iLaugh

David Pogue's spoof of my fellow iPhone line-sitters. You'll laugh. I know I did.

More on iPhone

A few observations now that I've had a day to play with the phone...

THREE THINGS I LOVE
1. Realtime traffic mapping. I can use it to map my commute home to Vancouver from the Tigard/Tualatin area or vice versa. It will show me, as in this picture, the set mileage (19.3), but also the expected drive time (at the time this was shot, about 30 minutes) based on color-coded lines that indicate current speeds and slow spots on the highways I need to travel. If I see a red section, signaling a backup, I can pick another route. Even without Wi-Fi in our office, I'll be able to get this reading - slowly, granted - via the phone's built-in network connection before I get in the car. And once I'm on the road, I'll be able to continue charting the clearest route wherever I'm going.


2. Multitasking (Amy will hate this). Earlier, during a phone call I took on speaker phone, I responded to a running text message conversation and checked my e-mail.

3. This spot could go to some of the iPod features later (stunningly crisp video presentation, for example, with widescreen display for movies), but for now, I'll say linking straight from addresses I look up online (hmmm, where to go for dinner and how to get there?) or in my list of contacts (where does Joe live, again?) straight to Google Maps to chart their locations. If I were a reporter, man, this would be a great tool. One drawback, if the address (or phone number) on a Web page isn't hypertext, the lack of a cut-and-paste function sucks. If it is, though, just click and you're connected.

THREE THINGS I DON'T
1. The built-in network is, as advertised, REALLY slow. Sometimes it times out before pages load. And, at times, getting that alternative Wi-Fi connection can be a little tricky. Mike and I struggled to get on his home network today, and then got bounced off Portland's MetroFi a few times for some reason. That said, at our house, once I entered the home network password, the phone always goes straight for the better, faster connection. And, when I walked into the neighborhood coffee shop around the corner this morning, the phone automatically picked up that Wi-Fi and asked me if I wanted to use it.

2. No drag-and-drop loading of iTunes, at least for now. Everything must be synced to get in the system. That's fine and expected for contacts, calendars, mail and bookmarks. But it's an extra step I'd rather not have to deal with for music, podcasts and videos. Instead, in the case of music, you have to create a playlist and then sync it to the system. Once it's on, the music appears as it normally would on an iPod, but the runaround factor is annoying. And I don't recall it being advertised, which feels a little deceptive. Frustrated the hell out of me last night - and when I called this afternoon they said, "Yep, sorry, no drag-and-drop." Maybe an eventual software update can remedy that.

3. Safari, with no Flash and other limitations. Wish I could use trusty old Firefox with all the bells and whistles. But, really, as Amy will tell me, I don't need to get ALL the Web ALL the time.

iPhone frenzy

Got one.

I'm pretty excited, even if I feel a little - just a little - dorky for going to stand in line for the last two hours before they went on sale at Bridgeport Village. But it was a slow day at work (for me, at least, but not for our friend Mike, who was busy) and I was able to wrap things up early. So, really, what else did I have to do?

Soon, I'm sure, Amy will be asking, "Don't you have have anything else to do this weekend but play with that damn phone?"

Still, I contend, it's a legitimate purchase. I lost my Razr a couple of weeks ago and my iPod Nano is a couple of years old and jammed full. The new iPhone takes the place of both with even more space and features. Plus, I get Mac's Address Book carried right over and all of iCal, which I love. I get weather and travel maps at my fingertips. And I can check my e-mail - both personal and work accounts - anywhere, even if the connection's a bit slow when I'm not on a WiFi network.

The whole shtick at the stores today was a little over the top. I just wanted the phone, not membership in the cult and high-fives with the "geniuses" who work at the Apple stores.

-30-

In the world of journalism that age-old symbol, - 30 -, is universally known to mean you've reached the end of the story. It's what reporters out in the field would put at the bottom of their copy so that when editors received it they knew where the story was intended to close rather than where it might have been accidentally cut off during the transmission. (Oh, those dark ages before the advent of the Interweb and sat phones.)

In the months leading up to my 30th birthday, which will be tomorrow, 30 and -30- have at times felt almost synonymous. Chalk it up to my tendency to overanalyze everything just a bit. (Perhaps that - and a few beers; as Dan says, "it helps motivate" - explains last week's Buckley post that I'm pretty sure no one got.) But now that the big three-oh is a few hours away, I don't feel any anxiety at all. Even with the increasing numbers of gray hairs I keep finding in my beard and on my head.

That said, no other birthday has ever brought me that touch of concern. Sixteen was all about the excitement of getting to drive. Twenty one, from what little I recall, started with 23 shots and damn near could've been -30-. Now here's 30, staring me dead in the face and, after some initial fretting, I'm all the more ready for what's to come in the next decade. Rather than an ending, this is shaping up both at home and at work as a time of new beginnings.

I just hope I'm having as much fun when I hit 40.

"I'm only here for this moment"

Last week -- Tuesday, to be precise -- marked the 10th anniversary of Jeff Buckley's death.

If you know who he is then maybe you'll get some of this. If you don't, I'm sorry, and I hope you'll still read on and maybe, sometime, give him a listen.

If you're in the later category, here's a little something to get you started, from his website:

Jeff Buckley was born in California's Orange County in 1966 and died in a tragic drowning accident in Memphis on May 29, 1997. He had emerged in New York City's avant-garde club scene in the 1990's as one of the most remarkable musical artists of his generation, acclaimed by audiences, critics, and fellow musicians alike.

Before we begin, yes, I realize just about everything that could be said about the man has already been committed to print or pixel. You can read plenty of those - from more eloquent, more insightful, more informed folks - here. Some of the bloggers who have been writing this week were even fortunate enough to have seen him perform live. (Lucky bastards.) And NPR had some good stuff timed to the anniversary that's worth a listen here.

All that said, bear with me.

I'd planned to write about this earlier. Then life got away from me - it's doing that a lot lately - and I figured the moment had passed. I figured I had nothing to add to the discussion, and, I'm still not sure I do. But this afternoon over beers and babies in the Hovdes' backyard, they mentioned their short stint in Memphis back in the mid '90s. And just like that, Buckley was back in my mind.

Now, with that introduction out of the way, I have to say the brief bio doesn't really begin to do him justice. But it'll serve as our point of departure nonetheless. And, yes, I'll be the first to say I'm sure I'm romanticizing the guy. (But really, isn't that what happens to all dead rock stars?)

For a variety of reasons, I've thought a lot about the anniversary's approach the past few months and its recent arrival. Part of it's what his music means to me - how I found it, who was in my life at the time, where my life was headed, where I am now and how his songs have been a constant through it all. Part of it is the mystique of the man himself - that voice, the ethereal range of "Hallelujah", and that guitar, from those entrancing first notes of "Last Goodbye", undoubtedly. But part of it is also his passion and what would seem to be his pain. And, no doubt, part of it is his death, both for when (at age 30, which I'll begrudgingly turn one week from today) and how (a drowning, like my uncle) it came. But, most of all, I think, it is the spirit that seems to bleed out of what he created - one epic studio album released in his life, and a ton of live and unfinished studio material, released after his death.

For my money or downloading time, there's an unmatched energy in all Buckley's music to create, and in that act of creation to stretch until hitting that spot where all self-consciousness is lost and an innate gut instinct kicks in. It's in that flicker of time that Buckley (and each of us, in those rare moments in whatever may be the pursuits of our own lives) comes utterly unhinged and sweeps himself and everyone around him away in the ecstasy of the moment that is now.

It's just gorgeous and beautiful and, for me, the epitome of the transporting powers of music. Some of the notes that man pushed himself past all natural limits to hit still give me goosebumps even as I listen to it all again tonight for the millionth time. I burned up I-35 between Wichita and Norman in late summer 1999, damn near wearing out my copy of "Grace," windows down in an old Cougar sans A/C. The wind-whipped roar of the Plains was never any match for Buckley's howl and cry as "Last Goodbye" gave way to "Hallelujah," which in turn gave way "Eternal Life" as I fled the remains of one relationship, pulled back into town and quickly found myself falling into the one - the love with Amy - that would lead to our marriage.

To hear people who saw him live tell it, he'd often stop shows and restart songs because they didn't feel right. Because, in essence, although everyone else in the building might have thought he was spot on, he knew within himself that he wasn't quite in that place that he needed to reach to create the moment he wanted to share.

For those who've been lucky enough to have even one of those moments in our life, I think the simple hope for another one is one of the things that keeps us going. I remember as a kid I'd sometimes get so deeply into whatever I was doing that I would get this tingling feeling, this rippling buzz of energy that would just wash over me at those rare instances, those most graceful and fleeting of gifts life occasionally gives us.

It's rarer still, I think, to see one captured on film. That's why I keep this - from the liner notes of the appropriately named "Grace", Buckley's one studio album released while he was still alive - on my desk wherever I work.

I love that picture. His head is thrown back, his eyes are shut, he's bathed in the light, the rhythm guitar player on the far left is following his lead and the drummer on the right is poised for the next cue Buckley would deliver by the simple nod of his head. He's creating, he's guiding, he's magnetic. He's a force in and of himself. And, beneath it all, rests the image of a clock, ticking ever forward, toward whatever end may await us all, someday, somewhere, sometime, as a reminder to do it - whatever it may be for each of us - now.

Those moments seem harder to come by as I get older. But they're every bit as electric and heavenly, if you will, when they do present themselves. (Whoever created this, which I love, apparently sees a little otherworldliness in Buckley, too.)

All this from the man who wrote, as that NPR piece mentions, what might as well have been his own epitaph, from "So Real."

I couldn't awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under

But it's also the man who sang - as fittingly closes disc two of the posthumously released "Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk" - "Satisfied Mind."

When my life is over and my time has run out,
my friends and my loved ones, I will leave there's no doubt.
But one thing's for certain, when it comes my time,
I'll leave this old world with a satisfied mind.

May we all be so lucky.

Blur of a weekend

Nothing like a quick 38-hour trip home and too many beers with old friends from college to mess with a guy.

Touched down at Will Rogers World Airport -- still the only major airport I know of named after a man who died in a plane crash -- @ 4 p.m. Friday. Lifted off for Portland @ 6 a.m. Sunday. (Got to spend two lovely layovers in Houston, where they're putting a Bass Pro Shop in one of the terminals because, really, you never know when you'll need to buy new huntin' or fishin' gear between flights.)

Two reasons to go:

One, to see my little sister, Chelsea, graduate with the first of her degrees. Glad I could be back for that. And congrats to her. When she finishes the rest of her counseling psychology work, someday, she'll have a helluva lot of expertise to draw on from our family. Maybe she'll be able to straighten us out.

Two, to see my old college adviser retire. Jack Willis, simply put, is the man who taught me how to be a journalist. A legend of Oklahoma journalism, he worked at the Muskogee Phoenix for years, eventually becoming its editor. Then, in 1993, he came to Norman, where he oversaw the campus paper, The Oklahoma Daily, until this month. He's in the state journalism hall of fame, but more importantly, he's in the hearts of the generation of journalists he molded in his career.

His students - including Amy and me, who met in his newsroom - couldn't feel more privileged to have come up under his leadership. He taught us lessons of journalism, and he taught us lessons of life.

Jack gives a farewell speech. His voice cracked a few times as the emotion of the moment hit him, which just about sent us all over the edge. This was right after three former students -- Nick Jungman, I and Sarah Ganus, representing the early, middle and late eras of Jack's tenure, respectively -- had the pleasure of speaking to the group about what Jack means to us and to The Daily.

Here we say goodbye, for now, in his old office, where we sat and had so many career talks. It's where he talked me into applying for my first internship, which took me to Wichita. It's where we talked through whether I should try to go to Portland or St. Petersburg. It's where I learned so many of the intangibles that I rely on daily now.

A few final Jack thoughts/memories.

Jack's old-school response to the "How long should my story be?" question always cracked me up while saying it all. "It should be like a woman's skirt," he'd invariably explain, in his typical deadpan style. "Long enough to cover the essentials, but short enough to be interesting."

Although I always wanted him to give me answers to my career questions, he always would say, "Well, Seth, what do you think?" And then he'd lead me through a conversation in which I'd figure things out for myself. It helped me not only then, but also years later in ways I'm still figuring out.

As I said Saturday to the group of alums who came back for Jack's sendoff, it's not that you just don't want to disappoint Jack in whatever you do and wherever you go in this business. Instead, it's that you want to make him proud.

Here's hoping we do.

On the big screen

I made it into the movie for one scene.

No, really, hold my hand

Kitchen love

Our friend Stephanie wrote a very nice story about our kitchen remodel in The Columbian today. It has a cool picture, too. Check both out here.

I'm guessing the guy we bought this place from is kicking himself more and more by the day.

My Hollywood debut?

My 15 seconds of fame may be coming up.

"Burnt Chocolate Water," which I wrote about last September, will screen May 18-24 @ the Hollywood Theater in Northeast. Whether my ugly mug winds up on the big screen or on the cutting room floor, I suspect it should be a good show.

In another of life's little quirks, the trailer and the promotional postcards going around show that filmmaker Jeff Grinta managed to hook up with Shannon Wheeler, who appears to at least make one very appropriate cameo in the project.

Wheeler created the Too Much Coffee Man comic. Turns out he lives in Portland now and works with Dark Horse. I used to read his work for a time in college. Haven't seen any of his stuff in years, but it used to be well worth the trouble of tracking down a copy. If you get a chance, check them out -- both the movie and the comic.

Newsroom or search engine?

Guy calls the city desk @ 8:54 this morning.

I answer.

Me: "Newsroom."

Him: "So -- this isn't anything about the newspaper -- I got in an argument with a guy and I was thinking of all people, you all could help."

Me: "OK"

Him: "So there was a heavyweight champion, recently, a guy from Britain..."

Me: "Lennox Lewis."

Him: "Yes! Yes! That's the guy. Thanks!"

Click.

Kitchen remodel: Recap

Watch 60 days of work in about 60 seconds by viewing this slide show. Just set the speed to 1 second per frame.

Days 61-62: Kitchen remodel

The kitchen is open for business. We had a big welcoming dinner Saturday night with the Robinwoods. Main course: Curried lamb popsicles, inspired by our favorite restaurant, Vij's in the other Vancouver.


Jack gave it all his stamp of approval.


Erik took our picture as I helped Amy melt some chocolate chips for dessert. Later, after our friends had gone home and everything was cleaned up, I came back downstairs and realized Amy had been sitting in the nook for more than half an hour just gazing around the room, taking it all in. She's happy. Which makes me happy.


We did dinner in tonight. Grilled shrimp pasta and a nice salad. I'll leave any further descriptions of the food to Amy on her blog.



The guys are back tomorrow to do a few final things. Soon, even the Port-a-Potty will be gone from the driveway.

Days 58-60

For all intents and purposes, it's done. Everything is hooked up. The appliances are all in their proper places. Faucet is installed.

The floor, which was resealed today, is curing for 24 hours. We can walk on it in socks tonight and in shoes by tomorrow afternoon.

They'll be back next week to do a few minor things -- some trim pieces, maybe adjusting a few drawers. Meanwhile, we're moving all the dishes and food back in tomorrow, doing some touch-up painting and having dinner at home tomorrow night.

Cheers

R.I.P. Kurt Vonnegut

So it goes. Sadly, so it goes. He was my all-time favorite.

" 'God damn it, you've got to be kind.' "
- Kurt Vonnegut, 1922-2007

Day 57: Kitchen remodel

Lots of progress today. All the appliances are in, which means the living room is clear again. The section of the backsplash by the fridge went up, too. That leaves just a little piece that will go over the sink.


All the lights are up.



Knobs and pulls are in as well. Plus, the furnace is fixed, meaning it won't be 58 degrees inside when we wake up in the morning like it was today.

Tomorrow, we should get the duct work under the stovetop, the trim pieces where the floor meets the baseboard and some other odds and ends. Then faucet and a thorough cleaning Thursday, floor finishing and re-sealing Thursday and Friday. And, if we're lucky, moving back in Saturday.

Sunday dinner, anyone?

Day 56: Kitchen remodel

Good news: The cooktop is now in place, as is the microwave. Also, the plywood that blocked the dining room door for the last two months is gone, so you can walk room to room uninterrupted now. Minus the new fridge still sitting smack in the middle of the living room.



Bad news: Electrical and plumbing still aren't done, a whole lot of other minor work remains for tomorrow ahead of Wednesday's scheduled cleaning. Also, somehow the furnace has been knocked out during the time the new gas line was run to the island. Luckily, it's not all that cold, so the house is tolerable.

Not that I'm getting edgy about Saturday's hoped-for move-in. No, nothing like that at all.

Faith in travel, II

The New York Times has a great story and photos up today (Sunday in the print edition) on Fez, one of our favorite cities from the trip we took about six months ago to Morocco.

It includes this passage:

Fez seems to have stopped marking time several centuries ago (cellphones and occasional soccer jerseys aside). And like the water clock, this mazelike city of minarets, shrouded figures and forgotten passages can seem impossible to decipher — yet tinged with a deep enchantment.

“It’s a mysterious place,” said Abdelfettah Seffar, a craftsman and cultural entrepreneur, as he stood on the roof of a beautiful but dilapidated 18th-century Moorish estate that he is restoring into a vast guesthouse and arts center. “It’s even a mystical place.”

Mysterious and mystical, indeed. Our friend and fellow traveler Jim Torson opened his show of Morocco-inspired paintings last night in Vancouver. It captures about as much of that essence I imagine is possible to do on canvas. (If you're a Vancooterite, or even live just across the river, it's worth a trip to Northbank to check it out. And for those who may have seen his Springbox show in the Pearl last month, I have to say, this one is even better. Many more pieces of his work.)

Nice to catch up with many of our friends from the trip, drink a lot of mint tea, nibble some of Fatna's real Moroccan cookies and do a wee bit of drumming. (Hope there will be more of that as the weather improves.) But the best part, in my book, was seeing so many people pour through the gallery over the course of the night and find connections to that stunning and magical place half a world away, all through the beauty of a Jim's art and Abdul's generosity in putting the trip together in the first place.

Faith in travel

A year ago this week - La Semana Santa, or Holy Week, as it's known here - we were backpacking through Mexico. And a year ago last night - Good Friday - we stood mesmerized among the throngs lining Alcala Street in Oaxaca following the Procession of Silence.

Here's how it looked then:



Makes me wonder how it went last night, in the aftermath of all the unrest that city has seen in the past six months or so. How it looked passing this church, Santo Domingo, which was has been damaged since we were there.

Hope it was as special as last year. Hope some other lucky travelers stumbled into it unknowingly. Hope the pageantry and passion of the place are still creating such wonderful memories.

Day 53: Kitchen remodel

No pics from Friday, but the sink was fully installed (previously it just sat in the hole), the disposal was hooked up and some other minor stuff got done.

Monday and Tuesday should be a blur of activity -- rest of electric, plumbing, cabinetry tweaks, appliance installs and so on before the big cleaning sweep on Wednesday. Then Thursday and Friday are scheduled for floor work -- final patching and staining, followed by two coats of a finish.

This time next week, we hope, to be having breakfast in our kitchen for the first time in a couple of months.