Wednesday, September 24, 2003
RECOMMENDED READING: BART--from A to Zzzz.
Friday, September 12, 2003
CRYING OVER SPILT MILK Since I've never attended an El Cerrito city meeting, I probably have little right to complain. And it seems petty and pointless to complain now, after the millions of dollars have already been spent, and all the storefronts are already facing the wrong direction. But I've been disappointed with the thoroughly car-centered design of the new El Cerrito Plaza shopping center, four blocks from my house. They've clearly made some gestures toward pedestrians and bicycles--with raised crosswalks bisecting the thoroughfares at decent intervals, and finally a few bike racks--but I have to wonder if these things are an afterthought, because nothing about the overall design contributes to comfortable biking and walking. I feel incredible small and powerless in that vast sea of cars, the raised crosswalks giving a false sense of security as cars, impatient from battling the mall's traffic, blaze through stop signs.
Instead of parking surrounding a walkable mall area, there are isolated island blocks of stores on all sides, separated from each other by acres of asphalt. You might think that at least the stores on the outer edges would be accessible to walkers--but in fact only a handful are, mostly on the northern edge. And those stores as a group form an effective barrier blocking the most direct route from the BART station--a stone's throw away--to the inner sanctum of the Plaza. One unfriendly business put up a hand-scrawled sign: "No walk-throughs!" (You'd think walk-throughs might be good for business--impulse buying and all that--but who am I to argue?)
Anyone coming from the BART station must walk a block down, across a lively intersection, through the North car entrance, watching for traffic coming from several directions, then doubling back through the parking lot to reach the two major stores that are practically beneath the BART tracks. All the entrances are designed for cars, and while there are sidewalks, somehow the sidewalks--no matter how wide--feel marginal as a steady stream of impatient traffic-bound cars float distractedly by. The stores on the south side are encased in another parking lot--that Albany-originating pedestrians have to dodge through--with multiple informal entrances to the south where evenly spaced Albany residential streets feed cars at random but frequent intervals into the parking lot.
The BART path to the east of the Plaza, overlooking a construction site and some dumpsters behind the grocery store, might as well be in another world--though it seems to me like this would have been an ideal place to build an entrance linking the densely populated residential neighborhoods bordering the plaza with walking access to the mall. More than 13,000 people live in the five census tracts that touch the edges of the Plaza--within easy walking distance, if distance were all that mattered. But my neighbors drive four blocks to shop there, and I don't blame them. The traffic patterns are far too complicated, and the design of the parking lots far too awkward, to find a comfortable space on foot or on a bicycle.
Instead of parking surrounding a walkable mall area, there are isolated island blocks of stores on all sides, separated from each other by acres of asphalt. You might think that at least the stores on the outer edges would be accessible to walkers--but in fact only a handful are, mostly on the northern edge. And those stores as a group form an effective barrier blocking the most direct route from the BART station--a stone's throw away--to the inner sanctum of the Plaza. One unfriendly business put up a hand-scrawled sign: "No walk-throughs!" (You'd think walk-throughs might be good for business--impulse buying and all that--but who am I to argue?)
Anyone coming from the BART station must walk a block down, across a lively intersection, through the North car entrance, watching for traffic coming from several directions, then doubling back through the parking lot to reach the two major stores that are practically beneath the BART tracks. All the entrances are designed for cars, and while there are sidewalks, somehow the sidewalks--no matter how wide--feel marginal as a steady stream of impatient traffic-bound cars float distractedly by. The stores on the south side are encased in another parking lot--that Albany-originating pedestrians have to dodge through--with multiple informal entrances to the south where evenly spaced Albany residential streets feed cars at random but frequent intervals into the parking lot.
The BART path to the east of the Plaza, overlooking a construction site and some dumpsters behind the grocery store, might as well be in another world--though it seems to me like this would have been an ideal place to build an entrance linking the densely populated residential neighborhoods bordering the plaza with walking access to the mall. More than 13,000 people live in the five census tracts that touch the edges of the Plaza--within easy walking distance, if distance were all that mattered. But my neighbors drive four blocks to shop there, and I don't blame them. The traffic patterns are far too complicated, and the design of the parking lots far too awkward, to find a comfortable space on foot or on a bicycle.
HOT, HOT, HOT You know, on the bus, those tiny little windows near the ceiling that you can crack open for air? And you know those big huge windows with the red handles that say "Pull to Open in an Emergency"? As the air stood still on the bus ride home yesterday, I began to wonder what AC Transit would consider a legitimate emergency. Every time the bus driver opened the door to let a passenger on or off, the brief puff of air was tantalizing...
A student arrived at my house today more pink than usual, moistness around the edges of her face. I waited until late afternoon to do my errands. On my walk home from the store, I watched a landscaper finish his job by turning the hose on himself. An older man sat on his front porch, smoking a cigarette and listening to a radio, turned up loud.
Out on my balcony this evening practicing violin (desperate times call for desperate measures), I could hear the sounds of evening life that I don't usually hear--the faint roar of the freeway over the hill, the occasional ripple of a crowd roaring at the high school a few blocks away, the percussive beat of drums from a garage down the street, the bark of a dog when I hit the high notes. Now, someone just arriving home is moving from room to room in their house: windows are screeching and snapping open; a small child is singing "Meow, meow, meow, meow!" To the east, the moon is rising, nearly full, behind a hilltop pine pointing skyward.
A student arrived at my house today more pink than usual, moistness around the edges of her face. I waited until late afternoon to do my errands. On my walk home from the store, I watched a landscaper finish his job by turning the hose on himself. An older man sat on his front porch, smoking a cigarette and listening to a radio, turned up loud.
Out on my balcony this evening practicing violin (desperate times call for desperate measures), I could hear the sounds of evening life that I don't usually hear--the faint roar of the freeway over the hill, the occasional ripple of a crowd roaring at the high school a few blocks away, the percussive beat of drums from a garage down the street, the bark of a dog when I hit the high notes. Now, someone just arriving home is moving from room to room in their house: windows are screeching and snapping open; a small child is singing "Meow, meow, meow, meow!" To the east, the moon is rising, nearly full, behind a hilltop pine pointing skyward.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
A HARD NIGHT OF GROCERY SHOPPING Every few months, I give in and place an order online to have my groceries delivered. Delivery is free for orders over $150, so I stock up on the largest and heaviest dry good items--the ones that are hardest to carry home. I feel a little guilty doing this. It's too easy for me--they carry everything up the stairs and into the house--into the kitchen if I want. I hope the delivery guys will build strong muscles, healthy hearts, and happy lives in the process--as opposed to strained muscles and slipped discs. Given that it would take me ten awkwardly-loaded trips from the grocery store on my bicycle to accomplish the same thing--and that I often avoid buying the cheaper bulk items because of loading logistics--an occasional grocery delivery is the logical choice for me from an economics (both time and money) standpoint.
Since it's from the local supermarket, all the prices are the same--including the weekly specials and 2-for-1 deals. This morning I got 15 gallons of drinking water, 7 boxes of cereal, 3 gallons of juice, 2 gallons of milk, 3 pints of anti-plaque dental rinse, 48 rolls of toilet paper, 4 frozen pizzas, and an assortment of canned goods on sale. This would probably be an ideal time for the next earthquake to come, if it's going to. The only catch is I live in a one-room apartment. The apartment does have a walk-in closet, but despite my constant efforts to delete stuff from it, the closet is "climb-in" more often than not.
I spent the early part of the afternoon building precarious towers of kidney and garbanzo beans in my kitchen cupboard, stacking drinking water and toilet paper and cereal boxes in my closet.
Since it's from the local supermarket, all the prices are the same--including the weekly specials and 2-for-1 deals. This morning I got 15 gallons of drinking water, 7 boxes of cereal, 3 gallons of juice, 2 gallons of milk, 3 pints of anti-plaque dental rinse, 48 rolls of toilet paper, 4 frozen pizzas, and an assortment of canned goods on sale. This would probably be an ideal time for the next earthquake to come, if it's going to. The only catch is I live in a one-room apartment. The apartment does have a walk-in closet, but despite my constant efforts to delete stuff from it, the closet is "climb-in" more often than not.
I spent the early part of the afternoon building precarious towers of kidney and garbanzo beans in my kitchen cupboard, stacking drinking water and toilet paper and cereal boxes in my closet.
IS IT POSSIBLE TO MISS WHAT YOU NEVER HAD? I find myself feeling waves of nostalgia when looking at an old local streetcar map (thanks to Matthew for the link). When an 80-something-year-old man from church mentioned that he took the streetcar down Shattuck when picking up his wife of nearly 60 years for their first date, I wasn't sure whether I felt more wistful about their story of young love or about the part where he got on the streetcar.
