Moscow, Idaho

The drive from Pullman to Moscow, Idaho, is 8 miles. When you first cross the border into Idaho, the Appaloosa Museum and Heritage Center is next to Walmart and La Quinta. The museum documents the history of the Appaloosa horse breed in the region.

The Nimíipuu (Nez Perce), an Indigenous people, bred horses on the Columbia River Plateau. European settlers called them “Nez Perce,” which means “pierced nose,” but they were mistaken for the Chinook tribe. Today, the Nez Pierce has a population of 3,500, and many live on the reservation in Idaho, a tiny fraction of their land systematically taken treaty by treaty from the United States. As valuable resources like gold and timber were discovered on their land, the United States reneged.

There is little, if any, proof “Moscow” was named after the Russian Capital, but Russian comedian Yakov Smirnoff, nonetheless, opened his Moscow-to-Moscow world tour in Idaho in 1991.

The Palouse Mall and the University of Idaho, another land grant University, are on West Pullman Road, across from each other. It is “Anywhere, USA,” with box and chain stores. We eat at Jack Jack’s Diner because it reminds us of an East Coast diner with neon and a mirrored stainless steel facade. The friendly waiter directed us to “the next street over” for tourist shopping.

South Main is in historic Downtown Moscow. It has coffee shops, bookstores, vintage clothing boutiques, restaurants, bars, ice cream, antique and kitsch stores, and feels like a college town.

Photo: University of Idaho

A giant grain elevator is a reminder of the agricultural history of Latah County and the Palouse. Hummel Architects conceptualized the structure for modern use to draw visitors.

I pick up a rusty license plate, a book on “cool” from the late seventies at Hello Everything, and a rugby shirt on a sale rack outside Revolver. I am intrigued by a recipe stand, so I flip through someone's antique recipes and find “Mayonaise Cake.” It's a Depression-era recipe without milk, butter, or eggs.

There are two movie theaters: the Nuart and Kenworthy. The Kenworthy shows classic movies, and the Nuart, a former first-run theater, is now a Christian Ministry like the Cordova Theater in Pullman.

A lone RFK Jr. sign is on the side of the four-lane road. I noticed his book The Wuhan Cover-Up in a local bookstore.

1956

The district is quiet and clean. I don't see unhoused shelters against buildings or down alleys. Drug use behavior is unseen. Bike riders are asked to walk their wheels on sidewalks.

We plan to go to the McConnell Mansion Museum, but its website hours and a sign on the old house contradict each other, so it's closed. We get snacks and drinks at the Moscow Food Co-Op, an upscale grocery with a deli and coffee shop. Fake revolution is in the air.

Orientation

We arrive in Pullman around 6 p.m. Parents and incoming first-year students wearing crimson crowd the hotel lobby. Our freshman, a big sports fan, is wide-eyed and excited as we pass Gesa Field.

We eat dinner at Birch & Barley and then crash. Orientation is at 8 a.m. My sleep is intermittent because the pillows are always too soft and the mattress too hard.

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The complimentary breakfast always features people from disparate places sharing space in flip-flops and summer wear. I thoroughly enjoy the polite camaraderie as we silently maneuver the bacon tongs and Fruity Pebbles dispenser like good Americans.

We dropped him off at orientation and explored the campus and Pullman. The modern Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, also known as the “Crimson Cube,” is a standout building designed by architect Jim Olson of Seattle-based Olson Kundig. Schnitzer is a prodigious art collector and philanthropist of the arts.

There is a variety of public art on campus, such as “Technicolor Heart” by art Jim Dine, installed in 2008—or “The Caring Call” by Larry Anderson to commemorate the university’s veterinary program and centennial in 1990.

Veterinary medicine is an example of land grant schools focused on practical education like agriculture and science, a mandate of the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890 that provided land and funding during Reconstruction after the Civil War.

I believe land grant funding continues to be vital to education. Practical skills and trades are in high demand again as people turn to computers and fragile digital careers. Our son will study architecture, a timeless trade that requires adaptation to climate change and new environmental realities.

We walk to the Voiland College of Engineering And Architecture. The triptych of bas-reliefs over a set of doors harkens to 1920s design and depicts engineering, science, and the literal fruits of industry.

Ellie and I enjoy walking the campus and can picture our son thriving in an environment that will challenge his intelligence and curiosity. A striking white sculpture of wavy vertical columns is situated at the top of a grassy hill. It's called “Palouse Columns” by Robert Maki and symbolizes the landscape of the Palouse. From different vantage points, the waves interact with each other and the setting to create the movement of rolling farmland.

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Main Street, currently a dirt road, is undergoing a significant infrastructure upgrade. Project Downtown Pullman is creating a people-centered shopping district to benefit local businesses, students, visitors, and residents.

The Jackson Block building was erected in 1915 and housed The Grand Theater until 1928. In 1930, the theater was remodeled as the Audian; the marquee is still present today.

Sidewalk detours direct us to N Grand Avenue, where the Cordova Theater, a silent picture house, once entertained Pullman residents. It was the first theater in Pullman to screen “talkies,” when films featured sound and dialogue. It’s now the Pullman Foursquare Church.

Across the street, the Regional Theatre of the Palouse (RTOP) is performing Broadway shows.

Photo: Pullman Foursquare Church

Near Palouse Games, a woman wears a faded t-shirt that says, “Biden Quit.” In light of recent events, be careful what you wish for. We cross N Grand at Olson and walk through Cougar Plaza, a well-manicured welcome for WSU students and families.

The owner of Dregs, a vintage clothing store, says the summer months are quiet, but tens of thousands of students arrive in the fall, and the town almost doubles in population. I get a Grateful Dead tee. The kids love the selection of faded and dusty Gen X clothing we wore without being ironic.

A walking path along the South Fork Palouse River connects River Park near the Wazzu campus to NE Kamiaken Street next to Porch Light Pizza. An eponymous bus stop is in front of Porch Light.

Angsty graffiti covers a skatepark near River Park. The message is less important than the vibe.

South Fork Palouse River

GO COUGS

The drive from Seattle to Pullman looks like a straight run on the map, but it doesn't feel like it. At Enterprise, I talked with a woman who grew up in Spokane and told me the drive is long. She likes the views on the Western side of the Cascades, but Route 26 southeast towards Pullman is a single-lane road through vast empty farmland. The Palouse is a dry farming area encompassing parts of Idaho, Washington, and Oregon.

Near Cle Elum, we pass majestic wind turbines slowly turning in non-synchronized patterns. Watching the Kittitas Valley Wind Farm as I try to focus on driving is mesmerizing.

When we cross the Columbia River on Vantage Bridge, traffic slows to a stop for construction. The bridge is light yellow and blends into the river's topography. We take Route 26 south. I-90 turns Northeast towards Moses Lake, Ritzville, and Spokane.

Route 26 is miles of sleepy crossroads and amber farmland with specks of farmhouses and silos in the hazy unforgiving sun. One of my kids says, “This looks like the Lorax.”

The Columbia Plateau's topography near Royal City, Othello, and Washtucna consists of basalt lava flows and semi-arid vegetation. The complexity of the environment is visually engaging.

The land turns arid through Hooper, La Crosse, and Dusty, and silhouetted industrial tillers create grain gossamers on undulating slopes. Thin green lines cut the endless amber fields where water sources trickle and snake. On steel storage structures, “GO COUGS,” but we are two hours from Pullman.

Along a flat open stretch, we drive through a surprisingly strong wind formation, like a mini tornado. The wind shakes the car and briefly makes me maneuver the rental car. Bug juices splat against the windshield, and several wiper fluid rounds are used to clean the window. I think I wouldn't want to drive this byway in the winter.

In Colfax, we sense a college town is close, but we drive for another fifteen miles before we reach the WSU campus. I noticed signs on the shoulder saying, “No Wind Turbines.” In Western Washington, tribes are trying to halt wind development on the coast.

A Coug eating at Porchlight Pizza.

Outside Oasis

We are driving to the village of Magnolia for only the second time since moving to Seattle 8 years ago. At times, Magnolia feels like you are not in Seattle. To get to the village, you ascend Dravus, a steep neighborhood road that should never have been a road. The topography secludes Magnolia, so I can imagine residents staying put when they can and only leaving as needed.

The village feels like a small suburban town. West McGraw Street defies the trends of other Seattle shopping thoroughfares. Long-standing businesses like Gim Wah mix with coffee shops, gift shops, pubs, pizzerias, obligatory Starbucks, and Albertson’s in buildings with mid-century masonry.

Residents eat lunch or drink iced coffee under mature trees to avoid the midday heat. I noticed a bus stop sign with a zig-zag pole, a thoughtful resident-initiated project.

Camp kids play sports at the Magnolia Playfield. We stop at the Magnolia Garden Center for some florals. The staff member talks about the Mariners playing the Astros this weekend. He expects “like every year” for the M’s, currently clinging to a one-game lead in the West, to fade by October.

He talks about the historic 2000 team that almost beat the Yankees to go to their first World Series.

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We drop one of our kids off at the Bon Odori Festival at the Seattle Betsuin Buddhist Church, park in the C-ID, and walk around. I fondly remember painting noodles in Maynard Alley. I stopped to view a six-story mural I helped design for Uncle Bob’s Place. The mural faces South Jackson and is visible from the I-5.

The streets are quiet. People in Sounders and Mariners jerseys kill time before evening games at T-Mobile and Lumen. Since the pandemic, many storefronts have remained boarded up. We shop at Kobo, a Japanese gift shop on South Jackson Street. I purchased a clay necklace and Ellie a lacquer-style display shelf.

Some businesses have not removed the plywood to protect against break-ins and vandalism. A cut-out in the plywood with a flashing “Open” sign is sometimes the only indication that the business is still operating.

We walk towards Hing Hay Park. Open drug use and behavior are conspicuous. Outside Oasis, a woman with open sores on her legs asks for money. Asian kids in fashionable street clothing -The Godfather logo across baggy shorts- order bubble tea. I get a brown sugar milk tea with boba, and we walk to Uwajimaya.

Older people sit on walkers outside International House, an affordable apartment building built in 1979 and renovated in 2018. It might be cooler outside than in apartments without A.C.

The atrium lobby and central glass facade were design features of their time, often seen in office buildings, industrial parks, and malls to elevate otherwise utilitarian architecture.

Growing up on Long Island, glass followed suburban sprawl into strip malls and shopping centers with an anchor store and neon trim.

I purchased Tokyo Style by Kyoichi Tsuzuki in Kinokuniya. First published in 1993, the photographs documented the city’s residents as they lived. The book continues to challenge the minimalist monastic aesthetic that Westerners fetishize.

Uwajimaya is always busy with locals and visitors eating in the food court or shopping for Asian ingredients. Ellie loves the household section that features beauty products, cooking utensils, Daruma, Kokeshi, Noren, rice bowls, chopsticks, and kawaii gifts.

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The M’s and Astros are tied for first place on Monday morning, losing two out of three games.

Summer Jeremiad

Saturday summer nights are noisy. Sirens blare through intersections and echo off buildings along Market Street. Water response, fire, life-saving measures.

Last night a man yelled, “Get the fuck off my block.” Another man with feigned machismo responded, “I’m standing right here.”

Silence followed. New encampments on Market and the 14th Ave NW corridor seem to connect to late-night activity. After eight years in Seattle, the unhoused issues are acute.

My son says matter-of-factly, “Did you hear Trump was shot?” His rhetorical question is just more content temporarily streamed before his eyes. He follows with, “What’s for lunch?”

Local over global is a better coping skill these days.

In mid-afternoon, we drive to a strip mall in Northgate to get old-school ice cream at Baskin Robbins. I'm just sick of the bougie shops selling vegan and organic flavors when all I want is a soft-serve cone with sprinkles. Nothing says ice cream like goat cheese, lavender, and black charcoal.

Growing up on Long Island, I miss walking to the bottom of my block to Carvel. It was a drive-up Carvel built in the 1950s to cater to the burgeoning car culture as families moved from urban New York to the suburbs of Long Island.

It was a magical childhood experience to look up at a giant cone and the neon scripted sign: C A R V EL. Hand-painted signs of sundaes hung from the large pane windows. Staff, primarily high school kids, would slide open a window to take your order. On hot summer days, you could feel the air conditioning escape briefly before they slid the window closed to swirl a cone and then dip it in sprinkles.

I ordered a Cherry Bonnet or a Butterscotch Sundae. On the walk home, I preoccupied myself with licking the melting ice cream before it reached my hand. My younger sister needed parental intervention to manage rivulets across her knuckles and wrists.

In 1983, The Beastie Boys released “Cookie Puss,” a rap ode to the Carvel ice cream cake. The song featured recorded crank calls to Carvel in a pre-digital era when a phone call could not be traced. Eventually, the *69 feature was available by the phone company for a fee, and you could call back the crank caller with gleeful revenge. Today, we dox someone.

I find solace in print media.

40,954.48USD

+742.76(1.85%) 🔼

Rats

We make squared figure 8s around the neighborhood like Etcha Sketch. Ellie admires front yard gardens but is disappointed by a bulldozed house, which includes rose bushes she had planned to transplant.

Old West Woodland houses disappear overnight - a heap of lumber, plumbing, and floral wallpapered plaster remains. An excavator is parked at an angle halfway up the heap as if it was quitting time, and the workers stopped mid-task.

In Tetris configurations, foundations are mapped out with stakes and twine to fit as many units on one plot as possible. Pieces of ripped cloth are tied on the twine in intervals to remind humans that there is twine to trip over.

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Analog skills will be in demand in the future when energy systems and data servers are breached and disrupted. Cash under-the-mattress thinking is an intelligent strategy.

Credit cards, electric cars, WiFi, refrigeration, smartphones, government, law enforcement, medical support, and anything in your life that is dependent on energy and data systems could cease to work.

Build a fort, start a fire…

In a scene from Rumaan Alam’s book Leave the World Behind, G.H. Scott, an Airbnb rental owner, shows up at his rental property to escape an event happening in the country's urban areas. The renter, Clay Sandford, and his family, already experiencing WiFi outages and becoming increasingly fearful, are distrustful, but they allow him to stay the night.

G.H., who alludes to having some inside knowledge of what’s happening, begins to talk openly to Clay.

G.H. Scott: A conspiracy theory about a shadowy group of people running the world is far too lazy of an explanation. Especially when the truth is much scarier.

Clay: What is the truth?

G.H.: No one is in control. No one is pulling the strings.

We are sure that our way of life will always be because we believe the selected narrative says it will always be. The truth is that no one is swooping in to save us from ourselves. If systems show inklings of catastrophic failure, humans will begin planning to save themselves like rats on a sinking ship.

Marshall McCluhan Would Disagree

I love the analog comment on one of our DIY fliers, especially when related to Marshall McCluhan because he once said, “I don't necessarily agree with everything I say.“

Richard Dawkins coined the term “meme” in his 1976 book The Selfish Gene. He wrote:

Memes (discrete units of knowledge, gossip, jokes and so on) are to culture what genes are to life. Just as biological evolution is driven by the survival of the fittest genes in the gene pool, cultural evolution may be driven by the most successful memes.

He also said, “The meme for blind faith secures its own perpetuation by the simple unconscious expedient of discouraging rational inquiry.”

The digital meme reassures in uncertain times but is a closed feedback loop. A good meme is humorous with some verity and the viral apparatus of social media. It shuts down discourse and is circulated in algorithmic vacuums of like-minded avatars. It is a salve for confirmation bias, a brief conclusion, a foolproof amuse-bouche for the choir.

McCluhan, himself, said, “Faced with information overload, we have no alternative but pattern-recognition”

But patterns change and the simple absolute meme has a shelf-life, vulnerable in its oneness to the cruel tick of time.

In “The End of Memes or McCluhan 101,” an article in Medium,

Memes are “democratic” and psychographically weaponized: Unlike one-size-fits-all propaganda, you get to choose between Coke or Pepsi. Memes are meaningless and you can’t argue with them. Just like television. Just do it! (Don’t,think about it.)

To use McLuhan’s own terminology, memes have now become obsolete. By saying this, McLuhan was pointing to a special kind of death, a state in which something is everywhere but is no longer psychologically consequential. Walking dead, if you will. Memes today are like George Romero’s zombies coming to eat our brains, and increasingly, we all recognize this. We are “getting out” and perhaps even being “woke” as we wise up to the end of memes.

Vantana Row on 14th

I spotted the Vantana Row touring van parked on 14th Ave. NW behind Ballard Market (Town & Country) this morning. I will never call it Town & Country because it’s deeply wired in my 54-year old noggin and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Plus, a rebrand is always a sell out. 🤘

They played a show on Sunday, June 30th, at Add-A-Ball in Fremont, along with Fresh Produce, Fuuls, and I’ve Never Been Here Before. Their music sounds like a drum set fell out of the back of the van, along with the love child of Stormtroopers of Death and Big Stick, in a good way.

According to SF Weekly, the van is their home/studio/concert venue, and they are known to play inside and broadcast the show on live TV for passersby. It was before noon when I snapped this pic, so my guess is they were sleeping.

“People Have Cats” is dope. I have two. 🐈‍⬛🐈