Where's home?

Tumbleweed is not a feature of Scotts Valley, although I think that in the imaginations of some acquaintances, it should be. Certainly, my recent move from a global city of 8 million to a small town of 10,000 often provokes a response along the lines of my hairdresser's recent comment, "That's quite a change". The implication appears to be that I may be missing out, culturally bereft or living in something of a one horse town. The unkind smirks of a few suggest that they think I may have downgraded.

With two full months under my belt, I now feel empowered to rebut the charge. It's true that Scotts Valley, on its own, is unlikely to feature in regularly published studies comparing global cities. But it is a mistake to think of the town in isolation from the rest of the Bay Area, which has so far provided me with a trip to the Symphony (I never did that in New York - although of course it was available), a DJ'd Hallowe'en costume party at SF Moma (you haven't lived until you've seen a human representation of the H1N1 virus standing next to a Warhol) and, critically, an expedition to San Jose's Shark Tank to see Disney's Princesses on Ice (O.K that one was really for the benefit of our 7 year old niece, but it was great, and if you have a young princess in the family, and the show is in the area, highly recommended).

I've also hiked in the woods, in the mountains and by the ocean, eaten fabulous ice cream at Santa Cruz's 50 year old staple, Marianne's and the latest back to the land food at the Mission district's Chez Spencer. So pity me not, ye doubters. Life here or there is not better or worse, it is just different.

One of the real pleasures of living outside the big city (which here, is San Francisco), is the ability to make a weekend trip out of visiting. Our night at the museum (the aforementioned Hallowe'en event) was really just one part of a Friday and Saturday enjoying the city. We got to stay in a boutique hotel (the Hotel Vertigo, appropriately named after the Hitchcock movie), hit a great restaurant, a party in a museum and then lunch the following day in one of San Francisco's classic spaces, the Garden Court at the Palace Hotel.

In due course, when I return to New York, I look forward to being a tourist in the city I called home for nearly nine years, mainly because I shall at last have an excuse to stay in one of the fabulous trendy hotels which spring up in the most unlikely places. Currently, I have my sights set on The Standard, although I fear that it may have moved out of our budget range by the time we come back.

It looks hopeful that next month, we may move into a new home in Capitola (still in Santa Cruz County, California), and next weekend, we are heading over to the UK, and I shall endeavor to send a post from London, which is my original home town.

The reality is, of course, that home is wherever you make it. And I now characterize myself as a Londoner, a New Yorker and a Santa Cruzer (Cruiser?!), depending on what suits at the time.

So what if the Earth moves?

Saturday was the 20th anniversary of the Loma Prieta earthquake. For non-locals, that was the one that damaged the Bay Bridge and halted the 1989 World Series. The epicenter of the quake was in the Forest of Nisene Marks, just a few miles from where I now live. Is it irresponsible to choose to live so close to known fault lines? Maybe. According to the US Geographical Survey, there have already been 24 shakes today in California, although none of them registered over 3 on the Richter scale (and I didn't feel any of them). It's definitely costly. California taxpayers have footed the bill for billions of dollars of seismic retrofits on bridges alone, with the ongoing construction on the Bay Bridge described as the the largest public works contract in California's history.

Interestingly, more than 80% of Bay Area residents can't identify the most active fault near where they live. (It's the Hayward Fault, not as many would guess, the San Andreas fault).

Perhaps ignorance of natural disasters is bliss. I had foolishly believed that earthquakes were the major concern in terms of local natural hazards. I had overlooked forest fires (one was burning up in Bonny Doon when I arrived, and destroyed over 7000 acres and 13 structures, costing nearly $1 billion to contain, and required some 1500 firefighters before it was contained.) Typhoons had not occurred to me, yet we experienced the remains of a Japanese typhoon just last Tuesday, when nearly 10 inches of rain were dumped on us in a 48 hour period! Then Eric casually mentioned that California is also at risk of tsunamis (11 died in 1964 in Crescent City when a tsunami last hit the Golden State). And we shouldn't forget debris flows, a massively destructive force of nature particularly of concern in the Los Angeles area grippingly described in John McPhee's The Control of Nature.

It's lucky that I am not paranoid, or I might by now have jumped on the first flight I could find back to New York (great deals on Virgin America today, by the way, folks - $99 cross continent!). And you may be wondering what all this has to do with my job search (will I turn down a job based on its proximity to the Hayward fault, perhaps?)

Instead, all these factors are playing in to our search for a house. In recent weeks, we've looked at properties with fabulous views (but located on a hill with trees above which might decide to come and visit in a serious rainstorm), with serious acreage (but located in the flammable woods up in the mountains) and close to the ocean (we couldn't afford that one, at a mere $3.6 million, but it was fun checking out how the other half lives). Accommodating my desire for some kind of house wow factor (like a great view or interesting architecture), and the pragmatic requirement of a flat lot is proving challenging, but keeps us busy at weekends, motoring around the county.

And I have a newfound respect for natural disaster insurance!

A Pressing Matter...

I have never been a morning tv person. To this day, the only famous American morning anchor I know is Katie Couric, and it has to be at least three years since she quit Today. Instead, I grew up with the sound of the BBC "pips", the Greenwich Time Signal which marks the precise start of the hour on Radio 4, and a vastly different program, which coincidentally is also called the Today show, but which offers content of a somewhat higher caliber.

Arriving in the States, back in 2000, I searched for something equivalent to wake up to, and to get me prepped for the day. It may be rabid nationalism, but in my opinion it is hard to equal the BBC as a news source. CNN is pretty good domestically, but fails miserably to cover international events in any kind of detail. The major national papers (for me, this means the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal) do a great job, but I can't digest quite so much print early in the morning. Surfing the net at 7am for the online versions of these (or anything else) is also not my deal - I need coffee before I can log on.

And so it was that I found my way to NPR. My relationship with public radio goes back to an earlier stint in the States, when I briefly lived in Florida. It was then that I was first sucked into the vortex. There is a weird relationship (chronicled brilliantly in Slate, earlier this year) between public radio and its listeners. We fear that it may disappear, and so, reluctantly we provide dollar support, to ensure that the mad eclectic mix of news, politics, music, car talk, sports and intellectual quiz shows will remain.

In Santa Cruz, the local station is KUSP. I have been listening religiously every morning since I arrived in the county. And when the call to volunteer came, I answered it.

Anyone who knows public radio, knows and hates the pledge drives. They interrupt programming, and are a blatant ask for funding dollars. In New York, I used to avoid the situation entirely by giving a monthly amount, so that I could turn off the radio during the drives with impunity. Here, since we are saving our pennies for a house downpayment and I did not plan to give, I figured that the very least I could do was answer the phones. So this morning saw me, coffee in hand, at the ready to answer an old-style rotary telephone and take pledges (in any amount), that would sustain the local station.

The death of the press, and the fragmentation of interest among consumers is being chronicled on a regular basis elsewhere. We all have a choice to make about keeping our politicians honest by ensuring the existence of the investigative press. But wherever you source your news (and there are readers of this blog who rely on fair and deeply unbalanced Fox and the National Review - you know who you are - as well as those who only watch Jon Stewart), it is incumbent upon us all to ensure the variety and richness of the sources available to us remains...

So my question to you is: Have you pledged yet? Whatever your news source is, are you truly committed? Do you subscribe? Do you watch on a regular basis? Are you listening?

Because after answering only a very few pledge calls in two hours this morning, I am concerned that regular folks have stopped paying attention. And democracy does not rest only upon the three branches of government enshrined in the U.S. constitution. It requires a fourth, the existence of a free, critical and vibrant press.