A Day in the Life

Miles: 528.7
Location: John and Janice’s house, Scott’s Valley, CA

Just spent the evening talking with John about all the old stuff – music, beer, and ideas. It’s funny that after all this time the conversation still seems fresh. (I reconsidered using ‘fresh’ because I understand that the kids have worn it into a cliché these days, but dammit, it’s the right word. No-good kids.)

I will backfill this entry with the names of the bands that we listened to, but one of those bands was Polkacide – the raw takes from a recent studio session, and I thought it further proof that those boys were born to do a live album. The raw takes demonstrate that they’re better when they just go after it without thinking so hard.

I heard a couple of new stories from old Polkacide gigs, and I heard music by the Polkaholics, which everyone must experience before they die. Which means that before tonight, I did not need to fear death. Had I only known! My life could have been so carefree until now, when the shadow of death has become irrefutably real. Curse you, Polkaholics!

We also drank several beers. I’m going to sleep now.

Big Sur


View JHT – Big Sur in a larger map

Miles: 518.5
Location: Santa Cruz Diner, Santa Cruz, CA.
Number of RV’s I got stuck behind: 0(!)

The morning was cloudy and came an hour too soon, but the smell of bacon finally pulled me out of hibernation, and it was just what my poor stomach needed after I sent so much wine down my gullet yesterday. After breakfast and a quick game of Scrabble, I said my goodbye-but-hopefully-not-forevers and hit the road, heading north up Highway 1.

By the time I passed the Madonna Inn the sky was clearing and the day was looking promising. I passed a cool-looking cemetary in Morro Bay, just to the north of San Louis Obispo, and I turned around to get some pictures. Many of the fancy graves had occupants named Madonna. Coincidence? Unlikely. I’ll put some pictures up at my Web site and link to them here – as soon as I figure out the best way to do that.

The drive up Big Sur was excellent. There were actually times I was not stuck behind slower-moving traffic and could really drive. When I did come up on a line of cars, I would pull over for a few minutes and let them get ahead again. If the line wasn’t too slow, I would just putt along with them and concentrate on sightseeing instead. Eventually most people will pull off the road to let the Mario Andretti wannabes pass.

Got here with a case of Exploding Bladder Syndrome, so rather than go looking for John and Janice’s house, I stopped here for relief and a bite to eat. Some guy just threw some coins at a waitress – apparently he had tried to leave without paying and was mad because she wouldn’t let him. That’s her story, anyway, and he’s not here anymore to tell this reporter his version.

Wine Tasting

Miles: 315.3
Location: Grover Beach, just south of Pismo Beach in Central California.

Went wine tasting. It was good. I didn’t drive. That was good. Sentence, three words. Three words good. Right now the other five people in this house are all packed in the kitchen, making dinner. The ingredients going in are excellent; it remains to be seen they can compensate for having five (argumentative) chefs to make a meal for six people. Oooh, it’s complicated.

By the time I got up this morning (6:30), Mikie was heading out to go fishing with Art, who was already long gone (He gets up at 4:30, and he’s retired. How messed up is that?). When questioned by the distaff about what he would do with any fish he caught, he said, “It’s all catch and release.” Since none of us believed that he would catch anything, we were prepared to take him at his word.

When he showed up 45 minutes later with two fish in his bucket, No one seemed surprised that the “and release” part of his plan went out the window as soon as he managed the “catch” part. It seems Art decided that he would clean and eat the fish rather than buy a lobster for the big seafood dinner we were planning for the evening.

We spent the afternoon in the Templeton area visiting wineries. Had a lot of different wines, some very good, others not. We stopped by the pier to get our seafood but lobster season ended last week. We got a ton (… well, OK, 5 pounds) of shrimp and a load of clams as well. Dinner was good, and the wine drinking continued apace. Fun was had by all. Fell asleep watching Amazon Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death.

Hmm… A relaxing day, but not really the kind of entry that’s going to keep you glued to your set, is it?

Day 1 – Happy Birthday to me

Miles: 315.3
Location: Grover Beach, just south of Pismo Beach in Central California.

I’ll not bore you with the details, but let’s just say moving out of a home you’ve occupied for ten years is like when you’re a kid and the snow is melting, leaving some really good mud to squish way down in, only to discover that you can’t get your boot out. I never knew how many clothes I had, especially since I don’t buy clothes very often at all. Triska’s last legacy.

The problem was exacerbated when I was told that the boxes I had packed to ship to Prague were too large. They didn’t really seem that large to me, but then no one asked me. Suddenly I had even more crap to take care of – I had already taken three large garbage bags of clothes to Goodwill. The break wasn’t as clean as I wanted it to be, then, as I must go back to take care of a few boxes, and some other junk. If I had stayed another day I could have got more of it done, but I was getting antsy to get out of there.

So, finally, on the road, car loaded with new luggage poorly packed, I almost missed the turn to go north on 5, driving on habit. Yesterday I was imagining that the moment I drove away to be one of euphoria or excitement, but instead I felt nostalgia, melancholy and just plain tired. I couldn’t help but think how much I had liked living in that house, and in San Diego in general. I stopped off at the Chevron on Birmingham and I wondered how much two twelve-packs of Sheaffer would cost these days. Certainly more than $9.10. I was not tempted to drive by the Emmadome multi-sport complex; I just jumped back on the freeway and rejoined the stop-and-go traffic.

LA was LA. I regretted moving out of range of KPBS, but then I found other stations. North of LA, when the scenery becomes spectacular, it was dark, but the drive from there on up was pleasant. Got a little lost finding the house (East Grand is west of Grand, which made me think I was going the wrong way, so I turned around and then I was going the wrong way.)

Got here just in time to have a single Birthday Guinness before it wasn’t my birthday anymore. Bushed, I went to sleep.

So the trip did not have that Hollywood “Vegas, baby! Vegas!” opening scene. It started in a contemplative mood, as a sequel might, which is perhaps more appropriate.

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Tomorrow the adventure begins

First, the posts will (hopefully) be more interesting as I spin for you the story of life on the road, unfettered by good judgement. Second, the updates will be less frequent. I’ll keep writing stuff, but there may be periods with no updates then all of a sudden, wham, several days worth of fascinating drivel.

Keep the comments going! That way you’re giving the next viewer new things to read even when I’m not around. Remember, this isn’t just about me, it’s about community. (*sniff*)

On another note, moving sucks. Took the second truckload of crap to the dump today. Got a nostalgia twinge when I was throwing away some old dog toys, but I’m ready to be gone.

Darth Vader returns!

My roommate Travis had a serious underbite, and he just had surgery to correct it. The procedure was called Upper Mandible something-or-other. I’d ask him what it was called but he wouldn’t be able to tell me anyway.

See, the thing about the upper mandible is that it’s attached to your head. Not just sort of attached, but really fused on there. Otherwise your upper teeth would move around, and we can’t have that. What happens if you wish to scoot your mandible forward a bit? You go to a doctor who starts by breaking your face.

Once you get your face good and broken, the doctor can scoot the ‘ol mandible around to his heart’s content. The next step in the chain of misery, however, is that once your choppers are correctly aligned, you want to nail down the mandible again so it goes back to its stodgy immobile old ways. This takes several weeks, during which time your mouth is wired completely shut.

Travis had his face broken Monday, and had to stay overnight in the hospital because he was bleeding too much and some of that was getting in his lungs. His pie hole is wired so tight he can barely even spit. When he got home yesterday his face was the size of a bowling ball and he had two tubes wedged into the sides of his mouth to help him breathe. He sounds like Darth Vader and looks kinda like him as well. You know, in the scene where he’s dying.

I believe the estimate for how long Travis will be eating through a little tube the he sticks back in the corner of his mouth is 6 weeks. Then, not only will his teeth line up like little pearly cheerleaders but I imagine he will be a new, trim version of Travis.

I’m not sure – I’m embarrassed to ask – but I think he got the surgery done on purpose.

The Other Rooms in Hell

But what are the other rooms in Hell, and what would they be like? Hell’s bathroom?

Hell’s bedroom is fertile ground for marriage jokes, but let’s face it, the potential for pain and humiliation is greater there than anywhere else. Hell’s foyer would, I think, be understated and tastefully decorated. Hell’s dining room, on the other hand, would have all sorts of fine china, but you have to eat with hammers..

I think I would like to visit Hell’s library. Taste the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. Mmmm… magically delicious!

What about Hell’s laundry room? Hell’s garage?

Panicing

But I have to kick back sometime, right?

New category here at the blog!

Poems, everyone!

And a free commemorative slap on the back to the first person to identify that reference.

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From the old days

From the old days

Now’s the time to do sleep,
Close the eyes, count the sheep,
And when cock’s crow makes chickens cluck
to roll over, mutter, “fuck”
And sleep some more.

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A Note About Site Meter

I like it. I like it a little too much. Sometimes I reload the page to see if the number has gone up. As in golf, the rare success carries you over much disappointment.

I have it trained to not count me, which means it may not count other roadrunner customers either. So if you’re on roadrunner and you’ve hit the site fortyleven times in the last few days, My statistics are blown. Still, as of this writing, there are 24 confirmed visits to the blog by people who aren’t me.

The counter has a “traffic prediction” feature which I just know will come in handy. You know, so I can, uh, justify my advertising rates. Yeah, that’s it.

Interestingly, when you walk across the Internet, you are not walking in sand, your footprints to be washed away with the next tide. You are walking in plaster of paris; it’s soft and receptive but it doesn’t forget. I worry that this is going to be creepy for you guys, and if it is I’ll remove the counter, but for me it’s great fun. If you click on the number over there you will see the same statistics that I see. At least I think you will.

For instance, today someone who had his or her computer set to Western Australia Time dropped by because of a trackback link I left over at Haloscan. He looked at the main page, and didn’t click any links. Not that there was any reason for him to do so unless a category name caught his fancy.

The stats never show enough to pin down the exact person, but with a little knowledge (now, just who could it be at hearthnhome.com? And Bob, don’t you have better things to be doing while you’re at work?) you can make a pretty good guess.

So, like I said, if this bugs you I’ll stop, or if you don’t mind me seeing the stats but don’t want the whole damn world to know I can fix it that way as well. I just thought you would find it interesting to know just what THEY know about every page you load.

Damn! I didn’t want to end this on a paranoid angle. I like seeing who’s visited, and I have no current plans to use the information for nefarious purposes. But anyway, it’s you guy’s call.

Nostalgia Trip

I had the top down, and it was chilly out, but not cold. Traffic was light, making the four lanes seem very wide. Suddenly I was hit with the memory of the first time I had driven up that highway, when I was moving to San Diego.

It was a different convertible then, but the same chill air. I remember I had noticed how the wide, sprawling interchanges made such good use of the terrain to establish their different levels. I remember worrying that I had missed my exit, which was silly because I also noticed how much better-marked the exits are here compared with New Mexico.

Of course, once I got that feeling I started looking for the things that had changed in the last 17 years. I realized that almost every building I saw for the next few miles had not been there on my maiden trip; the first time through that canyon the freeway was all there was, and I have to admit I was quite taken with the bigness of it, the graceful sweep of the curves in the interchanges, and the way it fit into the canyon, occupying the space – consuming it – harmoniously. The road was a giant sculpture for driving on. Some environmentalist I turned out to be that night.

The road is now flanked by shopping centers, and condos crown the tops of the mesas. Miramar hasn’t changed visibly from the road – the military is the only organization in this town more powerful than the developers, and God Bless ’em for that. But the freeway isn’t as free any more; it’s very presence made the rest of the clutter inevitable. What was a graceful and thought-provoking rape of nature has now become part of just another meaningless urban jumble.

Part of the change is in me, as well. I no longer look at all the cars and wonder, “Where the hell are all those people going? Back then, when I was in a more sympathetic mood, especially late at night when, living near the freeway, I would stop and notice on those rare occasions when the noise had stopped – there was an actual gap in traffic leaving a silence so profound you had to comment on it, but not until the cars had started again – I would stop and think about what it meant to be on the road, to be going somewhere, with all the purpose of life that implies.

Now it’s just a big road with lots of cars, often too many, that I use when I have need. Maybe some time away from the big ribbon will restore my awe.

Hotel on the Moon

Let’s start by thinking about the reasons anyone would want to visit the moon:

1) It’s the moon!
2) Low-gravity sex – and, uh, other activities

Number 1 means that when someone looks out the window, they expect to see pristine lunar landscape, not the tracks left behind by the construction equipment. Brian’s offer to head up the lunarscaping crew notwithstanding, any marring of the terrain (lunain?) will be permanent.

So how does one create a structure without touching the surrounding land? My thought is to learn from the mushroom – pop up from underground overnight.

Man, I wish I had a napkin scanner now.

Anyway, the idea is to start by going underground. For health and safety you want most of the complex beneath a layer of rock anyway. Way deep you bury your reactor; it’s going to take a lot of energy to build the place. Then above that you put the living areas.

Here’s where it gets good. From a shaft in the ground you extend a giant umbrella, open it. Its reach extends far past all the destruction caused while digging the shaft. Set it down gently. Beyond that plastic bubble the moon is untouched, looking exactly the way it did when dudes were spitting painting onto cave walls. Good viewing!

The actual umbrella will probably have more than one layer, and some sort of optically-neutral gel between the layers to plug micrometeor hits well enough until a better patch can be applied. But I’ll leave those details to the engineers.

There would, of course, be a location where guests arrive and depart; that will likely not be as pretty. It would be out of sight of the main city, connected by tunnel or – Ooo! – by a graceful elevated rail to give spectacular views as guests arrive. Building that without ruining the surrounding countryside would be tricky, but probably worth it. In the low gravity you could build something that really defied imagination, something that our common sense would say must fall down. Definitely worth the effort.

As far as point 2 above, Brian V. already has dibs on the astro-jump concession.

Terrorism Preparedness: Is not! Was too! Nuh-uh! Yuh-huh!

What it all boils down to is that Osama would still be enjoying the protection of the Taliban in Afghanistan had he and his followers not attacked the US the way they did on 9/11.

For all the posturing by the current administration that they are tougher on terrorists, the United States would not have had the political will or sufficient support from Afghanistan’s neighbors to mount an invasion. Likely we would have continued to funnel support to enemies of the Taliban, and lob in the occasional cruise missile, but you would not have seen US ground troops in there. We would still be using incentives and threats to try to undermine support for Al-Qaida in nations like the United Arab Emirates. In short, we would be doing the same things we have been doing for a decade. When it comes to fighting terrorism, it doesn’t really matter much who the president is.

Iraq, on the other hand, is not about fighting terrorism. At first the Bush administration tried to frame it that way, but no one bought it. so he switched gears and began to rail about Weapons of Mass Destruction. Now that that argument seems to have been a mistake at best and an outright lie at worst, we are hearing about freedom for the Iraqi people. It’s harder to argue against that one, since they certainly were not free before and were suffering greatly, but it’s also the hardest promise to keep. I am skeptical that we will be able to let the Iraqis have complete control over their country without dissolving into civil war, and it will be a long, long time before that changes. I have hope for the Iraqi people, but I can’t help but be skeptical about our eventual success in fostering democracy in the region.

All that notwithstanding, would we have invaded Iraq without the false boogymen of terrorism and WMDs? Many of our allies in that fight have made it clear that they would not. Spain and Poland have both said they feel bamboozled. And what was the hurry? Iraq had been known to have WMDs long before, but suddenly the danger was so urgent that it was necessary to invade immediately. The reason was as simple as an approval rating of over 70% for the president. Strike while the polls are hot.

Which leaves Afghanistan incomplete and neglected. In Afghanistan the real terrorists are still hiding, and in some areas regrouping. Al-Qaida leadership continues to elude us. Pakistan, our so-called ally (you know, the one with weapons of mass destruction) has been shipping dangerous technology all over the place, while bin Laden hides within their borders. If they took some of the troops out of Kashmir, I bet they would have the resources to track him down.

Would a Democrat have invaded Afghanistan in response to 9/11? Hard to say for sure, but I think so. I doubt, however, that a Democrat or even a McCain or Powell-style Republican would have invaded Iraq. Iraq would still be a sore spot in the region, a constant source of frustration, but Americans would not be dying daily — the victims of terrorist acts. Indeed, rather than reduce the threat of terrorism, the invasion of Iraq has made terrorism so routine that it often goes unreported.

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Under Construction

Tweaking the appearance of the blog, so things will probably be ugly ugly ugly off and on today.

Well, not done tweaking yet, but I’m done for now. I think I need to improver the contrast of some parts.

I added a web counter to see how many people visit this blog. Not sure I’ll be able to take the disappointment.