Pre Year Memo

Search engine tuneup
While Sporadigram hasn't been the most productive blog on the block, there are signs that it's coming into itself. Just a couple of weeks ago, if you googled "Sporadigram," you would get the clarifying google-question, "Did you mean: spore diagram?" But today, "Sporadigram" is apparently high enough in the hit-charts to preempt any doubts Google's computers may form about your intentions. But just to be safe, in an effort to spare newer readers this kind of virtually awkward moment (and to save those who really want a spore diagram the effort of retyping), here is a spore diagram.

Spore diagram

Finally, some good economic news

Word up.

Sometimes when we least expect it, a fundamental shift occurs that has real consequences for all the coming days. Such a shift may have happened two weeks ago. A double-sided, photocopied, hand-scrawled letter was slipped under the front door of my office (our front door opens to the street -- as in, "to the people.") The letter was from one Ralph Sal Biscaglia. Ralph has a plan (among some other things) for increasing revenue and sanity at the same time. The craziest thing (well, that's an exaggeration) is that he's giving away these strategies and encouraging recipients of his letter to, and I quote, "Make as many copies as you want." So, in support of Ralph's quest for a Nobel Prize and in hopes of increases in your sales and sanity for the New Year, I post his letter here: Suqqess Letter (Yes, the strategy has a lot to do with changing all Cs to Qs.) The best of luqk to you!

The mystery bird

The first bird -- where I "live."

Mr. Biscaglia's letter is not the first time my office has been "leafletted" with curious material. A couple of years ago (I thought it is was more recently but pulling up the pictures corrects my wishful sense of time) I noticed an orange piece of paper stuck to my window (again, on the the ground floor). I walked outside to check it out and it was this goofy drawing of a bird with four-fingered wings -- goofy enough to leave there.

Second bird -- where I shop.

About two weeks later, at Trader Joe's, while reaching for some marinara sauce, something caught my eye that freaked me out -- a miniature version of my bird friend inserted into the price-tag slot on the grocery shelf right beneath the sauce I was reaching for. I spun around to see who was watching me. My routine movements about town were obviously being tracked and marked by a stalker with goofy bird papers.

And if this isn't weird enough, there was a third bird. Walking back to my office from a lunch meeting not two weeks after bird-two, the person I was walking with was compelled to pause at the $1 basket in front of a pet store (fair to say that such opportunity wouldn't typically cause pause). So, casually flipping through the pile of I-can't-remember-what, I see a folded piece of paper in the mix and pull it out. Bird three. This one, the last one I ever found, I still have in a drawer at home. If you have any idea where these birds came from, by all means, let me know.

Cargo pants: pouches of forgotten intentions
Like a lot of middle-aged people, I've caved to certain practicalities like buying pants at Costco. This usually brings to mind "relaxed-fit" sizes and "comfort" waist bands but I'm talking about real utility. Modern "man" has numerous essential devices and cargo pants answer the call. The phone, the camera, tissues for young children (and sad movies), a journal-writing pen, the shopping list, a bottle of hand sanitizer, nose-hair trimmer, pepper spray, and the things that've always been there (wallet, keys, and 67 cents). In France, guys wear a man-bag. In North America we wear it on our thighs -- under a discrete, double pleated velcro flap.

If you have more than one pair of cargo pants, and are given to any kind of forgetfulness, they will start to serve as a running time capsule of what you were in the middle of last time you wore them. Why is there a screw driver in here? Receipts for the cleaning supplies you didn't actually use. Notes-to-self about blog ideas or financial epiphanies involving switqhing letters around.

To break out of the Costco chic, I recently picked up (late adopter that I am) a pair of Carhartt pants. In addition to having a great phone pocket (my favorite), they also have a hammer loop. There's got to be a practical alternative use for the loop. For me, I guess that might be a dish towel. Other ideas?

Happy New Year!!

Thanks given

Buy well
Now that we've all given thanks (yes this is a delayed post-Thanksgiving post) for the nice people in our lives and the option of overeating, we can get down to the business of buying stuff. Let the restoration of consumer confidence begin with you. You must need something or at least have an undeniable want. How is the economy to grow unless everyone finds a need for more stuff than they needed last year? Come on people. My mutual funds are lagging. Get with the program. If you're out of ideas, just send me some money (I have a PayPal account) and I'll go buy some socks or gum or something. Let's get the frenzy back.

I left my [shopping] cart in San Francisco

A right wing view of downtown SF

To give thanks this year we flew Allegiant Airlines direct from Bellingham to Oakland for Thanksgiving in San Francisco. Yes, Allegiant -- the bargain airline that serves little Bellingham because it's an easy way to get at the many more Canadians that live near here (in Canada) than Bellinghamsters. And because Canadians have Thanksgiving in October (before Halloween -- it's crazy), it was fairly easy to get seats.

Good burritos at Chino's

First order of business in SF: reunite with a good SF burrito (where taquerias melt the cheese in the tortilla-steamer). With that business settled (at Chino's on Balboa) we jumped into three and half days of visiting, eating (some more), walking up and down hills, and playing some Scrabble. We also had some odd jobs to take care of such as foraging for lost tennis balls at JP Murphy playground (to take home for our dog) and venturing downtown for a taste of black-Friday madness (our children made us do it).

Ella, Kristin, & Ivy try on pants
at Nike Town, SF.

Kristin and I did manage to sneak in a date -- a morning coffee at a newish Jewish cafe near Jeanne's house (where we were staying) in the Inner Sunset District. At the Old Jerusalem Cafe we joined one other customer (an aspiring author/compulsive notebook scribbler) and an eager barrista. Eager barrista insisted we order his specialty -- an americano with some steamed milk. Maybe it was because he'd never seen us before that he explained the potential of this beverage to please as if he himself had invented heated liquid.

Candles a bit droopy at the Old
Jerusalem Cafe (which has new
hours, by the way).

But it was no time to deny anyone their pride. It was still Thanksgiving weekend. But, the coffee was only okay. My nugget of wisdom for the barrista: Just because you have a big mug doesn't mean you should fill it. I've always tended towards smaller cup sizes myself.

Thanks taking
The return to Bellingham started off smoothly enough. An easy drive across the Bay Bridge, light bags filled with little more than three pairs of underwear and a bunch of weather-worn tennis balls. When we got to the Allegiant Airlines counter we were met by the baggage nazi -- sizing frame in one hand, roll of hot pink approval-tape in the other. No fitty, no tapey, you checky, you pay. Ella, Ivy, and Jack's bags all just made it. Kristin and I, who have the same exact bag, were one inch too tall. We'd been caught in Allegiant's post-thanksgiving extra revenue net -- with many other dumbfounded and now-bitter passengers. There's more to this story but, if you want the more complete rant you can read a google-docs copy of my letter to Allegiant. But, for this blog, I'll let this lesson live on as...

Travel tip No. 2

Sorry... too big. $35
(times two) on the
credit card. Next.

To continue with Sporadigram's Travel Tip series, today's tip is simply that  while Allegiant Airlines seems to be a perfectly functional and potentially cheap way to get to and leave from Bellingham, you need to know and accept ahead of time that it's a total game. And with all games, you win some and you loose some. If you're expecting traditional customer service, you're just gonna get hurt.

And, as an update, I did get an immediate reply (by e-mail) to the letter I mailed to tell me that my letter had been received and that it would be answered within 60 days.  Will I get my money back? Will sanity be restored to an industry that's lost its way? Will I feel whole again? Stay tuned.



The new "-genic"

         Is that a play button or am I about to get my teeth
         cleaned?

So maybe it's not enough to write a letter. Maybe what it takes these days is a video. The contemporary visual signal of having something to say is the video freeze-frame with the play-button arrow superimposed on the soon-to-be-talking head. And, setting up that image probably requires some attention to detail to make it "videogenic" -- at least a little more attention than was paid to a recent link that Senator Patty Murray's office e-mailed recently. The play-button looks more like a form of censorship or a hastily added beak.  Oh well. Just another real issue for our legislators to worry about and need money to perfect.


'tis the season

With December now underway we found ourselves this week at the Port of Bellingam Holiday Festival.  Ella, Ivy, and the rest of the Whatcom Middle School 8th Grade Orchestra performed a festive Friday lunch-time concert for parents and many others who, for the most part, arrived in 20-passenger vans from assorted group-living facilities.

The Port's annual holiday festival is also host to a large gingerbread house contest. Ella, Ivy, and Talia entered and won the 4th-8th grade category (showing no mercy towards their 4th-7th grade peers) with the culmination of their effort, "Gnome Home." The victory was even more impressive because the competition included not one but two gingerbread yurts (because, after all, what's a mushroom house but a naturally occurring yurt for tiny gnomes?).

Gnome Home.

 The Shire: Why Hobbits never leave home.

In addition to  judged categories, the gingerbread house contest includes a People's Choice Award given at the end of the festival. While my one allotted vote went to Gnome Home, I was strangely drawn to another entry: The Shire. It just felt like home somehow and I was compelled to give it support.

Sporadigram censored!
It's true. I forgot to mention this last time. While I was attempting to write a little blog, hooked up to free wi-fi in the lobby of the Niagara Marriott, I was informed that my attempt to access Sporadigram had been "successfully" blocked by the services of Puresight.com because of inappropriate material. I have tried (inconclusively) to figure out what I've typed or pictured that the purifying filters of Puresight have caught and rejected but, in some way, it's kind of fun to think that someone (or at least some piece of software) classifies me as a danger to society.

Squash Jaws

Niagara Fall

Artist's statement: ...and the person
is supposed to be swimming.

As you know, I missed Halloween. No, I didn't forget about it--hardly. But instead of enjoying the parade of festivities at home, I arrived just before nightfall in the strange land of Niagara, Ontario, Can-a-da. But, before leaving Bellingham, I did manage to carve up a pumpkin, stick a candle in it, and leave it behind with explicit instructions. This year's theme turned out to be shark (in case that's not clear).

I'd been to Niagara a couple of times and had a vague recollection of what I was headed for: casinos, a strip of hotels serving casinos, and, the falls -- trying hard to appear wonderful and majestic across from the high-rise row of low-brow glitz. And then around the corner from the hotel were three blocks of haunted houses, wax museums, shooting galleries, and fast food places--some haunted as well.

What would Frankenstein do? Hold the pickle?

On Halloween, I'd arrived in Canada's 365-days-a-year spooky-ville which, because it was Halloween, was a ghost town. And it might have seemed emptier except every other hyperbolic storefront also had a blaring sound track of shrieky scary music or sensational deep voice narration promising deeply troubling experiences in exchange for your hard-earned Loonies. But despite it all, my meeting mates and I managed to find some good Italian food. (Indeed if you ever find yourself in Niagara, eat at Antica's. You won't be disappointed.)

Travel tip No. 1
I suppose, on the heels of "eat at Antica's," this could be travel tip number two. But as the first in a possible series of discoveries on the fly, I'll continue.

So, I'm packing my toiletry bag the night before the flight and realize that I don't have any of those under-6 oz. containers of either toothpaste or shaving cream. I did have an empty pill bottle and so I squeezed out a three-day supply of toothpaste into that. For shaving cream, (only had one pill bottle) I instead squirted my supply into a zip-lock sandwich bag (the size Homeland Security considers to be smaller than a bomb). Well, pulling these non-labeled portions out for the required unpacking of liquids and gels at airport security was evidently unsettling for the inspectors. And it's unsettling for me to realize that these folks are so easily assured by printed containers. But I digress. Toothpaste in a pill bottle got a brow-furrow and a moment of silence. Maybe it was rash cream? Shaving cream in a sandwich bag started a conversation. Since it was not much, I was allowed to keep both but I was informed that they really should be in labeled containers. So, always travel with a Sharpie so that you can scrawl "rash cream" on otherwise ambiguous containers. You're golden! And you're welcome.

PowerPoint vs. smartphone
So why buy a share in a tank of jet fuel to get to a meeting, you may ask. And at times during the "working group" I was attending, I wondered this, too. Like a lot of people, I don't like PowerPoint which, in its lowest and sadly frequent form results in a "presenter" redundantly reading what simultaneously appears on a screen that you can read yourself. And, on the audience side of the equation, you now have fifty people who, knowing they can google it later if it ever starts to sound interesting, have moved on to fingering their smartphones. Looking around the room it became clear at times that the modern meeting is an event where people go to "read slides" to people who are "reading phones." In between there are muffins and afterwards wine.

Hospitality vs. the world
We all know that we live in a time of austerity and increasing ecologic fragility (or at least 99 percent are feeling some of that). But, with much of the last decade's perspective based on an opulent imperative, it can be difficult, especially for over-invested institutions, to adjust coherently to the virtues of eating no more than you can grow. This literally hit me in the face in my hotel shower.

How dirty do they think I am?

It turns out two [shower] heads are better than one -- and even trade marked under the name Heavenly Shower. But is it too much? Apparently this has been a subject of debate up at corporate. So, with the posting of a laminated sign in the hotel shower, guests are essentially told, "We've given you the tools to ruin the world if that's what you require for comfort." I didn't ask for this -- this dilemma -- reach for Heaven, ruin earth. That's not hospitable -- to taunt me with passive agressive nonsense before I've even had a chance to brew my in-room fair-trade coffee into a post-consumer cup printed with soy ink. And why weren't there two drains? That's so like Heaven to deny Hell a second thought. But really, I'm confronting this guilt trip 300 yards from Niagara Falls -- a non-stop shower running at 64,000 cubic feet of water a second. Damn straight I went to Heaven. I've never been more thoroughly cleansed.

Castles smaller but grass greener on this side of Atlantic

Left - Soccer in Angers with the SCA club. Right - Soccer in Bellingham with the Whatcom Middle School team.

Soccer update: This fall, Jack played on both his middle school team and county league team. For the latter team, I earned an instant promotion to head coach only a few days after sending an affirming e-mail reply to my predecessor's request for assistant coaches. I'd figured I'd gotten out of the head-coaching business at the perfect time back when Jack was nine and he and his teammates were just beginning to surpass me in knowledge of and passion for the game. Well, I got through our eight week season. I'm proud of my record--I only missed one game. And if there's any pressure to coach again, my answer will be, "Look, I'd love to, but I've got a blog to write. You know how deadlines are."

Gymnastics update: No pictures until the first meets in January. The training season for level six has been rough and peppered with various fatigue injuries of ankles (Ivy) and toes (Ella). But all seem to be on the mend. Did you know you can buy leotards on eBay? I didn't either -- until I got e-mail today about some new financial obligations.

Face hair update

Wooly Willy in the house
(clown nose not optional
for some reason).

Last week, Kristin mentioned that I should grow a goatee. Hmmm. Nothin' like a random comment about grooming to get the insecurities flowing. Has this been a deficit all these years? Have the ravages of time rendered me in need of a new look? Such perspectives have been heartily refuted. It seems it was just a casual thought related to the fact that since there are whiskers, growing them out would seem fun. So, since I can, and also to cover my bases in case there's more to it, I'm almost a week into my new hair patch. I didn't go forward willy-nilly however. To get a better sense of my options and outcomes I downloaded a Wooly Willy app for my smartphone (If I'd only had this to work with with during the presentation on global freight logistics chain security!) The danger here is that I just don't have a solid bed of follicles in my "mustache zone." So, I'm really counting on my chin to come through with some oomph. But, if Wooly Willy can do it, I have faith that I can, too. And if I don't like it, I'll just stand up and let it all fall to the floor.

"Thanks for begging."
This has now happened to me three times in the last six weeks so it must be time to either stop being surprised or include it in a blog post. This is how it goes. I dutifully take my reusable bags to the grocery store and, at checkout, will usually just start putting stuff in as it comes off the scanner. As with previous occurrences, yesterday at Trader Joe's the checker says, "Thanks for begging" -- which I hear as I've written it here and so quickly try to remember things I've just said that could have been misinterpreted as a plea for free food or an inappropriate amount of help out to my vehicle. But then I remember that this is Washington State and many born-and-bred locals say "beg" for "bag." But being a California fugitive, I guess I should say I hear "beg" when people say "bag." Well, at least I don't need a beg for my melk.

d'Bellingham

The re-beginning
It turns out, writing a blog was fun. So, now that we've been back from our Angers, France adventure for just a little longer than we were there (five months), I'm giving it another go. Maybe it was easier to blog when I had more obvious material -- navigating new cultural experiences and ending each day with a backlog of unspoken dialog--since I wasn't saying much over there that anyone could understand.


The name
It was easier naming "d'Angers." We were going to Angers and I should write a blog about that. Done. Take 2: Write a blog for no particular reason.  What do you name that? No nouns in the title? I don't want to commit to a schedule either. And, I've got nothing to promise in the way of expertise, advice, insight, or deep thoughts. So, I needed a name that promises little other than periodic ramble and doesn't mislead. And,  I came up with a lot. But the whole blogging world has been eating away at the dictionary for the last decade. Most everything you can think of is taken! If I boiled down the d'Angers blog to its bare essentials, I figured I was left with "Words and Pictures." Taken. Then I thought of how my weekly-at-best posting frequency provided some benefits in the way of metered retrospective. "Delayed Reactions." Taken. Well... maybe the blog is a lasting journal, as much for me as anyone else who might read it... "Durable Goods." Taken. And the sad part is, these names are, for the most part, locked up by people who've posted two or three times five or more years ago. The single post at durablegoods.blogspot.com is a sadly typical find. You have to wonder if it was both an introduction and a final goodbye. At any rate, the durable goods weren't. So then the word sporadic came to mind and that sounded like an enduring quality I could commit to. It turns out a lot of aspiring bloggers find sporadicalness a fitting characteristic or at least a comfortable blog-genre. "Sporadica" was my fleeting epiphany. Taken. Spotty is good. How about "Spotty Coverage?" Taken. Now I was getting demoralized, a little desperate, and started to flirt with thin metaphors. "Life Kebab." Taken (thank goodness). "The Pull." Taken (and devoted very earnestly to Jesus). "Neighboring States" sounded cool, was available, but what did it mean? Pass. "Notion File." Got a thumbs up from Kristin but it just sounded too lofty. (Kristin was mostly worried that after three days, I was still doodling in a notebook trying to discoverize a name.) The word erratic started to intrigue but the implied affliction seemed a little loaded. Could I do "Erratica?" Probably not. "Erratigram?" No wait -- back to sporadic -- Sporadigram. Available. I'm going with it.


Re-acculturation

How do you start a 4th of July block-party fire?
With a home-made flame thrower of course.

It didn't take long re-engage with life American style--even with Bellingham's dubious proximity to Canada. After a few weeks to figure out where we stuffed all the clothes we didn't take to Angers, it was the fourth of July.  The Iron Street crew again showed their mettle, closed down the street, cooked a whole hog, and basically walked the independence talk.


Summer in a nutshell
While in France, we were "painfully" aware of what a grey, wet, cold spring Bellingham was having. As best we could, we kept to ourselves about the early and prolonged summer Angers was enjoying from late February onward. So, as we blended back into "Sunnyland" society, we had to play it cool while looking conspicuously tan. Traveling any distance was obviously on hold for a while but we hit some of the regional favorites: Winthrop, La Push, and our trampoline which now seemed new all over again.

So down (east o' them clouds) in the valley.
Winthrop.

Alice rocks the
tramp'.

Back to school

Open house at the rebuilt
Whatcom Middle School

Even though Ella, Ivy, and Jack all got home from France in time to attend the last three days of school (long enough to return to their peers and proclaim that France was "okay"), the real back-to-school was quite the production this September. As many know, Whatcom Middle School, where Ivy and Ella started as sixth graders two years ago, burned down just a couple of months into the school year. A year ahead of schedule, a rebuilt Whatcom MS opened. E & I returned for eighth grade and Jack gets to join them under the same (new) roof as a sixth grader.


Annoying photographer in the field
One of the benefits of having your kids back in an English-speaking school is that you can again volunteer to chaperone on field trips without feeling compelled to overcompensate with smiles and nods -- which really only leads to additional anxiety that you've unwittingly agreed to assist someone with special needs in the bathroom. So, when Jack's class was scheduled to go on their marine-science boat trip on Bellingham Bay, I was on it.


I got to the classroom early enough to say the pledge of allegiance and listen to announcements. With Halloween coming up the following week, students were politely reminded that the school dress-code would be in effect. This was summarized for its application to Halloween costumes as "no weapons and no cross-dressing." Huh? You can be a monster but you can't stray from your gender? And how would they determine the gender of monster costumes? What if you dress up as female-male-zilla with several well placed flame-thrower glands? I should really do sixth grade over again.


So, back to the low seas. I walked with Jack's class down to the marina, climbed aboard the Snow Goose, and spent a great, chilly day sampling and analyzing water and plankton, honing navigation skills, and making important connections between our lives and the world. I should say that the students did all this. Us adults were taken aside by an earnest crew-member at the outset and encouraged to keep our comments and scientificish guesses to ourselves. We were also told that, if we'd brought cameras, that was mostly okay as long as we weren't "ridiculous about it." I guess I'll never know.

Full crew on the stern.

Jack's turn at the wheel.

Full Google album for way more 'Goose. (warning: 96 ridiculous pictures)


On the way back from the boat, "walking" back up to school, I was ridiculous. Luckily, I had left the group who was spending another hour at the marine science center in the harbor building. Crossing the intersection at F St. and Roeder, I hooked a foot on the railroad track and with the foot I might have used to catch myself, concurrently caught a chunk of raised asphalt. Falling like a tree in public was bad enough but my backpack, full of ridiculous big camera, binoculars, and two water bottles was right there for a follow-on sucker punch on the pavement. Two women in big chairs on the back porch of a re-hab house, probably assuming at this point that I was headed their way, quickly shouted questions of concern. Two thumbs up. Continuing back to my office, wondering if what felt like a scrape on my forehead really was, I wasn't sure if I could say "I fell" or if I was now of an age where I could or should say, "I took a fall." Maybe next year.


Halloween
This is not a recap. Halloween is tomorrow. But, alas, I have to leave town for a meeting in Niagara, Ontario and miss the whole thing. Truly, Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. It's just so simple. You can do most everything at the last minute and have a great time. There are forces out there trying to change this though -- corporate giants pushing more and more Halloween decor -- complicating the pure and simple spookiness of a carved squash and a candle. It's time to take our pumpkin patch back! The revolution will not be covered in nylon spider webbage and inflatable ghosts. (Jeez, maybe I did take a fall).

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

Right after this post, this pumpkin is
mine.