Now that I'm off work and have finished spoiling my cat (not that he gets that much, but oh how he loves stuffing with a touch of gravy), I wanted to ruminate on Thanksgiving a little. During the slow points at work this afternoon, when I was at the height of motivation to complete a true rumination on this day, the computers wouldn't let me log into this blog site--part of the banned content, gmail and the like. That thwarted me and sapped my desire.
So now I don't feel like giving such an effort to solidly ruminate, so I'll give just a few thoughts.
Thanksgiving as a holiday feast has many various beginnings, one of the oldest being something that predates America, the colonies here, or natives sharing food with them. One of the most basic things our Thanksgiving Day festivities mimic is a harvest feast. The workers during a harvest season work very hard, and mostly can't consume what they're harvesting. Once the work is done, there would be a large feast with plenty of overeating and over drinking of whatever grog or beer was available. It wasn't a celebration where you gave a gift to someone else, like those pagan holidays that "Christmas" has copied, but rather a celebration where you receive gifts from the earth. Earth gives you the gifts.
Another thing that I think is cool, and noticed before, I guess, is that the food, the feast, tends towards the same colors as autumn; golds, oranges, warm creams, and soft reds.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Longhorn Caverns
In the '30s, FDR's Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) gave work to many young men who'd been on the skids because of the Depression. The young men worked all over the country in regional CCC camps doing all sorts of public works, and many of our state and national parks were created from the work done at that time. The CCC is generally hailed as a triumph by historians.
One project here in central Texas that was a CCC deal was to make an old Sam Bass hideout, and an even older living space and meeting grounds for the various aboriginal Americans living in the area--an extremely long set of underground caverns--into a viable visitor destination.
The clubhouse was built first. The structure was to seem as if it was growing out of the land. Inside, there are pictures of the mostly 18-25 year old guys working in the summer--shirts torn off long ago and long pants pulled up to the knees.
They next plugged up most of the entrances that had been used variously through time by natives, by Sam Bass, by Confederate gunpowder makers, and by speakeasy operators, and installed a Grand Entance. From the steps of the Clubhouse, the view looks strange:
And heading towards that spot, you see a kind of Grand Central-like stairway down to a metal gate.
Nowadays a tour guide will escort paying customers through artificially lit beautiful areas.
We were told that this cavern system, the Longhorn Caverns, along with a system in Kentucky, are the only two types of a special type of cavern system in the States. They were formed by flowing river water--running sideways--instead of the more common vertical water flow created caverns.
A mineral that is very common in this system is calcite. It is a soft crystal, like quartz, but less valuable and less useful. When the CCC boys were cleaning debris from the caves, they found areas like this and thought they'd struck diamonds and were filthy rich.
Then we moved into a different stretch of the system, where both the amount of water and the speed of it's flow were greater than before. This made the walls much smoother, with less stalactites and stalagmites.
It reminds me of the smooth table-like "beach" at Montana de Oro, solid stone smoothed over by rushing water, as opposed to a slow drip from above or slow gurgle from below.
Then we reached the largest concentration of calcite in the whole US, a room lit with multi-colored lights that glowed in a juxtaposition to the wildly beautiful natural sights we'd been walking around for an hour already.
If planning a trip to Austin, think about a day excursion to the north-west, close to the small town of Burnet, out in the Hill Country. You won't be disappointed.
One project here in central Texas that was a CCC deal was to make an old Sam Bass hideout, and an even older living space and meeting grounds for the various aboriginal Americans living in the area--an extremely long set of underground caverns--into a viable visitor destination.
The clubhouse was built first. The structure was to seem as if it was growing out of the land. Inside, there are pictures of the mostly 18-25 year old guys working in the summer--shirts torn off long ago and long pants pulled up to the knees.
They next plugged up most of the entrances that had been used variously through time by natives, by Sam Bass, by Confederate gunpowder makers, and by speakeasy operators, and installed a Grand Entance. From the steps of the Clubhouse, the view looks strange:
And heading towards that spot, you see a kind of Grand Central-like stairway down to a metal gate.
Nowadays a tour guide will escort paying customers through artificially lit beautiful areas.
We were told that this cavern system, the Longhorn Caverns, along with a system in Kentucky, are the only two types of a special type of cavern system in the States. They were formed by flowing river water--running sideways--instead of the more common vertical water flow created caverns.
A mineral that is very common in this system is calcite. It is a soft crystal, like quartz, but less valuable and less useful. When the CCC boys were cleaning debris from the caves, they found areas like this and thought they'd struck diamonds and were filthy rich.
Then we moved into a different stretch of the system, where both the amount of water and the speed of it's flow were greater than before. This made the walls much smoother, with less stalactites and stalagmites.
It reminds me of the smooth table-like "beach" at Montana de Oro, solid stone smoothed over by rushing water, as opposed to a slow drip from above or slow gurgle from below.
Then we reached the largest concentration of calcite in the whole US, a room lit with multi-colored lights that glowed in a juxtaposition to the wildly beautiful natural sights we'd been walking around for an hour already.
If planning a trip to Austin, think about a day excursion to the north-west, close to the small town of Burnet, out in the Hill Country. You won't be disappointed.
Monday, November 8, 2010
One Beater and One Adult-Style
We've had the '93 Saturn fixed, and she's running again. I've learned a few things from the gentleman who replaced the ignition module (ouch): the Saturn engines were built for performance, like racing engines, and can be pushed and pushed. Many other things under the hood, not so much, but the engine will last for a while.
After the perceived (and prematurely concluded) death of our Bandito Rojo, we decided that we're too old to rely on a seventeen-year-old beater (I don't really consider our Saturn a "beater"). We went looking for a car to purchase, one that would be reliable for some years to come. We wanted something with a standard transmission, good mileage, and the ability to transport larger items for moving, travelling, or camping purposes. Sounded almost too difficult to find that in our price range but:
It's the nicest car of which I've ever been in the ownership group, that Passat Wagon. A 2004 with only 100k miles--all freeway, tinted windows, heated seats, defrosting mirrors, enough room to fold down the seats and sleep, five strong speeds, single owner with records, and an iPod attachment already installed.
All for less than bluebook. We caught a break.
The seller said he liked us and wanted us to buy it, that it was time for his family to upgrade (his first non VW purchase: a diesel BMW wagon), and, when it came time for him to hand over the keys, he stalled and was reluctant to the end.
We feel really lucky.
After the perceived (and prematurely concluded) death of our Bandito Rojo, we decided that we're too old to rely on a seventeen-year-old beater (I don't really consider our Saturn a "beater"). We went looking for a car to purchase, one that would be reliable for some years to come. We wanted something with a standard transmission, good mileage, and the ability to transport larger items for moving, travelling, or camping purposes. Sounded almost too difficult to find that in our price range but:
It's the nicest car of which I've ever been in the ownership group, that Passat Wagon. A 2004 with only 100k miles--all freeway, tinted windows, heated seats, defrosting mirrors, enough room to fold down the seats and sleep, five strong speeds, single owner with records, and an iPod attachment already installed.
All for less than bluebook. We caught a break.
The seller said he liked us and wanted us to buy it, that it was time for his family to upgrade (his first non VW purchase: a diesel BMW wagon), and, when it came time for him to hand over the keys, he stalled and was reluctant to the end.
We feel really lucky.
Unhappy Customer
As a customer of eSurance for our two automobiles, I can't say that I've had any experience like the customer who made this sign. Also, with as little as we pay for auto insurance, I half expect that in the event of an accident I might be making a similar sign.
The Slow Lifecycle of a Statlactite
Here is a moment in the growth cycle of a stalactite, brought to you by the Longhorn Caverns, a cool geographic formation about which I will discuss more in depth in the future.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Something Familiar
The media presence in New York surrounding the Yankees (and Knicks in good years) is pervasive in the least and is matched mostly in major European and South American soccer cities, and probably the Tokyo baseball market.
As I've said before, Texas, while not really a baseball place, is absolutely mad about its football. That similar media scrutiny is felt here, two-hundred miles south of the source. Observe:
"The Dallas Cowboys have finally hit rock bottom. The dream season has crumbled into the abyss. Not only is there no hope for recovery, the Cowboys don't even know where to turn."
Those are the opening three sentences from the analysis providided by Clarence Hill of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. His column ran yesterday, the day after the Cowboys quit against the Jacksonville Jaguars and were stampeded. They "played" so poorly that they made a rather mediocre Jacksonville team look like the '85 Bears on defense with a young Dan Marino on offense.
That melodramatic tone in Clarence Hill's column is the kind of drivel that I read everyday in New York about my team, and while it's annoying and a waste writer's talent and reader's time, there's only so much actual news about a given team that can be printed in a newspaper, and that doesn't sell papers. (It's usually found in two spots: the "Notebook" section that details how an injured player's practive went; and the "Transactions" section, where you can see who's been sent down and who's been called up, or worse, been cut)
When I read it as a Yankee fan, I knew it was ludicrous crap, but I like reading and I like the Yankees, so it was the combo I got into. You just make jokes about it, like the writers fretting about the Yankee's Wild Card position in mid-May (true story, that year was 2007).
When I read it about the Cowboys, a team I pretty much loathe, at first I chuckle about their plight, then I kind of grow nostalgic for the time when as a reader you feel like trying to calm the writer down about the team you both love. Then I just smile, because the Cowboys suck this year.
What do you call sixty millionaires watching the Super Bowl?
The Dallas Cowboys.
As I've said before, Texas, while not really a baseball place, is absolutely mad about its football. That similar media scrutiny is felt here, two-hundred miles south of the source. Observe:
"The Dallas Cowboys have finally hit rock bottom. The dream season has crumbled into the abyss. Not only is there no hope for recovery, the Cowboys don't even know where to turn."
Those are the opening three sentences from the analysis providided by Clarence Hill of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. His column ran yesterday, the day after the Cowboys quit against the Jacksonville Jaguars and were stampeded. They "played" so poorly that they made a rather mediocre Jacksonville team look like the '85 Bears on defense with a young Dan Marino on offense.
That melodramatic tone in Clarence Hill's column is the kind of drivel that I read everyday in New York about my team, and while it's annoying and a waste writer's talent and reader's time, there's only so much actual news about a given team that can be printed in a newspaper, and that doesn't sell papers. (It's usually found in two spots: the "Notebook" section that details how an injured player's practive went; and the "Transactions" section, where you can see who's been sent down and who's been called up, or worse, been cut)
When I read it as a Yankee fan, I knew it was ludicrous crap, but I like reading and I like the Yankees, so it was the combo I got into. You just make jokes about it, like the writers fretting about the Yankee's Wild Card position in mid-May (true story, that year was 2007).
When I read it about the Cowboys, a team I pretty much loathe, at first I chuckle about their plight, then I kind of grow nostalgic for the time when as a reader you feel like trying to calm the writer down about the team you both love. Then I just smile, because the Cowboys suck this year.
What do you call sixty millionaires watching the Super Bowl?
The Dallas Cowboys.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Congratulations Corrie! (Part 2)
Corrie is currently one-seventh an architect, having whooped her first licensing test's ass. That test she came away from with a less than uber-confident, "I think there may have been a chance that I actually passed that test." The second test she took before she'd gotten the results from the first test, and came back feeling much better about that one. The results from the second test aren't in yet, and she's scheduled for a third test tomorrow, and the fourth soon after.
Then there are only three (yikes) left!
In other notes...
So...I got to just five posts last month, and none had any pictures of Marc and Linda or any discussion about their visit to Central Texas or the Austin City Limits Music Festival...I'll be rectifying that soon, since I'm sure all my readers are breathlessly waiting to hear how a couple of New Yawkers felt about Texas hospitality...well, I'm breathlessly waiting to write it up, before I stop caring. Not really, but the exact day after they left, our '93 Saturn kinda crapped out, and life suddenly got very interesting and much more difficult.
The Saturn is working again, we have a new (to us) automobile, which I'll be discussing in detail very soon (it's the nicest car of which I've been in the ownership group to date).
For my mom: I really appreciate what you had to say about the freeways in southern California on the comment screen a while back, and despite your apology about not having any real information, I felt like you gave exactly the insight for which I was fishing.
For my dad: I have, in fact, heard that particular style of mustache/soul-patch called the "Zappa", and used it a few times myself on that day when I wore it, and even had believed that I'd called it a "Zappa" on my mustache post, only to read that I hadn't after reading your comment about it. I believe that Frank's partial gypsy background could account for the thickness and darkness of the combo-'stache-soul-patch, which ultimately would lead to it's success, if you will, of that rather porn-star-like facial hair arrangement. For a comparison of some kind, check out on YouTube "Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello...the lead singer of the band Gogol Bordello is part gypsy and resembles FZ...maybe he just reminds me of Frank. It's a funky little song, though.
Also: my apologies to my mother's sense of baseball tradition in our household, but I've been rooting for the Giants to win it all. I realized: while she won't/can't root for them (something I understand having rooted hard for St. Louis and Colorado in '04 and '07 respectively), I enjoy the city of San Francisco, and think that funky zone should get to celebrate...I also find myself not hating the 'niners as much anymore--how blasphemous is that?
Then there are only three (yikes) left!
In other notes...
So...I got to just five posts last month, and none had any pictures of Marc and Linda or any discussion about their visit to Central Texas or the Austin City Limits Music Festival...I'll be rectifying that soon, since I'm sure all my readers are breathlessly waiting to hear how a couple of New Yawkers felt about Texas hospitality...well, I'm breathlessly waiting to write it up, before I stop caring. Not really, but the exact day after they left, our '93 Saturn kinda crapped out, and life suddenly got very interesting and much more difficult.
The Saturn is working again, we have a new (to us) automobile, which I'll be discussing in detail very soon (it's the nicest car of which I've been in the ownership group to date).
For my mom: I really appreciate what you had to say about the freeways in southern California on the comment screen a while back, and despite your apology about not having any real information, I felt like you gave exactly the insight for which I was fishing.
For my dad: I have, in fact, heard that particular style of mustache/soul-patch called the "Zappa", and used it a few times myself on that day when I wore it, and even had believed that I'd called it a "Zappa" on my mustache post, only to read that I hadn't after reading your comment about it. I believe that Frank's partial gypsy background could account for the thickness and darkness of the combo-'stache-soul-patch, which ultimately would lead to it's success, if you will, of that rather porn-star-like facial hair arrangement. For a comparison of some kind, check out on YouTube "Start Wearing Purple" by Gogol Bordello...the lead singer of the band Gogol Bordello is part gypsy and resembles FZ...maybe he just reminds me of Frank. It's a funky little song, though.
Also: my apologies to my mother's sense of baseball tradition in our household, but I've been rooting for the Giants to win it all. I realized: while she won't/can't root for them (something I understand having rooted hard for St. Louis and Colorado in '04 and '07 respectively), I enjoy the city of San Francisco, and think that funky zone should get to celebrate...I also find myself not hating the 'niners as much anymore--how blasphemous is that?
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