Monthly Archives: October 2013

Thirty-Two Dollars a Minute

That’s how much the funds the generous people in my life raised came to in the 10k I ran Sunday morning in Dana Point.

DanaPointTeamFran

$1665, in total.*

From 40 people/couples/families. 

I used to think that people said, “I’m humbled by your generosity” because that was what you said, as if it was some Code of Christian Charity or of Hallmark Card Inscriptions that’s become so entrenched in our cultural rituals that people say it out of obligation, because to not say it would be awkward. Like when the only other person in the waiting room sneezes and you say, “Bless you,” even though you’re not actually thinking, “God, bless this person and keep him well,” even though you don’t really believe in blessings.

I used to think that, I realize now, because I’d never actually been affected by people’s generosity before. Let alone been a vehicle for it.

When I was a kid, we did can drives, sold chocolate bars, did Swim-A-Thons, but I don’t remember one thing we raised money for.  Partly this was because I was a little kid and didn’t grasp much of anything I was doing, and partly because as I grew into a bigger kid, it was cool to not care about anyone else and to not donate time or money and to not do things for other people, when there was so much other important stuff to do and spend your money on, like surf and chase girls and play basketball and smoke pot and look for old LPs at the flea market. For instance.

In college, what little volunteering I did was almost entirely selfish, either as a resume-builder or as a way to try to impress upon people the generosity of my spirit (which, of course, belies that very thing). Or, like the Habitat for Humanity Global Village trip I took to Paraguay in ’05, it was an excuse to go somewhere or do something cool. My college coach used to make the swim team run in this 10k every year to support Special Olympics, and I loathed it and complained bitterly about it the entire time.  I thought Special Olympics was great and all, but I didn’t see why swimmers had to run to help them out. Why I had to, of all people. I tried coaching Special Olympics on and off over the years, but I never thought of it as anything but a potential way to “prove” I was more than just a jock, that I had a heart and gave a shit. (Though I’m sure it was pretty obvious to all involved that I wasn’t/didn’t.) Several of my friends and teammates loved doing it, and did all kinds of other volunteer work, too, and seemed to really enjoy getting out of themselves for a couple hours every week, giving of themselves, doing things for other people.

I mean, right? Kind of? No?

I mean, right? Kind of? No?

I just figured I wasn’t cut from that altruistic cloth. “Some people make good kindergarten teachers,” I reasoned, “and some people are born volunteers. I’m not.” I was better at “being me,” which basically meant thinking about myself and doing what I wanted to do, all the time, forever. Which over the years turned into crawling further and further into this small little black-holish ball of nihilistic narcissism (which story’s been told and is boring anyway).

And then one of my closest friends died.

A little bit about Fran’s death and his life and what he meant to me and others is here in this article I wrote a few years ago, but suffice it to say that he died suddenly and rather tragically, and it stunned me.

In the wake of Fran’s death, his family established the Fran Crippen Elevation Foundation as a legacy to the things that mattered most to him, and I realized for perhaps the first time in my life that here was something that had nothing to do with me that I actually really cared about.

Pic: Lars Baron/Getty Images

Pic: Lars Baron/Getty Images

Fran was an optimist and believed that pursuing one’s dreams was the highest calling in life. He didn’t think any obstacle was too great to overcome, but he was also realistic enough to know that obstacles can’t just be wished away, and that sometimes people need a little help getting over life’s hurdles. In non-headliner sports like swimming, financial wherewithal is often the dealbreaker when it comes to deciding whether or not to keep plugging away at the dream, and to that end, the FCEF offers financial support to one male and one female athlete every year who has a plan to continue training, but faces financial challenges to doing so.

Which is where Team Fran and the race we did last Sunday come in. Team Fran is set up like Team USO, in that you raise money by participating in events that are already underway. For the last couple years, Team Fran has been running in Philadelphia’s Broad Street Run, and we were thinking it’d be nice to have a west coast fundraiser, as well. Thus the Dana Point Halloween Half Marathon, in which 300ish people ran. Eight of us were registered with Team Fran and raised money (three of them did the half-marathon, crazy awesome bastards), and a handful of others came out to run or walk the 5k or 10k.

I started asking for money on facebook about a month ago. I’d never done that before, and I felt a little uncomfortable about it, but this was for Fran’s foundation, so I kept at it. A few people pitched in right away, and I thought, “Aw, that’s good.” But they were teammates and close friends and I figured they’d donate no matter what I was doing, still thinking, Because that’s what you do, donate when your friends want you to. And then each week more and more money came in, and I started thinking wow, this is kind of cool. And then last week it was like the floodgates opened and before I knew it, sixteen-hundred and sixty-five dollars was sitting underneath my name.

I did my best to remember all the people that donated, my plan being to use them when the going got tough, to have them “carry me through the pain” type of thing.

But it ended up I needed them much sooner than that.

I’m competitive to a fault, to the point that I’d rather win than “have a good time” (which distinction is still a brave, new world to me). Backyard badminton, volleyball during a nice relaxing day at the beach, Monopoly or checkers with an eight-year-old on a snowy day – you name it, I want to win it, and if I can’t win, I probably won’t play. This is essentially why I considered quitting swimming my third year of college – it became obvious to me that, save a miracle, I wasn’t going to win NCAAs or make the 2004 Olympic team, and I thought, you know, what’s the use? (Thankfully, my teammates didn’t let me entertain that thought too long…)

DanaPointRaceSite

Sunday was my first athletic competition in nearly a decade, and while I told myself it wasn’t going to be a big deal, the second I saw the Start/Finish line I got that tight/sour stomach, that flood of saliva, that need to open up my lungs.

I smelled blood.

And that worried me, because I hadn’t trained for this. I mean, I run a little to keep in shape, but I have no idea how to run a road race, how fast to start, how soon to speed up, where to make a move, who to look out for, how to take the downhills, what effect the inclines are going to have on my legs at 80% versus 90%. My first thought was, “Shit, I am not going to win this,” and I was immediately dreading every step I was going to take and all the moments afterwards until I could get out of that parking lot and pretend that the imminent, inevitable loss never happened.

I said to Erin, “Ugh, just the sight of a race course makes me nervous.”

She looked at me with her quizzical, stop-being-ridiculous look, and said, “Well don’t be. That’s not what we’re here for.”

And that’s when I called on those people who’d put up their hard-earned money – these days, when things are tough are all over – to support the FCEF. The idea seems so simple and obvious, right, that people weren’t supporting me, that no one cared how I finished, that it didn’t matter to anyone anywhere whether I was running at all on that foggy Sunday morning in south Orange County except as I functioned as a vehicle for their support of something that actually matters to a whole heck of a lot of people.

Well, those kinds of things aren’t obvious to me.

Or if they do occur to me, my self-concern obscures them again almost instantly.

But thinking about those donors, and about Fran’s family, and all the reasons why we’re involved in this foundation, and all the people that knew Fran and were friends with him and are my friends now because of that connection, kept me from getting wrapped up in my own stupid, meaningless competitiveness. Because it would essentially have been competition in a vacuum, empty of any reference or value, and I would not have fared well, and it would have lead only to disappointment and resentment, which would have been poison on a positive day. 

I hung with Erin the first quarter of the race and enjoyed people’s costumes and cooed over the babies people were pushing in their massive strollers and oohed and aahed at the dogs trotting alongside their owners and laughed at the team of nine-year-old soccer girls who were making fun of their coach for running like and being “a dinosaur. Like, literally.”

And then when Erin made the turn at 2.5k, I put the pedal down and spent the rest of the time reeling people in. (So, really, I did kind of get the best of both worlds….) Which was fun because I got to think about Fran a lot, and guess whether he’d have liked coming up behind those people with me and picking them off, or if he’d have been way ahead from the beginning and talking trash about me having started so slow. He always did hate when I beat him in the final ten meters or the last round of a set.

“Yeah, great job at the very end there,” he’d say. “Where were you the rest of the time?”

I’m not saying I’ve turned into some amazingly compassionate person since Fran’s death. I’m certainly not saying “that’s what it took” for me to turn my head around. I hear that kind of thing sometimes – not about Fran, but in other settings – and it seems the height of egocentrism, even solipsism, to imply that “God took” someone so that you could become a better person. I’d rather be a sad, angry, sick and lonely man the rest of my days and have Fran still around. Any of us would trade me that for him, I’m sure. And well they should. My newfound generosity of spirit, whatever little it’s worth, is not a compensation. There is no compensation.

And yet, he’s gone, and there’s no undoing that. So we might as well use what remains to be better. We did a good amount of good the last couple weeks, those who funded those of us who ran.

Personally, the whole experience, but especially the race Sunday morning, was an opportunity to practice being a different kind of person, to see that what I’ve always thought of as my “default” or “natural” character, isn’t, necessarily. Or doesn’t have to be.

And meanwhile, everyone who gave money through me already assumed that I was a good representative of the foundation they wanted to support. “This is important to Ian. This is important to me. Ian is important to me. Sweet trifecta, that – lemme give a few dollars.”

All I had to do was show up and run a few miles.

And that’s what I mean when I say I’m honored and humbled by people’s generosity.

So I guess, Welcome to the human race, Prichard, right?

What are some of your favorite charities?

Do you do these kinds of volunteer/charity events?

Which has had the most impact on you?

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*You do the math, if you’re interested – I’m not posting that slow of a time for free.

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In the Shadow of Catastrophe, II

If you didn’t see Part I, go check it out.

Go on, it’s only a thousand words, we’ll wait.

K, all caught up on just how precarious SoCal’s continued existence is?

Great, then on to solutions.

Solutions to the imminent collapse of the Sacramento-San Joaquin Delta have been proposed since the State Water Project was inaugurated. The most well-known of these is the Peripheral Canal, which would divert Sacramento River water through or, as the name would suggest, around the Delta, to the tune of $3 to $17 BILLION, depending on who you’re asking. A ballot initiative to fund a peripheral canal was first proposed and defeated in 1982. A $11.14b water bond was defeated in 2010, and another is slated for the 2014 ballot, though it’ll likely be pushed to 2016. By which time it’ll hopefully be irrelevant, and Governor Jerry Brown’s Bay Delta Conservation Plan will be on its way to being a reality.

So, if it’s been an issue that people have known needs to be addressed for so long, why’s it never been solved?

Because money, of course.

On one hand, farmers and environmentalists and various other interest groups in the Delta have beaucoup bucks to throw at defeating these bills, and on the other, no one really wants to pay for it. It would certainly make water more expensive, but like car maintenance, the longer we don’t pay for it, the more expensive the project and our water will be later.

SWP water has doubled in the last ten years, and is expected to double again in the next ten, and people aren’t too excited about paying over and above what are already some of the highest water rates in the country.

The scarcity that’s driving the cost of SWP water up is both real, and legislated/judicial. We all know about the generally shorter and warmer winters and less precipitation going on these days, and whether you believe climate change is a result of human activity or not, the fact of the matter is that there’s been less snowpack in the Sierras at the end of spring for a dozen+ years running, which means that there’s less water in the Delta. Which has led to less, warmer, more algae-filled and even sometimes saltier Delta water, to which one little linchpin in particular in the whole web of life really takes exception.

Much more detailed (and better) description of Smeltgate than what I offer here. Pic: NYTimes

A better, more detailed description of Smeltgate than what I offer here.
Pic: NYTimes

These are Delta Smelt.

When they’re unhappy, the salmon that run in the Delta are unhappy, and as the Steelhead and Chinook are on the endangered list, Smelt have become the focal point of the ecological studies – and rage – in the Delta. In 2007, pumping allocations out of the Delta were throttled way-way back (think, half), in large part because of concern over these little buggers. A 2008 study supporting those allocation limitations stated that the Smelt, et al, were disastrously imperiled, so things were tight for a while, until Judge Oliver Wanger said in his 2011 appeal opinion that the study was carried out in “bad faith,” its findings “arbitrary, capricious, and unlawful,” the science that underpinned them “sloppy,” and the testimony of biological experts “false.” The 2007 limits were reversed, water flowed and Wagner was a hero for a day. (To some – he’s a murdering thieving bastard to fish-lovers and Delta farmers, but he’s retiring so what does he care).

Anyway, this back-and-forth is par for the SWP course, with Delta farmers demanding enough water for their crops and stoking and flaming Smelty controversy, and Central Valley Project water people saying they don’t want to pay for all the water that goes to what they think are basically water libertines in SoCal, and SoCalers saying wtf we didn’t invent this mess we just live here and we need water and btw we don’t give a rat’s ass about those little fish or about your sunken farms.

Which, no, is not helpful. Any of it.

But that’s the way the issue’s been framed after all this time: you’re either all for killing off all 57 endangered species that live in/depend on the Delta, or you’re in favor of dust-bowlizing Southern California completely out of existence. There’s no real middle ground, and there hasn’t been much in the way of an alternative. And meanwhile, prices just go up. And up. Aaaannnndddd up.

If you’re wondering, amid all this, why there were no Smelt-protections built into the SWP to begin with, you’re forgetting what the environmental regulatory environment was like in the 1950s.

There wasn’t one.

We were post-war booming then, right, flexing all those third-industrial-revolution muscles, basking in the glory of having made the world safe for democracy, believing that the world was our proverbial oyster and that we could do no wrong, including environmental harm. Not entirely their fault – there wasn’t the same awareness or even knowledge as there is now of the impacts of the human stain on the environment. I mean, we were testing the effects of nuclear fallout on human beings only what, fifteen, twenty years before?

To put things in perspective: the Environmental Protection Agency was formed in 1970. The Clean Water Act was passed in 1972. Which yes, was when Richard Nixon was President.

You know that if Tricky Dick was signing legislation for the environment, it was in prreeeetttty bad shape — and the SWP was designed fifteen years before that.

Which is why the Bay Delta Conservation Plan I mentioned earlier is such a great idea.

The BDCP is different because it addresses both water supply and environmental issues, and even goes so far as to call them “co-equal goals.”

Basically, two 25-foot-diameter tunnels would run 17 miles underneath* the Delta and all its messed up terrain and fragile levees, and connect with the existing aqueduct for the trip south. The tunnels are pared with a massive conservation plan that would, in addition to a host of other good things, restore about 145,000 acres of wetlands. (Remember, wetlands used to cover 500,000 acres, so that’s not too shabby.)

The other big problem with pre-BDCP water bonds is that as much as people say they want things to change, while they say they want secure water, they don’t want to pay for it (LATimes had a great story on this a few days ago). This hesitancy to pay an extra hundred bucks or so year is one of the ridiculous things about first-world entitlement: people will pay twice that each month for unlimited texting, or 20% faster internet, or the DirectTV sports package, or a few dozen bottles of smart water, but heaven forfend that the very thing that keeps us alive, that wars are fought over, today, still, cost you an extra few bucks a month.

Which is why Jerry Brown isn’t proposing that the BDCP go on the ballot. It’s about $24billion, $15b or so of which is construction of the tunnels, with the balance going to environmental projects. The Central Valley Project and the Metropolitian Water District of Southern California will split the cost of construction, passing it along to customers over 50 years. That comes to about $4 extra a month for the average household, and while times are tight, I know, that doesn’t seem likely to be any kind of back-breaking straw.

State and federal governments will sign on to come up with the money for the conservation side of things. Which they’ll do about half of. Maybe.

But still – that’s a lot better than what’s been done for the Delta lately. And what is likely to be done for it if the BDCP doesn’t fly.

Of course, even if ole Moonbeam gets all the required Federal permits to build in endangeredspeciesland, there’ll be Circumlocution-Office-worthy numbers of lawsuits and injunctions and every other legal instrument created by god and man brought down upon his and the BDCP’s head, intended to hold the project up for far longer than the 50 years it was slated to take in the first place. By which time we’ll all either be

a) dead,

b) in the post-Singularity age of spiritual machines and not in need of water, or

c) drinking desalinated ocean water or water distilled from the vapor out of the air or some other result of currently unimaginable technological advancement that nullifies the need for Delta water altogether.

Which latter hypothetical amounts, odd as it may seem, to the most optimistic argument against doing anything. But can we wait that long? Is it a good idea to bet that technology will outpace the cost of water in a decade, decade.5, which is how long tunnel construction is likely to take? Or will it be more like twenty years, or thirty-five, of doing nothing and hoping, like the good ole WASPs that got us into this mess, that by ignoring something we can negate its potential for harm, that we can deny it right out of existence?

Which kind of is what California in general, aside from just the Delta, is built on.  Mike Davis’s book The Ecology of Fear is a great take on how Los Angeles is “a city deliberately put in harm’s way by land developers, builders, and politicians, even as the incalculable toll of inevitable future catastrophe continues to accumulate,” but we can extend that out to the Golden State’s other big cities, too. Especially San Francisco, whose residents were praised across the globe for the speed with which they rebuilt their shaken and burned city in the wake of the 1906 earthquake. Which, like, maybe wasn’t the best thinking in the world, amirite?

http://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/ppmsca.07823/

Is this a picture, or what?
Panorama of SF in ruins, May 28, 1906.
Pic: Library of Congress

This is what I meant last week when I said the water industry deals with fundamental questions of human nature. Our intent is to control our surroundings, to mitigate risk, and we think that we’re able to do that with a fairly high degree of success. But two things belie this.

One: it’s only a gamble, and Mother Nature is the house. Pick any of the pipelines or canals that bring water to millions and millions of people in SoCal and trace it on a topo map for a few miles. It or one of its tributaries will cross a significant seismic fault. Most of this infrastructure is old enough to not be anywhere near “seismically sound,” and there are people whose job it is to determine whether it’s worth spending the money it would take to make these pipes and canals strong enough to withstand a 7 or 8 or 10.3 magnitude earthquake. Besides which, nature’s always got something bigger and better up her sleeve, and we usually only build to withstand the previous worst case scenario. Which is why “unforeseen disasters” keep breaking, right?

Anyway, the answer to whether saving lives is “worth” the money is always, “Yes – if you have it.” But we don’t have it. 

And – Two: we probably wouldn’t spend it if we did. We like shiny objects. We like shiny objects and we like lounging around and we like watching football and drinking beer and taking our families out to dinner and buying our girlfriends jewelry and doing things that make life seem pretty nice, or at least okay. Dealing with existential questions on the magnitude of “One” does not fit into that “nice” or “okay” model. We don’t want to be reminded of our fragility, of the fact that our continued existence is at the pleasure – nay, the whim – of Mother Nature. We want her sunshine, we want her good weather and nice beaches and lack of snow and decent fruit. But to lay some cash away to keep ourselves going in those places, against whatever rain she may send our way? Thanks but we’ll spend our money somewhere else.

We’ll spend it to build houses hanging over the edge of a cliff, or at the bottom of an active volcano, or on stilts above the ocean. Think about that, especially you post-Sandy East Coasters. Houses on stilts. Above the ocean.

Sticks versus the Atlantic Ocean.

HousesStrip

Middle pic: Nat Geo

It seems crazy when you put it like that, but that’s what we do.

And it’s kind of nice to think that we’re all just gamblers. There is so much risk in everything we do that if you look at it, you wouldn’t do it. A friend of mine once asked me, about surfing, “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get eaten by sharks?” I said it’s better odds than getting hit by a car on the freeway, and he said, “Not true. I may die on the freeway, but I can guarantee you the risk of me getting eaten by a shark is absolutely zero.”

“How’s that?”

“I don’t go in the ocean.”

We can pick and choose to control certain odds, but all in all, we’re just rolling craps. For the young and the old and the rich and the poor and the black and the white alike, the inscrutability and awesome indifference of nature levels any playing field you can come up with.

Remembering that we’re on “borrowed time” and that we’re all in this boat together reminds me to take it a little easier, to take myself and my million little plans and strategies a little less seriously.

Not that doing so keeps you from getting thirsty, though.

So, while I may not be doomsday prepping any time soon, keeping a little extra water around the house probably isn’t too bad an idea.

Anyway, now that you’re caught up** on the State Water Project and the current state of water in California – on the various hues and depths of the shadow of the catastrophe we Angelinos live in – let’s hear from you.

What shadows do you live in?

Do you worry about them?

Do you do anything about them?

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*Kind-of-not-really. Look here for some of the more level-headed opposition.

** I know, I know, this isn’t the whole story. Nor is the SWP the only water issue in California. I’ve ignored a lot of history here that’s actually really really good context for the bitterness felt by both sides of this debate, such as the desiccation of Owens Valley and Mulholland’s Folly. Cadillac Desert is a good place to start if you’re interested in a great narrative of the wildest aspect of the West.

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