Albuquerque, New Mexico

When I was little, my mom used to subscribe to Reader's Digest. I don't remember most of what was in there, but there were little vocabulary quizzes on building your vocabulary, true stories that were mostly titled, "I Survived..." a flood, or a horrific injury, or a grizzly bear attack, or a kidnapping, or a plane crash or something. There were also sections where people could send in little jokes or anecdotes, and this one has always stuck in my head, waiting to be used:

A wounded, dying pioneer lies in the shade of a saddened wagon train, gasping out his last words.

"Frank?"

"Yeah, Al?"

"You'll keep your promise, right?"

"Yeah, Al."

"And when you get out west, you'll build a city and name it after me?"

"Yeah, Al."

"Billy?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You'll make sure he does it?"

"Yes, Mr. Buquerque."

I meant to tell that joke this week, when I was in Albuquerque for a conference, but didn't get around to it. I did get around to seeing a lot of Albuquerque, though, and I have to say that the town is a little weird. There's a lot of older, historical stuff, which is great, but all of the modern era stuff looks like they built it around 1980 and then left it out in the desert to mummify:



Other than the cars, is there anything in that picture that would keep you from guessing that it was taken anywhere between 1960 and now? The whole city is like that. They somehow manage to make a TGI Friday's or a Best Buy look 40 years old, and I have no idea how that's even possible.

When I got there on Monday there was a campus tour of the University of New Mexico, but I didn't sign up in advance so I didn't think I could go, and I went to walk around town instead.













I saw a lot of the somehow dated but modern architecture (seriously, even brand new buildings going up looked old), and found out that Albuquerque is a city that loves their art.







Not just statues, either. I saw murals and painted artwork everywhere:



















Even the community garden I walked past was decorated:



The city seems to have a lively art scene in general, since I saw several theaters, venues, and posters:







I know what you're thinking. "How can I possibly enjoy a show without my chains and knives?", but I guess somehow people manage.

Tuesday and Wednesday we did conference stuff all day, but Thursday we went down to Old Town (Olde Towne?) Albuquerque, where every historical building that isn't a church:









is now a gift shop, restaurant, or antique store:

















It's a nice area to walk around in, and there was a band:





by the gazebo:



which is also a grave:



On Friday the conference wrapped up, and I had to switch to another hotel a block away for the night, because I registered a little late and they couldn't give me the extra night at the Hyatt. It worked out really well, though, because I moved from the bland, boxy Hyatt to the Hotel Andaluz:





where I should have stayed all along. Is that not gorgeous? It was built in the 1930's by Conrad Hilton, and was full of woodwork and antiques but also with modern touches and a really nice restaurant.

Before I could eat at the restaurant, though, my coworker Kay and I decided to squeeze in one last adventure for the week. We drove out to Sandia Peak:



to ride the tram:



to the top:



See how I'm all covered with sweat and trying to smile but actually look like someone is standing just outside the frame stabbing me in the kidney? That would be thanks to the crippling fear of heights that I've mentioned before. The scenery on the way up:













and the way down:









was totally worth it, although there was a panic freakout moment on the way up (besides the continuous low grade freakout the whole way) when I noticed a dime sized hole in the floor:



that you could see the thousand foot drops through, and I tried to casually mention it to Kay. Based on the way that the people in the car looked at me, I think my casual mention sounded something like this:

"OH MY GOD THERE'S A HOLE IN THE FLOOR AND YOU CAN SEE THE GROUND AND WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE DIE DIE!"

but maybe it was totally a little more subtle.

The views at the top, where the visitor center is, were also spectacular:





(that's the Rio Grande in that picture), although I did notice something odd in the visitor center itself:



(They couldn't move that display when they cut the bathroom door into the wall?) and I think we were up high enough to see the actual seperate layers of the atmosphere:





We also learned that the maintenance guys prefer to strap themselves to the roof of the trams to ride up and down:



which is insane.

During the week I also ate a lot of Mexican/Tex Mex food, including these eggs:



which were the best meal of the trip, and then on Friday night the sun set on Albuquerque:



and I got up on Saturday and headed home.

The fish are fine, ma'am

My conference went really well, aside from the vertigo-inducing hotel. I gave two different presentations, which were both well received, and on the final night the Atlanta Drumline played for us during dinner, at which time I discovered that I was the only person at my table who was aware of the existence of the movie Drumline.

"You know, they were also in the movie 'Drumline'."

"The drumline in what movie?"

"'Drumline'. That was the name of the movie."

"They were in a movie? About a drumline?"

Thankfully, there was wine with dinner, and I poured some into my mouth to curtail the rest of the "Who's on first?"-style "Drumline" discussion.

The highlight of the conference, though, was dinner at the Georgia Aquarium:





We went for three hours after the aquarium closed, so we had the run of the place along with food from Wolfgang Puck Catering:



which, morbidly, included a fish course.

I saw jellyfish:







(that last one is my favorite) and crabs:



and a lot of regular fish:









and then spent a few minutes talking to a nice lady who was totally bummed out about the whole experience.

"It's just so sad to me, to see them swimming around and around, and not out in the ocean. They have no freedom."

You know what happens to fish out in the ocean, lady? They get eaten by other fish, or they get caught in plastic rings from six pack holders, or they starve to death eating garbage instead of plankton, but telling her that seemed kind of like it might make her even more depressed, so instead I tried to reassure her.

"I was talking to a lady at our zoo, and she said that places like zoos and aquariums spend a lot of time making sure the animals are stimulated, to keep them from getting bored."

"Yes, but... they must be so unhappy here."

"Maybe not. They're taken care of, they're well fed, they're safe from predators... it's not so bad."

"You really think so?"

I nodded, because I don't just think so. I know so, because I heard it on good authority.

Aquaman told me.



In 1998, in "JLA Year One". I pretty much repeated his speech word for word, actually:



She seemed reassured, so I didn't tell her where I heard it from. She might not give Aquaman the same credence that I do.

Aside from the fish, the aquarium also had a frog exhibit, and this was the best part. Most of the frogs were sleeping:



but the poison dart frogs were wide awake and hopping all over their tank:









Aren't they adorable?

Anyway, the conference takes us to an "out of the hotel" excursion every year, but I think this was the best one out of the four or five times I've gone to this, and I said so in my evaluation.

Tower of Terror

Have I ever mentioned my crippling, debilitating fear of heights? The terrible sense of vertigo I feel looking up or down if I am not solidly planted on bedrock? My innate panic each time the doors of a glass elevator open? The trouble I have getting onto a down escalator, standing at the top and letting three or four steps go by before I can psych myself up enough to get on one?

No?

Well, it has suddenly become relevant and worth mentioning, because I am away at a conference for a few days in Atlanta, and this is the inside of my hotel:



Yes, that's right. The inside of my hotel is hollow, and the elevators are in the middle. We are staying at the downtown Marriott Marquis, whose website proudly and repeatedly boasts about their 37 story indoor atrium.

THIRTY-SEVEN STORIES.

You have to walk across a tiny bridge to get to the elevator, from any direction. I know, because I circled the entire lobby level going, "I can't walk across that. There has to be an elevator near a wall."

There aren't.

All of the elevators are in the middle, and they are all made of glass:



I thought I was doing sort of ok with the glass elevator until I got on one that had another person on it. Before I could say anything, or even hit the button, she said, "Oh, gosh, it'll be ok. Just turn around and face the doors. It goes really fast." I can only imagine what I must have looked like since total strangers are spontaneously consoling me over things I did not say out loud.

The elevator is only half of the nightmare, though. After you get off, this is the hallway that you have to walk through to get to your room:



Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say "hallway"?

Because what I meant to say was "three foot wide continuous balcony overlooking 37 stories of continuous wide open space".

By the end of the conference I will either have acclimated or died. In the meantime, I have three hours before the welcome reception. That should be just long enough to convince myself to leave my room and get in the elevator again.

Dear Kroger

I love my local Kroger store. I shop there a couple times a week, mostly because even though I have a list in my hand I still often somehow manage to leave the store without things that are written on it, but also because I just like the store. I almost always run into friends:



and it's usually just a calm, pleasant stop in my day.

That's why I was so disturbed last week when some brown-shirted facists tried to solicit money from me in front of the store by selling me substandard microwave popcorn. I've dealt with the Cub Scout and Boy Scouts selling popcorn before, and usually my polite, "No, thank you," is enough to deter them. Last week, though, one of the parents with the kids blurted, "Are you sure?"

Yeah, mister, I'm sure. I don't give money to the Republican party. I don't give money to Focus on the Family. I don't give money to Chik-Fil-A or to Dean Koontz, so I'm certainly not going to give money to you as you school your child in the fine art of bigotry.

I gave him a firm, "Yes," and my tone must have been sufficiently icy since he took a step back.

Later, I found myself still irritated by it, mostly by that last little, "Are you sure?" because I was very polite, and made a point of not lecturing him and his kid, and he couldn't even politely accept my, "No, thank you," and let me be on my way. Unable to track him down, I instead sent a letter to Kroger on Sunday:

Good morning.

I am a frequent customer at my local Kroger store, located at 4918 Kingston Pike, Knoxville, TN, and have been for five or six years. I shop there at least once a week, know some of the staff by name, frequently run into coworkers and neighbors there, and consider Kroger to be my neighborhood grocery store. While there is a Food City in walking distance of my apartment, I instead drive to Kroger (passing a second Food City along the way) because I know that I will find better value and have a better shopping experience there.

Given all of this, you can imagine my dismay when I stopped at Kroger on my way home from work on Friday night and discovered that Kroger is giving a fundraising platform for groups that support bigotry and discrimination. A group that has argued as high as the United States Supreme Court to prevent gay people from joining or participating in their organization was allowed to set up a table and sell popcorn to fundraise for their organization, allowing them to perpetuate that discrimination and to characterize gay people as not being "morally straight and clean in thought, word, and deed" according to the organization's own published policies.

The group I'm speaking of is the Boy Scouts of America. While I am aware that they are a philanthropic organization, they are also a philanthropy that promotes prejudice and marginalization of others. While I am aware that they are considered a positive organization for youth, their impact on youth who are homosexual or who have same-gender parents is less positive. The Boy Scouts also have a prohibition against membership and participation by atheists, a group that also shops at Kroger. In approving them to table in front of Kroger, the store suggests approval of these policies, and I'd like to believe that this is not the case.

In reviewing Kroger's website I was unable to find the specific policy regarding approval for tabling in front of the store, so I'm writing to ask how such approval is granted, and by what criteria? If a group forbids participation based on racial or socioeconomic reasons, would Kroger also approve them for tabling, or does Kroger consider some forms of discrimination to be less acceptable than others?

I look forward to your answers. I like shopping at my local Kroger, but would like to be reassured before I shop there again.

I immediately received a generic, "Your comments have been received and are very important to us" email, but a couple days went by before I heard anything else.

On Tuesday I received an email from an actual person:

Thank you for contacting The Kroger Family of Stores. We appreciate your feedback. Our company is committed to customer satisfaction and we value your input. Your comments have been forwarded to our management team for review and follow up. Thank you for your patronage and have a great day.

It was almost the generic email all over again, but it came from a person and suggested that someone might have actually read my email and thought, "Hey, this seems kind of legitimate." I patiently waited for a response.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

By Sunday, I hadn't heard anything, so I sent a reply:

Hi.

It's been a week. Do you know if someone is still planning to get back to me?

This morning I received another email, from someone higher up the corportate ladder. This person is so much higher up, in fact, that their email signature informed me that I cannot republish it. It doesn't say that I can't paraphrase, though, so here's a breakdown of what they said:

First, they thanked me for my email and feedback. OK, you're welcome.

Second, they said that they tried to call me, and were unable to reach me by phone. That probably happened, because I don't answer calls from numbers that I don't recognize, especially during election season. I will note, though, that when I filled out the form and submitted my letter, I deliberately avoided checking the "it is ok to call me at home" box and gave them my email instead. Clearly, I didn't want a phone call, but let's move on.

Next they explained that they sometimes allow non-profits to fundraise in front of their stores, and that customers and Kroger employees sometimes feel very passionately about their charities. Kroger tries to stay neutral (except, I guess, for the Salvation Army links on their website; for those who are not aware, the Salvation Army has a somewhat crappy track record on LGBT issues), and values the diversity of all customers. They also hope that I will remain a Kroger shopper.

I will continue to be a Kroger shopper, I guess, but I am kind of annoyed by this email. While it offers a nice platitude about how valued I am as a customer ("We love taking your money! Please don't stop giving it to us!"), it doesn't answer any of my original points:

1) What is the process for gaining fundraising approval to table in front of Kroger?

2) Who is and is not approved?

3) How does Kroger feel about groups that discriminate?

I guess I'll never know.

Pictures of September

This month, I have a few more spare photos around than I did of August, because I actually got out of my apartment and went places. Not too many places, mind you, but more than last month. With that in mind, here's a roundup of my unposted pictures from September.

1) The Emporium

On the first Friday of the month I went to an art show downtown at The Emporium:



One of our grad assistants was showing, so I went to be supportive. I've been past the building before, but had no idea it was so light and open on the inside, since it looks so blocky and somewhat industrial on the outside. Its kind of an artist collective space, so there are a lot of spaces inside that are almost like small galleries.

I might go back sometime when it's not First Friday, as every time I go downtown for that I just seem to get irritated by the hipster douches that spring fully formed and slightly disdainful from the walls and sidewalks.

2) Robot and Cultural

Remember way back in 2010 when some friends and I had a weekly photo challenge, where we used a random word generator and then had to take a picture that matched the theme? We tried doing it again this year, but I was in charge of the word generator and seem to have failed as a challenge-runner.

Our first word was "robot", and I submitted this photo of my Lego Lex Luthor robot battlesuit:



I was trying to capture the whole menacing shadows '50's sci-fi magazine "robots are dangerous" vibe, and I think it came out well for a plastic Lego creation on top of my refrigerator. Only one other person submitted a photo for "robot".

Week Two saw "cultural", which was apparently the word that destroyed us. I felt very little inspiration, and submitted this as a last minute "oh, crap, I need a photo" photo:



It's more a bastardization of culture than anything else, but it was also the only photo submitted for that word by any of us.

Week Three brought "distance". No one submitted a photo, including me.

Someone else can run the photo challenge next time.

3) Cars

I saw a few interesting cars this month. This one belongs to one of my coworkers:



I found it interesting because that car isn't brown. That's a full body rusting. He's sanded and buffed it, to take off flakes, and it gives the car a weird coloration that's striking and somewhat unique.

I also saw some fan cars at the home games:







and feel the need to remind people that these aren't just driven at games.

These people drive those cars around town on regular days.

Go Vols.