I love free stuff -- lots of people do. That's probably one big reason why Google's offer of free WiFi at 47 participating airports during the holidays (through Jan. 15) sounds so nice. But looks can be deceiving.

I didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I peeked at the list of airports and was intrigued at what I saw -- several airports where I knew they already offered free Internet (including Las Vegas, Sacramento and San Diego).

A couple dozen Google searches revealed that nearly a third of the 47 airports participating in Google's program had pre-existing free WiFi in place (view the list). Two more airports (Seattle-Tacoma and Burbank) stated they would participate in Google's program and then continue offering free service after Jan. 15.

Part of this rubbed me the wrong way -- could Google claim credit for offering free WiFi at airports where it already existed? Could it also claim that it was offering free WiFi at other airports with free Internet (like at Chico, Calif. and Hancock, Mich.)?

According to AirportWiFiGuide.com, many airports not on Google's list offer free Internet. Even that list is incomplete (I noticed that Chico and Hancock aren't listed).

To be fair, someone has to pay for Internet access that is offered for "free" to the end user. According to Silicon Valley/San Jose Business Journal, the San Jose airport has had free Internet since May 2008. Officials said Google was offsetting the cost of offering the free service during the holidays.

Ultimately, I can be more jolly than Grinch-y about Google's gift. For a limited time, Google is offering free Internet at more than 30 airports where there currently is a fee (typically about $8/day). Hopefully, more airports will pursue free Internet solutions in the future.

Also, Google will match up to $250,000 worth of donations made over the WiFi networks to three charities.

A list of the airports participating in the Google Free Holiday WiFi is available after the jump.

Alternative title: Consumer Culture Confusion

I was browsing the snack section at a 7-Eleven in Colorado Springs when my eyes fell upon a product called Feng Shui wasabi peanuts.

There's something a little ... off about this product, and it took me a second to realize what it was. I asked my Twitter and Facebook friends if they knew what was wrong, but didn't get any responses.

The problem I have with this product is that feng shui and wasabi come from two distinct cultures. Feng shui is an aesthetics system originally developed by the Chinese while wasabi is a traditional condiment of Japanese cuisine (often seen as the hot green paste served with sushi).

I'm trying to think of other products that have so marred the lines between different cultures, like Euclidean crepes or Kaiser's Own Bangers and Mash.

I suppose Feng Shui wasabi peanuts could be an intentional blending of Japanese and Chinese elements. I was talking with a colleague last week about fusions of food and other aspects of diverse cultures.

On the other hand, this could be a product of pure laziness or lame branding where the product's creators at the American Roland Food Corp. just threw some names up on the wall and decided the name feng shui sounded all right next to a product about wasabi-flavored peanuts.

Apparently Roland thought highly enough of feng shui to slap the name on all of its Asian food products, including rice crackers and wasabi peas. The rice cracker products include strong Japanese references to nori (Japanese seaweed), Maki rolls (a type of sushi) and wasabi.

I passed on buying the peanuts so I have no idea if the combination of wasabi and peanuts (and "Rice Flour, Sugar, Salt, Wheat Flour, Palm Oil, Corn Starch, Salt") are "a perfect balance" as the bag touts.

I'm also curious what actual feng shui practitioners might think about the product and its packaging. Does a product touting feng shui actually follow its tenets?

Somehow, I doubt it.

Photo: The aforementioned Feng Shui-brand wasabi peanuts at a 7-Eleven on Academy Boulevard in Colorado Springs.

Once upon a time, I was a member of the Young Astronauts. That's not the secret shame -- my membership in this esteemed club and lifelong fascination with space merely provides some background for my tale.

One of the coolest things about camping in the mountains is the breathtaking views of the night sky. The deep darkness provided a suitable canvas for the cacophony of coldly glimmering stars and the faint band of the Milky Way.

There was even the blaze of an occasional shooting star. It was a wonderful sight.

There was one downside wherein my secret shame resides -- I couldn't recognize any of the constellations. While I've never been good about picking out the more obscure formations, I always thought I could spot Orion or the Dippers.

I felt lost amid this stellar sea. It was like looking at a map without labels or a legend. The navigational points I had learned over the years had sadly escaped me.

I looked toward the north to find the Big Dipper and hopefully follow it to the northern star of Polaris.

No joy -- I couldn't see anything that I recognized. I was walking through the darkened campground with a friend who was having similar difficulties.

We had several theories about why the night sky was so strange to us. The massive black shadow of Eureka Peak loomed more than 2,000 feet over the campsite. The mountain was northwest of the campgrounds and may have obscured a good part of the sky.

What the mountain didn't obscure, the cover of tall pines did. Gazing through the tree canopy was sometimes like peering through a celestial porthole.

In the days and nights upon returning to Chico, my consternation at myself grew as I continued to try to spot the basic star patterns. After staring up in the sky for about 10 minutes, I couldn't pick much out. I thought I spotted Cassiopeia, but I wasn't sure.

Determined not to let this get me down, I took one more look at the night sky. Finally a lightbulb went off as I peered into the dark. There was relief as I could spot at least a couple of constellations.

The Big Dipper scooped close to the horizon, providing credibility to my theory that I couldn't see this constellation in the mountains because of the tree cover or hills.

While I'm glad that I'm not going senile and forgetting what I learned about the stars, I think a refresher or two may be in order. Thankfully, the mountains are close by and there's an open-air observatory at Bidwell Park.

Every so often, I delve into my drawer of "Secret Shames" -- some deep, dark, pop-culture secret that I'm not too proud of. This latest secret shame deals with one of the largest pop-culture events of the year -- the San Diego Comic-Con.

The 40th edition of the event recently ended and, for the umpteenth time in a row, I wished I could've been there. In recent years, it's become a huge event that went beyond its comic book origins as Hollywood studios slowly realized the convention's potential.

While I'm modestly interested in comic book, I would've definitely wanted to check out panels for many of my favorite TV shows, including "Battlestar Galactica" and "Chuck." There were "Battlestar Galactica" concerts at the House of Blues.

Yes, there are people dressed up as their favorite characters. While it's not my thing to dress up, I can appreciate the work of many of the costumes.

Missing Comic-Con wouldn't be such a big deal if I hadn't lived in San Diego for nearly seven years. What's worse, I don't think I knew much about it while I lived there.

The only convention I went to in San Diego was a "Star Trek" gathering at Golden Hall. It's like riding a Merry-Go-Round when Disneyland is around the corner.

In the years since I left San Diego, I've never been able to time a vacation to go down there for Comic-Con. Also, I think if I wanted to go, there might be a problem getting passes -- as the event has grown, the passes have become more elusive.

Luckily, Comic-Con puts on a smaller affair in San Francisco every February called WonderCon. I've been able to make two of those and had a great time each year.

Hopefully, I can catch the 41st Comic-Con next year and put this secret shame to rest.

In the spring, I went back to my hometown of Salt Lake City for a grandparent's 80th birthday party. It was too short of a visit, and I left with a desire to return soon.

Part of the visit included updating my memory banks and comparing the SLC-That-Was to the SLC-That-Is.

I suppose noticing changes is a fairly common thing when people return to their old towns after being away. I can imagine people comparing how San Francisco or Oakland has changed in the past 10-15 years. In fact, I remember my high school history teacher bemoaning the changes to his small town of Roswell, Ga. after its population exploded during the 1980s.

I kidded with my family that I was catching up with what's new so I could hold my own in a conversation. In reality, my family and friends have been quite generous in sharing information about what has changed over the years.

There were all these little details -- oh, they opened up a new highway to Ogden; they shut down a historic building with a prominent nightspot; they're still working on that replacement for the old downtown malls; the city has a soccer team and it has a new stadium; etc.

Amid the changes, I also tried to remember items that had gone missing in the past few years (and before that). During my trip last summer, I noticed that there was only one Union Pacific shield on the old UP depot (which has been integrated into a mall). The other shield had been on the opposite side facing the freeway -- the holes for the mounting brackets seem to still be there.

Because I'm a huge dork who wants to recall as many of these little details as possible -- here is a not-inclusive list of some of the changes to landmarks I've noticed in the past eight years:

• Three shopping malls have been demolished. Two of them were standouts in my memories of downtown -- the Crossroads Mall and the ZCMI Center. The other one, Cottonwood, was OK at the then-outskirts of town, but had a nice comic book store.
• The Gateway Center opened (which appears to have prompted the other closures/re-envisionings of shopping).
• The Hansen Planetarium relocated from a great old house across from ZCMI Center to the Gateway (and is now the Clark Planetarium)
• The large pale blue map of the Earth at the airport's Terminal One is still there, but now a TSA security line runs over it (no more rushing to mark where Salt Lake is and where our family is going).
• Rancho Bowl was torn down (I suspected, but my uncle confirmed it when we were driving on North Temple).
  
• Another bowling alley off of Redwood Road was torn down.
• Japantown looks so small among the other downtown developments (I also learned it's called Japantown).
• The communities of Bountiful and Centerville have changed a lot as well. Old landmarks are torn down (like Five Points) or completely renovated (like Slim Olsen's). New shopping centers too.
• Of course, the drinking laws have changed somewhat over the years.
  

Here are some things that changed before 2000 (when I still visited often):

• Derks Field was rebuilt into Franklin Quest/Franklin Covey/Spring Mobile Ballpark.
• The miniature golf course at Ritz Bowl was removed.
• The swimming pool building where my mom took me for water lessons in 1982 closed and apparently cleared to make way for the LDS Conference Center.
• The light-rail system, TRAX, opened (although I didn't use it until 2008).
  
• Man, I didn't realize how close the Delta Center was to the old Buddhist temple. I also didn't realize that the Salt Palace was also across the street.

Then, there are some things that I seem to remember, but can't verify:

• The skating rink/ice company in Sugar House burned down.
• Wasn't there an outdoor skating rink outside the KSL broadcasting center? I know it's now at Gallivan Center.
  

While I'm trying to compare the new city versus the old city, I realize that my efforts will inevitably come up short. My memories of the past have begun to fade (mom had to correct me about where the swimming pool was) and my recent surveys have been brief.

There are past and current realities, but I guess they will be different from the SLC of my mind.

Photo: I don't have a lot of digital photos of Salt Lake City, so this July 2008 photo of me in front of a giant poster of American Idol contestant David Archuleta at Murray High School in Murray, Utah will have to suffice.

Complaining about the ill effects and encroachment of large cities on smaller communities is a common pastime. In this area, it seems that people in rural Butte County complain about Chico and Chicoans complain about the Bay Area.

If you go back far enough, the rural Romans would knock Rome, saying that it's not what it's cracked up to be and why is our empire named after this city anyway?

I saw a bit of this disdain towards cities during a trip to Plumas-Eureka State Park. We listened to a few minutes of the 50th anniversary celebration of the park. Here's what colleague Heather Hacking wrote about it:

Plus, they had a big table set up with birthday cake, for which we felt obligated to hear a speech by an area supervisor about how visitors are welcome to the area but discouraged from "bringing their big-city ways."

First, let me say that the birthday cake was totally worth listening to a few minutes of congratulatory back-patting. There were two sheet cakes -- white and chocolate. The white cake was delicious, with layers of some light pink frosting with traces of fruit.

I digress. I found the county supervisor's comments a little funny because they seemed more like a candidate speech instead of a salute to a thriving state park. I don't think he would be a big fan of the curry test.

For the rest of the day, my party poked gentle fun at the comment, mentioning how the backcountry probably didn't need such newfangled conveniences as horseless carriages, satellite TV or modern medicine (leeches are just fine, thank you).

The thing is, I can understand some of the supervisor's feelings -- there are many undesirable things about big cities, including traffic, crowds, crime, etc. But his short comment also seemed to dismiss the things that make cities worthwhile -- culture, diversity, the hum of humanity, opportunities, etc.

In some ways, maintaining and preserving this idyllic realm may be impossible. The supervisor said he wouldn't mind if people come up to the mountains and put down roots ... if they didn't bring their big city ways with them. However, we bring at least some aspect of this larger civilization with us, no matter how hard we try to escape or transform it.

Looking around the communities the supervisor represents, I could see the encroachment of the "city" -- highways, railroads, motor home parks, golf courses, cell phones, manicured lawns, and satellite TV dishes on many homes. There's a wine bar outside Graeagle and there is a restaurant that wants $36 for surf-and-turf in a town with 70 summer residents.

As much as we would want to keep the city's troubles at arm's length, many aspects of civilization follow us like footsteps through snow. Instead of fearing a clash between civilization and nature, perhaps we can seek a more beneficial interchange.

Image: A view of Frazier Creek just upstream of Frazier Falls outside of Graeagle, Calif. on Sat., July 18, 2009. (Ryan Olson photo)

I experienced a moment of deja vu involving dinosaurs.

As part of my gig at Northstate Public Radio, I read public-service announcements of upcoming events. One of the ongoing events is for the "A T-Rex Named Sue" exhibit at the Turtle Bay Exploration Park in Redding.

This is going to be a weird post because it's about a liquor law from my homestate of Utah that I never really ran into, but I could have -- before today. In the past, bars were "private clubs" where customers had to buy a "membership" before you could enter and buy a drink (or else be a guest of a member). It was an interesting hurdle for people who are used to something different (or normal).

The private club memberships went away at midnight MDT, and with them went my last chance to become a "member" under this unusual law.

In the end, I kinda wanted to get a private membership. Yes, it's weird that I would want to get a private membership for the sake of getting one. Did I ever mention to you that I wanted to visit a Quizno's in Seattle?

Don't get me wrong, being a member of a private club in Utah was probably less cool than becoming a member of the National Geographic Society or Consumers Union, or wearing a Members Only jacket. It never came up when I was growing up (because I was obviously a minor). I've only been back a few times since turning 21.

When I visited Salt Lake City in July 2008, I thought I might need to buy a membership when tagging along with a friend who now lives in the city. Alas, the opportunity never came up in three chances.

1. An evening concert in the park had a beer garden. They checked ID, but there was no membership requirement.
2. On a separate day, we went to a brewery in Trolley Square. No membership was needed -- apparently breweries could sell their wares without them.
   
3. The last chance came when we went to get brunch on a Sunday. It's a nice restaurant with a bar area. Surely, I would need to pay for a membership here. No dice, my friend knew a member on staff and we were admitted as guests.
   

While I may have missed my chance to become a "member," it's still not too late for me to become utterly confused by Utah's new liquor laws. The private clubs are essentially gone, but will be replaced with "social clubs" and "dining clubs," each with different, yet similar rules. On top of that are full-service restaurants and beer taverns which can serve alcohol but follow another set of rules. A short rundown is here.

These changes only address clubs. If you wanted to buy a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale to enjoy in the comfort of your home, you still need to go to a state liquor store.

Photo: The photo behind the "Lost Spike" at the California State Railroad Museum shows the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad at Promontory Summit, Utah in 1869. Here's a better look. I saw the workers holding up champagne and was intrigued that alcohol was used to commemorate this landmark event that happened in Utah.

I don't fly the major air carriers very often. An experience with onerous fees during a recent trip makes it even less likely that I'll choose to fly them again in the future.

At issue is the fact that airlines are seeking new ways to charge passengers more for services that have been included in the standard service for decades.

It's been a gradual process that slowly removed in-flight meals and other amenities from the standard fare. Now, it's come down to checked baggage -- last summer they were charging for two or more bags. This year, they're charging for the first checked bag and may have gone too far for my taste.

Charging for the first bag is a major hassle and an inconvenience heaped upon a stack of flying inconveniences that have increased since 2001. Checking a bag is the easiest option if you want to fly without making sure your liquids aren't carefully rationed out and bagged.

In some ways, checking bags makes it a lot easier for passengers boarding and deplaning. I'm never one of those people you might see taking five minutes trying to cram a steamer trunk into the cramped overhead bin.

Earlier this month, I was traveling to the Midwest for a wedding. Because I was taking an extended trip and anticipated bringing some Michigan goodies back with me, I brought my larger suitcase to the airport.

Facing an early-morning departure and a desire not to park my car for $9/day at Sacramento for more than a week, I opted to fly out of San Francisco International Airport.

Getting there about eight hours before the flight, I hoped to check my bag in before heading into the city for some entertainment. No dice -- the agent said rules prohibit checking in baggage that early. Given the post-2001 rules, I acquiesced and ended up lugging this big bag through the streets of San Francisco. I only got a few weird looks at the karaoke bar.

When the ticket counter opened in the morning, I was ready to check my bag and ran into another roadblock. For the convenience of checking a bag, Northwest (which is being absorbed into Delta) wanted to charge me $15.

Prompted to pay this new fee, I was a little testy when I told the agent that I was extremely unhappy. She noted it's a fee that nearly all the airlines are now charging.

"Southwest is the only airline that doesn't charge for the first bag," the agent said.

"Exactly. That's why I'm going to fly with them from now on," I replied.

After clearing through security, I was still miffed by the fee. I called Northwest reservations to complain. They helpfully gave me the number of customer relations, but the call center wasn't going to open for another hour.

For a few minutes, I delighted in thinking about what I was going to tell Northwest. I fantasized telling them that I would rather fly Southwest to Chicago and then take a 10-hour bus ride to my destination rather than giving Northwest/Delta another dollar of my business.

Eventually, I realized it was all a little silly and waited bleary eyed to board my flight.

The incident started to fade my memory after a couple of weeks and a relaxing train trip home without extra fees. I was content to let the matter drop until I read this quote in an article about fees:

"They're going to keep nudging them up until they run into market resistance," said Ed Perkins, a contributing editor at the Web site Smarter Travel.

If that's the case, then it's almost my duty to complain. After all, I wouldn't like to see airlines continue to nickel and dime the passengers they rely on.

Now, it's just a matter of waiting for that call center to open.