Rooftop gardens

Huffpost ran a really interesting little piece about Ben Flanner, a New York resident working on establishing urban gardens on rooftops around the city.  Motives behind the rooftop gardens, aside from being a great use of space, include growing organic crops locally and selling them to residents and restaurants, reducing carbon footprints by having a local source of vegetation instead of relying on vegetation being trucked in, and keeping the agricultural tradition alive in places you'd least expect.  Here's a link to Flanner's site, it's got all kinds of cool stuff.  And here's a quick little video showcasing some of Flanner's work in preparation for the 2011 growing year.



This is such a cool fusion of urban and rural life.  I'm seriously tempted to hit up my landlord and see if they'll let me start looking in to planting a garden on top of the apartments.

Locally, the new Lightcatcher Museum features a green roof.  Although it's more an experiment in ecology than in agriculture, according to a post on the Herald's Politics Blog.  Still, it's pretty damn cool.




Picture from the Bellingham Herald's politics blog.




Picture from the Bellingham Herald's politics blog.



Picture from the Bellingham Herald's politics blog.



Sebastián and the City

All the hoopla about shifting astrological signs has reminded me about a post I’ve been meaning to throw up since last fall.

Last year Bellingham got to play host to the sculptures of renowned Mexican artist Sebastián. Fourteen of his pieces were placed on display around the downtown area, forming a walking tour of both the artist’s work and Bellingham’s cultural district. The exhibit went up in march and was scheduled to go into October, although I think it had to move on a month early (blame Canada).

The sculptures themselves, these huge geometric works of metal and color (most of which represented a Zodiacal sign, hence the connection) were a real treat to see as I walked and drove around the downtown area last year. On the night before the sculptures left, Kristen and I went downtown and walked the full tour, taking photos of each piece.

It was a little chilly and a little rainy that night, and I had to scrounge around for a seemingly absurd amount of time to find some damn batteries for my camera, but I’m really glad we were able to spend a little time at each piece while they were there. Here’s hoping the City, Allied Arts of Whatcom County and Washington State Tourism will do it again some time. If Bellingham could be described as a beautiful woman, Sebastián’s sculptures could no doubt have been seen as the brightly-colored earrings that that complimented her perfectly.



Libra, on Grand and Flora



Escorpion, on Grand and Central

Piscis, on Grand and Lottie



Leo, on Commercial and Lottie




Sagitario, on the other side of Commercial and Lottie



Virgo, on Commercial



Cancer, on Commercial and Central

Acuario, on Commercial and Flora

Aries, on Commercial and Champion(ish)

Roseta, on Commercial and Champion(ish)

Gemini, on Grand and Champion

Tauro, on Champion (also, taking pictures of black statues at night is hard)

Esfera, on Prospect

Capricornio, on Prospect and Flora

  

On Pots Claiming Tea Kettles are Black

Here’s a fun little political story from my neck of the woods. People for Progressive Transportation (PPT) have filed a lawsuit against Whatcom Transit Authority, challenging the language used in the framing of an upcoming ballot measure. The full text of the measure reads thusly:

“Shall public transportation services in Whatcom County be maintained and improved by authorizing the Whatcom Transportation Authority to impose an additional two-tenths of one percent (0.2%) sales and use tax effective October 1, 2010?”

Now before I get into what the PPT find so irksome about the wording of the question, let me give you a little background info. Bellingham and a good chunk of Whatcom County have a great public transportation bus system. Buses start early in the morning and run until around 10 pm seven days a week. They’re used by a plethora of residents, including students, low-income workers, bicyclists (there are bike racks on the front of all buses, many cyclists will hop a bus to avoid the really steep hills), and people who just don’t feel like trying to find a parking spot or feed the meter downtown. Being at the mercy of a temperamental pickup, Kristen and I have become old hands when it comes to buses. And while, like everything else, there are downsides to public transportation (the weird, the loud, the stinky, etc.), we both agree that a dependable bus line is pretty fucking great.

And with the economy the way it is, public transit has become more popular than ever. Buses are a great way to save if you’re strapped for cash. Paying $30 a month for unlimited bus rides is a solid alternative to throwing down hundreds for car payments, insurance and gas each month just to get around. Sure, it’s nice to go where you want when you want, but it’s also nice to pay the rent on time.

Thing is, even with the surge of riders over the past couple of years, the WTA is in a major funding crisis. If I recall correctly, funding for the WTA used to come primarily from a vehicle-related tax. When motorists complained that they shouldn’t have to pay for non-drivers to get around, too, the funding was changed to be reliant on fare charges and a pittance from sales tax (I read this somewhere but I’m too lazy at the moment to dig up the article and cite my sources, so if you locals notice I have my facts wrong, please let me know). Initially the WTA just tightened its belt and got by. But when the recession really started getting nasty, revenue generated by sales tax took a tailspin. As did programs which rely on sales tax, like public transit. In an effort to make up for the nasty budget deficits, WTA raised fare rates from $.75 per ride with a free transfer to $1. They hoped that with the dramatic uptick in riders, an extra quarter per fare would help get the red out. But even with ridership at an all-time high, WTA budget shortfalls are still huge. So WTA’s been forced to do one of two things to balance their budget; either they cut out a good chunk of county routes and all Sunday service, or they go to the taxpayers and ask for a 2/10th of a percent sales tax increase.

So that’s why the proposition will be on Whatcom County ballots in April. Asking for a tax-increase is never an easy thing, especially not in a recession. But the WTA has taken an admirable position; they’ve laid everything on the table. They’re essentially saying that hey, taxes suck, and they really suck right now. But if you the taxpayer want to keep this branch of public service viable and able to meet the demands of increased ridership, you’re gonna have to pony up. The alternative is a loss of service.

Getting back to PPT, the group is upset because of two words within the ballot question: “maintain” and “improve.” According to the PPT lawsuit, “[t]he public will be easily be misled by the ballot title into believing that this tax increase will improve services…”

Basically the PPT is alleging that even though the WTA is planning to use the money (if the measure even passes) to maintain and improve bus service, the question on the ballot shouldn’t say that the money will go toward maintaining and improving bus service, because then voters might get the idea that using tax money on maintenance and improvement toward bus service would be a good thing, and the idea of using tax dollars on good things could sway their vote.

Yeah.

The idiocy of this suit pretty much speaks for itself, I won’t waste time dissecting it in detail. But since the PPT has started the whole “misleading titles” argument, let’s look at one more. Remember, the PPT actually stands for People for Progressive Transportation. Progressive Transportation. Progressive. This is a group of rightwing anti-tax Teabaggers calling themselves People for PROGRESSIVE Transportation in an area whose political leanings are collectively, solidly and consistently left of center. And they’re the ones complaining about misleading titles? Give me a fucking break.

Maybe blatant hypocrisy is just the new calling card for the Right now? That could be why pretty much all of the GOP is up in arms against a healthcare bill that’s pretty much exactly what they wanted to push during the Clinton era and pretty much exactly like the public health bill 2008 GOP presidential candidate Mitt Romney authored and oversaw into legislation while he was the governor of Massachusetts. And maybe that’s why Neocon icon Sarah Palin can call for Rahm Emanuel to resign when he calls a group “fucking retards,” and then excuse fellow rightwinger Rush Limbaugh for saying the exact same thing to the exact same group because he was being “satirical.” Or why GOP Congressmen denounce the Democrats’ stimulus bill as Socialist legislation one day, then take credit for bringing funds to their constituents the next.

Maybe they should just change their motto to “GOP: The Party of No… Wait.”

[Photo 1 via localism.com, phot 2 via the Bellingham Herald]

Maestro on the Mount

God, what an exhausting week. I've got nothing of any value to say, really, so here's an update on the Maestro.

Glenn Beck's McCarthy-istic ass is going to be in Mount Vernon tomorrow.  In true neo-con fashion, the event's closed to the media.  Hopefully someone'll sneak a video camera in and document the fiasco.  B'ham still hasn't heard anything back from Comedy Central or Jon Stewart's crew, chances are looking grim.

Here's a video of the Maestro totally skewing cap and trade (claiming that cap and trade would cost American households over $1700 per day for some reason), then doing an impression of a southern belle:




From Huffpost:

Glenn Beck latched on to a discredited argument being promoted by conservatives that the climate bill would increase personal income taxes by 15% and cost every American $1761. (Beck takes the fuzzy math even further and implies that it would cost this amount PER DAY.) The Treasury memos Beck and others use to validate this claim, according to Media Matters. "...Do not address the current House climate change bill but, rather, a proposal that would auction 100 percent of the emissions allowances; the bill under consideration spends revenue created by the program to offset costs to households and businesses."

The Beck Effect

God I love this town.

So last week Bud Norris, mayor of Mount Vernon, Washington (about thirty miles south of Bellingham) made national headlines by offering to present a key to the city to none other than… Glenn Beck.

No, seriously. As surreal as it sounds, I’m not making this up. Glenn Beck will be awarded a key to the city of Mount Vernon by Norris on the 26th of this month. Norris has also proclaimed September 26th “Glenn Beck Day.”

“Well, Glenn Beck is a person I’ve known for a long time, but I want to recognize him for what he’s achieved in his professional life,” Norris told NPR Seattle affiliate KUOW’s Ross Reynolds in an interview last week. “Starting out here in a fairly rural portion of the state, he’s worked very hard since he was fifteen years old and now he’s a nationally recognized figure in radio and TV broadcasting, as an entertainer, commentator, whatever you’d like to label him as.”

I can think of several choice words that would accurately characterize Beck, but none of them are “entertainer” or “commentator.”

As you might imagine, Norris’ decision hasn’t gone over too well with many Mount Vernon residents. TV station KING 5 in Seattle sent a film crew to Mount Vernon and got some footage of a lively anti-Beck protest orchestrated by the Young Democrats of Skagit Valley. "That success is built off a lot of ridiculous and hateful and divisive language,” the YDSD president told KING 5’s Meg Coyle. “We feel that as a non-partisan position, the mayor should not be endorsing that at all."

How does the mayor respond to charges of partisan endorsement? (Again, I feel I should say I’m not making this up.) He disagrees. You see, his choice to honor Beck isn’t partisan at all, as Beck has never actually declared any party affiliation. Strangely, Mayor Norris wasn’t struck by lightning immediately after giving his explanation.

It should be noted that the decision to award a key to the city rests solely on Norris’ shoulders. The Skagit County Herald reports that there’s nothing Mount Vernon city council members can do to stop the mayor from giving the key to whomever he wants. But as a form of protest, six of the seven council members will not be in attendance for the ceremony.

Pretty damn weird and ridiculous, right? But here’s where it gets awesome: In his excellent politics blog, Bellingham Herald reporter Sam Taylor posted a copy of a letter from Bellingham mayor Dan Pike, addressed to one Jon Stewart of “The Daily Show.” And why would Mayor Pike be sending Jon Stewart of “The Daily Show” a letter? Why, to invite him to accept a key to the city of Bellingham, of course!

Here’s a cut and paste of Pike’s letter, directly from Sam’s blog:

September 4, 2009


Jon Stewart
c/o The Daily Show with Jon Stewart
733 11th Avenue
New York, NY 10019-5051


Dear Mr. Stewart and Daily Show Producers:

 My name is Dan Pike, and I am the Mayor of Bellingham, Washington. I also went to Lawrence High School, Jon Stewart’s alma mater, a few years ahead of him (Class of 1975), though I never knew him and doubt he ever knew me.

I am writing because I am currently the Mayor of Bellingham, Washington, a community of about 80,000 between Vancouver, BC and Seattle, WA. The next city south of us on I-5, Mount Vernon (pop. 30,000), has just announced they are giving the keys to that city to Glenn Beck, a native son. The news got me to thinking that if they could give Beck a key simply for being born there, perhaps Bellingham could provide a key to Mr. Stewart for the better reasons of providing cogent yet comedic analysis of news events and personalities on a daily basis, as well as being an alumnus of the same high school as Bellingham’s Mayor. I was particularly moved and informed by the Daily Show’s recent analysis of the evolution of Glenn Beck’s feelings about the US healthcare system over the past couple of years.

We are bigger and better than Mount Vernon, and so are interested in a bigger, better star to receive our key. As an added bonus, should Mr. Stewart accept, we would try to track down Stephen, the eagle from the Colbert Report who frequently lives in our county, so Jon could have a personal sighting. If Mr. Colbert would like to receive a key to Bellingham, too, he is also welcome. If Mr. Stewart cannot come to Bellingham to accept, perhaps I could deliver it at some time in the months ahead, when I come to Lawrenceville to visit my mother.

While this is a joke of sorts, intended as a counterpoint to the Beck event in Mount Vernon, the offer is serious.

I may be contacted through my office at (360) 778-8100, on my cell phone at (redacted), or via email at dpike@cob.org.


Thanks for your consideration; keep up the great work!
Dan Pike,

Mayor

City of Bellingham, Washington


Suck it, Glenn Beck! Who cares about a piddling key from Mount Vernon, when our boy Stewart’s been offered the key to the City of Subdued Excitement! Bellingham for the win!

No word yet as to whether Stewart will actually take up the offer. The odds… aren’t great that Jon would be willing to travel across the country just to make a fool of someone who does a decent job of that already on a fairly regular basis. But I love the fact that Pike offered, and would actually do it if Stewart agreed. What glorious egg it would be, smeared all over Glenn Beck’s maniacal little face. Cross your fingers, everybody.

The Legend of the Great Brian Jonestown Massacre Show

My friend Jeremy called the other day from Austin to tell me he’d recently seen a mutual favorite band of ours, The Brian Jonestown Massacre.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “How’d it go?”

One of the well-documented appeals of seeing the BJM put on a live show is that you never can tell what kind of a train-wreck it’s going to end up resembling once things get rolling. Generally speaking, most shows end in flames. Front man Anton Newcomb starts to pick a fight with the crowd/band/security and chaos ensues. There’s pushing, fighting, awkward confrontations, swearing, and the occasional assault. The actual music usually takes a back-seat to on-stage hysterics, which is kind of a shame. While they’re great entertainers, the BJM are also damn good musicians.

My first exposure to Anton and company took place shortly after turning 21. On the way to Dallas to see an Interpol show, someone popped the BJM’s latest LP, “Bravery, Repetition and Noise” into the CD player. Still in the midst of recovering from my first big breakup, the droney absurdity of “Bravery” really stuck with me. (In the interest of full disclosure, I also became enamored with The Streets’ debut album and Johnny Cash’s cover of “Hurt” on that particular road trip. Young Judd was a weird kid.) A few months later Anton was on the cover of “Magnet,” a music magazine greedily hoarded in Ada by Hastings book manager Stephen. Anton looked good on the cover, wearing tight-fitting denim jeans and matching jacket, sporting a rainbow-striped scarf. The corresponding feature included an interview with the Man himself as well as a laudatory review for “Bravery” and a mention of the BJM’s latest tour, with most venues TBA.

As luck would have it, one of those TBAs turned into Norman’s Opolis. Keep in mind, this was all about a year before the release of “DiG!,” the BJM/Dandy Warhols documentary that threw the band into the burnt yellow spotlight. At this point the guys were still playing shithole bars and venues smaller than my apartment. The Opolis and the polite disinterest of the Norman music scene was a perfect fit for them.

Jeremy, myself, and our friend Brian all went to see the show. At the time I had no idea about the BJM’s affinity for self-destruction. Brian had mentioned something about how sometimes their shows got kind of crazy, but that was it. As the band made it’s way onto the tiny stage and began to play, I noticed that Anton was wearing the exact same outfit, complete with rainbow scarf, as he had worn on for his Magnet photo shoot.

The show ended as abruptly as it had begun. Anton stopped singing in the middle of “Sailor.” The rest of the band came to a clattering halt. We all seemed to think there was some kind of technical difficulty. Anton mumbled something inaudible through the mic. Everyone looked at one another and asked if everyone else understood what he’d said. From the back of the crowd, someone hooted. The rest of us looked confusedly at Anton. He leaned into the mic again. “Fuck it. We’re out of here. See if we ever come back to this fucking place.” He stormed off the stage. A few people clapped politely from the front of the crowd, but most just looked at one another, stunned. What the fuck was that? we all seemed to ask one another.

The guitarist waved to the crowd after unstrapping himself. “Thank you, Norman!” he shouted, and left the stage. The rest of the band unceremoniously followed while the crowd halfheartedly clapped.

And that was my first experience with the Brian Jonestown Massacre. All 35 glorious minutes of it.

A year or two after “DiG!” came out, several friends and I went to see the BJM play at Trees in Dallas. Jeremy, who was living in Austin by then, had seen them play the night before at Stubbs. He said it was a spectacle, but also a damn good time. So I had high hopes about the Dallas show. After all, it couldn’t be worse than their show at the Opolis.

I was wrong. Apparently Anton had gone a little overboard during the Stubbs show the night before and had lost his voice. Instead of doing something drastic like canceling the Dallas show, he did what any sensible shirtless, strung-out rock star would do; he sallied forth.

After a brief introduction and hoarse explanation about Anton losing his voice, the BJM started playing what can only be described as a spur-of-the-moment, 40-minute, non-stop rehearsal. No singing, no recognizable tune. Just a poorly-executed jam session. Ten minutes in, the packed crowd started to disburse. By the time they stopped, there were less than a hundred of us left. “I hope you realize how fucking special that was,” Anton croaked. “We just wrote a fucking song for you guys.”

Things went downhill from there. After the “new song,” Anton explained that he couldn’t sing. But damned if he was going to go out without a fight. His solution? Karaoke. He solicited the audience for guest lead-singers, warning them all that if they fucked around and messed up his music, he would have them thrown out of Trees and onto the street. At one point he actually did just that, to a drunk girl who butchered the lyrics to “Vacuum Boots” and loudly proclaimed during the chorus that she was getting married. That was probably the highlight of the show.

By the time South by South West 2006 rolled around a few years later, I had almost given up on ever seeing that mythical Great BJM show. I’d written them off as a loss, focusing instead on catching Belle & Sebastian, the New Pornographers, Art Brut, Morrissey, Bob Pollard and all the rest of the other shows. But somewhere along the way, the lines for one showcase were too crowded and I found myself nervously standing in the crowd of another Brian Jonestown show at Bourban Rocks. How would they fuck it up this time, I wondered. Maybe Anton could arrange to overdose while onstage or something. Someone yelled something onto the stage as the band was getting ready to start. “Hey. Hey,” said Anton. “Don’t fuck with me.”

And before I knew what was going on, I was in the middle of one of the top three concerts of my life. They fucking killed. They played from “Take it From the Man,” “Bravery,” “Satanic Majesty’s,” and more. It was amazing. When their mandated hour of playing was up, they refused to stop playing and leave the stage. SXSW twenty-somethings scrambled around on the sides and back of the stage, trying to take back their show. One kid in a STAFF shirt got Anton’s attention and frantically traced a finger back and forth on his neck, feeling miming “kill! Kill!” Anton smiled wickedly and kept right on. Every few minutes some announcer would hop on the intercom. “The Brian Jonestown Massacre! Give ‘em a hand, everybody!” he’d shout, hopping they’d get the clue and wind down. They completely ignored him. Finally after about thirty minutes of non-stop playing, they wrapped it up just when it looked like the venue was about to cut power to the mics.

Above: The poor sap who tried to shoo Anton and Co. off the stage at SXSW 2006.

In retrospect, it was kind of a shitty thing for them to do, seeing as the extra time they stole was actually taken away from the rest of the night’s lineup. But that was the last thought on anyone’s mind at the time. It was plainly evident that every single person in that crowd wished they would just keep playing.

The BJM put another album out in 2008. I haven’t got around to listening to it yet, but I hear it’s pretty damn good. Jeremy said the band’s current tour is one of their strongest in a long while. Anton’s behaving himself, there are no crazy outbursts or fights. I was especially pleased to hear that they’ve often been closing with my personal favorite BJM song, “Swallowtail.” And then there’s the fact that Matt Hollywood, original guitarist and singer of several gems like “Not if You Were the Last Dandy on Earth,” has come back to the band.

Apparently they’ve already come and gone in the Seattle area on this tour while I was busy being poor and not paying attention. They originate from the Portland-Seattle area though, so I’m sure they’ll be back soon enough. If you get a chance to see these guys, I highly recommend it. Good or bad, a Brian Jonestown Massacre show is always, at the very least, memorable.

The Holiday that Needs No Name

Being a member of the MTV generation, three things immediately come to mind when I think of the significance of today’s date:

1. It’s Hitler’s Birthday. Or maybe the day he died? I never was sure. Whatever. Today has something to do with history’s signature douche-wagon.

2. It’s the tenth anniversary of the Columbine Massacre. Although “anniversary” really seems like a poor choice of words. There’s nothing celebratory about some poor, fucked up kids killing other kids. While this horrible event happened during the tail end of my high school days, I can still vividly recall the connotations. Suddenly we were locked in during geometry and yearbook classes, and closed-circuit cameras began to sprout up along the halls. D&D kids cliques became potential psychopath cells that were just one taunt away from busting caps in asses. Looking back, it seems like that intro to profiling was a perfect precursor to our “Post-9/11” 2001-2005 mindset.

3. Today’s the day you’re supposed to smoke a lot of pot and watch “Dazed and Confused.” It’s late afternoon here, and I have the windows open in the apartment. The breeze blows through every once in a while, bringing with it faint wisps of marijuana smoke, sometimes mixed with propane. Pretty mellow. I’ve been tempted several times today to step out onto the back patio and see if I could bum a drag from a neighbor, but I made a vow to stay on the straight and narrow (no pot, very little booze) until finding a gainful and steady means of employment. All in all, Bellingham is a very 420-friendly city. Apparently a lot of residents are taking a drive up to Mount Baker today. Get it? Bad puns aside, it’s certainly a perfect day for a drive.

So whether you spent the day hating Nazis, remembering dead children or just getting really, really stoned, happy 4-20!

The Christening

So. I’m starting a blog. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now, record the day-to-day events of my new(ish) life in the Pacific Northwest. Gentle reflection, biting objectivity, wry wit, occasional pictures and stupid videos from the internet. All of this and more.

And then I went on Blogspot.com and set up an account. Wrestled with different names, finally settling somewhat uneasily with Confessions of a Post-Oklahoman. My first choice was Recovering Oklahoman, but that seemed too negative. Recovering seemed to imply that there was something wrong with being from Oklahoma, something that needs to be recovered from. And while it’s arguable that there are many, MANY things wrong with the state as a whole (all 77 counties voting Republican, rampant intolerance, Sally Kern, etc.), there’s nothing at all wrong with being from Oklahoma. Funny that it took moving over two thousand miles away to finally make me proud to hail from Oklahoma.

Anyway, back to the creation of the blog and its inaugural post. I picked a title that I wasn’t dissatisfied with. I picked a generic starting layout. I picked a title for my first post, envisioning a middle-aged woman in furs shattering a green glass bottle of champagne on the massive iron hull of a giant freighter as I typed. Then I opened up a new word file, staring at that blank page, daydreaming about the untapped potential that I would coax forth.

Three days later, the page is still blank. While pondering how I should begin my post-premiere, I thought I should check on my ever-expanding Travian kingdom, just to make sure no one was trying to raid my online stash. Then I checked on my other kingdom and attacked some poor defenseless noob. Then I thought of something clever to say on the AEN’s message board. Then I hopped on Twitter, then Facebook, then I slummed around on Myspace. Then I checked the news on CNN’s site, then watched the newest episode of The Office on Hulu. And so on and so forth. The word file, my newly-created blog, and another page about organic gardening I found last week but still haven’t gotten around to actually reading, are all minimized and waiting on my task bar.

Thank you, high speed internet. Thank you for whittling my attention span down to that of a mynah bird. What’s the downside of a tool that can provide almost limitless information at your fingertips? You inevitably end up wasting all your time trying to touch everything. Or at least that’s how it is with me. I can follow links holistically for hours on end, simultaneously checking and rechecking favorite sites for any scrap of an update. An innocent trip to Facebook quickly devolves into a never-ending string of quizzes that reveal what literary period I’m most like (post-modern), what bad guy I have the most in common with (Castro), and what “evil, evil fucking sea monster” I resemble (a jellyfish). I don't even want to think about Youtube.

It’s become apparent that if I’m ever going to be productive again as a writer, the internet must die.

So in an effort to pull myself away from that endlessly informative and distracting möbius strip, I’ve decided to write from my laptop. In the laundry room. With no wireless card. And while I was lured back to my PC several times in the last couple hours to wallow in online poker and gmail, I’ve somehow managed to repeatedly come back to the laptop and finish this first damn post. And maybe once I’ve saved this onto a flash drive I’ll even remember to upload it after staring at this week’s batch of celebrity upskirts.

Thank you and good night.