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Recent dreams

I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

The flat is filling up. I’m a little worried that we’ll be mistaken for hoarders. Which is to say that  I may be bounded in a nutshell. And, more practically, we’ll probably need to move to a bigger place in the next six months. Hurrah for soon having a guest room.

I couldn’t say whether the clutter is to blame, but I’ve been having particularly vivid dreams the past few nights. For one thing, my Grandmother (who died about two years ago) has been turning up in a lot of them. That’s been nice, though I’m always sad when I wake up and remember that she’s not around any more. She was a fantastic woman. I miss her a lot.

There have been more disturbing dreams as well. Two nights ago, I dreamt that Andrew died. He needed some sort of operation that required temporarily stopping his heart, and they couldn’t get his heart started again afterwards. In the dream I was crying so hard that I was sick, and the retching motion woke me up. I had trouble sleeping after that. Possibly more bizarre, I had a dream last night that I was accused of some sort of terrorism and nothing I said could convince people that I wasn’t guilty…even though I wasn’t guilty. That was worrying, too. Fortunately, in both cases I woke up enough to know they were just dreams.

Finally, and on a totally different note: the new Beyonce video is mesmerising.

Rules for Bicycling

Since 2008, Andrew and I have bicycled to and from work about 80% of the time. It’s about 23 minutes each way (depending on which lights we miss), which is a great, disconnected transition period between work and life. The marginal increase in physical activity has also been good for my waist line (and really good for my ability to rationalise skipping the gym on any given day).

I’ve really enjoyed watching the number of bicycling commuters increase year after year. Following the uptake of the Boris Bikes has been great, too. Even though our route to work doesn’t include a single bike lane, there are now so many bikes that we form a substantial enough peloton to keep the attention of most drivers. We’re also helped by the fact that the route has relatively few lorries.

Anyhow, while I love cycling to work, I am frequently chagrined that so many bicyclists are idiots and/or jerks. So here are my rules for bicyclists:

  1. If you’re on wheels, you have to follow car rules. If you’re on foot, you can be a pedestrian. Here’s the deal, kids: bicycles move faster than pedestrians. And probably have more mass. I hope you all remember your physics: F=M*A. If for no other reason, that’s a good reason to follow the rules of the road when you’re on wheels. If you want to ignore a red light: do so as a pedestrian. Get off your damn bike and walk it across the intersection. Think of it as urban portaging.
  2. Always wear a helmet. If you break your arm, you’ll survive. If you lose your arm, you’ll get through life. Your brain doesn’t work that way. It’s the sine qua non of living. You can treat the messed up hair as a badge of honour for having cycled.
  3. Don’t wear headphones. You need to be able to hear what’s going on around you, or you will inevitably (and possibly inadvertently) do many idiotic and/or jerky things. Instead, hum or even sing to yourself. It’s infinitely more fun, and singing builds community.
  4. Under no conceivable circumstances is it okay to stop in a pedestrian crossing. None. Where do you think the pedestrians will go? It’s like if they stood in the bike lane when it wasn’t their turn to cross the road. And yes, that’s me verbally abusing you from outside the crosswalk.
  5. Be happy with the speed you cycle. If you’re getting passed by everyone as you proceed from one intersection to another, don’t continue jumping to the front of the group at each traffic signal. We’re all just going to pass you again, and that’s not safe for anyone.
  6. If you can’t cycle in a straight line, you shouldn’t be on a fixie. Seriously.
  7. Don’t use your mobile phone while cycling. Yes, that includes texting.  And if you do need to pull over to make a call or send an email or whatever it is that you think needs to be done immediately, get your bike out of the road. I saw a woman today stopped in the bus lane on Euston Road talking on her mobile. Idiot.
That’s all I can think of right now. Violation of any of of the above rules should be a paintballable offence, a category of crime I’ll outline sometime soon (link).

Jet Lagged

My jet lag finally hit last night. With a vengeance. Two days after landing, I found myself exhausted at about 8pm. I crawled into bed to read at 9, and was asleep soon thereafter. I had crazy dreams. One was about going to a rugby game, and having to climb up the outside of the stadium, which was fine until the edge got too narrow and Andrew had to save me (thanks!). Another dream involved my grandmother, and a third involved getting a rash on my right forearm.

Anyway, my 11 hours of sleep last night made me realise a flaw in my grand plan of living in England: my jet lag always goes the wrong direction. When I back to the left coast of the US (which is as often to see my family or go to The Beach as it is to visit work HQ), my jet lag has me up at 4am for several days. Not great on holiday. Conversely, when I return to the UK, my jet lag makes me want to sleep late into the day. Not great for heading back to work.

Anyway, just a short update for today. Gotta get some of that work done.

On suburbs (part 2: history)

Oh dear. In my first suburbs post, I forgot to include the most deeply-seated of my prejudices: history. Viz., the history of London, which I studied for my doctorate. Though it may seem odd, I actually started studying early modern London because of my interest in modern American urban development, and before I got my current swish job, I fully intended to pursue an urban planning degree back in the US after I finished my D.Phil.

One chapter of my thesis

focuses on the City of London and its relationship with the liberties in the century after the dissolution. It begins by considering the liberties in a metropolitan context, as just one part of the jurisdictional milieu in which the City and its governing Court of Aldermen operated. It puts the liberties in an historical context by considering their position vis-à-vis jurisdictional battles in provincial English cities, the rapid population growth of early modern London, and the faltering institution of sanctuary.

Here’s the rub on early modern London: in the 150 years after 1500, the population of exploded. Despite an extremely high mortality rate, the population went from around 40,000 to around 450,000 people. Over the same period, the percentage of the metropolitan population that lived within the City’s boundaries fell from 75% to 25%.

In a world before demography or economics existed, it’s not surprising that both the civic and national government couldn’t comprehend what was happening. In an effort to stem the growth, some half-hearted efforts were made by Parliament or the Privy Council to retard the growth by banning new construction. Those failed. Go figure.

What the City didn’t do, though, was expand its boundaries (apart from a half-hearted attempt in 1550 to govern a small area south of the river as Bridge Ward Without). As a result, London’s suburbs–everything other than the square mile of the City of London)–developed a cobbled-together system of government relying primarily on local parishes and the county administrations primarily of Middlesex and Surrey. As the metropolis continued to grow, it became obvious that this patchwork was not up to the task of governing what grew to be the largest conurbation in Europe and eventually the world. By the early 19th century it was obvious some services had to be superimposed on top of “London”, and so the Metropolitan Board of Works and the Metropolitan Police evolved into being.

It wasn’t until the Local Government Act, 1888 that things were put right. That means the unwillingness of the mid-16th century aldermen to annex the growing areas immediately outside their jurisdiction went uncorrected for 350 years. Ouch.

Back to the present: I think American cities have made the same mistakes since the end of WWII. The GI Bill’s home loan provisions, the building of the interstate highway system and several other mid-20th century phenomena worked together to suburbanise large swathes of the United States, much to the detriment of our quality of life–then, now, and in the decades to come.

London calling

As so often happens, yesterday was the nicest weather we had all week in California. Andrew got up early and went for a run while I packed and listened to NPR. For the record, it took 3 weeks before I cracked and turned on NPR. Before that, I found myself unable to tolerate American news (possibly because one of my first mornings home I was subjected to this Today Show report).

Anyway, packing seemed easier than it had been in either Spokane or at The Beach, which makes me think we must have forgotten something of substantial bulk. Oh well. Work went by quickly: I had a meetings with some French colleagues and a few other folks. Lots of the California team seemed to be working from San Francisco (fair enough!). Breakfast was at No Name: those delicious egg tortilla things plus some stawberries. Lunch was at Big Table with Chris, but was only middling.

8 of us hired a van to take us to SFO at 2.30, after which Andrew & I lodged ourselves in the lounge with a few other colleagues. Note to mother: despite drinking Glenlivet for almost 4 hours, no one told me I smelled of an electrical fire.

Andrew and I were, blissfully, seated in High-J. Me in 62K and him in 62J. I was delighted that they were serving Taittinger, but that made my disappointment all the more bitter when they switched to Ayala once we were in the air. Boo. Dinner was fine. We both had beef with a demi-glace. The AVOD was on the fritz (no surprise there), which I always like since it comes with a 15,000 mile apology. Possibly most important: Andrew actually got some sleep.

Speaking of Andrew: we got married 6 weeks ago yesterday, during with time he’s made 6 flights across the Atlantic (only 1 of them outside economy). The chap deserves a medal. And a chance to return to a routine.

Heading home

Andrew and I are flying back to London this evening. I couldn’t be happier. I’ve been in America since the 14th of September, and if I’m not hanging out with my family (and I’ve spent almost the whole of the past fortnight without them), I don’t really have much patience for being away from London. I’ve found, by the way, that home is the name I give wherever I’m not. When I’m in London, going home is Spokane. And when I’m in Spokane, going home is London.

Last night Andrew and I had dinner with his sister Liz, our friends Pete & Ali, and my cousin Christine and her husband Guy. We went to a place in Dogpatch called Serpentine, and the food was really fantastic. More importantly, the company was delightful. I couldn’t have enjoyed me evening more. And then Liz was kind enough to drive us all the way back to Sunnyvale. We lucked out.

On suburbs (part 1: prejudices)

This is my fourth day in Silicon Valley. Apart from the weather being consistently British (sun and showers), its main impact on me has been a forceful reminder of my aversion to suburbia.

This is the first of what will be several posts teasing out why I so dislike suburban development–particularly in America. Before I get down to brass tacks, it’s only fair to lay out my prejudices on the topic.

Prejudice 1: I hate driving. Not just a little bit.  A lot bit. I think it’s a waste of my attention and a waste of space. It means I can’t have a drink (!!), and it seems to make people jerkier than they are in real life. The self-righteousness of internet trolls is nothing compared to that of drivers. I know it’s supposed to be liberating, but I find driving really limiting.

Prejudice 2: I grew up in a place where everything necessary for daily life was within walking distance. Yes, those exist in Spokane, Washington, even if there aren’t many of them. Both of my parents can walk to work. I could walk to school. There are also 6 good restaurants, an ice cream parlour, a pub, a spa  a salon, and two grocery stores (one of them organic). That, to me, continues to be the very least that a neighbourhood should offer its residents.

Prejudice 3: I like places. I have been known to offend Londoners from south of the river by claiming that Clapham isn’t a place, a statement I stand by. The distance from Clapham Junction to Clapham North is greater than the distance from King’s Cross to Buckingham Palace…which is to say that Clapham covers roughly the same space as Bloomsbury + Fitzrovia + Holborn + Covernt Garden + Soho + Mayfair + St James’s. You can’t tell someone “meet me in Clapham” and expect to end up workably near to one another. In my mind that makes it a non-place. I prefer places. I believe that one place should be easily distinguishable from another. That’s one of the reasons I prefer London to Paris (check out Pevsner’s Visual Planning and the Picturesque if you have ever felt similarly).

Prejudice 4: I believe that society is better when different types of people interact with each other. This is a whole kettle of fish that I probably shouldn’t go into now, but I think cars (and iPods) are too isolating. They disconnect people from their environment, and in so doing, they undermine the small links that making up civilisation.

Prejudice 5: I listen to a lot of folk music. And two of the singers I favoured during my formative years are rather strongly against suburbs. Dar Williams, for example, sang:

Well we’re heading for a past that you leave not defend
Where the downtowns hold the sadness of you can’t go back again
It’s there you’ll find the rust and debtors
Motel signs with missing letters
Cause there’s a monster on the outskirts
Says it knows what your town needs
Then it eats it up like nothing and it won’t spit out the seeds
And we can be the super shoppers
We can say we’re really smart
We can say our town is doing fine without a beating heart
We can even say the money saved is all our own
It’s bought and sold

And to quote Ani DiFranco:

White people are so scared of black people
They bulldoze out to the country
And put up houses on little loop-d-loop streets
And while America gets its heart cut right out of its chest
The Berlin wall still runs down main street
Separating east side from west

And nothing is stirring, not even a mouse
In the boarded up stores and the broken down houses
So they hang colorful banners off all the street lamps
Just to prove they got no manners, no mercy, and no sense


The ghost of old buildings are haunting
Parking lots in the city of good neighbors that history forgot

So we’re led by denial like lambs to the slaughter
Serving empires of style and carbonated sugar water
And the old farm road’s a four-lane that leads to the mall_
And my dreams are all guillotines waiting to fall

And I wonder then, what it will take for my country to rise
First we admit our mistakes and then we open our eyes
‘Til nation’s last taker succumbs to one last dumb decision
And America, the beautiful is just one big subdivision

This is what happens…

I go back to work–an offsite week even–and I immediately stop updating the blog. Typical. I need to (and I will) carve out more time for thinking, reflecting and sharing though. And this is an important barometer of how that process is going.

I’m in California this week for our team offsite. In another life we would have called it a retreat. In fact, it would benefit from involving more retreat-like aspects. But there you have it.

On Sunday after I cleaned the beach house up (in anticipation of my mother arriving there on Monday), I drove down to Seattle for lunch with Amanda & Troymetheus.We had some very delicious pizza, and then I took the light rail down to SeaTac.

On the plus side, the flight to SJC is a quick one, at about 2 hours. On the minus side, I was in a middle seat! I know that about 1/3 of a full plane will be in middle seats, but it’s shocking how infrequently it happens to me. Thankfully, I have my superpower: sleeping on planes. I drifted off somewhere around the safety demonstration, and woke up as the plane was landing. So that was fine, then.

When I arrived at the hotel, I found myself feeling incredibly social (possibly a by-product of having spent 7 days all alone). Andrew wasn’t landing for another 4 hours, so after a walk to the nearest grocery store (brace yourselves for a future post on how awful suburbs are), I sat in the hotel lobby saying hi to other people from the team as they arrived. The growth of our team is pretty amazing…certainly in the 5 years since I started working, but even in the last 12 months. Pretty cool.

Infinity

In my experience, there is nothing so suggestive of infinity as moments when the sea and the sky merge. It promises a world without walls, and limitless possibility. Sometimes that’s on beautiful sunny days. But I personally prefer when it’s the work of fog. This is what I woke up to today:

I go back to work tomorrow, and I can already tell it will be a shock to the system. I have really appreciated these two weeks of sitting quietly and living in the present. But tomorrow we return to the struggle. I am looking forward to seeing Andrew again. No more long holidays without him, what? And I think I know what I want to do next at work. It will probably take a few months for me to figure out exactly what it would look like and how feasible it is, so I won’t say anything else for now. But it’s nice to have something to hope & plan for.

…on Stanwood

  1. It is both delightful and surprising that this village is one of the stops for trains between Vancouver & Seattle. I’d love to know the back story on how they wrangled that.
  2. The QFC here has the best champagne & port selection I’ve ever seen in a supermarket. So I bought myself a 1998 Comte de Champagne and a Dow’s 20-year tawny port. Bliss.
  3. It should be easier to get between Stanwood and the island by bicycle.
  4. Pursuant to 1&3, I would love to be able to come to The Beach without rending a car.
  5. A general point on th’America: it’s so easy to buy things here! One can buy cutting boards and prescription drugs at the grocery store, and groceries and [awful] clothing at the pharmacy/chemist. It’s almost disconcerting.
  6. A Stanwood exception to 5: it’s impossible to buy a decent cheese grater in this town. Or a bike pump. Sigh.
  7. No one outside the UK understands queuing. Thankfully in the US it’s socially acceptable to rebut a stranger’s questioning of the queue one has begun.