On Hiatus

Taking a break while I figure a few things out. In the meantime, the How Stuff Works website is always interesting.

An Open Letter to My Nephew

Dear Hunter,

Hi, it’s me. Uncle Mike. I don’t believe I’ve ever written a letter to you before. In fact, I haven’t written a real letter (other than, say, email missives) to anyone in a long, long time. Then again, one could argue that an open letter posted on a blog doesn’t constitute a “real letter” either, because it’s not handwritten, tucked into a little stamped envelope, and sent via snail mail. But I choose to blithely dismiss that argument by pointing to the myriad open letters I see regularly published in newspapers and magazines. I consider those to be real letters. Q.E.D.

But enough with the preliminaries. I’m writing to you Hunter because I want you to know that I love you. And the reason I’m saying that is because, though I’ve always felt big love for my one and only nephew, I’ve done a pretty lousy job over the past few years of actually demonstrating those feelings. In other words, I think I’ve been a pretty crummy uncle. I just haven’t been there for so many, many of your basic growing up boyhood things-and-stuff. Missed baseball games, soccer matches, fencing matches. Chess tournaments. Drum corps stuff, even - how great is that? And I missed almost all of it. Not to mention just hanging out and shooting the breeze, though maybe your mom and dad were secretly relieved that their son’s psyche wasn’t being warped (I prefer the term ‘wisely counseled’) by pronouncements from The World According to Uncle Mike. The reason I haven’t been there for you? Probably just my own selfishness; being wrapped up in my own life, concentrating on my own concerns and those of your Aunt Kim. I’ve always been kind of a curmudgeonly loner, but that doesn’t excuse me from failing to take the time to occasionally hang out with those I love the most. (Not that anyone really wants to hang out with a curmudeonly loner, but we'll ignore that observation for now).

You know about the cancer of course. That’s a part of this. While I fully expect to recover and get back to my “normal” life, there’s no doubt my thought processes have gone through some shifts. As the poet said, once you’ve looked down into the abyss, and were able to step safely back from the precipice, you start to see things a lot clearer. Consider this letter the result of a fleeting moment of clarity.

So then, I guess what I’m saying here is, I plan on being a better uncle. It may take a little time, but no rush, everything will work out in its own way, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, keep being a great guy, and I’ll talk to you later.

With Love and Affection,

Uncle Mike

Carcinomus of Borg Speaks

If someone told me that I'd be less than happy when my hair started falling out, I'd look at them and say, "Yeah, probably. So?" Imagine my surprise when, as I washed my hair in the sink a couple of weeks ago, large clumps pulled freely from my head, fell into the drain, and a profound sense of depression wound tightly around my skull. Losing hair is one thing, and I’m definitely not the most vain guy in the room, but this felt akin to, say, picking at a tiny scab on your hand and then staring in horror as a couple of your fingers plop off and fall to the floor. But it’s OK! This feeling persisted for only a few days, and has now blissfully dissipated. Kim shaved my head, though I continue to have absolutely no reason to be vain, because rather than looking like a virile Yul Brynner, I more closely resemble the AIDS-devastated Tom Hanks character in the movie Philadelphia. Oh well.

As for the Borg allusion, what with the glabrous pate, a polyethylene tube plumbed directly into my stomach, and a garlic-stuffed-olive sized catheter port implanted subcutaneously into my upper right chest area, I feel stylishly cybernetic, and a bit closer to assimilation. But I am resisting. Speaking of stylish, Barb helped me pick out a couple of choice motoring caps. Splendid indeed.

ML told me of a guy she knows going through a similar plight. I'm a few weeks behind him treatment wise. For a look into the future of my own treatment, visit Steve Swenson's blog here.

Conan The Barbarian and Sobatai Discuss Adult Nutritional Supplements

One in a Series of Food and Restaurant Reviews by Conan the Barbarian and Sobatai: Thief & Archer, as Revealed by Their Chronicler.

Food Comparison: Ensure Plus, and Jevity 1.5 Adult Nutritional Supplements

Sobatai: Remind me, Conan, how much gold is King Osric paying us to wallow through these spleen twisting exercises in the review of food-like substances? Arrrg.

Conan: I’ll begin with a pronouncement: Like the riddle of steel, these so called nutritional substances carry with them their own enigma: why anyone with a pulsing brain in their sensorium would willingly drink Ensure Plus, or Jevity for that matter, without the threat of having their bodies cast into the firey waters. That is the real mystery that lies before us.

Sobatai: Regarding the taste: “Frothy camel excrement” is a phrase that leaps to mind.

Conan: The other mystery of course, is why our vocabularies have become so enlarged as we pontificate upon these ridiculous foodstuffs. It must be the work of Crom!

Sobatai: Hah! Crom? More likely The Four Winds. That is who I pray to, Conan: The Everlasting Sky! Must I remind you that your pitiful god Crom cowers beneath Him?

Conan: Oh? Well, you’re stupid.

Sobatai: No, you’re stupid.

Conan: You’re stupid.

Sobatai: You're stupid.

Comet Holmes

Check out a naked eye comet that's brightened about a million times virtually overnight. More info here.

Citizen Vince by Jess Walter

Many times, when deciding which book I’ll read next, I turn to award winners or runners up voted on by various writer’s guilds or literary societies. I’ll check the web to see who won the latest PEN award (Western U.S. fiction), or Nebula (Science Fiction), or Bram Stoker (Horror), visit the online library catalog, see where it’s sitting on the shelf, and go pick it up after work the following day. (I don’t buy too many books these days). After reading the award winner, or runner up, or honorably mentioned book, I usually go back and read much of the author’s other work, and am usually greatly satisfied.

So that’s how I came to read Citizen Vince in the past couple of days. Loved it. Swam right through it. Winner of the 2006 Edgar Award for best novel (Mystery Writers of America), the book concerns one Vince Camden, an enormously sympathetic main character, who happens to be a fairly small time crook, donut maker, and first time voter. Set in 1980, with the Carter / Reagan presidential election serving as a strangely poignant backdrop, the book’s got hard boiled cops and crooks and mob stuff, moves back and forth from Spokane to New York City, with great descriptions of each, and ends up making me think hard about political choices. Highly recommended.

Blue Whales Lament, "We Can't Take It Anymore!"

Driven suicidal by the torrent of incredibly stupid, banal, and jaw-dropping inanity of what passes for news in California, the largest mammals on the planet have decided to end their lives rather than suffer through another report of celebrity retardation. "It's insane! I can't take one more story about Phil Spector or O.J. Simpson or those crazy, drug-addled, rich white chicks like Lindsay Lohan and Britney showing their beavs or whatever it is they do," moaned Azure Regalus, a once majestic blue whale now listlessly bobbing in the ocean off the California coast, close to death. "Don't they care about real news? Real life?"

"We used to have some hope for humanity. We figured they would finally learn to communicate with us and we'd be able to help them with some of their problems, like this global warming thing, which is an easy fix, really. But they're regressing; losing rather than gaining wisdom. What a waste." Azure Regalus then shuddered pitifully and sank, lifeless, to the sea bottom.

photo by Stephen Osman LAT

Avon Walk For Breast Cancer

We had a great time yesterday, thanks to Connie, who lives on the Avon Walk route, which winds its way 26.2 miles around the streets of Long Beach on Saturday, and another 13 miles on Sunday, and so we set up a table in front of her house, resplendent with water and chocolates and 'sports beans' (perhaps the greatest marketing coup in recent years. Jelly beans as a fitness aid?), and we gave the great gals who were walking some much needed support, and there were a few guys too, but what was great was that the gals had a great sense of humor about a grievous problem, wearing shirts labeled with monikers like "Save Second Base" (it took me a while to figure that one out), "Walkers for Knockers", and "The Rack Pack". We had a blast.

I did feel a little guilty kicking back and drinking a Heineken while handing out cups of water, but what can I say?

You can still contribute to a good cause. You don't need any handy web link. You can figure it out. Just do it.

Star Trek Remastered

Episodes of Star Trek TOS (i.e. The Original Series, for you non-Trekkers) have been remastered with some beautiful new graphics and effects and are being shown on local TV stations. I haven't seen one of these yet, but there's one coming up (The Galileo Seven) on one of my LA stations (and many others, click here to see schedules), and I'm ready to TiVo it! Check it out, ML!

A Gori in Long Beach

Just when you thought the world was heading down a sluiceway filled with scum covered detritus hurtling toward the dark abyss, joyful reminders of hope and sanity sometime crop up that make a person sit up, blink her eyes, and take notice that maybe the Great Scimitar is not hanging over our collective heads after all. For instance, when you see a young person parallel parking into the realm of adulthood with some semblance of control, passion, wonder, and good humor.

Such is the case of one Rebecca Green, daughter of our friends and former neighbors Stephen and Elise, and who is now taking some summertime off from UC Berkeley to live and learn in Delhi, India. She’s started a blog, with lengthy albeit fascinating missives describing her adventures. Please take the time to check it out, and send her some encouraging greetings. Hi Becca! Becca’s Blog is here.

In honor of one of her postings I offer the following:

Animals I’ve seen in the road and / or in my house:

Hummingbird
Squirrel
Moonjelly
Chris Smith
Japanese beetle
Benny, Abby, and Bootsy
Garden spider
Black crowned night heron
Seagull
Stephen Green
Silverfish
Brown moth
Wild green parrot
Assorted dogs and their excretions
My face in the mirror after poker night

Loose Ends

Here are some links to stuff that’s caught my interest in the last couple of weeks:

For various reasons (chief among them: I’m an idiot) I wasn’t able to migrate my Starry Night astronomy software package over to my new pc. So I’m going to try out an open source version which looks to be adequate for my needs: http://www.stellarium.org/

If you are a Star Trek TOS fan, take the time to check out these “new” episodes masterminded by an obviously obsessed fan named James Cawley. Very large size downloads, but using Bit Torrent helps.

New Yorker magazine cartoon caption contest.
Astound yourself with how really unfunny you are.

My father-in-law Philip wondered if we were familiar with Parkour. Actually I see real world examples at work every day at quitting time. Phil, there’s a good example of Parkour craziness in the last James Bond film Casino Royale, which was a pretty good movie incidentally.

And the song "How We Operate" by Gomez is great.

I Promise to Shut Up Soon About Climate Change

I keep coming back to this topic, but one of the reasons I tend to delve deeper into the subject is because my wife, I'm pretty sure, is literally scared to death of the consequences of climate change in our lifetime. Meaning, hey, our house will be flooded due to the rise of ocean levels, and if we had any sense, we'd move inland. Her fears are well founded, judging by the MSM coverage of so called global warming. I remain skeptical of how things will play out.

I refer you to a thoughtful essay by Freeman Dyson, which tends to mirror my feelings on the subject, i.e. there are so many gaps in our knowledge it doesn't make sense to act without gathering more data. I really like his take on the role of heretics, humanists, and naturalists. Check it out HERE.

Racing to the South Pole!

Emboldened by the Russian’s bid to gain sole access to vast quantities of unexploited oil deposits by planting their flag underneath the ice of the North Pole, confident New Zealander scientists and military officials have begun a voyage to Antarctica, in a quest to plant the Kiwi flag on the seabed beneath the South Pole.

“The North Pole is for sissies and Cossacks,” sneered Dr. Clive Ennerton, chief scientist in charge of the project. “Those Russian tog-wearers can naff off!”

When it was pointed out that Antarctica is in fact a continent, and not a vast floating ice floe, and hence has no sea floor on which to plant a flag, Dr. Ennerton became momentarily nonplussed. “What?”

Masters of Science Fiction

Premiering tonight on ABC is the four part anthology series Masters of Science Fiction. Unlike legitimate journalists, who are given preview DVDs of series such as this to review, blogging schlubs like me must resort to using a mental divining rod to separate the wheat from the chaff, and, as demonstrated in the previous phrase, are forced to mix metaphors, further proving that blogdom is full of hacks. But I digress.

Judging by the source material, I have high hopes for the series (see some synopses HERE at the ABC site). Dramatizations of stories by John Kessel, Howard Fast, Robert Heinlein, and Harlan Ellison are in store. Great pedigrees all! Frankly, I most look forward to Ellison’s teleplay, and can’t wait to see it. Tune in.

McSweeney's

You should probably check out McSweeney's. Off beat, odd, damn funny, bizarre, even great writings can be found there. My latest quest is to publish on their so called "scrappy internet arm". I leave you with a short work in progress, which will no doubt leave you thinking, "What a jackhole!", unless you're familiar with some of the McSweeney genre. Or not.


One in a Series of Restaurant Reviews by Conan the Barbarian and Sobatai: Thief & Archer, as Told by Their Chronicler…


Restaurant: Aquilonia #42
Food: Southern Hyrkanian
Ambiance: Dank, though tastefully so

Sobatai: While the lizard appetizers are hot and crunchy, their presentation is pedestrian and ill suited to the tastes of wandering conquerors.

Conan: Thank Crom snakes are not on the menu. That’s a plus. I’m sick of those slithering harbingers of evil.

Illusion

Check out the Astronomy Picture of the Day for a fascinating illusion. (Direct link).

Global Warming Blah Blah Blah

I sent an email to the local coffee house, Polly’s (they happen to roast their own coffee beans onsite, unlike the other inferior neighborhood coffee places): Starbucks (two of them), Peet’s, Coffee, Bean, & Tea Leaf, Café de Roma, and the other myriad places whose names escape me at the moment. I can’t believe there are so many places to get coffee around my house.

Here’s the email I wrote: “Regarding the current 'green' craze: Suggest you offer 5 or 10 cent discounts on coffee for those who bring in their own coffee mugs, instead of using your house paper cups. Dig your coffee; keep it up...”


I’m all for conservation, meaning be responsible and don’t be an idiot.

As far as the big picture goes, (I’m now talking ‘abrupt climate change’) I’m still not sure what actions, if any, need to be taken by humanity as a whole to deal with the entire global warming issue. Increased awareness is good, despite the pretty crappy band lineup at Al Gore’s Live Earth concert thing. I think we should be spending more tax dollars on planetary science to continue to review our options.

Personally, at this point in time, if I were emperor, I would allocate more resources to the education of our (i.e. U.S., wait - OK upon re-reading this, not just U.S. kids, all of ‘em) children than any other program.

I’m all over the map on this blog entry, but it all ties together. Our kids need to be taught real facts, the need to question authority, to understand basic science, to challenge historical ‘consensus’ views, and then kick butt.

As far as emotional development goes, parents better seize the day, else MySpace and YouTube and the next online chapter of Webistan will prevail. Get tough: jack into your kid’s iPhones and be a commanding presence; I'm not talking spying - just guide them to maturity.

Of course, K and I don't have kids, so I'm forced to use 'reason' and 'imagination' when speaking of topics such as 'children'. C'est la vie. My hat is off to you, O parents of the 21st century.

Blog v Journal

Update 7/6/07: Nope, not a good idea to diarize the blog. The cup can only hold so much blather, and purposely inflicting inanities upon the staunch souls who occasionally read this stuff is not my wont. Especially if I use phrases such as "not my wont". What a dick...

I haven’t kept a journal for a few years. That bugs me. And then I thought, well, just add your day to day doings onto your blog. But that feels unseemly, as in a) why would anyone want to read such drivel, and b) why would I want to inflict stories of my usually inane activities onto the netizens of Blogistan? Oh, and c) Homeland Security will no doubt get involved, which I think has just convinced me to NOT do the blog journal thing. No big deal I guess, since I can count the readers of this blog on the fingers of one hand. But that’s OK, and I’ve now convinced myself that doing the diary thing is probably a good idea, because I’ll be able to go back to this URL and, well, remember what I did last week, which is a good thing. I'm now deliberately being cryptic. Let’s see what happens…

mk

Update: I'm still not sure...

The Only Constant is Change

I'm thinking of moving over to a new job, one which will encompass what I do now, but will also force me to be a leader with a bit more responsibility.

It's a little scary.

But I know I can handle it. I keep thinking of this quote from David Lynch's version of Frank Herbert's Dune:

"I'll miss the sea... but a person needs new experiences... they jar something deep inside, allowing him to grow. Without change, something sleeps inside us... and seldom awakens... The sleeper must awaken."

I actually find those words to be quite profound. The sleeper is awakening...

mk

Longwinter Images

I used to have a boat. Unlike Lyle Lovett, I didn’t take it a step further and ride a pony on my boat, but… We went in as partners with our pals and former neighbors Scott and Patty. (We’re no longer next door neighbors, but we are still pals). We don’t have the boat anymore. But Scott still takes underwater photos. Damn good ones. Check out his website here. Excellent stuff.

Best Game - Webby Award 2007

Samorost-2 is the cutest little point and click online adventure game. Absolutely delightful. Clever, humorous, sly, and ultimately very satisfying. Check it out here.

The Final Episode

Tony Soprano jerks awake and stares at the ceiling. He’s still clutching the AR-10 rifle with stiff hands, lying on a bare mattress in the safe house. He starts sweating and feels a mounting, buzzing pressure. Panic attack. He puts down the gun and calls Dr. Melfi, oblivious to the lateness of the hour and the fact she had dismissed him out of her psychiatric practice only hours before. She answers, and Tony pleads his case, saying he absolutely needs to see her, lives depend on it. He goes on and on, Melfi staying silent. Finally, she slowly relents, and says they can meet in her office in forty-five minutes.

Meanwhile, Peter B. has managed to sneak his way into Silvio’s hospital room. Silvio lies on the bed in a coma, wires, tubes, and various devices attached to his body. Peter B. looms close, spits in his face, and shoves an ice pick deep into his throat. “Bada-bing,” he whispers.

Paulie Walnuts realizes Tony has left the safe house and makes a fateful decision. He calls one of the Italian guys, Vin Rizzo, and tells him to meet him at a bar near the Bing. “Bring some big fuckin’ tools,” Paulie tells him.

AJ is having his own miserable panic attack. He discreetly calls Rhiannon, speaking in hushed, imploring tones. “You’ve got to meet me!” he fiercely whispers. She agrees, and AJ leaves the house.

Paulie and Vin, using information coerced from Agent Harris (now missing three fingers) furtively scope out the nondescript house where Phil Leotardo is holed up. They see two guys unobtrusively standing guard and take them out with a silenced sniper rifle. Paulie is encouraged. “This one’s for Tone.” He and Vin plant C-4 charges around the house, back off and trigger the charges. An enormous explosion rocks the street and nearly knocks Paulie and Vin off their feet. Paulie looks at Vin. “Sorry to contribute to global warming, but fuckin’ sue me.”

Tony meets Dr. Melfi at her office. He immediately starts ranting about his current troubles. “You wouldn’t believe the shit I’m going through right now.” Melfi listens impassively. Tony pauses, and Melfi jumps in. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to listen to you, and in fact am doing harm by allowing you to vent. I’m sorry.” She pulls a small caliber pistol out of her purse and shoots Tony in the face. Tony staggers up, clutching at his wound, and moves toward Melfi, but she shoots him several more times and Tony crashes into the coffee table and lies still, dead as a mackerel in the neighborhood deli.

Dr. Jennifer Melfi points the gun at her own temple and pulls the trigger. Nothing. No more bullets. She looks at the gun. She walks over to a cabinet, pulls out a box of ammo and reloads. She looks again at the gun, and leaves the office, intending to pay a visit to Eliot Kupferberg.

Carmela awakens to find Tony and AJ gone. She grabs Meadow. “Let’s find AJ and get the hell out of here.” They leave, call AJ, and meet up with him and Rhiannon at the pizza place where they were commiserating. They all get into the SUV and drive away. To New Jersey.

Happy Bday Star Wars

I saw Star Wars at the Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood when it came out 30 years ago today, in 1977. To be honest, I don’t think I saw it on its initial release date, but we did see it about a month later. I seem to recall going into Hollywood with some friends to see Sorcerer, a fantastic remake film by William Friedkin, but it was too crowded to get in. We bailed out, but we discovered that Star Wars was playing at Grauman’s in an hour or so, so we went to a bar to wait a bit for the movie time to come around (double shot of Jack Daniels, nine dollars thank you - no problem remembering that kind of data when you’re not exactly flush with cash and 22 years old. Holy crap!) Sorry about my memory lapses here, by the way. I can probably Google my way to memory recovery, but I don’t feel like making the effort at this time.

What is etched in memory is this: seeing the first visuals in Star Wars, where the gigantic Imperial ship is blasting away at the rebel ship carrying Princess Leia, all flying in a starscape above a wonderful realistic planetary tableau of grandeur and beauty, and all I could do was happily stare with my mouth open, thinking about all the science fiction books I’d read, and all the fantastic worlds of wonder they envisioned, and here it was, in real life, right there before my eyes. Right there on the big screen.

So my thanks go out to George Lucas and his team for their cinematic gift to dreamers everywhere. And happy birthday to the first Star Wars flick.

Crawdaddy! Rock Criticism

Music has always been a big part of my life. My first concert was back in 1970, at the Swing Auditorium in San Bernadino: Jimi Hendrix headlining, with Ballin’ Jack, and Grin (featuring a young Nils Lofgren) leading off. Like many of my musical adventures, I was with my brother Gary, and it was, in the vernacular of the time, a mind blowing experience. Like, outtasight, man. One of the few incidents I can recall quite clearly from my high school days. No hypnotic trance necessary!

Aside from the fact that I didn’t wear shoes to the concert, that the concert promoters sold too many tickets, and so there were many unfortunate fans who were locked out of the concert, and hence proceeded to riot outside the auditorium, and the cops showed up, and started firing tear gas to quell the crowd, and the fans started throwing bottles, and so after the concert ended, we walk out the doors into a nightmarish scene of police, protesters, broken glass, and stinging tear gas, and so my feet got cut up and the gas made me sneeze like crazy - I mean, I’m sneezing uncontrollably, thinking, “This is tear gas for chrissakes, how come I’m not crying? Why am I sneezing?”, well aside from that it was a great concert.

I’m thankful not only for Jimi’s guitar wizardry and songwriting prowess, including cool, moody make out songs from Electric Ladyland, but also (kinda morbid, I know) because he died on September 18th, hence burned into my memory, which happened to coincide with my mom’s birthday, so I was forever after able to remember when to call her up on the right day and say happy b-day. I actually told her that, and she smiled and nodded understandingly. I miss my mom.

Also back in the day existed the first American magazine of rock criticism Crawdaddy, which has now resurfaced on the web HERE, with new webzines coming out each Wednesday. I vaguely remember reading some of the original mags, but can’t recall an emotional or intellectual response. Reading it now however, I would say it plays a nice role in the rock scene. Welcome back, Craw.

mk

Cruising With Friends

We went on our first cruise last weekend. ‘Cruise’ as in slowly chugging along on the ship Monarch of the Seas from San Pedro down to Ensenada, Mexico for a three day jaunt, sleeping in our Altoids box of a cabin at night and eating and drinking and lounging and bullshitting with friends during the day. And night. OK, maybe we didn’t sleep, although I do remember having some strange dreams. K had bizarre dreams as well. “Kind of like yours,” she said, meaning they involved furtive chases, feelings of sheer terror, unspeakably horrific death and dismemberment, and a cute puppy. But I digress.

This trip was the spirited brainchild of some of my high school pals, class of ’72, and about twenty of us showed up; some of us more than others, if you know what I mean. That is, speaking for myself (and why not), I usually don’t even touch my toe into the water of group activities, so my spur of the moment choice to join up gave me a feeling of ‘empowerment’, which means, if you’ve read Cosmo or O magazine (and I haven’t, so I’m making gross uninformed biased illogical connections here) that I can take a completely mundane activity, such as drinking decaffeinated tea, and proclaim that because I didn’t drink good ol’ black coffee, and instead drank some supposedly more nutritious stuff, I’ve ‘risen above’ the stereotypes impinged upon my racial/ethnical/intellectual profile and am floating blissfully above the fray, and am now empowered. Right. OK, more digressing. Sorry. ‘Empowerment’ apparently also means loss of the ability to write coherent sentences. But let’s forge on.

Because I tend to seek out the quiet alcove, rather than the group dynamic, my notes constitute only a tiny slice of the actual happenings over the weekend, but here are a few observations:

A very cool thing: Pete O. had acquired the grandest stateroom on the ship, the Royal Suite, which he generously shared as a hang-out spot with the gang, and we all fit in there easily. Giant living room and bar, master bedroom, huge bathroom and Jacuzzi-like tub, and private balcony jutting out over the sea. Along with comp’d appetizers. Thanks Pete.

The cruise experience: In general, not my cup of green tea. I’m not drawn toward the casino, the group activities, the excursions, or the shows. (So WTF am I doing there?) My happiest moments were probably when I sat in the café drinking coffee at 6:15am reading Echo Park by Michael Connelly, or lazing on a lounge chair drinking a cold cerveza on Sunday with the gang. And, of course, just being with Kim ;-). I mean, aside from hanging with the pals, I’d just as soon be goofing off in Belmont Shore – home sweet home. The cruise ship considered as a “floating hotel” is not an inaccurate analogy.

Ashore: I’ve been to Ensenada a couple of times, several years ago. Well, now that I think about it, I ended up there after the Rosarito-Ensenada bike ride about two years ago, but we hung out by the bus after the ride, and I had no sense of what the city was like, so that doesn’t really count I suppose, but this time, when we took the shuttle into town from the ship, we divided into two groups: 1) the guys, who were heading to Hussongs to down beers, and 2) the gals, intent on going to La Bufadora for some shopping and maybe a taco.

More ashore: So me, Ed H., Bruce R, and Pete O. are at Hussongs drinking beers and we’re having a great time. A great dive bar. Nancy C and Lisa show up and they start getting loosened up via the margarita route, and it amuses me when they start smoking cigs (what happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico, unless it gets broadcast on the internet I suppose). I have an interesting conversation with Lisa: work, lifestyle, religion, you name it. She asks me if I’m religious – I say, “Actually, I’m an atheist.” She says, “Wow. I’m a Christian,” as she holds up her margarita and cigarette with a big sheepish smile on her face. Priceless.

In general: I’m flabbergasted that these folks remember so much about high school stuff, and have such tight neuron knowledge about so many of our old high school friends and activities. In most conversations, I could only listen with slack-jawed awe, thinking, “Have I completely lost my memory? Who are they talking about? Or am I just an idiot? And do I care?”

Well, it turns out I do care. While I’ve come to a point where I’m content to enjoy friendships with a more, shall we say, contemporary set of interesting people, I definitely felt big twinges of envy while hearing such enthusiastic talk from the old locals, and the adventures and camaraderie they share.

One thing I know for certain: these folks turned out to be a bunch of creative, hard working, driven, successful bunch of people. The mind reels. Bloody great, I say.

I’ll write a little bit more later. Like I said, this is just a biased record of a minute slice of the trip.

Comments are encouraged from the gang.
mk

Nature Still Rules as Entertainment

I saw another amazing thing the other day. I was on a fishing trip with some friends, and we were maneuvering around the Avalon harbor when we spotted some ‘fish sign’, i.e. there were seagulls circling around the water at a particular site, which means there is bait near the surface, and hence larger fish hanging around wishing to feed on the bait. We could see some churning on the surface fifty yards ahead of us so we moved in, ready to cast our lines.

“There’s a bait ball!” yelled the skipper.

A bait ball? What I saw was this: a pulsing, writhing mass of sardines; a globular cluster about four feet in diameter, bobbing up and down just below the ocean surface. They cram themselves into a globe as a protective measure, I later learned; the strays on the outside get eaten – inside the globe you survive.

So the plan we enact is to back up into the ball, scoop up bait with our net with abandon and throw ‘em into the bait tank, and then drive on.

The plan proceeds flawlessly. Humans still reign over the fish kingdom.

And we caught a bunch of fish and ate them. And so it goes…

Heron Diet Surprise

I saw an amazing thing today. Sitting on the grass at El Dorado park, reading a book, I was amid a group of seven large herons within a fifty yard radius of me. Five whites, two blues. They’re doing their regular thing: standing immobile, occasionally walking in their stately slow-motion fashion. I ponder what they eat while they’re out here at the park. Insects, I guess. Usually I see them perched on rocks in the San Gabriel River adjacent to the bike trail. I’m reading a Joe Kurtz novel by Dan Simmons. Toughest hard-boiled P.I. there is, bar none. I glance up, and there’s a great blue heron about thirty feet from me. I watch him. He’s beautiful. Magnificent. He crouches down, and I assume he’s making himself smaller because I’m so close.

Suddenly, he whips his head forward, jabs his head in the grass, and comes up with a field mouse in his beak. A little mouse about four inches long. In a few seconds he has gulped it down, and I could see the big bulge in his neck. I was dumbfounded. “Holy shit,” I whispered, a big smile on my face. So that’s what they eat. I was sorry my father-in-law Philip wasn’t there to witness this little slice of the natural world. He’s the birder, not me. And I wished I had my camera, to capture the image of the bloated throat.

Photo by Stephen Pinker

The Host

Yes, see 300, but also see The Host, a South Korean film (subtitles), which is a great monster movie. Not as scary as I thought it would be, but it was tense, and had chumbuckets full of humor. I laughed out loud several times. Really. And it was interesting to note how South Korean culture came into play (cell phones, protesters, cops, agitprop, homeless), as well as a portrait of our good ol' USA, which I think came across as the real monster, at least in this filmaker's vision. You tell me.

Arcade Fire In Concert

NPR has given us the gift of offering a live concert by the Montreal band Arcade Fire at this site. Me and Kim and Barb and ML saw them back in the summer of 2005 at the Hollywood Bowl, where they opened for David Byrne. A fantastic concert. Check out their latest musical astonishments on the NPR site, or I may be forced to post another picture of my cat.

“Crush Your Enemies. See Them Driven Before You. And To Hear the Lamentation of Their Women”

Thus being the answer given by Conan The Barbarian, when asked, “What is best in life?”

Point being, I’ve lately noticed a slight ramping up of my innate sarcasm and general feeling of dismay with the near-term human condition on some recent blog postings, bordering on beyond-curmudgeoness, possibly even delving into the territory of abject nihilism. Frak that! I’ll step aside and let real journalists do that which they do best. Oh, I’m doing it again. Sorry.

As far as good news goes, today I had the day off from work and spent some time at a local park, where I ate lunch, read a book, and watched moonjellies slowly pulse in the shallow bay waters.