It's getting pretty hard these days to find a gas station that doesn't require customers to pay before pumping.
A couple of years ago, such policies really annoyed me. In fact, I was even known, from time to time, to refuse to buy gas at a station that had such a requirement. I'd get myself in a proper huff, and drive down the road to the next gas station, if I had to.
But such policies anger me no more. In a world of $4 gas, where drive-offs are costing gas stations millions (costs that are passed on to consumers) it only makes sense.
Besides, with those pay-at-the-pump card readers, it's become the more convenient way to buy gas anyway.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Obama-bashing baffling
My e-mail in-box continues to receive a steady stream of loathing directed at presumptive Democratic presidential nominee, Barack Obama.
Frankly, I'm finding it all quite baffling.
I mean, I have no problem with anyone who might not prefer Obama as our next president. He's not the most experienced candidate in the world, and some folks might simply disagree with him on the issues. No harm in that.
But I don't understand the vile hatred that Obama has rapidly cultivated. Sure, it's common for presidents, or presidential candidates, to be widely reviled. Bill Clinton and George W. Bush immediately come to mine. But at least in those cases, you had one guy who was a lying adulterer, and another who kind of comes across as a dolt.
But all Obama has done to inspire such hatred is commit the unconscionable sins of being black, and having a funny name. And for that, he is widely regarded as anything from a secret Muslim to the anti-Christ. Comedy Central's Jon Stewart gave the phenomenon a proper name: "Baracknophobia."
Call me a idealist if you will, but I had so hoped that we might have a presidential election this year framed around a reasoned debate on the issues facing our country. But the rise of Baracknophobia is a discouraging sign that the politics of personal destruction will continue to rule the day.
Frankly, I'm finding it all quite baffling.
I mean, I have no problem with anyone who might not prefer Obama as our next president. He's not the most experienced candidate in the world, and some folks might simply disagree with him on the issues. No harm in that.
But I don't understand the vile hatred that Obama has rapidly cultivated. Sure, it's common for presidents, or presidential candidates, to be widely reviled. Bill Clinton and George W. Bush immediately come to mine. But at least in those cases, you had one guy who was a lying adulterer, and another who kind of comes across as a dolt.
But all Obama has done to inspire such hatred is commit the unconscionable sins of being black, and having a funny name. And for that, he is widely regarded as anything from a secret Muslim to the anti-Christ. Comedy Central's Jon Stewart gave the phenomenon a proper name: "Baracknophobia."
Call me a idealist if you will, but I had so hoped that we might have a presidential election this year framed around a reasoned debate on the issues facing our country. But the rise of Baracknophobia is a discouraging sign that the politics of personal destruction will continue to rule the day.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Flood-ravaged community a disturbing sight
Three weeks ago, I wrote in a column about the horrific flood that had ravaged by hometown of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Last weekend, I got a chance to see the devastation first-hand.
It was a disturbing sight.
My parents had told me ahead of time about the blocks and blocks of destruction. I had read accounts from civic leaders who had referred to the disaster as "our Katrina." I had foraged the Internet for photos and videos of the flood damage. Yet my parents told me the pictures don't tell the whole story — that you had to see it in person to understand.
And they were right.
The trip to Iowa was supposed to be about celebration — celebrating the Fourth of July with my sister and her family, celebrating my parents' upcoming 40th anniversary. But driving through the flood-ravaged streets of Cedar Rapids, there was nothing to celebrate.
We saw Ellis Park, where the floodwaters ripped dozens of boat houses from their moorings. Many ended up smashed against a railroad bridge downstream. Others could still be seen strewn about the park, on what is once again dry land, hundreds of yards from the river.
We drove through neighborhoods that bear names like "Time-Check" and "Czech Village," where hundreds and hundreds of refrigerators and washing machines and clothes dryers line the roadway, along with large piles of other debris, all caked with the muddy silt of the Cedar River.
It was a disturbing, revolting sight. But amazingly enough, I was told that the scene I witnessed was markedly better than what had existed days earlier. They say mountains of debris of all sorts once lined the roadway — a solid wall of discarded items, ranging from furniture to clothing to childhood toys.
Red, yellow and green tags were attached to the homes, most all with water lines still clearly visible. The green tags — there weren't many — indicated the homes that were safe to return to. The yellow tags marked residences that could be entered, but not occupied. The most-damaged buildings got red tags, a message to simply stay away.
The downtown area looked like a war zone. Around every corner was a disaster relief vehicle of some kind. Huge generators, supplying electricity to the area — which had still not regained power — made travel through the streets difficult. Many buildings had giant tubes coming out of them, as crews worked diligently to remove lingering moisture.
We drove past the railroad bridge that collapsed into the river. Several railroad cars were still visible, awaiting a difficult recovery from the murky water. We drove past the public library — the Cedar Rapids Gazette said it won't reopen for at least a year. We drove past the home of Theatre Cedar Rapids, where the curb in front was filled with discarded debris, but the marquee above contained the optimistic message, "We're all in this together."
To say it was a somber tour is to say the least. Nobody wants to see their hometown like this. I think of all the families, who have lost everything in this flood. Like Katrina, some of the hardest-hit areas were home to families who could afford it the least.
I hope those who saw my minivan creeping through the flooded areas with its out-of-state plates were not offended. Indeed, I can understand the last thing those who suffered such devastation need is tourists gawking at their plight.
Yet it was something I needed to see. It was something my kids needed to see. The Flood of 2008 will forever be a defining moment in the history of my hometown, and it was important for me to try to understand the devastation that has occurred there. For that matter, it's important for people around the country to understand as well. Cedar Rapids still needs help, and I urge anyone who is interested in doing so to visit www.floodlist.com to find out what they can do.
In the wake of this epic disaster, a couple other points need to be mentioned. First, it's worth noting that throughout this ordeal, which has impacted tens of thousands of people and more than 1,000 city blocks, not a single fatality has been reported. That miracle is a tribute to the careful planning and diligent work of the emergency management workers of the community.
Second, though the city is suffering perhaps the worst ordeal in its history, there has been almost no civil unrest. There have been no riots. There have been no waves of finger-pointing and blame-casting. There have been no angry mobs. Instead, the people of this community have handled the crisis with a grace and dignity that makes me intensely proud to call Cedar Rapids my hometown.
Like the marquee says, the residents of Cedar Rapids are "all in this together."
And together, the city will rise again.
———
I'm a sucker for a good music montage, and the video below is well done. It's from an outfit calling itself "iowafloodaid."
Last weekend, I got a chance to see the devastation first-hand.
It was a disturbing sight.
My parents had told me ahead of time about the blocks and blocks of destruction. I had read accounts from civic leaders who had referred to the disaster as "our Katrina." I had foraged the Internet for photos and videos of the flood damage. Yet my parents told me the pictures don't tell the whole story — that you had to see it in person to understand.
And they were right.
The trip to Iowa was supposed to be about celebration — celebrating the Fourth of July with my sister and her family, celebrating my parents' upcoming 40th anniversary. But driving through the flood-ravaged streets of Cedar Rapids, there was nothing to celebrate.
We saw Ellis Park, where the floodwaters ripped dozens of boat houses from their moorings. Many ended up smashed against a railroad bridge downstream. Others could still be seen strewn about the park, on what is once again dry land, hundreds of yards from the river.
We drove through neighborhoods that bear names like "Time-Check" and "Czech Village," where hundreds and hundreds of refrigerators and washing machines and clothes dryers line the roadway, along with large piles of other debris, all caked with the muddy silt of the Cedar River.
It was a disturbing, revolting sight. But amazingly enough, I was told that the scene I witnessed was markedly better than what had existed days earlier. They say mountains of debris of all sorts once lined the roadway — a solid wall of discarded items, ranging from furniture to clothing to childhood toys.
Red, yellow and green tags were attached to the homes, most all with water lines still clearly visible. The green tags — there weren't many — indicated the homes that were safe to return to. The yellow tags marked residences that could be entered, but not occupied. The most-damaged buildings got red tags, a message to simply stay away.
The downtown area looked like a war zone. Around every corner was a disaster relief vehicle of some kind. Huge generators, supplying electricity to the area — which had still not regained power — made travel through the streets difficult. Many buildings had giant tubes coming out of them, as crews worked diligently to remove lingering moisture.
We drove past the railroad bridge that collapsed into the river. Several railroad cars were still visible, awaiting a difficult recovery from the murky water. We drove past the public library — the Cedar Rapids Gazette said it won't reopen for at least a year. We drove past the home of Theatre Cedar Rapids, where the curb in front was filled with discarded debris, but the marquee above contained the optimistic message, "We're all in this together."
To say it was a somber tour is to say the least. Nobody wants to see their hometown like this. I think of all the families, who have lost everything in this flood. Like Katrina, some of the hardest-hit areas were home to families who could afford it the least.
I hope those who saw my minivan creeping through the flooded areas with its out-of-state plates were not offended. Indeed, I can understand the last thing those who suffered such devastation need is tourists gawking at their plight.
Yet it was something I needed to see. It was something my kids needed to see. The Flood of 2008 will forever be a defining moment in the history of my hometown, and it was important for me to try to understand the devastation that has occurred there. For that matter, it's important for people around the country to understand as well. Cedar Rapids still needs help, and I urge anyone who is interested in doing so to visit www.floodlist.com to find out what they can do.
In the wake of this epic disaster, a couple other points need to be mentioned. First, it's worth noting that throughout this ordeal, which has impacted tens of thousands of people and more than 1,000 city blocks, not a single fatality has been reported. That miracle is a tribute to the careful planning and diligent work of the emergency management workers of the community.
Second, though the city is suffering perhaps the worst ordeal in its history, there has been almost no civil unrest. There have been no riots. There have been no waves of finger-pointing and blame-casting. There have been no angry mobs. Instead, the people of this community have handled the crisis with a grace and dignity that makes me intensely proud to call Cedar Rapids my hometown.
Like the marquee says, the residents of Cedar Rapids are "all in this together."
And together, the city will rise again.
———
I'm a sucker for a good music montage, and the video below is well done. It's from an outfit calling itself "iowafloodaid."
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Trees must not like to grow in cotton fields
Six years ago, with the help from my father, I planted 15 evergreen trees across the western edge of my backyard.
The idea was to create a windbreak, as well as a little shade and privacy. In the neighborhoods of the Greater Armorel Metropolitan Area, where the houses have sprung out of the cotton fields, there isn't a lot of any of that. Some folks get the privacy via a fence, but unless you're short enough to climb under a cotton plant, there just isn't a whole lot of shade to go around.
The miracle about these trees is they've survived — that they're actually growing, providing the long-sought windbreak. And with my neighbors on either side both erecting privacy fences, I actually have something of an enclosed backyard.
Still, it's a wonder that the evergreens have lived. Because, frankly, nothing else has.
Either my wife and I are severely tree-challenged, or there's something wrong with our soil, because we just can't get trees to grow. We've tried on several occasions. We've planted at least three different oak trees. Most times, they'll last a season or two, then croak. We had one tree that would sprout leaves like normal in April, only to have them turn brown and fall off by late June. Two years ago, we planted a pair of willows. They both made it through the first year, but only one was still alive this spring. And the one that's alive looks green and healthy, but it's shown scant signs of growth. It looks like we stuck it in the ground yesterday.
It's all such a change from the street I grew up on. The street was called Maple Drive — an appropriate name, for the street was lined with tall maple trees that provided ample shade to the collection of old white houses throughout the warm months. Perhaps the biggest tree on the block was located in our side yard — its trunk must have been 10 feet across in diameter. There were two newer, smaller maples located in front of our house, near the street. One had the misfortune of having grown crooked at the trunk, something for which one neighbor blamed me. (The old busybody called my mom, tattling that I was "hanging" on the tree, making it lean over ... I was about 5 at the time and all of about 30 pounds.)
Actually, though, I always wanted more trees. I used to beg my dad to build me a treehouse, but he believed such things belonged in the backyard, and unfortunately, our backyard was pretty much a wide-open space. I had high hopes when my parents planted a tree back there when I was about 8; but alas, even when I left for college 10 years later, the tree was still not big enough to support a treehouse.
I guess my own kids are in the same lot when it comes to treehouses. Even if the evergreens continue their development, I doubt 8-year-old Katie or 6-year-old Drew are going to want to be climbing them anytime soon. And if they tried to climb our pitiful willow, well, we might have a case where a young person truly is to blame to a crooked trunk.
We might have to try our tree-luck again soon. These hot days of summer are a constant reminder of our need for shade. Maybe we just need to dig a bigger hole. Or maybe we need to water it more. Or maybe we just need to fertilize the heck out of it.
Or maybe we just need to accept that fact that when you live in a home built in a cotton field, it's just never going to easy to create a mini-forest in your yard.
The idea was to create a windbreak, as well as a little shade and privacy. In the neighborhoods of the Greater Armorel Metropolitan Area, where the houses have sprung out of the cotton fields, there isn't a lot of any of that. Some folks get the privacy via a fence, but unless you're short enough to climb under a cotton plant, there just isn't a whole lot of shade to go around.
The miracle about these trees is they've survived — that they're actually growing, providing the long-sought windbreak. And with my neighbors on either side both erecting privacy fences, I actually have something of an enclosed backyard.
Still, it's a wonder that the evergreens have lived. Because, frankly, nothing else has.
Either my wife and I are severely tree-challenged, or there's something wrong with our soil, because we just can't get trees to grow. We've tried on several occasions. We've planted at least three different oak trees. Most times, they'll last a season or two, then croak. We had one tree that would sprout leaves like normal in April, only to have them turn brown and fall off by late June. Two years ago, we planted a pair of willows. They both made it through the first year, but only one was still alive this spring. And the one that's alive looks green and healthy, but it's shown scant signs of growth. It looks like we stuck it in the ground yesterday.
It's all such a change from the street I grew up on. The street was called Maple Drive — an appropriate name, for the street was lined with tall maple trees that provided ample shade to the collection of old white houses throughout the warm months. Perhaps the biggest tree on the block was located in our side yard — its trunk must have been 10 feet across in diameter. There were two newer, smaller maples located in front of our house, near the street. One had the misfortune of having grown crooked at the trunk, something for which one neighbor blamed me. (The old busybody called my mom, tattling that I was "hanging" on the tree, making it lean over ... I was about 5 at the time and all of about 30 pounds.)
Actually, though, I always wanted more trees. I used to beg my dad to build me a treehouse, but he believed such things belonged in the backyard, and unfortunately, our backyard was pretty much a wide-open space. I had high hopes when my parents planted a tree back there when I was about 8; but alas, even when I left for college 10 years later, the tree was still not big enough to support a treehouse.
I guess my own kids are in the same lot when it comes to treehouses. Even if the evergreens continue their development, I doubt 8-year-old Katie or 6-year-old Drew are going to want to be climbing them anytime soon. And if they tried to climb our pitiful willow, well, we might have a case where a young person truly is to blame to a crooked trunk.
We might have to try our tree-luck again soon. These hot days of summer are a constant reminder of our need for shade. Maybe we just need to dig a bigger hole. Or maybe we need to water it more. Or maybe we just need to fertilize the heck out of it.
Or maybe we just need to accept that fact that when you live in a home built in a cotton field, it's just never going to easy to create a mini-forest in your yard.
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