A Comparison of U.S. Cities
As many of you know, latesly I've had the opportunity to travel quite a bit. Mostly because of work, but also a couple of personal trips (such as my current visit to Lubock TX.)
I've noticed interesting differences in place that I've been,and I think sometimes these differences tell tales of the cultural attitudes in each place. Read on and you'll see...
Seattle -vs -Dallas:
I've noticed several differences between the way things are at Sea-Tac -vs- Dallas:
Seattle:
There are soldiers everywhere. How can I tell? Well, they are wearing plain clothes, but they all have the same hair-cut and they are hauling around mounds of military issue duffle-bags.
Dallas:
There are soldiers everywhere. How can I tell? They are in uniform - desert fatigue, with standard issue combat boots, and a little patch on their left lapel with things like "PVT FST CLS JENSON" and that sort of thing on them.
What do I derive from this?
Option 1:
In Seattle the soldiers are afraid to appear in uniform because they might be mugged by protesters?
Option 2:
(I hope more likely) In Seattle the soldiers were inbound and in Dallas outbound.
Seattle:
The airport intercom:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are having some technical difficulties with flight 2454. Please stand by for further information." Sometime later: "Ladies and gentlemen, if you are on flight 2454, please be advised that that flight has moved over to terminal B 64. You will begin boarding in 15 minutes at B 64."
Dallas:
The airport intercom:
"Those of you who are on the flight to Lubbock. We've got problems with the aircraft right now, so that flight will most likely be delayed a few minutes." Sometime later: "About that flight to Lubbock. Folks, they can't get the aircraft fixed right away, so they've given us another aircraft right over at terminal B 64. So, you folks will need to board over at B 64. That's the 11:30 flight to Lubbock. Thank you!"
This difference really fascintates me. Dallas is a much bigger airport, but from what I understand much more efficiently run that Seattle, in spite of the fact that the airport personnel are less formal. In Seattle, on the other hand, while we are (demon?) possessed with a nagging sense of "Everything must by orderly and politically correct" - they are much more formal over the innercom - they only say the flight number (not even mentioning the city name, and so you have to dig out your boarding pass and check it even if it isn't the same city.)
Well, well, more differences to come...
(and more soon on the family get-together...)
Basil
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Picture(1.jpg
Kevin Basil
in Dallas
Here I am zipping along in the skytram at the Dallas airport where I spent several hours yesterday.
Cheers!
Basil
in Dallas
Here I am zipping along in the skytram at the Dallas airport where I spent several hours yesterday.
Cheers!
Basil
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Picture(8).jpg
Keval Basilbald the Hoary
Well, Keval Basilbald the Hoary is off to the great Republic of Texas.
I've never been to Texas before, and I decided to set out in such a manner as to discover what they do there when confronted with a Viking!
It shall be interesting to see.
A special thanks goes out to our little friend Naomi, who gave me a Viking beard.
I'll try to report as often as I can on how life is down in the Republic of Texas.
Well, Keval Basilbald the Hoary is off to the great Republic of Texas.
I've never been to Texas before, and I decided to set out in such a manner as to discover what they do there when confronted with a Viking!
It shall be interesting to see.
A special thanks goes out to our little friend Naomi, who gave me a Viking beard.
I'll try to report as often as I can on how life is down in the Republic of Texas.
Cheers!
Basil
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Growing Green From the Cross...
I suppose some may wonder what I mean by using a silly slogan on my main web site basilsprig.org. Well, I'm blogging today to tell you about the legend.
This coming weekend, Sunday, is the saints day for Constantine and Helen. What is particularly important about St. Helen is that she, in addition to being the mother of Constantine, found the True Cross of Christ.
The legend is that there was basil, the "king's herb", growing from where the cross lay buried in the earth. To this day, on the feast day of the Exaltation of the Cross in most Greek Churches they decorate the cross with sprigs of basil in remembrance of this tradition.
Well, so I've taken that great tradition and morphed it into a "silly slogan" for my web site. But, there's more too it than that. Years ago I always felt I had a childlike wonder at the world, in a word, I considered myself "green." Then one day I was attending a Christian Writer's conference, and I met a poet, Lucy Shaw, and when I purchased her book, she autographed it (for now particular reason): "To Kevin, who is Green..." I also believe the title of her book had "green" in it.
Well, bringing you to the present. When I became Orthodox I took the name "Basil" - not after the herb, but after St. Basil the Blessed, Fool for Christ of Moscow. Now that these years of being Orthodox have gone by, I've begun to see myself as "green" again. I am just a kid at heart, struggling, longing, striving to love God, and follow Him. I'm green, through and through.
Sometimes as Orthodox we begin to think too highly of ourselves, to distance ourselves from our protestant pasts. The older I grow, the more I understand how connected I am with my own past. And what's more important, the Orthodox consistently re-iterate the truth of the Gospel: "Unless you become as little Children you shall in no wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven."
So, this little slogan of mine is a reminder of the historic moment of our faith, when St. Helen found the precious cross, and it is a reminder of my own youthfulness. Of how, no matter how far I'd like to think I am getting down that road, I'm still only a child. And it is a reminder of how, I must daily, take up the Cross of Christ and deny myself and follow Him.
I'm not very good at it, but I like to think I'm trying.
Regards,
Basil
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Picture(1.jpg
Wake up and smell the...
Chicken? Turkey?
I rode my bike to work today.
I started out my morning at Bothell Landing, a little park in downtown Bothell. I decided to ride my bike to work today. I decided to start out at the point I've been too tired to start out at in previous years.
There is a nice bike trail going from nearly 8/10ths of the way to my house, all the way to work. In the past I've driven down to a nice little park almost 2/3 of the way to work, and biked from there. But today I started out at a nice little park nearly the whole 8/10ths of the way home.
I can't actually ride in from the full 8/10ths, because there isn't anyplace to park that close to my home.
So, what's the problem? Well, the problem is I'm still a kid. I ride a bike like a kid rides a bike. I probably always will. Everybody else zips past me doing 25, 30 mph, and I think I'm doing about 10 mph max. Maybe only 5.
I think partially the problem is I have a crummy bike: it's meant to be a dirt bike, so it has big fat tires with mud-treads on them. It makes so much noice from the treads that it sounds like it is motorized, but it isn't (unfortunately).
Another part of the problem is that I don't know how to use the !#@$@#$ gears. There's a set of four buttons I'm supposed to push to change gears, but none of the four buttons seem to do anything consistent. At one point I think I figured out that the buttons on the right shifted into lower gears. The big fat one seems to do the majors, and the little tiny one seems to do the minors. So, I tested out the assumption that the buttons on the left would therefore shift into higher gears. Well, it only works about 50 percent of the time. Sometimes the left buttons DO seem to shift me into a higher gear, and sometimes they seem to shift me into a lower gear. Sometimes the left buttons don't do anything at all.
I think what it is, is that I really need a new bike. I bought this one used, and it was good to get me started biking once again, but it really doesn't cut the mustard.
But there's one more thing. I'm just not in a big freaking hurry like everybody else. I mean, what's the point in riding your bike if you are going to go zipping down the bike trail at 30 mph? Maybe there is a certain irony it all: these folks are trying to proove a point: they can get to work faster riding a bike than they can driving their cars, because of all the traffic we have here.
My point is not their point. I have a different idea in mind altogether, namely:
(a) do something different
(b) see some places I just don't get to see when I'm commuting in my car
(c) get a little exercise too
But, still, even if I'm not on a professional workout schedule, or trying to get ready for a big cycle race, I probably do need a better bike if I'm going to do this more often.
Cheers!
Basil
Chicken? Turkey?
I rode my bike to work today.
I started out my morning at Bothell Landing, a little park in downtown Bothell. I decided to ride my bike to work today. I decided to start out at the point I've been too tired to start out at in previous years.
There is a nice bike trail going from nearly 8/10ths of the way to my house, all the way to work. In the past I've driven down to a nice little park almost 2/3 of the way to work, and biked from there. But today I started out at a nice little park nearly the whole 8/10ths of the way home.
I can't actually ride in from the full 8/10ths, because there isn't anyplace to park that close to my home.
So, what's the problem? Well, the problem is I'm still a kid. I ride a bike like a kid rides a bike. I probably always will. Everybody else zips past me doing 25, 30 mph, and I think I'm doing about 10 mph max. Maybe only 5.
I think partially the problem is I have a crummy bike: it's meant to be a dirt bike, so it has big fat tires with mud-treads on them. It makes so much noice from the treads that it sounds like it is motorized, but it isn't (unfortunately).
Another part of the problem is that I don't know how to use the !#@$@#$ gears. There's a set of four buttons I'm supposed to push to change gears, but none of the four buttons seem to do anything consistent. At one point I think I figured out that the buttons on the right shifted into lower gears. The big fat one seems to do the majors, and the little tiny one seems to do the minors. So, I tested out the assumption that the buttons on the left would therefore shift into higher gears. Well, it only works about 50 percent of the time. Sometimes the left buttons DO seem to shift me into a higher gear, and sometimes they seem to shift me into a lower gear. Sometimes the left buttons don't do anything at all.
I think what it is, is that I really need a new bike. I bought this one used, and it was good to get me started biking once again, but it really doesn't cut the mustard.
But there's one more thing. I'm just not in a big freaking hurry like everybody else. I mean, what's the point in riding your bike if you are going to go zipping down the bike trail at 30 mph? Maybe there is a certain irony it all: these folks are trying to proove a point: they can get to work faster riding a bike than they can driving their cars, because of all the traffic we have here.
My point is not their point. I have a different idea in mind altogether, namely:
(a) do something different
(b) see some places I just don't get to see when I'm commuting in my car
(c) get a little exercise too
But, still, even if I'm not on a professional workout schedule, or trying to get ready for a big cycle race, I probably do need a better bike if I'm going to do this more often.
Cheers!
Basil
Friday, May 12, 2006
Meaning
I believe I've felt disinterested in ordinary life my whole life. I've always been something of a closet rebel. Day by day participating in the ordinary, but deep inside always looking for an out.
You couple that with the latest trend in my life: travel, and then double it with a book I just read "Veronika Decides to Die" (a poignant book all about life and suicide) – you add, multiply, compile it all together, and you start to get something interesting.
At least you start to get introspection.
I've always had a sort of semi-morbid fear of travel. What I mean is this: I'm putting myself at risk here – trusting my life in the hands of an airplane or a car – and so "this could be it" – and so "am I ready to die?"
Each time I go on vacation I get all my affairs in order first: go to confession and dump out all the skeletons from my closets, make sure I've left behind some trace of myself that will be meaningful to others. I begin my vacation full of introspection: if these were my final days, how would I spend them? What would I think? What would I write? How would I interact with others?
But now, my life has taken the travel spin. With the death of my grandfather a month ago, a business trip to the East Coast, the death of my grandmother this past weekend and a flight to southern Oregon, and finally a trip to Texas planned for the end of the month… Well, it turns out that I'm doing my fair share of morbidity-induced introspection these days.
Then last week on my flight to Philadelphia, I brought with me a book I've been intending to read for several years: Paul Coehlo's "Veronika Decides to Die." It is a beautifully written story about mental illness, suicide, and the struggle for survival. Veronika starts out attempting to kill herself, failing, and waking up in a mental hospital. The story is all about her adventures at the mental hospital, but more particularly about her discovering how much she loves life, and wants to live. In fact it is the story about numerous mentally ill people discovering how much they love life and wanting to live. In fact, it is the story of mental illness in general – and what sets apart the mentally ill from everyone else.
It is a beautiful story, and masterfully written. It is the sort of story that underscores my ordinary thought processes: namely, that I am here to LIVE. That going through life simply meeting regular obligations, simply doing the routine – is not at all what it is about. What is it about? Yes, that is always the question.
Last week when my grandmother died, I was faced with the question: whether or not to spend a hunk of money in order to spend time with my family and attend the funeral. I could either drive down, spend a day driving, a day there, and a day driving back (since I only get three days off for bereavement, and the funeral was on a Wednesday) or I could fly down the same day as the funeral, have the rest of the week there with my family – extended into the weekend – and fly back late Saturday or early Sunday.
Well, after struggling with it all evening: in the morning it came to me like a blinding light: you have to do what is important (sometimes even at great expense) – spend time with your loved ones. So, I bit the bullet and arranged the trip. I knew I made the right decision when I called my mother and told her. I could hear the relief in her voice.
So, here I am… undergoing my moments of ordinary life… but I ask: is it really so ordinary? I have relatives all over the map. They all have interesting stories and interesting lives. Some of them I've not seen in years and years – many of them I don't even remember.
I'm doing the same thing again at the end of the month: going to Texas to a semi-family reunion.
I have all these relatives – cousins and aunts and uncles. We've gone our separate ways and lived our lives. But when I see them again, in spite of the chasm between us – a multitude of differences – there is something about family, and the way family accepts one another, that is truly meaningful in all of the multitude of life's many facets.
You have to just LIVE. And living takes sometimes-extraordinary risk. You have to go out there and be yourself, and enjoy life and love others. You have to share your love with others, because as we all know, everyone these days is in great need of a little love and attention.
I believe I've felt disinterested in ordinary life my whole life. I've always been something of a closet rebel. Day by day participating in the ordinary, but deep inside always looking for an out.
You couple that with the latest trend in my life: travel, and then double it with a book I just read "Veronika Decides to Die" (a poignant book all about life and suicide) – you add, multiply, compile it all together, and you start to get something interesting.
At least you start to get introspection.
I've always had a sort of semi-morbid fear of travel. What I mean is this: I'm putting myself at risk here – trusting my life in the hands of an airplane or a car – and so "this could be it" – and so "am I ready to die?"
Each time I go on vacation I get all my affairs in order first: go to confession and dump out all the skeletons from my closets, make sure I've left behind some trace of myself that will be meaningful to others. I begin my vacation full of introspection: if these were my final days, how would I spend them? What would I think? What would I write? How would I interact with others?
But now, my life has taken the travel spin. With the death of my grandfather a month ago, a business trip to the East Coast, the death of my grandmother this past weekend and a flight to southern Oregon, and finally a trip to Texas planned for the end of the month… Well, it turns out that I'm doing my fair share of morbidity-induced introspection these days.
Then last week on my flight to Philadelphia, I brought with me a book I've been intending to read for several years: Paul Coehlo's "Veronika Decides to Die." It is a beautifully written story about mental illness, suicide, and the struggle for survival. Veronika starts out attempting to kill herself, failing, and waking up in a mental hospital. The story is all about her adventures at the mental hospital, but more particularly about her discovering how much she loves life, and wants to live. In fact it is the story about numerous mentally ill people discovering how much they love life and wanting to live. In fact, it is the story of mental illness in general – and what sets apart the mentally ill from everyone else.
It is a beautiful story, and masterfully written. It is the sort of story that underscores my ordinary thought processes: namely, that I am here to LIVE. That going through life simply meeting regular obligations, simply doing the routine – is not at all what it is about. What is it about? Yes, that is always the question.
Last week when my grandmother died, I was faced with the question: whether or not to spend a hunk of money in order to spend time with my family and attend the funeral. I could either drive down, spend a day driving, a day there, and a day driving back (since I only get three days off for bereavement, and the funeral was on a Wednesday) or I could fly down the same day as the funeral, have the rest of the week there with my family – extended into the weekend – and fly back late Saturday or early Sunday.
Well, after struggling with it all evening: in the morning it came to me like a blinding light: you have to do what is important (sometimes even at great expense) – spend time with your loved ones. So, I bit the bullet and arranged the trip. I knew I made the right decision when I called my mother and told her. I could hear the relief in her voice.
So, here I am… undergoing my moments of ordinary life… but I ask: is it really so ordinary? I have relatives all over the map. They all have interesting stories and interesting lives. Some of them I've not seen in years and years – many of them I don't even remember.
I'm doing the same thing again at the end of the month: going to Texas to a semi-family reunion.
I have all these relatives – cousins and aunts and uncles. We've gone our separate ways and lived our lives. But when I see them again, in spite of the chasm between us – a multitude of differences – there is something about family, and the way family accepts one another, that is truly meaningful in all of the multitude of life's many facets.
You have to just LIVE. And living takes sometimes-extraordinary risk. You have to go out there and be yourself, and enjoy life and love others. You have to share your love with others, because as we all know, everyone these days is in great need of a little love and attention.
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