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From CQ Politics:

Like Hansel and Gretel hoping to follow their bread crumbs out of the forest, the FBI sifted through customer data collected by San Francisco-area grocery stores in 2005 and 2006, hoping that sales records of Middle Eastern food would lead to Iranian terrorists.

The idea was that a spike in, say, falafel sales, combined with other data, would lead to Iranian secret agents in the south San Francisco-San Jose area.

OK, I confess: I have purchased and eaten falafels on several occasions. I’ll come quietly.

If you’re in the San Francisco Bay Area and can spare some time Friday, Negativland need help moving several pallets of stuff up some stairs. Peter Conheim has a back injury, and Don is getting on a bit and can’t shift all the stuff himself.

If you can help, e-mail peter@negativland.com. They’re offering free CDs and stuff from their back catalog in return for assistance. Plus, you get to meet Peter and Don.

So it’s a total disaster in New Orleans. Three levees are breached, one of them has a hole over 150 meters across. 80% of the city is under water up to 6 meters deep. The entire city is without electrical power or water supply. It’s estimated that it will be 9–12 weeks before they can even get rid of the water, much less get the city habitable. Interstate 10 is broken chunks of floating concrete; there’s no route into the city for trucks and other major vehicles. Mississippi reports at least 110 dead; Louisiana hasn’t even begun counting—but there are bodies floating in the water-and-sewage filled streets. It’s estimated that up to 100,000 people were unable or unwilling to leave the city. The death toll could be in the tens of thousands by the time it’s all over. The official message is simple: everyone must leave New Orleans.

The Red Cross has around 40,000 people in emergency shelters. Another 25,000 are going to be sleeping in the Houston Astrodome. They won’t be going home any time soon, as once the water is drained from the streets every building will have to be checked for structural soundness and shored up; every sewer line will need to be inspected. Then, of course, there will be the electrical infrastructure to replace, and the leaking gas lines to fix. In the mean time, some of the people left alive in the city are looting. Police are finding it hard to stop them, what with meters-high piles of debris that they have to cut through with chainsaws even to be able to patrol on foot.

So the residents of New Orleans who evacuated might get to go home to a ruined shell of a home with no electricity, by Christmas if they’re lucky. But right now, the water’s still rising… the Army engineers who were trying to repair the levees have been forced to abandon the city. The National Guard is facing the problem that most of its members were shipped out to Iraq to make up for low troop numbers, so the city is basically lawless at this point.

The New Orleans aquarium is gone; sealions are wandering the empty space where it used to be. The President’s Casino is missing too. The public library is paper maché. Boats weren’t safe either, with an 8 meter wall of water hitting the coast.

It’s not just New Orleans either. The BBC have a photograph of an oil rig that was smashed into the Cochrane Bridge in Mobile, Alabama. Most of Mobile is apparently without electricity too. Biloxi, Mississippi is without electricity, water and sewerage.

Damage estimates so far are around $25 billion, it’ll probably be the worst hit for the insurance industry ever. Since the worsening storms over the last few years had already brought many insurance companies close to bankruptcy, I imagine a few will collapse this year.

2004’s hurricane season was close to the worst ever. This year’s hurricane season is only half over and has already surpassed it. It appears that the severity of hurricanes may be directly linked to global warming, while the frequency of them is rising with the natural periodic rise in ocean surface temperature. Combine the two and you have a deadly combination. Katrina was more than 300 km across, and meteorologists say things could have been much worse. If you think the Kyoto protocol would harm the US economy, that’s nothing compared to what a decade of steadily-worsening hurricanes will do to it.

Now let’s set the wayback machine to February 2005:

The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers has identified millions of dollars in flood and hurricane protection projects in the New Orleans district.

Chances are, though, most projects will not be funded in the president’s 2006 fiscal year budget to be released today.

In general, funding for construction has been on a downward trend for the past several years, said Marcia Demma, chief of the New Orleans Corps’ programs management branch.

In 2001, the New Orleans district spent $147 million on construction projects. When fiscal year 2005 wraps up Sept. 30, the Corps expects to have spent $82 million, a 44.2 percent reduction from 2001 expenditures.

Of course, all the levee construction in the world wouldn’t have saved New Orleans from this disaster—but it might have reduced the death toll and damage a bit. But hey, at least we all got our wartime tax cuts, right?

Will this tragedy be enough to silence the people who say that everything is OK, that global warming is a myth, that it’s a good idea to send the National Guard to Iraq, that we should keep cutting spending on infrastructure and emergency planning so we can finance a war and still have tax cuts?

I’m betting it won’t. They’ll keep shrieking their denails, and ultimately they’ll get away with it because their beliefs are so much more palatable than the unpleasant reality. I predict that the Climate Change Science Program and NASA’s studies of climate change will still get their budget cut next year. Why even study whether global warming might be causing these disasters, when you can just choose to believe it isn’t?

And remember, this is not a partisan issue. Democrats supported the major budget cuts for the US Army Corps of Engineers in New Orleans, and the cancellation of a study into what would happen if a hurricane hit the city. Democrats voted for the war in Iraq. When the Senate voted 95-0 against the Kyoto protocol on the grounds that it would result in economic harm to US industry and would exclude some nations (Senate Resolution 98 in 1997), those voting included John Kerry and Ted Kennedy.

New Orleans in particular is a problem people have known about for a long time. It was just waiting to happen, like the big earthquake in San Francisco, or Mount Rainier showering Seattle with ash and red hot debris. The big question in my mind is whether people will learn, or whether they’ll carry on as before and build a New New Orleans right where the last one was. Either way, I never got to see New Orleans, and now I never will.

There was a news item on Slashdot about two new moons “about the size of San Francisco” being discovered around Uranus. This prompted a cranky posting from someone saying:

“Seriously though, is it not possible to read an article about Uranus without seeing all those “uranus *lol* *giggle* *pffft!*” posts?”

Well, I just had to reply…

A scholarly look at Uranus

Yes, there’s nothing funny about Uranus. Let’s forget the childish humor and take a serious, scholarly look at Uranus. To many people it’s just a giant cloud of gas where the sun doesn’t shine, but those of us who are enthusiastic about Uranus know that it has many secrets.

Surprising as it may seem, we don’t have all that many photographs of Uranus. Yes, the Pioneers sent back pictures of Uranus, lots of them. But there are very few images that are high enough resolution and quality to show the faint rings around Uranus. Perhaps the excitement around these new moons will give us the excuse we need to take another long, hard look at Uranus.

Even if you have no idea how to find Uranus, you can still appreciate its unusual configuration. Scientists still don’t understand why Uranus is tilted sideways. Also, while we know what’s near the surface, we still aren’t sure of the exact chemical mixture deep inside Uranus. Are the moons stable, or are they spiraling into Uranus?

With so much to learn, we must hope that NASA will probe the depths of Uranus soon. Yes, there are many technical issues that will need to be resolved, and problems to be faced—but we put men on the moon, and I’m sure that given sufficient motivation, NASA’s engineers can lick Uranus too.

Oh, and yes, the size comparisons are silly, but can you think of a more sensible unit of size than San Francisco for an object in the vicinity of Uranus?

OK, I think I’m done now.

The INS has been renamed the Department of Citizenship and Immigration Services. Since immigration comes before citizenship, they probably should have been the Department of Immigration and Citizenship Services, but I imagine someone saw the obvious problem with that. (”Twenty Muslim men were rounded up by the DICS last night in San Francisco.”)

Immigration is also now part of the Department of Homeland Security. Hence we have the deliciously ironic situation of the JFK Federal Building housing the Department of Homeland Security. Tell that to Jackie.

Anyway, I turned up at around 09:00 and stood in line for an hour to be handed a small piece of paper with a number on it—in my case, 465. Then I went out to the forms people to get an I-89. The I-89 is for photographs and fingerprints. It’s quite a long and detailed form, but fortunately I wasn’t expected to fill it out. Instead, I had a fingerprint imprinted on each side, and was told to sign the statement at the bottom saying that all the above information was correct. Apparently they fill in the actual information for me later.

My next task was to take the blank form back to the first room. However, instead I snuck upstairs to the JFK cafeteria for coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. In retrospect, I probably should have had lunch there as well, because when I came back down at around 10:30 my day was just beginning.

It was 14:25 when they finally reached #465. I handed over my blank piece of paper, two photos and the letter they’d sent me. They stamped my passport. That was it, so by 14:30 I was outside, light headed from lack of food, walking through downtown Boston looking up at the tall buildings, trying to come to terms with the fact that in some vague yet official sense I now belong here.

I got some curry, then the T to Lechmere to head to work. On the way through the mall I picked up a creme de fleur and coffee from Au Bon Pain, because I felt I deserved it. There wasn’t much time left for actual work, and Glenn had thoughtfully arranged a meeting to occupy most of it, so before long I was wandering home, still dazed. The curry had done its work, and I was sleepier than a koala that’s just switched to decaf.

So, here I am. I have to pay taxes, and they can make me die on the front lines in a war, but they don’t want to let me vote. I suppose it’s a bit like being black.

Picked up negatives of San Francisco photos, scanned them. Treated myself to a can of Irn Bru found in Harvard Square. Did a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember, and suddenly it was late at night.

Wednesday we got a courtesy car pick-up from the rental company. We rented a Toyota Prius. I was intrigued by how well a hybrid gasoline/electric car would work, and this seemed a good chance to give one a thorough test drive. Or rather, for sara to give one a thorough test drive…

What we hadn’t been expecting was that it was a fully tricked-out Prius, complete with GPS satellite navigation system and route finder DVD-ROM for the onboard computer. We told it to take us west to the coast, and then south to the Monterey Bay Aquarium via the coastline route. It verbally directed sara out of the city. What with the directions and having our position shown on a scrolling zoomable map at all times, we were both able to forget about navigation and concentrate on the scenery. (Sand dunes. Surf. People surfing.)

As we arrived at the aquarium, it was otter feeding time. There was an enormous crowd of people around the tank, so we went out onto the deck instead and looked out into the bay. Sure enough, there were wild sea otters floating out in the kelp beds! Four of them. With the aid of the 18x zoom on the camcorder, I got some DV footage of otters at play.

We were hungry on the way back, so we asked the car to find us a nearby Indian restaurant. It turned out we were just off the El Camino Real, probably the world’s largest strip mall, so that wasn’t a problem. Unfortunately the first restaurant was closed, so we had to argue with the car a little to get a route to a different place. Phil Dick would have loved it, walking into a restaurant because our car had recommended it…

We got an average of over 50mpg, both city driving and highways, even with San Francisco’s hills to deal with. We travelled 280 miles total on $10 of gas, which was half a tank full.

I noticed that IBM had a huge ad on the freeway exit that leads to Oracle’s headquarters, saying “Our database software is the #1 seller. Now, who’s got game?” Larry Ellison must be really pissed off.

I dream of shoes…

Actually, it was about shopping, which is even sadder. Except I couldn’t go shopping because I didn’t have a reasonable pair of shoes.

I think it’s subconscious anxiety about the fact that my new Birkenstocks haven’t arrived. I bought them in San Francisco, which has an excellent Birkenstock store—go figure. A pair of sandals to replace the current pair which are wearing out, and a pair of something that looks like black canvas trainers, except they’re not, hopefully to replace the beaten-up Reebok Classics.

Did a bunch of chores yesterday. Tidied my desk, copied all sara’s old Zip disks onto a CD for her, installed Norton on her G4, shredded some old receipts, put the Lynx up for sale on eBay, moved the 8500 into the front room in preparation for selling it, and rewired the speakers in the computer room so I could have my SoundWorks system back.

I’ve had backache since SF. I was unlucky with the hotel bed; the last two I’ve experienced have been fine, but this one wasn’t good enough. I’m almost recovered now, but it’s been an unpleasant week. The problem seems to be that after sleeping on futons for over a decade, my back muscles go nuts if presented with a conventional mattress of anything less than stellar quality. I think I’m going to have to get a Japanese bedroll that I can take with me on future vacations. Anyone have any advice?

It’s strange how things get filtered though my discomfort. I was watching celebrities being interviewed, and suddenly I started to wonder if any of them had special mattress requirements. I suppose I’m starting to understand why some famous people have standard lists of special requirements for their trailers and dressing rooms. It’s just a matter of wanting to be able to get up and feel like a happy, healthy human being so you can sieze the day. Maybe I should start to write my list:

• There will be a futon mattress in the bedroom.

• The bed will have a duvet, not sheets and blankets.

• Pillows will be foam, not feather.

• There will be cafe latte available at around 09:00, and nobody is to attempt to engage me in unnecessary conversation before I’ve finished drinking it.

On the Monday we went to SFMoMA. Much good stuff. There was a really wonderful Rothko painting; normally I’m not as big on Rothko as, er, sara… but this one had a wonderful ethereal translucency to it. Rather like San Francisco fog.

I learned that Roy Lichtenstein actually painted all those little dots by hand. Later in his career he started using pre-made dots, but he still stuck them on by hand, individually. The mind boggles. Suddenly I admire his work a hell of a lot more.

At this point I had started to realize that all the stereotypes about San Francisco are basically false. It isn’t full of overpaid yuppies—or at least, it’s no more full of overpaid yuppies than Boston or Cambridge. It isn’t full of hippies either. It isn’t very gay at all, unless you head down to Castro. It isn’t perpetually summer. It isn’t full of flakes and freaks.

I’m not sure what it is, even now; I just know what it isn’t. If I’d had expectations, I probably would have been very disappointed.

Tuesday we took BART out to Berkeley. It’s about as you’d expect… very like Cambridge, MA in fact. I noticed that the copies of Socialist Worker actually used the ‘S’ word; ‘round here they rename it Revolutionary Worker. I guess “Socialist” has all the marketing power of the “Fried” in KFC.

The temperature in Berkeley was about 6 degrees warmer than SF, and students were arriving and joining frats and going to sports events. We met up with someone I knew from IRC, and had some lunch. In the afternoon we browsed Moe’s Bookstore. I was pleased to see an extensive selection of titles by Philip K. Dick, one of UCB’s most famous dropouts; there were even some I didn’t have. I bought The Simulacra and The Game Players of Titan. After all, you can’t travel to San Francisco and not get any Dick…

Returning to SF, we actually saw the Golden Gate Bridge for the first time, not shrouded completely in fog.

As a Zippy the Pinhead fan, there was something very important I had to do while I was in San Francisco. So we went to a convenience store, and I bought some Ding Dongs. As Zippy fans will know, Ding Dongs are only available in the western part of the USA; in the midwest and on the east coast, they’re known as King Dons. They’re the same thing, just with a different name (for obscure legal reasons, apparently).

I wouldn’t normally eat Hostess baked goods, but I felt a great urge to eat a Ding Dong while admiring the Transamerica Pyramid. I decided to skip the taco sauce, however.

On Sunday we had lunch at Ghirardelli Square. There was a cool frite and crêpe restaurant with DJ-mixed music; afterwards I picked up a little chocolate (of course). Next, we headed for Fisherman’s Wharf…

If you’re ever in San Francisco, I can thoroughly recommend staying at least half a kilometer from Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s a tacky, stinky strip of bad seafood restaurants and stores selling crappy souvenirs. At weekends, it’s also crowded with enough noisy obnoxious tourists to make even the most hardened city dweller feel crowd anxiety. We walked through and satisfied ourselves there was nothing worth walking into, and left as quickly as possible.

The one good thing down by Pier 39 was a homeless guy who was providing entertainment to try and earn his bum dollar; Bill Hicks would have loved it. The guy would crouch down behind two pieces of bush, one in each hand. As a bovine tourist passed, he would leap up and rapidly draw aside the disguise, usually startling the tourists. I kinda felt like giving him money.

I didn’t, for the same reasons I didn’t give money to any of the other beggars: call me unfeeling, but I don’t want to fund their drug habits, whether it’s cigarettes, weed, alcohol, or whatever. So instead I send money to charities that feed the homeless nourishing meals. Sure, giving them the choice between drugs and food is fine in principle, but I figure if they were smart enough to make that kind of choice for themselves they wouldn’t be on the street, would they?

“San Francisco… it’s where the voices in your head kept telling you to go!”

Having said that, I feel I can now admit that our restaurant search for the evening took us to a particularly fine place called Indigo. California cuisine, and quite the most incredible meal I could recall eating in years. A delicious explosion of flavors in every bite. Kinda expensive by my standards, at around $35 per head. Sure, I appreciate really good food every now and again, but I’m more of a diner kind of guy.