pigatschmo

the blog of Nov. 14, 2006

2009-11-17T19:00:00.001-08:00

reverence for life

The next time you see a vehicle bearing a "Bush-Cheney" bumper sticker, ask the owner why they like to promote murder, torture, and reckless abuse of power.

Ask them what's so great about exposing thousands of US soldiers and Iraqi citizens to Depleted Uranium (DU), a known carcinogenic substance. Is that anyone's idea of a good time?

If unwarranted death and disease are the ultimate end product of the conservative "pro-life" agenda, I want nothing to do with it.

The Bush administration needs to be held accountable for their complete lack of what the humanitarian Albert Schweitzer called "reverence for life". Furthermore, people who voted for or supported this junta need to understand that they were complicit.

the blog of Nov. 11, 2006

2009-11-17T18:56:00.001-08:00

bleak + music = Manchester

The film "24 Hour Party People" should be interesting to anyone who got caught up in alternative music of the 80's. It helps put all that strange energy in perspective. Manchester would seem to be as bleak and intoxicated as a city can get; nevertheless something there has caused some great bands to happen: The Smiths, The Fall, The Buzzcocks, Magazine, James, Oasis. I appreciate the music and applaud the creativity, but can't shake the impression that the Mancunian vision is at times full of unhealthy pathologies.

the blog of Oct. 20, 2006

2009-11-15T22:30:00.000-08:00

the desert within

Deserts have such-and-such an effect on people, and when Theodore Monod writes about his eye-opening trek across Mauretania in the 1920's, about how the other-worldly landscapes and tenatious vegetation of the desert have an absolutely narcotic effect on the soul and psyche, I think he is tapping into something fairly universal that is not very different from my infatuation with the southwestern American deserts, and the knowledge that stepping into the desert is stepping into a seductively huge, strangely peaceful and easily overlooked region of our psyche, wherein rocks and plants and stars form the words of a forgotten language.

Saint-Exupery tapped into this same vein, but it looks like the overlooked Monod beat him by a decade.

the blog of Sept. 2, 2006

2009-11-12T17:13:00.001-08:00

Poland - part 3

A few notes on the Polish language: it might be fair to describe it as “Russian lite”, since it’s much softer sounding. Indeed the two languages are related, and I had the opportunity to hear them side by side. Compared to Polish, Russians sound like they’re freaking out. By that I mean Russians speak more insistently, as though eager to get their point across. Whether they actually are or not is another question.

We couldn’t help noticing so many words ending in “y”, which reminded me of Hungarian. It took a few days, but I finally figured out that “y” added to a noun makes it plural, hence billety (tickets), zloty (units of currency), planty, farby and all the rest. Don’t ask me to pronounce it though -- that’s not my forte. My forte is figuring out what words mean, whereas Lisa can pronounce them; together we made it work.

Our plan was to use Cracow as a base for exploring other points of interest, many of which were right there in the state of Malopolska (“Little Poland”). Lisa wanted to witness the Marian feast in Czestochowa, home of the famous “Black Madonna” icon, which annually attracts hundreds of thousands of faithful Catholic pilgrims. I wanted to explore the Cracow-Czestochowa Upland, the scenic corridor between the two cities, known for its limestone formations, castles, and ruins of castles. The seemingly logical plan was to spend the night near Ojcow National Park, then proceed to Czestochowa.

After checking out of the Hotel Regent, we took out money and trekked over to the bus station, heavy packs and all. To get to the bus station you had to pass through the train station, and there were heavy streams of travelers flowing in every direction. Lisa assured me that in Polish culture, if you accidentally slam into someone, it’s not only no big deal but completely normal. That was good to know since I’m always bumping into people in whatever culture I happen to find myself.

It was a day of close calls. We just barely made the complimentary breakfast at the hotel, and then we figured out what bus to take about a minute before it pilled out of the station. Once on the tightly packed bus we could relax a little and enjoy the scenery. The outer suburban ring around Cracow could have been anywhere in Western Europe or America. There were stations selling gas for over four zloty a liter (approximately $1.60), Kentucky Fried Chicken, and a huge Ikea. I remember hearing about Ikea in Poland, and at the time it was an exotic concept, but now that we were driving by it I realized it was as completely normal as Ikea in Hicksville or Huntington Beach.

The countryside felt more European, with the occasional castle appearing on the rolling hills. Also very European was the way all vehicles were flying down the narrow, perfectly paved freeway at top speed. I wondered how the roads here were in such good condition – none of the American style potholes one might expect in freezing cold Poland. Was it socialism at work? The novelty of capitalism? Or good old European know-how? One thing was clear – any notion I may have had about Poland being a backward country was jettisoned out the window that day. The evidence of my senses suggested that Poland had completely integrated into the European Union.

What a contrast to my visit to Budapest in 1985. Then, there was this dreary east-bloc pall hanging over everything, a palpable sense of constriction that made that otherwise picturesque city feel a little sad. A slightly different but no less bleak atmosphere greeted Richard and I when we wandered around East Berlin around the same time. But this Poland of 2006 was a different animal. Maybe the sunny sky and all the accompanying color affected my impression. But looking at the people around me, the sense I got was that they were mostly young and healthy and happy, and that the society on the whole was young and undergoing a dynamic period of growth. I’d heard about the “Polish economic miracle”, but it was interesting to experience it firsthand.

Not being sure where the main stop for Ojcow National Park was, I went to the front of the bus and asked the driver to let us know. He gestured to the effect that it was at the bottom of the hill. The road then went from being completely surrounded by fields to being completely surrounded by forest, with no transition. I knew we were in the park, and signaled Lisa to get ready. As it turned out, most people on the bus were going to Ojcow, which is one of Poland’s smaller National Parks but very well used, being just outside the city.

There was a funny green wooden building inside of which a man was selling something. A British woman and her daughter were holding a Lonely Planet guide, the universal sign of English speakers. Unfortunately, apart from a few pleasantries, they were unable to help me make heads or tails of how to proceed. While I wondered if we were expected to pay an entrance fee, I noticed that people were lining up to buy the park map, which I realized would be a good thing to have. It proved very useful indeed.

The ongoing struggle of the trip was finding a place to stay every night. Lonely Planet listed a hostel inside the park, and we lost no time hiking the shady, leafy trail that led to it. I found the hiking pleasant and invigorating, but unfortunately Lisa bitched about what a pain it was. When we got to the hostel, a woman who knew no English seemed to be telling us there were no rooms. So we proceeded to plan B.

We hiked back to the center of Ojcow and passed a beautiful old hotel, wondered why the guide didn’t list it -- if it was even open, had vacancies or was affordable. Maybe we should have asked, but instead we followed Lonely Planet’s advice and inquired elsewhere about a room for the night. The building we were directed to was perfectly charming on the outside, but the inside was another story. We suddenly found ourselves straining to communicate with the proprietor, a friendly woman who showed us a room and charged us roughly $6 US. She also seemed to say that American visitors are rare in these parts. The room turned out to be a real “you get what you pay for” type deal, but we were desperate to find something and pleased at the price.

Relieved of our backpacks, we stepped out into the sunny park. First we checked out the “town”, which consisted of one “road” that was mainly used by walkers and bicyclists, and a smattering of homes, restaurants, and other buildings. We walked to the south end and decided to have a beer at a pleasant outdoor café. The beer was indeed pleasant, after which we wandered back to the north end. Right behind the bus stop were the ruins of some aristocrat’s castle perched on a limestone cliff. We hiked to the top, where we were asked to pay a small fee. Then, after passing under a stately tower, we entered another tower that featured a display about the deceased aristocrats. That was fine, even if it was all in Polish. But the rest of the ruin was disappointing, because it was no more than footprint. Plus, hiking with beer in my system makes me cranky. While I enjoy a good beer, as a rule it makes me sleepy.

Back in the “town” we found a good restaurant with an outdoor table and a view of a little dog barking at some goats. We noticed that Poland was full of little “yapper” dogs. It was also full of smokers, which was the only problem with our outdoor table. Otherwise, the coffee was excellent, the pierogis perfect, and the purple pickled cabbage out of this world.

After dinner we went for a stroll along the main road, which was surprisingly delightful. There was a meadow bursting with wildflowers that may have been weeds – I don’t know what’s native here – and noisy cicada-like insects. Then, built directly over a stream, a beautiful wooden chapel in shades of ochre. A little bit further was a roadside shrine to the Virgin Mary carved directly into a wall of limestone, full of candles and flowers. The general flavor of the place was a lot like rural Austria. Then, at an outdoor café, we saw a cat, which was notable because although Poland was full of little yapper dogs, we saw very few cats. Before turning around we crossed a bridge, and encountered a troop of youths clad in black and green -- scouts or soldiers or something in between.

Back at Ojcow we bought some ice cream pops. We ate them slowly on a bench, and I studied the wrapper, which listed the ingredients in at least five languages -- languages like Czech and Hungarian and Lithuanian. All at the same time, the light began to slip away, drops of rain began to appear, and a deep tiredness came over us. We decided to retire to our room of questionable cleanliness.

The room was indeed dingy, but the hope was that tiredness would override that detail. And initially it did. As I sat half asleep by the open window, it began pouring torrentially outside, and I was glad we had this room (as opposed to sleeping outdoors in the mud). Before long I was fully asleep on the bed of questionable cleanliness.

Lord knows how many hours passed, but when I awoke I found myself in a state of sensory deprivation, and had no idea where I was. No crickets, no birds, and no light – it was terrifying. Then I remembered that I was in the strange room of questionable cleanliness, and that prevented me from going back to sleep. Instead I lay awake thinking about radio towers. There’s a certain kind of futuristic radio tower that I’d seen in the distance in Cracow. For some reason this kind of radio tower is found in countries like France, Canada, Japan, and South Africa, but to my knowledge not in the US. As I pondered that question, it occurred to me that in places where there are no mountains to place radio transmitters, very tall, artificial structures must be built. And then it dawned on me that most of the great American skyscrapers – the Empire State Building, the Twin Towers, and so forth – were also radio towers.

As I continued to reflect on the history of radio broadcasting, of which New York City was a major center, light started to fill up the dingy room. I knew it was going to be a long time before my next proper night of sleep.

the blog of Aug. 31, 2006

2009-11-08T19:06:00.000-08:00

Courland?

I thought that European history and geography were among my fortes. The other day I was surprised to stumble on something I'd somehow never heard of: the Baltic duchy of Courland.

Located somewhere in or around Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and Russia, the duchy of Courland was apparently quite powerful in some earlier century.

Courland was a player in the heyday of Baltic shipping and trade. They even got in on the imperial game, and had at least two far flung colonies: some island off Africa, and the better known Trinidad & Tobago in the Caribbean.

My question to the world is: have any of you heard of Courland?

the blog of Aug. 27, 2006 (2)

2009-11-07T18:02:00.001-08:00

Poland - part 2

The morning brought a new day for me and Poland. The rain had stopped, rays of sun nudged me awake, and a blue sky greeted me from the window. Lisa was semi-comatose but told me to feel free to take a walk while she slept. I decided to do just that.

An entire day had been lost flying, but now I had that pleasure of suddenly finding myself on another continent. What I saw on the streets was recognizably Europe, and the sights and sounds brought me directly back to my European backpacking days. The feeling of being on a Polish street is not significantly different from being on a French or German street. There is the same strange combination of drab and colorful surroundings that is to me very distinct from America. Narrow streets with tiny cars which interestingly parked on the sidewalks.

This particular neighborhood, Kazimierz, includes the old Jewish quarter. After Steven Spielberg filmed “Schindler’s List” here in the early ‘90’s, this formerly neglected area turned into a vibrant bohemian enclave, with cafes, galleries, and restaurants of every kind popping up everywhere. The result is very NYC East Village, as the area is still somewhat run down and the influx of tourists and artists is relatively new. There are some stately old buildings, including our hotel (the Regent) and a massive cathedral in a tree-lined courtyard; there was also a large open-air marketplace where vendors were busily selling used clothing, jewelry, vegetables, framed pictures of various popes, and laundry detergent.

Back at the hotel Lisa got up just in time for us to catch the complimentary breakfast, a standard continental affair with a choice of juices, yogurts, rolls, cheese and jam. It was also apparent the Poles like their coffee strong, which suited me just fine.

To make our lives easier we booked a second night at the hotel, and then set out to discover Cracow. Just north of Kazimierz, overlooking the Vistula River, is a hill supporting the most famous castle in Poland: Wawel. It is actually an entire medieval complex including the cathedral where the kings and bishops of early Poland are entombed. As the former seat of government, Wawel is considered the spiritual heart of the Polish state. There is an old myth that a dragon resided in a lair beneath the castle; then there is a newer myth that Wawel is home to one the earth’s seven chakras, a center of energy. Sure enough, we saw people meditating in the northwestern corner of the royal courtyard.

There were lots of tourists wandering around Wawel. A Unesco World Heritage site, it has been impeccably preserved. The interior of the castle houses a network of museums and restaurants, while the well-landscaped grounds lend it a park-like atmosphere, with costumed musicians playing medieval accordion music. If I had to compare the general feeling of the place to anything, it would definitely be the new Getty Center in Los Angeles, even though the climate couldn’t be more different.

Wawel was nice but the best part of Cracow was yet to come. The road from the castle led to a triangular place with a display about the Solidarity movement, and after looking at that, we continued along a street called Grodzka, which was bustling with activity. We had just entered Old Town and were surrounded on all sides by perfectly preserved historic architecture in uplifting shades of peach and yellow ochre. I had always imagined Cracow to be a dark city, but I was wrong. What I soon realized was that Cracow, as a former part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, belonged to the Viennese school of stately, candied architecture and coffee house culture.

On a more Polish note we passed a shop called “Greenpoint,” but unlike my former grimy Brooklyn neighborhood, this was a high-end fashion boutique. I wondered if there was a branch in Greenpoint, or if the one here was a branch of a New York clothier. Either way it seemed like another expression of my Polish destiny.

Grodzka deposited us in the star attraction of Cracow: the Rynek Glowny, or town square -- the largest such square in Europe. I’d read about it, but being there exceeded my expectations. There were not only architectural marvels but people everywhere – walking, standing, sitting in cafes drinking tall glasses of piwo (beer). It was a living, breathing town square, a welcoming place, and the true heart of present day Cracow.

At the center of the square was long structure called the Cloth Hall. We entered the south end and found ourselves in a long, open-air hall lined with vendors on either side. The vendors were selling mainly souvenirs and jewelry, and there was a considerable buzz to the place. The majority of the jewelry was amber, a natural abundance of which is found along the Baltic coast. The hall was a pleasant diversion and I was briefly reminded of the longer and narrower market place we visited in Kyoto.

All around the square and the Cloth Hall were large outdoor cafes where the serious business of eating, drinking, and people watching occurred. We planted ourselves in one next to the Cloth Hall, and in retrospect this was one of the best. In accord with Lisa’s desire for classic Polish food, we ordered plates of pierogi kapusta and pierogi russki, fresh and sprinkled with dill. We washed them down with a dark Okocim, one of the better Polish beers. A lot of calories perhaps, but delicious and vegetarian.

We noticed that most of the younger Poles in the city spoke English, and that there was a considerable amount of bilingual signage, making it a little easier to get by with our feeble grasp of Polish.

After the meal we explored many back streets, the Barbican and Florian gates, and the Planty – the park surrounding the periphery of Old Town like a moat. I’d wanted to see the art museum on the upper floor of the Cloth Hall, but it was closed. By way of compensation, we found a large gallery featuring the paintings of Olga Boznanska (1865-1940). Her work was somewhere between completely boring and perfectly subtle, the best pieces conjuring up sleepy childhood afternoons in Sea Cliff spent staring at slabs of jade, African violets and dust particles suspended in rays of sunlight.

After that we felt a little sleepy ourselves and went back to the hotel for a nap. When I realized I hadn’t had my afternoon coffee, we got up and went to the café down the street that was full of burlap sacks and photos of someone plucking beans at a tropical coffee plantation. While sitting in the café, loud music wafted in from without; upon investigation we discovered a band giving a free concert from the top of a building at the open-air marketplace. We joined the crowd on the street to listen to a set of Polish punk rock and Red Hot Chili Peppers songs.

Then we wandered around in search of a possible dinner. My instincts drew me to the far eastern edge of the Kazimierz district, where a number of ethnic restaurants surrounded a tree-lined, cobblestone square. We ended up at an Indian restaurant that claimed to have the only Tandoori oven in Cracow. Lisa said it was strange to go to a foreign country and then have foreign food (as opposed to native dishes), and in a sense she was right. But I knew I needed Indian food for balance, and even though the waiters were Polish and the Tandoori wasn’t working, the curried peas were still good, and the gentle flow of wind and people passing by our candle-lit outdoor table provided the perfect atmosphere for my sleepy, jet-lagged brain.

the blog of Aug. 27, 2006

2009-11-04T22:33:00.000-08:00

French, German, and English

The French laguage: more c's than k's

The German language: more k's than c's

The English language: c's and k's in equal proportion

the blog of Aug. 22, 2006

2009-11-02T17:36:00.000-08:00

Poland - part 1

The day before our flight it was all over the news that a terrorist plot to blow up US-bound planes flying from the UK had just been foiled by British intelligence. Not the kind of thing you want to hear, but it's good to know that 007 is doing his job. Then there's the argument that, with all the increased security measures, these are the safest times to fly. This may be true, but we did have to make some packing adjustments after the "no liquids, creams, or gels" pronouncement.

The next day we took the "Monterey Airbus" to the San Francisco airport, which is as modern and architecturally impressive as they get. There was some terrible traffic going to the airport (supposedly due to some sporting event), but once there, almost zero traffic -- the opposite of the LAX or LaGuardia experience. The international terminal was surprisingly empty, and for all the news reports about crowds and delays, our wait in the Lufthansa line wasn't more than twenty minutes.

The flight to Munich, which spans nine time zones, was rougher than the return a week later. The route consisted of an extreme northern arc over Canada, Greenland, and Scotland. The flight path, as well as the flight time (10-12 hours), resembled the one to Japan, but the flight itself wasn't as comfortable. While the service and amenities were good, there were many small ways that Japan Airlines surpassed their German counterpart. The latter's rough edges included the loud slapping of landing gear, weird turbulence around the arctic circle unlike any I've experienced, and the monitor indicating that it was some minus sixty degrees outside the plane. The general sense was that flying from San Francisco to Munich is a very unnatural act.

In Munich we had three hours to pass before the more local flight to Cracow. The Munich airport was a little like the San Francisco airport -- clean and modern and nearly empty. There was an abundance of shops and restaurants, some very high end, and for a moment I felt like I was at the Americana shopping center in Manhasset. Many of the shops were full of World Cup bric-a-brac, as barely a month had passed since that big event. We took the opportunity to purchase some Euro and Polish "Zwoty" at a currency exchange. Unlike every Safeway supermarket in California, the Bavarian woman at the exchange recognized my last name as French and pronounced it perfectly.

Upon learning that liquids, creams, or gels were not considered a threat to the flight to Cracow, we bought toothpaste, deoderant, and body wash. Then we ate a grilled "Panino" sandwich at a cafe. With even more time to kill, we found a waiting area that provided free coffee and newspapers. I even gave a crack at reading the German ones. It had been some twenty years since my last trip to Europe, and it was good to savor the details.

The plane to Cracow probably flew over the Czech Republic. This information wasn't volunteered, but if you look at a map it makes sense. When we landed in Cracow, the air was moist, the tarmac wet, and the little airport near empty. Lisa had done some research about how to take the bus into town, but it was approaching 11 pm and we were understandably disoriented. We bought bus tickets at a news stand and wandered out to the bus stop. A large, circular Coca-Cola sign confirmed what we have all heard: an eager embrace of western capitalism. We tried to make heads or tails of the bus schedule, and since it was saturday, the outlook didn't look good. A bus finally arrived, but then parked and shut down. I approached the driver, a young, Slavic-looking man, and we proceeded to have a completely confused exchange of hand signals and mispronounced words. Fortunately a pair of women appeared who I recognized from the plane; their first laguage was apparently French, but they also spoke Polish and English. Before long it was established that the bus was headed downtown, but we would have to wait.

A few notes on Cracow. Like many Central European cities Cracow has multiple spellings that are interchanged shamelessly. There is Cracow with a "c" and Krakow with a "k", as well as the German "Krakau" and French "Cracovie". Cracow is the former capital of Poland -- prior to Warsaw -- and is considered the spiritual heart of the Polish state. The Old Town is some seven or eight hundred years old, a historic area that miraculously escaped the ravages of Europe's many wars. What I didn't realize until recently is that Cracow is a major tourist destination within Europe, attracting droves of visitors.

That wasn't exactly clear the night of our arrival, as the bus plowed into the darkness, stopping to pick up drunken skateboard kids, and a heavy rain began to pour. We weren't even certain what exit to get off at. It's true we could have taken a cab, but we were wary of being ripped off, and willing to rough the bus. As soon as we reached the edge of Old Town we disembarked, and although it was raining, I had studied the map well enough to get us to our hotel. It was a little scary, walking through a strange city with heavy backpacks in the pouring rain, surrounded by grafitti and drunks, but around midnight we reached our hotel in the Kazimierz district, just south of Old Town. After checking in, an older man, presumably the bellhop, helped us with our luggage and the strange Polish door locks that need to be turned twice.

Unbelievably jet-lagged and disoriented, I tried to sleep, but with mixed results. As I lay in the foreign bed, the fact of being in Poland weighed on me, its problematic history, which the pouring rain outside seemed to exacerbate. Then the long and turbulent relationship between the Germanic and Slavic peoples weighed on me and kept me up for a few hours. But the fact that the hotel room itself was fairly clean and decent and comfortable helped sleep eventually win out.

the blog of July 31, 2006

2009-11-01T19:55:00.000-08:00

the Fluffy fiasco

Last night at 4 a.m. we heard an animal in the bedroom. I pointed a flashlight at the little scratchy noises and saw that Fluffy, our resident pet hamster, had somehow escaped from his cage. He looked very healthy and happy to be having an adventure. He had travelled the equivalent of several hamster miles. Lisa picked him up without difficulty. We walked him back to his cage, and saw that a piece of the plastic exercise wheel had broken away, explaining where he escaped but not necessarily how. His water bottle was empty and apparently he was extremely thirsty -- raising the question, did his thirst drive him to bust out, or did his adventure make him thirsty?

the blog of July 17, 2006

2009-10-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

Hans Blix deserves an Apology

And the Dubayah Bush went out into the desert, and he encountered a Burning Bush. And the Dubayah Bush stood staring at the Burning Bush, not sure what to make of it. And then the Lord said "Dubayah -- Hear me out. You're always dropping my name publicly, and yammering on about how you listen to me. Now listen to me. Sit down!" And Bush sat down next to the Bush. The Lord continued, "What a fine mess you and your cronies have made of the world. Didn't anyone ever explain to you that I'm more of a democratic socialist than a free market capitalist?" And the Dubayah Bush said "Well, I... I mean... What I'm trying to say is..." And the Lord said "I don't think you fully understand the effect you've had on the world, and I don't mean that as a compliment. But you are still my child, so I forgive you. I am going to give you a chance to redeem your name, and start the long process of healing the world. How does that sound?" And the Dubayah said "Well, I... I'm... I'm honored and flattered by your offer. I truly am." "Now listen" said the Lord, "and do as I say. Will you do as I say?" "Why of Course Lord. Of course I'll do as you say. What would you like me to do?" And the Lord replied, "There are many things I want you to do -- many, many things. But to start with, before you do anything else... I want you to publicly apologize to Hans Blix. Hans Blix deserves an apology. He is a good man, and was doing good work when you brushed him aside." The Dubayah took this in, and said "And what else do you want me to do, Lord?" And the Lord said, "Tell John Bolton not to be a cold-hearted bully, but to chill out and understand that the UN is My gift to man." And the Dubayah said "OK".

the blog of June 30, 2006

2009-10-28T20:27:00.001-07:00

the dream of the square contact lenses

It was a slightly frustrating dream. The contact lenses were square, and I was somehow supposed to peel them off a plastic sheet. My mind was grappling with everything that was wrong with this picture while an unfamiliar man with curly, black, shoulder length hair was trying to get me to try them.

In the typically characteristic way that the subconscious seems to illustrate familiar figures of speech, I realized that the square contacts are a clever play on "putting a square peg into a round hole".

the blog of June 27, 2006

2009-10-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

Jamaican Hans Blix

As I spend most of my day driving, I also spend most of my day listening to the radio. For reasons unknown to me, there is a private preparatory school in Pebble Beach that broadcasts BBC news round the clock. Sometimes it makes for good listening.

There is a broadcaster on BBC World Briefing named Neil Nunes. He has a very distinct manner of speech that I find strangely entertaining. I was convinced he was transplanted either from Scandinavia -- he has that deep, Hans Blix nasality -- or some corner of Continental Europe -- maybe Belgium or Luxembourg? For some reason his specific brand of proper Queen's English made me think of Tin Tin comics. Then there was the name - Nunes, pronounced like the Spanish Nunez, that didn't quite fit.

Anyway, it turns out the guy is from Jamaica, and that his distinct accent has created a controversy in the UK. Half of BBC listeners don't like it, find it irritatingly "grating" or "American", which from my perspective makes no sense. The guy sounds as American as Hans Blix. The other half of the UK really likes it, finds it pleasantly exotic. I'm with these folks. He doesn't sound Jamaican to me, but I love Jamaica. So I am pro-Nunes.

the blog of June 25, 2006

2009-10-25T15:53:00.000-07:00

An Inconvenient Truth

Today we saw "An Inconvenient Truth" at the Osio in Monterey. A fine film. Not so much cinema, as an important message using that medium. I read "Earth in the Balance" about a decade ago, and clearly this film is a continuation of Gore's life work, which is more than mere politics. He was using politics then just as he is using the media now: to launch a national debate on global warning. He's a true American hero, someone who brings hope and dignity to a nation that for six years now has been dragged through Neoconservative sludge.

Bush may be the "Decider", but in the real world that most Americans live in, Gore is a true leader.

the blog of June 24, 2006

2009-10-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

Knife in the Water

Since we are going to Poland, I thought it might behoove us to watch "Knife in the Water", Roman Polanski's first feature film, shot in black & white in 1962. I'd seen it many years ago. It has all of those things that I like in films of that era: the profound mellowness, simplicity, and attention to detail which reminds me of Bergman's early films. Sure some of the acting is bad, but that only adds to its charm. Plus we were learning Polish. So I was a little nonplussed when Lisa flailed her arms in disapproval, declared that the film sucked, and stormed out. I thought it was a delightful piece of cinema.

the blog of June 21, 2006

2009-10-22T19:31:00.001-07:00

Drive

Who among us has not been going a little crazy trying to identify the REM song on those pesky Progressive Insurance commercials?

Well thanks to Google I have learned that it's the song "Drive" from a 2003 release of the same name... Not a full-blown album but one of those things we used to call an "EP" back in the days of vinyl. Something between an LP and a Single. So what do they call those now?

And why the shameless sellout by REM? Don't they have enough money? But it's probably the other way around -- the insurance industry needs REM more than REM needs their stinking money.

the blog of June 9, 2006

2009-10-21T21:39:00.000-07:00

Grizzly Man

Sometimes Wernher Herzog himself is more entertaining than his films. Whatever the results, he's man with a vision.

Just watched "Grizzly Man" which is good, but also has some of the heavy-handed awkwardness that was the problem with "Little Dieter Learns to Fly".

On the dvd the is an extra feature of WH in a recording studio, coaching a collection of musicians as they score the film with beautiful Popul Vuh-esque music. Richard Thompson is an adept guitarist, whose picking goes well with cello and WH's role, which seems to be to direct the spirit of the music.

The feature is nice but it is long.

the blog of June 5, 2006

2009-10-19T17:48:00.000-07:00

the Krakow-Kyoto analogy

I didn't plan this coincidence, it just happened:

Both Krakow and Kyoto are considered the cultural hearts of their repective countries.

Both Krakow and Kyoto are former capitol cities, embodying earlier eras of their counties' histories.

Both Krakow and Kyoto were spared destruction during World War Two.

Both Krakow and Kyoto are smaller than, and south of, the current capitols of Warsaw and Tokyo.

Both Krakow and Kyoto begin with a "k".

the blog of June 1, 2006

2009-10-18T16:48:00.000-07:00

living next to a freeway

I don't know the statistics, but it's probably safe to say that in the US, a large percentage of the population lives within a mile of a major freeway. I grew up next to the Long Island Expressway. Now I live a stone's throw from the 101.

It occurred to me recently that, unlike the arrangement in Old Westbury, NY, where the murmur of the expressway was a nearly round-the-clock ambient accompaniment, I don't generally notice the sound of the 101. Could it be that the river somehow "absorbs" the noise?

Stranger still... No sooner did I start pondering why I wasn't hearing the freeway, than I suddenly did start hearing it. Of course, that was during a long holiday weekend, and there was almost certainly more traffic.

Since then, I notice the sound of traffic some of the time.

the blog of May 23, 2006

2009-10-16T20:23:00.000-07:00

Diego Garcia

Among the long list of national disgraces one must now include the story of Diego Garcia Island, part of the Chagos Chain in the Indian Ocean. As recently as thirty years ago our government, in collaboration with the British, expelled the natives of this tropical paradise so as to build a major US military base.

A British court recently ruled the action as unethical. The Brits are always slightly ahead of us in renouncing their imperial shenanigans, but what is supposed to happen now? Declare the military base a mistake and give the island back to the natives? I think the whole world would like to see that, and it's about time someone set the precedent for "reverse imperialism" -- reparations, repatriatization, etc. (Sierra Leone was a good start).

the blog of May 12, 2006

2009-10-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

rats

On Monday, as part of my job, I was literally out in a field looking for a well. I went up to a storage tank, and saw a pipe leading to something that I thought might be the well, but it was covered with a wooden enclosure. I lifted this box to discover a large, freaked-out rat beholding me, a larger, freaked-out human. There were other rats hiding under the storage tank. It appeared as though the big one had built a nest in the enclosure that covered not the well, but a pump.

the blog of May 12, 2006

2009-10-13T20:36:00.000-07:00

what's next, Fripp & Garfunkle?

I heard on NPR that Paul Simon recently worked with Brian Eno... I'm trying to imagine the results. I cannot possibly judge music I have not heard.

the blog of May 12, 2006

2009-10-12T17:44:00.001-07:00

burning pier

I'm thinking that the huge warehouse that recently burned down in Greenpoint, Brooklyn may be one I spent some time in because, if it's the one I'm thinking of, it was full of artists lofts back in the late '80's.

Not sure if that means anything to any of you but the news brought back the memory of that strange neighorhood.

the blog of May 1, 2006

2009-10-11T16:20:00.001-07:00

six by ten

Seen today in King City: the largest Mexican flag I've ever seen, maybe six by ten feet, flying from a car. I was on my bike, witnessing history in the hot sun, because history was not happening in my apartment.

the blog of Apr. 30, 2006

2009-10-01T18:42:00.001-07:00

a tale of three Pondicherries

Recently, I was looking at a map of southeast Asia, and the city of Pondicherry caught my eye on the northeastern coat of India. The problem was, this seemed too far north for the Pondicherry I'd heard of, the former French colony on the southeastern coast of India.

So I turned the page to check the full map of India, and no sooner had I learned that there were two Pondicherries on the east coast of India than I noticed a third one on the west coast.

So there you have it -- three Pondicherries

the blog of Apr. 27, 2006

2009-09-27T15:53:00.001-07:00

Lee Raymond's favorite Yellowman album

I heard today on the radio that Lee Raymond, the CEO of Exxon, makes over $13,000 an hour (if you were to break it down that way).

the blog of Apr. 22, 2006

2009-09-26T09:44:00.000-07:00

the Tale of Galong Galong Galong

It began one chilly night in New York City, around the year 1990. I was walking down St. Mark's Place when I overheard what was recognizably a Yellowman song emitting from a boom box held by a shadowy figure in a dark corner. The funny thing was, I didn't recognize this Yellowman song, and even stranger, he was singing about how "Michael Jackson make me crazy". That encounter with that song left a deep impression on me, and the heady combination of Yellowman singing about Michael Jackson was one I could not shake, even if I wanted to.

Fast forward to 2005. There comes a time when a man feels the need for a new Yellowman album -- not that the old ones have lost their luster, but a certain adventurousness kicks in. I remembered the song, but I didn't know the name, nor the album it was on. An extended Internet search revealed that it was, appropriately, "Beat It" from the Galong Galong Galong album.

Since there was no guarantee the whole album was worth one song, I decided to buy a used, discounted copy from a third party on Amazon.com. I hadn't experienced any problems buying this way in the past. I guess there's a first time for everything.

The day the CD arrived I feverishly popped in in my player and turned up the volume. Imagine my astonishment when Country Music started pouring out of my speakers. Was this some kind of a sick joke? The cover and CD said Yellowman, so evidently someone burned these hee haw ballads right over King Yellow.

When I e-mailed the vendor, he responded with some kind of "What? I've never heard of this" line, and asked me to return the CD. I did, but never heard from him again, in spite of bombarding him with e-mails. So I proceeded to crack down on him with the full force of Amazon.com ethics enforcement. My money was refunded, and I eventually ended up buying a new copy of Galong Galong Galong.

It's not a spectacular album. It's sort of average. Stick to "Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt" and "King Yellowman". But retain the memory of that clever song emerging from the dark shadows one chilly night in New York City.

the blog of Apr. 15, 2006

2009-09-25T20:44:00.001-07:00

various forms of danger

Late, late last night -- or early, early this morning -- I thought I felt the ground moving, and I wondered if there was an earthquake. I've had this experience several times now: I'm usually half-asleep, and can't be sure if it's the ground moving, or me moving, or vibrations caused by a truck, or a completely imaginary event.

When I woke up hours later, I rolled over to look at the weekend paper Lisa had brought in. The front page headline was about the anniversary of the great San Francisco quake of 1906. An old black and white photo showed a collapsed building in Salinas, but the article explained that, unlike San Francisco, nobody died here.

Even so, it made me pause to realize that April 18 will mark the 100th anniversary of the worst earthquake disaster in U.S. history, and that it occurred in the wee hours of the morning, before 6 am.

Later this morning, while I was preparing coffee and unloading the dishwasher, I overheard a report on CNN, which Lisa had on in the background. There was mention of a terrible car accident on the Long Island Expressway that had been fully captured on video by a new kind of camera installed on the bus behind the car. The man in the car survived, and was interviewed; Jill Claybrook of Public Citizen was also interviewed. Then they showed the section of the LIE where the accident took place, and added that it's one of the most dangerous stretches of highway in the state. At the end of the report the newsman said, "From Old Westbury, New York..." I took that as a sign to call home, which I was planning on doing anyway.

the blog of Apr. 13, 2006

2009-09-22T19:04:00.000-07:00

fine organic wine

Who among us has not heard the ads for Ecowine.com a hundred times while listening to the Thom Hartmann show? Anyway, I decided that this year, instead of giving money to the local NPR affiliate, I would support one of the advertisers of progressive talk radio. It must be admitted that, at his best, Hartmann is better than NPR, and more like an AM version of Pacifica at its best. So it was with pleasure that I purchased a three-bottle sample pack from Ecowine.com -- organic wine from France, geared toward the California market.

The pack consisted of two reds and a white. We have so far only tried the reds. The first one we opened was "Chateau Bousquette", appellation St. Chinian, from the Languedoc. I must say we were both impressed. This wine is at once very French-tasting AND organic, so critics of organic wine (Monsieur Gazpachot) take note. Not sure what kind of grapes, I can only say it came in a Bordeaux bottle.

Tonight we cracked open the Merlot, and while ok, we both agreed it wasn't as good. In some ways it was similar to the Bousquette, but it was somehow less balanced. This one was "Domaine de Bajac" out of the Pays d'Oc.

All in all a good experiment, and based on the quality of the Bousquette I would buy this organic wine again.

the blog of Apr. 12, 2006

2009-09-20T18:27:00.000-07:00

on a bright note

There is so much bad news lately politically... But on a bright note, Italy has just elected Romano Prodi, which seems to signal a return to rational government. It's incredible to hear Berlosconi flail his arms and pull out all the stops. And equally unbeleivable that our government doesn't immediately recognize Prodi as the new leader.

the blog of Apr. 1, 2006

2009-09-14T19:04:00.000-07:00

Tamarisk

Lately I've been exploring the sandy, scruffy banks of the Salinas river along the edge of San Lorenzo Park. There's a trail I almost forgot about, which is good on a mountain bike, and smaller side trails to remote picnic and meditation spots along the river. Anyway I was on the other bike path to Pine Canyon when I saw a strangely familiar lavender inflorescence. Close inspection confirmed what it appeared to be: Tamarisk -- a beautiful but perniciously invasive shrub of Mediterranean origin. I had seen it once at a recreation area in San Diego County, and I had heard and read about a number of times. I don't recall ever seeing it around here. Maybe it's been here all along, but I think it's just as likely to be Monterey County's latest invader.

the blog of Mar. 26, 2006

2009-09-13T21:13:00.000-07:00

A High Wind in Jamaica

I recently read, at Ted's recommendation, "A High Wind in Jamaica" by Richard Hughes. The jacket identified it as one of the top 100 novels of the twentieth century. I'm not sure about that, but the unusual structure of the book kept me interested and wondering what it was really about. What I thought was going to be a nautical yarn and snapshot of the old Caribbean, turned out to be equally about the psychology and behavior of children. There were some nice details on the geography of Cuba and the reality of pirates (as opposed to the mythology). The book also serves to remind adults of some of the weird thought processes children have, simply because various restrictions haven't set in and they don't know otherwise. I know that as a child my own mental universe was larger, and there was the constant assumption that the adult world understood everything I didn't. This book makes the unsettling point that neither children nor adults have a full grasp on the world around us.

the blog of Mar. 18, 2006

2009-09-12T10:11:00.001-07:00

American Hanami

OK, let's set the record straight on cherry blossom festivals. I always figured that Washington DC adopted the custom from Japan, but recently some idiot rather jingoistically suggested that it must be the other way around.

From today's Salinas Californian, on the National Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington DC:

"The festival commemorates the March 27, 1912, planting of the first two cherry trees by First Lady Helen Taft and the wife of the Japanese ambassador. A few of the original 3,020 trees donated to Washington on behalf of the Japanese capital of Tokyo remain. Others were cultured from cuttings taken from the original trees.

'New York owns Christmas and shopping, and we own the spring and cherry blossoms' said..."

If I'm not mistaken, the Japanese cherry blossom festivals or 'Hanami' go back a little further than 1912.

the blog of Mar. 12, 2006 (2)

2009-09-09T22:22:00.001-07:00

emergency coffee procedure

This morning the power went out. Since the previous afternoon's coffee had been such a failure, it was imperative that I have a good, strong morning coffee to make up for it. Fortunately I had an old fashioned coffee grinder to grind the beans. To boil the water I had to break out one of the Sternos we were saving for an emergency.

I hadn't used a Sterno for many years. I managed to prop the kettle in the sink on two soup cans while the Sterno burned beneath with its invisible flame. It took an entire half hour to boil the water! And even then it wasn't boiling vigorously. I guess I had too much water in the kettle, among other problems. In any case this drill was a good thing in that it underscores the need to improve my emergency coffee procedure.

the blog of Mar. 12, 2006 (1)

2009-09-08T17:03:00.001-07:00

the coffee that nearly ruined my day

Over the years my taste in coffee has evolved into a drink that is basically half a cup of strong, above-average coffee blended with half a cup of cold vanilla soy milk.

Making it at home is easy, but at Starbucks I always have to explain the details. Recently the girl at Starbucks explained to me that there is something called a "Misto" that is essentially the same thing. This discovery has made my life -- my coffee life -- a little easier.

Yesterday I asked for a Misto and what I got nearly ruined my day. I was already miles away on the freeway when I realized that the coffee was blended with steamed, low fat milk, and the resulting flavor was quite nauseating. Apparently one has to specify soy milk, and then cold rather than steamed. The other two or three times I ordered a Misto they asked about those details. It never occurred to me that they would assume that anyone wanted steamed, low fat milk.

the blog of Mar. 10, 2006 (2)

2009-09-07T21:36:00.000-07:00

snow line

The snow here is a real novelty. I've never seen this much snow in Monterey County, and most people around here feel the same.

The snow line appears to be at less than 1000 feet, and thicker than the usual blanket.

Aesthetically, the mountains are turning lots of heads. White and green go well together.

the blog of Mar. 10, 2006 (1)

2009-09-04T19:51:00.001-07:00

death by peanut butter

One morning this week I decided to pack a banana in my lunch. No sooner had I grabbed one of the organic bananas I'd purchased at Safeway a few days earlier than I noticed that a very flat bug had been hiding between bananas. It looked like a cockroach but it was whitish-yellow and therefore unlike any insect I'd ever seen.

It was a bit too exotic to overlook so even as the kettle boiled I scrambled for some kind of container. The only one available was an unwashed peanut butter jar in the sink. I had no intention of killing the thing but death by wet peanut butter was its fate.

I was going to take it to the cooperative extension at the Ag Department, but Lisa assured me that the nurse at Del Rey elementary school was an accomplished amateur entomologist. A few days later she identified it as a Cuban cockroach, which makes sense since the bananas were from Ecuador and had no doubt spent time bouncing around the tropics.

the blog of Mar. 4, 2006 (2)

2009-09-03T23:57:00.000-07:00

obscure destination: Cuesta Ridge

A few things went right this weekend. I decided I would search for the Imogen Heap CD "Speak for Yourself". I had heard a track in Banana Republic while using the gift card John and Christine got me for Christmas. But to find it would probably require a trip to Monterey or San Luis Obispo.

After work on Friday, on a whim, I slipped into Wherehouse Music in Salinas. I knew the odds were slim. They had the Frou Frou CD at a ridiculously high price. Then I saw a separate section for Imogen Heap. What? The have it? And it's on sale? What's this? A used copy for even less? Bullseye. Those who know me know I have a special talent for this kind of experience.

Another thing that went right was today's weather. We had rain all last week and are due for more, but today was a beauty of a clear, sunny but not-too-hot day. I was due for a hike so I jumped in the car and headed for Cuesta Ridge, an obscure destination in SLO County I wanted to check out.

I blasted the Imogen Heap CD. She is the singer from Frou Frou, whose 2002 album "Details" was my favorite of that year. For all practical purposes the Imogen Heap album is a Frou Frou album. If you enjoyed her highly emotive vocals on the one, you will find more of the same on the other.

To get to Cuesta Ridge, you pull off south-bound 101 at Cuesta Pass, right before descending the big mountain. It's actually one of those emergency lanes for runaway trucks, but it also takes you to one entrance of Los Padres National Forest. There is a dirt clearing where hikers and mountain bikers typically park.

My goal was the "Botanical Area", three miles from the freeway on a winding, bumpy-ass road. Most people seemed to be driving there, but since the underlying purpose of my outing was to burn calories, I walked.

From the freeway these mountains look as though they may be heavily forested, but in fact they are covered with a thin layer of chaparral, barely three feet high. The views of Pismo Bay, the ocean, and Los Osos Valley were spectacular. There were some people para-gliding in one area and two fellows shooting at clay pigeons in another. There was also a big installation of radio towers, beyond which was the Botanical Area.

The Botanical Area is 1334 acre section of land covered with groves of rare Sargent Cypress trees. Suddenly the ground cover goes from about three feet to anywhere between fifteen and thirty feet. The groves are actually almost equal parts Cypress and Manzanita; neither are very tall, but the effect is pleasant enough.

Looking northeast, I thought I could see the snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada. They may have been clouds; but on the other hand they really looked like mountains. On a clear day, from such an elevated vantage point, why shouldn't one see the highest mountain range in the country?

the blog of Mar. 4, 2006 (1)

2009-08-30T14:14:00.000-07:00

emergency broadcast

Friday morning I was driving up the Salinas Valley on my way to work... It had rained heavily the night before. I noticed more snow on the mountains than I ever recall -- not only on the Santa Lucias to the west, but the Gabilans and Chalone Peak to the east, which is rare. A camera could have captured the best-ever photograph of the big Kendall-Jackson facility, with a heavily snowcapped ridge behind it, and a sharp ray of morning sun landing on a large, tree-less, snow-covered expanse high up on the ridge. Those parts of the Santa Lucias that weren't blanketed in snow were a vibrant green.

As I approached Soledad, I noticed the sky in front of me was a dark, menacing gray. I was listening to National Public Radio when suddenly the shrill tones of the emergency broadcast system filled my ears. I knew it wasn't a test because it interupted the regular programming. For a few seconds I was gripped with the dreadful knowledge that something terrible happened somewhere. The post 9-11 world has conditioned us to fear the worst.

It was actually the National Weather Service with a severe weather alert. The Bay Area was experiencing lightening and hail storms, and the effects -- which included power outages, flood warnings, falling trees and dangerously large waves -- were being felt as far south as Monterey Bay.

I was far enough south and away from the coast that none of this really interfered with my commute. What the emergency broadcast did do, along with the idiot in the SUV who nearly hit me while crossing the 101, is give me a jolt of adrenaline.

the blog of Feb. 26, 2006

2009-08-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

211 Front St.

After scrutinizing various maps and sattelite images, I have come to the conclusion that 211 Front St. was at the corner of Front and Beekman, not Front and Peck Slip. I might be wrong. The picture in the article looks right, but it's hard to say; the windows don't match my memory of the apartment.

Can anyone say for sure which corner our building was at?

Add South Street Seaport to the list of places to visit next time I visit. With my increased interest in maritime lore, I realize there is a lot there that I didn't fully appreciate when I lived there. Also, the wonder of returning to a place after a long time.

the blog of Feb. 23, 2006

2009-08-23T17:54:00.001-07:00

the heart of Sonoma

We left Santa Rosa via Route 12, which apparently is one of the major wine roads of Sonoma. Since I kept on seeing signs about the Valley of the Moon, I'm tempted to wonder if this valley is a geographic feature and not just a winery. I just don't know Sonoma County well enough, which was the underlying impetus for this trip. We passed many wineries, including the Blackstone tasting room in Kenwood, which I had heard so much about in Gonzales. We didn't stop though until we got to the city of Sonoma. It exceeded my expectations. I had read about the central square, but I didn't realize how big it was, and how many shops and restaurants there both along the square and down every side street. We bought sandwiches at the Basque Bakery -- which was so crowded I thought I was in New York City -- and ate them in the square, which is essentially a big park. Then we left. There simply wasn't enough time. But having tasted the heart of the Sonoma experience, I look forward to returning for further exploration.

the blog of Feb. 22, 2006

2009-08-22T19:08:00.001-07:00

bypassing the bay

We drove up to Sonoma County via the East Bay, the 880 freeway that goes through Oakland. I liked the idea of stopping in Berkeley for lunch, but neither of us were too familiar with the area. We took the exit for UC Berkeley and found ourselves in a rough looking neighborhood. I turned left at the first big intersection and we soon found ourselves in the city of Albany.

Downtown Albany looked agreeable enough with lots of great old neon signs and a Thai restaurant on every block. We parked and walked down an inviting street that led to a vegetarian-friendly Thai restaurant. We walked in and it smelled heavenly. Our meals were excellent. That was a good thing since I was starving.

After lunch we got back on the freeway, which shortly turned into the Richmond Bridge. I'd never taken this bridge, although I'd had dreams throughout my life of taking insanely long, scary suspension bridges. This one was very long and a little bit scary. It went up, then down, then up again, then down again, and then turned north into Marin County, passing by the San Quentin prison.

the blog of Feb. 21, 2006

2009-08-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

Luther Burbank and the Yogi

Upon checking into the Hotel La Rose we learned that a new bike race called the "Tour de California" would be passing through town the following day.

The following day we agreed that rather than getting caught up in the race crowd, we would rather check out the Luther Burbank Home and Gardens, barely a mile away. The Charles M. Schulz Museum and Research Center with morphing Snoopy sculpture by Japanese artist Yoshiteru Otani would have to wait for another day.

I had read about the horticulturalist Luther Burbank, his gardens, and his deep bonding with plants, in the book "Autobiography of a Yogi". The folks in the Santa Rosa visitors bureau were quick to blow Burbank's horn, showing me pictures of him hob-nobbing with Thomas Edison and Henry Ford. But when I mentioned his association with Paramahansa Yoganada, they were completely clueless.

By the time we set out for the gardens, Santa Rosa was in the grips of police barricades and bumper-to-bumper traffic. We parked amid the quaint bungalows adjacent to the gardens. I thought that perhaps with an "event" going on, the gardens would also be busy; on the contrary, they were almost completely empty. It was therefore a very peaceful place. The gardens were small, and not a whole lot was in bloom; nevertheless the house and setting were idyllic, and the signage and displays were well done. Here was a man whose religion was plants, whose garden provided him with every spiritual need.

the blog of Feb. 20, 2006

2009-08-20T17:39:00.001-07:00

chocolate banana martini

For Presidents Day weekend we took a long overdue trek up to Sonoma. We stayed at the Hotel La Rose in Old Town Santa Rosa -- all very nice and even the weather cooperated. I found the place on the Historic Hotels of America website, which is linked to the National Trust for Historic Preservation, of which I am a member. The Old Town also has some cinematic history, having appeared in Alfred Hitchcock's 1943 film "Shadow of a Doubt".

In addition to being historic, the Hotel La Rose is solid, medium-sized, and cozy on a slightly chilly February night. We decided to dine in the hotel at Josef's, a Swiss-style restaurant & bar. The complimentary house wine was quite good. The food was only average for us since the only veggie option was some sort of pasta concoction. The most original items were on the dessert menu -- chocolate martinis.

Lisa brought the chocolate martini to my attention, and I wondered how on earth they could pull that one off. I looked a little closer and saw a Heath Bar martini. Unbelievable. Here was a list of the most unusually appealing martinis known to man. When I saw that they served a chocolate banana martini, my jaw dropped. That for me is a holy combination.

I don't normally drink mixed drinks, especially martinis, but I was curious about these. She got the Heath Bar and I got the chocolate banana and astonishingly they tasted exactly like what they purported to. The drinks were clear and colorless with chocolate sprinkles on top. So I drank my dessert which tasted great and sent me into a fuzzy and wobbly fog.

the blog of Feb. 18, 2006

2009-08-16T17:00:00.000-07:00

John Cale again?

What's this? Another John Cale album? That's what I thought when I saw "Black Acetate" in of all places the music store at the Gilroy outlet mall. It took him almost a decade to come out with "Hobo Sapiens", then in only a year or two this thing appears. I was suspicious, but the reviews were all pretty good.

It's hard to assess the album since it's still slowly growing on me, but my initial response is not bad, but not on par with "Hobo". "Acetate" seems more uneven. "Hobo" is uneven, but evenly uneven. On the new record, the track "Woman" sticks out as the best toward the end of the album. "Wasteland", the track after that, is also good. But I've had this CD for a month and I'm still digesting it -- a strange phenomenon, and not necessarily a good one.

When Mr. Gazpachot said he saw Mr. Cale perform at Amoeba in L.A., I bet he (Mr. Cale) was promoting this newer collection of strange songs.

the blog of Feb. 15, 2006

2009-08-15T22:53:00.000-07:00

the Life of Pi

Just finished "The Life of Pi" by the Canadian writer Yann Martel, and it was just about everything I could ask for from a popular novel... The book lived up to and maybe even exceeded its really cool cover. But the story leaves me with a million questions. Did this really happen? Did some guy in a cafe in Pondicherry really bring the story to the author, or is that the creation of the author?

If anything even remotely similar to this story actually happened, that is amazing. And if it's just a story, what a great story. Either way this one is worth checking out.

the blog of Feb. 11, 2006

2009-08-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

bromelain & papain

A few years ago I went to a nutritionist, who put samples of my blood under a microscope that was hooked up to a live TV monitor. Then, based on the shape or movement of the cells, and whatever else was swimming around in there, she would recommend all kinds of supplements and remedies -- mostly herbal and plant based.

One of the first was something called "Bromelain & Papain". These are enzymes that occur naturally in pineapples and papayas respectively. Both are good at breaking down proteins; not surprisingly they are also used as meat tenderizers. Apparently, based on the stickiness of the red blood cells, I needed some help breaking down proteins. The cells tended to adhere in large clumps.

As I recall the supplements did actually help and subsequent "bloodcasts" showed the red blood cells floating freely throughout the plasma.

And I must admit that "Bromelain & Papain" has a certain ring to it.

the blog of Feb. 4, 2006

2009-08-11T19:59:00.001-07:00

American Asshole

So I'm walking to the UPS store, thinking that it's good to walk to the store and not always be driving. Immediately upon having this thought a car drives by, a guy leans out of the passenger seat window and gives me the finger, and yells out something ("asshole" or some such thing).

Now I've had this experience before but not in a long time. I actually associate it more with the east coast and the rampant stereotypical rudeness of suburban Long Island and New Jersey. I always thought it had something to do with the reduced status of pedestrians in an automobile-centered society.

I find myself asking, through what mechanism does this kind of thing happen? Is it supposed to be funny for the people in the car? The guy was sort of a beefy white beer-swilling frat boy type, not necessarily a local cowboy but maybe some idiot who got off the freeway to buy Cheese Doodles (it was near the entrance ramp to the 101).

If anyone has figured any of this out, please contact me.

the blog of Jan. 30, 2006

2009-08-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

the Protestant Holy Land

The hard work and bloody battles of the Protestant Reformation took place in sixteenth century Continental Europe. It's principle hero was Martin Luther, and the origins of modern Protestantism can be traced to Lutheran protesters at the second Diet of Speyer in 1529. The Catholic church reneged on a pledge to tolerate the minority, upon which all hell broke loose. Thus to be Protestant is to be willing to challenge the status quo, and to have the courage to buck a system steeped in its own bullshit.

The struggle of Martin Luther and the Lutherans really can be compared to that of Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights movement in the twentieth century. In both cases a poorly treated minority stood up to a very large, very corrupt institution; in both cases the minority held the moral high ground; and in both cases the struggling minority won.

Luther opened the door to religious reform in Germany, at the time loose collection of principalities. The movement spread through the continent as other reformers -- Zwingli in Switzerland, Calvin and D'Etaples in France, and many others --laid the groundwork for the new churches. Since the Scandinavians were geographically removed from the front lines of the struggle, it was easier for them to recreate themselves as nominally Protestant, independent states.

Britain is a unique case, since its break with Catholicism was grounded more in politics than theology. The Anglican church occupied a middle ground between Luther and the Vatican. Of course, many Britons wanted full reform on the continental model, which led to decades of political turmoil, civil war, and the exodus to America.

Besides being an expression of raw imperialism, America was intended to be a sort of Protestant Holy Land. And for most of its history, it was exactly that. Remember, the original generation of reformers fought bitterly against the Catholics, and as often than not paid with their blood. America was the place where Protestants of all denominations could live and prosper in peace. In fact, the country was open and welcoming to anybody not intending to ram a Holy Roman agenda down anyone's throat.

I think if the founding fathers could see twenty-first century America, they would be struck by the rampant Catholicism of our times -- the preponderance of Catholic schools, Catholic institutions, Catholic judges, Catholic lawmakers. In keeping with a basic Protestant precept, the founders intended the United States to be inclusive and tolerant. But I think they would be disturbed that their Protestant Holy Land should be usurped by the very thing the nation was built in opposition to.

In the centuries following the Reformation, the intellectual refinement of Protestantism continued to develop in Continental Europe. Some of the most rigorous and independent thinkers in the western world were Protestant theologians: Hegel, Weber, Schleiermacher, Nietzsche, Jung. It would appear that Europe has benefitted from such a wealth of heavyweight thinkers. One can only wonder how America, the Protestant Holy Land, became so disconnected from its theological roots. Where are the great Protestant scholars? Billy Graham? Too churchy. Pat Robertson? Give me a break. The best ones we have are Bill Moyers and Jimmy Carter, and even they are not universally recognized as such.

the blog of Jan. 29, 2006

2009-08-04T21:23:00.001-07:00

our hijacked heritage

The late pope was a great man. He was a champion of human rights, and he opposed the war in Iraq. He was a proponent of European unity, and openly admitted the wrongs of western civilization, past and present. Not being Catholic, I must admit that his legacy of good work meets or exceeds my expectations from the pope, from any pope.

That being said, there are some funny things going on with religion in the United States that have already fully subverted the intentions of the founding fathers. Part of the problem lies in the self-imploding nature of Protestantism, and another part has to do with the exploding populations of groups that don't embrace birth control. What we are left with are the worst parts of Protestantism (short-sighted greed, arrogance, inflexibility and the 40-hour work week) and the worst parts of Catholicism (unreflective conformity, misogynistic paternalism, deviant sexuality and reproductive irresponsibility).

Today in America, hordes of Evangelical Christians, Mormons and Catholics share a misplaced pseudo-righteousness that goes against the original charter of the nation, and has effectively destroyed it.

The vast majority of the original American colonies, with the exception of Maryland, were Protestant safe-havens, refuges from the abusive excesses of the Catholic and state churches in Europe. Colonies such as Pennsylvania and Rhode Island advocated tolerance of all faiths, and it should be noted that this kind of tolerance is a hallmark of Protestantism, not Catholicism. It's true that the Puritans of Massachusetts were every bit as aberrant, autocratic and closed-minded as the papists they so opposed. Puritanism is the evil downfall of the larger Protestant movement, and is actually the reinvention of Catholicism. The same must be said of the Mormons. It is up to the more clear-headed branches of Protestantism -- Lutherans, Methodists, Unitarians, Episcopaleans, Quakers, and so forth -- to keep the deviant strains in line.

the blog of Jan. 21, 2006

2009-08-03T19:53:00.001-07:00

Speaking of Africa...

Speaking of Africa, last night we watched "The Constant Gardener" which was mostly filmed in Kenya. On the one hand the film was a long, ponderous adaptation of a no doubt long and ponderous John Le Carre novel. I worried that it would test Lisa's patience, but it didn't. She had been laughing out loud at Robin Williams, who was the guest on "Inside the Actor's Studio" and had slipped into his comedy routine at the moment I slipped the DVD into the player. Suddenly we were watching this humorless, semi-foriegn film and I felt bad like I was James Lipton sucking the life out of the room.

All of that aside, it was an extraordinary film. The footage of east Africa alone made it worthwhile. There were great shots of Lake Turkana and the desert outpost of Loyangalani, as well as Nairobi's Kibera district. There was also some good acting from Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz, and a nice assortment of African and expatriot British characters that one might expect to encounter in Kenya.

The film also delved into the evil shenanigans of the multinational pharmaceutical industry, the limited success of humainitarian aid efforts in the region, and the generally tragic condition of Africa. I was left with the same helpless and stupid feeling I got from watching "Hotel Rwanda".

All in all an amazing film, directed by the Brazilian who made "City of God", and supplemented with talent of every kind. I will go so far to say that as impressive as this film is to watch, it was probably more fulfilling to be involved in the production of it, to have spent time in Kenya interacting with the culture there while at the same time having accomplished some meaningful and semi-lucrative work.

the blog of Jan. 18, 2006

2009-08-02T10:26:00.000-07:00

the powerhouse from Benin

The other day I listened to Angelique Kidjo's "Oremi" album -- my "beST" choice for music in 2003 -- and I am still blown away at what a great album it is. She is the powerhouse from Benin who sings in English, French, and "Fon". This is some of the best African or Afro-European music I know of. Yes, I know, the album is now eight years old -- but it's aged well, which is to say not at all.

the blog of Jan. 17, 2006

2009-08-01T17:25:00.001-07:00

Burgundy vs. California

The last best new wine I had that I can recommend is Camelot Zinfandel. I thought it had rich berry flavors and Lisa thought it was peppery... Whatever the case is was close in taste some of the better Blackstone reds. Someone might come along and say, "but all these wines taste the same!" To which I would say I don't mind, because it's an agreeable taste.

All the same the old winemaker from Burgundy featured in the "Mondovino" documentary would probably call these wines "tricksters", industrialized wines for a mass market. I found his comments fascinating. He somehow indicated that these wines are horizontal while the traditional Burgundies are vertical. Strange as that sounds, it made sense when I recently tried the Gachot-Monot Beaujolais Paul bought us for Christmas. It was a strong wine that hit you in the side of the head with a two-by-four.

With all due respect to my Burgundian forbears, I think one's pallette for wine is no different than one's taste in say, books -- meaning that it all depends on where you're at in your life journey. There's no right or wrong apart from what's right or wrong for you.

The old Burgundian winemaker makes me think of the Zen masters who slap you in the face for the sake of enlightenment. The California wines just taste good on their own terms.

the blog of Jan. 15, 2006

2009-07-31T19:13:00.001-07:00

the craggy peaks of SLO

The craggy peaks of San Luis Obispo are a series of volcanic plugs, or some such geological marvel. What I didn't know until quite recently is how available some of them are for hiking. A fabulous resource in this regard is www.slotrails.com

Today I took an insanely rigorous hike around Cerro San Luis Obispo. That is the mountain with the big "M" on it. You get great views of the city, the ocean, Laguna Lake, the Madonna Inn, and Bishop Peak.

A week ago I hiked to the top of Bishop Peak. I would say that of the two, this is the better trail, although in many respects they are similar. The north side of each mountain is wooded and rocky, while the south sides not surprisingly consist of dry chaparral. The Bishop Peak trail starts on the north side, wraps around the east side, and then becomes a wonderfully punishing series of switchbacks on the south side that lead to the peak. This is great winter hiking as most of it is on the warm, sunny side with little wind and great views. It's also evidently very popular as the place was crawling with rock climbers, dog walkers, and generally very healthy looking people.

Cerro SLO was more rugged and seemed more geared toward mountain bikers. At the top is some kind of stage, where I think they have some kind of annual Easter event on the Mount Rubidoux model. There were some other weird parallels with Riverside: both mountain parks are adjacent to recreational lakes, both are in college towns. Both cities have an impressive downtown and a slightly removed section of town near the college. But perhaps I'm reading too much into this. Riverside doesn't have a mission.

The air is better up here. My legs are killing me. Time to get some rest.

the blog of Jan. 14, 2006

2009-07-30T19:25:00.000-07:00

beST films of 2005

OK, without further ado, here are my top ten:

1. Hotel Rwanda ('04)
2. The Battle of Algiers ('65)
3. The Motorcycle Diaries ('04)
4. Maria Full of Grace ('04)
5. Ray ('04)
6. Born into Brothels ('04)
7. Lucia Lucia ('03)
8. Mondovino ('05)
9. Napolean Dynomite ('04)
10. I Heart Huckabees ('04)

At the other end of the spectrum is a category I call "Bad and Painful on Multiple Levels". Three films earned a spot on this list:

1. Mr. and Mrs. Smith ('05)
2. Alfie ('04)
3. Life Aquatic ('04)

There were a bunch of films in between.

the blog of Jan. 6, 2006

2009-07-28T22:50:00.001-07:00

beST music of 2005

The best album I stumbled across in 2005 was John Cale's "Hobo Sapiens". I found it in the discount section at Boo Boo records (San Luis Obispo) and I wondered why I hadn't seen it before. I'm a huge fan of his 1995 release "Walking On Locusts", which is one of those records I can play over and over again and never get tired of. "Walking On Locusts" would have been a fabulous way for Cale to end a long and glorious career, so it was an unexpected pleasure to find that "Hobo" is also a great album, in a very different way. "Locusts" is for the most part smooth and even; "Hobo" is an eclectic set of tracks brimming with noise and complexity. A least half the dozen or so tracks are memorable, the best being "Look Horizon", "Magritte", "Bicycle" and "Over Her Head". Compared to Eno's recent collection of Christmas caroles and Hawaian folk songs, this album packs a wallop. (Interestingly "Bicycle" includes clips of Eno's daughters laughing).

the blog of Jan. 1, 2006 (4)

2009-07-27T23:21:00.001-07:00

beST book of 2005

My best book of 2005 was written in 1788. "Paul and Virginia" by Bernardin de Saint-Pierre is an old classic out of France that I wish I had known about earlier. Set on the tropical island of Mauritius when it was a French colony, the book abounds with geographic and botanical descriptions, and provides us with a snapshot of the culture and human side of those faraway times. On another level the book is very philosophical. The author was a contemporary of Jean-Jacques Rousseau and shared his view that a return nature was the best cure for a deeply corrupted European civilization. The story illustrates these simple principles beautifully through its sympathetic cast of characters. There is deep sadness and tragedy on these pages but also a redeeming message: happiness is close at hand. Don't let society and manmade entanglements separate you from it.

I was worried that a book so old might seem archaic and disconnected from our contemporary predicament. On the contrary, I read it in both French and English and in both languages the words flowed like honey. It is very close in form and spirit to Jean Rhys' "Wide Sargasso Sea", with the difference of France instead of England and the East Indies instead of the Caribbean. The books share a similar message: choose nature over Europe.

the blog of Jan. 1, 2006 (3)

2009-07-23T21:24:00.001-07:00

that Crate & Barrel feeling

Xmas in NY part 3. Walking around the Americana shopping center in Manhasset I took note of how New York's demographics contrast with California. California has several distinct strata -- Hispanic, Anglo, Asian, and a sprinkling of everything else. New York is characterized by "everything else", but if I had to be more specific I'd say European and Asian, as broad as that sounds. In Manhasset I got the feeling that the entire staff of the UN and their families had spilled out for some holiday shopping. In Tiffany's it was as though some of Latin America's best families had flown in to exchange a few items, while outside Brooks Brothers an Asian man dragged slowly on a cigarette in the freezing cold. I've always liked Manhasset, and this shopping center and I go way back. It wasn't always the emporium of high-end fashion that it is today. It used to be more practical and populist, with a Newberry's and a movie theatre and a bookstore. I liked it then and I like it now, although now there's not so much I would actually buy. I don't need or want that many clothes, and I don't wear jewelry. The whole place stinks of "bourgeois globalism", if I'm allowed to coin such a term.

The high point for me was Crate & Barrel. First of all, they sell useful things that are also aesthetically pleasing. It's a large store at the western end of the promenade; it's been there forever and therefore takes me back to the earlier decades of my life. As I've said, Manhasset exudes this vaguely intoxicating, uplifting feeling of comfort that is a synthesis of multiculturalism and bourgeois security. On a spiritual level it's very powerful, because it's tantamount to the hopes and dreams that all people have of a better life. Crate & Barrel possesses this spirit in a very pure form. I definitely felt it when I saw a well dressed Indian man looking at napkin rings. The sense was, "you've made it, now you can treat yourself to napkin rings".

the blog of Jan. 1, 2006 (2)

2009-07-22T21:14:00.001-07:00

Tom Seaver, winemaker

Xmas in NY part 2. Shortly before having to leave for the airport a piece of the New York Times caught my attention. Apparently Tom Seaver, the one-time star pitcher of the Mets, now owns a vineyard and makes wine in Napa County. I know, it's become a cliche for celebrities to take up winemaking, but after reading the article I really sensed some sincerity in the case of Tom Seaver. I didn't know it but he grew up in Fresno where his Dad grew raisins -- what better prelude to winemaking? Years ago as a kid I met the man when he was shooting some commercial in Old Westbury. I sensed a sincerity in the man that, upon reflection is very un-New York. It's funny the way sports teams will recruit players from far away places and thereby fabricate a civic image so flatteringly unlike the city they represent. I think this careful image-manipulation was part of what made the Mets, the only sports team I ever gave a rat's ass about, appealing to me. I was young and bought the product and the myth. The myth was a better New York than the one that later emerged; the New York of the 1964 World's Fair and the UN; an optimistic, genteel, colorful place with blue skies and green trees. I'm not sure where that New York went, or if it ever actually existed outside a handful of psyches and technicolor postcards.

the blog of Jan. 1, 2006 (1)

2009-07-21T17:51:00.000-07:00

The Manchurian Candidate

Last night we caught most of the remake of "The Manchurian Candidate" on TV. I must say that it was well-photographed, making good use of such familiar New York locations as Old Westbury Gardens and Penn Station, and well-acted by a great cast: Denzel Washington, Merril Streep, John Voigt, Liev Schreiber. The story itself was disturbing but intelligent and engaging enough to hold my attention. I'm not familiar with the original film but clearly director Jonathon Demme re-adapted the story to the present. Perhaps the strangest thing was the cameo by singer Robyn Hitchcock. Apparently he's acting now although the director gave him a highly peripheral role -- not as a singer, but as a someone connected to shadowy experiments on US soldiers in Iraq by a somewhat deranged CIA-protected South African scientist.

the blog of Dec. 31, 2005

2009-07-20T21:09:00.000-07:00

some recommendations...

A follow-up on Pepperwood Grove wine: I tried the Cabernet, and I wasn't impressed. Stick to the Syrah.

Last night I learned that Donald Trump is considering a run for Governor of New York. He would not be good for that state. Stick to Spitzer.

the blog of Dec. 30, 2005

2009-07-19T15:37:00.001-07:00

Native American Commander in Chief

There is plenty of talk about the first woman President or the first black President and even the first black woman President. What I would like to see is a Native American President running on an environmental/restorationist platform. That would be restoration of the buffalo and Native social structures.

the blog of Dec. 29, 2005

2009-07-17T23:05:00.001-07:00

an example of when democracy doesn't work

Xmas in NY part 1. The day after Xmas it was raining, and so the idea of going to a movie made sense up until the point it was clear that everybody else had the same idea. The gridlock around Roosevelt Raceway Cinemas rivalled any LA freeway at rush hour, and by the time we managed to find a parking spot the show was sold out. We had agreed on "Chronicles of Narnia" because Lisa and Irene wanted to see it and I was being open-minded about it. Unfortunately none of the other movies or start times were good back ups, so we decided to rent a dvd instead.

The Westbury library being closed, we proceeded to the Blockbuster on Glen Cove Road, which was full of bare shelves, especially for the movies we wanted to see. I managed to find four or five interesting possibilities, all of which were shot down by Lisa and Irene. In the good faith spirit of democracy I let them select one called "Mr. & Mrs. Smith". Unfortunately this film proved to be so bad on so many levels that it's hard to know where to start to critique it. We reached a very democratic consensus that the film was a regrettable peice of crap that in no way improved the image of Mr. Brad Pitt or Ms. Angelina Jolie, who were rumoured to be humanitarian heroes.

It was necessary to get revenge on this film by renting "March of the Penguins" the following night. This simple documentary on the life cycle of the emperor penguin was pleasant enough and lasted only 80 minutes. "Mr. & Mrs. Smith" was two whole hours -- the length alone should have been a red flag. Increasingly when choosing a film I try to remember to check the length of it. That way I have some sense of the swamp I'm about to plunge into.

the blog of Dec. 23, 2005

2009-07-16T21:04:00.001-07:00

1-2-3-4

1. The modern world will not fit in a teacup. It is simply larger than a teacup.

2. Last night I had a very carefully worded conversation and exchange of ideas with Bill Clinton. My dreams aren't always so verbal, but this one could probably be transcripted. I remember telling him about how his administration successfully projected an aura of normalcy while simultaneously pushing the envelope in many new areas, and he nodded in agreement. The conversation took place in my old room in suburban New York.

3. On Sunday we saw the Monterey Symphony perform in the barrel room of Blackstone Winery. The accoustics were remarkable. As I expected, there were space-heaters strategically placed throughout, and we sat right next to one. I realized that I enjoy classical music more if I don't recognize it, when it is frighteningly vast, and there is no end in sight. I like the idea of being swallowed whole by a huge piece of classical music, sort of like Jonah and the whale.

4. There is a Coldplay song out that lifts a riff from Kraftwerk's "Computer Love". When I first heard it in a bookstore I stood frozen for twenty minutes until I figured out where I'd heard it before.

the blog of Dec. 18, 2005

2009-07-15T16:53:00.001-07:00

peanuts & pinot noir

On Saturday we met Ted & Tatiana in San Luis Obispo, a good midpoint between them & us. They took the bus and met us outside the Big Sky Cafe. The restaurant was serving a very healthy vegetarian borscht that didn't seem the right color and tasted more like minestrone, in a good way. After lunch we walked the streets of this very pedestrian-friendly city. At least one older building had been removed and the entire block from Phoenix Books/Boo Boo Records was in the process of being rebuilt. We had coffee in the little cafe between the book and record stores where we discussed peak oil and agreed that learning a difficult foriegn language must burn calories.

At the chamber of commerce I finally learned that it's possible to hike the craggy peaks surrounding the town. For years on end I wallowed in ignorance and even imagined such hikes weren't possible, so this information constituted a minor revolution. I look forward to hiking every accessible crag.

Ted & Ta were looking for the right kind of black tea to take back, and my instincts led us to a gourmet foods store I'd passed before but never been in. Sure enough the shelves were alive with the "assam" style of tea that was apparently the object of their quest. Across the street was something calling itself a "fireplace store" that was actually a kitchen accessories store. We then offered to drop them off at the bus station, which was in a part of town I'd never seen. I wrongly imagined it would be one of the cleanest Greyhound stations in the nation. A trip to the bathroom proved otherwise. Their bus was soon to leave so we left them with their bus that was soon to plunge into the dark night, and the empty, melancholy bus station with its vending machines full of peanuts.

On our way back I wanted to stop for a bag of mixed nuts but Lisa felt it would be better to have a proper meal in Paso Robles. The meal I had at a place called Odyssey was perfect -- brie and artichoke hearts with salad, washed down with a glass of pinot noir.

the blog of Dec. 17, 2005

2009-07-13T18:53:00.000-07:00

Pepperwood Grove

Yesterday evening I went to Safeway determined to find a decent new wine. Something called "Pepperwood Grove" with a snazzy lime-green label was on sale and appeared to be the best value. I bought the Syrah and was not disappointed. It reminded me of some of the better Blackstone wines. If you find Pepperwood Grove on sale, give it a shot.

the blog of Dec. 16, 2005

2009-07-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

Citrus-flavored Listerine

I must admit that the new citrus-flavored Listerine caught my eye, and in the land of theory it works. But I'm sad to report that in practice it doesn't live up to expectations. It tastes like one of the artificially-flavored medicines I was given in the 1970's, possibly for a cold. It's in no way as pleasant as say baby aspirin or chewable vitamin C.

Lisa disagrees. She likes it. "It's got an interesting flavor" she says.

In any case we're stuck with two bottles of the stuff, since we got the two-for-one special at Target. That alone should have been a red flag that all was not well in citrus-Listerine land. I'm looking forward to going back to "classic" Listerine. This is their "New Coke" moment.

the blog of Dec. 12, 2005

2009-07-11T18:23:00.000-07:00

Where's the "Reverence for Life" when you need it?

The scheduled execution of Tookie Williams casts a pall over this entire evening, regardless of what one does. Yesterday I finally got around to watching the "Downfall" dvd from Netflix, and that well-made but exceedingly heavy film is still haunting me. After seeing Hitler under a microscope, I can't help but feeling that Schwarzenegger, the other oddball-Austrian-turned-statesman-of-a-much-larger-land, has some nerve to use his power to send a man to his death. It would be much better if he used this opportunity to affirm a culture of life.

The USA treasures capitol punishment as though it were an endangered species. Modern Europe on the other hand forbids it. I lean heavily toward the European position, but I do wonder exactly how they deal with their homicidal maniacs (they do have some). If they have figured out the answer -- life in prison? cutting-edge rehab? -- then the USA should eagerly embrace it. But what specifically the Europeans do with their criminals, apart from running a more civil society that reduces the level of crime in the first place, seems to be missing from the conversation.

The paradox of the European position came home to me while watching "Downfall". While it's great that they've done away with capital punishment, it wasn't that long ago that they had something worse, namely casual and random murder and suicide on a scale that I don't think America has ever seen, even in the Wild West or during the Civil War. Could it be that Europe's centuries of bloodbath have reached a saturation point that enables them to evolve to the next level?

abandoned

2009-06-09T21:53:00.000-07:00

These nearby abandoned buildings appear to be the remains of a labor camp.

life may be a bowl of cherries...

2009-06-02T18:53:00.000-07:00

...but are these ripe?

it's a cherry

2009-05-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

The tree with the puffy white flowers (featured in the blog of 4/5) is definitely a cherry.

the shapes of the states

2009-05-24T18:17:00.000-07:00

As a geographer I couldn't help noticing the new book How the States Got Their Shapes by Mark Stein at a local public library. It's full of great stuff... Who remembers that New Netherlands was bound by the Connecticut River on the east and the Delaware River on the west, but included Delaware? By extension, Vermont was a part of New York state, and Protestant Delaware refused to be annexed by Maryland. Instead it was annexed by Pennsylvania so that the latter could secure access to the sea. In a similar land grab, Nevada was extended to the Colorado River, pissing off Arizonans. And who recalls that Massachussetts, Connecticut, and Georgia all extended to the Pacific Ocean? This is a fun book, highly recommended. (image from Wikimedia Commons)

Sooty Shearwaters

2009-05-20T19:36:00.000-07:00

I was driving around listening to a local radio station that made passing reference to Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds being inspired by a local event. I'd never heard of such a thing and was intrigued. I knew the film was shot in Bodega Bay, just north of San Francisco; what I didn't know, what took me my entire life to learn, was that Alfred Hitchcock's primary residence as of 1940 was Scotts Valley, a little town up in the Santa Cruz mountains. This explains why some of his films were shot in Northern CA. Apparently in 1961 flocks of sickened Sooty Shearwaters carpeted the seaside town of Capitola, crashing kamikaze style into anything that got in their way. Hitchcock read about this bizarre event and weaved it into his 1963 film. (image from Wikimedia Commons)

what is a nature preserve...

2009-05-19T20:41:00.000-07:00

...but a piece of the landscape that someone has put a frame around and named?

This I thought as I wandered around the Kaweah Oaks Preserve, a wonderfully sleepy piece of land on the road to Sequoia National Park. So if you're not in the mood to drive up the highest mountains in the lower 48 states and see the largest trees on earth, you can always take a stroll around these fields and densely foliated thickets that remind me of east coast nature preserves. There's a common thread -- lots of low key life forms (birds, bugs and botany), including maybe ticks, but also lots of soul. (photo of somewhere else because my batteries died)

Central Valley Outings

2009-05-08T22:27:00.000-07:00

I had the idea that Porterville, CA would be more charming than Hanford, CA. The reverse seems to be true. I stopped in Hanford in search of a Home Depot and stumbled upon this fabulous courthouse square with lovingly restored architecture... I tried to photograph the courthouse but the batteries in my camera died. Later, when Porterville failed to enchant me but nevertheless had a decent Thai restaurant, I drove up to Lake Success and chomped on Pad Thai in the setting sun.

when the U.S. sneezes...

2009-05-01T22:09:00.000-07:00

...Mexico catches a cold. I think that's how the expression goes.

a random photo of a tropical location

2009-04-28T18:20:00.001-07:00

African Groove

2009-04-26T10:13:00.000-07:00

Every now and then there's an album of music among the myriad of albums that not only pleases from the get go, but seems to get better with time. Such is the case with the Putumayo collection African Groove. I liked it when it came out in 2003 because it reminded me by turns of Fela Kuti and Angelique Kidjo, but these bands were completely unfamiliar. Now it's one of my top driving albums. The arrangements and the rhythms could power an engine, especially the last five tracks, starting with Dady Mimbo's Bouba followed by the chugging of Thievery Corporation and others with equally strange names... Some of the singing is in French or English, but most beautiful to me are the African laguages of which I know not one word. (image displayed with unending gratitude to Putumayo World Music)

Don Carlos... en plein air

2009-04-20T21:08:00.000-07:00

Reggae legends, and legendary reggae, exist somewhat outside of time. The sweet, catchy melodies of Don Carlos have served me faithfully for over twenty years, but I'd never seen him perform until yesterday's gig at the Pozo Saloon -- the perfect outdoor venue. The sound was crisp, clean, and familiar -- could one ask for more? Last year was Roedelius at the Henry Miller Library; now this. What will next year bring? (photo courtesy Lisa)

the newest members of our family

2009-04-18T19:45:00.000-07:00

The newest members of our family are the lime tree (left) and the compost bin (right).

Hachiko

2009-04-14T20:45:00.001-07:00

Hachiko was an Akita who belonged to a Japanese agriculture professor in the 1920's. Every day the dog would greet his master's return at the Shibuya train station. One day the master suffered a stroke and did not return. Hachiko however continued to wait in the same spot at the station for over ten years. The public was touched by the dog's faithfulness and he became a national icon. A statue of Hachiko was made that still stands in Shibuya Station. A film about this noble animal will be released later this year. (photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons)

Lake Santa Margarita

2009-04-12T10:52:00.000-07:00

Like the Nile, the Salinas River flows north. The source of this important river is Lake Santa Margarita. It's not the biggest lake in California but a visually dramatic one with some nice hiking trails, such as the one that led to the promontory seen here on the left.

(Ted assured me that promontory was the right word for what we were standing on.)

While exploring we encountered this skeleton of what was probably a deer, a possible indicator of mountain lion activity.

Needless to say, the grass was very green.

canker, blast & gummosis

2009-04-05T20:21:00.000-07:00

This photo somewhat captures the sight of these puffs of cotton growing outside my window, bees and birds swirling around. That's the healthy part of the tree. On the left are large, dead branches hollowed out by fungus and in some places oozing sap. Did I mention that it's probably a cherry, but I'm not even sure? An astute young man pointed out the fungus to me, and subsequent research suggests this is a case of bacteriological canker, blast and gummosis. So today I took my saw, soaked it in alcohol, and hacked off a few diseased limbs. Some of them were so hollowed and termite infested (an effect, not a cause of the disease) that I could break 'em off with my hand. But the puffballs live on...

Japanese bird watching

2009-03-28T20:51:00.000-07:00

When Ted lived in Japan he suffered from a lack of books in general and a lack of field guides to Japanese birds in particular. Maybe things have changed, but way back in 2004 it was nearly impossible to obtain such a thing in English at a reasonable price (Amazon was happy to sell one for a few hundred dollars, if memory serves me). So while visiting we were struck by this interpretive sign dangling off a rope in a Zen moss garden. It's a picture of a picture and I'm not sure what it says -- my Japanese is that bad.

analog revival

2009-03-20T21:49:00.000-07:00

This well-crafted wind-up alarm clock renders electricity obsolete. It's also better for the environment.

the virtues of low technology

2009-03-19T20:35:00.000-07:00

This Sears Craftsman push mower is also powered by humans, so when the gasoline runs out, the lawn will still be trimmed.

coffee insurance

2009-03-17T19:42:00.000-07:00

The famous hand-cranking coffee grinder, in continuous use since 2001. Wooden, made in Poland, purchased in Lompoc, CA. Requires no electricity, so when peak oil hits, and the lights go out, the coffee will continue...

Antsirabe

2009-03-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

Or check out this one in Antsirabe.

Antananarivo

2009-03-15T10:57:00.000-07:00

Heck, even places like Antananarivo, very much in the developing world, have architecture.

architecture vs. real estate

2009-03-12T21:31:00.000-07:00

There is a massive disconnect in the USA between its huge mania for home-owning and its relatively low interest in the field of architecture. (Bergheim, France)

The Darjeeling Limited

2009-03-05T19:35:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend we watched The Darjeeling Limited on dvd. I was drawn to the idea of a train ride through India. On that level, the film did not disappoint; the train, the scenery, everything in the film of Indian origin was pleasing to my senses. The colors, the desert, and the feeling of being on an Indian train: all good. What sucked was everything else. Three dysfunctional brothers, all annoying. Surprisingly, Owen Wilson was the least annoying; he came closest to suggesting the existence of a moral compass. The segment with Anjelica Huston was also OK. But the worst part, the thing that ruined everything for me was the music. Apart from some harmless sitar playing, I will never forgive this film its use of old Rolling Stones and the abominably pretentious faux-Paris song, whatever the hell that was, and the extremely annoying character that kept playing it on his Bose/i-pod.

Eucalyptus globulus and others

2009-02-22T19:50:00.000-08:00

I'm currently reading a novel called "Eucalyptus". Yes, it's Australian. I've learned this much about Eucalypts: the more you learn about them, the more impossible they are to identify. The tree in front of my house may be a Silver Dollar Gum (E. polyanthemos), but who the hell knows? It would seem that the most common in California is the Blue Gum (E. globulus), used for wind breaks such as the one above. These trees are tall, but the tallest Eucalypt, which is the tallest flowering plant, is E. regnans, a.k.a. Mountain Ash -- Australia's answer to the Redwood and the Sequoia. Australia: is it surprising that a land so detached would produce such distinct trees?

Old Town Lompoc, home of the coffee grinder

2009-02-16T12:46:00.000-08:00

For years on end -- it turns out to be over seven -- I intended to return to this independent coffee shop in Old Town Lompoc where I bought the hand-cranking coffee grinder that I still use to this day. What remained lodged in my memory was that they had the best selection of hand-cranking coffee grinders I've ever seen. Yesterday I went there with Ted. The Old Town was steeped in a benevolent time warp. The buildings were aging and taking on character like a fine wine. There were murals everywhere. But the interior of South Side Coffee was different. The grinders were gone, and instead the same shelves had a few teapots. The guy at the counter confirmed that they did have a fine selection of grinders (I wasn't imagining it), and that they could some day return if the demand was there. The other major change from July 2001 seemed to be a wall separating the coffee shop from the adjacent independent book store. It was fascinating to superimpose a seven-year-old memory on what I saw. I'm glad this place is still in business.

eccentric house plants

2009-02-02T20:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's good to let a house plant do its own thing, like this lopsided aloe becoming increasingly octopus-like with age, its arms flopping and flailing and slipping through the slats.

home is where the heart is

2009-01-26T22:23:00.000-08:00

As the man who once said he'd like to live in a new place every six months, and own no more than would fit in his station wagon, "settling down" has been an acquired taste. I also never felt any deep need to own a house, which makes it strange to wake up in a house that I supposedly "own". It's a little bit like the French philosopher behind the wheel of an automobile -- he is fascinated, but almost dangerously detached. The old place felt like something I owned -- spiritually if not legally. It's like a phantom limb; when I go there to clean it, supposedly for the next person, I can't help but "living" there. Time fuses us to our residences, but home itself ultimately comes from within.

Calamity Jane's transition

2009-01-20T20:33:00.000-08:00

Calamity, they tell me you lived a good life for a rabbit -- eight years? Nine years? The Bush years? Why did I decide to put you down within a few hours of Obama's swearing in? Can you ever forgive me? You got swept into this time of major transitions, and made the ultimate transition. Just a few weeks ago you made the transition from having two-and-one-half good legs to only one. That must have been tough. And a few months ago you miraculously rebounded from your first bout of E. cuniculi, or whatever was making you wobbly. Were you OK with being wobbly? I will always question whether I did the right thing with you.

Puerto Vallarta

2009-01-17T23:55:00.000-08:00

The third and final port of call was Puerto Vallarta. The actual city was a bit more touristy and less charming than I'd imagined; it has no doubt multiplied many times since Richard Burton and Liz Taylor put this fishing village on the map. Indeed the prettiest part was the posh Mismaloya area to the south, which in some ways felt like a tropical version of Carmel. But even in these tropics the Pacific Ocean remains colder and darker than, say, the Caribbean. Otherwise the weather was totally pleasant.

The resort at Mismaloya (below left) is where we almost spent our last vacation, so it was interesting to see it on this vacation. It's on the cove next to where Night of the Iguana was filmed. The hotel in that movie, the one managed by Ava Gardner, was located on the adjacent point (below right). Director John Huston built it as a set in what at the time was a random piece of jungle.

It was interesting to learn that Night of the Iguana, the film that was such a boon to the local tourism, was never released in Mexico. Apparently the deeply religious population had no use for Richard Burton's portrayal of an errant priest turned drunken, womanizing scoundrel.

Old Town Mazatlan

2009-01-17T17:19:00.001-08:00

After the hike we were dropped off in the Old Town, where we explored on foot for a few hours. It was a charming place with rough edges. I'm pretty sure it was the real Mexico. These photos play up the charm more than the rough edges. The grand yellow cathedral was one of the town's focal points. The naturalist recommended a restaurant right next to it, which turned out to be one of the most insanely busy restaurants I have ever eaten at. As is my habit, I had nopales con huevos (cactus with eggs).

Afterwards we wandered over to the other town square, which was more secular. Here the focal point was the historic opera house. Otherwise there were hotels, cafes and restaurants. Mazatlan is a well established port that became wealthy in the 19th century from nearby silver mines. It is also the home of Pacifico beer, so we decided to honor that fact at one of the cafes on the square. It is actually one of the better Mexican beers, especially with a lime wedge squeezed into it.

Mazatlan

2009-01-16T19:33:00.000-08:00

By contrast Mazatlan, on the other side of the Sea of Cortez, was sunny and clear. With a small group and a local naturalist we hiked up to the 2nd highest lighthouse in the world (after Gibraltar), which sounds like a lot but is actually only about 500-600 feet above sea level. The rocky trail was full of iguanas and organ pipe cacti; at the top was a fabulous panarama of the city and surrounding islands plus the spectacle of dive-bombing falcons. It was good to burn off some calories after all that cruise food!

Cabo San Lucas

2009-01-16T08:02:00.000-08:00

The Tropic of Cancer cuts right across the southern tip of the Baja Peninsula, so it was ironic that Cabo San Lucas, out first stop in the "tropics", was overcast and a little windy. After the ship docked in the harbor we were taxied ashore on the smaller craft shown here.

The weather didn't stop us from kayaking out to "El Arco" at the end of this formation that forms the very tip of Baja. It's the point where the Pacific Ocean meets the Sea of Cortez -- a bit choppy but we were led by an experienced guide. The rocks were covered with pelicans and sea lions.
From sandy "Lovers Beach" near the tip we went snorkeling, which didn't go as well. The fish were somewhat neon but the visibility was reduced (due to lack of sun), and being in a group it was hard not to get a flipper in the face.

the cabin

2009-01-15T10:08:00.000-08:00

What was our cabin or stateroom like you're wondering? Smaller than a motel room but more comfortable. Seemed to be very clean. This one was windowless, so it got dark. You wake up in the night, and the motion itself isn't unpleasant. But then you consider that this ship is larger then the Titanic, and then you start thinking about the Titanic, and that can disrupt your sleep.

Your head points toward the bow of the ship. There may be science or feng shui behind this. It works.