It's a bit lonelier these days now that the visiting family folks have left. Kate (not visiting but of the "left" variety anyway) is out in Oakland these days. Erin and Brid left on Sunday, late in the day after we went to see the London Royal Ballet at Kennedy. And Pat and Jen left last week earlier on to head to northwestern PA and then a board gaming convention in Columbus, Ohio.
That leaves just the four-legged family members and me. I don't recall being a four-legged type much. Just when I'd take the kids for a horse-back ride when they were small. I'm sure I crawled at some point way back when. But that when is too way back for me to remember.
The family that's left is pretty quiet. Zelda spits at Logan when he passes by. And has even taken to hissing at Kooper now, too. Zelda, it seems has now lumped Kooper in with other evil dogs because of the frenetic pace of Logan. We sometimes see Lucky but only for a few minutes at a time (I was going to say "occasionally" there instead of "sometimes" but I always have trouble spelling that word - get the double consonants wrong a lot).
So, we are plodding along on all fours or all twos as the case may be until someone else comes through the door. If things go according to plan that will be Kate sometime in the middle of next week. Of course, things could happen of the unplanned variety and a visitor could grace the doorstep. You never know. Stray dog. Feral cat. Injured squirrel. Traveling friend. There always seems to be enough room.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
No Substitute
Money
Cars
Houses
Trips
Vacations
Winning
Comfort
Work
Food
Sex
Security
Power
Activity
Control
Toys
Games
A lot of Love is lost along the way there.
Cars
Houses
Trips
Vacations
Winning
Comfort
Work
Food
Sex
Security
Power
Activity
Control
Toys
Games
A lot of Love is lost along the way there.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Stretching, the Political Way (Metaphorically Speaking)
The interesting thing about working in DC is that you get to learn all sorts of new things political, such as the latest ways of stretching things (and I don't mean muscles). Like this quaint news item from Arkansas, where Republican U.S. Senate hopeful Curtis Coleman says that his comment that when traveling to southeastern Arkansas one "might as well get a visa and shot" was not meant to be derogatory, but rather as a "metaphor" celebrating the rich diversity of Arkansas (ahem, please give me a moment to clear my throat).
The Little Rock businessman, who has formed a committee to explore a run for Democratic incumbent Blanche Lincoln's seat next year, made the comments Tuesday night to a Benton County Republican gathering. Benton County, for those unfamiliar with life in Arkansas, is in the prosperous, northwestern, corner of the state (whereas southeastern Arkansas is largely agricultural and economically depressed).
Now here is the stretching part. Today, when asked about the comment, Coleman said he was trying to "accentuate or maybe even celebrate the enormous diversity we have in Arkansas."
"I’ve done a lot of international traveling since the 70s," he said, "and when going to a new and different land, you had to have a visa and shots. I only meant it to show the tremendous differences you see from one corner of the state to the other. I love southeast Arkansas and meant it only as a metaphor."
I wonder if he knows any metaphors for "shooting oneself in the foot" or "sticking your foot in your mouth." Oh. Wait. Those are metaphors.
The Little Rock businessman, who has formed a committee to explore a run for Democratic incumbent Blanche Lincoln's seat next year, made the comments Tuesday night to a Benton County Republican gathering. Benton County, for those unfamiliar with life in Arkansas, is in the prosperous, northwestern, corner of the state (whereas southeastern Arkansas is largely agricultural and economically depressed).
Now here is the stretching part. Today, when asked about the comment, Coleman said he was trying to "accentuate or maybe even celebrate the enormous diversity we have in Arkansas."
"I’ve done a lot of international traveling since the 70s," he said, "and when going to a new and different land, you had to have a visa and shots. I only meant it to show the tremendous differences you see from one corner of the state to the other. I love southeast Arkansas and meant it only as a metaphor."
I wonder if he knows any metaphors for "shooting oneself in the foot" or "sticking your foot in your mouth." Oh. Wait. Those are metaphors.
It's Still Safe
Despite the horrific Metro train crash and deaths and injuries earlier this week here in DC, I still feel safe riding the trains. The old, outdated, less secure trains. And the newer, more modern, safer varieties. The Red Line (the line where the crash occurred) is still closed down at the crash site but open otherwise on either side of that point. It was packed at rush hour this morning. At the point where I switched from bus to train (the Metro Center), I had to wait one train (two minutes) to get room in a Red Line car to get to my stop at Union Station (I was training it because the heat and humidity are spiking today in DC - no desire to be soaked with sweat by the time I walked the mile-plus from the bus stop to work).
So, while there may be trepidation, there were still crowds on the Metro. On the Red Line. It's still a safe way to get around.
So, while there may be trepidation, there were still crowds on the Metro. On the Red Line. It's still a safe way to get around.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Monumental
Brid, Erin and I are coming back into DC tonight (after I go out of DC this afternoon for a bit) to see some monuments. Brid wants to see the monuments in DC. Washington Monument. Lincoln Memorial. Jefferson Memorial. Those sort of monuments.
I'm sure - I know - that everyone has their faults. Those memorialized in monuments and the rest of us, too. In the glare of media - new and old - the faults just seem a bit bigger these days. I doubt that they are. We are just hungry for big faults and the supply rises up to meet the demand. The faults seem as monumental on the 6 o'clock news as the marble memorials in the National Mall.
I just have to wonder who will be memorialized in monuments 100 years from now, big warts and all. Whose monuments will Brid's grandchildren want to visit in DC in the summer heat in 2109?
I'm sure - I know - that everyone has their faults. Those memorialized in monuments and the rest of us, too. In the glare of media - new and old - the faults just seem a bit bigger these days. I doubt that they are. We are just hungry for big faults and the supply rises up to meet the demand. The faults seem as monumental on the 6 o'clock news as the marble memorials in the National Mall.
I just have to wonder who will be memorialized in monuments 100 years from now, big warts and all. Whose monuments will Brid's grandchildren want to visit in DC in the summer heat in 2109?
Monday, June 22, 2009
That Sinking Feeling
Everywhere I read these days (and I do a lot of it in my current job), I read of countries scaling back plans to scale back the emissions of heat-trapping greenhouse gases. England, Russia, Australia, Germany, United States. China may be the one exception but that remains to be seen. Third world countries are complaining loudly to the first-worlders about being subjugated and ignored once again. They are likely correct.
In the meantime more and more scientists are saying that soon it will be too late to reverse course. One, James Lovelock, recently said that it's already too late. That the past 100 plus years of CO2 production has already tipped the scales past the point of re-balance. He wants to name his soon-to-be-released book "The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning. Enjoy It While It Lasts." But his publisher talked him out of it, saying pessimism doesn't sell. Don't worry. Be happy.
To quote Star Wars (I, II, III, IV, V and VI), "I've got a bad feeling about this."
In the meantime more and more scientists are saying that soon it will be too late to reverse course. One, James Lovelock, recently said that it's already too late. That the past 100 plus years of CO2 production has already tipped the scales past the point of re-balance. He wants to name his soon-to-be-released book "The Vanishing Face of Gaia: A Final Warning. Enjoy It While It Lasts." But his publisher talked him out of it, saying pessimism doesn't sell. Don't worry. Be happy.
To quote Star Wars (I, II, III, IV, V and VI), "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Monday
We start of another week with a semi-full house. Pat and Jen are down for a few days visit and sightseeing. And Erin and Brid are here for a week or so for string (violin) camp in nearby Falls Church. We did a "dry run" by Metro and foot to the Falls Church camp location for registration. The real fun begins today.
The house is semi-full because Kate is out west somewhere with the Mormons doing things with the Unitarians (in Salt Lake City). Then she's going farther west into bankrupt California to try to boost the economy there. Visiting brothers and all. I think she's back sometime in July for a few days but I don't have my iPhone calendar handy for the details. I just recall it's booked up with mostly theres and leastly heres through the remainder of the summer.
So it's nice to have some company in the meantime (some of the non-four-legged furry variety).
The house is semi-full because Kate is out west somewhere with the Mormons doing things with the Unitarians (in Salt Lake City). Then she's going farther west into bankrupt California to try to boost the economy there. Visiting brothers and all. I think she's back sometime in July for a few days but I don't have my iPhone calendar handy for the details. I just recall it's booked up with mostly theres and leastly heres through the remainder of the summer.
So it's nice to have some company in the meantime (some of the non-four-legged furry variety).
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Fathers
Mark Twain once said that “it’s a wise child who knows its father, and an unusual one who unreservedly approves of him.” I’m here standing before you today to unequivocally state that I was neither wise nor unusual as a child. Oh, I knew who my father was all right. He was the red-haired state police officer who left in the morning and came home every evening to laugh and joke and tell stories, and make candy, and play cards and other games. He led us on vacations to the seashore, which he relished dearly. He was steady and constant. He was always there.
But when I was young, I didn’t know him. Really know him. And I certainly didn’t “unreservedly approve of him.” I loved him in the general sense that a child is capable of at that age. I appreciated his giving and his presence. I relied upon him for support, both emotionally and materially. But it wasn’t until I was an adult that I really got to know and appreciate my father – not at the father-son level; but as a friend and mentor. Mark Twain also wrote that when he was a boy of fourteen, his father was so ignorant he could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when he got to be twenty-one, Twain was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years. That was the way I was as a child. That was a lot of us, as children, I think. Maybe we didn’t appreciate our fathers within the specific time frame in which Mark Twain experienced his awakening. For some of us, (if at all) we may have come to appreciate our father when we were 17, or 28, or 56, or 81, or long after our father was gone. Although I’m sure that I did many times as a child, I don’t remember telling my father I loved him and hugging him, and actually sitting down and talking to him as a friend and adult until I was in my late 20s. That’s when I started to “unreservedly approve of” my father.
Now, when I say “father,” it doesn’t necessarily have to mean our biological father that we relate to as a “father” or “dad” or “daddy” or “pop.” I have four fathers – not biological fathers . . . that would be a record. I had four men who guided me, and prompted me, and cajoled me, and kicked me (not literally), and pushed me into adulthood. From my biological father, my “dad,” I received the gifts of patience, and gentleness, and steadiness, and an appreciation of quiet . . . and an ability not to “sweat the small stuff,” as my dad would say. From my uncle, Uncle Gene, I received the gifts of love of nature, and insightfulness, and spirituality . . . and the appreciation of a fine cigar. My grandfather, my “Poppy,” gave me the gifts of integrity, and respect of others, and personal pride and belief in oneself, the ability to call things as I see them . . . and a receding hairline. I swear that I spent most of my life through my high school years with my best friend. And it was through my best friend’s father – my fourth father, Mr. Cioffi – that I came to value honesty, and forthrightness, and laughter, and family . . . and the New York Yankees.
All of these fathers ended up giving a good part of themselves to me. What you see standing before you today is, in large measure, an amalgamation of the gifts of those gracious, good people. And in the end, that’s what fatherhood is all about . . . giving – unreservedly, unendingly, undeniably.
When my dad was dying of cancer, I went to visit him at home one evening. Just my Mom and Dad and I were there. I stayed for awhile. My father had brain cancer and wasn’t speaking much by that point. He wasn’t moving at all, being confined to bed. When it came time to leave, I whispered goodbye to my Dad; squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek. I told him I loved him. He struggled to whisper back “I love you, too.” Those were the last four words my dad ever spoke. A few weeks later he died, but he never spoke another word again. What an honor to be a child of that man, who gave to me as long as he could – until his very last words.
I have one last Mark Twain quote to share today. Mark Twain wrote, “a distinguished man should be as particular about his last words as he is about his last breath. He should write them out on a slip of paper . . . He should never leave such a thing to the last hour of his life, and trust to an intellectual spurt at the last moment to enable him to say something smart with his last gasp and then be launched into eternity with grandeur.” My father neither wrote down his last words ahead of time nor relied upon an intellectual spurt to be launched into eternity with the grandeur he was due. He relied upon that essential aspect that defined him as a father; that defined all four of my fathers as fathers; that sets apart all fathers as fathers – he relied upon his love for his child. May we and all of our children be blessed with such people of love in our lives.
But when I was young, I didn’t know him. Really know him. And I certainly didn’t “unreservedly approve of him.” I loved him in the general sense that a child is capable of at that age. I appreciated his giving and his presence. I relied upon him for support, both emotionally and materially. But it wasn’t until I was an adult that I really got to know and appreciate my father – not at the father-son level; but as a friend and mentor. Mark Twain also wrote that when he was a boy of fourteen, his father was so ignorant he could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when he got to be twenty-one, Twain was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years. That was the way I was as a child. That was a lot of us, as children, I think. Maybe we didn’t appreciate our fathers within the specific time frame in which Mark Twain experienced his awakening. For some of us, (if at all) we may have come to appreciate our father when we were 17, or 28, or 56, or 81, or long after our father was gone. Although I’m sure that I did many times as a child, I don’t remember telling my father I loved him and hugging him, and actually sitting down and talking to him as a friend and adult until I was in my late 20s. That’s when I started to “unreservedly approve of” my father.
Now, when I say “father,” it doesn’t necessarily have to mean our biological father that we relate to as a “father” or “dad” or “daddy” or “pop.” I have four fathers – not biological fathers . . . that would be a record. I had four men who guided me, and prompted me, and cajoled me, and kicked me (not literally), and pushed me into adulthood. From my biological father, my “dad,” I received the gifts of patience, and gentleness, and steadiness, and an appreciation of quiet . . . and an ability not to “sweat the small stuff,” as my dad would say. From my uncle, Uncle Gene, I received the gifts of love of nature, and insightfulness, and spirituality . . . and the appreciation of a fine cigar. My grandfather, my “Poppy,” gave me the gifts of integrity, and respect of others, and personal pride and belief in oneself, the ability to call things as I see them . . . and a receding hairline. I swear that I spent most of my life through my high school years with my best friend. And it was through my best friend’s father – my fourth father, Mr. Cioffi – that I came to value honesty, and forthrightness, and laughter, and family . . . and the New York Yankees.
All of these fathers ended up giving a good part of themselves to me. What you see standing before you today is, in large measure, an amalgamation of the gifts of those gracious, good people. And in the end, that’s what fatherhood is all about . . . giving – unreservedly, unendingly, undeniably.
When my dad was dying of cancer, I went to visit him at home one evening. Just my Mom and Dad and I were there. I stayed for awhile. My father had brain cancer and wasn’t speaking much by that point. He wasn’t moving at all, being confined to bed. When it came time to leave, I whispered goodbye to my Dad; squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek. I told him I loved him. He struggled to whisper back “I love you, too.” Those were the last four words my dad ever spoke. A few weeks later he died, but he never spoke another word again. What an honor to be a child of that man, who gave to me as long as he could – until his very last words.
I have one last Mark Twain quote to share today. Mark Twain wrote, “a distinguished man should be as particular about his last words as he is about his last breath. He should write them out on a slip of paper . . . He should never leave such a thing to the last hour of his life, and trust to an intellectual spurt at the last moment to enable him to say something smart with his last gasp and then be launched into eternity with grandeur.” My father neither wrote down his last words ahead of time nor relied upon an intellectual spurt to be launched into eternity with the grandeur he was due. He relied upon that essential aspect that defined him as a father; that defined all four of my fathers as fathers; that sets apart all fathers as fathers – he relied upon his love for his child. May we and all of our children be blessed with such people of love in our lives.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Accordion Fun
We are going to see the Motion Trio tonight at the Polish Embassy. It's the last in this season's series of embassy nights in DC, where there is a reception and some kind of musical event in one of the embassies in town. I'm on the email list and get notices all throughout the year. But what caught my eye was that there was a special "buy two get one free" for this night, and the music is accordion music! Not your typical embassy, classical kind of musical thing. It should be fun. The group, The Motion Trio, is touted as being unlike any other accordion act in the world.
My only other experience with accordions is when I was growing up and my best friend was taking accordion lessons. He had to practice every day. So, I got to listen to him a lot as I waited for him to finish, so we could do real things. Like play baseball.
We have four tickets for tonight. Got the three for two deal and then one more. Erin and Brid are down for the week, while Brid goes to a nearby string camp next week with her violin. So we get to hang out and do some nice Alexandria-DC sorts of things. Like accordion embassy visits.
My only other experience with accordions is when I was growing up and my best friend was taking accordion lessons. He had to practice every day. So, I got to listen to him a lot as I waited for him to finish, so we could do real things. Like play baseball.
We have four tickets for tonight. Got the three for two deal and then one more. Erin and Brid are down for the week, while Brid goes to a nearby string camp next week with her violin. So we get to hang out and do some nice Alexandria-DC sorts of things. Like accordion embassy visits.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
New Doomsday Counter
Deutsche Bank has launched a "carbon counter" (click here) that displays the running total amount of long-lived greenhouse gasses in the earth's atmosphere, measured in metric tons.
It hums along there pretty fast. You can even download a widget here to put on your computer's desktop if you're into that kind of thing. One person who has seen it has likened it to "watching a car crash in slow motion, but we're in the car." Happy driving!
It hums along there pretty fast. You can even download a widget here to put on your computer's desktop if you're into that kind of thing. One person who has seen it has likened it to "watching a car crash in slow motion, but we're in the car." Happy driving!
Day of Thor
Thursday is well-named for this morning. The clouds are thick and dark. It's humid and damp. And the thunder is rolling in from the north. From up in DC way. As we re-enter the southern, summer air mass. The god of thunder must be happy on his day.
This means we will shut the windows and restart the air conditioning. Conditioned air isn't my preference but not sitting in sweat-soaked clothes also isn't quite a pleasant experience. So, we opt for the conditioning and dry clothes. The tandem dehumidifiers in the bottom floor help to keep that dry. While they make the electric meter spin faster and more constantly.
So, we are cooler and drier. The power meter turns continuously. The power plant burns more coal to keep up. Pumping more CO2 into the air above. Which, if you believe the experts, makes for severe and more frequent thunder storms.
Making for more thundering Thursdays. Everybody wins! Especially the god of thor.
This means we will shut the windows and restart the air conditioning. Conditioned air isn't my preference but not sitting in sweat-soaked clothes also isn't quite a pleasant experience. So, we opt for the conditioning and dry clothes. The tandem dehumidifiers in the bottom floor help to keep that dry. While they make the electric meter spin faster and more constantly.
So, we are cooler and drier. The power meter turns continuously. The power plant burns more coal to keep up. Pumping more CO2 into the air above. Which, if you believe the experts, makes for severe and more frequent thunder storms.
Making for more thundering Thursdays. Everybody wins! Especially the god of thor.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Be Careful What You Wish For
"He has no credibility left." - Sen. John Ensign (Republican from Nevada), quoted by the Las Vegas Sun in 1998, urging Bill Clinton to resign after Clinton admitted an extramarital affair. In a press conference yesterday, Ensign admitted an affair but seemed resolved to remain in political life.
Mutt and Jeff
Logan
Frenetic
Fast
Zig-zag
Blur
Sniffing
Pulling
Delirious
Fanatical
Wired
Turbulent
Kooper
Calm
Slow
Sauntering
Restrained
Stoic
Pulled
Placid
Ambling
Relaxed
Frenetic
Fast
Zig-zag
Blur
Sniffing
Pulling
Delirious
Fanatical
Wired
Turbulent
Kooper
Calm
Slow
Sauntering
Restrained
Stoic
Pulled
Placid
Ambling
Relaxed
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Twitter Me This
Apparently when the Iranian government was blocking forms of e-communication in the lead-up to last week's election, they missed Twitter, and that social networking platform has been the main avenue for dissident and other non-approved communications since the election. The use of Twitter in Iran prompted the following statement, issued on the Twitter blog:
"A critical network upgrade must be performed to ensure continued operation of Twitter. In coordination with Twitter, our network host had planned this upgrade for tonight. However, our network partners at NTT America recognize the role Twitter is currently playing as an important communication tool in Iran. Tonight's planned maintenance has been rescheduled to tomorrow between 2-3p PST (1:30a in Iran)."
"A critical network upgrade must be performed to ensure continued operation of Twitter. In coordination with Twitter, our network host had planned this upgrade for tonight. However, our network partners at NTT America recognize the role Twitter is currently playing as an important communication tool in Iran. Tonight's planned maintenance has been rescheduled to tomorrow between 2-3p PST (1:30a in Iran)."
Dollhouse
The season premiere date has been announced - Season 2 of Dollhouse will premiere Friday 9/18 at 9 PM! Mark your calendars (party time).
Monday, June 15, 2009
Irony
A new coal port that will cement Newcastle, Australia's place as the largest coal exporter in the world is quietly being built up in height by several meters, in preparation for the rising sea levels brought about by the climate change in large part caused by the carbon dioxide released from burning coal.
Ironic ("That's not irony. No one gets that one right.")!
Ironic ("That's not irony. No one gets that one right.")!
Summer
Summer is settling in slowly and quietly I've noticed. The birds who sing in the morning are shifting to a different mix of singers with different songs. Moving from the melodies to the chirps as we move out of mating and egg laying to feeding and survival mode. And the nights, while not warm, are no longer chilly.
We were out on the Potomac with a group of people yesterday in kayaks and the water plants are filling the shallow areas. The trees (all but the Chinese chestnut) are no longer blooming but have moved into full speed photosynthesis. Capturing the fullness of the June sun and storing up energy for later, leaner months.
People, too, are in summer mode. Moving slower. Picnicing. Traveling in their cars and motorbikes and buses here and there and back again. Crunching things to do into the "things-to-do" time of year. Sandals and shorts are the dress of choice in the hot middays. And floppy hats to shade the sun.
Maybe the rain that we've been getting in the area will slacken now. We've had twice the amount lately as is usual for this time of year. There are loads of mushrooms popping up in lawns and fields. Even those pristine, chemically bathed lawns harbor the fungi, it's been so wet. The molds will likely creep there way into the dark, damp places of the house, too, as summer takes hold a bit more each day.
But in another week, solstice will be passed and we'll be traveling toward the next season and all that it holds in store.
We were out on the Potomac with a group of people yesterday in kayaks and the water plants are filling the shallow areas. The trees (all but the Chinese chestnut) are no longer blooming but have moved into full speed photosynthesis. Capturing the fullness of the June sun and storing up energy for later, leaner months.
People, too, are in summer mode. Moving slower. Picnicing. Traveling in their cars and motorbikes and buses here and there and back again. Crunching things to do into the "things-to-do" time of year. Sandals and shorts are the dress of choice in the hot middays. And floppy hats to shade the sun.
Maybe the rain that we've been getting in the area will slacken now. We've had twice the amount lately as is usual for this time of year. There are loads of mushrooms popping up in lawns and fields. Even those pristine, chemically bathed lawns harbor the fungi, it's been so wet. The molds will likely creep there way into the dark, damp places of the house, too, as summer takes hold a bit more each day.
But in another week, solstice will be passed and we'll be traveling toward the next season and all that it holds in store.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Werner Herzog In The Jungle
Werner journeys to South America in search of a rare type of honey for his struggling cooking show on American television, in this preview clip from the upcoming web series. He is seeking finishing funds, distribution and a live whooly mammoth; please message him if you can help.
Werner Herzog In The Jungle - watch more funny videos
Friday, June 12, 2009
Too Much
The Big Easy is big in more things than "easy." New Orleans is a city of excess. Plenty of bars and restaurants and other pleasures too. Like sex shops and prostitutes. In the French Quarter.
I only tried one of those things. The food. I went to Cafe du Monde
and got a three-pack of beignets. Which are powder sugar covered fried dough things.
That was my supper last night. Plus a couple slices of pizza. And a quart of orange juice. Too much. But it was all way too easy.
I only tried one of those things. The food. I went to Cafe du Monde
and got a three-pack of beignets. Which are powder sugar covered fried dough things.
That was my supper last night. Plus a couple slices of pizza. And a quart of orange juice. Too much. But it was all way too easy.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
New Orleans
New Orleans is a tale of two cities. There is the high ground and the low ground.
The high is above sea level. It is the older town.
The places where people originally settled and where the town once was constrained to. It is business and history and infrastructure and the parts of New Orleans we see when we usually are shown New Orleans in movies and TV and print.
The low is below sea level. It is the newer town.
The ninth ward. The places where people later settled. After World War II. Middle income once. Devastated now. Mostly empty. Maybe 20% of the homes and people it had once. Before the floods of Katrina.
The broken levees are being rebuilt. So that the low ground town parts can be reinhabited. "Safely" this time they say. The empty low town portions of town are being peppered with a few new homes.
Some (with the help of a Brad Pitt foundation) very modern and energy efficient. Most spaces are empty still. Filled with weeds and brush where there were once vibrant neighborhoods.
Meanwhile the promised help from the state and nation has slowed to a trickle. And the people who once lived in the low ground have moved on. Or struggle to rebuild on their own. With the help of neighbors. The American way.
The high is above sea level. It is the older town.
The places where people originally settled and where the town once was constrained to. It is business and history and infrastructure and the parts of New Orleans we see when we usually are shown New Orleans in movies and TV and print.The low is below sea level. It is the newer town.
The ninth ward. The places where people later settled. After World War II. Middle income once. Devastated now. Mostly empty. Maybe 20% of the homes and people it had once. Before the floods of Katrina.The broken levees are being rebuilt. So that the low ground town parts can be reinhabited. "Safely" this time they say. The empty low town portions of town are being peppered with a few new homes.
Some (with the help of a Brad Pitt foundation) very modern and energy efficient. Most spaces are empty still. Filled with weeds and brush where there were once vibrant neighborhoods.Meanwhile the promised help from the state and nation has slowed to a trickle. And the people who once lived in the low ground have moved on. Or struggle to rebuild on their own. With the help of neighbors. The American way.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Just Dance
I'm not very good at dancing. Even though Kate and I took dancing lessons and all. But this is a good song and good video and a good response to the things that might otherwise overwhelm you.
Now it's off to New Orleans for two days of trying to work out how to save and resurrect large ecosystems like Chesapeake Bay and San Francisco Bay and the Great Lakes.
Well, there's always dancing I guess.
Now it's off to New Orleans for two days of trying to work out how to save and resurrect large ecosystems like Chesapeake Bay and San Francisco Bay and the Great Lakes.
Well, there's always dancing I guess.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Earth-That-Was Browncoats
Here is a nice group shot from Sunday. The neat thing is that all of these people are coming together for two main reasons. First, they love Firefly. Second, they're happy to be doing good works (since the movie will be a charity fund raiser).
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Browncoats: Redemption
I'm going to be in the movies! Browncoats: Redemption. A call went out a few days ago to the folks in our Northern Virginia Browncoats Meet-up Group for extras in the movie and there I was today. This morning. Being an extra! How shiny is that.
Can't say much about the movie. Can't say anything really because I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean I can say the things that the world already knows (from the web site). But can't give out anything about the plot or things like that. The technical equipment was very fancy and expensive. We're talking $30,000 cameras and computers and monitors and sound equipment. And the very nice and savvy crew transformed the place we were in into a place totally something else (which I can't say what something else for fear of being mysteriously killed).
Here are a few "behind the scenes" photos from today's shoot (if you click on them, they get magically bigger):
Can't say much about the movie. Can't say anything really because I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean I can say the things that the world already knows (from the web site). But can't give out anything about the plot or things like that. The technical equipment was very fancy and expensive. We're talking $30,000 cameras and computers and monitors and sound equipment. And the very nice and savvy crew transformed the place we were in into a place totally something else (which I can't say what something else for fear of being mysteriously killed).
Here are a few "behind the scenes" photos from today's shoot (if you click on them, they get magically bigger):
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Four AM
It's nice that Logan is beginning to bond with the rest of his pack. His habit of waking at 4 in the morning and wanting some company is taking some getting used to. Even on Saturdays! You would think he would give some deference for the human's day off from work.
But, no, there we were this morning. Kooper, Logan and me (and the birds, who are up and singing at that hour, too). Strolling through the neighborhood. Kooper and I stroll. Logan sniffs in a jagged, frenzied, zig-zag pattern. Like he's doing a serpentine maneuver on a battlefield, trying to avoid the bullets of an enemy sniper. He snuzzles along with his nose firmly to the ground. Looking up only every once in awhile to see where his companions are.
Kate and I walked downtown alone (just the two of us) last night to the local movie house to see Angels and Demons. I had seen at least one good review so was willing to give it a chance. It was pretty flat. No good story line really. Nothing that touched the soul. I guess it was more like the author's books. Short chapters. Giving you a bite of something maybe good - maybe not. Enough to get you to want to turn the page to the next chapter. Only to find the menu to be maybe good-maybe not once more. Then . . . it was over. Left me hungry for a real story.
So we walked home. To two happy, tail-wagging dogs. And we strolled and snuzzled our way around the neighborhood. That's a good story that satisfies most any hunger.
But, no, there we were this morning. Kooper, Logan and me (and the birds, who are up and singing at that hour, too). Strolling through the neighborhood. Kooper and I stroll. Logan sniffs in a jagged, frenzied, zig-zag pattern. Like he's doing a serpentine maneuver on a battlefield, trying to avoid the bullets of an enemy sniper. He snuzzles along with his nose firmly to the ground. Looking up only every once in awhile to see where his companions are.
Kate and I walked downtown alone (just the two of us) last night to the local movie house to see Angels and Demons. I had seen at least one good review so was willing to give it a chance. It was pretty flat. No good story line really. Nothing that touched the soul. I guess it was more like the author's books. Short chapters. Giving you a bite of something maybe good - maybe not. Enough to get you to want to turn the page to the next chapter. Only to find the menu to be maybe good-maybe not once more. Then . . . it was over. Left me hungry for a real story.
So we walked home. To two happy, tail-wagging dogs. And we strolled and snuzzled our way around the neighborhood. That's a good story that satisfies most any hunger.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Rain
I can't recall if I've had a post entitled "Rain" before, but it fits this week. Lots of drizzly periods interrupted by occasional downpours. My little "Penn State" umbrella can take the drizzles but it's totally inadequate for the downpours. Then I get wet along the edges and from the knees down (with no wind) or the waste down (with anything above a breeze).
On this morning's (now two-dog) dog-walk it was just wet enough that I got damp but not rainy enough to warrant holding an umbrella in one hand and two dog leashes in another. That gets to be pretty tricky when I need to add a full poop bag to the mix.
Springer Spaniels are known as "velcro dogs." Although I've had Springers in the family before, I never heard the term until we looked into the Springer rescue group. Now that Logan is here I can see why the term is used. He's a follower. Follows either Kate or I around the house. Is always near one of us. On his first day at church with Kate he followed her into the women's room, and when Kate shut the stall door he squeezed in underneath to join her. That's togetherness. That's velcro.
Logan is still enamored with Zelda the cat. In a "run so I can chase you" sort of way. He just stares and stares hoping for a quick move on Zelda's part. She rarely complies. She was startled the other night when the Pittsburgh Penguins scored a goal and I yelled. Zelda shot off the couch and Logan went tearing after. That's the one time when Logan doesn't seem to mind being non-velcro.
On this morning's (now two-dog) dog-walk it was just wet enough that I got damp but not rainy enough to warrant holding an umbrella in one hand and two dog leashes in another. That gets to be pretty tricky when I need to add a full poop bag to the mix.
Springer Spaniels are known as "velcro dogs." Although I've had Springers in the family before, I never heard the term until we looked into the Springer rescue group. Now that Logan is here I can see why the term is used. He's a follower. Follows either Kate or I around the house. Is always near one of us. On his first day at church with Kate he followed her into the women's room, and when Kate shut the stall door he squeezed in underneath to join her. That's togetherness. That's velcro.
Logan is still enamored with Zelda the cat. In a "run so I can chase you" sort of way. He just stares and stares hoping for a quick move on Zelda's part. She rarely complies. She was startled the other night when the Pittsburgh Penguins scored a goal and I yelled. Zelda shot off the couch and Logan went tearing after. That's the one time when Logan doesn't seem to mind being non-velcro.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Illusion and Reality
I took an English course in college called "Illusion and Reality" where we read several great books the central themes of which centered on the topic of what is real and what is illusion in people's lives (The Glass Menagerie is one that I recall was in the reading list). Click here to see a modern day example of illusion and reality.
And if you liked that one, click here to watch the white dove change colors.
I present these because I'm having a hard time anymore figuring out what is illusion and what reality to the lawmakers in our nation's capital. Maybe I need to read The Glass Menagerie again.
And if you liked that one, click here to watch the white dove change colors.
I present these because I'm having a hard time anymore figuring out what is illusion and what reality to the lawmakers in our nation's capital. Maybe I need to read The Glass Menagerie again.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Too Good not to Post
Despair
So much gloom and doubt in our poetry–
flowers wilting on the table,
the self regarding itself in a watery mirror.
Dead leaves cover the ground
the wind moans in the chimney,
and the tendrils of the yew tree inch toward the coffin.
I wonder what the ancient Chinese poets
would make of all this,
these shadows and empty cupboards?
Today, with the sun blazing in the trees,
my thoughts turn to the great
tenth-century celebrators of experience,
Wa-hoo, whose delight in the smallest things
could hardly be restrained,
and to his joyous counterpart in the western provinces,
Ye-Hah.
–Billy Collins
So much gloom and doubt in our poetry–
flowers wilting on the table,
the self regarding itself in a watery mirror.
Dead leaves cover the ground
the wind moans in the chimney,
and the tendrils of the yew tree inch toward the coffin.
I wonder what the ancient Chinese poets
would make of all this,
these shadows and empty cupboards?
Today, with the sun blazing in the trees,
my thoughts turn to the great
tenth-century celebrators of experience,
Wa-hoo, whose delight in the smallest things
could hardly be restrained,
and to his joyous counterpart in the western provinces,
Ye-Hah.
–Billy Collins
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