My recent bouts of illness have long delayed my desire to comment on a provocative, er, provocatively annoying piece by Richard Florida in The Atlantic: “How the Crash Will Reshape America”. Florida, for those of you who don’t recognize the name burst onto the C-SPAN/NPR/NY Times circuit in 2002 while teaching economic development at Carnegie Mellon University. He wrote a book called “The Rise of the Creative Class” which argued (among other things) that there is a correlation between cities with lots of high tech and urban renewal and a large number of gay men.

After writing a couple more books that reinforce his belief that urban renewal and the future of the American economy is reliant on this insurgent “creative class” (and perhaps angora sweaters), Florida decided to go all out this time. This time, the world is not enough and the good doctor argues that not only will the creative class and “urban regeneration” slice, dice, and Julianne fries but obliterate the Sun Belt as well. In fact, Florida predicts that surprise, surprise, the only functioning economies left in America after the dust settles will be big cities with lots of gays.

Now, before you get the wrong idea, my intent is not to be homophobic. Its to point out that while public policy types froth at the mouth at “correlation” between variables, academics, politicians, and the like just can’t help themselves in extrapolating from “correlation” some type of “causation”. And this is precisely the point…gays are neither responsible nor to blame for what Florida (and anyone living in cities with lots of what Florida calls high Bohemians”) has known for a long time: cities that had been the site of prolonged declines saw a revival of sorts in the 1990s thanks to among others…gays and lesbians moving into compromised neighborhoods. The unstated part of this equation is that homosexuals (who cannot biologically reproduce) weren’t attached to the local but autonomous school districts. But as many homosexuals like to go out and be social, this produced lots of sales tax revenue nonetheless.

So while I have for years relegated Florida to that of a spin merchant, “Crash” left me feeling that even a broken clock is right twice a day.

In a nutshell, Florida surmises that even though New York City is viewed as the epicenter of the financial crisis that it will come out much better off than say…the Sun Belt. (Apparently he’s not aware that Phoenix has more gay bars per capita than any city in the US…but I digress.)

I was waiting of course, for the line that NYC would prevail not just because of inertia but also because of Greenwich Village. But then tossing me for a loop, Florida says the real reason is that crisis tends to reinforce inequality as opposed to decrease them. And for good measure, he then cites the work of Jane Jacobs who argued that density, if combined with intellectual firepower, is the engine of innovation.

On principal, I agree…though I’m not sure that these two assumptions ensure Gotham’s continued success.

Conversely, Florida talks a little about how the actual design of cities like New York ensure that they won’t be crippled by the decline of suburbanization while was fueled in part by too many individuals leveraging mortgages in the…wait for it….Sun Belt.

Which is all fine and good….but remember what I said earlier about gays living in areas of prolonged decline? Urban renewal, to be successful has to be capture in some sort of revenue stream for the relevant jurisdictions. Since school districts in many states are autonomous of municipalities, gays helped pump in lots of sales tax revenue while adding no extra burden to schools already overflowing the immigrant kids. And this is why, in fact, the Sun Belt won’t exactly …die.

Because there are plenty of New Yorkers who love theatre, fair trade coffee, mass transit, and Judy Garland but live somewhere else for tax purposes. I mean, for a guy named “Florida” you have to wonder what he was thinking. But in all seriousness, the problem remains. How do cities really benefit from the renewal? How do they get the resources to deal with the problems that density causes…such as disease and crime?

And that is the key. Silicon Valley was born as much from the Engineering schools of Stanford and Berkeley as the pro-growth mentality of California in the 1950s. And yet, despite all the incentives to leave from a tax perspective…companies and venture capital doesn’t. The same is true in Southern California with the film industry. As a result there appears to be the “best of both worlds”…highly paid people who are willing to pay high taxes and underwrite the cost of the society they bear. That of course, makes you think Florida may be right and the Sun Belt is in effect…ruined.

But like Marx predicting the rise of a world without nations, there’s one hitch…those pesky retirees. In fact, it’s not coincidence that in Arizona and Florida planned communities and suburban growth was spurred by developers eager to seduce white retirees to leave their crumbling home states behind. Given that retirees (like gays) can’t procreate…taxes could be relatively low because of a lack of schools. And because retirees are…retired…they have plenty of time to (like gays) patronize stores and restaurants and pump up sales tax receipts.

In this way, I can’t help but wander if cities have been cross-pollinated…I mean uh….gentrified…by the suburbs. And that would reinforce Florida’s other assertion that crisis reinforces inequality. But it would also suggest a sharpening divide that would make the movie “Deliverance” look tame. Urban, educated, wealthy, trendy suburban-urban elites trotting around manicured planned communities and gentrified neighborhoods while the rest of the nation crumbles around them.

But that’s not actually what I think will happen. You see, that whole non-procreation thing…that’s a real killer for gays AND retirees. It  means natural increase is going to be left in the hands of ….gasp….immigrants and Mormons. And one of the most telling correlations between immigrant settlement patterns is availability of airline flights to go back to their country of origins. That bodes well for cities…but some more so than others. And don’t forget the availability of water, and other impacts of climate change.

Yet if I had to guess what will really help reshape the nation…it’s marketing. Places that can define themselves, either through climate, or culture, or comparative advantages will come out on top. This isn’t just a job for cities and counties but states as well. A whole generation is being born today that has no idea that New York City is the hub of finance, or that Hollywood is in California, or that the Michigan is the birthplace of the automobile. And while that presents a challenge in some sense, it’s also an opportunity for many places to actually reinvent themselves.

And oh yeah….unionize. How could I forget…since Florida correctly identified that cities were hubs for innovation in part because those industries didn’t require huge factories and an army of highly-paid workers. But in any case, Americans can take heart…if you don’t like it where you are now the Constitution allows you free and fair passage between the states….

In a bit of a surprise, the weather turned unseasonably cool here just as the rest of the country got their first taste of spring. That irony aside, this weekend was really not that remarkable at all. Rita originally planned to see a Padres game, but we couldn’t find much in the way of tickets. So instead, we saw a couple movies, ate a couple meals, and squeezed in a round of miniature golf, the batting cages, and go karting.

This was all made possible in part by the colossal implosion of UCLA in the NCAA Tournament. Like a bad dream, the Bruins folded like a cheap, old lawn chair in the face of a “physical” Villanova team. Dick Enberg was drawing allusions to a “Philadelphia pick up” game among “30 year old former ball players”. Needless to say, I don’t have to tread as lightly as he so I am free to tell you…it was thug basketball pure and simple. ‘nova burned through its team fouls on borderline flagrant calls only to shake UCLA so badly as to have them trigger several touch fouls on the other end. Ostensibly at least, Ben Howland took the high road, and paid dearly for it.

Still, even in the throes of defeat I found reasons for solace. First, Jrue Holiday played horribly on the offensive end. Nearly every shot he took was a clanker and that alone probably cost him (and his agent) lottery pick status. While this doesn’t guarantee Holiday will stay, I do thing it will cost him dearly and that could be enough to convince him to return next year and lead the team. Second, ‘nova’s rough and tumble style will be its own just desserts. For to get to the Final Four, the Wildcats likely will have to play Big East champion Pittsburgh. And the Panthers are even more physical than ‘nova is, as well as having plenty of marquee players who will get some protection from the referees. That alone is probably set to send Villanova crashing out of the Tournament as fast as their victims before them. Lastly, Ben Howland seems to be unwilling to play the sort of the thug basketball that cost UCLA not only this win against Villanova…but against the University of Washington earlier in the year. So no matter what criticism you have of the man, it appears he’s not about to take the low road as far as strategy is concerned.

At the cinema meanwhile, Rita was eager to see “Crossing Over”, a new release about illegal immigration in Los Angeles. It’s basically a wannabe “Traffic” about immigration. It lacks a bit of “Traffic”’s command and to me was just so so. Later in the weekend, she conspired to have me watch “She’s Just Not That Into You”. I rebelled, and so we compromised on “Slumdog Millionaire.” I know, you are shocked that I hadn’t seen “Millionaire” already…but you do know I get busy at work around the holidays? While I found most of the movie utterly entertaining and brilliant…the dénouement was…cheesy. 

Oh well…at least there’s “Adventureland” on the horizon next month…

So much for Duane’s Day. The annual rite of spring was upstaged by me getting sick, yet again. However it’s not as if Duane’s Day itself suffered…but the day after I found myself burning up with a fever and feeling amazingly…ill. Less than two weeks earlier I had to take time off work to recuperate from what my doctor thought was intestinal flu, something I never really had before. This go ‘round I had a sore throat, weakness, fevers, and clammy skin, making me wonder if I had the other type of flu.

My doctor thinks not, and that while it was viral it was nothing but a cold. Still, it was bad enough that it was difficult to concentrate on even fun things, like picking out my NCAA bracket or playing video games. That is what ultimately had me worried. But for now, it appears the worst is over.

Duane’s Day (which marks the one weekend out of the year my former coworker and friend Duane sends his family out of town) was a little bit of let down. Because of the timing, we’ve ended up watching a spring training game with the Milwaukee Brewers. This time though, we got to see none other than the team of my youth, the Los Angeles Dodgers.

It was hardly a convincing win…but the experience at the Brewers’ stadium is hard to beat. First, there’s the underdog-second city mentality of most people that live in Milwaukee because of Chicago. Then, there’s the city’s German heritage which led to a team named after…yes people who make alcohol. But that’s not all. Even the Sausages make the trip to do their race in the 7th inning. (Or is the eighth?) And “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” is followed by a rousing rendition of “Roll Out the Barrel”. And true to form, the concession stands proudly serve not only Klement’s bratwurst but Miller beer. What’s that you say….BFD? Say that after you’ve eaten a couple Klement brats washed down with a Miller High Life.

Oh, and before I forget….Brandon joined us. Not that he, as a Pittsburgh fan and Ohio State alum had a dog in the fight. No they just enjoyed the view…and the fact that I got suckered into sitting next to some loud, inebriated chicks next to us.

I guess some things never change.

 Note: This is actually Monday, March 9th's post that I forgot to publish here but did publish on Facebook. 

And so it happened, that after plenty of miscues and strange goings-on….spring arrived in Alta Sonora this weekend. Not because of the weather, which had already warmed up quite a bit after President’s Day. No, it was a change more subtle and sublime that caught me by surprise.

Friday was the last day of school in Arizona before spring break. Sonoran State, not to be outdone, also sends their students away at the same time. The federal government, in some seeming conspiracy arranged to have daylight savings time begin as well, shifting us one hour to the west. (Alta Sonora does not observe daylight savings time, but since other states do…it’s almost worse than if we did.)

Rita, for her part, had decidedly along to seize the day, er, week by arranging a cruise outing with other members of the East Valley Cougar Club (TM). Her kids meanwhile  would get a free vacation with their grandparents in California. But before that could happen, she needed to clean.

Getting adults to clean up their mess is hard enough…but Rita’s kids wanted none of that. So I spent most of the morning trying to induce their ….compliance. I struggled for a while, until I hit upon the ultimate motivation. I warned Rita’s son that if he forced me to clean their room instead…he wouldn’t be able to do anything in the meantime except read. Boy, did that touch a nerve. He despises reading and carries on like a trapped opossum if I hint we are going to visit the library.

And I did this while Rita ran some pre-vacation errands, leaving me to hold down the fort with the chill’un myself.

The next day, I found myself enjoying some seasonably cool weather and deciding to do the unthinkable: open the windows. It was all very appropriate with the spring theme, but it almost felt like I was back in California enjoying a sea breeze buffeting the screen door. I ended up doing some cleaning of my own before remembering that I had promised to visit Duane and his family for dinner. I called and was invited to a dinner of Japanese curry and board games.

Coming to work, the parking lot was half empty, another sign of spring’s arrival.

But while you might think I wish I could go on vacation too, it’s not that simple. We have a new assignment at work, and it’s likely to leave me stressed out for the next couple of weeks. Rita, therefore, couldn’t have picked a better time to leave.

Not that it’s going to be all work and no play this week: Duane’s Day is Saturday, to say nothing of the PAC-10 Tournament as well.

As expected, UCLA draws Washington State tonight in the PAC 10 Tournament. Most years, there’s nothing on the line…but not this time. So will you forgive me if I wait another week (or so) to talk about “How the Crash Will Reshape America?” After all, you problem remember that Washington State is the very same team that UCLA pulled a choke job with not long ago that gave the conference away to the University of Washington.

This week started out rough but has been smoothing out as it goes along. Last night Duane and I went to see South Korea’s World Baseball Classic squad play the San Diego Padres. Duane predicted a rout by those wacky Devils…but there chants of “Dae Han Min Guk” didn’t happen until the Padres had more or less sealed the victory.

And Korea was the Asian Division champion…so um…yeah.

Otherwise the biggest intrigue of the week proved to the revelation that the McDonald’s near work had the McRib…but not Shamrock Shakes! I’ll try to pretend like it’s not a big deal. *Sob*.

Now this might seem like a strange admission, but I’ve never seen an episode of the TV show “E.R”. The reason is that it aired for many years on Thursday nights, when my Scout troop meetings were. And then in college, Thursday night was always one to go out and and have fun. Before long college football became a regularity and before you know, in grad school I had class on Thursday night. I tell you all this because I don’t know how much emphasis each episode had on people before they ended up in the show’s eponymous location.

But yeah basically that’s what happened to me. I spent all of Sunday morning in the E.R. tending to a dehydrated Rita. The cause appears to be a norovirus but even that is uncertain. Not that the weekend was uneventful before that.

While the rest of the country was buried alive in snow and drenched in rain, Alta Sonora reveled in summer like heat this weekend. Rita long ago had purchased a pass for the Railroad Park. Now, of all the oddities in Cougar Country the Park is definitely up there. It looks like your local park until you notice the large train parked on some track. Then you notice a few building that make the place look like an old train station. And then, you notice people riding not one but two miniature trains across a countryside of birth bounce-houses, company picnics, and the occasional piñata.

The renown of the Railroad Park is so great that even Duane has been there with, you guessed it, his kids.

Rita did the hard work because I had to go and investigate some changes to my rent before dropping my check off this month. (I paid the account in full, but didn’t get a straight answer.) Rita had made some sandwiches while bringing a cooler full of drinks and potato salad. And there in the glorious shade we ate and drank until the kids were ready to ride the train. The pass allowed two of us to go an unlimited number of times.

The first time Julia and I went in a open car near the locomotive. We were close enough I could smell the gas-fired steam engine. The scenery was pleasant enough and Julia seemed to care less who was with her. Justin though, had different ideas when it was my turn to go with him. He wanted to ride in the miniature box car which was so small I couldn’t even sit upright on the seats. Instead, I and another adult foolishly wandered in only to have the conductor hitch it closed, trapping us with a bunch of kids for the entire ten minute ride.

Just before the gate was closed a toddle leapt into the cab. Justin and I paid no attention to him at first. But as the ride was almost over, he inexplicable came up to me and began to grab my face. I thought his name was Tyler, but as it turned out, that was the name of another kid riding with the adult. I didn’t worry about the kid squeezing my cheek, but Justin was tripping at the thought of what was going on. I thought he was done when suddenly he began to blow on my face. Again, I was sitting facing back instead of the side because I couldn’t sit upright in the seat itself so I was on the narrow floor. After more pinching and blowing, the ride was over and the little guy left but not before trying to shut the door on my face as I was getting out.

I would tell Duane later that now I know how Jews felt in World War II after that exceedingly cramped ride in a boxcar.

Within minutes, Rita was ready to go home and we packed up the car and I thought headed for the pool. But she didn’t feel like it so instead we began to think about dinner. To our surprise, we found out there was an authentic French restaurant in the town over. Its been a revelation that like me, Rita enjoys not fancy French, but affordable authentic cuisine d’Galloise. So we ended up having a very nice dinner outside eating pasta, soup, escargot and steak tartare. Yes, Rita is also a huge fan of raw hamburger meat. However, she didn’t actually eat the meal raw but rather au poivre. Nonetheless as we drove home she began to experience cramps and nausea she thought were a product of carsickness.

But then when we got back to her place it was clear something was going on. After she began to vomit, I told her it was time to visit the E.R. Instead, I ended up buying her some Gatorade and having us call her family for advice (both her grandfather and uncle are physicians) and my insurance company’s nurse line. Come daybreak she felt weak and unable to stop going to the bathroom, even after taking Imodium. I told her it was time to go.

Two bags of saline and four hours later, the doctor informed us in a cryptic way that there was no sign of a bacterial infection. Rita was given some vicodin to lessen the pain and constipate her. Nevertheless, her misery continued and we had to buy some Imodium Advanced which slowly took over her system.

Until the morning I had no sign of being affected, even though all of us had taken a little bite of the steak tartare. I awoke to some diarrhea, and some sense of urgency but after taking Imodium once I returned to normal. Rita continued to feel weak and just today Justin fell ill too. It all increases the sense of mystery surrounding the whole thing, since noroviruses can hide in place besides food.

But for all the contagion’s wrath, it will probably subside quickly and back into the shadows. Which leaves me to wonder…”E.R.” wasn’t written as a mystery, was it?