Inner Harbor's One-Year Anniversary, and the Blog's "Street Value"

One year ago today, I posted my first entry in Inner Harbor. In the past few days, I've reflected about the blog, some of its entries, and comments I've received both publicly and through private communication. I'm deeply appreciative and grateful to all who have read the blog, reacted to it in some fashion, and/or wanted to be followers. As a writer, it is deeply satisfying to know that the entries have stimulated a reader's thinking, entertained in some way, suggested new perspectives, and/or offered topics with which one was unfamiliar.

I have enjoyed contributing to Inner Harbor nearly every day since May 29, 2010. The writing itself has delivered personal rewards well beyond anything I had anticipated. The second year will provide its share of challenges. I'm looking forward to them. I also want to improve and expand my writing repertoire, and to deepen my knowledge of certain subjects. These aspirations means I'll have a full plate.

I don't know the blog's "monetized" worth. Google includes a tab in the blog dashboard that references this financial Holy Grail. I think that gives far too much respectability to the commercial process. For me, a blog has "street value," in which the Internet is the "street," and the "value" is analogous to the cops' fanciful estimates of the retail price of contraband. Right now, the blog's principal value is what readers find in it and my own personal satisfaction in the conception and writing of it. That's fine with me for the time being.

And now, for a holiday weekend bonus, here are a few quotes for your consideration:

1. "When I see that a little chambermaid is capable of taking on Dominique Strauss-Kahn, I tell myself I do not have the right to remain silent." -- a municipal employee of a Parisian suburb explaining why she came forward to accuse a junior minister of sexual harassment. The bureaucrat in question, meanwhile, is countersuing his accusers for slander. (BBC)

2. "I expect to hold it for a very, very long time. I'm not looking for an exit for a long time." -- New York Mets' minority owner and hedge fund manager David Einhorn on his $200 million dollar investment in the baseball team. (Newsday)

3. "We don't have a motive right now." -- North Miami police lieutenant on last night's drive-by shooting of a local poet and cafe owner. (Miami Herald)

4. "I saw evil that day in the eyes of the people who wanted to rip me to shreds." -- Wisconsin state assemblyman Kevin Petersen, reflecting on his March 10, 2011 encounter outside the Wisconsin state capitol building with demonstrators after he and Republican colleagues voted to eliminate most collective bargaining rights for municipal employees. As the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel blog entry noted, "Petersen's account differs, however, with reports from Capitol police and other law enforcement who said the protestors were generally well-behaved and there were only a handful of arrests in the three weeks of protests over the bill." (Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel)

Bedbug Defense Gadget

Bedbugs, which have been around longer than humankind, have received escalated attention in the past year or so. The cause of the sudden fuss was their infestation of Manhattan south of 96th Street. Until then, bedbugs were as remote to Manhattan's prosperous set as foreclosures and unemployment were. They were "other people's problems" until the unwanted creatures crossed the moat formed by the Hudson, East, and Harlem Rivers. Once their rampant appearances made Manhattan a problematic venue to visit and to shop, bedbugs suddenly became a "national issue." Smart minds were tasked to eliminate the pesky creatures before they ruined in New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg's sleep.

One mechanical solution has recently reached the commercial marketplace. It's a vacuum that apparently doesn't bother with dirt or dust, but focuses on the dastardly bedbug. The gadget uses UV light to eliminate the bugs. The New York Times ran a brief story earlier this year on the $400 gadget. Think of it as a "must have" gadget in the city that has everything.

Blackbeard's Anchor Raised

When one thinks of pirates, it's easy to associate them with 17th and 18th Century marauders of North American waters. One buccaneer whose name connotes the essence of romantic piracy is Blackbeard. His flagship sank off the North Carolina coast more than three centuries ago. It was discovered in 1996 and artifacts from the ship will be on display in a nearby museum starting this summer.

One item that will be on view will be the 3,000-pound anchor from Blackbeard's vessel. The LA Times has the AP story on the raising of the anchor, the ship's background, and the museum display. Pirate stories are always fun to read in warm weather, and they put some Yo Ho Ho! in one's holiday weekend. Spiced rum does, too.

Directory of Unwanted Calls

I started reading Don DeLillo's Great Jones Street, a novel originally published in 1973. I admire DeLillo's writing style, which reflects his ear for how people speak American English. He also puts into a thoughtful framework some ways in which his characters immerse themselves in their own illusions and those of others. When I read a DeLillo work, I pay better attention to some of the curiosities that animate our everyday world.

This alertness to language led me to note a phrase I discovered during an online search for some business information. Someone created a website whose subtitle involved forming a "directory of unwanted calls." The phrase immediately fascinated me, even if the site's execution was disappointing. This concept seemed straight from a world DeLillo might have invented. It has a balance of fascination, loathing, and fear that DeLillo explores in his novels. The directory's bureaucratic tone and link to familiar experience gives it an edgy feeling.

I'm not advocating starting a similar type of directory. I do suggest that reading DeLillo is good for one's perspective.

Lawsuit Against Huffington Post Founders OKd to Continue

A New York judge ruled today that a lawsuit initiated by two Democratic Party consultants against Huffington Post founders Kenneth Lerer and Arianna Huffington (photo) could continue.

The lawsuit allegations, which have overtones of the bitchiness of The Social Network, are briefly summarized in an AP story picked up by the San Jose Mercury News' SiliconValley.com.

For Ms. Huffington, the controversy over her business ethics and apparent willingness to use others' material without compensating them continues. She has notably been quite low profile since AOL paid more than $300 million for the left-wing content aggregator.

There's an object lesson for liberals and libertarians alike. Both tend to forget that it's not just Wall Street pirates or arrogant right-wingers who ruthlessly, relentlessly pursue gain. Greed and power lust are powerful behavioral drives, even for those who prefer Rachel Maddow to Rush Limbaugh, and Ayn Rand to either.

A Chinatown Restaurant and My Personal Lower Manhattan

My close friend Bob and I went to our favorite Chinatown restaurant this evening.

It reopened after a brush with the New York Department of Health and Mental Hygiene. We laughed when we saw the ominous bureaucratic "Closed" signs on the joint some months ago. The restaurant, which I will only identify by its Bowery location, always had the knack of being on the frontiers of cleanliness. The cramped bathroom was graffiti-filled and offered a hint of human stink in what passed for air. The kitchen -- and I have walked through many restaurant kitchens as a food writer -- resembled an exaggerated image of a busy, sweaty facility not fully dedicated to sanitary practices. The glass tables were hurriedly wiped off with some sort of wet cloth.

Of course, Bob and I thrive there. We appreciated its funk. We could deal with the cramped tables. We got used to working the harried, grumpy waiters. Most importantly, we enjoyed the food, which were things we couldn't get at home and that would horrify just about anyone else we knew.

Nearly all the food we ordered -- and we get just about the same thing each time we dine there -- is amazingly unhealthy and we love it. Bob has a weakness for salt baked scallops. My taste runs toward shrimp in the shells getting the salt baked treatment, but I easily wolfed down the scallops. We both enjoyed the roast duck. The restaurant has a number of broken-necked creatures hanging on hooks in the window facing a side street. Half of one duck, with crispy skin and just enough fat to add flavor, is sacrificed for our benefit. We find our way to a somewhat spicy noodle dish. Our one concession to "healthy" dining is a dish of some green vegetable the home team appears to be eating that evening. It tastes good and we typically order it. We wash down this entire feast with Chinese beer.

The check arrives with some orange slices, and two hand towel packets. No fortune cookies, thankfully.

I look forward to these dinners for many reasons. One irresistible draw for me is that it gives me an excuse to connect with my personal history in New York. To reach Chinatown, I typically stroll from the ferry slips on the Hudson River across town. As a result, I often walk past the Municipal Building, where my grandfather worked. On the way to Chinatown is the city office where death certificates are issued. I went there many evenings as a high school student; my best friend, whose father was a mortician, needed the documents to conduct the family business. If I go a little out of my way, I can walk past my father's former office on Broadway and Wall Street. My dentist had his practice just a block uptown from where my dad worked. My first summer job, with a financial PR firm, was in the building next door. At the foot of Broadway is the Staten Island Ferry terminal where I said good-night for the first time to the woman to whom I'm now happily married.

Chinatown itself became my culinary home after college, and I've always felt comfortable with most Chinese food since that time. (I admit I avoid some of the more exotic, non-Western dishes.) I taught in Chinatown, and coincidentally took -- and passed -- my Series 7 exam in the same school building where I had conducted my classes.

A lot of good personal history there. Good food, too. All of that, and the opportunity to connect with a close, long-standing friend, makes the trip something I always enjoy.

Gawker Gaffe Over Schwarzenegger Love Child

There was a lot of fuss last week over the revelation that former California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger fathered an illegitimate child with a member of his domestic staff. In the repellent media race to identify the love child's mother, Gawker named and included photographs of a woman and a child who, as it turned out, were not involved in the affair.

The LA Times' entertainment blog reported the Gawker incident, including quotes from the shameless gossip blog's writer and editor. What's striking is the indifference the two Gawker employees had to relentlessly invade someone's privacy, parade their name into the public awareness, and provide a half-hearted apology when their noxious error became obvious.

Good journalism is a tough job; gossip journalism is just a dirty one. However, I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit I read juicy stories about stupid celebrities, venal politicians, or hypocritical prelates, or arrogant attorneys. Sometimes, a little schadenfraude feels so good.

Reflections on a Small Town's Diaspora

My friend and former colleague Norma Elliott writes an occasional post for the newspaper in Gilman, Illinois, the small rural town where she grew up. Each post consists of a Q&A-style interview with someone who lived in Gilman and often has family or friends still living in the area. They were acquainted, in one way or another, with about everyone in town. Most attended school there and reflect on their teachers in very positive ways.

In their reminiscences, the former Gilmanites frequently cite the residents' shared "values" as something quite positive for which they're grateful. One also gets the sense those "values" do not commonly exist outside the rural Illinois world in which Gilman is situated. It's also difficult to clearly define what those "values" are, although they appear to be strongly connected to some notion of personal integrity.

I enjoy reading Norma's posts. She talks with everyday people who, it turns out, are living rather adventurous lives. Many have moved to large metropolitan areas, as their careers were their meal ticket out of Gilman. A number of subjects have lived, or are currently living, outside the United States. Some have enjoyed challenging, successful careers in business or in the armed services.

I called this one-way mobility from Gilman part of the "Illinois diaspora." When I said it, I was kidding, but upon further consideration, the notion isn't so far-fetched. When I was a young boy, I lived in Fulton, a small city of about 15,000 in central New York State. Many sentiments expressed by former Gilman residents could be easily shared by those who were raised and educated in Fulton. Also, Gilman and Fulton shared a departure of its ambitious, brightest, or most restless to just about anyplace besides their hometowns.

That urge to go elsewhere is ingrained for small town inhabitants. When one lives in a Gilman or Fulton, one is quite aware of the distances to more cosmopolitan experiences. There is a hierarchical order to life beyond the small town environment. One can step up in experience with manageable, conceivably spontaneous drives from a small town to a larger city, or take a planned trip to a major metropolis such as Chicago or New York. One can also avoid either choice and remain entirely satisfied in the small town. I have family members who embody each of those perspectives; many small-town natives have similar stories to share.

When I was a pre-teen, my family moved from Fulton to New York City. I returned for a visit to central New York about a year into my Gotham life. It didn't take me long to realize that I had crossed some sort of psychological Rubicon: there was no turning back. Fulton became part of my personal history, rich with the sort of experience the Gilman residents would have understood. However, my life would blossom elsewhere, with "values" that evolved in some different directions that what I imagine would have occurred had I stayed in a small town.

The photograph shows downtown Gilman.

More UK Women Travel to Denmark for Sperm

You can't make this stuff up. The BBC reported that an increasing number of UK women are traveling to Denmark to get inseminated.

Why has the country of Hamlet and Horatio become the British destination of choice for sperm? Two reasons, according to the brief BBC story. First, Danish men are legally permitted to anonymously donate jizz. Second, British men have to identify themselves if they provide sperm for procreative purposes.

Left unsaid was a possible third reason: perhaps British women just feel something for Danish guys. Call it the "Hamlet Effect."