The people make the place

This is a lesson I've learned well during the past year, and I know I've included several iterations of it on this blog. But spending the Thanksgiving holiday at home in Illinois and Iowa has reinforced the idea more than anything else to this point.

The trip couldn't have been more fantastic. My parents and I spent one night at a friend's condo along Lake Shore Drive in Chicago, which afforded me and a few others the opportunity to visit a fine pub in Lincoln Park. We had dinner that evening at an Italian restaurant, where the gnocchi was exceptional. (It wasn't Buca di Beppo.) Between Thanksgiving Day spent with the family and a weekend spent with friends in Iowa City — where I played Trivial Pursuit, drank craft beers, dined out at several local establishments, and swam laps in my favorite municipal pool — I was left wondering why I ever felt compelled to leave the Midwest.

The question continued to nag at me as my return flight touched down back at SeaTac on Tuesday — coupled with the slightly less eloquent inquiry of, "What the hell am I doing back here?" The answer to both, I believe, lies in the notion that I'm trying to find out who I am and what I should be doing with my life. (Somehow, I suspected it didn't involve answering phones at a standardized testing agency.) Seattle provided a better job in a place whose natural beauty is unsurpassed and whose cultural offerings are remarkable. But Seattle also has provided a number of life lessons — including the notion that the aforementioned characteristics mean little when they aren't accompanied by friends and family who temper the loneliness that might otherwise be inherent in life. That's a blessing I had in the Midwest, and one I miss dearly in the Northwest.

So I'm faced with a dilemma at this point — the blessing of a good, fulfilling job with great colleagues, but the burden of living in a place where I lack community, struggle with isolation, and just simply don't feel at home. Such challenges cause me to view the upcoming post-holiday winter months with some apprehension. I suppose time will tell the story. For now, in light of the Thanksgiving holiday, I'm extremely thankful for the people I have — despite whatever geographical distances may exist.

Happy Thanksgiving

I'm flying back to Chicago again on Wednesday morning and will return to Seattle the following Tuesday. This blog will most likely be on hiatus for that time period — unless I really get bored during my visit to Illinois and Iowa.

Happy Thanksgiving to all.

Ranking the cities

This is an interesting compilation. It ranks the "most educated" cities in the United States using percentage of their populations aged 25 and older who hold at least a bachelor's degree. Some cities shown on the list are to be expected; others, quite frankly, are not. All potential biases aside, Seattle's position at the top doesn't surprise me much. People around here drink a lot of coffee and read a lot of books. Then, they go build airplanes or computer programs. (Anyone who knows me at all can point out which of the aforementioned activities is part of my daily routine. I'll give a hint: It has nothing to do with fuselages or microchips.)

Undoubtedly, there are those who would argue that the methodology behind such a study is flawed — that one cannot measure the educational level of a metropolitan area by way of attainment alone. That's sort of what Detroit is trying to do now with a recent ranking of America's most dangerous cities; it received the dubious distinction of being number one on that list. The mayor and police chief there say the data have been recklessly misrepresented. Maybe that's true. I don't know.

Still, Detroit's presence on that survey — and several of the runners-up — don't surprise me in the least. But here's the most telling component of the report: Sugar Land, Texas, is ranked among the safest cities in the United States. This Houston suburb is the hometown of — you guessed it — former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay. I'm guessing his solid moral compass and wholesome values must have rubbed off on the people of his community.

A child in an adult's body

Earlier this month, members of Congress handed George W. Bush the first veto override of his pathetic presidency. It was a $23 billion water projects bill, designed to fund sanitation initiatives and restoration of the Florida Everglades and hurricane-battered Gulf Coast. Bush vetoed the legislation, saying it was too costly and included provision for unnecessary projects. I was elated to hear of the override, mainly because I was hopeful it would finally teach the smug 18- (pardon me, 61-year-old) frat boy in the White House that the buck does not, in fact, always stop with him.

Apparently, Bush had an epiphany sometime after his party lost control of Capitol Hill that inspired him to be the "fiscally responsible" president. Never mind that he never once vetoed a spending bill while Republicans controlled the Senate and House — and while the national debt climbed by the trillions. And let's forget that he still won't hesitate to pour any obscene sum into his war of choice, while trashing a child health-care initiative that doesn't cost even a fraction of what we've already spent on the Iraq disaster. If we can ignore these realities, then yes, I suppose Bush can be painted as something other than a childish, partisan hack who now views the legislative branch the same way a 10-year-old views the playground bully who stole his lunch money.

I pledge no allegiance to the Democrats — they suck, too, albeit to a slightly lesser degree — but I did hope their override of Dubya's veto would cause him to view Congress as an entity with whom he needs to cooperate rather than incessantly malign if he wants his catastrophic legacy to include any salvageable traits whatsoever. No such luck, as I read on this Chicago Tribune blog. Oh well, I suppose I can keep dreaming. Maybe next year, we'll elect a president who is an adult not just by way of age.

California at its finest

This past week's conference down in Monterey, Calif., is one I won't soon forget. It's easily the best work-related experience I've ever had. First, there was the conference itself — a Web publishing workshop hosted by Stanford University. We heard from experts on a variety of issues — search engine optimization, Web writing, video production, legal matters, and more. It culminated in a site critique workshop, where each team was paired with two others for the purpose of Web page review and evaluation. It was a great experience — both by virtue of what I learned about my own organization's online presence, and by virtue of the discovery that there are a lot of bad Web sites out there. (Somehow, I assumed this conference would be packed with nothing but haughty Web design gurus; that assumption proved wrong.)

Then, there was the location. I took this picture from the upper terrace of the Monterey Plaza Hotel and Spa, where the conference was held. The building is perched over the Pacific Ocean along California's Big Sur coast. We had lunch outside each day, where the weather was consistently a sunny 75 degrees. The fresh sea air was matched only by the sound of crashing waves and barking sea lions. Incredible setting and equally incredible food. Boy, did this place pamper us. And we're talking about wine country here; I enjoyed more fine reds and whites in the past week than I probably have in a year (they poured generously at the conference dinner). We stayed not at the hotel but at a bed-and-breakfast near Pebble Beach, which was equally great. It was a quaint 1920s house with a cozy living room and fireplace, where the hosts offered complimentary wine and hors d'oeuvres every evening. If you ever find yourself in the Monterey area, I highly recommend this place (particularly if you're not paying).

Topping off the excursion was my window-seat flight out of San Jose Wednesday evening, which afforded me a night view of the entire San Francisco Bay area. Quite a spectacular sight. I'll be back on a plane in less than a week, this time headed back to Chicago for the holiday. I love flying.

A rough week in store

This morning, I'm flying down to San Jose, Calif., for a Stanford-hosted Web conference held in Monterey Bay, right along the waterfront. We're staying in a bed-and-breakfast that, among other amenities, includes complimentary evening wine and hors d'oeuvres. It sounds pretty terrible.

I'll be back in Seattle on Thursday, at which time I'll update this blog on the hardships I faced down there.

On a side note, after this trip — and the upcoming trek back to Chicago for Thanksgiving and Christmas, plus the journey back there for the Springsteen concert last month — I will have done more air travel in 2007 than at any time during the past six years combined. I'm really getting used to the friendly skies. Hopefully, the friendly skies are getting used to me, too.

The price of deception

The book I'm reading now — "Dead Certain: The Presidency of George W. Bush" by Robert Draper — is an interesting inside look at the political history and personal traits of the man who may prove to be this nation's worst president ever. It begins with a look back at Bush's younger days — revealing a directionless Yale and Harvard graduate whose father kept giving him new endeavors to try when the previous one failed — and continues all through his years as Texas governor, his first campaign for the presidency, and his initial response to the terrorist attacks of 9/11. I've reached March 2003 in the book, the month during which Bush ordered the invasion of Iraq, and I'm pissed off all over again.

What angers me so much isn't merely the intentional and systematic deception — indeed, fear — the Bush administration used to lure the nation into backing a war of choice that was decided upon well before the campaign of lies reached its peak. (The book objectively makes this clear.) Even more appalling than that is the manner by which Bush exploited a national tragedy to polarize Americans and justify an act of aggression against another country that was rooted not in defense, nor national security, nor a goal of terrorism eradication, nor a desire for world peace — but rather a personal agenda founded long before 9/11, or even the start of Bush's first term, for that matter.

Reminded anew of the circumstances through which the Iraq disaster was created four-and-a-half years ago, I'm increasingly convinced that its sole redeemable quality will ultimately be its instructive value in history books. This war wasn't started honorably, and as such, regardless of its outcome, we can't end it honorably. What we can do, however, is remember how we got to this point — six years after the devastating terrorist attacks that initially drew the world to our side and yet inspired a president who once described himself as a "uniter" to pursue the exact opposite. We can remember how we got to this point and consider how to avoid a similar situation in the future. The upcoming presidential campaign season will hopefully be a good opportunity for dialogue about that.

Living without water in America

This is unbelievable. Granted, the article is talking about Podungsville in Hick County, Tennessee, but it's still the United States, where everyone and his brother takes clean water for granted at all times.

That's especially true down in Atlanta, a city I'm guessing deserves the lion's share of the blame — right next to global warming itself — for the potentially catastrophic drought in the Southeast. Even by American standards, Atlanta's suburban sprawl and dependence on the automobile is hideous; you'd almost have to go to Phoenix or Los Angeles to find worse. Top this off with homeowners in Georgia's capital city who are (or at least were) fond of sprinkling their lawns and taking half-hour long showers — I'd suspect there are just a few Atlantans who fit into both categories — and it should be no wonder to anyone why that region is now rationing its dwindling water supply. Plus, we're talking about a metropolitan area that relies largely — if not entirely — on a man-made water source that has been reduced to a trickle. And we're talking about poor urban planning at its worst.

I hear the protests already: But what the hell do you know about Atlanta? You're not really suggesting that Atlanta is the only American city guilty of the aforementioned offenses, are you?

To answer the second question, no, I'm not. All major American cities, without exception, are reckless in their management and allocation of water resources. But Atlanta is a case study — unchecked, irresponsible growth that typifies this urban center inevitably puts a strain on resources, most notably water. Atlanta's current plight should serve as a warning to other cities whose emphasis rests on expansion rather than conservation. I'm not just talking about wasteful uses of water; I'm talking about urban planning practices that fuel global warming and its effects, such as drought. Atlanta and other cities across America are guilty on both counts; as it turns out, Atlanta just now happens to be the one bearing the brunt of its poor choices.

And so are tiny little hamlets like Orme, Tennessee, which use far less water but are now paying the biggest price. Imagine if a city the size of Atlanta had to survive on just three hours of water per day. The scary part is, it just may come to that.