The Month That Was - April 2012: Well that was quick. At least it seemed quick. No idea what happened to April. I did no travelling. Nothing all that eventful occurred. (Interestingly, my friends did all the traveling this month and all I got was their lousy facebook updates.) It was all about my day job. I get a month like that every once in awhile. I'm hoping it doesn't happen again soon.
[Books] Book Look: Trespassers on the Roof of the World
[Books] Book Look: Holidays in Heck
[Health and Fitness] Running in Place
[Movies] Flick Check: Pittfest
[Good Links] Kitchen Sink and Links
Sunday, May 06, 2012
[Books] Book Look: Trespassers on the Roof of the World, by Peter Hopkirk
Book Look: Trespassers on the Roof of the World, by Peter Hopkirk: I read this as part of research on a writing project I am toying with for when I'm done with the current writing project I'm toying with, and I was mesmerized.
The stories concern the opening of Tibet to the outside world. Geographically isolated and inhospitable and relentlessly xenophobic, Tibet was one of the last great mysteries of the age of exploration. A dangling forbidden fruit, the intrepid came from far and wide to try to be the first ones to get a taste.
Much of this takes place at the peak of the British Empire and the major concern for the British was Russia. It was feared that were Russia to make inroads and alliances with Tibet, that would put India's northern border in peril. The earliest journeys were completed by Indian nationals, called “pundits", in the service of the Raj. These were astounding men who surreptitiously counted paces to measure distances over thousands of miles and used boiling water measure altitude. Even so, none ever made it to the ultimate goal, the Tibetan capitol of Lhasa.
Many non-English Westerners also tried to reach Lhasa for various reasons -- gold, evangelism, adventure and the royalties that would come from the books they wrote. These included at least two women. All were turned back. (A Japanese explorer, who for obvious reasons could pose as one who belonged, did make it for a brief time, but even he was eventually discovered.) The Tibetans, showing remarkable reticence, often simply blocked their paths for months and eventually offered guidance and supplies to make their return.
It took an armed expedition of some 5000 soldiers under British command, and no small amount of violent action, before the first modern white man set foot in Lhasa. Although originally suspicious and hostile toward the British for this action, the Tibetans came in time to become friends with the British, perhaps especially so because the alternatives for the technologically backwards plateau were so much worse, as they proved to be with the 1950 invasion by Mao's forces.
Hopkirk is the premier historian of “The Great Game" -- the cold war between Russia and Britain for control of Central Asia -- but he eschews the academic and weaves the facts into wonderful narratives. Whatever his bona fides as a historian, Hopkirk is a gifted storyteller. (In this way he reminds me a bit of Byron Farwell, whose work I've written of in the past. Both take history of of the dusty shelves with style and a tilt towards celebrating Imperial derring-do. This, I expect, sends purist historians into fits.) Should you read Trespassers...? Sure. It's a fascinating point in history that has relevance for the region today (Free Tibet!!) magnified by its telling through wonderfully written stories. I was sorry when I finished it. I need to pick me up some more Hopkirk.
The stories concern the opening of Tibet to the outside world. Geographically isolated and inhospitable and relentlessly xenophobic, Tibet was one of the last great mysteries of the age of exploration. A dangling forbidden fruit, the intrepid came from far and wide to try to be the first ones to get a taste.
Much of this takes place at the peak of the British Empire and the major concern for the British was Russia. It was feared that were Russia to make inroads and alliances with Tibet, that would put India's northern border in peril. The earliest journeys were completed by Indian nationals, called “pundits", in the service of the Raj. These were astounding men who surreptitiously counted paces to measure distances over thousands of miles and used boiling water measure altitude. Even so, none ever made it to the ultimate goal, the Tibetan capitol of Lhasa.
Many non-English Westerners also tried to reach Lhasa for various reasons -- gold, evangelism, adventure and the royalties that would come from the books they wrote. These included at least two women. All were turned back. (A Japanese explorer, who for obvious reasons could pose as one who belonged, did make it for a brief time, but even he was eventually discovered.) The Tibetans, showing remarkable reticence, often simply blocked their paths for months and eventually offered guidance and supplies to make their return.
It took an armed expedition of some 5000 soldiers under British command, and no small amount of violent action, before the first modern white man set foot in Lhasa. Although originally suspicious and hostile toward the British for this action, the Tibetans came in time to become friends with the British, perhaps especially so because the alternatives for the technologically backwards plateau were so much worse, as they proved to be with the 1950 invasion by Mao's forces.
Hopkirk is the premier historian of “The Great Game" -- the cold war between Russia and Britain for control of Central Asia -- but he eschews the academic and weaves the facts into wonderful narratives. Whatever his bona fides as a historian, Hopkirk is a gifted storyteller. (In this way he reminds me a bit of Byron Farwell, whose work I've written of in the past. Both take history of of the dusty shelves with style and a tilt towards celebrating Imperial derring-do. This, I expect, sends purist historians into fits.) Should you read Trespassers...? Sure. It's a fascinating point in history that has relevance for the region today (Free Tibet!!) magnified by its telling through wonderfully written stories. I was sorry when I finished it. I need to pick me up some more Hopkirk.
[Books] Book Look: Holidays in Heck, by P. J. O'Rourke
Book Look: Holidays in Heck, by P.J. O'Rourke: Good ol' P.J. You can always depend him for good humoured, but keen, insight. He previously documented his time as a correspondent in some of the most dangerous places in the world in Holidays in Hell. Now in his sixties and forbidden by age and spouse and good sense for pressing his luck in further in yet another hazardous rat hole somewhere, he's turned his attention to old late middle age in general and the family vacation in particular; trying but not terrifying, hence Holidays in Heck.
That's not to say the stories here are lightweight. Although there are entertaining tales of skiing in Ohio (yes, Ohio) and less than glowing reviews of a couple of leviathan museums (Field Museum in Chicago and the American History Museum on the National Mall), there is also a lengthy trip to China pre-Three Gorges dam, short jaunt to Kabul where he comes to the conclusion that nobody knows anything, and a two-part brush with cancer with mortality as the antagonist -- all carry weight but lightened by comedy.
It is perhaps not as high energy, ironic, or skeptical as his previous stuff, but that's also true to his years. If nothing else, P.J. is still everyman confronting an increasingly bizarre and incomprehensible world with wit and spirit and a deep appreciation of the absurd. Should you read Holidays in Heck? Heck yes.
That's not to say the stories here are lightweight. Although there are entertaining tales of skiing in Ohio (yes, Ohio) and less than glowing reviews of a couple of leviathan museums (Field Museum in Chicago and the American History Museum on the National Mall), there is also a lengthy trip to China pre-Three Gorges dam, short jaunt to Kabul where he comes to the conclusion that nobody knows anything, and a two-part brush with cancer with mortality as the antagonist -- all carry weight but lightened by comedy.
It is perhaps not as high energy, ironic, or skeptical as his previous stuff, but that's also true to his years. If nothing else, P.J. is still everyman confronting an increasingly bizarre and incomprehensible world with wit and spirit and a deep appreciation of the absurd. Should you read Holidays in Heck? Heck yes.
[Health and Fitness] Running in Place
Running in Place: At least it seems that way. Maybe even backwards. In wake of my plan a couple months ago to write more about my running/biking and other fitness activities, I have nothing good to report. I ran two races in April both of which were awful -- that is, my times were awful, the races themselves were terrific. One was the Big House Big Heart run which is a 10K through the U Mich campus ending on the fifty yard line of Michigan Stadium, which is deeply cool, even though the race was soaked in a chilling rain. The other was a 5-mile trail run through the Pinckney Rec Area - a real lung buster filled with hills so steep it's difficult to even maintain even a jog. Temperature at race the start was an unseasonably cold 39 degrees.
In both cases my times were significantly slower than the previous year. In the case of the trail race, so much so that I suspect that they mismeasured this year's route to longer than 5 miles. It's got me very rattled. I was feeling good with my time after the Sarasota Half Marathon in March and now I'm very down on myself. I suppose it's possible these were flukes, but another bad race or two and I am going to have to step back and reassess what I am doing.
The good news is I got my bike back from the shop after a tune up. Cycling season begins on the next warm weekend. Provided I don't have to mow the damn lawn and battle immortal weeds and killer wasps all weekend. Then after that swimming season, once the lake warms up enough.
[Movies] Flick Check: Pittfest
Flick Check: Pittfest: Three movies, all of which starred Brad Pitt, and all of which were enormously well received. I'm at odds with some of the general assessments, but I was impressed by Pitt in all three. The guy really is one of the best actors working. To me his career brings to mind Paul Newman, someone who was more famed for his looks early on but turned out to be a quality artist.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - A very sweet film. Beautifully shot -- every scene looked flawlessly composed. I'm not entirely sure what the film meant, if there was any intended meaning other than a Gumpian “life is like a box of chocolates..." It was just a nicely done, if a little slow, documentation of the bell curve of our lives, all brought into clearer focus by F. Scott Fitzgerald's gimick of someone who ages backwards -- born a child in an old man's body and ending a demented old man in a child's body. As you can guess some serious makeup work was needed, but not just to make Pitt look old, there are a number of sequences later on where they make Pitt look 20 (he must be pushing 50), which was a bit mind-blowing and made me wonder whether it wasn't done digitally after the fact. Anyway, decent flick. Sentimental without being cloying. I wouldn't go out of my way to watch it again, but I wouldn't go out of my way to turn it off either.
The Tree of Life - There are a number of religious and philosophical ideas floating around in this film, the main one being almost cliche: How can God let bad things happen to good people? I always found this question silly. Do people really adopt a religion and honestly believe their faith will somehow insulate them from tragedy? The Tree of Life explores this, interwoven with the question of grace versus nature -- the notion that when we pursue pleasures (ambitions and delusions of happiness) beyond an appreciation of our role in God's creation, we face disappointment and risk harming ourselves and others.
This is accomplished through the portrayal of a suburban family in the fifties with a tyrannical father (Pitt) that eventually falls to grief when one of the children is killed in Vietnam as a series of half dream-like flashbacks from the present day. Intermingled is a contrasting 2001-ish sequence summarizing the story creation from big bang, through star formation, through dinosaurs -- all in the hope of putting the individual drama in a universal perspective. Very experimental. It's quite admirable really. Rarely does a film attempt something out of the ordinary and even more rarely do you see a blatantly pro-religion film. And it's almost impossible to name another thoughtful pro-Christian, or at least pro-Judeo/Christian film (a fact that was missed in most reviews I have read).
Not surprisingly, Pitt nailed the portrayal of the father-bully. Overall, it was visually hypnotic at times but still, I found myself wishing they would get to the damn point. I think I'd pass on watching again. Films like this, and 2001 seem so overwhelmed by their own aesthetic that they believe it's their duty to offer grand insights, when they would be better off with a simple story.
[Addendum: After I wrote this, I discovered Roger Ebert has named it one of the ten best movies of all time. Um, no. Not even close.]
Moneyball - I am pompous enough to tell you that I read Bill James before you did, but never would I have guessed they could have made of movie about baseball stats. OK, the movie isn't really about baseball stats. It's about redemption. The larger philosophical plot is the triumph of the rational over the mythic. Sort of like Galileo versus the Church writ small. In this case the Church is the old boy network of baseball -- as hidebound and closed minded as the most fervent fundamentalists you could find. Galileo is played by Billy Beane who, when charged with building a winning team without money embraces reasoned statistical analysis to gain an edge.
From a personal standpoint this story had enormous appeal to me. I'm the guy who uses spreadsheets to make football bets in Vegas and just spent weeks pouring though the quantitative aspects of betting on thoroughbred racing even though I will not likely get much of a chance to do so. I don't wear a bike helmet because the statistical chances of it benefitting me are so small they don't outweigh the cost of looking like a dork. I think a Caribbean vacation in October is a good idea because the chances of actually getting hit by a hurricane aren't great enough to counter the discounted prices. I often wonder how much of my Diet Coke is statistically missing at the quantum level.
So you see, this is right in my wheelhouse. Especially, the part where the priests of the traditional myths smugly sneer about how wrong you are if things don't work out. Makes me wanna slap some heads.
Wisely, Moneyball is not about that conflict in a vacuum. It's about how it affected Billy Beane (Pitt) who stuck to his guns and brought quantitative analysis in sports into the mainstream. Beane was one of the most highly touted baseball prospects in history. He gave up a Stanford scholarship because the old-school scouts convinced him that he couldn't miss in the Bigs. He ended up never reaching his imagined potential, and living in years of frustration because of it. Had someone taken a more quantitative look at him, he wouldn't have had such crushing expectations placed on him. He would have gone to Stanford and possibly developed into a decent player with a satisfying, if unspectacular career. Instead, he had to cope day to day with being the guy who never lived up to expectations. Now a general manager, he was able to change the way things are done in baseball, through which he achieves a certain redemption, and a bit of proof that he wasn't a failure, he was just wronged.
If anything, he changed baseball too well. Now pretty much all teams use quantitative methods of player evaluation, so his edge is gone. The rich rule once more.
Despite its dry sounding topics, Moneyball is full of energy and wit. It not about the great mysteries of the life, just a good story told with good humor from start to finish. Pitt gets the chance to show his comic chops and does so extremely well. Not everyone can hang with Jonah Hill or Philip Seymour Hoffman in humorous crosstalk. Pitt does, while never leaving any doubt that he's the lead. I'd watch Moneyball again, for sure, and nod knowingly throughout.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - A very sweet film. Beautifully shot -- every scene looked flawlessly composed. I'm not entirely sure what the film meant, if there was any intended meaning other than a Gumpian “life is like a box of chocolates..." It was just a nicely done, if a little slow, documentation of the bell curve of our lives, all brought into clearer focus by F. Scott Fitzgerald's gimick of someone who ages backwards -- born a child in an old man's body and ending a demented old man in a child's body. As you can guess some serious makeup work was needed, but not just to make Pitt look old, there are a number of sequences later on where they make Pitt look 20 (he must be pushing 50), which was a bit mind-blowing and made me wonder whether it wasn't done digitally after the fact. Anyway, decent flick. Sentimental without being cloying. I wouldn't go out of my way to watch it again, but I wouldn't go out of my way to turn it off either.
The Tree of Life - There are a number of religious and philosophical ideas floating around in this film, the main one being almost cliche: How can God let bad things happen to good people? I always found this question silly. Do people really adopt a religion and honestly believe their faith will somehow insulate them from tragedy? The Tree of Life explores this, interwoven with the question of grace versus nature -- the notion that when we pursue pleasures (ambitions and delusions of happiness) beyond an appreciation of our role in God's creation, we face disappointment and risk harming ourselves and others.
This is accomplished through the portrayal of a suburban family in the fifties with a tyrannical father (Pitt) that eventually falls to grief when one of the children is killed in Vietnam as a series of half dream-like flashbacks from the present day. Intermingled is a contrasting 2001-ish sequence summarizing the story creation from big bang, through star formation, through dinosaurs -- all in the hope of putting the individual drama in a universal perspective. Very experimental. It's quite admirable really. Rarely does a film attempt something out of the ordinary and even more rarely do you see a blatantly pro-religion film. And it's almost impossible to name another thoughtful pro-Christian, or at least pro-Judeo/Christian film (a fact that was missed in most reviews I have read).
Not surprisingly, Pitt nailed the portrayal of the father-bully. Overall, it was visually hypnotic at times but still, I found myself wishing they would get to the damn point. I think I'd pass on watching again. Films like this, and 2001 seem so overwhelmed by their own aesthetic that they believe it's their duty to offer grand insights, when they would be better off with a simple story.
[Addendum: After I wrote this, I discovered Roger Ebert has named it one of the ten best movies of all time. Um, no. Not even close.]
Moneyball - I am pompous enough to tell you that I read Bill James before you did, but never would I have guessed they could have made of movie about baseball stats. OK, the movie isn't really about baseball stats. It's about redemption. The larger philosophical plot is the triumph of the rational over the mythic. Sort of like Galileo versus the Church writ small. In this case the Church is the old boy network of baseball -- as hidebound and closed minded as the most fervent fundamentalists you could find. Galileo is played by Billy Beane who, when charged with building a winning team without money embraces reasoned statistical analysis to gain an edge.
From a personal standpoint this story had enormous appeal to me. I'm the guy who uses spreadsheets to make football bets in Vegas and just spent weeks pouring though the quantitative aspects of betting on thoroughbred racing even though I will not likely get much of a chance to do so. I don't wear a bike helmet because the statistical chances of it benefitting me are so small they don't outweigh the cost of looking like a dork. I think a Caribbean vacation in October is a good idea because the chances of actually getting hit by a hurricane aren't great enough to counter the discounted prices. I often wonder how much of my Diet Coke is statistically missing at the quantum level.
So you see, this is right in my wheelhouse. Especially, the part where the priests of the traditional myths smugly sneer about how wrong you are if things don't work out. Makes me wanna slap some heads.
Wisely, Moneyball is not about that conflict in a vacuum. It's about how it affected Billy Beane (Pitt) who stuck to his guns and brought quantitative analysis in sports into the mainstream. Beane was one of the most highly touted baseball prospects in history. He gave up a Stanford scholarship because the old-school scouts convinced him that he couldn't miss in the Bigs. He ended up never reaching his imagined potential, and living in years of frustration because of it. Had someone taken a more quantitative look at him, he wouldn't have had such crushing expectations placed on him. He would have gone to Stanford and possibly developed into a decent player with a satisfying, if unspectacular career. Instead, he had to cope day to day with being the guy who never lived up to expectations. Now a general manager, he was able to change the way things are done in baseball, through which he achieves a certain redemption, and a bit of proof that he wasn't a failure, he was just wronged.
If anything, he changed baseball too well. Now pretty much all teams use quantitative methods of player evaluation, so his edge is gone. The rich rule once more.
Despite its dry sounding topics, Moneyball is full of energy and wit. It not about the great mysteries of the life, just a good story told with good humor from start to finish. Pitt gets the chance to show his comic chops and does so extremely well. Not everyone can hang with Jonah Hill or Philip Seymour Hoffman in humorous crosstalk. Pitt does, while never leaving any doubt that he's the lead. I'd watch Moneyball again, for sure, and nod knowingly throughout.
[Good Links] The Kitchen Sink and Links
The Kitchen Sink and Links: Getting to be a regular feature. It used to be I'd comment regularly on things I read in magazines, now links. Like all of history, the nouns change but the verbs stay the same. (Note: I've been blogging for over 13 years now. You'd think that would carry some sort of deeper meaning, but I can't think of anything.)
Roger Ebert's Top Ten Movies of All Time. I had less than stellar things to say about The Tree of Life above. I compared it disparagingly to 2001. Both movies are on Ebert's list. He also picked the wrong Scorcese (Raging Bull over Goodfellas) and the wrong Hitchcock (Vertigo over Rear Window). Even Apocalypse Now is overrated. The guy can craft a beautiful movie review but there's no accounting for taste.
Graphic depiction of Lake and Ocean Depth. Tongue in cheek, but very cool. I recently saw the Nat Geo special on James Cameron dive into the Challenger Deep. Gotta admire the guy's guts and drive. Still doesn't make Avatar or Titanic worth watching.
When Matt Millen punch the Patriots GM in the Head. For NFL fans only. If you know the personalities involved in this story it's hilarious. Millen: “I was a fool for doing that, but you react, so what are you going to do?" Interestingly, this was also Millen's approach to the Lions' draft.
Senitment Kills. This article is extremely dense so don't dive into it unless you feel like ruminating on the state of modern culture. But the upshot is that hyper-sentimentality -- the regarding of unfiltered emotion as self justifying -- is coarsening the world and often leading to hostility and conflict. There is lots of speculation and supposing, but I found this paragraph to be spot on: "The habit of thought that a pop culture of treacle and a pop culture of anger hold in common is that we needn't polish the expression of our private feelings and sorrows into a form that's relevant and useful, even to strangers and fellow citizens... We can take for granted that our treacle or our anger speaks for itself and presume the relevance of private feelings to public discourse. If, in fact, we're drowning in a public culture of meanness, it is one that the public culture of cloying sweetness unwittingly helped create." To which I would add, GET OFF MY LAWN!!!!
Alpha Males on TV. Glaringly obvious omissions: Tony Soprano, Sterling Archer.
Striking Historic Photos of New York City. Very cool stuff. Makes me regret not having been in Manhattan for almost well over a year. Time to plan a trip.
Trailer Park Superhero. On the other hand, there so much fun going on right here in the glove.
Roger Ebert's Top Ten Movies of All Time. I had less than stellar things to say about The Tree of Life above. I compared it disparagingly to 2001. Both movies are on Ebert's list. He also picked the wrong Scorcese (Raging Bull over Goodfellas) and the wrong Hitchcock (Vertigo over Rear Window). Even Apocalypse Now is overrated. The guy can craft a beautiful movie review but there's no accounting for taste.
Graphic depiction of Lake and Ocean Depth. Tongue in cheek, but very cool. I recently saw the Nat Geo special on James Cameron dive into the Challenger Deep. Gotta admire the guy's guts and drive. Still doesn't make Avatar or Titanic worth watching.
When Matt Millen punch the Patriots GM in the Head. For NFL fans only. If you know the personalities involved in this story it's hilarious. Millen: “I was a fool for doing that, but you react, so what are you going to do?" Interestingly, this was also Millen's approach to the Lions' draft.
Senitment Kills. This article is extremely dense so don't dive into it unless you feel like ruminating on the state of modern culture. But the upshot is that hyper-sentimentality -- the regarding of unfiltered emotion as self justifying -- is coarsening the world and often leading to hostility and conflict. There is lots of speculation and supposing, but I found this paragraph to be spot on: "The habit of thought that a pop culture of treacle and a pop culture of anger hold in common is that we needn't polish the expression of our private feelings and sorrows into a form that's relevant and useful, even to strangers and fellow citizens... We can take for granted that our treacle or our anger speaks for itself and presume the relevance of private feelings to public discourse. If, in fact, we're drowning in a public culture of meanness, it is one that the public culture of cloying sweetness unwittingly helped create." To which I would add, GET OFF MY LAWN!!!!
Alpha Males on TV. Glaringly obvious omissions: Tony Soprano, Sterling Archer.
Striking Historic Photos of New York City. Very cool stuff. Makes me regret not having been in Manhattan for almost well over a year. Time to plan a trip.
Trailer Park Superhero. On the other hand, there so much fun going on right here in the glove.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
The Month That Was - March 2012
The Month That Was - March 2012: Last month I lamented that I felt awfully busy but couldn't really come up with anything especially compelling to write about. This month, two travel stories and a tornado. Yes, a tornado. Followed by a heat wave that brought us into the upper 80s in mid March and which made me rush to make sure my mower was in shape in case I had to cut the lawn in March, which would have been infuriating. A very strange month.
I got a new draft of my current project complete before meteorological chaos broke loose. I am close to going public with it. When I do, you'll be the first to hear about it. Although, like i said, it's very esoteric. I'm also beginning research for a subsequent project, also esoteric but probably a good deal more marketable.
And I'm painting my kitchen yellow. You gotta respect that.
[Travel, Health and Fitness] Running in the Sun
[Dexter] It's a Twister
[Travel, Rant] That's Soooooo Cal
[Good Links] Linkapalooza
[TV] Tube State Boogie
I got a new draft of my current project complete before meteorological chaos broke loose. I am close to going public with it. When I do, you'll be the first to hear about it. Although, like i said, it's very esoteric. I'm also beginning research for a subsequent project, also esoteric but probably a good deal more marketable.
And I'm painting my kitchen yellow. You gotta respect that.
[Travel, Health and Fitness] Running in the Sun
[Dexter] It's a Twister
[Travel, Rant] That's Soooooo Cal
[Good Links] Linkapalooza
[TV] Tube State Boogie
[Travel] Running in the Sun
Running in the Sun: Every time I visit Sarasota I like it more. When I was young I loathed going down there (I have family to visit there). The heat was oppressive. It was filled with old people rushing the early-bird dinner specials. Maybe it's just been a slow process of discovery, or maybe the city has changed over the years, or maybe I'm starting to feel an affinity for those old people, but I think Sarasota is a killer destination. I visited for the usual reason, family business, but I was also able to coincide it with the First Watch Half Marathon.
It was to start at 7AM but we made the DST spring forward the night before, so it was the equivalent of 6AM. Of course one needs to be up earlier to prep for the race (pin on one's number, make sure one's MP3 player is functioning, eat a tiny breakfast and hydrate one's self, etc.) so one is operating on very little sleep.
Yes, I know, the snarky question is, Why don't you just go to sleep earlier the night before? Well, that's not how it works for me. I am constitutionally incapable of going to sleep -- sleep comes to me when it chooses and it is a creature of habit. It lives entirely in the past and assumes the future will be the same. Thus, knowing that I have the get up before the sun has no effect on my sleep habits. Sleep still thinks I'll be getting up at reasonable hour.
The whole event was wonderfully well organized. Simple gear drop off, obvious start line and pace runners. They even had folks walking around before the race offering Vaseline for those, ahem, sensitive areas. The race started on time. Everything was smooth, except for me. I managed to snap the arm band on my MP3 player literally 5 yards from the start. I ran the entire 13.1 miles with it in my pocket.
The first part of the race lead from the mainland across John Ringling Bridge and back, providing astounding views of Sarasota Bay. Sarasota Bay is as strikingly beautiful as any I've seen. Glistening condos and skyscrapers line the mainland with a big marina and sailboats moored up throughout. The architecture is all in the quasi-moorish Floridian style that perfectly meshes with the green gulf and the sun. My mother likes to tell the story of how she was driving down here from Michigan nearly 30 years ago and one look out at Sarasota Bay made her decide it was where she would settle.
We continued across the bridge and past Bird Key -- a little bay island that with homes of the rich and famous -- and one loop of St. Armand's Circle, the high status shopping and dining hub, at least as far as us tourists are concerned. Exiting the bridge at the mainland there is the 26 foot tall "Unconditional Surrender" statue -- a giant reproduction of the famous Life magazine cover from the V-J Day. Some think it's gaudy and stupid -- I think it's fun. So does everyone who gets their picture taken under it.
From there up Highway 41 to the Ringling Museum grounds. Another unheralded beauty, the Ringling Museum is a fine art museum, if a little heavy on pre-Renaissance works, but the grounds do not disappoint. They are beautifully landscaped with Banyan trees and gardens throughout. I only know this from previous visits becasue this was about the ten mile point in the race, so I was not really up to sightseeing.
The course then wound through a quiet residential area before returning to 41 and the finish. I was good for the first half of the race -- felt pretty strong, but by mile eight I knew I was in for a slog to the end although by that point I also had no fears of not finishing. My final time was 2:10 and that included a potty break. At the finish there was a big shiny medal awaiting everyone, bands were playing happy music and there was ample food and drink -- although the lines were quite long. Nicely done all around.
I didn't linger. I wandered back to the Hyatt, just a half mile or so away and hopped in the nice cold pool to soak my aching joints. I'm glad my first half-marathon was a positive experience, but I don't know if I'd ever want to step up to a full one. There comes a point where running ceases to be about physical fitness and more about pain endurance. For me it seems to be in the 8-10 mile range. A real marathon, 26.2 miles, would be a lot of pain to endure.
Race aside, I was able to have at least one new Sarasota experience: O'Leary's Tiki Bar and Grill, a real old school waterfront bar. Pub food, great hot dogs, plenty of drinks -- the tables were busy at 2 in the afternoon and the bar was packed. And that view of the bay. A definite must for future visits.
Powder sand beaches, the vacation home vibe on Anna Maria Island, Mote Marine Aquarium. All sorts of cool stuff in Sarasota. And Sanibel Island is only a 2 or 3 hours away. This is what these Florida coastal cities do. You sneer at them when you're young. Then, after a decade or so, you mellow and decide they aren't too bad. After another few years you really start to like them. Next thing you know you're sitting at the early-bird dinner in socks and sandals, griping about the damn tourists. Circle of life.
It was to start at 7AM but we made the DST spring forward the night before, so it was the equivalent of 6AM. Of course one needs to be up earlier to prep for the race (pin on one's number, make sure one's MP3 player is functioning, eat a tiny breakfast and hydrate one's self, etc.) so one is operating on very little sleep.
Yes, I know, the snarky question is, Why don't you just go to sleep earlier the night before? Well, that's not how it works for me. I am constitutionally incapable of going to sleep -- sleep comes to me when it chooses and it is a creature of habit. It lives entirely in the past and assumes the future will be the same. Thus, knowing that I have the get up before the sun has no effect on my sleep habits. Sleep still thinks I'll be getting up at reasonable hour.
The whole event was wonderfully well organized. Simple gear drop off, obvious start line and pace runners. They even had folks walking around before the race offering Vaseline for those, ahem, sensitive areas. The race started on time. Everything was smooth, except for me. I managed to snap the arm band on my MP3 player literally 5 yards from the start. I ran the entire 13.1 miles with it in my pocket.
The first part of the race lead from the mainland across John Ringling Bridge and back, providing astounding views of Sarasota Bay. Sarasota Bay is as strikingly beautiful as any I've seen. Glistening condos and skyscrapers line the mainland with a big marina and sailboats moored up throughout. The architecture is all in the quasi-moorish Floridian style that perfectly meshes with the green gulf and the sun. My mother likes to tell the story of how she was driving down here from Michigan nearly 30 years ago and one look out at Sarasota Bay made her decide it was where she would settle.
We continued across the bridge and past Bird Key -- a little bay island that with homes of the rich and famous -- and one loop of St. Armand's Circle, the high status shopping and dining hub, at least as far as us tourists are concerned. Exiting the bridge at the mainland there is the 26 foot tall "Unconditional Surrender" statue -- a giant reproduction of the famous Life magazine cover from the V-J Day. Some think it's gaudy and stupid -- I think it's fun. So does everyone who gets their picture taken under it.
From there up Highway 41 to the Ringling Museum grounds. Another unheralded beauty, the Ringling Museum is a fine art museum, if a little heavy on pre-Renaissance works, but the grounds do not disappoint. They are beautifully landscaped with Banyan trees and gardens throughout. I only know this from previous visits becasue this was about the ten mile point in the race, so I was not really up to sightseeing.
The course then wound through a quiet residential area before returning to 41 and the finish. I was good for the first half of the race -- felt pretty strong, but by mile eight I knew I was in for a slog to the end although by that point I also had no fears of not finishing. My final time was 2:10 and that included a potty break. At the finish there was a big shiny medal awaiting everyone, bands were playing happy music and there was ample food and drink -- although the lines were quite long. Nicely done all around.
I didn't linger. I wandered back to the Hyatt, just a half mile or so away and hopped in the nice cold pool to soak my aching joints. I'm glad my first half-marathon was a positive experience, but I don't know if I'd ever want to step up to a full one. There comes a point where running ceases to be about physical fitness and more about pain endurance. For me it seems to be in the 8-10 mile range. A real marathon, 26.2 miles, would be a lot of pain to endure.
Race aside, I was able to have at least one new Sarasota experience: O'Leary's Tiki Bar and Grill, a real old school waterfront bar. Pub food, great hot dogs, plenty of drinks -- the tables were busy at 2 in the afternoon and the bar was packed. And that view of the bay. A definite must for future visits.
Powder sand beaches, the vacation home vibe on Anna Maria Island, Mote Marine Aquarium. All sorts of cool stuff in Sarasota. And Sanibel Island is only a 2 or 3 hours away. This is what these Florida coastal cities do. You sneer at them when you're young. Then, after a decade or so, you mellow and decide they aren't too bad. After another few years you really start to like them. Next thing you know you're sitting at the early-bird dinner in socks and sandals, griping about the damn tourists. Circle of life.
[Dexter] It's a Twister
It's a Twister!: Having lived in Michigan for over half a century, tornado warnings barely register. They come along all the time and the net result is usually a thunderstorm and maybe a brief power outage. I've never actually seen a tornado. In fact, I used to argue that there was no such thing, that they were really a combination of government conspiracy and special effects. So when they pulled us all off the floor of the health club and made us wait in a more protected area until the warning passed, I thought it was all a bunch of nervous nellying and made for my car.
Do you remember Jiffy Pop? The little foil tins with built in handles that you would shake over the stove until it blossomed into buttery popcorn goodness? Remember the machine gun sound it used to make when the popping it reached its peak? That's what the hail sounded like on my car.
I crawled toward Dexter and noted where the lights were out. Traffic was backed up beyond belief. Sirens were going off. It was almost dark and I was able to see some big trees uprooted, but again, I just assumed there was some minor damage and the power would be out for a while, but it quickly became clear that traffic was not moving at all. So I turned around and headed for work where there is an industrial strength generator and a dedicated T3 line so that we may never be disconnected from the internet.
The tornado had touched down at Hudson Mills -- a Metropark where I very often run, about two miles from my house. It followed a main artery (Dexter-Pinckney road) which would spend the next week closed off while debris was cleared, took a sharp left to follow along some railroad tracks, demolishing several small building, ripped right past my old condo -- my tenant figures it was 50 yards away at most -- and proceeded to barrel through the neighborhood next door, where I have many friends and colleagues, destroying multiple houses entirely and making many more uninhabitable. Wow.
I drove about 12 miles out of my way and circled home through unobstructed streets to verify that a) there was no damage to my house (there wasn't) and b) the power was in fact off (it was). Having done that, I bolted for nearby hotel for the next couple of nights. I have done the whole rough-it-when-the-power-is-out numerous times in my life and I feel no compelling need to do it again, so yeah, when everyone else was struggling, I crashed at Weber's and got some pool time in. Sue me.
The next day the results were in. Check out some photos. Amazingly not only did nobody die, there was not a single injury. The worst hit neighborhood was called Huron Farms, the adjacent neighborhood to where my old condo is. So many homes had blue tarps covering the roofs that people started calling it tarp-city. There were state troopers stationed at both entrances making sure nobody could enter the neighborhood that didn't have a good reason, such as looters or gawkers, but it also served to keep the traffic down because so many vehicles and service trucks were on the job already that you could barely get around. As the current slumlord of my old condo, I got in. Luckily my building only suffered some lost siding.
But looking around I saw nobody crying or complaining. Folks were smiling, passing information along about where to get supplies and who heard what about when the power was coming back. The local Busch's grocery store came through big with free bottled water and offer to store perishable food in their freezers. Chainsaws were going. Truck beds were being filled. Kids were out running around and playing, probably debating whether losing their roof was worth it for the days off school. Various groups started funds and drives and such. Major insurers parked trailers nearby to handle claims. The local congressman toured the scene, but I don't think anybody cared all that much.
I'm not one to be terribly sentimental, but I have to say my little town did an admirable job. Almost as soon as the tornado passed, folks were picking up the pieces without any angst. There was no disorder or insecurity whatsoever. I'd be willing to bet that before the year is out the great tornado of 2012 will be little more than a good tale to tell.
Personally, I suppose I may have to admit that something more than special effects was at work.
Do you remember Jiffy Pop? The little foil tins with built in handles that you would shake over the stove until it blossomed into buttery popcorn goodness? Remember the machine gun sound it used to make when the popping it reached its peak? That's what the hail sounded like on my car.
I crawled toward Dexter and noted where the lights were out. Traffic was backed up beyond belief. Sirens were going off. It was almost dark and I was able to see some big trees uprooted, but again, I just assumed there was some minor damage and the power would be out for a while, but it quickly became clear that traffic was not moving at all. So I turned around and headed for work where there is an industrial strength generator and a dedicated T3 line so that we may never be disconnected from the internet.
The tornado had touched down at Hudson Mills -- a Metropark where I very often run, about two miles from my house. It followed a main artery (Dexter-Pinckney road) which would spend the next week closed off while debris was cleared, took a sharp left to follow along some railroad tracks, demolishing several small building, ripped right past my old condo -- my tenant figures it was 50 yards away at most -- and proceeded to barrel through the neighborhood next door, where I have many friends and colleagues, destroying multiple houses entirely and making many more uninhabitable. Wow.
I drove about 12 miles out of my way and circled home through unobstructed streets to verify that a) there was no damage to my house (there wasn't) and b) the power was in fact off (it was). Having done that, I bolted for nearby hotel for the next couple of nights. I have done the whole rough-it-when-the-power-is-out numerous times in my life and I feel no compelling need to do it again, so yeah, when everyone else was struggling, I crashed at Weber's and got some pool time in. Sue me.
The next day the results were in. Check out some photos. Amazingly not only did nobody die, there was not a single injury. The worst hit neighborhood was called Huron Farms, the adjacent neighborhood to where my old condo is. So many homes had blue tarps covering the roofs that people started calling it tarp-city. There were state troopers stationed at both entrances making sure nobody could enter the neighborhood that didn't have a good reason, such as looters or gawkers, but it also served to keep the traffic down because so many vehicles and service trucks were on the job already that you could barely get around. As the current slumlord of my old condo, I got in. Luckily my building only suffered some lost siding.
But looking around I saw nobody crying or complaining. Folks were smiling, passing information along about where to get supplies and who heard what about when the power was coming back. The local Busch's grocery store came through big with free bottled water and offer to store perishable food in their freezers. Chainsaws were going. Truck beds were being filled. Kids were out running around and playing, probably debating whether losing their roof was worth it for the days off school. Various groups started funds and drives and such. Major insurers parked trailers nearby to handle claims. The local congressman toured the scene, but I don't think anybody cared all that much.
I'm not one to be terribly sentimental, but I have to say my little town did an admirable job. Almost as soon as the tornado passed, folks were picking up the pieces without any angst. There was no disorder or insecurity whatsoever. I'd be willing to bet that before the year is out the great tornado of 2012 will be little more than a good tale to tell.
Personally, I suppose I may have to admit that something more than special effects was at work.
[Travel] That's Sooooo Cal
That's Just Sooooo Cal: I don't get L.A. Just don't see what's so special. But that's just L.A. proper. I do get Southern California. From Orange County all the way down the coast to San Diego the beach towns (actually cities) and parks and crashing waves and sunset views are a delight. So a beach house in Laguna Beach to celebrate Miss Anna's 20th birthday was just fine with me.
It was chilly though. In that paradigm of sunny climes, I seem to have the bad luck to visit during atypical cold spells. I remember one trip to San Diego where it got too cold to even walk on the beach. A trip to L.A. for the Rose Bowl a few years back was another chilly one. Now this trip -- high never reached much more than 65.
But even with a nip in the air there's no denying how pretty and shiny So Cal is. We spent our days wandering the beach -- spotting dolphins and seals -- sampling the local restaurants, chatting over drinks, and enjoying the view from the beach house balcony. I must admit that in search of heat, we did decamp one day and take the two hour drive to Palm Springs where the temperature was an appropriately deserty 90. A splendid time was had by all; no of us wanted to leave.
So I started the month in Florida and ended in Southern California and loved both. Should we compare and contrast? Why not.
As far as the ocean is concerned, since I have never learned to surf, I have to give the edge to Florida. I don't think the Pacific ever gets warm enough to swim in for pleasure, but bobbing about in the Atlantic or the Gulf in high summer is an existential joy for me. The beaches in FL are powder perfect, but the views are better in SoCal. Both have a big coastal city that I would avoid (Miami and L.A.) but the surrounding areas of those cities are sweet. SoCal has San Diego and I don't think FL really has a counter to that, St. Pete maybe? SoCal has an image of being easy and laid back, but I did not find it so. It is younger, more active, and more crowded than FL. FL has the Deep South and Caribbean influences to keep it more lackadaisical. SoCal is a desert climate, Florida is sub-tropical. Gotta give SoCal the edge on mosquitoes, no debate. Gotta give FL the edge on cost of living.
I don't know. FL is a two and half hour flight for me. SoCal is beyond four. It sounds like a small difference, but when you are in your third hour in the middle seat, and you realize you could already be checked into your hotel in FL it seems larger. Luckily I don't have to choose. Miss Anna spent a year in the worst place in Florida and is now in the best place in SoCal, so her choice would be obvious. Me I just don't know, but I suspect when retirement time comes, that cost of living thing might loom large.
For now, I'll take both.
It was chilly though. In that paradigm of sunny climes, I seem to have the bad luck to visit during atypical cold spells. I remember one trip to San Diego where it got too cold to even walk on the beach. A trip to L.A. for the Rose Bowl a few years back was another chilly one. Now this trip -- high never reached much more than 65.
But even with a nip in the air there's no denying how pretty and shiny So Cal is. We spent our days wandering the beach -- spotting dolphins and seals -- sampling the local restaurants, chatting over drinks, and enjoying the view from the beach house balcony. I must admit that in search of heat, we did decamp one day and take the two hour drive to Palm Springs where the temperature was an appropriately deserty 90. A splendid time was had by all; no of us wanted to leave.
So I started the month in Florida and ended in Southern California and loved both. Should we compare and contrast? Why not.
As far as the ocean is concerned, since I have never learned to surf, I have to give the edge to Florida. I don't think the Pacific ever gets warm enough to swim in for pleasure, but bobbing about in the Atlantic or the Gulf in high summer is an existential joy for me. The beaches in FL are powder perfect, but the views are better in SoCal. Both have a big coastal city that I would avoid (Miami and L.A.) but the surrounding areas of those cities are sweet. SoCal has San Diego and I don't think FL really has a counter to that, St. Pete maybe? SoCal has an image of being easy and laid back, but I did not find it so. It is younger, more active, and more crowded than FL. FL has the Deep South and Caribbean influences to keep it more lackadaisical. SoCal is a desert climate, Florida is sub-tropical. Gotta give SoCal the edge on mosquitoes, no debate. Gotta give FL the edge on cost of living.
I don't know. FL is a two and half hour flight for me. SoCal is beyond four. It sounds like a small difference, but when you are in your third hour in the middle seat, and you realize you could already be checked into your hotel in FL it seems larger. Luckily I don't have to choose. Miss Anna spent a year in the worst place in Florida and is now in the best place in SoCal, so her choice would be obvious. Me I just don't know, but I suspect when retirement time comes, that cost of living thing might loom large.
For now, I'll take both.
[Good Links] Linkapalooza
Linkapalooza: Just some random links of personal interest to me and potential interest to you.
Toyota fights back. Toyota has had a helluva time. First there was the unintended acceleration hoax. Then the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Then the flooding in Thailand that crushed their production. So when the ambulance chasers at CNN decided to gin up a hit piece they slapped back. Good on 'em. Goodwill has real value and having built up decades of it with people like me, it's now paying off in hard times.
UnVegas. This Vegas blog post hits all the low points and misconceptions about Vegas. Good reading for the uninitiated.
Founding Mea Culpa. Can the confessional tell-all craze that dominates modern biography and memoir be traced back to good ol' F. Scott? Three essays published at a low point in his life and four years before his death were a documentation of personal pain, and also a bit bitchy. Too bad he didn't live long enough to experience the rehab craze.
Death to Umwelt. Brilliant suggestions for seeing further (metaphorically) than you do now. This is not new age-y stuff, just common sense exercises for opening your mind.
Detroit becomes a ward of the State. -- Early in the month the WSJ outlined the problem. Now the State of Michigan has pretty much taken over the city, albeit agreeing somewhat vaguely to shell out anywhere from 50-200 million in assistance, depending on which estimates you believe. Bottom line: Detroit has been misgoverned for over five decades and they can't even pretend that they are capable looking after themselves anymore.
No privacy in public. It appears Facebook/Twitter/YouTube is killing Spring Break. Rule for life: Never do anything in public you wouldn't want to see on the Web. Funny, I would have guessed shame was an outdated concept.
Toyota fights back. Toyota has had a helluva time. First there was the unintended acceleration hoax. Then the earthquake/tsunami in Japan. Then the flooding in Thailand that crushed their production. So when the ambulance chasers at CNN decided to gin up a hit piece they slapped back. Good on 'em. Goodwill has real value and having built up decades of it with people like me, it's now paying off in hard times.
UnVegas. This Vegas blog post hits all the low points and misconceptions about Vegas. Good reading for the uninitiated.
Founding Mea Culpa. Can the confessional tell-all craze that dominates modern biography and memoir be traced back to good ol' F. Scott? Three essays published at a low point in his life and four years before his death were a documentation of personal pain, and also a bit bitchy. Too bad he didn't live long enough to experience the rehab craze.
Death to Umwelt. Brilliant suggestions for seeing further (metaphorically) than you do now. This is not new age-y stuff, just common sense exercises for opening your mind.
Detroit becomes a ward of the State. -- Early in the month the WSJ outlined the problem. Now the State of Michigan has pretty much taken over the city, albeit agreeing somewhat vaguely to shell out anywhere from 50-200 million in assistance, depending on which estimates you believe. Bottom line: Detroit has been misgoverned for over five decades and they can't even pretend that they are capable looking after themselves anymore.
No privacy in public. It appears Facebook/Twitter/YouTube is killing Spring Break. Rule for life: Never do anything in public you wouldn't want to see on the Web. Funny, I would have guessed shame was an outdated concept.
[TV] Tube State Boogie
Tube State Boogie: Just like that, Luck is dead. It pisses me off for a number of reasons. First, that it was done for purely PR purposes. PETA and others objected to horses dying on the show, despite the fact that they could not find a hint of mistreatment and the blindingly obvious fact that people associated with the show all seemed to have a near spiritual admiration and love of the animals. HBO (cowards) couldn't be troubled to write a press release to defend the show. Second, because I had gotten attached to the characters, especially the four amigos. Third, and most importantly, because it was the only show on TV that didn't use drama like a bludgeon to get your attention. Watching Luck was like listening to Bill Evans after a Metallica concert. The situation just sucks all the way around.
In fact the entire era of great TV may be over. Over at Grantland they lament that the recently returned Mad Men is the last vestige of the Golden Age of TV that began with The Sopranos back in 1999. Setting aside the promise of the the final season of Breaking Bad starting later this year, it's hard to argue with that.
The best of what's left are shows like Game of Thrones and Spartacus, both of which manage to squeeze out some fair drama, but deliver it with the uranium fist of sex and violence. Beyond that we're left with fare such as True Blood, Dexter, The Walking Dead -- all of which thoroughly depend on the attraction of the lurid as they are devoid of any dramatic value whatsoever.
Ah, well. All good things...and so forth.
Still, it's worth reminiscing with an oral history of the Sopranos (now five years gone). Perhaps TV will rise again, hopefully in my lifetime.
In fact the entire era of great TV may be over. Over at Grantland they lament that the recently returned Mad Men is the last vestige of the Golden Age of TV that began with The Sopranos back in 1999. Setting aside the promise of the the final season of Breaking Bad starting later this year, it's hard to argue with that.
The best of what's left are shows like Game of Thrones and Spartacus, both of which manage to squeeze out some fair drama, but deliver it with the uranium fist of sex and violence. Beyond that we're left with fare such as True Blood, Dexter, The Walking Dead -- all of which thoroughly depend on the attraction of the lurid as they are devoid of any dramatic value whatsoever.
Ah, well. All good things...and so forth.
Still, it's worth reminiscing with an oral history of the Sopranos (now five years gone). Perhaps TV will rise again, hopefully in my lifetime.
Wednesday, March 07, 2012
The Month That Was - February 2012
The Month That Was - February 2012: Short shrift this week, in honor of the short month. I was looking back at the month trying to figure out how come I had so little to write about and I found no good answers. I only read one book, that's part of it. No travel to speak of, that's another part of it. A couple of big house projects, but I have been trying to hold off on peppering you with house maintenance posts.
Maybe I'm wrong about that. Maybe I should start expanding my topics. Things I spend time on that I don't write about are my fitness obsession, house projects in detail (I make casual mention), and football (in season). There are probably others, but those come to mind immediately. For unknown reasons, I have convinced myself that nobody is really interested in that stuff. But in reality, I have no reason to think anybody would be particularly interested in anything I write here, so why would those topics be different? This place is exactly what it says in the title. A monthly diary. It documents some events or opinions that I found interesting. I fully expect its eventual best use will be jogging my memory about times passed when I am pushing 90. Or maybe, a thousand years from now, some brain-in-a-jar will read it to see what life was like for someone in the previous millennium.
If this were a commercial site, it would be a disaster. Commercial sites need laser focus to have any hope of succeeding. Since this is just a personal hobby that I happen to make public, why not get even broader and more eclectic? So be it. Starting next month the list of potential topics grows.
[Tech, Rant] One Bad Apple
[Books] Book Look: Beyer on Speed
[Movies] Maybe I'm Spoiled
[Music] Rest in Peace, Davy
Maybe I'm wrong about that. Maybe I should start expanding my topics. Things I spend time on that I don't write about are my fitness obsession, house projects in detail (I make casual mention), and football (in season). There are probably others, but those come to mind immediately. For unknown reasons, I have convinced myself that nobody is really interested in that stuff. But in reality, I have no reason to think anybody would be particularly interested in anything I write here, so why would those topics be different? This place is exactly what it says in the title. A monthly diary. It documents some events or opinions that I found interesting. I fully expect its eventual best use will be jogging my memory about times passed when I am pushing 90. Or maybe, a thousand years from now, some brain-in-a-jar will read it to see what life was like for someone in the previous millennium.
If this were a commercial site, it would be a disaster. Commercial sites need laser focus to have any hope of succeeding. Since this is just a personal hobby that I happen to make public, why not get even broader and more eclectic? So be it. Starting next month the list of potential topics grows.
[Tech, Rant] One Bad Apple
[Books] Book Look: Beyer on Speed
[Movies] Maybe I'm Spoiled
[Music] Rest in Peace, Davy
[Tech, Rant] One Bad Apple
One Bad Apple: I have worked diligently to keep myself free of Apple products and the entire ecosystem. This has not been an arbitrary or capricious act of defiance. I am not a big fan of Apple interface designs. They are visually and stylistically striking, but below the surface they strike me as very rigid and limited. For example, iTunes Music Store is a complete disaster. It is so busy putting flashy, resource hogging graphics in my face that I can't efficiently find the music I want. I buy MP3s almost exclusively from Amazon.
(As a side note, this problem is not exclusive to Apple, but the entire internet. You land on a page and it takes forever to load because it's trying to pick up 500k of graphic ads from 10 different sites while running God-only-knows what javascripts in the background, when the only thing valuable to you is the 5k of text information that you have to search to find because it is swamped by the bling. Infuriating. Notice that apart from my books there are no graphics on this site. There's a reason for that.)
I also had a bad experience with the one Apple laptop I ever owned. The CMOS went south after about a year. I was able to diagnose this myself just from investigating things on the web. When I brought it in for repair, I informed the asshat techs of this but they didn't listen to me and claimed to fix it by re-installing the OS (or however they described it) and charged me $50. Naturally it went dead again a couple of days later because IT WAS A CMOS ISSUE. I'm still bitter about this.
Perhaps most importantly I never got used to Apple's way of doing things. Perfect example: Most of what I do is work with text in one way or another. In Windows you have both a backspace key and a delete key. The backspace key does what you would expect: removes the character to the left of the cursor. The delete key removes the character to the right of the cursor. There is simply no way I am going to be able to survive in the world without these functions. Well, on Macs, the delete key operates like the Windows backspace key, which is a minor issue, but there is no key that operates like the Windows delete key. There is a keystroke combination that does, but keystroke combos are a pain and should only be used for oddball tasks, not basic in-line editing. Now I know there are machinations that allow you to get around this somehow (maybe keyboard remapping of some sort) but why make me go to the trouble? Or more properly worded, why would I pay a premium for a Mac to go to the trouble. This, like the one-button mouse, is just the Apple Way, and if you are one of the faithful, it is axiomatically correct. Except it's not, is it?
Tangentially, I'm not one of those dirty hippies who goes around seeing corrupt corporate evil everywhere, but Apple is pretty cutthroat in some of the legal battles they engage in, even with small time violations of perceived property rights. There is clearly the underlying, unspoken belief in that company that you, the customer, must yield to them for your own good.
But there is simply no denying the success they have had. Back in 1999 I got into a debate on some internet board (back when I was idiot enough to do that sort of thing) and argued that Apple would be out of business in five years. That was before the iPod was even a gleam in Steve's eye, so I feel justified in my prediction. I mean, who knew? Now they are looking at something like trillion dollar market cap. It's making them harder to ignore.
At the moment, I can easily ignore iTunes. Like I said, I get my music and other media from Amazon. But what if iTunes e-books catch on. Right now my books are available as e-books on Kindle only. Will I be forced to accept iTunes at some point?
For now my Zune players are serving me well. I have a 1st gen 30 gig that holds pretty much my entire music collection, and a 2nd gen 8 gig that I use solely for running. Both have been solid, but they won't last forever, and I do lose out on beneficial recent developments in battery life. Zune players have been discontinued. If one or both fail, will I have recourse besides the iPod? I suppose I could load stuff on my Windows Phone, but it couldn't hold my entire music collection, which is a luxury I appreciate when travelling. I would also be hesitant to use my phone as a workout aid. It's one thing to sweat into a hundred dollar MP3 player. It's another to sweat into a $400 phone.
The iPad has no viable competitors at the moment. For now, I have no need but I can see the attraction of them and they are starting to crop up at meetings at work. Hmmm.
I feel fairly safe on the phone and laptop front. I'm really liking my Windows Phone. And Windows 8 is coming for laptops, if I ever feel the need to replace my beat up old HP. (Microsoft's plan to keep Windows and Windows Phone tightly locked is looking like it might pay off.)
But Apple still looms large, casting a giant shadow over my technological needs. It's getting harder, not easier, to stay clean.
(At the WSJ, a recent op-ed on Apple as an investment has some simlar sentiments.)
(As a side note, this problem is not exclusive to Apple, but the entire internet. You land on a page and it takes forever to load because it's trying to pick up 500k of graphic ads from 10 different sites while running God-only-knows what javascripts in the background, when the only thing valuable to you is the 5k of text information that you have to search to find because it is swamped by the bling. Infuriating. Notice that apart from my books there are no graphics on this site. There's a reason for that.)
I also had a bad experience with the one Apple laptop I ever owned. The CMOS went south after about a year. I was able to diagnose this myself just from investigating things on the web. When I brought it in for repair, I informed the asshat techs of this but they didn't listen to me and claimed to fix it by re-installing the OS (or however they described it) and charged me $50. Naturally it went dead again a couple of days later because IT WAS A CMOS ISSUE. I'm still bitter about this.
Perhaps most importantly I never got used to Apple's way of doing things. Perfect example: Most of what I do is work with text in one way or another. In Windows you have both a backspace key and a delete key. The backspace key does what you would expect: removes the character to the left of the cursor. The delete key removes the character to the right of the cursor. There is simply no way I am going to be able to survive in the world without these functions. Well, on Macs, the delete key operates like the Windows backspace key, which is a minor issue, but there is no key that operates like the Windows delete key. There is a keystroke combination that does, but keystroke combos are a pain and should only be used for oddball tasks, not basic in-line editing. Now I know there are machinations that allow you to get around this somehow (maybe keyboard remapping of some sort) but why make me go to the trouble? Or more properly worded, why would I pay a premium for a Mac to go to the trouble. This, like the one-button mouse, is just the Apple Way, and if you are one of the faithful, it is axiomatically correct. Except it's not, is it?
Tangentially, I'm not one of those dirty hippies who goes around seeing corrupt corporate evil everywhere, but Apple is pretty cutthroat in some of the legal battles they engage in, even with small time violations of perceived property rights. There is clearly the underlying, unspoken belief in that company that you, the customer, must yield to them for your own good.
But there is simply no denying the success they have had. Back in 1999 I got into a debate on some internet board (back when I was idiot enough to do that sort of thing) and argued that Apple would be out of business in five years. That was before the iPod was even a gleam in Steve's eye, so I feel justified in my prediction. I mean, who knew? Now they are looking at something like trillion dollar market cap. It's making them harder to ignore.
At the moment, I can easily ignore iTunes. Like I said, I get my music and other media from Amazon. But what if iTunes e-books catch on. Right now my books are available as e-books on Kindle only. Will I be forced to accept iTunes at some point?
For now my Zune players are serving me well. I have a 1st gen 30 gig that holds pretty much my entire music collection, and a 2nd gen 8 gig that I use solely for running. Both have been solid, but they won't last forever, and I do lose out on beneficial recent developments in battery life. Zune players have been discontinued. If one or both fail, will I have recourse besides the iPod? I suppose I could load stuff on my Windows Phone, but it couldn't hold my entire music collection, which is a luxury I appreciate when travelling. I would also be hesitant to use my phone as a workout aid. It's one thing to sweat into a hundred dollar MP3 player. It's another to sweat into a $400 phone.
The iPad has no viable competitors at the moment. For now, I have no need but I can see the attraction of them and they are starting to crop up at meetings at work. Hmmm.
I feel fairly safe on the phone and laptop front. I'm really liking my Windows Phone. And Windows 8 is coming for laptops, if I ever feel the need to replace my beat up old HP. (Microsoft's plan to keep Windows and Windows Phone tightly locked is looking like it might pay off.)
But Apple still looms large, casting a giant shadow over my technological needs. It's getting harder, not easier, to stay clean.
(At the WSJ, a recent op-ed on Apple as an investment has some simlar sentiments.)
[Books] Book Look: Beyer on Speed, by Andrew Beyer
Book Look: Beyer on Speed, by Andrew Beyer: In my somewhat quixotic quest to better understand thoroughbred handicapping, this book popped to the top of everyone's suggested reading list. I can see why.
I'm going to get sidetracked right off the bat here, because Beyer is dedicated to objective analysis of gambling, something that only a minority of gamblers pursue, and certainly no casual gamblers. But it is something dear to my heart, partly because I spent a small amount of time trying to do just that for betting football games (with marginal continued success) and partly because my personal self-delusion is that I value the rational, objective understanding of reality to such and extent that it differentiates me from the vast majority of my fellow human beings who only dimly perceive the underlying probabilistic tendencies of life. In that vein, reading Beyer was like reading a kindred spirit, albeit one vastly more accomplished than myself.
Beyer is the man behind what are known as Speed Numbers. Speed Numbers came along a few decades ago as a result of what I presume to be one of the first efforts to objectify the outcome of thoroughbred races. What Speed numbers did was give handicappers a way to compare horses from race to race while controlling -- somewhat -- for track and race conditions. Previously, racing "knowledge" consisted of half understood nuggets of wisdom, vague impression, and overgeneralized anecdotes. In time, Speed Numbers were widely published and any easy value they provided the handicapper was lost. Remember, the gambler is always looking for circumstances where public opinion is at odds with reality. If just a handful of people use Speed Numbers they provide a tremendous advantage over those that don't. If everybody is using them, they provide little or no advantage over your fellow gamblers.
Beyer on Speed was written as a direct result of this. Beyer faced the question of whether there was any real value in his creation anymore. This in itself is admirable. Here is someone with a enormous amount of sweat and emotion invested in his creation. I suspect the majority of people in such circumstances would dig in and argue tooth and nail for the continuing validity of their ideas even to the point of turning rhetorical back flips and scaling peaks of self-delusion to do so. Not Beyer. He is nothing if not objective and that requires a willingness to accept reality however painful.
But Beyer doesn't come to the conclusion that Speed Numbers give him no edge. He comes to see the edge is in how they are used. Beyer calls this the "conceptual approach" which can be summed up as follows: First, run your numbers and do you quantitative homework. Next, with a good understanding of the shortcomings of your numbers (what they will and won't represent), evaluate each situation and adjust your wagering accordingly. The primary function of this book is to demonstrate what Speed Numbers do and don't represent and to survey to other sorts of info that come into play. Beyer surveys key concepts of pace and track bias in some detail, illustrating the sorts of adjustments he makes for them.
Rich with anecdote and experience, Beyer deserves yet more high scores for talking about his losses and failures as readily as his successes, including a particularly devastating loss in a pick-six. This is important and it's part of what makes the book seem so genuine. Losses will always be more frequent than wins and handling them psychologically (and financially) is the key to survival.
As I said, I drew comparisons to my gambling efforts with football, although it's clear horse racing is a very different animal. In football, instead of having access the entire race and interactions of ten or so horses, you have to worry about interactions of two sets of eleven men all with specific assignments that only indirectly relate to the goal. Not to mention you will never see everything because full field game films are only available to NFL insiders and TV coverage necessarily gives you only a portion of any action. But the quest is the same -- try to quantify the process as much as possible and use your objective results as an advantage over the rest of the public, who are mislead by their own (very human) observational weakness and bias.
It's a strange topic of interest, I know, and I might do well to navel-gaze long enough to understand why I am so attracted to it. But should you read Beyer on Speed? Well, if you have an interest in thoroughbred handicapping then absolutely, but you probably already have (it's something of a classic in the field). If you are strangely attracted to objective methods of gambling like I am, then absolutely. Otherwise, although exceedingly clearly written and pretty much devoid of jargon, I gotta guess it wouldn't be of little interest to the uninvolved reader.
As for me, I loved the hell out of it.
I'm going to get sidetracked right off the bat here, because Beyer is dedicated to objective analysis of gambling, something that only a minority of gamblers pursue, and certainly no casual gamblers. But it is something dear to my heart, partly because I spent a small amount of time trying to do just that for betting football games (with marginal continued success) and partly because my personal self-delusion is that I value the rational, objective understanding of reality to such and extent that it differentiates me from the vast majority of my fellow human beings who only dimly perceive the underlying probabilistic tendencies of life. In that vein, reading Beyer was like reading a kindred spirit, albeit one vastly more accomplished than myself.
Beyer is the man behind what are known as Speed Numbers. Speed Numbers came along a few decades ago as a result of what I presume to be one of the first efforts to objectify the outcome of thoroughbred races. What Speed numbers did was give handicappers a way to compare horses from race to race while controlling -- somewhat -- for track and race conditions. Previously, racing "knowledge" consisted of half understood nuggets of wisdom, vague impression, and overgeneralized anecdotes. In time, Speed Numbers were widely published and any easy value they provided the handicapper was lost. Remember, the gambler is always looking for circumstances where public opinion is at odds with reality. If just a handful of people use Speed Numbers they provide a tremendous advantage over those that don't. If everybody is using them, they provide little or no advantage over your fellow gamblers.
Beyer on Speed was written as a direct result of this. Beyer faced the question of whether there was any real value in his creation anymore. This in itself is admirable. Here is someone with a enormous amount of sweat and emotion invested in his creation. I suspect the majority of people in such circumstances would dig in and argue tooth and nail for the continuing validity of their ideas even to the point of turning rhetorical back flips and scaling peaks of self-delusion to do so. Not Beyer. He is nothing if not objective and that requires a willingness to accept reality however painful.
But Beyer doesn't come to the conclusion that Speed Numbers give him no edge. He comes to see the edge is in how they are used. Beyer calls this the "conceptual approach" which can be summed up as follows: First, run your numbers and do you quantitative homework. Next, with a good understanding of the shortcomings of your numbers (what they will and won't represent), evaluate each situation and adjust your wagering accordingly. The primary function of this book is to demonstrate what Speed Numbers do and don't represent and to survey to other sorts of info that come into play. Beyer surveys key concepts of pace and track bias in some detail, illustrating the sorts of adjustments he makes for them.
Rich with anecdote and experience, Beyer deserves yet more high scores for talking about his losses and failures as readily as his successes, including a particularly devastating loss in a pick-six. This is important and it's part of what makes the book seem so genuine. Losses will always be more frequent than wins and handling them psychologically (and financially) is the key to survival.
As I said, I drew comparisons to my gambling efforts with football, although it's clear horse racing is a very different animal. In football, instead of having access the entire race and interactions of ten or so horses, you have to worry about interactions of two sets of eleven men all with specific assignments that only indirectly relate to the goal. Not to mention you will never see everything because full field game films are only available to NFL insiders and TV coverage necessarily gives you only a portion of any action. But the quest is the same -- try to quantify the process as much as possible and use your objective results as an advantage over the rest of the public, who are mislead by their own (very human) observational weakness and bias.
It's a strange topic of interest, I know, and I might do well to navel-gaze long enough to understand why I am so attracted to it. But should you read Beyer on Speed? Well, if you have an interest in thoroughbred handicapping then absolutely, but you probably already have (it's something of a classic in the field). If you are strangely attracted to objective methods of gambling like I am, then absolutely. Otherwise, although exceedingly clearly written and pretty much devoid of jargon, I gotta guess it wouldn't be of little interest to the uninvolved reader.
As for me, I loved the hell out of it.
[Movies] Maybe I'm Spoiled
Maybe I'm Spoiled: I did something I so rarely do. I actually watched a couple of movies. They were both state of the art Hollywood productions but they also exemplify everything that is wrong with the industry.
Drive -- I didn't believe Ryan Gosling as a sullen tough; he looks like a paperboy. And that jacket that was clearly formulated to be iconic was just poofy. I really didn't believe in his instant devotion to the hyper-sympathetic single mom and daughter. Have movies given up on developing relationships? Rather than actually show their feelings develop, it was as if you were just handed the two characters and then told they had fallen for each other through longing looks and symbolic acts. Maybe I'm spoiled by TV where you can take a whole season or more to get a couple together, but I was left with the impression that the only reason they fell in love was because it said to in the script. I didn't believe the cliched stunt man mentor who turned out to be a bad guy, or the cliched ex-con trying to do right in an unforgiving world. The action scenes were cool and sharp, but they were way too few and far between. So much of this film was just people silently staring at each other. It could have been called Mood.
Secretariat -- At least I liked this movie. It wasn't terribly good, but I still liked it. It followed a strict formula designed to push emotional buttons, and it succeeded to some extent. Maybe I'm spoiled by the magnificently nuanced dialogue that you can hear in TV shows such as Luck and Spartacus or Justified, but the words handed to these actors were abysmal -- pure cheese. The acting was dutiful, with the exception of The Malkovich, who can deliver pretty much any lines with style. The plot: a steadfast woman in man's world; no one believes in her but she shows everyone, from her husband who doesn't want to risk their future of their children to the loudmouth macho types in the horse-racing game. Honestly, it's a strange lesson: It's OK to risk everything, including your family, because your personal emotional satisfaction is the most important thing. Alrighty. Still, reliving the Secretariat's Belmont race was cool, even in dramatically exaggerated form. (Note: Andrew Beyer -- see the book review above -- measures that to be the greatest performance ever by a thoroughbred by quite a large margin.)
These movies, though passably entertaining and unfailingly professional productions, exemplify everything that is wrong with the movies. No chances were taken, the actors seem small, the scripts are filled with simple language and narrow, crudely drawn characters. Again, maybe I'm just spoiled by how great TV is, but these were two very well-received and critically acclaimed movies and they simply fell flat. You could throw themes and plot points and cardboard characters in a machine and it would manufacture films like this. I think it'll be a while before I give movies another chance.
Drive -- I didn't believe Ryan Gosling as a sullen tough; he looks like a paperboy. And that jacket that was clearly formulated to be iconic was just poofy. I really didn't believe in his instant devotion to the hyper-sympathetic single mom and daughter. Have movies given up on developing relationships? Rather than actually show their feelings develop, it was as if you were just handed the two characters and then told they had fallen for each other through longing looks and symbolic acts. Maybe I'm spoiled by TV where you can take a whole season or more to get a couple together, but I was left with the impression that the only reason they fell in love was because it said to in the script. I didn't believe the cliched stunt man mentor who turned out to be a bad guy, or the cliched ex-con trying to do right in an unforgiving world. The action scenes were cool and sharp, but they were way too few and far between. So much of this film was just people silently staring at each other. It could have been called Mood.
Secretariat -- At least I liked this movie. It wasn't terribly good, but I still liked it. It followed a strict formula designed to push emotional buttons, and it succeeded to some extent. Maybe I'm spoiled by the magnificently nuanced dialogue that you can hear in TV shows such as Luck and Spartacus or Justified, but the words handed to these actors were abysmal -- pure cheese. The acting was dutiful, with the exception of The Malkovich, who can deliver pretty much any lines with style. The plot: a steadfast woman in man's world; no one believes in her but she shows everyone, from her husband who doesn't want to risk their future of their children to the loudmouth macho types in the horse-racing game. Honestly, it's a strange lesson: It's OK to risk everything, including your family, because your personal emotional satisfaction is the most important thing. Alrighty. Still, reliving the Secretariat's Belmont race was cool, even in dramatically exaggerated form. (Note: Andrew Beyer -- see the book review above -- measures that to be the greatest performance ever by a thoroughbred by quite a large margin.)
These movies, though passably entertaining and unfailingly professional productions, exemplify everything that is wrong with the movies. No chances were taken, the actors seem small, the scripts are filled with simple language and narrow, crudely drawn characters. Again, maybe I'm just spoiled by how great TV is, but these were two very well-received and critically acclaimed movies and they simply fell flat. You could throw themes and plot points and cardboard characters in a machine and it would manufacture films like this. I think it'll be a while before I give movies another chance.
[Music] Rest in Peace, Davy
Rest in Peace, Davy: Up until about third grade I was the shortest kid in class. Even shorter than all the girls. (I have since turned out to be average height, exactly.) Anyone who was in a similar situation knows the trauma involved in that. But Davy Jones was the shortest Monkee, and we had the same first name, and frankly, we even looked a bit alike. That helped.
I loved the Monkees. I can still name their first five albums from memory: (1) The Monkees, (2) More of the Monkees, (3) Headquarters, (4) Pieces, Aquarius, Capricorn, and Jones, (5) The Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees. All of these were rife with brilliant pop songs of the sort that come along only once every few years. Very few bands have ever put together such a brilliant oeuvre. I have, ever since, been a sucker for perfectly crafted 3 minute pop songs.
Anyone one of those five albums is would be a pop masterpiece today. Yes, I know that the songs were all written by the top songwriters money could buy. And the musicians were the best session players money could buy. And the producers were under marching orders to make something marketable. But think about that. Can you imagine any corporate interest trying something like that today and generating anything like the quality of music?
Their sound was hugely influential on the best popsters of the '90s -- the Shibuya-kei style from Japan. And given modern production values, their music would match up easily with the best pop of the last 10 years -- say, Barenaked Ladies and Fountains of Wayne, for example. The songs are as exuberant and energetic as they were 45 years ago. If anything, doing that while under corporate control only makes the achievement greater.
Davy was the face; the cute boy all the girls could crush on. He could sing (but not as well as Dolenz); he could act and even dance a bit; he lacked the musical talent of Tork and especially Nesmith, but he had a friendly charisma and seemed to brighten the atmosphere.
He always wanted to be a jockey (interesting that horse racing has come up in three of my posts this month), but his natural charm led him into acting and that was that. Never was a bad word said about him. His good and unassuming nature were roundly praised upon his death.
Of course, people like me don't actually mourn Davy Jones proper. We express gratitude for the positive affect he had on us. What we really mourn is the loss of our ability to experience the feelings he facilitated in our childhood (even the trauma of being the shortest one in class) and, by extension, our own mortality. I would never wish my youth on anyone, but there are things I miss: the revelry of playing catch all afternoon, conquering a video game, or a hearing a familiar Monkees song. Those activities are still possible but they will never be enjoyed so thoroughly. That innocent vitality, like Davy, is gone forever.
I loved the Monkees. I can still name their first five albums from memory: (1) The Monkees, (2) More of the Monkees, (3) Headquarters, (4) Pieces, Aquarius, Capricorn, and Jones, (5) The Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees. All of these were rife with brilliant pop songs of the sort that come along only once every few years. Very few bands have ever put together such a brilliant oeuvre. I have, ever since, been a sucker for perfectly crafted 3 minute pop songs.
Anyone one of those five albums is would be a pop masterpiece today. Yes, I know that the songs were all written by the top songwriters money could buy. And the musicians were the best session players money could buy. And the producers were under marching orders to make something marketable. But think about that. Can you imagine any corporate interest trying something like that today and generating anything like the quality of music?
Their sound was hugely influential on the best popsters of the '90s -- the Shibuya-kei style from Japan. And given modern production values, their music would match up easily with the best pop of the last 10 years -- say, Barenaked Ladies and Fountains of Wayne, for example. The songs are as exuberant and energetic as they were 45 years ago. If anything, doing that while under corporate control only makes the achievement greater.
Davy was the face; the cute boy all the girls could crush on. He could sing (but not as well as Dolenz); he could act and even dance a bit; he lacked the musical talent of Tork and especially Nesmith, but he had a friendly charisma and seemed to brighten the atmosphere.
He always wanted to be a jockey (interesting that horse racing has come up in three of my posts this month), but his natural charm led him into acting and that was that. Never was a bad word said about him. His good and unassuming nature were roundly praised upon his death.
Of course, people like me don't actually mourn Davy Jones proper. We express gratitude for the positive affect he had on us. What we really mourn is the loss of our ability to experience the feelings he facilitated in our childhood (even the trauma of being the shortest one in class) and, by extension, our own mortality. I would never wish my youth on anyone, but there are things I miss: the revelry of playing catch all afternoon, conquering a video game, or a hearing a familiar Monkees song. Those activities are still possible but they will never be enjoyed so thoroughly. That innocent vitality, like Davy, is gone forever.
Monday, February 06, 2012
The Month That Was - January 2012
The Month That Was - January 2012: Because it's very important that I not have any free cash around to tempt me to such evils as food and gas and clothing, I get to buy a new furnace. I love my house but it could just kill me. But what the hell, the Mayans say this year is it, may as well be warm.
What it actually means is that major travel is pretty much out. It'll be cheap long weekends and holidays for me.
Apart from that since returning from New Orleans (below) things have been pretty steady. I have been writing. I think I'm going to kick out something fairly esoteric as an Amazon Singles and see how it goes. There may be something in that going forward.
Oh, and I finally got my Thanksgiving week photos up on smugmug.
[Books] Book Look: Ready Player One
[Rant] Nothing New
[Travel] Down Nawlins
[Books] Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt
[TV] It All Started With a Big Bang
[TV] TV Roundup
What it actually means is that major travel is pretty much out. It'll be cheap long weekends and holidays for me.
Apart from that since returning from New Orleans (below) things have been pretty steady. I have been writing. I think I'm going to kick out something fairly esoteric as an Amazon Singles and see how it goes. There may be something in that going forward.
Oh, and I finally got my Thanksgiving week photos up on smugmug.
[Books] Book Look: Ready Player One
[Rant] Nothing New
[Travel] Down Nawlins
[Books] Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt
[TV] It All Started With a Big Bang
[TV] TV Roundup
[Books] Book Look: Ready Player One
Book Look: Ready Player One by Ernest Cline: I can't imagine a book that would be more fun than this one. It's been a long time since I anxiously tore through a book in a couple of sittings, but this one got me.
In an apocalyptic future, the main source of escape and entertainment is a huge virtual universe called OASIS. When the creator of OASIS died he left clues that lead people on an extended quest through this virtual universe. The first one that completes the quest gains wealth and fame and inherits control of OASIS. Naturally with such high stakes in play, nefarious forces from the real world bring an element of real danger.
Sounds kinda lame, doesn't it? Especially when you add in the cliche of good-hearted, downtrodden, multi-ethnic, nerdy high-schoolers overcoming an evil profiteering corporation and finding love and an appreciation of reality over virtual life. I cringe just writing that.
But it was a blast. Here's the thing. The creator of OASIS was obsessed with pop culture form the 1980s, when he was a teenager. John Hughes movies, Monty Python, Dungeons and Dragons, old Atari video games. So part of it is just my personal sense of nostalgia. When I was in my 20s and I could play Missile Command and Defender for as long as I wanted on a single quarter. I could recite huge swaths of The Holy Grail. So yeah. The other part of it is the the plot moves at a breakneck pace, the puzzles solved are relate-able to anyone familiar with '80s gaming. The prose reads easy, and the characters, if cardboard cutouts, are at least likable.
It is limited, of course, by it's simple-minded plot and its, perhaps appropriate, dialogue from an eighties sitcom. In fact, apart from a couple of superfluous adult-themed passages, I wondered seriously why this was not marketed at the young adult demographic. Then I remembered the young adults in 2012 will not likely have a working knowledge of '80s pop culture (although, really, everybody should).
Should you read Ready Player One? I can't imagine any harm coming to anyone from reading this. Certainly if you are forty-ish-plus and did not grow up in an Amish household, you probably have the pop culture knowledge to relate. If you are forty-ish-plus and were even mildly nerdy as a youth, this is a time trip, courtesy of someone who clears knows what it was all about.
In an apocalyptic future, the main source of escape and entertainment is a huge virtual universe called OASIS. When the creator of OASIS died he left clues that lead people on an extended quest through this virtual universe. The first one that completes the quest gains wealth and fame and inherits control of OASIS. Naturally with such high stakes in play, nefarious forces from the real world bring an element of real danger.
Sounds kinda lame, doesn't it? Especially when you add in the cliche of good-hearted, downtrodden, multi-ethnic, nerdy high-schoolers overcoming an evil profiteering corporation and finding love and an appreciation of reality over virtual life. I cringe just writing that.
But it was a blast. Here's the thing. The creator of OASIS was obsessed with pop culture form the 1980s, when he was a teenager. John Hughes movies, Monty Python, Dungeons and Dragons, old Atari video games. So part of it is just my personal sense of nostalgia. When I was in my 20s and I could play Missile Command and Defender for as long as I wanted on a single quarter. I could recite huge swaths of The Holy Grail. So yeah. The other part of it is the the plot moves at a breakneck pace, the puzzles solved are relate-able to anyone familiar with '80s gaming. The prose reads easy, and the characters, if cardboard cutouts, are at least likable.
It is limited, of course, by it's simple-minded plot and its, perhaps appropriate, dialogue from an eighties sitcom. In fact, apart from a couple of superfluous adult-themed passages, I wondered seriously why this was not marketed at the young adult demographic. Then I remembered the young adults in 2012 will not likely have a working knowledge of '80s pop culture (although, really, everybody should).
Should you read Ready Player One? I can't imagine any harm coming to anyone from reading this. Certainly if you are forty-ish-plus and did not grow up in an Amish household, you probably have the pop culture knowledge to relate. If you are forty-ish-plus and were even mildly nerdy as a youth, this is a time trip, courtesy of someone who clears knows what it was all about.
[Rant] Nothing New
Nothing New: The Ready Player One review (above) made me realize something. The Eighties was the last decade that was aesthetically different. That is to say, if you went back to, say, 1996 today you wouldn't see any blatantly obvious differences (except that nobody would be texting on a giant smartphone). The clothes, hairstyles, music, cars, and stores would all feel very familiar. It is new to my lifetime that this is the case. You can spot the '80s in an instant. Same with the 70s, '60s, and '50s. Differentiating between them is obvious. It's as if in the last twenty years, the visuals of popular culture have just stopped changing.
I first took notice of this a few years ago when I read a throwaway quote by Gregg Easterbrook about the film American Graffiti. He pointed out that American Graffiti was produced in 1973 as it was a nostalgia filled examination of simpler the simpler times of 1962. In '73 you could look back 11 years and see a different world. Today, if you looked back at 2001 you'd see a reflection.
It's an interesting exercise to evaluate how cultural signs have stayed settled over the last twenty years. In the realm of the arts, the '90s was the endgame of the ongoing ascendancy of Film and Video (and their black sheep cousin, the videogame) over all other forms of art in terms of cultural significance. Genre books occasionally capture a mass audience, but only once in a while and even they get their main boost from Film/Video adaptions. Mainstream fiction is purely niche at this point. Even popular music gave way, only maintaining cultural relevance when associated with Film and Video, such as inclusion in a movie soundtrack, or being highlighted on American Idol or Glee, otherwise music is fragmented into nearly atomic markets, partially thanks to technology.
In fact, with the film and video microcosm, the '90s was when TV overtook movies for quality drama thanks to boundary busters like Buffy and Sopranos, both of which have not dated in the slightest. Movies have been reduced to sequels and remakes and remakes of sequels. The only thing that's changed about this is that people are starting to notice. (Bragging: I was about 10 years ahead of the curve on TV being better than movies.)
In personal style, let's see: stupid teenagers and even stupider young adults still let their pants fall down their butts. There was a side burn thing a few years ago. For a while, men were wearing suits without ties thanks to George Clooney. Oh, and some people seem to like spikey hair. There has been a barely noticeable return of preppy. Clogs anyone? None of this is remotely widespread or so far outside the mainstream as to challenge the status quo. Since the '90s we have had nothing widely adopted as leather jackets and brylcream ('50s), tie-dye and bell-bottoms ('60s), silk shirts and platform shoes ('70s), leg warmers, parachute pants, and multiple swatches ('80s).
How about music? Rock, Funk, Disco, Punk, various forms of Electronica, New Wave, Indie, Rap, Hip Hop, Alt-Country. All pre '90s inventions. Is there a new genre that I don't know about? If there is, it can't be all that relevant can it?
In the realm of cars, well, we now drive SUVs instead of Minivans. Despite a gas price shock or two, the best-selling cars are still mid-size sedans (Camry, Fusion) and pickups (Ford F-150). A lot of cars now have little electric motors to help them along, but that's functional technology advance, not an aesthetic one.
Common architecture hasn't changed one whit, although that has been the case since before I was born.
I don't profess to have any deep understanding of why this is. I'm sure everyone will jump to the conclusion that it's symbolic of some sort of grand socio-political sea change. One such person is Kurt Andersen over at Vanity Fair, who has an excellent and slightly different take than I do. I'm not so sure it's not just chance -- the probabilistic waxing and waning of ideas reaching a tipping point.
Also, let's not forget that, while we are stagnant aesthetically, technology is still turning our culture on its head regularly, said the man with his entire collection of books and music in his pocket who manages employees half the world away and hasn't seen a bank teller or stock broker in years. The results of disintermediation alone (eliminating the middle men, such as publishers and prfessional sales forces, in any exchange) will keep us on our toes for years to come.
I first took notice of this a few years ago when I read a throwaway quote by Gregg Easterbrook about the film American Graffiti. He pointed out that American Graffiti was produced in 1973 as it was a nostalgia filled examination of simpler the simpler times of 1962. In '73 you could look back 11 years and see a different world. Today, if you looked back at 2001 you'd see a reflection.
It's an interesting exercise to evaluate how cultural signs have stayed settled over the last twenty years. In the realm of the arts, the '90s was the endgame of the ongoing ascendancy of Film and Video (and their black sheep cousin, the videogame) over all other forms of art in terms of cultural significance. Genre books occasionally capture a mass audience, but only once in a while and even they get their main boost from Film/Video adaptions. Mainstream fiction is purely niche at this point. Even popular music gave way, only maintaining cultural relevance when associated with Film and Video, such as inclusion in a movie soundtrack, or being highlighted on American Idol or Glee, otherwise music is fragmented into nearly atomic markets, partially thanks to technology.
In fact, with the film and video microcosm, the '90s was when TV overtook movies for quality drama thanks to boundary busters like Buffy and Sopranos, both of which have not dated in the slightest. Movies have been reduced to sequels and remakes and remakes of sequels. The only thing that's changed about this is that people are starting to notice. (Bragging: I was about 10 years ahead of the curve on TV being better than movies.)
In personal style, let's see: stupid teenagers and even stupider young adults still let their pants fall down their butts. There was a side burn thing a few years ago. For a while, men were wearing suits without ties thanks to George Clooney. Oh, and some people seem to like spikey hair. There has been a barely noticeable return of preppy. Clogs anyone? None of this is remotely widespread or so far outside the mainstream as to challenge the status quo. Since the '90s we have had nothing widely adopted as leather jackets and brylcream ('50s), tie-dye and bell-bottoms ('60s), silk shirts and platform shoes ('70s), leg warmers, parachute pants, and multiple swatches ('80s).
How about music? Rock, Funk, Disco, Punk, various forms of Electronica, New Wave, Indie, Rap, Hip Hop, Alt-Country. All pre '90s inventions. Is there a new genre that I don't know about? If there is, it can't be all that relevant can it?
In the realm of cars, well, we now drive SUVs instead of Minivans. Despite a gas price shock or two, the best-selling cars are still mid-size sedans (Camry, Fusion) and pickups (Ford F-150). A lot of cars now have little electric motors to help them along, but that's functional technology advance, not an aesthetic one.
Common architecture hasn't changed one whit, although that has been the case since before I was born.
I don't profess to have any deep understanding of why this is. I'm sure everyone will jump to the conclusion that it's symbolic of some sort of grand socio-political sea change. One such person is Kurt Andersen over at Vanity Fair, who has an excellent and slightly different take than I do. I'm not so sure it's not just chance -- the probabilistic waxing and waning of ideas reaching a tipping point.
Also, let's not forget that, while we are stagnant aesthetically, technology is still turning our culture on its head regularly, said the man with his entire collection of books and music in his pocket who manages employees half the world away and hasn't seen a bank teller or stock broker in years. The results of disintermediation alone (eliminating the middle men, such as publishers and prfessional sales forces, in any exchange) will keep us on our toes for years to come.
[Travel] Down Nawlins
Down Nawlins: Good ol' Crescent City. It's perfect for a long weekend with friends. There are really two things to do in New Orleans: music and food. You can do some of the historic tours or visit the Garden District, but that's one day tops. After that it's all about eating great food and enjoying the music. And that, for the most part, means you're going to be centered on the French Quarter, and Fauboug Marigny for some added options.
And that's what we did (Me and Miss Kate and HRH Miss Anna). Gumbo at Mr. B's. Beignets at Cafe Du Monde. Et touffe and muffalettas and jambalaya, oh my. Trolling the crypts in St. Louis Cemetery. A Pimm's cup and Napolean House. Nightcaps at the Monteleone. New Year's Eve with some traditional jazz at Maison Bourbon. Strolling around St. Louis Cathedral and the French Market.
Oh and there was a football game. We were on a package tour for the Sugar Bowl. It included a pep rally which was wedged into such a small space that we watched from a store window behind the stage, a short paddlewheel boat tour where we were to be served "heavy hors d'oeurves" and had a waiting line so long and was so obviously going to be crowded enough to capsize that we skipped it altogether, a "tailgate" held inside a hotel ballroom with an expensive cash bar and a chintzy and crowded buffet line and not enough chairs so we were sitting on the floor, and tickets to game with seats in the last row of the Superdome which is one of the least hospitable stadiums in the world.
The game itself was an amazing, undeserved overtime victory for Michigan and that made up for a lot. And we were in New Orleans, that made up for everything else and more. Miss Anna has decided she wants to go back to the French Quarter with her friends on spring break (what could possibly go wrong with that?). If we ever go back to the Sugar Bowl, we'll get game tickets only. A long weekend in New Orleans requires no guidance from the outside.
And that's what we did (Me and Miss Kate and HRH Miss Anna). Gumbo at Mr. B's. Beignets at Cafe Du Monde. Et touffe and muffalettas and jambalaya, oh my. Trolling the crypts in St. Louis Cemetery. A Pimm's cup and Napolean House. Nightcaps at the Monteleone. New Year's Eve with some traditional jazz at Maison Bourbon. Strolling around St. Louis Cathedral and the French Market.
Oh and there was a football game. We were on a package tour for the Sugar Bowl. It included a pep rally which was wedged into such a small space that we watched from a store window behind the stage, a short paddlewheel boat tour where we were to be served "heavy hors d'oeurves" and had a waiting line so long and was so obviously going to be crowded enough to capsize that we skipped it altogether, a "tailgate" held inside a hotel ballroom with an expensive cash bar and a chintzy and crowded buffet line and not enough chairs so we were sitting on the floor, and tickets to game with seats in the last row of the Superdome which is one of the least hospitable stadiums in the world.
The game itself was an amazing, undeserved overtime victory for Michigan and that made up for a lot. And we were in New Orleans, that made up for everything else and more. Miss Anna has decided she wants to go back to the French Quarter with her friends on spring break (what could possibly go wrong with that?). If we ever go back to the Sugar Bowl, we'll get game tickets only. A long weekend in New Orleans requires no guidance from the outside.
[Books] Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt
Book Look: It's Beginning to Hurt by James Lasdun: Since we're relating things to Ready Player One (above), I'll say that this book is the polar opposite. It is a book of quiet short stories featuring characters coming to terms with weltschmerz. Weltschmerz is the sorrow that arises when you realize the real world can never meet the idealized image you have in your mind. When you are young you can simply acknowledge this intellectually without it really affecting you. As you age and the images of life in your mind become more realistic and essential, coming to terms with not meeting them has more force. As you get even older and you find yourself without time to make even the struggle worthwhile, it is gut wrenching to say the least.
I have never been attracted to short stories. They are marvelous writing exercises: to build character and scene, conflict and resolution in a few pages -- it's a challenge to say the least. They are inherently impressionistic, though, which makes me think of them as a sort of a sigh, as if they all come down to a kind of primordial "alas". They are often designed to leave you with a certain feeling rather than relate a narrative. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
But as you can guess, when trying to face down existential weltschmerz, short stories work well because it's all about the feelings. The stories here are filled with characters coming to disappointing realizations, about themselves, about loved ones, and about the paths they have taken with confidence only to find doubt and uncertainty. They react in various ways, usually ineffectually. It's Beginning to Hurt is an apt title.
Critically there is a really little more to say. Lasdun is a confident and clean stylist with no discernible affectation. If you are of an, ahem, certain age you will feel a palpable familiarity in these stories. Lasdun has clearly "been there" and has expressed it assuredly. Moreover, an aspect I found truly admirable is that there really are no fringe presonalities here. The characters are middle-class normals. Long time readers know one of my hobbyhorses is how writers have a bad habit of focusing on the edges of humanity. Deeply abused victims or perverse hedonists or violent criminals get lots of coverage at the expense of the drama of normality. Lasdun bucks the tend, which alone makes him a stand out author.
Should you read It's Beginning to Hurt? It won't cheer you up. There is no "action" in the common sense. Just quiet anxiety. It will touch the emotionally mature only.
I have never been attracted to short stories. They are marvelous writing exercises: to build character and scene, conflict and resolution in a few pages -- it's a challenge to say the least. They are inherently impressionistic, though, which makes me think of them as a sort of a sigh, as if they all come down to a kind of primordial "alas". They are often designed to leave you with a certain feeling rather than relate a narrative. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
But as you can guess, when trying to face down existential weltschmerz, short stories work well because it's all about the feelings. The stories here are filled with characters coming to disappointing realizations, about themselves, about loved ones, and about the paths they have taken with confidence only to find doubt and uncertainty. They react in various ways, usually ineffectually. It's Beginning to Hurt is an apt title.
Critically there is a really little more to say. Lasdun is a confident and clean stylist with no discernible affectation. If you are of an, ahem, certain age you will feel a palpable familiarity in these stories. Lasdun has clearly "been there" and has expressed it assuredly. Moreover, an aspect I found truly admirable is that there really are no fringe presonalities here. The characters are middle-class normals. Long time readers know one of my hobbyhorses is how writers have a bad habit of focusing on the edges of humanity. Deeply abused victims or perverse hedonists or violent criminals get lots of coverage at the expense of the drama of normality. Lasdun bucks the tend, which alone makes him a stand out author.
Should you read It's Beginning to Hurt? It won't cheer you up. There is no "action" in the common sense. Just quiet anxiety. It will touch the emotionally mature only.
[TV] It All Started With a Big Bang
It All Started With a Big Bang: It's been a long time since I've really like a standard network three-camera sitcom, probably since Seinfeld, but Big Bang Theory got me. The setup is 4 young scientists, living in the deepest depths of nerdom, find that an exceedingly hot little blond ditz has moved in across the hall. Hijinks ensue.
Except it is so much more than a rehash of Revenge of the Nerds. The nerds are not portrayed as pathetic little puppies to be laughed at, yet pitied. They are, in their own way, truly cool people who I would love the hang with (well, every once in while maybe). What makes them this way is the exceeding wit of their dialogue and the delicacy with which they are provided just enough humanity to engender attachment.
It's easy to completely overlook what a tremendous writing achievement it is to pump out a consistently funny sitcom for years on end. The writers of great and glamorous cable shows that highlight how astounding TV writing can be have an advantage in that they only need generate a dozen or so episodes every year and if they aren't quite up to snuff, they just delay things for a few months. This is a positive development for writing in general, but it is no greater an achievement, I would argue, than cranking out 26 sitcom episodes every year, like clockwork, no delayed deadlines, and having them be consistently funny and fresh.
Yes, there are clunkers Big Bang Theory but surprisingly few considering the constraints. You have about 24 minutes per episode. You need a short bumper, you have roughly two 8-10 minute segments to hammer through three acts, and you have a trailer. You may not use profanity. Adult themes are under scrutiny. No long story arcs. You are stuck with limited set options and virtually no special effects. You cannot do anything too unexpected ro challenging. You need a laugh line or gag about every twenty seconds.
Imagine sitting in a writers room with a handful of other stressed out, underpaid writers, with nothing but blank paper and an empty whiteboard in front of you, and knowing you have to come up with an conforming premise, plot, and teleplay by the end of the day, and if it's not completely hilarious you will be writing corporate press releases to pay your rent.
Big Bang Theory writers have mastered that environment for multiple seasons now. For what it's worth: Respect.
Most of the accolades for the show have centered around the actors, which is fine because they are astonishingly great comic actors. Impeccable timing all around. And multiple Emmy winner Jim Parsons as Sheldon is as good as everyone claims. Even the guest stars sparkle. There's another unsung hero: Casting.
It's a geeky show, that's part of the premise, and if you were are at least fractionally geek you will apreciate all the in-jokes and references. There's another writing triumph: they trust their audience enough not to feel the need to explain every Star Trek or computer gaming reference. When one character says, "I am the Internet Explorer to your Firefox" or they make a reference to the "The Ice Planet Hoth" no one feels the need to elaborate for those that don't get it.
In it's own way, Big Bang Theory is as fine an achievement as the best of the high concept cable dramas.
Except it is so much more than a rehash of Revenge of the Nerds. The nerds are not portrayed as pathetic little puppies to be laughed at, yet pitied. They are, in their own way, truly cool people who I would love the hang with (well, every once in while maybe). What makes them this way is the exceeding wit of their dialogue and the delicacy with which they are provided just enough humanity to engender attachment.
It's easy to completely overlook what a tremendous writing achievement it is to pump out a consistently funny sitcom for years on end. The writers of great and glamorous cable shows that highlight how astounding TV writing can be have an advantage in that they only need generate a dozen or so episodes every year and if they aren't quite up to snuff, they just delay things for a few months. This is a positive development for writing in general, but it is no greater an achievement, I would argue, than cranking out 26 sitcom episodes every year, like clockwork, no delayed deadlines, and having them be consistently funny and fresh.
Yes, there are clunkers Big Bang Theory but surprisingly few considering the constraints. You have about 24 minutes per episode. You need a short bumper, you have roughly two 8-10 minute segments to hammer through three acts, and you have a trailer. You may not use profanity. Adult themes are under scrutiny. No long story arcs. You are stuck with limited set options and virtually no special effects. You cannot do anything too unexpected ro challenging. You need a laugh line or gag about every twenty seconds.
Imagine sitting in a writers room with a handful of other stressed out, underpaid writers, with nothing but blank paper and an empty whiteboard in front of you, and knowing you have to come up with an conforming premise, plot, and teleplay by the end of the day, and if it's not completely hilarious you will be writing corporate press releases to pay your rent.
Big Bang Theory writers have mastered that environment for multiple seasons now. For what it's worth: Respect.
Most of the accolades for the show have centered around the actors, which is fine because they are astonishingly great comic actors. Impeccable timing all around. And multiple Emmy winner Jim Parsons as Sheldon is as good as everyone claims. Even the guest stars sparkle. There's another unsung hero: Casting.
It's a geeky show, that's part of the premise, and if you were are at least fractionally geek you will apreciate all the in-jokes and references. There's another writing triumph: they trust their audience enough not to feel the need to explain every Star Trek or computer gaming reference. When one character says, "I am the Internet Explorer to your Firefox" or they make a reference to the "The Ice Planet Hoth" no one feels the need to elaborate for those that don't get it.
In it's own way, Big Bang Theory is as fine an achievement as the best of the high concept cable dramas.
[TV] TV Roundup
TV Roundup: I really begin to wonder how long TV, as it were, will continue to be relevant. I have about a year left in my subscription to Charter. Nothing would make me happier than to go to a totally on-demand set-up -- get everything off Netflix/Amazon/Hulu/Apple TV/Whatever whenever I want them and not worry about paying for shows and channels in which I have zero interest. At some point your delivery method of choice will be irrelevant (phone, pad, plasma screen, brain implant) and the only thing of concern will be the content. I know that day is coming, probably in my lifetime, but I doubt we'll reach it in a year. Which means I'll probably end up with another subscription.
That's not to say Charter is a lock for a re-up. They have turned out to be at least as expensive as Comcast, for less content. I may have to check out DirectTV, although I have heard conflicting stories about its reliability. The one I would really like to try is FIOS from Verizon, but since they currently only cover about 15% of the country the chances of them reaching Dexter, MI in the next year are approximately zero.
Anyway, here's my latest tube impressions. Evidently, I continue to be attracted to shows that with stand-out dialogue.
Justified - the plots are wonderfully twisty, if somewhat contrived, and border on black comedy. Which is to say it aptly channels the soul of Elmore Leonard. But what I really love is the dry drawly wordplay. It virtually musical. Any conversation between the Timothy Olyphant and Walter Goggins is worth rewatching. They really catch the wily country boy rhythms.
Spartacus: Blood and Sand - This series, completed and replaced by the just beginning Spartcus: Vengence, is pretty much the ultimate in exploitation of sex and gore in the service of attracting attention. But a funny thing happened on the way to the orgy. They managed to create some excellent and affecting stories and characters, all couched in a heavily-styled quasi-Elizabethan dialogue that's really quite delightful. It's an odd juxtaposition, kind of like Milch's uses of profanity in Deadwood. It raises the show above its own lurid presentation. It is everything the old HBO series Rome tried to be and failed.
Luck - Oh yeah, baby. The master of awesome dialogue seems to be in good form. It's still early, but I think The Milch is going to nail this one. Like all his work, it's clearly going to be a slow build. Probably multiple episodes before you even have a full grip on the universe. But it's going to be beautiful. Watching Milch after watching any other show is like hearing Brahms after leaving a loud nightclub. It's already been picked up for a second seaosn. Did I mention that I'm reading all about the art and science of gambling on thoroughbreds just so I can keep up?
30 Rock - On the downside we have this show. It's pretty abd. I've only seen a few episodes, mostly because the reruns come on right after Big Bang Theory, and I am occasionally too slothful to reach for the remote. The acting is atrocious. The comedy completely unfunny. From what I've seen it's a bad show with bad ratings yet it creates all kinds of journalistic buzz, apparently because of the numerous US Magazine-level celebrities who play roles. In that sense it bears a strong similarity to Jersey Shore. This is what I mean when I say I hate paying for things I don't watch.
That's not to say Charter is a lock for a re-up. They have turned out to be at least as expensive as Comcast, for less content. I may have to check out DirectTV, although I have heard conflicting stories about its reliability. The one I would really like to try is FIOS from Verizon, but since they currently only cover about 15% of the country the chances of them reaching Dexter, MI in the next year are approximately zero.
Anyway, here's my latest tube impressions. Evidently, I continue to be attracted to shows that with stand-out dialogue.
Justified - the plots are wonderfully twisty, if somewhat contrived, and border on black comedy. Which is to say it aptly channels the soul of Elmore Leonard. But what I really love is the dry drawly wordplay. It virtually musical. Any conversation between the Timothy Olyphant and Walter Goggins is worth rewatching. They really catch the wily country boy rhythms.
Spartacus: Blood and Sand - This series, completed and replaced by the just beginning Spartcus: Vengence, is pretty much the ultimate in exploitation of sex and gore in the service of attracting attention. But a funny thing happened on the way to the orgy. They managed to create some excellent and affecting stories and characters, all couched in a heavily-styled quasi-Elizabethan dialogue that's really quite delightful. It's an odd juxtaposition, kind of like Milch's uses of profanity in Deadwood. It raises the show above its own lurid presentation. It is everything the old HBO series Rome tried to be and failed.
Luck - Oh yeah, baby. The master of awesome dialogue seems to be in good form. It's still early, but I think The Milch is going to nail this one. Like all his work, it's clearly going to be a slow build. Probably multiple episodes before you even have a full grip on the universe. But it's going to be beautiful. Watching Milch after watching any other show is like hearing Brahms after leaving a loud nightclub. It's already been picked up for a second seaosn. Did I mention that I'm reading all about the art and science of gambling on thoroughbreds just so I can keep up?
30 Rock - On the downside we have this show. It's pretty abd. I've only seen a few episodes, mostly because the reruns come on right after Big Bang Theory, and I am occasionally too slothful to reach for the remote. The acting is atrocious. The comedy completely unfunny. From what I've seen it's a bad show with bad ratings yet it creates all kinds of journalistic buzz, apparently because of the numerous US Magazine-level celebrities who play roles. In that sense it bears a strong similarity to Jersey Shore. This is what I mean when I say I hate paying for things I don't watch.
Friday, January 06, 2012
The Month That Was - December 2011
The Month That Was - December 2011: Thank you for your patience. I really needed the break last month. Now back to normal.
So it's 2012. The end of the line for the human race. Appropriately, I spent New Year's Eve in a Jazz Club on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, then stayed through to see Michigan's improbable win in The Sugar Bowl. But that was January, so it'll have to wait until next month.
December involved buying some furniture, food poisoning, reconnecting with a dear friend who was back for a periodic visit, being fiendishly busy at my day job, and getting addicted to re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Notice what is not in that list: writing. That will be addressed promptly.
[Books] Book Look: The Elementary Particles
[Books] Book Look: 1Q84
[Travel] Long Gone
[Rant] It's Happening Again
[TV] Luck
So it's 2012. The end of the line for the human race. Appropriately, I spent New Year's Eve in a Jazz Club on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, then stayed through to see Michigan's improbable win in The Sugar Bowl. But that was January, so it'll have to wait until next month.
December involved buying some furniture, food poisoning, reconnecting with a dear friend who was back for a periodic visit, being fiendishly busy at my day job, and getting addicted to re-runs of The Big Bang Theory. Notice what is not in that list: writing. That will be addressed promptly.
[Books] Book Look: The Elementary Particles
[Books] Book Look: 1Q84
[Travel] Long Gone
[Rant] It's Happening Again
[TV] Luck
[Books] Book Look: The Elementary Particles
Book Look: The Elementary Particles, by Michel Houellebecq: This is the second Houellebecq novel I've read and, like the previous, it made me want to shower afterword. Houellebecq's primary theme is that contemporary culture hammers into us the commoditization of sex resulting in the complete denigration of any sort of real emotional intimacy. This is essentially an elevation of the crudest instincts of humanity. It began with moral relativism that ascended in the 1960s and was fueled primarily by feminism and consumerism. The result is a broken and hopeless existence where a handful of beautiful people satisfy themselves with empty thrills while the majority are resigned to frustration and failure.
In The Elementary Particles we see these played out by two half-brothers. Born into the self-obsessed hedonism of the ‘60s, they become symbols of two sides of the societal malaise. As children, one lucks into the care of a somewhat neglectful, but caring aunt of a previous generation, and becomes a successful scientist, though anhedonic; uninterested in sex and unable to pursue love. The other is an ugly awkward child who suffers at the hands of bullies and from adolescence through adulthood, lives in a miasma of prurient sexual frustration. Late in their lives they both have fleeting opportunities at true love, but death takes their mates rather quickly (that's romance for you). In the end the nihilist goes insane and the scientist, well, he cures the world of its malaise, but not as you might think. No love-conquers-all ending here. He fixes things by enabling humanity to evolve into a new species, a species without ego or individuality.
Well. I am not unsympathetic to his ideas. It's certainly hard to argue with the notion that empty thrills are what we are sold from day one (e.g. anything Kardashian). And if you of the mind that feminism's ultimate triumph is Sex and The City then it's hard not to point a finger at it. On the other hand it is easy to mistake a fashion or trend line for the inevitable future. While there is validity to Holuellebecq's cultural critiques, sometimes a problem is just a problem to be solved, not a death sentence. And it's especially easy to mistake personal disappointments for societal evils. While it's undeniable that the form and function of personal relationships has changed we can't reliably state that emotional fulfillment was greater in the past, can we? If so, how?
Whatever you may think about his ideas, you cannot deny they are far outside the progressive (small p) mainstream that permeates virtually every breath we take. That alone makes The Elementary Particles a worthwhile creation. We like to think we are open minded and always pushing the boundaries of our beliefs. Becasue of that, we tend to think anything that we approve of must must have that quality, when in fact, it's thoughts that run coun ter to our dogma that push boundries. We praise as daring those who push the presentation of sex and violence to extreme limits without consequence (I'm looking at you HBO). We call dramatists courageous when they elevate characters who share our values of cultural sensitivity and compassion while damning those who don't (I'm looking at you Aaron Sorkin). Wouldn't it take more courage to think the opposite? Critics and pundits have accused Houellebecq of every societal sin in the book -- misogyny, racism, homophobia…hell, just call it a comprehensive misanthropy. He is anti-democratic, anti-capitalist, even anti-individual to some extent. It seems to me there is a huge social risk in airing such opinions and being generally reviled, and that it takes more courage to go through life like that than it does collecting Emmys.
Also, Houellebecq takes love more seriously than any other artist I know of.
So should you read The Elementary Particles? Probably not. It is beautifully written. The clarity and confidence of the prose is striking even in translation (from the original French) despite Houellebecq's occasional bouts of exposition. Then there are long stretches of nothing but descriptions of (intentionally) joyless non-erotic sex. Top that with the repellent ideas. So no, I can't really recommend it for most people. For serious and committed readers only.
In The Elementary Particles we see these played out by two half-brothers. Born into the self-obsessed hedonism of the ‘60s, they become symbols of two sides of the societal malaise. As children, one lucks into the care of a somewhat neglectful, but caring aunt of a previous generation, and becomes a successful scientist, though anhedonic; uninterested in sex and unable to pursue love. The other is an ugly awkward child who suffers at the hands of bullies and from adolescence through adulthood, lives in a miasma of prurient sexual frustration. Late in their lives they both have fleeting opportunities at true love, but death takes their mates rather quickly (that's romance for you). In the end the nihilist goes insane and the scientist, well, he cures the world of its malaise, but not as you might think. No love-conquers-all ending here. He fixes things by enabling humanity to evolve into a new species, a species without ego or individuality.
Well. I am not unsympathetic to his ideas. It's certainly hard to argue with the notion that empty thrills are what we are sold from day one (e.g. anything Kardashian). And if you of the mind that feminism's ultimate triumph is Sex and The City then it's hard not to point a finger at it. On the other hand it is easy to mistake a fashion or trend line for the inevitable future. While there is validity to Holuellebecq's cultural critiques, sometimes a problem is just a problem to be solved, not a death sentence. And it's especially easy to mistake personal disappointments for societal evils. While it's undeniable that the form and function of personal relationships has changed we can't reliably state that emotional fulfillment was greater in the past, can we? If so, how?
Whatever you may think about his ideas, you cannot deny they are far outside the progressive (small p) mainstream that permeates virtually every breath we take. That alone makes The Elementary Particles a worthwhile creation. We like to think we are open minded and always pushing the boundaries of our beliefs. Becasue of that, we tend to think anything that we approve of must must have that quality, when in fact, it's thoughts that run coun ter to our dogma that push boundries. We praise as daring those who push the presentation of sex and violence to extreme limits without consequence (I'm looking at you HBO). We call dramatists courageous when they elevate characters who share our values of cultural sensitivity and compassion while damning those who don't (I'm looking at you Aaron Sorkin). Wouldn't it take more courage to think the opposite? Critics and pundits have accused Houellebecq of every societal sin in the book -- misogyny, racism, homophobia…hell, just call it a comprehensive misanthropy. He is anti-democratic, anti-capitalist, even anti-individual to some extent. It seems to me there is a huge social risk in airing such opinions and being generally reviled, and that it takes more courage to go through life like that than it does collecting Emmys.
Also, Houellebecq takes love more seriously than any other artist I know of.
So should you read The Elementary Particles? Probably not. It is beautifully written. The clarity and confidence of the prose is striking even in translation (from the original French) despite Houellebecq's occasional bouts of exposition. Then there are long stretches of nothing but descriptions of (intentionally) joyless non-erotic sex. Top that with the repellent ideas. So no, I can't really recommend it for most people. For serious and committed readers only.
[Books] Book Look: 1Q84
Book Look: 1Q84, by Haruki Murakami: Well, 900-ish pages on and I still don't know why I like Murakami but I do. His stories are riddled with long but incomplete explanations (one character even gives voice to this: "If you can't understand it without an explanation, you can't understand it with one." Uh, what?) He is given to occasional literary name dropping. He uses entire chapters to say what could be said in a few paragraphs. He is relentlessly sentimental. And, as has been commented on in many quarters, his prose style feels out of sync. English speakers can pass this off as an effect of translation, but native Japanese speakers often claim that his original prose reads like English that has been translated into Japanese. Really, what is the attraction? If the mystery of Hemmingway was how he expressed such complicated emotions from such simple language, perhaps the mystery of Murakami is that he can create such a vibrant, engaging, affecting story when he seems to just be pulling stuff out of his butt. But I did like this book. It was a good story and it held my interest for the entire 900 pages, even when I was squinting at the style with suspicion.
The core of 1Q84 is a dead simple love story. Our first protagonist is Aomame, a full-time fitness instructor and part-time assassin. She only kills bad guys who are known perpetrators of violence against women, doing so at the behest of a wealthy widow. Our second protagonist is Tengo, full-time a math teacher at a "cram school" and aspiring novelist who gets involved in a scheme to secretly re-write a strangely compelling novel by an unearthly seventeen year old girl.
The protagonists have been, both directly and indirectly, connected since childhood. Tengo's father was a bill collector who used to force Tengo to accompany him every weekend as he made his rounds, kids being more difficult to refuse. Similarly, Aomame's parents were devout evangelical Christians and Aomame was forced to participate fully in the proselytizing. The result of this was an emotional caution and a sense of isolation that vectored them off into what might be considered somewhat cold and lonely lives as young adults.
The direct connection is that they were peers in elementary school and as 10 year olds they shared a bonding experience. A brief moment wherein they clasped hands -- a moment so charged with meaning that not only did they never forget its visceral power, it convinced both children that each was the only one the other could ever love -- a conviction that they continued to hold firm into adulthood despite not having seen or heard of each other for twenty years. You see what I mean about Murakami's sentimentality.
The bulk of the pages are filled with pure Phillip K. Dickery: conspiracies, hidden dangers, and malleable reality -- although from a fantastic angle instead of scientific. There are strange little people who build cocoons out the air and a bizarre and vengeful religious cult that worships them. There are assassins and shady operatives. Spirits of the dead; psychic connections; a virgin pregnancy -- just a gumbo of unreality.
Yet through it all there is the simple, rather sweet story of Aomame and Tengo coming to terms with their deeply stifling upbringings and clinging to that one moment of childhood emotional connection they found in each other. It is, in a way, an epic love story.
Should you read 1Q84. I can't imagine why not. It is dauntingly long, though. (In Japan it was released as a three novel series, so you can think of it as committing to a three novel series.) In an interview, Murakami stated that 1Q84 is essentially an extended version of the short story On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning he wrote from the sohrt story collection The Elephant Vanishes. Since it's just a few hundred words, it might be a good place to start.
The core of 1Q84 is a dead simple love story. Our first protagonist is Aomame, a full-time fitness instructor and part-time assassin. She only kills bad guys who are known perpetrators of violence against women, doing so at the behest of a wealthy widow. Our second protagonist is Tengo, full-time a math teacher at a "cram school" and aspiring novelist who gets involved in a scheme to secretly re-write a strangely compelling novel by an unearthly seventeen year old girl.
The protagonists have been, both directly and indirectly, connected since childhood. Tengo's father was a bill collector who used to force Tengo to accompany him every weekend as he made his rounds, kids being more difficult to refuse. Similarly, Aomame's parents were devout evangelical Christians and Aomame was forced to participate fully in the proselytizing. The result of this was an emotional caution and a sense of isolation that vectored them off into what might be considered somewhat cold and lonely lives as young adults.
The direct connection is that they were peers in elementary school and as 10 year olds they shared a bonding experience. A brief moment wherein they clasped hands -- a moment so charged with meaning that not only did they never forget its visceral power, it convinced both children that each was the only one the other could ever love -- a conviction that they continued to hold firm into adulthood despite not having seen or heard of each other for twenty years. You see what I mean about Murakami's sentimentality.
The bulk of the pages are filled with pure Phillip K. Dickery: conspiracies, hidden dangers, and malleable reality -- although from a fantastic angle instead of scientific. There are strange little people who build cocoons out the air and a bizarre and vengeful religious cult that worships them. There are assassins and shady operatives. Spirits of the dead; psychic connections; a virgin pregnancy -- just a gumbo of unreality.
Yet through it all there is the simple, rather sweet story of Aomame and Tengo coming to terms with their deeply stifling upbringings and clinging to that one moment of childhood emotional connection they found in each other. It is, in a way, an epic love story.
Should you read 1Q84. I can't imagine why not. It is dauntingly long, though. (In Japan it was released as a three novel series, so you can think of it as committing to a three novel series.) In an interview, Murakami stated that 1Q84 is essentially an extended version of the short story On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning he wrote from the sohrt story collection The Elephant Vanishes. Since it's just a few hundred words, it might be a good place to start.
[Travel] Long Gone
Long Gone: Nearly two full weeks is a long time for me to be away. If I hadn't had help, my plants would have died. I even had to have my mail stopped. Usually I‘m not gone long enough to have to worry about such details, but this was my one extended trip this year (thank you house) so I made the most of it. An extended road trip through the Southwest to destinations old and new, I was able to renew my acquaintance with the seemingly interminable, sparsely trafficked roads through Arizona and the Mojave.
In my travels I have discovered there are two things that exert a powerful visceral pull on me; simple acts that I can perform quietly and peacefully for long stretches. One is floating and bobbing in the waves of a warm ocean (generally the Florida Atlantic, but also The Gulf, or Hawaii). The other is cruising steadily along the western two-lanes highways, virtually no other cars (off season), just the mountain backdrop and the occasional settlement off in the foothills. The road seems to go through the mountains and into the sky. Until I started visiting the West, I never understood how big the world is.
Pseudo poetic blather aside, this trip fell into the category of the later, and can be neatly divided into four parts.
The Grand Canyon
I'm probably one of the few people in the world who could be disappointed in the Grand Canyon. Funny, in all the years I've been travelling in and around Las Vegas, I had never made the four hour trip to the biggest name attraction in the country. But I must say I feel justified. I have thrice been to Zion and Bryce Canyon. I have been to Death Valley. I have been to Carlsbad Caverns. I have been to Canyonlands, Arches, and Mesa Verde. I have to feel as though I was right in covering all those before the Grand Canyon. The Canyon is certainly Grand. The scope is enormous, but that's part of the problem. The Grand Canyon is deeply impersonal. It is almost as if it is a place as opposed to a thing, if that makes sense. It's a geographic area you happen to be in, not an activity you are involved with.
The park itself (at least the South Rim) is built around a long winding path along the rim of the canyon. Even off-season, it's heavily peopled. You can cover the entire rim path on foot which would probably take the better part of the day, or you can take the nice efficient shuttle bus to the key areas. The south rim park is filled with places to eat and shop and buy souvenirs -- most are open through the off season. There are also several lodges in the main village area. If you can snag room in one of these it's much preferable to staying outside the park in one of the numerous motels just outside.
But you should book early. I didn't and ended up in a Holiday Inn Express just outside the park. The internet connection didn't function and the front desk guys abdicated any responsibility just referring you to a third party to call and complain to. (More on hotel internet complaints later.) There is a decent breakfast buffet, but be ready to eat it standing up because they don't supply enough seating. The walls are thin. The hallways smell of some indiscernible form of cooked flesh. Really, a very bad hotel.
The lodges inside the park however, appear pretty nice, however. Most have comfy looking lobby areas, decent restaurants or lounges, and you get the convenience of easily walking or shuttling anywhere you'd like. It's the only way to go.
Of course there is more beyond the rim path; you can go hiking into the canyon. There are a number of trails including some that will take you all the way down to the Colorado River, where you can cross and go up to the North Rim. That, however, is backcountry camping -- bring a tent and provisions and etc. Day hiking consists of varying lengths of hikes down, followed by turning around and coming back up. I hit the most popular trail in the AM and hiked down and back up -- a few miles, round trip. The views were fine; a slightly different perspective from the rim, but it didn't really change my somewhat jaded view of the place. I might feel differently if I were to schedule some days here and actually make the full hike down to the river and back to the north rim. Perhaps that would provide more of a personal connection.
After lunch I settled in at the lounge in the El Tovar Lodge (highly recommended, would be my first choice were I to return), for beer and the Michigan-Nebraska game. An older couple wearing Stetsons had commandeered the juke box and were slow dancing to Patsy Cline. I had a burger that was cooked into submission served by a homespun bartender. You would think you were in any ol' western roadhouse, with no hint that just outside was a tourist mecca.
The remainder of the time I spent trying to get some good photos, which I couldn't. I found it virtually impossible to get any sense of the extreme height or depth. I‘m sure part of it is not understanding the lighting and part of it is my mediocre photography skills, but I would take shots of imposing cliffs and sites with visual arresting contrasts and everything just came out bland. Perhaps unjustly, I again blame the nature of Grand Canyon itself. It is not like visiting an attraction, it's just too big.
All that said, I don't want to discourage you from visiting. You will have a good time, especially if you have kids. The place is almost Disney-like in its superior infrastructure. And if you can plan ahead and get a lodge in the park and maybe even arrange for an overnight camping trip in the depth of the canyon, then your impression might be vastly different from mine.
As for me, other things equal, I could recommend you something you'd better.
Lake Powell/Antelope Canyon
I really didn't know what to expect from the area around Page, Arizona. A few years back I had reached a point a little way east of here -- Monument Valley in Utah -- when I was exploring out of Moab, so I expected some red rock action, and got it, but beyond that everything was a surprise. Page is a small vacationy town on the banks of Lake Powell. Lake Powell is a big man-made lake that was created by the Glen Canyon Dam. As such you get the standard lake like activities such as boating and fishing, but you get them amidst towering canyon walls.
My first order of business, however, was to go underground. That's where the most visually striking feature of the area is, namely Antelope Canyon. Antelope Canyon is what's called a "slot canyon." Aptly named since you access it by sliding down through what literally looks like a slot in the earth. The canyon is formed by flash floods that plunge beneath the surface, carve out space, and smooth the wall surface into round, soft curves, looking like a red rock pop art animation.
There are upper and lower Antelope Canyons. Both are Navaho owned and operated, but they appear to be run by different families. The Upper one is more popular and any number of tours can be arranged in Page or presumably you can just show up and wait to join a tour, but the only way to see it is to fork some cash over for a tour.
I chose to visit the Lower Canyon because I heard you could pay admission to the park directly then wander about on your own. That didn't appear to be the case. You don't need to hook up with a formal tour, but you do need to hire a guide (they are waiting there for you). I suspect what actually happens is that when it gets busy rather than have everyone get a specific guide they station them around the canyon and let you walk through on your own. Whatever the case, I had plenty of opportunity for photography, although I certainly didn't capture anything as striking as Wikipedia's photo.
It only takes about 45 minutes to cover the entire canyon; it's not strenuous at all, although there are a fair amount of stairs in the Lower canyon. Whichever you choose, I can't recommend it highly enough, truly one of the most arrestingly beautiful natural sights I have seen.
I spent my one full day in Page exploring the area. Page itself is a nice small town that presumably swells up in season with multitudes of road tripping tourists; I would guess mostly families touring the West, and boaters and river runners. There are more than a few value hotels, chains or otherwise, and a handful of standard casual dining restaurants and pubs. The town is literally on the edge of the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell and there is a terrific viewing area where you can watch the Colorado flow through the canyon hundreds of feet below.
Page is also the primary south base for Glen Canyon National Recreation Area which follows Colorado river upstream all the way up to Canyonlands National Park, near my old buddy, Moab, UT. For the most part, the points of natural interest in the area are only accessible by boat, and a leisurely trip up the river to Hite, UT would be a sweet trip. But one spot accessible to autos is Lee's Ferry.
Lee's Ferry itself is a point of minor interest. There are some interesting rock formations on the way there. There are the remnants of some historic buildings. There is a boat launch. There is no longer an actual ferry. Lee's actual Ferry gave up the ghost decades ago when bridges were built, but until then, it was a key transportation choke point where one could cross the Colorado river. Otherwise anyone wanting to get to Southern California and Nevada was required to loop up almost to Wyoming.
What Lee's Ferry does have is a truly sweet and steep hiking trail. You access Spencer's Trail by walking a short way along the river from the boat launch. Then you go up. It's well maintained and marked. About 4.5 miles round trip, with an elevation gain of 1700 feet. Quite steep for the casual hiker. Great for the heart, let me tell you. Sadly, as happens all too often, I didn't make the top. I made it about half way up when I crossed paths with a downhill hiker. We chatted briefly. He told me I was about half way up and that it got steeper from here. That's cool, I can handle it, I replied. Then he pointed out the weather. Clouds were gathering, the wind was freshening.
If youth makes you stupid, age makes you scared. I started to plow ahead but then I thought better of it and turned back. Were I younger, I probably would have plowing ahead…and subsequently been caught in a mud slide or something. The rain hit with conviction just before I got back to my car. So chalk up another half-lived experience. Also chalk up another reason to go back to Page. Great place. Next time I'll rent a boat a see the river canyons.
Vegas (as if you didn't know…)
To get this out of the way, I lost a trivial amount of money on my football betting. You see, I have a system; a system that has never done worse break even for any given week. I have probably played it 20 times over the past few years and even when I don't win I have never done worse that break even. (Actually that's not true, I have been down the vig in a few of those weeks, but that's practical rather than a predictive failure.)
So why am I not rich? Well, because I am not such an idiot to believe there is any such thing as a reliable system, although I have been given pause by my consistent successes, or at least non-failures. So I don't bet enough to cause me any serious financial issues if I lose. I am not a degenerate, just a gambler.
Also, I am not disciplined enough to stick to the system. I'll throw the odd bet on this or that, usually lose, and end up down slightly -- which is what happened this time. My systems bets broke me even, but I took a flyer on a Thanksgiving Day parlay and that was the total of my losses. La dee da.
I stayed at Paris. Got a cheap rate for a cheap (but serviceable) room, which was fine because I don't hang out in my room, but I think I will splurge more in the future -- Aria or Cosmopolitan probably. Most people go to Vegas for the excitement, I find more and more it is a sort of comfort for me. I have made uncountable trips there going back to the boom years and lately it seems to have struck a fine balance between my expectations and new experiences.
My routine is to troll the sportsbooks to find the best odds. Play some low stakes poker. Eat the Ravioli Di Stracotto at Carnevino. Get a straight razor shave. Torture myself in the hot tub/cold plunge combo at Qua in Caesars. Besides that, just investigate anything new. This year I discovered the Ceviche at Julian Serrano in Aria -- so moist and tender it's almost like eating passion fruit. I also visited the bar on the 23rd floor of the Mandarin Oriental, which is my new favorite bar in Vegas. Music not too loud and obnoxious. Comfy chairs. And astounding strip views. It's like a classy Manhattan bar transplanted to Vegas.
That's about perfect. That's what I want and expect from my Vegas Thanksgiving.
I did try one kitschy thing. I drove north along Las Vegas Blvd. and tried to visit the shop from the Pawn Stars TV show. There was a line out the door and down the street just to get in and see the place. OK, I realize it's famous for the TV show, but it's still just a pawn shop -- sheesh. I turned around and left.
Palm Springs (and parts nearby)
Speaking of perfect, there is Palm Springs.
I suppose there are a number of ways to reach Palm Springs from Vegas, but I strongly recommend barreling through the Mojave. Duck off I-15 and the shortcut south through the Mojave National Preserve will provide you with deserted roads (at least on the Friday after Thanksgiving) through endless groves of Joshua trees. Dirt roads and trails lead off in every direction from the main road making this an off-roaders paradise. The right time of year you can't help but spot tarantulas scurrying across the pavement in search of love. It is starkly beautiful, but plainly unforgiving. You'll want a reliable car and full tank of gas and enough water to last a while because this is not a good place at all to be stranded.
Crossing the Mojave from the north, you'll only encounter two settlements. The first is Cima, which is generally described as a ghost town, although there are obvious signs of life. There appears to be a function general store of some sort (closed when I passed) with a lonely cow fenced in behind it. Apart from that there are some trashed out cars. It would be a good place for a bunch of teens to get lost and hunted by the toothless local desert rats.
The second settlement is Kelso Depot, which also serves as the local tourist hub and the formal welcome center. Here there are businesses and historical exhibits and the usual sorts of services you would find from the national park service. It's a very cool place to hang for a few. You can get some food and water and unclench from the subtle anxiety of being the middle of the pitiless Mojave.
Leaving the Mojave Preserve there is a still a long run south, past sparse, hard-scrabble settlements until you eventually hit Twentynine Palms, the first town that actually looks like a town. From here you head west as the little towns become increasing more suburban looking. Eventually the road turns south again and you come to pass an enormous wind farm, with hundreds huge white propellers dominating the horizon, and from there into Palm Springs proper. The transition from desert grunge to pristine cultivation could not be more pronounced.
When I say Palm Spring is perfect, I mean it is precisely what you expect it to be. Mid-century modern homes with flawlessly manicured landscaping. Wide, palm-lined streets. Beautiful people on promenade along Palm Canyon Drive, leading their pocket sized dogs, sipping wine in the open air restaurants. One thing is clear, however: they are all delighted to be in Palm Springs. As well they should be. It is eighty degrees and sunny, the air is clear and dry, and you probably have access to a pool, because if there is a perfect place to have access to a pool, it is Palm Springs.
Apart from lounging by the pool and promenading around with your toy breed, what does one do in Palm Springs? Well, golf is big, but I don't golf. In town, I suppose the Art Museum is something of popular attraction. It is not big, but it's open and invitingly designed. It is devoted to modern and contemporary art and while there are a few interesting pieces, I found the vast majority of the works to have a narcissistic feel. Much of the work is in-your-face mixed media giving the sense that the artists are crying "Look at me! I'm being symbolic! Or ironic! Or both! My art is important and daring! It comments on the world! Drop my name and you will gain instant status!" In other words it's the sort of art that, when mixed with wine and cheese, will bring people who promenade with their toy dogs to a reception.
I tease the Palm Springs nobility. If leaving the old Impeach Bush bumper sticker on your Prius and paying ten times the annual average wage of Zambia to feed organic food to your chihuahua keeps Palm Springs the way it is, then you have my full support. Honestly. You live in a truly awesome place.
And I am quite happy to have all the pool time I can get. My pool, in this case, was the fine one at the Hilton. The Hilton here is pretty nice on the surface, but there are little angles that bear closer scrutiny. First, you have to be wary of the free breakfast buffet. They have a full buffet, but it's only free if you confine yourself to a continental breakfast. If want to avail yourself of the full selection of tasties, they will credit you for the equivalent continental price, which effectively gets you a top notch buffet for about $10. A fair deal, but they could do a better job of managing expectations.
{Rant alert! Skip this section if you have no interest in my whining.}
The other problematic issue was that for all four nights I stayed, the wi-fi never worked. I honestly fail to understand why they can have reliably functioning wi-fi at McDonalds or Starbucks, but hotels can't seem to get this simple thing right. It may be because they have some notion that they should control access to it so they can charge for it in some circumstances, thus complicating the system and causing it to be unreliable. That's completely fat-headed. Throttle bandwidth if you must, but don't limit access. Really, a traveler can't get along with at least occasional web access. Why continue to treat it like a luxury? But the worst aspect of this is that when the wi-fi is not working, no one seems to know what to do.
I mentioned above how at the Holiday Inn they just pass you the number of a third party who, rather send someone out to address the problem, will do what is referred to as "troubleshooting" where they have you reboot and do all kinds of things to convince you that you are doing something wrong. No, I'm not doing anything wrong. It's 2011, connecting to wi-fi is a completely brain dead activity for a modern computer or phone. Clue for hoteliers everywhere: if someone is not able to connect to wi-fi, 99% of the time the problem is your wi-fi. No amount of "troubleshooting" with the user is going to sort it out.
At the Hilton they at least acknowledged the problem, but as near as I could tell, nobody took any action to correct it for four nights running. I ended up going to a nearby coffee shop to connect. Whoever is responsible for attention to that particular detail at the Hilton should be very ashamed. If the a/c didn't work or if the TV was out, action would have been taken immediately. Why is wi-fi different?
Attention hoteliers: If, for whatever reason you are unable to match McDonald's for quality of service, here's a procedure you can follow when someone complains about wi-fi being down:
The real top-notch five-star service properties would even take a more active approach by verifying the connection is available across the property in the morning before everyone is awake and late afternoon before any chance of repair is lost. Just part of the MOD's standard daily procedure. That is the sort of behavior that is the mark of a truly superior hotel.
But nobody listens.
{Here endeth the rant.}
OK. That felt good. On with the story.
For me, apart from the blindingly perfect winter weather, the coolest thing in Pam Springs is the hiking. Indian Canyons [Caution: auto-play maudlin Indian peace pipe music which cannot be turned off!], not ten minutes from where I was staying, has the goods. You simply drive up the long, winding South Palm Canyon Drive, or if you are smarter than me, you rent a bike and enjoy the day even more, which terminates in the Indian Canyons Park.
Indian Canyons appears to be part of the homeland of the Agua Caliente tribe, as far as I can tell, although it is never referred to as a reservation. It is a semi-mountainous region crisscrossed with many miles of hiking trails. For the most part these trails wind through desert scenery but at its core along the main trail you get to see why Palm Springs came into existence. It is, literally, a desert oasis; just like you would picture an oasis -- lush greenery, with burbling springs and soaring fan palms. There's not much of it -- probably not more than a square mile along the stream bed, but it's an entire ecosystem and a startling contrast to the arid scrub surrounding it.
Stop at the visitor center for a map, and take a moment to check out the swarms of buzzy little hummingbirds hovering and darting around the hanging feeders. From there hike the main route along the river for a while to appreciate the oasis vibe, then turn off on to the Victor Trail which takes you on a moderate ascent to an overlook that will give you the full view of the park and the city beyond it. Stop at the top. Appreciate.
My trip was winding down and as I try to do with each trip out west, I wanted to make sure I saw new sights and logged new experiences. In that vein this trip was a gem, but that's not to say there wasn't been a clunker or two. One side trip I chalked up that is certainly not for everyone is about 30 miles southeast of Palm Springs: The Salton Sea.
What is the Salton Sea? Here's the official description:
When I say it's nasty, let me explain. The Salton Sea is fed by some small rivers and creeks and a fair proportion of agricultural runoff from the surrounding farms and groves. The only way water exits the Sea is by evaporation. So assorted silt and chemicals trickle in and get concentrated as the water evaporates. As a result, the water is saltier than the Pacific Ocean.
Many years ago it was regularly stocked with various fish in an effort to attract recreational business. In time all the fish species, except Tilapia, died off. So Tilapia own the place and they swim around fat and happy for the bulk of their lives, only threatened by the occasional pelican or fisherman, then they die of old age and there is nowhere for the body to go, so they just wash up on shore. There are stretches of shoreline that are just covered in dead Tilapia husks. The smell will hit before the sight.
There are a few little towns around the Sea which sprang up back in the ‘50s and ‘60s when the plan was to make the place a recreational mecca. Now they seem to be mostly ghost towns. Or more properly, ghost trailer parks.
But despite all that, people still come here. There are fairly active campgrounds and boaters happily swarm the waters. Fishermen have been known to catch hundreds of Tilapia in a single day, but I don't think I would eat them. Considering all the watersports going on, I suppose actually entering the water would not burn your skin off. In fact, the salinity is so high it's probably difficult to actually swim; you are more likely skimming over the top. It's also a bird watchers paradise as it's a key stop off for many rare species.
Still, as a tourist destination, I'd give it a miss or just devote an hour to a brief stop at the visitors center and nearby dead fish covered shore to get the complete experience.
And that was that. All that was left was a leisurely day of driving back to Vegas, dropping off the car, collecting on my winning bets, and hopping my red-eye back home. Sadly at some point in those activities I snagged a nasty case of food poisoning and spent the next three days is agony, but it didn't ruin the trip for me. I'd do it all again. And maybe I will next year.
In my travels I have discovered there are two things that exert a powerful visceral pull on me; simple acts that I can perform quietly and peacefully for long stretches. One is floating and bobbing in the waves of a warm ocean (generally the Florida Atlantic, but also The Gulf, or Hawaii). The other is cruising steadily along the western two-lanes highways, virtually no other cars (off season), just the mountain backdrop and the occasional settlement off in the foothills. The road seems to go through the mountains and into the sky. Until I started visiting the West, I never understood how big the world is.
Pseudo poetic blather aside, this trip fell into the category of the later, and can be neatly divided into four parts.
The Grand Canyon
I'm probably one of the few people in the world who could be disappointed in the Grand Canyon. Funny, in all the years I've been travelling in and around Las Vegas, I had never made the four hour trip to the biggest name attraction in the country. But I must say I feel justified. I have thrice been to Zion and Bryce Canyon. I have been to Death Valley. I have been to Carlsbad Caverns. I have been to Canyonlands, Arches, and Mesa Verde. I have to feel as though I was right in covering all those before the Grand Canyon. The Canyon is certainly Grand. The scope is enormous, but that's part of the problem. The Grand Canyon is deeply impersonal. It is almost as if it is a place as opposed to a thing, if that makes sense. It's a geographic area you happen to be in, not an activity you are involved with.
The park itself (at least the South Rim) is built around a long winding path along the rim of the canyon. Even off-season, it's heavily peopled. You can cover the entire rim path on foot which would probably take the better part of the day, or you can take the nice efficient shuttle bus to the key areas. The south rim park is filled with places to eat and shop and buy souvenirs -- most are open through the off season. There are also several lodges in the main village area. If you can snag room in one of these it's much preferable to staying outside the park in one of the numerous motels just outside.
But you should book early. I didn't and ended up in a Holiday Inn Express just outside the park. The internet connection didn't function and the front desk guys abdicated any responsibility just referring you to a third party to call and complain to. (More on hotel internet complaints later.) There is a decent breakfast buffet, but be ready to eat it standing up because they don't supply enough seating. The walls are thin. The hallways smell of some indiscernible form of cooked flesh. Really, a very bad hotel.
The lodges inside the park however, appear pretty nice, however. Most have comfy looking lobby areas, decent restaurants or lounges, and you get the convenience of easily walking or shuttling anywhere you'd like. It's the only way to go.
Of course there is more beyond the rim path; you can go hiking into the canyon. There are a number of trails including some that will take you all the way down to the Colorado River, where you can cross and go up to the North Rim. That, however, is backcountry camping -- bring a tent and provisions and etc. Day hiking consists of varying lengths of hikes down, followed by turning around and coming back up. I hit the most popular trail in the AM and hiked down and back up -- a few miles, round trip. The views were fine; a slightly different perspective from the rim, but it didn't really change my somewhat jaded view of the place. I might feel differently if I were to schedule some days here and actually make the full hike down to the river and back to the north rim. Perhaps that would provide more of a personal connection.
After lunch I settled in at the lounge in the El Tovar Lodge (highly recommended, would be my first choice were I to return), for beer and the Michigan-Nebraska game. An older couple wearing Stetsons had commandeered the juke box and were slow dancing to Patsy Cline. I had a burger that was cooked into submission served by a homespun bartender. You would think you were in any ol' western roadhouse, with no hint that just outside was a tourist mecca.
The remainder of the time I spent trying to get some good photos, which I couldn't. I found it virtually impossible to get any sense of the extreme height or depth. I‘m sure part of it is not understanding the lighting and part of it is my mediocre photography skills, but I would take shots of imposing cliffs and sites with visual arresting contrasts and everything just came out bland. Perhaps unjustly, I again blame the nature of Grand Canyon itself. It is not like visiting an attraction, it's just too big.
All that said, I don't want to discourage you from visiting. You will have a good time, especially if you have kids. The place is almost Disney-like in its superior infrastructure. And if you can plan ahead and get a lodge in the park and maybe even arrange for an overnight camping trip in the depth of the canyon, then your impression might be vastly different from mine.
As for me, other things equal, I could recommend you something you'd better.
Lake Powell/Antelope Canyon
I really didn't know what to expect from the area around Page, Arizona. A few years back I had reached a point a little way east of here -- Monument Valley in Utah -- when I was exploring out of Moab, so I expected some red rock action, and got it, but beyond that everything was a surprise. Page is a small vacationy town on the banks of Lake Powell. Lake Powell is a big man-made lake that was created by the Glen Canyon Dam. As such you get the standard lake like activities such as boating and fishing, but you get them amidst towering canyon walls.
My first order of business, however, was to go underground. That's where the most visually striking feature of the area is, namely Antelope Canyon. Antelope Canyon is what's called a "slot canyon." Aptly named since you access it by sliding down through what literally looks like a slot in the earth. The canyon is formed by flash floods that plunge beneath the surface, carve out space, and smooth the wall surface into round, soft curves, looking like a red rock pop art animation.
There are upper and lower Antelope Canyons. Both are Navaho owned and operated, but they appear to be run by different families. The Upper one is more popular and any number of tours can be arranged in Page or presumably you can just show up and wait to join a tour, but the only way to see it is to fork some cash over for a tour.
I chose to visit the Lower Canyon because I heard you could pay admission to the park directly then wander about on your own. That didn't appear to be the case. You don't need to hook up with a formal tour, but you do need to hire a guide (they are waiting there for you). I suspect what actually happens is that when it gets busy rather than have everyone get a specific guide they station them around the canyon and let you walk through on your own. Whatever the case, I had plenty of opportunity for photography, although I certainly didn't capture anything as striking as Wikipedia's photo.
It only takes about 45 minutes to cover the entire canyon; it's not strenuous at all, although there are a fair amount of stairs in the Lower canyon. Whichever you choose, I can't recommend it highly enough, truly one of the most arrestingly beautiful natural sights I have seen.
I spent my one full day in Page exploring the area. Page itself is a nice small town that presumably swells up in season with multitudes of road tripping tourists; I would guess mostly families touring the West, and boaters and river runners. There are more than a few value hotels, chains or otherwise, and a handful of standard casual dining restaurants and pubs. The town is literally on the edge of the Glen Canyon Dam and Lake Powell and there is a terrific viewing area where you can watch the Colorado flow through the canyon hundreds of feet below.
Page is also the primary south base for Glen Canyon National Recreation Area which follows Colorado river upstream all the way up to Canyonlands National Park, near my old buddy, Moab, UT. For the most part, the points of natural interest in the area are only accessible by boat, and a leisurely trip up the river to Hite, UT would be a sweet trip. But one spot accessible to autos is Lee's Ferry.
Lee's Ferry itself is a point of minor interest. There are some interesting rock formations on the way there. There are the remnants of some historic buildings. There is a boat launch. There is no longer an actual ferry. Lee's actual Ferry gave up the ghost decades ago when bridges were built, but until then, it was a key transportation choke point where one could cross the Colorado river. Otherwise anyone wanting to get to Southern California and Nevada was required to loop up almost to Wyoming.
What Lee's Ferry does have is a truly sweet and steep hiking trail. You access Spencer's Trail by walking a short way along the river from the boat launch. Then you go up. It's well maintained and marked. About 4.5 miles round trip, with an elevation gain of 1700 feet. Quite steep for the casual hiker. Great for the heart, let me tell you. Sadly, as happens all too often, I didn't make the top. I made it about half way up when I crossed paths with a downhill hiker. We chatted briefly. He told me I was about half way up and that it got steeper from here. That's cool, I can handle it, I replied. Then he pointed out the weather. Clouds were gathering, the wind was freshening.
If youth makes you stupid, age makes you scared. I started to plow ahead but then I thought better of it and turned back. Were I younger, I probably would have plowing ahead…and subsequently been caught in a mud slide or something. The rain hit with conviction just before I got back to my car. So chalk up another half-lived experience. Also chalk up another reason to go back to Page. Great place. Next time I'll rent a boat a see the river canyons.
Vegas (as if you didn't know…)
To get this out of the way, I lost a trivial amount of money on my football betting. You see, I have a system; a system that has never done worse break even for any given week. I have probably played it 20 times over the past few years and even when I don't win I have never done worse that break even. (Actually that's not true, I have been down the vig in a few of those weeks, but that's practical rather than a predictive failure.)
So why am I not rich? Well, because I am not such an idiot to believe there is any such thing as a reliable system, although I have been given pause by my consistent successes, or at least non-failures. So I don't bet enough to cause me any serious financial issues if I lose. I am not a degenerate, just a gambler.
Also, I am not disciplined enough to stick to the system. I'll throw the odd bet on this or that, usually lose, and end up down slightly -- which is what happened this time. My systems bets broke me even, but I took a flyer on a Thanksgiving Day parlay and that was the total of my losses. La dee da.
I stayed at Paris. Got a cheap rate for a cheap (but serviceable) room, which was fine because I don't hang out in my room, but I think I will splurge more in the future -- Aria or Cosmopolitan probably. Most people go to Vegas for the excitement, I find more and more it is a sort of comfort for me. I have made uncountable trips there going back to the boom years and lately it seems to have struck a fine balance between my expectations and new experiences.
My routine is to troll the sportsbooks to find the best odds. Play some low stakes poker. Eat the Ravioli Di Stracotto at Carnevino. Get a straight razor shave. Torture myself in the hot tub/cold plunge combo at Qua in Caesars. Besides that, just investigate anything new. This year I discovered the Ceviche at Julian Serrano in Aria -- so moist and tender it's almost like eating passion fruit. I also visited the bar on the 23rd floor of the Mandarin Oriental, which is my new favorite bar in Vegas. Music not too loud and obnoxious. Comfy chairs. And astounding strip views. It's like a classy Manhattan bar transplanted to Vegas.
That's about perfect. That's what I want and expect from my Vegas Thanksgiving.
I did try one kitschy thing. I drove north along Las Vegas Blvd. and tried to visit the shop from the Pawn Stars TV show. There was a line out the door and down the street just to get in and see the place. OK, I realize it's famous for the TV show, but it's still just a pawn shop -- sheesh. I turned around and left.
Palm Springs (and parts nearby)
Speaking of perfect, there is Palm Springs.
I suppose there are a number of ways to reach Palm Springs from Vegas, but I strongly recommend barreling through the Mojave. Duck off I-15 and the shortcut south through the Mojave National Preserve will provide you with deserted roads (at least on the Friday after Thanksgiving) through endless groves of Joshua trees. Dirt roads and trails lead off in every direction from the main road making this an off-roaders paradise. The right time of year you can't help but spot tarantulas scurrying across the pavement in search of love. It is starkly beautiful, but plainly unforgiving. You'll want a reliable car and full tank of gas and enough water to last a while because this is not a good place at all to be stranded.
Crossing the Mojave from the north, you'll only encounter two settlements. The first is Cima, which is generally described as a ghost town, although there are obvious signs of life. There appears to be a function general store of some sort (closed when I passed) with a lonely cow fenced in behind it. Apart from that there are some trashed out cars. It would be a good place for a bunch of teens to get lost and hunted by the toothless local desert rats.
The second settlement is Kelso Depot, which also serves as the local tourist hub and the formal welcome center. Here there are businesses and historical exhibits and the usual sorts of services you would find from the national park service. It's a very cool place to hang for a few. You can get some food and water and unclench from the subtle anxiety of being the middle of the pitiless Mojave.
Leaving the Mojave Preserve there is a still a long run south, past sparse, hard-scrabble settlements until you eventually hit Twentynine Palms, the first town that actually looks like a town. From here you head west as the little towns become increasing more suburban looking. Eventually the road turns south again and you come to pass an enormous wind farm, with hundreds huge white propellers dominating the horizon, and from there into Palm Springs proper. The transition from desert grunge to pristine cultivation could not be more pronounced.
When I say Palm Spring is perfect, I mean it is precisely what you expect it to be. Mid-century modern homes with flawlessly manicured landscaping. Wide, palm-lined streets. Beautiful people on promenade along Palm Canyon Drive, leading their pocket sized dogs, sipping wine in the open air restaurants. One thing is clear, however: they are all delighted to be in Palm Springs. As well they should be. It is eighty degrees and sunny, the air is clear and dry, and you probably have access to a pool, because if there is a perfect place to have access to a pool, it is Palm Springs.
Apart from lounging by the pool and promenading around with your toy breed, what does one do in Palm Springs? Well, golf is big, but I don't golf. In town, I suppose the Art Museum is something of popular attraction. It is not big, but it's open and invitingly designed. It is devoted to modern and contemporary art and while there are a few interesting pieces, I found the vast majority of the works to have a narcissistic feel. Much of the work is in-your-face mixed media giving the sense that the artists are crying "Look at me! I'm being symbolic! Or ironic! Or both! My art is important and daring! It comments on the world! Drop my name and you will gain instant status!" In other words it's the sort of art that, when mixed with wine and cheese, will bring people who promenade with their toy dogs to a reception.
I tease the Palm Springs nobility. If leaving the old Impeach Bush bumper sticker on your Prius and paying ten times the annual average wage of Zambia to feed organic food to your chihuahua keeps Palm Springs the way it is, then you have my full support. Honestly. You live in a truly awesome place.
And I am quite happy to have all the pool time I can get. My pool, in this case, was the fine one at the Hilton. The Hilton here is pretty nice on the surface, but there are little angles that bear closer scrutiny. First, you have to be wary of the free breakfast buffet. They have a full buffet, but it's only free if you confine yourself to a continental breakfast. If want to avail yourself of the full selection of tasties, they will credit you for the equivalent continental price, which effectively gets you a top notch buffet for about $10. A fair deal, but they could do a better job of managing expectations.
{Rant alert! Skip this section if you have no interest in my whining.}
The other problematic issue was that for all four nights I stayed, the wi-fi never worked. I honestly fail to understand why they can have reliably functioning wi-fi at McDonalds or Starbucks, but hotels can't seem to get this simple thing right. It may be because they have some notion that they should control access to it so they can charge for it in some circumstances, thus complicating the system and causing it to be unreliable. That's completely fat-headed. Throttle bandwidth if you must, but don't limit access. Really, a traveler can't get along with at least occasional web access. Why continue to treat it like a luxury? But the worst aspect of this is that when the wi-fi is not working, no one seems to know what to do.
I mentioned above how at the Holiday Inn they just pass you the number of a third party who, rather send someone out to address the problem, will do what is referred to as "troubleshooting" where they have you reboot and do all kinds of things to convince you that you are doing something wrong. No, I'm not doing anything wrong. It's 2011, connecting to wi-fi is a completely brain dead activity for a modern computer or phone. Clue for hoteliers everywhere: if someone is not able to connect to wi-fi, 99% of the time the problem is your wi-fi. No amount of "troubleshooting" with the user is going to sort it out.
At the Hilton they at least acknowledged the problem, but as near as I could tell, nobody took any action to correct it for four nights running. I ended up going to a nearby coffee shop to connect. Whoever is responsible for attention to that particular detail at the Hilton should be very ashamed. If the a/c didn't work or if the TV was out, action would have been taken immediately. Why is wi-fi different?
Attention hoteliers: If, for whatever reason you are unable to match McDonald's for quality of service, here's a procedure you can follow when someone complains about wi-fi being down:
- Have a laptop available to test with -- just some el cheapo job that you can fire up and try to connect on your own.
- If you can't connect that means the wi-fi is down. (You may have to check both the lobby and the location where the guest tried to log on.)
- If it is down, call the people responsible for fixing it right then and there and make arrangements to have it corrected.
- Have a back-up wired connection in the business center for urgent situations.
The real top-notch five-star service properties would even take a more active approach by verifying the connection is available across the property in the morning before everyone is awake and late afternoon before any chance of repair is lost. Just part of the MOD's standard daily procedure. That is the sort of behavior that is the mark of a truly superior hotel.
But nobody listens.
{Here endeth the rant.}
OK. That felt good. On with the story.
For me, apart from the blindingly perfect winter weather, the coolest thing in Pam Springs is the hiking. Indian Canyons [Caution: auto-play maudlin Indian peace pipe music which cannot be turned off!], not ten minutes from where I was staying, has the goods. You simply drive up the long, winding South Palm Canyon Drive, or if you are smarter than me, you rent a bike and enjoy the day even more, which terminates in the Indian Canyons Park.
Indian Canyons appears to be part of the homeland of the Agua Caliente tribe, as far as I can tell, although it is never referred to as a reservation. It is a semi-mountainous region crisscrossed with many miles of hiking trails. For the most part these trails wind through desert scenery but at its core along the main trail you get to see why Palm Springs came into existence. It is, literally, a desert oasis; just like you would picture an oasis -- lush greenery, with burbling springs and soaring fan palms. There's not much of it -- probably not more than a square mile along the stream bed, but it's an entire ecosystem and a startling contrast to the arid scrub surrounding it.
Stop at the visitor center for a map, and take a moment to check out the swarms of buzzy little hummingbirds hovering and darting around the hanging feeders. From there hike the main route along the river for a while to appreciate the oasis vibe, then turn off on to the Victor Trail which takes you on a moderate ascent to an overlook that will give you the full view of the park and the city beyond it. Stop at the top. Appreciate.
My trip was winding down and as I try to do with each trip out west, I wanted to make sure I saw new sights and logged new experiences. In that vein this trip was a gem, but that's not to say there wasn't been a clunker or two. One side trip I chalked up that is certainly not for everyone is about 30 miles southeast of Palm Springs: The Salton Sea.
What is the Salton Sea? Here's the official description:
One of the world's largest inland seas and lowest spots on earth at -227 below sea level, Salton Sea was re-created in 1905 when high spring flooding on the Colorado River crashed the canal gates leading into the developing Imperial Valley. For the next 18 months the entire volume of the Colorado River rushed downward into the Salton Trough. By the time engineers were finally able to stop the breaching water in 1907, the Salton Sea had been born at 45 miles long and 20 miles wide – equaling about 130 miles of shoreline.What it actually is, though, is pretty nasty by most standards. But it's not without attraction as a curiosity.
When I say it's nasty, let me explain. The Salton Sea is fed by some small rivers and creeks and a fair proportion of agricultural runoff from the surrounding farms and groves. The only way water exits the Sea is by evaporation. So assorted silt and chemicals trickle in and get concentrated as the water evaporates. As a result, the water is saltier than the Pacific Ocean.
Many years ago it was regularly stocked with various fish in an effort to attract recreational business. In time all the fish species, except Tilapia, died off. So Tilapia own the place and they swim around fat and happy for the bulk of their lives, only threatened by the occasional pelican or fisherman, then they die of old age and there is nowhere for the body to go, so they just wash up on shore. There are stretches of shoreline that are just covered in dead Tilapia husks. The smell will hit before the sight.
There are a few little towns around the Sea which sprang up back in the ‘50s and ‘60s when the plan was to make the place a recreational mecca. Now they seem to be mostly ghost towns. Or more properly, ghost trailer parks.
But despite all that, people still come here. There are fairly active campgrounds and boaters happily swarm the waters. Fishermen have been known to catch hundreds of Tilapia in a single day, but I don't think I would eat them. Considering all the watersports going on, I suppose actually entering the water would not burn your skin off. In fact, the salinity is so high it's probably difficult to actually swim; you are more likely skimming over the top. It's also a bird watchers paradise as it's a key stop off for many rare species.
Still, as a tourist destination, I'd give it a miss or just devote an hour to a brief stop at the visitors center and nearby dead fish covered shore to get the complete experience.
And that was that. All that was left was a leisurely day of driving back to Vegas, dropping off the car, collecting on my winning bets, and hopping my red-eye back home. Sadly at some point in those activities I snagged a nasty case of food poisoning and spent the next three days is agony, but it didn't ruin the trip for me. I'd do it all again. And maybe I will next year.
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