Thursday, April 13, 2006
There are more than two ways to tie a shoe
http://www.fieggen.com/shoelace/knots.htm
Amazing what you can find on the Internet (those BoingBoing folks turn up some interesting shit).
Amazing what you can find on the Internet (those BoingBoing folks turn up some interesting shit).
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
NO, really -- this year is worse
All anyone here can talk about is the rain, the goddamn unrelenting rain. 35 of the past 43 days we've had rain, and people just aren't used to it. Commuting in it sucks, you can't get your kids or your dog outside, nobody likes to carry/remember their umbrella. And if you live in the "my view is beautiful but my hillside is oozing" sections of the hilly Bay area, it's even more serious than all that.
So much talk about the weather, it almost helps me forget the local obsession with the 10o-year anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. I'm reading "A Crack in the Edge of the World" and therefore doing my part to obsess, and that's all I'm going to do. The newspaper series, the radio segments, the TV shows -- it's enough!! Thinking about the poor destroyed city of 100 years ago only makes us around here wonder how we'll do when the next big one hits. I do not need these thoughts as I zip along on a train underneath the bay in what they call the "transbay tube"...which does not sound nearly strong enough to beat an earthquake. Oh, and I live on an island, so help will be even more slow in coming perhaps. Happy thoughts for soggy days!
On the soggy, here is Steinbeck's view of it and the short memories we all have regarding weather (even among those who don't have farms to fret about anymore):
I have spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry years too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixteen inches of rain. And then the dry years would come, and sometimes there would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sage-brush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.
So much talk about the weather, it almost helps me forget the local obsession with the 10o-year anniversary of the 1906 earthquake. I'm reading "A Crack in the Edge of the World" and therefore doing my part to obsess, and that's all I'm going to do. The newspaper series, the radio segments, the TV shows -- it's enough!! Thinking about the poor destroyed city of 100 years ago only makes us around here wonder how we'll do when the next big one hits. I do not need these thoughts as I zip along on a train underneath the bay in what they call the "transbay tube"...which does not sound nearly strong enough to beat an earthquake. Oh, and I live on an island, so help will be even more slow in coming perhaps. Happy thoughts for soggy days!
On the soggy, here is Steinbeck's view of it and the short memories we all have regarding weather (even among those who don't have farms to fret about anymore):
I have spoken of the rich years when the rainfall was plentiful. But there were dry years too, and they put a terror on the valley. The water came in a thirty-year cycle. There would be five or six wet and wonderful years when there might be nineteen to twenty-five inches of rain, and the land would shout with grass. Then would come six or seven pretty good years of twelve to sixteen inches of rain. And then the dry years would come, and sometimes there would be only seven or eight inches of rain. The land dried up and the grasses headed out miserably a few inches high and great bare scabby places appeared in the valley. The live oaks got a crusty look and the sage-brush was gray. The land cracked and the springs dried up and the cattle listlessly nibbled dry twigs. Then the farmers and the ranchers would be filled with disgust for the Salinas Valley. The cows would grow thin and sometimes starve to death. People would have to haul water in barrels to their farms just for drinking. Some families would sell out for nearly nothing and move away. And it never failed that during the dry years the people forgot about the rich years, and during the wet years they lost all memory of the dry years. It was always that way.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
What I'm not writing
I think a lot about blogging, which is not surprisingly a lot easier than actually blogging. I applaud those who have gotten into a regular pattern/habit of blogging -- I can't seem to get into that kind of groove myself. What is this supposed to be about? Me? Why am I doing this? Is there some interesting hook...and by interesting, I mean something that will keep me interested as much as my "readers" (ha!).
In the spirit of the above lament, here is a list of things I've thought about blogging:
In the spirit of the above lament, here is a list of things I've thought about blogging:
- A book review of To Hate Like This... -- which I ordered and devoured before the NY Times even got around to reviewing it (to my mom's amazement). This is a book deeper than basketball, and the father-son exploration was particularly resonant with me. To some degree, what basketball was to the author and his father, baseball has served the same role with me and my dad. I understand my father better through baseball -- like the fact that he used to ride his bike to spring training games in Sarasota in the 1950s.
- My daily ride on the F Line -- the worst piece of mass transit in the western world, I think. The vicarious thrill of riding on classic streetcars does not overcome the ridiculous schedule, the overcrowding, the surly drivers, etc. But it does make for good people watching! There's one guy who HAS to be a serial killer, he is so spooky looking with his headphones and his air bass playing.
- Health care. Who is writing about health care in a compelling way? The system is broken, a joke, a travesty. Costs are going up, choices are going down, physicians worry too much (but out of necessity?)about reimbursement, patients are nearly powerless, etc. This one could get me "dooced" if I take it too far.
- Movie review: "Grizzly Man" -- or maybe I should leave those to Eric.
- Lindsay's hearing/speech development. Is everything really OK?
- 10 years since I left D.C....a recap? a look back? why do I still feel connected to that place -- it goes beyond geography. I feel connected to that period in my life, still.
That's all I can think of. Well, it counts as a post...but who's counting? I'm off to D.C. for a business trip in the morning...10 years almost to the day of when I left (as I mention above). If I ever make it out of the hotel, I might try to walk around the corner and see my old office on F St.
