This website, put together by the St. Petersburg (FL) Times, is awesome. It tracks all 508 promises that Obama made during his campaign. It shows what promises have been kept (5), compromised (1), broken (0), stalled (1), are in the works (14) or have not yet been addressed (488). I found a few to be particularly interesting.
31. Create a $60 billion bank to fund roads and bridges (No Action)
307. Create a White House Office on Urban Policy (No Action)
308. Fully fund the Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) (No Action)
310. Establish program to convert manufacturing centers into clean technology leaders (No Action)
314. Increase the supply of affordable housing throughout metropolitan regions (No Action)
315. Establish 'Promise Neighborhoods' for areas of concentrated poverty (No Action)
322. Sign the Responsible Fatherhood and Healthy Families Act (No Action)
477. Upgrade nation's infrastructure through new partnership with state and local government (No Action)
480. Support high-speed rail (No Action)
483. Invest in public transportation (No Action)
484. Equalize tax breaks for driving and public transit (No Action)
485. Consider "smart growth" in transportation funding (No Action)
486. Will seek more accommodations of bicycles and pedestrians (No Action)
487. Help states and localities address sprawl (No Action)
498. Provide grants to encourage energy-efficient building codes (No Action)
I know that none of these that I take particular interest in have had any action on them, but I figure it's only his forst week, he'll probably get to them sooner or later. I'm just happy to have a president who actually seems to have an interest in our urban policy and how it shapes our world, and I look forward to seeing progress on these goals. Be sure to check the website above and see what's happening with the promises that matter to you.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
The list keeps growing
That list that I speak of is the list of individuals and organizations that bring my boiling blood to my face. The latest addition is the Utah Highway Patrol.
Now I will admit, this problem is mostly my fault. In Utah, cars over eight years old have to be registered every year, and my 23-year-old Darcy certainly qualifies. However, my feeling that Darcy could die at any minute makes me reluctant to spend any money on her, so I failed to get that registration taken care of when last year's expired back in August.
So Holly needs to go to a concert at Velour for a project, and we were leaving from Target in Orem to get there, so we were pretty much equidistant from the highway and University Avenue, so I asked Holly to randomly pick a direction and the one she picked ended up leading us to the highway. I should have known better because Darcy makes deathly noises at over 55 miles per hour, and a car going equal to the speed limit, let alone below it, is bound to attract attention on I-15. Sure enough, we get pulled over just past University Parkway. Of course my registration is grossly out of date, and in addition to that, my insurance isn't valid because it's not at the right address, which is bound to happen considering we just moved in less than two weeks ago. But I guess there's another trip to add on to the list. State Farm, here we come. Anyway, HP man scares the bejeeses out of me informing me that since the registration is over three months overdue my car could be impounded. Lucky for us, the officer took pity on us, maybe because we played the Newlywed card, and didn't have us towed and just gave me a warning on the insurance, citing me only for the registration.
We left the next day for our open house in Pittsburgh, which was wonderful but not a part of this story, maybe something I'll talk about later. We get back and I examine my ticket. It has no fee written on it, but it does say that I have to get it taken care of within 14 days of the violation or else they'll put out a warrant for my arrest, which no one wants. I call up Orem City, find out that the fee is $47, but they'll take off ten if you can prove that you have gotten your registration up to date before you pay, so I run to a mechanic a few blocks from the house and get it properly inspected and registered. Two days later (I don't have time on working days), I make my way to the 4th district court, which is a part of Orem's quite fasionable civic center. I head to the front desk and hand the nice receptionist my ticket. She types a few things into her computer and then says, "Oh, that's not good..." Four words you never want to hear at court. She informs me that the Highway Patrol has yet to send in their form to the city. Wait, so if you want me to get this taken care of ASAP, how can you expect me to do that if you don't report the thing after a whole week? If that little computer you have in your squad car can tell you if I have a real license, if I have any warrants, and almost anything else you need to know, then why can't it send a quick emial or something to the municipality so that we don't all have our time wasted? Well, as it turns out I didn't have to rush to get this done as I had supposed. The nice receptionist lady informed me that you don't have 14 days to get it done, you have 30. Really, Utah Highway Patrol? You can't even put the correct information on your tickets? You put the fear of The Man in me for nothing!
So I guess I have to call back later and find out if the Highway Patrol has done their job yet. I hate Utah.
Now I will admit, this problem is mostly my fault. In Utah, cars over eight years old have to be registered every year, and my 23-year-old Darcy certainly qualifies. However, my feeling that Darcy could die at any minute makes me reluctant to spend any money on her, so I failed to get that registration taken care of when last year's expired back in August.
So Holly needs to go to a concert at Velour for a project, and we were leaving from Target in Orem to get there, so we were pretty much equidistant from the highway and University Avenue, so I asked Holly to randomly pick a direction and the one she picked ended up leading us to the highway. I should have known better because Darcy makes deathly noises at over 55 miles per hour, and a car going equal to the speed limit, let alone below it, is bound to attract attention on I-15. Sure enough, we get pulled over just past University Parkway. Of course my registration is grossly out of date, and in addition to that, my insurance isn't valid because it's not at the right address, which is bound to happen considering we just moved in less than two weeks ago. But I guess there's another trip to add on to the list. State Farm, here we come. Anyway, HP man scares the bejeeses out of me informing me that since the registration is over three months overdue my car could be impounded. Lucky for us, the officer took pity on us, maybe because we played the Newlywed card, and didn't have us towed and just gave me a warning on the insurance, citing me only for the registration.
We left the next day for our open house in Pittsburgh, which was wonderful but not a part of this story, maybe something I'll talk about later. We get back and I examine my ticket. It has no fee written on it, but it does say that I have to get it taken care of within 14 days of the violation or else they'll put out a warrant for my arrest, which no one wants. I call up Orem City, find out that the fee is $47, but they'll take off ten if you can prove that you have gotten your registration up to date before you pay, so I run to a mechanic a few blocks from the house and get it properly inspected and registered. Two days later (I don't have time on working days), I make my way to the 4th district court, which is a part of Orem's quite fasionable civic center. I head to the front desk and hand the nice receptionist my ticket. She types a few things into her computer and then says, "Oh, that's not good..." Four words you never want to hear at court. She informs me that the Highway Patrol has yet to send in their form to the city. Wait, so if you want me to get this taken care of ASAP, how can you expect me to do that if you don't report the thing after a whole week? If that little computer you have in your squad car can tell you if I have a real license, if I have any warrants, and almost anything else you need to know, then why can't it send a quick emial or something to the municipality so that we don't all have our time wasted? Well, as it turns out I didn't have to rush to get this done as I had supposed. The nice receptionist lady informed me that you don't have 14 days to get it done, you have 30. Really, Utah Highway Patrol? You can't even put the correct information on your tickets? You put the fear of The Man in me for nothing!
So I guess I have to call back later and find out if the Highway Patrol has done their job yet. I hate Utah.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Breathing in Utah is ill-advised
So this frigid morning, I took the 830 to BYU and had about a half hour layover before catching the 822 down to Spanish Fork, so I sat down in the den at the Wilk and watched a little TV. On the morning news, I saw that there was an air pollution warning which advised all citizens not to go outside and exert themselves because of the unhealthy air. After I got on the bus and tried to look out accross the valley, I noticed that you couldn't even see a quarter mile or so. On a clear day, because of the lack of terrain in the valleys, you can see to Point of the Mountain. I also just recently read that more than half of Utah's air pollution comes from cars. Utah's commute traffic is notorious, because there is essentially only one route (I-15) that leads to Salt Lake from the surrounding areas. I really wonder why everyone thinks that adding another lane on the one highway will fix things. Really, the best way to address these problems is to take cars off teh road. However, the only way to do that and still allow for commuters to get to where they need to go is to have other options, such as better bus and rail transit, particularly rail because it is faster and usually kept in a better condition. In addition to that, it would also help a lot to encourage transit oriented development, or greater density close to transit stops. There are various cities in Davis County, to the North of Salt Lake, that are doing this, but Utah County has not been able to grasp the concept. I hope that that changes in the future. I'm currently working on a transit oriented development around what is currently the Provo Amtrak station just in my spare time, and I would really like to submit it to the city and see if they would allow something like that to happen.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Clark Monson owes me ten bucks
My final for Geography 305, Geography of Landforms, was scheduled today for 11:00. I arrived just a little bit early after saying up till 4:00 AM last night studying (I would rather stay up late than get up early, and this test was really important for my grade, so I wanted to be thorough). The first thing that happened was that a girl who sits a few seats infront of me informed me that a chapter that we hadn't covered in class and that wasn't on the study guide would be on the test. Apparently just around Thanksgiving, when no one was here, Professor Monson had handed out a piece of paper about the chapter, didn't even cover it in class, and informed the few people there that it would be on the test. Why it wasn't on the study guide and why he didn't tell us when he handed it out that it was deficient, I don't know. So I thumbed through the book and talked to Igor (he got his visa renewed and was really excited that he wasn't getting deported) while waiting for Professor Monson to arrive with the test. We ended up having to wait for 25 minutes. When he finally arrived he gave us his sad song about how his test wouldn't print and how he needed IT to help him and whatnot, then took a few minutes to explain the test and answer questions. It took me less than a half hour to finish the test (hopefully I did ok), and afterward I ran to the bus stop. I missed it by bus by thirteen minutes. The next bus for Spanish Fork came in an hour. So by being 25 minutes late to HIS OWN FINAL, Professor Monson made me miss my bus, which made me miss an hour of work, which cost me ten dollars. So Clark Monson owes me ten bucks.
This man is a nice guy, but overall the worst professor I've had. He is consistently late to class, and even more often he came unprepared, either having forgot his presentation or not having it set up in a way that would work on the classroom computer. He doesn't often do a good job of writing test qestions or making it apparent what he was looking for, and even when you ask him, he still isn't very clear. On multiple occasions he was asked what he meant by something on the syllabis and he didn't even know what he had written or what his intention was. Despite this lack of clarity, he is a harsh grader.
Now I'm not saying that Clark Monson is a terrible man. I'm just saying that if I held myself to the standard he does, I'd be in big trouble as a student. If I was consistently late to class, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes, I would be in trouble. If I was giving a presentation and came to class unprepared, I would lose points on the assignment. And if I can get docked points on a test for needing to give a more in-depth answer, I think a professor should be able to explain, in depth, just what he's trying to get at. So the long story short is, if you have a choice between taking a class taught by Monson and taking a class taught by anyone else, choose the later.
Something similar to this will probably find its way to ratemyprofessor.com, the head of the Geography department, the dean of the college of Family, Health, and Social Sciences, and The Daily Universe.
This man is a nice guy, but overall the worst professor I've had. He is consistently late to class, and even more often he came unprepared, either having forgot his presentation or not having it set up in a way that would work on the classroom computer. He doesn't often do a good job of writing test qestions or making it apparent what he was looking for, and even when you ask him, he still isn't very clear. On multiple occasions he was asked what he meant by something on the syllabis and he didn't even know what he had written or what his intention was. Despite this lack of clarity, he is a harsh grader.
Now I'm not saying that Clark Monson is a terrible man. I'm just saying that if I held myself to the standard he does, I'd be in big trouble as a student. If I was consistently late to class, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes, I would be in trouble. If I was giving a presentation and came to class unprepared, I would lose points on the assignment. And if I can get docked points on a test for needing to give a more in-depth answer, I think a professor should be able to explain, in depth, just what he's trying to get at. So the long story short is, if you have a choice between taking a class taught by Monson and taking a class taught by anyone else, choose the later.
Something similar to this will probably find its way to ratemyprofessor.com, the head of the Geography department, the dean of the college of Family, Health, and Social Sciences, and The Daily Universe.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Frank Gehry hates children
So today Dave got this month's edition of Urban Land in the mail at work. It was the annual design issue, so I asked him if I could borrow it for a few days and just thumb through it. As I sat on the bus, looking through the articles, I came across an article that featured a Frank Gehry piece. I hate Frank Gehry's architecture. His stuff is just terrible. There are so many reasons not to like Frank Gehry. First of all, his creative process resembles that of a pot-smoking chimpanzee. The Chiat/Day Building in LA is a prime example.
You see that big gray thing in the middle of the picture? The thing that looks a lot like a set of binoculars? You know how he came up with that? SOME GUY SET DOWN HIS BINOCULARS ON THE MODEL AND HE GEHRY DECIDED HE LIKED IT. The building would otherwise just be another example of the ostentatious postmodern style, but the addition of the binoculars makes it look like a mess on the floor of a child's playroom.
You see that big gray thing in the middle of the picture? The thing that looks a lot like a set of binoculars? You know how he came up with that? SOME GUY SET DOWN HIS BINOCULARS ON THE MODEL AND HE GEHRY DECIDED HE LIKED IT. The building would otherwise just be another example of the ostentatious postmodern style, but the addition of the binoculars makes it look like a mess on the floor of a child's playroom.Another example of Gehry's crappiness is the Walt Disney Concert Hall.
This monstrosity that graces the streets of Los Angeles is a monument to the ego of one man and a detriment to the rest of us. The stainless steel panels that cover this building raised the temperature on this one block to 140 degrees during the summer and blinded drivers anywhere within sight.
Gehry's works are not meant to integrate into a city. They aren't even capable, because of their form and materials, of sharing a wall with another building. They have no concern for proportion or symmetry, which according to Vitruvius, "when proportions and symmetry lend [a work] an imposing effect, then the glory of it will belong to the architect." They don't fit into a city. They stand on their own, and not well. They basically say, "Hey, surroundings, I don't care about you, I don't care about blending in to you, complimenting you, being at all harmonious in any way, or making the people around us feel comfortable, safe or enclosed. I'm just going to stick out like the tower of Babylon."
I guess another issue is just our general differences in a classical sense. Gehry's opulence could be compared to the classical Corinthian order, which was the most ornate and effeminate of the orders. Now I appreciate the Corinthian order in many situations, but it's just not me. I prefer the huskier, simpler and more masculine form of the Doric order. The thicker, more basic and orderly decoration and proportions of the Doric are much more pleasing to me, and even if I'm not using columns with twenty flutes or alternating metopes and triglyphs, a simple 1:6 ratio looks stronger, more powerful. So basically, Gehry is an egomaniacal, self-centered sissy of an architect.
Deliciousness
So today I was thinking about grad school and how different some of the places I'm looking at will be from Provo. The greatest difference, on the unlikely chance that I get accepted, would probaby be Berkeley. Of course going from one of the most conservative to one of the most liberal schools in the country would be a big difference, but more than just that it would be the level of diversity. It would be really different coming from a place where almost everyone is Mormon, white, and upper middle class, to a fairly secularized, racially diverse, and scholarship-funded school. I was reminded of the commentary by Mayor Cory Booker of Newark, NJ. Durring this year's election there was a lot of talk of a "post-racial America." Mayor Booker, who is black, successful and extremely cool, talked about how that just isn't the case. There will always be black and white in America. The solution isn't to forget our race or heritage, but to live with and cherrish each other and our differences. The term that he used to describe the greatness of these differences was "racial deliciousness." So I was thinking about how deliciousness relates to diversity, and I came to the conclusion that living in Provo is kind of like eating carrots every day. You know it's good for you, and it's really not that bad, but after a while you just want a steak or some ice cream or something. Berkeley is more like a buffet. And let me tell you, the longer I'm in Provo, the more tired I get of carrots.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Nuke Provo
I hate Provo. Provo is a terrible place that should be turned into a landfill, and all of it's former residents, at least those who liked it, should be sterilized. And every once in a while, I start thinking Provo is okay, and that BYU isn't that bad of a place. Then I go to Salt Lake, and on some occasions to the U, and then I realize how much I just want to burn this whole place to the ground. Salt Lake is just infinitely cooler than Provo. Neighborhoods like Sugarhouse have so much more character than all of Provo put together. And this is the first time I've ever gone to the U's Architecture and Planning Building. Let's start there. They actually have A BUILDING. We don't even have a floor. They actually have A COLLEGE. We have an emphasis in a department in a college that is set up for girls who just want to go to college and get married and never contribute to society in any way other than reproducing, which depending on the caliber of their offspring may actually be detrimental, yea, embarrassing to society. Their building is a textbook example of Brutalist architecture. Now generally speaking, I am not a fan of Brutalism, nor any other offshoots of the modern movement, but I do recognize the emphasis that the style exhibited on college campuses in the late 70's and early 80's, and even more, I recognize it as SOMETHING. BYU lacks so much of anything compelling architecturally. The City Beautiful of the Meazer building is pretty much the only example of a building that isn't guilty of facadism, and then the Brimhall (Art Deco), Joseph Smith (Modern), and Eyring (Modern) buildings are the only ones that exhibit distinctive facades. The JFSB is a move in the right direction, but other than that, we stink. I'm going to finish this article by saying "I HATE PROVO!" one hundred and one times.
I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO!
I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO! I HATE PROVO!
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