Wednesday, December 10, 2025

UCLA vs. Oregon

Camille was awarded as Student of the Month. Yay! 

And there was a Major Award that came along with that. Wait...what?

Okay...I mean, she's great, certainly, and everyone loves her and she's helpful, bright, and kind. But when she was awarded with four free tickets to Pauley Pavilion to see a UCLA game, against Oregon no less, I was like...what? She's my daughter and she's great, but for being an awesome kindergartner we get $200+ worth of basketball tickets for free?

The seats were high up, but so what? Because of a silly error with the parking app and the (angry sigh) QR code needed to pay for it all, it only cost us five bucks to park (haw-ha). Plus, it felt a lot close. Plus plus, you could see all of the UCLA banners and championship detritus:


After Oregon took a 2-0 lead, UCLA sank a three-pointer and never relinquished the lead. They bloated it up to 18 points, and frittered it away down to 2 for a quick second, but a 7-0 run after that made it more comfortable.

Camille, having been the recipient of the award to come here, lost interest quickly, and besides making it onto the jumbotron, would rather have been painting or playing make-believe.


Above Corrie looks at the certificate. This particular Saturday was the "kids awards day," and hundreds of kids up with us in the "rafters" had the same certificate. The family next to us lived in Sun Valley, which, while I don't know exactly where it is, it sounds FAR from us.


Yankee fans are known for their knowledge of the game, or maybe that should be "the game." And I think I've heard the same about UCLA basketball fans. Anyway, during this game I was surprised at how, once an Oregon player would shoot an airball (it happened occasionally), for the rest of the game, whenever they touched the ball again, the crown would loudly chant "Airball!" over and over. I understand a hearty "Airball!" when you see it live from the opposition. But for the remainder of the game? It was rough and funny and made for an amusing conversation about sportsmanship with Cass. 

Besides the drive to and from Westwood, it was an awesome time. That, and besides forgetting to invite Auntie Peg and Uncle Dan...who knows if they would've come, and who could blame them, what with the traffic nightmare that comes along with evening basketball games with rivals...but I felt like I should've at least mentioned it. 

Anyway...it was a good time!

Thursday, December 4, 2025

More Irony Found Deep in America's Family Tree

I found another track in American history that seems as unlikely as it seems a necessary part of our nation's identity.

It all started with a conversation with Corrie about an activist she'd heard about. His name was Walter Francis White. He was a Black American, but had very light skin, blond hair and blue eyes. He passed for a white man in most places, but was raised by his Black parents---his mother, though, was very fair skinned with light eyes. He used this ability while younger to do research on lynchings, as police and witnesses would never hesitate tho tell him the details. 

Eventually he was found out, and after being run out of town with his life intact, he parlayed his leadership skills into helping run the NAACP and working with both FDR and Harry Truman.


It seems pretty obvious that this dude could, and likely would, pass for white in the era. But he identified as a Black man, and instead of using his appearance to live comfortably away from the degradations of the times (or really, any times?), he fought tirelessly for justice, a job made more possible by that same appearance.

And that appearance---the very light skin, blond hair and blue eyes---points to a dark part of American history that most white Americans tend to ignore. Enslaved women had no rights over their bodies, and slave-owning white men could act with impunity. However reprehensible and disgusting their behavior could be, there were no laws prohibiting that behavior.

Of Walter's 32 great-great-great grandparents, only 5 were Black enslaved people, and 27 were white. When I found a transcript from an NPR conversation with the author of a biography about Walter, it was mentioned that his great-great-great grandmother fathered six(!) children with the slave owner, one William Henry Harrison.

When I saw that printed in the sentence, I said: wait---the President? And the sentence continued on stating that this Harrison was elected as the 9th President of the United States. One thing I learned on a bit of dive on him was that he was from the Virginia Harrisons (more on them in a minute) and he was the last US president born as a British subject in the Thirteen Colonies, having been born in 1773 on one of the Harrison plantations in Virginia.

One thing I did remember about William Henry Harrison was that he died within a month of being inaugurated. Exactly a month, it turned out, with inauguration day being March 4th, and his death coming on April 4th, 1841. Of what, you might ask? What felled this slave-raping Virginia Harrison? Salmonella. Yikes. The 1840s, man! 

The Virginia Harrisons were a prominent family back in Yorkshire that came to the New World to grow their fortunes, and not a persecuted religious group like you may find in the northern colonies. The Harrisons came in two waves, and ended up with two branches laying seeds in many places. Benjamin Harrison V was a corpulent slave owning Virginian plantation owner, descended from the Benjamin Harrison who made the journey from England in 1630. Benjamin Harrison the Vth, though, was both William Henry Harrison's grandfather, and one of the signees of the Declaration of Independence. He liked to lighten the tense mood by joking, since they all viewed that signing the Declaration was really just their own death warrant. He joked that his size would make his death from hanging fast, while the skinnier men would twist in the wind and struggle for hours to die. Hilarious. He also, generally, beefed with John Adams, whom he thought was too radical, while Adams thought the wealthy scion was too conservative and enjoyed a good time too often.

William Henry Harrison's own grandson, Benjamin Harrison, himself was elected President, as the middle part of the Grover Cleveland Sandwich. There have been other prominent members of this branch of the Virginia Harrisons, like the feminist activist Mary Stuart, and the surgeon of the first successful kidney transplant, John Hartwell Harrison.

A different branch, normally called the James River Harrisons, came over a few years after Benjamin Harrison, settled in a different spot (Shenandoah Valley) and sport, as descendants, Abraham Lincoln and Elvis Presley. Holy hell!

The English Harrisons have a disputed history, as one claims they descended from Cnut the Viking settling in the 1300s, and another is less colorful if dating back further.

Anyway, I enjoyed the circular Americanism-irony of it all, like how Indian-killer John Parker had, as a descendant, Quanah Parker, an advocate at the federal level for all of the Southwest American tribal groups. And here we are again: slave-raping future president (who dies of salmonella poisoning) had, as a descendent, Walter White, a political and civil rights activist who worked up to the highest levels of government, trying to dismantle racism and segregation.

I should state: The Virginia Harrisons did divest their slave holdings after the Civil War, and President Benjamin Harrison was an abolitionist and has been remembered for his work to help franchise Black Americans.

Once I tried a thought experiment: did any non-royal father/son duo effect more lives than Admiral George and his son Jim Morrison, one the leader of the Navy during the Vietnam conflict and the other the frontman of the iconic band The Doors? These kinds of familial connections---the Parkers, the Harrisons, et al---make me want to maybe look a little deeper under the hood, so to speak, at the connections in America's history.

Wednesday, December 3, 2025

Slater Barron Across the Street

Wow. We were passing by the Art Exchange, or whatever they call it today, a gallery across Elm from us, and a large painting inside caught my attention:


It was five feet tall and more than three wide, which made it quite large looking from the street. It's expressive, and big. And I do what I can to make sure I bring the kids over to the gallery each time they have a new installation, no matter how weird or "ultra-modern" they may be. I like to expose the kids to the different artistic fruits that show up in our zone. 

But there were a series of these large (60"x40") pieces visible from the street as we walked by, and they were figures. This seems trivial, but trying to explain why a retrofitted ticker-tape machine that's connected to wi-fi and spitting out a constant stream of ephemeral internet chatter is capital-A Art to an eight-year-old and a four-year-old is a challenge. But they do grasp paintings of people.

Once we got inside, though, we could see that these were NOT paintings, rather they were constructed out of lint. Yes...laundry lint:


The level of feeling this artist, whose working name was Slater Barron, could achieve using different colored lint blew my mind. It's an achievement, surely.

After reading some of the literature they had on hand the picture began to fill in. Slater Barron was an artist who came to be called the Lint Lady specifically for these large scale lint pieces. They exist as a series and seem to all be named "Mother, 19XX", where each one is from a different year, mostly consecutively, like from 1983 to 1990. Her mom had Alzheimer's and they found her on the street, and maybe she'd been there for a bit. They got her into a facility that could care for her until she passed.

Slater Barron's given name was Marylou Slater, and as an artist in the 1960s and '70s, she realized that she'd never be taken seriously because of the obvious gendering of her name, so she took her husband's last name, Barron, and adopted a moniker using her last name with her husbands, so as to not be immediately dismissed.

She worked with different artistic media, worked trying to get respect for LA's art scene in the shadows of the NY scene, and tried to raise awareness for Alzheimer's research and the disease's impact on the family's of those suffering from it. Unfortunately she passed in 2020.

Here's her website if you'd like to see anything else about her. The installation will be up until January across the street, and I'd love to return.

Tuesday, December 2, 2025

Thanksgiving in Solvang Once Again

 Last year was possibly the first part of a tradition? Possibly?

Anyway, we made the trip to Solvang to celebrate Thanksgiving once again with my Auntie Anne and Uncle Val. Once again I made turkey and broccoli and greens and buttermilk pie. Once again we watched football and movies at unseemly decibel levels, and once again Uncle Val showed Cass a few pointers and then let him run amok on a video game, this time the FPS Battlefield 6. Cass may prove to be a natural.


This time the sky was beautiful and largely cloudless.

But the kids remain obsessed with the dogs:


And dog zones:


But nobody else made the trip this year, so there was less stress about the food amounts, but also less collective love to wade through.

We left Friday night around 8 pm, and made it back to our apartment in 2 hours, while it took us nearly 4.5 to get there Tuesday afternoon.

All in all it was a great trip and a good time.

Events with the Boy

Corrie suggested that Cass and I do this thing together, and I thought it would be a fun time and was a great idea, so I got the tickets and we decided to have a date night, just Cass and me:


It was a screening of Home Alone and the "Nostalgic Evening with Macaulay Culkin." It was at the Terrace Theater at the end of Long Beach Blvd, down the street from our place. We got dressed up and walked to the show:


Cass got a whole slew of compliments on his outfit. Which was pretty cool. (Looks like I need to cut down on the late night beers...).

We sat up in the loge area and a cool view:


I was surprised by the number of people who were itching to say the "Keep the change, ya' filthy animal" line. People laughed and cheered, and the times were fun.


Afterwards, during the forty-five-ish minutes that Macaulay spoke (aka: answered questions from a host), we learned a few things:
  • His two kids love Home Alone, but neither know that he was Kevin McCalister; but, his oldest was looking a family photo from the early '90s and said, "Hey, that little boy looks like Kevin."
  • Macaulay still seems to have beef---or rough feelings---about Jon Lovitz and gladly talked what seemed like legitimate shit about him at this sit-down.
  • To dispel the rumors that Joe Pesci bit his finger during the shoot---when they have him stuck up on the door and Pesci's Harry is ready to bite his fingers off---Macaulay spilled the beans: Pesci did NOT bite him during the take, he bit him during rehearsal, and Big Mac still has scars/marks from it.
I highly enjoyed the time. Cass and I explored the center, got turned away when we went too far, rode the elevator all over, and down to a rather terrifying corridor underneath the parking garage, and then, when it was all over, we got to just walk home and away from the traffic jam that was created by the exiting masses.

It made me excited for the times when Cass will be older and we can get into different, more wild shenanigans.

Wednesday, November 19, 2025

Life Day Celebration at Gardena Cinema

Last time it was for the Temple of Doom.

That was two years ago, back in November of '23. This year the invite was for an endurance double feature, our boy Mike, the erstwhile comic shop owner, current comic-book writer, comic book writing professor, and drug counselor, having the itch to return to his friend's family movie theater.

In 2023, it was Mike's favorite movie, Indian Jones and the Temple of Doom. Last year he had festivities at a different location. This year, the party was a few days after the proper birthday, and the first film of the double feature was "A Disturbance in the Force." This is a very entertaining documentary about the infamous "Star Wars: Holiday Special."

I learned so muchI picked up a bootleg of the Holiday Special at a comic convention back in 2012 as a gift for my brother. I watched as I drank gin, and, if you read the link above about that bootleg, you'll see all the cliches about trashing that program. Had I seen the documentary, I would have said different things.

Not to spoil ALL the conclusions from the documentary, but: back in 1977, when the movie became the biggest things EVER (it seemed), studios had very low opinions about audiences and, therefore, had the characters and costumes and masks in all sorts of shows that are, eh, regrettable by how serious the universe is taken today. Some were laughable (Donnie and Marie), some cringy (all of them, but Lawrence Welk!), and some made sense (Richard Pryor and the costumes of Mos Eisley).

Anyway, two groups---George Lucas and the filmmakers team vs the variety show team---began work on the project. Lucas was there for one day, for a total of 12 hours, and they were, by all accounts, very productive and inspiring. It didn;t take very long before all of the filmmaking side were gone, and the variety show people were the only ones left.

In the end, the length of the special went from an hour (so, about 46-47 minutes of content), to an hour and a half, to two hours. Yikes! Harvey Korman plays 3(!) separate characters! Bea Arthur sings a song! Art Carney saved the production when he was sober!

So, after this funny and engaging documentary, we sat and watched the Holiday Special, having the knowledge of what was happening and who was making the scenes and the feelings of most people who worked on it...and it wasn't terrible!

Okay...it's kinda terrible. But it isn't as incomprehensible as I remember. It follows a structure that makes a level of sense, and isn't so wrong as to wreck the sacred canon. It's not...good, but it's certainly not as bad as my post about the bootleg makes it sound. And seeing it on the big screen was a treat.


The lava lamp intermission count-down screen was pretty dope.


If you have a local independent theater near you, and you like movies, you should go and give them your patronage as often as you can. They will surely appreciate it.

Happy Life Day!

It's almost official now!

Monday, November 17, 2025

Bowling!

Bowling has changed a bit in the ensuing years since I last went. I, um, don't even remember the last time I went bowling...it may have been with an old pal Dylan back in Sac between '99 and heading back to San Luis in '00. Anyway, it got expensive!

Corrie found a Group-On and we made a Saturday afternoon of it.

One of the cooler changes was about the bumper lanes. Maybe this is old hat to all the bowling enthusiasts out there, but you can program the bumper lanes to show up for any individual bowler automatically, and then they'll pop down as needed to return the game to the normal gutter-ball-is-allowed play.


Cass did pretty well for his first time. We played two games as a family, then Camille and Corrie went off to the arcade to play (as per a Corrie promise). Cass was locked in and played most of the game we played together without bumpers (which lead to some gutter-balls):


Corrie and I both had a few strikes and a few more spares, and my second game was the best score of the day, at 145 or so. Camille was awesome, cradling the ball like a spherical baby, running towards the line, and launching it with both arms.

We had so much fun! I could see us making a routine of it somehow...is there a club instead of the drastic and severe pricing? Family fun time!