... a random walk

3 Engineers Quit GE Reactor Division and Volunteer in Antinuclear Movement

2011-03-17T10:12:00.000-07:00

Tony Cafarelli

2009-12-26T13:27:00.001-08:00

newspaper article

a Dark Knight

2009-11-27T18:01:00.000-08:00

Hillman State Park

2009-11-01T19:14:00.001-08:00

Bloomfield Urban Hike Scavenger Hunt

2009-10-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

Lionel Trains in Pittsburgh

2009-10-26T03:29:00.001-07:00

Red White & Blue Thrift store on route 51, south hills

Fineview Step Challenge

2009-10-05T10:07:00.001-07:00

The Fineview Neighborhood Association has been organizing a 5K run for several years. This year, the run was 4.5 miles long, and it used many more steps than the previous race, in a route that weaved through the hilly neighborhood.

Photo album

Organic Hashers

2009-09-01T14:03:00.001-07:00

Hare for a "kiddie hash", a trail with no checks, just on-ons, arrows,
and a smiley for B, at which we left some granola bars. The only flour available was
a organic whole wheat brand that is shipped in bags tied with a string. At the
beginning, was a bit concerned that the brownish powder wouldn't stand out, but
alas, do not worry, as the kids had no problem.

Mingo Creek County Park

2009-08-30T03:20:00.000-07:00

in memory of Kent State University 1970

2009-08-29T11:01:00.000-07:00

Rabbit for Sale: Pets or Meat

2009-08-29T10:30:00.000-07:00

House Tour in Tuscany

2009-08-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

wedding in italy

2009-08-09T01:23:00.001-07:00

Board Games

2009-08-02T11:35:00.001-07:00

photo album with close-up details

May Fourth

2009-07-21T16:50:00.001-07:00

Geology Lesson

2009-07-21T16:26:00.000-07:00

Concretion

Vintage Rides

2009-07-21T16:11:00.001-07:00

Frank's Drive In 3266 State Route 43, Mogadore, OH 44260, (330) 673-1254

1938 Columbia bicycle

2009-07-14T15:12:00.000-07:00

Trader Jack's flea market in Collier Township, Pennsylvania

The 12 Lost Tribes of Israel

2009-07-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

Temple Emanuel, Bower Hill Road, Mt Lebanon, Pennsylvania

Stations of the Cross - Liberty Borough, Pennsylvania

2009-07-11T13:25:00.000-07:00

No Bicycles Allowed

2009-06-24T05:32:00.000-07:00

Pet Cemetery

2009-06-21T09:18:00.000-07:00

photo album

Imants Kalnins - Symphony Number 4

2009-06-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

Cartoon-O-Graph

2009-06-17T03:34:00.001-07:00

380 milion years of evolution

2009-05-21T08:00:00.001-07:00

I Love New York

2009-05-18T03:44:00.000-07:00

Stopped at the Angola rest stop on I-90 for tourism information, but had a bad experience with the "I Love NY" tourist office clerk. She was chatting on the phone, laughing occasionally, which revealed that the phone call was a leisure non-business related call, did not make any eye contact with the people that were standing in front of her, and who were very evidently waiting that she was done with her phone call. This lasted several minutes, and many people lost their patience and left. One person grabbed her attention by waving a hand in front of her, and asked a question, and initially, she did not answer, as to communicate that she felt it was rude behaviour to interrupt her phone conversation, but then she complied and answered the tourist's question, and then returned to her phone conversation.

Compressor

2009-04-23T04:13:00.001-07:00

2009-04-22T15:28:00.000-07:00

The Computer Mouse, as mentioned in a 1976 book

2009-04-03T03:45:00.000-07:00

Sign for potential homeless squatters in Washington DC

2009-03-31T09:10:00.000-07:00

Land Development Board Game

2009-03-24T15:19:00.001-07:00

Geometric and Magnetic Puzzle

2009-03-01T05:47:00.001-08:00

Peg Solitaire game

2009-02-14T10:41:00.001-08:00

Frick Park Millstone

2009-02-08T17:03:00.000-08:00

Steelers Shirts after the Super Bowl

2009-02-08T10:18:00.000-08:00

Violinist Joshua Bell plays in the subway

2009-01-12T15:42:00.000-08:00

Pearls Before Breakfast
Can one of the nation's great musicians cut through the fog of a D.C. rush hour? Let's find out.

By Gene Weingarten
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, April 8, 2007; W10

HE EMERGED FROM THE METRO AT THE L'ENFANT PLAZA STATION AND POSITIONED HIMSELF AGAINST A WALL BESIDE A TRASH BASKET. By most measures, he was nondescript: a youngish white man in jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a Washington Nationals baseball cap. From a small case, he removed a violin. Placing the open case at his feet, he shrewdly threw in a few dollars and pocket change as seed money, swiveled it to face pedestrian traffic, and began to play.

It was 7:51 a.m. on Friday, January 12, the middle of the morning rush hour. In the next 43 minutes, as the violinist performed six classical pieces, 1,097 people passed by. Almost all of them were on the way to work, which meant, for almost all of them, a government job. L'Enfant Plaza is at the nucleus of federal Washington, and these were mostly mid-level bureaucrats with those indeterminate, oddly fungible titles: policy analyst, project manager, budget officer, specialist, facilitator, consultant.

Each passerby had a quick choice to make, one familiar to commuters in any urban area where the occasional street performer is part of the cityscape: Do you stop and listen? Do you hurry past with a blend of guilt and irritation, aware of your cupidity but annoyed by the unbidden demand on your time and your wallet? Do you throw in a buck, just to be polite? Does your decision change if he's really bad? What if he's really good? Do you have time for beauty? Shouldn't you? What's the moral mathematics of the moment?

On that Friday in January, those private questions would be answered in an unusually public way. No one knew it, but the fiddler standing against a bare wall outside the Metro in an indoor arcade at the top of the escalators was one of the finest classical musicians in the world, playing some of the most elegant music ever written on one of the most valuable violins ever made. His performance was arranged by The Washington Post as an experiment in context, perception and priorities -- as well as an unblinking assessment of public taste: In a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?

The musician did not play popular tunes whose familiarity alone might have drawn interest. That was not the test. These were masterpieces that have endured for centuries on their brilliance alone, soaring music befitting the grandeur of cathedrals and concert halls.

The acoustics proved surprisingly kind. Though the arcade is of utilitarian design, a buffer between the Metro escalator and the outdoors, it somehow caught the sound and bounced it back round and resonant. The violin is an instrument that is said to be much like the human voice, and in this musician's masterly hands, it sobbed and laughed and sang -- ecstatic, sorrowful, importuning, adoring, flirtatious, castigating, playful, romancing, merry, triumphal, sumptuous.

So, what do you think happened?

HANG ON, WE'LL GET YOU SOME EXPERT HELP.

Leonard Slatkin, music director of the National Symphony Orchestra, was asked the same question. What did he think would occur, hypothetically, if one of the world's great violinists had performed incognito before a traveling rush-hour audience of 1,000-odd people?

"Let's assume," Slatkin said, "that he is not recognized and just taken for granted as a street musician . . . Still, I don't think that if he's really good, he's going to go unnoticed. He'd get a larger audience in Europe . . . but, okay, out of 1,000 people, my guess is there might be 35 or 40 who will recognize the quality for what it is. Maybe 75 to 100 will stop and spend some time listening."

So, a crowd would gather?

"Oh, yes."

And how much will he make?

"About $150."

Thanks, Maestro. As it happens, this is not hypothetical. It really happened.

"How'd I do?"

We'll tell you in a minute.

"Well, who was the musician?"

Joshua Bell.

"NO!!!"

A onetime child prodigy, at 39 Joshua Bell has arrived as an internationally acclaimed virtuoso. Three days before he appeared at the Metro station, Bell had filled the house at Boston's stately Symphony Hall, where merely pretty good seats went for $100. Two weeks later, at the Music Center at Strathmore, in North Bethesda, he would play to a standing-room-only audience so respectful of his artistry that they stifled their coughs until the silence between movements. But on that Friday in January, Joshua Bell was just another mendicant, competing for the attention of busy people on their way to work.

Bell was first pitched this idea shortly before Christmas, over coffee at a sandwich shop on Capitol Hill. A New Yorker, he was in town to perform at the Library of Congress and to visit the library's vaults to examine an unusual treasure: an 18th-century violin that once belonged to the great Austrian-born virtuoso and composer Fritz Kreisler. The curators invited Bell to play it; good sound, still.

"Here's what I'm thinking," Bell confided, as he sipped his coffee. "I'm thinking that I could do a tour where I'd play Kreisler's music . . ."

He smiled.

". . . on Kreisler's violin."

It was a snazzy, sequined idea -- part inspiration and part gimmick -- and it was typical of Bell, who has unapologetically embraced showmanship even as his concert career has become more and more august. He's soloed with the finest orchestras here and abroad, but he's also appeared on "Sesame Street," done late-night talk TV and performed in feature films. That was Bell playing the soundtrack on the 1998 movie "The Red Violin." (He body-doubled, too, playing to a naked Greta Scacchi.) As composer John Corigliano accepted the Oscar for Best Original Dramatic Score, he credited Bell, who, he said, "plays like a god."

When Bell was asked if he'd be willing to don street clothes and perform at rush hour, he said:

"Uh, a stunt?"

Well, yes. A stunt. Would he think it . . . unseemly?

Bell drained his cup.

"Sounds like fun," he said.

Bell's a heartthrob. Tall and handsome, he's got a Donny Osmond-like dose of the cutes, and, onstage, cute elides into hott. When he performs, he is usually the only man under the lights who is not in white tie and tails -- he walks out to a standing O, looking like Zorro, in black pants and an untucked black dress shirt, shirttail dangling. That cute Beatles-style mop top is also a strategic asset: Because his technique is full of body -- athletic and passionate -- he's almost dancing with the instrument, and his hair flies.

He's single and straight, a fact not lost on some of his fans. In Boston, as he performed Max Bruch's dour Violin Concerto in G Minor, the very few young women in the audience nearly disappeared in the deep sea of silver heads. But seemingly every single one of them -- a distillate of the young and pretty -- coalesced at the stage door after the performance, seeking an autograph. It's like that always, with Bell.

Bell's been accepting over-the-top accolades since puberty: Interview magazine once said his playing "does nothing less than tell human beings why they bother to live." He's learned to field these things graciously, with a bashful duck of the head and a modified "pshaw."

For this incognito performance, Bell had only one condition for participating. The event had been described to him as a test of whether, in an incongruous context, ordinary people would recognize genius. His condition: "I'm not comfortable if you call this genius." "Genius" is an overused word, he said: It can be applied to some of the composers whose work he plays, but not to him. His skills are largely interpretive, he said, and to imply otherwise would be unseemly and inaccurate.

It was an interesting request, and under the circumstances, one that will be honored. The word will not again appear in this article.

It would be breaking no rules, however, to note that the term in question, particularly as applied in the field of music, refers to a congenital brilliance -- an elite, innate, preternatural ability that manifests itself early, and often in dramatic fashion.

One biographically intriguing fact about Bell is that he got his first music lessons when he was a 4-year-old in Bloomington, Ind. His parents, both psychologists, decided formal training might be a good idea after they saw that their son had strung rubber bands across his dresser drawers and was replicating classical tunes by ear, moving drawers in and out to vary the pitch.

TO GET TO THE METRO FROM HIS HOTEL, a distance of three blocks, Bell took a taxi. He's neither lame nor lazy: He did it for his violin.

Bell always performs on the same instrument, and he ruled out using another for this gig. Called the Gibson ex Huberman, it was handcrafted in 1713 by Antonio Stradivari during the Italian master's "golden period," toward the end of his career, when he had access to the finest spruce, maple and willow, and when his technique had been refined to perfection.

"Our knowledge of acoustics is still incomplete," Bell said, "but he, he just . . . knew."

Bell doesn't mention Stradivari by name. Just "he." When the violinist shows his Strad to people, he holds the instrument gingerly by its neck, resting it on a knee. "He made this to perfect thickness at all parts," Bell says, pivoting it. "If you shaved off a millimeter of wood at any point, it would totally imbalance the sound." No violins sound as wonderful as Strads from the 1710s, still.

The front of Bell's violin is in nearly perfect condition, with a deep, rich grain and luster. The back is a mess, its dark reddish finish bleeding away into a flatter, lighter shade and finally, in one section, to bare wood.

"This has never been refinished," Bell said. "That's his original varnish. People attribute aspects of the sound to the varnish. Each maker had his own secret formula." Stradivari is thought to have made his from an ingeniously balanced cocktail of honey, egg whites and gum arabic from sub-Saharan trees.

Like the instrument in "The Red Violin," this one has a past filled with mystery and malice. Twice, it was stolen from its illustrious prior owner, the Polish virtuoso Bronislaw Huberman. The first time, in 1919, it disappeared from Huberman's hotel room in Vienna but was quickly returned. The second time, nearly 20 years later, it was pinched from his dressing room in Carnegie Hall. He never got it back. It was not until 1985 that the thief -- a minor New York violinist -- made a deathbed confession to his wife, and produced the instrument.

Bell bought it a few years ago. He had to sell his own Strad and borrow much of the rest. The price tag was reported to be about $3.5 million.

All of which is a long explanation for why, in the early morning chill of a day in January, Josh Bell took a three-block cab ride to the Orange Line, and rode one stop to L'Enfant.

AS METRO STATIONS GO, L'ENFANT PLAZA IS MORE PLEBEIAN THAN MOST. Even before you arrive, it gets no respect. Metro conductors never seem to get it right: "Leh-fahn." "Layfont." "El'phant."

At the top of the escalators are a shoeshine stand and a busy kiosk that sells newspapers, lottery tickets and a wallfull of magazines with titles such as Mammazons and Girls of Barely Legal. The skin mags move, but it's that lottery ticket dispenser that stays the busiest, with customers queuing up for Daily 6 lotto and Powerball and the ultimate suckers' bait, those pamphlets that sell random number combinations purporting to be "hot." They sell briskly. There's also a quick-check machine to slide in your lotto ticket, post-drawing, to see if you've won. Beneath it is a forlorn pile of crumpled slips.

On Friday, January 12, the people waiting in the lottery line looking for a long shot would get a lucky break -- a free, close-up ticket to a concert by one of the world's most famous musicians -- but only if they were of a mind to take note.

Bell decided to begin with "Chaconne" from Johann Sebastian Bach's Partita No. 2 in D Minor. Bell calls it "not just one of the greatest pieces of music ever written, but one of the greatest achievements of any man in history. It's a spiritually powerful piece, emotionally powerful, structurally perfect. Plus, it was written for a solo violin, so I won't be cheating with some half-assed version."

Bell didn't say it, but Bach's "Chaconne" is also considered one of the most difficult violin pieces to master. Many try; few succeed. It's exhaustingly long -- 14 minutes -- and consists entirely of a single, succinct musical progression repeated in dozens of variations to create a dauntingly complex architecture of sound. Composed around 1720, on the eve of the European Enlightenment, it is said to be a celebration of the breadth of human possibility.

If Bell's encomium to "Chaconne" seems overly effusive, consider this from the 19th-century composer Johannes Brahms, in a letter to Clara Schumann: "On one stave, for a small instrument, the man writes a whole world of the deepest thoughts and most powerful feelings. If I imagined that I could have created, even conceived the piece, I am quite certain that the excess of excitement and earth-shattering experience would have driven me out of my mind."

So, that's the piece Bell started with.

He'd clearly meant it when he promised not to cheap out this performance: He played with acrobatic enthusiasm, his body leaning into the music and arching on tiptoes at the high notes. The sound was nearly symphonic, carrying to all parts of the homely arcade as the pedestrian traffic filed past.

Three minutes went by before something happened. Sixty-three people had already passed when, finally, there was a breakthrough of sorts. A middle-age man altered his gait for a split second, turning his head to notice that there seemed to be some guy playing music. Yes, the man kept walking, but it was something.

A half-minute later, Bell got his first donation. A woman threw in a buck and scooted off. It was not until six minutes into the performance that someone actually stood against a wall, and listened.

Things never got much better. In the three-quarters of an hour that Joshua Bell played, seven people stopped what they were doing to hang around and take in the performance, at least for a minute. Twenty-seven gave money, most of them on the run -- for a total of $32 and change. That leaves the 1,070 people who hurried by, oblivious, many only three feet away, few even turning to look.

No, Mr. Slatkin, there was never a crowd, not even for a second.

It was all videotaped by a hidden camera. You can play the recording once or 15 times, and it never gets any easier to watch. Try speeding it up, and it becomes one of those herky-jerky World War I-era silent newsreels. The people scurry by in comical little hops and starts, cups of coffee in their hands, cellphones at their ears, ID tags slapping at their bellies, a grim danse macabre to indifference, inertia and the dingy, gray rush of modernity.

Even at this accelerated pace, though, the fiddler's movements remain fluid and graceful; he seems so apart from his audience -- unseen, unheard, otherworldly -- that you find yourself thinking that he's not really there. A ghost.

Only then do you see it: He is the one who is real. They are the ghosts.

IF A GREAT MUSICIAN PLAYS GREAT MUSIC BUT NO ONE HEARS . . . WAS HE REALLY ANY GOOD?

It's an old epistemological debate, older, actually, than the koan about the tree in the forest. Plato weighed in on it, and philosophers for two millennia afterward: What is beauty? Is it a measurable fact (Gottfried Leibniz), or merely an opinion (David Hume), or is it a little of each, colored by the immediate state of mind of the observer (Immanuel Kant)?

We'll go with Kant, because he's obviously right, and because he brings us pretty directly to Joshua Bell, sitting there in a hotel restaurant, picking at his breakfast, wryly trying to figure out what the hell had just happened back there at the Metro.

"At the beginning," Bell says, "I was just concentrating on playing the music. I wasn't really watching what was happening around me . . ."

Playing the violin looks all-consuming, mentally and physically, but Bell says that for him the mechanics of it are partly second nature, cemented by practice and muscle memory: It's like a juggler, he says, who can keep those balls in play while interacting with a crowd. What he's mostly thinking about as he plays, Bell says, is capturing emotion as a narrative: "When you play a violin piece, you are a storyteller, and you're telling a story."

With "Chaconne," the opening is filled with a building sense of awe. That kept him busy for a while. Eventually, though, he began to steal a sidelong glance.

"It was a strange feeling, that people were actually, ah . . ."

The word doesn't come easily.

". . . ignoring me."

Bell is laughing. It's at himself.

"At a music hall, I'll get upset if someone coughs or if someone's cellphone goes off. But here, my expectations quickly diminished. I started to appreciate any acknowledgment, even a slight glance up. I was oddly grateful when someone threw in a dollar instead of change." This is from a man whose talents can command $1,000 a minute.

Before he began, Bell hadn't known what to expect. What he does know is that, for some reason, he was nervous.

"It wasn't exactly stage fright, but there were butterflies," he says. "I was stressing a little."

Bell has played, literally, before crowned heads of Europe. Why the anxiety at the Washington Metro?

"When you play for ticket-holders," Bell explains, "you are already validated. I have no sense that I need to be accepted. I'm already accepted. Here, there was this thought: What if they don't like me? What if they resent my presence . . ."

He was, in short, art without a frame. Which, it turns out, may have a lot to do with what happened -- or, more precisely, what didn't happen -- on January 12.

MARK LEITHAUSER HAS HELD IN HIS HANDS MORE GREAT WORKS OF ART THAN ANY KING OR POPE OR MEDICI EVER DID. A senior curator at the National Gallery, he oversees the framing of the paintings. Leithauser thinks he has some idea of what happened at that Metro station.

"Let's say I took one of our more abstract masterpieces, say an Ellsworth Kelly, and removed it from its frame, marched it down the 52 steps that people walk up to get to the National Gallery, past the giant columns, and brought it into a restaurant. It's a $5 million painting. And it's one of those restaurants where there are pieces of original art for sale, by some industrious kids from the Corcoran School, and I hang that Kelly on the wall with a price tag of $150. No one is going to notice it. An art curator might look up and say: 'Hey, that looks a little like an Ellsworth Kelly. Please pass the salt.'"

Leithauser's point is that we shouldn't be too ready to label the Metro passersby unsophisticated boobs. Context matters.

Kant said the same thing. He took beauty seriously: In his Critique of Aesthetic Judgment, Kant argued that one's ability to appreciate beauty is related to one's ability to make moral judgments. But there was a caveat. Paul Guyer of the University of Pennsylvania, one of America's most prominent Kantian scholars, says the 18th-century German philosopher felt that to properly appreciate beauty, the viewing conditions must be optimal.

"Optimal," Guyer said, "doesn't mean heading to work, focusing on your report to the boss, maybe your shoes don't fit right."

So, if Kant had been at the Metro watching as Joshua Bell play to a thousand unimpressed passersby?

"He would have inferred about them," Guyer said, "absolutely nothing."

And that's that.

Except it isn't. To really understand what happened, you have to rewind that video and play it back from the beginning, from the moment Bell's bow first touched the strings.

White guy, khakis, leather jacket, briefcase. Early 30s. John David Mortensen is on the final leg of his daily bus-to-Metro commute from Reston. He's heading up the escalator. It's a long ride -- 1 minute and 15 seconds if you don't walk. So, like most everyone who passes Bell this day, Mortensen gets a good earful of music before he has his first look at the musician. Like most of them, he notes that it sounds pretty good. But like very few of them, when he gets to the top, he doesn't race past as though Bell were some nuisance to be avoided. Mortensen is that first person to stop, that guy at the six-minute mark.

It's not that he has nothing else to do. He's a project manager for an international program at the Department of Energy; on this day, Mortensen has to participate in a monthly budget exercise, not the most exciting part of his job: "You review the past month's expenditures," he says, "forecast spending for the next month, if you have X dollars, where will it go, that sort of thing."

On the video, you can see Mortensen get off the escalator and look around. He locates the violinist, stops, walks away but then is drawn back. He checks the time on his cellphone -- he's three minutes early for work -- then settles against a wall to listen.

Mortensen doesn't know classical music at all; classic rock is as close as he comes. But there's something about what he's hearing that he really likes.

As it happens, he's arrived at the moment that Bell slides into the second section of "Chaconne." ("It's the point," Bell says, "where it moves from a darker, minor key into a major key. There's a religious, exalted feeling to it.") The violinist's bow begins to dance; the music becomes upbeat, playful, theatrical, big.

Mortensen doesn't know about major or minor keys: "Whatever it was," he says, "it made me feel at peace."

So, for the first time in his life, Mortensen lingers to listen to a street musician. He stays his allotted three minutes as 94 more people pass briskly by. When he leaves to help plan contingency budgets for the Department of Energy, there's another first. For the first time in his life, not quite knowing what had just happened but sensing it was special, John David Mortensen gives a street musician money.

THERE ARE SIX MOMENTS IN THE VIDEO THAT BELL FINDS PARTICULARLY PAINFUL TO RELIVE: "The awkward times," he calls them. It's what happens right after each piece ends: nothing. The music stops. The same people who hadn't noticed him playing don't notice that he has finished. No applause, no acknowledgment. So Bell just saws out a small, nervous chord -- the embarrassed musician's equivalent of, "Er, okay, moving right along . . ." -- and begins the next piece.

After "Chaconne," it is Franz Schubert's "Ave Maria," which surprised some music critics when it debuted in 1825: Schubert seldom showed religious feeling in his compositions, yet "Ave Maria" is a breathtaking work of adoration of the Virgin Mary. What was with the sudden piety? Schubert dryly answered: "I think this is due to the fact that I never forced devotion in myself and never compose hymns or prayers of that kind unless it overcomes me unawares; but then it is usually the right and true devotion." This musical prayer became among the most familiar and enduring religious pieces in history.

A couple of minutes into it, something revealing happens. A woman and her preschooler emerge from the escalator. The woman is walking briskly and, therefore, so is the child. She's got his hand.

"I had a time crunch," recalls Sheron Parker, an IT director for a federal agency. "I had an 8:30 training class, and first I had to rush Evvie off to his teacher, then rush back to work, then to the training facility in the basement."

Evvie is her son, Evan. Evan is 3.

You can see Evan clearly on the video. He's the cute black kid in the parka who keeps twisting around to look at Joshua Bell, as he is being propelled toward the door.

"There was a musician," Parker says, "and my son was intrigued. He wanted to pull over and listen, but I was rushed for time."

So Parker does what she has to do. She deftly moves her body between Evan's and Bell's, cutting off her son's line of sight. As they exit the arcade, Evan can still be seen craning to look. When Parker is told what she walked out on, she laughs.

"Evan is very smart!"

The poet Billy Collins once laughingly observed that all babies are born with a knowledge of poetry, because the lub-dub of the mother's heart is in iambic meter. Then, Collins said, life slowly starts to choke the poetry out of us. It may be true with music, too.

There was no ethnic or demographic pattern to distinguish the people who stayed to watch Bell, or the ones who gave money, from that vast majority who hurried on past, unheeding. Whites, blacks and Asians, young and old, men and women, were represented in all three groups. But the behavior of one demographic remained absolutely consistent. Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

IF THERE WAS ONE PERSON ON THAT DAY WHO WAS TOO BUSY TO PAY ATTENTION TO THE VIOLINIST, it was George Tindley. Tindley wasn't hurrying to get to work. He was at work.

The glass doors through which most people exit the L'Enfant station lead into an indoor shopping mall, from which there are exits to the street and elevators to office buildings. The first store in the mall is an Au Bon Pain, the croissant and coffee shop where Tindley, in his 40s, works in a white uniform busing the tables, restocking the salt and pepper packets, taking out the garbage. Tindley labors under the watchful eye of his bosses, and he's supposed to be hopping, and he was.

But every minute or so, as though drawn by something not entirely within his control, Tindley would walk to the very edge of the Au Bon Pain property, keeping his toes inside the line, still on the job. Then he'd lean forward, as far out into the hallway as he could, watching the fiddler on the other side of the glass doors. The foot traffic was steady, so the doors were usually open. The sound came through pretty well.

"You could tell in one second that this guy was good, that he was clearly a professional," Tindley says. He plays the guitar, loves the sound of strings, and has no respect for a certain kind of musician.

"Most people, they play music; they don't feel it," Tindley says. "Well, that man was feeling it. That man was moving. Moving into the sound."

A hundred feet away, across the arcade, was the lottery line, sometimes five or six people long. They had a much better view of Bell than Tindley did, if they had just turned around. But no one did. Not in the entire 43 minutes. They just shuffled forward toward that machine spitting out numbers. Eyes on the prize.

J.T. Tillman was in that line. A computer specialist for the Department of Housing and Urban Development, he remembers every single number he played that day -- 10 of them, $2 apiece, for a total of $20. He doesn't recall what the violinist was playing, though. He says it sounded like generic classical music, the kind the ship's band was playing in "Titanic," before the iceberg.

"I didn't think nothing of it," Tillman says, "just a guy trying to make a couple of bucks." Tillman would have given him one or two, he said, but he spent all his cash on lotto.

When he is told that he stiffed one of the best musicians in the world, he laughs.

"Is he ever going to play around here again?"

"Yeah, but you're going to have to pay a lot to hear him."

"Damn."

Tillman didn't win the lottery, either.

BELL ENDS "AVE MARIA" TO ANOTHER THUNDEROUS SILENCE, plays Manuel Ponce's sentimental "Estrellita," then a piece by Jules Massenet, and then begins a Bach gavotte, a joyful, frolicsome, lyrical dance. It's got an Old World delicacy to it; you can imagine it entertaining bewigged dancers at a Versailles ball, or -- in a lute, fiddle and fife version -- the boot-kicking peasants of a Pieter Bruegel painting.

Watching the video weeks later, Bell finds himself mystified by one thing only. He understands why he's not drawing a crowd, in the rush of a morning workday. But: "I'm surprised at the number of people who don't pay attention at all, as if I'm invisible. Because, you know what? I'm makin' a lot of noise!"

He is. You don't need to know music at all to appreciate the simple fact that there's a guy there, playing a violin that's throwing out a whole bucket of sound; at times, Bell's bowing is so intricate that you seem to be hearing two instruments playing in harmony. So those head-forward, quick-stepping passersby are a remarkable phenomenon.

Bell wonders whether their inattention may be deliberate: If you don't take visible note of the musician, you don't have to feel guilty about not forking over money; you're not complicit in a rip-off.

It may be true, but no one gave that explanation. People just said they were busy, had other things on their mind. Some who were on cellphones spoke louder as they passed Bell, to compete with that infernal racket.

And then there was Calvin Myint. Myint works for the General Services Administration. He got to the top of the escalator, turned right and headed out a door to the street. A few hours later, he had no memory that there had been a musician anywhere in sight.

"Where was he, in relation to me?"

"About four feet away."

"Oh."

There's nothing wrong with Myint's hearing. He had buds in his ear. He was listening to his iPod.

For many of us, the explosion in technology has perversely limited, not expanded, our exposure to new experiences. Increasingly, we get our news from sources that think as we already do. And with iPods, we hear what we already know; we program our own playlists.

The song that Calvin Myint was listening to was "Just Like Heaven," by the British rock band The Cure. It's a terrific song, actually. The meaning is a little opaque, and the Web is filled with earnest efforts to deconstruct it. Many are far-fetched, but some are right on point: It's about a tragic emotional disconnect. A man has found the woman of his dreams but can't express the depth of his feeling for her until she's gone. It's about failing to see the beauty of what's plainly in front of your eyes.

"YES, I SAW THE VIOLINIST," Jackie Hessian says, "but nothing about him struck me as much of anything."

You couldn't tell that by watching her. Hessian was one of those people who gave Bell a long, hard look before walking on. It turns out that she wasn't noticing the music at all.

"I really didn't hear that much," she said. "I was just trying to figure out what he was doing there, how does this work for him, can he make much money, would it be better to start with some money in the case, or for it to be empty, so people feel sorry for you? I was analyzing it financially."

What do you do, Jackie?

"I'm a lawyer in labor relations with the United States Postal Service. I just negotiated a national contract."

THE BEST SEATS IN THE HOUSE WERE UPHOLSTERED. In the balcony, more or less. On that day, for $5, you'd get a lot more than just a nice shine on your shoes.

Only one person occupied one of those seats when Bell played. Terence Holmes is a consultant for the Department of Transportation, and he liked the music just fine, but it was really about a shoeshine: "My father told me never to wear a suit with your shoes not cleaned and shined."

Holmes wears suits often, so he is up in that perch a lot, and he's got a good relationship with the shoeshine lady. Holmes is a good tipper and a good talker, which is a skill that came in handy that day. The shoeshine lady was upset about something, and the music got her more upset. She complained, Holmes said, that the music was too loud, and he tried to calm her down.

Edna Souza is from Brazil. She's been shining shoes at L'Enfant Plaza for six years, and she's had her fill of street musicians there; when they play, she can't hear her customers, and that's bad for business. So she fights.

Souza points to the dividing line between the Metro property, at the top of the escalator, and the arcade, which is under control of the management company that runs the mall. Sometimes, Souza says, a musician will stand on the Metro side, sometimes on the mall side. Either way, she's got him. On her speed dial, she has phone numbers for both the mall cops and the Metro cops. The musicians seldom last long.

What about Joshua Bell?

He was too loud, too, Souza says. Then she looks down at her rag, sniffs. She hates to say anything positive about these damned musicians, but: "He was pretty good, that guy. It was the first time I didn't call the police."

Souza was surprised to learn he was a famous musician, but not that people rushed blindly by him. That, she said, was predictable. "If something like this happened in Brazil, everyone would stand around to see. Not here."

Souza nods sourly toward a spot near the top of the escalator: "Couple of years ago, a homeless guy died right there. He just lay down there and died. The police came, an ambulance came, and no one even stopped to see or slowed down to look.

"People walk up the escalator, they look straight ahead. Mind your own business, eyes forward. Everyone is stressed. Do you know what I mean?"

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

-- from "Leisure," by W.H. Davies

Let's say Kant is right. Let's accept that we can't look at what happened on January 12 and make any judgment whatever about people's sophistication or their ability to appreciate beauty. But what about their ability to appreciate life?

We're busy. Americans have been busy, as a people, since at least 1831, when a young French sociologist named Alexis de Tocqueville visited the States and found himself impressed, bemused and slightly dismayed at the degree to which people were driven, to the exclusion of everything else, by hard work and the accumulation of wealth.

Not much has changed. Pop in a DVD of "Koyaanisqatsi," the wordless, darkly brilliant, avant-garde 1982 film about the frenetic speed of modern life. Backed by the minimalist music of Philip Glass, director Godfrey Reggio takes film clips of Americans going about their daily business, but speeds them up until they resemble assembly-line machines, robots marching lockstep to nowhere. Now look at the video from L'Enfant Plaza, in fast-forward. The Philip Glass soundtrack fits it perfectly.

"Koyaanisqatsi" is a Hopi word. It means "life out of balance."

In his 2003 book, Timeless Beauty: In the Arts and Everyday Life, British author John Lane writes about the loss of the appreciation for beauty in the modern world. The experiment at L'Enfant Plaza may be symptomatic of that, he said -- not because people didn't have the capacity to understand beauty, but because it was irrelevant to them.

"This is about having the wrong priorities," Lane said.

If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?

That's what the Welsh poet W.H. Davies meant in 1911 when he published those two lines that begin this section. They made him famous. The thought was simple, even primitive, but somehow no one had put it quite that way before.

Of course, Davies had an advantage -- an advantage of perception. He wasn't a tradesman or a laborer or a bureaucrat or a consultant or a policy analyst or a labor lawyer or a program manager. He was a hobo.

THE CULTURAL HERO OF THE DAY ARRIVED AT L'ENFANT PLAZA PRETTY LATE, in the unprepossessing figure of one John Picarello, a smallish man with a baldish head.

Picarello hit the top of the escalator just after Bell began his final piece, a reprise of "Chaconne." In the video, you see Picarello stop dead in his tracks, locate the source of the music, and then retreat to the other end of the arcade. He takes up a position past the shoeshine stand, across from that lottery line, and he will not budge for the next nine minutes.

Like all the passersby interviewed for this article, Picarello was stopped by a reporter after he left the building, and was asked for his phone number. Like everyone, he was told only that this was to be an article about commuting. When he was called later in the day, like everyone else, he was first asked if anything unusual had happened to him on his trip into work. Of the more than 40 people contacted, Picarello was the only one who immediately mentioned the violinist.

"There was a musician playing at the top of the escalator at L'Enfant Plaza."

Haven't you seen musicians there before?

"Not like this one."

What do you mean?

"This was a superb violinist. I've never heard anyone of that caliber. He was technically proficient, with very good phrasing. He had a good fiddle, too, with a big, lush sound. I walked a distance away, to hear him. I didn't want to be intrusive on his space."

Really?

"Really. It was that kind of experience. It was a treat, just a brilliant, incredible way to start the day."

Picarello knows classical music. He is a fan of Joshua Bell but didn't recognize him; he hadn't seen a recent photo, and besides, for most of the time Picarello was pretty far away. But he knew this was not a run-of-the-mill guy out there, performing. On the video, you can see Picarello look around him now and then, almost bewildered.

"Yeah, other people just were not getting it. It just wasn't registering. That was baffling to me."

When Picarello was growing up in New York, he studied violin seriously, intending to be a concert musician. But he gave it up at 18, when he decided he'd never be good enough to make it pay. Life does that to you sometimes. Sometimes, you have to do the prudent thing. So he went into another line of work. He's a supervisor at the U.S. Postal Service. Doesn't play the violin much, anymore.

When he left, Picarello says, "I humbly threw in $5." It was humble: You can actually see that on the video. Picarello walks up, barely looking at Bell, and tosses in the money. Then, as if embarrassed, he quickly walks away from the man he once wanted to be.

Does he have regrets about how things worked out?

The postal supervisor considers this.

"No. If you love something but choose not to do it professionally, it's not a waste. Because, you know, you still have it. You have it forever."

BELL THINKS HE DID HIS BEST WORK OF THE DAY IN THOSE FINAL FEW MINUTES, in the second "Chaconne." And that also was the first time more than one person at a time was listening. As Picarello stood in the back, Janice Olu arrived and took up a position a few feet away from Bell. Olu, a public trust officer with HUD, also played the violin as a kid. She didn't know the name of the piece she was hearing, but she knew the man playing it has a gift.

Olu was on a coffee break and stayed as long as she dared. As she turned to go, she whispered to the stranger next to her, "I really don't want to leave." The stranger standing next to her happened to be working for The Washington Post.

In preparing for this event, editors at The Post Magazine discussed how to deal with likely outcomes. The most widely held assumption was that there could well be a problem with crowd control: In a demographic as sophisticated as Washington, the thinking went, several people would surely recognize Bell. Nervous "what-if" scenarios abounded. As people gathered, what if others stopped just to see what the attraction was? Word would spread through the crowd. Cameras would flash. More people flock to the scene; rush-hour pedestrian traffic backs up; tempers flare; the National Guard is called; tear gas, rubber bullets, etc.

As it happens, exactly one person recognized Bell, and she didn't arrive until near the very end. For Stacy Furukawa, a demographer at the Commerce Department, there was no doubt. She doesn't know much about classical music, but she had been in the audience three weeks earlier, at Bell's free concert at the Library of Congress. And here he was, the international virtuoso, sawing away, begging for money. She had no idea what the heck was going on, but whatever it was, she wasn't about to miss it.

Furukawa positioned herself 10 feet away from Bell, front row, center. She had a huge grin on her face. The grin, and Furukawa, remained planted in that spot until the end.

"It was the most astonishing thing I've ever seen in Washington," Furukawa says. "Joshua Bell was standing there playing at rush hour, and people were not stopping, and not even looking, and some were flipping quarters at him! Quarters! I wouldn't do that to anybody. I was thinking, Omigosh, what kind of a city do I live in that this could happen?"

When it was over, Furukawa introduced herself to Bell, and tossed in a twenty. Not counting that -- it was tainted by recognition -- the final haul for his 43 minutes of playing was $32.17. Yes, some people gave pennies.

"Actually," Bell said with a laugh, "that's not so bad, considering. That's 40 bucks an hour. I could make an okay living doing this, and I wouldn't have to pay an agent."

These days, at L'Enfant Plaza, lotto ticket sales remain brisk. Musicians still show up from time to time, and they still tick off Edna Souza. Joshua Bell's latest album, "The Voice of the Violin," has received the usual critical acclaim. ("Delicate urgency." "Masterful intimacy." "Unfailingly exquisite." "A musical summit." ". . . will make your heart thump and weep at the same time.")

Bell headed off on a concert tour of European capitals. But he is back in the States this week. He has to be. On Tuesday, he will be accepting the Avery Fisher prize, recognizing the Flop of L'Enfant Plaza as the best classical musician in America.

Spontaneous memorial to a fallen construction worker

2009-01-12T15:39:00.001-08:00

Construction worker falls 20 stories
OCT 7, PITTSBURGH, PA - Brian Obermeier, 33, of Etna, was last seen this morning taking the stairs leading to the roof of the Commonwealth Trust Co. building, from which he had planned to access a construction site at an adjacent building being converted to luxury condominiums. He apparently fell 20 stories and landed in the construction site below. Foul play is not suspected.

Estate sale with lots of old radios

2009-01-12T13:56:00.000-08:00

HUGE ESTATE SALE
SAT., JAN 10 -- 7:30 a-3:00p
SQ HILL/GREENFIELD - 4300 WINTERBURN AVE
Tons radio tubes, 100's of antique radios (some bakelite)and radio ephemera, electronics, tons cranberry & ruby glassware, new gold flatware, paper ephemera, old paper money, stamp collection (some Hitler stamps & German postcards), oodles books, Xmas galore,(large paper mache German & Italian Nativity sets w/creche), costume jewelry, oak table, oak cabinet, Country French diningroom, tv's, Schweiger sofa and loveseat, great recliners, accent tables, crystal lamps, double and twin bedrooms, treadmill, linens galore, tools, statuary, patio furniture, tons more. Parkway East, Sq. Hill Exit (straight onto Beechwood Blvd towards Homestead), RIGHT Hazelwood, RIGHT Bigelow, RIGHT 4300 Winterburn Ave. Cash Only!
www.jayestatesales.com

to the Virgin Mary

2008-12-30T09:01:00.001-08:00

graffiti on a wall in Rome, Italy

Oh Virgin Saint
you that conceived
without commiting sin
Let me sin
without conceiving

Pittsburgh Decoration

2008-12-27T12:53:00.001-08:00

Babbo Natale Musicista a Testaccio

2008-12-18T15:07:00.001-08:00

Pizza Pittsburgh Point

2008-11-29T11:35:00.000-08:00

Smallmall St and 17th, pizza joint in the Strip District

Handmade Arcade

2008-11-08T12:40:00.000-08:00

handmade arcade

Sus Scrufa

2008-10-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

March - April 2007 Issue
In Pursuit of Boss Hog

In December of 2005, a couple of weeks before Christmas, Dale Bailey and his neighbors a few miles north of St. Charles in Saginaw County got excited about a 200-plus pound, midnight visitor to their backyards. No, it was not Santa running ahead of schedule. It was some kind of wild boar searching for food under bird feeders and shrubbery. With visions of pork tenderloins dancing in their heads, locals spent the waning days of the muzzleloader and archery deer seasons hoping to spot it. But nobody saw the big pig in the neighborhood again.

A restaurant manager in Saginaw had an even closer encounter with a wild boar that same year. He killed a big porker with his car in the Crump area of Bay County not far from a fenced enclosure in northern Midland County where more than a hundred wild boars reportedly broke free several years ago. Supposedly, all but a few dozen were recaptured, but details of the escape are not well documented. The pigs that have shown up in Saginaw County about 30 miles to the south likely originated from that accidental release, but nobody knows for sure.

In northern Midland and Bay Counties, hunters occasionally get night-time photos of wild boars with their tree-mounted cameras. Ron Bates, a Michigan State University swine expert, says there are unconfirmed reports that the growing herd of wild hogs in Midland County already contains 40-60 animals. In most other areas of southern Michigan, there are few reports of free-roaming pigs, but the sightings are from widely separated areas.

This past fall on November 15, opening day of the firearms deer season, a hunter killed a feral hog in Gratiot County. Two days later, another hunter shot a huge wild boar in the Perry area of Shiawassee County at least 60 miles south of the Midland County accidental release. All told, state officials confirmed that seven wild hogs were killed—six by hunters and one by a car—during November and the first week of December. These confirmations were in Alpena, Gratiot, Shiawassee, Hillsdale, Roscommon,

Midland, and Presque Isle Counties. There have also been recent reports of wild hogs in the southern-most tier of Michigan counties including Branch, Hillsdale and Lenawee. And a number of areas of Northern Michigan—both in the Upper and the northeast Lower Peninsulas—have had wild hogs running around for several years.

With ample evidence that feral swine are roaming large areas of the state and breeding, concerns about the adverse consequences of their growing population are escalating.

In November of 2006, the Michigan Department of Agriculture (MDA) and the DNR issued a joint press release encouraging hunters with a valid hunting license to shoot any kind of feral swine in 23 Michigan counties (see map). This was a departure from the DNR’s more ambivalent stance on the issue a few years ago. In 2001, state representative Rich Brown of Baraga County sponsored a bill to allow shooting of wild hogs after some Russian wild boars escaped from an enclosure of the Huron Bay Lodge in the rugged Abbaye Peninsula. Despite the area’s deep snows, the escaped hogs seemed to handle life in the wild quite well and were soon raising havoc in gardens and natural vegetation. One wild boar reportedly even menaced a local resident, forcing him to hide in a shed. Brown sought legislative help because DNR officials told his office that nothing could be done about wild hogs because they were not listed as game animals. Brown’s bill was opposed by the DNR and was never passed. Local residents apparently took the law into their own hands and solved their hog problem.

By the end of December 2006, another seven counties had been opened to hog hunting, but there is still not much effort being made by state officials to curb the wild hog problem. It is legal to shoot feral swine in the 30 listed counties only because potential owners of the hogs have been contacted and no one claims ownership. But outside those 30 counties, it is unclear whether feral swine can legally be shot.

During last year’s brief muzzleloader deer season (December 1-17), Scott Maxon of Sanford and two friends shot six wild boars on private property near West Branch in Ogemaw County. Three weighed between 120 and150 pounds, two were about 25 to 30 pounds, and one (taken the last day of the season) weighed in at 288 pounds. “We saw hogs throughout the muzzleloader season—one sow had six to eight piglets following her,” said Maxon. “We’re not really sure where they originally came from, but it’s clear they are reproducing in the wild.”

Agriculture and wildlife officials have little information about how many wild hogs roam Michigan or where they are. Interestingly, Shiawassee, Presque Isle and Alpena Counties, where wild boars were killed last fall, were not even among the listed 23 counties where wild hogs “officially” existed as of November. Officials think the animals now going “hog wild” are various combinations of Eurasian wild boars imported and raised for preserve-style hunting by commercial enterprises, and former domestic hogs. Wild hogs, regardless of their origin, can produce more than one litter of three to 12 piglets annually. So, it doesn’t take long for a population to explode. Many areas of the South have large feral hog populations that destroy crops, uproot desirable plants (including rare species) in forests, and potentially spread diseases to domestic pigs. By the 1980s, wild boars, which were introduced to Tennessee in 1912 through a private hunting preserve, had reduced herbaceous (non-woody) ground cover by 98 percent in some areas of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Nationally, feral swine damage has been conservatively estimated at $800 million annually.

During the past two years, I learned a little about wild hogs first-hand. On a trip to Louisiana I was amazed to find wild hogs thriving (at least before Katrina struck) in very wet areas of the massive Atchafalaya Swamp. These areas were extremely remote and had only narrow strips of dry ground. Yet, hogs moved in and out of deep water and muck readily. On vacation in Maui in the Hawaiian islands last year, I noticed a long, 25-foot-wide strip of land at the base of a cliff in a botanical preserve that looked like it had been disked in preparation for planting. A closer look revealed that the ground had actually been churned-up by hogs chomping choice roots of rare plants. I had previously read and heard about the adaptability and destructiveness of wild hogs but gained a new appreciation after my experiences in Louisiana and Hawaii.

One myth I sometimes hear in Michigan is that any escaped wild boars or other swine will hang around houses and barns and can quickly be rounded-up or at least shot by hunters. That’s not necessarily the case; wild hogs that have bad experiences with people quickly learn to avoid them. They become nocturnal and use their keen sense of smell to avoid danger. In areas with large thick woods or swamps, it is almost impossible to eradicate them by hunting.

Should our state be demonstrating more urgency about controlling wild hogs? A growing number of conservationists, and agriculture experts involved in the swine production industry, think so. Many believe the reproductive capacity of wild hogs is too high for the population to be controlled by incidental shooting by licensed hunters during limited hunting seasons. “State officials just don’t get it,” says Dr. John J. Mayer, of the Washington Savannah River Company, a South Carolina environmental support firm for the U.S. Department of Energy. The nation’s foremost expert on wild hogs, Mayer believes it will likely take a huge catastrophe such as disease outbreak in a state’s livestock before effective action against wild hogs will be taken. “State agency personnel simply don’t realize how fast wild hogs can reproduce and how damaging they can be,” said Mayer. “They can’t see the threat until the bomb explodes. And most people don’t appreciate the seriousness of the problem until they’ve had their yard rototilled by wild boars.”

Mayer has studied wild hogs in the U.S. for more than 30 years and noted that for quite a while the number of states with free-roaming wild boars held at 19. But since 1990 the number of states with a wild boar problem has jumped to 32.

MSU’s Bates points out that spread of disease to domestic pigs is a real concern even with small numbers of wild hogs. “We spent hundreds of millions of dollars in this country getting rid of pseudorabies, a virus with potentially devastating impacts to domestic swine production. The fear is that wild hogs could carry and transfer the disease to a domestic animal that might be moved through markets and quickly spread the disease. MDA is worried because un-documented wild boars are likely being imported from other states,” said Bates.

The Great Smokey Mountains National Park assigns six employees the task of reducing the boar population in the 500,000-acre Park. “We shoot or trap an average of about 250 wild boars a year,” says Park wildlife biologist Bill Stiver. “That doesn’t stop damage by hogs to the Park which has had the costly hog control program since 1959. And it hasn’t stopped the threat of disease. We’ve found pseudorabies in some of the wild boars,” says Stiver. “There are many areas of the South where wild hogs are carrying diseases that could be transmitted to livestock,” added Mayer.

The wild boar business in Michigan is booming and essentially unregulated. The demand for wild boars at commercial hunting preserves has increased greatly in recent years because they are relatively cheap. Preserve clients typically pay about $400 to shoot a boar—much less than the cost for a big white-tailed buck. Wild boar raisers sell them to the preserves for around $1.25 per pound, several times the going rate for domestic hogs raised for meat. A few years ago many of the wild boars used at Michigan hunting preserves were imported from Canada. Now more Michigan residents are raising them.

Most escapes seem to occur when the hunting preserves release the hogs into large areas fenced to keep in deer. The hogs can lift up or go through typical deer-proof fencing, as I learned at a tour of a facility in Central Michigan that breeds and raises wild boars for the preserves.

While the state regulates both native and exotic deer, there are no rules governing wild boars. Those who buy and sell them don’t even have to keep any records.

The January issue of one popular Michigan hunting magazine contained 15 separate ads for wild boar or feral hog hunting in fenced enclosures in Michigan. One of the operations reportedly handles more than 600 wild boars annually. Almost all of these preserves are in areas where feral swine have recently been seen.

At present such fenced wildlife enclosures seem like the ballast water in ocean ships that have brought so many harmful exotic species to the Great Lakes—accidents waiting to happen. A careful look at these facilities and a more aggressive, year-round effort to eliminate free-roaming wild hogs are needed if we are to dodge this environmental bullet. All available evidence indicates it may be too late to eliminate wild hogs from Michigan. State officials are asleep at the switch.

Dr. Patrick J. Rusz
Director of Wildlife Programs

The Nature of the Beast

Domestic pigs were derived from the Eurasian wild boar, so all feral swine are of the same species, Sus scrufa. They interbreed and the hybrids are sometimes spotted black and tan and often less hairy than the pure wild boar.

Wild hogs mate any time of the year, but peak breeding seasons in free-roaming herds are usually in winter and early summer. The young are typically born in spring and fall. Litters of 3-12 are the norm. The young have pale, longitudinal stripes until about 6 weeks of age.

Wild hogs may weigh up to 400 pounds, but most are less than 300. The lifespan is 15 to 25 years. Once they reach maturity, few are killed, as their large tusks are effective in warding off predators. They are fast runners and excellent swimmers. Hog home ranges are usually 10-20 square miles.

Wild hogs will eat almost anything including birds’ eggs and young, insects, mice, roots, crops, woody browse, and carrion. Some have even been known to kill and eat deer fawns. A study in Louisiana found that acorn crops were exhausted twice as fast where hogs were found as in places where they were excluded.

Physics Italian Studen

2008-10-27T10:40:00.001-07:00

2008-10-24T12:34:00.000-07:00

Trader Jack's Flea Market

Wanted Shoplifters

2008-10-23T05:07:00.000-07:00

Lone Gravesite in South Hills

2008-10-22T05:57:00.001-07:00

Out of place grave near a tall cell tower in the South Hills

Glass Artist at Brew House

2008-10-21T05:14:00.001-07:00

Glass artist Curt Sell in front of the Brew House using large lens focusing solar rays to melt down pieces of colored glass.

REI Garage Sale

2008-10-20T08:43:00.001-07:00

online photo album

Coventry Village School Mural

2008-10-17T06:06:00.001-07:00

mob statues

2008-10-15T06:17:00.001-07:00

St Thomas More, patron of laywers

2008-10-10T14:23:00.001-07:00

Bird's Eye View Mural in Regent Square

2008-10-08T14:22:00.001-07:00

Confusing Sign: Push or Pull ?

2008-10-07T14:47:00.000-07:00

The doors from the Duquesne University Union Center building into the Academic Walk promenade can only swing in a precise way: the door on the right can only be pushed, while the door on the left can only be pulled. Actually, it cannot even be pulled, since there is no handle to grab and pull.
Don Norman, in his book "psycology of everyday things", describes how objects have "affordances". In this case, the door that can be pushed has a clear affordance of being abled to be pushed, but the door that is labeled PULL has no affordance of being pulled, since it is lacking a grabbable handle.

In modern buildings, the fire code usually dictates that doors can only open outward, since in a situation of panic, people inside a building are rushing outward. In this case, both doors would have to be labeled PUSH.

The designers and architects of the building wanted to convey the traffic pattern of keeping pedestrian traffic to "your right", thus forcing pedestrians walking outward to keep their right and choose the door on the right, and at the same time forcing pedestrians walking inward to keep THEIR right and choose the door on the left, that can only swing inwards.

Unusual for the fact that there is no handle to PULL. The sign "PULL" is, in effect, useless, since the person operating the door and following instruction cannot normally pull that door. The only way to possibly PULL is to PUSH slightly the swinging glass door on the RIGHT so that a hand can grab the edge of the swinging glass door on the LEFT and PULL using that grab.

An interesting example in Switzerland of a door that can be pushed from both sides, written in translucent sign in multiple languages

Pennsylvania Post Office Public Art Project

2008-10-07T05:41:00.001-07:00

Dollar Bank lions

2008-10-06T15:25:00.001-07:00

Animal figurative sculptures in downtown park

2008-10-06T10:58:00.001-07:00

PNC Firstside Park creates connections with labyrinthine landscape

By Patricia Lowry, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Pittsburgh's newest park promises to be a green gateway to Downtown, with a meandering, diagonal path leading visitors from the end of the rustic, riverside Eliza Furnace Trail to the bustling intersection of Grant Street and Boulevard of the Allies.

When it's complete next spring, PNC Firstside Park also will feature seven smaller, spiraling paths, some or all of which are expected to lead, in a later phase, to sculptures. The spirals will snake their way through a mounded landscape of trees, ferns, flowering bulbs, ornamental grasses and other perennials.

The design is surprisingly park-like, forested and organic; even the park's perimeter of buff-colored terrazzo sidewalks and gray granite curbs will be rounded at the corners, contributing to a romantic landscape seen as contrast and counterpoint to the orthogonal PNC Firstside Center, opposite the park across First Avenue.

There is a small eating area, seating 24, and benches interspersed throughout, but this is not your standard urban plaza with copious seating and reams of pavement. This is mostly a park for strolling or striding, one that brings welcome new connections and 1.5 acres of green space to a section of Downtown that sorely lacks it.

The privately owned park should be an amenity not only for the banking center's 1,500 employees, but for anyone working or living on the southeast edge of Downtown and anyone willing to make their way to it.

"PNC wanted this to be a destination spot" for trail users, families, office workers and others, said Steven Gillespie, one of the park's two designers.

Gillespie and Rachelle Wolf, both landscape architects at Astorino, collaborated with PNC staffers, including Gary Saulson, director of corporate real estate, and a California artist whom PNC wouldn't identify -- even though the spirals grew out of the artist's idea of how the sculptures would be placed in the park.

"PNC plans to wait until it makes a final decision about what sculpture(s) it may choose and announce the sculpture(s) and artist at the same time," PNC spokeswoman Darcel Kimble wrote in an e-mail. "The decision is close to being finalized."

In announcing the park in 2004, Saulson said PNC, which operates a day-care center for employees at PNC Firstside Center, wanted to "create a child-friendly environment -- someplace kids want to go. I don't want to give away too many ideas, but it will definitely appeal to children."

At the time, Saulson also said the park would interpret some of the history of the site, which in the early 1800s was adjacent to the Scotch Hill Market, burned in the Great Fire of 1845. The Boulevard of the Allies ramp is on the market site now.

In recent years, the park site held the seven-story Public Safety Building, a 1960s expansion of the four-story, former Post-Gazette building. PNC paid $4.2 million for the Public Safety Building in May 2004 and soon began a careful deconstruction, recycling 98 percent of its materials, including some crumbled into gravel and used as fill on the site. PNC declined to reveal the cost of the park.

Some of its spiraling paths will open to other walkways, allowing a different diagonal stroll through the park opposite the main diagonal path. The main diagonal will be paved in buff terrazzo and lined with white birches and pedestrian-scale light poles. The labyrinthine spirals, done in chipped, compacted limestone, could make the park a meditative or playful experience, but much depends on the form and content of the sculptures.

One aspect of the park could encourage a contemplative environment: The back of each of its perforated-metal benches will incorporate a short quotation, about 2 inches tall, from a notable person, including Helen Keller, Martin Luther King and Confucius.

The park also includes a small plaza area, paved in scored, dark gray-tinted concrete, with six silver-colored tables, each with four attached chairs. Like the benches, they will be contemporary in style, taking their aesthetic cues from the design of Astorino's PNC Firstside Center. The park's buff, gray and silver color scheme also was inspired by the center, for which Gillespie and Wolf designed the surrounding landscape, with its cascading fountain along First Avenue and the inlaid compass that terminates the Eliza Furnace Trail.

One of the park's greatest amenities will be its 101 trees, with varieties chosen for fragrance and four-season interest: red maples, lindens, zelkovas, river birches, white birches, redbuds, saucer and sweetbay magnolias, and flowering cherry, crab-apple and callery pear trees.

The park's perimeter sidewalks, interior paths, benches, tables, chairs, trees and sod should be installed by the end of October. Ornamental grasses and flowering perennials and bulbs will be added in the spring.

Asked if the park was a placeholder for a future building, project manager Susan Golomb said it isn't, but added, "you can never predict what will happen in 20 years."
First published on August 29, 2006

Pittsburgh 250 unicycle rider

2008-10-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

Legacy Trail Ride

Allegheny Observatory Open House

2008-10-04T07:20:00.001-07:00

Clay Mural on Peabody School on East Liberty

2008-10-03T05:23:00.000-07:00

Mosaic of Pittsburgh Byzantine Church

2008-10-02T06:22:00.001-07:00

spontaneous memorial on location of tragic accident

2008-10-01T08:37:00.001-07:00

Accident with school bus

Welling Tunnel, Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, Cameron, West Virginia

2008-10-01T05:07:00.000-07:00

Built in 1852, connecting Baltimore (Maryland) with Wheeling (West Virginia, on the edge of Ohio), the Baltimore & Ohio railroad pierced through the Appalachians. This tunnel is south of Cameron, under a ridge called Tunnel Hill. The name of the tunnel comes from the Welling family, who sold the land to the railroad. There is recent activity on the southern entrance, most likely from gas line company, who may want to use the tunnel for a gas pipeline. The northern end is flooded, waist high.

Crafton Flatiron

2008-09-30T05:45:00.001-07:00

Rochester Flatiron

2008-09-29T06:09:00.001-07:00

In downtown Rochester, Pennsylvania, along the banks of the Ohio River.

Mosaics of Point Breeze

2008-09-26T07:48:00.000-07:00

three mosaics:
- south side of Reynolds St near corner with South Lang St
- south side on Reynolds St near corner with Hastings St
- Selkirk Way

September 11 memorial at Carnegie Mellon University

2008-09-25T05:50:00.000-07:00

Uniontown Flatiron Buildings

2008-09-24T06:39:00.001-07:00

Located in downtown Uniontown, Pennsylvania, largest city in Fayette County

Mural on East Carson Street at South Side

2008-09-23T05:32:00.000-07:00

Financed by the Sprout Fund Mural Project

Rural Ridge Post Office

2008-09-15T08:14:00.001-07:00

West Virginia Law

2008-09-12T06:12:00.000-07:00

Wheeling, West Virginia

Cavers Wedding

2008-09-10T08:20:00.001-07:00

Near Elkins, West Virginia, at OTR (Old Timers Reunion), the largest gathering of cavers in North America

Landscape Art at Carnegie Mellon University

2008-09-09T06:07:00.001-07:00

news article

Crafton Time Capsule

2008-09-08T10:06:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Braddock

2008-09-05T05:34:00.000-07:00

a new sign at entrance of town

Highland Park Bridge Graffiti

2008-09-04T11:18:00.000-07:00

Sign of Old Company Downtown

2008-09-03T10:27:00.000-07:00

Katrina and Gustav

2008-09-02T08:12:00.000-07:00

The new restaurant A Taste of New Orleans opened in East Pittsburgh. The owner resettled in Pittsburgh as part of the Project Pittsburgh initiative. The decor inside the restaurant includes the street sign from the street where she was living in New Orleans.

how to name a new street between two sequentially named streets

2008-08-29T12:15:00.000-07:00

Swissvale Flatiron

2008-08-27T11:22:00.000-07:00

In Swissvale, lies this semi-abbandoned flatiron building.

Who was Patricia Stephanie ?

Pillow Fight on Flagstaff Hill

2008-08-26T05:13:00.000-07:00

Organized by the Pittsburgh Cacophony Society, the pillow fight on Flagstaff Hill at Schenley Park is an annual happening, in occasion of the last outdoor Wednesday night movie screening by City Parks.

Electric Avenue Greek Festival

2008-08-22T05:21:00.000-07:00

Annual greek festival with folk dancing.

Bloomfield Bridge Graffiti

2008-08-21T06:44:00.000-07:00

Bocce court, basketball court, swimming pool, baseball diamond, paved hockey court.

Balance of Justice, Swissvale, Pennsylvania

2008-08-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

the blind balance of justice

Danny & Lenny, Strip District

2008-08-19T05:17:00.000-07:00

Strip District, Pittsburgh. Wholesale distribution.

Emory Biko

2008-08-15T13:40:00.001-07:00

Biko is an artist, educator, and flea-marketeer that deals with cultural artifacts of the African-American experience.

On saturdays, you can find in the Strip District with a display table.

2008-08-14T10:11:00.000-07:00

Etna Launderette

the Indian of Sharpsburg

2008-08-13T10:48:00.000-07:00

Sharpsburg was a thriving community in the industrial age, and now it is mostly a blue-collar township, rich with architectural features from its by-gone era. The most famous resident is probably Guyasuta, an indian chief that resided in this area in the 1700's. The building focal point directly points to the statue of Guyasuta. Currently, the building is used for small businesses.

berries in Boyce Park

2008-08-12T06:43:00.001-07:00

Boyce Park county park, on the eastern edge of Allegheny County, has several blackberry and raspberry bushes. Some bushes are under a powerline criss-crossing the park from South to North, and other bushes are behind a hill easily reachable by trail (circled in red). Wear long pants, of sturdy denim, to protect legs from thorns.

Art Deco in Blawnox Post Office

2008-08-11T08:29:00.001-07:00

In the late 30's and early 40's, several artists were commissioned to do artworks (murals, reliefs, sculptures) for post offices. A notable wood relief (now missing), titled "The Steel Worker and His Family", by Mildred Jerome, was at the Blawnox post office.

Vince the Barber at McKees Rocks

2008-08-09T13:17:00.001-07:00

Vincenzo Panucci has been cutting hair for 60 years. In 1944, at age of 18, was in the army and went to Okinawa. Two years later, he was back civilian. Inside his shops are a veritable photo gallery of Who's Who among italian-americans of Pittsburgh.

630 Broadway
McKees Rocks, PA 15136

St Raphael Parish Festival - Morningside, Pittsburgh, PA

2008-08-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

Located in the front parking lot of the St Raphael Catholic school and church in the neighborhood of Morningside, Pittsburgh, Pennyslvania, the parish festival usually starts on the second Thursday in the month of August and ends on Sunday. Highlights include a parade on the first day, a flea market, food vendors, booth games for children and adults, a poker tournament, lottery raffle, music entertainment by vocal and music bands. Parking is on public street. Entrance is free. Festival hours are from 6 PM to 11 PM.

Farmer Stand of italian couple in North Versailles

2008-08-07T08:58:00.001-07:00

Antonio and Giuseppina came from the Southern Italy area of Caserta, near Naples. They own and operate a small farm near Elizabeth, Pennsylvania, and of which produce they sell at a farm stand in Rossi's Popup Market in North Versailles, off route 30, on an abandoned CinemaPlex that has been converted into a flea market. Typical produce that they sell are swiss chard, tomatoes, onions, potatoes, beets, green beans, corn, peaches, plums, chestnuts, basil potted plants, collard greens, eggplant.

location: N 40° 23.376 W 079° 49.284
waymarking site

Guyasuta

2008-08-06T08:53:00.000-07:00

In the township of Sharpsburg lies a metal statue of Guyasuta. The plaque reads:

Guyasuta (1720-1794), "Crosses Standing in a Row", a leader of the Seneca Tribe whose hunting ground included the Sharpsburg area, served as George Washington's guide during a 1753 survey of the point. he later represented his people in negotiations with the British settlers. During his later years, he settled in the area now known as Guyasuta Reservation and probably buried in the area now occupied by the north end of the Highland Park Bridge.

This statue is the third to occupy this site. The first was part of a large fountain manufactured by the J.L. Mott Company and given by H.J. Heinz circa 1896. That fountain was hit by a car in 1930 and replaced by a second statue from the original mould which was knocked from its concrete base in 1983 by a truck. This bronze replica of the 1930 statue was produced by Karkadoulias Bronze Art Company and installed in 1986. While the sculpture is not modeled in the likeness of Guyasuta, his name has long been associated with it.

Henry John Heinz (1844-1919) came to Sharpsburg in 1849. For nearly 40 years, he grew vegetables in the fertile soil of the surrounding Allegheny River flood plain. During that time, he resided in Sharpsburg, taught Sundah School in the Grace Methodist Church (15th Street) and became a highly respected member of the community. In the late 1800's, he relocated his rapidly growing company to its current location on Pittsburgh's North Side, leaving behind numerous gifts to the community, including a playground and a ballfield and the elaborate metal drinking fountain topped by a life-size sculpture of an Indian which stood at this intersection until 1930.

Dixmont Cemetery

2008-08-04T06:08:00.000-07:00

Located 6 miles west of downtown Pittsburgh, the only thing left of a state-run psychiatric hospital called Dixmont State Hospital is a small plot of land with simple name-less gravestones.