The Red Light Special is Only $100

February is a bad, bad month for my 1995 Ford Taurus, as evidenced by last year's hit and run and windshield bashing and this accident four years ago. This year is no exception, which I discovered when I received by mail today this photo of me blatantly running a red light. Yep. You caught me, technology.

This feels a little like when you go on one of the "Xtreme" rides at an amusement park and they take your picture and try to sell it to you for egregious amounts of money. Only in this scenario, the ride is only extreme because you're voluntarily defying oncoming traffic in an attempt to get 20 feet ahead before you have to stop again for the next red light. Also, it's much more costly. This particular photo is $100 of amusement park fun!

Here's where I must declare my dissatisfaction with Chicago's growing camera enforcement program. Why? Because it destroys the very essence that makes Chicago driving -- nay -- Chicago CULTURE, what it is. You see, I'm not exaggerating when I say that at any given intersection in Chicago, when the light turns red you will see three- to five more vehicles slip on through. It's just what our fast-paced, angry, concrete-dwelling Chicagoan hearts do. We can't help it, see?

This photo, besides calling out the sincerity of my Chicagoan pride, what does it say? It sends this message, this awful, denigrating message that things are changing 'round here. That yes, even in this windy, crooked city someone out there thinks we can all become regular, law-abiding citizens. And they have taken it to the roads.

{siiiigh}

Ironically, I bought a bike today. Let's see your cameras catch my Schwinn, Chicago Dept. of Revenue! Well, I've paid my $100. My car, Treasure, should be good to go until next February (although March has also brought on its share of disaster), and if I can be grateful for one thing about Chicago's changing front on this Ash Wednesday, it is this: Maybe soon I'll be able to put ketchup on my hot dog and not receive death glares.

Why I should've mulled that gift over some more

Last fall I bought Andy an XBox360 and gave myself personal pats on the back for being a winning girlfriend. What I didn't consider is the paranoia-inducing online integration of this splendid device, and how that gift would come to serve the same purpose as the man I regularly see "walking" in Hillsboro with his arms flailing, shouting marching orders to HIMSELF with a single outstretched finger, violently jutting outward to the rhythm of an unidentified but likely upbeat song on his ipod: it creeps me out.

Andy's recently gotten into playing Halo 3 while hooked in to XBox LIVE, which allows him to converse with other players from around the globe. Thankfully, he wears a headset to spare me the obscene ramblings of adolescent boys and 35-year-old basement-dwellers. But that also means I only hear what he says to his teammates, which means I'll be in the kitchen washing dishes when I'll hear this:

Andy: Watch out - there's a guy behind you! I can't get there in time!!!
Me: What?!?!
Andy: He's to your left! TO YOUR LEFT!!!
Me: [heart sinks to balls of feet, senses impending death, looks to the left, cries in rocking motion on floor]
Andy: Ha! Red team got him. Niiiiiiice.

If you've never been tested as to whether your response in life or death situations is fight or flight, this is a great way to do so. Let's just say that if you surprise me in my home, you may be the victim of flying culinary tools.

Other random gametime outbursts I hear from the other room include those that make me chuckle:
"Get in, get in, get in! Ugggghhh!"

Those that make me concernicus:
"Is anyone there? Who's there?"

... And those that sound just plain psychotic:
"We're going to die. We're all going to diiieee!!!"

Urban Nomadicism for Dummies

A recently-starred item in my RSS feed is a post by young entrepreneur Ben Casnocha called "Urban Nomadicism: The Sources of Unhappiness for Serial Travelers". As an IT consultant who has spent eight of the past ten months cross-country commuting full time, I took an interest in it. I'd like to give some input that supports a lot of Ben's statements, but hopefully offers some additional food for thought.

In his analysis of the (un)happiness of "professional vagabonds," Ben calls out three main culprits (indented text is from his post):

Rootlessness

"Home" changes over the course of one's life. It starts at your place of birth. Half of Americans live within 50 miles of their birthplace. For the other half, what you consider home evolves over the course of time. The most comfortable transition is when "home" goes from A to B with no interlude. You might grow up in San Francisco (home), then move to Los Angeles (SF still home for awhile), until one day you realize that "home" is LA. Boom. It switches. But if you grow up in San Francisco (home), then move to LA, then move to Chicago, then Beijing, then Sydney, at some point SF no longer feels like home, but nor do any of the other cities. Where is your hearth? Where do you go for nurturance and renewal?

I’m still not sure what to call home. A very regular conversation I have with friends I make in Portland goes like this:
A: So where are you from?
D: Originally I’m from Minnesota, but I live in Chicago now.
A: [pause, confusion] So … are you just visiting here then?
D: No, I’m here full time. But I LIVE live in Chicago. Where are you from?
A: I’m from ___________.
D: Oh, that’s great! I love it there!
A: You’ve been?
D: Well, I lived there for 4 months.
A: Wow, where else have you lived?
D: [pulls out world map] …
So yes, it’s confusing not knowing what to call home. But I’d like to argue that home can be more than one place. I find true renewal and nurturance at the three places I’ve lived the longest: Minnesota, Colorado and Chicago.

Shallowness of relationships

The best way to build intimacy in a relationship is to spend quality in-the-flesh time with each other. If you're always on the go, or never in the same place for more than a few years, intimacy can be hard to come by. It's hard to involve yourself in a long-term relationship if you're nomadic. It's true even for friendships. Thanks to technology it's rare that a friendship would ever move backwards in the absence of physical interaction -- maintenance is easy these days -- but technology can not accelerate intimacy in the way physicality does. It can even be hard to motivate yourself to invest in relationships as you think to yourself, "I'm leaving in six months anyway, what's the point in trying to find a best friend?" (People who have issues with intimacy of course will embrace this aspect of the traveler's life.)

I think this depends on the approach you take. Yes, there is a lot of truth to the statement that physical interaction beats virtual. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to kindle a friendship through digital means. I've met lots of people through Twitter and Meetup, but more on that in a bit.

Identity confusion

Where do I belong? Does the country name on my passport still accurately reflect my deepest national ties? How do I answer the question, "Where are you from?" If I'm living in a country where I am not a native speaker, will I ever be treated as a local?

In my mind this is fairly intertwined with rootlessness, so I’ll defer to my above response.

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I am often asked "how do you do it?" with regards to the state-to-state bunny hop, and the true concerns embedded in that question come straight from the list above. It could often be rephrased as simply “Are you actually happy?”. While I don’t believe that unhappiness is in the cards for everyone who chooses a life on the move, I do agree that if you don’t regularly assess your personal requirements for stable contentment, the travel bug will bite you sharply in the ass.

In no order other than how they came to mind, here are other factors that significantly contribute to the constant traveler’s lifestyle.

1. Personality. If you’ve got a penchant for nightly neighborhood BBQs and group movie nights, the traveling lifestyle might be more difficult for you. Conversely, frequent travel lends itself well to those less likely to be the life of the party because you’re surrounded by new ways to self-entertain all the time. When I spent a few months in Houston, the phrase “I’m in Texas” alone was enough to boggle and humor my mind for hours. That and the hair, God bless it.

Most, though, aren’t strictly people-persons or non-people-persons. I can socialize 'till the cows come home, but in reality I'm sort of an introvert. That surprises people, but I often prefer exploring on my own, be it an art museum or the tangled streets of a new city. I suppose the argument that brings is whether the more minor instances of joy from entertainment and exploration can actually constitute a deeper sense of happiness. At the risk of venturing in to gray-er and fuzzier territory, let’s keep looking at some other contributing factors.

2. Age. I’m 25 and female. Most of the people in line with me at airport security on Mondays at 4:30a.m. are 40- to 50-year-old men. There isn’t a whole lot of interaction between us, which I’ve come to accept. But whether it’s my “youth” or something else contributing to this feeling, I do wish we would take note of all the reasons to smile. Yes, it’s early. Yes, you’ve got a long day ahead (Mondays are the WORST when you’re flying West over time zones). I’ve always been excited to board a plane. But now that I board one every week, I feel sad to be one of the few who seems happy at the airport. How's that for irony? The people you’re sitting near may be fresh off their first time abroad, or maybe they just climbed Kilimanjaro. The amazing stories and energies to be found at airports are undoubtedly quashed to some degree by the worn-out, “don’t speak to me” expressions of us commuter drones.

Aside from the few hours spent actually in-transit, I believe age plays a role in how happy you can be as a full-time traveler. It’s practically second nature for me to go online to see what my options are for finding a social circle in a new place. Meetup.com allows me to find people I know I’d have fun with, and do things people my age do. If I’m backpacking alone, I’m likely at a hostel where finding a day trip buddy is a cinch. I can also update my status on Twitter and Facebook, and search my networks to see if anyone is in the area. Those tools have made a huge difference to my business travel experience. For example, a friend from college, with whom I’d been relatively out-of-touch, lives in Portland. I didn’t remember that until she responded to my post on Twitter. Now I stalk her we hang out regularly and have become close, great friends.
An older business traveler not likely to have such in-depth involvement in online social experiences won’t have the same ease in building a community wherever they may be. That’s changing, but for the majority of adults, online social interactions are still on the to-do list.

3. Relationship status. This one is obviously a biggie. Long-distance is hard, no doubt about it. It sucks to not be physically present with the one you love. But it also ups the quality of the time you do get to spend together. I wouldn’t say it balances out to an even trade; I would rather take my Andy with me wherever I go. But if there’s one thing you can do, it’s focus on the bright side of a long-distance relationship, which for me means exciting dates, a deeper appreciation for all Andy does to keep things in order while I’m away (the cats have survived!) and more doting on each other. ☺

I could go on and on, but oh, look! I’ve already done that! Without explanation, here’s a list of some other considerations:

• Are you a first-timer? Or have you been running this track for years?
• Where are you going? Are you jumping from country to country each week or do you have just one or two prime locations you split your time between? I commute between Chicago and Portland, and when I'm missing "home", I take a few minutes to step outside into the green, fresh air of the Northwest. My mood immediately changes when I can be grateful for getting to experience a different part of the country.
• How involved are you in your hometown? Did you have to give up on an intramural beach volleyball league, church choir? Are you unable to take on leadership positions in groups you’re a part of?

Any of those are going to have an impact on the level of true happiness you can maintain if you're always on the go.

So, now that that’s off my chest, what do you think? I’m interested to hear what you have to say in the comments!

UNIQLO is a neat name for something completely obscure

My favorite new calendar. I can't wait for them to come out with an electronic wall-calendar version of this. An electric t-shirt calendar version would be even sweeter.

For an extra-fun Friday night, simultaneously open this baby in five different windows.




*Thanks to my good friend the SuggestionBoxer! Is it cool that you request I post something new, and when I finally do it's something I stole from your blog? Sorry.

Note: There's some some fantastic music (Fantastic Plastic Machine feat. Gen Tamura) you can turn on by clicking in the lower right corner of the photo (above the date).

And after he brought me Earl Grey with zested orange peel

There is this thing happening that's got me sort of weirded out, but also kind of in awe. I have friends (that's not the thing) having babies. Actual babies. As in, they are parents (aka 'rents). Of real. human. beings. Miniature ones, but people, nonetheless. I'm still getting over the fact that I am responsible for two furry creatures that require nothing more from me than the occasional scooping motion: scoop food into dish. pause. scoop poop out of other larger, sand-filled dish. repeat. And I'm not even home to do that 80% of the time, so I push it off onto my amazing boyfriend who lovingly takes on those responsibilities for mere pennies Xbox360 games.

That's terrible kitty-mothering at its best. However, I do still want to brag about my little guys, because one of them plays fetch. Yeah, that's right. Can your infant do that?! Notice I said "one of them." The other one doesn't do anything special. Seriously. Since I've already overstepped the bounds of pet obsession while simultaneously insulting babies, I'll go ahead and continue that trend by posting video of my cat playing fetch.



Update: Barley's fave toy is a hair binder (that's "hair tie" to all you non-Minnesotans). He hoards them somewhere when he gets them, but when he feels like playing fetch with one he will first drop it in his water dish and soak it before excitedly dropping it on or around one of us. Naturally, I assumed this was indicative of his lack of intelligence, but then I googled "cat drops toy in water" and holy lord! There are cats upon cats dousing their toys in water prior to playing with them. I can only assume they're pretending it's a blood-soaked fresh kill. Because wet elastic is what I would use, too. It takes a special kind of cat to reach that level of mediocrity.