet. they're the kind who would do anything for you, thank you for the opportunity, then try to pick up the tab at dinner.

but you can't let them. because they're heroes. (plus, as noted elsewhere, they don't get paid near enough to be buying dinner.)

every year at this conference there's a skills competition between teams from around the world. it's promoted as "an extraordinary display of techniques, technology, and teamwork by some of the best EMS professionals. Each year’s winner demonstrates unsurpassed assessment skills, clinical knowledge and the ability to work under pressure."

i can confirm that. all of it. five teams competed in the finals, responding to a simulated mass casualty incident the way they might to the real thing. the teams came from iowa and nevada and west virginia and north carolina and new york. and you could see the exercise was serious as a heart attack to all of them.

in the event of an actual emergency, these are the people you want showing up and taking care of you.

the winner was announced the next morning--the team from fdny. these guys are new york to the core; burly, in your face, no fear. and yet when they were presented with their medals (along with a state-of-the-art video laryngoscope), they were like kids who just won their first little league trophy. they didn't know whether to laugh or cry or go to disneyland.

i got to meet them afterward...they spent half an hour in our booth. all i'll say is, that half hour went by way too fast, and i wanted to hug every one of them (but i didn't).

before it was over, though, i realized i can still have my heroes. i can have them without the unreasonable expectations, without the baggage i used to hang on them. i can have them without being disappointed that they're not perfect.

after years of being without them, i've got my heroes back again.

it feels great.

compartmentalization

today i spent four hours in a cadaver lab for ems professionals.

tonight i'm drunk.

these things are not unrelated.

i was pretty composed throughout the event. in a room full of ems veterans and emergency physicians and shock-trauma paramedics, there wasn't much choice. i watched and participated and acted like it was just another day at the office.

there were seven dead people in the room. they were all elderly, and had donated their bodies to medical research. today, that meant educating first-responders on emergency airway control. getting an endotracheal tube through the vocal chords and into the airway.

there are a lot of ways to achieve this end. my company makes one such way, and it's a pretty elegant solution to a difficult problem. other methods are less elegant, and more traumatic for the patient.

but most patients, given a choice, would say, "get that tube in there, and we'll discuss the details at a more opportune time. thanks."

today's patients, needless to say, were past such consideration. their vital signs were as stable as they'll ever be.

at the end of the day we cleaned off our equipment with some serious disinfectant, packed everything into heavy plastic bags, and walked out into a beautiful day in downtown baltimore.

we walked back to a hotel near a convention center where our company, among many others, is exhibiting the latest life-saving devices and products.

the people who do this kind of thing for a living are energized and enthusiastic to be here, learning new things that will help them help us, when we need them most. they wear patches and insignia that say "broward county ems" and "new orleans critical care rescue team" and "fdny."

i stare as they go by, utterly failing to grasp how they do what they do--amazing things under extraordinarily difficult circumstances. these people should be showered with money and eternal gratitude.

instead, most of the time, they toil in obscurity, at barely sustainable wages.

i was happy as hell today to contribute, insignificantly, to their efforts.

and tonight i quietly tried to wash the taste of death out of my mouth.

i can't say that it worked out very well.

signed, sealed, delivered

yesterday i ordered two large "obama '08" yard signs.

i was gonna wait 'til the man secured the nomination, but the numbers are in, and they're indisputable. the democratic nominee is barack obama (hillary will just have to come to terms with this fact...hopefully sooner, rather than later).

so i ordered my signs.

and while that's good, it's not the best part.

the best part is that our next door neighbor, one gladys kravitz*, is a rabid republican.

in '04 we were obliged to endure her bush-cheney sign (not to mention the ongoing nausea-mare of bush and cheney themselves).

in '06 we were treated to local gop propaganda, notably a big "mike mcgavick for u.s. senate" sign. thankfully, that didn't work out so well, for gladys or mcgavick, who lost in a landslide.

all the while, we kept our peace. we displayed no counter-propaganda. we put no stickers on our bumpers. we especially did not shout at her windows through a bullhorn.

those days are over. well, except for the bullhorn-shouting part. though we reserve the right to bust that out later.

the signs are on the way.

but wait. it gets better still. turns out gladys's live-at-home son, we'll call him rimbaud, is in the obama camp. we know this because the boy attended the washington state caucuses, kinda sly-like, without mom noticing. and, he was one of the many gathered in the teachers' lounge who did not vote for clinton.

isn't it rich?

we assume at some point we'll see a "mccain" sign up next door (though it turns out many hard-right wingers don't find mccain sufficiently insane---go figure). in addition to some strategic vandalism on that front, we contemplate with great joy the deployment of the obama yard signs.

the gloves are off, gladys.

no prisoners.

* no, not really.

the fairness doctrine

newsflash: life isn't fair.

if it were, a young woman, full of promise, wouldn't have been shot dead last week in chapel hill, nc.

if it were, another young woman, in new york, wouldn't be getting rich from her bad choices and her notoriety.

if it were, eliot spitzer...well, come to think of it, eliot got what was coming to him. he deserves to be an ex-governor, shamed out of office and currently very uncomfortable in his own home. if it is, in fact, still his home, and his wife hasn't run him off as well.

life wasn't fair to mrs. spitzer, either.

eve carson was student body president at the university of north carolina. she was popular with peers, respected by faculty, and pretty in an effortless, 22-year old kind of way. by all accounts, she made the right choices to get where she was. but because life isn't fair, she was killed early one morning, for a handful of credit cards and her car.

now her friends and family are left to do whatever people do to keep breathing in such circumstances. at the moment, i can't imagine what that might be.

ashley alexandra dupré is the high-priced call girl who helped spitzer crash and burn so spectacularly. her life hasn't been idyllic. she was abused in her youth, dropped out of high school, left home, used drugs and spent time on the streets.

somehow she found her way into a high-paying prostitution gig, used the money to record some music, and eventually stumbled across the former governor of new york.

life wasn't fair to ashley. it's doubtful that her childhood dream was to be a hooker. but suddenly, despite a plethora of bad choices in her 22 years, all her dreams are coming true. she's making a bundle of money on her songs, and being offered seven-figure paydays to exploit her new celebrity.

since i have a daughter, i empathize with the parents of both these girls. one child, gone forever, the other a prostitute at the center of a national scandal. it's bizarre. surreal. a turn of the wheel that grinds people under.

things happen for a reason, some say, but i don't believe it. there's no rhyme or reason to these stories...or any others, near as i can tell. life is many things, but rational ain't one of them.

and it surely isn't fair.

souls foreclosed

we like to think we live in a nice, friendly neighborhood.

we like to think we can count on each other for some important things, like keeping an eye on the kids, or jump-starting a car on a cold morning, or watching over the house if we're away.

we like to think we live amongst people who don't swoop in like vultures to buy the neighbors' house in a foreclosure frenzy.

but according to an e-mail i received recently, people are scoring GREAT DEALS on houses in OUR NEIGHBORHOOD due to the wave of foreclosures nationwide.

apparently it's an INCREDIBLE OPPORTUNITY to invest in real estate that may not come along again IN OUR LIFETIME.

isn't that great?

an infomercial on one of the local tv stations echoed the e-mail, only louder, and with testimonials.

"we swooped in and bought our neighbors' house, and we feel great about it," said one effervescent couple.

"this was a great opportunity for us to kick our neighbors to the curb," gushed another.

i'm exaggerating only slightly. in fact, the less discerning in the audience would notice the hyperbole not at all.

what have we come to that some of us will greet our neighbors cordially on the weekend, and emotionally eviscerate them on monday? that some so-called friends will talk the neighbor talk, but walk the republican walk?

we've come to no damn good, that's what.

they say a fish rots from the head down, and in some cases that's true.

but that's no excuse for people who, by appearance, are just like us, but when times get tough...have no heart at all.

a world away

occasionally i see myself on a skiff, looking for marlins, in the florida keys.

in this little fantasy, it's just me, old and alone, on the last few miles of a long journey.

i don't know why the keys, except maybe that the water there is warm and iridescent blue, and that after the global-warming hurricane years, what's left of the land there is barren. and cheap.

as i'm old, with no one to worry about except myself, i don't worry about the next storm so much as the next meal. the next fish into the boat.

but, importantly for my old bones, the air is warm, and humid, and keeps the aches from being too bad.

i've kicked my caffeine habit, and i've given up the wine and beer. none of it is readily available, and i have no way to keep anything hot. or cold. just room temperature, which is a pretty consistent 82.

i don't know where the children are. and they have no way to reach me. they were both pretty well set up after their mother passed, and i didn't feel like i had a lot of value to add to their lives. the boy never really liked me, see, and the girl...well, she was always so self-posessed and happy. what use did she have for a tired, disheartened old man?

there's no internet, no news, no outrage to channel.

i don't miss it.

i rise with the sun, sleep at sunset. i breathe, and, on really good days, manage to stay out of my own head and out of my own way for hours at a time. it's very refreshing.

and quiet. even the storms, noisy as they are, don't disturb the soundless days and nights.

i fish. and swim. and walk. i watch the sky, and meditate on the finite and the infinite.

nothing gets resolved, but then again, no one ever said life was easy.

it's just an occasional fantasy. it doesn't come around often. i have no idea what it means.

and it's not so bad. it just is.