Preparations for Time-Warp Nearly Finished

We're traveling to the future this evening, and time-warping over Christmas Day...call it our present to ourselves. Go International Dateline!

Our winter holiday trip is finally upon us, and everything has been a blur for a few weeks now.

Not that I've been posting too much here anyway, but soon there won't be much, since we'll be a half-a-world away and transplanted in the jungles of South-East Asia.

But, earlier today, we ran the last errand for our professional lives before vacation officially started: dropping items off at the Pasadena permit office.

I hadn't ever been to downtown, er, "downtown" Pasadena, so I was blasted by what I saw:

Mostly out of place looking, like as if the Hungarian parliamentary building was taken from Budapest and dropped in Argentina, this is Pasadena's City Hall.

Seriously, their city hall:

It could be part of a cathedral in southern Spain; it could be a capitol building for a South American nation; but nope. City Hall, Pasadena.

Check out the black letters below if you don't believe me (I wouldn't have believed it myself, had I not just gone earlier today):

This is almost as big as Sacramento's capitol dome, and is easily more spectacular than Oklahoma's state capitol building, the only state without a dome on its capitol.

Go Pasadena! Who'da thought...

Four County Monday

Today, Monday December 16th (!!!), I took a day and joined Corrie on her journeys around the Southland. It was a beautiful day that bordered on too hot, even getting all the way to 88 on the Fahrenheit scale.

The reason I went was because I had to pick up my passport at the Federal Building in a swanky part of LA sandwiched between Santa Monica and Beverly Hills. The reason I could go was because it's finals week at my high school, and we only had a single final to give.

I needed a rush job on my passport because it expired after we'd return from our winter holiday, but not far enough after to get the visa we needed.

But, seeing as how driving is novel for me as of right now, I drove the entirety of the day, and, seeing as how I'm getting better at playing with components of the computer, I made a map-picture to explain the day's route, fully travelling into four of the five counties that comprise the Southland (or, LA Metropolitan Area if you, like my blog text editor, don;t appreciate the whole "Southland" title).

So, first, the graphic:

Now the explanation: above, Numbers 1 and 6 are the same, our place in Long Beach, in LA County. We started off the day at home, where I drove down the Pacific Coast Highway to Corrie's office, in Newport Beach, Number 2, a drive that took an hour. Corrie's been driving down the coast into Orange County for some time now; even with all the stoplights, it's still more sane than taking the 405.

After about an hour at the office in Newport, we headed out to Glendale, taking CA Rt 55 to I-5. Glendale it nestled up there at Number 3. Corrie had an appointment at the Glendale city hall that we weren't sure how long would take, so I dropped her off and took surface streets to Wilshire and Veteran Ave, the site of the Federal Building, Number 4 above.

From Number 3 to Number 4, on surface streets, both ways, took an hour each way. Guess how long the novelty took to wear off...

After picking up Corrie we headed off to Chino, Number 5 above, a town known for being a great place to raise kids, a suburban enclave surrounded by desert and bordered by a freeway on one side and the prison on the other. I guess relatively inexpensive housing and mostly white neighbors make folks clamor for that sweet suburban life. It seemed pretty boring to me, but what do I know? Another trip to a city hall...

On the way to Chino, while driving along I-210, which turns into CA Rt 210, we passed into San Bernadino County, and on the way home, from Number 5 above to Number 6, which is our place, we passed into Riverside County. That drive took us along Rt 71 to CA Rt 91--AKA the Artesia Freeway--one of the main arterials in the Southland. From there it was an easy drive against traffic through the outskirts of Riverside County and all the way across tiny Orange County, before catching the 710 south, getting home after dusk.

I'd spent the majority of the day driving around greater Los Angeles, seeing many different facets of the beast, and visiting LA, Orange, San Bernardino, and Riverside counties--sorry Ventura, we missed you (LA Metro is generally considered comprised of five counties, Ventura and the ones I visited today).

Figure 8s through the brain, folks...driving all day and barely getting anywhere...but somehow seeing so much...

Happy Friday the 13th!

From us Walt Kelly and Pogo fans, Happy Friday the 13th, one of the luckiest days of the year!

(Thank you Internet for the image!)

Sharing Nelson Mandela with Kids who Need Him

A few weeks ago when the news was released that Nelson Mandela, 95 years young, was gravely ill, I remember thinking, Holy cow, I haven't thought about Mandela in too long. I realized that had the former South African president died there would have been a global mourning period and tributes galore.

And, naturally, when the end came for Mr. Mandela, that's precisely what happened.

I wanted to say something about him to the young people I'm around daily, young people who, by and large, share his skin color, if not his country of origin. They need to learn about things relevant to their situations, as well as how and why it relates.

My own memories drifted back to my fifth and sixth grade classrooms, and the walls adorned with "End Apartheid" posters, and about how Mandela was the face of the movement. From prison. I remember hearing my classmates asking, "What's apar-theed?"

The answer, accompanied by a loving smile, was, "Well, first it's apar-TIDE. And..."

When Mandela was elected president in 1995 I remember thinking, Wasn't he already president?

The smile lines on his face still get to me...they represent hope in so many ways to me.

So, the next day after his passing when the young people and I were together again, I droned on and on about what I knew about the man: former boxer; first black lawyer in South African history; 27 years as a political prisoner; Nobel Peace Prize laureate; somebody who should resonate with these youngsters on the same level as Obama.

We'll get to the Angela Davis' and the Stokely Carmichaels later.

Heavy Recruiting

I haven't been so specific about my "working" activity throughout the posts on this blog over the years. That was a mostly tactical decision. In any case, as occupational activities have changed, I find myself in a secondary school setting in South LA, and there are many things that offer ideas for posts.

In this specific case, I've made some observations that I find alarming.

In high schools around the country, one of the main thrusts about discussions of the future is college. When I started working at the school I'm at, I had an unrealistic idea of how much attention was being paid towards college; I figured between the kids and the teachers, that nobody cared about college. That was unrealistic. Almost every student regards college as a useful thing and a noble goal, even though some kids have unrealistic expectations about themselves.

One student, when I asked what he wants to do after graduation, responded that he wants to play football for USC, and then move on to the NFL. Sports as a viable option out of the 'hood--this is a very real means of escape. But this student, notwithstanding his slim chances of actually graduating, doesn't actually play football right now in high school.

Our football program itself doesn't quite condition kids well enough for Division I college ball anyway, but we don't talk about that; we're not dream killers...

There is plenty of attention from big Ivy League schools back east being paid to our elite academic students, and I imagine federal money for admitting South Central LA kids is a motivating factor in that. BUt really, out of 1400 kids over four grade levels, we have, like, 19 seniors with a GPA higher than 3.5. Nineteen.

This all brings me to my first alarming observation: there are more than Ivy League schools recruiting around here.

DeVry, ACC (American Career College), Phoenix University, and Everest Career College are some of the heavier recruiters on campus, and they specifically target the students that have a GPA under 2.0.

On the one hand it's nice that students who don't shine so well in high school are being recognized and even encouraged to learn and be better prepared for a career.

But these are students who don't have the drive to succeed at the high school level, and who may be at a loss for understanding how student loans work, how much money it ultimately costs to go to one of these for-profit universities, and what the prospective salaries will be in the (rare) event of a program's completion.

I was a pretty stellar high school student, and the finances of my university education were mostly foreign to me for years.

I've always been a bit wary or for-profit universities, and until now I had no idea they actively recruited students.

Should I be anxious about this development?

Sleeping in the Woods

This past weekend I went to my first professional conference, the CMC-South, held in Palm Springs, and I can say I got plenty out of it. That surprised me, actually. In any case, it was a conference---of math teachers. Lots and lots of math teachers...spooky.

In any case, upon returning home, I was reminded that we were going camping the next weekend. Of course, how could I forget?

Corrie, in her driven way, has made lists of the things we'll be needing to organize to be ready to enjoy ourselves in the Big Siggity. She laughed and said, "I've never planned for a camping trip, and it's more challenging than I thought, you know? We've never gone camping before..."

Before I could say, Really? I think there's photographic evidence pointing to the contrary, she finished her thought, "We've only gone out sleeping in the woods."

I had a good belly laugh and agreed. The trips that we'd embarked upon in the past were far more of the "sleeping in the woods" variety than any planned activity resembling camping.

So, we're trying to crack that pattern. Which means, really, Corrie's trying to break that pattern. I can't even keep the trip in my head.

AND it's to freaking Big Sur! One of this planet's Official Beautiful Places...

Disneyland in Fall, Part 2

Wow, back-to-back sequels. Click here for the original "Disneyland in Fall", posted two years ago in October of 2011.

This time we had updated shirts, or, I guess, "shirts", as we wore fancy baseball jerseys. This time it was my mom's birthday, and we surprised her at the park as the crowds began mustering.

And oh my...the crowds. It was a beautiful Saturday in October, and the people were out in force. It didn't help that Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, one of the better rides at the park, was shuttered; that would have alleviated some of the crowding everywhere else.

If you follow the link above and read through, I'm pretty sure I mention that it was Gay Day at Disneyland on that specific day. This Saturday trip wasn't Gay Day, and this time around I got a sense of the real visceral difference: at least 30% of the human beings at Disneyland this time around were under eight years old.

Holy cow, the kids... And Norman was with us again, but now he was nearly 2 and a half, and running around and having some fun.

Here's a post-surprise shot, where you can see our matching jerseys (thanks a ton Auntie Peg!):

After walking down Main Street, where all the buildings are 3/4 scale, we went to my mom's favorite ride, the cheesy and fun Jungle Cruise. I hadn't been on it for years, and Corrie had never ridden it. It's about the adventure and the guide's delivery of the jokes that make it what it is. It can be fun or a disaster, but I have faith in Disneyland's management in placing the right individuals in the guide spot, and I bet it's a heavily sought after job for specific individuals.

From there we went to Pirates, then the Haunted Mansion, then the Train ride through time, basically a resting ride for the adults, and then we went across the old parking lot to California Adventure. It was getting late in the day and the lines were outrageous, but we were enjoying ourselves.

I'm mostly crunched fr time right now, so if you're looking for a post with nostalgia and feeling and personality, go ahead and click through the link above. That Disneyland post has more character than many of my other posts.

Here are the "Sisters" with their names on their jerseys as we went down Main Street:

Only 10:30, and the crowds were crushing...also, I liked how all the parents just posted up their strollers and left them parked like cars:

With the right perspective and timing, we're beginning to warm up to the idea of "going to Disneyland" as a regular activity, especially if we complicate our lives with offspring.

Good Old Fashioned Manual Labor, Part 2

Click here for Part 1, originally posted back in October of 2009.

That post was about helping out some loved ones, Corrie's cousin Joshua and his wife Elizabeth, with some home construction work, namely setting tile in their would-be laundry nook.

This post is similar in that it involves a laundry nook, only this time it was OURS! Hell yes, we finally became adults! Or at least it feels like it now. We bought brand new editions of a washer and a dryer.

We got the type you can stack if you so chose, and we did, so that's that. Shorter folks might need a ladder for the dials on the dryer.

Unlike October of 2009, though, I didn't need to set any tile. Rather, I needed to make a hole in the wall for the dryers exhaust. But we have no Sawzall...what are two resourceful college grads to do?

Use a drill two dozens times, of course. See me trying avoid the nasty particulate inhalants with the train robber mask.

Here's the finished and installed exhaust pipe:

Oh, yeah...we're legit!

Movie "Super": Who knew Rainn Wilson was a guy?

I guess if you're a fan of "The Office", then you're familiar with the character Dwight, who is played by someone named Rainn Wilson. When we looked at the Netflix listing for the movie Super, we saw it was about normal folks who donned costumes and fought crime, starred Ellen Page, Kevin Bacon, Andre Royo, and the person named Rainn Wilson.

I've seen the name before, but was mistakenly under the impression it was a young Hollywood starlet. Andre Royo I mention because his name appears in the opening musical number next to an animated rendition of himself, a spot in the story saved for significant bit stars. Andre Royo, for those who don't know, is Bubbles from The Wire.

There were a few things I wanted to mention about this movie. Maybe the first is to address one of the easy things to say about it in general, that it was perceived as a rip-off of Kick-Ass and Defendor (maybe Defendor came out afterwards...). Rainn Wilson is a line cook (a burger guy!) in a burger joint who has married the former junkie Liv Tyler, who shacks up with her former dealer, leaving the dopey fry-cook. Kevin Bacon plays the bad-guy drug dealer, Andre Royo plays the buddy and fellow cook, and Ellen Page plays a girl who works in a comic shop and who, eventually teams up with Wilson when he snaps and starts wearing a costume and "fighting crime".

Wilson's character has a "vision", where the hand of god comes down and touches his brain, and this leads into something else I wanted to say about this movie: it's a wildly pro-Christian production, and nowhere online does it say anything like that.

One of Rainn's inspirations for his costumed psychotic break is Nathan Filion (the Canuck actor from "Firefly") playing a Christian costumed superhero on some Christian channel who, along with god, visit Rainn during his vision. The vision is after a scene in which a sobbing Wilson begs god for a sign. Maybe that's "God", but at this point, who's counting?

So, Rainn Wilson dons a red jumpsuit, grabs a plumber's wrench, and spends evenings behind a dumpster waiting for action. That's pretty funny, really. How boring being a crime-fighting superhero could be. Eventually he finds some action, swoops into the scene calling himself the Crimson Bolt, and brains some folks with his wrench. This is quite funny, really, because the news treats it as we would today: "Crazed man in a costume has been beating folks with a wrench!"

Eventually Ellen Page figures it out and talks herself into the role of kid sidekick. Meanwhile Kevin Bacon has snatched up Liv Tyler and is using her as tester for the heroin he's buying. What a dastardly drug dealer! Pimps and folks who do what they can to keep customers or their "stable" strung-out are serious problems in these circumstances, but rarely does something this cartoony happen.

It felt like it was a plot point out of the brain of someone who knew nothing about junkies or The Game, but what can you do? It felt a little like finger wagging from a Christian school-marm, like the dealers exist just to tempt you, and you have no power over your needs for strong dope.

Another less vaguely Christian aspect is the movies feelings about marriage and sexuality. The cops are onto Wilson's character's real identity, so he's sleeping on the couch at his 22 year-old "kid sidekick's" place, the silly and sexual Ellen Page. She's playing the role as a mix of violent-exuberance and sexual needs, and at one point suggests that she and the Crimson Bolt make out. He responds, "I'm married, and that's a sacred bond. And you're my kid sidekick!"

I'm not saying isn't a sacred bond, but that may not be the way in which I express similar thoughts, and, in the movie, that isn't the first or the last time he says it. "Marriage is a sacred bond!" he's yelling all the time. So, how does sex work its way into this film?

If you said "rape", then you're right, but not as you may expect. The only sexual encounter is Ellen Page forcing herself onto a resistant Rain Wilson. He even throws her off after she climaxes and runs into the bathroom to barf.

If you're keeping score, the main character's wife is a former junkie mildly kidnapped by a dealer, and the only other woman in the movie rapes him.

Ellen Page, whatever your feelings on a young girl getting off riding an unwilling participant, is easily the best part of the movie, and, being a rapist by the movie's standards, gets what rapists in movies should get: (SPOILER ALERT) a bullet turns her skull into a canoe.

At least the Crimson Bolt mourns her.

I liked the cast, and the this movie had its moments, but I may be overly sensitive to overtly Christian storylines...sounds like my own problem. I'd recommend this movie to anyone who likes the "regular guy snaps and become a costumed superhero" sort of non-Batman realism. Also, if the thought of Ellen Page forcing herself on someone intrigues your sick mind, this may be worth your time.

Four Grand-Slams to Tie

In baseball a "grand-slam" is a play in which all three bases are full of players from the batting team and the batter hits the ball out of the park in fair territory, which itself is called a home-run. A home run with the bases loaded.

It sounds pretty weird when trying to explain it, but I assume that any of my readers are familiar with such a term and such a play in the game of baseball. If that's not the case, then my readership is far and above what I could ever guess. Or just hipsters...

In any case, a grand slam is exciting when your team hits one; hell, it's the best possible outcome in the situation. All three runners score, the batter scores, and nobody makes an out. It sounds silly to expound on the merits of the grand slam, but as long as we agree that it's more rare than common, I'll be done.

My mother's birthday just happened, and seeing as how it was a big one, we decided a good trip would be a trip to a Dodger game at the Stadium on Chavez Ravine. The Dodgers this year started out playing like reheated turds, but a stretch after the All-Star break had them playing like the '98 Yankees, and they'd clawed their way back to not only the top of the NL West, but for a time, to the best record in all of baseball.

Yasiel Puig, the Cuban sensation, plus a mashing Hanley Ramirez have been largely responsible.

Ricky Nolasco, the LA-bred pitcher the Dodgers scooped up on the cheap from the Miami Marlins, was the starting pitcher for our Saturday night game. And, by the way, our Saturday night game was against the Giants, the longtime rivals of our Boys in Blue, and, I'd like to add, what do you think the chances of me finding Saturday night tickets for a Red Sox game in the Bronx are? I'd guess maybe a single ticket for magnitudes of cost more than I paid for four Dodger/Giants game tix. Oh well...

So, Ricky Nolasco labors through the first inning, loading the bases at one point, but giving up only three runs. That's a lot, no doubt, but you get the sense he's off and it could've been more.

Then the Dodgers get their turn, and Yasiel Puig is the leadoff man. I mentioned to Corrie that Puig likes to swing at the first pitch, and I was joking about getting my camera out fast enough. It turned out not to be a joke, as Yasiel put the bat on the ball on that first pitch, sending a liner to center field. I did catch a picture of the ball in the air and Puig off for first, which is kind of a cool action shot:

Puig then went to third on a soft blooper to right field, and scored on a routine groundout, pretty much manufacturing the run by himself. After the first inning was done, the score was 3 - 1 Giants. That was as close as it would get all night.

Nolasco gave up four more runs in the second before getting pulled; his final line was 7 runs give up and only four outs made. Ouch. The 4th and 6th innings were the only innings in which the Giants did not score runs. They loaded the bases in at least four separate innings (1st, 2nd, 5th (they hit a grand slam that inning), and 9th) and even their scrubs were getting in on it--some guy named Britt went 5 for 6 with two RBIs.

Puig scored a second run sometime in the late innings, and, up until then, accounted for 2 of the Dodgers' three hits and both of their runs. Then a Dodger rookie hit a homer to give them 3 runs.

Going into the 9th innings, the Giants were up 17 - 3, and I was joking that the Dodgers were down by two touchdowns. When they scored another run in the 9th I was angry--not because the Dodgers were dropping a stinker on my mom's birthday game (I was far over that), but because my two touchdown joke would no longer work. But then they scored another run, making the score 19 - 3, and we realized that it would take the Dodgers four grand slams to tie the game, which makes baseball fans' heads explode.

Puig laid out for a blooper--diving to catch it--and roughed himself up a little. He stayed in the game for a bit, scored that second run, and then was replaced, taken out as a precautionary tactic in game that had ceased to be important.

I hope my mom had a good time. Besides the score, it was pretty exciting. Dan had purchased a spot on the scoreboard to read, "Happy Birthday Kate (last name)! Enjoy the Game!" We took a picture of it with Corrie's nice camera, but are still getting pictures offloaded. Thanks Dan!

I'll always remember having a good time, sitting up high, getting to see Puig do his young DiMaggio impression, and a laugher of a result.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Test Run

I'm using this post as a test run of some equipment. I didn't mean to have my mother's birthday post be about my issues with my new laptop (which I'm not currently using...).

This is only a test...

Happy Birthday Mom!

It's a big birthday for my mom today, but I'll refrain from the number. I'm on my new laptop, which has been throwing some curveballs my direction. Does anyone know why Google Chrome sucks on Windows 8? Should it suck, fully and completely?

In any case, I have no photos yet, but this weekend we're heading to a Saturday night Dodger/Giant game, which should be exciting.

Love you, mom!

"The Rig", and Calling-Out Absurdities

The other day I was answering a text. The text I had received was reminding me that I had the next day off--it was Rosh Hashanah--and while thumb-typing on my phone, it started spazzing. It was ringing, and I turned it to see who was calling: Tony.

Tony, one of my closest and oldest friends, calling late (for him in Louisiana)...in those times I happily answer the call and talk for maybe ninety minutes, whereas I hand the phone over to Corrie, and they talk for another ninety or so.

Tony, currently working off-shore, spends bulks of time on a boat and in the water (hopefully for him), housed around time on-shore. He was regaling me with the day-to-day operations with his company and their current frustrations and I was regaling him with inner workings of the LA Metro and bike commuting in the 'hood.

I handed off the phone to Corrie once my ear felt sufficiently chewed up by my pocket super-computer and spent a while perusing Netflix. I came across a horror movie called The Rig, a 2011 offering about an off-shore rig in the Gulf letting loose an unspeakable evil, and a storm coming through to conveniently trap the characters with that evil. I told Tony and Corrie that I would take one for the team and try out the feature and see how long I could last watching it. Likely, I was guessing, I would have to turn it off rather quick, as so many of those Netflix "gems" are atrocious.

I was pleasantly surprised with The Rig. While it wasn't great, and even 'good' would be a stretch, it was certainly serviceable. I made it through the entire thing, besides doing some dishes in the middle and getting Tux's food going. Like any good monster movie, it get's infinitely less interesting when we audience members get to see the monster, though here at least the reveal came slowly and drawn out over multiple scenes. And, true to form, the girl who showed her boobs to the camera was killed violently.

After I got the phone back and started my evening's farewell to Tony, we chatted about the next day. He had to work at the shop, a boring and thankless way to spend the day, but at least it was work, since the times are slow at the moment. He then wished me well for the next day's work, and I mentioned that I had the day off for Rosh Hashanah.

"I didn't you were Jewish!" he joked, knowing me fairly well. The he asked, mostly earnestly, "Could I call-out Jewish tomorrow? Is that a thing I could do?"

We shared a laugh on that for a time and then proceeded to our separate sleep-zones.

The Wedding; and Reflections: NYC Trip

Like the trip we took to Central America, our temporal proximity to this event makes true reflection difficult.

We got to see my cousin Liz marry her Englishman Chris in a beautiful ceremony at my Uncles' place near Hillsdale, NY. Corrie took the picture's for that, and we're still sorting them for Liz and Chris, so none will show up here. I oddly didn't have my camera on me...

New York remains one of the few places to which both Corrie and I would happily move. A tiny visit makes you long for more time, if you're a weirdo like us, one of the self identified New Yorkers who can't understand why anyone would want to leave in the first place.

The trip, while physically draining, was emotionally rejuvenating, and I can't think of a better complement of New York City itself, if, you know, you're into the place, a weirdo like us...

Until next time...just waiting for the train...

More Walking; Old friends; Spontaneity vs Plans: NYC Trip

An Aussie friend of mine from high school, whom I hadn't seen since freshmen year of college while we were both visiting Sacramento nearly seventeen years ago, is living in the Lower East Side and enjoying the hell out of the energy and nightlife of the area. She just finished up a master's degree in something at NYU. We met up for dinner after the museum, or it was the next day...maybe it was the next day...no, it was after the museum...

In any case, we ate at a fancy little place called Pig and Khao, a Filipino-BBQ fusion place that was very tasty. I would recommend it. Afterwards we remanded ourselves to a watering hole for cocktails and reminiscing, and I didn't have the heart to remind her that I had never been to her house for parties, nor had I been to the river for parties, not that she would have believed me had I tried. I had been neatly pasted into her memories of those times back in school. We were close, sure, in class, and in the Wilderness Club with Imai, but I'm fairly certain I wasn't partying at her folk's big house with the rest of them. I may have had a few beers since then, and many memories of that time are fuzzy, but I know I didn't hit up any of those parties.

In any case, the evening was pleasant and nice, and we chatted into the wee hours of the night before peeling off to go back to the hotel, riding the train instead of walking. We were exhausted.

The next day we made it over to Wine:30, the wine restaurant operated by an old Turkish friend of mine named Vulcan. Vulcan and another friend Ben, opened the place together back in 2009, and I lent my hands, back, knife skills, and general expertise to the cause, and was on hand for the first few shaky weeks. It got a little dicey between Vulcan and Ben as well, and I was the mediator during the times when they weren't speaking.

But that was four years ago, and now the place is booming and Vulcan figured out a way to expand his space twice---which is nigh impossible in Manhattan. He's got a son and a pregnant wife and still carries himself with that harried look of someone who doesn't sleep enough. When he saw me he said, "Patrick! Life must be good--you've gained weight!" Vulcan's great.

Photo Dump Section

Here comes another barrage of pictures from walking around.

The first picture is from inside the scaffolding-clad St. Patrick's Cathedral: (The outside was hidden.)

This next picture is of the St. Bart's Byzantine Cathedral, the only one like it in the City, and the site of one of the fine cuisine restaurants I worked at while living in Brooklyn. I know the labyrinthine halls of that church better than I probably should:

This is a random angle shot of Grand Central Station:

The lion from the NY Public Library, as seen in many films and pictures (like Ghostbusters):

From inside the library, everything is marble:

From the Irish Hunger Memorial. Like the Highline, this is a must see hidden gem for visitors:

We had plans to do and see things, but we didn't want to be rigid about them. Also, we tried to resist the other desire: to sit in a bar and drink. We didn't go to shop, or see a whole lot of shows, but we did feel like tourists in our own town. Take away shopping and shows and you get our sights; walking; and drinking.

But one thing we did need to rigorously plan, and hold to the plan, was the WTC site. It's still a construction mess, and we only had time to go on our last day in the City proper, Friday, after which we would be collecting Dan and Lupita and heading north on a train.

Because of the construction, the Port Authority, which governs the site, requires a ticket and lets in large groups, but the snaking line goes for nearly a mile around the perimeter fence. The actual memorial, when everything is said and done and anyone will be able to visit and there won't be any need for fences and tickets, will be quite solemn and quietly spectacular. The footprint waterfalls show off how humongous the towers were, and the Freedom Tower, directly adjacent, is nearly beyond comprehension at that proximity.

Here's part of the snaking line:

Here's one of the waterfalls, Tower 1 I believe:

Here's the waterfall-footprint for Tower 2, lined up better that the previous picture:

Here's the Freedom Tower, still being worked on and not as striking as I had hoped, or imagined maybe, but it is staggeringly big, a sensation sadly lost in photographs:

I'm trying to rush through these last few posts because 1) I want to be done by the end of August; and 2) I got a new lappy and I need to start moving photographs over to our cloud device.

Not that anyone really cares about that...

Highlights from the Museum of Natural History: NYC Trip

The American Museum of Natural History is one of the classic jewels of the New York City museum circuit. Established over a hundred years ago by Teddy Roosevelt---the idea that children are able to learn about nature and the world was paramount for Teddy.

We'd always wanted to go while we lived in Brooklyn, but we never had time. We got pretty close once, but then needed to rest on the specific day we were to go. Oh well.

Upon entering on pretty much any day, you get in a long line in a zoo-like atmosphere, in a grand entrance with a  few allosauruses trying to take down a big brachiosaur:

The lines, two total, one on each side of the great hall, while incredibly long, move at quite a clip, as there are maybe ten banks of "entrant tellers" who collect the now non-mandatory "donation". There had been a lawsuit that the museums lost about their "suggested donations" being mandatory, and about how that becomes an entrance fee instead of a "donation", and that having "entrance fees" changed the nature of the tax exemptions and City subsidies that these establishments enjoy. So now they ask you if you'd like to donate the $44 for two adults that is the suggested donation.

I paid it because the institution of the museum my be my favorite...maybe libraries...my attitude changes from week to week...

So once inside, there are a few important staples, like the blue whale and the [most] famous T-Rex head [in the world].

But, along the walk there are some cool things, like the giant clam shell, complete with a sign that says "No Sitting!" (or something to that effect):

(Corrie almost sits in it)

When you get to the sea life hall, the full size model of the blue whale is more spectacular that you imagine it'll be, stretching off far across the hall's breadth:

There are some of the craziest dioramas I've ever seen inside this room. My photographs don't really do them justice.

One mollusk I couldn't resist putting in: it's called the "fat gaper" and looks, eh...you can't make this up:

Then there are lots of models, life size of course, but made out of plaster or plastic, and they let you know how exotic and crazy life gets on this rock.

One of my favorite sea critters is the living fossil coelacanth. The lobe-fin fish is closer to terapods (walking animals from long ago) than to regular ray-fin fish (every other type of fish besides sharks). I think they're pretty cool:

Then you eventually get to the DINOSAURS! Not sure why I used all-caps, but everyone's inner-child loves dinosaurs.

Here's the main bad-ass, Tyrannosaurus Rex:

And here's deinonychus, a close cousin of the velociraptors from Jurassic Park imaginations, but it seems like today's science agrees that they most likely had a furry coat of feathers:

This is my favorite vegetarian dinosaur, the stegosaurus:

Then you come to, eventually, the ice-age era rooms, with the skeletons of the mega-fauna of the mammalian variety. And here we get super moose:

There's even a primate wing, and I especially like this gibbon skeleton, stretching, I like to imagine, human like to get some top-shelf liquor:

And then my camera's battery died. A very long day having "ended" at nearly four pm, we walked back down to a place for drinks and snacks, before heading to dinner with a friend I hadn't seen in some seventeen years.

Here's one last shot of me:

Walk walk walking...New Lateral Forces: NYC Trip

We rode the train from Beacon to Grand Central, like so many other times, and were getting giddy watching the Hudson River scenery:

That depleted castle on a random Hudson island always piqued my imagination, and it took me nearly too long to get my camera out to get the picture.

We made it Grand Central and hoofed it to our hotel in Hell's Kitchen, about four avenues west and eight blocks north (the avenues are the long stretches), and it felt like home. We were weighed down and sweaty, and dodging tourists, and it felt like we'd just got back from a  week stay in California.

There were a whole new slew of lateral forces acting on my knee, forces that I never get living in California. Juking and side-stepping and walking round slow walkers is different. I ride my bike almost ten miles a day, which tires out my bolted and rebuilt knee, and five minutes of dodging tourists was totally new and novel, and a new kind of achy-ness was discovered.

We were too early to check in to the hotel, but we were able to drop off our gear. We took off for Lansdowne Road, our West-side Manhattan bar. We know the owner (we communicate over Facebook), and were regulars when they opened, and were occasional mainstays, if such a thing exists. It was so comfortable and quiet and nice, and we chatted with the bar-keep while the owner had a meeting, and then chatted with the owner for a while.

We told him how it felt for us, that even though we'd been gone for three and a half years it only felt like ten days, and the only real change, besides a few noticeable establishments having changed, was that Broadway now had a major bike lane added, and there were city bike stands all over Manhattan; these were rental stands that allowed you to rent a bike mostly anywhere, lock it up near your destination, and grab a different bike later on in the day.

After we checked into the hotel, we walked. Walky McWalkerson and his walking wife were we. We walked pretty much everyday for hundreds of blocks, for miles and miles, and did things that we never had time for while living in Brooklyn.

The following pictures showcase some of the walking we did, and I'll post separately for things like the American Museum of Natural History and maybe the Library. I haven't thought that far ahead...

This first picture I like since it's of one of the buildings along Central Park West, as seen from the Park, through the trees:

This was a hazy and humid day at Washington Park, where we sat and relaxed for almost an hour:

A quite street Greenwich Village:

The Freedom Tower, almost done, from south(?) of Chelsea Pier along the Hudson River Walkway:

Looking Uptown along 8th Ave from the Highline. I'd have to look up the cross streets to be fully accurate, but probably between 25th and 35th:

From the Highline. I'd absolutely recommend anyone visiting New York to walk at least a portion of the Highline, a reclaimed elevated train that's been changed into a park:

Also from the Highline, a psychedelic painting of the famous Victory Kiss on VE Day:

It was rainy day when we made it out to Bed-Stuy, walking around like a couple of crazy white folks. It was nice, though, to see the trees bigger and bushier, to see how much that improved the neighborhood. It was a small change, and, coupled with a few erstwhile empty storefronts now full of businesses, the neighborhood had a new feel. It wasn't too different, but it was there. I'm pretty sure I even saw a call center business staffed with a few white people. Malcolm X Blvd as an occupational destination? Fantastic!

Here's Corrie macking on one of our 'hood's otter pop-deals, as we walked up Ralph Ave to the J and Z trains. It was drizzling and warm:

Umm...

The American Museum of Natural History; the New York Public Library; and maybe the World Trade Center site...those are probably the next three City-themed posts...

We did meet with a few old pals...maybe I'll do a post about them as well...

Quiet Morning Strolls and Arrival Weekend: NYC Trip

I scrambled around on a Friday with Tony in town to get a bunch of homework done and ready to send off with a trustworthy individual. Later on I had to redo some of it, but what can you do?

Ultimately that Friday Corrie and I were headed for a red-eye into Kennedy, arriving just before daybreak on Saturday. We had a few, er, refreshments, but only I got some sleep on the plane. Zoned and blitzed and all bunched up from the airplane ride, we strapped our bags on and walked straight from the airplane out of the terminal and into the Air Train--the inter-terminal train that connects to parking lots and subway stops.

It took all of four seconds to be back in New York Mode, walking quickly and aggressively, literally moments off the plane. "...Tourists..." we grunted under our breath as we powered through the bleary eyed throng.

We took the Air Train to the E train stop, watched the sun come up along the way, and then entered the personal hell of all New Yorkers: the wildly stuffy and humid underground subway station, feeling as hot the surface of the sun, sweat beading everywhere on your pack-mule-loaded body, and the train never comes.

Obviously "never" is inaccurate, but when you're there it's a far more tangible concept.

We were heading that morning to the Union Square Green Market, my old stomping ground, to stash our bags in the truck's cab of the the dairy for who I used to work while we we waited for Marc and Linda and baby Marco to come down and meet us. We would be spending Saturday night in Dobbs Ferry with them. Sunday we were spending with Corrie's cousin Joshua, his wife Elizabeth, and their baby girl Emlyn.

We got off the E train at West 4th, the main Greenwich Village stop, and decided to walk the maybe mile distance to Union Square, between 14th and 17th, but east of 5th Ave. That walk, though, passes right by Washington Square park, and I snapped the next picture of the Washington Arch before 7 am, trhe new Freedom Tower visible off in the distance:

After stowing our stuff, Corrie found a shady bench to try and catch some sitting-up-style-zzz's, and I, having giving up on catching some sleep before nighttime, went for a walk.

I found a cheese shop that seemed to have just opened for the day, and I went in looking for some guanciale for Norm (I found it and purchased it a week later before flying out). There was just a lone dude working inside, and through small talk we learned that we were both from Sacramento, that we both up and left for New York City, and that we both lived on Halsey St in Bed-Stuy, us at 619 and he at 710. Nothing like a random dude from your hometown living on your street to help you realize how small the world can become.

Soon we met up with Marc and Linda and Marco, and we had a great time. Lunch in the City, drive up, nice dinner out, chatting like old times, playing with the baby like new times, and it felt like we'd been gone only a few days. We realized how much we missed the friendship we had with them.

The same experience was had with Josh and Elizabeth and Emlyn, but that's more family than close friendship. The experience and camaraderie was different, but fulfilling and full of love.

The hand-off, as it were, of us from the Piazzas to the Morris', was over breakfast in a town between Dobbs Ferry and Beacon, a mid point named Cold Spring, at a diner where we could mob the place up with babies and mugs of coffee. On a walk along the main street of that town after brunch, I snapped a picture specifically for our San Luis Obispo people:

Also that morning, I walked by something I felt I needed to take a picture of:

It's like the planter broke away but the roots were intact.

Monday morning we hopped the train to town, dropped our luggage off at the hotel before we could check in, and felt home. 'Spose that's the next post...

A Midsummer's Trip to the Big Apple

We made a trip to our erstwhile home, the City of New York (a borough of which shows up in the URL of this blog), just a month ago, and the next few posts might cover the trip.

Corrie'd made the trip back in December to see Linda for her baby shower, but spent very little time in the City at all, and all that really happened was a whetting of the palate for our big return.

My cousin Liz's wedding in August was just the opportunity. She and her beau, Chris, a Briton from the Midlands, got married at our Uncle's place upstate on a Saturday, and we spent the preceding week in the City doing many things we couldn't do when we lived there.

Like walking hundreds of blocks, mostly aimlessly, everyday.

Corrie took the pictures for the wedding, most of which won't be appearing here, but here's one, to cap off this mostly introductory post---the brother of the bride, my cousin Mike, and myself:

(The iron at our hotel in Hudson sucked.)

Here's just a taste of New York:

Two Books and Opposing Storytelling Techniques

I've been thinking about this post for a while. It showcases some of my personal views on novel writing and fiction and storytelling, but through the lens of two books I was reading simultaneously, but have since either finished or abandoned.

Here's a start: Imagine a protagonist, an over-educated but out of work fella who's been trying to get some writing published while mostly mooching off his long suffering wife. He get's involved with a teaching-credential program and meets various folks, four of which are ladies who pique his interest in one way or another. Lady #1 is a fan of Irish whiskey, and Lady #2 likes to write, and both are into the fella something fierce, while Lady #3 matches politically with the protagonist and trades barbs with him. Lady #4 is more mysterious and the one that the protagonist begins to have feelings for, despite being happily married.

Now, most of this "story's" beginning I pulled from, eh, obviously my own experience this summer, with some translations and projections that are made with creative liberty.

Okay: the type of story this is has all sorts of drama and conflict built in: Will the protagonist commit adultery? Will a marriage fall apart? Will an old relationship be strengthened? How does all the drama effect an "old married couple"? See? This story could be good and exciting and, as a writer, I'd say it "could write itself."

But this isn't the type of story I've ever been interested in writing.

Now some books:

The book on the left, Between the Bridge and the River, by CBS' own Craig Ferguson (my favorite, if never seen anymore, late night talk show host), was purchased by me for a penny plus shipping once I heard he'd written a book. It's about Scots in Scotland, then in America, and sex and death and religion. Sex, death, and religion---that's pretty much it. It's good, and unfolds well enough, and is mostly predictable, to the point where after a few dozen pages, a keen reader would be able piece together what will eventually happen, if not exactly, then reasonably well enough.

That doesn't mean it isn't well written or not totally enjoyable. And it is just like that that the story about the married writer and the five ladies in his life would unfold. You may not see the exact ending coming, but you get the idea, no matter how great the writing or exciting the story. It's one type of novel or story or storytelling technique.

The book on the right, Villa Incognito (a Dollar Bookstore purchase), by who I've occasionally described as Pynchon-lite, Tom Robbins, starts with forty pages of Tanuki seducing the young women of the Japanese country-side. Tanuki is constantly being lectured by his more mature cousin, Fox, if that gives you any idea as to what Tanuki is (a tanuki is an Asian raccoon/badger critter with an enormous scrotum Seriously, the kids all over Japan have pretty silly playground rhymes involving the tanuki's scrotum)).

After the stretch with Tanuki in feudal Japan, the story shifts to Seattle, and then to Laos and Bangkok with the main characters being a ragtag collection of heroin smugglers and circus performers, and the possible descendants of Tanuki and one of the country maidens. Like any great Pynchon or Murakami book, never knowing quite what the hell is going on is part of the lure, the draw.

That's the kind of stuff I like to read, and that's the kind of stuff I aspire to write. The novel I'm working on has nothing to do with a lazy writer working towards becoming a teacher and struggling with interpersonal relations...it has bobcats and cowardly cowboys and the earliest immigrants and buboes and rockets.

I'm hoping it is a little out there.

Early July in San Luis Obispo

Some time has passed since we took this trip in early July to San Luis Obispo. Part of the motivation for the trip was to get some pictures for our anniversary, while another was to get out of Dodge for a weekend.

Corrie hadn't been up to campus in years, and hadn't spent any time just frolicking around San Luis in, maybe, ever? 

Then things got all sorts of busy, and I lagged in posts. That's nothing new.

So, here are a few pictures from campus. The first is the new Math and Science hall, or center, taking up the job of the outdated and sprawling Spider Building:

I had many a class in the Spider Building, since I started as a Biochem major. I remember the long hallways open 24 hours a day, and how one of the equipment windows, even while closed and locked, had books of matches available constantly. Funny what you remember, eh?

This next building is Fisher Science, and it hasn't changed at all. I had an anecdote about this building that I was thinking of when I picked this picture from my list while compiling the ideas for this post, but now, typing it, I've decided against retelling it. So...here's an out of context picture:

Ryan and Corrie and I drove up to the top of Highland Drive, a quick drive I probably hadn't made since 2002. We got out and walked around for a while, and I tried taking some perspective shots of Bishop's peak, with limited success:

That same day we made it out to the Rock for sunset, and I played with the settings on my little camera and got this darkened picture:

I think my original idea for this post was to be a reflection on returning for the first time together to SLO for Corrie and I, but too much time passed, and as other things have entered my brain, the weak feelings I had for this exact weekend were drummed out, like so many other faulty and foggy memories from San Luis. This wasn't originally a picture-only post.

Like the town of Bishop in my novel, the flow of time is haltingly foggy while spent in SLO County...

We stayed with Jimmy and Christina, as Ryan is living in a tiny bungalow originally erected for railroad builders. "Cramped" is a nice euphemism for it. Corrie and I were amazed with how easy it was to jump in the car, drive over to campus, then to the top of Perfumo Canyon, then drive out to Morro Bay and take some pictures of the Rock and give Corrie a moment for her and Grandma June's sendoff, and have that all only take one afternoon. In LA that's like a full week's worth of getting around and seeing stuff.

San Luis...some things about it will never change, while other things will never be the same, not the same as the first time I was there in 1997, not the same as when we were regulars at the OG McCarthy's, and not the same as this last trip we just took.