Daily Archives: August 9, 2004

Human-Powered Mini-Blimp Races

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In this day and age of contrived sporting events (basketball games with style points?) it’s time we turned our attention back to day when sports were sporting and athletes were athletic. For that reason the time has come to launch HPMBRL, the Human-Powered Mini-Blimp Racing League. It would be like the Tour de France in 3-D, with elements of the America’s Cup thrown in.

Best of all, it would be very photogenic, and there would be lots of surface area for sponsor’s logos.

To get off the ground the league would need star power. Who better than retired world-class cyclists? Would people pay to see Greg LeMond and Bernard Hinault (probably spelled that wrong) go head to head once more? You bet they would.

So who would the likely sponsors be? It would be fun to see Boeing sponsor a team, and maybe Rutan’s company—the crew that build SpaceShipOne. Bicycle companies would be naturals, as many of their components would be used in the blimps’ drive trains. Fuji already has a blimp presence, and a photogenic sport would be a natural for a photography company. I could imagine GM or Ford sponsoring a team.

I haven’t figured out the actual rules for the race, but I can imagine a series of great big hoops suspended at various heights above the ground that the fliers must pass through, or perhaps simpler would be a simple requirement that they pass over a certain sopt on the ground. In the hoop scenario, there would be a great deal of emphasis on positioning and tactics as the flyers approached the hoop.

Wind, of course, would be a major factor. Courses would be designed with the prevailing wind of the area in mind. There would be legs of the race that featured long, hard climbs into the wind, and others that would allow the blimps to sweep down to where they are practically skimming the Earth as they are swept along with a tailwind, knocking the hats off the awe-struck spectators.

So there you have it. HPMBRL (probably need a better acronym) extends the careers of great athletes, pushes technology, looks cool, and would be a sponsor magnet. What could possibly go wrong?

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Thanks!

Petco Park

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The Padres were wrapping up a home stand yesterday, and I still hadn’t gotten down to see a game in the new stadium. Sunday morning I got an early start, leaving Mike’s place and heading back over toward Pacific Beach and my luggage. It was too early to drop by Amy’s, however. I knew she had been off the night before and that meant she’d probably be sleeping something off. I was feeling pretty good, myself, so I went to a little coffee shop and had my morning tea and a bagel. While there I wrote the A Day At the Races, below.

After I was done I went across the street to the library for Internet access. The library was closed, but I found a spot outside where I goot a good signal from the wireless network inside. I settled in next to the building and set to work presiding over my media empire. Finally my butt was asleep and I figured Amy might be awake. Well, I was wrong. I popped in and freshened up as quietly as I could while Amy lay on the couch. Then it was off to the game.

I knew that there was going to be a big crowd there at the ballpark, so rather than dally at on of the many bars with pregame promotions I took the trolley straight down to the park and bought a ticket for a seat way up in the sky behind home plate. The gates opened up a few minutes later (two hours before game time), and I was one of the first in. I took the chance to wander around the stadium and see what it was like.

I don’t think public money should be spent on subsidizing a sports team, but I have to say that the result in this case is spectacular. As I walked around the park I had great views of the harbor (one hell of a lot of pineapples were being unloaded from a Dole container ship, there was a Royal Carribean Cruise ship docked, aircraft carriers aplenty across the way, and sailboats enjoying the unusually fresh breeze coming off the blue Pacific), of the city (jets descending between the downtown buildings, no sign of the predicted traffic mayhem on game days, absolutely cloudless blue sky a crystal dome over all), and of course the field itself.

In the “park at the park”, a little grassy area behind the outfield bleachers there was a pee-wee wiffleball game going on, and other events as well. The park is has a hill that provides a view of the game; for five bucks a head you can spread a blanked and picnic while watching the game.

I made a comment a while back that pets were not allowed at Petco Park. In the words of Rick in Casablanca, I was misinformed. There is even a section of bleachers specifically designed so pups can be comfortable, and there is a pup sitting service so you can go spend money at the restaurants and shops without worrying. There is also a dog health station. On top of that, it was the first annual “Dog days of summer” promotion. There was a dog show in the park, and before the game all the dogs paraded around the field. There was also a demonstration by Nick, the reigning world champion frisbee dog. That was really fun to watch as I ate my giant hot dog with jalapeños and guzzled my huge Coke.

I had been concerned that in the upper deck I would be baked by the sun, but the structures over the stands to direct the air flow over the field also provide shade. From my seat I could look past the field, past the dog show, and into downtown. With the fresh breeze I was actually a little chilly up there, so I used that as an excuse to buy a souvenir shirt (you know how badly I need shirts on this trip). With the shirt on a frozen margarita provided the perfect temperature balance. Ahhh, life doesn’t get any better.

Except for one minor technicality: the Padres lost. That wasn’t going to ruin my day, though.

Thanks!

Memories

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Memories

lingering perfume
and stale cigarettes – I breathe
And know what was not

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Thanks!

Jerry, Meet Jerry

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I should write first about what a great day I had today. It was the perfect backside for yesterday. I’ll get to that, I promise. I’ll try, at least. But for now we will fast forward to the end of the day. To Tiki. To my out-of-body experience.

You may have come to assume, reading my tales, that I’m a Rock ‘n’ Roll All Night, Party Every Day kind of guy. Sorry to have led you astray, but that’s generally not the case. At Tiki, for instance, I am usually gone before the band starts to play. Find me a bar where good bands play in the late afternoon and I promise I’ll be there every day. I assure you this has nothing to do with my age.

So tonight I found myself still there as the music started. I was sitting next to Connecticut Bill, who would not SHUT THE HELL UP! He was the one who convinced me I should stay to hear this guy play, but once the guy started playing, all I could hear was Billy. In the presence of good music I do one of two things: I dance or I write. Usually when I write while listening to music it’s all in my head, but tonight I grabbed a pile of bar napkins and a pen, both because I knew my memory was fragile and to keep Bill at bay. It took some hard-core ignorin’ to buy myself some space.

Meanwhile, the singer was starting to attract a few new partons to the bar. Some of them were even female. I worked away, studiously ignoring Billy as much as I could. There was one woman in particular, over my right shoulder (Connecticut Bill was to my left), in a floral dress short enough I could appreciate the toned legs crossed and aimed directly at the singer. I scratched away at my napkin. One corner of my mind, of course, drew a scenario that had her crossing over to me to see what I, obviously an artist of great virtue, was breathing to life there in her very presence.

It was as I contemplated that fantasy that I saw myself. There are no mirrors at Tiki, and none was necessary. There I was, shaggy, saggy, and baggy, scratching on a napkin arcane symbols that I myself will not be able to decipher later, tearing the parchment when I get too excited. My hair is a wreck because I run my hand through it repeatedly as I wrestle with the tougher parts. I’ve got a pretty good dairy queen thing going by now.

And here’s the kicker: if that woman had come over to see what I was writing, on the off chance that somehow she had felt the force of my intellect across the room, I would have been paralyzed. “What are you doing?” she would ask. “Uh, just doing some writing,” I would answer. “Oooh, I love writers! Can I read it?” Gaah! Shit! Shit! Shit! “Uh, no. It’s not ready yet.” It would have been something like that, except less graceful on my part. Luckily the entire scenario is impossible.

Thanks!