While Caltrain declares a fiscal emergency, the state delayed a vote for funding high-speed rail in the Los Angeles-to-San Francisco corridor, and regional transit agencies in the Bay Area still do'n't have their act together. Amtrak's once-heralded Acela express in the heavily-travelled Northeast corridor was stopped dead in its tracks, the result of poor design and planning.
News analysis runs alarming stories with screamers like "Transit shortcomings put more cars on the bridge": "Improvements such as the extension of Caltrain into downtown, the construction of the Third Street light-rail system, reconstruction of the decrepit Transbay Terminal and a Chinatown subway are touted to dramatically improve downtown transit interchanges. A major ferry system expansion is in the works, and BART has plans to ramp up service in the long term." -- all of these projects have faced severe delays, with planning, funding, and execution. BART service changes? Doubtful. BART service area expansion? Unlikely, considering that one of that project's strongest advocates was pushed out last week.
American needs efficient rail service. The service should be urban and rural, although the need is greatest for intra- and inter-urban routes. American legislature does not feel pressure from lobbyists, most of whom are grassroots rather than industry, and for this reason under-funds and hamstrings the national and civic rail infrastructure. As recent experience in Britain, which privatised its rail service to the frustration of most, has shown, rail must be run as a loss-leader of sorts: in order to save money in the long term, investments in rail must be taken now. Failing to make this commitment now will result in higher long-term costs for development, for highway infrastructure, and less-efficient commute times for Americans in dense population areas.
Donald Shoup presents his economic theory of parking. The "high cost of parking" is a favourite topic of Professor Shoup's.
For perhaps the first time in my long, happy life, I stared down a box of donuts today. Usu. I look longingly on the deep-fried and glazed, but today the pink carton (why are pastry boxes always always pink?) held no appeal. This may be a long-term effect of my anti-corn-syrup stance. I'm still working on anti-soy-lecithin, but, thanks to David Kessler, we know what's what in foods. I recently started a "no-food-from-a-bag" policy, so I'm not eating crisps or pretty much anything processed. It's okay if I put the food in a bag myself: salad stuff, for example, or almonds. Or thin slices (lonchas) of dry-cured ham from the butcher on the corner.
I do have high esteem for Sammy's donuts, who advertise their ingredients and methods. And keep a tidy, pretty corner shop.
Dammit. Why am I always hungry for dinner after everything within three blocks has closed? What about ten o'clock tells restaurants to turn off the gas and shutter the windows? Even Rosamunde, blessèd be ye name, kills the sautée pan for the onions well before the bells chime in for ten. Now my choices are the "we-serve-alcohol-to-minors-and-then-lie-about-it" crumby taqueria Las Mesas, or the strangely doughy and tasteless Mythic Pizza. I suppose that Ali Baba, who put fried potatoes in the shawarma, are also open. Perhaps I do have choices, but I'm just irritable. I want a juicy burger without having to walk down to Sparky's. Ooooh: burgermeister!
has the mother of all interchanges. Somewhere I have a sadly-unread copy of the intimidating, scholarly Houston Freeways, Erik Slotboom's labour of love. It too has many impressive photographs, as well as interestingly detailed accounts of many roads, flyovers, and intersections.
Thanks for my l33t sk1||z with smart playlists in iTunes, I've been pleasantly surprised this past week with Wire's seminal Pink Flag, Eleventh Dream Day's luminous cowpunk indie-rock El Moodio, and Portishead's first. For a thirty-year old album, Pink Flag really holds up with style. Listening to it over headphones (was that the first time I've ever done that?), I realised that it even has good production values. For a punk-rock masterpiece.
Now I need to write a playlist that grabs albums where most of the songs have four stars or more.
This morning, one of my colleagues played the audio stream of the announcement from The Holy See. The College of Cardinals announced "habeamus Papam Benedictum XVI" and I heard and understood the Latin. Then the radio commentator burst in with an analysis in Italian, and I was lost (my knowledge of the vulgar tongue drops off after the 14th century).
I was never a Latin nurd, though. I blame Virgil and his bees.
After losing the second Dutchess, I've been trying out the Kogswell (photos to come) and the Bianchi Pista (photos to come).
The Kogswell, a beautiful buttercream colour with a matching honey Brooks saddle. The geometry is classic, 80s 10-speed: luxuriously long chainstays, gentle steerer tube, and a beautiful rake on the fork. The concession to modernity comes in the rear fork ends, which are track-style (but with two sets of eyelets, for fenders and a rack!). Unfortunately, I picked up a 58cm frame, which is a little uncomfortable with stand-over (I'm shy of six foot). I think I can remedy this by cutting the steerer down (it's stacked with spacers presently), and putting a shorter stem on it. The kogswell is a looker, too, and t'ain't none like 'er in the area.
As for the Pista: Whoah nelly. I have the earlier chrome model, which features the tricolore decals. This bike is not meant for commuting! it's for the track. Or for long stretches in Golden Gate Park. Riding it with a brake seems wrong, although I'd be foolhardy to do so on the streets. It's a smooth, quick ride, but not yet comfortable over long distances. I even saw some kid riding one while I scooted down to the bus this morning -- though he had a noisy freewheel and two cool-kid 'cross brakes. No love, no recognition: everyone's got one of these bikes.
Everyone's favourite lexicographer, Erin McKean, propped up the internet as a source for analysing trends in vocabulary. As for the calipygian merrimentsic, well, that came from the recesses of Aram's mind.
In search of a yarn about seagoing shenanigans, I picked up Diana Preston's Lusitania (with the coy sub-title "An Epic Tragedy").
The third sentence: "... they found that the flashes were not the desperate signals of a last, despairing survivor ... ."
And again, a few pages later: "The story of the Lusitania is, above all, about people -- whether British, German, or American, whether afloat on the liner, submerged in the submarine, or enmeshed in the various government machines ashore."
This sort of vocabuulary-deprived writing hurts my brain. I intensely dislike launching into a 500-page book when the author cannot write sentence tightly enough to avoid repeating root words. I'm not looking for synonyms, I just want expressive, clear history. Although the author has an extensive section of citations, the writing style seems more like Zagat's than like an academic work. Sentences are peppered with single-word quotations, or built from phrases enclosed in quotation marks.
The author capably relates the technical history involved in the sinking of the Lusitania, and the exciting naval developments leading to Germany's challenge for maritime supremacy. Sometimes she presumes historical knowledge I don't have, and this made the first few chapters rough going.