Some Books from the Trip

As things get hectic with everything, I wanted to mention a few books I either were given, picked up, or were refocused upon during our northern excursion of (check notes) only a few weeks ago.

Firstly was a handover from Norm:

I read over the first page or so and got very excited to check it out. Norm and I joked about the current discourse surrounding Murakami and the women in his stories, and the back cover synopsis looks like it wouldn't do much to, or even attempt to, stifle that conversation, but...if Murakami is up to his usual tricks otherwise, that seems to paper over some of the complaints.

At the Cabin itself were a few copies of Cliff's Notes, the high school aid that helps students try to warp their head's around various works of literature. One was for Gatsby. I thumbed through it, and was intrigued by the four page summary of Fitzgerald's life. There was plenty of information I'd never known. I didn't bother with the summary, but thought about finding an old copy ad checking it out, to see if all the fuss is warranted.

Another edition of Cliff's Notes was for Wuthering Heights. Again I read the author bio, but was struck by something in the intro: on occasion Wuthering Heights has been considered ne of the greatest works in English.

Say WHAT? I mentioned that to Corrie, and said, "Yeah, I think I remember hearing that in high school somewhere."

I made sure to dust off my copy once I got home:

As a birthday gift one year my Uncle Mark got me a copies of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, written by Charlotte and Emily Bronte, with matchy-matchy dust covers. I thought they were cooler without the covers, so I removed them, and they're long gone, lost to time. I'm looking forward to getting into it.

On the walk down Solano Ave in Berkeley with Sam we visited Pegasus Books, a wonderful independent bookstore, and like usual, I found something to buy:

My only other copy was on my Kindle, but I could never really get into it, and now that my daughter buys books against my will on it, I've had to shelve it up real high. I've wanted the physical copy for a while, and not I'm getting deep into it, starting over from the beginning. It's SO good.

Cass joined Sam and I inside the bookstore and settled on the following Lego Yoda+book combo:

I thought, eh, whatever, when I agreed to get it for him. But goddamn if it isn't one of the cooler, most basic and yet deep collection of Star Wars information out there.

Okay, I'm sure there is plenty of Star Wars detritus floating in the ether. But this little Galaxy Atlas explains the orientations of the planets named in Episodes I through IX, Rogue One, Solo, and the Mandalorian, has inside jokes for most, and shows Lego examples of nearly every character throughout all 11 films and 2 seasons of the Mandalorian. It's shockingly thorough.

Sometimes you never know. But, as a rule: Always by something from independent bookstores.

Berkeley Hills for a Night

We made it out of the hot and smoky for the HOT valley and eventually to the chill Bay Area. Sam and Aurrie live in Berkeley with some friends (who's uncle's family owns the house). It was nice, and we all agreed that none of us could ever afford the place:

It was designed by an architect of some note that Corrie had heard of, but we can't remember now. It's also more or less falling apart, as no one is quite motivated to foot the bill to fix it up. But the view from the front door...are you kidding me:

That's San Francisco just across the bay visible whenever it's clear enough. 

They also live very close to two of the cool hiking rocks in the Berkeley Hills, Indian Rock and Contra Costa Rock. We wakied them both and hiked them both before leaving for San Jose.

I came out of the house early in AM to get something from our car and noticed someone crossing the street jogging. It looked like she appeared from nowhere and then kept going into a driveway. I walked down the street two houses away to see a paved footpath heading up to Indian Rock and down all the way to Solano Ave, the main drag on this side of Berkeley. It was amazing.

Footpath down to Solano Ave

We said farewell to our friends and went on down the road to San Jose to other friends, Donny and Anna, and had some barbecue beef ribs. As always, time with our people is so much fun and helps nourish us as we try to navigate new variants and the like.

Summer is Fire Season

Word came down that the small community of cabins known as Mill Creek has been given the evacuation order. The Fire, formerly known as the Dixie fire, is not exactly bearing down on the wooded collection of summer homes.

It is close enough, though, that due to the fact that there are exactly two exit roads with size constraints means NOW is the time to go, when the going's mellow. One direction down the Only Road (CA Rt 172) leads to CA 36. East on 36 goes to Chester, and has been closed for a bit. West on 36 heads back to Red Bluff, the valley, and I-5, but passes over Morgan Summit. The fire is at the base of Morgan mountain, and it the situation gets squirrely and erratic, it may force the closure of that pass, meaning 36 westbound from our Only Road will also be closed, making that direction down 172 untenable.

The other direction down 172 heads west to Mineral, and meets up 36 on the other side of Morgan Summit. This sounds better than the first scenario. The only problem is that this road is a constant back and forth of archetypical "mountain road" and is at best a lane and a half wide, with a few hundred foot drop on the downslope side to the eponymous Mill Creek. This view is calmly blocked by dense forest, so drivers never really realize it.

If the Morgan Summit pass gets closed, that leaves only the trek over the Mineral Summit, mentioned above, on a tiny lane while fire engines are oncoming traffic.

I mention all of this because this is where we are. This is the future, and that future is now. Back in 1990 we visited Yellowstone Park, and the ravages of the fire of 1988 were still very apparent. Not too much was charred and black and barren, and frankly much was green cover growth. But that was just it: green cover growth, grasses and mosses. Some stick like trees in the burned areas.

Thirty years later, in 2018, the town of Paradise was almost completely consumed by the Camp fire. A major calamity, for sure, but three years after that and the town of Greenwood has succumbed to the same fate. The Dixie fire still rages. Nearly 200 million Americans are at risk of extreme heat this weekend alone. This is what we'll be living with for, er, uh, ever? Forever? Yeah, yeah, that's it.

Anyway...

We had some great times, trying to get out of the cabin and explore in the few hours when the air quality wasn't dangerous.

That first Thursday we headed out in a lightly smoky morning and hiked through the forest for a bit like my brother and I used to do:

The glens were hazy, and we realized later that we probably shouldn't have been out.

Friday was the bad day, with the smoke keeping us inside most of the day. Just look at this sadly familiar eerie orange glow:

And the morning sky looked like sunset on Endor:

We headed back to Sacrament to see Norm and Holly and their kids, Dan and Lupita, my mom and Richard---all the peeps. It was very cool. We returned on Monday evening to the Cabin, and the next day was met with drizzle in the morning:

Later on we headed down to the creek, eh, Mill Creek (itself), and felt like having swim shoes and trunks would have been good:

My mom showed up and spent a few days with her and her fella, Richard. Some days were okay, some days were less so. We tried to make the most of it.

We never went to the Park, and by that I mean Lassen Volcanic National Park, and that was because it didn't make sense. It was just never nice enough air to do the hikes we're still trying for.

We did head to the general area where Ishi, possibly the last indigenous American undiscovered by white society, lived until he was, eh, discovered by white society in the early 1900s. It was surprisingly close. We drove for a minute to the basic entrance, and then followed the dirt road for what felt like a half an hour.

There were cool meadows:

And mini-ravines that barely look like anything here:

As we were finishing up, Corrie and Cass went off down a deer path. The plan was to follow the deer path down to the creek and then head up the creek back to where the main erstwhile logging road met it, while Camille and I would walk the logging road back to the rendezvous point.

After sitting with the toddler tied to my chest for a half an hour, I could hear voices off in the distance, and after some back and forth hollering, we were able to put eyes on each other. I ended up getting a picture of them coming in out of the cut, with a deer blind up in a tree:

Cuddling afterwards

Cass makes a friend

Eventually we left and headed for Berkeley, to stay with friends Sam and Aurrie and their roommates in a fancy Berkeley Hills house.

No trip to the Cabin ever feels like enough time, but this trip was stressful and full of anxiety.

And now we wait. And hope. Hope that the fire passes us by.

Maybe I should amend that statement: "Hope that this fire passes us by."

But there will be a next one. The future is now, and this is reality.
 

Summer is Fire Season: Intro

Our trip to the far northern reaches of the state of California has ended, with us arriving home around 1 am Saturday night/Sunday morning. I had been pushing for the long drive down US Hwy 101, starting the day in the Berkeley Hills, stopping by for an afternoon BBQ with old friends in San Jose, and making the trek back to the Southland.

Corrie had been thinking that saying somewhere close to SLO and then having a Sunday brunch with our SLO peeps sounded great. I agreed. But the idea of a $150+ motel room where my two kids were still going to sleep for shit, and then the midday drive on a Sunday back to the LA area on 101 (which is stop and go from Santa Barbara to the mountain up to Thousand Oaks, a distance of about 50 miles) convinced her of my crazy, let's-drive-the-entire-day-and-get-home-at-1-am plan.

In all my years of going to the Cabin, this year and last were the first two summers where wildfire was a serious topic of both conversation and concern. My mother's been visiting the same spot for over fifty years, and she's said the same thing.

So, whenever I can get over t this thing (my laptop), I plan on posting some stuff. Our trip was bizarre: circumstances pushed our initial departure date back nearly two weeks; we made the drive from Long Beach to Mill Creek in a single drive, which is unusual (especially with kids five and under); we left after two days to return to Sacramento for the weekend, and returned to the Cabin for nearly a week with my mom; after leaving for good, we went through the Bay Area (not unusual), but stayed in Berkeley, and then the long push home.

One day at the Cabin we were stuck inside because of smoke:

That picture was taken at 10:23 am. Too long outside and your eyes burned. This was from the Dixie fire as it raged through a relatively nearby mountain crevice, going from 60k acres when we arrived to 220 acres when we finally left for good ten days later. At least that particle mountain side wasn't populated.

New normals for everyone in the region, for certain.

Not everyday was this bad, as we got some wet weather as well. I'd like to get these posts up quick, what with my dad visiting this week and work getting started in earnest next week.

Also get to mention a few books I'll be attending to from this trip. Always makes me smile...

July Heatwaves

So, I hear that the western United States is again on fire, and this time I only mean metaphorically, as summer highs range in triple digits all over the place out here.

Restaurants in Washington state and Oregon have needed to shutter because they can't keep the kitchens cool enough to be safe for the cooks. That information I found interesting, because in my time in the kitchens the temperature on a busy line routinely sits between 130 and 140 degrees.

I mentioned above that "I hear" about the heatwave because I'm lucky enough to live where we live. We did have a few hot days recently, but it never got above 85. The humidity was brutal, and it felt like Manilla or Hanoi outside, but the scorching days that we can get, we haven't been getting right here. 

On NPR in the morning when I take Camille to daycare (so Cass and I can attack the day as two biking blue-eyed weirdos), they mention that "today's going to be another scorcher" and then rattle off the temps that many local locales will be hitting: "118 in Palmdale, 114 in Riverside, 107 at LAX, at the coasts it should be a bit cooler, in the mid 70s." 

People are dying in this heatwave, but our days have been...oddly pleasant? The last few So. East Asian days have been less than ideal, but I've too much other shit going on to have too much survivors guilt.

We leave for the Cabin after some procedural stuff this week, and while the trip up the valley towards Dan's and Sacramento leads us right into the heat, it will bring us to a cooler spot, Mill Creek. Thanks elevation!

On a bike ride with the fam the other day, I stopped and snapped a cropped picture of the remnants of the last piece of natural beach/estuary that exists in the South Bay/Long Beach area:

Surrounded by city and ports, this tiny piece of wetlands was what the majority of the waterfront looked like around us, and now...?

Anyway...

I had a weird idea of how to explain the horrors of what happened during the siege of Chateau Gaillard, when the townsfolk were expelled and then not taken in by King Phillip of France, but I'll need to toy with it a little to see if it has any traction. (Just gotta love Curiosity Stream!)

Birthdays and Summertime

When I started this blog "caliboyinbrooklyn" meant a very specific thing. Living in New York City, sporadically employed, and under the table at that, I had "conversations with the ether." Still smoking cigarettes and with a healthy drinking hobby, I roamed around looking for the seedy underside of the Ultimate Urban.

Now, over a dozen years later, two major moves later, a career change or two along the way, and now two kids later, I'm spending my summer trying to survive the time off with my five year old.

Up until yesterday, that line was just a joke about two dudes---one a guy who's life experiences push him to imagine revolution type of social change, and the other a guy who's entire life experiences have led him to the same thing, but he's only five years old. He's a copy of me, but fully formed.

But Saturday, at the birthday party of one of my son's friends, saw us, as a four-top family, get bashed by the falling trunk-sized branch of a carob tree.

This is from a while after, once the paramedics and police arrived. You like to think of yourself as moving like the Flash, being able to dodge falling branches and save your family.

When in reality, your brain can't get your legs to move quick enough and soon you'll be brained and horizontal, scrambling to see if your wife and kids are bloodied.

A lady and her daughter were pinned under the bulk of one side of the branch, and they were rushed off to the hospital. 

Here's a link to an article on the subject.

We're all mostly okay.

But the summer trawls along...

Turn's Out: Movie's Too Long

A colleague of mine has called this era a Golden Age of Prestige Television, as he bragged about not exactly hating being sent to sit at home for an entire year-plus. The evidence may be there. I've heard that since film studios have shifted away from grown-up mid-tier budgeted fare into the factory-for-tent-pole superhero fare, the filmmakers being left out have found home on television.

The foundation for this current era would be the quartet of prestige television dramas: The Sopranos, The Wire, Breaking Bad and Mad Men. 

I'm uniformed about much of what my colleague was talking about. I have taken the time to watch a few things that were recommended to me, some of which I couldn't get enough of (Chernobyl) and some I couldn't finish (Tiger King).

Today, really, what I wanted to do was to say a few things about genre, about ladies that are the unquestioned stars of their programs, and talk about certain realities that are either implied by specific shows, or how those shows imply certain realities.

I named this whole endeavor after an idea the producers of some of these projects had: their idea for a movie turned out to be unwieldy, so they decided to go the way of prestige miniseries.

I'm pretty much doing this in the order Corrie and I watched them, starting with the Kaley Cuoco-produced and starring vehicle, The Flight Attendant:

^^Hey, it's that chick from the Nerd Sitcom!^^

I thought I'd start with mentioning from where these starlets are recognizable. AND, I generally call The Big Bang Theory the "Nerd Sitcom," because every character is a mostly painful stereotype and is written very specifically for guys like me: loads of scientific and mathematical references (yay) but lacking the depth of The Simpsons (boo). It's a strange juxtaposition. 

Anyway, the show was on for quite the run, something that makes the future generations of its stars all rather relaxed. Also, it allows them to be choosy when it comes to how they spend their time and artistic capital.

From the episodes I saw of the Nerd Sitcom, I thought that Kaley Cuoco, the hot girls surrounded by the eponymous nerds, wasn't miscast as much as not used enough, or, rather, she seemed more talented than was maybe needed for such material.

Now, afforded the time to run her own production company, and having said company purchase the rights to the book of the same name, she gave herself the opportunity.

Now...the show...not to spoil anything, but Kaley Cuoco's character, Cassie, is a flight attendant with a vodka-chugging problem, who wakes up in Bangkok next to the corpse of one of her first class fliers. She finds herself in the middle of a spiral of intrigue and mistaken identity, or mistaken actions and motives, and, despite herself and the afore-mentioned vodka-chugging issue, she unravels the mystery. There are shades of Hitchcock here.

What I think I liked most about it is that it portrays a highly functioning drunk actually having some success, instead of the judgey, hand-wringing that can accompany such a plot device. It's not on the level of Hunter Thompson, and her childhood certainly comes into the purview of trying to solve the mystery, but...dang, don't we all know a vodka-swilling girl?

Haven't we all marveled at their ability to hold off the obvious train-wreck for way longer than was to be expected? I like that this character was given the starring role in a deep and violent mystery that they should have no business solving, and yet solve it they do. Shades of Jeff Lebowski here.

Also based on a book:

^^Hey, it's that chick from...er...The Witch!^^

Based on Walter Tevis's book of the same name, this miniseries is excellent. It's got the makings of a sports drama, while being hornier than a sports movie starring men would ever be.

It follows the book pretty well, and the book followed the writer's journey through an orphanage and into Louisville, Kentucky proper, substituting the gender and game (chess instead of pool). Walter Tevis wrote The Hustler and its sequel, The Color of Money, about his own experiences in Louisville pool halls.

In this series Beth Harmon is a lady chess player who turns out to be world class, and who also struggles with substance abuse and dependence. 

If tense sports dramas are your jam, or watching someone unashamedly excellent at something kick ass all over, and then try to self-sabotage, and then redeem themselves spectacularly, this will be your jam.

The next show we just finished, and is, maybe surprisingly, not based on a book: 

^^Hey, it's that lady from Titanic!^^

Where The Wire is about an idea, the failure of institutions in American cities---and specifically in Baltimore---in the first few years after the turn of the millennium, Mare of Easttown is also a show about an idea, only a different one.

If we look at America in a 'Big City,' The Wire's five season is our rubric. 

If we want to see America in a 'Small Town' in the second decade after the turn of the millennium, Mare of Easttown is it.

This show is about what happens in Small Towns across America: there's fuck-all to do, so crime and drug abuse is up. There's death and---oddly juxtaposed---babies, all around. Almost all characters in their mid forties are grandparents and almost all know someone who'd either died of overdose or in the midst of an opioid habit.

This is what the opioid epidemic looks like, but also, this is what Small Town looks like: dwindling opportunities and too much time. I'm hoping that not every town is as wracked by tragedy as this one.

Sure, there's a murder that's occurred and the corpse is shown to us viewers at the end of the first episode. But there is already so much tragedy that's unpacked in the preceding fifty-eight minutes that we can only marvel at what these characters are dealing with.

"It's like real life," Corrie kept saying as each scenario deepened and shades of stories I've heard while visiting Oklahoma City kept in my brain. Imagine dealing with: (1) fighting cancer, trying to raise a grandson, staying hopeful that a daughter missing for a year whose opioid dependence pushed her to prostitution will be found alive; or (2) the death by suicide of a father, the death by suicide of a son, the dissolution of a marriage, the custody battle for a grandson with the former-junkie ex of the dead son, while both the dead son and the grandson share specific ticks that could be Tourette's; or (3) a drug dependent sibling that regularly robs you, but they also live with you because where else can they go, until they fall out permanently. 

Among those three scenarios are Mare herself, but what you won't find there is probably the most tragic scenario of the entire show. But I won't spoil it.

Maybe I spoiled the entire show, seeing as how it's one of the saddest and realest shows around. Everyone's connected and everyone's been touched by tragedy. 

Small Town America in 2020, the show is saying. It's an alternate 2020 America, let's say. I do like that the healthiest relationship choices are made by the gay daughter.

There certainly are miscues that Corrie and I found, or felt like: "That character would never act like that in that circumstance." But overall, the message is effectively delivered.

**

This isn't exactly what I wanted  to write about these, but I felt they had some connections, even if I never mentioned them. I think I may have liked The Queen's Gambit most, but Flight Attendant was better than I was expecting. Mare of Easttown, having just finished it, is much closer to the forefront of my imagination, and seems interested in being connected in some way to the idea that it's trying to do something similar to The Wire, that is, it feels like it's trying to be real and say something about a non-pandemic world. It's more ambitious, maybe, in the scope of the tragedy.

Mining the margins for tragedy in any society is easy work, and America is certainly not immune. I guess the real question is: how deep into the mainstream does this tragic margin run?

So...

• Remember that drunk chick who made you shiver while she pounded vodka? Turns out she can get shit done! Sometimes!
• Don't you like watching a badass figure out they are a badass and then go be badass? Maybe have a little hiccup amidst the badassery?
• Mysteries and tragedy: Small Town America today...