They painted the pool today. Actually it was all done by one man, a grey-haired member of the hotel staff. He removed all the deck furniture inside the metal fence, placing on the brick area by the hot tub. Then he used a leaf blower to clean the concrete deck. Then he used a roller to repaint the entire deck. It looked the same color as an aircraft carrier.
The true line of climate demarcation is America is between the areas where the motel pool is drained in the winter, and where the motel pools stay open all year round.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
My Cali Dream
My Cali Dream is to understand Cali. The -fornia Cali, to be specific.
Yosemite seems liked a good place to see how much of Cali I could scope with my mind, from memory with my eyes closed. From the spot I was standing I let my mind zoom gracefully over the contours of the State, gliding topologically in wrinkles of mountains and valleys, from one named place to another. I zoom into see details, explore known locales from different angles and then on to the next one.
From one corner of the state to the other---Fresno, Taft, Santa Barbara, Hawthorne, Swami's, Chula Vista, Slab City, Palm Springs, Joshua Tree, Twentynine Palms, Bishop, Mammoth, even to Reno--where it leaves off, on the continental map, is sort of arbitrary.
Susanville, Surprise Valley, Goose Lake, Klamath River, Trinity River, Crescent City, Eureka, Fort Ross, Bodega Bay, Santa Rosa, Marin, San Pablo Bay, Crocket, Emeryville, etc.---until it's all one glowing whole and I can almost see and feel them all at once I wrap it all up in my mind and call it C-A-L-I-F-O-R-N-I-A.
I think about all of it teaming with people, all of us lost-soul beautiful scumbag angelic selfish full-of-life-force gloriuos individuals, one by one, across not only space but time too---because every bit of my memory of these places is from a dis-simultaneous instant in the past.
It's gloriously incomplete---still many places I could add. And individuals everywhere you look.
...now I am interrupted by a man talking loudly on his cell phone next to me at the coffeeshop. So fleeting is the dream.
Yosemite seems liked a good place to see how much of Cali I could scope with my mind, from memory with my eyes closed. From the spot I was standing I let my mind zoom gracefully over the contours of the State, gliding topologically in wrinkles of mountains and valleys, from one named place to another. I zoom into see details, explore known locales from different angles and then on to the next one.
From one corner of the state to the other---Fresno, Taft, Santa Barbara, Hawthorne, Swami's, Chula Vista, Slab City, Palm Springs, Joshua Tree, Twentynine Palms, Bishop, Mammoth, even to Reno--where it leaves off, on the continental map, is sort of arbitrary.
Susanville, Surprise Valley, Goose Lake, Klamath River, Trinity River, Crescent City, Eureka, Fort Ross, Bodega Bay, Santa Rosa, Marin, San Pablo Bay, Crocket, Emeryville, etc.---until it's all one glowing whole and I can almost see and feel them all at once I wrap it all up in my mind and call it C-A-L-I-F-O-R-N-I-A.
I think about all of it teaming with people, all of us lost-soul beautiful scumbag angelic selfish full-of-life-force gloriuos individuals, one by one, across not only space but time too---because every bit of my memory of these places is from a dis-simultaneous instant in the past.
It's gloriously incomplete---still many places I could add. And individuals everywhere you look.
...now I am interrupted by a man talking loudly on his cell phone next to me at the coffeeshop. So fleeting is the dream.
Monday, October 28, 2013
Angels of the Central Valley Sky
The fighter jet was out this morning, circling in the sky to the east of the hotel. I couldn't tell what kind of aircraft.
Rick had told me that there are pilots who do maneuvers over this part of the valley, and over the city.
He also told me about the police helicopters that circle over the neighborhoods, even in the nicer parts of town, shining bright lights down into the yards at night.
A couple nights ago there was a big brouhaha with a police helicopter over the hotel. A couple of them were circling the parking lot of the CVS across Shaw, at the corner of a big major intersection. One could hear the bullhorns inside hotel, albeit muffled.
They come over almost every night, heading to and from Blackstone.
Rick had told me that there are pilots who do maneuvers over this part of the valley, and over the city.
He also told me about the police helicopters that circle over the neighborhoods, even in the nicer parts of town, shining bright lights down into the yards at night.
A couple nights ago there was a big brouhaha with a police helicopter over the hotel. A couple of them were circling the parking lot of the CVS across Shaw, at the corner of a big major intersection. One could hear the bullhorns inside hotel, albeit muffled.
They come over almost every night, heading to and from Blackstone.
Yosemite is a Pit
Yosemite is a pit--a least Yosemite Valley. As far as national parks go, it's a downright slum. I've never seen anything like it around the country---filthy restrooms that are hard to find, rotting picnic tables, and an overall shabbiness that makes me wonder what Central Park must have been like in the mid 1970s.
The trails are ridiculously narrow anywhere in the Valley. It feels as crowded as the Eben Fine Park in Boulder where the creek comes out of the canyon, Or worse yet, China.
Even on a day of light traffic (yesterday, late fall, post-shutdown), it felt overrun by cars, mainly because of the mindboggling lack of parking and the face that the two-lane one-way circuit road becomes a de facto Interstate. Try making a left turn into a viewing area from the right hand lane with traffic zooming along beside you. I had to resort to my old Gotham driving skills to get into the little access road down to the Merced River.
The park discourages private driving, but the shuttle buses seemed unobvious about how to use them, and I didn't see many of them. It reminded me of mass transit in Los Angeles---just use it, people.
Yes, it is heavily visited, but so are other parks, even in California. Sequoia NP is awesome, for example.
It's a disgrace for the country, and a California blight/
I realized there are all sorts of politics over this situation. But the comparison to Central Park makes me realize Yosemite is in a sense an urban park. It's perhaps the the least maintained and most neglected urban park of the Greater Bay Area Metropolis. That's OK by me, actually. I'm not expecting pristine wild. But I don't want to be grossed out.
Looking up at the beautiful rock walls of El Capitan yesterday, I could hear the thought that must be whispered inside so many people's heads: wouldn't it be awesome to see this valley as Muir did, so pristine and without all these messy cars and crowds?
I suspect this is part of the politics of the Yosemite Disgrace---just let all the amenities rot away and make the whole place much more wild. At the least, prohibit private traffic.
OK---perhaps a change of paradigm is necessary, but which change?
Kings Canyon National Park, just to south in the Sierra, supposedly has "ten Yosemites" in it.
You can't drive in to them. You can go to the end of the road, as I did last year on a beautiful October day. It looks a lot like Yosemite there---a big flat valley surrounded by towering sculpted forms. Nearby are the highest of the Sierras. This truly is the gate to some kind of heaven. But to get to any of those valleys I mentioned, you have to hike over the passes, backpack style like a hobbit on a quest.
I like to ask people: what's your personal opinion of those remote valleys in Kings Canyon? Do they match up to Yosemite?
The trails are ridiculously narrow anywhere in the Valley. It feels as crowded as the Eben Fine Park in Boulder where the creek comes out of the canyon, Or worse yet, China.
Even on a day of light traffic (yesterday, late fall, post-shutdown), it felt overrun by cars, mainly because of the mindboggling lack of parking and the face that the two-lane one-way circuit road becomes a de facto Interstate. Try making a left turn into a viewing area from the right hand lane with traffic zooming along beside you. I had to resort to my old Gotham driving skills to get into the little access road down to the Merced River.
The park discourages private driving, but the shuttle buses seemed unobvious about how to use them, and I didn't see many of them. It reminded me of mass transit in Los Angeles---just use it, people.
Yes, it is heavily visited, but so are other parks, even in California. Sequoia NP is awesome, for example.
It's a disgrace for the country, and a California blight/
I realized there are all sorts of politics over this situation. But the comparison to Central Park makes me realize Yosemite is in a sense an urban park. It's perhaps the the least maintained and most neglected urban park of the Greater Bay Area Metropolis. That's OK by me, actually. I'm not expecting pristine wild. But I don't want to be grossed out.
Looking up at the beautiful rock walls of El Capitan yesterday, I could hear the thought that must be whispered inside so many people's heads: wouldn't it be awesome to see this valley as Muir did, so pristine and without all these messy cars and crowds?
I suspect this is part of the politics of the Yosemite Disgrace---just let all the amenities rot away and make the whole place much more wild. At the least, prohibit private traffic.
OK---perhaps a change of paradigm is necessary, but which change?
Kings Canyon National Park, just to south in the Sierra, supposedly has "ten Yosemites" in it.
You can't drive in to them. You can go to the end of the road, as I did last year on a beautiful October day. It looks a lot like Yosemite there---a big flat valley surrounded by towering sculpted forms. Nearby are the highest of the Sierras. This truly is the gate to some kind of heaven. But to get to any of those valleys I mentioned, you have to hike over the passes, backpack style like a hobbit on a quest.
I like to ask people: what's your personal opinion of those remote valleys in Kings Canyon? Do they match up to Yosemite?
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Sunday Sequoia
Fresno has been good, a fruitful place to get things done. An easy place to work the day job and also have time and energy for personal projects. A good place to plant things for the months ahead.
But after two weeks at the Ramada by the freeway the Cali-Dream starts to wear a bit thin. The cuteness wears off, as Rick says. All the golden things are still true, but you can see and taste the gritty not-so-glamorous underbelly of it.It begins to feel like a neverending game of bumb worer cars, even when crossing the parking lot to get a cup of coffee in the morning.
So today I took advantage of the rental car and drove up to Yosemite. Got there about ten in the morning--a leisurely pace. Lingered a long time sitting at the bank of the Merced across from El Capitan. It was the turning of fall---golden leaves in the still water.
Above it the might mountain. There is nothing like it on earth that I've seen. It is not just a huge piece of rock. It seems sculpted in some perverse but brilliant expansion of something I was fascinated with last year---the trunks of the giant sequioas.
It's as if El Capitan is some kind of stone monument to the sequoia itself.
That got me thinking in a playful way. Is that just a coincidence? Maybe the seeming similarity between the wild structure of the great rock in Yosemite Valley with the base of sequoias has some kind of natural explanation, having to do with the channeling of water, given the rainfall here, its frequency, average pH, etc. Maybe it's just a quirk. I tied myself in knots thinking about this, looking up at the rock.
See, Golden again!
But after two weeks at the Ramada by the freeway the Cali-Dream starts to wear a bit thin. The cuteness wears off, as Rick says. All the golden things are still true, but you can see and taste the gritty not-so-glamorous underbelly of it.It begins to feel like a neverending game of bumb worer cars, even when crossing the parking lot to get a cup of coffee in the morning.
So today I took advantage of the rental car and drove up to Yosemite. Got there about ten in the morning--a leisurely pace. Lingered a long time sitting at the bank of the Merced across from El Capitan. It was the turning of fall---golden leaves in the still water.
Above it the might mountain. There is nothing like it on earth that I've seen. It is not just a huge piece of rock. It seems sculpted in some perverse but brilliant expansion of something I was fascinated with last year---the trunks of the giant sequioas.
It's as if El Capitan is some kind of stone monument to the sequoia itself.
That got me thinking in a playful way. Is that just a coincidence? Maybe the seeming similarity between the wild structure of the great rock in Yosemite Valley with the base of sequoias has some kind of natural explanation, having to do with the channeling of water, given the rainfall here, its frequency, average pH, etc. Maybe it's just a quirk. I tied myself in knots thinking about this, looking up at the rock.
See, Golden again!
Friday, October 25, 2013
A Humble Craigslist Posting (to Be Read in the Voice of a Monster Truck Rally Commercial)
Squier Saturday--we want to buy your Fender Squier! (Tower District)
East India Guitar Co. (in Fresno's historic Tower District) announces
!!!!! SQUIER SATURDAY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Saturday OCT. 26 11 AM-5 PM: CASH ON THE SPOT for your GUITAR
We "Heart" Used Squiers (and other instruments lovingly cared for)!
WE BUY GUITARS broken and otherwise
Also selection of cool strings: Ernie Ball, Fender, Darko and other guitar items: capos, straps, slides, cables. Nice selection of Fender picks. Starter guitars for lessons. Set-ups on guitars and basses.
Need a RESTRING? Bring your guitar or bass in on Saturday for a free estimate.
Authorized FENDER PARTS dealer. Authorized ERNIE BALL dealer.
VISA/MC accepted
WE BUY AMPS TOO
Got a VINTAGE CONSIGNMENT? Why not sell it for TOP DOLLAR on the opulent glitter-gold walls of Fresno's perfect little guitar boutique now open in the heart of the Tower District!? Fully insured. Very secure.
SEE YOU ON SATURDAY in the Tower District!!!
Can't make this Saturday with your SQUIER or other instrument!? (Call for appointment 559-797-2874)
We're easy to find at 548 East Olive Ave.---across from the Peach Pit
Right behind the "Lemonade Stand"!
Did somebody say Wecho!?
548 East Olive Ave
- Location: Tower District (google map) (yahoo map)
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
Saturday, October 19, 2013
The Ramada on Shaw
On Saturday morning in the courtyard, the plaza off the conference room looks different. Mylar helium balloons in gold and black are tied by long ribbons to the metal railing by the swimming pool. Gone are the nametag brigades of faux flight attendants and pink-and-black copper-haired Latina. Instead a woman in a shimmering purple dress is walking around the plaza. Her hair is made up. She seems in anticipation of an event.
On the way up the stairs through the concrete steps, I I notice the roses growing underneath for the first time. My eye was ready to see them at last.
On the way up the stairs through the concrete steps, I I notice the roses growing underneath for the first time. My eye was ready to see them at last.
Friday, October 18, 2013
God Bless the Fig Garden
In Fresno it's hard not to come to appreciate the existence of places like the Fig Garden Village, or also the Shops at River Place.
Both those places are like enclaves of niceness---civilization, if you will---amidst Fresno that allows you to feel like you are somewhere in "nice" California, e.g. with a sheen of prosperity behind the bedges and palms, enough to fake it while driving by.
The Starbucks in both placed do not have homeless people in wheelchairs manning the doors, as they do down on Olive Street. They have nice black asphalt parking lots that are like mazes to navigate, in between an opulence of trees. The Fig Garden Village has a Whole Foods---it's beautiful with all its pumpkins now. It's the nicest place you hit, coming north out of downtown on Palm. It feels like an oasis.
River Place is nicer still. It is on the north edge of Fresno proper, along the main highway before it descends into the San Joaquin Plain. Here one finds the big box retailers, including the remains of a bankrupt national bookstore chain, the name of which still adorns the tower along the edge of the great parking lot. But it still has plenty of life---a huge new multiplex movie theater, a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, and the last REI before you hit Yosemite. Always something to keep in mind.
To live in Fresno is to constantly make the trade-off between the old down-and-out but potentially up-and-coming hip (like the Tower District and Downtown), and the oasis of rampant full-on surburbia. It's difficult to exist in either of those places for too long on their own. One needs to keep cycling about the neighborhoods to stay somewhat in balance.
Both those places are like enclaves of niceness---civilization, if you will---amidst Fresno that allows you to feel like you are somewhere in "nice" California, e.g. with a sheen of prosperity behind the bedges and palms, enough to fake it while driving by.
The Starbucks in both placed do not have homeless people in wheelchairs manning the doors, as they do down on Olive Street. They have nice black asphalt parking lots that are like mazes to navigate, in between an opulence of trees. The Fig Garden Village has a Whole Foods---it's beautiful with all its pumpkins now. It's the nicest place you hit, coming north out of downtown on Palm. It feels like an oasis.
River Place is nicer still. It is on the north edge of Fresno proper, along the main highway before it descends into the San Joaquin Plain. Here one finds the big box retailers, including the remains of a bankrupt national bookstore chain, the name of which still adorns the tower along the edge of the great parking lot. But it still has plenty of life---a huge new multiplex movie theater, a Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, and the last REI before you hit Yosemite. Always something to keep in mind.
To live in Fresno is to constantly make the trade-off between the old down-and-out but potentially up-and-coming hip (like the Tower District and Downtown), and the oasis of rampant full-on surburbia. It's difficult to exist in either of those places for too long on their own. One needs to keep cycling about the neighborhoods to stay somewhat in balance.
The Great Fresno Horror Tour
The description of Fresno that Rick offers, from the experiences he has had with the City and County, and its various bureaucracies is one of excruciating horror at having to deal with Soviet-level corruption at every level. It's clear the city is in an advanced state of rot, a ward of both of the State and Federal government, both in terms of feeding money and muscle to the entrenched Powers that Be, but also giving it that Platonic embodiment of inertia that keeps things chugging along in the same old form.
Most of his experience is through his girlfriend, who is hip deep in drama involving one such local bureaucracy, with which she had had long doings over many years---the local Unified School District. But the now the drama has spread out to involve the legal system as well, and the collision of the great bureaucracies that inhabit it.
I wish I could go into detail about the horror, but it's personal and on-going.
I did however enjoy Rick's girlfriend's story about some of her recent experiences with her class of young children. It seems the Unified School District made all the teachers and children come back early for school this fall. The purpose was to attend a giant Citywide rally at which the mayor would speak.
The teachers were directed to bring their entire classes to the rally. They were take the kids on buses, and then transferred to shuttles and brought to a large plaza. They were to be at the giant rally organized by school and class. The teachers were supposed to tell the children to wear the same color t-shirt, so all the class would look the same.
The rally was ghastly, she said. None of the teachers wanted to be there. They all detested having to do it, just to be a prop for the mayor.
The rally was opened by some kind of musical performance by a woman. Then the mayor, also a woman, came on stage and spoke. In front of the entire city school popular, arrayed in rainbows of t-shirts in front of her, the very first thing that came out of her mouth was to comment on she had know the musical performer back in college.
Then the mayor made a joke.
"And if I know her, I can tell you that the performance you just saw was probably chemical enhanced somehow."
Jaws wide open in the audience. Stunned silence. The mayor just kept going on.
The next morning the local newspaper reported that the rally was a bit hit with the teachers, who liked the idea of it very much.
Most of his experience is through his girlfriend, who is hip deep in drama involving one such local bureaucracy, with which she had had long doings over many years---the local Unified School District. But the now the drama has spread out to involve the legal system as well, and the collision of the great bureaucracies that inhabit it.
I wish I could go into detail about the horror, but it's personal and on-going.
I did however enjoy Rick's girlfriend's story about some of her recent experiences with her class of young children. It seems the Unified School District made all the teachers and children come back early for school this fall. The purpose was to attend a giant Citywide rally at which the mayor would speak.
The teachers were directed to bring their entire classes to the rally. They were take the kids on buses, and then transferred to shuttles and brought to a large plaza. They were to be at the giant rally organized by school and class. The teachers were supposed to tell the children to wear the same color t-shirt, so all the class would look the same.
The rally was ghastly, she said. None of the teachers wanted to be there. They all detested having to do it, just to be a prop for the mayor.
The rally was opened by some kind of musical performance by a woman. Then the mayor, also a woman, came on stage and spoke. In front of the entire city school popular, arrayed in rainbows of t-shirts in front of her, the very first thing that came out of her mouth was to comment on she had know the musical performer back in college.
Then the mayor made a joke.
"And if I know her, I can tell you that the performance you just saw was probably chemical enhanced somehow."
Jaws wide open in the audience. Stunned silence. The mayor just kept going on.
The next morning the local newspaper reported that the rally was a bit hit with the teachers, who liked the idea of it very much.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Fresno Revived
Last night was the third evening in a row for the group meeting in the hotel conference room. One could see the inside of the room walking past it from both outside and inside the hotel. It was all in Spanish, and all the attendees looked to be earnest Hispanics in business atire, both men and women. Something about "Vision" in the title on the easel as I walked by. They clapped. They changed. They had nametags.
Finally last night I asked at the front desk, in a curious tone. "Amway," the guy behind the desk told me.
This morning at the bright hour of 10:45, out by the pool a string of young white women blonde and brunette, in dark attire looking like flight attendants on a stayover, come down the sidewalk in the courtyard lugging carry-ons on wheels. But they aren't flight attendants. They too have nametags on them. They are heading towards a different room in the hotel complex.A few minutes later a group of weightier Hispanic women come in, either black hair or died copper, wearing black and pink, all of them.
In the Starbucks this morning, across the parking, a white main in a dress shirt and tie is talking about hotel locations with two white women. He mentions something about Fresno State and Shaw Avenue, in a way that is a joke, and the women laugh with him.
Outside is now calm---only he sound of an air conditioning unit out by the pool, and a leaf blower in the far distance. And few birds of different species.
Finally last night I asked at the front desk, in a curious tone. "Amway," the guy behind the desk told me.
This morning at the bright hour of 10:45, out by the pool a string of young white women blonde and brunette, in dark attire looking like flight attendants on a stayover, come down the sidewalk in the courtyard lugging carry-ons on wheels. But they aren't flight attendants. They too have nametags on them. They are heading towards a different room in the hotel complex.A few minutes later a group of weightier Hispanic women come in, either black hair or died copper, wearing black and pink, all of them.
In the Starbucks this morning, across the parking, a white main in a dress shirt and tie is talking about hotel locations with two white women. He mentions something about Fresno State and Shaw Avenue, in a way that is a joke, and the women laugh with him.
Outside is now calm---only he sound of an air conditioning unit out by the pool, and a leaf blower in the far distance. And few birds of different species.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Fresno Amidst the Shutdown
The downside of Frenso's go-bootstrap-yourself vibe is that the decrepitude and degeneracy begins to grate on you after a while. The whole place begins to seem like a looney bin, barely hanging on.
The Tower District is quaint but in the stark light of day, on the narrow sidewalk you will walk lonely blocks having to detour around homeless as if auditioning for a horror movie.
At the Starbucks there, a homeless or semi-homeless man in a wheelchair sits by the door, opening it like a doorman for everyone comin in or out, as if it's a high end hotel.
I can't bear to go in. I drive up to the Fig Garden Village up on Shaw. So beautiful. It is enclosed lifestyle village. All the quaint necessities of life, all new. New cars. Smooth parking lot. A Whole Foods brimming with pumpkins out front. The Starbucks there in the morning is "resume central" for Fresno---the place job seekers go to polish their c.v.s to placement on line. It has a long wooden table with power outlets.
The Tower District is quaint but in the stark light of day, on the narrow sidewalk you will walk lonely blocks having to detour around homeless as if auditioning for a horror movie.
At the Starbucks there, a homeless or semi-homeless man in a wheelchair sits by the door, opening it like a doorman for everyone comin in or out, as if it's a high end hotel.
I can't bear to go in. I drive up to the Fig Garden Village up on Shaw. So beautiful. It is enclosed lifestyle village. All the quaint necessities of life, all new. New cars. Smooth parking lot. A Whole Foods brimming with pumpkins out front. The Starbucks there in the morning is "resume central" for Fresno---the place job seekers go to polish their c.v.s to placement on line. It has a long wooden table with power outlets.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Fresneden
Fresno is carved out of the rock that sits just below the topsoil on which the garden of the Central Valley grows. Around Fresno is the most thickly abundant mesh of roads that interlace the half-mile blocks on which sit orchards of figs, dates, and grapes. That Fresno is carved out of this slick of Eden almost seems like a crime. But so abundant is this Eden that even a city can exist in it.
The price seems to be that it has that down-and-out feeling, even more than the rest of California. You find homeless encamped outside the finest mid-level hotels in Sonoma, after all. Here in Fresno it seems normalized, as if the entire city is just one step away from that lowered level of life.
Yet it feels as if that natural fig-growing abundance is still here, bursting through every pore of the reality here. All you have to do is just taste a bit of it.
There is a raw kind of motivation here. If you can handle surfing this kind of benevolent slackitude, you can leverage to your personal benefit, based on the principle that here if you have your life together at all, you are beating the crowd. Why not sprint a little more and really start feeling good?
The price seems to be that it has that down-and-out feeling, even more than the rest of California. You find homeless encamped outside the finest mid-level hotels in Sonoma, after all. Here in Fresno it seems normalized, as if the entire city is just one step away from that lowered level of life.
Yet it feels as if that natural fig-growing abundance is still here, bursting through every pore of the reality here. All you have to do is just taste a bit of it.
There is a raw kind of motivation here. If you can handle surfing this kind of benevolent slackitude, you can leverage to your personal benefit, based on the principle that here if you have your life together at all, you are beating the crowd. Why not sprint a little more and really start feeling good?
Monday, October 14, 2013
Blogging by the Pool
"Blogging by the pool." That's what I said last evening when asked by my hosts what I was doing Sunday afternoon. I said it while relishing the opulence the words coming out of my mouth, with a hint of postmodern decadence.
Golden State opulence, to be sure. California decadence.
The hotel is large, a sprawling layout that goes back hundreds of yards from the main boulevard. Upclose it looks like a well-kept-up married student housing complex built during the height of the university expansions---two-story plain design with simple doors and windows, and a narrow sidewalk that goes to the interior.
But it is also surrounded by an overample moat of a parking lot, and many bright lamps that keep it all well-lit at night. It is clearly delineated from the nearby mid-level recent vintage apartments by a sturdy iron fence.
The pool in the interior of the complex reminds me the design of old Roman houses, the way they would put a small pool surrounded by a covered portico. Some designs are stable because they work so well. They are simple designs.
I am amazed too at the primitive power of both fire and water, or even the illusion of them, to give residual comfort while one is relaxing.
Golden State opulence, to be sure. California decadence.
The hotel is large, a sprawling layout that goes back hundreds of yards from the main boulevard. Upclose it looks like a well-kept-up married student housing complex built during the height of the university expansions---two-story plain design with simple doors and windows, and a narrow sidewalk that goes to the interior.
But it is also surrounded by an overample moat of a parking lot, and many bright lamps that keep it all well-lit at night. It is clearly delineated from the nearby mid-level recent vintage apartments by a sturdy iron fence.
The pool in the interior of the complex reminds me the design of old Roman houses, the way they would put a small pool surrounded by a covered portico. Some designs are stable because they work so well. They are simple designs.
I am amazed too at the primitive power of both fire and water, or even the illusion of them, to give residual comfort while one is relaxing.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
The Big Eff-No
Went to Carrows for brunch today, the one on Blackstone. It's a California chain I got used to visiting last fall and winter during the Big Cali Run. Among other things, I wanted to get out of the room to let housekeeping come in and give me a new set of one-off coffee pouches.
Got their sirloin and eggs. A decent meal. Wish they would disinclude the toast as an option. Next time I'll tell them not to bring it.
Had a local cheeseburger last night. Rick's girlfriend L---- brought it home. She was at the store with us for part of the afternoon, but she and her daughter temporarily detoured off to the thrift store while Rick and I went straight to their place. It's in north Fresno in a complex right across Sierra from where he was living the last two times I visited him.
When we got back, Rick and I went out to the back patio, a tiny hemmed in plot of line with a high brick fence shielding view from the neighborhoods. A little piece of the California dream, complete with a fake fireplace (not a bad addition, I think).
Rick is one my more choleric friends. I've long depended on him to fire me up about certain things, because he will always be more fiery than I. He's always been on the cutting edge of it.
He talked about the politicians he hates. He can't stand to listen to the ones he used to like. They are all sell-outs to him. No leaders, that's his motto.
Among other things we talked about Fresno and what it means to live here. We both have a mutual love for Fresno, which expresses itself a constant need to understand why this place is the way it is.
"I hate this place," he said with disgust. "I just want to get out of here. L---- wants to too."
"The Big F," I said, chiming in.
"The Big F-No," he said, in his creative way.
Got their sirloin and eggs. A decent meal. Wish they would disinclude the toast as an option. Next time I'll tell them not to bring it.
Had a local cheeseburger last night. Rick's girlfriend L---- brought it home. She was at the store with us for part of the afternoon, but she and her daughter temporarily detoured off to the thrift store while Rick and I went straight to their place. It's in north Fresno in a complex right across Sierra from where he was living the last two times I visited him.
When we got back, Rick and I went out to the back patio, a tiny hemmed in plot of line with a high brick fence shielding view from the neighborhoods. A little piece of the California dream, complete with a fake fireplace (not a bad addition, I think).
Rick is one my more choleric friends. I've long depended on him to fire me up about certain things, because he will always be more fiery than I. He's always been on the cutting edge of it.
He talked about the politicians he hates. He can't stand to listen to the ones he used to like. They are all sell-outs to him. No leaders, that's his motto.
Among other things we talked about Fresno and what it means to live here. We both have a mutual love for Fresno, which expresses itself a constant need to understand why this place is the way it is.
"I hate this place," he said with disgust. "I just want to get out of here. L---- wants to too."
"The Big F," I said, chiming in.
"The Big F-No," he said, in his creative way.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Califresno Wresting Peace
After a year away, one of my first impressions of Fresno this time was the near ubiquity of a sign that I had noticed last year, but which has now multiplied across almost all convenience stores, fast food restaurants and other food-related businesses: "EBT Accepted Here."
Today however there is evidently some kind of glitch across the country. Upon arriving at Piemonte Italian deli on Olive Street, in the Tower District, for the second day in row, we were greeted by a crude handwritten sign in Sharpie: "No EBT Today." The new version has blossomed all over Fresno.
This morning I lazed around in bed watching the UT-Oklahoma game, then texted Rick a what's up. He said he was over at the store. He had a less on in fifteen minutes. "Come on over," he wrote.
I took the freeway into downtown this time and got off at the exit that directed me to "The Tower District," Fresno's little enclave along Olive for off-beat youth culture and nightlife.
Rick's new shop is located a couple blocks down from the theater itself. He rents a front-facing room with a separate door from a woman in the other half of the house. She runs an "eclectic gift shop" that seems to specialize in surf boards and wedding dresses. The little hallway to the bathroom in the back is lined with such dresses in all their frilly-ness.
View Larger Map
Rick comes from the bluest of the blue blood of Fresno music store owners. His grandmother, whom he never got to meet, ran a somewhat legendary local music store on Blackstone, and then branched out to ones in other cities, including San Francisco during the height of the Sixties. From his father and other aunt, Rick learned that his grandmother routinely supplied cutting edge electronic equipment to folks such as The Who and the the Jefferson Airplane.
When I took Rick to San Francisco last year, the first time he'd visited in since he was an infant, he attempted to find the location of the shop there, on Van Ness, he thinks. "My dad said you could see it in the background of that movie they made, with Ryan O'Neil and Barbra Streisand, with the car chase."
What's Up Doc? I said. It was my favorite movie when I was ten years old. I went to see it twice at the theater.
Today however there is evidently some kind of glitch across the country. Upon arriving at Piemonte Italian deli on Olive Street, in the Tower District, for the second day in row, we were greeted by a crude handwritten sign in Sharpie: "No EBT Today." The new version has blossomed all over Fresno.
This morning I lazed around in bed watching the UT-Oklahoma game, then texted Rick a what's up. He said he was over at the store. He had a less on in fifteen minutes. "Come on over," he wrote.
I took the freeway into downtown this time and got off at the exit that directed me to "The Tower District," Fresno's little enclave along Olive for off-beat youth culture and nightlife.
Rick's new shop is located a couple blocks down from the theater itself. He rents a front-facing room with a separate door from a woman in the other half of the house. She runs an "eclectic gift shop" that seems to specialize in surf boards and wedding dresses. The little hallway to the bathroom in the back is lined with such dresses in all their frilly-ness.
View Larger Map
Rick comes from the bluest of the blue blood of Fresno music store owners. His grandmother, whom he never got to meet, ran a somewhat legendary local music store on Blackstone, and then branched out to ones in other cities, including San Francisco during the height of the Sixties. From his father and other aunt, Rick learned that his grandmother routinely supplied cutting edge electronic equipment to folks such as The Who and the the Jefferson Airplane.
When I took Rick to San Francisco last year, the first time he'd visited in since he was an infant, he attempted to find the location of the shop there, on Van Ness, he thinks. "My dad said you could see it in the background of that movie they made, with Ryan O'Neil and Barbra Streisand, with the car chase."
What's Up Doc? I said. It was my favorite movie when I was ten years old. I went to see it twice at the theater.
Friday, October 11, 2013
Selling Myself on a Cable Upgrade
In Fresno I had booked seven nights at the Best Western on Blackstone, but I stayed exactly one. The cable television package was inexcusable. I called the front desk clerk on the phone.
"Yeah, I don't know if we get the local stations anymore," he said. He said he could maybe find me another room, in the other building, where the cable system was different. But he said the Internet was not working very well in parts of that building. A shame. A typical Fresno kind of trade-off.
Somehow I fiddled around and found CBS hidden at 47-point-1, which one accessed by attempting to go to channel 7 using the keypad. But NBC, Fox, and ESPN never materialized in my searches. No way could I enjoy relax in the evenings with the channels they had. Better to be in the nearby Motel 6 for half the prices.
Moreover Blackstone Avenue, and the motel stripthere, were no longer my style. I wanted an upgrade. I decided that among the hotels from last year, the most appealing was the Ramada on Shaw, near the Fresno State Campus, on the other side of the freeway. It has a conference room---respectable. Probably a carb-only breakfast buffet, from what I remembered, but I could deal with that.
Easy check-in. Ample room. Bigger bed. Modern bed coverings and pillows. Power outlets inthe base of the lamp, and near the foot of the bed. Had to unplug the minifridge because of the noise it was making. As for the cable, it was old-style non-digital. Fuzzy ESPN on a strong signal. Watched the Louisville game last night. Perfectly acceptable.
And also a view of the sparkling swimming pool in the central courtyard, near the palm trees. I'd forgotten how much I love California.
In the meantime I'd texted Rick telling him I was in town.
"Yeah, I don't know if we get the local stations anymore," he said. He said he could maybe find me another room, in the other building, where the cable system was different. But he said the Internet was not working very well in parts of that building. A shame. A typical Fresno kind of trade-off.
Somehow I fiddled around and found CBS hidden at 47-point-1, which one accessed by attempting to go to channel 7 using the keypad. But NBC, Fox, and ESPN never materialized in my searches. No way could I enjoy relax in the evenings with the channels they had. Better to be in the nearby Motel 6 for half the prices.
Moreover Blackstone Avenue, and the motel stripthere, were no longer my style. I wanted an upgrade. I decided that among the hotels from last year, the most appealing was the Ramada on Shaw, near the Fresno State Campus, on the other side of the freeway. It has a conference room---respectable. Probably a carb-only breakfast buffet, from what I remembered, but I could deal with that.
Easy check-in. Ample room. Bigger bed. Modern bed coverings and pillows. Power outlets inthe base of the lamp, and near the foot of the bed. Had to unplug the minifridge because of the noise it was making. As for the cable, it was old-style non-digital. Fuzzy ESPN on a strong signal. Watched the Louisville game last night. Perfectly acceptable.
And also a view of the sparkling swimming pool in the central courtyard, near the palm trees. I'd forgotten how much I love California.
In the meantime I'd texted Rick telling him I was in town.
Into Sociocalifornia
As the Bombardier Q400 began making its descent down through the clouds, I looked out the window past the engines and propellers to the dark soup-like haze below. It was made even more gray by the just-about-to-set sun.
From from the seats behind me, a man asked the guy next to him, "So are people actually going to get off in Fresno, or this is just for refeuling."
"I think some people actually do get off here," said the other.
Once we landed I pulled my carry-on backpack from the overhead and disembarked from the rear door, behind the woman and her three kids, who had the other seats in my aisle during the flight.
Her kids had expressed a wish to stay on the plane and to go on to San Diego, the final destination, where their grandmother lived.
"I wish we could too, sweetie," said the Mom.
Once across the tarmack and into the airport, it was a short walk down the sole terminal to find the rental car counters. I picked upthe keys to a Ford Focus---the same make and model as Red 's---and walked out into the dark parking lot.
The guy at the counter had given me a courtesy map of Fresno, but I decided just to go from memory to find my hotel.
From from the seats behind me, a man asked the guy next to him, "So are people actually going to get off in Fresno, or this is just for refeuling."
"I think some people actually do get off here," said the other.
Once we landed I pulled my carry-on backpack from the overhead and disembarked from the rear door, behind the woman and her three kids, who had the other seats in my aisle during the flight.
Her kids had expressed a wish to stay on the plane and to go on to San Diego, the final destination, where their grandmother lived.
"I wish we could too, sweetie," said the Mom.
Once across the tarmack and into the airport, it was a short walk down the sole terminal to find the rental car counters. I picked upthe keys to a Ford Focus---the same make and model as Red 's---and walked out into the dark parking lot.
The guy at the counter had given me a courtesy map of Fresno, but I decided just to go from memory to find my hotel.
What Amino Acids Have Built
After dinner at the Pomodoro we drove back to the hotel and parked in the hotel garage. Before heading upstaris, we decided to go for a short walk out into the evening, heading out along the lakefront boulevard in the direction towards downtown.
.
The sidewalk was dark and the road was mostly quiet. Across from the hotel was a boat shop---yacht maintenance. As we headed towards dowtown, the Space Needle came into view from several good angles.
About a block later on the sidewalk we realized we were standing in front of enormous red brick office building of recent vintage, with a courtyard and layout reminiscent of an old urban housing project. The brightly lit but tasteful signs informed us that this was the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. We both laughed at the irony of it.
A couple blocks further along the lake front we got to a pier with a couple bars. We decided to walk down onto the wooden pier, out to the edge one could see the crowning lights of Queen Anne Hill, and around the edge of the lake like a string of jewels. Nearby the bar---Joey's Lake Union---was bright with soft yellow glow and moving figures inside. We walked around the other side of it.
From there you could see dozens of large pleasure craft moored on several doors, all of them dark with unuse. In the background above them, on the steep hill you could see the whole layout of the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, and above that, at the top of the hill, the even more grand rising structure of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.
Looping back around on the docks, we passed one with a couple dozen craft moored. I remarked how I wanted to soak in the vibe, so I walked by myself along through the yachts, savoring the luxury of it. When I walked back to Red, she was standing at one by the foot of the dock. She pointed out how cool it was. It had two ample floors with big glass windows that it made it look like Luxor on the water. I agreed it was the best one along the dock. Like the other ones, it was for sale----two point nine million. We had fun discussing what kind of crew you'd need for a boat like that.
.
The sidewalk was dark and the road was mostly quiet. Across from the hotel was a boat shop---yacht maintenance. As we headed towards dowtown, the Space Needle came into view from several good angles.
About a block later on the sidewalk we realized we were standing in front of enormous red brick office building of recent vintage, with a courtyard and layout reminiscent of an old urban housing project. The brightly lit but tasteful signs informed us that this was the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. We both laughed at the irony of it.
A couple blocks further along the lake front we got to a pier with a couple bars. We decided to walk down onto the wooden pier, out to the edge one could see the crowning lights of Queen Anne Hill, and around the edge of the lake like a string of jewels. Nearby the bar---Joey's Lake Union---was bright with soft yellow glow and moving figures inside. We walked around the other side of it.
From there you could see dozens of large pleasure craft moored on several doors, all of them dark with unuse. In the background above them, on the steep hill you could see the whole layout of the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center, and above that, at the top of the hill, the even more grand rising structure of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance.
Looping back around on the docks, we passed one with a couple dozen craft moored. I remarked how I wanted to soak in the vibe, so I walked by myself along through the yachts, savoring the luxury of it. When I walked back to Red, she was standing at one by the foot of the dock. She pointed out how cool it was. It had two ample floors with big glass windows that it made it look like Luxor on the water. I agreed it was the best one along the dock. Like the other ones, it was for sale----two point nine million. We had fun discussing what kind of crew you'd need for a boat like that.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
An Afternoon With Doris Day
After loafing at the Pike Street Market indulging in more Sunday people watching, Red and I drove home to relax in the hotel by Lake Union to while after the time before dinner.
It was then that I discovered that we had TCM. I was delighed and immediately punched in the channel code. Seeing a classic movie in progress like that is like stepping into a warm peaceful bath.
Red didn't know about it. I explained how I had spent so much time watching it, and had once"left the television on TCM for two years straight" (only a slight exaggeration). I told her how about watching it for a while, it felt like being in 1948 again (sort of a median year for their catalog). But this was very confusion, because the contemporary "modern" world stopped making sense at some point.
"Everyone now is assumed to be dishonorable," I said.
The first movie we watched was late Doris Day movie---Day's last feature role, in fact, from 1968. It was comedy, With Six You Get Eggroll, in which she and Brian Keith are widow and widower respectively, trying to merge their two families like The Brady Bunch. It was one of the few movie roles for George Carlin, who plays a carhop at a drive-in.
Red didn't know much about Day, even though Day is from her hometown of Cincinnati. I told her that Day was one of my favorite actresses. She plays very strong characters but they are strong in a very feminine way. It makes her very appealing.
After that we plowed right on into Mister Roberts, which Red hadn't seen either. We both particularly enjoyed the ship's doctor character, played with great comedic effect by William Powell, another one of my favorite actors.
Then we turned off the tube for a while and went out to eat. Red wanted Italian, and we tried to go to Serafina in Eastlake, but it was hosting a private party, so we drove a little further down the lake and found an inconspicuous little place called Pomodoro, with a splendid cozy atmosphere and a chef who served in the Spanish Army, and who cooked for the King of Spain. My paella was tremendous, and Red loved her linguine.
It was then that I discovered that we had TCM. I was delighed and immediately punched in the channel code. Seeing a classic movie in progress like that is like stepping into a warm peaceful bath.
Red didn't know about it. I explained how I had spent so much time watching it, and had once"left the television on TCM for two years straight" (only a slight exaggeration). I told her how about watching it for a while, it felt like being in 1948 again (sort of a median year for their catalog). But this was very confusion, because the contemporary "modern" world stopped making sense at some point.
"Everyone now is assumed to be dishonorable," I said.
The first movie we watched was late Doris Day movie---Day's last feature role, in fact, from 1968. It was comedy, With Six You Get Eggroll, in which she and Brian Keith are widow and widower respectively, trying to merge their two families like The Brady Bunch. It was one of the few movie roles for George Carlin, who plays a carhop at a drive-in.
Red didn't know much about Day, even though Day is from her hometown of Cincinnati. I told her that Day was one of my favorite actresses. She plays very strong characters but they are strong in a very feminine way. It makes her very appealing.
After that we plowed right on into Mister Roberts, which Red hadn't seen either. We both particularly enjoyed the ship's doctor character, played with great comedic effect by William Powell, another one of my favorite actors.
Then we turned off the tube for a while and went out to eat. Red wanted Italian, and we tried to go to Serafina in Eastlake, but it was hosting a private party, so we drove a little further down the lake and found an inconspicuous little place called Pomodoro, with a splendid cozy atmosphere and a chef who served in the Spanish Army, and who cooked for the King of Spain. My paella was tremendous, and Red loved her linguine.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
The Culmination of the Great Starbucks Road Rally.
A Starbucks road rally---that's how I've sometimes described my life over the last couple years. At times it has come close to seeming quite literal, for example, when crossing the northern Great Plains last year. Heading west from Grand Forks last year I had map out in advance where I could next find reliable wi-fi where I could work. To do this, I would simply find the next Starbucks westward and head towards it.
Wi-fi, work. That pretty much sums up why I like Starbucks. I've mentioned these things in previous posts, but forgive the repetition one more time for the occasion. Among these is that the wi-fi at Starbucks never lets you down. Also there are always power outlets to keep your laptop and cell phone juiced up (something I often needed while staying at campgrounds, and which is often lacking even at other chain coffee shops).
Their shops are well-lit with good sunlight. That's in contrast to many independents, who seem to think that dingy light is the way to go (thankfully this is beginning to change),
Starbucks has non-annoying service. The employees are well-trained. They never ask me to repeat my single-drink coffee order two or three times ("Now what were you having again?"). They have a complete open door no hassle policy that even encourages people to stay there as long as possible (they certainly get their money out of me).
Their music is engineered to be as non-annoying as possible (no cloying classic rock songs to screw with the teenage memory strings in my brain while I'm trying to work).
Overall, knowing I could find all these wonderful things so consistently across the country simply by finding a Starbucks using this site is one of the huge reasons I have been able to travel while working as I have done in my digital nomadic way. That is, I not only can travel about, but I can do it somewhat gracefully.
And that's what I'm about, really---graceful travel. I'm the Martha Stewart of budget travel. But that's a different metaphor for a different time.
What's important is that Starbucks helped me do all this somewhat-graceful movement from place to place while still earning a living. For this I am extremely grateful. I know it might irk quite a few people to hear such praise for a "soul-crusing corporation," but so be it. It is what it is.
Their coffee, to be sure, is not my favorite. But I drink it and like it. My standard order is a Grande Pike with room. I put half-and-half up to the rim. Often I get their bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches as well.
A grande with room is exactly what I ordered on Sunday in Seattle at the Starbucks on the Pike Street Market---the original Starbucks. Red and I braved the modest line of Asian tourists to squeeze inside and order our beverages. The decor is retro and nostalgic, using the original 1971 version of the mermaid logo, like an old chandler's shop on the waterfront.
I didn't bring my laptop there, but there was no place to sit there of course Besides, it was Sunday, my day off. The coffee that afternoon was purely a voluntary pleasure, and quite refreshing.
Wi-fi, work. That pretty much sums up why I like Starbucks. I've mentioned these things in previous posts, but forgive the repetition one more time for the occasion. Among these is that the wi-fi at Starbucks never lets you down. Also there are always power outlets to keep your laptop and cell phone juiced up (something I often needed while staying at campgrounds, and which is often lacking even at other chain coffee shops).
Their shops are well-lit with good sunlight. That's in contrast to many independents, who seem to think that dingy light is the way to go (thankfully this is beginning to change),
Starbucks has non-annoying service. The employees are well-trained. They never ask me to repeat my single-drink coffee order two or three times ("Now what were you having again?"). They have a complete open door no hassle policy that even encourages people to stay there as long as possible (they certainly get their money out of me).
Their music is engineered to be as non-annoying as possible (no cloying classic rock songs to screw with the teenage memory strings in my brain while I'm trying to work).
Overall, knowing I could find all these wonderful things so consistently across the country simply by finding a Starbucks using this site is one of the huge reasons I have been able to travel while working as I have done in my digital nomadic way. That is, I not only can travel about, but I can do it somewhat gracefully.
And that's what I'm about, really---graceful travel. I'm the Martha Stewart of budget travel. But that's a different metaphor for a different time.
What's important is that Starbucks helped me do all this somewhat-graceful movement from place to place while still earning a living. For this I am extremely grateful. I know it might irk quite a few people to hear such praise for a "soul-crusing corporation," but so be it. It is what it is.
Their coffee, to be sure, is not my favorite. But I drink it and like it. My standard order is a Grande Pike with room. I put half-and-half up to the rim. Often I get their bacon and egg breakfast sandwiches as well.
A grande with room is exactly what I ordered on Sunday in Seattle at the Starbucks on the Pike Street Market---the original Starbucks. Red and I braved the modest line of Asian tourists to squeeze inside and order our beverages. The decor is retro and nostalgic, using the original 1971 version of the mermaid logo, like an old chandler's shop on the waterfront.
I didn't bring my laptop there, but there was no place to sit there of course Besides, it was Sunday, my day off. The coffee that afternoon was purely a voluntary pleasure, and quite refreshing.
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Fun Adventures on Queen Anne Hill
After our spell of people watching at the Space Needle, and talking about eugenics, we walked back to the parking garage where I our car was parked. It turned out to be the parking garage of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. The bright new office building was handsome and in splendid taste for the area.
From there we drove to the hotel and checked in---the Silver Cloud Inn at Lake Union. The young woman who checked me, very contractive of body, barely said three sentences to me the entire room. It felt a bit off. But the room was decent.
It turned out to have TCM---quite a treat. But the first night I mostly watched college football games while Red studied.
In the morning we had brunch at the splendid 14 Carrot Restaurant in Eastlake then gave ourselves a tour of the neighborhoods of north Seattle, from the University westward past Green Lake. We stopped for a good long while at the park on the sound at the foot of the hill in Ballard and watched the Olympics, where were glorious and already snow capped. The sky was brilliant blue except for a few banks of cirrus and cirrostratus on the horizon. Nearby the crew of a sailboat had the Seahawks game on the radio. We stood on the dock, leaning against the wooden railing as boats came by the jetty, in and out of the Sound.
After lingering there as long as we could indulge, we drove south across the canal and then got purposefully lost on the back streets of Queen Anne Hill. After many fun twists and turns we finally came down the steep hill towards Mercer Street at the edge of Downtown.
As we cruised through Belltown, heading towards the Pike Street Market, I told Red to find a place to park. I took us a while to find a garage. We had to circle around twice.
But it was worth it, the effort. I had a pilgrimage to make.
From there we drove to the hotel and checked in---the Silver Cloud Inn at Lake Union. The young woman who checked me, very contractive of body, barely said three sentences to me the entire room. It felt a bit off. But the room was decent.
It turned out to have TCM---quite a treat. But the first night I mostly watched college football games while Red studied.
In the morning we had brunch at the splendid 14 Carrot Restaurant in Eastlake then gave ourselves a tour of the neighborhoods of north Seattle, from the University westward past Green Lake. We stopped for a good long while at the park on the sound at the foot of the hill in Ballard and watched the Olympics, where were glorious and already snow capped. The sky was brilliant blue except for a few banks of cirrus and cirrostratus on the horizon. Nearby the crew of a sailboat had the Seahawks game on the radio. We stood on the dock, leaning against the wooden railing as boats came by the jetty, in and out of the Sound.
After lingering there as long as we could indulge, we drove south across the canal and then got purposefully lost on the back streets of Queen Anne Hill. After many fun twists and turns we finally came down the steep hill towards Mercer Street at the edge of Downtown.
As we cruised through Belltown, heading towards the Pike Street Market, I told Red to find a place to park. I took us a while to find a garage. We had to circle around twice.
But it was worth it, the effort. I had a pilgrimage to make.
Playing Our Part in the Human Zoo
On the way down from the top of the Space Needle, the elevator ride gave us a great view down into the garden of the nearby Chihuly gallery and the splendid glass sculptures by the artist after whom the gallery is named.
We could also see into the large courtyard of the Pacific Science Center with its angular Sixties-era walkway over the fountain pool. On the far way of the courtyard was a large banner for the current exhibit of the museum. The exhibit was titled "RACE." We'd gotten a closeup look at the banner before we went up to the top of needle. The subtitle of the exhibit was that it would challenge our perspectives. As if to highlight this theme, the "R" of the word was printed backwards.
"Ah, the subject we are all supposed to be obsessed about," I said. "Somehow I doubt it will challenge most people's perspectives much at all."
Now in the elevator, looking down at the banner, It occurred to me that the backwards R in the banner was just like the parody of the Cyrillic alphabet that one often sees.
"Ah, it's a Commie exhibit," I joked to Red.
When we got down to ground, we meandered around the plaza enjoying the remainder of the day's beautiful sunlight. We sat in several locations by the monorail and the Space Needle to people watch. Many families were out enjoying the day with their children. The temperature was perfect.
"If they wanted to really make a point about race," I said, "they should have museum where once you get in, you are sorted into different lines based on your skin color or ethnic background. Then each partition goes through a completely different museum, with a message designed for that race."
Red thought that was a hilarious idea. We brainstormed about ways one could implement this in a useful and interesting manner. For example, if someone was in the Hispanic museum route, but their skin was too dark, they could be escorted to a door, and when they went through it, they would find themselves in the Black Race museum, and the door would not allow you to go back.
Then we discussed the history of the Space Needle and the original 1962 World's Fair.
"Did you know that at the 1904 World's Fair in Saint Louis there was a Human Zoo?" I asked Red.
She was intrigued. "Really?"
"Yup. It had exhibits from cultures all over the world. It was partly designed to promote eugenics, or race hygeine, as people called it back then. It was a very popular subject with the elite of the day. One of the promoters in St. Louis was a prominent local banker, Bert Walker. He was essentially the point man in the Midwest for the Morgan establishment. Like many of them, was a big believer race hygeine."
"Walker---" I continued. "is the 'W' of Dubya. Bert Walker was his great-grandfather."
We could also see into the large courtyard of the Pacific Science Center with its angular Sixties-era walkway over the fountain pool. On the far way of the courtyard was a large banner for the current exhibit of the museum. The exhibit was titled "RACE." We'd gotten a closeup look at the banner before we went up to the top of needle. The subtitle of the exhibit was that it would challenge our perspectives. As if to highlight this theme, the "R" of the word was printed backwards.
"Ah, the subject we are all supposed to be obsessed about," I said. "Somehow I doubt it will challenge most people's perspectives much at all."
Now in the elevator, looking down at the banner, It occurred to me that the backwards R in the banner was just like the parody of the Cyrillic alphabet that one often sees.
"Ah, it's a Commie exhibit," I joked to Red.
When we got down to ground, we meandered around the plaza enjoying the remainder of the day's beautiful sunlight. We sat in several locations by the monorail and the Space Needle to people watch. Many families were out enjoying the day with their children. The temperature was perfect.
"If they wanted to really make a point about race," I said, "they should have museum where once you get in, you are sorted into different lines based on your skin color or ethnic background. Then each partition goes through a completely different museum, with a message designed for that race."
Red thought that was a hilarious idea. We brainstormed about ways one could implement this in a useful and interesting manner. For example, if someone was in the Hispanic museum route, but their skin was too dark, they could be escorted to a door, and when they went through it, they would find themselves in the Black Race museum, and the door would not allow you to go back.
Then we discussed the history of the Space Needle and the original 1962 World's Fair.
"Did you know that at the 1904 World's Fair in Saint Louis there was a Human Zoo?" I asked Red.
She was intrigued. "Really?"
"Yup. It had exhibits from cultures all over the world. It was partly designed to promote eugenics, or race hygeine, as people called it back then. It was a very popular subject with the elite of the day. One of the promoters in St. Louis was a prominent local banker, Bert Walker. He was essentially the point man in the Midwest for the Morgan establishment. Like many of them, was a big believer race hygeine."
"Walker---" I continued. "is the 'W' of Dubya. Bert Walker was his great-grandfather."
Monday, October 7, 2013
On Top of Seattle
Just got back from Seattle. Red and I drove up there on Saturday morning. I'd told her we needed to be there by one, and that was just about what the clock said when we pulled off the exit north of downtown. We parked in a garage just by the Seattle Center.
It was a beautiful day. On the way up, we'd hit fog a couple times by Olympia and Tacoma, but by the time we got to the base of the Space Needle, the sky was bright and blue. On the elevator on the way up the operator pointed out Rainer and the Olympics to us, both of which, she told us, weren't usually as visible as that moment.
Red got a kick of out of being in the revolving door restaurant. She said there was one like that back in Cincinnati, that she used to love as a kid.
Our meal was a delicious salmon. The service was delightful.
It was truly a day to get the layout of Seattle from the tower. We made a couple full turns around the tower while we dined.
"It's always nice on my birthday," I told Red.
It was a beautiful day. On the way up, we'd hit fog a couple times by Olympia and Tacoma, but by the time we got to the base of the Space Needle, the sky was bright and blue. On the elevator on the way up the operator pointed out Rainer and the Olympics to us, both of which, she told us, weren't usually as visible as that moment.
Red got a kick of out of being in the revolving door restaurant. She said there was one like that back in Cincinnati, that she used to love as a kid.
Our meal was a delicious salmon. The service was delightful.
It was truly a day to get the layout of Seattle from the tower. We made a couple full turns around the tower while we dined.
"It's always nice on my birthday," I told Red.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Looking Up At the Rooftop
Walking down East Burnside towards "Burnbux," as the Starbucks there at the corner of 28th, calls itself. I see two women, about forty standing right on the corner. looking out towards the intersection and talking with each other at close range. They are attractive and nicely dressed. One is gesturing to the other woman as she talks. She strikes me as South American in her accent and body posture.
"He just went like this," said the gesturing woman, making a diving motion with her arms.
Then a beat later, "It was the most beautiful suicide ever."
Not surprisingly the Burnbux vibe was a bit off this morning. During the day it's mostly the low end crowd. It's a "keep the restroom key behind the counter" type of Starbucks. Some days its good for work, but other days it is challenging. You get used to type of people you see there, like the guy with headphones who air drums wildly (apparently) along to music on his laptop. I learned not to sit directly facing him, as my peripheral vision got too distracted by his motions.
In the late afternoon, now that school has started, the place is given over to smartly dressed middle schoolers from a nearby private academy, mostly girls. They fill the place and sit on the banquette along the window, crowding their tables in quick converstation. This is actually a good vibe for work, I've found, since all that sound drowns each other out, and the kids are involved in their own thing.
Today I didn't stay the whole day at Burnbux. The vibe was just too weird today. I fled up to the clean well-lit little 'Bux across from the hospital complex on Glisan. A whole different vibe. Unlocked restrooms. Peppier jazz. Fingers moving on the keyboard.
"He just went like this," said the gesturing woman, making a diving motion with her arms.
Then a beat later, "It was the most beautiful suicide ever."
Not surprisingly the Burnbux vibe was a bit off this morning. During the day it's mostly the low end crowd. It's a "keep the restroom key behind the counter" type of Starbucks. Some days its good for work, but other days it is challenging. You get used to type of people you see there, like the guy with headphones who air drums wildly (apparently) along to music on his laptop. I learned not to sit directly facing him, as my peripheral vision got too distracted by his motions.
In the late afternoon, now that school has started, the place is given over to smartly dressed middle schoolers from a nearby private academy, mostly girls. They fill the place and sit on the banquette along the window, crowding their tables in quick converstation. This is actually a good vibe for work, I've found, since all that sound drowns each other out, and the kids are involved in their own thing.
Today I didn't stay the whole day at Burnbux. The vibe was just too weird today. I fled up to the clean well-lit little 'Bux across from the hospital complex on Glisan. A whole different vibe. Unlocked restrooms. Peppier jazz. Fingers moving on the keyboard.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
An Event Has Happened Somewhere in the World
To quote my friend Okki, somebody call somone...about something!!
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
My Rant About the Government Shutdown
Went to the Doug Fir lounge tonight with Red, to dine. It's down on lower east Burnside, right next to the Jupiter Hotel.
We each had a glass of wine. She had the salmon, and I the steak. She liked the salmon but even thought she knew it would have been frozen. I thought the steak was pretty good. The brussell sprouts that came as my side were killer.
The service was pretty good. The waiter had a grunge look, but he was professional and courteous.
The Doug Fir one the best Portland-specific themes of any place I've visited here. On the one hand it is a classic L.A.-style diner with wide circular booths and period fixtures, all with a big huge view of Burnside out the window. The interior is of large sections of timber, evoking the name. You feel as if you are in a diner-lodge. It's nice. During our meal, a long line formed outside to get into the music show in the basement lounge---Red Fang, according to the marquee.
After dinner we the apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. We lingered a while, talking about Bitcoin and other abstruse topics.
We each had a glass of wine. She had the salmon, and I the steak. She liked the salmon but even thought she knew it would have been frozen. I thought the steak was pretty good. The brussell sprouts that came as my side were killer.
The service was pretty good. The waiter had a grunge look, but he was professional and courteous.
The Doug Fir one the best Portland-specific themes of any place I've visited here. On the one hand it is a classic L.A.-style diner with wide circular booths and period fixtures, all with a big huge view of Burnside out the window. The interior is of large sections of timber, evoking the name. You feel as if you are in a diner-lodge. It's nice. During our meal, a long line formed outside to get into the music show in the basement lounge---Red Fang, according to the marquee.
After dinner we the apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. We lingered a while, talking about Bitcoin and other abstruse topics.
A Lazy Rainy Day Watching Other Folks' Problems
The tropical storm remnant didn't bring nearly as much rain as they anticipated. This far inland, at the motel in East Portland, it was a good soaking but nothing that brought to mind any time of flooding.
Nevertheless it was delicious to be lazy all day Sunday. I had planned on checking out of the Motel 6 that morning but decided to extend another night, just so Red and I could sit indoors reading, studying, and watching television.
Although I checked in on the NFL games, most of the day we watched episode after episode of Bar Rescue, which I'd previously introduced to Red (who owns no television and grew up without watching it much). She'd understood at once what I like about the show so much---a gruff expert comes into a failing bar/nightclub/tavern, and with the consent of the owner, he gives a complete makeover.
He has to kick ass like a sheriff in an old western, but the show is produced in a way that makes you see where the problem really lies---usually with bad owner/management. Sometimes he has to make the owner fire bad employees too. It's very emotional and dramatic, no doubt punched up by the production crew to create better television. But you tell a lot of the emotion and drama is genuine.
One of the common themes of the show is how resistant people are to the changes he suggests. The bad owners are often trapped in a world of delusion about their place in the world, or what they really should be doing. One club owner really wants to be comedian. Another really wants to be a rock and roller. Another wants to be the queen captain of a pirate den. A few are downright sociopaths. Others just need to be reminded of the right way thing to do, and that it's OK to do the right thing.
In (almost) every episode there is the magic moment when the owner and employees realize that the changes suggested by the expert are not just on the level of fiddling around the edges of the problem, but are in the nature of raising the place and the employees to whole new level, one that is classier and much more prosperous. The owner sees the light at the end of the tunnel of their crushing debt. The bartender who moans the loss of daytime shift hours suddenly realizes she will make five times more in tips after the bar reopen. The former pathology of the place has not just been fixed but routed, and the problems from the "old regime" suddenly seem moot.
Red and I must have watched six or seven hour-long episodes of it, in all, interrupted by a long leisurely trip to a nearby Elmer's on I-205 to have country friend steak and eggs (me) and a cheeseburger (her), complemented by hot tea. When we got back we watched all the way to one in the morning. The last episode was about a bar in a town outside Cincinnati where Red once played soccer.
Nevertheless it was delicious to be lazy all day Sunday. I had planned on checking out of the Motel 6 that morning but decided to extend another night, just so Red and I could sit indoors reading, studying, and watching television.
Although I checked in on the NFL games, most of the day we watched episode after episode of Bar Rescue, which I'd previously introduced to Red (who owns no television and grew up without watching it much). She'd understood at once what I like about the show so much---a gruff expert comes into a failing bar/nightclub/tavern, and with the consent of the owner, he gives a complete makeover.
He has to kick ass like a sheriff in an old western, but the show is produced in a way that makes you see where the problem really lies---usually with bad owner/management. Sometimes he has to make the owner fire bad employees too. It's very emotional and dramatic, no doubt punched up by the production crew to create better television. But you tell a lot of the emotion and drama is genuine.
One of the common themes of the show is how resistant people are to the changes he suggests. The bad owners are often trapped in a world of delusion about their place in the world, or what they really should be doing. One club owner really wants to be comedian. Another really wants to be a rock and roller. Another wants to be the queen captain of a pirate den. A few are downright sociopaths. Others just need to be reminded of the right way thing to do, and that it's OK to do the right thing.
In (almost) every episode there is the magic moment when the owner and employees realize that the changes suggested by the expert are not just on the level of fiddling around the edges of the problem, but are in the nature of raising the place and the employees to whole new level, one that is classier and much more prosperous. The owner sees the light at the end of the tunnel of their crushing debt. The bartender who moans the loss of daytime shift hours suddenly realizes she will make five times more in tips after the bar reopen. The former pathology of the place has not just been fixed but routed, and the problems from the "old regime" suddenly seem moot.
Red and I must have watched six or seven hour-long episodes of it, in all, interrupted by a long leisurely trip to a nearby Elmer's on I-205 to have country friend steak and eggs (me) and a cheeseburger (her), complemented by hot tea. When we got back we watched all the way to one in the morning. The last episode was about a bar in a town outside Cincinnati where Red once played soccer.
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