HinesSight

Making my baby granddaughter into an existentialist

I'm discovering one of the joys of becoming a grandfather: since I don't bear the responsibility for my granddaughter's ultimate development, I can play with her psyche as much as I want to.

When she eventually seeks psychotherapy, Evelyn never will connect her existential angst with the children's book that I read to her over the weekend.

Of course, she didn't grasp the deeper aspects of "Ned Goes to Bed" this time around. (When you're not quite a year old, pondering philosophy plays second fiddle to seeing if the pages rip out of a book.)

But I intend to keep reading "Ned Goes to Bed" to her every time she visits.

In my late adolescence I was heavy into Sartre, Camus and other existentialists. It isn't too early to start trying to turn Evelyn into someone who'll feel comfortable in a Parisian coffeehouse, smoking unfiltered Gauloises, sipping a darkly strong expresso, wearing black, and expounding in deeply accented French, Life is so…I don't know…nothing!

I've got my work cut out for me, because right now Evelyn has a decidedly sunny personality.

Yet during our visit to Salem's Gilbert House Museum yesterday, I saw a more existential side of her. Turning a wheel connected to a structure that never changes direction.

So I think she's going to enjoy "Ned Goes to Bed" more and more. My wife got the book. After I finished reading it to Evelyn, I asked Laurel: Did you look at it before you bought it?

No, she said, the cover just looked cute. I like dog books.

Well, Ned starts out as a seriously troubled dog. Crawling into bed,

Ned feels lonely when evening draws nigh,
Like the solitary moon in the dark blue sky.
Into his room, moonbeams creep
And Ned just cannot fall asleep.

He gets under the covers and wonders what he might discover. Off to the moon!

"Is anyone there?"
calls out Ned.
There was nothing but silence,
Not even a fly
As the sun began its slow descent
Behind the earth's sky.

So now Ned has realized that the anxiousness he felt in his bed extends into space. There's emptiness everywhere.

Then blackest night finally arrives
And loneliest Ned just wants to cry.

I need to rip out the rest of the book's pages. Because this is a wonderful ending for an existentialist children's book.

Unfortunately for my fantasies about discussing "Being and Nothingness" with Evelyn before too long, "Ned Goes to Bed" ends on a positive note.

Some stars come down to cheer Ned up, blah, blah, blah. I was so disappointed that Ned wasn't left on the moon all alone, staring into the darkness, unable to sleep, unable to stay awake.

What's wrong with kids realizing early on that life doesn't always have a happy ending? It sure seems that at least a few children's books could end with, "And so he lived uncertainly ever after, not being sure what the heck was going on."

Well, I guess I need to write one myself. "Ned Goes to Bed" started existentially strong, but finished weak.

Sleep tight when you close your eyes at night,
And may all your stars be very bright.

A one-year old takes my house apart

My granddaughter is making her first visit to our south Salem home. It didn't take Evelyn long to figure out how to begin taking it apart.

This southern California baby saw her first snow today. Thanks, Oregon. Here she is, a bundle of cuteness, up early with her dad on a chilly morning.

I got to push her stroller most of the way around our neighborhood's two mile loop. Of such events are a new grandfather's dreams made of.

Llamas aren't all that common in Evelyn's Hollywood environs. She took them in stride, with my daughter Celeste by her side.

Oregon must have looked larger up on Dad's shoulders, where Evelyn was transported for part of the outing.

Laurel had her walking pretty well, with a little help from some friends: ten adult fingers. Soon she'll be prancing around on her own and we're going to have to do a lot more home childproofing.

What I'm enjoying most about spending time with a one-year old is being reminded of simple pleasures. At one point in my life, I was as transfixed as Evelyn is with a wooden spoon, a metal pot, a colander, and crumpled up pieces of paper.

We had an amazingly fun time with these things today. And they've been sitting in my kitchen all along, while I've been looking for interesting entertainment in so many other directions.

At fifty-nine, Evelyn is teaching me the wisdom of one.

Starbucks wants to be my new best friend

It's sort of touching, those signs that have popped up in every Starbucks store. "We're your neighborhood Starbucks."

Well, actually you aren't. I live at least seven miles from the nearest Salem Starbucks. And that's the way this rural resident likes it.

If I want a friend, I'll get a dog. In fact, I have a dog. Pretty much all I want from Starbucks is a skinny venti vanilla latte a couple of times a week.

However, atmosphere does matter.

When I have a latte choice, I head for a locally owned place like the Coffee House Café. I like how they serve my "for here" drink in different looking cups, depending on what's clean. And how different baristas make my drink differently.

Starbucks has belatedly realized that becoming the coffee store corporate equivalent of McDonalds isn't such a good strategy. What was cool a couple of years ago now seems dated, predictable, commercialized.

A few signs touting Starbucks' neighborliness isn't going to change the vibe. Especially when the signs are obviously fashioned from a single corporate marketing cookie cutter.

About a week ago the head honcho of Starbucks, Howard Schultz, unveiled his "innovative customer-facing initiatives" and "vision for transforming the Starbucks customer experience and reinforcing a strong foundation from which to grow."

Great. This customer is ready to have his Starbucks experience transformed. I can hardly wait.

Free stuff would be an excellent place to start. Along with lots of others, I've complained that Starbucks sucks with its high-priced wi-fi.

So it's good to see that this is about to change. I found that out by perusing "My Starbucks Idea" on the Starbucks web site.

At first this struck me as just a corny superficial way a corporate giant tries to look like it's listening to customers, without really taking them seriously. But actually it's pretty interesting.

You can browse through the ideas and see which are under review (such as a punch card system) or coming soon (such as free wi-fi).

Unfortunately, "Lower your prices" hasn't struck the fancy of Starbucks management yet.

Instead of spending mucho $$ on advertising, just lower the prices a little. Old customers will return, new customers who are frightened by everyone who talks about "$5.00 for a cup of coffee!?!" will be lured in, and existing customers will feel 'special'.

I also liked "Go back to the European coffee house."

Please go back to your original idea of an European coffee house and get rid of the extraneous items like cds, stuffed animals, countless foods and all that factory holiday junk. I love the original Starbucks better.

And here's a shocker.

Until recently I'd been getting a grande latte (medium), but have switched to venti (large) because it seemed a better price per ounce deal. I assumed that a venti had an extra shot of expresso. It doesn't!

I never understand why extra milk is the only difference between Vanti and grande drinks. It is expected that there should be an extra shot!!!!!! Most of people don't even know this "secret".

Some apologists who commented on this suggestion said that coffee places have a formula for their drinks, adding an extra shot for every eight ounces. Since a venti is just four ounces bigger than a grande, it doesn't qualify for an extra shot – which supposedly would disrupt the harmonious balance of ingredients.

More caffeine the better, that's my recipe for harmony. So like some other commenters, I'll probably be going back to grande. If I want more milk, I'll take a few sips then fill up my cup with the free moo juice on the Starbucks counter.

Maybe that doesn't sound neighborly. But none of my neighbors charge me almost $4 for a large cup of coffee.

Subdivision’s Measure 37 vested rights to be tested

I can't remember when I've looked at a front page headline in our local newspaper and seen better news. I was ecstatic, overjoyed, uplifted when I pulled the paper out of our box this morning.

Whew! We looked fine in the picture a Salem Statesman Journal photographer had taken of us yesterday, standing in front of the proposed Measure 37 subdivision adjacent to our neighborhood.

Mostly because the photo that made it into the paper was taken a fair distance from us, unlike the many close-ups that, thankfully, earned a "delete" button press.

The "Land case may test 'vested rights'" story focused on the recent LUBA ruling on the Keep Our Water Safe committee's appeal of the subdivision approval by Marion County.

The owners are seeking vested rights to continue their 43-lot subdivision.

But attorneys for the neighbors said that the LUBA decision makes earning vested rights difficult.

"It is important to put into context the larger issues for this potential subdivision development," said James Brown, one of the attorneys for the neighbors. "With adoption of Measure 49, there is a process to convert claims to Measure 49 potential uses. You have to establish that you had a lawful land-use approval and that you made expenditures and other factors by Dec. 6. (The LUBA opinion) says they did not have a lawful land-use approval. That will potentially play out if owners seek vesting."

Actually, Leroy Laack and the other owners of the property haven't yet applied for a vested rights determination from Marion County (which basically is an effort to prove that they're "grandfathered in" under Measure 37 and don't have to comply with Measure 49).

I checked with the county this morning and confirmed that no application has been submitted yet. Almost certainly it's coming, though.

I've got a Google News alert for "Measure 37" and "Measure 49," so have been keeping up on newspaper stories about these subjects. The main news since Measure 49 passed last November is now little news there has been.

This is good. It shows that Measure 49 is being implemented smoothly, despite "the sky is falling!" predictions of Oregonians in Action and others opposed to the new law.

A few days ago the Albany Democrat Herald ran one of the rare Measure 49 stories, "Planners deny M49 claim for orchard owner." Charlie Fischer tried to vest his seven-lot Cherry Farm subdivision and failed.

Benton County ruled that the $67,000 he'd put into the project wasn't a large enough percentage of the total project cost under Oregon's vesting common law.

Measure 37 claims aren't transferable, so Fischer would have needed to build homes on each of the seven lots, then sell the homes along with the lots. That meant the total cost of the subdivision would be about $1.76 million, so he'd spent less than 4% of that.

Fortunately for Fischer (who has a wife in a nursing home), Measure 49 allows three home sites on farm land. And building rights on those lots are transferable to the new owners. So he'll be able to sell three lots without expending hundreds of thousands of dollars on home construction.

Measure 49 is a compromise.

It doesn't give many Measure 37 claimants all the development rights they wanted, and it allows more homes on farm, forest, and groundwater limited land than many neighbors wanted.

It helps bring Oregon's land use system into balance – a good thing.

“Stuff White People Like” mostly right

Thanks to a friend, Randy, I now know that I'm white. He told me about "Stuff White People Like," pointing out to me #35 in the full list.

The Daily Show/Colbert Report. Yes, I'm a habitual viewer.

Thing is, I've watched so much of Stephen Colbert, like him I no longer see race. So I'd forgotten that my wife and I are white until I browsed through the ninety-one stuffs and realized that I liked a lot of them.

Scoring high on half of the first ten pretty much proved that we're white.

#1. Coffee
#2. Religions their parents don't belong to
#6. Organic food
#8. Barack Obama
#9. Making you feel bad about not going outside

Well, actually #9 just shows that I'm married to a white woman. Because I'm cool with someone staying indoors, blogging away on a laptop, watching sports on TV, taking a nap, whatever.

But Laurel is always telling me that I should get out in what for some reason she thinks is the "real" world. Nature. As if my IBM Think Pad isn't natural.

In fact, she did this just a few minutes after Randy had sent me his email, and I'd been able to scan the list of stuff white people like. I read #9 to her.

I figured she'd recognize that by feeling good about all the time I spend glued to a computer or television screen, she'd be embracing a multi-ethnic consciousness rather than her white indoorphobic attitude.

Indeed, this time she didn't raise a blonde eyebrow to my "No thanks" in response to her "I'm going for a walk. Do you want to come?"

Maybe we're not as white as I thought. After all, we've never watched The Wire (#85) and sushi turns us off (#42).

However, we've got a Toyota Prius (#60) and we're vegetarians (#32). Yeah, we're white.

A newbie Democrat sees Obama in Salem

Oh, yeah. Now I've really jumped into the Democratic deep waters, after a lifetime of swimming around as an independent.

Today I made a pilgrimage to see the reason I became a Democrat: Barack Obama. He came to Salem this afternoon. An hour late, but he made it.

Guess I can't complain (though I do on the video below), since it took me several decades to make myself into a Democrat – and someone who cares enough about a presidential candidate to go to quite a bit of trouble to hear him speak.

It turned out that Laurel and I didn't need the tickets that I so proudly acquired a couple of days ago. Nobody checked if we had them, probably because the Salem Armory ended up not being completely filled with Obama supporters.

But it almost was. And they were damn enthusiastic. For a couple of hours sleepy Salem woke up. Amazing.

I especially enjoyed the energy of the many young people. They made this baby boomer recall his 60's activism, a twenty something wild about changing the world.

Here's how I saw Obama, through the eyes of my Flip Video. Three hours condensed into less than ten minutes. We weren't one of the first to arrive (I'm not that avid a Democrat) so got seats pretty far back.

Hey, if you want a close up of Obama, watch CNN. If you want to see what it's like to stand in line for a chance to see Obama far away, watch my You Tube video.

[Update: Look! Proof! We were featured in a Statesman Journal photo of the event today! Well, by "featured" I mean that we're the two tiny heads a bit below, and to the left, of the waist of the woman raising her hand. Get out your magnifying glass.]

LUBA decision aids our Measure 37 subdivision fight

Our neighborhood got some good news today from the Oregon Land Use Board of Appeals.

A ruling was issued on the Keep Our Water Safe Committee appeal of Marion County's decision to approve a 43-lot Measure 37 subdivision on groundwater limited, high-value farmland.

LUBA remanded the case back to the county. Meaning, the Board of Commissioners has to deal with an error they made in granting a Measure 37 waiver of land use regulations to the four owners of the property.

Land use law junkies can pour over the first ten pages of LUBA's Final Opinion and Order to learn more than ordinary readers of this blog want to know about waiver ownership issues. Download luba_opinion_31908_laack.pdf

Here's the key thing, for those who have been following the twists and turns of our neighborhood's battle to protect area groundwater from over-development (see many of the posts in this blog's "Measure 37" category).

With the passage of Measure 49 last November, Measure 37 claims like the Laack subdivision are limited to three home sites – not 43, the current development plan. To continue on under what's allowed by Measure 37, a claimant has to be vested.

Meaning, sufficient work has to have been done on the development to justify allowing the project to proceed under the old law.

Here's the legal rub: that development must be pursuant to a valid land use approval.

And LUBA has just ruled that Marion County erred in its approval. So the clock will start over on valid vesting expenditures once the Board of Commissioners fixes the problems with its invalid land use approval.

We and our neighbors wish that LUBA had agreed with every "assignment of error" our attorneys raised in their brief. But we're happy that we prevailed on this important issue.

It already was going to be very difficult for the owners of this property to prove they were vested, given the common law in this area. Now it would be even tougher.

The fight to protect our neighborhood's groundwater isn't over. But today we won an important battle. Stay tuned to this blog for updates.

Obama coming to Salem – I got tickets!

Below is some video of an enthusiastic crowd in downtown Salem today, waiting to snap up tickets to Barack Obama's appearance in our normally sleepy city on Friday.

The Coffee House Café must have done some bang-up business. Proving that laid-back counter culture types also can have business sense, a nicely tattooed employee worked the line (which stretched most of the way down the block).

As you'll see, I was desperate to cover up the corporate latte that I'd just bought at a nearby Starbucks. That's where I heard about the ticket giveaway, which led me to head down the street, venti latte in hand.

I enjoyed being part of the Obama excitement. I'd wondered about how it was possible for a presidential candidate to fill up a large auditorium with thousands of supporters on short notice.

With Obama – and the electronic age – it isn't difficult. His campaign put up an online ticket issuing site, but the (accurate) word on the street was that it'd been closed. That made those of us waiting in line feel better about our chance to score the two tickets each person could get.

A guy next to me was phoning friend after friend, telling them to get their butts downtown if they wanted Obama tickets. I could see people hurrying down the sidewalk, having heard about the Coffee House Café ticket opportunity.

I chatted briefly with a reporter from the Statesman Journal who I knew. He's covered local politics for many years, and said that this was the first time a viable presidential candidate had come to town.

Mostly they skip Oregon, our May primary usually being irrelevant, delegate-wise. But this year is different. Obama's coming to town.

And I've got tickets. It's been a long time, like maybe never, since I've been enthused enough about a candidate to spend a couple of hours in the Salem Armory at a campaign rally.

But this election is different. Obama's coming to town.

18th anniversary -- Dr. Laura is even more wrong

Maybe it's the luck of the Irish, getting married on St. Patrick's Day way back in 1990. Whatever, here Laurel and I are, celebrating our 18^th anniversary.

Which is many years more than Dr. Laura Schlessinger would have predicted our marriage would last. As I observed in my earlier take that, Dr. Laura! post, she doesn't believe that someone can make sound decisions about a new relationship for at least a year after getting divorced.

That's ridiculous. Laurel and I met in July 1989. I proposed to her in October. We got married the next March.

There aren't any rules in love. Except, keep on learning how to play the game, because there's nothing else to do.

This anniversary means a lot to me. I was married a bit more than eighteen years in my first martial go-around, which ended in divorce. So Laurel and I soon will be together longer than Sue and I were.

I don't know if there's any generalizable lesson to be drawn from this except: if at first a marriage doesn't succeed, try again.

Second time around, hopefully you'll have learned something about how two people can live together without driving each other crazy.

As Laurel and I have managed to do, against Dr. Laura's odds.

Of course, I don't know how much credibility she has, given her recent statement that Eliot Spitzer's wife bears responsibility for his running to prostitutes.

Shifting gears…Portland talk show hosts Mark & Dave had people call in with Irish jokes this afternoon. One had Dave, a comedian himself, laughing hysterically. It was my favorite also.

Fortunately – because I mangled the joke when I re-told it to my wife – I found it online.

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears.

He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?"

She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. Me husband passed away last night."

The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible. Tell me, did he have any last requests?"

She says, "That he did, Father…"

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?"

She says, "He said, 'Please Mary, put down that damn gun.'"

At the unhappy end of my first marriage, I wouldn't have found this joke so funny. Now, I do.

Images of Oregon’s Ides of March

It's yin and yang time in the Willamette Valley. Oregon is doing its changing thing. Rain most of the day, then a burst of late afternoon sunshine.

The daffodils in our garden use it to show off. Look at me, so bloomin' beautiful!

Down the path, Spring Creek is springing. New growth on winter's bare branches.

Nearing the lake, a long shadow pointed the way to the sun.

A first cherry blossom welcomed me to the lake shore.

Aging oak. Aging bird house. Belonging together.

Cattails, old. Willows, new. More yin and yang.

Last year's cattails.

This year's willows. Each as they should be. Just on different schedules.

I keep trying to steer the lake. Haven't succeeded so far. Need some WD 40 for the rust, I suppose. Then I can move Spring Lake closer to home.

Sometimes in Oregon, the water marks the path. Waterproof shoes: highly desirable.

Nearing our house, shadows show up a satisfyingly well-trod path. I always think, "Machu Picchu." Isn't that where countless generations have worn distinct steps in hard rock? We're talking regular ground here. Still, I like that we're leaving some dog-walk traces behind. I want to be remembered for something.

Remodeling – my path to enlightenment

In Buddhism and Hinduism there's always been a big debate about whether the life of the renuniciate or the householder is a surer road to enlightenment.

Do you find truth in a bare cave or a richly furnished living room?

After the past month of remodeling our bathroom and, now, kitchen, I can testify that the Buddha would have been a lot better off staying home with his wife rather than sitting under the Bodhi Tree.

Sooner rather than later, Mrs. Buddha would have talked him into redoing their home. And that, for sure, would have provided him with all the raw experience he needed to realize some noble (or, as it seems today, ignoble) truths.

Life is change. Last summer we endured weeks of banging from hammers, nail guns, compressors, and such as our kitchen was fully remodeled. And now…it's back! After numerous attempts to fix the floor grout and tiles, the contractor said, "let's start over."

So up comes the almost-new Duraceramic tile, and down goes replacement tile, over what hopefully is a firmer underlayment. But who knows? Our kitchen died, was reborn, is now being killed again, and soon will have a fresh reincarnation.

Birth, death, rebirth. Such is the eternal wheel of remodeling.

Life is suffering. This afternoon I had to attempt my habitual afternoon nap while all the banging was going on. I'd doze off, then be startled back to wakefulness by a particularly loud boom!

Earlier, I wasn't able to get into the kitchen after cooking a vegi-burger on our auxiliary stovetop. I had to eat it without salt. Just ketchup and a bun.

Of such trials are saints made. I've been looking in the mirror to see if my martyrdom halo is showing yet. I might have caught a glimpse of it.

Detachment breeds contentment. We were told that the workmen would be doing their thing today and tomorrow. A little while ago one of the guys gave us an update on their progress. Extrapolating what's been done to what remains, Laurel said, "There's no way you're going to be finished by tomorrow, is there?"

"Nope." "So our kitchen floor is going to be torn up all weekend, right?" "Yes."

I visualized the Great God of Remodeling bringing us precisely what is needful at exactly the right moment in accord with the Tao of Construction. I took deep breaths, inhaling the blissful odor of sawdust – which has permeated the whole house, notwithstanding the plastic sheets put up in the kitchen.

Then I made a mental note to make sure we had enough wine to get me through this affront to my pleasantly retired napping and blogging life.

I'll also meditate some extra minutes tomorrow morning. But Pinot Noir seems to produce more detachment than a mantra these days.

Colbert nails Clinton on who’s more electable

I love it when Stephen Colbert humorously casts light on a serious topic. That makes all the hours I spend watching The Colbert Report, rather than, say, reading the New York Times, seem a lot more productive.

Recently Colbert had a great riff on Hillary Clinton's claim that she should get the superdelegate vote because she's more electable – having won the big important states that are crucial to winning the presidency.

Here's some of his right-on observations, as I recollect them (maybe mixed in with my own notions):

--Clinton says she can win the presidency because she won California, New York, and Ohio. But McCain also won those states. So doesn't this mean that both Clinton and McCain are going to be elected president?

--Clinton is all proud that she won a few big states, while Obama has won many small states. Yet if you mashed the many small states Obama has won into a few big states, wouldn't this come out to be the same thing?

--Clinton claims that she's electable because she won in Democratic strongholds like California and New York. But if these are really "strongholds," won't any Democratic candidate win those states? Like, Obama.

Obama's blog does a more refined job of taking on Hillary's arguments in "Debunking the Clinton Campaign's Dubious 'Big State' Spin."

And my new favorite web site, Pollster.com, shows how Clinton and Obama currently fare against McCain in some big states that supposedly are Hillary country.

Pennsylvania: Clinton 44%, McCain 44%; Obama 41%, McCain 42%. Basically no difference.

Ohio: Clinton 45%, McCain 44%; Obama 45%, McCain 44%. Absolutely no difference.

Lastly, nationally: Clinton 46%, McCain 46%; Obama 46%, McCain 44%. Slight tilt toward Obama.

Pollution is now a sin. Litterers, go to hell.

By and large, excellent news for progressives on the sin front today. The Vatican says that social and economic injustices are fresh areas of sinful behavior.

Pollution also. I can only hope that the jerks who have been leaving lots of litter on the road we take into Salem are Catholics who keep up on their faith's sin list.

Apparently polluting is a venial sin that can be forgiven by confession. However, I can still issue my non-papal proclamation: litterers, go to hell.

I don't often praise the Catholic Church (or any church). But this is a positive step on the long road toward bringing religion into the 21^st century.

Father Antonio Pelayo, a Spanish priest and Vatican expert noted that it is time for both sinners and confessors to get over their obsession with sex and think about other ways humans hurt each other in the world in which they live.

"There are many other sins that are perhaps much more grave that don't have anything to do with sex - that have to do with life, that have to do with the environment, that have to do with justice," he told AP Television.

JC Penney’s “American Living” line flaunts the flag

Browsing through a recent People magazine, my wife pointed out to me a series of double page ads for JC Penney's new American Living line.

Laurel was struck by the strangeness of people wanting to go around wearing clothing emblazoned with the American flag.

The American Living logo is a bald eagle flying off with the stars and stripes on a flag pole. This strikes me as against the flag code, but my Boy Scout days are so far in the past I can't remember if it mentions anything about a bird absconding with our national symbol.

Of course, all kinds of people wear the American flag (and I'm not complaining about this entirely appropriate use of it).

But there's something peculiar about how U.S. citizens enjoy flaunting the flag. I bet that if people from any other world power displayed the same pride in their flag, we'd decry such blatant jingoistic nationalism.

I haven't seen China's leaders with Chinese flag pins in their lapels. Ditto for Russia's, Britain's, Germany's, or France's leaders. I also haven't seen them posing on stages draped wall to wall with their country's flag.

And I'm pretty sure that few of their female citizens would be seen walking around in a polo dress festooned with a nationalistic symbol – like the American Living line hopes to sell (disturbingly, some guys with zero fashion sense are going to buy this nightmare of a t-shirt).

I couldn't help but notice that the American Living clothing is imported. Apparently JC Penney and Ralph Lauren, who designed the line, enjoy irony.

They want you to wear the American flag. Which likely is made in China.

Size matters with county commissioners

Is five preferable to three? Absolutely. Personally, I think seven is even better. But last night I learned that no Oregon county has more than five county commissioners.

It's hard to imagine that a meeting with the geeky title of "Marion County Governance in the 21^st Century" would be as interesting as it was. Before I headed off to the Salem Public Library to attend this Friends of Marion County forum, I considered taking along a super-sized latte to be sure I stayed awake.

But it was surprisingly engaging. The reason for the get-together was to explore the pros and cons of expanding the Marion County board of commissioners from three to five members.

Voters in Clackamas County recently approved such a move. Ron Johnson, former chair of the county Planning Commission, said that unchecked dysfunctional growth convinced both political leaders and citizens that more heads around the board of commissioners table would make for better decision-making.

Peter Sorenson, a Lane County commissioner, gave the same message. Five commissioners leads to fewer problems and better results.

The math is simple: two people making a decision versus three. With five commissioners it takes more talking to get something done. And that's good.

Under Oregon's public meetings law, a majority of a decision-making body can't discuss an issue up for a vote in private. So two people on a three member board can't have a working coffee or lunch together. With a five member board, they can.

I asked Sorenson why the usual governmental system of checks and balances doesn't apply at the county level. Usually there are separate executive, legislative, and judicial branches – like the President of the United States, Congress, and the Supreme Court.

But in Oregon a board of commissioners can administer county departments (including hiring and firing managers), pass ordinances, and then make quasi-judicial decisions on those ordinances.

I said that this seemed like too much concentration of power. Sorenson replied that in land use planning matters there'd been a state legislative effort to have cases appealed to a state hearings officer, which makes a lot of sense. It didn't go anywhere.

Too bad. However, enlarging the number of people making county decisions, quasi-judicial or otherwise, would help to diffuse the power of a single commissioner – which obviously is high in a three-person board where two rule.

Those attending the meeting filled out a questionnaire asking which of various options they preferred. Three or five members? Elected county wide or by districts? With an elected chair or a rotating chair?

It'd take an initiative to change the board structure. That could be referred to voters by the current board of commissioners (the easy way), or signatures could be gathered (the harder way).

Even harder would be changing Marion County from a General Law to a Home Rule governance. This is an ever geekier subject that I won't attempt to describe.

Janet Carlson, chair of the county board of commissioners, came to the forum and made some remarks as an audience member. Kudos to Commissioner Carlson. The current board should seriously consider expanding from three to five members.

Hopefully there will be enough interest in this issue to keep the discussion going. Admittedly, it isn't the most provocative political topic at the moment, with the presidential race so hot and furious. Still, it holds the promise of improving how Marion County is governed – an undeniably good thing.

Clinton nets four delegates. Whoopee.

I was kind of depressed last night, since I'd hoped that Obama would win decisively in Ohio and Texas. But perusing the new delegate totals on Obama's web site, I'm feeling better.

it looks like Clinton will pick up four after all of her "We're back!" hullabaloo.

Big deal. Obama is still 156 pledged delegates ahead with 571 remaining to be chosen. So Clinton needs to win the final twelve races by about 64% - 36% to catch up to Obama.

And that isn't going to happen. She needs the not-so-super superdelegates to hand her the nomination, or have the Democratic Party rules bent so Michigan and Florida delegates are tossed her way.

That'd infuriate me.

Yesterday my spanking fresh voter registration card arrived in the mail with a DEM under "party." I became a Democrat to vote for Obama in the Oregon primary, but that card will be shredded in a flash if he ends up with more pledged delegates and not the nomination.

There's fresh talk of a joint ticket. That'd be fine with me. "Vice-President Clinton" has a ring to it. Some, though, are aghast at the prospect.

I can understand why. However, some dance practice last night pointed out to me why Obama and Clinton could be a good match.

Laurel and I have different dancing strengths. She's much better at rhythm than I am. I'm better at remembering moves.

So often Laurel will say at a practice, "I've forgotten what we learned at our last lesson." I'll then show her the basic steps. She, though, usually has the feel of the dance down better than I do.

Thus we complement each other.

I lead the moves while trying to tune into her beat, because she has a better intuitive sense of rhythm than I do. Maybe someday my right and left dance brains will be equally competent, but they aren't now.

Similarly, Obama has the political beat down while Clinton is better at the policy steps. I don't know if they'd be willing to dance the presidency together. It'd sure be interesting to see them try.

Suddenly I felt very old

Damn you, Coffee House Café! You're one of the few hip, happening, alternative gathering spots in downtown Salem. And I'm a hip, happening, alternative guy who frequently stops in for a latte.

I enjoy having my drink prepared by a tattooed, pierced, black-clad barista with an attitude, a pleasing contrast with the staff at the squeaky clean Starbucks down the street.

During the day I feel like I fit right in at the Coffee House Café. Beard. Longish hair. Impeccable '60s counterculture credentials. Progressive politics. We're on the same radical wavelength.

But last night I realized that our relationship has some rough edges.

Laurel and I met up at the Coffee House Café at 7 pm (well, 7:20 for Laurel – she was her usual late self) for an Argentine Tango lesson that'd been billed on a café bulletin board.

We clutched our dancing shoes in bags. I noticed a neatly dressed older guy (meaning, given the age of the evening regulars, over 25) sitting on a stool, also holding a shoe bag.

As 7 pm approached 7:30, and no sign of a Tango lesson was in evidence, aside from chairs and tables cleared to the side to open up the wood floor, I walked over to the guy to learn what he knew about the delay.

"Somebody told me that the instructor is on his way," he said. "Otherwise, I don't know what's happening." Nobody else seemed to either. The café staff appeared blissfully unconcerned that the lesson was already half an hour late. No apologies or even an announcement.

I couldn't tell who else was there to learn Tango, and who was just hanging out. Bongos were drumming outside. Cigarette smoke was heavy over the sidewalk. Skateboarders bounced in and out, carrying their ride. Sneaker-clad youths ran this way and that, meeting up with and parting from friends.

The only people who looked at all uptight were us old fogies who had the obviously unrealistic expectation that just because a café had said there'd be a Tango lesson at 7, somebody should be concerned when 7:30 comes and goes, and the prospective Tango'ers are sitting around clueless about what's going on.

This was the first moment I felt very old. I started to reminisce about going to concerts in Golden Gate Park and other Flower Power venues back in the late '60s.

We never cared when the happenings happened. Often a band – the Jefferson Airplane, say – would be hours late. We'd just go with the flow – easy to do when you're stoned out of your mind and 20 years old.

Not so easy when you're high on a caffeinated latte and pushing 60. Suddenly today's counterculture seemed dreadfully self-absorbed, unorganized, and lacking discipline. Hell, I've got better things to do than watch a bunch of weirdly dressed kids run around trying to get their act together.

That was thought #1. Thought #2 was, Oh, shit! I'm sounding just like my mother did in 1968, when I was 20 and she was 56.

As the evening wore on, I felt even older. The distressingly youthful Tango instructor finally showed up. He looked about 16, just like our family doctor does. A similarly young crowd materialized around him, eager to try something new.

Dance shoes weren't in evidence. The other older guy had taken off, realizing sooner than Laurel and me that this wasn't his scene. We stuck around for a bit longer, perched safely on a couch, not wanting to markedly raise the average age on the crowded dance floor with our geezerish presence.

Plus, it was obvious these kids weren't taking the lesson seriously. They were fooling around. Not paying attention. Joking with each other. Dancing however they felt. Not respecting the instructor's authority.

Oh, shit, I'm sounding like my mother again!

Laurel and I went home, feeling older than when the evening began. But not in a bad way. It'd just dawned on me that my baby boom generation has passed the counterculture baton on – some time ago, really. I'm now the person I rebelled against in the '60s.

And that's OK.

We'll continue to take Tango lessons at the RJ Dance Studio. On a nice clean floor. In an organized class. Which starts and ends on time. Wearing neat clothes.

I'll still drink lattes at the Coffee House Café, supporting a place for youths to hang out until they become like me – old enough to wonder What the heck is the matter with kids these days?

I’m dance-blogging in Russia!

Here's a great example why blogging is so satisfying. I can go to my Outlook inbox and find an email from a guy who runs a Russian dance blog.

Dear Brian! My name is Ivan Makarov. I am from Russia. I am webmaster of the http://ballroom.org.ru So I am writing to let you know that I like your dance related posts. Thank you for your writing. I've found your site via google and decided to translate some of your posts to Russian, for posting on my own site.

What a kick. Ivan chose to share my "Tango, where men lead and women follow." Naturally I had to see how my words looked in Cyrillic.

Pretty cool.

Перед тем как мы начали заниматься танго, мы с Лорел брали уроки по Свингу западного побережья (West Coast Swing). Практически постоянно женщина-инструктор начинала урок словами: «Мужчина, это ваш шанс! В танце вы должны вести женщину. Пользуйтесь моментом! Всё остальное время на неделе она будет вести а вы следовать».

To connect in such a hands across the sea fashion – this is a big reason why I keep on blogging. Some people say that spending hours in front of a computer isolates you. Actually, I find that it's just the opposite.

I expand my horizons through my laptop and DSL connection. In this case, all the way to Russia.

Laurel and I love to watch America's Ballroom Challenge on PBS. Many of the top professionals who take part in the challenge have Russian names. In fact, two Russians won this year: Andrei Gavriline and Elena Kryuchkova.

"Russia" and "dancing" are words that go hand in hand. As a dancing semi-beginner, I'm honored to have a dance-related blog post translated into Russian.

Cпасибо, Ivan. (if I just said something weird, rather than "thanks," it's this site's fault)