ornoth

Eighteen months in Austin. Here’s a monologue about what I expected, or more properly the numerous things that surprised me, as a lifelong New Englander. If you’re curious, read on…

The Climate:

We knew Texas would be hot; it’s supposed to be hot. Guess what? It was hot. In fact, 2023 was Austin’s hottest summer ever recorded, and the driest year since 1910. In fact, it was hot enough that a friends’ house caught fire when empty wine bottles in his outdoor recycling bin spontaneously combusted!

But ya know what? We handled the heat. In fact, we handled it better than most Austinites, who surprised us with how much they complained about it. Granted, we do cherish our air conditioner, but even outdoors the lower humidity usually made the heat feel a lot less oppressive than we expected. It surprised us when Inna, a lifelong hater of hot weather and bright sunshine, caught herself complaining about a rare string of overcast days.

Still, when summer provides eighty days above 100°F, it changes how you look at things. The reggae song “96 Degrees in the Shade” by Third World doesn’t really justify its lyrical description of “real hot” anymore. It brings a wry smile when the Heat Miser – the main antagonist in the holiday special “The Year Without a Santa Claus” – sings “I’m Mister Hundred-and-One”. Pfft! Call me when it reaches 108°, dude.

With warm air baking the ground around our shallowly-buried water pipes, we had the novel experience of 94°F water coming out of our cold water tap, often warmer than what we got from the hot tap, where some water sitting in our indoor pipes got cooled by our air conditioning! And thanks to South Central Texas’ extreme drought, our tap water often tasted like moldy water from the bottom of a pond.

Another thing we had to get used to was that our two-story apartment has significantly different climate zones. Due to its open plan, the upper story is far warmer than the ground floor, both in winter and in summer. This has actually worked out for us, where my work space is upstairs and Inna’s is downstairs.

Another surprise was that even though it doesn’t often get very cold, the days’ length still shortens noticeably in the winter. Granted, Austin’s 10¼ hours of winter daylight is still 90 minutes more than I got growing up in Maine; but it’s still dark enough to discourage one from going out after 6pm in the winter.

That brought Inna some cognitive dissonance. She’s used to going out and being most social during the summer because that’s when the days are longest and the temperature is most comfortable in Pittsburgh. But in Austin, you have to choose comfort or daylight: either you socialize in the summer when the days are long but it’s too hot to be outside; or you force yourself to go out in the winter when temperatures are comfortable but it gets dark early.

And heat and drought aren’t the only dramatic weather we’ve experienced. A month after we moved in, Austin was crippled (and we lost both a huge tree and our water lines) in a destructive ice storm (writeup & pix). There are frequent thunderstorms which can be both intense and immense, and we recently had a two-day power outage after a storm fried two transformers on our street. The worst storms can bring sudden hail, and there’s nothing like being bombarded by grapefruit-sized chunks of ice falling at 180 km/h to get your attention (and that of your auto and home insurance adjusters)!

Nature:

Moving south, what did I fear most? Bugs! I expected all manner of nasty, poisonous, invasive critters. And yeah, we got a few, but there weren’t all that many, and they mostly stayed out of our house.

When we arrived, our space was home to a handful of ladybugs, but they were quickly removed and never returned. Yeah, we had to deal with a couple small German and large American roaches that found their way indoors, but they were a rare shock.

But one day we discovered one small scorpion in a ceiling light fixture – the first any of us had ever seen in our lives – which sent the entire household into a panicked killing frenzy. That underscored a Texas rule that we hadn’t been aware of: always check your shoes before you stick your feet into them!

There’s been ample wildlife in our yard, which backs up to a wooded creek. We’re plagued by an absolutely fearless herd of deer that own the area. And summer was an uninterrupted eight-month cacophony of cicadas. The fireflies were so numerous in spring that a neighbor called out the electrical company, thinking he was seeing arcing power lines!

We’ve had green anoles, hummingbirds, a ton of cardinals, and nesting hawks. On rare occasions we’ve seen garter snakes, armadillos, and even a coyote. Farther afield, on the bike I ran into actual vultures and real-life roadrunners!

Another completely unexpected delight were the flowers, which were profusely strewn everywhere. Spring is heralded by vivid bluebonnets and red Texas indian paintbrush that are seemingly everywhere. Crepe myrtle trees decorate the streets a little later. And brilliant fiery red and orange Pride-of-Barbados bushes bloom for most of the year. There were also flowers that didn’t open until October and November’s “second spring”. And after a hard freeze, our backyard frostweed plants were decorated with shockingly elaborate ice sculptures around their bases. It really was an amazing, year-long, colorful show; tho I’ll always miss New England’s lilacs and lily of the valley.

Government & Politics:

Speaking of New England, I grew up in Maine, so I’m used to being an urban liberal within an area where the countryside is dominated by conservatives. And I most recently lived in Pittsburgh, another progressive enclave surrounded by the election deniers who led the 2021 insurrection against the United States of America. I expected more of the same from Texas, and it mostly delivered, being about as full of rednecks as Western Pennsyltucky once you venture outside the city.

But it also surprised me in some shocking and disturbing new ways. I’ve never lived in a city that was so openly besieged as Austin is. The arch-conservative state legislature and governor make no attempt to hide their pervasive attempts to make the state’s liberal cities fail – and Austin in particular – in any way they can. This includes sending in state troopers (essentially military shock troops) to terrorize (“police”) the population.

They can do this because Austin’s police force has essentially abdicated its responsibility to ensure law and order. Like most places, Texas’ police officers are right-leaning, and would like to see Austin fall into chaos to prove that progressive ideas inevitably lead to social disorder. So after the violence of the Black Lives Matter protests, when there were calls to de-fund the police, many of them left the force, leaving it chronically understaffed, or stayed on but simply stopped doing their jobs… even though the Austin PD’s budget was never reduced, and has actually grown significantly.

Augment their quiet-quitting with an understaffed and underpaid 911 system, where emergency callers might wait on hold for 45 minutes before their call is even answered. Think about how this situation – continued over years and decades – plays into the hands of thieves, gangs, violent criminals, drug addicts and dealers, and everyday self-important egomaniacs unwilling to check their selfish impulses. Then you begin to understand the degree of lawlessness and sense of vulnerability that one has to endure living here.

It was an interesting coincidence that a thief ditched a car on our street and sped off on foot through our yard on the very day we moved in. And then there’s the need to make an appointment three to six months in advance to get anything done at the DMV. The state of Texas is fatally broken in several ways.

I wasn’t wrong to expect rednecks in Texas, but what really surprised me was the level of barefaced organized warfare against the state’s largest communities and their citizens. The resulting undercurrent of unsafety is by far the biggest negative we’ve experienced as part of our move. It’s profoundly scary.

Social:

Finally, just a few random observations about how things work down here.

I expected life in Austin to be way more dependent on motor vehicle travel than Boston or even Pittsburgh. That proved out. On the other hand, our house is in a great location: less than a klick to a major highway, but at the end of a small dead-end street that’s buried in a quiet, wooded valley. It’s really quite delightful. While it’s not required in our hilly northwestern suburb, much of the city needs to actively water the clay around foundations of their homes to keep them from moving and cracking!

I expected there to be more stuff going on in Austin than in Pittsburgh, and that’s been a mixed bag. There’s a lot of collegiate-level partying and drugs and soulless entrepreneurial ventures, but much less art and cultural stuff than we expected. Tho to be fair, Pittsburgh did very well with that for a small city, given its philanthropic heritage.

One surprising way that Austin is like Boston is that – although people are quite friendly – deep friendships are hard to form and usually quite casual and transient. Because there’s lots to do, people are usually already busy and booked up with their own stuff, and don’t respond well to ad hoc get-togethers. Because it’s a boom town with college students and young professionals constantly moving in and out, it discourages making permanent connections. So there are definitely challenges on the social front.

And every so often we have a little food dissonance. Sometimes it’s just that Thai restaurants here serve curries containing just meat… no veggies! Or perhaps it’s the Bumble Bee Jalapeño-Seasoned Tuna? Or the Heinz Jalapeño Ketchup?

Overall:

After reviewing dozens of possible landing spots, it was obvious that no city would be perfect. And once we settled on Austin, Inna and I knew there’d be some major trade-offs required. Some of our fears were legit, and some of the drawbacks make life here extremely challenging.

But we made our commitment and followed through, and so far, we have both been very happy here. Over the past eighteen months, Austin has fulfilled our needs, provided an exotic new adventure, and become the background for this new chapter of our lives. And we continue to learn new things about life here every day.

Now that I’m 18 months removed from it, I’d like to reflect on my seven years in Pittsburgh.

Let me apologize in advance; this’ll be more negative than positive, because I want to talk about why I left. My intention isn’t to shit on anyone’s chosen hometown. There really is a lot to like about Pittsburgh and Western PA, many good reasons to live there, and lots of genuinely awesome people. But I also want to be forthright about why I was eager to leave.

View of downtown Pittsburgh from Grandview Ave

By far the biggest reason actually had nothing to do with Pittsburgh itself; it’s just that I never intended to stay. When I left Boston in 2015, my #1 desire was to finally move somewhere warm, after enduring 50+ New England winters. Pittsburgh’s weather wasn’t much of an improvement, so I always knew Pittsburgh was a temporary stop on my way to something else. Even before I arrived, moving away was a foregone conclusion, though it did become more urgent as the years ticked by and my patience ebbed.

Before I moved to Pittsburgh, my impressions of Western PA were informed by two or three trips to the SCA’s Pennsic War, one DargonZine Summit, several trips to visit Inna, plus some trips to do database work with the local hospitals. Based on that, my pre-move image of Pennsylvania was of beautifully scenic wooded rolling hills and farmland, with Pittsburgh as a leading center of medical excellence.

After living there for seven years, I left with a very different impression: that of an exploited and poisoned environment, with more openly mean-spirited people than I was used to.

But let’s start with what I thought were some of Pittsburgh’s best features:

The countryside really is strikingly beautiful, when seen from a safe distance.
Pittsburgh has a compact, attractive downtown with a beautiful skyline that’s shown off well from its dramatic gateway entrance and numerous surrounding hilltop overlooks.
There’s lots of noteworthy architecture and cultural institutions, thanks largely to the philanthropic legacy of Pittsburgh’s oil, steel, and industrial magnates.
There is an easily-accessible and uncrowded casino whose state-stipulated blackjack rules are more advantageous for the player than nearly anywhere else.
The airport pipes in music from local classical radio station WQED.

Yes, citing a casino and crowd control music as top features is an instance of damning with faint praise, and I have a lot more negative things to say. But before I dig into those, I’d like to mention a few things about Pittsburgh that were both good… and bad. Let me show you what I mean:

Land and housing are extremely affordable. That would be delightful, except it’s due to the fact that Pittsburgh’s population has not grown in any 10-year census period since 1950, shrinking by 55% in that span, leaving a lot of underutilized, vacant, and/or abandoned properties.
The winters are slightly better than Boston, with considerably less cold and snow than Maine. Being further south, winter days have more daylight hours, and should have more sunshine and less oppressive darkness. But you actually see less sun during the winter. Although thankfully not inside the Great Lakes snow belt, Pittsburgh is close enough that there’s perpetual overcast skies and sporadic light flurries all winter long, and that lack of sun can be just as depressing as the shortened days up in Maine.
Pittsburgh’s airport is spacious and quick to get through… But that’s because it was built as a major USAir hub just before that airline’s insolvency. Today PIT handles a minuscule fraction of the volume it was designed for. You can’t escape the cognitive dissonance when the loudspeakers proudly announce “Welcome to Pittsburgh!” and it echoes down the vast corridors of an empty airport.
Pittsburgh is arguably the hilliest city in the US. As a cyclist, the upsides are intense physical workouts and memorable events like the infamous Dirty Dozen hillclimb; while the downside is a dearth of calm, relaxing routes, because all the flat land has been claimed by highways, railroads, warehouses, and industry. And if you’re a driver, those hills can be treacherous in winter.
There’s a very friendly cycling community and loads of interesting cycling events. On the other hand, it can be difficult to get around on a bike, as there aren’t many good options heading east or south or west of the city.

And now we get to the heart of the matter: the things about Pittsburgh that turned me off. I tried to whittle this down to major points while still making myself clear.

It’s dirty.

To be fair, there’s been a ton of progress in the 150 years since Atlantic Monthly described Pittsburgh at the height of its industrial output as “hell with the lid taken off.” But a lot of damage done to the land, water, and air by the coal, oil, gas, iron, and steel industries still remains. Western PA is the only area outside California that consistently receives all ‘F’ grades in the American Lung Association’s air quality reports, and often records the worst air quality in the US. Even today, the culture of fouling the environment still lingers, as can be seen in the preponderance of roadside litter and illegal garbage dumping. Having grown up in the Maine woods, the lack of respect for the natural environment disturbed me.

It’s blighted.

I’ve already mentioned the population decline and abundance of abandoned and condemned buildings, so I won’t belabor it, save to say that the amount of urban decay and blight is off-putting. I’m sure it didn’t help that Pittsburgh was in receivership for 14 years (from 2004-2018), despite residents paying an extra 1.5% city income tax!

Collapsing infrastructure.

Pittsburgh has some unique challenges that other cities don’t. The steep topography means that parts of the city get flash floods (Washington Blvd, Mon Wharf, the Bathtub, Millvale, Glass Run). And there are seasonal landslides that can close roads for months (Greenleaf, Commercial, Pittview, Route 30). But then there’s also numerous avoidable, man-made infrastructure failures. For example, during my brief years in Pittburgh:

The Fern Hollow Bridge carrying Forbes Ave over Frick Park collapsed.
Concrete slabs from the Swindell Bridge fell onto the Parkway North, forcing closures on I-279.
More concrete fell from the Greenfield Bridge over the Parkway East (I-376) , so the state built a semipermanent “bridge” underneath the main bridge just to catch the falling debris.
Several building facades collapsed in the Southside, Lawrenceville, and the Strip, including Kraynick’s bike shop.
A Pittsburgh city transit bus was driving along Liberty Ave in the heart of downtown when a huge sinkhole opened up and swallowed it whole.
An entire parking deck collapsed in the Penn Hills.
Repeated train derailments in the South Side, Harmar, and a dramatic moving conflagration as a burning train rolled on obliviously for twenty miles through Freedom and Harmony, PA.

So much anger.

I don’t want to overemphasize this, because I made a lot of wonderful friendships in Pittsburgh. But in comparison to New England, many Western PA locals seemed eager to take opportunities to be rude or mean toward one another, while hiding behind the anonymity of the internet or ensconced in their self-propelled rolling fortresses. Pittsburgh has a lot of schadenfreude, which was unpleasant.

A culture of unlawfulness.

A lot of cities found themselves at odds with their own police forces following the Black Lives Matter protests and de-funding rumors, but Pittsburgh already had a head start. Speeding has historically never been enforced; in fact, it’s still illegal today for county and local law enforcement to use radar guns to enforce speed limits! In seven years living (and riding) there, I don’t think I ever saw a state trooper, and saw only one or two traffic stops by local police.

The Covid pandemic provided another disincentive to conduct minor traffic stops. And the police reacted hostilely to BLM and de-funding protests. Then both the city council and even bike advocates asked the cops to stop traffic enforcement! All this made it much more dangerous to be a pedestrian, cyclist, or motor vehicle operator in Pittsburgh. Tho sadly, I now realize this is a much broader problem than just Western PA.

Monopolies in healthcare and groceries.

Healthcare in Pittsburgh is dominated by UPMC. Because it’s loosely affiliated with the University of Pittsburgh, this immense hospital chain does everything it can to take full advantage of its categorization as a non-profit. No one I talked to had a positive experience with them, whether as a patient or an employee.

Pittsburgh also suffers from a near-monopoly in grocery stores. You would think that when I lived in downtown Boston’s tony Back Bay, my groceries would have been extremely costly; but my food bill actually jumped 25% higher after I moved to Pittsburgh.

Misplaced regional pride.

I get it: every place needs to have a sense of regional pride. But it’s kind of lame that the “Paris of Appalachia” bases its sense of identity on things that are ubiquitous throughout urban America, such as putting a chair out to reserve a parking space, or trying to jump the green when turning left at a traffic light. Or rabid loyalty to a company like Heinz, which left Pittsburgh 20 years ago. Or mindlessly hating all the other cities in the region (Philadelphia, Cleveland, Buffalo, Detroit). Sure, take pride in your city, but make some effort to identify the things that genuinely make Pittsburgh special; the “Pittsburgh Left” ain’t it.

The food.

I just don’t know how Pittsburgh gained its reputation as a city for foodies.

Let’s consider the foods Pittsburghers take pride in: Beer. Ketchup. Pickles. Lenten fish frys. Pierogies. And sticking french fries into literally everything. None of these qualify as “cuisine”. If I were a Pittsburgher, I’d be ashamed.

And while I’m admittedly a culinary philistine myself, I didn’t find any places that impressed me in my preferred food zones, like burgers, Indian, and Mexican food. Thai was a wasteland except for Thai & Noodle Outlet. Pizza wasn’t “all that” but Aiello’s was tolerable… tho they (and their arch-rival Mineo’s) still refuse to deliver and require payment in cash. And the best Pittsburgh could offer for ice cream was Bruster’s (no, don’t talk to me about Page’s or Dave and Andy’s).

Toxic redneck culture.

I grew up among rednecks. A lot of my family were rednecks. Almost everywhere I’ve lived, there have been a lot of rednecks. And outside of Pittsburgh’s city limits, Western PA is infested with rednecks.

I just don’t fit into – or get along well with – that culture anymore. The rabid devotion to the local sportball teams (The Stillers, The Pens). The preoccupation with beer and alcohol. The gun fetish (open and concealed carry are both legal). The mindless nationalism. The constant othering and barefaced xenophobia. The utter absence of compassion or open-mindedness.

Several Western-PA wing-nuts played leading roles in the 2021 Trump-inspired attempt to overthrow the United States government. And in 2018, less than a mile from our apartment, the deadliest massacre of Jews in United States history took place. I hope I don’t need to tell you how offensive those are.

In closing:

Pittsburgh was a city of contradictions and trade-offs. Western PA was beautiful, if you looked past the pollution and decay. The cycling was great, but also quite challenging. It was inexpensive (housing), except where it wasn’t (groceries). I met plenty of wonderful people (undoubtedly including the Pittsburghers who are reading this), and about as many that were truly hateful.

Although the winters, as the natives say, “weren’t all that”, it was a fine place to spend a half-dozen years. I have a lot of very fond memories of Pittsburgh. Those include the many valued friends I made; the heart-warming meditation communities that welcomed me and nurtured my growth as a teacher; plus the people and landscapes and rides that I enjoyed while cycling. These will stay with me forever.

But from the very beginning, I always planned to move farther south, beyond the clutches of the Snow Miser. And as the years passed, I needed to move on to a warmer, sunnier place.

It goes without saying that Austin, our new home, came with its own set of pleasures and challenges… But that’s a story for another post.

Every so often, curiosity impels me to check out my former homes on Google Streetview, to see how much they’ve changed over time. Usually it’s nothing dramatic, but today’s exception left me stunned, shocked, and incredibly grateful.

Back in 2001, I bought my first – and to date only – property, a condo unit on the second floor of the historic former Hotel Vendome, located in Boston’s trendy Back Bay.

By far its most dramatic feature – and the reason I selected it after viewing seventy others – was a sweeping view of the neighborhood. The living room’s south-facing bay windows not only offered tons of delightful sunshine, but overlooked an empty lot that had served as a parking lot since 1958. It was the only unit I’d seen that had such a wide-open vista.

That panorama included many of Boston’s notable buildings: the Hancock tower, the Prudential tower, the New Old South Church with its distinctive Italianate campanile, 500 Boylston, 222 Berkeley, the Boston Art Club and the 1884 headquarters of the Massachusetts Bicycle Club (both now part of the Snowden School). I could watch shoppers walking along trendy Newbury Street, catch glimpses of Boston Marathon participants as they finished in Copley Square, or admire the colorful DuBarry trompe d’oeil mural that decorated the exterior of one of the buildings facing the parking lot.

It was truly a fabulous view, and I enjoyed it virtually every single day for the fifteen years that I lived there. Here’s what it looked like around the time I moved in (as always, click through for a larger version):

Of course, there were also days when it looked a little more like this:

It was no secret to me how great a blessing it was that no one had built anything on that lot. In fact, it was kind of a mystery why it never happened. Although I never heard rumor of any plans, it was something I always feared. But nothing ever materialized, and I moved out and sold the unit in February 2016.

So you can imagine my shock when I happened to check my old place out on StreetView. Here’s the closest equivalent to what you would see out my bay windows as of September 2022:

Yeah. Wow.

The lot was purchased in 2019 by L3 Capital in Chicago, who filed a project review in 2020 with the Boston Planning and Development Agency for a five-story, 43,000 square foot building containing retail and office space. A building permit was issued a year later, and construction appears to have moved along rapidly.

So that accounts for my “stunned and shocked” reaction.

As for “gratitude”, that comes from having enjoyed that unsurpassed view for fifteen wonderful years, and for the blind luck of having sold when I did, just four years before this development project came to light, on land that had been a parking lot for the previous sixty years!

My Back Bay condo was a truly amazing place to live, and that panoramic view was a huge, irreplaceable part of it. But that treasured view is one that I truly can never again experience.

I haven’t posted anything about the Covid-19 pandemic other than one brief update at its onset. Now that our lockdown has spanned a full year, I should probably document how it’s been.

Our active social life

Although it’s not as if I haven’t written about it… When the virus was two months old, I had an update ready to publish; but with the pandemic story continuing to evolve each week, we never reached a good point to stop and summarize.

Six months in, I revisited that draft and added a framing story, showing how our lives had evolved from pre-Covid, to onset, and then to longer-term steady-state. But that too never saw the light of day.

Now it’s been a year, and I still don’t feel I can do the subject justice. On one hand, what little I have to say seems like the mundane, everyday trivialities of spending a year as a shut-in.

On the other hand, it’s difficult to put the stress and unease into words that convey what it’s been like, knowing that outside our 1,200-square-foot apartment a quarter billion people have contracted this novel, insidious disease, leaving 3 million people dead in its still-reverberating wake.

So let me guide you through a year of life under the pandemic, chronologically, step by step. I apologize in advance for any repetitiveness.

For the full experience, you might choose to begin with my initial March 2020 blogpost entitled “Miles Away From Ordinary,” which describes our outlook at the time of the initial lockdown.

Two months later, in mid-May 2000, I wrote the following:

We’re now ten weeks into our Coronavirus quarantine. How has it gone?

Over two months, I’ve gone outside for one grocery run, three long walks, three short walks, and that’s about it. Outdoor cycling hasn’t happened at all, save for one brief excursion to observe the Ride of Silence. We haven’t picked up restaurant food or had any delivered. I’ve had to defer my plan to recreate my family’s spaghetti sauce due to ingredient shortages and lack of freezer space, but have happily added burritos to my cooking repertoire.

After taking a 10 percent hit to my net worth, I’m about 50% recovered financially. I’m surprised that the stock market bounced back so readily and hasn’t re-tested its March lows. Aside from stocks, I’ve happily got a couple CDs earning a healthy 2.2% and 2.8% that don’t mature for another year; a rare victory over interest rates which have dropped to zero.

Given the widespread economic damage done during the lockdown, I fully expect more pain to come, and a drawn-out recovery, with some sectors (e.g. retail, restaurants, live sports & entertainment, travel & tourism) having to make radical changes before consumers will return.

There’s growing calls to end the lockdown and allow businesses to open, which doesn’t make any sense to me. Two thousand Americans are dying every day due to Covid-19. The virus has killed more Americans in the past two months than all U.S. casualties in the entire Vietnam War. And the death toll is projected to increase to 3,000 Americans per day by June.

Everyone is relieved that we have managed to “flatten the curve”, ensuring that peak simultaneous cases don’t overwhelm our medical capacity and giving researchers time to work on a vaccine. But no one seems to have picked up that flattening the curve also means extending its duration, lengthening the period of time it might take for the overall population to become exposed to the virus and develop herd immunity.

The basic scenario hasn’t changed one bit in the past two months. There are more than a million carriers walking around our country — with thirty thousand more infected every day — and those are only the ones with obvious symptoms! We still have no treatment and are months-to-years away from a preventative vaccine, and we’re only testing a microscopic subset of the population. We have no idea whether individuals who survive gain future immunity to Covid-19, but there's anecdotal evidence that people can indeed become re-infected.

Yet people seem to think the danger has passed and we should relax the restrictions that have successfully limited the virus’ spread so far. I don’t care if you’re dipping into your savings or feeling “quarantine fatigue”; why did we order people to stay at home in the first place if we’re just going to turn around and rescind that order at the precise moment when the infection rate and death count are both at their peak?

To those protesting against our nation’s efforts to reduce the impact of the pandemic, I say: Every generation of Americans has had to make sacrifices to defend this country; but today’s prima donna “patriots” are so soft and self-absorbed that they can't even handle being asked to go home and sit tight for a few weeks. To those clamoring for bars and restaurants to re-open I say: you people are shortsighted, selfish, and pathetic.

Irrespective of what our government advises, I plan on being extremely conservative in resuming normal life. I’m not itching to hit the local restaurants, visit friends and relatives, see any shows, or travel. While I miss biking outdoors, I don’t want to ride anywhere near other people, especially anyone who hasn’t taken the danger seriously.

My goal, more than anything, is to avoid this virus as long as I can, in hopes that eventually progress will be made toward detection, treatment, and prevention. But that hasn’t happened yet, and I’m not willing to wager my life that the danger has passed, especially when evidence clearly shows quite the opposite.

As you can see, I was pretty skeptical about our American exceptionalism right from the start. Back in the early days when grocery stores couldn’t stock toilet paper, ginger, baking flour, or yeast, and when meat purchases were rationed.

That was in mid-May. Time passed, but the six-month anniversary of the outbreak prompted me to revisit the topic. So I wrote the following fragment in late August and early September:

In May I wrote — but never shared — a little blogpo about how things were going two months into the Covid-19 lockdown. Now here we are six months into a pandemic, and the situation has evolved slowly. Perhaps now it’s time to actually share my thoughts, before the whole episode blows over and is forgotten.

The initial phase went pretty well for the most part. Being fully locked down actually wasn’t a huge change from our normal winter lifestyle. Inna stopped her already-rare visits to her downtown office, restaurant food was declared off-limits, and our grocery trips became less frequent, meticulously planned, and considerably more expensive. I added burritos to my cooking repertoire.

Our social lives have been limited to a tiny number of masked porch visits with friends. The two local meditation groups I sometimes lead both went online, and my former Kalyana Mitta (spiritual friends) group from Boston — who are now spread all across the United States — reconstituted itself on Zoom.

Through the end of May, cycling was 98% indoors, but I got outside more over the summer, though only for short rides. With all my cycling events cancelled, I’ve mimicked most of them indoors, on Zwift. You can read all the details about how that’s gone on my cycling blog. And I even registered as a virtual rider on this year’s Pan-Mass Challenge!

Financially, we’ve been fine. Inna’s job remains secure. Savings and investments took an initial 10% hit, but have more than fully recovered. With interest rates pegged at zero, I’m very happy to have a chunk of cash earning 2-3% in CDs; but I’ll need to figure out what to do next spring when they mature.

By then my lack of faith in Americans was fully proven out, leaving no need to make further dire predictions. I was mostly occupied with Inna and my domestic situation, which had reached a sustained level of quote-normalcy-closequote.

Which brings us to March 2021, the anniversary of our Covid-19 lockdown. What is there to say now?

Winter was hard. No social contact with anyone. No outdoor cycling at all, not even occasional walks. Just a solid five months of staring at these same unchanging apartment walls.

As if the pandemic itself weren’t enough to deal with, 2020 also brought us the murder of George Floyd and subsequent Black Lives Matter protests and rioting, severe Australian bushfires, Prince Harry renounced membership in the British royal family, there was the sudden appearance of murder hornets, the horrific Beirut explosion, an economic war with China, Brexit finally happened, a major Russian cyberattack, oil prices crashed and actually went negative, the stock market pulled back, fanatical right-wing lockdown protestors stormed the Michigan state capitol, and the historic Aricebo radio telescope collapsed. Oh, and notable deaths included Kobe Bryant, Little Richard, Alex Trebek, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and John Lewis.

American “exceptionalism” was on full display. Over the winter holidays, infections soared and the body counts rose to 3,000… then 4,000… then 5,000 per day (and 880,000 per day globally). And still people disregarded pleas to wear face masks in public and called for businesses and schools to re-open.

The sitting President of the United States was impeached for asking the Ukraine to investigate his opponent, then got Covid himself, and had protestors at a church teargassed so he could pose for a photo op, blasphemously holding a Bible.

America’s Presidential election was pathetic and terrifying. We had the most divisive, violent election in 50 years, followed by open insurrection and the occupation of the US Capitol by domestic terrorists incited by an openly lying lame duck President in direct violation of his Constitutional oath. But despite all this, he was vociferously defended by his morally bankrupt political party. My country: the shitshow.

Following the overdue removal of our virus- and election-results denying “leader,” we are finally producing one conventional and two novel messenger RNA vaccines which are presumably extremely effective. We’re still in the early days of distribution, but people are getting inoculated, which is the thread of hope that we’ve all been clinging to since this ordeal began.

So after a long, hard, dreary, stressful winter, the impending return of spring comes with some long-awaited, tender shoots of hope.

Inna will be fully vaccinated this month. Unfortunately I'll have a much longer wait, because I don’t meet any special age, co-morbidity, or career role qualifications.

And the weather should start permitting properly-masked and -distanced social contact, as well as solo outdoor cycling... although don’t ask about my bike and the continuing complete unavailability of both new and replacement parts!

So there’s a little bit of hope that this spring we might be turning the corner. It’s still overshadowed by the knowledge that even fully vaccinated it’ll be another year before life gets back to anything “normal”.

It’s still hard to write about. For an entire year, our lives have been reduced to the most mundane, uneventful commonalities, which makes for a pretty boring read.

And it’s still just as hard to articulate the lingering, perpetual stress, discomfort, and unease of living with this pandemic. Getting a haircut or an eye exam and new glasses still seem like remote, almost inconceivable luxuries. And bike parts… well, as I said, don’t get me started about that.

And still, we endure. Be well!

So we have a global health crisis on our hands. The COVID-19 virus has eluded even our harshest attempts at containment, and there’s no prospect of either a preventative or treatment, other than for associated diagnoses such as pneumonia.

With an unknown number of infectious but asymptomatic carriers wandering around, Inna and I have taken the only measure anyone can do, which is complete social self-isolation.

No more Monday or Wednesday meditation groups, and I prematurely ended my brief stint as a CMU brain research subject. Inna has cancelled a business trip, two seminars in Austin, and plans to take the salt cave women’s group she leads online.

We don’t plan on leaving our apartment except for safely isolated outdoor activities like hikes, or emergency grocery runs. We’re pretty well stocked with supplies, having each made major trips before our lockdown.

Thankfully, cycling will still be a good option for me, although I’ll curtail rides of more than two hours, rather than replenish at the usual convenience store.

It’s very reminiscent of the widespread lockdowns following the 2001 World Trade Center attacks, and the shelter-in-place order that followed the Boston Marathon bombing in 2013. It’s the same scope of disruption, and the same sense of separation from general society.

In the meantime, the stock market—which had been on a tear so far this year—has experienced unprecedented volatility. Like a good long-term investor, I’ve sat tight and gritted my teeth, and even made one opportunistic buy, but it’s nerve-wracking watching your money vaporize. Where I had been crowing about my growing wealth in February, in little more than two weeks I’ve experienced massive losses that bewilder the imagination.

Between the stock market’s gyrations, the fear of illness, the social isolation, the wholesale cancellation of all group activity, and the drama surrounding the Presidential primary elections, there’s been a surfeit of emotion to process, even for someone as stolid as myself.

No one likes uncertainty, and no one likes anxiety, but the situation is unlikely to change for several weeks, if not months. Rather than venting that discomfort in random ways (like a completely pointless run on bottled water), it’s important that each person discover how to accept their anxiety and be okay with it.

For me, my meditation practice provides a reassuring guide: acknowledge my feelings and my fears about the future, then take refuge in what’s happening at the present moment, because none of those fears have manifested in my present-day, lived experience. Life really isn’t that bad, so long as you have the mental discipline to stop the mind from fabricating and getting lost in wild doomsday scenarios.

And I’m blessed to be sharing my space with a partner who also manages her internal state with great insight and wisdom. Viewed from a less fretful perspective, this is an opportunity to deepen our relationship while also getting some goddamned housecleaning done!

Be well, my friends.

With a tall pile of empty cardboard boxes after a household shopping spree, I decided to manifest a little creativity.

Bigi's Castle

With box-cutter and duct tape in hand, I sliced up, arranged, and secured a half-dozen large boxes, eventually producing a kitty castle with two grand entrances, a lofty royal hall, two balconies, and a rooftop deck.

Teh fluffeh is still getting used to the idea, but treats keep mysteriously appearing in the upper levels, so I’m sure he’ll take up full residence shortly.

For a virtual tour, see below…

Watch on YouTube

On leap day, we closed the sale of my apartment in the historic Hotel Vendome condo in Boston’s Copley Square.

Neither my original purchase nor the recent sale of the property were my favorite life experiences. Both entailed an awful lot of seemingly-unnecessary complexity, risk, and bother. Although I suppose the size of the transaction warrants such precautions.

When I bought the unit back in 2001, I was looking for a safe place to stash the proceeds from participating in Sapient’s IPO and meteoric rise to prominence and inclusion in the S&P 500. I paid a lot of capital gains tax and bought when real estate prices were high, but at least I liquidated my company stock options before the Internet Bubble burst in the early 2000s. Many of my coworkers held onto their shares—or worse still, used them as margin leverage—and lost all their unrealized fortunes when the market turned on them.

In the end, I’d like to say that owning a condo turned out to be a really good investment. After all, it proved to be a lot safer than Sapient stock, and the property appreciated by about 33 percent during the fifteen years I was there.

On the other hand, I paid a whole shitload of mortgage interest. While that (and property taxes) provided a nice income tax deduction, the government gives you the deduction because you are paying so much in interest (and property tax). So net-net, I’m not sure I got a better return than if I had invested the money somewhere else.

The good news is that I’m debt-free for the first time in 15 years, which is always an awesome feeling. Even though I’m over 50, being financially self-sufficient and independent remains one of the most central values that I inherited from my parents.

However, liquidating that big asset comes with the intimidating (but probably desirable) challenge of figuring out how to best invest the proceeds, which represent about 90 percent of my net worth. I’m thinking something fairly defensive, but we’ll just have to see how it turns out.

And after listening to me talk about the move for so long, you’ll probably be happy to know that this severs my final significant tie to Boston. You’ll still hear lots about my exploration of my new home in Pittsburgh, but the long-talked-about departure from Boston is finally complete.

I’ll certainly miss the Vendome. It was my first experience in home buying, ownership, and selling, It was an amazing location and a wonderful place to be for those 15 years, and I loved it dearly. More than any other house in a long, long time, it felt like home to me, and I’ll miss that a lot.

But it belongs to a chapter of my life that’s now finished. Now it’s time to look forward to whatever new story unfolds.

So I moved. Issat such a big thing?

For me, absolutely! Never in my life have I moved this far, and never before have I relocated beyond the familiar woods and towns of New England. Previously, my longest move was only half as far as this one, and that was more than 25 years ago!

It’s not just the distance that makes the move a big deal, but also the tearing down of my Boston life.

When I arrived in Boston, I spent the next quarter century carefully constructing my ideal life: a meaningful career, an amazing home, and financial stability, surrounded by intelligent and interesting people, in a vibrant and captivating city. With the passage of time, I exceeded my own expectations and achieved the life I’d dreamed of.

Obviously, the symbol of that success was my condo: my ability to finance it, its history, and its location at the very center of Boston’s urban life. Directly outside my bay windows were the Hancock Tower, the Pru, and the unforgettable campanile of New Old South Church. On any given day, if I looked outside I would see horse-mounted policemen, streetcorner buskers, shoppers indulging in posh Newbury Street shoppes, Hare Krishnas chanting, Critical Mass or charity rides, Patriots or Red Sox championship parades, the Pride spectacle, First Night festivities, classical or pop concerts in Copley Square, all manner of political rallies, the finish of the Boston Marathon, or the seasonal Santa Speedo Run… You get the idea: there was always something going on, and thanks to where I lived, my life was more eventful and enjoyable… Which makes it very difficult to walk away from.

For all these reasons, I love Boston more than anywhere else in the world. It was the home that I created with a reasonably successful adult life, and my condo was the physical symbol of that achievement.

Hopefully that helps you understand why leaving my condo and my city behind is such a big deal for me. I am turning my back on everything that I love and know and rely upon, and beginning again from nothing. It’s a huge challenge, and moving out of the safe, familiar, and controlled is not something I’m very comfortable with.

As if all that weren’t enough, I’m embarking on living with a woman for the first time in 22 years. Although my previous attempts didn’t last terribly long, I’ve hopefully learned something from those mistakes. But after two decades of happily living alone, cohabitating will be yet another major challenge to adapt to.

At the same time, the Boston I love has been changing out from under me. I’m reminded of how fleeting happiness can be, and that even if we could keep things from changing, humans aren’t wired to be happy in a static situation, no matter how pleasant.

So that’s the background. For some people, moving is just a regular and routine part of life. But after comfortably “settling down” in Boston, I find it downright scary to pull up roots and transplant myself into an utterly unfamiliar city.

I’ve now been in Pittsburgh for two weeks. On the positive side, the mundane, practical aspects of integrating households have gone well, and kept me from excessive navelgazing (until now). Food and cooking will probably require the most adaptability, thanks to the most obstinate gas stove in the history of mankind.

In the meantime, the chaos of moving has thankfully relieved me of the duty to observe this year’s holiday season. Thanks to record-setting warmth, I’ve already completed four bike rides, exploring 75 miles of local streets: every road steeper than anything in Massachusetts. And I’ve had a few social encounters, which will remain a perpetual work in progress.

The attempt to sell my Boston condo has begun, although there’s stress there due to this being my first time through that process, as well as some chaos introduced by my real estate agent. I’m hoping it will be unexpectedly painless, but that’s probably not realistic. But there should be a bucket of munny at the end of it…

Which leaves the relationship to talk about. Inna and I have worked surprisingly well together thus far, given our historically divergent tastes. Although we’ve been close friends for 18 years, it’s still very early days and our relationship will evolve quite a bit over the coming weeks, months, and hopefully years.

With such a basal change, it will probably be decades before I can conclude whether moving out of Boston was the right thing to do. But had I not done it, I would always wonder whether I should or shouldn’t have. Making the move was the only definitive way to find out, and it makes sense to do it sooner, while I am still hale enough to handle the transition.

I’ll miss Boston and my friends there terribly, but after two weeks away: so far so good, at least.

I’ve written before about my condo in Boston’s Back Bay.

In addition to being strategically located, my building has a lot of history. Former luxury hotel where the visiting team for the first ever World Series stayed. First commercial building in Boston to have electric lights (installed by Edison himself just three years after he invented the light bulb).

And on the Commonwealth Avenue mall there’s a memorial to the nine firefighters who died in the 1972 fire and partial building collapse that remains the worst firefighting tragedy in Boston history.

I’ve seen a few photos from the fire. There’s one of people combing through the wreckage looking for survivors after the southeast corner of the building came down. There’s another showing the ladder truck that was buried under a two-story high pile of rubble in the alley out back.

I’ve always been curious about the actual damage done to the building and how much of it collapsed. After all, my unit is on that very southeast corner, on that very second floor, overlooking that very alley. But I’ve never found a photo that showed that very clearly… until now.

The photo accompanying this article was taken ten days after the fire, and for the first time, the fire damage and collapsed area are clearly shown.

Seeing this photo for the first time, I’m awestruck. Click on it and open it up in full resolution while I tell you what you’re looking at.

The building faces to the right, onto Commonwealth Ave. On the left, the back of the building features rows of bay windows overlooking the alley, then a parking lot, and (off camera to the left) Newbury Street.

Zoom into the pile of debris where the southeast corner of the building used to be. On the second floor, you will see a white internal wall with three dark vertical lines. See it? Right behind that wall is my main bedroom.

If you follow the second floor, you’ll see two narrow windows flush to the exterior brickwork, which are my two bedrooms, and then the bulge of my living room’s bay window, complete with the streetlight that remains there to this day. The area to the right of that white bedroom wall is probably my closet and the hallway that runs the length of my unit, and then the common area hallway.

On one hand, it’s nice that my unit wasn’t part of the collapse. On the other hand, you couldn’t possibly get any closer, and it’s a bit eerie knowing that a quarter inch of drywall is all that separates your bed from the place where nine men were crushed to death on the eve of Fathers’ Day.

Although this photo is over forty years old, it’s also disturbing how little the building has changed. Sure, they repaired the stubby central spire and replaced the collapsed section with a horrible slab of modernist concrete. But other than that, this could almost pass for a photo taken recently; it’s scary how familiar it looks.

Sure gives one pause to think.

I’ve always been a big fan of maps and mapping. I can remember living in Portland (see below), and making a map of the streets in the neighborhood. That’s pretty early, because we moved out of Portland when I was eight years old. I had a whole collection of topo maps by the time I was thirteen, and I one of the first people to own a handheld GPS, back back in March 2000 when Garmin produced its first model. And, of course, I’ve stayed on top of Internet-based mapping technologies from Etak to Mapquest to Google Maps and MS Live Search. I wrote my first Google Maps mashup as soon as the mapping API was released.

However, the mashups I created have been somewhat superceded by new functionality that Google has added to Google Maps, including the ability to share maps, if you so desire. So here’s a few of the maps that I’ve put together, in case you’re at all interested:

Ornoth’s House: A pointer to where I live, Boston’s former Hotel Vendome. Mostly this one’s just somewhere I can point people if they need directions.
Places I’ve Lived: A plot of all the places where I have lived, which are all in Maine and Massachusetts.
Places I’ve Visited: A general view of some of the places that I’ve visited. It’s only really valid at the state/city level.
DargonZine Summit Locations: These are the places where my magazine has held its annual writers’ gatherings. Virtually all of them are located in a place where one of my writers lived at the time.
Pan-Mass Challenge: The route of my annual Pan-Mass Challenge charity ride. The route varies slightly from year to year, so it’s not perfect, but it’s close, and will give you an idea where we go.
Flickr Map: This one’s actually a mashup hosted by Flickr, but it’s a nice geographical plot of the photos I’ve uploaded to my Flickr account.

I am in the process of seeing how truly amazing life can be.

Today, which is only the third evening in the past sixteen days that I haven't spent at the hospital, I came home after class to find water pouring out of my ceiling. Apparently a pipe carrying water from my A/C unit had backed up and overflowed a reservoir for condensation.

The leak has been stopped temporarily, but I'll have no A/C until it's fixed.

And I just took yesterday off work as a "sanity/recoup day"! Argh! Or, as I just told

awfief, "When it shits, it pours!"

Loyal readers will recall that I gave up on the Friday Five when the administrator decided to take a couple months off. Now that she’s back and has been regularly posting, I suppose I’ll resume.

How many houses/apartments have you lived in throughout your life?

That’s a difficult one. Let’s enumerate, and hopefully I won’t miss any…

Gloucester, MA (1 year)
Portland, ME: 50 Highland Avenue (6 years)
Augusta, ME: 5 Manley Street (13 years)
Orono, ME: UMaine, 412 Knox Hall
Orono, ME: UMaine, 129 Gannett Hall
Orono, ME: UMaine, 131 Gannett Hall
Orono, ME: UMaine, 429 Gannett Hall
Orono, ME: UMaine, 4?? Somerset Hall
Orono, ME: Mill Street (funky summer sublet)
Orono, ME: Main Street (dump, 1 year)
Bangor, ME: 221 Center Street (attic apartment, 2 years)
Shrewsbury, MA: 33 Sheridan Drive (complex, 2 years)
Natick, MA: 20 Village Way (complex, 2 years)
Natick, MA: 5 Harvard Street (2 years)
Boston, MA: 64 Queensberry Street (6 years)
Boston, MA: 160 Commonwealth Avenue (condo, 2 years and counting)

Which was your favorite and why?

I’d have to say that my current and previous residences were by far the most enjoyable. It took me quite a while to realize that I wasn’t happy in the suburbs, but since moving into the heart of Boston I’ve really enjoyed where I’ve lived. They both have had all kinds of interesting stuff going on just outside my door, while simultaneously being my own little pocket of isolation where I can enjoy just being at home.

Do you find moving house more exciting or stressful? Why?

That entirely depends on how much of an “improvement” the new place is over the old one, really. On one hand, I do enjoy the opportunity to go through all my stuff and organize it and throw away all the useless cruft that’s accumulated since my last move; however, moving really sucks, and I no longer enjoy the manual labor element of it. When I moved into my present place two years ago, that was the first time I’d ever hired professional movers. Now that I own, and am very happy with my building and location, I don’t forsee moving again for a long, long time.

What’s more important, location or price?

Hahaha! Dude, I live on beautiful, tree-lined Commonwealth Ave., in a historic landmark: the first public building in New England to use electric light, and the site of one of the worst firefighting tragedies in American history. People throughout Boston recognize my building by name, rather than by address. Just outside my window are fashionable Newbury Street and the DuBarry mural, both old and new Hancock towers, the Pru, the New Old South Church, 222 Berkeley and 500 Boylston, the Boston International School, and Copley Square. I’m within a block of the Boston Public Library, two MBTA stations, Trinity Church, the Copley Place mall, the Ames-Webster Mansion, the Exeter Street Theatre (formerly Waterstone’s bookstore). I’m within 2-3 blocks of the Charles River Esplanade and Hatch Shell and the Public Gardens, and within walking distance of the ocean and everything Boston and Cambridge have to offer. You can’t buy a better location! Let’s not talk about price, shall we?

What features does your dream house have (pool, spa bath, big yard, etc.)?

To a large extent I’m living in my dream house. Sure, it might be nice to have some secret hiding places and passages, and room for ping pong and pool tables, but I’m pretty happy with what I’ve got. About the only thing I might change would be to also have two summer places: a camp on an isolated lakefront deep in the woods somewhere, and a beach place on Cape Cod, but I need someone to give me lots of free money before those happen, tho…

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Entries tagged with home

Texas Toast

Twist Away the Gates of Steel

Up Against a Wall

Gone Viral

Miles Away From Ordinary

A Cat's Home...

Life Beyond the Vendome

Moving in Stereo

I Have Scaled These City Walls

Just read the map and steer, that's all

Interesting times

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