Don Pizzolato has a thoughtful post this morning on the Duke City Fix that reaches beyond the traditional “rise of the creative class” economic development palaver that underpins much discussion these days in Albuquerque to examine the underlying premises. In the careful way of my favorite writers, Don’s smart enough not to come to any bombastic conclusions. But his piece suggests that, while there may be meat on the creative class bones, it’s improper to hitch every neat new idea to the creative class bandwagon.

Go read the whole thing yourself, but I’d like to highlight one of his observations that resonated with me:

[T]he University of New Mexico should be a cultural and social hub, but is nearly invisible save for Lobo football/basketball and the occasional show at Popejoy.

This has always puzzled me. Perhaps a missed opportunity, perhaps something more complex that’s rooted in a strain of anti-intellectualism in our society. I spend a lot of my professional life in and around the university, what with all the scientists there and all. It’s a fascinating place, full of real live art and literature and science. Yet that life of the mind is largely self-contained, with neither the enormous university community reaching out to any great extent, nor the outside world peeking in.

Why is that? How does this compare to other academic communities elsewhere around the world?

Snoopy

Originally uploaded by heinemanfleck.

Down in Albuquerque’s South Valley, along the river, is an old piece of vacant land sandwiched between a housing development and one of the last close-in farms. To the south is a lovely grove of cottonwoods that until recently was a horse pasture. To the north is a field of chiles, still hanging red on the dead plants this year. To the west is a narrow ribbon of bike trail. There’s some sort of hazardous contamination on the site, which is why nothing’s been built there and no one farms there. But when I first started riding the bike trail years ago, there was a little homestead back in the scraggly shrubs, a homeless guy who had built an elaborate home for himself out of scrap wood and tarpaper and bits of metal.

The camp disappeared a long time ago. If I remember right, it was about the time the U.S. Postal Service bought a big chunk of the land for a regional processing center back in 2000. I assumed they kicked the guy out and came in and tore down his “home”. The postal deal fell through, but the deed was done.

Yesterday, Miguel and I were on a bike wander and pulled up by accident next to the old camp. I’d always been zipping by, so I’d never given it a close-up look. I never noticed the little cemetery.
Continue reading ‘RIP Snoopy’ »