Broken Record

Readers who have had the pleasure of experiencing the Broadway hit musical Fiddler On The Roof will likely be aware of the importance of “Tradition!” (if only I could depict in type the way in which Tevye so proudly proclaims that word near the commencement of that production). This is likely true of non-readers as well, but I choose to emphasize the former group as it is to them that the following words will bear the greatest significance. For I have recently completed an instance (for lack of better terminology) of a tradition, performing my annual road-trip-home-with-excessive-hyphenation-and-items-that-I-don't-want-to-leave-in-the-trunk-room. The trip itself was at once traditional and revolutionary; most prominently, a mere 36 hours elapsed between the moment of my departure from school and my arrival back at the location of my heart (metaphorically speaking; this was not a Magic School Bus-style voyage through the human body...and even if it was, my biology is not sufficiently recursive to enable my presence within my own heart). This represents a significant reduction in transit time from previous excursions along this same route; the closest contender for this record comes in far behind, occupying an entire 52 hours of my time here on Earth. Upon learning this, the astute reader may begin to observe a connection between the title of this post and the subject matter within. In which case he or she would be...I hesitate to say “wrong”, for such a conclusion is logically valid, and indeed follows, in part, the progression of thought which lead the author to such a brief, yet ambiguous, appellation. However, that two-word phrase bears with it also connotations from days past (yet not entirely gone). I speak of a time when vinyl ruled the distribution of musical entertainment...and when damage to those grooved black platters could result in the repetition of certain bits of audio bits of audio bits of audio...(this sentence terminated by the comic rule of threes).Fortunately for those who have not experienced this phenomenon first-hand, those objects which we know as Compact Discs (despite their attempts to convince people to call them by their acronymic nickname: “CD”...wait. Strike that. Reverse it.) can produce a similar sonic experience given sufficient damage...or sufficient lack of cooperation from that intermediary tasked with the conversion from optical storage to auditory output. The latter, I believe, was the source of the feelings of anger which we began to experience toward our generator of auditorily-pleasing decibels. For upon nearing the conclusion of the CD, it would either play through to the or begin repeating a brief portion of the current song. This choice appears superficially arbitrary, however, I believe I have found a few potential explanations for this variance in functionality. The first is that of fear. While en route to meet me up at UP, accompanied only by my Father, the player exhibited this behavior fairly frequently. When I and my many boxes of “stuff” (to use a scientific term) took up residence within the minivan, full functionality was restored for approximately 24 hours; the “random” malfunctions resumed approximately halfway through the final drive. The first conclusion which one might draw is that the electronics are somehow susceptible to environment factors found only in Southern California. These effects might linger for some time after exposure, which would explain the continued malfunctions as the car drew closer to Portland, as well as the return to normalcy which occurred for the majority of the return trip. However, I believe that a more plausible rational exists for the behavior which I have described: Fear! The CD changer was willfully and maliciously conspiring to deprive listeners of the final tracks of their Compact Discs. My father had made use of it before this trip, so it was familiar with him and did not fear physical injury as a result of angering him. However, when I entered the car, it became more cautious. Perhaps I was simply not as well-known to it, and therefore warranted greater caution. Or maybe it had spoken to one of our old desktop computers, and heard the stories of how I would retrieve a steak knife from the kitchen when AOL refused to connect (a rather effective strategy, as it turned out; the connection would go through about 90% of the time after that. Of course, I'll never know whether that was due to the presence of the sharp metal implement or simply because connection slots would become available while I was in the kitchen comparing serrated edges. I'm assuming it was the former). Regardless, it was afraid of me, and resumed normal functionality temporarily in response However, as the odometer clicked (metaphorically again; it's digital) inexorably upward, it must have performed sufficient observation to determine that I did not constitute a significant threat to its existence, even when angered (little does it know...if only replacement of such devices did not entail a monetary contribution to their manufacturer). Yet an even more pressing scenario in this situation is the letter before 'z'. Why would a lowly piece of standard-issue, factory-installed technology endure such great personal risk for the sole purpose of impairing its users musical experience? I can only conjecture that it dislikes slow songs, and had observed enough albums to determine that such musical compositions typically occur near the conclusion of a collection of songs. Therefore, it took steps to ensure that the final tracks, containing the digital samples of those sound waves, would never be made audible through its interpretation. Interestingly, I know of some who would consider such functionality to be a feature...

These reflections do not stand alone in my recollections from this voyage. Therefore, I have decided to continue a tradition. An astute loyal reader might notice that in this publication this term seems to to denote an action which is being performed for the second time (a category into which such usage of “tradition” may fittingly take up residence). The same entity might recall an entry published in May of 2008. Its Defoe-inspired title name is too long to reproduce here (in the most liberal interpretation, it could be considered to continue for well over one paragraph), but it can be recognized for its numerically-organized summary of a previous such voyage. (I believe it is also third-most-recent entry, which somewhat sadly speaks to my rate of publication as of late). It is this format which I intend to follow in the lines below, recalling some of the more universally-appreciable aspects of this journey.

1. Speed Limits: Despite breaking a personal speed record, this trip was characterized by an adherence to the limitations on rate of travel imposed by those white roadside signs (or rather, by those under whose authority such signs are placed). As the contents of those inanimate messengers-of-the-law varies (not necessarily directly) with local, a keen observance of the values displayed was necessitated. After engaging in this activity for quite some time, I came to the conclusion that the determination of speed limits in certain areas has been left to those with far too close of ties to (a) the corporations who produce such signs or (b) the second song performed in Forever Plaid. Those speeds tolerated on the I-5 in Northern Oregon vary considerably along the interval [55,65], often with no visible change in terrain or surroundings (although for this Southern California native, it is difficult to comprehend the need for speed reductions to 55 MPH or slower when the road passes through a populated area). However, lest I be seen as to hard on ODOT (one of the two signals which Irish telegraph operators might send), I should mention that my native town possesses a stretch of road on which speed limits of 55, 40, 50, 45 can be seen – in approximately that order – over the course of under three miles.

And to allay any concerns which may have arisen with regard to my safety: I am aware of the difference between speed limit signs and those denoting the interstate which one's car currently inhabits. Although such a misunderstanding would have made my time on the I-805 quite entertaining.

2. The Dark Side of The Road. No, this isn't what you get after reversing the old song “The Sunny Side of The Street”. Although the heading does derive from another musical conspiracy theory, The Dark Side of The Rainbow. For the uninitiated, this is a phenomenon (untested by the author, provided as is, no warranty provided except as required by law) created when one inserts Pink Floyd's album The Dark Side of The Moon into one of those musical reproduction devices discussed above, and depresses the button associated with the action “play” at the conclusion of the third lion roar at the commencement of The Wizard of Oz. Reportedly, as the movie is watched and the album played, various phrases will coincide from the two media. A similar situation occurred near the commencement of the second day of automotive travel. The ever-beloved listening apparatus was playing the song “Yesterday” on Paul McCartney's Back in The US concert album, and I received a verbal query to which I lacked the ability to knowledgeably response. Our motives likely differed, but Paul and I responded with one voice, a resounding “I don't know” which filled the vehicle.

A related phenomenon was the way in which song titles and lyrics related to events on the road...in particular the terrain. One does not realize how many songs reference rivers, and the oft-performed act of crossing them, until they all begin playing from the disks preselected that morning to populate the CD changer.

3. A moral quandary arose near the middle of the second day: Is it ethical to close two consecutive rest stops? Unfortunately (or perhaps that syllable “un” is misplaced), only one rest stop was closed, and the others showed no indication that they had been considered for such treatment, so we were deprived of a means by which to determine the state government's moral standing. Which is of small concern, as the high morals of the State of California have never been in question.
4. Continuing along the same topic, an inverse relationship was observed between sales tax and the status of a state's rest areas. Those managed by the State of Oregon demonstrated greater cleanliness and general aesthetic value than those south of the Californian border...despite the ostensibly greater resources which proceed from the proceeds of sales tax. Perhaps Oregon, bereft of such income, is forced to recognize its limitations and is therefore in a better position to fulfill those tasks which it does chose to undertake.
5. A direct relation was also suggested, between latitude and the frequency of cloverleafs in a city's freeway system. This is, admittedly, extrapolated from a mere two samples, generated through observation of the cities wherein I began and concluded my journey along the I-5. However, far more cloverleafs were observed in the former than the latter, and my southward voyage bore me toward lesser latitudes; this seemed to imply the preceding conclusion. (Note to my statistics professor: I realize this is not a sufficient sample size. Please do not reduce my grade in your class.)
6. When naming streets, it seems common practice in many areas to choose titles which coincide with those of cities in other parts of the country. In many cases, these roads are located far from their namesakes, thus avoiding most confusion. The appearance of an Oakland road off the 5 in northern Oregon, and a Phoenix street a bit further south on the same highway, did lead to a momentary consideration of the possibility that a wormhole had been generated and entered on accident...until a realization of the amount of energy required to produce such a pathway through the fabric of space-time soon lead to the dismissal of that theory. However, other naming choices generate far more ambiguity. There is, in Northern Portland, a Vancouver Street. There is, across the Columbia River from Northern Portland, the city of Vancouver, WA. The former does not lead to the latter, despite running North-South. While this street may well have been named for Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada (home of the 2010 Winter Olympics), the proximity of other similarly-named locales should have been considered before such a mentally-taxing title was selected. Given the rate at which new developments are being constructed, I would not be surprised if an enterprising publisher were to release a book full of potential street names, as is currently done for human children (although, given that many streets are named for humans, the existing publications might prove a suitable resource for this purpose).

My other concern in this area relates to a practice in which certain stretches of numbered highways will be given alternative names, often in honor of a significant person. I wonder how long it will be until the remainder of such roads, seeing the titles which have been bestowed upon their brethren, will rise up and proclaim: “I am not a number. I am a Free-Way!” (There is a Highway 6 which traverses the distance between Portland and Tillamook).

7. Confusion related to street names can also arise from unreliable illumination mechanisms. Unfortunately for confused travelers, the Courtyard by Marriott depicted below is actually located on River Plaza Drive.
8. As is the case with many instances of written (or spoken) word, street signs can also provide excellent material for the creation of puns. The practice of seeking, and pointing out, any alternative interpretations of street names is a fantastic way of passing time on long road trips, and one which I highly recommend. (Note: The author cannot be held responsible for bodily injury caused by those who disagree with the above assessment regarding the entertainment value of the aforementioned activities).
9. The AMBER alert system is, overall, a useful contribution to law-enforcement efforts which enables the rapid dissemination of critical information. However, in less “interesting” times, it is used to display more general “public service announcements”. The most prevalent message during our journey read “Share the road. Look twice for motorcyclists”. In keeping with a previously-mentioned practice, we immediately began pondering the true meaning of those words. Could it be that were were only obligated to observe two motorcyclists, after which no further vigilance would be mandated? Were the two statements even related? Perhaps the second component was a marketing message from Harley and Co., urging vigilance and repetition in the selection of my next (or rather, first) motorized transport.
10. Speech synthesis is an extremely useful component of a piece of software designed to assist in navigation; it enables the computer + GPS system to advise the driver as to the best possible course of action when deciding whether to take the road less traveled. However, the variety of options regarding voices, volume, and speeds necessitates the ability to test this feature...including the ability to send arbitrary text through the text-to-speech engine. The choice of text is particularly important when determining the desired rate of speech. Some sentences come across naturally even when spoken at high speed (“I just had three cups of coffee! I feel really energetic! Let's drive 5000 miles today!”). Whereas if you wish to test your system's performance when speaking slowly, I recommend the following sentences for maximum effect: “What was in my orange juice? I feel funny. Can I take a nap?”, followed by several individual words...the more random they are, the better. References to “all those colors” are also quite effective.
11. An ever-welcome and often-sought road fixture is that which may bolster the hope of a road-weary driver, or crush that of those who thought they were far closer to their destination: the mileage sign. It was comforting to watch the distances listed steadily decrease as we made our way down the state (although once California was entered, the freeway mileage signs performed nearly the same function, considering the southerly nature of our destination), but no such countdown is complete without milestones to celebrate. Increments of 100 miles would be traditional but, my introductory remarks notwithstanding, I desired something a bit more out of the ordinary. Given my small amount of computer science experience, a natural alternative seemed to be binary. I therefore celebrated each reduction in the number of bits required to represent our remaining distance. As this essentially amounted to a celebration of half the journey, then half of the remainder, then half of that remainder, then...(stack overflow detected), I was extremely grateful for Isaac Newton's work regarding values drawing infinitesimally close to 0 (and their ultimate equivalence to that mathematical conception of nothingness). Had we been forced to rely upon the writings of Zeno, I am quite sure I would still be traveling half-distances while attempting to catch up with a tortoise and an unmoving arrow.

This list went to 11 (a cultural reference which I have heard used and am repeating here, despite lacking an understanding of its origin and/or significance)!

As may have been inferred by the use of the past tense in many places, Newton did indeed save me from the dire fate described in the final sentence of item 11...and he shall soon save me again. For in order to conclude this collection of verbiage, it was necessary to first produce one half of the prose contained within. From that point, I wrote one half of the remaining words. At which point...the pattern should be clear by this point. Were it not for Newton, this writing would never conclude. I realize that the rather protracted nature of this work may have lead some to fear that Zeno had indeed prevailed (myself included; it is in the third sitting that I am writing these words of conclusion). However, those fears shall soon be put to rest. For while there is much which could still be written, I believe the above to provide sufficient insight into the thoughts which entered my mind while spending 36 hours traveling down the I-5 S.