The perfect city

 

Yesterday in this very space I had some pictures showing my "Venicification" of my city, Saint Minneapolis. I altered the sleepy streets and alleys of my neighborhood to put in calm canals and an occasional gondola, plus maybe a cat, or a parrot, or a decorative bit.

And then I talked about getting rid of cars, and the Internet went mad!

Well, they would have gone mad if any of them came here. But clerkmanifesto is read strictly by 3-14 entirely sensible people so instead everyone remained calm and sane.

So in your face car lovers! Ha!

I accidentally wrote "cat lovers" instead of car lovers at first. But think of that! What if every car were replaced with a cat? Every second, out my window, instead of a loud, world ending car roaring by, a cat would saunter along. That would be kind of lovely. But muse on this sensible person: There are so many cars thundering along relentlessly out my window, on a fairly average American street, that if we replaced them all with cats, a delightful non global warming inducing creature, there might actually be too many cats! It might be a little disconcerting to see so damn many of them marching along the streets.

But, and songbirds may disagree, it surely couldn't be worse than the current situation.

So, you see, I have not stopped thinking of my ideal city. I have not stopped my dissatisfaction with living in a car crazy city, or with having any cars at all, and I have not stopped altering pictures of my city to make them show a world that is more what I'd like to live in.

Yesterday I made my pictures first, and as I wrote the accompanying "war on cars" text of my column, I could see it would be nice if those pictures illustrated a little more of my ideal city. So when I went out and took new pictures, and when I spent the day manipulating them, that's what I had in mind.

The first point I'd like to address is the one of canals. In my pictures yesterday my canals had a tendency to make the neighborhoods look flooded, and maybe even a little post apocalyptic. And as the global climate disaster slowly ushers in the end of the world as we know it, we will regularly be treated to similar, but actual, pictures of cities like Miami, where the streets will have become waterways to disastrous effect. 

So this made me reflect: Maybe the canal isn't the ultimate agent of change we should apply to a city to improve its human scale and its transit effectiveness, even if it is the most entertaining one to add to photographs. 

But then I came to my senses. 

There is no engineering problem with adding canals to a city like Saint Minneapolis. Just as there is no fundamental problem with putting in gondola lifts running on cables above the city (another change I'd love to see occasionally in any city). Both of these things actually exist in minor ways already in my city. The new Highland Bridge development has what is more or less a short canal/stream system running picturesquely through the middle of it, and Centennial Lakes Park has an even better recreational canal system running through a rich area of dense housing and some shops, offices, and restaurants. Furthermore there are gondola cars that, though unfortunately used only during the state fair, exist at least as an operating example in our fairgrounds. So what seems as patently absurd in my pictures, already exists here and all over the world.

It is purely a matter of scale and will.

And while I'll concede that trains, trams, bike paths, trolleys, and trails are probably more efficient and cost effective than canals, the diversity of transit and its aesthetics matter profoundly. And as to cost, the amount of money we spend collectively on the car infrastructure and operation in my city could handle an absolutely profligate alternative. But that is a discussion for another time.

And so once again my build-up has likely overwhelmed my pictures. I have four today, with the images mostly originating on or near a local University campus. Canals predominate the changes, then, increasingly, density, until I work more practical pathways into the scenes. I found that the closer I got to the vision I was looking for, the more I was cutting away from what was actually in my original photographs. And so you will see a progression as you progress through the photographs to more and more changes. I have nevertheless eschewed adding people, which surely says something about me. There are cats though. If you like you can see them as replacements for cars.

 

Canals of Saint Minneapolis revisited

 

Once upon a time here, in a Winter shortly before a trip with my dear wife to Venice, Italy, I made a little tour video of Venice. But the subject of this short film was the Venice hidden in Saint Minneapolis. 

I leave you this link here if you would like the full shaky-cam experience:

https://youtu.be/jlcrDTPXwAs?si=C2c4OCuWwOKxSG9t

Of course the joke is, if you haven't watched it, and if you have, that while I am extolling the beauties of Venice, what we are really seeing is the fairly grim streetscapes of Saint Minneapolis in the ugliest time of year.

I think about Venice a lot. I have even articulated in this space my half-joking vision to solve the much touted problems of Venice (overrun with tourists, no longer a viable city with a local culture beyond pure tourism, sinking), by leaning in and turning it into a kind of Disneyland. And this attention I pay is because as a person profoundly interested in New Urbanism, or what the ideal city built for humans would look like, or perhaps most importantly, where my little family would ultimately like to live, Venice does offer something that no other notable city that I know of does. 

And it's not canals!

Well, it is canals a little bit. 

But what it really, really is, is a wholly car-free environment. 

Not a pedestrianized zone, not a "cars are guests" improvement, not a separate, quality, bike route system, not great transit, but simply and absolutely no cars. This alone to me puts Venice in every discussion I hear, or more rarely take part in, about how cities should be, even when, too often, it is not specifically spoken.

I'm not sure I can credit wonderful YouTube channels and Podcasts and books like Not Just Bikes, RM Transit, Strong Towns, and War on Cars with opening my eyes exactly. But they did help clarify what I already knew and felt. I don't like cars. I don't like living in a world where they are a necessity. And I don't think they should exist except in very unique and tailored, non private, special use scenarios. I find these videos and podcasts kind of shy away from the final extremities of such a view. Success takes the edge off of the strongest views, I suppose, maybe. But nevertheless that's what I want, and that's the world I am looking for, and it is also what I believe in; a world without cars.

I'm not sure I can do much about any of that. But it's all there. And I dream of something better. And when I walk around my neighborhood, longing, or planning our next move, I can almost taste the dream.

And so here are a few pictures today of my Saint Minneapolis. All this I've discussed above wasn't so specifically in my mind when I made these pictures. It is more what the pictures themselves made me think of. 

I improved the neighborhood as I could, but there are simpler ways than water. Nevertheless, as I said, Venice is always on my mind:

Voice of his generation

 

No, this is not another Bob Dylan sketch. 

I am here to say that, despite taking a few stabs at it, I did not turn out to be the voice of my generation. I was not the voice of my school, my group of friends, the library, my zip code, my block, my apartment building, or my local trail. I am not the voice of the Jewish People, library clerks, wild turkeys, or even underappreciated geniuses who go unheralded in their time.

But sometimes I am at the front desk of the library. And a patron comes to the front desk with a book they really want, maybe one that is on hold for them. They are a little embarrassed when they tell me "I forgot my card, and I don't even have my I.D. But I don't suppose there is any way I could check this out?"

And I say "Well, standards are falling all across America so maybe I should let mine go too." 

I ask them a few random quiz questions about their identity, and then I check the book out to them anyway.

Then I write about it to you.

And I am pretty sure I am the voice of something.

Volcano views from the river

 

Okay, I'll admit it. John Constable, English painter, is not the only one around here obsessed with volcanoes. I have a thing for volcanoes too. Luckily this area around the upper Mississippi River is full of volcanoes, and they're all erupting! Which is both awesome and good for roofing companies.

So I went down to the river this morning to take a few snaps of the volcanoes. And, hanging out with the local beavers, I got some pretty good pictures and also was not burned to death in a river of lava. So, win-win. Although I'll admit I had to travel in time mostly to get pictures of these volcanoes here, which isn't so great for our current roofing companies. 

But let me ask you this:

When did you get so concerned about roofing companies?

Oh, sorry, it must have been someone else then.

The new reader

 

A regular clerkmanifesto reader asks:

After writing nearly 4,000 daily missives here do you ever find the well runs dry?

No. Because whenever I am not sure what to write I simply make up a question for a pretend reader to ask. And then I answer it.

And do you find that works?

Not as succinctly as I initially think it would.

Why not?

Once the conversation starts it's not as easy to end it.

Because the reader keeps asking questions?

There's that. And also, once the enquiring reader is invented they take on a life of their own.

I do feel kind of... alive. I can smell... fall leaves, and, and... woodsmoke, and tar!

Welcome to the world.

I love it here! But will I disappear when this post is over?

No. Don't worry. You are alive in our hearts now forever.

My cry in the wilderness

 

A librarian came to the front desk with an old man. They were looking for the room meeting schedule. The librarian said the man was looking for the Rotary meeting. It wasn't scheduled anywhere.

Having nothing helpful to add I said "I think the Rotary should consider changing their name to Push Button to be more contemporary."

No one responded in any way.

So I'm telling you. 

Bag over head

 

A library regular patron teased me because I used a phrase with a woman I helped before him. The phrase was "Almost certainly", as in "Almost certainly the books you requested will be available for you in two days."

"What percent of surety did you mean to express by 'almost certainly'?" This patron asked.

"98 and a half percent." I answered seriously.

"And so what do you mean then by the words "Almost certainly"?" He asked.

"The 'certainly' is for what I believe will happen, should happen, and will happen. The 'almost' is a bag I put over my head because I have been here for a long, long, long time, and I have seen a few things..."

He was satisfied.

I enjoyed his questions.

Ship of Theseus

You know the question posed by the Ship of Theseus? This is where one has a ship, and who doesn't have a ship! And one replaces a bit of the ship here or there, until, over time, every bit of the ship has been replaced. There is nothing left of the original ship, but it is the same ship one started out with. And yet there is nothing left of the original ship. It's crazy!

 And the name of the ship is...

I actually spent a moment trying to think of a funny name for the ship. 

But, of course, the ship is called the "Of Theseus".

Now maybe you think I have some insight into the paradox of the ship Of Theseus.

But I don't. I just have a picture of it.

You see, I found a book of paintings of naval vessels from the early 1800's mostly. I took pictures of them, opened them up in photoshop, and tried to add sea monsters. But it didn't work. So in a fit of pique, or copywrite fraud avoidance, or psychic anticipation of what would be needed for this discussion, I started replacing the ship, bit by bit.

This is what it looks like:

What, you might wonder now, does the original look like?

Here you go. See if you can spot the differences:

Although in all the thousands of versions I might have lost track of the original.

The future

We are living in the idealized nostalgia of the future. To someone fifty years from now we are experiencing the thrilling, unreproducible charms of an era that can never be replaced. Fifty years from now people are chatting and one person is saying "I would kill to live in the mid twenties; Taylor Swift! Free water! The state of Florida!"

They don't know the state of Florida isn't all that great. They just know it existed. Which is awesome. And they have a point: existing is kind of amazing, albeit easily taken for granted since everything everywhere is... already doing it.

Fifty years from now someone will say to you: "Wait, you read the actual clerkmanifestos, as they were written?"

And you'll get super humble and proud and say, "You know about clerkmanifesto?"

And they'll respond "No. You must have misheard me because you are pretty old."

And you'll think "Back when we had Florida people were slightly nicer."

Maybe we were, maybe we weren't. You'll be nostalgic too.

Two unrelated pictures expressing different approaches

 

 

Killer title, eh?

The first picture today is, well, not great. And you are maybe thinking "What if you added a few more elements to the picture?"

But I tried that.

"Yes, but what about a few more?" You gently inquire.

I tried that too.

"But..."

I tried that as well.

"Oh."

As to this picture shown below, it's better, and nicely seasonal, but maybe too simple? 

Maybe you think just a few more things will bring it to life? 

And you're probably right. You're almost certainly right.

But you'd be surprised how that doesn't always work.

The Hobo

 

At what I take to be a combination Halloween/Birthday party, circa 1968, all judging from the footage taken of the day, there I am, dressed as a hobo. I like the way I look; baggy coat, five o'clock shadow painted on, a derby hat. I might dash off to jump a train at any moment. I'm just there to cadge a bit of free cake.

And so was born my affection for hobos.

Would my affection for hobos hold up to encountering actual hobos? Maybe not, but I think they were already a nostalgic relic when I was dressing as one. My guess is that one can't have hobos without a gritty, vibrant train system, vital downtowns, and just a little bit of general cultural sympathy towards poverty. And so I've actually, come to think of it, never seen a real live hobo.

Until today!

I was at the front desk of the library. He came out of the elevator. He was dressed like a travelling businessman, but one terribly down on his luck. He was pulling a wheelie suitcase that was fairly well battered and one of the wheels didn't work exactly right. He had on a derby hat, maybe a bit too tight. He wore a rough blazer, two sizes too big. I don't think his shoes matched. He had perfect five o'clock shadow, and the rest of his face was either darkly tanned or stained with dirt, but probably both. He said something as he walked by, but I didn't catch it.

I said something back, but I didn't catch that either, even though I was the one who said it. He kept going. He was in a hurry I guess. The Great Northern line was coming through pretty soon and I reckon he hoped to hop it to Minot.

I wish him all the best.

An account written during the issuance of a pin number

 

I am working at the front desk of my library, and I am registering a new library card. It was running along pretty smoothly until we came to the part where I needed this new patron to tell me a four-digit PIN number.

At this stage of technological development people are usually pretty fast on the draw with a pin. But every once in a while, like with this person, it stumps someone badly, and they freeze up like I just asked them "For one hundred thousand dollars, what country has the greatest reserves of phosphorous?"

Maybe that's a bad example since everyone knows that while it has generally been conceded that Morocco has the biggest phosphorous reserves, the recent massive discovery of phosphorous in Norway has thrown a wrench into that truism. 

They think there may be 70 billion tons of phosphorous buried in Norway!

Nevertheless, I would happily give that hundred thousand dollars to either answer; Morocco or Norway.

And I would also happily give this new library patron a hundred thousand dollars as well for a four-digit PIN number. Any four numbers!

But, alas, I am still waiting.

Let the mountain come to you

 

It was an unpleasantly hot Labor Day morning and I was waiting for blog inspiration to come to me so I could write today's column.

It didn't come.

That's odd. Maybe I was supposed to make a picture then?

I decided I would make a picture of alien spaceships in a John Constable painting. So I opened up photoshop and then opened my folder of John Constable paintings. There was an interesting Van Gogh drawing in there that wouldn't work at all!

So I opened it up.

Why did I open this up? But there was no one to answer. So I put an alien spaceship in it but it just came out like a weird, giant pointing thing in the sky.

"That's neat." I said.

Then I put in a flying saucer.

Then I put in two cats. Then I got rid of a cat.

I put in a skyscraper, no, a tower, no, two towers. I got rid of the pointing thing. I added two flying saucers. I got rid of all the flying saucers.

I ask you: Is it respectful to stage an alien visitation in a Van Gogh drawing.

No, but that ship has already sailed, and the aliens I tried adding looked really bad anyway. I added a ship to represent the sailed ship. 

No.

I took it out. 

I reflected:

Once I watched a Picasso film where he painted a picture and at any moment he could have stopped but he just kept going and painting over things and just completely changing everything over and over.

It was then that I decided to put a hole in my Van Gogh picture.

And I was done:

Heavy hangs the burden of the artist

 

Yesterday clerkmanifesto was taken over by an AI. Or was it? 

We employed here a technique known as the "Kinks/Lola Technique". 

In the song Lola, the lyrics conclude:

"But I know what I am and I'm glad I'm a man,

And so is Lola"

Lola is glad he's a man, or Lola is also a man? Both work.

And so when yesterday's column concludes by saying thank you to the reader for describing the essay as too complicated, clever, and unusual to be the product of an AI, is it the AI thanking the reader for suggesting that the AI has finally achieved the critical mass of creativity, or is it the meat author (me) thanking the reader for acknowledging that their (my) work is beyond the capability of mere technology?

Thus, a Kinks/Lola ending. Both read plausibly, and a question that seems to be answered may or may not be.

But going with what we both really know to be true, for a variety of complex, human reasons, which is that I wrote yesterday's column, not AI, I want to bring up something I think it speaks to:

AI can write plausible text, but it is bureaucratic text. It is text not written for the pleasure of the reader, or for the use of the reader. It is text that only serves at the pleasure of bureaucratic systems, or to the person working to produce such text. Of course, this is a criticism, but it also could be presented neutrally: AI is capable of writing text that does not intrinsically need to be written, and it can only write text that does not need to be written.

So, as a non-AI, am I saying this that you're reading is text that needs to be written?

Alas, I am afraid so.

More auto generated content

 

I got an email this morning instructing me to use Bard, the AI Google assistant that can simulate human writing to occasionally plausible levels. Since I do anything anyone asks me to do in my email (or, take note, via the comment section in this very website!), I hopped onto the Bard page and asked it to write a short, self-referential, vaguely humorous column about using a random AI to produce Internet content.

This is what the AI wrote.

No, not "This is what the AI wrote:" Followed by a passage of AI written text. This, that you are reading right now, is what the AI wrote.

Now, being artificially intelligent, I know what you're thinking. You are thinking "No way! An AI could never write anything like this. This is way too inimitable and original and idiosyncratic and coherently deranged for an AI to write it!"

Thank you. That is so kind of you to say.

Greed

 

A book I have slowly been reading and talking about here, Debt, The First 5,000 Years, by David Graeber, is full of anecdotes, stories, scholarship, and accounts of long past tribes and civilizations, which is one reason, along with my slow pace of reading it, why I keep discussing it. But one story in particular from the book has stuck with me. It's a very little sketch, and intense in its way, but it reminds me of unsolvable problems in my workplace and ones in the wider culture I live in as well. I would not say that this book idealizes tribal cultures, nor trivializes them. And I pretty much never, in all these accounts, see some cultural solution that seems utopian to me. Nevertheless, something in this story... speaks to me.

In the tribe of the people of this story, hunters primarily fished for their sustenance. And they also shared things freely among themselves as so many of these sorts of cultures did. And beyond that, it was the custom of these people, where if someone asked for a portion of one's catch, one would give that person the best part of the catch.

And so it came to be that one person, instead of fishing themselves, regularly asked for some of various people's catches, getting, as per custom, the choicest parts of it. The fishers, uncomplaining, gave away their catch. And so this continued on until, eventually, these fishers got together and killed the person asking for their catch.

That's it. 

I told you it was a brief account. And I guess we could ask: Why don't these people, instead of killing them, say to this person "Hey, it's not cool you're taking advantage of our custom to get the best of our catches."?

But I recognize this from my workplace. If there is a custom that, at a minimum, a worker take care of anything that happens during their hour running the automated check in machine at my library, and does not contrive to pass off, nor leave anything from their time for the next worker to take care of, and someone regularly breaks with that custom, it calls into question things that are difficult to directly address. It causes one to elevate a normal human decency of being aware of others, to a virtue, by the social process of naming it. And it suggests that a kind of poisonous sociopathy in the violation of this custom is just a lack of simple instruction or understanding or even choice.

If we look at say the CEO of Starbucks busting unions, refusing to pay people reasonably, and making hundreds of millions of dollars for themselves, there are similar sociopathies at play. There is a breach here that reflects a genuine break from human decency. But as we cast it instead as some kind of competing philosophy, or a misunderstanding of the situation, which culturally we now unceasingly do, for like all false things it needs to be constantly inflated lest it collapse, it allows for a structural rationalization of stealing and unceasing greed. 

But let us draw the line here, lest I start writing my own book that I am ill-equipped to do.

The value of managers after all

 

My feet hurt. My knee is aching. My wrist is starting to act up. I've over-shelved.

Today at my library we were jampacked with carts of books that needed to be shelved. So I shelved them, as many as I could. I took up two carts of books at once to shelve. I shelved ten minutes into my lunch hour. I piled extra books onto full carts. I was a shelving maniac!

What is going on?

I'll tell you what's going on. No manager has bugged me for more than a week! It might even be two weeks! One manager has been mostly gone this week on something that is sort of like a vacation. The other manager, after a couple very chilly years between us, is all friendly again. And when they do see me or talk to me, they have no agenda!

I can't live like this!

When I work in an unjust system, when I am underappreciated, when the system is mismanaged, I take it out in leisure time. I redress the balance by emotional distancing. But if everyone leaves me alone and I am free to do whatever I want, I get all... responsible. 

I secretly take care of business. 

I overwork!

This is utterly untenable! 

Everything is achy from the overwork. I am not sufficiently compensated. This is unfair, terribly unfair! 

Someone must pay! 

But who?