How Hazardous Driving Conditions Are Good for You, or Reflections on a Des Moines* Driving Experience

*actually, it should be Windsor Heights/Clive, Iowa driving experience to be geographically correct, but Des Moines Driving sounds better :)

I like to think of myself as a "seasoned" driver. I was taught how to drive in late fall in central Wisconsin. This included several stints of white-knuckled driving (and white-knuckled front passenger seat riding) in winter complete with snow, ice, freezing rain, hail, the works.

Receiving my driver's license (on my second attempt) in early February I was still in Wisconsin. The first time, in true Wisconsin fashion, snow had blurred the painted lane dividers and during my road test I was instructed to make a left hand turn. I did as instructed, feeling confident, until a truck pulled up on my left hand side, alerting me to the fact that I was not in the left hand turn lane as anticipated. After that I honed my driving skills in Connecticut, land of windy roads carved into mountain sides. And I rounded it out driving in downtown Chicago.

Though I have yet to drive the lawless roads of LA I am confident that I could handle whoever decides to cut me off having born witness to my friends' driving.

But driving in Des Moines can spoil a person. Although the strictly enforced speed limits, which rarely exceed 35 mph have reduced me to squeaky indignation, one gets used to it. I am a self-confessed speed demon, but I am also a creature of habit. And having been warned of law enforcement's hard-nosed approach to speed limits I have caught myself mildly panicking when I exceed 45 mph. This is from a person, who under any other driving conditions usually takes the posted speed limit and adds 15.

Also, in LA, where every third person is trying to make a left-hand turn on a two lane street, left hand turn lanes are rare and left hand turn signals a luxury. Therefore, one must often inch one's way oh so cautiously into the intersection and pray that oncoming traffic will at least be courteous not to swipe your bumper as you wait for the light to turn red. At that divinely appointed, or at least culturally accepted moment, you can crank the wheel, stomp on the accelerator, and make the turn that you've been waiting five minutes to make. Here in Des Moines, where I am spending my last full 24 hours, there are left hand turn lanes everywhere!

There are even those sections of road that are sectioned off in the middle of the road, reserved for traffic that is coming from either direction to make a left hand or a right hand turn into a shopping center. As I am not a traffic engineer I don't know the technical term for them. I do know that they are rare in LA.

And don't get me started on the number of left hand turn lights Des Moines has en masse. Oh that LA could install a few of those! Maybe Angelinos could DRV HPY.

There are even green *right hand* turn lights. I almost weep with pleasure when I see those as I know I won't be sideswiped by some jerk trying to run the light. The law is on my side! Nevertheless, the paranoid city driver in me still checks before inching into the intersection.

As much as I love these traffic conveniences and the fact that they are spoiling the heck out of me, that is also the downfall. I have opted to use the children's storybook characters the Country Mouse and the City Mouse in lieu of and to not directly offend any homo sapiens. I would argue that the City Mouse is a "better" driver due to conditioning. S/he is used to the perils of driving as s/he is faced with them every time they get behind the wheel. (This is assuming that there are cars correctly proportioned for mice. As Stuart Little had a car I would argue that there are. There's your random pop culture reference for today's post.)

The City Mouse doesn't have an illusions about his or her fellow driver. S/he knows getting on the 5, the 110, the 101, or any road for that matter, there's going to be some one who's driving distracted- be it texting on their phone, yelling at their kids, fumbling with the radio dial, etc., *Chances are the City Mouse is doing the same things too* Though not this City Mouse. Speed is my only vice. Unless of course I am employed by a city or state agency. Then, I will be the paradigm of law-abiding citizen!

Roads are also more crowded in the city making space more limited. Therefore, one has to be more aware lest one scratch that $100,000 Maserati that is ahead of you. Beautiful as they are, it is better to look not touch lest one wishes for one's auto insurance rates to skyrocket to the stratosphere.

The Country Mouse, bless those that still exist, often still harbors the notion that people, or in this case, "mice," are inherently good. That everyone else is driving just as carefully as s/he. And while one should always drive defensively, other drivers are not going to cut you off arbitrarily because everyone drives nice, right?

Two minutes on any big city road will vaporize any belief in other drivers being inherently "good." Someone's going to merge into your lane without looking, someone else will be riding your bumper like you're playing Bumper Cars, a third driver is merging onto the on-ramp without regard for the other cars that are already there. And if you're lucky all three conditions will converge at the same time like a traffic Bermuda Triangle.

Therefore, the Country Mouse is snapped out of his or her revelry that s/he was able to indulge puttering around in his or her small town accelerating or slowing at a whim, not bothering to signal lane changes This does occur in big cities too. But such actions do not go unnoticed. Many a driver anoints him or herself a traffic cop and is more than happy to tell you what you did wrong complete with hand gestures, colorful language, and commentary on your ancestry.

While I'm not advocating that we should all drive like the self-centered jerk that wants to be unleashed from our id, I do hypothesize that a little hazardous driving conditions isn't always a bad thing. Just like Midwestern winter weather driving conditions as sucky as it is to have to deal with it, given enough exposure it could save our lives. (think how vaccines work, same concept). Drive into that big city Country Mouse, you'll thank me later.

The Call of the Mall, Reply at Your Own Peril

I have set my sights on several planning jobs in towns that are in very modest-size.

The temptation is to say gee, if they just put in a few more up-scale chain stores they could generate a lot of business. A Gap over here, an Abercrombie over there and people would flock from miles around!

Afterall, that is what I am thinking whenever I drive around Des Moines- gahh if they just had an H&M or a Barnes and Noble!

This is not entirely fair to say. The "upscale" mall, and the newest mall in town, Jordan Creek contains many national brands, including J. Crew, Pac-Sun, Ann Taylor Loft, etc., But H&M is among the missing. Barnes and Noble is in town and scattered throughout, though their bargain section is lacking in terms of quality.*sigh* I'm still looking for a Crate & Barrel or a Whole Foods. Yes, I am a horrible yuppie snob. I swear it's latent!!!

But as past experience has taught us, relying on a mall is a dangerous proposition. Other cities have tried building a mall as their Hail-Mary economic development strategy. And at first they appeared to be a resounding success. Afterall, who doesn't love a shiny, new building filled with all of your favorite stores?

The question is posed, what happens when the cruel hand of Time leaves its grubby fingerprints on an establishment? What happens when thirty years have passed and the age of a structure begins to show? It's hard to pass off an era-specific 1960s mall as hip and happening when a sleek new mall is built. Insert analogies culled from Sunset Boulevard, All About Eve, or any Joan Crawford movie centering around an aging (badly) starlet here.

And what is one left with besides a monstrosity of a building that is hard to convert into other uses. Imagine how hard it is to retrofit a former McDonalds or Taco Bell building into something else. Yes, they can be turned into a hair salon, pet boutique, or office. But these archetypal buildings are firmly ingrained in our psyches. And when we drive by the new Tammy's Toys for Pets, we still think why is the Taco Bell now a pet shop!? Imagine trying to do that with an old mall!*

Therefore, my proposals are minimal in terms of expense and often rely on social gathering, such as spaghetti suppers and pancake breakfasts. I figure, people have to eat, why not do it together? I also suggest other community-building activities, such as organized sports teams and talent shows. I'd share the list, but one must save some ideas for the interview!

People may tire of American Eagle or Macy's, but our need to be social creatures is not as fickle as the next season's hemlines. And in some communities the need to keep with the latest trends is not as important as keeping up with one's family.

Though I love big city life, I'd be willing to trade it in for a government job in a small town that allows me to think creatively and not have to worry about breathing in deeply. LA's air quality leaves much to be desired. But fresh, country air? Can't get enough!

In the end, it is community, not commerce that triumphs.

*= this is not to say that the old malls must go the way of ill-conceived housing projects. Sometimes the spaces are leased out to grocery stores-

http://retailtrafficmag.com/news/mall_owners_experiment_supermarkets_09292010/

Here are some other interesting ideas from Retail Traffic magazine

http://retailtrafficmag.com/news/developers_rethink_mall_06272010/

But it does require money, on some one's part. And no one knows that better than Cloverfield, Virginia

http://www2.timesdispatch.com/news/2010/aug/21/clov21-ar-464846/

And if one does raze a building and build a new "destination center", one must remember to build it for tourists and locals.

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/front_page/20101226_For_tourists_and_city__not_re-created_equal.html

With thanks to Planetizen.com's search engine for these results.

Confessions of a Design Snob

I have been thinking a lot about my planning interests.

Before I went to planning school and learned about ordinances and politics, setbacks and NIMBYs, my driving desire in planning was to create, or at least cultivate, places for people to "hang out," to "just be."

I've come to learn that if I really want to "create" hangouts I'll literally have to put my money where my mouth is and become a developer. And as I rarely balance my checkbook I doubt that taking out a construction loan in my name is a wise idea either.

But the dream lives on.

I know that humanity needs spaces for social interaction, where we can connect- cite Bowling Alone, sociology, some anthropology for good measure, yadda yadda.

The question remains, how to bring it about?

I hate to be all Parisian, 1920's, was-it-ever-really-that-good-or-is-everyone-who'd-offer-up-a- differential-is-dead-so-let's-say-yes-with-abandon, salons, and cafes, but I do think that cafes and coffee houses, despite their inevitable romanticizing and looking at the past with round, hippy rose-colored glasses, remains one of the best places for people of different incomes, races, and creeds to come together without too much inherent strife.

Look at Starbucks. Except for the dude who is monopolizing a table for four, with his laptop and no beverage nor food item in view during a crowded hour, there is rarely any strife. I admit that some times it's a chick who commandeers an entire table without a status-cup in view, nor a baked good to-go bag in sight. Either way, it's uncool when I'm meeting my group for a project get-together in a Starbucks that is well-known as a student studying spot, as it is right next to my campus and you're pecking away on Facebook taking over an entire table not buying anything. You are on warning, sir/ma'am. Starbucks corporate would back up my logic, as much as I'd hate to be in agreement with Starbucks corporate on many issues.

I was thinking about this specifically as I met my friend and fellow planner at USC, Caitlin, at the Mars Cafe, by Drake University, here in Des Moines. Caitlin grew up in Des Moines and said that the Mars Cafe was "the cool place to hang out for the cool kids," which she self-deprecatingly declared that she wouldn't know from personal experience.

I laughed, remembering the cool coffee shop in the town that I spent the majority of my childhood called, Something's Brewing. I vowed, as a child, that when I went to high school that I would hang out there after school and be so cool. Unfortunately, I only frequented that establishment on weekends, and often accompanied by my dad, which is the polar opposite of cool to a high schooler.

But the Mars Cafe was cool. It was the longest wait I've ever had for a hot cup of cider (my poison of choice in the winter). Yet it had the requisite locally-produced, winking-at-pop-culture art, the kid-friendly toys, and the slightly funky vibe that a local college coffeehouse has.

However, it felt a little too "new," too static-y, I don't know if because it's wedged in a nondescript strip center, if the roof felt too high, if the glass was gasp! too commercial (as opposed to I don't know too bohemian? I know it can't all be Art Nouveau. But it should be!) If the paint wasn't peeling in the right places, if the tables weren't "distressed" enough to warrant approval. Thanks to David Brooks, my "bobo" aesthetic is now highly attuned to bruise tones and the right level of distressed finishes, ie does it look like someone took a hammer to it or sanded the heck out of it even though it's brand-new? (see Bobos in Paradise by David Brooks, a slightly culturally dated reference as it was pre dotcom bust. Still socially scathing in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way. You'll never look at Anthropologie the same way again post-read)

This summer I went to the Bourgeois Pig, great name, mais non? in Hollywood to see a friend off before he left town for osteopathy school. The BP, as it is not called, is also directly across the street from the Celebrity Scientology Center. I wish I could say that I made that up. The BP, besides its hilarious location, is what I think of when I think coffeehouse. It's wedged in a strip too. The pig does not stand alone. There's a cute, quirky gift shop next door, and a slightly more formal restaurant to the right. But it definitely has that lived-in vibe that I crave.

"Tell me what you think of the inside," my friend said with a grin after we'd exchanged pleasantries and I was about to go inside to place my order. "Why?" I asked, expecting some Hollywood freak show of half-assembled mannequins peeking out of dark corners, or a porcelain unicorn collection on display whose sheer quantity would render one speechless. This is Hollywood, not the star machine of yore. More like the sideshow carny with that lecherous look in the eye. It's surreal fun, but you'll want too bring your Purel just in case. "You'll see." he grinned and took a nonchalant sip of his Yerba Mate tea.

The inside of the establishment is painted a dark, dark cobalt blue. It's a small space with an old bar, old school cash register, and gilt gold decorations, including the namesake pig, peering out at odd angles. I'd never been in a coffeeshop that looked like it was painted by a pre-teen whose artistic vision exceed his grasp of good interior design. But I've yet to forget the place.

Maybe Time not only heals all wounds, but also provides that patina we need to give a place that sense of history, of community. Or maybe the Starbucks aesthetic is just fine.

Sandra Tsing Loh comments on said aesthetic (as have many other writers, who I won't cite here) and how it has permeated her entire life.

"My generation. . . our psyches, our aesthetics have become totally Starbucks-ized! I expect every space I enter to look like Starbucks. I walk into a room and expect to be immediately bathed in earth tones, track lighting, and a story on a chalkboard about how far organically grown Costa Rican beans have traveled to see me, me, me. . ." (from Sandra Tsing Loh's Mother on Fire, 257).

I'm not anti-the Starbucks aesthetic. But I'd prefer a drink at the Bourgeois Pig over the nearest Starbucks and not just because the Bourgeois barista was genuinely excited at my request for a raspberry mocha compared to the green-aproned peeps at the coffee chain named after the first mate on the Pequod in Moby Dick (true story), who I could create the most inane custom order and they wouldn't blink. Sheesh, sometimes the customer isn't always right. Sometimes s/he's a raging lunatic and must be put down like Old Yeller. Or maybe it's my phobia of becoming an insufferable yuppie talking.

Granted, I'm a horrible design snob, but I'm also a history nerd. And if a place feels like it's been around forever, or at least I can't tell, I'll happily pony up $3.99 for a thimbleful of chai. Ah, marketing, you destroy me and revive me.

Irregardless, our built environment has forgotten to mandate "the third place" as Ray Oldenburg calls them in his excellent work, the Great Good Place.

To cite Wikipedia, Oldenburg calls one's "first place" the home and those that one lives with. The "second place" is the workplace — where people may actually spend most of their time. Third places, then, are "anchors" of community life and facilitate and foster broader, more creative interaction. All societies already have informal meeting places; what is new in modern times is the intentionality of seeking them out as vital to current societal needs. Oldenburg suggests these hallmarks of a true "third place": free or inexpensive; food and drink, while not essential, are important; highly accessible: proximate for many (walking distance); involve regulars – those who habitually congregate there; welcoming and comfortable; both new friends and old should be found there. -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Third_place

While it may take me a lifetime to actually use that helpful sheet of paper that my bank encloses with each monthly account statement, at least there is food for thought for what could be added to our built environment as the absence of a third place leaves a vacuum in our social lives.