Twenty years ago today an all-white jury acquitted the cops in the Rodney King beating. The decision was just the ignition that the racial powder-keg that was LA needed to burst into an orgy of destruction, fire, looting and release.
The riots weren't necessarily about race it's been said recently, more of the general injustice about a world that seemed for Koreans, Latinos, and blacks, way out of their control. Police brutality was a standard operating procedure. Conditions had only gotten worse since the Watts Riots. The groups of men that had as children been excluded from recreational organizations like the Boy Scouts during the fifties had, during the sixties, formed their own groups of street brawlers that had, after the Watts Riots, become a united front of Black Nationalism, and were then systematically jailed or killed. In those intervening 27 years, the Crips, and soon after the rival Bloods, took over that leadership vacuum, and began a long and protracted street war that claimed upwards of 30,000 people.
In any other country in the world the UN would be staging peace talks and the best diplomats would be making appearances like Belfast or Sarajevo. Nearly ten times as people were killed in the Crips/Bloods feud than in the entire IRA driven conflict in Ireland/Northern Ireland.
That was the situation of a forgotten slice of America that got exposed in the weeks following the verdict,the simmering level of angst, fear, anger...when you're treated like your life is meaningless by the authorities, you tend to believe that narrative, and killing becomes so much more easy and natural.
Then the footage of the Rodney King beating becomes a national sensation, all the while the citizens in central and south LA say that kind of thing has been pretty regular during the last fifteen years. Nevermind that Rodney King drunkenly sped away from the police and recklessly drove through residential neighborhoods at 80 miles an hour. The beating that appears on that clip was excessive, right? Can we agree on that?
That type of beating should be reserved for very special circumstances, and I imagine we could probably agree on for whom we should reserve them.
Nearly a year later, after the trial of the police officers, the verdict comes back not guilty, and we expect the group of forgotten and shunned citizens, left alone to kill themselves for decades as long as they didn't pass Norwalk Blvd, to accept that farce as justice being served? How are supposed to explain what justice is in the world to the young people?
Twenty years later some things have changed. Some for the better, some for the worse. The Korean business owners learned that they had to become part of the community instead of insular business folks. The black flight really took a hold after 1992, and in their wake the Latinos swooped into the affordable neighborhoods. The strangle hold that the gangs had on the neighborhoods has waned, and the fear of being shot simply because you're on the wrong block have disappeared. Jobs, though? Think there are any more careers for the 18-35 year-old black man in south-central LA than there were in 1992?
That economic prison isn't going anywhere without better schools (good luck with that currently), better crisis intervention, better training programs, and better understanding of the various communities.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Chuck Lightoller, We Hardly Knew Ye
Sometimes you come across a character from history that inspires you to tell others about...am I the only person to which that happens? Can't be...
Today's installment is Charles Lightoller. Born in Lancanshire, England in 1874 (3/30 to be exact), his mother died soon after his birth and his father abandoned him for New Zealand. Not wanting an iron working life, at 13 he started an apprenticeship on a sailing vessel. On his first voyage the ship was hit by a storm and needed repairs, and had to make port at Rio--which was undergoing a revolution and a small-pox outbreak.
Later, another ship Lightoller was on grounded outside an uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean (they were rescued and taken to Australia), and after moving up to steamers from sailing vessels, he contracted a batch of malaria so bad he nearly died.
Eventually he got a job with White Star Line company of luxury ships as a Mate, and was stationed on the Titanic. He, actually, was the senior surviving crewmen. His story of survival is ridiculous: he was one of the two men loading the lifeboats, and after they were gone, he leapt for for it and was sucked under into one of the steam release chimney-looking towers. From there he was blown free by a release of steam from somewhere deep within the bowels of the ship, and made it to the surface.
He saw one of the collapsible life boats upside down and frenzied men trying to balance on top of it, and made his way to it. Climbing aboard, he eventually convinced the other men to stand up and shift their weight in unison to balance the thing against the waves. For three hours they stood like that, balancing like on top of a surfboard, in the frigid blackness. Standing. Some couldn't stand it, and eventually, by exhaustion fell out and never seen again.
He served the UK in World War I, being awarded an honor for sinking a menacing U-Boat (submarine). How did he sink the sub? He rammed it.
After retiring from the Navy, he returned with his own ship to assist in the Miracle of Dunkirk during WWII, a maneuver where French soldiers were rescued from the beach at Dunkirk, France.
So, if you're keeping score, Chuck here survived parental abandonment, Brazilian revolution, small pox, a grounded ship, malaria, being on board the Titanic, standing up on an overturned lifeboat for three hours, WWI and WWII, any guesses what finally felled him?
Lightoller was finally done in by the Great London Smog of 1952. Smog. The weather was particularly cold in London, and because of the economy, the nice coal needed to be exported (for more money) leaving only the sulfur rich coal for domestic use, which made the air quality so bad that a lifelong pipe smoker like Charles Lightoller couldn't survive.
Death by smog. If that's not an anti-smoking commercial, I don't know what is.
Today's installment is Charles Lightoller. Born in Lancanshire, England in 1874 (3/30 to be exact), his mother died soon after his birth and his father abandoned him for New Zealand. Not wanting an iron working life, at 13 he started an apprenticeship on a sailing vessel. On his first voyage the ship was hit by a storm and needed repairs, and had to make port at Rio--which was undergoing a revolution and a small-pox outbreak.
Later, another ship Lightoller was on grounded outside an uninhabited island in the Indian Ocean (they were rescued and taken to Australia), and after moving up to steamers from sailing vessels, he contracted a batch of malaria so bad he nearly died.
Eventually he got a job with White Star Line company of luxury ships as a Mate, and was stationed on the Titanic. He, actually, was the senior surviving crewmen. His story of survival is ridiculous: he was one of the two men loading the lifeboats, and after they were gone, he leapt for for it and was sucked under into one of the steam release chimney-looking towers. From there he was blown free by a release of steam from somewhere deep within the bowels of the ship, and made it to the surface.
He saw one of the collapsible life boats upside down and frenzied men trying to balance on top of it, and made his way to it. Climbing aboard, he eventually convinced the other men to stand up and shift their weight in unison to balance the thing against the waves. For three hours they stood like that, balancing like on top of a surfboard, in the frigid blackness. Standing. Some couldn't stand it, and eventually, by exhaustion fell out and never seen again.
He served the UK in World War I, being awarded an honor for sinking a menacing U-Boat (submarine). How did he sink the sub? He rammed it.
After retiring from the Navy, he returned with his own ship to assist in the Miracle of Dunkirk during WWII, a maneuver where French soldiers were rescued from the beach at Dunkirk, France.
So, if you're keeping score, Chuck here survived parental abandonment, Brazilian revolution, small pox, a grounded ship, malaria, being on board the Titanic, standing up on an overturned lifeboat for three hours, WWI and WWII, any guesses what finally felled him?
Lightoller was finally done in by the Great London Smog of 1952. Smog. The weather was particularly cold in London, and because of the economy, the nice coal needed to be exported (for more money) leaving only the sulfur rich coal for domestic use, which made the air quality so bad that a lifelong pipe smoker like Charles Lightoller couldn't survive.
Death by smog. If that's not an anti-smoking commercial, I don't know what is.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Sweaty Hands
While doing background work for my Library Blog--taking pictures of my books--I noticed while handling my copy of Tree of Smoke that while the dust jacket looks in rather good shape, the thing in its entirety felt shabby in my hands.
It was then I remembered. These books, after having been read, get replaced on the shelf and then only looked at occasionally--and then while they sit in place--or loaned out. A great many of them were read while we lived in Brooklyn, since living in New York means, for the great many of us, lots of time spent on the subway. When it came to books with dust jackets, I'd leave the dust jackets in their place on the shelf, looking like the book was chilling there, while I carried the books everywhere with me.
These books were usually thick and looked a little silly while being carried around, and after a while, my sweatyness would make a serious impression on the hard-back covers. After long enough, the books would appear worn and shabby, covered with the remnants of subway funk, sweaty palm-ness, and tobacco smoke.
Since I had my camera and was already taking some book pictures, I realized I wanted to document some of the biggest noticeable books in my collection.
The first book I did this with was probably my favorite book of all time (which says something for a bibliophile like myself) Pynchon's Against the Day. This book was a gift from my mom after I read a review of it and learned of this writer. Where had I been all this time, I remember thinking halfway through.
I found a note from an English professor of mine suggesting I check out this guy named Thomas Pynchon, but after ignoring the advice, it took me a few years to figure it out.
The binding and edges are all dirty and stained and the spine is creaky. The pages are marked up with pencil (a necessity for this 1000+ page novel, almost a collection of five or six novels), as well as summaries in the back pages and a character tree inside the front cover (all in my own hand).
On the shelf it looks cool, sitting nicely in the Pynchon section.
The next book in this discussion is Roberto Balano's The Savage Detectives. Bolanyo (no enya) was a Chilean writer/poet who moved to Mexico and started a poetry movement, and there are sections of Savage Detectives that cover that exact topic but in a fictionalized form. The book follows a strange format: the first section is fast paced and like a pulpy-action movie--we follow the young protagonist while he tries to write poems, impress the Chilean patriarchs, and have as much sex as he can. It ends abruptly as the action reaches a crescendo. The second section makes up the bulk of the book and is a series of interviews from various players from the first section, all seemingly taking place more than a decade after the events of the first action sequence section. After we get a sense of what might have transpired, the final section shows the end of the starting scene as if there was no split in the action. I haven't read Bolanyo's 2666, supposedly his masterpiece, but I have been thinking about picking it up since the translation hit the States a while ago.
And lastly we have the book that started me off on the path to this post, Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson. The reason I chose this order to present the books is that this is the order that I read the books in real subway-riding life. Tree of Smoke is an excellent look at the involvement of the United States in Vietnam, how it affected the a slew of parties involved, and represents specific type of companion to Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, arguably one of the most important books written in English since WWII.
Gravity's Rainbow is set during WWII, but was published in 1972 and is truly about Vietnam; Tree of Smoke is set during Vietnam, but was published in 2007 and is truly about our newest war of choice, Iraq.
It was then I remembered. These books, after having been read, get replaced on the shelf and then only looked at occasionally--and then while they sit in place--or loaned out. A great many of them were read while we lived in Brooklyn, since living in New York means, for the great many of us, lots of time spent on the subway. When it came to books with dust jackets, I'd leave the dust jackets in their place on the shelf, looking like the book was chilling there, while I carried the books everywhere with me.
These books were usually thick and looked a little silly while being carried around, and after a while, my sweatyness would make a serious impression on the hard-back covers. After long enough, the books would appear worn and shabby, covered with the remnants of subway funk, sweaty palm-ness, and tobacco smoke.
Since I had my camera and was already taking some book pictures, I realized I wanted to document some of the biggest noticeable books in my collection.
The first book I did this with was probably my favorite book of all time (which says something for a bibliophile like myself) Pynchon's Against the Day. This book was a gift from my mom after I read a review of it and learned of this writer. Where had I been all this time, I remember thinking halfway through.
I found a note from an English professor of mine suggesting I check out this guy named Thomas Pynchon, but after ignoring the advice, it took me a few years to figure it out.
The binding and edges are all dirty and stained and the spine is creaky. The pages are marked up with pencil (a necessity for this 1000+ page novel, almost a collection of five or six novels), as well as summaries in the back pages and a character tree inside the front cover (all in my own hand).
On the shelf it looks cool, sitting nicely in the Pynchon section.
The next book in this discussion is Roberto Balano's The Savage Detectives. Bolanyo (no enya) was a Chilean writer/poet who moved to Mexico and started a poetry movement, and there are sections of Savage Detectives that cover that exact topic but in a fictionalized form. The book follows a strange format: the first section is fast paced and like a pulpy-action movie--we follow the young protagonist while he tries to write poems, impress the Chilean patriarchs, and have as much sex as he can. It ends abruptly as the action reaches a crescendo. The second section makes up the bulk of the book and is a series of interviews from various players from the first section, all seemingly taking place more than a decade after the events of the first action sequence section. After we get a sense of what might have transpired, the final section shows the end of the starting scene as if there was no split in the action. I haven't read Bolanyo's 2666, supposedly his masterpiece, but I have been thinking about picking it up since the translation hit the States a while ago.
And lastly we have the book that started me off on the path to this post, Tree of Smoke by Denis Johnson. The reason I chose this order to present the books is that this is the order that I read the books in real subway-riding life. Tree of Smoke is an excellent look at the involvement of the United States in Vietnam, how it affected the a slew of parties involved, and represents specific type of companion to Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow, arguably one of the most important books written in English since WWII.
Gravity's Rainbow is set during WWII, but was published in 1972 and is truly about Vietnam; Tree of Smoke is set during Vietnam, but was published in 2007 and is truly about our newest war of choice, Iraq.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Happy 420!
To all my current and erstwhile heads I wish a happy and hearty 420.
"The only day when the living room clocks are never wrong."
I wrote that quote on the wall in Oceanaire's detached garage--our pool and pong room. It was in reference to our two clocks that hung in the living room and were without batteries, set to twenty minutes past four.
Again, while habits may have changed, sentiments never will. Have fun, go forth, celebrate, and burn one for those of us who refrain.
"The only day when the living room clocks are never wrong."
I wrote that quote on the wall in Oceanaire's detached garage--our pool and pong room. It was in reference to our two clocks that hung in the living room and were without batteries, set to twenty minutes past four.
Again, while habits may have changed, sentiments never will. Have fun, go forth, celebrate, and burn one for those of us who refrain.
Baseball Card Notes
I have all of my old school collectibles finally with me, and I was trying to make a point to myself the other day. I mentioned to Corrie that I thought if I pulled a random stack of baseball cards from one of my boxes, I could find at least one player that would have some relevance to today.
It was really me thinking that twenty-five old baseball cards could possibly be relevant.
One thing I found interesting was that in my seventy-three card stack, George Bell, Julio Franco, Pascual Perez, and Teddy Higuera were the only Latinos. That was it. And George Bell was ditching "Jorge". Another surprising thing was the number of black players. Lots and lots, many more than today, by percentage, it would seem.
Well, in that stack, there were four that I could say something about, that had some kind of relevance for me today (420!):
The first is a 1988 Topps Jamie Moyer. The 1988 card has the previous year, 1987, as the most up to date year on the reverse's stat sheet, and 1987 was Jamie Moyer's second year. I used to have a roommate who's last name was Moyer, and the soft-tossing Jamie was his favorite player. This pitcher, Jamie Moyer, just won a game two days ago, pitching seven strong innings for the Colorado Rockies, and setting the record for oldest pitcher ever to earn a victory at 49 years. He'll be 50 in November. Moyer's fastest pitch was barely topping 70 mph, meaning that his fastest pitch was almost 10-12 mph slower than all other pitchers slowest pitcher. Awesome.
The next is the 1987 Topps Mike Flanagan. He retired in 1992. He was in the news recently (last August) because authorities found his body on his Baltimore property cradling his shotgun and missing his skull. Ouch.
Goose Gossage from the same year. He just made the Hall of Fame, the only Hall of Famer in my seventy-three card stack. That would have been good enough to count (see later).
The last is the 90-91 Skybox Kevin Johnson. Besides Skybox being the biggest piece of shit trading card designer, Kevin Johnson (my picture is too blurry...) is currently mayor of his hometown, which is also my hometown, Sacramento. He's also trying to blackmail the city to pony up taxpayer money to keep the Kings in Sacramento. That's a different story, but here he is, fresh off some all-star seasons in Phoenix.
So, this was a surprisingly good stack of cards. The next fifty or so stack yielded only a single notable player: Harold Baines. But for every Harold Baines there were plenty of, er, the less memorables like Al Bumbry and Floyd Rayford and Lenn Sakata and John Shelby.
It was really me thinking that twenty-five old baseball cards could possibly be relevant.
One thing I found interesting was that in my seventy-three card stack, George Bell, Julio Franco, Pascual Perez, and Teddy Higuera were the only Latinos. That was it. And George Bell was ditching "Jorge". Another surprising thing was the number of black players. Lots and lots, many more than today, by percentage, it would seem.
Well, in that stack, there were four that I could say something about, that had some kind of relevance for me today (420!):
The first is a 1988 Topps Jamie Moyer. The 1988 card has the previous year, 1987, as the most up to date year on the reverse's stat sheet, and 1987 was Jamie Moyer's second year. I used to have a roommate who's last name was Moyer, and the soft-tossing Jamie was his favorite player. This pitcher, Jamie Moyer, just won a game two days ago, pitching seven strong innings for the Colorado Rockies, and setting the record for oldest pitcher ever to earn a victory at 49 years. He'll be 50 in November. Moyer's fastest pitch was barely topping 70 mph, meaning that his fastest pitch was almost 10-12 mph slower than all other pitchers slowest pitcher. Awesome.
The next is the 1987 Topps Mike Flanagan. He retired in 1992. He was in the news recently (last August) because authorities found his body on his Baltimore property cradling his shotgun and missing his skull. Ouch.
Goose Gossage from the same year. He just made the Hall of Fame, the only Hall of Famer in my seventy-three card stack. That would have been good enough to count (see later).
The last is the 90-91 Skybox Kevin Johnson. Besides Skybox being the biggest piece of shit trading card designer, Kevin Johnson (my picture is too blurry...) is currently mayor of his hometown, which is also my hometown, Sacramento. He's also trying to blackmail the city to pony up taxpayer money to keep the Kings in Sacramento. That's a different story, but here he is, fresh off some all-star seasons in Phoenix.
So, this was a surprisingly good stack of cards. The next fifty or so stack yielded only a single notable player: Harold Baines. But for every Harold Baines there were plenty of, er, the less memorables like Al Bumbry and Floyd Rayford and Lenn Sakata and John Shelby.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Harboring an Ecological Disaster in our Laps
There has been a sharp decline in the number of songbirds in most metropolitan areas in America over the last few centuries. It has been called an ecological disaster of some order, since songbirds perform a helpful service: eating insects. Some of the songbirds have even become endangered.
In the same vein, the number of field mice are falling by about sixty million a year, which doesn't really effect the rodent's conservation status.
The culprit? Sleeping in our laps, sunning themselves in the washout of sunlight as it slowly flows across the carpet, licking themselves for hours daily: the common house-cat.
There are nearly 100 million house cats in the US, nearly half are feral, and of those that have homes, almost sixty percent are allowed outside for some amount of time each day. It is these sleek killing machines that are doing such damage to our aviary population.
It may seem laughable to consider a meow-machine that can be distracted by a shiny light on the ground or a string as being a top flight predator, but the design of the house cat is simply a miniature of their larger cousins in the wilds, making them quite the killing impresario. They even have the temperament as well, as fitting a house-cat with a camera collar yielded some amazing footage in a recent study: within minutes of being out the door, the cat is stalking, and then killing and eating, a tiny mouse.
The reason they were domesticated at all was for their rodent crowd control powers.
And hey, the songbird numbers don't lie.
In the same vein, the number of field mice are falling by about sixty million a year, which doesn't really effect the rodent's conservation status.
The culprit? Sleeping in our laps, sunning themselves in the washout of sunlight as it slowly flows across the carpet, licking themselves for hours daily: the common house-cat.
There are nearly 100 million house cats in the US, nearly half are feral, and of those that have homes, almost sixty percent are allowed outside for some amount of time each day. It is these sleek killing machines that are doing such damage to our aviary population.
It may seem laughable to consider a meow-machine that can be distracted by a shiny light on the ground or a string as being a top flight predator, but the design of the house cat is simply a miniature of their larger cousins in the wilds, making them quite the killing impresario. They even have the temperament as well, as fitting a house-cat with a camera collar yielded some amazing footage in a recent study: within minutes of being out the door, the cat is stalking, and then killing and eating, a tiny mouse.
The reason they were domesticated at all was for their rodent crowd control powers.
And hey, the songbird numbers don't lie.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
100 Years Later; and The Loudness
I missed Friday the 13th, which would have been the second such edition this year, but we had our old New York friends out visiting.
Today marks the 100th Anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, and to quote the Onion's boldface all caps coverage of the event: WORLD'S LARGEST METAPHOR HITS ICE-BERG. There's a reason why the Titanic still strikes our imagination with such force, but I've got more on that later.
Today marks the actual race of the Grand Prix of Long Beach. The race has brought in a number of things that were worth trying to explain to Marc and Linda during their brief visit. The first: extra people and extra cars. Strangely, the cars driven by the tourists are mostly loud souped-up versions of regular cars. The second: the noise. All those cars added to the loud whine of the racing Formula 1 cars (Indycars) added to today's mix of two helicopters and six (six!) circling Cessnas towing ads has led me to start calling the race The Loudness.
The normally sleepy bar we brought Marc and Linda to had one of the many present a-holes blaring 1980s Metallica. So, we're going to go and take some pictures and try to catch a look and get some of these posts done in the next few days.
Today marks the 100th Anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, and to quote the Onion's boldface all caps coverage of the event: WORLD'S LARGEST METAPHOR HITS ICE-BERG. There's a reason why the Titanic still strikes our imagination with such force, but I've got more on that later.
Today marks the actual race of the Grand Prix of Long Beach. The race has brought in a number of things that were worth trying to explain to Marc and Linda during their brief visit. The first: extra people and extra cars. Strangely, the cars driven by the tourists are mostly loud souped-up versions of regular cars. The second: the noise. All those cars added to the loud whine of the racing Formula 1 cars (Indycars) added to today's mix of two helicopters and six (six!) circling Cessnas towing ads has led me to start calling the race The Loudness.
The normally sleepy bar we brought Marc and Linda to had one of the many present a-holes blaring 1980s Metallica. So, we're going to go and take some pictures and try to catch a look and get some of these posts done in the next few days.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
On the Surfrider...
Currently heading north on the Amtrak Surfrider train to San Luis Obispo to meet up with old friends from New York who are out visiting. I guide them back tomorrow afternoon in their rental to the Southland.
I believe it's time to share some of the other projects I've started. I've mentioned that I have some other blogs going. I started a few other things to put up a little more focused posts. That might lead this forum and the Observatory to be more cerebral in the future, but what else would be new. (Typing on the train is almost as bad as penciling on the subway...)
So...the links:
This is my Sports blog, So-Cal Sports Visions.
This is our Travel blog, The Invading Blonde Giants.
This is my Cooking blog, Gonzo Cuisine.
Now they get a little weird. These last two might be my favorites. I call the first one my Library Blog. That's what I do: I take pictures of the books in my library and discuss from where I got them, what they mean to me, and what other purpose they serve. It's turned into somewhat of an autobiography of a man and his books.
This last one started out as a forum for me to do a specific project I'd been working on concerning the television show and cultural icon The Simpsons, but it has morphed into a little bit different thing concerning a wider array of cultural topics. Probably because the Simpsons thing is more time consuming that I originally thought, but the blog may prove to house some great future notions. Consider the movie Repo Man the mayor. I call it the Pop-Culture Wasteland.
So, I've finally slayed all of my idle free time and filled it with content creation. The sports blog is full of the most bland crap imaginable, but I am getting nearly twenty views a day without having posted it with sports blogs (which I'll do later). Actually I'm getting a slightly more "me" flavor over there.
The travel blog is really just so we can spread out view of the world to an unassuming few folks who're into travel blogs.
The Gonzo cuisine idea is based on a friend's own feeling about cooking with just the shit in your fridge and cupboards, and I think it can serve a varied audience.
The library blog started as an idea I was going to do for years, and finally just decided to break it apart from here and the Observatory, and the same goes for the Simpsons project.
Really all of these ideas for stories and articles and posts have been inside me for some time. The plan is coming together.
So here's a small novellas worth of content for my small and unassuming following. I wanted to wait to get some stuff up so readers could have something to do before I posted the links.
Enjoy.
I believe it's time to share some of the other projects I've started. I've mentioned that I have some other blogs going. I started a few other things to put up a little more focused posts. That might lead this forum and the Observatory to be more cerebral in the future, but what else would be new. (Typing on the train is almost as bad as penciling on the subway...)
So...the links:
This is my Sports blog, So-Cal Sports Visions.
This is our Travel blog, The Invading Blonde Giants.
This is my Cooking blog, Gonzo Cuisine.
Now they get a little weird. These last two might be my favorites. I call the first one my Library Blog. That's what I do: I take pictures of the books in my library and discuss from where I got them, what they mean to me, and what other purpose they serve. It's turned into somewhat of an autobiography of a man and his books.
This last one started out as a forum for me to do a specific project I'd been working on concerning the television show and cultural icon The Simpsons, but it has morphed into a little bit different thing concerning a wider array of cultural topics. Probably because the Simpsons thing is more time consuming that I originally thought, but the blog may prove to house some great future notions. Consider the movie Repo Man the mayor. I call it the Pop-Culture Wasteland.
So, I've finally slayed all of my idle free time and filled it with content creation. The sports blog is full of the most bland crap imaginable, but I am getting nearly twenty views a day without having posted it with sports blogs (which I'll do later). Actually I'm getting a slightly more "me" flavor over there.
The travel blog is really just so we can spread out view of the world to an unassuming few folks who're into travel blogs.
The Gonzo cuisine idea is based on a friend's own feeling about cooking with just the shit in your fridge and cupboards, and I think it can serve a varied audience.
The library blog started as an idea I was going to do for years, and finally just decided to break it apart from here and the Observatory, and the same goes for the Simpsons project.
Really all of these ideas for stories and articles and posts have been inside me for some time. The plan is coming together.
So here's a small novellas worth of content for my small and unassuming following. I wanted to wait to get some stuff up so readers could have something to do before I posted the links.
Enjoy.
Monday, April 9, 2012
100th Day of 2012 and My Birthday
My birthday, April 9th, has the odd distinction of being the 99th day of the year under normal, non-leap years, and then, during leap years, the 100th day of the year.
My birthdays over the years have been interesting events...last year I started out on the drive from Texas to California. The year before, Corrie and I went to a UT/Kansas baseball game.
The year before that Corrie, Linda, Marc and I went to see a rock opera of Beowulf. It was great. The year before that I had a toothache and was switching jobs. Before that was my first birthday in New York, and before that we were finishing up the last details of our lives in San Luis Obispo.
The years skip along by at this point, a comment I made to my grandfather in our recent visit. He chuckled and agreed, and said Imagine how it is for me.
My birthdays over the years have been interesting events...last year I started out on the drive from Texas to California. The year before, Corrie and I went to a UT/Kansas baseball game.
The year before that Corrie, Linda, Marc and I went to see a rock opera of Beowulf. It was great. The year before that I had a toothache and was switching jobs. Before that was my first birthday in New York, and before that we were finishing up the last details of our lives in San Luis Obispo.
The years skip along by at this point, a comment I made to my grandfather in our recent visit. He chuckled and agreed, and said Imagine how it is for me.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Ground Chimps of Fongoli
In the Senegalese Savannah camp called Fongoli, there are a group of chimpanzees that spend less time in trees and more on the ground, and this has had some interesting effects.
If it was hot out, wouldn't you consider taking respite in a cool cave or a dip in a nice pond? You wouldn't be alone--if you were at Fongoli you'd have some chimp pals to horse around with (and totally not be beaten up by). They've been seen chilling out in a nearby cave of hot days as well as playing around in the pond.
Now, the chimps at Fongoli also have been seen using the twig/termite fishing pole style of food acquisition. For those unfamiliar with this remarkable advancement, smart and hungry primates clear off a twig's leaves and stick it down a termite hole. The termites then attack it, and the intrepid ape pulls out a stick covered in termites and slurps them down. Then it's back to fishing.
In Fongoli, the chimpanzees, ever fond of bush baby meat (monkeys, either baby or full grown), have begun sharpening large sticks with their teeth and then thrusting them into the hollows of trees in an effort to kill a monkey. Easy meal. They're making spears.
The scientists said they'd have been satisfied with making any one of the three observations: caves, ponds, or spears, but to get all three?
It's looking like the Renaissance for the chimpanzees at Fongoli.
If it was hot out, wouldn't you consider taking respite in a cool cave or a dip in a nice pond? You wouldn't be alone--if you were at Fongoli you'd have some chimp pals to horse around with (and totally not be beaten up by). They've been seen chilling out in a nearby cave of hot days as well as playing around in the pond.
Now, the chimps at Fongoli also have been seen using the twig/termite fishing pole style of food acquisition. For those unfamiliar with this remarkable advancement, smart and hungry primates clear off a twig's leaves and stick it down a termite hole. The termites then attack it, and the intrepid ape pulls out a stick covered in termites and slurps them down. Then it's back to fishing.
In Fongoli, the chimpanzees, ever fond of bush baby meat (monkeys, either baby or full grown), have begun sharpening large sticks with their teeth and then thrusting them into the hollows of trees in an effort to kill a monkey. Easy meal. They're making spears.
The scientists said they'd have been satisfied with making any one of the three observations: caves, ponds, or spears, but to get all three?
It's looking like the Renaissance for the chimpanzees at Fongoli.
Blowout on the Drive Home
After a nice lunch with my grandfather that was delayed due to us needing to buy four new tires (wow, they were in bad shape), we hit the road. We took a short cut that went on for a while, but it was devoid of traffic and lovely to look at. It totally bypassed all of Phoenix proper, and dumped us out on I-10 west of the metropolitan civilization.
The only problem was when one of our brand new tires blew the hell out after maybe forty miles. Maybe forty. I wish I had taken a picture of this tire. It was totally shredded and looked like it had cut itself off the wheel.
We were nervous that the alignment was way off and replaced the full-size spare. We gingerly drove home the rest of the way, made it, entertained Ryan and Jules (who visited) and the next day I went back to our local Firestone.
The guy didn't seem to amused when I asked if we got the old Explorer special, but I think he was just happy I wasn't really yelling at him. They just replaced the tire and didn't use the extra warranty and insurance I'd paid for; he could tell it had barely been used.
Just one of those things.
The only problem was when one of our brand new tires blew the hell out after maybe forty miles. Maybe forty. I wish I had taken a picture of this tire. It was totally shredded and looked like it had cut itself off the wheel.
We were nervous that the alignment was way off and replaced the full-size spare. We gingerly drove home the rest of the way, made it, entertained Ryan and Jules (who visited) and the next day I went back to our local Firestone.
The guy didn't seem to amused when I asked if we got the old Explorer special, but I think he was just happy I wasn't really yelling at him. They just replaced the tire and didn't use the extra warranty and insurance I'd paid for; he could tell it had barely been used.
Just one of those things.
Day Game in Glendale
The next day of our visit was a game that only my mom and I went to, since we're the true baseball fans of our previous evening's foursome. Corrie was off exploring the self-sustaining architectural utopian experiment Archosanti while we went to see the Dodgers play the Indians.
This time we sat in nearly the same spot, only along the first-base side, but still right above the dugout.
The sun was bright and my exposed skin was slathered with sun-screen. We ate big bowls of noodles...it was my first time at a ballpark where I used chop-sticks.
My mom and I had a conversation about the lame Cleveland cap logo of the day, the block "C". I was saying that while it may be more appropriate that the Chief Wahoo logo they regularly wear, they could do well by switching to the elegant cursive "I". That "I" was showing at the moment on the scoreboard. I guess a kid sitting next to us overheard, and being an Indians fan (from Oregon), decided to go find the cursive "I" cap at the team store. He got forty bucks from his dad for a hat and disappeared.
Now, would you go to Yankees Stadium as a fan of another team and expect to be able to buy that other team's gear at the Park? The boy returned almost an hour later sporting a new cap. His dad said, "Uhh, what's that?" "Oh, isn't it cool, dad. This 'A' with the circle on top..." He'd bought an Angels cap. The fact an Angels cap was there kinda surprised me, but it was an LA heavy crowd, so...
The dad asked for his change, and the kid dropped sixty-five cents in his hand. "Where's the rest?" he asked. "Nah, that's all," the kid said while reinvesting himself into the game.
The game itself was exciting. The Indians took an early lead, the Dodgers eventually tied it, then overtook them, and held on for the victory. We got to see Matt Kemp, arguably the best player in baseball right now:
And we even got to see Shelley Duncan, formerly a Yankee phenom who came up as a rookie in 2007 and couldn't stop hitting homers (that happened early the next season) and who currently is trying to make it as an Indian. To let you know how his chances are shaking out, he pinch-hit late in the game. He did draw a walk, though, so maybe his patience is improving:
It was a nice afternoon at the ballpark.
This time we sat in nearly the same spot, only along the first-base side, but still right above the dugout.
The sun was bright and my exposed skin was slathered with sun-screen. We ate big bowls of noodles...it was my first time at a ballpark where I used chop-sticks.
My mom and I had a conversation about the lame Cleveland cap logo of the day, the block "C". I was saying that while it may be more appropriate that the Chief Wahoo logo they regularly wear, they could do well by switching to the elegant cursive "I". That "I" was showing at the moment on the scoreboard. I guess a kid sitting next to us overheard, and being an Indians fan (from Oregon), decided to go find the cursive "I" cap at the team store. He got forty bucks from his dad for a hat and disappeared.
Now, would you go to Yankees Stadium as a fan of another team and expect to be able to buy that other team's gear at the Park? The boy returned almost an hour later sporting a new cap. His dad said, "Uhh, what's that?" "Oh, isn't it cool, dad. This 'A' with the circle on top..." He'd bought an Angels cap. The fact an Angels cap was there kinda surprised me, but it was an LA heavy crowd, so...
The dad asked for his change, and the kid dropped sixty-five cents in his hand. "Where's the rest?" he asked. "Nah, that's all," the kid said while reinvesting himself into the game.
The game itself was exciting. The Indians took an early lead, the Dodgers eventually tied it, then overtook them, and held on for the victory. We got to see Matt Kemp, arguably the best player in baseball right now:
And we even got to see Shelley Duncan, formerly a Yankee phenom who came up as a rookie in 2007 and couldn't stop hitting homers (that happened early the next season) and who currently is trying to make it as an Indian. To let you know how his chances are shaking out, he pinch-hit late in the game. He did draw a walk, though, so maybe his patience is improving:
It was a nice afternoon at the ballpark.
Night Game in Glendale
The first game we went to was the night game on Friday night at the Camelback Park that my mom's beloved Dodgers share with Corrie's beloved White Sox. Strange chance that my wife's and my mom's separate and distinct favorite teams would share a Spring Training home...
In any case the Friday night game was between the Sox and the D-Backs. I have a post planned about the workers at ballparks, and I, while trying to get some pictures for it ended up getting a shot of Hall of Famer Frank Robinson in the process.
Our seats were awesome (thanks mom).
There was a loudmouthed heckler a few seats down from us who knew the game pretty well, knew even the scrubs and rookies on their team (the Diamondbacks), but would heckle the most supportive things: "C'mon kid, you own this guy, what we need is a BASE HIT!" It was a voice that had been affected by a lifetime of tobacco use. The baritone nature of the heckling masked the fact that this person was a white-haired lady.
The Sox scored early and often, and won the game. It seemed like the game's MVP, if such a thing could exist, would have to be the White Sox's A.J. Pierzynski, who drove in all six of their runs. He even hit an inside-the-park-homerun, quite an exciting event and feat in any game, let alone a Cactus League game, and by the catcher, no less.
In any case the Friday night game was between the Sox and the D-Backs. I have a post planned about the workers at ballparks, and I, while trying to get some pictures for it ended up getting a shot of Hall of Famer Frank Robinson in the process.
Our seats were awesome (thanks mom).
There was a loudmouthed heckler a few seats down from us who knew the game pretty well, knew even the scrubs and rookies on their team (the Diamondbacks), but would heckle the most supportive things: "C'mon kid, you own this guy, what we need is a BASE HIT!" It was a voice that had been affected by a lifetime of tobacco use. The baritone nature of the heckling masked the fact that this person was a white-haired lady.
The Sox scored early and often, and won the game. It seemed like the game's MVP, if such a thing could exist, would have to be the White Sox's A.J. Pierzynski, who drove in all six of their runs. He even hit an inside-the-park-homerun, quite an exciting event and feat in any game, let alone a Cactus League game, and by the catcher, no less.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Dawn at Joshua Tree
So we decided to make it to Joshua Tree National Park for dawn...originally we wanted to camp out at the park overnight and wake up at dawn--all in the name of nice pictures--we figured we couldn't make it in that time.
So we left at 3:30 am. We went to be the previous night around 9, woke up early nd ready to go. I drove from Long Beach along the 710 to the 91 to Artesia and off to Riverside, then transferred to the 60 to meet up with the 60, and then off to the 10, to our exit, the southern entrance to Joshua Tree Park.
We got there as daybreak gave way to dawn. The air was still and quiet. The black gave way to indigo; the indigo gave way to blue as orange pushed away the indigo.
The air was quiet--silent, really, absolutely quiet. The birds were still asleep. The wind hadn't even started yet.
Quickly the birds woke up, and our silence was shattered with the songs of modern dinosaurs. The mountains facing the sunrise radiated a soft, pink glow.
Afterwards we went over to a parking lot on the park's grounds and took a bunch of pictures.I had both my Canon point and shoot camera as well as Corrie's Pentax Super Program 35mm SLR, while Corrie shot her Nikon D7000 DSLR camera.
Here are some extra pictures:
After it was said and done, we went to breakfast to 1) eat something; and 2) let the sun get a little farther up into the sky.
We made it to Scottsdale a little later.
So we left at 3:30 am. We went to be the previous night around 9, woke up early nd ready to go. I drove from Long Beach along the 710 to the 91 to Artesia and off to Riverside, then transferred to the 60 to meet up with the 60, and then off to the 10, to our exit, the southern entrance to Joshua Tree Park.
We got there as daybreak gave way to dawn. The air was still and quiet. The black gave way to indigo; the indigo gave way to blue as orange pushed away the indigo.
The air was quiet--silent, really, absolutely quiet. The birds were still asleep. The wind hadn't even started yet.
Quickly the birds woke up, and our silence was shattered with the songs of modern dinosaurs. The mountains facing the sunrise radiated a soft, pink glow.
Afterwards we went over to a parking lot on the park's grounds and took a bunch of pictures.I had both my Canon point and shoot camera as well as Corrie's Pentax Super Program 35mm SLR, while Corrie shot her Nikon D7000 DSLR camera.
Here are some extra pictures:
After it was said and done, we went to breakfast to 1) eat something; and 2) let the sun get a little farther up into the sky.
We made it to Scottsdale a little later.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Post 800! (Between Here and the Observatory)
I consider this the 800th post of my combined caliboyinbrooklyn and caliboyobservatory, er, personalities.
Corrie is usually at a loss about how to describe the blog(s) to co-workers. "It's about Pat, and how he sees things in the world..." which is accurate enough, but if you don't know me, then who cares.
She's asked me before and I told her it's a cult of personality thing. That explanation didn't help, and then it dawned on me. When I was working on my Wednesday in Los Angeles project (that I'm still working on) I realized that the essence of the subtitle I finally centered on really explained what I do in these forums: anecdotal philosophy.
I told Corrie that when asked, she can tell people that what I do is anecdotal philosophy. That explanation is only marginally better, apparently.
In any case, it's because of the fun (for me) but mostly unfocused nature of these two blogs that I started a few other blogs. So, along with working on two book-projects, and my normal two blogs, I've put together a few other forums where the things I do there would make sense here, but separates them into more focused places.
I'm just generating lots of content right now.
I'll post some links later, after a few more posts. One covers sports, another home cooking, another the books in my library...Corrie and I even started a travel blog.
Corrie is usually at a loss about how to describe the blog(s) to co-workers. "It's about Pat, and how he sees things in the world..." which is accurate enough, but if you don't know me, then who cares.
She's asked me before and I told her it's a cult of personality thing. That explanation didn't help, and then it dawned on me. When I was working on my Wednesday in Los Angeles project (that I'm still working on) I realized that the essence of the subtitle I finally centered on really explained what I do in these forums: anecdotal philosophy.
I told Corrie that when asked, she can tell people that what I do is anecdotal philosophy. That explanation is only marginally better, apparently.
In any case, it's because of the fun (for me) but mostly unfocused nature of these two blogs that I started a few other blogs. So, along with working on two book-projects, and my normal two blogs, I've put together a few other forums where the things I do there would make sense here, but separates them into more focused places.
I'm just generating lots of content right now.
I'll post some links later, after a few more posts. One covers sports, another home cooking, another the books in my library...Corrie and I even started a travel blog.
Post 749, and the Sun in my Eyes
This is my 749th post on this blog, a blog that I have been ignoring to some degree.
We went to visit my mom in Scottsdale weekend before last, saw some baseball games, and visited with my grandfather. It's one of those pictures that I'm putting up here.
Three generations of califolks:
I look angry, or barely interested in being there, but it's the sun, I swear. We never moved the group into the shade, and my squinty eyes belie that.
I've got posts coming up, for sure. The next one will be like this one, but I do have some things coming up...one's about the origami patriarch; another's about a living titan of the video game world; one's about a (mostly crappy) seventies movie that featured a place Corrie visited in Arizona; I even have a post about some chimps who chill less in the trees than on the ground, with interesting results.
We even went to Joshua Tree Park at dawn, so just hold tight for those.
We went to visit my mom in Scottsdale weekend before last, saw some baseball games, and visited with my grandfather. It's one of those pictures that I'm putting up here.
Three generations of califolks:
I look angry, or barely interested in being there, but it's the sun, I swear. We never moved the group into the shade, and my squinty eyes belie that.
I've got posts coming up, for sure. The next one will be like this one, but I do have some things coming up...one's about the origami patriarch; another's about a living titan of the video game world; one's about a (mostly crappy) seventies movie that featured a place Corrie visited in Arizona; I even have a post about some chimps who chill less in the trees than on the ground, with interesting results.
We even went to Joshua Tree Park at dawn, so just hold tight for those.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Happy Birthday Tony!
Tony's off in the gulf working on this day of his, which also happens to be April Fool's Day. I'm hoping he's having a good time in Mexico
I've been a bit of a lagger with the blogging recently, but that's mostly because I've been working on some other stuff. I should be back soon--like tomorrow--with some posts. I'm pretty closer to post #800 between this and the Observatory, which is pretty cool.
I have some other ideas that need to be parlayed as well, but until then, here's to Tony, hoping all is well.
I've been a bit of a lagger with the blogging recently, but that's mostly because I've been working on some other stuff. I should be back soon--like tomorrow--with some posts. I'm pretty closer to post #800 between this and the Observatory, which is pretty cool.
I have some other ideas that need to be parlayed as well, but until then, here's to Tony, hoping all is well.
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