Quick Takes

It's the end of another month -- my fourth as a blogger -- and time for another round of Quick Takes.

1. After much anticipation, I get to see Emmylou Harris, Patty Griffin, Shawn Colvin and Buddy Miller tonight in concert at Oaks Park. They're touring as Three Girls and Their Buddy. I saw Emmylou long, long ago at the Lane County Fairgrounds in Eugene. I've been waiting forever to see Patty.

2. After much anticipation of a different sort, I was gratified to read the news that we're finally beginning to withdraw U.S. troops from Iraq. Obviously, whether Jordan winds up serving in Afghanistan or Iraq or is something that weighs heavily on my mind as we prepare to fly out to Ft. Benning tomorrow morning.

As The Washington Post's Marie Cocco points out:

But there is a reason the Bush administration was unable to get out of Iraq quickly, and it is found in the regional, ethnic and sectarian divides that persist: "The problem with Iraq is that there really is no state. Iraqis can reach agreement but they can't make it stick," [a Middle East expert, Joost Hiltermann] says. "There are all these fractures. The Americans will have to provide that glue, still.

3. I finally -- finally! -- got around to reading The New York Times Magazine article, "The Mellowing of William Jefferson Clinton." It's an excellent piece by Peter Baker, in which he writes that Clinton, 62, and now out of the White House longer than he served in it, can now cede the spotlight, doesn't need to shake every hand and, finally, can let go. Here's a snippet from the May 31 article:

Two sides of Clinton's persona have longed warred with each other, sunny optimism versus angry grievance. Clinton succeeded in politics largely because he projected the former; his worst moments usually came when he gave in to the latter. Both sides are genuine reflections of who he is.

Twelve years after his last campaign for office, he found it harder to control his resentments when he returned to the trail on his wife's behalf. In his view, the news media and the political world held her to a different standard, while practically anointing Obama. And when he says her, he also means, in the back of his mind, himself.

Two things I didn't realize about Clinton: He wears a hearing aid. He doesn't use a computer.

The man who ushered in the Internet age still does not use a computer, much less a BlackBerry, but keeps up with blogs and sites like The Huffington Post through clips printed out by aides.

Photo of Clinton by Ruven Afanador for The New York Times

New Oregon Interview Series

In April, I wrote about an after-work function in our neighborhood where I met a couple of women, Nora Robertson and Tiffany Lee Brown, who were then publicizing a series of live interviews with local artists that would start in late June.

Last week, I attended the first one -- and I'm glad I did. I've often thought of myself as having something of a cultural blind spot when it comes to first-hand knowledge of what Portland's creative class has to offer the city.

Sure, I understand it intellectually. Lots of people in their 20s and 30s who've moved here in the past 10 to 15 years -- typically college-educated, working one or more day jobs so they can make art -- and who've collectively helped transform the city's cultural life through their numbers and D.I.Y. approach toward work and the creative arts.

But until I spent a couple hours last Wednesday at a local coffeehouse, as part of a small but supportive audience there for the kickoff of The New Oregon Interview Series, I hadn't really come face to face with it. (Guess I've been spending too much time focused on politics, race, class, the economy and other topics.)

Nora moderated a program on music, interviewing Slim Moon, a band manager/spoken word artist, who got his start performing at punk rock venues in Olympia; Alicia Rose (above), a music club owner, occasional accordion player and self-described "gatekeeper," who's originally from L.A.; and Mic Crenshaw, a hip-hop artist from Chicago's South Side who moved here after a stint in equally white Minneapolis.

My colleague, Barry Johnson, wrote his weekly arts column about the debut program. I defer to his take, since he was able to sit through the entire program, including a group discussion, whereas I had to leave after just the individual interviews.

The series continues through February, with additional topics touching on film, books, performance, food, visual arts, fashion and urban planning. I hope to hit the next one in July.

Photo by Motoya Nakamura, The Oregonian

Headed to Georgia

One of the best things about Portland is the annual Waterfront Blues Festival, a multi-day bash on the Willamette River that also serves as the Oregon Food Bank's largest fundraiser of the year. It's always a great mix of music, food and weather, with ponytailed, tie-dyed hippies dancing deliriously alongside folks half their age on the grassy knoll south of the Hawthorne Bridge.

I was really looking forward to this year's line-up: Etta James, Robben Ford, Johnny Winter, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings, and many more. (Turns out Keb' Mo' will fill in as headliner for Etta James, who's canceling because of illness.) Alas, I'm going to miss them all...but for the best of reasons.

We fly out Wednesday morning to see Jordan graduate from basic training at the Army's infantry school in Fort Benning, Georgia. Hard to say who's looking forward to it more: him, us or his girlfriend, Jamie (pictured above with our favorite lucha libre wrestler).

We haven't seen him since March 19. We've talked to him a few times, as his schedule has permitted, and visualized the transformation of an eager but innocent young recruit to a confident and capable young man. There were times when, hearing his voice, we sympathized for what he was going through. We could detect weariness and loneliness at times, but always a resoluteness to push through.

The last couple of times we spoke, it was a series of rattling coughs. He'd been diagnosed with pneumonia. Fortunately, the antibiotics kicked in and he sounded much better yesterday. He and his buddies were attending an alcohol-free Fourth of July picnic on the base -- some deserved down time from their daily routine in the Georgia heat. (He says as he steps out of the air-conditioned barracks at 5:45 each morning, the humidity smacks him in the face and he starts sweating. It was 102 degrees the other day.)

So...we fly into Atlanta and spend one night there. We rise early Thursday to drive to Columbus, about 2 hours away on the Alabama border, for some orientation activities on the base and then watch the graduation ceremony on Friday. Assuming Jordan is given a medical OK, he'll begin his leave and can join us in traveling back to Atlanta on Saturday before we all fly home on Sunday.

The one thing I want to do for sure off-base is visit the
Martin Luther King Jr. National Historic Site in Atlanta. I've seen it once before, along with the Ebenezer Baptist Church, below, where Dr. King regularly preached, and it remains one of the most moving experiences of my life.

Seems entirely appropriate to begin the visit honoring Jordan and his fellow soldiers, who've committed to doing a job that entails great risk in the name of freedom, and end it by honoring Dr. King and thousands of ordinary heroes, who also took on great risk for the cause of civil rights.

Another one for the reading list

While the world's attention was focused on the death of superstar/superfreak Michael Jackson, Lori and I were experiencing a quintessential evening in Northeast Portland -- a casual sushi dinner, followed by a book reading by a Northwest author at the independent bookstore two doors down from Lori's studio.

And not just any Northwest author.

This was Jim Lynch, a veteran journalist who worked at The Oregonian and other newspapers before making the leap into writing fiction. If you're familiar with Jim's first book, the widely acclaimed "The Highest Tide" -- a beautifully written novel about a 13-year-old beachcomber named Miles O'Malley, set on the shores of Puget Sound -- then you'll be just as eager as I am to dive into his second book, "Border Songs."

Jim is a classic case of good things happening to good people. Evident from his reading last night, he is the same witty and humble guy who has succeeded through a combination of dogged reporting skills and amazing discipline as a writer, one who works and reworks and reworks a sentence until it's just right.

There were six of us current or former Oregonian staffers among the approximately 50 people who crammed into a corner at Broadway Books to hear Jim describe how he got the idea for his newest book (a colleague suggested he might find a good story if he spent some time at the Canadian border), as well as how he writes (in spurts, while listening to Miles and Coltrane).

Even before he read from it, we laughed along with him as he described his trepidation at appearing on Canada's equivalent of "Good Morning, America" to kick off a tour in support of the book. Imagine enduring layers of orange makeup under the bright TV lights and trying to keep your wits about you while a stereotypical blow-dried interviewer -- someone who's wearing even more orange makeup than you -- asks about your new book. It all turned out well, Jim said. He fought off the urge to vomit and the interviewer asked surprisingly good questions.

Anyway, according to a publisher's synopsis, "Border Songs" is about:

An extremely tall dyslexic [who] is pushed away from his family's Washington dairy farm to join the Border Patrol, where he indulges his obsessions with birds and art while occasionally catching smugglers and illegal immigrants on the British Columbian border.

Jim says Brandon Vanderkool, the 6-foot-8 Border Patrol agent, is just one of several quirky characters in the book. If he's as entertaining as Miles, I'm sure I'll be in for a treat.

Jim will be back in the Portland area next month, so I recommend you catch him:

Thursday, July 23 (7:30 pm)
Annie Bloom’s Books
7834 SW Capitol Hwy, Portland

Friday, July 24 (7 pm)
Tigard Public Library, 13500 SW Hall Blvd.

In the meantime, check out Jeff Baker's piece on Jim that appeared in The Oregonian. http://www.oregonlive.com/O/index.ssf/2009/06/northwest_novelist_jim_lynch_p.html

A senseless crime at The Dougy Center

Over the weekend, I was stunned to learn that someone evidently had set fire to the main building at The Dougy Center, a Portland nonprofit founded in 1982 with a one-of-a-kind mission to provide support to grieving children and their families.

You can read details of the "suspicious fire" here: http://www.oregonlive.com/news/index.ssf/2009/06/fire_damages_dougy_center.html. And you can read about The Dougy Center here: http://www.dougy.org/

Some of you may know that I serve on the agency's board of directors. Last Thursday, just three days before the fire, the board met to review the agency's finances and adopt a budget for the 2009-10 fiscal year.

While the economy has taken a huge bite out of virtually every nonprofit's investment income and, on top of that, caused a dip in individual and corporate donations, we were pleased to learn we were ending this fiscal year in good shape -- a tribute to how well the agency is run.

Just last month, Lori and I and friends attended The Dougy Center's annual fundraising dinner and auction -- the single most important event of the year, given that the agency does not receive federal, state or local government funding.

Now, with the main building needing extensive repairs or replacement, the center is asking those who can to help out with a donation. On behalf of the 300 families a year who are served by Dougy'speer support programs, I ask you, friends, to consider helping out. You can mail a check to:

The Dougy Center
PO Box 86852
Portland, OR 97286

Thanks.

Photo by Kimberly Wilson, The Oregonian

My civic duty

I spent most of yesterday at the county courthouse.

No, I wasn't there to pay a fine or cop a plea. Rather, I was among several dozen people who were obligated to show up by 8 a.m. for jury duty. This was the second time in about 2 1/2 years that I got the summons. As with the last time, I got as far as being in a pool of about 30 jurors who went through voir dire, the exercise where each juror offers some biographical information and describes his or her previous experience with the courts before the attorneys and judge decide which dozen people will be impaneled.

I got passed over and left the courthouse feeling more or less ambivalent. I get that doing jury duty is my civic duty. Obviously, we wouldn't have a judicial system without everyone taking his turn when called. Some people really whine about it -- about having to take time off work, about the inconvenience of traveling downtown (or to a suburban courtroom, if assigned to a trial there), about the boredom that comes with sitting for hours on end, waiting to be selected for a jury pool.

I can't say any of those are huge concerns for me, although the waiting around can be tedious. Heck, I even sneaked in a short nap at mid-morning, between reading a couple of magazine articles.

No, I think what I dislike more is the thought of some of my fellow citizens serving as jurors if I were on trial. Not to sound snobbish (I suppose there's no way to avoid it), but the prospect of my fate being in the hands of some of these folks is downright scary. Physical descriptions aside, I'm not greatly inspired by people with vacant stares and borderline hygiene poring over juvenile reading material (or none at all, which almost seems worse).

And judging from some of the questions and answers that came up during voir dire, it's clear some of these aren't the sharpest knives in the drawer. Best line of the day came when a guy in his 30s, wearing an Iron Maiden T-shirt and a thick black beard was asked to describe his hobbies and interests: "Drinking beer and shooting guns."

If I'd been picked yesterday, I would have been the only person of color in a 12-person jury that included just one woman. I was stunned at the gender inbalance, but less surprised about the ethnic/racial makeup, given the demographics of the pool. You'd think we were in Utah.

I couldn't help but speculate about why I was passed over. Did they think I might sway others given my job title? Hmmm, Sunday Opinion editor... Did they think I'd bring the perspective of a professional skeptic? I would have, for sure...

Who knows? Only thing that's certain is that I'll get another summons in another couple of years.

Father's Day 2009

Where and how do you begin to say thanks to the most important man in your life?

The one who helped conceive you and held you as a newborn. The one who toiled long, irregular hours at physical jobs to provide for our family and yet set aside time to be there as a Cub Scout volunteer and baseball coach.

The one who took you fishing (I still remember catching a tiger shark in San Mateo Bay), taught you how to use the gas-powered lawnmower, showed you how to change the oil and check the tire pressure. The one who shared your love of Sunday doubleheaders at old Candlestick Park, watching Willie Mays and the Giants take on the best of the National League.

It broke my heart when he and my mom divorced. I was 15 then and I remember questioning why a wise and merciful god would allow my parents to split up. At the same time, I was old enough to realize the break-up probably was for the best, knowing it would relieve the stress in our home. Still, it meant not having my dad under the same roof during the very years when I could have used him the most. Not that there were any nasty consequences.

With his and my mom's encouragement, I did just fine in school and in sports, becoming the first in my family to attend college, while absorbing all the values that they tried to pass along: honesty, hard work, commitment to family, self-respect, modesty, responsibility, compassion for the less fortunate, pride in our Mexican heritage ... just to mention a few.

As a father of three myself, I look at my dad, now in his early 80s, and appreciate him more with each passing year. He was one of 10 kids born to Luciano and Justa Rede in rural New Mexico. He left home in his teens to earn a living, served in the U.S. Navy during WWII and, despite an eighth-grade education, managed to buy a home and break into the middle class.

He's always been on the quiet side, more apt to let others have the spotlight, yet enjoying their company. And he's always respected me as a fellow adult and parent, never questioning whatever decisions I've made concerning family, work and money; never trying to meddle. Today, remarried, he lives in Silver City (population 10,000) in southwestern New Mexico, about 75 miles from the Mexico border.

How do I say thanks to my dad? Today, I'll call to tell him -- again -- that I love him, respect him and appreciate all the support he's given me. And I will take opportunities like this to tell the world about my father, Catarino Allala Rede.

Our little friend, Quimby

Ferocious, isn't she?

With Simone and Kyndall out of town for the weekend, we're taking care of their precious little dog, Quimby.

As you can see, she's a little bigger than a teacup. But she holds her own just fine. Just ask Max, our late Great Dane-Lab mix, who clearly was out of his league when he tangled with this little creature, who must weigh 5 pounds at most.


Quimby is a Chihuahua-Pug mix, just a few months old, and already spayed. I don't believe I've ever used this word to describe a dog but ... she truly is "adorable." I never knew dogs of her breed could move so fast. Seeing her run laps in her spacious backyard is like watching a one-car NASCAR race. So funny.

At the moment, she's playing with Otto, our Jack Russell terrier, who appears to be three times her size and, by comparison, mellow. One moment Quimby is on her back, biting Otto on the neck and all over his mouth; in the next, she's up on all fours, attacking from the rear; then she's on her back again, kicking her back legs; then onto her tummy, tucked under Otto's left arm. The main thing is, she's always moving.

She goes by a few nicknames, including Quimbles, Quimbylina, Quimbylicious, Quimbledon, Quimbylotta. Well, maybe I'm the only one who calls her the latter.

In any case, she's a wonderful playmate for Otto and an always-welcome visitor. Weather-permitting, we'll take her and Otto to a dog park this afternoon to burn off some energy.

Change comes to (our) Hollywood

Yesterday's newspaper included a well-written news-feature story on Portland's Hollywood neighborhood, a compact area of town that we've lived in or patronized since moving here in 1985.

We live just a few blocks north of Hollywood, in the Grant Park neighborhood, but for all intents and purposes we consider ourselves part of Hollywood as well. After all, we sent our kids to the neighborhood schools: Hollyrood (yes, spelled with an "r") Elementary, Fernwood Middle and Grant High School. And just last night we walked to dinner -- a leisurely round-trip of 10 blocks on quiet, tree-lined streets that took us past the public library. On the way home, we ran into one of Jordan's teachers as he was doing an evening bike ride and chatted about each other's kids serving in the military. It's that kind of tight-knit neighborhood.

Anyway, the story by Anna Griffin, with photos by Stephanie Yao Long, presents a good overview of Hollywood's recent history and current challenges, revolving around economic development and livability. Read it here -- "Hollywood district struggles to retain star image" -- and be sure to click on the Sandy Boulevard and Broadway hyperlink below so you can see a map of the area. An excerpt from the story:

For generations, Hollywood has been the quintessential Portland neighborhood, a place where all your basic services — barbershop, hardware store, wine bar, etc. — rest within an easy walk.

Hollywood's town center, a collection of shops at the intersection of Sandy Boulevard and Broadway that radiates out in every direction, is the stuff planners sweat and scramble to re-create elsewhere.

Here, it happened naturally: a wave of construction after the 1920s, as working-class families flocked to affordable homes along Portland's new streetcar line. Then another wave in the 1950s, as World War II veterans started businesses.

Hollywood has long been its own place. Neighbors pride themselves on being more family-friendly than Hawthorne and more down-to-earth than Northwest 23rd.

But the recession hasn't been kind. There aren't any more "for lease" signs here than other Portland business districts, but they're more obvious. The vacant Hollywood Music Center, for example, sits right on Sandy Boulevard, its windows offering wide views of empty space.

Bites for Rights

All day today, dozens of Oregon restaurants will donate 15 percent of their proceeds to Basic Rights Oregon, a nonprofit organization that works on behalf of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Oregonians.

BRO's agenda boils down to equality. Today's event, called Bites for Rights, is pretty self-explanatory. Here's a link for more background and a list of participating restaurants: http://bitesforrights.com/

For more information on Basic Rights Oregon: http://www.basicrights.org/

Lori and I will be dining out tonight to help support the cause. If you're like-minded, check out the list and, as the flier says, don't forget to order dessert.

Our Last Night

No particular reason for this post other than I love this song. David Hidalgo is the man.

Portland's polite drivers

You've probably already seen the story.

New York City replaced Miami as the most road-rage filled city in the United States, according to a survey commissioned by AutoVantage of 25 metropolitan areas. Miami had "won" the top spot the past three years but slipped to No. 7 this year.

And how did Portland do?

We topped the list of cities with Most Courteous Drivers. Like you, I'm shocked -- just shocked -- at the ranking.

I mean, come on, this is a city where drivers at a four-way stop burn a gallon of gas waiting for someone to actually proceed through the intersection.

Please, you first.
No, go you first.
Oh, I insist.
No, really..

It's also a city where, as I've noted previously, drivers are apt to stop in the middle of the road -- even though there's no stop sign, no crosswalk, no bad weather -- to let someone cross the street.

Doesn't matter if other drivers have to suddenly brake to avoid a rear-end collision. Doesn't matter if the pedestrian is a healthy, physically capable adult. Heck, doesn't even matter if you're on a four-lane street with a green light. I was traveling west on Hawthorne Boulevard when two eastbound drivers decided to stop to let a dude and his dog cross. Good thing for them they didn't step into the crosswalk cuz I had no intention of stopping. Hello? That's what a red light is for.

Listen, I'm happy to live (and drive) in a city where motorists are civil to each other. New York, Dallas, Detroit...they deserve their high rankings for Most Road Rage. But when it comes to common sense, there is such a thing as being too polite.

Read the press release and see the complete rankings here: http://www.autovantageroadragesurvey.com/

Read a blog post by The Oregonian's Joe Rose on the survey findings at OregonLive.com

Photo by Jamie Francis, The Oregonian

A modest milestone

With this entry, I've now posted 100 items on the Rough and Rede blog.

I feel pretty good about that, considering R&R launched on March 1. It means I've been, more or less, as diligent as I'd hoped. The early-morning routine -- writing rising early to write before work -- hasn't always held up, but I've managed to compensate by sometimes doubling up or, as I'm doing now, writing ahead during the evening.

If I were going back through with an eye toward deleting a few posts, there are certainly a few candidates that would pop to mind. But I won't worry about that.

Instead, I'll strive for more variety and a lighter tone. I'm well aware of my tendency to get all serious -- but, hopefully, not deadly dull either.

Now, if I only had a dollar for every one of these posts...

The Portland Spelling Bee

Monday night was supposed to be my debut. For at least two years now, I've been aware of the weekly Portland Spelling Bee at The Mississippi Pizza Pub. It's an adults-only affair with quite a reputation, helping to define Portland's casual, come-as-you-are, doesn't-matter-who-you-are culture.

Anyway, I found the nerve to say, sure, I'm ready. Sign me up, put me on stage and let me go mano a mano with who-knows-who.

Well...didn't exactly turn out the way I intended. But maybe it's for the better. Lori and I rolled up at a quarter to 7, thinking it was a simple matter of signing up. Wrong. The event organizers said 26 people -- far more than the customary 18 -- had already registered. No problem, I said. We'll just watch and I'll know what to expect when I actually do compete.

We ordered our food, beer and wine and found a table in the back. First two rounds, I thought, I can compete with these folks. Then the third round began. All of a sudden, the host, Erin Ergenbright (someone who's written for The Oregonian's Sunday Opinion section) started pulling these exotic words out of her hat -- multisyllabic terms you'd hear if you were into geology, phlebotomy or other specialized fields.

Contestants started asking for the root (Greek, Latin, French, Egyptian!) of the word or asking it to be used in a sentence -- and still they were flummoxed (love that word myself). About three rounds later, they were down to two men and two women. One guy dropped out on "boutonniere." Can't remember the word that caused the other one to take a seat.

It came down to the two women -- I honestly can't even remember the championship word -- but the winner turned out to be a thirty-something mom who was smarter than heck.

As someone who deals with words for a living, I walked into the pub feeling pretty confident of holding my own. After seeing last night's smackdown, I'm not so sure.

Pop quiz

Last week's featured artists on the Video Bar (below, right) were:

Stevie Ray Vaughan: http://www.awpi.com/SRV/
Dixie Chicks: http://www.dixiechicks.com/
Los Lonely Boys: http://www.loslonelyboys.com/
Norah Jones: http://www.norahjones.com/

What do they have in common?

Celebration Weekend

Saturday and Sunday have come and gone, leaving wonderful memories in their wake. I speak, of course, of the two-day celebration honoring Nathan's graduation from Portland State.

On Saturday morning, we managed to spot him on the arena floor from our 300-level seats in the Rose Garden, as he and his fellow grads settled in for 2 1/2 hours of speeches, announcements and conferring of degrees. Afterwards, we wrapped him hugs and posed for pictures until our cheeks hurt.

We took him to Navarre, just named The Oregonian's 2009 Restaurant of the Year, for brunch and were not disappointed. It's a tapas place, serving small and large plates of farm-fresh produce, combined with different meats, herbs, oils, spices, etc., in a totally casual atmosphere. Think shared tables in a space about the width of a two-car garage.

On Sunday, we hosted a backyard party that drew family, longtime friends and neighbors, plus two sets of Nathan's friends -- those he knows from PSU, those he knows from the DJ music scene. Of course, there was some overlap in the latter two categories, which made for great energy and conversations, once everyone started socializing.


We ran out of food and nearly ran out of beverages before making a spontaneous decision to buy three XL pizzas and keep the party going a couple hours longer.

All in all, it was a great weekend and a real treat to see Nathan, deservedly, in the spotlight.

And now, let the job search begin...

The Graduate

This weekend we'll be celebrating a long-awaited, much-anticipated milestone: Our oldest son, Nathan, will get his bachelor's degree from Portland State University. Actually, make that plural. He's graduating with degrees in business and marketing.

To say he's traveled a long and winding path to this point is an understatement. To say we admire his perseverance and celebrate his accomplishment, similarly, doesn't begin to convey our pride.

Nathan graduated from high school in 1998. That fall, we moved him into a fourth-floor dorm at the University of Oregon, with a good feeling that he'd come into his own in a place known for its liberal campus politics and comprehensive course offerings. I still remember pulling away from the curb that day, feeling wistful, as he waved goodbye. The emotions hit Lori and me like a ton of bricks as we headed back to the freeway for the two-hour drive back home.

Over the next three-plus years, it became evident the U of O and Eugene weren't the best fit. Too school was big, too impersonal, too unstructured. Nathan left school, moved around a bit, struggled to find to work and, finally, broke off a toxic relationship with his then-girlfriend.

To our delight, he came back to Portland to right himself. He enrolled at Portland State and proceeded to bear down in pursuit of the goal that had eluded him. The difference has been astounding -- nothing less than a transformation. His grades have steadily improved (including a 4.0 last term ), he's made a whole new set of friends and he's become a fixture in the city's nightclubs as a DJ with the moniker Nathan Detroit. Along the way, he's dropped a lot of weight, changed his diet for the better and reintegrated himself into our family.

On Saturday, he'll be among the thousands of graduates in cap and gown, striding across the stage at the Rose Garden Arena to accept his college degrees. We'll take him to brunch and celebrate. On Sunday, we''ll have a get-together here at our home for friends and family to again recognize his success.

Of course, we wish he were entering the job market under entirely different conditions. Still, at 29, he's now much better positioned to compete for a job now and in the future.

We thought long and hard about what name to give our first-born. Then and now, the name fits. In Hebrew, Nathan means "gift of God."

This weekend, we'll give him all the love, support and encouragement we can muster to get him started on his new path.

A discouraging day at the office

After a couple of really positive posts this week, the cold reality of the ailing newspaper business and slumping economy is something I can't ignore.

I think we're all familiar with the big story: Falling circulation and slumping advertising revenues are wreaking havoc all over the country, even as industry experts tell us that more people than ever are reading us, thanks to free online content. Problem is, no one -- except The Wall Street Journal, with its elite readership and specialized business content -- has figured out a way to make money from the Web.

Just this week, the head of the New York Times Co. said The Boston Globe (which the Times Co. owns) “cannot survive” unless Globe editors and reporters accept a 23 percent pay cut. Closer to home, The Register-Guard in Eugene announced the elimination of 35 positions, resulting in the layoff of 21 persons across all departments of the company.

So no one at The Oregonian who attended a meeting yesterday with the publisher and the editor was surprised to hear the latest bad news for us. I'll spare you the details, but these are the headlines: Ad revenues and paid circulation are still sliding beyond projected levels, even after a round of buyouts late last year and a smaller, second round earlier this year. Millions of dollars that used to come our way from the real estate and automotive sectors and and help wanted ads have dried up and blown away.

What does that mean for us? Most likely, additional staff reductions after Labor Day, possible additional furlough days in 2010 and, starting in January, having all employees (instead of just those most recently hired) contribute to the cost of their health insurance. Already this year, we're taking a temporary pay cut and four unpaid furlough days.

I've said it before but it bears repeating: It's discouraging to do the quality of journalism we do -- both in print and online -- only to know these larger economic forces ultimately control our destiny. It's hard to squeeze advertising dollars from a local business community that's suffering through the same recession as everyone else. One can only hope the national economy bounces back sooner than anticipated because we certainly can't cut our way to profitability.

Serenity in the city

A couple days ago, I drove to work rather than catch the bus as I usually do. I'd packed a brown bag lunch, figuring I'd run some errands on my lunch hour and also make time to eat outdoors.

I didn't really have a destination in mind when I crossed the Hawthorne Bridge but, boy, did my VW Bug lead me to the right place: Ladd Circle. It was a mid-day respite that, once again, made me realize how much I appreciate the simple pleasure of a casual lunch on a park bench.

Ladd Circle is a 1.5 acre park in the heart of Ladd's Addition, a very cool older neighborhood in Southeast Portland, between Hawthorne Boulevard and Division Street. The neighborhood is named for William Ladd, a former mayor and prominent businessman during the 19th century. The park has more than 3,000 roses of sixty varieties, so it's a treat for the eyes and nose.

To appreciate Ladd Circle, imagine you're a bird looking down at a circular park with eight spokes (streets) coming off it in the midst of a residential grid with diagonal streets. Or check out this view from Wikimapia: http://wikimapia.org/146079/Ladd-Circle

The day I was there, I couldn't believe the number of bicyclists who came riding past me. It was non-stop for 30 minutes. The majority were folks in their 20s and 30s, seemingly headed somewhere (school or work, probably) as opposed to just being out for a recreational ride. There were older folks, too, on bikes, along with a couple of ladies walking their dogs and one hipster chick who whizzed past on a kick scooter like the one shown here.

Seeing so many people using pedal or foot power to get from one place to another made me realize how easy it would be to plan a trip to the grocery store some weekend where I rode my bike and brought along a backpack to carry things home. Of course, I'd need a better lock than I have now. But I know it can be done. And it will be done -- sometime later this month, I hope.

Though Portland has many, many places to just chill, I'll have to remember the feeling of serenity that came from this recent visit.

A good day in cyberspace

A fellow blogger once told me:

Blogging can feel like such a private activity, words I'm shouting to no one in particular, and it's encouraging to know there are real and actual readers.

I agree completely. So it was gratifying yesterday to see signs that Rough and Rede is being read and appreciated by a few more people than is evident on a daily basis. (Sorry if this sounds self-indulgent, but I think any journalist is curious to know who's reading his or her work and how they're reacting to it.)

Anyway, Obama's Blackberry drew a first-time commenter. The Joni Mitchell video posted under Quick Takes prompted a lovely reminiscence about the part Joni played in bringing a couple together 30 years ago. I picked up a new follower, bringing me to 20. (Yay!)

And...three fellow journalists, ranging from Portland and Vancouver to Washington, D.C., let me know through regular e-mail or Facebook messages that they read the blog regularly. (Yay, again!)

Part of me feels silly sharing this. Does it do anything besides draw attention to a writer's insecurities? I'd like to think so. The positive feedback gives me incentive to keep at this, knowing that somehow, someway people are getting something out of this.

Thanks, readers.

Obama's Blackberry

A delightful little book landed in my "in" box at work the other day: a review copy of "Obama's Blackberry." Not much bigger than an actual Blackberry and written in txt msg style, it's 135 pages of sheer delight -- nothing but a series of fictitious e-mails between the president and various world and political leaders, plus a few other notables.

For instance:

Text message from:
Clarence Thomas, Supreme Court Justice

JustClarence: hey
BarackO: hey
JustClarence: u wanna hang out?

BarackO: no

This witty little volume is the brainchild of Kasper Hauser, a San Francisco-based comedy troupe of four days who've also done parodies of The New York Times wedding pages and "Skymaul: Happy Crap You Can Buy from a Plane."

With e-mail exchanges from the likes of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney, Bill and Hillary Clinton, Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin, it's the kind of humor that makes you laugh out loud.

For instance:

Text message from:
Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State

Hbomb: meeting w/china's premiere 2day on trade issues
BarackO: whats your strategy?
Hbomb: not sure, uphill battle
BarackO: just do what u did in campaign
Hbomb: ??
BarackO: drag it out like a Grateful Dead encore

And this:

Text message from:
Joe Biden, Vice President

BidenMyTime: hey u, whatcha doin?
BarackO: m really busy. w/joint chiefs
BidenMyTime: need me?
BarackO: got it covered. keep working on yr pet project
BidenMyTime: puppy?
BarackO: universl healthcare
BidenMyTime: right :( can i leave at 4:45?
BarackO: don't care.
BidenMyTime: how does MySpace work?
BarackO: not now. ask malia.

Get the idea? Get the book. It's $13.99 in hardcover. Hopefully, it'll go to paperback soon with a corresponding price drop.

Blogs Falling In an Empty Forest

So reads the headline over a story in the Sunday Styles section of The New York Times.

Even before I begin to read the article, I know where it's headed. (Of course, that's the test of a good headline, but let's not go off a tangent...)

The piece begins with Judy Nichols, 52, creator of a blog called Rantings of a Crazed Soccer Mom. She put up her first post in late 2004 and, surprise, it generated no comments. Her last entry was December of last year. Who knows how many posts she logged in between -- or how many comments. (Actually, it would be pretty simple to find out. Just go to her blog.)

"Like Mrs. Nichols," the article says, "many people start blogs with lofty aspirations -- to build an audience and leave their day job, to land a book deal, or simply to share their genius with the world. Getting started is easy, since all it takes to maintain a blog is a little time and inspiration. So why do blogs have a higher failure rate than restaurants?"

Good question. I've got a couple of thoughts. But, back to the article.

"According to a 2008 survey by Technorati, which runs a search engine for blogs, only 7.4 million out of the 133 million blogs the company tracks had been updated in the past 120 days (my emphasis added). That translates to 95 percent of blogs being essentially abandoned, left to lie fallow on the Web, where they become public remnants of a dream -- or at least an ambition -- unfulfilled."

Well...

I can't say I'm surprised by the statistics. Is blogging any different from any other activity that a person might begin -- dieting, exercising, praying, learning a musical instument or a new language -- but eventually let lapse? Probably not. But still...

Why do blogs have a higher failure rate than restaurants?

My quick take: Without the desire or the discipline to provide care and feeding of a blog, it's bound to collapse from neglect. Without attention to consistent quality or timeliness, why would anyone bother to read something that's poorly organized, poorly written or outdated? The analogy to restaurants is a good one. When you dine out, you're looking for consistently high standards, fresh ingredients and, along with reliable menu items, the occasional chef's surprise.

The blogosphere is nothing more than an amalgamation and reflection of everything we are, everything we say, do and believe -- for better or worse.

Some people blog because they are highly opinionated and want to share their views with others -- that's obvious enough. Others have a special interest -- be it cooking, music, movies, skiing, pets, fashion -- and want a forum for it. Some people create a blog for themselves and their family, to have a place to post vacation pictures and videos. Others do so with the idea of keeping a diary or journal, perhaps to think out loud and, in the writing, discover what they believe.

Me? I started my blog a little over three months ago, simply because it was so easy and because it related to my professional interests -- you can't be a 21st century journalist and not know your way around the World Wide Web, including how to create and maintain a Web log. Creating a personal blog would allow me the freedom to do and say things I can't (or shouldn't) as a contributor to The Oregonian's Opinion blog. Doing so, I hoped, would connect me with friends, family and people I didn't even know. It's never been about feeding my ego or imposing my worldview on anyone else (and certainly not to make money), but rather a form of self-expression; a way to share information, emotions and interests; and even a path to self-discovery.

Like any restaurant owner serving up a meal, I hoped people would find the content nutritious and worth coming back to. I hoped readers and followers would provide feedback and, in the best of worlds, even exchange ideas and comments with each other. I have no illusions about building a large audience. But I do feel the time and effort invested has been worth it. Several friends and fellow journalists have been very complimentary. I've reconnected with my best friend from early childhood. I've planted the seeds of friendship with other bloggers. And putting my thoughts and activities here for anyone to see has challenged me to find the right words and tone to express them clearly, with passion, humor or detachment, as warranted.

I absolutely get the image of blogs falling in an empty forest. I can only hope that if I continue to water and prune, the sapling known as Rough and Rede will grow into a sturdy old tree.

Pomp and circumstance and a drive to succeed

At this time of year, we're immersed in high school graduations and college commencements. No doubt, it's a great time to recognize the accomplishments of the class of 2009 as its members receive their diplomas and degrees and move to the next phase of their lives.

Next Saturday, we'll join our oldest son, Nathan, in celebrating his graduation from Portland State University with degrees in business and marketing. (More on him later this week.)

Within the larger community, there's much to admire, too, in the hard work and dedication of this year's Academic Achievers -- some 456 valedictorians and straight-A students from Portland-area schools -- who were recognized in The Oregonian.

Three personal stories stood out to me in recent days. I share them here as models of inspiration, desire and redemption:

Stephanie Lutz, overcoming homelessness and her mom's drug problems, to graduate as a star athlete and student from a working-class school on Portland's east side. "From chaos, with honors."

Berenise Delgado, above, rising above cultural and economic barriers to excel at one of Portland's poorest schools. "A valedictorian at Roosevelt pursues her dream of college."

Courtney Bliss, floundering at first but then finding herself at a small, alternative high school in Portland that few people even know about: "Finding an educational fit."

Seeing Courtney and her classmates graduate Thursday inspired me to write something as well on "Portland's Focus High School."

I've always been a strong believer in the opportunities that public education can bring. As these young ladies demonstrate, you've got to want it ... because no one is going to just hand it to you.

Quick Takes

My last few posts have been relatively long, so here's a little something to tip the scales in the other direction:

-- Just came in from a run up to Mt. Tabor, a dormant volcano in Southeast Portland. Been a long time since a run lasted a full hour or more. Took me 1 hour, 4 minutes up and back. Whew.
-- Planning continues for the Rede Reunion in early July. Going to make copies of a couple maps, stuff some envelopes and send them on their way.
-- The artists I've featured this week on the video bar all have one thing in common: Kathleen Edwards, Sarah McLachlan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell. Can anyone guess?

By the way, I'm blown away that this 1970 performance by Joni was nearly forty years ago! Amazing.

Want to see more from that concert? Click here.

August and "Perfect Sand"

All this week, I've tried to practice what I preached during the class I taught at Portland State last winter -- namely, to spend some time surfing the Web, exploring the blogosphere and becoming part of the universe made up of tens of millions of blogs.

These past few days I've mentioned blogs by my co-worker Mike Francis, new media professor Pam Cytrynbaum and news reporter-turned-food writer Heather Lalley (all of whom, now that I think about it, are graduates of Northwestern's Medill School of Journalism).

Today, I recommend to you "Perfect Sand," written by August. (That's her screen name; in real life, she is Rachel, living in Cincinnati).

But, first, some more background. When I began the class, I cited a few statistics, which even now boggle the mind.

According to eMarketer (May 2008), there were:
-- 94.1 million blog readers in the U.S. in 2007 (representing 50% of Internet users)
-- 22.6 million bloggers in the U.S. in 2007 (representing 12% of Internet users)

According to Universal McCann (March 2008), there were:
-- 184 million people worldwide who had started a blog, including 26.4 million in the U.S.
-- 346 million people worldwide who read blogs, including 60.3 million in the U.S.

According to Technorati.com:
-- 77% of active Internet users read blogs.

Summing up, Discover Magazine in 2007 said:

"The blogosphere is the most explosive social network you'll never see. Recent studies suggest that nearly 60 million blogs exist online, and about 175,000 more crop up daily (that's about 2 every second). Even though the vast majority of blogs are either abandoned or isolated, many bloggers like to link to other Web sites."

Given the explosive growth in this experimental medium, and allowing for extremes in quality, is it any wonder you can purposefully search for a blog on a specific topic and find treasure as well as trash? Likewise, is it any surprise you can stumble across something that disgusts or delights you?

It was the latter method that led me, about a month ago, to a blog that instantly appealed to me. It had all the qualities that I touted to my class: Well organized, clearly written with a distinctive voice, and thought-provoking content. A closer look revealed the writer's intelligence and tendency toward introspection.

What stood out to me? References to writers and topics that I care about, such as stories, teaching, writing, language, education. One post, "In the news," referenced David Brooks, the New York Times columnist, writing about a successful charter school in Harlem. Another, "Dishonor descended," discussed the words we use in everyday speech to either muddle or convey real meaning, citing the terms "waterboarding" and "water torture" as one example.

"Language," August wrote, "has the power to connect, to reveal truths, but it also can disguise or obfuscate...the truth."

As an editor, I'm all about clarity and specificity.

Anyway, I think August is a terrific writer. We've become followers of each other's blogs and I invite you to check hers out. http://perfectsand.blogspot.com/

And I hope you, readers, will expand this conversation by offering links to other blogs or Web sites that you recommend.

Heather the "Flour Girl"

Calling all foodies!

Hi! My name is Heather and I'm a recovering newspaper reporter in search of a new career in flour, sugar, butter and yeast.

With an opening line like that, how can you resist not wanting to know more? The author, Heather Lalley, is someone I've known since the mid-90s, when she was a junior journalism major at Northwestern University and I was The Oregonian's internship coordinator. Which is to say, it was years before she became a mom and well before she left the business about a year and a half ago.

It still pains me to think about that -- someone with Heather's talent and passion having to leave the profession she loved, for the usual economic reasons that are challenging newsrooms everywhere. In her case, especially so, because Heather was such a pleasure to be around, with a dry wit that I like to think was honed growing up outside the Twin Cities in Minnesota.

Anyway, check out this post from her "Flour Girl" blog -- "Taking home the Bronze Cupcake" -- and see if you agree that journalism's loss is the blogosphere's gain, especially for those who love freshly baked bread and/or a homemade cupcake.

P.D.A. in the park

I can't let this day end without sharing something that made me smile...

So there I am, sitting on a park bench in Lownsdale Square, not far from this statue. I'm casually eating some takeout from the Saigon Express food cart (pad thai with tofu and curried vegetables) and watching the lunchtime crowd pass by.

You've got office workers with their Subway sandwiches or burgers; attorneys lugging their briefcases to or from the county courthouse on my left or the federal justice center on my right; young mothers pushing their kids in strollers; and the occasional homeless person pushing a cart full of returnable cans and bottles.

The sun is shining, I've got a book with me and I plan to read a few pages before heading back to work.

Then I notice some movement about 40 yards directly in front of me. There on the grass, under the shade of an elm tree, I see a guy lying on his back, his head resting on the stomach of another person, whose head of hair is all I can make out clearly because the person's feet are facing away from me. The guy sits up, does a half-turn and proceeds to lay his upper body on the person below and kiss the other person.

Is it a woman? A man? Does it matter? Do I care? Honestly? No. I'm thinking, "Good for you, dude." To show that Public Display of Affection in the middle of the day of a city park, no matter who's passing by or looking, is pretty cool.

Turns out his partner is a woman. Like him, she's pretty heavy-set, has short, mussed hair and is wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He's got just-woke-up brown hair, with a balding spot on the crown. I'm guessing they're both around 45. Who knows what brought them there... Jury duty? Doubt it. A court case? Hope not. Unemployed? Possibly.

He rolls off her and sits up. She reaches under his shirt with her right hand and rubs his shoulders. Again, I'm thinking, "Good for you, dudette." Showing your man some love.

I never did open my book. Headed back to the office, thinking that was as a sweet scene as I've seen in the movies.

I was going to post John Legend's "P.D.A (We Just Don't Care)" video here but embedding has been disabled. Click on the link and enjoy the song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4R_oswROic

"War is hell" (part 2)

For those of you who read yesterday's entry, there's more...

The soldier who, under the screen name of stalker15a, wrote that moving e-mail about his fallen buddies, sent a follow-up to my colleague Mike Francis, who once again has posted it on his Oregon at War blog.

Few things I've read have touched me as much as stalker15a's original account and, now, the follow-up, honoring his fellow infantryman.

"I appreciate the kind words from your readers and the opportunity to share with America what it is really like on the frontlines of a war..the objective unbiased account of an eyewitness..telling it like it is..without filter. The family has been notified and the DOD has published his name....This is my friend, my buddy, my trooper. His name is Thomas Edward Lee III and he was from Dalton, Georgia."

Why do I post this, when I have a son of my own, now in boot camp in Georgia and who, a few months from now, might find himself in the Middle East as well?

I suppose the answer lies in two things. One, I'll take truth and honesty over euphemism and obfuscation every time. It may be painful at times, but knowing how and why things go down is better than speculating. Two, if I'm going to blog, I'm going to share material that hopefully encourages you, as an occasional or regular reader, feel, think, consider and reflect on things that you might not otherwise. Isn't that one of the reasons we're here on Earth? To communicate?

If you'd rather not read about war and death and camaraderie, just skip down to the post below, touting the new blog by my friend, Pam.

"Waiting for your REAL life to change?"

One of my dear friends -- a fellow journalist, blogger and parent -- is Pam Cytrynbaum, an instructor in the New Media Communications Department at Oregon State University.

We've shared so many conversations over the years about the profession we love, about the students she's taught and I've interviewed and/or spoken to as a guest speaker in her classes at OSU and, previously, at the University of Oregon. We've shared moments of insight and mutual encouragement and -- always -- a good belly laugh over something or other.

So it's with much respect and great enthusiasm that I recommend this piece of hers, written as a blogger for Psychology Today. It's about "the artifice of the 'realness' impulse" -- in other words, it's about the identity crisis that we all experience in one way another, turning our insecurities into self-doubt. Pam offers her take with great honesty and passion. An excerpt:

What is that, exactly, that thing where you're so deeply who you are? Authenticity? True selfhood? Empathy -- given and received simultaneously?

At the core, it feels like this:

I'm being who I am, not who I think they want me to be or who I think I'm expected to be. I am saying what I think. I am responding honestly and being fully present. I feel genuine. My feelings feel genuine. As we talk, as I teach, as I listen, as I write, as we are together in whatever way, it is genuine. It is an electrical charge connecting us. Is it empathy? Is it simply being understood, heard and known? What is it made of? I don't know. But I know when it begins and can feel precisely when it breaks and disconnects. It feels like the only thing that is real.

"War is hell"

I meant for yesterday's post to strike a celebratory tone but, upon re-reading it, it felt like I veered into self-indulgence.

Today's entry is nothing like it. Mike Francis, an associate editor at The Oregonian, shared the featured post from his own blog, Oregon at War, with the rest of us in the Editorial Department. It's from a deployed soldier in Iraq and, as Mike says, it is a harrowing read.

If you have misgivings about reading about grief and death, don't go here.

If you have the fortitude to read about what it's like when soldiers lose one of their own -- and you can appreciate the incredible bond uniting those serving abroad and the sense of duty that propels them forward -- then read on. (Above right: Combat Infantry Badge)

http://blog.oregonlive.com/oregonatwar/

The first 92 days...

Presidents have their first 100 days and a State of the Union address by which to measure their progress.

Amateur bloggers like me have a different set of metrics:

Number of days on the Web: 92 (yay!), starting March 1.
Number of posts: 81 (yay!) as of yesterday, May 31.
Number of followers: 18 (yay!), including just two members of my immediate family.
Number of comments: 36. But in all fairness that tally includes comments I've made in response to others'.
Number of topics: 68. This is simply the number of labels (or tags) that I've assigned to the posts.
-- Most popular? Portland (15), The Oregonian (7), food (6), family (5), music (5) journalism (4). Hmmm, no surprises there. Come to think of it, that's a pretty good reflection of my interests as well as where I live.
-- Others? Blogosphere, education, environment, military, Orcas Island, running (3 each).
Number of other blogs I've inspired: 1 (yay!). Check out Lori's blog, health.wealth.happiness

Looking back on this modest body of work, I have to say I'm pretty pleased with the launch and the time I've made for this. Going back to my first post, Getting Started, it's neat to see how far I've come:

Why am I doing this?
It's about time...I'm going to teach a weekend seminar on "Opinion and the Blogosphere." Shouldn't I have a blog of my own?

How will I sustain it?
It's about getting started... Choose an image: dive in, dip your toes in the water, take the first step, just do it. So I'm doing it. What's the payoff? Just one guy on the Left Coast laying the first brick of what I hope will be good for the soul, good for the mind. Welcome, friends and new readers.

As before...Welcome, friends and new (and regular) readers. As always...please feel free to comment on anything you see on this blog, words or images. Like? Dislike? Agree? Disagree? Have a similar experience or story? That's what makes it especially worthwhile, seeing what resonates with you.