alabama

Make a wish, and connect the arrow

2008-11-04T23:10:12+00:00

Since pixels don't come with smell-o-vision, I must tell you that these words are being typed in a quiet house that smells of fresh salsa and roasting bell peppers. The laptop (old, beaten up) is positioned so as to block out the setting sun, which does not come directly through my front door but close enough to force my pupils to readjust. I have a small party to be at in an hour's time. I must not be late, so I must write fast and speak rightly the first time.

The place, now: Huntsville, Alabama.
The place, then: rural Arkansas.

I was a child of the late 1970s, whose memories just missed Jimmy Carter but remembered Reagan dimly through an apolitical child's eye. Those who read this site know my story well; I came from a union family in a former mining town. My tiny hometown, well under three hundred souls at the time, all looked like me because they were almost all related to me.

I was unaware of the fact that my school was all white until sometime in elementary school, when a tiny moment, and a mother's gentle misdirection, caused me to see my world with different eyes.

I have no knowledge of how old I was, but I was still a child that played with dolls. I had been playing in the toy aisle of a store, and I picked out a doll I wanted.

I do not remember, or did not hear, the conversation that ensued; all I remember through the blur of time is that the doll was put back, because my father did not approve of it. There was no fuss made, just a quiet redirection of interest. I did not understand why my father did not want me to have the doll that was darker than the others, but it was conveyed that the decision was final, and there was no further discussion.

I have spent many hours of my adult life apologizing for the Deep South I was born and raised in. As a nation we have lurched in fits and starts through segregation to civil rights, and have come through the legal finish line to something murkier, muddier. The overt racism is -- mostly -- gone, but covert, subtler forms remain.

Who you date.
Who you prefer to hire.
What dolls you buy for your children.

We were taught in words of tolerance but deeds of racial mistrust. It was gossipworthy when a black student first enrolled in my high school, and a blunt question when certain members of my family learned I was in a serious relationship.

I have made no secret of my political intentions this year; the magnet has remained on my car for months. This morning, though, brought a moment that made it real to me what we as a nation are about to do here.

I clocked in at my usual time, and poked my head into the branch run room to say hello to someone I see on a daily basis. She is a graceful woman; tall, opinionated, probably in her fifties -- and black. She waved back to me and said, "Excited?"

"Oh, yes. Got a party to go to tonight as well."

She smiled. "You've had that sticker on your car for a long, long time."

"I know."

A few moments of chat made clear her excitement, as she got more animated with every sentence. Then she stopped, paused, and said something with great fervor and utter seriousness: "I have waited all my life for this day."

It put a lump in my throat. I thought about her when I voted, and I thought about Geof's statement earlier today: my vote is not an affirmative action vote. My vote is an affirmation of whom I believe is our best option for President.

[Original: "Make a wish, and connect the dots," on flickr]

As a country, we still have much left to fix, but we have come farther than many of us ever dreamed might happen in our lifetime. I don't feel qualified to predict how this election will change our political and social landscape, only that it will.

Barack Obama will not win Alabama. He will not win much of the South.

I voted my conscience, though, and that is what matters.

(Apologies for the blurry photo. Alabama state law technically forbids cameras in polling places, so even the act of snapping a photo of my ballot with my iPhone had to be done surreptitiously.)

Madison County ballot for 2009 election year

2008-10-27T19:06:55+00:00

For those of my friends living in Madison County, Alabama, the Madison County Circuit Clerk's office has made the 2009 sample ballot available in PDF format. Get it, study it, do your research on the minor races and cast an informed vote.

For those friends NOT living in Alabama, I'd encourage you to take a look at the amendments proposed on the ballot to understand why we rage about the sheer unbridled awfulness of Alabama's state constitution. It is, in a word, embarrassing. Wikipedia:

About 70 percent of those amendments cover only a single county or city, and some deal with salaries of specific officials...

and

The inordinate length is both because of and the cause of heavy centralization of government power in the state capital, Montgomery, leaving very little authority to local units. Counties cannot even legislate on local issues, requiring the state legislature, and ipso facto uninvolved parts of the state, to pass local laws.

The constitution addresses many issues that are dealt with by statute in most other states. The most notable issue is taxation. Unlike most other states, a large portion of Alabama's tax code is written into the constitution. Besides prohibiting local governments from passing any ordinances on tax issues, this necessitates its amendment over minor taxation issues. This, along with the requirement that an amendment must be unanimously approved by the legislature or face a statewide vote, has resulted in local county or municipality related amendments being overwhelmingly approved, but ultimately rejected statewide.

Maddening. Just maddening.

Photos from Burritt Museum

2008-06-15T21:34:12+00:00

I hauled myself out of the house on a gorgeous, clear Father's Day and drove to the eastern side of Huntsville for an afternoon of photography.

Photos after the cut, so as not to make my entire front page explode. Full set is available on flickr as usual.

My two favorites:

[Photo: 'Table and chairs'']

[Photo: 'Shotgun breezeway, Burritt Museum'']

I'm still frustrated with my outdoor shots. I see the potential of the wide-angle 20mm lens, but I realize I'm not getting it yet. I'd say that my eye is still trained for shooting with the 85mm lens, and I'm not always seeing the best opportunities for the 20mm yet. I'm so accustomed to shooting single trees, I'm missing the forest.

Another thing to work on -- shooting with the polarizer. I do get some really good shots, but it almost seems like it overcompensates at times. Landscape colors come out far too dark or rich to be believable, and the midtones are far too dark, even when they look right in the camera. Today I made a point to shoot multiple images while turning the polarizer. I got better results when I backed off more than I thought was necessary, but my polarizer shots just aren't ready for prime time yet.

It's a learning process, and as such was totally worth it. My eye for this lens will improve given time, practice, and more days like these.

Tree fern?

2003-06-14T19:37:13+00:00

Saturday afternoon. The day's rains were half-completed before we ventured out. Ask anyone who has lived here long enough and they'll tell you it's true: it never rains just once in Alabama summertime. Always twice. First time it comes down as rain, and the second time it comes back up as steam.

Homeowners with sense have all their outdoor projects completed before the onset of June, because the heat and humidity have a persistence and insidiousness that can hand you heat exhaustion before you're done with your work.

June to September is the Interior Work Season, where home-owning geeks wander around home improvement warehouses (aka Blue or Orange Lowe's) talking about things like how I hate fluorescent lights (too many years as an amateur photographer) and how the thought of having under-counter halogen lights fills my being with this inexplicable tingly feeling that can only be described as "kitchen lust."

Home ownership leads to insanity - and carpentry.

I wouldn't have gotten this far if Andy hadn't said one particular thing to me: "Bah. It's just paint. Do the room and be done with it."

"I might just have to swing by blue or orange Lowe's on the way home and grab some paint samples, then."

So I did. I spread them out over the bluish-green coverlet and whispered to myself, "It's just paint." Something summery, light, but not so bland as the currently cream-colored walls. I tossed out the aquamarines and the yellows, and zeroed in on two sets of light, minty greens tinged with blue.

I picked up the color card and read off the names. Paint companies spend far too much time and money trying to come up with inventive names for colors; Jeff frequently tells me that only women have the special genetic markers that allow complete understanding and interpretation of color names. After all, he says, do you ever see two men discussing the differences between eggshell, ecru, and soft white? (Noah, if this is you and David, shush!)

I told Jeff about my plans last night, and was met with a cheery "Ok, do what you want to do." It took me a little while to realize that for him, this was the perfect home improvement project:

it was cheap
it required no electrical or plumbing changes
all work could be done by me
in a room that he normally does not use

With approval secured, I thought, "Hmm. Destruction begins tomorrow!"

This afternoon, after a lazy lunch with Jeff, we wandered out in the steaming hush between rain #1 and rain #2. He sniffed around the electrical and lighting aisles while I played in the paint section. Thirty minutes and $60 later, I came out with two gallons of paint and enough painting supplies to guarantee that I'll be completely green by Monday morning.

I plopped the equipment into the guest bedroom and picked up the cards off the bed, shuffling them about and marveling at the tiny differences in shade and tone that can cause a homeowner to go truly and utterly mad. "'Tree fern'? Can I actually stand to have a room in my house painted in a color called 'tree fern'? What the hell is a tree fern anyway, and are they really this color?"

I stacked the cards on the floor, and wandered in here to write everything down before I got started on the tedious job of taping down trim areas and taking off the covers for electrical/cable/ethernet/switchy bits. Best to play on the keyboard before getting splattered in green paint.

I figure I'll have plenty of time to figure out the mysteries of "tree fern" while I take down the bookshelves and the old border. Now if I could just figure out where my painting shirt is...

Suburbia calling

2003-04-16T05:24:12+00:00

Huntsville street names have a disturbing fluidity that I've never seen in any other town. Roads randomly change names at intersections, as they cross highways, or when the urge struck the builders. How else to explain that University and Pratt are the same roads, just on different sides of Memorial Parkway? Or that Zierdt Road is Shelton Road, and that Madison Boulevard is the old Highway 20, and Rideout Road is now Research Park Boulevard?

Right. Makes my head explode, too, and I live here. No wonder it took me so long to learn how to navigate this town. When street signs change on unpredictable whims, it's hard to know if the road you're currently on turns into the road you want to be on, or if you really did miss the turn entirely.

Thus, one afternoon, as I was driving west on Highway 72 (which, in that part of town, is known as University Drive), I very nearly blew past an intersection I'd passed many times before, but could have sworn had a different name. I'd known that road as Indian Creek for several years, but I could've sworn that the sign said something like "Providence Main Street."

To quote Will: "Meh?"

University was down to one lane in each direction, owing to the beginnings of some truly horrendous (and desperately needed) road-widening, so I opted to swerve north on Indian Creek for a few miles to get off of University and avoid the worst of the traffic mess. Except that, unless I had mysteriously lost my ability to comprehend the written word, that sign didn't say "Indian Creek" anymore.

I muttered the phrase "stupid Huntsville" about eight times, got to where I was going, and didn't think about it again until later that evening, when someone told me why the street was renamed. Huntsville had gotten itself hooked on the crack that is New Urbanism. God help us. Ever heard of this? Let me quote:

New Urbanism promotes the creation and restoration of diverse, walkable, compact, vibrant, mixed-use communities composed of the same components as conventional development, but assembled in a more integrated fashion, in the form of complete communities. These contain housing, work places, shops, entertainment, schools, parks, and civic facilities essential to the daily lives of the residents, all within easy walking distance of each other. New Urbanism promotes the increased use of trains and light rail, instead of more highways and roads. Urban living is rapidly becoming the new hip and modern way to live for people of all ages. Currently, there are over 500 New Urbanist projects planned or under construction in the United States alone, half of which are in historic urban centers. (newurbanism.org)

Beautiful idea, isn't it? It's what we all dream of when moving to a city: being able to live, work, and play in the same place - a place that is filled with people from all walks of life. People who aren't necessarily like you, but whose differences will enrich your life.

This particular blight that is invading the Huntsville-Madison area has a name: Providence. (Those of you who are familiar with the TV show The Prisoner will find the bicycle logo both funny and excruciatingly appropriate.) It was charming to see the lofty, but interesting, ideals of New Urbanism taken out to the back yard and spanked so:

Imagine the convenience of shops that are within walking distance of every front door in the village. Providence is attracting a variety of shops, restaurants, bakeries, doctors, lawyers, architects, churches, and banks. We want to serve residents who are interested in walking to work or living above their store.

(snip)

Like the historic towns around the country, Providence will offer homes in a variety of sizes, prices, types and styles. This will create a beautiful visual diversity within the village, and will also give all generations of a family a place to live in the same neighborhood. ("Providence, Our Vision")

I'd just like to raise my hand and ask something of the Eminently Intelligent† planners: With expected house prices ranging between $200,000 USD and $2,000,000 USD, exactly what kind of diversity were you planning on promoting in Providence, exactly?

Does it count as 'diversity' if the lawyers live next to the doctors, who live next to the management/CEO types? I wasn't aware that 'diversity' equated to large groups of upper-class professionals, with varying degrees and permutations of wealth, banding together to shop at their own little stores while avoiding the proletarians who have to shop at the Wal-Mart or Target down the street?

Those of you who live in larger cities/metropolitan areas (hi, Heather and Andy!) may not understand my consternation and disgust with these house prices. Two hundred thousand dollars may sound reasonable for a house in a metropolitan area, but it virtually guarantees a truly obnoxiously oversized house in the Huntsville area. Out here, a very spacious three or four-bedroom home (not a townhouse, mind you) on about a half-acre of land can be had for less than $130,000 USD, and depending on how far out of the city you are, as little as $100,000 USD.

In Alabama, salaries and cost of living are both some of the lowest in the nation. Huntsville contains dual realities: a college-trained professional (given the nature of this town, usually an engineer) can live in very definite comfort, but those who are poor are truly poor. The difference between the over-planned snobbery and flagrant whiteness of Hampton Cove, and the poverty of nameless neighborhoods in north Huntsville couldn't be any more evident...

...or so I thought until I heard about Providence.

Huntsville is rapidly acquiring the definite beginnings of the 'doughnut effect' that Little Rock had: poor, borderline-genteel, but rapidly-decaying neighborhoods in the center of town, surrounded by concentric rings of successively posher suburbs overwhelmingly populated by white professionals trying to avoid living in areas with declining property prices. The end result was known in Little Rock as 'white flight': overwhelmingly white and affluent suburbs surrounding a bleak, blank, and black center.

I agree that New Urbanism has the right idea: the only way to bring the people (and their dollars) back from the ever-expanding suburbs is to create areas where people can live, work, socialize, and shop without need of any other transportation besides mass transportation or their own two feet. Only after major investment has Little Rock begun to reverse the trend of 'white flight': the trendy, arty Hillcrest and Quapaw Quarter neighborhoods have now been supplanted by the shopping/living/entertainment area known as the River Market area. Given a reason to move back - good housing, proximity to businesses and restaurants, and tax breaks to encourage investment in the area - people of all walks of life are moving back into downtown Little Rock.

But to pervert that idea, to create yet another obviously-exclusive neighborhood that caters to the affluent under the guises of "creating a city center," does nothing but what Huntsville needs no more of: further separating the citizens of this metropolitan area into the [mostly] whites who "have" and the [mostly] blacks who "have not."

Now that's diversity.

† - according to the American Dream, they must be more intelligent, because they're making far more money than me. I can't find corporate sponsors for me to wander the country and write, and they're capable of finding corporate sponsors to build this monstrosity, so evidently they know something I don't.

Slow news day

2003-02-26T06:35:36+00:00

Greetings from Huntsville, your latest source of American workplace shootings.

Pass the chicken.

There's nothing quite like waking up one morning to learn that your adopted hometown is the news event of the day. "Four men dead in workplace shooting; police say that the gunman is holed up in some..." ... unnamed apartment building that's apparently over on my side of town.

It was comforting to see that for at least one day out of the year, the Huntsville news stations actually had something to report on for a change. It was also comforting to see that the reports of the shooting were related in that same breathless tone of doom that marks every rain forecast or low restaurant health score. It would be much more of a compliment to say "they treated today's news like any other day's news" if they had any concept of how to treat a normal day's worth of news.

The stories change, but the tone never does: "Workplace Shooting, 4 Dead" is reported with the same note of urgency and horror as such obviously-filler topics as "Is Your Child's Drinking Water Safe?" More often than not, Jeff and I catch a 15-second teaser for the nightly local news, hear the topic, look at each other, shrug, and say, "Slow news day."

Of course, since we have the glory that is TiVo, we watched the first three minutes of the local news (yep, they're dead; yep, we've got shots of the traumatized family members; yep, we've got testimonials from survivors; now let's show recaps of the last few shootings in Huntsville that we've got film on so we can keep viewers tuned in), got the hint, and moved on.

Strangely enough, TiVo had an episode of the Daily Show. Even more strangely, one of the DS topics was about Smith & Wesson's decision to sell a .50-caliber revolver. Have I mentioned how glorious it is to have the freedom and liberty to pack a gun so large that if I decided to shoot someone with it, there wouldn't even be a body left to identify?

What, exactly, was the reason for making this gun available to the public? Something like "real men need more than a .24"? "Only pansies carry a .45"? Is there a single demonstrable reason for this gun to exist, except for the final pistol-topper in a my-penis-is-bigger-than-your-penis contest?

This is America. Bigger is better. I'm waiting for the ultimate super-sized package: a free .50-caliber with your next purchase of a Cadillac Escalade.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, I live in a planet where George Bush insists that we must go to war with Iraq because he says they are hiding weapons of mass destruction; meanwhile, North Korea shoots missiles into the sea.

Now, I don't know about you guys, but when did a missile get taken off the list of "weapons of mass destruction"? You know, light the fuse, it flies away, it comes down, and then goes boom on some heretofore-unsuspecting city? Cities, as you may have learned in your geography classes, tend to contain people and buildings and other very soft and appealingly squishy things that in war terms are known as "targets." Their eradication generally equates to "destruction," with the potential modifier 'mass' depending on the amount of actual destruction.

If North Korea has non-weapons-of-mass-destruction uses for its missiles, what would they be for, inviting Japan to a radioactive tea party?

Ah, yes. On this planet, potential Iraqi missiles are weapons of mass destruction that merit a war, but a real Korean missile really fired into a real ocean is something to be downplayed...and there's an actual need for a private citizen to own a .50-caliber weapon.

Now that's news.