Love, Honor & Bookmarks

ALBANY, N.Y. - My Inbox had several new messages this morning, but none opened as provocatively as the one from the Hong Kong University library:

What is the best way to honour a wonderful person in your life on Valentine's Day?

Flowers? Chocolates? A surprise trip to Mexico? Not even close. The next paragraph of the e-mail explains more:


Honour with Books on Valentine's Day
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You can honour your beloved ones with a lasting tribute: a bookplate bearing your name and the name of the honouree. The bookplate will be placed in a newly purchased book in the HKU Libraries' collection, and we will send a facsimile of the bookplate and a card to the honouree or to the family. You can now request a bookplate for the discounted price of $200. Your gift will enhance the HKUL collections in support of teaching and research. To ensure that cards are delivered in time for Valentine's Day, please submit your order before 6:00 p.m., 9 February 2007.

Two-hundred Hong Kong dollars is around $30, or enough to purchase most new hard covers. I'd hope the library would use the money towards a seasonally appropriate title. Perhaps a new translation of "Lolita" or "A Farewell to Arms." But knowing the staid collection found at the university library, a better bet would be a book of gastrointestinal diagrams.

How romantic.

Cell Phone's Dead

ALBANY, N.Y. - A Brooklyn man's death on the Northway, frozen 100 miles north of Albany on the side of a major highway, is a tragic failure of environmentalists, developers and engineers to properly manage New York's wild areas.

Rather than hammer out a practical solution to providing cell phone access to the nearly 70 mile corridor that begins at Exit 28 (although cell service can be spotty all the way to Exit 22), lawmakers failed to make the necessary compromises and let the issue stagnate.

Phone service in the corridor used to be provided by emergency access phones, spaced every two miles on each side of the road. When our family minivan broke down in the early 1990s, my father hiked nearly a mile to reach the phone. Less than an hour later, my grandparents arrived, shepherding the family to safety in their station wagon.

The phones fell into disrepair and were removed several years ago. With cell service not available, there's no way for a stranded motorist to alert the authorities that help is needed.

It was only a matter of time before someone wound up trapped, and unfortunately, dead.

I don't support extending cell phone service to the entire Adirondack region. It would be an unnecessary intrusion into a place designated "Forever Wild" in the state constitution. People who venture into the string of mountains known as the High Peaks need to be prepared and self-reliant.

But the same burden cannot be applied to people transversing the Adirondacks as a means of traveling between New York and Montreal. All sorts of people must go through this area - the old, infirm and disabled included - and we must provide state of the art communications technology.

The Adirondack Park Agency approved 33 cell towers, each 38 feet tall, to provide service to the area. Cell phone companies balked at the cost, and wanted to install a few much larger towers. This is a mistake; the small towers are already approved and should be completed quickly.

As the Schenectady Gazette says in today's (unavailable online) editorial, "Time to resurrect that plan and figure out a way to get those towers built before another winter passes!"

Supplies

ALBANY, N.Y. - My family held a small party to celebrate the beginning of my latest Chinese adventure. Many people came, and much to my surprise, several brought gifts. The gesture was unnecessary, but appreciated.

A theme emerged from the open packages: food. One person brought Japanese Melon candy. Another, two pounds of Twizzlers. Someone else gave a package of fruit gummies.

I've got enough candy to maintain a sugar high from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific. I'm going to pack some of these treats (others will probably serve as a refreshment during the lengthy packing process), and share them with people I meet along the way.

May we all be hyper together.

Scarves

NEW YORK - It's the winter farewell of mothers in cold climates around the world: "Don't forget your scarf!"

On New York's coldest day in two years (Central Park bottomed out at 5F), I didn't forget mine. I clipped the tag off my grey cashmere Christmas present from J. Crew, threw it in my shoulder bag, and caught the 8:15 a.m. Harlem Line train to Grand Central Station.

Two hours later, I stepped out of the 23rd street subway stop into a brisk Arctic wind. I went for my scarf, pulling the two feet of material into my gloveless hands. Then I realized I had no idea how to put it on.

Scarves are the least initutive winter clothing accessory. Hats slip on top of the head, boots are shaped like feet and gloves have finger holes. But a scarf doesn't look anything like the part of the body it's designed to protect. Sure, there are neckbands, but I didn't catch anyone in one of the world's most fashionable cities with a noodle-shaped piece of fleece.

My first idea was to take the scarf, wrap it around my head and let the remainder hang off the back of my shoulder.

Bad idea. The dangling end was too long, drapping nearly to the ground.

Too timid to ask someone, I looked around the city for ideas on how to properly arrange a scarf. I saw a few people with the drapped method, which had just failed me, but most appeared to have it tucked inside their coat somehow.

I kept seeing people with the scarf as a loop, displaying a symmetrical curve in front of their coats. It looked neater than the dangle, and offered protection from dirt and snow outside.

I tied my scarf into a loop and walked from the Russian travel agency on 20th and 5th to the Chinese consulate at 42nd and Riverside (a distance Google Maps places at 2.3 miles).

The loop had several positives: it stayed in position, looked nice and kept the neck warm. Unfortunately, it also left my now warm neck feeling itchy and my chin closed. Taking all the fabric in the loop around my neck meant there's no extra room to cover up the bottom of the face. I wore a hat with ear extensions, but it left the area around my mouth exposed.

Leaving the Chinese consulate, I put on my coat, hat and re-laced my shoes. When it came time to decide how to arrange the scarf, I tried a new method. I left it in the bag.

Iwo Jima Mess

NEWINGTON, Conn. - I'm here at the National Iwo Jima Memorial Monument just outside of Hartford wondering why well-meaning people sponsor advertisements at places of mourning.

Here you can see an impressive replica of the famous shot of American soldiers raising the flag on a small Pacific islet. Right next to the towering rock carving is a notice that several local car dealerships help make this monument possible.

I understand that government of a small Connecticut town might not have the money to import and carve a monument of this size, but they shouldn't resort to cheap sponsorship.

The main parts of the monument, the statue and a eternal flame, are dedicated to all soldiers that fought at Iwo Jima. But other parts of the monument imply that its more dedicated to certain soldiers. Families purchased small bricks, so certain soldiers have their names individually listed on the ground, while others don't. The chaplains get a personalized plaque enumerating soldiers served, injured and awarded the Bronze Star. Other units do not.

Don't expect a quiet visit. The entire monument is right on the side of a four lane divided highway, The Iwo Jima Expressway.

In front of the monument is a large slab of black granite that says, "Welcome to the Iwo Jima National Monument." On the back, in equally large letters, the name of the person who donated the piece of stone. It serves as an exit sign to the memorial.

Responsible for this mess is the Iwo Jima Survivors Association, Inc., a local group that raised the money for the monument. While I'm sure their intentions were good, I don't appreciate the results.

The best monuments tend to be the simplest ones, where a tragedy, victory, or person is reduced to one or two powerful messages.

That's why I'm bewildered by the continuing controversy over the Sept. 11 memorial in New York City. Some victims' families are pressing for more information be included on the memorial, including ages and division of law enforcement. One group is airing an ad on New York television that declares the current proposal "a cold, random list of names."

I hope New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg aren't persuaded by these arguments, as I someday would like to see a simple, powerful monument to that awful day. Adding more details about individual people categorizes them, making one life seem more valuable than another. The "cold, random list of names" shows that each loss is equally terrible.

Maybe the mayor should use some of his personal wealth to run a response ad, showing images of this Iwo Jima monument as a frank reminder of what can happen when the monument planning process runs amok.

Flashers

ALBANY, N.Y. - One night, about a year ago, a friend and I were walking across Albany's Empire State Plaza on the way to a concert in the Egg.

It was a warm night, so we walked slowly. The Plaza is a long promenade that connects the State Capital to the State Museum. Created in the 1960s by bulldozing the city's old Italian section, the Plaza is the symbol of Albany, the thing that appears on the few postcards sent each year from the city.

The sides of the plaza are flanked by office buildings, four smaller ones on the west side, and the Corning Tower, Upstate New York's tallest building, on the east side. On this particular night, ambling toward our destination, I looked up at the night sky.

Somewhere between the ground and the few stars that penetrate the urban light pollution, something was wrong. The Corning Tower looked alive. Lights were flashing, randomly, at all of the tower's windows. All 42 floors were illuminated and then dark, dozens of times each minute.

"What's that?" I said. My friend stared at it for a while and shrugged.

I stood in front of the Tower and frantically narrated a digital camera video on what might be causing the light show. Aliens? Terrorists? A government conspiracy?

After shooting, we hurried quickly into the concert. Two hours of Aimee Mann's country rock later, the lights were off.

Two weeks ago, that same friend and I were talking about that night. He said off-handedly that he later found what had caused the display.

"That's what happens when the fire alarm goes off," he said. "Those lights were the emergency flashers."

The lesson of the evening: In Albany, things are often duller than they seem.

Shooting off in space

ALBANY, N.Y. - So I see China has a "space weapon."

One strike on an obsolete weather satellite with a Cold War-era ballistic missile, and pundits declare an arms race.

"The Chinese have reawakened the notion of a space war by telling the world that, although it cannot compete with American technological advances, it can undermine the best in the business by adopting asymmetric tactics," Michael Evans wrote in The Times.

I'm not worried.

Although they got lucky this time, I place little faith in the navigational skills of the Chinese military. Records of Chinese explorer Zhang He's Ming Dynasty voyages are so confused that historians aren't sure if went to Greenland, the Cape of Good Hope or Rhode Island. That might have been six centuries ago, but hitting a moving satellite out of a space with a missile is like striking a piece of pollen from 200 yards away with a dart: pretty impossible.

The last half dozen navigators I've met in China (taxi drivers) can't even stay on the road, let alone hit a target.

Also, I doubt that China's influential pirate-DVD lobby will allow the country to attack United States communication systems. Without these, these businessmen can't receive the latest in Hollywood entertainment, add Chinese subtitles that ignore the movie's plot, and export them around the world for 50 cents a piece.

Finally, there's the sensible argument from "some analysts," (thanks, Joseph Khan) that China's real reason for testing the weapon was to encourage the United States to seriously negotiate space weapon limits.

That'd be fine, because although I'm not too worried about Chinese space missiles, I don't like the idea of hunk of weather satellite taking out a piece of my backyard.

Cold Air

ALBANY, N.Y. - It's freezing here in Albany. The weather's turned from a permanent Indian summer to where an window scrape is necessary after two hours out of the car.

Global warming may be changing the region's climate, but there's still enough cold air around for a few weeks of Old Man Winter.

Walking home from Bombers one recent evening well after midnight, I shivered in my pea coat. After three beers, my constricted blood vessels sent a message to my feet: get us somewhere warm - quick.

Throughout December I, along with most of the Capital Region, complained about the lack of winter. Where's the snow, we said, bemoaning the loss of ice rinks, snowball fights and a satisfying cup of cocoa.

Unlike memories, actual winter is complicated, requiring hats, jackets, scarves and earmuffs just to do tasks done in warmer weather with ease. Two hours is enough to wonder how long it will be before a month where I wish for it to be warm without fear that the short-term savings on heat foreshadow a environmental catastrophe.

The temperature only promises to get colder, and I'm bound to complain more. Perhaps I should move to Dubai, where winter is available via an indoor entertainment park. That means I can keep my time in cold weather to hours, not months.

To Catch a Book Thief

ALBANY, N.Y. - It's official. I will be attending Beijing's Tsinghua University this spring for language classes.

In preparation for attending the "MIT of China," I've been spending time acquainting myself with the library's rules of operation.

The library closes six days a week promptly at 9:50 p.m. The library has only seven rules, but the Web site sternly reminders users, that "offenders are subject to criticism, admonition and even punishment."

Policies are further explained in a question-and-answer section of the Web site.My favorite is the response to the question, "What happens to a book thief?":

"Book theft will be reported to the university, and be seriously punished with corresponding disciplines. Taking books out of circulation desks or reading rooms without checking out will be regarded as attempted theft."

Sounds serious. I'll be sure to check out any books I take from the library.

Two Rags

ALBANY, N.Y. - Albany is a two newspaper town.

The Times Union is the larger and more respected publication, owned by a big newspaper chain and rich enough to sponsor the city's sports arena for the next five years. It's a paper that people in smaller markets like Worcester and Scranton aspire toward, a place where a good story will be picked up by dozens of smaller papers.

The Daily Gazette is a small family-run organization, the paper that still runs three wires a day on its front page. They don't have an editorial cartoonist, and never send a reporter to New York City for a story. The paper actually is based out of Schenectady, the twin city of Albany, but it competes for an audience.

My family gets the Gazette. Growing up I felt intensely loyal to this locally-owned underdog. Now, after time at a couple papers, I recognize that both papers have strengths and weaknesses. A good way to see the differences is to compare the lead story in this Sunday's paper, the "Sunday Centerpiece" in newspaper lingo.

Today the Times Union leads with "Meet the Clarkes" a Sunday profile on a family with seven wrestling children.

It starts great:

"BALLSTON -- Lines of cars thick with frost shroud the home behind a used-car lot. The porch light flickers on, cutting through the icy darkness. It's 3:45 a.m."

But it quickly degenerates into lazy writing. Here's the very next paragraph:

"It's just another Sunday, just another weekend wrestling tournament for the Clarke household, who are to their rugged sport what the von Trapps are to song."

The Clarkes are interesting subjects, and reporter Bryan Chu introduces dozens of excellent details that add color to the piece:

"Few would be able to stomach Michele's typical day: preparing meals for 11, doing eight to nine loads of laundry.

Everything is clockwork. It has to be."

The story loses focus long before coming to a conclusion. Chu continues generally chronologically to the end of the Clarkes day, but in so doing repeats ideas over and over: sacrifices are necessary for 11 people to live on $50,000, driving to a wrestling tournament in Long Island is a long drive.

Eighteen hundred words later, the Clarkes haven't had to answer the one question I had coming into the article: Why on Earth they think it was a good idea to have nine kids in the first place? And is wrestling really the ticket to an affordable education at a private college, as the parents claim on the article's first page? What if the children aren't good? Furthermore, do all the children really like wrestling? Wouldn't someone rather sit at home and read a book?


Meanwhile the Daily Gazette leads with "Soares getting mixed reviews as DA," a story about the lead prosecutor who's been a media favorite since helping to force out state comptroller Alan Hevesi late last year.

Bryce talks with the right people: the Albany Police Union, colleagues and predecessors, but isn't able to make the procedural story come alive in a way a Sunday centerpiece should.

"Public integrity cases are receiving much more attention than in the past, but McDermott said Soares is not overemphasizing this area."

and

"Soares said the DA's office practices a single standard of justice."

Finishing the story, the reader comes away with a nuanced understanding of a man who's generated plenty of press this week. Unfortunately, it's a story that's not easy to make it all the way through. Kind of like the Daily Gazette.

Can We Get Back to the Surgery?

ALBANY, N.Y. - After my dentist proclaimed my mouth cavity-free, I had to the courage to ask a question I'd been curious about for months: Do I need to get my wisdom teeth removed?

"I don't know," he said, and looked at me blankly. "Go see these people." He handed me a business card for the Adirondack Oral/Maxillofacial Group.

Three weeks and one canceled appointment later, I turned off an office park cul-de-sac and parked at the oral surgeon's lot. The practice shared an operation with a deli, which I walked into by mistake before rounding the building and finding into the right office.

A woman with a fixed cleft pallet and still evident lisp took an X-ray, and then took me into a small examination room. Five minutes later the doctor walked in, dressed in scrubs and still wearing a face mask. This was 8:30 in the morning. Unless this doctor performs dawn surgeries, he's so much of a germophobe he wears these as a matter of course.

The doctor used my EMS approach to making his job more interesting: changing the subject. He took a print of the X-ray, put it front of a light, and then asked a question.

"So, what do you do with your life?"

I told him that I'm leaving in a few weeks for language school in Beijing.

"Cool," he said, a bit informally for a doctor but he was under 40. "I have a cousin who spent a year in Beijing. He met a Chinese girl and they married."

"So, what dialect do you plan on studying?"

Mandarin, I said. No one studies anything but Mandarin. I didn't say that part.

"That's like the main dialect, right? The Communists forced everyone to speak that after they took over?"

Well, no. I could have told the dentist that standard Mandarin is derived from a standard Beijing accent and the language of the Imperial Court. The Communist government has been more effective in promoting a centuries-old policy that people should learn Mandarin. Chinese isn't unique in having so many dialects. Lots of languages have dialects.

I didn't really want to get into it. I wanted to know if I needed oral surgery in the next two weeks. Would I be setting off on my journey east with a bleeding mouth?

Thankfully, the removal of my wisdom tooth (I've only got one) can wait. The impacted tooth is asymptomatic, and besides, if it became infected, the dentist suggested I could get it removed in China.

"They've got excellent dental care there. We've had some of their dentists come over and speak to us. Where are you going to be studying?"

Amazing. It was all-China, all-the-time with this guy. He went on about studying Chinese was a smart career move, problems I might have with learning the language, and the experience of having a Chinese cousin-in-law.

The dentist is a good example of a group of people I run-into from time to time: the China Crazies. They've got a lot to say about China, and they don't get to talk about it very often. When they hear I'm going there, the floodgates open. It's very flattering that they want to talk my destination, but sometimes inappropriate. Let's save the China chit-chat until after surgery.

The Day the Funny Juice Got Loose

NEW YORK - I caught the city in a philosophical mood today.

Maybe people were still feeling lightheaded after yesterday's mysterious gas smell floated around the five boroughs, but everyone kept spouting deep thoughts.

"We're all connected somehow," a window washer said in a thick Queens accent to a colleague on 23rd Street, working without gloves on a relatively mild January afternoon.

Significantly more dressed was the haggard crowd in front of the Russian consulate. A six-person wide queue stretched from the embassy door to the street corner 200 yards away. The faces of the line were dour: old babushkas hiding behind tattered handscarves, slightly younger men with jackets brought over from some Soviet Republic. These faces said: leave us alone; we're sitting in this line, suffering quietly and reflecting on our lives. Don't come near.

I decided to skip the line. Through the phone book I found Olga, Russian travel agent. She promised to get rid of my visa problem for $30, and offered some free advice to boot. Those old people were pensioners, applying for their annual stipend from Moscow. The consulate's closed for the first eight days of the year for Orthodox holidays, this was the first day they were open. The pensioners emerged from their tiny apartments in the outer boroughs to make sure the Kremlin coughed up their few extra rubles.

Olga shrugged. At least they were here in America, where grumbling thankfully is not a crime.

Dinner was at a Japanese tapas joint in Astor Place, Kekan, where diners can take a break from the soundtrack of 1960s J-pop hits in an enclosed smoking chimney. It's soundproof, so people can share secrets in plain sight without other diners catching on.

On the way back upstate, my train spent nearly a half-hour idling at the Harlem stop. A drunk man in the back of my car started yelling. "I take the train like twice a fuckin' year, and this happens once. What the fuck?"

Perhaps he didn't get the memo. Today, the city's thinking.