I'm a lasagna boy!

In which the vermin are getting restless

As jimg and I sat on the stoop after a customary Monday-evening repast of the deep-fried wings and rings, we saw a passel of ring-tailed raccoons run past, bold as brass. The leaders twain scurried up the fence separating our building from the corner realtor, and along the shoulder-height rail until they reached the back of the property. There they amazingly scrambled straight up a lattice-work wooden fence, and into the garden behind us. A third followed the two, and another pair hesitated in the narrow, ill-lit space between the two building across the street before running through traffic and following the others. I was amazed and horrified: the two biggest were about 20kilos, and fearless. I wanted to follow them and discover their disgusting lair, but the prospect of rabies held me back.

UPDATE: Our next-door neighbour, Nancy, reports that a grand total of six raccoons live in her yard. She introduced herself to us by way of saying, "If you hear someone banging on a pie-pan with a flashlight around ten o'clock at night, do'n't call the police." Her intrepid dog, which any of the raccoons could devour without swallowing twice, thinks that he will attack them. Should we call Animal Control or some similar urban pest-eradication group? I recall the night six years ago, when I heard two of them bullying a third to the point of tears -- the terrified screams of the smallest, hanging desperately off the roof of an adjacent building, woke me from sleep. I watched the two bigger raccoons bullying their playmate for several minutes, until they apparently lost interest and wandered away. There was no splattered coonskin on the pavement the next morning, so I guess that the third one somehow hauled himself to safety.

In which Ich bin ein Wasserkopf

Two calculators to estimate one's emissions, and environmenal impact, at airhead and Caltrain.

Paul Pena

Paul Pena, the subject of the energetic Genghis Blues, died earlier this month after a lengthy battle with pancreatic cancer.

In which bad things happen without good lighting

Although I notice some correlation between outdoor floodlights and an absence of crime in the neighbourhood, I would stop short of figuring that good lights alone will fend off Skid Row:

But the lots, which are poorly lighted, are magnets for drug users, prostitution, homeless camps, graffiti and other illegal activities after hours. Neighbors and city officials believe that if the area were well-lighted and more people used it throughout the day, drug dealers and prostitutes would not frequent the lots.

For example, I walk along a one-mile stench^W stretch of Market Street, between Sixth and Church, several times each week. Morning, noon, and night, crack fiends, dealers, users, relics, and paraphernalia dot the sidewalk; urine, vomit, and god-knows-wot stick to the sidewalks (despite the elaborate street-cleaning scheme the city embarks on, late anight); streetwalkers, charlatans, harlots, panhandlers, and junkies stretch out in doorways and on corners. And all of this happens on a street that is not only well-used, but a synecdoche for San Francisco itself. Bring on the floodlights, bring on the Farmer's Market (who will buy $6/lb organic apples beneath an overpass? "This heirloom tomato is known as 'Exhaust-fume orange' ; you will love it"), bring on the skate park. Just so I can later pull out an I-told-you-so, you don't win friends by building skate parks. Kids and skate rats will still be shooting the steps at the Armory down the street. The way to make the acreage under the overpass useful is to not build the (elevated) freeway in the first place.

In which the spheres have music

The Long Now Project triumphantly presented its Orrery Clock.

a picture, because I like it.

In which graffiti jumps the shark

Street art has been on the cusp of mainstream media recognition for some time now.

(can't fool me: that picture is from Barcelona. Note the distinctive street sign, the BCNeta bin, and the two grinning fish from Pez. Barca has glorious street art: I suspect that city, not subway taggers in New York, is what sparked my love of graf.).
And I ask myself: hath ye shark been jumped? The rhetorical answer is, "Whatever. So long as people continue tagging and pasting-up and acid-splashing, and as long as fancy hair salons contract street artists to decorate their windows, then all is good in God's world."

In which it there is always room for San Francisco

I find Liz Hickock's scale model of San Francisco fiendishly exciting -- perhaps because it is made from Jell-O™.

In which it is a solemn occasion

A Memorial Ride for Michelle Mazzei takes place on Canada Road today. A "distracted" driver drifted into a bicycle lane where Michelle was riding, killing her. Her school has a memorial page with links to news stories.

In which density proves troublesome for trash

The New York Times has an article on the meagre cost-savings efforts underway in New York. As the world's largest garbage-collection entity (25,000 tons, or eight full floating barge-loads, daily), they should be able to find efficiency in operations and methods -- but no, the automation of curbside collection is hamped by street parking (probably a major source of revenue for the city, and thus an obstacle that cannot easily be overcome).

They're trying to squeeze a sponge that's already pretty dry," said Ben Miller, a former sanitation official and author of "Fat of the Land," a history of New York City trash. "At this point, reducing crews and increasing automation much more would probably slow things down in certain parts of the city."

Under the proposed contract, which still must be considered by the union's members, one worker would operate each of the city's so-called roll-on trucks, which collect the 15-ton steel containers often used in public housing projects, public schools and city hospitals. Currently at these stops, one worker drives the truck and handles the hoisting controls while the other helps guide the truck back into position and then attaches a cable to the Dumpster, which is dragged up the rails on the back of the truck.

For the biggest savings, the mayor would need to consider moving to one-person collection crews not just for the city's 50 roll-on trucks but also for the 2,200 rear-loading trucks, which are used to collect the trash that city residents leave curbside.

Mr. Miller said that one way to make such a change would be for the city to switch to fully automated side-loading collection trucks. These trucks use a side-mounted mechanical arm to pick up special metal containers and they enable drivers never to have to leave the wheel.

But that would be easier said than done. Side loaders, which are already being used in certain neighborhoods in Los Angeles, would be difficult to operate in Manhattan, where parked cars obstruct access, Mr. Miller said. The trucks might be an option, however, for certain sections of Staten Island, Queens and Brooklyn, he said.

I saw the Los Angeles trucks in action recently.

San Franciso has both automatic curbside collection and single-person crews on many of the trucks working residential routes. Barcelona's Neta has many specialised trucks and crews for overcoming the challenges of narrow streets, and also relies on public coöperation to collect trash in community bins, as does Dublin.