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The Red Electric
1830.
(via Microsoft Typography, via the ATypI mailing list) There is a subtle error in the photo below. Can you spot it?
Here's a hint: if you're clever, like Rick Seifert of The Red Electric, you'll know what to look for.
Tags: typographical errors, typography, serifs
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It was warm and sunny this afternoon, and, for a change, I didn't have to go home immediately after work, so I spent 45 minutes walking down to the Gibbs St. trolley terminal after I left work at 5:00:00pm today.
For some reason, the City of Portland ran the new trolley line between the Red Electric ROW and the street, so the old ROW has become a nice place to walk while taking pictures. I fully expect that this land will soon be eaten up and converted into hideously expensive condominiums (the city will give the land to the PDC, which will then value it at -$2million or so, then hand it over to some developer who will use the bogus valuation to use non-union labor to build the crappy things), but for now it's a shady lane that you can use to pretend that the trolleys are out in the country.
The north end of the Red Electric ROW doesn't have any trees on it, so it gives a really good view of Orange-Green as it heads south on the (half-mile) bit of private ROW.
1130. What, are they lining up this year or something?
I love Douglas Adams, but no, please don't rename a street after him, even if it is NE 42nd Avenue. It doesn't seem to be an ironic joke.
Other, cooler kids have had this in the news for days. I was kind of hoping that if I ignored it, it would go away. Wrong again.
In A Related Story: The Red Electric speaks esteemable sooth on moving Cesar Chavez Blvd downtown.
A proposed trail through Southwest Portland, with the potential to one day open a path all the way to Tualatin, has gotten a green light from the Portland City Council.
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from the The Red Electric feed...The house is just a block from my own.
The neighbors told me that when 91-year-0ld Warren Cummins died in late September, his entire estate, (which turned out to be worth nearly $900,000 including his big white rancher) was left to a caregiver. She had been on the job only three months.
As it turned out, nothing in the estate was left to Warren's step-son, Fletcher Johnson, or to Warren's three adopted children. Warren's wife had died in 2007.
The situation first caught the attention of the neighbors when the caregiver, Patricia McIntosh, moved her family into Warren's house. Later, not long after Warren had died, both McIntosh and her husband purchased new cars. Warren's Cadillac was gone, presumably a trade-in.
Something didn't smell right and my neighbors wanted me to look into it.
I know this kind of story takes time to investigate, and I didn't have enough to spare. I called my contacts at Willamette Week. They put me on to reporter James Pitkin, who dug into what had happened and what the inevitable legal fall-out has been.
The results of his reporting appear in today's issue of Willamette week. It can be found here on-line.
It's a solid piece of work. I've thanked James for doing it.
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Three days and three nights in the Cascades spliced the two years.Hunkered, we were, between past and future.
A four-mile walk around Black Butte Ranch. The sprawling vacation development strives to fit into its natural setting. A noble
human attempt that inevitably comes up humanly short.Take it for what it is, not what it seeks to be.
Muted houses, mostly vacant, stand off from the road. Pedestrians separated from cars. A detailed trail map. Open space. Vistas. Hidden lakes. Ponds. Paved and plowed paths that follow creeks and contours.
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We've been in the Oregon Cascades over New Year's, nestled into a comfy house at Black Butte Ranch. Just the two of us, engulfed in white, warmed by a fire, surrounded by books.Yes, that's the chair and the fire and some of the books.
I took several volumes to read by the fire. Among them was the revealing and eclectic anthology "A Joseph Campbell Companion."
It contains much to share with you.
Try this for the start of the new year:
On-line teaching is destined to be the education of the future, especially as a financially strapped society searches for ways to cut costs in the public sector.
Imagine, no schools, no reunions, no proms, no school buses, no pep rallies, no student councils and no lunch hour cliques.
The institution of on-line teaching is like computerizing health records to cut healthcare costs. Or like using pilotless drones to fight wars.
Of course from the teacher's perspective there will be no classroom histrionics. No pacing in the front of the room, no raised eyebrows, no dramatic pauses, no feigned looks of astonishment or cheers of congratulation.
I agree with those who say that 90 percent of communication is visual. Accordingly, on-line teaching will leave a lot to be desired. Then again, I suppose I'll learn to incorporate video into my teaching and even some music. Rap perhaps.
Production values could become important. Students may select courses and choose entire majors because of them.
Education as show biz.
Sex and violence, anyone?
Canned applause? Laugh tracks?
Can commercials be far behind?
Welcome to the University of Sesame Street.
The writer was broadly responding to the post "Four Phases for Hillsdale."
He referred readers to a posting on his own web site. There he claimed to be familiar with Hillsdale and wrote with an indignant and hollow authority about the place.
Still, I sensed in his voice a note of caring and passion. That was the encouraging part.
But as I got into his critique of Hillsdale, it became apparent that he had little understanding of what's been happening here for the last 15 years.
In essence, he was shooting from the hip, hoping that at least a few shots would find their mark. Or he may have been announcing his Hillsdale awareness or simply filling space on his blog.
I was tempted to take the writer to task, but then I thought of the times I've written with woefully superficial knowledge. At best I offered a "fresh" perspective, however wrong it might have been.
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