You are viewing [info]creativerehab's journal

CreativeRehab [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
creativerehab

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ archive | journal archive ]

Links
[Links:| View my photos at flickr.com ]

Photo Reflection [Feb. 21st, 2009|03:25 am]
[Tags|, , ]
[mood |lonelylonely]


Make it bigger
View Texas '08 set as slide show
View thumbnails of the Texas '08 set
View alll my flickr sets
Desolation. Being alone in the world. Just sitting there. Stagnating. Going nowhere. Wallowing. Deteriorating. The kind of eerie quiet that just isn't a physical sensation but a mental feeling of nothingness. Devoid of meaning and thoughts. Seeming lifelessness.

I shot this pic just outside of the tiny town of Langtry, Texas (population 145, tho I saw no one) last summer. Langtry is home of the Famous Judge Roy Bean saloon/courthouse.

The pic was originally taken in color, but I stripped out the color because the black and white version conveys a more powerful meaning.

It was very late in the afternoon by the time I made it to Langtry from San Antonio, about 450 miles along old US 83 and US 90, some of the lonliest stretches of asphalt I've ever been on. There were stretches of highway where I didn't pass a single car for HOURS. Where I couldn't tune in any radio stations—not even AM. Where there were just vast expanses of nothingness. No cell phone signal. No communication with the world. You can't imagine how much of nothing there really can be until you've seriously traveled the lonely highways and byways of West Texas and along the Mexican border. South Dakota's roads come close to evoking this empty, lonely feeling.

Some of my favorite shots of the entire trip were shot in West Texas along old US 90, which for the most part snakes around the US/Mexico border. Town after abandoned town can be seen along the deteriorating mecadam. By the time I got to Langtry, all the "tourist attractions" (ok, two whole buildings...) were closed. I was about the only one in the entire town at that moment. Which consisted of three streets dotted with mostly uninhabited shacks. I drove around admiring and snapping pictures of the abandoned structures. There were dozens of outbuildings long since occupied. Long since cared for. Just forsaken. Left to the elements.

The only sound in the entire world I could hear aside from my own breathing and my camera's shutter were insects—millions and millions of simple bugs making a loud buzzing sound in the surrounding desert below my feet and over yonder. I couldn't get over how loud their collective calls were. It wasn't an annoying noise; it was peaceful. In a place where it seems there is no life there is life. Lots of life. Small creatures humming along, not even thinking about anything but what God intended them to do: make noise, eat, and reproduce. They don't think. At least I don't think so. They just exist. And do their thing.

Me. It was just me standing there taking it all in. Alone. Solo. Uno. Unaccompanied. Not matter how you slice it, it was just me. Very, very alone. Imagining what it would be like to live there. To sleep on the sandy desert floor below the glorious stars in this place of emptyness. To carve out a place of my own. To exist in a radically different way. To be abandoned here in this barren panorama where few venture and most have deserted for one reason or another. Who lives here? Why? Where did everyone go? Why have I come? Where am I going?

The unthinking person might conclude that this terrain epitomizes lifelessness with its shanties and rotting structures being consumed gradually by mother nature day in and day out. I beg to differ. The desert is teeming with life. The flora and fauna—they're small, but they're all very much alive. They don't sit there and think. They just exist. And co-exist. And live. And die. Even the dirt is alive. It is the basis for plant life; the anchor; the common denominator for those creatures and plants that make it their home and suck its stores of water and nutrients. Protecting roots. Providing dens and burrows. All to support life.

I sat down as the sun was setting. I closed my eyes. This land of dirt and rock and tumbleweeds. Of scrubby plants and warm exposures. I forced myself to purge my mind of everything. Just allow my senses to take command. To feel. To experience. To be primitively human. To reflect on my own self. That voice in my head. To really just talk to that damn voice in my head. And turn it off as if I'm just feeling. Not thinking. Just feeling. Not analyzing. Simply taking it all in like a giant recorder. I still remember how I felt at that moment. God, I remember. Surreal. It was simply surreal.

I sat there listening to the insects. The cool wind blowing on my face. The smell of fresh desert air entering my nostrils. I was in prefect harmony with nature and my soul. If only for an instant. It was superiorly grand to just not think about anything but how wonderful and beautiful and special this place was. To be quiet in thought. To meditate without realizing it. To appreciate God's gift to me at that very defining blink of an eye. To really and truly feel alone. So alone that nothing else mattered except me. It gave me goosebumps. In a good way.

As I sauntered back the the rental car and was about to get it in for the next leg of my 3,000-mile journey, I gazed at the setting sun before me. And I tell you at the very moment as I moved my head in a panoramic view across the lonely endless landscape, I was changed. The experience. The sound. The imagery. The smells. The wind. All of it culminated in a new horizon. A new perspective. A new way of understanding me and my place in the world. If only for a few moments.

I yearn to go back and experience it.  Again and again. To refresh my soul and broaden my dimensions. To purge my mind and reboot. To just feel with the senses. Not be burdened with analyzing much. To feel. To be human. Yet I consciously allow my life to be bogged down in meaningless drama and self-imposed sadness all because of fanciful expectations unfulfilled time and again. What really matters? What's truly worthy of worry? Who am I? What am I doing in my own stagnant life? Where am I going? I dunno. I simply dunno. My mind is a jumble of incoherence. My future an uncertain journey of its own highs and lows. But mostly lows. It's sad. Pathetic. It is what it is.

This photo to me is more than just an abandoned shack. It's a visual recording of an event in my life that I can joyfully recall with great accuracy. The pic symbolizes my experience. My snapshot of life at that very moment. Evoking very distinctive emotion and perception. My mind is abuzz. Taking me back to that place and time. Being at peace. Alone. But at peace.
link3 comments|post comment

Equus on Broadway [Feb. 19th, 2009|05:54 am]
[Tags|]
[mood |pensivepensive]

On February 5th a colleague and I ventured to NYC’s famed Broadhurst Theatre to see the now closed production of Peter Shaffer’s Equus. Before I get any farther let me make it clear that my primary motivation to get tix for this play was to see Daniel Radcliffe in the buff. I had been meaning to procure tickets for a while since I had heard about him ditching his clothes toward the end of the show, but they were outrageously expensive for anything remotely close to the stage. (And if I were going just to see the goods, why would I want to sit far away?!) It wasn’t until I got a sweet email offer from travelzoo.com that I decided their discounted price to see the boy wizard’s penis was compatible with my paltry entertainment budget. Not only did I get a fabulous rate (65.50 per ticket, or about half off the telecharge listed price!), but I managed to get STAGE SEATING, a new experience for me. We actually had elevated seats above the stage looking down on all the action. It was quite remarkable.

Two Co-Protagonists

There are two main characters: Alan Strang, played by Daniel Radcliffe, and Dr. Martin Dysart, a psychiatrist, played by the talented Richard Griffiths (whose performance IMHO outshined Radcliffe’s and stole the show from the otherwise famous Harry Potter player). There are of course other ancillary characters such as Alan’s parents who aren’t really worthy of any special mention here. For the most part, the entire production focuses on the boy and the psychiatrist either in session at the mental hospital or in a re-enacted flashback inside Alan’s mind.

A Sordid Plot

The plot revolves around Dr. Dysart’s indefatigable attempt to understand (if not treat) 17-year-old Alan Dysart who has been charged with savagely blinding six horses with a hoof pick in the middle of the night at a stable where he works. The court has been persuaded by a youth advocate (it’s not clear if she is a barrister, magistrate, or other legal representative) to order Alan undergo treatment with a psychiatrist—who turns out to be a close friend of the advocate—in lieu of a substantial prison sentence. The nearly 3-hour play is essentially a mental tour de France that circumnavigates Alan's unusual psychosis leading up to the vicious acts. Alan seems to become Dr. Dysart’s most challenging but fascinating patient. The playwright makes effective use of frequent flashback scenes to establish Dr. Dysart’s (as well as the audience’s) gradual understanding of Alan’s mental complexity.

Here is the 50-cent summary: After a painstakingly difficult time gaining the boy’s initial trust and willful compliance in understanding his own actions on the night of the crime, Dr. Dysart is able to successfully infiltrate the boy’s head deeply enough to (seemingly) rationalize what has happened. Dr. Dysart employs various techniques such as interviews with the boy’s parents and a mutual "truth game" whereupon each gets to ask the other any question which the other must answer honestly. But digging more deeply to the root of Alan’s troubles requires Dr. Dysart to resort to a much more questionable psychiatric methodology, including a placebo "truth pill", hypnotism, and creatively eliciting the boy’s own confessions and recollections of his deeply anguished childhood and adolescence through trickery, deceit, and dubious dream interpretations.

Barebones Stage

The stage was essentially bare save for four white rectangular boxes that were frequently moved to and fro to simulate various settings. Talk about low budget! In a semi-circle surrounding the tiny stage were stable doors which later in the play housed costumed men with horse heads that were used in a couple of flashback scenes. That’s pretty much it. There was no fancy lighting. No singing. No dancing. Virtually no props. A smidgen of music and sound effects. It was all dialog. Just dialog. And lots of it. (Kudos to Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths for remembering and sustaining all those lines for so many hours without scripts or queue cards. I couldn’t do it.)

Analysis

So why does Alan blind the six horses? It is Dr. Dysart’s conclusion that Alan, reared by a deeply religious and overbearing mother (and anti-tv father,—a sub-theme I'm not gonna' get into), somehow confuses sexuality with God and horses. It all starts when Alan becomes infatuated with horses at an early age while he is with his family at the beach. A stranger invites him up onto a horse, and Alan becomes mesmerized. He believes he is communicating with the horse. He believes he understands the horse. Connects with him. Feels his pain. Reads his mind. Knows his plight.

But more than that, Alan eventually views horses as god-like forms who are watching over his continual sins. Having read and re-read all of the passages in the bible that mention horses, Alan’s fucked up mind is unable to distinguish the horse as an animal from God the creator and judge of man’s actions. This confusion may have stemmed from a long-hanging picture of Christ on the cross that hung on his wall above his bed during most of his childhood which was later replaced with a picture of a white horse that somehow in Alan’s mind assumed the visual characteristics and head position of Christ during the crucifixion. Yea...kinda' weird.

But inasmuch as horses become god-like to him, horses’ freedom is restricted by man through physical and psychological restraints. And this becomes a concurrent theme along with the religion and sexuality twist. On the night when he’s about to sin by having pre-marital sex with a young stable girl (the very hot but freaky naked scene), Alan's mental state reaches critical mass and he has a complete meltdown resulting in uncontrollable rage because he not only believes what he is about to do with the girl is wrong, but he believes that the horses (or, basically, God) are watching him disapprovingly. Not being able to reconcile this belief, his impulsive reaction is to bludgeon the horses’ eyes so that they can no longer witness his immoral acts.

How and why Alan confuses sexuality with religious worship and God’s watchful eye is a matter of speculation for each viewer to wrestle with based on the yeoman’s work of Dr. Dysart dissecting Alan’s mind. There's substantial dialog regarding Alan's feelings about being in love with horses in a semi-sexual way. I say semi-sexual because he doesn't want to have sex with the horse per se; he desires a deeper emotional connection to the horse and wants to feel what the horse is feeling. But at the same time he has a sort of quasi-lust for the horse. It's really difficult to explain. Then again, the play is about Alan's confusion of sexuality, horses, and God.

The B Story

Richard Griffiths (P.S. LOVE him), who played roles as professors in both Naked Gun 2.5 (remember the lovable Dr. Meinheimer?!) and The History Boys (OMG I fricken LOVE that movie!), was a very believable and affable psychiatrist. Experiencing him in this role made it momentarily unimaginable to recall that this is the same actor who played the downright nasty and uptight Vernon Dursley—Harry Potter’s de facto father—in the Harry Potter movies.

But getting back to the play, while Dr. Dysart analyzes and gains incremental understanding of Alan, he concurrently discovers much about himself and his own issues with his less-than-satisfactory life and profession that makes for an interesting B story. Dr. Dysart is himself an unhappy and troubled soul. Though he hasn’t committed any psychotic acts, he has had dreams of eviscerating children. Being dissatisfied with his unfulfilling psychiatry work and his wife, Dr. Dysart often hints at or directly reflects upon his own depression and mental anguish.

I actually thought this side of the story was a tad more interesting because here you have a psychiatrist who is almost every bit as fucked up as his patient..at least inwardly, which made for some amount of irony in Dr. Dysart's own self-examination. This made me smile because I think most of us are a little fucked up and laden with depression and other problems, including many in the mental health field. The play is actually Dysart's own narration and recollection of his most peculiar case, a small fact that I think is important to keep in mind because everything we see and hear is his account, his perspective. Perhaps he embellishes, lies, or is just plain wrong in his analysis and recollection. Who knows...

Final Curtain

The play, which ended last weekend, was deeply disturbing yet intriguing on many levels. I left the theater with a flurry of conflicting thoughts and feelings about what I had just seen and heard. And what it all meant—if anything. The play was disturbing not because of what Alan did, but because of the religious and psychological reasons underpinning the act. The playwright IMHO was exemplifying what can happen when a deeply religious zealot who “blindly” follows his interpretation of the word of God does terrible things to others for the sake of that (misguided) religious belief. Such as those who interpret (or misinterpret) scripture a certain way, then use that interpretation/mis-interpretation to justify doing X.

Equus was a very cerebral play. Fascinating. Confusing. Weird. Scary. Kewl. And going in a hundred different directions all at the same time. It was really an arduous task to process my own mental reactions to what was being said and acted out on stage. My brain was like a fragmented hard drive spinning unpredictably in many directions, and linking and unlinking hundreds of data streams just trying to make sense of what was going on and reacting to it all simultaneously. Having talked to several people after the play at Junior's for a nice nosh, I wasn't the only one experiencing this.

Most people left the theater thinking about the serious and sordid issues acted out on stage, namely those of mental illness, religious extremism, psychiatry as both science and art, sexuality and religion, and the sheer complexity and individual uniqueness of the human mind. Sure, I got to see Daniel Radcliffe’s penis, which BTW wasn’t all that spectacular in its flaccid state. To my pleasant surprise, the play’s dramatic merits and thought-provoking dialog far exceeded expectations based on my own primitive voyeuristic motivation to see it.


linkpost comment

Destiny at the bottom of the candy bowl [Oct. 24th, 2008|06:57 pm]
[mood |excitedexcited]

We have this fairly ridiculously large bowl of "pre-Halloween" candy positioned atop the coffee table in our living room. Its annual mission is to tide the household occupants over 'til those nefarious rugrats dressed in their annual trick-or-treat livery come a rap-tap-tapping on our front door asking for handouts.

In the bowl are (or, more accurately, were) Snickers, Reeses, Kit Kats, Almond Joys, and Mounds—the usual suspects. For security reasons, my mom places the real Halloween candy destined for the kiddies in a clandestine location on par with Dick Cheney's vice-presidential hideout. Though I feverishly search every nook 'n' cranny each year, somehow I never manage to find the cache of candy despite employing search techniques that would make the Hardy Boys proud. I've actually come to the conclusion that said location is not even on the dwelling grounds...

But anyway, as of this morning all of these candies in the "family bowl" had been eaten save for the usual bunch of friggin' Mounds left at the bottom of the bowl like sediment in a cheap bottle of Merlot. I mean, who the hell eats Mounds anyway? They're like an old person's candy! I've been to many old folks' houses and have seen the obligatory dish of Mounds, which is usually adjacent to the hard candies...you know, the butterscotches and the rootbeer candies in twisted cellophane? I guess I've never really thought highly of Mounds because, I mean, there's no nut in them for chrissake! Most chocolate-coconut candies, IMHO, are just better with nuts!

Now, I normally love Almond Joys because of the delicious almond you get in each bar. MMM! But seeing as how someone (ok, it's POSSIBLE that it COULD HAVE been me...) ate the last one, I—in a desperate attempt to satisfy a nagging sweet tooth—reluctantly grabbed a Mounds bar earlier this afternoon.

Sadly, it was all that was available and I had an uncontrollable yearning for a sweet fix worthy of a heroin addict gettin' released from Integrity House in Newark on a welfare payday.

As I unwrapped the red and white wrapper, I smirked at the candy's flat, banal top.

"Humph," I thought.

"It's not really a mound, per se."

"It's more of a plateau. Yea. They should call these plateaus. I'll have to write Hershey a letter."

I was already critical of the candy before it even entered my lips. I was sorta' subconsciously and maybe somewhat intentionally looking for shortcomings to substantiate my pre-conceived opinion of Mounds as a substandard red-wrappered step-brother to the almighty and proud Cadillac of cocounty goodness: Almond Joy.

Bracing for the worst in bland candies sans the nut, I took a small and cautious bite.

As I masticated, something I wasn't prepared for was happening in my mouth. And this time it didn't involve another man.

I began to mull it all over as I chewed and swallowed.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed out loud as if I just won $50 on a scratch off lottery ticket. (Sadly that's never happened.)

The Mounds bar was good. It was really, really good. I'm talking orgasmic good.

However it happened, I was satisfied. See, I was very pleasantly surprised that the coconuty goodness that is Mounds is actually enrobed in declicious DARK chocolatly splendor! MMM! I never realized Mounds were dipped in dark chocolate, as Almond Joys are covered in milk cholocate! What a wonderful candy!

And so I realized that the dark chocolate is just enough that you don't really need the almond to complement it! In fact, I think the almond would detract from the yummy dark chocolate. It's as if the makers at Peter Paul Company, the originator of the now-Hershey-made candies, actually knew what they were doing when they created two versions of this coconut-based candy.

I concluded that Almond Joy and Mounds are perfect ying and yang. And so it's true that sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't. (Tho I usually feel like a nut all the time [and am a "nut in real life] I can understand why one candy bar has a nut and the other doesn't. Each has its own special taste and difference that make it unique and yummy.

So now I discovered I actually LOVE Mounds just as much as Almond Joy! 

Who knew?!
link1 comment|post comment

Las Erendiras [Sep. 14th, 2008|09:26 am]
[Tags|, ]
[mood |impressedimpressed]


Larger version here.
See other photos from this set 
Wildcard photo.

On my way to el Paso from Austin I stopped for an afternoon in San Antonio where I found a fiesta at Fort Sam Houston, which featured a mini-carnival and an entertainment stage. One of the groups on stage was an all-female mariachi called "Las Erendiras." They were wonderful! I don't know the meaning behind their name, as "erendira/s" is not listed as a word in the three Spainsh-English dictionaries I checked. Perhaps it's their founder's last name...

These women could really play! And sing! I recorded some audio from them, tho I haven't yet listened to it. (I'm fixin' to do that soon!) I had never seen an all-female maraichi until that day, and I was really impressed with these young ladies. I LOVED their beautiful costumes adorned with all the requisite mariachi ornamentation and bling.

I also really hadn't thought about it much before, but a mariachi is historically an all-male ensemble...

Photo taken April 20, 2008.

UPDATE: Being dissatisfied with my inability to translate/identify the name "erendira," I did some more googling and am now comfortable in posting that the name represents a city in the Mexican State of Baja California Norte...

link1 comment|post comment

Rushing to judgment? [Sep. 14th, 2008|06:59 am]
[mood |contemplativecontemplative]

Yesterday a spokesperson for Metrolink issued a statement widely carried by the media that the deadly train wreck in Los Angeles was likely caused by the engineer's failure to stop at a red signal.

However, I was very glad to read that the National Transportation Safety Board (the agency that will lead the investigation) issued its own statement basically saying not so fast.

Indeed it is way too premature to assign blame so early; the investigation is only just beginning! Essentially, Metrolink has concluded that the engineer must have run a red signal because the CAD records indicate that the signal he passed was red. This is really faulty logic.

It is true that the CAD system (which interfaces the signals and switches) displays near real-time information about the status of every switch and signal that the dispatcher controls in his territory. However, just because the screen and the CAD record displayed a signal as a particular color doesn't make it so! There will need to be significant field analysis to determine if there could have been a malfunction in either  the signalling system OR the interface that updates the CAD.

This technology is far from failsafe, especially considering that Metrolink and Union Pacific use two different competitor CAD systems that are far from seamlessly integrated. (MetroLink uses DigiCon and UP uses CAD III by GE Harris.) In another post, I'll explain the relationship between Metrolink and Union Pacific in terms of dispatching and trackage rights.

I find Metrolink's jumping-the-gun conclusion very curious. Here's why.

As I wrote in yesterday's post, one of the worst things an engineer can do is run a red light. It's essentially an on-the-spot termination. Most engineers are extremely cognizant that not only will they lose their jobs if they run a red, but they're probably going to get killed doing it. A red light means STOP because the block up ahead is or could be occupied by another train or hazard fouling the track.

Depending on length, weight, and speed, a train may require many miles to come to a complete stop. Much like traffic light signals, there are "intermediate signals" between green and red that give the engineer time and distance to safely slow and bring the train to a complete stop without ever having to pass a red. In general, the intermediate signal aspects change gradually from GREEN to FLASHING YELLOW to YELLOW then to RED over many miles and many blocks. All of these pre-warning signals are networked to safely space and control the trains, and have been mathematically engineered to consider the heaviest, longest, and fastest trains that could possibly use that territory. And even then the engineers have factored in extra time and space that gives the engineer lots of warning and time to stop before he gets to the steady red.

The "signal aspect" (the color and its meaning) doesn't just turn from green to steady red in the face of an engineer UNLESS there is a last-second emergency situation ahead that causes the signal system to skip the pre-set order of  intermediate signals. In the railroad industry, a signal that turns to red without pre-warning via intermediate signals is said to have "dropped red in his face." There are really only three ways a signal will do this:
  1. Something on the track ahead is shorting out the signal for the block ahead. The track has low voltage running through it which is connected to the signaling system; kids placing a metal pole (for example) between the rails would be recognized as a block occupancy, which would drop the signal to red in that block and the block before it, without any intermediate signals for a train that is already in or is approaching that block;
  2. The dispatcher drops the signal to red in response to a reported emergency, thus overriding the pre-set intermediate signals. Example: When a police department reports a car on the tracks at X location, and the dispatcher realizes that the approaching train is already entering the block where the emergency has been reported. Here it's an emergency and everyone hopes for the best that the train will be able to stop;
  3. A malfunction. There is a LOT of technology built into the railroad, but it's really a hodge podge of analog and digital engineering manufactured and installed by all sorts of competitor companies and attempted to be seamlessly integrated and work 100% of the time in all types of weather, under all sorts of wear and tear. Yeah right.
It seems unlikely to me that the engineer would run through all of those intermediate signals without slowing down, then just blow right through the red signal unless that red signal was dropped in his face without any intermediate signals to caution and slow him down. Traveling at over 55 mph, it is plausible that if the red signal dropped in his face without the benefit of those intermediates, he may not have had time to stop the train. We just don't know yet.

And by the way, in all this talk about the damn engineer no one is talking about the conductor. No, I'm not referring to the guy who punches tickets (don't think Metrolink even uses those guys anymore), but the guy (or gal) in the cab sitting next to the engineer. The conductor is equally responsible for the movement of a train, and is supposed to ensure the safe operation of the train, including (at UP, at least) calling out to the engineer the aspects of the trackside signals as they are passed. Also, the conductor has his own controls to stop the train in an emergency, like if the engineer has a medical emergency or becomes incapacitated or deranged, which is also a possibility that no one is talking about. So we also need to know a lot more about what the conductor was doing, not just the engineer..

Finally, all of UP's (and probably Metrolink's) locomotives are equipped with SilentWitness camera systems that record and time stamp the engineer's field of vision (including signal aspects) when the train is running. Each locomotive is also equipped with an event recorder ("black box") that is constantly recording data such as speed, throttle modulation, and any adjustments to the controls that effect the movement of the train. Even every horn blow is recorded and time stamped to cross-reference with the video data. This data will be instrumental in determining if there was a malfunction of the signaling system.

I am hard-pressed to believe that the cause of this tragedy was as simple as the engineer running a red signal. But if it is as simple as this, then there are far greater concerns that face the railroad industry when such human error isn't checked by other safeguards such as Automatic Train Control, which has not been widely adopted by the railroads due to its cost. ATC is a computer system that would automatically seize control of a train that passes a red signal, among other features.

At this point I think there is a bit more to the story than just running a red. Once the NTSB collects and analyzes the event recorder and video footage from both trains, I think we'll have a much better picture of how this all happened.
linkpost comment

Railroad safety 101 [Sep. 13th, 2008|04:17 am]
[mood |pensivepensive]

I feel badly for the dispatcher and the train crews involved in the horrific head-on collision that happened last night in Los Angeles which claimed the lives of 12 people and injured over 100 as of posting time.

This disaster makes a lot of people wonder how this could have happened.  Though we won't know who's at fault for many months, perhaps even a year, there are only a certain number of factors that can result in a head-on collision of two trains. As NTSB investigations generally conclude, it is usually a long chain of linked mistakes and unique circumstances that leads to these types of catastrophes. Rarely is it just one main error, and rarely is it just one person's fault.

Here's a cursory review of railroad safety 101.

The public may not be aware that there are many redundant systems built into railroad safety, and wrecks like this (head-on collisions) don't generally happen unless all of the safeguards fail simultaneously. Union Pacific and other railroads have been quite adept at safely moving opposing trains along one single track. In most territories there is only one track to begin with, but that single track has attached to it many sidings which allow opposing and following trains to meet and pass—safely. 

In general, no two trains can ever occupy the same "block" of track simultaneously. When they do, we have a crash. The railroads have developed time-tested safeguards and a solidly built technological safety infrastructure to prevent two trains from even coming close to occupying the same block. These safeguards include:
  • lengthy safety training for dispatchers and train crews who have to memorize the General Code of Operating Rules (GCOR), which if followed to the T would never allow any accidents to happen;
  • lengthy CAD training so dispatchers recognize and respond to potential two-trains-in-one-block scenarios;
  • CAD alarms that alert a dispatcher that two trains are—or are about to—enter the same block;
  • trackside signals that, when working properly and when followed by the crews, only permit ONE train in ONE block at ONE time
  • in-cab signals that show the engineer and conductor the status of the trackside signals for the particular block they are occupying at a given moment;
  • Independent "backup" trackside signals that are not dispatcher controlled which alert other trains that the upcoming block is occupied;
  • Automatic Train Control (ATC), a system that— if working properly—will automatically override the engineer and stop both trains once the trains have entered the same block (or if one train for whatever reason enters a block with a red signal.)
It should be noted that there is such a thing as "DARK" territory where there are NO SIGNALS at all, and trains move safely via "track warrants," or authorities granted by the dispatcher for trains to move between specified milemarkers. However, the territory where the crash occurred is not dark territory; it is "CTC" (Centralized Traffic Control), where there are dispatcher-controlled signals.

Properly working trackside and in-cab signals keep trains safely staggered so that crashes don't happen. Though the dispatcher controls MOST of the authority-granting signals for trains to follow, there are redundant block signals that the dispatcher does not control which, if working properly, will prevent two trains from entering the same block simultaneously. In this regard, even if the dispatcher screws up and gives two opposing trains the same authority to occupy the same block (and if the CAD [another safety layer] permits this, which it shouldn't), these secondary trackside signals work independent of the dispatcher and should signal the trains to stop. Passing a red signal is one of the worst rules violations an engineer and conductor can have. It's a terminable offense with no second chances. These red signals are life and death—job versus no job.

So, knowing that there's all these redundant safety systems interplaying, how can this wreck have occurred?

I have boiled down my hypotheses into two likely scenarios:
  1. Scenario one assumes that both trains were occupying the same block on ONE track (Which is unlikely)
  2. Scenario two assumes each train was on a SEPARATE track heading toward each other (Which is more likely) Update: 7:24 a.m. it is now widely reported that there was indeed only one track.
 Scenario 1:
If both trains were on the SAME track in the SAME BLOCK, ultimately the trackside signals on that particular block of track either malfunctioned *or* the train crews somehow disregarded them (which is highly unlikely). In general, the independent, non-dispatcher-controlled "backup" block signals are the last layer of safety to prevent head-on collisions after all of the other layers fail (attentive dispatcher, crews that properly align switches, etc.)

Moreover, I believe that somewhere along the line a switch from one track or siding to the other may have been improperly aligned (and here the dispatcher plays a key role because the dispatcher controls and monitors these switches), causing the two trains to inadvertently and unknowingly occupy the same bock. But even if that was the case and the crews didn't realize they were on the same block at the same time, the backup trackside and in-cab signals—if properly working— should have turned red, alerting both trains and giving the engineers ample time to safely stop and avert a wreck. All of these safety signal systems are carefully engineered to prevent these accidents, which is why wrecks like this one are rare.

If this scenario is true, at the very minimum I'd bet that it's gonna' come down to an improperly aligned switch (probably left open by the dispatcher from a previous train movement) coupled with a separate technological failure of the trackside signaling system and the failure of the dispatcher to realize and react timely to prevent the crash.

If this scenario is true, the bottom line is that the dispatcher *should have* realized these trains were on a collision course; the CAD system *should have* alerted the dispatcher to this fact even if the dispatcher was unaware, and the trackside and in-cab signaling system *should have* alerted the train crews to stop because both trains were occupying the same block at the same time. So that's at least three separate safety components somehow simultaneously failing.

Multiple layers of safety redundancy failing at the same time rarely happens, but when it does we get a wreck like this one: big, ugly, and deadly. In the final analysis guess who's responsible for the overall safety when it comes to the movement of trains on a section of track? That's right: The dispatcher. The train dispatcher is "the keeper of safety and the enforcer of rules."
 

Scenario 2: Update: 7:24 a.m. Scenario two is ruled out as it has been widely reported that there is only one track in this area.
Scenario two assumes the trains were on TWO SEPARATE tracks heading toward each other. If both trains were on separate tracks heading toward each other AND there was a curve (as has been widely reported), it is very easy for me to believe that train A on track one heading east could have somehow derailed (a whole separate set of factors and hypotheses), jumping its track and plowing head-on into train B heading west on track two. I think this is a more likely scenario than two trains having been in the same block at the same time. As in the previous scenario, I'd bet a switch issue is also at play. Curves and switches are not a train's best friend. You cannot overcome the laws of physics completely by attempting to engineer ways around them. Factors of speed, weight, center of gravity, track curvature, centrifugal force, etc all come into play here. Then there's the factors of weather, track creep (from hot sun spots), maintenance issues, track vandalism, etc.

In both cases, I bet the NTSB will find that there was significant human error in concert with significant technological failure. It is highly unlikely it's just one or the other.

As we learn more in the coming days and weeks, I'll of course have more to say in refining my hypotheses...
link1 comment|post comment

Pecos Beauty [Sep. 13th, 2008|02:57 am]
[mood |peacefulpeaceful]


Larger version here
See my flickr photos from this set here.
Wildcard Photo.

Pure beauty and peace.

This photo shows the bridge over the Pecos River near La Parida, Texas on US 90 (east of Langtry, Texas). I crossed this bridge April 17, 2008 while on a roadtrip from Austin to el Paso (among other destinations).

I was completely wowed by the majesty of the Pecos River as I drove across it, so once I made it to the other side I pulled a U'ey, drove back over the bridge and found a winding back road leading to a scenic lookout that I had somehow missed the first time I approached. (I guess at 90 mph you miss stuff!) Kudos to TxDOT for having built a great picnic area with such a scenic vista! The Pecos River feeds into the Rio Bravo a few miles south of this bridge.

I was completely alone in this desolate area, and waited about 15 minutes for a even a single vehicle to pass over the bridge. The serenity and natural splendor of this area cannot be explained until you're there. It's the kind of remote but peaceful and awe-inspiring locale where I'd love to sit with someone and talk for an hour or two about life and all its wonders. I walked around the area for a good 30 minutes thinking about how beautiful it all was.

A little field sleuthing revealed that there used to be a scenic lookout on the northwest side of the river (can't really see it in this photo) that has long been closed off and fenced in, picnic tables being completely overgrown. I also saw that there used to be an accessible viewing road that ran alongside the river's west bank (not in pic, sorry). But this too has long been been shut off from the world. I wonder why... You can see what I'm talking about in this google satellite image. (Yeah, I'm a dork.)

I really enjoyed photographing this bridge and canyon area. I'm very curious to know more about the Pecos River and the surrounding vicinity.

link3 comments|post comment

Maybe I DID make the right decision... [Sep. 12th, 2008|08:53 pm]
[mood |uncomfortableuncomfortable]

Just found out about this horrific train wreck in Los Angeles tonight. A Metrolink passenger train ran into a Union Pacific freight train. It happened on the very territory I was training on as an apprentice train dispatcher—the Union Pacific "Los Angeles Subdivision, controlled by the UP San Bernardino Dispatch Center.

One of the reasons I resigned was because I discovered very early during on-the-job training that despite lots of safety features, dispatchers (especially on this particular subdivision) are overwhelmed with the massive volume of trains that have to cross this high-density rail territory, and are pressured by managers to move trains as quickly as possible out of the port of Los Angeles. This makes it waaaay too easy for dispatchers to make mistakes that could permit two trains on the same track at the same time resulting in catastrophic results.

Mistakes and General Code of Operating Rules (GCOR) violations happen ALL the time but generally don't result in such wrecks. Safety is supposed to be paramount, but Uncle Pete wants to get those trains a movin' on to their destinations. I guess that's why UP is self-insured and has a designated multi-million dollar budget set aisde for FRA fines and legal settlements.

I would bet any amount of money that when the NTSB concludes its investigation of this wreck a year from now, one of the main causes will have been dispatcher error.

Maybe I did make the right decision in leaving this pandemonium...

link3 comments|post comment

American Express: Don't leave home without calling them and telling them you're leaving home... [Sep. 12th, 2008|06:24 am]
[mood |rejectedrejected]

A recent letter to the big wigs at American Express. I doubt it will ever make it out of the envelope...

Dear American Express:

I am writing with the hope that an actual human may read this letter and consider its merit. I have emailed customer service in reference to the substance of this letter, but have received no responses to my six emails over the past month.
 
For starters, I have been a loyal American Express cardholder for 10 years, and my accounts (one Gold, one Blue, and one Green) are—and always have been—in excellent standing. I travel out of state on long road trips about four times per year. Most of these trips are far outside of my home state of New Jersey, and each trip typically lasts between one and two weeks. I prefer to use use my American Express cards over others solely for the benefit of the unrivaled Membership Rewards program, in which I have accumulated 130,000 points to date.

I have learned from rough experience that any time I travel outside of the tri-state area and attempt to use any of my American Express cards, they magically become shut down for “security reasons.” I have been repeatedly told by your customer service representatives (hereinafter “CSRs”) that out-of-home-state transactions are suspicious and therefore trigger red flag "fraud holds" on the accounts pending verification of the cardholder’s identity. In these situations, I am routinely forced to call customer service and verify all sorts of information about my account before I can legitimately use my own cards.

On many occasions—especially in the middle of the night and in the middle of Nowhere, U.S.A.—my cards seem to get shut down just as I’m trying to get fuel or lodging.  Many times these are remote places with poor or non-existent cell phone coverage, and I must resort to using a Visa or Mastercard credit card in place of my American Express cards because there is no way to call customer service let alone go through the bureaucratic identity/fraud prevention rigmarole. (My Visa and Mastercard providers, by contrast, have never suspended charges pending a phone call as “fraud precautions” even when I am waaaay out of state and charging large amount$). It should be noted that while this de facto requirement to call customer service whenever traveling outside of New Jersey is an unnecessary hassle, it is not the core reason I am writing today.

On August 7, 2008, I called the toll-free customer service number on the back of my Gold card to proactively advise your “fraud detection department” of my plans to travel through seven different states in the Midwest. A less-than-helpful CSR by the name of “David” in what he stated was an “Indian call canter” (he refused to say which call center or city in India, a trend that would continue in my horrendous CSR experience) answered my call. In broken English, “David” assured me he would put a note on my account that I would be traveling in the states I provided to him so that my card was sure to be ready for use without interruption. “No problem!,” he told me as he clacked away on his keyboard.

After being reassured by “David” that he put a note on my account, I asked for his operator identification number. I always obtain this information for my records when calling about any of my accounts. “David” refused to provide his ID number, saying he could give me only his name because it was a “security policy.” Completely confounded, I further questioned “David” about his refusal and the alleged policy. I informed “David” that in all the many times I have called American Express for account issues, I have always been provided a CSR number upon request. “David” again told me he could not give me that information.

I asked "David" if I could speak to his supervisor, and after being placed on hold for nearly15 minutes, an alleged supervisor—also surprisingly named “David” (though, not surprisingly, also speaking broken English)—advised me that there was a “strict policy” that CSRs, for their own “safety”, could not provide callers with their ID numbers. I reminded supervisor “David” that these ID numbers are internal and alpha-numeric, and that I was unaware of any international guidebook for the public that cross-references American Express CSR ID numbers with their names and addresses. It is ironic that supervisor “David” provided me with his FIRST and LAST name (pseudonyms I’m sure), yet could not (or would not) provide me with his internal CSR identification number.

Supervisor “David” told me “not to worry, friend”… that I “don’t need an ID number” because my call is “all in the computer.”

I asked supervisor “David” to read to me the note CSR “David” posted to my account during our chat. I was not surprised to quickly learn that only half the states I provided as travel destinations had been included in that note.

This is a prime example why I ask for an operator ID number: so that when I’m trying to get gas at 3 a.m. in a remote town in Missouri and my AmEx card doesn’t work I can call customer service and be able to provide the CSR with a record of when I called, to whom I spoke in reference to the account, and what the note should indicate. CSR "David" failed to properly notate my account.
 
At this point, I asked to speak to the call center manager. Supervisor “David” said he could not allow me to talk to the call center manager, that he had the “highest authority” and that he felt I had been assisted “satisfactorily.” Supervisor “David” then told me the only thing he could do was transfer me to an American call center for further assistance.

I was then transferred to a call center in Canada (location kept “top secret”) where Ellen, operator N85229, assisted me. When she accessed my account, she told me that no record of my call to the Indian call center existed. I again provided the travel destination information to her, and she accurately read back to me what I had provided. She even gave me a reference number.

The next day, I called customer service again to ensure that my account had been updated properly. This time I spoke to Mark, operator N14691, at another Canadian call center (location of said call center again kept clandestine). Mark verified that there was indeed a record of my call to Ellen the previous day, and that a note on my account accurately reflected the states in which I would be traveling. Bother Ellen and Mark were happy to provide me with their internal operator ID numbers.

This practice of CSRs refusing to provide their ID numbers for customers’ records and peace of mind in your Indian center(s) is unacceptable, whether such a policy exists or not. There is no cogent rationale for CSRs to withhold their non-identifiable-to-the-public NUMERIC identification numbers. I have encountered this problem only with American Express. Over the years in dealing with utilities, banks, credit card companies, loan providers, merchants, etc., I always ask for—and am always provided with—the CSR’s ID number. CSRs working for companies that don’t utilize identification numbers always give me a first and last name or some other form of identification.

Moreover, I work in an emergency caller center and am required to clearly state my operator ID number at the beginning of every call. This policy makes sense for all types of call centers so that callers have a means of identifying to managers and others the person with whom they spoke in case an issue arises. It is also helpful for customers to be able to identify CSRs when corresponding with management to praise reps who provide good customer service.

In closing, I implore you to review your call center policies regarding the dissemination of CSR ID numbers and require by policy that all CSRs provide their existing identification numbers upon request to callers. Keeping communications transparent is paramount for healthy customer service. American Express cannot sustain quality improvement when its customers are not even permitted to know the secure identity of the CSR handling their requests and accounts. In the future, I will not discuss my account with any American Express CSR before obtaining his or her ID number. I am also encouraging friends and family members to adopt this routine when dealing with American Express and other large companies.
linkpost comment

Stupid people part IV [Sep. 8th, 2008|12:35 am]
[mood |mischievousmischievous]

I received an interesting icebreaker email from a user on a personals website I currently market myself on. In my "ad" I use the word "averse," as in I'm not averse to one-night-stands or friends with benefits. (I'm totally not, by the way, in case any hot and available men are reading this...)

Apparently HotGuyNJ84 thought he was smarter than me and thus sent a snappy obiter dictum in an introductory message indicating that the word I should have used in the aforementioned sentence is adverse instead of averse. Being confident in my correct word selection—and desiring to be a real dick in return—I sent him back my own snappy reply:

Hello HotGuyNJ84! Thank you so much for responding to my ad! It is with deep regret (but with a hint of diabolical glee) that I inform you that your correction of my word selection for the sentence in question is unfounded.

Syntactically, the proper word to use in constructing that particular sentence is indeed "averse" and *not* "adverse." Adverse is an adjective that describes something unfavorable, such as weather, while averse (which is generally followed by the preposition “to”) is an adjective describing the disinclination of a person to favor something—a verb (most common) or a noun (less common). The “something” is what comes after the preposition “to.”

Examples:

    * I am not averse to skiing.

    * I have an aversion to marshmallows.

    * Due to adverse weather, the picnic has been canceled.

    * Monica’s chronic lateness adversely effects the other team members.

Though I am quite liberal about the ever-morphing acceptable alternative usage and style of the English language (in terms of variations and creative twists in grammar, syntax, spelling, and abbreviations, to name a few), there are just some diehard principles that are indeed black and white…like the difference between adverse and averse. If you're going to have the gall to call me out on my purported misuse of a word in a personals ad, you might want to consider making sure you're right before sending me an icebreaker in which you critique my grammar/syntax, dumb ass.

It's too bad you're a moron because judging from the photos in your ad, you're pretty damn hot. I’d totally go out with you for that reason alone. Like my ad clearly states, I’m not averse to one-night-stands or friends with benefits. Unfortunately, I am averse to dating a guy whose clumsy and misguided attempt at introducing himself consists of saying hello followed by correcting the prospective date's grammar and syntax allthewhile being completely wrong about the alleged faux paux. It’s just not sexy.

Get a dictionary. Get a clue. Get a life. Thanks for messaging!


linkpost comment

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]