Tough Year Continues

The season out at Custom Gardens continues. As if we hadn't had enough trouble already, some time last week some sort of blight started to slowly eat it's way through the tomatoes--as of yesterday Ray and Virginia had lost what appeared to be a third and a half of the crop. Virginia believes that whatever it is that's killing the tomatoes came in with the huge population of leaf hoppers that have shown up this year to feast on all that lush vegetation that covered the desert a couple of months ago thanks to our unusually wet spring. There's no two ways about it; we're having a really tough year out at the farm.

Nevertheless, I had a really great time out there yesterday. Melissa now has weekends off (finally!), and she was able to come with me for the first time. After harvesting a little garlic, Ray and Virginia put us to work rebuilding "Andy" the scarecrow. It was my first scarecrow, but I think we did pretty well--pictures should follow soon. How much Andy the scarecrow actually benefits the crops I'm not exactly sure, but it was a good time building him.

Today we went up to Tahoe City and rafted the upper stretch of the Truckee River. The picture at left is a picture of the upper Truckee, but it is not me and my friends--I could have gotten one of those official commemorative pictures but I wasn't about to pay $21.95 for a shot of me looking pudgy in a life vest. As for the ride itself, not only was it a great time, but miraculously I seem to have escaped without a painful high-altitude sunburn. Usually any square inch of my exposed pasty flesh (that is, any part of me that isn't covered by my farmer's tan) turns fire-engine red after a few seconds of exposure on a sunny day like today even if I use sunscreen, but today I somehow seem to have gotten away unscathed. And how fantastic is it to be able to see Melissa in the daytime! She's even prettier in the sunlight! I just hope Karma isn't planning on paying me back for this.

Department of Redundancy Department

To the teller I just deposited my check with at the Wells Fargo branch on South Virginia St.: There's no need to say "PIN Number." PIN stands for Personal Identification Number, so what you're actually saying is "Personal Identification Number Number." Sorry, It's just a pet peeve.

Okay, I'll come back from nitpicking weirdo-land now.

Biggest Douche In The Universe

I just wanted to note that maybe my favorite South Park episode is on tonight--the John Edward "Biggest Douche in the Universe" episode. I love South Park. Their political slant is much further to the right than mine is, but I think good satire of any kind is an invaluable commodity. And in any case, I love anyone who's willing to rip into a guy who makes a living by exploiting people's memories of their loved ones.

Update on Latoyia

It looks like I must take a certain amount of responsibility for feeding the monster. After being called to the carpet in an embarrassing manner by bloggers, the 24-hour networks have picked up on the Latoyia Figueroa story.

Various bloggers had differing motivations for discussing Ms. Figueroa's case. Some might look at the fact that even though they are very late, perhaps we should declare victory because now the MSM "gets it." God knows I hope she's found safe and sound, but that wasn't my point at all. I wrote about it in order to illustrate the point that the media sensation that is the Natalee Holloway case (like many Missing White Girl cases before it) was not only rife with class, race and gender bias, but was a terrible example of how the national news media is failing in it's obligation to provide the public with information that it needs, and instead pandering to the salacious and the sensational. In other words, I really didn't WANT to see another media sensation created around another woman's tragic disappearance. Above all, I wanted to make the point that these sorts of stories, while certainly of vital importance to those directly affected by them, and definitely a matter of the highest concern to local law enforcement, are not stories that should be taking up collectively hundreds of hours on national news broadcasts. The national news media should be concerned with matters that are vital to the nation, not salacious local (albeit tragic) stories.

Oh well.

I Really Need TiVo

It looks like there's trouble here on Kobol; it seems that an issue has finally arisen that may serve to drive a wedge into my heretofore perfect relationship with Melissa. For some inexplicable reason, she cannot stand Battlestar Galactica.

First, a disclaimer: I am not a fan-boy. I may have mild fan-boy tendencies, but I'm not completely lost to the real world. My skin has not turned a sickly pale green from lack of sunlight and overexposure to video monitors. I don't know how may episodes there are of the original Star Trek. I've never seen the show Farscape and don't really know for sure what it's about. The idea of talking to a real girl ("real" as in not someone I talk to in a chatroom while hidden safely behind a keyboard) does not make me nauseous. If you asked me where the nearest comic book store is, I couldn't tell you.

But all that being said, I like Battlestar Galactica. Not the cheesy, kid-friendly late 70's Lorne Greene series, but the SciFi Channel's new, completely renovated version of it that airs at the worst possible time imaginable for anyone who has a life that revolves around more than, ahem, watching TV and blogging; 10 p.m. on Friday nights.

The only thing saved from the old disco-era series are names of some characters and places, and the show's basic premise--i.e. the Galactica is the last remaining warship from a spacefareing human civilization that was essentially wiped out by a machine race called the Cylons. Galactica leads a refugee fleet of ships full of a handful of surviving humans trying to escape the Cylons and looking for what is to them a semi-mythical planet called Earth. After that point similarities to the old show end completely. Okay, so maybe I'm more of a fan-boy than I want to admit; it's still a really great show.

The intricate plotlines of the new show are far to complicated for me to even attempt to summarize here. Suffice it to say that the focus of the new show, like all good science fiction, is not the space battles and the special effects that will inevitably look very dated in a few years, but rather on deeper, universal issues: Religion, politics, society and the human condition, to name just a few. The new BSG addresses these issues in a way that is very enjoyable to watch, and it pays it's audience the ultimate compliment of assuming that we are smart enough to get it without them having to ham-fist it to us (at least not most of the time).

The only problem is that Melissa not only doesn't watch the show, she actively dislikes it. Her problem is not so much BSG in particular, but science fiction in general. She just can't get past the trappings of the genre, what with the space ships and robots and death-rays and such. I suppose I can't really blame her for this--not being able to get over the total detachment from reality is the same problem that I have with Musicals. But unfortunately my devotion to this particular show is starting to cause something of a minor controversy, especially because it tends to impose itself on the little time we actually get to spend together, and on Friday night of all times.

Is the show unrealistic and outrageously implausible in many respects? Sure it is, but to paraphrase Roger Ebert, disliking a show like this because in some respects it's silly and unbelievable is sort of like getting mad at your dog because he can't understand calculus. It may deal with weighty issues, but in the end it really is just escapist fantasy, just like all entertainment programming on TV. I'm OK with that--in fact, that's what I like most about it.

If the gauntlet is thrown down and I'm forced to chose between the show and my girlfriend, I'm sure Melissa knows that she's going to win. This is not because I am whipped, but simply a reflection of the fact that a real live girl is better than any TV show (and in the end it is just a TV show) in the world any day of the week and twice on Sundays. Still, I'm hoping to have my cake and eat it too, at least through the end of the show's second season.

UPDATE: I just reread this post, which I wrote yesterday, and I realized that I misspelled "Galactica" the whole way through. Told you I wasn't a fan-boy.

Not White, Not Rich, Not Covered*

The woman in the picture on the left is Latoyia Figueroa. She's from West Philadelphia, and is the mother of a seven-year-old child. She is also five months pregnant. She's been missing for nine days now. Probably this is the first you've heard of her.

Her case is being publicized by Philadelphia blogger Richard Cranium at his All Spin Zone, and other bloggers have started to pick up the story. This has apparently embarrassed Fox News, CNN and MSNBC to the point that they have each given the story a little bit of attention. Of course, the coverage they have tossed off after over a week still does not hold the slimmest of candles to the round-the-clock saturation coverage being received by the disappearance of a certain pretty Caucasian girl from a wealthy red state suburb.

People close to Latoyia have asked that her disappearance not be made into a political issue, and I will try to respect that wish. But I feel that it is worth pointing out that nine days after having gone missing, Natalee Holloway had already had her image plastered all over the airwaves for days. Two months later we still see her picture everywhere we turn, and 24-hour cable news channels are still devoting the lion's share of hour-long programs to the story. Pretty soon Nancy Grace and Greta Van Susteren are going to be reduced to meeting behind the cafeteria after last period to settle with their fists exactly which of them is going to get the next exclusive interview with Natalee's stepfather "Jug" Twitty.

Look, Natalee Holloway's disappearance is terrible and tragic, but for God's sake, nothing about that story justifies one one-hundredth of the coverage it has received from the national news media. The same details of the Holloway case are picked over night after night after night by the Sean Hannitys of the world only because the victim in that case is blond, affluent, pretty, and she is lucky enough to have parents who seem to instinctively understand media manipulation. But it isn't the not-so-subtle race and class bias on such vibrant display in the coverage of the Holloway case that so chaps my hide; it's the fact that (sorry if this offends anyone) THIS ISN'T NATIONAL NEWS!!! Sad as this story is, it doesn't affect anyone outside of Natalee's immediate family and those close to them. Honestly, this story is so irrelevant to 99.999% of all Americans that it actually makes me think back fondly on the days of bogus, fear-mongering stories of a shark attack epidemic that never actually happened.

As for Latoyia, if anyone has any information about her whereabouts, please call the Philadelphia Southwest Detective Division at 215-686-3183.

*Until bloggers sufficiently embarrass the Mainstream Media into saying just enough to cover their butts.

Mad Dog Whiffs 3,000

Last night Greg Maddux became just the 13th pitcher in Major League Baseball's recorded history to strike out 3,000 batters. His place in history and in Cooperstown is assured. Of course, had the Cubs won the game last night (which they didn't, losing 3-2 to the Giants in 11 innings) it would have been even better, but hey, this is the Cubbies we're talking about here.

Maureen's Home in Atlanta

Maureen was good enough to send me a new picture of her and Michael's new home in Atlanta, which I am hereby nicknaming "Tara":

If you look closely you will see my adorable little niece Kira in the foreground. Kira will be three years old in just a couple of weeks. Maureen's family will be moving in to Tara in a matter of days. The red brick, white trim and column look is very Southern. We in Reno are going through a building boom too, but this house would look very out of place around here--all of the new homes in this neck of the woods are Southwestern, and I don't think you'll find trees as big as those in the picture anywhere in the state of Nevada.

And I'm sorry, but this picture of Kira is too cute not to post.

A Day To Catch Up

Heat as become an oppressive reality of life as of late. As the week ended yesterday, people in my office and out on the street we chattering about a "cool-down" this weekend, but mid-day temperatures are still in the mid-90s. The temperature has turned this into a lazy Saturday, as I have no inclination to get up and do anything outdoors, at least until this evening, when the sunlight will not be so harsh and winds off the mountains will make things very pleasant.

So I figured I'd take advantage of this hot, lazy Saturday to catch up on a few housekeeping matters on the ol' blog and publish a few pictures I've been meaning to put out there. The picture on the upper left was sent to me by my Dad. He and my brother Daniel just got back from Ireland; they were hoping to reestablish ties with family members of my Great-Grandfather, who was born Patrick Joseph O'Sullivan in Kilgarvan, a small town near Kenmare in County Kerry, on the southwest tip of Ireland. My Great-Grandfather came to New York in 1910 or 1911 and dropped the "O" from his last name. In the photo above, my Dad is standing in the back row in the red shirt, and Daniel is also in the back row on the far right.

Dad also sent me the picture to the right of the stone buildings, but unhelpfully he did not label it. I'm thinking they are monastic stone houses from Ireland's early Christian period, but I could be wildly off. Hopefully someone can help clear this up. I also wanted to be sure to post the picture below, a gorgeous shot of the Irish coastline in (probably) County Kerry [UPDATE: Reliable sources, i.e. my Dad, now indicate that these cliffs are in County Claire].

I haven't really gotten the full download on the trip from my Dad and my brother yet, but I can definitely say one thing; I'm insanely jealous, and I really hope I get to visit there myself someday.

While we're on the subject of family comings and goings, I figured I'd take this time to post a little bit of information about what's going on in the lives of my two sisters. Maureen is (I think) 33 weeks along and will soon be giving birth to her second daughter, Avery. One thing she's very happy about is the fact that next month she and her husband Michael will be closing on their new home in Atlanta. Maureen sent me a nice picture of the house, but I seem to have accidentally erased it; I'll post a new copy of it if she'll send me one. To me, the most startingly thing about the picture she sent is how huge the trees are. I've lived in the desert a long time now, and I sometimes forget how lush and green it is back east.

Also, I just wanted to mention that my littlest sister Katy is still at it in LA, trying to make it in the Show Biz. Here's a recent headshot she had done:

C'mon, somebody do themselves a big favor and put my sister in a movie!

Why We Do What We Do

I saw a story today that reminded me why I'm proud of my job. A good chunk of what I do is devoted to prosecuting domestic violence-related crimes. In my work I see the cycle of violence on a daily basis, so trust me when I tell you that it's a very real thing. For anyone who tries to downplay the seriousness of minor violent episodes, for every abuser who insists that he's the real victim and that "she's just playing power games", for every victim who believes the abuser when he says he's changed, he's learned his lesson and it will never happen again so can't we please just dismiss these charges (believe me, I hear this every day), I say take a good look at what happened just down the road in Carson City yesterday. Maybe then you'll understand why every incident of domestic violence is taken so seriously, no matter how small.

All Hail The Anti-Wal-Mart!

Take a look at this really wonderful New York Times article on Costco, the wholesale giant that is quickly becoming the choice of consciencious people everywhere who don't want to shop at Wal-Mart. Now, there are lots and lots of reasons to dislike Wal-Mart, from undercutting labor standards around the world to laying economic waste to small towns here in the U.S. But to me, the greatest single reason to avoid Wal-Mart is their treatment of their own workers. Oh, sorry, I mean "associates." When it comes to employment practices, there's simply no comparison between the two establishments.

Consider Costco. They pay their workers an average of $17 an hour, 42% higher than Sam's Club (Wal-Mart's warehouse store) pays it's employees. Their health care plan is actually designed to keep workers healthy, not pass their healthcare costs onto taxpayers as Wal-Mart does. Costco allows unions in, as opposed to Wal-Mart, which would rather shut down a store than allow in a union. A Deutche Bank analyst actually said last year that "It's better to be an employee or a customer than a shareholder" at Costco. And you want to know the funniest part? HE MEANT THAT AS AN INSULT TO COSTCO!

The point I'm trying to make is that no matter what they tell you, corporations like Wal-Mart need not resort to turning workers to wage-slaves to make a profit. Costco is the nation's leading warehouse retailer despite having almost 200 fewer stores than #2 Sam's Club. The company ranks 29th in revenue among all American Companies. Their stock has risen 10% in the last 12 months while Wal-Mart's stock has fallen 5%. And Costco's workers appreciate their employer: According to the Times article, "Good wages and benefits are why Costco has extremely low rates of turnover and theft by employees . . . And Costco's customers, who are more affluent than other warehouse store shoppers, stay loyal because they like that low prices do not come at the workers' expense."

You are no doubt wondering why more companies don't follow Costco's profitable and successful model. Perhaps this fact will help explain it: Jim Sinegal, the Chief Executive for Costco, made "only" $550,000 last year, including bonuses. Of course, he's worth over $150 million because of stock ownership in his company, but still, that salary puts him in the bottom 10% of CEO's despite his company's startling success. I'm guessing (although I don't know for sure) that this philosophy of upper-management compensation applies to other corporate officers in the Costco hierarchy, and that exhorbitant salaries are uncommon among the higher-ups. Amazingly, this doesn't seem to be keeping Sinegal up at night. He says, "On Wall Street, they're in the business of making money between now and next Thursday. I don't say that with any bitterness, but we can't take that view. We want to build a company that will still be here 50 and 60 years from now." And as if that's not enough, check out this piece crazy liberal propaganda: "Having an individual who is making 100 or 200 or 300 times more than the average person working on the floor is wrong." Wow. Treating workers well, building an business that's both ethical and very successful, and settling for being just super-duper rich instead of double-mega-super-ultra-obscenely rich. What is this guy, a Communist?

I'm sure Mr. Sinegal's company isn't perfect, and that a lot of the complaints people have about Wal-Mart also could also apply to Costco. But one thing is certain; they know how to treat their employees. I'll take them over the Beast of Bentonville any day.

But It's A Dry Heat

It's hard to believe that just a few short weeks ago I was complaining about the fact that winter seemed like it was never going to end here in Northern Nevada, and that we were simply going to go roll from cold, wet spring into dry, crisp fall, skipping summer entirely. Even in mid-June, just one month ago, a person was still having to put on a coat to go out at night. It was just that kind of miserable, cold spring.

What a difference a month makes. Today the temperature topped out well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, as it has every day this past week and as it looks like it's going to every day this coming week. Usually, here in the desert, nightfall brings relief from the heat as the dry air cannot hold warmth once the sun goes down. But lately even nighttime brings little relief with only a slight moderation in temperature. And just to add insult to injury, my air conditioner just conked out.

I spent this morning at the farm. These days we're concluding work by 11:30, as the heat is just too intense after that. I'm a little bit disappointed in the year we're having out there. While some crops are doing at least tolerably well, most of my favorites like the raspberries, blueberries, apples, and all of the stone fruit like peaches, apricots and cherries have essentially failed us this year. After an hour spent harvesting garlic (gotta keep those vampires at bay) Ray and I dug out a row of potatoes. While most of the specimens we were able to unearth appeared healthy, they were almost all quite small. The row that should have yielded two large buckets full of spuds gave us less than one bucket. This is not particularly unusual or surprising--Nevada is a hard place to make anything grow besides sagebrush. Perhaps I was spoiled by last year, which was quite good all around. Still, I can't help but feel a little disappointed. Ray and Virginia hold out hope for the squash and melons, and Virginia seems to think that the raspberries may give us something yet. But I remain dubious. My only real hope at this point is that the grapes (my pride and joy) come through. Anything else is gravy.

All Your Base Are Belong To Us

Do you ever see or hear something that just makes you laugh and laugh, to the point that you can barely breath, but you just know that pretty much anyone that you share the experience with might chuckle at it a bit, but is going to see your reaction and have serious doubts about your sanity?

Never mind. Just go here.

A Quick Question

Sometimes when I'm going down on an elevator by myself, and the elevator has a high ceiling and I know that it moves very fast, I will try to jump right at the moment that the elevator starts to descend to see if this allows me to jump really high. Am I the only one who does that?

Doomp-aty-do

Here's a really interesting story. The picture on the right is of a neighbor of mine, Ezzy Dame. He lives about a block up the river, in Artist Loft Apartments. I see him riding his scooter around the neighborhood quite a bit. He also works at the local movie theater. But it wasn't until today that I realized he was one of the Oompa-Loompas in 1971's "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." You can read the Reno Gazette Journal's story about it here, which is where I got Ezzy's picture. I loved the book and the movie when I was a kid, and the latter has become something of a stoner classic over the years. I'm fairly sure Ezzy is one of the Oompa-Loompas that can be seen in the picture below, but I'm not sure which one. I'm just looking at that picture again now, and man, those Oompa Loompas are kind of scary. In fact, now that I think about it, there was a lot about that movie that was mildly disturbing. What was up with that boat-trip scene?

Of course, the Tim Burton version of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" has just come out in theaters. I'm going to try to see it at some point, although it does bring to mind a rather disturbing trend in movies. Now I know Hollywood has probably never really been much on real originality, but has anyone else noticed the sheer volume of movies that are released these days that are really just adaptations or sequels or "re-imaginings" of some earlier work? Think about it; pretty much all the big movies that are being released this summer are sequels to sequels (Revenge of the Sith, Herbie: Fully Loaded, Land of the Dead), remakes of old movies (The Longest Yard, The Bad News Bears) based on imaginative novels (War of the Worlds, The aforementioned Chocolate Factory, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy), old TV shows (Dukes of Hazzard, Bewitched), or the latest seemingly endless source of inspiration, comic books (Batman Begins, Sin City, Fantastic Four--which by the way was not as bad as a lot of people are saying). It seems like what people really want these days is a slightly new take on something that they're already very familiar with. The lack of genuine creativity is somewhat disappointing; rarely is a genuine blockbuster based on a truly original idea anymore, and most that are tend to be kids movies (Madagascar) or Frat-Pack comedies (Wedding Crashers). And don't talk to me about horror movies; every single one of them that comes out these days looks like a sequel to The Ring.

You really can't blame the studios for this, however. They're in business to sell tickets. The blame for this over-indulgence in nostalgia lies with the public. We are the reason that Transformers is going to be made into a movie--and I'm not making that up. We will buy the tickets, and we will encourage more of this sort of thing. I'm not against making movies based on well-known sources in general, but wouldn't it be nice if original ideas had a real shot, too? I have to wonder, are we really that reluctant to embrace anything that is creative and different?

More Cowbell

I found this at bustedtees.com. They've got lots of very funny t-shirts there. I'm posting this image for someone who doesn't need to be told why.

Back Again, At Last

Ah, free time to blog. What an unbelievable luxury. I feel like I haven't had ten free minutes this past week. Also, we have regained the ability to download pictures; thus, the week-old pictures from San Francisco can now be posted. At left is a gorgeous shot from SBC Park. Since Melissa comes from heathen St. Louis, last weekend was the perfect time to visit America's Most Beautiful City as the dastardly St. Louis Cardinals were in town to play the Giants. I bought that Giants sweatshirt that I'm wearing in the picture not out of any loyalty, but because it was windy and cool. Okay, and to bug Melissa, who is a big Cardinal fan and insisted on wearing Cardinal red to the game.

We had a great time during the approximately half a weekend we got to spend in San Fran. We left Reno at about 6:30 Friday night. I had reserved a room at the Hotel Mark Twain off of little more than a map and a brief description on hotels.com. We got over the Bay Bridge and into The City at about 10:00, which is pretty good time from Reno. Unfortunately, I knew right away we might be in trouble.

Now let me preface this by saying that I love San Francisco. In addition to being America's Most Beautiful City, I think that it is also the coolest city in the world. For me, San Francisco will always be the restless, epic, half-crazy capital city of the West, a place that draws free spirits like a beacon, a city that belongs to the whole world and to no one, a city that lives life out loud and in the open, where the seekers and the hustlers and the aimless misanthropes and the geniuses and the hysterical bullshitters and the insanely practical all find a way to co-exist in the most picturesque setting imaginable. It's the city of Dashiell Hammett and Jack London and Jack Kerouak (and yes, Mark Twain). I know that most people think of cable cars and the Castro District and Haight-Ashbury when they think of San Francisco, and certainly all of those things help make The City what it is. But I can't help but think of The City in terms of it's wild, brawling, frontier Gold Rush roots, with a dash of mystery and Noir intrigue thrown in for good measure, the place where "Dirty Harry" Callahan appears out of the fog and tells you to Make His Day, or Sam Spade chases down mysterious strangers as he tries to get his hands on the Maltese Falcon. To me it is exotic and romantic, a place that could make your fortune or eat your soul, or both, if the mood struck it.

So much as I find The City intriguing and exciting, I also know of it's dark side. And as we descended off the Bay Bridge and searched for the Hotel, the dark, neon-lit, desperate side of The City was on full display as we drove through what turned out to be one of the peninsula's more "questionable" neighborhoods. From the sidewalks, all manner of gang bangers and street people eyed us with something that seemed to fall between suspicion and lust. A few even waved us over to them as we drove slowly by; what intention they might have had in trying to contact us I don't know, and I do not regret that I never will know. By the time we found our destination, Melissa (being a good, Midwestern Catholic girl at heart) was in something of a state of shock, but as always she kept up an unflapable facade.

As it turned out the hotel was adequate enough (one interesting bit of trivia--world famous jazz singer Billie Holiday was once arrested there, and now has her picture over the front desk in honor of the incident) but was not, as I'd hoped, within walking distance of SBC Park. Plus, some jerk on the seventh floor took it upon himself to pull a fire alarm for no reason at 5 a.m. While I can't really say anything negative about the Hotel Mark Twain, I think next time we go to San Fran, we can do a lot better.
The next day we got up early and drove across town to Cliff House, one of those fantastic Deco-Chic places that you will only find in California. We were hoping to find seals there, but were informed that no seals have inhabited the area since a large earthquake several years ago. That was unfortunate, but breakfast and the view was fantastic. This picture of Melissa was taken just outside the classic building. I'd like to tell you that the slight blurriness on the left is an intentional artistic effect, but something strange was going on with the camera. Still, I think it looks kind of cool.

From there we drove north through the Presidio to the Golden Gate Bridge. If you've never been to San Fran, you might find the Presidio something of an anomaly, a gigantic former military complex that now exists primarily as public green space, occupying some of the most expensive real estate in the country. The government would probably make hundreds of millions if it were to sell it to private developers. But the Presidio, too, is an indelible part of The City. Melissa commented that one thing she really liked about San Fran is that like her beloved London, much space is given over to parks and public land. I was hoping to drive Melissa over to Marin County and up to the headlands to get my favorite view of The City behind the Bridge and in front of the Bay. It's truly a remarkable sight. Unfortunately (as is prone to happen) the headlands were completely fogged in and there wasn't much view to be had. But it gives us something to shoot for next time.

After returning to the Mark Twain we took the Metro to SBC. One thing I truly appreciate is the renaissance that America's big league baseball parks have enjoyed in the last ten or fifteen years. SBC (formerly Pac-Bell, formerly some other name that escapes me at the moment--corporate names are the only scourge of the ballpark renaissance) is one of those new ballparks that both looks back lovingly on baseball's long and quixotic history in this country, while simultaneously offering every modern convenience imaginable. Plus, the dastardly Cardinals went down 2-0. The Cards don't lose often these days, so you have to savor every one :-).

We ended the Day on Fisherman's Wharf. Melissa was still eager to see seals, and the wharf is usually a reliable place to do that. A sign informed us that unfortunately the seals had migrated south to the Channel Islands to mate (I suppose that's unfortunate for us, not the seals), but there was one lone holdout, sleeping soundly on a pier as a gaggle of people watched and took pictures.

I hated to return, but Melissa had to work on Sunday--the relentless life of a journalist. I would love some day to live in San Francisco. Heck, I would love just having enough money to be able to afford to live in San Francisco. It's not a real possibility right now, but it's nice knowing that it's so close by.

Anyone still out there?

Tomorrow I will have time for blogging, praise Ganesha. I promise, I'll catch whomever still actually reads this quasi-abandoned blogsite (not really, but it's felt that way lately) on all of my recent exciting adventures. I appreciate the patience of anyone who still checks in here occasionally. Check back tomorrow, lots of new stuff will be here, I swear.

Sorry For The Lack Of Updates

I've been really busy these last few days. My next post will be a long summary of Melissa and my trip to San Fran last weekend. Thanks for being patient.

What Can I Say?

Bombings in London today. Dozens dead, hundreds seriously injured. It looks like al Qaeda (multiple, almost simultaneous attacks designed to inflict maximum casualties, much like Madrid) but I suppose that's not official yet. I just don't know what I can say about this that hasn't been said. Anyone who sees slaughtering innocent people--people who are doing nothing more than going to work--as a legitimate way to make a point or accomplish goals is so filled with hate that they have given up everything that is good and redeemable in the human soul.

This attack hits somewhat close to home for Melissa. She worked in London last year for a few months, and is familiar with some of the parts of the city that were affected. It's bizarre to recall that just a couple of days ago she was so pleased to see that London awarded the 2012 Summer Olympics. What a strange world we live in. It's worth mentioning that currently my father is visiting Dublin, and my brother had planned to fly from Boston and join him there tomorrow. I don't think they will be directly affected by any of this. I sure hope not, anyway.

You have to love the Brits. Not to minimize anyone's losses, but in the news reports coming out of that city you can clearly see that residents' initial reactions of fear and confusion have very quickly given way to the ever resilient stiff upper lip. I guess a city that survived the Blitz and years of IRA bombings isn't going to be intimidated by these bastards.

Oh, and this is sort of a propos of nothing, but I still wish I had a better understanding of what exactly "Orange Alert" means.

229 Years and Counting

Happy Birthday to the greatest experiment in human history.

Squaw Creek

I hope everyone out there has a happy 4th of July. Unfortunately, Mel and I weren't able to make it to balloon rides this morning; the 5 a.m. wake-up call was just a little to much to ask. So we slept in instead, and then drove up to the mountains to do a little hiking. I had been worried about running into massive crowds around Truckee or the lake (being jostled and mauled by crowds is a huge pet peeve of mine), but the number of people visiting Truckee was actually significantly smaller than what you'd find on an average Saturday when the weather is nice.

I had been planning on taking Melissa up to a nice overlook of Lake Tahoe, but at the last moment I changed my mind and decided we should hike up Squaw Creek instead. It was a good decision, as the creek was uncrowded and flowing high. Melissa (being the smart one) was wise to bring the camera, as we had abolutely perfect weather, plus, as you can see, she looks really good in her hiking clothes ;-). Squaw Creek is one of dozens, maybe hundreds of little creeks of various sizes that rise and fall with the seasons, spilling out of the Sierra down to the dry valleys below. It was so beautiful, Melissa was actually somewhat surprised to find out that it is a natural creek, not something of man-made design. Lots of people who's only experience of mountain wilderness is Thunder Mountain at Disneyland are often surprised to find that such places actually exist outside of amusment parks. This seems especially prevolent among people from back east. I was such a person when I came out to Denver from Alabama in the Summer of '94. I was amazed at the sheer opulance that nature had on display in the Rocky Mountains, and the Sierra are no different. The picture at the left is one of me standing above a nameless waterfall along Squaw Creek (click on the picture itself to see an enlarged version; you might be able to pick me out better). In Alabama, or pretty much any state back east, such a beautiful spot would be depicted on T-shirts and postcards, and at least a whole state park would probably be built around it. But here in the mountains of the west it's just another nameless miracle, something that few people will ever see or know of.

Holiday Weekend

I went to see War of the Worlds last night. Visually stunning, but far from Senor Spielbergo's best work. As the whole world probably knows by now, Tom Cruise plays a Jersey dock worker and lousy father of two who along with everyone else on earth gets caught up in an alien invasion. He spends pretty much the whole movie trying to get to Boston to meet up with the kids' mother and her new husband, although I was never exactly clear as to why this was necessary. Dakota Fanning is creepy good as Cruise's daughter (how can she only be 10 years old!?!), but she spends most of the movie looking terrified and screaming. Tom also has a teenage son, who's only real characterization comes from the fact that he acts really angry and wears a Boston Red Sox hat to spite his Yankee-fan father.

As for the aliens, there really isn't anything new or interesting about them. It's a little bit of a twist that the aliens attack not from the sky but via long-buried, lumbering mechanical tripods that climb up out of the earth, reminding me a little bit of the giant spider from Wild Wild West (it seemed strange that thousands of these giant attack machines have apparently been buried all over the planet throughtout all of recorded history and no one ever accidentally stumbled upon one of them while digging a well, but never mind). Spielberg also never really feels it necessary to explain why the aliens are here, but I don't really have a problem with that--the point of the story is not to give us a global view of the invasion a la Independence Day, but to track one guy and his kids as they try to deal with a global disaster that they can't possibly comprehend or know how to deal with. The alien tripods are not even on screen for long stretches of the film, and in fact these tend to be the movie's best parts as Spielbergo examines the way the rules of civilized society that govern human interaction are strained and in some cases completely obliterated by a horrific crisis. Inevitably we get huge special-effects laden showdowns, and the VERY convinient ending (if you've read the book or seen the original 50's sci-fi movie you know exactly what to expect) comes so swiftly and is so jarringly out of step with the rest of the film that you almost feel cheated. Anyway, the ending may be unrealisitic--a strange complaint to make about any detail of a movie that is, after all, about aliens that invade earth from underground--but it certainly isn't any sillier than, say, the President of the United States jumping in a fighter jet to take on the alien mother ship mano a mano.

This morning I worked at the farm, where we opened the stand up for the first time this season. In the afternoon my friend Steven and I played nine holes of golf. I come back to golf periodically, and never cease to marvel at what a wondeful game it is. Unfortunately, this means I spent about eight hours today out in the high-altitude desert sun, and have once again managed to turn my skin a brilliant shade of fire engine red. It was worth it, though; a person never feels so right with the world as when he's spent the day working and playing out in nature, or at least in the artificially simulted but still beautiful nature of a golf course. Melissa has gotten it into her head that she wants to take a balloon ride tomorrow in Sparks, where they are allegedly being given for free out at the Marina. The catch: it's at six a.m. We'll see how that goes.

Hot Karl

I did a real double-take when I came across this picture on the net earlier today. No, it isn't real; it's a little creative photo-shop work courtesy of a total rogue over at the thought peddler. But who knows what the future might bring.

Much of the blogosphere has been abuzz today with news that The McLaughlin Group's Lawrence O'Donnell now says that Karl Rove, George W. Bush's head political consultant and resident Evil Genius, is the person who leaked former undercover CIA agent Valarie Plame's identity, which was eventually published by Robert "Douche-Bag for Liberty" Novak. In case you're wondering, yes, revealing the identity of an undercover agent like that is a violation of federal law, as is perjury, which Rove would have committed if he lied to the Grand Jury investigating this leak. It was apparently done simply for revenge, since Ms. Plame's husband, former U.S. Ambassador Joseph Wilson, had written an article critical of the Bush Administration's claims that Iraq had attempted to purchase yellow cake uranium from Niger. O'Donnell says Newsweek is planning to release a story on this, probably tomorrow. If true, this means that Rove violated federal law and might even have put the life of an American agent and her family at risk, just because her husband wrote something the Administration didn't like.

What poetic justice it would be, to see the man who basically said that people like me were traitors more concerned with the psychological well-being of terrorist than the lives of their fellow Americans, revealed to the world as a traitor and a criminal himself, willing to violate the law and anything resembling ethical standards just to spite someone he views as a political enemy. I don't know if what O'Donnell says is true; perhaps the buzz is just wishful thinking, and honestly, even if Rove did do this despicable thing, prison time is pretty unlikely. But it will be very interesting to see how this plays out.

...And The Livin' Is Easy

Summertime has come to the Truckee Meadows, and we've got the 90+ degree weather to prove it. It's my absolute favorite time of year to be living downtown, because July means Artown. There are all sorts of crazy things going on at various locations downtown. Take for example the folks at the right, Project Bandaloop, a group that calls itself a "dance/mountaineering troupe" that performs, well, I guess you'd call it performance art on the sides of buildings. I could see them warming up yesterday on the side of Artists' Loft Apartments, and tomorrow they're giving three shows. Hopefully they don't mind me using pictures from their website--guys, I'm not profiting from this and I'm not worth suing, I swear. Maybe MiMi can tell me about all the copywrite laws I'm violating ;-)

As I sit and write this here in the Fortress of Solitude, a.k.a. my 8th floor studio, I have the balcony door open and I can hear Hawaiian music coming from Wingfield Park next door. Another thing I love about summer in the city is all the free (and surprisingly diverse) concerts. It brings a vitality to the riverside neighborhood that isn't there other times of year; all kinds of folks, from yuppies who work in the nearby banking district to itinerant bikers to hippies to families with young children to elderly casino denizens with portable respirators all come out to enjoy the warm summer air, stroll along the Truckee River and feel like they're part of a community.

There's plenty I could be worried about right now. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach this morning when I heard that Sandra Day O'Connor was stepping down from the U.S. Supreme Court. This might be the harbinger of a political pitched-battle that will further tear at the seams of this already frighteningly divided country. The President, never much for compromise, is unlikely to nominate a moderate because in the minds of his hard-core base this is what they've been working toward for decades--the chance to finally tilt the nation's highest court firmly in the direction of theocracy. As for my personal life, I continue to struggle with learning the ropes of a difficult new job. And then there are all the other things the media is always telling me I should worry about; you know, shark attacks, Mad Cow Disease, getting kidnapped in Aruba, all that stuff that's likely to happen to me if I ever leave my house or vote for a Democrat.

But for now I'm not going to worry. The night is young, the air is warm and dry, and Melissa and I actually have the same day off tomorrow (only the third time this has happened since I've known her). So for now, I'm just going to enjoy the Summer.