Like Rivers of Hue Flowing Above the Hills

In the digital broadcast age, TV ain't what it used to be.

During the Olympics we became more than a little fans of the anchor of the local NBC affiliate. Tracy Barry. We often watched her local Olympics update after the news, in the lead-up to prime time.

She's everything you'd want in a queen bee of the local news scene, down to having her own professional diction style. We loved imitating the way she said "So-shee," punctuating each syllable in a sing-song way to maximize the effect of each consonant.

Turns out she came to Portland in 1985, same as yours truly. That's enough to make me root for her.

During the Games, the frustration at getting the local NBC signal got me interested in the over-the-air broadcast signal here in SW Portland. Even with the decrease in strength that most transmitters underwent in the digital crossover a few years back, it seemed absurd to me that a citizen of this district of the city couldn't easily grab the KGW signal out of the air with a decent antenna.

That led me to contemplate the array of transmission towers that sit on top of the ridge of the West Hills, that form a barrier between this area and Downtown. Even from Beaverton, they are quite prominent.

The long ridge upon which the towers sit peters out right around this area in Hillsdale, as they descend down to the river. From where I type this, the southern edge of the ridge is visibly crested by the mysterious Stonehenge Tower, which I assume broadcasts something, although it's hard to tell what (it's not the signal for KGW or the other local network stations, which come from other towers further north along the ridge).

Lately just for fun I've wound up walking up into the nearby hills on a couple occasions. On one occasion, at the tail end of the fierce weather we'd been having, I spontaneously tried to reach the Stonehenge Tower but wound up taking cover in a sudden storm of great wind gusts and hard rain. It made the branches of the tall Doug firs along the street dance chaotically against the opaque white storm-sky.

Fortunately my GoLite backpacker's umbrella held up even in the stiff wind gusts, and my waterproof Salomon boots kept my feet from getting soaked. I had a glorious time.

Even in the storm it was easy to see that the houses up there on the ridge, in the nice winding streets, are mighty nice and expensive. By and large they are hidden from view from down in the valley. To see them you have to go back into the pasta-like maze of the streets that climb up the flank of the hill, as I did. It reminded me in no small way of the Berkeley Hills, and also of Staten Island.

On the way back down, after the rain had passed through, the descending street led right into the base of the most achingly deep-color rainbow I'd ever seen, bands of delicious liquid color in the sky, a reward for having braved the storm and climbed the hill.

It turns out that the reason KGW's digital signal is hard to get in this part of Portland is probably because they broadcast with a whopping strength of 45 kW, at least according to the source I found online. Compare that it's rivals KOIN and KATU which broadcast at 1000 kW.

At least Tracy is still old school.

Plugged Into the Beaverton Vibe

"What's that big black shiny rectangle propped up on the chair?" I asked outloud, in an ironic voice, looking across the room from the couch.

Red laughed at my joke. The television had been turned off barely five minutes, and already it looked like a useless piece of furniture.

The Olympics were finally over. The last NBC broadcast had ended, and the network had sequed to  new sitcom they had been promoting during commercial breaks all during the game. We made it about six minutes into it until turning off the set in disgust.

I went on to joke that perhaps we could put the tv away completely until the next Winter Olympics. But with no intention of signing up for cable, we received only the digital broadcast signals in SW Portland---the basic network channels but shopping networks, etc. I honestly couldn't foresee any need for the "rectangle" anymore.

I had lasted five days after our return from the Downtown Marriot (how long ago the snowstorm seems now---all of it has melted over a week ago). That Friday, unable to stay away from the spectacle, I broke down and drove out through the hills to Beaverton,  which seemed like the perfect place to buy a television set. Twenty minutes later I was walking out of the Best Buy with a 29" Visio on sale, as well as one of the better digital antennas.

It took me two hours of agitated wrangling with the digital antenna to pick up the crummy signal from KGW, the Portland NBC affiliate. The first evening we had to hang the flat-sitting antenna console from a coat hanger in the patio window, and duck underneath while going in and out. The slightest jostle would send the picture into a horrible pixelated blur, and then the whole screen would go black.

I joked in my best Muscovite accent that this was "Russian cable television." Red laughed at that too.

We finally got it to be somewhat stable in a normal flat position on the heater. We found ourselves entranced by the soothing voice of  the NBC announcers calling a snowboard competition.

For the next two weeks we barely dared the touch the whole set-up. The television stayed propped up against the back of the chair, like a seated guest, without any of the stand apparatus that had come in the box.

During that time I managed to find myself working from the kitchen table most afternoons, during the non-prime time events. It was quite productive and inspiring, all in all.

Finally last night we chewed the marrow of the Olympics down to the bone, watching the late night rerun of the piece that NBC had produced about the twentieth anniversary of the Kerrigan-Harding drama from '94.  We mocked Nancy Kerrigan all over again, and felt disgusting heartbreak for the unrepentant Harding.

Today the set didn't go on at all. I worked silently without even noticing the silence. Now it seems overbearing. Time for a podcast.

Sochi Olympics Triple Bonus Score

This weekend was pretty much the most awesome way to see the Winter Olympics. In an otherwise paralyzed-by-snow metropolis, we holed up for three nights at one of the nicest hotels downtown, one that turns out to have excellent (if sometimes tad enthusiastic) service and amazing views.

In all that decadence we clocked many, many hours of television watching, actively and half-attentively, laughing at the spectacle, pushing back at the commentary, marveling with amazment at the performances of the athletes, and feeling like we were among the luckiest people in the entire city.

I cheered for the Russians, mostly, because they're the home team. But mostly in watching the events one gets addicted to sheer excellence.

Rockstar---I used that word in my last post. Okki likes to use that word, and Red gets what I mean too.

I describe it as some  temporary state of being, available to contemporary First Worlders, a brand-new-to-you and highly awesome experience, during which one is manifestly swaddled in material comfort (if that's appropriate) and vibes of connection ot the world and the other human beings.

You don't have to be a famous musician. In fact, that has huge negatives (you have to stay in Rockstar mode).

Instead, I think, for ordinary folk, it can just come upon you, if you live your life along the right way, with the right attitude.

I sometimes compare it to the way old pinball machines worked, that sometimes the ball would find its way into some upper chamber of the table, and bing around a bit up there, racking up bonus points.

Then you can go back to your normal life, or to whatever comes next, after its done, invigorated, if you choose, with deep gratitude to the Great Jet Stream of Life and the Universe that let you taste it for a few days.

Rockstars and the Glory of Winter at the Downtown Marriot

On the street across from the hotel, there is a cluster of small palm trees around sign for Tom McCall Park. They look lonely but sturdy amid all the white covering.

It's such a treat to see the city this way. During the great storm, we holed up the entire weekend watching the weather coverage and the Sochi Olympics. We watched opening ceremony and most of the coverage of events.

Last night, the room service waiter apologized for the weather. "I wish I could just take it all away," he said, motioning through the patio doors down towards the snow and ice.

We laughed at that.

Our room looks out over the river. The unfrozen river is placid in the cove between the Hawthorne and Marquam Bridges.

The Hawthorne is the older bridge---an old railroad-type truss bridge low to the water with a raiseable span . Built in 1910. A gem. Carries local car traffic. From our room we watch the cars that cross it and time their crossings.

The Marquam soars diagonally across the river in a great arch, carrying the great flow of mighty I-5, in two decks atop each other.  It is the bridge that currently defines the the city, forming the backdrop of the cove. The Marquam is like a sculpture---the great civic art piece of Portland in steel and concrete---an offering to the influence and power of the highway.

Streets like County Roads in SW Portland

In the bright morning, out the patio doors, one could see an inch or two of powder on the ground.  All was calm. Much of the patio had been blown clear.

Around noon, I bundle up and walk out into the parking lot with my snow boots on. Temperature not bad. I notice the tracks of the cars that have already exited. Many tracks. Deep tread. No wipe outs.

I walk up the hill to the main road. It seems easily climbable by cars, thoroughly packed down already.

Then on the sidewalk of Capitol Highway, I look down into Hillsdale proper, past the bars and towards the main business strip by the stop lights.. The pavement should be clear by now, but instead it is covered with white snow and patches of grey melting slush. It is delighfully rural in character.

Another round of snow coming tonight.  Been following it on the College of DuPage satrad web page (try "Norther Hemisphere IR" on the little menu). On the experimental side of physics, I've always been a sucker for fluid dynamics.

Snowicane Hits PDX

Beautiful to behold, coming in as swirling blender of light flakes. So far there's only a patina of while on the pavement, but the city prepares to shut down business for the day.

At times the wind dies down and the flakes come down in regular helices beside each other. The accumulation begins.

Moon Shot to Portland

Fed up with slow progress, I drove all the way from near Boise to Portland in a single day. I left after lunch---I had a mid-day conference call schedule, and wanted to stay in town until then. After that I did a day-long moon shot drive all the way through Eastern Oregon and down the gorge.

The first week of February the days get longer, so I got good sunlight much of the afternoon. The Blue Mountains had a fresh coat of snow on all the trees and the ground. The roads were good by now, but there were two stranded semi trucks along the road, their drivers beside them with emergency help, and an overturned semi abandoned and encrusted with ice at the top of the pass.

I mostly drove without stopping, but allowed myself small breaks once an hour, up to ten minutes, a rest areas, and even a small detour along the snowpacked forest road towards Mt. Emily. This time of year the light lingers later in the winter afternoon. It feels brighter on the snow than it should be, at 4 pm.

I stood outside the car as long as I could bear the cold, to get a good blast of the serene quietness of the white-laden landscape. Then I got back in the car and pushed on.

Late in the day, as the last light faded, I was already into the groove of the Gorge. The dark hills sprang up on either side. The Dalles was in darkness, all the business lights lit up for the evening, as I passed. The river widens. One senses one is approaching the edge of the continent. One feels a long way from Utah.

The mile markers on Interstate 84, and the exit numbers, count down the exact distance to where the highway officially ends, splitting into the north and south flows of I-5 right at the banks of the Willamette. As one heads south along the soaring concrete pillars, the lit-up skyline of Portland is fascinatingly beautiful, the most opulent such display one sees after leaving Salt Lake City.

South Boise---home of the brave

Didn't get far down the road today. The snowstorm in the AM had been canceling the day's drive. I retooled for a day of work in Boise, which turned out to be productive.

Last night watched the big game at Jumpin' Janets on Vista, on the hill south of the river. I met the owner's son and his girlfriend when they were at the bar of Bonefish Grill a couple nights back.

It was a splendid Boise dive bar. Most people stood up during the national anthem, which was mind-blowing this year. Probably the best rendition ever at a Super Bowl. The bartender (a fiftyish woman) yelled at folks to take off their hats, but some guys at a nearby table talked through it and no one cared.

I walked all the way there from the hotel. On the way I detoured to tour the display cases in the main waiting room of the Boise Depot, the old UP station at the crown of the bluff overlooking the river and downtown. Capitol Street goes from there down to the statehouse, which looks small and rather inconsequential compared to the rooklike tower of the depot.

Boise State---the new university

After I checked out of the Hampton Inn this morning, I drove over to a Starbucks along the main boulevard heading back to the interstate, thinking I'd work the rest of the day there.

There had been a snowstorm that morning, and the day looked shot for driving anywhere. But by eleven, the sky had cleared up. It was bright and sunny.

I decided to park on the street outside the Starbucks instead of their parking lot. Over lunch I gave myself a tour of the nearby Boise State campus. The football stadium, marking the edge of campus, was right across from where I was parked.

Next to it is a historical chapel, the first Episcopal church is Idaho-Montana-Utah, erected 1866.  The steeple had sharp pointed steeplets on its four corners, reminiscent of Mormon architecture. But on the very top of the main central steeple was instead a Celtic Cross, something you never see in Mormon style.

The main campus of Boise State sits along the south side of the Boise River, over the bridges from downtown where I'd been staying. A bike path skirts along the wooded banks. In the winter the river is low and one can walk out on to the plane of round rocks to where the stream flows.

Later I walked all the way through the main campus, and went into the College of Business for a while to grab a bottle of water and sit meditating, looking out the big glass windows at the quad, as the students came and went around me. 

Some were wearing jerseys from the winning team of the Super Bowl---proud in the moment of glory, but mostly it seemed subdued.

I went looking for the physics department---something I usually try to do. I poked into a door  of an old brick building marked "Science" above it, in stone, but it turned out to be a modern math tutoring facility now.

I was impressed by the Albertsons Library, the Environmental Studies Building, and the big glass "Learning Center." Of course the sports facilities are new, and top-notch for a university of this size.

They've really built this up from scratch recently here. Being here, I tend to think it has worked. Boise State is ostensibly postmodern in all its design. There is much fewer old-style cruft here than at other places. All this tells me the future is very good for a place like this.

Boise---crazy town

Usually the Hampton Inn and Suites is not the grand hotel of a city, but in Boise, the scale works out to make it so.

It certainly has a nice view. From the window of my room, I can see down into the nexus of the architecture of downtown.  It's the seedling of great city, fascinating to see from this angle.

It's a little clump of proto skyscrapers, dominated by the Zionsbank tower, beautiful in  glass, with step-like neon along the tiered floors culminating in a temple-like steeple that looms above the entertainment district like prow of a ship.

That's where the trendy steakhouses are, and a two-story complex open late, about five blocks down from the hotel.

On Friday night the restaurants and bars are full of visiting couples, families, and lots of young people---locals who have gravitated to this city as a haven, from even smaller towns.

Young women go out in groups of two and larger, many aleady drunk and boisterous by 8 pm. They seem ravenous for fun. 

Within view of the hotel are also several new glass residential towers in the style of Vancouver. They rise above parts of the newer entertainment distict, with parking structures built into the lower floors. The Hampton, eleven stories tall, anchors the south end of the downtowndistrict, and is exactly in this style with the municipal parking garage built into it.  Other buidings shield the state capitol, which is two blocks further down Eight Street.

Down here the distict becomes a contemporary lifestyle center, but with the new construction in faux-period brick, integrated into some old existing brick buildings that were renovated.  Ample use of neon to give a lively feeling in the evening. A few nice contemporary restaurants and bars with menus posted on the sidewalk, and big television screens visible from the street.

Could be a lot worse. A textbook on how to do this kind of thing, extending the extant downtown, on the cheap.

On the street is a big national chain multiplex theater with a towering vertical sign. Next to it an outlet for the local college sports team, a football powerhouse that has marketed itself well in recent years. Within one block of the hotel are dozen outlets for food and drink---a coffeeshop, a pizzeria, several bars, a fish restaurant, and of course---a P.F. Chang's.