Many of you wondered what the hell I was doing when I moved to Buffalo in 2009. I just wanted to report back: It’s been great! Below, in words and pictures, my past two years in the Rust Belt.

1. Marriage

Zak and I got married in 2010. I know I once cringed at the word “love,” but apparently, things have changed. The photo above, by Christina Shaw, is from last May, when we had our wedding party in our driveway. For those of you who came: THANKS. It was amazing to see you all. We know you might not ever visit again, but Buffalo says hello!

2. More Marriage

I should also mention that we had a wedding reception in Palo Alto for my family in California. It took place at my aunt’s restaurant, where I used to “work” and hang out in the kitchen as a kid. This West Coast party was also fun, in its own manner. Yes, that’s whiskey we’re drinking.

3. Zak Played “Quixotic”

When we first moved to Buffalo, we played a lot of Scrabble. I’m still not quite sure how this happened, but one day, Zak somehow managed to play the word “quixotic.” Yeah. “Quixotic.” I’m pretty sure I lost that round.

4. World’s Biggest Ice Maze

Last winter, we visited the world’s biggest ice maze, a temporary attraction in downtown Buffalo. It was a little soggy inside from all the foot traffic, but we survived. The maze was part of one of those lovely fairs they hold outdoors in the winter. For a picture of me with a giant Christmas ornament, click here. For a snow dog peeing on a snow hydrant, click here.

5. Childhood

Sometime after we moved to Buffalo, my dad gave me a CD containing some photographs I never knew existed. I was reminded of the delights of childhood, but also of how glad I am that I now dress myself.

6. St. Matthew’s

On a sober note, I’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff while writing about Buffalo as a freelance reporter. This picture is from St. Matthew’s Roman Catholic Church, whose decay I documented in a story earlier this year. It’s a shocking but terrifyingly common sight: As Rust Belt cities have lost jobs and population over the past half century, many buildings — iconic and otherwise — have been abandoned.

7. Learning to Watch Hockey

Ever since I moved to Buffalo, everyone has been trying to get me to watch hockey, which I just discovered is a professional sport. I still have trouble following the puck, and I don’t really like the on-ice brawls. But Sabretooth, the Buffalo Sabres’ mascot, is someone we can all get behind. (Also: Go 49ers!)

8. Growing Food

The same landlords who let us have our wedding party in our driveway let us grow a small vegetable garden in their backyard. (Thanks, Tom + Sue!) The first year we were here, we grew green beans, tomatoes and peppers in whatever containers we could salvage, including that yellow kitty litter pail on the right. “Bonus. 3 lbs!”

9. Giant Zucchini

Gardening is hard. This year, we grew this enormous zucchini. I was super-excited about it until I realized that the plant had died from the exertion (or from some other mystery cause).

10. Paper City

Yes, I know. It’s very impressive. Zak built this entire city from card stock, laboring for hours at a time. Each paper building is a miniature, to-scale version of a real-life skyscraper. For a while, our entire house was covered in bits of paper. We found them everywhere — on the floor, in our hair and once, even, in our pants. For my suffering, I christened the city “Chartropolis.” Photo by Christina Shaw.

11. Acquisition of New Siblings

Through my marriage to Zak, I acquired two new sisters (yay!). For a visual, see Emily on the left and Hannah in the middle. Zak is on the right, in the cool hat with floppy ears.

12. Ice Skating

I learned to ice skate in California. Ice skating outdoors, however, is something awesome and new. Every year, we try to hit Rotary Rink in downtown Buffalo a couple of times. It’s $3 to rent a pair of skates.

13. Zak Ate Carl

It’s not the best photograph, but it accurately depicts what occurred. This happened around Thanksgiving one year. Carl was from Wegmans.

14. Sand Sculptures

Summer does exist in Buffalo, too, and when the weather gets warm, we sometimes go to Lake Erie. On one such excursion, I built a sand pyramid dedicated to Zak at the beach. It’s not quite as remarkable as his skyscraper city, but we felt fit to photograph it anyway.

15. Taipei

When I was a kid, we lived with my mother’s parents in Taipei for a couple of years. I used to take walks around the city with my grandpa, a businessman and historian. This photo is from November 2010, when Zak and I went back to Taiwan. It’s the last time I saw my grandpa. He died this summer. I miss him dearly.

16. Detroit

We went to Detroit to visit our friend Nate a couple of times. On this particular day, it was frigid. They say Detroit is maybe turning around. But we saw some sad things while were there — abandoned skyscrapers, for one. Photographs tell the story better than words. See the Packard Plant, or the Heidelberg Project, a massive, outdoor art project composed of houses and junk.

17. Pears in Bottles

It’s like a ship in the bottle, but with a pear. I took this photo for a story in Buffalo’s alt-weekly. The article was about a whimsical local beverage: a brandy with interesting packaging. In answer to the question I know you want to ask, the farmer told me that they grow the pear inside the glass. So for a couple months a year, the orchard has a bunch of trees with bottles hanging off of them.

18. Fall in Buffalo

This was taken from the porch of the carriage house where we lived for our first two years in Buffalo. The seasons really are beautiful — a reminder, always, that time is passing. You just don’t get that in L.A.

19. Boston

That’s me and my sister, back in good old New England. It’s actually not in Boston, but in Natick, where my dad lives. One of the lovely things about being back on the East Coast is that I’m closer to half of my family (the sister resides in New York City).

20. Toronto

Sometimes, people come to visit. While the idea of vacationing in Buffalo doesn’t always inspire excitement, the lure of Toronto (two hours away) and Niagara Falls (30 minutes away) is strong. Back in 2010, I met Christina, Jeyling and Menaka in Toronto. Here, Christina is seen examining a desert plant at Allan Gardens Conservatory in the city.

21. We Bought a House

We weren’t really looking for a house, but we came upon this one and really liked it. Behold, our dining room. This is where I spend a lot of my time, because I like to eat. Other spots I frequent include our bed and Zak’s office, where we watch Netflix. Like everything else about being a Responsible Adult, owning a home can be a pain — Rake the leaves! Shovel the snow! — but I don’t regret it at all. I love having our own space, our own little world.

Anyway…

If you’re still reading this, thanks for making it all the way through. To those of you on the West Coast, I miss you! Let me know how you are when you get the chance. Happy 2012.

With the U.S. War in Iraq “officially” over, I wanted to take a moment to share a few thoughts. I was 18 when this war began. Now, I’m 27. This war has been going on, in essence, for the entirety of my adult life. It has colored the way I see the world and America’s role in it. It has been a central issue in the only two presidential elections that have taken place since I became eligible to vote.

In a country polarized on many fronts, the war appears no different from other issues in this regard: It seems, at times, that we are all fervently for it or against it.

I won’t use this platform to toss around my personal thoughts on whether it was right or wrong for America to go to Iraq. But what I will say is that the subject is rife with complexity. While that may seem obvious, I often hear people speaking about Iraq, Afghanistan and the “War on Terror” in absolutes.

Every war is an amalgam of many stories. The experience of one civilian or one soldier differs from that of all others. In Iraq, the breadth of those experiences is overwhelming: a dictator toppled, a nation changed. People on all sides of the conflict have died, lost loved ones, suffered irreparable injury. There have been moments of pain, and also some of joy. How many life-or-death decisions have been made?

From the archives of things I’ve created and things I’ve found enlightening, here are a few stories that I wanted to share. Most are from the perspective of individuals who engaged in combat for the U.S. This is not because other experiences are less important; these are just the stories I happened to have on hand. I’ll update the list as I see new things.

Final Salute | When the plane landed in Nevada, the pilot asked the passengers to remain seated while the Marine disembarked alone. Then the pilot told them why. The passengers pressed their faces against the windows. Outside, a procession walked toward the plane. From their seats in the plane, they saw a hearse and a Marine extending a white-gloved hand into a limousine, helping a pregnant woman out of the car. On the tarmac, Katherine Cathey wrapped her arm around the major’s, steadying herself. Then her eyes locked on the cargo hold and the flag-draped casket. Inside the plane, they couldn’t hear the screams. (Quoted from the Rocky Mountain News and discovered via Gangrey.com.)

How Three Iraq Tours Changed One Marine | This is what he would remember when he got back: the cramped foxhole, the stench of his unwashed body, MRE menu item No. 2, Jamaican pork chop. He would remember the way the sand of the Kuwaiti desert would drift into his eyes, his ears, everything, giving him reason to clean his weapon twice a day as he waited to cross the border. He would remember calling his mom, nervous but proud, after finding out in January 2003, at the end of holiday leave, that he would be going to Iraq. (Quoted from The Las Vegas Sun.)

A Marine’s Dispatches From Iraq, and the Words That Would Have Been His Last | Christopher Gallagher, 26, U.S. Marine Corps corporal, 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, served in Iraq three times: In 2003 during the invasion; in 2004 at Haditha Dam; and in 2005 in Fallouja. This post contains an archive of letters he wrote home and photographs he saved. Included are his “final letters” — the messages Marines write for their families in case they don’t make it home alive.

Snow Day in Baghdad | After enduring nearly five years of war, Baghdad residents thought they’d pretty much seen it all. But Friday morning, as muezzins were calling the faithful to prayer, the people here awoke to something certifiably new: snow. (Quoted from The New York Times.)

From Boot Camp to Baghdad, In a Soldier’s Own Words: He wrote home often and at length. His e-mails went on for what would have been pages had they been penned on paper. From Baghdad, he wrote about Ramadan and sand storms, the Green Zone, his fellow soldiers, life on base. He wrote about patrols and IEDs, NVGs and EOD escorts. He wrote about the weather, about the heat, about the first significant precipitation of the season — wicked lightning storms early one morning, accompanied by large drops of rain and, later, hail.

And I also feel compelled to share this, on the U.S. War in Afghanistan, which I first saw at Boston University’s narrative journalism conference back in 2010:

Farmer or Bomb Maker? | Marines working to rout Taliban fighters from Marja, Afghanistan, dealt with the uncertainty of war against insurgents. A mute man at a farmer’s home with bomb-making supplies added to the confusion. (Quoted from The New York Times)

Sometimes, crazy stories can have sane conclusions.

Yesterday afternoon, just for the hell of it, I called the Las Vegas parking people again to ask if they could dismiss a gigantic ticket I received for parking illegally in the city with a car that was three time zones away.

The day before, when I had phoned the same department, the fellow who answered had sounded befuddled. He was cordial but didn’t have any good ideas about how to assist me. Ultimately, he suggested that I send a letter to his unit outlining my case — a solution that seemed nebulous to me.

When I called again yesterday, however, I was fortunate enough to reach a different clerk.

When I informed her that the city was asking me to pay $896.80 for a parking violation that occurred in Las Vegas two years after I (and my Toyota Camry) had moved away, she took control of the situation immediately.

She related that the city’s parking tickets are written by hand, and that it was possible that my citation should have gone to a stranger with a similar license plate.

If that’s what happened, she told me, “it’s an easy fix.” The fact that the ticket was supposed to go to a Kia, not a Camry, made the wrong-plate scenario all the more likely, she said.

She volunteered not only to take a look at the original ticket for me, but to send me evidence confirming my innocence if her search verified my version of the story.

Less than three hours later, I received an email containing a printout showing that she had voided the citation as a “data entry error.”

In her message to me, the clerk explained that, “Photo was taken of the vehicle and plate should have been entered 053VSH.”

This confirmed her earlier suspicions: The tag number I had before moving my Camry from Nevada to New York in 2009 read “053USH,” sporting a “U” instead of the telltale “V.”

She concluded her email by saying that she had notified Linebarger, Goggan Blair and Sampson, a firm the city uses to collect parking debts, about the reversal.

“We are sorry for any inconvenience,” she wrote.

It all happened so quickly. I still quite can’t believe it. The day before, the problem had seemed intractable.

I’m going to write letter to the clerk’s supervisor and to the city’s parking program to let them know what a great job she did. Because of her actions, what could have been a nightmare came to a sane and peaceable end.

I should point out that the speedy resolution is a win not just for me, but for the city, too.

Because we were able to fix the problem over the phone, the parking office won’t have to waste its resources fielding more of my phone calls or examining my case in writing.

In addition, the DMV people in Nevada and New York will be spared from the mundane task of hunting down the vehicle registration histories I would have needed to make a case in writing.

The takeaway lesson? Calling repeatedly about the same problem can be a useful tactic when grappling with bureaucracy. Who picks up on the other end can make all the difference.

I have nothing good to say about the people at Linebarger, who expressed little interest in my pleas for mercy and insisted that I work through them instead of through the city.

But to Brandy in the Las Vegas parking department: THANK YOU! It’s wonderful to know that in an age of red tape, it’s still possible to call a public agency and get a human on the phone.

In conclusion, the Vegas parking office has verified what we all knew from the beginning: Transporter technology does not yet exist; my Toyota Camry did not spontaneously materialize across the country, transform into a Kia and park illegally in a handicap spot in a state I hadn’t visited for over a year.

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An addendum about the amount of the ticket. It appears from the printout above that the original citation was for $250, and that it ballooned to $760 due to late fees. Later, another $136.80 fee was apparently added on by Linebarger, the debt collection agency, bringing the grand total to $896.80.