Answer: Neither, as far as I can tell, but that was my first question when I saw it.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Quick Watering Hole Note
Question: Is this a Pynchon bar or a lesbian bar?
Answer: Neither, as far as I can tell, but that was my first question when I saw it.
Answer: Neither, as far as I can tell, but that was my first question when I saw it.
Ai Wei-wei Update
Ai Wei-wei has been released, looking thinner and tired, as he was reunited with his family and friends.
One of the conditions of his release, he said in a statement, was that he was not allowed to discuss in any detail the conditions of his imprisonment. He said that at a podium. Last time I checked this was the twenty-first century, and not some Tsarist Russia where bad vibes get you sent to Siberia.
I guess that shows you the power of the Chinese state.
One of the conditions of his release, he said in a statement, was that he was not allowed to discuss in any detail the conditions of his imprisonment. He said that at a podium. Last time I checked this was the twenty-first century, and not some Tsarist Russia where bad vibes get you sent to Siberia.
I guess that shows you the power of the Chinese state.
Catholics and their Relics
After getting my clothes into the washer and while I waited to hear the sound that told me it was time to put in the detergent and bleach, I stood at the machine doing a preliminary perusal of our local newspaper, the Long Beach Press Telegram. An article on the front page had a title like "800 Year Old Relic Stolen from Church".
After soaping and bleaching my wash, I sat to wait for the wash cycle to end and read the article. It said that St. Anthony's Catholic church had on display an 800 year old relic, that it was to be on display for all five of the Sunday masses, and that it had disappeared in between them. The article had a sketch of a mysterious woman who was a person of interest in the case, as she had been aggressive in trying to touch the relic, or the relic's housing as it were, and she had attended all of the masses.
What is this "relic" you might ask, like I did, since I have a basic understanding of what a Catholic relic is, but had no idea how a church in Long Beach could get one. Relics tend to be bones of saints, and this relic is no different. The St. Anthony's relic here at St. Anthony's church is a finger bone from the guy, Saint Anthony himself, encased in a glass vial, surrounded by a gold housing apparatus that looks like a sun on a pike. The vial is so small compared to everything else surrounding it you'd never know what the hell it is.
The Vatican sent it out to the St. Anthony's here in 1902 when the parish opened, so that answered my other question. The last sentence in the article mentioned the location of the church, 6th and Olive.
I shook my head and had to read it again. This place is very close to us, and both Corrie and I have parked in its vicinity many times, her in the evening, and me late at night.
One thing I've noticed in my distanced contact with, or readings and dealings of things Catholic, is it's always a woman's fault.
That being said, it turned out that when police found the woman's apartment nearby, she had an 800 year old golden sun on a pike with a finger bone in the middle sitting on her coffee table and visible from the closed front door. She had no explanation for how or why it got there. No joke.
It was returned safely.
St. Anthony is patron saint of lost and missing objects. Is irony dead or is it just me?
One last thing to take from this (once I stopped laughing) is that the woman was charged with commercial larceny among other things. I never really thought of it like that, that robbing a church is the same as robbing a moneymaking venture, but hey, many things can affect one's perspective.
After soaping and bleaching my wash, I sat to wait for the wash cycle to end and read the article. It said that St. Anthony's Catholic church had on display an 800 year old relic, that it was to be on display for all five of the Sunday masses, and that it had disappeared in between them. The article had a sketch of a mysterious woman who was a person of interest in the case, as she had been aggressive in trying to touch the relic, or the relic's housing as it were, and she had attended all of the masses.
What is this "relic" you might ask, like I did, since I have a basic understanding of what a Catholic relic is, but had no idea how a church in Long Beach could get one. Relics tend to be bones of saints, and this relic is no different. The St. Anthony's relic here at St. Anthony's church is a finger bone from the guy, Saint Anthony himself, encased in a glass vial, surrounded by a gold housing apparatus that looks like a sun on a pike. The vial is so small compared to everything else surrounding it you'd never know what the hell it is.
The Vatican sent it out to the St. Anthony's here in 1902 when the parish opened, so that answered my other question. The last sentence in the article mentioned the location of the church, 6th and Olive.
I shook my head and had to read it again. This place is very close to us, and both Corrie and I have parked in its vicinity many times, her in the evening, and me late at night.
One thing I've noticed in my distanced contact with, or readings and dealings of things Catholic, is it's always a woman's fault.
That being said, it turned out that when police found the woman's apartment nearby, she had an 800 year old golden sun on a pike with a finger bone in the middle sitting on her coffee table and visible from the closed front door. She had no explanation for how or why it got there. No joke.
It was returned safely.
St. Anthony is patron saint of lost and missing objects. Is irony dead or is it just me?
One last thing to take from this (once I stopped laughing) is that the woman was charged with commercial larceny among other things. I never really thought of it like that, that robbing a church is the same as robbing a moneymaking venture, but hey, many things can affect one's perspective.
Professional Volleyball Notes
One of the free channels we get here in the LA area is Universal Sports, apparently an NBC entity that shows various sports that otherwise never get shown on television: cycling, track and field, rowing, obscure water sports, rugby, etc.
The other day I checked it out to see what it would be, and it was international volleyball.
I'm not sure who's heard or not, but the AVP, Association of Volleyball Proffesionals, has dissolved and is no more. This is the organization that used to represent the tours, the prize money givers, the television rights, and the general marketing for professional volleyball players. It's been replaced by a new organization, the NVL (National Volleyball League). We fans of volleyball hope it remains financially viable.
But, the AVP and now the NVL, most matches on television, all marquee events, and our national volleyball identity (Misty May and Kerri Walsh) are all beach volleyball entities.
I would never complain about a sport and television product that has scantily clad young women getting sweaty and covered in sand hitting the crap out of a ball. Beach volleyball is exciting, with the two-on-two game, but it has a rather halting pace. The back and forth and lack of rallies sets the pace closer to NFL than to soccer. Bikinis generally make up for that.
What I got to see the other day was the volleyball both Corrie and I lettered in in high school; the six-on-six hardcourt variety. That shit was exciting. Excuse the profanity, but I'm vehemently in favor of showing more 6-on-6 volleyball on television.
I was watching the men play, and watching twelve sweaty guys on a gym floor is not the same as girls on the sand, but try comparing two-on-two men's beach to six-on-six men's hardcourt? Oh my goodness, it's not even close.
I was watching a middle round match between the American team and the Brazilian team. The Americans squeaked by the Brazilians in Beijing for Olympic gold in 2008, and the Brazilians wanted revenge. They spent the past two years building up their volleyball infrastructure and professional leagues. They beat the Americans in the match, but it was pretty even, with the Yanks just not executing when they needed. The arena where they played was in Brazil, and it was packed. A fifteen thousand plus sellout was partisan and loud. They wanted the Brazilians to avenge their silver medal.
It was said that in Brazil, Serbia, Hungary, and especially Russia, the professional volleyball hardcourt leagues are able to give the volleyball players enough time, since they're making money playing, to mature into their prime. It was said that the prime is early to mid thirties, while in America, since there's no money for players to play competitively for that long, that our good players bloom earlier but never peak.
The lack of a pro league has something to do with that, but really, there's another factor. If you're a person who's 6'6" but have a wingspan (middle finger to middle finger) of 7'1", you play basketball here, not volleyball. Over there it's pretty evenly split between basketball and volleyball.
It was said that Brazil has the best volleyball teams, and some of the best players (some players in Brazil make the equivalent of a million dollars a year playing for a six month season), but Russia had the deepest crop of raw talent, of guys who just kill the ball and think that hitting it hard is the same as playing well.
Back to the excitement on my idiot screen: it was six giants playing against six other giants, in a cramped space that fits on the TV without panning a camera, with just non-stop action. The serves are all jump serves, basically a spike from way out, every pass is nice, the sets are crazy accurate, and every spike is loud and beautiful. Digs happen more often than in beach, but so do kills, which ramps up the pace. Since they did away with the side-out rule (the rule stated you could only score on a serve, and winning a volley that you didn't serve generated no points and just gave you the serve) and changed it to what we call rally scoring (every serve generates a point), the games go by fast.
It's the perfect sport for television. It might even be the best and most exciting sport I've ever watched, which means something if you know my thirst for sporting entertainment. The pace is fast, so it's never boring; the kills are hit as hard as a tennis serve but are louder and usually directed at a person; and the scoring happens on every serve, so the games are over fast.
It's fast paced, action packed, violent, loud, and over quickly. It's perfect or America and American television.
The other day I checked it out to see what it would be, and it was international volleyball.
I'm not sure who's heard or not, but the AVP, Association of Volleyball Proffesionals, has dissolved and is no more. This is the organization that used to represent the tours, the prize money givers, the television rights, and the general marketing for professional volleyball players. It's been replaced by a new organization, the NVL (National Volleyball League). We fans of volleyball hope it remains financially viable.
But, the AVP and now the NVL, most matches on television, all marquee events, and our national volleyball identity (Misty May and Kerri Walsh) are all beach volleyball entities.
I would never complain about a sport and television product that has scantily clad young women getting sweaty and covered in sand hitting the crap out of a ball. Beach volleyball is exciting, with the two-on-two game, but it has a rather halting pace. The back and forth and lack of rallies sets the pace closer to NFL than to soccer. Bikinis generally make up for that.
What I got to see the other day was the volleyball both Corrie and I lettered in in high school; the six-on-six hardcourt variety. That shit was exciting. Excuse the profanity, but I'm vehemently in favor of showing more 6-on-6 volleyball on television.
I was watching the men play, and watching twelve sweaty guys on a gym floor is not the same as girls on the sand, but try comparing two-on-two men's beach to six-on-six men's hardcourt? Oh my goodness, it's not even close.
I was watching a middle round match between the American team and the Brazilian team. The Americans squeaked by the Brazilians in Beijing for Olympic gold in 2008, and the Brazilians wanted revenge. They spent the past two years building up their volleyball infrastructure and professional leagues. They beat the Americans in the match, but it was pretty even, with the Yanks just not executing when they needed. The arena where they played was in Brazil, and it was packed. A fifteen thousand plus sellout was partisan and loud. They wanted the Brazilians to avenge their silver medal.
It was said that in Brazil, Serbia, Hungary, and especially Russia, the professional volleyball hardcourt leagues are able to give the volleyball players enough time, since they're making money playing, to mature into their prime. It was said that the prime is early to mid thirties, while in America, since there's no money for players to play competitively for that long, that our good players bloom earlier but never peak.
The lack of a pro league has something to do with that, but really, there's another factor. If you're a person who's 6'6" but have a wingspan (middle finger to middle finger) of 7'1", you play basketball here, not volleyball. Over there it's pretty evenly split between basketball and volleyball.
It was said that Brazil has the best volleyball teams, and some of the best players (some players in Brazil make the equivalent of a million dollars a year playing for a six month season), but Russia had the deepest crop of raw talent, of guys who just kill the ball and think that hitting it hard is the same as playing well.
Back to the excitement on my idiot screen: it was six giants playing against six other giants, in a cramped space that fits on the TV without panning a camera, with just non-stop action. The serves are all jump serves, basically a spike from way out, every pass is nice, the sets are crazy accurate, and every spike is loud and beautiful. Digs happen more often than in beach, but so do kills, which ramps up the pace. Since they did away with the side-out rule (the rule stated you could only score on a serve, and winning a volley that you didn't serve generated no points and just gave you the serve) and changed it to what we call rally scoring (every serve generates a point), the games go by fast.
It's the perfect sport for television. It might even be the best and most exciting sport I've ever watched, which means something if you know my thirst for sporting entertainment. The pace is fast, so it's never boring; the kills are hit as hard as a tennis serve but are louder and usually directed at a person; and the scoring happens on every serve, so the games are over fast.
It's fast paced, action packed, violent, loud, and over quickly. It's perfect or America and American television.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Happy Anniversary
Last year I wrote a "Happy Summer Solstice" post and mentioned my and Corrie's anniversary, but this time I thought I'd switch that up a bit. So, it is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, and here in Long Beach the marine should burn off soon (almost surprised it hasn't yet).
Also, three years ago, in 2008, Corrie and I uttered vows in Mexico and got hitched. Two years ago, in 2009, we were living in Brooklyn, but happened to be visiting Chicago during a trip to a wedding reception in Wisconsin. Last year we were living in Austin and went to dinner at a "fancy" restaurant and sat next to a couple who were also celebrating their anniversary, but I remember theirs at something like forty years.
Love you baby!
(Unable at the moment to do sappy. Probably not the worst thing ever.)
(I'll let this picture be my thousand sappy words.)
Also, three years ago, in 2008, Corrie and I uttered vows in Mexico and got hitched. Two years ago, in 2009, we were living in Brooklyn, but happened to be visiting Chicago during a trip to a wedding reception in Wisconsin. Last year we were living in Austin and went to dinner at a "fancy" restaurant and sat next to a couple who were also celebrating their anniversary, but I remember theirs at something like forty years.
Love you baby!
(Unable at the moment to do sappy. Probably not the worst thing ever.)
(I'll let this picture be my thousand sappy words.)
Monday, June 20, 2011
Late Night with a Local
Our last night in Avalon had us dressed up and going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. I even utilized our room's iron and ironed my shirt and pants. Corrie wore a dress, and out we went, feeling completely overdressed for what amounted to a stroll through Pismo Beach. After eating, we returned to the hotel so Corrie could change into a more comfortable-but still nice outfit, and we hit a local watering hole for cocktails.
We did our best to find the places where we totally stood out and everybody else knew each other, you know, the local's hangouts. We like to see how life on the island (or anyplace, really) churns.
We ended up meeting a young man roughly our age who was visiting his younger brother for his high school commencement (they had different fathers). The young former local said that he grew up split between Florida and Catalina, knows just about everyone on the island, and lives currently in Huntington Beach.
After we started talking, he started buying all the rounds, and the night went on. He eventually offered to give Corrie and I a late night tour on his family's golf-cart. We enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity. In hindsight, taking a tour on a golf-cart with a local who kept referring to himself as "someone on the island" after last call might not have been the best idea, but that's how we roll, and that's how you get to experience the realities of people's limited worlds.
I'm not trying to say that "people's limited worlds" is a bad thing, because
nearly every single person on earth has a limited world. Mine is Long Beach, the 405, and Costa Mesa. Corrie, with her new job close to mine, is pretty much the same.
In any case, this gentleman took us around to spots and overlooks we wouldn't have been able to get to ourselves, and even offered to take us to the real interior, where most full-time residents of Catalina can't even get to (see, he was somebody on the island). We would have loved to have taken advantage of that, but our ferry was returning the next day, and a long uninterrupted stretch of work got in the way.
He dropped us off at the St. Lauren around 4, and we caught some shut-eye before having to check out at 11. I realized that, sadly, those types of late night adventures take a certain toll on my old body. Since our ferry didn't leave until nearly four, and our hotel wouldn't hold onto our stuff, and even if they would hold onto it we didn't really feel like doing much, we ended up st sleeping the hours away on the beach.
My last view before I rolled over and really got some sleep is shown below. It was cloudy on our last day, but beautiful our other days.
Can you see me, with my frizzy blond locks, slumped in a diner's booth slowly eating biscuits and gravy, propped by my bag, wearing sunglasses? Definitely nap time ensued.
We did our best to find the places where we totally stood out and everybody else knew each other, you know, the local's hangouts. We like to see how life on the island (or anyplace, really) churns.
We ended up meeting a young man roughly our age who was visiting his younger brother for his high school commencement (they had different fathers). The young former local said that he grew up split between Florida and Catalina, knows just about everyone on the island, and lives currently in Huntington Beach.
After we started talking, he started buying all the rounds, and the night went on. He eventually offered to give Corrie and I a late night tour on his family's golf-cart. We enthusiastically jumped at the opportunity. In hindsight, taking a tour on a golf-cart with a local who kept referring to himself as "someone on the island" after last call might not have been the best idea, but that's how we roll, and that's how you get to experience the realities of people's limited worlds.
I'm not trying to say that "people's limited worlds" is a bad thing, because
nearly every single person on earth has a limited world. Mine is Long Beach, the 405, and Costa Mesa. Corrie, with her new job close to mine, is pretty much the same.
In any case, this gentleman took us around to spots and overlooks we wouldn't have been able to get to ourselves, and even offered to take us to the real interior, where most full-time residents of Catalina can't even get to (see, he was somebody on the island). We would have loved to have taken advantage of that, but our ferry was returning the next day, and a long uninterrupted stretch of work got in the way.
He dropped us off at the St. Lauren around 4, and we caught some shut-eye before having to check out at 11. I realized that, sadly, those types of late night adventures take a certain toll on my old body. Since our ferry didn't leave until nearly four, and our hotel wouldn't hold onto our stuff, and even if they would hold onto it we didn't really feel like doing much, we ended up st sleeping the hours away on the beach.
My last view before I rolled over and really got some sleep is shown below. It was cloudy on our last day, but beautiful our other days.
Can you see me, with my frizzy blond locks, slumped in a diner's booth slowly eating biscuits and gravy, propped by my bag, wearing sunglasses? Definitely nap time ensued.
Interesting Photographic Compositions from Avalon
These are some of my favorite pictures from our trip. This first one is a picture of a locally famous house, visible upon arrival by boat, and has made it onto postcards and decorative tiles.
I like this picture because of the kids playing on the platform in the swimming area in the foreground with a moneyed neighborhood straight up the hill looming over the scene.
I don't know why, but I like this Two Palms picture.
This is more of an action capture: in the direct middle of the picture is a person on a zip-line ride. The Eco Zip-line ride was something we looked into doing, but was all sold out during our short stay.
I like this picture because of the kids playing on the platform in the swimming area in the foreground with a moneyed neighborhood straight up the hill looming over the scene.
I don't know why, but I like this Two Palms picture.
This is more of an action capture: in the direct middle of the picture is a person on a zip-line ride. The Eco Zip-line ride was something we looked into doing, but was all sold out during our short stay.
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